“What do you know about it?” I asked.
“Why are you looking for it?” he countered.
“Need it for a history project,” Mercy quickly answered before I had the chance.
Sam raised an eyebrow. “Yeah right. You think you’re gonna get a hold of it? Not unless you have millions of pounds.”
My heart dropped. He was obviously thinking of something else. “No. This isn’t something valuable. It’s like an object.”
“Yes. I know what it is. My mum’s been raving on about it for the past two weeks. She collects antiques, and one of her buyers has been looking for this one item for a very long time. Said he needed it for some collection or something. Anyway, he’s offered to pay her a lot of money if she found it and using her contacts, she managed to trace it.”
I stepped forward, my heart thumping wildly in my chest. “Your mum has it?”
“Yeah,” Sam answered, looking unsure of what I was getting at. “She’s showcasing it at her next auction show and then selling it to her buyer.”
“When’s the show?” Mercy asked.
“And how much is he buying it for?” Chuck demanded.
Sam turned to face them both. “All I know is that she’s showing it at this fancy auction on Saturday. And she’s selling it for a little over one-point-five million pounds.”
I was excited, there was no denying that, but a big part of me didn’t want to pin all my hopes onto this one coincidence. I didn’t even believe in coincidences.
“I don’t know...” I started.
Sam sighed. “Look, I don’t know why you’re looking for it, but there’s only one Coat of Tarham. When you live with someone like my mum, she repeats a lot of things. She’s mentioned that point quite a few times.” He spotted the disbelief on my face and rolled his eyes. “I’ll prove it to you.”
Storming across the room, he plopped himself down in front of the lone computer at the back of the classroom. It was already switched on, so he brought up the internet and typed in the Google web address. Then he typed in ‘Coat of Tarham’ in the search engine and hit enter.
“I thought you already Googled it, Chuck,” Mercy snapped, nudging him with her elbow.
“Ohhh! I didn’t know it was spelled like that…,” he answered sheepishly.
I ignored them, my eyes fixed to the screen. He clicked the first link provided, which brought up another page showing a picture of the supposed Coat of Tarham. I didn’t know what I’d expected it to look like, but I certainly didn’t expect that. It looked like a monkey carved by a blind man with no hands. No more than about three feet in height, it was pitch black, and incredibly ugly and misshapen.
“What the hell is that?” Mercy gasped.
“That’s it,” Sam declared. Then he shut off the page and turned to us with a smug grin. “My mum says that people back in the eighteenth century used to think this statue had conjuring powers. If you awakened the statue, it could be used for a whole bunch of spells.” He noticed our shocked and gawking faces. “What a bunch of crap, right? It’s an ugly decoration that has been hyped up to be way more than it is.”
I couldn’t wait to tell Marshall, even though I was still a little annoyed at him. I’d prove I could do something without him. I’d found the Coat of Tarham without his help, and who’d have thought Sam would be the one to help me find it?
“Thanks, Sam,” I said, patting him on the back. “I believe you. Guess I’ll have to find something else to use for my history project. I don’t have that kind of money.”
He smiled. “No problem.” His eyes flickered back to the computer screen. “You saw the part about it being one of a kind, right? I wasn’t making that up.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “That must definitely be it.”
Marshall was waiting for me the second the bell rang at the end of school. I’d called him the moment I had a minute to myself and told him what we’d learned.
“Where’re we going?” I asked as soon as I climbed into his warm car.
He slid his arm around the back of my seat and turned his head to get a clear view while he reversed. “Albert’s.”
“To tell him?”
“Yeah. And to talk about recovery tactics.”
I narrowed my eyes, repeating his words in my head. Recovery tactics. “What for?”
He looked at me, waiting for me to catch on. Then it dawned on me. He wanted us to steal the Coat of Tarham from Sam’s mum. I sank back further into the seat, letting out a deep sigh. On the one hand, we needed to find and maybe destroy this creepy statue before Seal found it. On the other hand, this could mean financial security for Sam’s family.
