A Dark Inheritance

by Chris D'Lacey

  I gulped and shook my head. Briefly, I’d looked for flecks in her eyes. But there wasn’t enough time to get an accurate impression.

  “Good. I’m glad you trust me, Michael. You might be grateful for my backup one day.”

  A bell rang, making me jump.

  “Run along,” she said, waggling her fingers in the direction of the door. “And don’t go beating up any more friends. I would not want to have to put you in detention.”

  “Yes, Ms. Perdot,” I said cheekily. Was it me, or was she taking this teacher disguise a bit too literally?

  “Text me. Regularly. At least once a day.”

  I hitched my bag onto my shoulder, blowing her a kiss when I thought she wasn’t looking.

  “Dans tes rêves,” she said coolly. In your dreams.

  Oops.

  Here’s an odd thing about kids of my age. No matter how hard you try not to form a clique, it still happens by association. What I hadn’t realized until I punched Garvey was that an act of aggression redefines the borders. Boys — and some girls — who had never really wanted to know me before started opening conversations or hanging out around my space. Some on the periphery drifted toward Garvey. One or two left us both well alone.

  And now, because we’d fought over Freya, her status had changed from weird girl to cool — unless you were Lauren or one of her pals, who would have had Freya burned at the stake for practicing the dark art of stealing my affections.

  Getting time alone with Freya wasn’t easy. She didn’t turn up at school again till Friday mid-morning, and was immediately surrounded by three hangers-on. But such was her standing with the geek crowd now that when she saw me hovering like a limpet near the science building, she dispatched one of the gang with a personal message: She wants to see you in the library at afternoon recess. Who’s a lucky boy?

  I felt tense, not lucky. Our last conversation had been pretty emotional. For all I knew, she was going to bludgeon me with a volume of Dickens and tell me to get out of her life for good. When I found her, she was sitting at a desk in a corner, pulling Josie’s paper chain through her fingers.

  “This was sweet,” she said as I sat down opposite her.

  I shrugged and said, “I knew you like dragons.”

  She laid them on the table, smoothing them out with her slender fingers. “Actually, I didn’t, until the operation.” She dipped into her pocket and pulled out a small, spiral-bound notebook. I’d seen it before. Everyone had. She was often bent over it, sketching like crazy. It was one of the icons that defined her as weird.

  She put it down in front of me. “Open it,” she said.

  I turned it around with the point of a finger.

  “It won’t bite you, Michael.”

  But it looked as if it could. I opened the first page. A pencil sketch of a dragon in flight. Its wings were all wrong in proportion to its body, but there was something strangely compelling about it. It looked like the work of a disturbed child.

  “They get better,” she said, turning the pages herself. She found a close-up drawing in purple ink. Just the head and jaws, in astonishing detail.

  “Wow, that’s amazing. Have you always been good at art?”

  She sat back, chewing a fingernail. “They’re hers.”

  “Rafferty made you do this?”

  “Um,” she said. “I couldn’t draw a stick man before I got this.” She pointed to her heart. “She likes dragons and all kinds of mystical stuff. Purple is her favorite color.”

  I remembered the dragon on the bookshelves at her home. Purple, like this one. It could have been this one. “Wow,” I said again. This was freaking me out.

  “She’s been trying to make me draw people, too.”

  “Old ladies?”

  “What? E-yuck. Don’t be weird.”

  “I’m not. Her mom told me she liked drawing old ladies.”

  “Well, she’s changed.” She closed the notebook, leaving her hand on the cover. After a moment, she slumped back into her seat and said, “It’s all my fault.”

  “Why? What do you mean?”

  “It was me who brought us here.”

  “To Holton?”

  She nodded. “I drove Dad crazy until he caved in. A few months after the operation, I started having this recurring dream. I was standing on a cliff with my arms wide open, catching the last rays of the evening sun. It came so often that I started telling Dad that I wanted us to live by the sea. My dad is the sweetest man ever. He lost my mom when I was six years old and since then, he’s given me anything I want. At first he didn’t think moving would be possible, because of his work and stuff. But the more he said no, the more demanding I got. I said there had to be seagulls and open green spaces. A place where people like to walk their dogs. And so he brought me here, right into her territory. That’s when the drawing — and the visions — began.”

