True: An Elixir Novel

  Appease the ancient healers. Seek the Greeks.

  Then I passed out for who knows how long, and woke up in this room. The stabbing pain in my head was so bad then that I begged them to turn out all the lights and close the blackout curtains, so now I don’t know if it’s the middle of the day or nighttime.

  I feel a million times better. Just a few more minutes lying here with my eyes closed and I’ll be able to get moving. We need to go back to Connecticut. Maybe with the clue, Ben can find something in Dad’s research, or in the rare books library.

  I hear the door open and close. Footsteps. Then a pressure as someone sits next to me on the bed.

  “Clea.”

  It’s Sage. His voice soothes the last remaining throb in my head.

  “Hey,” I murmur. I roll sideways, just a little closer to him, and my skin tingles in anticipation of his touch.

  It doesn’t come.

  He hasn’t left the room. I can feel him there next to me.

  I open my eyes.

  “Sage?”

  It’s dark, but I can see him staring down at me.

  “Hey,” I murmur.

  He doesn’t answer. He’s looking at me, but it’s almost like he’s looking past me. He reaches toward my face, and my whole body wants to recoil. He picks up a strand of my hair and examines it . . . like a lion checking out its kill.

  Where are Ben and Rayna?

  He’s gotten worse. . . . I know he can be dangerous. . . . Should I scream?

  He lets my hair slip through his fingers, then slides a single finger down my cheek. “Clea,” he says again, but there’s no love behind it. No emotion at all. He’s tasting the word, rolling it over on his tongue.

  His finger slides down into the hollow of my throat, and he presses down the littlest bit. Just enough to hurt.

  “Sage . . .” I say it softly. I want to bring him back, not set him off. “Please stop. That hurts.”

  He stops the pressure, but slides his whole hand over my throat. It rests there, not pushing . . . but not lifting, either. “Why shouldn’t I hurt you? You want to hurt me.”

  “I don’t. I want to help you. I want to make you better.”

  “I don’t believe you. I think you want to steal my soul. You and your friends. That’s what you want to do.” His voice is kind, which makes it worse. His hand tightens around my throat, and by the time I decide to scream, I can’t.

  “Sage . . . ,” I croak.

  His fingers dig deeper, squeezing my windpipe. He leans close to my face, close enough that I can make out his eyes. They’re not Sage’s rich brown or Nico’s crystal blue. They’re green and muddy.

  “I can’t let you hurt me,” he whispers.

  I poke him in the eye, hard. He screams, his grip slackens, and I roll off the bed. I scramble out of the room and slam the door behind me to buy a little time. I don’t know this inn. I don’t know what’s around. I turn one corner, then another, then I see a staircase and make a beeline for it. I’m halfway down, looking over my shoulder for Sage, when I slam into a worried-looking Ben and Rayna.

  “We heard someone scream—what happened?” Rayna asks.

  Another scream seems to answer, and Sage staggers around the corner, one pink eye swelling, the other locking on me murderously. He growls when he sees me, and lunges over the railing, arms straining to reach me.

  “Stop!” I scream.

  “Is everything okay up there?” a woman’s voice calls.

  “Fine, Molly!” calls Rayna, as Ben races up the stairs and tackles Sage around the ankles. The blow comes out of the blue for Sage, and he falls like a tree. His head slams so hard on the wooden floor that it echoes through the inn.

  “Are you sure everything’s okay up there?” the woman calls again from downstairs.

  “Great, Molly!” Rayna chirps.

  A soft, high-pitched moan escapes from Sage as he rolls to his side and curls into the fetal position. I scramble to him, but Ben intercepts me. He grabs my shoulders. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I snap impatiently. I brush his hands off me and kneel at Sage’s head. He cradles his face in his hands, and his back lurches up and down. The sight is so foreign to me I can’t believe it’s real, but it is. He’s crying uncontrollably, and that scares me even more than his hands around my throat.

  “Sage . . . Sage, it’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

  He doesn’t answer. He can’t. I nod to Rayna, and of course she understands. She taps Ben on the arm and leads him downstairs. A minute later I hear her leading a cheery conversation with everyone else in the inn.

