Black Waters (Book 1 in the Songstress Trilogy)

by Maija Barnett

  * * * * *

  “Abby,” said Jake, his breath hot on her face. “Come on Abby, you have to wake up!”

  Someone had sealed Abby’s eyelids with concrete. She tried to open them, but they wouldn’t budge.

  “Jake,” she mumbled. “Jake I’m here.” You didn’t even move your lips, she thought. You never said a single word. Jake’s hands were clamped around her arms. He was shaking her now, trying to rouse.

  “Come on, Abby. Open your eyes.” Abby’s head banged against the mattress. She could hear her teeth rattling in her mouth, but she was completely immobile. You’re paralyzed, she thought. That’s what’s going on. That’s why you can’t open your eyes or talk.

  “Stop!” It was Brian now. “Watch what you’re doing! You’re hurting her!”

  “Shut up,” snapped Jake. “I don’t know what you did, but if she doesn’t wake up....” His voice trailed off.

  Silence. Then she heard a high-pitched keening, like an injured animal caught in a trap. Is that me? she wondered. But the sound was unrecognizable, and it didn’t feel like it was coming from her at all.

  Eleanor, thought Abby, help me now. She tried to say the words but her lips wouldn’t move. I’m dead, she thought. That’s what’s going on. Or maybe I’m dying, and that’s why I can still hear.

  Jake was shaking her again. She could hear her back slapping against the mattress, making dull, little punching sounds.

  “Abby,” said Jake. “Open your eyes.”

  I must be breathing, thought Abby, or he wouldn’t be doing this. Okay, that means I’m still alive.

  Abby wondered if Jake was doing something wrong. From her brief half-semester in health class last year, she was pretty sure you weren’t supposed to shake an unconscious person. She wished he’d call an ambulance instead.

  But he can’t, thought Abby. They’d find out what you are. Eleanor, please. Help me wake up!

  She wondered if the mermaid box was still in her hand. She couldn’t feel it, but considering the present circumstances, that didn’t mean much at all. Still, would the box be enough for Eleanor to intervene, or did she actually have to be asleep?

  Use the feather, thought Abby. But was it still in her pj’s? She wished she could move her hand and check.

  At first there was nothing, just the sound of Jake breathing. He’d laid her back down on the bed, but she could still hear him panting somewhere off to her left.

  Please, begged Abby. There was no response.

  But then she felt it— a sharp tingling sensation, like a frozen finger grazing the inside of her spine. Abby gasped as an icy chill spread through her. Then a frail melody slid through her mind. Eleanor, thought Abby. The heaviness lifted, and she found that if she strained hard enough, she could actually open her eyes.

  Thanks, thought Abby, blinking hard. Her entire bedroom was lit up in light. It looked like a thousand cameras were flashing in her face. She slammed her eyes shut as a series of sunspots exploded behind her lids.

  “You’re back,” said Eleanor, inside Abby’s mind. “Soon, little sister, the light will fade. You’ve passed through the door and are on the other side now.” Then the coldness inside Abby melted away, and she began to feel more like herself again.

  “I saw her open her eyes!” yelled Brian. Abby could feel his hand on her wrist— hot and shaky, or was that her heart?

  “Don’t touch her,” barked Jake. “Just get out of the way.” His voice was cracking, the way it did before he cried.

  “No,” said Brian. He sounded mad.

  Come on, thought Abby. Make them hear you. Say something. Tell them you’re okay.

  “Jake,” croaked Abby, barely audibly at all. “Jake, I’m all right.”

  Abby was afraid to open her eyes again, but she made herself do it. She had to see. Thankfully, the horrible light was gone, but the world before her was a blur of color. She had to blink several times before it started to clear.

  Jake was kneeling beside her bed. Abby found that if she squinted hard enough, she could make out his features. There were his eyes, his heavy brow, his mouth a sharp knife-slice of a line.

  “Abby, Christ! Thank god you’re awake. What the hell is happening to you?” said Jake. He scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his sleeve, but he couldn’t seem to stop the tears.

  “I was dreaming,” said Abby, though she knew it was a lie. “Brian, Jake— what’s going on?”

  Abby’s eyes scraped the room. Her vision had cleared, so she could finally see. She took in Brian, who was fighting to stay calm. And then Matilda, in the corner closest to the door, her fists pressed to her mouth, containing a scream. The moan, thought Abby. It was coming from her.

  “What’s happening?” asked Abby. She tried to sit up, but a strange burning sensation seared her throat. When she looked down, she saw what was wrong.

  “Mom,” whispered Abby, reaching out her hand. The word felt foreign on her tongue. It was pure instinct that led her to say it at all. “Why do I have my tail?”

  Matilda’s face was a bloodless mask, but Abby couldn’t look away. She hates me, thought Abby, but then she told herself no. Because in her mother’s eyes she saw a terrible sadness, a helplessness she’d never seen before. Not on the day when they’d learned Dad’s cancer had spread, or even when they’d placed him in the ground.

  “Abby,” said Jake, taking charge. He was the man of the house, or at least he tried to be. Giving orders made him feel in control. “Matilda, go and get some towels.”

  Matilda left the room like an automaton, a sleepwalker moving blindly through space.

  “Abby,” said Jake. “You’re soaking wet.” He kept his eyes locked on her face and refused to look at the silver scales tangled in her sheets.

  “I thought I was dreaming,” said Abby, her voice creaky and rough, as if she hadn’t used it for weeks. But her sense of touch was coming back now, and she felt something strange in her left hand. Slowly, she navigated it out from beneath the soaked comforter, gasping when she saw what it held.

  “Where’s that from?” said Jake, still peering at her face, not daring to look any farther down.

  It was just like the few other times he’d seen her like this. His eyes began focusing on something past her shoulder; his skin grayer than that of a corpse. Jake and Matilda were the same in this way; they both wanted to pretend that she was normal. But the truth was, there was no way they could.

  The key was cool against Abby’s skin. Funny, she hadn’t realized she was holding it before. She didn’t know how she could have missed such a thing. Had Eleanor mentioned it? She didn’t think so. Yet here it was in her hand, next to Eleanor’s blood-red feather that had somehow sneaked out of her pajama pocket and was sucking up all the light in the room. Near her side lay the mermaid box. The mermaid’s eyes were closed in sleep.

  Abby tucked the feather behind her ear, and the simple gesture gave her strength. Then she turned to examine the key. It looked very much like a skeleton key, the sort you’d see in an old monster movie, only its head was shaped like an open eye. An emerald pupil stared out from the silver, surrounded by an elegant seashell border. Abby pressed her index finger against the stone, and a chorus of voices moaned inside her. There was movement beneath her finger’s pad, and when she pulled it away, the eye had closed.

