Family Skulls

by Luc Reid

  Neddie put away the rest of the melon and rinsed her hands in the sink. Walking up behind Seth, she took him by the shoulders and leaned down to speak quietly near his ear. “She’s a good find, Seth. And don’t let her fool you: she likes you fine. Girls don’t barge into boys’ houses when they aren’t interested in the boy in question.”

  Then she took her melon to the other side of the table and turned her attention to the Living section of the paper.

  *

  Everyone else woke up as soon as Kurt did. Considering he was the smallest person in the house, the amount of noise he made coming down the stairs was incredible. He bounced into the kitchen, already dressed, checked the pantry for sugared cereals, and turned away when he didn’t find any.

  “Hey Seth, want to play catch with me?”

  “I can’t.”

  “Come on! Please? I want to play catch!”

  “I have to finish my history paper.”

  “You don’t have to do it now. I’ll give you a hundred beans.”

  Seth gave up. He really hadn’t played with his brother in a while, which was hard on Kurt. Making and keeping friends was hard for everyone in the family, especially Kurt, for whom the curse had only kicked in a couple of years before. Seth got down the baseball gloves and led Kurt out back.

  Kurt wasn’t very good at throwing the ball yet, but he concentrated hard every time he threw it. Usually Seth was able to catch it.

  “You’ve been really grumpy all the time lately,” Kurt said.

  “I have a lot on my mind.”

  “Like what?”

  “Just things. Good throw.”

  “Girls?”

  “That’s one thing. That, Uncle Guy, the curse, school. Lots of things.”

  “We should learn magic ourselves. Then we could fight the Larshes.”

  “I don’t think it works like that.”

  “Then how does it work?”

  That was actually a good question. How did the curse work? How did the Larshes keep it? Was it something physical, or did they have to mumble a spell all the time, or just be alive, or what?

  It was actually a really good question. All this time he’d been thinking he had to make the Larshes lift the curse, but what if they didn’t have to? What if Seth could lift it himself, somehow?

  And was there a way he could fight the Larshes with magic? Too many questions and not enough information. How could he figure this out?

  The journals. That was what he needed. He should go over there when they weren’t home and steal the journals. Did the Larshes go to church? He thought he’d heard they were Catholic, so they probably went to mass in St. Johnsbury or somewhere every week. But then, maybe they just pretended to be Catholic. Maybe people like the Larshes couldn’t be religious.

  It was worth a try, though. If they didn’t go to church, he’d have to try late at night when they were sleeping.

  “Wake up!” shouted Kurt, and Seth realized the ball had just flown past only a foot away, and was now rolling toward the bushes.

  *

  Seth biked toward the Larshes’ houses with a feeling in his stomach like he had swallowed a rock. There was a faint, prickling pain there, too, like something sharp had poked him from inside, a pain that had been there, he realized now, for at least a couple of days.

  But these things had to be ignored. Being frightened of the Larshes just proved he wasn’t stupid: it didn’t mean he didn’t have to do anything about them.

  He’d called the Catholic church in St. Johnsbury, and they had masses at 8:00 and 11:00 Sunday mornings. It was nearly 11:00 now. Seth didn’t know who went to church at 8:00 in the morning, but he wouldn’t have been able to get to the Larshes’ in time for that, and anyway they didn’t seem like the type to be up so early when they didn’t have to be.

  When he pulled into the driveway, it looked like he was in luck. Jerry’s police cruiser was there, but Seth didn’t see the Subaru: probably all four of them had taken it to mass. He put down his bike and went to the door, where he rapped on the door. If he was wrong and someone was home, he couldn’t be caught sneaking around.

  He noticed the Subaru parked near the barn at about the same time he heard footsteps inside. A bad idea! Why couldn’t he have looked around before he went to the door? Was there time to run and take off on his bike before he was seen?

  The door opened and Jerry stood there. He wore a t-shirt splattered with old white paint and jeans, and he looked disappointed and surprised to see Seth. From inside the house, Seth could hear music like a flute, a tune that sounded Irish or Scottish.

