Deep Betrayal (Lies Beneath #2)

by Anne Greenwood Brown

  Calder pulled back so he could see me fully. His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized my face, his nose twitched at whatever he was seeing.

  I scrambled to put his mind at ease. The last thing I wanted to do was tell him about my experiments and apparently I was unable to disguise them completely. “I’ve got … things … I’m working on. If you and Dad need more time to train … I don’t want you to think I’m moping around. I got on fine before I met you. That was only a couple of months ago. I think I can figure out how to fill my day.”

  “You don’t need to use reverse psychology on me. When I say I need to spend time with you, I mean it.” He placed his finger on the end of my nose and drew it over my lips, my chin, down my neck to my belly button. He grinned, then swallowed hard, his eyes closing.

  I molded my body to his, feeling his muscles flex against me and his skin flushed with heat. I traced circles in his hair, lightly across his temples, watching his eyes flicker, then close. His muscles relaxed, and he sank heavier into the hammock, which barely swayed with his changing weight. His skin was smooth, taut, and packed with muscles and sinew and bone. I drew my finger along a pattern of scars on his shoulders, feeling his exhaustion, but also his contentment.

  “Go with Dad,” I said. “When you get back, I’ll be here waiting for you.”

  While I was generally oblivious to the light he saw in me, I could sometimes see traces of it on him. For instance, right then, I could have sworn the inside of the sleeping bag shimmered like the northern lights.

  MY SCRIBBLINGS

  Missed Opportunities

  I am worth

  y

  and skilled

  a force

  you must reckon

  with honey

  and sweet wine is yours

  for the taking

  if you only knew

  to ask.

  TO DO:

  Try to listen for Maris

  Goal: 5-minute swim

  16

  NEWS

  As soon as Calder got back from his morning expedition with Dad, he suggested we finally pay Mrs. Boyd a visit at the Blue Moon Café. I wished we hadn’t put it off because it felt awkward now that we’d been back for two weeks. Calder and I walked to the café hand in hand; he grinned, while I struggled to come up with several well-phrased apologies for having left her so abruptly. But when the bell over the door rang out and Mrs. Boyd looked up, I forgot every one of them.

  “Hmph. ’Bout time,” she said, wiping the marble counter-top. “I wondered when you’d have the audacity to show your face again.”

  Calder said, “Sorry, Mrs. Boyd,” before I could muster up any spit in my mouth.

  “Sorry’s not going to cut it, mister. You left me high and dry. This place won’t run itself, y’know.”

  She didn’t seem to be too upset with my desertion. I guess Mom had made a good enough excuse for me.

  “It was rude of me to go without telling you,” Calder said.

  “Rude? Rude is forgetting to flush. What you did was irresponsible.”

  Calder led me forward across the black-and-white checkered floor. I guess I was dragging my feet because his pressure on my wrist increased. I looked sideways and saw the intensity in his face. His eyes trained on Mrs. Boyd’s. What was he doing? We weren’t here to reapply.

  Mrs. Boyd stammered and lost her train of thought. Her fingers shook and went to her silver-streaked hair pulled back into a loose knot. “I suppose you’ll be wanting your job back,” she said as her pupils dilated. “And I would be a fool to give it to you.”

  I jabbed Calder hard in the ribs, but he didn’t break eye contact with her. “Not me. But Lily’s feeling better now. She’s got the whole summer, and she needs to make some money for school.”

  “We’re just here as customers,” I said.

  Mrs. Boyd noticed me for the first time. “That’s good. I’ve been shorthanded. You’re all better, Lily?”

  “Much, but …”

  “You can start back up tomorrow.”

  “Lily would love that,” Calder said.

  What the heck? Was he trying to keep me busy and out of trouble? Didn’t I tell him I had things I was working on?

  “For now, you two go sit down,” Mrs. Boyd said. “I’ll make you your usuals. Caramel mocha latte and a double espresso?”

  “Perfect,” Calder said as he turned me toward the multicolored tables and chairs. We took our seats by the window.

  I scowled at him and hissed, “I don’t need a job.”

