This time, he knew it was useless to hide the emotion behind the question. Otto stared at him for some time before finally breaking into a wide smile, and then an easy laugh.
“Teenaged boys and their hormones,” the man said, chuckling calmly. “Skip, I can’t let that girl die. I need her to live. And I have no use for causing her pain.”
Skip let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. His father held out a hand.
“Come on, son. We’ve got work to do. Together.”
Together. For the first time since Mexico, Skip felt his spirits rise. He took his father’s hand.
Months later, Skip was alone again, in the sewer chamber where everything smelled like shit. Which made perfect sense, since that was where his father’s plans had gone.
His fingers pressed against his T-shirt, where he could feel the stitches in his chest from Otto’s poisonous strike. That had been what the entire year had built to—when Skip saw his father try to hurt Jennifer and Jonathan Scales, he tried to stop him. The old arachnid had gotten so angry he had not held back the blow meant for Jennifer after Skip got in the way. Skip remembered nothing else of that day.
He came here directly from the hospital, one night after that confrontation, to find there wasn’t much left to see. Otto Saltin’s body was gone, though it was obvious where he had died. Dozens of snake and spider corpses littered the floor. He stared at the stones stained with his father’s blood, and found he felt nothing. He was neither sad nor glad. After months of living with the guy, Skip was sure his father was obsessive, misguided, and borderline insane.
Then it’s good that he’s dead. He tried to hurt Jennifer and kill her dad. He ended up almost killing me. So who killed him?
He wished he knew. Not for the sake of revenge, or extracting an apology. Only because he was tired of having parents disappear without explanation.
His only recourse was to ask Jennifer what had happened, since she’d presumably witnessed those events. He was working up the strength to do that, but didn’t know if he could.
I’ve already done enough to drive her away. I can’t ask a question like that. Not after what she’s been through. In fact, he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to see Jennifer again. He didn’t know why the girl had bothered saving him—someone had brought him out of the sewers and to the hospital, after all. It must have been her. She’d helped him, after his treachery. How on earth could he possibly face her?
Don’t let it slip away. When you find it, hang on to it.
“Mom?” He could have sworn her voice echoed through the chamber, not in his head.
He explored where he thought the sound had originated and saw a familiar object. It did not sparkle or reflect light; he saw it clearly all the same. He walked over and picked up the wooden necklace his mother had left for him in Villahermosa. His fingers slid over the centerpiece. The Moon of Falling Leaves, he had discovered, represented change. It was the Sioux name for the period of time around midautumn, when the green world thought of sleep, and leaves turned colors and separated, and animals left their homes for warmer climates.
Not sure if he wanted to kiss the necklace or crush it, he stuffed it in his jeans pocket.
He noticed as he did so that a black smudge—perhaps a charred bit of snake, or the grime from his surroundings—transferred from his thumb to his belt. He didn’t make much of it, until it did something unexpected. Cocking his head, he looked more closely at it. Then his eyes widened, and he rubbed them to be sure. This time, the voice he heard was his own.
Don’t let it slip away.
CHAPTER 10
Addition
“What interesting news, my dear Skip!”
Tavia Saltin was a different creature from her late brother. On one hand, she didn’t leap into horrible temper tantrums, and didn’t plot endlessly. On the other hand, she had unnerving habits like her excessive friendliness and her romance with Skip’s teacher. Edmund Slider had recently moved to Winoka, as Dianna Wilson had wished.
Edmund sat next to his girlfriend in the living room of the Saltin house. His bronzed hand ran through his blond strands while she thoughtfully ran her maroon fingernails through her own dark locks. Skip watched them both with a mixture of anticipation and irritation.
No conversation with these people, he reflected, is ever normal. Why can’t we talk about what’s for dinner? Or what I’m learning at school today? Scratch that. Slider already knows . . .
Of course, normal conversations were not possible, when faced with the news he had just shared with the two of them.
“So Dianna had a child before Skip.” Edmund turned to Tavia and raised his eyebrows.
Tavia almost seemed insulted. “I wonder why she never told us.”
