“Okay, then,” he said. “Your loss.” He leaned over to kiss her, and it took every ounce of strength she could muster not to pull away from him. When it was obvious he didn’t want to stop, she put up one hand. “Seriously, Rick. I think I’m going to be sick.”
And she put her hand over her mouth.
He looked at her with contempt. “What the hell good are you?” he said. He stared at her again, and for a horrifying moment, she thought she saw a glimmer of red in the pupils of his eyes. Then, mercifully, he turned and stalked back into the house.
She exhaled in relief. He was angry but she didn’t care. She had something important to do. She jumped in the car and locked the door. When she got home she raced up to her room without checking on her mother, shrugged out of her coat, threw it on the bed, ran into her bathroom, and flipped on the light.
How could Orias know about her destiny? Would she really be able to see it, she wondered—and see beneath her own surface self—just by looking in the mirror? If she could see beneath the surface of others, maybe it would work for her, too.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror over the sink. In her room behind her, she could see her posters, part of her bed, and her pajamas over the chair in front of her desk where she’d left them that morning. And then the background behind her image in the mirror began to blur and fade and her room disappeared. All she had left to look at was herself.
And she looked deeply into her own eyes. She’d heard somewhere that if you did that long enough it would make you go crazy, but for this she was willing to take a chance.
And it worked. First she saw the past—snippets of her life . . . early, half-remembered images from her childhood that flickered in her subconscious in the moments between sleeping and waking, memories she had convinced herself were the products of her imagination. Like when she was very small, sitting with her mother in the backyard and hearing Violet whistle a strange, shrill tune. To Maggie’s delight a dozen sparrows had swooped down from the sky and landed on her arms and shoulders.
Another time, when Maggie was about eight, she was convinced there was a monster under her bed and wanted to sleep with her mom and dad. Instead, Violet went into Maggie’s room, knelt down beside the bed, reached under, and pulled out the monster—a black, two-headed, eel-like thing—and dragged it away.
And there was the time Maggie had peeked into the keyhole of her mother’s locked bedroom door. It was incredibly bright in the room, so bright Maggie could hardly keep her eye on the keyhole, and she wondered what kind of light bulbs her mother used to create such an intense glow. But when she looked closer, she realized the light was coming not from a lamp but from Violet herself, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor, her pale skin glowing, enclosed in a cocoon of blazing white iridescence.
Maggie closed her eyes. All these years she’d dismissed those memories as her imagination. Now, she knew they were real.
But that was Maggie as she had been, as a child. She wanted to know what would happen in the future. She wanted to know her destiny. She opened her eyes again. Her reflection had changed.
The child Maggie was gone and the woman looking back at her now was the old Maggie—the Maggie she would be some day, after she had lived a long and happy life. But then the fog blew away and the background to her reflection in the mirror was her house again, but not her room. It was her hallway—the long, long hallway in her house that led down to the basement. And then her scope of vision increased, as if the camera that had been taking the shot pulled back to a wider angle, and she could see herself—as old Maggie—sitting on a chair in the hallway, next to the door to the basement. She had The Good Book on her lap, and she knew she had been there for years, as her mother had. Sitting there, growing old, guarding the basement door. Alone.
Guarding the doorway to hell. That was Maggie’s destiny.
The ghost crown throbbed on her head, and a voice, maybe her own voice, whispered, Unless you change it. . .
And she had to change it. She couldn’t end up like her mother.
Chapter Eighteen
Emory’s parents sat on their bed in their temporary garage-house, watching an old black-and-white movie on a DVD player they’d managed to rig up to their outdated TV. Haylee sat on a rug on the floor, leaning against a chest of drawers, playing her ever-present Game Boy. The place looked surprisingly cozy this evening, and they seemed more comfortable than Raphael had expected them to be.
“So,” he said to Emory, who was standing in the doorway with him. “How are you guys holding up?”
