“Whoa,” Aimee said, taking the whole story in. “So if anyone finds out you’ve got it—”
“It could cost me my life,” Miss Pembrook finished for her. “So you have to promise not to tell anyone. I mean—anyone.”
“You can trust me,” Aimee said. “I swear. But shouldn’t you tell the police or something? What if whoever’s looking for it comes after you?”
“There’s no one I can trust,” Miss Pembrook said. “I don’t know much about the people who killed Donovan, only that they’re very powerful, and they have a knack for getting what they want, even from police. Besides, if word gets out that there’s a treasure hidden somewhere in town, it’s going to be pandemonium. We have to keep it quiet so we can find it ourselves and make sure it ends up in a museum, where it belongs.”
Aimee thought suddenly of everything Raphael had told her in their secret, hurried phone conversations, about all the evictions in the Flats and how someone was digging holes in the basements as soon as they got the tenants out. It all made sense now. Whoever was buying up all the buildings knew about the treasure—and they were looking for it, too.
“You all right?” Miss Pembrook asked.
“Oh—yeah,” Aimee said, distracted. It was almost time for her to meet Raphael. “I just . . . there’s somewhere I have to be after this.”
Miss Pembrook glanced at her watch. “Well, we should call it a day anyway.” She started gathering up the books. “Thanks for listening, Aimee, and for helping me with this. It’s nice to be able to share it with someone, you know?”
“Thanks for telling me,” Aimee said. “And don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”
Except maybe Raphael, she amended silently. If anyone could help them keep the treasure out of a murderer’s hands and protect Miss Pembrook, it would be Raphael.
The moment Aimee walked out the back door of the library, she felt a hand clasp hers, pulling her off the sidewalk, along the side of the building, behind the book-return bin and a wall of overgrown hedges, and around a corner. They stopped beneath a window that looked out on nothing but woods. Then, Raphael’s lips were on hers. She moved closer, within the circle of his arms, unable to resist feeling his body melded to hers, warming her against the chill of the winter afternoon.
“I’m supposed to be mad at you,” she chided, pulling back reluctantly, flushed with the expectation he awakened in her.
“That’s funny,” Raphael said. “I’m supposed to be mad at you, too.”
She frowned, wondering what reason Raphael would possibly have to be mad at her.
“You went to Chin behind my back,” he finished.
“Okay, I’m sorry,” she said. She’d hoped Master Chin wouldn’t tell Raphael. “I didn’t mean to get you in trouble or anything. But I have to get my mom back, Raphael, and I can’t let you go on your own. It’s too dangerous. Besides, I want to be there. I want to be the one to bring her back. I feel like it’s something I’m supposed to do.”
He looked at her seriously for a moment. “Well, you’re in luck, then,” he said.
“Why?” Aimee asked, hopeful. “He decided to train me?”
Raphael shook his head, smiling now. “No. He gave me permission to train you.”
“You?” She felt a strange mix of excitement, fear, and confusion. Training with a stranger was one thing, but with Raphael? What if she couldn’t do it and ended up looking like a total loser? And what if her dad found out?
But, if they could manage it . . . Aimee nodded, letting the prospect sink in.
“So if I train with you, how long before I’m ready to go with you to find my mom?”
“If you work hard, a few months maybe.”
“A few months!” Aimee exclaimed. “I can’t leave my mother God-knows-where for that long!”
“I know,” Raphael said. “If someone told me I could get my dad back by going into those tunnels, I’d want to go now, too. But we have to be ready and that’s how long it takes. I have to learn to use the Wheel anyway and that’s going to take some time.”
Aimee wanted to argue the point, but she knew he was right. “Okay,” she said. “It really means a lot that you want to help me.”
He drew her close again but just as he started to kiss her, she pulled away. “Wait—I have something to tell you. Something that might help the people in the Flats.” And she told him about Miss Pembrook’s scroll and the lost treasure. When she finished, he only nodded, his face a mask of determination.
“You think that’s what’s going on?” Aimee asked. “Someone’s looking for the treasure?”