  His eyes sparkled with suppressed laughter as he picked up a copy of the Ashland Gazette that lay on the windowsill. With his other hand he fiddled with the purple fringe on the scarf I’d tied around my waist.

  When Mrs. Boyd returned with our drinks, he was already finished with the cover story, and his mood had obviously dampened.

  “Rip current, my ass,” he said flipping the newspaper over to read the conclusion on the back page.

  “What is it?”

  “Two more. This time kids on WaveRunners.”

  I scooted my chair around and read over his arm. “Why are they always so young?” I asked.

  “Listen.” Calder read aloud. “Marie Bauer and Elly Cook, recent graduates of Washburn High School, were out in Chequamegon Bay Wednesday afternoon with a group of friends when they were knocked off their WaveRunners. The girls were saved by a vigilant family who was watching from the beach. It is believed that rip currents, which have been persistent risks over the last few weeks, were the cause of the accident. The students, however, claimed to have seen a dark shape in the water shortly before, and they believe they were the victims of an animal attack, raising questions of other large fish in the lake like the specimen found weeks ago.”

  Calder crumpled the newspaper and pushed it away. “I guess I was wrong. Maris and Pavati aren’t a million miles away after all.”

  “You don’t know that,” I said. “It could’ve really been a rip current.”

  “Chequamegon Bay is Maris’s favorite hunting grounds.”

  “But I still don’t understand. If it’s Maris and Pavati, why are all these people getting away?”

  Calder looked over at me, and I could tell he was wondering how much he should say.

  “I’m in this,” I said, my voice rising. “Don’t keep secrets from me.”

  “Lily, I don’t want to fight.” He pressed his fingers to his temples.

  “Why are they all getting away?” I said softly, taking his hands in mine.

  He exhaled. “Maris and Pavati’s attacks are coming too close together. That’s bad. But now they’ve let four escape? That’s really, really bad.”

  That still seemed backward to me, but this time I didn’t interrupt him when he tried to explain.

  “They’ve gone too long without a kill and it’s throwing their timing off. They’re slow and … Back when … back when your dad was the target … Maris had us on strict instructions to pace ourselves. I was already at the end of my line when I started stalking—” He cut himself short and made an apologetic face. “Pavati slipped once. But as far as I know, Maris has had only one kill since the migration. She’s got to be seriously depleted.

  “Now you add to that Tallulah’s death, and … Lily, I’ve seen Maris miserable, enraged, manic even, but the other day on your beach—that was full-on despair.”

  “Yeah, but, Calder, I still don’t understand. Even if their timing is off, they still managed to pull those people out of their kayaks and off WaveRunners. Why didn’t they finish the job?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to explain. Their timing is off from lack of practice and because their minds are overwhelmed by despair and grief. Bad timing equals a bad kill.”

  “A bad kill?” I asked. It seemed a little redundant.

  “If they can’t make the kill quick enough, their prey sees what’s coming. If the target gets scared, its emotions sour.”

  “And absorbing negative emotion …,�
� I said.

  “Panic, fear, God forbid, terror … when you’re already in the emotional toilet.… They’re not ‘finishing the job,’ so to speak, because a bad kill will only make things worse for them. Trouble is, the longer this goes on, the deeper they’re going to sink. The depression will get worse. In the end, they won’t be able to see straight. They won’t be able to eat. Or sleep. They’ll keep making more and more desperate attempts.”

  What he’d been trying to tell me after the movie slowly sank in. It wasn’t just about getting Maris and Pavati’s grief under control, or warning them about Jack’s campaign to “out” them. It was much bigger than that. Maris and Pavati’s carelessness could affect us all.

  Calder nodded, seeing the realization in my eyes. “Yes. Too many accidents and people will come looking for the cause,” he said. “We’ll all be in danger. Maris. Pavati. What if they find me? Or your dad? If they find your dad out there, what will they make of you? Or Sophie?”

  Thinking of Sophie in some scientist’s lab, being tested, poked, and probed, sent an icy shiver down my arms. “Maybe the city will put up caution signs. That should keep people out of the water.”

  “Yeah, come up to the lake for your vacation, but don’t go in the water. I don’t think that’s going to sell.”