“Okay, stop with the internal moral battle,” Marshall said, smiling at me. “I can see it on your face.”
I shrugged. “I wouldn’t feel so bad if I didn’t know the person we were stealing it from.”
“Your boyfriend’s mum, you mean.”
“He’s not my boyfriend. I don’t understand why you have it in your head that he is. I spend, like, zero time with him. I spend more time with you than my own family.” I paused, thinking back to the argument with my dad. If he asked where I was, I’d have to lie and say I’d picked up an extra shift.
“Try not to think about it as stealing,” Marshall suggested, switching the subject back. “Look at it as you’re helping save the world.”
“You can be kinda nice sometimes.” I looked down at my hands.
“I can be whatever you want me to be,” he said with a cheesy wink. He ran his hand up my thigh, and though I slapped it away with a laugh, desire flooded through my body at his touch.
“I want you to focus on your driving,” I lied. “Get us to Albert’s in one piece.”
He mock saluted me. “Whatever my beautiful woman wants, she gets.”
I turned to face my window, sighing wistfully. If only I could get him to be mine.
The sun had set as Marshall drove into Albert’s tiny town. The drive was just as long as I remembered, and we’d had to stop off and get fast food on the way. I sipped on my Coke and stared out of the window, watching as the trees blurred past. The closer we got to Albert’s house, the more I began to feel like something was terribly wrong. I placed my Coke in the drink holder and sat up a little straighter. My skin prickled.
“Marshall,” I said warily, my voice breaking.
He turned onto Albert’s road, and I gasped. The cottage that Albert had tried so hard to make look inconspicuous was completely engulfed by flames. They rose up higher than the trees, threatening anything around it. Marshall slammed on his brakes and had his door open in one movement. I shouted his name and leapt out too, my feet pounding against the pavement as I tried to keep up with him.
The heat was horrible. I pressed my bicep against my mouth, trying not to breathe in any smoke. I lost sight of Marshall. The only part of the house not entirely ablaze was the front door, which hung off its hinges. I ran forward, stopping when a part from the dormer above the door fell right in front of me, missing me by inches. Something rushed at me from behind, and I fell to the ground, my face skidding against wet grass.
Instantly in fight mode, I rolled over and jumped to my feet, blocking an uppercut. Coming face to face with my attacker, I recognized the tattoos on his head.
This fire had been no accident.
“You’re coming with me,” he barked. He had soot on his face from the fire, and he'd singed some of his clothes. I hoped he’d been burnt.
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I hissed. “What did you do?”
He smiled, and I noticed one of his teeth was missing. His black hair was greasy and fell in curtains around his face.
“The old man had something that belonged to Seal,” he said. He began to circle me, and I backed up, edging away from him.
“I’m going to kill you,” I seethed.
There was a high-pitched laugh as a woman walked slowly and surely from the street to stand beside the grease ball. She was absol
utely stunning, with long brown hair that fell past her waist. Her skin was pale, translucent almost, and from the way her blue eyes sparkled, I could tell she was powerful. No tattoo though. Maybe not an assassin, but judging by the looks that he was giving her the grease ball seemed to fear her. Respect her.
“I don’t much like your chances,” she said, smiling at me, as if, I was a child asking a stupid question. “There are two of us, and you have no weapons. Your...friend is otherwise engaged trying to save the old one. If you come with us without a fight, I promise to make your death quick.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Er, rude much? You’re interrupting something here.”
She didn’t seem to care for my comment, which was a shame because I was proud of myself for staying cool.
“You think you know what’s to come?” she demanded, stepping forward, fists clenched. “You are so completely in over your head. Kidnapping one of us will accomplish nothing. He barely knows anything. You think Master Seal would divulge his plans to a low minion?” She laughed. It was false and hollow. “Bless you.”
