He tips his head and looks at me out of the corners of his eyes. There’s something about his expression that tugs inside me. He looks . . . not scared but vulnerable. I realize that he prefers to be in control of the situation, and now I’ve put him in a position where he has no control at all. And no idea what to expect.
“Miles, it’s not like I have magical powers or anything. I’m just more skilled than the rest of my clan.”
He nods, pensive. “Okay, new subject: how are we going to go anywhere if the car is fried?”
“I think I can reverse it in the morning.”
He looks back toward the fire. This conversation is difficult for him, I can tell. He closes his eyes, breathes deeply, and turns to look at me. “So what’s the next step?”
“It’s another prophecy you gave me. I haven’t figured it out yet.” I reach out to take his hand, but he pulls it away.
“Sorry. I’m too weirded out.”
“So it was better when you thought I was insane?”
“Almost. Because at least there’s an explanation for that. I thought you were delusional when you said you used me as your oracle. Did I really tell you things that turned out to be true?”
I nod. “At least I think so,” I say. “Otherwise we’re in the wrong place to figure out the next prophecy. And it wasn’t exactly you who told me. You were just my channel to nature’s collective unconscious.”
“Please don’t say that again,” he says, eyebrows knit in concern. “Thinking of myself as a channel to anything is extremely freaky.”
I stop myself from trying to touch him again. I want to comfort him. To tell him it’s no big deal. But that would be wrong. It is a really big deal to him. And I need to give him time to process it. To give him space.
“I’m going to go to bed,” I say. He glances up at me, and I read the look on his face like it’s in flashing neon. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to touch you,” I say. “I won’t ever do anything to you again . . . without your consent.”
He nods and looks back at the fire.
I turn away from him, exhale, and walk toward the tent. I hope I won’t need to.
50
MILES
I CRAWL INTO MY CORNER OF THE TENT, although I’m sure I won’t sleep tonight. I lie on my side and watch Juneau. She has the crossbow within hand’s reach and sleeps on her side, curled in toward it. She looks like a totally normal girl, but she is anything but normal.
She says it’s not magic. Right, I think, my chest constricting with fear as I remember the look on her face the second she disappeared. Not magic? Bullshit.
Suddenly, and randomly, I have this flashback to history class, when we learned about how afraid the Native Americans were when they saw the European explorers’ rifles for the first time, calling them magical “fire sticks.” Right now I feel like them: just because I don’t understand the Yara doesn’t mean it can’t have a logical explanation. If I ever understand the mechanics of what she’s doing, maybe I’ll be able to accept it as merely a tool, the way she seems to.
It is in pondering these things that sleep tugs me like a current and pulls me under.
I awake to an empty tent. Pushing the flap outward, I see Juneau sitting with her back toward me. In her lifted hand she holds a small rock. And just below it is an egg-sized stone, which is floating in midair about a foot off the ground. Though I feel like retreating—closing the flap and hiding out in the tent—I push through and stand.
Hearing me, Juneau turns. “Good morning,” she says, and then looks back to her floating rock as if it is nothing out of the ordinary. It slowly lowers until it’s an inch off the ground, and then drops the rest of the distance with a soft thud.
I look around at the campsite. Something is missing, and for a moment I don’t know what it is. “The bird,” I say finally. “Where’s Poe?”
“Gone,” she says. “He was gone when I got up at dawn and hasn’t come back.”
“Do you think he went to Whit?” I ask.
“Either that or he got bored hanging around with us,” she replies, but the way she presses her lips together shows she doesn’t believe he would voluntarily leave.
I lower myself to sit near her by the burned-out campfire. “So what’s the deal with the levitating rocks?”
“Practice,” she says.
“Why? Seems like after last night’s disappearing act, you definitely have your powers back.”
“They aren’t powers,” Juneau insists. “Reading is making my will known to the Yara in order to get an answer. Conjuring is actually affecting the nature of something: making Poe want to find you, camouflaging myself, breaking your phone. But before leaving Alaska, I had barely done any Conjuring. So I’m experimenting.”
“Whatever you say,” I respond. “But let me ask you . . . why didn’t you ever show me anything before, when you saw I didn’t believe you?”
“Because you don’t toy with the Yara. You only use it as a tool. For a purpose. At least, that’s what Whit taught me. He would have thought it was being frivolous to use it just to prove myself.”
“And your purpose in levitating a rock?” I ask skeptically.
“Maybe I don’t care what Whit thinks anymore,” she says, and there’s the cold look in her eye again.
“You’re going renegade?” I ask, daring to give a slight smile.
Juneau laughs. “Yes, actually. That’s exactly what I’m doing. Tallie and I talked about it—about finding truth by taking only what you believe from your upbringing, leaving behind what doesn’t work for you. So that’s what I’m doing with the Yara. Last night I saw that I don’t need the crutch of an amulet. That my link to the Yara is stronger without an object interfering with my connection. Now I just have to find out what I can actually do with the connection I have.”
“Can I try?” I ask. She hands me the rock, and I hold it above the smooth stone. “What am I supposed to do?”
“I was Conjuring the elements in the stones so that they became magnetic.”
I hand the rock back to her without trying. “Okay. I’m officially out-magicked.”
