Ick.
Scarlet shoved her last thought aside and concentrated on her locker combination.
“Hey,” Gabriel said, coming up beside her.
Scarlet stopped fiddling with the lock in her hand and turned to face Gabriel. She breathed a silent sigh of relief when she found him pleasant-looking. And not I-want-to-kill-Tristan looking.
“Hey,” Scarlet looked at Gabriel’s handsome face.
“So, listen—”
“I wanted to—”
“Go ahead.” Scarlet tucked her lips in.
Gabriel took a deep breath. “Sorry about last night. I kinda freaked out. But I don’t want things to be weird. I just want things to be….”
“Easy?” Scarlet gave a small smile. “Simple?”
Gabriel nodded. “Yeah.”
Scarlet lifted up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Me too.”
Gabriel smiled. “Let’s just forget about it.”
Scarlet pressed a smile to her face. That was wishful thinking.
There was no way she would be able to forget about the deep sorrow Tristan had felt last night. Or the way she’d responded to the thought of breaking his heart.
Heather ran up to them, out of breath and holding a to-go cup from The Millhouse.
Scarlet and Gabriel stepped away from one another as Scarlet eyed Heather’s cup. “Can’t you just make your own coffee at home?”
“Why would I do that when I can get Clare’s special brew for free?” Heather took a sip. “But traffic this morning was insane. I had to drive like a maniac to get to school on time.”
Scarlet raised a brow. “Yeah, that’s what this town needs. You driving crazier than usual.”
Heather ignored Scarlet and took another sip. “So, are we still on for Mr. Brooks’ house today?
“Shh,” Gabriel scolded. “I thought we agreed not to talk about…stuff...so loudly at school.” He looked around.
Heather whispered, “Because we’re on a super secret team?”
Gabriel gave her an annoyed look. “We are not a team.”
Scarlet played with her lock until she finally remembered the combination. She opened it and started switching out her books before turning to Gabriel. “Laura knows about Tristan.”
“What do you mean?”
Scarlet finished in her locker and slammed it closed. “She knows Tristan’s name. And I know, for a fact, I’ve never told her his name.”
Heather’s eyebrows shot up.
Gabriel furrowed his brow. “That’s weird.”
Scarlet’s heart rate picked up a notch. “How would she know about Tristan?” She looked at Heather. “Did you tell her?”
Heather made a face. “Of course not. Laura and I only talk about one thing: Shoes. Is Tristan shoes? No.”
Scarlet bit her lip. “Then how does Laura know his name?”
Gabriel shook his head. “I looked into Laura again and everything checks out. Maybe you said Tristan’s name before and you just don’t remember.”
“Maybe,” Scarlet said.
Not.
Kristy Stevens walked past them, dressed in her cheerleading uniform, and smiled at Gabriel.
Heather curled a lip at the blond girl. “Doesn’t she have something better to do? Like curl her hair or chant Go-Fight-Win or something?”
Scarlet looked at Heather. “You’re so sensitive.”
Heather pointed her coffee cup at Scarlet. “I’m not sensitive, I’m just sick of Kristy making oogly eyes at Gabriel any and every chance she gets.”
“Oogly eyes?” Gabriel leaned against the lockers.
Heather narrowed her eyes. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, Gabriel. You and your immortal hotness hang around this school like sexy fly paper and Kristy Stevens is just one, giant, cheerleading fly.”
The bell rang and students in the hall began to scatter.
Heather finished her coffee. “See you guys after school.” She headed to her first class.
Gabriel turned to Scarlet with puzzled eyes. “Did Heather just call me sexy fly paper?”
“She did.”
“Huh.”
Scarlet leaned her head against her locker and groaned.
“Hey.” Gabriel pulled her into a hug. “Don’t worry about Laura. I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for why she knows Tristan’s name.”
Scarlet nodded, still worried.
He gave Scarlet a kiss on the cheek. “See you after first period?”
Scarlet nodded as Gabriel left for his first class and she headed to chemistry.
Or, as Scarlet liked to call it, the most annoying class of the day.
34
After school, Team Awesome—a name Heather and Nate decided on after a lively discussion that included both name-calling and pinching—headed to Mr. Brooks’ house. The dark, gray sky above held a promise of rain and the wind carried the scent of a storm on its back.
Heather drove everyone in her tiny car, talking a million miles a minute about possible places the fountain could be. She was very excited about being part of Team Awesome.
After a few near-death experiences during the ride there—thank you, Heather—Gabriel, Nate, Scarlet and Heather finally arrived at the end of Peach Drive, Mr. Brooks’ street.
Peach Drive was a neglected cul-de-sac lined with empty lots and a single, old house. Scarlet had never been to Peach Drive, partly because she’d had no reason to venture to the east side of Avalon before. But also because people in town claimed the house on Peach Drive was haunted.
Heather had failed to mention that Mr. Brooks lived in said haunted house.
After parking, everyone slowly exited Heather’s small car. The boys stretched their backs and necks as they unfolded their large bodies from the vehicle.
“Remind me never to go on a road trip with you,” Nate said to Heather.
