Secret of the Sevens

by Lynn Lindquist

  She grabs my elbow. “Listen to yourself. What happened to that cocky guy that mows down linemen on the football field and makes all the girls crush over him?”

  “He’s graduating. He’s going back to the exact shithole he crawled out of. Back to being a lonely, homeless loser that people look down on. You want to know what happens to that guy? He’s struggling in a shithole apartment working some lame-ass job delivering pizzas or running the Tilt-A-Whirl. That’s my future, Laney.”

  She clutches both my arms and holds me still. “You’re wrong. You can do whatever you want. Haven’t you learned anything at Singer? How many times did they drill us that we’re ‘defined by our character and not our circumstances’? You’re smart. And good. And strong. You’re a fighter and a survivor. That’s who you really are.”

  I’ve never cried in front of another person and I’m not going to start now. I try to pull my arms away, but Laney grips them so tight, I’m trapped.

  “You. Were. Made. For. College,” she says. “Meeting people and partying and taking classes in things you actually enjoy? That’s your future. You were meant to do bigger things. That’s why the Sevens picked you. They could see it, and you know what? It’s always been obvious to me too.” She releases me and says, “You’re the only one doubting it.”

  I bury my face in my hands and shake my head. “I was hoping … I thought … ” I drag my fingers through my hair and mumble, “If only this Sevens thing was real.”

  “It is real.”

  I swallow to keep my voice from cracking. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot. That if we did all this and it worked out, maybe the Sevens would reward me. But not with cash. Maybe the Sevens could help with tuition and set me up at college. Then I’d have a shot after all. Maybe I could be something more. I mean, the Sevens picked me. They chose you, and you’re the biggest overachiever I know. The idea of a brotherhood with money and secret connections that had my back if I was loyal to it? If this worked out, I’d finally have a damn chance.”

  Laney moves closer and squeezes my shoulders. “The Sevens were smart to choose you.” She moves her face so I can’t avoid her eyes. “If I had to choose one person to go through this with, someone who’s sharp and brave and loyal, it’d be a no-brainer. I’d pick you in a heartbeat.” With a glint in her eye, she adds, “Assuming Channing Tatum wasn’t available.”

  She bats her lashes and I’m lost in those damn eyes for a second. There’s a fluttering in my stomach that makes me worry I’m going to start crying or drooling any second. It takes everything I have, but I pull her arms down and lean away. “All right. Enough. Don’t get all mushy on me.”

  I move her hands to her sides, but I can’t seem to let go of them. I gawk at her a little too long. “I think our therapy session is about done here, Dr. Shanahan. It’s been cathartic, but I’ve reached my emotional-sharing quotient for one day.”

  Laney grows a full-face grin. “You realize you just used the words ‘cathartic’ and ‘quotient,’ right, Michaels? Those are pretty fancy vocabulary words for someone who insists he isn’t smart.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t ask me to spell them.”

  “C’mon.” She grabs my arm and tugs me down the path. “We have a justice test to finish.”

  Twenty-eight

  The cemetery looks different from this side. The graves are older and smaller, with fewer details to remember people by. It makes me think of the Sevens in a sad way. Does anyone remember them now?

  Laney and I walk side by side, surveying the graveyard for security. My eyes lock on something in the distance. There’s an enormous winged monument pointing to a grave below it. It’s déjà vu and I don’t know why. As we approach it, it comes to me—it’s the statue that terrified me when I was little. That night that I ran away during the storm, and Laney and Mr. Shanahan brought me home.

  I point it out. “I wonder if that might be the angel in tears? We should see if she’s crying. We don’t want to rule anything out.”

  Laney circles around the front of the statue. “This one? She’s not crying; she’s looking at all the headstones. I remember reading about this statue. She’s supposed to be contemplating all the lives that are lost too young. You know this is the original tomb for Mary Singer, right? They buried her here first, and then moved her remains once the mausoleum was completed.”

  “No kidding. No, I didn’t know that.”

  Laney and I slink back to the mausoleum, my eyes on alert all the while.

