Ella skips out of one of the bathroom stalls and waits her turn at the sinks to wash up. I worry that she’s going to be scared of me because of what I did in the nave, but the moment she sees me Ella dramatically flexes her right hand over her head. I lean into her ear. “So you’re okay?”
“Thanks to you,” she says loudly.
I catch La Gorda’s eyes in the mirror. “Hey,” I whisper. “Last night is our little secret. Everything that happened last night is our secret, okay? Don’t tell anyone.”
She puts her finger to her closed lips and I feel better, but there is something about the way La Gorda looked at me that doesn’t sit well.
I’m so preoccupied by what might be in the Chest that I forego my morning internet search for news on John and Henri Smith. I don’t have the patience to wait for morning Mass to see Adelina so I walk from room to room looking for her, but she’s nowhere to be found. The first bell rings for morning Mass.
I shuffle in beside Ella in one of the last rows and wink at her. I locate Adelina in the front row. Halfway through Mass, Adelina looks over her shoulder and makes eye contact with me. When she does, I point up to the nave’s nook where she hid the Chest so many years ago. Her eyebrows raise.
“I couldn’t understand what you were saying,” Adelina says after Mass. The two of us stand under a stained glass window of Saint Joseph on the left side of the nave, and we’re bathed in a patchwork of muted yellows, browns, and reds. Her eyes match the seriousness of her posture.
“I found the Chest.”
“Where?”
I nod my head up and to the right.
“I am the one who was supposed to decide when you’re ready, and you are not ready. Not even close,” she says angrily.
I pull my shoulders back and set my jaw. “I was never going to be ready in your eyes because you stopped believing, Emmalina.”
The name catches her off guard. She opens her mouth and stops before letting loose whatever tirade is on her tongue.
“You have no idea what I’m going through in here with these other girls. While you’re walking around holding onto your Bible and praying and counting the beads on your rosary, you don’t care at all that I’m getting bullied, that I have just one friend, that all the Sisters hate me, and that there’s a whole world out there that I’m supposed to be defending! Two worlds, actually! Lorien and Earth need me and they need you, and I’m holed up in here like an animal in the zoo and you don’t even care.”
“Of course I care.”
I start to cry. “No you don’t! No you don’t! Maybe you cared back when you were Odetta and maybe a little when you were Emmalina; but ever since you’ve been Adelina and I’ve been Marina, you haven’t cared about me or the other eight or what we’re supposed to be doing here. I’m sorry, but I can’t stand you talking to me about salvation when that’s all I’m trying to achieve. I’m trying to protect us. I’m trying to do so much good, and you act as if I’m evil or something!”
Adelina takes a step forward, her arms open for a hug, but something causes her to retreat and take a step back. Her shoulders bounce as she starts to cry. My arms immediately wrap around her and we embrace.
“What’s wrong? Why isn’t Marina in the cafeteria?”
We turn to see Sister Dora with her arms crossed over her chest. A copper crucifix hangs over her wrists.
“Go,” Adelina whispers. “We’ll talk about this later.”
I wipe my face and rush past Sister Dora. As I leave the nave I can hear snippets of a heated argument brewing between Sister Dora and Adelina, their voices echoing off the vaulted ceiling, and I run my hands through my hair in hope.
Before sneaking back into the sleeping quarters last night, I floated the Chest down the narrow dark hallway to the left of the nave, past the ancient statues cut into the rock wall. It now sits hidden atop the narrow tower of the north belfry, secure behind the padlocked oak door. It’s safe there for the moment; but if I can’t convince Adelina to open it with me soon, I’ll have to find another location.
Ella is nowhere to be found in the cafeteria, and I worry that my Legacy has somehow backfired and she’s at the hospital.
“She’s in Sister Lucia’s office,” a girl says when I ask the girls at the table nearest the door. “There was a married couple with her. I think they’re going to adopt her or something.” She pours a spoonful of soggy eggs onto her plate. “So lucky.”
My knees buckle, and I catch myself from falling to the ground by gripping the edge of the table. I have no right to be so upset at the thought of Ella leaving the orphanage, but she’s my one friend. Of course I knew she would be on the Sisters’ short list of adoptable girls; Ella is seven and sweet and cute and wonderful to be around. I truly hope she finds a home, especially after losing her parents; but I’m not ready to let her go, regardless of how selfish it is.
It was determined when Adelina and I arrived that I’d never be adopted, but I sit there now wondering if it might have been better if I was eligible. Maybe someone would have fallen in love with me.
I realize that even if Ella is adopted today, it’ll take some time for all the paperwork to be reviewed and accepted, which means she’ll be here a week, maybe two, maybe three. But it still breaks my heart, and makes me even more determined to leave this place as soon as I get the Chest opened.
I slump out of the cafeteria and find my coat, then sneak through the double doors and march down the hill, not caring that I’m skipping school. I keep an eye out for the man with the Pittacus book, staying on the sidewalk behind the vendors on Calle Principal, bouncing from shadow to shadow.
