GHOST CROWN: THE TRACKS TRILOGY - Book Two

by J. Gabriel Gates

  Yeah, Nass thought. And probably go marching down to the rental company to tell them off and make matters worse. But he said, “What are we gonna do?”

  “It’s no big deal, ’Nacio. I’ll figure it out. You just worry about your homework.” Raul smiled and then headed down the hall toward the kitchen. His dad was awesome, Nass thought. To him everything was no big deal—but Nass didn’t share his optimism. He’d seen the yellow eviction notices on a couple of Flats apartment houses, and something told him this was a big deal.

  “Hey, Nass!” Clarisse called from the bathroom. “Nass!”

  “What?” Nass put down his pencil and looked up. The bathroom door opened a few inches and he saw Clarisse peeking out from behind it, her wet hair dripping.

  “Hey grab me a towel, would you? I forgot.” She flashed him a smile and opened the door a little wider to reveal a bare shoulder and part of a bare thigh—a move he was sure was anything but accidental—before shutting it again.

  Nass was once again pondering the complexity of his life as he opened the linen closet, right next to his former bedroom. As he grabbed a clean towel off the stack, he heard Clarisse’s phone buzzing. With a quick glance inside the room, he saw it on the nightstand next to his former bed. He grabbed it, intending to give it to her along with the towel, but the text message jumped out at him and filled him with gut-numbing fear:

  Text from: Oscar S.

  i don’t care where you’re hiding, you sneaky bitch.

  i’ll find you & if you don’t have my 12 g’s

  i’ll cut off your worthless head.

  As far as Nass knew, there was only one Oscar S in his old neighborhood. Oscar Salazar—who was one of the most ruthless drug dealers in Southern California. What the hell was he doing texting Clarisse—and what had she done to make him so angry?

  “Nass!” Clarisse yelled. “You forget about me or what? Where’s my towel?”

  “Got it right here,” he said grimly. As he handed it to her through the door, he added. “Get dressed—hurry. I gotta talk to you.”

  “Sure, babe,” she said. “What about?”

  “Oscar S,” he said quietly and held up her phone.

  She was dressed and out of the bathroom, the towel wrapped around her hair like a turban, in record time. “So you’re going through my stuff now?” she demanded as she joined him in the living room.

  “Don’t turn this on me,” he said. “I heard it buzz and thought I’d hand it to you in case it was your mom or something.” He held it up again. “I saw the text he sent.”

  She tried to grab the phone, but he was too fast for her.

  “He says he’s going to kill you, Clarisse. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing!” she flared. “He’s crazy. He’s just pissed because we had a little thing—nothing serious—after you left. He didn’t like it when I dumped him, that’s all.”

  “He didn’t like it—twelve thousand dollars’ worth? Be real with me. How come you owe him money?” It hit him then, and it terrified him. “Did you steal it?”

  “Of course not. I set up a deal, okay?” she explained. “I delivered the stuff, and I was supposed to take the money to Oscar.”

  Nass was walking in a circle, his hands pressed to his head in frustration. “Clarisse! Seriously? Are you crazy? You stole money from Oscar S?”

  “No! His customer wanted more, so I used the cash to do another buy, from Oscar’s competition. So I could turn it over quick and make some money for myself. For us, mijo. But I got ripped off. So now I can’t pay Oscar.”

  “You know he’s had guys butchered for less,” Nass told her.

  “So what? He’ll never find me in Middleburg. Now give me my phone.” She made another grab for it, but Nass sidestepped out of her reach and she stumbled and hit her arm on the back of the sofa.

  “Ow!” she shrieked. Raul Torrez picked that moment to come back into the living room.

  “What’s going on here?” he asked.

  “He won’t give my phone back!” exclaimed Clarisse.

  “Nass?” Raul looked at him questioningly as the front door opened and Amelia Torrez walked in, her arms loaded with grocery bags. When she saw everyone standing around looking so serious, she asked the same thing:

  “What’s going on here?”

