Dad turned toward us and I saw something else familiar. The haunted, hollow look in his eyes, the dark circles beneath. I'd seen that look from Sam plenty of times. Usually when his visions had kept him up all night. Dad rested his hand to his forehead, just as Sam often did. Then Dad stared straight at Max, his piercing eyes meeting Max's steely gaze.
The people at Dad's table—a noisy, strangely-dressed crowd holding various books and artifacts—grew silent as Dad continued his stare-down with Max.
"Hey," I heard Arturo say. "I was just kiddin', Max. Don't piss this guy off. He's the real thing."
Max growled. Dad stood up.
"Able d'Espers?" shouted Max, never flinching in his gaze. "I understand you have been tellin' fortunes on my side of town."
"Hey," said Arturo. "It's a free country, Max. C'mon, I'll buy you a beer." I heard him swear under his breath, "Dios mío." Max stood up, his arms tensed before his waist like he was about to draw a pistol on my father. What was he going to do? Surely, they wouldn't engage in a shootout?
"Your side of town?" Dad's voice issued forth cranky and impatient, the way he got when woken up after one of his marathon visions. "I don't recall hearing that this town had a side for flimflammin' quacks!" He squinched up his eyes like he had a headache. If he'd just recovered from a night of seeing, he probably did.
"Boys. Boys. Híjole. Nobody is saying there's sides for anything. Now let's all calm down and have some nice cervezas. I'm buying!" Arturo put his hand on Max's arm. Max snorted and pushed him off, still staring Dad down. I was getting worried. Max seemed mean as a snake and Dad wasn't at his best. I hung onto the hope that they'd all wind up friends somehow—that's how it ended, right?
Max and Dad froze, staring into each other's eyes without blinking, oblivious to all else. Max started to get a little red, his eyes bulged, and his lips quivered. Dad lowered his brow and gritted his teeth. Max was breathing heavily, then he widened his blue eyes suddenly at Dad. Dad stumbled back as if struck, but he maintained the eye contact, lowered his head again, and gave Max a crazy, piercing, green-eyed stare. Max's jaw dropped and Dad laughed.
"Max? You okay?" Arturo was looking from Max to Dad and back. He held out a couple of beers. "Cervezas?"
Max reached over and grabbed one, put it to his lips, and took a giant swig, all without dropping eye contact with my father. He squinted daggers at Dad, raising his arms like a man about to take flight, and twirled his hands. The air fogged over between them and a shape emerged. Fuzzy and amorphous, a man with a glint in his eye and a pistol in his hand—a gun-slinging ghost!
Dad snorted with disgust or amazement as the ghost took aim for his forehead. He lifted his own arms high, calling the spirits, and I could see his lips move with incantations. In seconds, another amorphous form stood facing down Max and his ghost—another pistol drawn, another tough, glint-eyed character. Except, when the shape formed up—this ghost was a female! A gun-slinging woman with wild red hair under her Stetson, tall and long-legged in her cowboy boots. She smiled huge with wild excitement, aiming for Max through his gun-slinging ghost. Max gulped and stepped back. Max's ghost flickered, his steely expression devolving into a confused grin.
Max steadied himself, waved his arms like a conductor, and the entire room filled with fog. In the murk, I heard shots fire. I panicked. What happened? Did Dad get shot?
Moments later the fog cleared. The same two ghosts faced off, the same two spiritualists behind them. No one shot, but Max's chest heaved with effort. Dad had a wicked look in his eye to match the wicked grin of his gunslinger. Now he made fists and a punching motion and his gunslinger fired three times in rapid succession. Three times the ghostly bullets passed through Max's gunslinger ghost and smashed against Max's forehead. The bullets didn't tear or punch holes, but disintegrated. Each time, Max stumbled back, his face slack and his eyes crossed. With the third bullet, he slid without warning to the barroom floor. There Max sat, legs sprawled, head wobbling, and hat askew. The gunslinger ghost he'd summoned howled miserably and spun upward through the ceiling, returning to whatever haunt he'd been called from.
