House of Cards

by W. J. May

  Devon leaned down and grabbed something from behind the desk and then stomped toward her. He tossed Julian’s drawing portfolio at Rae, which she caught. “Open it,” he demanded.

  “Please don’t.” Julian’s face went from anger to horror.

  Devon swiped a notebook off the top of the desk. He held it up like a teacher reading a story to her class. “Trying to hide something, Julian?” He began flipping through the pages showing Rae.

  Hand drawings covered the pages, in charcoal, pencil, pen, marker or apparently anything Julian had handy. On every page were images of Rae. Every single page was covered with a picture of her face, her silhouette, fighting, reading or something.

  Julian groaned. “Rae, it’s not what you think…”

  Rae blinked several times. Her gaze trailed back and forth between both boys then down to the large leather portfolio in her hands. She set it level on top of her left hand and unzipped the case, trying to balance it and look at the drawings inside at the same time. There had to be at least a hundred drawings. All of her.

  Julian moved toward her at the same time Devon leapt over a chair to try to get to her faster. Rae stepped back and pressed herself against the wall. Julian tried to grab the portfolio but Devon was quicker. His hands swept underneath the case, knocking it out of Rae’s unbalanced hand. Drawings fluttered everywhere across the room.

  Julian’s arm drew back and he landed a solid punch on Devon’s jaw. “You bastard! You don’t know anything!”

  Devon’s upper body twisted from the impact of Julian’s fist. He stumbled but managed to catch himself before falling. Wiping his cut lip he shook his wrist as fresh blood sprayed over the drawings. “Cat’s out of the bag, Julian.” Then lunged at his best friend. With that, the fight was on in earnest.

  Chapter 21

  Run, Rae, Run!

  Julian’s tatù give him the heads up to move out of the way, but Devon must have expected it and shifted as well. The two fell back, knocking over a chair that protested with a loud crack.

  Rae watched in horror. She had seen them fight against each other in training, but never like this.

  They rolled on the floor, grunting and grabbing at each other. A small table toppled over as Devon threw Julian off of him and lunged immediately after him. Devon’s fist landed with Julian’s side.

  Rae swore she heard a rib break. They were going to kill each other. “Stop fighting!” she screamed.

  Neither guy paid any attention to her. Using Jennifer’s tatù, Rae raced over to them, and not one hundred percent sure it would work, she switched to Molly’s ability, forcing herself between them. She had to duck to miss a punch that landed on Devon’s shoulder. She spread her hands on both their chests.

  It took more concentration than she anticipated, but she only had a millisecond before they would push her out of the way, or end up nailing her. With eyes shut tight she pushed as hard as she could. Using her strength and electricity, she sent both of them flying in opposite directions. Both of them released an “Omph!” as their bodies crashed into opposite walls.

  “Enough!” she hissed, glaring at both of them. “What is the matter with you guys?”

  Devon stood, panting, and swiped his lip. Julian leaned forward with his hands on his knees, heaving for air.

  “Are you finished?” she spat at Devon.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not, but Julian is.”

  “Freeze!” She waved a finger of warning at the approaching Julian. He hesitated a second. Rae looked at both of them and suddenly felt tears well up in the back of her eyes. “You guys are idiots. I thought you were my friends.” She turned and fled out of the room not bothering to look back. She switched her tatù back to Jennifer’s knowing Devon could try to run after her, but would have no chance of catching up.

  Outside she raced to Julian’s car, pulling the keys out of her backpack as she ran. She glanced once behind her, but didn’t see Devon. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t follow, she just had a massive head start. The moment her feet hit the parking lot, she hit the unlock button to Julian’s car and swung the door open as soon as she reached it. The car revved to life as she shoved it into first gear and lurched forward. She peeled out of the parking lot.

