Conjured

Chapter Eight

After aidan drove away, Eve knocked on the front door. She still didn’t have a key. Or if she did, she didn’t know where she had put it. She might have to invent a lie for why she didn’t have it.

The lies pulled on her like weights on her limbs, and she suddenly felt exhausted.

She wished she could simply walk down the street away from the house and keep walking until she was somewhere else where no one knew or remembered her any better than she knew or remembered them. But Malcolm’s car sat dark and silent across the street, and she had already knocked.

She heard footsteps inside. Sharp, loud, close. And then the door swung open.

“Oh, it’s you,” Aunt Nicki said. “I was hoping for something more interesting. Like a delivery of soap.” She waved her hand at Malcolm’s car, and he drove away. The street was empty except for parked cars and recycling bins. Aunt Nicki checked outside and then waved Eve inside.

Eve lingered in the hallway, looking for other changes that she might have missed in the morning—other clues to what she was supposed to know. She flipped through a stack of mail scattered on a small table. Most of the envelopes were addressed to “resident” or “occupant.” She supposed that was what she was, an occupant. She didn’t feel like she was home. She was merely occupying space.

Aunt Nicki bustled past her. “Worst part about this babysitting duty is that housecleaning isn’t included. Not enough cleaners with the right security clearance. Okay, obviously, that’s not the worst part.”

Eve faced the wall with the photo of a dead tree. She tried to force herself to picture “home,” to remember what it felt like to be there. If she was so sure that this wasn’t home, then what was? Did it have a smell, a sound, a color, a temperature? Anything? Remember! she shouted at her mind. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes. Her hands clenched into fists. She tried to focus on the single word “home.”

A towel smacked into her stomach, and Eve flinched.

“You dust,” Aunt Nicki said as she went into the living room.

Eve examined the towel. It had a smear of grease on one side, and the edges were frayed. She must have helped Aunt Nicki or someone clean before because she knew she was supposed to wipe down surfaces with it. At home? Or only here?

She peeked into the living room. The vacuum lay across the carpet. Aunt Nicki was squirting blue liquid onto the mirror and then wiping it away. Eve entered the room and began dusting the coffee table. It had a thin film of gray dust that smeared as she rubbed it with the towel. Coffee rings were permanently ingrained in the wood. She moved aside a stack of magazines: Country Gardens, Better Homes and Gardens, Fine Gardening, and Guns & Ammo. “You like flowers?” Eve asked.

Another squirt on the mirror. “I like guns. Malcolm likes flowers.”

Examining the magazines, Eve tried to picture Malcolm in a garden. He’d loom over daffodils and crush any seedlings.

“He claims that weeding is therapeutic.” Aunt Nicki wiped the mirror and then squirted again. “He has his entire backyard mapped out so the plants bloom clockwise from spring to fall. Plus an entire wall of rhododendron bushes in garish fuchsias and purples. I know, I know, you wouldn’t think it to look at him. But he’s a mush inside. Likes to nurture flowers and puppies and broken kids.”

There was that word again. Broken. She’s broken. Could it have been Aunt Nicki’s voice? She hadn’t caught the voice, but the memory of the rest of the vision was as strong as a real memory, maybe stronger. She could picture the box she’d been trapped in: a wooden box, encrusted in jewels, with a silver snake-shaped clasp. The box was the size of a person’s hand. She’d been shrunk to fit inside it. Inside the box had reeked so badly that it had made her eyes sting. But she remembered worse smells: decay, a putrid and acidic stench that wafted through the air, and thick, cloying incense, overlaid to hide the odor. “If I’m not a witness, why do you want me to remember so badly?” Eve asked.

Aunt Nicki stopped wiping. Blue dripped down the surface of the mirror. “Who said you weren’t a witness?” Her voice was careful, casual.

“Aidan. He said we’re merely targets.”

“Aidan isn’t supposed to discuss the case.”

Eve noticed she hadn’t denied it. “So I am a witness?”

The blue pooled on the mantel. “That boy has never had a truly casual conversation in his life. He always chooses his words. He doesn’t slip. What else did he say?”

Eve wished she hadn’t spoken. She pointed to the mantel. “The blue is dripping.”

“Yeah, and you missed a spot.” Aunt Nicki waved her hand at the coffee table. “I can’t imagine what he was thinking. You might be dense as a rock on an average day, but still …”

She remembered that Aidan had said, Don’t play dense. It doesn’t suit you. The same word. She wondered if that meant anything. “He said I wasn’t. Dense. I’m not dense.”

“Apparently not anymore. What is going on with you? Lately, you’re asking as many questions as a toddler.”

