by Sara Etienne
Ducking into the woods, I headed toward the Compass Rose. Every once in a while, someone came hurrying toward the fire alarms and I crouched behind a tree. When I got inside the Compass Rose, there wasn’t a Taker in sight. But I wasn’t alone either.
Kel stood in the middle of the main room, craning his neck up at the chandelier. Then he looked down at the floor.
He always seemed to be one step ahead of me. Knowing where I was going before I did. After last night, it was strange watching him like this. Being separate from him. I knew why I was trying to solve this puzzle—it wouldn’t seem to leave me alone—but why was he?
Only one way to find out.
I walked into the room, my boots scuffing across the marble floor. Hearing my footsteps, he dove for the nearest couch. I tried to keep a straight face as a second later he peeked back out, scowling.
He stood up, managing to get some words out. “You scared me.”
“Well, you scared me first.”
“I’m rubber. You’re glue . . . ,” Kel started, and we smiled. “I never asked you if you’d found anything. I didn’t have time with . . . everything going on last night.”
Our eyes locked and I could feel him pulling me into him. I wanted to walk over to him. To make things like they were last night. But I stayed where I was, letting the charged air build up between us.
How much can I tell him?
It wasn’t easy to let go of years of doubt and isolation, but I let the memory of last night push all that out of my mind. You are not alone.
“I found this.” I forced my feet to walk across the room to him as I pointed to the outlined tiles.
Kel’s forehead creased as he studied the marble, pushing the long hair out of his face as he tried to see what I was talking about. Then his expression cleared up into a surprised “Aha.”
He crouched down and touched the grouted pattern. “How did you even notice this?”
“Well, last night, while you were safe upstairs, I was participating in what Dr. Mordoch might refer to as an ‘avoidance exercise.’”
Kel grinned at me, understanding perfectly. “Do they lead somewhere?”
“Well, if you weren’t here distracting me, I’d know already, wouldn’t I?”
Kel caught my eye sharply and stepped toward me. The heat from his body, centimeters away, seared into mine.
But when Kel spoke, his voice was soft. “I’m lucky I beat you here or I would’ve missed out.”
We were only a breath away from each other. There was hunger in his eyes and I answered it, leaning in. Only atoms separating us.
Police sirens wailed down the driveway, shocking us both back to reality.
“We should probably hurry.” Kel stepped back and I remembered to breathe.
Together, we pushed the couch out of the way so we could follow the trail of arrows. But they led straight into the wall.
Frustration bit at me. “Another dead end.”
“Like last night. I’ve been wondering about that . . .” Then Kel asked the same question I had. “Why have a hallway going nowhere?”
“Right. I took a look at the Compass Rose on my way down to breakfast this morning, and that hallway should lead to one of the turrets. But if it does, then where’s the door?”
“Maybe”—Kel looked down at the path of arrows—“the door is somewhere else.”
We both looked at the wall again. The thing was, this wall wasn’t anywhere near the dead end we’d found the night before. That hallway was upstairs and on the front side of the house. Still.
The upper wall was covered with thick, striped wallpaper. Two-thirds of the way down, decorative oak panels were built into the wall in wide, beveled squares. Heart pounding in excitement, I knelt down and took a closer look. There was a dark smudge on the wood panel closest to the arrows. So, we weren’t the first students to decipher the pattern.
We were close. I could feel something on the other side of this wall. Answers.
I pushed on the smudged wood and the square gave a little. Shoving my shoulder into it, the square swung open, like the tiny door in Alice in Wonderland.
And I was already crawling through. Ready for the rabbit hole.
On the other side, there were arrows everywhere. Thousands of them, carved into the black stone walls of the dim passageway. Not ornate like the ones on the column. There was a crudeness to these marks, a violence. Like someone had gouged them into the soft stone with a knife. Over and over.
The gashes whispered to me.
It’s time. My mind filled with their chanting song. Drums pounded in my chest.
It’s time for you.
