Tells

by Scott Rhine

  “Drawing pictures?” Dad asked.

  She glared at him. “Casting the same spell at the same time as someone with a Book. If your bloodline is close enough, then the spirits grant both requests at the simultaneously.”

  So much for my first success. “I was just trying to copy Mrs. Marburg’s swoosh and learn faster. I had no idea stealing magical thunder was a thing.”

  The headmistress pinched the bridge of her nose. “I hate it when you’re so sincere. I’m used to lecturing to get my point across.” She sighed and laid a hand on Dad’s. “You did an admirable job raising her with integrity and concern for others.”

  Ick. Was the queen librarian making a move on Dad? I chanted My Little Pony so she wouldn’t hear my disgust.

  She continued. “I also can’t punish her like I would other girls because Ms. Marburg wasn’t supposed to be cheating with a Book herself.”

  Eager to get this meeting over with, I handed in my essay. I had borrowed a calligraphy pen to write the whole thing. I’d meant it sarcastically, but now I was hoping for Brownie points to smooth over my mistake in gestures class. I didn’t want to be tossed out just as I was starting to learn real magic.

  Looking the essay over, she said, “Now, this is worthy of a Colony girl, but the infraction was not why I called this conference.” She placed the essay in her in-basket and sighed heavily. “To help resolve certain issues that arose in chapel, I requested Althea’s sealed Council records.”

  Interesting. Maybe I could accidentally sneak a peek. I scanned her desk for the folder, but she sat on the desktop to block me. Witch.

  Dad said, “I’m aware that my wife was on probation with the Council due to our life choices.”

  Bradstreet’s face hardened. “She did unsanctioned experiments on your children.”

  Standing to his feet, he said, “I don’t need your money so much that I’ll listen to you defame a good woman.” Even outraged, he didn’t raise his voice.

  “Psychological experiments that she proposed in a scholarly paper and the Council preemptively forbade.”

  He eased back to his seat. “Oh, that she might have done.”

  “She was assigned to research what life events might lead to someone becoming a serial killer or drug user.”

  “Adverse Childhood Events,” he said. “It’s a well-known field of research. Those who experience several have stunted development and will develop a wide range of life-endangering issues.”

  Bradstreet leaned back and crossed her legs as she regarded Dad. She had the best legs of any teacher I’d seen so far. “You must have been a very attentive husband.”

  I interrupted her flirting. “So what’s the forbidden part?”

  “Your mother theorized that if raising a child one way could make them a monster, then there might me a way for a parent to make someone into the opposite—a saint.”

  Dad burst out laughing.

  I smacked him in the shoulder, but his suit gave him too much padding for the blow to bother him.

  “Not in the canonized sense,” Bradstreet said, “but the old Puritan meaning that we should all aspire to on Earth. Althea even proposed a method to track the success of her venture.”

  My dad’s face fell when Bradstreet pulled out a cylinder with an eyepiece on one end. I’d seen one like it in Mom’s home office. “Do you recognize this ethereal kaleidoscope?”

  His eyes darted toward me. “She’s too young for this.”

  “I think not. Isa, your father makes these lovely instruments for the Council. He invented them himself on his first adventure with the supernatural.”

  “Wait.” The pieces clicked for me. “When you said you were tracking a monster in that war zone, you meant a literal monster?”

  “I didn’t lie to you. Your mother called me brave, but I told you what I did was stupid.”

  Bradstreet held the kaleidoscope up to one eye while she made adjustments. “A sensitive human or a camera can pick up manifestations as a flash of light in the corner of the eye. Dark things tend to show up as vague movement. Spells around Outsiders bend light to the blind spot in the human eye, making them invisible. Your father found a way with his camera equipment to bend light inward and eliminate the blind spot. He made a detector for the magical unseen—a very dangerous invention but useful to our teams.” She passed the kaleidoscope to Dad. “Have you looked at your own child with it, Ishmael?”

  Swallowing hard, he slowly raised it to his eye and aimed the stained-glass end of the tube my way. “Oh, Isa. Your halo is beautiful. I’m sorry.”

