Candace, Fern, Lee, and Blythe departed from the room together. Blythe and Lee insisted that Candace and Fern take a separate elevator down to the lobby.
“We don’t want to be trapped in an elevator with the two biggest freaks at St. Gregory’s,” Lee hissed.
The doors closed on the blond girls and Fern’s nerves perked up—Candace and Fern were now alone in the hallway on the seventh floor. Just as Candace was on the brink of subjecting Fern to the third degree, the Commander strode down the hallway, eliminating any chance for probing questions. Fern took a deep breath of recycled hotel air. The threesome rode down to the hotel’s first floor in silence.
The Commander noticed the dark circles under her daughter’s eyes, one of which additionally bore the mark from her fall in the bus. She wondered if Fern wasn’t sleeping again but banished the thought from her mind, determined to give her daughter the space she’d requested, and trying not to feel helpless.
In the lobby, Mr. Lin was passing out bags of fresh bagels to each of the four group chaperones. Most of the students in the groups, however, were huddled around a flat-screen in the lobby by the Marriott’s check-in counter. The TV was tuned to CNN, showing a news reporter with a cropped haircut and a gray trench coat standing outside the steps of the Museum of Natural History. A large headline crawled at the bottom of the screen:
HOPE DIAMOND STOLEN FROM DC MUSEUM
“I’m live in Washington, DC, where there are reports that the world’s most famous gemstone, the Hope Diamond, has been stolen. Some estimates put the stone’s worth at around a quarter of a billion dollars—it is said to be the most perfect blue diamond in the world, and this could be the largest heist in the history of the Smithsonian. There is no information currently available as to how such a stunning crime was accomplished or if officials have any suspects in custody. We’ll keep you updated, of course, as we learn more about this breaking story.”
The whole lobby buzzed with the news. Nearly every St. Gregory’s student had seen the diamond the day before, secure in its glass cage.
“It’s a good thing I forced you to see the Hope Diamond before it disappeared, huh?” Candace Tutter, in her stealthy way, had snuck up behind Fern.
“Good thing,” Fern repeated, but her mind was somewhere else entirely. She clutched the piece of paper she’d taken with her from Miles’s house, moving away from Candace and toward the fringe of the growing group gathered around the TV.
Fern pulled the piece of paper out of her pocket. On it, she’d painstakingly copied every picture from the Popol Vuh and written a description underneath. When she’d asked Aunt Chan if she could rip out the relevant page, Aunt Chan was horrified. She told Fern that the Popol Vuh was thousands of years old and could not be desecrated in such a way. So, although not much of an artist, Fern did her best to re-create the information on the page. She’d copied the Quetzal feather; the drawing of the Mayan rain god Chac, flexing with his golden spearlike arrows; Ix Chel’s stolen Stone Eye; and a picture of the Mayan goddess crying with the crescent moon beneath her. Fern had also written a list below the drawings:
AH PUCH POTATION
-Quetzal feather (probably already in possession)
-Chac’s golden arrow
-Ix Chel’s Stone Eye (Hope Diamond???)
-Ix Chel’s essence
-All items hidden, protected in plain sight
If Fern was correct, then Silver Tooth had used Miles to steal the Hope Diamond, which was, in fact, Ix Chel’s Stone Eye. This meant that Silver Tooth had two of the four ingredients already, leaving only the essence of Ix Chel and Chac’s golden arrow needed to complete the potion.
Something nagged at Fern—she wondered if she was completely crazy to think any of this was even possible. It all sounded so ridiculous. The only thing Fern was absolutely sure of was that Miles Zapo was trapped in a cage and she had to help him. Anxious to talk to Sam and Lindsey about everything she’d learned the previous night, Fern tried to calm herself. Surely those two would help her understand.
Fern knew she would have to wait to show the list to Sam and Lindsey until they could sneak off unnoticed during the day’s jam-packed schedule. Though she hadn’t had time to scrutinize all the events for the day, she remembered the first stop was Arlington National Cemetery. Fern would corral Sam and Lindsey for a conference as soon as she could.
