by Cady Vance
“Do you think they’ll put it back?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I don’t know. I cast a protection wall around your room, but it will only last seven days. I can it re-do it then but…it works for spirits, not anything or anyone else.”
“So, if you can’t do anything to help,” Brent said, “that thing will just stay there if they put it back?”
I lifted my chin a little. “I lied.”
“Holly,” Laura said sharply. I turned to her, and her eyes shot daggers of warning. “They would have killed all four of us.”
“Next time I won’t get caught,” I said. “The spirits will hurt people. Standing by and watching it happen is just as bad as doing it myself.”
She glanced away. “My head hurts too much to have this conversation right now.”
“Yeah,” I said, massaging my temples. I needed Advil, stat. “I think I’m going to walk home.”
“Me too,” Laura said. She swung her arms around me in a tight hug. “I’m glad we’re okay,” she whispered into my ear. Then, she turned around and began the trek to her neighborhood, Brent by her side.
“I’ll walk with you.” Nathan fell into step with me as I headed in the opposite direction.
“That’s hardly necessary,” I said, but I was glad someone else was here, just in case my woozy head became too much to handle.
“I live on your street, you know,” he said, not slowing down. “Only a few blocks further out of town.”
“Yeah, I remember,” I said, picturing the blue shutters and the colonial architecture. “How could I have forgotten?”
We walked in silence for a few moments—me barely aware of our surroundings with the rocks beating against my skull—before Nathan cleared his throat. “Listen, I don’t know what happened back there, but I have to tell you I’m pretty freaked out about it.”
I grabbed his arm and stopped on the sidewalk, looking up into his eyes. The green glinted under the streetlamp. “I don’t know either, Nathan. I was telling the truth. I don’t know why those guys are summoning spirits into people’s rooms or why they’d need to kidnap us and threaten us if we didn’t stop banishing them.”
“They’re the same guys from the boat, aren’t they?”
I nodded. “They did it at Kylie’s house, at Brent’s house, and it sounds like they’re going to keep doing it. All over town.”
“Well, listen,” he said, glancing at my hand still on his arm. I let it slide away, fingers brushing the sleeve of his polo. “Just let them. I know it’ll freak people out, but they’ll go after you again.”
I bit my lip, wondering how much I should explain to him. “Spirits aren’t friendly ghosts. They are creatures who attack people.”
“Yeah, I heard you say that to Laura, but Brent seemed fine.”
“No, Brent was hurt. You just couldn’t see it. If that spirit had been allowed to stay in his room, he would have ended up really, really hurt. Maybe…dead.” I paused to let my words sink in. “They are very dangerous.”
“I see.” And I could tell that he did see, or he at least saw how serious I was about it. “Do you know anyone who can help with this?”
I shook my head and started walking again, wishing I could shield my face from the headlights of passing cars. A couple of moments later, we were standing on the sidewalk outside of my house. Nathan walked me over to my bedroom window and watched me climb inside. He stood there with his hands in his pockets looking like he had something important to say, but he never did.
“Thanks for walking me home,” I leaned out a little to whisper to him. I hoped Mom had gotten to bed without me, and I didn’t want to talk too loudly just in case.
“You’re welcome,” he said, eyes flickering as if he were searching my face for something.
I reached up to pull my window closed, but he put out a hand to stop me. “Listen, what are you doing tomorrow?”
I felt my breath catch in my throat, but I tried to act nonchalant. “The plan right now is to take some Advil and sleep for hours. After that?” I shrugged.
“Do you want to go to the boardwalk with me in the morning?”
“Okay,” I said automatically. My face felt hot, and I hoped if it was red, he’d just chalk it up to the long night and nothing more. Even though I was starting to think it was more. Every time his mossy eyes looked right at me, I felt a little rush inside my chest.
“I thought we could talk more about this. I really want to know what’s going on after everything that’s happened. I know you don’t like to share, but I think I have a right to know.”
