Apparently this isn’t a party at all.
It’s a zoo.
THIRTY-ONE
Ebony
Why did I wander off? Following a smell? A river embedded with ebony wood? Seriously, whose story is this? Because it sure as Prada isn’t mine.
“Unreal.”
I know I spoke, but where’s my voice? Left behind in the Fifth? Existing between Reflections inside a Fairy Fountain is weird. More than weird. Insert word here that describes something other and strange but also amazing and magical. I’m not a Scrib, people. Synonyms aren’t my forte, capiche?
“Testing, testing, one, two, three.”
Nothing. Not a sound.
El and I watched a movie once, on one of our many movie nights back when I pretended to be her friend before I realized I actually liked her and wanted to be her friend. It was one of those comedies where the main dude dies, but he’s like between lives or something? Anyway, everything was white and some woman with a clipboard took down names and told people where to go. This is like that. Except my woman with a clipboard is a Fairy named Huntra whose voice gets higher pitched with every breath.
“This way, Princess.” She drags me into light so blinding I have to squint to keep from tripping over myself. And Ebony Archer does not trip over her own two feet.
“Where are we going?”
“Where you belong.”
Belong, huh? And where is that? Truth is, I’ve never felt more at home than in recent days. I’d like to turn back, to find Tide and say I’m sorry for chickening out when we started to get close. To make sure Khloe’s okay and not totally stunned by my Dennielle transformation. She’s seen me shift plenty, so what gives? Why, now of all times, did she act petrified at my shape-shift? I’d also thank Stormy. I may be more than slightly jealous of her, let’s be real. But it’s a good jealous. An I-can-love-my-sisters-better-than-you-can jealous. A please-don’t-replace-me-because-I-really-am-trying-to-do-better jealous.
Double sigh on a stick. Enough wishing. I can’t turn around. Where would I go? There are no paths between Fairy Fountains. Look left and oh, there’s some light. Look right and what’s that? Yeah. Light. Not a beam or ray jogs my memory, though. Which makes me think I may have played near a Fountain as a child, but I’ve never actually traveled through one.
“Hurry, hurry,” Huntra says. Who knew a person no taller than my pinkie could be so flipping strong?
“Excuse me? No one tells me what to do.” Call it a character flaw. I’ll refer to it as independence.
The light grows brighter the farther we walk. Float? Swim? Fly? No way of knowing what’s really happening here. I can’t feel my body, can’t even really tell if I’m alive. It’s an unusual sensation. Dreamesque. Like when you’re falling and your whole body jerks awake.
Wake me up anytime now. This is getting creepy. ’Kay thanks.
When the light is so bright my eyes might corrode in their sockets, the cool and welcoming relief of darkness blankets me. “Ahhh.” Much better. For a minute there I thought I was dying.
Humid air stunts my breathing. I blink several times before I orient myself. “Huntra?” Where has that Fairy flitted off to? Did she really abandon me in this . . . am I inside a tree?
I stand, wring out the hem of my blouse. The ends of my hair. Swimming then? I was swimming through the Fountain but breathing as if on land? Didn’t notice I was sopping until like just now. Is this what it’s like for Tide when he dolphinizes himself? Or Khloe when she adapts? Nice. Though I’d rather come out perfectly dry if it’s not too much to ask.
Bark on every side winds and twists around and above. I wouldn’t call this a hollow tree. More like several individual, rather slender trees all twisted together to form a single mass. Water pools around my ankles and all that’s left to do is climb.
I’m not the outdoor type, but circumstances have forced such atrocities upon me. If I had the option, which I don’t, I’d stay inside all day. Venture outdoors only when totally necessary. And no, I wouldn’t read. I’m not that kind of introvert. Libraries don’t call to me, and I don’t sniff books as if they’re candles. My interests are much more of the cuisine persuasion. Shocker, I know. I like to cook. So sue me. There’s just something so invigorating but also relaxing about dicing fish and veggies, rolling them into sushi rice and seaweed. Perfection.
But I’m getting off topic. Climbing. Right. “Let’s get this over with.”
The way up is easy with plenty of niches to grab or to place my foot. A few boosts and heaves and I’m inside the main branches, a landing of sorts spreading out from the holey center. I couldn’t call this a trome, per se. Not enough room for so much as a footstool. But it’s the same idea, just on a smaller scale. Except you can’t get out through a door and you have to go up to get down.
I scoot to the edge, letting my feet dangle outside the tree, which grows at the heart of a much larger pool. Like the cavern beyond the waterfall, these stone walls contain blue writings too. How can anyone make sense of it? Nonsense, that’s what it is.
“Ebony?”
I narrow my eyes. At first I don’t see her, sitting below just off the pool’s shore, perched on a seat made of stone. Overgrown ivy frames her figure, the vines snaking and slithering, embellishing her serpentine-like persona. Lavender flowers with soft but pointed petals grow between the leaves. “Are those Oden Lilies?”
“Main ingredient in Illusoden?” She shrugs. “Why, yes, I believe they are.”
That’s when everything comes into focus.
“I’ve been here.” The memory is hazy, but some things you just know in your core. “The tree. The scents. Those flowers.”
“Well, of course you have.” Cool much? One might think a mother-daughter reunion would be more joyous.
“What Reflection is this?” I turn and climb down, using my feet to judge when it’s safe to let go. The pool splashes when I land. I move to the shore but don’t get too close. Not yet. I don’t trust her and won’t anytime soon.
“The Third.” Her voice comes off unamused.
What else is new? No “Hello, Daughter, lovely to see you.” Or “Ebony, what a surprise! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Did I expect more? Kisses and hugs and sappy tears?
That’s not us. This is.
“Where in the Third?”
I try to listen for sound above the low ceiling. A pop or shout or siren to indicate we’re back in NYC. Yes, I do realize the Third is bigger than an island, but for the smallest fraction of a second, I wish I could forget it all and be back in Manhattan. No more Tide or Khloe or Stormy or El. Yes, I’m selfish, but give me this. This moment in which a shopping trip on Fifth Avenue would be nice. Not a care in the world. Just me and Jasyn Crowe’s Third Reflection credit card. The way it used to be.
“Does it matter where in the Third?” my mother asks. Tiny details in her features begin to stand out. Her sunken eyes and cheeks. Bony frame. Even her breathing is labored. Someone needs a spa day.
“No. Not really.”
She rises slowly. The radiance has vanished from her being. No color perks her skin. She looks awful. “You came looking for me, not the other way around, darling.”
Darling? Spare me. Her sickly sweet endearment never meant anything then and it doesn’t now. “I need to know what I am. Am I a Shield same as my father? Or am I . . . like you?” I’m afraid I already know the answer.