Chapter 17: Best Friend Research

I found Tulip myself, ignoring the fluttering sprite who tried to guide me, running through the stacks to her favorite place in the entire Repository. The vision from the Loom realm clung to me like the mist itself, overlaying that terror with the reality that everything seemed perfectly normal here. I skidded through the elegant and stately stone corridors with their towering wooden shelves full of books and scrolls, past the café and the wooden floors and racks packed with all the amazing artwork of Creation climbing high toward the towering ceiling. The Menagerie would have lured me any other day, the collection of all the creatures that ever existed a common place for Tulip and myself to wander. But I was too worked up to think of such delights.

Tulip. I had to make sure she was okay.

I found her at last, buried in the back stacks of the halls of technology, the metal cabinets and giant stands packed with every invention imagined or made over the course of Creation. She looked up in surprise, her face lit by the glow of the banks of computer monitors she'd linked together, her latest video game design running as she tweaked the code.

Tulip hugged me tight, didn't ask questions as I fell into her arms and cried. Wept and shook and emptied my fear into my best friend's kindness and compassion, falling deep into the empathy-the true meaning of that word-that she'd always offered, guilt and cost free.

When I finally calmed enough to speak, I told her in halting words and bits of hiccupping hurt what had happened, including the vision I had. Since I'd broken my eight year promise to never cry when I was living in Life already, I figured a few more tears wouldn't hurt. They didn't seem to want to stop, though I wiped at them with the hem of my dress until it was soaked.

Tulip listened, her beautiful face creased in concern and sorrow, patting my back and nodding in all the right places, acutely attentive to my story. Bless her, the longer she focused on me the calmer I became, the mist retreating and, along with it, the bubbling emotion that threatened to take over.

"You touched the Loom?" It was the first thing Tulip said and I didn't miss the concern in her voice.

"I didn't hurt it." Hard not to sniffle and feel sorry for myself.

"Of course you didn't." Tulip's hasty words didn't make me feel any better. Nor did her hesitation or the heavy sigh that expanded her two sets of lungs, human and equine. That meant she was really worried. "Eve, I've been doing some research."

The vision returned, her and the scroll, the mist rising, her terrified parents... was it a foretelling then? Something to come? I waited, misery unending. She was going to tell me I was some kind of monster for sure, a giant disaster walking. Like I didn't know that already.

But Tulip didn't, not in so many words. Instead she frowned, frustrated. "I don't have answers for you," she said. "Yet. But I found enough it worries me. I asked Mom and Dad for help." She winced. "Sorry, I hope you don't mind?"

Maybe under normal circumstances. But this wasn't normal and I needed all the assistance I could muster. Still, could her digging result in the horrifying vision I had becoming reality? I almost told her to stop, to let it go. But I needed to know. And she was forewarned now, wasn't she?

Besides, I trusted Oak and Blossom. Far more, at this moment, than my own parents.

"I'm sure everything is going to be fine," Tulip said, doing her best to return to her natural optimism. "And the vision was nothing." I doubted that was true, but Tulip rushed on before I could argue. "Your mother seems excited. That's a good thing, right?"

I wasn't so sure, and, in fact, was almost positive the opposite was correct. But Mom was Life. Surely she meant well? And, if she had answers, I should go ask her directly. So why then did I hesitate with fear clenching my throat shut?

"Promise me you'll be careful." I should have told her to stop. I knew that in my heart. But I had to know.

Tulip sat with me for a long time, the two of us silent. I stayed well after I should have left her alone to work, watching her tap at her keyboard, listening absently and without really hearing as she explained what she was doing.

But sitting there, watching the game scroll through the screens, I found myself thinking of Adam. I had to go home, to talk to Mom. I just couldn't bring myself to face her yet.

I finally left Tulip deep in her coding, slinking away on bare feet through the Repository. I did my best to avoid everyone, staying clear, head down in my customary shuffle of doom. The Crosspath held welcome quiet and I huddled on one of the central sofas for a few minutes, longing for peace but not finding it there. Not when my insides churned with new emotions I'd never had access to before.

