by L. J. Smith
The officer turned. “Why don’t you go sit in the car?” she said gently.
Sylvia nodded. She looked fragile and sad as she walked down the path toward the squad car. It was a beautiful exit, Maggie thought. You could practically hear the theme music swelling.
But Maggie was the only one with the chance to appreciate it. She was the only one watching as Sylvia reached the car…and paused.
And then turned away from it and continued on down the street.
And the end credits run, Maggie thought.
Then she thought, she’s going to her apartment.
Maggie stood frozen, pulled in two directions.
She wanted to stay and help her mother. But something inside her was utterly furious and focused and it was screaming at her to follow Sylvia.
Instinct had always been Maggie’s strong point.
She hung there for a moment, with her heart pounding so hard that it seemed to be coming out of her mouth. Then she ducked her head and clenched her fists.
It was a gesture the girls on her soccer team would have recognized. It meant that Steely Neely had made up her mind and was going to rush in where smarter people feared to tread. Look out, world; it’s stomping time.
Maggie whirled and dashed back down the hall into her bedroom.
She slapped the light switch on and looked around as if she’d never seen the place before. What did she need—and why did she always keep it so messy? How could she find things?
She kicked and pulled at a pile of bath towels until a pair of high-top tennis shoes emerged, then she jammed her feet in them. There was no time to change her pajama top. She snatched a dark blue jacket off the floor and found herself, just for a moment, nose to nose with a photograph stuck into the frame of her mirror.
A picture of Miles, on the summit of Mount Rainier. He was grinning and giving the thumbs-up sign. His hat was off and his auburn hair was shining in the sun like red gold. He looked handsome and a little wicked.
Scrawled in black marker across white snow was “For the bossiest, nosiest, stubbornest, BEST little sister in the world. Love, Miles.”
With no idea why she was doing it, Maggie pulled the picture out of the mirror. She shoved it in her jacket pocket and ran back down the hall.
Everyone was gathered around the couch, now. Even Jake was nosing his way in. Maggie couldn’t see her mother, but the lack of frantic activity told her that there wasn’t any crisis going on. Everyone seemed quiet and restrained.
It’ll just take a few minutes. It’s better for me not to tell them anything until I’m sure. I’ll probably be back before they even realize I’m gone.
With that jumble of excuses in her mind, she slipped out the front door to follow Sylvia.
CHAPTER 3
It was raining, of course. Not a terrible storm, just a steady spitting patter that Maggie hardly noticed. It plastered her hair down but it also concealed the noise of her steps.
And the low-lying clouds blocked out Mount Rainier. In clear weather the mountain loomed over the city like an avenging white angel.
I’m actually following somebody, Maggie thought. She could hardly believe it, but she was really moving down her own home street like a spy, skirting cars and ducking behind rhododendron bushes.
While all the time keeping her eyes on the slender figure in front of her.
That was what kept her going. She might have felt silly and almost embarrassed to be doing this—but not tonight. What had happened put her far beyond embarrassment, and if she started to relax inside and feel the faint pricklings of uncertainty, memory surged up again and swept everything else away.
The memory of Sylvia’s voice. The buckle might not have been fastened right. And the memory of her mother’s hand going limp as her body sagged.
I’ll follow you no matter where you go, Maggie thought. And then…
She didn’t know what then. She was trusting to instinct, letting it guide her. It was stronger and smarter than she was at the moment.
Sylvia’s apartment was in the U district, the college area around the University of Washington. It was a long walk, and by the time they reached it, the rain was coming down harder. Maggie was glad to get out of it and follow Sylvia into the underground garage.
This is a dangerous place, she thought as she walked into the echoing darkness. But it was simply a note made by her mind, with no emotion attached. At the moment she felt as if she could punch a mugger hard enough to splatter him against the wall.
She kept a safe distance as Sylvia waited for the elevator, then headed for the stairs. Third floor. Maggie trotted up faster than the elevator could make it and arrived not even breathing hard. The door of the stairwell was half open and she watched from behind it as Sylvia walked to an apartment door and raised a hand to knock.
Before she could, the door opened. A boy who looked a little older than Maggie was holding it, letting a couple of laughing girls out. Music drifted to Maggie, and the smell of incense.
They’re having a party in there.
That shouldn’t be so shocking—it was Saturday night. Sylvia lived with three roommates; they were undoubtedly the ones having the party. But as the girls walked past Sylvia they smiled and nodded and Sylvia smiled and nodded back before walking calmly through the door.
Hardly the sort of thing you do when your boyfriend’s just been killed, Maggie thought fiercely. And it doesn’t exactly fit the “tragic heroine” act, either.
Then she noticed something. When the boy holding the door let go, it had swung almost shut—but not quite.
Can I do it? Maybe. If I look confident. I’d have to walk right in as if I belonged, not hesitate.
And hope she doesn’t notice. Then get behind her. See if she talks to anybody, what she says…
The laughing girls had caught the elevator. Maggie walked straight up to the door and, without pausing, she pushed it open and went inside.
