by K. G. McAbee
Because I knew, sure as Monday comes after Sunday, that my uncle and his son were both nuts.
Then a glossy eight-by-ten in the folder drew my attention.
A shabby old house surrounded by lush green gardens. A gate in the fence around it. And just visible behind it, an old barn looking like it was about to topple over.
I knew that house before I even turned the page and saw the address.
I'd been through that gate earlier; I'd walked down to that barn.
I wanted to throw the folder at my smug uncle's face, or maybe hit my cousin upside the head with it, but I didn't do either one. Instead, I folded it shut and placed it on the edge of the desk in front of me.
These guys were crazy, but they also had a picture of Anya's house. I had to be careful. I had to stay cool.
And I had to find out exactly what their plans were.
So I could stop them.
"Okay," I said. "You've got my interest. Tell me more."
***
It was almost midnight before I got back to my room, my head buzzing with information and my arms crowded with books to study. It seemed WFG's pet scientists had designed some sort of device to drain the power from these so-called 'witches' and use that power to create immensely powerful primary storage cells. Clay, with Kinsey as backup, kept on and on about how vital these cells were to pretty much everyone in the world, and how glad the 'witches' were to offer up their power for such a good cause.
I kept nodding like I was buying into it, but it sounded bogus to me. Who would give up her freedom to be hooked into a machine that drained her? Nobody, that's who; nobody who had a choice, anyway.
The WFG-sponsored clinics, like the one already an operating concern in the old textile mill in downtown Manning, North Carolina? Seems they were for real clinics, sure, offering low-cost health care to local community—but they were also created to be holding cells—Clay, of course, called them 'residences'—for the imprisoned 'witches.'
It was all bull, and I made myself a promise to get some reliable information from some actual sane WFG officials soon. I really, really wanted to talk to my uncle, Zachariah, my dad's oldest friend; so far, though, no one had been able to find him. But in the meantime, Clay and Kinsey were dangerous; they had money and hired goons—I'd seen some of them talking to Ray when I'd parked my car in our garage—and worst and scariest of all, they were planning on doing something to Anya's family.
Even as late as it was, I thought my best plan would be to call the Manning police and just turn Clay and Kinsey over to them. I picked up the phone beside my bed, looked up the number and dialed it.
"Mannin' po-lice department. How can I direct yo-uh call?"
"I, uh, well, that is—"
I paused because I heard a faint click on the line. Hey, I'm no dummy; I've seen every James Bond movie, twice. Either my line was tapped or someone was listening to me.
I thought fast.
"Hello, my name is Thomas Hopkins," I said. "I'm sorry for calling so late, but I just wanted to send the deep appreciation of the entire Hopkins family for all the police help during my father's funeral, and for the lovely flowers." Had they sent flowers? Probably.
"Well, that's just so nice of you, Mistuh Hopkins," said the voice on the other end. "We got the beautiful thank-you card from Mrs. Hopkins, and the very generous check from Mr. Clay Hopkins, but we sho do appreciate you gettin' in touch personal. Now you call on us if you need anything atall, you heah now?"
"Thank you kindly," I said and hung up.
The check from Mr. Clay Hopkins. That told me a lot; it told me Clay had probably paid off the locals; it told me I couldn't expect any help from the police, not in this town.
It told me I was on my own.
And I had less than forty-eight hours to stop the insanity.
I needed to get in touch with Anya, and fast. But how? The house phone was tapped, I had no doubt, and probably my cell too. I could go out to her place, but I was sure to be followed, or there might be a tracking device in my car, or they could trace my GPS signal or something.
I needed to tell her to watch out, to be careful, but most importantly, to stay away from her house on Sunday night.
Clay was going out there to get...well, someone. Her aunt was an herbalist and her mom was a healer. My uncle was going to take one or both of them and make them 'disappear'.
And he wanted me to go with him.
