Cold as Marble

by Zoe Aarsen

  “Probably that whole free-will thing,” Trey reminded me. “Whether or not he comes back depends on how he answers their questions, and right now he’s probably not thinking too clearly.”

  Deciding where to wait for Henry to come back was a challenge because we had no money between us and it was freezing outside. Not only was it almost two in the morning on a Friday, but we had to be mindful that the police were looking for us.

  In the end, we took our chances in the vending machine room at the hotel, which didn’t seem to have any video surveillance and was warmer than it was outdoors even though it didn’t seem to be heated. Although we both acknowledged that it was important to remain vigilant in case any other motel guests or the motel management stepped into the room and found us there, sleepiness got the better of us when we sat down on the floor, hidden from the doorway by the giant illuminated Coke vending machine, and huddled together for warmth. The voices in my head stirred again with the same befuddling message—Steven, Steven—until it seemed like they had given Steven a last name I couldn’t quite catch. Steven Sass, Steven Flash. The repetition of their words became rhythmic, like the chorus of a song.

  When I stirred awake, the sky was already bright, and I was startled by the full impact of realizing that my former classmates from Willow were probably already up and about at Fitzgerald’s Lodge. I nudged Trey. “Hey. Hey, Trey, we need to get up.”

  His eyes opened and looked around in wonderment before he remembered that we’d fallen asleep on the floor of the vending machine room. “What time is it?”

  “No idea. But after seven. It’s already light outside,” I replied.

  We made our way toward the glass door to peer outside into the parking lot. Henry’s truck was still in the spot where we’d parked it the night before, covered in a light blanket of snow that suggested it hadn’t been moved. I dared to step outside and crane my neck up to the motel’s second story, to our room, which didn’t offer any clues from the exterior as to whether or not Henry had come back during the night.

  “What should we do?” I wondered aloud after ducking back into the vending machine room.

  After a moment’s consideration, Trey said, “I think we should see if he’s in the room, and if he’s not, we’ll have to figure out how we can get to Fitzgerald’s without him. We can’t just wait.”

  “But we need him,” I objected. “The pendulum said he has to be there when we break the curse.” I thought about asking the pendulum whether or not it was safe to make a dash up the stairs back to our room, but there was a smoke alarm in the vending room and it seemed like a bad idea to burn anything to cleanse the space.

  “Okay, let’s just make sure the coast is clear before we go up there,” I said. We both lingered in front of the glass door, trying to confirm that the parking lot was devoid of witnesses.

  After a tense moment of watching and waiting, we made a run for it. I pressed the key card to the reader on our door, and we slipped into our room. Henry’s bed was still unmade, and his duffel bag was still on the floor, which we took to mean that no one had been in there since we’d left. We discussed hanging the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door handle outside, but decided against it in case the police brought Henry back and noticed that it hadn’t been there at night.

  The morning began to pass, and we grew increasingly freaked out that Henry had either been arrested or was going to be held by the police for so long that we wouldn’t make it to the mountain in time to stop Violet. We turned on the television and watched at the lowest possible volume, half expecting to see a local news broadcast about a tragedy at Mt. Farthington. I was so anxious about what Violet might have been up to, and about the clock counting down to the new moon, that it didn’t occur to me to be hungry even though we hadn’t eaten since yesterday. Henry had his phone with him, and the keys to his truck. We could neither drive over to Fitzgerald’s Lodge without him nor call Mischa.

  “It might not be the best idea for us to stay holed up in here,” Trey told me. “If the cops get something on Henry, the motel’s going to send maids in here. Or worse, the cops will swing by to pick up Henry’s stuff.”

  But it was daytime, and there was steady foot traffic to and from the vending machine room, so we couldn’t hide down there any longer until Henry surfaced.

  “I really think we should figure out a way to get to that ski lodge on our own,” Trey said.

  “I told you. The pendulum says that the three of us need to work together when we play the game with Violet. You and I can’t manage it alone.”

