She looks at me apologetically. “Mom should be home soon,” she says. “So . . .”
“Can I just borrow you a little longer?” I don’t want to leave her yet, not like this. “I promise I’ll give you back.”
“Go ahead,” Laurie says. “I’m going to run up to Sean for a sec anyway. And family bonding is never the same when I’m not around.”
“Sure,” Elizabeth replies. But then she doesn’t say another word until we’re in my apartment.
Again, I think there have to be boyfriend rules about how to handle these things, and then I think that there’s no way that boyfriend rules cover this kind of problem.
“What’s going on?” I ask. Because I want to know. Because it feels like I have to know, to help her. I can’t be there for her until I know where there is.
I mean it sincerely, but from her reaction, you would think I’m asking about a sports team, or the weather.
“Not much,” she tells me. “And yourself?”
I know I should just leave her alone. I should let her talk when she wants to talk. But I am not reacting to the things I know I should do. I am reacting to the emptiness, the loneliness I feel when she’s standing right in front of me and feels as far away as the ends of the world.
“Talk to me,” I plead.
She shakes her head, and I know: she’s regretting that she followed me here. She’s regretting that she agreed to come.
“You have to listen to Millie,” I go on. “If she says this is dangerous, you have to listen to her.”
“I don’t have to do anything. I understand that Millie’s been doing this a lot longer than I have. I get it. But you have to understand that she’s basically locked herself away from the world. She’s given up. And it’s fine if she can sit there and watch people get hurt. I can’t. I’m not like that. Besides, I have more power than she does. I can do more.”
“I know,” I say. “But you have to be careful.”
“Careful. I don’t even know what that means anymore. It’s not like I search these things out. It’s not like I walked into the Frick and thought, ‘Gee, I wonder if Arbus will be here.’ I don’t get to choose what I see, what I sense. Not anymore. These people just sit there like burning buildings, Stephen. And the choice is whether you walk on by or whether you do something about it. Careful isn’t part of it.”
“But you have to know your limits. You can’t take everything on. Especially not with someone like Arbus.”
“Give me a little credit, will you? Just for one moment, I would love to be given a little credit.”
The look she gives me is withering. The sound of her voice is both critical and disbelieving.
Every relationship hits this moment: the first time it stops coming together and starts coming apart. Often it’s just a brief glimpse, but this lasts longer.
“Let’s stop,” I say. “This is ridiculous.”
“What’s ridiculous?”
I try to make the air less heavy. I try to ease us back on track. I say, “Most couples have their first fight about what movie to see, or about whether or not they should, like, split the check. We’re having our first fight over how to best use your spellseeking powers. You have to find that at least a little bit funny.”
But she doesn’t. Not in the least bit.
“You weren’t there,” she says. “None of you were there. None of you saw what it looks like. None of you felt what it feels like.”
“True,” I say—and then I don’t know where to go from there. I could ask her to tell me what it was like—but I already have, and she already hasn’t.
We haven’t even sat down. We’re hovering by the door.
“Even if I don’t know what I’m doing,” she says, “I still know more about it than anyone else.”
“But Millie’s been doing this much, much longer than you have. And even if she seems like a shut-in now, she’s been out in the world. If she says you’re in danger, you have to believe her. Arbus destroyed my family. I have to carry that. It’s as much a part of my life as any other part. So I do get it, at least a little bit, because I have been living with it for my whole life. I may not see what you see or feel what you feel, but I’m the one who’s hostage to his cruelty here, and it doesn’t help me any if you get taken hostage too. There’s no reason for you to be in danger. Not for me.”
“What do you mean, not for you?”
“I mean, I’m the reason we want to find Arbus. I’m the reason all this started. You’re out there because I can’t be. And I don’t want you getting hurt because of that. Ever.”
I put my hand on her shoulder. I will my hand to be there, for her to feel it.
She pulls away.
“This isn’t all about you, Stephen,” she says. “Not anymore.”
Chapter 22
AFTER YOU’VE SPENT ENOUGH time drawing people, especially their faces, you learn the trick of creating your own mask. I’ve constructed mine with the utmost care this evening. I wear it without doubt or regret.
Mom has insisted that we have a more “engaged” family night, so our movie has been usurped by Scrabble. I’m surprised she picked this game, and even more surprised that Laurie agreed to play it. Our family history would witness that I’m a champion at Scrabble. Mom and Laurie—and, once upon a time, my dad—live in fear of my triple word scores. Tonight I don’t have it, though. That spark, that clarity of linguistic architecture through which I dominate the board, is absent.
Mom plays with a furrowed brow. Placing her wooden squares, but casting inquisitive glances my way. She’s sensed something is off tonight. Even before we began the game. I realize that’s why she offered up Scrabble, hoping triumph would fix whatever ails me. But her plan is failing, and now she’s searching for answers in my face. Hence the mask.
Laurie takes a different tack, filling the board with bawdiness that makes our mother cover her mouth and giggle as her cheeks flush like cherry ChapStick. Mom tried to soothe whatever hidden wound pains me. Laurie’s plan of attack: provocation by humor, or shock, into the revelation of real emotion. Once the mask is cracked, Laurie knows it’s only a matter of time till it all falls away. He’s working hard to speed up that process. The look he’s giving me might as well be a chisel, chipping away at the plaster cast with which I’ve covered my true face.