  “Nothing,” Clarisse said quickly. “I just want my phone back.”

  Nass grabbed the bags and put them on the coffee table. “There is something going on,” he said. “And it’s serious. She’s not here because she missed me so much. She’s hiding from a drug dealer back in South Central,” he said, showing his mom the phone. “I have proof.”

  Amelia put her purse down beside the groceries and looked at him. “Yes, ’Nacio,” she said. “We know.”

  Nass was stunned. He looked at each of them in turn—his mom, his dad, Clarisse—and then looked again. Finally he said, “You know?” They all nodded. “Was anyone going to tell me?”

  “We didn’t want you to worry,” his mom told him.

  Nass was furious—and horrified. “Well, somebody needs to worry. You know what kind of danger she’s put herself in—that she’s put all of us in?” He dropped the phone on the floor and smashed it with his heel.

  “Ignacio!” his mother cried out. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “You think those punks she’s running from don’t know how to use a computer? Oscar Salazar has a pretty sophisticated operation—his guy has hacked into LAPD files more than once—and eventually they’ll track her with her phone, right to us.”

  His mom went suddenly pale. “You’re right,” she said. “We never thought of that.”

  “Well, what am I supposed to do for a phone?” Clarisse demanded.

  Nass whirled on her. “You’ll get the same kind of pre-paid loser phone I’ve got, and when it runs out of minutes, you’ll ditch it and get another one. And maybe you can get a job after school to pay for it, like I did.”

  She glared at him. “Anything else, jefe?” she asked sarcastically.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Let’s just get through homecoming weekend. And then next week, when you start at Middleburg High, try to get lost in the crowd. Don’t be such a standout all the time. And don’t tell anyone else about this,” he added seriously. “I mean it, Clarisse—no one else can know.”

  “Okay, okay—like I would,” she shot back.

  “It’s going to be all right, ’Nacio,” his mom assured him. “Her whole family got together and figured out a plan and when they called us, we couldn’t refuse. She had nowhere else to go and she’s right—nobody’s going to come looking for her here.” She glanced at Raul and together they took the grocery bags on into the kitchen.

  “Okay,” Clarisse said grudgingly. “Maybe you’re right about the phone. I guess it was stupid to keep it.”

  She moved closer, appealing to him with her big brown eyes. “Don’t be mad, mi corazone,” she implored, and he was surprised to see tears fill her eyes. “I’m glad you know. It makes me feel safe, with you to protect me . . .”

  And she put her arms around his neck, stood on tiptoe and kissed him, sweet and soft and vulnerable.

  But Nass felt only despair. He’d hoped that the capricious Clarisse would decide to go back to LA soon. Now, he knew that was impossible. She had to stay in Middleburg—her life depended on it. And whether he liked it or not, Nass was now her protector.

  

  Saturday night.

  This was supposed to be the best night of Maggie Anderson’s life—but all she felt was fear.

  “Hold still.”

  “I am,” she said impatiently.

  In her bedroom, she sat before a vanity table, staring into the mirror while her mother styled her hair. Maggie knew she looked great—spectacular, in fact. Her dress—a strapless, formfitting, floor-l
ength sheath with a long slit up one side—was perfect; the fabric was a swirl of copper and deep purple that brought out her eyes, and the way her mom was pinning up her hair showed off the graceful curve of her neck. Maggie hadn’t slept much since all the weirdness of Halloween night, but with an expert hand she was able to hide the dark shadows under her eyes with concealer and foundation. She had no trouble admitting that she looked like a homecoming queen. The problem was, she didn’t feel like one. Not after what she’d been through.

  She had seen too much. She’d had a lifetime of terror in just a few days, starting with seeing Rick, during the battle on Halloween night, transform into something indescribable—for an instant, he wasn’t Rick, but some kind of demon. As if that weren’t horrific enough, after the old kung fu teacher showed up and took her mother on some mysterious mission—her mother, who hadn’t been out of the house in years—four ancient Japanese warriors invaded her home and tried to drag Maggie down her basement staircase, which had somehow turned out to be a staircase to hell. Raphael Kain had gone down into the impossible heat of that underground inferno and carried Maggie all the way back up, but the trauma had been almost enough to drive her nuts.

