The Stolen Star

2

David awakens before I do. Even with my door closed, I can hear him moving around. I smell food and coffee. I’m a little surprised, since all we had yesterday was that dirty potato I fished out of the gutter. I smell the distinct scent of bacon, eggs, and toast.

One of David’s mysterious clients must have finally paid him. He works from wherever we’re living, hacking computer systems or something. He’s never really told me. Once upon a time, he made enough money to keep us in a comfortable apartment, with a place on the metroblock waiting list.

As I get out of bed and cross the room to the bathroom, I think about how long ago that was. I was a kid. Twelve, thirteen. Most of my childhood is a blur of running, moving, making sure nobody really looked at us.

The water runs from the tap, sluggish and icy. I wash my face and brush my teeth, finding everything by touch. There’s no electricity in this part of the building, so all I can see is the dim suggestion of my face, lit by the narrow edges of light coming from the window in the shower. When we moved in, David boarded up all the windows except for the huge wall of glass across the front of the building. No surprises, he explained.

In the mirror, my eyes come into focus, then the lines of my face. The gradient in shadows becomes bolder, definite. I can see the light freckles across my cheeks, the darker spots on my face that must be the scratches and scrapes from yesterday’s tussle with Monster.

The longer I stare, the better I can see. I make out the frayed spots on my shirt. The bruise across my throat, left by Monster’s arm and hand.

The pulse in my throat.

The miniscule contracture of my pupils.

I gasped and turned away from the mirror, eyes squeezed shut.

She’s becoming aware. I heard David’s words in my head.

I opened my eyes and all I saw was darkness. If I focused even slightly on something I knew was there--the shower, the toilet, the sink--clarity cut through the darkness. I made a fist and turned my hand palm up, fingers still closed. Slowly, I opened my hand and thought about the glowing pattern of circuits I’d seen imprinted on my skin the day before.

The glow appeared between my fingers. I held my breath and opened my fist.

The pattern shimmered, alive. I clamped my hands together, pattern to pattern, and squeezed my eyes shut.

The bathroom was cold. All tile, it held little warmth. All the rooms in the building were like that, though. Winter winds cut through the holes in the walls and gaps in the windows. The cold pebbled my skin and made sleeping uncomfortable.

Following some instinct that I didn’t recognize, I spun my right hand until the fingers of both hands were aligned. Warmth, I thought, in feelings more than words. I pulled my hands apart and kept them cupped together.

A golden flame grew from both palms, brilliant and beautiful. The light traveled up my arm, following a thin, vein-like line to my shoulders, where the circuit patches there began to glow and exude warmth. I closed my eyes and followed the heart through my body; down my spine, through my pelvis, down my legs. In seconds, every inch of me was warm. An eerie, blue-green light brightened the bathroom

The light faded, but the warmth remained. The flame flickered in my palms. Breathless, I watched it shrink until nothing remained bit a final flash of the circuits beneath my skin.

The bathroom door burst open. David stared at me, wide-eyed in the flashlight he wielded. “Stop!” he ordered. “You have to stop right now!”

It was natural to snuff the warmth. The chill sank back into my bones instantly. Thread alarms blared from the direction of the room he’d claimed for his own. Lights from the laptop screen flickered off the wall.

“Serah, you can’t--you’re not ready,” he said. He leaned against the wall, eyes moving from my head to my feet. He shook his head. A tangible aura of defeat rolled off him.

“How did I do that?” I asked. “David?”

“You’re not ready, Serah,” he said firmly. He looked into my eyes. He offered me a small, sad half-smile. “Well, maybe you are, but the worlds aren’t ready for you.” He took me by the shoulders, his palms in the same place Monster’s hands touched. The interface came alive again, this time burning with a cold fire that hurt.

The darkness slipped away, taking the warmth, and the memory of how I created it. I cried out as it stormed my body and my mind until everything was eclipsed by the white brilliance of absolute nothingness.