18
WHOOSH. WHOOSH. WHOOSH. Their raw power rushed through me.
I stretched out my hand, touching one of the arrows. A howling filled my head, the rasping of steel against stone. A gray mountain of water rising up to meet me. Screams shattering the air. I ripped my hand away.
With a splintering pop, a tiny crack formed where my thumb had been and shot up the wall.
“What’s wrong?” Kel crawled in behind me and closed the small door.
“Nothing.” My voice shook in the sudden dark. Torn between terror and exhilaration, I reached out and felt for the crack in the wall of arrows. Checking if it was real. Goose bumps shivered across my skin as my fingers found the fracture in the cold stone.
Fear is an illusion. I’m in control of my own reality.
I fumbled with the penlight I’d stuck in my sock. Making a circle of light in the darkness. The solid rhythm of drums steadying me.
“Sneaky girl.” Kel’s voice was relaxed, teasing. But he looked genuinely impressed that I had a secret flashlight.
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“I wouldn’t mind finding out.” The secret passage suddenly went from horror movie to James Bond flick.
My tiny light ran across the gouged symbols. The insistent drumming trembling through me.
Does Kel hear them too? How could he not?
They shook my every thought now. Thrilling through every molecule of my body. And, there in the dark, I gave myself to them.
“Race you!” I yelled over my shoulder, already running. My feet already matching the pounding in my skull.
I careened around the corner. Left. Then right. Then left again.
Everything was so clear. The maze of hallways twisting through the rest of the Compass Rose was genius. They hid this passageway perfectly. I ran through the cool darkness, the crazed arrows pointing the way. Kel’s footsteps right behind me, egging me on.
The passage narrowed into a spiral staircase at the end of the labyrinth. The pulsing beat surged through me and I sprinted up the steps. Toward the door at the top. Toward the final arrow carved into the wood.
I grabbed the doorknob and twisted, throwing my weight against it. My shoulder slammed into the unmoving door. Kel crashed into me a second later.
“Locked.” My body ached with the blow and the drums and closeness of Kel.
Kel let out a huff of breath, his body still tangled up with mine.
“Perfect.” He didn’t sound that sorry about it.
I’d dropped the penlight in the collision, but even in the dark I knew where every inch of him was. One hand pressed against my leg. The other braced against the wall. I even knew the smile he was wearing on his face. My throat was dry and I forced the words out of my mouth. “I still have the key. In my boot.”
“What?”
“I still have the—”
“I heard you. Do you have wire cutters stuck somewhere? Maybe a getaway car?”
“Just help me find the flashlight.” We fumbled on the stairway. Hands grazing each other. Arms crisscrossing in the dark. Finally, a circle of light appeared by Kel’s face.
The green in his eyes glinted in the weak light. The familiar smile hovering on his lips. I tried not to think about how close he was to me. Or the warm scent of him.
I reached into my boot, smiling.
There was something exhilarating about having a partner in crime. The skeleton key fit in the lock, and with a twist and a click, we were in. The sunny room was blinding after the dark stairway. My eyes ached as I stepped in, blinking.
The place was covered in books. Stacks and piles and shelves of them, smelling like dust and leather and years of warm fires and closed windows. Sunlight streamed through the windows of the octagon-shaped library, turning it into an oven.
I was right. We were in the turret. Keeping low, I peeked out a window and down at the driveway. Firefighters and Takers hurried here and there.
“The crisis still crisis-ing?” Kel spoke in a quiet voice, close to my ear. His breath hot on my neck.
“Wonder what happened.”
“The rumor I heard, on my way out, was that some pyro got hold of matches and set the toilet paper on fire.”
“Really?” I couldn’t tell if he was kidding.
“Yeah, I know. I mean, sure it’s scratchy, but it’s not that bad.”
I turned away, not letting Kel see my smirk.
He gazed around the room. “I guess they really don’t want us to study at Holbrook. All these books locked away . . . but where’s the fun toy surprise?”
