by Jill Nojack
Robert stands, and I turn to leave, but I turn back when he says my name quietly. I turn and look into his red-rimmed eyes, then look away, uncomfortable as always with emotion.
"Tom, I wanted to say…I know Kevin earned your dislike, but…"
I cut him off. I can't deal with this. Soppy man emotion—no way. I do my best to sound adult about it. "Robert, I can't imagine what it feels like to lose a son. I don't know what to say to you." I pause to push back the selfish worry that's beginning to surface. "I'd understand if you didn't want me around right now."
"No, Tom. This doesn't change anything. I was going to tell you that I'll do my best to put aside my pain and stay focused on this so that we don't lose Cassie, too." His voice breaks, then he regains control. "Cassie's a good girl. Kevin was…damn it, you know what he was. But I was only starting to come to grips with that. I'd hoped, with time…"
I dip my eyes, ashamed that I was only thinking of me.
"The box, Tom. Did you get close enough to see the box?"
"Yeah, it…" And then a flash of memory comes to me, pictured the way that Cat sees the world. "It could have been the twin of the one Eunice put in the attic, except it was a little bigger, I think, and it was painted differently. But it had the same symbols Eunice taught me: life, death, rebirth."
"So, it's a box to preserve him somehow? She preserved Kevin's life?" His expression turns suddenly hopeful.
"I don't think so, man." His expression falls again. "I don't mean to be harsh, but don't get your hopes up. What she did to him wasn't gentle. I'm pretty sure she used him for something the box needed."
Robert sits back down, and I take the chair across from him, leaning forward onto my arms, working to bring the fuzzy cat memory of the box into focus. "Cat saw something once that didn't really register with me at the time. Probably because I was more focused on the bedspread fringe than on what Eunice was doing. But I saw her take a box out of the heating vent above her bed a few months ago."
"So, that was the box she had when…"
"No, that was the one she took to the attic. The one that got Cassie. When she came back from the attic, she looked almost joyous, despite having to lay down almost immediately, saying she felt ill." I don't mention it was probably due to a little something extra in her tea that made her weak and sick after a meeting with Kevin.
"How does that help us?"
"Well, first, it helps us by pointing out that I'm a jerk for not remembering it sooner. Because if she's hiding the boxes in the house, I bet that's where she put them. I could have had them the first time I went there, I could have…."
I stop myself: bad timing. I don't need to tell Robert that if I'd latched onto Cat's memory sooner his son might still be alive. What do they say? Hindsight is 20/20? "I have to get in there again. Because I think I know where to look." I stand and lean over, put my hand on his shoulder. "I'm doing this for Cassie, but I'm also doing it for you now, to help you avenge Kevin."
He still looks rough when he answers, but his voice is stronger, calmer. "I could lure her away from the shop again. We just need a better plan than last time. I couldn't hold her interest long enough."
"We need to get her farther away so she can't get back so fast." I snap my fingers with a flourish and finish the move with a well-executed point. "You know what she really wants, right?"
"Other than to destroy us all?"
"She wants me."
I can tell he's surfin' my waves when the corners of his mouth turn up in a faint, sad smile.
From behind a sheltering trash can, I watch Robert and the Cassie-thing shove a set of large bags into the back hatch of his SUV. "Thanks, Cass. I feel a hundred years old since they discovered Kevin's body. I'm useless. I can't believe I have to have a tiny girl help me with my packages. Sorry I couldn't find a spot on the other side of the street."
The thing that calls herself Anat smiles her version of a Cassie-smile. It never touches her eyes. It barely moves her stolen lips. "Think nothing of it. It must be so difficult for you. Was he your only child?"
"He was. His mother died shortly after he was born. I never remarried." Robert's face falls with true grief. I hate putting him through this.
He watches Cassie walk back across the street to the shop and waits until she hits the sidewalk to call to her, "Cass, by the way. I'm planning a remembrance, something simple. I hope you'll attend?" His hand rests on the pop-up hatch, ready to close it.