  Miss Bradstreet took the device back from him and placed an arm around his shoulder. “There’s no need for apology. Any man who can nurture a child like this can work with us for the rest of his life.”

  Dad turned to me, with a tear forming against his nose. “I was talking to my daughter. I wouldn’t have chosen this. A saint’s life isn’t easy. Forces of Corruption will seek you out, and God will ask you to make sacrifices no one should—” His voice broke.

  The headmistress actually comforted him. “It’s okay, Ishmael. We’ll take care of her and prepare her.”

  Saint Isa? I couldn’t wrap my head around this. “This has to be a mistake. Whatever you do, don’t let this get out. I don’t want my classmates treating me like any more of a freak. I mean, crap!”

  “Language,” Dad said. “Words that you say matter.”

  No swearing for the rest of my life? That sucks.

  While Dad took our stuff to the car, Bradstreet kept me back for a private word. “Isa, it’s vital that you bring your Book to school Monday so we can begin your training. If nothing else, you’ll need to refresh your protective amulet on a daily basis. Your father had a good point. When they figure out what you are, forces of Corruption are going to attack you regularly.”

  I was too stunned by all this to admit that I had no clue where that Book was, but finding it would be my priority this weekend.

  12. Girls’ Night Out

  When I asked my aunt where the family Book might be hidden, she said, “I have no idea, sweetie. Books have a way of showing up when the rightful owner searches, though. How you complete your quest says a lot about what kind of witch you’ll become.” She pulled a crisp hundred-dollar bill out of her purse and presented it to me. “Let this represent my blessing and support for our brightest hope.”

  So I stayed up late Thursday finishing all my homework early in order to free up time for my “quest.” I practiced hand gestures especially hard because I might need to use them on the search this weekend.

  On Friday, school went smoothly, but I tried to stay under the radar. Dad took me out for lunch as a surprise.

  Together, we raided some trash bags from the alley behind a tax service. His lesson was about taking photos without people noticing and other subtle ways to collect information. For homework, he assigned an exercise in Dumpster diving to find personal data. The image of Salma Harvard with her legs up in a trashcan made me smile. Next week, everyone would give a brief presentation on their target. I’d spent my study hall arranging unshredded pieces of paper on a trifold board as an example. He only had one rule. “If you get caught, you start over with another person.”

  My friend Luca hung around the classroom to walk us down to the lockers.

  This had been my first chance to gossip since the chapel incident. I said, “Yesterday, I found out the headmistress’ name is Melisende. Is that another one of those funky old witch names or a French variation of Melissa?”

  Luca paled. “Don’t ever say that around her, or she’ll assign you a ten-page essay on the subject. Her namesake was Queen of Jerusalem for thirty years during the Crusades, a real Hell on wheels.”

  The phrase echoed in the wide stairwell. Dad glared at her. “Language.”

  She had the grace to look sheepish, but I knew that outside these walls, she didn’t monitor anything she said. Her obedience was strictly out of respect for Dad.

  I grabbe
d my backpack first. While Luca was strapping on her pack and gym bag, I leaned close and whispered, “Can you drive?”

  “Yeah. You need a ride to the mall?”

  I glanced over my shoulder at Dad. “I was thinking about a girls’ night out. We could do dinner and some fun stuff. I’d pay for gas. My aunt’s going to be in LA this weekend, so we’d have the run of the place.”

  She cracked an uncharacteristic girlish grin. “I’d be willing on one condition: Mr. Morris needs to drag my father out somewhere—a movie or a bar. It’s been a long time since he’s had a male friend.”

  When we conferred, Dad nodded. “I think I could take a hit for the team. Sounds fun, as long as you’re home by eleven.”

  I did the math in my head. We’d reach the mansion by 3:20. With seven hours roundtrip, I’d have forty minutes to change, eat, and search our house in Holy Oak. As we traversed the line of waiting moms, I stewed. “Driving back to the mansion and then to the mall seems like a waste of time if we want to make a matinee.”

