by Cady Vance
Nathan’s eyes scanned the house as we trekked to the front door, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he was mentally comparing it to his own residence, all three stories of it. It was big enough that it could eat this one and still be hungry. But most of all I wondered if he noticed how the gutters sagged, how the grass had morphed into yellow weeds, how dirt clung to the shutters from the time I’d tried to clean them and only made the speckles turn to smears.
“Is this one of those old farmhouses?” Nathan asked while I unlocked the door.
“Yeah.” I strode inside, dropped my backpack on the floor and stuck my hands in my jean pockets. “Mom always talked about having it renovated…”
“Wow, what’s this?” One of Mom’s Siberian drums on the hall table had caught his eye.
“That’s called the Witch’s Drum.” I picked up the drum with careful fingers and held it out to Nathan. “A shaman clan in Siberia gave it to my mom as a gift when she helped fight against some ‘corporate’ shamans who were trying to take control over them.” This only made me think of Mom’s admission that her attack had been because of politics. Could that case have had anything to do with what happened to her?
I pointed at the bone hanging off the side. “That’s reindeer bone, and the skin used to make the drum is reindeer, too.”
Nathan ran his fingertips across the paintings on the skin—symbols for healing or travelling to the Borderland. “This is so cool. What’s it for?”
“Nostalgic decoration.” I took the drum back and placed it on the table. “Forever ago, it used to be part of a shaman’s incantation, but most of the drums were destroyed in the 18th century by people who thought shamans were Satan worshippers. So, they were forced to figure out a way to do the incantations without drums.”
“That sucks.” He stared at the drums almost in awe. “What was the solution?”
“Just drawing single runes like I do now. The drums had all the symbols a shaman would need painted on them,” I said, pointing at the banishing rune scrawled on the surface in black ink, “and they’d knock the reindeer bone against the one they needed for a particular incantation. Now, we draw whichever one we need. They just came up with ways to channel the magic differently than they used to.”
“They couldn’t just make more drums?” Nathan asked.
“No, anyone who tried got hung.”
“That’s…intense.” Nathan eyes met mine, and my breath hung in the air before me like it was frozen there. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think. All I could focus on was Nathan and how we’d almost kissed in the car. I could almost sense his forehead on mine again, and I felt my body instinctively move closer to him. He was a magnet, and I was iron.
“Holly?” My mom called out from the living room. “Is someone with you?”
“Yeah,” I yelled, feeling the force field break between us. “Ready to meet my mom?”
I thought about warning him again of what she was like now, but our feet were moving us closer to the living room, and I didn’t want her to overhear me tell someone how dead to the world she was. We stepped into the room, and Mom’s eyes zeroed in on Nathan. For a moment, she was the eagle-eyed shaman whose gaze couldn’t miss even the outline of penny in someone’s pocket.
“Mom, this is Nathan, a…friend from school. Nathan, Mom.”
He smiled and moved forward. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Bennett.”
“Nice to meet you, too, Nathan.” My mom’s wobbly smile made an appearance just before her eyes clouded over. My shoulders sagged, and I looked away, but Nathan kept right on talking because he didn’t know that meant she’d disappeared.
“The Hobbit,” he said, referencing the book on the side table by her chair. “I love that book.”
The silence that followed was like a pillow suffocating the room.
“So does Mom. I read it aloud to her sometimes.” Still looking away, I headed toward the kitchen. “I’m going to make her some lunch before we get going. Want a sandwich or something?”
I expected him to follow, but instead, I heard the familiar creak that meant he’d taken post in the recliner that crouched across from Mom’s usual spot.
“Sure,” he said.
As I grabbed three plates from the cabinet and threw bread on each, I heard Nathan talking, his soft, deep voice travelling the short space between the living room and the kitchen. I tossed slices of bologna onto the plates. I wondered how long it would take him to realize Mom wasn’t going to respond.
