by Sakurapu
She watched the number, impressed and feeling guilty, until Lornie waved to her from the left wing. Ivy finger-waved back. By the look on her friend's face, Ivy assumed Lornie hadn't seen her expression glaze over. After Fritz' number, the orchestra took a break as the scene was set up for Romeo's duel scene. Ivy looked down as her cell phone hummed. She quickly looked at the text.
Gotta run thru again. Staying? Lornie was asking.
Ivy felt a rush of relief. No sign Lornie knew she'd drifted out. Teaching @ 6.
Sry. 4got. Later!
Ivy shot back a goodbye and stood up. Lornie wasn't side-stage now, so Ivy assumed she was backstage, secretly texting.
By the time she got outside, the sun was heading west, in a hurry to set for the day. Ivy turned down the sidewalk to the library, guessing she'd have her usual four to six students this time, most girls and one boy. She pulled her jacket close and lowered her head against the chill wind that gusted into her face. Her book bag was stuffed with yarn and extra crochet and knitting needles, her standard stock for classes. There were always a few students who forgot something. She'd run out of most smaller sizes, and now mostly had the nine- and ten-inch knitting needles, sizes eight to thirteen. She'd have to start charging students for replacement supplies if she wanted to make anything of a profit for her three hours a week of classes.
When she looked up as the gust died down, Vohn stood at the town's small main intersection. She stopped walking.
He didn't seem surprised to see her. He nodded her over, meeting her a few steps as she glanced down the street to her left where the library was out of sight around the next corner. His eyes dropped over her, noting her bulging bag. "Take a walk with me, Ivy."
He smiled a little, but she saw nothing inviting in his face. "I have a class to teach."
He nodded. "Then we'll walk to the library."
She nodded slowly. "O-Okay."
He turned down the street, watching her fall into step with him. He was dressed much like Branard had been the first time Ivy saw him, in jeans, hoodie, and sneakers. His dark hair was more ruffled than she generally saw it at school—or during their summer of scoping him out under Camille's orders. She fought off a blush at the thought. They'd been so careful, but to find out now that Vohn had known about them all along was humiliating.
"You've been to the Hall enough to know our family isn't typical," he said, still looking straight ahead.
She nodded, relaxing her shoulders. The wind wasn't as bad here, now that he was blocking most of it. "Dred said you have a lot of relatives kind of visit and stay on some." It wasn't exactly what he'd said, but she figured it was close enough.
"Some stay for months. It's a stopover of sorts. Our family is old, with Old World eccentrics, shunned outcasts, displaced royalty." He grinned when she gave him a shocked look. "Royalty no one wants, Ivy. No land, no estate; just royal or noble in name, most penniless. Some have remained, become fixtures at the Hall." He shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket, his mood sobering. "Dred has troubles. I don't know if anyone has told you that, but he does. Problems people don't talk about in polite circles."
She saw no humor in his face, just his eyes locked on nothing, his jaw line tensed with something he wasn't voicing. "They let him into school, so maybe a counselor there could help if—"
"It's not as simple as that." His gaze lowered to her, frowning slightly. "He's not from Canada. He's from Oregon."
"Oh . . . Well, that's not a problem." She had the feeling there was much more, but was hoping to ease some of the tension the wind didn't push out of the air.
"He seems fond of you. Can't blame him," he added offhandedly. "But I don't know if it's healthy for you."
Now the chill seeped into her jacket, up her sleeve cuffs and down her collar. "Healthy?"
He put his hand on her back and directed her down a street two blocks from the library. "You've got time for a detour."
She stopped the protest that came to her lips. He seemed to know her schedule for the evening, so there was no real excuse she could make.
"I must say, I was surprised you called me out about Evandis' work," he said, chuckling dryly. "I didn't see that coming from you. Maybe you are ready for the truth about Dred."
"What did he do?" She felt the wind push at her back.