  He took a deep breath and examined Luca. “Do you promise not to do any doughnuts in the parking lot or let any boys ride with you?”

  Surprised, she held up a hand. “Colony girl’s honor.”

  “Okay.” He pulled out his key ring and handed it to Luca.

  Her eyes grew huge at the level of trust. “I won’t disappoint you.”

  “Stick around until I square things with your father.”

  Despite her heavy gear, Luca hopped up and down with excitement.

  ****

  We were three-quarters of the way to the mall before the dads peeled off in another direction. “Take the freeway south,” I said.

  She sounded hesitant. “Where to?”

  “Our house in Massachusetts to get my mom’s Book. The headmistress said I needed to learn to defend myself. My aunt will be glad to pay for everything once I tell her why. She’ll even cover for us with the guys.” I laid out the timetable. “Are you down for it?”

  Luca pumped a fist in the air. “Girl quest. I can even get us back a little early so we can have some fun, too. I’ll drive through a toss-a-burger and go a little over the limit.”

  “I don’t want you to get any speeding tickets. This billboard on wheels sort of sticks out.”

  She laughed, pulling off the road to fish out her Book. “I’ll show you how we hide from radar guns.” More magic gestures encompassed the hood and speedometer.

  “Magic is awesome.”

  Within minutes, we were racing down the freeway with bags of food and super-sized drinks. I’d missed caffeine. We sang along to the radio until the state line, where her favorite station began to fade. Then I plugged her phone into the sound system and selected a playlist for the road trip. She caught me practicing magical hand gestures to the tunes and corrected my form.

  That’s when I remembered the mission. “How will I recognize the Book on my mom’s bookshelf?”

  “It’ll be in a special place, secure. The journal itself will be old, powerful, and practically speak to you. Magical things grab your attention, even if you don’t know why.”

  “Got it. I’ll scoop up anything that might be magic.” I glanced at our speed. By going seventy-five, Luca would be cutting off half an hour from our trip each direction. We should have plenty of time to search the house. “I’ll have you park a block away, and we’ll sneak in the back.”

  Luca grinned at the mood of conspiracy. “I’ll play. Any special reason?”

  I told her about the FBI surveillance and our boarder, who might report a break-in to Dad. “Don’t worry. We should get back soon enough for you to pick an activity you enjoy doing for the rest of the night.”

  “Are you kidding? Having an excuse to break the law and stick a thumb in the government’s eye is my idea of fun.”

  ****

  At sunset, Luca crouched beside me in the wooden playhouse in my backyard. She whispered, “Who doesn’t have a key to their own house?”

  “I don’t know what happened. The key my folks hid under this tea set is gone.” Maybe Dad took it when he came back for our things.

  “Dude, Ariel plates?”

  I crossed my arms and stood to my full height. “Yeah. My mom and dad both had picnics with me. Jealous?”

  She scratched her eyebrow with her middle finger. “So that’s it? We drive back to Placid Meadows empty-handed?”

  “Nah. I don’t give up.” I peeked through the playhouse door. The volleyball court took up our entire backyard. It brought back fond memories of time spent with Dad and Dina returning balls that bounced into the trees at the edge of our property. The fact that I’d never play the game again made me sad. “As soon as it’s dark, I can sneak in through my bedroom window if you stand watch out here. Text me if you see anything.” I was grateful for the school blazer because it might become chilly after dark.

  When it grew dark enough to see the lightning bugs, I decided to head inside. The climb up the trellis was like any other stealth mission. I used the tree branch to swing onto the roof under my bedroom window. The window was locked, but after I thumped on the frame in the right rhythm, the latch rattled loose. I lifted the well-oiled window and crawled through. Before lowering it, I exchanged a thumbs-up with Luca. I was down to 60 percent on my battery. No worries. It should last till I returned to the mansion.