Raphael nodded. “I’m sure of it. It makes total sense. Once again, the people in the Flats have to suffer because of someone else’s greed. Because of your father’s greed, Aimee—and Cheung Shao’s.”
It broke her heart to see his anguish, and she squeezed his hand. His anger was always seething and sometimes it was so close to the surface it frightened her. Suddenly an idea came to her.
“So, what if we find it before they can?” she asked. “You could use the money to buy back the apartments. Once the Flatliners own the land, no one can mess with you anymore—not even my dad.”
Raphael’s tortured expression changed instantly to a smile. “You’re a genius,” he said, “That’s exactly what we’re going to do.” He leaned closer, but before he could kiss her again, her phone rang, jarring her back to reality. She dug it out of her bag and looked at the caller ID.
“It’s my dad,” she said. “If I don’t answer it, he’s going to kill me.”
“But if you don’t kiss me again, it’ll kill me,” Raphael teased.
She kissed him once more, quickly, and forced herself to move away.
“Hey, dad.”
“I’m picking you up now. Be out front in one minute.”
“Okay.”
“And please don’t make me wait. I have things to do this afternoon.”
“I won’t. I’m coming out now. Bye.”
Aimee hung up and looked at Raphael regretfully. She was already backing away, along the side of the building. His eyes were on her the whole way.
“One more kiss?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah, right—one more kiss and I’ll never leave. Then I’ll get grounded forever, and I’ll never see you again.”
“Well,” Raphael said playfully, “we can’t have that.”
“No,” Aimee agreed. “LUE.”
“LUE.”
She looked at him once more, storing an image that would carry her through until she could see him again, and then she slipped around the corner of the library without looking back.
Now she just had to get rid of the silly, blissful grin on her face before her dad arrived and figured out what caused it.
When the old woody station wagon rattled its way into Lily Rose’s driveway, Maggie opened her eyes. After the football game on Friday night she’d made an excuse to skip hanging out at Spinnacle with all the Toppers so she could avoid Rick. She hadn’t known then what had made her go to Rack ’Em to see Raphael, but after he’d asked her why she didn’t break up with Rick if he scared her so much, she realized that Raphael was the only person in Middleburg, besides Lily Rose, who made her feel safe. Talking to him had made her feel better. It had given her hope, although their meeting ended without the wished-for kiss. He was so amazing. Even the dazzling violets and deep reds of his aura were beautiful.
Maggie had driven straight home, charged up the stairs and flopped down in bed—except she couldn’t sleep. Even with her eyes closed, too many images crowded her mind. She saw Raphael, how awesome he looked as he sat in her car, telling her she could talk to him anytime. She saw Orias, his black halo churning like a forbidding vortex as he shook Aimee’s hand on Career Day. And she saw that football player’s
body lying still as his aura—his soul—drifted skyward. When she did finally doze off, dreams of Rick’s demonic face jarred her back awake.
First thing this morning, she’d taken the car and hurried over to see Lily Rose, but no one was home. Determined to wait, she’d sat down on the porch swing and, despite the cold, had apparently fallen asleep, her head resting on her backpack.
Now, Maggie heard the Woody’s doors slam and footsteps approaching, and she quickly sat up and ran her fingers through her sleep-tousled hair.
“The old hymns are nice, but it would be good to have something modern, too,” Dalton was saying.
“Modern? In church?” Lily Rose laughed. “Sweetie, you know there ain’t nothing new under the sun.”
“There is in music,” Dalton replied.
They mounted the porch steps and then they both stopped to stare at Maggie. Lily Rose smiled and hurried to greet her; Dalton did not.
“Well, if it isn’t Miss Maggie!” Lily Rose exclaimed. “Fancy seeing you here on this fine Saturday. Come by for some more tea, I imagine?”
“That would be nice, actually,” Maggie agreed. She realized she was freezing.
Lily Rose opened the front door and gestured for Maggie to go inside, but Dalton remained rooted on the top step.
“Aren’t you coming in, sugar?” Lily Rose asked her. “You’re going to freeze solid, glowering out there in the cold like that.”