Right after he'd loaded me up with light reading, he'd leaned back in his desk chair—the chair that should have been my dad's—and said,
"It's time to get your feet wet, Tommy. It's what we Hopkins have always done, ever since the first Matthew back in the seventeenth century. We bring them in ourselves. Your father wasn't good at it; he was a bleeding heart, too weak, too full of fear. He tried to steer the company in a different direction, and he thought he'd succeeded. Oh, sure, we cut back, way back, on acquiring the hedge witches; the weak ones really don't pay off anyway. But I've made damn sure we still go after the strong ones, and we get them, too. Well, there's a strong one in Manning, and we're going after her Sunday night, Kinsey and I and our regular backup. And you're going with us."
A strong one. I remembered the shed, with all the bunches of herbs and candles. Anya's aunt must be the strong one.
And I had to go help kidnap her.
Not that I wanted to. But Clay was dangerous. He'd paid off the town police, he had all our phones tapped, and he had I wasn't sure how many big beefy guys hanging around and they were probably armed.
And I had Grand and the twins to worry about.
I didn't think Clay'd hurt them.
But I wasn't willing to take the chance.
I paced back and forth across my room as it got later and later, trying and discarding plans.
I had money, I had credit cards, I had a car. I could take Grand and the girls for a ride in the country Sunday morning. We could swing by Anya's house and get her, take her with us. Grand wanted to meet her.
And then what? Go on the run with an old lady, two eleven-year-olds and a girl with a witch for an aunt? Clay would have the Manning police after us when I didn't show up for his little raid, and even if he didn't call the cops, he could probably track me on his own without their help.
I dropped onto the window seat and leaned my head against the cool glass. What to do, what to do? I wanted to run around in circles and scream. I wanted to grab Grand and the twins up and leave for California. I wanted Anya right now, this minute, so I could wrap my arms around her and tell her I'd keep her safe. So I could feel her lips pressed to mine again.
I couldn't think, I couldn't breathe. I felt around blindly, my eyes closed, and raised the window. I took a breath of the fresh night air. A single bird call echoed through the silent, empty streets of Manning.
I put my head in my hands as I tried to think of something, anything, to do...
And naturally, with all this going on, what did I do?
I fell asleep.
***
The sun in my eyes woke me up. I was stiff and sore from falling asleep in an awkward position on my window seat. I closed my eyes tight against the brightness.
All the things from the night before came flooding back and I groaned as the weight of them hit me like a ton of feathers, holding me down and smothering me at the same time.
"Hey, dude! Good to see ya," said a voice. A voice I recognized.
I opened my eyes.
Jordan stood below me in the front yard, a pair of hedge clippers hanging from one meaty hand. His rusty truck was parked across the street, and I could see saws and pruners in the bed; a small trailer behind it held a lawn mower.
I had never seen anything so beautiful in my life. I could have hugged him. And my mind worked faster than it had ever done.
"Hey, Jordan! Busy at work, huh? Uh, about time for a break, I'll bet? Hey, would you like to drive my car around the block, and we can go get a soda or something?"
Hi
s face beamed up at me. "You mean it? Sure thing!"
"Give me a minute and I'll be right down!"
I threw on some clothes and raced down the stairs.
Jordan was waiting out front, the hedge clippers gone. "Can I really drive your car, man?"
"You bet!" I tossed him the keys, took his arm and almost dragged him up the drive to where my car was parked. "Jump in."
He started the engine like he was afraid I'd take the keys away, backed out of the drive like he was driving a soap bubble. "Where to?" he asked, a big grin splitting his face in two.
"How about let's go get a soda. Is there a drug store or convenience store or something close?"
"Sure, about a mile. Uh, I don't have any change on me. I had to fill up my dad's truck on the way over."
"No problemo, my man," I said, feeling better than I had for what seemed like days as we raced down Clarke Street. "You find us a store."
He did.
And the store had phones. Nice, disposable, untraceable phones.
I made the call, and talked to Anya. Everything was okay—at least as okay as things could be, considering my uncle and cousin were weirdos.
I was so glad to be doing something, I didn't even argue when Jordan mumbled a while and then finally asked me to attend a party that night. Why not, I thought. I've got to get through these next few hours, next two days, before I can see Anya again.