  She sped down the country roads, not sure at first, where she was going; partially blinded by tears, anger and confusion. There had to be a reason Julian had drawn all those pictures. How long had he been drawing them? Why had Devon freaked out? They weren’t dating anymore. What right did he have to get pissed over anything involving her? When the motorway came into view, Rae pulled onto it and headed toward Stoke-on-Trent. She never bothered to look back.

  Mentally calculating the miles, she figured if she drove fast, she would have around two hours to try to forget the scene she had witnessed. The muffled sound of her phone vibrated from inside her school bag. She ignored it. She had no intention of talking to either Julian or Devon at the moment. Instead she flipped on the radio and cranked up the volume.

  An hour and a half later, with no answers, and no rest from the thoughts pushing through her mind, she turned the music down and switched Julian’s touch screen radio to his built in GPS. She pulled over at a rest station and found the address for the old Wade Factory in her backpack. Westport Road.

  She didn’t want to, but couldn’t resist checking her phone. Devon had called three times, and Julian had called and sent a text. Molly had sent a text too. Rae ignored them all. The only message she wrote was to Jennifer. Rae knew she was in a meeting with Carter and might be with him for hours, so she just let her know everything was fine. Hopefully Jennifer wouldn’t reply for quite a while. Rae also doubted Julian or Devon would be eager to let the Privy Council know what had just happened – if they were even worried about her.

  Rae didn’t have her mother’s original coded message, just the scrap pages she had been working on. She closed her eyes to see if she could picture it. She pulled a blank sheet of paper out of a binder and frantically scribbled down what she saw behind her eyelids.

  As she worked, she realized a picture was also forming in her head. A large room filled with rows and rows of porcelain teapots and things on shelves. If it was an old, forgotten memory, she didn’t know. It just appeared in her head. The large planks of wood on the floor and high, unique patterned windows would be her map. She just had to get inside the factory. Her gut told her she would know the room when she saw it. How to find what was in there, was another matter.

  Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she had not eaten lunch. She ran inside the rest stop, and bought a sandwich to eat on the road. Checking the GPS, she grinned when she realized she had made unbelievable time. I’m probably about twenty minutes away from Stoke-on-Trent!

  Her phone sounded again. Rae grabbed it and switched it to vibrate. She glanced at the ID, Jennifer had replied ‘OK’ from Rae’s previous text. Rae didn’t bother reading the rest of it, she would check it later.

  As she maneuvered Julian’s car back onto the motorway she tried not to think. Of course, that was impossible. She wanted to rewind and erase Devon and Julian fighting, erase all the drawings of her, the ancient drawing of her. Could she go back even further? Erase her mother dying? What would things be like now? How different would her life be?

  Rae shook her head and focused on the exits and GPS.

  What had her uncle told her once? Things fall apart so things can fall together. One of his silly proverbs of truth. “Whatever that means,” she grumbled.

  She switched lanes, flipped on the turn signal and exited off the motorway. A sign welcomed her to the City of Potteries. She went through the roundabout, and continued on as the streets narrowed. It took a while to find the correct way, but she slowed the car to a crawl when she saw the fence, and realized the closed factory lay behind it.

  Parking the car up the road near a supermarket, she grabbed her backpack, locked the car doors and tucked the keys in her pocket.

  Rae walked
along the sideway to Westport Road and from there, up to the red brick front of the old building. At the corner, there was a boarded up, graffiti-covered sign that had once read “Reception”. The small paned windows above the door sported broken glass from kids throwing stones at them. She moved down the road and turned left toward the front of the factory.

  This part of the building had once been grandiose. There were six creamy white pillars that stood out against the red brick behind them. The original entrance doors had been closed off with newer red brick and fences now prohibiting people from trying to use the crumbling stairs. She jogged to the low fence entrance with the word WADE painted in yellow. Looking around to make sure no one was about, she easily hopped over it and landed softly. Riley’s cheetah tatù kicked in without conscious thought. Probably because I’m nervous.

