Daughters of Arkham

by Justin Robinson

  Bryce hefted his tools. As they hiked across the rolling hills of the cemetery, Abby kept the flashlight off. Walking in the dark was difficult. Headstones kept looming suddenly out of the darkness, threatening to spill both of them onto the grass. When they got to the hill where Drew Marks was buried, they stopped. “I think you can turn that on now. Just keep your coat cupped around the side, and put your body between it and the road.”

  “I got it,” Abby said, annoyed.

  He grinned. Of course she had it. He looked down at the fresh dirt. It was still crumbly and loose. They’d put grass down on top of it tomorrow. For now, time to dig in.

  Bryce was exhausted by the time he was three feet down. He was in shape, but his muscles were from play, not from work. He had never done anything like this before. His palms felt like they were covered in a thin sheen of acid.

  “I should have hired someone for this,” he said, mopping his brow. He was still in his suit, though he’d thrown his jacket onto the grass. His white shirt was covered in black streaks and dark sweat stains.

  “Can’t dig a hole?” Abby teased, the beam of the flashlight bobbing with her soft chuckle.

  “You want to do this?”

  “Doctor was pretty clear. No rock climbing, no exhuming bodies.”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet,” Bryce muttered, and dug in.

  His muscles were screaming by the time his shovel hit something. The beam picked up the shining black top of the coffin. He dug a little more, clearing out the area around the top seam of the casket so he could open the part that would reveal Drew’s head.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Good, me too.” He stared at it. He was about to see a dead man, one he kind of knew. He hadn’t been friends with Drew, but he had seemed like a decent enough guy. Now he was going to be laying there with a bullet through his head and the back of his skull repaired by some mortician. “One.” He grasped the edge of the door. “Two.” He took a deep breath. “Three.”

  He yanked the coffin back, ready for something horrible, something he had seen only in horror movies.

  Instead, the coffin was empty.

  Abby yelped, dropping the flashlight. The light bounced crazily for a moment before it hitched up next to a headstone.

  “Abby? Abby!” he stage-whispered.

  Bryce heard her, sobbing. He hoisted himself out of the grave and nearly collapsed, but forced himself to keep moving. He took her in his arms, though her belly did its best to separate them. He felt her shoulders shake, her breath coming raggedly against his chest.

  “What is it? What’s going on?”

  “The grave… it’s empty.”

  “I know. No body. Nothing to be afraid of.”

  She looked up at him. Tears fell down her cheeks. Lit in the moonlight, she looked like some otherworldly creature, far too beautiful for anything on earth. “That’s it. That’s just it. My dad is buried over there.” She pointed a few rows over. “If this coffin is empty, that means his coffin is, too.”

  Bryce shivered, thinking of his own father. She was right. He felt some ghost of what Abby was feeling and abruptly he needed the embrace as much or even more than she did.

  “Bryce… where are our fathers?”

  65

  BROKEN ENGAGEMENT

  ‘bryce sat at his desk reviewing all of his notes. He was trying to focus, but all he could think about was Abby and the night in the cemetery. He’d reburied the empty coffin, hoping it would pass muster with the groundskeepers, then he’d taken Abby home, kissed her on the forehead, and promised to keep her updated. He’d told her not to worry and that they would figure this all out.

  That, of course, was the problem. What do they possibly do next? What did one do in situations like this? Were there even situations like this?

  Bryce threw his pen down. How could you go up against some crazy murdering secret society that had existed in plain sight for hundreds of years, one that controlled the law, the media, and girls’ reproductive systems? When had his life been eaten up by this obsession? Maybe a drive would clear his head. He got up, grabbed his keys off the dresser, and then froze.

  Ophelia Thomas stood in the doorway. He almost didn’t register her there. She was so out of place that he couldn’t understand her as a visitor. He blinked once as his brain finally got the message. Her arms were folded; her pretty, round face was set in a glower. Her hair tumbled loose over her shoulders.

  “How did you get in here?” Bryce said.