  “Ow,” yelped Abby, as something shot through the key— a charge of electricity, searing her hand. She dropped it, and it slid off her bed and plopped onto Brian’s comforter on the floor. The skin on her palm was burning now. It felt like she’d stuck it in an open flame. She pulled it closer for a better look, but there were no marks on it at all.

  “Abby,” said Brian. Matilda was back.

  “What?” Abby braced herself.

  “What’s wrong with your hand? What’s going on?”

  Abby stared at him, unable to speak. Hot tears began to pour down her cheeks. She tried her best to blink them away, but it was too much. She didn�
��t know what to do.

  “Are you hurt?” asked Brian, stepping closer to the bed while shoving a chunk of hair from his eyes.

  Abby shook her head no, but she knew that she was. Something was wrong, deep inside her. Some part of her was out of control.

  “What happened?” asked Brian, as Matilda handed her a towel. Abby draped it across her shimmering tail, rubbing the fabric up and down while making sure not to look her mother in the eyes.

  “Abby?” said Jake, his voice cool and thin.

  “I’m okay.” Then the cramp came, and it was done. She wrapped the towel around her legs and pulled her knees up to her chin, hating the way her hands were shaking, and the way they were all staring at her. Even Brian looked guarded now, like he wasn’t sure who she was. Not who, but what, thought Abby. And the truth is, you’re wondering too.

  “Abby,” said Jake, clenching his jaw and glaring at her while he spoke. “How could you let someone see what you are? Did he do something to you? Is that why he’s here? You need to tell me what’s going on.”

  “No,” said Abby. “This isn’t about Brian. He just came over to see if I was okay.”

  “And why would he do that?” said Jake, his eyes flashing now.

  “Because he saw me before,” Abby whispered. “On my birthday, when I came home late.”

  “Jesus,” hissed Jake. “Abby, what were you thinking? Didn’t dad’s words mean anything to you?”

  “I didn’t mean to!” cried Abby. “I just got out late, that’s all. There was a shark, and....” She let her voice trial off. There was no point in telling them about Lauren Liney. If she did, they’d never let her near the water again.

  “And what?” said Jake, who was leaning in now, his dark eyes hot on her skin.

  “I’m changing Jake, and don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. It doesn’t matter that dad made us promise to keep all this a secret because I’m not just different in the water anymore. Haven’t you seen the way guys can’t take their eyes off me? Soon it’s not going to matter what I do. Soon everyone will be able to tell!”

  “I’m not doing this,” warned Jake, stepping away. “This isn’t about your looks. It’s about what you did.”

  “It’s getting worse,” said Abby. “Even worse than before. I’m the only one left, and I’m all alone.”

  “Only one of what?” spat Jake.

  “You know what I am! I’m a mermaid, Jake. Come on, let’s not pretend. I’m through with it now. I’m not living a lie.”

  “Is that what Dad told you in his secret message?”

  “No,” whispered Abby. “I figured that one out by myself.”

  The room was so silent Abby could hear own breath combined with the sounds of the rain and the sea. It was Matilda who finally moved toward the bed, her eyes bloodshot from too many tears.

  “Enough,” she whispered. “Your father wouldn’t want this. He always wanted you two to get along.”

  “Right,” scoffed Jake. “Like he cared about me. Or even you Mom, it was always just Abby.”

  “That’s not true,” said Abby, but her mother cringed. Deep down, Abby wondered if Jake was right.

  “You know it is,” Jake said. When he spoke his voice was laced with hate. “All this time I’ve protected you, and you go and let some stranger in.” He gestured frantically in Brian’s direction. “What were you thinking? Are you stupid or something? I mean, what the hell’s wrong with your head?”

  “It’s not my fault!” screamed Abby.

  “Then whose fault is it? Whose fault is it that we have to hide? Because you know what Abby? Now they’re gonna come, just like Dad warned they would. They’re gonna come and take us all away.”

  “Before he died, he made me promise.” Jake’s voice was starting to crack again. “He made me promise that I’d keep you safe. And you… you made me let him down. The one time he asked, I mean really asked me for something. Jesus,” said Jake, rubbing at his eyes. “What in the hell are we going to do?”

  For a moment, no one said a word. Then Matilda leaned over and took Jake’s hand, jaw set, eyes on her son. “Jake,” she whispered, “don’t worry, okay? Your father told me what to do if this ever happened. He gave me the steps. We’ll start them now.” Matilda’s lips were pursed, like she’d just sucked on a lime, and her eyes glowed with a strange, bitter brightness that Abby had never seen before.

  “Jake,” said Matilda, her voice stronger now, as if her decision to take charge had given her the power she’d long since lost. “Go downstairs. Abby needs to change. And you, Brian. I don’t know who you are. A boyfriend, whatever, I don’t care. But I’m sure your parents are wondering what’s happened to you. So go home, this doesn’t concern you anymore.”

  “But it does,” growled Jake. “He knows everything.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Matilda. “Not anymore. Just go home Brian. I’ll deal with my daughter. I know what has to be done.”

  Something sharp dug into Abby’s chest. A warning? But of what, she didn’t know. Her mother was standing at the head of her bed, one hand holding onto Jake, the other one clutching Abby’s own.

  “Abby?” said Brian, shooting her a questioning look.

  “I’ll be okay,” she whispered, hoping it was true. “Don’t worry about me, all right?”

  “Right,” said Brian, turning toward the door. But he didn’t want to leave her, she could feel it in her heart.

  A bitter voice slid through Abby’s mind like a circle of smoke twining into the sky. “Beware! Beware!” Was it Eleanor? Abby strained to hear, but it was already gone.

  8. Revelations

  Brian guided the Camry up the driveway and flicked off the headlights. He was careful not to dislodge the actual knob, which was duct taped to the steering column. It was two in the morning. Everyone should be asleep. So why, he wondered, were the kitchen lights on?

  “Just my luck,” he growled under his breath. Then Abby’s face was in his mind. Why did you leave her? Brian thought. Jesus Christ, that was so freaking dumb! But the truth was, he hadn’t known what to do. The way her mother had looked when she’d grabbed Abby’s hand— it had scared him, literally scared him to death. But still, he’d just left her there. Left her, when he knew he could help, or at least maybe his father could.

  Brian cut the engine and peered at the kitchen window, its warm, yellow light spilling into the night. The window’s blind had been down before; he knew it had. It always was. Luther insisted all the blinds stayed down. The guy liked to keep the house like some sort of cave. But now the blind was curled a few inches up. High enough for someone to peak through if they wanted; to send Brian the message that he was being watched.

  Brian sat silently in the dark, counting his breaths: one, two. It was something he’d done since he’d been a kid. It’d started right around the time his dad had gone to Greece. That had been a really stressful time, though Brian had to admit it was nothing compared to now. His mom had been working long hours at the library, and he’d hated coming home to an empty house.