She turns and calls back, a look of annoyance showing plainly on her face until she manages to hide it, "Sure, I'll be there. Just let me know."
That's my cue. The Cassie-thing's eyes are drawn by Cat when I dart out from behind my shelter, dash down the sidewalk, and leap easily into the back of the vehicle behind Robert's back just before he slams the hatch shut. In the same smooth gesture, he slides a set of headphones up over his ears and heads quickly for the driver's side door which he'd left open for a fast escape. It goes just as smooth as when we'd rehearsed it. An unusual amount of traffic roars across her path as Anat tries to get to the SUV before Robert drives away. The choir members do a great job running interference. It's like a used-car ballet.
Finally, she runs into the street with her hand held up against the traffic and the driver of the car barely manages to stop as the one behind rear-ends it, causing it to slide forward a foot before it halts inches away from her.
Too late. Robert's SUV is moving. I stretch up and press Cat's paws against the back window so I can look her right in the face as it goes.
***
Robert's car flies around the corner where the road ends at Giles Woods, tires beneath it squealing, then he flings open the car door so Cat can dart out. I get to the tree line, where I turn and watch him slam the door and peel out, headphones still on his head, and his eyes searching the rear view mirror for Cassie's vehicle. It should have taken the Cassie-thing only a few minutes to get to the back of the shop and start out after him.
Natalie had applied a magical limiter to Cassie's economy car only that morning. The best "Cassie" is going to be able to do in it is 55 miles an hour, but the thing inside of Cassie has no way of knowing that isn't the usual speed the car can achieve. Eunice had never driven it. Eunice had, in fact, seldom driven at all, not even the well-maintained station wagon from the seventies she'd kept parked behind the shop and sometimes had her staff use for deliveries.
Robert will step it up to 56 miles per hour when he sees Cassie's car rounding the corner behind him. It should be easy for him to stay in sight so that she can follow him, but with the headset still on his head, he won't have to respond if she honks her horn or tries to signal him some other way. If he manages to lose her and can't get her back by slowing down, he'll shoot me off a text. There are things that could go wrong, but at least helping me plot it all out had perked Robert up.
When I see Cassie's car pass me, I head through the woods on my way back to town. I push back the image of Cassie, furious, at the wheel. That isn't Cassie.
But it will be.
I swear Cat is grinning as he looks out the back window of Robert's SUV. Taunting me, daring me to catch him.
I race to the back of the house and back into the alley, then zoom along with the gravel showering out from under my wheels. When I get to the cross street, I lay on the horn and drive straight through without stopping. Wheels squeal to the side but my course stays true. When a horn blares, I raise a hand from the wheel to give the other driver a very human, one-finger salute.
After I turn the corner where the road runs out at the edge of Corey Woods heading toward the freeway to Boston, Robert is right in front of me. I'll be able to catch him, even if he makes it to the highway before I do.
Damn this car! I'm hitting top speed at fifty-five miles per hour? I'd have been better off with Eunice's antique. Robert is just far enough in front of me that I can't get his attention. I lay on the horn, but he's wearing some headset contraption. He's oblivious. I've got the pedal to the
floor, but this piece of junk doesn't respond.
Finally! A full hour outside of Giles and nearly past Boston, he exits the freeway to pull into a gas station and park at a pump. I roll into the bay behind him. He's got his headset off now, and I call to him as he heads into the station to pay.
He looks surprised to see me. "Oh, hello Cass. I didn't know you were traveling today, too. I'm headed for Hartford. You?"
"I was following you." I try to work my lips into a friendly smile, but I know they're tight with anger. "I tried to get your attention back in Giles, but you didn't notice. Cat jumped into your SUV just before you took off. I need to get in there. He's been gone a long time. I was afraid if he got out at the end of your trip, I'd never see him again."
Robert cocks his head to the side and raises an eyebrow. "Oh, that was Cat? I'm sorry, I had no idea. I let him out before I left Giles. I would have returned him to you if I'd known. There are so many black cats around town. The blasted thing crawled right up in the front seat and startled the bejesus out of me."
