“So I’m basically a government spy now,” he summarized, blinking wildly behind the fishbowl-like lenses of his glasses.
“Wow!” Li said, and she gave her trademark little giggle—the one her mother had taught her to use whenever she needed to convince someone that she was nothing but a pretty, inconsequential little creature, as delicate and placid as a flower—and not even half as threatening.
“So what do you think?” Weston said, breathless with excitement. “Will you help me? Will you help me track down the pieces of the ring?”
Li smiled sweetly. “Of course, Wes. You know I’d do anything to help you,” she said.
Inwardly, she was laughing. Mother will be very pleased, she thought. And she stood and gave Weston a big, lingering hug, just to spin her web a little tighter.
* * *
On Sunday evening, Bran and Rick rolled back into Middleburg. Bran was pretty much wiped out from three days of intense training and was looking forward to gorging on a meal of his mom’s special spaghetti and flopping into his bed. But when he checked his voice mail, he found a disturbing message from his dad. The police had come by twice asking to talk to him. Rick checked his messages and found one from his father, too.
Two hours later, Bran sat in the waiting area of Jack Banfield’s office. He had showered, and he was now wearing a dress shirt and a tie that felt like it was choking him to death. Mr. Banfield, irritated that the local authorities dared to insinuate that his son might have done something wrong, had made his lawyer drive in from Topeka so the boys could make a statement. Rick was recording his now.
Bran looked down at his hands folded in his lap, and his grandfather’s admonition played through his mind once more: the truth always comes to light sooner or later. His grandpa had been a Korean War veteran and a staunch church-goer. He had taught Bran how to shoot a basketball, catch a football, and throw a punch. Before he’d passed away two years ago, he’d been Bran’s favorite person in the world, even though he’d lived back in Alabama and Bran didn’t see him much during his last few years. Still, he knew the old man would want him to tell the truth now—and that knowledge was eating him up. Because he also knew that his social life, his dad’s job, and maybe even his survival required him to lie. The conflict seemed to be tearing a hole in the pit of his stomach.
He heard the door open, and Banfield’s lawyer, a fat man with a catfish moustache and a gold pinky ring, invited him into the conference room. Bran took his seat and cleared his throat. Rick’s dad, seated on the other side of the table, gave him an encouraging nod. Rick was leaning back in the leather office chair with his big feet kicked up onto the table, checking basketball scores on his cell phone. The lawyer—Bran thought his name was Mr. Davis—coughed and then activated a small digital recorder sitting in the middle of the table. He rattled off the date and time, stated his name, and then asked Bran to state his name.
“All right, Bran. We’re going to get right down to business,” the lawyer rumbled. “On the night in question, did you see Rick Banfield harm Emory Van Buren in any way?”
A second passed, then two seconds. Bran could feel the sweat forming on his forehead, dripping down his temple, soaking through his shirt at the armpits. The lawyer leaned forward in his chair. Mr. Banfield’s eyes narrowed. Rick looked up from his phone.
For a moment, Bran was frozen. Finally, with a mighty effort, he cleared his throat. “No,” he said. “I didn’t see anything.”
Chapter 8
At noon on Monday, Maggie sat at her old table in the lunchroom, but she felt like she was in another world. Dalton had gone to Miss Pembrook’s room for a meeting of one of the numerous clubs she was in, and when Maggie had entered the cafeteria alone, Lisa Marie snagged her and led her over to her old place at the table where the cheerleaders and jocks always sat.
“We miss our Magsie!” she’d said sweetly, and Maggie knew resistance would be futile. It would invite more questions than she was willing to answer.
She looked around for Rick and found him at the far end of the table with his Topper crew. Lisa Marie, Bobbi Jean, and the other girls Maggie usually hung out with took up a big space in the middle, and Maggie was at the other end—as far from Rick as she could get. She hoped he wouldn’t notice her.
By now, Maggie had grown accustomed to the special gift of insight that had suddenly, instantly, filled her at the homecoming dance, when the queen’s crown was placed on her head. But it was more than insight. It was a special way of seeing what people were under the surface—what they were in their hearts, in the core of them. It was like she could see into their souls.
