by Natasha Deen
Great thought, except my supernatural talents were failing me.
“Do you want to go right now?” asked Nell. “I can drive.”
“Maybe later.” I wiped my hands on my jeans. “The sooner we look through Dad’s stuff, the faster we can get on track with his killer.”
Nell shovelled the donut and sauce in her mouth, and stood.
They followed me to Dad’s door, where my strength suddenly failed, and I seemed incapable of lifting my hand to grip the handle.
Craig put his hand on my shoulder. “Do you want me to open it?”
I shook my head.
“I can go through it,” said Serge. “And check the room.”
“No, I’m just being stupid—”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yeah, I am,” I said. “The sooner we free Dad, the sooner he and I are Team Johnson again.” Screw the fears about the future, and screw the worries about his secrets. When I freed him, we’d have a long talk about all of it. I gripped the doorknob and twisted.
The door swung open, and the room yawned before me. Greys and blues, the clean lines of his furniture. A hoodie he’d tossed on the bed, the sleeve lying on top of Nancy’s flannel pajamas.
“We can do this,” said Craig. “You don’t have to—”
“I do it for strangers,” I said. “I’m doing it for my dad.” I stepped through. “Let’s divide this up. Craig, you and Nell check the drawers. Serge and I will check for hidden areas.”
We broke, each moving to the corners of the room.
“I wonder if your dad had any secret compartment spaces,” said Serge.
“Mr. Johnson?” asked Nell. “That guy was chill. He wouldn’t have secrets.”
I stared at her.
“Okay, so he had one or two.”
“Everyone has secrets,” said Craig. “Go through the walls, Serge, and tell me what you see.”
Going on my toes, I tapped at the drywall, listened, then dropped my hand and rapped again. The process was slow, the rhythmic knocking hypnotic.
Halfway down the length of the room, I hit a hollow section. More knocking revealed the area to be about a square foot. I turned, looking for Serge, but he must have been in a wall. If he could do it, maybe so could I. Not go through a solid surface, but since I seemed to possess the ability to travel in time, maybe I also possessed x-ray abilities.
I took a breath to steady myself, closed my mind to grief and anger, then concentrated. Imagined the layers of wall flattening, stretching. Visualized my gaze—“Oh, crap!” I jumped back as the wall caught on fire.
Whipping around, I yanked the nearest piece of clothing and smacked at the flames until I snuffed it out.
“You have to be careful when you’re channelling your energy,” said Craig, taking the shirt from me. “Or else you can set things on fire.”
I shot him a dirty look.
“What?” he asked mildly. “I’m mortal. I’m allowed to say the blatantly obvious. It’s probably the only time I’ll ever be allowed to do it.”
“Do you have any relevant pieces of advice?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Don’t do it again.”
It was a good thing he’d taken the shirt because I was tempted to wrap it around his neck. I stared at the charred smudges on the wall.
“What?” he asked.
“I was thinking I’d give anything to have Dad storm in here and yell about the cost of fixing this.”
“Leave it,” said Craig. “He’ll be back soon, yelling.”
“I don’t know. My powers are all messed up. There’ve been consequences to the things I’ve done. I’ve got this crazy serengti shadowing me—”
He took my hand. “Slow down, Mags, and breathe. Yeah, everything’s messed up. Everything’s always messed up. That’s life.”
“Your mortal pep talks suck.”
“I’m doing the best with what I’ve got.”
Serge emerged from the wall. “So far, nothing.” He frowned at the soot stains. “Was that always there?”
“Do you think this is weird?” Nell was on all fours, peering under the bed.
“I’m not sure what the question is,” said Serge, staring at her backend. “But I agree with anything you say.”
“Focus,” I said.
“I am focused,” said Nell.
“Not you, Serge.”
“What did he say?” she asked.
“Serge is back?” Craig pulled out his phone.
“Don’t repeat what you said,” I told Serge. “We don’t have time for your hormones.”
“Oh,” said Nell. “I don’t know what you said Serge, but thanks.”
“What’s weird under the bed?” I asked.
“There’s a rug,” she said. “It’s the only thing here.”
“I’m not the decorating type,” said Serge. “Why is this weird?”
“Because you don’t need a rug under there,” I told him. “Craig, help me move this.” I took a position at the headboard.
“Hold on She-Hulk,” said Nell. She wriggled under the bed. A few seconds later, she pushed the rug into view. “Look familiar?”
“No,” I said. “Should it?”
“Not really,” Nell said. “I’m just making conversation to cover my panic. There’s far less room under the bed than you’d think, especially given the small, amazing package that’s me.”
“I didn’t know you were claustrophobic,” said Craig.
“Until this moment, I didn’t know either,” she said. “Hold on.”
I frowned, trying to orient to the sounds coming from under the mattress.
“Tell her I’m coming in,” said Serge. “I can stick my head under the boards and see.”
I relayed his message as he waded through the mattress, then sank from view.
