Chasing Before Read online

  “Neil gave it to me for my birthday. Right before our car crash, actually. It’s one of the last memories I have.”

  “Oh. Sure looks like what we call an obol. In ancient Greece, obols were coins that were buried with the dead so that their souls could pay passage on the river Styx into the underworld. But our obols are shaped like your beehive instead of coins.” She taps her foot, her classic tic for when she’s pondering something.

  I shrug and hide the charm beneath my shirt. Megan mentioned obols and said they were what Careers used to travel back and forth to Earth. So if this is an obol, I guess that explains why Nate had one. It’s a strange coincidence that it looks so much like the skep charm that Neil gave me.

  “So I’ve been meaning to ask how you met Neil.” She has this breathless vulnerability in her voice that makes me want to confide all my secrets. We stayed up late so many times in the glow of the television, whispering in our sleeping bags about boys. Until Julian.

  “If you can believe it, I met him at church.” I give her a few highlights—the day when I first admitted to myself that I was crushing on him, the walk in the woods that led to our first kiss, and the numerous times that he pulled out his guitar to sing me a song to cheer me up.

  She listens with rapt attention, nodding, laughing, and oohing in all the right places. “He sounds too good to be true.” She’s right. The Neil I’m presenting to her is the idealized version, the one I want him to be all the time. The other version of Neil, the side I’m seeing a lot more of lately, is closed off emotionally, stubborn, and can be a little too self-righteous. I don’t want to talk about that Neil.

  “How about you?” I ask instead. “Anyone here you like?”

  “Me? Not really.” She shrugs and looks away. She must have boy trouble that she doesn’t want to talk about either.

  “I’m dropping off my binder. Want to come with?”

  “I wish. But I have a security team meeting with Furukama-Sensei in a few. Stay safe.”

  “You too.”

  I race back to the dorm. When I get there, I materialize a desk and dump my binder onto it. First I’ll check on Neil, and if he’s not back, I’ll look for Julian.

  As I turn to leave, my whole body goes on alert. There’s a small table next to the door, and sitting on top of it is an orb glowing with a white light, set into a base that makes it look like a snow globe. I draw closer, wary. In front of it is a note that reads, “Felicia Ward: Memory #35025.”

  eighteen

  THE SOFT LIGHT of the orb draws me in, and I’m compelled to reach out for it, much like Aurora couldn’t resist the call of the spindle that doomed her to one hundred years of sleep. Does a similar fate await me? Or is this more like Eve’s apple, a gift that will forever wake me up to certain truths?

  I force myself to pause. I need to report this, because if this is really one of my stolen memories, it could have only come from one of the Morati. The security team will want to examine it for clues. Then it will probably be entered into evidence, and my one chance to view it will be gone.

  Or at the very least I should tell Neil about this. After all, it’s probably one of our joint memories, so it concerns him as well. But Neil would take it to Libby.

  Why does the Morati want me to have this memory? It must come with strings attached, and I already owe Nate a favor.

  But all my concerns fade into the background as the orb grows brighter and more tempting. This is mine. I deserve it.

  I poise my fingers over the surface, shiny and as smooth as glass. As my skin comes into contact with the orb, the surprisingly thin membrane pops like a soap bubble. The room fades and crackles around me, and in a rush of icy water I’m pulled into my memory.

  “Ramen noodles for the sixth night in a row. Yum.” I grab the only two bowls I own off the drying rack and pour in the dry wormy noodles, the orangey powder from the spice packets, and boiling water. I pop a spoon into each bowl and carry them over to the tiny white table in the corner of the cramped kitchen.

  “Lucky for us it’s pizza night tomorrow.” Neil pokes at his ramen listlessly.

  “You don’t have to eat with me. Maybe your parents don’t want me over for dinner, but you’re still welcome at your own house.”

  “I told you. They ban you from dinner, they ban me.” He dunks the noodles with vigor now. Neil’s parents made it clear that they held me responsible for Neil giving up the worship leader position at church, for him deferring college for a year, and for the car accident, too. It’s no wonder they don’t want to make small talk with me over pot roast and carrots.