  Finally, at around twelve-thirty, we heard footsteps stomping up the stairs leading to our room. We both dashed into the bathroom as we heard the beep beep of our door unlocking from the key-card reader outside. We cowered just inside the bathroom as someone entered the room, and neither of us had the courage to lean forward and see whether it was Henry or a police officer.

  “Guys? Are you here?”

  It was Henry. We emerged from the bathroom with Trey griping, “Took you long enough.”

  Henry’s eyes were bloodshot, and his voice cracked with exhaustion when he exclaimed, “You’re here! Thank God! I thought you guys had gone to the lodge without me.”

  “You’re hilarious,” I teased. “We don’t have any money and it’s freezing outside. How would we get all the way to the lodge without you?”

  Henry was jumpy with anxiety. “We need to get out of here. We were supposed to check out at eleven. If the kids from Willow were scheduled to take lessons this morning, then they’ll wrap those up by lunchtime and just be taking fun runs down the hill all afternoon. It’s going to be really hard to find Violet among all the other people on the mountain, because it won’t just be guests from Fitzgerald’s. There are four other big resorts around Mt. Farthington.”

  “So let’s get going!” I said, not wanting to waste another second.

  He shook his head as if defeated. “This is bad news, but I have a feeling everyone at the lodge where the kids from Willow are staying is going to be keeping an eye out for you guys. From what the cops were asking me, it sounds like they are definitely expecting you to turn up there today or tomorrow.”

  That was bad news. It was going to be difficult enough to get close to Violet if we were just trying to avoid being seen by kids and chaperones from Willow who would rat us out. An extra layer of security or police surveillance was a serious complication. “We’ll figure it out when we get there,” I decided boldly. “We just have to get over there. Are you going to be okay to drive?”

  Henry stretched overhead and unleashed a mighty yawn. “Probably not, but I don’t have time for a catnap. Let’s do this thing.”

  “Should we call Kirsten and see if Mischa’s still okay?” I asked.

  Henry took his phone out of his pants pocket and held it in his hand for a moment before saying, “Maybe it’s better if we don’t. You know? Better for us to remain focused in case something bad did happen.”

  Although I was desperately worried about Mischa, he was right. If Kirsten had bad news for us, it would debilitate me completely. Even just thinking along the lines that Mischa may have already died felt like a gut punch.

  We hurried out of our motel room. Trey and I waited in the truck while Henry checked out in the hotel management office, which in hindsight seemed like a waste of ten minutes. Overhead, snow clouds blocked the sun, and as we drove toward Fitzgerald’s Lodge, flakes began to fall. In the distance, over the treetops, I saw the snow-covered peak of Mt. Farthington, and my stomach turned. Within the next few hours, the course for the rest of my life would be determined, and if I failed, I’d never forgive myself.

  There was no turning back. We had to conquer Violet because there was nothing left of our old lives to which we could return.

  CHAPTER 19

  TREY HAD THE BRILLIANT IDEA to stop at a discount store we passed on the way to the ski lodge to purchase ski masks to cover our faces, which would hopefully allow us to get closer to Vi
olet on the mountain without being identified. I was reluctant to make detours, but I realized that if we arrived unprepared at Mt. Farthington and were spotted before we found Violet, we didn’t stand a chance of getting close enough to her to accomplish what we’d come so far to do. Henry ventured into the store alone and returned to the truck with a bag containing his purchases.

  “We can wear these until we rent helmets and goggles,” he said.

  I reminded him, “We’re not really going to ski.” Renting full ski gear was going to slow us down even more, and we couldn’t afford to waste time. The new moon was technically at 4:44 p.m.—in just over four hours.

  “Well, we don’t know that just yet,” Henry reminded us. “You guys may get a crash course, because my guess is that we’re going to have to follow her up the mountain. We’ll need goggles no matter what to protect against snow blindness. It’s dangerous to look at light bouncing off snow for too long.”

  I had never been skiing before in my whole life, so I never would have known that.

  Trey pulled his ski mask over his face and then slid his sunglasses up his nose. “Do I look more like a skier or a bank robber?”