  Twenty, twenty-one. Breath counting definitely had a soothing effect, and so Brian did it until he reached a hundred. A hundred breaths, not too long, he thought. He’d only been sitting for a couple of minutes. Not enough time for Luther to freak.

  Brian had no idea what was waiting for him, but he figured the sooner he got it over with, the better. He slid out of the car, and nudged the Camry’s door shut, careful not to loosen the thick wad of duct tape that was holding the driver’s side window in. Luther had turned the porch lights off, which meant that the front door was locked.

  Side door, thought Brian. He wants me in the kitchen. That means he’s probably waiting there for me.

  The door creaked open, and the screen door smacked behind him, and then Brian was inside the house. Immediately, his face was flooded in light. His retinas burned, and he started blinking like a madman. He wondered if this was all part of some torture technique, or if it was just
one of the many strange ways his stepfather got off.

  Luther Pentos, Chief of the Clifton Police, sat at the kitchen table, his long, wiry frame folded into a chair. A thin smile slid across Luther’s face, and his eyes narrowed as he leered at Brian.

  Brian knew that smile, he’d seen it before— in the courtroom two years ago, when Luther’d practically had him speaking in tongues. It was a look that meant: I’ve got you now. I’ve got you and there’s no way out.

  Look away, thought Brian. Look away now. But for some incomprehensible reason, he held his ground, ignoring the fear churning inside him, as he stared his stepfather straight in the face.

  It was Luther’s eyes that unnerved him the most. The way they narrowed and changed to different shades of green— something was very wrong with them, but Brian had no idea what it was.

  “Hi,” said Brian, finally glancing away. It was a relief to still be standing on his own two feet.

  “Have a seat,” said Luther, gesturing to the chair at the opposite side of the kitchen table.

  Brian sat down and stared at the tablecloth, letting his fingers trace the pattern of rose buds that laced across its polyester shell.

  “Brian,” said Luther, “look up, son. You better look me at me when I’m talking to you.” There was a sharp, warning tone in the police chief’s voice. Brian tore his eyes from the table, fearing what would happened if he refused.

  “I heard what happened out there tonight. Dakins called, said you were acting strange. Is there something you need to tell me son? Something you think I ought to know?”

  Brian grimaced and wagged his head in an emphatic no. “I was going too fast, and the weather was bad. Officer Dakins just told me to slow down.” Brian knew his words were coming too fast. Be cool, he thought, or you’ll give yourself away.

  “I heard that part,” said Luther, “but that’s not what I meant. Sure as hell was nice of Dakins to let you off, though. He only did it because you’re my son.”

  Brian’s jaw automatically clenched. He glanced back down at the parade of rose buds, bright red flashing behind his eyes. I am not your son, he thought to himself. I’m not your son, and I never will be.

  Luther’s laugh reminded Brian of the way dirt sounds when you throw it into an open grave.

  Then, out of the corner of his eye, Brian saw Luther move. He jerked back as the police chief stretched out his arm and picked something up off the floor. It was a fluid motion, like gliding through water, and Brian was surprised by how graceful it was.

  “Read this,” said Luther, shoving a paper toward Brian. It slid across the table with a scratchy hiss.

  It was a front page article from the Cape Cod Chronicle, torn out from this morning’s paper. Brian knew it was this morning’s because Luther didn’t keep the old ones around. He read the paper early, before anyone else was up, then dumped it in his car and took off for work. If Brian or his mom wanted to read the thing, they had to drive over to Shaw’s and get a copy of their own. Not that his mother had any interest anymore. And Brian, well, he’d just a soon look on the Web.

  Brian held the newsprint in his hands, while fighting the urge to get up and run. It was a story about the two missing girls. The headline was enough to jack up his pulse, make his heart bang in his ears like a drum. It read: “Serial killer Loose on Cape.” Oh shit, thought Brian. Lord, help me stay calm.

  “You know something about this?” asked Luther, pointing a bony finger in Brian’s direction. “Officer Dakins thought you might.”

  “No,” said Brian, starting to sweat. Little beads of perspiration pricked the back of his neck and began sliding toward the base of his spine. He hoped that Luther wouldn’t notice, though he guessed he already did.

  “You sure about that?” Luther asked. Brian could smell the chief’s breath from across the table— it had the musky aroma of rotting leaves.

  “Yes,” said Brian, his voice loud in his ears. It was like he was shouting, but he didn’t think he was.

  “Yes what?” said Luther, smiling again, his gray lips curling up like a stretched-out slug.

  “Yes sir. I’m sure.” Oh yes I am.

  Well, I’ll be watching,” said the chief, and his eyes went green, greener than Brian had ever seen before. They shone like two flares in the middle of his face. Then his mouth twisted in a funny way and his pale skin began to grow dark.

  “No,” yelped Brian, leaping up from his seat, knocking over his chair in the process.

  “You okay son?” said Luther, as if he was concerned.

  When Brian looked back, the man’s face was normal. Mean as always, but the strange eyes and skin tone were gone.

  Something’s wrong, thought Brian, his breath trapped in his throat. You need to go. Get out of here now.

  “Yes sir,” Brian whispered, and then Luther stood too.

  “Just as long as we’re clear.” He smiled again.

  “Crystal,” said Brian, swallowing hard.

  “Well then, I think I’m gonna turn in for the night. Don’t want your mother waiting up too long.” Luther’s eyes narrowed merrily, and Brian’s jaw gave an involuntary clench.

  Brian watched his stepfather walk out of the room, rage flaming inside his chest. Why did she marry that guy? he wondered. How could she just walk away from dad? In that moment Brian hated is mother, hated her for choosing Luther, for allowing the police chief to wipe her mind clean.

  “Dad,” whispered Brian, stepping back into the night. It was raining again, but he didn’t care. He peered up into the inky darkness, as the rain pricked his face and ran down his neck. “Dad, I’m sorry I was too afraid to see you before, but I’m coming now. I’ll be there soon.”

  Brian made his way over to the Camry, his face still raised to the swollen sky. It was only when he was turning on the ignition, that he finally glanced back at the house. It was dark now; the kitchen lights were off. He had just shifted into drive, when something caught his attention. Two eyes stared down from his mother’s bedroom window, bright and green as signal flares. “No,” moaned Brian as he hit the gas, and the Camry screeched toward the open road.

  9. The Hunt Continues

  He couldn’t help it; he was hunting again. But he needed sustenance, something to keep him going. He also needed to get closer to her, and this was the only way he knew how.

  He knew she’d been on this beach before; he’d felt her presence in the water. Even now, in his human form, as he approached the gaggle of teenagers huddled around the bonfire; he could almost taste her blood on his lips.

  His skin prickled as he read those around him. No, not tonight. She wasn’t here. But he could sense her scent in the minds of the others. Their thoughts echoed through his blood, painting colors, pictures, but most often smells. Which one means the most to her? he wondered. For tonight, that one would be his meal.