“If you don’t need me anymore, Grandma, I think I’ll go see how Kate’s doing,” Dalton said.
“That’s a good idea,” Lily Rose told her. “Right neighborly. But remember you got chores later.”
“Okay.” And Dalton marched back down the steps.
“Don’t worry about her,” Lily Rose told Maggie as Dalton got in the car and slammed the door. “Come on inside now, before you catch pneumonia.”
Unwinding her scarf from her neck, Maggie stepped gratefully into the warmth of Lily Rose’s cozy little home. It felt amazing, like she imagined a sip of water would taste if you were dying of thirst.
Maggie smiled, glad to be in Lily Rose’s comforting presence, but she felt bad Dalton had left because of her. And that, she thought, was weird. She’d never cared about Dalton’s feelings before.
“Sorry,” she said as she hung her coat and scarf on the coat rack next to the front door. “I don’t think Dalton likes me much.”
“Well, she has her reasons, I guess,” the old woman said, but not unpleasantly. She led Maggie into the kitchen. “Just have a seat,” she said. “Make yourself at home. We don’t stand on ceremony here.” She filled the kettle, turned on a gas burner, and put the kettle on the stove.
When Lily Rose looked at her again, Maggie felt the kindness in her eyes as if it were a tangible thing. There was something about those eyes. Whenever they were on her, it made Maggie feel so vulnerable, so exposed, and yet so loved. And every time, it almost brought her to tears.
“I won’t stay long,” Maggie said quietly. She opened her backpack and took out The Good Book. “I just wanted to give this back to you.”
Lily Rose looked at the book but made no move to take it. “Now why would you want to do a thing like that? That was a gift. Didn’t it work for you?”
“Oh, no,” Maggie said quickly. “It worked. It worked fine. I stared at it and some words appeared . . . only I don’t understand what they mean. I was seeing all this weird stuff—I told you—and I thought the book would help. Maybe make it go away or something—but it didn’t work. It made me see even more. Anyway, I don’t like it so I want to give it back.”
Lily Rose gave her a sympathetic smile just as the kettle howled. After she joined Maggie at the table and poured their tea she said, “If I gave you a mirror, and you looked into it and saw yourself but you didn’t like what you saw, would you give it back to me?”
Maggie considered the question. “Maybe. I guess. If I thought I was ugly, I guess I wouldn’t want to see myself.”
“Here’s the thing with people,” Lily Rose told her. “Some moments we’re ugly and some moments we’re beautiful. If we were always beautiful, we wouldn’t need to be here, learning and growing. We’d already be up in heaven—we’d never have had to leave heaven in the first place. But a mirror helps us see when we’re beautiful and when we’re not—that way we can fix ourselves up a little, right? The Good Book is like a mirror for the world. Lots of people go through life not seeing it the way it really is. Some ugly things—if you look close enough—are really beautiful. Some beautiful things are really ugly. And some things—” she paused and took Maggie’s hand. “Some things that look completely ordinary are brimming over with magic. Now you could go through life not seeing any of that—most people do. Nobody would blame you. Sometimes seeing the truth is hard. Sometimes it’s scary. But it’s always better.”
Maggie sipped her tea, enjoying the reassuring warmth radiating through her chest, through her whole body. “I just feel like I’m going crazy, seeing all these things,” she said. “Like I’m not normal.”
Lily Rose laughed. “Well, baby girl, normal is a tricky word. If everyone on earth walked around with a stack of pancakes on their head, would that make it normal? The magic that comes from goodness that lives in your heart is normal. It’s the inheritance meant for every son and daughter of the All. The problem is, most folks these days don’t have enough faith to see the magic that’s all around them. These days, normal means confused, fallen, lost.”
Maggie took another slow sip of her tea. There were lots of times she’d sensed magic lately—the ghost crown, pressing into her forehead at the most unexpected times, her mom’s crazy drawings and tapestries that seemed to have a life of their own, whatever they had locked away, down in their basement . . . but she was afraid to believe in it. Believing would make her just as crazy as her mother.