"So, whataya say, man?" he asked again when we got back in the car, me cradling my new phone like it was made of gold. "It'll be cool, really. You'll like my crew; they're great guys. Some girls are coming, and we'll have beer. Say you'll come tonight, okay?"
"Sure," I said. "Be glad to. What time and where?"
He grinned as he maneuvered the car through the streets back toward the house. "Six thirty, out at my place. My folks are going out of town, so we're gonna hang out. Have a few beers. Some girls'll be there too."
"Yeah, okay. Sounds good." I threw the phone into the glove box as Jordan gave me the directions to his place. It wasn't far, just outside of town. Even though I hadn't explored much of Manning, I should be able to find it easily enough.
When we pulled back into the drive, I could see Clay and Kinsey coming out the garage. Jordan, though obviously reluctant, handed the keys back over and got out.
"So we'll see you tonight man?"
I caught sight of my uncle trying too hard not to eavesdrop and I grinned, clapping Jordan on the shoulder.
"Yeah, man. I'll see you then. Six thirty."
***
Jordan's place was a little clapboard house stuck out of a lawn trying hard to be an advertisement for his dad's landscaping business. I pulled up and saw four or five cars were already there; all of them I recognized from the parking lot at school. I had never really been good at this kinda thing, this social scene. But if Clay had anyone following me, they'd see nothing but what I wanted them to see.
And I didn't want them to see me anywhere near Anya.
I got out and waved at the guys hanging on the front porch. The smoke from their cigarettes hung in the fading twilight like a fog around their heads, and I fought the urge to duck beneath it. One of them introduced himself as Michael, grabbing my hand to shake his welcome, as I tried not to breathe.
"Hey, man! Good to see you! Jordan's looking for ya."
He grinned wider as a girl appeared beside him. "Hannah, too."
"Hey, cutie!" The girl grinned and twisted her arm around mine. "Come on, Jordan and the others are out back. Let's go!"
I wasn't so sure, now, this was a good thing. The girl's touch made me uneasy, somehow, and odd little phrases started dancing through my head, like I was picking up some weird radio station through the fillings in my teeth. "He's shy, ain't that cute? Won't Jennie be jealous? I bet he's a good kisser. Them arms of his are just so hard! Wonder what else I can make hard? Wonder if...."
I started to pull away from her.
Then I glanced over my shoulder.
A big black Hummer sat against the curb across the street. Okay. That made things a little different. "Uh, Jordan said something about his crew," I began, still trying to disentangle my arm from hers but not succeeding. "I guess you know them all?"
"Honey, I know ever one a them boys, have done since we was all in first grade together," she said. "Me and my best friend Jennie done dated them all, and we're lookin' for some fresh blood, if you know what I mean?"
She gazed up at me with a silly, trying-to-be-sexy look on her face, and I took a good look at her for the first time. She was dressed in a skimpy tank top and cut-off jeans, and her flip flops displayed two toe rings on dirty toes.
"Uh, Hannah?" I asked, still trying to make her let go of my arm. "Do you know Anya Blanchett?"
She dropped my arm like it had burned her. "That old thing? You don't want to spend much time with her, let me tell you. She can be real scary. One time, in first grade?" Hannah's voice dropped lower and I had to lean down to hear her. "Anya was coloring a picture, and Jordan—that Jordan, he's always into something, ya know?—well, Jordan took her red crayon and shoved it up his nose. Got it all covered in boogers, then dropped it down on her paper. Ew, it was nasty, let me tell you."
She laughed. I didn't.
"Well, Anya, she just looked up at Jordan and she said, well, I don't know exactly what she said, but Jordan got this funny look and came all over green, like, and he ran out of the classroom and puked in the hall. Well, that just proves it, don't it?"
"Proves what?" I asked, wondering where this was going.
"Well, it proves she's just like her family. They's all witches in the Blanchett family, going way back. That's what my grandma says, anyway, and my grandma knows some stuff. Two of her thirteen young-uns graduated high school, and one of them became a mill manager, second shift, so that shows she's a smart woman, right?"
"I'd say so, sure," I said.
