by Ally Condie
Nico followed Opal’s gaze to the line of picture frames. “Too bad everyone who could explain things is gone.”
“And their best records are slimed,” Tyler grumbled, scowling at the flaking Index. “I’ve been working through every book on this boat. I even snuck a few home to read in my closet at night. But it seems like the Torchbearers didn’t write much about themselves.”
Nico scowled. “How could they be so irresponsible? They didn’t have a plan in case something like this happened?”
“We could dig up Roman Hale,” Logan joked. “Ask him what we’re supposed to do.” When everyone glared, he put his hands in the air. “What? Sorry.”
“He was a real person, Logan,” Emma scolded. “It’s sad. I’m glad we buried him.”
Tyler shuddered. “I never want to see another skeleton.”
Nico’s irritation seemed to boil over. “How is it possible that on this entire freaking houseboat there’s not a single hint about what we’re supposed to do?”
“We have the medal,” Opal said quickly. “And a name connected to the Torchbearers: Charles Dixon.” She removed the leather sketchbook from her backpack and opened it to her rubbing of the plaque.
Nico shook his head sharply. “That’s neat and all, but how does it help us?”
Opal turned away. She knew he wasn’t trying to make her feel bad, but none of them seemed to think her discoveries were important. And after failing to find Dixon in the Index, she couldn’t really argue with them.
Opal dropped the notebook onto a bookcase. It flopped open, and she noticed a drawing in the bottom right-hand corner of one of the pages. She picked the book up and inspected the image: a single, spiky flower sketched in pencil. Flipping through the rest of the pages, Opal saw that, while blank otherwise, each one bore an identical illustration in the same place. Almost like a signature.
Logan grunted, tugging the back of his neck. “I mean, it’s cool how the things Opal found fit together—and Dixon definitely has some connection to the Torchbearers—but I’m not sure it adds up to anything we can use, you know?”
The others went back to arguing about Freakshow. Opal removed the medal from her pocket, hefting its tiny weight in her hand. She could try drawing it in the sketchbook herself. I could keep notes in there. Track our progress.
But what progress? The tarnished medal had led her to the fort, where they’d found a plaque with the odd torch symbol and the name Charles Dixon. But did it matter? Did those things connect at all?
She glared down at the medal in growing annoyance.
Tell me something.
Opal slapped the notebook closed. Squeezed her eyes shut.
The medal’s propellers lingered in her mind for a moment, then melted away, re-forming in the shape of the bronze plaque on its lichen-covered wall. Opal felt a wave of dizziness but didn’t open her eyes, possessed by a sudden urgency she couldn’t explain. The image in her mind shifted from the plaque to the military cemetery far below, at the tip of Razor Point. Opal didn’t remember examining it closely while at the fort, but suddenly she could picture every detail.
The cemetery.
Where they bury soldiers lost in combat.
A second image flashed into her head—a white marble crypt with flower-carved entry columns. Then her brain blanked, something like radio static screeching in her ears.
Opal’s eyes flew open. She glanced down at the notebook. Her finger was wedged between two pages. The tiny flower drawn in the corner matched the carvings she’d just envisioned on the crypt.
“Guys,” she gasped, but no one heard.
The others hadn’t been watching, or noticed her distress. Logan was helping Emma try on a BEAST MODE jersey, prattling about product placement now that she was a member of the Freakshow crew. Tyler was leafing through the Index with his nose screwed up. Nico stood beside him, intent on the damaged parchment.
Opal felt eyes on her back.
She turned. The only object behind her was the glass jar on its pedestal.
Thing floating in its viscous cocoon, making no movement, as still and insensible as always.
A chill ran up her spine.
“Hey! Guys!” she called out.
Everyone turned, looking surprised. Logan wore a What now? expression, which ticked Opal off. “The military cemetery on Razor Point,” Opal said impatiently. “We should go and search for Charles Dixon.”