  “That’s what you have to say to me?”

  “Ta-dah would have been my first pick, but I haven’t done anything amazing yet. Give me five minutes.”

  “Amazing. That’s what you call slumming with Abby Thorndike?”

  “How is that any of your business?”

  “That’s not an answer, Bryce.”

  Something about the way she said his name really annoyed him. It had an undercurrent of entitlement. He had enjoyed their chat but that was all. He didn’t owe her anything.

  “Are you off your meds or something?”

  “You’re spending a lot of time with her, aren’t you? How do you think that looks to everyone when we are the ones who are getting married?”

  Bryce burst out laughing. “To each other? Please tell me you didn’t buy into that whole arranged marriage crap?”

  “I told you. The Daughters said we would be a good match.” She took a step towards him.

  Bryce’s eyes were drawn to that goddamned pin on her blouse. He had almost forgotten. She was a Daughter of Arkham. That made her dangerous, no matter what face she and her mother presented to the world.

  “Look, Ophelia, I’m just not in the married sort of place right now. We still have a few years before we even graduate from high school.”

  “I can’t believe you’re dumping me for that slut.”

  “What did you say?”

  Ophelia grinned, a horrible light in her eyes. For the first time, Bryce saw her as ugly. “Abby Thorndike. You haven’t heard? The reason that she doesn’t know whose kid is in her belly is because she’s lost track of how many guys she’s been with. I heard that’s how the family pays their staff. Everyone gets a poke at little Abby. Even the old bald one.” Ophelia laughed. “Did you think she was saving everything for you?”

  Bryce took a step forward. For a moment, he forgot all the possible repercussions of striking a Daughter of Arkham, then he stopped himself. He might have been a lot of things, but he wasn’t about to add woman-beater to that list.

  “Guess that beats getting your mom to buy you a date, huh?” he sneered. He shoved past Ophelia, and it felt good, that tiny sliver of violence. He longed to do more, but he wouldn’t. No matter what she said, it was just words. Lies. She was trying to provoke him.

  He didn’t think about getting his car. He didn’t want or need it. He just wanted to walk the anger off. He left the house and headed down the hills and into town, past the green, and to the creek. As he walked, late afternoon turned to night, and the air developed a slight chill. He was hungry, but couldn’t imagine going home. It felt like Coffin Manor belonged to Ophelia, his mother, and all the other Daughters of Arkham. He was only a tenant there until his marriage, when he could be disposed of.

  He turned north at the creek, preferring not to cross the bridge to Brookside. The sound of the shushing creek filled his head, swirling around his hopeless jumble of thoughts and feelings. He didn’t know what to do with his anger about what Ophelia had said, or his affection for Abby, or the enduring mystery of the missing fathers and the horror of the empty grave.

  He almost ran right into Eleazar Grant.

  His friend—maybe former friend, these things were in so much flux—was standing in the middle of the large park with his hands crossed over his chest. He was a bit taller than Bryce, but his shadow seemed much, much larger. It loomed out behind him like an eclipse.

  “Hey, Laze. What are you doing out here?
”

  “Looking for you.”

  “What?”

  Bryce heard rustling, and saw other boys come out from behind trees and bushes. He was surrounded and every one of these boys had death in his eyes. He knew some of them; they were upperclassmen. All Arkham natives. He never knew Laze had so many friends. He had certainly never mentioned them.

  Bryce spread his arms and tried to look everywhere at once. His pulse was racing and he could feel his heart thundering in his chest as adrenaline pounded through his veins. He had never been in an actual fight with a single opponent, let alone six.

  Eleazar wasn’t the first to charge. That was someone behind him. Bryce heard him coming, whirled, and took a wild swing at nothing. Whoever the boy was, he rammed a shoulder into Bryce’s stomach, driving all the wind out of him. Bryce wrapped his arms around his attacker and started pounding desperately on his back. He brought up his knee and felt a satisfying crack as it connected with the boy’s jaw.