  “You really see her — in the mirror?”

  “I think so. When I’m stressed. It’s hard to describe. She’s sort of there, but not there, like the blink of a lighthouse. She doesn’t like it if I try to force her out. It’s cool about the dragons; I always wanted to draw. But when she starts trying to show me what happened that night …”

  I swallowed hard. “Do you know who was following her?”

  She shivered and shook her head. “We’re in the dark and it’s cold and we’re moving fast. She’s not particularly scared, but she keeps looking back. There’s nothing in the darkness, not for ages. Then a light appears as if someone’s thrown a switch. Then I feel her falling and falling and falling, until there’s nowhere left to fall and it all stops.”

  I gulped and looked at the chain of dragons. What would Dad have done in this situation? Maybe nothing more than I was doing now. I couldn’t imagine what life must be like for Freya, but if we were going to solve this file, we had to go deep into Rafferty’s territory. “Will you come to Rafferty’s house with me?”

  She folded her arms. “That’s a bit weird. I’m not sure I could cope. And my dad wouldn’t like it. He and Mr. Nolan don’t exactly get along. Anyway, what good would it do?”

  “She’s haunting you, Freya. She’s not going to rest until we find out what she wants.”

  “Oh, and that’s really going to work. Knock-knock. ‘Hello, Mrs. Nolan. I’m Freya, the girl who drives your dog nuts. Do you mind if I come in and exorcise the ghost of your scary daughter?’”

  “It wouldn’t be like that.”

  “How then, Brains?”

  “I promised her mother I’d talk to you about Trace. We don’t need any better reason than that.”

  “Trace,” Freya said. She put her head back and looked at the ceiling.

  “She knows you, doesn’t she? She senses Rafferty in you?”

  I watched a ripple run down Freya’s neck. “The stupid thing is, I used to be allergic to pet hair. So I trained myself young not to care about dogs or cats or bunnies. Then Trace turned up and it was like … where have you been all my life? If I did go to the house, it would be mainly to see her.”

  “What if he’s there?”

  “Mr. Nolan?” She shrugged.

  “What’s he like? Did you feel a connection to him?” I nodded at the region of her heart.

  She glanced away. “He’s very … what’s that word? Brusque. I was spooked when Trace kept running to me, but Dad’s reaction was a bit over-the-top. He can be overprotective sometimes. He doesn’t like me getting stressed, for obvious reasons. And no, the only connection I felt was to Trace. Why do you think that is?”

  A bell interrupted us before I could reply.

  “Better go,” said Freya. She gathered up the notebook and the paper dragons. As she pushed back her chair, I still hadn’t moved. “What?” she said, seeing me watching.

  “Nothing. Well, I’ve been meaning to ask. Are we still …?”

  “Still what?”

  She gave me THE GOTHIC STARE, a 6.1 on the rictus scale.

  “It’s just … I’
m not sure, if we’re … y’know …?”

  “We were,” she said, “then you got dumped for scaring me witless.”

  Dumped. Right. Get over it, Michael. “So is Garvey …?”

  “Majorly dumped.”

  Right.

  She waltzed around to my side of the table. Leaning close to my ear, she whispered, “Have you ever wondered why girls like guys a bit older than themselves?”

  Now she’d morphed into Josie. Wonderful.

  Then came the surprise.

  “All right. I’ll go to the Nolans’ with you. The thought of it scares me half to death, but I’d like to be walking around with a heart less haunted. I’m not staying if it feels too weird. Dad won’t be home till eight. So I can go after school. You’d better look after me, Michael.”

  “I will. I promise. I’ll need to phone Aileen.”

  I felt her hand on my jacket collar, folding it down into its proper place. “I really liked the paper dragons; thank you.” She kissed her palm and tapped me lightly on the head. “So did Rafferty. That’s from her, not me.”

  The one thing I hadn’t thought through was Mom. The prospect of going to the Nolans’ was exciting, but asking for permission to cross the headland again was bound to generate a lot of sparks. I knew I’d need backup, right from the start.