  I stay with Sage in the hall, comforting him as best I can until the sobs die down.

  “Sage?”

  “I remember,” he says in a voice barely above a whisper. “I know what I did.”

  “It wasn’t you,” I assure him.

  “It doesn’t matter . . . I could have . . .”

  “You didn’t. You wouldn’t. Even if you would, you won’t. I saw Magda, remember? You’ll get better. Ben’s going to figure out what she meant, and you’ll get better.”

  “You really think we can trust Magda?”

  It’s a question I keep asking myself too. I’ve run over our conversation again and again in my mind, each time trying to look deeper into her eyes and see the truth.

  “I think we’re running out of time,” I finally say, “and she’s the best chance we have.”

  Sage doesn’t respond right away, and I’d give anything to know what he’s thinking. With a deep sigh he eventually sits up, but keeps his back to me.

  “Could you give me a little time?” he asks. “I need to be by myself.”

  Now I do know what he’s thinking. Fear ripples over my skin, but I won’t let it take over. If he’s broken, then I have to be strong enough for both of us.

  “No. I know you too well.” I walk around Sage and plop myself cross-legged in front of him, then duck low so he’s forced to meet my eyes. “You think you could hurt me, and you’d rather die than let that happen. You tried that when you were much harder to kill; there’s no way I’m letting you try it now.”

  He looks at me willingly now, his mottled face slack with defeat.

  “I love you, Clea.”

  “And I love you. Enough to tell you that killing yourself doesn’t make you noble, it makes you a fool. It spits in the face of everything we have, and the future we’re so close to getting. I don’t care if I have to handcuff myself to you, I’m not letting you do it.”

  A hint of a smile curls Sage’s mouth. “Handcuffs? That could be fun.”

  I lean forward and kiss him. He resists at first, then wraps his arms around me and pulls me close. His hands tangle through my hair, rub down my back, snake beneath my shirt. I hear his breath in ragged gasps . . . and then I pull away with a smile.

  “The rest comes later. Something worth living for.”

  Sage gives me his sidelong smirk, then gets up and starts walking down the hall. “I’m going to go lie down for a bit. Maybe you should come with me. You know, just to make sure I don’t do something rash.”

  I roll my eyes, but I do follow him into one of the bedrooms, and we lie in each other’s arms until it’s time to leave for the airport. Ben booked us on a flight home, where I have confidence we’ll figure out how to use Magda’s message to save Sage’s soul.

  Soon, though. It has to be soon.

  fourteen

  CLEA

  Sage is fine the whole ride on the plane. We’re not with Ben and Rayna; the plane was pretty full when we booked, so they’re several rows behind us and way on the other side. Since the layout is two-five-two, Sage and I have a little section all to ourselves, like a love seat. An ill-conceived love seat with clunky armrests and barely any space (the upgrade I wanted was sold out), but a love seat nonetheless. We watch the same TV shows on our back-of-the-seat screen, counting down “Three . . . two . . . one” each time we start one so we’re in sync and laugh at all th
e same times. We hold hands, I rest my head on his shoulder . . . It’s a bubble of normal in the middle of all our madness. At one point a white-haired woman in the row next to us leans over and asks, “College sweethearts?” Sage immediately says yes, and we spend a half hour telling her stories about our life on campus and our romantic history. We each put in random tiny details, like how we met during a Psych 101 lab, when my lab rat got loose and Sage helped me catch it. All completely fabricated, but for the few hours of the flight, it feels like real life.

  It’s only after we land, in the car on the way home, that things change. I’m in the back with Rayna, and Sage is in the passenger seat. I can see him gripping the chair, white-knuckled. He’s pale, and a sheen of sweat covers his face and forehead. It reminds me of the first drive I took with him in his new body, and I wonder if he’s going to get sick.

  I lean forward and reach up to rest my hand on his. “Sage . . . ?”

  “I’m good, Clea,” he says. The words come out in a rush, like he needs to push them out before he runs out of energy. I sit back in my seat and look to Rayna, asking her with my eyes if she sees what I see, and she tells me wordlessly that she does, and she doesn’t like it. Ben, on the other hand, looks so sunny I half expect him to break into song.