  On top of everything, just to prove she really was crazy, she couldn’t stop obsessing about Raphael, that hot bad boy who was, literally, from the wrong side of the tracks. Not even her most passionate fantasy about him, not even the haunting memory of the one kiss they had shared, and not even her burning desire to make it happen again could banish the brief, unbidden images of Rick’s face and head morphing into some kind of monster’s . . . images that flickered through her mind at night as she fell asleep. Sometimes she couldn’t sleep. Sometimes she was afraid to try.

  As she stared at herself in the mirror, her mind replayed that last touchdown of the homecoming game, when Rick had slammed through the St. Phil’s defender and into the end zone. The crowd had been so ecstatic with Middleburg so close to winning that Maggie felt like she was the only one who had noticed that poor kid never got up. He just laid there in the end zone with coaches and trainers stooping over him, until some guys came over with a stretcher and hauled him off the field.

  When Rick had smashed into him, it had happened again. He changed. After the hit, Rick looked over to the sideline and for the briefest moment Maggie saw the demon face there, behind the facemask of Rick’s helmet. Just for a moment, and then it was gone.

  And if Rick knew she could see what he really was—or what he was becoming—what would he do to her?

  She wished she’d had the courage to break up with him, or at least refused to go to the stupid dance with him. But she didn’t dare. He would have been furious.

  She was also worried about what her mother’s reaction would be. Miss three-time homecoming queen had been dead set on her daughter winning the crown for as long as Maggie could remember.

  She could easily chalk up her mother’s obsession with homecoming as one of the many neuroses that dominated Violet Anderson’s life. The woman never left the house; she worked obsessively, designing and embroidering a series of tapestries, each one more bizarre than the one before it; and she suffered from all sorts of anxieties and sleep disorders.

  Maggie shuddered. The last thing she wanted was to become like her mother.

  She thought she probably shouldn’t resent her mom’s aspirations for her. After all, Middleburg High’s homecoming celebration was all Violet had left in the world. It was sad, really. Positive that Maggie was going to win tonight, Violet had called the school and volunteered to be a chaperone. It would be only the second time she’d left the house in at least two years. As dysfunctional as the whole thing was, and as much as Maggie wished she could walk away from it all, she couldn’t let her mom down now, on her big night.

  “Oo ook ammayain!”

  “What, Mom? Take the bobby pins out of your mouth!”

  Violet dropped several bobby pins from her lips into her cupped hand and placed them on the vanity. “You look amazing!” she said. “Just one more touch . . .”

  She crossed to the desk and brought over a small cardboard box that Maggie hadn’t noticed before. From inside the box, Violet took a beautiful, white rose, the stem of which had been cut short.

  “From Lily Rose,” she said, as she pinned the flower in Maggie’s hair.

  “It’s so pretty,” Maggie said, but her smile was fleeting, and her mom noticed.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Maggie, you are so beautiful—and you’re going to the dance with a football hero, and you’re going to be the first sophomore crowned homecoming queen since my three-year reign! What is there to be sad about?”

  I’m not sad, Mom, she wanted to say. I’m scared. I just found out my jock hero boyfriend is some kind of monster and I can’t stop wishing I was going to the dance with Raphael Kain, a sexy, troublemaking Flatliner, of all things.

  But she couldn’t say that. “I might not even win,” she said.

  “You will.”

  “I’m not the only pretty girl in Middleburg, Mom.”

  A frown lined Violet’s beautiful face for a moment and then she shook her head. “Nonsense! Who could even compete with you?”

  “Well, Aimee Banfield, for one.”

  “Aimee’s a sweet girl,” Violet said. “And pretty—but not as pretty as you!”

