Dark Companion

by Marta Acosta

  “But it’s not morbid! Math, chemistry, and physics are part of nature and our existence. You can use them to understand everyday miracles like the flight of birds, and more astonishing things, like the mechanics of the universe. You can even use them to understand music.” I leaned forward and gripped his wrist because I wanted him to know how I felt. “It’s all connected. The more you look, the more you see the complexity, but those truths also exist on their own and they’re amazing and beautiful!”

  I was staring into Jack’s eyes and I felt the way I had after the party—as if the rest of the world were slipping away. Flustered, I sat back in my chair and put my hands in my lap. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bore you.”

  “You never bore me, Jane.”

  Now he sounded like the headmistress’s son, saying the polite thing to the hopeless geek girl. “We were talking about Bebe. You think there’s something suspect about her leaving, so you’re stalking me.”

  “Stalking makes it sound like I’m completely obsessed with you.”

  His eyes met mine and I became so nervous that I babbled, “So now you’re getting caught up on semantics. What does your girlfriend think?”

  Jack swigged his beer. “Hattie never thought Bebe was right for Lucky. She thought Bebe was too dazzled by his looks.”

  “That’s why Hattie dates you instead of him,” I said without thinking.

  “Yes, why else would any girl go out with me?”

  I could have told him—because you’re funny and caring, because you’re strange and wonderful, because you make my every nerve tingle, because I love the touch of you, the smell of you, the low roughness of your voice, your eyes the color of leaves and streams, your language of music, and the way the muscles move in your body. Because you’re brilliant and beautiful.

  I tried to think of something to make up for my clumsiness. “Hattie must like you very much to date you. I heard that Tyler girls only get serious about Evergreen boys, and Radcliffe boys only get serious about Birch Grove girls.”

  He smiled and a wave of yearning went through me. “I know I’m crazy mad for a Birch Grove girl. She’s the only one I want and I can’t stand the thought of anyone else having her. I think about her constantly, I dream about her. I can’t imagine living without her.”

  Lucky, lucky Hattie, I thought, and my heart ached because I wanted what she had—not her beauty and status—I wanted Jack Radcliffe.

  He asked the waiter to call a cab. By the time he’d paid the bill and we walked out to the sidewalk, I was able to talk nonchalantly again. “Jack, I don’t think you can be so sure that Bebe didn’t leave voluntarily. Maybe the money wasn’t enough of a reason for her to stay. Maybe she decided that she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life with Lucky, being subservient to him.”

  The cab rolled up and Jack opened the back door for me. He spoke quietly so that only I could hear him. “No, Halfling, because Bebe had something in common with you. She was a lonely damaged girl madly in love with a rich pretty boy and she had the smart-girl delusion that she could think her way into making Lucky fall in love with her, too. She was so infatuated that she didn’t see that she’d never have a chance with my brother.”

  All of my elaborate words failed me, because none could describe the depth of humiliation I felt now, and all I wanted to do was scream and strike at Jack until he took back the horrible things he’d said.

  He bent into the cab, handed the driver money, and told him, “She’s going up to Birch Grove.” I got in the cab and Jack closed the door. I stared straight ahead and willed myself not to cry.

  When I got home, I got the composition book from its hiding place and scrawled angrily over all the references to Jack, so that his name was unreadable and the ballpoint tore through the pages.

  Then I ripped out the pages and tried to stop thinking of how it felt to lie atop his body. I threw the shreds of paper in the fireplace, lit a match, and watched them catch fire, curl in the flames, and turn to ash.

  My pulse was racing and my skin was clammy. I knew I had to control my feelings and my thoughts. I would organize them and reduce them to what they were, mere facts based on the five w’s: who, what, where, when, and why.

  I drew a new chart with myself in the center of this one. In the outer circle, I wrote down all the people I’d met at Birch Grove, our interactions, and auxiliary incidents. When I was done, the lines connected and intersected around me, like strands of a web entrapping a moth.

