“Let me go with you,” Rayna said. “Maybe I can help stop him if . . . you know . . . he makes a mistake again.”
I shook my head. “Dangerous guys with guns, remember?” I saw Nico and Ben approaching the door, so I gasped theatrically. “Rayna! Didn’t I say you shouldn’t try to walk yet?”
Rayna got the hint and winced as Nico raced in. “Are you okay?” he asked, settling her gently back onto the couch.
“I think so. . . . Too much too soon, I guess. Ooh, that feels much better.” Nico resumed his post massaging her left calf. “Thanks, Nico.”
Nico was no brain trust, but even he had to realize no leg cramp could last this long . . . or magically migrate to Rayna’s other calf. He clearly liked her.
I turned to Ben, standing in the doorway. “Did you figure it out?”
“Yep. I know exactly where we’re going.”
“Where?”
“Nope, not telling. Ready to go?”
I gave a silent prayer to the universe that Rayna was right and things were different now.
“I’m ready.”
eight
* * *
Good. Ben and Clea were on their way. I had been peeking in on Clea periodically since she found the message I left, and I saw what Ben was looking at on the computer. They were going to the right place. I took my mind away from them. It had been dangerous to even peek, but I’d reached out with my mind and felt that Mother was with Father and Grandfather. Tied to them, she couldn’t follow me and see what I was doing. Not unless she’d developed the same skill I had, of being in two places at once.
I didn’t think she had, but I made my peeks very fast, just to be sure.
Sending Clea to Cursed Vengeance was a gamble, but an educated one. My family had been spending a lot of time around the Saviors of Eternal Life. It was part of the Grand Plan—the Saviors were very impressed when we showed our skills, whether we were astrally projecting ourselves into their midst, speaking inside their heads, or playing poltergeist and moving things around the room. The more they saw, the more eager they were to do exactly what we—what my family —needed them to do.
Since I was playing the good daughter and granddaughter, I hung out around the Saviors as much as anyone. More, even, since I needed to prove I was on my family’s side. The benefit was that I heard all kinds of conversations between members of the Saviors. Most of them made me sick, but some were useful. Like the things I heard about Cursed Vengeance, the CV. The Saviors were apparently on constant alert, because the CV would do anything to find Sage, take him, and destroy both him and the Elixir. If that happened before the Plan was complete, it would ruin everything. Some of the Saviors were worried, but most of them felt confident in their remote location and—if the worst happened—their large arsenal of weapons.
The Saviors had an enemy! This was incredible news. I’d been searching for a way to free Sage before the Plan happened, but Mother was making it difficult.
She didn’t trust me, and paid such close attention that more than half of the time if I uttered Sage’s name, or Clea’s, or any such word that might raise an alarm, Mother would appear. It happened if I was speaking with Father or Grandfather, if I was speaking in one of the Saviors’ dreams or minds. It was as if these words set off alarms in Mother, and brought her to me immediately. It was a new skill, and it made things much trickier. I couldn’t save Sage myself because my family was on alert for that. I couldn’t tell Clea where to find Sage—even hinting at his location would send a red flare to Mother’s consciousness. Even if it didn’t, the Saviors were armed and dangerous. I doubted Clea could handle them on her own. If I sent her to them and she tried to save Sage, she’d probably be killed.
But maybe I could send Clea to the CV.
I listened in to more conversations about Cursed Vengeance. They were a common topic among the Saviors. The CV wanted Sage destroyed, so they weren’t exactly the good guys, but at least they wouldn’t unleash hell on earth with their plans.
From stories I overheard, I knew the CV had used Clea to find Sage before. Now she and they had something in common: They both wanted Sage away from the Saviors as much as I did. The CV scared the Saviors. They were strong. If they helped Clea, she’d stand a better chance. I’d just need to bring Clea and the CV together, then give them more information without Mother knowing . . .
I could try.
