by Norah Wilson
“So what? We changed our minds. Something came up and—”
“And we didn’t know what he’d done with you,” Alex said.
“Wait a minute! How did you know we didn’t go to the movies?” Maryanne’s eyes widened even further. “Were you spying on me all night?”
Alex sat down on her bed before she answered, hoping the others would follow suit to sort of de-escalate things. Brooke did. Maryanne didn’t. “Dani Mann called,” Alex said.
“Are you telling me you have Dani spying on me now?”
“No!” Alex raked her bangs back again. “Will you just…sit down and let me explain!”
Finally, reluctantly, Maryanne sat down on her bed, but she sat on the very edge, arms crossed.
“Dani’s call had nothing to do with you, at first. She called because she’s Dani Mann—the biggest gossip this side of…okay, on the whole damn planet.” Neither Brooke nor Maryanne contradicted that statement, not that Alex would have expected them to. She went on, “Dani was out with Huxley—apparently she’d twisted his arm into taking her to some romantic comedy thing—and they ran into Melissa Kosnick.”
“How delightful for them, huh?” Brooke sneered. Seth had been such a jerk to Brooke, throwing her over for Melissa. It still evidently stung.
“So what?” Maryanne asked.
“Dani said Melissa was acting all weird. Saying things.”
“What things?”
“About the Hellers,” Alex answered. “About how they—we—are flying in packs now. Melissa told Dani and Huxley and about a dozen others within earshot how Seth had told her he knew something about the Mansbridge Hellers that no one else did. And that he was going to do something about them. Going to—”
“End us,” Brooke said. “That’s what he told Melissa. Exactly what he told her.”
“And she didn’t tell anyone this before because…?”
“She’s been terrified.” Alex swallowed hard. “She’s…she’s not been the same since she saw us on Halloween night, and I’ve heard that from more than just Dani Mann. Apparently Melissa can’t keep it all in any longer. Despite her fear of…well, us, she’s telling everyone about that night.”
Maryanne paled. “But Seth died before he could do anything.” There was a slight quaver to her voice now. “Trampled to death by the horses we pretty much ruined by riding them that other time…”
The guilt Alex had felt since that night—the guilt they all shared—welled up, but Alex tamped it down. “Melissa thinks there’s more to it.”
Maryanne’s eyebrows rose. “More to what?”
“Hello? To Seth’s accident. She thinks we did it,” Brooke said.
“What?”
“Okay, strictly speaking, she thinks the Hellers did it,” Brooke said. “She’s telling everyone who’ll listen that the Hellers purposely drove those horses into a frenzy until they trampled Seth.”
Alex watched Maryanne carefully, but even more carefully, she watched Brooke. Though the girl could play New York cool better than anyone, there was something in her eyes now. Wasn’t there?
Maryanne sat, silently, for a couple minutes. “And when you mentioned to Dani Mann that I was going to the movies—”
“Dani said you weren’t there,” Alex said. “Huxley and Bryce are best friends. They thought they’d sit with you guys. So when she called and said you weren’t there, with everything Melissa had said about Seth having known…something…”
As her words drifted off, Alex thought back over the scene at the food court just after Halloween, before Seth had died. Brooke had made some suggestive remarks about the Hellers. That look Seth had given them when he’d walked away that afternoon… What exactly had he known? Had he realized?
Apparently the same scenario was running through Brooke’s mind. “He may have guessed I was a caster,” she said.
Alex filled in the obvious: “Naturally, if he figured out Brooke was a caster, he may have guessed we all were. What if Melissa wasn’t the only one he spoke to? What if—”
“What if he told Bryce, you mean?” Maryanne sighed. “Okay, I get it. You thought I might be in trouble. That Bryce asked me out to…lure me out. To hurt me because he knew I was a caster. Or a soul-stealing Heller, as the Walkers would say.”
Alex watched Maryanne’s eyes glass over as she sat there silently, staring into space. Crap. Alex wished like hell this conversation wasn’t necessary. The girl deserved to go on an uncomplicated date with an uncomplicated boy who liked her for who she was, and who had no ulterior—possibly sinister—motives.