  The lines tangled around Bebe and around one other person, too: Claire Mason. Were the disappearances of the two orphans connected? I had a sense of who Bebe was from my friends, but all I knew about Claire Mason was that she was heartbroken and unbalanced.

  I got the cheap prepaid phone that 2Slim’s driver had given me. There was a number listed in the address book, but no name. I keyed it and the call went to voice mail. “Sir, it’s Mousie Girl. I have a question.”

  A few hours later, I was in bed, trying to sleep, when the phone beeped. “Yes?” said 2Slim.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m trying to figure something out. The other Hellsdale girl who came here was Claire, but what was her maiden name?”

  “Hmm, her tag was Stubby, cause she was short when she was young, and it was something like that. Stubbing. No, Stebbing. Claire Stebbing.”

  “Do you know anything else about her? Please, sir.”

  He let out an exasperated sigh. “Nothing ’cept she was an orphan. Someone broke into her house, knifed her folks, and jacked their drugs and cash while she hid under a bed or in a closet. Her folks cooked meth and fought pits, so everyone had motive. It must have been an associate to get past the guns and dogs. News called it ‘Stabbing the Stebbings,’ or some such. Don’t call me again unless it’s important.” The phone clicked off.

  2Slim’s information just raised more questions. How badly had Claire been scarred by her vicious parents and their murder? Could she have done something that caused Bebe to leave at the end of the term? Or had Bebe learned something about Claire’s suicide that made her run from Birch Grove and the Family? Or could they have plotted to disappear as part of a bigger scheme?

  Mina was looking tired and pale, but she made a gallant effort to be bright and cheerful. It wrung my heart to think that I had had to keep anything from her and so caused her inquietude. Thank God, this will be the last night of her looking on at our conferences, and feeling the sting of our not showing our confidence. It took all my courage to hold to the wise resolution of keeping her out of our grim task.

  Bram Stoker, Dracula (1897)

  Chapter 32

  On Wednesday, I skipped my first class and went to Flounder. The Expository Writing classroom was empty. I logged on to the computer using my name and student ID number. I couldn’t find anything about Claire Stebbing or Bebe. I searched through archives in the old file cabinets by cross-referencing subjects. Under “Financial Aid,” I located an article marked “incomplete” from the year before and I skimmed it for Bebe’s name.

  The article didn’t mention her. I kept glancing up at the door, hoping I wouldn’t get caught. I tried again, moving my finger under the words to make sure I caught everything. “Bebe, Bebe,” I was saying to myself. Then I saw the name Breneeta Justine Browning. BB, like MV.

  Breneeta was quoted as saying, “My parents were only children, and when they died in a car accident, I went into the foster care system because all of my grandparents were dead, too.”

  There was no uncle.

  * * *

  I couldn’t deal with anyone, so at lunchtime, I went to sit on a tree-shaded stone bench across from the school’s entrance. I saw Hattie walking along the drive and she spotted me and waved. As she came toward me, I admired once again her perfect body, beautiful face, and her shining hair. Of course Jack was in love with her, but I didn’t want to think of them together. I didn’t want to think of her mouth on him, drinking his blood. I didn’t want to think of him kissing her, to
uching her …

  It would have been easier if I hated Hattie. In the seconds before she reached me, I tried to tap into my anger and despise her for all she was, all she had. But all I could think of was that Hattie could never go in the sun without protection. She could never be honest with anyone about who she was and would have to hide her “strangeness” for the rest of her life. She could only have relationships with Family members. She might never have a child.

  And I felt sorry for the beautiful, rich, sophisticated girl.

  “Here you are!” She smiled and sat on the shadiest side of the bench.

  I looked across the drive to the majestic stone angels guarding the school’s entrance. I read aloud, “Ut incepit fidelis sic permanent.”

  “‘As loyal as she began, so she remains.’ The perfect motto for a school established to educate Family girls and Companions. Jack told me he was horrible to you yesterday.”

