by Kelly Creagh
Isobel looked up. She clamped the box shut with a sharp snap and, shaking her head, held it back out to Gwen. “I can’t accept this,” she said.
Gwen raised a palm. “Too late,” she said. “Besides, she was the one who told me to give it to you. ”
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Isobel hesitated, trying to think of a tactful way to say what she was thinking. But there wasn’t one, so she just blurted it out. “Gwen, I thought you told me your grandparents were dead. ”
Gwen shrugged. “They are. Now put the damn thing on so they’ll stop parading into my dreams to tell me how disappointed they are. Do it before your dad finds out I’m here and calls animal control. ”
“Too late,” came a mellow voice from behind them. “Too bad they’re not open today. ”
Both Gwen and Isobel swung around to find her dad standing in the doorway leading from the hall to the kitchen, a steaming white Santa mug in one hand. With the bags under his eyes, his unshaven face, and the scraps of hair poking out around his head, Isobel thought he looked a little like Jack Nicholson in The Shining.
“Morning, Mr. Lanley. ” Gwen gave a stilted full-armed wave, like the swipe of a windshield wiper. “I like your slippers,” she said, pointing. “Go Big Blue. ”
His eyes narrowed to near slits. “Are you supposed to be here?” he asked.
“No,” she replied. “But I know you’re not gonna kick me out. ”
At this, her dad actually looked more amused than annoyed. “Oh yeah?” he said. “Why’s that?”
As he tilted his mug to his lips, Gwen flashed one of her bright toothpaste-commercial smiles. “It’s Christmas!”
“Humph,” he said, and gave her another once-over before turning his attention fully to Isobel. “It’s safe to come back into the kitchen, Izzy,” he said. “Your hot chocolate’s ready. ” He shuffled back around, but paused in the archway. He stood there for a few seconds, as though debating whether or not to say what he was thinking. Finally he gave a long, loud sigh. “Ask Gwen if she wants marshmallows in hers. ”
Gwen’s bag hit the floor with a thud. “Actually, I take mine with whipped cream, but I’ll settle for Cool Whip if that’s all you’ve got. ”
“Super,” he said, turning to face them again, a tight-lipped smile in place. “Can I get you anything else while I’m at it? Muffin? Bagel? Taxi?”
“Now that you mention it, I am kinda hungry. ” Leaving Isobel behind, Gwen made her way down the hall toward the kitchen door, shedding her coat.
Isobel’s dad stepped to one side, allowing her room to pass. “Jeannine,” he called into the kitchen. “Isobel’s got company. You remember Gwen, don’t you?” he asked, staring down into his mug and swirling its contents as he spoke. “Young lady who called from that illegal warehouse party to inform us that she’d lied about the sleepover and that our daughter was missing?”
“Hey, at least I called,” Gwen said. “Is this mug clean?”
Isobel moved to her father’s side and laid a hand on his sleeve. “Dad?”
He aimed a thumb over his shoulder toward the kitchen. “She always this polite?”
Isobel gave him a weak smile. It faded quickly, and she squeezed his arm. “What did Mom say?”
He nodded as though he’d been expecting the question. Then he lifted his mug to his lips again, taking another small sip of the steaming liquid before answering.
“She said we’d better dress warm. ”
“UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND, HUH?” GWEN asked after taking a noisy slurp of her cocoa. Leaning forward out of her chair, she reached across the table and grabbed a handful of peanut M&M’s from a green-and-red-striped candy dish. “I’d have thought you’d want to go somewhere a little bit closer to home. ”
Sitting next to Gwen, Isobel opened her mouth to respond, but it was her mom who cut in, glancing up from her stack of newspaper coupons. “Isobel’s just going to look,” she said. “She hasn’t decided yet. ”
Isobel shut her mouth again and returned to stirring her own cocoa with a long-handled spoon. Every now and then, she glanced at the box that held the necklace Gwen had tried to give her. Isobel had set it on the clear wooden space between their holly-decorated place mats in an effort to communicate to her friend that she had by no means agreed to take it.
“Hey,” Gwen said. Perking up, she aimed her half-eaten candy cane at Isobel. “In that case, you should come with me to look at U of K in the spring. And University of Louisville, too. They’re close, and they’ve both got killer athletics departments. Right, Mr. Lanley?”
