WeavingDestinyebook

by Ching, G. P.

  "The entire week. She's on spring break. But Malini and I go back to school Monday."

  "Good. Try not to be alone with Katrina. And Lillian, I would keep that bed on the couch if I were you."

  "And sleep with one eye open…" Lillian said, nodding.

  "What about Jacob?" Mara said. "Are we going to do anything about keeping him from becoming a shish kabob over the next six nights?"

  "I'll stay with Malini," Jacob said.

  "Not a good idea, Jacob," his mom said. "Besides the fact that I'm completely uncomfortable with you spending the night with your girlfriend at sixteen, have you stopped to think what would happen if you got caught? Jim Gupta grounded her for six months for what happened in October. You may never be allowed to see her again. This isn't just about you. Jim could make it twice as hard for us to work with her in the future.

  "She needs protection."

  "I don't know if that should be you, Jacob," Dr. Silva said. "Wherever this Watcher is, he's targeted you. You wouldn't want to lure the watcher to her. I agree she needs protection. Gideon and I will keep watch around her house at night. But I agree with Lillian. It's not in anyone's best interest for you to stay the night with Malini."

  "Fine, so where do I go?" Jacob asked.

  "You can stay with me at Dr. Silva's," Mara said. "It makes sense. We can protect each other. Maybe Lillian should come too."

  "Mara is right. My house is enchanted against Watchers. It's the safest place and there's plenty of room."

  "The Laudners will notice if I'm gone," Lillian said. "All it would take is Carolyn getting up in the middle of the night for a drink of water to notice me missing. I would never hear the end of it."

  "I'll build you an illusion, Lillian, but I do think you should stay with me. The one thing we've learned from all of this is that what we heard in Chicago was no empty threat. There is a Watcher here, among us, and we have to assume it knows who we are. Whoever plunged that knife into Jacob's bed knows he's not dead. The fact that it left the knife in the pillow is a warning. It wants us to know it was here. I have a feeling, the next time it tries to kill one of us, it won't give up so easily."

  The room grew quiet as each of them processed the truth in Dr. Silva's words. Jacob looked at his mom and saw her eyes had gone glossy with tears. A chill ran up his spine. None of them were safe. Evil had come to Paris.

  "We've got to go," Mara rasped. "I can't hold it much longer." Her face had gone ashen white and Jacob noticed her hand was icy cold within his. Her lips were turning blue.

  Lillian led the way. Dr. Silva closed the door to Katrina's room behind them. Once they were safely inside Jacob's room, Mara dropped Dr. Silva's hand and rang the bell she'd stored in her pocket. The frozen bird in Jacob's window continued on its way as if nothing had happened. Mara released Jacob's fingers and fell into the orange chair by the window.

  "That's a really powerful gift," Jacob whispered to Mara.

  Flushed from the return of her body heat, she smiled. "Thank you."

  Dr. Silva pulled the knife from Jacob's decoy and tucked it under her arm. Circling one hand over the other, she conjured a purple flame and tossed it at his bed. His bedspread stitched itself up and loose stuffing tucked itself back into his pillow. By the time the purple magic had burnt itself out, his bed looked like new.

  "Thanks!" Jacob said.

  "You are welcome." Dr. Silva paused, tilting her head. "I believe the heavy footfalls I'm hearing mean John and Carolyn are awake. Mara, let's make use of Jacob's window."

  Jacob didn't hear anything, but he knew better than to question Dr. Silva. She raised the glass panel and leapt through, floating to the ground without the aid of the rose lattice. Mara sighed and climbed down the much more human way. Jacob waved as they crossed the yard toward Dr. Silva's gothic Victorian.

  He turned back toward his mom who waited just inside the door.

  "Do we need to talk about what happened with Malini last night?" Lillian whispered.

  "I told you what happened," Jacob said.

  Lillian rested her hands on his shoulders and looked him in the eye. "Tell me the truth. Did you have sex with her?"

  "No, I didn't. I swear."

  "You know you can tell me anything, Jacob, but you need to be honest with me. Did you have sex with her?"

  "I am being honest. No."

