It’s a trick, he thought. Don’t believe her.
But the crosscurrent raging though his mind taunted him: Why wouldn’t Aimee be with Orias? He’s rich, tall, good looking, buff. He’s older, sophisticated, self-assured. No matter what I do, I’ll never be anything to her but a troublemaker from the Flats. Something she can throw in her father’s face.
Deep down, Raphael had always known it wouldn’t last. It was just a dream, and now it was over. She was better off without him anyway. What did he have to offer her except a life full of stuggle?
He tried to return the camera to Maggie, but she pushed it back to him.
“Why don’t you keep it for a while,” she said. “Look at the pictures on a bigger screen if you don’t believe me.”
“I believe you,” he said, still staring at the camera in his trembling hands. He didn’t want to believe her, but he did. He could tell it was true by the way his soul ached. He picked up Maggie’s coat and purse and handed them to her. “I need to think about this, Maggie,” he said. “And I’ve got work to do. Come on—I’ll walk you out.”
“Friends tell each other the truth, Raphael,” Maggie said as she allowed him to steer her toward the door. “You said we could be friends.”
He was silent until they reached her car. “Okay,” he said. “Do me a favor—as a friend?”
“Sure.”
“Keep this between us for now. It’s got to be some kind of misunderstanding. I’m sure she can explain—” but he stopped abruptly. How could you explain away a kiss in which you were participating, and obviously enjoying? “Anyway, just don’t tell anyone else for now, okay?”
“Okay,” she agreed. She looked at him for a moment and then added, “You’ve helped me, Raphael—twice already. I can help you, if you let me.”
“I don’t think I’m ready for anything like that—”
“That’s not what I mean,” she interrupted. “I can do things, too.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Lift the camera up—in your palms. Don’t hold on to it. Now, watch.” She looked around as if making sure there was no one else in the parking lot.
Intrigued, he did as she asked and watched as she focused her attention on the camera. She gazed at it serenely, and after a moment it jiggled on his outstretched palm, then it jerked. And then it slowly rose into the air and hovered two inches above his hand, then five inches, then ten. He looked at Maggie, stunned. She was still staring at the camera.
“No way,” he breathed.
“It’s easy for me now. I can do other things, too. Lots of things.” The way she said it—seductive, inviting—left no doubt about what she meant, but he had no intention of getting into that with her. He still couldn’t trust her. And he was still trying to get his head around the images in the camera. Images of Aimee and Orias . . . together.
When he didn’t respond, Maggie looked away from the camera, at him, and the camera suddenly dropped. He caught it and then looked at her again. He’d thought there was something different about her tonight, and he’d thought he was just imagining it, but now he could see it was really there. A glow. A light. A power.
“Where did you learn how to do that?” he asked.
“Cheerleading camp—where do you think?”
“Seriously,” he said.
“I don’t know,” she told him, and he thought he detected a shadow of fear in her eyes. “After Homecoming night . . . well, I’m sort of different, now. I don’t know where it comes from, exactly. And I don’t know why, but I know it’s important. I can do things.” Her voice got softer for a moment. “So—if I can ever help you, Raphael, you’ll let me know? Magic or no magic—as a friend?”
She was different. It was obvious. The hard, bitchy edge she’d always had was fading, diminishing. Their eyes met.
“All right,” he said. “Thanks.”
“And you know, not that it matters, but I didn’t relish the idea of telling you about Aimee and Orias. But I don’t like to see my friends getting taken advantage of.” He was glad she didn’t say “being played for a fool” because that’s what he was beginning to feel like.
“Okay.”
She smiled, and Raphael flashed back to his middle school days when he, like every other guy there, was madly in love with Maggie. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
“I’m sorry about Aimee, too,” she said, and she sounded like she really meant it. “If you ever want to talk about it . . . and you know, all the supernatural stuff that’s been going on . . . I’m here.”
“Maybe,” he said. “Things have been a little overwhelming—with all the supernatural stuff.” He didn’t want to talk about Aimee. “You, too, Maggie. You can talk to me anytime.”
She looked at him another moment and then reached out and gently touched his hand. “’Bye, Raphael,” she said.
She got into the car and drove away without looking at him again, leaving him alone in his confusion—and with her damned camera and the mocking images of Aimee in Orias’s arms.
Zhai awoke with a start. He was shivering violently in spite of the thick, scratchy blanket someone had thrown over him. He lay on a concrete floor and the cold radiating up from it seemed to have seeped all the way into his bones. As he sat up, his breath caught in his throat. Every muscle in his exhausted body ached, as if he’d been training for hours. Above him and to his left, a big window comprised of many small square panes of glass let in cheerless gray morning light. Looking around, he realized he was in an old, abandoned warehouse or factory. Off to his right sat a row of hulking machines, sheathed in dust and draped in cobwebs. Occasionally, a drop of water fell from the ceiling and patted down nearby. Somewhere, an unseen animal scratched around in dead leaves that must’ve blown in through a broken windowpane. Ahead, perhaps fifty yards away, he could see several men sitting in front of what looked like an old kiln with a fire burning in it. Two of them were the men with the derby hats—from the Order of the Black Snake. The rest were wearing jackets emblazoned with the Shao Construction Company logo.
