Beautiful Creatures Êàìè Ãàðñèà
# Lena Duchannes is unlike anyone the small Southern town of Gatlin has ever seen, and sheÒs struggling to conceal her power and a curse that has haunted her family for generations. But even within the overgrown gardens, murky swamps, and crumbling graveyards of the forgotten South, a secret cannot stay hidden forever. Ethan Wate, who has been counting the months until he can escape from Gatlin, is haunted by dreams of a beautiful girl he has never met. When Lena moves into the townÒs oldest and most infamous plantation, Ethan is inexplicably drawn to her and determined to uncover the connection between them. In a town with no surprises, one secret could change everything.
The Caster Chronicles
Contents
Copyright
Before: The Middle of Nowhere
9.02: Dream On
9.02: New Girl
9.02: A Hole in the Sky
9.11: Collision
9.12: Broken Glass
9.12: Greenbrier
9.12: The Sisters
9.14: The Real Boo Radley
9.15: A Fork in the Road
9.24: The Last Three Rows
10.09: Gathering Days
10.09: A Crack in the Plaster
10.09: The Greats
10.10: Red Sweater
10.13: Marian the Librarian
10.31: Hallow EÒen
11.01: The Writing on the Wall
11.27: Just Your Average American Holiday
11.28: Domus Lunae Libri
12.01: It Rhymes with Witch
12.06: Lost and Found
12.07: Grave Digging
12.08: Waist Deep
12.13: Melting
12.16: When the Saints Go Marching In
12.19: White Christmas
1.12: Promise
2.04: The Sandman or Something Like Him
2.05: The Battle of Honey Hill
2.11: Sweet Sixteen
2.11: Lollipop Girl
2.11: Family Reunion
2.11: The Claiming
2.12: Silver Lining
Acknowledgments
About the Authors
FOR
NICK & STELLA
EMMA, MAY & KATE AND ALL OUR CASTERS & OUTCASTERS, EVERYWHERE.
THERE ARE MORE OF US THAN YOU THINK.
Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that.
Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.
×MARTIN LUTHER KING JR.
BEFORE
The Middle of Nowhere
There were only two kinds of people in our town. ÓThe stupid and the stuck,Ô my father had affectionately classified our neighbors. ÓThe ones who are bound to stay or too dumb to go. Everyone else finds a way out.Ô There was no question which one he was, but IÒd never had the courage to ask why. My father was a writer, and we lived in Gatlin, South Carolina, because the Wates always had, since my great-great-great-great-granddad, Ellis Wate, fought and died on the other side of the Santee River during the Civil War.
Only folks down here didnÒt call it the Civil War. Everyone under the age of sixty called it the War Between the States, while everyone over sixty called it the War of Northern
Aggression, as if somehow the North had baited the South into war over a bad bale of cotton. Everyone, that is, except my family. We called it the Civil War.
Just another reason I couldnÒt wait to get out of here.
Gatlin wasnÒt like the small towns you saw in the movies, unless it was a movie from about fifty years ago. We were too far from Charleston to have a Starbucks or a
McDonaldÒs. All we had was a Dar-ee Keen, since the Gentrys were too cheap to buy all new letters when they bought the Dairy King. The library still had a card catalog, the high school still had chalkboards, and our community pool was Lake Moultrie, warm brown water and all. You could see a movie at the Cineplex about the same time it came out on
DVD, but you had to hitch a ride over to Summerville, by the community college. The shops were on Main, the good houses were on River, and everyone else lived south of Route 9, where the pavement disintegrated into chunky concrete stubble×terrible for walking, but perfect for throwing at angry possums, the meanest animals alive. You never saw that in the movies.
Gatlin wasnÒt a complicated place; Gatlin was Gatlin. The neighbors kept watch from their porches in the unbearable heat, sweltering in plain sight. But there was no point.
Nothing ever changed. Tomorrow would be the first day of school, my sophomore year at Stonewall Jackson High, and I already knew everything that was going to happenwhere I would sit, who I would talk to, the jokes, the girls, who would park where.
There were no surprises in Gatlin County. We were pretty much the epicenter of the middle of nowhere.
At least, thatÒs what I thought, when I closed my battered copy of Slaughterhouse-Five, clicked off my iPod, and turned out the light on the last night of summer.
Turns out, I couldnÒt have been more wrong.
There was a curse.
There was a girl.
And in the end, there was a grave.
I never even saw it coming.
9.02
DREAM ON
Falling.
I was free falling, tumbling through the air.
ÓEthan!Ô
She called to me, and just the sound of her voice made my heart race.
ÓHelp me!Ô
She was falling, too. I stretched out my arm, trying to catch her. I reached out, but all I caught was air. There was no ground beneath my feet, and I was clawing at mud. We touched fingertips and I saw green sparks in the darkness.
Then she slipped through my fingers, and all I could feel was loss.
Lemons and rosemary. I could smell her, even then.
But I couldnÒt catch her.
And I couldnÒt live without her.
I sat up with a jerk, trying to catch my breath.
ÓEthan Wate! Wake up! I wonÒt have you beinÒ late on the first day a school.Ô I could hear AmmaÒs voice calling from downstairs.
My eyes focused on a patch of dim light in the darkness. I could hear the distant drum of the rain against our old plantation shutters. It must be raining. It must be morning. I must be in my room.
My room was hot and damp, from the rain. Why was my window openØ
My head was throbbing. I fell back down on the bed, and the dream receded as it always did. I was safe in my room, in our ancient house, in the same creaking mahogany bed where six generations of Wates had probably slept before me, where people didnÒt fall through black holes made of mud, and nothing ever actually happened.
I stared up at my plaster ceiling, painted the color of the sky to keep the carpenter bees from nesting. What was wrong with meØ
IÒd been having the dream for months now. Even though I couldnÒt remember all of it, the part I remembered was always the same. The girl was falling. I was falling. I had to hold on, but I couldnÒt. If I let go, something terrible would happen to her. But thatÒs the thing.
I couldnÒt let go. I couldnÒt lose her. It was like I was in love with her, even though I didnÒt know her. Kind of like love before first sight.
Which seemed crazy because she was just a girl in a dream. I didnÒt even know what she looked like. I had been having the dream for months, but in all that time I had never seen her face, or I couldnÒt remember it. All I knew was that I had the same sick feeling inside every time I lost her. She slipped through my fingers, and my stomach dropped right out of me×the way you feel when youÒre on a roller coaster and the car takes a big drop.
Butterflies in your stomach. That was such a crappy metaphor. More like killer bees.
Maybe I was losing it, or maybe I just needed a shower. My earphones were still around my neck, and when I glanced down at my iPod, I saw a song I didnÒt recognize.
Sixteen Moons.
What was thatØ I clicked on it. The melody was haunting. I couldnÒt place the voice, but I felt like IÒd heard it before.
Sixteen moons, sixteen years
Sixteen of your deepest fears
Sixteen times you dreamed my tears
Falling, falling through the yearsÅ
It was moody, creepy×almost hypnotic.
ÓEthan Lawson Wate!Ô I could hear Amma calling up over the music.
I switched it off and sat up in bed, yanking back the covers. My sheets felt like they were full of sand, but I knew better.
It was dirt. And my fingernails were caked with black mud, just like the last time I had the dream.
I crumpled up the sheet, pushing it down in the hamper under yesterdayÒs sweaty practice jersey. I got in the shower and tried to forget about it as I scrubbed my hands, and the last black bits of my dream disappeared down the drain. If I didnÒt think about it, it wasnÒt happening. That was my approach to most things the past few months.
But not when it came to her. I couldnÒt help it. I always thought about her. I kept coming back to that same dream, even though I couldnÒt explain it. So that was my secret, all there was to tell. I was sixteen years old, I was falling in love with a girl who didnÒt exist, and I was slowly losing my mind.
No matter how hard I scrubbed, I couldnÒt get my heart to stop pounding. And over the smell of the Ivory soap and the Stop & Shop shampoo, I could still smell it. Just barely, but I knew it was there.
Lemons and rosemary.
I came downstairs to the reassuring sameness of everything. At the breakfast table, Amma slid the same old blue and white china plate×Dragonware, my mom had called it ×of fried eggs, bacon, buttered toast, and grits in front of me. Amma was our housekeeper, more like my grandmother, except she was smarter and more ornery than my real grandmother. Amma had practically raised me, and she felt it was her personal mission to grow me another foot or so, even though I was already
6'2". This morning I was strangely starving, like I hadnÒt eaten in a week. I shoveled an egg and two pieces of bacon off my plate, feeling better already. I grinned at her with my mouth full.
ÓDonÒt hold out on me, Amma. ItÒs the first day of school.Ô She slammed a giant glass of
OJ and a bigger one of milk×whole milk, the only kind we drink around here×in front of me.
ÓWe out of chocolate milkØÔ I drank chocolate milk the way some people drank Coke or coffee. Even in the morning, I was always looking for my next sugar fix.
ÓA. C. C. L. I. M. A. T. E.Ô Amma had a crossword for everything, the bigger the better, and liked to use them. The way she spelled the words out on you letter by letter, it felt like she was paddling you in the head, every time. ÓAs in, get used to it. And donÒt you think about settinÒ one foot out that door till you drink the milk I gave you.Ô
ÓYes, maÒam.Ô
ÓI see you dressed up.Ô I hadnÒt. I was wearing jeans and a faded T-shirt, like I did most days. They all said different things; today it was Harley Davidson. And the same black
Chuck Taylors IÒd had going on three years now.
ÓI thought you were gonna cut that hair.Ô She said it like a scolding, but I recognized it for what it really was: plain old affection.
ÓWhen did I say thatØÔ
ÓDonÒt you know the eyes are the windows to the soulØÔ
ÓMaybe I donÒt want anyone to have a window into mine.Ô
Amma punished me with another plate of bacon. She was barely five feet tall and probably even older than the Dragonware, though every birthday she insisted she was turning fifty-three. But Amma was anything but a mild-mannered old lady. She was the absolute authority in my house.
ÓWell, donÒt think youÒre goinÒ out in this weather with wet hair. I donÒt like how this storm feels. Like somethinÒ badÒs been kicked up into the wind, and thereÒs no stoppinÒ a day like that. It has a will a its own.Ô
I rolled my eyes. Amma had her own way of thinking about things. When she was in one of these moods, my mom used to call it going dark×religion and superstition all mixed up, like it can only be in the South. When Amma went dark, it was just better to stay out of her way. Just like it was better to leave her charms on the windowsills and the dolls she made in the drawers where she put them.
I scooped up another forkful of egg and finished the breakfast of champions×eggs, freezer jam, and bacon, all smashed into a toast sandwich. As I shoved it into my mouth, I glanced down the hallway out of habit. My dadÒs study door was already shut. My dad wrote at night and slept on the old sofa in his study all day. It had been like that since my mom died last April. He might as well be a vampire; thatÒs what my Aunt Caroline had said after she stayed with us that spring. I had probably missed my chance to see him until tomorrow. There was no opening that door once it was closed.
I heard a honk from the street. Link. I grabbed my ratty black backpack and ran out the door into the rain. It could have been seven at night as easily as seven in the morning, thatÒs how dark the sky was. The weather had been weird for a few days now.
LinkÒs car, the Beater, was in the street, motor sputtering, music blasting. IÒd ridden to school with Link every day since kindergarten, when we became best friends after he gave me half his Twinkie on the bus. I only found out later it had fallen on the floor.
Even though we had both gotten our licenses this summer, Link was the one with the car, if you could call it that.
At least the BeaterÒs engine was drowning out the storm.
Amma stood on the porch, her arms crossed disapprovingly. ÓDonÒt you play that loud music here, Wesley Jefferson Lincoln. DonÒt think I wonÒt call your mamma and tell her what you were doinÒ in the basement all summer when you were nine years old.Ô
Link winced. Not many people called him by his real name, except his mother and
Amma. ÓYes, maÒam.Ô The screen door slammed. He laughed, spinning his tires on the wet asphalt as we pulled away from the curb. Like we were making a getaway, which was pretty much how he always drove. Except we never got away.
ÓWhat did you do in my basement when you were nine years oldØÔ
ÓWhat didnÒt I do in your basement when I was nine years oldØÔ Link turned down the music, which was good, because it was terrible and he was about to ask me how I liked it, like he did every day. The tragedy of his band, Who Shot Lincoln, was that none of them could actually play an instrument or sing. But all he could talk about was playing the drums and moving to New York after graduation and record deals that would probably never happen. And by probably, I mean he was more likely to sink a three-pointer, blindfolded and drunk, from the parking lot of the gym.
Link wasnÒt about to go to college, but he still had one up on me. He knew what he wanted to do, even if it was a long shot. All I had was a whole shoebox full of college brochures I couldnÒt show my dad. I didnÒt care which colleges they were, as long as they were at least a thousand miles from Gatlin.
I didnÒt want to end up like my dad, living in the same house, in the same small town IÒd grown up in, with the same people who had never dreamed their way out of here.
On either side of us, dripping old Victorians lined the street, almost the same as the day they were built over a hundred years ago. My street was called Cotton Bend because these old houses used to back up to miles and miles of plantation cotton fields. Now they just backed up to Route 9, which was about the only thing that had changed around here.
I grabbed a stale doughnut from the box on the floor of the car. ÓDid you upload a weird song onto my iPod last nightØÔ
ÓWhat songØ What do you think a this oneØÔ Link turned up his latest demo track.
ÓI think it needs work. Like all your other songs.Ô It was the same thing I said every day, more or less.
ÓYeah, well, your face will need some work after I give you a good beatinÒ.Ô It was the same thing he said every day, more or less.
I flipped through my playlist. ÓThe song, I think it was called something like Sixteen
Moons.Ô
ÓDonÒt know what youÒre talkinÒ about.Ô It wasnÒt there. The song was gone, but I had just listened to it this morning. And I knew I hadnÒt imagined it because it was still stuck in my head.
ÓIf you wanna hear a song, IÒll play you a new one.Ô Link looked down to cue the track.
ÓHey, man, keep your eyes on the road.Ô
But he didnÒt look up, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw a strange car pass in front of usÅ.
For a second, the sounds of the road and the rain and Link dissolved into silence, and it was like everything was moving in slow motion. I couldnÒt drag my eyes away from the car. It was just a feeling, not anything I could describe. And then it slid past us, turning the other way.
I didnÒt recognize the car. I had never seen it before. You canÒt imagine how impossible that is, because I knew every single car in town. There were no tourists this time of year.
They wouldnÒt take the chance during hurricane season.
This car was long and black, like a hearse. Actually, I was pretty sure it was a hearse.
Maybe it was an omen. Maybe this year was going to be worse than I thought.
ÓHere it is. ÑBlack Bandanna.Ò This songÒs gonna make me a star.Ô
By the time he looked up, the car was gone.
9.02
NEW GIRL
Eight streets. ThatÒs how far we had to go to get from Cotton Bend to Jackson High.
Turns out I could relive my entire life, going up and down eight streets, and eight streets were just enough to put a strange black hearse out of your mind. Maybe thatÒs why I didnÒt mention it to Link.
We passed the Stop & Shop, otherwise known as the Stop & Steal. It was the only grocery store in town, and the closest thing we had to a 7-Eleven. So every time you were hanging out with your friends out front, you had to hope you werenÒt going to run into someoneÒs mom shopping for dinner, or worse, Amma.
I noticed the familiar Grand Prix parked out front. ÓUh-oh. FattyÒs camped out already.Ô
He was sitting in the driverÒs seat, reading The Stars and Stripes.
ÓMaybe he didnÒt see us.Ô Link was watching the rearview mirror, tense.
ÓMaybe weÒre screwed.Ô
Fatty was Stonewall Jackson High SchoolÒs truant officer, as well as a proud member of the Gatlin police force. His girlfriend, Amanda, worked at the Stop & Steal, and Fatty was parked out front most mornings, waiting for the baked goods to be delivered. Which was pretty inconvenient if you were always late, like Link and me.
You couldnÒt go to Jackson High without knowing FattyÒs routine as well as your own class schedule. Today, Fatty waved us on, without even looking up from the sports section. He was giving us a pass.
ÓSports section and a sticky bun. Know what that means.Ô
ÓWeÒve got five minutes.Ô
We rolled the Beater into the school parking lot in neutral, hoping to slink past the attendance office unnoticed. But it was still pouring outside, so by the time we got into the building, we were soaked and our sneakers were squeaking so loud we might as well have just stopped in there anyway.
ÓEthan Wate! Wesley Lincoln!Ô
We stood dripping in the office, waiting for our detention slips.
ÓLate for the first day a school. Your mamma is goinÒ to have a few choice words for you, Mr. Lincoln. And donÒt you look so smug, Mr. Wate. AmmaÒs gonna tan your hide.Ô
Miss Hester was right. Amma would know IÒd shown up late about five minutes from now, if she didnÒt already. ThatÒs what it was like around here. My mom used to say
Carlton Eaton, the postmaster, read any letter that looked half-interesting. He didnÒt even bother to seal them back up anymore. ItÒs not like there was any actual news. Every house had its secrets, but everyone on the street knew them. Even that was no secret.
ÓMiss Hester, I was just drivinÒ slow, on account a the rain.Ô Link tried to turn on the charm. Miss Hester pulled down her glasses a little and looked back at Link, un-charmed.
The little chain that held her glasses around her neck swung back and forth.
ÓI donÒt have time to chat with you boys right now. IÒm busy fillinÒ out your detention slips, which is where youÒll be spendinÒ this afternoon,Ô she said, as she handed each of us our blue slip.
She was busy all right. You could smell the nail polish before we even turned the corner.
Welcome back.
In Gatlin, the first day of school never really changes. The teachers, who all knew you from church, decided if you were stupid or smart by the time you were in kindergarten. I was smart because my parents were professors. Link was stupid, because he crunched up the pages of the Good Book during Scripture Chase, and threw up once during the
Christmas pageant. Because I was smart, I got good grades on my papers; because Link was stupid, he got bad ones. I guess nobody bothered to read them. Sometimes I wrote random stuff in the middle of my essays, just to see if my teachers would say anything.
No one ever did.
Unfortunately, the same principle didnÒt apply to multiple-choice tests. In first-period
English, I discovered my seven hundred-year-old teacher, whose name really was Mrs.
English, had expected us to read To Kill a Mockingbird over the summer, so I flunked the first quiz. Great. I had read the book about two years ago. It was one of my momÒs favorites, but that was a while ago and I was fuzzy on the details.
A little-known fact about me: I read all the time. Books were the one thing that got me out of Gatlin, even if it was only for a little while. I had a map on my wall, and every time I read about a place I wanted to go, I marked it on the map. New York was Catcher in the Rye. Into the Wild got me to Alaska. When I read On the Road, I added Chicago, Denver, L.A., and Mexico City. Kerouac could get you pretty much everywhere. Every few months, I drew a line to connect the marks. A thin green line IÒd follow on a road trip, the summer before college, if I ever got out of this town. I kept the map and the reading thing to myself. Around here, books and basketball didnÒt mix.
Chemistry wasnÒt much better. Mr. Hollenback doomed me to be lab partners with EthanHating Emily, also known as Emily Asher, who had despised me ever since the formal last year, when I made the mistake of wearing my Chuck Taylors with my tux and letting my dad drive us in the rusty Volvo. The one broken window that permanently wouldnÒt roll up had destroyed her perfectly curled blond prom-hair, and by the time we got to the gym she looked like Marie Antoinette with bedhead. Emily didnÒt speak to me for the rest of the night and sent Savannah Snow to dump me three steps from the punch bowl. That was pretty much the end of that.
It was a never-ending source of amusement for the guys, who kept expecting us to get back together. The thing they didnÒt know was, I wasnÒt into girls like Emily. She was pretty, but that was it. And looking at her didnÒt make up for having to listen to what came out of her mouth. I wanted someone different, someone I could talk to about something other than parties and getting crowned at winter formal. A girl who was smart, or funny, or at least a decent lab partner.
Maybe a girl like that was the real dream, but a dream was still better than a nightmare.
Even if the nightmare was wearing a cheerleading skirt.
I survived chemistry, but my day only got worse from there. Apparently, I was taking
U.S. History again this year, which was the only history taught at Jackson, making the name redundant. I would be spending my second consecutive year studying the ÓWar of
Northern AggressionÔ with Mr. Lee, no relation. But as we all knew, in spirit Mr. Lee and the famous Confederate general were one and the same. Mr. Lee was one of the few teachers who actually hated me. Last year, on a dare from Link, I had written a paper called ÓThe War of Southern Aggression,Ô and Mr. Lee had given me a D. Guess the teachers actually did read the papers sometimes, after all.
I found a seat in the back next to Link, who was busy copying notes from whatever class he had slept through before this one. But he stopped writing as soon as I sat down.
ÓDude, did you hearØÔ
ÓHear whatØÔ
ÓThereÒs a new girl at Jackson.Ô
ÓThere are a ton of new girls, a whole freshman class of them, moron.Ô
ÓIÒm not talkinÒ about the freshmen. ThereÒs a new girl in our class.Ô At any other high school, a new girl in the sophomore class wouldnÒt be news. But this was Jackson, and we hadnÒt had a new girl in school since third grade, when Kelly Wix moved in with her grandparents after her dad was arrested for running a gambling operation out of their basement in Lake City.
ÓWho is sheØÔ
ÓDonÒt know. IÒve got civics second period with all the band geeks, and they didnÒt know anythinÒ except she plays the violin, or somethinÒ. Wonder if sheÒs hot.Ô Link had a onetrack mind, like most guys. The difference was, LinkÒs track led directly to his mouth.
ÓSo sheÒs a band geekØÔ
ÓNo. A musician. Maybe she shares my love a classical music.Ô
ÓClassical musicØÔ The only classical music Link had ever heard was in the dentistÒs office.
ÓYou know, the classics. Pink Floyd. Black Sabbath. The Stones.Ô I started laughing.
ÓMr. Lincoln. Mr. Wate. IÒm sorry to interrupt your conversation, but IÒd like to get started if itÒs aÒright with you boys.Ô Mr. LeeÒs tone was just as sarcastic as last year, and his greasy comb-over and pit stains just as bad. He passed out copies of the same syllabus he had probably been using for ten years. Participating in an actual Civil War reenactment would be required. Of course it would. I could just borrow a uniform from one of my relatives who participated in reenactments for fun on the weekends. Lucky me.
After the bell rang, Link and I hung out in the hall by our lockers, hoping to get a look at the new girl. To hear him talk, she was already his future soul mate and band mate and probably a few other kinds of mates I didnÒt even want to hear about. But the only thing we got a look at was too much of Charlotte Chase in a jean skirt two sizes too small.
Which meant we werenÒt going to find out anything until lunch, because our next class was ASL, American Sign Language, and it was strictly no talking allowed. No one was good enough at signing to even spell Ónew girl,Ô especially since ASL was the one class we had in common with the rest of the Jackson basketball team.
IÒd been on the team since eighth grade, when I grew six inches in one summer and ended up at least a head taller than everyone else in my class. Besides, you had to do something normal when both of your parents were professors. It turned out I was good at basketball.
I always seemed to know where the players on the other team were going to pass the ball, and it gave me a place to sit in the cafeteria every day. At Jackson, that was worth something.
Today that seat was worth even more because Shawn Bishop, our point guard, had actually seen the new girl. Link asked the only question that mattered to any of them.
ÓSo, is she hotØÔ
ÓPretty hot.Ô
ÓSavannah Snow hotØÔ
As if on cue, Savannah×the standard by which all other girls at Jackson were measured ×walked into the cafeteria, arm in arm with Ethan-Hating Emily, and we all watched because Savannah was 5'8" worth of the most perfect legs youÒve ever seen. Emily and
Savannah were almost one person, even when they werenÒt in their cheerleading uniforms. Blond hair, fake tans, flip-flops, and jean skirts so short they could pass for belts. Savannah was the legs, but Emily was the one all the guys tried to get a look at in her bikini top, at the lake in the summer. They never seemed to have any books, just tiny metallic bags tucked under one arm, with barely enough room for a cell phone, for the few occasions when Emily actually stopped texting.
Their differences boiled down to their respective positions on the cheer squad. Savannah was the captain, and a base: one of the girls who held up two more tiers of cheerleaders in the WildcatsÒ famous pyramid. Emily was a flyer, the girl at the top of the pyramid, the one thrown five or six feet into the air to complete a flip or some other crazy cheer stunt that could easily result in a broken neck. Emily would risk anything to stay on top of that pyramid. Savannah didnÒt need to. When Emily got tossed, the pyramid went on fine without her. When Savannah moved an inch, the whole thing came tumbling down.
Ethan-Hating Emily noticed us staring and scowled at me. The guys laughed. Emory
Watkins clapped a hand on my back. ÓIn like sin, Wate. You know Emily, the more she glares, the more she cares.Ô
I didnÒt want to think about Emily today. I wanted to think about the opposite of Emily.
Ever since Link had brought it up in history, it had stuck with me. The new girl. The possibility of someone different, from somewhere different. Maybe someone with a bigger life than ours, and, I guess, mine.
Maybe even someone IÒd dreamed about. I knew it was a fantasy, but I wanted to believe it.
ÓSo did yÒall hear about the new girlØÔ Savannah sat down on Earl PettyÒs lap. Earl was our team captain and SavannahÒs on-again, off-again boyfriend. Right now, they were on.
He rubbed his hands over her orangey-colored legs, just high enough so you didnÒt know where to look.
ÓShawn was just fillinÒ us in. Says sheÒs hot. You gonna put her on the squadØÔ Link grabbed a couple of Tater Tots off my tray.
ÓHardly. You should see what sheÒs wearinÒ.Ô Strike One.
ÓAnd how pale she is.Ô Strike Two. You could never be too thin or too tan, as far as
Savannah was concerned.
Emily sat down next to Emory, leaning over the table just a little too much. ÓDid he tell you who she isØÔ
ÓWhat do you meanØÔ
Emily paused for dramatic effect.
ÓSheÒs Old Man RavenwoodÒs niece.Ô
She didnÒt need the pause for this one. It was like she had sucked the air right out of the room. A couple of the guys started laughing. They thought she was kidding, but I could tell she wasnÒt.
Strike Three. She was out. So far out, I couldnÒt even picture her anymore. The possibility of my dream girl showing up disappeared before I could even imagine our first date. I was doomed to three more years of Emily Ashers.
Macon Melchizedek Ravenwood was the town shut-in. LetÒs just say, I remembered enough of To Kill a Mockingbird to know Old Man Ravenwood made Boo Radley look like a social butterfly. He lived in a run-down old house, on GatlinÒs oldest and most infamous plantation, and I donÒt think anyone in town had seen him since before I was born, maybe longer.
ÓAre you seriousØÔ asked Link.
ÓTotally. Carlton Eaton told my mom yesterday when he brought by our mail.Ô
Savannah nodded. ÓMy mamma heard the same thing. She moved in with Old Man
Ravenwood a couple a days ago, from Virginia, or Maryland, I donÒt remember.Ô
They all kept talking about her, her clothes and her hair and her uncle and what a freak she probably was. ThatÒs the thing I hated most about Gatlin. The way everyone had something to say about everything you said or did or, in this case, wore. I just stared at the noodles on my tray, swimming in runny orange liquid that didnÒt look much like cheese.
Two years, eight months, and counting. I had to get out of this town.
After school, the gym was being used for cheerleading tryouts. The rain had finally let up, so basketball practice was on the outside court, with its cracked concrete and bent rims and puddles of water from the morning rain. You had to be careful not to hit the fissure that ran down the middle like the Grand Canyon. Aside from that, you could almost see the whole parking lot from the court, and watch most of the prime social action of Jackson High while you warmed up.
Today I had the hot hand. I was seven-for-seven from the free throw line, but so was Earl, matching me shot for shot.
Swish. Eight. It seemed like I could just look at the net, and the ball would sail through.
Some days were like that.
Swish. Nine. Earl was annoyed. I could tell by the way he was bouncing the ball harder and harder every time I made a shot. He was our other center. Our unspoken agreement was: I let him be in charge, and he didnÒt hassle me if I didnÒt feel like hanging out at the
Stop & Steal every day after practice. There were only so many ways you could talk about the same girls and so many Slim Jims you could eat.
Swish. Ten. I couldnÒt miss. Maybe it was just genetics. Maybe it was something else. I hadnÒt figured it out, but since my mom died, I had stopped trying. It was a wonder I made it to practice at all.
Swish. Eleven. Earl grunted behind me, bouncing the ball even harder. I tried not to smile and looked over to the parking lot as I took the next shot. I saw a tangle of long black hair, behind the wheel of a long black car.
A hearse. I froze.
Then, she turned, and through the open window, I could see a girl looking in my direction. At least, I thought I could. The basketball hit the rim, and bounced off toward the fence. Behind me, I heard the familiar sound.
Swish. Twelve. Earl Petty could relax.
As the car pulled away, I looked down the court. The rest of the guys were standing there, like theyÒd just seen a ghost.
ÓWas that×ØÔ
Billy Watts, our forward, nodded, holding onto the chain-link fence with one hand. ÓOld
Man RavenwoodÒs niece.Ô
Shawn tossed the ball at him. ÓYep. Just like they said. DrivinÒ his hearse.Ô
Emory shook his head. ÓSheÒs hot all right. What a waste.Ô
They went back to playing ball, but by the time Earl took his next shot, it had started to rain again. Thirty seconds later, we were caught in a downpour, the heaviest rain weÒd seen all day. I stood there, letting the rain hammer down on me. My wet hair hung in my eyes, blocking out the rest of the school, the team.
The bad omen wasnÒt just a hearse. It was a girl.
For a few minutes, I had let myself hope. That maybe this year wouldnÒt be just like every other year, that something would change. That I would have someone to talk to, someone who really got me.
But all I had was a good day on the court, and that had never been enough.
9.02
A HOLE IN THE SKY
Fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, string beans, and biscuits×all sitting angry and cold and congealed on the stove where Amma had left them. Usually, she kept my dinner warm for me until I got home from practice, but not today. I was in a lot of trouble. Amma was furious, sitting at the table eating Red Hots, and scratching away at the New York Times crossword. My dad secretly subscribed to the Sunday edition, because the ones in The Stars and Stripes had too many spelling mistakes, and the ones in
ReaderÒs Digest were too short. I donÒt know how he got it past Carlton Eaton, who wouldÒve made sure the whole town knew we were too good for The Stars and Stripes, but there was nothing my dad wouldnÒt do for Amma.
She slid the plate in my direction, looking at me without looking at me. I shoveled cold mashed potatoes and chicken into my mouth. There was nothing Amma hated like food left on your plate. I tried to keep my distance from the point of her special black # 2 pencil, used only for her crosswords, kept so sharp it could actually draw blood. Tonight it might.
I listened to the steady patter of rain on the roof. There wasnÒt another sound in the room.
Amma rapped her pencil on the table.
ÓNine letters. Confinement or pain exacted for wrongdoinÒ.Ô She shot me another look. I shoveled a spoonful of potatoes into my mouth. I knew what was coming. Nine across.
ÓC. A. S. T. I. G. A. T. E. As in, punish. As in, if you canÒt get yourself to school on time, you wonÒt be leavinÒ this house.Ô
I wondered who had called to tell her I was late, or more likely who hadnÒt called. She sharpened her pencil, even though it was already sharp, grinding it into her old automatic sharpener on the counter. She was still pointedly Not Looking at me, which was even worse than staring me right in the eye.
I walked over to where she was grinding and put my arm around her, giving her a good squeeze. ÓCome on, Amma. DonÒt be mad. It was pouring this morning. You wouldnÒt want us speeding in the rain, would youØÔ
She raised an eyebrow, but her expression softened. ÓWell, it looks like itÒll be raininÒ from now until the day after you cut that hair, so you better figure out a way to get yourself to school before that bell rings.Ô
ÓYes, maÒam.Ô I gave her one last squeeze and went back to my cold potatoes. ÓYouÒll never believe what happened today. We got a new girl in our class.Ô I donÒt know why I said it. I guess it was still on my mind.
ÓYou think I donÒt know about Lena DuchannesØÔ I choked on my biscuit. Lena
Duchannes. Pronounced, in the South, to rhyme with rain. The way Amma rolled it out, you would have thought the word had an extra syllable. Du-kay-yane.
ÓIs that her nameØ LenaØÔ
Amma pushed a glass of chocolate milk in my direction. ÓYes and no and itÒs none a your business. You shouldnÒt be messinÒ with things you donÒt know anything about, Ethan
Wate.Ô
Amma always spoke in riddles, and she never gave you anything more than that. I hadnÒt been to her house in WaderÒs Creek since I was a kid, but I knew most of the people in town had. Amma was the most respected tarot card reader within a hundred miles of
Gatlin, just like her mother before her and her grandmother before her. Six generations of card readers. Gatlin was full of God-fearing Baptists, Methodists, and Pentecostals, but they couldnÒt resist the lure of the cards, the possibility of changing the course of their own destiny. Because thatÒs what they believed a powerful reader could do. And Amma was nothing if not a force to be reckoned with.
Sometimes IÒd find one of her homemade charms in my sock drawer or hanging above the door of my fatherÒs study. I had only asked what they were for once. My dad teased
Amma whenever he found one, but I noticed that he never took any of them down.
ÓBetter safe than sorry.Ô I guess he meant safe from Amma, who could make you plenty sorry.
ÓDid you hear anything else about herØÔ
ÓYou watch yourself. One day youÒre gonna pick a hole in the sky and the universe is gonna fall right through. Then weÒll all be in a fix.Ô
My father shuffled into the kitchen in his pajamas. He poured himself a cup of coffee and took a box of Shredded Wheat out of the pantry. I could see the yellow wax earplugs still stuck in his ears. The Shredded Wheat meant he was about to start his day. The earplugs meant it hadnÒt really started yet.
I leaned over and whispered to Amma, ÓWhat did you hearØÔ
She yanked my plate away and took it to the sink. She rinsed some bones that looked like pork shoulder, which was weird since weÒd had chicken tonight, and put them on a plate.
ÓThatÒs none a your concern. What IÒd like to know is why youÒre so interested.Ô
I shrugged. ÓIÒm not, really. Just curious.Ô
ÓYou know what they say about curiosity.Ô She stuck a fork in my piece of buttermilk pie. Then she shot me the Look, and was gone.
Even my father noticed the kitchen door swinging in her wake, and pulled an earplug out of one ear. ÓHow was schoolØÔ
ÓFine.Ô
ÓWhat did you do to AmmaØÔ
ÓI was late for school.Ô
He studied my face. I studied his.
ÓNumber 2ØÔ
I nodded.
ÓSharpØÔ
ÓStarted out sharp and then she sharpened it.Ô I sighed. My dad almost smiled, which was rare. I felt a surge of relief, maybe even accomplishment.
ÓKnow how many times I sat at this old table while she pulled a pencil on me when I was a kidØÔ he asked, though it wasnÒt really a question. The table, nicked and flecked with paint and glue and marker from all the Wates leading up to me, was one of the oldest things in the house.
I smiled. My dad picked up his cereal bowl and waved his spoon in my direction. Amma had raised my father, a fact IÒd been reminded of every time I even thought about sassing her when I was a kid.
ÓM. Y. R. I. A. D.Ô He spelled out the word as he dumped his bowl into the sink. ÓP. L.
E. T. H. O. R. A. As in, more than you, Ethan Wate.Ô
As he stepped into the kitchen light, the half-smile faded to a quarter, and then it was gone. He looked even worse than usual. The shadows on his face were darker, and you could see the bones under his skin. His face was a pallid green from never leaving the house. He looked a little bit like a living corpse, as he had for months now. It was hard to remember that he was the same person who used to sit with me for hours on the shores of
Lake Moultrie, eating chicken salad sandwiches and teaching me how to cast a fishing line. ÓBack and forth. Ten and two. Ten and two. Like the hands of a clock.Ô The last five months had been hard for him. He had really loved my mother. But so had I.
My dad picked up his coffee and started to shuffle back toward his study. It was time to face facts. Maybe Macon Ravenwood wasnÒt the only town shut-in. I didnÒt think our town was big enough for two Boo Radleys. But this was the closest thing to a conversation weÒd had in months, and I didnÒt want him to go.
ÓHowÒs the book comingØÔ I blurted out. Stay and talk to me. ThatÒs what I meant.
He looked surprised, then shrugged. ÓItÒs coming. Still got a lot of work to do.Ô He couldnÒt. ThatÒs what he meant.
ÓMacon RavenwoodÒs niece just moved to town.Ô I said the words just as he put his earplug back in. Out of sync, our usual timing. Come to think of it, that had been my timing with most people lately.
My dad pulled out the earplug, sighed, and pulled out the other. ÓWhatØÔ He was already walking back to his study. The meter on our conversation was running out.
ÓMacon Ravenwood, what do you know about himØÔ
ÓSame as everyone else, I guess. HeÒs a recluse. He hasnÒt left Ravenwood Manor in years, as far as I know.Ô He pushed open the study door and stepped over the threshold, but I didnÒt follow him. I just stood in the doorway.
I never set foot in there. Once, just once, when I was seven years old, my dad had caught me reading his novel before he had finished revising it. His study was a dark, frightening place. There was a painting that he always kept covered with a sheet over the threadbare
Victorian sofa. I knew never to ask what was underneath the sheet. Past the sofa, close to the window, my fatherÒs desk was carved mahogany, another antique that had been handed down along with our house, from generation to generation. And books, old leather-bound books that were so heavy they rested on a huge wooden stand when they were open. Those were the things that kept us bound to Gatlin, and bound to WateÒs
Landing, just as they had bound my ancestors for more than a hundred years.
On the desk was his manuscript. It had been sitting there, in an open cardboard box, and I just had to know what was in it. My dad wrote gothic horror, so there wasnÒt much he wrote that was okay for a seven-year-old to read. But every house in Gatlin was full of secrets, just like the South itself, and my house was no exception, even back then.
My dad had found me, curled up on the couch in his study, pages spread all around me like a bottle rocket had exploded in the box. I didnÒt know enough to cover my tracks, something I learned pretty quickly after that. I just remember him yelling at me, and my mom coming out to find me crying in the old magnolia tree in our backyard. ÓSome things are private, Ethan. Even for grown-ups.Ô
I had just wanted to know. That had always been my problem. Even now. I wanted to know why my dad never came out of his study. I wanted to know why we couldnÒt leave this worthless old house just because a million Wates had lived here before us, especially now that my mom was gone.
But not tonight. Tonight I just wanted to remember chicken salad sandwiches and ten and two and a time when my dad ate his Shredded Wheat in the kitchen, joking around with me. I fell asleep remembering.
Before the bell even rang the next day, Lena Duchannes was all everyone at Jackson could talk about. Somehow between storms and power outages, Loretta Snow and
Eugenie Asher, SavannahÒs and EmilyÒs mothers, had managed to get supper on the table and call just about everyone in town to let them know that crazy Macon RavenwoodÒs
ÓrelationÔ was driving around Gatlin in his hearse, which they were sure he used to transport dead bodies in when no one was watching. From there it just got wilder.
There are two things you can always count on in Gatlin. One, you can be different, even crazy, as long as you come out of the house every now and then, so folks donÒt think youÒre an axe murderer. Two, if thereÒs a story to tell, you can be sure thereÒll be someone to tell it. A new girl in town, moving into the Haunted Mansion with the town shut-in, thatÒs a story, probably the biggest story to hit Gatlin since my momÒs accident.
So I donÒt know why I was surprised when everyone was talking about her×everyone except the guys. They had business to attend to first.
ÓSo, whatÒve we got, EmØÔ Link slammed his locker door.
ÓCountinÒ cheerleadinÒ tryouts, looks like four 8Òs, three 7Òs, and a handful a
4Òs.Ô Emory didnÒt bother to count the freshman girls he rated below a four.
I slammed my locker door. ÓThis is newsØ ArenÒt these the same girls we see at the Daree Keen every SaturdayØÔ
Emory smiled, and clapped his hand on my shoulder. ÓBut theyÒre in the game now, Wate.Ô He looked at the girls in the hall. ÓAnd IÒm ready to play.Ô Emory was mostly all talk. Last year, when we were freshmen, all we heard about were the hot seniors he thought he was going to hook up with now that heÒd made JV. Em was as delusional as
Link, but not as harmless. He had a mean streak; all the Watkinses did.
Shawn shook his head. ÓLike pickinÒ peaches off the vine.Ô
ÓPeaches grow on trees.Ô I was already annoyed, maybe because IÒd met up with the guys at the Stop & Steal magazine stand before school and been subjected to this same conversation while Earl flipped through issues of the only thing he ever read×magazines featuring girls in bikinis, lying across the hoods of cars.
Shawn looked at me, confused. ÓWhat are you talkinÒ aboutØÔ
I donÒt know why I even bothered. It was a stupid conversation, the same way it was stupid that all the guys had to meet up before school on Wednesday mornings. It was something IÒd come to think of as roll call. A few things were expected if you were on the team. You sat together in the lunchroom. You went to Savannah SnowÒs parties, asked a cheerleader to the winter formal, hung out at Lake Moultrie on the last day of school. You could bail on almost anything else, if you showed up for roll call. Only it was getting harder and harder for me to show up, and I didnÒt know why.
I still hadnÒt come up with the answer when I saw her.
Even if I hadnÒt seen her, IÒd have known she was there because the hallway, which was usually crammed with people rushing to their lockers and trying to make it to class before the second bell, cleared out in a matter of seconds. Everyone actually stepped aside when she came down the hall. Like she was a rock star.
Or a leper.
But all I could see was a beautiful girl in a long gray dress, under a white track jacket with the word Munich sewn on it, and beat-up black Converse peeking out underneath. A girl who wore a long silver chain around her neck, with tons of stuff dangling from it×a plastic ring from a bubblegum machine, a safety pin, and a bunch of other junk I was too far away to see. A girl who didnÒt look like she belonged in Gatlin. I couldnÒt take my eyes off her.
Macon RavenwoodÒs niece. What was wrong with meØ
She tucked her dark curls behind her ear, black nail polish catching the fluorescent light.
Her hands were covered with black ink, like she had written on them. She walked down the hall as if we were invisible. She had the greenest eyes IÒd ever seen, so green they couldÒve been considered some new color altogether.
ÓYeah, sheÒs hot,Ô said Billy.
I knew what they were thinking. For a second, they were thinking about dumping their girlfriends for the chance to hit on her. For a second, she was a possibility.
Earl gave her the once-over, then slammed his locker door. ÓIf you ignore the fact that sheÒs a freak.Ô
There was something about the way he said it, or more like, the reason he said it. She was a freak because she wasnÒt from Gatlin, because she wasnÒt scrambling to make it onto the cheer squad, because she hadnÒt given him a second look, or even a first. On any other day, I wouldÒve ignored him and kept my mouth shut, but today I didnÒt feel like shutting up.
ÓSo sheÒs automatically a freak, whyØ Because she doesnÒt have on the uniform, blond hair and a short skirtØÔ
EarlÒs face was easy to read. This was one of those times when I was supposed to follow his lead, and I wasnÒt holding up my end of our unspoken agreement. ÓBecause sheÒs a
Ravenwood.Ô
The message was clear. Hot, but donÒt even think about it. She wasnÒt a possibility anymore. Still, that didnÒt keep them from looking, and they were all looking. The hallway, and everyone in it, had locked in on her as if she was a deer caught in the crosshairs.
But she just kept walking, her necklace jingling around her neck.
Minutes later, I stood in the doorway of my English class. There she was. Lena
Duchannes. The new girl, who would still be called that fifty years from now, if she wasnÒt still called Old Man RavenwoodÒs niece, handing a pink transfer slip to Mrs.
English, who squinted to read it.
ÓThey messed up my schedule and I didnÒt have an English class,Ô she was saying. ÓI had
U.S. History for two periods, and I already took U.S. History at my old school.Ô She sounded frustrated, and I tried not to smile. SheÒd never had U.S. History, not the way
Mr. Lee taught it.
ÓOf course. Take any open seat.Ô Mrs. English handed her a copy of To Kill a
Mockingbird. The book looked like it had never been opened, which it probably hadnÒt since theyÒd made it into a movie.
The new girl looked up and caught me watching her. I looked away, but it was too late. I tried not to smile, but I was embarrassed, and that only made me smile more. She didnÒt seem to notice.
ÓThatÒs okay, I brought my own.Ô She pulled out a copy of the book, hardback, with a tree etched on the cover. It looked really old and worn, like she had read it more than once. ÓItÒs one of my favorite books.Ô She just said it, like it wasnÒt weird. Now I was staring.
I felt a steamroller plow into my back, and Emily pushed through the doorway as if I wasnÒt standing there, which was her way of saying hello and expecting me to follow her to the back of the room, where our friends were sitting.
The new girl sat down in an empty seat in the first row, in the No ManÒs Land in front of
Mrs. EnglishÒs desk. Wrong move. Everybody knew not to sit there. Mrs. English had one glass eye, and the terrible hearing you get if your family runs the only shooting range in the county. If you sat anywhere else but right in front of her desk, she couldnÒt see you and she wouldnÒt call on you. Lena was going to have to answer questions for the whole class.
Emily looked amused and went out of her way to walk past her seat, kicking over LenaÒs bag, sending her books sliding across the aisle.
ÓWhoops.Ô Emily bent down, picking up a battered spiral notebook that was one tear away from losing its cover. She held it up like it was a dead mouse. ÓLena Duchannes. Is that your nameØ I thought it was Ravenwood.Ô
Lena looked up, slowly. ÓCan I have my bookØÔ
Emily flipped through the pages, as if she didnÒt hear her. ÓIs this your journalØ Are you a writerØ ThatÒs so great.Ô
Lena reached out her hand. ÓPlease.Ô
Emily snapped the book shut, and held it away from her. ÓCan I just borrow this for a minuteØ IÒd love to read somethinÒ you wrote.Ô
ÓIÒd like it back now. Please.Ô Lena stood up. Things were going to get interesting. Old
Man RavenwoodÒs niece was about to dig herself into the kind of hole there was no climbing back out of; nobody had a memory like Emily.
ÓFirst youÒd have to be able to read.Ô I grabbed the journal out of EmilyÒs hand and handed it back to Lena.
Then I sat down in the desk next to her, right there in No ManÒs Land. Good-Eye Side.
Emily looked at me in disbelief. I donÒt know why I did it. I was just as shocked as she was. IÒd never sat in the front of any class in my life. The bell rang before Emily could say anything, but it didnÒt matter; I knew IÒd pay for it later. Lena opened her notebook and ignored both of us.
ÓCan we get started, peopleØÔ Mrs. English looked up from her desk.
Emily slunk to her usual seat in the back, far enough from the front that she wouldnÒt have to answer any questions the whole year, and today, far enough from Old Man
RavenwoodÒs niece. And now, far enough from me. Which felt kind of liberating, even if
I had to analyze Jem and ScoutÒs relationship for fifty minutes without having read the chapter.
When the bell rang, I turned to Lena. I donÒt know what I thought I was going to say.
Maybe I was expecting her to thank me. But she didnÒt say anything as she shoved her books back into her bag.
156. It wasnÒt a word she had written on the back of her hand.
It was a number.
Lena Duchannes didnÒt speak to me again, not that day, not that week. But that didnÒt stop me from thinking about her, or seeing her practically everywhere I tried not to look.
It wasnÒt just her that was bothering me, not exactly. It wasnÒt about how she looked, which was pretty, even though she was always wearing the wrong clothes and those beatup sneakers. It wasnÒt about what she said in class×usually something no one else wouldÒve thought of, and if they had, something they wouldnÒt have dared to say. It wasnÒt that she was different from all the other girls at Jackson. That was obvious.
It was that she made me realize how much I was just like the rest of them, even if I wanted to pretend I wasnÒt.
It had been raining all day, and I was sitting in ceramics, otherwise known as AGA, Óa guaranteed A,Ô since the class was graded on effort. I had signed up for ceramics last spring because I had to fulfill my arts requirement, and I was desperate to stay out of band, which was practicing noisily downstairs, conducted by the crazily skinny, overly enthusiastic Miss Spider. Savannah sat down next to me. I was the only guy in the class, and since I was a guy, I had no idea what I was supposed to do next.
ÓToday is all about experimentation. You arenÒt being graded on this. Feel the clay. Free your mind. And ignore the music from downstairs.Ô Mrs. Abernathy winced as the band butchered what sounded like ÓDixie.Ô
ÓDig deep. Feel your way to your soul.Ô
I flipped on the potterÒs wheel and stared at the clay as it started to spin in front of me. I sighed. This was almost as bad as band. Then, as the room quieted and the hum of the potterÒs wheels drowned out the chatter of the back rows, the music from downstairs shifted. I heard a violin, or maybe one of those bigger violins, a viola, I think. It was beautiful and sad at the same time, and it was unsettling. There was more talent in the raw voice of the music than Miss Spider had ever had the pleasure of conducting. I looked around; no one else seemed to notice the music. The sound crawled right under my skin.
I recognized the melody, and within seconds I could hear the words in my mind, as clearly as if I was listening to my iPod. But this time, the words had changed.
Sixteen moons, sixteen years
Sound of thunder in your ears
Sixteen miles before she nears
Sixteen seeks what sixteen fearsÅ.
As I stared at the spinning clay in front of me, the lump became a blur. The harder I focused on it, the more the room dissolved around it, until the clay seemed to be spinning the classroom, the table, my chair along with it. As if we were all tied together in this whirlwind of constant motion, set to the rhythm of the melody from the music room. The room was disappearing around me. Slowly, I reached out a hand and dragged one fingertip along the clay.
Then a flash, and the whirling room dissolved into another imageI was falling.
We were falling.
I was back in the dream. I saw her hand. I saw my hand grabbing at hers, my fingers digging into her skin, her wrist, in a desperate attempt to hold on. But she was slipping; I could feel it, her fingers pulling through my hand.
ÓDonÒt let go!Ô
I wanted to help her, to hold on. More than I had ever wanted anything. And then, she fell through my fingersÅ.
ÓEthan, what are you doinÒØÔ Mrs. Abernathy sounded concerned.
I opened my eyes, and tried to focus, to bring myself back. IÒd been having the dreams since my mom died, but this was the first time IÒd had one during the day. I stared at my gray, muddy hand, caked with drying clay. The clay on the potterÒs wheel held the perfect imprint of a hand, like I had just flattened whatever I was working on. I looked at it more closely. The hand wasnÒt mine, it was too small. It was a girlÒs.
It was hers.
I looked under my nails, where I could see the clay I had clawed from her wrist.
ÓEthan, you could at least try to make somethinÒ.Ô Mrs. Abernathy put her hand on my shoulder, and I jumped. Outside the classroom window, I heard the rumble of thunder.
ÓBut Mrs. Abernathy, I think EthanÒs soul is communicatinÒ with him.Ô Savannah giggled, leaning over to get a good look. ÓI think itÒs tellinÒ you to get a manicure, Ethan.Ô
The girls around me started to laugh. I mashed the handprint with my fist, turning it back into a lump of gray nothing. I stood up, wiping my hands on my jeans as the bell rang. I grabbed my backpack and sprinted out of the room, slipping in my wet high-tops when I turned the corner and almost tripping over my untied laces as I ran down the two flights of stairs that stood between the music room and me. I had to know if I had imagined it.
I pushed open the double doors of the music room with both hands. The stage was empty.
The class was filing past me. I was going the wrong way, heading downstream when everyone else was going up. I took a deep breath, but knew what I would smell before I smelled it.
Lemons and rosemary.
Down on the stage, Miss Spider was picking up sheet music, scattered along the folding chairs she used for the sorry Jackson orchestra. I called down to her, ÓExcuse me, maÒam.
Who was just playing that×that songØÔ
She smiled in my direction. ÓWe have a wonderful new addition to our strings section. A viola. SheÒs just moved into town×Ô
No. It couldnÒt be. Not her.
I turned and ran before she could say the name.
When the eighth-period bell rang, Link was waiting for me in front of the locker room.
He raked his hand through his spiky hair and straightened out his faded Black Sabbath Tshirt.
ÓLink. I need your keys, man.Ô
ÓWhat about practiceØÔ
ÓI canÒt make it. ThereÒs something IÒve gotta do.Ô
ÓDude, what are you talkinÒ aboutØÔ
ÓI just need your keys.Ô I had to get out of there. I was having the dreams, hearing the song, and now blacking out in the middle of class, if thatÒs even what youÒd call it. I didnÒt know what was going on with me, but I knew it was bad.
If my mom was still alive, I probably wouldÒve told her everything. She was like that, I could tell her anything. But she was gone, and my dad was holed up in his study all the time, and Amma would be sprinkling salt all over my room for a month if I told her.
I was on my own.
Link held out his keys. ÓCoach is gonna kill you.Ô
ÓI know.Ô
ÓAnd AmmaÒs gonna find out.Ô
ÓI know.Ô
ÓAnd sheÒs gonna kick your butt all the way to the County Line.Ô His hand wavered as I grabbed the keys. ÓDonÒt be stupid.Ô
I turned and bolted. Too late.
9.11
COLLISION
By the time I got to the car, I was soaking wet. The storm had been building all week.
There was a weather advisory on every radio station I could get any reception from, which wasnÒt saying much considering the Beater only got three stations, all AM. The clouds were totally black, and since it was hurricane season, that wasnÒt something to be taken lightly. But it didnÒt matter. I needed to clear my head and figure out what was going on, even if I had no idea where I was going.
I had to turn on the headlights to even drive out of the parking lot. I couldnÒt see more than three feet in front of the car. It wasnÒt a day to be driving. Lightning sliced through the dark sky ahead of me. I counted, as Amma had taught me years ago×one, two, three.
Thunder cracked, which meant the storm wasnÒt far off×three miles according to
AmmaÒs calculations.
I pulled up at the stoplight by Jackson, one of only three in town. I had no idea what to do. The rain jackhammered down on the Beater. The radio was reduced to static, but I heard something. I cranked the volume and the song flooded through the crappy speakers.
Sixteen Moons.
The song that had disappeared from my playlist. The song no one else seemed to hear.
The song Lena Duchannes had been playing on the viola. The song that was driving me crazy.
The light turned green and the Beater lurched into drive. I was on my way, and I had absolutely no idea where I was going.
Lightning ripped across the sky. I counted×one, two. The storm was getting closer. I flipped on the windshield wipers. It was no use. I couldnÒt even see halfway down the block. Lightning flashed. I counted×one. Thunder rumbled above the roof of the Beater, and the rain turned horizontal. The windshield rattled as if it could give way at any second, which, considering the condition of the Beater, it could have.
I wasnÒt chasing the storm. The storm was chasing me, and it had found me. I could barely keep the wheels on the slick road, and the Beater started to fishtail, skating erratically back and forth between the two lanes of Route 9.
I couldnÒt see a thing. I slammed on the brakes, spinning out into the darkness. The headlights flickered, for barely a second, and a pair of huge green eyes stared back at me from the middle of the road. At first I thought it was a deer, but I was wrong.
There was someone in the road!
I pulled on the wheel with both hands, as hard as I could. My body slammed against the side of the door.
Her hand was outstretched. I closed my eyes for the impact, but it never came.
The Beater jerked to a stop, not more than three feet away. The headlights made a pale circle of light in the rain, reflecting off one of those cheap plastic rain ponchos you can buy for three dollars at the drugstore. It was a girl. Slowly, she pulled the hood off her head, letting the rain run down her face. Green eyes, black hair.
Lena Duchannes.
I couldnÒt breathe. I knew she had green eyes; IÒd seen them before. But tonight they looked different×different from any eyes I had ever seen. They were huge and unnaturally green, an electric green, like the lightning from the storm. Standing in the rain like that, she almost didnÒt look human.
I stumbled out of the Beater into the rain, leaving the engine running and the door open.
Neither one of us said a word, standing in the middle of Route 9 in the kind of downpour you only saw during a hurricane or a norÒeaster. Adrenaline was pumping through my veins and my muscles were tense, as if my body was still waiting for the crash.
LenaÒs hair whipped in the wind around her, dripping with rain. I took a step toward her, and it hit me. Wet lemons. Wet rosemary. All at once, the dream started coming back to me, like waves crashing over my head. Only this time, when she slipped through my fingers×I could see her face.
Green eyes and black hair. I remembered. It was her. She was standing right in front of me.
I had to know for sure. I grabbed her wrist. There they were: the tiny moon-shaped scratches, right where my fingers had reached for her wrist in the dream. When I touched her, electricity ran through my body. Lightning struck the tree not ten feet from where we were standing, splitting the trunk neatly in half. It began to smolder.
ÓAre you crazyØ Or just a terrible driverØÔ She backed away from me, her green eyes flashing×with angerØ With something.
ÓItÒs you.Ô
ÓWhat were you trying to do, kill meØÔ
ÓYouÒre real.Ô The words felt strange in my mouth, like it was full of cotton.
ÓA real corpse, almost. Thanks to you.Ô
ÓIÒm not crazy. I thought I was, but IÒm not. ItÒs you. YouÒre standing right in front of me.Ô
ÓNot for long.Ô She turned her back on me and started up the road. This wasnÒt going the way I had imagined it.
I ran to catch up with her. ÓYouÒre the one who just appeared out of nowhere and ran out into the middle of the highway.Ô
She waved her arm dramatically like she was waving away more than just the idea. For the first time, I saw the long black car in the shadows. The hearse, with its hood up.
ÓHelloØ I was looking for someone to help me, genius. My uncleÒs car died. You could have just driven by. You didnÒt have to try to run me down.Ô
ÓIt was you in the dreams. And the song. The weird song on my iPod.Ô
She whirled around. ÓWhat dreamsØ What songØ Are you drunk, or is this some kind of jokeØÔ
ÓI know itÒs you. You have the marks on your wrist.Ô
She turned her hand over and looked down, confused. ÓTheseØ I have a dog. Get over it.Ô
But I knew I wasnÒt wrong. I could see the face from my dream so clearly now. Was it possible she didnÒt knowØ
She pulled up her hood and began the long walk to Ravenwood in the pouring rain. I caught up with her. ÓHereÒs a hint. Next time, donÒt get out of your car in the middle of the road during a storm. Call 911.Ô
She didnÒt stop walking. ÓI wasnÒt about to call the police. IÒm not even supposed to be driving. I only have a learnerÒs permit. Anyway, my cell is dead.Ô Clearly she wasnÒt from around here. The only way youÒd get pulled over in this town was if you were driving on the wrong side of the road.
The storm was picking up. I had to shout over the howl of the rain. ÓJust let me give you a ride home. You shouldnÒt be out here.Ô
ÓNo thanks. IÒll wait for the next guy who almost runs me down.Ô
ÓThere isnÒt gonna be another guy. It could be hours before anyone else comes by.Ô
She started walking again. ÓNo problem. IÒll walk.Ô
I couldnÒt let her wander around alone in the pouring rain. My mom had raised me better than that. ÓI canÒt let you walk home in this weather.Ô As if on cue, thunder rolled over our heads. Her hood blew off. ÓIÒll drive like my grandma. IÒll drive like your grandma.Ô
ÓYou wouldnÒt say that if you knew my gramma.Ô The wind was picking up. Now she was shouting, too.
ÓCome on.Ô
ÓWhatØÔ
ÓThe car. Get in. With me.Ô
She looked at me, and for a second I wasnÒt sure if she was going to give in. ÓI guess itÒs safer than walking. With you on the road, anyway.Ô
The Beater was drenched. Link would lose it when he saw it. The storm sounded different once we were in the car, both louder and quieter. I could hear the rain pounding the roof, but it was nearly drowned out by the sound of my heart beating and my teeth chattering. I pushed the car into drive. I was so aware of Lena sitting next to me, just inches away in the passenger seat. I snuck a look.
Even though she was a pain, she was beautiful. Her green eyes were enormous. I couldnÒt figure out why they looked so different tonight. She had the longest eyelashes I had ever seen, and her skin was pale, made even paler by the contrast of her wild black hair. She had a tiny, light brown birthmark on her cheekbone just below her left eye, shaped sort of like a crescent moon. She didnÒt look like anybody at Jackson. She didnÒt look like anybody IÒd ever seen.
She pulled the wet poncho over her head. Her black T-shirt and jeans clung to her like sheÒd fallen in a swimming pool. Her gray vest dripped a steady stream of water onto the pleather seat. ÓYouÒre s-staring.Ô
I looked away, out the windshield, anywhere but at her. ÓYou should probably take that off. ItÒll only make you colder.Ô
I could see her fumbling with the delicate silver buttons on the vest, unable to control the shaking in her hands. I reached forward, and she froze. Like I wouldÒve dared touch her again. ÓIÒll turn up the heat.Ô
She went back to the buttons. ÓTh-thanks.Ô
I could see her hands×more ink, now smeared from the rain. I could just make out a few numbers. Maybe a one or a seven, a five, a two. 152. What was that aboutØ
I glanced in the backseat for the old army blanket Link usually kept back there. Instead there was a ratty sleeping bag, probably from the last time Link got in trouble at home and had to sleep in his car. It smelled like old campfire smoke and basement mold. I handed it to her.
ÓMmmm. ThatÒs better.Ô She closed her eyes. I could feel her ease into the warmth of the heater, and I relaxed, just watching her. The chattering of her teeth slowed. After that, we drove in silence. The only sound was the storm, and the wheels rolling and spraying through the lake the road had become. She traced shapes on the foggy window with her finger. I tried to keep my eyes on the road, tried to remember the rest of the dreamsome detail, one thing that would prove to her that she was, I donÒt know, her, and that I was me.
But the harder I tried, the more it all seemed to fade away, into the rain and the highway and the passing acres and acres of tobacco fields, littered with dated farm equipment and rotting old barns. We reached the outskirts of town, and I could see the fork in the road up ahead. If you took a left, toward my house, youÒd hit River, where all the restored antebellum houses lined the Santee. It was also the way out of town. When we came to the fork in the road, I automatically started to turn left, out of habit. The only thing to the right was Ravenwood Plantation, and no one ever went there.
ÓNo, wait. Go right here,Ô she said.
ÓOh, yeah. Sorry.Ô I felt sick. We climbed the hill up toward Ravenwood Manor, the great house. I had been so wrapped up in who she was, I had forgotten who she was. The girl IÒd been dreaming about for months, the girl I couldnÒt stop thinking about, was
Macon RavenwoodÒs niece. And I was driving her home to the Haunted Mansion×thatÒs what we called it.
ThatÒs what I had called it.
She looked down at her hands. I wasnÒt the only one who knew she was living in the
Haunted Mansion. I wondered what sheÒd heard in the halls. If she knew what everyone was saying about her. The uncomfortable look on her face said she did. I donÒt know why, but I couldnÒt stand seeing her like that. I tried to think of something to say to break the silence. ÓSo why did you move in with your uncleØ Usually people are trying to get out of Gatlin; no one really moves here.Ô
I heard the relief in her voice. ÓIÒve lived all over. New Orleans, Savannah, the Florida
Keys, Virginia for a few months. I even lived in Barbados for a while.Ô
I noticed she didnÒt answer the question, but I couldnÒt help thinking about how much I wouldÒve killed to live in one of those places, even for a summer. ÓWhere are your parentsØÔ
ÓTheyÒre dead.Ô
I felt my chest tighten. ÓSorry.Ô
ÓItÒs okay. They died when I was two. I donÒt even remember them. IÒve lived with lots of my relatives, mainly my gramma. She had to take a trip for a few months. ThatÒs why
IÒm staying with my uncle.Ô
ÓMy mom died, too. Car accident.Ô I had no idea why I said that. I spent most of my time trying not to talk about it.
ÓIÒm sorry.Ô
I didnÒt say it was okay. I had a feeling she was the kind of girl who knew it wasnÒt.
We stopped in front of a weather-beaten black wrought-iron gate. In front of me, on the rising hill, barely visible through the blanket of fog, stood the dilapidated remains of GatlinÒs oldest and most notorious plantation house, Ravenwood Manor. IÒd never been this close to it before. I turned off the motor. Now the storm had faded into a kind of soft, steady drizzle. ÓLooks like the lightningÒs gone.Ô
ÓIÒm sure thereÒs more where that came from.Ô
ÓMaybe. But not tonight.Ô
She looked at me, almost curiously. ÓNo. I think weÒre done for tonight.Ô Her eyes looked different. They had faded back to a less intense shade of green, and they were smaller somehow×not small, but more normal looking.
I started to open my door, to walk her up to the house.
ÓNo, donÒt.Ô She looked embarrassed. ÓMy uncleÒs kind of shy.Ô That was an understatement.
My door was half open. Her door was half open. We were both getting even wetter, but we just sat there without saying anything. I knew what I wanted to say, but I also knew I couldnÒt say it. I didnÒt know why I was sitting here, soaking wet, in front of Ravenwood
Manor. Nothing was making any sense, but I knew one thing. Once I drove back down the hill and turned back onto Route 9, everything would change back. Everything would make sense again. WouldnÒt itØ
She spoke first. ÓThanks, I guess.Ô
ÓFor not running you downØÔ
She smiled. ÓYeah, that. And the ride.Ô
I stared at her smiling at me, almost like we were friends, which was impossible. I started to feel claustrophobic, like I had to get out of there. ÓIt was nothing. I mean, itÒs cool.
DonÒt worry about it.Ô I flipped up the hood of my basketball sweatshirt, the way Emory did when one of the girls heÒd blown off tried to talk to him in the hall.
She looked at me, shaking her head, and tossed the sleeping bag at me, a little too hard.
The smile was gone. ÓWhatever. IÒll see you around.Ô She turned her back on me, slipped through the gates and ran up the steep, muddy drive toward the house. I slammed the door.
The sleeping bag lay on the seat. I picked it up to throw it into the back. It still had the moldy campfire smell, but now it also smelled faintly of lemons and rosemary. I closed my eyes. When I opened them, she was already halfway up the driveway.
I rolled down my window. ÓShe has a glass eye.Ô
Lena looked back at me. ÓWhatØÔ
I shouted, the rain dripping down the inside of the car door. ÓMrs. English. You have to sit on her other side, or sheÒll make you talk.Ô
She smiled as the rain rolled down her face. ÓMaybe I like to talk.Ô She turned back to
Ravenwood and ran up the steps to the veranda.
I shifted the car into reverse and drove back down to the fork in the road, so I could turn the way I usually turned, and take the road I had taken my whole life. Until today. I saw something shining from the crack in the seat. A silver button.
I shoved it into my pocket, and wondered what IÒd dream about tonight.
9.12
BROKEN GLASS
Nothing.
It was a long, dreamless sleep, the first IÒd had in a long time.
When I woke up, the window was closed. No mud in my bed, no mysterious songs on my iPod. I checked twice. Even my shower just smelled like soap.
I lay in my bed, looking up at my blue ceiling, thinking about green eyes and black hair.
Old Man RavenwoodÒs niece. Lena Duchannes, it rhymes with rain.
How far off could a guy beØ
When Link pulled up, I was waiting at the curb. I climbed in and my sneakers sank into the wet carpet, which made the Beater smell even worse than usual. Link shook his head.
ÓIÒm sorry, man. IÒll try to dry it out after school.Ô
ÓWhatever. Just do me a favor and get off the crazy train, or everyoneÒll be talkinÒ about you instead a Old Man RavenwoodÒs niece.Ô
For a second, I considered keeping it to myself, but I had to tell someone. ÓI saw her.Ô
ÓWhoØÔ
ÓLena Duchannes.Ô
He looked blank.
ÓOld Man RavenwoodÒs niece.Ô
By the time we pulled up in the parking lot, I had told Link the whole story. Well, maybe not the whole story. Even best friends have their limits. And I canÒt say that he believed all of it, but then again, who wouldØ I was still having a hard time believing it myself.
But even if he wasnÒt clear on the details, as we walked up to join the guys, he was clear about one thing. Damage control.
ÓItÒs not like anything happened. You drove her home.Ô
ÓNothing happenedØ Were you even listeningØ IÒve been dreaming about her for months and she turns out to be×Ô
Link cut me off. ÓYou didnÒt hook up or anything. You didnÒt go in the Haunted
Mansion, rightØ And you never saw, you knowÅ himØÔ Even Link couldnÒt bring himself to say his name. It was one thing to hang out with a beautiful girl, in any situation. It was another thing to hang out with Old Man Ravenwood.
I shook my head. ÓNo, but×Ô
ÓI know, I know. YouÒre screwed up. IÒm just sayinÒ, keep it to yourself, dude. All this is on a strictly need-to-know basis. As in, nobody else needs to know.Ô I knew that was going to be hard. I didnÒt know it was going to be impossible.
When I pushed open the door to English, I was still thinking about everything×about her, the nothing that had happened. Lena Duchannes.
Maybe it was the way she wore that crazy necklace with all the junk on it, as if every single thing she touched could matter or did matter to her. Maybe it was the way she wore those beat-up sneakers whether she was wearing jeans or a dress, like she could take off running, any minute. When I looked at her, I was farther away from Gatlin than IÒd ever been. Maybe it was that.
I guess when I started thinking, I stopped walking, and I felt someone bump into me.
Only it wasnÒt a steamroller this time, more like a tsunami. We collided, hard. The second we touched, the ceiling light shorted out over us, and a shower of sparks rained down on our heads.
I ducked. She didnÒt.
ÓAre you trying to kill me for the second time in two days, EthanØÔ The room went dead quiet.
ÓWhatØÔ I could barely get the word out.
ÓI said, are you trying to kill me againØÔ
ÓI didnÒt know you were there.Ô
ÓThatÒs what you said last night.Ô
Last night. The two little words that could forever change your life at Jackson. Even though there were plenty of lights still working, you wouldÒve thought there was a spotlight on us, to go with our live audience. I could feel my face going red.
ÓSorry. I mean×hi,Ô I mumbled, sounding like an idiot. She looked amused, but kept walking. She slung her book bag on the same desk she had been sitting at all week, right in front of Mrs. English. Good-Eye Side.
IÒd learned my lesson. There was no telling Lena Duchannes where she could or couldnÒt sit. No matter what you thought about the Ravenwoods, you had to give her that. I slid into the seat next to her, smack in the middle of No ManÒs Land. Like I had all week.
Only this time she was talking to me, and somehow that made everything different. Not bad-different, just terrifying.
She started to smile, but caught herself. I tried to think of something interesting to say, or at least not stupid. But before I came up with anything, Emily sat down on the other side of me, with Eden Westerly and Charlotte Chase flanking her on either side. Six rows closer than usual. Not even sitting on the Good-Eye Side was going to help me today.
Mrs. English looked up from her desk, suspicious.
ÓHey, Ethan.Ô Eden turned back to me, and smiled, like I was in on their little game.
ÓHowÒs it goinÒØÔ
I wasnÒt surprised to see Eden following EmilyÒs lead. Eden was just another one of the pretty girls who wasnÒt quite pretty enough to be Savannah. Eden was strictly second string, on the cheer squad and in life. Not a base, not a flyer, sometimes she didnÒt even get on the mat. Eden never gave up trying to do something to make that leap, though. Her thing was to be different, except for, I guess, the part about being different. Nobody was different at Jackson.
ÓWe didnÒt want ya to have to sit up here all by yourself.Ô Charlotte giggled. If Eden was second string, Charlotte was third. Charlotte was one thing no self-respecting Jackson cheerleader should ever be, a little chunky. She had never quite lost her baby fat, and even though she was on a perpetual diet she just couldnÒt shed those last ten pounds. It wasnÒt her fault; she was always trying. Ate the pie and left the crust. Double the biscuits and half the gravy.
ÓCan this book get any more borinÒØÔ Emily didnÒt even look my way. This was a territorial dispute. She might have dumped me, but she certainly didnÒt want to see Old
Man RavenwoodÒs niece anywhere near me. ÓLike I wanna read about a town fulla people who are completely mental. WeÒve got enough a that around here.Ô
Abby Porter, who usually sat on the Good-Eye Side, sat down next to Lena and gave her a weak smile. Lena smiled back and looked as if she was going to say something friendly, when Emily shot Abby a look that made it clear that the famed Southern hospitality did not apply to Lena. Defying Emily Asher was an act of social suicide. Abby pulled out her
Student Council folder and buried her nose in it, avoiding Lena. Message received.
Emily turned to Lena and expertly shot her a look that managed to work its way from the very top of LenaÒs un-highlighted hair, past her un-tanned face, down to the tips of her un-pinked fingernails. Eden and Charlotte swung around in their chairs to face Emily, as if Lena didnÒt exist. The girl freeze-out×today it was negative fifteen.
Lena opened her tattered spiral notebook and started to write. Emily got out her phone and began to text. I looked back down at my notebook, slipping my Silver Surfer comic between the pages, which was a lot harder to do in the front row.
ÓAll right, ladies and gentleman, since it looks like the rest of the lights will be staying on, youÒre out of luck. I hope everyone did the reading last night.Ô Mrs. English was scribbling madly on the chalkboard. ÓLetÒs take a minute to discuss social conflict in a small-town setting.Ô
¦ ¦ ¦
Someone should have told Mrs. English. Halfway through class, we had more than social conflict in a small-town setting. Emily was coordinating a full-scale attack.
ÓWho knows why Atticus is willing to defend Tom Robinson, in the face of smallmindedness and racismØÔ
ÓI bet Lena Ravenwood knows,Ô Eden said, smiling innocently at Mrs. English. Lena looked down into the lines of her notebook, but didnÒt say a word.
ÓShut up,Ô I whispered, a little too loudly. ÓYou know thatÒs not her name.Ô
ÓIt may as well be. SheÒs livinÒ with that freak,Ô Charlotte said.
ÓWatch what you say. I hear theyÒre, like, a couple.Ô Emily was pulling out the big guns.
ÓThatÒs enough.Ô Mrs. English turned her good eye on us, and we all shut up.
Lena shifted her weight; her chair scraped loudly against the floor. I leaned forward in mine, trying to become a wall between Lena and EmilyÒs minions like I could physically deflect their comments.
You canÒt.
WhatØ I sat up, startled. I looked around, but no one was talking to me; no one was talking at all. I looked at Lena. She was still half-hidden in her notebook. Great. It wasnÒt enough to dream real girls and hear imaginary songs. Now I had to hear voices, too.
The whole Lena thing was really getting to me. I guess I felt responsible, in a way.
Emily, and the rest of them, wouldnÒt hate her so much if it wasnÒt for me.
They would.
There it was again, a voice so quiet I could barely hear it. It was like it was coming from the back of my head.
Eden, Charlotte, and Emily kept firing away, and Lena didnÒt even blink, like she could just block them out as long as she kept writing in that notebook of hers.
ÓHarper Lee seems to be saying that you canÒt really get to know someone until you take a walk in his shoes. What do you make of thatØ AnyoneØÔ
Harper Lee never lived in Gatlin.
I looked around, stifling a laugh. Emily looked at me like I was nuts.
Lena raised her hand. ÓI think it means you have to give people a chance. Before you automatically skip to the hating part. DonÒt you think so, EmilyØÔ She looked at Emily and smiled.
ÓYou little freak,Ô Emily hissed under her breath.
You have no idea.
I stared more closely at Lena. She had given up on the notebook; now she was writing on her hand in black ink. I didnÒt have to see it to know what it was. Another number. 151. I wondered what it meant, and why it couldnÒt go in the notebook. I buried my head back in Silver Surfer.
ÓLetÒs talk about Boo Radley. What would lead you to believe he is leaving gifts for the
Finch childrenØÔ
ÓHeÒs just like Old Man Ravenwood. HeÒs probably tryinÒ to lure those kids into his house so he can kill them,Ô Emily whispered, loud enough for Lena to hear, but quiet enough to keep Mrs. English from hearing. ÓThen he can put their bodies in his hearse and take them out to the middle a nowhere and bury them.Ô
Shut up.
I heard the voice in my head again, and something else. It was a creaking sound. Faint.
ÓAnd he has that crazy name like Boo Radley. What is it againØÔ
ÓYouÒre right, itÒs that creepy Bible name nobody uses anymore.Ô
I stiffened. I knew they were talking about Old Man Ravenwood, but they were also talking about Lena. ÓEmily, why donÒt you give it a rest,Ô I shot back.
She narrowed her eyes. ÓHeÒs a freak. They all are and everyone knows it.Ô
I said shut up.
The creaking was getting louder and started to sound more like splintering. I looked around. What was that noiseØ Even weirder, it didnÒt seem like anyone else heard it×like the voice.
Lena was staring straight ahead, but her jaw was clenched and she was unnaturally focused on one point in the front of the room, like she couldnÒt see anything but that spot.
The room felt like it was getting smaller, closing in.
I heard LenaÒs chair drag across the floor again. She got out of her seat, heading toward the bookcase under the window, on the side of the room. Most likely pretending to sharpen her pencil so she could escape the inescapable, JacksonÒs judge and jury. The sharpener began to grind.
ÓMelchizedek, thatÒs it.Ô
Stop it.
I could still hear the grinding.
ÓMy grandmamma says thatÒs an evil name.Ô
Stop it stop it stop it.
ÓSuits him, too.Ô
ENOUGH!
Now the voice was so loud, I grabbed my ears. The grinding stopped. Glass went flying, splintering into the air, as the window shattered out of nowhere×the window right across from our row in the classroom, right next to where Lena stood, sharpening her pencil.
Right next to Charlotte, Eden, Emily, and me. They screamed and dove out of their seats.
ThatÒs when I realized what that creaking sound had been. Pressure. Tiny cracks in the glass, spreading out like fingers, until the window collapsed inward like it had been pulled by a thread.
It was chaos. The girls were screaming. Everyone in the class was scrambling out of their seats. Even I jumped.
ÓDonÒt panic. Is everyone all rightØÔ Mrs. English said, trying to regain control.
I turned toward the pencil sharpener. I wanted to make sure Lena was okay. She wasnÒt.
She was standing by the broken window, surrounded by glass, looking panic-stricken.
Her face was even paler than usual, her eyes even bigger and greener. Like last night in the rain. But they looked different. They looked frightened. She didnÒt seem so brave anymore.
She held out her hands. One was cut and bleeding. Red drops splattered on the linoleum floor.
I didnÒt mean itDid she shatter the glassØ Or had the glass shattered and cut herØ
ÓLena×Ô
She bolted out of the room, before I could ask her if she was all right.
ÓDid you see thatØ She broke the window! She hit it with somethinÒ when she walked over there!Ô
ÓShe punched clean through the glass. I saw it with my own eyes!Ô
ÓThen how come sheÒs not gushinÒ bloodØÔ
ÓWhat are you, CSIØ She tried to kill us.Ô
ÓIÒm callinÒ my daddy right now. SheÒs crazy, just like her uncle!Ô
They sounded like a pack of angry alley cats, shouting over each other. Mrs. English tried to restore order, but that was asking the impossible. ÓEveryone calm down. ThereÒs no reason to panic. Accidents happen. It was probably nothing that canÒt be explained by an old window and the wind.Ô
But no one believed it could be explained by an old window and the wind. More like an old manÒs niece and a lightning storm. The green-eyed storm that just rolled into town.
Hurricane Lena.
One thing was for sure. The weather had changed, all right. Gatlin had never seen a storm like this.
And she probably didnÒt even know it was raining.
9.12
GREENBRIER
DonÒt.
I could hear her voice in my head. At least I thought I could.
ItÒs not worth it, Ethan.
It was.
ThatÒs when I pushed back my chair and ran down the hallway after her. I knew what IÒd done. I had taken sides. I was in a different kind of trouble now, but I didnÒt care.
It wasnÒt just Lena. She wasnÒt the first. IÒd watched them do it, my whole life. TheyÒd done it to Allison Birch when her eczema got so bad nobody would sit near her at the lunch table, and poor Scooter Richman because he played the worst trombone in the history of the Jackson Symphony Orchestra.
While IÒd never picked up a marker and written LOSER across a locker myself, I had stood by and watched, plenty of times. Either way, it had always bothered me. Just never enough to walk out of the room.
But somebody had to do something. A whole school couldnÒt just take down one person like that. A whole town couldnÒt just take down one family. Except, of course, they could, because they had been doing it forever. Maybe thatÒs why Macon Ravenwood hadnÒt left his house since before I was born.
I knew what I was doing.
You donÒt. You think you do, but you donÒt.
She was there in my head again, as if sheÒd always been there.
I knew what IÒd be facing the next day, but none of that mattered to me. All I cared about was finding her. And I couldnÒt have told you just then if it was for her, or for me. Either way, I didnÒt have a choice.
I stopped at the bio lab, out of breath. Link took one look at me and tossed me his keys, shaking his head without even asking. I caught them and kept running. I was pretty sure I knew where to find her. If I was right, she had gone where anyone would go. ItÒs where I would have gone.
She had gone home. Even if home was Ravenwood, and she had gone home to GatlinÒs own Boo Radley.
Ravenwood Manor loomed in front of me. It rose up on the hill like a dare. IÒm not saying I was scared, because thatÒs not exactly the word for it. I was scared when the police came to the door the night my mom died. I was scared when my dad disappeared into his study and I realized he would never really come back out. I was scared when I was a kid and Amma went dark, when I figured out the little dolls she made werenÒt toys.
I wasnÒt scared of Ravenwood, even if it turned out to be as creepy as it looked. The unexplained was sort of a given in the South; every town has a haunted house, and if you asked most folks, at least a third of them would swear theyÒd seen a ghost or two in their lifetime. Besides, I lived with Amma, whose beliefs included painting our shutters haint blue to keep the spirits out, and whose charms were made from pouches of horsehair and dirt. So I was used to unusual. But Old Man Ravenwood, that was something else.
I walked up to the gate and hesitantly laid my hand on the mangled iron. The gate creaked open. And then, nothing happened. No lightning, no combustion, no storms. I donÒt know what I was expecting, but if I had learned anything about Lena by now, it was to expect the unexpected, and to proceed with caution.
If anyone had told me a month ago that I would ever walk past those gates, up that hill, and set foot anywhere on the grounds of Ravenwood, I wouldÒve said they were crazy. In a town like Gatlin, where you can see everything coming, I wouldnÒt have seen this. Last time, I had only made it as far as the gates. The closer I got, the easier it was to see that everything was falling apart. The great house, Ravenwood Manor, looked just like the stereotypical Southern plantation that people from up North would expect to see after all those years of watching movies like Gone with the Wind.
Ravenwood Manor was still that impressive, at least in scale. Flanked by palmetto and cypress trees, it looked like it could have been the kind of place where people sat on the porch drinking mint juleps and playing cards all day, if it wasnÒt falling apart. If it wasnÒt
Ravenwood.
It was a Greek Revival, which was unusual for Gatlin. Our town was full of Federal-style plantation houses, which made Ravenwood stand out even more like the sore thumb it was. Huge white Doric pillars, paint peeling from years of neglect, supported a roof that sloped too sharply to one side, giving the impression that the house was leaning over like an arthritic old woman. The covered porch was splintered and falling away from the house, threatening to collapse if you dared set so much as a foot on it. Thick ivy grew so densely over the exterior walls that in some places it was impossible to see the windows underneath. As if the grounds had swallowed up the house itself, trying to take it back down into the very dirt it had been built upon.
There was an overlapping lintel, the part of the beam that lies over the door of some really old buildings. I could see some sort of carving in the lintel. Symbols. They looked like circles and crescents, maybe the phases of the moon. I took a tentative step onto a groaning stair so I could get a closer look. I knew something about lintels. My mom had been a Civil War historian, and she had pointed them out to me on our countless pilgrimages to every historical site within a dayÒs drive of Gatlin. She said they were really common in old houses and castles, in places like England and Scotland. Which is where some of the people from around here were from, well, before they were from around here.
I had never seen one with symbols carved into it before, only words. These were more like hieroglyphs, surrounding what looked like a single word, in a language I didnÒt recognize. It had probably meant something to the generations of Ravenwoods who lived here before this place was falling apart.
I took a breath and vaulted up the rest of the porch steps, two at a time. Figured I increased my odds of not falling through them by fifty percent if I only landed on half of them. I reached for the brass ring suspended from a lionÒs mouth that served as a knocker, and I knocked. I knocked again, and again. She wasnÒt home. I had been wrong, after all.
But then I heard it, the familiar melody. Sixteen Moons. She was here somewhere.
I pushed down on the calcified iron of the door handle. It groaned, and I heard a bolt responding on the other side of the door. I prepared myself for the sight of Macon
Ravenwood, who nobody had seen in town, not in my lifetime anyway. But the door didnÒt open.
I looked up at the lintel, and something told me to try. I mean, what was the worst that could happen×the door wouldnÒt openØ Instinctively, I reached up and touched the central carving above my head. The crescent moon. When I pressed on it, I could feel the wood giving way under my finger. It was some kind of trigger.
The door swung open without so much as a sound. I stepped past the threshold. There was no going back now.
Light flooded through the windows, which seemed impossible considering the windows on the outside of the house were completely covered with vines and debris. Yet, inside it was light, bright, and brand new. There was no antique period furniture or oil paintings of the Ravenwoods who came before Old Man Ravenwood, no antebellum heirlooms. This place looked more like a page out of a furniture catalog. Overstuffed couches and chairs and glass-topped tables, stacked with coffee table books. It was all so suburban, so new. I almost expected to see the delivery truck still parked outside.
ÓLenaØÔ
The circular staircase looked like it belonged in a loft; it seemed to keep winding upward, far above the second-floor landing. I couldnÒt see the top.
ÓMr. RavenwoodØÔ I could hear my own voice echo against the high ceiling. There was nobody here. At least, nobody interested in talking to me. I heard a noise behind me, and jumped, nearly tripping over some kind of suede chair.
It was a jet-black dog, or maybe a wolf. Some kind of scary house pet, because it wore a heavy leather collar with a dangling silver moon that jingled when it moved. It was staring right at me like it was plotting its next move. There was something odd about its eyes. They were too round, too human-looking.
The wolf-dog growled at me and bared its teeth. The growl became loud and shrill, more like a scream. I did what anyone would do.
I ran.
I stumbled down the stairs before my eyes had even adjusted to the light. I kept running, down the gravel path, away from Ravenwood Manor, away from the frightening house pet and the strange symbols and the creepy door, and back into the safe, dim light of the real afternoon. The path wound on and on, snaking through unkempt fields and groves of uncultivated trees, wild with brambles and bushes. I didnÒt care where it led, as long as it was away.
I stopped and bent over, hands on knees, my chest exploding. My legs were rubber.
When I looked up, I saw a crumbling rock wall in front of me. I could barely make out the tops of the trees beyond the wall.
I smelled something familiar. Lemon trees. She was here.
I told you not to come.
I know.
We were having a conversation, except we werenÒt. But just like in class, I could hear her in my head, as if she was standing next to me whispering in my ear.
I felt myself moving toward her. There was a walled garden, maybe even a secret garden, like something out of a book my mother would have read growing up in Savannah. This place must have been really old. The stone wall was worn away in places and completely broken in others. When I pushed through the curtain of vines that hid the old, rotting wooden archway, I could just barely hear the sound of someone crying. I looked through the trees and the bushes, but I still couldnÒt see her.
ÓLenaØÔ Nobody answered. My voice sounded strange, as if it wasnÒt mine, echoing off the stone walls that surrounded the little grove. I grabbed the bush closest to me and ripped off a branch. Rosemary. Of course. And in the tree above my head, there it was: a strangely perfect, smooth, yellow lemon.
ÓItÒs Ethan.Ô As the muffled sounds of sobbing grew, I knew I was coming closer.
ÓGo away, I told you.Ô She sounded like she had a cold; she had probably been crying since she left school.
ÓI know. I heard you.Ô It was true, and I couldnÒt explain it. I stepped carefully around the wild rosemary, stumbling through the overgrown roots.
ÓReallyØÔ She sounded interested, momentarily distracted.
ÓReally.Ô It was like the dreams. I could hear her voice, except she was here, crying in an overgrown garden in the middle of nowhere, instead of falling through my arms.
I parted a large tangle of branches. There she was, curled up in the tall grasses, staring up at the blue sky. She had one arm tossed over her head, and another clutching at the grass, as if she thought she would fly away if she let go. Her gray dress lay in a puddle around her. Her face was streaked with tears.
ÓThen why didnÒt youØÔ
ÓWhatØÔ
ÓGo awayØÔ
ÓI wanted to make sure you were okay.Ô I sat down next to her. The ground was surprisingly hard. I ran my hand underneath me and discovered I was sitting on a smooth slab of flat stone, hidden by the muddy overgrowth.
Just as I lay back, she sat up. I sat up, and she flopped back down. Awkward. That was my every move, when it came to her.
Now we were both lying down, staring up at the blue sky. It was turning gray, the color of the Gatlin sky during hurricane season.
ÓThey all hate me.Ô
ÓNot all of them. Not me. Not Link, my best friend.Ô
Silence.
ÓYou donÒt even know me. Give it time; youÒll probably hate me, too.Ô
ÓI almost ran you down, rememberØ I have to be nice to you, so you donÒt have me arrested.Ô
It was a lame joke. But there it was, the smallest smile I have possibly ever seen in my life. ÓItÒs right up at the top of my list. IÒll report you to that fat guy who sits in front of the supermarket all day.Ô She looked back up at the sky. I watched her.
ÓGive them a chance. TheyÒre not all bad. I mean, they are, right now. TheyÒre just jealous. You know that, rightØÔ
ÓYeah, sure.Ô
ÓThey are.Ô I looked at her, through the tall grass. ÓI am.Ô
She shook her head. ÓThen youÒre crazy. ThereÒs nothing to be jealous of, unless youÒre really into eating lunch alone.Ô
ÓYouÒve lived all over.Ô
She looked blank. ÓSoØ YouÒve probably gotten to go to the same school and live in the same house your whole life.Ô
ÓI have, thatÒs the problem.Ô
ÓTrust me, itÒs not a problem. I know about problems.Ô
ÓYouÒve gone places, seen things. IÒd kill to do that.Ô
ÓYeah, all by myself. You have a best friend. I have a dog.Ô
ÓBut youÒre not scared of anyone. You act the way you want and say whatever you want.
Everyone else around here is scared to be themselves.Ô
Lena picked at the black polish on her index finger. ÓSometimes I wish I could act like everyone else, but I canÒt change who I am. IÒve tried. But I never wear the right clothes or say the right thing, and something always goes wrong. I just wish I could be myself and still have friends who noticed whether IÒm in school or not.
ÓBelieve me, they notice. At least, they did today.Ô She almost laughed×almost. ÓI mean, in a good way.Ô I looked away.
I notice.
WhatØ
Whether youÒre in school or not.
ÓThen I guess you are crazy.Ô But when she said the words, it sounded like she was smiling.
Looking at her, it didnÒt seem to matter anymore if I had a lunch table to sit at or not. I couldnÒt explain it, but she was, this was, bigger than that. I couldnÒt sit by and watch them try to take her down. Not her.
ÓYou know, itÒs always like this.Ô She was talking to the sky. A cloud floated into the darkening gray-blue.
ÓCloudyØÔ
ÓAt school, for me.Ô She held up her hand and waved it. The cloud seemed to swirl in the direction her hand was moving. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve.
ÓItÒs not like I really care if they like me. I just donÒt want them to automatically hate me.Ô Now the cloud was a circle.
ÓThose idiotsØ In a few months, Emily will get a new car and Savannah will get a new crown and Eden will dye her hair a new color and Charlotte will get, I donÒt know, a baby or a tattoo or something, and this will all be ancient history.Ô I was lying, and she knew it.
Lena waved her hand again. Now the cloud looked more like a slightly dented circle, and then maybe a moon.
ÓI know theyÒre idiots. Of course theyÒre idiots. All that dyed blond hair and those stupid little matching metallic bags.Ô
ÓExactly. TheyÒre stupid. Who caresØÔ
ÓI care. They bother me. And thatÒs why IÒm stupid. That makes me exponentially more stupid than stupid. IÒm stupid to the power of stupid.Ô She waved her hand. The moon blew away.
ÓThatÒs the stupidest thing IÒve ever heard.Ô I looked at her out of the corner of my eye.
She tried not to smile. We both just lay there for a minute.
ÓYou know whatÒs stupidØ I have books under my bed.Ô I just said it, like it was something I said all the time.
ÓWhatØÔ
ÓNovels. Tolstoy. Salinger. Vonnegut. And I read them. You know, because I want to.Ô
She rolled over, propping her head on her elbow. ÓYeahØ What do your jock buddies think of thatØÔ
ÓLetÒs just say I keep it to myself and stick to my jump shot.Ô
ÓYeah, well. At school, I noticed you stick to comics.Ô She tried to sound casual. ÓSilver
Surfer. I saw you reading it. Right before everything happened.Ô
You noticedØ
I might have noticed.
I didnÒt know if we were speaking, or if I was just imagining the whole thing, except I wasnÒt that crazy×yet.
She changed the subject, or more accurately, she changed it back. ÓI read, too. Poetry mostly.Ô
I could imagine her stretched out on her bed reading a poem, although I had trouble imagining that bed in Ravenwood Manor. ÓYeahØ IÒve read that guy, Bukowski.Ô Which was true, if two poems counted.
ÓI have all his books.Ô
I knew she didnÒt want to talk about what had happened, but I couldnÒt take it anymore. I had to know. ÓAre you going to tell meØÔ
ÓTell you whatØÔ
ÓWhat happened back thereØÔ
There was a long silence. She sat up and pulled at the grass around her. She flopped around on her stomach and looked me in the eye. She was only a few inches away from my face. I lay there, frozen, trying to focus on what she was saying. ÓI really donÒt know.
Things like that just happen to me, sometimes. I canÒt control it.Ô
ÓLike the dreams.Ô I watched her face, looking for even a flicker of recognition.
ÓLike the dreams.Ô She said it without thinking, then flinched and looked at me, stricken.
I had been right all along.
ÓYou remember the dreams.Ô
She hid her face in her hands.
I sat up. ÓI knew it was you, and you knew it was me. You knew what I was talking about the whole time.Ô I pulled her hands away from her face, and the current buzzed up my arm.
