changed course, pushing straight up and gasping for breath along
with him. She immediately guided his hands to the foundation of
the building.
He clung to it, filled with fear and relief and also a deep shame.
He hadn’t protected Cora and Minnie at all. He’d nearly gotten
them killed. And Minnie had been the one to save his life.
“Everyone okay?” Minnie said, breathing hard.
“Yes,” Cora answered. She was next to Thomas and Charles.
Charles was shivering violently in the cold water, his lips blue. The
sun was nearly down, and the waves slammed them mercilessly
against the foundation.
Arthur looked up to see the flames eating through the wood
on this side of the building.
Minnie followed his gaze. “It doesn’t matter if he’s waiting or
not — we have to get away from this building. I’ll swim ahead and
check.”
“Wait, you can’t —” Arthur started, but she had already dis-
appeared under the water. Every second was agony until she
popped back up again, on the far side of the boathouse.
“Come on! I don’t see him anywhere. You can go along the
side of the building, and then it’s only a few feet to the pier.”
Thomas guided Charles, helping him along, followed by Cora.
Minnie swam back to Arthur, clinging to the side next to him and
going slowly. Arthur noticed dark, wet smears where her hands
had touched.
“You’re bleeding!”
She shrugged, grimacing. “The mussels. They’re nasty sharp
beasts.”
This, of all things, filled him with so much rage he was certain
he would kill Alden with his bare hands if he saw him again, no
matter the consequence. But now he had to focus on survival. He
followed Minnie around the edge and let her grab his waist and, in
a jumble of flailing limbs, help him to the pier.
They pulled themselves out of the water and collapsed next to
the others, shivering and out of breath. The heat from the build-
ing next to them was almost pleasant, but they needed to get away,
and fast.
“Daniel’s at the station,” Cora said in a breathless pant. “We
need to tell him what Alden did.”
Arthur shook his head, trying to clear it of the smoke, water,
and pain. “Daniel, then,” he said, his voice coming out far lower and
angrier than normal. Cora put her arm around Minnie; Thomas
supported Charles; and Arthur walked behind all of them like a
shadow.
He didn’t want to hold that spot anymore, he found.
Arthur was grateful for the shield of twilight around them.
Otherwise their appearance would have attracted more stares and
curiosity than he could handle at the moment. It was nearly full
dark by the time they reached the sheriff’s office.
Cora and Minnie charged ahead, moving toward the door, but
Arthur heard voices inside.
“Wait,” he hissed. He moved against the still-warm bricks of
the building and motioned for the others to do the same. Crouch-
ing next to the propped-open window, they heard Daniel.
And Alden.
“. . . burning right now. I saw them as I was walking by, and
when I turned around at the end of the pier, the building was
on fire.”
There was a clatter of chairs, and then Daniel sprinted out of
the building, followed by the sheriff. They ran in the direction
opposite Arthur and the others, heading for the small fire station
on the next street.
Arthur looked up to see Alden standing on the steps to the
office, looking down and smiling at them. He tipped his hat, then
walked at a leisurely pace back toward the boardinghouse.
“Oh, no,” Cora whispered. “We can’t go to Daniel now.”
“We’ll tell the truth! He’ll believe us!” Minnie wrung her
hands, the jacket Charles had given her slipping off one shoulder.
“Minnie,” Thomas said, shaking his head. “He already thought
we lied to him about Mary. And who would you believe: the well-
dressed, wealthy summer visitor, or five soaking-wet, smoke-covered
kids? Arthur’s bleeding from his head. Your hands are cut to pieces.
I have burns on my legs. We look guilty.”
“But who can we tell? Who will help us?”
“No one,” Arthur said, his heart as dark and heavy as the night
around them. He had hoped that the day would never come. It
was time to discover his father’s secrets and pray that they would
offer him a way out, a way to save those he loved.
The secrets that had killed his family were his only hope for
saving Minnie and Cora.
December 2, 1967
Two Weeks Later
eighteen
T
hom paced nervously, always keeping his brother in
his peripheral vision. Charles couldn’t stop shivering,
lying on the sofa with three quilts over him. Cora and
Minnie had met them in the small library, hair still wet but clothes
changed. Arthur had disappeared somewhere — Thom wasn’t
sure where. It was getting late — soon Mrs. Johnson would chide
them for not being in bed — but none of them were anywhere
near being able to sleep. They wouldn’t be able to until Alden
was gone.
“I still say we should tell Mama,” Minnie said. She looked
small and pale, sitting on the sofa with her legs tucked up beneath
herself. She toyed with a heavy gold locket around her neck that
seemed familiar. “She’ll know what to do.”