"Nothing, maybe. Maybe something." He sighed, his posture stiffening. "In Oregon, Dred's family, his mother, father, little sister, were bludgeoned to death four years ago. Dred alone survived, unscathed, found covered in blood. He said he didn't remember anything for the first two years after that, so, when he turned thirteen, the institution let him stay with family. One family after another had their chance with him, until last year."
She stared wide-eyed at him, unable to ask the question burning in her.
"He stayed with an aunt then. She was old, half-deaf. When she died, the family—our relatives—decided it was best for him to adjust, one way or another, into normal society. So he came here." He looked over at her, steadily estimating her reaction. "So here he is. In Rasperville."
She gripped the strap on her bag tighter as her fingers shook. Her attention went back down the street before them. "Is . . . Is he okay now?"
"Some say he killed his family that day." He shook his head, smiling a little when she looked to him. "Of course, it was mostly talk. You know how small towns are. He remembers that he came home from school and they were all dead that day. Mother, father. Three-year-old sister."
Ivy felt ill at the words.
"I guess it's a form of shock. He doesn't talk about them. Acts like it was something he read about, not that it actually was his family. From what I've heard, there was no hard evidence against him; just circumstantial bullshit. Like most small town cops would come up with. Anyway, they never charged anyone for it." He shrugged as they reached the end of the street and turned the block corner that would to the next block across from the library. "So that's why he's here."
"How did his aunt die?" She could barely utter the words.
"Just her time. Old age."
She walked on, not feeling the cold breeze that was now brisker with their turn of direction.
"But don't ask him about it. I don't know what he'd tell you." He took a deep breath, shaking his head. "I don't think he's told anyone the truth."
They walked for the next full block, neither speaking, Ivy trying to digest the new information.
"So if you don't want to come back to the Hall," he said slowly, "we'd understand. Everyone would. And Dred, eventually, would think you were afraid of him pouncing on you."
She frowned at him. "He hasn't. Really he hasn't."
He chuckled. "It would be only natural, Ivy. Hormone-driven kid like him. Cute girl like you. Only a matter of time."
Her lips curled in aversion. "He seems nice."
"Never sure how he's going to be, day by day." They waited for a car to pass at the stop sign to the next block. "Maeve was going to tell you, but she just hasn't yet. Waiting for the right moment, I guess."
Darkness was in twilight, the few streetlamps glimmering on in the semi-night. Some of the shops already had strands of clear lights put up, outlining the windows, a decoration that could easily be used for Halloween, Thanksgiving, or the holiday season.
"Thanks for telling me," she finally said. Her hand tightened on the bag strap at her shoulder. "What were they bludgeoned with? The family. Did the cops know?"
"A sword. The hilt end of a sword. Some family heirloom. The blade had bloody handprints on it from whoever had done the swinging."
She felt sickened. "Did they match Dred?"
"Not conclusively. But the fact that the sword was used as a club rather than as a sword," he said, slowing as they neared the brightly-lit library, "made some investigators think the attacker was too young or weak to use it correctly for stabbing."
Her stomach fluttered with nauseated butterflies. "Gross."
"Just thought you should know." He glanced fr
om the library's scarecrow and jack-o-lantern display set up on the lawn back to her. "So you can decide if you want to come back or not, or if you want to watch yourself around him."
She waved to two of her students who skipped past them and went into the library. "Thanks. Vohn." She looked up at him, never guessing he knew what he did about Dred. "Thanks for telling me."
He nodded. "See you, Ivy."
He left back down the short sidewalk to the street, jogged across it, and headed back into the main town.
Ivy felt the bracing wind sweep into her face.
So that was the truth about Dred Jacobin.
Chapter Thirteen
Halloween arrived bright and crisp that Friday. It had been a long few days since Vohn had told Ivy about Dred's past.
Possible past, she reminded herself as she readied Sandy and Rowley for a night of Trick-or-Treating. Mr. and Mrs. Marvin had promised not to be too late that night—getting home at no later than eight-thirty. Conveniently, she thought, after the madness of Halloween candy had passed for the kids in the small subdivision. They were going to a party his company had for work and a brief stop-in was expected. They had already delivered candy bags to all of the neighbor kids' houses, so there would be no handing-out of candy at the Marvins.
