Intuition t-2 Page 2

  “That’s what I’m trying to avoid. You know how much I hate this.” Watching my best friend fall from a rooftop a century ago makes me uncomfortable standing on a ladder; forget about being a few hundred feet above the waves of the bay.

  “Which is exactly why I thought the bridge would be the perfect spot for our empath lesson.” The beads on the ends of her long braids make a clacking sound as she pulls away from the railing and looks at all the other pedestrians on the sidewalk. “Name a place in the city that contains more emotion.” She leans in toward me. “Think about it: you have the giddy tourists snapping photos on their phones to send to the folks back home, and the commuters driving their cars over the bridge, worrying about the errors in the latest spreadsheet.” Janine pauses. “And then you have the people who are so afraid they’re going to fall that they can barely move.”

  I allow myself one quick look down, and it just confirms my worst fears. My hands start to sweat and I panic, sure that I’m going to lose my grip on the railing. “It’s not so much that I think I’ll fall,” I confess to her as a bike rider whizzes past us on the sidewalk. “It’s that I’m afraid that for one split second I’ll allow the crazy part of me to take over and I’ll jump. Because I know I’ll regret it in the first millisecond after my feet leave the concrete.”

  “Most people do,” she says, watching the whitecaps on the water below us. “I know an Akhet who died this way in his last lifetime. Said the same thing—regretted it all the way down until he hit the water. Splat.” She takes one last look over the edge and I know we’re both counting the seconds it would take for a body to fly through the air and land with the smallest splash down below. “Come on, let’s walk.”

  “I don’t think I can,” I say. We had only made it a few hundred feet away from where the water hits the rocks on shore—not even to the middle of the bridge—before I had to stop.

  “You can,” she says. “Just put one foot in front of the other.”

  I let go of the railing with one hand. “On one condition. I get to walk closest to the road.”

  “Okay,” she says, starting off without me. “But you know you have a much greater chance of being hit by a car crossing the bridge than you do of accidentally flinging yourself off the side.”

  “I’ll risk it,” I say, already feeling a little better now that I’m a few feet away from the edge.

  Janine gives me a smile that looks just like Griffon’s. Although her skin is darker than his, certain gestures or expressions remind me that, despite the fact they’re both Akhet, Janine is definitely his mother in this lifetime. I wonder if it’s weird for her that I’m with him.

  I look around at the people on the bridge. Even though it’s unusually bright and sunny for a San Francisco summer day, the wind up here is fierce, and most everyone pulls their jackets tightly around them. “So are we really going to do a lesson outside? In front of all these people?”

  “It’ll be fine,” she says. “Maybe things will go even better in the fresh air.” Which is a nice way of saying they haven’t been going so well the last few weeks cooped up in her office at the university. If the past few training sessions are any indication, my empath skills may be as developed as they’re ever going to get.

  “If you say so.”

  “I say so,” she says. “Haven’t you heard it takes ten thousand hours of practice to master anything? I’m sure you put at least that into the cello over your lifetimes.”

  Janine glances at the scar that runs down my left arm. The shattered window has been fixed for months, but the physical damage to my hand seems to be permanent. In a split second and with a single shard of glass, Veronique managed to change the course of my life forever. Instead of touring the world playing cello, I can barely hold a bow, much less manage the complicated fingerings that an orchestra demands. “Look,” she says. “The cello brought you a long way in this lifetime. And from what you’re remembering, it sounds like it took you a long way in the past too. But maybe that phase is over now.”

  As much as I know she’s right, I wince at hearing the words out loud. They seem so final. “Mom and Dad don’t want to admit it’s over,” I say. It’s so much easier to push my anxieties off onto them. “They think this is all just a temporary setback, that I’ll be back to playing in no time despite what all the doctors say.”

  “And what do you think?”

  I take a deep breath and risk a glance back down at the water through the slats in the railing. “I don’t believe in miracles.”

