“I agree. But unfortunately, I’ve been forbidden to help you get back to your homes,” Mr. Jackson said evenly.
“Of course you have,” Dylan mocked from across the circle.
Mr. Jackson ignored him. “While I cannot divulge information myself, I do know someone who might be able to tell you what you need to know." Lacing his fingers and leaning in until his elbows rested on his knees, he met their eyes one by one with a serious expression.
The hair on the back of Andi’s neck prickled and a sick, uneasy feeling washed over her. With each dark shadow, she anticipated the terrifying rumble of the chainsaw from her childhood nightmares. This was a horror story, all right. She felt they were teetering on a ledge and were now getting to what would either to make them tumble into the gorge or allow them to crawl back to freedom.
“I’m supposed to turn you over to my master immediately, but if you’ll let me, I’m willing to hide you as long as I can.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” Quinn scoffed. “We’re not actually taking him seriously, are we?” she asked, turning to the others.
“I’ll arrange transportation for you to Cynthia Wellington’s childhood home,” Mr. Jackson said. “Her family might be able to help you. ”
“How—” Andi stuttered glancing at the others in trepidation, “how do know my grandmother’s name?”
“She is from here.”
“She’s not from here,” Andi said in a stiff voice, "and you can’t possibly have any information about her.”
Unperturbed, Mr. Jackson rested his hands on the arms of his chair. "I know that was her cloak, and those shoes you’ve had a death grip on since you got here were hers as well."
Andi narrowed her eyes at him. This was a whole new level of creepy.
“I know you resemble her in a rather remarkable way, and as a measure of good faith, I'll show you what her cloak does.” He raised his eyebrows at her. “Unless you've already figured it out yourself?"
He held out a hand for the cloak and Andi tried to contain her mistrust as she considered him. The other three watched her with doubtful expressions, but she unfastened it from her neck and tossed it in his direction. "It’s done nothing but cause trouble so far."
Mr. Jackson didn't respond. He only shook the cloak, turned it velvet side out, and handed it back. "Try it on now."
Giving her shoes to Quinn, Andi refastened the cloak around her. Nothing happened, and the drop in her stomach forced her to admit part of her thought she might reappear in her kitchen.
"Hood up," Mr. Jackson instructed with his arms crossed. Andi used both hands to flick the hood into place and a sense of déjà vu made her dizzy. Had she really been at home only this afternoon? Again nothing happened, but the others reacted immediately.
They all vaulted from their chairs, Fredrick shouting, "What did you do to her?" and Dylan’s eyes growing wide. Mouth slack, shoes loose in her grasp, Quinn’s eyes slid past her. Andi looked down at her toes and let out an unintelligible shout.
Her body had simply disappeared.
The others froze.
"Candide?" Dylan asked, turning to her, eyes still unseeing.
"Andi," she replied automatically. Flipping back the hood she noticed the relief of the other three as she reappeared. She gave Dylan a small smile, suddenly in a much better mood. She could see definite pluses to being invisible. If only this place were Hogwarts. "Nobody calls me Candide, and don’t even think about calling me Candy."
"That was awesome." Dylan looked at her with envy. "I want one."
Quinn gave her a wry smile. "You almost gave me a heart attack, and that's saying something after the day we've had."
Fredrick simply nodded, but the relief was plain on his face.
"Do the shoes do anything?" she asked.
Mr. Jackson smiled for the first time. It reached his eyes and transformed his face. She may have liked him under different circumstances, she realized. He sat back down with the others. "They do. I would hold on to them."
No other information was forthcoming. Andi rolled her eyes at the cryptic response. "Where’d my grandmother get the cape?" she asked, running a finger over the plush fabric. She was still wary of his claim that he knew her grandmother, but was keeping an open mind. After all, she could talk to birds and recently was waited on by an elf.
"I’m not sure." Mr. Jackson shook his head.
Fredrick, by far the quietest of the group, spoke up. “Why are you helping us?”
