by Meg Cabot
“I don’t think you’re going to see any action tonight because of the rain,” the cemetery sexton interrupted me again. “But the officers have the keys to get into my office if you need anything, and of course the chief of police has my home number. Have fun. And be safe.”
She grinned and saluted, then rode off. I looked behind us as Mr. Smith hit the power window to close it.
“Why didn’t you make her get in the car?” I demanded. “That’s completely nuts, riding around on a bike in this weather —”
“Probably the safest night shift she could pull,” he said, “with this silly program your school has. Pairing teachers up with the police. Makes no sense to me. Nothing they teach you kids in school today makes sense to me.”
“She’s not a teacher,” I said, still looking back at her bike lights as she pedaled away. “She’s a counselor. And she’s really nice. This is so stupid.”
“It doesn’t matter. No one’s going to be out on a night like this, anyway. And what did you mean, make her get in the car? You’re a strange girl. How, precisely, do you make a woman like that do anything? You saw her; she’s having fun. She’ll be perfectly safe, just like you were, the many times you rode your bike through my cemetery. Nothing bad will happen to her. John will see to that.”
“John told me the cemetery wasn’t safe,” I explained to him. “He told me that last night. He told me never to come back. He said if I did, I’d end up dead, forever this time. That’s when he kicked the gate.”
Mr. Smith chuckled. “That sounds like John. Was that before or after he threw the necklace?”
“It’s not funny,” I said with a scowl. “Why would he say it wasn’t safe if he didn’t mean it?”
“He meant it wasn’t safe for you,” the cemetery sexton said. “Because you were clearly aggravating him so much, he felt like killing you. But he didn’t mean it literally. He was exaggerating to make a point. John’s never killed a woman yet — that I know of — and if he were to start now, I assume he’d kill you, not your guidance counselor. Good Lord, do they teach you nothing in school these days? Have you ever heard of hyperbole? I highly suggest you look up the word, Miss Oliviera, if you intend to pursue a relationship with a death deity.”
I’d given up after that. Especially later, after having cleared the dishes and made a halfhearted attempt at my homework — I had to at least look as if I were trying — I turned on the eleven o’clock forecast and saw that Isla Huesos was now dead center inside the three-day cone of uncertainty. Forecasters were still calling it a watch, so no evacuations were being announced, but officials were encouraging those living in “low-lying or flood-prone areas” to take necessary precautions. And since the bridges that attached Isla Huesos to the mainland would close once winds reached seventy miles per hour, those who wished to relocate needed to do it soon, especially because they were opening up only one shelter, way up in Key Largo.
“Mom,” I said nervously. “Are you seeing this? Should we evacuate or something?”
Mom was on her laptop.
“Oh, honey,” she said distractedly. “It’s only a watch. And it’s going to hit Cuba first. These storms always die down over Cuba. And they haven’t even canceled school tomorrow. If they haven’t canceled school, it’s nothing. Trust me on this. So I hope you really did do your homework” — she grinned at me — “because there’s no chance you’re getting out of it.”
I turned off the TV, feeling dejected. Not that I’d been hoping for a hurricane to come and hit my school. Only a little kid would want something like that.
But when I’d flicked on the lights in the garage while getting my book bag earlier and seen the four-by-eights Seth had left there, leaning up against all the outdoor furniture Uncle Chris had left stacked so neatly, I wondered how was I going to break the news to Alex that I was on the Coffin Night committee with these people he hated so much.
And it had all kind of hit me. It was too much. All of it. I was going to have these people in my house, building a coffin that had something to do with a guy who was the ruler of this Underworld that none of them knew existed, right underneath the island on which they’d lived their whole lives.…
If a hurricane did come and wipe all of us out, at least I wouldn’t have to deal.
But that was no way, I knew, to cope with my problems. Nor was calling my dad and telling him I’d decided to take him up on his offer of boarding school.
Because I couldn’t help thinking Switzerland was sounding pretty tempting all of a sudden. It would break my mom’s heart, but she’d get over it if I convinced her it was so I’d have a better chance of getting into a decent college.
Surely, this would be better than telling her the truth…that I needed to get away from this crazy place she’d brought me to, which also happened to be on top of the exact place I’d spent every day since I’d died trying to forget.
I even went so far as to dial Dad’s number as I was sitting there in the garage — after carefully closing the door so Mom wouldn’t overhear.
“What?” Dad yelled, picking up on the first ring, as he always did when I called.
I could tell he was at a business dinner. I could hear the buzz of conversation and clink of cutlery in the background. Dad never ate at home. Why should he, when there was always some client willing to take him out to eat at one of Manhattan’s finest restaurants?
“Dad,” I said. “Is this a bad time?”
“Never,” he said. “I’m at that place we went, remember, with that glass wall of wine bottles that you said should spin around so you could just point to make your selection?” Suddenly, my dad was in a rage. “But they did not implement your suggestion! The racks still don’t spin!”
“They’re stupid,” I said. “Dad, I need your help. I have to get out of here.”
He sounded delighted, as I’d known he would be. I heard a snapping sound.