  She sprinted across the uncut, overgrown drive staring at the boarded windows for an opening. The doors were all either locked and boarded, or bricked up. Next to impossible to break through. So much help.

  She ran along the decrepit parking lot. The long, red brick building had five, maybe six, stories. The higher windows were not boarded. Kids had taken to throwing more stones and who knows what else at the glass, and most of the window panes were broken or missing. Maybe she could scale one of the half missing fire escape stairs and try to open a window. A bottle shaped chimney caught her attention. An old wood door, with a weak looking padlock, had been built right beside the chimney. It stood mostly hidden by the large, round shape of the chimney’s base.

  A crow cawed in a tree near the chimney, as if telling her to try the door. Rae slowed her jog to a walk and shoved her hands inside her pockets. She forced her nerves to calm and switched to Devon’s tatù. This isn’t like breaking into the museum. Nobody would be here except the cops if some local thought she was causing damage. There would be no alarm system to override. Nothing of value would have been left here.

  Except for the thing her mother had left her.

  Whatever it was.

  Chapter 22

  Windows

  The door proved easy to open. Using Nic’s tatù, she pried the lock open with a paper clip from inside her backpack and slipped through; coughing as dust and dry wood filtered into her nostrils. Rae waved her hand in front of her face and squinted into the dimness. She debated leaving the door partially open, but decided it would be best to close it. If a local called the cops, she had no idea what she would say to Carter or Headmaster Wardell. Devon’s father would probably be thrilled to have something on her. Hopefully that wouldn’t happen. She didn’t plan to be there long.

  With the door closed, she switched to Devon’s tatù to see better. It didn’t help as much as she had hoped. What if she stepped on a rotting floorboard and ended up in some kiln or cellar, buried in debris? Maybe she should tell someone where she was just in case...She reached for her phone, only to realize that she had left it in the console of Julian’s car. Crap! She grimaced. She had to admit, this was not a well-thought out plan. Of course, she was not exactly helpless. If I do get stuck, it’s not like I can’t use my mental tatù to contact Jennifer or whoever I need… as long as I’m not passed out or something. That wasn’t a pleasant thought.

  She rubbed her fingers, Molly’s tatù automatically flicking into action. Sparks flicked from her fingers and she thought back to the night she had seen Devon and nearly heaved an electrical ball at him. Concentrating, she made the ball again and held her hand up by her shoulder.

  Light reflected off the walls, showing weird shaped shadows, sparkling spider webs and bits of pottery and dust everywhere. The floors looked a lot sturdier than she had imagined. “Good,” she whispered. She headed slowly down the hall toward where she figured reception would be.

  Large worktables built into the floor still stood in rooms. Broken, unfired and unpainted pottery lay piled up in places as she walked. She imagined the place full of painters and potters and smiled. For some reason, she pictured it all in black and white. Like an antique photograph.

  She nearly stumbled when a thought struck her. She had seen pictures of the room before, and the bottle ovens. Her mother had shown them to her. Rae quickened her pace as she realized the first image she had, was the bottle oven, then this room. Her mother had shown her pictures in order.

  Like a map. She round a corner and found a set of narrow wooden stairs. Her mother had been in this photo with an older man. That photo had been in colour. Rae’s heart raced with excitement. She couldn’t believe this weird sense of déjà vu was actually happening. Somehow, her mother had given a probably five-year-old Rae, this picture map, knowing she would use it.

  Rae checked the stairs and made her way down another labyrinth hallway. She opened doors to several rooms that must have once been offices, but none of them seemed to hold whatever she was looking for.

  She turned around and headed down the other section. A large oak door caught her attention. The door was wider than all the others in the hall, and had a rectangular mark at eye level, obviously where a door plaque had once been. Rae reached up with her left hand and touched it.

  “Art Room,” she whispered, seeing the brass plaque that had once been there inside her head. Another picture clue. Rae reached for the knob before she realized, that too had been removed. She kicked the door with her foot to see if it would open. It protested with a groan, but slowly creaked, as the hinges moved for the first time in ages. Rae pushed again, until the opening was wide enough, then stepped through.