  Janine looks at me. “Sometimes a miracle is just a lot of luck and sweat in disguise.”

  I nod, not trusting my voice. I don’t know what I think anymore. One minute I know my cello career is over even before it began, and I’m okay with that. The next minute, the thought of never playing in front of an audience again feels like a punch in the stomach.

  “Maybe you won’t be able to play at the same level anymore,” Janine says. “But maybe there are ways you can utilize your other skills to make the greatest difference.”

  “But my empath skills suck so far.”

  “They don’t suck,” Janine says, and I can’t help smiling. She never swears, and even that word sounds funny coming out of her mouth. “You’ve done it before; you were able to harness those skills when you needed them most. You just need more practice to be able to do it on command.” We walk a little way in silence and I look up at the tall orange metal towers that hold up the cables on the bridge.

  “Even though you were gifted with the cello as a child,” she continues, “your parents still got you lessons, didn’t they? This is the same thing. Taking an innate skill and honing it until you’re a master. And since a true empath is rare, these skills are more important than ever.”

  “What for? Even if I do figure out how to do this and become an empath, how is that going to help anyone?”

  “Mankind’s greatest failing is not understanding one another—a lack of communication between individuals and cultures. Someone like you, who can bridge the gap, so to speak”—Janine grins at her own joke—“who can make one person truly understand how another feels and be able to probe the depths of a person’s psyche to find a hidden meaning? That would be invaluable.” She pauses. “Not to mention being able to tell when a person is lying. The Sekhem are already asking how your training is coming along. Trust me, they’re interested.”

  Even though she’s said variations of all this before, it still sounds so unreal. Me, being a valuable part of such an important organization. Crazy. “Then I guess we’d better start practicing.”

  Janine stops on the edge of the sidewalk and puts her hands about two inches in front of mine. “At some point, you might be able to read people without even touching them, by sensing the magnetic field that surrounds them. For now, we’re going to concentrate on using physical contact. I just think it’s easier that way.”

  “Except for the usual Akhet vibrations, I don’t feel anything.”

  She shrugs. “It’s a theory I’m working on. This level of empathy is totally new to all of us, but I think with your innate abilities, you can become so sensitive that physical contact won’t be necessary.” She turns and starts walking again. “Let’s go this way around the tower,” she says, pointing to the left. “It’s less crowded on this side, and we can decide if we want to go all the way across or turn back.”

  “I already vote for turning back.” There are a few people at the railing, mostly taking pictures or craning their necks to see the top of the tallest tower. But there’s one older guy in a blue jacket who stands out as if he has a spotlight on him. Everyone else fades into the shadows as I study him. He’s not doing anything at all, just standing motionless at the railing, but even from here I can feel that something’s not right.

  “What is it?” Janine asks.

  “That guy right there. Don’t you see him?”

  “Which guy?”

  “The one in the blue. Something’s going on with him,”
I say. His eyes aren’t looking down, but are fixed in the distance. Both hands are gripping the railing so hard his knuckles are white, and one foot is poised on the bottom rung. “I think he’s going to jump,” I whisper.

  “Then you need to go make contact with him,” she says quietly, her eyes focused on his back.

  I can feel panic rising in my chest. “How? Do I just go ask him if he’s about to kill himself?”

  Janine nudges me forward. “You’ll think of something.” She glances at me. “Anything’s better than the alternative.”

  I take a few steps closer, with no idea how I’m going to do this. In order to read him, I need to touch him, to make contact with him in a way that won’t startle him. I’m within a couple of feet when I pretend to trip, going down on one knee, grabbing at the man’s arm as I fall.

  I’m hyperalert as my hand makes contact, and in a flash I feel overwhelming despair and sadness wash over me. It’s as if death is already too close. “I’m so sorry!” I say, putting both hands on the sidewalk to steady myself both from the fall and from the strength of his emotions.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, looking startled. He reaches down to help me up.