  He ran his hand through his short, blond hair, grateful for his boyish looks. They hadn’t taken him far in life. The reality was, they’d been his demise. For weren’t they the reason the sea witch had wanted him, with her long, tangled hair and her mouth full of love? If only he’d been an ugly old troll. She’d have passed him by, left him alone. Or if he’d looked like the monster her love had transformed him into, if all she had seen were burnt skin and fangs, then maybe she would have run howling from the water, her fins turning to feet as they scraped at the sand.

  He took a few steps toward the bonfire, watching its sparks shoot into the sky. Then he paused and glanced at the sea. And with that one look, his skin started to itch. It took all his concentration to ignore the urge, to repress the need to lunge into the water and become that thing he most despised.

  “Hey,” said a girl. She was short and dark. Even beneath the smoky sky, he could see her face was pocked as the moon’s.

  “I’m Amber,” she said, smiling wide. She moved closer to him, cranking her neck around like an owl, obviously checking to make sure they were alone. They were standing off
to the bonfire’s side, while most of the others were closer to the flames. This removal gave her a lift of courage. He could feel it in the way her pulse started to quicken, and the slick smell of sweat at the base of her skull.

  “I haven’t seen you around here before,” she said, smiling again.

  He hated when they smiled. Smiles were misleading, foolish even, especially when you had no idea what you were smiling at. He took her in, probing her mind in a glance. It was simple. He could do it with everyone. Well, everyone excluding the sirens. They could block him out, he had no idea how. Though he guessed it had something to do with their magic, which was darker and stronger than his own.

  With everyone else, it was almost too easy. The trick was being careful what you did. If you pushed too hard, you ruined your subject, and they either went mad or turned empty as a shell. He’d seen it happen, had done it himself— in his less experienced days.

  “Amber,” he said, his voice caressing her mind, trolling the surface, not probing too deep. It was more than what he’d caught before, but not enough to cause any harm.

  “Hmmm?” she said, smiling back. She was a girl who rarely spoke to boys. And when she did, she was invariably rejected. But the night had made her brave. Too brave, he thought, as he glided toward her, his skin tingling in anticipation.

  He too was pleased with the dark. It hid the strange way his neck had begun to sprout forward, curving up and around like a cobra’s hood. When he smiled, his teeth were spikes.

  “I’m not from around here.” His words came out in a hiss. He sensed trepidation, uncertainty. Had he made a mistake? She smelled so good. He toyed with the idea of slipping inside her, of making her think what he wanted her too. Mind control was one of his gifts, but it would affect the strength of her essence, and make for a less satisfying meal. Besides, she wasn’t what he wanted. The siren was foreign to her. But still— he couldn’t pull himself away.

  He was about to strike when he caught another scent, drifting in through the smoky air. This one was caramel, apples and honey; an image of the ocean and a bucket of shells. Fingernails painted in blue and pink stripes— the small hands of a child. This memory was deep.

  The Hunter froze and raised his head toward the sky, his tongue flicking at the November air. He knew that smell. It was the one he wanted, the scent of the siren he needed to find.

  And so he stepped away from his pocked marked prey; eyelids closed tightly, nostrils flared. Where is she, he wondered. Where did she go?

  That’s when he spotted Gretchen Milligan, late to the covert beach party, stepping into the fire’s light. His eyes flashed through her, and he saw everything. Her anxiety about being out during the curfew. Her need to be accepted, to find strength in friends.

  “Hi there,” he said, rushing forward, moving so smoothly his feet barely grazed the sand.

  “Hey!” said Amber, but he felt her relief. He’d let his excitement rule his senses, and he’d almost given himself away. But the new smell was intoxicatingly strong. He started to salivate, and his human saliva began to mix with something else. Sharp and bitter, the venom charred his skin— burning his tongue and the roof of his mouth.

  He knew he couldn’t do this unless he gained control. He focused his mind. The venom was gone, and he was standing, human, beside his prey.

  “Hi?” said Gretchen. She wasn’t used to strangers approaching her. He could tell she was a little unsure.

  “It’s a beautiful night,” he said, keeping his voice low, as he tried to contain the rising hiss.

  “Yes,” she said, and then he saw her smile. He knew what he looked like: gleaming and blonde, muscles etched beneath his shirt. They were close to the fire. She could see everything.

  “Go for a walk Gretchen?” he whispered. Uncertainty flashed through her mind. He read her thoughts: Stay close to the group. There’s a killer out there, and you don’t know who it is.

  “How do you know my name?” she asked.

  “Lucky guess. Besides, all beautiful girls are Gretchens to me.”

  “Hmmm,” she said, but she was smiling now. He could tell she didn’t really believe him, but he also knew that she didn’t care. He was handsome and charming, a mysterious prince, and she’d never had attention like this before. He smiled wide, then let his mind slip into hers. Just a little help, that’s all she needed. So she wouldn’t be afraid. He felt a cinching in his gut. Then a gentle tug, and she succumbed to his spell.

  “We could sit by the fire and talk if you like,” he said. She smiled again. He had her now.

  He concentrated on containing the hiss, on trapping it deep within his throat. But the need was there, rippling though him. He could barely control it anymore.

  Don’t do this, howled a voice inside him, but he shoved it away. This was the job he’d been sent to do, the one he was built for. He couldn’t fail now.

  You need this, he thought. You need to consume her. It was only way to weaken the siren, to destroy the last of the monsters who’d hurt him long ago.

  “Shall we walk?” he asked, taking her hand. Her skin was warm beneath his own. Human skin, he thought, remembering his wife. And then he thought of the one who changed him, her dark lips pressed against his own. Why? he thought, almost tasting her now. Why did you do this? But then the feeling was gone.

  They were nearing the water, and its power ripped through him. His prey walked silently, her hand in his. He’d dulled her senses with a single look, made her trust him instead of run. He knew exactly how she felt like, for the very same thing had been done to him. Though, in his case, it was a song that had caught him. By the time he’d woken up and realized what had happened, it was too late to change his mind.

  A bubble of guilt rose high in his throat, but he swallowed it down and made himself forget. “Gretchen,” he murmured, pulling her close. He wrapped his arms around her waist and slowly guided her into the sea.

  10. The Talisman

  Abby sat huddled in the front passenger’s side of her parents’ Volvo. Rain beat against the car’s windshield, mashing into the mustard colored hood. They were on Route 3, heading for the city, and already the landscape around them was wrong. The ocean had been replaced by a thin line of scrub pines, and soon that would disappear too. Then all she would see was the gray slab of highway bordered by quick stops, a few fast food joints, and then the ugly stub of the city itself. Abby knew Boston was considered beautiful, but where she was going, it was all gridlock and tunnels. The Ted Williams would take her under the bay, as she sped toward her waiting plane.