  She let the little ball of light fizzle out. She didn’t need it. Windows, with beautiful tiles surrounding them, cast warm light from the setting sun. Another door on the far side stood partially open. Shelves with rusted paint cans and brushes were visible.

  Probably a storage room or supply closet. She strolled to the middle of the room and twirled slowly around picturing the room with drawings, easels, a large mahogany desk, potters tables and other supplies that artists would have needed to design figurines and test paints. She knew exactly what it had looked like, even down to the little whimsie figurines and tiles being painted the day her mother had taken the photo.

  Déjà vu again.

  Her head swung to the windows, and the beautiful tiles surrounding them. Third window. Her legs moved toward it before her head told her to go. She ran her fingers over the amethyst purple, emerald green and sapphire blue tiles that still held their lustre in the face of so much neglect. Third row. She dropped her backpack to the ground and crouched down to trace the third tile from the bottom on the left. It held fast. She moved to the other side of the window and counted to the third row. That tile also stuck fast against the cement, or whatever had been used to set it.

  She paused when she noticed the third tile in stuck out just slightly. She tapped one corner and noticed it shift slightly. Tapping harder she jumped when it fell to the ground face down.

  The tile stayed intact. Rae flipped it over and was disappointed to find absolutely nothing on it; no written clue, or anything taped to it. Not wanting to ruin the beautiful window, she turned to push it back into its place, and gasped.

  A key lay wedged into the spot where the tile belonged. Using her nails she managed to pry it loose. She replaced the sapphire blue tile and stood closer to the dirty window glass to get a better look at the key.

  It looked like it belonged to a lock box or something. It wasn’t super, antique old, but definitely not a car or house key either. She turned it over a few times and squinted to try to see it better. The sun had set and the last rays of light were little match against the grime layered window glass.

  Time to go, anyways. Rae stuffed the key in her back pocket. The secret code back in the dorm hidden behind the miniature cabinet would tell her more. She just needed to get back and figure out what the rest of the symbols meant.

  She was halfway across the room when she realized she had left her backpack by the window. She walked back and slipped it over her shoulders.

&n
bsp; She turned around, and jumped back when the silhouette of a man by the door scared the crap out of her. Hand covering her mouth, she barely managed to hold back a scream.

  Kraigan.

  Chapter 23

  Doors

  She realized that she probably should be scared. Instead, all she felt was anger. Deep, seething, fiery-hot, fury.

  Kraigan held a crow bar, smacking it menacingly against his free hand. “I’m sick to death of you, Rae.” He stared at her with murder in his eyes. “You’re the thorn in my side that needs to go.”

  Rae met his glare with mutual feeling. “I’ve done nothing to you! You created this mess yourself. The Privy Council freakin’ frees you, and what do you do? Instead of running, you bloody come after me!” Had he followed her since she left Guilder? He hadn’t been in the room when she found the key. She felt certain of that. He must have slipped in when she turned to grab her backpack.

  Kraigan scoffed as he made his way around the room toward her, staying close to the wall. “You’ve done nothing? First, I end up at Guilder, and have to put up with you. Then, just when I have the chance to rid myself of you, Fate steps in and saves you with those stupid, hidden doors in the Oratory.” He shook his head, his entire body ready to pounce if Rae even twitched. “I only had one thought while in that cell. You...dead.”

  One hand behind her back, Rae began to form a ball of fire. She paid no attention to it, her body automatically switching to the tatù she needed. It grew hot against her skin, but did not hurt. “Does it suck to be without your power?” She smirked, imagining she looked like her father, and also knowing exactly what her mother would think of her at this moment. The thought undermined her anger, giving her a bit of focus. She tried to make her face unreadable. “I didn’t ruin your life. You had a choice. It’s not my fault you let our father’s anger consume you.”