As I walk past El Pescador, the village restaurant, I look down the cobblestone alley and see the lid of a trash can teeter and then crash to the ground. The trash can itself begins to quake and wobble, and I hear something scraping at its insides. A pair of black-and-white paws curl over the lip of the can. It’s a cat, and when he struggles over the edge and lands on the alley floor, I see a long gash running along his right side. An eye is swollen shut. It looks as though he is about to fall over from exhaustion or starvation, and he just lies in a pile of trash as if he’s given up.
“You poor thing,” I say. I know I’m going to heal him before I take my first step down the alley. He purrs when I kneel down next to him, and when I place my hand on his fur there isn’t resistance. The iciness flows quickly from me to the cat, quicker than it did to Ella or my own cheek, and I don’t know if the Legacy is getting stronger or if it works faster on animals. His legs straighten and paws spread wide, and his breathing picks up until it melts into a loud purr. I gently turn the cat over to inspect his right side and see that it’s completely healed and covered with a lush coat of black fur. The eye that was swollen shut is now open and looking up at me. I name him Legacy and say, “If you want a ride out of town, Legacy, then we should talk. Because I think I’m leaving soon, and I could use the company.”
I’m startled by a figure appearing at the end of the alley, but it’s just Héctor pushing his mother in the wheelchair.
“Ah, Marina of the sea!” he yells.
“Hi, Héctor Ricardo.” I walk towards them. His mother looks slumped and distant, and I worry she’s gotten worse.
“Who is your friend? Hello, little man.” Hector bends down to scratch Legacy’s chin.
“Just some company I’ve picked up along the way.”
We walk quietly, chatting about the weather and Legacy, until arriving at Héctor and his mother’s front door. “Héctor? Have you seen the man with the mustache and book at the café recently?”
“No, I have not,” he says. “What is it about this man that bothers you so much?”
I pause. “He just looks like somebody I know.”
“Is that everything?”
“Yes.” He can tell I’m lying but also knows enough not to pry. I know he’ll be on the lookout for the man I believe is a Mogadorian; I just hope he doesn’t get hurt.
“It was good to see you, Marina. Remember that today is a school day.” He winks. I nod sheepishly, and he unlocks his front door, backing inside, pulling his sick mother along with him.
The coast is clear over my shoulder and I continue with my walk for a while, thinking about the Chest, when I will be able to talk again with Adelina. I also think about John Smith on the run, Ella and her possible adoption, my fight last night in the nave. At the end of Calle Principal, I stare at the school building, hating the front door and the windows, angry at all the time I’ve spent inside when I should have been on the move, changing my name with each new country. I wonder what I would name myself in America.
Legacy meows around my feet as I make my way back through the village. I am still walking in the shadows, studying the street blocks ahead of me. I peek inside the window of the café, hoping and not hoping to see the Mogadorian with the thick mustache. He’s not there, but Héctor already is, and he’s laughing at something the woman at the next table just said. I’m going to miss Héctor just as much as I’ll miss Ella. I have two friends, not one.
Ducking under the window as I pass, I can’t help but look down at Legacy’s lush black-and-white fur coat. Less than an hour ago the cat was lying in an alley, bleeding on a pile of trash, and now he’s a ball of energy. My ability to heal and breathe new life into plants and animals and humans is an enormous responsibility. Fixing Ella made me feel more special than I ever had before, and it wasn’t because I felt like a hero, but because I helped someone who needed it. I slink a few doors down the street and Héctor’s laugh travels through the café window and wraps itself around my shoulders, and I know what I need to do.
The front door is locked, but when I go around to the back of Héctor’s house, the first window I try opens with ease. Legacy licks his paws as I climb up and through the window. Jitters attack; I have never broken into someone’s house before.
The house is small and dark inside, and the air is heavy. Every foreseeable surface is covered with Catholic figurines. I find Héctor’s mother’s room in no time. She lies on a twin bed in the far corner, her blankets slowly rising with each breath. Her legs are twisted at unnatural angles, and she looks frail. Pill bottles line a small nightstand, along with rosary beads, a crucifix, a miniature statue of the Virgin Mary with her hands held in prayer, and ten or so saints I don’t know the names of. I drop to my knees beside Carlotta’s sleeping body. Her eyes flutter open and scan the air. I freeze and hold my breath. I’ve never talked to her before, though when she finds me crouching beside her, a glint of recognition registers. She opens her mouth to speak.
“Shhh,” I say to her. “I’m a friend of Héctor’s, Señora Ricardo. I don’t know if you can understand me, but I’m here to help you.”
She accepts what I have told her with fluttering eyelids. I reach up and caress the side of her cheek with the back of my left hand, and then I rest it on her forehead. Her gray hair is dry and brittle. She closes her eyes.
