The Power of Six

The questions of the cave and book aside, I’ve come to two conclusions. The first is that nothing was done to me because of my number. For the time being, it’s keeping me safe, but for how long? The second is that the crowd of people in the café kept the Mogadorian from making a move. But from what I know of them, a Mogadorian wouldn’t let a few witnesses deter him. I’ve stopped rushing to and from school ahead of the others and have instead attached myself to their large group. To keep Ella safe, I’ve stopped walking with her in public. I know it hurts her feelings, but it’s for the best. She doesn’t deserve to be mixed up in my problems.

But there’s one thing that has given me a shade of hope in all this. A noticeable change has occurred in Adelina. Worry creases her forehead. There’s a nervous twitch to her eyes when she thinks nobody’s watching, and they dart from one section of a room to another like a scared, threatened animal, the same way they used to years ago when she still believed. And while we haven’t spoken since I fell into her arms after rushing from the café, it’s these changes in her that have me thinking I might have my Cêpan back.

Darkness. Silence. Fifteen sleeping bodies. I lift my head and glance across the room. Instead of seeing a small lump in Ella’s bed, the covers are thrown aside and her bed is empty. It’s the third night in a row I’ve noticed her missing, and yet I never hear her leave. But I have bigger things to worry about than where she’s gone off to.

I drop my head on the pillow and glance out the window. A full moon, bright and yellow, hangs just outside. I stare at it for a long time, entranced by the way it hovers there. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. When I reopen them, the moon has turned from bright yellow to bloodred and it seems to shimmer, but then I realize it’s not the moon I’m staring at, but rather its reflection, shining brightly in the dark waters of some great pool. Steam rises off its surface, and the air reeks of pungent iron. I lift my head again, and only then do I see I’m standing amid a ravaged, bloodied battlefield.

Bodies are strewn everywhere, the dead and dying, the aftermath of some war in which there are no survivors. I instinctively bring my hands to my body, feeling for puncture wounds or cuts, but I’m unscathed. That’s when I see her, the girl with the gray eyes I’ve dreamed about, the one I painted on the cave’s wall beside John Smith. She lies motionless at the base of the shore. I rush to her. Blood gushes from her side and soaks into the sand and is carried out to sea. Her raven hair clings to her ashen face. She’s not breathing, and I’m completely and utterly anguished to know there’s not a single thing I can do about it. And then behind me comes a deep, mocking laugh. My eyes close before I slowly turn around to face my enemy.

My eyes open and the battlefield disappears. The familiar bed in the darkened room has returned. The moon is normal and bright yellow. I get up and walk to the window. I scan the dark terrain, still and quiet. No sign of the mustached man, or anything else, for that matter. All the snow has melted, and the moon glistens on the wet cobblestones. Is he watching me?

I turn away and crawl back into bed. I lie on my back, taking deep breaths to calm myself. My whole body is tense and rigid. I think about the cave and how I haven’t been back since the boot prints appeared. I roll to my side with my back towards the window. I don’t want to see what’s out there. Ella still isn’t in her bed. I try to wait up for her to return, but I fall asleep. No further dreams come.

When the morning bell rings I raise my head off the pillow, my body stiff and sore. A cold rain beats against the window. I glance across the room and see Ella sitting up, lifting her arms towards the ceiling, yawning deeply.

We shuffle from the room together, saying nothing. We coast about our Sunday routines and sit through Mass with our heads hung. At one point I nudge Ella awake, and twenty minutes later she returns the favor. I survive the El Festín lunch line, doling out food while looking for anyone suspicious. When everything appears normal, I can’t decide if I’m relieved or disappointed. What saddens me most is that I don’t see Héctor.

Towards the end of cleanup, La Gorda and Gabby begin horsing around, spraying each other with the hose attached to the kitchen sink as I dry dishes. I ignore them, even when I get splashed in the face. Twenty minutes later when I’ve just finished drying the last dish, carefully placing it atop the tall stack, a girl named Delfina slips on the wet floor and bumps into me, causing me to fall into the stack and send all thirty plates back into the dirty water, where some of them break.

“Why don’t you watch what you’re doing,” I say, and I push her with one arm.

Delfina spins around and shoves me right back.

“Hey!” Sister Dora barks from across the kitchen. “You two, knock it off! Right now!”

“You’re going to pay for that,” Delfina says.

I can’t wait to be officially done with Santa Teresa.

“Whatever,” I say, still scowling.

She nods at me, a malicious look upon her face. “Watch your back.”

“If I have to come over there, Lord help me, you are going to regret it,” Sister Dora says.

Instead of using telekinesis to toss Delfina through the roof—or Sister Dora or Gabby or La Gorda, for that matter—I turn back to the dishes.

When I’m finally free I walk outside. It’s still raining and I stand under the eaves and look towards the cave. The mud will be thick on the mountainside, which means I’d get filthy. I use that as an excuse for why I won’t go, though I know that even if it weren’t raining I wouldn’t have the courage, despite my curiosity of whether or not new boot prints have been made in the mud.

I walk back inside. Ella’s Sunday duties require her to clean the nave after everyone leaves, wiping down pews. But when I go there, everything has already been cleaned.

