She nodded. “I understand. I do. But you’ll still have to pay. Dearly. You realize that, right?”
I grinned. “I suppose I do.”
“And I won’t go easy on you just because we’re besties.”
“I would never expect you to.”
“There’ll probably be pliers involved. And fire ants.”
I shuddered. At least she didn’t mention spiders.
“And spiders.”
Dang, she was brutal.
* * *
By Sunday morning, Brooke was belting out classic tunes to try to cheer me up. It was not working. Jared had never come home, and I had been reduced to a pile of nerves. No, not just a pile of nerves. A quivering pile of nerves.
Brooke leaned over to me as we sat in a padded pew, and whispered, “Want me to sing ‘Tainted Love’ again?”
I frowned. “No.”
“‘Love Is a Battlefield’?”
“Nope.”
“‘Love Shack’?”
I couldn’t help it. I cracked a smile.
“‘Love Shack’ it is.”
She took a deep breath and I clamped a hand over her mouth in horror, garnering a few admonishing looks from our staunchest members in the process. When Grandma joined in, her expression mortified, we straightened instantly. Brooke pointed to me, rolling her eyes as though I were hopeless. She would pay.
Grandma made eye contact with me. I quickly averted my gaze. I could see the sadness and frustration through my periphery, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to pretend everything was okay. They were once again making plans for my life without even consulting me. And just where were they planning on sending me? We had no relatives. We were the last of our clan. I think my grandma had a great aunt who was still living, but that was about it. She lived in Oklahoma. Was that where they would send me? Off to live with an estranged aunt nobody had heard from in decades?
I fought not to focus on that and tried to pay attention to Granddad’s sermon. My mind wandered regardless.
Like many churches, this one had an unassuming door behind the pulpit. Ours led to the basement. Or so that’s what I’d always believed. My grandparents showed me just how deep the basement went. They gave me the grand tour of the Order of Sanctity headquarters.
Down one level was a shadowy storeroom that looked like any other basement one might find beneath an old church. Dark and dank and a little bit scary. But down another set of stairs was a second basement. Again, it looked normal at first glance. Until Granddad opened the doors to what I could only describe as an underground warehouse.
Room after room flowed through a massive bunkerlike structure. It had tall ceilings with exposed metal framework and rooms divided by half-height partitions. All except one.
One structure was a room unto itself. It had thick walls and a single opening. Inside it, metal drawers and shelves lined the walls. Inside those were the ancient texts and documents of the Order of Sanctity. That was the archive room.
The ancient documents had been passed down from generation to generation. They were very valuable. Some of the texts were prophecies directly from Arabeth or one of her daughters, recorded long ago and translated through the ages by varying scribes. And some talked about the prophets from the other lines. Always female. Always groundbreakers. People like the famous Greek poet Sappho and the awe-inspiring heroine Saint Joan of Arc.
I had to own up to a certain amount of pride, knowing I hailed from such brave and noble beginnings. Though they were both from different branches, we were all related in the end. At least, that’s how I saw it.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have a lick of bravery or nobility.
With as much stealth as she could muster, Brooke slipped a note to me while keeping her attention focused on Granddad.
I unfolded it and read, We should come back tonight.
She wanted to come back to do some research, but I was pretty researched out. And I wanted to know what had happened to Jared.
I wrote, Been there, done that, and slid it back.
We’d sneaked into the archive room several times over the past few weeks. It was like some kind of morbid curiosity took hold of me. I didn’t want anything to do with this war or the visions, yet I couldn’t help but read the prophecies every chance I got. I always hoped they would tell me what to do. How to fight. How to win. But after another fruitless search, I could only close the thick book I’d been trying to decipher with a huff of frustration. Prophecies were weird and boring. The translated texts said things like, “It will take the Last but a moment to undo all that which evil has done.” How the heck was that supposed to be helpful? The last what? Prophet? That’s what they called me, the last prophet of Arabeth. Which did not bode well for any children I might have. Since the prophets were always female, I supposed if I did survive the war and did happen to have children someday, they would all be boys. So that was one question out of the way.
“… but a moment to undo all that which evil has done.”
If that prophecy was about me, it was nice to know it would take me only a moment to fix everything. Not. I’d already tried snapping my fingers, to no avail. I’d even tried crossing my arms and blinking. Wiggling my nose didn’t help either. Clearly magic was not part of my gift.
I felt the note slide under my fingers again. We might learn something about your visions. About how to control them.
At that exact moment, I realized something. None of the translated texts talked about the visions themselves. They recorded only what had been seen, not how to see or how not to see. Just what had been seen already.
I wrote back. We couldn’t be that lucky.
* * *
After Granddad’s sermon, Brooke and I hurried to the back of the church as Grandma and Granddad spoke to a few members of the congregation. They’d called a special meeting of the Order amidst hateful glares and resentful glances. And not just mine. Many in the congregation were angry with them for wanting to send me away. I still hadn’t talked to them about the conversation I’d overheard. I was curious how long it would take them to tell me themselves. Or were they just planning to truss me up and ship me off?