My mum had trained me to stay unresponsive when prodded with banter. I could think about what the bitch said later. Right now, I had to focus on staying alive. I channelled the anger towards her patronising words and turned it into fuel. Then I swung forward and my fist connected with her nose.
She flew back, slamming into a tree behind her. The assassin ran at me then, yelling at the top of his lungs and his shoulders positioned to slam into me. I dropped into a squat, thrust my right leg out, and tripped him. He fell to the ground, a mess of limbs. Then the woman was back, leveling punch after punch at me, and I threw my forearms up, blocking them all. In the end, I grabbed her fist and slammed my free hand into her face three times before she pulled away. She lashed out at me, her long nails scratching my cheek. Then she sent a spinning kick right into my chest. I fell back, turning mid-fall, and catching my weight on my hands. Using my momentum, I cow-kicked her in the stomach. She doubled over, and I twisted an uppercut right under her jaw as I straightened up. It sent her staggering. I assumed she wouldn’t be able to find a comeback move in time, which was my stupid fault, because then I wasn’t prepared when she lunged forward, hands grabbing for my neck.
Her talons squeezed hard into my skin. What was with the strangling? I clawed at her hands as she lifted me from the ground. My feet dangled in the air.
“You put up a good fight,” she said, out of breath. “But it’s over now.”
The assassin moved to stand beside her – a united front.
“It’s not over,” I croaked out. “You haven’t even seen my bitch moves.”
“Your what?”
I reached out and grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking her head back. Then I lifted my knees and pressed my feet into her chest, kicking back and flipping out of her grip. She stumbled backwards, her face a beautiful mix of fury and pain.
Behind her, Marshall stumbled out of the burning house, clutching Albert’s limp body. He fell to his knees, a mess of spluttering coughs, and tried frantically to beat some life into Albert. I turned my attention away, trying not to be distracted by the sadness I would surely feel if I allowed it.
“Get a message back to Seal that we have the girl,” she snapped to the Damned assassin. He nodded once and took off at a run. Filled with dread, I watched him go, and quickly tried to think of some way, to stop him.
Suddenly, a knife whipped through the air and stabbed the assassin in the back. I stared at the fallen Damned in shock. So did the bitch next to me. Where had that come from? I whirled to see behind me.
Marshall was meters away, his hand still outstretched from where he’d thrown the knife. Slowly, he looked down at his hand, as if he hadn’t realized he’d done it, and then trudged back to Albert’s body.
Without giving the female Damned a chance to make any more moves, I ran over to the assassin and yanked the knife out from his back. I pointed it at her and slowly advanced, enjoying the look of panic on her face.
“You won’t stab me,” she hissed, but she looked scared.
“Want to place a bet on that?”
She stopped and turned contemplatively towards Marshall. “He looks sad, doesn’t he? Tell him Miranda says to watch his back.” She winked at me.
Why would a Damned warn Marshall of that? I turned back to stare at him. The confusion must have registered on my face.
“You don’t know...” She grinned and clapped her hands together.
“Shut up,” I hissed.
“Word of advice from one girl to another: if Seal doesn’t kill you first, he will.”
I refused to comment. Refused even to acknowledge what she said.
“But Seal will get to you first.” She stepped to the side, sliding away, and for some reason, I let her. “I’ll deliver you to him personally. Be seeing you real soon.”
Then she was gone. I shoved the knife into my skirt’s waistband and rushed over to Marshall, dropping to my knees next to Albert’s body. Marshall was still performing CPR, and I watched him, wondering how long he’d been trying to bring Albert back.
Albert’s eyes stayed closed, and his chest stayed still. I bit down on my lip, trying not to cry. Every now and again, Marshall would beg Albert to pull through. To come back. The pain in his voice was so raw that it cut at my soul. In the distance, sirens wailed, signaling our cue to leave. Gently, I placed a hand on Marshall’s arm as he pounded against Albert’s chest.