“I really could just about kill you right now.”
Fern whipped around, recognizing her twin brother’s voice immediately. Sam and Lindsey were both standing behind her, their arms folded across their chests, angry expressions on their faces. Fern smiled at both of them, figuring Sam couldn’t possibly be serious.
“What’s up?” she said casually.
“Candace, would you mind leaving us alone for a second?” Lindsey said calmly.
“Okay,” Candace said, beginning to walk across the lobby toward the blaring TV.
Sam shot a poison-laced glance directly at Fern. He was glowering. Lindsey shook her head in disgust.
“What in the world is wrong with you two?” Fern racked her brain. What could she have done to warrant such reactions from her best friend and her brother? Sam took a step toward his sister.
“You really are unbelievable, you know that, Fern? All you care about is yourself.”
Chapter 11
The Return of the Voices
“I don’t understand,” Fern said. “What’s the matter?”
“You forgot to call last night, Fern. Either one of us,” Lindsey said, her voice icy.
“Did you tell your parents?” Fern asked Lindsey.
“Of course that’s your first concern. . . . Well, you’ll be happy to know that Sam and I decided to respect your request not to tell my parents. Though I wish I had.”
“You didn’t even think to call us,” Sam said.
Fern took a step backward. After the encounter with Candace, it had completely slipped her mind to call. But she hadn’t done it on purpose.
“I’m really, really sorry, guys,” she said.
“Lindsey and I were up all night, wondering if we should tell someone, planning what we were going to do if you never showed up. Then, this morning you come strolling into the lobby with your new friend like you don’t have a care in the world.”
“She’s not my friend! You don’t understand. . . . Candace was in the bathroom when I got back.” Fern felt the pace of her voice quicken. “I couldn’t use the bathroom phone to call.”
“You couldn’t have snuck back in later?” Sam asked skeptically.
“Well, I mean, I guess I could have waited for her to fall asleep or something, but I forgot.”
“Whatever,” Sam said, turning to leave. Fern reached out to grab her brother.
“Wait!” Fern fumbled with the piece of paper in her pocket. “I think I found out what the man who kidnapped Miles is after!” she said, holding the list of potion components, as if it would somehow change their minds. “I know why he’s keeping Miles at the zoo and what Miles’s power is!” Fern spoke as loudly as she thought possible without the other St. Gregory’s students overhearing.
“You can’t ask for help, Fern, and then only play by your rules. The world doesn’t work like that,” Sam replied before pivoting all the way around and turning his back on Fern. Sam walked across the lobby, toward Mrs. Lin, who was valiantly waving George Washington’s head, even though every member of the Washington group was still glued to the televised Hope Diamond news broadcast on the other side of the lobby. Lindsey walked next to Sam, matching him stride for stride.
Fern stood in shock, watching her brother and her best friend walk away. Hot tears formed on her lower eyelids and stung as she wiped them away. Her life, Fern thought, as she fought back the flood of sobs, was not supposed to be like this.
At that moment in time, if Fern could have traded in all her special talents for a normal life, she would have done so in a heartbeat. Being an Otherworldly and an Unusual only separated her fr
om those she loved. Her powers came at a price that was too steep for anyone to pay. Fern watched Sam’s blond head bob up and down across the lobby and then caught the reflection of her own dark mane in a mirror across the room. The contrast between the two colors reminded her of the fact that they weren’t even genuine twins. Fern was different enough without focusing on the fact that she didn’t really even belong to the McAllister family—but it was becoming increasingly impossible to ignore.
At the end of the day, she was alone.
The ride to Arlington National Cemetery took St. Gregory’s busload of students across DC and into northern Virginia. They rode past the Jefferson Memorial and over the Arlington Memorial Bridge. Fern hadn’t even tried to sit next to Lindsey, taking a seat next to Candace instead. Candace looked concerned when she saw Fern’s puffy eyes, but she didn’t ask Fern any personal questions. Instead she spouted facts at Fern the whole ride.
