Mortals: Heather Despair Book One

by Leslie Copeland

  "Okay, the Bentley. Five thousand dollars," said Oskar. "And don't call me 'pretty boy'."

  Trenton nearly choked. "Lily, you should give those to him. He'll take good care of them. Think what five thousand dollars could do for PEPPIC—please!" He put his hand on Oskar's arm. "She's awfully stubborn but let her think it over."

  "I don't need to." Lily turned her back. "When you get done flashing your money around, Oskar, you can do the right thing for once, and return the books you stole to their actual owner."

  "I own those books!" I shouted. "They were my dad's!"

  They all stared at me.

  "Heather—" Oskar reached for his wallet.

  "Heather!" Lily made prayer hands at me. "Mi familia—"

  "Heather, please settle this before I go insane!" wailed Trenton.

  "Okay. I'll play King Solomon if I must," I said. "We'll slice the set in half. Volumes one through four go to Oskar, because that's what he's holding. Volumes five through eight go to Lily, because that's what she grabbed. Satisfied?"

  They both groaned.

  "And you can switch when you're done reading," I said. "They're still mine—and Sam's. But I will kindly lend them to you."

  They groaned again. But they nodded their acceptance. Oskar pushed his share into his already overstuffed satchel.

  Actually, since I was now on my own, I might need that five thousand Oskar was offering. Maybe I could hit him up for it, when Lily was out of earshot. I could also use a ride. No Aston Martin necessary, but I wouldn't complain about the sweetness of the ride. Nor about the hotness of the driver.

  "I thought King Solomon almost cut a baby in half," said Trenton. "Not books. Do you really have an Aston Martin and a Bentley, Oskar?"

  Oskar shrugged. "No. The Bentley's in the shop."

  Trenton gasped.

  "It's only for a tune-up," Oskar said hurriedly. "I'll take you for a ride the second it's out."

  Trenton fell back into the couch as if stunned. "I woke up this morning. Everything was normal. My dad was yelling at me. My cell phone battery crapped out. I never realized I was still in a dream."

  Oskar leaned over Trenton and pulled him upright. "You're the dream," he said. "Look at those dreamy blue eyes." Their faces drew closer. Trenton's lips parted. Just when I thought they'd embrace, the door slammed open. Abuelita stamped through.

  "Your ride is here," she said.

  "Good," said Lily. "I'd like to get out of here." She made a gagging face and clutched her books.

  "No, it's for Heather. You and the little one can ride with Oskar," said Abuelita.

  Trenton jumped up and down, making a "squee" noise. He hugged Oskar. Lily sat down with a thump, scowling.

  "Just perfect," she said. "And where is Mr. Moneybags taking us?"

  "I'm taking you home," said Oskar to Lily. He winked at Trenton. "You can come meet my parents."

  "Okay!" said Trenton with a huge smile.

  "No. Everybody goes home, to safety. Where we can keep watch," said Abuelita.

  "Trenton will be safe if he's with me," Oskar said quickly.

  "No! He goes home. They all go home," said Abuelita. "Your duty is to watch over them, and alert Max if anything is out of the ordinary. Understand?"

  Oskar hung his head. "Yes, Madam Benavidez. I understand."

  "Good. No socializing. Drop each one off at their residence," said Abuelita.

  "How come Oskar gets to stay out and we don't?" Trenton complained. "I want to watch for evil, too!"

  "Oskar is more experienced at this sort of thing," said Abuelita. "He also has a driver's license."

  "And an Aston Martin," grumbled Lily.

  "Now, Heather," said Abuelita. "You'll go with Cousin Art in the truck."

  I'd been listening to this conversation with growing dread. If we were all going home, then that meant I'd be ushered back to the junkyard. I backed up, electricity already tingling up and down my spine. "I can't go back there!"

  Abuelita waddled closer. She took my wrist in her strong grip and looked up into my face without flinching. "You must. With your brother missing, you are the most important young spiritualist we have. We can't protect you well enough here. At home, you'll be safe from attack."

  "Sam wasn't safe from attack! How do you know they didn't get to him there? I saw a spirit, before he disappeared! Maybe that's the one who took him," I said, pulling away. "I can stay here. The Vic is safe. They don't know I'm here."