  “Mind if I turn on the radio?” he asks as he goes ahead and does it. He whistles along with the music.

  “You’re in a good mood,” I say.

  “Because I have good news,” he says. “Or I think I’ll have good news. I’m not positive, but I might know what Magda meant. I need to do a little more research, but I think I know where to look. If I’m right, and I can find what I need . . . we might be able to stop the soul rejection tonight.”

  “Tonight?” I’m so shocked, I don’t know what to think.

  I turn to Rayna, but she looks so worried I start to wonder if tonight is too soon and something could go wrong. We need to move quickly, though, and if tonight’s even possible . . .

  “Rayna?” I say. “I think this is good.”

  Rayna nods, but she doesn’t look convinced. I understand. She doesn’t want me to get my hopes up too high. But hope is all I have right now, and I need to cling to it. I lean forward and squeeze Sage’s shoulder. “Did you hear that?” I say encouragingly. “This could all be finished tonight.”

  Sage nods, but infinitesimally. The muscles in his jaw clench and unclench as he grips the seat and stares straight ahead.

  It’s happening again, but he’s trying to fight it. My stomach clenches as I imagine him losing control in the car. I can see it like it’s real: He lashes out at Ben, who loses control of the steering wheel, and the car swerves wildly into oncoming traffic.

  I squeeze my eyes against the fireball exploding in my head, then meet Ben’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

  “Drive fast, okay?”

  He does—so fast I’m amazed we don’t get pulled over. I undo my seat belt and lean forward, poised to jump on Sage if he makes any sudden movement. I spend the whole trip that way, never taking my eyes off Sage, every muscle in my body tense and ready to go, but nothing happens.

  Ben doesn’t even park the car when we get to my house, just idles long enough for us to get out, then zooms off to New Haven to hit the rare book archive. I wrap my arms around him as best I can from the backseat before I get out. “Thank you,” I say. “Good luck.”

  He drives off, and the three of us blink in the early-morning sun. Rayna yawns and stretches in such an exaggerated way she looks like a cartoon of sleepiness. “I’m super tired,” she sighs. “I’m going to go lie down.”

  She heads to her house and I almost stop her—something’s definitely on her mind—then Sage grips my upper arm so hard it hurts. I wheel around, ready to defend myself, but he’s not attacking. He’s deathly pale, and I can feel the vibration of his trembling muscles.

  “I need help,” he says, his voice strained and tight. “Help me.”

  I start to panic. “What can I do?”

  “I can feel it, Clea. The rage. I feel . . . wild. I’m trying to hold it back, but I can’t much longer . . . and I don’t know what it’ll do.”

  When I look into his eyes, I see flecks of green breaking through the brown irises. I don’t understand what’s happening. Is it a sign of Nico’s body pushing out Sage’s soul for good? Is tonight already too late to save him?

  “Don’t let me hurt you,” he begs.

  “I won’t.”

  He shakes his head, a small movement that strains against his tensed neck muscles. “Not good enough. If you won’t let me do what I should . . .”

  “Don’t even talk like that. You heard Ben. You can be better by tonight. A few hours, that’s all you need.”

  “Then stop me. Drug me. Knock me out. You have to. If you don’t . . .”

  His whole body trembles violently. He tilts his face to the sky and lets out an awful scream that shakes me.

  He wasn’t exaggerating. He’s being eaten alive, and it’s only a matter of time before this thing destroys him. I don’t know if knocking him out will stop his soul from being rejected while we wait for Ben, but I can’t let him go on like this. I grab Sage’s hand, and I’m grateful he lets me pull him inside. He’s still winning the battle inside him right now, but it’s hard-fought. He’s breathing heavily, hunches over as he walks, and the sweat is thick on his body. I bring him to my bed, then run to the bathroom and rummage through my medicine cabinet.

  Do I have anything that can knock him out? I sift through tubes and bottles, checking out every old prescription bottle I’ve neglected to throw away. I finally find some Vicodin, from when I had my wisdom teeth out. I shake the bottle. I didn’t take much of it; there’s still a lot left. Hopefully they’re still good; they have to be about two years old. I fill a cup with water and run back to my bedroom.