“Well, at least that’s over with,” Brooke said into the silence which had begun to stretch uncomfortably. “Settled and done! Goodbye to the Walkers, once and for all!” She reached into her nightstand and pulled out a small bottle of vodka as well as three black shot glasses Alex hadn’t seen before. Brooke set them on her night stand. “It’s back to just the three of us. Let’s drink to that, shall we?”
“Sure,” Alex said. “I’ll drink to that.” A month ago, Alex would have been scared to take a drink. Scared that first drink would lead to another one. Or six. But she’d had a celebratory drink here and there with her Halifax friends over Christmas and discovered it really hadn’t been that hard to say no to a second. Despite that discovery, she still pretty much said no to the first drink these days. Tonight, though, she’d take that toast.
“Wait just a minute here. What is it you two think we’re drinking to?” Maryanne glared at Brooke. “What are you saying?”
Oh shit, Alex did not like where this was heading.
“I mean with Bryce, of course. You won’t be seeing him again—casters and hunters don’t mix.” Brooke unscrewed the cap and poured the drinks for them all.
Alex walked over and picked up one of the small glasses, but knew by the look on Maryanne’s face that there’d be no clinking of crystal on this one.
Brooke, on the other hand, seemed oblivious. “Over and done with,” she said.
“Over?” Maryanne repeated.
“Yeah,” Brooke said.
Maryanne’s jaw tightened. “Not by a long shot, Brooke.”
Brooke smiled. Oh, but shit, it was her hiding smile. The one she slid on to hide the hurt. Alex had never seen anything like it; this girl took everything as personal rejection. She waited for Brooke to say something snide. Or mocking. Defensive. She didn’t have to wait long.
“Why’s that, Maryanne? A guy finally pays some attention to you and you’re going to follow him around like his goddamned dog? Wagging your tail?”
“No!” Maryanne blushed. “God, Brooke, it’s not like that. He doesn’t suspect anything. He’s not setting me up. I mean, is it so hard to believe he actually likes me?”
Brooke just arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow.
“I had fun with him tonight, and I fully intend to have more fun in the future. I am certainly not breaking it off.”
Alex bit her lip, torn between cheering Maryanne on and wishing she’d see sense. A relationship with Bryce Walker would be dangerous for all of them.
“Well, I guess that’s that, isn’t it?” Brooke said, still wearing that awful smile.
“Furthermore, you guys should be thanking me for going out with Bryce Walker tonight,” Maryanne said.
Alex and Brooke exchanged looks. “Why’s that?” Alex asked.
“Because now I know where he keeps the journals.”
Alex barely whispered, “Ira Walker’s journals?”
“The very ones.”
Alex knocked back her shot.
Connie had written about those journals in her diary. And of course, Seth had told Brooke about them too, and she’d filled the girls in. There was more on those pages than dates and times when the hunter had seen the hunted. There were ways to hurt the Hellers. Ways to hurt them bad. Connie knew. They were in Bryce’s hands now.
“It’s still too dangerous,” Alex said, and she waited until Maryanne met her eyes before she continued
. “I vote with Brooke. Bryce Walker is a bad idea.”
Maryanne’s jaw dropped and she tossed her hands in the air. “I don’t believe you guys! It’s not up for a vote. I’ll decide who I see. Me. I’m not that much of a mouse.” She was trying her best not to cry; Alex knew it. Maybe even Brooke knew it because, at least for now, she was keeping her mouth shut.
Brooke downed the other two shots. Within ten minutes—ten silent minutes—they’d all changed and turned the lights out. Brooke settled on her right side and turned to the wall for a change, as did Maryanne. Alex stared up at the ceiling. She should be tired, but she was wide awake. She worried about the problems - of Bryce and Maryanne, Melissa Kosnick’s accusations, and Ira Walker’s journals until she couldn’t think about any of it a second longer. Yet when she tried to force her mind to quiet, she found it drifting back to the assault this past September.