  “What are you doing here?” he said.

  “Who is it?” Tessa called out. Jerry didn’t answer. “Is it Seth?”

  “I came to thank you for driving me home,” Seth improvised. “I’m sorry those people were worried. I really was returning the bike.”

  “Who is it?” Tessa called out again, closer, and she emerged behind Jerry. “Hi Seth,” she said, sounding more serious than usual. “Come on in. If this jerk told you anything about not being welcome here, please ignore him. Are you going to take those banjo lessons?”

  “I don’t think—” Jerry began.

  “No you don’t, do you?” Tessa said. “You said you thought he was taking the bike back, but you’re still acting like he’s a criminal.”

  Jerry looked at Seth with his eyebrows up, as though to say that Seth obviously was a criminal.

  “There are people in this world who mean harm to others, and there are people who don’t. Which one do you think Seth is?”

  “I’m a police officer,” said Jerry.

  “Is that supposed to be an argument or an excuse?”

  Jerry pushed the door open wider, took Seth by the shoulder, and pulled him inside. He sighed deeply. “She’s on the warpath,” he said. “There’s no arguing with her when she’s like this.”

  So now Seth was inside again, although he was so anxious he felt he was going to throw up. “I have a grandmother like that,” Seth said, and immediately regretted it. Family details were a bad idea when he hadn’t even given them his real name. What name had he given them? Johnston, Jones? He thought he’d said Jones. With luck, the subject wouldn’t come up—or if it did, maybe they would have forgotten by then.

  “Come with me: I have something for you,” Tessa said. She led him into the living room, where Seth caught himself glancing at the shelf where the skulls had been. Still empty. Grant was there, playing some kind of wind instrument that looked like a little steel pipe barely bigger than a pencil. Junie was listening to him, her undersized violin on her shoulder and a little bow dangling from her hand.

  Grant stopped playing and looked up, surprised. Seth realized he had been to the Larshes’ three times in as many days. “Seth … hi,” he said. Then he went back to playing his tune, although he kept glancing at Jerry.

  “I didn’t have time to wrap it yet,” Tessa said, “so close your eyes.”

  Seth closed his eyes, a little reluctantly, and waited. He heard Tessa hurry out of the room and he stood there, half expecting Grant or Jerry to seize him bodily and throw him out of the house.

  “Disappear like you did before!” Junie said brightly.

  “What do you mean?” said Jerry. “Disappear how?”

  “When Seth came to our house before. He can go invisible!”

  “You mean, the day he saved you?”

  “No, Daddy,” Junie said condescendingly. “Before that.”

  Seth heard Tessa’s footsteps on the stair, and a moment later she emerged into the living room, but her steps slowed and stopped. “What’s everyone staring at each other for?” she said.

  Seth opened his eyes. Tessa was holding a gleaming, new banjo.

  “I’ll return it for something else if you don’t like it,” she said apologetically. “I just thought it might be a nice …” she trailed off. “Well, what is it?” she demanded of the group of them.

  “Junie said Seth was here be
fore Friday,” Jerry said. “Is that true, Seth?”

  “Of course not,” Seth said, not looking at Junie.

  “What’s your last name again?” said Jerry.

  “Jerry!” said Tessa, but he ignored her.

  “Why do you—” Seth began.

  “It’s a simple question. What’s your last name?”

  “It’s Jones. What’s the—”

  “Jones?” said Grant. “I thought you said Johnston.” He sounded puzzled, and for a long moment everything was quiet.

  “He did say Johnston,” Jerry said. “What’s your real name, Seth?”

  “I can’t believe you’re badgering him, after what he’s done for us!” said Tessa. She put the banjo down carefully on the couch.

  “I’ll handle this,” Jerry said. His voice had become as stern as it had been the day before, in the police car. He stared into Seth’s face. “What’s your real name?”

  “It’s Quitman,” Grant said. Seth tore his eyes off Jerry and stared at Grant.

  “Seth Quitman,” said Grant. “His father is Danny Quitman, who married Dana Wall.”