  “Could we patrol the beach?” I asked.

  Calder looked out the window and stood up quickly. “There’s over twenty-seven hundred miles of lakeshore, Lily. Think of something else. I’ve got to go.”

  “Wait? What? Where are you going?”

  He kissed me quickly on the cheek and exited through the back of the café as I watched slack-jawed. Mrs. Boyd mumbled something about someone acting like he owned the place, just as I saw the reason for Calder’s exodus.

  The bell rang, and Gabby walked in. Jack shuffled behind her, his bangs hanging in his eyes, a dark blue hoodie pulled over his head doing little to hide the bruise around his eye or the cut on his lip. He’d really taken a beating the other night.

  Jack didn’t sit with us but dropped into a chair in the corner, a surly expression on his face.

  “What’s with him?” I whispered to Gabby. “He looks like the Unabomber.”

  “That would be a serious PR improvement.” Gabby glanced at the two cups on the table in front of me. “Double-fisting it?”

  I tried to laugh. “Yeah, feeling a little sluggish lately. Why don’t you take that one. It’s still fresh. I haven’t touched it.” I doubted Calder was coming back.

  “Give it to Jack,” she said. “I’m getting a smoothie.”

  I didn’t really want to sit with Jack. I couldn’t think of anything worse than pretending to have a normal conversation with him in front of Gabby, when both of us were having a very different conversation in our heads. Plus, his gloomy disposition looked contagious.

  I got up anyway and crossed the room, sliding him the coffee. He glowered at me and sank farther into his chair and deeper into his hood.

  The bell rang out again, and a huge guy in a red UW sweatshirt walked in. He glanced at me, and then at Jack. He never finished his trip to the counter. “Whoa. Is that who I think it is?” he asked.

  “Give it a rest, man,” Jack said, his voice like gravel.

  The guy rubbed his eyes in an exaggerated way, as if he didn’t believe what he was seeing. “Is it? It is! Jack Pettit! Did you know they’re calling you Aquaman over at Big Mo’s?”

  “They can call me whatever they want,” Jack said.

  “Mm-hmm. So you seen any mermaids lately?”

  Gabby arrived with her drink and swallowed (as I judged by her expression) a headache-inducing gulp of smoothie. “You got balls, Peterman. Lay off!”

  Jack sat up a little straighter. “Shut up, Gabrielle. I don’t need your help.”

  The guy laughed and shrugged. “Aw, I’m kidding. It’s good to see you guys. Who’s your friend?”

  “Lily,” I said.

  “Brady,” he said, and he shook my hand, holding on to it a few seconds longer than necessary.

  Jack made a psssh sound.

  “Hey, a bunch of us are going camping on Manitou Island tonight,” said Brady. “You girls up for it?”

  Gabby said, “Absolutely! Jack, you’ll take us?”

  “Yeah, Jack. You should come, too,” Brady said.

  Jack said, “I’ve got plans.”

  “What plans?” Gabby asked. “You never want to do anything fun anymore. What about you, Lily? Would your parents let you go?”

  “I’d have to check,” I said. The last time I’d gone to a party with the Pettits, it hadn’t turned out so great.

  “Well, check,” Gabby said. “You’ve never been to Manitou, and it’s always a good time.”

  “Yeah. I’ll ask,” I said as memories of mine and Calder’s day on Manitou flooded my mind. That was the day he’d let me into his world.

  “So what’ve you been up to, Jack?” Brady asked. “Besides the obvious. Nice shiner, by the way. Just bumming around town?”

  “I guess.”

  “I’m telling you. You should have come to Madison with us. College is awesome. Change of scenery, if you know what I mean.” He waggled his eyebrows in a way that made it clear he wasn’t talking about rocks and trees. Jack made another psssh sound under his breath.

  “Don’t mind Jack,” Gabby said. “He hasn’t had his coffee yet this morning.”

  Jack backhanded the cup I’d given to him, and we all flinched as it flew across the table, the cover snapping off and creamy liquid splashing across the table.

  “Oh, c’mon,” Mrs. Boyd said. “Guess who’s got to clean that up?”