“It might have something to do with the fact that your brother wasn’t the father.” Skip returned Edmund’s ironic smile. Of all the adults he had known since his mother left, Edmund Slider felt the most genuine. The man, restricted to a wheelchair, acted as though he had walked the world—which he had, for all Skip knew. He taught the way Dianna Wilson had taught—with enthusiasm and true interest in what the student had to say. During their independent study time, Slider taught Skip about more than extra dimensions and matrix algebra. He taught him about lost times past, the influence of arachnids on music and art, their contributions to architecture and physics, and above all their hopes for the future—a future, Slider promised, without persecution for who they were.
Tavia ignored her boyfriend’s barb and waved her hand dismissively. “Whatever her reasons, it doesn’t matter. She was too busy traveling the world to give the rest of us a second thought. I know you miss her, Skip. But honestly, who raises a child like that?”
“I didn’t mind,” Skip said. He felt the hairs on the back of his head go up. “I learned a lot. And I liked being with her. She was great.”
Belatedly, Tavia recognized she might have insulted Skip. “Of course she was, dear. Had she not badly misjudged that Mayan portal down in Palenque, she might be here today, showing us what a wonderful mother she was.”
Skip heard no sarcasm in his aunt’s voice. “So she died trying to reach her first child?”
Edmund coughed. “Well, Skip, she certainly disappeared. No one’s heard from her since your father brought you back from Mexico. Still, I wouldn’t put anything past Dianna Wilson.”
Skip ground his teeth and tried hard not to yell at these adults. This was so frustrating, this not knowing. Was his mother dead or alive? Here in this world, or lost in another? Sure, Edmund and Tavia seemed to care, but it was a distant care, the way many people care about people in faraway countries after a famine or a tsunami.
“How powerful do you suppose Evangelos is?” Tavia asked Edmund excitedly.
The man shrugged. “Jonathan Scales is a formidable dragon, they say. We all know Dianna Wilson had astonishing powers. A child of those parents would be . . . extraordinary.”
“Perhaps the Quadrivium could use—”
Slider raised his hand to interrupt her. It was the least polite thing Skip had ever seen this man do. “The Quadrivium has all the power it needs, dear. And that’s all you need to know.”
Skip experienced a short flash of irritation, recalling how upset Jennifer Scales got at her family for keeping secrets. Tavia, on the other hand, switched gears smoothly. “So what do we do with Evangelos? If he’s not helpful, perhaps someone should remove him.”
Edmund smiled again. “I think someone will. Not us. Do you honestly believe this city is going to sit back and allow a dragon-arachnid hybrid to live? Why, I can hear Glorianna Seabright’s head exploding as we speak. Winoka’s beaststalkers will handle Evangelos.”
“The Scaleses are going to try to figure out more about him,” Skip offered. “I was thinking I might help them. I mean, if he’s my half-brother, then—”
“I advise against that.” Slider’s apologetic smile softened the interruption.
“Perhaps the boy sh
ould try?” Tavia’s voice rang with enthusiasm. “Edmund, you know how close Skip is to his first change. It may be this coming crescent moon, or the next. Once he has come into his own, think of the things he’ll be able to do!”
“What do you mean, the things I’ll be able to do?” While his mother had vaguely suggested he might be special, this was the first time Aunt Tavia had mentioned the possibility.
“In my work with music therapy,” she explained, “I’ve developed a talent of sorts, a way to hear of things that are about to happen. Most futures carry a certain song. Some songs I can understand, and others I cannot.”
“If you can’t tell what some songs are, aren’t you really just humming to yourself?”
Tavia smiled at Skip’s sarcasm. “It’s true. I wish I had sharper perception at times. It would have been nice to understand the song that warned me against the dangerous paths Otto was taking. At other times, I’ve done all right. For example, I saw my friendship with Edmund Slider deepen to love months before it happened. I can still hear the song.” Skip shifted in his seat as the two of them shared a brief look, and then she continued. “There is a song about the young people in your generation that sounds unlike any I’ve heard before.”