  “At least my dad likes you.” I sit down. On the phone Dad was going on and on about how helpful Neil was with Grammy’s move and the estate sale. “Today he said, ‘Hold on to that one, Felicia.’ ”

  “Your dad gives excellent advice.” Neil smiles broadly. Seeing his dimples makes me realize how little he smiles anymore. Working so much overtime to save up for college on top of all the physical therapy for his leg has caused shadows to creep into his face.

  “Sometimes,” I tease.

  We both stir our unappetizing noodles a few minutes longer until they are finally soggy enough to eat.

  I choke down the ramen. The faster I eat it, the less I’ll have to taste it. The rapidity with which Neil shovels his ramen into his mouth tells me he has the same idea. “Oh, you should apply for a passport,” I say casually.

  “Why?”

  “My dad is being sponsored by some French arts organization to put on his Prancing Goat Symphony in Paris in a couple of months. And they’re going to pay to fly me over to play the piano.”

  “That’s awesome.” The chair squeaks across the floor under him as Neil gets up to pull me into a congratulatory hug. “I’m sure your neighbors will be thrilled to hear all your practice has paid off. Maybe they’ll even stop beating on the ceiling with broomsticks.”

  “Very funny.” I tap him on the chin with the end of my spoon. “The broomsticks are for the kids, not me.” To pay for my apartment and living expenses, I give twenty hours of piano lessons a week.

  He retrieves his bowl from the table, slurps up the broth, and rinses it out with water. “You done?”

  “Yeah.” I hand him my bowl, and his eyes narrow in that silently reproachful way he conveys so well. He pours the liquid remains of my ramen down the drain. “What? I ate the noodles.”

  I lean against the counter as he washes our bowls. “Imagine it. We’re sitting at a sidewalk café on the Champs-Élysées eating soupe à l’oignon and drinking a Beaujolais wine . . .”

  “Ooh la la!” Neil does an exaggerated French accent and bats his eyelashes at me.

  “I can show you my favorite paintings at the Louvre, and we can go with my dad to our favorite restaurant. It serves the best escargot.”

  “You mean snails? Gross!” Neil makes a face.

  “Trust me, they taste light-years better than ramen noodles from a package.”

  “I can’t.” Neil puts the bowls on the counter and throws a dish towel at me.

  “You can at least try them.” I dry the bowls in two smooth motions and slide them onto the shelf with the other dishes. I wish Neil would be more open-minded when it comes to food. He sticks his nose up at anything spicy or the least bit exotic. “I’m not suggesting you eat cockroaches or anything.”

  “No, I can’t go to Paris.” Neil walks from the kitchen into my tiny living room, and I follow him. He sits on the sofa and flips on the television to the news.

  I stand between him and the screen, blocking his view. “What do you mean you can’t go?”

  Neil sighs and pushes the off button on the remote. “I have too much going on. I have work. Physical therapy. The play. Boy Scouts. Not to mention I can’t afford it.”

  His money problems are my fault. Because if it weren’t for me, Neil’s parents would be paying for his college and he wouldn’t have to wait, wouldn’t have to work so many hours to save up for it. It makes
me hyperaware of all that Neil has given up for me. “But I want you to come. There has to be some way.”

  “I don’t want to live on ramen for the rest of my life just so we can splurge on snails one time.”

  “If it weren’t for me, you could go.” I blurt it out before I can stop myself.

  “If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t even have a reason to go.”

  I curl up on the sofa next to him and let my fingers inch up his arm, across his shoulder, over his neck, and into his hair. He shivers. I dip my hand into the back of his shirt so I can trace circles into his back. He doesn’t say anything, but he must like it, because he closes his eyes and the muscles in his face relax.

  I get onto my knees and lean over to kiss his eyelids, my lips whisper light on his skin. Then I kiss his temple, his cheekbone, his smooth jaw. Once I get to his mouth, the dizziness of being close to him takes over. I kiss him deeply, throwing my leg over him so that I’m straddling him and letting my hands explore his chest under his shirt.