“The bridge is of the neoclassical style,” Candace began as Fern stared out the window at the tourists who were walking or biking across the generous beige sidewalks on each side of the six-lane bridge. “The Memorial Bridge crosses the Potomac, which used to be one of the most polluted rivers in the whole country.”
“Would you mind shutting up for once, please, Candace?”
Fern glanced over at Candace. The sharp words had clearly wounded her, but Fern was beyond caring at this point. She had her own seemingly insurmountable problems to confront and now, apparently, she had to do it without any help.
Several times during the remainder of the ride, Candace started to speak. Each time, she stopped herself. Fern had to admit that at least Candace was trying.
When Fern got off the bus, she picked Sam and Lindsey out of the Washington group, but they didn’t even glance back at her. In the Visitors’ Center, where each group leader received a map of the sprawling 624 acres, Fern tried to catch either Sam’s or Lindsey’s attention. But when their eyes met, it was as if each was looking right through her. Headmaster Mooney looked more ridiculous today than he had yesterday. He was wearing a blue sweatshirt and matching blue sweatpants, all the while keeping a close eye on Fern. Fern tried not to stare at him and shifted her view to the opposite end of the parking lot. She saw Blythe and Lee gathered with a group of eighth-grade boys who were known troublemakers. When they all looked at her from across the parking lot, Fern shuddered. She would have given anything to have one day where not a single person stared at her.
Though Fern was preoccupied with her own thoughts, when she stepped through the gates to Arlington National Cemetery, she quickly forgot her predicament, overwhelmed by the magnitude of the place. The students walked over the hilly ridges of the cemetery grounds. Row upon row of white gravestones, as far as the eye could see, lined the grassy hills. It was still early in the morning, and mist zigzagged alongside the white grave markers. Small American flags stuck out of the still dewy ground next to each gravestone.
“There are over three hundred thousand American war heroes buried here,” Candace said, her voice hushed and respectful. This time, Fern didn’t tell her to be quiet. Every member of the St. Gregory’s contingent gathered on the hill, in absolute silence.
A bugler played “Taps” in the distance. It struck Fern as the most beautiful and saddest music she’d ever heard. “A soldier is being buried right now,” Candace whispered to Fern.
The first stop was the Tomb of the Unknowns, at the crest of a grassy hill. The entire group was quieter than they’d been at any time on the trip. They stopped in front of the tomb, where a small crowd of tourists had already formed. The tomb itself rested on a concrete platform, and a wreath of beautiful red, white, and blue flowers stood on a stand in front of the glistening marble square, which was about twice Fern’s height. Behind the tomb, there was a panoramic view of Washington emerging through the diminishing morning mist. The front side was engraved with an inscription: HERE RESTS IN HONORED GLORY AN AMERICAN SOLDIER KNOWN BUT TO GOD.
The tomb was dedicated to all the soldiers who had died without being identified. A few feet in front of the grave, a soldier from the Army’s Third U.S. Infantry Regiment paced. According to the informational plaque, the Old Guard kept watch here twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, even when the cemetery was closed to visitors. The uniformed soldier, carrying a large rifle, marched across the platform, pivoted perfectly in front of the tomb, and marched back. Fern began counting the steps of his march. Twenty-one steps in each direction. One step for each shot in the twenty-one-gun salute. Mesmerized by the guard’s steady stride and the sharp clicks of his heels at each turn, Fern lost her thoughts in the cadence of footsteps, pivots, and clacks. Lost, that is, until she heard her name, as if it was being whispered to her. Fern surreptitiously cupped a hand to her ear.
Fern began hearing the Voices a few months ago. That’s when she’d named them “the Voices,” simply because she didn’t know what else to call them. Usually she was performing some kind of task, minding her own business, when suddenly she began to hear different voices, as clearly as if someone was talking into her ear. The only catch was, of course, there was never anyone around. Fern eventually learned that, as part of her Otherworldly talents, she could overhear conversations occurring miles away—if they involved her. In legends throughout history, vampires were known to have exceptional hearing, and Fern was no exception. Sometimes she wouldn’t have any idea who was speaking or where they were. This time, though, Fern was absolutely sure who was talking.