  Sage lies flat on the bed, staring at the ceiling. His breath is shallow and comes in gasps. His skin has turned to parchment. His hands clench and unclench at his side.

  Is he even there anymore? Can I still reach him?

  He doesn’t acknowledge me as I walk to the bed. Slowly. I want to get this in him right away, but I don’t want to startle him.

  I place my hand on his arm, and his whole body—the whole stiff-as-a-board horizontal expanse of him—flies up in a full body spasm, then flops back on the bed. I want to run. I’m terrified of what he could do, but I have to try and help him.

  “Sage . . . I found something . . .”

  He turns his head to me, those impossible flecked irises glaring, his mouth and jaw working in a silent struggle. I think he might lunge at me, and I tense up, waiting for the attack. He lashes out . . . and in a single motion sits up, grabs the medicine bottle, rips off the lid, and shakes the pills into his mouth.

  “Sage!”

  I pull the bottle away as he swallows them dry. How many? I look inside the bottle. I don’t know exactly how many were there, but six are left. I rattle them around in the bottle, and the sound is weak. There must have been twice as many before. Did he take six? Will that kill him?

  Sage stares at the ceiling again, and his voice is little more than a hiss when he speaks.

  “Leave me alone,” he says. “Just in case.”

  I don’t know if he means just in case he dies, or just in case the pills don’t work and he loses control, but either way, I’m not leaving. I lean against the wall and slide down, where I watch him shake and thrash . . . then settle into an eerie calm that looks like death. I start crying, and I don’t want to get up and find out the truth, but somehow I do.

  He’s not dead. He looks it, but I can feel a soft pulse in his neck, and when I lay my face next to his, I can feel the littlest puff of breath.

  The tears come harder, but they’re tears of relief. Now we just have to wait for Ben. And hope that whenever Sage wakes up, his soul is still there to be saved.

  fifteen

  RAYNA

  I told Clea I was tired, and I am, b
ut there’s no way I can sleep. From the minute I saw Sage go after Clea at the inn, I knew getting him out of Nico’s body was the right thing to do. It’s not just about giving Nico peace. That would be selfish. It’s for Clea’s own good too. Sage was like a wild animal. How could Clea ever trust him again, even if Ben could turn back the soul rejection? Maybe it would have worked before, but now Sage is too far gone. He’s not just a soul in Nico’s body anymore, he’s more like an evil spirit. Getting him out is a good thing. It’s a service. Like an exorcism.

  Ben said it could happen tonight. Nico’s soul will be freed, and Sage’s soul . . . It’ll be freed too! They’ll both move on. It’s what they both deserve. Peace, and whatever comes beyond this world.

  My whole body feels fluttery, like I forgot something important and can’t figure out what it is. I can’t settle into anything. I try doing yoga in my room, but I get distracted by everything: pictures of Nico and me, pictures of Clea and me, the mess on top of my desk.

  The mess on top of my desk has to go. It’s a leaning mountain of clothes, old homework assignments, books, makeup . . . Is that my black suede boot? I’ve been looking for that forever!

  I dive into the mess and try to organize it, my head dancing with images of organizational nirvana. I’ll put my books in the bookshelf, put all my clothes away, maybe go through and get rid of things I never wear anymore . . .

  But if I’m going to clean, I really need to listen to music.

  I jump to my iPod docking station and hit shuffle, but as long as I’m here, I should really take the time to flip through and see what I have on this iPod. I haven’t synced it with iTunes in ages. Maybe I should do that now?

  Ugh!

  I shake out my entire body, head to toe.

  I can’t concentrate!

  I grab my phone and text Ben. Whenever it is, I want to be there.

  I plop down on my bed and wait for him to text back.

  Done.

  Relief floods over me.

  That was it. If Nico’s soul is going to be freed, I need to be there to feel it. I need to reach out to him with every bit of energy in my body and let him know this is my gift to him. This will be my way to tell him I love him, thank him for everything we had, and say good-bye.