“Plane,” he said to someone. “Isla Huesos. Tomorrow.”
“It’s just,” I said, “there are some things going on. Mom’s great, you know —”
“Is she going out with anyone?” Dad asked, too casually.
“Uh,” I said. “What? No. Of course not. But —”
“What?” Dad was suddenly yelling. “No. I said the 2005 Chateau La Mission Haut Brion. Not the 2008. If I wanted the 2008, I’d have asked for the 2008. Are you people trying to kill me?”
I looked down at the diamond on the end of my gold chain. It was back to its usual color, pale gray on the edges and midnight blue inside.
What was I doing?
I couldn’t leave, I realized. Not now. Leaving now would be no better than crawling back inside my glass coffin.
“Dad,” I said, rubbing my forehead. “Never mind. I —”
Dad got back on the phone with me. “Now they’re telling me there’s some kind of hurricane coming your way. Did you know this? I told your mother not to go back to that godforsaken hellhole.”
Hellhole. Dad, you have no idea.
“It’s okay, Dad,” I said. “I changed my mind. I want to stay.”
“Pierce,” Dad said. “It’s fine. I can get the plane there. Just the commercial airport is closed. All the pilot has to do is land at the naval base, and then I can get this friend of mine to pick you and your mom up.”
“Look, Dad,” I said. “It’s fine. I just had a weak moment. I have to go. Mom’s calling me. Forget we had this conversation. I’ll talk to you at our usual time on Sunday.” I hung up.
Mom went to bed right after the news, which she always does. I took a shower and washed my hair, then threw on an ancient cami and pair of sleep shorts. By then the feeder band, or whatever it was, had died. The rain had stopped. Peeking out through the curtains of my bedroom window, I could see that the sky was completely clear and the stars were out. The lights Mom’s environmentally conscious landscaper had strategically planted at the base of a few of the royal palms in our backyard had come on and shined up against the t
runks, even though my mom had fretted about “light pollution” and worried the lights would cause confusion to migratory birds.
The landscaper had looked at her and said, “Ma’am, I think the birds will be fine. And these low-watt bulbs will make it so you can see if there are any prowlers in the backyard without having to use high-energy security lights.”
I’d fixated on the word prowlers.
“We’ll take them,” I’d said firmly.
Peering out into the yard, I saw that Mom had left the pool lights on. Now steam came off the turquoise-blue surface in the humidity left after the storm.
There was something small and black floating in the middle of the pool. A body. Not just floating. Struggling. Whatever it was — and it was tiny — it had legs.
And it was pumping them in a frantic effort to get to the stairs and save itself before it drowned.
But it couldn’t save itself. Because even if it reached the stairs, it wouldn’t be able to pull itself up onto the first step. It was too small. Anyone could see that.
I let the curtain fall back.
Why me? That was all I had to say. Just…Why. Me.
Sighing, I left my room, moving through the darkness of the second-floor hallway. I could hear Mom’s gentle breathing through the open door to her room. She could fall asleep faster, and stay sleeping harder, than any human being I’d ever known.
When I reached the French doors to the backyard, I entered the code into the alarm, then opened them.
Stepping outside was like stepping into soup. That’s how humid it was.
Frogs were croaking everywhere. A cicada screamed. Somewhere behind the twelve-foot Spanish wall crawling with bougainvillea, a cat — or possibly a tree rat — made rustling noises. I ignored them all, walking barefoot down the stone path towards the pool, intent on my mission. The brick path was still wet from the storm, and covered in snails. There was enough glow from the lights at the base of the royal palms for me to be able to see the snails and avoid stepping on them.
Mom had not only left the pool lights on, she’d left the waterfall running, too. The water cascaded from a blue and green tile wall at the far end of the pool. I walked over to the little cottage where we kept all the rafts and cleaning equipment and opened the door. I’d already seen that the creature struggling in the water was a bright green gecko. Now he was in danger of being sucked into the filter.
“Hold on,” I said to him, pulling out one of the long-handled poles with a net on the end the pool guy used for scooping out debris. “I’ve got you.”
Seconds later, I’d scooped the gecko up and dropped him from the net onto the leaf of a hibiscus bush. Stunned at first, he just sat there. Then, seeming to realize he wasn’t going to die, he leaped away.
The applause seemed to come out of nowhere. I was so startled, I dropped the long silver pole into the pool. It splashed before sinking to the bottom.
“You didn’t,” John said, stepping from the shadows as he clapped for me, “even hit your head this time.”
And ready are they to pass o’er the river,
Because celestial Justice spurs them on,
So that their fear is turned into desire.
DANTE ALIGHIERI, Inferno, Canto III
Seriously.” I pressed a hand over my heart. It was pounding so hard, I thought I was going into cardiac arrest. “You have to stop doing that.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, lowering his hands to his sides.
He stood across the bright blue water, as tall and intimidating as ever, and still dressed all in black as usual, which was probably how I hadn’t noticed him in the shadows.
But something about him was different. At first I thought it was his eyes. Maybe they were reflecting the blue light from the pool, because they seemed to be shining as brightly as it was.
But then I realized it was something else.
And when I did, I gasped.