  "The Vic is not safe enough. Not yet. We have plans to fortify it, but—why am I telling you this?" Abuelita shook her head. "Until we make this hold ready, your place is in the junkyard."

  I backed up and bumped into the wall. The blue charge escaped my body and shot up the wall, scattering books and papers. "I won't go!" I shouted. "I hate that place!"

  Abuelita's mouth dropped open. I stood there, blue flames flickering up and down my body, and glared. "Let's see you try to take me!" I said.

  Trenton shook his head. "Heather, Heather. Don't be childish. Don't you see, we all have our part to play." He walked closer and closer to me, smiling, his hand extended. "I'm going home just like they asked. Can't you be reasonable?"

  "Fine for you. You have a rich, sexy new boyfriend," I snarled. "I have to go live with Bruce among the tire piles and old car bodies."

  "We all have to make sacrifices, Heather," Trenton chided. "Just now, my sacrifice is to ride in Oskar's Aston Martin and go immediately home." He gave Oskar his best angel face. "And I will do it."

  "And I have to go in a truck with some old weirdo covered in scarves," I said. "Who wears a coat and gloves in the summer."

  "Please listen to them, Heather," said Lily. "I don't like it either, but you don't want to fight those creeps again like you did in town."

  I slumped down. "I could protect myself!" I insisted. "I'll never find Sam if I'm trapped in the junkyard."

  "The junkyard the most likely place you'll find him," said Abuelita. "He may come back there. If you wait and watch, it will do your brother more good than if you run all over town."

  "Sam would want you to be safe," said Lily, nodding. "Sam's so strong and protective and brave and . . ."

  I stared at her. "Who are we talking about? Not my brother."

  Lily blushed.

  "How could it be safe out there?" I said. "Maybe it's smart to watch for his return. But safe? Sam told me himself. There are things in the junkyard! Things!"

  "Things? What does that mean?" Abuelita frowned deep lines between her eyes. "Darn seers with their visions. Never useful."

  "And Sam warned me about Bruce!" I shouted. "Bruce even claimed he kicked Sam out himself! And you want me to go back to that!"

  "Don't get hysterical," said Trenton.

  Abuelita said, "Bruce, the junkman? He must be confused. We know Sam went to the beyond, and Bruce didn't do that."

  "Unless Sam is dead!" I shrieked.

  Abuelita sat down on a couch with a thump, puffing like she was very tired. "The spirit didn't mention it. Is a little bit possible. Some spirits are tricky."

  "Are you okay, Abuelita?" asked Lily.

  "Tired. You kids better get home now. The New Four must be kept safe. I can't keep channeling spirit blessings through here all night." She wheezed.

  I crossed my arms, but my blue electricity had calmed, and I was no longer zapping the walls. A thought had occurred to me. Abuelita said Sam would be likely to come back to the junkyard. That meant there had to be some way from the junkyard to the spirit world.

  Unless . . . the spirit had tricked us, and Sam's trip to the spirit world was actually . . . death.

  "I have to get back to the junkyard," I said.

  "Heather, you really need to listen—wait, what?" said Lily.

  "Whoa," said Trenton.

  "I have to find out what happened back there if we're to solve this. If Sam died, my stepfather could be involved. That may be why Sam warned me about him. But it could also be a spirit—maybe the spirit I
saw, the spirit we just talked to!" I groaned. "How do I know if a spirit is helpful or not?"

  "The junkyard is protected," said Abuelita. "No evil one could get in." She started to cough. Lily raced to bring her a cup of water.

  "She can't take any more arguing. We should just go," said Lily.

  "Abuelita knows what she's talking about," said Oskar. "If she says you'll be safe, you will be."

  "Thank you, Arturo," murmured Abuelita.

  "I'm Oskar, Madam. But you're welcome," said Oskar. He took me by one elbow, and Trenton by the other. He ushered us to the door.

  "Coming?" Oskar lifted his eyebrow at Lily.

  "Just getting these books," said Lily.

  I called Sybil and put her inside my backpack. "Looks like we're going back to your favorite junkyard," I said.

  Sybil whimpered like she could understand. I always did think she knew English, and maybe Spanish, too. Oskar guided me and Trenton out the door, and Lily dragged along behind, her nose in one of her uncle's books.

  "Fascinating," she said. "Did you know there's a difference between a ghost and a spirit?"

