Chapter 22

Finn willed his frozen fingers to curve around the cold, hard metal of the doorknob. They hovered over it, refusing to clamp down. His body knew what was coming next and wanted no part of it. It was impossible to erase cellular memory.

“You can do it,” Mom whispered. “This time remember what I told you about holding on to the thread. Think only about that day at the quarry. Focus. If you can find the strength to believe in it, without trying to reason it out, you can make it.”

The hollows of her cheeks were still visible, and she seemed more than a little afraid for him. He wondered how dangerous this really was—and how much was she holding back to make sure he’d do it. How many lies would she be willing to tell to save him and Faith?

“What if I miss the node?”

“You won’t. Keep thinking about that day. Remember the details. The node will grow larger as you concentrate and you won’t miss it. Just make sure you concentrate on that day.”

He reached into his pocket and felt for his meager arsenal. Gran’s note, the grounding stone, and the skeleton key ring.

The light of the lantern flickered, making the knobs look as if they were jumping back and forth in the bark of the tree. For a moment he was afraid they were insubstantial things that would disappear if he didn’t reach out at that second and grab hold.

“Now, Finn! You can do this.” Mom’s voice, cracking with the effort of the yell, stunned him into action.

He reached for both of the knobs this time and held on with all his might.

The white light took over, a stark contrast to the black of the night. He closed his eyes, but this was the kind of brightness that burned through eyelids. His knees buckled but he held on to the knobs, pressing his cheek hard against the tree and feeling the carving of the knobs dig into his palms. He imagined the palms of his hands being seared with a leaf garland tattoo. The feel of the bark against his face faded as the white blaze grew. He could no longer feel the ground below his knees. It was like being too close to a star, he thought, only there was no heat. It was just the light and its horrific sound, like the fabric of the universe being ripped in two. Finn desperately wanted to cover his ears, but he wouldn’t dare try to take his hands off the knobs. He wasn’t even sure if he could physically move in this space.

The vicious jolting began and Finn tried hard to find the thread Mom had mentioned. He couldn’t see anything, he couldn’t feel for it with his hands. He began to look for it in his mind like she’d said. He forced himself to look inside instead of outward, and what he found there was both frightening and breathtaking. There were many, many threads! They were everywhere in front of him, reaching out in all directions like millions of arteries and capillaries. He had no idea which one to grab on to. He began to panic and felt his heart beating hard within his chest as the roar of the light became more insistent.

No, Finn! he thought. Go back inside yourself. Think about the day. Think about Faith.

And as he thought about her laugh, her small hands and the color of her hair in the sun, one fiber out of the millions that lay before him began to glow and pulse. His mind soared closer to it and locked on. The roar became a muffled background thrum and he was no longer aware of any physical sensation. Gone was the feeling of his eyelids straining to keep out the light, or the pressure of his hands gripping the knobs of the tree. All that was left was the smoothness of the thread. More of a fiber—he reminded himself to mention this to Mom. It was smooth like silicone, if you could somehow feel silicone inside your brain. He slid effortlessly and quickly along it, thinking only of Faith’s smiling face and belly laugh.

I’m coming to get you, Faith. I’m not going to let them have you.