Strange Alchemy

by Gwenda Bond

  He pivots and strides back to us. Before I can stop him, Dee grabs Miranda’s hand in his, puts his other on her waist. Miranda stumbles but manages to stay on her feet as Dee drives her in a clumsy dance around the circle formed by the crowd. Mom looks worried, and Whitson disapproving, but the rest smile in muted approval. Dee is blissed out.

  Turn after turn, the dead band plays on. When Dee and Miranda near my side of the cleared space, I take a step forward. Miranda’s eyes are wide and panicked when they meet mine. She shakes her head slightly, mouthing, No.

  I ignore her and migrate closer, dodging Dee’s practiced step to avoid getting mowed down. “Mind if I cut in?” I ask.

  Miranda stumbles again.

  “I do,” Dee says, wheeling her away.

  I’m unsure how to force the issue. Mom walks over and loops her arm tightly through mine to prevent me from trying to interfere again.

  At last, Dee circles Miranda back to where he grabbed her. He bends to drop a light, respectful kiss on the skin of her hand, then deposits her at my side. Mom says, low, “Just one more day. One more,” and is gone before Dee’s attention falls on her.

  I don’t know what to say, and clearly neither does Miranda. She opens and shuts her mouth a couple of times. The crowd retakes the lawn. The music wavers and halts. Finally, she says, “Did that just happen?”

  I hold her hands in mine. They’re cold as seawater in winter. “You know, insects can’t just stop making noise. And a lot of them have no way to get out of here. They can’t fly or swim.”

  “Then where are they?” she asks, seizing on the change of topic.

  “There’s another possibility. They might be dead.”

  Chapter 33

  MIRANDA

  I follow Grant along the path to the furthest edge of the Grove’s property. Sidekick lopes ahead of us. My hand vibrates with invisible ick I will never get rid of. Dee touched it… with his lips. He danced with me. He wants me.

  I officially have devil cooties.

  After the nightmare dance, the body snatchers and the theater crew got back to work. Mounting the production after a few days off is always harder, and preparing for the transformation apparently has its own pages-long to-do list. Dee abandoned us to our own devices. It annoys me that he’s so sure we won’t try to escape, that we won’t be able to do anything worth preventing.

  Especially since he’s right.

  Where could we go? I have no way to be anywhere but here. This island. This day. And if Grant tries to stop the preparations, he’s risking his mother’s life.

  Maybe it’s a good thing I never made life plans.

  Grant wants to test his insect theory, so that’s what we’re doing. I also suspect he wants some distance. So do I. Breathing the same air as Dee is like having FREAK written on the outside of my car a million times in a row.

  We reach the final house of the Grove. Just past it is a stretch of mowed grass that leads down to the shore, thick forest bordering its other side. Grant kneels at the edge of the trees and rummages around in the undergrowth.

  “Got one,” he says. He removes his hand, cupping it to brandish a dead insect at me.

  “Dead bug,” I say. I pretend to fan myself. “For me?”

  Grant kneels again and rummages some more. When he opens his hand this time, there are several tiny bodies, like small damaged robots.

  “Oh,” I say. “You think he killed them.”

  “He has to be getting energy from somewhere, enough to keep himself breathing in that body until it’s really his. I think he’s pulling on nature to get what he needs, for him and for the rest of them. I have nothing to back this up, not really, but” — he holds up the handful of bugs — “this. And you said animals were being all weird that first night too, right?”

  I eye Sidekick, worried. “The dogs all went crazy. It was like they were barking mad about something. Even Sidekick. Do you think Dee hurt him?”

  Sidekick thumps his tail at his name. He looks fine.

  “You said he told you he’s been watching you. I don’t think he’d hurt Sidekick, because he’d be afraid you’d find out. And I’m afraid he has control of this. Killing these insects, no one will care or even notice. The birds, they’ll make up explanations for. He needs everyone to hang around until he’s really in power. He can’t go scaring the locals too much before then. I’m thinking he can’t — or won’t — directly affect the real world, not until he had a body again.”

