by L. J. Smith
“That’s only if your theory is right,” Dee said, standing in front of Jenny to block her. “If you’re wrong, you’re dead wrong. No, Sunshine, you’re not going anywhere.”
“Yes, I am.” Jenny leaned forward, eye to eye with Dee, matching the other girl’s volume and ferocity. “This is my decision. I’m going and no one is going to stop me. Get it?”
Dee let out her breath sharply. She glared—but she fell back to let Jenny pass. Michael, eyes wide, moved hastily out of the way, tugging Audrey with him. Even Zach, although his face was white and furious, recoiled a step, unable to hold Jenny’s gaze.
It was Tom who caught Jenny’s arm. “Just hang on a minute,” he said, his voice reasonable. Jenny turned on him, holding her head up like a queen because she was frightened to death, because he was the only one here who might be able to undermine her determination. In her mind’s eye she could see herself standing there, drawn up to her full height, with her hair loose on her shoulders in the firelight. She hoped she looked commanding. She felt tall and proud—and beautiful.
“I said nobody is going to stop me, Tom. Not even you.”
“I’m not trying to stop you,” Tom said, still quiet and reasonable. His hazel eyes were steady, almost luminous in the light of the fire, and his face was clear. Tranquil, with a look of utter conviction. “I’m going with you.”
Jenny felt a rush of warmth and dizzy gratification. She grabbed his hand and squeezed hard. “You believe me!”
“Let’s go.” He squeezed her hand back, then looked at it and took the other one, the one with the ring. His fingers interlocked with hers, and Jenny felt strong enough to jump over the fire. “Come on.”
They turned to face the fire together.
It was good that Jenny was feeling invulnerable just then, because the fire was terrible. Hotter than putting your hand in an oven. Jenny could feel sweat trickle down her sides as they approached it; the skin on her face felt tight and hot and tingling.
“We’d better do it fast!” Tom shouted over the roar.
Jenny pointed with her free hand. “I think the door is there.”
“You guys, now, wait, you guys—” Michael was yelling.
Jenny looked at the firelight reflected in Tom’s eyes. “One, two, three—” They nodded at each other and started for the flames, ignoring the panicked shouts behind them.
“Cool, wet grass! Cool, wet grass!” Tom shouted, and then the fire was all around them.
CHAPTER 16
Jenny’s skin burnt off.
That was what it felt like. As if it were flaying off in strips. Searing crisp and black until it cracked open. Charring. Frying like bacon. Her hair igniting, burning like a torch on her head.
It had been easy to say “Just walk through the fire, it’s a model, it isn’t real.” But the moment she stepped into it, she understood what Dee meant about it feeling real. If she’d gotten close enough before to feel anything of this heat, she would never have dared to suggest it.
That first second was the most horrible thing that had ever happened to Jenny. It was agonizing—and she panicked. She lost her head completely. She’d been wrong, it wasn’t an illusion after all, and she was in the middle of a fire. She was on fire. She had to run—to run—to get away from this. But she didn’t know which way to go. The roaring, crackling, killing flames were all around her, burning her like a wax doll thrown in a furnace, roasting her alive.
I’m dying, she thought wildly. I’m dying—
Then she heard the faint shout from beside her: “Cool-wet-grass! Cool-wet-grass!”
And she felt Tom’s hand in hers. Tom was pulling her, dragging her along.
I’ve got to make it—for Tom, she thought. If I collapse, he won’t leave me. He’ll die, too. We’ve got to keep going. . . .
Somehow she made her legs move, lunging desperately through the flames in the direction Tom was leading her. She just prayed it was the right direction.
“She was terribly afraid, but her love for the boy was stronger than her fear. . . .”
“Cool, wet grass!” Tom shouted.
Then a great, rushing coolness burst over Jenny. She fell headlong into darkness and then into light. She hit something hard and unyielding, and she and Tom were rolling.
They were through.
She was on the floor of Zach’s garage. The concrete felt as cold as ice, and she pressed her cheek against it. She stretched her whole body out on it, soaking up the blessed chill. She wanted to kiss it.