She was getting better—healing emotionally, and thank God, all the tests had come back negative. She’d had to wait three long months before she could have a reliable HIV test done, but she’d finally been given a clean bill of health. Nightmares? Sure. Although even they seemed to plague her less and less with time. Slowly, she was getting better.
She forced her mind to move on. It did, with some effort. Straight to Connie’s diary—the one her two friends didn’t know even existed anymore. The more she thought of it, the more she needed to feel it in her hands.
After what seemed like an interminable wait, Brooke began snoring softly. Maryanne lay motionless, her breathing slow and even, and Alex was almost positive she was sleeping too.
Quietly, Alex rolled off the bed. She lifted the loose floorboard close to her bed with one of Brooke’s nail files. Thanks to the fact that she’d rubbed the edges of the wood with a candle, it lifted noiselessly. She dug out both Connie’s diary and the copper doll and carefully replaced the board. Crawling back into bed, she held the doll close to the window and removed the copper back plate. The little bit of moonlight didn’t allow her to read the words scratched there. No matter. She had them memorized. She didn’t even mumble those words into the night.
She took a deep breath. Held it. Then it shot back out again.
Chapter 8
Fortress
Brooke
Brooke hovered outside the attic window with Alex, waiting for Maryanne to join them in the night. That was a first, Maryanne being last to cast out. She usually couldn’t wait. The girl was a junkie for casting, which must be weird for her. As far as Brooke knew, Maryanne had no real vices. No experience with addiction.
“What’s taking her so long?” Alex asked.
“Still mad at us, I guess,” Brooke said.
Maryanne’s cast shot out to join them. “Nope. Not mad anymore.”
Inside the attic, Brooke’s original winced when Maryanne’s arm whacked her on the face as her body flopped backward onto the cushions.
“Okay, maybe a little mad, still,” Maryanne allowed. “But I’m feeling better already.”
“Bitch,” Brooke said, without heat.
Maryanne grinned. “Back atcha.”
Brooke’s heart lightened. They were together again. The three casters, united once more. “Just feel that!” She tipped her head back and threw her arms wide. “Feel the night around us!”
“Now let the night feel us!” Maryanne responded, completing the ritual.
Without having to confer about it, they soared to the tree by the river and retrieved their copper bracelets. Then they sank to the base of the tree where they’d buried their improvised satchel. Tonight they were going after the journals.
They’d spent some time planning for this. The first obstacle had been figuring out how they could pick up and transport the journals. In caster form, their hands travelled through most matter. The only exceptions were flesh—human or animal, dead or alive—copper, which in addition to providing energy could be grasped and thus could be made into tools to manipulate other matter; and iron, which depleted them of energy and which, in sufficient quantity, could immobilize them and render them helpless.
Maryanne had suggested copper tongs, which would have worked fine. Except where the hell could you get copper tongs on short notice? Certainly nowhere in Mansbridge. It was Alex who had come up with the solution. She’d taken an old book bag and cut small holes in it near the top. Then she’d threaded two lengths of copper pipe through the holes and voila—handles. They’d also tossed into the bag a handful of solid, copper plated tools they’d started accumulating as soon as Connie had shown them the magic of that metal. Maryanne had said the cabinet might be locked, so Alex’s lock-picking skills might come into play.
Alex’s black hand disappeared into the snow and she fumbled around for a few seconds. “Got it!” She pulled the bag out by its handles.
“Let’s get going, then.” It was Maryanne who spoke, and Brooke could well imagine she wanted this over.
Brooke took the lead, as she had so many times last year when they’d soared out to the Walker farm. She could have led them there over the treetops and fields as the crow flies, but then they’d want to know how she’d discovered that route. Since she didn’t particularly want to fess up to all those solo trips she’d taken, she took the route they’d taken the other night, along Camden Road to the Trans-Canada, then veering off to follow Route 560. The night was overcast, the skies heavy with impending snow, but Brooke knew that would be no protection against being seen. Not with the brightness of the snow. Their black forms would provide a stark contrast for anyone who happened to be looking in the right direction, from the right angle. Until they cleared town, they soared so high they could practically taste the snow waiting to fall. When they got out of town, instead of following the highway closely, they kept low along the edges of the bordering fields where the darkness of evergreens provided cover.