  “Oh,” said Jerry, sounding much calmer. “Well, I can’t blame you for not telling us your name. I know my father had … well, I know he didn’t treat your family well.”

  “What?” said Tessa. “What did Chet do?

  “You know how he was,” Jerry said. “He thought he could do … all kinds of things. He used to say he was keeping a curse on Seth’s family, on the Walls.”

  “You still don’t believe in him, do you?” Grant said. “You don’t believe he could do anything.”

  “I believe he could find water—”

  “I don’t mean the water! The curses, the healings. Didn’t you see with your own eyes … ?”

  “What I saw, Grant, was a man trying to pretend he was more important than he was. You know as well as I do he didn’t have any special powers.”

  “Then why did you keep the skulls?”

  Tessa looked over at Seth for a moment, a flicker of guilt in her eyes.

  “What was I supposed to do with them?” Jerry said. “When my grandfather found them—”

  “He didn’t find them,” Grant interrupted. “He inherited them.”

  “My grandfather found some skulls in a riverbank after a flood,” Jerry told Seth. “He thought there’d been a battle or something, but anyway he kept them. They’re sort of family heirlooms.”

  “You don’t really believe that,” Grant said.

  “Meaning what?”

  “They aren’t heirlooms. They’re our family. Your father and his father …”

  “Grant, that’s disgusting!” said Tessa.

  “How could they be … ” Jerry said, but Seth saw a look in his eyes of frightened recognition.

  “They’re why the Larshes have gotten more powerful over the years, father to son. Or if one generation fails, then grandfather to grandson. There’s nothing that makes a man more powerful than the skulls of family who had power themselves.”

  Grant? It was Grant?

  Grant looked at Seth, smiling coldly, and it was as if he were speaking to Seth: Too late now. You should have given up while I was still willing to let you go. The pain in Seth’s stomach flared up momentarily, enough to make him gasp.

  “You don’t believe in all that!” Jerry told Grant. “By God, you’re my son!”

  “I do believe it—and so do you. How do you explain how cold the spell cairns are, the ones scattered all around the house? Don’t tell me you never saw your father work magic, or met a man he’d cursed.”

  “That’s all over with.”

  “No it isn’t,” Grant said. “Ask Seth. I’ve kept the curses just as well as Grandpa did. He taught me everything I needed to know all those days you were working. Those curses are still as strong as the day they were cast—maybe stronger.”

  “You’re scaring Seth!” said Tessa. “And you’re scaring Junie!”

  “Ask him, Dad. Ask him if he’s cursed.”

  “You’re not to speak of that trash in my house!” Jerry grabbed Grant by the collar and dragged him out of the room, toward the front door. Seth saw Grant glance desperately upstairs, toward his own room, as Jerry pulled him away.

  Junie began to cry, and Tessa swept her up in her arms, retreating to the kitchen. “Come on, Seth,” she said, but she didn’t wait.

  Grant’s room … if the missing journal was anywhere, that was the most likely place for it. Seth heard the front door bang shut and took off up the stairs, trying to tread as quietly as he could. He burst into Grant’s room and looked it over, forcing himself to search methodically. If Grant was hiding it, it wouldn’t be in plain sight.

  But the room was nearly bare. Grant must be in college, and his old room must now be a guest room. So would he still hide it in here? Maybe the closet?

  The closet held two old computers, cases that must have been at least six or seven years out of date. No CD-ROM drives, even. Actually, they might just be empty cases. Even the drive bays were sealed with plastic covers.

  Sealed.

  Seth pushed and pried at the cover of one of the computers, getting nowhere with it, until he thought to look on the back of the case. No screws held the cover on. He checked the other: that one was still screwed in place. He jerked the cover of the first one open, and there it was: just like the other journals, except with no year stamped on the binding. Seth strained his ears to catch sound of anyone coming after him, but all he heard was the heated argument between Grant and Jerry on the front porch, or in the yard.