  This time, there are no candles to greet us inside—just a strong odor. Flowers. Seven red roses rise from a vase that’s mounted on the wall next to William and Mary’s vaults.

  Laney glances from the flowers to me. I hear her gulp in the silent room. We immediately gravitate to the marble sculpture in the center. Like I remember, the grieving angel stretches her arms across the top of the stone coffin, resting her tear-streaked face on the lid.

  Laney circles the figure. “The entrance to the tunnels is inside here, I know it.”

  “If the Sevens were waiting inside the statue when we returned our invitations, there must be a trap door here somewhere.” I try to budge the casket lid up, but it’s a solid piece of carved granite.

  She grabs my waist from behind. “Let me get on top of you.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “On your shoulders. The clue specifically said ‘Ascend higher and examine the angel in tears.’ If you lift me up, I can examine her from above.”

  “Ooooh. Okay.” I fake like I’m disappointed, but her sneer warns me she’s not in a joking mood.

  I bend forward and Laney uses the sculpture to boost herself up on my shoulders. Unsteady at first, I hoist her carefully and walk to the end of the casket. She peers over the top of my head and studies the angel from high up. She’s quiet for a minute, her eyes skimming the form like it’s a Where’s Waldo picture.

  “So how long have you dreamed of wrapping your legs around my neck?”

  Her sigh makes me snicker.

  “All my life,” she says. “Only it was my hands … strangling you.” She slaps the top of my head. “Quit being a pig, you’re distracting me.”

  She leans forward slightly and loses herself in thought again. “I think I found something,” she finally says. “Take a look at the angel’s hands.”

  The angel’s chiseled arms extend over the surface of the coffin, her lifelike fingers resting delicately on the lid. It’s harder to see from my viewpoint, but it looks like she’s pointing at something. On both hands, the thumbs and last three fingers curl slightly under toward her palm, while both index fingers lie straight and stiff.

  Laney says what I’m thinking. “The angel is pointing at that corner. Let me down. Quick!”

  I help her off, and we rush to check it out. Shoulder to shoulder, we run our fingertips along the elaborate details carved on that end of the coffin. There are two rectangular panels on each side of the casket, each edged with detailed moulding.

  Laney’s fingers trace the border of one of the rectangles. “It’s hard to tell because it’s so dark in here, but I think this could be a seam. Like the lip around a door.”

  “So how do we open it?”

  “The angel is pointing right”—Laney follows both fingers to a point at the end of the casket—“here.”

  She bends lower and feels underneath the rounded lip of the lid. Her eyes widen. “I feel something. There’s a hole here. She reaches her hand deeper, her finger sliding out of view. “There’s something inside it. I think it’s a—”

  Click.

  She smiles up at me. “Button.”

  Her grin spreads to her eyes when she sees the right side panel of the coffin slip inward and to the left, tucking itself behind the other half of the casket.

  We poke our heads inside the wide gap. Four feet below is a wooden landing. To the left of that are stairs that drop into darkness. It’s incredible, like we’re in Harry Potter or something.

  Laney cl
imbs inside. “I’ll go down and see if they left us flashlights again. You wait here.”

  She can read my mind now, apparently. This stairwell is tight and dark and there’s no way I’m gonna do a tunnel in pitch black. Still, I’m worried about her going down the stairs alone. I climb in and watch her from the landing. Just as she reaches the last step, a light flashes on and illuminates the small, cramped space.

  Laney stands on the bottom landing, clutching the front of her shirt and staring into a doorway on her left.

  “It’s a room,” she calls up. “There’s a light on a motion sensor. Close the secret door and come on down.”

  From inside the statue, the button Laney pressed is easily visible. I push it and the side panel slides smoothly back in place. The wood steps creak under my weight. The narrow stairwell is solid concrete on both sides. It descends toward another concrete wall, but at the bottom, there’s a doorway on my left leading into a small room.