"Hey, my man!" Jordan said when he saw us. "I see you've met Hannah already. Come on in and meet the rest of the crew!"
My look of relief must have been obvious, and I took the beer from him only as a way to keep my hands busy and away from the girl still trying to cling to me. The music around us was almost deafening; the twangs of a guitar and words about losing the house and dog hit me from all different directions.
"Hey. Great place." I managed over the music, and Jordan just laughed, clapping me on the back and leading me outside. Unfortunately, the pack seemed to follow him wherever he went, which seemed to include Hannah too. I moved to the other side of Jordan, and watched as she pouted and fell back in a porch swing. Jordan sat next to her, swinging his arm around her shoulders as he took a swig of the beer.
"I don't know about that one, Jordy." The girl sniffed as she looked away from me. "He's already been asking about the witch."
Jordan laughed, leaning forward to shake a finger at me. "Dude...seriously. We gotta get you some new friends around here. Did you hear about what happened at school on Thursday? Man, I hate I didn't stick around long enough. Not that I could've gotten close to the office. But that's why it pays to have spies."
"What happened?" I asked, not because I really wanted to know but because Jordan seemed to expect it. Then I realized he was talking about Anya. "Not something bad, right? I mean, not that it matters to me, but—"
"Oh, man," Jordan interrupted, then slurped some beer. "It was classic, know what I mean? The principal caught the Blanchett witch writing on her own locker—" Several of the pack snickered and Hannah giggled; Jordan just looked smug and satisfied, "—and took her to the office. He said she was defacing school property and he had proof she was cheatin' on her tests too. Smart girls. Don't you just hate 'em, dude? I mean, a girl that's smart probably has all sortsa other things wrong with her too, right?" He let one hand slide casually inside the top of Hannah's tank; she smirked and wiggled, then threw a wink at her friend who I supposed was Jennie. "Girls ain't supposed to be smarter than dudes, am I right?"
Several of his pack growled in agreement.
"But, hey, you need another beer?"
"No, I'm cool," I said. I hadn't even had a sip from the first one, but raised it to my lips; the smell alone almost made me gag. "So what did the principal do?"
Jordan laughed. "Mike was there..." He pointed over to the guy who had greeted me at the door. "Well, he heard everything. Fisher said they'd heard she's been cheatin', and she denied it until he asked her if she called upon the Devil to help her. You know what them witches do, man...freaky stuff. Anyway, she got all uppity. Said she wouldn't answer 'cause of some rights she has. But he ended up giving her two weeks of detention anyway. Two weeks! And she's gotta scrub it off herself!"
"Okay...so what did she do? What did she write?"
"Hell if I know man. We decided to do a little decoratin' for her. Let the witch know we were onto her for cursin' your daddy like she did."
"My daddy?" I asked. "What do you mean? He...died in a landslide up on Interstate 40. I've read they happen a lot up there."
"Yeah, man, they do," Jordan said, then shrugged. "But listen: witches can do stuff, you know? And you just gotta be careful around them, is what I'm sayin'. You need some friends to watch your back. Am I right?" he asked, and his crew all nodded in unison, like puppets on the same string. "That's why you're lucky we all took to you so quick and all. We're here for you, man. We've got your back."
"Uh, thanks," I said. I wanted to storm out of there, slapping a few silly, grinning faces on the way. But there was a Hummer outside. I needed to fit in, needed to keep a low profile.
But I was beginning to suspect, was getting my first hints, at what Anya had been forced to put up with her whole life. These...people...were against anything, anyone who was different.
And I was growing more and more sure Anya was different in a whole lot of ways. Oh, she wasn't a witch; witches didn't exist, after all. But she was plenty smart, living in a place and among people who didn't, couldn't, appreciate that.
I was suddenly filled with the desire to go get her and take her away, somewhere, anywhere, and spend the rest of my life making up to her how much she'd missed. Show her the places I'd seen and loved: London, Paris, Sydney. Take her away to college with me. Introduce her to the people I loved and trusted: Grand, the girls, my dad's friend Zachariah.