Chapter One

            His eyes scanned the Gardens with such a feeling of nostalgia that his chest seemed to warm. The window he stood inside was high up, among the highest around; such a vantage point allowed him to see it all. The cobblestone sidewalks, the ivy covered buildings, the people, young and old, living their lives in secrecy from the rest of the world. There was a scent of honeysuckle in the wind; somewhere distant he heard the chimes of the Renning Belltower singing midday. Such nostalgia for these secret gardens, for his secret home.

            But… orders were orders.

            He waited on a phone call. Normally a recruiting assignment wouldn’t be such a big deal, but this one… this one was different.

            In all of the Gardens the room he currently stood within was the most secure, with the possible exception of the Governors chambers, and perhaps Faedra Teague’s place. There were only a handful of Society members hidden behind Garden walls so his options were few for help; even still, he and his colleagues had managed to outfit the room with multiple defenses, several signatures to protect against Green Mark invasion, or perhaps Blue Mark telepathic overhearing, or Yellow Mark detection. When the call came, he wouldn’t be noticed.

            The phone vibrated in his coat pocket. He retrieved it and spoke.

            “You’re…” he checked his wristwatch with disdain. “Two hours late, Mr. Reid.”

            At first no one spoke on the other side. Then, with caution, a female’s voice: “Sir… Hugo Reid is dead.”

            “What? This is a secure line, who is this?”

            “This is codename Beretta. I was dispatched to recover Hugo Reid along with the recruits he collected.”

            “Hugo Reid is dead?”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “How?” The room was spinning. How had he not heard this yet? “Was his cover blown?”

            “We’re… not sure. We only have portions of the story, which we got from a recruit… Timothy Benjamin Stoker… it seems that during Reid’s attempted recruitment of one of the students, an Artist of the Black… Nicolle Darling was her name… he was killed.”

            “Who did it?”

            “We don’t know,” she said. “We’re not even sure how he died. We think it’s safe to assume it wasn’t one of the kids, though, but rather one of the Expeditionaries that accompanied him to Savannah.”

            He whispered a curse; he could feel his heart racing, his anger taking over.

            “Natalia Hawthorne,” he said. The very last thing the Society needed was that one on their heels. “I know her. If she laid a single finger on Reid she’d know everything…”

            Beretta said nothing. She had the unfortunate responsibility of delivering bad news to a superior; she was probably afraid to speak. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to think.

            “Tell me about the students,” he commanded.

            “We have four,” she said.

            “Tell me about Roland’s sons.”

            A pause. He could almost hear her heartbeat. “Reid was unable to recruit them before his death, sir.”

            Reid was unable to recruit… a subtle shifting of the blame, he noticed. But this wasn’t Reid’s fault, not entirely; that entire team had been commanded to take the Beaumonts under any circumstances. There would be punishment dealt for that one.

            “Tell me about the others,” he said.

            “Overall there were two Artists of the Red, two Artists of the Blue, two Artist of the Yellow, two Artists of the Green, and…” she consulted something, “… a single Artist of the White, and a single Artist of the Black.”

            “Which four did we get?”

            “One of the Yellows was high priority, we got him,” she said. “Along with one of the Reds, one of the Blues, and one of the Greens. The second Red is traveling with his family, we’ve successfully tracked him. The other Yellow refused Reid and was removed.”

            “Now the bad news,” he said, thumbing the opal ring on his thumb. “What happened to the other Artists?”

            “The Artists of the Green and Blue are with Lady Hawthorne,” she said quietly, as if the way she spoke would in any way lessen her penalty. “And… the Artist of the White and the Artist of the Black are… unaccounted for.”

            “Put differently, codename Beretta, you could say that one Beaumont is with the enemy… one is missing entirely... and the only one that witnessed Reid’s murder, this Artist of the Black, is walking free, unhindered, untouched,  and uninhibited, with the possible eyewitness testimony that the Unseen Society is active inside Kincaid Gardens.” Three seconds of pause. “Am I right or wrong, codename Beretta?”

            She cleared her throat. “Y-yes sir, you’re correct.”

            He nodded slowly. “Then goodbye.”