It wasn’t hard to find out where the CV were located. Several of the Saviors had ideas, so I waited until Mother was distracted, then briefly checked out each location until I found the right one. I didn’t tell Clea; I left a vague clue to be safer. The scent of sage was risky, but so far Mother had been tuned into sights and sounds, not smells.
I’d worried that Clea wouldn’t understand the message, but I felt better now that she was on her way. Things were so complicated now, and it was all my fault. If I hadn’t drunk the Elixir . . .
If I hadn’t drunk the Elixir, we’d be long dead. Would that be better?
Sometimes I thought it would.
More often I wished Grandfather had never discovered the “cure” that would get us back into our bodies. Maybe if there was no other way, we all could have been satisfied with this new way of life. But no, even though it took him years, Grandfather finally found a way. He gathered us to share the news.
“I know how to end this,” he said. “I know how to get our lives back.”
The trail to success started on the computer, he told us, when he found a report about scientists having limited success in rats with a synthetic Elixir of Life. It worked, Grandfather told us, by multiplying mitochondria, organelles that create energy.
“What’s interesting about mitochondria,” he said, “is that millions of years ago they were independent creatures.”
“My, that is interesting,” said Mother, rolling her eyes.
Grandfather wasn’t dissuaded. “Who knows anything about vibration theory?”
“Dad . . . seriously?”
“Quiet, Petra. Vibration theory dictates that every living thing in the universe functions on vibrations. Every creature has its own unique vibration. Disharmonious vibrations lead to everything from fatigue to cancer.”
Mother opened her mouth to speak, but Father raised a hand. “I’ll do it.” He turned to Grandfather. “What does any of this have to do with us?”
“Petra, when you said you wanted to marry this young man, what was my only caution?”
Mother stifled a smile. “He didn’t listen.”
“He didn’t listen,” Grandfather agreed. “Now, vibration therapy is a medicine that brings disharmonious vibrations back into harmony. It’s very effective, but its most miraculous results have been in treating otherwise fatal diseases of the mitochondria.”
“Mitochondria?” I asked. “The stuff the synthetic Elixir affects?”
“Amazing,” Grandfather said with a smile. “Two non-listeners like you give birth to the only one who pays attention. Yes, Amelia. That’s right. Since mitochondria were once independent creatures, each has its own vibration, so they’re particularly sensitive to therapy. In fact, many believe the vibrations of mitochondria are the key to human vitality.”
Grandfather had me now. A Wind in the Door by Madeleine L’Engle was one of my favorite novels, so mitochondria holding the key to humanity was perfectly reasonable to me. “How?”
“Think about singing,” Grandfather said. “If one person sings, there’s a certain level of sound, but if five people sing, it seems like there’s more than five times the sound of one. Why?”
“Vibrations?” I asked.
“Vibrations!” he agreed. “Sound waves vibrating together, complementing one another, and enhancing one another. Same with the mitochondria. Their vibrations complement and enhance one another too. As new people are born, those vibrations are constantly refreshed, strengthened, and reenergized. That doesn’t happen with us.”
“Why not?” Mother asked.
“What, yo
u’re interested now?” Grandfather teased. “It doesn’t happen, because our mitochondria are fundamentally different from that of mortal humans. The Elixir mutated them.”
We didn’t ask how he knew. He could go anywhere and move things with his mind. He could have taken a cell sample from his own dormant body, looked at it under a microscope, and compared what he saw to normal mortal cells.
“With different mitochondria, we vibrate at a different frequency than mortals. Their vibrations don’t refresh and strengthen ours. Without that constant refueling mortals have, our vibrational energy has petered out. We survive, but we no longer thrive.”
“So . . . what would we need to do?” Father asked. “Have more kids, so they’d have the same mutation? I don’t even know if that’s possible.”
“No new children,” Grandfather said, “but we do need more mitochondria like ours in the world. We need many more people to drink the Elixir of Life.”
