Eternity tft-3

by Elizabeth Miles

  The handwriting was unfamiliar and boxy, and as he pulled the note out, written in a heavy hand on lined paper, he saw it was dated just yesterday. But the date wasn’t what threw him. It was the gold snake pin that came tumbling out of the envelope. And the sender.

  Walt Feiffer.

  The letter in his hand was from a dead man.

  ACT THREE

  WHAT LIES AT THE HEART

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Being exhausted at school was nothing new, especially on a Monday.

  But being exhausted at school with her hair still smelling like smoke, despite the fact that she’d taken a shower at JD’s house and spritzed on some of Gabby’s secret-weapon locker perfume? Being exhausted at school while still fending off creepy glances from guys who thought she’d been pole-dancing at a party on Saturday night? Being exhausted at school while knowing that she was racing toward some terrible fate—and that her supposed friend Crow might be greasing the wheels? These were new lows.

  The day dragged. She ignored a million calls and texts from Crow, who said they needed to talk. Probably to explain his behavior last night—and presumably, why he’d shown up at the exact moment her house was on fire. She spent English and chem wondering what was going on at home, whether she’d be able to sleep in her own bed that night. And now she had a new nervous tic: pulling strands from her ponytail around to the front of her face to make sure that they hadn’t turned red in the last five minutes. By the time the school day was over, Em was feeling manic with fatigue.

  “I’m heading home,” she said, pulling Gabby aside after the final bell. “I want to see if there’s anything I can do to help my parents. Thanks for everything this morning.”

  Students flowed around them, chatting and laughing, but Em was so tired that she barely heard them. They were just a low drone in the background. She couldn’t believe that once, not so long ago, this had been her whole life: what had happened over the weekend; who’d hooked up, who’d broken up.

  Gabby reached up for a hug. She’d met Em in the gym locker room that morning with a fresh set of clothes—leggings and a denim tunic—plus coffee and a carrot muffin. “Of course, sweetie,” she said, giving Em a squeeze. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do. And how about this weekend we go out for Thai? My treat.”

  Em felt a pang somewhere deep inside her. I don’t think I’ll be here this weekend, she thought. She ran a hand nervously through her hair and contemplated spilling it all to Gabby.  This could be her last chance to tell the truth to her best friend. . . .

  “That would be awesome” was all she said. She felt like her heart was snapping in half.

  Before they parted ways, Em was compelled to reach out for Gabby’s hand. There was an underwater-type whooshing in her ears. Everything else seemed to melt away except for the two of them, leaned up against the cold brick wall of the Ascension High hallway. A locker slammed somewhere down the hall. “Listen, Gabs, before you go . . . I just wanted to say—thanks. Thank you so much.”

  “It’s no problem,” Gabby said, tilting her head. “It’s the least I can do—your house was on fire last night.”

  “I’m not just talking about the clothes and stuff,” Em pressed. “I’m talking about everything. With . . . with Zach and all that. I was a terrible friend. And you were there for me anyway.” She felt her throat closing up. “You have to know how sorry I am. How sorry I’ve been.”

  The words hung between them and Em thought she felt her heart stop beating for a few seconds. Gabby picked at a bit of pearly pink nail polish. When she looked up, her eyes were bluer than ever.

  “I know you’ve been torturing yourself,” Gabby said, tucking a blond tendril behind her ear. “But you’ve got to believe me. I’m over it.” She managed a smile. “Look, I dodged a bullet, right? He was a total zero. And we both learned from it.”

  “You deserve better,” Em said. For the first time, she realized it was possible that she judged herself more harshly even than Gabby did.

  “It’s over,” Gabby said, wrapping her arms around Em’s neck for another quick hug. “Really. And we have each other. That’s what counts. Best friends for life, right?”

  “For life,” Em echoed, attempting a smile. But she knew that this—Gabby, the halls of Ascension, the gossip, and the blur of people—might never be her life again.

  Bing-bing. Her phone beeped in her pocket and Em straightened up. The text was from Crow, again. His message was terse: Meet me at the Dungeon.