  But as is typical, when I unbutton his shirt and try to push it off, Neil groans and breaks away. “You’re killing me, you know that?” He looks me in the eye, and his expression is so anguished, it makes me a little bit crazy.

  “Just this once we can break the ‘all clothes stay on’ rule.” I lift up my tank, daring him to stop me. He doesn’t reply, so I take that as an invitation and whip my top off and resume kissing him before he can change his mind.

  He’s careful at first and keeps his hands firmly on my lower back, but slowly he gets less cautious. When he touches the clasp of my bra, I want to scream at him to open it. But when he doesn’t, I reach my arms behind me to undo it myself.

  “No, we can’t.” He catches me by the wrist. “It’s too much temptation.”

  He tries to stand up, but I scoot even farther onto his lap until my knees are pressed into the sofa cushions behind him, pinning him in. “God, Neil, why can’t we live a little? Do you want to die a virgin saint or what?”

  His eyes grow wide, a curious mix of fear and anger, like a feral animal that’s been shut in a cage. “Felicia,” he says with frightening calmness. “Please let me get up. And put your shirt back on.”

  I slide off him and wrestle into my tank top while he buttons his shirt. “What’s wrong?”

  He stands. “Maybe I shouldn’t keep coming here. You living alone . . . it’s making me weak. I don’t want us to do anything we’ll regret.”

  “But I won’t regret anything I do with you.” I mean it. I rearrange the throw pillow behind me on the sofa and cross my legs.

  “That’s what you say now. But you don’t know.”

  “Oh, I get it. This is about the pledge again,” I say, more bitterly than I intended to.

  He sighs. “Look, I don’t want to fight about it. You know how I feel about this. We laid down the ground rules for a reason.” He walks to the door and picks up his keys from the shelf. “Anyway, I have to go. I have PT early and I should get some sleep.”

  “Yeah, okay.” I don’t get up to kiss him good-bye.

  As he opens the door, he turns like he wants to say something, but then shakes his head like it’s not worth it and slips out. And yet another evening ends in frustration.

  I come to again on the hard carpet of my dorm. Judging by the dull ache in the back of my head, I must have fallen when I went into my memory. I moan and open my eyes. Neil looms over me, his eyes wide.

  “Thank goodness you’re okay!” he exclaims. “I came in, and you were passed out on the floor.” He half turns. “She’s fine, Keegan. I’ll meet up with you again later,” he calls out the door.

  My eyes shift up to the table that held the memory orb, but from this angle I can’t tell if anything’s been disturbed or if Neil has seen the note.

  Paper crinkles, and my heart sinks. He’s holding the Morati’s note in his hand. “Oh, are you looking for this?”

  nineteen

  NEIL SHOVES THE PAPER into my face so I can clearly read my name and the memory number. “What does this mean?” he asks.

  I’m not going to let Neil make me feel guilty for viewing something that belongs to me. “It’s a note that came with one of my stolen memories.” I hold out my arm so he can help me up.

  He pulls me to my feet. “You mean a memory from after our car crash? Did you watch it?”

  “I did.”

  “But how?”

  “There was an orb,” I say. “I came in, and it was sitting on that table. The package disintegrated as soon as I touched it. But the memory is part of me now.”

  He ponders this for a moment, sizing me up carefully. “If you have it, let me view it.”

  “I thought you didn’t care about our lost memories.”

  He rubs his collarbone and then the back of his neck. “What do you want me to say? That I do care?”

  “It’s a start.” I cross my arms. I won’t make him grovel, but I am growing tired of his sanctimonious attitude and his cold shoulder.

  “I care about them,” he admits, to my great satisfaction. “But we don’t know where this came from, or what it might cost.”

  “I’ll pretend I heard only that first part.” I lift my palm in offering to let him have access.