I excuse myself while Mom and Laurie are arguing about whether French can serve as a verb rather than a proper adjective when used in certain contexts. In the sanctuary of my room I pull out my sketch pad. Drawing helps me think, and what I need now is a plan.
* * *
The sketch taking shape on the white page puzzles me. It’s a map, and I’m not usually a cartographer. I prefer figures and action. Yet I can see why my fingers create these lines and shadows. The Frick is immediately recognizable. Soon hazy shapes form around it. Fifth Avenue. The eastern edge of the park. My other nearby haunts.
I’m musing as I draw, feeling that my brain somehow remains disconnected from the action of my hands. Familiar places are still materializing under my gaze. The usual suspects that I visit, all within walking distance of our apartment. Squinting at the hazy building outlines, smudged streets, and park pathways, I can see what my fingers wanted me to comprehend.
I haven’t drawn a map. What lies on the page is a perimeter—a perimeter born of the question that I’ve been ignoring but hasn’t stopped catching me off guard when it springs into my thoughts.
What if it was a setup? What if Arbus was hunting, not only for Stephen but also for me?
Even if the cursecaster only had a suspicion of me, throwing myself onto him mid-curse definitely confirmed those suspicions. Pursuing this line of thought is a challenge. It makes me feel like a narcissist. Stephen is still the one who’s invisible. Who has to make an enormous effort to engage even in the slightest physical contact with the material world.
Stephen is who I’m supposed to be helping.
But even though I was angry with him when I said
it, my words didn’t lack conviction. What’s happening is no longer just about him. And I didn’t just mean it’s also about me. The invisible world that Stephen lives within, the world of curses and magic, is just beginning to reveal itself. I refuse to let it remain a mystery.
I continue to sketch. Muddled shapes become concrete. My eyes fly over the pages, searching for patterns, clues. I stare at what I’ve drawn for so long my eyes begin to blur. I rub my weary eyes and return to the hunt.
Had Arbus cast a wide net, hoping to snare me? Was the Frick his first stop, or were his curses plaguing others he’d chosen before he drew me out?
What if he’d purposefully targeted that mother and her young son, guessing that anyone who knew about Stephen wouldn’t be able to let harm come to a similar pair of innocents?
Or am I overthinking this encounter? Is Stephen’s grandfather so twisted that randomly casting curses on people is a way for him to pass the time?
Grinding my teeth, I dismiss the last question because my gut tells me to. Not that I don’t believe Arbus is capable of such a loathsome habit but because somehow I know he was looking for me. Not me specifically, but a spellseeker.
I wonder what that means. What this potential trap should be telling me. Remembering Millie’s anger, her warning, I also recall the way her face paled. The trembling of her hands. How angry she became—a kind of fury only unleashed by panic, by the unraveling of one’s carefully constructed existence. Knowing that Maxwell Arbus had returned to New York frightened her more than anything else. I can tell that she’s afraid for herself. But she’s more afraid for me.
There’s a knock, but without waiting for an answer, Laurie comes into my room and shuts the door behind him. When he sees my face, he grimaces.
“I know kohl worked wonders for Cleopatra, but I think you overdid it. Next time, visualize smoky, not raccoon.”
“Shut up and hand me a Kleenex.” I lift my hand until he deposits one in my palm.
While I’m wiping charcoal from my face and fingers, Laurie wanders through my room. It’s an impressive feat, given that wandering doesn’t normally lend itself to a nine-by-ten space. He tries to sneak glances at my sketch. I don’t bother to hide it, seeing no reason to cover up my blurry quasi-map of the space between our apartment and the Upper East Side.
Realizing I’m not going to spill my guts after a few moments of silence and his awkward staring, he goes for faux casual.
“So whatcha drawing?”
“The neighborhood.”
Laurie cranes his neck, hoping to catch me in a lie. But the neighborhood, plus a bit more, it is.
“New storyline?” he asks.
I make a noncommittal sound.
“Josie!” Laurie shouts my name in a whiny growl. He grabs fistfuls of his hair and tugs on it till it stands up in all directions. That gets my attention. He used to do it all the time when he was little and really frustrated with me. I’m particularly alarmed because the hair thing was usually followed by an all-out, tomato-faced, shrieking tantrum.
“Laurie . . .” I start.
“No.” He interrupts me, forcing himself to take deep breaths while I gaze in amazement at his purpling face.
“Listen . . . to . . . me . . .” Laurie’s intimidating gaze becomes a lot more convincing.
I nod, a little worried that he might pass out.
“You’re going to tell me what’s going on,” he says. “I was trying to be unintrusive about it, but you’re forcing me to go all intrusive on you.”
“Ummm.” I have no answer for him, but his face is pastel pink now instead of purple. I take that as a good sign.
“Despite all of this insanity that is in fact reality, you are still my sister and I love you.”
A couple beats pass and I say, “Okay.”
“And you know what that means.”
“I do?” I’m not sure I do.