Lily Rose, Dalton’s grandmother, who had given her The Good Book to help her try to understand it, said that it was a good thing. Maggie wasn’t always so sure of that. She was getting used to it, but that didn’t necessarily make it easier, especially when she looked at her so-called boyfriend. That was when it was strongest—when she looked at Rick. More and more often he appeared to her as a hideous, malformed demon, but this morning had been the worst.
When Maggie saw him standing at his locker before homeroom, she’d almost run the other way. His hands were big and grotesque, his face was hard and crusty like a moss-covered tree trunk, and his teeth were jagged, shark-like, and dripping with blood, as if he’d disemboweled someone on his way to school. Maggie had heard the rumors that were spreading quickly around the school as everyone speculated about what had happened to that poor Flatliner, Emory Van Buren, who now lay in a coma in the hospital, but Maggie knew Rick was responsible.
Some students had set up a shrine in the hallway of the school in the spot they called Four Corners. At its center was a large picture of Emory, surrounded by candles, photos, cards, stuffed animals, and other mementoes. Principal Innis had ordered all the candles extinguished—it was a fire hazard or something—but from where she was sitting, Maggie could still see, through the plate-glass windows of the lunchroom, the glow that surrounded the memorial. Its energy, bright with the prayers and good wishes of so many kids and teachers, outshone even the brightest auras of any she’d seen that day.
All, that is, except the aura of Aimee Banfield, who was just entering the cafeteria. Aimee drifted between the crowded tables as if in a dream, oblivious to everyone around her. She took a seat at an empty table across the room. As she moved among them, the white, star-like radiance of her aura still shone brightly, as it had the first time Maggie had seen it; only now fluttering fissures of blackness—the spoils of Orias Morrow’s influence—shot through it like small flashes of morbid lightning, as if a storm were moving through her soul.
Rick’s little sister had undergone a total change since returning to Middleburg High the previous autumn. Her short, black-dyed hair was blond again and was growing out at a rate that made Maggie wonder if she’d gotten hair extensions. Her nails, which she used to nervously bite down to nothing, were now long and she had a perfect French manicure. She had replaced her jeans and T-shirts with dresses that had long, flowing skirts and delicate floral patterns, and every day a new diamond, sapphire, ruby, or emerald sparkled from her wrist, her finger, or her earlobes.
In some ways, Aimee seemed to have reverted to the girl she had been before the traumatic death of her old boyfriend Tyler and the subsequent breakdown that had prompted her father to send her away to a boarding school in Montana. In other ways, she seemed like a different person altogether.
Before all that—before Tyler had died, or had been murdered—Aimee had been part of Maggie’s crew and she and Maggie had been best friends. But when she came back to town, Aimee had forged a close friendship with Dalton—not that Maggie could blame her. She hadn’t been so nice to Aimee back then—and she really didn’t know why. Maybe she had been afraid of Aimee, afraid that the stories were true, and that Aimee had taken Tyler’s life, like everyone said.
Since Maggie had come in
to her new power, her special way of seeing people, she was no longer afraid—and she no longer believed that Aimee had killed Tyler. But Maggie’s gift, her new sense of strength, was no match for Orias, and Aimee had changed even more drastically since she’d started dating him. Now she was aloof and distant with everyone, even Dalton, and as unbelievable as it seemed, Aimee had even dumped Raphael Kain for Orias. Maggie couldn’t help being glad about that—she still couldn’t get that one kiss she had shared with Raphael out of her mind—but she didn’t feel good about seeing Aimee with that slick manipulator, Orias.
She wished now that she had interceded the day she saw Orias take Aimee’s hand, when he’d first infested her aura with the darkness of his incredibly magnetic energy. But now, it seemed, it was too late.
Maggie was lost in these thoughts (and half listening to Casey Swaddock ranting about her favorite reality show) when Zhai Shao came and took the seat across from her.
“Hey,” he said. “You got them?”