Suddenly, I was anxious. Something was here in this room, I could feel it. Something that would explain what was happening to us at night, my visions, Dr. Mordoch’s files. Kel was here with me now, but would he really be able to handle whatever we found? Would I? Ominous blood-red symbols weren’t likely to lead to unicorns and rainbows.
“I mean, why would you make a secret room unless you wanted to hide something in it? Right?” Kel opened a rolltop desk with an old photo of the Compass Rose hanging over it. Inside the desk, there were more books, a lamp, and a mostly empty bottle of Jim Beam.
Maybe we wouldn’t find anything. Maybe I could come back here later. Alone.
“Let’s check the bookshelves. You go that way and I’ll go this way.” Kel pointed for me to go counterclockwise.
I ran my fingers along the frayed bindings as I looked for more arrows on the bookshelves. Then my throat tightened, and a strangled yelp escaped my mouth. There, carved into the fifth shelf up, was the outline of a person. Stubby arms and legs. Arrow instead of a face.
Just like the ones I’d drawn. How is that possible? Fear returned hard and fast, blotting out my excitement.
“You found something?” Kel was right behind me and it was already too late to hide it. I kicked myself for making that stupid noise. What if Kel somehow made the connection between me and the symbols? What if Maya told them all what I’d been drawing on the floor? Will Kel blame me for what’s happening at night? Will he think I’m crazy?
He ran his finger over the little man etched into the wood. “That’s not the same marking. How do you know this is it?”
I just know. The real question is, What does it mean?
Kel pulled out the book that was sitting directly above the carved figure. “Maybe it has a secret compartment.”
Maybe what’s inside is worse than not knowing at all.
I squeezed my hands into fists, forcing myself not to knock the book out of his hand. Instead, I concentrated on breathing as Kel opened up Tides and Waters of New England.
The binding creaked like it hadn’t been read in years, and the book gave off a damp, musty odor. But there was no secret compartment. There were no coded messages. There were just maps. Lots and lots of maps. Maps of the shore at high tide and low tide. Maps of the moon endlessly looping and spinning around the Earth. Maps of the coastline thousands of years ago and maps of what it would look like in another thousand years.
I took it from Kel, flipping through the pages, sure there must be more. Relief and disappointment battled inside me.
“It could take hours to look through that whole thing. And what if the books got rearranged? It could be any of these. Geological Movements or Avians of Maine.” He pulled books off the shelves, shaking each one out, checking for secret compartments.
Then I saw something in the open space where the books had been. Something in the shadows. “Keep pulling them!”
Electricity shot through me. This was it. At the back of the bookshelf, the arrow and the rough figure were carved into the wood, one below the other. Making it look like a man standing on the peak of a mountain. Wary, I touched the marking and a panel sprang open.
Kel and I peered into the hole. Kel laughed. “Surprise. Another book.”
Before he could move, I thrust my arm into the hole. My hand closed around soft leather and I pulled out the worn book.
“There’s something else . . .” Reaching over me, Kel grabbed what looked like a tiny statue. “Look at this! It’s the same as that carving on the bookshelf.”
Same as my drawing in Dr. Mordoch’s files. Same as the picture I made on the dorm floor. The figurine fit in the palm of Kel’s hand. A metal person with crude arms and legs, but no eyes or mouth. Only that strange arrow staring out of its face.
He held out the statue for me to look at, and I shuddered.
“Faye, what’s wrong?”
I don’t know. All I knew was that I didn’t want to touch it. “Let’s start with the book. Okay?”
“Sure.” Kel’s voice was gentle and I was grateful he didn’t push for answers I didn’t even have.
Wiping off a thick layer of dust, I uncovered the initials “M. H.” burned into the suede cover. I traced the letters with my fingers, wondering who had gone to so much trouble to hide these things here.
Sitting down on the floor, I opened it up, reading aloud the black, cursive handwriting.
