Outside, I unlocked my car and climbed in, tossing my backpack into the passenger seat. Before I could key the ignition, someone appeared in the back seat.
I screamed and tried to jump out, but then heard Simon’s quiet voice.
“Jenna. You need to listen to me.”
“You … you …” I tried to find a word strong enough to express my feelings for this man who’d brought such confusion and chaos into my life, but nothing remotely polite came to mind. “What. Are. You. Doing. IN MY CAR?” I asked.
“Waiting for you,” he said, shrugging. “It’s a small town and there’s only so many places you might be.”
“Why?” I asked. “Why are you waiting for me? Did you spend the night in my backseat?”
“As a matter of fact, I did,” he said. “It’s not the most comfortable bed, but it was a safe bet that you’d show up here.”
I sighed. “I’m late for an appointment, Simon. And if you don’t stop harassing me, I’m going to call the police.”
His eyes were tired, and for a moment he didn’t speak. He reached up uncomfortably and touched his necklace. “Jenna, just listen. I’m not out to hurt you. I’m trying to protect you.”
“From what?” I nearly screamed. “My biggest problem right now is you.”
“What about those men who came after you at the church yesterday?” Simon asked.
“You saw that?” I said. “And didn’t help me?”
“No, I didn’t see it,” he replied. “I was told. It’s a small town, like I said.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “Won’t you let me help you, Jenna?”
He seemed sane enough, but I’ve found that all the crazy people usually do.
“Simon, get out of my car,” I said. “I don’t need or want your help. I just want my normal life back.”
He climbed out of the car and shut the door. “You can’t have your life back,” he said. He looked almost sad. “You’re a Keeper now.”
“No, I’m a woman with an antique Monopoly board that I don’t understand”
“If you let me help you, maybe you can understand.”
I looked at my watch. “I’ve got to go, Simon. Maybe, maybe we’ll talk later.”
“Fine,” he said. “Just remember what I told you. People will kill for it. You can’t trust anyone when it comes to the Board.”
“Not even you?” I asked.
“No,” he said, his voice solemn. “Not even me.” Then he turned and walked away.
Strangely, I felt sad to see him go. He was sincere, if nothing else.
I put the car in gear and headed for downtown. By lunchtime, I hoped to have some real answers about the Board and why my grandmother thought it was our sacred duty to keep it safe.
7
“My Lord, everything is well in hand. They’ve gone to Burke. I expect to have the Board shortly.”
“Good, but I have another task for you. I want to see this girl who uses the Board so quickly. Bring them both to me.”
Downtown Miller’s Crossing consisted of a central square with a courthouse that had been renovated several years ago, and a number of small shops and banks on the other sides of the street. Parking was at a premium during the week, but on the weekends almost everybody did their shopping out at the mall, leaving the downtown area open.
I saw Professor Martin’s car and pulled in to a space available next to it.
He got out of his car, holding a small box, and smiled. “Jenna! I hoped you’d come.”
“Hi, Professor,” I said, feeling sheepish. “I’m … well, I’m really sorry about yesterday. I don’t know what came over me.”
“It’s okay,” he said fondly. “You’ve had a lot on your plate these last few days. It’s no wonder you’re feeling stressed.” He glanced at my backpack. “Did you bring the Board?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yes, and I see you’ve brought something, too.”
He grinned. “Indeed.” He opened the box and gestured inside. “Take a peek.”
I did and grimaced. Inside was a tiny skull wrapped with beads and feathers. “What is it?” I asked.
“Romanian death curse,” he said. “Very deadly. Certain to annihilate your worst enemies, or at the least give them a bad case of hives. I’ve been thinking of taking it to faculty meetings.”
We both laughed.
“Actually,” he said, “I brought it to have Burke authenticate it for me. He’s very knowledgeable, and that’s why I thought he could help you.”
“I hope so,” I said. “At this point, any information would be good.”
“I imagine so,” he said. “Let’s go in and I’ll introduce you.”
I followed him onto the sidewalk while he continued to ramble on about Romania and a trip he planned on taking this summer to the Balkans to study their cultural magic. At any other time I would have found it fascinating, but not now. The dusty front window of Burke’s shop had a shade drawn over it and a sign reading: OPEN BY APPOINTMENT ONLY. Another sign, reading CLOSED, hung from the door.
“Is he even here?” I asked, trying not to sound disappointed. The place looked as if it had been abandoned for years, and an alley running along one side of the building was littered with trash and debris.
“Of course,” Professor Martin said. “We have an appointment.” He opened the door and gestured for me to enter the dark interior, then shut and locked it behind us. I must have looked startled, because he shrugged and said, “He told me to lock it up as we came in.”
I nodded and looked around. Shabby table and chair sets that didn’t look much older than I was, candlesticks that didn’t match, battered jewelry spread out on a chipped, painted tray. Junk and more junk.
This was the antique shop of someone who could help me?
“Not everything is as it appears, Jenna,” Professor Martin said, leading me further into the shop. He gestured around. There were still cheap antiques scattered on tables and heaped on shelves and in corners, but there were also displays of crystals set into necklaces and bracelets, strange stones or gems in bowls. Candles and incense and packs of tarot cards with different styles of painting. Jars of dried herbs. Tiny glass vials filled with powders and dark liquids. Books without titles on the spines and some with titles that indicated New Age metaphysical nonsense.
