Between Flowers and Bones

Chapter 1

Georgia landed on her feet next to Vincent, who stood gawking at the swirling clouds flowing over the landscape. He acted like this was his first time inside a painting. Like they hadn’t been training this whole past week. Sure, her second cousin was a newbie compared with her—he’d only discovered their family’s ability to Travel into paintings over spring break—but . . . gawking? Still, it was better than him sulking with one of the frequent headaches he’d been getting since he and his mom arrived at Gramps’s ranch in late June.

“Coming?” she asked, trying to keep the impatience from her voice. “It’s not like we’re on a mission or anything.”

Ever since Vincent had accepted his role as a Restorationist Artist, he’d been all wide-eyed wonder. She couldn’t explain why it bothered her so much. But she almost wished she’d never left the door unlocked for Vincent and then his six-year-old sister, Lili, to wander into The Starry Night. The Vincent she’d first met had wanted nothing to do with art. She’d been so desperate for a friend that when he’d stumbled into the painting that first night, she’d thought it was the best accident ever. Yet somehow she felt even more alone now than before.

“Give me a minute,” Vincent answered, throwing out his arms for balance as the olive-green landscape shifted beneath them. “I’ve just never been in a painting this abstract before. I thought Georgia O’Keeffe was all flowers and bones.”

“Flowers and bones” wasn’t the worst summary of many of O’Keeffe’s paintings, but Georgia wasn’t about to admit that Vincent was right. Not with the way this past week had gone.

“Obviously there’s more to her than you thought.” Of all the paintings by her namesake, why did Gramps own this one?

Blue and white swirls that reminded Georgia of marshmallow cream slowly spiraled through the sky, spilling over onto the uneven landscape, which alternated between black, olive, and white. The ground undulated beneath her feet as she carefully hopped over a river of deep burgundy. She’d fallen into it once and wasn’t about to do so in front of her cousin.

“Look, I’m surfing!” Vincent called as he bounded ahead of her and slid along a white wave of ground toward the left of the painting. She was too annoyed with him to admit it looked like fun.

Musical laughter sounded behind her, and she turned to see that her mom had joined them. Mamá’s eyes smiled as she watched Vincent, and Georgia felt a spark of . . . Was that jealousy? She pushed it down, focusing instead on her strategy.

“Come on, Georgia! This is fun!” Vincent called, as if he had no idea that he wasn’t on her list of favorite people right now.

Somehow, despite acting like an excitable new puppy all week, Vincent had managed to impress everyone—her parents, Gramps, and even his mom—with his amazing Gift. It must be nice to be an Artist with such powerful control of the painted world surrounding them. But he’d be a lot easier to get along with if he had a normal Gift like the rest of the Restorationists in their family. A Restorer like Gramps. Or an Appraiser like her parents. Or even another Navigator like herself and his mom. With Vincent the Artist around, no one seemed to appreciate Georgia the human map. Georgia, who’d been training and studying her whole life to be the best Navigator ever.

A gentle squeeze on her shoulder brought her back to reality. She found herself facing the gray boundary to the Corridor. How long had she just been staring at it? Her mind had been so full, she didn’t even remember walking to the painting’s edge. She turned and looked into Mamá’s dark brown eyes.

“Lead the way, mija.” Mamá nodded at Georgia, and a swell of confidence filled her.

Georgia tucked a stray strand of her short red hair back under her headband. She didn’t want anything distracting her from their mission. She would prove herself an important member of this team. She’d studied every possible route and knew exactly where to start their search. Her parents had worked for years without an onmission Navigator, relying on Georgia only in the planning stages. But she would show them how much better things could be if she were on every mission.

Vincent gave her a cheesy thumbs-up, which soured her mood again. She wasn’t ready to feel friendly toward him right now. She took a deep breath and stepped through the wall into the Corridor.

Inky blackness surrounded her as she stood waiting for her eyes to adjust. Endless bright windows of possibility stretched in either direction: the nine hundred or so paintings Georgia O’Keeffe had created in her lifetime. Georgia had been in the Corridors of hundreds of artists, but visiting her namesake’s Corridor felt like coming home.