by K. G. McAbee
I was pretty sure WFG didn't need me to be a success. In fact, I might be more of a liability.
I stood and stretched so hard I heard stuff crackle and pop in my neck and shoulders, like tiny little pistols going off. I yawned and grabbed my backpack.
"Guess it's time for the old homework, Grand. Call me when you hear from Dad, okay?"
I was heading for her door when one of the phones on her desk rang. I heard her say "Hello?" just as I put a hand on her doorknob. I looked down at it; it was crystal and faceted, and it felt colder than the usual doorknob, somehow. Or was something else giving me a cold and creepy feeling? I'd been getting more and more of those odd flashes of feeling lately. I remembered the figure I'd seen in my foggy bathroom mirror earlier.
I realized I was still staring at the doorknob and snorted. But before I could turn it, Grand said, "Tommy?" in the strangest voice I'd ever heard from her.
I turned loose of the knob and was by her side in less than a heartbeat, all thoughts of homework and worries and everything else forgotten.
Grand still had the phone up near her ear but not touching it. I could hear little distant buzzes and squeaks amidst the murmur of a distant voice too low to make out any actual words. The sounds echoed in a room gone suddenly silent and still.
Grand's face had gone from its usual pink and white to the ugly grey color old putty had as it flaked out of a window frame. Funny. I'd looked at Grand's face a million times but, until now, I'd never noticed how deep the lines around her mouth were.
"Grand? You okay?" I put my hand on her shoulder. It felt like...it felt hard; like she'd been turned to a brittle stone, stiff yet fragile like just the weight of my hand might shatter her into a thousand pieces.
Before, I'd been uneasy.
Now I was scared.
Then, Grand handed me the phone without a word. She just looked up at me with an expression I could not decipher. Or maybe I didn't want to.
"Hello?" I was shouting into the phone and hadn't realized it. I lowered my voice. "Hello? Who is this?"
"Mr. Hopkins?"
"Mr. Hopkins is my dad," I said.
Grand put both hands over her face. I was glad I didn't have to look at her expression. Her shoulders started to tremble.
"Mr. Thomas Hopkins?" asked the voice in my ear, far off, impersonal.
"Yes. I'm Tommy—Thomas Hopkins."
"I'm afraid we have some bad news for you, sir. Mr. Spenser Hopkins..."
Suddenly I really, really didn't want to hear anything else. Not one more word. But, like Grand, I seemed to have turned to stone. I wanted—so badly—to hang up the phone, cut off the distant voice that suddenly sounded so sorry, like then whatever the man on the other end said could not, would not be true.
But I was frozen.
"My dad—Spenser Hopkins is my father. I'm his son," I said idiotically. "What's happened? What's wrong?"
"Sir...I'm afraid your father's dead."
The phone dropped from my hand, which had gone from frozen to boneless in a nanosecond. I fell to my knees, banging my shoulder on the edge of Grand's desk, and patted around on the carpet looking desperately for the handset. I couldn't see it, but I could hear a voice still coming from it; faint, distant, with just a word here and there I could make out: "landslide" and "crash" and, most horrible of all, two words together: "no hope."
No hope.
I gave up trying to find the phone and put my arms around Grand.
I think she cried.
I know I did.
***
I spent the rest of the day in a daze of pain mixed with grief and horror. Grand, I'm sure, felt something like what I did, but she held up better. I guess it was because she had to take care of Jos and Jax after we called them into Grand's room and told them what happened. The twins—well, they didn't know—hadn't known Dad as well as I did. As well as I had. Mom died when they were born and I'd always felt, somehow, Dad blamed the girls, just a little, for her death. It wasn't anything I'd ever mentioned to him or to them. Just a feeling I had.
They both seemed shocked and sad, but what do I know about eleven-year-old girls? Jos cried and hugged Grand, but Jax just got all kind of quiet and distant. I patted them both on the shoulder, kind of awkward about it, but I was hurting so bad. I didn't know what else to do.