Mr. Jackson stood and paced between the arch leading into the house and to the edge of the porch’s stone wall. "I have my reasons." He stopped at the wall and faced the distant ocean where the moon slowly arced its nightly path. The gas lights backlit him, making him no more than a smudge against the darkness.
Andi noticed he didn’t answer Fredrick’s question.
“We’ll leave first thing in the morning for the Wellington’s. Cob and Harland will show you to your rooms. I'll see you at breakfast."
They were finally alone with each other. Andi felt uncharacteristically shy, but Dylan couldn't seem to stand the silence.
"I don't know about the rest of you, but I need a shower and some aloe. And possibly dessert."
Quinn glanced at the doorway where Mr. Jackson disappeared. "I'm itching from this mud. I second the idea."
"I’ve got to hear how you three got here,” Dylan said, smirking. “From the look of you, it’s quite a story.”
Chapter 10
“You can drive if you know how to hot wire a car.”
Dylan squinted in the dim light of the corridor, just able to make out the doorknob of the girls’ shared room. He put out a hand, silently indicating Fredrick should stay in the hallway. He nodded, looking relieved.
Slipping through the door with a quick knock, Dylan found himself in a small sitting room. The view was breathtaking, with an entire wall of open windows looking out onto the beach, and he felt a pang of homesickness. Focusing on the closed bedroom doors on opposite ends of the room, he chose one at random and tiptoed in.
Andi slept sprawled across the enormous king size canopy bed, somehow managing to be both dwarfed by the monstrosity and take up most of the mattress space. He stole to the bed and hesitated, watching her for a second, Bella Burkiss a distant memory.
In sleep, Andi seemed delicate and peaceful, her blonde hair splayed around her face. Dylan grinned to himself. He might not know her well—yet—but he knew in this case, her serene look was very deceiving.
Gently, he shook her shoulder.
Instead of startling awake, Andi smacked his hand and, without opening her eyes, rolled over and mumbled into her pillow, “Not getting up.”
He shook her again, hissing, “Andi!”
This time she sat up slightly, giving him a bleary-eyed stare. “Whadda you doin’?”
Dylan knelt next to the bed so he was level with her. “Fredrick and I’ve decided to get out of here. You and Quinn want to come?”
Andi looked around her room like she wasn’t sure where here was. “Where are you going?”
“We’re not sure, but there’s only one road leading out of here. We’ll find a town and ask around. Both of us think Mr. Jackson’s not quite on the level. He’s got to have an ulterior motive, offering to help when he’s supposed to hand us over.”
Dylan stood, his knees starting to cramp.
“There is something about that man that doesn’t add up,” Andi said, grabbing a small, nondescript book off the nightstand and stretching like a cat as she slid off the high bed. Dylan’s eyes were riveted on the thin slip of fabric Andi had worn to bed. How had he missed that when he walked in?
Andi followed his gaze down and met his eyes with a slightly amused, exasperated expression.
“Out,” she said, shoving on his shoulder. “I’ll go talk to Quinn and meet you in the hall.”
The girls joined them silently a few minutes later, both wearing strange combinations of clothes—Quinn in a shirt w
ith sleeves half attached at the shoulder and a skirt that looked like it was made out of handkerchiefs, and Andi in longish filmy dress with a leather vest laced tight over the top. Both girls wore heeled boots that laced up to their knees. Andi had a small messenger bag on her hip.
Dylan and Fredrick’s closets had been the same mix of eclectic clothing. He hadn’t minded--the funky clothes were kind of fun--but Fredrick had taken personal offense to the lack of blue jeans.
Just getting out of the mansion proved to be a challenge. Dylan wound through so many rooms and corridors he felt like a rat searching for cheese. The entire building was deceptively quiet—no servants, no guards. Maybe they weren’t really prisoners, but Dylan wasn’t about to stick around to find out.
Behind what felt like the millionth door he tried, the four of them stepped into what was kept under the glass dome of the covered carriage house.