“Jennifer Scales,” Skip guessed.
Her face did not darken, though it did twist a little. “Jennifer Scales is part of the song I hear. She is not the melody. Something—someone—else carries that. I don’t know for sure who it is. But I think, dear nephew, that it’s you.”
“What makes you think that?”
She closed her eyes. “When you’re next to me, I don’t just hear the song. I see it.”
“You’ve lost me again. You can see the future?”
Without opening her lids, she twisted a corner of her mouth. “That’s not what I said. I said I see the song. What is building inside of you, Skip . . . it’s powerful. Powerful beyond anything I’ve seen before. Think about it, Edmund . . . Skip and Evangelos as brothers united . . . together with the power of the Quadrivium!”
Slider did think about it. What he said next surprised Skip. “Tavia, dear. Could you give us some time to talk?”
More bemused than insulted, Tavia slapped her knees and stood up. “I’ll be upstairs. Don’t plot too far into the night, boys.”
Once they heard the last of her footsteps on the stairs, Slider moved his wheelchair closer to where Skip sat. Then he leaned in until his blond bangs were nearly dangling in Skip’s face.
“I can see Evangelos is important to you.”
Skip didn’t answer.
“I’m not your parent or your guardian. I’m a teacher who happens to be dating your aunt. I can teach you advanced mathematics, but I can’t tell you what to do. That said, I’m asking you to hold off on any plan to contact Evangelos until I can reach your mother.”
A thrill coursed through Skip’s limbs. Had he heard what he thought—
Slider raised a hand. “It’s hard to explain. Your mother’s not dead, and she’s not completely alive either. Where she is, like where Evangelos ended up, is the result of an accident. She is nevertheless part of the Quadrivium.”
“So you can reach her? Can I see her?”
“It’s not like that, Skip. Reaching her for conversation is difficult. Seeing her, for now, is impossible. Our plan should change all of that.”
“When will it happen?”
“About another month. This sorcery is not an easy one. Science and space, history and time, all must come together, just so.” He grabbed Skip’s arm. “The Quadrivium,” he stressed, “is a highly secretive, incredibly powerful group. You have to swear to me, Skip, that you will not repeat what I am telling you to anyone. Even if you have feelings for them.” Skip knew what he meant: Not even Jennifer Scales.
Skip gulped. “I understand.”
“Sometimes, I wonder if I should have mentioned the Quadrivium at all to your aunt. I trust her, but she has a natural curiosity. The more she knows, the more she asks.”
“Does Tavia know what you’ve been telling me?”
“No. She assumes I’m one of them, and she knows nothing else. She thinks Dianna is dead. She may learn otherwise, after the deed is done. For now, you and I are the only two on this earth who will know all of this.”
Am I ready for this? Skip asked himself. There was no way he couldn’t be. He leaned in until he could feel Slider’s breath on his cheek.
That was the day he learned who was in the Quadrivium, and their plan to shift history. He learned about his mother’s hope to see him again, a father on the cusp of resurrection, and a girl named Andeana lost in a universe that didn’t exist yet. He learned Slider, though hobbled, had sorcery left in him—enough to pull these other three through the eye of a space-time needle.
He also learned about Crescent Valley, a dimensional refuge no arachnid could find, and which threatened to undo all they hoped to do. Finally and worst of all, he learned he would have to deceive Jennifer Scales one more time, if the Quadrivium was going to succeed.
No matter how many video games, television channels, or how much freedom you were given to surf the Internet . . . at 3:30 A.M., there was nothing Skip really wanted to do. Except draw.
He rubbed his gritty, sore eyes and bent over his sketch pad again. Although he knew it wasn’t true, at this time of the night—early morning, rather—he felt like he was the only person on the planet who was awake. Since the day his mom had tranquilized him in Mexico, he’d been unable to fall asleep. The first year with his father, he’d spent the wee hours reading, surfing the Internet, and listening to music. He’d watched all his dad’s movies (including a few rather adult ones) four or five times. He’d written a few short stories, mainly about young men who overcame incredible odds to get the girl and save the day.
