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"Have you heard from your dad?" she says.
"I just tried calling him. He, uh, is ru
Mr. Hart starts carving the turkey. Sarah smiles at me from across the table, which makes me feel better for about half a second. The food starts being passed, and I take small portions of everything. I don't think I'm going to be able to eat very much. I keep my phone out and on my lap, and have it set to vibrate if a call or text comes through. With each passing second, however, I don't believe anything is going to come through, or that I will ever see Henri again. The idea of living by myself-with my Legacies developing, and without anyone to explain them to me or train me, of ru
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As we gather for the pictures, I start to panic. How could I get to Athens? I could run, but it might be hard to find my way, especially because I would have to avoid traffic and stay off the major highways. I could take a bus, but it would take too long. I could ask Sarah, but that would involve a huge amount of explaining, including telling her I was an alien and that I believed Henri had been either captured or killed by hostile aliens who were searching for me so that they could kill me. Not the best idea.
As we pose I get a desperate urge to leave, but I need to do it in a way that doesn't make Sarah or her family mad at me. I focus on the camera, staring directly into it while trying to think of an excuse that will get the least amount of questions. I'm wracked with full-on panic now. My hands begin to shake. They feel hot. I look down at them to make sure they aren't glowing. They're not, but when I look back up I see that the whole camera is shaking in Sarah's hands. I know that somehow I'm doing it, but I have no idea how or what I can do to make it stop. A chill shoots up my back. My breath catches in my throat and at the same time the glass lens of the camera cracks and shatters. Sarah screams, then pulls the camera down and stares at it in confusion. Her mouth drops open and tears well up in her eyes.
Her parents rush over to her to see if she's okay. I just stand there in shock. I'm not sure what to do. I'm bummed about her camera, and that she's upset about it, but I'm also thrilled because my telekinesis has clearly arrived. Will I be able to control it? Henri will be beside himself when he finds out. Henri. The panic returns. I clench my hands into fists. I need to get out of here. I need to find him. If the Mogadorians have him, which I hope they don't, I'll kill every damn one of them to get him back.
Thinking quickly, I walk over to Sarah and pull her away from her parents, who are examining the camera to figure out what has just happened.
"I just got a message from Henri. I'm really sorry, but I need to go."
She's clearly distracted, glancing from me to her parents.
"Is he all right?"
"Yes, but I have to go-he needs me." She nods and we kiss gently. I hope it's not for the last time.
I thank her parents and her brothers and sister and I leave before they can ask me too many questions. I walk through the house and as soon as I'm out the front door, I start ru
I go straight to my room. I retrieve from my bag the piece of paper containing the phone number and address Henri gave me before leaving. I dial the number. A recording comes on. "I'm sorry, the number you are trying to reach has been disco
"Shit!" I yell. I kick a chair and it sails across the kitchen and into the living room.
I walk into my room. I walk out. I walk back in again. I stare in the mirror. My eyes are red; tears have surfaced but none are falling. Hands shaking. Anger and rage and a terrible fear that Henri is dead consume me. I squeeze my eyes shut and squeeze all the rage into the pit of my stomach. In a sudden burst I scream and open my eyes and thrust my hands towards the mirror and the glass shatters though I am ten feet away. I stand looking at it. Most of the mirror is still attached to the wall. What happened at Sarah's was no fluke.
I look at the shards on the floor. I reach a hand out in front of me and while concentrating on one particular shard, I try to move it. My breathing is controlled, but all the fear and anger remain within me. Fear is too simple a word. Terror. That is what I feel.
The shard doesn't move at first, but then after fifteen seconds it begins to shake. Slowly at first, then rapidly. And then I remember. Henri said that it's usually emotions that trigger Legacies. Surely that is what is happening now. I strain to lift the shard. Beads of sweat stand out on my forehead. I concentrate with everything that I have and everything that I am despite all that is going on. It's a struggle to breathe. Ever so slowly the shard begins to rise. One inch. Two inches. It is a foot above the floor, continuing up, my right arm extended and moving with it until the shard of glass is at eye level. I hold it there. If only Henri could see this, I think. And in a flash, through the excitement of my newly discovered happiness, panic and fear return. I look at the shard, at the way it reflects the wood-paneled wall looking old and brittle in the glass. Wood. Old and brittle. And then my eyes snap open wider than they ever have before in all of my life.
The Chest!
Henri had said it: "Only the two of us can open it together. Unless I die; then you can open it yourself."
I drop the shard and sprint from my bedroom into Henri's. The Chest is on the floor beside his bed. I snatch it, run into the kitchen, and throw it on the table. The lock in the shape of the Loric emblem is looking me in the face.
I sit at the table and stare at the lock. My lip is quivering. I try to slow my breathing but it is useless; my chest is heaving as though I just finished a ten-mile sprint. I'm scared of feeling a click beneath my grip. I take a deep breath and close my eyes.
"Please don't open," I say.
I grab hold of the lock. I squeeze as tightly as I can, my breath held, vision blurry, the muscles in my forearm flexed and straining. Waiting for the click. Holding the lock and waiting for the click.
Only there is no click.
I let go and slouch in the chair and hold my head in my hands. A small glimmer of hope. I run my hands through my hair and stand. On the counter five feet away is a dirty spoon. I focus on it and sweep my hand across my body and the spoon goes flying. Henri would be so happy. Henri, I think, where are you? Somewhere, and still alive, too. And I'm going to come get you.