  Okay, she wrote back. She couldn’t avoid him forever. See you soon.

  * * *

  Was meeting him crazy? There was a chance that he’d gone completely off the deep end, that his reasons for being at her house last night were, in fact, less innocent than he’d have her believe. These were the thoughts that gripped her as she drove to the coffee shop.

  “Hold up,” Crow said, intercepting Em on the sidewalk in front of the Dungeon. “Come back here.” He jerked his head toward the alleyway behind the coffee shop where smokers usually congregated.

  “Why?” she asked.

  Crow looked haggard—like he hadn’t slept in days. He definitely hadn’t shaved this week. And there was a new, red scrape on his jaw. “Privacy,” he said shortly.

  She followed him warily into the alley, which was dim despite it being broad daylight. The ground was littered with cigarette butts, and a few upside-down milk crates were set up as makeshift seats. “Well? You gonna tell me what happened last night? What did you see?”

  “It was the worst one yet—like it was really happening,” Crow said. He fumbled for a cigarette. Em had never even seen him smoke. “You were lost in a swirl of smoke. You couldn’t get out. You were burning to death.”

  “So you saw the fire before it happened?” And did you get drunk before or after you had the vision? she silently added.

  He slumped against the Dungeon’s brick wall and crossed his arms. “Not quite,” he said. “It wasn’t your house. You were outside. And it was . . . It was JD who put you there.”

  “JD?” she repeated. Putting her in danger? He would never. She nudged a milk crate with the toe of her sneaker. “What are you talking about? He’s not involved in this.” But she felt a flicker of doubt. JD knew things—she didn’t know how, but he did.

  She’d told him last night to stay out of it. She prayed he would listen.

  Crow’s eyes narrowed. “That’s what you think,” he said. “He’s been going around behind your back trying to save the day. I tried to warn him off, but he practically punched me.”

  “What?” Em looked up, her cheeks blazing. “When did you even see him?”

  A muscle in his jaw flexed. “Look, Em, I’m just trying to warn you. He’s going to do something. . . . I wouldn’t make this up. He’s . . . It’s a trap. You have to be careful.”

  Em’s chest constricted. She put her hand against her neck to stop herself from getting too warm. “He wouldn’t do that, Crow. Leave JD out of this,” she said.

  When he turned to her, his eyes were cold. Dull. “I get it. You don’t want your boyfriend to get hurt.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “But not me, huh? You don’t care about what happens to me.”

  There was a bad taste in her mouth. Was this a war of jealousy, or was there truth to what Crow was saying?

  “First of all, he’s not my boyfriend,” Em said. “Second, I warned JD to leave it alone—I told him that they were dangerous. That I was taking care of it.” And I do care if you get hurt, she thought, but couldn’t say it.

  Crow moved away from the wall and took several steps closer, backing her against the bricks on the opposite side of the alley. He reached down and grabbed both her wrists, pinning them up next to her shoulders. It was rough and urgent. It was scary. There was a look in his eyes that came from somewhere else, somewhere bad. She thought she’d be able to overpower him—she was stronger than she’d ever been, despite feeling so weak all the time. But she couldn’t. W
here was he getting his strength from? The thought terrified her even more.

  “But it’s not just you, is it Em? It’s us. I’m supposed to help you. We’re in this together, aren’t we?” He leaned into her. She felt the bricks grinding into her back.

  “You didn’t confront JD to help me,” she said, ripping her arms from his grasp. “Not that it matters. Not that any of it matters. You can’t help me and neither can he. I can’t even help myself. It’s over—it’s too late.”

  Crow looked at her with raised eyebrows. “You’re giving up? Are you kidding me?”

  “I don’t have any other choice.” She took a deep breath. “Look. Just calm down. I don’t get it. JD would never hurt me. Ever. So your vision? Whatever it was, it was wrong.”

  He stared at her for a long second, his eyes black and full of a need she couldn’t identify. Then he released her, and shoved a hand through his hair.