  I flex and unflex my fingers. I need to tell him about the dance.

  “I don’t waltz,” I say. “Or foxtrot or whatever that was.”

  Grant’s eyebrows draw together. “You didn’t have much of a choice.”

  “I didn’t have any choice, actually.”

  “What do you mean?” he asks.

  The dead silence around us doesn’t make this nightmare any easier to talk about. I walk a little further around the side of the last house, through the patchy trees. The waves of the sound flow in, then back out from the beach nearby, almost visible from where we are. The cadence is usually soothing. Not now.

  “I mean that he was controlling me. Like some puppet. A marionette. I wasn’t doing the moving.”

  Grant stands there, not doing anything. Finally, he says, “When I tried to cut in, you stumbled. Because I distracted Dee. You were fighting him?”

  “Trying, especially at first, but he was too strong. The mark…” I raise my fingers and flutter then alongside the snake, then drop them. “It burned on my face the whole time.”

  Grant lays his hand lightly across the snake, and I suck in a surprised breath. Not a bad surprise. We look at each other.

  “He said he could take it away,” I whisper. “That I’d be free.”

  Grant’s hand stays on my cheek, and he inclines his head. “But he didn’t, did he?”

  “It wouldn’t matter if he did, I don’t think.”

  Our foreheads rest against each other, and I experience a weird sensation — an easier time breathing, a harder time breathing. The sound washes against the shore behind us in its own easy rhythm. I lean into the pressure of his hand, and I kiss him. A hungry kiss, full of my need to get away from dead bugs and dead fathers.

  Then full of something more, something that only belongs to us.

  Grant’s hand slides into my hair, gripping lightly at the roots. Mine gathers the cloth of his T-shirt in my fist, holding him to me.

  “Uh, sorry,” Bone says from somewhere nearby. “Seemed like the best time to talk. They’re all busy.”

  At least one thing hasn’t changed — Bone’s terrible timing.

  Heavy footsteps clomp toward us, and I release Grant’s shirt. But he doesn’t turn to Bone right away, watching me instead. His face is still near mine.

  I’m blushing. I know I am. But it helps that he doesn’t jump away from me. That he stays put.

  Grant touches his forehead to mine again. “I asked him to come,” he says, making it clear he now regrets that.

  I nod, “It’s okay.”

  He steps away from me, motioning Bone closer. “What can you tell us? Anything?”

  “Well, my dad is nuts,” Bone says. “I never thought any of it was real. Dude, I thought he was just nuts.”

  “I liked your dad,” Grant says.

  “I didn’t,” I say.

  Bone becomes solemn. “I’m sorry about your dad,” he says. “I never thought mine would do something like… that.”

  Interesting. “So it was him who killed Dad? Not Dee?”

  Bone shrugs. “I only know from the bragging, but I think he… called Dee here somehow. I don’t know how they did it, but your father had to die and lie empty for so long. Then…”

  “He went to the body and helped Dee take possession of it,” I finish.

  Bone nods. “I
’m sorry. Until I saw the body bag when we came downstairs, I thought it wasn’t real. But that’s the kind of thing he’d keep. For his collection. I didn’t know.”

  I can’t deal with the idea of Dad’s body bag as part of someone’s collection. “Do you know what they did with the gun?”

  “Dee looked it over last night while Dad told him what a genius he is. He put Dad in charge of it until tonight, his reward from ‘the master,’” Bone says. “I should have known he was like this. I should have done… something.”

  Shame is clear on Bone’s face. I hate feeling sympathetic toward him, but there it is. I understand him too well at this point not to. “I just danced with the devil. None of us have choices here.”

  Grant raises his hand. “About that. You don’t think Dee’s been able to control you all these years, do you?”

  I wondered the same thing, but I answer, “No. And I don’t think he could control Dad before either. But the mark has its own influence too. Our curse. I wonder if it’s why Dad drank so much. You can feel it, when it takes over, makes you do things you wouldn’t. You can feel that it’s not really you, but it’s hard to fight.”

