They opened the door and found Valerie and Joey standing outside the music room, arms crossed, with expressions of impatient amusement.
“Did you fall in?” said Joey.
“Sorry,” said Kate. “I guess—you heard that?”
“Heard what?” Joey turned and mamboed to the front door singing Irving Berlin’s “I Love a Piano.”
“I’ll need to—get it tuned—anyway,” said Valerie. “After the move.”
“When are you going away?” said Kate.
“Monday,” said Valerie. She gestured to the many boxes that filled the living room. “All these are going in storage. My offer fell through—because of the—”
“The murders,” said Jason.
“And I have—Jessica to kick out. But I’ll deal with it all—from Salem. I’m going, finally. And I can’t say—that I’ll miss this place. You kids shouldn’t stay either. You’ve seen the hills… This is his town now. Be careful.”
They nodded. Jason embraced her. “I’m grateful for everything.” He kissed her cheek.
“I wish I could have—been more help. What should we do—with this?” She held up the diary.
“Keep it,” said Jason. “Maybe you’ll think of something. And it’s safer with you in Salem. I still don’t want Hadewych to find it.”
She nodded and set the book atop a side table. “I’ll keep thinking. You’re always welcome—to visit me up north.”
They went to the front door and Valerie eventually unlocked it. Jason thought of the first time he’d seen Valerie, giving Eliza a tarot reading in his living room. Not even a year ago. And here she was—a friend. He would miss her.
He hesitated at the door—this might be the last time he could ask his question. Valerie had known Eliza in the days before she died. If anyone besides Hadewych would know whether he’d cursed his grandmother, it would be Valerie. He had thought of asking her many times, but he just… didn’t want to know. Better to think Hadewych had lied, that it had been an elaborate attempt to guilt Jason into self-doubt—which it probably had been. Better not to know if it was true. Doubt was better than certainty.
“Bye, Valerie,” Jason whispered. He kissed her cheek and she fanned herself like a southern belle.
The group stumbled into the afternoon sun. Valerie waved at them and closed the door, locking it again.
“I’m leaving too,” Kate said. “Late tonight.”
“Right,” said Jason. “The home stretch.”
“Only about three months until the election. He wants me on the trail. Family values, you know.”
“When will you be back?”
“I don’t know,” Kate said and walked away.
Jason tugged Joey’s sleeve. “Give us a second?” Joey strolled to the end of the driveway where he crossed his arms and pretended to study the cloud patterns. Jason followed Kate into a patch of shade. She tore a twig off a tree, turning it in her hand.
“My father is going to win. I don’t need my Gift to know that. He’s pretty confident. I—okay, he says I’m starting school in Boston this fall. Some academy there, whatever. I won’t be coming back. It’s decided. With everything going on.”
“I don’t blame him. I’d feel better if you were safe.”
“Thanks.” She looked at Jason shyly. “You doing anything tonight?”
Jason shrugged. “I’ll have to check my busy schedule.”
“Should I make an appointment?”
“Let’s see. I’ve got the Headless Horseman at seven, then a dead witch at eight. I could squeeze you in between Dracula and The Wolfman.”
“How about eight? My house. Come to the back door.”
Jason felt a little swoon of butterflies. “I’ll think about it.” He tried to play it cool, turned away nonchalantly, and hit his head on a low branch. “Ow.”
“You okay?”
“Sure. I’m just—ow.”
She kissed his forehead. “I’m not inviting you over for that, you know.”
“Hadn’t even occurred to me.”
“Sure.” She slipped her hand under his T-shirt, held her palm against his side. He hoped he wasn’t sweating. “I just think we should try some more. Before I go.”
Jason bit his lip. He wondered whether he was allowed to put his hand under her shirt too. You know, tit for tat. He wasn’t sure of her intentions, whether she was trying to get her Gift back or was really into him. Maybe she didn’t know the truth of it herself. But they kissed again and all his doubts kayaked away on a river of hormones.
“I’ll be there,” he said.