“Wait,” I said, taking a few hesitant steps around the edge of the pool towards him so I could get a better look at his expression. “Did you just say what I think you said?”
He stayed where he was. He looked wary, like the gecko had when it fell onto the hibiscus leaf…like What just happened? Is this some kind of trap?
“What?” he said defensively.
“You did,” I said in disbelief. When I reached him — he never moved a muscle the whole time I padded, barefoot, around the edge of the pool towards him, until I was standing just a foot away from him — I could see it etched in his face, in the glow from the landscape lights, and the wavy reflection the water was casting up from the pool. “You just said you were sorry.”
His weight shifted uncomfortably. So did his gaze. He looked at the pool instead of my face.
“I was only apologizing,” he said stiffly, “for startling you. The applause was to compliment you on the improvement in your life-saving techniques since the last time you —”
“No,” I said, holding up one hand, palm out. “Stop. Just stop. We need to talk. Really talk. I promise I won’t call you names if you promise not to try to kill anyone.”
His gaze shifted back to mine. I read a myriad of emotions in his eyes in that moment — anger, shame, confusion, pain among them — before it fell to my necklace.
“You’re wearing it,” he said in a voice I’d never heard him use before.
“Yes,” I said. My heart still hadn’t stopped its loud thumping. The way he was looking at me wasn’t helping.
“I saw Richard find it this morning,” he said. “I saw you go into his office tonight.”
So he had been there. I should have known. No wonder the weather had been so awful.
That’s when I realized what it was that had been in his voice…the thing I’d never heard before.
Fear. He was afraid. Afraid of what Richard Smith might have told me.
“Yes,” I said again. “Look —” I glanced around. Though Uncle Chris had put all the outdoor furniture in the garage, there was a single spot where the uncompromising heat had already dried out a section of flagstone by the side of the pool.
“Come here,” I said, reaching for one of his hands.
He took a step backwards — not exactly yanking his fingers away but not willing to let me touch him. Yet.
“It’s all right,” I said in what I hoped sounded like a soothing voice. He really was like that gecko — unsure what we humans might do to him. “I just want to sit down somewhere that’s dry. It’s what I like, remember? Being dry.”
I don’t think he got the joke. He continued to eye me suspiciously as I seized his hand and pulled him towards the spot where I wanted to sit down…and even after I let go of his hand and sat down at the edge of the pool, putting both my feet in the cool water, he just stood there for a moment, looking at me as if he couldn’t figure out what, exactly, was going on.
I decided to ignore him. This is what you did with wild things, I’d learned from my volunteering with animal rescue groups. It worked. Let them figure out on their own that you aren’t a threat, that you aren’t even interested in them at all, really.
Then, eventually, if you were very lucky, they come to you.
Which, after a while, John did, sitting cross-legged beside me…but looking prepared to take off at the slightest sign of danger. Which was ironic, considering he was a death deity.
I didn’t even think about suggesting he take the boots off. There’d probably be an apocalypse or something.
Somewhere in the yard, the cicada, which had taken a break, started up again. Fortunately, the sound of the falling water was strong enough to drown out it and the frogs.
“What did Richard say?” he asked finally, after we’d sat there for a minute in total silence. He seemed stunned, which I guess was understandable. I’d neither screamed, called him names, nor thrown anything at him, a first in our relationship. He had to be wondering what the cemetery sexton could possibly have said to produce this change in my attitude towards him.
>
“Well,” I said slowly. I couldn’t quite believe myself that any of this was happening. I wasn’t quite sure how it was happening. If anyone had told me, even an hour earlier, that it was going to, I never would have believed them.
But now, somehow, it seemed natural.
Be sweet. That’s what Richard had said.
Well, that was one man’s opinion.
“He said this necklace had killed a thousand people,” I said.
John immediately tensed up, as if he were going to get up and leave — or possibly throw me in the pool.
“Hey,” I said in what I hoped was still a soothing voice, reaching out and laying a hand on his knee. “You asked what he said. I’m just telling you.”
The hand seemed to work. He stayed where he was, the tension leaving his body.
“That wasn’t the necklace,” he said, scowling. “Do you think I’d give you something that kills people? Why would I do that? The Furies did that because they were angry that the stone wasn’t being used by the person for whom it was intended.”
“And who is that?” I asked.
John scowled some more. “You know perfectly well who. Richard said he told you. Are you flirting with me?”
“Of course not,” I said, hoping he couldn’t tell in the pool lights that I was blushing. “I’m just trying to keep the facts straight. Mr. Smith talked an awful lot about the Furies.”
He frowned. “Richard’s obsessed with the Furies.”
“Well,” I said, “they seem pretty awful. He said they’re the spirits of the dead who are unhappy with where they ended up.”
He scowled some more, but at the pool, not me. “That’s more or less accurate.”
“And you told me,” I said, “they’re the ones who do the punishing if people break the rules in your world. That’s how you got these?” I traced a scar on one of his hands, which was resting near mine.
For once, he didn’t jerk his hand away. Though his gaze did leave the water and focused on my fingers instead.
“Yes,” he said quietly.
