A Fractured Light (Beautiful Dark)

peering at me. I was still standing, but the ground pitched beneath me now, and I leaned against the side of the car for support.
    “What did you see?” Asher asked, reaching out to help steady me.
    “Aunt Jo’s closet?” My hands were shaking. “I’m not sure.”
    “I wonder what it means,” Ardith said.
    Gideon stayed silent.
    As Asher drove the four of us back to my house, I felt jittery and distracted. What had I seen? Part of me wondered if the shoe box was real. If something was in there that I was meant to find.
    Aunt Jo wasn’t home from work yet, so we went out onto the deck and pulled several of the Adirondack chairs into a circle. The early evening was clear and bright. The mountains loomed over us in the distance.
    “I love Colorado,” Ardith cooed. “The mountains are so passionate. They just make me want to run to the top and yell obscene things to the valleys below.”
    “Ardith,” Gideon said. “Really.” But he was smiling, and in the light his brown eyes looked softer than they had the night we’d encountered Devin. He put his hand on Ardith’s, and she smiled adoringly at him.
    “It’s true! Don’t you want to?”
    Asher was leaning back in his chair, legs splayed out in front of him and a grin on his face. “I like Colorado, too,” he said. I glanced at him, and he met my eye somewhat conspiratorially. Was he implying he could stay here? Would stay here? With me?
    “There’s something majestic about it,” Gideon said, smiling. “Like there’s some ancient magic in those mountains.” He looked at me with interest. “When you’re skiing, you’re more connected to the forces around you. Skiers are very connected to the natural world. To the ebb and flow of life. I’m not surprised the Rebel powers are so strong in you.”
    Asher and I looked at each other, breaking into smiles at the same time. I knew that we were both remembering the avalanche I’d caused.
    “Just like with skiing,” Gideon said, “the key to unlocking the true potential of your powers is control.”
    “Great.” Asher laughed. “Skye needs more control issues.”
    “Hey!” I whipped at him with my scarf.
    “I’m serious,” Gideon continued. “If you want to learn how to fight the Order’s mental manipulation, I will help you.”
    The group fell silent. Ardith looked uncomfortably between us.
    “You’ll teach me?” I asked. “Really?”
    “Gid, are you sure?”
    There was anguish in Ardith’s eyes. I knew she felt torn. I needed this to get stronger, more powerful. But would it take a toll on Gideon’s mind? Or my own?
    “I’ll try,” he said, nodding absently to himself, as if confirming some question only he could hear. “Instead of relaxing your mind—which is what you want to do when you’re trying to make it rain, or say, ignite a spark—when you’re blocking your mind, what you’re working on is building and deconstructing walls.”
    He paused, making sure I understood. I nodded and he continued. “Now close your eyes. What do you see?”
    “Darkness. Nothingness.”
    “Good. Now I want you to picture a wall going up. Brick by brick. A thick, impenetrable wall.”
    In my mind’s eye, I pictured bricks stacking themselves one on top of another. Blocking out the darkness. Creating further darkness.
    “Okay,” I said, my eyes still closed. “I’m doing it.”
    “Now I’m going to try to do what a Guardian might do—try to subtly influence your mood and feelings, what you’re thinking. And I want you to recognize it, and block it out.”
    I closed my eyes again. Within moments an unearthly calm began to creep over me. I felt secure, comfortable, happy. At peace. It reminded me of Devin’s perpetual state of calm. This time, deep down, I knew that it wasn’t real.
    As soon as I realized it was mental manipulation, a fresh wave of calm washed over me. But I didn’t want to block it out. I wanted to feel this calm and happy forever. If I joined the Order, would I feel this way all the time? I really could see what Devin had been saying about the Order this whole time. How wonderful would a place with no troubles be?
    But something about it didn’t feel right. Like when I was skiing and the ground beneath me shifted dangerously, I knew I couldn’t trust this feeling.
    Slowly and with great effort, I began to stack the bricks again, but they were so heavy. My mind was buckling under the weight of them. The calm persisted, forcing them down in my hands. I