The gravel driveway looped in from the front of the house and ran the length of the airplane sized room. Along the perimeter, tucked into the shadows, was every type of vehicle from every conceivable era. There were '68 mustangs cozied up to Model T's. The Lexus convertible that Dylan was positive was released just last year sat adjacent to an Indian Four motorcycle from the 1940's. The entire collection was meticulous, the shined chrome and carefully cared-for leather making it look more like a museum than garage.
Wandering though the dark garage, Dylan was examining the assortment of vehicles when Quinn called everyone over, "Guys, come see this."
Jogging over, Dylan found her standing in front of spoked wheels and a lofted driver's seat that belonged in history and fairy tales. He circled the covered carriage, taking in the curved lines and gas lamps of a time supposedly long gone.
"Why would he have something like this?" Andi asked.
"I don’t know. I’m pretty sure these ran on literal horse power," Dylan said, looking under the carriage.
"What about this one?” Fredrick called from a corner of the room. Tucked into the shadows, the long, low dark form of an old muscle car gave a distinctive silhouette. With its black fins, bubble top and white wall tires, it belonged in a car show.
Dylan circled the car with a grin. "A 1961 Chevy Impala." He ran a hand over a fin. “Now we’re talking.”
Fredrick peered into the red and white striped leather interior. "My dad has one like this but it's not in great shape."
“Yeah? Is he a car guy?” Dylan asked.
“No. I think he hangs on to it because it was my grandpa's,” Fredrick said, straightening up.
“Everyone in,” Dylan said, opening the door and folding back the seat.
“Wait, we’re stealing a car?” Quinn asked, backing up a step.
“No,” Dylan said impatiently, waving her and Andi into the backseat. “We’re borrowing one of hundreds of cars from a rich, crazy person who is trying to hold us hostage. He’ll just have to relocate it on his own once we dump it.”
“Works for me,” Andi said, ignoring the backseat and getting into the passengers side. “Hey,” she stopped half way in, “who’s driving?”
“I’m driving,” Dylan said, trying to close her door. Andi blocked it with her arm.
“Why do you get to drive?” she grilled him.
“You can drive if you know how to hot wire a car,” he said with a shrug.
“And you do?”
“Watch and learn,” he grinned, finally succeeding in getting the other two passengers in the backseat.
He stuck his head under the dash and had the ignition wires pulled out in seconds. These old cars were a piece of cake.
“Where’d you learn that?” Andi asked as he stripped the wires.
“I’m from Orcas Island,” he said, sparking the wires and listening to the engine cough and go silent. “There’s not a lot in the way of entertainment. Sometimes you’ve got to make your own fun.”
The engine whined and Dylan slid into the driver’s seat to give it a little gas. The car thundered to life, echoing in the cavernous garage. Dylan closed the car door, one eye watching for someone to come busting out of the house.
“Are we sure this is the best idea?” Quinn asked from the backseat, also watching the house.
“You can stay,” Dylan offered.
“Not by myself I’m not,” Quinn said. “Let’s go.”
Shifting into gear and slamming his foot on the gas almost simultaneously, the car sped out of the garage and down the drive, spitting gravel in their wake. The silent, dark house flashed by as they drove away and turned onto a road at the edge of the woods.
In the glow of the headlights, dark pines riffled past them like a flip book as they dodged from shadow to moonlight along the road. They sped through the forest with only the trees for company for over an hour until, eventually, the road changed, starting to twist and wind through the trees. Dylan was having the time of his life. No speed limits, no cops that were on a first name basis with his dad and had know him since birth. He took the tight corners without slowing down, tossing his passengers against the doors and each other.
“Think you could slow down?” Andi asked, breaking the silence and checking her seatbelt for the fifth time.
“No way, Grandma,” Dylan grinned. The engine strained and moaned briefly. Dylan let up on the gas, frowning at the displays.
“What is it?” Fredrick asked from the backseat.
“Not sure,” Dylan said, downshifting and slowing down slightly. The engine resumed its gas-guzzling growl and Dylan shrugged. “It’s okay now.”