Dad held up his index finger and blew on it and the lady gunslinger did the same to her gun. Then she turned, eyed my father with that same wicked grin, and leaned toward him. She kissed him passionately. He tilted his face up to let her kiss him. Oh, my All—I didn't need to see this! Seconds later, she'd evanesced into a mist that swirled around him, caressing his form. Then she wisped up and away, also through the ceiling. Dad stood grinning, triumphant, over the collapsed figure of Max. Arturo handed Dad a beer.
The view fogged over. I thought more ghosts were arriving on the scene, but instead, I had a view of a bar table—almost as if I were sitting at it. Dad's flunkies had left or been chased off and now all three spiritualists sat around the table with an ever-growing collection of empty beer bottles.
"How'd you summon that hot gunslinger?" I heard Max say in an awed voice. He still held a bar rag full of ice to his forehead.
Dad took a slug of beer. Smiled. He always was so cool, like Sam without the angst. "Little trick of them that knows."
"Them that knows what?" Arturo's brow furrowed.
This seemed to amuse Dad. He chortled into his beer. "If you have to ask—"
"Yeah, Arturo. Of all that knows, you're one that knows the most." Max looked down his nose at Arturo. "You shouldn't have to ask."
Arturo looked deflated. He took a swig of beer. "I knows because I asks around. That's how come I knows."
Max and Dad ignored him, kept sizing each other up.
"So, how long you been . . . seeing?" Max finally asked Dad.
"All my life," said Dad. "But I came to town about a month ago. Inherited a house up on Hollow Hill. That's why you didn't sense me before."
"A month ago? You've got a lot of friends for a newcomer," said Max.
Dad shrugged. "Word gets around."
Arturo said, "Wait, the d'Espers mansion? That big haunted affair, at the very top of the Hollow Hill neighborhood?"
Dad nodded. "That's the one."
"Nice setup." Max seemed impressed.
"It's very cozy," said Dad, smirking.
"It's got some history. You're the heir?" Arturo got very excited. He took a pencil and pad of paper out of his shirt pocket and starting scribbling notes. I was instantly reminded of Lily.
Now Dad leaned forward, toward Arturo. "What do you know of the Vic's history?" he asked. "I've had such visions there—of future and past. Things I can't explain, can't describe."
Arturo stilled and his eyes rolled back. For a moment, I thought he'd had too much to drink. But then he spoke, as if from a trance. "The Hollow Hill Hold, in this mortal plane, channels the spirits from many regions. It is a spiritualist bequeathal, never to be passed into ordinary mortal hands. The current stewards are the family d'Espers."
"Able d'Espers. That's me." Dad took a long slug of beer and set the empty bottle on the table. "And this is Valente de los Santos. My curandero friend."
"Wha—?" Arturo yelled with surprise. The camera pulled back to reveal a cloaked figure sitting right next to him.
"Whoa! Where'd you come from?" said Max.
"Mexico," said Valente, holding a finger before his lips. He lowered the hood and I recognized his round, friendly face and his black hair. Valente was thinner around the middle and with more hair than his spirit incarnation. His eyes with the golden cast to them sparkled with life. He spoke rapidly in Spanish and Dad translated.
"Some time back, Valente received a visitation from the spirit All telling him he was needed in our village. Valente was at the time living in his own village as healer of the sick." Able looked at Max and Arturo seriously. "He wants you to know he was a healer not just of the physical. He heals spiritual wounds as well."
A healer! Valente had the golden eyes, just like I did.
"So he came all the way to Portales Espirituales?" said Max.
"Crossed the desert, fol
lowing a vision. No one interfered. Now he works as a bus driver," said Dad.
"A bus driver? He just crossed into the U.S. without papers? Do you speak English?" Max stared Valente down. Valente smiled and shrugged. "No habla Ingles," he said, his golden eyes flashing.
"Ouch." Max held his forehead. "He packs a wallop."
"Yeah, I know," said Dad. "He can understand you some. But you won't get more than two words of English out of him. He says it weakens his spiritualist abilities, so he sticks to Spanish."
Arturo leaned forward, across the table. "So—you two holding séances together, or what gives?"
Valente spoke quietly to my dad, who nodded. "Okay. Momento."
Dad addressed Max and Arturo. "Valente believes you two are the fellows he came here to find. And I'm the other one. He calls us 'the Four.'"