Eve shrugged and looked down at the towel that she was squeezing and twisting and strangling in her hands without realizing it. “Nothing.” She didn’t want to talk about herself anymore. “How was your day?”

Aunt Nicki’s eyes bulged like a bullfrog’s. “You have never once asked me that.”

“Oh.” Eve bent her attention to the coffee table, scrubbing away every speck of dust that had dared to land on it. She artfully arranged the magazines like she’d seen the receptionist do in the agency lobby. She then paid meticulous attention to the coffee table legs. She didn’t look up. After a minute, she heard the squirt of Aunt Nicki’s cleaning supplies.

“My day was fine,” Aunt Nicki said at last.

Eve couldn’t think of a follow-up question. They cleaned the rest of the room in silence. Later, they cooked and ate dinner in silence.

At night, also in silence, Eve lay flat on her back in bed. A car passed by outside, and light swept across the ceiling. She counted the cracks in the plaster until the light hit the opposite wall and the room plunged into darkness again.

She listened to the curtains over the window flutter from the breath of the air conditioner. The dry, chilled air wormed between the sheets. Eve pointed her toes and then flexed them, counting as she did it: ten, eleven, twelve … She then considered what was keeping her awake:

One, Aidan.

Two, Zach.

Three, WitSec.

Four, the case.

Every time she tried to make sense of them, she felt knotted and sick. Maybe if she could sleep, it would all be clear tomorrow. Or not. Regardless, she told herself, tomorrow would come whether she slept or not, counted or not, remembered or not. She closed her eyes.

Eventually, she must have slept.

Next time she opened her eyes, her alarm was buzzing like it had ingested a beehive. She stared at it blearily for a moment, perplexed by how to shut it off, and then she slapped the silver button on top. It worked. She untangled herself from the sheets and got out of bed. Standing, she looked around the room. Everything seemed to be where she’d left it last night, including yesterday’s clothes on the top of the hamper. She exhaled and felt the muscles in her shoulders unknot. She found a key on top of her dresser—she guessed it was the library key, or maybe the house key. She took it with her, as well as the cell phone from Malcolm.

She showered, dressed, and joined Aunt Nicki in the kitchen. Aunt Nicki was peering into the toaster at a piece of bread. She jostled the lever.

Eve opened the refrigerator and took out the orange juice. Holding the bottle, she hesitated. She didn’t know which cabinet held glasses. She chose one at random. She got it on her second try, and poured herself a glass.

The clock over the trash can ticked. 7:10.

“Can I ask you a question?” Eve asked Aunt Nicki.

“I don’t know. Can you?” Aunt Nicki shot back, then winced. “Sorry. I have a little brother. It’s reflex. Go ahead.”

“Say there are two boys …”

“You’re asking a relationship question?” Aunt Nicki looked up from the toaster. Her eyes were doing their bullfrog impression again, Eve noted.

“You prefer kissing one of them, but the other insists you should be kissing him,” Eve continued. “Which one should you continue to kiss?”

Still staring, Aunt Nicki sat down hard in the empty chair. “You’re seriously asking me this. You aren’t asking about … Never mind.”

Eve wrinkled her nose. She smelled a hint of burned bread. “Your toast is done.”

Aunt Nicki waved her hand at the toaster. “It just started. That’s crumbs from yesterday’s toast.”

“Is it going to catch fire?”

“Crumbs are small. Besides, the char adds flavor. So these two boys …” Aunt Nicki folded her hands in front of her on the table. Eve had the sense that she wanted to take notes. “You’re kissing both of them?”

“Not simultaneously,” Eve clarified.

“I should hope not,” Aunt Nicki said, and then she considered it. “Though that could be interesting … A-a-a-and that kind of statement is exactly why I shouldn’t babysit children. You should not be kissing two boys at the same time.”

She sounded so emphatic that Eve felt a grin tug at her cheeks. But she wasn’t sure she should laugh at a woman who brought her gun to breakfast. Currently it was tucked into an embroidered leather holster that looked as much a fashion accessory as Aunt Nicki’s layered fake-pearl necklaces.

“You said you’re enjoying kissing one of them?”

“Is that unusual?” Eve asked. “I thought that was the point of kissing.”

Aunt Nicki shook her head. “I cannot believe we’re having this conversation.”

“Would you rather I ask you why Aidan thinks I’m not a witness? And why he, Victoria, and Topher don’t have memory losses and I do? And why I can’t use magic without losing consciousness but they can? Or should I ask what the case is about? Or where I’m from? Or why I know some things but not others, like ‘bread’ but not ‘bagels’? Or why I don’t know what you want me to know? And what happens if I do remember? What happens if I don’t? What then?” She said it all in one breath and then sucked in air. The air tasted burned.

