Ocean's Fire Read online

  Jack’s face became even grimmer. “I’m sorry, Skylar, but he’s not here, and I have to go too,” he said.

  Skylar was horrified. She had waited and prepared for so long to see Argan. She’d gotten dressed up!

  “Your dad will explain,” Jack said.

  Skylar struggled to hear his words through her cloud of confusion. Her head started to pound from the tension of fighting back tears of disappointment.

  “I got him a present,” she whispered.

  “For Argan? Oh, that’s nice of you,” Jack said with almost zero enthusiasm. “I can bring it to him if you want.”

  Without a word, Skylar left him standing in the foyer. She ran up to her room and dug out a small wrapped box from her dresser drawer. She stared at it. Inside was the magic rock her mother had given her as a loving reminder when they were apart. It didn’t look like much, but to Skylar, it was everything. Argan would know how much she cared about him when he opened this. She raced back downstairs.

  “Here you go,” she said, handing Jack the box.

  “Thank you, Skylar. Merry Christmas,” he said, and he walked out the door.

  “Merry Christmas,” she said sadly after he had already gone. Her dad walked over and put his arm around her. “What happened, Daddy?” she asked.

  “Jack quit,” he said.

  “Quit what?” Skylar asked.

  “Quit working for us,” he said.

  “What? Why?” she asked.

  “They’re moving back to Greece. It happened pretty quickly. He’s returning to his family business. That’s all I know.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze.

  Skylar’s throat constricted so much she started to cough. She hadn’t seen Argan in months, and now she had lost him forever. She burst into tears.

  “I’m sorry, pumpkin. I know Argan was your friend.” Her dad bent down and gave her a hug.

  She picked her head up off his shoulder to look into his eyes. “My best friend, Daddy.”

  “Yes, your best friend,” he said. “But you haven’t seen him since the summer. Your life won’t be that different, really, if you think about it.” He gave her one more pat on the shoulder. “Come enjoy the rest of the party.”

  She looked at him like he had uttered the craziest words ever spoken and ran away to her room, sobbing, leaving her father staring after her.

  The cancer diagnosis came after Skylar’s third year at Cornell University. She was slated to enter their prestigious veterinary program after graduation. Her mother’s illness progressed at an astonishing rate, and in little more than a month, she went into hospice. The doctors were baffled at such a swift-moving disease, but Cassie wasn’t fazed.

  “This will work out perfectly, dear,” she told Skylar. “We’ll tidy up everything, and I’ll be back to see you off to your last year of school.” Anyone else would have thought Cassie was referring to a move across town or at worst a divorce, not her own resurrection. “On the waning crescent, get out the Book of Akasha. Do what we practiced.”

  The Book of Akasha was Skylar’s favorite of all her mother’s treasures. It resembled her many sketchbooks, all the same with their deep-chestnut hide covers and translucent pages. But this book was special. Skylar’s fondest memories of her mother were of being cradled in her lap in the library, listening to stories of Skylar the Divine. She would peer into the pages her mom read from but could never make out the words. The letters didn’t resemble any alphabet she’d ever seen. Sanskrit, her mother had called it.

  “Someday you will read it,” Cassie said. The stories varied by subject, usually having to do with whatever was going on in school. Skylar always saved the day in those stories. She loved the cuddle time with her mother, and even as she got older, the stories continued. The subject matter grew in complexity, but Skylar always figured out a solution and came out victorious. She never heard stories about a maiden being rescued by a handsome prince. In Cassie’s stories, the maiden did the rescuing.

  Once her mom went into hospice, Skylar took up residence at her dad’s. His farm was much closer to the hospital than Cassie’s house. Now that her mom had passed away, Skylar found herself reluctant to leave the farm. Her father was a comfort, despite the constant pressure her gave her about school. Classes started in a month, and she couldn’t get her mind around the two worlds— her mother’s wacky one, and her father’s logical one—fighting for dominance in her life.

  She stayed at her dad’s right up until her birthday.

  “I’m going to Mom’s today,” she announced to Joel and Rachel at the breakfast table that morning.