"What four? You mean us four?" Arturo frowned at Valente.
"His visions told him he would find three great spiritualists in Portales Espirituales. Almost as great as himself," said Dad.
"Hey!" said Max.
"Por qué?" said Arturo.
"Because," said Dad, "We four are to become the leaders of the mortal faction of the Coterie, here on the mortal plane. But don't ask me what that means." He held out his hands to the protests of Max and Arturo. "I don't know what he's talking about. I just know I trust Valente. When he says it will rain, it rains. He told me I'd meet a girl and the other night at the coffee shop, I met a girl. We have a date for Friday. He said I'll have a son and my son will be a great seer." Dad nodded around the table, very satisfied with this prediction.
Valente spoke quietly, this time to Arturo.
Max's ears perked up. "What's he saying now?"
Arturo's face slackened. He looked a little sick. "Says we better get busy. We don't have much time left." He laughed weakly.
"Mmm, ominous," said Dad.
"And you, he says, need to avoid the spirit world," said Arturo, coughing.
"Obviously," said Dad. "Everyone who ends up there is dead." He laughed, but Valente shook his head, his frown dark and serious.
"Valente has been telling me that he wants to heal the spiritual wound of Portales Espirituales," said Dad. "He says we four can do it. Honestly, I don't know what he has in mind. He says the worlds are riven here. There's some kind of divide. I do know this place is ridiculously haunted."
"Yeah. By tourists," said Max.
Everyone laughed, even Valente. "Turistas," he chortled.
Valente whispered to Arturo again. Arturo's eyebrows shot up. "I see," he said.
"What?" demanded Max.
"He says we four have a chance to heal the rift. But there's one who will come after—one with a deep, abiding connection to the All. That one will truly bring healing and balance to the worlds," said Arturo. "The Four must prepare the way for the One."
Dad and Max stared, silent, at Valente and Arturo.
"At least, I think that's what he said." Arturo smiled. "Mas cervezas?"
The camera's view spun like crazy, the barroom blurring into a view of the street. Night this time, the dark, star-filled desert sky behind the four figures who strolled, in their long coats and cloaks, up the street's incline. Past the sign for the Hollow Hill neighborhood the four figures walked and into the black shadow of the hulking mansion that dominated the hilltop. The Four vanished into the folds of the Vic—the Hollow Hill Hold. Moments later, a light, blue and eerie, lit the highest window of the tallest turret. It flashed and flickered, lighting up passing clouds with laser-beam intensity.
The Four had joined together at last.
Emmett and I emerged from the article, gasping like we had swum for the surface. Emmett still held my hand over the fingerprint on the deadzines page.
"What was all that about?" said Emmett. "I can't see how it had to do with us."
"That was my dad," I said. "The All led those four to get together so they could heal the rift between the worlds. But I don't think they got a chance to do it before Bellum took them out. Leaving the task for the One who would come after." I shivered.
"Are you cold, sweetheart?" Emmett slid his arm around me. I couldn't stop shaking.
"Emmett. It's me. I'm the one who would come after," I said.
"I thought—what about the son, the great seer?" said Emmett.
"Yeah, that's what everyone thought," I said. "But Sam doesn't have a deep and abiding connection to the All. I do." I looked deep into Emmett's black eyes. Somewhere, down in those depths, the All looked out at me. But Emmett only stared back, puzzled.
"You do? How, pray tell, did you make this connection?" he asked.
"He kind of found me," I said. "The All." I gazed into his eyes again. "I know you're in there," I said. "Why don't you come out, just for a moment? A moment in ecto-time?"
Emmett just gawped at me. "I'm afraid I don't understand."
"The One summons you, oh great All!" I said.
Emmett kept staring, then his eyes rolled back and he fell over, draped gracelessly over a chaise.
"Emmett?" I shook him. "Em?"
"The All hears you, my child," he whispered. He stood up, stiff and zombie-like, his eyes fixed on the far wall. He walked to his desk, sat, and pulled a roll of parchment from one of the many pigeon-holes. He dipped a pen into an inkwell. I watched over his shoulder as he wrote, scratching strange symbols into the paper. I didn't dare interrupt him. When he'd covered the entire paper in unreadable symbols, he drew a round sun symbol at the top of the page, spiked with flames. A decryption wheel! Then he slumped over the desk, and fell asleep.