  “You look like a guy who’s committed about a thousand crimes in order to get his half sister to play a game where we pretend to kill her,” I said grimly. The closer we got to the mountain, the tighter my chest felt.

  Finally, we saw a bright green sign with shamrocks on it along the side of the road, welcoming us to Fitzgerald’s Lodge. Henry turned left onto the road leading to the resort’s expansive parking lot, and I took in the details of the hotel Violet had selected. It was a stunning fake Tudor complex with a peaked rooftop and turrets, a building that looked as if it had been lifted off the side of a mountain in Switzerland and plunked down in Michigan. Visible beyond the hotel’s roof were several cabled chairlifts running from the base of the mountain to its top. It seemed to be a busy day during peak season, with skiers and snowboarders speckling every snowy slope.

  “One twenty-nine,” Henry read from the clock on his dashboard as he set his parking brake. “They’re probably done with lunch by now.”

  We all unbuckled our seat belts and Trey asked, “So how is this going to work? Should we search the hotel for her first? Maybe find out what room she’s staying in?”

  Although we were tight on time, I asked the pendulum if we’d encounter Violet inside the hotel or on the mountainside. The pendulum seemed to think we’d find her outside, but that didn’t mean Trey and I wouldn’t have to work up the courage to pass through the hotel’s lobby. Henry, the experienced skier among us, explained that if we wanted to ascend the mountain on the lift to look for Violet, we’d have to go inside with him to buy day passes, as well as rent skis and boots. “There’s no other way up the mountain if it turns out she’s still taking lessons,” he told us. “And they’re not going to let anyone on the lift without a ticket and proper gear.”

  With our heads hung and our ski masks clutched tightly in our fists, Trey and I followed Henry into the magnificent front lounge of the hotel. If there was any kind of increased police presence at Fitzgerald’s that day, I hadn’t noticed it. Henry led the way toward the concierge desk, where day passes and lift tickets could be purchased.

  “The day passes are ninety-eight dollars,” the curly-haired concierge informed him after he inquired about the price. “And I’m so sorry, but there’s no discount for getting off to a late start. The last chairlift for the regular day pass is at four thirty, so I’m afraid you’re only going to get about three and a half hours on the mountain at this point.”

  I stole peeks around the lounge, hoping that no one from Willow would descend the grand staircase from the upper floors and spot us. A fire crackled in an enormous brick fireplace. Leather sofas were arranged around the expansive reception area and topped by plaid pillows. A chessboard, abandoned after a game, was spread out across the top of a table next to an arrangement of pamphlets about local shopping.

  Fitzgerald’s Lodge was by far fancier than any hotel where I’d ever stayed with my parents, and I suppressed a pang of jealousy that I wasn’t officially on the trip with my former classmates. Whatever luxuries Fitzgerald’s offered beyond its rustic lobby would not be mine to enjoy.

  “It’s fine that it’s later in the day. We were driving all morning. I’ll take three passes,” Henry said, pulling his mother’s credit card out of his wallet.

  “Great,” the concierge said. She looked at the card that Henry had handed her and said, “Oh. I’m going to need some photo identification, if you don’t mind.”

  Henry dug his driver’s license out of his wallet and said, as if only just then remembering, “That’s my mom’s card. She knows we’re using it for skiing today.”

  With an apologetic smile, the concierge attempted to hand the American Express card back to Henry. “I would actually need her signature to process this card. Sorry. Those are the rules.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Trey shift positions and sensed his growing frustration.

  “Oh, sure,” Henry said, trying to remain cooperative. “You could call her, and she could, like, probably e-mail you whatever you need.”

  Another delay. While Henry and the concierge worked out the details of how we’d pay for our passes, Trey and I drifted across the lobby to a leather couch near the fireplace. As I sank into the cushions, my muscles let me know exactly how in need of a good night’s sleep I was.

  “This is taking too long,” he said, picking at his fingernails. “I feel like something very bad is going to happen, like, any second now. You know? Like the seconds in between when you light a firecracker and when it goes off.”