Tyler grimaced. “I went there once with my mom. It’s super creepy. At the front are rows of white headstones that all look the same, but deeper in there’s an area with old crypts and all kinds of gnarly stuff. Some of the markers don’t even have any names or dates on them anymore. Worn down to nothing.”
“It’s the next place to check out,” Opal said firmly. “We need to keep on this.” She didn’t want to elaborate, or explain the weird vision she’d just had. Am I crazy? Where did those images come from? Am I making up a story out of nothing, because I want this all to make sense?
Opal crossed the room and pulled on her jacket and backpack, refusing to look at the green blob in its jar. “I’m going now. Come with me or don’t. Up to you.” Steeling her nerve, she strode for the curtain. Before swishing through it she heard footsteps trailing her.
Opal turned. Emma linked an arm with hers. Opal gave it a squeeze.
They spun around to face the boys, who were rooted to the floorboards in surprise.
Emma glared. “Anyone else joining us?”
Opal raised an eyebrow. The showroom held its breath.
“Fine.” Logan began stuffing jerseys back into his bag. “You don’t have to be so dramatic.”
“Stop whining, Nantes.” Emma snorted a giggle. “It’s not very BEAST MODE to chicken out on a cemetery trip.”
Opal’s gaze flicked to Tyler, who looked nervous. “The cemetery?” he said. “Now? For real?”
“It’s not even dark yet,” Opal assured him. Tyler’s eyes rolled skyward, but he nodded.
Some of the tension eased in Opal’s chest. “Nico?”
He held her gaze for a beat. “All right, Opal. But after this trip, we focus on the right now stuff. Rogue figments and annoying film crews. Red tides and smelly sulfur farts. Deal?”
“Deal.” Opal felt a burst of relief. They would follow her. “First, graveyard. Second, er, those other things.”
“Third, a grocery-store run,” Tyler said. When the others glanced at him, he shrugged. “What? We’re out of cupcakes.”
Logan got a speculative look. “I wonder if anyone’s making Beast-cakes yet?”
“Absolutely not,” Nico snapped. “What’s next, Beastcicles?”
“Not a bad idea,” Logan murmured to himself. Emma and Tyler both laughed.
“Come on, Torchbearers,” Opal said, a renewed confidence flowing through her. “Let’s solve this riddle once and for all.”
7
NICO
The sun sank into the ocean like a ball of molten lava.
Nico shivered on his bike, watching the dying rays reflect off the bloodred swells encircling Razor Point. He backpedaled lazily, coasting along a gravel trail that angled down off the bluffs in a long bumpy ramp. The beach was dead ahead. Beyond it was the narrow peninsula where the old cemetery lurked, in the shadow of Fort Bulloch.
Nico was worried.
The algae bloom was bad enough—those didn’t usually happen in Washington, and the scientists on the news seemed baffled by this one—but he kept thinking about the sulfur cloud that had sizzled up in the pond. Where had it come from? Why did the horrible smell still linger? Nico worried there was more going on in those fathomless black depths than they understood.
Did the Darkdeep extend down to a physical place, or was it just some kind of break in reality? For that whole first week, every time Nico jumped into the Darkdeep it would spit him out in the pond’s freezing waters, right there on the island. But on the night it overloaded completely, the well transported him to a different place—a
limitless black void that definitely wasn’t underneath the houseboat. So where did it go, really? Was the Darkdeep causing the rotten-egg smell?
Nico’s tires hit sand, jarring him back to the present. The cemetery was a hundred yards ahead, occupying a grassy field sandwiched between two skinny beaches. The very tip of the peninsula was obscured by uneven patches of woods. Nico saw the automated lighthouse come alive and begin its nightly patrol.
Opal was slightly ahead of him, her long braid bouncing as she zipped toward Razor Point.
What are we doing out here?
Nico didn’t understand Opal’s obsession with the medal, or the rest of it. Sure, it’d been cool when they found that swirly torch design on the plaque at Fort Bulloch. Nico was impressed her instincts had been right—Charles Dixon was clearly either a former Torchbearer or connected to them in some way. But that was just history. Trivia. Something they could explore when they had free time.