  So I asked Freya home for tea.

  I got the impression when Mom first saw her that it was one of those “defining moments” of her life (a phrase I’d heard her use sometimes). It began with a conversation through the car window. “Hi, Mom. This is Freya. Can she come for tea?”

  “Awesome,” said Josie, who was already making space in the back of the car.

  Freya attempted a smile. She didn’t have a coat and was hugging her shoulders against the cold, looking like a little lost scarecrow in the rain, her hair sticking out like a chimney sweep’s brush.

  “They’re going out, Mom,” Josie explained.

  “Oh,” said Mom. A really big life-defining oh.

  “And they’re getting soaked,” Josie added.

  Mom found her voice. “Yes, well, I’m not really sure if …”

  “Thanks, Mom,” I said, and climbed in beside her.

  Freya shivered on the pavement for a moment, giving Mom the chance for a last-gasp getaway.

  Get in, I mouthed.

  Freya looked doubtful. “We’re just friends,” she said to Mom, and got in next to Josie.

  “Hi,” said Josie.

  “Hi,” Freya replied, somehow managing to shorten the word.

  “Love the hole in your tights.”

  I heard a shuffle and guessed Josie was checking Freya’s legs. “Thanks. Took me ages to get that right.”

  “Neat,” laughed Josie. The pair of them high-fived.

  Even Mom managed the tiniest grin. She hit the turn signal, waiting for a chance to move out of the line of cars. Her eyes went to the rearview mirror, checking Freya, not looking for traffic.

  Freya took the hint. “Just so you know, I’m gluten intolerant.”

  Mom immediately stalled the engine.

  I sighed. This could be a long journey home.

  Josie snickered into her hand. “She’s not always like this. It’s because you’re the first, so it’s a bit of a shock.”

  “We’re just friends,” Freya and I repeated. I could feel my face going bright red.

  “Don’t worry. I get it,” Josie assured Freya. “Mom’ll get used to you. Won’t you, Mom?”

  “Gluten —” Mom said.

  “Free,” said Freya.

  Mom patted her hands on the steering wheel. “Right.”

  As soon as we got in, I made an announcement: “Me and Freya are going up to my room.”

  “We are?” muttered Freya, in synchrony with Mom, who said, “I’m not sure that’s appropriate, Michael.”

  “We’re only looking up stuff on the computer.”

  “Yeah, right,” said Josie, flopping down cross-legged on the sofa. She turned the TV on.

  Mom stood defiant. “You can use my laptop — down here, please.”

  I sighed heavily. This was ridiculous. I was a UNICORNE agent! I bet Amadeus Klimt didn’t have to do as he was told by his bossy mother. “Where’s the phone book?”

  “By the phone,” she said, “where it’s always been.” She pointed to the only landline we had.

  It was going to be one of those nights. A battle for supremacy, which Mom was currently winning.

  “Thank you,” said Freya, coming over all polite. “It’s for me, actually, Mrs. Malone. I need to find a telephone number.”

  Mom’s attitude changed in an instant, as if she’d been sprinkled with gothic fairy dust. “Oh, right. Well, help yourself, Freya. Um, would a baked potato be all right for you, for tea?”

  “My favorite,” she said. “Especially with cheese.”

  “I think I can manage that,” said Mom. She drifted into the kitchen.

  As soon as she was gone, Freya whacked me lightly and mouthed, Be nice. She was right. If we were going to make it to the Nolans’ tonight, we were going to need Mom very much on our side. She had the car keys, after all.

  Freya asked the question halfway through tea. We’d done all the usual background stuff about where did Freya live and what were her best subjects at school and what hobbies did she have and what were her future aspirations (Aspirations? Hello?), when suddenly she said, “Mrs. Malone, can I ask you a favor?”

  “You can call me Darcy, if you like,” Mom said. She was warming to her — but it was early days yet.

  “You know the dog that made Michael famous?”

  “I do,” said Mom, clearing away a plate.

  “I play with it sometimes on the headland.”

