by Cady Vance
Daddy would be so proud.
I shut the door quietly behind me and held a finger over my lips. I didn’t think the shamans were here, but I didn’t want to take any chances on them hearing me if I was wrong.
I’d been wrong about things before. I wasn’t about to count on my newly-found Intuition to be perfect.
The laundry room we entered was dark and silent and smelled starchy clean. We moved past it and into a short, thin hallway leading to the rest of the house. An explosion sounded from somewhere nearby where the television blasted through surround-sound speakers. I pointed up at the high ceiling and strode down the hall like I knew exactly where I was going, like I’d been in the house before. I found the entryway easily and raced up the stairs, the wooden boards creaking under my sneakers.
I went into the first room I saw. The door was open, overhead light on.
There was a body in the middle of the floor, unmoving, eyes open, mouth open in a silent scream. I staggered back and slammed into Laura. She gasped, a choking noise escaping from her throat.
The earth seemed to tilt under my feet, and then I realized I’d fallen to my knees. My body shivered from shock.
The body was Charles Baker. He was dead.
My fingers reached toward his forehead.
“Don't touch him.” Laura gripped my arm and pulled me back. I shook her off and reached out again. When I touched him, I jerked away, my fingers burning from the frost on his skin. He was a block of ice, like someone had stuck him in a meat freezer.
“A spirit did this,” I said, pointing at the rune just a few feet from where Mr. Baker had fallen.
As soon as I said it, the temperature dropped ten degrees.
“It’s still here,” Laura whispered.
And I could smell the fear in the room. Laura and I reeked of it. Someone else did, too, and I realized it was Mr. Baker’s fear left behind. It still lingered in the air like fog. I knew we should banish the spirit now. Show it we were serious shamans. If we left, we’d be showing weakness.
“Holly.” The fear in Laura’s voice went up a notch. I looked where she pointed. A landline phone lay inches from Mr. Baker’s outstretched fingers. I crawled over to it; my knees knocked against the floor. The call display showed “911” and the seconds were still ticking by. The call had been connected for fifteen minutes.
I met Laura’s eyes from across the room. What would the cops think if they found us here with this body? Did we have an explanation they’d believe? Our fingerprints were on the doorknob downstairs, on the banister of the staircase, on the hardwood floor where we were kneeling.
I jumped back, bundled my shirt in my fist and started scrubbing at the floor.
“What do we do?” Laura asked.
I stopped rubbing when the hair on the back of my neck stood on end again, my Intuition warning me of some new unseen danger. My head throbbed. Once. Twice. I gritted my teeth at the pain.
Sudden banging jolted both of us off the floor. There was yelling and the stomping of feet. Laura and I stood frozen by Mr. Baker’s body while the footsteps drew closer, a pitter-pattering that left my blood cold. Colder than it already was due to the presence of the spirit in the room.
Cops burst through the door, took one look at us and the body on the floor, and drew their guns. My hands flew up immediately in the universal symbol for don’t shoot.
“We found him,” Laura managed to squeak out.
Some EMTs showed up behind the cops, and we were ushered downstairs and outside where another cop asked us what we were doing at this house. Why we were near this body. Laura tried sputtering an explanation. Something about finding him. How had we gotten in? How long had we been there? In my confusion, I said something about coming in through the back door—big mistake.
The cop had both of us turn around and put our hands behind our back. When steel rings clicked around my wrists, I felt all the blood drain from my face. I couldn’t believe what was happening to me. I was getting arrested. Something in the back of my mind told me I deserved it—the angel I was so intent on ignoring. It told me I should have known listening to the devil would get me in handcuffs.
I closed my eyes, hoping to turn off the thoughts piling on top of each other in my mind. Turn off the shame I felt. The utter humiliation that only strengthened by being guided into the back of the cop car. Laura slid in on the leather next to me. We stared at each other, silent. Neither of us had words to say.