“Great!” Mother said. “I’ll pop over to the store and grab a gallon of Elixir we can share with the neighbors and—oh right, there is no more Elixir.”
“That’s not quite true,” Grandfather said, “as I learned on a most enlightening trip to Greece. . . .”
He said “trip to Greece” as if he’d hopped a plane or cruise ship, rather than bounced his consciousness across the globe. He’d gone to the National Historical Museum in Athens, where the archives are filled with ancient books and writings not open to the public. He hoped to find some Elixir lore he didn’t already know—something that might tell him if more of the liquid existed somewhere in the world. He found nothing, but instead of coming home right away, he let his mind wander through the museum, gazing at the antiquities from our mortal lifetimes. It was nothing but nostalgia, but it led him to Albert.
Albert was an American tourist, in the middle of a heated conversation . . . about the Elixir of Life. Grandfather listened in, and was impressed by the man’s knowledge—so impressed that he let his mind follow Albert to his hotel room that night, and visited the man in his dreams to chat. It turned out Albert was one of the senior members of a group called the Saviors of Eternal Life, and they had recently scored the ultimate coup: They captured the vessel of the Elixir of Life.
“What vessel?” Father asked.
“A man,” Grandfather said. “Albert told me the whole story. The man’s name is Sage, and he apparently drank the Elixir some five hundred years ago.”
“You mean . . . there’s somebody else out there like us?” I asked.
“Well, not like us the way we are now,” Grandfather clarified, “though he will be in a thousand years or so if things don’t change. But, yes, there is another immortal. Truth be told, we’re lucky he exists. His mitochondrial vibrations helped our bodies stay active as long as they did.”
“So you believe he’s real?” Father asked.
Grandfather nodded. “When we went to the pool of Elixir, it was smaller than I had first seen it, remember? I didn’t think much of it, given our circumstances, but someone else must have drained it, probably bottled it up. There were vials excavated a few years back—ancient vials said to have held the Elixir. I didn’t believe it then, but now it fits. Some of that Elixir must have ended up in Sage.”
“That’s all fine,” Mother said, “but what does it mean for us? Whatever vibrations Sage gives us clearly aren’t enough.”
“True,” Grandfather said. “But there’s a way to get the Elixir out of Sage and share it with many others. They will then have the same mutation we do, and together they’ll create a vibrational force strong enough to bring our bodies back to life.”
“How?” Mother asked.
Grandfather told us. It was Albert who believed it was possible. In their dreamtime conversation, he admitted he was in Greece to research ancient texts. He knew there was a ceremony that would drain the Elixir from someone who’d taken it, return the Elixir to the earth, and destroy it and the person forever.
“Wait—,” I said. “You mean . . . we can be . . . killed? Even though we’ve had the Elixir?”
“Yes and no,” Grandfather replied. “We can, technically, but it’s a very involved ceremony. We’re not in any danger. That’s not the point though. You were so good at listening before, Amelia. Please.”
I nodded, and he went on. Albert had found references to a variation of the ceremony—one that would drain the Elixir but maintain its power. He’d hoped to find the text detailing the ceremony in the museum, but after talking to several researchers, it seemed like the ancient book he wanted was in the home vault of an Italian man with a vast private collection of antiquities. Albert had contacted the man, but he wasn’t interested in letting anyone see his books.
For Albert, the whole conversation was only a dream. He was shocked to wake up and find Grandfather standing at the foot of his bed, still as a statue. Grandfather knew the astral projection would have more impact than anything else he could say or do. He offered Albert a deal: Grandfather would transport his consciousness to the Italian man’s private collection and read the text Albert could not; in return, Albert would bring together a group of people who believed in the Elixir and were ready to enjoy the gift of eternal life.
Albert was only too happy to agree.