YouÒre the girl.
ÓWhy didnÒt you say something last nightØÔ
I didnÒt want you to know.
She wouldnÒt look at me.
ÓWhyØÔ The word sounded loud, in the quiet of the garden. And when she looked at me, her face was pale, and she looked different. Frightened. Her eyes were like the sea before a storm on the Carolina coast.
ÓI didnÒt expect you to be here, Ethan. I thought they were just dreams. I didnÒt know you were a real person.Ô
ÓBut once you knew it was me, why didnÒt you say anythingØÔ
ÓMy life is complicated. And I didnÒt want you×I donÒt want anyone to get mixed up in it.Ô I had no idea what she was talking about. I was still touching her hand; I was so aware of it. I could feel the rough stone beneath us, and I grabbed for the edge of it, supporting myself. Only my hand closed around something small and round, stuck to the edge of the stone. A beetle, or maybe a rock. It came off from the stone into my hand.
Then the shock hit. I felt LenaÒs hand tighten around mine.
WhatÒs happening, EthanØ
I donÒt know.
Everything around me changed, and it was like I was somewhere else. I was in the garden, but not in the garden. And the smell of lemons changed, into the smell of smoke.
It was midnight, but the sky was on fire. The flames reached into the sky, pushing forth massive fists of smoke, swallowing everything in their path. Even the moon. The ground had turned to swamp. Burned ashen ground that had been drenched by the rains that preceded the fire. If only it had rained today. Genevieve choked back the smoke that burned her throat so badly it hurt to breathe. Mud clung to the bottom of her skirts, causing her to stumble every few feet on the voluminous folds of fabric, but she forced herself to keep moving.
It was the end of the world. Of her world.
And she could hear the screams, mixed with gunshots and the unrelenting roar of the flames. She could hear the soldiers shouting orders of murder.
ÓBurn down those houses. Let the Rebels feel the weight of their defeat. Burn it all!Ô
And one by one, Union soldiers had lit the great houses of the plantations ablaze, with their own kerosene-laden bed sheets and curtains. One by one, Genevieve watched the homes of her neighbors, of her friends and family, surrender to the flames. And in the worst of circumstances, many of those friends and relatives surrendered as well, eaten alive by the flames in the very homes where they were born.
ThatÒs why she was running, into the smoke, toward the fire×right into the mouth of the beast. She had to get to Greenbrier before the soldiers. And she didnÒt have much time.
The soldiers were methodical, working their way down the Santee burning the houses one by one. They had already burned Blackwell; DoveÒs Crossing would be next, then
Greenbrier and Ravenwood. General Sherman and his army had started the burning campaign hundreds of miles before they reached Gatlin. They had burned Columbia to the ground, and continued marching east, burning everything in their path. When they reached the outskirts of Gatlin the Confederate flag was still waving, the second wind they needed.
It was the smell that told her she was too late. Lemons. The tart smell of lemons mixed with ash. They were burning the lemon trees.
GenevieveÒs mother loved lemons. So when her father had visited a plantation in Georgia when she was a girl, he had brought her mother two lemon trees. Everyone said they wouldnÒt grow, that the cold South Carolina winter nights would kill them. But
GenevieveÒs mother didnÒt listen. She planted those trees right in front of the cotton field, tending them herself. On those cold winter nights, she had covered the trees with wool blankets and piled dirt along the edges to keep the moisture out. And those trees grew.
They grew so well that over the years, GenevieveÒs father had bought her twenty-eight more trees. Some of the other ladies in town asked their husbands for lemon trees, and a few of them even got a tree or two. But none of them could figure out how to keep their trees alive. The trees only seemed to flourish at Greenbrier, at her motherÒs hand.
Nothing had ever been able to kill those trees. Until today.
ÓWhat just happenedØÔ I felt Lena pull her hand away from mine, and opened my eyes.
She was shaking. I looked down and opened my hand to reveal the object I had inadvertently grabbed from under the stone.
ÓI think it had something to do with this.Ô My hand had been curled around a battered old cameo, black and oval, with a womanÒs face etched in ivory and mother of pearl. The work on the face of it was intricate with detail. On the side, I noticed a small bump.
ÓLook. I think itÒs a locket.Ô
I pushed on the spring, and the cameo front opened to reveal a tiny inscription. ÓIt just says greenbrier. And a date.Ô
She sat up. ÓWhatÒs GreenbrierØÔ
ÓThis must be it. This isnÒt Ravenwood. ItÒs Greenbrier. The next plantation over.
ÓAnd that vision, the fires, did you see it, tooØÔ
I nodded. It was almost too horrible to talk about. ÓThis has to be Greenbrier, whatÒs left of it, anyway.Ô
ÓLet me see the locket.Ô I handed it to her carefully. It looked like something that had survived a lot×maybe even the fire from the vision. She turned it over in her hands.
Ófebruary 11th, 1865.Ô She dropped the locket, turning pale.
ÓWhatÒs wrongØÔ
She stared down at it in the grass. ÓFebruary eleventh is my birthday.Ô
ÓSo itÒs a coincidence. An early birthday present.Ô
ÓNothing in my life is a coincidence.Ô
I picked up the locket and flipped it over. On the back were two sets of engraved initials.
ÓECW & GKD. This locket must have belonged to one of them.Ô I paused. ÓThatÒs weird.
My initials are ELW.Ô
ÓMy birthday, your initials. DonÒt you think thatÒs a little more than weirdØÔ Maybe she was right. StillÓWe should try it again, so we can find out.Ô It was like an itch that had to be scratched.
ÓI donÒt know. It could be dangerous. It really felt like we were there. My eyes are still burning from the smoke.Ô She was right. We hadnÒt left the garden, but it had felt like we had been right there in the middle of the fires. I could feel the smoke in my lungs, but it didnÒt matter. I had to know.
I held out the locket, and my hand. ÓCome on, arenÒt you braver than thatØÔ It was a dare.
She rolled her eyes, but reached toward it all the same. Her fingers brushed against mine, and I felt the warmth of her hand spreading into mine. Electric goosebumps. I donÒt know any other way to describe it.
I closed my eyes and waited×nothing. I opened my eyes. ÓMaybe we just imagined it.
Maybe itÒs just out of batteries.Ô
Lena looked at me like I was Earl Petty in Algebra, the second time around. ÓMaybe you canÒt tell something like that what to do, or when to do it.Ô She got up and brushed herself off. ÓIÒve gotta go.Ô
She paused, looking down at me. ÓYou know, youÒre not what I expected.Ô She turned her back on me and began to weave her way through the lemon trees, to the outer edge of the garden.
ÓWait!Ô I called after her, but she kept going. I tried to catch up with her, stumbling back over the roots.
When she reached the last lemon tree, she stopped. ÓDonÒt.Ô
ÓDonÒt whatØÔ
She wouldnÒt look at me. ÓJust leave me alone, while everythingÒs still okay.Ô
ÓI donÒt understand what youÒre talking about. Seriously. And IÒm trying, here.Ô
ÓForget it.Ô
ÓYou think youÒre the only complicated person in the worldØÔ
ÓNo. But×itÒs sort of my specialty.Ô She turned to go. I hesitated, and put my hand on her shoulder. It was warm from the fading sun. I could feel the bone beneath her shirt, and in that moment she seemed like a fragile thing, like in the dreams. Which was weird, because when she was facing me, all I could think of was how unbreakable she seemed.
Maybe it had something to do with those eyes.
We stood like that for a moment, until finally she gave in and turned toward me. I tried again. ÓLook. ThereÒs something going on here. The dreams, the song, the smell, and now the locket. ItÒs like weÒre supposed to be friends.Ô
ÓDid you just say, the smellØÔ She looked horrified. ÓIn the same sentence as friendsØÔ
ÓTechnically, I think it was a different sentence.Ô
She stared at my hand, and I took it off her shoulder. But I couldnÒt let it go. I looked right into her eyes, really looked, maybe for the first time. The green abyss looked like it went somewhere so far away I could never reach it, not in a whole lifetime. I wondered what AmmaÒs Óeyes are the windows to the soulÔ theory would make of that.
ItÒs too late, Lena. YouÒre already my friend.
I canÒt be.
WeÒre in this together.
Please. You have to trust me. WeÒre not.
She broke her eyes away from me, leaning her head back against the lemon tree. She looked miserable. ÓI know youÒre not like the rest of them. But there are things you canÒt understand about me. I donÒt know why we connect the way we do. I donÒt know why we have the same dreams, any more than you.Ô
ÓBut I want to know whatÒs going on×Ô
ÓI turn sixteen in five months.Ô She held up her hand, inked with a number as usual. 151.
ÓA hundred and fifty-one days.Ô Her birthday. The changing number written on her hand.
She was counting down to her birthday.
ÓYou donÒt know what that means, Ethan. You donÒt know anything. I may not even be here after that.Ô
ÓYouÒre here now.Ô
She looked past me, up toward Ravenwood. When she finally spoke, she wasnÒt looking at me. ÓYou like that poet, BukowskiØÔ
ÓYeah,Ô I answered, confused.
ÓDonÒt try.Ô
ÓI donÒt understand.Ô
ÓThatÒs what it says, on BukowskiÒs grave.Ô She disappeared through the stone wall and was gone. Five months. I had no idea what she was talking about, but I recognized the feeling in my gut.
Panic.
By the time I made it through the door in the wall, she had vanished as if she was never there, leaving only the wafting breeze of lemons and rosemary behind her. Funny thing was, the more she ran, the more determined I was to follow.
DonÒt try.
I was pretty sure my grave would say something different.
9.12
THE SISTERS
The kitchen table was still set when I got home, lucky for me, because Amma would have killed me if IÒd missed dinner. What I hadnÒt considered was the phone tree that had been activated the minute I walked out of English class. No less than half the town must have called Amma by the time I got home.
ÓEthan WateØ Is that youØ Because if it is, you are in for a world a trouble.Ô
I heard a familiar banging sound. Things were worse than I thought. I ducked under the doorway and into the kitchen. Amma was standing at the counter in her industrial denim tool apron, which had fourteen pockets for nails and could hold up to four power tools.
She was holding her Chinese cleaver, the counter piled high with carrots, cabbage, and other vegetables I couldnÒt identify. Spring rolls required more chopping than any other recipe in AmmaÒs blue plastic box. If she was making spring rolls, it only meant one thing, and it wasnÒt just that she liked Chinese food.
I tried to come up with an acceptable explanation, but I had nothing.
ÓCoach called this afternoon, and Mrs. English, and Principal Harper, and LinkÒs mamma, and half the ladies from the DAR. And you know how I hate talkinÒ to those women. Evil as sin, every one a them.Ô
Gatlin was full of ladiesÒ auxiliaries, but the DAR was the mother of them all. True to its name, the Daughters of the American Revolution, you had to prove you were related to an actual patriot from the American Revolution to be eligible for membership. Being a member apparently entitled you to tell your River Street neighbors what colors to paint their houses and generally boss, pester, and judge everyone in town. Unless you were
Amma. That IÒd like to see.
ÓThey all said the same thing. That you ran out a school, in the middle a class, chasinÒ after that Duchannes girl.Ô Another carrot rolled across the cutting board.
ÓI know, Amma, but×Ô
The cabbage split in half. ÓSo I said, ÑNo, my boy wouldnÒt leave school without permission and skip practice. There must be some mistake. Must be some other boy disrepectinÒ his teacher and sullyinÒ his family name. CanÒt be a boy I raised, livinÒ in this house.ÒÔ Green onions flew across the counter.
IÒd committed the worst of crimes, embarrassing her. Worst of all, in the eyes of Mrs.
Lincoln and the women of the DAR, her sworn enemies.
ÓWhat do you have to say for yourselfØ What would make you run out a school like your tail was on fireØ And I donÒt wanna hear it was some girl.Ô
I took a deep breath. What could I sayØ I had been dreaming about some mystery girl for months, who showed up in town and just happened to be Macon RavenwoodÒs nieceØ
That, in addition to terrifying dreams about this girl, I had a vision of some other woman, who I definitely didnÒt know, who lived during the Civil WarØ
Yeah, that would get me out of trouble, around the same time the sun exploded and the solar system died.
ÓItÒs not what you think. The kids in our class were giving Lena a hard time, teasing her about her uncle, saying he hauls dead bodies around in his hearse, and she got really upset and ran out of class.Ô
ÓIÒm waitinÒ for the part that explains what any a this has to do with you.Ô
ÓArenÒt you the one always telling me to Ñwalk in the steps of our LordØÒ DonÒt you think
HeÒd want me to stick up for someone who was being picked onØÔ Now IÒd done it. I could see it in her eyes.
ÓDonÒt you dare use the Word a the Lord to justify breakinÒ the rules at school, or I swear
I will go outside and get a switch and burn some sense into your backside. I donÒt care how old you are. You hear meØÔ Amma had never hit me with anything in my life, although she had chased me with a switch a few times to make a point. But this wasnÒt the moment to bring that up.
The situation was quickly going from bad to worse; I needed a distraction. The locket was still burning a hole in my back pocket. Amma loved mysteries. She had taught me to read when I was four using crime novels and the crossword over her shoulder. I was the only kid in kindergarten who could read examination on the blackboard because it looked so much like medical examiner. As for mysteries, the locket was a good one. IÒd just leave out the part about touching it and seeing a Civil War vision.
ÓYouÒre right, Amma. IÒm sorry. I shouldnÒt have left school. I was just trying to make sure Lena was okay. A window broke in the classroom right behind her, and she was bleeding. I just went to her house to see if she was all right.Ô
ÓYou were up at that houseØÔ
ÓYeah, but she was outside. Her uncle is really shy, I guess.Ô
ÓYou donÒt need to tell me about Macon Ravenwood, like you know anything I donÒt already know.Ô The Look.
ÓH. E. B. E. T. U. D. I. N. O. U. S.Ô
ÓWhatØÔ
ÓAs in, you donÒt have a lick a sense, Ethan Wate.Ô
I fished the locket out of my pocket and walked over to where she was still standing by the stove. ÓWe were out back, behind the house, and we found something,Ô I said, opening my hand so she could take a look. ÓIt has an inscription inside.Ô
The expression on AmmaÒs face stopped me cold. She looked like something had knocked the wind right out of her.
ÓAmma, are you okayØÔ I reached for her elbow, to steady her in case she was about to faint. But she pulled her arm away before I could touch her, like sheÒd burned her hand on the handle of a pot.
ÓWhere did you get thatØÔ Her voice was a whisper.
ÓWe found it in the dirt, at Ravenwood.Ô
ÓYou didnÒt find that at Ravenwood Plantation.Ô
ÓWhat are you talking aboutØ Do you know who it belonged toØÔ
ÓStand right here. DonÒt you move,Ô she instructed, rushing out of the kitchen.
But I ignored her, following her to her room. It had always looked more like an apothecary than a bedroom, with a low white single bed tucked beneath rows of shelves.
On the shelves were neatly stacked newspapers×Amma never threw away a finished crossword×and Mason jars full of her stock ingredients for making charms. Some were her old standards: salt, colored stones, herbs. Then there were more unusual collections, like a jar of roots and another of abandoned bird nests. The top shelf was just bottles of dirt. She was acting weird, even for Amma. I was only a couple of steps behind her, but she was already tearing through her drawers by the time I got there.
ÓAmma, what are you×Ô
ÓDidnÒt I tell you to stay in the kitchenØ DonÒt you bring that thing in here!Ô she shrieked, when I took a step forward.
ÓWhat are you so upset aboutØÔ She stuffed a few things I couldnÒt get a look at into her tool apron, and rushed back out of the room. I caught up with her back in the kitchen.
ÓAmma, whatÒs the matterØÔ
ÓTake this.Ô She handed me a threadbare handkerchief, careful not to let her hand touch mine. ÓNow you wrap that thing up in here. Right now, right this second.Ô
This was beyond going dark. She was totally losing it.
ÓAmma×Ô
ÓDo as I say, Ethan.Ô She never called me by my first name without my last.
Once the locket was safely wrapped in the handkerchief, she calmed down a little bit. She rifled through the lower pockets of her apron, removing a small leather bag and a vial of powder. I knew enough to recognize the makings of one of her charms when I saw them.
Her hand shook slightly as she poured some of the dark powder into the leather pouch.
ÓDid you wrap it up tightØÔ
ÓYeah,Ô I said, expecting her to correct me for answering her so informally.
ÓYou sureØÔ
ÓYes.Ô
ÓNow you put it in here.Ô The leather pouch was warm and smooth in my hand. ÓGo on now.Ô
I dropped the offending locket into the pouch.
ÓTie this around it,Ô she instructed, handing me a piece of what looked like ordinary twine, although I knew nothing Amma used for her charms was ever ordinary, or what it seemed. ÓNow you take it back there, where you found it, and you bury it. Take it there straightaway.Ô
ÓAmma, whatÒs going onØÔ She took a few steps forward and grabbed my chin, pushing the hair out of my eyes. For the first time since I pulled the locket out of my pocket, she looked me in the eye. We stayed that way for what seemed like the longest minute of my life. Her expression was an unfamiliar one, uncertain.
ÓYouÒre not ready,Ô she whispered, releasing her hand.
ÓNot ready for whatØÔ
ÓDo as I say. Take that bag back to where you found it and bury it. Then you come right home. I donÒt want you messinÒ with that girl anymore, you hear meØÔ
She had said all she planned to say, maybe more. But IÒd never know because if there was one thing Amma was better at than reading cards or solving a crossword, it was keeping secrets.
ÓEthan Wate, you upØÔ
What time was itØ Nine-thirty. Saturday. I should have been up by now, but I was exhausted. Last night IÒd spent two hours wandering around, so Amma would believe I had gone back to Greenbrier to bury the locket.
I climbed out of bed and stumbled across the room, tripping on a box of stale Oreos. My room was always a mess, crammed with so much stuff my dad said it was a fire hazard and one day I was going to burn the whole house down, not that heÒd been in here in a while. Aside from my map, the walls and ceiling were plastered with posters of places I hoped IÒd get to see one day×Athens, Barcelona, Moscow, even Alaska. The room was lined with stacks of shoeboxes, some three or four feet high. Although the stacks looked random, I could tell you the location of every box×from the white Adidas box with my lighter collection from my eighth grade pyro phase, to the green New Balance box with the shell casings and a torn piece of flag I found at Fort Sumter with my mom.
And the one I was looking for, the yellow Nike box, with the locket that had sent Amma off the deep end. I opened the box and pulled out the smooth leather pouch. Hiding it had seemed like a good idea last night, but I put it back in my pocket, just in case.
Amma shouted up the stairs again. ÓGet on down here or youÒre gonna be late.Ô
ÓIÒll be down in a minute.Ô
Every Saturday, I spent half the day with the three oldest women in Gatlin, my greataunts Mercy, Prudence, and Grace. Everyone in town called them the Sisters, like they were a single entity, which in a way they were. Each of them was about a hundred years old, and even they couldnÒt remember who was the oldest. All three of them had been married multiple times, but theyÒd outlived all their husbands and moved into Aunt
GraceÒs house together. And they were even crazier than they were old.
When I was about twelve, my mom started dropping me off there on Saturdays to help out, and I had been going there ever since. The worst part was, I had to take them to church on Saturdays. The Sisters were Southern Baptist, and they went to church on
Saturdays and Sundays, and most other days, too.
But today was different. I was out of bed and into the shower before Amma could call me a third time. I couldnÒt wait to get over there. The Sisters knew just about everyone who had ever lived in Gatlin; they should, since between the three of them, they had been related to half the town by marriage, at one time or another. After the vision, it was obvious the G in GKD stood for Genevieve. But if there was anyone who would know what the rest of the initials stood for, it would be the three oldest women in town.
When I opened the top drawer of my dresser to grab some socks, I noticed a little doll that looked like a sock monkey holding a tiny bag of salt and a blue stone, one of
AmmaÒs charms. She made them to ward off evil spirits or bad luck, even a cold. She put one over the door of my dadÒs study when he started working on Sundays instead of going to church. Even though my dad never paid much attention when he was there, Amma said the Good Lord still gave you credit for showing up. A couple of months later, my dad bought her a kitchen witch on the Internet and hung it over the stove. Amma was so angry she served him cold grits and burnt coffee for a week.
Usually, I didnÒt give it much thought when I found one of AmmaÒs little gifts. But there was something about the locket. Something she didnÒt want me to find out.
There was only one word to describe the scene when I arrived at the SistersÒ house.
Chaos. Aunt Mercy answered the door, hair still in rollers.
ÓThank goodness youÒre here, Ethan. We have an E-mergency on our hands,Ô she said, pronouncing the ÓEÔ as if it was a word all by itself. Half the time I couldnÒt understand them at all, their accents were so thick and their grammar so bad. But thatÒs the way it was in Gatlin; you could tell how old someone was by the way they spoke.
ÓMaÒamØÔ
ÓHarlon JamesÒs been injured, and IÒm not convinced he ainÒt about ta pass over.Ô She whispered the last two words like God Himself might be listening, and she was afraid to give Him any ideas. Harlon James was Aunt PrudenceÒs Yorkshire terrier, named after her most recent late husband.
ÓWhat happenedØÔ
ÓIÒll tell you what happened,Ô Aunt Prudence said, appearing out of nowhere with a first aid kit in her hand. ÓGrace tried ta kill poor Harlon James, and he is barely hanginÒ on.Ô
ÓI did not try ta kill him,Ô Aunt Grace shrieked from the kitchen. ÓDonÒt you tell tales, Prudence Jane. It was an accident!Ô
ÓEthan, you call Dean Wilks, and tell him we have an E-mergency,Ô Aunt Prudence instructed, pulling a capsule of smelling salts and two extra-large Band-Aids out of the first aid kit.
ÓWeÒre losinÒ him!Ô Harlon James was lying on the kitchen floor, looking traumatized but nowhere close to death. His back leg was tucked up underneath him, and it dragged behind him when he tried to get up. ÓGrace, the Lord as my witness, if Harlon James diesÅÔ
ÓHeÒs not going to die, Aunt Prue. I think his leg is broken. What happenedØÔ
ÓGrace tried ta beat him ta death with a broom.Ô
ÓThatÒs not true. I told you, I wasnÒt wearing my spectacles and he looked just like a wharf rat runninÒ through the kitchen.Ô
ÓHow would you know what a wharf rat looks likeØ YouÒve never been ta a wharf in all your life.Ô
So I drove the Sisters, who were completely hysterical, and Harlon James, who probably wished he was dead, to Dean WilksÒ place in their 1964 Cadillac. Dean Wilks ran the feed store, but he was the closest thing to a vet in town. Luckily, Harlon James had only suffered a broken leg, so Dean Wilks was up to the task.
By the time we got back to the house, I was wondering if I wasnÒt the crazy one for thinking IÒd be able to get any information out of the Sisters. ThelmaÒs car was in the driveway. My dad had hired Thelma to keep an eye on the Sisters after Aunt Grace almost burned their house down ten years ago, when she put a lemon meringue pie in the oven and left it in there all afternoon when they were at church.
ÓWhere you girls beenØÔ Thelma called from the kitchen.
They bumped into each other trying to push their way into the kitchen to tell Thelma about their misadventure. I slumped into one of the mismatched kitchen chairs next to
Aunt Grace, who looked depressed about being the villain of the story again. I pulled the locket out of my pocket, holding the chain in the handkerchief, and spun it around a few times.
ÓWhatcha got there, handsomeØÔ Thelma asked, pinching some snuff out of the can on the windowsill and tucking into her bottom lip, which looked even weirder than it sounded, since Thelma was kind of dainty and resembled Dolly Parton.
ÓItÒs just a locket I found out by Ravenwood Plantation.Ô
ÓRavenwoodØ What the devil were you doinÒ out thereØÔ
ÓMy friendÒs staying there.Ô
ÓYou mean Lena DuchannesØÔ Aunt Mercy asked. Of course she knew, the whole town knew. This was Gatlin.
ÓYes, maÒam. WeÒre in the same class at school.Ô I had their attention. ÓWe found this locket in the garden behind the great house. We donÒt know who it belonged to, but it looks really old.Ô
ÓThatÒs not Macon RavenwoodÒs property. ThatÒs part a Greenbrier,Ô Aunt Prue said, sounding sure of herself.
ÓLet me get a look at that,Ô Aunt Mercy said, taking her glasses out of the pocket of her housecoat.
I handed her the locket, still wrapped in the handkerchief. ÓIt has an inscription.Ô
ÓI canÒt read that. Grace, can you make that outØÔ she asked, handing the locket to Aunt
Grace.
ÓI donÒt see nothinÒ at all,Ô Aunt Grace said, squinting hard.
ÓThere are two sets of initials, right here,Ô I said, pointing to the grooves in the metal, ÓECW and GKD. And if you flip that disc over, thereÒs a date. February
11, 1865.Ô
ÓThat date seems real familiar,Ô Aunt Prudence said. ÓMercy, what happened on that dateØÔ
ÓWerenÒt you married on that date, GraceØÔ
Ó1865, not 1965,Ô Aunt Grace corrected. Their hearing wasnÒt much better than their vision. ÓFebruary 11, 1865ÅÔ
ÓThat was the year the FedÒrals almost burned Gatlin ta the ground,Ô Aunt Grace said.
ÓOur great-granddaddy lost everything in that fire. DonÒt you remember that story, girlsØ
GenÒral Sherman and the Union army marched clean through the South, burninÒ everything in their path, includinÒ Gatlin. They called it the Great BurninÒ. At least part a every plantation in Gatlin was destroyed, except Ravenwood. My granddaddy used ta say
Abraham Ravenwood musta made a deal with the Devil that night.Ô
ÓWhat do you meanØÔ
ÓIt was the only way that place coulda been left standinÒ. The FedÒrals burned every plantation along the river, one at a time, till they got ta Ravenwood. They just marched on past, like it wasnÒt there at all.Ô
ÓThe way Granddaddy told it, that wasnÒt the only thing strange Òbout that night,Ô Aunt
Prue said, feeding Harlon James a piece of bacon. ÓAbraham had a brother, lived there with him, and he just up and disappeared that night. Nobody ever saw him again.Ô
ÓThat doesnÒt seem that strange. Maybe he was killed by the Union soldiers, or trapped in one of those burning houses,Ô I said.
Aunt Grace raised an eyebrow. ÓOr maybe it was somethinÒ else. They never did find a body.Ô I realized people had been talking about the Ravenwoods for generations; it didnÒt start with Macon Ravenwood. I wondered what else the Sisters knew.
ÓWhat about Macon RavenwoodØ What do you know about himØÔ
ÓThat boy never did have a chance on account a beinÒ E-legitimate.Ô In Gatlin, being illegitimate was like being a communist or an atheist. ÓHis daddy, Silas, met MaconÒs mamma after his first wife left him. She was a pretty girl, from New Orleans, I think.
Anyhow, not long after, Macon and his brother were born. But Silas never did marry her, and then she up and left, too.Ô
Aunt Prue interrupted, ÓGrace Ann, you donÒt know how ta tell a story. Silas Ravenwood was an E-centric, and as mean as the day is long. And there were strange things goinÒ on at that house. The lights were on all night long, and every now and again a man in a tall black hat was seen wanderinÒ Òround up there.Ô
ÓAnd the wolf. Tell him about the wolf.Ô I didnÒt need them to tell me about that dog, or whatever it was. IÒd seen it myself. But it couldnÒt be the same animal. Dogs, even wolves, didnÒt live that long.
ÓThere was a wolf up at the house. Silas kept it like it was a pet!Ô Aunt Mercy shook her head.
ÓBut those boys, they moved back and forth between Silas and their mamma, and when they were with him, Silas treated them somethinÒ awful. Beat on Òem all the time and barely let Òem outta his sight. He wouldnÒt even let Òem go ta school.Ô
ÓMaybe thatÒs why Macon Ravenwood never leaves his house,Ô I said.
Aunt Mercy waved her hand in the air, as if that was the silliest thing sheÒd ever heard.
ÓHe leaves his house. IÒve seen him a mess a times over at the DAR buildinÒ, right after supper time.Ô Sure she had.
That was the thing about the Sisters; half the time they had a firm grasp on reality, but that was only half the time. I had never heard of anyone seeing Macon Ravenwood, so I doubted he was hanging around the DAR looking at paint chips and chatting up Mrs.
Lincoln.
Aunt Grace scrutinized the locket more carefully, holding it up to the light. ÓI can tell you one thing. This here handkerchief belonged ta Sulla Treadeau, Sulla the Prophet they called her, on account a folks said she could see the future in the cards.Ô
ÓTarot cardsØÔ I asked.
ÓWhat other kind a cards are thereØÔ
ÓWell, there are playinÒ cards, and greetinÒ cards, and place cards for partiesÅÔ Aunt
Mercy rambled.
ÓHow do you know the handkerchief belonged to herØÔ
ÓHer initials are embroidered right here on the edge, and you see that thereØÔ she asked, pointing to a tiny bird embroidered under the initials. ÓThat there was her mark.Ô
ÓHer markØÔ
ÓMost readers had a mark back then. TheyÒd mark their decks ta make sure nobody switched their cards. A reader is only as good as her deck. I know that much,Ô Thelma said, spitting into a small urn in the corner of the room with the precision of a marksman.
Treadeau. That was AmmaÒs last name.
ÓWas she related to AmmaØÔ
ÓOf course she was. She was AmmaÒs great-great-grandmamma.Ô
ÓWhat about the initials on the locketØ ECW and GKDØ Do you know anything about themØÔ It was a long shot. I couldnÒt remember the last time the Sisters had ever had a moment of clarity that lasted this long.
ÓAre you teasinÒ an old woman, Ethan WateØÔ
ÓNo maÒam.Ô
ÓECW. Ethan Carter Wate. He was your great-great-great-uncle, or was it your greatgreat-great-great-uncleØÔ
ÓYouÒve never been any good with arithmetic,Ô Aunt Prudence interrupted.
ÓAnyhow, he was your great-great-great-great-granddaddy EllisÒ brother.Ô
ÓEllis WateÒs brother was named Lawson, not Ethan. ThatÒs how I got my middle name.Ô
ÓEllis Wate had two brothers, Ethan and Lawson. You were named for both of Òem.
Ethan Lawson Wate.Ô I tried to picture my family tree. I had seen it enough times. And if thereÒs one thing a Southerner knows, itÒs their family tree. There was no Ethan Carter
Wate on the framed copy hanging in our dining room. I had obviously overestimated
Aunt GraceÒs lucidity.
I must have looked unconvinced because a second later, Aunt Prue was up and out of her chair. ÓI have the Wate Family Tree in my genealogy book. I keep track a the whole lineage for the Sisters a the ConfedÒracy.Ô
The Sisters of the Confederacy, the lesser cousin of the DAR, but equally horrifying, was some kind of sewing circle holdover from the War. These days, members spent most of their time tracking their Civil War roots for documentaries and miniseries like The Blue and the Gray.
ÓHere it is.Ô Aunt Prue shuffled back into the kitchen carrying a huge leather-bound scrapbook, with yellowed pieces of paper and old photographs sticking out from the edges. She flipped through the pages, dropping scraps of paper and old newspaper clippings all over the floor.
ÓWill you look at thatÅ Burton Free, my third husband. WasnÒt he just the handsomest a all my husbandsØÔ she asked, holding up the cracked photograph for the rest of us.
ÓPrudence Jane, keep lookinÒ. This boy is testinÒ our memory.Ô Aunt Grace was noticeably agitated.
ÓItÒs right here, after the Statham Tree.Ô
I stared at the names I knew so well from the family tree in my dining room at home.
There was the name, the name missing from the family tree at WateÒs Landing×Ethan
Carter Wate. Why would the Sisters have a different version of my family treeØ It was obvious which tree was the real one. I was holding the proof in my hand, wrapped in the handkerchief of a hundred-and-fifty-year-old prophet.
ÓWhy isnÒt he on my family treeØÔ
ÓMost family trees in the South are fulla lies, but IÒm surprised he made it onta any copy a the Wate Family Tree,Ô Aunt Grace said, shutting the book and sending a cloud of dust into the air.
ÓItÒs only on account a my excellent record keepinÒ that heÒs even on this one.Ô Aunt
Prue smiled proudly, showing off both sets of her dentures.
I had to get them to focus. ÓWhy wouldnÒt he make it on the family tree, Aunt PrueØÔ
ÓOn account a him beinÒ a deserter.Ô
I wasnÒt following. ÓWhat do you mean, a deserterØÔ
ÓLord, what do they teach you youngÒuns in that fancy high school a yoursØÔ Aunt Grace was busy picking all the pretzels out of the Chex Mix.
ÓDeserters. The Confederates who ran out on GenÒral Lee durinÒ the War.Ô I must have looked confused because Aunt Prue felt compelled to elaborate. ÓThere were two kinds a
Confederate soldiers durinÒ the War. The ones who supported the cause of ConfedÒracy and the ones whose families made them enlist.Ô Aunt Prue stood up and walked toward the counter, pacing back and forth like a real history teacher delivering a lecture.
ÓBy 1865, LeeÒs army was beaten, starvinÒ, and outnumbered. Some say the Rebels were losinÒ faith, so they up and left. Deserted their regiments. Ethan Carter Wate was one of
Òem. He was a deserter.Ô All three of them lowered their heads as if the shame was just too much for them.
ÓSo youÒre telling me he was erased from the family tree because he didnÒt want to starve to death, fighting a losing war for the wrong sideØÔ
ÓThatÒs one way a lookinÒ at it, I suppose.Ô
ÓThatÒs the stupidest thing IÒve ever heard.Ô
Aunt Grace jumped up out of her chair, as much as any ninety-something-year-old woman can jump. ÓDonÒt you sass us, Ethan. That tree was changed long before we were born.Ô
ÓIÒm sorry, maÒam.Ô She smoothed her skirt and sat back down. ÓWhy would my parents name me after some great-great-great-uncle who shamed the familyØÔ
ÓWell, your mamma and daddy had their own ideas Òbout all that, what with all those books they read about the War. You know theyÒve always been liberal. Who knows what they were thinkinÒØ YouÒd have ta ask your daddy.Ô Like there was any chance he would tell me. But knowing my parentsÒ sensibilities, my mom had probably been proud of
Ethan Carter Wate. I was pretty proud, too. I ran my hand over the faded brown page of
Aunt PrueÒs scrapbook.
ÓWhat about the initials GKDØ I think the G might stand for Genevieve,Ô I said, already knowing it did.
ÓGKD. DidnÒt you date a boy with the initials GD once, MercyØÔ
ÓI canÒt recollect. Do you remember a GD, GraceØÔ
ÓGDÅ GDØ No, I canÒt say as I do.Ô IÒd lost them.
ÓOh my goodness. Look here at the time, girls. ItÒs time for church,Ô Aunt Mercy said.
Aunt Grace motioned toward the garage door. ÓEthan, you be a good boy and pull the
Cadillac around, ya hear. We just have ta put on our faces.Ô
I drove them four blocks to the afternoon service, at the Evangelical Missionary Baptist
Church, and pushed Aunt MercyÒs wheelchair up the gravel driveway. This took longer than actually driving to the church because every two or three feet the chair would sink into the gravel and IÒd have to wiggle it from side to side to free it, nearly tipping it and dumping my great-aunt into the dirt. By the time the preacher took the third testimony from an old lady who swore Jesus had saved her rosebushes from Japanese beetles or her quilting hand from arthritis, I was zoning out. I flipped the locket through my fingers, inside the pocket of my jeans. Why did it show us that visionØ Why did it suddenly stop workingØ
Ethan. Stop. You donÒt know what youÒre doing.
Lena was in my head again.
Put it away!
The room started to disappear around me and I could feel LenaÒs fingers grasping mine, as if she was there beside meNothing could have prepared Genevieve for the sight of Greenbrier burning. The flames licked up its sides, eating away at the lattice and swallowing the veranda. Soldiers carried antiques and paintings out of the house, looting like common thieves. Where was everyoneØ Were they hiding in the woods like she wasØ Leaves crackled. She sensed someone behind her, but before she could turn around a muddy hand clamped over her mouth. She grabbed the personÒs wrist with both hands, trying to break their hold.
ÓGenevieve, itÒs me.Ô The hand loosened its grip.
ÓWhat are you doinÒ hereØ Are you all rightØÔ Genevieve threw her arms around the soldier, dressed in what was left of his once proud gray Confederate uniform.
ÓI am, darlinÒ,Ô Ethan said, but she knew he was lying.
ÓI thought you might beÅÔ
Genevieve had only heard from Ethan in letters for the better part of the last two years, since he had enlisted, and she hadnÒt received a letter since the Battle at Wilderness.
Genevieve knew that many of the men who had followed Lee into that battle had never marched back out of Virginia. She had resigned herself to die a spinster. She had been so sure she had lost Ethan. It was almost unimaginable that he was alive, standing here, on this night.
ÓWhere is the rest a your regimentØÔ
ÓThe last I saw, they were outside a Summit.Ô
ÓWhat do you mean, the last you sawØ Are they all deadØÔ
ÓI donÒt know. When I left, they were still alive.Ô
ÓI donÒt understand.Ô
ÓI deserted, Genevieve. I couldnÒt fight one more day for somethinÒ I didnÒt believe in.
Not after what IÒve seen. Most a the boys fightinÒ with me didnÒt even realize what this war is about×that theyÒre just spillinÒ their blood over cotton.Ô
Ethan took her cold hands in his, rough with cuts. ÓI understand if you canÒt marry me now. I donÒt have any money and now I donÒt have any honor.Ô
ÓI donÒt care if you have any money, Ethan Carter Wate. You are the most honorable man IÒve ever known. And I donÒt care if my daddy thinks our differences are too great to overcome. HeÒs wrong. YouÒre home now and weÒre gonna get married.Ô
Genevieve clung to him, afraid he might disappear into thin air if she let go. The smell brought her back to the moment. The rancid smell of lemons burning, of their lives burning. ÓWe have to head for the river. ThatÒs where Mamma would go. SheÒd head south toward Aunt MargueriteÒs place.Ô But Ethan never had time to answer. Someone was coming. Branches were cracking like someone was thrashing through the brush.
ÓGet behind me,Ô Ethan ordered, pushing Genevieve behind him with one arm and grabbing his rifle with the other. The brush parted and Ivy, Green-brierÒs cook, stumbled into view. She was still in her nightgown, black with smoke. She screamed at the sight of the uniform, too frightened to notice it was gray, not blue.
ÓIvy, are you all rightØÔ Genevieve rushed forward to catch the old woman, who was already starting to fall.
ÓMiss Genevieve, what in the world are you doinÒ out hereØÔ
ÓI was tryinÒ to get to Greenbrier. To warn yÒall.Ô
ÓItÒs too late for that, child, and it wouldnÒt a done no good. Those Blue Birds broke down the doors and walked right into the house, like it was their own. They gave the place the once-over to see what they wanted to take, and then they just started settinÒ fires.Ô It was almost impossible to understand her. She was hysterical, and every few seconds she was wracked with a fit of coughing, choking on both the smoke and her tears.
ÓIn all my life I never seen the likes a devils like that. BurninÒ a house with women in it.
Every one a them will have to answer to God Almighty Himself in the hereafter.Ô IvyÒs voice faltered.
It took a moment for IvyÒs words to register.
ÓWhat do you mean burninÒ a house with women in itØÔ
ÓIÒm so sorry, child.Ô
Genevieve felt her legs buckle beneath her. She knelt in the mud, the rain running down her face, mixing with her tears. Her mother, her sister, Greenbrier×they were all gone.
Genevieve looked up at the sky.
ÓGodÒs the one whoÒs goinÒ to have to answer to me.Ô
It pulled us out as fast as it had sucked us in. I was staring at the preacher again, and Lena was gone. I could feel her slip away.
LenaØ
She didnÒt answer. I sat in the church in a cold sweat, sandwiched between Aunt Mercy and Aunt Grace, who were fishing in their purses for change for the collection basket.
Burning a house with women in it, a house lined with lemon trees. A house where IÒd bet
Genevieve had lost her locket. A locket engraved with the day Lena was born, but over a hundred years before. No wonder Lena didnÒt want to see the visions. I was starting to agree with her.
There were no coincidences.
9.14
THE REAL BOO RADLEY
Sunday night, I reread The Catcher in the Rye until I felt tired enough to fall asleep. Only
I never got tired enough. And I couldnÒt read, because reading didnÒt feel the same. I couldnÒt disappear into the character of Holden Caulfield, because I couldnÒt get lost in the story, not the way you need to be, to become somebody else.
I wasnÒt alone in my head. It was full of lockets, and fires, and voices. People I didnÒt know, and visions I didnÒt understand.
And something else. I put the book down and slid my hands behind my head.
LenaØ YouÒre there, arenÒt youØ
I stared up at the blue ceiling.
ItÒs no use. I know youÒre there. Here. Whatever.
I waited, until I heard it. Her voice, unfolding like a tiny, bright memory in the darkest, furthest corner of my mind.
No. Not exactly.
You are. You have been, all night.
Ethan, IÒm sleeping. I mean, I was.
I smiled to myself.
No you werenÒt. You were listening.
I was not.
Just admit it, you were.
Guys. You think everything is about you. Maybe I just like that book.
Can you just drop in whenever you want, nowØ
There was a long pause.
Not usually, but tonight it just sort of happened. I still donÒt understand how it works.
Maybe we can ask someone.
Like whoØ
I donÒt know. Guess weÒll have to figure it out on our own. Just like everything else.
Another pause. I tried not to wonder if the ÓweÔ spooked her, in case she could hear me.
Maybe it was that, or maybe it was the other thing; she didnÒt want me to find out anything, if it had to do with her.
DonÒt try.
I smiled, and felt my eyes closing. I could barely keep them open.
IÒm trying.
I turned out the light.
Good night, Lena.
Good night, Ethan.
I hoped she couldnÒt read all my thoughts.
Basketball. I was definitely going to have to spend more time thinking about basketball.
And as I thought about the playbook in my mind, I felt my eyes closing, myself sinking, losing controlÅ.
Drowning.
I was drowning.
Thrashing in the green water, waves crashing over my head. My feet kicked for the muddy bottom of a river, maybe the Santee, but there was nothing. I could see some kind of light, skimming the river, but I couldnÒt get to the surface.
I was going down.
ÓItÒs my birthday, Ethan. ItÒs happening.Ô
I reached out. She grabbed at my hand, and I twisted to catch it, but she drifted away, and
I couldnÒt hold on anymore. I tried to scream as I watched her pale little hand drift down toward the darkness, but my mouth filled with water and I couldnÒt make a sound. I could feel myself choking. I was starting to black out.
ÓI tried to warn you. You have to let me go!Ô
I sat up in bed. My T-shirt was soaking wet. My pillow was wet. My hair was wet. And my room was sticky and humid. I guessed IÒd left the window open again.
ÓEthan Wate! Are you listeninÒ to meØ You better get yourself down here yesterday, or you wonÒt be havinÒ breakfast again this week.Ô
I was in my seat just as three eggs over-easy slid onto my plate of biscuits and gravy.
ÓGood morning, Amma.Ô
She turned her back to me without so much as a look. ÓNow you know thereÒs nothinÒ good about it. DonÒt spit down my back and tell me itÒs raininÒ.Ô She was still aggravated with me, but I wasnÒt sure if it was because I had walked out of class or brought the locket home. Probably both. I couldnÒt blame her, though; I didnÒt usually get in trouble at school. This was all new territory.
ÓAmma, IÒm sorry about leaving class on Friday. ItÒs not gonna happen again.
EverythingÒll be back to normal.Ô
Her face softened, just a little, and she sat down across from me. ÓDonÒt think so. We all make our choices, and those choices have consequences. I expect youÒll have some hell to pay for yours when you get to school. Maybe youÒll start listeninÒ to me now. Stay away from that Lena Duchannes, and that house.Ô
It wasnÒt like Amma to side with everyone else in town, considering that was usually the wrong side of things. I could tell she was worried by the way she kept stirring her coffee, long after the milk had disappeared. Amma always worried about me and I loved her for it, but something felt different since I showed her the locket. I walked around the table and gave her a hug. She smelled like pencil lead and Red Hots, like always.
She shook her head, muttering, ÓDonÒt want to hear about any green eyes and black hair.
ItÒs fixinÒ to come up a bad cloud today, so you be careful.Ô
Amma wasnÒt just going dark. Today she was going pitch-black. I could feel it coming up a bad cloud, myself.
Link pulled up in the Beater blasting some terrible tunes, as usual. He turned down the music when I slid into the seat, which was always a bad sign.
ÓWe got trubs.Ô
ÓI know.Ô
ÓJacksonÒs got itself a regular lynch mob this morninÒ.Ô
ÓWhatÒd you hearØÔ
ÓBeen goinÒ on since Friday night. I heard my mom talkinÒ, and I tried to call you. Where were you, anywayØÔ
ÓI was pretending to bury a hexed locket over at Greenbrier, so Amma would let me back in the house.Ô
Link laughed. He was used to talk about hexes and charms and the evil eye, where Amma was concerned. ÓAt least sheÒs not makinÒ you wear that stinkinÒ bag a onion mess around your neck. That was nasty.Ô
ÓIt was garlic. For my momÒs funeral.Ô
ÓIt was nasty.Ô
The thing about Link was, weÒd been friends since the day he gave me that Twinkie on the bus, and after that he didnÒt care much what I said or did. Even back then, you knew who your friends were. ThatÒs what Gatlin was like. Everything had already happened, ten years ago. For our parents, everything had already happened twenty or thirty years ago. And for the town itself, it seemed like nothing had happened for more than a hundred years. Nothing of consequence, that is.
I had a feeling that was all about to change.
My mom would have said it was time. If there was one thing my mom liked, it was change. Unlike LinkÒs mom. Mrs. Lincoln was a rage-aholic, on a mission, with a network×a dangerous combination. When we were in the eighth grade, Mrs. Lincoln ripped the cable box out of the wall because she found Link watching a Harry Potter movie, a series she had campaigned to ban from the Gatlin County Library because she thought it promoted witchcraft. Luckily, Link managed to sneak over to Earl PettyÒs house to watch MTV, or Who Shot Lincoln would never have become Jackson HighÒs premier×and by premier, I mean only×rock band.
I never understood Mrs. Lincoln. When my mom was alive, she would roll her eyes and say, ÓLink may be your best friend, but donÒt expect me to join the DAR and start wearing a hoop skirt for reenactments.Ô Then weÒd both crack up, imagining my mom, who walked miles of muddy battlefields looking for old shell casings, who cut her own hair with garden scissors, as a member of the DAR, organizing bake sales and telling everyone how to decorate their houses.
Mrs. Lincoln was easy to picture in the DAR. She was the Recording Secretary, and even
I knew that. She was on the Board with Savannah SnowÒs and Emily AsherÒs mothers, while my mom spent most of her time holed up in the library looking at microfiche.
Had spent.
Link was still talking and soon IÒd heard enough to start listening. ÓMy mom, EmilyÒs mom, SavannahÒsÅ theyÒve been burninÒ up the phone lines, last couple a nights.
Overheard my mom talkinÒ about the window breakinÒ in English and how she heard Old
Man RavenwoodÒs niece had blood on her hands.Ô
He swerved around the corner, without even taking a breath. ÓAnd about how your girlfriend just got outta a mental institution in Virginia, and how sheÒs an orphan, and has bi schizo-manic somethinÒ.Ô
ÓSheÒs not my girlfriend. WeÒre just friends,Ô I said automatically.
ÓShut up. YouÒre so whipped I should buy you a saddle.Ô Which he wouldÒve said about any girl I talked to, talked about, or even looked at in the hall.
ÓSheÒs not. NothingÒs happened. We just hang out.Ô
ÓYouÒre so full a crap, you could pass for a toilet. You like her, Wate. Admit it.
Link wasnÒt big on subtleties, and I donÒt think he could imagine hanging out with a girl for any reason other than maybe she played lead guitar, except for the obvious ones.
ÓIÒm not saying I donÒt like her. WeÒre just friends.Ô Which was the truth, actually, whether or not I wanted it to be. But that was a different question. Either way, I must have smiled a little. Wrong move.
Link pretended to vomit into his lap and swerved, narrowly missing a truck. But he was just messing around. Link didnÒt care who I liked, as long as it gave him something to hassle me about. ÓWellØ Is it trueØ Did sheØÔ
ÓDid she whatØÔ
ÓYou know. Fall outta the crazy tree and hit every branch on the way downØÔ
ÓA window broke, thatÒs all that happened. ItÒs not a mystery.Ô
ÓMrs. AsherÒs sayinÒ she punched it out, or threw somethinÒ at it.Ô
ÓThatÒs funny, seeing how Mrs. Asher isnÒt in my English class, last time I checked.Ô
ÓYeah well, my mom isnÒt either, but she told me she was cominÒ by school today.Ô
ÓGreat. Save her a seat at our lunch table.Ô
ÓMaybe sheÒs done this at all her schools, and thatÒs why she was in some kinda institution.Ô Link was serious, which meant heÒd overheard a whole lot of something since the window incident.
For a second, I remembered what Lena had said about her life. Complicated. Maybe this was one of those complications, or just one of the twenty-six thousand other things she couldnÒt talk about. What if all the Emily Ashers of the world were rightØ What if I had taken the wrong side, after allØ
ÓBe careful, man. Could be sheÒs got her own place over in Nutsville.Ô
ÓIf you really believe that, youÒre an idiot.Ô
We pulled into the school parking lot without speaking. I was annoyed, even though I knew Link was just trying to look out for me. But I couldnÒt help it. Everything felt different today. I got out and slammed the car door.
Link called after me. ÓIÒm worried about you, dude. YouÒve been actinÒ crazy.Ô
ÓWhat, are you and me a couple nowØ Maybe you should spend a little more time worrying about why you canÒt even get a girl to talk to you, crazy or not.Ô
He got out of the car and looked up at the administration building. ÓEither way, maybe you better tell your Ñfriend,Ò whatever that means, to be careful today. Look.Ô
Mrs. Lincoln and Mrs. Asher were talking to Principal Harper on the front steps. Emily was huddled next to her mother, trying to look pathetic. Mrs. Lincoln was lecturing
Principal Harper, who was nodding as if he was memorizing every word. Principal
Harper may have been the one running Jackson High, but he knew who ran the town. He was looking at two of them.
When LinkÒs mom finished, Emily dove into a particularly animated version of the window-shattering incident. Mrs. Lincoln reached out and put her hand on EmilyÒs shoulder, sympathetic. Principal Harper just shook his head.
It was a bad cloud day, all right.
Lena was sitting in the hearse, writing in her beat-up notebook. The engine was idling. I knocked on the window and she jumped. She looked back toward the administration building. She had seen the mothers, too.
I motioned for her to open the door, but she shook her head. I walked around to the passenger side. The doors were locked, but she wasnÒt going to get rid of me that easily. I sat down on the hood of her car and dropped my backpack on the gravel next to me. I wasnÒt going anywhere.
What are you doingØ
Waiting.
ItÒs gonna be a long wait.
IÒve got time.
She stared at me through the windshield. I heard the doors unlock. ÓDid anyone ever tell you that youÒre crazyØÔ She walked around to where I was sitting on the hood, her arms folded, like Amma ready to scold.
ÓNot as crazy as you, I hear.Ô
She had her hair tied back with a silky black scarf that had conspicuously bright pink cherry blossoms scattered across it. I could imagine her staring at herself in the mirror, feeling like she was going to her own funeral, and tying it on to cheer herself up. A long black, I donÒt know, a cross between a T-shirt and a dress, hung over her jeans and black
Converse. She frowned and looked over at the administration building. The mothers were probably sitting in Principal HarperÒs office right now.
ÓCan you hear themØÔ
She shook her head. ÓItÒs not like I can read peopleÒs minds, Ethan.Ô
ÓYou can read mine.Ô
ÓNot really.Ô
ÓWhat about last nightØÔ
ÓI told you, I donÒt know why it happens. We just seem to×connect.Ô Even the word seemed hard for her to say this morning. She wouldnÒt look me in the eye. ÓItÒs never been like this with anyone before.Ô
I wanted to tell her I knew how she felt. I wanted to tell her when we were together like that in our minds, even if our bodies were a million miles away, I felt closer to her than
IÒd ever felt to anyone.
I couldnÒt. I couldnÒt even think it. I thought about the basketball playbook, the cafeteria menu, the green pea-soup-colored hallway I was about to walk down. Anything else.
Instead, I cocked my head to the side. ÓYeah. Girls say that to me all the time.Ô Idiot. The more nervous I got, the worse my jokes were.
She smiled, a wobbly, crooked smile. ÓDonÒt try to cheer me up. ItÒs not going to work.Ô
But it was.
I looked back at the front steps. ÓIf you want to know what theyÒre saying, I can tell you.Ô
She looked at me, skeptically.
ÓHowØÔ
ÓThis is Gatlin. ThereÒs nothing even close to a secret here.Ô
ÓHow bad is itØÔ She looked away. ÓDo they think IÒm crazyØÔ
ÓPretty much.Ô
ÓA danger to the schoolØÔ
ÓProbably. We donÒt take kindly to strangers around here. And it doesnÒt get much stranger than Macon Ravenwood, no offense.Ô I smiled at her.
The first bell rang. She grabbed my sleeve, anxious. ÓLast night. I had a dream. Did you
×Ô
I nodded. She didnÒt have to say it. I knew she had been there in the dream with me.
ÓEven had wet hair.Ô
ÓMe, too.Ô She held out her arm. There was a mark on her wrist, where I had tried to hold on. Before she had sunk down into the darkness. I hoped she hadnÒt seen that part.
Judging from her face, I was pretty sure she had. ÓIÒm sorry, Lena.Ô
ÓItÒs not your fault.Ô
ÓI wish I knew why the dreams are so real.Ô
ÓI tried to warn you. You should stay away from me.Ô
ÓWhatever. IÒll consider myself warned.Ô Somehow I knew I couldnÒt do that×stay away from her. Even though I was about to walk into school and face a huge load of crap, I didnÒt care. It felt good to have someone I could talk to, without editing everything I said.
And I could talk to Lena; at Greenbrier it felt like I couldÒve sat there in the weeds and talked to her for days. Longer. As long as she was there to talk to.
ÓWhat is it about your birthdayØ Why did you say you might not be here after thatØ
She quickly changed the subject. ÓWhat about the locketØ Did you see what I sawØ The burningØ The other visionØÔ
ÓYeah. I was sitting in the middle of church and almost fell out of the pew. But I found out some things from the Sisters. The initials ECW, they stand for Ethan Carter Wate. He was my great-great-great-great-uncle, and my three crazy aunts say I was named after him.Ô
ÓThen why didnÒt you recognize the initials on the locketØÔ
ÓThatÒs the strange part. IÒd never heard of him, and heÒs conveniently missing from the family tree at my house.Ô
ÓWhat about GKDØ ItÒs Genevieve, rightØÔ
ÓThey didnÒt seem to know, but it has to be. SheÒs the one in the visions, and the D must stand for Duchannes. I was gonna ask Amma, but when I showed her the locket her eyes almost fell out of her head. Like it was triple hexed, soaked in a bucket of voodoo, and wrapped in a curse for good measure. And my dadÒs study is off-limits, where he keeps all my momÒs old books about Gatlin and the War.Ô I was rambling. ÓYou could talk to your uncle.Ô
ÓMy uncle wonÒt know anything. WhereÒs the locket nowØÔ
ÓIn my pocket, wrapped in a pouch full of powder Amma dumped all over it when she saw it. She thinks I took it back to Greenbrier and buried it.Ô
ÓShe must hate me.Ô
ÓNo more than any of my girl, you know, friends. I mean, friends who are girls.Ô I couldnÒt believe how stupid I sounded. ÓI think weÒd better get to class before we get in even more trouble.Ô
ÓActually, I was thinking about going home. I know IÒm going to have to deal with them eventually, but IÒd like to live in denial for one more day.Ô
ÓWonÒt you get in troubleØÔ
She laughed. ÓWith my uncle, the infamous Macon Ravenwood, who thinks school is a waste of time and the good citizens of Gatlin are to be avoided at all costsØ HeÒll be thrilled.Ô
ÓThen why do you even goØÔ I was pretty sure Link would never show up at school again if his mom wasnÒt chasing him out the door every morning.
She twisted one of the charms on her necklace, a seven-pointed star. ÓI guess I thought it would be different here. Maybe I could make some friends, join the newspaper or something. I donÒt know.Ô
ÓOur newspaperØ The Jackson StonewallerØÔ
ÓI tried to join the newspaper at my old school, but they said all the staff positions were filled, even though they never had enough writers to get the paper out on time.Ô She looked away, embarrassed. ÓI should get going.Ô
I opened the door for her. ÓI think you should talk to your uncle about the locket. He might know more than you think.Ô
ÓTrust me, he doesnÒt.Ô I slammed the door. As much as I wanted her to stay, a part of me was relieved she was going home. I was going to have enough to deal with today.
ÓDo you want me to turn that in for youØÔ I pointed at the notebook lying on the passenger seat.
ÓNo, itÒs not homework.Ô She flipped open the glove compartment and shoved the notebook inside. ÓItÒs nothing.Ô Nothing she was going to tell me about, anyway.
ÓYouÒd better go before Fatty starts scouting the lot.Ô She started the car before I could say anything else, and waved as she pulled away from the curb.
I heard a bark. I turned to see the enormous black dog from Ravenwood, only a few feet away, and who it was barking at.
Mrs. Lincoln smiled at me. The dog growled, the hair along its back standing on end.
Mrs. Lincoln looked down at it with such revulsion, you wouldÒve thought she was looking at Macon Ravenwood himself. In a fight, I wasnÒt sure which one of them would come out on top.
ÓWild dogs carry rabies. Someone should notify the county.Ô Yeah, someone.
ÓYes, maÒam.Ô
ÓWho was that I just saw drivinÒ off in that strange black carØ You seemed to be havinÒ quite a conversation.Ô She already knew the answer. It wasnÒt a question. It was an accusation.
ÓMaÒam.Ô
ÓSpeakinÒ a strange, Principal Harper was just tellinÒ me heÒs planninÒ on offerinÒ that
Ravenwood girl an occupational transfer. She can take her pick, any school in three counties. As long as itÒs not Jackson.Ô
I didnÒt say anything. I didnÒt even look at her.
ÓItÒs our responsibility, Ethan. Principal HarperÒs, mine×every parent in GatlinÒs. We have to be sure to keep the young people in this town outta harmÒs way. And away from the wrong sorta people.Ô Which meant anyone who wasnÒt like her.
She reached out her hand and touched me on the shoulder, just as she had done to Emily, not ten minutes ago. ÓIÒm sure you understand my meaninÒ. After all, youÒre one of us.
Your daddy was born here and your mamma was buried here. You belong here. Not everyone does.Ô
I stared back at her. She was in her van before I could say another word.
This time, Mrs. Lincoln was after more than burning a few books.
Once I got to class, the day became abnormally normal, weirdly normal. I didnÒt see any more parents, though I suspected they were there loitering around the office. At lunch, I ate three bowls of chocolate pudding with the guys, as usual, though it was clear what and who we werenÒt talking about. Even the sight of Emily madly texting all through
English and chemistry seemed like some kind of reassuring universal truth. Except for the feeling that I knew what, or rather who, she was texting about. Like I said, abnormally normal.
Until Link dropped me off after basketball practice and I decided to do something completely insane.
Amma was standing on the front porch×a sure sign of trouble. ÓDid you see herØÔ I shouldÒve expected this.
ÓShe wasnÒt in school today.Ô Technically that was true.
ÓMaybe thatÒs for the best. Trouble follows that girl around like Macon RavenwoodÒs dog. I donÒt want it followinÒ you into this house.Ô
ÓIÒm going to take a shower. Will dinner be ready soonØ Link and I have a project to do tonight.Ô I called from the stairs, trying to sound normal.
ÓProjectØ What kinda projectØÔ
ÓHistory.Ô
ÓWhere are you goinÒ and when are you fixinÒ to get backØÔ
I let the bathroom door slam before I answered that one. I had a plan, but I needed a story, and it had to be good.
Ten minutes later, sitting at the kitchen table, I had it. It wasnÒt airtight, but it was the best I could do without a little time. Now I just had to pull it off. I wasnÒt the best liar, and Amma was no fool. ÓLink is picking me up after dinner and weÒre gonna be at the library until it closes. I think itÒs sometime around nine or ten.Ô I glopped Carolina Gold onto my pulled pork. Carolina Gold, a sticky mess of mustard barbeque sauce, was the one thing Gatlin County was famous for that had nothing to do with the Civil War.
ÓThe libraryØÔ
Lying to Amma always made me nervous, so I tried not to do it that often. And tonight I was really feeling it, mostly in my stomach. The last thing I wanted to do was eat three plates of pulled pork, but I had no choice. She knew exactly how much I could put away.
Two plates, and I would rouse suspicion. One plate, and she would send me to my room with a thermometer and ginger ale. I nodded and set to work clearing my second plate.
ÓYou havenÒt set foot in the library sinceÅÔ
ÓI know.Ô Since my mom died.
The library was home away from home to my mom, and my family. We had spent every
Sunday afternoon there since I was a little boy, wandering around the stacks, pulling out every book with a picture of a pirate ship, a knight, a soldier, or an astronaut. My mom used to say, ÓThis is my church, Ethan. This is how we keep the Sabbath holy in our family.Ô
The Gatlin County head librarian, Marian Ashcroft, was my momÒs oldest friend, the second smartest historian in Gatlin next to my mom, and until last year, her research partner. They had been grad students together at Duke, and when Marian finished her
PhD in African-American studies, she followed my mom down to Gatlin to finish their first book together. They were halfway through their fifth book before the accident.
I hadnÒt set foot in the library since then, and I still wasnÒt ready. But I also knew there was no way Amma would stop me from going there. She wouldnÒt even call to check up on me. Marian Ashcroft was family. And Amma, who had loved my mom as much as
Marian did, respected nothing more than family.
ÓWell, you mind your manners and donÒt raise your voice. You know what your mamma used to say. Any book is a Good Book, and wherever they keep the Good Book safe is also the House a the Lord.Ô Like I said, my mom would have never made it in the DAR.
Link honked. He was giving me a ride on his way to band practice. I fled the kitchen, feeling so guilty I had to fight the impulse to fling myself into AmmaÒs arms and confess everything, like I was six years old again and had eaten all the dry Jell-O mix out of the pantry. Maybe Amma was right. Maybe I had picked a hole in the sky and the universe was all about to fall in on me.
As I stepped up to the door of Ravenwood, my hand tightened around the glossy blue folder, my excuse for showing up at LenaÒs house uninvited. I was dropping by to give her the English assignment sheÒd missed today×thatÒs what I planned to say, anyway. It had sounded convincing, in my head, when I was standing on my own porch. But now that I was on the porch at Ravenwood, I wasnÒt so sure.
I wasnÒt usually the kind of guy who would do something like this, but it was obvious there was no way Lena was ever going to invite me over on her own. And I had a feeling her uncle could help us, that he might know something.
Or maybe it was the other thing. I wanted to see her. It had been a long, dull day at
Jackson without Hurricane Lena, and I was starting to wonder how I ever got through eight periods without all the trouble she caused me. Without all the trouble she made me want to cause myself.
I could see light flooding from the vine-covered windows. I heard the sounds of music in the background, old Savannah songs, from that Georgian songwriter my mom had loved.
ÓIn the cool cool cool of the eveningÅÔ
I heard barking from the other side of the door before I even knocked, and within seconds the door swung open. Lena was standing there in her bare feet, and she looked different ×dressed up, in a black dress with little birds embroidered on it, like she was going out to have dinner at a fancy restaurant. I looked more like I was headed to the Dar-ee Keen in my holey Atari T-shirt and jeans. She stepped out onto the veranda, pulling the door shut behind her. ÓEthan, what are you doing hereØÔ
I held up the folder, lamely. ÓI brought your homework.Ô
ÓI canÒt believe you just showed up here. I told you my uncle doesnÒt like strangers.Ô She was already pushing me down the stairs. ÓYou have to go. Now.Ô
ÓI just thought we could talk to him.Ô
Behind us, I heard the awkward clearing of a throat. I looked up to see Macon
RavenwoodÒs dog, and beyond him, Macon Ravenwood himself. I tried not to look surprised, but IÒm pretty sure it gave me away when I almost jumped out of my skin.
ÓWell, thatÒs one I donÒt hear often. And I do hate to disappoint, as I am nothing if not a
Southern gentleman.Ô He spoke in a measured Southern drawl, but with perfect enunciation. ÓItÒs a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Wate.Ô
I couldnÒt believe I was standing in front of him. The mysterious Macon Ravenwood.
Only, I really had been expecting Boo Radley×some guy trudging around the house in overalls, mumbling in some kind of monosyllabic language like a Neanderthal, maybe even drooling a bit around the edges of his mouth.
This was no Boo Radley. This was more of an Atticus Finch.
Macon Ravenwood was dressed impeccably, as if it was, I donÒt know, 1942. His crisp white dress shirt was fastened with old-fashioned silver studs, instead of buttons. His black dinner jacket was spotless, perfectly creased. His eyes were dark and gleaming; they looked almost black. They were clouded over, tinted, like the glass of the hearse windows Lena drove around town. There was no seeing into those eyes, no reflection.
They stood out from his pale face, which was as white as snow, white as marble, white as, well, youÒd expect from the town shut-in. His hair was salt and pepper, gray near his face, as black as LenaÒs on the top.
He could have been some kind of American movie star, from before they invented
Technicolor, or maybe royalty, from some small country nobody had ever heard of around here. But Macon Ravenwood, he was from these parts. That was the confusing thing. Old Man Ravenwood was the boogeyman of Gatlin, a story IÒd heard since kindergarten. Only now he seemed like he belonged here less than I did.
He snapped shut the book he was holding, never taking his eyes off me. He was looking at me, but it was almost like he was looking through me, searching for something. Maybe the guy had x-ray vision. Given the past week, anything was possible.
My heart was beating so loudly I was sure he could hear it. Macon Ravenwood had me rattled and he knew it. Neither one of us smiled. His dog stood tense and rigid at his side, as if waiting for the command to attack.
ÓWhere are my mannersØ Do come in, Mr. Wate. We were just about to sit down to dinner. You simply must join us. Dinner is always quite the affair, here at Ravenwood.Ô
I looked at Lena, hoping for some direction.
Tell him you donÒt want to stay.
Trust me, I donÒt.
ÓNo, thatÒs okay, sir. I donÒt want to intrude. I just wanted to drop off LenaÒs homework.Ô
I held the shiny blue folder up for the second time.
ÓNonsense, you must stay. WeÒll enjoy a few Cubans in the conservatory after dinner, or are you more of a Cigarillo manØ Unless, of course, youÒre uncomfortable coming in, in which case, I completely understand.Ô I couldnÒt tell if he was joking.
Lena slipped her arm around his waist, and I could see his face change instantly. Like the sun breaking through the clouds on a gray day. ÓUncle M, donÒt tease Ethan. HeÒs the only friend I have here, and if you scare him away IÒll have to go live with Aunt Del, and then youÒll have no one left to torture.Ô
ÓIÒll still have Boo.Ô The dog looked up at Macon, quizzically.
ÓIÒll take him with me. ItÒs me he follows around town, not you.Ô
I had to ask. ÓBooØ Is the dogÒs name Boo RadleyØÔ
Macon cracked the smallest of smiles. ÓBetter him than me.Ô He threw back his head and laughed, which startled me, since there was no way I could have imagined his features composing themselves into even so much as a smile. He flung open the door behind him.
ÓReally, Mr. Wate, please join us. I so love company, and itÒs been ages since
Ravenwood has had the pleasure of hosting a guest from our own delicious little Gatlin
County.Ô
Lena smiled awkwardly, ÓDonÒt be a snob, Uncle M. ItÒs not their fault you never speak to any of them.Ô
ÓAnd itÒs not my fault that I have a penchant for good breeding, reasonable intelligence, and passable personal hygiene, not necessarily in that order.Ô
ÓIgnore him. HeÒs in a mood.Ô Lena looked apologetic.
ÓLet me guess. Does it have something to do with Principal HarperØÔ
Lena nodded. ÓThe school called. While the incident is being investigated, IÒm on probation.Ô She rolled her eyes. ÓOne more ÑinfractionÒ and theyÒll suspend me.Ô
Macon laughed dismissively, as if we were talking about something completely inconsequential. ÓProbationØ How amusing. Probation would imply a source of authority.Ô He pushed us both into the hall in front of him. ÓAn overweight high school principal who barely finished college, and a pack of angry housewives with pedigrees that couldnÒt rival Boo RadleyÒs, hardly qualify.Ô
I stepped over the threshold and stopped dead in my tracks. The entry hall was soaring and grand, not the suburban model home I had stepped into just days ago. A monstrously huge oil painting, a portrait of a terrifyingly beautiful woman with glowing gold eyes, hung over the stairs, which werenÒt contemporary anymore, but a classic flying staircase seemingly supported only by the air itself. Scarlett OÒHara could have swept down them in a hoop skirt and she wouldnÒt have looked a bit out of place. Tiered crystal chandeliers were dripping from the ceiling. The hall was thick with clusters of antique Victorian furniture, small groupings of intricately embroidered chairs, marble tabletops, and graceful ferns. A candle glowed from every surface. Tall, shuttered doors were thrown open; the breeze carried the scent of gardenias, which were arranged in tall silver vases, artfully placed on the tabletops.
For a second, I almost thought I was back in one of the visions, except the locket was safely wrapped in the handkerchief in my pocket. I knew, because I checked. And that creepy dog was watching me from the stairs.
But it didnÒt make sense. Ravenwood had transformed into something entirely different since the last time I was there. It looked impossible, like I had stepped back in history.
Even if it wasnÒt real, I wished my mom could have seen it. She would have loved this place. Only now it felt real, and I knew this was the way the great house looked, most of the time. It felt like Lena, like the walled garden, like Greenbrier.
Why didnÒt it look like this beforeØ
What are you talking aboutØ
I think you know.
Macon walked in front of us. We turned a corner, into what was the cozy sitting room, last week. Now it was a grand ballroom, with a long claw-footed table set for three, as if he was expecting me.
The piano continued to play itself in the corner. I guessed it was one of those mechanical ones. The scene was eerie, as if the room should have been full of the tinkling of glasses, and laughter. Ravenwood was throwing the party of the year, but I was the only guest.
Macon was still talking. Everything he said echoed off of the giant frescoed walls and vaulted, carved ceilings. ÓI suppose I am a snob. I loathe towns. I loathe townspeople.
They have small minds and giant backsides. Which is to say, what they lack in interiors they make up in posteriors. TheyÒre junk food. Fatty, but ultimately, terribly unsatisfying.Ô He smiled, but it wasnÒt a friendly smile.
ÓSo why donÒt you just moveØÔ I felt a surge of annoyance that brought me back to reality, whatever reality I was currently in. It was one thing for me to make fun of Gatlin.
It was different coming from Macon Ravenwood. It came from a different place.
ÓDonÒt be absurd. Ravenwood is my home, not Gatlin.Ô He spat out the word like it was toxic. ÓWhen I pass on from the binds of this life, I will have to find someone to care for
Ravenwood in my place, since I have no children. ItÒs always been my great and terrible purpose, to keep Ravenwood alive. I like to think of myself as the curator of a living museum.Ô
ÓDonÒt be so dramatic, Uncle M.Ô
ÓDonÒt be so diplomatic, Lena. Why you want to interact with those unenlightened townsfolk, IÒll never understand.Ô
The guy has a point.
Are you saying you donÒt want me to come to schoolØ
No×I just meantMacon looked at me. ÓPresent company excluded, of course.Ô
The more he spoke, the more curious I was. Who knew that Old Man Ravenwood would be the third-smartest person in town, after my mom and Marian AshcroftØ Or maybe the fourth, depending on if my father ever showed his face again.
I tried to see the name of the book Macon was holding. ÓWhat is that, ShakespeareØ
ÓBetty Crocker, a fascinating woman. I was trying to recall what it was that the local town constituents considered an evening meal. I was in the mood for a regional recipe this evening. I decided on pulled pork.Ô More pulled pork. I felt sick just thinking about it.
Macon pulled out LenaÒs chair with a flourish. ÓSpeaking of hospitality, Lena, your cousins are coming out for the Gathering Days. LetÒs remember to tell House and
Kitchen we will be five more.Ô
Lena looked irritated. ÓI will tell the kitchen staff and the house keepers, if thatÒs what you mean, Uncle M.Ô
ÓWhat are the Gathering DaysØÔ
ÓMy family is so weird. The Gathering is just an old harvest festival, like an early
Thanksgiving. Just forget about it.Ô I never knew anyone visited Ravenwood, family or otherwise. IÒd never seen a single car take that turn at the fork in the road.
Macon seemed amused. ÓAs you wish. Speaking of Kitchen, I am absolutely ravenous.
IÒll go see what she has whipped up for us.Ô Even as he spoke, I could hear the pots and pans banging in some faraway room off the ballroom.
ÓDonÒt go overboard, Uncle M. Please.Ô
I watched Macon Ravenwood disappear through a salon, and then he was gone. I could still hear the clip of his dress shoes on the polished floors. This house was ridiculous. It made the White House look like a backwoods shack.
ÓLena, whatÒs going onØÔ
ÓWhat do you meanØÔ
ÓHow did he know to set a place for meØÔ
ÓHe must have done it when he saw us on the porch.Ô
ÓWhat about this placeØ I was in your house, the day we found the locket. It didnÒt look anything like this.Ô
Tell me. You can trust me.
She played with the hem of her dress. Stubborn. ÓMy uncle is into antiques. The house changes all the time. Does it really matterØÔ
Whatever was going on, she wasnÒt going to tell me about it right now. ÓOkay, then. Do you mind if I look aroundØÔ She frowned, but didnÒt say anything. I got up from the table, and walked over to the next salon. It was set up like a small study, with settees, a fireplace, and a few small writing tables. Boo Radley was lying in front of the fire. He started to growl the moment I set foot in the room.
ÓNice doggy.Ô He growled louder. I backed up out of the room. He stopped growling and put his head down on the hearth.
Lying on the nearest writing table was a package, wrapped in brown paper and tied with a string. I picked it up. Boo Radley began to growl again. It was stamped Gatlin County
Library. I knew the stamp. My mom had gotten hundreds of packages like this one. Only
Marian Ashcroft would bother to wrap a book like that.
ÓYou have an interest in libraries, Mr. WateØ Do you know Marian AshcroftØÔ Macon appeared next to me, taking the parcel out of my hand and eyeing it with delight.
ÓYes, sir. Marian, Dr. Ashcroft, she was my momÒs best friend. They worked together.Ô
MaconÒs eyes flickered, a momentary brightness, then nothing. It passed. ÓOf course.
How incredibly dull-witted of me. Ethan Wate. I knew your mother.Ô
I froze. How could Macon Ravenwood have known my motherØ
A strange expression passed over his face, like he was recalling something heÒd forgotten. ÓOnly through her work, of course. IÒve read everything sheÒs ever written. In fact, if you look closely at the footnotes for Plantations & Plantings: A Garden Divided, you will see that several of the primary sources for their study came from my personal collection. Your mother was brilliant, a great loss.Ô
I managed a smile. ÓThanks.Ô
ÓIÒd be honored to show you my library, naturally. It would be a great pleasure to share my collection with the only son of Lila Evers.Ô
I looked at him, struck by the sound of my motherÒs name coming out of Macon
RavenwoodÒs mouth. ÓWate. Lila Evers Wate.Ô
He smiled more broadly. ÓOf course. But first things first. I believe, from KitchenÒs general lack of din, that dinner has been served.Ô He patted my shoulder, and we walked back into the grand ballroom.
Lena was waiting for us at the table, lighting a candle that had blown out in the evening breeze. The table was covered with an elaborate feast, though I couldnÒt imagine how it had gotten there. I hadnÒt seen a single person in the house, aside from the three of us.
Now there was a new house, a wolf-dog, and all this. And I had expected Macon
Ravenwood to be the weirdest part of the evening.
There was enough food to feed the DAR, every church in town, and the basketball team, combined. Only it wasnÒt the kind of food that had ever been served in Gatlin. There was something that looked like a whole roast pig, with an apple stuck in its mouth. A standing rib roast, with little paper puffs on the top of each rib, sat next to a mangled-looking goose covered with chestnuts. There were bowls of gravies and sauces and creams, rolls and breads, collards and beets and spreads that I couldnÒt name. And of course, pulled pork sandwiches, which looked particularly out of place among the other dishes. I looked at Lena, feeling sick at the thought of how much IÒd have to eat to be polite.
ÓUncle M. This is too much.Ô Boo, curled around the legs of LenaÒs chair, thumped his tail in anticipation.
ÓNonsense. This is a celebration. YouÒve made a friend. Kitchen will be offended.Ô
Lena looked at me anxiously, like she was afraid I was going to get up to use the bathroom and bolt. I shrugged, and began to load my plate. Maybe Amma would let me skip breakfast tomorrow.
By the time Macon was pouring his third glass of scotch, it seemed like a good time to bring up the locket. Come to think of it, I had seen him load up his plate with food, but I hadnÒt seen him eat a thing. It seemed to disappear off his plate, with only the smallest bite or two. Maybe Boo Radley was the luckiest dog in town.
I folded up my napkin. ÓDo you mind, sir, if I ask you somethingØ Since you seem to know so much about history, and, well, I canÒt really ask my mom.Ô
What are you doingØ
IÒm just asking a question.
He doesnÒt know anything.
Lena, we have to try.
ÓOf course.Ô Macon took a sip from his glass.
I reached into my pocket and pulled the locket out of the pouch Amma had given me, careful to keep it wrapped in the handkerchief. All the candles went out. The lights dimmed and then spluttered out. Even the music of the piano died.
Ethan, what are you doingØ
I didnÒt do anything.
I heard MaconÒs voice in the darkness. ÓWhat is that in your hand, sonØÔ
ÓItÒs a locket, sir.Ô
ÓDo you mind very much if you put it back in your pocketØÔ His voice was calm, but I knew that he wasnÒt. I could tell he was taking great efforts to compose himself. His glib manner was gone. His voice had an edge, a sense of urgency he was trying very hard to disguise.
I crammed the locket back into the pouch and stuffed it in my pocket. At the other end of the table, Macon touched his fingers to the candelabra. One by one, the candles on the table came back to light. The entire feast had disappeared.
In the candlelight, Macon looked sinister. He was also quiet for the first time since IÒd met him, as if he was weighing his options on an invisible scale that somehow held our fate in the balance. It was time to go. Lena was right, this was a bad idea. Maybe there was a reason Macon Ravenwood never left his house.
ÓIÒm sorry, sir. I didnÒt know that would happen. My housekeeper, Amma, acted like the ×like it, was really powerful when I showed it to her. But when Lena and I found it, nothing bad happened.Ô
DonÒt tell him anything else. DonÒt mention the visions.
I wonÒt. I just wanted to find out if I was right about Genevieve.
She didnÒt have to worry; I didnÒt want to tell Macon Ravenwood anything. I just wanted to get out of there. I started to get up. ÓI think I should be getting home, sir. ItÒs getting late.Ô
ÓWould you mind describing the locket to meØÔ It was more of order than a request. I didnÒt say a word.
It was Lena who finally spoke. ÓItÒs old and battered, with a cameo on the front. We found it at Greenbrier.Ô
Macon twisted his silver ring, agitated. ÓYou should have told me you went to
Greenbrier. ThatÒs not part of Ravenwood. I canÒt keep you safe there.Ô
ÓI was safe there. I could feel it.Ô Safe from whatØ This was more than a little overprotective.
ÓYou werenÒt. ItÒs beyond the boundaries. It canÒt be controlled, not by anyone. There is a lot you donÒt know. And he×Ô Macon gestured to me at the other end of the table. ÓHe knows nothing. He canÒt protect you. You shouldnÒt have brought him into this.Ô
I spoke up. I had to. He was talking about me like I wasnÒt even there. ÓThis is about me, too, sir. There were initials on the back of the locket. ECW. ECW was Ethan Carter
Wate, my great-great-great-great-uncle. And the other initials are GKD, and weÒre pretty sure the D stands for Duchannes.Ô
Ethan, stop.
But I couldnÒt. ÓThereÒs no reason to keep anything from us because whatever it is thatÒs happening, itÒs happening to both of us. And like it or not, it seems to be happening right now.Ô A vase of gardenias went flying across the room and crashed into the wall. This was the Macon Ravenwood weÒd all been telling stories about since we were kids.
ÓYou have no idea what you are talking about, young man.Ô He stared me right in the eye, with a dark intensity that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. He was having trouble keeping it together now. I had pushed him too far. Boo Radley rose and paced behind Macon like he was stalking prey, his eyes hauntingly round and familiar.
DonÒt say anything else.
His eyes narrowed. The movie star glamour was gone, replaced with something much darker. I wanted to run, but I was rooted to the ground. Paralyzed.
I was wrong about Ravenwood Manor, and Macon Ravenwood. I was afraid of both of them.
When he finally spoke, it was as if he was speaking to himself. ÓFive months. Do you know what lengths I will go to, to keep her safe for five monthsØ What it will cost meØ
How it will drain me, perhaps, destroy meØÔ Without a word, Lena moved next to him, and laid her hand on his shoulder. And then, the storm in his eyes passed as quickly as it had come, and he regained his composure.
ÓAmma sounds like a wise woman. I would consider taking her advice. I would return that item to the place where you found it. Please do not bring it into my home again.Ô
Macon stood up and threw his napkin on the table. ÓI think our little library visit will have to wait, donÒt youØ Lena, can you see to it that your friend finds his way homeØ It was, of course, an extraordinary evening. Most illuminating. Please do come again, Mr.
Wate.Ô
And then the room was dark, and he was gone.
I couldnÒt get out of the house fast enough. I wanted to get away from LenaÒs creepy uncle and his freak show of a house. What the hell had just happenedØ Lena rushed me to the door, like she was afraid of what might happen if she didnÒt get me out of there. But as we passed through the main hall, I noticed something I hadnÒt before.
The locket. The woman with the haunting gold eyes in the oil painting was wearing the locket. I grabbed LenaÒs arm. She saw it and froze.
It wasnÒt there before.
What do you meanØ
That painting has been hanging there since I was a child. IÒve walked by it a thousand times. She was never wearing a locket.
9.15
A FORK IN THE ROAD
We barely spoke as we drove back to my house. I didnÒt know what to say, and Lena just looked grateful I wasnÒt saying it. She let me drive, which was good because I needed something to distract me until my pulse slowed back down. We passed my street, but I didnÒt care. I wasnÒt ready to go home. I didnÒt know what was going on with Lena, or her house, or her uncle, but she was going to tell me.
ÓYou passed your street.Ô It was the first thing sheÒd said since we left Ravenwood.
ÓI know.Ô
ÓYou think my uncle is crazy, like everyone else. Just say it. Old Man Ravenwood.Ô Her voice was bitter. ÓI need to get home.Ô
I didnÒt say a word as we circled the GeneralÒs Green, the round patch of faded grass that encircled just about the only thing in Gatlin that ever made it into the guidebooks×the
General, a statue of Civil War General Jubal A. Early. The General stood his ground, just as he always had, which now struck me as sort of wrong. Everything had changed; everything kept changing. I was different, seeing things and feeling things and doing things that even a week ago would have seemed impossible. It felt like the General should have changed, too.
I turned down Dove Street and pulled the hearse over alongside the curb, right under the sign that said welcome to gatlin, home of the southÒs most unique historic plantation homes and the worldÒs best buttermilk pie. I wasnÒt sure about the pie, but the rest was true.
ÓWhat are you doingØÔ
I turned the car off. ÓWe need to talk.Ô
ÓI donÒt park with guys.Ô It was a joke, but I could hear it in her voice. She was petrified.
ÓStart talking.Ô
ÓAbout whatØÔ
ÓYouÒre kidding, rightØÔ I was trying not to shout.
She pulled at her necklace, twisting the tab from a soda can. ÓI donÒt know what you want me to say.Ô
ÓHow about explaining what just happened back there.Ô
She stared out the window, into the darkness. ÓHe was angry. Sometimes he loses his temper.Ô
ÓLoses his temperØ You mean hurls things across the room without touching them and lights candles without matchesØÔ
ÓEthan, IÒm sorry.Ô Her voice was quiet.
But mine wasnÒt. The more she avoided my questions, the angrier it made me. ÓI donÒt want you to be sorry. I want you tell me whatÒs going on.Ô
ÓWith whatØÔ
ÓWith your uncle and his weird house, that he somehow managed to redecorate within a couple of days. With the food that appears and disappears. With all that talk about boundaries and protecting you. Pick one.Ô
She shook her head. ÓI canÒt talk about it. And you wouldnÒt understand, anyway.Ô
ÓHow do you know if you donÒt give me a chanceØÔ
ÓMy family is different from other families. Trust me, you canÒt handle it.Ô
ÓWhatÒs that supposed to meanØÔ
ÓFace it, Ethan. You say youÒre not like the rest of them, but you are. You want me to be different, but just a little. Not really different.Ô
ÓYou know whatØ YouÒre as crazy as your uncle.Ô
ÓYou came to my house without being invited, and now youÒre angry because you didnÒt like what you saw.Ô
I didnÒt answer. I couldnÒt see out the windows, and I couldnÒt think clearly, either.
ÓAnd youÒre angry because youÒre afraid. You all are. Deep down, youÒre all the same.Ô
Lena sounded tired now, like she had already given up.
ÓNo.Ô I looked at her. ÓYouÒre afraid.Ô
She laughed, bitterly. ÓYeah, right. The things IÒm afraid of, you couldnÒt even imagine.Ô
ÓYouÒre afraid to trust me.Ô
She didnÒt say anything.
ÓYouÒre afraid to get to know someone well enough to notice whether or not they show up for school.Ô
She dragged her finger through the fog on her window. It made a shaky line, like a zigzag.
ÓYouÒre afraid to stick around and see what happens.Ô
The zigzag turned into what looked like a bolt of lightning.
ÓYouÒre not from here. YouÒre right. And youÒre not just a little different.Ô
She was still staring out the window, at nothing, because you still couldnÒt see out of it.
But I could see her. I could see everything. ÓYouÒre incredibly, absolutely, extremely, supremely, unbelievably different.Ô I touched her arm, with just my fingertips, and immediately I felt the warmth of electricity. ÓI know because deep down, I think I am, too. So tell me. Please. Different howØÔ
ÓI donÒt want to tell you.Ô
A tear dripped down her cheek. I caught it with my finger, and it burned. ÓWhy notØÔ
ÓBecause this could be my last chance to be a normal girl, even if it is in Gatlin. Because youÒre my only friend here. Because if I tell you, you wonÒt believe me. Or worse, you will.Ô She opened her eyes, and looked into mine. ÓEither way, youÒre never going to want to talk to me again.Ô
There was a rap on the window, and we both jumped. A flashlight shone through the fogged-in glass. I dropped my hand and rolled down the window, swearing under my breath.
ÓKids get lost on your way homeØÔ Fatty. He was grinning like heÒd stumbled across two doughnuts on the side of the road.
ÓNo, sir. WeÒre on our way home right now.Ô
ÓThis isnÒt your car, Mr. Wate.Ô
ÓNo, sir.Ô
He shined his flashlight over at Lena, lingering for a long time. ÓThen move on, and get home. DonÒt want to keep Amma waitinÒ.Ô
ÓYes, sir.Ô I turned the key in the ignition. When I looked in the rearview mirror, I could see his girlfriend, Amanda, in the front seat of his police cruiser, giggling.
I slammed the car door. I could see Lena through the driverÒs window now, as she idled in front of my house. ÓSee you tomorrow.Ô
ÓSure.Ô
But I knew we wouldnÒt see each other tomorrow. I knew if she drove down my street that was it. It was a path, just like the fork in the road leading to Ravenwood or to Gatlin.
You had to pick one. If she didnÒt pick this one, now, the hearse would keep on going the other way at the fork, passing me by. Just as it had the morning I first saw it.
If she didnÒt pick me.
You couldnÒt take two roads. And once you were on one, there was no going back. I heard the motor grind into drive, but kept walking up to my door. The hearse pulled away.
She didnÒt pick me.
I was lying on my bed, facing the window. The moonlight was streaming in, which was annoying, because it kept me from falling asleep when all I wanted was for this day to end.
Ethan. The voice was so soft I almost couldnÒt hear it.
I looked at the window. It was locked, I had made sure of it.
Ethan. Come on.
I closed my eyes. The latch on my window rattled.
Let me in.
The wooden shutters banged open. I would say it was the wind, but of course there wasnÒt even a breeze. I climbed out of bed and looked outside.
Lena was standing on my front lawn in her pajamas. The neighbors would have a field day, and Amma would have a heart attack. ÓYou come down or IÒm coming up.Ô
A heart attack, and then a stroke.
We sat out on the front step. I was in my jeans, because I didnÒt sleep in pajamas, and if
Amma had walked out and found me with a girl in my boxers, I wouldÒve been buried under the back lawn by morning.
Lena leaned back against the step, looking up at the white paint peeling off the porch. ÓI almost turned around at the end of your street, but I was too scared to do it.Ô In the moonlight, I could see her pajamas were green and purple and sort of Chinese.
ÓThen by the time I got home, I was too scared not to do it.Ô She was picking at the nail polish on her bare feet, which was how I knew she had something to say. ÓI donÒt really know how to do this. IÒve never had to say it before, so I donÒt know how it will all come out.Ô
I rubbed my messy hair with one hand. ÓWhatever it is, you can tell me. I know what itÒs like to have a crazy family.Ô
ÓYou think you know crazy. You have no idea.Ô
She took a deep breath. Whatever she was about to say, it was hard for her. I could see her struggling to find the words. ÓThe people in my family, and me, we have powers. We can do things that regular people canÒt do. WeÒre born that way, we canÒt help it. We are what we are.Ô
It took me a second to understand what she was talking about, or at least what I thought she was talking about.
Magic.
Where was Amma when I needed herØ
I was afraid to ask, but I had to know. ÓAnd what, exactly, are youØÔ It sounded so crazy that I almost couldnÒt say the words.
ÓCasters,Ô she said quietly.
ÓCastersØÔ
She nodded.
ÓLike, spell castersØÔ
She nodded again.
I stared at her. Maybe she was crazy. ÓLike, witchesØÔ
ÓEthan. DonÒt be ridiculous.Ô
I exhaled, momentarily relieved. Of course, I was an idiot. What was I thinkingØ
ÓThatÒs such a stupid word, really. ItÒs like saying jocks. Or geeks. ItÒs just a dumb stereotype.Ô
My stomach lurched. Part of me wanted to bolt up the steps, lock the door, and hide in my bed. But then another part of me, a bigger part, wanted to stay. Because hadnÒt a part of me known all alongØ I may not have known what she was, but I had known there was something about her, something bigger than just that junky necklace and those old
Chucks. What was I expecting, from someone who could bring on a downpourØ Who could talk to me without even being in the roomØ Who could control the way the clouds floated in the skyØ Who could fling open the shutters to my room from my front yardØ
ÓCan you come up with a better nameØÔ
ÓThereÒs not one word that describes all the people in my family. Is there one word that describes everyone in yoursØÔ
I wanted to break the tension, to pretend she was just like any other girl. To convince myself that this could be okay. ÓYeah. Lunatics.Ô
ÓWeÒre Casters. ThatÒs the broadest definition. We all have powers. WeÒre gifted, just like some families are smart, and others are rich, or beautiful, or athletic.
I knew what the next question was, but I didnÒt want to ask it. I already knew she could break a window just by thinking about it. I didnÒt know if I was ready to find out what else she could shatter.
Anyway, it was starting to feel like we were talking about just another crazy Southern family, like the Sisters. The Ravenwoods had been around as long as any family in
Gatlin. Why should they be any less crazyØ Or at least thatÒs what I tried to tell myself.
Lena took the silence as a bad sign. ÓI knew I shouldnÒt have said anything. I told you to leave me alone. Now you probably think IÒm a freak.Ô
ÓI think youÒre talented.Ô
ÓYou think my house is weird. You already admitted that.Ô
ÓSo you redecorated, a lot.Ô I was trying to hold it together. I was trying to keep her smiling. I knew what it must have cost her to tell me the truth. I couldnÒt run out on her now. I turned around and pointed to the lit study above the azalea bushes, hidden behind thick wooden shutters. ÓLook. See that window over thereØ ThatÒs my dadÒs study. He works all night and sleeps all day. Since my mom died, he hasnÒt left the house. He wonÒt even show me what heÒs writing.Ô
ÓThatÒs so romantic,Ô she said quietly.
ÓNo, itÒs crazy. But nobody talks about it, because thereÒs nobody left to talk to. Except
Amma, who hides magic charms in my room and screams at me for bringing old jewelry into the house.Ô
I could tell she was almost smiling. ÓMaybe you are a freak.Ô
ÓIÒm a freak, youÒre a freak. Your house makes rooms disappear, my house makes people disappear. Your shut-in uncle is nuts and my shut-in dad is a lunatic, so I donÒt know what you think makes us so different.Ô
Lena smiled, relieved. ÓIÒm trying to find a way to see that as a compliment.Ô
ÓIt is.Ô I looked at her smiling in the moonlight, a real smile. There was something about the way she looked just at that moment. I imagined leaning in a little farther and kissing her. I pushed myself away, up one step higher than she was.
ÓAre you okayØÔ
ÓYeah, IÒm fine. Just tired.Ô But I wasnÒt.
We stayed like that, just talking on the steps, for hours. I lay on the step above; she lay on the step below. We watched the dark night sky, then the dark morning sky, until we could hear the birds.
By the time the hearse finally pulled away, the sun was starting to rise. I watched Boo
Radley lope slowly home after it. At the rate he was going, it would be sunset before that dog got home. Sometimes I wondered why he bothered.