A coil of smoke rose from the toaster, and Eve coughed. Aunt Nicki popped out of her chair and bustled over to the counter. She dumped the toaster upside down over a plate. Her toast, plus a shower of ember-like crumbs, fell onto the plate. “I think that’s a record for number of words spoken by you at once.”

“But you aren’t going to answer me.” Eve didn’t have to phrase it as a question. She knew it was a fact.

“You should kiss the one you like kissing,” Aunt Nicki said. “Don’t kiss the other one.”

“Okay.” Eve sipped her orange juice. “Thanks.”

Aunt Nicki stared at her again. “You’re welcome.”

At 7:30 a.m., Eve stuck the key she’d found on her dresser into the lock on the library door and was mildly surprised when it worked. The door slid open. She hoped it was a sign that today would go well.

Behind her, Zach charged up the stairs. He had a paper bag—bagels, she guessed—in one hand. He skidded to a stop next to her. “Hey,” he said casually, as if he hadn’t been running to catch her.

“Hi,” Eve said.

The library doors slid shut and then open again as Eve and Zach continued to stand, staring at each other, in sight of the sensor. She knew what they were both thinking about: the kiss, the flying.

A black car pulled into the library lot and parked under a tree, the same one as yesterday. No one got out of the car. She suddenly felt exposed. The library was tucked away from the street. Trees blocked the view. With another glance at the black car, she ducked inside. Zach hurried in with her, and the door slid shut again behind them. Eve wished she could lock it. But no, this was a public place. A WitSec-approved place, she reminded herself.

Inside, the library was quiet. Shadows were layered in a pattern on the floor. Eve headed for the light switches and flipped them on.

Everything looked the same as yesterday.

Good, she thought. She wanted routine. Nice, safe, boring, wonderful routine.

Zach fetched the overnight book-return bin and then opened the bagel bag. “Breakfast?” he offered. She accepted the everything bagel. Seeds rained on the circulation desk, and Eve bit into it. She still didn’t like it. She ate it anyway. This is what I need, she told herself. Normalcy.

Zach didn’t eat his.

“You don’t want it?” Eve asked.

“All I want is to kiss you again.”

“Oh.” Eve wiped her lips with a paper napkin, cleared the crumbs from the desk, and straightened a few books on a cart. “You want to kiss me because you want to see if we fly.” When he didn’t answer, she looked at him. “You don’t lie,” she reminded him.

“Just think! If I’m right and we’re, you know, magic together—”

“We’re not,” she cut in. Or at least he wasn’t. He couldn’t be. He was from this world, and Malcolm and Aidan had both said there was no magic in this world … unless they’d lied, but she couldn’t think of any reason for them to lie about this.

“I didn’t hallucinate,” Zach said. “Yes, I read a lot. Watch a lot of TV. Play a few video games if I think the story line is worth it. But I’ve never had a problem separating reality from fantasy.” He held up one finger. “One kiss. If we don’t fly, I leave you alone.”

Eve shook her head. Malcolm had told her not to do magic outside the agency—plus she didn’t want to lose consciousness here. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Aha! You didn’t say it didn’t happen!”

“Zach …”

“Worst case, we hit the ceiling. Bash a few light fixtures. Plummet from the ceiling. So we’ll kiss over carpet just in case. Or, ooh, we can make a landing cushion out of the pillows from the chairs in the reading room!” Grabbing her hand, he yanked her out of the lobby and through the reference area. He hit the lights for the reading room, an octagonal wood-paneled room with chairs in every corner. Zach began to toss the chair pillows into the center of the room.

“I don’t think …,” Eve began.

“Cannonball!” He jumped into the air and landed on his butt on one of the pillows.

She laughed. She couldn’t help it. His joy was infectious.

He stood up, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “Flying isn’t the only reason I want to kiss you. You are all I think about. You are exactly what my life has been missing. You are what I have always wanted. You are magic, with or without the flying.”

“But you’d prefer with the flying.”

“It would be a cool bonus, that’s all I’m saying.”

She laughed again.

He crossed to her, close without touching. “Say no because you don’t like me that way. Say no because you didn’t enjoy kissing me. But don’t say no because you’re afraid.”

She looked into his eyes, his warm, wonderful eyes, and wondered if she could trust him. “You don’t know what I’m afraid of,” she said softly.

“Then tell me. And I’ll tell you why you shouldn’t be scared.”

It was such an innocent statement, said by someone who didn’t know fear. His innocent fearlessness was beautiful, and she wanted suddenly to feel that fearlessness too. Stepping forward, she put her arms around his neck. He wrapped his around her waist. She felt her heart beat faster. Or maybe it was his. Both of their hearts beat fast through their shirts, against each other.