  Matilda drove in silence, hands clamped to the wheel. They had barely spoken since they’d gotten in the car, not even the usual pleasantries. It was like driving with a ghost.

  Abby turned to stare at the ratty looking duffel, forlorn in the car’s pristine back seat. All Matilda had said was that Abby was leaving, that she had to disappear until things cooled down. Abby had wanted to fight, insist that she stay. But for some strange reason, she hadn’t said a word. After telling Brian it was okay to go, she’d pretty much clammed up. Maybe it was the remnants of her nightmare that kept her silent, or the hot lump in her throat when Matilda held her hand. Really, she had no idea what she’d been thinking. It was only now that it finally dawned on her: she had made a terrible mistake.

  Abby thought of the mermaid box, staring at her beneath the duffel bag’s cloth. She slipped her hand into her jacket pocket and fingered the eye key, its lid still closed. Her knuckles grazed the blood-red feather, its thin spine warm against her skin. “Turn around,” said a voice. Was it Eleanor? Abby glanced at Matilda, but her mother didn’t even blink.

  That’s because she can’t hear it, thought Abby. That’s because it’s just for you.

  Her mother had been too busy to see her pack the box. Abby had slipped it in while Matilda was pulling clothes off of hangers and out of drawers, and piling them high in the center of the bed. There were two warm sweaters, a clean pair of jeans
and several pairs of woolen socks. But she’d also packed some summer stuff— Abby’s favorite halter, two flowery skirts. Abby had wondered where she was going, and why, if she was just waiting until things cooled down, did she need clothing for every season. It was only now that she realized what all the packing meant: she was never coming home.

  Matilda’s eyes were on the road, concentrating as she careened through the storm. She was driving too fast for weather like this, but they had somewhere to go. They couldn’t be late.

  After Brian had left, Matilda had scrambled for flights, frantically calling airline after airline, while Jake cruised the Internet. The earliest they’d found was a one-way on Continental, scheduled to fly out that very day. Abby had to be at the gate at eight in the morning, a full three hours before the plane took off. London, that’s where she was headed. Her mother had explained it: Dad had a friend. A colleague out there. Abby was supposed to look him up. Matilda had refused to write anything down and had made Abby repeat the name and number over and over until she knew it by heart. Mortimus Cervantes: (020) 788-4512. She needed to call him when she arrived. He couldn’t know she was coming. There would be no contact from the States. She had to do it, and do it alone. Supposedly, he’d keep her safe.

  The whole experience reminded Abby of the first time she’d biked to Moby’s alone. She must have been around ten at the time, and all she’d wanted was a pack of gum. Moby’s General Store was just two miles down the street and, by anyone’s standards, a simple ride. The road was rimmed by an enormous shoulder, so it wasn’t like Abby would be near any cars. But Matilda, who had still been “Mom” at the time, had made Abby repeat her instructions over and over, until she was convinced Abby knew them by heart. Stay on the shoulder. Don’t veer into the lane. And don’t talk to anyone, especially someone you don’t know. Yes, stranger danger had been imprinted in Abby at an early age. In those days her mother had wanted her safe. This time, though, she wasn’t so sure.

  “Don’t call or email for at least a month, okay?” Those were the words Matilda had said as she rammed Abby’s belongings into the bag. The idea was to pretend that Abby had gone missing. Contacting home would ruin all that. It was for Abby’s protection, at least according to Matilda. And though part of Abby knew that was true, another part, a less rational one, was stung by her mother’s willingness to let her disappear. It was like Matilda had been waiting for this moment. This was her chance to sever the ties.

  She doesn’t even want a phone call, thought Abby. She doesn’t even care if I’m all right.

  The rain was so heavy it was hard to see. Cars were pulling over onto the shoulder, but Matilda didn’t seem to care. “Matilda,” whispered Abby as they bounced along, water slapping the window like great gobs of spit. “What’s the rush, we can’t take off in this weather.”

  “Let’s just get there,” said Matilda, squinting hard, as if she could make it on determination alone. “You never know what the pilot will do. Besides, it’s better if you’re out of the house. If your friend does decide to tell, it will take them a while to figure out where you are. We need time on our side right now.”

  For you or for me? wondered Abby, but she kept the words locked inside. She stared out at the crowded highway, her eyes taking in the flooded road as she blinked back tears that never came. They were moving again; maybe her mother was right. The wipers’ strange beat skipped along with her heart as the car sliced a path through the rain.

  “Let’s go,” said Matilda, under her breath. “Come on people, let’s get there already.”

  “Mom?” whispered Abby. The word still felt wrong.

  “What,” said Matilda, glancing at her, her brow furrowed in concentration.

  “We don’t have to do this. We could just go home.”

  Try said a voice, and this time it was hers. Try and make her change her mind. Do it now. You need to stay. Brian said his father could help. And Eleanor.... Abby closed her eyes. She could see the siren’s deep green stare, her orange hair streaming in the wind.

  “Abby,” said Matilda, “you can’t get caught. I don’t think you understand. I’m only doing this because I have to. Do you think I want to send you away?”

  A small voice inside Abby muttered yes. Matilda took the silence for what it was.

  “Well, I don’t,” said Matilda. “I just can’t let them find you. Do you know what they’d do to you, to all of us? The studies, the questions— your father told you all this. I just don’t understand why you let that boy see.”

  “I didn’t let him,” said Abby. “He just saw me, that’s all! Besides, he’s not going to tell. He thinks his father can help me figure out what to do. He knows something about the words on the mermaid box.”

  “What mermaid box?” snapped Matilda. “Was that your father’s little gift? Jesus, Abby, you don’t get it, do you? I don’t care what your father gave you. I’m getting you out of here for your own good. God how I hated all his secrets. You’d think he’d have clued me in at least once in his life.”

  An uncomfortable silence filled the car, punctuated by the smack of the windshield wipers, as they attacked the raindrops in brisk, angry strokes. Abby focused on their sound until she could decide what to say.

  “I had a dream,” she whispered, knowing what she had to do. “Maybe it was a vision, I don’t know. But whatever it was, I know I can stop it. I can stop the killer, the one who hurt Laura Liney and that girl from your cooking class.”

  Matilda was gnawing at her lower lip. Then she jerked the Volvo over the ramp and slammed onto 93, nearly side-swiping a bus in the process. Almost there, thought Abby as horns shrieked through the rain. An airport icon slid by on her right, and the scent of the ocean shot through her blood, even though the harbor was hidden from view.

  “Try,” hummed the voice inside her mind. It was Eleanor, she recognized it now. The siren’s voice had grown in strength. Now it was easy to tell who it was. Abby slipped her hand into her coat pocket; the feather was pulsing and growing warm. “Try again,” said Eleanor, louder this time. “You have to make her take you back.”

  I can’t, thought Abby.

  “Yes you can.”