“Yeah, sure,” I said, my heart sinking a little. He just wanted to talk, not hang out because he thought I looked cute with my rumpled clothes and bruised wrists. Because really, who would? “That works.”
“Okay, see ya.” He pushed away from the window. “I’m heading home to crash.”
Crashing sounded like an excellent idea. I closed my window and went to check if Mom had found her way to bed. When I heard her steady breathing through her closed door, I shuffled back to my bedroom, stripped off my dirty clothes, jumped into my comfiest pair of sweats and snuggled under the covers.
A moment later, I slithered out from under my duvet. I tugged the trunk from its spot and pulled it open. I sat back on my heels, pencil poised over the paper, and tried to remember the address from the shaman’s electric bill I’d discovered.
And found I hadn’t memorized it. My mind was blank.
I slapped my palm against my forehead and jerked from the pain that radiated from the spot where my hand met my skull.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why couldn’t I ever remember important information?
My first real lead in what felt like a gazillion years, and I couldn’t recall a damn thing.
CHAPTER 11
I padded into the kitchen, rubbing sleep out of my eyes. Mom was sitting in the living room; the old stereo played a blues album she loved. The melancholy chords brought back the vision of Mom and Dad dancing to this music, swaying, laughing and making travel plans to Brazil, France or wherever else struck their fancy. Neither of them liked putting down roots.
After I started a pot of coffee, I went to her side, happy to see she’d gotten up on her own.
“I’m sorry for getting in late last night,” I said. “I lost track of time.”
She didn’t say anything. My shoulders slumped. I hated lying to her, and Mom always used the silent treatment when she was mad. Could she be mad, like this? I wondered how deep her emotions could go when she was barely even aware of the world.
“Anyway, I have some errands to run today.” I glanced at the clock. It was way too early to be awake on a Saturday, but I didn’t think I could sleep any more, not knowing those shamans were out there hurting so many people.
After downing some cereal and a cup of coffee, I took a hot shower. I still felt a little shaky from last night, but the sleep and food made me feel alive again. I dried my hair and threw on a pair of jeans before eyeing my boring closet. My thoughts turned to Nathan. To his smile and the way he’d looked at me over the foosball table. Maybe we should change that. I let out a slow breath through my teeth. I could wear one of my few nicer shirts even though they never really seemed to feel right against my skin. Kylie always dressed like she belonged walking the sidewalks in some trendy part of Manhattan…I shook my head. I wasn’t Kylie, and I never would be. Besides, I was only meeting Nathan at the boardwalk to talk about shamans and spirits. So, I grabbed a t-shirt and shrugged it over my head.
When I headed back into the kitchen with my old laptop, Mom still sat in the corner staring out the window. I wanted to explain myself some more, but I left her alone. Anything I’d say would be a lie. Might as well keep my mouth shut while she wasn’t asking questions…but at the same time, my chest ached because she wasn’t, because she didn’t seem to care. I didn’t want her to worry about me, but I also wished I could see some sign of life other than that too-familiar clicking of
knitting needles.
I opened my laptop and logged onto my neighbor’s unsecured internet connection so I could check my email. Junk littered my inbox. After a few moments of blog reading, a new instant messenger window popped up.
SailorGrrl: U get home ok?
Boneshaker: yeah, just woke up…mom’s mad, but I don’t think she knows anything.
I clicked over to my internet browser and typed in a search for shamans. I’d already done this search a million times, but I was looking for something different now. After I clicked the search button, the same familiar results filled the screen.
SailorGrrl: What r u going to do about them?
I sighed, fingers hovering over the keyboard.
Boneshaker: no clue…
The cursor blinked for a few moments before Laura’s next message popped up on the screen.
SailorGrrl: Can’t believe I’m saying this, but whatever u do, I’m in.
I smiled.
Boneshaker: got a tip on another summoning…
SailorGrrl: When r u going?