            He clicked off his phone. A good team had been dispatched to Savannah; it was unlikely they would pay for this with their lives. Perhaps a hand, though, or a foot.

The room was quiet; not even the Renning Belltower chimed. He wanted to scream, to summon every power within his Artistry and break things, break his phone, break Natalia Hawthorne’s neck.

            Calm yourself.

            He breathed in honeysuckle slowly and released his clenched fists. Thinking of Elena usually calmed him down… he pictured her smile, her dark hair, her serenity…

            Four Artists collected. One dead. One watched. Two taken. Two astray.

            Those two…

            The two astray…

            The Artist of the White and the Artist of the Black.

            One was a Beaumont. The other was a threat to… possibly everything.

            Where were they…?

 

What was the recipe for a golden memory? Jessica was willing to bet she knew.

            First, you had to have a seven year old sister named Josie. Check.

            Second, you had to have a little red car with the top down. Check.

            Third: the Atlantic ocean. Check that, too.

            Fourth: maybe a really good song on the radio, something fun to sing along to. Check, check.

            Jessica blasted along the highway in her little red car, top down, with Josie beside her; the entirety of the Atlantic ocean, their Atlantic ocean, opened up to the right. And it wasn’t just their Atlantic, it was their perfect Carolina sky, too. All theirs. They were doing the sister thing; they were making a memory.

            Jessica sang her part:

            “You can dance…”

            Josie sang hers:

            “You can ji-HIVE!”

            Together:

            “Having the time of your life! Oo-oo-oo see that girl! Watch that scene! Diggin’ the dancing queeeeen…”

            And they danced. Probably not the safest thing to do, blasting down the highway at fifty-five, but oh well. The smell of the sea was invigorating, as was the wind in their hair, and the absence of parents. So dance away, Jessica thought.

            Trash littered the floorboard; as Josie attempted to dance, her stomps missing the beat entirely, crumpled paper and empty drive-thru cups bounced like popping popcorn. Jessica thought of telling her to stop, but why? They were doing the sister thing.

            … out of the trash heap, caught by the wind, a crumpled newspaper flew out. Probably their mother’s, left behind from a few weeks ago; it wouldn’t be missed. The face printed on the front of the paper stared at her briefly before taking to the sky.

            She knew the face; everyone did, all over the nation. She couldn’t remember his name… Timmy, perhaps, or Tommy. He shot up his high school, killed a whole bunch of people, set fire to the place. It was a gruesome story; they’d taken to turning the TV off whenever the news came on, if anything just to protect Josie, though Jessica didn’t want to see it anyway. It was just some deranged nut miles and miles away… it really had nothing to do with her.

            Josie turned to her, smiled wide, and yelled something.

            “What?” Jessica yelled back; over the radio and wind she could barely hear herself.

            Josie yelled harder. “I said, can I drive??”

            Jessica laughed. “No!”

            “Please?!”

            “I dare you to wave at this car!” Jessica yelled; coming from the other direction: a minivan.

            Josie rose up in her seat, her hair flying about her head, and waved with both hands raised. “Hiiiii!!!!”

            “Now sit down,” Jessica screamed with a smile, “before you fly out!”

            Josie returned to her seat with a crash; bubble gum wrappers and empty straw containers floated into the air and were gone. Littering wasn’t very cool, and it wasn’t something Jessica would normally be okay with, but today was different. Today was the dawn of a new era in their lives. She’d managed to secure an apartment near the campus, and for the first month Josie was going to stay over. Sure, all the other college girls were attending parties and having boys over, and that day would come. But for now, at least…

            … for now, she had no problem with a month’s worth of  drinking juice from a kid’s sized pouch or watching a few cartoons. She wouldn’t mind drawings in crayon littering the fridge door, or small toy giraffes sitting on the edge of the bath tub. What had she told her mother? I’m just ready to be out on my own, that was it. But that didn’t mean she was quite ready to grow up.

            Josie turned to her, still smiling wide, and yelled something.

“What??” Jessica yelled back. “I can’t hear you!”

“I said, can I drive??”

“No!” Jessica said. “Ask again and I’m throwing you out!”

“Can we go swimming??”

“When we get there, yeah!”