“Mm,” her dad mumbled into his mug.
“I’m pretty sure I’m goin’ to one of those two,” Gwen went on, waving the candy cane back and forth with one hand, fishing for more M&M’s with the other.
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Isobel’s dad gave a low grunt. Pushing away from where he’d been leaning against the kitchen sink, he swiveled and poured the dregs of his cocoa down the drain. “This Maryland joint’s starting to sound better and better,” he muttered.
Isobel’s mom shot him a glare. Then she turned to Gwen, who now held the handful of M&M’s close to her pursed lips. She sucked the candy into her mouth one piece at a time, with a high-pitched whistling noise that cut off into a quick, loud spurt of crunching.
“Do you know what you want to major in yet, Gwen?” her mom asked.
“Criminal justice. I’m thinking about becoming a lawyer. ”
“Ha!” shouted Isobel’s dad. Her mom sent him yet another disapproving scowl.
Gwen chuckled. “Just kidding, Mr. Lanley,” she said as she chewed through a widening smile. “I knew you’d get a kick out of that. ” She turned back to Isobel’s mom with a shrug. “I’ll probably go for a double major in business and costume design. ”
“Double major. Wow,” her mom said. “Why costumes?”
“I like to design clothes and sew, but I’m not much of a fashion guru. ”
“Could have fooled me,” her dad commented.
Gwen went on, pretending like she hadn’t heard. “I like more extravagant things. Stuff you wouldn’t normally wear. ”
“Really?” Isobel’s mom said. Smiling now, her attention snagged, she crossed her arms over her spread of coupons and leaned forward.
Isobel thought about the frilly pink dress Gwen had altered for her and made her wear to the Grim Facade. She remembered that Gwen’s reasoning behind the pink had been to make it easier for Varen to spot her in the sea of black-clad bodies. Currently, the tattered garment lay hidden in the bottom drawer of her dresser, bloodstained and covered in ashen grit. Isobel hadn’t had the heart to throw it away. Instead, like Varen’s jacket, she’d entombed it beneath layers of less conspicuous garments. It lay sleeping in its compartment, preserved yet unseen, a constant reminder of where she had been, what she had faced, and who she had left behind.
“What kind of shows do you want to design for?” Isobel heard her mom ask.
“Hopefully I’ll be doing movies one day,” Gwen said. “As far as staged shows go, though, I’d like to do stuff like A Midsummer Night’s Dream or Alice in Wonderland. Plays that leave a lot of room for artistic interpretation. ”
“Any musicals?”
“Omigosh. My Fair Lady. The embassy ball is a costume designer’s dream. ”
“Oh, that is a good one. ”
Until this moment, Isobel had only been half paying attention to the conversation. Now, though, as she looked between Gwen and her mother, Isobel had to marvel at the way Gwen operated, how she could spin any given situation in her favor. How she could play the innocent card right along with that brash attitude and still win every time.
“Actually,” Gwen said, “now that I think about it, the horse-race scene would be even better. ”
“Oh! That’s my favorite part!” Isobel’s mom said, giggling out of nowhere. “When she starts yelli
ng at the horse?”
“C’mon, Dover!” Gwen crowed suddenly, adopting a gritted expression and a bad accent that sounded part Australian and part British. She slammed a fist down on the table, causing their cocoa mugs to rattle and Isobel to jump in her seat. “C’mon!”
Grinning, Isobel’s mom pressed her own hands flat to the tabletop. Their eyes met and together they chorused, “Move your bloomin’ arse!”
Isobel’s eyes popped wide as her mom fell back in her chair with a loud peal of laughter.
Her dad turned a baffled look on her, but she could only shrug.
Isobel had to admit that whatever Gwen was trying to accomplish, it was apparently working. Ten minutes ago, the girl had been a banished delinquent, forbidden from coming within twenty yards of her house, much less inviting herself in for cocoa. And now here she was, sitting pretty at her family’s kitchen table, chatting about college and quoting Broadway musicals with her mom.