Stupid dog.
I put my hand on the brass doorknob of my own door, but I almost couldnÒt bring myself to open it. Everything was upside down, and nothing inside could change that. My mind was scrambled, all stirred up like a big frying pan of AmmaÒs eggs, the way my insides had felt like for days now.
T. I. M. O. R. O. U. S. ThatÒs what Amma would call me. Eight across, as in another name for a coward. I was scared. IÒd told Lena it was no big deal that she and her family ×were whatØ WitchesØ CastersØ And not the ten and two kind my dad had taught me about.
Yeah, no big deal.
I was a big liar. I bet even that stupid dog could sense that.
9.24
THE LAST THREE ROWS
You know that expression, ÓIt hit me like a ton of bricksÔØ ItÒs true. The minute she turned the car around and ended up on my doorstep in her purple pajamas, thatÒs how I felt about Lena.
I knew it was coming. I just didnÒt know it would feel like this.
Since then, there were two places I wanted to be: with Lena, or alone, so I could try to hammer it all out in my mind. I didnÒt have the words for what we were. She wasnÒt my girlfriend; we werenÒt even dating. Up until last week, she wouldnÒt even admit we were friends. I had no idea how she felt about me, and it wasnÒt like I could send Savannah over to find out. I didnÒt want to risk whatever we had, whatever it was. So why did I think about her every secondØ Why was I so much happier the minute I saw herØ I felt like maybe I knew the answer, but how could I be sureØ I didnÒt know, and I didnÒt have any way to find out.
Guys donÒt talk about stuff like that. We just lie under the pile of bricks.
ÓSo what are you writingØÔ
She closed the spiral notebook she seemed to carry around everywhere. The basketball team had no practice on Wednesdays, so Lena and I were sitting in the garden at
Greenbrier, which IÒd sort of come to think of as our special place, though thatÒs not something I would ever admit, not even to her. It was where we found the locket. It was a place we could hang out without everyone staring and whispering. We were supposed to be studying, but Lena was writing in her notebook, and IÒd read the same paragraph about the internal structure of atoms nine times now. Our shoulders were touching, but we were facing different directions. I was sprawled in the fading sun; she sat under the growing shadow of a moss-covered oak. ÓNothing special. IÒm just writing.Ô
ÓItÒs okay, you donÒt have to tell me.Ô I tried not to sound disappointed.
ÓItÒs justÅ itÒs stupid.Ô
ÓSo tell me anyway.Ô
For a minute she didnÒt say anything, scribbling on the rubber rim of her shoe with her black pen. ÓI just write poems sometimes. IÒve been doing it since I was a kid. I know itÒs weird.Ô
ÓI donÒt think itÒs weird. My mom was a writer. My dadÒs a writer.Ô I could feel her smiling, even though I wasnÒt looking at her. ÓOkay, thatÒs a bad example, because my dad is really weird, but you canÒt blame that on the writing.Ô
I waited to see if she was going to just hand me the notebook and ask me to read one. No such luck. ÓMaybe I can read one sometime.Ô
ÓDoubtful.Ô I heard the notebook open again and her pen moving across the page. I stared at my chemistry book, rehearsing the phrase IÒd gone over a hundred times in my head.
We were alone. The sun was slipping away; she was writing poetry. If I was going to do it, now was the time.
ÓSo, do you want to, you know, hang outØÔ I tried to sound casual.
ÓIsnÒt that what weÒre doingØÔ
I chewed on the end of an old plastic spoon I had found in my backpack, probably from a pudding cup. ÓYeah. No. I mean, do you want to, I donÒt know, go somewhereØ
ÓNowØÔ She took a bite out of an open granola bar, and swung her legs around so she was next to me, holding it out toward me. I shook my head.
ÓNot now. Friday, or something. We could see a movie.Ô I stuck the spoon in my chemistry book, closing it.
ÓThatÒs gross.Ô She made a face, and turned the page.
ÓWhat do you meanØÔ I could feel my face turning red.
I was only talking about a movie.
You idiot.
She pointed at my dirty spoon bookmark. ÓI meant that.Ô
I smiled, relieved. ÓYeah. Bad habit I picked up from my mom.Ô
ÓShe had a thing for cutleryØÔ
ÓNo, books. She would have maybe twenty going at a time, lying all over our house×on the kitchen table, by her bed, the bathroom, our car, her bags, a little stack at the edge of each stair. And sheÒd use anything she could find for a bookmark. My missing sock, an apple core, her reading glasses, another book, a fork.Ô
ÓA dirty old spoonØÔ
ÓExactly.Ô
ÓBet that drove Amma crazy.Ô
ÓIt drove her nuts. No, wait for it×she was×Ô I dug deep. ÓP. E. R. T. U. R. B. E. D.Ô
ÓNine downØÔ She laughed.
ÓProbably.Ô
ÓThis was my momÒs.Ô She held out one of the charms suspended from the long silver chain she never seemed to take off. It was a tiny gold bird. ÓItÒs a raven.Ô
ÓFor RavenwoodØÔ
ÓNo. Ravens are the most powerful birds in the Caster world. Legend has it that they can draw energy into themselves and release it in other forms. Sometimes theyÒre even feared because of their power.Ô I watched as she let go of the raven and it fell back into place between a disc with strange writing etched into it and a black glass bead.
ÓYouÒve got a lot of charms.Ô
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and looked down at the necklace. ÓThey arenÒt really charms, just things that mean something to me.Ô She held out the tab of the soda can. ÓThis is from the first can of orange soda I ever drank, sitting on the porch of our house in Savannah. My gramma bought it for me when I came home from school crying because no one put anything in my valentine shoebox at school.Ô
ÓThatÒs cute.Ô
ÓIf by cute you mean tragic.Ô
ÓI mean, that you kept it.Ô
ÓI keep everything.Ô
ÓWhatÒs this oneØÔ I pointed to the black bead.
ÓMy Aunt Twyla gave it to me. TheyÒre made from these rocks in a really remote area of
Barbados. She said it would bring me luck.Ô
ÓItÒs a cool necklace.Ô I could see how much it meant to her, the way she held each thing on it so carefully.
ÓI know it just looks like a bunch of junk. But IÒve never lived anywhere very long. IÒve never had the same house, or the same room for more than a few years, and sometimes I feel like the little pieces of me on this chain are all I have.Ô
I sighed and pulled a blade of grass. ÓWish IÒd lived in one of those places.Ô
ÓBut you have roots here. A best friend youÒve had your whole life, a house with a bedroom thatÒs always been yours. You probably even have one of those doorjambs with your height written on it.Ô I did.
You do, donÒt youØ
I nudged her with my shoulder. ÓI can measure you on my doorjamb if you want. You can be immortalized for all time at WateÒs Landing.Ô She smiled into her notebook and pushed her shoulder against mine. From the corner of my eye, I could see the afternoon sunlight hitting one side of her face, a single page of her notebook, the curling edge of her black hair, the tip of one black Converse.
About the movies. Friday works.
Then she slid her granola bar into the middle of her notebook, and closed it.
The toes of our ratty black sneakers touched.
The more I thought about Friday night, the more nervous I got. It wasnÒt a date, not officially×I knew that. But that was part of the problem. I wanted it to be. What do you do when you realize you might have feelings for a girl who will barely admit to being your friendØ A girl whose uncle kicked you out of their house, and who isnÒt all that welcome in yours, eitherØ A girl who almost everyone you know hatesØ A girl who shares your dreams, but maybe not your feelingsØ
I had no idea, which is why I didnÒt do anything. But it didnÒt stop me from thinking about Lena, and almost driving by her house on Thursday night×if her house wasnÒt outside of town, if I had my own car. If her uncle wasnÒt Macon Ravenwood. Those were the ÓifsÔ that kept me from making a fool of myself.
Every day was like a day out of someone elseÒs life. Nothing had ever happened to me, and now everything was happening to me×and by everything, I really meant Lena. An hour was both faster and slower. I felt like I had sucked the air out of a giant balloon, like my brain wasnÒt getting enough oxygen. Clouds were more interesting, the lunchroom less disgusting, music sounded better, the same old jokes were funnier, and Jackson went from being a clump of grayish-green industrial buildings to a map of times and places where I might run into her. I found myself smiling for no reason, keeping my earphones in and replaying our conversations in my head, just so I could listen to them again. I had seen this kind of thing before.
I had just never felt it.
By Friday night, I had been in a great mood all day, which meant IÒd done worse than everyone in class, and better than everyone at practice. I had to put all that energy somewhere. Even Coach noticed, and kept me late to talk. ÓKeep it up, Wate, anÒ you just might get yourself scouted next year.Ô
Link gave me a ride to Summerville after practice. The guys were planning on catching a movie, too, which I probably should have considered since the Cineplex only had one screen. But it was too late for that, and I was past the point of caring.
When we pulled up in the Beater, Lena was standing outside in the darkness, in front of the brightly lit theater. She was wearing a purple T-shirt, with a skinny black dress over it that made you remember how much of a girl she was, and trashed black boots that made you forget.
Inside the door, aside from the usual crowd of Summerville Community College students, the cheer squad was assembled in formation, hanging out in the lobby arcade with guys from the team. My mood started to evaporate.
ÓHi.Ô
ÓYouÒre late. I got the tickets.Ô LenaÒs eyes were unreadable in the darkness. I followed her inside. We were off to a great start.
ÓWate! Get over here!Ô EmoryÒs voice boomed over the arcade and the crowd and the eighties music playing in the lobby.
ÓWate, you got a dateØÔ Now Billy was riding me. Earl didnÒt say anything, but only because Earl hardly ever said anything.
Lena ignored them. She rubbed her head, walking ahead of me like she didnÒt want to look at me.
ÓItÒs called a life.Ô I shouted back over the crowd. I would hear about this on Monday. I caught up to Lena. ÓHey, sorry about that.Ô
She whirled around to look at me. ÓThis isnÒt going to work if youÒre the kind of person who doesnÒt want to watch the previews.Ô
I waited for you.
I grinned. ÓPreviews and credits, and the dancing popcorn guy.Ô
She looked past me, back to my friends, or at least, the people who had historically functioned that way.
Ignore them.
ÓButter or no butterØÔ She was annoyed. I had been late, and she had faced the Jackson
High social stockade alone. Now it was my turn.
ÓButter,Ô I confessed, knowing this would be the wrong answer. Lena made a face.
ÓBut IÒll trade you butter for extra salt,Ô I said. Her eyes looked past me, then back. I could hear EmilyÒs laughter getting closer. I didnÒt care.
Say the word and weÒll go, Lena.
ÓNo butter, salt, tossed with Milk Duds. YouÒll like it,Ô she said, her shoulders relaxing just a little.
I already like it.
The squad and the guys walked past us. Emily made a point of not looking at me, while
Savannah stepped around Lena like she was infected with some kind of airborne virus. I could just imagine what they would tell their mothers when they got home.
I grabbed LenaÒs hand. A current ran through my body, but this time, it wasnÒt the shock
I had felt that night in the rain. It was more like a confusion of the senses. Like being hit by a wave at the beach and climbing under an electric blanket on a rainy night, all at the same time. I let it wash over me. Savannah noticed and elbowed Emily.
You donÒt have to do this.
I squeezed her hand.
Do whatØ
ÓHey, kids. Did you see the guysØÔ Link tapped me on the shoulder, carrying a monstersize buttered popcorn and a giant blue slush.
The Cineplex was showing some kind of murder mystery, which Amma would have liked, given her penchant for mysteries and dead bodies. Link had gone to sit up front with the guys, scoping the aisles for college girls on his way. Not because he didnÒt want to sit with Lena, but because he assumed we wanted to be alone. We did×at least, I did.
ÓWhere do you want to sitØ Up close, in the middleØÔ I waited for her to decide.
ÓBack here.Ô I followed her down the aisle of the last row.
Hooking up was the main reason kids from Gatlin went to the Cineplex, considering any movie showing there was already on DVD. But it was the only reason you sat in the last three rows. The Cineplex, the water tower, and in the summer, the lake. Aside from that, there were a few bathrooms and basements, but not many other options. I knew we wouldnÒt be doing any hooking up, but even if it was like that between us I wouldnÒt have brought her here to do it. Lena wasnÒt just some girl you took to the last three rows of the
Cineplex. She was more than that.
Still, it was her choice, and I knew why she chose it. You couldnÒt get farther away from
Emily Asher than the last row.
Maybe I should have warned her. Before the opening credits, people were already starting to go at it. We both stared at the popcorn, since there was nowhere else safe to look.
Why didnÒt you say anythingØ
I didnÒt know.
Liar.
IÒll be a perfect gentleman. Honest.
I pushed it all to the back of my mind, thinking about anything, the weather, basketball, and reached into the popcorn tub. Lena reached in at the same time, and our hands touched for a second, sending a chill up my arm, hot and cold all mixed up together. Pick
ÒnÒ Roll. Picket Fences. Down the Lane. There were only so many plays in the Jackson basketball playbook. This was going to be harder than I thought.
The movie was terrible. Ten minutes in, I already knew the ending.
ÓHe did it,Ô I whispered.
ÓWhatØÔ
ÓThat guy. HeÒs the murderer. I donÒt know who he kills, but he did it.Ô That was the other reason Link didnÒt want to sit by me: I always knew the ending at the beginning and
I couldnÒt keep it to myself. It was my version of doing the crossword. It was the reason I was so good at video games, carnival games, checkers with my dad. I could figure things out, right from the first move.
ÓHow do you knowØÔ
ÓI just do.Ô
How does this endØ
I knew what she meant. But for the first time, I just didnÒt know the answer.
Happy. Very, very happy.
Liar. Now hand over the Milk Duds.
She pushed her hand into the pocket of my sweatshirt, looking for them. Only it was the wrong side, and instead she found the last thing she was expecting. There it was, the little pouch, the hard lump that we both knew was the locket. Lena sat up with a start, pulling it out and holding it up like it was some kind of dead mouse. ÓWhy are you still carrying that around in your pocketØÔ
ÓShh.Ô We were annoying the people around us, which was funny considering they werenÒt even watching the movie.
ÓI canÒt leave it in the house. Amma thinks I buried it.Ô
ÓMaybe you should have.Ô
ÓIt doesnÒt matter, the thing has a mind of its own. It almost never works. YouÒve seen it every time it has.Ô
ÓCan you shut upØÔ The couple in front of us came up for air. Lena jumped, dropping the locket. We both grabbed for it. I saw the handkerchief falling off, as if it were in slow motion. I could barely see the white square in the dark. The big screen twisted into an inconsequential spark of light, and we could already smell the smokeBurning a house with women in it.
It couldnÒt be true. Mamma. Evangeline. GenevieveÒs mind was racing. Maybe it wasnÒt too late. She broke into a run, ignoring the ragged claws of the bushes urging her to go back and Ethan and IvyÒs voices calling after her. The bushes opened up, and there were two Federals in front of what was left of the house GenevieveÒs grandfather had built.
Two Federals pouring a tray full of silver into a government-issue rucksack. Genevieve was a rush of black billowing fabric catching the gusts kicked up by the fire.
ÓWhat the×Ô
ÓGrab her, Emmett,Ô the first teenage boy called to the other.
Genevieve was taking the stairs two at a time, choking on the gales of smoke pouring from the opening where the front door had been. She was out of her mind. Mamma.
Evangeline. Her lungs were raw. She felt herself falling. Was it the smokeØ Was she going to faintØ No, it was something else. A hand on her wrist, pulling her down.
ÓWhere do you think youÒre going, girlØÔ
ÓLet me go!Ô she screamed, her voice raw from the smoke. Her back hit the stairs one by one as he dragged her, a blur of navy and gold. Her head hit next. Heat, then something wet dripping down the collar of her dress. Dizziness and confusion mixed with desperation.
A gunshot. The sound was so loud it brought her back, cutting through the darkness. The hand gripping her wrist relaxed. She tried to will her eyes to focus.
Two more shots rang out.
Lord, please spare Mamma and Evangeline. But in the end, it was too much to ask, or maybe it had been the wrong question. Because when she heard the sound of the third body drop, her eyes refocused long enough to see EthanÒs gray wool jacket sprayed with blood. Shot by the very soldiers he had refused to fight against anymore.
And the smell of blood mixed with gunpowder and burning lemons.
The credits were rolling, and the lights were coming up. LenaÒs eyes were still closed, and she was lying back in her seat. Her hair was messed up, and neither one of us could catch our breath.
ÓLenaØ You okayØÔ
She opened her eyes, and pushed up the armrest between us. Without a word, she rested her head on my shoulder. I could feel her shaking so hard she couldnÒt even speak.
I know. I was there, too.
We were still sitting like that when Link and the rest of them walked by. Link winked at me and held out his fist as he passed, like he was going to tap it against mine the way he did after I made a tough shot on the court.
But he had it wrong, they all did. We may have been in the last row, but we hadnÒt been hooking up. I could smell the blood and the gunshots were still ringing in my ears.
We had just watched a man die.
10.09
GATHERING DAYS
After the Cineplex, it didnÒt take long. Word got out that Old Man RavenwoodÒs niece was hanging out with Ethan Wate. If I wasnÒt Ethan Wate Whose Mamma Died Just Last
Year, the talk might have spread with more speed, or more cruelty. Even the guys on the team had something to say. It just took them longer than usual to say it, because I hadnÒt given them a chance.
For a guy who couldnÒt survive without three lunches, IÒd been skipping half of them since the Cineplex×at least, skipping them with the team. But there were only so many days I could get by on half a sandwich on the bleachers, and there were only so many places to hide.
Because really, you couldnÒt hide. Jackson High was just a smaller version of Gatlin; there was nowhere to go. My disappearing act hadnÒt gone unnoticed with the guys. Like
I said, you had to show up for roll call, and if you let a girl get in the way of that, especially a girl who wasnÒt on the approved list×meaning, approved by Savannah and
Emily×things got complicated.
When the girl was a Ravenwood, which is what Lena would always be to them, things were pretty much impossible.
I had to man up. It was time to take on the lunchroom. It didnÒt matter that we werenÒt even really a couple. At Jackson, you might as well have parked behind the water tower if you were eating lunch together. Everyone always assumed the worst, more like, the most.
The first time Lena and I walked into the lunchroom together, she almost turned around and walked back out. I had to grab the strap on her bag.
DonÒt be crazy. ItÒs just lunch.
ÓI think I forgot something in my locker.Ô She turned, but I kept holding on to the strap.
Friends eat lunch together.
They donÒt. We donÒt. I mean, not in here.
I picked up two orange plastic lunch trays. ÓTrayØÔ I pushed the tray in front of her and shoved a shiny triangle of pizza on it.
We do now. Chicken.
You donÒt think IÒve tried this beforeØ
You havenÒt tried it with me. I thought you wanted things to be different than they were at your old school.
Lena looked around the room doubtfully. She took a deep breath and dropped a plate of carrots and celery onto my tray.
You eat those, and IÒll sit anywhere you want.
I looked at the carrots, then out at the lunchroom. The guys were already hanging out at our table.
AnywhereØ
¦ ¦ ¦
If this was a movie, we wouldÒve sat down at the table with the guys, and they wouldÒve learned some kind of valuable lesson, like not to judge people by the way they look, or that being different was okay. And Lena wouldÒve learned that all jocks werenÒt stupid and shallow. It always seemed to work in movies, but this wasnÒt a movie. This was
Gatlin, which severely limited what could happen. Link caught my eye as I turned toward the table, and started shaking his head, as in, no way, man. Lena was a few steps behind me, ready to bolt. I was beginning to see how this was going to play out, and letÒs just say no one was going to be learning any valuable lessons. I almost turned around, when Earl looked at me.
That one look said it all. It said if you bring her over here, youÒre done.
Lena must have seen it too, because when I turned back to her, she was gone.
That day after practice, Earl was nominated to have a talk with me, which was pretty funny, since talking had never really been his thing. He sat down on the bench in front of my gym locker. I could tell it was a plan because he was alone, and Earl Petty was almost never alone. He didnÒt waste any time. ÓDonÒt do it, Wate.Ô
ÓIÒm not doing anything.Ô I didnÒt look up from my locker.
ÓBe cool. This isnÒt you.Ô
ÓYeahØ What if it isØÔ I pulled on my Transformers T-shirt.
ÓThe guys donÒt like it. Go down this road, no goinÒ back.Ô
If Lena hadnÒt disappeared in the cafeteria, Earl wouldÒve known I didnÒt care what they thought. I hadnÒt cared for a while now. I slammed my locker door, and he left before I could tell him what I thought about him and his dead end of a road.
I had a feeling it was my last warning. I didnÒt blame Earl. For once, I agreed with him.
The guys were going down one road, and I was going down another. Who could argue with thatØ
Still, Link refused to desert me. And I went to practice; people even passed me the ball. I was playing better than I ever had, no matter what they said, or more often didnÒt say, in the locker room. When I was around the guys, I tried not to let on that my universe had split in half, that even the sky looked different to me now, that I didnÒt care if we got to the state finals. Lena was in the back of my mind, no matter where I was or who I was with.
Not that I mentioned that at practice, or today, after practice, when Link and I hit the Stop
& Steal to refuel on the way home. The rest of the guys were there, too, and I was trying to act like part of the team, for LinkÒs sake. My mouth was full of powdered doughnuts, which I almost choked on when I stepped through the sliding doors.
There she was. The second-prettiest girl I had ever seen.
She was probably a little older than I was because, though she looked vaguely familiar, she had never been at Jackson when I was there. I was sure of that. She was the kind of girl a guy would remember. She was blasting some music I had never heard, and lounging at the wheel of her convertible black-and-white Mini Cooper, which was parked haphazardly across two spaces in the parking lot. She didnÒt seem to notice the lines, or she didnÒt care. She was sucking on a lollipop like a cigarette, her pouty red lips made even redder by the cherry-colored stain.
She looked us over, and turned up the music. In a split second, two legs came flying over the side of the door, and she was standing in front of us, still sucking on the lollipop.
ÓFrank Zappa. ÑDrowning Witch.Ò A little before your time, boys.Ô She walked closer, slowly, as if she was giving us time to check her out, which I admit, we were.
She had long blond hair, with a thick pink stripe sweeping down one side of her face, past her choppy bangs. She was wearing giant black sunglasses and a short black pleated skirt, like some kind of Goth cheerleader. Her cut-off white tank was so thin, you could see half of some kind of black bra, and most of everything else. And there was plenty to see.
Black motorcycle boots, a belly ring, and a tattoo. It was black and tribal looking and surrounded her belly button, but I couldnÒt tell from here what it was, and I was trying not to stare.
ÓEthanØ Ethan WateØÔ
I stopped in my tracks. Half the basketball team collided into me.
ÓNo way.Ô Shawn was as surprised as I was when my name came out of her mouth. He was the kind of guy who had game.
ÓHot.Ô Link just stared, with his mouth open. ÓTDB hot.Ô Third Degree Burns. The highest compliment Link could pay a girl, even higher than Savannah Snow hot.
ÓLooks like trouble.Ô
ÓHot girls are trouble. ThatÒs the whole point.Ô
She walked right up to me, sucking on her lollipop. ÓWhich one of you lucky boys is
Ethan WateØÔ Link shoved me forward.
ÓEthan!Ô She flung her arms around my neck. Her hands felt surprisingly cold, like sheÒd been holding a bag of ice. I shivered and backed away.
ÓDo I know youØÔ
ÓNot a bit. IÒm Ridley, LenaÒs cousin. But donÒt I wish youÒd met me first×Ô
At the mention of Lena, the guys shot me some weird looks, and reluctantly drifted off toward their cars. In the wake of my talk with Earl, we had come to a mutual understanding about Lena, the only kind guys ever come to. Meaning, I hadnÒt brought it up, and they hadnÒt brought it up, and between us, we somehow all agreed to go on like this indefinitely. DonÒt ask, donÒt tell. Which wasnÒt going to be much longer, especially if LenaÒs odd relatives started showing up in town.
ÓCousinØÔ
Had Lena mentioned a RidleyØ
ÓFor the holidaysØ Aunt DelØ Rhymes with hellØ Ring a bellØÔ She was right; Macon had brought it up at dinner.
I grinned, relieved, except my stomach was still wrenched into a massive knot, so I must not have been that relieved. ÓRight. Sorry, I forgot. The cousins.Ô
ÓHoney, youÒre lookinÒ at the Cousin. The rest are just children my mother happened to have after me.Ô Ridley hopped back in the Mini Cooper. And when I say that, I mean, she literally hopped over the side of the car and landed in the driver seat of the Mini. I wasnÒt joking about the cheerleader thing. The girl had some powerful legs.
I could see Link still staring as he stood next to the Beater.
Ridley patted the seat next to her. ÓHop in, Boyfriend, weÒre gonna be late.Ô
ÓIÒm notÅ I mean, weÒre not×Ô
ÓYou really are cute. Now get in. You donÒt want us to be late, do youØÔ
ÓLate for whatØÔ
ÓFamily dinner. The High Holidays. The Gathering. Why do you think they sent me all the way out here into Gat-dung to find youØÔ
ÓI donÒt know. Lena never invited me.Ô
ÓWell, letÒs just say thereÒs no keeping Aunt Del from checking out the first guy LenaÒs ever brought home. So youÒve been summoned, and since LenaÒs busy with dinner and
MaconÒs still, you know, Ñsleeping,Ò I drew the short straw.Ô
ÓShe didnÒt bring me home. I just went by one night to drop off her homework.Ô
Ridley opened the car door from the inside. ÓGet in, Short Straw.Ô
ÓLena wouldÒve called me if she wanted me to come.Ô Somehow I knew I was going to get in even as I was saying it. I hesitated.
ÓAre you always like thisØ Or are you flirting with meØ Because if youÒre playing hard to get, just tell me now and weÒll go park at the swamp and get it on already.Ô
I got in the car. ÓFine. LetÒs go.Ô
She reached over and pushed the hair out of my eyes with her cold hand. ÓYouÒve got nice eyes, Boyfriend. You shouldnÒt keep them all covered up.Ô
¦ ¦ ¦
By the time we got to Ravenwood, I didnÒt know what had happened. She kept playing music IÒd never heard, and I started to talk, and I just kept talking, until I had told her things I had never told anyone, except Lena. I canÒt really explain it. It was like I had lost control of my mouth.
I told her about my mom, about how she died, even though I almost never talked about it with anyone. I told her about Amma, about how she read cards, and about how she was like my mom now that I didnÒt have one, except for the charms and dolls and her generally disagreeable nature. I told her about Link, and his mom, and how she had changed lately and spent all her time trying to convince everyone that Lena was just as crazy as Macon Ravenwood, and a danger to every student at Jackson.
I told her about my dad, about how he was holed up in his study, with his books and some secret painting I was never allowed to see, and how I felt like I needed to protect him, even though it was from something that had already happened.
I told her about Lena, about how weÒd met in the rain, how we had seemed to know each other before weÒd even met, and about the messed-up scene with the window.
It almost felt like she was sucking it all out of me, like she sucked on that sticky red lollipop, the one she kept licking as she drove. It took all the strength I had to not tell her about the locket, and the dreams. Maybe the fact that she was LenaÒs cousin just made everything a little easier between us. Maybe it was something else.
Just as I was starting to wonder, we pulled up at Raven-wood Manor, and she flipped off the radio. The sun had set, the lollipop was gone, and I had finally shut up. When had that happenedØ
Ridley leaned in toward me, close. I could see my face reflected in her sunglasses. I breathed her in. She smelled sweet and sort of damp, nothing like Lena, but still familiar somehow. ÓYou donÒt need to be worried, Short Straw.Ô
ÓYeah, why notØÔ
ÓYouÒre the real deal.Ô She smiled at me, and her eyes flashed. Behind the glasses, I could see a gold glint, like gold-fish swimming in a dark pond. They were hypnotic, even through her shades. Maybe thatÒs why she wore them. Then the glasses went dark, and she messed up my hair. ÓToo bad sheÒll probably never see you again once you meet the rest of us. Our family is just a little wack.Ô She got out of the car, and I followed her.
ÓMore wack than youØÔ
ÓInfinitely.Ô
Great.
She put her cold hand on my arm, once again, when we got to the bottom step of the house. ÓAnd, Boyfriend. When Lena blows you off, which she will in about five months, give me a call. YouÒll know how to find me.Ô She looped her arm through mine, suddenly strangely formal. ÓMay IØÔ
I gestured with my free hand. ÓSure. After you.Ô As we walked up the stairs, they groaned under our combined weight. I pulled Ridley up to the front door, still not quite sure if the stairs were going to support us or not.
I knocked, but there was no response. I reached up and felt for the moon. The door swung open, slowlyRidley seemed tentative. And as we crossed the threshold, I could almost feel the house settle, as if the climate inside had changed, almost imperceptibly.
ÓHello, Mother.Ô
A round woman, bustling to lay gourds and golden leaves along the mantel, startled and dropped a small white pumpkin. It exploded onto the ground. She grabbed onto the mantel to steady herself. She looked odd, like she was wearing a dress from a hundred years ago. ÓJulia! I mean Ridley. What are you doing hereØ I must be confused. I thought, I thoughtÅÔ
I knew something was wrong. This didnÒt seem like your average mother-daughter hello.
ÓJulesØ Is that youØÔ A younger version of Ridley, maybe ten, came walking into the front hall with Boo Radley, who was now wearing a sparkly blue cape over his back.
Dressing up the family wolf, as if nothing unusual was going on. Everything about the girl was like light; she had blond hair and radiant blue eyes, as if they had little flecks of the sky on a sunny afternoon in them. The girl smiled, and then frowned. ÓThey said youÒd gone away.Ô
Boo started to growl.
Ridley opened her arms, waiting for the little girl to rush into them, but the girl didnÒt move. So Ridley held her hands out and uncurled each one. A red lollipop appeared in the first and, not to be outdone, a little gray mouse wearing a sparkly blue cape that matched
BooÒs sniffed the air in her other hand×like a cheap carnival trick.
The little girl stepped forward, tentatively, as if her sister had the power to pull her across the room, without so much as a touch, like the moon and the tides. I had felt it myself.
When Ridley spoke, her voice was thick and husky like honey. ÓCome now, Ryan.
Mamma was just pulling your tail to see if it squeaked. I havenÒt gone anywhere. Not really. Would your favorite big sister ever leave youØÔ
Ryan grinned and ran toward Ridley, jumping up, as if she was about to leap into her open arms. Boo barked. For a moment, Ryan hung suspended in mid-air, like one of those cartoon characters that accidentally jumps of a cliff and just hangs there for a few seconds, before they fall. Then, she fell, hitting the floor abruptly, as if she had smacked into an invisible wall. The lights inside the house grew brighter, all at once, as if the house was a stage, and the lighting was changing to signal the end of an act. In the light, RidleyÒs features cast harsh shadows.
The light changed things. Ridley held a hand up to her eyes, calling out to the house. ÓOh please, Uncle Macon. Is that really necessaryØÔ
Boo leaped forward, positioning himself between Ryan and Ridley. Growling, the dog pressed closer and closer, the hair on his back standing on end, making him look even more like a wolf. Apparently RidleyÒs charms were lost on Boo.
Ridley looped her arm back through mine tightly, and laugh-growled, or something like that. It wasnÒt a friendly sound. I tried to keep it together, but my throat felt like it was stuffed with wet socks.
Keeping one hand on my arm, she raised her other hand over her head and threw it up toward the ceiling. ÓWell, if youÒre going to be rude.Ô Every light in the house went dark.
The whole house seemed to short out.
MaconÒs voice calmly floated down from the top of the dim shadows. ÓRidley, my dear, what a surprise. We werenÒt expecting you.Ô
Not expecting herØ What was he talking aboutØ
ÓI wouldnÒt miss the Gathering for anything in the world, and look, I brought a guest. Or, I guess you could say, IÒm his guest.Ô
Macon walked down the staircase, without taking his eyes off Ridley. I was watching two lions circle each other, and I was standing in the middle. Ridley had played me, and I had gone along with it, like a sucker, like the red sucker she was sucking on right now.
ÓI donÒt think thatÒs the best idea. IÒm sure youÒre expected elsewhere.Ô
She pulled the lollipop out of her mouth with a pop. ÓLike I said, I wouldnÒt miss this for the world. Besides, you wouldnÒt want me to drive Ethan all the way home. What ever would we talk aboutØÔ
I wanted to suggest we leave, but I couldnÒt get the words out. Everyone just stood there in the main hall, staring at each other. Ridley leaned against one of the pillars.
Macon broke the silence. ÓWhy donÒt you show Ethan to the dining roomØ IÒm sure you remember where it is.Ô
ÓBut Macon×Ô The woman I guessed was Aunt Del looked panicked, and again, confused, like she didnÒt quite know what was going on.
ÓItÒs all right, Delphine.Ô I could see in MaconÒs face he was working things out, jumping from step to step, ahead of the step we were all on. Without knowing what I had stumbled into, it was actually comforting to know he was there.
The last place I wanted to go was the dining room. I wanted to bolt out of there, but I couldnÒt make it happen. Ridley wouldnÒt let go of my arm, and as long as she was touching me, I felt like I was on autopilot. She led me into the formal dining room where
I had offended Macon the first time. I looked at Ridley, clinging to my arm. This offense was far worse.
The room was lit by hundreds of tiny black votive candles, and strands of black glass beads hung from the chandelier. There was an enormous wreath, made entirely of black feathers, on the door leading into the kitchen. The table was set with silver and pearlwhite plates, which were actually made of pearl, for all I knew.
The kitchen door swung open. Lena backed through the door, carrying a huge silver tray, piled high with exotic-looking fruits that definitely were not from South Carolina. She wore a fitted black floor-length jacket, cinched at her waist. It looked strangely timeless, like nothing I had ever seen in this county, or even this century, but when I looked down, I noticed she was wearing her Converse. She looked even more beautiful than when I had come over for dinnerÅ whenØ A few weeks agoØ
My mind felt cloudy, like I was half asleep. I took a deep breath, but all I could smell was
Ridley, a musky smell mixed with something way too sweet, like syrup bubbling on the stove. It was strong and suffocating.
ÓWeÒre almost ready. Just a few more×Ô Lena froze, the door still in mid-swing. She looked like she had seen a ghost, or something much worse. I wasnÒt sure if it was just the sight of Ridley, or the two of us standing there arm and arm.
ÓWell, hello, Cuz. Long time no see.Ô Ridley advanced a few steps, dragging me along next to her. ÓArenÒt you going to give me a kissØÔ
The tray Lena was carrying crashed to the floor. ÓWhat are you doing hereØÔ LenaÒs voice was barely a whisper.
ÓWhy, I came to see my favorite cousin of course, and I brought a date.Ô
ÓIÒm not your date,Ô I said lamely, barely choking the words out, still glued to her arm.
She pulled a cigarette from the pack tucked in her boot and lit it, all with her free hand.
ÓRidley, please do not smoke in the house,Ô Macon said, and the cigarette instantly went out. Ridley laughed and flicked it into a bowl of something that looked like mashed potatoes, but probably wasnÒt.
ÓUncle Macon. You always were such a stickler for the house rules.Ô
ÓThe rules were set long ago, Ridley. ThereÒs nothing you or I can do to change them now.Ô
They stared at each other. Macon gestured, and a chair pulled itself away from the table.
ÓWhy donÒt we all have a seatØ Lena, can you let Kitchen know we will be two more for dinnerØÔ
Lena just stood there, seething. ÓShe canÒt stay.Ô
ÓItÒs all right. Nothing can harm you here,Ô Macon assured her. But Lena didnÒt look scared. She looked furious.
Ridley smiled. ÓYou sure about thatØÔ
ÓDinner is ready, and you know how Kitchen feels about serving cold food.Ô Macon walked into the dining room. Everyone filed in after him, even though he had barely spoken loud enough for the four of us in the room to hear him.
Boo led the way, lumbering in with Ryan. Aunt Del followed, on the arm of a gray-haired man about my dadÒs age. He was dressed like he was right out of one of the books in my momÒs study, with knee-high boots, a frilly shirt, and a weird opera cape. The two of them looked like an exhibit from a Smithsonian museum.
An older girl entered the room. She looked a lot like Ridley, except she had on more clothing and she didnÒt look so dangerous. She had long, straight blond hair with a neater version of RidleyÒs choppy bangs. She looked like the kind of girl youÒd see carrying a stack of books on a fancy old college campus up North like Yale or Harvard. The girl locked eyes with Ridley, like she could see RidleyÒs eyes through the dark shades she was still wearing.
ÓEthan, IÒd like to introduce you to my older sister, Annabel. Oh, IÒm sorry, I mean
Reece.Ô Who doesnÒt know their own sisterÒs nameØ
Reece smiled and spoke slowly as if she was choosing her words carefully. ÓWhat are you doinÒ here, RidleyØ I thought you had another engagement tonight.Ô
ÓPlans change.Ô
ÓSo do families.Ô Reece reached out her hand and waved it in front of RidleyÒs face, just a simple flourish, like a magician waving his hand over a top hat. I flinched; I donÒt know what I was thinking, but for a second I thought Ridley might disappear. Or more preferably, I might.
But she didnÒt disappear, and this time, it was Ridley who flinched and looked away, like it was physically painful to look Reece in the eye.
Reece peered into RidleyÒs face, as if it were a mirror. ÓInterestinÒ. Why is it, Rid, when I look in your eyes all I can see are hersØ You two are as thick as thieves, arenÒt youØÔ
ÓYouÒre babbling again, Sis.Ô
Reece closed her eyes, concentrating. Ridley squirmed like a pinned butterfly. Reece fluttered her hand again, and for a moment, RidleyÒs face dissolved into the murky image of another woman. The womanÒs face was somehow familiar, only I couldnÒt remember why.
Macon clapped his hand down heavily on RidleyÒs shoulder. It was the only time IÒd seen anyone touch her, except me. Ridley winced, and I could feel a twinge of pain shooting from her hand, down my arm. Macon Ravenwood was clearly not a man to be taken lightly. ÓNow. Like it or not, the Gathering has commenced. I wonÒt have anyone ruining the High Holidays, not under my roof. Ridley has been, as she so helpfully clarified, invited to join us. Nothing more needs to be said. Please, everyone have a seat.Ô
Lena sat down, her eyes locked on the two of us.
Aunt Del looked even more worried than when we had first arrived. The man in the opera cape patted her hand reassuringly. A tall guy about my age in black jeans, a faded black
T-shirt, and scuffed motorcycle boots wandered in looking bored.
Ridley handled the introductions. ÓYouÒve already met my mother. And this is my father, Barclay Kent, and my brother, Larkin.Ô
ÓItÒs nice to meet you, Ethan.Ô Barclay stepped forward as if to shake my hand, but when he noticed RidleyÒs hand on my arm, he stepped back. Larkin drew his arm around my shoulder, only when I looked over his arm had become a snake, flickering its tongue in and out of its mouth.
ÓLarkin!Ô Barclay hissed. The snake became LarkinÒs arm again in an instant.
ÓJeez. Just tryinÒ to lift the mood around here. YouÒre all such a bunch a whiners.Ô
LarkinÒs eyes flickered yellow, slitted. Snake eyes.
ÓLarkin, I said that was enough.Ô His father gave him the kind of look only a father can give a son whoÒs always disappointing him. LarkinÒs eyes changed back to green.
Macon took a seat at the head of the table. ÓWhy donÒt we all sit downØ Kitchen has prepared one of her finest holiday meals. Lena and I have been subjected to the clatter for days.Ô Everyone took their seats at the enormous rectangular claw-foot table. It was dark wood, almost black, and there were intricate designs, like vines, carved into the legs.
Huge black candles flickered in the center of the table.
ÓSit over here by me, Short Straw.Ô Ridley led me to an empty chair, across from the silver bird holding LenaÒs place card, as if I had a choice.
I tried to make eye contact with Lena, but her eyes were fixed on Ridley. And they were fierce. I just hoped Ridley was the only one her anger was directed at.
The table was overflowing with food, even more than the last time I was here; every time
I looked at the table there was more. A crown roast, filet tied with rosemary, and more exotic dishes IÒd never seen before. A large bird stuffed with dressing and pears, resting on peacock feathers arranged to resemble a live birdÒs open tail. I was hoping it wasnÒt an actual peacock, but considering the tail feathers, I was pretty sure it was. And sparkling candies, I think, shaped exactly like real seahorses.
But no one was eating, no one except Ridley. She seemed to be enjoying herself. ÓI just love sugar horses.Ô She popped two of the tiny golden seahorses into her mouth.
Aunt Del coughed a few times, pouring a glass of black liquid, the consistency of wine, into her glass from the decanter on the table.
Ridley looked at Lena across the table. ÓSo, Cuz, any big plans for your birthdayØ
Ridley dipped her fingers into a dark brown sauce in the gravy boat next to the bird I hoped wasnÒt a peacock, and licked it off her fingers suggestively.
ÓWeÒre not discussing LenaÒs birthday tonight,Ô Macon warned.
Ridley was enjoying the tension. She popped another seahorse into her mouth. ÓWhy notØÔ
LenaÒs eyes were wild. ÓYou donÒt need to worry about my birthday. You wonÒt be invited.Ô
ÓYou certainly should. Worry, I mean. ItÒs such an important birthday, after all.Ô Ridley laughed. LenaÒs hair started to curl and uncurl itself as if there was a wind in the room.
There wasnÒt.
ÓRidley, I said thatÒs enough.Ô Macon was losing his patience. I recognized his tone as the same one heÒd had after I took the locket out of my pocket, during my first visit.
ÓWhy are you taking her side, Uncle MØ I spent just as much time with you as Lena did, growing up. How did she suddenly become your favoriteØÔ For a moment, she almost sounded hurt.
ÓYou know it has nothing to do with favorites. You have been Claimed. ItÒs out of my hands.Ô
ClaimedØ By whatØ What was he talking aboutØ The suffocating haze around me was getting thicker. I couldnÒt be sure I was hearing everything correctly.
ÓBut you and I are the same.Ô She was pleading with Macon, like a spoiled child.
The table began to shake almost imperceptibly, the black liquid in the wine glasses gently sloshing from side to side. Then I heard a rhythmic tapping on the roof. Rain.
Lena was gripping the edge of the table, her knuckles white. ÓYou are NOT the same,Ô she hissed.
I felt RidleyÒs body stiffen against my arm, which she was still wrapped around like a snake. ÓYou think you are so much better than me, LenaÅ is itØ You donÒt even know your real name. You donÒt even realize this relationship of yours is doomed. Just wait until youÒre Claimed and you find out how things really work.Ô She laughed, a sinister, painful sort of sound. ÓYou have no idea if we are the same or not. In a few months, you could end up exactly like me.Ô
Lena looked at me, panicked. The table began to shake harder, the plates rattling against the wood. There was a crackle of lightning outside, and rain began pouring down the windows like tears. ÓShut up!Ô
ÓTell him, Lena. DonÒt you think Short Straw here deserves to know everythingØ That you have no idea if youÒre Light or DarkØ That you have no choiceØÔ
Lena leapt to her feet, knocking her chair over behind her. ÓI said, shut up!Ô
Ridley was relaxed again, enjoying herself. ÓTell him how we lived together, in the same room, like sisters, that I was exactly like you a year ago and nowÅÔ
Macon stood at the head of the table, gripping it with both hands. His pale face seemed even whiter than usual. ÓRidley, thatÒs enough! I will Cast you out of this house if you say another word.Ô
ÓYou canÒt Cast me out, Uncle. You arenÒt strong enough for that.Ô
ÓDonÒt overestimate your skills. No Dark Caster on Earth is powerful enough to enter
Ravenwood on their own. I Bound the place myself. We all did.Ô
Dark CasterØ That didnÒt sound good.
ÓAh, Uncle Macon. YouÒre forgetting that famous Southern hospitality. I didnÒt break in.
I was invited in, on the arm of the handsomest gent in Gat-dung.Ô Ridley turned to me and smiled, pulling her shades from her eyes. They were just wrong, glowing gold, as if they were on fire. They were shaped like a catÒs, with black slits in the middle. Light shone from her eyes, and in that light, everything changed.
She looked over at me, with that sinister smile, and her face was twisted into darkness and shadows. The features that had been so feminine and enticing were now sharp and hard, morphing before my eyes. Her skin seemed to be tightening around her bones, accentuating every vein until you could almost see the blood pumping through them. She looked like a monster.
I had brought a monster into the house, into LenaÒs house.
Almost immediately, the house began to shake violently. The crystal chandeliers were swinging, the lights flickering. The plantation shutters banged open and shut again and again as the rain battered the roof. The sound was so loud, it was almost impossible to hear anything else, like the night I almost hit Lena when she was standing in the road.
Ridley tightened her ice-cold grip on my arm. I tried to shake her loose, but I could barely move. The coldness was spreading; my whole arm was starting to feel numb.
Lena looked up from the table, in horror. ÓEthan!Ô
Aunt Del stamped her foot across the room. The floorboards seemed to roll beneath her feet.
The coldness had spread throughout my body. My throat was frozen. My legs were paralyzed; I couldnÒt move. I couldnÒt pull away from RidleyÒs arm, and I couldnÒt tell anyone what was happening. In another few minutes, I wouldnÒt be able to breathe.
A womanÒs voice floated across the table. Aunt Del. ÓRidley. I told you to stay away, child. ThereÒs nothing we can do for you now. IÒm so sorry.Ô
MaconÒs voice was harsh. ÓRidley, a year can make all the difference in the world.
YouÒre Claimed now. YouÒve found your place in the Order of Things. You donÒt belong here anymore. You have to go.Ô
A second later, he was standing right in front of her. Either that, or I was losing track of what was happening. The voices and faces were starting to spin around me. I could barely catch my breath. I was so cold, my frozen jaw wouldnÒt even move enough to chatter.
ÓGo!Ô he shouted.
ÓNo!Ô
ÓRidley! Behave! You must leave this place. Ravenwood is not a place of Dark magic.
This is a Bound place, a place of Light. You canÒt survive here, not for long.Ô Aunt DelÒs voice was firm.
Ridley answered with a snarl. ÓIÒm not leaving, Mother, and you canÒt make me.Ô
MaconÒs voice interrupted her tantrum. ÓYou know thatÒs not true.Ô
ÓIÒm stronger now, Uncle Macon. You canÒt control me.Ô
ÓTrue, your strength is growing, but you are not ready to take me on, and I will do whatever is necessary to protect Lena. Even if that means hurting you, or worse.Ô
The weight of his threat was too much for Ridley. ÓYou would do that to meØ
RavenwoodÒs a Dark place of power. It always has been, since Abraham. He was one of us. Ravenwood should be ours. Why are you Binding it to the LightØÔ
ÓRavenwood is LenaÒs home now.Ô
ÓYou belong with me, Uncle M. With Her.Ô
Ridley stood up, dragging me to my feet. The three of them were standing now×Lena, Macon, and Ridley, the three points of a really frightening triangle. ÓIÒm not scared of your kind.Ô
ÓThat may be, but you have no power here. Not against all of us, and a Natural.Ô
Ridley cackled. ÓLena, a NaturalØ ThatÒs the funniest thing youÒve said all night. IÒve seen what a Natural can do. Lena could never be one.Ô
ÓA Cataclyst and a Natural arenÒt the same.Ô
ÓArenÒt they, thoughØ A Cataclyst is a Natural gone Dark, two sides of the same coin.Ô
What was she talking aboutØ I was in over my head.
And then I felt my body seize up, and I knew I was blacking out×that I was probably going to die. It was like all the life had been sucked out of me, with the warmth of my blood. I could hear the sound of thunder. One×then lightning and the crash of a tree branch just outside the window. The storm was here. It was right on us.
ÓYouÒre wrong, Uncle M. Lena isnÒt worth protecting, and sheÒs certainly not a Natural.
You wonÒt know her fate until her birthday. You think that just because sheÒs sweet and innocent now, sheÒll be Claimed by the LightØ That means nothing. WasnÒt I the same a year agoØ And from what Short Straw here has been telling me, sheÒs closer to going
Dark than Light. Lightning stormsØ Terrorizing the high schoolØÔ
The wind grew stronger, and Lena was getting angrier. I could see the rage in her eyes. A window shattered, just like in English class. I knew where this was going.
ÓShut up! You donÒt know what youÒre talking about!Ô Rain came pouring into the dining room. Wind followed, sending glasses and plates crashing to the floor, black liquid staining the floor in long streaks. No one moved.
Ridley turned back to Macon. ÓYouÒve always given her too much credit. SheÒs nothing.Ô
I wanted to break free from RidleyÒs hold, to grab her and drag her out of the house myself, but I couldnÒt move.
A second window shattered, then another, and another. Glass was breaking everywhere.
China, wineglasses, the glass on every picture frame. Furniture was banging against the walls. And the wind, it was like a tornado had been sucked into the room with us. The sound was so loud, I couldnÒt hear anything else. The tablecloth blew right off the table, with every candle, platter, and plate still on it, throwing everything against the wall. The room was spinning, I think. Everything was being sucked out into the foyer, toward the front door. Boo Radley screamed, that horrible human scream. RidleyÒs grip seemed to loosen around my arm. I blinked hard, trying not to pass out.
And there, standing in the middle of it all, was Lena. She was perfectly still, her hair whipping in the wind around her. What was happeningØ
I felt my legs buckle. Just as I lost consciousness, I felt the wind, a surge of power that literally ripped my arm out of RidleyÒs hand, as she was sucked out of the room, toward the front door. I collapsed to the floor, as I heard LenaÒs voice, or thought I did.
ÓGet the hell away from my boyfriend, witch.Ô
Boyfriend.
Was that what I wasØ
I tried to smile. Instead, I blacked out.
10.09
A CRACK IN THE PLASTER
When I woke up, I had no idea where I was. I tried to focus on the first few things that came into view. Words. Phrases handwritten in what looked like carefully scripted
Sharpie, right on the ceiling over the bed. moments bleed together, no span to time
There were hundreds of others, too, written everywhere, parts of sentences, parts of verses, random collections of words. On one closet door was scrawled fate decides. On the other, it said until challenged by the fated. Up and down the door I could see the words desperate / relentless / condemned / empowered. The mirror said open your eyes; the windowpanes said and see.
Even the pale white lampshade was scribbled with the words illuminatethedarknessilluminatethedarkness over and over again, in an endlessly repeating pattern.
LenaÒs poetry. I was finally getting to read some of it. Even if you ignored the distinctive ink, this room didnÒt look like the rest of the house. It was small and cozy, tucked up under the eaves. A ceiling fan swirled slowly above my head, cutting through the phrases.
There were stacks of spiral notebooks on every surface, and a stack of books on the nightstand. Poetry books. Plath, Eliot, Bukowski, Frost, Cummings×at least I recognized the names.
I was lying in a small white iron bed, my legs spilling over the edge. This was LenaÒs room, and I was lying in her bed. Lena was curled in a chair at the foot of the bed, her head resting on the arm.
I sat up, groggy. ÓHey. What happenedØÔ
I was pretty sure I had passed out, but I was fuzzy on the details. The last thing I remembered was the freezing cold moving up my body, my throat closing up, and LenaÒs voice. I thought she had said something about me being her boyfriend, but since I was about to pass out at the time and nothing had really happened between us, that was doubtful. Wishful thinking, I guessed.
ÓEthan!Ô She jumped out of the chair and onto the bed next to me, although she seemed careful not to touch me. ÓAre you okayØ Ridley wouldnÒt let go of you, and I didnÒt know what to do. You looked like you were in so much pain, and I just reacted.Ô
ÓYou mean that tornado in the middle of your dining roomØÔ
She looked away, miserable. ÓThatÒs what happens. I feel things, I get angry or scared and thenÅ things just happen.Ô
I reached over and put my hand over hers, feeling the warmth move up my arm. ÓThings like windows breakingØÔ
She looked back at me, and I curled my hand around hers until I was holding it in mine.
A random crack in the old plaster in the corner behind her seemed to grow, until it curled its way across the ceiling, circled the frosted chandelier, and swirled its way back down.
It looked like a heart. A giant, looping, girly heart had just appeared in the cracking plaster of her bedroom ceiling.
ÓLena.Ô
ÓYeahØÔ
ÓIs your ceiling about to fall in on our headsØÔ
She turned and looked at the crack. When she saw it, she bit her lip, and her cheeks turned pink. ÓI donÒt think so. ItÒs just a crack in the plaster.Ô
ÓWere you trying to do thatØÔ
ÓNo.Ô A creeping pink spread across her nose and cheeks. She looked away.
I wanted to ask her what it was sheÒd been thinking, but I didnÒt want to embarrass her. I just hoped it had something to do with me, with her hand nestled in mine. With the word
I thought I heard her say, the moment before I blacked out.
I looked dubiously at the crack. A lot was riding on that crack in the plaster.
ÓCan you undo themØ These things that justÅ happenØÔ
Lena sighed, relieved to talk about something else. ÓSometimes. It depends. Sometimes I get so overwhelmed that I canÒt control it and I canÒt fix it, not even after. I donÒt think I could have put the glass back into that window at school. I donÒt think I could have stopped the storm from coming, the day we met.Ô
ÓI donÒt think that one was your fault. You canÒt blame yourself for every storm that rolls through Gatlin County. Hurricane season isnÒt even over yet.Ô
She flipped over onto her stomach and looked me right in the eye. She didnÒt let go, and neither did I. My whole body was buzzing with the warmth of her touch. ÓDidnÒt you see what happened tonightØÔ
ÓMaybe sometimes a hurricane is just a hurricane, Lena.Ô
ÓAs long as IÒm around, I am hurricane season in Gatlin County.Ô She tried to pull her hand away, but that only made me hold on more tightly.
ÓThatÒs funny. You seem more like a girl to me.Ô
ÓYeah, well, IÒm not. IÒm a whole storm system, out of control. Most Casters can control their gifts by the time theyÒre my age, but half the time it feels more like mine control me.Ô She pointed to her own reflection in the mirror on the wall. The Sharpie writing scribbled itself across the reflection as we watched. Who is this girlØ ÓIÒm still trying to figure it all out, but sometimes it seems like I never will.Ô
ÓDo all Casters have the same powers, gifts, whateverØÔ
ÓNo. We can all do simple things like move objects, but each Caster also has more specific abilities related to their gifts.Ô
Right about now, I wished there was some kind of class I could take so IÒd be able to follow these conversations, Caster 101, I donÒt know, because I was always sort of lost.
The only person I knew who had any special abilities was Amma. Reading futures and warding off evil spirits had to count for something, rightØ And for all I knew, maybe
Amma could move objects with her mind; she could sure get my butt moving with just a look. ÓWhat about Aunt DelØ What can she doØÔ
ÓSheÒs a Palimpsest. She reads time.Ô
ÓReads timeØÔ
ÓLike, you and I walk into a room and see the present. Aunt Del sees different points in the past and the present, all at once. She can walk into a room and see it as it is today and as it was ten years ago, twenty years ago, fifty years ago, at the same time. Kind of like when we touch the locket. ThatÒs why sheÒs always so confused. She never knows exactly when or even where she is.Ô
I thought about how I felt after one of the visions, and what it would be like to feel that way all of the time. ÓNo kidding. How about RidleyØÔ
ÓRidleyÒs a Siren. Her gift is the Power of Persuasion. She can put any idea into anyoneÒs head, get them to tell her anything, do anything. If she used her power on you, and she told you to jump off a cliff×youÒd jump.Ô I remembered how it felt in the car with her, like I wouldÒve told her almost anything.
ÓI wouldnÒt jump.Ô
ÓYou would. YouÒd have to. A Mortal man is no match for a Siren.Ô
ÓI wouldnÒt.Ô I looked at her. Her hair was blowing in the breeze around her face, except there wasnÒt an open window in the room. I searched her eyes for some kind of sign that maybe she was feeling the same way I was. ÓYou canÒt jump off a cliff when youÒve already fallen off a bigger one.Ô
I heard the words coming out of my mouth, and I wanted to take them back as soon as I said them. They had sounded a lot better in my head. She looked back at me, trying to see if I was serious. I was, but I couldnÒt say that. Instead, I changed the subject. ÓSo whatÒs
ReeceÒs superpowerØÔ
ÓSheÒs a Sybil, she reads faces. She can see what youÒve seen, who youÒve seen, what youÒve done, just by looking into your eyes. She can open up your face and literally read it, like a book.Ô Lena was still studying my face.
ÓYeah, who was thatØ That other woman Ridley turned into for a second, when Reece was staring at herØ Did you see thatØÔ
Lena nodded. ÓMacon wouldnÒt tell me, but it had to be someone Dark. Someone powerful.Ô
I kept asking. I had to know. It was like finding out IÒd just had dinner with a bunch of aliens. ÓWhat can Larkin doØ Charm snakesØÔ
ÓLarkinÒs an Illusionist. ItÒs like a Shifter. But Uncle BarclayÒs the only Shifter in the family.Ô
ÓWhatÒs the differenceØÔ
ÓLarkin can Spellcast, or make anything look like anything he wants, for a spell×people, things, places. He creates illusions, but theyÒre not real. Uncle Barclay can Shiftcast, which means he can actually change any object into another object, for as long as he wants.Ô
ÓSo your cousin changes how things seem, and your uncle changes how they areØÔ
ÓYeah. Mostly, Gramma says their powers are too close. It happens sometimes with parents and their children. TheyÒre too much alike, so theyÒre always fighting.Ô I knew what she was thinking, that she would never know that for herself. Her face clouded over, and I made a stupid attempt to lighten the mood.
ÓRyanØ WhatÒs her powerØ Dog fashion designerØÔ
ÓToo soon to tell. SheÒs only ten.Ô
ÓAnd MaconØÔ
ÓHeÒs justÅ Uncle Macon. ThereÒs nothing Uncle Macon canÒt do, or wouldnÒt do for me. I spent a lot of time with him growing up.Ô She looked away, avoiding the question.
She was holding something back, but with Lena, it was impossible to know what. ÓHeÒs like my father, or how I imagine my father.Ô She didnÒt have to say anything else. I knew what it was like to lose someone. I wondered if it was worse to never have them at all.
ÓWhat about youØ WhatÒs your giftØÔ
As if she had just one. As if I hadnÒt seen them in action since the first day of school. As if I hadnÒt been trying to get up the nerve to ask her this question since the night she sat on my porch in her purple pajamas.
She paused for a minute, collecting her thoughts, or deciding if she was going to tell me; it was impossible to know which. Then she looked at me, with her endless green eyes.
ÓIÒm a Natural. At least Uncle Macon and Aunt Del think I am.Ô
A Natural. I was relieved. It didnÒt sound as bad as a Siren. I didnÒt think I could have handled that. ÓWhat exactly does that meanØÔ
ÓI donÒt even know. ItÒs not really one thing. I mean, supposedly a Natural can do a lot more than other Casters.Ô She said it quickly, almost like she was hoping I wouldnÒt hear, but I did.
More than other Casters.
More. I wasnÒt sure how I felt about more. Less, I could have handled less. Less wouldÒve been good.
ÓBut as you saw tonight, I donÒt even know what I can do.Ô She picked at the quilt between us, nervous. I pulled on her hand until she was lying on the bed next to me, propped up on one elbow.
ÓI donÒt care about any of that. I like you just the way you are.Ô
ÓEthan, you barely know anything about me.Ô
The drowsy warmth was washing through my body, and to be honest, I couldnÒt have cared less what she was saying. It felt so good just to be near her, holding her hand, with only the white quilt between us. ÓThatÒs not true. I know you write poetry and I know about the raven on your necklace and I know you love orange soda and your grandma and
Milk Duds mixed into your popcorn.Ô
For a second, I thought she might smile. ÓThatÒs hardly anything.Ô
ÓItÒs a start.Ô
She looked me right in the eye, her green eyes searching my blue ones. ÓYou donÒt even know my name.Ô
ÓYour name is Lena Duchannes.Ô
ÓOkay, well, for starters, itÒs not.Ô
I pushed myself all the way up, and let go of her hand. ÓWhat are you talking aboutØÔ
ÓItÒs not my name. Ridley wasnÒt lying about that.Ô Some of the conversation from earlier started to come back to me. I remembered Ridley saying something about Lena not knowing her real name, but I didnÒt think she had meant literally.
ÓWell, what is it thenØÔ
ÓI donÒt know.Ô
ÓIs that some kind of Caster thingØÔ
ÓNot really. Most Casters know their real names, but my familyÒs different. In my family, we donÒt learn our birth names until we turn sixteen. Until then, we have other names.
RidleyÒs was Julia. ReeceÒs was Annabel. Mine is Lena.Ô
ÓSo whoÒs Lena DuchannesØÔ
ÓIÒm a Duchannes, that much I know. But Lena, thatÒs just a name my gramma started calling me, because she thought I was skinny as a string bean. Lena Beana.Ô
I didnÒt say anything for a second. I was trying to take it all in. ÓOkay, so you donÒt know your first name. YouÒll know in a couple of months.Ô
ÓItÒs not that simple. I donÒt know anything about myself. ThatÒs why IÒm so crazy all the time. I donÒt know my name and I donÒt know what happened to my parents.Ô
ÓThey died in an accident, rightØÔ
ÓThatÒs what they told me, but nobody really talks about it. I canÒt find any record of the accident, and IÒve never seen their graves or anything. How do I even know itÒs trueØÔ
ÓWhoÒs going to lie about something as creepy as thatØÔ
ÓHave you met my familyØÔ
ÓRight.Ô
ÓAnd that monster downstairs, that×witch, who almost killed youØ Believe it or not, she used to be my best friend. Ridley and I grew up together living with my gramma. We moved around so much we shared the same suitcase.Ô
ÓThatÒs why you guys donÒt have much of an accent. Most people would never believe you had lived in the South.Ô
ÓWhatÒs your excuseØÔ
ÓProfessor parents, and a jar full of quarters every time I dropped a G.Ô I rolled my eyes.
ÓSo Ridley didnÒt live with Aunt DelØÔ
ÓNo. Aunt Del just visits on the holidays. In my family, you donÒt live with your parents.
ItÒs too dangerous.Ô I stopped myself from asking my next fifty questions while Lena raced on, as if sheÒd been waiting to tell this story for about a hundred years. ÓRidley and
I were like sisters. We slept in the same room and we were home-schooled together.
When we moved to Virginia, we convinced my gramma to let us to go to a regular school. We wanted to make friends, be normal. The only time we ever spoke to Mortals was when Gramma took us on one of her outings to museums, the opera, or lunch at Olde
Pink House.Ô
ÓSo what happened when you went to schoolØÔ
ÓIt was a disaster. Our clothes were wrong, we didnÒt have a TV, we turned in all our homework. We were total losers.Ô
ÓBut you got to hang out with Mortals.Ô
She wouldnÒt look at me. ÓIÒve never had a Mortal friend until I met you.Ô
ÓReallyØÔ
ÓI only had Ridley. Things were just as bad for her, but she didnÒt care. She was too busy making sure no one bothered me.Ô
I had a hard time imagining Ridley protecting anyone.
People change, Ethan.
Not that much. Not even Casters.
Especially Casters. ThatÒs what IÒm trying to tell you.
She pulled her hand away from me. ÓRidley started acting strange, and then the same guys who had ignored her started following her everywhere, waiting for her after school, fighting over who would walk her home.Ô
ÓYeah, well. Some girls are just like that.Ô
ÓRidley isnÒt some girl. I told you, sheÒs a Siren. She could make people do things, things they wouldnÒt normally want to do. And those boys were jumping off the cliff, one by one.Ô She twisted her necklace around her fingers and kept talking. ÓThe night before
RidleyÒs sixteenth birthday, I followed her to the train station. She was scared out of her mind. She said she could tell she was going Dark, and she had to get away before she hurt someone she loved. Before she hurt me. IÒm the only person Ridley ever really loved. She disappeared that night, and I never saw her again until today. I think after what you saw tonight, itÒs pretty obvious she went Dark.Ô
ÓWait a second, what are you talking aboutØ What do you mean going DarkØÔ
Lena took a deep breath and hesitated, like she wasnÒt sure if she wanted to tell me the answer.
ÓYou have to tell me, Lena.Ô
ÓIn my family, when you turn sixteen, youÒre Claimed. Your fate is chosen for you, and you become Light, like Aunt Del and Reece, or you become Dark, like Ridley. Dark or
Light, Black or White. ThereÒs no gray in my family. We canÒt choose, and we canÒt undo it once weÒre Claimed.Ô
ÓWhat do you mean, you canÒt chooseØÔ
ÓWe canÒt decide if we want to be Light or Dark, good or evil, like Mortals and other
Casters can. In my family, thereÒs no free will. ItÒs decided for us, on our sixteenth birthday.Ô
I tried to understand what she was saying, but it was too crazy. IÒd lived with Amma long enough to know there was White and Black magic, but it was hard to believe that Lena had no choice about which one she was.
Who she was.
She was still talking. ÓThatÒs why we canÒt live with our parents.Ô
ÓWhat does that have to do with itØÔ
ÓIt didnÒt used to be that way. But when my grammaÒs sister, Althea, went Dark, their mother couldnÒt send Althea away. Back then, if a Caster went Dark, they were supposed to leave their home and their family, for obvious reasons. AltheaÒs mother thought she could help her fight it, but she couldnÒt, and terrible things started happening in the town where they lived.Ô
ÓWhat kind of thingsØÔ
ÓAlthea was an Evo. TheyÒre incredibly powerful. They can influence people like Ridley can, but they can also Evolve, morph into other people, into anyone. Once she Turned, unexplained accidents started happening in town. People were injured and eventually a girl drowned. ThatÒs when AltheaÒs mother finally sent her away.Ô
I thought we had problems in Gatlin. I couldnÒt imagine a more powerful version of
Ridley hanging around, full-time. ÓSo now none of you can live with your parentsØÔ
ÓEveryone decided it would be too hard for parents to turn their backs on their children if they went Dark. So ever since then, children live with other family members until theyÒre
Claimed.Ô
ÓThen why does Ryan live with her parentsØÔ
ÓRyan isÅ Ryan. SheÒs a special case.Ô She shrugged. ÓAt least, thatÒs what Uncle
Macon says every time I ask.Ô
It all sounded so surreal, the idea that everyone in her family possessed supernatural powers. They looked like me, like everyone else in Gatlin, well, maybe not everyone, but they were completely different. WerenÒt theyØ Even Ridley, hanging out in front of the
Stop & Steal×none of the guys had suspected she was anything other than an incredibly hot girl, who was obviously pretty confused if she was looking for me. How did it workØ
How did you get to be a Caster instead of just some ordinary kidØ
ÓWere your parents giftedØÔ I hated to bring up her parents. I knew what it was like to talk about your dead parent, but at this point I had to know.
ÓYes. Everyone in my family is.Ô
ÓWhat were their giftsØ Were they anything like yoursØÔ
ÓI donÒt know. GrammaÒs never said anything. I told you, itÒs like they never existed.
Which just makes me think, you know.Ô
ÓWhatØÔ
ÓMaybe they were Dark, and IÒm going to go Dark, too.Ô
ÓYouÒre not.Ô
ÓHow do you knowØÔ
ÓHow can I have the same dreams you haveØ How do I know when I walk into a room whether or not youÒve been thereØÔ
Ethan.
ItÒs true.
I touched her cheek, and said quietly, ÓI donÒt know how I know. I just do.Ô
ÓI know you believe that, but you canÒt know. I donÒt even know whatÒs going to happen to me.Ô
ÓThatÒs the biggest load of crap IÒve ever heard.Ô It was like everything else tonight; I hadnÒt meant to say it, at least not out loud, but I was glad I did.
ÓWhatØÔ
ÓAll that destiny garbage. Nobody can decide what happens to you. Nobody but you.Ô
ÓNot if youÒre a Duchannes, Ethan. Other Casters, they can choose, but not us, not my family. When weÒre Claimed at sixteen, we become Light or Dark. There is no free will.Ô
I lifted her chin with my hand. ÓSo youÒre a Natural. WhatÒs wrong with thatØÔ
I looked into her eyes, and I knew I was going to kiss her, and I knew there was nothing to worry about, as long as we stayed together. And I believed, for that one second, we always would.
I stopped thinking about the Jackson basketball playbook and finally let her see how I felt, what was in my mind. What I was about to do, and how long it had taken me to get up the nerve to do it.
Oh.
Her eyes widened, bigger and greener, if that was even possible.
Ethan×I donÒt knowI leaned down and kissed her mouth. It tasted salty, like her tears. This time, not warmth, but electricity, shot from my mouth to my toes. I could feel tingling in my fingertips. It was like shoving a pen into an electrical outlet, which Link had dared me to do when I was eight years old. She closed her eyes and pulled me in to her, and for a minute, everything was perfect. She kissed me, her lips smiling beneath mine, and I knew she had been waiting for me, maybe just as long as I had been waiting for her. But then, as quickly as she had opened herself up to me, she shut me out. Or more accurately, pushed me back.
Ethan, we canÒt do this.
WhyØ I thought we felt the same way about each other.
Or maybe we didnÒt. Maybe she didnÒt.
I was staring at her, from the end of her outstretched hands that were still resting on my chest. She could probably feel how fast my heart was beating.
ItÒs not thatÅ.
She started to turn away, and I was sure she was about to run away like she had the day we found the locket at Greenbrier, like the night she left me standing on my porch. I put my hand on her wrist, and instantly felt the heat. ÓThen what is itØÔ
She stared back at me, and I tried to hear her thoughts, but I had nothing. ÓI know you think I have a choice about whatÒs going to happen to me, but I donÒt. And what Ridley did tonight, that was nothing. She couldÒve killed you, and maybe she would have if I hadnÒt stopped her.Ô She took a deep breath, her eyes glistening. ÓThatÒs what I could turn into×a monster×whether you believe it or not.Ô
I slid my arms back around her neck, ignoring her. But she went on. ÓI donÒt want you to see me like that.Ô
ÓI donÒt care.Ô I kissed her cheek.
She climbed off the bed, sliding her arm out of my hand.
ÓYou donÒt get it.Ô She held up her hand. 122. One hundred and twenty-two more days, smeared in blue ink, as if that was all we had.
ÓI get it. YouÒre scared. But weÒll figure something out. WeÒre supposed to be together.Ô
ÓWeÒre not. YouÒre a Mortal. You canÒt understand. I donÒt want to see you get hurt, and thatÒs what will happen if you get too close to me.Ô
ÓToo late.Ô
IÒd heard every word she had said, but I only knew one thing.
I was all in.
10.09
The Greats
It had made sense when a beautiful girl was saying it. Now that I was back home, alone, and in my own bed, I was finally losing it. Even Link wouldnÒt believe any of this. I tried to think about how the conversation would go×the girl I like, whose real name I donÒt know, is a witch×-excuse me, a Caster, from a whole family of Casters, and in five months sheÒs going to find out essentially if sheÒs good or evil. And she can cause hurricanes indoors and break the glass out of windows. And I can see into the past when I touch the crazy locket Amma and Macon Ravenwood, who isnÒt actually a shut-in at all, want me to bury. A locket that materialized on the neck of a woman in a painting at
Ravenwood, which by the way, is not a haunted mansion, but a perfectly restored house that changes completely every time I go there, to see a girl who burns me and shocks me and shatters me with a single touch.
And I kissed her. And she kissed me back.
It was too unbelievable, even for me. I rolled over.
Tearing.
The wind was tearing at my body.
I held onto the tree as it pounded me, the sound of its scream piercing my ears. All around me, the winds swirled, fighting each other, their speed and force multiplying by the second. The hail rained down like Heaven itself had opened up. I had to get out of here.
But there was nowhere to go.
ÓLet me go, Ethan. Save yourself!Ô
I couldnÒt see her. The wind was too strong, but I could feel her. I was holding her wrist so tightly, I was sure it would break. But I didnÒt care, I wouldnÒt let go. The wind changed direction, lifting me off the ground. I held the tree tighter, held her wrist tighter.
But I could feel the strength of the wind ripping us apart.
Pulling me away from the tree, away from her. I felt her wrist sliding through my fingers.
I couldnÒt hold on any longer.
I woke up coughing. I could still feel the windburn on my skin. As if my near-death experience at Ravenwood wasnÒt enough, now the dreams were back. It was too much for one night, even for me. My bedroom door was wide open, which was weird, considering
I had been locking my door at night lately. The last thing I needed was Amma planting some crazy voodoo charm on me in my sleep. I was sure IÒd closed it.
I stared up at my ceiling. Sleep was not in my future. I sighed and felt around under the bed. I flipped on the old storm lamp next to my bed and pulled the bookmark out from where IÒd left off in Snow Crash when I heard something. FootstepsØ It was coming from the kitchen, faint, but I still heard it. Maybe my dad was taking a break from writing.
Maybe this would give us a chance to talk. Maybe.
But when I reached the bottom of the stairs, I knew it wasnÒt him. The door to his study was shut and light was coming from the crack under the door. It had to be Amma. Just as
I ducked under the kitchen doorway, I saw her scampering down the hall toward her room, to the extent that Amma could scamper. I heard the screen door in the back of the house squeak shut. Someone was coming or going. After everything that had happened tonight, it was an important distinction.
I walked around to the front of the house. There was an old, beat-up pickup truck, a fifties
Studebaker, idling by the curb. Amma was leaning in the window talking to the driver.
She handed the driver her bag and climbed into the truck. Where was she going in the middle of the nightØ
I had to follow her. And following the woman who may as well have been my mother when she got into a car at night, with a strange man driving a junker, was a hard thing to do if you didnÒt have a car. I had no choice. I had to take the Volvo. It was the car my mom had been driving when she had the accident; that was the first thing I thought every time I saw it.
I slid behind the wheel. It smelled of old paper and Windex, just like it always had.
¦ ¦ ¦
Driving without the headlights on was trickier than IÒd thought it would be, but I could tell the pickup was heading toward WaderÒs Creek. Amma must have been going home.
The truck turned off Route 9, toward the back country. When it finally slowed down and pulled off to the side of the road, I cut the engine and guided the Volvo onto the shoulder.
Amma opened the door and the interior light went on. I squinted in the darkness. I recognized the driver; it was Carlton Eaton, the postmaster. Why would Amma ask
Carlton Eaton for a ride in the middle of the nightØ IÒd never even seen them speak to each other before.
Amma said something to Carlton and shut the door. The truck pulled back onto the road without her. I got out of the car and followed her. Amma was a creature of habit. If something had gotten her so worked up that she was creeping out to the swamp in the middle of the night, I could guess it involved more than one of her usual clients.
She disappeared into the brush, along a gravel path someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to make. She walked along the path in the dark, the gravel crunching under her feet. I walked in the grass beside the path to avoid that same crunching sound, which wouldÒve given me away for sure. I told myself it was because I wanted to see why
Amma was sneaking home in the middle of the night, but mostly I was scared she would catch me following her.
It was easy to see how WaderÒs Creek got its name; you actually had to wade through black water ponds to get there, at least the way Amma was taking us. If there hadnÒt been a full moon, IÒd have broken my neck trying to follow her through the maze of mosscovered oaks and scrub brush. We were close to the water. I could feel the swamp in the air, hot and sticky like a second skin.
The edge of the swamp was lined with flat wooden platforms made from cypress logs tied together with rope, poor manÒs ferries. They were lined up along the bank like taxis waiting to carry people across the water. I could see Amma in the moonlight, balanced expertly atop one of the platforms, pushing out from the bank with a long stick she used like an oar to skate it across to the other side.
I hadnÒt been to AmmaÒs house in years, but I wouldÒve remembered this. We must have come another way back then, but it was impossible to tell in the dark. The one thing I could see was how rotted the logs on the platforms were; each one looked as unstable as the next. So I just picked one.
Maneuvering the platform was a lot harder than Amma made it look. Every few minutes, there was a splash, when a gatorÒs tail hit the water as it slid into the swamp. I was glad I hadnÒt considered wading across.
I pushed into the floor of the swamp with my own long stick one last time, and the edge of the platform hit the bank. When I stepped onto the sand, I could see AmmaÒs house, small and modest, with a single light in the window. The window frames were painted the same shade of haint blue as the ones at WateÒs Landing. The house was made of cypress, like it was part of the swamp itself.
There was something else, something in the air. Strong and overpowering, like the lemons and rosemary. And just as unlikely, for two reasons. Confederate jasmine doesnÒt flower in the fall, only in the spring, and it doesnÒt grow in the swamp. Yet, there it was.
The smell was unmistakable. There was something impossible about it, like everything else about this night.
I watched the house. Nothing. Maybe she had just decided to go home. Maybe my dad knew she was leaving, and I was wandering around in the middle of the night, risking being eaten by gators for nothing.
I was about to head back through the swamp, wishing IÒd dropped breadcrumbs on my way out here, when the door opened again. Amma stood in the light of the doorway, putting things I couldnÒt see into her good white patent leather pocketbook. She was wearing her best lavender church dress, white gloves, and a fancy matching hat with flowers all around it.
She was on the move again, heading back toward the swamp. Was she going into the swamp wearing thatØ As much as I didnÒt enjoy the trek to AmmaÒs house, slogging through the swamp in my jeans was worse. The mud was so thick it felt like I was pulling my feet out of cement every time I took a step. I didnÒt know how Amma was able to get through it, in her dress, at her age.
Amma seemed to know exactly where she was going, stopping in a clearing of tall grass and mud weeds. The branches of the cypress trees tangled with weeping willows, creating a canopy overhead. A chill ran up my back, though it was still seventy degrees out here. Even after everything IÒd seen tonight, there was something creepy about this place. There was a mist coming off the water, seeping up from the sides, like steam pushing out of the lid of a boiling pot. I edged my way closer. She was pulling something out of her bag, the white patent leather shining in the moonlight.
Bones. They looked like chicken bones.
She whispered something over the bones, and put them into a small pouch, not much different from the pouch she had given me to subdue the power of the locket. Fishing around in the bag again, she pulled out a fancy hand towel, the kind youÒd find in a powder room, and used it to wipe the mud from her skirt. There were faint white lights in the distance, like fireflies blinking in the dark, and music, slow, sultry music and laughter. Somewhere, not that far away, people were drinking and dancing out in the swamp.
She looked up. Something had caught her attention, but I didnÒt hear anything.
ÓMay as well show yourself. I know youÒre out there.Ô
I froze, panicked. She had seen me.
But it wasnÒt me she was talking to. Out from the sweltering mist stepped Macon
Ravenwood, smoking a cigar. He looked relaxed, like heÒd just stepped out of a chauffeured car, instead of wading through filthy black water. He was impeccably dressed, as usual, in one of his crisp white shirts.
And he was spotless. Amma and I were covered in mud and swamp grass up to our knees, and Macon Ravenwood was standing there without so much as a speck of dirt on him.
ÓAbout time. You know I donÒt have all night, Melchizedek. I got to get back. And I donÒt take kindly to beinÒ summoned out here all the way from town. ItÒs just rude. Not to mention, inconvenient.Ô She sniffed. ÓIncommodious, you might say.Ô
I. N. C. O. M. M. O. D. I. O. U. S. Twelve down. I spelled it out in my head.
ÓIÒve had quite an eventful evening myself, Amarie, but this matter requires our immediate attention.Ô Macon took a few steps forward.
Amma recoiled and pointed a bony finger in his direction. ÓYou stay where you are. I donÒt like beinÒ out here with your kind on this sorta night. DonÒt like it one bit. You keep to yourself, and IÒll keep to mine.Ô
He stepped back casually, blowing smoke rings into the air. ÓAs I was saying, certain developments require our immediate attention.Ô He exhaled, a smoky sigh. ÓÑThe moon, when she is fullest, is farthest from the sun.Ò To quote our good friends, the Clergy.Ô
ÓDonÒt talk your high and mighty with me, Melchizedek. WhatÒs so important you need to call me outta bed in the middle a the nightØÔ
ÓAmong other things, GenevieveÒs locket.Ô
Amma nearly howled, holding her scarf over her nose. She clearly couldnÒt stand to even hear the word locket. ÓWhat about that thingØ I told you I Bound it, and I told him to take it back to Greenbrier and bury it. It canÒt cause any harm if itÒs back in the ground.Ô
ÓWrong on the first count. Wrong on the second. He still has it. He showed it to me in the sanctity of my own home. Aside from which, IÒm not sure anything can Bind such a dark talisman.Ô
ÓAt your houseÅ when was he at your houseØ I told him to stay clear a Ravenwood.Ô
Now she was noticeably agitated. Great, Amma would find some way to make me pay for this later.
ÓWell, perhaps you might consider shortening his leash. Clearly, he isnÒt very obedient. I warned you that this friendship would be dangerous, that it could develop into something more. A future between the two of them is an impossibility.
Amma was mumbling under her breath the way she always did when I didnÒt listen to her. ÓHeÒs always minded me till he met your niece. And donÒt you blame me. We wouldnÒt be in this fix if you hadnÒt brought her down here in the first place. IÒll take care a this. IÒll tell him he canÒt see her anymore.Ô
ÓDonÒt be absurd. TheyÒre teenagers. The more we try to keep them apart, the more they will try to be together. This wonÒt be an issue once she is Claimed, if we make it that far.
Until then, control the boy, Amarie. ItÒs only a few more months. Things are dangerous enough, without him making an even greater mess of the situation.Ô
ÓDonÒt talk to me about messes, Melchizedek Ravenwood. My familyÒs been cleaninÒ up your familyÒs messes for over a hundred years. IÒve kept your secrets, just like youÒve kept mine.Ô
ÓIÒm not the Seer who failed to foresee them finding the locket. How do you explain thatØ
How did your spirit friends manage to miss thatØÔ He gestured around them, with a sarcastic flick of his cigar.
She spun around, eyes wild. ÓDonÒt you insult the Greats. Not here, not in this place.
They have their reasons. There mustÒve been a reason they didnÒt reveal it.Ô
She turned away from Macon. ÓNow donÒt you listen to him. I brought you some shrimp
ÒnÒ grits and lemon meringue pie.Ô She clearly wasnÒt talking to Macon anymore. ÓYour favorite,Ô she said, taking the food out of little Tupperware containers and arranging it on a plate. She laid the plate on the ground. There was a small headstone next to the plate, and several others scattered nearby.
ÓThis is our Great House, the great house a my family, you hearØ My great-aunt Sissy.
My great-great-uncle Abner. My great-great-great-great-grandmamma Sulla. DonÒt you disrespect the Greats in their House. You want answers, you show some respect.Ô
ÓI apologize.Ô
She waited.
ÓTruly.Ô
She sniffed. ÓAnd watch your ash. ThereÒs no ashtray in this house. Nasty habit.Ô
He flicked his cigar into the moss. ÓNow, letÒs get on with it. We donÒt have much time.
We need to know the whereabouts of Saraf×Ô
ÓShh,Ô she hissed. ÓDonÒt say Her name×not tonight. We shouldnÒt be out here. HalfmoonÒs for workinÒ White magic and full moonÒs for workinÒ Black. WeÒre out here on the wrong night.Ô
ÓWe have no choice. There was a quite an unpleasant episode this evening, IÒm afraid.
My niece, who Turned on her Claiming Day, showed up for the Gathering tonight.Ô
ÓDelÒs childØ That Dark drink a dangerØÔ
ÓRidley. Uninvited, obviously. She crossed my threshold with the boy. I need to know if it was a coincidence.Ô
ÓNo good. No good. This is no good.Ô Amma rocked back and forth on her heels, furiously.
ÓWellØÔ
ÓThere are no coincidences. You know that.Ô
ÓAt least we can agree on that.Ô
I couldnÒt get my mind around any of this. Macon Ravenwood never set foot outside of his house, but there he was, in the middle of the swamp, arguing with Amma×who I had no idea he even knew×about me and Lena and the locket.
Amma rummaged around in her pocketbook again. ÓDid you bring the whiskeyØ Uncle
Abner loves his Wild Turkey.Ô
Macon held out the bottle.
ÓJust put it right there,Ô she said, pointing at the ground, Óand step back yonder.Ô
ÓI see youÒre still afraid to touch me after all these years.Ô
ÓIÒm not afraid of anything. You just keep to yourself. I donÒt ask you about your business, and I donÒt want to know anything about it.Ô
He set the bottle on the ground a few feet from Amma. She picked it up, poured the whiskey into a shot glass, and drank it. I had never seen Amma drink anything stronger than sweet tea in my whole life. Then she poured some of the liquor in the grass, covering the grave. ÓUncle Abner, we are in need a your intercession. I call your spirit to this place.Ô
Macon coughed.
ÓYouÒre testinÒ my patience, Melchizedek.Ô Amma closed her eyes and opened her arms to the sky, her head thrown back as if she was talking to the moon itself. She bent down and shook the small pouch she had taken from her pocketbook. The contents spilled out onto the grave. Tiny chicken bones. I hoped they werenÒt the bones from the basket of fried chicken IÒd put away this afternoon, but I had a feeling they might have been.
ÓWhat do they sayØÔ Macon asked.
She ran her fingers over the bones, fanning them out over the grass. ÓIÒm not gettinÒ an answer.Ô
His perfect composure began to crack. ÓWe donÒt have time for this! What good is a Seer if you canÒt see anythingØ We have less than five months before she turns sixteen. If she
Turns, she will damn us all, Mortals and Casters alike. We have a responsibility, a responsibility we both took on willingly, a long time ago. You to your Mortals, and me to my Casters.Ô
ÓI donÒt need you remindinÒ me about my responsibilities. And you keep your voice down, you hear meØ I donÒt need any a my clients cominÒ out here and seeinÒ us together.
How would that lookØ A fine upstanding member a the community like myselfØ DonÒt mess with my business, Melchizedek.Ô
ÓIf we donÒt find out where Saraf×where She is×and what sheÒs planning, weÒll have bigger problems on our hands than your failing business ventures, Amarie.Ô
ÓSheÒs a Dark one. Never know which way the wind will blow with that one. ItÒs like tryinÒ to see where a twisterÒll hit.Ô
ÓEven so. I need to know if sheÒs going to try to make contact with Lena.Ô
ÓNot if. When.Ô Amma closed her eyes again, touching the charm on the necklace she never took off. It was a disc, engraved with what looked like a heart with some kind of cross coming out from the top. The image was worn from the thousands of times Amma must have rubbed it, as she was doing now. She was whispering some sort of chant in a language I didnÒt understand, but IÒd heard somewhere before.
Macon paced impatiently. I shifted in the weeds, trying not to make a sound.
ÓI canÒt get a read tonight. ItÒs murky. I think Uncle Abner is in a mood. IÒm sure it was somethinÒ you said.Ô
This must have been his breaking point, because MaconÒs face changed, his pale skin glowing in the shadows. When he stepped forward, the sharp angles of his face became frightening in the moonlight. ÓEnough of these games. A Dark Caster entered my house tonight; that in itself is impossible. She arrived with your boy, Ethan, which can mean only one thing. He has power, and you have been hiding it from me.Ô
ÓNonsense. That boy doesnÒt have power any more than I have a tail.Ô
ÓYouÒre wrong, Amarie. Ask the Greats. Consult the bones. There is no other explanation. It had to be Ethan. Ravenwood is protected. A Dark Caster could never circumvent that sort of protection, not without some powerful form of help.Ô
ÓYouÒve lost your mind. He doesnÒt have any kind a power. I raised that child. DonÒt you think IÒd know itØÔ
ÓYouÒre wrong this time. YouÒre too close to him; itÒs clouding your vision. And there is too much at stake now for errors. We both have our talents. IÒm warning you, there is more to the boy than either of us realized.Ô
ÓIÒll ask the Greats. If thereÒs somethinÒ to know theyÒll be sure I know it. DonÒt you forget, Melchizedek, we have to contend with both the dead and the livinÒ and thatÒs no easy task.Ô She rummaged around in her pocketbook, and pulled out a dirty-looking string with a row of tiny beads on it.
ÓGraveyard Bone. Take it. The Greats want you to have it. Protects spirit from spirit, and dead from dead. ItÒs no use for us Mortal folk. Give it to your niece, Macon. It wonÒt hurt her, but it might keep a Dark Caster away.Ô
Macon took the string, holding it gingerly between two fingers, then dropping it into his handkerchief, as if he was pocketing a particularly nasty worm. ÓIÒm obliged.Ô
Amma coughed.
ÓPlease. Tell them, IÒm obliged. Much.Ô He looked up at the moon as if he were checking his watch. And then he turned and disappeared. Dissolved into the swamp mist as if he had blown away in the breeze.
10.10
Red Sweater
I had barely made it into my bed before the sun rose, and I was tired×bone tired, as
Amma would say. Now I was waiting for Link on the corner. Even though it was a sunny day, I was caught under my own personal shadow. And I was starving. I hadnÒt been able to face Amma in the kitchen this morning. One look at my face would have given away everything IÒd seen last night, and everything I felt, and I couldnÒt risk that.
I didnÒt know what to think. Amma, who I trusted more than anyone, as much as my parents, maybe more×she was holding out on me. She knew Macon, and the two of them wanted to keep Lena and me apart. It all had something to do with the locket, and LenaÒs birthday. And danger.
I couldnÒt piece it together, not on my own. I had to talk to Lena. It was all I could think about. So when the hearse rolled around the corner instead of the Beater, I shouldnÒt have been surprised.
ÓI guess you heard.Ô I slid into the seat, dumping my backpack on the floor in front of me.
ÓHeard whatØÔ She smiled, almost shyly, pushing a bag across the seat. ÓHeard you liked doughnutsØ I could hear your stomach growling all the way from Ravenwood.Ô
We looked at each other awkwardly. Lena looked down, embarrassed, picking a piece of lint off a soft, red, embroidered sweater that looked like something the Sisters would have in the attic somewhere. Knowing Lena, it wasnÒt from the mall in Summerville.
RedØ Since when did she wear redØ
She wasnÒt under a bad cloud; she had just come out from under one. She hadnÒt heard me thinking. She didnÒt know about Amma and Macon. She just wanted to see me. I guess some of what I had said last night had sunk in. Maybe she wanted to give us a chance. I smiled, opening the white paper bag.
ÓHope youÒre hungry. I had to fight the fat cop for them.Ô She pulled the hearse away from the curb.
ÓSo you just felt like picking me up for schoolØÔ That was something new.
ÓNope.Ô She rolled down the window, the morning breeze blowing her hair into curls.
Today, it was just the wind.
ÓYou got something better in mindØÔ
Her whole face lit up. ÓNow how could there be anything better than spending a day like this at Stonewall Jackson HighØÔ She was happy. As she turned the wheel, I noticed her hand. No ink. No number. No birthday. She wasnÒt worried about anything, not today.
120. I knew it, as if it was written in invisible ink on my own hand. One hundred and twenty days until it, whatever Macon and Amma were so afraid of, happened.
I looked out the window as we turned onto Route 9, wishing she could stay like this for just a little bit longer. I closed my eyes, running through the playbook in my mind. Pick
ÒnÒ Roll. Picket Fences. Down the Lane. Full Court Press.
By the time we made it to Summerville, I knew where we were headed. There was only one place kids like us went in Summerville, if it wasnÒt the last three rows of the
Cineplex.
The hearse rolled through the dust behind the water tower at the edge of the field.
ÓParkingØ WeÒre parkingØ At the water towerØ NowØÔ Link would never believe this.
The engine died. Our windows were down, everything was quiet, and the breeze blew into her window and out mine.
IsnÒt this what people do around hereØ
Yeah, no. Not people like us. Not in the middle of a school day.
For once, canÒt we be themØ Do we always have to be usØ
I like being us.
She unclicked her seatbelt and I unclicked mine, pulling her onto my lap. I could feel her, warm and happy, spreading through me.
So this is what parking is likeØ
She giggled, reaching over to push my hair out of my eyes.
ÓWhatÒs thatØÔ I grabbed her right arm. It was dangling from her wrist, the bracelet
Amma had given Macon, last night in the swamp. My stomach clenched, and I knew
LenaÒs mood was about to change. I had to tell her.
ÓMy uncle gave it to me.Ô
ÓTake it off.Ô I turned the string around her wrist, looking for the knot.
ÓWhatØÔ Her smile faded. ÓWhat are you talking aboutØÔ
ÓTake it off.Ô
ÓWhyØÔ She pulled her arm away from me.
ÓSomething happened last night.Ô
ÓWhat happenedØÔ
ÓAfter I got home, I followed Amma out to WaderÒs Creek, where she lives. She snuck out of our house in the middle of the night to meet someone in the swamp.Ô
ÓWhoØÔ
ÓYour uncle.Ô
ÓWhat were they doing out thereØÔ Her face had turned a chalky white, and I could tell the parking part of the day was over.
ÓThey were talking about you, about us. And the locket.Ô
Now she was paying attention. ÓWhat about the locketØÔ
ÓItÒs some kind of Dark talisman, whatever that means, and your uncle told Amma that I never buried it. They were really freaked out about it.Ô
ÓHow would they know itÒs a talismanØÔ
I was starting to get annoyed. She didnÒt seem to be focusing on the right thing. ÓHow about, how do they even know each otherØ Did you have any idea your uncle knew
AmmaØÔ
ÓNo, but I donÒt know everyone he knows.Ô
ÓLena, they were talking about us. About keeping the locket away from us, and keeping us away from each other. I got the feeling they think IÒm some kind of threat. Like IÒm getting in the way of something. Your uncle thinks×Ô
ÓWhatØÔ
ÓHe thinks I have some kind of power.Ô
She laughed out loud, which annoyed me even more. ÓWhy would he think thatØÔ
ÓBecause I brought Ridley into Ravenwood. He said IÒd have to have power to do that.Ô
She frowned. ÓHeÒs right.Ô That wasnÒt the answer I was expecting.
ÓYouÒre kidding, rightØ If I had powers, donÒt you think IÒd know itØÔ
ÓI donÒt know.Ô
Maybe she didnÒt know, but I did. My dad was a writer and my mom had spent her days reading the journals of dead Civil War generals. I was about as far from being a Caster as you could get, unless aggravating Amma counted as a power. There was obviously some kind of loophole that had allowed Ridley to get inside. One of the wires in the Caster security system had blown a fuse.