“Eight. I need time to handle the security guys. Text me when you’re headed out.”
She spun the twig in her hands and turned away, hitting her own head on the same branch. “Ow,” she said, rubbing the spot. “So much for my sultry exit.” She turned and walked to her car. Jason watched her go. Her exit was pretty sultry. It was sultry as…
“Ahem,” said Joey, leaning against Ladybug with a look of wounded dignity. “Dance with the one that brung you, Crane.”
“Don’t be jealous.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“You’ve got to let me go, Joey. I’ve found someone else.”
“I’d just as soon kiss a Wookiee.”
“I can arrange that.” Jason circled around to the passenger side. He and Joey climbed into the car. Joey started the engine. Jason put a hand on Joey’s knee and gave him a compassionate smile. “We’ll always have Halloween.”
Joey slapped the hand away and put Ladybug into gear. “Ugh. Straight people.”
They turned onto Broadway, headed north. The school was vacant, now that classes were out for summer. Workmen were out front, installing new security systems. Paid for by the Crane Foundation, of course. There were very few cars in front of the Horseman Restaurant. Almost the only sign of life was a girl riding her bike down the sidewalk in full Uncle Sam costume, her hat high and crooked as a Dr. Seuss illustration.
“So… juicy details,” prompted Joey.
“I’m going to Kate’s house tonight. I might even be staying over.”
“Well done, young man. Is there magical nookie in your future?”
“Time will tell.”
Joey sighed. “Valerie did a romance reading on me. It didn’t go well. Apparently, the course of true love shall not run smooth.”
“Oh, don’t tell me you’re still hung up on—”
“No. Okay. Kind of. Yes. Maybe. I’ll get over it.” Joey looked glum. “Does he ever talk about me?”
“He and I don’t talk about anything.”
“It’s fine. It’s totally fine.” Joey drummed the steering wheel. “So I guess you’re not coming to the fireworks tonight?”
“They’re still having those?”
“Apparently. No murders since the lawyer and—hey, do you have your new one yet?”
“Yup. And she’s a total bitch.” Jason smiled.
“That’s good?”
“Oh, yeah. She won’t give Hadewych any wiggle room. She wants an accounting of everything. Maybe we’ll stop the son of a bitch that way.”
“Like getting Al Capone on tax evasion.”
They turned onto Gory Brook Road. Red-white-and-blue crepe hung limply from the trees of the ever-festive Colonial-style house, like the wrappings of a patriotic mummy. Jason rapped knuckles against his window. “Don’t go to the fireworks, man. It’s not safe. Can’t you feel it?”
Joey nodded. “It’s like the last lull before all hell breaks loose.”
Jason watched the houses drift by. “The eve of war.”
“We’ll get through it. How much time do you have left?”
“Four months. And then I’m free. If I’m alive.”
“Don’t talk like that,” said Joey. “I don’t know what I’d do if you died.”
“You’d keep fighting, right?”
Joey hesitated, but nodded.
They pulled up in front of number 417. The lawn was calico w
ith dead brown grass. The sycamore was a bare umbrella that cast no shade. The town had received no rain since April. Everyone had been instructed to ration water but Zef stood in the driveway washing his cruiser. He had his shirt off.
“And that’s my cue to go,” said Joey. “Get out. Quick, Jason, before I forget I’m mad at him.”
“You’re blushing.”
“Shut up. I am not. Just go. Now.”
Jason climbed out. Joey pulled the door shut with a clap and drove off. Zef watched the little rust-red bug disappear down the hill with a look of utter dejection. He turned to Jason, “Does he ever talk about me?”
Jason shook his head with a grin. “Ugh. Gay people.”
Zef killed the water and followed Jason inside. “You got a second? I think I found something.”
“What?”
“In my room.”
Jason had an unpleasant flash of memory. The night of the Spirit Dance. The lighthouse. “I’ll pass,” he said, walking towards his room. He’d have time for a nap before he had to get ready for Kate. He smiled. Kate… had that actually happened? Would they be spending tonight together? He was imagining the fireworks already…
“I’ve got to show you something,” said Zef, catching up.