What were they going to charge us with? Breaking and entering? Or did they think we’d killed Mr. Baker?
Chills coursed through me, and I leaned forward, doubling over on myself, pulling in tight. I didn’t want to think about what that might mean for our future. There couldn’t be enough evidence to convince anyone we’d done anything more than break in. They couldn’t charge us with murder.
They couldn’t. They couldn’t. They couldn’t.
I repeated the words in my head until Laura’s soft voice broke through my thoughts, forcing me back to reality.
“Everything is gonna be alright.” Her voice was soft, singing my favorite song. “Everything is gonna be alright.”
“Everything is gonna be alright. Be strong, believe.” My own voice was husky, but just singing the words aloud made me feel a little better. A little stronger.
I said it again, not really singing, just whispering the words in the car. It might not be true, but maybe saying them would make our world okay. I had to believe it could, at least.
An hour later, I sat alone in a cell at the county jail. In the drunk tank, even though I’d never been more sober. I shifted on the flimsy cot and stared at the dirty spots on the floor, wishing I didn’t have to use the bathroom. There was a toilet on the other side of a half-wall, but the cell across from me held a guy who looked like he was in his twenties. He was drunk and watching me from behind the bars.
I'd never felt more humiliated in my life. Not even passing out on Nathan came close.
Nathan. I wondered what he was doing, if he was worried, if he was okay. My forehead fell into my hands; my hair felt dull and greasy. He’d know something was wrong when he couldn’t get ahold of me or Laura. I hoped he wouldn’t do anything stupid like try to approach the shamans, thinking we’d been caught. My heart lurched in my chest. I wished I could see his smile right now, laugh at his silly jokes. If anyone could make me feel better, it’d be him.
I groaned. I never thought something like this could happen to me, that I’d ever be on the wrong side of the law. Yeah, I’d broken into a few houses, picked a few locks, driven over the speed limit. But I never thought I’d be arrested. I never felt like I was ever doing anything so wrong that I needed to be locked up while I waited for my turn to be fingerprinted.
Would this haunt me for the rest of my life?
I caved in and used the bathroom behind the half-wall, trying desperately to duck low enough so no one could see me. When I was done and heading back over to my cot, the guy across from me whistled. I didn’t look, didn’t even flinch. I kept my face stony so he couldn’t see how hard my heart was pounding in my chest.
This might be the worst thing to ever happen to me, second only to finding Mom’s vacant body earlier tonight, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to let anyone see how much I hurt. I felt like I was five years old again. I wanted my mommy, but I didn’t want to see the look on her face when she found out I’d gotten thrown into jail. She'd never looked at my dad the same way after his botched attempt at breaking into a historic Bostonian home. Before, she always had a smile in her eyes when she saw him. But when he’d started using his shaman magic for theft, a crack split their foundation until it grew into a cavern neither could ever cross again. When I finally got her back, I wondered if she would be able to look at me the same again or if the cavern would swallow me whole.
CHAPTER 25
Something tumbled, and I jerked awake to find my chin resting on my chest and drool dribbling down my lip. I wiped it away and watched
the cop open up my cell. After I’d gone through the humiliating task of getting my fingerprints made and my mug shot taken, I’d sat on the cot staring at the wall, and I must have fallen asleep.
I hadn’t wanted to fall asleep in here.
“Holly Bennett, come along,” she said, her hand resting on the stick at her waist.
I stood and shuffled out behind her in the strange Croc-like shoes they’d given me when booking me into the jail. We walked down the hallway past the curious faces of the other recently-booked. I saw Laura up ahead of us, following another cop. I wondered how long we’d been here and what time it was.
My entire insides felt numb.
When we got into the room where I’d been booked, a cop roughly handed me my belongings and my shoes and told me to go outside where my ride was waiting for me. I checked my backpack. My money was still there. My cell showed six missed calls and two un-read text messages. At a quick glance, I saw they were all from Nathan. I sucked in a sharp breath. Had he gotten hurt?