“Izzy’s not sure what she wants to major in yet,” her mom said, still grinning. “Right now I get the impression she’s more interested in finding the perfect squad. ”
“Which is fine, too,” her dad interjected.
Her mom’s smile faltered. “Which is fine, too,” she allowed. Quiet settled over the kitchen as her mother’s focus returned to the stack of coupon pages. Isobel could tell that she wasn’t really reading, though.
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A tense awkwardness filled the room. Gwen pretended not to notice. She only pulled the candy dish toward her and began to pick through the M&M’s, pulling out the reds and leaving the greens.
“You know what they say about the green ones,” she muttered to herself.
Isobel looked from her mother to her father, and the picture began to grow clearer.
Even though her dad had said that her mom was okay with the trip, Isobel could tell that she wasn’t. Not really. Not only that, but she’d begun to sense an unfamiliar level of contention between the two of them. It was like a loose knot that had gradually started to tighten. She could feel the stiffness in the way they interacted, or rather, in the way that they didn’t. It took her only a moment to realize that even though they’d exchanged words, they hadn’t really been talking.
Isobel looked down into her mug of cocoa, at the lumps of melted marshmallows floating on the surface like clouds in a murky sky. She told herself that she couldn’t think about that. If she allowed herself to worry too much about her parents’ involvement or the tension building between them, then she would lose sight of why she was going to Baltimore in the first place. And she couldn’t afford that. Not if she wanted to see Varen again. Not if she wanted to keep her promise.
The cheerleader part of her told her the whole thing would work itself out, even though she knew that kind of thinking was only false comfort. But part of the plan, she had decided, was not to overthink what she was doing. If she took it in steps, if she crossed each bridge as she came to it, then and only then could she keep believing that she would make it, that she would see him again. It was her only tactic for fighting the doubt and the insurmountable darkness that came with it.
“I think I’m going to see who’s playing,” her dad said suddenly. With that, he turned and marched out of the room.
“Sam,” her mom said, her head popping up from her papers. He didn’t turn back, though, and Isobel watched her mother sink into herself, her eyes glazing over as she brushed her fingers over the snowflake locket at her throat.
“That’s beautiful,” Gwen said, her voice slicing through the moment, soft and yet intruding enough to turn her mother’s attention away from the empty doorway. “Christmas present?”
Isobel’s mom dropped her hand from the necklace with a flutter, as though she hadn’t realized she’d been fiddling with it. She smiled at Gwen and nodded, though her eyes remained distant and sad.
“I gave Isobel a necklace too,” Gwen said. “You should show your mom. ”
Placing one hand on the mahogany box, Gwen pushed it toward Isobel.
Isobel glared at Gwen. She was starting to wonder how much she’d underestimated the girl’s ability to find a means to any end. When Isobel still didn’t take the box, Gwen plucked it from the table herself and pried it open, holding it out toward Isobel’s mom the way a waitress might display the label of a particularly fine bottle of wine.
“Oh, that is lovely,” her mom cooed. “Such a nice gift. ”
“What can I say?” Gwen shrugged. “She’s my bestie. ”
Bestie? Isobel thought.
“Why don’t you put it on, Izzy?” her mom asked.
“Yeah. Put it on,” Gwen echoed. “Here,” she said as she pulled the necklace free of its velvet bed. The chain unraveled like a silver snake. The hamsa dangled at the end, the opal gleaming, as iridescent as the sparkling snow that coated the world outside.
Isobel’s initial irritation turned into an under-the-lid boil, and she trained her eyes on Gwen. Unfazed, Gwen merely unlatched the necklace and stood. Rounding Isobel’s chair, she lowered the chain over her head and latched the clasp in place. Next, she scooped Isobel’s hair out from underneath the chain and let it fall loose once again.
“Oh, Izzy. It’s so becoming. I’m sure you’ve thanked Gwen already. ”
“Yeah. ” Isobel gritted a smile. “I did. It’s great. I love it. ”
Gwen beamed, triumphant.
“Well,” she said with a sigh, grabbing her coat, which she’d hung on the back of one of the kitchen chairs, “I guess I’d better let you guys get back to your Yuletide festivities. ”
“What about you?” Isobel’s mom asked. “What are your plans for today?”
