“Stop it!” Charlotte hisses. “She can probably hear us.”
Rose scoffs. “Why would she? She doesn’t believe in the power, so she won’t believe what she’s hearing.”
Charlotte sighs. “Give her time.”
“We don’t have time.” Rose’s voice sounds dejected and scared. Despite the current situation, my heart grows heavy for the old woman.
What does she mean, We don’t have time?
I close the door to my bedroom, step in front of my vanity mirror, and reach up to unclasp the green necklace that now weighs heavily on my chest. I hold it in my quivering hands as a sigh leaks through my teeth in a quiet sizzle. I catch the eye of my reflection, which vaguely resembles the young girl who came to live in Apollo Beach just three weeks ago.
I know I’ve changed during my short time here. My hair has grown, my complexion has cleared and darkened, and my eyes have lightened some. But deep down inside, I know I’m no different than the strange outcast of a girl whose actions could have very well led to her mother’s death.
I’m not filled with magic. I’m cursed.
Using all my strength to pull myself from the darkness, I try to escape the water. The current is as resilient as an anchor. Water rushes over me, slamming me deeper into the murky depths. My body is thrown against a rock just as a large glittery blue fin swims by. I scream, causing water to bubble around me as I use the last of the air in my lungs.
I’m jolted from my sleep and forced to adjust to the morning light. I shudder, feeling as if I’m not alone, like someone was just here watching me. I swivel my head, surveying my surroundings. My suspicions are somewhat confirmed. Someone was in my room. The French doors are wide open, allowing the warm morning breeze to float in from the bay.
With a swift kick, I throw off my covers then sit up, senses on high alert. Something tells me the windows haven’t been open for long. It only takes a second to spot the green emerald necklace lying on my balcony. I look at my vanity mirror, where I remember placing the necklace last night, then back to the balcony rail. How did it get there?
At a snail’s pace, I move toward it, heart pounding rapidly. I say a silent prayer that my imagination has gotten the better of me, most likely triggered by the previous day’s events. Up close, I examine the odd-shaped necklace. I know nothing about jewelry, except that this piece is stunning. It glimmers radiantly as the stone’s facets catch the sunlight. The imperfections in the long jagged edges are mesmerizing. Lifting it, allowing the gold chain to dangle, I watch the emerald glow once more. The stone doesn’t frighten me anymore. I place the chain around my neck because it somehow feels wrong to be without it, and the stone now hangs lightly upon my chest, unlike last night. It’s as if my acceptance of the grand jewel makes the weight manageable.
I rest my elbows on the balcony rail, reflecting on the events from the previous day. Rose outdid herself with the elaborate party filled with eccentric costumes, all for my birthday, an occasion she believed to be some sort of enchanting. A laugh bubbles up my throat at the ridiculousness of the way she demanded I levitate a cake in front of her and Charlotte. Such utter foolishness.
Discomfort snakes through me when I remember the invisible force that pushed me back and onto the couch so hard that I lost control of my own body. Rose and Charlotte seemed to think Rose caused that, but how is that even possible? There has to be another explanation.
Maybe Rose is the head of a cult. The thought reassures me in a way. It’s something that actually makes sense. What doesn’t make sense are how some of my visions and dreams have been coming true. That’s a chilling realization since last night’s dream ended in my death.
My thoughts are interrupted by something far out in the bay. A boat sails by with two men standing near the bow. They’re holding fishing poles, but that’s not what sends a shiver through me. I’m able to follow the fishing line that runs from the tip of a pole down into the water.
“Impossible,” I say on a hushed breath. The boat has got to be at least a mile away, but my vision is weirdly perfect. More than perfect. It’s as if everything is magnified.
I look down the beachfront, and I swear my eyes are playing tricks on me. I scan the houses down the row from ours, unsure what I’m looking for. I’m just searching for some kind of clue that I’m not going crazy—then my eyes lock on a warning label on an electrical box ten houses down. It’s blurry at first, but as I begin to focus on it, my sight adjusts to perfection, and I can read it clearly.
I suck in a deep breath and remember what Rose mentioned about heightened senses. Can it be possible that all of my senses are more powerful now? I look down at the beach and spot an elderly couple. They appear to be in mid-discussion as they walk side by side at the water’s edge. The voices are amplified the second I focus in on them.
Their conversation is as clear as the water running onto the shore. Their grandchildren are coming into town and staying for a few days while their parents vacation in the Hamptons. The old man wants his wife to stop at the store and get a few things before they arrive. I squeeze my eyes shut and open them again, muting the radio in my head. I scold myself for invading their privacy.
Okay. So my vision is excellent, and my hearing is perfect. I sniff and smell the scent of bacon coming from the kitchen below. That’s hardly new. I could smell bacon from across the state if I wanted it badly enough. Is it so hard to believe that I’ve simply been blessed with strong senses?
As I turn around and lean my back against the balcony rail, my eyes settle on my vanity. I can almost hear the pounding in my chest as a shiver runs down the length of my spine. My inner voice pleads for me to go to it. I move forward shakily and take a seat in front of the mirror. In its reflection, I look beyond my narrow shoulders to where the vase sits on my nightstand. It holds fresh pink flowers, just like it did in my dream. I don’t question how they got there or who put them there. None of that seems to matter.
I reach up to gently lift my necklace from my chest. I take a shaky breath then wrap my fingers around it until the entire stone is safely in my grip. I do my best to tune out every sound, thought, and feeling until I’m focused solely on the vase across the room. Then I squeeze the stone, combatting a conversation in my subconscious that tells me I’m being ridiculous for even entertaining my grandmother’s theory. Of course I can’t make it float in midair.
With a vigorous shake of my head, I force the negative thoughts away and clear my mind. I zoom in on the vase with my eyes until it’s in focus and everything around it tilts and blurs. My next mental command is so powerful, my muscles shake in reaction to the tension. Then I watch in astonishment as the vase rises and begins to float in midair.
Rose is outside by the pool when I go to look for her later that afternoon.
“You missed breakfast,” Rose says, irritation evident in her tone. She reclines on one of the lounge chairs beside the pool, beneath a multi-colored umbrella.
I choose not to speak. Instead, I stare across the pool and lock my eyes on a plant in a large ceramic pot. Seconds later, it rises off the ground, and I will it to move toward us. Rose gasps, and I lose my concentration. The pot falls and splashes into the pool.
I look over at my grandmother, who appears stunned. “I’ve been practicing.”