It was made of some kind of burnished, golden metal—maybe even real gold, she thought, and it was set with roughly cut gemstones—one that looked like it could be a diamond, centered between two red ones that could be rubies. Maggie remembered her mom saying it was really old and was originally used for the queen of the Harvest Festival. Sometime in the early nineteen hundreds, Middleburg quit having the festival, and it became the homecoming-queen crown.
Violet set the pillow on Bobbi Jean’s outstretched hands, and Maggie closed her eyes as her mother lifted the crown and placed it gently on her head. The first thing she noticed was the weight of it. It was heavier than Maggie had imagined—and a lot heavier than it looked. So heavy, in fact, that she felt her knees might buckle under its weight. It was certainly no cheap, costume crown. As she turned and looked out over the crowd, she saw that the fog machine mist and the shadows that had filled the room earlier were gone. She could see everyone clearly. She could see their faces and peer right into their eyes.
Through their eyes even, into their minds.
More of the strange, bright energy lanced through her as her mother leaned over and kissed her cheek. Maggie found Raphael in the crowd and for a moment their eyes locked. She felt as if she was falling into his consciousness, into his soul. Suddenly, she was awash in the sea of anger, and all the hope, sadness, passion, love, and confusion that were Raphael. She was drowning in it, in him. As she struggled to rise from this turbulent ocean, she saw a white lighthouse, its distant beam slashing across the fog and brine of frustration that clouded Raphael’s mind. And the name of the lighthouse, Maggie somehow knew, was Shen.
She blinked, and the vision was over.
She was dizzy and trembling, and she felt faint and a little feverish. The crown seemed even heavier now, and she was sure the weight of it would force her to her knees. At the same time, the power coursing through her built and built. It wasn’t something from outside her, exactly, nor was it something new. It was as if the energy that had been within her all the time was suddenly amplified a thousand times. She felt bigger than herself, as if her energy encompassed not just her thin body, but the entire stage, the entire room, the entire school.
“Would you like to say a few words?” she heard Principal Innis asking.
He was offering the microphone to Rick, who leaned into it and muttered: “Go Phoenixes.” His hate-filled eyes, Maggie saw, were still trained on Raphael Kain.
Raphael, who was standing in front of Aimee, protecting Aimee. Who would be kissing Aimee later, when he took her home. Who had once kissed Maggie with more passion than she had ever felt from Rick. A new feeling of rage shot through her.
Innis was holding the microphone up for Maggie. Taking a deep breath, she fought to steady herself. She could bounce along the sideline leading cheers all night, but she wasn’t so good at speaking in front of a crowd.
I can do this, she thought. I will do this.
She opened her mouth to say thank you, but before she could get the words out, the doors at the back of the gym flew open and a frigid wind whipped through the room with near-gale force, bringing with it dust, debris, dried leaves, bits of trash, and even a few errant, swirling snowflakes. Napkins from the snack table exploded across the dance floor like confetti. The blast of wind was so powerful that a few girls, already unbalanced in their high heels, fell over. Others took cover under the tables.
Principal Innis jumped down from the stage and hurried toward the doorway, fighting his way through the wind and gesturing wildly to the teachers and chaperones as he went.
“Did anyone see the news?” he shouted. “Was there a severe weather warning? Come on—let’s get these doors closed!”
As the grownups rushed to secure the doors, Rick made his move. He was off the stage in a heartbeat. Bran was pushing his way across the dance floor, too, shoving though the crowd toward Raphael. Maggie saw Raphael’s friend Nass moving toward him, shouting and signaling for his crew to follow. The Flatliners rushed onto the dance floor, to the spot where their leader stood, backed up against one wall of the gym, with Aimee shielded behind him. Maggie could see it all: the Flatliners and the Toppers were converging at the spot where Raphael and Aimee stood, just to the right of the stage.
The crown on her head pressed into her mind, crushing it and freeing it all at once. She couldn’t think, but she seemed to know everything. And she knew Raphael loved Aimee as he would never—could never—love her. And that made her angrier than ever.