  Taking my phone out of my blazer, I used it as a flashlight. As I crept through the bedroom door into the hall, the mandala on my door caught my attention as it never had before. Magic! It was shaped like a flame, with a blue base. As I slowly reached my hand toward it, the charge I’d built up practicing my hand gestures sparked. The design expanded and took on depth. I put my hand inside the hole and came out with a vial of water and a white river stone, both etched with odd lettering. Holy crap!

  I took a snapshot and sent it to Luca.

  “Protective blessings,” she replied.

  So I stuffed them into my skirt pocket.

  Approaching the artwork on my brother’s door, I tried the same trick. No spark remained. All the art Mom had spent so much time weaving was magical, but I couldn’t activate it. Once I had the Book, I could open them all.

  It was like Christmas morning.

  I found no artifacts in my folks’ room, other than my dad’s favorite baseball bat under the bed. By the light of the phone, I could see faint shimmering threads spiraling along the wood. Someone had blessed it to affect supernatural creatures! I propped it over my shoulder the way a storybook giant carried a club. Mom’s office was downstairs, and she had a few crates of file folders stored on shelves along the ceiling of the garage.

  The steps made no noise because I knew which spots to avoid. I would sneak down often to watch TV when my parents thought I was asleep.

  As I passed the front door, I turned off the phone and returned it to my blazer pocket so no one in the FBI van would see the artificial light. By moonlight, I stroked the mandala of spiraling triangles. The feeling of peace told me more protective devices were stored inside. Even the cherry flooring Mom had helped to design had wards intertwined. When I heard the gun chamber a round, I almost wet myself.

  “Drop it!” said a man in a gray suit, holding a pistol with a penlight attached to it. He was braced against the doorframe of Mom’s office.

  I wasn’t sure if my amulet would stop a bullet. I knew it couldn’t stop two in a row. My hands raised themselves over my head. The bat made a clank as it hit the floor and rolled away.

  13. Protection Detail

  “FBI. What are you doing here?” the man with the gun demanded. He sounded like a plumber from South Boston we’d met at MIT.

  My hands settled onto my hips as I bristled. “This is my house. You don’t have a warrant, do you? That’s why you stole my key.” I squinted, trying to make out his features. He was Caucasian with short, sandy hair and no trace of facial hair. “You’re young for a Fed, early twenties.”

  He cursed under his breath. “Back
up.”

  “Or you’ll shoot a little girl in her own house?” I asked, raising the volume. Because I couldn’t text Luca, my only hope was to trick this Southie into shouting loud enough for her to overhear. I hope she tears him a new butt hole before calling the local cops.

  “You could break your arm again.”

  The thought of another six weeks in a cast was terrifying. Picturing this guy snapping my bones and being powerless to stop him made me light-headed. “You’re bluffing. You wouldn’t have the guts.”

  “I could say I saw a burglary in progress. You hit me with the bat. I had to defend myself. Accidents happen. People would believe it because you’re a belligerent little shit.” His voice rose to match mine.

  “Wait until my dad publishes this story,” I shouted.

  He put his empty hand to the side of his head. “Shut up! You people are such a pain! How did I get stuck with this detail?”

  “Ah, when did harassment stop being fun?”

  His face twitched at the verbal jab. “We’re protecting you people.”

  “From what?”

  “The Advent Killer. Just before your mother died, she texted someone that she had a lead on the pattern. She knew enough to figure out who was doing it.”

  A cool breeze blew over me. “The Feds have been monitoring her texts?” And now mine.

  “Her browser, too. She was on to something. She had articles on the last four murders in her search history. One of them before we even knew the cases were connected.”

  “You weren’t protecting us. We were bait.” I wanted to smack him.

  “No. He only kills young women, but he may try to contact you. We can’t solve this by the book. It’s someone who has law-enforcement contacts. Evidence has disappeared from bins. Althea knew something. What was it?”

  He dragged me into mom’s office. All her belongings had been ransacked. Papers had been strewn everywhere. A kaleidoscope lay next to a crowbar atop the desk. Our intruder had pried the locked drawer open. “Where did your mother keep her secret files?”