She touched her lips to his.

No magic, she thought to herself. Don’t fly.

She breathed with him as they kissed—and then the feel of the floor faded away. His grip around her waist tightened. She broke the kiss and looked down. They were several feet above the pillows.

Floating like feathers, they drifted down. Landing on pillows, they lost their balance and toppled over, clinging to each other. Entangled, they lay silent for a moment.

“Whoa,” Zach said, breathless. “Wow.”

“Wow,” Eve agreed. She hadn’t lost consciousness. She hadn’t had a vision. She hadn’t even felt herself use magic at all. In fact, she’d focused on the opposite.

“Did you know you had magic kisses?”

“Last night Aidan kissed me, and we didn’t fly.” She watched his face as she said it, unsure if he’d be upset that she’d kissed someone else. But she didn’t want to lie to him when she didn’t have to—she already had to lie to him about so much.

His face didn’t change, but she felt his arms stiffen around her. “Who’s Aidan?”

“A boy who thinks I’m supposed to be kissing him.”

Drawing away from her, Zach sat up in the middle of the pillows. “And what do you think?” His voice was careful, measured.

Eve sat up next to him. “I think I’d rather kiss you.”

“Oh. Well, that’s okay, then. But you’ll excuse me if I’m still a little bit jealous. Is this Aidan good looking?”

Eve shrugged. “Yes.”

“Well, this just gets better and better.” Zach pushed away the pillows and stood up. He tossed the pillows toward the chairs. “Buff guy? Likely to beat me up? Not that I wouldn’t fight for you. I totally would. You are completely fight worthy.”

She put her hand on his wrist, stopping him from chucking the next pillow. “Zach?”

“Sorry, but it’s somewhat of a shock to kiss the girl of your dreams and then find out she already has a boyfriend. I kind of wish you’d told me that earlier, except that I probably wouldn’t have kissed you, and there goes fodder for my dreams for the next decade.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Did you mean what you said? You’d rather kiss me?”

She nodded. “You don’t play games.”

“Great. What a rousing endorsement next to Pretty Boy.” He took a deep breath. “Sorry, sorry, sorry. Jealousy is ugly, isn’t it? I’ll stop. You’re here with me. That’s good.” He tried a smile.

She saw him try, and she touched his cheek. “Kiss me again,” she suggested.

A real smile lit up his face. “Yes, ma’am.” He leaned in toward her. As his lips pressed against hers, she heard paper rustle, and she felt wind in her hair. Her feet stayed firmly on the carpet, but she felt something brush against her back. She broke away.

Books flew in circles around them.

Zach grinned wide. “It worked.”

He’d worked this magic … through her? Using her magic? He kissed her again joyfully, and the books flocked to the ceiling.

Breaking the kiss, they watched the books fly. A pair circled and spiraled. A few flew in a line, rising and falling. One flapped closer to another, and a third dove toward them, opening and shutting its pages furiously, as if jealous. Eve laughed out loud. Zach was laughing too. Holding each other, they laughed as the bird-books flew around them.

At last, the books slowed, and they sank one by one toward the floor. They collapsed, strewn around the reading room, fluttering their pages up and down until at last they all lay still at Eve and Zach’s feet.

One of the librarians halted in the doorway to the reading room. “What—”

Books had fallen everywhere, spine up onto pillows, pages bent, upside down.

Eve and Zach leaped apart.

The librarian’s eyes were so wide that the whites were visible in a ring around his irises. He looked like a startled horse, Eve thought—and then she wondered when she’d been near a horse. She could picture one, yoked to a carnival wagon. Its eyes were wild, and it strained against its harness. Distracted by the memory, she didn’t answer. Instead, Zach did.

“I can work magic when I kiss her,” Zach said.

Blood began to rush to the librarian’s face, tinting his neck and cheeks a ruddy pink. His mouth opened and shut, but words didn’t come out.

Quickly, Eve said, “We tried a new shelving technique. It didn’t work well.”

Color faded from the librarian’s cheeks, and he began to breathe again. “Okay. You … uh, clean this up before the patrons come in, or Patti will have your heads.”

Eve nodded.

The librarian retreated, looking back at them several times.

“You lied easily.” Zach bent to pick up the books. She joined him and didn’t know what to say. He was right.

Halfway through cleanup, she saw a hint of movement outside one of the reading-room windows. She looked up to focus on it. Shrouded in shadows, a hooded face was pressed against the glass. Someone watching her. And then the face was gone.

Clutching the books, Eve went to the window. No one was there.

“Eve?”

She retreated from the window. “Nothing. Everything’s fine.” That lie was easy to say too.