Lena must have been thinking the same thing. ÓRelax. IÒm sure thereÒs an explanation. So
Macon and Amma know each other. Now we know.Ô
ÓYou donÒt seem very upset about this.Ô
ÓWhat do you meanØÔ
ÓTheyÒve been lying to us. Both of them. Meeting secretly, trying to keep us apart.
Trying to get us to get rid of the locket.Ô
ÓWe never asked them if they knew each other.Ô Why was she acting like thisØ Why wasnÒt she upset, or angry, somethingØ
ÓWhy would weØ DonÒt you think itÒs weird that your uncle is out in the swamp in the middle of the night with Amma, talking to spirits and reading chicken bonesØÔ
ÓItÒs weird, but IÒm sure theyÒre just trying to protect us.Ô
ÓFrom whatØ The truthØ They were talking about something else, too. They were trying to find someone, Sara something. And about how you can damn us all if you Turn.Ô
ÓWhat are you talking aboutØÔ
ÓI donÒt know. Why donÒt you ask your uncleØ See if heÒll tell you the truth for once.Ô
I had gone too far. ÓMy uncle is risking his life to protect me. HeÒs always been there for me. He took me in when he knew I might turn into a monster in a few months.Ô
ÓWhat is he really protecting you fromØ Do you even knowØÔ
ÓMyself!Ô she snapped. That was it. She pushed the door open and climbed off my lap, out into the field. The shade of the massive white water tower shielded us from
Summerville, but the day didnÒt seem so sunny anymore. Where there had been a cloudless blue sky just a few minutes ago, there were streaks of gray.
The storm was moving in. She didnÒt want to talk about it, but I didnÒt care. ÓThat doesnÒt make any sense. Why is he meeting Amma in the middle of the night to tell her we still have the locketØ Why donÒt they want us to have itØ And more important, why donÒt they want us to be togetherØÔ
It was just the two of us, shouting in a field. The breeze was churning into a strong wind.
LenaÒs hair started to whip around her face. She shot back, ÓI donÒt know. Parents are always trying to keep teenagers apart, itÒs what they do. If you want to know why, maybe you should ask Amma. SheÒs the one who hates me. I canÒt even pick you up at your house because youÒre afraid sheÒll see us together.Ô
The knot that was building in the pit of my stomach tightened. I was angry at Amma, angrier than IÒd ever been at her in my whole life, but I still loved her. She was the one who had left letters from the Tooth Fairy under my pillow, bandaged every scraped knee, thrown me thousands of pitches when I wanted to try out for Little League. And since my mom died and my dad checked out, Amma was the only one who looked out for me, who cared or even noticed if I skipped school or lost a game. I wanted to believe she had an explanation for all of this.
ÓYou just donÒt understand her. She thinks sheÒsÅ Ô
ÓWhatØ Protecting youØ Like my uncle is trying to protect meØ Did you ever consider that maybe theyÒre both trying to protect us from the same thingÅ meØÔ
ÓWhy do you always go thereØÔ
She walked away from me, like she would take off if she could. ÓWhere else is there to goØ ThatÒs what this is about. TheyÒre afraid IÒll hurt you or someone else.Ô
ÓYouÒre wrong. This is about the locket. ThereÒs something they donÒt want us to know.Ô
I dug around in my pocket, searching for the familiar shape underneath the handkerchief.
After last night, there was no way I was letting it out of my sight. I was sure Amma was going to look for it today, and if she found it weÒd never see it again. I laid it on the hood of the car. ÓWe need to find out what happens next.Ô
ÓNowØÔ
ÓWhy notØÔ
ÓYou donÒt even know if itÒll work.Ô
I started to unwrap it. ÓThereÒs only one way to find out.Ô
I grabbed her hand, even as she tried to yank it away. I touched the smooth metalThe morning light turned brighter and brighter until it was all I could see. I felt the familiar rush that had taken me back a hundred and fifty years. Then a jolt. I opened my eyes. But instead of the muddy field and flames in the distance, all I saw was the shadow of the water tower and the hearse. The locket hadnÒt shown us anything.
ÓDid you feel thatØ It started, and then it cut off.Ô
She nodded, pushing me away. ÓI think IÒm carsick, or whatever kind of sick youÒd call it.Ô
ÓAre you blocking itØÔ
ÓWhat are you talking aboutØ IÒm not doing anything.Ô
ÓSwearØ You arenÒt using your Caster powers, or somethingØÔ
ÓNo, IÒm too busy trying to deflect your Power of Stupidity. But I donÒt think IÒm strong enough.Ô
It didnÒt make sense, just pulling us in and then kicking us out of the vision like that.
What was differentØ Lena reached over, folding the handkerchief over the locket. The dirty leather bracelet Amma had given Macon caught my eye.
ÓTake that thing off.Ô I looped my finger under the string, lifting the bracelet and her arm to eye level.
ÓEthan, itÒs for protection. You said Amma makes these kinds of things all the time.Ô
ÓI donÒt think so.Ô
ÓWhat are you sayingØÔ
ÓIÒm saying, maybe that thing is the reason the locket doesnÒt work.Ô
ÓIt doesnÒt work all the time, you know that.Ô
ÓBut it was starting to, and something stopped it.Ô
She shook her head, wild curls brushing her shoulder. ÓDo you honestly believe thatØÔ
ÓProve me wrong. Take it off.Ô
She looked at me like I was crazy, but she was thinking about it. I could tell.
ÓIf IÒm wrong, you can put it back on.Ô
She hesitated for a second, then gave me her arm so I could untie it. I loosened the knot and put the charm in my pocket. I reached for the locket, and she put her hand on mine.
I closed my hand around it, and we spun out into nothingThe rain began almost immediately. Hard rain, a downpour. Like the sky just opened up.
Ivy had always said the rain was GodÒs tears. Today Genevieve believed it. It was only a few feet, but Genevieve couldnÒt get there fast enough. She knelt down next to Ethan and cradled his head in her hands. His breathing was ragged. He was alive.
ÓNo, no, not that boy, too. You take too much away. Too much. Not this boy, too.Ô IvyÒs voice reached a fever pitch and she started to pray.
ÓIvy, get help. I need water and whiskey and somethinÒ to remove the bullet.Ô
Genevieve pressed the wadded material from her skirt into the hole EthanÒs chest had filled just a few moments before.
ÓI love you. And I wouldÒve married you, no matter what your family thought,Ô he whispered.
ÓDonÒt say that, Ethan Carter Wate. DonÒt you say that like youÒre going to die. YouÒre gonna be just fine. Just fine,Ô she repeated, trying to convince herself as much as him.
Genevieve closed her eyes and concentrated. Flowers blooming. Newborn babies crying.
The sun rising.
Birth, not death.
She pictured the images in her mind, willing it to be so. The images ran in a loop over and over in her mind.
Birth, not death.
Ethan choked. She opened her eyes, and their eyes met. For an instant, time seemed to stop. Then, EthanÒs eyes closed, and his head rolled to one side.
Genevieve closed her eyes again, visualizing the images. It had to be a mistake. He couldnÒt be dead. She had summoned her power. She had done it a million times before, moving objects in her motherÒs kitchen to play tricks on Ivy, healing baby birds that had fallen from their nests.
Why not nowØ When it matteredØ
ÓEthan, wake up. Please wake up.Ô
I opened my eyes. We were standing in the middle of the field, in exactly the same place weÒd been before. I looked over at Lena. Her eyes were shining, about to spill over. ÓOh, God.Ô
I bent down and touched the weeds where we had been standing. A reddish stain marked the plants and the ground around us. ÓItÒs blood.Ô
ÓHis bloodØÔ
ÓI think so.Ô
ÓYou were right. The bracelet was keeping us from seeing the vision. But why would
Uncle Macon tell me it was for protectionØÔ
ÓMaybe it is. ThatÒs just not the only thing itÒs for.Ô
ÓYou donÒt have to try to make me feel better.Ô
ÓThereÒs obviously something they donÒt want us to find out, and it involves the locket and, IÒm willing to bet, Genevieve. WeÒve got to find out as much as we can about them both, and we have to do it before your birthday.Ô
ÓWhy my birthdayØÔ
ÓLast night, Amma and your uncle were talking. Whatever they donÒt want us to know, it has something to do with your birthday.Ô
Lena took a deep breath, like she was trying to hold it together. ÓThey know IÒm going to go Dark. ThatÒs what this is about.Ô
ÓWhat does that have to do with the locketØÔ
ÓI donÒt know, but it doesnÒt matter. None of it matters. In four months, IÒm not going to be me anymore. You saw Ridley. ThatÒs what IÒm going to turn into, or worse. If my uncle is right and I am a Natural, then IÒll make Ridley look like a volunteer for the Red
Cross.Ô
I pulled her toward me, wrapping my arms around her like I could protect her from something we both knew I couldnÒt. ÓYou canÒt think like that. There has to be a way to stop it, if thatÒs really the truth.Ô
ÓYou donÒt get it. ThereÒs no way to stop it. It just happens.Ô Her voice was rising. The wind was starting to pick up.
ÓOkay, maybe youÒre right. Maybe it just happens. But weÒre going to find a way to make it not happen to you.Ô
Her eyes were clouding over like the sky. ÓCanÒt we just enjoy the time we have leftØÔ I felt the words for the first time.
The time we have left.
I couldnÒt lose her. I wouldnÒt. Just the thought of never being able to touch her again made me crazy. Crazier than losing all my friends. Crazier than being the least popular guy in school. Crazier than having Amma perpetually angry at me. Losing her was the worst thing I could imagine. Like I was falling, but this time I would definitely hit the ground.
I thought about Ethan Carter Wate hitting the ground, the red blood in the field. The wind began to howl. It was time to go. ÓDonÒt talk like that. WeÒre going to find a way.Ô
But even as I was saying it, I didnÒt know if I believed it.
10.13
MARIAN THE LIBRARIAN
It had been three days, and I still couldnÒt stop thinking about it. Ethan Carter Wate had been shot, and he was probably dead. I had seen it with my own eyes. Well, technically, everyone from back then was dead by now. But, from one Ethan Wate to another, I was having trouble getting over the death of this particular Confederate soldier. More like, Confederate deserter. My great-great-great-great-uncle.
I thought about it during Algebra II, while Savannah choked on her equation in front of the class, but Mr. Bates was too busy reading the latest issue of Guns and Ammo to notice. I thought about it during the Future Farmers of America assembly, when I couldnÒt find Lena and ended up sitting with the band. Link was sitting with the guys a few rows behind me, but I didnÒt notice until Shawn and Emory started making animal noises. After a while, I couldnÒt hear them anymore. My mind kept going back to Ethan
Carter Wate.
It wasnÒt that he was a Confederate. Everyone in Gatlin County was related to the wrong side in the War Between the States. We were used to that by now. It was like being born in Germany after World War II, being from Japan after Pearl Harbor, or America after
Hiroshima. History was a bitch sometimes. You couldnÒt change where you were from.
But still, you didnÒt have to stay there. You didnÒt have to stay stuck in the past, like the ladies in the DAR, or the Gatlin Historical Society, or the Sisters. And you didnÒt have to accept that things had to be the way they were, like Lena. Ethan Carter Wate hadnÒt, and I couldnÒt, either.
All I knew was, now that we knew about the other Ethan Wate, we had to find out more about Genevieve. Maybe there was a reason we had stumbled across that locket in the first place. Maybe there was a reason we had stumbled across each other in a dream, even if it was more of a nightmare.
Normally, I wouldÒve asked my mom what to do, back when things were normal and she was still alive. But she was gone, my dad was too out of it to be any help, and Amma wasnÒt about to help us with anything that had to do with the locket. Lena was still being moody about Macon; the rain outside was a dead giveaway. I was supposed to be doing my homework, which meant I needed about a half gallon of chocolate milk and as many cookies as I could carry in my other hand.
I walked down the hallway from the kitchen and paused in front of the study. My dad was upstairs taking a shower, which was about the only time he left the study anymore, so the door was probably locked. It always was, ever since the manuscript incident.
I stared at the door handle, looking down the hall in either direction. Balancing my cookies precariously on top of my milk carton, I reached toward it. Before I could so much as touch the handle, I heard the click of the lock moving. The door unlocked, all by itself, as if someone inside was opening the door for me. The cookies hit the floor.
A month ago, I wouldnÒt have believed it, but now I knew better. This was Gatlin. Not the Gatlin I thought I knew, but some other Gatlin that had apparently been hiding in plain sight all along. A town where the girl I liked was from a long line of Casters, my housekeeper was a Seer who read chicken bones in the swamp and summoned the spirits of her dead ancestors, and even my dad acted like a vampire.
There seemed to be nothing too unbelievable for this Gatlin. ItÒs funny how you can live somewhere your whole life, but not really see it.
I pushed on the door, slowly, tentatively. I could see just a glimpse of the study, a corner of the built-in shelves, stuffed with my momÒs books, and the Civil War debris she seemed to collect wherever she went. I took a deep breath and inhaled the air from the study. No wonder my dad never left the room.
I could almost see her, curled up in her old reading chair by the window. She wouldÒve been typing, just on the other side of the door. If I opened the door a little more, for all I knew, she might be there now. Only I couldnÒt hear any typing, and I knew she wasnÒt there, and she never would be again.
The books I needed were on those shelves. If anyone knew more about the history of
Gatlin County than the Sisters, it was my mom. I took a step forward, pushing the door open just a few inches farther.
ÓSweet Host a Heaven and Earth, Ethan Wate, if youÒre fixinÒ to set one foot in that room, your daddy will knock you clean into next week.Ô
I nearly dropped the milk. Amma. ÓIÒm not doing anything. The door just opened.Ô
ÓShame on you. No ghost in Gatlin would dare set foot in your mamma and daddyÒs study, except your mamma herself.Ô She looked up at me defiantly. There was something in her eyes that made me wonder if she was trying to tell me something, maybe even the truth. Maybe it was my mom, opening the door.
Because one thing was clear. Someone, something, wanted me to get into that study, as much as somebody else wanted to keep me out.
Amma slammed the door and drew a key out of her pocket, locking it. I heard the click and knew my window of opportunity had slammed shut, as quickly as it had opened. She crossed her arms. ÓItÒs a school night. DonÒt you have some studyinÒ to doØÔ
I looked at her, annoyed.
ÓGoinÒ back to the libraryØ You and Link finished with that reportØÔ
And then it came to me. ÓYeah, the library. As a matter a fact, thatÒs where IÒm headed right now.Ô I kissed her cheek and ran past her.
ÓSay hi to Marian for me, and donÒt you be late for dinner.Ô
Good old Amma. She always had all the answers, whether she knew it or not, and whether or not she would willingly give them up.
Lena was waiting for me at the parking lot of the Gatlin County Library. The cracked concrete was still wet and shiny from the rain. Even though the library was still open for two more hours, the hearse was the only car in the lot, except for a familiar old turquoise truck. LetÒs just say this wasnÒt a big library town. There wasnÒt much we wanted to know about any town but our own, and if your granddaddy or your great-granddaddy couldnÒt tell you, chances were you didnÒt need to know.
Lena was huddled against the side of the building, writing in her notebook. She was wearing tattered jeans, enormous rain boots, and a soft black T-shirt. Tiny braids hung down around her face, lost in all the curls. She looked almost like a regular girl. I wasnÒt sure I wanted her to be a regular girl. I was sure I wanted to kiss her again, but it would have to wait. If Marian had the answers we needed, IÒd have a lot more chances to kiss her.
I ran through my playbook again. Pick ÒnÒ Roll.
ÓYou really think thereÒs something here that can help usØÔ Lena looked over her notebook at me.
I pulled her up with my hand. ÓNot something. Someone.Ô
The library itself was beautiful. I had spent so many hours in it as a kid, IÒd inherited my motherÒs belief that a library was sort of a temple. This particular library was one of the few buildings that had survived ShermanÒs March and the Great Burning. The library and the Historical Society were the two oldest buildings in town, aside from Ravenwood. It was a two-story venerable Victorian, old and weathered with peeling white paint and decades worth of vines sleeping along the doors and windows. It smelled like aging wood and creosote, plastic book covers, and old paper. Old paper, which my mom used to say was the smell of time itself.
ÓI donÒt get it. Why the libraryØÔ
ÓItÒs not just the library. ItÒs Marian Ashcroft.Ô
ÓThe librarianØ Uncle MaconÒs friendØÔ
ÓMarian was my momÒs best friend, and her research partner. SheÒs the only other person who knows as much about Gatlin County as my mom, and sheÒs the smartest person in
Gatlin now.Ô
Lena looked at me, skeptically. ÓSmarter than Uncle MaconØÔ
ÓOkay. SheÒs the smartest Mortal in Gatlin.Ô
I could never quite figure out what someone like Marian was doing in a town like Gatlin.
ÓJust because you live in the middle of nowhere,Ô Marian would tell me, over a tuna sandwich with my mom, ÓdoesnÒt mean you canÒt know where you live.Ô I had no idea what she meant. I had no idea what she was talking about, half the time. ThatÒs probably why Marian had gotten along so well with my mom; I didnÒt know what my mom was talking about, either, the other half the time. Like I said, the biggest brain in town, or maybe just the biggest character.
When we walked into the empty library, Marian was wandering around the stacks in her stockings, wailing to herself like a crazy person from a Greek tragedy, which she was prone to reciting. Since the library was pretty much a ghost town, except for the occasional visit from one of the ladies from the DAR checking on questionable genealogy, Marian had free run of the place.
ÓÑKnowest thou aughtØÒÔ
I followed her voice deep into the stacks.
ÓÑHast thou heardØÒÔ
I rounded the corner into Fiction. There she was, swaying, holding a pile of books in her arms, looking right through me.
ÓÑOr is it hidden from theeÅÒÔ
Lena stepped up behind me.
ÓÑÅ that our friends are threatenedÅÒÔ
Marian looked from me to Lena, over her square, red reading glasses.
ÓÑÅ with the doom of our foesØÒÔ
Marian was there, but not there. I knew that look well and I knew, though she had a quote for everything, she didnÒt choose them lightly. What doom of my foes threatened me, or my friendsØ If that friend was Lena, I wasnÒt sure I wanted to know.
I read a lot, but not Greek tragedy. ÓOedipusØÔ
I hugged Marian, over her pile of books. She hugged me so tightly I couldnÒt breathe, an unwieldy biography of General Sherman cutting into my ribs.
ÓAntigone.Ô Lena spoke up from behind me.
Show-off.
ÓVery good.Ô Marian smiled over my shoulder.
I made a face at Lena, who shrugged. ÓHome school.Ô
ÓItÒs always impressive to meet a young person who knows Antigone.Ô
ÓAll I remember is, she just wanted to bury the dead.Ô
Marian smiled at both of us. She shoved half her pile of books into my arms, and half into
LenaÒs. When she smiled, she looked like she could have been on the cover of a magazine. She had white teeth and beautiful brown skin, and she looked more like a model than a librarian. She was that pretty and exotic-looking, a mix of so many bloodlines it was like looking at the history of the South itself, people from the West
Indies, the Sugar Islands, England, Scotland, even America, all intermingling until it would take a whole forest of family trees to chart the course.
Even though we were south of Somewhere and north of Nowhere, as Amma would say, Marian Ashcroft was dressed like she could have been teaching one of her classes at
Duke. All of her clothes, all of her jewelry, all of her signature, brightly patterned scarves seemed to come from somewhere else and complement her unintentionally cool cropped haircut.
Marian was no more Gatlin County than Lena, and yet sheÒd been here as long as my mom had. Now longer. ÓIÒve missed you so much, Ethan. And you×you must be
MaconÒs niece, Lena. The infamous new girl in town. The girl with the window. Oh yes, IÒve heard about you. The ladies, they are talking.Ô
We followed Marian back to the front counter and dumped the books on the re-stacking cart.
ÓDonÒt believe everything you hear, Dr. Ashcroft.Ô
ÓPlease. Marian.Ô I nearly dropped a book. Aside from my family, Marian was Dr.
Ashcroft to nearly everyone around here. Lena was being offered instant access to the inner circle, and I had no idea why.
ÓMarian.Ô Lena grinned. Aside from Link and me, this was LenaÒs first taste of our famed
Southern hospitality, and from another outsider.
ÓThe only thing I want to know is, when you broke that window with your broomstick, did you take out the future generation of the DARØÔ Marian began to lower the blinds, motioning for us to help.
ÓOf course not. If I did that, where would I get all this free publicityØÔ
Marian threw back her head and laughed, putting her arm around Lena. ÓA good sense of humor, Lena. ThatÒs what you need to get around in this town.Ô
Lena sighed. ÓIÒve heard a lot of jokes. Mostly about me.Ô
ÓAh, but×ÑThe monuments of wit survive the monuments of power.ÒÔ
ÓIs that ShakespeareØÔ I was feeling a little left behind.
ÓClose, Sir Francis Bacon. Though, if youÒre one of the people who think he wrote
ShakespeareÒs plays, I suppose you were right the first time.Ô
ÓI give up.Ô
Marian ruffled my hair. ÓYouÒve grown about a foot and a half since IÒve last seen you, EW. What is Amma feeding you these daysØ Pie for breakfast, lunch, and dinnerØ I feel like I havenÒt seen you in a hundred years.Ô
I looked at her. ÓI know, IÒm sorry. I just didnÒt feel much likeÅ reading.Ô
She knew I was lying, but she knew what I meant. Marian went to the door, and flipped the ÓOpenÔ sign to ÓClosed.Ô She turned the bolt with a sharp click. It reminded me of the study.
ÓI thought the library was open till nineØÔ If it wasnÒt I would lose a valuable excuse for sneaking out to LenaÒs.
ÓNot today. The head librarian has just declared today a Gatlin County Library Holiday.
SheÒs rather spontaneous that way.Ô She winked. ÓFor a librarian.Ô
ÓThanks, Aunt Marian.Ô
ÓI know you wouldnÒt be here if you didnÒt have a reason, and I suspect Macon
RavenwoodÒs niece is, if nothing else, a reason. So why donÒt we all go into the back room, make a pot of tea, and try to be reasonableØÔ Marian loved a good pun.
ÓItÒs more like a question, really.Ô I felt in my pocket, where the locket was still wrapped in Sulla the ProphetÒs handkerchief.
ÓQuestion everything. Learn something. Answer nothing.Ô
ÓHomerØÔ
ÓEuripides. You better start coming up with a few of these answers, EW, or IÒm going to actually have to go to one of those school board meetings.Ô
ÓBut you just said to answer nothing.Ô
She unlocked a door marked private archive. ÓDid I say thatØÔ
Like Amma, Marian always seemed to have the answer. Like any good librarian.
Like my mom.
IÒd never been in MarianÒs private archive, the back room. Come to think of it, I didnÒt know anyone who had ever been back there, except for my mom. It was the space they shared, the place they wrote and researched and who knows what else. Not even my dad was allowed in. I can remember Marian stopping him in the doorway, when my mother was examining a historical document inside. ÓPrivate means private.
ÓItÒs a library, Marian. Libraries were created to democratize knowledge and make it public.Ô
ÓAround here, libraries were created so that Alcoholics Anonymous would have somewhere to meet when the Baptists kicked them out.Ô
ÓMarian, donÒt be ridiculous. ItÒs just an archive.Ô
ÓDonÒt think of me as a librarian. Think of me as a mad scientist; this is my secret laboratory.Ô
ÓYouÒre crazy. You two are just looking at some crumbling old papers.Ô
ÓÑIf you reveal your secrets to the wind, you should not blame the wind for revealing them to the trees.ÒÔ
ÓKhalil Gibran.Ô He fired back.
ÓÑThree can keep a secret if two of them are dead.ÒÔ
ÓBenjamin Franklin.Ô
Eventually even my father had given up trying to get into their archive. WeÒd gone home and eaten rocky road ice cream, and after that, I had always thought of my mother and
Marian as an unstoppable force of nature. Two mad scientists, as Marian had said, chained to each other in the lab. They had churned out book after book, even once making the short-list for the Voice of the South Award, the Southern equivalent of a
Pulitzer Prize. My dad was fiercely proud of my mom, of both of them, even if we were just along for the ride. ÓLively of the mind.Ô ThatÒs how he used to describe my mom, especially when she was in the middle of a project. That was when she was the most absent, and yet somehow, when he seemed to love her best.
And now here I was, in the private archive, without my dad or my mom, or even a bowl of rocky road ice cream, in sight. Things were changing pretty quickly around here, for a town that never changed at all.
The room was paneled and dark, the most secluded, airless, windowless room of the third-oldest building in Gatlin. Four long oak tables stood in parallel lines down the center of the room. Every inch of every wall was crammed with books. Civil War
Artillery and Munitions. King Cotton: White Gold of the South. Flat metal shelving drawers held manuscripts, and overflowing file cabinets lined a smaller room attached to the back of the archive.
Marian busied herself with her teapot and hotplate. Lena walked up to a wall of framed maps of Gatlin County, crumbling behind glass, old as the Sisters themselves.
ÓLook×Ravenwood.Ô Lena moved her finger across the glass. ÓAnd thereÒs Greenbrier.
You can see the property line a lot better on this map.Ô
I walked to the far corner of the room, where a lone table stood, covered with a fine layer of dust and the occasional cobweb. An old Historical Society charter lay open, with circled names, a pencil still stuck in the spine. A map made out of tracing paper, tacked to a map of modern-day Gatlin, seemed like someone was trying to mentally excavate the old town from beneath the new. And lying on top of all of it was a photo of the painting in Macon RavenwoodÒs entry.
The woman with the locket.
Genevieve. It has to be Genevieve. We have to tell her, L. We have to ask.
We canÒt. We canÒt trust anyone. We donÒt even know why weÒre seeing the visions.
Lena. Trust me.
ÓWhatÒs all this stuff over here, Aunt MarianØÔ
She looked at me, her face briefly clouding over. ÓThatÒs our last project. Your momÒs and mine.Ô
Why did my mom have a picture of the painting at RavenwoodØ
I donÒt know.
Lena walked over to the table, and picked up the photo of the painting. ÓMarian, what were you guys doing with this paintingØÔ
Marian handed each of us a proper cup of tea, with a saucer. That was another thing about Gatlin. You used a saucer, at all times, no matter what.
ÓYou should recognize that painting, Lena. It belongs to your Uncle Macon. In fact, he sent me that photo himself.Ô
ÓBut whoÒs the womanØÔ
ÓGenevieve Duchannes, but I expect you know that.Ô
ÓI didnÒt, actually.Ô
ÓHasnÒt your uncle taught you anything about your genealogyØÔ
ÓWe donÒt talk much about my dead relatives. No one wants to bring up my parents.Ô
Marian walked over to one of the flat archival drawers, searching for something.
ÓGenevieve Duchannes was your great-great-great-great-grandmother. She was an interesting character, really. Lila and I were tracing the entire Duchannes family tree, for a project your Uncle Macon had been helping us with, right up until×Ô she looked down.
ÓLast year.Ô
My mom had known Macon RavenwoodØ I thought he had said he only knew her through her work.
ÓYou really should know your genealogy.Ô Marian turned a few yellowed pages of parchment. LenaÒs family tree stared back at us, right next to MaconÒs.
I pointed to LenaÒs family tree. ÓThatÒs weird. All the girls in your family have the last name Duchannes, even the ones who were married.Ô
ÓItÒs just a thing in my family. The women keep the family name even after theyÒre married. ItÒs always been that way.Ô
Marian turned the page, and looked at Lena. ÓItÒs often the case in bloodlines where the women are considered particularly powerful.Ô
I wanted to change the subject. I didnÒt want to dig too deep into the powerful women in
LenaÒs family with Marian, especially considering Lena was definitely one of them.
ÓWhy were you and Mom tracing the Duchannes treeØ What was the projectØÔ
Marian stirred her tea. ÓSugarØÔ
She looked away as I spooned it into my cup. ÓWe were actually mostly interested in this locket.Ô She pointed to another photograph of Genevieve. In this one, she was wearing the locket.
ÓOne story in particular. It was a simple story, really, a love story.Ô She smiled sadly.
ÓYour mother was a great romantic, Ethan.Ô
I locked eyes with Lena. We both knew what Marian was about to say.
ÓInterestingly enough for you two, this love story involves both a Wate and a Duchannes.
A Confederate soldier, and a beautiful mistress of Greenbrier.Ô
The locket visions. The burning of Greenbrier. My momÒs last book was about everything we had seen happen between Genevieve and Ethan, LenaÒs great-great-greatgreat-grandmother and my great-great-great-great-uncle.
My mom was working on that book when she died. My head was reeling. Gatlin was like that. Nothing here ever happened only once.
Lena looked pale. She leaned over and touched my hand, where it rested on the dusty table. Instantly, I felt the familiar prick of electricity.
ÓHere. This is the letter that got us started on the whole project.Ô Marian lay out two parchment sheets on the next oak table. Secretly, I was glad she didnÒt disturb my momÒs worktable. I thought of it as a fitting memorial, more like her than the carnations everyone had laid on her casket. Even the DAR, they were there for the funeral, laying those carnations down like crazy, though my mom would have hated it. The whole town, the Baptists, the Methodists, even the Pentecostals, turned out for a death, a birth, or a wedding.
ÓYou can read it, just donÒt touch it. ItÒs one of the oldest things in Gatlin.Ô
Lena bent over the letter, holding her hair back to keep it from brushing the old parchment. ÓTheyÒre desperately in love, but theyÒre too different.Ô She scanned the letter. ÓÑA Species Apart,Ò he calls them. Her family is trying to keep them apart, and heÒs gone to enlist, even though he doesnÒt believe in the war, in the hope that fighting for the
South will win him the approval of her family.Ô
Marian closed her eyes, reciting:
ÓI might as well be a monkey as a man, for all the good it does me at Greenbrier.
Though merely Mortal, my heart breaks with such pain at the thought of spending the rest of my life without you, Genevieve.Ô
It was like poetry, like something I imagined Lena would write.
Marian opened her eyes again. ÓAs if he were Atlas carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.Ô
ÓItÒs all so sad,Ô said Lena, looking at me.
ÓThey were in love. There was a war. I hate to tell you, but it ends badly, or so it seems.Ô
Marian finished her tea.
ÓWhat about this locketØÔ I pointed at the photo, almost afraid to ask.
ÓSupposedly, Ethan gave it to Genevieve, as a troth of secret engagement. WeÒll never know what happened to it. Nobody ever saw it again, after the night Ethan died.
GenevieveÒs father forced her to marry someone else, but legend has it, she kept the locket and it was buried with her. It was said to be a powerful talisman, the broken bond of a broken heart.Ô
I shivered. The powerful talisman wasnÒt buried with Genevieve; it was in my pocket, and a Dark talisman according to Macon and Amma. I could feel it throbbing, as if it had been baking in hot coals.
Ethan, donÒt.
We have to. She can help us. My mom would have helped us.
I shoved one hand in my pocket, pushing past the handkerchief to touch the battered cameo, and took MarianÒs hand, hoping this was one of those times the locket would work. Her cup of tea crashed to the floor. The room started to swirl.
ÓEthan!Ô Marian shouted.
Lena took MarianÒs hand. The light in the room was dissolving into night. ÓDonÒt worry.
WeÒll be with you the whole time.Ô LenaÒs voice sounded far away, and I heard the sound of distant gunfire.
In moments, the library filled with rainThe rain battered down upon them. The winds kicked up, beginning to quell the flames, even though it was too late.
Genevieve stared at what was left of the great house. She had lost everything today.
Mamma. Evangeline. She couldnÒt lose Ethan, too.
Ivy ran through the mud toward her, using her skirt to carry the things Genevieve had asked for.
ÓIÒm too late, Lord in Heaven, IÒm too late,Ô Ivy cried. She looked around nervously.
ÓCome, Miss Genevieve, thereÒs nothinÒ more we can do here.Ô
But Ivy was wrong. There was one thing.
ÓItÒs not too late. ItÒs not too late.Ô Genevieve kept repeating the words.
ÓYouÒre talkinÒ crazy, child.Ô
She looked at Ivy, desperate. ÓI need the book.Ô
Ivy backed away, shaking her head. ÓNo. You canÒt mess with that book. You donÒt know what you doinÒ.Ô
Genevieve grabbed the old woman by the shoulders. ÓIvy, itÒs the only way. You have to give it to me.Ô
ÓYou donÒt know what you askinÒ. You donÒt know nothinÒ about that book×Ô
ÓGive it to me or IÒll find it myself.Ô
Black smoke was billowing up behind them, the fire still spitting as it swallowed up what was left of the house.
Ivy relented, picking up her tattered skirts and leading Genevieve out past what used to be her motherÒs lemon grove. Genevieve had never been past that point. There was nothing out there but cotton fields, or at least thatÒs what she had always been told. And she had never had a reason to be in those fields, except on the rare occasions when she and Evangeline played a game of hide-and-seek.
But IvyÒs path was purposeful. She knew exactly where she was going. In the distance, Genevieve could still hear the sound of gunshots and the piercing cries of her neighbors, as they watched their own homes burn.
Ivy stopped near a bramble of wild vines, rose-mary, and jasmine, snaking their way up the side of an old stone wall. There was a small archway, hidden beneath the overgrowth. Ivy ducked down and walked under the arch. Genevieve followed. The arch must have been attached to a wall because the area was enclosed. A perfect circle×its walls obscured by years of wild vines.
ÓWhat is this placeØÔ
ÓA place your mamma didnÒt want you to know nothinÒ about, or youÒd know what it was.Ô
In the distance, Genevieve could see tiny stones jutting from the tall grass. Of course.
The family cemetery. Genevieve remembered being out there, once, when she was very young, when her great-grandmother had died. She remembered the funeral was at night, and her mother had stood in the tall grass, in the moonlight, whispering words in a language Genevieve and her sister hadnÒt recognized. ÓWhat are we doinÒ out hereØÔ
ÓYou said you wanted that book. DidnÒt yaØÔ
ÓItÒs out hereØÔ
Ivy stopped and looked at Genevieve, confused. ÓWhere else would it beØÔ
Farther back, there was another structure being strangled by wild vines. A crypt. Ivy stopped at the door. ÓYou sure ya want to×Ô
ÓWe donÒt have time for this!Ô Genevieve reached for the handle, but there wasnÒt one.
ÓHow does it openØÔ
The old woman stood on her toes, reaching high above the door. There, illuminated by the distant light of the fires, Genevieve could see a small piece of smooth stone above the door, with a crescent moon carved into it. Ivy put her hand over the small moon and pushed. The stone door began to move, opening with the sound of stone scraping stone.
Ivy reached for something on the other side of the doorway. A candle.
The candlelight illuminated the small room. It couldnÒt have been bigger than a few feet wide all around. But there were old wooden shelves on every side, piled high with tiny vials and bottles, filled with plant blossoms, powders, and murky liquids. In the center of the room, there was a weathered stone table, with an old wooden box lying on it. The box was modest by any standard, the only adornment a tiny crescent moon carved on its lid.
The same carving from the stone above the door.
ÓIÒm not touchinÒ it,Ô Ivy said quietly, as if she thought the box itself could hear her.
ÓIvy, itÒs just a book.Ô
ÓNo such thing as just a book, Òspecially in your family.Ô
Genevieve lifted the lid gently. The bookÒs jacket was cracked black leather, now more gray than black. There was no title, just the same crescent moon embossed on the front.
Genevieve lifted the book tentatively from the box. She knew Ivy was superstitious.
Although she had mocked the old woman, she also knew that Ivy was wise. She read cards and tea leaves, and GenevieveÒs mother consulted Ivy and her tea leaves for almost everything, the best day to plant her vegetables to avoid a freeze, the right herbs to cure a cold.
The book was warm. As if it were alive, breathing.
ÓWhy doesnÒt it have a nameØÔ Genevieve asked.
ÓJust Òcause a book donÒt have a title, donÒt mean it donÒt have a name. That right there is The Book a Moons.Ô
There was no more time to lose. She followed the flames through the darkness. Back to what was left of Greenbrier, and Ethan.
She flipped through the pages. There were hundreds of Casts. How would she find the right oneØ Then she saw it. It was in Latin, a language she knew well; her mother had brought a special tutor in from up North to make sure she and Evangeline learned it. The most important language as far as her family was concerned.
The Binding Spell. To Bind Death To Life.
Genevieve rested the Book on the ground next to Ethan, her finger under the first verse of the incantation.
Ivy grabbed her wrist and held it tight. ÓThis isnÒt any night for this. Half moonÒs for workinÒ White magic, full moonÒs for workinÒ Black. No moon is somethinÒ else altogether.Ô
Genevieve jerked her arm from the old womanÒs grip. ÓI donÒt have a choice. This is the only night we have.Ô
ÓMiss Genevieve, you need to understand. Those words are more than a Cast. TheyÒre a bargain. You canÒt use The Book a Moons, without givinÒ somethinÒ in return.Ô
ÓI donÒt care about the price. WeÒre talkinÒ about EthanÒs life. IÒve lost everyone else.Ô
ÓThat boy donÒt have no more life. ItÒs been shot right out of Òim. What you tryinÒ to do is unnatural. And there canÒt be no right in that.Ô
Genevieve knew Ivy was right. Her mother had warned her and Evangeline often enough about respecting the Natural Laws. She was crossing a line none of the Casters in her family would ever have dared.
But they were all gone now. She was the only one left.
And she had to try.
ÓNo!Ô Lena let go of our hands, breaking the circle. ÓShe went Dark, donÒt you get itØ
Genevieve, she was using Dark magic.Ô
I grabbed her hands. She tried to pull away from me. Usually all I could feel from Lena was a sunny sort of warmth, but this time she felt more like a tornado. ÓLena, sheÒs not you. HeÒs not me. This all happened more than a hundred years ago.Ô
She was hysterical. ÓShe is me, thatÒs why the locket wants me to see this. ItÒs warning me to stay away from you. So I donÒt hurt you after I go Dark.Ô
Marian opened her eyes, which were bigger than IÒd ever seen them. Her short hair, normally neat and perfectly in place, was wild and windblown. She looked exhausted, but exhilarated. I knew that look. It was like my mom was haunting her, especially around the eyes. ÓYou are not Claimed, Lena. YouÒre neither good nor bad. This is just what it feels like to be fifteen and a half, in the Duchannes family. IÒve known a lot of Casters in my day and a whole lot of Duchannes, both Dark and Light.Ô
Lena looked at Marian, stunned.
Marian tried to catch her breath. ÓYou are not going Dark. YouÒre as melodramatic as
Macon. Now calm down.Ô
How did she know about LenaÒs birthdayØ How did she know about CastersØ
ÓYou two have GenevieveÒs locket. Why didnÒt you tell meØÔ
ÓWe donÒt know what to do. Everyone tells us something different.Ô
ÓLet me see it.Ô
I reached into my pocket. Lena put her hand on my arm, and I hesitated. Marian was my momÒs closest friend, and she was like family. I knew I shouldnÒt question her motives, but then I had just followed Amma into the swamp to meet Macon Ravenwood, and I would never have seen that coming. ÓHow do we know we can trust youØÔ I asked, feeling sick even asking the question.
ÓÑThe best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them.ÒÔ
ÓElton JohnØÔ
ÓClose. Ernest Hemingway. In his own way, sort of the rock star of his time.Ô
I smiled, but Lena was not so willing to have her doubts charmed away. ÓWhy should we trust you when everyone else has been hiding things from usØÔ
Marian grew serious. ÓPrecisely because IÒm not Amma, and IÒm not Uncle Macon. IÒm not your Gramma or your Aunt Delphine. IÒm Mortal. IÒm neutral. Between Black magic and White magic, Light and Dark, there has to be something in between×something to resist the pull×and that something is me.Ô
Lena backed away from her. It was inconceivable, to both of us. How did Marian know so much about LenaÒs familyØ
ÓWhat are youØÔ In LenaÒs family, that was a loaded question.
ÓIÒm the Gatlin County Head Librarian, same as IÒve been since I moved here, same as I always will be. IÒm not a Caster. I just keep the records. I just keep the books.Ô Marian smoothed her hair. ÓIÒm the Keeper, just one in a long line of Mortals entrusted with the history and the secrets of a world we can never entirely be a part of. There must always be one, and now that one is me.Ô
ÓAunt MarianØ What are you talking aboutØÔ I was lost.
ÓLetÒs just say, there are libraries, and then there are libraries. I serve all the good citizens of Gatlin, whether they are Casters or Mortals. Which works out just fine since the other branch is more of a night job, really.Ô
ÓYou mean×ØÔ
ÓThe Gatlin County Caster Library. I am, of course, the Caster Librarian. The Head
Caster Librarian.Ô
I stared at Marian as if I was seeing her for the first time. She looked back at me with the same brown eyes, the same knowing smile. She looked the same, but somehow she was completely different. I had always wondered why Marian stayed in Gatlin all these years.
I thought it was because of my mom. Now I realized there was another reason.
I didnÒt know what I was feeling, but whatever it was, Lena was feeling the opposite.
ÓThen you can help us. We have to find out what happened to Ethan and Genevieve, and what it has to do with Ethan and me, and we have to find out before my birthday.Ô Lena looked at her expectantly. ÓThe Caster Library must have records. Maybe The Book of
Moons is there. Do you think it could have the answersØÔ
Marian looked away. ÓMaybe, maybe not. IÒm afraid I canÒt help you. IÒm so sorry.Ô
ÓWhat are you talking aboutØÔ She wasnÒt making sense. IÒd never seen Marian refuse help to anyone, especially me.
ÓI canÒt get involved, even if I want to. ItÒs part of the job description. I donÒt write the books, or the rules, I just keep them. I canÒt interfere.Ô
ÓIs this job more important than helping usØÔ I stepped in front of her, so she had to look me in the eye when she answered. ÓMore important than meØÔ
ÓItÒs not that simple, Ethan. ThereÒs a balance between the Mortal world and the Caster world, between Light and Dark. The Keeper is part of that balance, part of the Order of
Things. If I defy the laws by which IÒm Bound, that balance is jeopardized.Ô She looked back at me, her voice shaky. ÓI canÒt interfere, even if it kills me. Even if it hurts the people I love.Ô
I didnÒt understand what she was talking about, but I knew Marian loved me, like she had loved my mom. If she couldnÒt help us, there had to be a reason. ÓFine. You canÒt help us. Just take me to this Caster Library, and IÒll figure it out myself.Ô
ÓYouÒre not a Caster, Ethan. This isnÒt your decision to make.Ô
Lena stepped next to me, and took my hand. ÓItÒs mine. And I want to go.Ô
Marian nodded. ÓAll right, IÒll take you, the next time itÒs open. The Caster Library doesnÒt operate on the same schedule as the Gatlin County Library. ItÒs a bit more irregular.Ô
Of course it was.
10.31
HALLOW EÒEN
The only days of the year that the Gatlin County Library was closed were bank holidays ×like Thanksgiving Day, Christmas Day, New YearÒs Day, Easter. As a result, these were the only days the Gatlin County Caster Library was open, which apparently wasnÒt something Marian could control.
ÓTake it up with the county. Like I said, I donÒt make the rules.Ô I wondered what county she was talking about×the one I had lived in my whole life, or the one that had been hidden from me for just as long.
Still, Lena seemed almost hopeful. For the first time, it was as if she actually believed there might be a way to prevent what she had considered the inevitable. Marian couldnÒt give us any answers, but she anchored us in the absence of the two people we relied on most, who hadnÒt gone anywhere, but seemed far away just the same. I didnÒt say anything to Lena, but without Amma I was lost. And without Macon, I knew Lena couldnÒt even find her way to lost.
Marian did give us something, Ethan and GenevieveÒs letters, so old and delicate they were almost transparent, and everything she and my mother had collected about the two of them. A whole stack of papers in a dusty brown box, with cardboard printed to look like wood paneling on the sides. Although Lena loved poring over the prose×Óthe days without you bleed together until time is nothing more than another obstacle we must overcome,Ô×all it seemed to amount to was a love story with a really bad, and really
Black ending. But it was all we had.
Now all we had to do was figure out what we were looking for. The needle in the haystack, or in this case, the cardboard box. So we did the only thing we could do. We started looking.
After two weeks, IÒd spent more time with Lena on the locket papers than I would have thought possible. The more we read through the papers, the more it seemed like we were reading about ourselves. At night, we stayed up late trying to solve the mystery of Ethan and Genevieve, a Mortal and a Caster, desperate to find a way to be together, against impossible odds. At school, we faced some steep odds ourselves, just getting through another eight hours at Jackson, and it was only getting harder. Every day, there was another scheme to drive Lena away, or us apart. Especially if that day was Halloween.
Halloween was generally a pretty loaded holiday at Jackson. For a guy, anything involving costumes was an accident waiting to happen. And then, there was always the stress of whether or not you made the guest list to Savannah SnowÒs annual blowout. But
Halloween took on a whole new level of stress when the girl you were crazy about was a
Caster.
I had no idea what to expect when Lena picked me up for school, a couple of blocks from my house, safely around the corner from the eyes in the back of AmmaÒs head.
ÓYouÒre not dressed up,Ô I said, surprised.
ÓWhat are you talking aboutØÔ
ÓI thought youÒd be wearing a costume or something.Ô I knew I sounded like an idiot the second the words came out of my mouth.
ÓOh, you think Casters dress up on Halloween and fly around on broomsØÔ She laughed.
ÓI didnÒt mean×Ô
ÓSorry to disappoint you. We just dress for dinner like we do on any other holiday.Ô
ÓSo itÒs a holiday for you guys, too.Ô
ÓItÒs the most sacred night of the year, and the most dangerous×the most important of the four High Holidays. ItÒs our version of New YearÒs Eve, the end of the old year and the beginning of the new.Ô
ÓWhat do you mean by dangerousØÔ
ÓMy gramma says itÒs the night when the veil between this world and the Otherworld, the world of spirits, is the thinnest. ItÒs a night of power and a night of remembrance.Ô
ÓThe OtherworldØ Is that like the afterlifeØÔ
ÓSort of. ItÒs the realm of spirits.Ô
ÓSo Halloween really is all about spirits and ghosts.Ô She rolled her eyes.
ÓWe remember the Casters who were persecuted for their differences. Men and women who were burned for using their gifts.Ô
ÓAre you talking about the Salem Witch TrialsØÒ
ÓI guess thatÒs what you call them. There were Witch Trials all along the eastern seaboard, not just in Salem. All over the world, even. The Salem Witch Trials are just the ones your textbooks mention.Ô She said ÓyourÔ like it was a dirty word, and today of all days, maybe it was.
We drove past the Stop & Steal. Boo was sitting by the stop sign at the corner. Waiting.
He saw the hearse and loped slowly after the car. ÓWe should just give that dog a ride already. He must be tired, following you around day and night.Ô
Lena glanced in her rearview mirror. ÓHeÒd never get in.Ô
I knew she was right. But as I turned back to look at him, I could have sworn he nodded.
I spotted Link in the parking lot. He was wearing a blond wig and a blue sweater with a
Wildcats patch sewn on it. He was even carrying pom-poms. He looked scary and sort of like his mom, actually. The basketball team had decided to dress up like Jackson cheerleaders this year. With everything else that had been going on, it had slipped my mind×at least thatÒs what I told myself. I was going to get a lot of crap for this, and Earl was just waiting for a reason to jump all over me. Since I had started hanging out with
Lena, I had developed a hot hand on the court. Now I was starting center instead of Earl, who was not too happy about it.
Lena swore there was nothing magic about it, at least not Caster magic. She came to one game and I made every shot. The drawback was, she was in my head throughout the game, asking me a thousand questions about foul shots and assists and the three-second rule. Turns out, she had never been to a game. It was worse than taking the Sisters to the
County Fair. After that, she skipped the games. I could tell she was listening, though, when I played. I could feel her there.
On the other hand, maybe she was the reason the cheer squad was having a tougher year than usual. Emily was having a hard time staying on top of the Wildcats pyramid, but I didnÒt ask Lena about that.
Today it was hard to pick out my teammates, until you got close enough to see the hairy legs and facial hair. Link caught up to us. He looked worse up close. He had tried to put on makeup, smeared pink lipstick and all. He hitched up his skirt, tugging on the straining pantyhose underneath.
ÓYou suck,Ô he said, pointing at me across a row of cars. ÓWhereÒs your costumeØÔ
ÓIÒm sorry, man. I forgot.Ô
ÓBull. You just didnÒt want to put all this crap on. I know you, Wate. You wussed out.Ô
ÓI swear, I just forgot.Ô
Lena smiled at Link. ÓI think you look great.Ô
ÓI donÒt know how you girls wear all this junk all over your face. It itches like hell.Ô
Lena made a face. She almost never wore makeup; she didnÒt have to. ÓYou know, itÒs not like we all sign a contract with Maybelline when we turn thirteen.Ô
Link patted his wig and stuffed another sock down his sweater. ÓTell that to Savannah.Ô
We walked up the front steps, and Boo was sitting on the lawn, next to the flagpole. I almost asked how that dog could have possibly beaten us to school, but by now I knew not to bother.
The halls were packed. It looked like half the school had skipped first period. The rest of the basketball team was hanging out in front of LinkÒs locker, also in drag, which was a big hit. Just not with me.
ÓWhereÒre your pom-poms, WateØÔ Emory shook one in my face. ÓWhatÒs the matterØ
Those chicken legs a yours didnÒt look good in the skirtØÔ
Shawn pulled on his sweater. ÓI bet none a the girls on the squad would lend him a skirt.Ô
A few of the guys laughed.
Emory put his arm around me, leaning in toward me. ÓWas that it, WateØ Or is it
Halloween every day, when youÒre hookinÒ up with a girl who lives in the Haunted
MansionØÔ
I grabbed him by the back of his sweater. One of the socks in his bra fell down to the floor. ÓYou want to do this now, EmØÔ
He shrugged. ÓYour call. Bound to happen sooner or later.Ô
Link stepped in between us. ÓLadies, ladies. WeÒre here to cheer. And you donÒt want to mess up that pretty face, Em.Ô
Earl shook his head, pushing Emory down the hall in front of him. As usual, he didnÒt say a word, but I knew the look.
Once you go down that road, Wate, thereÒs no goinÒ back.
It seemed like the basketball team was the talk of the school, until I saw the real cheer squad. Turns out, my teammates werenÒt the only ones who had come up with a group costume. Lena and I were on our way to English when we saw them.
ÓHoly crap.Ô Link hit my arm with the back of his hand.
ÓWhatØÔ
They were marching down the hall single file. Emily, Savannah, Eden, and Charlotte, followed by every member of the Jackson WildcatsÒ cheerleading squad. They were dressed exactly alike in ridiculously short black dresses, of course, pointy black boots, and tall, bent witchesÒ hats. But that wasnÒt the worst part. Their long black wigs were curled into wild ringlets. And in black makeup, just below their right eyes were painstakingly drawn exaggerated crescent moons. LenaÒs unmistakable birthmark. To complete the effect, they were carrying brooms, pretending to frantically sweep around peopleÒs feet as they walked down the hall, in procession.
WitchesØ On HalloweenØ How creative.
I squeezed her hand. Her expression didnÒt change, but I could feel her hand shaking.
IÒm sorry, Lena.
If they only knew.
I waited for the building to start shaking, the windows to blow out, something. But nothing happened. Lena just stood there, seething.
The future generation of the DAR headed toward us. I decided to meet them halfway.
ÓWhereÒs your costume, EmilyØ Did you forget it was HalloweenØÔ
Emily looked confused. Then she smiled at me, the sticky sweet smile of someone a little too proud of herself. ÓWhat are you talkinÒ about, EthanØ IsnÒt this what youÒre into nowØÔ
ÓWe were just tryinÒ to make your girlfriend feel at home,Ô Savannah said, smacking her gum.
Lena shot me a look.
Ethan, stop. YouÒll just make it worse for yourself.
I donÒt care.
I can handle this.
What happens to you happens to me.
Link walked up beside me, yanking up his stockings. ÓHey girls, I thought we were cominÒ as bitches. Oh wait, thatÒs every day.Ô
Lena smiled at Link in spite of herself.
ÓYou shut your mouth, Wesley Lincoln. IÒm gonna tell your mamma that youÒre hanginÒ out with that freak, and she wonÒt let you outta your house till Christmas.Ô
ÓYou know what that thing on her face is, donÒt youØÔ Emily smirked, pointing from
LenaÒs birthmark to the crescent sheÒd drawn on her cheek. ÓItÒs called a witchÒs mark.Ô
ÓDid you look that up online last nightØ YouÒre an even bigger idiot than I thought.Ô I laughed.
ÓYouÒre the idiot. YouÒre goinÒ out with her.Ô I was turning red, which was the last thing
I wanted to do. This wasnÒt a conversation I wanted to have in front of the whole school, not to mention the fact that I had no idea if Lena and I were even going out. We had kissed once. And we were always together, in one way or another. But she wasnÒt my girlfriend, at least I didnÒt think she was, even though I thought IÒd heard her say that at the Gathering. And what could I do, askØ Maybe it was one of those things that if you had to ask, the answer was probably no. There was some part of her that still seemed to be holding back from me, a part of her I just couldnÒt reach.
Emily jabbed me with the end of her broom. I could tell the whole Óstake in the heartÔ concept would be attractive to her, just about now.
ÓEmily, why donÒt you all go jump out a window. See if you can fly. Or not.Ô
Her eyes narrowed. ÓI hope you enjoy yourselves sittinÒ around the house together tonight, while the rest a the school is at SavannahÒs party. This will be the last holiday she spends at Jackson.Ô Emily spun around and marched back down the hall toward her locker, Savannah and their minions trailing behind her.
Link was joking around with Lena, trying to cheer her up, which wasnÒt hard, considering how ridiculous he looked. Like I said, I could always count on Link.
ÓThey really hate me. ItÒs never going to get old, is itØÔ Lena sighed.
Link broke into a cheer, jumping around and waving his pom-poms. ÓThey really hate you, yes they do. They hate everyone, how Òbout youØÔ
ÓIÒd be more worried if they liked you.Ô I leaned over and put my arm around her awkwardly, or tried to. She turned away, my hand barely brushing her shoulder. Great.
Not here.
Why notØ
YouÒre just making it worse for yourself.
IÒm a glutton for punishment.
ÓEnough of the PDA.Ô Link elbowed me in the ribs. ÓYouÒre gonna make me start feelinÒ bad for myself, now that IÒve doomed myself to another year without a date. WeÒre gonna be late for English, and I gotta take these pantyhose off on the way. IÒm gettinÒ a serious wedgie.Ô
ÓI just have to stop at my locker and get my book,Ô Lena said. Her hair began to curl around her shoulders. I was suspicious, but I didnÒt say anything.
Emily, Savannah, Charlotte, and Eden were standing in front of their lockers, primping in front of the mirrors hanging inside the doors. LenaÒs locker was only a little farther down the hall.
ÓJust ignore them,Ô I said.
Emily was rubbing her cheek with a Kleenex. The black moon-shaped mark was only smearing bigger and blacker, not coming off at all. ÓCharlotte, do you have any makeup removerØÔ
ÓSure.Ô
Emily wiped her cheek a few more times. ÓThis isnÒt cominÒ off. Savannah, I thought you said this stuff came off with soap and water.Ô
ÓIt does.Ô
ÓThen why isnÒt it cominÒ offØÔ Emily slammed her locker door, annoyed.
The drama got LinkÒs attention. ÓWhat are those four doinÒ over thereØÔ
ÓLookÒs like theyÒre having some kind of problem,Ô Lena said, leaning against her locker.
Savannah tried to wipe the black moon off her own cheek. ÓMine isnÒt cominÒ off, either.Ô The moon was now smeared across half her face. Savannah started digging around in her purse. ÓI have the pencil right here.Ô
Emily pulled her purse out of her locker, searching through it. ÓForget it. I have mine in my bag.Ô
ÓWhat the×Ô Savannah pulled something out of her bag.
ÓYou used SharpieØÔ Emily laughed.
Savannah held the marker up in front of her. ÓOf course not. I have no idea how this got in here.Ô
ÓYouÒre so lame. That will never come off before the party tonight.Ô
ÓI canÒt have this thing on my face all night. IÒm goinÒ dressed as a Greek Goddess, Aphrodite. This will completely ruin my costume.Ô
ÓYou shouldÒve been more careful.Ô Emily dug around in her little silver purse some more. She dumped her purse on the ground under her locker, lip gloss and nail polish bottles rolling around on the floor. ÓIt has to be here.Ô
ÓWhat are you talkinÒ aboutØÔ Charlotte asked.
ÓThe makeup I used this morninÒ, itÒs not here.Ô By now, Emily was attracting an audience; people were stopping to see what was going on. A Sharpie rolled out of
EmilyÒs purse into the middle of the hall.
ÓYou used Sharpie, tooØÔ
ÓOf course I didnÒt!Ô Emily shrieked, rubbing her face frantically. But the black moon only grew bigger and blacker like the others. ÓWhat the hell is goinÒ onØÔ
ÓI know I have mine,Ô Charlotte said, turning the lock on her locker door. She opened the door and stood there for a few seconds, staring inside.
ÓWhat is itØÔ Savannah demanded. Charlotte pulled her hand back out of her locker. She was holding a Sharpie.
Link shook his pom-pom. ÓCheerleaders rock!Ô
I looked at Lena.
SharpieØ
A mischievous smile spread across her face.
I thought you said you couldnÒt control your powers.
BeginnerÒs luck.
By the end of the day, everyone at Jackson was talking about the cheer squad.
Apparently, every one of the cheerleaders who dressed up as Lena had somehow used a
Sharpie to draw the innocuous crescent moon on her face, instead of eyeliner.
Cheerleaders. The jokes were endless.
All of them would be walking around school and the rest of town, singing in the church youth choirs, and cheering at the games, with Sharpie on their cheeks for the next few days, until it faded away. Mrs. Lincoln and Mrs. Snow were going to have a fit.
I just wished I could be there to see it.
After school, I walked Lena back to her car, which was really just an excuse to try to hold her hand a little longer. The intense physical feelings I had when I touched her werenÒt the deterrent you might have expected. No matter what it felt like, whether I was burning or blowing out light bulbs or getting struck by lightning, I had to be close to her. It was like eating, or breathing. I didnÒt have a choice. And that was scarier than a month of
Halloweens, and it was killing me.
ÓWhat are you doing tonightØÔ As she spoke, she pulled her hand absentmindedly through her hair. She was sitting on the hood of the hearse and I was standing in front of her.
ÓI thought maybe youÒd come over, and weÒd stay home and answer the door for trick-ortreaters. You can help me watch the lawn to make sure no one burns a cross on it.Ô I tried not to think too clearly about the rest of my plan, which involved Lena and our couch and old movies and Amma being gone for the night.
ÓI canÒt. ItÒs a High Holiday. I have relatives coming in from all over. Uncle M wonÒt let me out of the house for five minutes, not to mention the danger. IÒd never open my door to strangers on a night of such Dark power.Ô
ÓI never thought of it that way.Ô Until now.
By the time I got home, Amma was getting ready to leave. She was boiling a chicken on the stove and mixing biscuit batter with her hands, Óthe only way any self-respectinÒ woman makes her biscuits.Ô I looked at the pot suspiciously, wondering if this meal was going to make it to our dinner table or the GreatsÒ.
I pinched some dough, and she caught my hand.
ÓP. U. R. L. O. I. N. E. R.Ô I smiled.
ÓAs in, keep your thievinÒ hands off a my biscuits, Ethan Wate. IÒve got hungry people to feed.Ô Guess I wouldnÒt be eating chicken and biscuits tonight.
Amma always went home on Halloween. She said it was a special night at church, but my mom used to say it was just a good night for business. What better night to have your cards read than HalloweenØ You werenÒt going to get quite the same crowd on Easter or
ValentineÒs Day.
But in light of recent events, I wondered if there wasnÒt another reason. Maybe it was a good night for reading chicken bones in the graveyard, too. I couldnÒt ask, and I wasnÒt sure I wanted to know. I missed Amma, missed talking to her, missed trusting her. If she felt the difference, she didnÒt let on. Maybe she just thought I was growing up, or maybe I was.
ÓYou goinÒ to that party over at the SnowsÒØÔ
ÓNo, IÒm just gonna stay home this year.Ô
She raised an eyebrow, but she wasnÒt going to ask. She already knew why I wasnÒt going. ÓYou make your bed, you better be ready to lie in it.Ô
I didnÒt say anything. I knew better. She wasnÒt expecting a response.
ÓIÒm fixinÒ to go in a few minutes. You answer the door for those youngÒuns when they come around. Your daddyÒs busy workinÒ.Ô Like my dad was going to come out of his self-imposed exile to answer the door for trick-or-treaters.
ÓSure.Ô
The bags of candy were in the hall. I ripped them open and turned them over into a big glass bowl. I couldnÒt get LenaÒs words out of my head. A night of such Dark power. I remembered Ridley standing in front of her car, outside the Stop & Steal, all sticky sweet smiles and legs. Obviously, identifying Dark forces wasnÒt one of my talents, or deciding who you should and shouldnÒt open your front door for. Like I said, when the girl you couldnÒt stop thinking about was a Caster, Halloween took on a whole new meaning. I looked at the bowl of candy in my hands. Then I opened the front door, put the bowl out on the porch, and went back inside.
As I settled in to watch The Shining, I found myself missing Lena. I let my mind wander, because it usually found a way of wandering over to wherever she was, but she wasnÒt there. I fell asleep on the couch waiting for her to dream me, or something.
A knock at the door startled me. I looked at my watch. It was nearly ten, too late for trickor-treaters.
ÓAmmaØÔ
No answer. I heard knocking again.
ÓIs that youØÔ
The den was dark, and only the light of the TV was flickering. It was the moment in The
Shining when the dad chops down the hotel room door with his bloody axe to bludgeon his family. Not a great moment for answering any door, especially on Halloween.
Another knock.
ÓLinkØÔ I clicked off the TV and looked around for something to pick up, but there was nothing. I picked up an old game console, lying on the floor in a pile of video games. It wasnÒt a baseball bat, but some decently solid old-school Japanese technology. It had to weigh at least five pounds. I raised it over my head and took a step closer to the wall separating the den from the front hall. Another step, and I moved the lace curtain covering the glass-paned door, just a millimeter.
In the darkness of the unlit porch, I couldnÒt see her face. But I would recognize that old beige van, still running in the street in front of my house, anywhere. ÓDesert Sand,Ô she used to say. It was LinkÒs mom, holding a plate of brownies. I was still carrying the console. If Link saw me, heÒd never let me live this down.
ÓJust a minute, Mrs. Lincoln.Ô I flipped on the porch light, and unbolted the front door.
But when I tried to pull it open, the door jammed. I checked the lock again, and it was still bolted, even though I had just unbolted it.
ÓEthanØÔ
I unbolted the lock again. It bolted shut with a snap, before I could take my hand away from it. ÓMrs. Lincoln, IÒm sorry, my door seems to be stuck.Ô I rattled the door with all my weight, juggling the console. Something fell to the floor in front of me. I stopped to pick it up. Garlic, wrapped in one of AmmaÒs handkerchiefs. If I had to guess, there was one over every door and every windowsill. AmmaÒs little Halloween tradition.
Still, something was keeping the door from opening, just like something had tried to open the study door for me just days ago. How many bolts in this house were going to just keep locking and unlocking themselvesØ What was going onØ
I unbolted the lock one more time and gave the door a final pull. It flung open, banging against the wall in the front hall. Mrs. Lincoln was lit from behind, a dark figure in a pool of pale lamplight. The silhouette was unsettling.
She stared at the game console in my hand. ÓVideo games will rot your brain, Ethan.Ô
ÓYes, maÒam.Ô
ÓI brought you some brownies. A peace offerinÒ.Ô She held them out expectantly. I shouldÒve asked her to come in. There was a formula for everything. I guess you could call it manners, Southern hospitality. But I had tried that with Ridley, and it hadnÒt gone so well. I hesitated. ÓWhat are you doing out tonight, maÒamØ LinkÒs not here.Ô
ÓOf course heÒs not. HeÒs at the SnowsÒ, which is where every upstandinÒ member a the
Jackson High student body should be lucky enough to be. It took quite a number a phone calls on my part to get him an invitation, in light a his recent behavior.Ô
I still didnÒt get it. IÒd known Mrs. Lincoln my whole life. She had always been an odd duck. Busy getting books taken off the library shelves, teachers fired from the schools, reputations ruined in a single afternoon. Lately, she was different. The crusade against
Lena was different. Mrs. Lincoln had always had conviction, but this was personal.
ÓMaÒamØÔ
She looked agitated. ÓI made you brownies. I thought I could come in, and we could talk.
My fightÒs not with you, Ethan. ItÒs not your fault that girl is usinÒ her deviltry on you.
You should be at the party, with your friends. With the kids who belong here.Ô She held out the brownies, the gooey double chocolate chip fudge brownies that were always the first thing to go at the Baptist Church Bake Sale. I had grown up on those brownies.
ÓEthanØÔ
ÓMaÒam.Ô
ÓCan I come inØÔ
I didnÒt move a muscle. My grip tightened around the console. I stared at the brownies, and suddenly I didnÒt feel hungry at all. Not even the plate, not a crumb of that woman was welcome in my house. My house, like Ravenwood, was starting to have a mind of its own, and there was no part of me or my house that was going to let her in.
ÓNo, maÒam.Ô
ÓWhat was that, EthanØÔ
ÓNo. MaÒam.Ô
Her eyes narrowed. She pushed the plate toward me, as if she was going to come in anyway, but it jerked like it had hit an invisible wall between her and me. I saw the plate tumble, falling slowly to the ground until it shattered into a million bits of ceramic and chocolate, all over our Happy Halloween doormat. Amma would pitch a fit in the morning.
Mrs. Lincoln backed down the porch steps warily, and disappeared into the darkness of the old Desert Sand.
Ethan!
Her voice ripped me right out of my sleep. I must have drifted off. The horror marathon was over and the television had broken down into a loud, gray fuzz.
Uncle Macon! Ethan! Help!
Lena was screaming. Somewhere. I could hear the terror in her voice, and my head was pounding with such pain for a second I forgot where I was.
Someone please help me!
My front door was wide open, swinging and banging in the wind. The sound ricocheted off the walls, like gunfire.
I thought you said I was safe here!
Ravenwood.
I grabbed the car keys to the old Volvo, and ran.
I canÒt remember how I got to Ravenwood, but I know I nearly drove off the road a few times. My eyes could barely focus. Lena was in such intense pain, our connection so close, that I nearly blacked out just from feeling it through her.
And the screaming.
There was always the screaming, from the moment IÒd woken up, until the moment I pressed the crescent and let myself into Ravenwood Manor.
As the front door swung open, I could see Ravenwood had transformed itself once again.
Tonight, it was almost like some kind of ancient castle. Candelabras cast strange shadows down on the throngs of black-robed, black-gowned, black-jacketed guests, far outnumbering the guests at the Gathering.
Ethan! Hurry! I canÒt hold onÅ
ÓLena!Ô I yelled. ÓMacon! Where is sheØÔ
No one so much as looked my way. I didnÒt see anyone I recognized, though the front hall was crowded with guests, flowing from room to room like ghosts at a haunted dinner party. They were not from around here, at least not for hundreds of years. I saw men in dark kilts and rough Gaelic robes, women in corseted gowns. Everything was black, wrapped in shadow.
I pushed through the crowd and into what looked like a grand ballroom. I couldnÒt see any of them×no Aunt Del, no Reece, not even little Ryan. Candles sputtered into flame in the corners of the room, and what seemed to be a translucent orchestra of strange musical instruments shifted in and out of focus, playing themselves, while shadowy couples went spinning and gliding across the now stone floor. The dancers didnÒt even seem to be aware of me.
The music was clearly Caster music, conjuring a spell of its own. It was the strings, mostly. I could hear the violin, the viola, the cello. I could almost see the web that spun from dancer to dancer, the way they pulled each other in and out, as if there was a deliberate pattern, and they were all a part of the design. And I wasnÒt.
EthanI had to find her.
A sudden surge of pain. Her voice was growing quieter now. I stumbled, grabbing onto the shoulder of the robed guest next to me. All I did was touch him and the pain, LenaÒs pain, flowed through me and into him. He staggered, bumping into the couple dancing next to him.
ÓMacon!Ô I screamed at the top of my lungs.
I saw Boo Radley at the head of the stairs, like he was waiting for me. His round, human eyes looked terrified.
ÓBoo! Where is sheØÔ Boo looked at me, and I saw the clouded, steely gray eyes of
Macon Ravenwood; at least, I couldÒve have sworn I did. Then Boo turned and ran. I chased him, or I thought I was chasing him, running up the spiraling stone stairs of what was now Ravenwood Castle. At the landing, he waited for me to catch up, then ran toward a dark room at the end of the hall. From Boo, that was practically an invitation.
He barked, and two massive oaken doors groaned open by themselves. They were so far away from the party, I couldnÒt hear the music or the chatter of the guests. It was as if we had entered a different place and time. Even the castle was changing under my feet, the rock crumbling, the walls growing mossy and cold. The lights had become torches, hung on the walls.
I knew about old. Gatlin was old. I had grown up with old. This was something altogether different. Like Lena had said, a New Year. A night out of time.
When I entered the main chamber, I was struck by the sky. The room opened wide to the heavens, like a conservatory. The sky above it was black, the blackest sky IÒd ever seen.
Like we were in the middle of a terrible storm, yet the room was silent.
Lena lay on a heavy stone table, curled in a fetal position. She was soaking wet, drenched in her own sweat and writhing in pain. They were all standing around her×Macon, Aunt
Del, Barclay, Reece, Larkin, even Ryan, and a woman I didnÒt recognize, holding hands, forming a circle.
Their eyes were open, but they werenÒt seeing. They didnÒt even notice I was in the room.
I could see their mouths moving, mumbling something. As I stepped closer to Macon, I realized that they werenÒt speaking in English. I couldnÒt be sure, but IÒd spent enough time with Marian to think it was Latin.
ÓSanguis sanguinis mei, tutela tua est.
Sanguis sanguinis mei, tutela tua est.
Sanguis sanguinis mei, tutela tua est.
Sanguis sanguinis mei, tutela tua est.Ô
All I could hear was the quiet mumbling, the chanting. I couldnÒt hear Lena anymore. My head was empty. She was gone.
Lena! Answer me!
Nothing. She just lay there, moaning softly, twisting slowly like she was trying to shed her own skin. Still sweating, sweat mixed with tears.
Del broke the silence, hysterical. ÓMacon, do something! ItÒs not working.Ô
ÓIÒm trying, Delphine.Ô There was something in his voice IÒd never heard before. Fear.
ÓI donÒt understand. We Bound this place together. This house is the one place she was supposed to be safe.Ô Aunt Del looked at Macon for answers.
ÓWe were wrong. ThereÒs no safe haven for her here.Ô A beautiful woman about my grandmotherÒs age with spirals of black hair spoke. She wore strands of beads around her neck, piled one on top of the other, and ornate silver rings on her thumbs. She had the same exotic quality Marian possessed, as if she was from somewhere far from here.
ÓYou donÒt know that, Aunt Arelia,Ô Del snapped, turning to Reece. ÓReece, whatÒs happeningØ Can you see anythingØÔ
ReeceÒs eyes were closed, tears streaming down her face. ÓI canÒt see anything, Mamma.Ô
LenaÒs body seized and she screamed×at least she opened her mouth and looked as if she was screaming, but she didnÒt make a sound. I couldnÒt take it.
ÓDo something! Help her!Ô I shouted.
ÓWhat are you doinÒ hereØ Get out of here. ItÒs not safe,Ô Larkin warned. The family had noticed me for the first time.
ÓConcentrate!Ô Macon sounded desperate. His voice rose over the othersÒ, louder and louder, until he was shoutingÓSanguis sanguinis mei, tutela tua est!
Sanguis sanguinis mei, tutela tua est!
Sanguis sanguinis mei, tutela tua est!
Blood of my blood, protection is thine!Ô
The members of the circle tensed their arms as if to give the circle more strength, but it didnÒt work. Lena was still screaming, silent screams of terror. This was worse than the dreams. This was real. And if they werenÒt going to stop it, I would. I ran toward her, ducking under Reece and LarkinÒs arms.
ÓEthan, NO!Ô
As I entered the circle, I could hear it. A howl. Sinister, haunting, like the voice of the wind itself. Or was it a voiceØ I couldnÒt be sure. Even though it was only a few feet to the table where she was lying, it felt like it was a million miles away. Something was trying to push me back, something more powerful than anything IÒd ever felt before.
Even more powerful than when Ridley was freezing the life out of me. I pushed against it with everything I had in me.
IÒm coming, Lena! Hold on!
I threw my body forward, reaching, like I reached in the dreams. The black abyss in the sky began to spin.
I closed my eyes and lunged forward. Our fingers touched, barely.
I heard her voice.
Ethan. IÅ
The air inside the circle whipped around us violently, like a vortex. Swirling up toward the sky, if you could still call it a sky. Into the blackness. There was a surge, like an explosion, slamming Uncle Macon, Aunt Del, everyone onto their backs, into the walls behind them. In the same moment, the spinning air within the broken circle was sucked up into the blackness above.
Then it was over. The castle dissolved into a regular attic, with a regular window, swinging open under the eaves. Lena lay on the floor, in a tangle of hair and limbs and unconsciousness, but she was breathing.
Macon pulled himself up from the floor, staring at me, stunned. Then he walked over to the window and slammed it shut.
Aunt Del looked at me, tears still streaming down her face. ÓIf I hadnÒt seen it myselfÅÔ
I knelt at LenaÒs side. She couldnÒt move, couldnÒt speak. But she was alive. I could feel her, a tiny throb pulsing in her hand. I lay my head down next to her. It was all I could do not to collapse.
LenaÒs family slowly contracted around us, a dark circle talking over my head.
ÓI told you. The boy has power.Ô
ÓItÒs not possible. HeÒs a Mortal. HeÒs not one of us.Ô
ÓHow could a Mortal break a Sanguinis CircleØ How could a Mortal ward off a Mentem
Interficere so powerful that Ravenwood itself came all but UnboundØÔ
ÓI donÒt know, but there has to be an explanation.Ô Del raised her hand above her head.
ÓEvinco, contineo, colligo, includo.Ô She opened her eyes. ÓThe house is still Bound, Macon. I can feel it. But she got to Lena anyway.Ô
ÓOf course she did. We canÒt stop her from coming for the child.Ô
ÓSarafineÒs powers are growing by the day. Reece can see her now, when she looks in
LenaÒs eyes.Ô DelÒs voice was shaky.
ÓStriking us here, on this night. She was just making a point.Ô
ÓAnd what point would that be, MaconØÔ
ÓThat she can.Ô
I could feel a hand at my temple. It caressed me, moving across my forehead. I tried to listen, but the hand made me sleepy. I wanted to crawl home to my bed.
ÓOr that she canÒt.Ô I looked up. Arelia was rubbing my temples, as if I were a little broken sparrow. Only I could tell she was feeling for me, for what was inside me. She was searching for something, rummaging around in my mind as if she was looking for a lost button or an old sock. ÓShe was foolish. She made a critical error. WeÒve learned the only thing we really needed to know,Ô Arelia said.
ÓSo you agree with MaconØ The boy has powerØÔ Del sounded even more frantic now.
ÓYou were right before, Delphine. There must be some other explanation. HeÒs a Mortal, and we all know Mortals canÒt possess power on their own,Ô Macon snapped, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as anyone.
But I had begun to wonder if it wasnÒt true. He had said the same thing to Amma in the swamp, that I had some kind of power. It just didnÒt make sense, even to me. I wasnÒt one of them, that much I knew. I wasnÒt a Caster.
Arelia looked up at Macon. ÓYou can Bind the house all you want, Macon. But IÒm your mother and IÒm tellinÒ you that you can bring in every Duchannes, every Ravenwood, make the Circle as wide as this godforsaken county if you want. Cast all the Vincula you can. ItÒs not the house that protects her. ItÒs the boy. IÒve never seen anything like it. No
Caster can come between them.Ô
ÓSo it would seem.Ô Macon sounded angry, but he didnÒt challenge his mother. I was too tired to care. I didnÒt even lift my head.
I could hear Arelia whispering something in my ear. It seemed like she was speaking
Latin again, but the words sounded different.
ÓCruor pectoris mei, tutela tua est!
Blood of my heart, protection is thine!Ô
11.01
THE WRITING ON THE WALL
In the morning, I had no idea where I was. Then I saw the words covering the walls and the old iron bed and the windows and the mirrors, all scrawled with Sharpie in LenaÒs handwriting, and I remembered.
I lifted my head up, and wiped the drool off my cheek. Lena was still sacked out; I could just see the edge of her foot hanging over the side of the bed. I pushed myself up, my back stiff from sleeping on the floor. I wondered who had brought us down from the attic, or how.
My cell phone went off; my default alarm clock, so Amma would only have to yell up the stairs three times to get me up. Only today, it wasnÒt blaring ÓBohemian Rhapsody.Ô It was the song. Lena sat up, startled, groggy.
ÓWhat happ×Ô
ÓShh. Listen.Ô
The song had changed.
Sixteen moons, sixteen years, Sixteen times you dreamed my fears, Sixteen will try to Bind the spheres, Sixteen screams but just one hearsÅ
ÓStop it!Ô She grabbed my cell and turned it off, but the verse kept playing.
ÓItÒs about you, I think. But whatÒs Binding the spheresØÔ
ÓI almost died last night. IÒm sick of everything being about me. IÒm sick of all these weird things happening to me. Maybe the stupid song is about you, for a change. YouÒre actually the only sixteen-year-old here.Ô Frustrated, Lena flung her hand up in the air and opened it. She closed it into a fist, and banged it against the floor like she was killing a spider.
The music stopped. There was no messing with Lena today. I couldnÒt blame her, to be honest. She looked green and wobbly, maybe even worse than Link did the morning after
Savannah had dared him to drink the old bottle of peppermint schnapps out of her momÒs pantry, on the last day of school before winter break. Three years later and he still wouldnÒt eat a candy cane.
LenaÒs hair was sticking out in about fifteen directions, and her eyes were all small and puffy from crying. So this was what girls looked like in the morning. I had never seen one, not up close. I tried not to think about Amma and the hell I was going to pay when I got home.
I crawled up onto the bed and pulled Lena into my lap, running my hand through her crazy hair. ÓAre you okayØÔ
She shut her eyes and buried her face in my sweatshirt. I knew I must reek like a wild possum by now. ÓI think so.Ô
ÓI could hear you screaming, all the way from my house.Ô
ÓWho knew Kelting would save my life.Ô
I had missed something, as usual. ÓWhatÒs KeltingØÔ
ÓThatÒs what itÒs called, the way weÒre able to communicate with each other no matter where we are. Some Casters can Kelt, some canÒt. Ridley and I used to be able to talk to each other in school that way, but×Ô
ÓI thought you said it had never happened to you beforeØÔ
ÓItÒs never happened to me before with a Mortal. Uncle Macon says itÒs really rare.Ô
I like the sound of that.
Lena nudged me. ÓItÒs from the Celtic side of our family. ItÒs how Casters used to get messages to each other, during the Trials. In the States, they used to call it ÑThe
Whispering.ÒÔ
ÓBut IÒm not a Caster.Ô
ÓI know, itÒs really weird. ItÒs not supposed to work with Mortals.Ô Of course it wasnÒt.
ÓDonÒt you think itÒs a little more than weirdØ We can do this Kelting thing, Ridley got into Ravenwood because of me, even your uncle said I can protect you somehow. How is that possibleØ I mean, IÒm not a Caster. My parents are different, but theyÒre not that different.Ô
She leaned into my shoulder. ÓMaybe you donÒt have to be a Caster to have power.Ô
I pushed her hair behind her ear. ÓMaybe you just have to fall for one.Ô
I said it, just like that. No stupid jokes, no changing the subject. For once, I wasnÒt embarrassed, because it was the truth. I had fallen. I think I had always been falling. And she might as well know, if she didnÒt already, because there was no going back now. Not for me.
She looked up at me, and the whole world disappeared. Like there was just us, like there would always be just us, and we didnÒt need magic for that. It was sort of happy and sad, all at the same time. I couldnÒt be around her without feeling things, without feeling everything.
What are you thinkingØ
She smiled.
I think you can figure it out. You can read the writing on the wall.
And as she said it, there was writing on the wall. It appeared slowly, one word at a time.
YouÒre not the only one falling.
It wrote itself out, in the same curling black script as the rest of the room. LenaÒs cheeks flushed a little, and she covered her face with her hands. ÓItÒs going to be really embarrassing if everything I think starts showing up on the walls.Ô
ÓYou didnÒt mean to do thatØÔ
ÓNo.Ô
You donÒt need to be embarrassed, L.
I pulled her hands away.
Because I feel the same way about you.
Her eyes were closed, and I leaned in to kiss her. It was a tiny kiss, a nothing of a kiss.
But it made my heart race just the same.
She opened her eyes and smiled. ÓI want to hear the rest. I want to hear how you saved my life.Ô
ÓI donÒt even remember how I got here, and then I couldnÒt find you, and your house was full of all these creepy people who looked like they were at a costume party.Ô
ÓThey werenÒt.Ô
ÓI figured.Ô
ÓThen you found meØÔ She laid her head in my lap, looking up at me with a smile. ÓYou rode into the room on your white stallion and saved me from certain death at the hands of a Dark CasterØÔ
ÓDonÒt joke. It was really scary. And there was no stallion, it was more like a dog.Ô
ÓThe last thing I remember was Uncle Macon talking about the Binding.Ô Lena twirled her hair, thinking.
ÓWhat was the Circle thingØÔ
ÓThe Sanguinis Circle. The Circle of Blood.Ô
I tried not to look freaked out. I could barely stomach the idea of Amma and the chicken bones. I didnÒt think I could handle real chicken blood; at least, I hoped it was just chicken blood. ÓI didnÒt see the blood.Ô
ÓNot actual blood, you idiot. Blood as in kin, family. My whole family is here for the holiday, rememberØÔ
ÓRight. Sorry.Ô
ÓI told you. Halloween is a powerful night for Casting.Ô
ÓSo thatÒs what you were all doing up hereØ In that CircleØÔ
ÓMacon wanted to Bind Ravenwood. ItÒs always Bound, but he Binds it again every
Halloween for the New Year.Ô
ÓBut something went wrong.Ô
ÓI guess so, because we were in the circle, and then I could hear Uncle Macon talking to
Aunt Del, and then everyone was shouting, and they were all talking about a woman.
Sara something.Ô
ÓSarafine. I heard it, too.Ô
ÓSarafine. Was that the nameØ IÒve never heard it before.Ô
ÓShe must be a Dark Caster. They all seemed, I donÒt know, scared. IÒve never heard your uncle talk like that before. Do you know what was happeningØ Was she really trying to kill youØÔ I wasnÒt sure I wanted to know the answer.
ÓI donÒt know. I donÒt remember much, except this voice, like someone was talking to me from really far away. But I canÒt remember what they were saying.Ô She squirmed into my lap, awkwardly leaning against my chest. It almost seemed like I could feel her heart beating on top of mine, like a little fluttering bird in a cage. We were as close as two people could be, without looking at each other. Which was, this morning, the way I think we both needed it to be. ÓEthan. WeÒre running out of time. ItÒs no use. Whatever it was, whatever she was, donÒt you think she was coming for me, because in four months IÒm going to go DarkØÔ
ÓNo.Ô
ÓNoØ ThatÒs all you have to say about the worst night of my whole life, when I almost diedØÔ Lena pulled back.
ÓThink about it. Would this Sarafine, whoever she is, be hunting you down if you were one of the bad guysØ No, the good guys would be coming after you. Look at Ridley.
Nobody in your family was exactly pulling out the welcome mat for her.Ô
ÓExcept you. Jerk.Ô She jabbed me playfully in the ribs.
ÓExactly. Because IÒm not a Caster, IÒm a puny Mortal. And you said yourself, if she told me to jump off a cliff, IÒd do it.Ô
Lena tossed her hair. ÓDidnÒt your mamma ever ask you, Ethan Wate, if your friends were about to jump right off a cliff, would you jump, tooØÔ
I drew my arms around her, feeling happier than I shouldÒve, given last night. Or maybe it was Lena who was feeling better, and I was just picking up on it. These days, such a strong current flowed between us that it was hard to sort out what was me, and what was her.
All I knew was, I wanted to kiss her.
YouÒre going Light.
And so I did.
Definitely, Light.
I kissed her again, pulling her up into my arms. Kissing her was like breathing. I had to do it. I couldnÒt help myself. I pressed my body against hers. I could hear her breathing, feel her heart beating against my chest. My whole nervous system started firing at once.
My hair was standing on end. Her black hair spilled into my hands, and she relaxed into my body. Every touch of her hair was like a prick of electricity. I had been waiting to do this since I had first met her, since I had first dreamed about her.
It was like lightning striking. We were one thing.
Ethan.
Even in my head, I could hear the urgency in her voice. I felt it too, like I couldnÒt get close enough to her. Her skin was soft and hot. I could feel the pinpricks intensifying.
Our lips were raw; we couldnÒt kiss each other any harder. The bed started to shake, and then lift. I could feel it swaying underneath us. I felt like my lungs were collapsing. My skin went cold. The lights in the room flashed on and off, and the room was spinning, or maybe growing dark, only I couldnÒt tell and I didnÒt know if it was me, or if it was the light in the room.
Ethan!
The bed crashed to the floor. I heard the sound of splintering glass, in the distance, as if a window had shattered. I heard Lena crying.
Then the voice of a child. ÓWhatÒs wrong, Lena BeanaØ Why are you so sadØÔ
I felt a small, warm hand on my chest. The warmth radiated out from the hand, through my body, and the room stopped spinning, and I could breathe again, and I opened my eyes.
Ryan.
I sat up, my head pounding. Lena was next to me, her head pressed against my chest, just like she had been an hour before. Only this time, her windows were broken, her bed had collapsed, and a little blond ten-year-old was standing in front of me with her hand on my chest. Lena, still sniffling, tried to push part of a broken mirror away from me, and what was left of her bed.
ÓI think we figured out what Ryan is.Ô
Lena smiled, wiping her eyes. She pulled Ryan close. ÓA Thaumaturge. WeÒve never had one in our family.Ô
ÓIÒm guessing thatÒs a fancy Caster name for a healer,Ô I said, rubbing my head.
Lena nodded and kissed RyanÒs cheek.
ÓSomething like that.Ô
11.27
JUST YOUR AVERAGE AMERICAN HOLIDAY
After Halloween, it felt like the calm after the storm. We settled into a routine, even though we knew the clock was ticking. I walked to the corner to hide from Amma, Lena picked me up in the hearse, Boo Radley caught up with us in front of the Stop & Steal and followed us to school. With the occasional exception of Winnie Reid, the only member of the Jackson Debate team, which made debating difficult, or Robert Lester
Tate, who had won the State Spelling Bee two years in a row, the only person who would even sit with us in the cafeteria was Link. When we werenÒt at school eating on the bleachers, or being spied on by Principal Harper, we were holed up in the library rereading the locket papers and hoping Marian might slip up and tell us something. No sign of flirty Siren cousins bearing lollipops and death grips, no unexplained Category 3 storms or ominous black clouds in the sky, not even a weird meal with Macon. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Except for one thing. The most important thing. I was crazy about a girl who actually felt the same way about me. When did that ever happenØ The fact that she was a Caster was almost easier to believe than the fact that she existed at all.
I had Lena. She was powerful and she was beautiful. Every day was terrifying, and every day was perfect.
Until out of nowhere, the unthinkable happened. Amma invited Lena to Thanksgiving dinner.
ÓI donÒt know why you want to come over for Thanksgiving anyway. ItÒs pretty boring.Ô
I was nervous. Amma was obviously up to something.
Lena smiled, and I relaxed. There was nothing better than when she smiled. It blew me away every time. ÓI donÒt think it sounds boring.Ô
ÓYouÒve never been to Thanksgiving at my house.Ô
ÓIÒve never been to Thanksgiving at anyoneÒs house. Casters donÒt celebrate
Thanksgiving. ItÒs a Mortal holiday.Ô
ÓAre you kiddingØ No turkeyØ No pumpkin pieØÔ
ÓNope.Ô
ÓYou didnÒt eat much today, did youØÔ
ÓNot really.Ô
ÓThen youÒll be okay.Ô
I had prepped Lena ahead of time so she wouldnÒt be surprised when the Sisters wrapped extra biscuits in their dinner napkins and slipped them into their purses. Or when my
Aunt Caroline and Marian spent half the night debating the location of the first public library in the U.S. (Charleston) or the proper proportions for ÓCharleston greenÔ paint (two parts ÓYankeeÔ black and one part ÓRebelÔ yellow). Aunt Caroline was a museum curator in Savannah and she knew as much about period architecture and antiques as my mom had known about Civil War ammunition and battle strategy. Because thatÒs what
Lena had to be ready for×Amma, my crazy relatives, Marian, and Harlon James thrown in for good measure.
I left out the one detail she actually needed to know. Given how things had been lately, Thanksgiving probably also meant dinner with my dad in his pajamas. But that was something I just couldnÒt explain.
Amma took Thanksgiving really seriously, which meant two things. My dad would finally come out of his study, although technically it was after dark so that wasnÒt a big exception, and he would eat at the table with us. No Shredded Wheat. That was the absolute minimum Amma would allow. So in honor of my dadÒs pilgrimage into the world the rest of us inhabited every day, Amma cooked up a storm. Turkey, mashed potatoes with gravy, butter beans and creamed corn, sweet potatoes with marshmallows, honey ham and biscuits, pumpkin and lemon meringue pie, which, after my evening in the swamp, I was pretty sure she was making more for Uncle Abner than the rest of us.
I stopped for a second on the porch, remembering how I felt standing on the veranda at
Ravenwood the first night I showed up there. Now it was LenaÒs turn. She had pulled her dark hair away from her face, and I touched the place where it managed to escape, curling around her chin.
You readyØ
She pulled her black dress loose from her tights. She was nervous.
IÒm not.
You should be.
I grinned and pushed open the door. ÓReady or not.Ô The house smelled like my childhood. Like mashed potatoes and hard work.
ÓEthan Wate, is that youØÔ Amma called from the kitchen.
ÓYes, maÒam.Ô
ÓYou have that girl with youØ Bring her in here so we can get a look at her.Ô
The kitchen was sizzling. Amma was standing in front of the stove, in her apron, a wooden spoon in each hand. Aunt Prue was puttering around, sticking her fingers in the mixing bowls on the counter. Aunt Mercy and Aunt Grace were playing Scrabble at the kitchen table; neither one of them seemed to notice they werenÒt actually making any words.
ÓWell, donÒt just stand there. Bring her on in here.Ô
Every muscle in my body tensed. There was no way to predict what Amma, or the
Sisters, were going to say. I still had no idea why Amma had insisted I invite Lena in the first place.
Lena stepped forward. ÓItÒs nice to finally meet you.Ô
Amma looked Lena up and down, wiping her hands on her apron. ÓSo youÒre the one keepinÒ my boy so busy. Postman was right. Pretty as a picture.Ô I wondered if Carlton
Eaton had mentioned that on their ride to WaderÒs Creek.
Lena blushed. ÓThank you.Ô
ÓHeard youÒve shaken things up at that school.Ô Aunt Grace smiled. ÓA good thing, too. I donÒt know what theyÒre teachinÒ you kids over there.Ô
Aunt Mercy put down her tiles, one at a time. I-T-C-H-I-N.
Aunt Grace leaned closer to the board, squinting. ÓMercy Lynne, youÒre cheatinÒ again!
What kinda word is thatØ Use it in a sentence.Ô
ÓIÒm itchinÒ ta have some a that white cake.Ô
ÓThatÒs not how you spell it.Ô At least one of them could spell. Aunt Grace pulled one of the tiles off the board. ÓThereÒs no T in itchinÒ.Ô Or not.
You werenÒt exaggerating.
I told you.
ÓIs that Ethan I hearØÔ Aunt Caroline walked into the kitchen just in time, her arms open wide. ÓCome on over here and give your aunt a hug.Ô It always caught me off guard for a second, just how much she looked like my mother. The same long brown hair, always pulled back, the same dark brown eyes. But my mom had always preferred bare feet and jeans, while Aunt Caroline was more of a Southern Belle in sundresses and little sweaters. I think my aunt liked to see the expression on peopleÒs faces when they found out she was curator of the Savannah History Museum and not some aging debutante.
ÓHowÒre things up NorthØÔ Aunt Caroline always referred to Gatlin as Óup NorthÔ since it was north of Savannah.
ÓAll right. Did you bring me some pralinesØÔ
ÓDonÒt I alwaysØÔ
I took LenaÒs hand, pulling her toward us. ÓLena, this is my Aunt Caroline and my greataunts, Prudence, Mercy, and Grace.Ô
ÓItÒs a pleasure to meet you all.Ô Lena reached out her hand, but my Aunt Caroline pulled her in for a hug instead.
The front door slammed.
ÓHappy Thanksgiving.Ô Marian came in carrying a casserole dish and a pie plate stacked on top of one another. ÓWhat did I missØÔ
ÓSquirrels.Ô Aunt Prue shuffled over and looped her arm through MarianÒs. ÓWhat do you know about ÒemØÔ
ÓAll right, every one a you, clear on outta my kitchen. I need some space to work my magic, and Mercy Statham, I see you eatinÒ my Red Hots.Ô Aunt Mercy stopped crunching for a second. Lena looked over at me, trying not to smile.
I could call Kitchen.
Trust me, Amma doesnÒt need any help when it comes to cooking. SheÒs got some magic of her own.
Everyone crowded into the living room. Aunt Caroline and Aunt Prue were discussing how to grow persimmons on a sun porch and Aunt Grace and Aunt Mercy were still fighting over how to spell ÓitchinÒ,Ô while Marian refereed. It was enough to make anyone crazy, but when I saw Lena wedged between the Sisters, she looked happy, even content.