  Abby took a deep breath and stared straight ahead, eyes locked on the line of traffic streaming into the tunnel’s dark. “Please,” Abby whispered. “Please take me home.”

  “Forget it,” barked Matilda. “It’s not safe anymore. This is what your father would have wanted. He asked me to protect you, and this is the only way I know how.”

  “You think he’d want this?” scoffed Abby. “You think he’d want you to abandon me in a foreign country with just the name and number of some stranger he used to know?”

  “Goddamn it Abby, you never think I’m on your side. And, you know, most of the time you’re probably right. I hate what Jason did to you; all those tests and secrets. He left me and Jake all alone. All his energy was aimed at you. I know I was resentful, and I can’t help that now, but it doesn’t change the fact that you’re my daughter. You’re my daughter, and I love you. Don’t think I’m about to let them take you away. This is what we’re doing. It’s the only way. Your father told me under no uncertain terms: if anyone ever found out what you are, we should send you to the contact he gave me. And that is exactly what we’re going to do.”

  They were out of the tunnel now, and the airport loomed ahead. Abby watched as her mother veered toward departures. For a moment she thought she was being dropped off.

  “Damn it. I always mess up here.” Matilda cut across two lanes of traffic and turned left into the parking garage.

  “You’re not just leaving me at departures?” said Abby.

  “What are you, nuts? I’m taking you as close to your gate as I can get. I know you Abby; you won’t get on the plane. You were always headstrong, but now you’re even worse. Look, I know that you think your boyfriend can help, but he can’t. Only one person can help us now, and that is the man you’re going to meet. So if you think I
trust you to get on that plane, well, you have another thought coming, that’s for sure.”

  Abby didn’t know what to say. But then Eleanor called out in her head. “Stop her. Stop her. You need to go back.”

  “Matilda...” said Abby, but her mother was busy squeezing into a parking space. Then she shoved the Volvo into park and leaped out the door before Abby could say another word.

  Abby reached into the back seat and grabbed the duffel. She wished Brian were here. She couldn’t believe what she was thinking, but she knew he could help. But he’s the reason you’re being sent away. The thought made Abby gasp for air. It’s not his fault, she thought. You weren’t careful enough. If you’ve anyone to blame, it’s yourself.

  “Let’s go,” said Matilda, her voice strained. She took Abby’s hand and squeezed it hard. Together they walked through the sliding glass doors and into the throat of the airport itself.

  They stopped in front of an electronic ticket booth, and Matilda shoved her credit card inside. Abby kept her eyes on the tiled floor, ignoring the other travelers’ stares.

  “Should you be using your credit card to buy this?” she asked. “I mean, I thought you wanted it to look like I ran away.”

  “You stole my credit card,” said Matilda, like she’d thought it all through. Abby listened to the machine whirl and purr, and waited for the ticket to print.

  “But then they’ll trace it,” said Abby, after a beat.

  “You lost it somehow. Don’t worry, I’ve covered the details— most of them anyway. We’ll say it was you who booked the flight from our house. And all that stuff on the computer, that was before you ran away. By the time we report you to missing persons, you’ll have a couple day’s lead on the police. That’s more than enough time to find the hunchback, and leave the U.K. before they know what’s what.”

  “Hunchback,” said Abby, her chest going tight.

  “That’s how your dad said you’d recognize the guy. What? Didn’t I say that before?”

  “No,” answered Abby slowly. “All you told me was his name and number.” Abby closed her eyes, and remembered her vision— her father, the water, the hunchbacked man. Eleanor was right. She had to get out of here now.

  “But what about Brian?” said Abby. “What if he says it was you? He didn’t want to leave me. He knows something’s up.”

  “He can’t prove you didn’t run away.” Matilda’s face was lined with worry. But that was the thing, Matilda wasn’t good at this sort of stuff. Hiding, pretending— she hated it all. It was one of the many reasons she resented her daughter. Abby’s mere existence after the change had forced her to live in a world of pretend.

  “Didn’t Dad tell you what to do?”

  “No,” said Matilda. “He just gave me the name. Let’s hope that was good enough.”

  Or let’s not, thought Abby, finally turning her head. A pale, blonde woman was watching her now, her wide eyes locked on Abby’s face. Beside her stood a teenage boy, his face a slab of raw meat under the fluorescents, eyes unable to look away.

  Abby wanted to hide, to run back to the car, but she resisted the urge to cover her face, and raised her head high for them to see. They’ll all remember me, she thought. So even if I have to get on that plane, the police are going to find me and make me come back.

  “You don’t want them to find you,” Eleanor crooned in her mind. Abby slipped her hand into her jacket pocket. The feather was almost too hot to touch.

  “Eleanor,” whispered Abby. “Help me now. Tell me what I’m supposed to do now.”

  “Remember Brian,” moaned Eleanor. “Remember what he said. Stay away from the police and find a way to get back home.”

  “Here,” said Matilda, pressing the ticket into Abby’s hand. Then she thought better of it and griped it in her own. “Let’s go,” she said. “It’s gate B6. I’m going to take you to Check In. That’s as far as I can go. After you go through security, there’s no way out. At least not one that doesn’t take you through the terminal’s exit, and that’s exactly we’re I’ll be waiting. So don’t even think about not getting on that plane. I’ll be watching. I’ll make sure.”

  Abby’s insides flip-flopped. She felt like she was in jail. She fought the urge to shove her mother and scream out “no” at the top of her lungs, but Matilda had tears in her eyes. She just wants you safe, thought Abby. You should do this for her.

  “But what’s to stop me from getting on the next plane home?”

  “Money,” said Matilda. “I only put a hundred bucks in your wallet. There’s no way you can hop on another plane with just that. You have to listen to me Abby. You have to do the right thing. Just find the hunchback, and do it fast. He’ll help you until this whole mess blows over.”

  “You mean—”

  “Shh, don’t say it out loud. Your dad said to make sure no one knows. That’s why I wouldn’t let you write it down. Look, you have to trust me on this. You have to disappear. It’s the only way.”

  “But what about Jake,” said Abby. Something flickered behind Matilda’s eyes. It took Abby a moment to realize it was fear. “He has the same genes as me. They might take him instead. You don’t know. They could test him too.”

  “They won’t,” said Matilda, but she didn’t sound so sure. “Besides without you around to test his theory, everyone will think your boyfriend’s insane. Just get on that plane, Abby. Don’t make this hard. It doesn’t have to be like this if you don’t want it to.”

  Yes it does, thought Abby, a lump blooming in her throat as she plodded down the crowded hallway and toward the arrow marked International Check In. Once there, she got in line.

  “Get your ID,” said Matilda. “We’re moving fast.”

  Suddenly, Abby could actually see the tension radiating off her mother’s skin. It looked like the deep, purple tentacles of an enormous sea anemone waving fluidly in the air. Stop it! thought Abby, blinking hard. Oh god, why aren’t they gone?