“About as well as anyone living in a garage and having to go into an auto-body shop to pee and brush their teeth,” Emory said with a scornful laugh.
Raphael was glad to see his friend could still make a joke, at least. But it was a scornful laugh, and it didn’t ring true. “Yeah, I hear you,” said. “Let’s head out. The others should be getting here soon.”
“You guys leaving? The party just started,” Emory’s dad joked.
“Raphael, thanks again for all your help,” Emory’s mom said.
“No problem. You guys just hang in there,” Raphael replied. “Everything’s going to work out.”
“I’m going too,” Haylee declared, turning off her Game Boy and rising from her place on the rug.
Emory groaned. “No, you’re not.”
“Yeah, I am. I’m going,” Haylee replied stubbornly.
“Mom, please tell Haylee she’s not going out with me,” Emory said, his voice dripping with contempt.
“Haylee, leave your brother alone,” their mom said absently, engrossed again in the movie.
“I’m tired of sitting in this stupid, smelly garage!” Haylee shouted.
“We’re lucky to have it!” Emory yelled back. “Would you rather be sleeping outside?”
“Guys, guys,” Raphael said calmly and stooped down to the little girl’s level. “Haylee, look—I’m sorry, but you can’t come with us, okay?”
“Why not?” Haylee challenged.
“Because it’s going to be dangerous,” Emory said.
“So?”
“Because,” Raphael paused for a second, strategizing. “Because we’re trying to find a way to get your house back,” he said. “You’re old enough to understand that we’ve got some serious stuff to do, and we need you to stay here and look out for your mom and dad. Okay?”
She looked at him skeptically for a moment before she agreed. “Okay,” she said slowly. “Bring me a surprise?”
“You got it.” He ruffled her hair. To Emory, he said, “Let’s go.”
“Thanks, man,” Emory said as they headed across the parking lot. “She’s driving me nuts.”
“I know. Just hang in there a little longer, and we’ll find you guys a place where you can have your own rooms again.”
“Meanwhile I have to deal with her.”
“It’s not that hard,” Raphael said. “You just have to figure out how she thinks.”
“Yeah, right. The day I understand what’s going on in her psychotic little brain they’ll have to lock me in a psych ward.”
By now, they’d walked around to the front of the body shop, where the rest of the Flatliners were assembled, along with Clarisse. Every time one of them exhaled, Raphael could see little silvery plumes of frigid air coming out of their mouths, glowing under the streetlights.
“S’up, fearless leader,” Benji said. He threw a playful punch at Raphael, which Raph easily blocked and countered with what would normally have been a finger-strike to the eye. As it was, his fingers jammed into Benji’s forehead, leaving him rubbing his brow.
“That’s a little snake style for you. You can take out somebody’s eyeballs with that,” Raph said.
“Ow!” Benji laughed. “Nice.”
Everyone else greeted Raphael and Emory and followed them into
the relative warmth of the body shop. They all seemed to be in a good mood, Raphael noticed, except Nass. He didn’t look too happy standing there with Clarisse, but Benji had informed Raph that she had some breaking-and-entering skills that might come in handy for tonight’s mission, so Raph had instructed Nass to bring her along. It might have been a mistake, he thought—if that was really what had Nass on edge.
“All right, guys,” Raphael got down to business. “I’ve gotten some intelligence about what’s going on in the Flats with all the digging Shao construction and those guys in the derbies have been doing all over the place. I found out what they’re looking for.” Raphael paused, unintentionally heightening the drama of his news. “Treasure.”
“Badass,” Beet said, beaming.
“What kind of treasure?” Josh asked.
“I don’t know exactly,” Raphael admitted. “Whatever it is, it’s supposed to be worth more than gold, or silver or rubies or sapphires. It has to be worth a lot, or Shao and Banfield wouldn’t be trying so hard to find it.”
“So what’s the plan?” Nass asked.