It was like a caldera of lava had been exposed, the crust broken, shattered, allowing the bubbling heat to rise. I gulped down the urge to laugh hysterically and lurched to my feet, startling a pair of dryads who hurried away from me and to their hub corridor, looking back and whispering in their shrill voices, long green hair trailing behind them.

The mortal realm door stood closest. That was the excuse I used, anyway. And the hospital was easy enough to tune into, the utility closet outside Adam's room a simple exit. The need to see him felt so powerful, so insistent I welcomed it because it seemed to smother the rest of the burbling feelings I now fought with.

Daylight poured into the corridor, the bustle of late afternoon activity a surprise. I halted outside his door, hearing laughter and chatter from within and, for the first time, felt a giant stab of jealousy as I peeked within and saw he wasn't alone.

They were dressed in gorgeous gowns and tuxedos, five young men and women, about Adam's age-and mine-wearing flowers and with their hair in elaborate designs, both the girls and guys. The room smelled of mortal perfume, the click of phone cameras going off almost as frequent as the giggling.

Adam seemed paler in the daylight, less real, almost transparent, his skin sunken, eyes trying to be happy. But the instant he saw me I registered his despair and, with my heart aching for him, I stood and bore witness to the agony their presence caused him.

It was the least I could do-as Tulip had done for me-for the mortal young man who, despite the rules, was my friend.

I didn't have long to wait, hugging myself in the corner of the doorway, before Adam spoke up. His voice sounded tired, cold. "Thanks for coming, guys. Have a good time tonight."

Even I knew a dismissal when I heard it, though one of the girls, her blonde hair over dyed and curled into a pile on the top of her head, bent to kiss him. Adam turned his head away, the jealousy spark brighter as I looked off and tried not to hate her for that familiar intimacy. Even if he rejected it, seeing her expectation told me she had experienced with him what I never would.

Breaking the rules by befriending him was one thing. Kissing him? Touching was out of the question.

"We wish you could be there." The girl sounded petulant, like this was his fault, his illness. She reminded me of my sisters so much my hands clenched into protective fists, wanting to drive her from his side.

Adam had it handled though. Nodding, staring at his hands. "See you."

They shuffled out, disappointment dying as they reached the hall and their young exuberance returned. I watched them go, saw them forget about him, maybe as he'd wanted, though I blamed them in that moment for their callousness. Despite Adam's need for them to leave I sent a blast of rage in their direction, unfamiliar and burning hot.

The girl who'd tried to kiss him stumbled and fell into one of the boys, grasping at her foot, crying out in pain. She stumbled onto the elevator before I could find out if she'd tripped. Or if I was responsible.

I shouldn't have felt vindication or that tiny seed of satisfaction maybe I'd hurt her on purpose. But I did, Creation help me.

Adam didn't speak when I entered the room, closed the door over, settled into the chair next to him. Slowly, like he fought them, his hands rose and covered his face and, a moment later, his shaking shoulders the only evidence, he began to weep.

I couldn't touch him, this mortal suffering in illness. I just couldn't risk it, had no idea what contact would do. And so, unable to help him, I sat next to him and waited, lending what strength I could to him from merely being there to witness his hurt.

Adam finally stopped shaking, looked up, snuffling. I handed him a box of tissues, silent and with as little emotion as I could show. He helped himself to a few, blew his nose. Shrugged.

"Sorry," he said.

"Don't ever," I said. "You have nothing to apologize for."

Adam didn't argue. "They don't understand," he said, voice trembling, thick and deep. His fingers shredded the corner of a tissue as he spoke. "They aren't really my friends anymore."

There wasn't anything I could say to that. Because he was right. Adam's circumstances forced him into a brand new kind of role his healthy classmates could never understand.

I opened my mouth to try to offering some kind of encouragement. After all, I'd been the outsider for a long time and might be able to comfort him-or make things worse by stumbling through a litany of clichés that would only make him want me to leave, too.

But I didn't get a chance to say anything, to embarrass myself or him. Not when the door pushed open and Daphne and Kael stepped through.

My sister was smiling. My brother, too. Which meant I wasn't going to be happy with what they had in store.

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