Chapter Four
Zhai had been pacing at the edge of the dance floor, waiting for the inevitable to happen and wondering what to do about it. When he saw his fellow Toppers moving in Raphael’s direction, he slipped deftly through the crowd to try and head them off. Only a week had passed, he realized, since he and Raphael had managed to work together to accomplish the Magician’s quest, and already the war was back on. There had to be some way to stop the impending fight.
Raphael and Aimee had retreated, and their backs were nearly against the gym wall near the right corner of the stage. Everyone on the dance floor, seeing what was about to happen, pulled back and formed a big semi-circle around them. Bran and Rick broke into the circle first, striding shoulder-to-shoulder over to Raphael.
A hateful smile crossed Rick’s face as he stared at his enemy, still standing in front of Aimee like a human shield. “Look at you two,” he said. “Pathetic.”
Bran said nothing, but Zhai could see him trembling with uncharacteristic rage. He knew Bran had liked Aimee for a long time, and he must feel betrayed—but he’d been ready to let it go until Rick pushed him into a confrontation.
“What’s up, Rick?” Ignacio demanded as he broke into the circle with his crew right behind him. “You got a problem?”
“Don’t make it yours,” Rick warned, and he stepped forward and lunged at Raphael. Raphael saw it coming and quickly spun out of the way, avoiding Rick’s big, powerful fist and hitting him with a hard strike to the kidneys. Bran moved in and caught Raphael in the eye with a left jab. Before he could follow up with a right, though, Raphael hit him in the face three times, in a rapid-fire, staccato burst of energy, and then tripped him and sent him to the ground.
“Guys, stop!” Zhai yelled but the Toppers and Flatliners charged each other, rushing into the fray.
D’von Cunningham clotheslined Josh. Beet tackled Dax Avery while Michael Ponder traded blows with Emory. Cle’von kept trying to grab the slippery little Benji.
The circle widened as frightened students pulled back from the battle. Principal Innis bleated ineffectually into the microphone. “Kids, stop! Hey, stop it!”
Rick and Bran were both on Raphael. They had him hemmed in from both sides and were throwing haymakers at him, one after another. Zhai watched as Raphael deflected an overhead right from Bran, pulled him off balance and struck him in the temple, a blow that sent Bran stumbling. Raphael turned just in time to block Rick’s fearsome left hook and hit him with a quick counter, then turned and blocked Bran again. His former best friend was doing well against two powerful opponents, Zhai thought, but even Raphael couldn’t keep up that pace forever. Zhai hurried toward them, hoping to intercede—but Ignacio blocked him.
“Going somewhere?” he asked, and threw a sweep kick at Zhai’s knees. Zhai moved and the strike missed. Before Zhai could explain that he was trying to stop the fight, Ignacio’s foot was flying toward his face. Zhai blocked this kick, too, and the three punches that followed. When Ignacio struck him in the stomach with an intricate, graceful Capoeira cartwheel attack, Zhai realized he had no choice but to fight back. He managed to land two quick, ineffective punches before Ignacio once again cartwheeled out of the way.
As the battle intensified, Zhai could feel the power of Shen building up all around them, its seething, tingling energy sizzling through his body and vibrating the floor, rattling the light-fixtures, shaking the wa
lls. He looked over and saw that Rick had broken away from his fight with Raphael. He was over near the wall between the gymnasium and lobby, holding his sister by the arm and dragging her toward a set of exit doors. She struggled with him and screamed, and Dalton ran over to help her. Raphael started after them.
Suddenly, a female voice, strong and rich and full of power, cut through the mayhem.
“Stop!”
With the single word, a concussion of air exploded like a bomb, and the atmosphere shifted. Zhai felt a jolt of Shen shoot through him, as if his soul had shivered.
The blast struck Rick, slamming him against the wall, and sent Aimee and Dalton sprawling to the floor as well.
Zhai looked around to find the source of the voice. Maggie Anderson was standing on the edge of the stage, the Homecoming Queen crown still firmly and regally on her head. Both hands were clasped over her mouth, as if she was stunned by the power her own voice had just unleashed.
