ALL LUCENTS ARE TO BE BURIED ON THE LAND OF XOANA.
There were now two goals in my life—be there for whatever was in store for Theo—and kill Regina. I would never tell Theo about the last goal. Mr. Rule Stickler would gasp and cough and probably have some kind of seizure.
It was my goal nonetheless.
I knew it was the Synod. There was no other person so hexing, so foul that would ever kill a person as revered as my grandmother. And their little warning to me about complacency was well remembered. The Almighty should’ve struck them down with murderous lightning years ago.
The next day, Theo took my grandmother to Portugal, her throat stitched up by a Lucent surgeon. My mom wrapped her in a length of white silk over a white silk dress—making sure that her hair was just right and her appearance was just so. Theo handled her as if she were made of glass, and somehow held onto her hands in a grip that told me she would be safer than safe with him.
Lucent funerals were void of music and void of speaking. I’d never understood that as a kid. I’d been to several funerals as a kid and wrestled with the silence of it all.
It was so clear to me as I looked at the pedestal, adorned with every white flower from every country the Lucents could pluck them from, that not only was silence the most respectful thing to do, but there was no music in this great world that could ever do my love for my grandmother, and the sorrow I felt in losing her, justice. And this time, this one time in my life, I would have no trouble keeping my damned mouth shut.
A pinch alerted me that my mother needed me and tore me away from staring at that pedestal any longer. She led me by my dress sleeve into the house of Xoana.
“I think we’re in the wrong garden.”
I gave her as stern a look as I could muster. “No talking.”
“If we have her funeral in the wrong garden, she will haunt me forever. Look at the maps and compare it to her letters.”
We sat down at the marble table and scanned everything quickly. I couldn’t tell heads or tails about the damned maps. For someone who spent her life traveling, I was horrible at directions.
“It’s not the right place,” Theo burst through the glass French doors.
These two together were going to drive me nuts.
“How do you know?” I doubted his theory.
“The voices—they’re angry. I’ve never heard them angry. This is a mistake. We must move her to the keyhole.”
As he spoke, Theo unknotted his tie and unbuttoned the top button on his perfectly pressed white shirt. Lucent’s didn’t wear black to a funeral. Black signified death to us, and we preferred to think of our loved ones as traveling to the light.
“Look at the map, Theo. Can you see?”
Through all the incessant studying and reading, we still didn’t have a clear hold about Theo or his gifts, especially not the voices. There had been no time for me to speak to him about what Regina had told me and I didn’t know when a good time would ever be.
I shoved the papers in his direction as he approached the table. There was no hesitation, no pause in his movements. His pointer finger pinpointed a garden, deep within the surrounding acreage.
His honest, dour expression left nothing to doubt. He knew where we should be—or the voices knew where we should be. Our eyes were still locked when my mom circumvented what was proprietary and announced to those already present that we had to move everything to the other area. Theo led the way while an empty, yet determined air commanded his path.
And once we got there—it was as if we’d stepped into the knowledge of the ages. Topiaries of all heights and breadths formed a key shape and in the middle was a perfect circle around the most majestic marble, center-staged pedestal. It put the rest of the gardens to shame.
Xoana’s gardens were open for all Lucents, anytime. I’d often flashed there when I was going through something or just needed to be closer to my people. It was the only place that I ever really felt like I belonged—almost like I was destined to be there.
It was said that her gardens took up one fourth of the entire country of Portugal itself.
Lucent females filed in all around us. We’d had the funeral so quickly after her death that only those who could flash, or those who were close enough to fly in, could attend. There must’ve been thousands of Lucents gathered to celebrate the oldest Prophetess.
And then Regina stepped into view, wearing a cream-colored gown.
It hadn’t escaped me that ever since my little meeting with Regina, the Resin weren’t on our tail anymore. She tucked a stray hair into her conjured coif and all of it, the off-white dress, the hairdo, and as I stared at her, the way she sneered back was all more than I could take.
Suddenly, the impact of everything slammed into me. Ari was in my face, holding my hands down. Regina backed away into the crowd. She was smarter than I thought.
Ari widened her eyes, begging me not to wig out. I calmed down at her prompt, but I knew that one day, one way or the other, Regina’s days were numbered.
She didn’t deserve to live.
I distracted myself by taking in the garden and trying to make eye contact with those who came to truly mourn.
I hadn’t missed the fact that neither Collin, nor Pema were present.
Theo insisted on flashing my grandmother’s body from the house, directly into the garden. He’d taken care of everything for us through this whole thing. He’d intercepted phone calls and took over when my mom and I just couldn’t say the word ‘funeral’ one more time.
When I tried to argue with him, fearful of his flashing becoming common knowledge, he insisted that Rebekah didn’t deserve to be carried on the backs of anyone. She deserved to travel one last time.
And how could I argue with that.
And after he did, he came to my left side to hold my hand, while Ari kept a tight rein on the other one. Collective gasps could be heard above the silence and the wind. But I didn’t want him to be constantly in hiding like Eivan.
That wasn’t living.
Sway had also made her excuses even after I offered to flash with her.
Instead of allowing myself to mourn during the funeral, which was little more than each person silently paying their respects, I chose to count the people as they admired Rebekah. When the line ended, there were six hundred and seventeen people in total. The counting was the only coping mechanism I could come up with.
Some left directly after seeing her one last time. Others hung around, taking in the gardens. I chose to admire the place we were in, the place she’d chosen to be remembered.
My mother, Theo and his family, and I were the only ones who tagged along to see her laid to her final rest.
When everyone was gone, only the three of us remained. Me, Theo and Ari. My mom had gone back to Rebekah’s. She wanted to get everything cleaned up. She said Rebekah wouldn’t want anyone seeing her house like that.