Instead, she scrambled to one elbow and looked at Tom. The garage light was on; she could see him. He was all right, his eyes just opening, his chest heaving. She kissed him.
“We did it,” he whispered, staring at the ceiling, then at her. His voice was awed. “We did it. We’re actually alive.”
“I know! I know!” She hugged and kissed him again, in an agony of joyous affection. “We’re alive! We’re alive!” She was wildly exhilarated. She’d never known how good it was to be alive until she thought she was dying.
Tom was shaking his head. “But I mean—it was impossible. Nobody could have lived through that fire.”
“Tom—” She stopped and stared at him. “But, Tom—it was an illusion. You knew that—didn’t you?”
“Uh.” He gazed around, then puffed his cheeks sheepishly, for a moment looking like Michael. “Actually, no.”
“You didn’t believe me?”
“Well—”
“Then why did you go with me?”
He looked at her, then, with eyes that were green and gold and brown like autumn leaves swirling on a pool. “I wanted to,” he said simply. “Whatever happened, I wanted to be with you.”
Jenny just stared at him a moment. Thunderstruck. Then she whispered. “Oh, Tom!”
And then she was in his arms, sobbing breathlessly. Just his name, over and over. She thought her heart would burst.
I could have lost him. I could have lost him forever. All his brave goodness—all his love for me. I could have lost him . . . I could have lost myself in Julian’s darkness.
Never again, she thought fiercely to herself, clinging to Tom as if something were trying to rip her away. The shadows have no power over me anymore. It was as if the fire, the great cleansing fire, had scorched all the dark thoughts out of her. Burning away the part of her that had responded to Julian, that had craved his danger and wildness. Taking that part like a sacrifice. Now that Jenny had come through the fire, she felt purified—renewed. A phoenix reborn.
But the strength that she’d gained from fighting Julian was still with her—that hadn’t changed. She was stronger than ever since she’d come through the fire. And she could love Tom more because of her strength. They were equals. They could stand side by side, neither eclipsing the other.
And she knew now that she could trust him to the end. She only hoped he knew the same thing about her—or that she could prove it to him. She was happy to spend the next few decades trying.
Tom’s grip on her hand changed. He’d been holding it bruisingly hard; now he turned it over and pulled back to look.
Jenny lifted her head from his shoulder.
“It’s gone,” Tom said wonderingly. “The ring.”
“Of course,” Jenny said and nipped his chin. Nothing could surprise her now. Everything was going to be all right. “It’s gone—because we won. I’m free. Know anybody who wants one girlfriend, low maintenance, good sense of humor?”
“God, Jenny.” His arms tightened rushingly. “Nope, guess you’ll have to put an ad in the classifieds,” he said into her hair. “Oh, Thorny, I love you.”
“You must, you called me Thorny,” Jenny said, blinking away tears. “I love you, too, Tommy. For always and always.”
Then, in the midst of her euphoria, she thought of something.
“We’ve got to get the others, you know—oh, my God!” She had just looked at the mural photograph on the wall.
It was on fire.
“You stay here!” Tom was on his feet, whipping off his jacket. He reached for the metal handle of the door in the picture unerringly.
“I’m coming with you!” Jenny shouted back. She grabbed his hand as he pulled on the handle. “You never go anywhere without me again—”
The darkness snatched them up, sucked them in. Deposited them in fire.
It wasn’t as bad this time. Jenny put her head down, clung to Tom’s hand, and made her legs run. It’ll be over in a minute, she told herself as the agony surrounded her. Over in a minute, over in a minute—
Then it was over. Cool air was around them. Dee, Zach, Audrey, and Michael were in a row, staring at them, reaching out to catch them as they tumbled in.
“You see?” Jenny gasped to Dee, who was nearest. “All in your mind.”
“Oh, God, you’re alive!” Dee’s hug bruised like Tom’s.
“Not a very original observation,” Tom said. “Now, look, here’s the deal. It’s hot and it hurts, but it doesn’t kill you. You count about to ten and you’re through. Okay?”