Laurie nods. “It means that I am in this with you. And you are going to tell me what’s going on with you, what you’re plotting, and how I can help. Because I’m going to help. Don’t make me hold your art supplies hostage. We know how ugly that can get.”
I crack a smile, to which he responds, “Good. So talk.”
“I think Millie was right,” I tell him, conceding victory. Holding up my rough sketch so he can get a better look, I explain. “She said that Arbus might have been trying to draw me out. I don’t know if he was looking for me in particular, but I have a feeling he was after a spellseeker.”
“Your spidey sense is tingling?”
“Yup.” I set the page aside. “That was just me thinking on paper. Trying to sort out where else he might have gone.”
Laurie glances at the sketch again. “You think he’s hanging out in our neighborhood?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “But maybe that’s not a bad thing.”
“How in any possible way is that not a bad thing?” Laurie asks.
I run my fingers over the paper, smudging the lines, crisscrossing Central Park with a spiderweb of shadows. “Because it means I might be able to draw him out.”
Laurie’s face pinches. “And why would you want to do that?”
“So I can get a better handle on what I’m dealing with,” I say with more confidence than I feel.
“But what about everything Millie’s said about him?” Laurie stands up, shaking his head. “You don’t go toe to toe with a guy like Maxwell Arbus.”
“I don’t think there is any other way to deal with him. He’s the big bad. We man up and take him out.”
“First of all, I’m going to pretend you didn’t say ‘man up.’ Second . . . okay, I have no second. Everything you’ve just said is crazy. That’s all.”
“Just listen.” I’m suddenly eager to try out my theories on Laurie. “What you said before—I think you’re right.”
“About ‘man up’?” Laurie lifts his eyebrows. “Of course I’m right. No one should say that. It’s not only gender injustice. It’s lame as hell.”
“No,” I tell him. “I mean about Millie’s warnings about Arbus. I don’t think she’s shown all her cards. She’s holding something—maybe something vital—back. Definitely about Stephen’s grandfather. Possibly about spellseeking.”
“Where are you heading with this?” Laurie frowns.
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “I’m thinking about going head to head. About fighting back. If I can dismantle curses after they’ve been made, who’s to say I can’t stop them at their source?”
“Elizabeth, come on.” Laurie’s face becomes lines and curves of anxiety and love.
“If you want to be part of this, it means we find him,” I tell Laurie.
My brother drops onto the bed beside me. Now he’s the one who looks defeated. “I can’t begin to tell you what a bad feeling I have about this.”
“I’m the magically inclined sibling.” I elbow him. “When it comes to feelings and hunches, we go with my spidey sense.”
“Fine,” he says, but he sounds distracted, and I know he’s thinking about something else. Guessing what that something else is comes easily.
“You have to promise me,” I tell him, summoning words like stern and flinty while I wait for him to look at me.
He meets my gaze and groans, knowing he’s caught. “Promise you what?”
“That you won’t tell Stephen.” It’s not at all easy to say, but I have to say it. “He’s too close to this. We have to find out what I can do to stop Arbus without him—at least for now.”
Laurie answers much too quickly. “Fine. As long as you promise to really let me help you. No more secrets. And asking me to cover for you with Mom does not count as help.”
“Fine,” I tell him, even though I saw him quickly tuck his left hand behind his back and know that no doubt he’s crossed his fingers to permit his lie. Laurie is a sucker for traditional loopholes.
I’ll have to pretend I didn’t see it, though. Even without breaking his promise in what he
considers a fair way, I know Laurie would have cracked and spilled all my plans to Stephen. I don’t blame him.
All it means is that I have to work fast. It means I have to find Arbus before Stephen figures out a way to stop me. Or worse.
Chapter 23
JUST AS A FEVER makes cold feel colder, love can make loneliness feel lonelier.
She has not disappeared. She is still here with me. But there’s a part of her that’s disconnected. There’s a part of us that has retreated into her. We don’t talk about it, because every time I bring it up, it retreats a little farther.
We haven’t fought. But still it feels like we’re living in a truce time. Our happiness right now can only exist in a bubble of questionlessness, and I keep thinking of the questions that will cause the puncture, will ground us back into awkwardness, if not argument.
She doesn’t acknowledge any of this. To ask her, we are doing great. To ask her, Arbus is something that happened and is no longer happening. To ask her, we are in this together.
But still, I feel the loneliness. I feel the absence in the presence.
She notices. She has to notice. In her way—a way I am still learning—she tries to make amends. Not through disclosure, but trying to compensate for the lack of it. She brings flowers to my apartment, and instead of putting the whole bouquet in one vase, she leaves a flower in each room. We watch movies together. She stays over some nights. And in that intimacy, I can often forget. I can often lose the loneliness. But then I will wake up in the middle of the night. I will stare at her sleeping in the blue-dark. I will feel such tenderness . . . and I will also feel the pinpricks of all the things I am not saying.
She suggests we go to the park. She has to be at Millie’s in an hour, but there is still time for the park. I ask if she wants to invite Laurie along and she says no, this time is just for the two of us. I wonder if this means there’s something she wants to tell me. I wonder if she’s seen or learned anything more.
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