This is nice.
Are you kiddingØ
Was this her idea of a family holidayØ Casseroles and Scrabble and old ladies bickeringØ
I wasnÒt sure, but I knew this was about as far from the Gathering as you could get.
At least no one is trying to kill anyone.
Give them about fifteen minutes, L.
I caught AmmaÒs eye through the kitchen doorway, but it wasnÒt me she was looking at.
It was Lena.
She was definitely up to something.
Thanksgiving dinner unfolded as it had every year. Except nothing was the same. My father was in pajamas, my momÒs chair was empty, and I was holding hands with a
Caster girl under the table. For a second, it was overwhelming×feeling happy and sad at the same time×as if they were tied together somehow. But I only had a second to think about it; we had barely said ÓamenÔ before the Sisters started swiping biscuits, Amma was spooning heaping mounds of mashed potatoes and gravy on our plates, and Aunt
Caroline started with the small talk.
I knew what was going on. If there was enough work, enough talk, enough pie, maybe nobody would notice the empty chair. There wasnÒt enough pie in the world for that, not even in AmmaÒs kitchen.
Either way, Aunt Caroline was determined to keep me talking. ÓEthan, do you need to borrow anything for the reenactmentØ IÒve got some remarkably authentic-looking shell jackets in the attic.Ô
ÓDonÒt remind me.Ô IÒd almost forgotten I had to dress up as a Confederate soldier for the
Reenactment of the Battle of Honey Hill if I wanted to pass history this year. Every
February, there was a Civil War reenactment in Gatlin; it was the only reason tourists ever showed up here.
Lena reached for a biscuit. ÓI donÒt really understand why the reenactment is such a big deal. It seems like a lot of work to re-create a battle that happened over a hundred years ago, considering we can just read about it in our history books.Ô
Uh-oh.
Aunt Prue gasped; that was blasphemy as far as she was concerned. ÓThey should burn that school a yours ta the ground! TheyÒre not teachinÒ any kind a hisÒtry over there. You canÒt learn Òbout the War for Southern Independence in any textbook. You have ta see it for yourself, and every one a you kids should, because the same country that fought together in the American Revolution for independence, turned clear against itself in the
War.Ô
Ethan, say something. Change the subject.
Too late. SheÒs going to break into the ÓStar Spangled BannerÔ any second now.
Marian split a biscuit and filled it with ham. ÓMiss Statham is right. The Civil War turned this country against itself, oftentimes brother against brother. It was a tragic chapter in
American history. Over half a million men died, although more of them died from sickness than battle.Ô
ÓA tragic chapter, thatÒs what it was.Ô Aunt Prue nodded.
ÓNow donÒt get all worked up, Prudence Jane.Ô Aunt Grace patted her sisterÒs arm.
Aunt Prue swatted her hand away. ÓDonÒt tell me when IÒm worked up. IÒm just tryinÒ ta make sure they know the pigÒs head from its tail. IÒm the only one doinÒ any teachinÒ.
That school should be payinÒ me.Ô
I should have warned you not to get them started.
Now you tell me.
Lena shifted uncomfortably in her seat. ÓIÒm sorry. I didnÒt mean any disrespect. IÒve just never known anyone who was so knowledgeable about the War.Ô
Nice one. If by knowledgeable you mean obsessed.
ÓNow donÒt you feel bad, sweetheart. Prudence Jane just gets her britches in a twist every now and again.Ô Aunt Grace elbowed Aunt Prue.
ThatÒs why we put whiskey in her tea.
ÓItÒs all that peanut brittle Carlton brought by.Ô Aunt Prue looked at Lena apologetically.
ÓI have a hard time with too much sugar.Ô
A hard time staying away from it.
My dad coughed and absentmindedly pushed his mashed potatoes around his plate. Lena saw an opportunity to change the subject. ÓSo Ethan says youÒre a writer, Mr. Wate.
What kind of books do you writeØÔ
My dad looked up at her, but didnÒt say anything. He probably didnÒt even realize Lena was talking to him.
ÓMitchellÒs workinÒ on a new book. ItÒs a big one. Maybe the most important one heÒs ever written. And MitchellÒs written a mess a books. How many is it now, MitchellØÔ
Amma asked, like she was talking to a child. She knew how many books my dad had published.
ÓThirteen,Ô he mumbled.
Lena wasnÒt discouraged by my dadÒs frightening social skills, even though I was. I looked at him, hair uncombed, black circles under his eyes. When had it gotten this badØ
Lena pressed on. ÓWhatÒs your book aboutØÔ
My dad came back to life, animated for the first time this evening. ÓItÒs a love story. ItÒs really been a journey, this book. The great American novel. Some might say The Sound and the Fury of my career, but I canÒt really talk about the plot. Not really. Not at this point. Not when IÒm so closeÅ toÅÔ He was rambling. Then he just stopped talking, like someone had flipped a switch in his back. He stared at my momÒs empty chair as he drifted away.
Amma looked anxious. Aunt Caroline tried to distract everyone from what was quickly becoming the most embarrassing night of my life. ÓLena, where did you say you moved here fromØÔ
But I couldnÒt hear her answer. I couldnÒt hear anything. Instead, all I could see was everything moving in slow motion. Blurring, expanding and contracting, like the way heat waves look as they move through the air.
ThenThe room was frozen, except it wasnÒt. I was frozen. My father was frozen. His eyes were narrow, his lips rounded to form sounds that hadnÒt had a chance to escape his lips. Still staring at the plateful of mashed potatoes, untouched. The Sisters, Aunt Caroline, and
Marian were like statues. Even the air was perfectly still. The pendulum of the grandfather clock had stopped in mid-swing.
EthanØ Are you all rightØ
I tried to answer her, but I couldnÒt. When Ridley had me in her death grip, I had been sure I was going to freeze to death. Now I was frozen, except I wasnÒt cold and I wasnÒt dead.
ÓDid I do thisØÔ Lena asked aloud.
Only Amma could answer. ÓCast a Time BindØ YouØ About as likely as this turkey hatchinÒ a gator.Ô She snorted. ÓNo, you didnÒt do this, child. This is bigger than you. The
Greats figured it was time we had ourselves a talk, woman to woman. Nobody can hear us now.Ô
Except me. I can hear you.
But the words didnÒt come out. I could hear them talking, but I couldnÒt make a sound.
Amma looked up at the ceiling, ÓThank you, Aunt Delilah. ÒPreciate the help.Ô She walked over to the buffet and cut a piece of pumpkin pie. She put it on a fancy china plate and laid the plate in the center of the table. ÓNow IÒm gonna leave this piece for you and the Greats, and you be sure to remember I did.Ô
ÓWhatÒs going onØ What did you do to themØÔ
ÓDidnÒt do anything to them. Just bought us some time, I reckon.Ô
ÓAre you a CasterØÔ
ÓNo, IÒm just a Seer. I see what needs to be seen, what no one else can see, or wants to.Ô
ÓDid you stop timeØÔ Casters could do that, stop time. Lena had told me. But only incredibly powerful ones.
ÓI didnÒt do a thing. I only asked the Greats for some assistance and Aunt Delilah obliged.Ô
Lena looked confused, or frightened. ÓWho are the GreatsØÔ
ÓThe Greats are my family from the Otherworld. They give me some help every now and again, and theyÒre not alone. TheyÒve got others with them.Ô Amma leaned across the table, looking Lena in the eye. ÓWhy arenÒt you wearinÒ the braceletØÔ
ÓWhatØÔ
ÓDidnÒt Melchizedek give it to youØ I told him you needed to wear it.Ô
ÓHe gave it to me, but I took it off.Ô
ÓNow why would you go and do a thing like thatØÔ
ÓWe figured out it was blocking the visions.Ô
ÓIt was blockinÒ somethinÒ all right. Until you stopped wearinÒ it.Ô
ÓWhat was it blockingØÔ
Amma reached out and took LenaÒs hand in her own, turning it over to reveal her palm.
ÓI didnÒt want to be the one to tell you this, child. But Melchizedek, your family, they arenÒt gonna tell you, not one a them. And you need to be told. You need to be prepared.Ô
ÓPrepared for whatØÔ
Amma looked at the ceiling, mumbling under her breath. ÓSheÒs cominÒ, child. SheÒs cominÒ for you, and sheÒs a force to be reckoned with. As Dark as night.Ô
ÓWhoØ WhoÒs coming for meØÔ
ÓI wish theyÒd told you themselves. I didnÒt want to be the one. But the Greats, they say somebody has to tell you before itÒs too late.Ô
ÓTell me whatØ WhoÒs coming, AmmaØÔ
Amma pulled a small pouch that was dangling from a leather cord around her neck out of her shirt and clutched it, lowering her voice like she was afraid someone might hear her.
ÓSarafine. The Dark One.Ô
ÓWhoÒs SarafineØÔ
Amma hesitated, clutching the pouch even tighter.
ÓYour mamma.Ô
ÓI donÒt understand. My parents died when I was a child, and my motherÒs name was
Sara. IÒve seen it on my family tree.Ô
ÓYour daddy died, thatÒs the truth, but your mammaÒs alive as sure as IÒm standinÒ here.
And you know the thing about family trees down South, theyÒre never quite as right as they claim to be.Ô
The color drained from LenaÒs face. I strained to reach out and take her hand, but only my finger trembled. I was powerless. I couldnÒt do anything but watch as she tumbled into a dark place, alone. Just like in the dreams. ÓAnd sheÒs DarkØÔ
ÓSheÒs the Darkest Caster livinÒ today.Ô
ÓWhy didnÒt my uncle tell meØ Or my grammaØ They said she was dead. Why would they lie to meØÔ
ÓThereÒs the truth and then thereÒs the truth. They arenÒt likely the same thing. I reckon they were tryinÒ to protect you. They still think they can. But the Greats, theyÒre not so sure. I didnÒt want to be the one to tell you, but MelchizedekÒs a stubborn one.Ô
ÓWhy are you trying to help meØ I thought×I thought you didnÒt like me.Ô
ÓDoesnÒt have anything to do with likinÒ or not likinÒ. SheÒs cominÒ for you, and you donÒt need any distractions.Ô Amma raised an eyebrow. ÓAnd I donÒt want anything to happen to my boy. This is bigger than you, bigger than the both a you.
ÓWhatÒs bigger than both of usØÔ
ÓAll of it. You and Ethan just arenÒt meant to be.Ô
Lena looked confused. Amma was talking in riddles again. ÓWhat do you meanØÔ
Amma jerked around as if someone behind her had tapped her on the shoulder. ÓWhatÒd you say, Aunt DelilahØÔ Amma turned to Lena. ÓWe donÒt have much time left.Ô
The pendulum on the clock began to move almost imperceptibly. The room began to come back to life. My dadÒs eyes started to blink slowly, so that it took seconds for his lashes to brush his cheeks.
ÓYou put that bracelet back on. You need all the help you can get.Ô
Time snapped back into placeI blinked a few times, glancing around the room. My father was still staring at his potatoes. Aunt Mercy was still wrapping a biscuit in her napkin. I lifted my hands in front of my face, wiggling my fingers. ÓWhat the hell was thatØÔ
ÓEthan Wate!Ô Aunt Grace gasped.
Amma was splitting her biscuits and filling them with ham. She looked up at me, caught off guard. It was obvious she hadnÒt intended for me to hear their little girl talk. She gave me the Look. Meaning, you keep your mouth shut, Ethan Wate.
ÓDonÒt you use that kinda language at my table. YouÒre not too old for me to wash your mouth out with a bar a soap. What do you think it isØ Ham and biscuits. Turkey and stuffing. Now I been cookinÒ all day, I expect you to eat.Ô
I looked over at Lena. The smile was gone. She was staring at her plate.
Lena Beana. Come back to me. I wonÒt let anything happen to you. YouÒll be okay.
But she was too far away.
Lena didnÒt say a word the whole way home. When we got to Ravenwood, she yanked open the car door, slammed it behind her, and took off toward the house without a word.
I almost didnÒt follow her in. My head was reeling. I couldnÒt imagine what Lena was feeling. It was bad enough to lose your mother, but even I couldnÒt guess what it would feel like to find out your mother wanted you dead.
My mother was lost to me, but I wasnÒt lost. She had anchored me, to Amma, my father, Link, Gatlin, before she left. I felt her in the streets, my house, the library, even the pantry. Lena had never had that. She was cut loose and coming unmoored, Amma would say, like the poor manÒs ferries on the swamp.
I wanted to be her anchor. But right now, I didnÒt think anyone could.
Lena stalked past Boo, who was sitting on the front veranda not even panting, even though he had dutifully run behind our car the whole way home. He had also sat in my front yard all through dinner. He seemed to like the sweet potatoes and little marshmallows, which I had chucked out the front door when Amma went into the kitchen for more gravy.
I could hear her shouting from inside the house. I sighed, got out of the car, and sat down on the porch steps next to the dog. My head was already pounding, a sugar low. ÓUncle
Macon! Uncle Macon! Wake up! The sunÒs down, I know youÒre not asleep in there!Ô
I could hear Lena yelling from inside my head, too.
The sunÒs down, I know youÒre not asleep!
I was waiting for the day Lena was going to spring it on me and tell me the truth about
Macon, like sheÒd told me the truth about herself. Whatever he was, he didnÒt seem like an ordinary Caster, if there even was such a thing. The way he slept all day and just appeared and disappeared wherever he felt like it, you didnÒt need to be a genius to see where that was going. Still, I wasnÒt sure I wanted to go there today.
Boo stared at me. I reached out my hand to pet him, and he twisted his head away, as if to say, weÒre good. Please donÒt touch me, boy. When we heard things start to break inside, Boo and I got up and followed the noise. Lena was banging on one of the doors upstairs.
The house had reverted to what I suspected was MaconÒs preferred state, dilapidated antebellum finery. I was secretly relieved not to be standing in a castle. I wished I could stop time and go back three hours. To be honest, I would have been perfectly happy if
LenaÒs house had transformed into a doublewide trailer, and we were all sitting in front of a bowl of leftover stuffing, like the rest of Gatlin.
ÓMy motherØ My own motherØÔ
The door flung open. Macon stood there in the doorway, a disheveled mess. He was in rumpled linen pajamas, only what it really was, I hate to say, was more of a nightdress.
His eyes were redder than usual and his skin whiter, his hair tousled. He looked like he had been run over by a Mack truck.
In his own way, he wasnÒt all that different from my dad, a fine mess. Maybe a finer mess. Except the nightdress; my dad wouldnÒt be caught dead in a dress.
ÓMy mother is SarafineØ That thing that tried to kill me on HalloweenØ How could you keep this from meØÔ
Macon shook his head and rubbed his hand over his hair, annoyed. ÓAmarie.Ô I wouldÒve paid anything to see Macon and Amma square off in a fight. My money would be on
Amma, all the way.
Macon stepped across his doorway, pulling the door shut behind him. I caught a glimpse of his bedroom. It looked like something out of Phantom of the Opera, with wrought iron candelabras standing taller than I was and a black four-poster bed draped with gray and black velvet. The windows were draped with the same material, hanging sullenly over the black plantation shutters. Even the walls were upholstered in fraying black and gray fabric that was probably a hundred years old. The room was pitch dark, dark as night.
The effect was chilling.
Darkness, real darkness, was something more than just a lack of light.
As Macon stepped through the doorway, he emerged into the hall perfectly dressed, not a hair out of place on his head, not a wrinkle in his slacks or crisp white shirt. Even the smooth buckskin shoes were without a scuff. He looked nothing like he had a moment before, and all heÒd done was step through his own bedroom door.
I looked at Lena. She hadnÒt even noticed, and I felt cold, remembering for a moment how different her life must have always been than mine. ÓMy motherÒs aliveØ
ÓIÒm afraid itÒs a bit more complicated than that.Ô
ÓYou mean, the part about how my own mother wants to kill meØ When were you going to tell me, Uncle MaconØ When I was already ClaimedØÔ
ÓPlease donÒt start this again. YouÒre not going Dark.Ô Macon sighed.
ÓI canÒt imagine how you can think otherwise. Since I am the daughter of, and I quote, Ñthe Darkest Caster living todayÒ.Ô
ÓI understand youÒre upset. This is a lot to take in, and I should have told you myself. But you have to believe I was trying to protect you.Ô
Lena was more than just angry now. ÓProtect me! You let me believe that Halloween was just some random attack, but it was my mother! My mother is alive, and she was trying to kill me, and you didnÒt think I should know about itØÔ
ÓWe donÒt know that sheÒs trying to kill you.Ô
Picture frames started to bang against the walls. The bulbs in the fixtures lining the hallway shorted out one by one, down the length of the hallway. The sound of rain pelted the shutters.
ÓHavenÒt we had enough bad weather in the last few weeksØÔ
ÓWhat else have you been lying aboutØ What am I going to find out nextØ That my father is alive, tooØÔ
ÓIÒm afraid not.Ô He said it like it was a tragedy, something too sad to talk about. It was the same tone people used when they talked about my motherÒs death.
ÓYou have to help me.Ô Her voice was cracking.
ÓI will do everything in my power to help you, Lena. I always have.Ô
ÓThatÒs not true,Ô she spat back at him. ÓYou havenÒt told me about my powers. You havenÒt taught me how to protect myself.Ô
ÓI donÒt know the scope of your powers. YouÒre a Natural. When you need to do something, youÒll do it. In your own way, in your own time.Ô
ÓMy own mother wants to kill me. I donÒt have any time.Ô
ÓAs I said before, we donÒt know that sheÒs trying to kill you.Ô
ÓThen how do you explain HalloweenØÔ
ÓThere are other possibilities. Del and I are trying to work that out.Ô Macon turned away from her, as if he was going to go back into his room. ÓYou need to calm down. We can talk about this later.Ô
Lena turned toward a vase, sitting on the credenza at the end of the hall. As if pulled by a string, the vase followed her eyes to the wall next to MaconÒs bedroom door, flying across the room and smashing against the plaster. It was far enough from Macon to be sure it wouldnÒt have hit him, but close enough to make a point. It wasnÒt an accident.
It wasnÒt one of those times Lena had lost control and things just happened. She had done this on purpose. She was in control.
Macon spun around so fast I didnÒt even see him move, but he was standing in front of
Lena. He was as shocked as I was, and he had come to the same realization; it was no accident. And the look on her face told me she was just as surprised. He looked hurt, as hurt as Macon Ravenwood was capable of looking. ÓAs I said, when you need to do something, youÒll do it.Ô
Macon turned to me. ÓIt will be even more dangerous, IÒm afraid, in the coming weeks.
Things have changed. DonÒt leave her alone. When she is here, I can protect her, but my mother was right. It seems you can also protect her, perhaps better than I can.Ô
ÓHelloØ I can hear you!Ô Lena had recovered from her display of power and the look on
MaconÒs face. I knew sheÒd torture herself over it later, but right now she was too angry to see that. ÓDonÒt talk about me like IÒm not in the room.Ô
A lightbulb exploded behind him, and he didnÒt even flinch.
ÓAre you listening to yourselfØ I need to know! IÒm the one being hunted. IÒm the one she wants, and I donÒt even know why.Ô
They stared at each other, a Ravenwood and a Duchannes, two branches of the same twisted Caster tree. I wondered if this would be a good time for me to go.
Macon looked at me. His face said yes.
Lena looked at me. Hers said no.
She grabbed me by the hand, and I could feel the heat, burning. She was on fire, as angry as IÒd ever seen her. I couldnÒt believe every window in the house hadnÒt blown out.
ÓYou know why sheÒs hunting me, donÒt youØÔ
ÓItÒs×Ô
ÓLet me guess, complicatedØÔ The two of them stared at each other. LenaÒs hair was curling. Macon was twisting his silver ring.
Boo was backing away on his belly. Smart dog. I wished I could crawl out of the room, too. The last of the bulbs blew, and we were standing in the dark.
ÓYou have to tell me everything you know about my powers.Ô Those were her terms.
Macon sighed, and the darkness began to dissipate. ÓLena. ItÒs not as if I donÒt want to tell you. After your little demonstration, itÒs clear that I donÒt even know what youÒre capable of. No one does. I suspect, not even you.Ô She wasnÒt completely convinced, but she was listening. ÓThatÒs what it means to be a Natural. ItÒs part of the gift.Ô
She began to relax. The battle was over, and she had won it, for now. ÓThen what am I going to doØÔ
Macon looked distressingly like my father when he came into my room when I was in fifth grade to explain the birds and the bees. ÓComing into your powers can be a very confusing time. Perhaps there is a book on the subject. If you like, we can go see
Marian.Ô
Yeah, right. Choices and Changes. A Modern GirlÒs Guide to Casting. My Mom Wants to
Kill Me: A Self-Help Book for Teens.
It was going to be a long few weeks.
11.28
DOMUS LUNAE LIBRI
TodayØ But itÒs not a holiday.Ô When I opened the front door, Marian was the last person
I had expected to see, standing on my doorstep in her coat. Now I was sitting with Lena on the cold bench seat of MarianÒs old turquoise truck, on our way to the Caster Library.
ÓA promise is a promise. ItÒs the day after Thanksgiving. Black Friday. It may not seem like a holiday, but it is a bank holiday, and thatÒs all we need.Ô Marian was right. Amma had probably been in the line at the mall with a handful of coupons since before dawn; it was dark out now, and she still wasnÒt back. ÓThe Gatlin County Library is closed, so the
Caster Library is open.Ô
ÓSame hoursØÔ I asked Marian, as she turned onto Main.
She nodded. ÓNine to six.Ô Then, winking, ÓNine p.m. to six a.m. Not all my clientele can venture out in the daylight.Ô
ÓThat hardly seems fair,Ô complained Lena. ÓThe Mortals get so much more time, and they donÒt even read around here.Ô
Marian shrugged. ÓLike I said, I do get paid by Gatlin County. Take it up with them. But think how much longer youÒll have until your Lunae Libri are due back.Ô
I looked blank.
ÓLunae Libri. Roughly translated, Books of the Moon. You might call them Caster
Scrolls.Ô
I didnÒt care what you called them. I couldnÒt wait to see what the books in the Caster
Library would tell us, or one book in particular. Because we were short on two things: answers and time.
When we piled out of the truck, I couldnÒt believe where we were. MarianÒs truck was parked at the curb, not ten feet from the Gatlin Historical Society, or, as my mom and
Marian liked to say, the Gatlin Hysterical Society. The Historical Society was also the
DAR headquarters. Marian had pulled her truck forward enough to avoid the puddle of light spilling down to the pavement from the lamppost.
Boo Radley was sitting on the sidewalk, as if he had known.
ÓHereØ The Lunae whatever is at the DAR headquartersØÔ
ÓDomus Lunae Libri. The House of The Book of Moons. Lunae Libri, for short. And no, just the Gatlin entrance.Ô I burst out laughing. ÓYou have your motherÒs appreciation for irony.Ô We walked up to the deserted building. We couldnÒt have picked a better night.
ÓBut itÒs not a joke. The Historical Society is the oldest building in the County, next to
Ravenwood itself. Nothing else survived the Great Burning,Ô Marian added.
ÓBut the DAR and the CastersØ How could they have anything in commonØÔ Lena was dumbfounded.
ÓI expect youÒll find they have quite a bit more in common than you think.Ô Marian hurried toward the old stone building, drawing out her familiar key ring. ÓI, for example, am a member of both societies.Ô I looked at Marian in disbelief. ÓIÒm neutral. I thought I made myself perfectly clear. IÒm not like you. YouÒre like Lila, you get too involvedÅ.Ô
I could finish that sentence for myself. And look what happened to her.
Marian froze, but the words hung in the air. There was nothing she could say or do to take them back. I felt numb, but I didnÒt say anything. Lena reached for my hand, and I could feel her pulling me out of myself.
Ethan. Are you okayØ
Marian looked at her watch again. ÓItÒs five to nine. Technically, I shouldnÒt let you in yet. But I need to be downstairs by nine, in case we have any other visitors this evening.
Follow me.Ô
We made our way into the dark yard behind the building. She fumbled through her keys until she drew out what I had always thought was a keychain, because it didnÒt look like a key at all. It was an iron ring, with one hinged side. With an expert hand, Marian twisted the hinge until it snapped back upon itself, turning the circle into a crescent. A Caster moon.
She pushed the key into what appeared to be an iron grating, in the foundation at the back of the building. She twisted the key, and the grating slid open. Behind the grating was a dark stone staircase leading down into even more darkness, the basement beneath the basement of the DAR. As she snapped the key one more rotation to the left, a row of torches lit themselves along the sides of the wall. Now the stairwell was fully illuminated with flickering light, and I could even see a glimpse of the words domus lunae libri etched into the stone archway of the entrance below. Marian snapped the key once more, and the stairs disappeared, replaced by the iron grating once again.
ÓThatÒs itØ We arenÒt going to go inØÔ Lena sounded annoyed.
Marian stuck her hand through the grating. It was an illusion. ÓI canÒt Cast, as you know, but something had to be done. Strays kept wandering in at night. Macon had Larkin rig it for me, and he stops by to keep it intact, every now and then.Ô
Marian looked at us, suddenly somber. ÓAll right, then. If youÒre sure this is what you want to do, I canÒt stop you. Nor can I guide you in any way, once youÒre downstairs. I canÒt prevent you from taking a book, or take one back from you before the Lunae Libri opens itself again.Ô
She put her hand on my shoulder. ÓDo you understand, EthanØ This isnÒt a game. There are powerful books down there×Binding books, Caster scrolls, Dark and Light talismans, objects of power. Things no Mortal has ever seen, except me, and my predecessors. Many of the books are charmed, others are jinxed. You have to be careful.
Touch nothing. Let Lena handle the books for you.Ô
LenaÒs hair was waving. She was already feeling the magic of this place. I nodded, wary.
What I was feeling was less magical, my stomach churning like I was the one who drank too much peppermint schnapps. I wondered how often Mrs. Lincoln and her cronies had paced back and forth on the floor above us, oblivious to what was below them.
ÓNo matter what you find, remember we have to be out before sunrise. Nine to six. Those are the library hours, and the entrance can only be made to open during that time. The sun will rise precisely at six; it always does, on a Library Day. If you arenÒt up the stairs by sunrise, you will be trapped until the next Library Day, and I have no way of knowing how well a Mortal could survive that experience. Have I made myself perfectly clearØÔ
Lena nodded, taking my hand. ÓCan we go in nowØ I canÒt wait.Ô
ÓI canÒt believe IÒm doing this. Your Uncle Macon and Amma would kill me if they knew.Ô Marian checked her watch. ÓAfter you.Ô
ÓMarianØ Have you×did my mother ever see thisØÔ I couldnÒt let it go. I couldnÒt think about anything else.
Marian looked at me, her eyes strangely sparkling. ÓYour mother was the person who gave me the job.Ô
And with that, she disappeared in front of us through the illusionary grating, and down into the Lunae Libri below. Boo Radley barked, but it was too late to turn back now.
The steps were cold and mossy, the air dank. Wet things, scurrying things, burrowing things×it wasnÒt hard to imagine them making themselves comfortable down here.
I tried not to think about MarianÒs last words. I couldnÒt imagine my mother coming down these stairs. I couldnÒt imagine her knowing anything about this world IÒd just stumbled onto, more like, this world that had stumbled onto me. But she had, and I couldnÒt stop wondering how. Had she stumbled onto it too, or had someone invited her inØ Somehow, it made it all seem more real, that my mother and I shared this secret, even if she wasnÒt here to share it with me.
But I was the one here now, walking down the stone steps, carved and flat like the floor of an old church. Along either side of the stairs I could see rough stone boulders, the foundations of an ancient room that had existed on the site of the DAR building, long before the structure itself had been built. I looked down the stairs, but all I could see were rough outlines, shapes in the dark. It didnÒt look like a library. It looked like what it probably was, what it had always been. A crypt.
At the bottom of the stairs, in the shadows of the crypt, countless tiny domes curved overhead where the columns jutted up into the vaulted ceiling, forty or fifty in all. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I could see that each column was different, and some of them were tilted, like crooked old oaks. Their shadows made the circular chamber seem like some kind of quiet, dark forest. It was a terrifying room to be in. There was no way of knowing how far back it went, since every direction dissolved into darkness.
Marian inserted her key into the first column, marked with a moon. The torches along the walls lit themselves, illuminating the room with flickering light.
ÓTheyÒre beautiful,Ô Lena breathed. I could see her hair still twisting, and wondered how this place must feel to her, in ways I could never know.
Alive. Powerful. Like the truth, every truth, is here, somewhere.
ÓCollected from all over the world, long before my time. Istanbul.Ô Marian pointed to the tops of the columns, the decorated parts, the capitals. ÓTaken from Babylon.Ô She pointed to another one, with four hawk heads poking out from each side. ÓEgypt, the Eye of
God.Ô She patted another, dramatically carved with a lionÒs head. ÓAssyria.Ô
I felt along the wall with my hand. Even the stones of the walls were carved. Some were cut with faces, of men, creatures, birds, staring from between the forest of columns, like predators. Other stones were carved with symbols I didnÒt recognize, hieroglyphs of
Casters and cultures IÒd never know.
We moved farther into the chamber, out of the crypt, which seemed to serve as some sort of lobby, and again torches burst into flame, one after another, as if they were following us. I could see that the columns curved around a stone table in the middle of the room.
The stacks, or what I guessed were the stacks, radiated out from the central circle like the spokes of a wheel, and seemed to rise up almost to the ceiling, creating a frightening maze I imagined a Mortal could get lost in. In the room itself, there was nothing but the columns, and the circular stone table.
Marian calmly picked up a torch from an iron crescent on the wall and handed it to me.
She handed another to Lena, and took one for herself. ÓHave a look around. I have to check the mail. I may have a transfer request from another branch.Ô
ÓFor the Lunae LibriØÔ I hadnÒt considered that there might be other Caster libraries.
ÓOf course.Ô Marian turned back toward the stairs.
ÓWait. How do you get mail hereØÔ
ÓThe same way you do. Carlton Eaton delivers it, rain or shine.Ô Carlton Eaton was in the know. Of course he was. That probably explained why heÒd picked Amma up in the middle of the night. I wondered if he opened the CastersÒ mail, too. I wondered what else
I didnÒt know about Gatlin, and the people in it. I didnÒt have to ask.
ÓThere arenÒt too many of us, but more than youÒd think. You have to remember, Ravenwood has been here longer than this old building. This was a Caster county before it was ever a Mortal one.Ô
ÓMaybe thatÒs why youÒre all so weird around here.Ô Lena poked me. I was still stuck back on Carlton Eaton.
Who else knew what was really going on in Gatlin, in the other Gatlin, the one with magical underground libraries and girls who could control the weather or make you jump off a cliffØ Who else was in the Caster loop, like Marian and Carlton EatonØ Like my momØ
FattyØ Mrs. EnglishØ Mr. LeeØ
Definitely not Mr. Lee.
ÓDonÒt worry. When you need them, theyÒll find you. ThatÒs how it works, how it always has.Ô
ÓWait.Ô I grabbed MarianÒs arm. ÓDoes my dad knowØÔ
ÓNo.Ô At least there was one person in my house who wasnÒt living a double life, even if he was crazy.
Marian issued a final piece of advice. ÓNow, youÒd better get started. The Lunae Libri is thousands of times bigger than any library youÒve ever seen. If you get lost, immediately trace your steps backward. ThatÒs why the stacks radiate out from this one chamber. If you only go forward or back, you have less chance of getting lost.Ô
ÓHow can you get lost, if you can only go in a straight lineØÔ
ÓTry it for yourself. YouÒll see.Ô
Lena interrupted, ÓWhatÒs at the end of the stacksØ I mean, at the end of the aislesØÔ
Marian looked at her oddly. ÓNobody knows. No one has ever made it far enough to find out. Some of the aisles turn into tunnels. Parts of the Lunae Libri are still uncharted.
There are many things down here even IÒve never seen. One day, perhaps.Ô
ÓWhat are you talking aboutØ Everything ends somewhere. There canÒt be rows and rows of books tunneling under the whole town. What, do you come up for tea at Mrs.
LincolnÒs houseØ Make a left turn and drop a book off to Aunt Del in the next townØ
Tunnel to the right for a chat with AmmaØÔ I was skeptical.
Marian smiled at me, amused. ÓHow do you think Macon gets his booksØ How do you think the DAR never sees any visitors going in or outØ Gatlin is Gatlin. Folks like it fine the way it is, the way they think it is. Mortals only see what they want to see. ThereÒs been a thriving Caster community in and around this county since before the Civil War.
ThatÒs hundreds of years, Ethan, and thatÒs not going to change suddenly. Not just because you know about it.Ô
ÓI canÒt believe Uncle Macon never told me about this place. Think of all the Casters that have come through here.Ô Lena held up her torch, pulling a bound volume from the shelf.
The book was ornately bound, heavy in her hands, and sent a cloud of gray dust exploding out in every direction. I started to cough.
ÓCasting, A Briefe Historie.Ô She drew out another. ÓWeÒre in the CÒs, I guess.Ô This one was a leather box that opened on top to reveal the standing scroll inside. Lena pulled out the scroll. Even the dust looked older, and grayer. ÓCastyng to Creyate & Confounde.
ThatÒs an old one.Ô
ÓCareful. More than a few hundred years. Gutenberg didnÒt invent the printing press until
1455.Ô Marian took the scroll out of her hand gingerly, as if she was handling a newborn baby.
Lena pulled out another book, bound in gray leather. ÓCasting the Confederacy. Were there Casters in the WarØÔ
Marian nodded. ÓBoth sides, the Blue and the Gray. It was one of the great divisions in the Caster Community, IÒm afraid. Just as it was for us Mortals.Ô
Lena looked up at Marian, shoving the dusty book back on the shelf. ÓThe Casters in our family, weÒre still in a war, arenÒt weØÔ
Marian looked at her sadly. ÓA House Divided, thatÒs what President Lincoln called it.
And yes, Lena, IÒm afraid you are.Ô She touched LenaÒs cheek. ÓWhich is why youÒre here, if you recall. To find what you need, to make sense of something senseless. Now, youÒd better get started.Ô
ÓThere are so many books, Marian. CanÒt you just point us in the right directionØÔ
ÓDonÒt look at me. Like I said, I donÒt have the answers, just the books. Get going. WeÒre on the lunar clock down here, and you may lose track of time. Things arenÒt exactly as they seem when youÒre down below.Ô
I looked from Lena to Marian. I was afraid to let either one of them out of my sight. The
Lunae Libri was more intimidating than I had imagined. Less like a library, and more like, well, catacombs. And The Book of Moons could be anywhere.
Lena and I faced the endless stacks, but neither one of us took even a single step.
ÓHow are we going to find itØ There must be a million books in here.Ô
ÓI have no idea. MaybeÅÔ I knew what she was thinking.
ÓShould we try the locketØÔ
ÓDo you have itØÔ I nodded, and pulled the warm lump out of my jeans pocket. I handed
Lena the torch.
ÓWe need to see what happens. There has to be something else.Ô I unwrapped the locket and placed it on the round stone table in the center of the room. I saw a familiar look in
MarianÒs eyes, the look she and my mother shared when they dug up a particularly good find. ÓDo you want to see thisØÔ
ÓMore than you know.Ô Marian slowly took my hand, and I took LenaÒs. I reached over, with my fingers intertwined with LenaÒs, and touched the locket.
A blinding flash forced my eyes shut.
And then I could see the smoke and smell the fire, and we were goneGenevieve lifted the Book so she could read the words through the rain. She knew speaking the words would defy the Natural Laws. She could almost hear her motherÒs voice willing her to stop×to think about the choice she was making.
But Genevieve couldnÒt stop. She couldnÒt lose Ethan.
She began to chant.
ÓCRUOR PECTORIS MEI, TUTELA TUA EST.
VITA VITAE MEAE, CORRIPIENS TUAM, CORRIPIENS MEAM.
CORPUS CORPORIS MEI, MEDULLA MENSQUE, ANIMA ANIMAE MEAE, ANIMAM NOSTRAM CONECTE.
CRUOR PECTORIS MEI, LUNA MEA, AESTUS MEUS.
CRUOR PECTORIS MEI. FATUM MEUM, MEA SALUS.Ô
ÓStop, child, Òfore itÒs too late!Ô IvyÒs voice was frantic.
The rain poured down and lightning sliced through the smoke. Genevieve held her breath and waited. Nothing. She must have done it wrong. She squinted to read the words more clearly in the dark. She screamed them into the darkness, in the language she knew best.
ÓBLOOD OF MY HEART, PROTECTION IS THINE.
LIFE OF MY LIFE, TAKING YOURS, TAKING MINE.
BODY OF MY BODY, MARROW AND MIND, SOUL OF MY SOUL, TO OUR SPIRIT BIND.
BLOOD OF MY HEART, MY TIDES, MY MOON.
BLOOD OF MY HEART. MY SALVATION, MY DOOM.Ô
She thought her eyes were playing tricks on her, when she saw EthanÒs eyelids struggling to open.
ÓEthan!Ô For a split second, their eyes met.
Ethan fought for breath, clearly trying to speak. Genevieve pressed her ear closer to his lips and she could feel his warm breath on her cheek.
ÓI never believed your daddy when he said it was impossible for a Caster and a Mortal to be together. We would have found a way. I love you, Genevieve.Ô He pressed something into her hand. A locket.
And as suddenly as his eyes opened, they closed again, his chest failing to rise and fall.
Before Genevieve could react, a jolt of electricity surged through her body. She could feel the blood pulsing through her veins. She must have been struck by lightning. The waves of pain crashed down on her.
Genevieve tried to hold on.
Then everything went black.
ÓSweet God in Heaven, donÒt take her, too.Ô
Genevieve recognized IvyÒs voice. Where was sheØ The smell brought her back. Burnt lemons. She tried to speak, but her throat felt like she had swallowed sand. Her eyes fluttered.
ÓOh Lord, thank you!Ô Ivy was staring down at her, kneeling beside her in the dirt.
Genevieve coughed and reached for Ivy, trying to pull her closer.
ÓEthan, is heÅÔ she whispered.
ÓIÒm sorry, child. HeÒs gone.Ô
Genevieve struggled to open her eyes. Ivy jumped back, as if sheÒd seen the Devil himself.
ÓLord have mercy!Ô
ÓWhatØ WhatÒs wrong, IvyØÔ
The old woman struggled to make sense of what she saw. ÓYour eyes, child. TheyÒreÅ theyÒve changed.Ô
ÓWhat are you talkinÒ aboutØÔ
ÓThey ainÒt green no more. TheyÒre yellow, as yellow as the sun.Ô
Genevieve didnÒt care what color her eyes were. She didnÒt care about anything now that sheÒd lost Ethan. She started to sob.
The rain picked up, turning the ground under them to mud.
ÓYouÒve got to get up, Miss Genevieve. We have to commune with the Ones in the
Otherworld.Ô Ivy tried to pull her to her feet.
ÓIvy, youÒre not makinÒ sense.Ô
ÓYour eyes×I warned you. I told you about that moon, no moon. We have to find out what it means. We have to consult the Spirits.Ô
ÓIf thereÒs something wrong with my eyes, IÒm sure it was because I was struck by lightninÒ.Ô
ÓWhat did you seeØÔ Ivy looked panicked.
ÓIvy, whatÒs goinÒ onØ Why are you actinÒ so strangeØÔ
ÓYou werenÒt struck by lightninÒ. It was somethinÒ else.Ô
Ivy ran back toward the burning cotton fields. Genevieve called after her, trying to get up, but she was still reeling. She leaned her head back in the thick mud, rain falling steadily on her face. Rain mixed with the tears of defeat. She drifted in and out of the moment, in and out of consciousness. She heard IvyÒs voice, faint, in the distance, calling her name. When her eyes focused again, the old woman was next to her, her skirt gathered in her hands.
Ivy was carrying something in the folds of her skirt, and she dumped it out on the wet ground next to Genevieve. Tiny vials of powder and bottles of what looked like sand and dirt knocked against each other.
ÓWhat are you doinÒØÔ
ÓMakinÒ an offerinÒ. To the Spirits. TheyÒre the only ones who can tell us what this means.Ô
ÓIvy, calm down. YouÒre talkinÒ gibberish.Ô
The old woman pulled something from the pocket of her housedress. It was a shard of mirror. She thrust it in front of Genevieve.
It was dark, but there was no mistaking it. GenevieveÒs eyes were blazing. They had turned from deep green to a fiery gold, and they didnÒt look like her eyes in another unmistakable way. In the center, where a round black pupil should have been, there were almond-shaped slits, like the pupils of a cat. Genevieve threw the mirror to the ground and turned to Ivy.
But the old woman wasnÒt paying attention. She had already mixed the powders and the earth and she was sifting them from hand to hand, whispering in the old Gullah language of her ancestors.
ÓIvy, what are you×Ô
ÓShh,Ô the old woman hissed, ÓIÒm listeninÒ to the Spirits. They know what youÒve done.
TheyÒre gonna tell us what this means.Ô
ÓFrom the earth a her bones and the blood a my blood.Ô Ivy pricked her finger with the edge of the broken mirror and smeared the tiny drops of blood into the earth she was sifting. ÓLemme hear what ya hear. See what ya see. Know what ya know.Ô
Ivy stood up, arms open to the heavens. The rain poured down upon her, the dirt running down her dress in streaks. She began to speak again in the strange language and thenÓIt canÒt be. She didnÒt know no better,Ô she wailed at the dark sky above.
ÓIvy, what is itØÔ
Ivy was shaking, hugging herself, and moaning, ÓIt canÒt be. It canÒt be.Ô
Genevieve grabbed Ivy by her shoulders. ÓWhatØ What is itØ WhatÒs wrong with meØÔ
ÓI told you not to mess with that book. I told you it was the wrong kinda night for
CastinÒ, but itÒs too late now, child. ThereÒs no way to take it back.Ô
ÓWhat are you talkinÒ aboutØÔ
ÓYouÒre cursed now, Miss Genevieve. You been Claimed. YouÒve Turned, and thereÒs nothinÒ we can do to stop it. A bargain. You canÒt get nothinÒ from The Book a Moons without givinÒ somethinÒ in return.Ô
ÓWhatØ What did I giveØÔ
ÓYour fate, child. Your fate and the fate a every other Duchannes child thatÒs born after you.Ô
Genevieve didnÒt understand. But she understood enough to know that what she had done couldnÒt be undone. ÓWhat do you meanØÔ
ÓOn the Sixteenth Moon, the Sixteenth Year, the Book will take what itÒs been promised.
What you bargained. The blood of a Duchannes child, and that child will go Dark.Ô
ÓEvery Duchannes childØÔ
Ivy bowed her head. Genevieve wasnÒt the only one who was defeated on this night. ÓNot every one.Ô
Genevieve looked hopeful. ÓWhich onesØ How will we know which onesØÔ
ÓThe Book will choose. On the Sixteenth Moon, the childÒs sixteenth birthday.Ô
ÓIt didnÒt work.Ô LenaÒs voice sounded strangled, far away. All I could see was smoke, and all I could hear was her voice. We werenÒt in the library, and we werenÒt in the vision. We were somewhere in between, and it was awful.
ÓLena!Ô
And then, for a moment, I saw her face in the smoke. Her eyes were huge and dark×only now, the green looked almost black. Her voice was now more like a whisper. ÓTwo seconds. He was alive for two seconds, and then she lost him.Ô
She closed her eyes and disappeared.
ÓL! Where are youØÔ
ÓEthan. The locket.Ô I could hear Marian, as if from a great distance.
I could feel the hardness of the locket in my hands. I understood.
I dropped it.
I opened my eyes, coughing from the smoke still in my lungs. The room was swirling, blurry.
ÓWhat the hell are you children doing hereØÔ
I fixed my eyes on the locket and the room came back into focus. It lay on the stone floor, looking small and harmless. Marian dropped my hand.
Macon Ravenwood stood in the middle of the crypt, his overcoat twisting around him.
Amma was standing next to him, her good coat buttoned on the wrong buttons, clutching her pocketbook. I donÒt know who was angrier.
ÓIÒm sorry, Macon. You know the rules. They asked for help, and I am Bound to give it.Ô
Marian looked stricken.
Amma was all over Marian, like she had doused our house in gasoline. ÓThe way I see it, youÒre Bound to take care a LilaÒs boy, and MaconÒs niece. And I donÒt see how what youÒre doinÒ does either.Ô
I waited for Macon to lay into Marian, too, but he didnÒt say a word. Then I realized why.
He was shaking Lena. She had collapsed across the stone table in the center of the room.
Her arms were spread wide, her face down against the rough stone. She didnÒt look conscious.
ÓLena!Ô I pulled her into my arms, ignoring Macon, who was already next to her. Her eyes were still black, staring up at me.
ÓSheÒs not dead. SheÒs drifting. I believe I can reach her.Ô Macon was working quietly. I could see him twisting his ring. His eyes were strangely alight.
ÓLena! Come back!Ô I pulled her limp body into my arms, leaning her against my chest.
Macon was mumbling. I couldnÒt make out the words, but I could see LenaÒs hair begin to stir in the now familiar, supernatural wind IÒd come to think of as a Casting breeze.
ÓNot here, Macon. Your Casting wonÒt work here.Ô Marian was tearing through the pages of a dusty book, her voice unsteady.
ÓHeÒs not CastinÒ, Marian. HeÒs TravelinÒ. Even a Caster canÒt do that. Where sheÒs gone, only MaconÒs kind can go. Under.Ô Amma was trying to be reassuring, but she wasnÒt very convincing.
I felt the cold settling over LenaÒs empty body and knew Amma was right. Wherever
Lena was, it wasnÒt in my arms. She was far away. I could feel it myself, and I was just a
Mortal.
ÓI told you, Macon. This is a neutral place. There is no Binding you can work in a room of earth.Ô Marian was pacing, clutching the book as if it made her feel like she was helping in some way. But there were no answers inside. She had said it herself. Casting couldnÒt help us here.
I remembered the dreams, remembered pulling Lena through the mud. I wondered if this was the place where I lost her.
Macon spoke. His eyes were open, but he wasnÒt seeing. It was like they were turned inward, to wherever Lena was. ÓLena. Listen to me. She canÒt hold you.Ô
She. I stared into LenaÒs empty eyes.
Sarafine.
ÓYouÒre strong, Lena; break through. She knows I canÒt help you here. She was waiting for you in the shadows. You have to do this yourself.Ô
Marian appeared with a glass of water. Macon poured it onto LenaÒs face, into her mouth, but she didnÒt move.
I couldnÒt stand it anymore.
I grabbed her mouth and kissed her, hard. The water dribbled out of our mouths, like I was giving mouth-to-mouth to a drowning victim.
Wake up, L. You canÒt leave me now. Not like this. I need you more than she does.
LenaÒs eyelids fluttered.
Ethan. IÒm tired.
She sputtered back to life, choking, spitting water across her jacket. I smiled in spite of everything, and she smiled back at me. If this was what the dreams were about, we had changed the way they ended. This time, I had held on. But in the back of my mind, I think I knew. This wasnÒt the moment when she slipped out of my arms. It was only the beginning.
Even if that was true, I had saved her this time.
I reached down to pull her into my arms. I wanted to feel the familiar current between us.
Before I could wrap my arms around her, she jerked up and out of my arms. ÓUncle
Macon!Ô
Macon stood across the room, propped against the crypt wall, barely able to support his own weight. He leaned his head back against the stone. He was sweating, breathing heavily, and his face was chalk white.
Lena ran and clung to him, a child worried for her father. ÓYou shouldnÒt have done that.
She could have killed you.Ô Whatever he was doing when he was Traveling, whatever that meant, the effort had cost him.
So this was Sarafine. This thing, whoever She was, was LenaÒs mother.
If this was a trip to the library, I didnÒt know if I was ready for what might happen in the next few months.
Or as of tomorrow morning, 74 days.
Lena sat, still dripping wet, wrapped in a blanket. She looked about five years old. I glanced at the old oaken door behind her, wondering if I could ever find my way out alone. Unlikely. WeÒd gone about thirty paces down one of the aisles, and then disappeared down a stairwell, through a series of small doors, into a cozy study that was apparently some sort of reading room. The passageway had seemed endless, with a door every few feet like some sort of underground hotel.
The moment Macon sat down, a silver tea service appeared in the center of the table, with exactly five cups and a platter of sweet breads. Maybe Kitchen was here, too.
I looked around. I had no idea where I was, but I knew one thing. I was somewhere in
Gatlin, yet somewhere further away from Gatlin than IÒd ever been.
Either way, I was out of my league.
I tried to find a comfortable spot in an upholstered chair that looked like it could have belonged to Henry VIII. Actually, there was no way of knowing that it hadnÒt. The tapestry on the wall also looked as if had come from an old castle, or Ravenwood. It was woven into the shape of a constellation, midnight blue and silver thread. Every time I looked at it, the moon appeared in a different stage.
Macon, Marian, and Amma sat across the table. Saying Lena and I were in trouble was putting the best possible spin on it. Macon was furious, his teacup rattling in front of him.
Amma was beyond that. ÓWhat makes you think you can take it upon yourself to decide when my boy is ready for the UndergroundØ Lila would skin you herself, if she was here.
YouÒve got some nerve, Marian Ashcroft.Ô
MarianÒs hands were shaking as she lifted her teacup.
ÓYour boyØ What about my nieceØ Since I believe she was the one who was attacked.Ô
Macon and Amma, having ripped us to shreds, were starting in on each other. I didnÒt dare look at Lena.
ÓYouÒve been trouble since the day you were born, Macon.Ô Amma turned to Lena. ÓBut
I canÒt believe you would drag my boy into this, Lena Duchannes.Ô
Lena lost it. ÓOf course I dragged him into this. I do bad things. When are you going to understand thatØ And itÒs only going to get worse!Ô
The tea set flew off the table and into the air, where it froze. Macon looked at it, without so much as blinking. A challenge. The entire set righted itself and landed gently back on the table. Lena looked at Macon as if there were no one else in the room. ÓIÒm going to go Dark, and thereÒs nothing you can do to stop it.Ô
ÓThatÒs not true.Ô
ÓIsnÒt itØ IÒm going to end up just like my×Ô She couldnÒt say it.
The blanket fell from her shoulders, and she took my hand. ÓYou have to get away from me, Ethan. Before itÒs too late.Ô
Macon looked at her, irritated. ÓYouÒre not going to go Dark. DonÒt be so gullible. She only wants you to think that.Ô The way he said She reminded me of the way he said
Gatlin.
Marian put her teacup down on the table. ÓTeenagers×everything is so apocalyptic.Ô
Amma shook her head. ÓSome things are meant to be and some take some doinÒ. This one isnÒt done just yet.Ô
I could feel LenaÒs hand shaking in mine. ÓTheyÒre right, L. EverythingÒs going to be okay.Ô
She yanked her hand away. ÓEverythingÒs going to be okayØ My mother, a Cataclyst, is trying to kill me. A vision from a hundred years ago just clarified that my whole family has been cursed since the Civil War. My sixteenth birthday is in two months, and thatÒs the best you can doØÔ
I took her hand again, gently, because she let me. ÓI saw the same vision you did. The
Book chooses who it takes. Maybe it wonÒt choose you.Ô I was clutching at straws, but they were all I had.
Amma looked at Marian, slamming her saucer on the table. The cup rattled against it.
ÓThe BookØÔ MaconÒs eyes drilled down on me.
I tried to look him in the eye, but I couldnÒt do it. ÓThe Book in the vision.Ô
DonÒt say another word, Ethan.
We should tell them. We canÒt do this alone.
ÓItÒs nothing, Uncle M. We donÒt even know what the visions mean.Ô Lena wasnÒt going to give in, but after tonight I felt like I had to. We had to. Everything was spiraling out of control. I felt like I was drowning and I couldnÒt even save myself, let alone Lena.
ÓMaybe the visions mean not everyone in your family goes Dark when theyÒre Claimed.
What about Aunt DelØ ReeceØ Think cute little Ryan is going to the dark side when she can heal peopleØÔ I said, moving closer to her.
Lena shrank back into her chair. ÓYou donÒt know anything about my family.Ô
ÓBut heÒs not wrong, Lena.Ô Macon looked at her, exasperated.
ÓYouÒre not Ridley. And youÒre not your mother,Ô I said, as convincingly as I could.
ÓHow do you knowØ YouÒve never even met my mother. And by the way, neither have I, except in psychic attacks that no one can seem to prevent.Ô
Macon tried to sound reassuring. ÓWe were unprepared for these sorts of attacks. I didnÒt know she could Travel. I didnÒt know she shared some of my powers. It is not a gift afforded to Casters.Ô
ÓNobody seems to know anything about my mother, or me.Ô
ÓThatÒs why we need the Book.Ô This time, I looked right at Macon as I said it.
ÓWhat is this book you keep talking aboutØÔ Macon was losing his patience.
DonÒt tell him, Ethan.
We have to.
ÓThe Book that cursed Genevieve.Ô Macon and Amma looked at each other. They already knew what I was going to say. ÓThe Book of Moons. If thatÒs how the curse was
Cast, something in it should tell us how to break it. RightØÔ The room fell silent.
Marian looked at Macon. ÓMacon×Ô
ÓMarian. Stay out of this. YouÒve interfered more than enough already, and the sun will rise just minutes from now.Ô Marian knew. She knew where to find The Book of Moons, and Macon wanted to make sure she kept her mouth shut.
ÓAunt Marian, whereÒs the BookØÔ I looked her in the eye. ÓYou have to help us. My mom wouldÒve helped us, and youÒre not supposed to take sides, rightØÔ I wasnÒt playing fair, but it was true.
Amma raised her hands, then dropped them into her lap. A rare sign of surrender.
ÓWhatÒs done is done. TheyÒve already started pullinÒ the thread, Melchizedek. That old sweaterÒs bound to unravel, anyhow.Ô
ÓMacon, there are protocols. If they ask, IÒm Bound to tell them,Ô Marian said. Then she looked up at me. ÓThe Book of Moons isnÒt in the Lunae Libri.Ô
ÓHow do you knowØÔ
Macon stood to leave, turning to both of us. His jaw was clenched, his eyes dark and angry. When he finally spoke, his voice echoed over the chamber, over all of us.
ÓBecause thatÒs the book for which this archive was named. It is the most powerful book from here to the Otherworld. It is also the book that cursed our family, for eternity. And itÒs been missing for over a hundred years.Ô
12.01
IT RHYMES WITH WITCH
On Monday morning, Link and I drove down Route 9, stopping at the fork in the road to pick up Lena. Link liked Lena, but there was no way he was driving up to Ravenwood
Manor. It was still the Haunted Mansion to him.
If he only knew. Thanksgiving break had only been a long weekend, but it felt a lot longer, considering that Twilight Zone of a Thanksgiving dinner, the vases flying between Macon and Lena, and our journey to the center of the earth, all without leaving the Gatlin city limits. Unlike Link, who had spent the weekend watching football, beating up his cousins, and trying to determine whether or not the cheese ball had onions in it this year.
But according to Link, there was trouble of another kind brewing, and this morning it sounded equally dangerous. LinkÒs mom had been burning up the lines for the last twenty-four hours, whispering on the phone with the long cord and the kitchen door closed. Mrs. Snow and Mrs. Asher had shown up after dinner, and the three of them had disappeared into the kitchen×the War Room. When Link went in, pretending to grab a
Mountain Dew, he didnÒt catch much. But it was enough to figure out his momÒs end game. ÓWeÒll get her outta our school, one way or another.Ô And her little dog, too.
It wasnÒt much, but if I knew Mrs. Lincoln, I knew enough to be worried. You could never underestimate the lengths women like Mrs. Lincoln would go to protect their children and their town from the one thing they hated most×anyone different from them.
I should know. My mom had told me the stories about the first few years sheÒd lived here. The way she told it, she was such a criminal even the most God-fearing church ladies got bored of reporting on her; she did the marketing on Sunday, dropped by any church she liked or none at all, was a feminist (which Mrs. Asher sometimes confused with communist), a Democrat (which Mrs. Lincoln pointed out practically had ÓdemonÔ in the word itself), and worst of all, a vegetarian (which ruled out any dinner invitations from Mrs. Snow). Beyond that, beyond not being a member of the right church or the
DAR or the National Rifle Association, was the fact that my mom was an outsider.
But my dad had grown up here and was considered one of GatlinÒs sons. So when my mom died, all the same women who had been so judgmental of her when she was alive dropped off cream-of-something casseroles and crock pot roasts and chili-ghetti with a vengeance. Like they were finally getting the last word. My mom would have hated it, and they knew it. That was the first time my dad went into his study and locked the door for days. Amma and I had let the casseroles pile up on the porch until they took them away and went back to judging us, like they always had.
They always got the last word. Link and I both knew it, even if Lena didnÒt.
Lena was sandwiched between Link and me in the front seat of the Beater, writing on her hand. I could just make out the words shattered like everything else. She wrote all the time, the way some people chewed gum or twirled their hair; I donÒt even think she realized it. I wondered if she would ever let me read one of her poems, if any of them were about me.
Link glanced down. ÓWhen are you gonna write me a songØÔ
ÓRight after I finish the one IÒm writing for Bob Dylan.Ô
ÓHoly crap.Ô Link slammed on the brakes at the front entrance of the parking lot. I couldnÒt blame him. The sight of his mother in the parking lot before eight in the morning was terrifying. And there she was.
The parking lot was crowded with people, way more than usual. And parents; other than after the window incident, there hadnÒt been a parent in the parking lot since Jocelyn
WalkerÒs mom came to yank her out of school during the film about the reproductive cycle in Human Development.
Something was definitely going on.
LinkÒs mom handed a box to Emily, who had the whole cheerleading squad×Varsity and
JV×papering every car in the parking lot with some kind of neon flyer. Some were flapping in the wind, but I could make out a few from the relative safety of the Beater. It was like they were running some kind of campaign, only without a candidate.
SAY NO TO VIOLENCE AT JACKSON!
ZERO TOLERANCE!
Link turned bright red. ÓSorry. You guys gotta get out.Ô He crouched down in the driverÒs seat, so low it looked like nobody was driving the car. ÓI donÒt want my mom to beat the crap outta me in front a the whole cheerleadinÒ squad.Ô
I slunk down, reaching across the seat to open the door for Lena. ÓWeÒll see you inside, man.Ô
I grabbed LenaÒs hand and squeezed it.
ReadyØ
As ready as IÒm going to be.
We ducked down between the cars around the side of the lot. We couldnÒt see Emily, but we could hear her voice from behind EmoryÒs pickup.
ÓKnow the signs!Ô Emily was approaching Carrie JensenÒs window. ÓWeÒre forminÒ a new club at school, the Jackson High Guardian Angels. WeÒre goinÒ to help keep our school safe by reportinÒ acts a violence or any unusual behavior we see around school.
Personally, I think itÒs the responsibility a every student at Jackson to keep our school safe. If you want to join, weÒre havinÒ a meetinÒ in the cafeteria after eighth period.Ô As
EmilyÒs voice faded in the distance, LenaÒs hand tightened around mine.
What does that even meanØ
I have no idea. But theyÒve totally lost it. Come on.
I tried to pull her up, but she pulled me back down. She shrunk back next to the tire. ÓI just need a minute.Ô
ÓAre you okayØÔ
ÓLook at them. They think IÒm a monster. They formed a club.Ô
ÓThey just canÒt stand outsiders, and youÒre the new girl. A window broke. They need someone to blame. This is just a×Ô
ÓWitch hunt.Ô
I wasnÒt going to say that.
But you were thinking it.
I squeezed her hand and my hair stood on end.
You donÒt have to do this.
Yes I do. I let people like them run me out of my last school. IÒm not going to let it happen again.
As we stepped out from the last row of cars, there they were. Mrs. Asher and Emily were packing the extra boxes of flyers into the back of their minivan. Eden and Savannah were handing out flyers to the cheerleaders and any guy who wanted to see a little of
SavannahÒs legs or her cleavage. Mrs. Lincoln was a few feet away talking to the other mothers, most likely promising to add their houses to the Southern Heritage Tour if they made a couple of phone calls to Principal Harper. She handed Earl PettyÒs mom a clipboard with a pen attached to it. It took me a minute to realize what it was×there was no way.
It looked like a petition.
Mrs. Lincoln noticed us standing there and zeroed in on us. The other mothers followed her gaze. For a second, they didnÒt say anything. I thought maybe they felt bad for me and they were going to put down their flyers, pack up their minivans and station wagons, and go home. Mrs. Lincoln, whose house IÒd slept at almost as many times as my own.
Mrs. Snow, who was technically my third cousin to some degree removed. Mrs. Asher, who bandaged my hand after I sliced it open on a fishing hook when I was ten. Miss
Ellery, who gave me my first real haircut. These women knew me. TheyÒd known me since I was a kid. There was no way they were going to do this, not to me. They were going to back down.
If I said it enough times maybe it would be true.
ItÒs going to be okay.
By the time I realized I was wrong, it was too late. They recovered from the momentary shock of seeing Lena and me.
When Mrs. Lincoln saw us, her eyes narrowed. ÓPrincipal Harper×Ô She looked from
Lena to me, and shook her head. LetÒs just say I wouldnÒt be invited to LinkÒs for dinner again anytime soon. She raised her voice. ÓPrincipal Harper has promised his full support. We wonÒt tolerate the violence at Jackson that has plagued the city schools in this country. You young people are doinÒ the right thing, pro-tectinÒ your school, and as concerned parentsÔ×she looked at us×ÓweÒll do anything we can to support you.Ô
Still holding hands, Lena and I walked past them. Emily stepped in front of us, shoving a flyer at me and ignoring Lena. ÓEthan, come to the meetinÒ today. The Guardian Angels could really use you.Ô
It was the first time she had spoken to me in weeks. I got the message. YouÒre one of us, last chance.
I pushed her hand away. ÓThatÒs just what Jackson needs, a little more of your angelic behavior. Why donÒt you go torture some children. Rip the wings off a butterfly. Knock a baby bird out of its nest.Ô I pulled Lena past her.
ÓWhat would your poor mamma say, Ethan WateØ What would she think about the company youÒre keepinÒØÔ I turned around. Mrs. Lincoln was standing right behind me.
She was dressed the way she always was, like some kind of punishing librarian out of a movie, with cheap drugstore glasses and angry-looking hair that couldnÒt decide if it was brown or gray. You had to wonder, where did Link come fromØ ÓIÒll tell you what your mamma would say. She would cry. She would be turninÒ over in her grave.Ô
She had crossed the line.
Mrs. Lincoln didnÒt know anything about my mother. She didnÒt know my mom was the one who had sent the School Superintendent a copy of every ruling against book banning in the U.S. She didnÒt know my mom cringed every time Mrs. Lincoln invited her to a
WomenÒs Auxiliary or DAR meeting. Not because my mom hated the WomenÒs
Auxiliary or the DAR, but because she hated what Mrs. Lincoln stood for. That smallminded brand of superiority women in Gatlin, like Mrs. Lincoln and Mrs. Asher, were so famous for.
My mom had always said, ÓThe right thing and the easy thing are never the same.Ô And now, at this very second, I knew the right thing to do, even if it wasnÒt going to be easy.
Or at least, the fallout wasnÒt going to be.
I turned to Mrs. Lincoln and looked her in the eye. ÓÑGood for you, Ethan.Ò ThatÒs what my poor mamma wouldÒve said. MaÒam.Ô
I turned back toward the door of the administration building and kept walking, pulling
Lena along beside me. We were only a few feet away. Lena was shaking, even though she didnÒt look scared. I kept squeezing her hand, trying to reassure her. Her long black hair was curling and uncurling, as if she was about to explode, or maybe I was. I never thought IÒd be so happy to set foot in the halls of Jackson, until I saw Principal Harper standing in the doorway. He was glaring at us like he wished he wasnÒt the principal so he could pass out a flyer of his own.
LenaÒs hair blew around her shoulders as we walked past him. Only he didnÒt even look at us. He was too busy looking past us. ÓWhat the×Ô
I turned and looked over my shoulder just in time to see hundreds of neon green flyers, curling away from windshields and out of stacks and boxes and vans and hands. Flying away in a sudden gust of wind, as if they were a flock of birds soaring into the clouds.
Escaping and beautiful and free. Kind of like that Hitchcock movie The Birds, only in reverse.
We could hear the shrieking until the heavy metal doors closed behind us.
Lena smoothed her hair. ÓCrazy weather you have down here.Ô
12.06
LOST AND FOUND
I was almost relieved it was Saturday. There was something comforting about spending the day with women whose only magical powers were forgetting their own names. When
I arrived at the SistersÒ, Aunt MercyÒs Siamese cat, Lucille Ball×the Sisters loved I Love
Lucy×was ÓexercisingÔ in the front yard. The Sisters had a clothesline that ran the length of the yard, and every morning Aunt Mercy put Lucille Ball on a leash and hooked it onto the clothesline so the cat could exercise. I had tried to explain that you could let cats outside and they would come back whenever they felt like it, but Aunt Mercy had looked at me like IÒd suggested she shack up with a married man. ÓI canÒt just let Lucille Ball wander the streets alone. IÒm sure someone would snatch her.Ô There hadnÒt been a lot of catnappings in town, but it was an argument IÒd never win.
I opened the door, expecting the usual commotion, but today the house was noticeably quiet. A bad sign. ÓAunt PrueØÔ
I heard her familiar drawl coming from the back of the house. ÓWeÒre on the sun porch, Ethan.Ô
I ducked under the doorway of the screened-in porch to see the Sisters scuttling around the room, carrying what looked like little hairless rats.
ÓWhat the heck are thoseØÔ I said without even thinking.
ÓEthan Wate, you watch your mouth, or IÒll have ta wash it out with soap. You know better than ta use pro-fanity,Ô Aunt Grace said. Which, as far as she was concerned, included words like panties, naked, and bladder.
ÓIÒm sorry, maÒam. But what is that youÒve got in your handØÔ
Aunt Mercy rushed forward and thrust her hand out, with two little rodents sleeping in it.
ÓTheyÒre baby squirrels. Ruby Wilcox found them in her attic last Tuesday.Ô
ÓWild squirrelsØÔ
ÓThere are six of Òem. ArenÒt they just the cutest things you ever sawØÔ
All I could see was an accident waiting to happen. The idea of my ancient aunts handling wild animals, babies or otherwise, was a frightening thought. ÓWhere did you get themØÔ
ÓWell, Ruby couldnÒt take care of Òem×Ô Aunt Mercy started.
ÓOn account a that awful husbanÒ a hers. He wonÒt even let her go ta the Stop & Shop without tellinÒ him.Ô
ÓSo Ruby gave them ta us, on account a the fact that we already had a cage.Ô
The Sisters had rescued an injured raccoon after a hurricane and nursed it back to health.
Afterward, the raccoon ate Aunt PrudenceÒs lovebirds, Sonny and Cher, and Thelma put the raccoon out of the house, never to be spoken of again. But they still had the cage.
ÓYou know squirrels can carry rabies. You canÒt handle these things. What if one of them bites youØÔ
Aunt Prue frowned. ÓEthan, these are our babies and they are just the sweetest things.
They wouldnÒt bite us. WeÒre their mammas.Ô
ÓThey are just as tame as they can be, arenÒt yÒallØÔ Aunt Grace said, nuzzling one of them.
All I could imagine was one of those little vermin latching onto one of the SistersÒ necks and me having to drive them to the emergency room to get the twenty shots in the stomach you have to get if youÒre bitten by a rabid animal. Shots that IÒm sure at their age might kill any one of them.
I tried to reason with them, a complete waste of time. ÓYou never know. TheyÒre wild animals.Ô
ÓEthan Wate, clearly you are not an animal lover. These babies would never hurt us.Ô
Aunt Grace scowled at me disapprovingly. ÓAnd what would you have us do with ÒemØ
Their mamma is gone. TheyÒll die if we donÒt take care of Òem.Ô
ÓI can take them over to the ASPCA.Ô
Aunt Mercy clutched them against her chest protectively. ÓThe ASPCA! Those murderers. TheyÒll kill Òem for sure!Ô
ÓThatÒs enough talk about the ASPCA. Ethan, hand me that eye dropper over there.Ô
ÓWhat forØÔ
ÓWe have ta feed them every four hours with this little dropper,Ô Aunt Grace explained.
Aunt Prue was holding one of the squirrels in her hand, while it sucked ferociously on the end of the dropper. ÓAnd once a day, we have ta clean their little private parts with a Qtip, so theyÒll learn ta clean themselves.Ô That was a visual I didnÒt need.
ÓHow could you possibly know thatØÔ
ÓWe looked it up on the E-nternet.Ô Aunt Mercy smiled proudly.
I couldnÒt imagine how my aunts knew anything about the Internet. The Sisters didnÒt even own a toaster oven. ÓHow did you get on the InternetØÔ
ÓThelma took us ta the library and Miss Marian helped us. They have computers over there. Did you know thatØÔ
ÓAnd you can look up just about anything, even dirty pictures. Every now and again, the dirtiest pictures you ever saw would pop up on the screen. Imagine!Ô By Ódirty,Ô Aunt
Grace probably meant naked, which I wouldÒve thought would keep them off the Internet forever.
ÓI just want to go on record as saying I think this is a bad idea. You canÒt keep them forever. TheyÒre going to get bigger and more aggressive.Ô
ÓWell, of course we arenÒt planninÒ on lookinÒ after Òem forever.Ô Aunt Prue was shaking her head, as if it was a ridiculous thought. ÓWeÒre going ta let Òem go in the backyard just as soon as they can look after themselves.Ô
ÓBut they wonÒt know how to find food. ThatÒs why itÒs a bad idea to take in wild animals. Once you let them go, theyÒll starve.Ô This seemed like an argument that would appeal to the Sisters and keep me out of the emergency room.
ÓThatÒs where youÒre wrong. It tells all about that on the E-nternet,Ô Aunt Grace said.
Where was this Web site about raising wild squirrels and cleaning their private parts with
Q-tipsØ
ÓYou have ta teach Òem ta gather nuts. You bury nuts in the yard and you let the squirrels practice findinÒ Òem.Ô
I could see where this was going. Which led to the part of the day that had me in the backyard burying mixed cocktail nuts for baby squirrels. I wondered how many of these little holes IÒd have to dig before the Sisters would be satisfied.
A half hour into my digging, I started finding things. A thimble, a silver spoon, and an amethyst ring that didnÒt look particularly valuable, but gave me a good excuse to stop hiding peanuts in the backyard. When I came back into the house, Aunt Prue was wearing her extra thick reading glasses, laboring over a pile of yellowed papers. ÓWhat are you readingØÔ
ÓIÒm just lookinÒ up some things for your friend LinkÒs mamma. The DAR needs some notes on GatlinÒs histÒry for the Southern Heritage Tour.Ô She shuffled through one of the piles. ÓBut itÒs hard ta find much about the histÒry a Gatlin that doesnÒt include the
Ravenwoods.Ô Which was the last name the DAR wanted to hear.
ÓWhat do you meanØÔ
ÓWell, without them, I reckon Gatlin wouldnÒt be here at all. So itÒs hard ta write a town histÒry and leave Òem outta it.Ô
ÓWere they really the first ones hereØÔ I had heard Marian say it, but it was hard to believe.
Aunt Mercy lifted one of the papers out of the pile and held it so close to her face she must have been seeing double. Aunt Prue snatched it back. ÓGive me that. IÒve got myself a system goinÒ.Ô
ÓWell, if you donÒt want any help.Ô Aunt Mercy turned back to me. ÓThe Ravenwoods were the first in these parts, all right. Got themselves a land grant from the King a
Scotland, sometime around 1800.Ô
Ó1781. IÒve got the paper right here.Ô Aunt Prue waved a yellow sheet in the air. ÓThey were farmers, and it turned out Gatlin County had the most fertile soil in all a South
Carolina. Cotton, tobacco, rice, indigo×it all grew here, which was peculiar on account a those crops donÒt usually grow in the same place. Once folks figured out you could grow just Òbout anything here, the Ravenwoods had themselves a town.Ô
ÓWhether they liked it or not,Ô Aunt Grace added, looking up from her cross-stitch.
It was ironic; without the Ravenwoods Gatlin might not even exist. The folks that shunned Macon Ravenwood and his family had them to thank for the fact they even had a town at all. I wondered how Mrs. Lincoln would feel about that. I bet she already knew, and it had something to do with why they all hated Macon Ravenwood so much.
I stared down at my hand, covered in that inexplicably fertile soil. I was still holding the junk IÒd unearthed in the backyard.
ÓAunt Prue, does this belong to one of youØÔ I rinsed the ring off in the sink and held it up.
ÓWhy, thatÒs the ring my second husband Wallace Pritchard gave me for our first, and only, weddinÒ anniversary.Ô She dropped her voice to a whisper. ÓHe was a cheap, cheap man. Where in the world did you find itØÔ
ÓBuried in the backyard. I also found a spoon and a thimble.Ô
ÓMercy, look what Ethan found, your Tennessee CollectorÒs spoon. I told you I didnÒt take it!Ô Aunt Prue hollered.
ÓLet me see that.Ô Mercy put her glasses on to inspect the spoon. ÓWell, IÒll be. I finally have all eleven states.Ô
ÓThere are more than eleven states, Aunt Mercy.Ô
ÓI only collect the states a the ConfedÒracy.Ô Aunt Grace and Aunt Prue nodded in agreement.
ÓSpeakinÒ a buryinÒ things, can you believe that Eunice Honey-cutt made Òem bury her with her recipe bookØ She didnÒt want anyone in church ta get her hands on her cobbler recipe.Ô Aunt Mercy shook her head.
ÓShe was a spiteful thing, just like her sister.Ô Aunt Grace was prying open a WhitmanÒs
Sampler with the Tennessee CollectorÒs spoon.
ÓAnd that recipe wasnÒt any good, anyhow,Ô said Aunt Mercy.
Aunt Grace turned the lid over on the WhitmanÒs Sampler so she could read the names of the candies inside. ÓMercy, which one is the butter creamØÔ
ÓWhen I die, I want ta be buried with my fur stole and my Bible,Ô Aunt Prue said.
ÓYou arenÒt goinÒ ta get extra points with the Good Lord for that, Prudence Jane.Ô
ÓIÒm not tryinÒ ta get points, I just want ta have somethinÒ ta read durinÒ the wait. But if there were points beinÒ handed out, Grace Ann, IÒd have more than you.Ô
Buried with her recipe bookÅ
What if The Book of Moons was buried somewhereØ What if someone didnÒt want anyone to find it, so they hid itØ Maybe the person who understood its power better than anyone else. Genevieve.
Lena, I think I know where the Book is.
For a second, there was only silence, and then LenaÒs thoughts found her way to mine.
What are you talking aboutØ
The Book of Moons. I think itÒs with Genevieve.
Genevieve is dead.
I know.
What are you saying, EthanØ
I think you know what IÒm saying.
Harlon James limped up to the table, looking pitiful. His leg was still wrapped in bandages. Aunt Mercy started feeding him the dark chocolates out of the box.
ÓMercy, donÒt feed that dog chocolate! YouÒll kill him. I saw it on the Oprah show.
Chocolate, or was it onion dipØÔ
ÓEthan, you want me ta save you the toffeesØÔ Aunt Mercy asked. ÓEthanØÔ
I wasnÒt listening anymore. I was thinking about how to dig up a grave.
12.07
GRAVE DIGGING
It was LenaÒs idea. Today was Aunt DelÒs birthday, and at the last minute, Lena decided to throw a family party at Ravenwood. It was also Lena who invited Amma, knowing full well nothing short of divine intervention could get Amma to set foot through the door of
Ravenwood Manor. Whatever it was about Macon, Amma reacted only slightly better to his presence than she did to the locket. And she preferred to keep Macon just as far away.
Boo Radley had shown up in the afternoon with a scroll in his mouth, lettered in careful calligraphy. Amma wouldnÒt touch the thing, even if it was an invitation, and almost didnÒt let me go. Good thing she didnÒt see me get into the hearse with my momÒs old garden shovel. That would have raised a flag or two.
I was glad to get out of my house, for any reason, even if the reason involved grave robbing. After Thanksgiving, my father had shut himself in the study, and since Macon and Amma caught us at the Lunae Libri, all I was getting from Amma was stinkeye.
Lena and I werenÒt allowed to go back to the Lunae Libri, either, at least, not for the next sixty-eight days. Macon and Amma didnÒt seem to want us digging up any more information they hadnÒt planned on telling us in the first place.
ÓAfter the eleventh a February, you can do what you like,Ô Amma had harrumphed.
ÓUntil then, you can do what every-one else your age does. Listen to music. Watch the television. Just keep your nose away from those books.Ô
My mom would have laughed, the idea that I wasnÒt allowed to read a book. Things had obviously gotten pretty bad around here.
ItÒs worse here, Ethan. Boo even sleeps at the foot of my bed now.
That doesnÒt sound so bad to me.
He waits for me outside the bathroom door.
ThatÒs just Macon being Macon.
ItÒs like house arrest.
It was, and we both knew it.
We had to find The Book of Moons, and it had to be with Genevieve. It was more than possible Genevieve had been buried at Greenbrier. There were some weathered headstones in the clearing just outside the garden. You could see them from the stone where we usually sat, which had turned out to be a hearthstone. Our spot, thatÒs how I thought of it, even if I had never said it out loud. Genevieve had to be buried out there, unless sheÒd moved away after the War, but nobody ever left Gatlin.
I always thought IÒd be the first.
But now that I had gotten out of the house, how was I going to find a lost Casting book that may or may not save LenaÒs life, that may or may not be buried in the grave of a cursed ancestral Caster, that may or may not be next door to Macon RavenwoodÒs houseØ
Without her uncle seeing me, stopping me, or killing me firstØ
The rest was up to Lena.
ÓWhat sort of history project requires visiting a graveyard at nightØÔ Aunt Del asked, tripping over a bramble of vines. ÓOh my!Ô
ÓMamma, be careful.Ô Reece looped her arm through her motherÒs, helping her negotiate the overgrowth. Aunt Del had a hard enough time walking around without bumping into anything in the daylight, but in the dark it was asking too much.
ÓWe have to make a rubbing from one of our ancestorsÒ tombstones. WeÒre studying genealogy.Ô Well, that was sort of true.
ÓWhy GenevieveØÔ Reece asked, looking suspicious.
Reece looked at Lena, but Lena immediately turned away. Lena had warned me not to let
Reece see my face. Apparently, one look was all it took for a Sybil to know if you were lying. Lying to a Sybil was even trickier than lying to Amma.
ÓSheÒs the one in the painting, in the hall. I just thought it would be cool to use her. ItÒs not like we have a big family cemetery to choose from, like most people around here.Ô
The hypnotic Caster music from the party was starting to fade in the distance, replaced by the sound of dry leaves crackling under our feet. We had crossed over into Greenbrier.
We were getting close. It was dark, but the full moon was so bright we didnÒt even need our flashlights. I remembered what Amma had said to Macon at the graveyard. Half moonÒs for workinÒ White magic, full moonÒs for workinÒ Black. We werenÒt going to be working any magic, I hoped, but it didnÒt make it seem any less spooky.
ÓIÒm not sure Macon would want us wandering out here in the dark. Did you tell him where we were goingØÔ Aunt Del was apprehensive. She pulled on the collar of her highnecked lace blouse.
ÓI told him we were going for a walk. He just told me to stay with you.Ô
ÓI donÒt know that IÒm in good enough shape for this. I have to admit, IÒm a bit winded.Ô
Aunt Del was out of breath, and the hair around her face had escaped from her always slightly off-center bun.
Then I smelled that familiar scent. ÓWeÒre here.Ô
ÓThank goodness.Ô
We walked toward the crumbling stone wall of the garden, where IÒd found Lena crying the day after the window shattered. I ducked under the archway of vines, into the garden.
It looked different at night, less like a spot for cloud gazing and more like the place a cursed Caster would be buried.
This is it, Ethan. SheÒs here. I can feel it.
Me, too.
Where do you think her grave isØ
As we crossed over the hearthstone where IÒd found the locket, I could see another stone in the clearing a few yards just beyond it. A headstone, with a hazy looking figure sitting on it.
I heard Lena gasp, just barely loud enough for me to hear.
Ethan, can you see herØ
Yeah.
Genevieve. She was only partially materialized, a mix of cloudy haze and light, fading in and out as the air moved through her ghostly form, but there was no mistaking it. It was
Genevieve, the woman in the painting. She had the same golden eyes and long, wavy red hair. Her hair blew gently in the wind, as if she was just a woman sitting on a bench at the bus stop, instead of an apparition sitting on a headstone in a graveyard. She was beautiful, even in her present state, and terrifying at the same time. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end.
Maybe this was a mistake.
Aunt Del stopped dead in her tracks. She saw Genevieve, too, but it was clear she didnÒt think anyone else could see her. She probably thought the apparition was just the result of seeing too many times at once, the muddled images of this place in twenty different decades.
ÓI think we should go back to the house. IÒm not feeling very well.Ô Aunt Del clearly didnÒt want to mess with a hundred-and-fifty-year-old ghost in a Caster graveyard.
Lena tripped over a loose vine and stumbled. I grabbed her arm to catch her, but I wasnÒt fast enough. ÓAre you okayØÔ
She caught herself and looked up at me for a split second, but a split second was all
Reece needed. She zeroed in on LenaÒs eyes, looking into her face, her expression, her thoughts.
ÓMamma, theyÒre lyinÒ! They arenÒt doinÒ a history project at all. TheyÒre lookinÒ for somethinÒ.Ô Reece put her hand to her temple as if she was adjusting a piece of equipment. ÓA book!Ô
Aunt Del looked confused, even more confused than she usually looked. ÓWhat sort of book would you be looking for in a graveyardØÔ
Lena broke away from ReeceÒs gaze and her hold. ÓItÒs a book that belonged to
Genevieve.Ô
I unzipped the duffel bag IÒd been carrying and pulled out a shovel. I walked toward the grave slowly, trying to ignore the fact that GenevieveÒs ghost was watching me the whole time. Maybe I was going to get struck by lightning or something; it wouldnÒt have surprised me. But weÒd come this far. I pushed the shovel into the ground, scooping out a pile of earth.
ÓOh, Great Mother! Ethan, what are you doingØÔ Apparently, grave digging brought Aunt
Del back to the present.
ÓIÒm looking for the book.Ô
ÓIn thereØÔ Aunt Del looked faint. ÓWhat sort of book would be in thereØÔ
ÓItÒs a Casting book, a really old one. We donÒt even know if itÒs in there. ItÒs just a hunch,Ô Lena said, glancing at Genevieve, who was still perched on the tombstone only a foot away.
I tried not to look at Genevieve. It was disturbing the way her body faded in and out, and she stared at us with those creepy golden cat eyes, vacant and lifeless like they were made of glass.
The ground wasnÒt that hard, especially considering it was December. Within a few minutes, I had already dug a foot deep. Aunt Del was pacing back and forth, looking worried. Every once in a while, sheÒd look around to be sure none of us were watching, then sheÒd glance over at Genevieve. At least I wasnÒt the only one freaked out about her.
ÓWe should go back. This is disgustinÒ,Ô Reece said, trying to make eye contact with me.
ÓDonÒt be such a Girl Scout,Ô Lena said, kneeling over the hole.
Does Reece see herØ
I donÒt think so. Just donÒt make eye contact with her.
What if Reece reads Aunt DelÒs faceØ
She canÒt. No one can. Aunt Del sees too much at once. No one but a Palimpsest can process all that information and make any sense of it.
ÓMamma, are you really going to let them dig up a graveØÔ
ÓFor starÒs sake, this is ridiculous. LetÒs stop this foolishness right now and go back to the party.Ô
ÓWe canÒt. We have to know if the book is down there.Ô Lena turned to Aunt Del. ÓYou could show us.Ô
What are you talking aboutØ
She can show us whatÒs down there. She can project what she sees.
ÓI donÒt know. Macon wouldnÒt like it.Ô Aunt Del was biting her lip uneasily.
ÓDo you think heÒd prefer we dig up a graveØÔ Lena countered.
ÓAll right, all right. Get out of that hole, Ethan.Ô
I stepped out of the hole, wiping the dirt on my pants. I looked over at Genevieve. She had a peculiar look on her face, almost as if she was interested to see what was about to happen, or maybe she was just about to vaporize us.
ÓEveryone, have a seat. This might make you dizzy. If you feel queasy, put your head between your knees,Ô Aunt Del instructed, like some kind of supernatural flight attendant. ÓThe first time is always the hardest.Ô Aunt Del reached out so we could take her hands.
ÓI canÒt believe you are participatinÒ in this, Mamma.Ô
Aunt Del took the clip out of her bun, letting her hair spill down around her shoulders.
ÓDonÒt be such a Girl Scout, Reece.Ô
Reece rolled her eyes and took my hand. I glanced up at Genevieve. She looked right at me, right into me, and held a finger to her lips as if to say, ÓShh.Ô
The air began to dissolve around us. Then we were spinning like one of those rides where they strap you against the wall and the whole thing spins so fast you think youÒre going to puke.
Then flashesOne after the next, opening and closing like doors. One after another, second after second.
Two girls in white petticoats running in the grass, holding hands, laughing. Yellow ribbons tied in their hair.
Another door opened.
A young woman with caramel-colored skin, hanging clothes on a wash line, humming quietly, the breeze lifting the sheets into the wind. The woman turns toward a grand white
Federal-style house and calls out, ÓGenevieve! Evangeline!Ô
And another.
A young girl moving across the clearing at dusk. She looks back to see if anyone is following her, red hair swinging behind her. Genevieve. She runs into the arms of a tall, lanky boy×a boy who couldÒve been me. He leans down and kisses her. ÓI love you, Genevieve. And one day IÒm goinÒ to marry you. I donÒt care what your family says. It canÒt be impossible.Ô She touches his lips, gently.
ÓShh. We donÒt have much time.Ô
The door closes and another opens.
Rain, smoke, and the crackling sound of fire, eating, breathing. Genevieve stands in the darkness; black smoke and tears streak her face. ThereÒs a black leather-bound book in her hand. It has no title, just a crescent moon embossed on the cover. She looks at the woman, the same woman who was hanging laundry on the clothesline. Ivy. ÓWhy doesnÒt it have a nameØÔ The old womanÒs eyes are filled with fear. ÓJust Òcause a book donÒt have a title, donÒt mean it donÒt have a name. That right there is The Book a Moons.Ô
The door slams shut.
Ivy, older and sadder, standing over a freshly dug grave, a pine box resting deep in the hole. ÓThough I walk through the valley a the shadow a death, I fear no evil.Ô There is something in her hand. The Book, black leather with the crescent moon on the cover.
ÓTake this with ya, Miss Genevieve. So it canÒt cause nobody else any harm.Ô She tosses the Book into the hole with the casket.
Another door.
The four of us sitting around the half-dug hole, and below the dirt, farther down where we canÒt see without DelÒs help, the pine box. The Book rests against it. Then farther down, into the casket, GenevieveÒs body, lying there in the darkness. Her eyes closed, her skin pale porcelain, as if she was still breathing, perfectly preserved in a way no corpse could ever be. Her long, fiery hair cascading onto her shoulders.
The view spirals back up, out of the ground. Back up to the four of us, sitting around the half-dug hole, holding hands. Up to the headstone and GenevieveÒs faded figure, staring down at us.
Reece screamed. The last door slammed shut.
¦ ¦ ¦
I tried to open my eyes, but I was dizzy. Del had been right, I felt like I was going to be sick. I tried to get my bearings, but my eyes wouldnÒt focus. I felt Reece drop my hand, backing away from me, trying to get far away from Genevieve and her terrifying golden gaze.
Are you okayØ
I think so.
LenaÒs head was between her knees.
ÓIs everyone all rightØÔ Aunt Del asked, her voice even and unshaken. Aunt Del didnÒt seem so confused or clumsy anymore. If I had to see all that every time I looked at something, IÒd pass out, or go crazy.
ÓI canÒt believe thatÒs what you see,Ô I said, looking at Del, my eyes finally beginning to refocus.
ÓThe gift of Palimpsestry is a great honor, and a greater burden.Ô
ÓThe Book, itÒs down there,Ô I said.
ÓThat it is, but it appears it belongs to this woman,Ô Del said, gesturing toward
GenevieveÒs apparition, Ówho the two of you donÒt seem particularly surprised to see.Ô
ÓWe saw her before,Ô Lena admitted.
ÓWell, then, she chose to reveal herself to you. Seeing the dead is not one of the gifts of a
Caster, even a Natural, and certainly not within the realm of Mortal talents. One can only see the dead if the dead so will it.Ô
I was scared. Not standing on the steps of Ravenwood scared, or having Ridley freeze the life out of me scared. This was something else. It was closer to the fear I felt when I awoke from the dreams, and the thought of losing Lena. It was a paralyzing fear. The kind you feel when you realize the powerful ghost of a cursed Dark Caster is staring down at you, in the middle of the night, watching you dig up her grave to steal a book from on top of her coffin. What was I thinkingØ What were we doing coming out here, digging up a grave under a full moonØ
You were trying to right a wrong. There was a voice in my head, but it wasnÒt LenaÒs.
I turned to Lena. She was pale. Reece and Aunt Del were both staring at what was left of
Genevieve. They could hear her, too. I looked up at the glowing golden eyes as she continued to fade in and out. She seemed to sense what we were here for.
Take it.
I looked at Genevieve, unsure. She closed her eyes and nodded ever so slightly.
ÓShe wants us to take the Book,Ô Lena said. I guessed I wasnÒt losing my mind.
ÓHow do we know we can trust herØÔ She was a Dark Caster after all. With the same golden eyes as Ridley.
Lena looked back at me, with a glint of excitement. ÓWe donÒt.Ô
There was only one thing to do.
Dig.
The Book looked exactly as it had in the vision, cracked black leather, embossed with a tiny crescent moon. It smelled like desperation and it felt heavy, not just physically, but psychically. This was a Dark book; I knew it just from the seconds I managed to hold it, before it singed the skin off my fingertips. It felt like the Book was stealing a little bit of my breath each time I inhaled.
I reached my arm out of the hole, holding it above my head. Lena took it from my hand and I climbed back out. I wanted to get out of there, as quickly as possible. It wasnÒt lost on me that I was standing on GenevieveÒs casket.
Aunt Del gasped. ÓGreat Mother, I never thought I would see it. The Book of Moons. Be careful. That book is as old as time, maybe older. Macon will never believe we×Ô
ÓHeÒs never going to know.Ô Lena brushed the dirt from the cover gently.
ÓOkay now, youÒve seriously lost it. If you think for one minute weÒre not goinÒ to tell
Uncle Macon×Ô Reece crossed her arms like an irritated babysitter.
Lena held the Book up higher, right in front of ReeceÒs face. ÓAbout whatØÔ Lena was staring at Reece the same way Reece had stared into RidleyÒs eyes at the Gathering, intently, with purpose. ReeceÒs expression changed×she looked confused, almost disoriented. She stared at the Book, but it was like she couldnÒt see it.
ÓWhat is there to tell, ReeceØÔ
Reece squeezed her eyes shut, as if she was trying to shake off a bad dream. She opened her mouth to say something, then shut it abruptly. A hint of a smile twitched across
LenaÒs face, as she turned slowly toward her aunt. ÓAunt DelØÔ
Aunt Del looked as confused as Reece, which was how she looked most of the time, anyway, but something was different. And she didnÒt answer Lena, either.
Lena turned slightly and dropped the Book on top of my bag. As she did, I saw green sparks in her eyes, and the curling motion of her hair as it caught the moonlight, the
Casting breeze. It was almost as if I could see the magic churning around her in the darkness. I didnÒt understand what was happening, but the three of them seemed to be locked in a dark, wordless conversation I couldnÒt hear or understand.
Then it was over, and the moonlight became moonlight again, and the night faded back into night. I looked behind Reece, at GenevieveÒs headstone. Genevieve was gone, as if she had never been there at all.
Reece shifted her weight, and her usual sanctimonious expression returned. ÓIf you think for a minute IÒm not goinÒ to tell Uncle Macon you dragged us out to a graveyard for no good reason, because of some stupid school project you didnÒt even end up doinÒ×Ô
What the hell was she talking aboutØ But Reece was dead serious. She didnÒt remember what had just happened, any more than I understood it.
What did you just doØ
Uncle Macon and I have been practicing.
Lena zipped up my duffel bag, with the Book inside. ÓI know. IÒm sorry. ItÒs just this place is really creepy at night. LetÒs get out of here.Ô
Reece turned back toward Ravenwood, dragging Aunt Del behind her. ÓYouÒre such a baby.Ô
Lena winked at me.
Practicing whatØ Mind controlØ
Little things. Teletossing Pebbles. Interior Illusions. Time Binds, but those are hard.
That was easyØ
I Shifted the Book out of their minds. I guess you could say I erased it. They wonÒt remember it, because in their reality, it never happened.
I knew we needed the Book. I knew why Lena did it. But somehow it felt like a line had been crossed, and now I didnÒt know where we stood, or if she could ever cross back over to where I was. Where she used to be.
Reece and Aunt Del were already back in the garden. I didnÒt need to be a Sybil to tell
Reece wanted to get the hell out of there. Lena started to follow them, but something stopped me.
L, wait.
I walked back over to the hole and reached into my pocket. I opened the handkerchief with the familiar initials, and lifted the locket up by its chain. Nothing. No visions, and something told me there werenÒt going to be any more. The locket had led us here, showed us what we needed to see.
I held the locket over the grave. It seemed only right, a fair trade. I was about to drop it when I heard GenevieveÒs voice again, softer this time.
No. It doesnÒt belong with me.
I looked back at the headstone. Genevieve was there again, what was left of her breaking into nothingness each time the wind blew through her. She didnÒt look as terrifying.