I snatched up the parchment, just as Emmett started to drool on it. I touched the decryption wheel, eager to decode the All's message.
It was not what I expected.
The All's message did not contain a greeting or instructions or a letter. It was not an interview or encyclopedia entries or even nicely organized answers to all my questions, A-Z. No. Not even close.
The All's message appeared ancient and more than anything, it resembled a page from a very dull, very old history textbook.
Emmett started to snore, so I shook his shoulder. He slurped and sat up, wiping his chin. I showed him the parchment.
"Wha— happened?" He yawned and rubbed his face. "I fell asleep?"
"You wrote this," I said.
He took it, scanned it up and down. "An Inquiry into the Factors Leading to the Underwood Uprising. Hmmm. Interesting. I think it's some kind of old historical document."
I made a face. "It doesn't look interesting to me. It looks like homework."
"No, no. This is very interesting, Heather. It's myth, mixed in with history. Listen, I'll read it to you." Emmett squinted at the paper, adjusted his glasses, and cleared his throat. I steeled myself and vowed not to doze off. Then Emmett began.
Chapter Five
The Underwood Homework
"In the fourth era of the Great All, when the beings rejoiced in the peaceful realm and the Bellum had been beat back into the peripheral territories, there came a conflict known commonly as The Great Underwood Uprising," Emmett read in a loud voice.
"Don't the spirits ever stop fighting?" I complained. And why did we have to read about it?
"Shh, listen, Heather." Emmett read some more, in an excited voice. He was cute when he got excited, so I watched his lips move and tried to ignore the boringness of the text.
"In those times, the realm of the spirit god Plouton, Lord of Demons and Shades, extended above ground. His denizens walked through Dead Town peacefully, free to cross borders and roam all parts of the spirit world."
"So they had demons walking around. That doesn't seem like a good idea," I said, yawning.
"Friendly demons and shades, Heather," said Emmett. He read on. "Conflict broke out between Plouton and Lady Mystery due to aggressive infiltrations of demon hordes upon the Transitional Realm."
"See," I said.
Emmett continued reading. "So persistent were these attempts to pene
trate All's Hold that the All erected a labyrinth around the castle's exterior and sealed it from any underground passages with impenetrable catacombs. Demons and shades became lost in the winding passages and were unable to invade the castle. However, despite the provocation of Plouton's troops, the All did not issue a defensive counterstrike, nor did he gather armies and troops of his own."
"Typical All," I said, then remembered who I spoke to. "Oh, sorry."
"For what?" Emmett cocked his head at me, curiously.
"I don't mean to offend," I said. "But you have to admit, the All can be a little too pacifist when decisive action is needed." I looked at Emmett pointedly.
He shrugged. "I'm sure he has his reasons, Heather. Listen, here is someone you will like." He read, "The counterattack came instead from above, from Lady Mystery's denizens of the heavenly realm, who swooped down with celestial force and drove the Underwood hordes back. Lady Mystery responded with great determination, calling for soldiers from both her own people and the All's beings."
"Yeah, that's more like it!" I cheered.
Emmett nodded and read, "Only when the fighting had grown furious on the border of Plouton's territories did the All come forth to join in the battle. Then at last, the tide of the battle turned. Plouton was defeated and driven into the deeper recesses of his realm, where he and all his demons were sealed within the pit of the damned, the Underwood, never to emerge or travel freely from that point forward."
"That's how they got themselves stuck down there," I said.
"Oh, here's the best part!" said Emmett, flushing with pleasure. Watching him, I had trouble concentrating on what he was reading.
"What does it say?" I asked.
"Here, let me show you." He handed me the parchment.
I read it aloud. "Scholars have issued much supposition about the All's possible motivations for waiting so long to defend his own lands and join the fray. One reason surmised is that the All had made a pact with Bellum not to interfere with any of his dealings, as long as they occurred outside of the All's Transitional Realm. It is widely accepted that Bellum's minions provoked the Underwood demons into invading the outer lands where the Bellum at the time held sway. Facing little resistance, the demons may have grown bold and gone on to invade the All's Transitional Realm.
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