Body at the Crossroads

by Cate Martin

  Unless they knew what the amulet did. In that case, they could be heading back to 2018 even now.

  2018, where Sophie and Brianna were both so engrossed in what they were doing, they wouldn't notice someone creeping up to them unless that person called their name. Maybe not even then.

  I had to get back. My friends were in danger.

  I pushed away from the doorframe, running down the long hallway to the bright light beyond the front door. I had to jump over Frank. I hoped he wouldn't mind. I think he would have understood, or at least would have believed whatever I did was necessary even if he didn't understand it and had given me his full support.

  He hadn't deserved to die this way.

  I burst out of the front door, leaped off the porch to land in the lawn and tore off down the sidewalk, suddenly very happy I had worn my sneakers.

  I remembered how Frank's skull had felt under my fingertips. He hadn't lived long after that blow. Whoever had done it had just missed bumping into me on my way to the house. For all I knew, I had passed them on the sidewalk and not known.

  I pushed for extra speed. I had spent too long in that house before I had figured it out, but I still might get back in time to stop whoever it was from using the amulet. They had walked normally, not wanting to draw attention.

  I was running full out, ignoring the stares and even the cries of alarm as I barrelled past pairs of lovers out for a stroll, nannies pushing babies in prams, men in tall hats going about their terribly important business.

  I thought I heard a voice as I reached the charm school, someone in the backyard speaking.

  Then another voice answered, and my whole body shuddered. I felt suddenly acutely ill, like everything inside me cramping up at once. I tripped over my own feet and stumbled against the front corner of the house, clutching the brick as I tried to catch my breath. Every inhalation sent a fresh wave of cramps all through me. What was happening to me?

  Then the voice stopped, and I could breathe normally again.

  If I had taken a moment to think about it, I might have been reluctant to continue on to the backyard. I might have thought twice about confronting the owner of a voice so dripping with malice it made me physically ill.

  But I didn't take time to think. I pushed off the corner and back into as much of a sprint as my legs could manage.

  When this was all over, I was going to get back on track with the exercise thing.

  I thought I saw a flash, but a weirdly timed flash. It lit up the world while my eyes were closed in a blink and was gone by the time they were open again.

  Then I was in the backyard. The completely empty backyard.

  I had been too late.

  And now there was nothing I could do. Brianna wouldn't be back for me until sunset, and that was hours and hours away.

  The murderer, the murder weapon and the amulet all were in 2018 now.

  And the murderer, I just knew in my bones, was there to kill the two of them. I still didn’t know if it was Helen or Molly, but whichever, they would have to come back for me. Assuming that I, with no powers to speak of, mattered at all.

  My friends were in danger, and there was nothing I could do to save them. No way I could warn them.

  I was stuck in the wrong decade at the wrong time.

  Chapter 25

  I don't know how long I stood there just gaping like a dummy. Probably not all that long, because the moment the stitch in my side made itself felt I instantly was fighting to get my breath back.

  So out of shape.

  But it wasn't just the sprinting. I still had all that anger in me, and frustration at being locked out of my own house (so to speak), and just the knowledge that I had failed as utterly as it was possible to fail.

  So I think what I was really doing was pacing around and hyperventilating rather than getting my breath back. That's probably why Coco and Edward had such alarm on their faces when they popped around the corner to see what all the fuss was about.

  "Were you shouting back here?" Coco asked, looking around for any other possible culprit.

  "The murderer," I said between painful gasps. I made a fist and pressed it to my side. That helped a little. "They were just here. I just missed them."

  "Which way did they go?" Edward asked, rising up on his toes. I didn't doubt he was prepared to run all the way to the river if he had to.

  "No good," I said, shaking my head. "They are well and truly gone."

  "But you know who it is?" Edward asked.

  This time I just shook my head.

  "Then how did you…" but he broke off with a frustrated sigh. "Perhaps you had better explain from the beginning."