Which wasn’t now. The sheriff’s investigation. Rogue figments. Environmental glitches. An unscrupulous film crew nosing around, prying into their secrets. They had several serious fires to put out, so what were they doing breaking into a cemetery at night, on nothing more than a whim?
He ground his teeth but kept pedaling.
It’s important to Opal.
They reached the front gates—two sections of wrought iron posts padlocked together in the middle. The grounds had closed hours earlier. A low wall ran around the perimeter, but it wasn’t something to keep determined people out. And after all, who’d break into a military graveyard?
Logan tested the gates and found them secure. “Over the side?” he suggested, but without enthusiasm.
“This wall should be easy to scale,” Opal said, propping her bike against it. “Come on.”
Nico suppressed a sigh but followed as she moved a few yards farther down. Opal was right—the gates were the only part of the boundary difficult to climb. The rest of the wall was only five feet high, made of brick and dressed with granite slabs running along its top. In moments, all five of them were on the other side, staring at neat rows of white headstones.
“This front section is where anyone in Skagit County who served can be buried,” Tyler said, flaunting his knowledge of local history. “If you’re a soldier from Timbers itself, there’s a smaller section in the back you can choose.”
“Pretty,” Emma said, taking in the silent rows as the stars came out. “It’s peaceful here.”
A wooded area stretched toward the lighthouse. Nico spotted a few squat stone structures nestled among the ancient trees. A lonely angel statue, draped in vines, peeked above a clump of wide-leafed maple trees. The last memory of daylight cast purple blotches across the sky, then faded completely. The temperature dropped from cold to colder. Nico zipped up his jacket.
Opal shrugged off her pack and began handing out flashlights—he’d watched her add extras before they left the houseboat. She clearly didn’t want anything to get in the way of her search for Charles Dixon’s final resting place. Nico couldn’t understand where all this urgency was coming from, but he wasn’t going to ask.
“That’s where the crypts are.” Tyler pointed at the woods, then cleared his throat. “It’s creepier back there.”
“That’s the place,” Opal blurted immediately. She seemed about to say more, but looked away instead. When she spoke again a few beats later, Nico was sure it was about something different. “I mean, Dixon was probably local, right?” Opal slung her bag back onto her shoulders. “If connected to the Torchbearers? So let’s search that area first.”
“Makes sense,” Emma said. She and Opal powered their flashlights and started walking down a crushed-shell path toward the trees.
“Why are these girls insane?” Tyler muttered, flicking his beam on. “They act like dead people aren’t all around us right now. Don’t they know it’s almost Halloween?”
“No one said we have to follow,” Logan suggested. “We could do our searching right here by this comfy wall.”
Nico turned on his flashlight. “Come on, guys. The quicker we find Dixon, the quicker we can leave.” He strode after the slim beams of light ahead. Grumbling, Logan and Tyler followed on his heels.
The local section of the cemetery was smaller—less than a dozen rows arranged in a grid, and bound by a spiky fence. Most of the graves were modest stones set into the ground, but a few larger memorials dotted the wooded meadow. Opal, apparently, only had eyes for those.
“Why do you think Dixon has a crypt?” Nico whispered, the darkness lowering his voice even though they were clearly alone. He could hear heavy surf pounding Razor Point’s namesake shoals not far away.
“I just do,” Opal snapped. Then she exhaled deeply. “I have this … feeling. Look for a white tomb with flower carvings along both sides. Don’t ask me why … Just trust me.”
“O-kay.” Tyler glanced at Nico, then put his light under his chin, displaying big, concerned eyes.
Nico made an exaggerated shrug. Opal clearly wasn’t in the mood to explain.
They scurried from crypt to crypt, examining the marble exteriors. Logan and Emma hunted names, but even before calling them out, Opal would decide a structure was wrong and move along. Nico had the impression she knew exactly what she was looking for, but how was that possible?