  He pulled his shirt up and shoved the book in behind his belt, so that when he dropped his shirt back into place the book was entirely covered. He slid the cover back onto the computer, but he couldn’t get it to line up quite right: there must be a trick to it. Well, there wasn’t time to fool with the case. He put the computer back in its place, ran out of the room, and shut the door as quietly as he could. Hurrying down the stairs, he winced at every squeak, but he reached the first floor without being seen. Then he ran out the front door, past Grant and Jerry, and climbed on his bike. Grant turned to look at him and his eyes widened.

  “That doesn’t belong to you!” he howled, and he lurched after Seth, but Jerry grabbed him by both shoulders and pushed him up against the side of the house.

  “What in God’s name is wrong with you?” said Jerry.

  Seth knew he needed to go, but he needed more to see what happened. If Jerry really was on Seth’s side, and it seemed like he was, then maybe he could make Grant stop and Seth wouldn’t need the book. It would all finally be over. Maybe, at least.

  Grant wasn’t reacting to Jerry, though. He bowed his head and was muttering something that Seth couldn’t make out.

  “Answer me!” Jerry said. But then his grip on Grant slackened, and after a moment he took a halting step back.

  “What are you saying?” Jerry said. “What’s that … what’s … it sounds familiar.”

  Jerry jerked his head as though to shake something out of it—once, twice. His knees buckled and he slid to the porch, clutching his head. Grant continued to mutter for several long moments, then he stopped and took a series of deep breaths.

  “What were we talking about?” Jerry said weakly.

  “We were just talking about Grandpa, and how important it is to be loyal to your family.”

  “We were? But weren’t we … wasn’t someone here?”

  Grant looked up and noticed Seth still standing there on his bike. Seth stood and pushed on the pedals with all his strength, building up speed and shooting out of the driveway, heading home.

  So there’d be no help from Jerry—nor, he guessed, from Tessa. If he were Grant he’d go inside and do to Tessa whatever he had just done to Jerry, so that the whole incident was forgotten and it was down to Seth and Grant. An uneven match, except that now Seth had the book.

  And he’d better hope the answer was in it—because if it wasn’t, Seth had no defe
nse against whatever Grant was planning to do next.

  Chapter 14

  By the time Seth got home, the pain in his stomach was much worse. In the kitchen, everyone was having lunch, but he didn’t glance at the table as he went upstairs. He had to lie down, in hope that the pain would go away—but he also had to look at the book.

  “Come have some lunch, Seth,” Seth’s father said.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “But you have a visitor,” Grandma Neddie called out as he left the room.

  Who? Grant? Of course: he would have driven to the house, or maybe the motorcycle was his. And no one in the family even knew who he was. Seth turned to face him and saw … Chloe. Eating the last third of an inch-thick sandwich that seemed to be all lettuce, with the crusts cut off. Wearing jeans and a t-shirt in her own size, nothing baggy. Her face was resolute, almost angry. When his eyes met hers, she took a huge bite of her sandwich, smiled to the rest of the family and went across the room to him.

  The pain in his stomach spiked again, and he choked and bent over. Was Grant doing that?

  At the table, Grandma Neddie and Seth’s mom looked over with some confusion, as though they wanted to ask something and didn’t know what it was. Kurt and Grandma Mary and Seth’s dad just kept eating, apparently not noticing. Chloe looked him over quizzically, but couldn’t seem to understand he was in pain. All standard reactions for when he was sick or hurt. He’d gotten used to them.

  “I need to talk to you,” Chloe said.

  Seth straightened. The pain had receded a little now, and he tried to ignore what was left. “It’s not a good time to talk,” he said, and went out into the hallway and up the stairs. Chloe followed.

  “I didn’t plan it this time. I didn’t sneak away: I just went. I wanted to tell you that. I think my Dad—”

  “It’s Grant keeping the curse, not Jerry. I just stole a spell book from him, and he knows. If it doesn’t have something I can use against him in it, I’m dead.”

  “Damn,” said Chloe.

  They reached his room. Should he turn her away? It sounded like she was getting herself in trouble. “You should go home,” he said. “Won’t your dad be really upset if you just run off like that?”