She looked broken. The way you would look if you lost the only person you ever loved.
I understood.
12.08
WAIST DEEP
There was only so much trouble you could get into before the threat of more trouble wasnÒt even a threat anymore. At some point, youÒd waded so far in you had no choice but to paddle through the middle, if you had any chance of making it to the other side. It was classic Link logic, but I was starting to see the genius in it. Maybe you canÒt really understand it yourself until youÒre waist deep in it.
By the next day, thatÒs where we were, Lena and me. Waist deep. It started with forging a note with one of AmmaÒs #2 pencils, then cutting school to read a stolen book we werenÒt supposed to have in the first place, and ended with a pack of lies about an extra-credit
ÓprojectÔ we were working on together. I was pretty sure Amma was going to catch on about two seconds after I said the words extra credit, but she had been on the phone with my Aunt Caroline discussing my dadÒs Ócondition.Ô
I felt guilty about all the lying, not to mention the stealing, forging, and mind erasing, but we didnÒt have time for school; we had too much actual studying to do.
Because we had The Book of Moons. It was real. I could hold it in my handsÓOuch!Ô It burned my hand, like I had touched a hot stove. The Book dropped to the floor of LenaÒs bedroom. Boo Radley barked from somewhere in the house. I could hear his paws click their way up the stairs, toward us.
ÓDoor.Ô Lena spoke without looking up from an old Latin dictionary. Her bedroom door slammed shut, just as Boo reached the landing. He protested with a resentful bark. ÓStay out of my room, Boo. WeÒre not doing anything. IÒm about to start practicing.Ô
I stared at the door, surprised. Another lesson from Macon, I guessed. Lena didnÒt even react, as if sheÒd done it a thousand times. It was like the stunt she had pulled on Reece and Aunt Del last night. I was starting to think the closer we got to her birthday, the more the Caster was coming out in the girl.
I was trying not to notice. But the more I tried, the more I noticed.
She looked over at me, rubbing my hands on my jeans. They still hurt. ÓWhat part about
Ñyou canÒt touch it if youÒre not a CasterÒ are you not gettingØÔ
ÓRight. That part.Ô
She opened a battered black case and pulled out her viola. ÓItÒs almost five. IÒve got to start practicing or Uncle Macon will know when he gets up. He always knows.
ÓWhatØ NowØÔ She smiled and sat on a chair in the corner of her room. Adjusting the instrument with her chin, she picked up a long bow and set it to the strings. For a moment she didnÒt move, and closed her eyes like we were at a philharmonic, instead of sitting in her bedroom. And then she began to play. The music crawled up from her hands and out into the room, moving through the air like another one of her undiscovered powers. The sheer white curtains hanging at her window began to stir, and I heard the songSixteen moons, sixteen years, The Claiming Moon, the hour nears, In these pages Darkness clears, Powers Bind what fire searsÅ
As I watched, Lena slid herself out of the chair and carefully placed her viola back where she had been sitting. She wasnÒt playing it anymore, but the music was still pouring out of it. She leaned the bow against the chair, and sat down next to me on the floor.
Shh.
ThatÒs practicingØ
ÓUncle M doesnÒt seem to know the difference. And look×Ô She pointed over to the door, where I could see a shadow, and hear a rhythmic thump. BooÒs tail. ÓHe likes it, and I like to have him in front of my door. Think of it as a sort of an anti-adult alarm system.Ô She had a point.
Lena knelt by the Book and picked it up easily in her hands. When she opened the pages again, we saw the same thing we had been staring at all day. Hundreds of Casts, careful lists written in English, Latin, Gaelic, and other languages I didnÒt recognize, one composed of strange curling letters I had never seen before. The thin brown pages were fragile, almost translucent. The parchment was covered with dark brown ink, in an ancient and delicate script. At least I hoped it was ink.
She tapped her finger on the strange writing and handed me the Latin dictionary. ÓItÒs not
Latin. See for yourself.Ô
ÓI think its Gaelic. Have you ever seen anything like that beforeØÔ I pointed to the curling script.
ÓNo. Maybe itÒs some kind of old Caster language.Ô
ÓToo bad we donÒt have a Caster dictionary.Ô
ÓWe do, I mean, my uncle should. He has hundreds of Caster books, down in his library.
ItÒs no Lunae Libri, but it probably has what weÒre looking for.Ô
ÓHow long do we have before heÒs upØÔ
ÓNot long enough.Ô
I pulled the sleeve of my sweatshirt down over my palm and used the material to handle the Book, as if I was using one of AmmaÒs oven mitts. I flipped through the thin pages; they bent noisily under my touch as if they were made of dry leaves, instead of paper.
ÓDoes any of this mean anything to youØÔ
Lena shook her head. ÓIn my family, before your Claiming you arenÒt really allowed to know anything.Ô She pretended to pore over the pages. ÓIn case you go Dark, I guess.Ô I knew enough to let it drop.
Page after page, there was nothing we could even begin to comprehend. There were pictures, some frightening, some beautiful. Creatures, symbols, animals×even the human-looking faces somehow managed to look anything but human in The Book of
Moons. As far as I was concerned, it was like an encyclopedia from another planet.
Lena pulled the Book into her lap. ÓThereÒs so much I donÒt know, and itÒs all so×Ô
ÓTrippyØÔ
I leaned against her bed, looking at the ceiling. There were words everywhere, new words, and numbers. I could see the countdown, the numbers scribbled against the walls of her room as if it was a jail cell.
100, 78, 50Å
How much longer would we be able to sit around like thisØ LenaÒs birthday was getting closer, and her powers were already growing. What if she was right, and she grew into something unrecognizable, something so Dark she wouldnÒt even know or care about meØ I stared at the viola in the corner until I just didnÒt want to see it anymore. I closed my eyes and listened to the Caster melody. And then I heard LenaÒs voiceÓÅ UNTIL THE DARKENING BRINGES THE TYME OF CLAYMING, AT THE SIXTEENTHE
MOONE, WHEN THE PERSON OF POWERE HAS THE FREEDOME OF WILLE & AGENCIE TO
CASTE THE ETERNAL CHOICE, IN THE END OF DAYE, OR THE LASTE MOMENT OF THE
LAST OURE, UNDER THE CLAYMING MOONEÅÔ
We looked at each other.
ÓHow did you just×Ô I looked over her shoulder.
She turned the page. ÓItÒs English. These pages are written in English. Someone started to translate it, here in the back. See how the ink is a different colorØÔ She was right.
Even the pages in English must have been hundreds of years old. The page was written in another elegant script, but it wasnÒt the same writing, and it wasnÒt written in the same brownish ink, or whatever it was.
ÓFlip to the back.Ô
She held up the Book, reading, ÓTHE CLAYMING, ONCE BOUND, CANNOT BE UNBOUND. THE CHOICE, ONCE CAST, CANNOT BE RECAST. A PERSON OF POWERE FALLES INTO THE GREAT DARKENING OR
THE GREAT LIGHT, FOR ALL TYME. IF TYME PASSES & THE LASTE OURE OF THE
SIXTEENTHE MOONE FLEES UNBOUND, THE ORDER OF THINGS IS UNDONE. THIS MUST
NOT BE. THE BOOKE WILLE BINDE THAT WHICHE IS UNBOUND, FOR ALL TYME.Ô
ÓSo thereÒs really no getting around this Claiming thingØÔ
ÓThatÒs what IÒve been trying to tell you.Ô
I stared at the words that didnÒt bring me any closer to understanding. ÓBut what happens, exactly, during the ClaimingØ Does this Claiming Moon send down some kind of Caster beam, or somethingØÔ
She scanned the page. ÓIt doesnÒt exactly say. All I know is it takes place under the moon, at midnight×ÑIN THE MIDST OF THE GREAT DARKNESSE & UNDERE THE GREAT
LIGHT, FROM WHICHE WE CAME.Ò But it can happen anywhere. ItÒs nothing you can really see, it just happens. No Caster beam involved.Ô
ÓBut what happens exactlyØÔ I wanted to know everything, and it still felt like she was holding something back. She kept her eyes on the page.
ÓFor most Casters, itÒs a conscious thing, just like it says here. The Person of Power, the
Caster, Casts the Eternal Choice. They choose if they want to Claim themselves Light or
Dark. ThatÒs what the free will and agency is all about, like Mortals choose to be good or bad, except Casters make the Choice for all time. They choose the life they want to lead, the way they will interact with the magical universe, and one another. ItÒs a covenant they make with the natural world, the Order of Things. I know that sounds crazy.Ô
ÓWhen youÒre sixteenØ How are you supposed to know who you are and who you want to be for the rest of your life by thenØÔ
ÓYeah, well, those are the lucky ones. I donÒt even get a choice.Ô
I almost couldnÒt bring myself to ask the next question. ÓSo what will happen to youØÔ
ÓReece says you just change. It happens in a second, like a heartbeat. You feel this energy, this power moving through your body, almost like youÒre coming to life for the first time.Ô She looked wistful. ÓAt least, thatÒs what Reece said.Ô
ÓThatÒs doesnÒt sound so bad.Ô
ÓReece described it as an overwhelming warmth. She said it felt like the sun was shining on her, and no one else. And at that moment, she said you just know which path has been chosen for you.Ô It sounded too easy, too painless, like she was leaving something out.
Like the part about what it felt like when a Caster went Dark. But I didnÒt want to put it out there, even if I knew we were both thinking about it.
Just like thatØ
Just like that. It doesnÒt hurt or anything, if thatÒs what youÒre worried about.
That was one of the things I was worried about, but it wasnÒt the only thing.
IÒm not worried.
Me neither.
And this time, we made a point of staying away from what we were thinking, even to ourselves.
The sun crept across the braided rug on LenaÒs floor, the orange light turning all the colors of the braid into a hundred different kinds of gold. For a moment, LenaÒs face, her eyes, her hair, everything the light touched turned to gold. She was beautiful, a hundred years and a hundred miles away, and just like the faces in the Book, somehow not quite human.
ÓSundown. Uncle Macon will be up, any minute. We have to put the Book away.Ô She closed it, zipping it back into my bag. ÓYou take it. If my uncle finds it, heÒll just try to keep it from me, like everything else.Ô
ÓI just canÒt figure out what he and Amma are hiding. If all this stuff is going to happen and thereÒs nothing anyone can do to stop it, why not tell us everythingØÔ
She wouldnÒt look at me. I pulled her into my arms, and she lay her head against my chest. She didnÒt say a word, but between two layers of sweatshirts and sweaters, I could still feel her heart beating against mine.
She looked over at the viola until the music died out, dimming like the sun in the window.
The next day at school, it was clear we were the only people thinking about anything that had to do with any kind of book. No hands were raised in any classes, unless someone needed the hall pass for the bathroom. Not a single pen touched a scrap of paper, unless it was to write a note about who had been asked, who didnÒt have a prayer of being asked, and who had already been shot down.
December only meant one thing at Jackson High: the winter formal. We were in the cafeteria when Lena brought the subject up for the first time.
ÓDid you ask anyone to go to the danceØÔ Lena wasnÒt familiar with LinkÒs not-so-secret strategy of going to all the dances stag so he could flirt with Coach Cross, the girlsÒ track coach. Link had been in love with Maggie Cross, who had graduated five years ago and came back after college to become Coach Cross, since we were in fifth grade.
ÓNo, I like to fly solo.Ô Link grinned, his mouth full of fries.
ÓCoach Cross chaperones, so Link always goes by himself so he can loiter around her all night,Ô I explained.
ÓDonÒt wanna disappoint the ladies. TheyÒll be fightinÒ over me once somebody spikes the punch.Ô
ÓIÒve never been to a school dance before.Ô Lena looked down at her tray and picked at her sandwich. She looked almost disappointed.
I hadnÒt asked her to the dance. It hadnÒt occurred to me that sheÒd want to go. So much was going on between us, and every part of it was so much bigger than a school dance.
Link shot me a look. He had warned me this would happen. ÓEvery girl wants to be asked to the dance, man. I have no idea why, but even I know that much.Ô Who knew Link might actually be right, considering his Coach Cross Master Plan had never panned outØ
Link drained the rest of his Coke. ÓA pretty girl like youØ You could be the Snow
Queen.Ô
Lena tried to smile, but it wasnÒt even close. ÓSo whatÒs with the whole Snow Queen thingØ DonÒt you just have a Homecoming Queen like everywhere elseØÔ
ÓNo. This is the winter formal, so itÒs an Ice Queen, but SavannahÒs cousin, Suzanne, won every year until she graduated and Savannah won last year, so everyone just calls it the Snow Queen.Ô Link reached over and grabbed a slice of pizza from my plate.
It was pretty obvious Lena wanted to be asked. Another mysterious thing about girlsthey want to be asked to stuff even if they donÒt want to go. But I had a feeling that wasnÒt the case with Lena. It was almost like she had a list of all the things she imagined a regular girl was supposed to do in high school, and she was determined to do them. It was crazy. The formal was the last place I wanted to go right now. We werenÒt the most popular people at Jackson lately. I didnÒt mind that everyone stared when we walked down the hall, even if we werenÒt holding hands. I didnÒt mind that people were probably saying things right now, cruel things, while the three of us sat alone at the only empty table in the crowded lunchroom, or that a whole club full of Jackson Angels was patrolling the halls just waiting for us to screw up.
But the thing is, before Lena, I wouldÒve cared. I was just starting to wonder, I mean, if maybe I was under some kind of spell myself.
I donÒt do that.
I didnÒt say you did.
You just did.
I didnÒt say you had Cast a spell. I just said, maybe I was under one.
You think IÒm RidleyØ
I thinkÅ forget it.
Lena searched my face even more intently, like she was trying to read it. Maybe she could do that, too, now, for all I knew.
WhatØ
The thing you said the morning after Halloween, in your room. Did you mean it, LØ
What thingØ
The writing on the wall.
What wallØ
The wall in your bedroom. DonÒt act like you donÒt know what IÒm talking about. You said you were feeling the same way I was.
She started fidgeting with her necklace.
I donÒt know what youÒre talking about.
Falling.
FallingØ
FallingÅ you know.
WhatØ
Never mind.
Say it, Ethan.
I just did.
Look at me.
IÒm looking right at you.
I looked down into my chocolate milk.
ÓGet itØ Savannah SnowØ Ice QueenØÔ Link dumped vanilla ice cream on top of his
French fries.
Lena caught my eye, blushing. She reached her hand under the table. I took it in mine, then almost yanked my hand away, the shock of her touch was so strong. It really was like sticking my hand in a wall socket. The way she looked at me, even if I couldnÒt hear what she was thinking, I wouldÒve known.
If you have something to say, Ethan, just say it.
Yeah. That.
Say it.
But we didnÒt need to say it. We were all by ourselves, in the middle of the crowded lunchroom, in the middle of a conversation with Link. Between the two of us, we had no idea what Link was even talking about, anymore. ÓGet itØ ItÒs only funny because itÒs true. You know, Ice Queen, Savannah is one.Ô
Lena let go of my hand and threw a carrot at Link. She couldnÒt stop smiling. He thought she was smiling at him. ÓOkay. I get it, Ice Queen. ItÒs still stupid.Ô Link stuck a fork into the gloppy mess on his tray.
ÓIt makes no sense. It doesnÒt even snow here.Ô
Link smiled at me over his ice cream fries. ÓSheÒs jealous. You better watch out. Lena just wants to be elected Ice Queen so she can dance with me when they make me Ice
King.Ô
Lena laughed in spite of herself. ÓYouØ I thought you were saving yourself for the track coach.Ô
ÓI am, and this is gonna be the year she falls for me.Ô
ÓLink spends the whole night trying to come up with witty things to say when she walks by.Ô
ÓShe thinks IÒm funny.Ô
ÓFunny looking.Ô
ÓThis is my year. I can feel it. IÒm gonna get Snow King this year, and Coach Cross is finally gonna see me up there on the stage with Savannah Snow.Ô
ÓI canÒt really see how it plays out from there.Ô Lena began to peel a blood orange.
ÓOh, you know, sheÒll be struck by my good looks and charm and musical talent, especially if you write me a song. Then sheÒll give in and dance with me and follow me up to New York after graduation, to be my groupie.Ô
ÓWhat is that, like an after-school specialØÔ The orange peel came off in one long spiral.
ÓYour girlfriend thinks IÒm special, dude.Ô Fries were falling out of his mouth.
Lena looked at me. Girlfriend. We both heard him say it.
Is that what I amØ
Is that what you want to beØ
Are you asking me somethingØ
It wasnÒt the first time IÒd thought about it. Lena had felt like my girlfriend for a while now. When you considered everything weÒd been through together, it was sort of a given.
So I donÒt know why I had never said it, and I donÒt know why it was hard to say it now.
But there was something about saying the words that made it more real.
I guess I am.
You donÒt sound so sure.
I grabbed her other hand under the table and found her green eyes.
IÒm sure, L.
Then I guess IÒm your girlfriend.
Link was still talking. ÓYouÒll think IÒm special when Coach Cross is hanginÒ all over me at the dance.Ô Link got up and tossed his tray.
ÓJust donÒt be thinking my girlfriendÒs saving you a dance.Ô I tossed mine.
LenaÒs eyes lit up. I was right; she not only wanted to be asked, she wanted to go. In that moment, I knew I didnÒt care what was on her regular-high-school-girl to-do list. I was going to make sure she got to do everything on it.
ÓAre you guys goinÒØÔ
I looked at her expectantly and she squeezed my hand.
ÓYeah, I guess.Ô
This time she smiled for real. ÓAnd Link, how about I save you two dancesØ My boyfriend wonÒt mind. He would never tell me who I can and canÒt dance with.Ô I rolled my eyes.
Link put his fist up and I tapped my knuckles against his. ÓYeah, I bet.Ô
The bell rang and lunch was over. Just like that, I not only had a date to the winter formal, I had a girlfriend. And not just a girlfriend, for the first time in my whole life, I had almost used the L word. In the middle of the cafeteria, in front of Link.
Talk about hot lunch.
12.13
MELTING
I donÒt see why she canÒt meet you here. I was hopinÒ to see MelchizedekÒs niece all dolled up in her fancy dress.Ô I was standing in front of Amma so she could tie my bow tie. Amma was so short, she had to stand three stairs up from me to reach my collar.
When I was a kid, she used to comb my hair and tie my necktie before we went to church on Sundays. She had always looked like she was so proud, and thatÒs how she was looking at me now.
ÓSorry. No time for a photo session. IÒm picking her up from her house. The guy is supposed to pick up the girl, rememberØÔ That was a stretch, considering I was picking her up in the Beater. Link was catching a ride with Shawn. The guys on the team were still saving him a seat at their new lunch table, even though he usually sat with Lena and me.
Amma yanked on my tie and snorted a laugh. I donÒt know what she thought was so funny, but it made me edgy.
ÓItÒs too tight. I feel like itÒs strangling me.Ô I tried to wedge a finger in between my neck and the collar of my rented jacket from BuckÒs Tux, but I couldnÒt.
ÓIsnÒt the tie, itÒs your nerves. YouÒll do fine.Ô She surveyed me approvingly, like I imagined my mom would have if sheÒd been here. ÓNow, let me see those flowers.Ô I reached behind me for a small box, a red rose surrounded by white babyÒs breath inside.
They looked pretty ugly to me, but you couldnÒt get much better from Gardens of Eden, the only place in Gatlin.
ÓAbout the sorriest flowers IÒve ever seen.Ô Amma took one look and tossed them into the wastebasket at the bottom of the stairs. She turned on her heel and disappeared into the kitchen.
ÓWhat did you do that forØÔ
She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a wrist corsage, small and delicate. White
Confederate jasmine and wild rosemary, tied with a pale silver ribbon. Silver and white, the colors of the winter formal. It was perfect.
As much as I knew that Amma wasnÒt crazy about my relationship with Lena, she had done this anyway. SheÒd done it for me. It was something my mom would have done. It was only since my mom had died that I realized how much I relied on Amma, how much
I had always relied on her. She was the only thing that had kept me afloat. Without her, I probably would have drowned, like my dad.
ÓEverything means somethinÒ. DonÒt try to change somethinÒ wild into somethinÒ tame.Ô
I held the corsage up to the kitchen lamp. I felt the length of the ribbon, carefully probing it with my fingers. Under the ribbon, there was a tiny bone.
ÓAmma!Ô
She shrugged. ÓWhat, are you gonna take issue with a teeny little graveyard bone like thatØ After all this time growinÒ up in this house, after seeinÒ the things youÒve seen, whereÒs your senseØ A little protection never hurt anybody×not even you, Ethan Wate.Ô
I sighed and put the corsage back in the box. ÓI love you, too, Amma.Ô
She gave me a bone-crushing hug, and I ran down the steps and into the night. ÓYou be careful, you hearØ DonÒt get carried away.Ô
I had no idea what she meant, but I smiled at her anyway. ÓYes, maÒam.Ô
My fatherÒs light was on in the study as I drove away. I wondered if he even knew tonight was the winter formal.
When Lena pulled the door open, my heart almost stopped, which was saying something considering she wasnÒt even touching me. I knew she looked nothing like any of the other girls at the dance would look tonight. There were only two kinds of prom dresses in
Gatlin County, and they all came from one of two places: Little Miss, the local pageant gown supplier, or Southern Belle, the bridal shop two towns over.
The girls who went to Little Miss wore the slutty mermaid dresses, all slits and plunging necklines and sequins; those were the girls that Amma would never have allowed me to be seen with at a church picnic, let alone the winter formal. They were sometimes the local pageant girls or the daughters of local pageant girls, like Eden, whose mom had been First Runner Up Miss South Carolina, or more often just the daughters of the women who wished they had been pageant girls. These were the same girls you might eventually see holding their babies at the Jackson High School graduation in a couple of years.
Southern Belle dresses were the Scarlett OÒHara dresses, shaped like giant cowbells. The
Southern Belle girls were the daughters of the DAR and the Ladies Auxiliary membersthe Emily Ashers and the Savannah Snows×and you could take them anywhere, if you could stomach it, stomach them, and stomach the way it looked like you were dancing with a bride at her own wedding.
Either way, everything was shiny, everything was colorful, and everything involved a lot of metallic trim and a particular shade of orange folks called Gatlin Peach, that was probably reserved for tacky bridesmaidsÒ dresses everywhere else but Gatlin County.
For guys, there was less obvious pressure, but it wasnÒt really any easier. We had to match, usually our date, which could involve the dreaded Gatlin Peach. This year, the basketball team was going in silver bow ties and silver cummerbunds, sparing them the humiliation of pink or purple or peach bow ties.
Lena had definitely never worn Gatlin Peach in her life. As I looked at her, my knees started to buckle, which was starting to become a familiar feeling. She was so pretty it hurt.
Wow.
Like itØ
She spun around. Her hair curled around her shoulders, long and loose, held back with glinting clips, in one of those magical ways girls have of making their hair look like it is supposed to be up, but also sort of falling down. I wanted to run my fingers through it, but I didnÒt dare touch her, not a single hair. LenaÒs dress fell from her body, clinging to all the right places without looking Little Miss, in silvery gray strands, as delicate as a silver cobweb, spun by silver spiders.
Was itØ Spun by silver spidersØ
Who knowsØ It couldÒve been. It was a gift from Uncle Macon.
She laughed and pulled me into the house. Even Ravenwood seemed to reflect the wintry theme of the formal. Tonight, the entry hall looked like old Hollywood; tiles of black and white checkered the floor, and silver snowflakes sparkled, floating in the air above us. A black lacquered antique table stood in front of iridescent silver curtains, and beyond them, I could see something that glinted like the ocean, though I knew it couldnÒt be.
Flickering candles hovered over the furniture, tossing little pools of moonlight everywhere I looked.
ÓReallyØ SpidersØÔ
I could see the candlelight reflecting off her shining lips. I tried not to think about it. I tried not to want to kiss the little moon-shaped crescent on her cheekbone. The most subtle dusting of silver shone on her shoulders, her face, her hair. Even her birthmark seemed to be silver tonight.
ÓJust kidding. It was probably just something he found in some little shop in Paris or
Rome or New York City. Uncle Macon likes beautiful things.Ô She touched the silver crescent moon at her neckline, dangling just above her chain of memories. Another gift from Macon, I guessed.
The familiar drawl came out of the dark hallway, accompanied by a single silver candlestick. ÓBudapest, not Paris. Other than that, guilty as charged.Ô Macon emerged in a smoking jacket over neat black pants and a white dress shirt. The silver studs in his shirt caught the glint of the candlelight.
ÓEthan, I would appreciate it greatly if you could take every precaution with my niece tonight. As you know, I prefer her home in the evenings.Ô He handed me a corsage for
Lena, a small wreath of Confederate jasmine. ÓEvery possible precaution.Ô
ÓUncle M!Ô Lena sounded annoyed.
I looked at the corsage more closely. A silver ring dangled from the pin that held the flowers. It had an inscription in a language I didnÒt understand, but recognized from The
Book of Moons. I didnÒt have to look too closely to see it was the ring he had worn night and day, until now. I pulled out AmmaÒs nearly identical corsage. Between the hundred
Casters probably Bound to the ring, and all of AmmaÒs extended Greats, there wasnÒt a spirit in town that would mess with us. I hoped.
ÓI think, between you and Amma, sir, Lena will survive the Jackson High winter formal all right.Ô I smiled.
Macon didnÒt. ÓItÒs not the formal I worry about, but IÒm grateful to Amarie just the same.Ô
Lena frowned, looking from her uncle to me. Maybe we didnÒt look like the two happiest guys in town. ÓYour turn.Ô She picked up a boutonniere from the hall table, a plain white rose with a tiny sprig of jasmine, and pinned it on my jacket. ÓI wish you would all stop worrying for one minute. This is getting embarrassing. I can take care of myself.Ô
Macon looked unconvinced. ÓIn any event, I wouldnÒt want anyone to get hurt.Ô
I didnÒt know if he was referring to the witches of Jackson High, or the powerful Dark
Caster, Sarafine. Either way, IÒd seen enough in the last few months to take a warning like that seriously.
ÓAnd have her back by midnight.Ô
ÓIs that some powerful Caster hourØÔ
ÓNo. ItÒs her curfew.Ô
I stifled a smile.
Lena seemed anxious on the way to school. She sat stiffly in the front seat, fiddling with the radio, her dress, her seatbelt.
ÓRelax.Ô
ÓIs it crazy that weÒre going tonightØÔ Lena looked at me expectantly.
ÓWhat do you meanØÔ
ÓI mean everyone hates me.Ô She looked down at her hands.
ÓYou mean everyone hates us.Ô
ÓOkay, everyone hates us.Ô
ÓWe donÒt have to go.Ô
ÓNo, I want to go. ThatÒs the thingÅÔ She twisted the corsage around her wrist a few times ÓLast year, Ridley and I had planned to go together. But thenÅÔ
I couldnÒt hear her answer, not even in my head.
ÓThings had already gone wrong by then. Ridley turned sixteen. Then she was gone, and
I had to leave school.Ô
ÓWell, this isnÒt last year. ItÒs just a dance. NothingÒs gone wrong.Ô
She frowned and shut the mirror.
Not yet.
When we walked into the gym, even I was impressed by how hard Student Council must have worked all weekend. Jackson had gone all the way with the whole Midwinter
NightÒs Dream concept. Hundreds of tiny paper snowflakes×some white, some shimmering with tinfoil, glitter, sequins, and anything else that could be made to sparkle ×hung on fishing wire from the ceiling of the gym. Powdery soap flake ÓsnowÔ drifted into the corners of the gym, and twinkling white lights fell in strands from the risers.
ÓHi, Ethan. Lena, you look lovely.Ô Coach Cross handed us both cups of Gatlin Peach
Punch. She was in a black dress that showed just a little too much leg, I thought, for
LinkÒs sake.
I looked at Lena, thinking of the silver snowflakes floating through the air at Ravenwood, without fishing wire or silver tinfoil. Still, her eyes were shining and she clung to my hand tightly, like she was a kid at her first birthday party. I had never believed Link when he claimed school dances had some sort of inexplicable effect on girls. But it was clear it was true of all girls, even Caster girls.
ÓItÒs beautiful.Ô Honestly, it wasnÒt. What it was, was a plain old Jackson High dance, but
I guess to Lena, that was something beautiful. Maybe magic wasnÒt the magic thing, when you grew up with it.
Then I heard a familiar voice. It couldnÒt be.
ÓLetÒs get this party started!Ô
Ethan, lookI turned around and almost choked on my punch. Link grinned at me, wearing what looked like a silver sharkskin tuxedo. He had one of those black T-shirts with a picture of the front of a tuxedo shirt screened on it underneath, and his black high-tops. He looked like a Charleston street performer.
ÓHey, Short Straw! Hey, Cuz!Ô I heard that unmistakable voice again, over the crowd, over the DJ, over the thumping of pounding bass, and the couples on the dance floor.
Honey, sugar, molasses, and cherry lollipops, all rolled into one. It was the only time in my life IÒd ever thought something was too sweet.
LenaÒs hand tightened on mine. On LinkÒs arm, unbelievably, in the smallest splash of silver sequins ever worn to a Jackson High formal, maybe any formal, was Ridley. I didnÒt even know where to look; she was all legs and curves and blond hair spilling everywhere. I could feel the temperature in the room rising just by looking at her. From the number of guys who had stopped dancing with their wedding cake-topper dates, who were fuming, it was obvious I wasnÒt the only one. In a world where all the prom dresses came from one of two stores, Ridley had out-Little Missed even the Little Misses. She made Coach Cross look like the Reverend Mother. In other words, Link was doomed.
Lena looked from me to her cousin, ill. ÓRidley, what are you doing hereØÔ
ÓCuz. We finally got to that dance after all. ArenÒt you ecstaticØ IsnÒt it fantasticØÔ
I could see LenaÒs hair starting to curl in the nonexistent wind. She blinked and half the string of twinkling white lights went dark. I had to act fast. I pulled Link over to the punch bowl. ÓWhat are you doing with herØÔ
ÓDude, can you believe itØ SheÒs the hottest chick in Gatlin, no offense. Third Degree
Burns. And she was just hanginÒ out at the Stop & Steal when I went in to buy Slim Jims on the way here. She even had a dress on.Ô
ÓDonÒt you think thatÒs a little weirdØÔ
ÓDo you think I careØÔ
ÓWhat if sheÒs some kind of psychoØÔ
ÓYou think sheÒll tie me up or somethinÒØÔ He grinned, already picturing it.
ÓIÒm not joking.Ô
ÓYouÒre always jokinÒ. WhatÒs upØ Oh, I get it, youÒre jealous. ÒCause I seem to remember you gettinÒ in her car pretty fast yourself. DonÒt tell me you tried to get with her or somethinÒ×Ô
ÓNo way. SheÒs LenaÒs cousin.Ô
ÓWhatever. All I know is, IÒm here at the formal with the hottest hotness in three counties. ItÒs like, what are the odds of a meteor hittinÒ this townØ ThisÒll never happen again. Be cool, okayØ DonÒt ruin it for me.Ô He was under her spell already, not that she had needed much of one with Link. It didnÒt matter what I said.
I gave it another half-hearted try. ÓSheÒs bad news, man. SheÒs messing with your head.
SheÒll suck you in and spit you out when sheÒs done.Ô
He grabbed my shoulders with both hands. ÓSuck away.Ô
Link put his arm around RidleyÒs waist and went out onto the dance floor. He didnÒt so much as look at Coach Cross as they walked by.
I pulled Lena away in the other direction, toward the corner where the photographer was taking pictures of the couples in front of a fake snowdrift with a fake snowman, while members of Student Council took turns shaking fake snow down onto the scene. I bumped right into Emily.
She looked at Lena. ÓLena. You lookÅ shiny.Ô
Lena just looked at her. ÓEmily. You lookÅ puffy.Ô
It was true. Ethan-Hating Southern Belle Emily looked like a silver and peach-filled cream puff, plucked and primped and puckered into taffeta. Her hair, in scary little piggy ringlets, looked like it was made out of yellow curling ribbon. Her face looked like it had been stretched a little too tightly while she was getting her hair done at the Snip ÒnÒ Curl, stabbed in the head one too many times with a bobby pin.
What had I ever seen in any of themØ
ÓI didnÒt know your kind danced.Ô
ÓWe do.Ô Lena stared at her.
ÓAround a bonfireØÔ EmilyÒs face twisted into a nasty smile.
LenaÒs hair began to curl again. ÓWhyØ Looking for a bonfire so you can burn that dressØÔ The other half of the twinkle lights shorted out. I could see Student Council scrambling to check the cord connections.
DonÒt let her win. SheÒs the only witch here.
SheÒs not the only one, Ethan.
Savannah appeared next to Emily, dragging Earl behind her. She looked exactly like
Emily, only she was silver and pink, rather than silver and peach. Her skirt was just as fluffy. If you squinted, you could visualize both of their weddings now. It was horrifying.
Earl looked at the ground, trying to avoid making eye contact with me.
ÓCome on, Em, theyÒre announcinÒ the Royal Court.Ô Savannah looked at Emily meaningfully.
ÓDonÒt let me hold ya up.Ô Savannah gestured to the line for pictures. ÓI mean, will you even show up on film, LenaØÔ She flounced off, massive cream puff dress and all.
ÓNext!Ô
LenaÒs hair was still curling.
TheyÒre idiots. It doesnÒt matter. None of it matters.
I heard the photographerÒs voice again. ÓNext!Ô
I grabbed LenaÒs hand and pulled her into the fake snowdrift. She looked up at me, her eyes clouded. And then, the clouds passed, and she was back. I could feel the storm settle.
ÓCue the snow,Ô I heard in the background.
YouÒre right. It doesnÒt matter.
I leaned in to kiss her.
YouÒre what matters.
We kissed, and the flash from the camera went off. For one second, one perfect second, it seemed like there was nobody else in the world, and nothing else mattered.
The blinding light of a flashbulb and then, sticky white goop was pouring everywhere, all over the two of us.
What the×Ø
Lena gasped. I tried to clear the glop out of my eyes, but it was everywhere. When I saw
Lena, it was even worse, her hair, her face, her beautiful dress. Her first dance. Ruined.
It was foaming up, the consistency of pancake mix, dripping down from a bucket over our heads, the one that was supposed to release the flakes of fake snow so it could drift down gently for the photo. I looked up, only to get another face full of the stuff. The bucket rattled to the floor.
ÓWho put water in the snowØÔ The photographer was furious. No one said a word, and I was willing to bet the Jackson Angels hadnÒt seen a thing.
ÓSheÒs melting!Ô someone shouted. We stood in a puddle of white soap or glue or whatever, wishing we could shrink until we disappeared; at least, thatÒs how it must have looked to the crowd standing around us laughing. Savannah and Emily were standing off to the side, enjoying every minute of what was maybe the most humiliating moment of
LenaÒs life.
A guy called out over the din. ÓYou shoulda stayed home.Ô
I wouldÒve known that stupid voice anywhere. IÒd heard it enough times on the court, about the only place he ever used it. Earl was whispering in SavannahÒs ear, his arm slung around her shoulder.
I snapped. I was across the room so fast Earl didnÒt even see me coming at him. I slammed my soap-covered fist into his jaw and he hit the ground, knocking Savannah on her hoop-skirted butt in the process.
ÓWhat the hellØ Have you lost your mind, WateØÔ Earl started to get up, but I pushed him back down with my foot.
ÓYou better stay down.Ô
Earl sat up and pulled on the collar of his jacket to straighten it, as if he could still look cool sitting on the gym floor. ÓYou better hope you know what youÒre doinÒ.Ô But he didnÒt get back up. He could say what he wanted, but we both knew if he got up, he was the one who would end up back on the ground.
ÓI do.Ô I pulled Lena out of the growing slush puddle of what used to be the fake snowdrift.
ÓLetÒs go, Earl, theyÒre announcinÒ the court,Ô Savannah said, annoyed. Earl got up and brushed himself off.
I wiped my eyes, shaking out my wet hair. Lena stood there shivering, dripping fake snow like whitewash. Even in the crowd, there was a little puddle of space around her.
No one dared get too close, except me. I tried to wipe her face with my sleeve, but she backed away.
This is the way it always is.
ÓLena.Ô
I shouldÒve known better.
Ridley appeared at her side, with Link right behind her. She was furious, I could see that much. ÓI donÒt get it, Cuz. I donÒt see why you want to hang out with their kind.Ô She spat the words out, sounding just like Emily. ÓNo one treats us like this, Light or Darknot one of them. WhereÒs your self-respect, Lena BeanaØÔ
ÓItÒs not worth it. Not tonight. I just want to go home.Ô Lena was too embarrassed to be as angry as Ridley. It was fight or flight, and right now, Lena was choosing flight. ÓTake me home, Ethan.Ô
Link took off his silver jacket and put it around her shoulders. ÓThat was messed up.Ô
Ridley couldnÒt calm down, or wouldnÒt. ÓTheyÒre bad news, Cuz, except Short Straw.
And my new boyfriend, Shrinky Dink.Ô
ÓLink. I told you, itÒs Link.Ô
ÓShut up, Ridley. SheÒs had enough.Ô The Siren effect wasnÒt working on me anymore.
Ridley looked over my shoulder, and smiled, a dark smile. ÓCome to think of it, IÒve had enough, too.Ô
I followed her gaze. The Ice Queen and her Court had made their way up to the stage, and were grinning from the catbird seat. Once again, Savannah was the Snow Queen. Nothing ever changed. She was beaming at Emily, once again her Ice Princess, just like last year.
Ridley took off her movie star sunglasses, just a little. Her eyes began to glow×you could almost feel the heat coming off her. A lollipop appeared in her hand, and I smelled the thick, sickly sweetness in the air.
DonÒt, Ridley.
This isnÒt about you, Cuz. ItÒs bigger than that. Things are about to change in this backassward town.
I could hear RidleyÒs voice in my head as clearly as LenaÒs. I shook my head.
Leave it alone, Ridley. YouÒre only going to make things worse.
Open your eyes; they canÒt get any worse. Or maybe they can.
She patted Lena on the shoulder.
Watch and learn.
She was staring at the Royal Court, sucking on her cherry lollipop. I hoped it was too dark for them to see her creepy cat eyes.
No! TheyÒll just blame me, Ridley. DonÒt.
Gat-dung needs to learn a lesson. And IÒm just the one to teach it to them.
Ridley strode toward the stage, her glitter heels clicking against the floor.
ÓHey, babe, where ya goinÒØÔ Link was right behind her.
Charlotte was walking up the stairs, in yards of shiny lavender taffeta two sizes too small, toward her sparkly, plastic silver crown and her usual place in fourth position of the
Royal Court, behind Eden×Ice Handmaiden, I guess. Just as she was taking the last step, her gigantic lavender sweatshop creation caught the edge of the riser, and when she stepped up onto the last stair, the back of her dress tore right off, right at the feebly sewn seam. It took Charlotte a couple of seconds to realize it and by then, half the school was staring at her hot pink panties, the size of the state of Texas. Charlotte screamed a bloodcurdling, now-everyone-knows-how-fat-I-really-am scream.
Ridley grinned.
Oopsies!
Ridley, stop!
IÒm just getting started.
Charlotte was screaming, while Emily, Eden, and Savannah tried to shield her from view with their teen wedding dresses. The sound of a record scratching ripped across the speakers, as the record that was playing abruptly changed to the Stones.
ÓSympathy for the Devil.Ô It couldÒve been RidleyÒs theme song. She was introducing herself, in a big way.
The people on the dance floor just assumed it was another one of Dickey WixÒs screwups, on his way to becoming the most famous thirty-five-year-old DJ on the prom circuit.
But the joke was on them. Forget light strands shorting out; within seconds all the bulbs above the stage and the track lighting along the dance floor began to blow, one by one, like dominoes.
Ridley led Link onto the dance floor, and he twirled her around as Jackson students screamed, pushing their way off the floor, under the spray of sparks. IÒm sure they all thought they were in the middle of some kind of electrical wiring disaster that Red Sweet, GatlinÒs only electrician, would get blamed for. Ridley threw her head back, laughing and undulating around Link in that loincloth of a dress.
Ethan×we have to do something!
WhatØ
It was too late to do anything. Lena turned and ran, and I was right behind her. Before either of us reached the doors to the gym, the sprinklers went off, all along the ceiling.
Water poured into the gym. The audio equipment started to short out, sparking like an electrocution just waiting to happen. Wet snowflakes dropped to the floor like soaked pancakes, and soap-flake snow turned into a bubbling mess.
Everyone started to scream, and girls dripping mascara and hair product ran toward the door in their soggy taffeta skirts. In the mess, you couldnÒt tell a Little Miss from a
Southern Belle. They all looked like pastel-colored drowned rats.
As I reached the door, I heard a loud crash. I turned to the stage just as the giant glitter snowflake backdrop toppled. Emily flopped out of position, off her step on the slippery stage. Still waving to the crowd, she tried to catch herself, but her feet slipped out from under her and she fell to the gym floor. She collapsed into a pile of peach and silver taffeta. Coach Cross went running.
I didnÒt feel sorry for her, even though I did feel sorry for the people who would be blamed for this nightmare: the Student Council for their dangerously unstable backdrop, Dickey Wix for capitalizing on the misfortune of a fat teenage cheerleader in her underwear, and Red Sweet for his unprofessional and potentially life-threatening wiring of the lighting in the Jackson High gym.
See you later, Cuz. This was even better than a prom.
I pushed Lena out the door in front of me. ÓGo!Ô
She was so cold I could barely stand to touch her. By the time we got to the car, Boo
Radley was already catching up to us.
Macon shouldnÒt have worried about her curfew.
It wasnÒt even half past nine.
Macon was infuriated, or maybe he was just worried. I couldnÒt tell which, because every time he looked at me, I looked away. Even Boo didnÒt dare look at him, lying at LenaÒs feet, thumping his tail on the floor.
The house no longer resembled the dance. I bet Macon would never allow a silver snowflake through the doors of Ravenwood again. Everything was black now.
Everything: the floors, the furniture, the curtains, the ceiling. Only the fire in the study fireplace burned steadily, casting light out into the room from the hearth. Maybe the house reflected his changing moods, and this was a dark one.
ÓKitchen!Ô A black mug of cocoa appeared in MaconÒs hand. He handed it to Lena, who sat wrapped in a scratchy woolen blanket in front of the fire. She clutched the mug with both hands, her wet hair tucked behind her ears, clinging to the warmth. He paced in front of her. ÓYou should have left the moment you saw her, Lena.Ô
ÓI was kind of busy getting doused with soap and laughed at by everyone in school.
ÓWell, you wonÒt be busy anymore. YouÒre grounded until your birthday, for your own good.Ô
ÓMy own good is so clearly not the point here.Ô She was still shaking, but I didnÒt think it was from the cold, not anymore.
He stared at me, his eyes cold and dark. He was furious, I was sure now. ÓYou should have made her leave.Ô
ÓI didnÒt know what to do, sir. I didnÒt know Ridley was going to destroy the gym. And
Lena had never been to a dance.Ô It sounded stupid even as I was saying it.
Macon just stared back at me, swirling the scotch in his glass. ÓInteresting to note, you didnÒt even dance. Not a single dance.Ô
ÓHow do you know thatØÔ Lena put down her mug.
Macon paced. ÓThatÒs not important.Ô
ÓActually, itÒs important to me.Ô
Macon shrugged. ÓItÒs Boo. He is, for lack of a better word, my eyes.Ô
ÓWhatØÔ
ÓHe sees what I see. I see what he sees. HeÒs a Caster dog, you know.Ô
ÓUncle Macon! YouÒve been spying on me!Ô
ÓNot on you, in particular. How do you think I manage as the town shut-inØ I wouldnÒt get far without manÒs best friend. Boo here sees everything, so I see everything.Ô I looked at Boo. I could see the eyes, human eyes. I should have known, maybe I had always known. He had MaconÒs eyes.
And something else, something he was chewing. He had a ball of something in his mouth. I bent down to take it from him. It was a crumpled, soggy Polaroid. He had carried it all the way from the gym.
Our picture from the formal. I was standing there, with Lena, in the middle of the fake snow. Emily was wrong. LenaÒs kind did show up on film, only she was shimmering, transparent, as if from the waist down she had already begun to dissolve into some kind of ghostly apparition. Like she really was melting, before the snow had even hit her.
I patted BooÒs head and pocketed the photo. This wasnÒt something Lena needed to see, not right now. Two months until her birthday. I didnÒt need the picture to know we were running out of time.
12.16
WHEN THE SAINTS GO MARCHING IN
Lena was sitting on the porch when I pulled up. I insisted on driving because Link wanted to ride with us, and he couldnÒt risk being seen in the hearse. And I didnÒt want
Lena to have to walk in alone. I didnÒt even want her to go, but there was no talking her out of it. She looked like she was ready for battle. She was wearing a black turtleneck sweater, black jeans, and a black vest with a fur-trimmed hood. She was about to face the firing squad, and she knew it.
It had only been three days since the dance, and the DAR hadnÒt wasted any time. The
Jackson Disciplinary Committee meeting this afternoon wasnÒt going to be much different than a witch trial, and you didnÒt have to be a Caster to know that. Emily was limping around in a cast, the winter formal disaster had become the talk of the town, and
Mrs. Lincoln finally had all the support she needed. Witnesses had come forward. And if you twisted everything everyone claimed they saw, heard, or remembered far enough, you could squint, slant your head just right, and try to see the logic: that Lena Duchannes was responsible.
Everything was fine until she came to town.
Link jumped out and opened the door for Lena. He was so riddled with guilt, he looked like he was going to puke. ÓHey, Lena. How ya doinÒØÔ
ÓIÒm okay.Ô
Liar.
I donÒt want him to feel bad. ItÒs not his fault.
Link cleared his throat. ÓIÒm real sorry about this. IÒve been fightinÒ with my mom all weekend. SheÒs always been crazy, but this time itÒs different.Ô
ÓItÒs not your fault, but I appreciate you trying to talk to her.Ô
ÓIt might have made a difference if all those hags from the DAR werenÒt talkinÒ her other ear off. Mrs. Snow and Mrs. Asher mustÒve called my house a hundred times in the last two days.Ô
We drove past the Stop & Steal. Even Fatty wasnÒt there. The roads were deserted, like we were driving through a ghost town. The Disciplinary Committee meeting was scheduled for five oÒclock sharp, and we were going to be right on time. The meeting was in the gym because it was the only place at Jackson big enough to accommodate the number of people that were likely to show up. That was another thing about Gatlin, everything that went on involved everyone. There were no closed proceedings around here. From the look of the streets, the whole town had all but shut down, which meant just about everyone was going to be at the meeting.
ÓI just donÒt get how your mom pulled this off so quickly. This is fast even for her.Ô
ÓFrom what I overheard, Doc Asher got involved. He hunts with Principal Harper and some bigwig on the School Board.Ô Doc Asher was EmilyÒs dad and the only real doctor in town.
ÓGreat.Ô
ÓYou guys know IÒm probably going to get kicked out, rightØ IÒll bet itÒs already been decided. This meeting is just for show.Ô
Link looked confused. ÓThey canÒt kick you out without hearinÒ your side a the story.
You didnÒt even do anything.Ô
ÓNone of that matters. These things are decided behind closed doors. Nothing I say is going to matter.Ô
She was right, and we both knew it. So I didnÒt say anything. Instead, I pulled her hand up to my mouth and kissed it, wishing for the hundredth time that it was me going up against the whole School Board, instead of Lena.
But the thing was, it would never have been me. No matter what I did, no matter what I said, I would always be one of them. Lena never would. And I think that was the thing that made me the angriest, and the most embarrassed. I hated them even more because deep down, they still claimed me as one of their own, even when I dated Old Man
RavenwoodÒs niece and took on Mrs. Lincoln and wasnÒt invited to Savannah SnowÒs parties. I was one of them. I belonged to them, and there was nothing I could do to change that. And if the opposite were true, and in some way they belonged to me, then what Lena was up against wasnÒt just them. It was me.
The truth was killing me. Maybe Lena was going to be Claimed on her sixteenth birthday, but I had been claimed since birth. I had no more control over my fate than she did. Maybe none of us did.
I pulled the car into the parking lot. It was full. There was a crowd of people lined up at the main entrance, waiting to get in. I hadnÒt seen this many people in one place since the opening of Gods and Generals, the longest and most boring Civil War movie ever made and one that half my relatives starred in as extras, because they owned their own uniforms.
Link ducked down in the backseat. ÓIÒm gonna slide out here. IÒll see yÒall in there.Ô He pushed open the door and crawled out between the cars. ÓGood luck.Ô
LenaÒs hands were in her lap, shaking. It killed me to see her this nervous. ÓYou donÒt have to go in there. We can turn around and I can drive you right back to your house.Ô
ÓNo. IÒm going in.Ô
ÓWhy do you want to subject yourself to thisØ You said it yourself, this is probably just for show.Ô
ÓIÒm not going to let them think IÒm scared to face them. I left my last school, but IÒm not going to run away this time.Ô She took a deep breath.
ÓItÒs not running away.Ô
ÓIt is to me.Ô
ÓIs your uncle coming at leastØÔ
ÓHe canÒt.Ô
ÓWhy the hell notØÔ She was all alone in this, even though I was standing right next to her.
ÓItÒs too early. I didnÒt even tell him.Ô
ÓToo earlyØ What is that about, anywayØ Is he locked up in his crypt or somethingØ
ÓMore like, or something.Ô
It wasnÒt worth trying to talk about now. She was going to have enough to deal with in a few minutes.
We walked toward the building. It started to rain. I looked at her.
Believe me, IÒm trying. If I let go, it would be a tornado.
People were staring, even pointing, not that I was surprised. So much for common decency. I looked around, half expecting to see Boo Radley sitting by the door, but tonight, he was nowhere in sight.
We entered the gym from the side, coincidentally×the VisitorÒs entrance, LinkÒs idea, which turned out to be a good one. Because once we got inside, I realized people werenÒt standing out front waiting to get in, they were just hoping to hear the meeting. Inside, it was standing room only.
It looked like a pathetic version of a grand jury hearing from an episode of one of those courtroom dramas on TV. There was a big plastic folding table in the front of the room, and a few teachers×Mr. Lee of course, sporting a red bow tie and his own backwoods brand of pre-judice; Principal Harper; and a couple of people who must have been members of the School Board×sitting in a row at the tables. They all looked old and annoyed, like they wished they could be at home watching QVC or religious programming.
The bleachers were filled with GatlinÒs finest. Mrs. Lincoln and her DAR lynch mob were taking up the first three rows, with the members of the Sisters of the Confederacy, the First Methodist Choir, and the Historical Society taking up the next few. Right behind them were the Jackson Angels×also known as, the girls who wanted to be Emily and
Savannah, and the guys who wanted to get into EmilyÒs and SavannahÒs pants×sporting their freshly screened Guardian tees. The front of the shirts had a picture of an angel that looked suspiciously like Emily Asher, with her huge white angel wings spread wide open, wearing what else×a Jackson High Wildcats T-shirt. On the back, there was simply a pair of white wings designed to look like they were sprouting right out of the personÒs back, and the AngelsÒ battle cry, ÓWeÒll Be Watching You.Ô
Emily was sitting next to Mrs. Asher, her leg and its huge cast propped up on one of the orange cafeteria chairs. Mrs. Lincoln narrowed her eyes when she saw us, and Mrs. Asher put her arm around Emily protectively, as if one of us might run over there and beat her with a club like a defenseless baby seal pup. I saw Emily slip her phone out of her tiny silver bag, text-ready. Soon, her fingers would be flying. Our school gym was probably the epicenter of local gossip for four counties tonight.
Amma was sitting a few rows back, fiddling with the charm around her neck. Hopefully, it would make Mrs. Lincoln grow the horns sheÒd been so artfully hiding all these years.
Of course, my dad wasnÒt there, but the Sisters were sitting next to Thelma, across the aisle from Amma. Things must have been worse than I thought. The Sisters hadnÒt been out of the house this late since 1980, when Aunt Grace ate too much spicy HoppinÒ John and thought she was having a heart attack. Aunt Mercy caught my eye and waved her handkerchief.
I walked Lena to the seat in the front of the room obviously reserved for her. It was right in front of the firing squad, dead center.
ItÒs going to be okay.
PromiseØ
I could hear the rain pounding on the roof outside.
I promise this doesnÒt matter. I promise these people are idiots. I promise nothing they say will ever change the way I feel about you.
IÒll take that as a no.
The rain beat down harder on the roof, not a good sign. I took her hand and pressed something into it. The little silver button from LenaÒs vest, that IÒd found in the BeaterÒs cracked upholstery, the night we met in the rain. It looked like a piece of junk, but I had carried it in my jeans pocket ever since.
Here. ItÒs sort of a good luck charm. At least it brought something good to me.
I could see how hard she was trying not to crack. Without a word, Lena took off her chain and added it to her own collection of valuable junk.
Thanks. If she could have smiled, she would have.
I made my way back toward the row where the Sisters and Amma were sitting. Aunt
Grace stood up, resting on her cane. ÓEthan, over here. We saved you a seat, darlinÒ.Ô
ÓWhy donÒt you sit down, Grace Statham,Ô an old blue-haired woman sitting behind the
Sisters hissed.
Aunt Prue turned around. ÓWhy donÒt you mind your own business, Sadie Honeycutt, or I will mind it for you.Ô
Aunt Grace turned to Mrs. Honeycutt and smiled. ÓNow you come right on over here, Ethan.Ô
I squeezed in between Aunt Mercy and Aunt Grace. ÓHow you holdinÒ up, Sweet MeatØÔ
Thelma smiled and pinched my arm.
Thunder crashed outside, and the lights flickered. A few old women gasped.
An uptight-looking guy sitting in the middle of the big folding table cleared his throat.
ÓJust a little hiccup in the power is all. Why doesnÒt everyone kindly take their seats so we can get started. My name is Bertrand Hollingsworth, and IÒm Head a the School
Board. This meetingÒs been called to respond to the petition requestinÒ the expulsion of a
Jackson student, a Miss Lena Duchannes, is that rightØÔ
Principal Harper addressed Mr. Hollingsworth from his seat at the table, the Prosecution, or more accurately, Mrs. LincolnÒs hangman. ÓYes, sir. The petition was brought to my attention by several concerned parents, and it was signed by over two hundred a GatlinÒs most respected parents and citizens, and a number of Jackson students.Ô Of course it was.
ÓWhat are the grounds for expulsionØÔ
Mr. Harper flipped some pages on his yellow legal pad like he was reading a rap sheet.
ÓAssault. Destruction a school property. And Miss Duchannes was already on probation.Ô
AssaultØ I didnÒt assault anyone.
ItÒs just an accusation. They canÒt prove anything.
I was on my feet before he even finished. ÓNone of thatÒs true!Ô
Another jumpy-looking guy at the other end of the table raised his voice to be heard over the rain, and the twenty or thirty old women whispering about my bad manners. ÓYoung man, have a seat. This is not a free-for-all.Ô
Mr. Hollingsworth pressed on over the din. ÓDo we have any witnesses to substantiate these accusationsØÔ Now there were more than a few people whispering to each other to see if anyone knew what ÓsubstantiateÔ meant.
Principal Harper cleared his throat awkwardly. ÓYes. And recently, I received information that indicates Miss Duchannes had similar problems at the school she previously attended.Ô
What is he talking aboutØ How do they know anything about my old schoolØ
I donÒt know. What happened at your old schoolØ
Nothing.
A woman from the School Board flipped through some papers in front of her. ÓI think weÒd like to hear from JacksonÒs Parent Partnership President, Mrs. Lincoln, first.Ô
LinkÒs mom stood up dramatically and walked down the aisle toward the Gatlin Grand
Jury. She had seen a few courtroom dramas on TV, herself. ÓGood eveninÒ, ladies and gentle-men.Ô
ÓMrs. Lincoln, can you tell us what you know about this situation, since you are one of the original petitionersØÔ
ÓOf course. Miss Ravenwood, I mean, Miss Duchannes, moved here several months ago, and since then there have been all sorts a problems at Jackson. First, she broke a window in the English class×Ô
ÓThat came close to cuttinÒ my baby to shreds,Ô Mrs. Snow called out.
ÓIt came close to seriously injurinÒ several children, and many a them suffered cuts from the broken glass.Ô
ÓNo one except Lena was injured and that was an accident!Ô Link yelled from where he was standing in the back of the room.
ÓWesley Jefferson Lincoln, you better go home right now if you know whatÒs good for you!Ô Mrs. Lincoln hissed.
She regained her composure, smoothing her skirt, and turned to face the Disciplinary
Committee. ÓMiss DuchannesÒ charms seem to work quite well on the weaker sex,Ô Mrs.
Lincoln said with a smile. ÓAs I was sayinÒ, she broke a window in the English classroom, which frightened the students so much that a number of civically minded young ladies took it upon themselves to form the Jackson Guardian Angels×a group whose sole purpose is to protect the students at Jackson. Like a Neighborhood Watch.Ô
The Fallen Angels nodded in unison from their seats on the bleachers like someone was pulling invisible strings attached to their heads, which, in a way, someone was.
Mr. Hollingsworth was scribbling on a yellow legal pad. ÓWas this the only incident involvinÒ Miss DuchannesØÔ
Mrs. Lincoln tried to look shocked. ÓHeavens, no! At the winter formal, she pulled the fire alarm, ruininÒ the dance and destroyinÒ four thousand dollars worth a audio equipment. As if that werenÒt enough, she pushed Miss Asher off a the stage, causinÒ her to break her leg, which IÒve been told, on good authority, will take months to heal.Ô
Lena stared straight ahead, refusing to look at anyone.
ÓThank you, Mrs. Lincoln.Ô LinkÒs mom turned and smiled at Lena. Not a genuine smile or even a sarcastic smile, but an IÒm-going-to-ruin-your-life-and-enjoy-doing-it smile.
Mrs. Lincoln walked back to her seat. Then she stopped and looked right at Lena. ÓI almost forgot. There is one last thing.Ô She pulled some loose papers from her purse. ÓI have records from Miss DuchannesÒ previous school in Virginia. Although it might be more accurate to call it an institution.Ô
I wasnÒt in an institution. It was a private school.
ÓAs Principal Harper mentioned, this is not the first time Miss Duchannes has had violent episodes.Ô
LenaÒs voice in my head was bordering on hysterical. I tried to reassure her.
DonÒt worry.
But I was worried. Mrs. Lincoln wouldnÒt be saying this here if she couldnÒt prove it somehow.
ÓMiss Duchannes is a very disturbed girl. She suffers from a mental illness. Let me seeÅÔ Mrs. Lincoln ran her finger down the page as if she was looking for something. I waited to hear the diagnosis for the mental illness Mrs. Lincoln thought Lena suffered from×the state of being different. ÓAh, yes, here it is. It appears Miss Duchannes suffers from bipolar disorder, which Doctor Asher can tell you is a very serious mental condition. These people who suffer from this affliction are prone to violence and unpredictable behavior. These things run in families; her mother was afflicted as well.Ô
This canÒt be happening.
The rain hammered down on the roof. The wind picked up, lashing the door of the gym.
ÓIn fact, her mother murdered her father fourteen years ago.Ô The entire room gasped.
Game. Set. Match.
Everyone started talking at once.
ÓLadies and gentlemen, please.Ô Principal Harper tried to calm everyone down, but it was like taking a match to dry brush. Once the fire got started, there was no stopping it.
It took ten minutes for the gym to settle back down again, but Lena never did. I could feel her heart racing like it was my own, and the knot in her throat from choking back her tears. Although judging by the downpour outside, she was having a tough time with that.
I was surprised she hadnÒt run out of the gym already, but she was either too brave or too stunned to move.
I knew Mrs. Lincoln was lying. I didnÒt believe Lena had been in an institution any more than I believed the Angels wanted to protect the students at Jackson. What I didnÒt know was if Mrs. Lincoln was lying about the rest, the part about LenaÒs mother murdering her father.
But I knew I wanted to kill Mrs. Lincoln. IÒd known LinkÒs mom my whole life, but lately I hadnÒt even been able to think of her like that anymore. She didnÒt seem like the woman who ripped the cable box out of the wall or lectured us for hours on the virtues of abstinence. This didnÒt seem like one of her annoying, yet ultimately innocent causes.
This seemed more vindictive and more personal. I just couldnÒt figure out why she hated
Lena so much.
Mr. Hollingsworth tried to regain control. ÓAll right, everyone, letÒs settle down. Mrs.
Lincoln, thank you for takinÒ the time to be here tonight. IÒd like to review those documents, if you donÒt mind.Ô
I stood up again. ÓThis whole thing is ridiculous. Why donÒt you just set her on fire and see if she burnsØÔ
Mr. Hollingsworth tried to gain control of the meeting, which was bordering on becoming an episode of Jerry Springer. ÓMr. Wate, have a seat or you will be asked to leave. There will be no more outbursts during this meetinÒ. I have reviewed the witnessesÒ written accounts a what happened, and it seems this matter is quite straightforward and there is only one sensible thing to do.Ô
There was a crash, and the huge metal doors in the back of the room flew open. A gust of wind blew in, along with sheets of rain.
And something else.
Macon Ravenwood strode casually into the gym, dressed in a black cashmere overcoat and sharp-looking gray pinstripe suit, with Marian Ashcroft on his arm. Marian was carrying a small, checkered umbrella just large enough to shield her from the downpour.
Macon didnÒt have an umbrella, but he was still bone-dry. Boo lumbered in behind them, his black hair wet and standing on end, making it obvious he was more wolf than dog.
Lena turned around in her orange plastic chair, and for a second she looked as vulnerable as she felt. I could see the relief in her eyes, and I could see how hard she was trying to stay in her seat, to keep from throwing herself, sobbing, into his arms.
MaconÒs eyes flickered in her direction, and she settled back in her chair. He walked down the aisle toward the members of the School Board. ÓIÒm so sorry we are late. The weather is just treacherous out there tonight. DonÒt let me interrupt. You were just about to do something sensible if I heard correctly.Ô
Mr. Hollingsworth looked confused. Actually, most of the people in the gym looked confused. None of them had ever seen Macon Ravenwood in the flesh. ÓExcuse me, sir. I donÒt know who you think you are, but we are in the middle of proceedinÒs. And you canÒt bring thatÅ that dog in here. Only service animals are permitted on school grounds.Ô
ÓI understand completely. It just so happens that Boo Radley is my Seeing-Eye dog.
I couldnÒt help but smile. I guess technically, that was true. Boo shook his huge body, water from his soaking wet fur showering everyone sitting close to the aisle.
ÓWell, MisterÅØÔ
ÓRavenwood. Macon Ravenwood.Ô
There was another audible gasp from the bleachers, followed by the buzz of whispering moving down the rows. The whole town had been waiting for this day since before I was born. You could feel the energy in the room pick up, from the sheer spectacle of it all.
There was nothing, nothing, Gatlin loved better than a spectacle.
ÓLadies and gentlemen of Gatlin. How nice to finally meet you all. I trust you know my dear friend, the beautiful Dr. Ashcroft. She has been kind enough to escort me this evening, as I donÒt quite know my way around our fair town.Ô
Marian waved.
ÓLet me apologize once again for being late; please do continue. IÒm sure you were just about to explain that the accusations against my niece are completely unfounded and encourage these children to go home and get a good nightÒs sleep for school tomorrow.Ô
For a minute, Mr. Hollingsworth looked like he might be convinced to do just that, and I wondered if maybe Uncle Macon had the same Power of Persuasion Ridley possessed. A woman with a beehive whispered something to Mr. Hollingsworth and he seemed to remember his original train of thought. ÓNo, sir, thatÒs not what I was about to do, not at all. In fact, the accusations against your niece are quite serious. It seems there are several witnesses to the events that transpired. Based on the written accounts and the information presented at this meetinÒ, IÒm afraid we are faced with no choice but to expel her.Ô
Macon waved his hand toward Emily, Savannah, Charlotte, and Eden. ÓAre these your witnessesØ An imaginative band of little girls suffering from a bad case of sour grapes.Ô
Mrs. Snow leapt to her feet. ÓAre you insinuatinÒ that my daughter is lyinÒØÔ
Macon smiled his movie star smile. ÓNot at all, my dear. IÒm saying that your daughter is lying. IÒm sure you can appreciate the difference.Ô
ÓHow dare you!Ô LinkÒs mother pounced like a wildcat. ÓYou have no right to be here, railroadinÒ these proceedinÒs.Ô
Marian smiled and stepped forward. ÓAs the great man said, ÑInjustice anywhere is a threat to Justice everywhere.Ò And I see no justice in this room, Mrs. Lincoln.Ô
ÓDonÒt you talk your Harvard talk around here.Ô
Marian snapped her umbrella shut. ÓI donÒt believe Martin Luther King Jr. went to
Harvard.Ô
Mr. Hollingsworth spoke up authoritatively. ÓThe fact remains that accordinÒ to witnesses, Miss Duchannes pulled the fire alarm, resultinÒ in thousands a dollars in damages to Jackson High School property, and pushed Miss Asher off the stage, resultinÒ in injuries to Miss Asher. Based on these events alone, we have grounds to expel her.Ô
Marian sighed loudly, snapping her umbrella shut. ÓÑIt is difficult to free fools from the chains they revere.ÒÔ She looked pointedly at Mrs. Lincoln. ÓVoltaire, another man who did not go to Harvard.Ô
Macon remained calm, which seemed to aggravate everyone even more. ÓMisterØÔ
ÓHollingsworth.Ô
ÓMr. Hollingsworth, it would be a shame for you to continue on this course of action.
You see, itÒs illegal to prevent a minor from attending school in the Great State of South
Carolina. Education is compulsory, that means required. You cannot dismiss an innocent girl from school without grounds. Those days are over, even in the South.
ÓAs I have explained, Mr. Ravenwood, we do have grounds, and we are well within our power to expel your niece.Ô
Mrs. Lincoln jumped to her feet. ÓYou canÒt just show up here out a the blue, interferinÒ with town business. You havenÒt left your house in years! What gives you the right to have a say in what happens in this town, or with our childrenØÔ
ÓAre you referring to your little collection of marionettes, dressed like, what is itunicornsØ YouÒll have to forgive my poor eyesight.Ô Macon gestured toward the Angels.
ÓThey are angels, Mr. Ravenwood, not unicorns. Not that I expect you to recognize Our
LordÒs messengers, since I donÒt ever recall seeinÒ you in church.Ô
ÓÑLet he who is without sin cast the first stone,Ò Mrs. Lincoln.Ô Macon paused for a second, as if he thought Mrs. Lincoln might need a moment or two to get her mind around that.
ÓAs for your original point, youÒre absolutely right, Mrs. Lincoln. I spend a great deal of time in my house, which I donÒt mind. ItÒs an enchanting place, really. But perhaps I should spend more time in town, spend some more time with all of you. Shake things up a bit, for lack of a better expression.Ô
Mrs. Lincoln looked horrified, and the DAR members were turning around in their seats, looking at one another nervously at the thought of it.
ÓIn fact, if Lena will not be returning to Jackson, she will have to be home schooled.
Perhaps I should invite a few of her cousins to stay with me, as well. I wouldnÒt want her to miss out on the social aspect of her education. Some of her cousins are quite captivating. In fact, I believe you met one of them at your little MidwinterÒs Eve
Masquerade Ball.Ô
ÓIt wasnÒt a masquerade ball×Ô
ÓMy apologies. I only assumed those dresses were costumes, based on the garish nature of the plumage.Ô
Mrs. Lincoln reddened. She was no longer just a woman trying to ban books. This was not a woman to be messed with. I was worried for Macon. I was worried for all of us.
ÓLetÒs be honest, Mr. Ravenwood. You have no place in this town. You are not part of it and clearly, neither is your niece. I donÒt think you are in any position to make demands.Ô
MaconÒs expression changed slightly. He turned his ring around on his finger. ÓMrs.
Lincoln, I appreciate your candor, and I will try to be as frank with you as you have been with me. It would be a grave error for you, for anyone in this town, really, to pursue this matter. You see, I have a great deal of means. IÒm a bit of a spendthrift, if you will. If you try to prevent my niece from returning to Stonewall Jackson High School, I will be forced to spend some of that money. Who knows, perhaps IÒll bring in a Wal-Mart.Ô There was another gasp from the bleachers.
ÓIs that a threatØÔ
ÓNot at all. Quite coincidentally, I also own the land upon which the Southern Comfort
Hotel resides. Its closure would be most inconvenient for you, Mrs. Snow, as your husband would have to drive a great deal farther to meet his lady friends, which IÒm sure would make him late for supper on a regular basis. Now we couldnÒt have that, could weØÔ
Mr. Snow turned beet red and scrunched down behind a couple of guys on the football team, but Macon was just getting started. ÓAnd Mr. Hollingsworth, you look very familiar, sir. As does that striking Confederate flower to your left.Ô Macon gestured to the lady from the School Board sitting next to him. ÓHavenÒt I seen you two somewhere beforeØ I could swear×Ô
Mr. Hollingsworth swayed a little. ÓAbsolutely not, Mr. Ravenwood. I am a married man!Ô
Macon turned his attention to the balding man sitting on the other side of Mr.
Hollingsworth. ÓAnd Mr. Ebitt, if I decide to stop leasing the land to the Wayward Dog, where will you spend the evenings drinking, when your wife thinks youÒre studying at the
Good Book Bible GroupØÔ
ÓWilson, how could you! To use Our Lord Almighty as an alibi. You will burn in the fires of Hell, sure as IÒm standinÒ here!Ô Mrs. Ebitt collected her purse and started to push her way toward the aisle.
ÓItÒs not true, Rosalie!Ô
ÓIsnÒt it, thoughØÔ Macon smiled. ÓI canÒt even imagine what Boo here would tell me if he could talk. You know, heÒs been in and out of every yard and parking lot in your fair town, and IÒll bet heÒs seen a thing or two.Ô I stifled a laugh.
BooÒs ears perked up at the sound of his name, and more than a few people started to squirm in their seats, as if Boo might open his mouth and start talking. After Halloween night, it wouldnÒt have surprised me, and considering Macon RavenwoodÒs reputation, nobody in Gatlin would have been too shocked, either.
ÓAs you can see, there are more than a few people in this town who are less than honest.
So you can imagine my concern when I learned that four teenage girls are the only witnesses to these scathing accusations made against my own family. WouldnÒt it be in all of our interests to drop this matterØ WouldnÒt it be the gentlemanly thing to do, sirØÔ
Mr. Hollingsworth looked like he was going to be sick, and the woman next to him looked like she was hoping sheÒd get sucked down into the ground. Mr. Ebitt, whose name I realized was never mentioned before Macon said it, had already left, chasing after his wife. The remaining members of the tribunal looked scared to death, as if any minute now, Macon Ravenwood, or his dog, might start telling the whole town their dirty little secrets.
ÓI think you may be right, Mr. Ravenwood. Perhaps we need to investigate these accusations further before pursuinÒ this matter. There may, in fact, be inconsistencies.Ô
ÓA wise choice, Mr. Hollingsworth. A very wise choice.Ô Macon walked toward the tiny table where Lena was sitting and offered his arm. ÓCome now, Lena. ItÒs late. You have school tomorrow.Ô Lena stood up, standing even straighter than usual. The rain faded to a gentle patter. Marian tied a scarf around her hair and the three of them walked back up the aisle, Boo trailing behind them. They didnÒt look at anyone else in the room.
Mrs. Lincoln was on her feet. ÓHer mother is a murderer!Ô she screamed, pointing at
Lena.
Macon spun around and their eyes met. There was something about his expression×it was the same expression heÒd had when I showed him GenevieveÒs locket. Boo growled menacingly.
ÓBe careful, Martha. You never know when weÒll run into each other again.Ô
ÓOh, but I do, Macon.Ô She smiled, but it was nothing like a smile. I donÒt know what passed between them, but it didnÒt look like Macon was just battling Mrs. Lincoln anymore.
Marian opened her umbrella again, even though they werenÒt outside yet. She smiled diplomatically at the crowd. ÓNow, I hope to see all of you at the library. DonÒt forget, weÒre open till six oÒclock on the weekdays.Ô
She nodded to the room. ÓÑWithout libraries what have weØ We have no past and no future.Ò Just ask Ray Bradbury. Or go to Charlotte, and read it for yourself on the wall of the public library.Ô Macon took MarianÒs arm, but she wasnÒt finished. ÓAnd he didnÒt go to Harvard, either, Mrs. Lincoln. He didnÒt even go to college.Ô
With that, they were gone.
12.19
WHITE CHRISTMAS
After the Disciplinary Committee meeting, I donÒt think anyone believed Lena would show up at school the next day. But she did, just like I knew she would. No one else knew she had given up the right to go to school once. She wasnÒt going to let anyone take it away from her again. To everyone else, school was prison. To Lena, it was freedom.
Only it didnÒt matter, because that was the day Lena became a ghost at Jackson×nobody looked at her, spoke to her, sat near her at any table, bleacher, or desk. By Thursday, half the kids at school were wearing the Jackson Angels T-shirt, with those white wings on their backs. The way they looked at her, it seemed half the teachers wished they could wear them, too. On Friday, I turned in my basketball jersey. It just didnÒt feel like we were all on the same team anymore.
Coach was furious. After all the hollering died down, he just shook his head. ÓYouÒre crazy, Wate. Look at the season youÒre havinÒ, and youÒre throwinÒ it away on some girl.Ô I could hear it in his voice. Some girl. Old Man RavenwoodÒs niece.
Still, nobody said an unkind word to either one of us, at least not to our faces. If Mrs.
Lincoln had put the fear of God into them, Macon Ravenwood had given people in Gatlin a reason to fear something even worse. The truth.
As I watched the numbers on LenaÒs wall and hand get smaller and smaller, the possibility became more real. What if we couldnÒt stop itØ What if Lena had been right all along, and after her birthday the girl I knew disappearedØ Like she had never been here at all.
All we had was The Book of Moons. And more and more, there was one thought I was trying to keep out of LenaÒs head and mine.
I wasnÒt sure the Book was enough.
ÓAMONGST PERSONNES OF POWERE, THERE BEING TWINNE FORCES FROM WHYCHE
SPRING ALL MAGICK, THE DARKNESSE & THE LIGHT.Ô
ÓI think weÒve got the whole Darkness and Light thing worked out. You think we could get to the good partØ The part called, Loopholes for Your Claiming DayØ How to
Vanquish a Rogue CataclystØ How to Reverse the Passage of TimeØÔ I was frustrated, and Lena wasnÒt talking.
From where we sat on the cold bleachers, the school looked deserted. We were supposed to be at the science fair, watching Alice Milkhouse soak an egg in vinegar, listening to
Jackson Freeman argue there was no such thing as global warming, and Annie Honeycutt counter with how to make Jackson a green school. Maybe the Angels were going to have to start recycling their flyers.
I stared at the Algebra II book hanging out of my backpack. It didnÒt seem like there was anything worth learning at this place anymore. IÒd learned enough in the last few months.
Lena was a million miles away, still buried in the Book. I had started carrying it around in my backpack, out of fear Amma would find it if I left it in my room.
ÓHereÒs more about Cataclysts.
ÓTHE GREATEST OF THE DARKNESSE BEING THE POWERE CLOSEST TO THE WOLD & THE
UNDYRWOLD, THE CATA-CLYSTE. THE GREATEST OF THE LIGHT BEING THE POWERE
CLOSEST TO THE WOLD & THE UNDYRWOLD, THE NAT-URAL. WHERE THERE IS NOT ONNE
THERE CANNOT BE THE OTHERE, AS WITHOUTE DARKNESSE THERE CAN BE NO LIGHT.Ô
ÓSeeØ YouÒre not going Dark. YouÒre Light because youÒre the Natural.Ô
Lena shook her head and pointed at the next paragraph. ÓNot necessarily. ThatÒs what my uncle thinks. But listen to thisÓAT THE TYME OF CLAIMING, THE TRUTHE WILL BE MADE MANIFESTE. WHAT APPEARS
DARKNESSE MAYE BE THE GREATEST LIGHT, WHAT APPEARS LIGHT MAYE BE THE
GREATEST DARKNESSE.Ô
She was right, there was no way to be sure.
ÓThen it gets really complicated. IÒm not even sure I understand the words.
ÓFOR THE DARKE MATTERE MAYDE THE DARKE FYRE, & THE DARKE FYRE MAYDE THE
POWERES OF ALL LILUM IN THE DAEMON WOLD & CASTERS OF DARKNESSE & LIGHT.
WITHOUT ALL POWERE THERE CAN BE NO POWERE. THE DARKE FYRE MAYDE THE
GREAT DARKNESSE & THE GREAT LIGHT. ALL POWERE IS DARKE POWERE, AS DARKE
POWERE IS EVEN THE LIGHT.Ô
ÓDark MatterØ Dark FireØ What is this, the Big Bang for CastersØÔ
ÓWhat about LilumØ IÒve never heard of any of this, but then again, nobody tells me anything. I didnÒt even know my own mother was alive.Ô She tried to sound sarcastic, but
I could hear the pain in her voice.
ÓMaybe Lilum is an old word for Casters, or something.Ô
ÓThe more I find out, the less I understand.Ô
And the less time we have.
DonÒt say that.
The bell rang and I stood up. ÓYou comingØÔ
She shook her head. ÓIÒm going to stay out here a while longer.Ô Alone, in the cold. More and more, it was like that; she hadnÒt even looked me in the eye since the Disciplinary
Committee meeting, almost as if I were one of them. I couldnÒt really blame her, considering the whole school and half the town had basically decided she was the institutionalized, bipolar child of a murderer.
ÓYou better show up in class sooner or later. DonÒt give Principal Harper any more ammunition.Ô
She looked back toward the building. ÓI donÒt see how it matters now.Ô
For the rest of the afternoon, she was nowhere to be found. At least, if she was, she wasnÒt listening. In chemistry, she wasnÒt there for our quiz on the periodic table.
YouÒre not Dark, L. I would know.
In history, she wasnÒt there while we reenacted the Lincoln-Douglas Debate, and Mr. Lee tried to make me argue the Pro-Slavery side, most likely as punishment for some future
Óliberally mindedÔ paper I was bound to write.
DonÒt let them get to you like this. They donÒt matter.
In ASL, she wasnÒt there while I had to stand up in front of the class and sign ÓTwinkle, Twinkle, Little StarÔ while the rest of the basketball team just sat there, smirking.
IÒm not going anywhere, L. You canÒt shut me out.
ThatÒs when I realized she could.
By lunch, I couldnÒt take it anymore. I waited for her to come out of Trig and I pulled her over to the side of the hall, dropping my backpack to the floor. I took her face in my hands, and drew her in to me.
Ethan, what are you doingØ
This.
I pulled her face into mine with both hands. When our lips touched, I could feel the warmth from my body seep into the coldness of hers. I could feel her body melting into mine, the inexplicable pull that had bound us together from the beginning, bringing us together again. Lena dropped her books and wrapped her arms around my neck, responding to my touch. I was becoming light-headed.
The bell rang. She pushed away from me, gasping. I bent down to pick up her copy of
BukowskiÒs Pleasures of the Damned and her battered spiral notebook. The notebook was practically falling apart, but then again, sheÒd had a lot to write about lately.
You shouldnÒt have done that.
Why notØ YouÒre my girlfriend, and I miss you.
Fifty-four days, Ethan. ThatÒs all I have. ItÒs time to stop pretending we can change things. ItÒll be easier if we both accept it.
There was something about the way she said it, like she was talking about more than just her birthday. She was talking about other things we couldnÒt change.
She turned away, but I caught her arm before she could turn her back on me. If she was saying what I thought she was saying, I wanted her to look at me when she said it.
ÓWhat do you mean, LØÔ I almost couldnÒt ask.
She looked away. ÓEthan, I know you think this can have a happy ending, and for a while maybe I did, too. But we donÒt live in the same world, and in mine, wanting something badly enough wonÒt make it happen.Ô She wouldnÒt look at me. ÓWeÒre just too different.Ô
ÓNow weÒre too differentØ After everything weÒve been throughØÔ My voice was getting louder. A couple of people turned and stared at me. They didnÒt even look at Lena.
We are different. YouÒre a Mortal and IÒm a Caster, and those worlds might intersect, but theyÒll never be the same. We arenÒt meant to live in both.
What she was saying was she wasnÒt meant to live in both. Emily and Savannah, the basketball team, Mrs. Lincoln, Mr. Harper, the Jackson Angels, they were all finally getting what they wanted.
This is about the disciplinary meeting, isnÒt itØ DonÒt let themIt isnÒt just about the meeting. ItÒs everything. I donÒt belong here, Ethan. And you do.
So now IÒm one of them. Is that what youÒre sayingØ
She closed her eyes and I could almost see her thoughts, tangled up in her mind.
IÒm not saying youÒre like them, but you are one of them. This is where youÒve lived your whole life. And after this is all over, after IÒm Claimed, youÒre still going to be here.
YouÒre going to have to walk down these halls and those streets again, and I probably wonÒt be there. But you will, for who knows how long, and you said it yourself×people in
Gatlin never forget anything.
Two years.
WhatØ
ThatÒs how long IÒll be here.
Two years is a long time to be invisible. Trust me, I know.
For a minute, neither of us said anything. She just stood there, pulling shreds of paper from the wire spine of her notebook. ÓIÒm tired of fighting it. IÒm tired of trying to pretend IÒm normal.Ô
ÓYou canÒt give up. Not now, not after everything. You canÒt let them win.Ô
ÓThey already have. They won the day I broke the window in English.Ô
There was something about her voice that told me she was giving up on more than just
Jackson. ÓAre you breaking up with meØÔ I was holding my breath.
ÓPlease donÒt make this harder. ItÒs not what I want, either.Ô
Then donÒt do it.
I couldnÒt breathe. I couldnÒt think. It was like time had stopped again, the way it had at
Thanksgiving dinner. Only this time, it wasnÒt magic. It was the opposite of magic.
ÓI just think things will be easier this way. It doesnÒt change the way I feel about you.Ô
She looked up at me, her big green eyes sparkling with tears. Then she turned and fled down a hallway that was so quiet you couldÒve heard a pencil drop.
Merry Christmas, Lena.
But there was nothing to hear. She was gone, and that wasnÒt something I would have been ready for, not in fifty-three days, not in fifty-three years, not in fifty-three centuries.
Fifty-three minutes later, I sat alone, staring out the window, which was a statement right there, considering how crowded the lunchroom was. Gatlin was gray; the clouds had drifted in. I wouldnÒt call it a storm, exactly; it hadnÒt snowed in years. If we were lucky, we got a flurry or two, maybe once a year. But it hadnÒt snowed a single day since I was twelve.
I wished it would snow. I wished I could hit rewind and be back in the hallway with
Lena. I wished I could tell her I didnÒt care if everyone in this town hated me, because it didnÒt matter. I was lost before I found her in my dreams, and she found me that day in the rain. I knew it seemed like I was always the one trying to save Lena, but the truth was she had saved me, and I wasnÒt ready for her to stop now.
ÓHey, man.Ô Link slid onto the bench across from me at the empty table. ÓWhereÒs LenaØ
I wanted to thank her.Ô
ÓFor whatØÔ
Link pulled a piece of folded notebook paper out of his pocket. ÓShe wrote me a song.
Pretty cool, huhØÔ I couldnÒt even look at it. She was talking to Link, just not to me.
Link grabbed a slice of my untouched pizza. ÓListen, I got a favor to ask you.Ô
ÓSure. What do you needØÔ
ÓRidley and I are goinÒ up to New York over break. If anyone asks, IÒm at church camp in Savannah, far as you know.Ô
ÓThereÒs no church camp in Savannah.Ô
ÓYeah, but my mom doesnÒt know that. I told her I signed up because they have some kind of Baptist rock band.Ô
ÓAnd she believed thatØÔ
ÓSheÒs been actinÒ a little weird lately, but what do I care. She said I could go.
ÓIt doesnÒt matter what your mom said, you canÒt go. There are things you donÒt know about Ridley. SheÒsÅ dangerous. Stuff could happen to you.Ô
His eyes lit up. I had never seen Link like this. Then again, I hadnÒt seen him too much lately. IÒd been spending all my time with Lena, or thinking about Lena, the Book, her birthday. The stuff my world revolved around now, or did, until an hour ago.
ÓThatÒs what IÒm hopinÒ. Besides, I got it bad for that girl. She really does somethinÒ to me, ya knowØÔ He took the last slice of pizza off my tray.
For a second I considered telling Link everything, just like the old days×about Lena and her family, Ridley, Genevieve, and Ethan Carter Wate. Link had known everything in the beginning, but I didnÒt know if he would believe the rest, or if he could. Some things were just asking too much, even from your best friend. Right now I couldnÒt risk losing
Link, too, but I had to do something. I couldnÒt let him go to New York, or anywhere else, with Ridley. ÓListen man, youÒve gotta trust me. DonÒt get mixed up with her. SheÒs just using you. YouÒre gonna get hurt.Ô
He crushed a Coke can in his hand. ÓOh, I get it. If the hottest girl in town is hanginÒ out with me, she must be usinÒ meØ I guess you think youÒre the only one who can pull a hot chick. When did you get so full of yourselfØÔ
ÓThatÒs not what IÒm saying.Ô
Link got up. ÓI think we both know what youÒre sayinÒ. Forget I asked.Ô
It was too late. Ridley had already gotten to him. Nothing I said was going to change his mind. And I couldnÒt lose my girlfriend and my best friend in the same day. ÓListen, I didnÒt mean it like that. I wonÒt say anything, not like your mom is speaking to me anyway.Ô
ÓItÒs cool. ItÒs gotta be hard to have a best friend whoÒs good lookinÒ and as talented as me.Ô Link took the cookie off my tray and broke it in half. It might as well have been the dirty Twinkie off the floor of the bus. It was over. It would take a lot more than a girl, even a Siren, to come between us.
Emily was eyeing him. ÓYouÒd better go before Emily rats you out to your mom. Then you wonÒt be going to any church camp, real or imaginary.Ô
ÓIÒm not worried about her.Ô But he was. He didnÒt want to be stuck in the house with his mom the whole winter break. And he didnÒt want to be frozen out by the team, by everyone at Jackson, even if he was too stupid or too loyal to realize it.
On Monday, I helped Amma bring the boxes of holiday decorations down from the attic.
The dust made my eyes water; at least, thatÒs what I told myself. I found a whole little town, lit by little white lights, that my Mom used to lay out every year under the
Christmas tree, on a piece of cotton we pretended was snow. The houses were her grandmotherÒs, and she had loved them so much that I had loved them, even though they were made of flimsy cardboard, glue, and glitter, and half the time they fell over when I tried to stand them up. ÓOld things are better than new things, because theyÒve got stories in them, Ethan.Ô She would hold up an old tin car and say, ÓImagine my greatgrandmother playing with this same car, arranging this same town under her tree, just like we are now.Ô
I hadnÒt seen the town since, whenØ Since IÒd seen my mom, at least. It looked smaller than before, the cardboard more warped and tattered. I couldnÒt find the people in any of the boxes, or even the animals. The town looked lonely, and it made me sad. Somehow the magic was gone, without her. I found myself reaching for Lena, in spite of everything.
EverythingÒs missing. The boxes are there, but itÒs all wrong. SheÒs not here. ItÒs not even a town anymore. And sheÒs never going to meet you.
But there was no response. Lena had vanished, or banished me. I didnÒt know which was worse. I really was alone, and the only thing worse than being alone was having everyone else see how lonely you were. So I went to the only place in town where I knew I wouldnÒt run into anyone. The Gatlin County Library.
ÓAunt MarianØÔ
The library was freezing, and completely empty, as usual. After the way the Disciplinary
Committee meeting had gone, I was guessing Marian hadnÒt had any visitors.
ÓIÒm back here.Ô She was sitting on the floor in her overcoat, waist high amidst a pile of open books, as if they had just fallen off the shelves around her. She was holding a book, reading aloud, in one of her familiar book-trances.
ÓÑWe see Him come, and know Him ours, Who, with His Sun-shine, and His showers, Turns all the patient ground to flowers.
The Darling of the world is comeÅÒÔ
She closed the book. ÓRobert Herrick. ItÒs a Christmas carol, sung for the king at
Whitehall Palace.Ô She sounded as far away as Lena had been lately, and I felt now.
ÓSorry, donÒt know the guy.Ô It was so cold I could see her breath when she spoke.
ÓWho does it remind you ofØ Turning the ground to flowers, the darling of the world.Ô
ÓYou mean LenaØ I bet Mrs. Lincoln would have something to say about that.Ô I sat down next to Marian, scattering books in the aisle.
ÓMrs. Lincoln. What a sad creature.Ô She shook her head, and pulled out another book.
ÓDickens thinks Christmas is a time for people Ñto open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures.ÒÔ
ÓIs the heater brokenØ Do you want me to call Gatlin ElectricØÔ
ÓI never turned it on. I guess I got distracted.Ô She tossed the book back onto the pile surrounding her. ÓPity Dickens never came to Gatlin. WeÒve got more than our share of shut-up hearts around here.Ô
I picked up a book. Richard Wilbur. I opened it, burying my face in the smell of the pages. I glanced at the words. ÓÑWhat is the opposite of twoØ A lonely me, a lonely you.ÒÔ Weird, that was exactly how I was feeling. I snapped the book shut and looked at
Marian.
ÓThanks for coming to the meeting, Aunt Marian. I hope it didnÒt make trouble for you. I feel like it was all my fault.Ô
ÓIt wasnÒt.Ô
ÓFeels like it was.Ô I tossed the book down.
ÓWhat, now youÒre the author of all ignoranceØ You taught Mrs. Lincoln to hate, and Mr.
Hollingsworth to fearØÔ
We both just sat there, surrounded by a mountain of books. She reached over and squeezed my hand. ÓThis battle didnÒt start with you, Ethan. It wonÒt end with you either, IÒm afraid, or me, for that matter.Ô Her face grew serious. ÓWhen I walked in this morning, these books were in a pile on the floor. I donÒt know how they got there, or why. I locked the doors when I left last night, and they were still locked this morning. All
I know is, I sat down to look through them, and every single book, every one of them, had some kind of message for me about this moment, in this town, right now. About
Lena, you, even me.Ô
I shook my head. ÓItÒs a coincidence. Books are like that.Ô
She plucked a random book out of the pile and handed it to me. ÓYou try. Open it.Ô
I took the book from her hand. ÓWhat is itØÔ
ÓShakespeare. Julius Caesar.Ô
I opened it, and began to read.
ÓÑMen at some time are masters of their fates:
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves, that we are underlings.Ò
ÓWhat does that have to do with meØÔ
Marian peered at me, over her glasses. ÓIÒm just the librarian. I can only give you the books. I canÒt give you the answers.Ô But she smiled, all the same. ÓThe thing about fate is, are you the master of your fate, or are the starsØÔ
ÓAre you talking about Lena, or Julius CaesarØ Because I hate to break it to you, but I never read the play.Ô
ÓYou tell me.Ô
We spent the rest of the hour going through the pile, taking turns reading to each other.
Finally, I knew why I had come. ÓAunt Marian, I think I need to go back into the archive.Ô
ÓTodayØ DonÒt you have things you need to be doingØ Holiday shopping at leastØÔ
ÓI donÒt shop.Ô
ÓSpoken wisely. As for myself, ÑI do like Christmas on the wholeÅ. In its clumsy way, it does approach Peace and Goodwill. But it is clumsier every year.ÒÔ
ÓMore DickensØÔ
ÓE. M. Forster.Ô
I sighed. ÓI canÒt explain it. I think I need to be with my mom.Ô
ÓI know. I miss her, too.Ô I hadnÒt really thought about what I would say to Marian about how I was feeling. About the town, and how everything was wrong. Now the words seemed stuck in my throat, like another person was stumbling through them. ÓI just thought, if I could be around her books, maybe I could feel how it was before. Maybe I could talk to her. I tried to go to the graveyard once, but it didnÒt make me feel like she was there, in the ground.Ô I stared at a random speck on the carpet.
ÓI know.Ô
ÓI still canÒt think about her being there. It doesnÒt make sense. Why would you stick someone you love down in a lonely old hole in the dirtØ Where itÒs cold, and dirty, and full of bugsØ That canÒt be how it ends, after everything, after everything she was.Ô I tried not to think about it, her body turning into bone and mud and dust down there. I hated the idea that she had to go through it alone, like I was going through everything alone now.
ÓHow do you want it to endØÔ Marian laid her hand on my shoulder.
ÓI donÒt know. I should, somebody should build her a monument or something.Ô
ÓLike the GeneralØ Your mom would have had a good laugh about that.Ô Marian pulled her arm around me. ÓI know what you mean. SheÒs not there, sheÒs here.Ô
She held out her hand, and I pulled her up. We held hands all the way back to the archive, as if I was still a kid she was babysitting while my mom was at work in the back. She pulled out a thick ring of keys and opened the door. She didnÒt follow me inside.
Back in the archive, I sank into the chair in front of my momÒs desk. My momÒs chair. It was wooden, and bore the insignia of Duke University. I think they had given it to her for graduating with honors, or something like that. It wasnÒt comfortable, but comforting, and familiar. I smelled the old varnish, the same varnish IÒd probably chewed on as a baby, and right away I felt better than I had in months. I could breathe in the smell of the stacks of books wrapped in crackling plastic, the old crumbling parchment, the dust and the cheap file cabinets. I could breathe in the particular air of the particular atmosphere of my motherÒs very particular planet. To me, it was the same as if I was seven years old, sitting in her lap, burying my face in her shoulder.
I wanted to go home. Without Lena, I had nowhere else to go.