  “Mom?” whispered Abby, but Matilda didn’t hear.

  They were already nearing the front of the line. Ahead stood two metal detectors, a full body scanner and three conveyor belts attached to computer monitors. Behind all that loomed the entrance to the gates themselves.

  Just go, thought Abby, cramming a hand into her purse and fishing around for her wallet. It was only after she’d pulled it out and located her license that she remembered what Eleanor had said in the dream. The monster, she thought. It’ll go after Jake. Killing it is the only way to protect him too.

  “Wait,” yelped Abby stepping out of the line and heading toward the side of the room. A tall, bald man was staring at her. He couldn’t take his eyes off her face. Abby covered herself with her hands, blocking his view.

  “What?” said Matilda. “Abby, what are you doing? Please, just do what I said!”

  “It’ll come after Jake,” Abby whispered. “Please don’t do this. Don’t send me away. In my dream, she told me it would come.”

  “Who told you?” shot Matilda. “What are you talking about?”

  “The monster, the thing that killed those two girls.” Abby kept her voice low, hoping no one else could hear.

  “Abby, it was only a dream,” said Matilda. “There is no monster. It’s all in your head. I have to put you first now, that’s just how it is. If your father were alive, he would never forgive me if I didn’t follow his plan.”

  In that moment, all of Abby’s energy leached from her body, and she slumped miserably against the wall. There was no getting around this. Her mother wasn’t caving. For once, Matilda was putting her daughter first— even if that meant sending her away.

  “Stop her,” screeched Eleanor inside Abby’s head. Her voice was so sharp it sliced through Abby’s skull. “Don’t let her do this. Get out while you can!” Abby reached her hand into her jacket pocket. The feather was as hot as a flame. She hoped it didn’t burn through the fabric and into her skin.

  “Don’t give up,” said Eleanor. “Us
e your power now.”

  Matilda had taken Abby by the arm and was leading her back into line. The fluorescents seared Abby’s retinas, as she tried to blink away the dark, purple lines that continued to sprout from her mother’s skin.

  “Are you okay?” asked Matilda. Abby was sweating now, even though the airport was cool. Her clothes were damp, and her hair clung to her neck.

  “No,” Abby whispered, but Matilda didn’t hear. Then Abby felt it, they were watching again. Every man in the building had his eyes on her. She could feel them staring into her face, thinking their twisted, nasty thoughts.

  “Use your power,” said Eleanor, and behind those words came the roar of the sea.

  She was almost at the front of the line. She held her I.D. and ticket out like an offering, waiting for the female security officer to take them from her hand. Matilda was gripping Abby’s elbow, her fingers digging into the skin.

  Abby stared at the officer at the head of the line, and suddenly the world was magnified. She could make out every pore on the woman’s face. The clumps in her mascara— she could actually count her eyelashes. And the woman’s thoughts, she could hear them all.

  “Let’s go,” said Matilda,” but Abby was frozen. The security officer returned her I.D. and ticket, but she couldn’t take them. She couldn’t move. The feather was searing her rib cage now. She wanted to tear her jacket off, but her arms wouldn’t budge. Every muscle was rigid in anticipation, and Abby knew exactly why.

  It was coming now, she could feel its heat, roaring up the back of her throat, its red head raised, wanting out. Matilda gasped, and then Abby was burning, her body seething as it exploded in sound. No! Stop! she wailed inside her head, but it was as if she were seeing the world under a blood-clotted lens. All she could hear was her own raw scream. “Alli kani ka falá.” She shoved her fingers into her ears, trying to escape the sound. And the words, she had no idea what she was saying, but they kept on climbing up her throat, their harsh tones bent in a terrible song. She couldn’t stop them. She didn’t know how. “Alli kani ka falá!” And then, suddenly, it was over. Her body was deflated as a used up balloon and she collapsed onto the floor, eyes closed, fist crammed against her teeth.

  She lay there sobbing for several minutes, and it was only when the tile’s chill began eating into her skin that she realized that the world around her had stopped. There was her mother, body like a statue, though at least the purple tentacles were finally gone. Everyone had their hands pressed to their ears, their frozen mouths hanging open in great, gaping o’s.

  Oh god, thought Abby. What have I done? What kind of monster am I turning into?

  “You’re not a monster,” said Eleanor, her voice loud and crisp. Gingerly, Abby reached into her pocket. The feather was warm, but not like before. It was as if Eleanor was standing by her shoulder, talking to her like anyone would. “Now is your chance. Take it and run. Do it before they wake up.”

  “Did you do this?” said Abby. “Did you do this for me?”

  “You’re the one who did it,” Eleanor said. “I was just along for the ride.”

  Abby glanced down at her watch; it was still ticking. And out the window to her left, she saw a plane taking off.

  “It’s just the people in here,” she whispered. “The ones who could hear me. Oh, what have I done?”

  “Run,” said Eleanor. “Do it now. You’re not that strong. They’ll wake up soon.”

  Abby looked at Matilda and touched her arm. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Matilda stared straight ahead, her body as still as a corpse. “Mom, I’m so sorry. I really am.”

  Abby zipped open the duffel, yanked out the mermaid box, and shoved it into her purse. Then she was sprinting through the frozen airport, charging downstairs towards the waiting trains.

  11. Snake Bite

  Brian couldn’t find Abby at school. He’d scoured the halls, hunted through the library. As far as he could tell, she wasn’t here. He cringed when he thought of the last time he’d seen her. The look on her mom’s face still filled him with dread. Did her mother do something? he wondered. Did she take Abby away? He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

  He knew the beach was the most obvious place to look, but he couldn’t go there, not now anyway. The place was absolutely crawling with cops. He’d seen them on his way to school. Everyone had. But Brian was too busy searching for Abby to spend much time trying to find out what was going on. He’d finally overheard two sophomores talking when he was fumbling with his locker, unable to get in. They’d found a body out there today. A girl’s body. The cops weren’t saying who it was.

  There was an assembly right after homeroom, so the entire school was herded into the auditorium. There weren’t enough seats, and Brian had to stand. He didn’t mind. He had a better view on his feet, his sight line virtually unobstructed by the rows of swaying heads. Once he’d determined Abby wasn’t in the auditorium, he kept glancing at the door, waiting for her to walk through.

  Jesus Christ was it stuffy in there. The place was packed with sweaty kids. Brian absolutely hated this sort of thing, which usually involved bunches of jocks cracking lame jokes in an attempt to make things last longer than they should. But not today; today was different. It was so quiet that Brian could actually hear himself breathe.

  The kid to Brian’s right was literally shaking, his milky skin glowing beneath the auditorium’s lights. It was Kevin Hinkley, star of the varsity basketball team. Brian knew he was a partier. He was probably worried that it was one of his friends. They’d found the body at a popular hang out spot, and Brian knew for a fact there’d been a beach party last night. He’d heard a rumor about it yesterday during school.