  "Perhaps I should just show you," I said, and brushed past the two of them to walk back to the Thomas house.

  Coco trotted to catch up, falling into step beside me. She looked down at my feet. "I like your shoes," she whispered.

  "Where are Brianna and Sophie?" Edward asked as he fell into step on the other side of me.

  "At the school, preoccupied with other things," I said. "I know we can't get the police to investigate Cynthia's murder since the body isn't here-"

  "The body isn't here?" Edward said. "Where is it?"

  "Not important," I said. "The important thing is there is a body now. Same murderer, same murder weapon. Now when you call them, they'll have to investigate."

  "Who died?" Coco asked.

  "Frank. Mr. Thomas," I said. "Maybe someone else as well. Helen, or Molly the maid. I didn't search the whole house."

  "This is crazy," Edward said. "I mean, crime happens all the time where I grew up, but in this part of town everyone's too posh for such petty acts of violence. They like to keep their crime confined to their accounting books."

  "If they buy alcohol for their posh parties they are participating in the violence," I said.

  "Oh sure," Edward agreed. "But this is different."

  "It is at that," I said. "Coco, maybe you should stay out here."

  Coco opened her mouth to argue, but Edward cut her off. "Yes, stay out here and wave down the police when they come. But don't leave! We might need you to run some other errands for us."

  "Okay," Coco said. I could tell she was trying to sound sullen, but the possibility of being assigned tasks in the investigation of a murder had her practically glowing with pride and excitement.

  The door had swung back to its half-open, half-closed position. I pushed it back against the wall and looked inside before stepping into the darkness. Edward followed beside me, taking off his hat as he crossed the threshold as if out of ingrained habit.

  "Oh, Mr. Thomas," he said with genuine sadness when his eyes had adjusted to the semidarkness enough to see the old man still laying on the floor.

  "The kitchen has been ransacked," I said, pointing at the door. Edward crept past Frank to investigate, and I stepped into the parlor.

  Nothing seemed to have occurred in this room. It was just as it was the last time I had been inside. A cup half-filled with tea sat primly on the little table beside Frank's favorite chair. His gray wool lap blanket lay draped over the opposite arm as if he had just set it aside to rise.

  Someone had called to him, had lured him out into the hall before striking. That anger roiled in my belly some more.

  Then my eyes fell on the fold of paper tucked under the saucer. I gently tugged it out from under the tea and unfolded it.

  It was the telegram from Mr. Trevor informing him of Cynthia's death.

  The telegram Mr. Trevor had sent via a certain Tabitha in London. Tabitha, the time traveling witch.

  "I need to send a telegram," I said to Edward when he appeared at the parlor door.

  "All right," he said doubtfully.

  "Did you call the police?" I asked.

  "I have," he said. “I looked around upstairs, but no sign of Helen or Molly. But you should go. I think it might be better if you weren't here when the cops arrive. The cops don't really like the charm school. They might give
you trouble."

  So the criminals of prohibition era St. Paul kept their affairs far from the charm school, but law enforcement had a grudge against them? Just what had Miss Zenobia Weekes been up to in 1927?

  "Where can I send a telegram?" I asked, holding up the paper as if that explained why I needed to know.

  "Coco can show you," Edward said. "She's waiting out front. You should hurry."

  "Right," I said, tucking the telegram in the pocket of my dress. "Thank you so much. For everything."

  He nodded, still distracted by Frank laying so near to him, but when I moved to pass him in the doorway, he caught hold of my arm. I stopped to look up at him, all too aware of how close our faces were, how his body was so near to touching mine that I could feel his warmth.

  "Be careful," he said. "If you're right and that murderer gave you the slip in your own backyard, even the school might not be safe."

  "I'll be careful," I promised. I caught hold of his hand on my arm and gave it a squeeze before slipping away from him.

  "I hear the car coming," Coco said as I hopped down the steps.

  "Come with me, quickly," I said, taking her hand. "Apparently I can't be caught here."

