He smiled. "Your mother's trying to take me off white sugar, but that's as far as it goes. Tell me about this fight Robert was in."
"Oh, one of the new beekeepers attacked him. Smashed his car's side window."
"Any idea why?"
"He claimed they were brothers."
"Hmm." Dad rubbed his beard. "Did Robert contradict it?"
"No, he just took off."
Dad sat with his head bowed for a minute. Then he met my eyes. "I spoke to Malachi Seren. He confirmed that Robert is his brother. Malachi also an ex-convict."
Malevolent.
"What, did he murder somebody?"
"He didn't say. But he assured me that he'll be on his best behavior from now on. I want you to stay away from him, all right?"
"Okay, Dad." Those Freddy Krueger gloves flashed through my memory. "I feel too crummy to go out, anyway."
I showed Dad the puzzle box, and we griped about Robert for a few minutes. He advised me to cut it off now, or sooner, if possible. Then Dad left, and I stared out the window.
Mal was an ex-con. Now he raised bees and looked like a vampire. I mused on our meeting, and his fight with Robert. I'm always analyzing the feeling people give me--they say you can trust your intuition about first impressions. Robert had always exasperated me at some level. Something about him felt fake.
But Mal had felt ... honest. Lonely. Hidden. If he was dangerous, he had buried it.
Yet Mal was the one who had gone to prison, and who had attacked Robert. It didn't make sense.
As the light was fading, I found the next trigger for the puzzle box. A panel pushed in and slid up, freeing the slip of paper. It was old and yellowed, with a dab of brown glue on the back.
Written in flowing script was the message, "Property of Malachi Seren. If found, please return to the following address," with an address in Pennsylvania.
Wait. Robert had given me Mal's puzzle box? So it must not have an engagement ring inside. Probably money, or papers, or whatever people stashed inside puzzle boxes.
I read the paper over and over, and tried to reason things out. Mal was dangerous. Stay away. But Robert must have stolen this and given it to me, for whatever reason. If they were brothers, was this something they'd had as kids? Or had Robert stolen it today?
I ran a finger along a wavy silver line. Mal would probably want this back. But how could I explain how I had it? What if he thought I'd stolen it?
Girl found murdered in orchard by ex-convict.
I shivered, and envisioned those clawed gloves flashing at my face. That'd save me the trouble of breaking up with Robert, all right.
I slipped the puzzle box under my bed. It was getting dark, and I wasn't leaving the house tonight. Maybe tomorrow I'd give it to Dad to return to Mal. Easy solution.
But what if he went after Dad instead?
Mal
After my ill-timed confrontation with my brother, I took a walk around Blossom Ranch.
It was a mixed farm, with acres of almond trees in rows, blueberries like orderly shrubbery, a strawberry field under black plastic, and other crops that had not yet emerged from winter stasis. Many corners had been planted in wild flowers, now only bright green leaves quivering with rabbits.
While difficult for a smaller, mixed farm to survive financially, its existence supported the continued life of native pollinators, such as butterflies and moths. My bees would thrive here.
As I walked back to converse with my bees, a pain shot through my insides. I fell to my hands and knees, and clutched my chest, expecting a bullet wound, but there was nothing. A heart attack?
No. Death had touched my soul.
Blackness swirled into my mind--thoughts of death, anguish and grief. And hot, blind hatred. So much hatred. The tide caught me unprepared, and I struggled to regain my mental balance. I thought I had conquered this years ago--why was it happening now?
The realization struck me like a club to the skull. An enemy had touched the puzzle box.
Rage flooded me, complementing the hate. I leaped to my feet and ran like a bolt of lightning across three fields and the almond orchards.
The beehives awaited me like a small city of uniform white buildings, and my own stood among them, decorated with gaudy colors. Among them was my concealed trunk.
The lid was closed, but as I bent over it, Robert's stench struck me in the face. I opened it, but I already knew what I would find.
The puzzle box was gone.
I fought the urge to roar aloud. I would cut pieces off him until he told me where it was. And what if he opened it?