“Yeah. I’ve got them.”
Zhai glanced at the Topper girls sitting next to Maggie, as if afraid that they might overhear his conversation, but they were now engaged in a heated discussion about makeup. He relaxed as Maggie took a manila envelope from her purse and pushed it across the table to him. Inside were the shards of the ring she’d rescued from the tunnels, just before the Obies attacked.
“You still haven’t told me how you got away from them,” Zhai said as he folded the envelope carefully and put it in the inside breast pocket of his blazer.
“A girl has to keep her secrets, right?” she tried to joke but somehow it fell flat. Often now she felt that in Middleburg, the time for joking was over.
Zhai smiled and shook his head. “Wow, Maggie. You’re seriously the last person I would ever expect to be my ally in all this—but the way you’ve helped out, looking for Raphael, going with Master Chin and me to the Wheel, hiding the shards . . . thank you.”
“No problem,” Maggie said. “How is he? Master Chin?”
Zhai’s smile disappeared. “Lily Rose is working on him. I stayed there all night, using my energy—” Zhai seemed to catch himself. “You know, my prayers and good wishes—to help him. But I’m worried. I’m going there again after school, if you’d like to come by.”
Maggie nodded. “I’ll have to check with my mom first to make sure she doesn’t need anything, but yeah. Anything to help.” She picked at a piece of her turkey wrap and nibbled on it.
“I talked to Nass yesterday,” he continued. “We both think it’s really important to put all the pieces of the ring back together. It could help us get Raphael back.”
She gestured to Zhai’s coat, where the shards were safely tucked away in his breast pocket. “Mine is in there too,” she said. “If I can get my hands on any others, I’ll give them to you.”
Zhai nodded. “Thanks. I’m going to talk to Rick right now and call a Toppers meeting tonight, to get their shards back. Nass is going to call a meeting of the Flatliners, too.”
“Sounds good,” Maggie said.
“Just be careful, okay? As long as those Obies are out there, none of us is safe.” Zhai stood. “One of these days you’re going to tell me how you got away from those guys.”
“Never,” Maggie said with a smile. “I’ll take it to my grave.”
Zhai smiled. “Thanks again,” he said and headed over to Rick.
Good luck reasoning with—whatever he is now, Maggie thought with a shudder.
“Just who the hell does she think she is?” Bobbi Jean was saying resentfully, and Maggie followed her gaze to where Aimee was sitting alone.
“Look at me with my fake blond hair, I’m so cool I don’t even need friends,” Casey mocked, and Bobbi Jean and Lisa Marie laughed.
“Why don’t you guys shut up?” Maggie said sharply, and all three of them turned toward her, their eyes wide.
“What’s wrong with you?” Bobbie Jean asked.
“What’s wrong is that I’m sick of hearing you guys making fun of people,” Maggie snapped. “You want to judge somebody, judge yourselves.” She shouldered her purse, picked up her lunch tray, and walked away. Their stunned silence trailed behind her as she crossed the room and sat down across from Aimee Banfield.
* * *
It was three-thirty, and as the Flatliners invaded their usual booth in the back of Rack ’Em Billiards Hall, they had the place pretty much to themselves. Raphael had worked there before he disappeared, and it gave Nass an ache of sadness to see its familiar worn booths, the flashing pinball machine and the dark, polished wood of the bar, and know that his friend wasn’t there. Every time he turned around, he half expected Raph to burst through the big swinging door that led to the kitchen with a bus tub in his hand and a look of hardworking determination on his face. Every time he didn’t, Nass’s disappointment stung anew. As painful as it was, the Flatliners came to Rack ’Em even more often now than they had when Raphael was with them. Nass knew it made all of them feel closer to him to be there, in the place he’d loved so much.
Nass wished desperately that he was here now. The meeting hadn’t even begun, and already it wasn’t going well.
“I just want to sit on the outside, okay?” Benji carped at Josh.
“Quit being a baby. Move over and let me in,” Josh snapped.