Look confident, she thought, and she kept on going, instinctively moving toward a side wall. Her entry didn’t seem to have caused a stir, and it was easier than she’d thought to walk in among these strangers. The apartment was very dark, for one thing. And the music was medium loud, and everybody seemed to be talking.
The only problem was that she couldn’t see Sylvia. She put her back to the wall and waited for her eyes to adjust.
Not over there—not by the stereo. Probably in one of the bedrooms in back, changing.
It was as she moved toward the little hallway that led to the bedrooms that Maggie really noticed the strangeness. Something about this apartment, about this party…was off. Weird. It gave her the same feeling that Sylvia did.
Danger.
This place is dangerous.
Everybody there was so good-looking—or else ugly in a really fashionable way, as if they’d just stepped off MTV. But there was an air about them that reminded Maggie of the sharks at the Seattle Aquarium. A coldness that couldn’t be seen, only sensed.
There is something so wrong here. Are they all drug dealers or something? Satanists? Some kind of junior mafia? They just feel so evil….
Maggie herself felt like a cat with all its fur standing on end.
When she heard a girl’s voice coming from the first bedroom, she froze, hoping it was Sylvia.
“Really, the most secret place you’ve ever imagined.” It wasn’t Sylvia. Maggie could just see the speaker through the crack in the door. She was pale and beautiful, with one long black braid, and she was leaning forward and lightly touching the back of a boy’s hand.
“So exotic, so mysterious—it’s a place from the past, you see. It’s ancient, and everybody’s forgotten about it, but it’s still there. Of course, it’s terribly dangerous—but not for us.…”
Not relevant, Maggie’s mind decided, and she stopped listening. Somebody’s weird vacation plans; nothing to do with Sylvia or Miles.
She kept on edging down the hall. The door at the end was shut.
Sylvia
’s bedroom.
Well, she has to be in there; she isn’t anywhere else.
With a surreptitious glance behind her, Maggie crept closer to the door. She leaned toward it until her cheek touched the cool white paint on the wood, all the while straining her eyes toward the living room in case somebody should turn her way. She held her breath and tried to look casual, but her heart was beating so loudly that she could only hear it and the music.
Certainly there was nobody talking behind the door. Maggie’s hopes of eavesdropping faded.
All right, then, I’ll go in. And there’s no point in trying to be stealthy; she’s going to notice.
So I’ll just do it.
It helped that she was so keyed up. She didn’t even need to brace herself; her body was at maximum tension already. Despite her sense that there was something menacing about this whole place, she wasn’t frightened, or at least not in a way that felt like fear. It felt like rage instead, like being desperately ready for battle. She wanted to grab something and shake it to pieces.
She took hold of the knob and pushed the door open.
A new smell of incense hit her as the air rushed out. It was stronger than the living room smell, more earthy and musky, with an overlying sweetness that Maggie didn’t like. The bedroom was even darker than the hall, but Maggie stepped inside. There was tension on the door somehow; as soon as she let go of it, it whispered shut behind her.
Sylvia was standing beside the desk.
She was alone, and she was still wearing the Gore-Tex climbing outfit she’d had on at Maggie’s house. Her shimmering fine hair was starting to dry and lifting up like little angel feathers away from her forehead.
She was doing something with a brass incense burner, adding pinches of powder and what looked like herbs to it. That was where the sickeningly sweet smell was coming from.
Maggie had planned—as far as she’d planned anything at all—to rush right up and get in Sylvia’s face. To startle her into some kind of confession. She was going to say, “I need to talk to you.” But before she could get the first word out, Sylvia spoke without looking up.
“What a shame. You really should have stayed home with your parents, you know.” Her voice was cool and languorous, not hasty and certainly not regretful.
Maggie stopped in her tracks.
Now, what’s that supposed to mean? Is it a threat? Fine. Whatever. I can threaten, too.
But she was taken by surprise, and she had to swallow hard before speaking roughly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but at least you’ve dropped the weepy-weepy act. You were really bad at it.”
“I thought I was very good,” Sylvia said and added a pinch of something to the incense burner. “I’m sure the officers thought so, too.”
Once again, Maggie was startled. This wasn’t going at all as she expected. Sylvia was so calm, so much at ease. So much in control of the situation.
Not anymore, Maggie thought.
She just admitted it was an act. All that chokey stuff while she was talking about Miles…
Fury uncoiled in Maggie’s stomach like a snake.
She took three fast steps forward. “You know why I’m here. I want to know what really happened to my brother.”
“I told you—”
“You told a bunch of lies! I don’t know what the truth is. The only thing I do know is that Miles would never make a stupid mistake like not buckling his harness. Look, if you did something dumb—if he’s lying out there hurt or something, and you were too scared to admit it—you’d better tell me right now.” It was the first time she’d put into words a reason for Sylvia to be lying.
Sylvia looked up.
Maggie was startled. In the light of the single candle by the incense burner, Sylvia’s eyes were not violet but a more reddish color, like amethyst. They were large and clear and the light seemed to play in them, quivering.
“Is that what you think happened?” Sylvia asked softly.