Four-year-old Sandy bounced up and down in her Little Red Riding Hood costume as Ivy tried to fix the headband attached to the hood that had come loose. "Let's go, let's go, let's go!" the girl cried, jangling her pumpkin bucket for treats. "We're late, we're late, we're late!"
"We're not late," Ivy said, straightening the hood over the girl's round face. She looked to Rowley, age five, who was dressed as a ninja. "Ready?"
He nodded and they set off down the sidewalk.
Most of the subdivision was decorated in raging Halloween style, but some were more tastefully embellished with "harvest" colors. These were the houses, Ivy noticed, that didn't have the front porch lights on or doors open to invite Trick-or-Treaters. She had already given Sandy and Rowley treats—sugar-free comic books—of what she knew were their favorite series. A twinge of Halloweens past went through her as she thought of her dad handing out candies from their front door. He always wore a Chewbacca mask, and had already been wearing it—"Warming it up," he had said—when she left that afternoon.
It was a double reason to feel amiss. Not only was she skipping out on her dad, but also missing the opening night of Romeo and Juliet at school. Lornie was still relegated to understudy, as Carlie was well again, but Ivy still missed Lornie. And Camille. Their tight knit triangle had come loose over the summer.
"Watch for cars!" she called as Sandy and Rowley joined the subdivision street crawling with kids in costumes.
She got two screams of laughter in answer.
At first the houses were busy, with costumed-children racing pell-mell all over the yards and sidewalks, but as the event got into the last twenty minutes of allotted time, many of the kids were spent, steps slower, and candy bags and buckets dragging.
Ivy was right there with them, the chill night air seeping into her jacket as the clear, nearly full moon shone down on them. They circled home taking the back side of the subdivision, where some decorated homes had already closed doors and shut off porch lights, their candy supplies depleted.
"I'm tired," Sandy said, pulling her pumpkin basket along, bumping it off the curb. Her hood was down and her hair loose from the headband. "My teeth hurt."
"You didn't have any candy yet, did you?" Ivy asked suspiciously. That was the rule: no candy until they got home—when their parents could take inventory and safety measures.
"No," Sandy said slowly, not looking at her.
"Yeah, she did," Rowley said, pointing at her, laughing, which showed his chocolate-stained teeth.
"You both have been sneaking," Ivy said.
"Just MnMs," Sandy said.
Rowley nodded. "She did it first," he said defensively.
"No more 'til we get home," Ivy said sternly. "And only after your mom and dad say it's okay."
Above, or perhaps below, the music playing from the corner house, Ivy could hear something else. The theme from Ghostbusters movie boomed from the house as Ivy and her charges neared. But from elsewhere, Ivy could hear something else, something more melodious, something beckoning. She tried to hear it above the movie soundtrack, but could only detect a few notes.
They sounded simple, like something even she could have picked out on a piano—given enough time.
Sandy crashed on the sofa as soon as Ivy opened the Marvin house front door, followed by Rowley slumping into an upholstered chair in the living room. Ivy shook her head and slipped off the girl's shoes and untied her hood, helping her get comfortable, and was in the middle of wresting Rowley's double-knotted shoes off when the door opened and Mr. and Mrs. Marvin stepped in.
Naturally, Ivy thought, not really caring that the parents had missed the fun of candy looting. The Marvins paid well.
"Be careful going home, Ivy," Mr. Marvin said as Ivy got ready to leave.
"Yes, lots of mischief out tonight," his wife added. "Someone's buzzing the main intersection with black kites."
"Or maybe drones draped with black bags," Mr. Marvin said. He shook his head at the sight of his children. "Whatever it is, it's problematic for the traffic."
Ivy nodded slowly. "Thanks for the warning."
Sandy and Rowley were already crouched over their buckets, flinging candy out after their dad's signal to "Go", but they both managed to wave to Ivy.
Ivy waved back at the kids. She declined a ride home when Mrs. Marvin offered, and set out back into the night.