“This stuff is for tourists, Jenna,” Professor Martin explained. “The real goods are kept safely locked away in the back for people who know what they’re searching for. Trust me, Burke really knows what he’s talking about.” He glanced toward the back of the shop and called out, “Burke!”
As we reached the back counter, a man stepped out from behind a beaded curtain that hung over the doorway leading to the storage areas of the shop. My first thought was that he didn’t fit his environment at all. I expected someone with a ponytail and a crystal earring dangling from his lobe, barefoot or wearing Birkenstock sandals, and grinning like a fool while happily telling me how I could heal cancer by visualizing myself surrounded by a glowing, white light. Someone Kristen would have felt comfortable spending time with. What I saw instead was a short man with burly shoulders and close-cropped, dirty black hair. The grumpy expression on his face looked permanently etched there.
“Martin,” he said. “You said you’ve got something to show me?”
“I do,” he said, setting his box down on the counter. “A Romanian death curse.”
“Yeah, right,” Burke said. “And in back, I’ve got the Hope Diamond.”
“You can look at mine in a minute, but first I want you to meet one of my students.” Professor Martin put his hand on my back and gently pushed me forward. “This is Jenna Solitaire,” he said. “It’s her item that I called you about.”
“Let’s see it,” Burke demanded. “Martin’s got an imagination, you know, and I don’t like wasting my time with stupidity.”
For some reason, I hesitated. The store, the run-down alley beside it, the impatient, almost hungry look in Burke’s eyes as he waited for me to s
how him the Board—all of it worked together to make me want to stammer an excuse and leave … just like I had in Professor Martin’s office. It didn’t make any sense, and I pushed the desire to run out of my mind.
I was being silly and paranoid, and it would be stupid to walk away from a potential source of information that Professor Martin recommended. He thought Burke might know something, and if he did, I needed to know it, too.
I pulled my backpack off my shoulder and slowly opened the zipper. Just as I reached inside, Burke interrupted me. “Not out here,” he said.
He gestured for us to come behind the counter and pushed the beaded curtain aside. “In the back,” he said.
The back room was dimly lit, with a single, bare bulb overhead. A thin man with a ratlike face—narrow and greedy and lacking a chin—was wrapping up a box with packing tape on a table in the corner.
“Tanner,” Burke said. “Go out and watch the shop for a minute.”
“I was just finishing this—” the man started to say.
“Now,” Burke said.
Tanner stalked out of the room, sniffling and wiping his nose on his sleeve. I barely paid him any attention, however, as the items stacked on the shelves here had caught my attention.
Some of the stock was just more of the same that was out front, but there were also other things. One jar on a shelf to my left looked like it was full of tiny hands, withered and dry and small as a baby’s. Maybe they were monkey paws—if they were even real. The jar next to it was filled with waxy looking eyeballs that were surely made of plastic, although they looked real enough that I couldn’t be quite sure. And there were books, too. Hundreds of volumes that were much, much older than the ones out front. Many of them were bound in leather and looked valuable. On one shelf, a pile of black candles rested next to a row of human skulls, yellowed and cracked with age. Some were missing their lower jawbones and rested unevenly on their teeth.
Waaay creepy, I thought.
Burke motioned to the table where Tanner had been working. “So, let’s see what you’ve got,” he said. His voice held a note of weary boredom.
Professor Martin stood next to me, his eyes alight with excitement. He’d already seen the Board and believed it to be special. I pulled the case out and set it on the table, then opened it gingerly and lifted out the Board.
Professor Martin grinned, but Burke’s face didn’t even flinch.
“Yeah?” he said. “So what?” He bent forward and looked at the Board indifferently, but I noticed that he didn’t touch it, only skimmed one oddly delicate finger near one of the symbols, a breath above the surface of the wood. “This is it?” he asked.
Disappointed, I nodded. After Professor Martin’s reaction and seeing the journal, I assumed the Board was something truly unique. Maybe my whole family had been caught up in some kind of hoax. Professor Martin seemed surprised, too.
“That’s it? Don’t you think—”
“I think a lot,” Burke snapped. “More than you do anyway. I see a lot of stuff in this business. People find crap in their attic all the time, bring it in here hoping it’s worth something, and it’s still crap. I tell them all the time that this isn’t the Antiques Roadshow.”
I felt my face growing hot. I wasn’t interested in money, just information. I cleared my throat. “I didn’t really have any idea that it was worth something. I just wondered what it was, where it came from is all.”
“Just so you don’t get your hopes up,” Burke said, bending back over the Board, frowning, and putting his nose near the wood surface.
“Take a look at those symbols,” Professor Martin said “Have you—”
He fell silent, cutting himself off in mid-sentence as Burke straightened up.
“I can probably find out something,” Burke said to me, ignoring the professor. “Leave it here for a day or two and I’ll do some digging, make a couple of phone calls and see what I can come up with. All right?”