“Mags, you need to see this,” Serge said just as Nell said, “Oh holy crap. Maggie, you need to see this.”
Chapter Twenty
The bed pushed off to the side, we sat in a circle in the middle of the room, staring at the hole in the floor, and the guns hidden in its depth.
“I don’t know what’s worse,” I said. “That my dad had a stash of guns, that he had guns and never told me, or that he kept them oiled and ready. You can smell it. You can see it. He was prepped for something.”
“Maybe he was at the ready for when you finally started dating,” said Nell. “Or the zombie apocalypse.”
I rubbed my eyes and felt the faint thrum of the headache behind my lids.
“He couldn’t have been a survivalist,” said Serge. “He couldn’t even boil water. Maybe this was because of what’s been happening the past few days. All the threats and phone calls.”
“This wasn’t because of Maggie,” said Craig. “These guns have been here for a while.”
“Besides, he had Nancy,” said Nell. “He didn’t need any of this for Maggie. This was for something else.”
I stood, wanting to bolt, wanting to run and never stop. “Someone pass me their cell.”
Nell handed me hers, and I phoned Nancy.
“What’s up, kid?” She sounded tired.
“Did Dad ever tell you anything about the guns he kept under the bed?”
The silence was short. “What?”
I repeated my question.
“I always figured there was nothing under his bed but old socks. Why? What did you find?”
I told her.
“Don’t touch any of them,” she said sharply. “In fact, get out of the room. I don’t want any of you near guns.”
“Seriously—?”
“Listen to me, kid. Get out. I’ll be home as soon as I can.” She softened her tone. “Go get your homework.”
“Someone murdered my dad, probably because of some wha
cked-up hatred of me, not to mention the soul-eater that has my father’s soul, and maybe my mom’s, and Zeke’s and Homer’s, and you want me to collect bio and chem sheets?”
“I don’t give a damn about your schooling,” she said. “You’re already smarter than half the teachers there. What I do care about is that I’m not your legal guardian. Hank and I weren’t married, and we haven’t lived together long enough to be considered common law. Which means I don’t have full legal custody over you. Which means if I don’t keep that moron of a principal happy—”
“He can call in social services and put me in care,” I said.
“You could fight it,” said Nancy. “You’re old enough to file for emancipation from the government and be declared a legal adult, but that’s going to take time. I’m filing the guardianship paperwork but we have to be smart—”
“Enough said. I’ll go get my homework.”
“Thanks, kid.”
“And maybe I’ll pick up some burgers for dinner—”
“They’ll be gross by the time Nancy gets home,” said Craig. “Nell and I will make something.”
“We got you guys handled,” Nell leaned in and spoke into the phone. “You two just work both sides of the living and the dead, and get this thing solved.”
“I’m smart enough to not mess with Nell,” Nancy said drily. “I’ll see you at home.”
“Have you found anything?” I asked and hated myself for the pleading tone in my voice.
“Not yet.”
I heard the hesitation in her voice. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“We’ll talk about it at home.”
I did not like the sound of that.
✦ ✦ ✦
I left Nell and Craig at home, fought through a band of reporters, and went to school by myself.
“What kind of guy makes you do homework when your dad’s just died?” Serge kept pace as I ran up the icy steps to the front doors.
“The same kind of guy that called the reverend his friend.”
“Good point.”
Classes were in session, which meant I didn’t have to deal with the entire student body. But some kids had a free period and were lounging in the common areas or hanging out at their lockers. Their stares and whispers followed me down the hall. I cleaned out my locker, then headed to the main office, where a package of my homework was waiting.
“Maggie.” The secretary looked up, pity on her face. “I’m sorry about your father. He did the funeral for my father-in-law and your dad was so kind about everything. He made it as good as it could be.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I’m sure he would have loved to hear that.”
She handed me a manila envelope. “I hope—”
“Miss Johnson. Good. You’re here.” Principal Larry stepped out of his office. “Come inside.”
“No.”
Serge stepped beside me and wrapped his fingers around my wrist. “I’m here. He won’t hurt you.”
“Miss Johnson. I realize you’re under some emotional strain. However, I’m still the head of this school and you are still a student. You will come into my office. Now.”
“No.”
A flush of red crept its way up from the base of his neck.
“I’ll talk to you out here,” I said. “Where there are witnesses.”
“Miss Johnson—!”
“Everyone knows you hated me and my dad,” I said. “If you think I’m going behind closed doors with you, then—” I caught myself. Nancy’s warning rang in my head. “—I respectfully decline, sir.” The words were polite, but all I saw was a scarlet haze. Was I standing in front of the man who was responsible for my father’s murder?
“I only wish to share my sympathies with you,” he said, with a tight smile at the secretary. “Your father and I had our disagreements, but I didn’t hate him—”
“That’s not true,” I said. “You tried to have him arrested the night we saw you at the Tin Shack. You wanted him charged with assault.”