Tonight, they didn’t flit through the trees as they passed or do loop-de-loops in the sky. Despite the euphoria of being out, this was serious business, and they all knew it.
Soon enough they came to the Walker farm. Brook led them in an extra-wide arc around the horse barn so as not to disturb the horses and draw unnecessary attention. As usual, the Dobermans melted back, cowed by the casters’ strange presence. That left the approach to the shed wide open.
“Don’t go in through the window!” Maryanne called.
Brooke rolled her eyes before she remembered the gesture would be lost on Maryanne. Even to each other, their faces were basically dark and empty. “God, I’m not that dumb.”
Well, okay, yeah, she’d poked her face through the glass the other night, but that was a far cry from actually entering the shed through it. They really didn’t know what would happen if they passed completely through a window in caster form, other than the one they’d cast through. When they passed through the attic window to join with the night, they left their conscious but paralyzed bodies behind. So far as they knew, that was the only way back into their bodies—through the very same window. But if they were to pass through another pane of glass while they were out here, would something else be peeled away? Understandably, none of them had volunteered to test that theory.
Maryanne caught up to her, and Alex joined her on her right.
“I’ll go first,” Maryanne said. “The journals are—”
Whatever she was going to say turned into a strangled yelp as the lights came on inside the shed
Holy shit! Bryce Walker was in there, and they’d almost blundered right in! With visions of those iron handcuffs giving her original a near heart attack back in the attic, Brooke shot straight up into the sky. To her relief, Maryanne and Alex were right there with her. And thank God, Bryce didn’t come storming out the door, which meant he hadn’t seen them.
“Holy crap!” Alex’s voice was angry, but Brooke could hear the fear in it. The same fear that twisted in her own gut. “Do you have any idea what might have happened just now? If he’d been a second slower or we’d been a second f
aster… God, he could have captured any one of us. Maybe all of us.”
“Calm down. Nothing happened,” Maryanne said. “We didn’t get caught. He doesn’t even know we’re here.”
“Yeah, only because we lucked out,” Brooke said.
Maryanne put her hands on her hips. “Okay, we can hover here all night and wring our hands, or we can go down there and very cautiously take a look at what he’s doing. Maybe we’ll learn something, see something we can use.”
“You just want to see him again!” Brooke accused.
Below them, the shed door opened and closed again with a single hard slam. The girls froze and looked down. Bryce stood right beside the building, but he didn’t appear to be searching the sky. He seemed to be looking at the shed’s exterior wall. What the hell was that about? Was he looking for evidence of Hellers having been there last night?
Then they heard the pounding. Bam, bam, bam, bam. His left hand disappeared into a pocket and he started pounding once more. Again and again he did it. Hand to pocket, then bam, bam, bam.
“What on earth is he doing?” Maryanne asked.
“Oh, dear God!”
They both turned to Alex. “What?” Brooke asked.
“Nails. He’s pounding nails into every square inch of that board. What do you want to bet that shed is already lousy with nails? Or at least, it soon will be.”
“A fortress,” Maryanne murmured. “He’s making the shed into a fortress against Hellers.”
Brooke closed her eyes. Freakin’ wonderful.
Chapter 9
The Weary
Maryanne
Maryanne sat in Mr. McKenzie’s first period advanced math class, but she was way too tired to be there. She wasn’t even close to listening as McKenzie—bored, apathetic, and almost certainly hung-over—went over the quadratic formula questions on the board.
She should have stayed in bed back at Harvell House this morning. She could have faked an illness and blown off school, but that would have meant staying home alone. Alone with nothing to distract her if the voice came again. No, not if. When…