“Show me what? What did you find?”
“Maybe—the combination to the cellar?”
Jason stopped walking and gaped at Zef. Was it possible? No. Probably some wild goose chase. Still… Jason sighed, nodded, and followed his cousin to the back bedroom.
Zef grabbed a sweatshirt from his dresser and pulled it on. “Get in the closet,” he said.
“You’re kidding.”
“Trust me.”
“Yeah. Like that’ll happen. Just tell me what you found.”
Zef scratched his head. “Fine. I was thinking about the letter.”
“I should have made you give it back. I can’t believe you let your dad burn it.”
“I told you the gist. But—there was something specific near the end that’s been bugging me.” Zef closed the bedroom door. “Right before Dylan shot Brom, Brom said something weird. He said ‘if you truly wish to be evil, go into your closet and pray.’”
“I’ve heard that before.”
Zef took a Bible from his shelf, turned to a bookmarked page, and read: “Matthew 6:6. But thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in secret; and thy Father which seeth in secret shall reward thee openly.”
“Okay,” said Jason, skeptically, holding up his hands. “Point?”
Zef paused. “I heard that downstairs. I was in the cellar and something whispered it—like a ghost.”
“Something spoke to you?” Mention of the cellar gave Jason gooseflesh.
Zef nodded but looked embarrassed. “It said, ‘Go into your closet and pray.’ Then, well, that magazine my dad found? I was trying to hide it and I found this loose floorboard.” He opened the closet and pointed. A board had been removed, revealing a small hiding place below. “By the way, you heard my thoughts, right?”
Jason pulled a chair from behind the desk and sat. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You’re not going to curse me. My mom told me everything.”
You can hear my thoughts, right?
Jason winced. The telepathic communication was deafening. “You don’t have to shout.”
“See? We’re cousins after all.”
“Don’t do that again.”
The air of the room felt crowded, somehow, as if Jason grew aware of all the signals passing through his body—the cell phone conversations and radio waves and TV broadcasts and Wi-Fi connections. He and Zef shared some crazy psychic Wi-Fi network and he wanted to put a password lock on that shit ASAP. The idea of Zef playing around in his head was not a pleasant one.
“Hey, I feel the same way,” said Zef.
Jason plucked a ball point pen from the desktop and threw it. “Get out of my thoughts!”
Zef dodged the pen, snatched it up, and stuck it behind his ear. He flopped onto the bed. “You have to admit it’s cool.”
“You have to admit it’s creepy. Just tell me about the letter.”
Zef nodded and fiddled with the pen. “Go into your closet and pray, right? So—I tried it. Climb in.”
Jason frowned. “Promise you’re not going to lock me inside and make a joke out of it?”
“No. I swear.”
Jason climbed into the closet, crouching, still feeling dubious.
Zef handed him a flashlight. “Watch the floor. Like you’re praying.” He swung the door shut, plunging Jason into darkness. “You see it?”
Jason thumbed the flashlight on. The bottom of the hole had disappeared. Jason looked down, playing his flashlight into a much larger chamber, just beneath his knees.
“Ew. Something stinks down there.”
“Feel around inside,” said Zef.
“What am I looking for?”
“Just do it.”
Jason reached into the gap. His fingers closed on a— “There’s a chain.”
“Pull it.”
Jason did and a loud chime sounded somewhere above his head. He pulled the chain again. Same sound. “What is it?”
Zef opened the door. “It’s Agathe’s bell. Remember? They made her install a bell in case she needed anything. It’s in the wall somewhere.” He rapped knuckles on the plaster. “Do it again.”
Jason did, marveling at the way the sound echoed through the entire house, reverberating between the ancient Van Brunt stones. He thumbed the flashlight off. “So Agathe’s pantry is down there. Can we pull up the boards?”
“You might not have to.” Zef took out a flat wooden box, about three feet square. “I found this.”
