Part 17 (1/2)
Don't you know what she can do?” A small freeze settles over the table.
”Is it true, Tam?” Silda asks finally, her voice hard to read. She slides a look at me while spinning a beer cap between her fingers. For one instant it flashes into a diamond, then a sapphire, then a ruby, before she abruptly plunks it back onto the table as a thin disc of aluminum once more.
”Is it true that you can stop us from ... using our Talents?” I open my mouth.
Silda and I have always gotten along on a peripheral level. Maybe because she's Gwyneth's sister, so we naturally bonded over the fact that we were both cursed with perfect older sisters who could apparently do no wrong. Some of my fondest memories are of stealing Gwyneth's and Rowena's things-a pair of crystal earrings or high heels- and then watching Silda quickly change them to marbles or muddy sneakers while our sisters howled the house down and called us thieves. But then when my own Talent didn't appear, Silda and I drifted far enough apart for me to avoid her like everyone else at family gatherings. Now I take a breath and wait until she looks at me again, then nod.
”Apparently.” I glance around the silent table. Aunt Beatrice meets my gaze, and I am startled by the sudden droop of her mouth, the tears filming over her dark eyes. I gulp and say swiftly, ”So ... no more cheating, everyone. Because I'll know. That goes for you, too, Gabriel” I knock the deck of cards lightly on the back of his head and he smiles at me before taking the deck out of my hands. But he's the only one who does. I notice that Jerom and Silda suddenly hunch their chairs closer together.
”Right,” Jerom says.
”What about gin, then? Thirteen cards? I'm sick of poker.” His words are bright and cheerful, but I can't help feeling this awful sense of dread sinking through me. What did you expect, anyway? Gabriel's hand closes around my wrist in a warm squeeze, but I shake myself free as un.o.btrusively as possible.
”Oh, I love gin,” Aunt Beatrice cackles, her cheery mood seemingly restored by the word a.s.sociation of fresh alcohol.
”And sherry,” she says pointedly to Silda, who ignores her. Grateful for the distraction, I pull the gla.s.s from Aunt Beatrice's unresisting fingers and cross to the sideboard, tipping out a small amount of sherry. Tears are p.r.i.c.king along the edges of my eyelids and I take a deep breath. As I give the gla.s.s back to Aunt Beatrice, she looks up, her eyes bright and beady on me.
”I know you, dear,” she says, her hand frozen in midmotion.
”You can stop people, can't you? You stopped me,” she whispers. She takes the gla.s.s from me, downs the contents in a single swallow, and presses her tongue to the corner of her mouth.
”And then I lost it. I lost everything” Her voice sharpens into its usual keen.
”I lost it and I wasn't able to find it again. Ever.”
”Aunt Beatrice,” Silda says, making a motion for me to take away the old woman's gla.s.s, ”I really think you've had enough.”
”No!” I say sharply.
”Have some more” I dash over to the sideboard, s.n.a.t.c.h the bottle, and slosh a full amount into Aunt Beatrice's gla.s.s.
”Tamsin!” Silda says, her voice filled with shock.
”Seriously, Tam. It's not pretty when she gets drunk,” Jerom mutters. But Aunt Beatrice swallows without evident pleasure, her eyes mournful again.
”When was this, Aunt Beatrice?” I ask, leaning down so that she has to look at me. Her mouth trembles, seems to slacken for a few seconds, and then she sits up straight, her head nearly smas.h.i.+ng into my face in the process.
”In 1939. Oh, the parties we used to have.” She claps her hands together once, then again, as if delighted with the tinkle of her crystal bracelets.
”Here?” I exchange a look with Gabriel, who has put down the cards and is listening intently.
”No. Not here, of course. I didn't come here until later. Much later. After my Roberto died.” Her mouth softens.
”At Uncle Chester and Aunt Rennie's,” I say slowly.
”My house,” Aunt Beatrice says grandly.
”It was my house then. Still is,” she adds with a quaver in her voice, and I'm afraid the melancholy will take hold. But then she aims a radiant smile at us and says, ”New York City. It was beautiful. And I was so young then. So strong,” she whispers. She holds up her thin bird-claw hands and looks at them.
”One move and I could freeze you. But not you, dear. I couldn't. You, yes,” she says, swinging her head toward Gabriel. Gabriel's eyebrows slant up and he points one finger toward his chest as if to ask, Me?” Well, that's just silly, Aunt Beatrice,” Silda snaps, then says to me, ”She's wandering. She thinks you're someone else.”
”I know her,” Aunt Beatrice insists.
”I know who she is. Why did you do it, Tamsin?” she asks me softly, and her voice is filled with such sadness that I swallow, shake my head.
”I'm sorry,” I whisper, and Silda juts back her chair and stands.
”That's enough, now,” she says briskly, but her hands are gentle as she pulls Aunt Beatrice from the chair.
”Let's get you to bed. Jerom? A little help here?” Jerom throws down his hand, giving Gabriel a look.
”Next time you're not going to be so *lucky,'” he says before moving around to Aunt Beatrice's other side.
”Whatever,” Gabriel replies cheerfully as he begins to stack the cards again into one neat pile.
”I'm fine,” Aunt Beatrice says, batting at Jerom, but he ducks, lifts her into his arms, and moves toward the door with Silda trailing them. For an instant, Silda looks back at me.
”Tam, don't take anything that she says to heart, okay? She's ... well, you know how she is.” And with a shrug she closes the door behind them. It's only then that I notice just how cold the room is. The earlier rain seems to have seeped into the walls and left a damp, musty air behind. s.h.i.+vering, I move toward the fireplace, stack wood from the basket onto the hearth, and sprinkle a fair amount of kindling on it before lighting a long taper match. The flame smokes and hisses before it licks the wood and begins to grow. I sit back on my heels as a chair sc.r.a.pes behind me and then Gabriel hunkers down next to me. He is still holding the deck of cards, face-up this time, and he automatically shuffles it over and over. The snap of the cards is punctuated by the slide of logs as they settle deeper into the fire. Half-light plays across Gabriel's hands, softening the flat features of the jack of spades, the king of hearts, the queen of diamonds, as they spin in an endless jumble before my eyes.
”Did you know?” I whisper at last.
”That I had a Talent?”
”How could I know?” Gabriel says.
”You didn't even know yourself until today.”
”My parents knew,” I say darkly.
”And my grandmother. And Rowena! This whole time. But somehow they -oh, and they told me that I could pick up other people's Talents. If they try to use them against me enough times.”
”How many times?”
”I don't know.”
”Tam,” Gabriel says slowly.
”That man in 1899. Didn't he try to throw fire at you three times? Do you think . .
We stare at each other. I take in a ragged breath, examine my palms. They still look ordinary to me. Slowly I raise one hand and aim it at the fireplace. A gust of blood flares brightly under my skin and then a sphere of flame shoots from my palm, exploding with a soft whoosh into the fireplace. The actual fire that I built a few minutes ago blazes in response before dying back down to its feeble light.
Trembling, I gaze at my palm. The skin is unbroken and cool to the touch, but my whole hand is ringing like a bell that's been struck.
”That's why they told us ...” Gabriel says softly, his voice trailing away. I whip my head toward him.
”Told you? Told you what?” He meets my eyes directly and this comforts me. But his next words turn me cold.