July 29, 1911
Cousin Bea is here. Again. I’ve been hiding up in my room all afternoon. But they’ll have to haul me off to the asylum if I go back down there. Bea will want to take another “constitutional,” as she says in that pretentious, grating voice of hers. Then when she has me in her clutches, her arm stuck onto mine like a leech from Hodge’s Pond, she’ll drone on about her admirers.
“Weren’t his eyes divine?” she’ll squeal as she drags me around the gardens. Or “Did I tell you what so-and-so said to me at the Dumonts’ party?”
I scanned the rest of the page and the next. It was more of the same. Phrases like infernal petticoats were interrupted, here and there, by a sketch of a snail or an island.
I shut the book. “This M. H., whoever she is, just led us on a wild-goose chase . . . It just keeps going like that.”
I eyed the figurine and a shadowy terror rose up in my mind. I’d wanted answers, but I was in over my head here. I couldn’t bear to drag Kel down with me. Or let him watch me drown.
Maybe I could still convince him that this was all nothing and I could come back later. On my own.
“We should keep going. I bet it says something about this thing.” Kel sat down next to me, laying the figurine on the floor between us. I edged away. I didn’t want that thing anywhere near me.
He opened the book back up, flipping through pages of neat, even penmanship. “Hey, how ’bout this one? It’s got a bookmark.”
I pulled out the oversized playing card that marked the page. It had a picture on it of a winged woman pouring wine from one goblet to another. She stood at the edge of the ocean, one foot on land, one on water. Above her, planets spun in their orbits. At the bottom the word “Temperance” had been marked out and “The Circle” had been written in. On the back of the card, nonsensical words were scattered across the blue flowery pattern. I studied the gibberish while Kel read the entry.
October 14, 1911
We picnicked on the beach today. It was one of those tremendous autumn days when the wind whips through you, sweeping out all the dust and doubt. It would’ve been perfect if not for Bea’s insistence on telling our “fortunes.” She’s obsessed with the tarot fad, which might be entertaining if she weren’t such a spiteful shrew. But she always winces as she deals out my cards, fabricating the most tedious futures for me. At least she
could have me die in a tragic ballooning accident, but no. I’m forever bound to be a spinster with a bad complexion and a penchant for cats.
Kel stopped reading and took the card out of my hand. “So, not a bookmark, then. A tarot card.” He studied it for a second, then went on reading.
Luckily, nature has a wicked sense of humor.Halfway through my “reading” the wind gusted down on us, sending the tarot cards flying. I’m afraid that my shriek of alarm may have sounded a bit like a hoot of joy as I chased the rogue cards across the beach and out of sight of my dour mother and cousin.
I followed the narrow beach trail up the hill, collecting cards as I climbed up the cliff. At the top, the view was breathtaking. Deer Island was bursting with reds and oranges, looking like a great bonfire floating on the waves. More cards bobbed cheerfully on the water below me, just as happy as I was to be free.
Looking down at them, something else caught my eye. On a small ledge a couple of feet away, something winked in the sunlight, bright against the gray cliff.
Curious, l climbed down, ripping my dress in the process, and perched on the little ledge. I brushed the pine needles and lichen away from the spot. A chunk of metal was wedged in a small crevice in the rock, and as I touched it, my head felt strange—like it was full of music. My heart drummed in my chest as I carefully cleared the debris away and worked the metal object out of the crack.
When I finally got it out, my arms were sore and there was rust mottling the surface of the metal. But I could still tell that it was a lumpy iron doll, small enough to fit in my palm. I took it down to the beach and washed my prize, scrubbing it with sand until the surface gleamed dully in the sun.
An iron doll.
It was just like M. H. had described. The tarnished metal of the figurine still had a hint of shine to it, even though it was pitted with rust. Almost against my will, I reached out and touched it. Even though the doll was small, it was heavy. I closed my fist around it, but somehow the metal felt all wrong in my hand. The diary talked of music, but there was nothing. The iron was cold and dead.