  The piece of baked potato on the end of my fork suspended itself in Michaelspace, resisting the gravitational pull of my mouth. Where was Freya going with this? The plan had been for me to do the tricky stuff.

  “Do you?” said Josie, driving her hands between her knees. “It’s a brilliant dog.”

  “Siberian husky. The best,” Freya said.

  “You know the family, then?” Mom inquired, falling deeper into Freya’s trap.

  “Oh, yes,” said Freya, perking right up. “I’ve met Mr. Nolan lots of times, but I’ve never met his wife. I’ve got an invite, though.” Casually, she opened a small pill bottle, shook out two tablets, and swallowed them with a drink of water. “Ear infection,” she said. “Such a pain.”

  We all gave her a moment of silence. Me, especially. I was pretty sure the pills weren’t for her ears.

  “So … what’s the favor you want to ask?” said Mom.

  Freya hit her with a smile Chantelle would have savored. “I know it’s a bit cheeky, but would you drive us up there tonight, me and Michael?”

  Mom did that parental laugh, the one where they kind of cough a feather off their chest. She coaxed up a weak excuse. “Freya, you can’t just turn up on someone’s doorstep and …”

  “We’ve already called her,” Freya jumped in.

  I buried the potato and hoped not to gag. She was taking a real chance now. Before tea, we’d looked up Aileen’s astrology website and gotten a contact number. I’d phoned Aileen in secret from the bathroom. She’d said yes to tonight, but only if Mom agreed, and could we wait till about seven o’clock, when Liam would be home from work?

  Liam Nolan. The thought of meeting him made me shiver.

  Everything now depended on Mom. She dug in her heels and came out with a classic. “Michael has homework to do, Freya.”

  Tough call, but Freya was swiftly on top of it. She dipped into her bag and pulled out a textbook. “We both do. I said I’d help him with his quadratics. Then we can go, if it’s okay with you? Just for half an hour.”

  Brilliant. Pure GENIUS. Mom was on the mat. “And Mrs. Nolan is definitely all right with this?”

  I got the stare.

  “She’s cool,” I said, picking up my drink. I sucked a m
outhful of juice through my straw so I wouldn’t have to say another word.

  Mom went into herself for a moment. “And you’ve met Dr. Nolan, you say?”

  “Doctor?” said Freya.

  I looked at her. “Apparently.”

  “Only …?” I knew where Mom’s mind was headed, that police interview where all we’d seemed to talk about was Liam. But again, Freya had planned an answer.

  “Oh, you heard about Dad’s tomato plants, then?”

  “Tomatoes?” Mom said.

  Freya faked a laugh. “Trace got into our garden one day and made a REAL mess. Dad was SO annoyed. You can’t imagine. He went ON and ON about people who can’t control their dogs. He’s calmed down now, of course.” She flapped a hand. “So will you take us?”

  Mom was lost for words. I looked at Josie, who was totally in awe of the whirlwind that was Freya.

  “Half an hour?” said Mom.

  “On the dot,” Freya promised.

  “Are you happy about this, Michael?”

  “I’ll look after him,” said Freya.

  “Um,” said Mom, meaning, That’s what I’m afraid of. “All right. But I take you and I pick you up. No messing about on the headland. Is that understood?”

  “Aah, no time to hold hands,” Josie giggled.

  Mom did not respond well to this. “You. Kitchen. Washing up. Now.”

  “What?” squeaked Josie. “I never wash up.”

  “Then it’s time you started.”

  And that was that. We were set to go.

  I looked at Freya and she at me. Phew, she mouthed.

  Exactly.

  We did go to my room to do our math homework. Somehow, that made it all legit. It didn’t stop Mom coming to check on us twice — first with the offer of a cup of tea, then those essential bits of clean laundry that had to be put away before morning. Alone, Freya and I talked tactics. She was still having doubts about what a visit to the Nolans’ would achieve.

  “What if it makes Rafferty more agitated?”

  “Why? We’re trying to help her.”

  “By invading her space and putting her this close to a mother she can never touch or talk to again?” She made distancing movements between us with her hands.