  Her dad looked up from the Journal. “That’s great, pumpkin,” he said. “Will you be back for your birthday dinner?”

  “Um, I’m sorry, Dad, I made plans with some friends. Can we shoot for tomorrow?”

  “Sure,” he said, looking disappointed. “More fun than ol’ Dad, I get it.” He tapped a finger on his paper. “Do you have an idea of what you want to do with the house?”

  “With the house?” Skylar asked, confused.

  “It never had a mortgage, so you don’t have to rush to sell it,” he said casually. “But if you do, it would be a nice start to a savings account.” He glanced at Rachel. “We can help you sort through stuff.”

  She smiled politely and nodded.

  “I don’t know what I’ll do yet,” Skylar said. “But this is the first time since . . .” She looked down. “I’d like to go alone.”

  “I understand,” Joel said. “But if you change your mind—”

  “Thanks,” Skylar said.

  “And where are you with school?” he asked, returning to his Journal.

  Silence filled the room and he looked back up when Skylar didn’t answer.

  “What?” he asked defensively. “Am I paying this tuition bill? Skylar Southmartin, DVM has a great ring to it, but you’ve got to graduate first.”

  “Yes, Dad,” she said to shut him up. “I’ll get going on school, but today I’m headed to Mom’s.”

  “Okay, pumpkin,” he said, his nose already back in the paper. But Skylar hardly got in a bite of her Cheerios before he was at it again. “Read this,” he said, tossing the Journal beside her cereal bowl.

  Skylar looked at the large black-and-white photo. The caption read Grayer Celebrating His Most Successful Year to Date. The photo showed self-made billionaire Devlin Grayer seated at his desk with his polished wife, Milicent, posing next to him.

  For years Joel had worshiped the gold-encrusted ground Devlin walked on. He was enamored with Grayer’s game-changing advances in biotech, always talking about how the man was on the cusp of finding immortality through synthetic cell regeneration.

  The Grayers were no strangers to controversy. They’d been in the news countless times over fetal-tissue and GMO debates, and for the past decade the couple had worked as a team to counteract the black mark on their name with various philanthropic endeavors. From what Skylar had read, Milicent, a social worker turned socialite, had been the driving force behind getting the Grayer name back in good graces. Their latest move had been to travel to the poorest areas of the world, vaccinating thousands out of their own pocket.

  The article mentioned a large endowment by the Grayers to Rosen College, a small boutique school thirty miles outside of Boston. A ribbon-cutting ceremony to break ground on a new building was planned for later that fall. There was also speculation a run for office was in their future.

  “So?” Skylar asked, returning to her cereal.

  “So, Rosen has one of the finest equine programs in the country,” Joel said. “If you didn’t want to return to Ithaca, you could easily finish up at Rosen.”

  “It’s too late to apply, Dad,” Skylar said.

  “Rachel knows some of the board members,” he said, looking at his wife. “There’s still time.”

  “Yes, of course, I could talk to some people,” Rachel said, sipping a green smoothie thick as moss.

  Skylar’s stepmother had frozen her
face, and her style, somewhere in the mid-nineties. Rachel rarely smiled, and Skylar figured it was because she couldn’t with all that Botox. Skylar did not want help from Rachel. Their relationship was mostly superficial, and she couldn’t remember a time when Rachel had looked her in the eye.

  “We’ll see, Dad,” Skylar said, glancing at Rachel, and put her bowl in the sink. “For now, I’m headed to Mom’s.”

  Skylar pulled into the long, wooded driveway and turned off her car. She stared out the window at the tiny, wood-shingled house.

  Her mother had built the nine-hundred-square-foot, two-bedroom home herself a dozen years earlier, just after she and Skylar’s dad divorced. She had been a pioneer in the tiny home movement years before it was trendy. The few friends Skylar had ever brought home had called it the “tree house,” though it didn’t sit in the treetops, it snuggled next to their trunks.