  “I really don’t care what Jacob Radcliffe says or does,” I said with a calm expression that was like a mask suffocating me. “BB stood for Breneeta Browning, right? I dug up an interview she gave for the newspaper. Her parents were only children and she had no living relatives. Somehow I’ve become connected to her, even if it’s only because other people associate me with her.”

  “Jane, BB might have decided to leave, and that’s fine. But if she didn’t leave willingly … we like you too much to want anything to happen to you. I know Jack likes you, Jane.”

  “He told me exactly what he thinks about me, Hattie. He believes that BB wouldn’t voluntarily leave because she was stupidly in love with Lucky.”

  “That’s because Jack thinks that every girl is stupidly in love with Lucky,” Hattie said scornfully. “Actually, BB was obsessed with Lucky for a long time. Then something changed. She mentioned liking more mature men.”

  “Fosters are always trying to find Daddy. But what would happen to BB if she talked about the Family to a ‘more mature’ friend and the Family found out?”

  Hattie understood my implication and spoke carefully. “I don’t think the Council kills sources of healthy blood.” She waited until I understood her implication. “I hope we’re overreacting and BB ran away. But whatever happened, now that you’re with the Family, you need to be careful. You watch my back and I’ll watch yours.” She looked both worried and hopeful as she held out her fist. “Grrl power?”

  I bumped my fist against hers. “Grrl power.”

  * * *

  The day seemed like it would never end and I was out the classroom door before the final bell rang. I brought out my phone and texted Lucky. “Let’s talk soon.”

  When I was at my locker, I got his message. “MayB 2mrw.” Even with the initiation coming up, I wasn’t worth his time.

  “Jane!”

  I turned to see Mary Violet coming toward me, holding out her hand.

  “Let me see that message.”

  “It’s just about my tutoring thing.” I shoved my phone in my pocket.

  She pouted. “When did you get a new phone and why didn’t you instantly text me? Your tiny little fingers are perfect for texting.”

  “Mrs. Radcliffe gave it to me and I’m not supposed to ‘abuse’ my privileges.”

  “That doesn’t mean you should ignore your besties!” she snipped. “What’s going on with you, Jane? You’re on another planet. Has something happened between you and my future husband? Does he want you to tutor him in the art of looove?”

  “Is that how you see chemistry?”

  “Of course. Passion is like dynamite—you need the right chemistry, then kaboom!”

  I wanted so much to confide in her. “When I read Lucky’s Chem syllabus, romance wasn’t listed.”

  “Oh, please, JW, I have two devastatingly astute eyes in my fabulous head. I’ve seen girls fall for Lucian Radcliffe since he was eating Play-Doh in preschool, and I can diagnose the symptoms. The only reason I’m not madly in love with him is because he’s too busy admiring himself in the mirror to worship me.”

  “I thought you were going to marry him.”

  “He’s still one of my top candidates. I may hold out for a minor royal or potentate. Isn’t that a good word? You’ll be able to introduce me as Madame Potentate. Seriously, JW, is everything okay?”

  “Seriously, MV, Lucky’s gorgeous, but I’m more concerned about my grades right now.”

  “Yes, that’s what BB used to say, too.”

  “I’m not BB! I never met her and I don’t think I’m anything like her.”

  My friend blushed. “Sorry, Jane. I was comparing you two out of habit. It’s like when people ask my mom why she keeps painting lady parts. She says, ‘Old habits die hard.’ But I’m going to kill this habit if I have to drown it in the toilet.”

  “It’s okay, MV. I guess it’s natural to compare foster girls on scholarship.”

  “You’re not like her. She was more … opportunistic, I guess, and she liked to shock us.” Mary Violet twirled a golden curl around her finger. “Jane, promise you won’t ever leave that way, without saying good-bye?”

  “I promise.”

  “Do you think I’m a frivolous rich brat?”

  “No, I think you’re a remarkable and fabulous poet and scholar.”

  “Just for that I’m going to make a promise, too. I promise to write a poem in honor of you.”

