I leapt to my feet in pursuit, but as soon as I broke through the trees there was nothing, no one in sight. The wielder of the knife had given me the slip and there was only one person to blame. I knew whose voice had spoken over the radio—it’d been Ike.
Chapter Twelve
October 13th—Friday
I scrubbed my wet mop of hair a bit harder than usual. Partially because there were pine needles trapped in it from last night, but mostly because I was still angry at Ike. He’d interrupted me before I’d had the chance to apprehend the cloaked saboteur.
Not even the five minutes of radio berating I’d given him had made me feel better, nor could Mr. Riley calm me down when I returned. I was so tired of getting that close and then failing. I was ready to kill the HowlSage, to unravel the mystery of the cloaked figure and the gray mist.
I heard the door to the bathroom open. “Morning Tay,” said Jesse. “You’re up early.”
“Yah, I couldn’t sleep.” I poured some shampoo into my hand and worked up a lather.
“Me either.” I heard the shower in the stall next to me turn on.
I stroked my fingers through my hair.
“Any tests at school today? Math, science, history?”
“Nope, nothing.”
I closed my eyes as the suds ran down over my face. The shampoo smelled of the ocean, some brand Mrs. Riley had picked out no doubt. But I wasn’t ever particular, so long as I didn’t smell like flowers or cotton candy.
“Still mad about last night?” he asked.
For a moment, the only sound was the water from the two showers.
“Yeah, I am. I was so close.”
“I know how you feel. I feel like the two of us should have gotten this thing by now. You know what the average life of a HowlSage is?”
Free of shampoo or soap, I shut off my water and dried off. “Yes, I know…”
“One day,” we said in unison.
I heard Jesse sigh. “We’ll get it, though.”
“We’d better. Or the River cousins are going to look pretty pathetic.”
Jesse laughed, “Almost as pathetic as when you tried to kill the HowlSage with your towel.”
And to think I was going to go back to my room and get dressed, letting Jesse finish his shower in peace. “Is that so?”
Jesse didn’t say a word, just laughed.
“You’ll get yours, buddy,” I warned.
“As long as Ike doesn’t mess it up,” he retorted, and I couldn’t help but laugh at that.
“I’ll see you at breakfast,” I said, and started for the door. I pulled it open and let it shut. But I stayed inside the bathroom. I waited for Jesse to start singing. His choice—“Sunshine Flavors.”
Halfway through the second verse I turned on the ice cold water in the sink. I took the bag out of the garbage can and set it softly on the floor. The rubbish bin wasn’t very big, and the antique faucet was in a nice swan neck arc. I let the cold water fill the trash pail to the brim, then tiptoed to the shower. He never saw it coming.
With one quick swing, the water flew from the bin, over the curtain, and onto Jesse.
“Ahhh!” he cried as the curtain to the shower buckled and wrapped around Jesse’s falling body. Apparently the cold water had caught him so off guard, he’d thrown himself out of the shower, but the curtain blocked his exit.
A second later, Jesse lay on the tiled floor wrapped in the shower curtain. The look he gave me told me I’d better run, and now. I sprang for the door, dropping the trash can in my wake. I’d at least have a few seconds while he untangled himself from the curtain.
I was to the elevator and inside before he could even get out of the bathroom.
I was safe, for now.
I headed for the seventh floor, so I could sneak back around down the stairs and to my room to get dressed. The seventh floor had an atrium with a glass ceiling and lots of plants growing. Mrs. Riley grew a lot of her own produce there in the winter. It was a very peaceful place, with a fountain and other areas to reflect. But what was most interesting was a door that led nowhere—or so it seemed.
In the center of the large room, the door stood in a frame, attached to no walls—you could walk all around it with no need to go through the door. But to someone who understood its purpose, the door was significant. Much like the gaping Etherpits that appeared deep in the caverns and mines of the earth, this door led somewhere. Those Etherpits provided entry for demons into our world, this door and others like it around the world provided a way for Angels to enter. While not limited to these entry points, they were a representation to us as humans that the Angels were always ready to join in the battle with us.