  His mom relaxed slightly, the tension bleeding from her shoulders. She embraced him in a firm hug. "I knew you were smarter than that, but I needed to be sure." She drifted toward the door and crept into the hall.

  Jacob fell onto his newly repaired bed, thinking about Katrina, the Watcher, and the Soulkeeper he'd just seen stop time. He wondered if he'd ever have a normal day again. And more than anything, he dreaded having to explain it all to Malini.

  Chapter 8

  Family

  Malini held the phone to her ear, hoping she'd put enough space between her and her father to be discreet. He wouldn't be happy if he knew she was talking to Jacob.

  "I need to talk to you, Malini. Can you come into the shop?" Jacob's voice broke and Malini couldn't tell if it was the reception on her cell phone or something more.

  "Your voice sounds funny. Is everything okay?"

  "I'd rather talk to you in person."

  "If you can't tell me over the phone, it will have to wait. We're in Springfield for the day."

  "Springfield?"

  Malini cupped her hand over her mouth and whispered into the phone. "Yeah, I totally forgot my dad's birthday. We're at the Abraham Lincoln Presidential Museum. You know my dad."

  There was a long pause on the other end of the connection.

  "Jacob, are you there?"

  "Yeah. When do you think you'll be back?"

  "Late. We're having dinner here and then it's over two hours home. Can it wait until tomorrow at school?"

  Jacob sighed.

  Malini's father tapped her on the shoulder. "Who is that on the phone, Malini?" he said. "You'll miss the log cabin."

  "It's Dane, Dad," Malini lied.

  "Nice. Dane's okay but I'm not?" Jacob said.

  Malini didn't know what to say.

  "Sounds like you've got to go. Don't worry about anything, Malini. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

  "Okay. See you tomorrow."

  She touched the end call button.

  "Look, Malini. He taught himself how to read," her dad said excitedly, motioning for her to come over. There was a model of Abe as a teen outside the log cabin. The wax figure held a book in his hand.

  "That can't be true, Dad. Who teaches themselves how to read?"

  "Abe Lincoln, that's who."

  Malini followed her parents through the one room cabin, wondering how much was real and how much was legend.

  "Dad, what is with your obsession with Abraham Lincoln anyway? Why not...I don't know...Gandhi?"

  "What? Because we are Indian, I should have an Indian hero?"

  "I didn't mean it that way. It just seems sort of random."

  "Come, Malini. I want to show you something." Her father hooked his arm inside her elbow. Her mother, who had been staring fixedly at the pot over the fake fire, accepted his other arm.

  They exited the cabin and made their way down the next hall. Her father stopped them in front of a photograph of a black man whose back was ripped to shreds. Malini had to turn away.

  "That's awful," she said.

  "There's more."

  He led her to a scene titled The Slave Auction. The depiction of a family being torn apart by slave traders broke her heart. She had to remind herself that the models weren't real.

  "This is so depressing, Dad."

  "Wait, one more thing."

  He led her through a room of caricatures criticizing Lincoln. "Did you know so many people hated him while he was alive?" Malini asked. "These are some of the worst political cartoons I've ever seen."

  "Oh he wasn't always a popular president, Malini."

  He stopped in a room calle
d A Soldiers Story and took a seat on a wooden bench. He patted the wood next to him. She sat down between her parents. A movie began called The Civil War in Four Minutes. Malini watched as the first shots of the war progressed into a massacre that divided the country. In the end, over a million casualties were tallied between north and south.

  "Wow," she said. "I had no idea so many people died.

  Her father placed his hand on her leg. "Abraham Lincoln is my hero because somehow he knew that this was the right thing to do. Somehow he knew that this was all worth it."

  "It is incredible. He must have questioned what he was doing plenty of times. He certainly didn't seem to have much support."

  Her father stood up, nodding, and proceeded toward the exit. Malini followed until her mother nudged her elbow and purposefully slowed to put distance between them and her father.

  "What your father will never tell you is that it is personal," she said. Her mother's long brown braid fell forward on her shoulder as she leaned in toward Malini.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I was not of your father's caste in India. We should have never been allowed to marry. We were barely older than you are now when we fell in love. The reason he loves it here is that my class is not an issue. And he thanks that man for the favor." She pointed at a wax model of Abraham Lincoln.

