“Don’t you see it?” she said, pointing.
“Come on, Abigail, get real.” I tried to scoff. Goose bumps tingled my scalp where each hair was standing on end.
She gazed at me—her eyes radiating joy and sympathetic understanding.
I’ve seen that look before in church and thought it a bit scary, but that was church. Who could be ecstatic in a place like this? It scared the heck out of me.
“Let’s get as close as possible before we get out,” said Mindy.
Until now she had kept her eyes mostly on the muddy, potholed road. She drove the bus forward but there was too much junk and we stopped after ten feet. She turned off the engine. It shuddered back to life then stopped again. Sometimes the bus restarts itself, which is bad enough if you’re close to home; but if it happens faraway and no one is there to turn it off, the engine could burn up.
We waited a full minute. It did not restart . . . and I was disappointed. If only it had roared back to life, driven itself back through the hole in the fence, and sped home. If only.
“Is there a flashlight?” I turned the key in the glove box and searched inside. I felt narrow cold metal and hoped the batteries weren’t dead. I removed the flashlight, felt the raised lever and slid it forward. A pale, yellow beam lit up the inside of the bus.
Without waiting for anyone, Abigail opened the door and stepped into the pouring rain. She raised her head, lifted her chin, and got immediately soaked. She let the water flow over her hair and down her face. Her glasses became a mini version of the windshield with streaming rivulets.
“Come on, hurry up.” I pulled the handle and shoved the door open as if I could not wait to get soaked. No way was Abigail going to look braver than me. Mindy looked at me like I was crazy—not because I got out but because I said hurry up, as if she were the one lagging.
“Don’t leave me,” Pamela wailed. “Where are you going? Where is the food mall?”
“Pamela, stay here,” I said.
“No. I want to come, too. You can’t eat all the food. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
“Of course not,” I said, humoring her the way I do Francine. “We thought you could stay here where it’s nice and dry. We’ll bring the food back, so you won’t get wet.”
I remembered how she ordered us to get food for her while she stayed in the bus and hoped there was a spark of the old Pamela left.
“I’m coming too.” Pamela fumbled with the latch, opened the door, and stepped into the rain. “It’s wet.” She turned this way and that as she trailed after us. “Everything is all wet.”
Please don’t let her wake up before Abigail finds the book.
Climbing wet trash is weird. You slip, slide, and trip and don’t get very far. It smelled rotten, too. I had never been here so I didn’t know what it smelled like when it was dry, but the water could not have helped.
By now the rain had slowed. A few scattered drops fell on my face, but the worst of the storm had passed.
A shrill scream rang out. It tapered off, became distorted, and ended in a snarl.
Had an animal wandered in, gotten caught on a wire or jagged fence, and was now trying to free itself?
Everyone stopped and stared in the direction of the scream.
“Let’s find the book and get out of here,” I said, not wanting them to be distracted. “It was dumped here recently so it can’t be far away.”
We struggled up the first mound. The top was not completely flat, more like an uneven plateau. If we went higher, we could look down, get a better view, and the book might reveal itself. But we seemed to have gone as far up as possible.
I flashed the beam over and around the mess. It was worse close up than I had imagined. There was no way we would find anything. I turned to leave but Abigail went the opposite way.
“Shine it over here,” she said. And I did. She stared hard at each object under the beam.
“Wait for me,” Pamela called.
I followed Abigail, but when I looked over my shoulder, I saw Mindy waiting for Pamela.
I didn’t want them to go off in a different direction. In her confused state, Pamela could wander anywhere and would not even know she was lost. When she got within a few feet of Mindy, they both followed us.
I will never know how Abigail saw the book, but she did. She darted forward, slipped, fell, got up, and ran. With each step she sank, and then waved her arms in teetering swinging motions which gave her enough leverage to keep from sinking deeper.
When Abigail reached the book, she dropped to her knees, leaned over and picked it up. Then she bent one leg and steadied herself while holding onto the book with both hands. She bent her other knee and stood up.
“It’s dry,” she whispered, grinning triumphantly and holding the book over her head. Then she lowered the book, and with water trickling down her glasses, gazed at it in a very personal way, as if only she and the book existed.
Abigail’s smile slowly faded. She raised her head and looked at each of us, her eyes hardening.
We stepped back.
Seconds passed and no one spoke.
What was she thinking? What was she remembering? She had to be judging us the same way we had judged her.
Her eyes narrowed and she pressed her lips together.
If only I had been faster, I might have reached the book before she did. Not that I would know what to do with it. That was the problem. She was the only one who knew how to use it.
“It was just covered up.” I wanted to distract her, but I had seen the book lying on top of the rubble, in the open.
“You know that’s not true.” She steadily scrutinized us.
“Don’t forget about Pamela,” I said. “She needs your help.”
“Oh no, I have not forgotten her,” Abigail said, her lips twitching.
“Can I see it?” I moved my hand inches closer to the book. “I’m just curious. It looks like any old book to me.”
Abigail did not answer or pull the book away. She watched my hand as I reached for it.
My fingers touched the book. Sparks sizzled along the edges. I pulled back and clenched my hand, my fingers stinging.