“Nothing much,” Gwen said. She pulled her coat on and waved her hat through the air as though batting away a fly. “Hanukkah ended last week. The twenty-fifth tends to be a boring day in the Daniels household. But thanks for the cocoa, Mrs. Lanley. Merry Christmas. ”
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“Oh. ” Isobel’s mom blinked in surprise. “Gosh. Well, in that case, why don’t you stay and have lunch with us?”
Gwen paused. She hesitated, clasping her knit hat between her gloved hands. “I dunno. I don’t want to intrude. I mean, is that gonna be okay with Mr. Lanley?”
Isobel’s mom seemed to stiffen at this question. “Of course it will be,” she said. “Besides, it’s refreshing to see Isobel have some company for a change. Here, let me get these dishes, and you girls go upstairs. I’ll call you when it’s time to eat. ”
“Gee, thanks, Mrs. Lanley,” Gwen said, her voice syrupy sweet as she backed toward the hallway door, looking as sly as a cat with a canary locked in its jaws. Isobel scooted back her chair and stood to follow Gwen through the archway.
When they reached the hall, Gwen stooped to pull up her bag from where she’d let it drop in the foyer, grunting as she hoisted it onto her shoulder.
Isobel glared at her, arms folded. “You planned that whole thing out, didn’t you?”
“Right down to the lunch invitation. Now, c’mon. There’s something I need to show you. ”
9
An Eidolon Named Night
“Close the door behind you,” Gwen said, dropping the messenger bag onto Isobel’s bed.
Isobel shut her door. She pressed her back to it, watching as Gwen threw open the flap on the bag, pulled forth a large green book, and laid it gently on Isobel’s comforter.
Gold foil glinted on the cover and spine, revealing floral motifs and elegant lettering. The book’s yellowing block of pages looked almost too thick for its own binding.
Curious, Isobel edged closer to the bed. A Guide to Jewish Magic, Myth, and Mysticism the embellished title read.
The subject matter sent a worming sensation through Isobel’s lower stomach. It made her wonder—and dread—how the information contained in the book connected to what Gwen knew.
Gwen didn’t wait for her to start asking questions, though. Opening the behemoth volume, she began flipping through whole sections at a time, as though searching for a name in a phone book. The chunks of pages slapped against one another until finally, Gwen stopped. The page she halted on depicted a single letter, a large and elaborate L.
Isobel’s gaze followed the path of Gwen’s spindly fingers as they slipped to the top right-hand corner of the book, hooking the thin, almost filmy paper. This time, she turned each separate sheet slowly, the pages whispering against one another as they lifted and settled into place once more.
As Gwen leafed through, Isobel caught glimpses of strange symbols and squiggly characters—probably Hebrew—interspersed between long sections of English text.
Isobel shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She fiddled with the cuffs of her sleeves, then folded her arms, waiting and yet somehow knowing what had to be coming.
Gwen continued to turn page after page, past engravings and artist’s renderings of scrolls, past detailed diagrams depicting interlaced wheels and six-pointed stars, past human figures cloaked in robes and draped in scarves—until she turned one final page.
An intricate engraving of a beautiful woman unfolded itself, the artwork filling the entire left-hand side of the book.
The image sent a shock wave through Isobel.
Black hair coiled around the woman’s head in thick, snakelike tendrils, intertwining with the length of her arms. It twisted upward, too, writhing through the air above her as though caught in a gale. Her white hands clutched and pulled at the swaths of gauzy fabric that encased her, as though she were a moth straining to tear herself free from coils of cobweb.
The lacelike curl of her lashes lay folded down, fringing closed lids, creating spidery shadows against her cheeks.
Innately, Isobel knew the woman couldn’t be sleeping. Her expression seemed too intent and aware, as though she was gazing far into the future.
At the woman’s feet, ghouls converged, a mess of sharp, tangled limbs and withered frames, of gaping hollow skull faces and howling mouths filled with serrated teeth. Even though they weren’t an accurate rendering of the Nocs, Isobel had no doubt that was who the wasted creatures were meant to depict.
In the background of the etching, the craggy branches of pencil-thin trees poked out from a decorative border that framed the picture. The hunched forms of inkblot birds dotted their knotted boughs.