When I’d spread generic-brand mayonnaise onto each sandwich, I headed back into the living room and stopped short in the doorway. Nathan sat across from Mom, The Hobbit in his hands, reading aloud from chapter five. Curly strands of his hair fell into his eyes. His jaw clenched as he turned a page, and I realized that when he did that, he was concentrating hard on something. He kept reading, and I watched as Mom blinked and gave him a smile he didn’t see because he was too focused on the page. I should have kissed him.
***
After lunch, Nathan and I headed outside with directions to Dr. Lombardi’s Astrology Zone and my newly-replenished backpack of supplies, thanks to my trip to The Scarlet Witch. I opened my truck door, but Nathan stopped me by placing a gentle hand on my sweatshirt-clad arm.
“I can drive,” he said. I wondered if he felt sorry for me because he realized how dire my monetary situation was or if he was just being gentlemanly. Then, I thought about how he’d read a novel aloud to my sick mom, and I didn’t care which it was.
“Sure, thanks.” I slammed the truck door, followed Nathan to his car and slid in on the leather seat.
As he backed out of the driveway and turned the wheel toward Route 128 South, I kept expecting him to bring up Mom and how she looked like a grandmother instead of a 38-year-old legendary shaman mom who had banished spirits from the Lincoln Memorial. But he didn’t say a word about her, and I was glad, if only so I could half-pretend her health wasn’t quite as bad as it was.
“Laura can’t come?” he asked instead.
“No, those sailboat lessons last for hours.” I leaned my cheek against the car window and stared at the trees whizzing by, a blur of green, yellow and brown. Nathan had the heat seeping from the vents, and my shoulders relaxed into the comfortable seat.
“Yeah, I see her there when I work Saturdays.” He flicked the blinker and merged onto the highway. “She seems to be getting the hang of it.”
“You know, when I first met you, I wouldn’t have pegged you as the type to work.”
His easy grin slid across his face as he glanced at me. “You mean because my parents are rich.” I opened my mouth to apologize, but he just shook his head. “That’s okay. It’s true. And you don’t see many rich Seaport kids with a job.” He shrugged his shoulders. “My parents thought it would be a good character-building exercise, so I took a summer job while school was out. My shifts actually end this month.”
“And was it a good ‘character-building’ exercise?” I teased, shifting in my seat to lean into the cushion and face him.
Nathan sighed. “My dad knows I want to go into comics. Professionally. Needless to say, he doesn’t think that’s an appropriate profession for his son, and he doesn’t think I could stand the amount of work it would take to run some kind of indie comic, even though I already sort of do it online. He thought the job would somehow make me see the light.”
“I’m guessing that didn’t happen.”
“Not even close.” He flashed a grin. “One thing about working at the docks, there’s lot of down time. And I spent most of it honing my art style.”
“Good for you,” I murmured, the heat weighing heavy on my eyelids. I wanted to hear so much more about Nathan’s life, about his comics, but the world seemed to slow down around me.
Nathan’s fingers weaved through mine, and I relaxed even more. My eyelids fluttered closed, and I didn’t fight to open them again.
“You’ve had a hard past few days, huh?” His voice was soft, and I felt
him push my cascade of hair behind my ear. “Just sleep. I’ll get us to Boston.”
***
The car rolled to a stop. I blinked awake to see Nathan braking outside a parking garage in downtown Boston. I realized I was leaning on his shoulder, and I sat up straight, wondering if I’d drooled on him and if I had a big red splotch where my cheek had been mashed on his arm. He pulled his car into the garage and paid the insanely expensive price for day parking. I offered to help, but he turned it down, thank god. I didn’t want to be a charity case, but I also only had ten dollars in my pocket. When we walked outside, I took stock of the bustling city surroundings.
“This guy’s office is only a couple of blocks that way.” I pointed past a pizza parlor and a coffee shop with little round tables squatting on the sidewalk out front. A few coffee-addicts were sitting outside, elbows propped on the table, paperback books in hand.