The hate soured into fear. For a second my limbs actually shook. I leaned on the trunk and tried to steady myself. The watery sunlight went bright and hot, and burned the back of my neck.
My bees sang around me. "Mal, what is it? What's wrong?"
I sat beside Queen Elizabeth's hive and leaned my forehead against the wood. "Robert has taken the box. I fear he may open it."
Or destroy it. Revenge for my attack on him earlier. More and more, I regretted revealing myself in such an aggressive way.
I explained this to the bees, who hummed their sympathy.
Queen Mary's hive said, "We sensed his presence, but we could not attack him. The cold hinders us."
"Yes," sang the other hives. "We will do what we can to help, Mal. Even if all we do is watch."
Their kindness comforted me, easing the tension inside. "Thank you, my friends. Tomorrow may be warmer, and if so, I shall need your help locating the puzzle box."
"The box, the box," they whispered.
I opened the trunk again, and produced a jar of sticky honeycomb. I pulled out a comb and chewed it, savoring the sweetness of the honey mingled with the pungent taste of the wax. Slowly the blackness inside me lightened. The rage faded. Once more I was human, not a being of every negative emotion. I spoke to God as I calmed, asking for His direction.
Robert could not destroy my box. Everything about it repulsed his kind, and many other magical creatures besides. He would have to hide it somewhere, or pass it to an untainted human. I could sense its location most clearly at midnight, when the entire bulk of the Earth lay between me and the sun. I would wait and seek it then.
I had rented a small motor home for the California trip. It was parked outside the orchards on a small access road. I opened its door and climbed inside.
The interior of a motor home smells unique, and I've never been able to decide why. The upholstery? The plastic furnishings? A faint smell of septic tank? Old cigarettes?
Either way, it was shelter. I lay on the foam mattress and attempted to sleep. But my kind does not sleep easily, especially in the darkness. The honey I had eaten swirled its healing power into my bloodstream, keeping my sluggish heart pumping.
Someday my heart would stop and I would become a true monster. That was when I intended to open the puzzle box. But I was not ready to die yet. My mission was not complete. My bees must not fall into the hands of strangers.
My bees! My one love and greatest sorrow. Colony collapse disorder had claimed half my hives the previous year. Careful as I had been, I lost them, the bees singing reassuring songs until the end. "All is well, Mal, all is well." I believed them until one day their voices fell silent.
Scientifically, a colony collapses when a queen stops laying eggs, or a worker bee becomes fertile. But the pheromones assure the bees that everything is fine. They never know their own colony is in danger.
But what causes it? And how to stop it? That is the question apiarists ponder across the world.
My theories were darker than pesticides or genetically modified crops. Dark beings wielding dark magic, and the bees, servants of light, were the proverbial canaries in the coal mines--their deaths indicating an unseen danger.
But if God saw fit to remove me from this world through death, my bees would die as well. As far as I knew, they were humanity's last hope against the coming evil.
I rose and exited the ca
mper. The stars informed me it was nearing midnight. I gazed at their living eyes, and my spirit thrilled. Thence came the magic, a blessing from God himself, rained down in a ceaseless shower. I closed my eyes and imagined I felt it on my skin--a faint tingle, like mist.
As I stood there in the starlight, the puzzle box called to me. I set out at a brisk walk to find it.
Chapter 3
Libby
I'd slept all day, so naturally I was wide awake once night set in.
My back ached from lying down for so long, so I got up and turned on my computer. Since I'd gotten sick, social media was my lifeline to the rest of the world. I checked in with my friends, and saw that I'd missed Tiffany's birthday party. She hadn't even invited me. I wouldn't have been able to go anyway, but it still hurt.
I logged onto voice chat, and spotted Tiffany's screen name. I donned my headset and called her.
She picked up a minute later, probably after scrambling for her own headset. "Hey Libby! How're you feeling?"
I made a face. "Sick. Gross. Dead. Late happy birthday, by the way."