Thom shook his head. “If we talk to your mother, Alden’ll
just tell her that we were in his room, going through his
things.” He didn’t say what he thought next, which was if
the man was willing to burn two boys to death, he certainly
would have nothing against harming Mrs. Johnson if she got in
his way.
“What about —” Cora was interrupted by the door being
shoved open with such force it dented the wall.
“What have you done with it?” Arthur shouted, as loud and as
physically here as Thom had ever seen him. Before Thom could
get away, Arthur had rushed across the room, grabbing him by the
collar and shoving him against a bookshelf. The wood dug into
Thom’s back.
“Arthur! Stop it!” Cora shouted, hurrying to pull him off
Thom. Arthur wouldn’t move.
“I know it was you. I want the case back. Now.”
Thom met the other boy’s gaze with a steady one of his own.
“It’s in my room. You can get it whenever you want. I won’t apolo-
gize; we needed information, and you had it.”
Arthur slammed him against the bookshelf again, the air
whooshing from Thom’s lungs in a painful burst. “Did you take
anything? Is it all there?”
Clenching his jaw, Thom shook his head. Arthur’s fist
slammed against his stomach, making him double over in pain.
“Stop it!” Minnie screamed. “It’s my fault! I told them where
you’d buried it.” She ducked under Arthur’s arms, smashing her-
self between him and Thom, voice laden with tears. “I’m sorry.
&
nbsp; I’m so sorry. But they are going to hurt Charles.”
When Arthur dropped Thom’s collar, Thom slid to the
ground, stomach still sharp with pain. He was getting rather tired
of being attacked tonight. The next person to hit him would be
hit back, no matter who it was.
“I don’t care if they hurt Charles,” Arthur said, his voice now
the quiet one Thom was used to.
Thom stood with a growl, anger boiling to the surface. It was
only Cora’s hand on his chest that kept him away from the other
boy. Of course Arthur didn’t care — he’d made that abundantly
clear. But Charles was everything Thom cared about. In that
moment Thom knew that, because of Arthur’s desire to protect
the girls, he was as much a threat as Alden.
Minnie stepped forward, trying to wrap her arms around
Arthur’s waist. He moved away from her, his eyes cold.
“I care if they hurt him,” she said, her shoulders shaking.
“We’re leaving.” Arthur grabbed Minnie’s wrist and turned to
Cora. “Right now. We can’t stay here any longer — it’s not safe.”
“Are you mad?” Cora asked. “We can’t leave!”
“I’ll make you. If I have to tie you both up and throw you in a
trunk, I’ll make you, so help me.”
“And then what?” Charles glared at him. “How are you going
to take care of the two of them? Where will you get money? Where
will you stay? How is running away with them any safer than stay-
ing here?”
Minnie twisted her arm, pulling free. Her huge eyes impossibly
sad, she shook her head, then went and sat next to Charles on the
sofa. Thom watched, glad that in the midst of all this, Minnie was
choosing his brother. He could see the pain in Arthur’s face, and it
filled him with a vicious happiness.
You have no one, Arthur.
“I can’t leave,” she said.
“Neither can I.” Cora dropped her hand from Thom’s
chest and, to his shock, took his own in hers. Her fingers were
long and soft in his.
“We’ll protect them,” Thom said. He looked from Cora to
Minnie, finally settling his gaze on Charles. “All of them. With or
without your help.”
Arthur left the room without a word.
Early that morning, so early the sky was still blushing away the
remnants of night, Thom made his way to Arthur’s attic room, case
in hand. He knocked on the door, but it swung open under his fist.
“Arthur? Listen, I wanted to say sorry, and ask —” Thom
stopped short on the threshold of the room. Sitting on Arthur’s
bed, holding a stack of letters, was the witch.
“Hello,” she said, smiling dreamily at him, her eyes flitting
around like a butterfly, alighting on his for only a second before
flying away again. “I came to see the Liska boy, but he’s not here.”
Her lip jutted out in a pout.
“Oh. I’m sorry.” Thom immediately felt like a fool. Here was
the witch — Mary — whom he knew was involved with Alden
and Constance, which meant she was probably part of the Ladon
Vitae. She had obviously snuck into the house in the middle of the
night doing who knows what, and Thom was apologizing to her?
“Listen,” he said, trying to sound firm and menacing. “I want
to know what this is all about. I know you’re part of them, that
secret society. Who are you people? And what do you have against
Charles?”
Mary shuffled the stack of letters, pulling some out and strok-
ing her finger along them. “Hmm? Who’s Charles?”
“My brother!”