  The house sat on a two-acre parcel of land Cassie had bought with cash. Money had never been an issue for her, but she preferred to live the simple life. Her bedroom was a loft space above the only bedroom with walls, which she gave to Skylar. She decorated the place in rich-hued fabrics and trimmed every tabletop with crystals of every size and shape. Despite being the only kid in school that lived in such a tiny house, Skylar had always loved it; being there, she felt nestled in a warm hug.

  The house looked well cared for despite having been unoccupied for over a month. Skylar noticed the flowers in the flower boxes were freshly watered and the miniature porch had no leaves to sweep. As she fumbled for the right key on her key ring, a stately feline jumped onto the porch railing and perched himself next to the post. Skylar looked up.

  “You been keeping the place tidy for me?” she asked the orange-striped beauty.

  The cat answered with a throaty yowl and jumped down to Skylar’s feet. He was larger than most house cats; his head was the size of a cantaloupe. He weaved in between her legs, purring loudly.

  Skylar bent to pet him. “Look at that tail,” she said. His massive body was all muscle and thick fur, but his tail exploded in eighteen inches of glorious long hair. He had no collar but seemed to be very familiar with his surroundings. Skylar gave him a few pats and then stood to open the door. As soon as she pushed it open, the cat sprang up and raced inside.

  Skylar’s first instinct was to shoo the cat out, but annoyance quickly turned to indifference when she stepped through the door and got wind of the familiar scent of home. Lavender incense pots still dotted the small living room. Everything looked the same as she had left it. This was home.

  Her eyes darted between the familiar items in the house: the two denim overstuffed chairs that faced the small TV, the rich kilim-patterned pillows scattered about in every color, the stairs to the loft across from the stained-glass door to the library. Skylar took in a deep breath as she stared at the intricate portrait of Archangel Michael in the glass. He stared back at her, his massive wings welcoming her in.

  The library was quiet and peaceful. Afternoon sun streamed in through the small window, giving the room a warm hue. Everything was the same. All the books were there, all the candles. Many of the crystal geodes dotting the room caught the sunlight and sparkled with energy. The beanbag chair sat in the middle of the floor. The Book of Akasha lay casually on top. Skylar gave it a wide birth, as if it would bite her if she got too close.

  She went through a few of her mother’s other books. They were all similar. Finally, there was nothing left to do but look at the Book of Akasha. She took a deep breath and opened it.

  The book’s text was dense. An occasional chart or picture appeared, but still there was nothing Skylar could understand. Then a searing pain shot between her eyebrows and she dropped the book to the floor. An image of herself as a young girl riding a white mare—Starlight, her favorite horse as a child—flashed before her. Starlight’s whinny pounded in Skylar’s ears. She caught her breath and sat on the floor.

  Her mother had said this might happen—she had explained that the energy contained within the book was enormously powerful and would take Skylar some getting used to. It took her a few minutes to reacclimate to the library.

  She checked the clock; she had only a few hours before moonrise. She started to prepare for the ceremony she and her mother had practiced so many times before. She dragged a small pedestal table to the middle of the room. It was draped in a purple satin sash, and a large jagged quartz crystal sat on top. Skylar placed the Book of Akasha next to the crystal. She added a large sphere of ocean jasper and a small, irregular-shaped piece of celestite. Cassie had every healing stone in creation among her collection. Candles were already placed around the room to create an eight-pointed star, the symbol of the Mesopotamian goddess Ishtar. A large gong hung from two velvet ropes in one corner. Cassie had shown Skylar how to bathe the room in the sounds of sacred vibration, a necessary part of the night’s unfolding.

  Skylar went into the kitchen to get matches for the candles and came face-to-face with her houseguest.

  “You can’t be on the counter, sir,” she said, picking up the cat and putting him on the floor. She grunted. “How much do you weigh? Geez!”

  He stared at her from the floor. “You’re probably hungry, huh? Me too.” Skylar realized she hadn’t eaten all day and knew she had to keep up her energy. Cassie had warned that the ceremony would be taxing. But she hadn’t thought to get groceries, and when she opened the fridge she found nothing but condiments. She rummaged through the cabinets for any signs of something edible.

