“Someone’s journal,” he said. “I don’t know whose.”
The photographs served only to intensify the growing pit in my stomach. I flipped through, searching for any relevant text. Between a photograph of the cracked, dried mud of a riverbed and a copy of a veined map outlining Europe, I found some potentially useful information.
I pulled the pencil I’d been chewing on, now perforated with bite marks, away from my mouth. “This is it.”
***
CHARLES JOINED US half an hour later. Our plan hinged on a theory no books had proven: if the power traveled with my spirit, I could tap into five lifetimes of magic, as Paloma had said. This book detailed exactly how achieving this might be possible.
I needed a marker from each life: the court document from Elizabeth’s trial in Salem would work. For markers to represent my other lives, I selected a violin, Leigh Hunt’s The Rebellion of the Beasts, and a pair of baby’s shoes.
Within a couple of hours, Adrian helped me round up the items: the baby shoes and violin were an easy find, but he’d had to exhaust some of his connections to locate a copy of Leigh Hunt’s novel on such short notice. With the items in my possession, I could now channel my previous lives with more ease.
“I’m supposed to do this,” I said, confidence settling over every nerve in my body.
Adrian placed a hand on Charles’ shoulder. “Do not fear, my friend. She would only be helping.”
“We’ll see,” Charles said.
I sensed his uncertainty. Even without dipping into his thoughts—and it was definitely still more natural for me to avoid using my clairaudience—I was pretty sure he knew I wasn’t going to budge on the issue.
Charles pinched the bridge of his nose. “If we’re doing this, we’ll need to leave for Damascus immediately.”
Adrian logged onto his laptop. Charles and I sat alongside him as his fingers clacked over the keyboard at an inhuman speed. I studied the computer screen. The format was foreign to me; Adrian was viewing an impossible IP address.
D-connect—that little Internet card thingy he’d brought over to my house all those months ago. The supernatural Internet suddenly seemed more valuable than the first time I’d encountered it.
“This fellow”—Adrian jabbed a finger toward the text on the screen, the name ‘Rhett’ written in plain block letters—“has an exceptional reputation. He’ll fly us out there, no questions asked.”
Adrian scribbled some numbers on a sheet of paper and then furiously crossed them out. “Math is not my strong point. Perhaps one of you might lend a hand? We need to determine the appropriate departure time.”
I lifted the page. “I can figure this out.”
I factored in time differences and Damascus’ hours of darkness for this time of year as well as the plane’s travel speed of up to two thousand kilometers per second—about ten times faster than a normal airway plane, and maybe a bit faster than what the US Air Force used. Because supernatural technology was beyond that of humans, we’d avoid detection.
“If we leave at sunrise tomorrow, we can arrive tomorrow evening. We’ll need a flight time under twelve hours, but that’s nothing his plane can’t handle.”
Adrian booked the flight using something called ICAO codes instead of the KAPA or OSDI codes normally used by airports.
Charles and Adrian discussed the details of travel, while I worked on developing whatever power I might contain. I sank back to the visions I’d stolen from Ivory along with some strange moments I’d had growing up.
In third grade, an eraser I hadn’t even touched had flown off my desk and across the room. I’d gotten detention for that. Another time, when I was sixteen, a door I hadn’t even touched slammed in Mother’s face, almost as if it had a mind of its own. Or, at least, almost like it shared a mind with me.
Even the dishes that had fallen over during my positive energy ritual might have been a result of my gift. At the time, I thought it’d only been the wind. How many of these moments were signs of my powers breaking through?
The only thing those moments had in common was how hurt or angry or frustrated I’d been at the time. How could my powers be good if they came from negative emotions?
It’s all about your intentions, I told myself.
With that in mind, I tried to summon all my hurt and anger, which wasn’t too hard. I’d been suppressing those emotions for hours. Years, if you count the rest of my life leading up to this point.