Finally, they reached the last crypt, in the corner of a back row underneath a huge weeping willow tree. The exterior was a stone rectangle about four feet high and six long, with twin pillars flanking a tiny, templelike door.
Tyler aimed his flashlight. Spiky, star-shaped flowers with long thin petals were carved along each column.
“This is it!” Opal said excitedly.
“Fact,” Logan confirmed, illuminating a line of block letters engraved above the door.
CHARLES DIXON
“There’s writing on the side, too,” Emma said excitedly. “Forever Watchful.” She scanned the rest of the crypt with her flashlight. “No years, though. That’s weird. I wonder how old he was?”
Nico felt a hand snag his shirtsleeve tightly. Tyler was staring at a carving on the lintel above the door. “Check it out.”
An upthrust hand, holding a swirling torch.
“Bingo,” Logan breathed. “That matches the plaque.” Then he scratched his face. “So, um … now what?”
No one spoke for several heartbeats.
“We open it,” Opal said finally.
Tyler groaned and covered his eyes. “Why did I know she was going to say that?”
“Just hold on!” Nico ran a hand through his tousled brown hair. “We’ve established Dixon was probably a Torchbearer. Why do we need to break into his crypt?”
“His grave!” Tyler hissed, slapping his thigh in agitation. “You want to disturb a soldier’s final resting place?”
Opal turned to face the others. The rising moon sparkled her hazel eyes.
“All of the clues led here,” she said intently. “To this door. That can’t be an accident. I think we’re supposed to find something, or learn something, from inside this crypt.” She glanced at the simple name carved into stone. “I think Dixon would want us to open it.”
“I agree,” Emma said suddenly.
When Tyler turned on her, she met his glare. “We can do it respectfully. Let’s just look inside.”
Tyler hid his face, but Logan was already examining the entrance with curiosity. Opal looked to Nico. He nodded heavily. “We open the door, take a quick look, close the door. Touch nothing. That’s all.”
Opal’s hand brushed his. “Help me open it.”
Together they approached the front of the crypt, ignoring Logan’s annoyed grunt and Tyler’s mumbled prayers for forgiveness. There was no lock, and the hinges looked sound. Pulling as one, they were surprised when the heavy marble swung outward without resistance.
“We’re not the first to do this!” Opal said excitedly. “It’s meant to be opened.”
“Okay, that’s interesti
ng,” Tyler muttered, pinching his temple. “What in the world?”
Five heads peered through the doorway as Opal and Nico aimed their lights. Inside was a smooth rectangular space with blank walls like a bank vault. No alcoves or visible niches. No coffin or sarcophagus, either. The crypt was totally empty.
“Welp.” Tyler straightened with a suspiciously relieved sigh. “That was a letdown. We can go now.”
“You think someone cleared out the crypt before us?” Emma wondered. “It looks … well maintained in here.” She sneezed. “Except for the dust.”
“No no no,” Opal was murmuring to herself. “This can’t be right. I was sure … There has to be …” Ignoring Nico’s hiss of warning, she crawled headfirst into the crypt.
“Opal, no,” Tyler said in a choked voice, so shocked he could barely get the words out.
“Bad idea!” Logan spat. “Bad bad idea!”
Opal ran her hands along the marble walls. Her head dropped, and she pressed an ear to the floor, rapping it with a fist. Then she flipped over onto her back and stared up at the ceiling.
“Opal, please,” Nico said in a flat voice, trying not to reveal how creeped out he was. “It’s okay. We’ll look up Charles Dixon at the library. I’m sure we can find out more.”
But Opal wasn’t listening. She rose to her knees and pressed a palm against the ceiling. Astonishingly, her hand disappeared into the stone. “There’s a hidden shelf!” she squealed.
Nico watched her remove something and wriggle back out of the crypt. He released a pent-up breath as Tyler scampered around behind Opal and shut the crypt door. “That’s done with!” he said fiercely, hastily stepping away from the tomb.
“What’d you find?” Emma asked, staring at a small leather bag in Opal’s hand.
