"Can you do it?" Kayla asked. "Can you cure cancer?"
Elizabet shook her head. "No. You forget, child, my talents are much more limited than yours. I can't cure a cold, not the way that you can. Some small things, yes, but I'm not in your league. Maybe you can learn how to cure cancer eventually."
Kayla thought about it as they walked out to the car. That would be great, if I could. I mean, what am I supposed to do with this magic thing, anyhow? It's like . . . there has to be a meaning to it, some reason for it. Elizabet's the only other person I know who has this magic talent that I have, not counting the killer elves, or whatever they are.
If I go to college, and med school after that, then maybe I'll learn just what I can do with this. If I'm a doctor, then I can help people and they won't know that it's magic; they'll think it's medicine. Maybe I can learn how to cure cancer.
She was quiet for most of the drive into Hollywood, thinking about that.
"Want to talk about it?" Elizabet asked, as they drove through the slow-moving traffic onto Hollywood Boulevard.
"It's just . . ." Kayla began, then faltered. "Well, I keep thinking there has to be a reason for this, this magic stuff. I mean, why else would I have it?"
Elizabet smiled. "Thinking that you were put on God's Earth for a reason, child, that's ego. What you have is a gift, and you have to figure out how best to use it." She braked as the street light changed to red and glanced at Kayla. "Where did you want to start looking for your friend?" she asked.
Kayla looked at the street, the cars moving slowly through the intersection ahead of them. It was only late afternoon, but already the night people were starting to appear: men in dirty clothes slouching against the storefronts, women walking by in high heels and tight skirts. Two motorcycle cops were parked near the intersection, watching the traffic go by.
"Oh, I don't know," Kayla said. "I guess we should stop back—" She stopped, realizing that she was about to use the word "home" for Suite 230. And that that word didn't fit it anymore. "I guess we should look at the office building first," she finished awkwardly.
"All right," Elizabet said. She waited for the signal to change and parked in the lot at the corner of Hollywood and Cherokee.
Kayla was very quiet as they walked down the street. She led Elizabet down the narrow alley between two tall buildings and up to the broken window at the back of the office building. "Watch out, there's some glass on the floor," she said, climbing through.
Elizabet nodded, clambering in after her. Kayla stepped around the pile of dirty blankets and old newspapers, where someone else had obviously set up their digs, and to the stairway down the hall. A few minutes later, they were on the second floor, and Kayla pushed the door of Suite 230 open with her foot, glancing around inside.
Suite 230 looked just like it had the night when all of this started. The blankets were still piled in the corner, and the three half-eaten cans of spaghetti, the contents looking very green and moldy, were still on the sink. "I don't think Liane has been back here," Kayla said, looking around. She looked into the other room and saw her old backpack on the floor, open and obviously searched, then abandoned. "I don't think she's been in here."
Elizabet shook her head. "The police were here, but I know they were careful to leave everything the way it was."
Kayla pulled her jacket a little more tightly around her, not from physical cold but something else. This place looked so empty, depressing. It was hard to believe that she'd lived here. When Billy and Liane had been with her, somehow the place hadn't looked so bad. It'd been more of an adventure than a dump. "I'm glad I don't have to live here anymore," she said.
"Me too, child," Elizabet said, smiling.
Kayla bent to pick up her backpack. She unzipped the main pocket, looking inside. There wasn't much there: half a candy bar, some change, and a bent photograph. She zipped it up again quickly, not wanting to look at the photo of her and her mom and dad in the backyard of their house, at her last birthday party. I shouldn't have kept that; I should have left that at the house, she thought. I should have—
"Is something wrong, Kayla?" Elizabet asked.
Kayla shook her head quickly, rubbing at her eyes. "No, I'm fine," she lied. She slung the backpack over her shoulder. "I guess we should ask around out on the street, see if anyone has seen Liane. Folks would remember that I'm a friend of hers, maybe they'd tell me." Kayla took one last look around Suite 230, then walked to the door.
Out on the street, she saw a few people she recognized, but not many. There was the old bearded man who sat on the sidewalk not far from the McDonald's, panhandling for change. The shopkeepers were still the same after only a couple weeks, but she'd never talked to any of them before, figuring that they'd only call the cops on her, so they probably wouldn't be much help.