As if she could read her mind, Lily Rose said, “I know a little something about your mama’s fate and how it came about, and you’re going to have to be strong if you don’t want to end up like her. Mighty strong.”
“What do you mean, my mom’s fate?” Maggie asked. “You mean her agoraphobia, or her obsession with her high-school glory days?” But even as she said it, she knew the old woman was talking about something much more profound.
Lily Rose shook her head. “Now, it’s not my place to talk about your mama’s past, but between you and me, her past has a pretty strong bearing on your future. But you got to ask her. She’s the only one who can tell you.”
“As if my life isn’t upside down enough already? No, Lily Rose. I can’t talk to my mom. Questions like that would only upset her and I have enough to deal with just making sure she takes her meds.”
“Well, you do what you think best. Just know that your life might seem even more upside down for a while yet, before it starts going right side up again. You might even end up inside out, backwards, and head over heels, too. But most of all, you got to find your faith. Could be in yourself, or others, or something greater, but you got to have it. And you will.”
“I guess I’ll keep the book, then,” Maggie decided. “I’m just worried about what it’s going to say next.”
The old lady swallowed the last of her tea and set the cup down on the saucer. “I think you might be ready for the next chapter,” she declared, and opened The Good Book to the next blank page and set it in front of Maggie.
As Maggie watched, the swirling whiteness coalesced as it had before, forming letters. Maggie read the words aloud.
Eat not meat, grain, cheese,
On manna alone subsist.
Ambrosia—Holy Spirit
—Feeds on this.
She glanced up at Lily Rose as she finished. “What does it mean?”
“Well, it doesn’t do for someone else to interpret The Good Book for you; it’s better if you do it for yourself. But I’ll give you a
hint. If I were you, I’d fast for three days and drink only water.”
“Fast?” Maggie said. “You mean not eat?” She normally ate pretty small meals anyway, but the idea of eating nothing at all sounded awful.
“Three times a day, when you would normally take a meal, sit in your room and close your eyes. And meditate. You will be fed by the All—spiritual food. Meditation, not starvation. And when it’s over, your powers will be increased.”
“My powers?” Maggie asked, bewildered, not at all sure that she wanted them to increase. “Won’t I starve?”
“Not if you meditate.”
“How do I do that?”
Lily Rose sat back in her chair and thought for a moment. “You get quiet and comfortable. Clear your mind and breathe slow and steady. Find a word or phrase that makes you feel good . . . safe . . . and concentrate on it. Then let each breath carry you up to a higher power. Don’t matter what you call it—God or Light or Love or The All. It could even be strong faith in yourself, in who you really are, the light that’s within you. Next thing you know, you’ll be getting answers to questions you never thought to ask. Seeds of magic will be sown within you, and you’ll reap a harvest of power like you’ve never imagined.”
“Really?” Maggie said, thinking of Raphael . . . longing for him . . . and wondering if the magic would help her get any closer to him. “Okay. I’ll do it.” And on her forehead, the ghost crown throbbed in assent.
Chapter Sixteen
Outside, a cold wind howled, but inside the train car it was cozy and inviting. Kate sat, bright-eyed and lovely, washing the last bite of her English muffin down with a bit of orange juice. When she realized Zhai was watching her, she smiled at him and dabbed at the corner of her mouth with her napkin.
“Thank you for breakfast,” she said. “It was amazingly sweet of you to think of it.”
Zhai smiled. There was something about the way her lips curled and the corners of her beautiful eyes crinkled when she was really excited or happy. It was positively adorable, and the look of joy on her face was addictive—something he was finding it difficult to get through the day without. That was what had made him head straight over to Spinnacle this morning and pick up a three-course breakfast for two, to go. Going to the football game with Kate the night before had been like a dream come true; conversation and jokes had flowed between them, and the few silences were relaxed and easy. Around most people, Zhai felt a need to show that he was knowledgeable and cool and funny and confident. But it was different with Kate. When he was around her, he didn’t even have to try. He was completely comfortable, completely himself.
GHOST CROWN: THE TRACKS TRILOGY - Book Two Page 24