Holly, are you ok? Call me?
Freaking out. Where are you guys?
As I exited the station, I listened to the voicemails. In each one, Nathan sounded more and more worried up until the point when he’d driven past Mr. Baker’s house, saw the cops, asked questions and found out what had happened. He’d tried bailing us out, but the cops told him he couldn’t. The last voicemail he’d left said he was going home to crash and to call him as soon as I got out.
Outside, Mr. Fisher stood by his car, hugging Laura who was crying into his shirt. He met my gaze over the top of her head and motioned me over. The sky was light gray, yellow easing up the horizon. It was early. Way too early for this to be happening. It felt like elephants were sitting on my eyelids. All I wanted was to go to bed and sleep away all the shame of the night. Wake up hours from now, sleep so long this felt like only a dream, or something that had happened a long, long time ago.
I felt like a puppy walking over to him with my tail between my legs. Disappointment hung heavily in his eyes like the time he’d caught me and Laura sneaking into her bedroom window after a bonfire party on the beach freshman year. I looked down and stared at my feet. That time he’d yelled and I’d hated making him worry, but I didn’t regret what we’d done. Dancing to the hyper beat of a local punk band and hanging out on the beach with our toes in the sand had been worth it. Mr. Fisher’s typical parental speech flitted in one ear and right out the other, but now, his silence said more than that speech ever had. And the regret suffocated me.
“You bailed me out, didn’t you?” I wondered how much it had cost him, what he’d had to do.
“That’s right,” he said. “They were hesitant about letting me have you because I’m not your guardian, but I know the booking officer. I told him I’d spoken with your mother and that she was out of town and had no way of getting back to sign you out.”
He’d made that up. He hadn’t talked to her. He’d lied to a cop for me.
“Thank you,” I said in a small voice, still looking at my feet. I didn’t have anyone else who could bail me out, anyone else who would.
“Get in the car,” he said. “I’ll drive you back to our house, and you can pick up your truck.”
The three of us said nothing as he drove us home. White lines streaked by on the dappled pavement. Sunlight flickered on my face. Through the window, I saw early-risers jogging or speeding to the grocery store. It was all so normal. The world was awakening with the noise of kids laughing, squirrels chirping and ice cream trucks jingling, but the only sound in the car was the engine roar and Laura’s sniffs. I’d never seen her so upset. I wondered if they’d been mean to her, if some guy had whistled at her when she’d been trying to pee.
Mr. Fisher pulled into the driveway, and we all got out of the car. I stood there awkwardly before heading over to my truck. I didn’t know what to say to either of them. Sorry for getting your daughter arrested?
I felt like I needed to apologize even though she’d volunteered, even been eager to go. This was my fault. Mine alone. The responsibility for my actions weighed heavy on my shoulders like two tons of kryptonite.
“Holly,” Mr. Fisher said. I turned around and saw him watching me, bags under his eyes. “We need to have a chat.”
My shoulders sagged. I'd known this was coming. I knew he’d want to talk to me about the arrest, about me and Laura breaking into someone’s house. I just wasn’t ready for it yet. I didn’t have anything to say. The emptiness inside me was cavernous.
I followed him inside and mumbled a few words to Laura before he led her to her room. I stood in the entryway, shifting on my feet, staring at the stain on the carpet where Laura had spilled apple juice when we were eight.
Fifteen minutes later, he was back without Laura. He gestured for me to follow him, and I stared at his stiff back as he led me into the living room.
“Take a seat,” he said.
I felt like we were little again, and he’d caught us eating entire bags of candy or watching something on the movie channel we weren't supposed to. Only this time, it felt worse. Way worse.
I fell onto the couch, shoulders tense and teeth clicking together. He took one look at me and disappeared, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
What was he going to say to me? Maybe he was going to tell me I couldn’t hang out with his daughter anymore. Maybe he was going to tell me what the cops were going to do to us. How they thought we’d murdered someone.