Then, after the girls were told, Grand gathered the servants together and gave them the news. Brent and the maids were really nice; they'd been with us the longest. The chauffeur, Ray Lecroy, was a little stand-offish, but he'd only been with us a couple of months. I guess he was thinking something about what if he'd been with Dad, driving, when the landslide came down on Interstate 40 up in the mountains.
After Grand and I told the servants, I escaped to my room and locked the door. I got online and looked up the spot where the accident had happened. The news services were reporting it everywhere; seems Dad wasn't the only one who'd been caught in the landslide. I clicked and read and clicked and read until the words on the screen started to bleed together and got harder and harder to see.
Then I laid down on my bed and looked at the ceiling and wondered what would happen to us all. Thoughts chased themselves around my head when what I really wanted was to shut down and just sleep, just forget; but I couldn't. So I kept thinking of stuff, useless stuff, crazy stuff, anything to keep my mind off of the image of a big pile of dirt and rocks sitting on top of Dad.
Orphans. Me and the twins were orphans. I wasn't going to let Joselyn and Jacqueline go anywhere else; not my sisters. We all had to stay together. Grand would stay with us, I knew, and there was lots of money.
I guessed so anyway. I never asked Dad how much he made or how much he had or even, really, everything WFG Ltd. did. I knew from some research I did for a school essay. WFG was into alternative power, research hospitals, clinics and all sorts of other things. Multi-national conglomerate; the definition, I guess, of a company which did a lot of different things all over the world.
There was the rest of the Hopkins family. I had an uncle and an aunt on Dad's side. Uncle Clay—Esmund Claybourne Hopkins—was next to my Dad in age, and he had a son just a few months younger than me named Kinsey, called Kin, as well as twin boys who were about my sisters' age. I couldn't remember what the twins' names were, but I was pretty sure Uncle Clay's wife was dead. Our paths hadn't crossed much in the last couple of years.
Dad's sister was named Emily, and she was married to a guy named Charlie Franklin. They lived in Australia with all their kids—seven, last I heard—on a big sheep ranch. I think they call them sheep stations down under. We'd visited a few years back; rode horses and stuff. Fun.
I wondered if anything would ever be fun after this.
A knock at the door.
I ignored it.
"Tommy?" Grand called. "Tommy, we need to talk. I've got some things I need to tell you."
"I really don't feel like it right now, Grand."
"I'm sorry. Neither do I. But this is important."
I sat up on the bed and my head started swimming. Not surprising. I couldn't remember the last time I ate, and I saw by my bedside clock it was almost midnight. I stumbled to the door and unlocked it. Grand almost drifted inside, like she had lost about a hundred pounds in the last few hours and was about to float away. I had a sudden impulse to grab her and hold her down, before I lost her too.
I did take her arm and lead her to the biggest chair in my room, the one near the window seat. I settled her into it before sitting on the floor in front of her with one leg bent up and the other twisted under me.
I waited while she wiped her eyes with a handkerchief.
Then she did it again.
"What is it, Grand?" I asked after a little.
Grand leaned toward me.
"Tommy, your Uncle Clay is on his way."
I nodded. "Okay. What about Aunt Emily?"
Grand looked confused for a minute, like she'd forgotten she even had a daughter, much less one named Emily
. Then she shook her head.
"No, Tommy, Clay's not coming because of your father's death." She gave a funny, hollow little laugh. "Well, yes; because of your father's death, certainly. But this isn't the gathering of the clan for the funeral or whatever the original Hopkins did when one of their own died. This is business. The family business."
"I get it," I said, even though I didn't. "Uncle Clay is something or other in WFG and he's coming here to take care of some business stuff, right?"
"Not exactly." Grand wiped her eyes again. Her handkerchief looked like she'd used it to wipe up a spilled cup of water, it was so wet. "Tommy, what did Spenser," she stopped and sniffed hard, then continued, "what did your father ever tell you about WFG?"