  Even with the curfew, people’d still gone out. They must have started up after the rain had stopped. Funny how the police hadn’t kept better patrol. Or not so funny, thought Brian, his insides going cold. He hadn’t gone; he’d been with Abby. Besides, he usually avoided those sorts of things. But he was pretty sure Kevin had been there. Kevin and a bunch of his basketball friends. Would they be suspects? he wondered. Was that why Kevin looked so scared? Don’t be stupid, thought Brian, glancing back toward the door. Everyone just wants to know who it is.

  Brian found it impossible to listen to Principal Turner’s speech. It sounded like the guy was talking underwater. Focus, thought Brian, but his brain was out of gear. All he could think about was Abby. Had she gone to the beach after everyone had left? Maybe her mother had done something to her. Maybe that’s how she’d planned on taking care of things. Get rid of all the evidence, now that he knew what her daughter really was.

  You’re panicking, thought Brian. Take some deep breaths. He tried, but the air wouldn’t come. Then the room began to spin. Brian grabbed the armrest of the seat closest to him and steadied himself before he crumpled to the floor.

  When he looked up, Turner had left the stage and two guys in dark blue athletic jackets with FBI written on their arms in yellow were standing at the podium.

  Where is she? Brian squinted through the crowed. Why the hell isn’t she here? Brian knew her brother’d been pissed when he’d found him on her floor. But her mother— what had she done?

  A painful tightness spread through Brian’s chest. And then he knew, she was the one they had found. Oh God, he thought. He started to cry. “Get it together,” he whispered under his breath. “You don’t know it’s her. You don’t know anything!”

  The agents were finally leaving the stage, their eyes wide and blank as they disappeared behind the curtain. The FBI, thought Brian. He guessed it made sense. Big crime, serial killer, the Feds had to come. He didn’t know whether to feel relieved or scared. Because if the FBI were involved then Luther couldn’t be in charge. At least not on paper, Brian scoffed. If that even means anything.

  Now the school’s guidance counselors were approaching the podium. Wrinkled Ms. Sangley, whom Brian had met two years ago when they’d wanted to test him for accelera
ted math; and Mr. Linden, whose thick frame and piercing, black eyes made him look more like a prison guard than a school guidance counselor. The two stood side by side like mismatched bookends, and readied themselves to address the crowd.

  “Hello everyone,” Ms. Sangley squeaked. Suddenly Brian could understand. Somehow, the fog in his brain had lifted, and now everything was clear.

  Come on, thought Brian. Tell me what’s up. Say who it is so I can know it’s not her.

  Ms. Sangley cleared her throat then rubbed at her eyes. Dark rings of mascara stood out in the light after she moved her hands away. “Mr. Linden and I will be in our offices for the rest of the day. Our schedules are completely open. Please,” her voice cracked, but she kept on going, “come see us if you need to talk. We’ve contacted some grief counselors. They should be here soon. This is such a terrible loss.” Ms. Sangley held an age spotted hand up to her lips, as if trying to contain a sob. She hiccuped once, then stared down at her shoes.

  Abby, prayed Brian, please don’t let it be you.

  “Hey Kevin,” said Brian, leaning toward the basketball star.

  “What?” said Kevin stepping away. He seemed surprised that Brian was speaking to him. They weren’t in the same social circle, not that Brian was in any social circles at all, but discussions across cliques could be suicide.

  “Sorry,” said Brian, thinking fast. “Um, I sort of spaced out during most of what Turner and the FBI said. Who was it anyway? And what exactly happened? I guess I didn’t hear.”

  Kevin’s eyes, already large, gleamed like moons. He obviously didn’t get how Brian could have missed any of this. But Brian’s reputation as a genius-freak, must have given him the benefit of the doubt.

  Kevin sighed and leaned in a little closer. Beneath his fear was the shadow of relief. It’s not one of his friends, thought Brian automatically. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t her.

  “It was Gretchen Milligan. She doesn’t usually party with us. They found her body floating in the surf. Those FBI guys asked us to tell them if we know anything. Oh, and we’re supposed to keep a lookout for strangers in town. And stay off the beach. They want us sticking to the curfew. They’re going to enforce it this time.”

  “You know,” Kevin stared hard at Brian, his thin face twisting into a mask of distrust. “I don’t really get it. How could you miss what they said? Are you in shock or something?”

  Brian didn’t respond.

  “Well,” sneered Kevin, turning away. “I guess that’s why everyone thinks you’re such a freak.”

  Brian shrugged, not caring what Kevin thought. Relief surged through him like an electrical current. His chest hummed in gratitude. “It’s not you,” he whispered, under his breath. “Thank god Abby, it’s not you.”

  It was only when he glanced up at the stage that his relief turned to absolute fear. For there at the podium stood Luther Pentos, a smile plastered across his face.

  No, thought Brian. Oh please god, no. He wanted to hide, to duck under a seat, but all he could do was stand frozen in place and wait to hear what his stepfather had to say.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Luther began. Brian’s insides started to hurt. “I just want to assure you that we’re doing are best, our very best to find out what happened to your friend.” All eyes were on him, every set in the school. They stared hazily as if in a trance.

  It’s his voice, thought Brian. He’s controlling them somehow.

  “Please try and remain calm,” Luther continued. “We are working closely with the FBI on this matter. Together we’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  Brian covered his ears; he couldn’t listen. His whole head felt anesthetized, as if someone had just shot a sedative into his skull. Stop it, he thought. Don’t let him do this to you. The people around him were starting to nod.

  Brian glanced back at the stage, and then immediately wished he hadn’t. Luther’s eyes were growing larger and brighter until they had taken up most of the room on his face. Even the two FBI agents now standing near the exit, were nodding along with the crowd. Brian ducked his head, crammed his fingers into his ears, and began pushing his way toward the door.

  Amazingly, all crying had ceased. The faces around him were bereft of emotion. Brian caught a glimpse of Principal Turner, whose dull, glazed eyes made him look stoned. It would have been funny if Brian hadn’t known what was going on, but now it only filled him with dread.

  What is he doing? thought Brian as he ducked out the door, praying that Luther was too busy zombifying the school to notice that he was getting away.

  “But I do.” Luther’s voice sliced through Brian’s skull— sleek and graceful and sharp as a blade.

  No, yelped Brian, clawing at his scalp. His head was spinning, just like before. Just like the time at his father’s trial. Instantly, he envisioned a wall, a thick circle of bricks around the perimeter of his mind. A mortar fortress to keep Luther out. Suddenly the terrible feeling was gone, evaporating into nothing at all.

  “You’re all right,” Brian panted as he charged out of the building and sprinted toward his car. Then an image of Abby flashed through his mind. Hurry, he thought. You need to find her. You have to get to her before Luther does.