Only ten? Jenny thought, sagging a little in Dee’s arms. “It feels like a hundred,” she confided to Dee’s shoulder.
“Think ‘cool, wet grass,’” Tom said. “Like firewalkers do. Keep thinking and keep going and you’ll be okay.”
Dee nodded. “Let’s do it!”
But Michael’s eyes were wide and uneasy, and Audrey recoiled a step. Zach remained very still, looking at Jenny. Then he let out his breath.
“Okay,” he said. “It’s just an illusion. Unreality, here we come.”
“Hurry up, move,” Tom said to the others. “We have to get out before this damn photograph burns up. Who knows what happens then.” He grabbed Michael by the sweatshirt, then took firm hold of his hand. He held out his other hand to Dee.
Jenny grabbed Audrey.
“No!” Audrey screamed. “I don’t want to—”
“That way!” Tom shouted to Michael. “Go on! Straight ahead!” He gave Michael a push that sent him stumbling forward. Dee reached behind her to grab Audrey’s hand and pull her along. Jenny shoved Audrey on from behind and held out her free hand to Zach. She felt his thin strong fingers close over it. She felt heat billow up around her.
Then it was like a wild game of crack-the-whip, with everyone surging and running and pulling—and Audrey, at least, trying to pull in the wrong direction. Fire filled Jenny’s eyes and ears. She tried to count to ten, but it was impossible—her whole mind was occupied with the struggle of keeping Audrey going forward.
Fire and pain and heat and yanking on her arms—
Then Zach stumbled.
Jenny didn’t know how it happened. Her hand was suddenly empty. She groped wildly with it and found nothing. She turned her head, looking frantically behind her. For an instant she thought she saw a black silhouette in the orange inferno, then the flames blotted it out.
Zach . . .
She opened her mouth to scream, and burning air filled her lungs. She choked. She was being pulled forward. There was nothing she could do—unless she let go of Audrey. She was being dragged along. Zach was far behind now.
Then she burst out into coolness and fell.
She landed on top of Audrey. Audrey was whimpering. Jenny was still choking, unable to get her breath.
She was so hot and exhausted and sore. Everything hurt. Her ears were ringing. Her eyes and nose stung, and when she tried to get up, her legs collapsed under her.
But she was alive. And Audrey was alive, because she was making noise. Michael was alive, coughing and gagging and beating at his smoking clothes. Dee was alive, pounding the concrete and shouting joyously.
Tom was alive, and on his feet. Tall and handsome and stern.
“Where’s Zach?”
Jenny’s throat was raw. “He let go,” she said, almost in a whisper. “He tripped and he let go of my hand—”
Dee’s grin collapsed. She stared up at the photo on the wall. Flames were licking out of it.
“I couldn’t hold on to him,” Jenny said, ashamed. “I couldn’t help it. . . .”
“I’ll get him,” Tom said.
“Are you crazy?” Michael shouted. He broke off, bending over in a fit of coughing. Then he spat and lifted his head again. “Are you nuts? It’ll kill you!”
Audrey had rolled over to look up at the photograph with terrified eyes, her spiky lashes matted together.
“We should get a fire extinguisher—” Dee began.
“No! Not till we get back. It might do something—close the door or something. Just wait for us—we’ll be back in a minute.”
Jenny swallowed dryly. The fire had been worse this time; it must be getting worse every second.
But Zach. Her gray-eyed cousin. He was lost somewhere in that fire. She couldn’t just leave him. . . .
“Oh, God,” she sobbed. “Tom, I’m going with you.” She tried to get up again, but her legs simply wouldn’t obey. She looked down at them in astonishment.
“No!” Tom said. “Dee, take care of her!”
“Tom—” Jenny screamed.
“I’ll be back. I promise.”
He was reaching into the picture—pulling the handle. Then he simply disappeared. The flames shot out and seemed to grab him like hungry hands, snatching him inside. He was gone—and the photograph was ablaze.