“First, we need to sabotage their equipment every chance we get—anything to slow them down and disrupt their search,” Raph said. “Then, we find the treasure first.”
Everyone nodded, excited, but Nass frowned. “Wait,” he said. “If they haven’t been able to locate it with all their high-tech equipment, how are we supposed to find it?”
Raphael grinned. “You’re going to lead us to it.”
“Me?” Nass said.
“That’s right.”
Everyone was looking at Nass now, puzzled.
Raphael hesitated. So far, he and Nass hadn’t talked to any of the others about the bizarre experiences they’d had since the Halloween battle, and if the rest of the Flatliners were dealing with any kind of supernatural stuff, they hadn’t mentioned it. But they couldn’t live in denial forever. It was time to start bringing it out in the open.
“When I was handcuffed in that train car and Rick tried to kill me, you knew something was wrong. When we’re sparring and I try to hit you, you know what’s coming.”
“That’s . . . that’s different,” Nass said, and he glanced at the other guys and at Clarisse, clearly feeling uncomfortable.
Raphael shook his head. “No it’s not. It’s all the same. It’s the knowing. And you’re going to use it to help us find the treasure.”
“It doesn’t work like that,” Nass protested. “It’s just a feeling. It’s not even always right.”
“The knowing? What’s that?” Josh asked, but Raphael stayed him with a gesture and turned back to Nass. Clarisse remained uncharacteristically silent.
“Here, sit down,” Raphael instructed, pulling a chair over. Ignacio sat. “Now close your eyes. Breathe slowly through your nose and relax your whole body. Everybody—keep quiet,” he added. “Nass, keep breathing deeply, slowly. Clear your mind. Imagine a light coming down from the sky, from heaven, and filling you up. Imagine another light rising from your toes all the way to your forehead to meet that light. You might feel a little vibration in your body, or a little fuzzy in your forehead. That’s good. Hold on to that feeling—hold on to the light. That’s the feeling of Shen.”
Nass sat there breathing slowly, looking serene.
“Do this every day for five minutes, and it will help develop your abilities,” he said, and then looked at the rest of his crew. “That goes for all of you. If you open yourself up, who knows what abilities might be unleashed?”
“Where did you learn that? Master Chin?” Emory asked.
Raphael nodded. “Qigong is a part of my kung fu training. A big part, these days. And there’s not really time to get into it now, but I’ve had a lot of experiences with Shen magic. Supernatural experiences—ever since Halloween. Well, actually, since a couple of days before. Any of you feel anything weird that night?”
“The whole thing was weird,” said Beet. “Surreal, even.”
“Yeah,” Raph agreed. “Well, I have a feeling things are going to get weird again—and we have to be ready.” Josh and Benji exchanged skeptical looks. “I’m not asking you to believe me,” Raph said. “I’m just asking you to do what Nass is doing now, and have a little faith.”
Nass opened his eyes. He looked much calmer now, less distressed.
“Could you feel what I was talking about?” Raphael asked, and Nass nodded. “Hang on to that feeling of Shen. It’ll help you as we look for the treasure.”
Josh still looked skeptical. “I don’t know,” he said, “You think that stuff really works?”
“I can prove it,” Nass said suddenly, and everyone looked at him. “I had a feeling earlier today—a knowing. If we go out tonight, Zhai will attack us again.”
His words hung heavy in the air for a moment. Everyone was silent. After what had happened the last time they saw Zhai, no one was eager to fight him again.
Emory was the first one to speak.
“Maybe we shouldn’t go out, then,” he suggested, a shadow of fear crossing his face.
Everyone looked at Raphael, waiting for his orders.
“We’ll go,” Raphael decided. “If Zhai shows up, we’ll be ready for him.” With a glance at Josh, he added, “And if he does show up, then none of us will question Shen anymore.”