  “I told you. They aren’t, like, how-to manuals—they’re not totally literal.  What I see . . . What I sense . . .  They’re more like . . . puzzles,” Crow said, pacing on the asphalt. “I don’t understand it any more than you do. All I know is what I saw—and felt. JD is dangerous. The details may be fuzzy, but the feeling is never wrong, Emily. I knew.” His voice got lower. Rougher. “I knew there would be a fire the night of the Ascension dance. If I had said something sooner, Drea might still be alive. Okay? So you’d better listen to me when I say stay away from him. You have to listen to me. You have to, Emily. I’m not going to lose you.” His voice started breaking. “I’m not going to fucking lose you, too.” His voice was almost a whisper, and Emily didn’t know what to say. He went on, quieter, pleading now. “Just—for a few days—till we figure this out. Stay away from him. Please.”

  “But I don’t have a few days,” Em whispered back, feeling the full weight of the truth pressing in on her lungs, making it hard to breathe. She swallowed hard. “Remember your vision about the tiger girl? About when the transformation would happen? Well, I’ve figured that one out. And it’s tomorrow. Skylar is the tiger lady. Or she will be, the night of the play. Tomorrow night. I only have twenty-four hours left.”

  “Tomorrow? It can’t be—not so soon. . . . I need more time.” He stopped pacing to stare at her. “I haven’t figured out how to . . . channel them. Those bitches won’t give an inch. They won’t tell me anything. So I have to get closer. You have to get as close to the heart of evil as you can, if you want to strike it down.”

  How could he even think about getting closer? She wanted to be as far from the Furies as possible. “That’s not a plan, Crow. That’s suicide.”

  He let out a harsh laugh. “Listen. Don’t worry about me. All you need to know is that I’m going to keep you safe.”

  “How? It’s not like you’re gonna sit down over tea and have a chat. They’re crazy. And dangerous, and—”

  Something passed across his face, an expression of uncertainty or fear, but it was gone too quickly for her to decipher. “Maybe I’ll make them an offer they can’t refuse.”

  “What could you have that they want?” she asked.

  He stared at her hard. There was a pop of electricity between them. She could feel his eyes boring straight into her.

  “You just let me handle the details,” Crow said quietly.

  “I am not some damsel in distress. Whatever it is you’re planning, it’s too dangerous.”

  “I’m supposed to save the princess, though. At least that’s how it works in the movies. . . . ”

  “Don’t fucking joke about this, Crow.”

  “I’m not joking, princess.” He took a step toward her. His voice was softer than she’d ever heard it. “You still don’t get it, do you?”

  Her pulse quickened. “Get what?”

  His eyes, those yellow-green cat eyes, flared with emotion. He sighed deeply, as though he was reluctant to even say the words that came out of his mouth. “That I love you.”

  Her stomach dropped and she was mute, unable to respond, terrified of her own pounding heart.

  “I know you care about me,” he said, staring at her as if he were doing mental arithmetic. Then he offered her a thin smile. “And maybe you don’t love me, not the way I love you. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m going to protect you.”

  And then he was gone, Em’s feet glued to the ground while Crow’s boots scuffed away. She wiped a tear from her cheek, whispering a good-bye he would never hear.

  * * *

  Driving home, she realized that she hadn’t yet told Skylar or Skylar’s aunt about the fire—or about Crow’s visions, or about Mr. Feiffer being dead. What would Nora and Hannah Markwell make of Walt’s death? It would be the final blow, tying the Feiffers’ tragic history together for Edie’s two friends.

  She grabbed her phone and pulled up Skylar’s number. It didn’t ring—straight to voice mail. Em didn’t like that. She called the landline; it rang and rang. Something didn’t sit right; something was wrong. She decided to take the long way home, which would take her past Skylar’s house. If someone was home, maybe she’d just stop in. . . .

  Nora’s tan Camry wasn’t in the driveway, but there was someone kneeling in the flower bed on the side of the house, where Skylar’s aunt planted her perennials.

  “Mrs. McVoy?” Em called out her open car window. The hunched figure didn’t turn. She got that now-familiar swing of fear, almost like vertigo. “Nora?” Em said even louder.