  "No, the coppers really don't like you students," Coco agreed, and we walked as quickly as we dared down the sidewalk, away from the Thomas house. "Do you think I might be able to attend soon? I asked last year, but Miss Zenobia said I was too little."

  "I'm afraid that's up to Miss Zenobia," I said. I had no idea what the admission requirements were. "I need to send a telegram. Can you help me?"

  "Oh, sure," Coco said. "We should probably be walking the other way, though."

  "We'll go around the block," I said. I didn't want to look suspicious, suddenly changing direction, and I really didn't want to risk walking in front of the Thomas house just as Edward was showing the police officers the crime scene.

  But walking all of the way around the block and then back up to Summit Avenue was maddening. I wasn't wearing a watch, but I felt every tick of every second like it was a grain of sand in an hourglass.

  And I was running out of sand.

  "Here we go," Coco said, pulling me towards a small office between a tobacco store and a corner market. "Mr. Gates. We need to send a telegram."

  "It's urgent," I said to the balding man behind the counter.

  "Most telegrams are," he said. I bit down on my lip and contained the anger/frustration/insanely strong desire to scream that kept building up inside of me. It only appeared like he was taking far too much time fetching out the little form and checking the sharpness of his pencil before looking up at me.

  "Can I just write it?" I asked in a rush of impatience.

  "If you like," he said, sliding the form and pencil over to me. I started scribbling at once. "It won't be confidential, you know. I have to read it in order to send it."

  "That's fine," I said, pushing the form back along with the telegram from Tabitha. "You can send it back to this woman, can't you?"

  "It will be the overseas rate," Mr. Gates said and looked up at me expectantly.

  "That's fine," I said, but he still just stood there blinking at me.

  If I had known any magic, in that moment I'm certain I would have turned him into a newt.

  "Charge it to the school," Coco hissed at me, and I realized what the hangup was. I patted the pockets of my dress, but I was indeed without any sort of cash.

  "Can you?" I asked, giving him a pleading smile. "Miss Zenobia Weekes' Charm School for Exceptional Young Ladies.”

  "I'll add it to the account," Mr. Gates said as if this were the most ordinary thing in the world.

  And perhaps it was. I had so much left to learn.

  "Now what?" Coco asked, bouncing on her toes as we emerged back out onto the sidewalk.

  "I should get back to the school," I said.

  "Oh," Coco said, clearly disappointed. Had she thought I was going to bring her with me on some foot chase of the murderer?

  But a group of her friends was waiting on the sidewalk outside of her house, all in a tizzy about something some boy had said to one of the other girls. They all seemed desperate to get Coco's opinion on what this boy had meant and what the girl should do about it.

  I slipped away, quite ignored by all of them.

  There was a little bench in the backyard between the flowerbeds and the orchard. I sat down on it and rested my chin in my hands. Either the telegram would get through, and someone would open the portal at any moment, or it wouldn't, and I would be stuck waiting here until sunset. There was nothing else I could do to influence anything.

  All I could do was wait.

  I hated waiting.

  Suddenly the world around me seemed to acquire a sort of gleam like everything had its own silvery halo. I looked up at the tree branches over my head and at the deeply indigo sky beyond. I saw silvery ribbons dancing across that sky, points of light bursting like tiny fireworks all around.

  Had I been drugged somehow?

  I was still staring up at the sky when the effect faded. The blue was all gone, nothing but puffy gray clouds scuttling quickly beneath a darker layer of slow-moving cloud.

  I was back in my own time.

  I was also completely alone. I had seen the transition that time. It had been indescribably beautiful. But who had opened the portal for me? There was no sign of Brianna or of Sophie.

  A breeze rustled the tree branches, and a cascade of water droplets shook down over me, running coldly down the back of my dress. I got up from the bench and ran inside, stopping just inside the solarium door to shake the back of my dress and wipe off the bottoms of my feet.