“Have you seen Ella?” I ask a ten-year-old girl named Valentina. She shakes her head. I walk back to our bedroom, but there’s no sign of Ella there. I sit on her bed. The bounce of the mattress causes a silver object to peek from beneath Ella’s pillow. It’s a tiny flashlight. I flip it on. The light shines brightly. I turn it off and put it back where I found it so that the Sisters won’t see it.

I walk the halls, peeking in rooms as I go along. Because of the rain, most of the girls have stayed in, milling about in their small groups, laughing and talking and playing games.

On the second floor, where the hallway splits and leads to the church’s two separate wings, I go left, down a dark, dusty corridor. Empty rooms and ancient statues cut into the rock wall and arched ceiling, and I stick my head in the doorways, looking for Ella. No sign of her. The hallway narrows and the dusty odor segues to a damp, earthy smell. At the corridor’s end stands a padlocked oak door I jimmied open a week and a half ago looking for the Chest. Beyond the door is a stone stairway that circles around the narrow tower leading up to the north belfry, which holds one of Santa Teresa’s two bells. The Chest wasn’t there either.

I surf the internet for a while but find nothing new about John Smith. Then I go to the sleeping quarters, lie in bed, and feign sleep. Thankfully La Gorda, Gabby, and Delfina don’t come into the room, and I don’t see Ella either. I crawl from bed and walk down the hall.

I enter the nave and find Ella in the back pew. I sit beside her. She smiles up at me, looking tired. This morning I had put her hair into a ponytail, but now it’s come loose. I pull the band free, and Ella turns her head so I can redo it.

“Where have you been all day?” I ask. “I was looking for you.”

“I was exploring,” she says proudly. I instantly feel terrible all over again for ignoring her on our walks to school.

We leave and go to our room, say good night to one another. Slipping beneath the covers, waiting for the lights to be shut off, I feel hopeless and sad, wanting to simply crawl into a ball and cry. So that’s what I do.

I wake in the middle of the night and I can’t tell what time it is, though I assume I’ve slept at least a few hours. I roll over and close my eyes again, but something feels off. There’s some change in the room I can’t quite explain, and it amplifies the same anxiety I’ve felt all week.

I open my eyes again, and the second they adjust to the dark, I realize a face is staring at me. I gasp and bolt straight backwards, crashing into the wall behind me. I’m trapped, I think, trapped in the far, back corner. How stupid of me to have wanted this bed. My hands tighten, and just as I’m about to scream and kick at the face, I recognize the brown eyes.

Ella.

I instantly relax. I wonder how long she’s been standing there.

Very slowly she brings her tiny index finger to her lips. Then her eyes widen and she smiles as she leans forward. She cups her hand around my ear.

“I found the Chest,” she whispers.

I pull away, look earnestly into her radiant, upturned face, and know immediately she’s telling the truth. My own eyes widen. I can’t contain my excitement. I pull her to me and give her the tightest hug her small body can endure.

“Oh Ella, you have no idea how proud I am of you.”

“I told you I’d find it. I told you, because we’re a team and we help each other.”

“We do,” I whisper.

I let go of her. Her face brims with pride. “Come on. I’ll show you where it is.” She takes me by the hand, and I follow her around the bed, tiptoeing quietly.

The Chest—a bright ray of hope when I’d least expected it, when I’d needed it most.

Chapter Sixteen

WE FLEE THE ROOM, AND I HAVE THE URGE TO sprint to wherever Ella’s leading me. She glides swiftly and soundlessly across the cold floor. The corridor is dark; and while I see everything clearly, every so often Ella flicks on the flashlight to orient herself, then quickly turns it off.

When we reach the nave I think she’s going to head towards the north tower, but she doesn’t, and instead guides me up the center aisle. We skitter past the rows of pews. At the nave’s front, stained glass saints line the curved wall and the moonlight behind them brings a celestial radiance that gives each a more biblical appearance than they’ve ever had before. Water drips in a constant patter somewhere.

Ella cuts a right turn at the front pew and sweeps towards one of the many open recesses that run the length of both walls. I follow. The air is cooler here than in the nave, and a tall statue of the Virgin Mary looms over us with arms lifted from her sides. Ella goes around her, and when she reaches the back left corner, she turns to me.

“I’ll have to bring it down to you,” she says, putting the flashlight in her mouth. She takes hold of the stone pillar and scoots up it like a squirrel clawing up a tree. All I can do is watch in amazement, so impressed by her mobility.

When she’s almost at the ceiling, she pauses and then swings around the column, disappearing into a tight little nook that’s almost invisible from where I stand.

I never noticed the nook before. Lord knows how Ella did. I crane my head to listen, hearing the rough friction of her shoes scrape along the rock, which means there’s just enough room for her to crawl. Some kind of tunnel. I can’t help but smile. I knew the Chest was here, somewhere, but I would have never found it in a million years if it weren’t for Ella. I laugh at the thought of Adelina scaling the same column with the Chest so many years ago. Ella has stopped; I hear nothing. Twenty seconds pass.