  The second and third boys charged in and body tackled Bryce to the grass. Someone’s boot caught him in the temple and there was nothing but screaming in his eyes and ringing in his ears. He struggled to get up but they drove him back into the grass with blows to his ribs and head.

  Bryce turtled up, doing his best to protect his face as the group rained down hateful punishment on him. He couldn’t make them out anymore. They were crushing, smashing feet, stamping him into the earth. At first, he felt every individual hit, but pretty soon it was like one colossal hammer was crushing down on him over and over and over again. He barely had any conscious thoughts, other than a brief flash of, Why?

  And then there were stars.

  He thought at first that he must have been punted in the head again and he was seeing what a concussion looked like from the inside. Stars exploded on acrid white smoke, rebounding and scorching his eyes. There was a whistle and a pop, like a tiny train crashing directly into his ear. He winced and rolled away, expecting to be met with a foot.

  He had a brief glimpse of Eleazar backing away, trying to clear his vision, and then a small shadow leapt over Bryce’s prone body to throw a full body tackle at Eleazar. It cut him down at the knees.

  Eleazar collapsed with a shriek as something popped and tore. The shadow was a boy. He rolled off Laze and then straddled his chest, driving elbow after elbow across his nose and jaw. Laze jolted violently with each blow. There was one more crunch and then he stopped moving.

  Bryce heard the boys cursing, trying to zero in on the new attacker, before more whistling train shrieks and booms burned white hot flashes and stars into the night sky. Bryce blinked. He saw the staggering shadows of the boys scorched onto his retinas, their arms flung up over their faces as more stars exploded amongst them. One of the boys recovered enough to make a move toward Bryce but before he took two steps, hands snatched his face from behind, hooked fingers into his eyes and dragged him to the ground in a gurgling heap.

  Two swift and sure kicks to the upperclassman’s head left him as silent and still as Eleazar. The small, shadowy figure advanced on Bryce.

  Oh, Jesus. Bryce rolled away and brought up an arm to defend himself, but then the world lurched under him and he almost vomited. Something gripped his arm and hauled him to his feet. Bryce swayed for a moment, steadied again by those hands. He realized he was looking at the top of the stranger’s head, so he adjusted his gaze and finally got a clear look thanks to another bedlam of the fireworks going off behind him.

  Nate Baxter.

  Nate’s glasses kept lighting up with the glare from the explosions; it was impossible to see his eyes. Bryce could hear the mewling whimpers of Eleazar and the other boy Nate had tried to cripple (or maybe had crippled) and the shouts of their friends regrouping.

  “Come on!” Nate shouted at him.

  They ran. Bryce didn’t bother looking where. Once they had distance, if they ever did, then maybe he would have an opinion on precisely where they went. He looked over at Nate and saw the other boy was carrying a pack, partly unzipped. Roman candles stuck out of it like an archer’s quiver.

  Bryce looked behind him as they ran from the park onto the street. His attackers had faded away as suddenly as they’d appeared. No one was following.

  They ran another block anyway, just to be sure. Only then did he put a hand on Nate’s arm. They stopped. Bryce’s breath was on fire. Nate stood beside him, looking left and right, keeping vigil while Bryce recovered. The little bastard didn’t even seem to be out of breath.

  “What the hell is going on?” Bryce finally managed.

  66

  AN ALLIANCE

  ‘they walked up the path toward the house. Bryce opened the door and waved Nate in. The smaller boy hesitated, but went through the door and right into Marianne Coffin. She had a tumbler full of lighter fluid, judging by the smell.

  “Bryce. What are you doing with the gardener’s boy?”

  Hearing her refer to Nate like that annoyed Bryce almost as much as the shame he felt that Nate could see his mother in one of her states. “I wanted some company that wasn’t a junkie alcoholic.”

  “Bryce!”

  “Mom!” he said, mimicking her tone.

  He led Nate away, up towards his room. Would she be there when he got back? Maybe. Or maybe she had been the one to sic Eleazar and his friends on him. There was no connection between them that Bryce could see, but he didn’t entirely trust his powers of perception.