  “I know,” I agreed, wishing I’d known more about how ski lodges operated so that I could have anticipated the holdup with the passes. Maddeningly, I wasn’t hearing any voices or sensing any prickling on my scalp, so I had no sense of heightened danger if we were in it. “There’s nothing we can do except wait, though.”

  “This is a pretty nice place,” Trey observed. “I mean, I don’t know much about skiing, but this seems pretty top-of-the-line.”

  “Did your class take a junior trip?” I asked, unable to remember much about the previous school year, when I’d been a sophomore. My life was very different when I was fifteen from how things had been at the start of junior year. As a sophomore, I’d kept quiet in classes and only answered teacher’s questions when called upon so as not to draw attention to myself. I ate lunch with Cheryl, Erica, and Kelly in the band room whenever it was open so that we could avoid insults from jerky guys in the junior and senior classes.

  Trey replied, “Chicago. They went for two days and saw Hull House and the Art Institute and had to write reports about it. I didn’t go; I had in-school detention for doing donuts in the upper parking lot in the driver’s ed car.”

  I rolled my eyes at him with an amused smile. He smiled back. It filled my heart with warmth to catch a glimpse of the real Trey, mischievous and confident, even if just for a second.

  “Typical,” I teased.

  “I still had to write the report, though,” he claimed. He leaned back on the sofa across from me and spread his arms wide across its back, inhaling deeply. “It would be nice to come back here one day, you know? Like on a real vacation.”

  I hadn’t really considered it before that moment, but I wondered if Trey ever thought about the Simmonses’ fortune and how, rightfully, a percentage of that family’s wealth would have belonged to him if his mother hadn’t entered into a hasty contractual agreement before he was born.

  Henry crossed the lobby carrying three paper tickets and three trifold maps and handed one of each to me and Trey.

  “That sucked,” he complained. “The only good part of that was finding out that everyone from Willow was booked for beginners’ lessons all day. So even if Violet’s a more advanced skier, she’s stuck on the novice runs today.” I opened the map and reviewed it, surprised that there were so man
y different trails and runs, all color-coded by level of difficulty. It was dizzying, all of the lines and dotted lines. There were three runs designated with bright green as beginners’ paths, which considerably narrowed down where we might find Violet.

  “Excuse me, sir.” The concierge’s voice startled the three of us. My blood ran cold for a second as every terrible possibility occurred to me: She’s recognized us, the credit card’s been declined, someone from Willow saw us and told her to call the police.

  “The ski shop,” she said in a friendly voice, pointing down a hall. “If you didn’t bring gear, they can hook you up right down there with gear for purchase or rental. We require that everyone accessing the mountain via our lift be wearing suitable pants and boots.”

  The entire process of renting ski gear took so infuriatingly long that I started sweating, imagining that I would hear sirens or a cataclysmic crash from the mountain at any second. I hastily pulled on ski pants, trying to find a pair that fit, and grew even more frustrated when the rental guy turned out to be a perfectionist and insisted on finding ski boots in a half size that would fit me just right.

  My adrenal system was in overdrive by the time we stepped outside with our equipment and pulled our ski masks down over our heads. It was 2:55 p.m., and we still had to wait for the chairlift. We were cutting it awfully close to the new moon. My new nylon ski pants made a swishing noise when I walked, I felt ungainly in my enormous ski boots, and I was terrified of locking my boots into skis, which I’d have to do before getting on the lift. It seemed like in this mountainside setting, Violet had every advantage over me and Trey, who had also never gone skiing before. Surely, that was by design. Violet was a superb strategist.

  A small group of people were waiting at the lift when we queued up and told us there would be about a ten minute wait. According to them, we had perfect weather and perfect snow conditions—a light powder—for skiing.

  Aware that we had no clue what we were doing, Henry advised Trey and me to hold our ski poles in one hand as we waited our turn for the chairlift, and showed us where to stand. Fortunately, the lift allowed for three people per chair, so we were able to ride with him, or I would have been a wreck when it was time to hop off. He set the safety bar down over our laps, and I held on to it for dear life as we made our way up the mountain.