  “Some people think she is,” Maggie replied with a sigh, her mind still on Raphael. “Anyway, it’s not a beauty contest. Not strictly. It’s about popularity, too.”

  And people don’t like me, not really, she wanted to add. I can see that now. Since Halloween night, I can see a lot of things I never saw before.

  Gently, Violet took Maggie’s face in her hands and tilted it up, forcing her to look into her mother’s eyes.

  “Well, Rick is popular enough for the both of you,” she said softly. “But none of that matters. There is such a thing as destiny, and this is yours. You are powerful, Maggie. And tonight, you will wear the crown.”

  For a moment, Maggie hardly recognized her mom. She had never seen Violet looking so calm, or felt such energy emanating from her slight form. There was so much force behind her words that if she had said, “Maggie, you can fly,” Maggie could have spread her arms out like wings and soared into the air.

  The effect, however, was short lived. Moments later, Violet was scampering around her bedroom, nervously fussing about her own outfit. For years, she had kept the gowns from her three consecutive homecoming wins displayed on mannequins downstairs—which Maggie had always thought truly strange. Today, she had brought all three up and laid them out on the bed. Now, she was agonizing over which one to wear.

  “I always loved the pink best, but what about the lavender one?”

  This is going to be a nightmare, Maggie thought, starting with her mother parading around the school gymnasium in some fancy, puffy, prehistoric dress. It was too much to bear. She dug into her mother’s closet and came out with a conservative, navy blue gown with a cream-colored sash.

  “How about this one?” Maggie suggested hopefully. “You’re so pretty, Mom. You don’t need anything fancy.”

  At first, Violet seemed disappointed, then she smiled. “What a nice compliment,” she said. “Thank you.” She took the dress and held it up, looking at it as a painter might examine her subject.

  “I suppose simple could be nice . . .” she mused, a little distant. “And after all, it’s your night. All right. Navy it is.”

  Maggie had never been to church in her life, but she thanked God profusely as her mother slipped the dress over her head and stood in front of the mirror, looking conservative, attractive and blissfully normal.

  Two minutes later Violet was frantic again, demolishing her room in search of a pair of missing pantyhose.

  The doorbell chimed and Maggie went down to answer it. She undid the half dozen locks her mother insisted upo
n and opened the front door to a familiar face. He was short, with a white goatee and long, sparse hair, and he wore a powder blue tuxedo with a white rose on the lapel, and a broad smile.

  “Mr. Chin,” Maggie said, confused. And then a sick dread settled in the pit of her stomach. “You’re here to see my mom.” It wasn’t a question.

  The kung fu teacher smiled and nodded once.

  “Indeed, I am,” he said pleasantly. “I’m her escort for the evening.”

  

  Zhai rode in the back of his family’s Maybach, an elegant gold box of assorted Godiva chocolates on the seat next to him, and fumbled with his bow tie. He was frustrated with it, and with the tuxedo, but even more frustrated with himself. He’d fallen in love with Kate the first moment he saw her. Every day for the last two weeks, he’d tried to get up the courage to invite her to the homecoming dance, and every day he had lost his nerve.

  And anyway, the closer it got to the dance, the more uneasy Zhai became. He had a nagging feeling that something, somehow, was going to go wrong. He was still a little shell-shocked about all the weirdness he’d experienced when he and Raphael had faced off that night on the old railroad tracks. Ever since his harrowing quest, Zhai had been practicing his daily meditation, just as Master Chin had instructed. He could feel the Shen, the spirit, the magic within him, strengthening day by day. And right now, the Shen told him something bad was going to happen tonight.

  He tried to tell himself it was just his imagination, but the only thing that made him feel better was the thought of having Kate on his arm when he walked into the gym. Finally, an hour before the dance was to start, he told Bohai, the family’s chauffer, to take him down to the train graveyard where the beautiful Kate lived. Incredible as it seemed, the homeless but resourceful girl had turned one of the old abandoned passenger cars into a rustic but cozy little apartment. She was awesome—he’d never met anyone like her.