“WHAT?”

“When we get there, YEAH!”

“I meant now!!” Josie screamed. “Super please!? The ocean’s like right there.”

“Tunnel!” Jessica said, pointing. The tunnel gag… this made her feel like a kid maybe more than anything. “Hold your breath and make a wish, Joe!”

Josie looked at the approaching brick tunnel with enthusiasm equal to finding gold. Jessica loved that kid. God. Why was Josie seven? She was supposed to be four, or five… little. She didn’t need to grow up. And Jessica herself, why was she eighteen…? Being eleven years old seemed like just months ago. Didn’t she want to steer the car once herself?

“Here!” Jessica said. Putting on a cool grin, she said. “Take the wheel!”

“What?? I can’t!”

“Why?? But you said…”

“I don’t want to now!”

“It’s okay, the tunnel’s straight! Just keep it steady!...”

Josie, eyes wide, biting her bottom lip, grinning, took the wheel into her left hand. Jessica kept her hands hovering close, just in case. She snuck a peek at her little sister again; she was soaring like a kite.

            “Ahhhhh!” Josie celebrated. “Look!”

            “I know!” Jessica said. “Now the tunnel!”

            The car moved inside: there was a swoosh of wind; noises from the car echoed in the cool darkness as they moved through, neither of them speaking from their held breath. Jessica couldn’t help it; she was proud of her sis. She was only steering on a straightaway, sure, but still… something in her chest felt happy.

            The light at the end drew closer and brighter.

            Josie yelled something in the dark.

            “WHAT?” Jessica screamed. “I can’t hear you!”

            “I said!"”

            They moved into the light. There were no hands on the wheel.

            “"something in the road!”

            Jessica gripped the wheel too quickly; something went beneath the left front tire; the car twisted and jerked, squealing and smoking. Sunlight blinded; there was windblown hair in her face; one hand on the wheel now, another reaching to the passenger’s seat…

 

            Jessica opened her eyes.

            What the hell…? What happened…?

            The scene looked familiar.

The immense Atlantic to the side.

A perfect Carolina sky.

The mouth to a tunnel.

An untroubled breeze caressed the coast, blowing bubble gum wrappers and floorboard trash around the asphalt.

A song was coming from somewhere, she knew it: ... you are the dancing queen… young and sweet, only seventeen…

Such nostalgia… she’d seen this before, this was déjà vu…

            But… some pieces didn’t belong.

            The smoke.

            The little fires, here and there.

            The twisted red convertible.

            The person lying in the road.

            Jessica squinted her eyes as she looked it all over, concentrating, thinking; it felt like she’d just woken up. Wasn’t she supposed to be heading to the apartments today…? Josie was coming, too… the last thing she remembered was putting her bags in the car the night before, lying down to sleep… but no… there was more. She remembered waking up and leaving, too. And driving. Josie singing, her singing, newspapers flying out, Josie wanting to steer, or something…

            … the car hit an object of some kind, she lost control. She remembered all the wind, the vertigo felt when only two tires were touching the ground…

            … the sensation of flight.

            … the ocean was first up, then down.

            There was a car crash. We wrecked. My first wreck.

            And yet somehow she was okay… standing up, even, despite having been jettisoned from the vehicle. Where was Josie…? Was she hurt…?

            The person in the road wasn’t moving at all. Jessica ran to them, side stepping jagged pieces of metal and whatever else, and knelt down.

            “Hello?! Are you okay?! Are you…”

            She stopped.

            Her face.

            The girl in the road had her face.

It wasn’t as she remembered from the bathroom mirror that morning. There was blood. The skin was sliced in places, burned in others. But that was her face. The person in the road was her.

            Jessica straightened up quickly and took a few steps back, as if afraid to be too close. She stared at herself in disbelief. If that was her in the road, then… who was the girl standing amongst the wreckage?

            She lifted her right hand and examined it. There was a ghostly glow around her; she could see through herself. She felt neither heat nor cold; the asphalt could just as easily have been silk on her bare feet; she possessed no sense of touch. For a moment she forgot everything… the ocean, the crash, her surroundings entire… and could only focus on one fact. She was dead.