To my surprise, I found McGarrett on the seventh floor kneeling in the garden. He was praying aloud and I’d caught him mid-prayer.
“Lord, please let Taylor see. Let him remember that You are in control and that You care about him. Open his eyes as I cannot. Amen.”
I felt guilty. Mr. Riley had been praying for me. Me, the one who let him down in the hunt so far. I slowly stepped backward and then made for the stairs where I could make my way back to my room and avoid Jesse. But most of all I didn’t want McGarrett to know I’d heard him.
When I entered the dining hall, I saw Jesse. But he made no attempt to get me. His revenge would come later, probably when I was least expecting it. Ike wasn’t there and I was sort of glad, because Jesse would have made some sort of sarcastic remark to him I’m sure, further complicating the situation.
“So, are you going to be able to hunt tonight?” I asked.
“No, I—” Jesse stopped mid-sentence. Mrs. Riley had come in with a plate of waffles.
I nodded at him. There was no talk of work at the breakfast, lunch, or dinner table, ever, final answer, period.
“Anything interesting at school today?” Mrs. Riley asked, setting down the waffles.
“Nope,” I said and forked one on to my plate. “Maybe the lab project in chemistry, it might be cool.”
Jesse snickered. “Yeah, just don’t get carried away like Ike and blow something—”
“That’s enough of that,” Mr. Riley warned.
“Yes indeed,” Mrs. Riley interjected. “He’s under enough strain with his parents being so far away. And besides that, he’s younger than you.”
We all looked toward the door as it slammed shut.
“Oh dear, he must have heard us,” Mrs. Riley said as she got to her feet.
We all knew Ike must have stepped through the door as Jesse made his comment. He’d heard and retreated before anyone could stop him.
“Hun, let him be. He’s a boy, he doesn’t need to be coddled,” McGarrett said.
She sighed, but continued after Ike, the door swinging shut behind her.
“I keep telling her it’s just his nerves. We’re all on edge these days. You know we’re nearing the halfway point. The HowlSage must be nearly eight or nine feet by now.”
“Nine,” Jesse clarified. “I saw all nine feet of it before it threw me out the window.”
“Lucky I caught you,” I said.
He scoffed at me.
I shook my head. “I was thinking I’d head back to the woods tonight.”
“I think that’s a great—” Mr. Riley stopped midsentence as Mrs. Riley came back through the door.
“Great waffles,” Jesse offered, smothering a stack of three in syrup. “And syrup!”
“Yeah, really,” I added.
We’d nearly been caught, and I doubted our guilty expressions were enough to fool Mrs. Riley.
She took her seat, but didn’t add any food to her plate. Instead she just sat apparently lost in thought.
After breakfast, it was off to school. Since I had not seen Mel yesterday, I had high hopes I would see her today.
Sure enough, as lunch came around I saw her. She was seated at the table where I’d first felt her touch. I decided I’d take the same approach to an introduction she had to me. I ran my fingers do
wn the back of her long brown hair, but before I was halfway through, an icy cold hand had clenched onto mine, and with unimaginable strength twisted my arm and brought me to my knees on the floor beside her.
I looked at the hand, the arm, its owner, expecting to see the boy who I’d seen her with in the park, who she said wasn’t her guy. But no, it was her, her arm, her hand.
The grip released as I looked into her blue-gray eyes.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I didn’t know it was you.”
I shook my hand and arm. “Yeah, it is. Quite the grip you have.”
“I guess those Tae Kwon Do lessons paid off,” she said innocently, then changed the subject. “I’m really glad you came over.” She touched the seat next to her. “Sit.”
I did.
The warmth and feeling had come back into my hand. I took out my sack lunch and set it on the table. She’d already laid out her lunch.
“I looked for you yesterday,” I said.
“I was sick. Just under the weather, but I’m feeling better today.”
“Cool.”