Jason climbed out. They sat with the box on the floor between them. At the center of the lid was engraved:
For Mr. Abraham Van Brunt
on the Occasion of his Fifty-Eighth Birthday
~
Presented to Him by his Friend
Mr. Washington Irving
“Cool, huh?” said Zef.
Jason opened the lid. Dozens of small compartments divided the box, each filled with a jumble of metal letters. An odd device hung from the velvet interior of the lid: a three-sided metal box, oblong, with a movable vise-like insert.
“What is this?” said Jason.
“Any guesses?”
“Eighteenth century Scrabble set?”
“Nope. It’s adjustable type.” Zef held up a letter. “See? They’re all backwards. It’s a Dutch printing set. The Dutch invented book printing, you know.”
“No. That was Gutenberg.”
“Who apprenticed under a Dutch master. Believe me, I know the illustrious accomplishments of the stupid Dutch.”
“Okay,” said Jason. “How does this get us in the cellar?”
Zef closed the lid and tapped the wood. There, a crude hand had scratched spidery writing, possibly with the tip of a nail:
ZET HAAK IN DE WATEREN
“Is that German?” whispered Jason, thinking of the Nightmare. Sie sterben an der Brücke
“Dutch. I Googled it. It’s ‘Put Hook in the Water.’”
“Which means?”
“No idea.”
Jason shook his head. That’s nothing. It’s just another damn riddle.”
“Excuse me for trying.”
“Sorry,” said Jason, feeling annoyed and having a hard time hiding it. “I’m ready for some answers. I feel like Brom’s just dicking with us. Why not just write it plain? Just leave a key to the cellar? I’m feeling brain-fried.”
“Just leave it then. Let’s forget it. I’ll give this to my dad.”
Jason put a hand on the box. “No.”
“It was Brom’s. I have to eventually.”
“But you showed it to me first.”
Zef rose and sat on the bed, hands clasped between his knees, rocking. “I don’t trust him.” He looked
at the ceiling. “I asked him about all this. The murders. And he lied to me. Right to my face. He just looked me in the eyes and lied. I’ve tried to believe in him. But I’m losing my faith.”
Jason rose and carried the box to the desk. “I don’t know what to tell you. You know what I think.”
“You think he’s evil.”
Jason sat. “I do.”
Zef scooted back and leaned against the headboard, drawing his feet up. “You don’t know what it’s like, hearing that. So I’ve got to accept that my whole family are evil shits, is that right?”
“I guess.”
“That’s easy for you to say. Who were your people? Ichabod. Your grandmother. I bet your parents were really nice and loved you.” Zef leaned over and poked Jason’s shoulder.
Jason batted Zef’s hand away. “Yeah. I’d rather be a Crane than a Van Brunt. Even an honorary one.”
“So how would you feel being part Agathe? Part Dylan?” He gestured to the sword in the corner. “How would you feel if half of you were Hadewych? Probably more than half. I’ve got my mothers Gift but I’m his son. We look alike, we’ve got the same voice, the same eyes. So maybe I don’t want to believe I’m an evil shit myself. Half a shit.” He blinked. “I hate being me, sometimes. And if I hate myself, I’ve got to believe in someone. It’s like God. You’re not a believer, right?”
“No. Not in the way you mean.”
“So you think you can get through life without leaning on anybody. Jason Crane is good enough and smart enough and he doesn’t need help.”
Jason heard a voice, deep inside. The voice of a small boy crying out to his grandmother, “I don’t need a father! I don’t need a father!” He nodded, firmly. “You could say that.”
“No. I can’t. I don’t have that much… self-esteem. Some people need help. I need help. I need to lean on somebody. That’s why I’ve got to believe in my dad. Even if it’s a lie. I’ve got to believe. I don’t want to hear that he’s evil. I don’t want hear that he’s not there for me. I can’t afford to. I have to choose between hearing the truth and… getting through the day.”
Sleepy Hollow: Bridge of Bones Page 51