Grandfather left immediately, and read about the details of the ceremony. It was very similar to the ritual Albert had told him about—the one that would destroy the Elixir—but with a variation. This ceremony had to be done during the full moon—the time of renewal. The first part untethered the victim from all earthly delights, while the more gruesome second part happened at the stroke of midnight, when the blood of the victim was collected in a bowl of unadulterated silver, the metal of purity. That bowl would transform the blood back—for a short time—into pure Elixir, which could be shared immediately with others and render them immortal.
“Which will bring us back to ourselves.” Mother sighed.
It sounded heavenly, and yet . . .
“But, Grandfather . . . what about the man? Sage. Won’t the ceremony kill him? Or can he drink from the bowl and come back to life?”
“What kind of a question is that?” Mother asked.
“I just wondered. . . . I mean, if he can’t . . . aren’t we murdering him?”
“We’re sacrificing him,” Grandfather said. “To save our lives, and the new lives of many, many others—our new brethren, the Saviors of Eternal Life. At least, the group of Saviors handpicked by Albert to join us. They took Sage from the larger group and relocated to a safe place, where we can do the ceremony tomorrow, with the full moon.”
Tomorrow? Mother and Father leaped up, cheering and hugging each other. I wanted to share their excitement . . . but Sage . . .
“Amelia, come on!” Mother said. “Celebrate with us!”
“I would . . . it’s just . . . I mean, he’s a person. How is it okay to kill him?”
“Amelia,” she said, “would you rather see him alive and us dead?”
“We’re not dead. We’re just—”
“You need to think of the bigger picture, Amelia,” Grandfather said. “The salvation of many is worth the sacrifice of one.”
“But there’s no salvation. We’re not trying to survive; we’re just trying to make things a little better for us.”
“A little better?” Father gaped.
“I’d think you of all people would be more considerate, Amelia,” Mother said. “We only drank the Elixir in the first place to make things better for you. Is it so horrible now to try to make things better for us?”
My face flushed. She wasn’t wrong, but killing someone . . .
“Let me talk to the child,” Grandfather said.
Mother and Father nodded, and I felt their minds slip away. I was alone with Grandfather. He put an arm around me.
“You’ve had an extraordinary life, Amelia, haven’t you?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“And you’ve been happy?”
“Very happy, Grandfather.”
“Would you have rather grown up? Grown old? Gotten sick?”
“No.”
“Would you have wanted to watch the rest of us get sick, and old, and die, leaving you one by one?”
Tears sprang to my eyes and my voice trembled. “No, Grandfather.”
He gave my shoulders a gentle squeeze, pulling me closer. “It’s okay. Don’t cry. You’ve never had to face any of that, and you never will. It was a mistake when you drank the Elixir, but look at all the happiness it’s brought us. Now we can share that gift with others. Albert and his friends are good people. Wouldn’t it be kind to give them centuries of joy like we’ve had?”
I nodded. It would be an amazing gift to share. But still . . .
“Sacrifice me,” I whispered. “Not Sage. Take me instead.”
Grandfather shook his head. “The Elixir is already too weak in our family. Even in you. It has to be Sage.”
After a long time I looked up at Grandfather. “Will he hurt?”
“The ceremony will be swift and painless. And when it’s over, after thousands of years on our own, we’ll have a community. One with enough members that we’ll stay strong and vibrant for ages to come.”
A community. I imagined what it might be like . . . a whole group of us, grateful for our expanded life spans, devouring each day, constantly learning and growing and exploring the world. I adored my family, but it would be exhilarating to spend time with new people who really understood my world. I supposed eternal life with the Saviors would be like living on a traveling commune, or a college campus.
By the next day—the day of the ceremony—I was so excited by the idea of our new life that I stopped thinking of Sage as anything but the Sacrifice—a hurdle to jump so the rest of us could reach utopia.
When I realized how wrong I was, it was too late. Only Sage’s love for Clea saved him then, but soon the Saviors would try to do the ceremony again . . . and if Mother had her way, by that time Sage and Clea’s bond would be destroyed.