  I step into a dungeon-like space, which spans around eight square feet. Its concrete walls are painted a dirty white. A floodlight with a motion sensor is bolted to the ceiling in one corner, but there’s nothing else to the space but a dusty slab floor.

  The space is warm, considering. There’s a weird scent I can’t make out, a mustiness mixed with the smell of markers.

  Laney runs her hands over one of the walls. Her long hair bounces across her shoulders as she bends and stretches, pressing and pushing the surface. When she reaches to feel higher, her sweater inches up to show the bare skin of her lower back. Low slung jeans hug perfect hips and long legs.

  It hits me like a fever—I’m finally alone with that body. When I think of those curves, and her dark eyes, and those plump lips, well, being stuck in this dungeon doesn’t sound so bad. Locked out of sight, it’s like a private hideaway. Dim lighting. Safe from unwanted interruptions. My ADD brain has some fun with that thought until Laney looks over her shoulder and catches me checking out her rear.

  “What are you looking at?”

  It’s not like I can lie at this point. “I was thinking a private place like this could come in handy sometime.” I lift my eyebrows.

  “Geez. We’re in the middle of a virtue test. Is that all you ever think about?”

  “Is this a rhetorical question?” I smile, but she’s not having it.

  “Honestly!” Her cheeks grow redder by the second. “I’m telling you, Michaels, you better not even think about bringing another girl here.”

  “Another girl?” I swagger toward her. “You mean you only want me to bring you here?”

  “What I mean is you swore a vow of secrecy. Telling someone about this place could ruin everything. I can’t believe I have to remind you—”

  I stop her before she uses up all the oxygen in this place. “I was kidding. Please. I’d never betray you or the Sevens for a stupid hookup.”

  Her face relaxes. “Good.”

  “On the other hand, I don’t think it’d break any rules if you and I were to come here sometime to … ”

  I pause to let her mind fill in the blanks, hoping it’s as dirty as mine.

  She blinks a few times and then pinches me. Funny thing is, she’s smiling when she spins around and starts fondling the wall again.

  I peek over her shoulder. “What the heck are you doing, anyhow?”

  “I’m trying to figure out where the tunnel is. The poem said the map leads to a tunnel, not a secret room. The entrance has to be here somewhere.” Her shadow bounces around the room as she moves past me.

  I lean my shoulder against the wall next to her. “You know what these shadows make me think of, Lane? Remember when I first came to live at your house? How you were constantly bugging me to come out of my room and play?”

  She nods, her arms searching a little slower now.

  “Do you remember that time you built that huge pillow and blanket fort?”

  Her fingers freeze, and she stares sideways at me. “You remember that?”

  “You stocked it with Oreos and milk to lure me in.”

  Laney’s eyes drop, then lift to mine. “Chocolate milk. Your grandma told us you loved dipping them in chocolate milk. I used it as bait. It was the only way I could get you to leave your room.”

  The whole scene downloads in my head. “We sat in that tent all night, making shadow animals with the camping lantern hanging in the corner. Just the two of us, playing Uno and Sorry! and stuffing our faces. It was fun.”

  Her eyes pinch at the corners. “That’s not what you said at the time. You said you were only doing it so I’d shut up.”

  “I lied.” I stare down at my feet, scuffing the front of my shoe on the cement floor. “I did like it,” I confess in a quieter voice. “I was just being mean because I was mad at you.”

  When I look up, her head is tipped to the side. “I know. You were always mad at me. Why was that, anyhow?”

  When she stares up at me with her sad brown eyes and lopsided smile, it’s hard to remember why. As the words finally sputter from my mouth, I’m stunned by my answer. “Because you’d never let me be unhappy.”

  Laney chews her lip. “Yeah. I guess I’ve always been like that.” Her eyebrows lift along with one corner of her mouth. “You always said I was an annoying do-gooder.”

  “I lied about that too.” I lean my head against the wall. “At least the ‘annoying’ part.”

  She nudges my arm lightly. “Don’t look so guilty. It was a long time ago.” Her lips curve into a friendly smile. “I’m sure you thought I was a real pain. I couldn’t bear to leave you alone for a second back then.” She gets lost inside a thousand-mile stare. “I had such a crush on you.”

