like you were in a trance.”
Then all at once, I remembered what day it was.
I glanced at the clock on the wall. Ten minutes ‘til nine. “We have to meet Sophie soon.” I turned to Mason. “You can wait while we get ready, if you want, and then come with us. We can take Ang’s mom’s car.”
While Ang was in the shower, Mason and I made sourdough toast with huckleberry preserves. Then, the three of us shoveled in the toast and downed some orange juice before trooping out to Ang’s mom’s Volvo.
Would this work with Sophie? What did it mean that there was another pyramidal union, and in Australia of all places? What was Zane about to say when Mason snapped me out of my dream? Most unnerving of all, what was I supposed to do about a false Pyxis?
I scanned the empty sidewalks, half expecting Harriet Jensen to fly at us. A residue of her influence still coated my mind like a scummy film. Ick. I wished I could open the top of my cranium and douse my brain with stain remover. I heard Zane’s lilting accent, warning me that she’d go after my friends. Just how vulnerable were Ang and Mason? And how could I protect them?
Ang turned onto Wild Rose, and up ahead, I saw Sophie standing near the signpost where Mason kissed me last winter. The memory tugged at me, trying to beckon me away from the present and back to a time when I could lose myself in Mason’s hazel eyes. When life was so much simpler. But I couldn’t afford self-indulgence. Now, a flier for the Summer Solstice Carnival adorned the post. We had less than six weeks. I formed a faint swirl of green in my mind and pushed it at Sophie. I rolled down my window and watched as the question in her eyes melted away to a look of benign attention.
I was so accustomed to Sophie’s disdain, or outright hostility. I’d expected this vacant, docile Sophie would be easier to deal with. But somehow she wasn’t. Anger and hurt flashed through me. What had I done to deserve her hatred? For a moment I wished she were her lucid self so I could demand an answer. My insides still twisted up in the same familiar way. I forced a neutral expression and gave her a level stare.
“Morning, Sophie,” I said and poked my thumb over my shoulder at the backseat. “Get in.”
|| 8 ||
SOPHIE, ANGELINE, MASON, AND I followed Aunt Dorothy into the living room, where Mr. Sykes sat in one of the two club chairs near the fireplace.
A surprised smile animated Mason’s face. “Mr. Sykes, hi. What are you doing here?”
We looked back and forth between Aunt Dorothy and Mr. Sykes.
“Harold is here to help you, my dear,” she said to Mason. “The two of you are going to have a chat while I stay here with the girls.”
“Oh. Okay.” Mason glanced at me uncertainly, but he followed Mr. Sykes as the old guy hobbled with his cane out the front door.
Aunt Dorothy lowered herself onto the other club chair and indicated we should sit. She gave Sophie an appraising look. “Sophie is still under your influence, I see. You did well, my dear. Now, I will need you to continue holding her while I explain why they’re here. You will need to attenuate the green if you sense her resisting, and add a bit of orange to keep her mind open. You also may need to toss in a splash of the yellow, if you feel her slipping away from you.”
The right amount of orange would elicit honest answers, while too much would send someone into gut-spilling diarrhea of the mouth. Yellow triggered loyalty. How would I juggle all of that at once? “I’ve never tried to balance and adjust more than one influence at a time.” I chewed my thumbnail and eyed Sophie, who followed the conversation with a vacant expression.
“It will require quite a lot of concentration on your part,” Aunt Dorothy said. “If it helps, just keep your focus on her mind and don’t try to keep up with what I’m saying.”
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, and gathered the essence of the orange liquid. I pushed some to
Then all at once, I remembered what day it was.
I glanced at the clock on the wall. Ten minutes ‘til nine. “We have to meet Sophie soon.” I turned to Mason. “You can wait while we get ready, if you want, and then come with us. We can take Ang’s mom’s car.”
While Ang was in the shower, Mason and I made sourdough toast with huckleberry preserves. Then, the three of us shoveled in the toast and downed some orange juice before trooping out to Ang’s mom’s Volvo.
Would this work with Sophie? What did it mean that there was another pyramidal union, and in Australia of all places? What was Zane about to say when Mason snapped me out of my dream? Most unnerving of all, what was I supposed to do about a false Pyxis?
I scanned the empty sidewalks, half expecting Harriet Jensen to fly at us. A residue of her influence still coated my mind like a scummy film. Ick. I wished I could open the top of my cranium and douse my brain with stain remover. I heard Zane’s lilting accent, warning me that she’d go after my friends. Just how vulnerable were Ang and Mason? And how could I protect them?
Ang turned onto Wild Rose, and up ahead, I saw Sophie standing near the signpost where Mason kissed me last winter. The memory tugged at me, trying to beckon me away from the present and back to a time when I could lose myself in Mason’s hazel eyes. When life was so much simpler. But I couldn’t afford self-indulgence. Now, a flier for the Summer Solstice Carnival adorned the post. We had less than six weeks. I formed a faint swirl of green in my mind and pushed it at Sophie. I rolled down my window and watched as the question in her eyes melted away to a look of benign attention.
I was so accustomed to Sophie’s disdain, or outright hostility. I’d expected this vacant, docile Sophie would be easier to deal with. But somehow she wasn’t. Anger and hurt flashed through me. What had I done to deserve her hatred? For a moment I wished she were her lucid self so I could demand an answer. My insides still twisted up in the same familiar way. I forced a neutral expression and gave her a level stare.
“Morning, Sophie,” I said and poked my thumb over my shoulder at the backseat. “Get in.”
|| 8 ||
SOPHIE, ANGELINE, MASON, AND I followed Aunt Dorothy into the living room, where Mr. Sykes sat in one of the two club chairs near the fireplace.
A surprised smile animated Mason’s face. “Mr. Sykes, hi. What are you doing here?”
We looked back and forth between Aunt Dorothy and Mr. Sykes.
“Harold is here to help you, my dear,” she said to Mason. “The two of you are going to have a chat while I stay here with the girls.”
“Oh. Okay.” Mason glanced at me uncertainly, but he followed Mr. Sykes as the old guy hobbled with his cane out the front door.
Aunt Dorothy lowered herself onto the other club chair and indicated we should sit. She gave Sophie an appraising look. “Sophie is still under your influence, I see. You did well, my dear. Now, I will need you to continue holding her while I explain why they’re here. You will need to attenuate the green if you sense her resisting, and add a bit of orange to keep her mind open. You also may need to toss in a splash of the yellow, if you feel her slipping away from you.”
The right amount of orange would elicit honest answers, while too much would send someone into gut-spilling diarrhea of the mouth. Yellow triggered loyalty. How would I juggle all of that at once? “I’ve never tried to balance and adjust more than one influence at a time.” I chewed my thumbnail and eyed Sophie, who followed the conversation with a vacant expression.
“It will require quite a lot of concentration on your part,” Aunt Dorothy said. “If it helps, just keep your focus on her mind and don’t try to keep up with what I’m saying.”
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, and gathered the essence of the orange liquid. I pushed some to
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