“So then you think Helena was right. Maybe I am dangerous somehow.”
“No,” Aidan says firmly. “But I no longer think I can teach spirits to move on by themselves. However, I’m beginning to believe you can.”
It’s a good thing I’m not eating anymore because I think I would be choking right now if I were.
Most dads just want their kids to get good grades, go to college, that kind of thing. My mentor/father wants me to change the world.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Failure
The next day at dawn, instead of taking me back to the playground, Aidan leads the way to his lab. Remembering what happened the last time I was here—can that really have been just a day ago?—I climb the steps slowly, shaking as I put one foot in front of the other. If Aidan notices my nerves, he doesn’t say so, but clearly Lucio does notice, because he reaches up—he’s one step behind me on the stairs—and slips his hand in mine. His grip is reassuring. You can do this, it says.
I’m not so sure. Aidan’s lab is filled with dozens of spirits.
I squeeze Lucio’s hand back.
Both Aidan and Lucio carry enormous flashlights, but the thin beams of light do little to break up the darkness. It should be a million degrees in the long, windowless hallway at the top of the stairs, but it’s so cold that I can see my breath.
Before we reach Aidan’s lab, I finally find my voice.
“What do you want me to do?” I ask. “How can I help them move on without actually . . . helping them move on?”
Aidan turns to look at me. “I’m not sure,” he answers honestly. “Start by reaching out for them, one at a time. Try to communicate with them.”
“And then what?”
“Then, we’ll see.”
We’ll see. Not exactly the certainty I’d been hoping for. I wanted Aidan to tell me he had a plan, to reassure me that no matter what happened, everything would be okay. To promise he’d get me out of there before my heart starts beating too quickly, before my temperature drops too low.
Instead, he steps forward and opens the door.
I get another glimpse of the lab (it seems like more of a research library) before the spirits hit me like a stiff breeze, as forceful as a slap against my skin. Once more, flashes of their lives and deaths spring up before my eyes. At least this time I’m prepared for the images filling my field of vision: a man throwing a ball for his beloved dog, a woman rocking her baby to sleep, a needle filled with the cancer treatment that stopped working, a man’s hand clutching his chest as his heart went into cardiac arrest.
And again I hear their voices. Begging me for their freedom. Pleading with me to help them move on.
Try to communicate with them.
“I can’t help you!” I shout between chattering teeth. It’s the truth. Even if Aidan hadn’t told me not to help them move on, I’d be useless. There are so many of them and only one of me.
“I’m sorry!” I shout as image after image flashes before me like a strobe light gone haywire. My legs feel like they’re made of jelly. How am I still standing upright? I become aware of pressure on my shoulders. Lucio must be holding me up from behind. When I slump against him, I feel that each of the muscles in his body is clenched. He’s fighting the urge to help these people move on.
“Concentrate,” Aidan’s deep voice practically growls.
“I’m trying,” I whisper. Tears are slipping out of my eyes. My face is so cold that the liquid freezes before it hits my chin.
Please, the spirits plead. I can’t tell whether I’m speaking out loud or just in my head when I tell them I’m sorry.
I would if I could.
I’m supposed to be stronger.
But maybe I just made them stronger.
Strong enough to escape Aidan’s lab and turn dark.
Strong enough to blanket the entire world in darkness.
I was supposed to be a super-luiseach who could help spirit after spirit move on all at once, like some kind of mystical assembly line. Instead, I’m an experiment gone awry, just like the other luiseach thought.
“You’ll never succeed if you can’t tune them out,” Aidan commands. It sounds like his teeth are clenched. Maybe he’s also fighting the urge to help these spirits move on. “Listen to only one of them at a time.”
“I can’t,” I cry, gasping for breath.
“Your ability to feel all of them at once weakens you. You can’t focus,” Aidan says firmly. “You must learn to control it. Everything but the task at hand should fade into the background.”
I try to shout back at him, but I can’t. Because I can’t speak. I think my mouth has frozen shut. My heart is beating so fast that if it were hooked up to one of the machines in Mom’s hospital, instead of one beep after another, it would emit one long, endless wail. I close my eyes and imagine I hear it keening.