  "I never knew. How did Dad convince Grandma and Grandpa to let him marry you?"

  "He didn't. We eloped and it wasn't until you were born that they came around."

  Malini couldn't believe it. Her grandparents had always been supportive and loving. She couldn't picture her grandfather being so closed-minded.

  They'd reached a room that depicted the death of Lincoln's son, Willie. Malini followed the crowd forward, lost in thought.

  "So the reason he moved us to America...the reason he's so in love with this country... is because of you? Because here, everyone is equal?"

  "Yes. Did you know our first house had a dirt floor?"

  "No, I didn't"

  "Your father has done well for us." She smiled.

  Malini tossed her arms around her mother's neck and squeezed her tight. "Thank you for telling me."

  At the edge of the crowd, they paused in an alcove called The Hall of Sorrows. A wax figure of Mary Todd Lincoln was posed, weeping near a dark window.

  "She was crazy you know. Had to be committed to a mental institution near the end of her life. She wore only black after Lincoln was assassinated," her mother said.

  Malini frowned at the grieving statue. The billowy layers of black lace on the dress must have weighed a ton. How itchy the high-necked collar must have been. But it was the red stone broach pinned at Mary Todd Lincoln's throat that drew Malini's eye again and again.

  * * * * *

  Jacob watched the clock tick, willing the hands to move faster. Thankfully, Laudner's Flowers and Gifts closed at five on Sundays. He didn't think he could take another hour on his feet.

  "Go ahead and flip the sign, Jacob. There's only five minutes left. I'm sure it will be okay," Lillian said. They'd arranged to work the entire day for John and Carolyn. It was an ample justification for staying away from Katrina. Coupled with a mother/son dinner date, they'd effectively excused themselves until bedtime.

  Jacob reached for the heavy cardboard open sign and was about to flip it over when a large woman with curly red hair appeared in front of the glass door. Her arms were occupied with an oversized crate of potted tulips and she was crying. Jacob recognized Fran Westcott even through the smudged mascara that made her look like a raccoon. He dropped the sign and pushed open the door for her.

  "Thank you, Jacob," she said as she stepped into the shop.

  Lillian lifted the box from Fran's arms. "What can we do for you, Fran? It looks like you're having a rough day."

  "I know this isn't right. There's nothing wrong with the flowers, Lillian and I know it's against your policy to take them back at this point. But I can't look at them. I can't." Fran began weeping again.

  Lillian set the box down and wrapped her arm around the woman's ample shoulders. "Fran, don't be silly. Given the circumstances, of course we'll take them back. I'm so sorry you're going through this. Has there been any word at all about Stephanie?"

  "No. Nothing." Fran mopped her face with a tissue from the little purse that hung from her elbow. "She was at a party the night before. Her roommate says there was a boy. She left for home with a boy she'd never met before and she hasn't been seen since. And do you know, no one had ever seen that boy before. As far as we know, he didn't even go to UI."

  "Did her roommate know his name?"

  "No. Sickening, isn't it? My daughter spent the night with a boy she'd never met before and her roommate didn't even know his name. What was she thinking?" A new wave of weeping overcame her. "Atrocious behavior! I shouldn't be telling you at all. As if this town needs something else to gossip about."

  "Fran, Jacob and I, aren't going to tell anyone about that," Lillian said. She shot a glance at Jacob.

  "Of course not. Mrs. Westcott, sometimes people do things they regret later. Everyone deserves a second chance. I'm not going to say a word."

  "The thing is, I just keep hoping she's still with him. Maybe this whole thing is just irresponsible behavior and she'll show up on my door with this boy. Oh how I hope I'll see the day when all I've got to worry about is a bunch of rumors. Oh hell!" Her tissue was soaked. Lillian grabbed a new one from behind the counter and placed it in her hand.

  After several minutes, Mrs. Westcott seemed to pull herself together.

  "How about that refund?" Lillian asked.