Cameron and Glitch were waiting at the back of the church and we rushed out before anyone could stop us. We were going to the forest. We were going to search for Jared.
We wound through the trees and over dips in Cameron’s tan pickup. The poor thing looked like it’d been used by war correspondents in the Middle East. It sported a nifty camper shell and several large rust-covered dents. We bounced and lunged until we came to a stop near the clearing. It looked so different in the daytime. I was surprised there wasn’t more debris. A few bottles and cans littered the ground, but nothing too significant. And a couple of fallen logs bordered the charred remains of the campfire.
“Okay,” Glitch said, zipping up his hoodie. “Where did you last see him?”
I turned full circle, trying to get my bearings.
“Over there,” Cameron said, pointing to a patch of trees just past the Clearing.
“That’s right,” I said. “He went through there.”
I was heading that way when Cameron said, “Wait.” He stopped and examined the ashes where the campfire had been.
“What?” Brooke asked, following him over.
“Do you smell that?”
Curiosity got the better of me. I went back and sniffed around. An acrid scent, sharp and tangy, assaulted me.
After taking a big whiff herself, Brooke coughed into her jacket sleeve. “What is that?”
“It’s like vinegar,” I said, crinkling my nose.
Cameron knelt beside the cremated remains for a closer look.
“Well?” Glitch asked, impatient.
Placing his icy gaze on him, Cameron said, “What’s wrong with this picture?”
Glitch took offense. “Oh, right, because I’m Native American, I automatically know everything about campfires.”
“I was thinking back to Boy
Scouts, but that’ll work too.”
At the mention of Boy Scouts, Glitch hardened. His eyes glittered with anger as Cameron let a malicious grin slide across his face. He’d done it on purpose. Brooke and I glanced at each other, once again wondering what had happened that spring break years ago. Glitch went on a camping trip in the mountains with his Boy Scout troop. Something happened on that trip. Something bad. And I’d known that Cameron was involved, but no one would ever tell me more, including Glitch. It was a constant source of curiosity. What could cause such animosity between them?
Cameron chuckled, giving up the game first, and said, “I just meant, most campfires don’t turn the wood blue.”
We all stepped forward to look. Sure enough, the charred wood had a blue tint to it, iridescent like a pearl.
“Wow,” Brooke said, bending to pick one up.
Cameron grabbed her arm. “I wouldn’t,” he said, pulling her away from it.
“What is it?”
“No idea. I just wouldn’t. And there’s blood.” He pointed to the side. “A lot of it.”
Startled, I rushed forward to examine the area myself. “Do you think it’s Jared’s?”
“No telling.”
“Well, let’s look over here,” I said, heading to where I’d last seen Jared.
Cameron stood and did a 180. “He’s not out here.”
I turned to argue, but realized if anyone would know, Cameron would. Disappointment ripped through me. “You’re sure?”
He nodded, eyeing the trees like they were about to attack. “I’m sure. And we need to go.”
“Why?” Brooke asked.
“You know how you were feeling fuzzy?” he asked her before walking over to me and grabbing on to my jacket.
“Yes.” She started to become wary, as did Glitch. They surveyed the surroundings too and started making their way back to the truck.
“Well, it’s even fuzzier out here.”
Just then, Cameron stopped and put an arm across my torso from behind. He squinted, peering into the forest.
“Is it Jared?” I asked in a hushed whisper.
He shook his head and stepped back, dragging me with him.
We were only a few yards from the truck when I asked, “Cameron, what?”
That’s when I saw a kid, a boy around thirteen. Partially obstructed by the trees, he wore a huge green army jacket that was about three sizes too big and a gray hoodie underneath that. It was hard to make out his face. I didn’t recognize him from school, but I did recognize his slight shape. And, of course, the blade in his hand.
A razor-sharp tingling raced up my spine. “That’s the kid from the other day. The one in the forest behind the school.”
“Do you know him?” Cameron asked.
“No, do you?”
“No.” He said it purposefully, like he was making a statement.
Before I could question Cameron further, the boy disappeared into the trees. We kept walking backwards past the campfire, the strong scent assaulting us again, before climbing back into the truck.
Brooke clicked her seat belt, then asked, “Okay, what was that about?”
“I’m not sure, but I want a list of everyone who was at that party.”
“Um, I’m not sure I can remember everyone.”
“Right,” Brooke said, “’cause you were wasted.”
I frowned at her. “I wasn’t wasted.”
“And,” Cameron continued, “I want you two to stay inside today.” He looked directly at me. “No venturing out for any reason.”
“You have to tell me why first.”
He put the truck in reverse. “No, I don’t, actually.”
“Yes, you do,” I said, my voice full of false bravado. Army-jacket kid shook me up, and I had no idea why. Probably the fact that he was creepy and carried a knife. But he was young and not particularly big.
Cameron got us headed in the right direction, then floored it as we wound down the mountain. “I want you both to know,” he said, sideswiping an overgrown bush, “I have permission to tie you up if you give me any trouble.”