“Where’s your little friend?” she asked.
“Who?”
“The inventor kid.”
“Oh, Ike. Sick.”
She nodded and dunked an Oreo in her milk thermos.
“Yeah, he’s got a touch of something.” It wasn’t a total lie. He’s got a touch of hurt feelings, I assured myself.
“Too bad.”
I took a bite of my sandwich. I needed something more interesting to say. I looked her over. Wow, she’s beautiful.
“Cool bracelet you have on.”
“Oh, this? It’s nothing special. Just a gift from someone.”
“Let me guess, the boy?”
She blushed. “Yeah, well, he got it to make me feel better. So far it’s worked.”
I forced a smile. “That’s good.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “He must really like you?”
“I guess,” she said, then pulled another Oreo from the pack. “Here, twist with me.”
She held the cookie out, holding on to one side of the sandwich.
I took the other side in my fingers and she counted to three. We twisted and the two halves came apart.
She laughed. “Looks like I got all the good stuff.”
It was true; all the creamy white frosting was on her wafer. “Want some?” she teased after licking it.
“Ha, I’ll pass.”
I looked at the bracelet on her wrist again. It was silver, with several red and clear jewels inlayed. An inscription was etched in curvy lines encircling each of the jewels. I couldn’t decipher what the words said, probably some mushy love line. Of course, the bracelet had to be faux. If not, this kid was in a financial league I couldn’t compete with.
I shared my chips with her, she shared a few more Oreos, even letting me dip in her milk. When the bell rang she stayed around long enough and asked me to walk her to class. Right before she stepped in she leaned close to my ear and whispered, “Meet me outside Mrs. Mullen’s room after seventh hour. You can drive me home.” Then she walked into her class.
I stood like a statue, frozen at the door.
Mr. Burton gave me an odd look. “I know you love science, but you’ll have to wait until seventh hour.” He smiled sarcastically and shut the door in my face.
This wasn’t happening. I’d hardly talked to girls before, now the first one I take interest in approaches me, talks to me, and shares Oreos with me, all within a few days. And now I get to drive her home?
Wait, drive her? I can’t drive.
The tardy bell rang on the speaker, which meant I’d stood like that for at least a minute. But I didn’t care. I wandered to history, ignoring Mr. Samford’s comment about getting to class on time. Fortunately there was no punishment handed out.
Usually class would go slow if you were waiting for something. But it flew by instead, probably because I was in a half daze still. Unsure of how all the pieces had fallen into place.
At the end of each of my afternoon classes, I had to stop myself from walking to Mrs. Mullen’s room and standing outside her door until school was over.
Finally the last bell of the day rang, and I made my way to meet the girl. I couldn’t call her mine yet, but she was the girl. As promised, she came out, her pink and gray argyle backpack slung over her shoulder. I quickly offered to take it and she willingly handed it over to me. We walked down the halls; part of me wondered where that boy was. Part of me wondered if she’d take my hand, or if I should take hers.
Outside the school, she walked to her scooter and undid the small lock that had secured it to the bike rack. I looked at the buses; mine was just third in line. I knew I should go get on it. But I couldn’t pass up this opportunity. Should I call McGarrett? Of course not, he’d track me down and make me come home.
No. I was doing this for me. If he was mad, so be it. I could always tell him I had detention again, or that I was attacked again. Yeah, that was a good excuse. I’d tell him the cloaked figure jumped me.
“Are you ready?” came Mel’s sweet voice.
“Ummm, yeah,” I stuttered. “Ready.”
She climbed on her scooter and motioned for me to step up behind her. “Hold on.”
I looked around. “Where?”
“To me, of course. I won’t bite.”
I let out an awkward laugh and took a deep breath. I wrapped my arms around her, interlocking my fingers.
Mel giggled again. “You’ll probably be fine just holding on to my shoulders.”
“Oh,” I said, embarrassed. My face burned, and I hoped she didn’t turn around and see my bright red cheeks.