"Where exactly did you let him out?"
"Just on the edge of Corey Woods. Close to the road leading to the choir grounds. I'm sure he'll come home soon."
I don't have time for his platitudes. I need to get back to Giles and Corey Woods. I hustle back to the car and peel out of the station as fast as this rotten car will let me.
Few would notice the arc of blue sparks that leap from Gillian's fingertips to the doorknob as she reaches for it and turns. What had been locked is now unlocked, and I slip through, giving her a wink as she heads off in the other direction, her part in our caper done for now.
With Natalie's skinny keister settled on the bench in the front of the store, and Gillian keeping lookout from a hidden spot in the backyard of the store next door, we've got every approach covered. Nat's prepared with concerns about tainted teas to delay Eunice if she returns unexpectedly, and there's no way I'm dropping my phone this time.
I travel quickly to Eunice's bedroom, hoping I'm right about where I'll find the box. When I get there, I realize I haven't got anything to remove the screws from the vent cover. I'm a screw-up. A spaz. All the planning, and I can't get a tiny detail like this right.
No, the lingerie drawer. I always wondered why she left a screwdriver there. I rush to the dresser, and there it is. Still a creature of Eunice's habits.
I bolt back across the room, climb on the headboard, and twist away the screws. I have to hunch slightly while I work because I'm too tall to stand up straight on the headboard shelf, but I can see something shoved into the vent. I can't help but ask for a small blessing: dear Goddess, let it be what we need to get my Cassie free.
With the screws removed and safely stowed in my jeans pocket, I pry the vent off and look inside. It's not even a real vent, it's just a storage space. There are two boxes there, the one I'd seen before in the attic, and a similar one in brighter colors that has to be the one I'd seen at the ritual grounds. They sit side by side.
I grab for one of them. It takes me a moment to react to the pain when the surface of the box goes from room temperature to intense heat in an instant. Then, instinct kicks in, and I pull my hand back, putting my burned fingers in my mouth to wet them and put out the fire. It doesn't help much. A more expressive man would scream.
Not good. I look back into the vent and the box has a definite glow about it, a warning. The other box looks dull. I have to try. I risk the unburned fingers on my left hand with a quick touch. They come away without further injury. Throwing caution to the wind, I grab the box and pull it out of the vent. The other box is obviously active in some way that this one is not.
I tuck it into the canvas bag slung over my shoulder and try to focus on a plan B for the other box through the haze of throbbing pain that keeps biting down on my fingers.
I haul ass to the kitchen and dig into the back of one of the drawers for an oven mitt. It's an older, worn one that Eunice and I hadn't used for quite a while. The chance of her noticing it missing is small.
I get back up to the bedroom and the box has stopped glowing, but I'm not taking any chances. I grasp the box in the mitt, and the surface starts to glow again with heat. The mitt starts to smoke. It's not going to work. I pull it back out of the vent and spit on the smoldering glove to stop the burn, then shove it into my bag to remove the evidence. I'm out of ideas on how I can grab the box without alerting Eunice when she returns. Tongs? No. I could probably grab it fine, but if it will burn the mitt, it will burn the bag when I put it in there. And who knows what else will happen if I get it out of here? For now, it stays.
I've at least got the one. That has to be worth something.
I replace the vent and screws with my clumsy but unburned left hand. It's an effort, but I manage.
I slip down the stairs for my getaway.
And then slip quickly back up to move the screwdriver from the nightstand back to the lingerie drawer.
I nearly gave myself away.
***
"All right, Tom?" Gillian asks, as I walk toward her, hanging on tight to the canvas bag I wear cross-body over my shoulders. I don't care if Eunice does show up. I'm not letting go until it's safely stored someplace she'd never think to look. I keep my burned hand hidden because I don't want anything to distract Gillian from our plan. It's difficult, though, because it still feels like I'm toasting my fingers on a stick for s'mores.
"Yeah, I'm good. Let's get Nat and go. I have to get back to take care of something after we drop this off." I keep my burned hand curled in so that she can't see the redness and blisters.