Boneshaker: I don’t know…soon…not today…
I clicked back over to the search results and scrolled down the page. All the results were mythology pages that had most of the details wrong about shamans. Things like spirits were ghosts and that shamans could wield power over weather. Wouldn’t that be useful? I went back to the search box, typed in “shaman summonings” and hit enter. The first results page showed mostly gaming-related hits and a few more mythology sites. I clicked on one that didn’t look the slightest bit promising.
The website had a bunch of information about shamans and werewolves. Immediately, I clicked back, rolling my eyes at the idea of werewolves existing. The problem with shamans remaining so under the radar was that there were few real facts online, and if I managed to stumble upon accurate information, I might never know it. I could easily chalk it up to another creative mythology website.
I tapped my fingers on the keyboard. What was the address on that electric bill? I closed my eyes and concentrated, eyes flying open when Astral hopped up on the table. He meowed at me until I got up to pour some food into his empty bowl.
When I sat back down at the table, I emptied my mind, focusing on the fuzzy edges of a sage leaf. My brain had felt full of wasps last night, but not so much anymore. What was his name…M Something. M…Michael? No. Matt? Mark! Mark Sampson! I pounded my fist in the air and went back to the search page. This time I typed in the shaman’s name. The search results proved much more interesting.
An hour later, I knew where this guy had gone to high school, where he used to work and twenty random facts about him, all thanks to the various social networking sites he was a part of. At first, I’d been sure it was Neck Tattoo Guy I was looking at, but after finding some pictures on Instagram, I realized it was Red Tee Guy and that red was the only color shirt he ever wore.
Weird.
I also found a listing for him in the online white pages directory for an address in Berrytown, Massachusetts. Worst kidnapper ever. These guys clearly didn’t know the first thing about successful criminal activity.
Of course, I had no idea what to do with this information. If I went digging into his past, the best I could do was find his parents—other shamans. But I had no evidence they’d be any better. They could be just like their son.
I leaned forward and dropped my head into my hands, remembering the look on the shaman’s face when he’d held the knife against Brent’s skin. How was I going to go up against someone who was more than willing to kill someone to get what he wanted? How could I do that without getting killed myself? My mind reeled, tiny buds of fear sprouting heads and whispering to me, telling me to get away from all this as fast as I could.
I shut my laptop and headed to my bedroom where I pulled the thick file out of the trunk. I grabbed an extra piece of notebook paper from my binder and jotted down the information I’d found about Mark Sampson, shaman and kidnapper with a fetish for anything red. None of this had anything to do with my mom’s illness, but it was the name and background of another shaman. Way more than I’d been able to come up with the entire year I’d been searching.
After I put the file away, I went to check on my mom again. I needed to go meet Nathan at the boardwalk, but I wanted to talk to her before then. I couldn’t leave with her being potentially mad at me.
“Mom.” I took her hand. “I’m really sorry about last night. I should have been here to help you. Please don’t be mad at me.”
Silence.
With a sigh, I turned away.
“I’m not mad, Holly,” she said as I stepped foot in the kitchen. “I just can’t seem to get back into my head easily today. After I got into this chair, I haven’t been able to do much at all.”
I quickly walked back and sat down in the chair across from her. I looked her over for a moment, noticing fuzzy eyes that didn’t seem able to focus on me. She was gone again already.
“Mom?” Those milky eyes didn’t blink. I stared at her, holding my breath. Why wasn’t she coming back into herself?
I repeated her name.
She blinked, but her eyes didn’t focus like they usually did. They stayed glazed over as she shifted in her seat. Her hand tightened around her knitting needles before she stopped moving again.
I just sat there, eyes wide, shaman sleuthing completely forgotten. Something was wrong. Had I worried her so much last night that she’d fallen further into the Borderland?
“Mom!” I yelled so loud, I made myself jump.
She blinked a few more times, her eyelids fluttering like the wings of a mockingbird. When she finally blinked one last time, I could see the intelligence again. She was here. She was okay. I reached out and grabbed her hand. “Mom, are you okay?”