“Just for that I’m not moving at all. You can drag a chair over,” Benji said, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Don’t be a jackass. Just scoot,” Josh said, pushing Benji. Benji pushed him back.
“Guys!” Nass said, unable to take it anymore. “Come on. We got important things to talk about. Benji, let Josh in. Josh, let Benji sit on the outside. He was there first. What’s the big deal?”
There was a general grumbling as everyone settled down.
Nass reminded himself to cut his friends some slack. They were all stressed out about everything that had happened: Raphael was gone, Emory was in a coma, and it seemed like every family in the Flats was getting evicted. He was stressed out too, Nass thought as he glanced at his phone. Today was the deadline for the eviction notice his family had received. His dad had gone down to the rental office one more time to try to fight it, but so far Nass hadn’t heard any news. When they were tossed out on the street, Emory’s family had been forced to watch a crew of Jack Banfield’s men throw all their stuff out into the front yard. The thought of going home and finding his mom, his dad, and Clarisse waiting on the lawn made him angry and afraid—but not knowing what was going on was even worse.
He exhaled sharply, trying to release all the pent-up frustration he was feeling, and plunged his cell phone back into his pocket.
“All right, let’s get this meeting started,” he said. It didn’t feel like much of a meeting. With Raph and Benji gone, it was just Nass, Beet, and across from them Josh and Emory. Four of them against the world.
“Okay, what’s the big news?” Josh asked irritably. He’d been closer to Emory than anyone, Nass knew, and he was taking the attack on their friend even harder than the rest of them. He was snapping at everyone, and Nass was finding his attitude increasingly hard to take. But he forced himself to be patient and began.
“I talked with Zhai yesterday,” Nass told them. He says those kung fu guys in the crazy hats—the Obies—they’re still around, and their leader is here now. He’s this bad dude named Feng Xu. They attacked Master Chin yesterday. He’s at Lily Rose’s house, and from what Zhai said, he’s barely alive.”
The guys reacted to this news with a mixture of shock, rage, and despair. Nass understood what they must be feeling. If Chin couldn’t defend himself against the Obies, the Flatliners wouldn’t stand a chance.
“What are you saying?” Josh asked. “You think it was the Obies that attacked Emory?”
Nass shook his head. “I don’t thin
k so. The knowing tells me it wasn’t them . . . anyway, there’s more. Remember those government guys who stopped Emory’s building from being torn down? They’re here looking for Feng Xu. And Feng Xu—he’s looking for the shards of the ring.”
Beet frowned. “But—it’s broken. Why would they want it?”
“Chin and Zhai think that it still has some powers,” Nass said quietly. “They think that if we put all the pieces together we’ll be able to bring Raph back.”
Beet’s and Benji’s faces lit up, but Josh didn’t look impressed.
“Look, Nass. I’ve been biting my tongue for a long time with this magic crap, but don’t you think enough is enough? I mean, we’ve got real problems to deal with. Somebody almost killed our friend. Emory is in Benton right now barely hanging on to his life, Raph is gone, Chin is almost dead, and we’re sitting here scheming about how to gather up the pieces of a magic crystal? Come on, it’s ridiculous.”
“I know it sounds nuts, but think about the way Raphael disappeared,” Nass said. “Think about that crazy, ghostly train, man. Whether we want to accept it or not—whether we even believe it—there’s supernatural stuff going on here. Now, we need to get Raphael back, and we think we can do it. All you guys have to do is give me your pieces of the ring. Zhai is gathering up the pieces the Toppers have, then we’re going to put them together and—”
“Stop right there!” Josh interrupted, outraged. “You’re just going to hand our pieces of the ring over to Zhai?”
“No—I’m not giving them to him,” Nass said. “I’m going to hold on to ours, he’s going to have the ones from the Toppers, and then we’re going to put them together.”
“I see,” Josh said. “And has it ever occurred to you that it might be kind of a stupid idea to trust the leader of our enemies, when he and his friends just beat Emory into a coma?”
Nass closed his eyes for a second, focusing his energy on staying calm. “Josh, I think if Raph were here—”
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