“We have to go,” I whispered.
He looked at me in shock, as if he hadn’t known I’d been there. “Amerie? What? No! I can’t just leave him here.”
“Marshall, I know that you don’t want to, but we can’t be caught here. Now come on.”
Marshall shook his head. “He can’t be dead.”
“The ambulance is his best hope. Come on.”
He let me pull him to his feet and together we stumbled across the dewy grass to his car. I was a little worried he might not be able to drive in his condition, but he seemed to run on autopilot, backing us out of the driveway and guiding us onto the road. His gaze stayed fixed on the pavement, and he kept the speed at the limit. I stared at him the whole ride back, wondering if I should say anything, and what I would say if I did. I remembered how I’d felt when I’d been told about my mum. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. Nothing anyone could say would bring her back. Though Albert wasn’t Marshall’s dad, they were as close as any father and son.
So, I stayed silent. I let Marshall have his thoughts. I let him mourn in his own way, and when a tear spilled down his cheek, I pretended that I didn’t see it. When we finally got to my house, the tension was so thick it suffocated me. In a selfish way, I was glad to be home and able to distract myself from Albert’s death, but Marshall had to take this home with him.
“Marshall...”
“Don’t,” he muttered. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
I nodded, staring down at my lap. “Okay. So, erm, you wanna meet up after my shift tomorrow and talk about Saturday?”
“Saturday?”
“Stealing the Coat of Tarham.”
“Oh.” His gaze stayed fixed on the windshield. He didn’t once look at me. “Sure. Whatever.”
“Okay.” I grabbed my bag from the floor beside me. “See you tomorrow.”
He didn’t say anything, and I climbed out of the car and walked to my house without looking back. I had made it all the way to my room and to the window before he pulled away. I crossed my fingers that he’d get home safely. Then I did something I hadn’t done in just over a year. I dropped to my knees, and I prayed.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Old Habits Die Hard
The next morning, I woke up a full hour before my alarm was due to go off. Rain slammed against the window and echoed through my dark room. I rolled onto my side and pulled the covers up around my neck. My night had been plagued with nightmares of Albert’s dead body. Poor Albert. I tried to think of some
thing else, but all I saw was the heartbreak on Marshall’s face. Admitting defeat, I climbed out of bed and hopped into the shower.
The rain didn’t let up even as I left for school. I yanked my hood up and trudged through the rain up to Maxwell. At least tomorrow was Saturday, and that meant we would have the Coat in our possession. Except that, we didn’t have Albert to tell us how to destroy the statue.
I wanted so badly to talk about last night with someone, but I was running a little late, as usual, and the first time I saw Mercy was in Chemistry. Luckily, it was a practical lesson, which allowed us the chance to talk without having to whisper.
“Partners?” Mercy asked as soon as Mr. Ball had set the task.
“Of course.”
She scooted her stool closer to me. “Okay, I’ll get the Bunsen burner set up, and you can get the other stuff.”
We set up our experiment, wearing the unfashionable glasses and aprons over our school clothes. From years of experience, I’d learned to multitask in class if I wanted to talk to Mercy. There was no way she was going to get low marks because we’d spent the whole time talking.
“So, what’s with the scratches on your face?” she asked, her eyes scanning the instructions scrawled across the black board.
I played with the prongs in my hand. “We went to go see Albert last night and tell him the good news─”
“The old dude?”
“Yeah. But Seal had sent an assassin, and some idiot woman to get back the Damned Albert had been keeping hostage.” I paused. “They set Albert’s house on fire and Albert ...died.”
“Oh my God,” Mercy breathed, turning to stare at me. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, I guess. I’m still numb to it. But you should have seen the way Marshall crumbled. Albert was like a dad to him.”
Mercy shook her head and popped something into the beaker over the Bunsen burner. “He won’t go and, like, try and get revenge, will he?”
This time I shook my head. “No. He’s not like that. He’s not stupid.”
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