“I’ve just been so tired lately.” She looked down at her jagged fingernails, ones that used to be perfectly shaped and sparkling red.
“It’s worse,” I said in a soft voice.
She shook her head, and she pulled her wool blanket tighter around her lap. “No, I’ll be fine. I’m just feeling weak today.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but the look on her face stopped me. She knew it was worse, but she didn’t want to admit it. Like admitting it would make it a reality neither of us wanted. Instead, I said, “I was going to go out for a little while. But should I stay? Do I need to be here with you?”
“No,” she said, and then her eyes became a little clearer. “Go do what you need to do.” She reached out a shaky hand and placed cool fingers against my forehead. “I don’t want you missing out on life because of me.”
I smiled at her, ignoring the knife slicing chunks of my heart away. “Helping you isn’t missing out on life.”
She tilted her head. “Go, Holly. Please.”
She leaned back in her chair, her eyes losing focus on the real world. Her lips twitched slightly, like she was in pain, and I sat there with her for awhile before leaving. I’d never seen it this bad before.
Like something was slowly draining her.
I dropped a kiss on her forehead, stood and hurried into her bedroom. I didn’t think it was possible the shamans had found our home and summoned a spirit, but I had to check. The protection wall around the house was strong and I’d felt no cold, but nothing else about her enhanced blurriness seemed to make sense.
The master bedroom was clean and orderly, almost like no one lived there at all. She’d packed all her shaman supplies into little boxes and put them in her closet. The only sign of life was my mom’s favorite pair of high heels tossed into the corner. She loved those things, and she never got to wear them anymore. The last time she’d worn them, she’d been walking out our front door on her way to Hawaii. She’d gotten a case to take on a spirit attacking any tourist that went near Kilauea Volcano. Those shoes hadn’t seen the lava or the ash, just like I hadn’t, instead traded in for a comfy pair of hiking boots for the actual banishment. But the heels had taken her there. They’d go
ne with her on the plane paid for by the client whose name she would never reveal. And they waited in her hotel room alone while she did her shaman magic, just like I had waited at home, anxious to have her back again.
Ignoring the shoes that had been to forty-two states and a dozen countries, I examined every inch of the floor for any rune carvings. I even got down on my hands and knees and peered under the bed. The only things I found were a couple of dust bunnies and an old receipt for gasoline.
I sat back on my heels and let my worry exhale out of me. Spirits hadn’t been summoned into this house. Mom was safe. For now.
CHAPTER 12
I pulled into the parking lot by the main harbor and cut the engine. Nathan was standing on the boardwalk, leaning against the faded Seaport Harbor sign, eyes intent on the Astonishing X-Men comic in his hands. His damp hair curled across his forehead, and as I stared at him through the windshield, my belly flip-flopped. He clenched his jaw and turned a page, the sharp angles of his cheeks making me think of a young, dark-haired Heath Ledger. Then, he grinned the smile that seemed to take over his whole face, and I had the sudden urge for it to be directed toward me.
He looked up when I stepped out of my truck and walked over to me in two quick strides. He leaned forward with a twitch of his arms like he was going to give me a hug. I felt my body move forward, too. Then, just as quickly, he leaned back on his heels.
I wondered if it seemed like some weird dance move to casual observers.
“You look fully recovered,” he said.
“Same to you.” I pointed to the comic. “Nice choice.”
He smiled again, and my mouth quirked into a grin of my own, because this time his curving lips were aimed right at me. “One of my favorite go-tos when I’m looking for some classic superhero action.”
We started walking toward the long boardwalk extending around the tip of Seaport that jutted out into the Atlantic Ocean. We passed the harbor full of yachts, sailboats and runabouts, and it reminded me of the first time we’d met the shamans a couple of days ago. Was it only a couple of days? It seemed like so much had happened since then.