  He hesitates, but in the end the pull of curiosity is too strong even for him, and he relents, lining his hand up with mine. As I relive the memory again, sharing it with him, I’m almost embarrassed by the intimacy of the scene on the sofa and the way it ended with Neil pushing me away.

  Neil must be too, because when we emerge from the memory, he’s blushing and fidgety. “That was . . . intense.” He seems about to ask me a question, but then something clicks. “That wasn’t Nate’s memory. It was really yours. But that means the only ones who would have access to your memories are the ones who stole them in the first place. The Morati.”

  “I guess so, yeah.”

  “This is so dangerous, Felicia.” He grabs my wrist. “If the Morati are giving you these, they’re up to no good. I can’t believe you didn’t immediately go to Libby with this. What if they coated the orb with poison or something?”

  “I’m fine,” I insist. He wants to go to Libby with everything. I’d be more inclined to take it to Autumn, if anyone.

  “But still.” He lets go of me and rubs the back of his hand across his forehead. “If you get any more of these packages, you have to tell Libby. You can’t view these memories. It’s like . . . withholding evidence. Don’t you want to catch whoever killed Megan and Kiara? Whoever nearly killed me?”

  “Of course I do!” But my joining the seraphim guard training is enough, isn’t it? Libby isn’t going to get anything from one of my memory globes.

  “Good. Then you’ll give it to Libby if you get one again.”

  More like, if I’m lucky enough to get another stolen memory, I’ll view it and tell him it was an accident. He’ll be as curious to share it next time. “I’m sorry,” I say instead. “I was so surprised to see it sitting there. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

  He hugs me, which I guess means he bought my story. “I couldn’t take it if I lost you again.”

  “Again? Did Nate show you a memory of us breaking up or something?”

  “No. I meant being apart from you in Level Two.” He narrows his eyes. “Why? Did Nate show you another memory?”

  Crap. How am I supposed to answer that? I materialize my piano and sit down in front of it, letting my fingers run over the familiar keys. I play the first few measures of the Prancing Goat Symphony. I wonder if I ever did go to Paris to play it for an audience. Maybe I’ll use it for my muse audition.

  When I don’t respond, Neil gets agitated and slides his arm under my hands so I can’t keep playing. “He did, didn’t he? Why are you keeping things from me?”

  With a sigh I close the lid of the piano over the keys and I turn to face him. “You’re the one who won’t tell me about Gracie.”

  “Don’t twist this around. What did Nat
e show you?”

  I shrug. “It was a memory of the day you were discharged from the hospital. He told us that Gracie was planning to visit Ohio after being away for years.”

  “Show me.”

  With the desk, my father’s chair, the bed, the small ornate table from the Morati, and now the piano, the room is pretty full. But there’s still enough space along the wall for a two-seater sofa, so I materialize the one I saw in my apartment in the memory. Being able to materialize it proves without a shadow of a doubt that these memories are real, because I wouldn’t be able to if I had never touched it. I like how wide the cushions are. “I would if I could.” I sit down, crossing my legs under me.

  He nods, slapping the top of my piano in frustration. He knows we don’t archive memories of our afterlife, just our lives on Earth; I couldn’t even show him a memory of my viewing Nate’s memory. “What did he tell you about Gracie? I’m sure you asked him.” The way he says it is very accusatory, like wanting to know the truth is a cardinal sin.

  “He said it was up to you to tell me. When you felt the time was right.”

  “That’s all?”

  “He also said he thinks you and I broke up back on Earth. But he didn’t know for sure.”

  “Don’t believe a word he says.” Neil balls his hands into fists.

  “Well, you can’t say we looked amazingly happy together in this last memory.” It definitely has some disturbing parallels to our current situation, with us fighting and Neil retreating.

  Neil finally sits down next to me, and I adjust my position so that I’m facing him. “Every couple argues sometimes. That doesn’t mean we broke up. There might be one hundred happy memories to balance that out.”

  “You’re right about that. We need context. That’s why I’ve been saying that we need to get the rest of our memories.” I can’t believe that we didn’t somehow solve our problems and stay together, and I want to know how we did it.