Heather made a face at him as she grabbed the plate of cookies she’d made and shut the car door behind her. Making their way across the street, they all stopped on the sidewalk in front of Mr. Brooks’ yard.
None of them spoke as they looked up at the old house.
“So….” Scarlet shifted her eyes to her friend. “You forgot to mention that Mr. Brooks’ house looks like something from a horror movie.”
The house stood three stories tall, with cracked and peeling paint coating the withered black boards of the frame. In the winter wind, the old house creaked and groaned. Shutters, hung at jagged angles from windows, slapped against the house and cobwebs littered the window corners and siding.
An empty rocking chair swayed on the shadowed front porch. Sure, the wind was probably responsible for the chair’s idle rocking. But it was still creepy.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Heather scoffed. “I thought you guys wanted help finding the fountain. I didn’t realize Mr. Brooks’ living arrangements were going to be an issue.”
“They’re not an issue.” Scarlet tried not to shiver in the February weather. “I’ve just never been to a haunted house before.”
“It’s not haunted. It’s just…old,” Heather said.
Gabriel stepped beside Heather. “And the guy who lives here has a valuable collection of historic materials?”
She nodded. “He’s, like, filthy rich or something.”
The wind kicked and a broken shutter fell from one of the top windows, hitting the porch roof with a crack before breaking into pieces and dropping to the ground.
Nate said, “It doesn’t look like he spends his money on home repairs.”
Scarlet twisted her lips. “Where does he get his money?”
Heather said, “He used to own most of downtown Avalon. Everything from the bookstore to The Millhouse. But he lost his money somehow.”
“So, h
e’s not wealthy?” Nate jumped a little as a loud crack of thunder broke through the dark afternoon sky and a howl of damp wind swept past them.
Perfect weather for a haunting.
Heather shook her head. “The rumor is that he sold something pretty valuable a few months ago and got a lot of cash for it. So he’s rich again.”
“Huh.” Scarlet eyed the dilapidated house.
“Whatever. Let’s go.” After glancing at the dark clouds looming above, Heather lifted her chin and squared her shoulders, leading the four of them up a questionable set of steps to the front door.
The doorknocker was a gargoyle head with a ring in its mouth.
Not spooky at all.
Heather lifted the large ring and knocked three times, the sound reverberating up and down the rickety porch.
One minute, then two, passed in silence before the front door slowly creaked open, with no one on the other side.
Another crack of thunder boomed, this time louder than before, and the rocking chair began to rock faster as the wind raced past them.
Pursing her lips, Scarlet whispered to Heather, “Are you kidding me?” Goosebumps that had nothing to do with the weather rose on Scarlet’s skin.
Heather put a finger up to her lips and motioned for Scarlet to be quiet. “Mr. Brooks?” she called into the dark house, using her sweetest voice. “It’s Heather Baxter, sir. I brought some cookies.”
Scarlet saw Gabriel shift uncomfortably, Nate standing a foot or so behind him.
“Heather?” said a quick, sharp voice coming from the dark house. Without a face attached to the voice, it sounded like the old house was speaking to them.
Which wouldn’t have surprised Scarlet at all.
“Yes, sir.” Heather put on a big smile.
A head covered in wild tufts of thick, white hair popped out from behind the door.
Mr. Brooks.
He wore thick spectacles, which made his eyes look larger than they probably were and his chaotic hair stuck out from his skull in haphazard triangles.
He looked like a more frazzled version of Albert Einstein.
Or, at least, the head of Einstein. He had yet to slide the rest of his body out from behind the open door.
His big eyes searched beyond the kids on his porch, looking around the neighborhood suspiciously.
Like his house wasn’t the creepiest thing on the street.
“The storm comes,” he said quickly, his eyes darting to the four people standing on his porch. “You brought visitors. Three of them.”
“These are my friends. We’ve come to see if you would be so gracious as to let us look through some of your old town records.” She held out the plate of cookies in her hand. “I brought treats.”
Mr. Brooks shifted his eyes across Scarlet, Nate and Gabriel, before returning them to Scarlet.
He stared at her for a long time.
So…creepy….
Mr. Brooks released his gaze and swiftly stepped out from behind the door. His tall body was lean and covered in a thin, green bathrobe as he stood before them with a cane in his hand.
“What an interesting request.” Mr. Brooks didn’t look at the cookies. “Yes, a very interesting request.”
He was an older gentleman, but he moved like a mischievous kid, quick and sneaky, as he leaned out from the entryway and peered around. “Yes, yes. The storm comes,” he said again.
He spoke quickly, his words clipped and over-enunciated, and his big eyes—which, Scarlet realized, were naturally large and only made slightly bigger by his glasses—were very shifty.
And they shifted back to Scarlet.
Heather swallowed. “We would be in and out quickly, sir. We just wanted to see if you had anything from the town’s founding days. Maps…journals….”
“Hmm.” Mr. Brooks yanked his eyes away from Scarlet and looked at everyone else. “Such a request seems odd from so young a group.” He tapped his cane three quick times on the wooden floor of the house. “Very odd. Very odd.”
Heather laughed nervously. “Yes, well. That’s us. Odd.”
Rain started to fall from the heavy clouds above, lightly tapping against the porch roof.