“But I picked it up before,” I said, breathing hard, “why . . .”
“Yes, you did,” Abigail hissed, her eyes bright.
“What’s so different now?” I took another step back.
“That’s what the book wanted,” she said. “It wanted you to pick it up so you could return it to me. It let you.”
She stroked the cover ever so slowly. As her hand passed over the leather, gold letters appeared, glowed for an instant, and vanished.
It was an old book, the cover soft, the pages worn from being leafed through many times. It should have soaked up water like a sponge, but there was no hint of dampness. The book had magically preserved itself through pelting rain.
Abigail looked up at me and then her gaze traveled back to the book. She opened it and with great care slid her finger under the first page, her eyes pausing here and there at words or phrases as though they held special meaning.
Again, she turned the page with the same careful slowness. And then again. Each time absorbing the writing the way a love-sick person dwells on poetry written by a lost lover.
“What are we doing here?” Pamela stood at the edge of the plateau. She took two unsteady steps toward us.
“I want to go home.” She peered at the dark landscape. “I’m cold. I’m hungry.”
Abigail’s eyes riveted on Pamela, who stood there fully exposed, a perfect target.
I hoped Pamela would teeter, twist an ankle, fall backwards, and roll down the hill. I would run after her. By the time Abigail recovered and ran after us, we would be gone, and she would not find us. While she tore apart the junkyard looking for us, Mindy would run back to the bus, lock the doors and flash the headlights. If someone drove by, she could flag them down and they would call for help.
It was only wishful thinking.
&
nbsp; “Hello, Pamela.” Abigail tilted her head and eyed her.
“What did you say?” Pamela frowned at Abigail. “Who is that?”
“Go back to the bus and stay there, Pamela,” I interrupted. “We’ll only be here a few more minutes. Then we’ll leave and stop someplace else. When we find the mall, I’ll get you a double cheeseburger with curly fries. How does that sound?”
“I want to go now. I . . . who is that?” Pamela squinted and swiped at the water in her eyes. She gradually straightened her back as she recognized Abigail. “What is she doing here?”
Oh no, no, no!
Abigail took a cautious step away from us. She turned her ankle and slipped sideways more than once, but she never stopped edging away, and she never took her eyes off the book. She kept it open, balancing it in her hands, her lips moving, as she recited ancient words we did not understand.
Abigail reached a point where she stood higher and looked down on us. On either side of her the dirt and trash were piled in two narrow stacks. A board lay across the top and made a crude altar. She placed the book in the middle and raised both arms in the air as if imploring a greater power.
The thought of running forward and kicking the book away occurred to me, but I could not touch it a few minutes ago and had no reason to think this time would different. If I tried again, I might get electrocuted.
“Mindy,” I whispered. Mindy turned and I nodded toward Pamela who stared transfixed at Abigail. “Get Pamela and”—I motioned— go back to the bus.
The storm had moved far away. A white aura lit up the clouds where lightning was striking. Seconds passed. Muffled thunder rolled, but faint and barely audible.
The lightning stopped. Stars twinkled amid thinning clouds. A whisper of breeze stirred the air, faint at first, growing stronger. Wet papers and wrappers peeled away and flew at us. The wind reversed, whipping my wet hair first one way then the other. It blew harder, stifling Pamela’s whimpering voice.
Abigail’s lips still moved as she uttered her incantation. I watched but could not hear what she said. Mindy reached Pamela and touched her arm. Pamela pursed her lips and glared at her. Mindy stopped, afraid Pamela would cry out and alert Abigail.
The sky exploded. Lightning flashed and blinded me. The ground tremored. The storm had passed so it must be an earthquake, or god’s anvil.
Was the ground solid enough to withstand the shaking, or would it cave in and bury us alive?
Not wanting to see the end of my life, I covered my eyes. I should have kept them open. An unknown force lifted me in the air and threw me aside.
My final thought before I passed out was at least I never wrecked the car and got my mom’s insurance canceled, because I never lived long enough to get my driver’s license.
Chapter 25. Revisited
Cold and damp. A dark wet hell. However unfair life might have been, death really sucked.
I don’t deserve this. The thought angered me and at the same time I felt overwhelmed with misery.
Wait a minute.
I opened my eyes and saw moonlight shining through wispy clouds. I was lying on my back alive.
With shaking arms, I raised myself first on one elbow, then the other. I took a deep breath and for the briefest moment I wondered if it had all been a dream.
In the next second, reality flooded.
Abigail stood in the same place; her face distorted with fear.
Two tall figures in black came up the hill from different directions. They did not slide or stumble but steadily advanced on her.
“I did not summon you!” Abigail screamed. “I did not call you! Why are you here?”
I would have run—if I could have—and been ecstatic to slip and slide all the way down the hill and fallen in a ditch, but as shallow as my breathing was, I would have hyperventilated first and passed 0ut.
James and Jade. They were slim as ever, but they were elongated and half again as tall as they had been.
“We are not here for you.” Jade's voice, soft as silk, echoed across the mountains of debris. “We came for the book. It is stolen property, as you well know.”