  I got up out of habit and snagged a rag from the bleach bucket and wiped up the spill. “How ’bout I start work today instead?” I asked.

  Mrs. Boyd stared at me, confused, and I felt like a complete idiot. Apparently Calder’s hypnotic abilities had a time limit.

  “What?” she asked. “Oh, Lily, I’m sorry. I don’t have any openings right now. But if you want an assignment, how about you get those friends of yours out of here before they make a real mess.”

  17

  PREPARATION

  I came through the front door of the house, wondering what Mom and Dad would say about the camping trip. I didn’t think camping on an island was going to sound like a good idea to Dad. That is, if he was home to cast a vote. Either way, Mom was my best bet. If she said yes, Dad wouldn’t rule against her. He couldn’t afford to get on her bad side any more than he already was.

  “Mom?” I called, letting the screen door slam behind me.

  “Back here, hon.” Her voice traveled through the house, sounding garbled.

  I found her in the back room. She’d pulled her wheelchair up to a giant canvas, which was set on one of several easels. Her mangled tubes of paint and various-sized brushes were arranged on a TV tray to her right.

  Instantly, I saw why her voice sounded weird. She was holding her paintbrush in her mouth and leaning forward into the canvas. The sight choked up a strangled sob in my throat. When had the MS got so bad that she couldn’t hold a brush? Had she been doing this for a while? Why hadn’t I noticed?

  “Mom?” I asked, my voice wobbling.

  She reached up and retrieved the paintbrush from her mouth and dabbed it in a glob of burnt sienna.

  “What’s up?” she asked.

  “Your hands?” I asked, hoping she understood the question without me saying more.

  She looked at her paintbrush, then looked at me. “Oh, honey, they’re fine. I was experimenting.”

  “Why?” I asked, with barely any sound.

  “Just in case I need some options later,” she said. “It’s good to be prepared.”

  I wanted to crawl into her lap. I wondered if I could make myself fit. I wondered if she’d let me try. She laid her brush down on the palette and swiveled her wheelchair away from the easel.

  “What’s wrong, baby?”

  “You scared me. I
don’t want you not to be able to paint.”

  She laughed. “Me neither, which is why I was practicing with a new technique before I really need it.” She gave me a sympathetic look and wheeled closer. I knelt in front of her and she brushed my hair with her hand.

  “Life’s short, babe. If I want something, I make it happen. You should, too. How’s your poetry coming? You haven’t shared any with me in a while.”

  “Jules says there’s no money in poetry.”

  “Jules is probably right, but why should that stop you? I’m just saying when you figure out what you want to be, go for it. Carpe diem and all that.”

  “I’m going to be a scientist,” Sophie said, sneaking in behind me. “And a fashion designer.”

  “You see,” Mom said.

  “And a bareback rider in the Shrine Circus?” I asked her.

  “Maybe,” Sophie said. “But only if you’ll be my horse.”

  I dropped to my hands and knees. Sophie climbed onto my back.

  “Well,” Mom said, “I meant it when I said be whatever you want to be, but I think you’ll have to draw the line at switching species.”

  That pulled me up short, and Sophie tumbled off me.

  Mom laughed and went back to her painting. “Okay, fine. I’ll stick to what I said, but you’ll have to work especially hard if you want to be a horse when you grow up.”

  “Hey, Mom, would it be okay if I went camping with Gabby tonight?”

  “Gabby camps?” With the paintbrush held between her teeth, she dabbed the bristles against the canvas. “She doesn’t strike me as the camping type.”

  “Some of her friends are going, too,” I said.

  Mom turned back to face me, the paintbrush dangling from the corner of her mouth like a long cigarette. “Friends as in boys?”

  I twisted a lock of hair around my finger and examined it for split ends. “Some of her friends might be boys.”

  She took the paintbrush from her mouth and pointed it at me. “Have you asked your dad about it?”

  “I haven’t seen him. Not for a while, actually.” I wished I could take it back. Mom’s look of surprise turned to pain. Silently counting out the days in my head, I tried to remember when I’d seen Dad last. Five days ago? A week? I smiled weakly. “So can I go?”