  “It’s hard to believe your dad stayed sane,” Grant says. “I can’t figure out why Dee would curse you, given how into Mary he was.”

  “He likes controlling people?” I shrug. “I stopped cutting Dad slack so long ago, gave up on him. And I was wrong.”

  Maybe he’s watching you through the veil. Maybe he knows you’re sorry.

  Grant comes closer to me again, and I let him tuck me against his side. He’s the one good thing in all this mess. One more thing I’m going to lose and never get back before this ends.

  His nose crinkles. “You smell that?”

  I sniff and, even with the wind blowing in the other direction, inhale something rotten.

  Bone says, “I do.”

  We hurry toward the smell. After a few more feet, Sidekick lies down on his belly and whines, refusing to come along.

  The scent trail leads us to a small bank that overlooks a slice of beach. When we reach the overhang, I turn away almost immediately. I’ve seen enough.

  Dead fish cover the shore in heaps. Silver, black, and red scales shine in the sun. Their empty eyes stare, sightless.

  “They weren’t here yesterday,” Bone says.

  The smell shouldn’t be so strong, not so soon. Dee killed these fish. I know it. He sucked out their lives. The bodies are decomposing faster than normal.

  I stagger back toward the forest. I hear the boys behind me. Grant catches up and touches my shoulder. It’s a small comfort against the sight of that shoreline.

  “Dee went into a room alone ‘to prepare,’” Bone says. “My dad says he talks to angels.”

  “Satan was an angel,” I point out.

  “No,” Grant says, “this isn’t something any god would be involved in. Or any fallen angel, for that matter. The devil is just the kind of word my gram would use.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The forces he’s calling on… you’ve felt it when he looks at you, when he touches you. He was just a man once, a mad scientist who wanted to believe he was talking to angels. A man who believed in progress, in the dream of a New London on this island. But he’s become something else. Worse. More.”

  “Death,” Bone says.

  We leave it at that.

  *

  I sit beside Grant on the sidewalk in front of Polly’s place, the house that forms the main hub of activity for the returned. We watch in silence as the secret alchemists and the regular theater types bustle around. I asked Bone to fetch my messenger bag from his dad’s car, and I get up when I see him carrying it toward us.

  “Where are you going?” Grant asks.

  “Just to freshen up,” I say. “A girl needs her secrets.”

  Grant smiles at me, but it’s nervous. And that’s why I can’t tell him where I’m going. He’ll only worry more. He’ll want to help. This is a last-ditch effort anyway. It’s better for him to stay out here in relative safety, in case I’m caught in my attempts. Who knows what Dee might do to Grant if I give him an excuse?

  I meet Bone and take the bag. “Thanks,” I say. Lowering my voice I add, “Follow me inside. I need one more thing.”

  Bone does as I ask without drawing attention to it. He really isn’t so bad after all.

  In the apartment, the bizarre prep continues. Women sew their fingers raw. A mix of men and women in the kitchen dry freshly made candles. The smell of burnt wax is everywhere. A couple of the women glance up at us as we enter, then go back to work, unconcerned.

  And why should they be? I think. What threat do I pose to them? That’s the mindset I’m counting on.

  “What is it?” Bone asks.

  “Your dad, where is he?”

  He nods toward a hallway that goes in the opposite direction of Polly’s room. “He’s in the bedroom next to the one Dee’s in, I think.”

  Good. “Can you give me a couple of minutes, then distract him?”

  Bone looks at me. “What are you going to do?”

  “Better if you don’t know.” When he doesn’t answer, I lean in close to his ear, “You said you should have done something.”

  He hesitates, then says, “Two minutes?”

  “I have to duck into the other bedroom. Then I’ll wait in the bathroom across the hall.”

  Bone nods and pretends to be examining a magazine on a nearby end table. I saw Eleanor-slash-Polly outside a few moments ago and slip into her bedroom. There’s no one in here. Whew.