The Flatliners had done a good job keeping an eye on the various projects Shao Construction was doing in the Flats. A small apartment building on Third Street was now empty, a high privacy fence surrounded a vacant lot on Second, and Middleburg Property Group had evicted tenants from a house on Fifth and Golden Avenue. Raphael’s crew had seen Shao Construction trucks at each of the locations.
The Flatliners hit the vacant lot first, since it was close to the body shop. Raphael posted Beet, Josh, Benji, Clarisse, and Emory at various points outside the fence as lookouts while he and Nass scaled the fence. As Raphael anticipated, the lot looked like it had been the site of a bombing raid; it was riddled with ten-foot deep holes, and a yellow backhoe sat in one corner, looking lonely under the streetlight.
“You picking up anything?” Raphael whispered to Nass. “Is the treasure here?”
Nass hesitated. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’m not sure I could tell if it was here. Maybe they already found it.”
“Just tell me what you feel—your gut instinct. Here or not?”
Nass stared into the distance for a moment, and then he shook his head. “No,” he said. “It’s definitely not here.”
Raphael nodded once. “All right then. Let’s take care of this backhoe.”
Dodging the holes, Raphael and Nass hurried up to the big machine. While Nass uncapped his bottle of soda and poured it onto the control panel, Raph opened up an engine compartment and started ripping out wires. Together they found the battery, pulled the heavy, plastic brick loose, and hauled it to the other side of the lot, where they dumped it in one of the holes and threw dirt down over it.
When they were done, Raphael glanced at Nass and gave him a nod that said, nice work, which elicited a little smile from his friend. If nothing else could cheer Nass up, Raphael knew the possibility of getting into trouble would always do the trick. They ran back to the fence, scaled it, and landed safely on the other side.
At the apartment building, the Flatliners repeated the process. They found two massive holes in the basement, but no sign of any treasure. Nass ripped a bunch of wires out of an air compressor, Emory hid a jackhammer in a crawlspace, and Benji peed in a toolbox.
The mission went off smoothly, but Raphael was still worried about Zhai. He’d come to trust Ignacio’s feelings—even more than Ignacio did. And the fact that Zhai hadn’t shown up yet made it more likely he would show up soon. Raphael felt his tension increase as he led his crew, single file, up the apartment building’s basement steps, out the back d
oor, and across the moonlit lawn. He made them stay in the backyard as he jogged down to the end of the driveway and made sure there was no ambush waiting for them, then gestured for everyone to come and join him in front of the house. As they all walked together toward their final destination, the joking and horsing around gave way to a brittle silence.
Nass walked up to the front of the column, next to Raphael. “Maybe we should skip the next one,” he said quietly, and Raphael looked at him.
“You think something really bad is going to happen?”
“I don’t know,” Nass said. “But something is going to happen—to one of us, anyway.”
“Who? Do you know?”
Nass hesitated.
“Nass, if you know something tell me.”
“I don’t know—that’s the problem. I only think I know.”
“Remember the Wu-de,” Raphael said. “There can’t be any secrets between us. I’m the leader here. If there’s something I need to know, tell me.”
“I’m not sure,” Nass warned. “But I think it’s Beet. He’s going to get hurt.”
Raphael nodded and clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“Beet,” he shouted, and Beet lumbered to the front of the line. “We’re going to need a getaway car. Get the Beetmobile and bring it over to the house. Wait for us in front of the green apartment building two doors down.”
“Man,” Beet grumbled. “It’s my turn to pee in the toolbox.”
Raphael laughed. “You can pee on something next time. Now get the car. That’s an order.”
Beet obediently hustled off in the opposite direction.
“Thanks,” Nass said, visibly relieved.
And there was no more time for talking. They’d made it to the house, a tiny, rundown place with dingy white siding and sagging black shutters. There were no lights on inside, and all was quiet as Raphael led the guys up the driveway to the back of the house. Clarisse had the door open in less than thirty seconds.
GHOST CROWN: THE TRACKS TRILOGY - Book Two Page 27