  “I think so,” I say. I look into his eyes behind thick black glasses, wondering what happened in his life that brought him to this place. “Are you?”

  He tilts his head and releases my arm. Instantly, the emotions vanish. “Sure,” he says, a puzzled expression on his face. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I just saw you standing here. And you looked a little sad.”

  He shakes his head and gives me a slight smile. “I was just admiring the view,” he says with a shrug, his voice betraying no emotion at all. “Not every day you get to stand on a bridge and look at such a beautiful city.”

  I begin to feel unsure of myself. Either he’s a really good liar or he really wasn’t planning to jump. “Right. Of course. It’s just that I—”

  “What’s going on, honey?” A thin woman with a camera around her neck walks up and slips her arm through his. She has on a purple knit hat that doesn’t look out of place up here, even though it’s June. I’m startled to see that he’s not alone. Why would he bring her here if he was going to jump?

  “Nothing,” he says, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “This young lady tripped, and I was just helping her up.”

  I look back at the sidewalk at the imaginary crack that caused my fall. “He was.” I nod to the man. “Thanks. They should really fix that. Someone could get hurt.”

  “That’s terrible,” the woman says with a frown, squinting down at the sidewalk. She smiles up at the man. It’s obvious she adores him. “I’m glad he could help.”

  “Are you sure you’re going to be okay now, miss?” the man asks.

  I have no idea what just happened here. He seems so stable now. Did I read him wrong? “I’m sure,” I say, giving him a wide smile that I don’t feel. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Great,” he says. He pounds his fist twice on the railing and then turns to walk back toward the San Francisco side, arm in arm with the woman.

  Janine squeezes my shoulder as they walk away. “Great job,” she whispers. “How did it feel?”

  “It wasn’t great,” I say, frustration clouding any satisfaction I might have. “I don’t think I read him right at all. At first all I could feel was an overwhelming sadness, but then he just acted so normal.”

  “Maybe you were right,” Janine said. “And maybe by talking to him at the crucial moment, it passed. Sometimes people don’t want their problems solved. They just want to be seen.”

  I glance back at the couple. “Or maybe he’s just a tourist admiring the view.”

  “You have a nice day,” the woman shouts over her shoulder, giving a little wave. As the sleeve of her jacket falls back, I see a clear plastic bracelet around her too-thin wrist. I look at the hat covering her head and see that there’s no hair peeking out from the bottom of it. It’s then that I understand—she’s the one who’s dying, not him.

  “You too,” I shout back. Sometimes it sucks to be right.

  Three

  “What time is Griffon picking Owen up at the airport?” Rayne asks as we dodge the crowds on Haight Street.

  “About an hour ago,” I say, digging around in my bag for my bus pass. We’ve spent the day hanging around my house, but now I have to go teach cello at the studio. I complain about having a job, but I’m secretly glad to have somewhere to go during the week. A whole summer with nothing to do would make me antsy. “Kat wanted to go with him, but I talked her out of it. Griffon is his best friend, and the ride from the airport is probably the only time she won’t be hanging off Owen this whole trip.”

  Rayne wrinkles her nose. “Is it going to be weird hanging out with your sister so much?”

  I stare at her. “Um, yeah. Which is why you have to promise not to leave us alone with them. Kat is already talking about all the parties we’re going to while he’s here; you and Peter need to come along to break up the ick factor.”

  She laughs. “We’ll try.”

  The sidewalk is thick with tourists, but the strange hand on my arm is still startling, and my blood runs cold when I turn to see who grabbed me. For a second I can barely breathe. I knew this moment was going to come sooner or later; she’s been sanctioned by the Sekhem for what she did to us, but there was not much more they could do. I’ve rehearsed this over and over in my head, all of the things I want to say to her, how I need to stand up to her once and for all, but I’m caught so off guard that I take two steps backward.

  “Cole!” Veronique says, as if our meeting on the street is some kind of happy coincidence.