The engine gave a brief hiccup and stopped altogether, the car rocketing down the dark road at 70 miles an hour.
“What the—” Dylan clutched the wheel and glanced back at the display as if it held answers.
Andi screamed, and by the time Dylan looked up, all that registered was a flash of gray fur streaking across the shine of the headlights. He pull the wheel violently to the left, his breath quick, his muscles tight. He missed the animal, but couldn’t pull the car out of the overcorrection.
The Impala left the road at a breakneck speed, wheels locked and skidding across the fallen pine needles toward the pillars of tree trunks. Dylan felt the car tilt and tried to brace himself against the wheel, but his grip was thrown off when the car reached a hair-raising slant. Then the world spun and he was tossed around like a stray coin in the dryer. His seatbelt bit painfully as it cinched his waist into the seat while the rest of him went flying around the front seat, arms and legs jumbled in cacophony of ripping metal and screams. With one final herculean blow to his door, the car stopped.
Part II
Jorindel and Jorinda
“But when any pretty maiden came within that space she was changed into a bird, and the fairy put her into a cage, and hung her up in a chamber in the castle.
Chapter 11
"You can’t hide from me, my lovely chick.”
Andi awoke upside down, dangling from her waist, and feeling decidedly scrambled. Her brain couldn’t seem to figure out how to make her limbs work. This left her staring out the broken windshield, the pine needles and inverted tree trunks just becoming visible in the early morning light. An unnatural silence bubbled around her, but she couldn’t put her finger on what she should be hearing.
Dylan was hanging in a similar fashion from his seat belt, but not moving. Blood was sticking his blond hair to his scalp and dripping softly onto the crumpled roof. Slowly, she regained control of herself, but she was shaky and clumsy. She looked in the backseat and saw Quinn dangling motionless with her eyes closed. A quiet groan came from directly behind her—Fredrick.
After a few fumbling tries, Andi dropped onto the roof. She crouched on her heels and tried the handle, quickly discovering the door was too mangled to give way. But the glass in the front window was cracked.
Backing up and balancing awkwardly on one foot, Andi smashed the heel of her boot once, twice, and on the third kick, a substantial chunk of window fell away. She widened the hole with her
feet, trying her best to avoid the shards.
Behind her, Fredrick fumbled with his own belt. Andi reached back and pressed the catch for him.
"You okay?" His voice sounded like Andi felt, tossed apart and badly put back together.
The others had still not stirred. Andi nodded, too unsure of her voice to try speaking.
"I’ll go first, then get you out." Fredrick shouldered his way into the front and out the window, keeping his hands out of the glass and letting the jagged edges of the window pull at his thick jacket. He reached back for Andi, hesitating slightly before taking her hand.
They stared at the car. It was wrapped around the trunk of a giant pine on the edge of the woods, bits of chrome and metal trailing from the road like confetti. Now out of the car, Andi’s shakiness subsided, slowly being replaced by aches and bruises.
"We’ve got to get the others. Look for something to break the rest of the window and lay over the glass." The calmness in Fredrick's voice steadied Andi further.
Hunting through the wreckage produced a heavy wrench and an old wool blanket from an emergency kit tucked responsibly into the trunk. Careful to knock the glass out of the car, Fredrick cleared the rest of the window, laying the blanket over the jagged edges. They crawled back in and Fredrick braced Quinn's body as Andi undid her belt. He softly lowered her down.
"Why hasn't she woken up yet?" Andi asked, watching her chest rise and fall faintly. The stillness of her face was unnerving.
"She’s breathing. Help me drag her out."
They positioned her by the window and climbed out, each taking an arm and pulling her as gently as they could through the broken window.
"We need to get them clear of the car," Fredrick said. Andi reached for Quinn to move her again but Fredrick shook his head. "I’ll get her. Can you break out the back window?”
Fredrick bent and managed to get his arms under Quinn’s knees and shoulders. He lifted her awkwardly and gingerly cradled her to his chest. He held his body stiff and unbending, his face an alarming shade of red.
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