  I look around to see what I can score that might help. Not much, but there’s some stuff. My heart pounds as I shove two small spools of thread, some stray needles, and a thimble someone must have finally given her into my bag.

  I don’t trust Bone to give me more time, so I slip out of the room. I catch his eye, and we head up the little hall to the other bedrooms, me in front.

  I nod to a frowning woman as we pass her. “Bathroom,” I say, though she didn’t ask.

  I keep my bag tucked against my side and let myself inside the small bathroom, softly shutting the door, while Bone breaks off into the room across the hall. The mirror calls out to me, and when I see what a mess I am, I swipe at my hair in an attempt to smooth it. I position my face so I don’t have to see the snake. Then I move closer to the door so I can listen while I get ready.

  Bone and his dad are arguing. Bone raises his voice, no doubt so I’ll hear him. “Dad, I get that you have things to do, but I need you for a minute outside. Just a minute.”

  While I wait, I scoop out the things I took from Polly’s room and transfer them to my pocket. I add a handful of change from the bottom of my bag. I resist a victorious fist pump when I hear Bone and his dad enter the hallway, Roswell complaining loudly the whole time.

  Once it sounds as though the coast is clear, I open the door by degrees and rush across into the bedroom. I hope against hope that Roswell didn’t take the gun with him.

  He didn’t.

  It rests on the center of a pillow on the bed, like a crown in some king’s chamber. I put my bag down next to it. I don’t have much time, and this is a long shot at best. The gems on the grip flash as I pick it up.

  I stuff the loot in my pocket into the long barrel, one thing at a time, starting with the needles, thimble, and thread. I use a pen from my bag to press them deep inside. I do the coins after that. For the capper, I crumple the page with the picture of Dee I ripped from Roswell’s book earlier and add it.

  When everything is in and I’m satisfied a casual examination will reveal nothing, I hurry back to my hiding place. Roswell harrumphs his way back up the hall seconds after I close the bathroom door.

  I have no idea if what I did is enough to jam Dee’s weapon. Probably not, and so I’ll keep the fact
I did it to myself. I don’t want to give Grant false hope. But I tried, and that’s worth something.

  Chapter 34

  GRANT

  Miranda is off freshening up, so I decide to give another shot to convincing Mom her plan is the worst possible approach. I find her helping with the outdoor division of the candle squad. They place freshly made candles with long black tapers on a sheet with a silly Christmas pattern and trim the wicks. It’s a surreal sight.

  Mom knows I’m standing here, off to the side of the cluster, but she does her best to ignore me. Sorry, not happening.

  “Mom, can I have a word?” I say finally, smiling a good-boy smile.

  The other women look at me for a heartbeat before returning to their work. Mom steps away and scans the yard, and I know she’s looking for Dee.

  “He’s not out here,” I say. “He’s preparing for whatever awful thing he’s about to do — you know he’s killing the people who these bodies belong to, right?”

  The spirits around us are waving gray lights. They whisper:

  That’s right —

  What he means to do —

  It’s a trap —

  Can’t let —

  Can’t —

  Mom takes my arm, hard, towing me away. “Careful,” she says. “He’ll find out, Grant. We can’t be talking. I’m doing this for you. Stay out of the way, and don’t cause trouble.”

  And with that, she’s gone. I could make a scene — I’m good at that — but I can’t risk Dee banishing me. I have to at least stay in the game. And that means essentially following my mother’s orders. For now.

  I retake my seat on the sidewalk, and Miranda comes back before long. We sit and observe, watching from the edges. I wonder if this is what the spirits feel like. Useless and desperate.

  It must be.

  I envy their nonsense chattering. If I indulged in that, it would at least break the silence that keeps falling between Miranda and me. Beside me, she strokes Sidekick’s head. I can feel her nerves growing as time passes.

  I don’t blame her. The desiccated insects in the forest and the rotting fish washed onto the beach are never far from my thoughts. The voices of the spirits whisper insinuations —