When Zhai stood up, he heard the jangling of chains and discovered he was unable to move more than a foot or two. He looked down to find manacles around his wrists and ankles. He was chained to a set of thick, steel loops secured to the concrete floor.
The snake men exchanged a few words and then one of them, noticing Zhai was awake, came walking over. He held a blue plastic plate in his hand.
There was an expression of mild amusement on his face as he held the plate out to Zhai. It was piled high with white rice and some kind of strangely spiced meat—pork maybe, and broccoli. Zhai’s first impulse was to slap it away, but as soon as the scent reached his nostrils, he realized he was starving. He took the plate and started shoveling the food into his mouth. He ate so fast he almost choked.
“Slow down. No rush,” the man said in his thick Chinese accent. He sat down in a battered old wooden chair nearby and folded his arms over his chest, watching Zhai eat. Zhai glanced at him again. It was the same man he’d fought in the train graveyard. He acknowledged Zhai’s recognition with a smile.
“You did well for us,” he said. “Jumping across rooftops with a little girl on your back—that’s not easy.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“It’s a shame you don’t remember. You were tossing that kid around like a bag of rice.” He pointed a finger at Zhai and nodded approvingly. “You’re very athletic.”
“A little girl? I didn’t hurt her, did I?” Zhai cleared his throat. It was so dry it hurt. The man stood up from his chair, went to a cooler near the wall, pulled out a bottle of water, and tossed it to Zhai.
“You did everything we told you to do.”
Zhai didn’t know what that meant, and he was afraid to ask. “So then . . . are you planning to
let me go?”
The man laughed. “I just said you did well. That means no—not ever. You belong to us now. To the Order.”
Zhai shook his head, which made his neck ache even more. “I’m not your slave,” he said with contempt. “You may have control over me for now, but you don’t own me.”
His tormentor laughed. “You’ve been in America too long—where they believe in freedom for everyone,” he said sarcastically. “In the Order of the Black Snake, we know some were born to be slaves—and others deserve to be, like those we take. What we take, we keep. That is the rule we live by. And for now, we’re taking you.”
“What if I don’t agree?” Zhai asked.
Instantly, a huge switchblade appeared—out of nowhere—in each of the man’s hands. He spun them both expertly for a moment, enjoying himself. Then he stopped spinning the knives and held one of them to Zhai’s throat.
“I can release your soul now,” he said. “But your body stays with us.”
He laughed as if he’d just made the greatest joke in the world. Zhai imagined himself snatching the dagger from the man’s hand but discarded the idea instantly; his opponent was far too fast for Zhai to disarm him. Zhai scanned the room looking for any means of escape, but that was pointless, too—at least until he figured out how to get the chains off his wrists and ankles. And that appeared to be impossible. They were made of half-inch thick steel and were so new they were still shiny.
As he gazed down at the chains, he noticed his clothes were filthy. He wondered how long he’d been gone and if anyone, especially Kate, had missed him.
The man put the weapons back into the inside pockets of his overcoat. “The truth is, you are most fortunate,” he said. “The Order has been working for years—for centuries—to bring about this day. Now, you will be here to share the glory as the Era of the Black Snake dawns. The strong will take, and what we take we keep—and you will be one of the strong. All the earth will be laid before you. Women. Money. Power. More women. Whatever you like, you take.” He made a gesture, as he spoke, as if picking fruit from an invisible tree. As he moved, Zhai noticed marks on the back of the man’s hands, fading from black to a sort of rusty brown. When he saw Zhai looking at them, he raised both his fists up for a closer examination.
“Oh, yes,” he said quietly. “I began like you. We all did. Everyone resists at first, like your father. But he grew to love the power, as you will.”
“You’re lying,” Zhai said. “He isn’t one of you.”
The man laughed softly. “The Snake is long. You’d be surprised how many are wrapped in his coils.”
“Not me,” Zhai said. “I’m not a slave.”
The man laughed again. “I said the same thing, two hundred and four years ago,” he tapped the mark on the back of his hand with his index finger. “But the mark changes you. Each time the Snake moves within you, he changes you. And when you eat snake, he changes you even faster.”
Zhai looked down at the plastic plate, now empty and discarded at his feet, and his stomach suddenly roiled with nausea.
The man laughed at him, “Yes. Snake. What is it they say? You are what you eat,” he laughed again for a moment, then grew serious. “The truth is, Zhai Shao, you have no choice. We take what we want, and we want you. The less you resist, the less painful it will be. We will give you long life and teach you the greatest style of kung fu on earth: Venom of the Fang. And soon, when we have what we seek, you will be very glad indeed to wear the mark of the snake. Now get your rest. We will have another mission for you soon enough.”
He turned away from Zhai and walked back to his comrades, his footsteps echoing eerily on the gritty, bare concrete. Zhai glanced down at his tattooed hands.
It was true. He was a slave. The question was, what was he going to do about it?