After Gillian checks that the coast is clear up front, we walk out of the alley and pick up Nat, then continue along the street to the Giles Gallery of Modern Art, where we quickly step inside. Dash Simmons, the proprietor, locks the door behind us and we hustle in.
"Come along, come along," he says, leading us into a back room. Once there, he lifts up the end of an area rug, exposing a pull ring in the wooden floor. He pulls up and a hatch opens, revealing a narrow staircase. The stairs are lit with a series of small inset lights at each step.
"Well, go down, if you're going," he urges. "I don't want the entrance exposed any longer than necessary."
I go first and the others follow behind. Simmons comes down last, flipping on a light switch near the top of the stairs before he pulls the hatch closed.
At the bottom of the stairs, we enter a small, cement chamber. Simmons skims by us, close to the wall, to get around in front and input the door code to unlock the heavy steel door that is the only feature of the room.
The door opens on a larger room with one small easel in the center. A comfortable-looking recliner chair sits directly in front of it. I've been here once before as Cat when I was spying for Eunice. Dash had no idea that letting a friendly cat into the cellar would cause him so much trouble. Just another one of the things I did for Eunice that I feel guilty about. Of course, he has no idea what it cost him.
"Oh my…is that?" Gillian asks.
"It most definitely is! The yellows and the greens, those bold strokes!" Nat exclaims. She moves up close to the painting. "During the war, I presume?"
"Yes. My family should have given it back when it was all over, but…" He shrugs. "No one can get in here. The walls are too thick. When Robert called to arrange this, he said he'll forgive my debt if I let you stow your item here. I could own my gallery outright again. And none of you will tell about the painting?"
I nod. "I know it's hard to believe, but Robert…yes, he'll deed it back to you after we pick the box up. He's already signed the transfer papers and put them into his safety deposit box at the bank in case anything happens to him before that time arrives. And you have my word for all of us, too. This room stays a secret."
I remove the precious box from my bag and set it down on the reading table that sits next to the viewing chair. "There," I say. "That's what we need to protect."
Simmons eyeballs the box for a moment
. "Egyptian. Quite old. Not my era, mind you. But an interesting piece. Fired clay? It should be fine in the vault. It was built for only one item, but it's temperature and moisture regulated."
"And warded as of early this morning," Natalie adds.
"Yes, and warded, whatever that means. I assume it has something to do with the mysterious city choir I've always done my best not to know too much about." He motions toward the door to shepherd us out. "If you absolutely need to access it, you can contact me at home or at the shop. But I won't have all of you going in and out all the time. Do you hear? I won't have it."
He glances anxiously at the painting, being a good mother hen to his illicit chick. His mini-Dali mustache trembles at the corners. I'm sure he anticipates a flock of visitors day and night now that we know what's down here, but the last thing anyone wants is Eunice noticing that any member of our little gang has suddenly developed an unusual interest in art.
I do my best to reassure him, working to control my voice as my fingers throb. "You've got nothing to worry about. We'll be back one time, and when we come for it, there have to be at least two of us on the phone call—and Robert is included in the group. Same thing for when we arrive to pick it up. If only one of us calls or shows, or anyone else is with us, you don't know what the hell he or she is talking about. And never, I mean never, mention it to Cassie. Or anybody else for that matter. And me? You don't even know me, man."
His mustache stops quivering as he nods his head. That's good. Because he can't be walking around anxious. Eunice always had a way of sniffing out when someone was hiding something. I'll bet that spider sense followed Eunice right into Cassie's body instead of dying with her.
"Just one more thing. We need a couple of pictures of the box before we go." I pull the phone Gillian insists I carry out of my back-pocket with my good hand, but it will take both of them to manage a photo. I fumble with buttons for a while, my blistered fingers shooting streams of agony up my arm as I try to figure out how to turn the camera on, but it's a blasted mystery. I'll never get why modern folks need to carry an entire Sears electronics department around with them. I curse the device out firmly but softly under my breath.