            She was only seventeen,

No

and already it was all over.

no no no no

no no no no no no no… this can’t… I can’t!...

Nothing but pain: in her mind’s eye her mother’s face appeared, tormented with the news of her daughter’s death; Jessica remembered the small house she grew up in, so many memories, never again to be walked through; her friends wouldn’t believe it at first, especially Leslie… they’d hope it was a bad joke, or a misunderstanding, and then they’d hear that it was true, Leslie would know it was true, that Jessica, the girl she’d met in Kindergarten, was truly dead, gone forever. Jessica never met him, the guy she hoped to meet and marry; the man of her dreams, with the handsome smile she was intended to wake up to, would go to someone else instead. She’d picked out the name Chloe for her eventual daughter, but that was now beyond her wildest hopes; no family for her, no future, nothing at all. And Josie…

Josie.

            Jessica tore her stare away from her own dead body and scanned the landscape. She prayed for mercy… mercy that her sister was alive, and if not, that her body was not disfigured. God, poor Josie; dying at seventeen was a tragedy, but dying at seven was horror. Her little sister had never been kissed, never felt the rush of excitement when that certain boy can’t help but stare. Life wasn’t meant to end at seven. So few adventures, so little memories.

            … how had she not seen it before? Lying directly beside the car, face down, spread out like a little starfish, was her sister.

            “Joe,” Jessica said; her voice echoed. “Josie. Josie!”

            Jessica ran to her sister. A dark puddle grew from her sister’s side, spreading out into the road like an oil slick.

            “God, please,” Jessica said; she knelt beside her sister and reached out to help her; her fingers moved through Josie’s body without a touch. She gasped, pulling her hand back as if shocked. “Josie, Josie turn over, look at me,” Jessica cried, clawing at her sister’s body; Josie never moved. “God, help me! Please!”

            Jessica was truly dead; she could no longer hold her sister. But was Josie dead…? If she were dead, wouldn’t she be ghost-like, too…? Was there still a chance to save her…?

            Jessica stood and stared around. In the far distance, perhaps miles away, there was a ship at sea, probably oblivious to anything ashore. She listened for the sound of approaching cars and heard only wind and faraway waves.

            “HELP!” She screamed, getting to her feet and running. Josie still had time… someone could get her to a doctor, maybe… but who would even be able to see Jessica anyway…? She was kidding herself… no one could hear her pleas…

            She ran up the length of the road, leaving Josie behind.

            Please don’t let it happen this way, she prayed. Please, please, please... please, please, please…

            Even as she ran, she could feel the tug of something, something… beyond herself. Was it Heaven…? It was as if gravity had increased since death; she’d never felt so tired. This… tug… felt like a call to rest, an invisible hand pulling her to the most comfortable bed she’d ever imagined. Everything was so heavy… she wanted to just stop running… who could resist…?

            Josie, she said. God, help her… Mama…

            …

            She fell to her knees, too weak to carry on. What should she expect? Was she about to meet an angel…?

            The sound of music grew in her ears; as Heaven’s gates opened, she thought, its symphonies heralded her coming. She wanted to cry, from the desire for rest, from the sadness of it all. The music grew louder… and louder…

            … the rock song split the air, and turning around, she saw: a Jeep roared out of the tunnel’s mouth. At the sight of the wreckage its breaks locked; the vehicle skidded for several yards before, finally, coming to a stop.

            The vehicle turned off; the rock song vanished.

            The doors opened; two pairs of feet hit the asphalt.

            The doors closed, and Jessica saw them.

            They wore sunglasses. The boy stood tall and walked without fear of the carnage, as if perhaps he’d seen such things before. The girl was short; her dark hair caught the Carolina wind, blowing about her face. They were speaking; when they got near enough Jessica could hear them.

            “… see any survivors?” She asked, her fingers laced together in front of her.

            “No,” he said, “I don’t see anyone at all.” Then he turned to her and said, “What do you see?”

            “Nothing like that,” she shook her head. “Whoever was in this might still be alive… I wish Vee was here, she could hear them, maybe…”

            They continued to walk the wreckage; Jessica wanted to call out to them and tell them everything, that she was dead, that Josie was alive, that there was still time… … but everything was so heavy… she was so tired…

            “There!” He said, and pointed; he’d found Jessica’s lifeless body.