"I'm so sorry I didn't invite you! I knew you couldn't come anyway, but I felt horrible as I mailed them."
Her contrition was genuine. Tiffany was one of those heart-on-the-sleeve types, and I couldn't stay mad.
"It's okay, Tiff. I slept all day, anyway. What'd you do for your party?"
"I passed out different potted herbs without labels, and everybody had to identify them by smell. Then we watched a documentary about deep sea life."
I laughed. I couldn't help it. "I'll bet it was a huge hit."
"It was really fun, actually. I invited my friends from chemistry and chess club."
"Was there pizza?"
"No, we did cheese fondue."
"I can totally see all you brainiacs sitting around a fondue pot with your plants and your documentary. Nobody played any videogames?"
"Nope, but I'm logged in. Want to run a map?"
We joined a server and blew up pixels. That was the great thing about Tiffany. She was smart, but she knew how to have fun, too. Our avatars were My Little Ponies, and we laughed every time somebody cussed us out.
We were debating what map to play next, when something scraped the wall outside my window.
My heart lurched, and I froze for a long second. "Tiff," I whispered, "I think somebody's outside."
"What? But it's past midnight!"
"I know. I need to get off for a minute."
I pulled off my headset, flicked off my monitor, and sat in complete darkness. My fingers found the cold, reassuring shape of my knife on my desk. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. Out here in the country, thieves thought they could get away with anything. Including breaking in through the second-story windows.
But what if it wasn't a thief? Cats made a lot of noise on the roof sometimes. It'd be awfully dumb to wake up my parents, only to find a couple of tomcats duking it out. I'd have to check, first.
I didn't have a gun, but before I'd gotten sick, I'd been building a substantial Airsoft collection. I felt my way to the closet and pulled out my rifle. Too bad the BBs were plastic. Metal ones might punch holes in flesh. I'd aim for the eyes--headshots are headshots. And if it was an animal, I'd scare it off.
If the gun didn't work, I had my knife. And lots and lots of screaming--but hopefully I wouldn't have to resort to that.
Another scrape, and the tree outside rustled. My room's on the second floor, with a dormer window. I stared out, waiting for glowing cat eyes, or something bigger.
Still, when a figure loomed against the night outside, my heart skipped, and I stifled a scream. It's terrifying to realize the safety of your home is about to be violated, and your strongest weapon shoots plastic beads.
The man crouched outside my window as if looking in. No flashlight. I faced him, rifle aimed at the window, and tried to keep my breathing steady.
Try it, buddy. And kiss your eyeballs goodbye.
Then the man did the last thing I expected. He tapped softly on the glass and called, "Libby?"
Robert? No, it wasn't his voice. I hesitated and squinted, trying to make out his face.
He fumbled around and ignited a blue glow stick, which he cupped in one hand to hide the glow. But it illuminated his face.
Oh crap, it was Mal. On our roof. Outside my window.
Had he come to kill me? I stepped backward and blundered into my desk chair. I stood there on one foot, heart pounding so hard that my breathing began to rasp. His hands were bare--no claw gloves--so he hadn't come to tear me up. How did he know I had the puzzle box?
I should have returned it this afternoon. He'd come looking for it, and it was my own dumb fault.
"Go away!" I screamed in a whisper.
"Libby, I shall not harm you," he said through the glass. "Do you possess a cedar box with silver scrollwork?"
Oh, sure he wouldn't harm me. Like how he didn't harm Robert during their 'disagreement'. Man oh man, I should have returned it in daylight ...
My heart tried to pound itself out of my rib cage. My lungs were starting to close. "If I give it to you, will you go away?"
"Yes."
I snatched the box off my dresser and set the rifle against the wall, where I could reach it. Then I eased the window open enough to slide the box through.
Mal popped the screen out, took the box, then replaced the screen. "Thank you. Might I ask how you came by this?"
His soft, conversational tone eased some of my panic. I focused on slow, steady breaths, and my throat ached for my inhaler.
"Robert gave it to me," I whispered. Then I winced. Dumb me, automatically honest. "Were you going to break into my room for it?"