Twitching his lips and shifting his eyes, Mr. Brooks said, “I will let you in and give you access to what you seek. But,” he raised his cane and pointed it right at Gabriel, “information can be deadly.” He poked the cane out a bit further, jabbing it a few times. “You remember that.”
Gabriel stepped back with raised eyebrows.
Swinging his cane back inside, Mr. Brooks tapped it on the floor again. “Hup, hup! Follow me.” He spun around and quickly disappeared down a black hallway to the right.
Hup, hup?
For a moment, nobody moved. The light tapping of rain on the roof turned to soft thudding as the storm picked up.
Nate leaned over and whispered to Gabriel, “Dude, this is the perfect setting for a murder. And Mr. Brooks doesn’t seem entirely…stable.”
“Shh,” Gabriel nudged him.
Heather stepped into the haunted house and looked back at everyone. “Well…come on.” She turned and headed into the house, following Mr. Brooks into darkness.
Scarlet went next, followed by Gabriel, and then Nate, each of them walking into the black.
***************
Gabriel had to physically restrain himself from swatting at the back of his neck. The nerves that kept crawling up his spine felt more like spiders than chills and he was almost certain a rat had just scurried across his shoe.
A rat.
Thunder sounded outside and the dark walls of the house rumbled in response.
The hallway they walked down was dark and dusty, and seemed to get narrower with every step. Cobwebs hung from the corners of the ceiling and dust covered the doorknobs of every closed room they passed.
Shelves lined the hallway, covered in more dust and cobwebs and…mounted owls? Gabriel looked closely at the figures on the shelves.
Yep.
Lots and lots of stuffed and mounted owls.
They looked alive. Their beady eyes and scaly talons were permanently frozen into place and strategically perched on fake sticks and clay rocks.
Their glassy eyes seemed to follow Gabriel as he moved forward behind Scarlet. He couldn’t make out much ahead except for Mr. Brooks’ big, white hair.
The hallway came to an abrupt end and Mr. Brooks whipped around, tapping his cane into the floorboards so hard Gabriel felt the vibration come up through his shoes.
Everyone froze, except Nate who plowed into Gabriel from behind with a yelp.
Gabriel pursed his lips as he looked back at a wide-eyed Nate and whispered. “What is your deal?”
Nate whispered, “I hate being last,” and nervously looked behind himself.
Gabriel shook his head as faced forward.
“What I’m about to show you,” Mr. Brooks began, speaking fast, “is my private collection of materials from the last few hundred years. I would appreciate it if you would handle everything with care. And be careful not to sneeze. Moisture is bad for books.”
Sure.
No sneezing. Got it.
Mr. Brooks turned back around and, for the first time, Gabriel noticed a tall, thin, wooden door with a brass handle hidden in the dusty shadows at the end of the hallway.
Mr. Brooks really needed to invest in some light bulbs.
And a cleaning crew.
And maybe an exterminator.
With an ominous creeeak, Mr. Brooks slowly pushed open the door. A sliver of light spilled into the hallway and Gabriel strained his neck to see what was beyond the door.
A tall flight of stairs leading down into a lit room.
With Nate behind him, Gabriel followed Scarlet, who followed Heather, who followed Mr. Brooks do
wn the stairs.
One at a time, they descended into the light, until all five of them had reached Mr. Brooks’ cellar.
Or, rather, the most impressive personal library Gabriel had ever seen.
***************
Scarlet could barely believe her eyes.
The cellar looked nothing like the house upstairs. Well-lit and vast, the room was delightful and not spooky at all.
Divided into three sections, it was separated by several thick pillars rising from the floor.
On the far left stood rows and rows of books. Old books, new books, big books, tiny books…books everywhere.
In the center, there was a giant square table made of wood, with thick legs, a glass top, and enough room for three chairs to fit comfortably at each side.
And on the right side of the cellar was a collection of maps. Some hung on walls, some were laid out on podiums and others were rolled up and shelved like books.
Hundreds of bare light bulbs were strung from the ceiling at different heights. All different shapes and sizes, each bulb gave off a different glow making it look like the cellar was lit with hundreds of unique, round stars.
It was…sorta beautiful.
“Can I have your names?” Mr. Brooks’ voice was loud and crisp.
Heather blinked apologetically. “Oh, yes. Of course. This is Nate,” Nate waved, “and Gabriel,” Gabriel did not wave, “And this is Scarl—”
With lightning fast movement, Mr. Brooks was in Scarlet’s face, his nose an inch away from hers. He spoke low and precise, his spectacled eyes examining her. “I don’t know what magic this is,” he looked her up and down, “but if you have come for the Bluestone weapons, you have wasted your time. I no longer have them.”
Everyone stared at Scarlet with parted lips and confused expressions.
“Uh….” Scarlet took a small step back, severely perplexed. “I’m not sure I know—”
“What did you do with them?” Gabriel asked with a curious look.
Mr. Brooks spun around. “They are gone! Out of my hands. I sold them to the red woman.”
“The red woman?” Gabriel asked carefully.
“Yes, I made a fortune!” Mr. Brooks tapped his cane a few times.
Awry (The Archers of Avalon, Book Two) Page 17