  Bryce threw himself onto the bed and winced as his bruises lit up. Nate looked around, selected a chair and sat, propping his arsenal between his feet.

  “So what the hell do you want?” It came out harsher than Bryce wanted it to, but he didn’t know how to react to Nate. Why had he saved him?

  “Uh… I think the phrase you’re looking for is, ‘Thank you.’”

  “You’re not stupid, Baxter so don’t play with me right now.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Why were you following me?”

  “I wasn’t. I was on my way over here when I saw you head into the park. I wanted to talk to you about something, but I couldn’t do it in school.” Nate was wearing a t-shirt with a dust bunny on it and the words CLEANLINESS IS NEXT TO IMPOSSIBLE. Bryce couldn’t believe this was the same kid that had dragged someone to the ground by their face and beat them unconscious.

  “Why couldn’t you?”

  “Because you would say something smart ass, insult me and then leave.”

  “Good point.”

  “Then I saw them jump you and I thought I might as well stop them.”

  “Six upperclassmen and you might as well stop them? It’s just that easy? ”

  Nate shrugged. “It’s not that hard. Rowing and squash doesn’t really set you up to win a street fight.”

  “Neither does AP Biology. Where’d you learn to do that?” Bryce waited but Nate just rubbed at his knuckles and didn’t answer.

  “I thought you didn’t like me.”

  Nate shrugged again. “I don’t. But Abby does.”

  Bryce didn’t know how to parse that response. He didn’t think he had ever cared about someone that much. He didn’t even know anyone who ever cared about anyone that much.

  “Does she know about your… you know…” Bryce made a sort of snarly face and clawed hands.

  Nate shook his head. “She doesn’t need to. It’s not something I advertise.”

  Bryce leaned back on his headboard. “You should consider it. You’d take a lot less crap from people if they knew.”

  Nate rubbed at his knuckles again. “They don’t give scholarships to half-spic gardener’s boys who beat up New England royalty.” Nate looked up and the soft, shy facade that Bryce was used to seeing vanished for a second. It gave him a glimpse at the stony rage beneath the surface. “And they sure don’t hire his father to trim their hedges.”

  Bryce was silent as he considered the full, cold weight of those words. Being rescued by Nate Baxter was embarrassing enoug
h. Being shamed by him was almost too much to stand. He winced as he forced himself up out of the bed and hobbled a few steps to stand over the smaller boy. Nate looked up as Bryce held out his hand to him.

  “Thank you for saving my ass, Baxter.”

  Nate furrowed his brow and stared at Bryce’s hand for a second before giving it a firm shake.

  “Don’t be too grateful. I waited like twenty seconds before jumping in.”

  Bryce burst out laughing and Nate smiled. His smile widened when Bryce winced and clutched at his ribs as the laughter aggravated his injuries. He limped back over the bed and had to step over Nate’s backpack. The Roman candles were still sticking out the top.

  “So, you just carry holiday explosives around with you?”

  “I do now. Thought they might come in handy sometime.” The way Nate said it gave Bryce pause.

  “The Daughters?”

  Nate nodded. “Among other things.”

  “What do you know?” Bryce asked.

  Nate regarded him for a long moment, then pulled his notebook out of his bag. He walked Bryce through the story of his own investigation and told him about the secret passage from Harwich Hall to the old church. He shivered as he recounted the presence in the woods, the Snake Handlers who used to worship there, and the Great Arkham Fire. He explained the clues in the Thaw diary that indicated that their ancestors had been close friends, along with two other guys. Then Nate told him that of the four men who were like brothers, only three of them hanged. The only survivor had been Bryce Quincy Coffin the First.

  And that was when the Coffin family fortune had been born.

  Bryce wasn’t even surprised. Of course his family’s wealth had been built on betrayal. Of course his ancestor—his cowardly, venal great-grandfather—had sold out his best friends for money. Bryce shook his head.

  “He died about a year later.”