“I had a brother once. Brothers are horrible, aren’t they? He
used to do the most awful things to tease me. I would do anything
to see him again.” She sighed, a soul-weary sound, and set the let-
ters back down, carefully tucking a picture into the ribbon.
Thom scowled in frustration. “Yes, but what do you want with
my brother?”
“I don’t want anything with him. I don’t want anything at all
in the whole world.” She stood, the hem of her nightgown-like
dress dragging across the floor as she walked toward him. He
wanted to back up. There was something unnerving in the way she
was finally looking at him, something strange about her eyes that
he couldn’t figure out. If she were a melody, she’d be discordant.
Her tongue darted out to wet her cracked lips. “Except an end-
ing. Oh, how I ache for an ending. Would you give us one?” She
cocked her head, considering him.
“If you help me keep my brother safe, I’ll do whatever I can
for you.”
She nodded slowly, finally looking away from him. He felt as
though it was easier to breathe. “Hmm. Who does your father
love more?”
“What?”
“Which would hurt worse — being the son loved so much he
is worthy of sacrifice, or being the son who’s spared because he is the
lesser?” She raised a hand and rested it on Thom’s cheek. He
flinched, but she didn’t seem to notice. “I think the latter, but
you’ll have to tell me.”
Thom swallowed hard. A sacrifice. Constance had spoken of
that, and it was on the list next to his father’s name, too. “He loves
Charles more,” Thom whispered. “He always has.” It hurt some-
thing deep inside him to finally say it out loud, to admit to this
stranger what he had always pretended not to know.
She nodded, patting his cheek. “Then Charles is the offering.”
“Should we run?”
She drifted past him, lingering at the top of the stairs. “There
isn’t enough time.”
“I’ll fight him. Alden. I’ll kill him if it means keeping my
brother safe.”
She turned toward him, a smile splitting her face in two, eyes
bright with delight. “You should! You absolutely should. I thought
it would be the Liska boy, but you might do as well.” Laughing,
she picked her way lightly down the stairs.
“So that’s the answer? Kill Alden?”
“No, silly. Kill us all,” she said just as she disappeared
from view.
April, 1968
nineteen
C
harles sipped his tea on the front porch and
watched as a crooked man, obscured by a lengthy
Beard, scuttled up the walk, decapitating flow-
ers with his unused cane.
“Afternoon,” Charles said, nodding.
The man looked up, startled. When he spoke, his mouth
twisted in a way that echoed the sense of crookedness woven
throughout his body. “Afternoon.”
“You’ll be here to see Alden?”
The man paused, leaning against the porch railing. Charles
could smell him this close, and he smelled of mothballs and garlic
so strongly the tea lost all its appeal.
“And how did you know that?”
Charles shrugged. “You have the same eyes. Too old and too
young at once.”
The bearded man’s smile grew and he tapped the side of his
nose with one heavily knuckled finger. “Clever boy.”
Charles leaned back against the pi
llows propped behind him
in the rocker. He had figured some of the story out, reading
Arthur’s father’s notes while Cora and Thom had plotted. Alden,
Constance, this man — they liked being part of something secret
and powerful. Everything they did, then, would naturally further
this power. His father was wealthy and influential. Whether they’d
helped him get there or merely taken advantage once he was, it
didn’t really matter. Every member of their group would do what-
ever they had to in order to keep their secrets and their power.
Well, except for Mary. She was the cog that his machine-
oriented mind could not solve. Why would they include a woman
so obviously out of her mind? Maybe she was someone important,
after all.
But leaving Mary aside, he still couldn’t figure out what their
goal here was. If his father owed them money, surely it would have
been simpler to kidnap him days ago. If they wanted to scare him
into doing something for them, a threat made far more sense than
locking Thom in a burning building.
Until that had happened, Charles hadn’t been bothered —
indeed, he had been entertained and enjoyed Thom’s frantic
attentions focused elsewhere. Now he was quietly seething over
these people running around in his life, setting strange things in
motion, hurting people he cared about.
He was angry, and being angry made him tired. “You know,
you could simply tell me what’s going on. All of this cloak-and-
dagger nonsense wears a body out.”
The man stood straight, tugging on the coarse ends of his
black beard. “Ah, but where would be the fun in that? We need our
diversions, too. Your body may get worn out, but ours merely get
bored.” He leaned forward, a cold gleam in his eyes making
Charles scared for the first time. “Would you like to see a magic
trick?”
The door opened and Alden, his hair perfectly oiled, stepped
out. “Not now,” he said, not so much as looking in Charles’s direc-
tion. Charles was glad for that, because he knew his fear of Alden
was written all over his face. The point of being out here was to
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