  “I’m scared, MV,” I said as if I were joking, to cover the fact that I was scared—scared that I’d made an unfixable mistake by agreeing to be a Companion.

  That evening, I kept staring at the same page of my chem book without seeing the words. All I could think of was what it would be like seeing Jack and Hattie together for the rest of my life. I tried to push all my emotions down far below the surface because old habits die hard.

  Then it came to me: If old habits die hard, then BB must have had a stash. Hiding personal things is one of the first things a foster kid learns.

  I began searching the cottage methodically. I started with the laundry room. I tapped on walls and floors, listening for any hollowness, and looked behind and under every item I could lift. I checked each floorboard and each outlet panel.

  I went to the kitchen and pulled out the drawers to check above, beneath, and behind them. With great effort, I shoved the refrigerator away from the wall and felt the underside of the table. I got on the floor to see from that angle. In the living room, I tested each stone of the fireplace. I cleared all the books off the shelves and opened the big ones to look for any that might have been hollowed out.

  I was so thorough that it took me two hours to get to the bathroom. I checked the predictable places, like the toilet tank. The tiles around the tub were secure, and there was nothing behind the medicine cabinet. I looked up to the ceiling.

  The paint was scratched off on the screws that held a plaster wreath surrounding the light fixture. I got a screwdriver from the laundry room and carried a chair to the bathroom. The chair wasn’t high enough to let me reach the ceiling, so I stacked books atop the seat.

  The slick paper covers of the books slid under my feet as I clambered up.

  I loosened the screws and removed the decoration, revealing an opening in the ceiling. I carefully got down off the chair while holding the plaster wreath, and I set it on the vanity.

  Then I climbed back up. I reached through the gap in the ceiling. Nothing there. BB was probably taller, so I stretched as far as I could, too far, and the books slithered from beneath my feet. I crashed down and shrieked as my arm bashed against the tub and my left ankle twisted.

  I rotated to my side, rubbing my elbow and blinking back tears. When I tried to stand, pain ratcheted from my ankle upward and I let out another cry. I got to my knees, grabbed the towel rack, and pulled myself up.

  Someone pounded on the front door of the cottage. “Jane! Are you okay? Jane! It’s Jack.”

  I hobbled around the fallen chair and slowly made my way to the front door as Jack kept pounding and shouting. “I know
you’re in there, Jane! Are you all right?”

  I wiped away my tears and balanced on my right foot before I opened the door.

  Jack had one hand on the door frame and the other raised to knock again.

  “What was that crashing? I heard you scream.” His eyes searched my face.

  “Why are you here? Go away.” My throat constricted. I hated him seeing me looking like a stupid mess.

  “I’m not leaving until I know you’re okay. What happened?”

  “I fell.” I leaned against the doorway. “Leave me alone.”

  Jack waited only a moment before he scooped me up in his arms. “I’ve captured a wood sprite. Do I get to make a wish?”

  “Dammit, Jack, put me down!” My skirt scrunched up around my thighs and I tried to push down the hem, which only brought me closer to his chest, and I felt the intoxicating heat and strength of his body.

  “Do I get a pot of gold?” He set me sideways on the sofa with my feet up.

  “I don’t like you and I never want to see you ever again.”

  “You’ll get over it. Now, I actually have some experience with busted ankles.”

  My ankle hurt so badly that I gave in. Or maybe I gave in because I wanted to be near him, even in this pitiful way. “Fine.” I leaned back on my elbows and watched as he wiggled off my shoes and rolled off my socks. His calloused fingers gently explored my ankle, and I felt an agonizing amalgam of pleasure and fury. When he hit a tender spot, I flinched with a small sound.

  His brows came together. “Sorry, Halfling, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” His fingers touched me more lightly. “It’s swelling, but since you can put weight on it, I think it’s probably okay. Let’s ice you up.” He went to the kitchen and I heard him banging the ice trays around on the counter. He came back with a plastic bag filled with cubes. “I always keep ice packs at home.”