  But by now she was close enough to see that the person in the dirt wasn’t Aunt Nora or Skylar. It was Lucy, Skylar’s sister. She was humming again, that same tuneless drone that Em had heard the other day. Her face was practically buried in the plants.

  “Lucy?” Em parked and stepped out of her car, wondering if she should call Skylar, or try to get Lucy back inside the house. “Do you remember me? I’m Emily.”

  The girl turned around slowly, revealing a toothy smile. Em drew back unconsciously. Lucy’s arms were smeared with dirt, and in one hand she held a crushed white geranium; on closer inspection, Em saw that a piece of white petal was stuck to her lips. Had she been eating the flowers? And were geraniums poisonous?

  Em looked over her shoulder, hoping in vain that she would see Nora’s car pulling into the driveway. She took a deep breath. Lucy was damaged, and probably scared, but she wasn’t dangerous. Em came closer and motioned to the flower in Lucy’s hand. “Doing some gardening?”

  Smiling one of her bright, pageant smiles, Lucy nodded eagerly. “The albinos like shade, not sun.”

  That again. The albino. “I . . . don’t know much about flowers,” Em admitted. “Are your sister or your aunt home? I just have a few quick things to tell them.”

  The deranged garden show was apparently not over. With the same TV smile—one that did a poor job of hiding the blankness in her eyes—Skylar’s sister continued to describe her prized plant. “The albino. It will make the voices stop.” As if she were discussing what sort of fertilizer to use, Lucy continued her lesson. “It kills the darkness. They tell me it will. They promised.”

  Em looked down and realized that Lucy’s fingernails were digging into her skin.

  “Who promised?”

  “They’re trying to protect the seeds,” Lucy said sadly.

  “What seeds?”

  “The seeds bloom inside a heart of evil,” Lucy intoned, as though she was reciting a child’s nursery rhyme. “Shhhhhh.”

  Heart of evil. That was the exact phrase Crow had used, talking about his visions, talking about the Furies. To hear the words come out of both of their mouths made Em more sure than ever that there were clues hidden in Lucy’s nonsense talk.

  The seeds. A heart of evil. Could Lucy know—truly know?

  “Who tells you these things, Lucy?” Em asked.

  Lucy looked at Em with one final remark. “When the light brings up the albino,” she said, “the darkness stops.” Then something happened, a flicker across her face, and Lucy’s demeanor chang
ed. She grew suddenly quiet.

  “Did the Furies tell you this?” Em wanted to snap her fingers in front of Lucy’s eyes. “Did they?”

  But Lucy was taciturn now, silent, sullen.

  “Please. Listen to me.” Em’s hands were on Lucy’s shoulders and then she was shaking her, back and forth, like a rag doll.

  It took just a second for Em to realize what she was doing. She cried out and let Lucy go, snapping her hands behind her back. Jesus. What was wrong with her? She backed away quickly when she heard wheels turning into the driveway.

  Aunt Nora emerged from the car and her linen skirt billowed behind her as she walked toward the flower bed.

  “What’s going on? What’s going on here?” She looked back and forth between Lucy, who had retreated back into her private universe, and Em, who tried to explain. She prayed that Nora hadn’t seen her turn momentarily violent.

  “I came over after school, to tell you . . . I thought you should know that Walt Feiffer is—dead,” she blurted out. “And Lucy was here, outside here, and she started talking. I think about the Furies. She was saying something about seeds, and a light. . . . ” Em trailed off, not knowing what else to say.

  “Emily, I’m sorry,” Nora said after a long pause. “I really am. But we’ve had enough tragedy here. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.  And I can’t help you any more than I already have.”

  “Nora, I need your help,” Em pleaded, but Nora ignored her. “I don’t have much time.”

  “Let’s go inside, Lucy.” Nora said as she started guiding Lucy toward the front door. When she reached the entryway, she looked over her shoulder at Em.

  “Please don’t come here again. You’re not welcome.” Then she slammed the door before Em could sputter out a response.

  Em’s head was spinning. Flowers. Seeds. The albino. Could the answer have been in front of her all along? For the first time in days, she felt a surge of hope. Maybe, just maybe, she had one last chance to save herself.