22

THE MARKS WE LEAVE BEHIND

Adelaide ran out the door of the auction hall. The padding of her feet on the stone replaced the trill of the auctioneer’s voice as she searched the surrounding corridors for Teo. She wanted to apologize for losing the clock to Luka, but the raw pain on Teo’s face when he left told her it wasn’t something he would easily forgive. It shook her to see him break like he did, as if he had shattered so many times, he could no longer hold his pieces together. Adelaide sighed, giving up her search. Not wanting to venture back into the chaos of the auction, she followed the familiar path to the library.

The hidden door was right where Teo had said it would be, at least the statue guarding it was. It sat on a wooden pedestal, nestled into an alcove at the far end of the stacks in the upper portion of the library. Whoever had carved it was greatly skilled, working with the natural veins of grey in the pale stone so they reflected human veins along each of the bust’s temples. Its eyes, in a similar manner, were carved around an area of variation in color, giving them an almost pale blue hue to their appearance.

Adelaide raised her hand to knock. She hesitated, remembering what Teo had said about rapping five times. Was she supposed to just knock like normal or tap it out in a rhythm of some sort? Figuring Father Jude would hear it either way, she chose a wall beside the statue and knocked five times in quick succession. The sound echoed off the hard surfaces of the shelves. Just when she was about to try again, the wall beside her swung inward. Cool air released from inside the passage, brushing over her bare shoulders and sending a chill down her spine. Adelaide stepped inside as the panel slid closed behind her.

In the near blackness, she could see a faint light a few yards ahead. She quickened her pace, a sense of panic creeping in as the walls closed in on either side, mere inches from her. Though there was no smell of smoke, it wrapped around her, clouding her vision as the weight of something heavy settled on her chest. A hand reached for her, pulling her out of the darkness and into the faint glow of light at the end of the passage.

Her breath came fast and heavy as she crossed the threshold of the tunnel into a small room. Confused about what she had just experienced, she cast her gaze back down the passage. It felt like a trace in the way it unfolded around her, but unlike her traces, she hadn’t been touching anything to spark it. Was she so out of control that her traces no longer needed a catalyst to start them or was this something different all together? While what she usually saw in her traces felt real in the sense that Adelaide knew what she was seeing had actually happened in the past, whatever she had just seen felt real in a whole different way, more like a memory than a trace.

As her heart slowed, Adelaide took in the small room. Drop cloths covered the few pieces of furniture still standing. Dust, drifting lazily upward like smoke from an extinguished flame, wafted from the rug as her feet fell onto it. Through the haze, she fixated on the man across from her.

Father Jude looked exactly as she remembered—tall, thin and wrapped in folds of cloth and shadow. He was clean shaven and youthful, but his eyes hid a thousand stories belonging to the ages. His voice was firm but kind as he spoke. “I’m afraid we don’t have long, Adelaide. I took a risk coming here, and there are matters I must soon return to. But I must admit, I am curious as to what has you seeking me out.”

Adelaide froze, the words poised on her tongue, dangerously close to the edge, but still, she bit them back. What could she say that wouldn’t make her sound crazy or elicit the same look from Father Jude that Sheriff Dawson and many others had given her? She wasn’t even sure if he could help. She was operating on a hunch from a several-hundred-year-old inkwell and pen. Maybe she was crazy. Adelaide bit her lip. “I’ve been seeing things.”

Father Jude raised an eyebrow. Clearly, she was off to a great start, but how else was she supposed to explain her traces. She took a breath, starting again. “You know how you walk through an old building and you can almost feel the people who walked there before you, see them around you as they were in the past?”

He nodded. “Go on.”

“Well, I think I’ve—” she paused. “I think I’ve actually been seeing them.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sometimes, when I touch an object with history, a scene unfolds around me. Like I’m actually there watching it in real time.” Adelaide shook her head understanding how crazy she sounded. “Does that even make sense?”

“It does actually. I had a girl, not too long ago, tell me the same thing. While I don’t understand it completely, I will tell you exactly what I told her. We all have secrets to hide and stories to tell. Objects are no different. Sometimes, when we die, the things we leave behind must tell our stories for us. It seems to me a story is out there waiting to be told and you are the only one who can uncover it.”

“But why? How?”

“I don’t know why. That is something you’ll have to discover on your own. But as for how, my suggestion would be to listen. Everything hums with a story of the marks we leave behind, waiting for the right people to come along so they can share them. The next time these moments happen, tune out the noise of other stories and search for the one that calls loudest to you.”

As strange as Father Jude’s advice sounded, somehow, it made sense to her. And while Adelaide still didn’t have all the answers, she had a starting point. “You won’t tell anyone. Will you?”

“No,” he said, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Nor should you unless you are certain they can be trusted. Stories are powerful things, and many will go to great lengths to make sure some remain untold.”

Father Jude removed his hand and gave her a final nod in farewell. She thanked him for his help as he walked past her back through the tunnel. Though he seemed to believe her and provided advice, Adelaide hadn’t told him about her most recent trace, the one that may or may not be of him or one of his ancestors. She wasn’t sure what kept her from telling him, especially when she had revealed the truth of her traces, but at least for now, she kept the secret to herself hoping it would one day be a story she could tell and not one left behind to be told for her.

With Father Jude gone, Adelaide could see herself in the warped mirror on the wall behind where he had stood. Her reflection gazed back, distorted by time and decay that had been concealed in the walls. As she watched herself in the mirror, her mind snapped back to their conversation, a line floating to the surface of her thoughts. I had a girl, not too long ago, tell me the same thing.

She whipped around and ran back down the tunnel, straight through the hidden door and out onto the top floor of the library. Her eyes scanned the area, frantically searching for Father Jude, but he was gone. She swept her hair to the side, wondering how she could have missed it. She’d been so focused on the traces themselves that she glossed right over his words, but she felt a spark of hope ignite inside her as she came to the realization of what they could mean. She wasn’t the only one.