            “Is she alive?” The girl asked. “Can you cure her, Elijah?”

            Jessica watched as the boy sank to his ankles and laid a finger on her. What did she mean, cure? What could he possibly do at this point…?

            He shook his head. “No… she didn’t survive.”

            Josie is still alive, Jessica thought. So much sadness in her heart. Josie is alive…

            The couple sat bent over the dead body, neither of them speaking; the girl rose to her feet, her head lowered in sadness, when she looked in Jessica’s direction. She gasped and slapped a hand over her mouth.

            The boy’s reaction was immediate. “What is it?”

            The girl pointed right at her. “A spirit, Eli. Over there, I see her…”

            She could see her…? How…? Jessica raised a weak hand into the air; it was all she could do. The girl at first ran towards her; when she got near enough she slowed to a walk and approached with an air of condolence, a soft, sad smile on her face.

            “Hello… I’m Nicolle Darling.”

            Jessica began to open her mouth but stopped; the girl removed her sunglasses. Was she angel…? A demon, maybe…?

            Her eyes were unlike anything Jessica had ever seen in life, black and unnatural. But so kind. So strong.

            “You can see me…?” Jessica asked; it took everything in her power to even lift her head.

            The girl nodded. “I can.”

            “... Josie.”

            Jessica nodded in the direction of the car. The girl turned and looked in confusion for a second before, finally, seeing; a little girl, lying in blood, unmoving.

            “Eli! There’s another, right there!”      

            The boy, still standing near Jessica’s body, turned and looked. Without a wasted moment he made a beeline for Josie. He seemed like a giant beside her little sister’s tiny body; he knelt down and, so gently, lifted Josie into his strong arms. He touched a hand beneath her shirt, on the side of her belly, and closed his eyes.

            “… she… she can’t… you need to find a doctor…”

            “She’ll be okay with Elijah,” the girl said with full assurance. She took a step nearer and sank down to eye level. “What is your name, dearheart?”

            Jessica struggled to form the words. It was as if she were out of breath, despite apparently not needing to breathe. “Jessica Holmes.” Then: “I don’t want to die.”

            The girl didn’t respond at first, but stared on with sadness, as if searching for the right words to say. Jessica looked over her shoulder at the boy holding her sister. Josie’s eyes weren’t open. Her fingers, though, were gripping his shirt tightly.

            “Jessica… I cannot take away your pain… but I can listen if you want to tell me about it.”

            Jessica bowed her head, so weak, and managed a nod.

            “Tell me all about it,” the girl with the black eyes said.

            Jessica felt like she was crying. She couldn’t tell. “What… what happens next…?”

            The girl smiled and leaned in, as if to share a secret. “I’m told that angels will take you to a happier place.”

            Behind the girl, Josie’s chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm.

            “I can see the stars,” Jessica said. Such vertigo; she felt like floating…

            “Nicolle!” The boy said. Another car had come out of the tunnel; people were getting out. “We can’t be here! Let’s go!”

            The girl nodded to him and then turned back to Jessica.

            “Don’t fear or hate death, Jessica,” she said. “It’ll be okay, it’s never goodbye…”

            “Nicolle, we can’t be here!” He yelled again. The newcomers were watching him, watching Josie, staring at Nicolle with confused expressions…

            The world began to blur. Jessica closed her eyes. She thought of her mom, and Josie, and the small house. She heard the words to a song from a thousand years ago

            having the time of your life

            like an echo in the dark.

            She opened her eyes. People were standing over Josie. The girl with the black eyes was nowhere to be seen, nor was the boy; the Jeep was gone. Or was it ever really there…? Had they existed in the first place?

            … the sound of a rock song, getting farther and farther away…

            … the sensation of flight…

                       

            

Reviews

[Melody]

Not expecting this for first chapter. I love it. There was one part where I was sort of confused because it went from the male point of view in the beginning and then to the sisters in the car really quickly. I just thought the transition was iffy.
Good idea. Weird POV transition.

I'm excited for this! :)