Every inch of it was burning now, flames bursting up and fanning out. Leaping so high that at any other time Jenny would have been terrified at the mere sight, afraid for Zach’s house. She’d never seen an uncontrolled fire this high.
At this moment all she cared about was the photograph. The entire picture was on fire, blackening and peeling. The image was fading under the flames.
“No!” she screamed. “Tom! Tom! ”
“We’ve got to get water!” Dee shouted.
“No! He said not to . . . oh, Tom!”
It was burning. Burning up. Burning out of all recognition. Turning into a black curling mess. The pyramid of tables disappearing as flames licked over them. The door was gone now. The Exit sign was gone.
“Tommeeeeeee!”
Dee’s strong hands held her back, keeping her from trying to jump into the photograph. It was no use anyway. There was no handle sticking out of the picture any longer. There was nothing left at all.
The flames began to die as the last of the photo was consumed. Bits of it fell off. Other bits floated in the air, drifting down slowly. Sparks danced upward.
Then it was just a charred and smoldering rectangle on the wall.
Jenny fell to her knees, hands over her face. She hadn’t known she could make sounds like that.
“Jenny, don’t. Don’t. Oh, God, Jenny, please stop.” Dee was crying, too, dripping tears down her neck. Dee, who never cried. Audrey crawled up on the other side, wrapping her arms around both of them. They were all sobbing.
“Look, you guys—you guys, don’t,” Michael gasped. Jenny felt a new pair of arms around her, trying to shake all of them. “Jenny—Jenny, it might not be so bad. He might have made it through. If he made it through to the cafeteria, he’s okay.”
Jenny couldn’t stop sobbing, but she raised her head a little. Michael’s face was grimy and anxious and deadly earnest.
“Let’s just think about this. It took more than ten seconds for that picture to burn up. And he could go faster without all of us to hold him back. So he probably did make it through—and that means at least he’s alive.”
There was a shaking in Jenny’s middle. “But—but Zach—”
“He may have made it back, too,” Michael said desperately. “He may be okay.”
Jenny looked up at him. The shaking didn’t stop, but it lessened. She felt more connected to the world. “Really?” she whispered. “Do you think?”
Just then Dee made an odd sound, as if something had bitten her.
“Look!” she said.
Jenny twisted her neck and followed Dee’s gaze to the photograph. Then she hi
ssed and turned around all the way to stare at it.
Letters were appearing on the blackened surface, just as letters had appeared on Michael’s window in the unnatural frost. Only these were graceful, looping letters, flowing script that ran along the length of the picture. As if a giant calligraphy brush were painting them on the blackness. They glowed red as coals, and wisps of smoke rose from them as they appeared.
Your friends are with me—in the Shadow World. If you want them, come on a treasure hunt. But remember: If you lose, there’s the devil to pay.
“Oh, no,” Michael whispered.
“But they’re not dead,” Audrey said, a little tremulously. The red letters were fading already. “You see, they’re not dead. Julian’s keeping them to bargain with.”
Dee just said, “God.”
Jenny, though, sat back on her heels, her hands opening and closing. Working, getting ready for action. She thought of the Shadow World, of the swirling ice and darkness in the closet, and the cruel, ancient, hungry eyes there. Tom was somewhere among those eyes, and so was her cousin.
She knew this—but she wasn’t shaking anymore. All her weakness and confusion had evaporated. She had heard the challenge and understood.
She wasn’t afraid of Julian now. She was stronger than she had ever been before—stronger than she had known she could be. And she knew what she had to do.
“Right,” she said and heard her own voice, clear and cold, like a trumpet. “He wants a new game? He’ll get it. I know I can beat him now.”
“Jenny—” Michael began, looking at her fearfully.
Jenny shook her head, straightened her shoulders. “I can beat him,” she said again with complete confidence. To the smoking photograph, black and empty again, she said, “En garde, Julian. It’s not over till it’s over.”
THE KILL
For the real Sue Carson, the inspiration for her namesake.
And for John G. Check III, with love and thanks.
CHAPTER 1
The flight attendant started toward them, and the back of Jenny’s neck began to prickle. Her little fingers tingled.