The battle had ceased with her one-word directive, and Ignacio was staring at the gymnasium wall where Rick and Aimee were standing. Zhai turned to follow his gaze. There was a sharp snapping sound and a large crack suddenly formed in the cinder-block structure, from the floor all the way up to the ceiling. As he watched, a second crack appeared, then a third.
“Dalton! Look out!” Ignacio shouted, but it was too late. There was a metallic screech as one of the girders in the ceiling flexed—and then with a deafening crash, the wall fell.
A rush of dust instantly blanketed screaming students, teachers and alumni who all stampeded toward the exits. The music came to an abrupt stop as rubble tumbled and skittered across the polished, wooden gym floor, ending in a mass of crumbled cinderblocks and twisted iron rebar.
Ignacio was the first to move. He ran toward the collapsed wall calling desperately, “Dalton! Dalton—where are you?”
As he rushed toward the pile of debris, a sickening realization hit Zhai. Rick, Aimee and Dalton had all been right there, with Raphael only a few feet away, when the wall collapsed. Now, they were buried under the rubble.
Raphael coughed and wiped the dust from his eyes. “Aimee? Dalton?” he shouted into the haze. “Aimee?”
“Here!” she called. To Raphael’s relief, she was walking through the dust cloud toward him, picking her way unsteadily through the debris. He’d thought she was right under the wall when it fell, but apparently he’d misjudged her position.
He ran to her and gathered her close. “You okay? Are you hurt?” he asked as he stepped away from her and scanned her face, her head, her arms for any sign of injury.
“I don’t understand what happened,” she said slowly, a little dazed. “I saw the wall coming down, right at me. I was there and then I wasn’t . . .I think . . . maybe Dalton shoved me out of the way.”
Raphael put his arms around her again and held her as tightly as he could without hurting her, worried that she was in shock. Trembling against him, she hugged him back.
“Where’s Dalton?” she asked, her lips close to Raphael’s ear. “And Rick?”
They turned back to the collapsed wall. The rubble moved and Rick emerged from beneath a pile of fallen cinderblocks. He groaned, with pain or fury, as he got to his feet and brushed the dust from his hair.
He straightened his tie and cracked his neck. Tentatively feeling one arm, he winced a little, but otherwise he seemed unharmed. The stunned crowd watched in silence—probably, Raphael knew, thinking the same thing he was. There was no way Rick could have gotten out alive. But here he was.
“Rick . . . are you okay?” Aimee asked, taking a tentative step toward her brother.
Rick looked at her and snorted. He took the red handkerchief from his coat pocket and wiped his face. “Better than you’re going to be when dad gets here,” he said.
“No!”
A low, anguished wail coming from the far side of the debris pile drew their attention. Raphael took Aimee’s hand and they rushed toward the sound.
It was Nass. The I-beam had come down from the ceiling and had fallen across Dalton’s abdomen. She lay motionless beneath it. Tears were streaming down Ignacio’s face and he was heaving on the beam with all his strength. He couldn’t move it. Raphael ran over to help.
A second later, Aimee and Beet joined them and then Zhai rushed over, too. As Zhai grabbed the end of the beam, his eyes met Raphael’s for an instant before he added his strength to theirs and started lifting. The five of them were able to move the beam off Dalton.
Using the breathing techniques he’d learned from Master Chin, Raphael calmed and centered himself, and then dialed 911 on his cell phone. As it rang, Ignacio went down on his knees beside Dalton, who still wasn’t moving.
Raph’s dad had worked in the metal fabrication business before he died, and Raph knew how heavy those beams were. Thousands of pounds of steel had landed on Dalton. It didn’t look good.
Nass took a deep breath, covered Dalton’s mouth with his and started doing CPR. Aimee knelt nearby, too, and took Dalton’s hand.
On Raphael’s phone, the operator answered, “911, what’s your emergency?”
“Yes,” Raphael said. “I’m at Middleburg High. One of the interior gym walls just collapsed.”
“Was anyone injured?”