  "My dad used to say ghosts haunted one spot," I said, as Oskar pushed us toward the stairs.

  "Yes, but spirits can come and go," said Lily. "Trent, do you realize how much more we'd know about the paranormal if we knew a lot more about the paranormal?"

  "Oh, absolutely," said Trenton, his gaze on Oskar. "You're right, as always."

  Oskar laughed. "I disagree. The more I learn about the paranormal, the less I seem to know."

  "Oh yes. I couldn't agree more," said Trenton. He tilted his head up at Oskar and was he lowering his eyelids? Who knew Trenton could smolder?

  Lily made a disgusted noise as we tiptoed down the stairs, careful not to alert the people living on the third floor. "Where is this Aston Martin?" she said with a huff. "The sooner I get home, the sooner I can get to some serious paranormal studies."

  We descended into the murk of the house, me growing ever more nervous about my return to the junkyard. At least no one knew I'd planned to run away.

  I'm still going to. When all this trouble dies down, I'll slip away, I thought. No way I'd be trapped in the junkyard until Abuelita said I could leave.

  I creaked down the steps, and when we reached the dark expanse of the ground floor, I gazed into the shadowy corners, trying to remember secret passages and cubbyholes that I'd played in as a child. I needed a way to stay hidden. When I came back, it would be for good.

  The double doors burst wide open at the far end of the ballroom, and in the light that poured through, a misshapen figure gestured at us with open arms. I saw scarves dangling.

  Trenton nudged me. "Heather Despair, your ride is here."

  Chapter Eight

  Cousin Art

  The sleek silver Aston Martin purred down the driveway, Trenton beaming from the passenger's seat. Oskar lowered his sunglasses and bent over the wheel like he meant business, his collar turned up. Somewhere in the back, though I couldn't see her, Lily huddled with volume after volume of my father's books.

  I waved from the creaky seat of the ancient pick-up truck. To my left, Cousin Art steered, wrapped in scarves up to his eyeballs. Huge black sunglasses covered his face and a thick, padded coat covered everything else.

  When the Aston Martin reached the street, I heard a whirring sound. The entire surface of the car flickered, like heat rising, then took on a steady, humming glow.

  "Now that is some good ecto-proofing," said Cousin Art. "It's his own design. Pretty impressive, huh?"

  I said nothing, thinking of all I'd lost because Oskar liked boys and not girls. "Why?" I moaned.

  "Oh, because, otherwise the Turned Against could use spirits against us," said Cousin Art. "Our vehicles need protection."

  "I don't see any protection on this old heap," I said, looking around at the wheezing old gear shaft, the falling-apart seat with no seat belts, and the ancient dashboard. It was a real mover, too. I could tell by the way we rolled an inch at a time toward the end of the driveway. We still hadn't got there. "I guess that grill on the front, that looks like Dracula's teeth, is supposed to scare the enemy? Or did you think the racing flames would do it?"

  Cousin Art wheezed just like his gear shaft. "That's great, just great! You remind me of him." He laughed so hard, he almost steered us into the bushes. Luckily, we were going so slow, there was no chance of an accident.

  A loud buzz of acceleration, and the Aston Martin took off like a rocket down the road. In seconds, only a faint red blush of the taillights remained visible.

  Meanwhile, we were still in the driveway.

  "If this truck went any slower, we'd be going backwards," I said. I wasn't so sure we weren't.

  "Mira, we can't be seen with them," said Cousin Art. "I'm sorry about how this truck looks, but it wasn't made for modern teenage tastes. Now, back in the fifties, this truck was hot stuff, let me tell you . . ."

  Cousin Art babbled on and on about all the races he'd won with the truck, back in the dinosaur days. He turned up a back street that got us onto the old highway. We exited town at a snails' pace, the old truck knocking and shaking its way down the road.

  I rolled my eyes and leaned against the window, watching sagebrush slip by in the desert hills. Tumbleweeds whipped past, easily outpacing us. I yawned.

  "I still don't see how this truck is safer than a super-teched-out Aston Martin," I grumbled. "Who are those guys after us, anyway?"

  Cousin Art peered at me between his scarves. "For generations, the Coterie has held together, upholding the ways of the All. The Turned Against—well, they're turned against all that."