"I did not know that it was your room." He cradled the box against his chest, as if it were made of solid gold. The blue light showed the look on his face--eyebrows furrowed, lips pressed together. "This is not a good place for this conversation. Would you please come out to the beehives tomorrow? I will explain then."
"Maybe. Goodbye." I shut the window and grabbed my gun, shivers running down my shoulders and back.
He climbed across the roof and out of sight. There was a final scrape, and he was gone.
My heart rate began to subside.
He'd come for his box, all right. But how did he know where it was? He hadn't known it was my room, or so he said. Maybe the box had a GPS locator in it. Why was it so important? I'd bet it was his whole bank account, liquidated while he was on the road. What if I'd opened it and found wads of cash, and assumed it was from Robert?
I'd have either thought it was drug money, or counterfeit, knowing Robert.
Maybe it was Mal's amputated heart, since he was a vampire. But in the darkness and silence, that thought was too creepy to entertain.
I hurried downstairs as quick as my lungs would allow, and used my inhaler a few times. Once my lungs more or less worked, I crept back to my computer and put my headset back on. Tiffany was whispering, "Libby, where are you? Should I call the cops? I swear if you don't get back on--"
"It's okay, I'm back."
"Libby! What happened?"
I checked my automatic honesty this time. A beekeeper had climbed on our roof at midnight to ask for his puzzle box? It was beyond bizarre. But I had to tell Tiffany something.
"False alarm. I think it was a possum."
"On your roof? Oh gross!"
The lie made me twitch a little. "Yeah, so, want one more game?"
We played until two AM. Then I went to bed and slept until ten.
I crawled out of bed, blinking in the bleary gray light that filtered through the fog. Keeping such weird hours made me feel heavy-eyed and hung-over. Had Mal really come to my window last night? It seemed like a fever dream. But the puzzle box was gone.
I worried about it while I forced down a tiny breakfast, then took a shower. It took a while to blow dry my long hair. If I didn't, it would stay wet all day, especially one spot in the back. It gave me t
ime to ponder the night's events.
Mal had come to my room last night. Then he wanted to talk to me about it today. If he'd planned to hurt me, he could have done it last night. Vampires were stronger at night, right?
Morbid curiosity warred with my fear. I could drive out and make sure some other beekeepers were around. I did want to know why he wanted that puzzle box so badly--he wouldn't attack me with other people there.
I'd take Suki, too. Muggers thought twice if you had a dog with you, and a border collie was a decent size.
I braided my hair, put on my coat and boots, claimed the golf cart, and drove into the orchards with Suki riding shotgun. Today, the lockblade in my pocket was a reassuring weight.
The fog had turned bright and hazy as the sun burned it off. The almond trees showed buds like red spikes, and here and there a few white petals showed, harbingers of the clouds of flowers to come.
The beekeepers worked among the hives, sliding frames around, and blasting gouts of white from their smokers. They were probably getting ready to move them around the orchard.
Mal's hives were a little distance away from the rest. The bright colors of the paint made them stand out, and he only had fifteen hives. He was sliding frames around, too, and glanced at me as I drove up.
I kept my distance. Last year I'd learned the hard way that beekeepers were importing Africanized honeybees to replace the dying European breeds. They were what the media called killer bees. They'd chased me all the way to the house, and I'd been stung thirty-six times. It made me respect the bees, all right.
Mal walked toward me in his white beekeeping suit, and pulled off his hat with its protective screen. "Hello, Elizabeth."
"Libby." I didn't move from the golf cart. Suki picked up my nervousness, and made a sound that was half-growl, half-whine.
He waved an arm toward the hives. "Allow me to introduce you."
"To the bees?"
"To the bees."
I slowly disembarked, and Suki followed, staying close beside me. Dogs hate bee stings, too.
Mal's eyes crinkled in an almost-smile. Today they were a golden topaz color. "I apologize for last night. I was simply trying to locate my box."
Malevolent (The Puzzle Box Series Book 1) Page 3