“That’s a lie. I didn’t steal it.” Abigail stepped back, slipped, and fell to the side. “I found it, then it was lost.” She recovered her footing. “But it came back . . . to me.”
“Abigail,” James said, in the same soft-yet-loud voice. “That is not the only reason we are here.” His eyes met Jade’s. She seemed more ominous and threatening than he did. She stared at him—his gaze never faltered—then she turned her head and crossed her arms. All right, we will do this your way.
“What do you want from me?” Abigail said.
“Our law prohibits theft,” James said, “but worse, you harmed someone.”
“She hurt me first,” Abigail seethed. “She asked for it.”
“I would not disagree,” James said, “and you have taken revenge. Now you must undo your curse.”
“I’m trying to.” Abigail turned away from them and cast a sidelong glance at Pamela. “But I can’t. She’ll just have to stay that way.” She stared with defiance at James and Jade.
“It is forbidden to speak naught but the truth when you hold the Veritas. To do otherwise summons a power that would destroy us all. Is that what you wish?” Jade tilted her head, as if amused. “Or is it an innocent mistake that you are looking in the wrong place?”
Abigail clamped both hands around the sides of the book and held it close.
“You do not want to help her,” Jade said. “You want to kill her.”
I tried to move forward, but my knees buckled. I opened my mouth to scream out: she’s trying to save her.
Jade looked at me and I stopped. In whatever world they came from, however unfair it was, Abigail had to speak for herself. When she did, it was not what I expected.
“What if I am?” She narrowed her eyes. “What if I do? You can’t stop me. She deserves it.”
“Under some circumstances you could be right,” James said.
“But this is different,” Jade said. “There is a bond between us.” She cast a rueful look at Pamela, who sat in the mud, swaying back and forth, oblivious to what was taking place.
“She is our sister,” James said. “We cannot let you do this. She is the one who called us. Not you.”
“You’re lying,” Abigail said.
“If you do not believe me,” James said, “turn to the back of the book, past Revenge. There is a chapter on Blood Bonds. That’s why the spell you tried just now did not work.” He exchanged glances with Jade who gave a barely perceptible nod. “You don’t want to bring us into this,” he said, “not this way. Even if we did not want to hear her call, or answer it, we would, we must.”
I longed to speak but I had no words. The image of that goldfish gasping for air—not understanding what was happening or why, only knowing its life was ending—flashed before my eyes. I needed to ask—to demand—an explanation but could not get the words out. Then somehow, I managed it, but it did not sound me.
“Does she know?” I squeaked.
All eyes turned toward me. Now that I had finally said something, I couldn’t keep quiet.
“What do you mean Pamela is your sister? How could she be? Does she know? Did she have a DNA test? Has anyone told her about—about the three of you?”
“No,” Jade said, glaring at me, “and she is not going to find out. She is not going to wake up, not like this. It would kill her to see herself this way. She puts everything into her image: too much. I know she is horrible, but we cannot let it go any further.”
“It’s a long story,” said James, “but I’ll give you the short version.”
“We don’t have to explain anything,” Jade interrupted.
“No,” said James, “but we should.” They held each other’s gaze. “In the interest of understanding, right?” he urged.
Jade still did not answer. She pressed her lips together and looked away from him.
“We ha
ve different mothers,” James said, “but the same father. What we said about how our mother died is half true. But it was not caused by smoking— she didn’t— or by exposure to the sun’s radiation. The disease that killed her was inflicted on her. She had always been different.”
“As are we,” Jade broke in, “although not in the same way.”
“Yes, but we know why we’re not like anyone else,” James said. “And I’m talking about at schools, all of them. We’ve attended many but had to leave because we’re not like everyone else.”
“Dad told us why,” Jade said, “and he apologized for it. He didn’t have to. He wasn’t responsible for his ancestors. They, or one of them, was a skin walker. The tribe would drive the person away; but the trait, talent, whatever you call it—desire or hate—would skip a generation, maybe two, but another skin walker always appeared. It’s in our blood; we have nothing to do with it.”
“They don’t know what skin walkers are.” James lowered his head, then raised it and stared at a point beyond the dark hills.
“I do,” I said. “They’re”—everyone stared at me again— “witches.”
“And some are—or were . . ..” Jade stopped.
“Killers—of their own family,” I said. “But not anymore, right? I don’t think so. But it’s not like wand-waving or enchantments. It’s about”—
— “killing and soul stealing,” James said. “Thanks for understanding, Olivia, but wishing or trying to put it in the past won’t change anything.”
“Ours is not the typical branch on your family tree,” Jade said bitterly. “If you have a choice. His advantage, our dad’s, was that he knew about his family history, and mercifully the gene or trait had not manifested itself in him.”
“Our mom had a different past,” James said. “Like Dad’s, it was tied to the Others, but unlike him she didn’t know anything about it.” He stopped and looked inward.
“She thought there was something wrong with her,” Jade said. “In a way, she was right. The fae are not regarded with sympathy. What’s more, no one would have believed her.” She turned to me and said, “You know what that’s like, don’t you, Olivia?”
I didn’t answer. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mindy shake her head, as if what she was hearing could not be right.
One of Us: The City of Secrets Page 17