Then, in the sewer where his father had died, he’d seen the smudge of ash twist. He hadn’t known what it had meant right away, but he did know that a mark he had made had moved, without any help from anything else. That made him want to make more marks, and see if they moved. And so he did. And they did.
Now he spent his sleepless nights practicing his drawing. It was so satisfying, he almost didn’t mind the useless, frustrating exhaustion he felt every morning on the way to school.
He flipped to a fresh page in his pad, resharpened the pencil, and sketched a thumb-sized daddy longlegs. Then he set the pencil down on his desk and stared fixedly at the image.
After a few long minutes, it began to walk across the paper. It waved a leg at him. It tried to stand on its head, and flopped over; Skip grinned. The creature—all his drawings—stayed in two dimensions, and it would fade after a minute or two.
Still, making drawings come to life . . . That was pretty neat. In a world of sorcery, he had a talent kids would pray for. Would kill for. And it was his alone: Nobody, not even Edmund or Tavia, knew his secret. He could keep it to himself . . . or share it, maybe, with Jennifer Scales.
He picked up the pencil, drew a fat tarantula, and thought about the beautiful girl at the Halloween dance earlier that evening. He grinned a little, recalling her expression when he’d shown up dressed as a dragon. It was fun to yank her chain. He was falling for her. He believed his mother would approve.
Once the Quadrivium succeeded, he and Jennifer could be happy together. Yes, it would require a small deception on his part—and a substantial sacrifice. Edmund had put it clearly: Skip could bring Jennifer into this universe, and sacrifice himself through hobbling. Or he could leave her behind, and become an arachnid.
The choice had not been that difficult, not least because of Edmund Slider himself. Hadn’t this man shown Skip how rich life could be, even after being hobbled? Hadn’t he, together with Aunt Tavia, shown him the power of love? Wasn’t that worth sacrifice?
He knew Jennifer would be upset at first, when she saw how the world changed. Eventually she would grow to understand. She would sacrifice, too, for him.
His grin widened and he
sketched a black widow spider, carefully shading in the hourglass on her thorax. He whistled softly under his breath. His mother’s voice echoed.
You will fall in love, too . . . When you find it, hang on to it . . .
Skip didn’t intend to disregard Slider’s advice. He just decided to learn more about his sibling for Jennifer’s sake; and he never thought he’d actually run into anything.
At the time, he was tracking multiple suspects for the identity of Evangelos. He was navigating the oaks and maples deep behind the Oak Valley apartment complex, having been through the hospital and checking into the pasts of new names in town like Rune Whisper, Martin Stowe, and Angus Cheron.
He sniffed and wiped his nose, taking in the scent of rotting autumn leaves. It reminded him of a visit he and his mother had made once to a farming village in Peru, where they composted everything and the air was thick with dead vegetation. In that moment, he missed his mother so badly he would have gladly flayed the skin off his arms to hear her voice again.
An unwelcome voice inside wondered whether Jennifer would feel the same way about her own mother, after the Quadrivium changed the universe.
Who cares? he thought bitterly. The world will be a better place.
Do you believe that because you just found out Jennifer’s mom is a beaststalker?
He had to admit the evidence pointed that way. Before he met Dr. Georges-Scales, it had been easy to imagine the woman cowering at home while her daughter and husband were trapped in Otto’s dungeon. Now that he had gotten a full measure of the good doctor, he had no doubt that it had been Elizabeth Georges-Scales who had arranged for Jennifer and Jonathan’s escape. Which meant she was most likely the person who had killed Skip’s father. And if she had killed an arachnid . . . and she lived in Winoka, a town full of beaststalkers . . .
Logic is accurate and ruthless, Edmund Slider liked to say. It destroys lies.
This was one lie, Skip admitted to himself as he pushed aside some low-hanging birch branches, he would have preferred to leave intact. Because if Jennifer’s mom is a beaststalker, that means Jennifer’s one, too. And that means either one of them could have killed Dad. Or they could have batted him back and forth, like a pinball.
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