The sky was star-laden, clear and bright, with the moon shining in round opalescence. The crowds were nearly gone, some stragglers and older kids hanging at the corner of the subdivision by the brick entry that marked the name of the community. Ivy's trek would be across the whole town, to the older side of residences, and then a few more country blocks, as her dad called them. But first, she wanted to stop by school and see how the play had gone.
She watched the sky as she walked, but saw nothing remarkable. Just stars, the big moon.
She was halfway to school, humming a nameless tune, when she got the text from Lornie. She called her back. "What's this about rehearsal after the play?"
Lornie sounded like she'd been crying. "It was terrible, Ivy! Just terrible. None of the props worked, and the steam machine rained water instead, and the soundtrack was out of sync and kept hanging up. It was the worst thing ever. I'm so glad you didn't see it!"
Ivy felt the crushing despair in her friend's near-sobs. "So, you have a rehearsal? Now? Tonight?"
"Yes."
Ivy sighed. "I can't believe it. It's so late." She glanced at the time on her phone; actually, it was only eight-twenty. "How long do you think it will be?"
"I don't know." Lornie was composing herself, sounding a little better. "We have to get everything fixed tonight for the matinee tomorrow."
"All of you have to stay?"
"For solidarity, yes."
Ivy wrinkled her nose. "Isn't that a bit extreme?"
"I think I should stay." Lornie cleared her throat. "I'll call you tomorrow. We're wanted onstage now."
"All right. Good luck, Lornie. Be strong."
"See you tomorrow."
Ivy stared at the phone as it clicked off. Never had she heard of a school play going so badly. Maybe the production was too ambitious for a high school. "Poor Lornie." She considered waiting around to see her friend, but decided against it. Lornie may not want much company after the blistering performance.
She set back off across town, humming until she realized she didn't know what song it was. She took a detour on the sidewalk when she saw three boys ahead, older than her, one lighting up a cigarette as they all glanced her way. She walked quicker, ducking behind the backs of the shops.
"Hey," a voice called softly.
Ivy muted a yelp and turned to see Dred coming
from the back of the building at the corner. He grinned and waved, crossing the alley to meet her. She held her ground despite wanting to back up. "Hi, Dred."
"So, how'd your Trick-or-Treating go?"
"Fine, fine." She continued on.
He went with her. "Didn't see much of you at school today." His elbow nudged her arm. "Avoiding me?"
"No. Why?"
"Thought you might find your way to the Hall. You know, take a tour. See the place, like you wanted to." He searched her face. "Lose interest, yeah?"
"No." She studied him; he didn't look dangerous, not in the mass-murderer way. Maybe in a low-key bad-boy way, but nothing murderous. "Do you like it here? This town?"
"Yeah, I do." He grinned, looking ahead, nodding. "Let's go say hi. Scarlet wanted to talk to you about your dress."
She slowed, but sped back up to match his longer strides. "Really?"
He nodded, sparing her a grin. "She looked up the book, Gone with the Wind. Wants to see your dress. Maybe tomorrow before you go to the party?"
"Well, I guess it would be okay." She hadn't meant to agree, but could find no reason for a solid no. The air seemed suddenly warmer, almost balmy, and she looked up to see a large cloud pass over the moon. Still no drones or kites. Maybe that mayhem had passed. The alley darkened more, the warm breath of draft welling around them.
"I can walk you to the party afterward, if you want."
The warmness dissolved and the chill snapped back. Ivy stared up at Dred, the light of the moon making his features appear harsher. He was almost gaunt, pale, his dark hair starkly black over his brow.
"You can decide later if you want," he said, shrugging, sensing her change in mood.
She watched his eyes. They weren't the eyes of a killer, she decided. Dark, deep, almost black, but she saw no malice in them. "We'll see, I guess."
"Good. Come on."
Within moments they were at Brylinden Hall. Ivy didn't recall actually walking there, but there she was, standing beside Dred in the ballroom, looking up at the chandelier. It wasn't the hall as she remembered it.