  “You did?”

  She shakes me off. “You knew I did.” She slides her hands into her back pockets and shrugs. “Don’t worry, it was a long time ago. I got over you soon enough. I figured out we were never meant to be the moment you kissed Jada Jones.”

  “I kissed Jada Jones?”

  “You don’t remember? I had some girls over for my birthday and you boys dared us to play spin the bottle. On your turn, it landed perfectly between Jada and me. I practically hyperventilated when you looked at me, but you leaned right past and kissed Jada instead.”

  “I don’t remember. I swear.”

  Laney elbows me. “It’s probably hard to keep track with all those hookups, huh?” She laughs, but it still feels awkward.

  Her hands return to the wall.

  “I would have remembered if it was you.”

  She looks over her shoulder at me. “What?”

  “I would have remembered the kiss if it was with you.”

  “Oh, I know.” She feels her way around the last wall. “I probably wouldn’t have, though.” Then she throws her hands in the air. “Aaargh. I give up. Where’d they hide the entrance?”

  I pull out the map and try to get my bearings for a second. “The tunnel starts at the south wall. Which is actually the wall with the stairs.”

  We rush to the stairwell and glide our hands over the southern wall. “It’s solid concrete,” Laney says. “Just like the room.”

  I walk down to the last step. “Did you ever see that old TV show about the Munsters?” I ask.

  “Really, Talan. Can you reign in your ADD for a just a second? I’m trying to think here.”

  “It’s relevant. I promise. I used to watch this old sitcom with my gram called The Munsters. It was about this suburban monster family. They had this pet dragon named Spot that would shoot fire out of his nostrils.”

  “Can we get to the point here? We’re dealing with an earlier curfew, don’t forget.”

  “Right. Anyhow, Spot lived under the stairs. The staircase would rise up and reveal his den or whatever.”

  I can tell the moment it clicks with her. Her eyes widen and she clambers down the stairs. “Grab that end and let’s see if it lifts.”

  It swings up so smoothly, little Jack Dominguez could do it. And underneath? Our hidden tunne
l.

  But that isn’t what starts my heart racing. There’s a message taped to the floor:

  Can you guess what awaits

  (along with your next clue)?

  There are five Sevens pledging in all,

  counting you.

  Now it’s time that you meet

  the rest of your crew.

  Oh your founder was wise, indeed!

  Are you?

  Twenty-nine

  There are three other pledges? If this is supposed to be good news, why do my insides feel gutted? Why should I trust other pledges? Maybe it’s selfish, but I don’t want to share this Sevens thing with anyone else. Or maybe it’s Laney I don’t want to share.

  Laney peeks inside the dark opening and lowers her voice. “I didn’t see this coming.”

  “I thought there might be others in the beginning, remember?” I remind her. “But when we never saw anyone at our tests, I assumed it was just you and me.”

  She grabs my arm. “This is bad. Why haven’t we run into them before?” Her jaw drops. “Maybe it’s a trick. What if you were right and this was a joke a whole time? What if people are pranking us and they’re waiting inside, all set to humiliate us?”

  Before I can answer, Laney starts rambling. “No, it couldn’t be. There’s too much to this for it to be a joke. Unless”—she runs a hand through her hair—“it’s some kind of insane genius that’s been putting us through this. And now he’s tired of the game and wants to murder us.” Her lips tremble. “Or maybe it’s one of the surviving Sevens that’s come back to kill more innocent people, like he did Mr. Singer.”

  She shakes her head. “What am I saying? I don’t believe that for a minute. They were innocent. It can’t be, unless—” She’s talking faster than a schizophrenic auctioneer.

  “Laney—”

  “But who else would be pledging? And why didn’t we see them when we solved our clues and—”

  Her head’s going to explode if she keeps this up. “Laney! Relax. Take a breath.”

  She rubs her palms together furiously. “Sorry. I’m just shocked. What do you think about this?”