"Not very much, Grand. Oh, I've looked WFG up and I did a report on it in ninth grade, so I'm not a complete dummy about Dad's company. Why?"
"Tommy," said Grand, all kind of solemn, "you're the next in line. You're going to take over the company now. Remember: There's always a Matthew Hopkins in charge of WFG Ltd."
"Whoa! Wait a minute, Grand!" I slid back, like she was threatening me with a knife or something. "I'm still in high school, remember. Heck, I won't even be eighteen for five more months. How can I attend board meetings and, and..."
I stopped, mostly because I wasn't really sure what Dad did, or what any director of a company did, for that matter.
Grand was shaking her head, slow, back and forth.
"I tried talking to...your father, many times. I told him you needed to know more, that it wasn't fair to you to keep you in the dark about WFG. He kept saying, 'There's plenty of time' and changing the subject. I should have made him. I should have put my foot down and insisted. But he...you know how much he suffered when he lost your mother, Tommy. But you don't know everything. He—he almost went insane from the shock, the pain." Grand wiped her eyes again and I scrambled up to find her a fresh handkerchief. When I sat back down, she continued, "He loved her so much, Tommy, so much. And, I think, in many ways...he blamed himself for her death."
"But, she died, I mean, when the twins were born," I protested. "I don't know the, uh, medical stuff, but I know Dad. Mom would have had the best medical care in the world."
"She did," Grand nodded. "I think it was more Spenser felt WFG took too much of his time, time he could have spent with her...and his children. So, after her death, he went a little...crazy. Oh, not locked-up-in-a-mental-ward crazy, I don't mean that. It was like he hated the company, but he felt tied to it. He wanted, he kept searching for, options, for other alternatives, but the history of the Hopkins family was too strong. He had to continue as director; he had no other choice. And he knew that, eventually, you would have to do the same. But he didn't want you to know...things. And now, to find out this way. It's just not fair; it's not fair to you at all, Tommy."
"Grand, you're scaring me a little." I laughed, to show I didn't mean it, but I did, kind of. "Okay, I'll be on the WFG board and sign some papers and wear a suit to a couple of meetings. Then someone else can take over. No big deal." Then I remembered what Grand had said at first and felt a little better. "Uncle Clay! That's why he's coming, right? To take over WFG?"
"Tommy, dear," Grand said, "what does WFG stand for?"
"Way Fantastic Gigantic?" I asked, trying to cheer her up.
Or maybe myself.
"No, Tommy." Grand reached out and took my head between her two hands; they were cold, so cold, so I put mine on top of hers. "You know very well, Tommy, WFG stands for Witch Finder General."
I laughed. "Grand, sure I know that. I did a report, remember? It's a cool name, I'll grant you, but it doesn't mean anything."
Grand shook her head. "But it does, Tommy. It does. Witch Finder General. That's what WFG does; they find witches. Find them, capture them, drain their power into lodestones, and then sell the stone."
"Grand, listen, I'm almost eighteen," I said, and for what seemed like the first time in my life, I was almost angry at my grandmother. "Those are fairy tales. WFG deals in energy, sure. But the company certainly doesn't get it from witches. That's just not possible."
Grand shook her head slowly back and forth, but all she said was, "I told Spenser. I told him. And now it's too late."
Chapter Five
Anya
The dancing flames made the world a prettier place. All the lines were blurred, brightened.
But I was melting.
For only a second, I wondered why the people gathered around to watch looked as if they were the ones who were melting instead of me. That second passed as I pressed back against the rough wood holding me upright and prepared myself for death.
I refused to show them any sign of my fear. But I hoped they couldn't see me well through the flames. That they wouldn't notice how white my face had gone against the fire encircling me now.
"Annie!
A voice broke through that I would recognize anywhere, though I'd only heard it for the first time that day.
Tommy...
That's when I started screaming. Not for him to save me. It was too late; I knew I was going to die. A part of me almost wished for it. No, I didn't want him to save me. I wanted him to stay back. To keep away from the flames sure to engulf him if he came any closer.