Fern spotted Mr. and Mrs. Lin in the distance, completely separated from the St. Gregory’s group.
Though they were at least half a mile away, standing on the slope below the grassy hillside that led to the Tomb of the Unknowns, Fern could hear every word they spoke to each other very clearly inside her head. After all, the words were about her.
“We can’t ignore all this,” Mr. Lin said. “We have to act immediately.”
“Fern’s safely back from her adventure last night, Mike,” Mrs. Lin said, referring to her husband by his first name. “This is not something that needs to be solved in the next minute. I’m not suggesting we ignore it. I’m suggesting we inform Alistair and get a team together so we can appropriately handle the situation. The girl can’t do this all on her own. We should talk to her, find out what she learned from her visit to that house last night, then formulate a plan from there.”
“You heard what Lindsey told us,” Mr. Lin insisted. “The man’s description is an exact match. And those beasts that the boy says are keeping him captive? You and I both know they sound exactly like Sirens.”
“What is your point?” Mrs. Lin asked with urgency in her voice.
“My point is,” Mr. Lin said, “that only one person in existence knows how to tame a Howling Siren. If it is him . . . if he is back, we need to get the boy out of his clutches. I can handle this. We can’t expose Fern. We’re lucky he hasn’t realized she’s been so close to him all this time.”
There was silence. Fern looked over at the Lins, who were silhouetted against the far horizon. Fern thought that she’d lost their signal, but then she heard Mrs. Lin’s voice echoing in her head once more.
“Fine. Go to the zoo to investigate. I’ll tell Headmaster Mooney you had business to attend to. But if you don’t turn anything up by this afternoon, you must return. I’ll be monitoring you. In the meantime, I’ll try to gather all the information I can from Fern.”
“Fern won’t talk to you,” Mr. Lin said.
“Maybe not . . . but she’ll talk to Lindsey.”
“You always were more devious than me,” Mr. Lin said. “I’ll be back by this afternoon.” He bid his wife good-bye.
Fern squinted in order to get a better view of the Lins. As Mr. Lin started walking away, Mrs. Lin reached out to him, and they clasped hands one final time.
“Mike,” Mrs. Lin implored. “Please be careful. If he is back, it is no doubt with some evil plan in mind. Remember Phoebe. He’ll stop at nothing.�
��
Fern’s ears had been ringing all morning. Her mind was full of questions. But one name was foremost in her mind again.
Phoebe.
Fern didn’t know all that much about her birth mother, except that she’d been best friends with the Commander as a girl and that, later in life, Phoebe had fallen in with a “rough crowd” (at least that’s how the Commander put it), and she’d died during childbirth.
After Fern learned of her adoption, the Commander had given Fern the box of letters that she’d received from Phoebe throughout the years. Though Fern hadn’t wanted to read them at first, afraid of what she might discover about her birth mother, after she’d read one, she devoured the rest in one sitting. Fern had returned to the letters many times since then, having memorized most of them.
Because of Blythe and Lee’s earlier intrusion into her suitcase, Fern had her favorite of Phoebe’s letters—one of her Amulets—in her jacket pocket next to the Ziploc bag of soil from her backyard.
Truthfully, though she’d devoured them, the whole batch of letters gave Fern very little insight. Phoebe seemed to have had wildly shifting moods. Sometimes she was funny, describing the many adventures she had after she left San Juan Capistrano. Sometimes she was in the depths of despair, telling Mary Lou how much she missed home and wanted to return. Some of the letters read like giddy schoolgirl confessions. In less happy ones, Phoebe wrote about how much she had hated her life in San Juan and how she was happy to have escaped it. She often ended by saying that she might never write again, because things were different between them now and Mary Lou would never understand her. These particular letters generated mixed emotions in Fern. She could imagine how reading her best friend’s words must have wounded someone as loyal and faithful as the Commander, yet Fern was dying to know what, exactly, had made Phoebe write such things. Was Phoebe, like Fern, tired of being different? Was she sick of being tormented by Normals who didn’t understand her? Had she found a group of Otherworldlies like herself?
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