“Yes.”
“How badly?”
A voice in Raphael’s head said: fatally.
But as he watched, Dalton took her hand from Aimee’s and put it behind Ignacio’s head. He was no longer giving her mouth-to-mouth, Raphael realized with awe. They were kissing.
Nass pulled back, obviously amazed, and Raph saw that Dalton was smiling.
“Ignacio Torrez, were you just trying to get fresh with me?” she mock-scolded him, and sat up as if nothing was wrong.
Aimee and Nass helped Dalton to her feet and she started to brush off her dress. Miraculously, the garment was neither dirty nor wrinkled. And the part that covered her stomach, the part where the steel I-beam that should have crushed her had lain, was completely unscathed. Aimee gave Raphael a can-you-believe-this look.
“Hello? Sir?” the lady from 911 asked. “Was anyone was hurt?”
Raphael glanced across the room, to where the Toppers were standing around inspecting Rick’s injured arm. Rick waved them off.
“I guess not,” he said, and ended the call.
“You’re okay?” Nass was asking Dalton.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she answered. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“The beam—it was on you. It could have crushed you.”
Dalton rubbed her abdomen. “It does feel a little bruised,” she admitted.
“Bruised!” Nass shouted wildly, relieved. “Bruised? Girl, what’s that dress made of—some kind of titanium-Kevlar blend?”
Dalton ran her hands over the fabric thoughtfully. “You know, I’m not sure. My grandma made it for me. I couldn’t find one I liked.”
Nass laughed. “Well, if I ever join the army, remind me to have your grandma sew me a uniform, all right?”
He hugged Dalton, then pulled back to look at her, and then hugged her again. Raphael noticed Clarisse standing back in the crowd, watching, and she didn’t look pleased. Dalton must’ve seen her, too, because she quickly moved away from Nass, as if suddenly remembering she was still mad at him.
As the rest of the Flatliners went to check Dalton out for themselves, Raphael moved closer to the broken wall. A twenty-foot wide gash now ran from the floor to the ceiling where it slashed a rip in the roof. After Raph glanced up at it, he went to the edge of the hole in the floor and stared down at something.
A pit perhaps thirty-five feet deep had opened up right where the wall fell. The bottom of the hole was littered with debris, but there seemed to be openings on either end. It wasn’t just a hole, Raph realized. It was a tunnel. A chill crept
slowly over him.
A tunnel ran beneath Middleburg High School. How weird was that?
“Pretty weird,” Zhai said, as if Raphael had spoken aloud, and Raphael glanced over to find his old friend standing next to him. He gave Raph a quick glance and walked back toward the Toppers. Standing in the crowd behind Zhai, Raphael was amazed to find a familiar face: it was Master Chin. He gazed solemnly at Raphael, then gave him a slow nod. Raphael knew what his sifu was telling him—despite everything that had happened, he’d behaved honorably. It made him feel a little better.
Before he could go over and talk to his kung fu teacher, Aimee, Dalton, and the Flatliners approached.
“Well, I guess this scene is a bust,” Benji said. “Anybody want to head over to Rack ’Em—whoa! Check it out, man.” As they drew close, they all saw the hole, too.
But what Raphael saw behind them was far more disturbing.
“I think we’d better take a rain check,” he told Benji, and nodded in the direction of the gym’s front doors. They all looked around and Aimee groaned. Jack Banfield, her dad, had just entered. His tie was askew, his face was red, and he was heading right to them, with Rick just a step behind him.
Aimee wished she could melt into the floor and disappear. She felt Raphael’s arm go around her, and she was grateful for his strength even though she knew he should leave instead of trying to make a stand with her. It was bad enough she was about to experience her father’s wrath; Raphael shouldn’t have to suffer, too.
The sight of them standing defiantly together seemed to infuriate her dad even more but she knew he would maintain careful control with so many people watching. He didn’t yell at her. Instead, he grasped her arm—hard—and leaned down until his eyes were only inches from hers.
GHOST CROWN: THE TRACKS TRILOGY - Book Two Page 7