“I was justified. He accused me of—”
“You accused him back. You said he was gossiping about you, trying to start a petition to get you fired.”
“Your father had been to the board numerous times, complaining about me. It made sense that he was the one behind the petition.”
“Did it make you angry?” I asked. “Knowing that people didn’t want you in charge of their children? Knowing what the world thought of you because of your friendship with the reverend?”
“Mags, what’s going on? Your light is shifting.” Serge let go of my hand and stepped back to get a clearer look.
The scarlet haze thickened, swirled like fog on the night breeze. “You were in a position of power but you abused it.”
“I did no such thing!”
“You let the reverend hurt Amber and Serge.”
The haze turned in on itself, a whirlpool of red, and from its depths, a form began to rise.
“Maggie. Stop. I don’t like this. Your aura’s jagged and it’s dark red, almost black. Wherever you’re going, stop.” Serge turned, caught sight of the shape from the corner of his eye, and moved to it.
“I didn’t know what he was doing!”
Serena rose from the haze. She was more defined than I’d ever seen her. Still faceless, but with the faint outlines of a mouth and eyes.
Serge swore.
“You knew what Serge was doing to me,” I said. “He hurt me because his parents hurt him. You let it happen.”
“Stop saying that!”
The secretary stood, frozen.
“Maggie. Mags!” Serge grabbed my face in his hands, but he was transparent to me. All I saw was Principal Larry, and all the ways he’d failed me, Serge, Amber, and every kid who ever trusted him to protect them. “You told my dad you have to have protection. How does it feel, being scared all the time? How does it feel to be on the wrong side now?”
“Your eyes are gone.” Transparent tears formed on Serge’s transparent face. “Don’t do this. Don’t provoke him. That thing is here. You know why it comes. Don’t let him hurt you.”
Serena moved to me.
“Did you do it to make the reverend happy? To keep him on your side? Why? What did he do for you?” I stepped closer. The red was all around me. “Were you like him? Like that?”
“I am not!”
“Is that why you shot my dad?”
The principal jerked back. “I never did anything to your father.”
“Where’s your gun?”
“I—”
“If you didn’t hurt my dad, where is it?”
“The cops took it.”
I moved to him.
He backed up. “I swear! I didn’t hurt your dad!”
I kept closing the distance.
I heard Serge say, “I’m sorry Mags,” then a sharp pain shot through my heart.
Chapter Twenty-One
I sat in the nurse’s room, a scratchy, grey blanket over my shoulders. The secretary’s watchful gaze kept me in place.
“I’m okay,” I said.
“You dropped like a brick.”
Serge, leaning against the wall, folded his arms and stared me down. “I’m not going to apologize for what I did.”
Really? ’Cause that’s the last thing you said.
“I was pre-apologizing in case I hurt you.”
“Maggie?” Nancy came into the room. “You okay, kid?”
I nodded and stood. “Let’s go home.” I folded the blanket and handed it to the secretary, then walked out of the room.
“You passed out?” Nancy followed me into the hallway.
“I didn’t pass out. Serge decided to be my over-active conscience.”
“You were losing your mind,” he said. “And I had to step
in.”
“I was dealing with the principal—”
“Give me a break, Maggie! I know when someone’s going psycho.” He moved through the door.
“He’s got a point,” said Nancy, holding up his text.
“Principal Larry’s involved in what happened to my dad. He ambushed Dad at the funeral home the night he died, and Dad got him out the door by telling him they’d meet later.”
Nancy froze in the threshold, her hand locked around the metal door handle. “How do you know that?”
Serge and I locked gazes.
“I’m glad I’m already dead,” he said. “‘Cause she looks ready to kill.”
“Did you go through my files? My private report—” She stepped through the door and held it open.
“It wasn’t Maggie,” said Serge. “It was me.”
Nancy read the text. “You went through my files?”
“No,” he said. “The night we drove up to where Hank was found, I went past the barricade and heard the cops talking.”
“I know you have to collect evidence and investigate,” I said to Nancy. “But how can you let him be around kids? Around people?”
“He’s a person of interest, but for now, Principal Larry isn’t a suspect.”
“Did he meet with my dad that night?”
“Kid—”
“You’re not even supposed to be on this case,” I said. “Don’t give me policy and procedure.”
“Larry and Hank arranged to meet at the funeral home, after it closed,” she said. “The security cameras show Larry’s car pulling into the lot. He says he phoned Hank to get him to open the front doors. When Hank didn’t answer, he left a message and waited. When Hank didn’t show up after a half-hour, Larry went home. An hour later, he showed up at the station, demanding we charge Hank with something.”
“That’s convenient,” said Serge. “Him waiting in the car and not getting out. He could have had someone else drive the car there, while he was committing the murder.”
“I agree,” said Nancy. She started for my car. “But Larry showed me his phone. There was a call made. I’ve put a request into his cell provider to see if we can triangulate his location. We have to wait, and in the meantime, because there’s no evidence to implicate him, he’s free.”