I picked up a small, framed photograph on my momÒs desk, almost hidden among the books. It was her, and my father, in the study at our house. Someone had taken it in black and white, a long time ago. Probably for the back of a book jacket, on one of their early projects, when my dad was still a historian, and they had worked together. Back when they had funny hair, and ugly pants, and you could see the happiness on their faces. It was hard to look at, but harder to put down. When I went to return it to my momÒs desk, next to the dusty stacks of books, one book caught my eye. I pulled it out from under an encyclopedia of Civil War weapons and a catalog of native plants of South Carolina. I didnÒt know what the book was. I only knew it was bookmarked with a long sprig of rosemary. I smiled. At least it wasnÒt a sock, or a dirty pudding spoon.
The Gatlin County Junior League cookbook, Fried Chicken and Sass. It opened, by itself, to a single page. ÓBetty BurtonÒs Buttermilk Pan Fried Tomatoes,Ô my momÒs favorite.
The scent of rosemary rose up from the pages. I looked at the rosemary more closely. It was fresh, as if it had been plucked from a garden yesterday. My mom couldnÒt have put it there, but no one else would use rosemary as a bookmark. My momÒs favorite recipe was bookmarked with LenaÒs familiar scent. Maybe the books really were trying to tell me something.
ÓAunt MarianØ Were you looking to fry up some tomatoesØÔ
She stuck her head in the doorway. ÓDo you think I would touch a tomato, let alone cook oneØÔ
I stared at the rosemary in my hand. ÓThatÒs what I thought.Ô
ÓI think that was the one thing your mother and I disagreed on.Ô
ÓCan I borrow this bookØ Just for a few daysØÔ
ÓEthan, you donÒt have to ask. Those are your motherÒs things; there isnÒt anything in this room she wouldnÒt have wanted you to have.Ô
I wanted to ask Marian about the rosemary in the cookbook, but I couldnÒt. I couldnÒt bear to show it to anyone else, or to part with it. Even though I had never and probably would never fry a tomato in my entire life. I stuck the book under my arm as Marian walked me to the door.
ÓIf you need me, IÒm here for you. You and Lena. You know that. ThereÒs nothing I wouldnÒt do for you.Ô She pushed the hair out of my eyes and gave me a smile. It wasnÒt my motherÒs smile, but it was one of my motherÒs favorite smiles.
Marian hugged me, and wrinkled her nose. ÓDo you smell rosemaryØÔ
I shrugged and slipped out the door, into the gray day. Maybe Julius Caesar was right.
Maybe it was time to confront my fate, and LenaÒs fate. Whether it was up to us or the stars, I couldnÒt just sit around and wait to find out.
When I walked outside, it was snowing. I couldnÒt believe it. I looked up into the sky and let snow fall on my freezing face. The thick, white powdery flakes were drifting down with no particular purpose. It wasnÒt a storm, not at all. It was a gift, maybe even a miracle: a white Christmas, just like the song.
When I walked up to my front porch, there she was, sitting bareheaded on my front steps with her hood down. The moment I saw her, I recognized the snow for what it really was.
A peace offering.
Lena smiled at me. In that second, the pieces of my life that had been falling apart fell back in place. Everything that was wrong just righted itself; maybe not everything, but enough.
I sat down next to her on the step. ÓThanks, L.Ô
She leaned against me. ÓI just wanted to make you feel better. IÒm so confused, Ethan. I donÒt want you to get hurt. I donÒt know what IÒd do if anything happened to you.Ô
I ran my hand through her damp hair. ÓDonÒt push me away, please. I canÒt stand to lose anyone else I care about.Ô I unzipped her parka, slipping my arm around her waist, inside her jacket, and pulled her toward me. I kissed her as she pressed into me, until I felt like we would melt the whole front yard if we didnÒt stop.
ÓWhat was thatØÔ she asked, catching her breath. I kissed her again, until I couldnÒt take it any longer, and pulled back.
ÓI think thatÒs called fate. IÒve been waiting to do that since the winter formal, and IÒm not going to wait any longer.Ô
ÓYouÒre notØÔ
ÓNope.Ô
ÓWell, youÒll have to wait a little longer. IÒm still grounded. Uncle M thinks IÒm at the library.Ô
ÓI donÒt care if youÒre grounded. IÒm not. IÒll move into your house if I have to, and sleep with Boo in his dog bed.Ô
ÓHe has a bedroom. He sleeps in a four-poster bed.Ô
ÓEven better.Ô
She smiled and held onto my hand. The snowflakes melted as they landed on our warm skin.
ÓIÒve missed you, Ethan Wate.Ô She kissed me back. The snow fell harder, dripping off us. We were practically radioactive. ÓMaybe you were right. We should spend as much time together as we can before×Ô she stopped, but I knew what she was thinking.
ÓWeÒre gonna figure something out, L. I promise.Ô
She nodded half-heartedly, and snuggled inside my arms. I could feel the calm beginning to spread between us. ÓI donÒt want to think about that today.Ô She pushed me away, playfully, back among the living.
ÓYeahØ What do you want to think about, thenØÔ
ÓSnow angels. IÒve never made one.Ô
ÓReallyØ You guys donÒt do angelsØÔ
ÓItÒs not the angels. We only moved to Virginia for a few months, so IÒve never lived anywhere it snows.Ô
An hour later, we were soggy and wet and sitting around the kitchen table. Amma had gone to the Stop & Steal, and we were drinking the sorry hot chocolate I had attempted to make myself.
ÓIÒm not sure this is the way you make hot chocolate,Ô Lena teased me as I scraped a microwaved bowl of chocolate chips into hot milk. The result was brown and white and lumpy. It looked great to me.
ÓYeahØ How would you knowØ ÑKitchen, hot chocolate, please.ÒÔ I mimicked her high voice with my low one and the result was a strange cracking falsetto. She smiled. I had missed that smile, even though it had only been days; I missed it even when it had only been minutes.
ÓSpeaking of Kitchen, I have to go. I told my uncle I was at the library, and itÒs closed by now.Ô
I pulled her onto my lap, sitting at the kitchen table. I was having trouble not touching her every second, now that I could again. I found myself making excuses to tickle her, anything to touch her hair, her hands, her knees. The pull between us was like a magnet.
She leaned against my chest and we just sat there until I heard feet padding across the floor upstairs. She bolted out of my lap like a frightened cat.
ÓDonÒt worry, thatÒs my dad. HeÒs just taking a shower. ItÒs the only time he comes out of his study anymore.Ô
ÓHeÒs getting worse, isnÒt heØÔ She took my hand. We both knew it wasnÒt really a question.
ÓMy dad wasnÒt like this until my mom died. He just flipped out after that.Ô I didnÒt have to say the rest; sheÒd heard me think it enough times. About how my mom died, and we stopped cooking fried tomatoes, and we lost the little pieces of the Christmas town, and she wasnÒt there to stand up to Mrs. Lincoln, and nothing was ever the same again.
ÓIÒm sorry.Ô
ÓI know.Ô
ÓIs that why you went to the library todayØ To look for your momØÔ
I looked at Lena, pushing her hair out of her face. I nodded, pulling the rosemary out of my pocket and placing it carefully on the counter. ÓCome on. I want to show you something.Ô I pulled her out of the chair and took her hand. We slid across the old wood flooring in our damp socks and stopped at the door to the study. I looked up the stairs to my dadÒs bedroom. I didnÒt even hear the shower yet; we still had plenty of time. I tried the door handle.
ÓItÒs locked.Ô Lena frowned. ÓDo you have the keyØÔ
ÓWait, watch what happens.Ô We stood there, staring at the door. I felt stupid standing there, and Lena must have too because she started to giggle. Just when I was about to laugh, the door began to unbolt itself. She stopped laughing.
ThatÒs not a Cast. I would be able to feel it.
I think IÒm supposed to go in, or we are.
I stepped back and the door bolted itself again. Lena held up her hand, as if she was going to use her powers to open the door for me. I touched her back, gently. ÓL. I think I need to do it.Ô
I touched the handle again. The door unbolted and swung open, and I stepped into the study for the first time in years. It was still a dark, frightening place. The painting, covered with a sheet, was still hanging over the faded sofa. Under the window, my dadÒs carved mahogany desk was papered with his latest novel, stacked on his computer, stacked on his chair, stacked meticulously across the Persian rug on the floor.
ÓDonÒt touch anything. HeÒll know.Ô
Lena squatted down and stared at the nearest pile. Then, she picked up a piece of paper and turned on the brass desk lamp. ÓEthan.Ô
ÓDonÒt turn on the light. I donÒt want him to come down here and freak out on us. HeÒd kill me if he knew we were in here. All he cares about is his book.Ô
She handed me the paper, without a word. I took it. It was covered with scribbles. Not scribbled words, just scribbles. I grabbed a handful of the papers closest to me. They were covered with squiggly lines and shapes, and more scribbles. I picked up a piece of paper from the floor, nothing but tiny rows of circles. I tore through the stacks of white paper littering his desk and the floor. More scribbles and shapes, pages and pages of them. Not a single word.
Then I understood. There was no book.
My father wasnÒt a writer. He wasnÒt even a vampire.
He was a madman.
I bent down, my hands on my knees. I was going to be sick. I should have seen this coming. Lena rubbed my back.
ItÒs okay. HeÒs just going through a hard time. HeÒll come back to you.
He wonÒt. HeÒs gone. SheÒs gone, and now IÒm losing him, too.
What had my father been doing all this time, avoiding meØ What was the point of sleeping all day and working all night, if you werenÒt working on the great American novelØ If you were scribbling rows and rows of circlesØ Escaping from your only childØ
Did Amma knowØ Was everyone in on the joke but meØ
ItÒs not your fault. DonÒt do this to yourself.
This time I was the one out of control. The anger welled up inside me, and I pushed his laptop off his desk, sending his papers flying. I knocked over the brass lamp, and without even thinking, yanked the sheet off the painting over the couch. The painting went tumbling to the ground, knocking over a low bookshelf. A pile of books went flying to the floor, sprawling open on the rug.
ÓLook at the painting.Ô She righted it, amidst the books on the floor.
It was a painting of me.
Me, as a Confederate soldier, in 1865. But it was me, nonetheless.
Neither one of us needed to read the penciled label on the back of the frame to know who it was. He even had the lanky brown hair hanging down in his face.
ÓAbout time we met you, Ethan Carter Wate,Ô I said, just as I heard my father lumbering down the stairs.
ÓEthan Wate!Ô
Lena looked at the door, panicking. ÓDoor!Ô It slammed shut and bolted. I raised an eyebrow. I didnÒt think I was ever going to get used to that.
There was pounding on the door. ÓEthan, are you okayØ WhatÒs goinÒ on in thereØÔ I ignored him. I couldnÒt figure out what else to do, and I couldnÒt stand to look at him right now. Then I noticed the books.
ÓLook.Ô I knelt on the floor in front of the nearest one. It was open to page 3. I flipped the page to 4 and it flipped back to 3. Just like the bolt on the study door. ÓDid you just do thatØÔ
ÓWhat are you talking aboutØ We canÒt stay in here all night.Ô
ÓMarian and I spent the day in the library. And as crazy as it sounds, she thought the books were telling us things.Ô
ÓWhat thingsØÔ
ÓI donÒt know. Stuff about fate, and Mrs. Lincoln, and you.Ô
ÓMeØÔ
ÓEthan! Open this door!Ô My dad was pounding now, but he had kept me out long enough. It was my turn.
ÓIn the archive, I found a picture of my mom in this study and then a cookbook, opened to her favorite recipe, with a bookmark made of rosemary. Fresh rosemary. DonÒt you get itØ It has to do with you, somehow, and my mom. And now weÒre here, like something wanted me to come here. Or, I donÒt know×someone.Ô
ÓOr maybe you just thought of it because you saw her picture.Ô
ÓMaybe, but look at this.Ô I flipped the page of the Constitutional History book in front of me, turning it from page 3 to page 4. Once again, no sooner had I turned it than the page flipped back by itself.
ÓThatÒs weird.Ô She turned to the next book. South Carolina: Cradle to Grave. It was open to page 12. She flipped it back to 11. It flipped to 12.
I pushed my hair out of my eyes. ÓBut this page doesnÒt say anything, itÒs a chart.
MarianÒs books were open to certain pages because they were trying to tell us something, like messages. My momÒs books donÒt seem to be telling us anything.Ô
ÓMaybe itÒs some kind of code.Ô
ÓMy mom was terrible at math. She was a writer,Ô I said, as if that was explanation enough. But I wasnÒt, and my mom knew that better than anyone.
Lena considered the next book. ÓPage 1. This is just the title page. It canÒt be the content.Ô
ÓWhy would she leave me a codeØÔ I was thinking out loud, but Lena still had the answer.
ÓBecause you always know the end of the movie. Because you grew up with Amma and the mystery novels and the crosswords. Maybe your mom thought you would figure out something that no one else would get.Ô
My father half-heartedly banged away at the door. I looked at the next book. Page
9, and then 13. None of the numbers went higher than 26. And yet, lots of the books had way more pages than thatÅ.
ÓThere are 26 letters in the alphabet, rightØÔ
ÓYeah.Ô
ÓThatÒs it. When I was little, and couldnÒt sit still in church with the Sisters, my mom would make up games for me to play on the back of the church program. Hangman, scrambled words, and this, the alphabet code.Ô
ÓWait, let me get a pen.Ô She grabbed a pen from the desk. ÓIf A is 1 and B is
2×let me write it out.Ô
ÓCareful. Sometimes I used to do it backward, where Z was 1.Ô
Lena and I sat in the middle of the circle of the books, moving from book to book, while my father banged on the door outside. I ignored him, just like he had been ignoring me. I wasnÒt going to answer to him, or give him an explanation. Let him see how it felt for a change.
Ó3, 12, 1, 9, 13ÅÔ
ÓEthan! What are you doinÒ in thereØ What was all that racketØÔ
Ó25, 15, 21, 18, 19, 5, 12, 6.Ô
I looked at Lena, and held out the paper. I was already a step ahead. ÓI think×itÒs meant for you.Ô
It was as clear as if my mom was standing in the study, telling us in her own words, with her own voice.
CLAIMYOURSELF
It was a message for Lena.
My mom was there, in some form, in some sense, in some universe. My mom was still my mom, even if she only lived in books and door locks and the smell of fried tomatoes and old paper.
She lived.
When I finally opened the door, my dad was standing there in his bathrobe. He stared past me, into the study, where the pages of his imaginary novel were scattered all over the floor and the painting of Ethan Carter Wate was resting against the sofa, uncovered.
ÓEthan, I×Ô
ÓWhatØ Were going to tell me that youÒve been locked in your study for months doing thisØÔ I held up one of the crumpled pages in my hand.
He looked down at the floor. My dad may have been crazy, but he was still sane enough to know that I had figured out the truth. Lena sat down on the sofa, looking uncomfortable.
ÓWhyØ ThatÒs all I want to know. Was there ever a book or were you just trying to avoid meØÔ
My dad raised his head slowly, his eyes tired and bloodshot. He looked old, like life had worn him down one disappointment at a time. ÓI just wanted to be close to her. When IÒm in there, with her books and her things, it feels like she isnÒt really gone. I can still smell her. Fried tomatoesÅÔ His voice trailed off, as if he was lost in his own mind again and the rare moment of clarity was gone.
He walked past me, back into the study, and bent down to pick up one of the pages covered with circles. His hand was shaking. ÓI was tryinÒ to write.Ô He looked over at my momÒs chair. ÓI just donÒt know what to write anymore.Ô
It wasnÒt about me. It had never been about me. It was about my mom. A few hours ago I had felt the same way in the library, sitting among her things, trying to feel her there with me. But now I knew she wasnÒt gone, and everything was different. My dad didnÒt know.
She wasnÒt unlocking doors for him and leaving him messages. He didnÒt even have that.
The next week, on Christmas Eve, the weathered and warped cardboard town didnÒt seem so small. The lopsided steeple stayed on the church, and the farmhouse even stood up by itself, if you set it just right. The white glitter glue sparkled and the same old piece of cotton snow secured the town, constant as time.
I lay on my stomach on the floor, with my head tucked under the lowest branches of the fat white pine, just as I always had. The blue-green needles scratched my neck as I carefully pushed a string of tiny white lights, one by one, into the circular holes in the back of the broken village. I sat back to take a look, the soft white light turning colors through the painted paper windows of the town. We never found the people, and the tin cars and animals were still gone. The town was empty, but for the first time it didnÒt seem deserted, and I didnÒt feel alone.
As I sat there, listening to AmmaÒs pencil scratching, and my dadÒs scratchy old holiday record, something caught my eye. It was small and dark, and snagged in a fold, between layers of the cotton snow. It was a star, about the size of a penny, painted silver and gold, and surrounded by a twisted halo made of what looked like a paper clip. It was from the townÒs pipe-cleaner Christmas tree, which we hadnÒt been able to find in years. My mom had made it in school, as a little girl in Savannah.
I put it in my pocket. IÒd give it to Lena next time I saw her, for her charm necklace, for safekeeping. So it didnÒt get lost again. So I didnÒt get lost again.
My mom would have liked that. Would like that. Just like she would have liked Lena×or maybe even, did.
Claim yourself.
The answer had been in front of us, all along. It was just locked away with all the books in my fatherÒs study, stuck between the pages of my motherÒs cookbook.
Snagged a little in the dusty snow.
1.12
PROMISE
There was something in the air. Usually, when you heard that, there wasnÒt really something in the air. But the closer it got to LenaÒs birthday, the more I had to wonder.
When we came back from winter break, the halls had been tagged with spray paint, covering the lockers and walls. Only it wasnÒt the usual graffiti; the words didnÒt even look like English. You wouldnÒt have thought they were words at all, unless you had seen
The Book of Moons.
A week later, every window in our English classroom was busted out. Again, it could have been the wind, except there wasnÒt even a breeze. How could the wind target a single classroom, anywayØ
Now that I wasnÒt playing basketball, I had to take P.E. for the rest of the year, by far the worst class at Jackson. After an hour of timed sprints and rope burn from climbing a knotted rope to the gym ceiling, I got back to my locker to find the door open and my papers scattered all over the hall. My backpack was gone. Though Link found it a few hours later, dumped in a trashcan outside the gym, I had learned my lesson. Jackson High was no place for The Book of Moons.
From then on, we kept the Book in my closet. I waited for Amma to discover it, to say something, to cover my room with salt, but she never did. I had pored over the old leather book, with and without Lena, using my momÒs battered Latin dictionary, for the past six weeks. AmmaÒs oven mitts helped me keep the burns to a minimum. There were hundreds of Casts, and only a few of them were in English. The rest were written in languages I couldnÒt read, and the Caster language we couldnÒt hope to decipher. As we grew more familiar with the pages, Lena grew more restless.
ÓClaim yourself. That doesnÒt even mean anything.Ô
ÓOf course it does.Ô
ÓNone of the chapters say anything about it. ItÒs not in any description of the Claiming in the Book.Ô
ÓWe just have to keep looking. ItÒs not like weÒre going to read it in the Cliff Notes.Ô The
Book of Moons had to have the answer, if we could just find it. We couldnÒt think about anything else, except the fact that a month from now we could lose it all.
At night, we stayed up late talking, from our respective beds, because even now, every night seemed closer to the night that could be our last.
What are you thinking, LØ
Do you really want to knowØ
I always want to know.
Did IØ I stared at the creased map on my wall, the thin green line connecting all the places I had read about. There they were, all the cities of my imaginary future, held together with tape and marker and pins. In six months, a lot had changed. There was no thin green line that could lead me to my future anymore. Just a girl.
But now, her voice was small, and I had to strain to hear her.
ThereÒs a part of me that wishes weÒd never met.
YouÒre kidding, rightØ
She didnÒt answer. Not right away.
It just makes everything so much harder. I thought I had a lot to lose before, but now I have you.
I know what you mean.
I knocked the shade off the lamp next to my bed and stared straight into the bulb. If I stared right at it, the brightness would sting my eyes and keep me from crying.
And I could lose you.
ThatÒs not gonna happen, L.
She was quiet. My eyes were temporarily blinded by swirls and streaks of light. I couldnÒt even see the blue of my bedroom ceiling, though I was staring right at it.
PromiseØ
I promise.
It was a promise she knew I might not be able to keep. But I made it anyway because I was going to find a way to make it true.
I burned my hand as I tried to turn out the light.
2.04
THE SANDMAN OR SOMETHING LIKE HIM
LenaÒs birthday was in a week.
Seven days.
One hundred and sixty-eight hours.
Ten thousand and eight seconds.
Claim yourself.
Lena and I were exhausted, but we ditched school anyway to spend the day with The
Book of Moons. I had become an expert at AmmaÒs signature, and Miss Hester wouldnÒt dare to ask Lena for a note from Macon Ravenwood. It was a cold, clear day, and we curled together in the freezing garden at Greenbrier, huddled under the old sleeping bag from the Beater, trying to figure out for the thousandth time if anything in the Book could help.
I could tell Lena was starting to give up. Her ceiling was completely covered in Sharpie, wallpapered with the words she couldnÒt say and thoughts she was too scared to express. darkfire, lightdark / dark matter, what mattersØ the great darkness swallows the great light, as they swallow my life / caster/girl super/natural before/first sight seven days seven days seven days 777777777777777.
I couldnÒt blame her. It did seem pretty hopeless, but I wasnÒt ready to give up. I never would be. Lena slumped against the old stone wall, crumbling like what little chance we had left. ÓThis is impossible. There are too many Casts. We donÒt even know what weÒre looking for.Ô
There were Casts for every conceivable purpose: Blinding the Unfaithful, Bringing Forth
Water from the Sea, Binding the Runes.
But nothing that said Cast to Uncurse Your Family from a Dark Binding, or Cast to
Undo the Act of Trying to Bring Great-Great-Great-Great-Grandmother GenevieveÒs
War Hero Back to Life, or Cast to Avoid Going Dark at Your Claiming. Or the one I was really looking for×Cast to Save Your Girlfriend (Now That You Finally Have One)
Before ItÒs Too Late.
I turned back to the Table of Contents: OBSECRATIONES, INCANTAMINA, NECTENTES, MALEDICENTES, MALEFICIA.
ÓDonÒt worry, L. WeÒll figure it out.Ô But even as I said it, I wasnÒt so sure.
The longer the Book stayed on the top shelf of my closet, the more I felt like my room was becoming haunted. It was happening to both of us, every night; the dreams, which felt more like nightmares, were getting worse. I hadnÒt slept for more than a couple of hours in days. Every time I closed my eyes, every time I fell asleep, they were there.
Waiting. But even worse, it was the same nightmare replayed again and again in a constant loop. Every night, I lost Lena over and over again, and it was killing me.
My only strategy was to stay awake. Jacked up on sugar and caffeine from drinking Coke and Red Bull, playing video games. Reading everything from Heart of Darkness to my favorite issue of Silver Surfer, the one where Galactus swallows the universe, over and over. But as anyone who hasnÒt slept in days knows, by the third or fourth night youÒre so tired you could fall asleep standing up.
Even Galactus didnÒt stand a chance.
Burning.
There was fire everywhere.
And smoke. I choked on the smoke and ash. It was pitch-black, impossible to see. And the heat was like sandpaper scraping against my skin.
I couldnÒt hear anything except the roar of the fire.
I couldnÒt even hear Lena screaming, except in my head.
Let go! You have to get out!
I could feel the bones in my wrist snapping, like tiny guitar strings breaking one by one.
She let go of my wrist like she was preparing for me to release her, but IÒd never let go.
DonÒt do that, L! DonÒt you let go!
Let me go! PleaseÅ save yourself!
IÒd never let go.
But I could feel her sliding through my fingers. I tried to hold on tighter, but she was slippingÅ.
I bolted upright in bed, coughing. It was so real, I could taste the smoke. But my room wasnÒt hot; it was cold. My window was open again. The moonlight allowed my eyes to adjust more quickly than usual to the darkness.
I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. Something was moving, in the shadows.
There was someone in my room.
ÓHoly crap!Ô
He tried to get out before I noticed him, but he wasnÒt fast enough. He knew IÒd seen him. So he did the only thing he could do. He turned to face me.
ÓAlthough I myself donÒt consider it particularly holy, who am I to correct you after such an ungraceful exitØÔ Macon smiled his Cary Grant smile and approached the end of my bed. He was wearing a long black coat and dark slacks. He looked like he was dressed for some kind of turn-of-the-century night on the town, instead of a modern-day breaking and entering. ÓHello, Ethan.Ô
ÓWhat the hell are you doing in my bedroomØÔ
He seemed at a loss, for Macon, which just meant he didnÒt have an immediate and charming explanation on the tip of his tongue. ÓItÒs complicated.Ô
ÓWell, uncomplicate it. Because you climbed in my window in the middle of the night, so either youÒre some kind of vampire or some kind of perv, or both. Which is itØÔ
ÓMortals, everything is so black and white to you. IÒm not a Hunter, nor a Harmer. You would be confusing me with my brother, Hunting. Blood doesnÒt interest me.Ô He shuddered at the thought. ÓNeither blood nor flesh.Ô He lit a cigar, rolling it between his fingers. Amma was going to have a fit when she smelled that tomorrow. ÓIn fact, it all makes me a bit squeamish.Ô
I was losing my patience. I hadnÒt slept in days and I was tired of everyone dodging my questions all the time. I wanted answers, and I wanted them now. ÓIÒve had enough of your riddles. Answer the question. What are you doing in my roomØÔ
He walked over to the cheap swivel chair next to my desk and sat down in one sweeping movement. ÓLetÒs just say I was eavesdropping.Ô
I picked up the old Jackson High basketball T-shirt balled up on the floor and pulled it over my head. ÓEavesdropping on what, exactlyØ ThereÒs no one here. I was sleeping.Ô
ÓNo, actually you were dreaming.Ô
ÓHow do you know thatØ Is that one of your Caster powersØÔ
ÓIÒm afraid not. IÒm not a Caster, not technically.Ô
My breath caught in my throat. Macon Ravenwood never left his house during the day; he could make himself appear out of nowhere, watch people through the eyes of his wolf that masqueraded as a dog, and nearly squeeze the life out of a Dark Caster without flinching. If he wasnÒt a Caster, then there was only one explanation.
ÓSo you are a vampire.Ô
ÓI most certainly am not.Ô He looked annoyed. ÓThatÒs such a common phrase, such a cliche, and so unflattering. There are no such things as vampires. I suppose you believe in werewolves and aliens, too. I blame television.Ô He inhaled deeply from his cigar. ÓI hate to disappoint you. IÒm an Incubus. IÒm sure it was just a matter of time before Amarie told you herself, since she seems so intent on revealing all my secrets.Ô
An IncubusØ I didnÒt even know if I should be scared. I must have looked confused, because Macon felt compelled to elaborate. ÓBy nature, gentlemen like myself do have certain powers, but those powers are only relative to our strength, which we must replenish regularly.Ô There was something disturbing about the way he said replenish.
ÓWhat do you mean by replenishØÔ
ÓWe feed, for lack of a better word, on Mortals to replenish our strength.Ô
The room started to sway. Or maybe Macon was swaying.
ÓEthan, sit down. You look absolutely pallid.Ô Macon strode over and guided me to the edge of the bed. ÓAs I said, I use the word ÑfeedÒ for lack of a better term. Only a Blood
Incubus feeds on Mortal blood, and I am not a Blood Incubus. Although we are both
Lilum×those who dwell in the Absolute Darkness×I am something entirely more evolved. I take something you Mortals have in abundance, something you donÒt even need.Ô
ÓWhatØÔ
ÓDreams. Fragmented bits and pieces. Ideas, desires, fears, memories×nothing you miss.Ô The words came rolling out of his mouth as if he was speaking a charm. I found myself struggling to process them, trying to understand what he was saying. My mind felt like it was wrapped in thick wool.
But then, I understood. I could feel the pieces clicking together like a puzzle in my mind.
ÓThe dreams×youÒve been taking part of themØ Sucking them out of my headØ ThatÒs the reason I canÒt remember the whole dreamØÔ
He smiled and stubbed his cigar out on an empty Coke can on my desk. ÓGuilty as charged. Except for the Ñsucking.Ò Not the most polite phraseology.Ô
ÓIf youÒre the one sucking×stealing my dreams, then you know the rest. You know what happens, in the end. You can tell us, so we can stop it.Ô
ÓIÒm afraid not. I selected the bits and pieces I took rather intentionally.Ô
ÓWhy donÒt you want us to know what happensØ If we know the rest of the dream, maybe we can stop it from happening.Ô
ÓIt seems you know too much already, not that I understand it completely myself.Ô
ÓStop talking in riddles for once. You keep saying I can protect Lena, that I have power.
Why donÒt you tell me what the hell is really going on, Mr. Ravenwood, because IÒm tired, and IÒm sick of being jerked around.Ô
ÓI canÒt tell you what I donÒt know, son. YouÒre a bit of a mystery.Ô
ÓIÒm not your son.Ô
ÓMelchizedek Ravenwood!Ô AmmaÒs voice rang out like a bell.
Macon started losing his composure.
ÓHow dare you come into this house without my permission!Ô She was standing in her bathrobe holding a long rope of beads. If I didnÒt know better IÒd have thought it was a necklace. Amma shook the beaded charm angrily in her fist. ÓWe have an agreement.
This house is off-limits. You find somewhere else to do your dirty business.Ô
ÓItÒs not that simple, Amarie. The boy is seeing things in his dreams, things that are dangerous for both of them.Ô
AmmaÒs eyes were wild. ÓAre you feedinÒ offa my boyØ Is that what youÒre sayinÒØ Is that supposed to make me feel betterØÔ
ÓCalm down. DonÒt be so literal. I am merely doing what is necessary to protect them both.Ô
ÓI know what you do and what you are, Melchizedek, and you will deal with the Devil in due time. DonÒt you bring that evil into my house.Ô
ÓI made a choice long ago, Amarie. IÒve fought what I was destined to be. I fight it every night of my life. But I am not Dark, not as long as I have the child to concern me.Ô
ÓDoesnÒt change what you are. ThatÒs not a choice you get to make.Ô
MaconÒs eyes narrowed. It was clear that the bargain between the two of them was a delicate one, and he had jeopardized it by coming here. How many timesØ I didnÒt even know.
ÓWhy donÒt you just tell me what happens at the end of the dreamØ I have a right to know. ItÒs my dream.Ô
ÓItÒs a powerful dream, a disturbing dream, and Lena doesnÒt need to see it. SheÒs not ready to see it, and you two are so inexplicably connected. She sees what you see. So you can understand why I had to take it.Ô
The rage welled up inside me. I was so angry, angrier than when Mrs. Lincoln stood up and lied about Lena at the Disciplinary Committee meeting, angrier then when I found the pages and pages of scribble in my fatherÒs study.
ÓNo. I donÒt understand. If you know something that can help her, why wonÒt you tell usØ
Or just stop using your Jedi mind tricks on me and my dreams and let me see it for myselfØÔ
ÓI am only trying to protect her. I love Lena, and I would never×Ô
Ó×I know, IÒve heard it. YouÒd never do anything to hurt her. What you forgot to say is that you wonÒt do anything to help her, either.Ô
His jaw tightened. Now he was the one who was angry; I knew how to recognize it now.
But he didnÒt break character, not even for a minute. ÓI am trying to protect her, Ethan, and you as well. I know you care for Lena, and you do offer her some sort of protection, but there are things you donÒt see right now, things that are beyond any of our control.
One day you will understand. You and Lena are just too different.Ô
A Species Apart. Just like the other Ethan wrote to Genevieve. I understood all right.
Nothing had changed in over a hundred years.
His eyes softened. I thought maybe he pitied me, but it was something else. ÓUltimately, it will be your burden to bear. ItÒs always the Mortal who bears it. Trust me, I know.Ô
ÓI donÒt trust you and youÒre wrong. We arenÒt too different.Ô
ÓMortals. I envy you. You think you can change things. Stop the universe. Undo what was done long before you came along. You are such beautiful creatures.Ô He was talking to me, but it didnÒt feel like he was talking about me anymore. ÓI apologize for the intrusion. IÒll leave you to your sleep.Ô
ÓJust stay out of my room, Mr. Ravenwood. And out of my head.Ô
He turned toward the door, which surprised me. I expected him to leave the way he had arrived.
ÓOne more thing. Does Lena know what you areØÔ
He smiled. ÓOf course. We have no secrets between us.Ô
I didnÒt smile back. There were more than a few secrets between them, even if this wasnÒt one of them, and both Macon and I knew it.
He turned away from me with a swirl of his overcoat, and was gone.
Just like that.
2.05
THE BATTLE OF HONEY HILL
The next morning, I woke up with a pounding headache. I did not, as so often happens in stories, think that the whole thing had never happened. I did not believe that Macon
Ravenwood appearing and disappearing in my bedroom the night before had been a dream. Every morning for months after my momÒs accident, I had woken up believing it had all been a bad dream. I would never make that mistake again.
This time around, I knew if it seemed like everything had changed, it was because it had.
If it seemed like things were getting weirder and weirder, it was because they were. If it seemed like Lena and I were running out of time, it was because we were.
Six days and counting. Things didnÒt look good for us. That was all there was to say. So of course, we didnÒt say it. At school, we did what we always did. We held hands in the hallway. We kissed by the back lockers until our lips ached and I felt close to being electrocuted. We stayed in our bubble, enjoyed what we tried to pretend were our ordinary lives, or what little we had left of them. And we talked, all day long, through every minute of every class, even the ones we didnÒt have together.
Lena told me about Barbados, where the water and the sky met in a thin blue line until you couldnÒt tell which was which, while I was supposed to be making a clay rope bowl in ceramics.
Lena told me about her Gramma, who let her drink 7-Up using red licorice as a straw, while we wrote our in-class Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde essays in English, and Savannah
Snow smacked her gum.
Lena told me about Macon, who, despite everything, had been there for every birthday, wherever sheÒd been, since she could remember.
That night, after staying up for hour after hour with The Book of Moons, we watched the sun rise×even though she was at Ravenwood, and I was at home.
EthanØ
IÒm here.
IÒm scared.
I know. You should try to get some sleep, L.
I donÒt want to waste time sleeping.
Me neither.
But we both knew that wasnÒt it. Neither one of us felt much like dreaming.
ÓTHE NYGHT OF THE CLAYMYNG BEING THE NYGHT OF GREATESTE WEAKNESSE, WHENNE THE DARKENESSE WITHINNE ENJOINS THE DARKENESSE WITHOUTE & THE
PERSONNE OF POWERE OPENNES TO THE GREATE DARKNESSE, SO STRIPPED OF
PROTECTIONS, BINDINGS & CASTS OF SHIELDE & IMMUNITIE. DEATH, AT THE HOURE OF
CLAYMING, IS MOST FINALE & ETERNALLEÅÔ
Lena shut the Book. ÓI canÒt read any more of this.Ô
ÓNo kidding. No wonder your uncle is so worried all the time.Ô
ÓItÒs not enough that I could turn into some kind of evil demon. I could also suffer eternal death. Add that to the list under impending doom.Ô
ÓGot it. Demon. Death. Doom.Ô
We were in the garden at Greenbrier again. Lena handed me the Book and flopped on her back, staring up at the sky. I hoped she was playing with the clouds instead of thinking about how little we had figured out during these afternoons with the Book. But I didnÒt ask her to help me as I paged through it, wearing AmmaÒs old garden gloves that were way too small.
There were thousands of pages in The Book of Moons, and some pages contained more than one Cast. There was no rhyme or reason to the way it was organized, at least none that I could see. The Table of Contents had turned out to be some kind of hoax that only loosely corresponded to some of what could actually be found inside. I turned the pages, hoping I would stumble across something. But most of the pages just looked like gibberish. I stared at the words I couldnÒt understand.
I DDARGANFOD YR HYN SYDD AR GOLL
DATODWCH Y CWLWM, TROELLWCH A THROWCH EF
BWRIWCH Y RHWYMYN HWN
FEL Y CAF GANFOD
YR HYN RWYÒN DYHEU AMDANO
YR HYN RWYÒN EI GEISIO.
Something jumped out at me, a word I recognized from a quote tacked on the wall of my parentsÒ study: ÓPete et invenies.Ô Seek and you shall find. ÓInvenies.Ô Find.
UT INVENIAS QUOD ABEST
EXPEDI NODUM, TORQUE ET CONVOLVE
ELICE HOC VINCULUM
UT INVENIAM
QUOD DESIDERO
QUOD PETO.
I tore through the pages of my momÒs Latin dictionary, scrawling the words in the back as I translated them. The words of the Cast stared back at me.
To Find What is Missing
Unravel the tie, twist and wind
Cast this Bind
So I may find
That which I yearn for
That which I seek.
ÓI found something!Ô
Lena sat up, peering over my shoulder. ÓWhat are you talking aboutØÔ She sounded less than convinced.
I held my chicken scratch handwriting up for her to read. ÓI translated this. It seems like you use it to find something.Ô
Lena leaned closer, checking my translation. Her eyes widened. ÓItÒs a Locator Cast.Ô
ÓThat sounds like something we can use to find the answer, so we can figure out how to undo the curse.Ô
Lena pulled the Book into her lap, staring at the page. She pointed to the other Cast above it. ÓThatÒs the same Cast in Welsh, I think.Ô
ÓBut can it help usØÔ
ÓI donÒt know. We donÒt even really know what weÒre looking for.Ô She frowned, suddenly less enthusiastic. ÓBesides, Spoken Casting isnÒt as easy as it looks, and IÒve never done it before. Things can go wrong.Ô Was she kiddingØ
ÓThings can go wrongØ Things worse than turning into a Dark Caster on your sixteenth birthdayØÔ I grabbed the Book out of her hands, burning the daisies off the tips of the gloves. ÓWhy did we dig up a grave to find this thing and waste weeks trying to figure out what it says, if we arenÒt even going to tryØÔ I held the Book up until one of the gloves started to smoke.
Lena shook her head. ÓGive me that.Ô She took a deep breath. ÓOkay, IÒll try, but I have no idea what will happen. This isnÒt usually how I do it.Ô
ÓItØÔ
ÓYou know, the way I use my powers, all the Natural stuff. I mean, thatÒs the whole point, isnÒt itØ ItÒs supposed to be natural. I donÒt even know what IÒm doing, half the time.Ô
ÓOkay, so this time you do, and IÒll help. What do I need to doØ Draw a circleØ Light some candlesØÔ
Lena rolled her eyes. ÓHow about sit over there.Ô She pointed to a spot a few feet away.
ÓJust in case.Ô
I was expecting a little bit more preparation, but I was just a Mortal. What did I knowØ I ignored LenaÒs order to put some distance between myself and her first Spoken Cast, but
I did take a few steps back. Lena held the Book in one hand, which was a feat in itself because it was incred-ibly heavy, and took a deep breath. Her eyes ran slowly down the page as she read.
ÓÑUnravel the tie, twist and wind
Cast this Bind
So I may find
That which I yearn forÅÒÔ
She looked up and spoke the last line, clear and strong.
ÓÑThat which I seek.ÒÔ
For a second, nothing happened. The clouds still lingered overhead, the air was still cold.
It didnÒt work. Lena shrugged her shoulders. I knew she was thinking the same thing.
Until we both heard it, a sound like a rush of air echoing through a tunnel. The tree behind me caught fire. It actually ignited, from the bottom up. Flames raced up the trunk, roaring, spreading out to every branch. I had never seen anything catch fire that quickly.
The wood started to smoke immediately. I pulled Lena away from the fire, coughing.
ÓAre you okayØÔ She was coughing, too. I pushed her black curls away from her face.
ÓWell, obviously that didnÒt work. Unless you were looking to toast some really big marshmallows.Ô
Lena smiled weakly. ÓI told you things could go wrong.Ô
ÓThatÒs an understatement.Ô
We stared up at the burning cypress. That was five days and counting.
Four days and counting, the storm clouds rolled in, and Lena stayed home sick. The
Santee flooded and the roads were washed out north of town. The local news chalked it up to global warming, but I knew better. As I sat in Algebra II, Lena and I argued about the Book, which wasnÒt going to help my grade on the pop quiz.
Forget about the Book, Ethan. IÒm sick of it. ItÒs not helping.
We canÒt forget about it. ItÒs your only chance. You heard your uncle. ItÒs the most powerful book in the Caster world.
ItÒs also the Book that cursed my whole family.
DonÒt give up. The answer has to be somewhere in the Book.
I was losing her, she wouldnÒt listen to me, and I was about to fail my third quiz of the semester. Great.
By the way, can you simplify 7x - 2(4x - 6)Ø
I knew she could. She was already in Trig.
What does that have to do with anythingØ
Nothing. But IÒm failing this quiz.
She sighed.
A Caster girlfriend had some perks.
Three days and counting, the mudslides started and the upper field slid into the gym. The squad wouldnÒt be cheering for a while, and the Disciplinary Committee was going to have to find a new place to hold their witch trials. Lena was still not back in school, but she was in my head the whole day. Her voice grew smaller, until I could barely hear it over the chaos of another day at Jackson High.
I sat alone in the lunchroom. I couldnÒt eat. For the first time since I met Lena, I looked at everyone around me and felt a pang of, I donÒt know, something. What was itØ JealousyØ
Their lives were so simple, so easy. Their problems were Mortal-sized, tiny. The way mine used to be. I caught Emily looking at me. Savannah bounced into EmilyÒs lap, and with Savannah came the familiar snarl. It wasnÒt jealousy. I wouldnÒt trade Lena for any of this.
I couldnÒt imagine going back to such a tiny life.
Two days and counting, Lena wouldnÒt even speak to me. Half the roof blew off the DAR headquarters when the high winds hit. The Member Registries Mrs. Lincoln and Mrs.
Asher had spent years compiling, the family trees going back to the May-flower and the
Revolution, were destroyed. The Gatlin County patriots would have to prove their blood was better than the rest of ours, all over again.
I drove to Ravenwood on my way to school and banged on the door as hard as I could.
Lena wouldnÒt come out of the house. When I finally got her to open the door, I could see why.
Ravenwood had changed again. Inside, it looked like a maximum-security prison. The windows had bars and the walls were smooth concrete, except for in the front hallway, where they were orange and padded. Lena was wearing an orange jumpsuit with the numbers 0211, her birthday, stamped on it, her hands covered in writing. She looked kind of cool, actually, her messy black hair falling around her. She could even make a prison jumpsuit look good.
ÓWhatÒs going on, LØÔ
She followed my gaze over her shoulder. ÓOh, thisØ Nothing. ItÒs a joke.Ô
ÓI didnÒt know Macon joked.Ô
She pulled at a loose string on her sleeve. ÓHe doesnÒt. ItÒs my joke.Ô
ÓSince when can you control RavenwoodØÔ
She shrugged. ÓI just woke up yesterday and this is what it looked like. It must have been on my mind. The house just listened, I guess.Ô
ÓLetÒs get out of here. Prison is only making you more depressed.Ô
ÓI could be Ridley in two days. ItÒs pretty depressing.Ô She shook her head sadly and sat down on the edge of the veranda. I sat down next to her. She didnÒt look at me, but instead stared down at her prison-issue white sneakers. I wondered how she knew what prison sneakers looked like.
ÓShoelaces. You got that part wrong.Ô
ÓWhatØÔ
I pointed. ÓThey take away your shoelaces in real prisons.Ô
ÓYou have to let go, Ethan. ItÒs over. I canÒt stop my birthday from coming, or the curse.
I canÒt pretend IÒm a regular girl anymore. IÒm not like Savannah Snow or Emily Asher.
IÒm a Caster.Ô
I picked up a handful of pebbles from the bottom step of the veranda and chucked one as far as I could.
I wonÒt say good-bye, L. I canÒt.
She took a pebble from my hand and threw it. Her fingers brushed against mine and I felt the tiny pulse of warmth. I tried to memorize it.
You wonÒt have a chance to. IÒll be gone, and I wonÒt even remember I cared about you.
I was stubborn. I couldnÒt listen to this. This time, the pebble hit a tree. ÓNothing will change the way we feel about each other. ThatÒs the one thing I know for sure.Ô
ÓEthan, I may not even be capable of feeling.Ô
ÓI donÒt believe that.Ô I flung the rest of the stones out into the overgrown yard. I donÒt know where they landed; they didnÒt make a sound. But I stared out that way, as hard as I could, swallowing the lump in my throat.
Lena reached out toward me, then hesitated. She put her hand down without so much as a touch. ÓDonÒt be mad at me. I didnÒt ask for any of this.Ô
ThatÒs when I snapped. ÓMaybe not, but what if tomorrow is our last day togetherØ And I could be spending it with you, but instead youÒre here, moping around like youÒre already
Claimed.Ô
She got up. ÓYou donÒt understand.Ô I heard the door slam behind me as she went back into the house, her cellblock, whatever.
I hadnÒt had a girlfriend before so I wasnÒt prepared to deal with all this×I didnÒt even know what to call it. Especially not with a Caster girl. Not having a better idea of what to do, I stood up, gave up, and drove back to school×late, as usual.
Twenty-four hours and counting. A low-pressure system settled over Gatlin. You couldnÒt tell if it was going to snow or hail, but the skies didnÒt look right. Today anything could happen. I looked out the window during history and saw what looked like some kind of funeral procession, only for a funeral that hadnÒt happened yet. It was
Macon RavenwoodÒs hearse followed by seven black Lincoln town cars. They drove past
Jackson High as they made their way through town and out to Ravenwood. Nobody was listening to Mr. Lee drone on about the upcoming Reenactment of the Battle of Honey
Hill×not the most well-known of Civil War battles, but it was the one the people of
Gatlin County were most proud of.
ÓIn 1864, Sherman ordered Union Major General John Hatch and his troops to cut off the
Charleston and Savannah Railroad to keep Confederate soldiers from interferinÒ with his
ÑMarch to the Sea.Ò But, due to several Ñnavigational miscalculations,Ò the Union forces were delayed.Ô
He smiled proudly, writing navigational miscalculations out on the chalkboard. Okay, the
Union was stupid. We got it. That was the point of the Battle of Honey Hill, the point of the War Between the States, as it had been taught to all of us, since kindergarten.
Neglecting, of course, the fact that the Union had actually won the war. In Gatlin, everyone kind of talked about it like a gentlemanly concession on the part of the more gentlemanly South. The South had taken, historically speaking, the high road, at least according to Mr. Lee.
But today, nobody was looking at the board. Everyone was staring out the windows. The black Lincolns followed the hearse in a convoy down the street, behind the athletic field.
Now that Macon had come out, so to speak, he seemed to enjoy making a spectacle of himself. For a guy who only came out at night, he managed to command a lot of attention.
I felt a kick in my shin. Link was hunched over the desk, so Mr. Lee couldnÒt see his face. ÓDude. Who do you think is in all those carsØÔ
ÓMr. Lincoln, would you like to tell us what happened nextØ Especially since your father will be commandinÒ the Cavalry tomorrowØÔ Mr. Lee was staring at us with his arms crossed.
Link pretended to cough. LinkÒs dad, a browbeaten shell of a man, had the honor of commanding the Cavalry in the Reenactment since Big Earl Eaton died last year, which was the only way a reenactor ever advanced in rank. Someone had to die. It would have been a big deal in Savannah SnowÒs family. Link, he wasnÒt too big on the whole Living
History scene.
ÓLetÒs see, Mr. Lee. Wait, I got it. We, uh, won the battle and lost the war, or was it the other way aroundØ ÒCause around here, itÒs hard to tell sometimes.Ô
Mr. Lee ignored LinkÒs comment. He probably hung the Stars and Bars, the Confederate flag, in front of his house all year round, I mean his doublewide. ÓMr. Lincoln, by the time Hatch and the FedÒrals reached Honey Hill, Colonel Colcock×Ô the class snickered, while Mr. Lee glared. ÓYes, that was his real name. The Colonel and his brigade of
Confederate soldiers and militia formed an impassable battery a seven guns across the road.Ô How many times were we going to have to hear about the seven gunsØ You would have thought it was the miracle of the fish and the loaves.
Link looked back to me, nodding in the direction of Main. ÓWellØÔ
ÓI think itÒs LenaÒs family. They were supposed to be coming in for her birthday.Ô
ÓYeah. Ridley said somethinÒ about that.Ô
ÓYou guys still hanging outØÔ I was almost afraid to ask.
ÓYeah, man. Can you keep a secretØÔ
ÓHavenÒt I alwaysØÔ
Link pulled up the sleeve of his Ramones T-shirt to reveal a tattoo of what looked like an anime version of Ridley, complete with the Catholic schoolgirl mini and knee socks. I was hoping LinkÒs fascination with Ridley had lost some steam, but deep down I knew the truth. Link would only get over Ridley when she was good and done with him, if she didnÒt make him jump headlong off a cliff first. And even then, he might not get over her.
ÓI got it over Christmas break. Pretty cool, huhØ Ridley drew it for me herself. SheÒs a killer artist.Ô The killer part I believed. What could I sayØ You tattooed a comic book version of a Dark Caster on your arm, who by the way has you under some kind of love spell and who also happens to be your girlfriendØ
ÓYour mom is gonna freak when she sees that.Ô
ÓSheÒs not gonna see it. My sleeve covers it, and we have a new privacy rule in my house. She has to knock.Ô
ÓBefore she barges in and does whatever she wantsØÔ
ÓYeah, well, at least she knocks first.Ô
ÓI hope so, for your sake.Ô
ÓAnyway, Ridley and I have a surprise for Lena. DonÒt tell Rid I told you, sheÒll kill me, but weÒre throwinÒ Lena a party tomorrow. In that big field at Ravenwood.
ÓThat better be a joke.Ô
ÓSurprise.Ô He actually looked excited, as if this party was ever going to happen, as if
Lena would ever go, or Macon would ever let her.
ÓWhat were you thinkingØ Lena would hate that. She and Ridley donÒt even speak.Ô
ÓThatÒs on Lena, man. She should get over it, theyÒre family.Ô I knew he was under the influence, a Ridley-fied zombie, but he was still pissing me off.
ÓYou donÒt know what youÒre talking about. Just stay out of it. Trust me.Ô
He opened a Slim Jim and took a bite. ÓWhatever, man. We were just tryinÒ to do somethinÒ nice for Lena. ItÒs not like she has that many people willinÒ to throw her a party.Ô
ÓAll the more reason not to have one. No one would come.Ô
He grinned and stuffed the rest of the Slim Jim into his mouth. ÓEveryone will come.
EveryoneÒs already cominÒ. At least, thatÒs what Rid says.Ô
Ridley. Of course. SheÒd have the whole damn town following her around, like the Pied
Piper, at the suck of her first lollipop.
That didnÒt seem to be LinkÒs understanding of the situation. ÓMy band, the Holy Rollers, are gonna play for the very first time ever.Ô
ÓThe whatØÔ
ÓMy new band. I started it, you know, at church camp.Ô I didnÒt want to know anything else about what had happened over winter break. I was just happy he had made it back in one piece.
Mr. Lee banged on the blackboard for emphasis, drawing a big number eight in chalk. ÓIn the end, Hatch could not move the Confederates and withdrew his forces with a count of eighty-nine dead and six hundred and twenty-nine wounded. The Confederates won the battle, only losinÒ eight men. And thatÔ×Mr. Lee pounded proudly on the number eight
×Óis why you all will be joininÒ me at the LivinÒ History Reenactment of the Battle of
Honey Hill tomorrow.Ô
Living History. ThatÒs what people like Mr. Lee called Civil War reenactments, and they werenÒt kidding. Every detail was accurate, from the uniforms to the ammunition to the position of the soldiers on the battlefield.
Link grinned at me, all Slim Jim. ÓDonÒt tell Lena. We want her to be surprised. ItÒs, like, her birthday present from the two of us.Ô
I just stared at him. I thought about Lena in her dark mood and her orange prison jumpsuit. Then, LinkÒs no doubt terrible band, a Jackson High party, Emily Asher and
Savannah Snow, the Fallen Angels, Ridley, and Ravenwood, not to mention Honey Hill blowing up in the distance. All under the disapproving eye of Macon, LenaÒs other crazy relatives, and the mother who was trying to kill her. And the dog that allowed Macon to see every move we made.
The bell rang. Surprise wouldnÒt even begin to describe how she would feel. And I was the one whoÒd have to tell her.
ÓDonÒt forget to sign in when you arrive at the Reenactment. You donÒt get credit if you donÒt sign in! And remember to stay inside the ropes of the Safe Zone. GettinÒ shot wonÒt get you an A in this class,Ô Mr. Lee called as we filed out the door.
Right about now, getting shot didnÒt seem like the worst thing in the world.
Civil War reenactments are a seriously strange phenomenon, and the Reenactment of the
Battle of Honey Hill was no exception. Who would actually be interested in dressing up in what looked like really sweaty wool Halloween costumesØ Who wanted to run around shooting antique firearms so unstable they had been known to blow peopleÒs limbs off when firedØ Which is, by the way, how Big Earl Eaton had died. Who cared about recreating battles that happened in a war that took place almost a hundred and fifty years ago and that, in fact, the South didnÒt actually winØ Who would do thatØ
In Gatlin, and most of the South, the answer would be: your doctor, your lawyer, your preacher, the guy who fixes your car and the one who delivers your mail, most likely your dad, all your uncles and cousins, your history teacher (especially if you happen to have Mr. Lee), and most definitely, the guy who owns the gun shop over in town. Come the second week of February, rain or shine, Gatlin thought about, talked about, and fussed about nothing but the Reenactment of the Battle of Honey Hill.
Honey Hill was Our Battle. I donÒt know how they decided that, but IÒm pretty sure it had something to do with the seven guns. People in town spent weeks preparing for Honey
Hill. Now that it was down to the last minute, Confederate uniforms were being steamed and pressed all over the county, the smell of warm wool wafting through the air.
Whitworth rifles were cleaned and swords polished, and half the men in town had spent last weekend at Buford RadfordÒs place making homemade ammunition, because his wife didnÒt mind the smell. The widows were busy washing sheets and freezing pies for the hundreds of tourists descending on the town to witness Living History. The members of the DAR had spent weeks preparing for their version of the Reenactment, the Southern
Heritage Tours, and their daughters had spent two Saturdays baking pound cakes to serve after the tours.
This was particularly amusing because the DAR members, including Mrs. Lincoln, conducted these tours in period dress; they squeezed into girdles and layers of petticoats that made them look like sausages about to burst from their casings. And they werenÒt the only ones; their daughters, including Savannah and Emily, the future generation of the
DAR, had to putter around the historic plantation houses dressed like characters from
Little House on the Prairie. The tour had always started at the DAR headquarters, since it was the second-oldest house in Gatlin. I wondered if the roof would be fixed in time. I couldnÒt help imagining all those women wandering around the Gatlin Historical Society, pointing out starburst quilt patterns above the hundreds of Caster scrolls and documents awaiting the next bank holiday below.
But the DAR werenÒt the only ones to get into the act. The War Between the States was often referred to as the Ófirst modern war,Ô but if you took a walk around Gatlin the week before the Reenactment, there was nothing modern looking about it. Every Civil War relic in town was on display, from horse-drawn wagons to Howitzers, which any preschooler in town could tell you were artillery cannons resting on a set of old wagon wheels. The Sisters even dragged out their original Confederate flag and tacked it up on their front door, after I refused to hang it on the porch for them. Even though it was all for show, thatÒs where I drew the line.
There was a big parade the day before the Reenactment, which gave the reenactors an opportunity to march through town in full regalia in front of all the tourists, because the next day theyÒd be so covered in smoke and dirt that no one would notice the shiny brass buttons on their authentic shell jackets.
After the parade, there was a huge festival, with a pig pick, a kissing booth, and an oldfashioned pie sale. Amma spent days baking. Outside of the County Fair, this was her biggest pie show, and her biggest opportunity to claim victory over her enemies. Her pies were always bestsellers, which drove Mrs. Lincoln and Mrs. Snow crazy×AmmaÒs primary motivation for all that baking in the first place. There was nothing she liked better than showing up the women of the DAR and rubbing their noses in their secondrate pies.
So every year when the second week of February rolled around, life as we knew it ceased to exist, and we all found ourselves back at the Battle of Honey Hill, circa 1864. This year was no exception, with one peculiar addition. This year, as pickups pulled into town towing double-barreled cannons and horse trailers×any self-respecting cavalry reenactor owned his own horse×different preparations were also under way, for a different battle.
Only this one didnÒt begin at the second-oldest house in Gatlin, but the oldest. There were
Howitzers, and then there were Howitzers. This battle wasnÒt concerned with guns and horses, but that didnÒt make it any less of a battle. To be honest, it was the only real battle in town.
As for the eight casualties of Honey Hill, I couldnÒt really compare. I was only worried about one. Because if I lost her, I would be lost, too.
So forget the Battle of Honey Hill. To me, this felt more like D-Day.
2.11
SWEET SIXTEEN
Leave me alone! I told all of you! ThereÒs nothing you can do!
LenaÒs voice woke me from a few hours of fitful sleep. I pulled on my jeans and a gray
T-shirt without even stopping to think about it. About anything other than this: Day One.
We could stop waiting for the end to come.
The end was here. not with a bang but a whimper not with a bang but a whimper not with a bang but a whimper Lena was losing it, and it was barely daylight.
The Book. Damn, IÒd forgotten it. I ran back up into my room, two stairs at a time. I reached up to the top shelf of my closet, where IÒd hidden it, bracing myself for the scorching that went along with touching a Caster book.
Only it didnÒt happen. Because it wasnÒt there.
The Book of Moons, our book, was gone. We needed that book, today of all days. But
LenaÒs voice was pounding in my head. this is the way the world ends not with a bang but a whimper
Lena reciting T. S. Eliot was not a good sign. I grabbed the keys to the Volvo and ran.
The sun was rising as I drove down Dove Street. Greenbrier, or the only empty field in
Gatlin to everyone else in town×making it the location of the Battle of Honey Hill×was beginning to come to life, too. The funny thing was, I couldnÒt even hear the artillery outside my car window, because of the artillery going off in my head.
By the time I ran up the steps of RavenwoodÒs veranda, Boo was waiting for me, barking.
Larkin was on the steps, too, leaning against one of the pillars. He was in his leather jacket, playing with the snake that curled and uncurled its way around his arm. First it was his arm, then it was a snake. He Shifted idly between shapes, like a dealer shuffling a deck of cards. The sight of it caught me off guard for a second. That, and the way he made Boo bark. Come to think of it, I couldnÒt tell if Boo was barking at me or Larkin.
Boo belonged to Macon, and Macon and I hadnÒt exactly left things on speaking terms.
ÓHey, Larkin.Ô He nodded, disinterested. It was cold, and a puff of breath crept out of his mouth, as if from an imaginary cigarette. The puff stretched out into a circle that became a tiny white snake, which then bit into its own tail, devouring itself until it disappeared.
ÓI wouldnÒt go in there if I was you. Your girlfriend is a little, how should I put itØ
VenomousØÔ The snake curved its length around his neck, then became the collar of his leather jacket.
Aunt Del flung the door open. ÓFinally, weÒve been waiting for you. LenaÒs in her room and she wonÒt let any of us in.Ô
I looked at Aunt Del, so muddled, her scarf dangling lopsidedly from one shoulder, her glasses askew, even her off-kilter gray bun coming unraveled from its twist. I leaned in to give her a hug. She smelled like one of the SistersÒ antique cabinets, full of lavender sachets and old linens, handed down from Sister to Sister. Reece and Ryan stood behind her like a mournful family in a grim hospital lobby, waiting for bad news.
Again, Ravenwood seemed more attuned to Lena and her mood than to MaconÒs, or maybe this was a mood they shared. Macon was nowhere to be found, so I couldnÒt tell.
If you could imagine the color of anger, it had been splashed over every wall. Rage, or something equally dense and seething, was hanging from every chandelier, resentment woven into thick carpets padding the room, hatred flickering underneath every lampshade. The floor was bathed in a creeping shadow, a particular darkness that had seeped up into the walls, and right now was rolling across my Converse so I almost couldnÒt see them. Absolute darkness.
I canÒt say for sure how the room looked. I was too distracted by how it felt, and it felt pretty rank. I took a tentative step onto the grand flying staircase that led up to LenaÒs bedroom. IÒd gone up those stairs a hundred times before; itÒs not like I didnÒt know where they went. And yet somehow, today felt different. Aunt Del looked at Reece and
Ryan, following behind me, as if I was leading the way into an unknown war front.
When I stepped onto the second stair, the whole house shook. The thousand candles of the ancient chandelier swinging over my head shuddered and dripped wax down onto my face. I winced and jerked back. Without warning, the stairway curled up beneath my feet and snapped underneath me, tossing me back onto my butt, sending me skidding halfway across the polished floors of the entry hall. Reece and Aunt Del made it out of the way, but I took poor Ryan with me like a bowling ball hitting the pins at County Line Lanes.
I stood up and shouted up the stairs. ÓLena Duchannes. If you sic those stairs on me again, IÒm gonna report you to the Disciplinary Committee myself.Ô
I took a step onto the first stair, and then the second. Nothing happened. ÓI will call Mr.
Hollingsworth and personally testify that youÒre a dangerous lunatic.Ô I double-jumped the stairs, all the way up to the first landing. ÓBecause if you do that to me again, you will be, you hear meØÔ Then I heard it, her voice, uncurling in my mind.
You donÒt understand.
I know youÒre scared, L, but shutting everyone out isnÒt going to make things any better.
Go away.
No.
I mean it, Ethan. Go away. I donÒt want anything to happen to you.
I canÒt.
Now I was standing at her bedroom door, leaning my cheek against the cold white wood of the paneling. I wanted to be with her, as close to her as I could get without having another heart attack. And if this was as near as she would let me get, it was enough for me, for now.
Are you there, EthanØ
IÒm right here.
IÒm afraid.
I know, L.
I donÒt want you to get hurt.
I wonÒt.
Ethan, I donÒt want to leave you.
You wonÒt.
What if I doØ
IÒll wait for you.
Even if IÒm DarkØ
Even if youÒre very, very Dark.
She pulled the door open and pulled me inside. Music was blasting. I knew the song. This was an angry, almost metal version of it, but I recognized it all the same.
Sixteen moons, sixteen years
Sixteen of your deepest fears
Sixteen times you dreamed my tears
Falling, falling through the yearsÅ
It looked like she had been crying all night. She probably had. When I touched her face, I saw it was still striped with tears. I held her in my arms, and we swayed while the song played on.
Sixteen moons, sixteen years
Sound of thunder in your ears
Sixteen miles before she nears
Sixteen seeks what sixteen fearsÅ
Over her shoulder, I could see her room was in shambles. The plaster on her walls was cracked and falling and her dresser was overturned, the way a thief tosses a room during a break-in. Her windows were shattered. Without the glass the small metal panes looked like prison bars from some ancient castle. The prisoner clung to me as the melody wrapped around us.
Still, the music didnÒt stop.
Sixteen moons, sixteen years, Sixteen times you dreamed my fears, Sixteen will try to Bind the spheres, Sixteen screams but just one hearsÅ
The last time I was here, the ceiling had been almost completely covered in words detailing LenaÒs innermost thoughts. But now, every surface of the room was covered in her distinctive black handwriting. The edges of the ceiling now read: Loneliness is holding the one you love / When you know you might never hold him again. The walls:
Even lost in the darkness / My heart will find you. The doorjambs: The soul dies at the hand of the one who carries it. The mirrors: If I could find a place to run away / Hidden safely, I would be there today. Even the dresser was marred with phrases: The darkest daylight finds me here, those who wait are always watching, and the one that seemed to say it all, How do you escape from yourselfØ I could see her story in the words, hear it in the music.
Sixteen moons, sixteen years, The Claiming Moon, the hour nears, In these pages Darkness clears, Powers Bind what fire searsÅ
Then the electric guitar slowed, and I heard a new verse, the end of the song. Finally, something had an ending. I tried to put the earth and fire and water and wind dreams out of my head as I listened.
Sixteenth Moon, Sixteenth Year, Now has come the day you fear, Claim or be Claimed, Shed blood, shed tear, Moon or Sun×destroy, revere.
The guitar died out, and now we were standing in silence.
ÓWhat do you think×Ô
She put her hand on my lips. She couldnÒt bear to talk about it. She was as raw as I had ever seen her. A cold breeze was blowing past her, surrounding her, and exhaling out through the open door behind me. I didnÒt know if her cheeks were red from the cold or from her tears, and I didnÒt ask. We fell onto her bed and curled into one ball, until it would have been hard to sort out whose limbs were whose. We werenÒt kissing, but it was like we were. We were closer than IÒd ever realized two people could be.
I guess this was what it felt like to love someone, and feel like you had lost them. Even when you were still holding them in your arms.
Lena was shivering. I could feel every rib, every bone in her body, and her movements seemed involuntary. I untangled my arm from around her neck and twisted so I could grab the pieced quilt from the foot of her bed and pull it up over us. She burrowed into my chest and I pulled the quilt higher. Now it was over our heads, and we were in a dark little cave together, the two of us.
The cave became warm with our breath. I kissed her cold mouth and she kissed me back.
The current between us intensified and she nuzzled her way into the hollow of my neck.
Do you think we can stay like this forever, EthanØ
We can do whatever you want. ItÒs your birthday.
I felt her stiffen in my arms.
DonÒt remind me.
But I brought you a present.
She held up the cover, to let just a crack of light in. ÓYou didØ I told you not to.Ô
ÓSince when did I ever listen to anything you sayØ Besides, Link says if a girl says not to get her a birthday present that means get me a birthday present and make sure itÒs jewelry.Ô
ÓThatÒs not true of all girls.Ô
ÓOkay. Forget it.Ô
She let the quilt drop, then snuggled back into my arms.
Is itØ
WhatØ
Jewelry.
I thought you didnÒt want a presentØ
Just curious.
I smiled to myself and pulled down the quilt. The cold air hit us both at the same time, and I quickly pulled a small box out of my jeans and dove back under the covers. I lifted the quilt up so she could see the box.
ÓPut it down, itÒs too cold.Ô
I let it fall, and we were surrounded by darkness again. The box began to glow with green light, and I could make out LenaÒs slender fingertips as she pulled off the silver ribbon.
The glow spread, warm and bright, until her face was softly lit across from mine.
ÓThatÒs a new one.Ô I smiled at her in the green light.
ÓI know. ItÒs been happening ever since I woke up this morning. Whatever I think, just sort of happens.Ô
ÓNot bad.Ô
She stared at the box wistfully, as if she was waiting as long as she could to open it. It occurred to me that this was possibly the only present Lena would get today. Aside from the surprise party I was holding off telling her about until the last minute.
Surprise partyØ
Whoops.
YouÒd better be joking.
Tell that to Ridley and Link.
YeahØ The surprise is, there isnÒt going to be a party.
Just open the box.
She glared at me and opened the box, and more light came pouring out, even though the gift had nothing to do with that. Her face softened and I knew I was off the hook about the party. It was that thing, about girls and jewelry. Who knewØ Link was right after all.
She held up a necklace, delicate and shining, with a ring hanging from the chain. It was a carved gold circle, three strands of gold×sort of rose colored, and yellow, and white×all braided into a wreath.
Ethan! I love it.
She kissed me about a hundred times, and I started talking, even while she was kissing me. Because I felt like I had to tell her, before she put it on, before something happened.
ÓIt belonged to my mom. I got it out of her old jewelry box.Ô
ÓAre you sure about thisØÔ she asked.
I nodded. I couldnÒt pretend like it wasnÒt a big deal. Lena knew how I felt about my mom. It was a big deal, and I felt relieved that we both could admit it. ÓItÒs not rare or anything, like a diamond or whatever, but itÒs valuable to me. I think sheÒd be okay with me giving it to you because, you know.Ô
WhatØ
Ah.
ÓYouÒre gonna make me spell it outØÔ My voice sounded weird, all shaky.
ÓI hate to break it to you, but youÒre not that great at spelling.Ô She knew I was squirming, but she was going to make me say it. I preferred our silent mode of communication. It made talking, real talking, a lot easier for a guy like me. I brushed her hair off of the back of her neck, and attached the necklace at the clasp. It hung around her neck, sparkling in the light, right above the one she never took off. ÓBecause youÒre really special to me.Ô
How specialØ
I think youÒre wearing the answer around your neck.
IÒm wearing a lot of things around my neck.
I touched her charm necklace. It all looked like junk, and most of it was×the most important junk in the world. And now it had become my junk, too. A flattened penny with a hole in it, from one of those machines at the food court across from the movie theater, where we had gone on our first date. A piece of yarn from the red sweater she had worn to go parking at the water tower, which had become an inside joke between us.
The silver button I had given her for luck at the disciplinary meeting. My momÒs little paper-clip star.
Then you should already know the answer.
She leaned in to kiss me again, a real kiss. This was the kind of kiss that couldnÒt really be called a kiss, the kind that involves arms and legs and necks and hair, the kind where the quilt finally slides down to the floor, and in this case, the windows unshatter themselves, the bureau rights itself, the clothes return to their hangers, and the freezing cold room is finally warm. A fire burst into flame in the small, cold fireplace in her room, which was nothing compared to the heat running through my body. I felt the electricity, stronger than what IÒd become used to, and my heartbeat quickened.
I pulled back, out of breath. ÓWhereÒs Ryan when you need herØ WeÒre really going to have to figure out what to do about that.Ô
ÓDonÒt worry, sheÒs downstairs.Ô She pulled me back down, and the fire in the grate crackled even louder, threatening to overpower the chimney with smoke and flame.
Jewelry, IÒm telling you. ItÒs a thing. And love.
And maybe danger.
ÓComing, Uncle Macon!Ô Lena turned to me and sighed. ÓI guess we canÒt put it off any longer. We have to go down there and see my family.Ô She stared at the door. The bolt unlocked itself. I rubbed her back, making a face. It was over.
The day had turned to dusk by the time we made it out of LenaÒs room. I had thought weÒd have to sneak down to visit Kitchen, around lunchtime, but Lena simply closed her eyes and a room service cart rolled through the door and into the middle of her room. I guess even Kitchen was feeling sorry for her today. Either that, or Kitchen couldnÒt resist
LenaÒs newfound powers any more than I could. I ate my weight in chocolate chip pancakes drenched in chocolate syrup, washed down with chocolate milk. Lena had a sandwich and an apple. Then everything dissolved back into kissing.
I think we both knew this could be the last time we lay around in her room like this. It seemed like there was nothing else we could do. The situation was what it was, and if today was all we had, then at least we would have this.
In reality, I was as terrified as I was exhilarated. But still, it wasnÒt even dinnertime, and it was already the best and worst day of my life.
I grabbed LenaÒs hand as we headed down the stairs. It was still warm, which was how I could tell Lena was in a better mood. The necklaces sparkled at her neck, and silver and gold candles hung in the air, as we walked through them and beneath them, down the stairs. I wasnÒt used to seeing Ravenwood looking so festive and full of light, which for a second made it feel almost like a real birthday, where the people celebrating are happy and light-hearted. For a second.
Then I saw Macon and Aunt Del. They were both holding candles, and behind them, Ravenwood was shrouded in shadows and darkness. There were other dark figures moving in the background, also holding candles. Worse, Macon and Del were dressed in long, dark robes, like acolytes of a strange order, or druid priests and priestesses. It just didnÒt seem like, well, a birthday party. More like a really creepy funeral.
Happy Sweet Sixteen. No wonder you didnÒt want to come out of your room.
Now you see what I was talking about.
When Lena reached the last stair she paused and looked back at me. She looked so out of place in her old jeans and my oversized Jackson High hoodie. I doubted Lena had ever dressed like this in her whole life. I think she just wanted to keep a piece of me with her as long as she could.
DonÒt be scared. ItÒs just the Binding, to keep me safe until Moonrise. The Claiming canÒt happen until the moon is high.
IÒm not scared, L.
I know. I was talking to myself.
She let go of my hand and took the last step down from the landing. When her foot touched the polished black floor, she was transformed. The flowing dark robes of the
Binding now hid the curves of her body. The black of her hair and the black of the robes blended into a shadow that covered her from head to toe, with the exception of her face, which was as pale and luminescent as the moon itself. She touched her throat, my motherÒs gold ring still hanging at her neck. I hoped it would help to remind her that I was there with her. Just as I hoped it was my mom who had been trying to help us all along.
What are they going to do to youØ This isnÒt going to be some freaky pagan sex thing, is itØ
Lena burst out laughing. Aunt Del looked over at her, horrified. Reece smoothed her robe primly with one hand, looking superior, while Ryan started to giggle.
ÓCompose yourself,Ô Macon hissed. Larkin, somehow managing to look as cool in a black robe as he did in a leather jacket, snickered. Lena smothered the giggles down into the folds of her robe.
As their candles moved, I could see the faces nearest to me: Macon, Del, Lena, Larkin, Reece, Ryan, and Barclay. There were also faces that were less familiar. Arelia, MaconÒs mother, and an older face, wrinkled and tanned. But even from where I stood, or tried to stand, she looked enough like her granddaughter that I instantly knew who she was.
Lena saw her at the same time I did. ÓGramma!Ô
ÓHappy birthday, sweetheart!Ô The circle broke, briefly, as Lena ran over to fling her arms around the white-haired woman.
ÓI didnÒt think you would come!Ô
ÓOf course I did. I wanted to surprise you. Barbados is an easy trip. I was here in the blink of an eye.Ô
She means that literally, rightØ What is sheØ Another Traveler, an Incubus like MaconØ
A Frequent Flyer, Ethan. On United.
I could feel what Lena was feeling, a brief moment of relief, even if I was only feeling stranger and stranger. Okay, so my dad was certifiable, and my mom was dead, sort of, and the woman who raised me knew a thing or two about voodoo. I was okay with all of that. It was just, standing there, surrounded by the actual card-carrying, candle-bearing, robe-wearing Casters, it felt like I needed to know about a lot more than living with
Amma had prepared me for. Before they started in with all the Latin and the Casting.
Macon stepped forward in the circle. Too late. He held his candle high. ÓCur Luna hac
Vinctum convenimusØÔ
Aunt Del stepped up next to him. Her candle flickered as she raised it, translating. ÓWhy on this Moon do we come together for the BindingØÔ
The circle responded, holding high their candles as they chanted. ÓSextusdecima Luna, Sextusdecimo Anno, Illa Capietur.Ô
Lena answered them in English. Her candle flared up until the flames almost seemed like they would burn her face. ÓOn the Sixteenth Moon, the Sixteenth Year, She will be
Claimed.Ô Lena stood in the center of the circle, with her head high. The candlelight was cast across her face from all directions. Her own candle began to burn into a strange green flame.
WhatÒs going on, LØ
DonÒt worry. This is just part of the Binding.
If this was just the Binding, I was pretty sure I wasnÒt ready for the Claiming.
Macon began the chant I remembered from Halloween. What had they called itØ
ÓSanguis sanguinis mei, tutela tua est.
Sanguis sanguinis mei, tutela tua est.
Sanguis sanguinis mei, tutela tua est.
Blood of my blood, protection is thine!Ô
Lena went pale. A Sanguinis Circle. That was it. She held the candle high over her head, closing her eyes. The green flame erupted into a massive orange-red flame, exploding from her candle to every other candle in the circle, lighting them as well.
ÓLena!Ô I shouted over the sound of the explosion, but she didnÒt answer. The flame sprayed up into the darkness overhead, so high I realized there couldnÒt be a roof, any ceiling at all in Ravenwood tonight. I threw my arm over my eyes as the fire turned hot and blinding. All I could think about was Halloween. What if it was happening all over againØ I tried to remember what they were doing that night, to fight off Sarafine. What had they been chantingØ What had MaconÒs mother called itØ
The Sanguinis. But I couldnÒt remember the words, didnÒt know the Latin, and for once I wished I had joined the Classics Club.
I heard a pounding on the front door, and in an instant, the flames were gone. The robes, the fire, the candles, the darkness and the light were gone. It all just vanished. Without missing a beat, they became a regular family, standing around a regular birthday cake.
Singing.
What the×Ø
Ó×Happy birthday to you!Ô The last few notes of the song ended, as the pounding on the front door continued. A massive birthday cake, three tiers of pink, white, and silver, sat on the coffee table in the center of the parlor, along with a formal tea service and white linens. Lena blew out the candles, waving the smoke away from her face, where seconds before there had been billowing flame. Her family burst into applause. Back in my
Jackson High sweatshirt and jeans, she looked like any other sixteen-year-old.
ÓThatÒs our girl!Ô Gramma put down her knitting and started to cut the cake, while Aunt
Del scurried to pour the tea. Reece and Ryan carried in an enormous stack of presents while Macon sat in his Victorian wingback chair and poured himself and Barclay a scotch.
WhatÒs going on, LØ What just happenedØ
SomeoneÒs at the door. TheyÒre just being careful.
I canÒt keep up with your family.
Have some cake. This is supposed to be a birthday party, rememberØ
The pounding on the door continued. Larkin looked up from his thick triangle of red velvet cake, LenaÒs favorite. ÓIsnÒt anyone goinÒ to get the doorØÔ
Macon brushed a crumb from his cashmere jacket, looking calmly at Larkin. ÓBy all means, see who it is, Larkin.Ô
Macon looked at Lena and shook his head. She wouldnÒt be answering the door today.
Lena nodded and leaned back into Gramma. Smiling over cake like the doting granddaughter she really was. She patted the cushion next to her. Great. It was my turn to meet Gramma.
Then I heard a familiar voice at the door, and I knew I would rather face anyoneÒs gramma than what was waiting outside the door right now. Because it was Ridley and
Link, Savannah and Emily and Eden and Charlotte, with the rest of their fan club, and the
Jackson basketball team. None of them were wearing their daily uniform, Jackson Angels
T-shirts. Then I remembered why. Emily had a smudge of dirt on her cheek. The
Reenactment. I realized Lena and I had missed most of it already, and now we were going to fail history. By now, it was all over, except the evening campaign and the fireworks. Funny how an F would seem like a big deal on any other day.
ÓSURPRISE!Ô
Surprise didnÒt even begin to describe it. Once again, I had allowed chaos and danger to find its way to Ravenwood. Everyone crowded into the front hall. Gramma waved from the couch. Macon sipped his scotch, composed, as always. It was only if you knew him that you knew he was about to lose it.
Actually, come to think of it, why had Larkin even let them inØ
This canÒt be happening.
The surprise party, I forgot all about it.
Emily pushed to the front of the group. ÓWhereÒs the birthday girlØÔ She held her arms out expectantly, like she was planning to give Lena a big hug. Lena recoiled, but Emily wasnÒt that easily deterred.
Emily looped her arm through LenaÒs like they were long-lost friends. ÓWeÒve been planninÒ this party all week. WeÒve got live music and Charlotte rented these outdoor lights so everyone can see, I mean the grounds of Ravenwood are so dark.Ô Emily dropped her voice as if she were discussing selling contraband on the black market. ÓAnd we have some peach schnapps.Ô
ÓYou have to see it,Ô Charlotte drawled, practically gasping for breath between words because her jeans were so tight. ÓThereÒs a laser machine. ItÒs a rave at Ravenwood, how cool is thatØ ItÒs just like one a those college parties over in Summerville.Ô
A raveØ Ridley must have really pulled out all the stops for this one. Emily and Savannah throwing Lena a party and fawning over her like she was their Snow QueenØ This must have been harder than getting them all to jump off a cliff.
ÓNow, letÒs go up to your room and get you ready, birthday girl!Ô Charlotte sounded even more like a cheerleader than she normally did, always overcompensating.
Lena looked green. Her roomØ Half the writing on her walls was probably about them.
ÓWhat are you talkinÒ about, CharlotteØ She looks just gorgeous. DonÒt you think so, SavannahØÔ Emily gave Lena a little squeeze and looked at Charlotte disapprovingly, like maybe she should lay off the pie and put some effort into looking that gorgeous.
ÓAre you kiddinÒØ I would just die for this hair,Ô Savannah said, winding a strand of
LenaÒs hair around her finger. ÓItÒs so amazinglyÅ black.Ô
ÓMy hair was black last year, at least underneath,Ô Eden protested. Last year, Eden had dyed the underside of her hair black, leaving the top blond, in one of her misguided attempts to distinguish herself. Savannah and Emily had teased her mercilessly, until she dyed it back a whole day later.
ÓYou looked like a skunk.Ô Savannah smiled at Lena approvingly. ÓShe looks like an
Italian.Ô
ÓLetÒs go. EveryoneÒs waitinÒ on you,Ô Emily said, grabbing LenaÒs arm. Lena shrugged them off.
This has to be some kind of trick.
ItÒs a trick all right, but I donÒt think itÒs the kind youÒre imagining. It probably has more to do with a Siren and a lollipop.
Ridley. I shouldÒve known.
Lena looked at Aunt Del and Uncle Macon. They were horrified, as if all the Latin in the world hadnÒt prepared them for this one. Gramma smiled, unfamiliar with this particular brand of angel. ÓWhatÒs the rushØ Would you children like to stay and have a cup of teaØÔ
ÓHiya, Gramma!Ô Ridley called from the doorway, where she was hanging back on the veranda, sucking on her red lollipop with an intensity that made me think if she stopped this whole thing might fall like a house of cards. She didnÒt have me to get her through the door this time. She was an inch away from Larkin, who looked amused but stood directly in front of her. Ridley was spilling out of a tightly laced vest that looked like a cross between lingerie and something a girl on the cover of Hot Rod magazine would wear, and a low-slung jean skirt.
Ridley leaned against the doorframe. ÓSurprise, surprise!Ô
Gramma put her teacup down. She picked up her knitting. ÓRidley. What a pleasure to see you, dear! Your new look is very becoming, darling. IÒm sure youÒll have lots of gentlemen callers.Ô Gramma flashed Ridley an innocent smile, though her eyes werenÒt smiling.
Ridley pouted, but continued sucking on her lollipop. I walked over to where she was standing. ÓHow many licks does it take, RidØÔ
ÓFor what, Short StrawØÔ
ÓTo get Savannah Snow and Emily Asher to throw a party for LenaØÔ
ÓMore than you know, Boyfriend.Ô She stuck out her tongue at me, and I could see it was streaked with red and purple. The sight was dizzying.
Larkin sighed and looked past me. ÓThereÒre maybe a hundred kids out there, in the field.
ThereÒs a stage and speakers, cars all along the road.Ô
ÓReallyØÔ Lena looked out the window. ÓThereÒs a stage in the middle of the magnolia trees.Ô
ÓMy magnolia treesØÔ Macon was on his feet.
I knew the whole thing was a farce, that Ridley was bringing this party to life with every suggestive lick, and Lena knew it, too. But I could still see it in LenaÒs eyes. There was a part of her that wanted to go out there.
A surprise party, where everyone in school shows up. That must have been on LenaÒs regular-high-school-girl list too. She could deal with being a Caster. She was just tired of being an outcast.
Larkin looked at Macon. ÓYouÒre never gonna get them to leave. LetÒs get this over with.
IÒll stay with her the whole time, me or Ethan.Ô
Link pushed his way to the front of the crowd. ÓDude, letÒs go. My band, the Holy
Rollers, itÒs our Jackson High debut. ItÒs gonna be awesome.Ô Link was happier than IÒd ever seen him before. I looked over at Ridley suspiciously. She shrugged, chewing on her lolly.
ÓWeÒre not going anywhere. Not tonight.Ô I couldnÒt believe Link was here. His mother would have a heart attack if she ever found out.
Larkin looked at Macon, who was irritated, and Aunt Del, who was panicked. This was the last night either one of them wanted to let Lena out of their sight. ÓNo.Ô Macon didnÒt even consider it.
Larkin tried again. ÓFive minutes.Ô
ÓAbsolutely not.Ô
ÓWhenÒs the next time a bunch a people from her school are goinÒ to throw her a partyØÔ
Macon didnÒt miss a beat. ÓHopefully, never.Ô
LenaÒs face fell. I was right. She wanted to be part of all this, even if it wasnÒt real. It was like the dance, or the basketball game. It was the reason she bothered to go to school in the first place, no matter how horribly they treated her. It was why she showed up, day after day, even if she ate on the bleachers and sat on the Good-Eye Side. She was sixteen, Caster or not. For one night, that was all she wanted to be.
There was only one other person as stubborn as Macon Ravenwood. If I knew Lena, her uncle didnÒt stand a chance, not tonight.
She walked over to Macon and looped her arm through his. ÓI know this sounds crazy, Uncle M, but can I go to the party, just for a little whileØ Just to hear LinkÒs bandØÔ I watched for her hair to curl, the telltale Caster breeze. It didnÒt move. This wasnÒt Caster magic she was working. It was another kind altogether. She couldnÒt charm her way out from under MaconÒs watch. She would have to resort to older magic, stronger magic, the kind that had worked best on Macon from the time she first moved to Ravenwood. Plain old love.
ÓWhy would you want to go anywhere with these people after everything theyÒve put you throughØÔ I could hear him softening as he spoke.
ÓNothingÒs changed. I donÒt want anything to do with those girls, but I still want to go.Ô
ÓYouÒre not making sense.Ô Macon was frustrated.
ÓI know. And I know itÒs stupid, but I just want to know what it feels like to be normal. I want to go to a dance without practically destroying it. I want to go to a party IÒm actually invited to. I mean, I know itÒs all Ridley, but is it wrong if I donÒt careØÔ She looked up at him, biting on her lip.
ÓI canÒt allow it, even if I wanted to. ItÒs too dangerous.Ô
They locked eyes. ÓEthan and I never even got to dance, Uncle M. You said it yourself.Ô
For a second, it seemed like Macon might relent, but only for a second. ÓHereÒs what I didnÒt say. Get used to it. I never got to spend a day in any school, or even walk through town on a Sunday afternoon. We all have disappointments.Ô
Lena played her last card. ÓBut itÒs my birthday. Anything could happen. This might be my last chanceÅÔ The rest of the sentence lingered in the air.
To dance with my boyfriend. To be myself. To be happy.
She didnÒt have to say it. We all knew.
ÓLena, I understand how you feel, but itÒs my responsibility to keep you safe. Especially tonight, you have to remain here with me. The Mortals will only put you in harmÒs way, or bring you pain. You canÒt be normal. You werenÒt meant to be normal.Ô Macon had never spoken to Lena like this. I wasnÒt sure if he was talking about the party, or me.
LenaÒs eyes shone, but she didnÒt cry. ÓWhy notØ WhatÒs so wrong with wanting what they haveØ Did you ever stop to think they might have gotten something rightØÔ
ÓWhat if they haveØ What does it matterØ YouÒre a Natural. One day, you will go somewhere Ethan can never follow. And every minute you spend together now will only be a burden you will have to carry for the rest of your life.Ô
ÓHeÒs not a burden.Ô
ÓOh, yes he is. He makes you weak, which makes him dangerous.Ô
ÓHe makes me strong, which is only dangerous to you.Ô
I stepped between them. ÓMr. Ravenwood, come on. DonÒt do this tonight.Ô
But Macon had already done it. Lena was furious. ÓAnd what would you know about thatØ YouÒve never been burdened with a relationship in your life, not even a friend. You donÒt understand anything. How could youØ You sleep in your room all day and mope around in your library all night. You hate everyone, and you think youÒre better than everyone. If youÒve never really loved anyone, how could you possibly know how it feels to be meØÔ
She turned her back on Macon, on all of us, and ran up the staircase, with Boo trailing after her. Her bedroom door slammed, the sound echoing back down into the hall. Boo lay down in front of LenaÒs door.
Macon stared after her, even though she was gone. Slowly, he turned to me. ÓI couldnÒt allow it. IÒm sure you understand.Ô I knew this was possibly the most dangerous night of
LenaÒs life, but I also knew it might be her last chance to be the girl we all loved. So I did understand. I just didnÒt want to be in the same room with him right now.
Link edged his way to the front of the crowd of kids still standing in the hall. ÓSo is there gonna be a party or notØÔ
Larkin grabbed his coat. ÓItÒs already a party. LetÒs get out there. WeÒll celebrate for
Lena.Ô
Emily pushed her way next to Larkin, and everyone else trailed after them. Ridley was still standing in the doorway. She looked at me and shrugged. ÓI tried.Ô
Link was waiting for me by the door. ÓEthan, come on, man. LetÒs go.Ô
I looked up the staircase.
LenaØ
ÓIÒm gonna stay here.Ô
Gramma put down her knitting. ÓI donÒt know that sheÒll be coming down anytime soon, Ethan. Why donÒt you go with your friends and check in on her in a few minutesØÔ But I didnÒt want to leave. This might be the last night we spent together. Even if we were spending it in LenaÒs room, I still wanted to be with her.
ÓAt least come out and hear my new song, man. Then you can come back and wait for her to come down.Ô Link had his drumsticks in his hand.
ÓI think that would be best.Ô Macon poured himself another scotch. ÓYou can come back in a little while, but we have some things we need to discuss in the meantime.Ô It was decided. He was kicking me out.
ÓOne song. Then IÒm going to wait out front.Ô I looked at Macon. ÓFor a little while.Ô
The field behind Ravenwood was crammed with people. There was a makeshift stage at one end, with portable lights, the same kind they used for the night portion of the Battle of Honey Hill. There was music blasting from the speakers, but it was hard to hear over the cannon fire in the distance.
I followed Link to the stage, where the Holy Rollers were setting up. There were three of them and they looked about thirty. The guy adjusting his guitar amp had tattoos covering both arms and what looked like a bike chain around his neck. The bass player had spiky black hair that matched the black makeup around his eyes. The third guy had so many piercings it hurt just looking at him. Ridley hopped up, sat on the edge of the stage, and waved at Link.
ÓWait till you hear us. We rock. I just wish Lena was here.Ô
ÓWell, I wouldnÒt want to disappoint.Ô Lena walked up behind us and wrapped her arms around my waist. Her eyes were red and teary, but in the dark, she looked just like everyone else.
ÓWhat happenedØ Did your uncle change his mindØÔ
ÓNot exactly. But what he doesnÒt know wonÒt hurt him, and I donÒt care if it does. HeÒs being so awful tonight.Ô I didnÒt say anything. I would never understand the relationship between Lena and Macon, any more than she could understand the relationship between
Amma and me. But I knew she was going to feel terrible when this was all over. She couldnÒt stand to hear anyone say anything bad about her uncle, not even me; for her to be the one saying it made it that much worse.
ÓDid you sneak outØÔ
ÓYeah. Larkin helped me.Ô Larkin walked toward us, carrying a plastic cup. ÓYou only turn sixteen once, rightØÔ
This isnÒt a good idea, L.
I just want one dance. Then weÒll go back.
Link headed for the stage. ÓI wrote you a song for your birthday, Lena. YouÒre gonna love it.Ô
ÓWhatÒs it calledØÔ I asked suspiciously.
ÓSixteen Moons. RememberØ That weird song you could never find on your iPodØ It just popped into my head last week, all in one piece. Well, Rid helped a little.Ô He grinned. ÓI guess you could say, I had a muse.Ô
I was speechless. But Lena grabbed my hand, and Link grabbed the microphone, and there was no stopping him. He adjusted the microphone stand so that the mic was in front of his mouth. Well, to be honest, it was more like inside his mouth, and it was sort of gross. Link had watched a lot of MTV over at EarlÒs. You had to hand it to him, since he was about to get rolled off the stage, holy or not. He was pretty brave, all things considered.
He closed his eyes, sitting behind the drums, sticks poised in the air. ÓOne, two, three.Ô
The lead guitarist, the surly-looking guy wearing the bike chain, hit one note on his guitar. It sounded awful, and the amps began to whine on either side of the stage. I winced. This was not going to be pretty. And then he hit another note, and another.
ÓLadies and Gentlemen, if there are any a either around.Ô Link raised an eyebrow and a ripple of laughter moved through the crowd. ÓIÒd like to say Happy Birthday, Lena. And now, put your hands together for the world premiere of my new band, the Holy Rollers.Ô
Link winked at Ridley. The guy thought he was Mick Jagger. I felt bad for him, and grabbed LenaÒs hand. It felt like I had plunged my hand into the lake, in the winter, when the top of the water was warm from the sun and an inch below that was pure ice. I shivered, but I wouldnÒt let go. ÓI hope youÒre ready for this. HeÒs going to go down in flames. WeÒll be back in your room in five minutes. Promise.Ô
She stared up at him thoughtfully. ÓIÒm not so sure about that.Ô
Ridley sat at the edge of the stage, smiling and waving like a groupie. Her hair was twisting in the breeze, pink and blond strands beginning to loop around her shoulders.
Then I heard the familiar melody, and Sixteen Moons was blasting out of the amps. Only this time, it wasnÒt like one of the songs from LinkÒs demo tapes. They were good, really good. And the crowd went wild, like Jackson High was finally getting to have a dance after all. Only we were in a meadow, in the middle of Ravenwood, the most infamous and feared plantation in Gatlin County. The energy was amazing, surging like a rave.
Everyone was dancing and half the people were singing, which was crazy, since nobody had ever even heard the song before. Even Lena had to crack a smile, and we began to sway with the crowd, because you really just couldnÒt help it.
ÓTheyÒre playing our song.Ô She found my hand.
ÓI was just thinking that.Ô
ÓI know.Ô She laced her fingers through mine, sending shivers through my body. ÓAnd theyÒre pretty good,Ô she said, shouting over the crowd.
ÓGoodØ TheyÒre great! As in, the greatest day of LinkÒs life.Ô I mean, it was crazy, the whole thing. The Holy Rollers, Link, the party. Ridley bobbing on the edge of the stage, sucking on her Ridleypop. Not the craziest thing IÒd seen today, but still.
So later, when Lena and I were dancing and five minutes came and went, and then twenty-five, and then fifty-five, neither one of us even noticed or cared. We were stopping time×at least thatÒs how it felt. We had one dance, but we had to make it last as long as we could, in case it was all we had.
Larkin was in no hurry. He was all tangled up with Emily, making out by the side of one of the bonfires someone had made out of old garbage cans. Emily was wearing LarkinÒs jacket and every now and then heÒd pull down the shoulder and lick her neck or something gross. He really was a snake.
ÓLarkin! SheÒs, like, sixteen,Ô Lena called over toward the fire from where we were dancing. Larkin stuck out his tongue, which rolled further down toward the ground than any MortalÒs could have.