I could see him as clearly as I had earlier in the day. His blonde hair disheveled; his face flushed from running.
Running. That's what he was doing now. Running straight toward me. Toward the fire.
The curious thing was the cord wrapped around his chest, a cord sparkling in the light of the flames. A thick shining silver cord, stronger than any chain. And I recognized it. I followed the length of it and groaned as I saw where the other end was leading him.
The other end was tied around me. Not to hold me to the wood, but separate from the other restraints.
"Damn it, Tommy! Let it burn! Let me burn! Don't let them get you too!"
The words melded into screams again as I warned him away from the funeral pyre. Crying out for him to stop, telling him the flames weren't hurting me as much as they would hurt him.
My screams cut off as he closed the distance between us, crushing his lips against mine. It was then the world disappeared and I forgot everything. The flames, the fear for him; even the audience of melting people watching the destruction of something they could never understand.
***
I woke up gasping against the scent of smoke that seemed to slip through the thin veil keeping dreams separate from reality. The pale blue numbers on my bedside clock announced I was running late. I got up, rushed to straighten the room before starting on myself.
The bruises were already starting to fade but I threw on a long sleeve shirt to hide them. The mirror told me all was decent, but I froze before I could turn away.
Tommy was there. Behind me. His eyes filled with a sadness I couldn't comprehend.
"Tommy?"
I leaned forward to the glass and the image it captured. He seemed to watch me as I studied him in turn, taking in the details I hadn't seen yesterday.
The thick blonde of his hair contrasted against the light bronze of his skin. His long arms were wrapped around his chest as if to hold onto something precious. I wondered if something had happened to make him seem so fragile despite the strong athletic build and a frame much taller than I.
I continued to examine the image until I could no longer avoid looking at his face. The look of utter defeat clouding his blue eyes echoed across to my own the moment I saw it.
I smiled sadly at him.
"It's gonna be okay, Tommy."
I knew if I turned, he would vanish as quickly as he had appeared. So I held my place for as long as I could stand the look in his eyes. It wasn't long.
My first response was a desire to run down the hall and grab Evie so she could tell me I was going crazy. That the image of a person couldn't appear behind me, reflected in a mirror, when there was no one there. But I knew what I wanted would never happen. She would praise m
e for such a premonition, claiming it was a sign from the Goddess instead of the shattered remains of a dream best forgotten.
That damned dream...
I tried to explain it away as a product of Jordan's threats the day before. That my mind was taking the event and turning it into more than it was. The problem was I knew better. I knew what the cord in my dream meant for Tommy. I knew what it meant for me.
The magic in my thoughts and words the night before had become a reality. I had bound him to me, bound him though no circle had been cast nor any herbs burned. I tried to push the thought away, until anxiety took hold of my throat and closed it.
Oh Goddess...what have I done?
I knew I should stay away from him until I could figure out how to undo the magic which had been cast. But I didn't know if I could do it. My treacherous heart told me not to do anything in haste. Wait, see how he reacted before confirming the magic was working.
If he wants anything to do with me in the first place...
***
The first thing I noticed when I reached the classroom was the somber mood everyone was in. The whispers around me explained why Tommy's seat was empty.
Spenser Hopkins, the patriarch the town had depended on to make the depression go away, was dead. The newspapers carried the story of a landslide. His journey here had become a trip he would never return from and, with his loss, perhaps, the hopes of what WFG Ltd. could have done for the small town of Manning were also gone.
I remembered Tommy's face in my mirror this morning. Or at least the sadness in it.
Anger hit then as I looked at the faces of those who were mourning the loss of the man who had come to save them. They didn't care it was Tommy's father, the same boy they had all fallen over just the day before.
It's all about the money. That's what they want. It didn't matter who gives it to them. Just as long as it happens...
A selfish fear threatened to overcome the anger, and I wondered if I was any better than they were as the questions taunted me.