  A shadow fell over me, and somehow I just knew instinctively that this wasn't a darker cloud blotting out the sun. I flinched, tucking my head down between my shoulders.

  I guess that little flinch saved my life.

  Chapter 26

  I mean, I still got hit in the head. But rather than taking the blow square on the back of the skull, the rolling pin grazed past my temple.

  And by graze, I mean sort of bounced off the bone with a nice loud crack right in my ear.

  So when I tell you that my brain really, really wanted to just black out and go away for a little while, you'll know it's not because I'm a wimp.

  It didn't even really hurt at first. It was a shock and surprise, and then the floor sort of rushed up at me and I realized I was on my knees now, and something dark was spotting the floor and the back of my hand.

  I focused on those dark splotches as they multiplied by twos and threes, and I was really confused what was falling out of the sky to stain the floor like that.

  The floor that was tilting underneath me like the deck of a ship on high seas only not so regularly pitching back and forth.

  I kind of wanted to throw up as well, and the first inkling of terror I had was the idea that I would do both simultaneously, puke and blackout, and then I'd choke and die.

  I didn't want to die.

  I didn't realize there was a buzzing in my ears like a swarm of bees until it faded enough for me to hear something else. A voice. One of the voices I had heard speaking in the backyard in 1927, only thank goodness not the truly evil one.

  Although the disdain dripping from this voice was giving that one a good run for its money.

  "Can't get up? No will to fight? I thought you were a witch. I thought you were exceptional."

  I looked up over my shoulder. Moving my head brought a fresh wave of nausea, and I nearly did pass out. It took a long moment for the blackness to recede from my vision, for the tunnel to open wide enough for me to see who was towering over me, bloody rolling pin in hand.

  Helen.

  "Why?" I croaked.

  "Why? Isn't that obvious?" Helen asked with a hysterical laugh. "I know all about this place. I know all of its secrets."

  "Doubt that," I said. It was a strain to keep my head turned like it was, but I was afraid if I looked away I'd be lost to tha
t vertigo again.

  "Oh, but I assure you I do," Helen said, bending down to speak closer to my face. The rolling pin disappeared from my field of view. "I was a student here myself, you know. I came the same day my sister did. We enrolled together, just like we did everything together. More than just sisters, we were best friends for life. Or we would have been, if not for Miss Zenobia. No, Miss Zenobia couldn't have anyone sharing a bond she wasn't a part of. She split us up almost at once, and Cynthia became exceptional while I remained ordinary."

  "That's not-" I started to stay.

  "I know what exceptional means," Helen spat at me. "You think Cynthia was elevated to a position less than that, less than yours, but she wasn't. No, I think Miss Zenobia lifted her up even higher."

  "I'm not exceptional," I said, but Helen just laughed.

  "You certainly don't seem to be at the moment, bleeding out all over Miss Zenobia's solarium floor. No fight in you at all, is there?" she taunted.

  I tried to sit back on my heels, but the world pitched away from me, and I ended up hunched low over my hands, fingers clawing as if I could get a firm hold in the flooring.

  "No, my sister wasn't exceptional," Helen said. "In a way, that's worse. If she had been, treating us differently would have made some sense. But she wasn't. So why all the extra attention? Why was I pushed aside? Ignored?"

  "Awfully hung up on a teacher," I said. My eyes were closed, forehead pressed to the floor, but I sensed her stiffen at my words.

  "It's not about Miss Zenobia," Helen said with even more disdain than before.

  "No," I said, swallowing back the rising bile in my throat. "It's about Frank."

  "Frank," Helen agreed. "I met Frank first, but he never remembers that. All the stories he tells about meeting and wooing my sister. I was there for every party, every picnic, every outing. And I was attentive to him in a way my sister never could be bothered to be. And he doesn't even remember any of it."

  "Frank deserved better than you," I said.

  "He deserved better than my sister!" Helen roared, and I braced myself for another blow.