INTO THE DEEP END
Iconnect my phone to the mini bluetooth speaker on my desk and tap a playlist I use for studying. A wash of mellow, low-fi beats fills my bedroom, a steady thrum that will keep our voices from slipping under the door and reaching Dad.
Naomi sits on my bed, her head clasped in her hands, as though her brain has cracked in two and she’s trying very hard to hold it together. I feel bad. Naomi doesn’t believe in the paranormal. When weird things happen, there’s a logical, scientific explanation. Her worldview is very similar to Jude’s, before he found out he was a descendant of an angel, his cousin was immortal, and a literal curse had befallen his family. At least for him, therealization happened in stages—one disturbing discovery at a time. Poor Naomi has been tossed into the deep end of a freezing cold pool.
Thankfully, she’s no longer hyperventilating.
I shut my bedroom door and hand her a warm cup of chamomile tea.
She takes it between her palms and looks up at us—me and Twig—her dark eyes teaming with panic. “Am I going crazy?”
“No,” I say definitively, hoping my confidence will calm her.
“Then what happened? Where did they go? Why were her eyes glowing like that?”
I look at Twig meaningfully.
Her eyes were glowing becauseLainey isn’t Lainey.
“Rafe told the truth,” I say to him.
“Was she wearing contacts?” Naomi continues. “Can contacts even do that?”
“Her eyes weren’t glowing because of contacts.” Twig sits beside her very slowly, as though any sudden movement will send her over the edge and she’ll start hyperventilating again. “You know the things we talk about on our podcast?”
“Of course.”
“You think it’s… ” He searches for the right word.
“Silly,” I say, grabbing it for him.
Naomi tucks a long lock of hair behind her ear. “I don’t think it’s silly, I just?—”
“Don’t believe in that kind of stuff,” Twig says.
She nods.
“Well.” He pushes his glasses up his nose. “That kind of stuff is real.”
“What do you mean?”
“You might want to drink some of that tea,” I tell her, perching on the edge of my desk. I grip the ledge, my fingers digging into wood, like the tighter I hold on, the more likely I’ll stay put. Pacing wouldn’t be good for Naomi right now, but so much adrenaline is pumping through my veins, staying still makes me feel like I might come out of my skin. “What happened on Halloween night wasn’t a prank. And that earthquake everyone felt during the masquerade ball? It didn’t register on the richter scale because it wasn’t an earthquake.”
Steam rises from the mug in Naomi’s lap. She sits without drinking, a rapt audience of one.
So I start from the beginning.
I tell her about the portrait, and how it led to so many other discoveries. Another dimension. Fallen angels. Amulets with supernatural powers. Prophecies. The curse. And Jude’s immortal cousin—manipulating Lainey so he could use oneof those supernatural amulets to open a doorway into this other dimension.
“It’s called the Overlay,” Twig says. “And people like you and me, we can’t see the doorways, or the rifts, when they open.”
“People like you and me,” Naomi repeats.
“Regular humans.”
Her gaze lifts to mine. “But people like Selah…”
“Part angel,” I say.