I must have looked uncertain because Professor Martin quickly reassured me. “It will be fine, Jenna,” he said. “Burke really does know more than anybody about … antiques.”
Was it my imagination, or had Professor Martin paused just slightly before that last word?
“If there’s anything to find out about the Board, Burke is the man to find it,” Professor Martin continued.
I nodded and wrote down my name and phone numbers on a slip of paper, which I handed to Burke, still trying to force myself not to grab the Board and run like a terrified rabbit.
Professor Martin held open the beaded curtain doorway for me and I started to step through, but stopped and looked back at Burke. He was easing the Board back into its case, holding it delicately by the edges so his short, blunt fingers never touched the surface itself.
I was almost through the curtain when I felt a peculiar wrench inside, as if something had just grabbed hold of one of my intestines and squeezed. I gasped for air, remembered having this same sensation when Professor Martin asked for me to leave the Board with him.
I couldn’t leave it then, and I can’t do it now. I know I can’t.
Before I even took the time to think, I spun around and ducked past Professor Martin. I snatched the Board case out of Burke’s hands.
“I, umm, I can’t,” I said, realizing that my brain was struggling to find words to explain my actions. “I just, you know, have to think about it. I promised to show it to some friends. Now, I mean, tonight. I better take it with me.” I started backing away from Burke. “Maybe you can call me if you find out anything about it,” I stammered, “and I’ll … I’ll bring it back.”
Burke looked angry. “What the hell?” he muttered, glaring at Professor Martin. “You said she’d leave it.”
“Jenna,” Professor Martin said. “What’s gotten into you? Are you sure you want to carry that around? It might be valuable, historically if not in terms of money. Why don’t you leave it here and—”
“No!” I yelled, shocked by the loudness of my own voice. Trying to calm myself, I said, “I’d better go.” I shoved the board case into my backpack and clung to it tightly, then turned and headed back to the front of the store, moving past Tanner who sat doodling on a stack of papers and gave me a funny look as I brushed past him.
“Jenna, wait!” Professor Martin called.
I stopped, knowing I must look like an idiot.
He put his hand on my arm. “Is everything all right?” he asked.
I felt myself blushing. “Fine,” I said weakly. “I’m fine.”
“Really, Jenna,” he said. “Why don’t you just leave the board with Burke? If you really want to find out more about it …”
His voice was kind and concerned but once again I could see something in his eyes that was a little too eager and hungry. He stretched out a hand toward my backpack as though he was going to take it from my arms, but I stepped backward and when I looked in his eyes, the hunger was gone. Maybe I had imagined it.
“I’ve got to go, Professor,” I said, and I turned around and headed for the front door to leave the shop. My heart was hammering away in my chest and I paused at the door and unlocked it, then slipped outside, expecting someone to grab me at any second and demand the Board. I must be going crazy, I thought. I passed by the alleyway as I headed back to my car when I saw the man standing in the shadows.
It was as if he had been waiting for me. The light was dim and the alley was dark and filled with shadows. I couldn’t see him well, just a general impression of height, dark hair and a long, black trench coat. He wasn’t walking, but simply stood there with his hands in his pockets, staring at me.
I suddenly knew who he was. The stranger at my grandfather’s funeral. The man who had broken into my house.
Yet another mystery in my life. Another thing I didn’t understand.
That is it! I thought. I can’t take another second of this. The wind suddenly increased and reminded me that between the weather, the dreams, the whispers and all the strange
rs and people accosting me, I had reached my limit. This wasn’t my life.
I wanted explanations and answers and all I got was more questions.
“Hey!” I shouted at the man. I stepped into the mouth of the alley. “Who are you?”
The man didn’t answer me, just stood there staring.
“Answer me!” I yelled. “Who are you?”
I started to run into the alley, but someone grabbed my arm from behind, and used my own momentum to swing me around. I ended up on my knees on the brick surface of the alley. My backpack flew out of my hands and landed in a puddle. My brain briefly registered an image of two feet clad in grubby white running shoes standing next to my pack, and then a hand in a brown glove reaching down and grasping one of the straps.
I yelled, throwing myself forward and grabbing at it with both hands. I tried to ignore the cold, muddy puddle I landed in, and simply held on. I couldn’t let this person—whoever he was—get away with the Board. Yanking myself backward, I swung my body around and began flailing with my feet, landing a solid kick to the mugger’s knee.
He swore and staggered back a step. Looking up, I saw that his face was covered by a black ski mask and he held a short-bladed knife in one hand.
“Come on!” he said. “Just give the darn thing up.” His voice was thin, with a nasal whine to it as though he thought he deserved the Board for all his hard work.
Giving up the Board was not an option. I scrambled to my feet, yanking my backpack into my arms. The mugger waved the knife threateningly and I stepped to one side. He tracked me with his eyes and the blade of the knife.
I leaped to one side, trying to get around him and get into the relative safety of the street, but my foot slipped on a patch of mud and I fell to my knees. The mugger grabbed at my shoulder and I had no trouble at all imagining his knife at my throat.
Instinct kicked in and I shut my eyes, hunching over the backpack, hugging it close to my chest. A gust of wind chased down the alley and blew the hair over my face.
Keeper of the Winds Page 8