My teeth clicked together harder.
Mr. Fisher came back and handed me a mug of hot chocolate. I looked up at him, surprised. His eyes softened a little, and he tapped me on the head, like he used to do when I was a little kid. My shoulders relaxed, just a little bit. Maybe he didn't hate me after all.
He sighed and sat in the recliner, weariness adding lines around his eyes. Leaning back, he ran a hand over his thinning hair.
“Holly, I'm worried about you,” he said. “I don't know why you were in Baker’s house tonight.” He glanced out the window at the lightening sky. “Or last night, I suppose. Anyway, they’re only charging you with B&E and nothing to do with Baker himself. But this is bad and could have jail time attached. With a lawyer, though, we might be able to get you and Laura off with community service.”
I nodded, not sure of what to say. I blew at the hot chocolate before taking a tentative sip. The thick liquid soothed my throat, warming me from head to toe.
I hadn't realized how cold I was.
He leaned forward, his eyes serious. “I need you to tell me what you were doing in Baker’s house tonight. And I need the truth.” He took a deep breath and shook his head. “I’ve kept to your mother’s wishes until now, but I can’t after what happened tonight.” He looked away, and I wondered what in the world he could mean. “I know what you are. I know what you, Laura and your mother are.”
I just stared at him. All this time, all this silence, and he’d known?
“Your mom asked me not tell you two that I know.”
“Why?” I asked.
“I don't know,” he said. “But your mother had her reasons. I wouldn’t even tell you now, but I can’t get ahold of her. She’s never home. She’s basically left you to take care of yourself. I know her cases are important to a lot of people, but you are her daughter. And I can't just sit back and watch this happen anymore.”
“Mr. Fisher, she hasn’t been off on trips. She’s sick. She’s been sick.”
Alarm flittered across his face, and he came forward to lean down in front of me. “Sick? What do you mean?” His eyes moved back and forth, like he was looking for signs I was lying.
“A shaman attacked her over a year ago and did something to her mind. It put her halfway in this world and halfway in Lower World. I’ve been looking for who did this to her.” I paused for a moment. It felt so strange to be talking to Mr. Fisher about this. “She can't get out of the Borderland, and most of the time she’s been catatonic and just stuck sitting. Now, she can�
�t even talk to me anymore.”
He stood and paced back and forth. “All this time I thought she was mad at me, and she’s been sick. Why didn’t she tell me?” He acted like he wasn’t even aware I was there, so he surprised me when he said, “You need to stay out of this. It’s more than you can handle.”
“If you knew about us all this time, do you know other shamans?” I asked.
“She didn’t want me knowing about that world any more than she wanted you to,” he said. “She only told me because she wanted me to know what my daughter is.”
I took another sip of my hot chocolate, the warmth relaxing my shoulders even more. “Well, I'm not going to stay out of it. I have to get her back.”
He stopped pacing and knelt down. His eyes were the same shade of brown as Laura’s, even though they weren’t really related. “She wouldn’t want you doing that. I know you want to help her, but you’ll help her more if you keep yourself safe.” He stopped, his mouth twitching, like he was thinking about saying something. “Your mom and me, we decided on something a long time ago. If she…if something ever happens to her, I become your legal guardian.”
I almost choked on the hot chocolate. “If you guys decided that, then why haven’t we come to live with you? She’s been sick for a year.”
“I don’t know.” He stood again to go back to his frantic pacing. “I don’t know why she didn’t tell me something was wrong.”
I took a few more sips of the hot chocolate, watching as Mr. Fisher continued to pace back and forth, like if he walked long enough all our problems would be solved. Once I’d taken the last chocolatey sip, I placed the mug on a coaster on the coffee table and stood. The clock on the mantle said it was six o’clock.
“I have to go,” I said, snapping him out of his reverie.