  “What do you want?” I’m glad that my tone is as flat and lifeless as I mean it to be.

  Veronique smiles and shakes her head. “Nothing. I just saw you and your friend across the street and wanted to say hello. Because it’s been so long.” She looks physically like the Veronique I first met last year—her dark hair shiny and not a strand out of place, but there’s something in her eyes that reminds me of the frantic woman up on the roof with a gun aimed at Griffon’s head. It’s been almost two months since that horrible day, but I can see right away that not much has changed.

  “Not long enough,” I say. I glance at Rayne, who’s standing to the side. After all that happened between us, I forget she’s never actually met Veronique, never come face-to-face with the one who almost took it all away. Not like I’m going to introduce them now.

  “Oh, come on,” Veronique says, as if we just had some small argument that can be washed away with a few words. “All’s well that ends well, right? Everything turned out okay.”

  “Okay?” I repeat, my voice louder than I intend it to be. I look around to make sure nobody is close enough to overhear. “The last time I saw you, you were trying to kill Griffon.” The scar on his cheek and the one on my arm are evidence that she did in fact mean to hurt us both; nothing that happened was an accident.

  Veronique glances at Rayne, obviously not knowing how much to say in front of her.

  “Rayne knows all about us,” I say. “All about what you did.”

  “Right,” Veronique says, smoothing back her hair. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you.” There’s a pause as Veronique hesitates, staring at her hands. “Look, I was wrong, and I wanted to say that I’m sorry.” She looks straight into my eyes. “For everything.”

  I wait, but Veronique doesn’t offer any more explanation. “Sorry?” I repeat, my voice again too loud. I concentrate on lowering it. “For which part? Sorry for stalking me? For permanently destroying my left hand as well as my career? For almost killing Griffon? Which part are you most sorry for?”

  Rayne puts one hand on my trembling arm, as I vent the anger I wasn’t aware I’d hidden inside. I can’t look at Veronique right now. Every time I remember the sharp blast of the gun followed by the image of Griffon going over the edge of the building, I feel sick inside.

  “It
’s okay,” Rayne says, in an attempt to be reassuring.

  “It is definitely not okay.” I’ve gone over and over it for the past couple of months, but Veronique hasn’t been here to answer for any of it. Now is my chance. “You don’t even understand what you’ve done.” I lean forward, my breath coming hard and fast as my heart pounds. “The scar Griffon’s going to carry for the rest of his life.” I pull up my sleeve and hold my arm out for her inspection. “My scar that hides the real damage inside. I can’t play anymore; I’ll probably never play in front of an audience again. And for what? I had nothing to do with Alessandra’s death in that lifetime.” At this point, I don’t care who hears me.

  Veronique waits quietly until I’m done. “You’re right. I deserve all of that and more. I take full responsibility for everything I’ve done. I was stupid and stubborn. All I could see was an opportunity for revenge, to silence the anguish that’s followed me from one lifetime to the next.” Her eyes tear up. “I was blinded by my love for Alessandra, and it’s prevented me from moving on in this life. From being able to form relationships, to pursue my passions. And it was love that made me do things I can’t take back. I just thank God that everything ended up as well as it did.”

  “Not all of us are so thrilled,” I say quietly, not wanting to let her wrap everything up in a neat little package.

  “I’m seeing a therapist.” Veronique nods at Rayne. “She’s Khem, but someone who understands what it means to be Akhet.”

  Rayne’s looking at me for clarification. “Khem is someone who’s not Akhet,” I explain, just as Janine did for me. I stare down Veronique. “But most Akhet don’t use it. It’s like slang, a derogatory term for someone who doesn’t know, who’s ignorant.”

  Veronique holds her hands up in front of her. “I didn’t mean anything by it. In fact, she’s been really helpful in sorting some things out.” She looks at me. “Giacomo has gone back to Italy. Alone.” She laughs. “Or maybe not so alone by now, who knows?”