“Here we go.” She twisted the small throttle on her handle and the scooter shot forward. She turned, and we were off down the sidewalk.
I looked back and watched my bus jerk, then lurch forward as it started its route toward The Pink Hippo without me.
And then it crossed my mind how dead I was going to be when I got home.
We zipped down the street; Mel turned this way and that.
I soon forgot about needing to be home.
…About McGarrett.
…About the HowlSage.
We talked about all sorts of things. I learned her favorite bands, that she’d moved here from Chicago last summer, and that her parents were missionaries. I thought that was pretty cool. She’d been to Tibet, India, Iran, Malaysia, Egypt, and Indonesia, some really interesting countries. I told her my favorite bands, favorite foods, about The Pink Hippo, and that I lived with the Rileys.
She asked where my parents were and I decided to just tell her they were away. I didn’t want to ruin the great time we were having with a depressing story about how I was now an orphan. It was just a half-lie, if even.
Nearly half an hour passed and we were still riding around. I noticed the sun was getting lower in the sky.
“How far do you live from the school?” I half-shouted into her ear.
“Sorry. I’ve passed my house at least five times,” she admitted.
“Oh.”
“I guess I’m just having too much fun.”
That was a good thing. “No worries, I am too.”
“Cool. You want to go get some coffee or something?”
I shrugged. “Sure.”
It couldn’t hurt to be out a little longer. The sun hadn’t quite set yet.
We pulled into a parking spot at the Starbucks—as I mentioned before it was one of only two chain stores in town. There was a guy in a corner, headphones on, laptop screen glowing. Two girls sat across from each other, gabbing about who knows what. Another set of people sat around a table, all with the same book in hand: Claiming Your Inner Self.
At the counter, Mel rattled off her order like a professional. I looked at the menu, trying to decipher what might not make me twitch at its bitterness. I’d had a sip of Mr. Riley’s black coffee before.
Mel started to pull out a little pink sequin wa
llet, when I grabbed her hand.
“No, let me get it,” I said. Maybe this wasn’t a planned date, and maybe she drove me around, but I was certainly going to show that I was capable of treating her right. I pulled out my wallet, and opened it. A few ones, some notes, and that was it.
She smiled. “It’s all right. We’ll go Dutch today.”
“Dutch?”
“Pay for yourself.”
“OK, sure.” But was the small amount I had going to be enough for even me?
I ordered something small and cheap and got back change of three cents, which I quickly dropped in the tip jar with a smile. The barista nodded a half-hearted “thanks” and I went on my way.
We found an empty set of chairs and sat down.
I watched her take her first sip. I did too. The coffee was raw-tasting, bitter, black. I forced myself to swallow and hoped my expression hadn’t given away the fact that I wasn’t a big coffee drinker. Clearly she was.
“So what is it Taylor likes to do in his spare time, evenings, weekends?” she asked.
I knew this would be a tricky answer to give. I couldn’t tell her what I was currently doing, and if I told her something not true, she might want to join me sometime. And besides that, I didn’t do much other than hunt. If there wasn’t a HowlSage, it might be a SwampSage, a Goblin, Wormink, or any other sort of demon.
“Well, I like to read.”
“You do? Like what?”
“Just about anything.”
“Have you read the latest series from Bethanie Freyer?”
“Who?”
“You haven’t heard of Bethanie Freyer? She only wrote the best-selling series ever.”
“Oh, uhhh.” I looked down at my steaming cup of coffee. “I’m more into comic books and graphic novels.”
I expected her to frown, to be disappointed in my lack of higher level literature; instead she smiled.
“That’s cool; the publisher actually just started releasing the saga in graphic form,” Mel said, then sipped her drink. “I’ll bring you one on Monday.”
I smiled, relieved that she didn’t take me for a complete moron. “Cool.”
The sun had long set by the time we left and headed for home. When we arrived at the gates of The Pink Hippo, she stopped. I hopped off to push in the code to open the gates.
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