Nathan and I strolled along until we stood across the street from the building. One-thirty-nine Maple Street. It was a skinny building, reaching up into the sky at only four short stories. No sign out front, a couple of old newspapers tossed on the narrow stoop. I squinted at the closed door and the large, store-front windows shielded by blinds. It looked like it used to be a shop, but now, it appeared quiet and abandoned, although I knew better than to assume no one was home.
I craned my neck to look at the windows on the next three floors. Blinds blocked the view of anything inside there, too.
“Not exactly what I was expecting,” Nathan said.
“Did you think he was going to be out front, handing out flyers broadcasting who and what he is? ‘Shaman Here. Disturbed By Evil Beings You Can’t See Or Hear? Call Me!’”
He snorted. “No, but he runs some sort of astrology or palm reading business, right? What’s it called? Dr. Lombardi’s Astrology Zone? Man, that’s lame.” He waved a hand at the building. “Doesn’t look like much business is going on. No sign, no hours listed on the door, nothing.”
“There’s a teensy mailbox hanging on the wall next to the front door,” I said.
“I’m sure the cops would totally understand why you’re going through some guy’s mail.”
I propped a hand on my hip. “Only certain felonies are okay with you?”
Nathan waited to answer until after a high-heel-clapping woman had rushed by. “There are people on the street. There was a traffic cop only a couple blocks that way. I know you’re as sneaky as Catwoman, but even she didn’t go burglaring during the day.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Interesting choice. Not sure I’m crazy about the Catwoman comparison.”
“Just another great example of how the secret identity is the real person…”
“And how Selina Kyle a.k.a. the normal person identity is the cover up,” I finished for him. “And you’re saying…”
“The Queen of Weird?” He grinned. “That’s you. You’re no normal girl, Holly.”
Something about the way he said those words made my stomach clench into a thousand tiny knots.
“Anyway, I wasn’t planning on stealing his mail right this second.”
Nathan leveled his eyes at me. He didn’t like it. I could tell by the look on his face. By the tensing of his shoulders, the stiff arms and straight back. It wasn’t like I didn’t know there were risks attached. I did. I’d seen the consequences of breaking the law with my very own eyes.
“It’s just a last resort.” I spun on my heels and wiped my hair out of my face. “Come on, let’s go sit outside the coffee shop and scope things out for awhile. See if anyone comes and goes.”
His body visibly relaxed, as if he’d pushed a button to make the tense turn off. Like he’d been expecting me to shuffle through someone’s mailbox in the middle of the day, cabs flying by, couples strolling along with their puppies. I might be willing to do some stupid things—like con my classmates—but I’m not that bad.
I took one last look over my shoulder before heading to the coffee shop and saw something etched into the sidewalk in front of the building. I grabbed Nathan’s arm and pulled him back.
“I think there’s a symbol carved into the sidewalk.” I looked up and down the street. Red traffic light to my right. No cars to my left. Sidewalks empty. No one in sight other than the two coffee-lovers still sitting with their noses in their paperbacks.
I trotted across the street with my eyes trained on the windows. If I saw even a flicker of movement behind those blinds, I’d be out of there faster than The Flash. My sneakers squeaked as I squatted next to the symbol. It was a circle with two different sized dots inside. I didn’t recognize it at all, and it wasn’t from my own book of runes.
“Dammit, Mom,” I said under my breath. There were other books with more runes. Ones she hadn’t let me see yet, ones she kept hidden. I didn’t like not knowing what this symbol meant, but it only confirmed my suspicion that the man who worked or lived here was a shaman.
I felt like I’d found solid gold instead of a circle on the pavement. And if it wasn’t for the fading red stain splattered inside it, I might not truly believe it was a rune. I brushed my fingertips along the edge of the carving. How had he gotten the rune into the cement?
