Page 32 of Flickerstate

“Heck yeah, baby.”

Bree’s courage makes me ashamed to hesitate. “I’ll pair with you. Want to give or take?”

“Giving sounds easier.” She levers herself off the armchair, plops to the carpet in front of me, and pulls cards from her skirt. “You can use these. Ready when you are?”

I take the cards. “Three, two, one.”

In flickerstate, Bree looks like—

Well… The summer after my sophomore year at Saint Cat’s, the Sullivans drove to Branson, Missouri, for vacation. Mom and Dad had disregarded the PowerPoint I’d made (which included a financing plan and a bibliography) proposing we leave the twins with Grandma Marino and fly to Madrid, so I could practice my Spanish, see Goyas in the Prado, and tell the stuck-up West County girls at school where they could shove their trips to New York and L.A.

Instead, we went to the glamorousRipley’s Believe It or Not!museum in yet more glamorous Branson. There, I came upon a giant ball of twine, whichThe Guinness Book of World Recordshad acknowledged as the world’s largest as of 1993, before other, more giant balls of twine surpassed it. I mean, God. It wasn’t eventhecurrent record holder.

Sorry. Tangent.

Point is, Bree’s nav reminds me of that giant ball of twine—she’s that huge, that wound up—except she’s also pink and fuzzy, yarn-like, wavering into the air as if the future is crocheting her into intricate patterns of possibility.

As she tries to channel, a skein unwinds from her and wavers toward me.

I’ve failed at accepting Vik’s nav gently because I get greedy and panicked, like a kid fond of swimming pools confronted by an ocean. With Bree, I need to stay calm. I take her skein between my thumb and forefinger and, gently as I can, gather it in.

Bree’s breath, echoing through flickerstate, speeds and shudders. By the time I’ve collected a loosely wound, fist-size mass, quivering inside my flames like a tortured, live creature, she’s hyperventilating. I don’t want to stop pulling from her. Already I feel that bizarre mind expansion, like I might see farther into the future than anyone has if I keep taking.

Enough, Norah.

I conjure a blue flame like a blowtorch from my index finger and burn through the skein pulled taut between her and me. I incinerate the mass I’ve taken and gaze through its smoke into the million, million futures flaring overhead.

I navigate.

In the real, Bree slumps. Her damp forehead presses against my knee.

“Clubs, ace to king,” I rasp.

I manage till the jack of clubs. From the sofa, Candace peers at the cards arcing messily across the carpet. “Not bad.”

“You okay?” I ask Bree.

She pushes off my knee. Pained parentheses bracket her mouth. “It wasn’tgood. But. Better than getting siphoned.”

“I was watching you guys in flickerstate.” Candace leans forward. “Norah, you were unraveling Bree’s blanket—”

“Her what?” I ask.

“Her nav. It’s a massive pink blanket.”

“Not for me. For me it’s the world’s largest ball of yarn. Still pink, though.”

“But you both think I’m essence of knitwear.” Bree gurgles with laughter. I’m glad she’s not offended. In her shoes, I might be.

“Interesting.” Candace taps her chin. “Bree, how do you see yourself in flickerstate?”

Bree twitches her shoulders. “Glowy pink light, forking upward.”

“What about Norah?”

“Same thing, but red.”

“And me?”