“I said, I don’t know what happened!” Maggie felt dizzy suddenly, and fought it, glaring into Sylvia’s strange eyes. “Maybe you had a fight or something. Maybe you’ve got some other boyfriend. Maybe you weren’t even out climbing on Halloween in the first place. All I know is that you lied and that there’s no body to find. And I want to know the truth!”
Sylvia looked back steadily, the candlelight dancing in her purple eyes. “You know what your brother told me about you?” she asked musingly. “Two things. The first was that you never gave up. He said, ‘Maggie’s no rocket scientist, but once she gets hold of something she’s just like a little bull terrier.’ And the second was that you were a complete sucker for anybody in trouble. A real bleeding heart.”
She added a few fingernail-sized chips of smooth bark to the mixture that was smoking in the incense burner.
“Which is too bad,” she went on thoughtfully. “Strong-willed and compassionate: that’s a real recipe for disaster.”
Maggie had had it.
“What happened to Miles? What did you do to him?”
Sylvia laughed, a little secret laugh. “I’m afraid you couldn’t guess if you spent the rest of your short life trying.” She shook her head. “It was too bad, actually. I liked him. We could have been good together.”
Maggie wanted to know one thing. “Is he dead?”
“I told you, you’ll never find out. Not even when you go where you’re going.”
Maggie stared at her, trying to make sense of this. She couldn’t. When she spoke it was in a level voice, staring into Sylvia’s eyes.
“I don’t know what your problem is—maybe you’re crazy or something. But I’m telling you right now, if you’ve done anything to my brother, I am going to kill you.”
She’d never said anything like this before, but now it came out quite naturally, with force and conviction. She was so angry that all she could see was Sylvia’s face. Her stomach was knotted and she actually felt a burning in her middle, as if there were a glowing fire there.
“Now,” she said, “are you going to tell me what happened to him?”
Sylvia sighed, spoke quietly. “No.”
Before Maggie quite knew she was doing it, she had reached out and grabbed the front of Sylvia’s green Gore-Tex jacket with both hands.
Something sparked in Sylvia’s eyes. For a moment, she looked startled and interested and grudgingly respectful. Then she sighed again, smiling faintly.
“And now you’re going to kill me?”
“Listen, you…” Maggie leaned in. She stopped.
“Listen to what?”
Maggie blinked. Her eyes were stinging suddenly. The smoke from the incense burner was rising directly into her face.
“You…”
I feel strange, Maggie thought.
Very strange. Dizzy. It seemed to come over her all at once. There was a pattern of flashing gray spreading across her vision. Her stomach heaved and she felt a wave of queasiness.
“Having a problem?” Sylvia’s voice seemed to come from far away.
The incense.
It was rising right in her face. And now…
“What did you do to me?” Maggie gasped. She reeled backward, away from the smoke, but it was too late. Her knees were horribly rubbery. Her body seemed to be far away somehow, and the sparkling pattern blinded her completely.
She felt the back of her legs come up against a bed. Then they simply weren’t supporting her anymore; she was slithering down, unable to catch herself with her useless arms. Her lips were numb.
“You know, for a moment there, I thought I might be in trouble,” Sylvia’s voice was saying calmly. “But I was wrong. The truth is that you’re just an ordinary girl, after all. Weak and powerless—and ordinary. How could you even think about going up against me? Against my people?”
Am I dying? Maggie wondered. I’m losing myself. I can’t see and I can’t move….
“How could you come here and attack me? How could you think you had a chance at
winning?” Even Sylvia’s voice seemed to be getting more and more distant. “You’re pathetic. But now you’ll find out what happens when you mess with real power. You’ll learn….”
The voice was gone. There was only a rushing noise in an endless blackness.
Miles, Maggie thought. I’m sorry….
Then she stopped thinking at all.
CHAPTER 4
Maggie was dreaming. She knew she was dreaming, and that was strange enough, but what was even stranger was the fact that she knew it wasn’t an ordinary dream.
This was something…that came from outside her, that was being…sent. Some deep part of her mind fumbled for the proper words, seething with frustration, even while the normal part of her was busy staring around her and being afraid.
Mist. Mist everywhere, white tendrils that snaked gracefully across her vision and coiled around her like genii that had just been let out of lamps. She had the feeling that there were dark shapes out in the mist; she seemed to see them looming out of the corner of her eye, but as soon as she turned they were obscured again.
Gooseflesh rose on Maggie’s arms. It wasn’t just the touch of the mist. There was a noise that made the hairs on the back of her neck tingle. It was just at the threshold of hearing, distorted by distance or something else, and it seemed to be calling over and over again, “Who are you?”
Give me a break, Maggie thought. She shook her head hard to get rid of the prickly feeling on her neck. This is just way too…too Gothic. Do I always have corny dreams like this?
But the next moment something happened that sent a new chill washing over her, this time one of simple, everyday alarm. Something was coming through the mist, fast.
She turned, stiffening. And then, strangely, everything seemed to change at once.
The mist began to recede. She saw a figure, dark against it, nothing more than a silhouette at first. For just an instant she thought of Miles—but the thought was gone almost as quickly as it came. It was a boy, but a stranger, she could tell by the shape of him and the way he moved. He was breathing hard and calling in a desperate voice, “Where are you? Where are you?”