  “Ahhh, it’s your lucky day, kitty,” she said, pulling out two cans of tuna. She got busy feeding the cat and making herself some tuna salad. A sleeve of butter crackers completed her dinner. But after scouring the kitchen, she turned up empty on the matches.

  Skylar walked up the worn wood treads to her mother’s loft. The bed was perfectly made with her jewel-toned madras quilt. A scarf was draped over the petite lamp on her mirrored nightstand. A small closet was tucked in the corner. There wasn’t room for much else in the space.

  She walked over to the bed and picked up her mother’s favorite picture from where it sat next to the lamp. It was of the two of them after they had just moved into their tiny house. Skylar was on Cassie’s lap, sitting on the floor leaning against the bed, made with the same madras quilt.

  Skylar returned the picture to the nightstand and curled up on her mother’s bed—Just for a moment, she thought. She stared at the picture until her eyes started to cross.

  Skylar woke to the sound of rain hitting the metal roof. She lifted her head off of the pillow. A purple-and-gold throw blanket was keeping her warm. She didn’t remember covering herself before she fell asleep.

  The cat was nestled against her. Skylar ran her hand down his body to the tip of his luxurious tail. He lifted his head at the interruption of his slumber.

  “You’re taking good care of me, my friend,” she said to the feline. She looked at the bedside clock. It read 11:00 p.m. She pulled open the bedside table drawer and finally found the book of matches she’d been looking for. As she started down the stairs, the cat followed.

  “Do you have a name?” she asked him as she got to the bottom and came face to face with the library door. Archangel Michael stared back at her. She looked at the cat and smiled.

  “Michael, nice to meet you. I’m Skylar.” She picked him up. “Any minute you will meet my mother.”

  She took a deep breath and walked into the library, matches in hand.

  It took Skylar at least a half hour to light the candles. She stopped counting at a hundred. But she had to admit, the light was exquisite.

  The first part of her task done, she moved on to the next, tapping softly on the gong with a lambskin-covered mallet. The vibration built up slowly. She layered the sound upon itself, just as she had practiced with her mother. The rhythm had a calming effect on her nervous system; it reached the very core of her, igniting a power within her to create miracles. She took in a breath with rounded
lips and began her sacred mantra, adding another layer of sound over the tone now encircling the room on its own.

  “Om Skakti Hrim, Om Shakti Hrim. Hum, Hum, Hum.” Skylar sang the mantra three times, holding the sphere of ocean jasper in one hand, the angelic stone of celestite in the other. “As above, so below,” she said, raising the two stones above her head. She said a small silent prayer for the safe return of her mother. And she waited.

  The sound of the gong continued to spin the room in a cyclone of energy. And then, as if the earth had paused its rotation and time itself had ceased, all the air left Skylar’s lungs.

  She gasped in panic. There was no air in the room to be had. Drowning in the vacuum, she tried to swallow but choked on her own saliva and bent in half, coughing.

  A whoosh of air charged the room and the candles extinguished at once. Skylar felt dizzy from the swirling energy and lack of oxygen. Before she had a moment to brace herself, she lost consciousness and fell to the floor.

  Skylar woke to Michael patting her face with his enormous paw. She opened her eyes and sat up. The room was silent and dark. She had no idea how long she’d been unconscious. She groped at the wall for the light switch. The artificial light felt harsh and wrong. When her eyes adjusted, she saw her jasper and celestite smashed to pieces on the floor. She cleared her throat and took in a deep breath. Something was wrong in the silence.

  She ran out of the library. “Mom?” she called. “Mom!” she repeated, her voice hoarse. She whirled around to face the library door. She waited again, her chest tight. No Cassie. Michael stared at her blankly. She dropped to her knees. “It didn’t work,” she said in disbelief.

  No, it didn’t, a voice in her head replied.

  “Now what?” Skylar whispered, allowing her pent-up tears to stream down her face.

  Plan B, the voice said, this time coming from her heart.

  She rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. She refused to believe her mother was truly gone. She glanced at the book strewn on the floor. Cassie had spent decades telling her about the book, and the plan.