“Like I said, it’s a whole way of living, of thinking. I’m sure you could do this. It might just take a while.”
“Miles, it’s not like I have magical powers or anything. I’m just more skilled than the rest of my clan.”
He nods, pensive. “Okay, new subject: how are we going to go anywhere if the car is fried?”
“I think I can reverse it in the morning.”
He looks back toward the fire. This conversation is difficult for him, I can tell. He closes his eyes, breathes deeply, and turns to look at me. “So what’s the next step?”
“It’s another prophecy you gave me. I haven’t figured it out yet.” I reach out to take his hand, but he pulls it away.
“Sorry. I’m too weirded out.”
“So it was better when you thought I was insane?”
“Almost. Because at least there’s an explanation for that. I thought you were delusional when you said you used me as your oracle. Did I really tell you things that turned out to be true?”
I nod. “At least I think so,” I say. “Otherwise we’re in the wrong place to figure out the next prophecy. And it wasn’t exactly you who told me. You were just my channel to nature’s collective unconscious.”
“Please don’t say that again,” he says, eyebrows knit in concern. “Thinking of myself as a channel to anything is extremely freaky.”
I stop myself from trying to touch him again. I want to comfort him. To tell him it’s no big deal. But that would be wrong. It is a really big deal to him. And I need to give him time to process it. To give him space.
“I’m going to go to bed,” I say. He glances up at me, and I read the look on his face like it’s in flashing neon. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to touch you,” I say. “I won’t ever do anything to you again . . . without your consent.”
He nods and looks back at the fire.
I turn away from him, exhale, and walk toward the tent. I hope I won’t need to.
50
MILES
I CRAWL INTO MY CORNER OF THE TENT, although I’m sure I won’t sleep tonight. I lie on my side and watch Juneau. She has the crossbow within hand’s reach and sleeps on her side, curled in toward it. She looks like a totally normal girl, but she is anything but normal.
She says it’s not magic. Right, I think, my chest constricting with fear as I remember the look on her face the second she disappeared. Not magic? Bullshit.
Suddenly, and randomly, I have this flashback to history class, when we learned about how afraid the Native Americans were when they saw the European explorers’ rifles for the first time, calling them magical “fire sticks.” Right now I feel like them: just because I don’t understand the Yara doesn’t mean it can’t have a logical explanation. If I ever understand the mechanics of what she’s doing, maybe I’ll be able to accept it as merely a tool, the way she seems to.
It is in pondering these things that sleep tugs me like a current and pulls me under.
I awake to an empty tent. Pushing the flap outward, I see Juneau sitting with her back toward me. In her lifted hand she holds a small rock. And just below it is an egg-sized stone, which is floating in midair about a foot off the ground. Though I feel like retreating—closing the flap and hiding out in the tent—I push through and stand.
Hearing me, Juneau turns. “Good morning,” she says, and then looks back to her floating rock as if it is nothing out of the ordinary. It slowly lowers until it’s an inch off the ground, and then drops the rest of the distance with a soft thud.
I look around at the campsite. Something is missing, and for a moment I don’t know what it is. “The bird,” I say finally. “Where’s Poe?”
“Gone,” she says. “He was gone when I got up at dawn and hasn’t come back.”
“Do you think he went to Whit?” I ask.
“Either that or he got bored hanging around with us,” she replies, but the way she presses her lips together shows she doesn’t believe he would voluntarily leave.
I lower myself to sit near her by the burned-out campfire. “So what’s the deal with the levitating rocks?”
“Practice,” she says.
“Why? Seems like after last night’s disappearing act, you definitely have your powers back.”
“They aren’t powers,” Juneau insists. “Reading is making my will known to the Yara in order to get an answer. Conjuring is actually affecting the nature of something: making Poe want to find you, camouflaging myself, breaking your phone. But before leaving Alaska, I had barely done any Conjuring. So I’m experimenting.”
“Whatever you say,” I respond. “But let me ask you . . . why didn’t you ever show me anything before, when you saw I didn’t believe you?”
“Because you don’t toy with the Yara. You only use it as a tool. For a purpose. At least, that’s what Whit taught me. He would have thought it was being frivolous to use it just to prove myself.”
“And your purpose in levitating a rock?” I ask skeptically.
“Maybe I don’t care what Whit thinks anymore,” she says, and there’s the cold look in her eye again.
“You’re going renegade?” I ask, daring to give a slight smile.
Juneau laughs. “Yes, actually. That’s exactly what I’m doing. Tallie and I talked about it—about finding truth by taking only what you believe from your upbringing, leaving behind what doesn’t work for you. So that’s what I’m doing with the Yara. Last night I saw that I don’t need the crutch of an amulet. That my link to the Yara is stronger without an object interfering with my connection. Now I just have to find out what I can actually do with the connection I have.”
“Can I try?” I ask. She hands me the rock, and I hold it above the smooth stone. “What am I supposed to do?”
“I was Conjuring the elements in the stones so that they became magnetic.”
I hand the rock back to her without trying. “Okay. I’m officially out-magicked.”
“Like I said, it’s a whole way of living, of thinking. I’m sure you could do this. It might just take a while.”