  "Hmmm. Illuminating," I said, rolling down the window and sticking my arm out. I might as well. We were going around three miles an hour, and I could have just stepped out if I wanted to. "So why did they want to take me with them?"

  "I'm sure they'd love to turn someone as talented as you," said Cousin Art. "I can't believe how you remind me of him. A lot of people say his son is like him. But that's crux."

  "Are you talking about my dad?" I waved my hand in the blowing air. Glanced over at Cousin Art, who grinned very white teeth at me.

  "Able," said Cousin Art. His voice shook with feeling, and right then, I knew they'd been good friends. "He could be so amazing. So impressive. And he was stubborn as a mule. That's why they say he's like Sam. But Able was really funny, and terribly curious. An innovator. An explorer. He was like you."

  I sat with my arms crossed. Thought about this. "He certainly got closer to Sam," I said. My voice bitter. Wow. I didn't realize I felt like this until now.

  "Aren't you close to Sam, too? See what I mean? Able was like you," said Cousin Art again. He nodded at me.

  "I guess." I turned back to the sagebrush, whizzing by outside the window. "I feel like I've been on this highway for fifty years. Do you think we'll get there before they hold a memorial service for us?"

  "Don't think so," said Cousin Art, and he focused straight ahead, on the road.

  The temperature had to be in the eighties—typical New Mexico in May—yet Art didn't even sweat. In fact, he radiated cool. When I accidentally brushed his arm, my skin stung like I'd touched ice. What was with this guy?

  Art continued navigating the loopy hairpin turns of old highway twenty as it meandered this way and that, dipping through dry arroyos, weaving between sunbaked mesas and stretches of chaparral. Each bend sent me sliding on the waxy seat, almost crashing into Cousin Art.

  The next curve loomed like a feature from an Olympic bobsled event. The truck putted along it, me skidding into Art's padded coat. I held my breath as the icy sting spread. Smashed up against his moth-ball-smelling coat, numb with cold, I felt it. Dead electricity, the stillness. Like I'd felt in the junkyard. Electricity tingled my hands, energy crackled along my spine, and I clenched my fists. I had to contain it! At last, the truck hit a straight section of road, and I scooted away from Art.

  My
charge died down almost immediately. I shot him a glance. What was it about him? He triggered that ghost feeling, but he was as solid as I was. Although certainly strange.

  "Don't you get hot in all that winter wear?" I asked.

  Art jiggled and shook under his wrappings. I recognized laughter. "Sometimes, but it's best you don't see my burns. I'm hideous!"

  The truck ascended the final rise before the junkyard. Halfway up, the truck's engine sputtered into silence. Then it knocked thrice and roared back to life. We rolled smoothly over the rise, slid down, and collided with the chain link fence on the other side. The sign, SLADE'S SALVAGE YARD, rocked violently.

  "Oh no!" I ducked down in the seat. Maybe Bruce wouldn't see me.

  "It's fine. Nothing broke," said Art, still grinning widely.

  "Thanks for the ride, I guess," I said, peering over the dash. Those same ugly piles of junk greeted me, the tires and old car bodies, the teardrop trailer and crashed bus. I creaked the door open with much reluctance.

  "For you, any time," said Art, his voice muffled by the many scarves. "I always loved to drive."

  I fixed my golden eyes on Art and tried to see behind the dark sunglasses. He flashed his toothy smile.

  "Oh, and Heather—" His sunglasses met my gaze. "I know what some say, but I don't blame Able for what happened."

  "Thank you," I said, shaking Art's gloved hand. Cold seared my palm. Again, buzzing stirred inside me. I let go. "Uh—what did happen?"

  "Destruction. Disappearances. A scattering to the winds. Twenty years ago, the mortal faction of the Coterie was destroyed in this very town, one by one. They called themselves The Four. Your father was their leader. Some say he sealed their doom." Cousin Art stared straight ahead, at the double-wide, recited woodenly, "Able Despair gave The Four over to the Bellum to protect his own skin." He shook his head. "I never believed that. Able was a good man. He wouldn't do that."

  He held his hands out, like he wanted me to reassure him.

  "I don't know what happened. My dad died of cancer," I said. "I was eight."

  Art laced his fingers together, clucked his tongue at me. "You're just like him. Tell me, Heather Despair. You wouldn't do that. Give your friends over to save yourself?"