Aimee’s body ached. Her muscles trembled. Her shirt was soaked with perspiration. Every day since her lesson with Raphael, she’d locked herself in her room and practiced the kung fu moves and the form he’d taught her until she could hardly stand up. She’d found some kung fu videos on the Internet and tried to learn a few more moves that way. Already, her work was paying dividends. At first, she could only maintain the horse stance for a couple of minutes before her legs started shaking; now, she could do it for over an hour. Her shoulders and legs, which had ached terribly the first few days, now felt stronger and didn’t hurt at all, and she could tell her strikes were getting faster. The more comfortable she became, the more she relaxed—and, as Raphael had promised her, the more she relaxed, the faster she became. Sometimes, she could even hear a slight whistle of wind as her fists shot through the air. It made her feel like a total badass.
The ringing cell phone on her dresser interrupted her drill. Warily she crossed the room and checked the caller I.D. The peace, the serenity, the feeling of wholeness and inner strength she’d gotten from her kung fu practice dissipated, replaced by a sickening twisting feeling in her stomach.
Ringing.
The I.D. was blocked so it was probably Raphael. She picked up the phone, then set it back down, then picked it up again and pressed it to her forehead and sighed.
Ringing.
She wanted to talk to him. She needed to hear his voice, but what could she say? She wouldn’t lie to him but there was no way she could tell him she had kissed Orias.
Ringing.
When she thought of Orias, a flood of emotion filled her, full of pity and a longing she didn’t understand. Sweat ran down her body as she set the phone down on her desk and stared at it, feeling strangely, terribly empty.
The ringing stopped. The call went to voicemail.
Thursday, Raphael stood in an alcove in the school’s courtyard. Middleburg High was caught up in a frenzy of fight songs and pep rallies and plastered with painted banners in preparation for the Phoenixes’s upcoming state championship bid, and he was glad to be outside where it was peaceful. Still, it was freezing, and as he waited he huddled against the brick wall, trying his best to stay out of the biting wind and blowing snow.
If this was any indication, he thought, Middleburg was in for a brutal winter. As he gazed out at the forest that bounded the school grounds, he could hardly see the trees in the haze of falling, drifting white. It was the first big snowfall of the season, which meant more than flurries and some actual accumulation. They usually got only one or two significant winter storms each year—and this one was early.
Watching the drifts cover the trees and bushes and buildings, it was as if the entire world was being erased; as if creation was being reduced to emptiness, a blank page, and everyone would have to start over from scratch. Raphael felt like everything in his heart had been erased, too. Maggie’s camera sat on his bedside table at home, a constant reminder of his misery. It was five days since she’d brought it to him, and he’d been calling Aimee ever since. She hadn’t picked up or returned his calls. This morning, he’d slipped a note into her locker asking her to meet him during lunch; now, lunch was almost over and she still hadn’t shown up.
Just then, the door opened and she emerged, leaning forward at a slight angle to counter the blasting wind. She glanced at Raphael, but her hair was lashing across her face, and it was impossible for him to gauge what emotion, if any, waited for him in her eyes. As usual, she trudged to the other side of the courtyard, brushed some snow off the picnic table, and sat down, while Raphael punched in her number.
“Hey,” she said, her voice sounding as hollow as the wind.
“Hey,” he said. Silence hung between them then for a long moment, and in that silence, Raphael heard all the confirmation he needed. The pictures were real. Everything Maggie had told him was true.
Finally, Aimee spoke. “I’m . . . I’m sorry I haven’t called you back. I’ve been really busy. But I’ve been practicing the kung fu you taught
me. I’ve been practicing hard every day. I think I’m starting to get pretty—”
“What were you doing with Orias Morrow?” he interrupted. He was only slightly satisfied at the shock that registered on her face.
“I—” she began, and then she looked away from him. It broke his heart. “My dad made me go over there,” she said. “They’re doing some business deal together.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” he said quietly. He wanted her to tell him about the kiss—and to explain it, if she could.
“Raphael, I had no choice.” She looked at him again, but her gaze didn’t linger. It was like she couldn’t look at him. “If I didn’t go, my dad would have kept me in the house forever. At least I’m not grounded anymore.”
“So now you can see me and we can hang out?”
“Not . . . exactly. But I can hang out with Dalton, which means I can see you more.”
“And that’s why you went to visit Orias?” he persisted, giving her another opening. “To buy your freedom—so you could see me more?”
The bell rang then. Lunch was over. They both had to get to class—especially Aimee, he knew. They couldn’t afford to let Rick, or anybody, get suspicious.
“Yes,” she said as she got up and turned to go. “Can we talk about this later—tonight, maybe?”
“Okay.”
“I love you, Raphael.”
His heart felt like ice in his chest. “Tonight,” he said. “I’ll wait for your call.”
He put his phone back into his pocket and watched as Aimee turned away. Without a single glance at him, she went back inside.
Raphael closed his eyes, steadying himself against his hurt and frustration. It didn’t take Shen or the knowing for him to realize she wasn’t going to call him.
The sting of it grew suddenly overwhelming, so much so that he couldn’t bear to stand still, and he walked away, too, in the other direction, trudging into the blinding white.
GHOST CROWN: THE TRACKS TRILOGY - Book Two Page 35