  Mrs. Westcott nodded and followed Lillian to the cash register. With cash in hand, she didn't linger. "You Laudner's are good people. Always have been."

  Jacob flipped the sign and locked the door behind her.

  Chapter 9

  Safe House

  Jacob remembered the first time he'd seen this room. He'd been searching for Dr. Silva's notebook. That day seemed like an eternity ago.

  The furniture was still covered with white sheets, except for the bed. Dr. Silva had uncovered it before he settled in for the night. Only, he wasn't settled. Every time he closed his eyes he saw black scaly skin. Every dream he had was a nightmare.

  After hours of tossing and turning, he gave up and quietly descended the stairs to the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water and sat down at the table.

  "Milk works better, you know," Mara said from the hallway. "Warm milk. That's what they say anyway. Personally, I can't stomach the taste but if you're desperate."

  "What are you doing up?" Jacob asked.

  "I could ask you the same thing."

  "Couldn't sleep. I guess I dozed a couple of times but I keep having nightmares. The kind where something's chasing you."

  "Me too. I know this place is enchanted but I don't feel safe." Mara placed her hands on the back of a chair at the table as if she couldn't decide whether to sit down or not.

  "I feel safe, I just think there's something more I should be doing."

  "You mean like protecting your girlfriend yourself?" Mara asked.

  "Yeah, exactly like that," Jacob answered.

  "Gideon will do a good job. He won't let anything happen to her."

  "I know, but it should be me, and I feel rotten that she doesn't know what's going on."

  "Why didn't you tell her?"

  "She was gone all day. I didn't have a chance."

  "You've never heard of a phone?"

  "I called her, okay, but explaining that Watchers tried to kill me and might be after her too didn't seem like the best conversation to have over a cell phone. That's more of an in-person thing, don't you think?"

  "You're probably right." Mara pulled out the chair and sat down. For the first time, he noticed her pajamas.

  "Nice pjs. You been a fan of SpongeBob a long time?"

  "Practically since birth. But to tell you the truth, I have these because they remind me o
f the day I became a Soulkeeper."

  Jacob took a sip of water and made the gimme sign with his hand. "There's more to that story."

  She frowned. "I usually don't talk about it."

  "Well we could sit here in silence or you could share."

  She leaned back into her chair. "I was twelve when I became a Soulkeeper. My mother was beating up my father."

  Jacob raised his eyebrows.

  "I saw that. See, this isn't a happy story. That's why I don't tell people."

  "Have you ever told anyone?"

  "Just my Helper. Until recently, he was the only Soulkeeper I knew."

  "Tell me," Jacob said. He leaned towards her and placed a hand on top of hers. "I promise, I won't judge."

  Mara stared at his hand until he felt self-conscious and pulled it back to his side of the table. She continued with her story.

  "People always think it's the other way around, that because the guy is bigger and stronger, he's always the beater. But my mom was a boozer and when she got violent my dad didn't want to hurt her, so he took it. I mean like, he took a beating regularly. Every time she'd get drunk, which was practically always. Looking back, it was really bad but, you have to understand, at the time I was used to it. It was a regular thing.

  "Well, this one time when I was twelve, my mom got really drunk and decided fists weren't good enough. She reached for a kitchen knife, the big one in the block. I guess it's called a chef's knife. I was sitting in the living room watching SpongeBob, trying not to think about the sound of them fighting behind me, when everything went quiet. I knew something was wrong because they were never quiet. Mom was a loud drunk. I turned around and saw she had the knife aimed at my father's chest. He had his hands up like he'd surrendered and she was smiling like it was all a big joke. And then she dove for him."

  Jacob tried his best to keep his expression neutral, but inside he couldn't believe what he was hearing. He gave a small nod to let her know he was listening.

  "There was this bell we kept on our coffee table, some antique piece of crap my mom had picked up at a garage sale. It was heavy and it was metal. I grabbed it and leapt over the couch. I wanted to use it to block the knife. But when it rang, everything stopped. I didn't know what the hell was going on. I don't know how long I stood there watching a freeze frame of my mother trying to kill my father. But at some point I turned my mother's wrist so that the knife pointed away from my father's chest.