Emily didnÒt seem to notice. She untangled herself from Larkin, motioning to Savannah, who was dancing in a group with Charlotte and Eden behind her. ÓCome on, girls. LetÒs give Lena her present.Ô
Savannah reached into her little silver bag and pulled out the little silver package that was sticking out of it, wrapped with silver ribbon. ÓItÒs just a little somethinÒ.Ô Savannah held it out.
ÓEvery girl should have one,Ô Emily was slurring.
ÓMetallic goes with everything.Ô Eden could barely stop herself from ripping off the paper herself.
ÓJust big enough for, like, your phone and your lip gloss.Ô Charlotte pushed it toward
Lena. ÓGo on. Open it.Ô
Lena took the package in her hands, and smiled at them. ÓSavannah, Emily, Eden, Charlotte. You have absolutely no idea what this means to me.Ô The sarcasm was lost on them. I knew exactly what it was, and exactly what it meant to her.
Stupid to the power of stupid.
Lena couldnÒt look me in the eye, or we both would have burst out laughing. As we made our way back into the crowd of dancers, Lena tossed the little silver package into the bonfire. The orange and yellow flames ate their way through the wrapping, until the tiny metallic purse was nothing but smoke and ash.
The Holy Rollers took a break, and Link came over to bask in the glory of his musical debut. ÓI told ya we were good. Just one step away from a contract.Ô Link elbowed me in the ribs like old times.
ÓYou were right, man. You guys were great.Ô I had to give him that, even if he did have the lollipop on his side.
Savannah Snow sauntered up, most likely to burst LinkÒs bubble. ÓHey, Link.Ô She batted her eyes suggestively.
ÓHey, Savannah.Ô
ÓDo you think you could save me a danceØÔ It was unbelievable. She was standing there, staring at him like he was a real rock star.
ÓI just donÒt know what IÒll do if I donÒt get one.Ô She gave him another Snow Queen smile. I felt like I was trapped in one of LinkÒs dreams, or RidleyÒs.
Speak of the devil. ÓHands off, Prom Queen. This is my Hot Rod.Ô Ridley draped her arm, and a few other key parts, around Link to make her point.
ÓSorry, Savannah. Maybe next time.Ô Link stuck his drumsticks in his back pocket and headed back onto the dance floor with Ridley and her R-rated dance moves. It must have been the greatest moment of his life. You wouldÒve thought it was his birthday.
After the song ended, he hopped back onto the stage. ÓWe got one last song, written by a good friend a mine, for some very special people at Jackson High. YouÒll know who you are.Ô The stage went dark. Link unzipped his hoodie, and the lights went up with the twang of the guitar. He was wearing a Jackson Angels T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, looking as ridiculous on Link as he intended it to. If only his mother could see him now.
He leaned into the microphone and began to do a little Casting of his own.
ÓFallinÒ angels all around me
Misery spreads misery
Your broken arrows are killinÒ me.
Why canÒt you seeØ
The thing you hate becomes your fate
Your destiny, Fallen Angel.Ô
LenaÒs song, the one she wrote for Link.
As the music swelled, every card-carrying Angel swayed to the anthem targeted at them.
Maybe it was all Ridley, and maybe it wasnÒt. The thing is, by the time the song was over, and Link had tossed his winged T-shirt into the bonfire, it felt like a few more things were going up in flames along with it. Everything that had seemed so hard, so insurmountable for so long, just sort of went up in smoke.
Long after the Holy Rollers had stopped playing, even when Ridley and Link were nowhere to be found, Savannah and Emily were still being nice to Lena, and the whole basketball team was suddenly speaking to me again, I looked for some small sign, a lollipop, anywhere. The lone, telltale thread that could come loose to unravel the whole sweater.
But there was nothing. Just the moon, the stars, the music, the lights, and the crowd. Lena and I werenÒt even dancing anymore, but were still clinging to each other. We swayed back and forth, the current of heat and cold and electricity and fear pulsing through my veins. As long as there was any music at all, we were in our own little bubble. We werenÒt alone in our cave under her covers anymore, but it was still perfect.
Lena pulled back gently, the way she did when something was on her mind, and stared up at me. Like she was looking at me for the first time.
ÓWhatÒs wrongØÔ
ÓNothing. I×Ô She bit her lower lip nervously, and took a deep breath. ÓItÒs just, thereÒs something I want to tell you.Ô
I tried to read her thoughts, her face, anything. Because I was starting to feel like it was the week before Christmas break all over again, and we were standing in the hall at
Jackson, instead of in the field at Greenbrier. My arms were still around her waist, and I had to resist the urge to hold her tighter, to make sure she couldnÒt get away.
ÓWhat is itØ You can tell me anything.Ô
She put her hands on my chest. ÓIn case something happens tonight, I wanted you to know×Ô
She looked into my eyes, and I heard it as clearly as if she had whispered it in my ear, except it meant more than it ever could have if she had spoken the words aloud. She said them in the only way that had ever mattered between us. The way we had found each other from the beginning. The way we always found our way back.
I love you, Ethan.
For a second, I didnÒt know what to say, because ÓI love youÔ didnÒt seem like enough. It didnÒt say everything I wanted to say×that she had saved me from this town, from my life, my dad. From myself. How can three words say all thatØ They canÒt, but I said them anyway, because I meant them.
I love you, too, L. I think I always have.
She settled back into me, resting her head on my shoulder, and I felt her hair warm against my chin. And I felt something else. That part of her I thought I would never be able to reach, the part she kept closed off to the world. I felt it open up, just long enough to let me in. She was giving me a piece of herself, the only piece that was really hers. I wanted to remember this feeling, this moment, like a snapshot I could go back to whenever I wanted.
I wanted it to stay this way forever.
Which, it turns out, was exactly five more minutes.
2.11
LOLLIPOP GIRL
Lena and I were still swaying to the music when Link elbowed his way through the crowd. ÓHey, man, IÒve been lookinÒ for you everywhere.Ô Link bent over and put his hands on his knees for a second, trying to catch his breath.
ÓWhereÒs the fireØÔ
Link looked worried, which was unusual for a guy who spent most of his time trying to figure out how to hook up and hide from his mom at the same time. ÓItÒs your dad. HeÒs up on the balcony a the Fallen Soldiers, in his pajamas.Ô
According to the South Carolina VisitorÒs Guide, the Fallen Soldiers was a Civil War
Museum. But really it was just Gaylon EvansÒ old house, which was full of his Civil War memorabilia. Gaylon left his house and his collection to his daughter, Vera, who was so desperate to become a member of the DAR she let Mrs. Lincoln and her cronies restore the house and turn it into GatlinÒs one and only museum.
ÓGreat.Ô Embarrassing me in our house wasnÒt enough. Now my dad had decided to venture out. Link looked confused. He probably expected me to be surprised that my dad was wandering around in his pajamas. He had no idea this was an everyday occurrence. I realized how little Link actually knew about my life these days, considering he was my best friend×my only friend.
ÓEthan, heÒs out on the balcony, like heÒs gonna jump.Ô
I couldnÒt move. I heard what he was saying, but I couldnÒt react. Lately, I was ashamed of my dad. But I still loved him, crazy or not, and I couldnÒt lose him. He was the only parent I had left.
Ethan, are you okayØ
I looked at Lena, at those big green eyes full of concern. Tonight I could lose her, too. I could lose them both.
ÓEthan, did you hear meØÔ
Ethan, you have to go. ItÒs going to be okay.
ÓCome on, man!Ô Link was pulling me. The rock star was gone. Now he was just my best friend, trying to save me from myself. But I couldnÒt leave Lena.
IÒm not going to leave you here. Not by yourself.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Larkin coming toward us. He had untangled himself from Emily for a minute. ÓLarkin!Ô
ÓYeah, whatÒs upØÔ He seemed to sense something was going on, and actually looked concerned, for a guy whose general expression was disinterest.
ÓI need you to take Lena back to the house.Ô
ÓWhyØÔ
ÓJust promise youÒll take her back to the house.Ô
ÓEthan, IÒll be fine. Just go!Ô Lena was pushing me toward Link. She looked as scared as
I felt. But I didnÒt move.
ÓYeah, man. IÒll take her back right now.Ô
Link gave me a final jerk, and we were tearing through the crowd. Because we both knew
I might be a few minutes away from being a guy with two dead parents.
We ran through the overgrown fields of Ravenwood, toward the road and the Fallen
Soldiers. The air was already thick with smoke from the mortar, compliments of the
Battle of Honey Hill, and every few seconds you could hear a round of rifle fire. The evening campaign was in full force. We were getting close to the edge of Ravenwood
Plantation, where Ravenwood ended and Greenbrier began. I could see the yellow ropes that marked the Safe Zone, glowing in the darkness.
What if we were too lateØ
The Fallen Soldiers was dark. Link and I took the steps two at a time, trying to get up the four flights as quickly as possible. When we got to the third landing, instinctively, I stopped. Link sensed it, the same way he sensed when I was going to pass him the ball when I was trying to run out the clock, and stopped alongside me. ÓHeÒs up here.Ô
But I couldnÒt move. Link read my face. He knew what I was afraid of. He had stood next to me at my momÒs funeral, passing out all those white carnations for folks to put on her coffin, while my dad and I stared at the grave like we were dead, too.
ÓWhat ifÅ what if heÒs already jumpedØÔ
ÓNo way. I left Rid with him. SheÒd never let that happen.Ô The floor felt like it dropped out from under me.
If she used her power on you, and she told you to jump off a cliff×youÒd jump.
I pushed past Link, up the stairs, and scanned the hallway. All the doors were shut, except one. Moonlight spilled onto the perfectly stained pine floorboards.
ÓHeÒs in there,Ô Link said, but I already knew that.
When I entered the room, it was like going back in time. The DAR had really done their job in here. There was a huge stone fireplace at one end, with a long wooden mantel, lined with tapered wax candles, dripping as they burned. The eyes of fallen Confederates stared back from the sepia portraits hanging on the wall, and across from the fireplace was an antique four-poster bed. But something was out of place, disrupting the authenticity. It was a smell, musky and sweet. Too sweet. A mix of danger and innocence, even though Ridley was anything but innocent.
Ridley was standing next to the open balcony doors, her blond hair twisting in the wind.
The doors were thrown open, and the dusty, billowy drapes were blowing into the room, like they had been forced inside by a rush of air. Like he had already jumped.
ÓI found him,Ô Link called to Ridley, catching his breath again.
ÓI can see that. HowÒs it goinÒ, Short StrawØÔ Ridley smiled her sickly sweet smile. It made me want to simultaneously smile back and throw up.
I walked over to the doors slowly, afraid he might not be out there. But he was. Standing on the narrow ledge, on the wrong side of railing, in his flannel pajamas and bare feet.
ÓDad! DonÒt move.Ô
Ducks. There were mallard ducks on his pajamas, which seemed out of place, considering he might be about to jump off of a building.
ÓDonÒt come any closer, Ethan. Or IÒll jump.Ô He sounded lucid, determined, and clearer than he had in months. He almost sounded like my dad again. ThatÒs how I knew it wasnÒt really him talking, at least, not on his own. This was all Ridley, the Power of
Persuasion in overdrive.
ÓDad, you donÒt want to do that. Let me help you.Ô I took a few steps toward him.
ÓStop right there!Ô he shouted, holding his hand out in front of him to make his point.
ÓYou donÒt want his help, do you, MitchellØ You just want some peace. You just want to see Lila again.Ô Ridley was leaning against the wall, her lollipop poised and ready.
ÓDonÒt you say my motherÒs name, witch!Ô
ÓRid, what are you doinÒØÔ Link was standing in the doorway.
ÓStay out of this, Shrinky Dink. YouÒre way out of your league here.Ô
I stepped in front of Ridley, putting myself between her and my dad as if my body could somehow deflect her power. ÓRidley, why are you doing thisØ He has nothing to do with
Lena or me. If you want to hurt me, hurt me. Just leave my dad out of it.Ô
She threw her head back and laughed, a sultry and wicked sound. ÓI could care less about hurting you, Short Straw. IÒm just doing my job. ItÒs nothing personal.Ô
My blood ran cold.
Her job.
ÓYouÒre doing this for Sarafine.Ô
ÓCome on, Short Straw, what did you expectØ You saw how my uncle treats me. The whole family thing, not really an option for me right now.Ô
ÓRid, what are you talkinÒ aboutØ WhoÒs SarafineØÔ Link walked toward her. She looked at him. For a second, I thought I saw something pass across RidleyÒs face, just a flicker, but something real. Something that looked almost like genuine emotion.
But Ridley shook it off, and as quickly as it came, it was gone. ÓI think you want to go back to the party, donÒt you, Shrinky DinkØ The band is warming up for the second set.
Remember, weÒre recording this show for your new demo. IÒm going to take it around to some of the labels in New York myself,Ô she purred, staring intently at him. Link looked uncertain, like maybe he did want to go back to the party, but he wasnÒt sure.
ÓDad, listen to me. You donÒt want to do this. SheÒs controlling you. She can influence people, itÒs what she does. Mom would never want you to do this.Ô I watched for some sign that my words were registering, that he was listening. But there was nothing. He just stared into the darkness. You could hear the sound of bayonets clashing and the battle cries of middle-aged men in the distance.
ÓMitchell, you have nothing to live for anymore. YouÒve lost your wife, you canÒt write anymore, and Ethan will be going to college in a few years. Why donÒt you ask him about the shoebox full of college brochures under his bedØ YouÒll be all alone.Ô
ÓShut up!Ô
Ridley turned to face me, unwrapping a cherry lollipop. ÓIÒm sorry about this, Short
Straw. I really am. But everyone has a part to play, and this is mine. Your dad is going to have a little accident tonight. Just like your mom did.Ô
ÓWhat did you sayØÔ I knew Link was talking, but I couldnÒt hear his voice. I couldnÒt hear anything but what she had just said, replaying over and over in my head.
Just like your mom did.
ÓDid you kill my motherØÔ I started advancing. I didnÒt care what kind of powers she had.
If she killed my motherÅ
ÓSettle down, big boy. It wasnÒt me. That was a little before my time.Ô
ÓEthan, what the hellÒs goinÒ onØÔ Link was beside me.
ÓSheÒs not what she seems, man. SheÒsÅÔ I didnÒt know how to explain it so Link would understand. ÓSheÒs a Siren. ItÒs like a witch. And sheÒs been controlling you just like sheÒs controlling my dad right now.Ô
Link started to laugh. ÓA witch. YouÒre losinÒ it, man.Ô
I didnÒt take my eyes off Ridley. She smiled and ran her fingers through LinkÒs hair.
ÓCome on baby, you know you love a bad girl.Ô
I had no idea what she was capable of, but after her little demonstration at Ravenwood, I knew she could kill any one of us. I should never have treated her like she was just some harmless party girl. I was in over my head. I was only just beginning to realize how far.
Link looked from her to me. He didnÒt know what to believe.
ÓIÒm not kidding, Link. I should have told you sooner, but I swear IÒm telling the truth.
Why else would she be trying to kill my fatherØÔ
Link started to pace. He didnÒt believe me. He probably thought I was going crazy. It sounded crazy to me, even as I was saying it. ÓRidley, is that trueØ Have you been usinÒ some kinda power on me this whole timeØÔ
ÓIf you want to split hairs.Ô
My dad let go of the railing with one hand. He extended his arm like he was trying to balance on a tightrope.
ÓDad, donÒt do it!Ô
ÓRid, donÒt do this.Ô Link was walking toward her, slowly. I could hear the chain from his wallet jingling.
ÓDidnÒt you hear what your friend saidØ IÒm a witch. A bad one.Ô She took off her shades, revealing those golden feline eyes. I could hear LinkÒs breath catch in his throat, as if he was really seeing her for the first time. But only for a second.
ÓMaybe you are, but you arenÒt all bad. I know that. WeÒve spent time together. WeÒve shared things.Ô
ÓThat was part of the plan, Hot Rod. I needed an in, so I could stay close to Lena.Ô
LinkÒs face dropped. Whatever Ridley had done to him, whatever she had Cast, his feelings for her were bigger than that. ÓSo it was all crapØ I donÒt believe you.Ô
ÓBelieve what you want, itÒs the truth. As close to the truth as IÒm capable of, anyway.Ô
I watched my dad shift his weight, his free arm still stretched outward, swaying up and down. It seemed like he was trying to test his wings, to see if he could fly. A few feet away, an artillery shell hit the ground outside and a spray of dirt burst into the air.
ÓWhat about everything you told me about you and Lena growinÒ up togetherØ How you two were like sistersØ Why would you want to hurt herØÔ Something passed across her face. I wasnÒt sure, but it almost looked like regret. Was that possibleØ
ÓItÒs not up to me. IÒm not the one calling the shots. Like I said, this is my job. Get Ethan away from Lena. IÒve got nothing against this old guy, but his mind is weak. You know, one biscuit short of a picnic.Ô She licked her lollipop. ÓHe was just an easy target.Ô
Get Ethan away from Lena.
This whole thing was a diversion to separate us. I could hear AreliaÒs voice as clearly as if she was still kneeling over me.
ItÒs not the house that protects her. No Caster can come between them.
How could I have been so stupidØ It wasnÒt a question of whether or not I had some kind of power. It was never about me. It was about us.
The power was what was between us, what had always been between us. Finding each other on Route 9 in the rain. Turning the same way at the fork in the road. It didnÒt take a
Binding Cast to keep us together. Now that they had managed to separate us, I was powerless. And Lena was alone, on the night she needed me with her the most.
I couldnÒt think clearly. I was out of time, and I wasnÒt going to lose one more person I loved. I ran toward my dad, and even though it was just a few feet, it felt like I was running through quicksand. I saw Ridley step forward, her hair twisting in the wind like
MedusaÒs whole head of snakes.
I saw Link step forward and grab her shoulder. ÓRid, donÒt do it.Ô
For a split second, I had no idea what was going to happen. I saw everything in slow motion.
My dad turned to look back at me.
I saw him start to let go of the railing.
I saw RidleyÒs pink and blond strands twisting.
And I saw Link standing in front of her, staring into those golden eyes, whispering something I couldnÒt hear. She looked at Link, and without another word, her lollipop went sailing over the railing. I watched it arc down to the ground below, exploding like shrapnel. It was over.
As quickly as my father had turned away from the railing, he turned back toward it, toward me. I grabbed his shoulders and pulled him forward, over the railing and onto the balcony floor. He fell in a crumpled heap, and lay there looking up at me like a frightened child.
ÓThank you, Ridley. I mean, whatever that was. Thanks.Ô
ÓI donÒt want your thanks,Ô she sneered, pulling away from Link and adjusting the strap of her top. ÓI didnÒt do either of you a favor. I just didnÒt feel like killing him. Today.Ô
She tried to sound menacing, but she ended up just sounding childish. She twirled a pink strand of hair. ÓThough thatÒs not gonna make some people too happy.Ô She didnÒt have to say who, but I could see the fear in her eyes. For a second, I could see how much of her persona was just an act. Smoke and mirrors.
Despite everything, even now, as I tried to pull my father to his feet, I felt sort of sorry for her. Ridley could have any guy on the planet, and yet all I could see was how alone she was. She wasnÒt nearly as strong as Lena was, not inside.
Lena.
Lena, are you okayØ
IÒm fine. WhatÒs wrongØ
I looked at my father. He couldnÒt keep his eyes open, and he was having trouble standing.
Nothing. Are you with LarkinØ
Yes, weÒre headed back to Ravenwood. Is your dad okayØ
HeÒs fine. IÒll explain when I get there.
I slid my arm under my dadÒs shoulder, while Link grabbed his other side.
Stay with Larkin, and get back inside with your family. YouÒre not safe alone.
Before we could even take a step, Ridley sauntered by us, back through the open balcony doors, those ten-mile legs stepping across the threshold. ÓSorry, boys. I gotta jet, maybe head back to New York for a while, lay low. ItÒs cool.Ô She shrugged.
Even though she was a monster, Link couldnÒt help but watch her go. ÓHey, RidØÔ
She stopped and turned to look at him, almost ruefully. Like she couldnÒt help what she was any more than a shark could help being a shark, but if she couldÅ
ÓYeah, Shrinky DinkØÔ
ÓYouÒre not all bad.Ô
She looked right at him and almost smiled. ÓYou know what they say. Maybe IÒm just drawn that way.Ô
2.11
FAMILY REUNION
Once my dad was safely in the hands of the reenactment medics, I couldnÒt get back to the party fast enough. I pushed past the girls from Jackson, who had ditched jackets, and were looking skanky in their tank tops and baby tees, gyrating to the music of the Holy
Rollers. Minus Link who, to his credit, was right on my heels. It was loud. Live band loud. Live ammo loud. So loud that I almost didnÒt hear LarkinÒs voice calling me.
ÓEthan, over here!Ô Larkin was standing in the trees just past the reflective yellow rope that separated the Safe Zone from the You-Could-Get-Your-Butt-Shot-Off-If-You-CrossThis-Line Zone. What was he doing in the woods, past the Safe ZoneØ Why wasnÒt he back at the houseØ I waved to him and he motioned me over, disappearing behind the rise. Usually jumping that rope wouldÒve been a tough choice, but not today. I had no choice but to follow him. Link was right behind me, stumbling, but still somehow keeping up with me, just the way it used to be.
ÓHey, Ethan.Ô
ÓYeahØÔ
ÓAbout Rid, I shouldÒve listened.Ô
ÓItÒs okay, man. You couldnÒt help it. I shouldÒve told you everything.Ô
ÓDonÒt sweat it. I wouldnÒt have believed you.Ô
The sound of gunfire echoed over our heads. We both ducked, instinctively.
ÓHope those are blanks,Ô Link said nervously. ÓWouldnÒt it be crazy if my own dad shot me out hereØÔ
ÓWith my luck lately, it wouldnÒt surprise me if he shot us both.Ô
We reached the top of the rise. I could see the thicket of brush, the oaks, and the smoke of the artillery field beyond us.
ÓWeÒre over here!Ô Larkin called, from the other side of the thicket. By the Ówe,Ô I could only assume he meant him and Lena, so I ran faster. Like LenaÒs life depended on it, because for all I knew maybe it did.
Then I realized where we were. There was the archway to the garden at Greenbrier.
Larkin and Lena were standing in the clearing, just beyond the garden, in the same place where we had dug up GenevieveÒs grave a few weeks ago. A few feet behind them, a figure stepped out of the shadows and into the moonlight. It was dark, but the full moon was right over us.
I blinked. It was×It wasÓMom, what the heck are you doinÒ out hereØÔ Link was confused.
Because his mom was standing in front of us, Mrs. Lincoln, my worst nightmare, or at least in my top ten. She looked strangely in×or out of×place, depending on how you looked at it. She was wearing ridiculous volumes of petticoats and the stupid calico dress that cinched her waist way too tightly. And she was standing right at GenevieveÒs grave.
ÓNow, now. You know how I feel about profanity, young man.Ô
Link rubbed his head. This made no sense at all, not to him, and not to me.
Lena, whatÒs happeningØ
LenaØ
There was no response. Something was wrong.
ÓMrs. Lincoln, are you okayØÔ
ÓDelightful, Ethan. IsnÒt it a wonderful battleØ And LenaÒs birthday, too, she tells me.
WeÒve been waiting for you, at least, one of you.Ô
Link stepped closer. ÓWell, IÒm here now, Mom. IÒll take you home. You shouldnÒt be out past the Safe Zone. YouÒre gonna get your head blown off. You know what a bad shot Dad is.Ô
I grabbed LinkÒs arm, holding him back. There was something wrong, something about the way she was smiling at us. Something about the panicked look on LenaÒs face.
WhatÒs going onØ Lena!
Why wasnÒt she answering meØ I watched as Lena pulled my momÒs ring out of her sweatshirt and grabbed it by the chain in her hand. I could see her lips move in the darkness. I could barely hear something, only a whisper, in the far corner of my mind.
Ethan, get out of here! Get Uncle Macon! Run!
But I couldnÒt move. I couldnÒt leave her.
ÓLink, Angel, you are such a thoughtful boy.Ô
LinkØ It wasnÒt Mrs. Lincoln standing in front of us. It couldnÒt be.
Mrs. Lincoln would no more call Wesley Jefferson Lincoln ÓLinkÔ than she would streak through the streets naked. ÓWhy you would use that ridiculous nickname when you have such a dignified name, I cannot imagine,Ô sheÒd say every time one of us accidentally called her house and asked for Link.
Link felt my hand on his arm and stopped. It was starting to register with him, too; I could see it on his face. ÓMomØÔ
ÓEthan, get out of here! Larkin, Link, somebody, go get Uncle Macon!Ô Lena was screaming. She couldnÒt stop. She looked more frightened than IÒd ever seen her. I ran toward her.
I could hear the sound of a shell being released from a cannon. Then a sudden flurry of gunfire.
My back slammed into something, hard. I felt my head crack and everything sort of went out of focus for a second.
ÓEthan!Ô I could hear LenaÒs voice, but I couldnÒt move. IÒd been shot. I was sure of it. I fought to stay conscious.
After a few seconds, my eyes came back into focus. I was on the ground, my back against a massive oak. The gunshot must have thrown me backward into the tree. I felt around to see where IÒd been hit, but there was no blood. I couldnÒt find the bulletÒs point of entry.
Link was a few feet away, propped awkwardly against another tree. He looked just as out of it as I felt. I got to my feet, stumbling forward toward Lena, but my face slammed right into something and I ended up back on the ground. It felt just like the time I had walked into a sliding glass door at the SistersÒ house.
I hadnÒt been shot; this was something else. IÒd been hit by a different kind of weapon.
ÓEthan!Ô Lena was screaming.
I got up again and stepped forward slowly. There was a sliding glass door there all right, except this one was some kind of invisible wall encircling the tree and me. I banged on it and my fist smacked against it but it didnÒt make a sound. I slammed my palms against it over and over. What else could I doØ ThatÒs when I noticed Link banging on his own invisible cage.
Mrs. Lincoln smiled at me, with a smile more wicked than anything Ridley could muster on her best day.
ÓLet them go!Ô Lena shrieked.
Out of nowhere, the sky opened up and rain literally poured out of the clouds, like it was being dumped from a bucket. Lena. Her hair was waving wildly. The rain turned to sleet and fell sideways, attacking Mrs. Lincoln from every direction. In a matter of seconds, we were all soaked to the bone.
Mrs. Lincoln, or whoever she was, smiled. There was something about her smile. She looked almost proud. ÓIÒm not going to hurt them. I just want to give us some time to talk.Ô Thunder rumbled in the sky over her head. ÓI was hoping I would get a chance to see some of your talents. How IÒve regretted I wasnÒt there to help you hone your gifts.Ô
ÓShut up, witch.Ô Lena was grim. I had never seen her green eyes like this, the steely way they were set on Mrs. Lincoln. Flint hard. Resolute. Full of hate and anger. She looked like she wanted to rip Mrs. LincolnÒs head off, and she looked like she could do it.
I finally understood what Lena had been so worried about all year. She had the power to destroy. I had only seen the power to love. When you discovered you had both, who could figure out what to do with thatØ
Mrs. Lincoln turned to Lena. ÓWait until you realize what you can really do. How you can manipulate the elements. ItÒs the true gift of a Natural, something we have in common.Ô
Something they had in common.
Mrs. Lincoln looked up at the sky, the rain running down beside her as if she was holding an umbrella. ÓRight now youÒre making rain showers, but soon youÒll learn to control fire as well. Let me show you. How I do like playing with fire.Ô
Rain showersØ Was she kiddingØ We were in the middle of a monsoon.
Mrs. Lincoln held up her palm and lightning sliced through the clouds, electrifying the sky. She held up three fingers. Lightning erupted, with the flick of every manicured nail.
Once. Lightning struck the ground, kicking up the dirt, two feet away from where Link was trapped. Twice. Lightning burned through the oak behind me, cleaving the trunk neatly in half. A third time. Lightning struck Lena, who simply held up her own outstretched hand. The flash of electricity ricocheted off her, landing instead at Mrs.
LincolnÒs feet. The grass around her started to smolder and burn.
Mrs. Lincoln laughed and waved her hand. The fires in the grass died out. She looked at
Lena with a glint of pride. ÓNot bad. IÒm happy to see the apple doesnÒt fall far from the tree.Ô
It couldnÒt be.
Lena glared at her and turned up both palms, a protective stance. ÓYeahØ What do they say about the bad appleØÔ
ÓNothing. No one has ever lived to say it.Ô Then Mrs. Lincoln turned to Link and me in her calico dress and miles of petticoats, with her hair braided down her back. She looked right at us, her golden eyes blazing. ÓIÒm so sorry, Ethan. I hoped our first meeting would be under different circumstances. ItÒs not every day that you meet your daughterÒs first boyfriend.Ô
She turned to Lena. ÓOr your daughter.Ô
I was right. I knew who she was, and what we were dealing with.
Sarafine.
A moment later, Mrs. LincolnÒs face, her dress, her whole body literally started to split down the middle. You could see the skin on either side pulling away like the crumpled wrapper of a candy bar. As her body split down the center, it started to fall like a coat being shrugged from someoneÒs shoulders. Underneath was someone else.
ÓI donÒt have a mother,Ô Lena shouted.
Sarafine winced, as if she was trying to look hurt because she was LenaÒs mother. It was an undeniable genetic truth. She had the same long, black, curly hair as Lena. Except, where Lena was frighteningly beautiful, Sarafine was simply frightening. Like Lena, Sarafine had long, elegant features, but instead of LenaÒs beautiful green eyes, she had the same glowing yellow eyes as Ridley and Genevieve. And the eyes made all the difference.
Sarafine was wearing a dark green corseted velvet dress, kind of modern and Gothic and turn-of-the-century, all at the same time, and tall black motorcycle boots. She literally stepped out of Mrs. LincolnÒs body, which fused back together within seconds, as if someone had sewn up the seam. Leaving the real Mrs. Lincoln collapsed in the grass with her hoopskirt flipped up, revealing her knee-high support hose and her petticoats.
Link was in shock.
Sarafine straightened, shaking free of the weight, shuddering. ÓMortals. That body was just insufferable, so awkward and uncomfortable. Stuffing its face every five minutes.
Disgusting creatures.Ô
ÓMom! Mom, wake up!Ô Link pounded his fists against what was obviously some kind of force field. No matter what a dragon she was, Mrs. Lincoln was LinkÒs dragon, and it must have been hard to see her tossed aside like a piece of inconsequential human trash.
Sarafine waved her hand. LinkÒs mouth was still moving, but he wasnÒt making a sound.
ÓThatÒs better. YouÒre lucky I didnÒt have to spend all my time in your motherÒs body over the last few months. If I had, youÒd be dead by now. I canÒt tell you the number of times I nearly killed you out of boredom at the dinner table, droning on about your stupid band.Ô
It all made sense now. The crusade against Lena, the Jackson Disciplinary Committee meeting, the lies about LenaÒs school records, even the weird brownies on Halloween.
How long had Sarafine been masquerading as Mrs. LincolnØ
In Mrs. Lincoln.
I had never really understood what we were up against until now. The Darkest Caster living today. Ridley seemed so harmless in comparison. No wonder Lena had been dreading this day for so long.
Sarafine looked back at Lena. ÓYou may think you donÒt have a mother, Lena, but if thatÒs true, itÒs only because your grandmother and your uncle took you from me. IÒve always loved you.Ô It was disconcerting how Sarafine could move so easily from one set of emotions to another, from sincerity and regret to disgust and contempt, each emotion as hollow as the next.
LenaÒs eyes were bitter. ÓIs that why youÒve been trying to kill me, MotherØÔ
Sarafine tried to look concerned, or maybe surprised. It was hard to tell because her expression looked so unnatural, so forced. ÓIs that what they told youØ I was simply trying to make contact×to talk to you. If it hadnÒt been for all their Bindings, my attempts would never have put you in any danger, a fact they knew. Of course, I understand their concern. I am a Dark Caster, a Cataclyst. But Lena, you know as well as anyone, I had no choice in that matter. It was decided for me. It doesnÒt change the way I feel about you, about my only daughter.Ô
ÓI donÒt believe you!Ô Lena spat. But she looked unsure of herself, even as she said it, like she wasnÒt sure what to believe.
I checked my cell phone. 9:59. Two hours until midnight.
Link slumped against the tree, his head in his hands. I couldnÒt look away from Mrs.
Lincoln, lifeless in the grass. Lena was looking at her, too.
ÓSheÒs not, you know. Is sheØÔ I had to know, for LinkÒs sake.
Sarafine tried to look sympathetic. But I could tell she was losing interest in Link and me, which wasnÒt good for either of us. ÓSheÒll return to her previously unappealing state soon. Nauseating woman. IÒm not interested in her or the boy. I was only trying to show my daughter the true nature of Mortals. How easily they can be influenced, how vindictive they are.Ô She turned to Lena. ÓJust a few words from Mrs. Lincoln and look how easily this whole town turned on you. You donÒt belong in their world. You belong with me.Ô
Sarafine turned to Larkin. ÓSpeaking of unappealing states, Larkin, why donÒt you show us those baby blues, I mean yellowsØÔ
Larkin smiled and squeezed his eyes shut, reaching his arms over his head like he was stretching after a long nap. But when he opened his eyes again, something was different.
He blinked wildly, and with each blink his eyes began to change. You could almost see the molecules rearranging. Larkin transformed, and there standing in his place was a pile of snakes. The snakes began to coil and climb onto each other, until Larkin emerged once again from the twisting heap. He held out his two rattlesnake arms that hissed and crawled back into his leather jacket until they became his hands. Then he opened his eyes. But instead of the green eyes I was used to seeing, Larkin stared back at us with the same golden eyes as Sarafine and Ridley. ÓGreen never was my color. One of the perks of beinÒ an Illusionist.Ô
ÓLarkinØÔ My heart sank. He was one of them, a Dark Caster. Things were worse than I thought.
ÓLarkin, what are youØÔ Lena looked confused, but only for a second. ÓWhyØÔ
But the answer was staring right at us, in LarkinÒs golden eyes. ÓWhy notØÔ
ÓWhy notØ Oh, I donÒt know, how about a little family loyaltyØÔ
Larkin swiveled his head, as the thick gold chain around his neck writhed into a snake, tongue flickering against his cheek. ÓLoyaltyÒs not really my thing.Ô
ÓYou betrayed everyone, your own mother. How can you live with yourselfØÔ
He stuck out his tongue. The snake crawled into his mouth and disappeared. He swallowed. ÓItÒs a whole lot more fun being Dark than Light, cousin. YouÒll see. We are what we are. This is what I was destined to be. ThereÒs no reason to fight it.Ô His tongue flickered, now forked, like the snake inside of him. ÓI donÒt know why youÒre so worked up about it. Look at Ridley. SheÒs havinÒ a great time.Ô
ÓYouÒre a traitor!Ô Lena was losing control. Thunder rumbled over her head, and the rain intensified again.
ÓHeÒs not the only traitor, Lena.Ô Sarafine took a few steps toward Lena.
ÓWhat are you talking aboutØÔ
ÓYour beloved Uncle Macon.Ô Her voice was bitter and I could tell it wasnÒt lost on
Sarafine that Macon had all but stolen her daughter from her.
ÓYouÒre lying.Ô
ÓHeÒs the one who has been lying to you all this time. He let you believe your fate was predetermined×that you didnÒt have a choice. That tonight, on your sixteenth birthday, you will be Claimed Light or Dark.Ô
Lena shook her head stubbornly. She raised her palms. Thunder rumbled, and the rain began to pour, in thick sheets and torrents. She shouted to be heard. ÓThatÒs what happens. It happened to Ridley and Reece and Larkin.Ô
ÓYouÒre right, but youÒre different. Tonight, you will not be Claimed. You will have to
Claim yourself.Ô
The words hung in the air. Claim yourself. Like the words themselves had the power to stop time.
LenaÒs face was ashen. For a second, I thought she was going to pass out. ÓWhat did you sayØÔ she whispered.
ÓYou have a choice. IÒm sure your uncle didnÒt tell you that.Ô
ÓThatÒs impossible.Ô I could barely hear LenaÒs voice in the shrieking wind.
ÓA choice afforded to you because you are my daughter, the second Natural born into the
Duchannes family. I may be a Cataclyst now, but I was the first Natural born into our family.Ô
Sarafine paused, then repeated a verse:
ÓÑThe First will be Black
But the Second may choose to turn back.ÒÔ
ÓI donÒt understand.Ô LenaÒs legs gave out from under her and she fell to her knees in the mud and tall grass, her long black hair dripping around her.
ÓYouÒve always had a choice. Your uncle has always known that.Ô
ÓI donÒt believe you!Ô Lena threw up her arms. Clumps of earth ripped up from the ground between them, swirling into the storm. I shielded my eyes as bits of dirt and rock flew at us from every direction.
I tried to shout over the storm, but Lena could barely hear me. ÓLena, donÒt listen to her.
SheÒs Dark. She doesnÒt care about anyone. You told me that yourself.Ô
ÓWhy would Uncle Macon hide the truth from meØÔ Lena looked directly at me, as if I was the only one who would know the answer. But I didnÒt know. There was nothing I could say.
Lena slammed her foot against the ground in front of her. The ground began to tremble, then roll beneath my feet. For the first time ever, an earthquake had hit Gatlin County.
Sarafine smiled. She knew Lena was losing control, and she was winning. The electrical storm in the sky flashed over our heads.
ÓThatÒs enough, Sarafine!Ô MaconÒs voice echoed across the field. He appeared out of nowhere. ÓLeave my niece alone.Ô
Tonight, in the moonlight, he looked different. Less like a man and more like what he was. Something else. His face looked younger, leaner. Ready for a fight. ÓAre you referring to my daughterØ The daughter you stole from meØÔ Sarafine straightened and began to twist her fingers, like a soldier checking his arsenal before a battle.
ÓAs if she ever meant anything to you,Ô Macon said calmly. He smoothed his jacket, impeccable as usual. Boo burst out of the bushes behind him, as if heÒd been running to catch up. Tonight, Boo looked exactly like what he was×an enormous wolf.
ÓMacon. I feel honored, except I hear I missed the party. My own daughterÒs sixteenth birthday. But thatÒs all right. ThereÒs always the Claiming tonight. WeÒve a couple hours yet, and I wouldnÒt miss that for the world.Ô
ÓThen I suppose you will be disappointed, as youÒre not invited.Ô
ÓPity. Since IÒve invited someone myself, and heÒs dying to see you.Ô She smiled and fluttered her fingers. As quickly as Macon had materialized, another man appeared, leaning against a willow trunk, where no one had been standing a moment before.
ÓHuntingØ Where did she dig you upØÔ
He looked like Macon, but taller and a little younger, with slick jet-black hair and the same pallid skin. But where Macon resembled a Southern gentleman from another time, this man looked fiercely stylish. Dressed in all black, a turtle-neck, jeans, and a leather bomber, he looked more like a movie star youÒd see on the cover of a tabloid rag than
MaconÒs Cary Grant. But one thing was obvious. He was an Incubus, too, and not×if there was such a thing×the good kind. Whatever Macon was, Hunting was something else.
Hunting cracked what must have passed for a smile, to his kind. He began to circle
Macon. ÓBrother. ItÒs been a long time.Ô
Macon didnÒt return the smile. ÓNot long enough. IÒm not surprised youÒd take up with someone like her.Ô
Hunting laughed, raunchy and loud. ÓWho else would you expect me to take up withØ A pack of Light Casters, like you didØ ItÒs ridiculous. The idea that you can just walk away from what you are. From our family legacy.Ô
ÓI made a choice, Hunting.Ô
ÓA choiceØ Is that what you call itØÔ Hunting laughed again, circling closer to Macon.
ÓMore like a fantasy. You donÒt get to choose what you are, Brother. YouÒre an Incubus.
And whether you choose to feed on blood or not, you are still a Dark Creature.Ô
ÓUncle Macon, is what she said trueØÔ Lena wasnÒt interested in Macon and HuntingÒs little reunion.
Sarafine laughed, shrilly. ÓFor once in your life, Macon, tell the girl the truth.
Macon looked at her, stubbornly. ÓLena, itÒs not that simple.Ô
ÓBut is it trueØ Do I have a choiceØÔ Her hair was dripping, tangled in wet ringlets. Of course, Macon and Hunting were dry. Hunting smiled and lit a cigarette. He was enjoying this.
ÓUncle Macon. Is it trueØÔ Lena pleaded.
Macon looked at Lena, exasperated, and looked away. ÓYou do have a choice, Lena, a complicated choice. A choice with grave consequences.Ô
All at once, the rain stopped completely. The air was perfectly still. If this was a hurricane, we were in the eye. LenaÒs emotions churned. I knew what she was feeling, even without hearing her voice in my head. Happiness, because she had finally gotten the one thing she had always wanted, the choice to decide her own fate. Anger, because she had lost the one person she had always trusted.
Lena stared at Macon as if through new eyes. I could see the darkness creeping into her face. ÓWhy didnÒt you tell meØ IÒve spent my whole life terrified I was going to go
Dark.Ô There was another crash of thunder and the patter of rain began to fall again, like tears. But Lena wasnÒt crying, she was angry.
ÓYou do have a choice, Lena. But there are consequences. Consequences you could not understand, as a child. You canÒt really begin to understand them now. Yet I have spent every day of my life pondering them, since before you were born. And as your dear mother knows, the conditions of this bargain were determined long ago.Ô
ÓWhat kind of consequencesØÔ Lena looked at Sarafine skeptically. Cautiously. As if her mind was opening to new possibilities. I knew what she was thinking. If she couldnÒt trust Macon×if he had been keeping this kind of secret all this time×maybe her mother was telling the truth.
I had to make her hear me.
DonÒt listen to her! Lena! You canÒt trust herBut there was nothing. Our connection was broken in the presence of Sarafine. It was like she had cut the phone line between us.
ÓLena, you canÒt possibly understand the choice you are being pressured to make. What is at stake.Ô
The rain turned from a patter of tears to a screaming downpour.
ÓAs if you could trust him. After a thousand lies.Ô Sarafine glared at Macon and turned to
Lena. ÓI wish we had more time to talk, Lena. But you have to make the Choice, and I am
Bound to explain the stakes. There are consequences; your uncle wasnÒt lying about that.Ô She paused. ÓIf you choose to go Dark, all the Light Casters in our family will die.Ô
Lena went pale. ÓWhy would I ever agree to do thatØÔ
ÓBecause if you choose to go Light, all the Dark Casters and Lilum in our family will die.Ô Sarafine turned and looked at Macon. ÓAnd I do mean, all. Your uncle, the man who has been like a father to you, will cease to exist. You will destroy him.Ô
Macon disappeared and materialized in front of Lena, not even a second later. ÓLena, listen to me. I am willing to make the sacrifice. ThatÒs why I didnÒt tell you. I didnÒt want you to feel guilty about letting me go. I have always known what you would choose.
Make the Choice. Let me go.Ô
Lena was reeling. Could she really destroy Macon if what Sarafine said was trueØ But if it was true, what other choice did she haveØ Macon was only one person, even though she loved him.
ÓThere is something else I can offer,Ô Sarafine added.
ÓWhat could you possibly have to offer that would make me want to kill Gramma, Aunt
Del, Reece, RyanØÔ
Sarafine tentatively took a few steps toward Lena. ÓEthan. We have a way the two of you can be together.Ô
ÓWhat are you talking aboutØ WeÒre already together.Ô Sarafine cocked her head slightly and her eyes narrowed. Something passed across her golden eyes. Recognition.
ÓYou donÒt know. Do youØÔ Sarafine turned to Macon and laughed. ÓYou didnÒt tell her.
Well, thatÒs not playing fair.Ô
ÓKnow whatØÔ Lena snapped.
ÓThat you and Ethan can never be together, not physically. Casters and Lilum cannot be with Mortals.Ô She smiled, relishing the moment. ÓAt least not without killing them.Ô
2.11
THE CLAIMING
Casters cannot be with Mortals without killing them.
It all made sense now. The elemental connection between us. The electricity, the shortness of breath whenever we kissed, the heart attack that had almost killed me×we couldnÒt be together physically.
I knew it was true. I remembered what Macon had said, that night in the swamp with
Amma, and in my room.
A future between the two of them is impossible.
There are things you donÒt see right now×things that are beyond any of our control.
Lena was shaking. She knew it was true, too. ÓWhat did you sayØÔ she whispered.
ÓThat you and Ethan can never really be together. You can never marry, never have children. You can never have a future, at least not a real future. I canÒt believe they never told you. They certainly kept you and Ridley sheltered.Ô
Lena turned to Macon. ÓWhy didnÒt you tell meØ You know I love him.Ô
ÓYou had never had a boyfriend before, let alone a Mortal one. None of us ever dreamed it would be an issue. We didnÒt realize how strong your connection with Ethan was until it was too late.Ô
I could hear their voices, but I wasnÒt listening. We could never be together. IÒd never be able to be that close to her.
The wind began to pick up, whipping the rain through the air like glass. Lighting tore across the sky. Thunder crashed so loud the ground shook. Clearly we were no longer in the eye of the storm. I knew Lena couldnÒt control herself much longer.
ÓWhen were you going to tell meØÔ she screamed over the wind.
ÓAfter you Claimed yourself.Ô
Sarafine saw her opportunity and took it. ÓBut donÒt you see, LenaØ We have a way. A way you and Ethan can spend the rest of your lives together, marry, have children.
Whatever you want.Ô
ÓSheÒd never allow that, Lena,Ô Macon snapped. ÓEven if it were possible, Dark Casters despise Mortals. They would never allow their bloodlines to be diluted with Mortal blood. ItÒs one of our greatest divides.Ô
ÓTrue, but in this case, Lena, we would be willing to make an exception, considering our alternative. And we have found a way to make it possible.Ô She shrugged. ÓItÒs better than dying.Ô
Macon looked at Lena, and countered, ÓCould you kill everyone in your family just to be with EthanØ Aunt DelØ ReeceØ RyanØ Your own grandmotherØÔ
Sarafine spread her powerful hands wide, luxuriously, flexing her powers. ÓOnce you
Turn, you wonÒt even care about those people. And youÒll have me, your mother, your uncle, and Ethan. IsnÒt he the most important person in your lifeØÔ
LenaÒs eyes clouded over. Rain and fog swirled around her. It was so loud that it almost drowned out the sound of the shells at Honey Hill. I had forgotten we could get killed, by either of the two battles being waged here tonight.
Macon grabbed Lena by both arms. ÓSheÒs right. If you agree to this, you wonÒt feel remorse, because you wonÒt be yourself. The person you are now will be dead. What sheÒs not telling you is that you wonÒt remember your feelings for Ethan. Within a few months, your heart will be so Dark, he wonÒt mean anything to you. The Claiming has an incredibly powerful effect on a Natural. You may even kill him by your own hand×you will be capable of that kind of evil. IsnÒt that right, SarafineØ Tell Lena what happened to her father, since you are such a proponent of the truth.Ô
ÓYour father stole you from me, Lena. What happened was unfortunate, an accident.Ô
Lena looked stricken. It was one thing to hear that her mother had murdered her father from crazy Mrs. Lincoln at the Disciplinary Committee meeting. It was something else to find out it was true.
Macon tried to turn the odds back in his favor. ÓTell her, Sarafine. Explain to her how her father burned to death in his own house, by a fire you set. We all know how you love to play with fire.Ô
SarafineÒs eyes were fierce. ÓYou know, youÒve interfered for sixteen years. I think you should sit the rest of this one out.Ô
Out of nowhere, Hunting appeared just inches from Macon. Now he looked less like a man and more like what he was. A Demon. His slick black hair stood up like the hair on a wolfÒs back before it attacks, his ears sharpened to points, and when his mouth opened, it was the mouth of an animal. Then he just disappeared, dematerialized.
Hunting reappeared in a flash, on top of Macon, so quickly I wasnÒt even sure I had really seen it happen. Macon grabbed Hunting by the jacket and tossed him into a tree. I had never realized how strong Macon really was. Hunting went flying, but where he should have slammed against the tree, he barreled right through it, rolling to the ground on the other side. In the same moment, Macon disappeared and reappeared on top of him.
Macon threw HuntingÒs body to the ground, the force cracking the earth open beneath them. Hunting lay on the ground, defeated. Macon turned back to look at Lena. As he turned, Hunting rose up behind him with a smile. I yelled, trying to warn Macon, but no one could hear me over the hurricane building above us. Hunting growled viciously, sinking his teeth into the back of MaconÒs neck like a dog in a fight.
Macon screamed, a deep guttural sound, and disappeared. He was gone. But Hunting must have hung on because he disappeared with Macon, and when they reappeared at the edge of the clearing, Hunting was still locked onto MaconÒs neck.
What was he doingØ Was he feedingØ I didnÒt know enough to know how or if it was even possible. But whatever Hunting was taking, it seemed to be draining Macon. Lena screamed, ragged, bloodcurdling screams.
Hunting pushed away from MaconÒs body. Macon lay slumped over in the mud, rain battering down on him. Another round of canisters rang out. I flinched, rattled from the proximity of live ammo. The Reenactment was moving toward us, in the direction of
Greenbrier. The Confederates were making their final stand.
The noise from the rounds muffled the growling, an altogether different, but familiar sound. Boo Radley. He howled and leapt into the air toward Hunting, bent on defending his master. Just as the dog sprang toward Hunting, LarkinÒs body began to twist, spiraling into a pile of vipers in front of Boo. The vipers hissed, slithering over each other.
Boo didnÒt realize the snakes were an illusion, that he could run right through them. He backed away, barking, his attention on the writhing snakes, which was the opportunity
Hunting needed. Hunting dematerialized and appeared behind Boo, choking the dog with his supernatural strength. BooÒs body jerked as he tried to fight against Hunting, but it was futile. Hunting was too strong. He tossed the dogÒs limp body aside, next to
MaconÒs. Boo was still.
The dog and his master lay side by side in the mud. Motionless.
ÓUncle Macon!Ô Lena screamed.
Hunting ran his hands through his slick hair and shook his head, invigorated. Larkin wound back through his leather jacket, into his familiar human form. Between them, they looked like two drug addicts after a fix.
Larkin looked up at the moon, and then his watch. ÓHalf past. MidnightÒs cominÒ.Ô
Sarafine stretched her arms up as if she was embracing the sky. ÓThe Sixteenth Moon, the
Sixteenth Year.Ô
Hunting grinned at Lena, blood and mud on his face. ÓWelcome to the family.Ô
Lena had no intention of joining this family. I could see that now. She pulled herself to her feet, soaking wet, covered with mud from her own torrential downpour. Her black hair whipped around her. She could barely stand against the wind, and leaned into it, as if at any moment her feet would leave the ground and she would disappear into the black sky. Maybe she could. At this point, nothing would have surprised me.
Larkin and Hunting moved silently in the shadows until they were flanking Sarafine, facing Lena. Sarafine moved closer.
Lena raised a single palm. ÓStop. Now.Ô
Sarafine didnÒt stop. Lena closed her hand. A fire line shot up through the tall grass. The flames roared, separating mother and daughter. Sarafine froze in her tracks. She hadnÒt expected Lena to be capable of much more than what she probably considered a little wind and rain. Lena had taken her by surprise. ÓIÒll never hide anything from you, like everyone else in our family has. IÒve explained your options, and IÒve told you the truth.
You may hate me, but IÒm still your mother. And I can offer you the one thing they cannot. A future with the Mortal.Ô
The flames shot higher. The fire spread like it had a will of its own until the flames surrounded Sarafine, Larkin, and Hunting. Lena laughed. A dark laugh, like her motherÒs.
Even from across the clearing, it made me shiver. ÓYou donÒt have to pretend you care about me. We all know what a bitch you are, Mother. ItÒs the one thing I think we can all agree on.Ô
Sarafine pursed her lips and blew, as if she was blowing a kiss. Only the fire blew with her, shifting its direction, racing through the weeds to surround Lena. ÓSay it like you mean it, darling. Put some teeth into it.Ô
Lena smiled. ÓBurning a witchØ ThatÒs so cliche.Ô
ÓIf I wanted you to burn, Lena, youÒd already be dead. Remember, youÒre not the only
Natural.Ô
Slowly, Lena reached forward and thrust one hand into the flames. She didnÒt wince, but remained completely expressionless. Then she stuck her other hand into the blaze. She lifted her hands above her head and held the fire as if it were a ball. Then she threw the flames as hard as she could. Right at me.
Fire smashed into the oak behind me, igniting the spray of branches faster than dry kindling. The flames raced down the trunk. I stumbled forward, trying to get out of the way. I kept moving until I reached the wall of my invisible prison. But this time, it wasnÒt there. I dragged my legs through the inches of mud, across the field. I looked over and saw Link falling alongside me. The oak behind him was burning even brighter than my own. The flames reached into the dark sky and began to spread to the surrounding field. I raced toward Lena. I couldnÒt think of anything else. Link stumbled over toward his mom. Only Lena and the fire line stood between Sarafine and us. For the moment, it seemed to be enough.
I touched LenaÒs shoulder. In the darkness, she should have jumped, but she knew it was me. She didnÒt even look at me.
I love you, L.
DonÒt say anything, Ethan. She can hear everything. IÒm not sure, but I think she always could.
I looked across the field, but I couldnÒt see Sarafine, Hunting, or Larkin beyond the flames. I knew they were there, and I knew they were probably going to try to kill us all.
But I was with Lena, and for just one second, it was all that mattered.
ÓEthan! Go get Ryan. Uncle Macon needs help. I canÒt hold her much longer.Ô I took off running before Lena could say another word. Whatever Sarafine had done to sever the connection between us, it no longer mattered. Lena was back in my heart and my head.
As I ran through the uneven fields, that was all I cared about.
Except for the fact that it was almost midnight. I ran faster.
I love you, too. HurryI looked at my cell. 11:25. I banged again on the door of Ravenwood and pushed frantically on the crescent moon above the lintel. Nothing happened. Larkin must have done something to seal off the threshold, not that I had any idea how.
ÓRyan! Aunt Del! Gramma!Ô I had to find Ryan. Macon was hurt. Lena could be next. I couldnÒt predict what Sarafine would do when Lena refused her. Link stumbled onto the doorstep behind me.
ÓRyanÒs not here.Ô
ÓIs Ryan a doctorØ We gotta help my mom.Ô
ÓNo. SheÒs×IÒll explain later.Ô
Link was pacing on the veranda. ÓWas any a that realØÔ
Think. I had to think. I was in this alone. Ravenwood was a virtual fortress tonight. No one could break in, at least no Mortal, and I couldnÒt let Lena down.
I dialed the only person I could think of who would have no problem tangling with two
Dark Casters and a Blood Incubus, in the middle of a supernatural hurricane. A person who was a sort of supernatural hurricane herself. Amma.
I listened to the phone ring on the other end. ÓNo answer. AmmaÒs probably still with my dad.Ô
11:30. There was only one other person who could help me, and it was a long shot. I dialed the Gatlin County Library. ÓMarianÒs not there either. SheÒd know what to do.
What the hellØ She never leaves that library, even after hours.Ô
Link was pacing frantically. ÓNothinÒs open. ItÒs a freakinÒ holiday. ItÒs the Battle of
Honey Hill, rememberØ Maybe we should just go down to the Safe Zone and look for the paramedics.Ô
I stared at him as if a bolt of lightning had just come out of his mouth and hit me in the head. ÓItÒs a holiday. NothingÒs open,Ô I repeated back to him.
ÓYeah. I just said that. So what do we doØÔ He looked miserable.
ÓLink, youÒre a genius. YouÒre a freaking genius.Ô
ÓI know, man, but what does that have to with anythingØÔ
ÓYou got the BeaterØÔ He nodded.
ÓWe gotta get outta here.Ô
Link started the engine. It spluttered, but caught, like it always did. The Holy Rollers blasted out of the speakers, and for the record, this time they sucked. Ridley, she must seriously rock the whole Siren gig.
Link ripped down the gravel drive, and then looked over at me sideways. ÓWhere are we goinÒ againØÔ
ÓThe library.Ô
ÓThought you said it was closed.Ô
ÓThe other library.Ô Link nodded like he understood, which he didnÒt. But he went along with it anyway, just like old times. The Beater shredded down the gravel drive like it was
Monday morning and we were late to first period. Only it wasnÒt.
It was 11:40.
When we skidded to a stop in front of the Historical Society, Link didnÒt even try to understand. I was out of the car before he could even turn off the Holy Rollers. He caught up with me as I rounded the corner into the darkness behind the second-oldest building in
Gatlin. ÓThis isnÒt the library.Ô
ÓRight.Ô
ÓItÒs the DAR.Ô
ÓRight.Ô
ÓWhich you hate.Ô
ÓRight.Ô
ÓMy mom comes here like, every day.Ô
ÓRight.Ô
ÓDude. What are we doinÒ hereØÔ
I stepped up to the grating and pushed my hand through. It sliced through the metal, at least what looked like metal, leaving my arm looking like it was amputated at the wrist.
Link grabbed me. ÓMan, Ridley mustÒve put somethinÒ into my Mountain Dew. Because
I swear, your arm, I just saw your arm×forget it, IÒm hallucinatinÒ.Ô
I pulled my arm back out and wiggled my fingers in front of his face. ÓSeriously, man.
After all the things youÒve seen tonight, now you think youÒre hallucinatingØ NowØ
I checked my cell. 11:45.
ÓI donÒt have time to explain, but itÒs only going to get weirder from here on out. WeÒre going down to the library, but itÒs not, like, a library. And you are going to be freaking, most of the time. So if you want to go wait in the car, thatÒs cool.Ô Link was trying to absorb what I was saying as quickly as I was saying it, which was rough.
ÓAre you in, or notØÔ
Link looked at the grating. Without saying another word, he stuck his hand through. It disappeared.
He was in.
I ducked through the doorway and started down the old stone stairs. ÓCome on. We gotta book.Ô
Link laughed nervously as he stumbled after me. ÓGet itØ BookØ LibraryØÔ
The torches lit themselves as we scrambled down into the darkness. I grabbed one out of its metal crescent holder and tossed it to Link. I grabbed another and jumped the last stairs to the crypt room. One by one, the wall torches ignited as we stepped into the center of the chamber. The columns emerged, along with their shadows, in the flickering light from the mounted torches. The words domus lunae libri reappeared in shadow on the entranceway, where I had last seen them.
ÓAunt Marian! Are you hereØÔ She tapped my shoulder from behind. I almost jumped out of my skin, bumping into Link.
Link screamed, dropping his torch. I stomped on the flames with my feet. ÓJeez, Dr.
Ashcroft. You about scared the pants offa me.Ô
ÓSorry, Wesley×and Ethan, have you lost your mindØ Do you have any recollection who this poor boyÒs mother isØÔ
ÓMrs. LincolnÒs unconscious. LenaÒs in trouble. MaconÒs been hurt. I need to get into
Ravenwood, I canÒt find Amma, and I canÒt find a way inside. I need to go through the
Tunnels.Ô I was a little boy again, and it all just came tumbling out. Talking to Marian was like talking to my mom, or at least like talking to someone who knew what it was like to talk to my mom.
ÓI canÒt do anything. I canÒt help you. One way or another, the Claiming comes at midnight. I canÒt stop the clock. I canÒt save Macon, or WesleyÒs mother, or anyone. I canÒt get involved.Ô She looked at Link. ÓAnd I am sorry about your mother, Wesley. I mean no disrespect.Ô
ÓMaÒam.Ô Link looked defeated.
I shook my head and handed Marian the nearest torch from the wall. ÓYou donÒt understand. I donÒt want you to do anything, other than what the Caster librarian does.Ô
ÓWhatØÔ
I looked at her meaningfully. ÓI need to deliver a book to Ravenwood.Ô I bent down and reached into the nearest stack, and randomly pulled out a book, singeing the tips of my fingers. ÓThe Complete Guide to Poisonous Herbiage and Verbiage.Ô
Marian was skeptical. ÓTonightØÔ
ÓYes, tonight. Right away. Macon asked me to bring it to him personally. Before midnight.Ô
ÓA Caster librarian is the only Mortal who knows where to access the Lunae Libri
Tunnels.Ô Marian looked at me shrewdly and took the book from my hands. ÓGood thing
I happen to be one.Ô
Link and I followed Marian through the twisting tunnels of the Lunae Libri. At one point
I counted the oaken doors we passed through, but I stopped after we got to sixteen. The
Tunnels were like a maze, and each one was different. There were low-ceilinged passageways where Link and I had to duck to walk through, and high-ceilinged hallways where there seemed to be no roof over our heads at all. It was literally another world.
Some passages were rustic, adorned with nothing but their modest masonry, while others were more like the hallways in a castle or museum, with tapestries, framed antique maps, and oil paintings hanging from the walls. Under different circumstances, I wouldÒve stopped to read the tiny brass plaques under the portraits. Maybe they were famous
Casters, who knew. The one thing the passageways had in common was the smell of earth and time, and the number of times Marian found herself fumbling for her lunae crescent key, the iron circle she wore at her waist.
After what seemed like forever, we arrived at the door. Our torches were nearly out, and I had to hold mine up so that I could read Rayvenwoode Manor carved into the vertical planks. Marian twisted the crescent key through the final iron keyhole and the door swung open. Carved steps led up into the house and I could tell from the glimpse of ceiling above that we were on the main floor.
I turned to Marian. ÓThanks, Aunt Marian.Ô I held out my hand for the book. ÓIÒll give this to Macon.Ô
ÓNot so fast. IÒve yet to see a library card issued in your name, EW.Ô She winked at me.
ÓIÒll deliver this book myself.Ô
I looked at my cell. 11:45 again. That was impossible. ÓHow can it be the same time that it was when we arrived at the Lunae LibriØÔ
ÓLunar time. You kids never listen. Things arenÒt always as they seem, down below.
Link and Marian followed me up the stairs and into the front hall. Ravenwood was just as we had left it, down to the cake left out on plates, to the tea set, and the stack of unopened birthday presents.
ÓAunt Del! Reece! Gramma! HelloØ Where is everybodyØÔ I called out, and they came out of the woodwork. Del was positioned by the stairs, holding a lamp over her head as if she was going to whack Marian over the head with it in another second. Gramma was standing in the doorway, shielding Ryan with her arm. Reece was hiding under the stairs, brandishing a cake knife.
They all started to talk at once. ÓMarian! Ethan! We were so worried. Lena has disappeared, and when we heard the bell from the Tunnels, we thought it was×Ô
ÓHave you seen HerØ Is she out thereØÔ
ÓHave you seen LenaØ When Macon didnÒt come back, we began to worry.Ô
ÓAnd Larkin. She didnÒt hurt Larkin, did sheØÔ
I looked at them in disbelief, taking the lamp out of Aunt DelÒs hands, and handing it to
Link. ÓA lampØ You really thought a lamp was gonna save youØÔ
Aunt Del shrugged. ÓBarclay went up to the attic to Shift some weapons out of curtain rods and old Solstice decorations. ItÒs all I could find.Ô
I knelt down in front of Ryan. There wasnÒt much time, about fourteen minutes to be exact. ÓRyan. Do you remember when I was hurt, and you helped meØ I need you to come do that right now, over at Greenbrier. Uncle Macon fell down, and he and Boo are hurt.Ô
Ryan looked like she was going to cry. ÓBooÒs hurt, tooØÔ
Link cleared his throat in the back of the room. ÓAnd my mom. I mean, I know sheÒs been a pain and everything, but could she×could she help my momØÔ
ÓAnd LinkÒs mom.Ô
Gramma pushed Ryan back behind her, patting her on the cheek. She adjusted her sweater and smoothed her skirt. ÓCome, then. Del and I will go. Reece, stay here with your sister. Tell your father where weÒve gone.Ô
ÓGramma, I need Ryan.Ô
ÓFor tonight, I am Ryan, Ethan.Ô She picked up her bag.
ÓIÒm not leaving here without Ryan.Ô I held my ground. There was too much at stake.
ÓWe canÒt take an Unclaimed child out there, not on the Sixteenth Moon. She could be killed.Ô Reece looked at me like I was an idiot. I was out of the Caster loop again.
Del took my arm reassuringly. ÓMy mother is an Empath. She is very sensitive to the powers of others and she can borrow those powers for a time. Right now, she has borrowed RyanÒs. It wonÒt last for very long, but for now she is capable of anything Ryan can do. And Gramma was Claimed, obviously quite some time ago. So weÒll go with you.Ô
I looked at my cell. 11:49.
ÓWhat if we donÒt make it in timeØÔ
Marian smiled and held up the book. ÓI havenÒt made a delivery to Greenbrier, well, ever.
Del, do you think you could find the wayØÔ
Aunt Del nodded, putting on her glasses. ÓPalimpsests can always find ancient lost doors.
ItÒs just brand new ones we have a little trouble with.Ô She disappeared back down into the Tunnels, followed by Marian and Gramma. Link and I scrambled to keep up with them.
ÓFor a bunch a old ladies,Ô Link panted, Óthey really know how to move.Ô
This time, the passageway was small and crumbling, with speckled black and green moss growing in sprays across the walls and ceiling. Probably the floors, too, but I couldnÒt see them in the shadows. We were five bobbing torches in otherwise total darkness. Since
Link and I were at the back of the pack, the smoke was wafting into my eyes, making them tear and sting.
As we got closer to Greenbrier, I could tell we were there by the smoke that started seeping down into the Tunnels, not from our torches, but from hidden openings leading to the world outside.
ÓThis is it.Ô Aunt Del coughed, feeling her way around the edges of a rectangular cut in the stone walls. Marian scraped off the moss, revealing a door. The lunae key fit perfectly, as if it had opened just days ago, rather than hundreds of thousands of days ago. The door wasnÒt oak, but stone. I couldnÒt believe Aunt Del had the strength to push it open.
Aunt Del paused on the stairwell and motioned to me to pass. She knew we were nearly out of time. I ducked my head under the hanging moss and smelled the dank air as I made my way up the stone steps. I climbed out of the tunnel, but when I got to the top, I froze. I could see the cryptÒs stone table, where The Book of Moons had lain for so many years.
And I knew it was the same table, because the Book was lying on it now.
The same book that was missing from my closet shelf this morning. I had no idea how it had gotten there, but there was no time to ask. I could hear the fire before I saw it.
Fire is loud, full of rage and chaos and destruction. And fire was all around me. The smoke in the air was so thick, I was choking on it. The heat was singeing the hair right off my arms. It was like a vision from the locket, or worse, like the last of my nightmares ×the one where Lena was consumed by fire.
The feeling that I was losing her. It was happening.
Lena, where are youØ
Help Uncle Macon.
Her voice was dimming. I waved the smoke away so I could see my cell.
11:53. Seven minutes to midnight. We were out of time.
Gramma grabbed my hand. ÓDonÒt just stand there. We need Macon.Ô
Gramma and I ran, hand in hand, out into the fire. The long row of willows that framed the archway leading into the graveyard and the gardens was burning. The brush, the scrub oaks, the palmettos, the rosemary, the lemon trees×everything was on fire. I could hear the last few canisters in the distance. Honey Hill was wrapping up, and I knew the reenactors would be on to the fireworks soon, as if the fireworks in the Safe Zone could in any way compare to the fireworks going on out here. The whole garden as well as the clearing was burning, surrounding the crypt.
Gramma and I stumbled through the smoke until we neared the burning oaks, and I found
Macon lying where we had left him. Gramma leaned over him and touched his cheek with her hand. ÓHeÒs weak, but heÒll be all right.Ô At the same moment, Boo Radley rolled over and jumped up onto all fours. He slunk over and lay down on his belly next to his master.
Macon struggled to turn his head toward Gramma. His voice was barely a whisper.
ÓWhereÒs LenaØÔ
ÓEthanÒs going to find her. You rest. IÒm going to help Mrs. Lincoln.Ô
Link was by his momÒs side and Gramma hustled in their direction without another word.
I stood up, scanning the fires for Lena. I couldnÒt see any of them, anywhere. Not
Hunting, Larkin, Sarafine×anyone.
IÒm up here. On top of the crypt. But I think IÒm stuck.
Hold on, L. IÒm coming.
I made my way back through the flames, trying to stick to the pathways I remembered from being in Greenbrier with Lena. The closer I got to the crypt, the hotter the flames were. My skin felt like it was peeling off, but I knew it was actually burning.
I climbed on top of an unmarked gravestone, found a foothold in the crumbling stone wall, and pulled myself up as far as I could. On top of the crypt was a statue, some kind of angel, with part of her body broken off. I grabbed onto its×I donÒt know what, it felt something like an ankle×and pulled myself over the edge.
Hurry, Ethan! I need you.
ThatÒs when I found myself face to face with Sarafine.
Who plunged a knife into my stomach.
A real knife, into my real stomach.
The end of the dream we had never been allowed to see. Only this part wasnÒt a dream. I know, because it was my stomach, and I felt every inch of the blade.
Surprised, EthanØ You think LenaÒs the only Caster on this channelØ
SarafineÒs voice began to fade.
Let her try to stay Light now.
As I drifted away, all I could think was if you stuck me in a Confederate uniform, IÒd be
Ethan Carter Wate. Even down to the same stomach wound, with the same locket in my pocket. Even if all I had ever deserted was the Jackson High basketball team, rather than
LeeÒs army.
Dreaming about a Caster girl I would always love. Just like the other Ethan.
Ethan! No!
No! No! No!
One minute I was screaming, the next, the sound was stuck in my throat.
I remember Ethan falling. I remember my mother smiling. The glint of the knife, and the blood.
EthanÒs blood.
This couldnÒt be happening.
Nothing moved, nothing. Everything was frozen perfectly in place, like a scene in a wax museum. The billows of smoke remained billows. They were fluffy and gray, but they went nowhere, neither up nor down. They just hung in the air as if they were made of cardboard, part of a backdrop in a play. The tongues of flame were still transparent, still hot, but they consumed nothing and made no sound. Even the air didnÒt move. Everything was exactly as it had been a second before.
Gramma was hunched over Mrs. Lincoln, about to touch her cheek, her hand hanging in the air. Link was holding his motherÒs hand, kneeling in the mud like a scared little boy.
Aunt Del and Marian were crouched on the lower steps of the crypt passageway, shielding their faces from the smoke.
Uncle Macon lay on the ground, Boo crouching next to him. Hunting was leaning against a tree a few feet away, admiring his handiwork. LarkinÒs leather coat was on fire and he was facing the wrong direction, halfway down the road toward Ravenwood. Predictably running from, rather than toward, the action.
And Sarafine. My mother held a carved dagger, an ancient Dark thing, high above her head. Her face was feverish with fury and fire and hate. The blade still dripped blood over EthanÒs lifeless body. Even the drops of blood were frozen in the air.
EthanÒs arm was stretched out, over the edge of the crypt roof. It hung, dangling, down toward the graveyard below.
Like our dream, but in reverse.
I hadnÒt fallen through his arms. He was ripped from mine.
Below the crypt, I reached up, pushing aside flame and smoke, until my fingers interlocked with EthanÒs. I was standing on my toes, but I could barely reach him.
Ethan, I love you. DonÒt leave me. I canÒt do this without you.
If there was moonlight, I could have seen his face. But there was no moon, not now, and the only light came from the fire, still frozen, surrounding me on every side. The sky was empty, absolutely black. There was nothing. I had lost everything tonight.
I sobbed until I couldnÒt breathe and my fingers slipped through his, knowing I would never feel those fingers in my hair again.
Ethan.
I wanted to scream out his name even though no one would hear me, but I didnÒt have a scream left in me. I had nothing left, except those words. I remembered the words from the visions. I remembered every one of them.
Blood of my heart.
Life of my life.
Body of my body.
Soul of my soul.
ÓDonÒt do this, Lena Duchannes. DonÒt you mess with that Book a Moons and start this darkness all over again.Ô I opened my eyes. Amma stood next to me, in the fire. The world around us was still frozen.
I looked at Amma. ÓDid the Greats do thisØÔ
ÓNo, child. This is your doinÒ. The Greats just helped me come along.Ô
ÓHow could I have done thisØÔ
She sat down next to me, in the dirt. ÓYou still donÒt know what youÒre capable of, do youØ Melchiz-edek was right about that, at least.Ô
ÓAmma, what are you talking aboutØÔ
ÓI always told Ethan he might pick a hole in the sky one day. But I reckon youÒre the one who did that.Ô
I tried to wipe the tears off my face, but more just kept coming. When they reached my lips, I could taste the soot in my mouth. ÓAm I×Am I DarkØÔ
ÓNot yet, not now.Ô
ÓAm I LightØÔ
ÓNo. CanÒt say youÒre that, either.Ô
I looked up in the sky. The smoke covered everything×the trees, the sky, and where there should have been a moon and stars, there was only a thick black blanket of nothing. Ash and fire and smoke and nothing.
ÓAmma.Ô
ÓYesØÔ
ÓWhereÒs the moonØÔ
ÓWell if you donÒt know, child, I sure donÒt. One minute I was lookinÒ up at your
Sixteenth Moon. And you were standinÒ under it, starinÒ up at the stars like only God in
Heaven could help you, palms raised like you was holdinÒ up the sky. Then, nothinÒ. Just this.Ô
ÓWhat about the ClaimingØÔ
She paused, considering. ÓWell, I donÒt know what happens when thereÒs no Moon on your birthday on the Sixteenth Year, at midnight. ItÒs never happened before, far as I know. Seems to me there canÒt be a ClaiminÒ, if thereÒs no Sixteenth Moon.Ô
I should have felt relief, joy, confusion. But all I could feel was pain. ÓIs it over, thenØÔ
ÓDonÒt know.Ô She held out her hand and pulled me up, until we were both standing.
Her hand was warm and strong, and I felt clear-headed. Like we both knew what I was going to do. Just as, I suspect, Ivy had known what Genevieve would do, on this spot, more than a hundred years ago.
As we opened the cracked cover of the Book, I knew immediately which page to turn to, as if I had known all along.
ÓYou know itÒs not natural. And you know thereÒs bound to be consequences.Ô
ÓI know.Ô
ÓAnd you know thereÒs no guarantee itÒll work. It didnÒt turn out so well the last time.
But I can tell you this: IÒve got my great-great-aunt Ivy downtown with the Greats, and theyÒll help us if they can.Ô
ÓAmma. Please. I donÒt have a choice.Ô
She looked into my eyes. Finally, she nodded. ÓI know thereÒs nothinÒ I can say thatÒll keep you from doinÒ it. Because you love my boy. And because I love my boy, IÒm goinÒ to help you.Ô
I looked at her and I understood. ÓWhich is why you brought The Book of Moons here tonight.Ô
Amma nodded, slowly. She reached toward my neck with her hand, and pulled the necklace holding the ring out from inside EthanÒs Jackson High sweatshirt, which I still was wearing. ÓThis was LilaÒs ring. He had to love you somethinÒ fierce to give it to you.Ô
Ethan, I love you.
ÓLove is a powerful thing, Lena Duchannes. A motherÒs love, thatÒs not somethinÒ to be trifled with. Seems to me, LilaÒs been tryinÒ to help out, as best she could.Ô
She ripped the ring off my neck. Where the chain broke, I could feel a mark, cutting into my skin. She slipped the ring on my middle finger. ÓLila wouldÒve liked you. You have the one thing Genevieve never had when she used the Book. The love a two families.Ô
I closed my eyes, feeling the cool metal against my skin. ÓI hope youÒre right.Ô
ÓWait.Ô Amma reached down and pulled GenevieveÒs locket, still wrapped in her family handkerchief, out of EthanÒs pocket. ÓJust to remind everyone that youÒve already got the curse.Ô She sighed uneasily. ÓDonÒt want to be tried twice for the same crime.Ô
She laid the locket on the Book. ÓThis time we make it right.Ô
Then she took the well-worn charm off her own neck, and laid it on the Book, next to the locket. The small gold disc looked almost like a coin, the image faded with wear and time. ÓTo remind everyone, if theyÒre messinÒ with my boy, theyÒre messinÒ with me.Ô
She closed her eyes. I closed mine. I touched the pages with my hands, and began to chant×at first slowly, then louder and louder.
ÓCRUOR PECTORIS MEI, TUTELA TUA EST.
VITA VITAE MEAE, CORRIPIENS TUAM, CORRIPIENS MEAM.Ô
I spoke the words with confidence. A certain confidence that only comes from truly not caring whether you live or die.
ÓCORPUS CORPORIS MEI, MEDULLA MENSQUE, ANIMA ANIMAE MEAE, ANIMAM NOSTRAM CONECTE.Ô
I called out the words to the frozen landscape, though there was nobody but Amma to hear them.
ÓCRUOR PECTORIS MEI, LUNA MEA, AESTUS MEUS.
CRUOR PECTORIS MEI. FATUM MEUM, MEA SALUS.Ô
Amma reached for me, taking my trembling hands in her strong ones, and we spoke the
Cast again, together. This time we spoke in the language of Ethan and his mother, Lila, of Uncle Macon and Aunt Del and Amma and Link and little Ryan and everyone who loved Ethan, and who loved us. This time, what we spoke became a song.
A love song×to Ethan Lawson Wate, from the two people who loved him most. And would miss him the most, if we failed.
BLOOD OF MY HEART, PROTECTION IS THINE.
LIFE OF MY LIFE, TAKING YOURS, TAKING MINE.
BODY OF MY BODY, MARROW AND MIND, SOUL OF MY SOUL, TO OUR SPIRIT BIND.
BLOOD OF MY HEART, MY TIDES, MY MOON.
BLOOD OF MY HEART. MY SALVATION, MY DOOM.
Lightning struck me, the Book, the crypt, and Amma. At least, thatÒs what I thought had happened. But then, I remember it feeling that way to Genevieve, too, in the visions.
Amma was thrown back against the wall of the crypt, her head knocking against the stone.
I felt the electricity course through my body and relaxed into it, accepting the fact that if
I died, at least I would be with Ethan. I felt him, how near he was to me, how much I loved him. I felt the ring, burning on my finger, how much he loved me.
I felt my eyes burning, and everywhere I looked, I saw a haze of golden light, as if it were coming from me somehow.
I heard Amma whisper. ÓMy boy.Ô
I turned toward Ethan. He was bathed in gold light, just like everything else. He was still motionless. I looked at Amma in panic. ÓIt didnÒt work.Ô
She leaned against the stone altar, closing her eyes.
I screamed, ÓIt didnÒt work!Ô
I stumbled away from the Book, into the mud. I looked up. The moon was there again. I raised my arms above my head, toward the heavens. Heat burned through my veins where there should have been blood. The anger welled inside me, with nowhere to go. I could feel it eating away at me. I knew if I didnÒt find a way to release it, it would destroy me.
Hunting. Larkin. Sarafine.
The predator, the coward, and my murderous mother, who lived to destroy her own child.
The gnarled branches of my Caster family tree.
How could I Claim myself when they had already claimed the only thing that mattered to meØ The heat surged up through my hands, as if it had a will of its own. Lightning streaked across the sky. I knew where it was going even before it hit.
Three points on a compass, with no North to guide me.
The lightning exploded into flame, striking its three targets simultaneously×the ones who had taken everything from me tonight. I should have wanted to look away, but I didnÒt. The statue that had been my mother a moment before was strangely beautiful, engulfed in flame, in the moonlight.
I lowered my arms, wiping the dirt and ash and grief from my eyes, but when I looked back she was gone.
They were all gone.
The rain began to fall, and my blurred vision sharpened until I could see the sheets of rain hitting the smoking oaks, the fields, the thickets. I could see clearly for the first time in a long time, maybe ever. I made my way back toward the crypt, toward Ethan.
But Ethan was gone.
Where EthanÒs body had been lying moments before, now there was someone else. Uncle
Macon.
I didnÒt understand. I turned to Amma for answers. Her eyes were enormous, frightened.
ÓAmma, whereÒs EthanØ What happenedØÔ
But she didnÒt answer me. For the first time ever, Amma was speechless. She was staring at Uncle MaconÒs body, dazed. ÓNever thought it would end like this, Melchizedek. After all those years, holdinÒ the weight a the world on our shoulders together.Ô She was talking to him as if he could hear her, even though her voice was tinier than I had ever heard it. ÓHow am I gonna hold it up on my ownØÔ
I grabbed her shoulders, her sharp bones digging into my palms. ÓAmma, whatÒs going onØÔ
She raised her eyes to meet mine, her voice barely a whisper. ÓYou canÒt get somethinÒ from the Book, without givinÒ somethinÒ in return.Ô A tear rolled down her wrinkled cheek.
It couldnÒt be true. I knelt next to Uncle Macon and slowly reached out to touch his perfectly shaven face. Usually, I would find the misleading warmth associated with a human being, fueled by the energy of the hopes and dreams of Mortals, but not today.
Today, his skin was ice cold. Like RidleyÒs. Like the dead.
Without giving something in return.
ÓNoÅ please no.Ô I had killed Uncle Macon. And I hadnÒt even Claimed myself. I hadnÒt even chosen to go Light, and I had still killed him.
The rage began to well up inside me again, the wind whipping up around us, swirling and churning like my emotions. It was beginning to feel familiar, like an old friend. The
Book had made some kind of horrible trade, one I didnÒt ask for. Then I realized.
A trade.
If Uncle Macon was here, where Ethan had been lying dead, could that mean that maybe
Ethan was out there aliveØ
I was on my feet, running toward the crypt. The frozen landscape tinted in that golden light. I could see Ethan, lying in the grass in the distance next to Boo, where Uncle
Macon had been just moments ago. I made my way over to him. I reached for EthanÒs hand, but it was cold. Ethan was still dead and now Uncle Macon was gone, too.
What had I doneØ I had lost them both. Kneeling in the mud, I buried my head in EthanÒs chest and wept. I held his hand against my cheek. I thought of all the times he had refused to accept my fate, refused to give up, to say good-bye.
Now it was my turn. ÓI wonÒt say good-bye. I wonÒt say it.Ô It had come to this, just a whisper in a field of smoldering weeds.
Then I felt it. EthanÒs fingers began to curl and uncurl, searching for mine.
LØ
I could barely hear him. I smiled as I cried, and kissed the palm of his hand.
Are you there, Lena BeanaØ
I laced my fingers through his, and swore I would never let them go. I held up my face and let the rain fall upon it, washing away the soot.
IÒm here.
DonÒt go.
IÒm not going anywhere. And neither are you.
2.12
SILVER LINING
I looked at my cell. It was broken.
The time still read 11:59.
But I knew it was well after midnight, because the fireworks finale had started, even though it was raining. The Battle of Honey Hill was over for another year.
I lay in the middle of the muddy field, letting the rain wash over me. As I watched the small-time fireworks attempt to explode in the still drizzling night sky, everything was cloudy. My mind just couldnÒt focus. I had fallen, hit my head and a few other places, too. My stomach, my hip, my whole left side ached. Amma was going to kill me when I came home, banged up like this.
All I remembered was, one second I was holding onto that stupid angel statue, and the next second I was lying flat on my back in the mud, here. I thought a piece of that statue broke off when I was trying to climb to the top of the crypt, but I wasnÒt really sure. Link must have carried me out here after I knocked myself out like an idiot. Aside from that, it was like my mind had been wiped clean.
I guess thatÒs why I didnÒt understand why Marian, Gramma, and Aunt Del were huddled near the crypt, crying. Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw when I finally stumbled over there.
Macon Ravenwood. Dead.
Maybe he had always been dead, I didnÒt know, but now he was gone. I knew that much.
Lena threw herself onto his body, the rain drenching both of them.
Macon, wet from the raindrops for the first time.
The next morning, I pieced together a few things about the night of LenaÒs birthday.
Macon was the only casualty. Apparently, Hunting had overpowered him after I lost consciousness. Gramma explained that feeding on dreams was much less substantial than feeding on blood. I guess he had never really stood a chance against Hunting. Still, it hadnÒt stopped him from trying.
Macon always said he would do anything for Lena. In the end, he was a man of his word.
Everyone else seemed to be all right, at least physically. Aunt Del, Gramma, and Marian had dragged themselves back to Ravenwood, with Boo trailing behind them, whimpering like a lost pup. Aunt Del couldnÒt understand what had happened to Larkin. Nobody knew how to break the news to her that she had not one but two bad seeds in her family, so no one said a thing.
Mrs. Lincoln didnÒt remember anything, and Link had a hard time explaining what she was doing in the middle of the battlefield in her petticoat and pantyhose. She had been appalled to find herself in the company of Macon RavenwoodÒs family, but had been civil as Link helped her to the Beater. Link had a lot of questions, but I figured it could wait until Algebra II. It would give us both something to do when things returned to normal, whenever that would be.
And Sarafine.
Sarafine, Hunting, and Larkin were gone. I knew that because when I came to, they had disappeared, and Lena was there, leaning against me as we walked back toward
Ravenwood. I was fuzzy on the details, like everything else right now, but it appeared that Lena, Macon, all of us had underestimated LenaÒs powers as a Natural. She had somehow managed to block out the moon and save herself from being Claimed after all.
Without the Claiming, it looked like Sarafine, Hunting, and Larkin had fled, at least for now.
Lena still wasnÒt talking about it. She still wasnÒt talking much at all.
I had fallen asleep on the floor of her bedroom, next to her, our hands still intertwined.
When I woke up, she was gone and I was alone. Her bedroom walls, the same ones that had been so covered with writing you couldnÒt see an inch of the white walls underneath all the black, were now completely blank. Except for one, the wall that faced the windows was covered from floor to ceiling with words, only the writing no longer looked like LenaÒs. The girly script was gone. I touched the wall as if I could feel the words, and
I knew she had been up all night, writing. macon ethan i lay my head down on his chest and cried because he had lived because he had died a dry ocean, a desert of emotion happysad darklight sorrowjoy swept over me, under me i could hear the sound but i could not understand the words and then i realized the sound was me, breaking in one moment i was feeling everything and i was feeling nothing i was shattered, i was saved, i lost everything, i was given everything else something in me died, something in me was born, i only knew the girl was gone whoever i was now, i would never be her again this is the way the world ends not with a bang but a whimper claim yourself claim yourself claim yourself claim gratitude fury love despair hope hate first green is gold but nothing green can stay donÒt try nothing green can stay
T. S. Eliot. Robert Frost. Bukowski. I recognized some of the poets from her shelf and her walls. Except for the Frost, Lena got it backward, which wasnÒt like her. Nothing gold can stay, thatÒs how the poem goes.
Not green.
Maybe it all looked the same to her now.
I stumbled down into the kitchen, where Aunt Del and Gramma were talking in low tones about arrangements. I remembered the low tones and the arrangements when my mom died. I hated them both. I remembered how much it hurt for life to go on, for aunts and grandmothers to be making plans, calling relatives, sweeping up the pieces when all you wanted to do was crawl into the coffin, too. Or maybe plant a lemon tree, fry some tomatoes, build a monument with your bare hands.
ÓWhereÒs LenaØÔ My tone was not low, and I startled Aunt Del. Nothing could startle
Gramma.
ÓIsnÒt she in her roomØÔ Aunt Del was flustered.
Gramma calmly poured herself another cup of tea. ÓI believe you know where she is, Ethan.Ô
I did.
Lena was lying on the crypt, right where we had found Macon. She was staring up at the gray morning sky, muddy and wet in her clothes from the night before. I didnÒt know where they had taken his body, but I understood her impulse to be here. To be with him, even without him.
She didnÒt look at me, though she knew I was there. ÓThose hateful things I said, IÒll never get to take them back. He never knew how much I loved him.Ô
I lay down next to her in the mud, my sore body groaning. I looked over at her, her black hair curling, and her dirty wet cheeks. The tears ran down her face, but she didnÒt try to wipe them away. Neither did I.
ÓHe died because of me.Ô She stared up at the gray sky, unblinking. I wished there was something I could say to make her feel better, but I knew better than anyone that words like that didnÒt really exist. So I didnÒt say them. Instead, I kissed all the fingers on
LenaÒs hand. I stopped when my mouth tasted metal, and I saw it. She was wearing my momÒs ring on her right hand.
I held up her hand.
ÓI didnÒt want to lose it. The necklace broke last night.Ô
Dark clouds were blowing in and out. We hadnÒt seen the last of the storm, I knew that much. I wrapped my hand around hers. ÓI never loved you any more than I do, right this second. And IÒll never love you any less than I do, right this second.Ô
The gray expanse was just a moment of sunless calm, in between the storm that had changed our lives forever, and the one still to come.
ÓIs that a promiseØÔ
I squeezed her hand.
DonÒt let go.
Never.
Our hands twisted into one. She turned her head, and when I looked into her eyes, I noticed for the first time that one was green, and one was hazel×actually, more like gold.
It was almost noon by the time I started the long walk home. The blue skies were streaked with dark gray and gold. The pressure was building, but it seemed a few hours from breaking. I think Lena was still in shock. But I was ready for the storm. And when it came, it would make GatlinÒs hurricane season look like a spring shower.
Aunt Del had offered to drive me home, but I wanted to walk. Though every bone in my body ached, I needed to clear my head. I jammed my hands in my jeans pockets and felt the familiar lump. The locket. Lena and I would have to find a way to give it back to the other Ethan Wate, the one lying in his grave, just as Genevieve had wanted us to. Maybe it would give Ethan Carter Wate some peace. We owed them both that much.
I came down the steep road leading up to Ravenwood and found myself once again at the fork in the road, the one that had seemed so frightening before I knew Lena. Before I knew where I was going. Before I knew what real fear felt like, and real love.
I walked past the fields and down Route 9, thinking of that first drive, that first night in the storm. I thought about everything, how I had almost lost my dad and Lena. How I had opened my eyes to see her staring at me, and all I could think was how lucky I was.
Before I realized we had lost Macon.
I thought about Macon, his books tied with string and paper, his perfectly pressed shirts, and his even more perfect composure. I thought about how hard things were going to be for Lena, missing him, wishing she could hear his voice one more time. But I would be there for her, the way I wished someone had been there for me when I lost my mom. And after the past few months, after my mom sent us that message, I didnÒt think Macon was really gone, either. Maybe he was still out there somewhere, looking out for us. He had sacrificed himself for Lena, I was sure of that.
The right thing and the easy thing are never the same. No one knew that better than
Macon.
I looked up at the sky. The swirls of gray were seeping across the flat blue, as blue as the paint on my bedroom ceiling. I wondered if that one shade of blue really kept the carpenter bees from nesting. I wondered if those bees really believed it was the sky.
ItÒs crazy what you see if you arenÒt really looking.
I pulled my iPod out of my pocket and turned it on. There was a new song on the playlist.
I stared at it for a long time.
Seventeen Moons.
I clicked on it.
Seventeen moons, seventeen years, Eyes where Dark or Light appears, Gold for yes and green for no, Seventeen the last to know.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
IT ONLY TOOK THREE MONTHS to write the first draft of Beautiful Creatures. Turns out, the writing was the easy part. The getting it right part was harder, and took the help of a lot more people. Here is the Beautiful Creatures family tree:
RAPHAEL SIMON & HILARY REYL
Who saw it before there was anything to see
SARAH BURNES, OF THE GERNERT COMPANY, AGENT EXTRAORDINAIRE
Who read it & got it from the start
COURTNEY GATEWOOD, OF THE GERNERT COMPANY, AGENT 007
Who got it across the pond & beyond
JENNIFER HUNT & JULIE SCHEINA
LITTLE, BROWNÒS MERCILESSLY GENIUS EDITORIAL TEAM
Who made us sweat & cry until we got it right
DAVE CAPLAN, OUR TALENTED AND PSYCHIC DESIGNER
Who created the road to Ravenwood just as we imagined it
MATTHEW CHUPACK
Who translated our Pig Latin into actual Latin
ALEX HOERNER, PHOTOGRAPHER TO THE STARS (AND US)
Who made us look good without any Casting
OUR NORTH CAROLINA RELATIVES, ESPECIALLY
HAYWOOD AINSLEY EARLY, GENEALOGIST
Who helped us plant our family trees
& ANNA GATLIN HARMON, OUR FAVORITE DAUGHTER OF THE CONFEDERACY
Who lent us her maiden name & kept us talkinÒ right
AND OUR READERS:
HANNAH, ALEX C, TORI, YVETTE, SAMANTHA, MARTINE, JOYCE, OSCAR, DAVID, ASH, VIRGINIA, JEAN X 2, KERRI, DAVE, MADELINE, PHILLIP, DEREK, ERIN, RUBY, AMANDA, & MARCOS
Whose wanting to know what happened next changed what happened next
ASHLY, AKA TEENAGE VAMPIRE QUEEN
SUSAN & JOHN, ROBERT & CELESTE, BURTON & MARE
Who listened & cheered us on, as they have our whole lives
MAY & EMMA
Who stayed home from school twice to edit out the cheese, & who figured out the missing bit of the end, as only a 13 & a 15 year old could
KATE P AND NICK & STELLA G
Who fell asleep every night to the sound of a laptop clicking
& OF COURSE, ALEX & LEWIS
Who found all the holes
& made sure the universe didnÒt fall through them, who put up with all of the above and then some.
About the Authors
Like Amma, KAMI GARCIA is very superstitious, and like any self-respecting girl with
Southern roots, she makes her biscuits by hand and her pies from scratch. She has relatives in the Daughters of the American Revolution, but has yet to participate in a reenactment herself. Kami attended George Washington University and has an MA in education. She is a teacher and reading specialist, and leads book groups for children and teenagers.
Like Lena, writing has gotten MARGARET STOHL in and out of trouble since she was fifteen. She has written and designed many popular video games, which is why her two bad beagles are named Zelda and Kirby. Margaret fell in love with American literature at
Amherst and Yale, earned an MA in English from Stanford, and studied creative writing under poet George MacBeth at the University of East Anglia, Norwich.
KAMI AND MARGARET both live in Los Angeles, California, with their families.
Beautiful Creatures is their debut novel. Kami and Margaret invite you to visit them online at www.kamigarciamargaretstohl.com.
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