My fingertips felt as though they’d touched a white-hot curling iron. I snatched them away. A sharp, tingling sensation traveled the length of my arm. Hot, stinging. My body started to shake. Tears sprung into my eyes, and I wrung my hand at my side, shaking it hard like the stinging could be thrown off. The pain spread like wildfire over my body.
I heard a door slam, Nathan yelling, the pounding of feet, but I couldn’t see a thing except for the red in my eyes. Everything was tainted. Dark, burning. I think I was crying, pleading for someone to make it stop. I wasn’t proud of how easily I’d broken, but I was consumed by the pain.
I was the pain. The pain was me.
And then it stopped.
Someone shoved me into a chair while my eyes adjusted. Three guys were standing in front of me, arms crossed. One stood out from behind the others. He was tall, lean, muscular. The picture on his website had shown a man in a snazzy, cheesy suit. Bright white jacket with a pink polka-dotted shirt that only emphasized the impression of a sleezy crackpot.
That’s not who stood before me now. Sure, he was the same guy, but he looked radically different. Faded jeans, Converse sneakers and a trendy faded gray t-shirt with a cool graphic etched on front. He looked younger than he had on the website and really young for someone who owned his own business. I would have guessed he was twenty.
He pushed off the desk where he’d been leaning and strode past the two guys who looked like bouncers at a dance club. Instinctively, I leaned back in my chair even though he didn’t look upset or angry or insane at all. Just curious. He tilted his head to one side and looked me up and down.
“Holly, right?” He smiled. “I’d recognize that face anywhere. You look just like your mother.”
CHAPTER 17
I didn’t know what I had expected him to say, but that was definitely not it. And I wasn’t even sure how I reacted. All I could do was repeat the words he’d said over and over in my head. You look just like your mother. You look just like your mother. You look just like your mother.
But I knew I must have had some sort of strong reaction because he knelt down in front of me, his eyebrows furrowed and the corners of his eyes slightly creased. “I’m sorry. I realize our welcoming committee isn’t exactly…friendly. I have precautions in place. We were caught off guard by having another shaman here. Not everyone who finds me is quite as…” His voice trailed off. “Let’s just say not all shamans are on the up-and-up.”
I tried to control my breathing, to make my words come out right, but when I spoke, I sounded like a squawking parrot. “You know my mom?”
He stood and took the chair one of the bouncer guys had brought him. He settled in and crossed one leg over the other. “No, I used to. Haven’t heard from her in well over a year. Where are you two living these days?”
Rule #3: If you ever meet a shaman, never tell him where our home is. Not the town, not the state, not the color of the paint. Nothing.
“I’ve actually come to ask you about a couple of things. I thought you might be able to answer some of my questions…about shamans.”
“Go on,” he said, leaning forward.
“First, where’s Nathan?”
Anthony waved his hand in dismissal. “Oh, the human boy. He’s waiting for you outside.”
I let myself relax just the tiniest bit with that knowledge. “Okay, do you know a guy named Mark Sampson?” I asked. “He and another shaman live in Berrytown.”
I wondered if that was saying too much, but I needed help with those shamans.
“Can’t say that I do,” he said, even though his eyes flashed. “Why?”
I didn’t know how much to tell him. If I told him what had been happening, it would be giving away our location. This guy didn’t seem particularly angelic, but he didn’t seem like a demon either. There were no guns, no knives, no threats. Yeah, there’d been that stinging rune thing, but it might be to protect him from shamans like Mark Sampson. The real demons.
“You don’t have to be afraid of telling me.” He rested his elbows on his knees. His chin fell into his hands, and his eyes pierced my insides. I knew right then he was powerful. It was like I could see magic dancing in his pupils. I had to fight my body to keep from shuddering. “I know what happened to your mom. I’m sure recovering from that accident has been hard.”
I sat up straight and sucked in a lungful of air. He knew. I stared at him, not blinking my eyes. Could he have been involved? Why was he talking about recovering?
“She hasn’t recovered,” I said, voice flat. “That’s part of why I’m here.”