Brooke gasped. “You do not.”
He grinned. “Call your parents and ask.”
She clamped her mouth shut and folded her arms over her chest as Glitch stared out his window. I didn’t know if he was still seething over the Boy Scouts comment or the fact that Cameron had permission to tie up Brooke.
* * *
“So, what’s up with that kid?” I asked Cameron as we pulled behind the store.
He leaned his head to either side, stretching his neck. “It wasn’t him I was worried about. How soon can you get me that list?”
“I can work on it now, but I really didn’t see everyone and I’m not sure how many I’ll remember.”
“That’s okay. It’ll be a start.”
“A start for what?” Brooke asked.
“We need to interview them. See if anyone who was there that night has been reported missing or is acting strange.”
“Like Lor?” Brooke asked.
I elbowed her.
One corner of his mouth tilted up. “Something like that.”
Grandma and Granddad were not happy that we’d left after church without telling them where we’d gone, but I was a little unhappy with them as well, so I figured we were even-steven.
I wondered how the meeting went, if they held their ground about sending me away or if they’d allowed the congregation to sway them to change their minds. After playing twenty questions, we were finally allowed to go upstairs.
And stay there.
Or get tied up.
* * *
“You need to rest.”
I peered into the darkness toward the window seat where Cameron had set up surveillance, his back against the wall so he could keep watch.
“Cameron, this is ridiculous. You need rest, too. What good are you going to do anyone if you can’t stay awake?”
I couldn’t see his face clearly in the soft light of the moon, but I was certain he scowled at me. “This is what I do, Lor. I’ll be fine. You, on the other hand…”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Have you seen your hair when you don’t get enough sleep?”
He knew my curly red locks were a constant source of concern. I threw a pillow at him. He caught it, then stuffed it behind his head.
“Thanks,” he said, the satisfaction in his voice worth the loss of my most cherished possession. Or, well, one of my top twenty most cherished possessions.
“Is he okay?” I asked him, and he didn’t have to ask me whom I meant.
“I wish I knew.”
I rose onto my elbows. “I thought you guys could, like, sense each other.”
“We can. He must be too far away. I haven’t sensed him for a while now.”
That worried me. “Do you think something’s happened?”
His head shake was not a negation, but a confirmation that he had no idea.
“Do you know what’s going on?”
“No more than you.”
I lay back on my lumpy, less-prized pillow. “Yes, Cameron, if there is one thing I know for certain, it’s that you know more about all this stuff than I do.”
He settled his gaze on me. I couldn’t so much see it as feel it. “What’s it like?” he asked, his tone full of genuine curiosity.
“What? Having friends?”
He smiled. “Having a demon inside you.”
“Oh.” Of course he would want to know about Malak-Tuke. The demon inside. What was it like? That was a good question. “I think at one point I could feel him. I remember knowing he was there. But then I forgot and I honestly don’t know that I even feel him anymore. Maybe I’m just used to having him inside me.” It was a disturbing thought, but a logical one.
As nephilim, Cameron could see things we couldn’t, like poltergeists and auras. It fascinated me. He told me a while back that my aura was different, unusual. He’d never seen anything li
ke it. “Is my aura different because of the demon, do you think?”
“No.” He shifted toward me. “Your aura was different even before then.”
“You remember that far back?”
“I remember seeing your aura when I was very young. It’s one of my first memories.” His head tilted to the side. “The girl encased in fire.”
Oh, I liked that. Jared had told me that my aura looked like fire. The thought fascinated me. “Did it change after my parents disappeared? After the demon took me?”
He lowered his head as though regretting what he was about to say. “For a while. It got darker. But slowly the fire took over again.”
“I wish I could see what you see.”
He glanced at Brooke’s sleeping form. Her aura was different as well. It was cracked from when she too was possessed. Damaged. Only she was possessed by an evil spirit, not a demon. The way I understood it, if caught in time, a person could survive possession by an evil spirit, but people almost never survived possession by a demon. No idea what happened with me, why I was even still alive with a demon inside. Granddad and the Order exorcised the entity out of Brooke. She almost died as a result. If her family had not brought her to Riley’s Switch when she was in the third grade, to the Order, she may not have survived much longer anyway. But apparently, trying to exorcise the demon out of me when I was six would have killed me. Or that was what they feared.
Still, I wished I could see Brooke’s unusual aura as Cameron could. “Is she still cracked?” I asked, unable to suppress the smile in my voice.
“I think she’ll always be a little cracked.”
I chuckled. “I think we should call her that. Crack.”
“That’s why I call her Moon Pie.”
With interest piqued, I asked, “What does a MoonPie have to do with it?”
He stretched and let out a yawn before answering. “When we were in the fifth grade, I saw a MoonPie in a store that was broken. It had a crack down the middle that reminded me of her aura.”
I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing. “That’s why you call her that?”
He laughed too until Brooke stirred. We quieted instantly, but the image was one I would cherish forever.
Death, Doom and Detention Page 6
