“Always.”
“You finished even more quickly this time, Skye.”
“The ground was dry. It was easier to see the trail.”
“Wouldn’t it be nice if everything that was buried left a trail?” Duvall gazed at Alex meaningfully, and then she pointed to the far wall. “Go into the cabinet above the sinks and fetch two daggers.”
Skye did as she was told and then handed one of the daggers to Alex.
Duvall handed each of them an Erlenmeyer flask filled with brown kidney-shaped objects. “Spear the little critters and collect the juice in a vial. Take your time. Don’t leave any juice to waste.”
Alex didn’t know what she was in for. This should be entertaining, Skye thought. Alex lifted the dagger and prepared to slice the skin. When the blade grazed the Alybon, the seed propelled from the table like a bullet.
Alex whipped back in her seat, shocked. She lowered her chin to the desk, analyzing the seeds, but they remained still. Skye bit her lip to keep from giggling. Alex lifted the dagger again, ever so slightly cutting the nearest Alybon, which cackled in a raspy voice and bent in half, clutching its belly in hysterics.
Alex shrieked, and Skye burst into laughter.
“You could have warned me,” Alex huffed, pointing to the creature. She certainly had a quick temper.
Skye grinned. ”And miss the look on your face?”
Though the corner of her mouth was upturned, Duvall continued to stir intently.
“Hold it like this.” Skye demonstrated how to grasp the sides. “And after you cut, just squeeze a little bit, so it doesn’t tickle it so much.”
“It’s alive?” Alex asked, sticking out her bottom lip crookedly to blow a curl from her face.
“Well yeah,” Skye said. Wasn’t it obvious? “Seeds become trees, you know.”
“Silly me. Trees aren’t usually ticklish.”
“Sure they are,” Skye said. Wasn’t that common knowledge? She’d heard them laughing so many times, even back when she was living. She finished squeezing the first Alybon and placed it back on the desk, where it pulsed up and down, catching its breath.
“Does it hurt them?”
“Does it sound like it’s in pain?” Skye knew that seeds were resilient, much more durable than the saplings they’d sprout after their burial. “They enjoy it. They fill back up in a few days.”
“With what?”
“Alybon juice, of course.”
“Now,” said Duvall, “come on up and pour it in very slowly. One at a time!” She held up one hand to halt them from moving together.
Alex stepped up and tilted the vial, releasing its contents into the steaming mud-like goo. A cloud of brown smoke puffed into the air, carrying the aroma of cinnamon.
Duvall smiled. “Very good, my dear.”
Skye emptied the contents of her vial into the mixture next. The serum turned an incandescent shade of purple. It was liquid sunset. And right as she smiled in delight, the color faded to a dull hue. Fingertips of disappointment pinched her.
“It’s done,” Duvall announced in satisfaction.
“Do you need us to help you package it?” Skye asked, eyeing the rows of tubes waiting behind Duvall. “I promise not to drop any this time.”
Duvall glanced over her shoulder. “No. Go ahead and get ready for your day.” She shooed them off. “And be sure to go the back way.”
Skye clucked her tongue in disappointment. “Why?”
But Duvall already had her head halfway into the bowl.
25
March 1867
Your dreams have been odd, Sephi. I know you don’t like it when I visit them, but being here I think of you constantly. Rocks, sand, and soil? What are you looking for? Are you thinking of Paradise, too? I do think our connection is something neither of us can control. Why else would our minds be so open to one another?
Don’t worry about my confusion. I just need to exercise my mind a bit more. I wish I had an ancestry to guide me.
I tried to get some answers from the Darwins and DeLyres since they both have such substantial history here, but the card game last night was a debacle. I knew it wasn’t a good idea for Ben DeLyre to invite his brother, Leo. The boy is more of a nob than anyone I’ve ever encountered. Technically, it isn’t cheating when I toss my cards under the table. If no one else notices, I believe it is their fault, not mine. Leo caught on towards the end of the night and began a tirade about morality. Gave me quite the headache.
Leo DeLyre asked about you several times. I think you have an admirer.
Eviar
Ellington couldn’t stop beaming. Ardor Westfall had seemed impressed with his findings. He struggled to steady himself on the bumpy path back through the trees, precariously balancing a stack of thick folders stuffed with his uncle’s precious records.
“Ellington!” He heard her voice and his heart skipped a beat. For a moment, he thought it was her, but he should have known better. Of course it was only Alex. Why was she awake so early?
“Ellington!” she bellowed again.
Without slowing his speed, he peeked over his shoulder. She was right behind him. There was no escaping. He tried to sound jovial. “Alex, hello! How are you?”
“I’m fine! What are you doing? Why were our last few sessions cancelled? Not that I’m complaining. No offense.” She quickly held up a hand. “You know I hate therapy.”
“Oh!” He did his best to hide the folders in his arms. He’d exited through the back door in order to avoid seeing anyone. “I’ve been asked to do a bit of research, I’m afraid. It isn’t usually my responsibility, but the mission falls under my area of expertise.”
“What are you researching?” Alex asked breathlessly.
“Oh,” Ellington said with a start. “Um … ” Not your mother, he almost blurted out. He’d been skirting around Alex’s questions about Erin since the poor girl arrived here. How do you tell a child that her mother was hunted like an outlaw with a price on her head?
“What is it? Paradise?”
This girl was behaving more and more like her mother every day. How did she hear about that?
“Er … why?”
“I read about it.” She shrugged. “And it’s written there on your folders.”
Ellington shifted the folders, but it was no use hiding the labels now. “I have been asked to take a look at it, yes.”
Alex’s eyes lit up. “It’s a city, right?”
She sounded so hopeful, and Ellington wondered why. She should be terrified of Paradise. “Not quite.”
“Oh. What is it, then?”
Drat, thought Ellington. How was he going to get out of this one? For a second he considered running away like a scared child. He adjusted his folders and sighed. He could give her pieces of the truth. He would just have to sieve it a bit. “I suppose people call it a city, but spirits do not make the choice to live there.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Paradise is a prison.” He absorbed Alex’s shocked expression. “My uncle Crete Reynes was also a psychologist, and often he traveled to Paradise to help the inmates. The prisoners tend to be rather extraordinary spirits, but they don’t really have it all together up here.” He pointed to his head. “Paradise is a place for them to get help and repent their actions.”
“A prison?” Alex began to fumble with the strings on her sweater. “Did you by chance ever know of anyone named Eviar?”
Ellington noticed relief on Alex’s face when he shook his head. “No, I’ve never heard that name before.”
“Oh,” Alex said slowly. “So, why are people suddenly interested in Paradise?”