Black Creek Crossing (45 page)

“Zack!” Heather called out. “Wait a minute! You’re not going to believe—”

“Later!” Zack yelled back over his shoulder. “Tell me at lunch!”

Not even pausing at the landing halfway up the staircase, he took the second flight two steps at a time. He came through the door to the stairwell running, and almost crashed into Chad and Jared. Instead of frantically working the combinations to their lockers, as they should have been, they were standing frozen in place, staring down the corridor. Barely keeping his balance, Zack was about to push Chad aside when he saw what his two friends were gazing at.

Halfway down the corridor, standing in the very center of the corridor, was a figure clad completely in black. The face was an almost ghostly white, slashed with a bloodred gash of a mouth.

Two enormous eyes—eyes far larger than Zack would have thought possible—seemed to be staring right through him.

As he too stood frozen between his friends, the figure moved slowly toward him, and just as slowly, Zack recognized the face.

Angel.

His cousin.

Except this morning everything about her had changed.

It wasn’t just the makeup she was wearing, and the black clothes.

There was something else.

Something in the way she moved.

Instead of edging along the wall as she usually did, looking like she hoped no one would notice her, she walked down the center of the wide corridor, her eyes fixed on him.

Fixed on him in a way that made his blood run cold.

As she drew closer, he involuntarily took a step back, then wished he hadn’t. But it was too late.

She’d seen it.

And so had Chad and Jared, who were now edging away from him.

“Get out of the way, Zack,” Angel said. “I want to go downstairs.”

Zack’s mouth opened but nothing came out. What was going on? What did she think she was doing? But before he could figure out how to react, Angel slowly raised her right arm and pointed at him.

“I know what Seth did to you last night,” she said, “and I can do it too.”

As the terrible memory of being hurled straight up into the tree rose in his mind, Zack backed away.

Backed away, and let Angel pass.

Pausing at the top of the stairs, she turned and looked back at him once more.

“It’s witchcraft,” she said softly. “Or didn’t you tell Chad and Jared what really happened last night?”

His face ashen, Zack watched as Angel disappeared down the stairs. When she was gone, he turned back to Chad and Jared, to find both of them staring at him.

Staring at him almost as coldly as Angel had stared at him a moment ago.

Angel Sullivan paused outside the door to her first period class. She was late, but not very late—maybe a minute or two. But she didn’t care, because the look on Zack Fletcher’s face when he’d seen her coming down the hall was still fresh in her mind. He’d looked just as scared of her as her father had when she came downstairs this morning.

Having people look scared of her instead of the other way around was a whole new experience for her, and for the first time in her life, Angel didn’t care if people looked at her. In fact, as she’d walked to school that morning with Houdini frolicking along beside her, she actually looked forward to school for the first time.

Looked forward to walking through the group of girls who were always clustered around Heather Dunne on the front steps.

Looked forward to walking into the cafeteria at lunchtime. By then everyone in school would have heard about what she was wearing, and they would all turn and look at her.

Stare at her.

And she no longer cared.

It had happened after she forced her father out of her room last night. She had to use all of the strange power given to her by the broth she and Seth drank that afternoon. But it didn’t matter because this afternoon they could make more.

Or experiment with some of the other recipes in the book.

Forbearance Wynton’s book.

As she lay in the dark last night she’d thought about Forbearance Wynton. And about Forbearance Wynton’s father.

It was him she’d seen in the moonlight that night, reaching toward her—she was sure of it.

She’d shuddered in the darkness, remembering the hands that pulled the bedding away . . .

Had reached toward the buttons on her pajama top . . .

Had been about to put his hands on her. . . .

But the man hadn’t only been Forbearance Wynton’s father—he’d been her father too. How could that be? She turned it over in her mind, trying to figure it out, and then Houdini had appeared out of the darkness. As on that first day in the house, she had no idea how he’d gotten into the room—the window was closed, and so was the door—but somehow he was there, leaping up onto the bed, sliding under her hand so she could scratch his ears. And as she stroked the cat, she began to understand.

They were all one.

She was Forbearance Wynton, and her father was Forbearance Wynton’s father, and everything that happened hundreds of years ago was happening again.

How many other people in the house had been part of it? She was sure about the last family. Rogers was the name. Nate Rogers had killed his wife and himself in her parents’ bedroom after he killed his daughter in the room that was now hers. Had the same things happened to Nate Rogers’s daughter that had happened to her? Had Nate Rogers crept into his daughter’s room at night, touching her and caressing her and—

Angel had cut off the thought before it was fully formed, but in the darkness, with Houdini purring softly beneath her hand, she’d begun to understand last night that what was happening to her now had happened over and over in this house. It didn’t matter who lived here—it was something in the house itself.

But Forbearance Wynton’s book had saved her, had given her the power to protect herself. Forbearance had been able to protect herself too, though in the end they accused her of being a witch, and they killed her.

In the darkness of the night, Angel had conjured up a vision of what it must have been like. She’d pictured Forbearance Wynton and her mother bound to the great oak tree in the old cemetery, with wood, kindling, and brush piled around them.

She saw a man step out of the crowd to ignite the fire.

Margaret Wynton’s husband.

Forbearance Wynton’s father.

Her father
.
.
.

Angel had imagined herself tied to the tree then, her father coming toward her, bearing a great flaming torch that he held high as he gazed furiously into her eyes.

“You should have loved me,” he whispered. “All you had to do was love me.”

He bent forward to kiss her, but she pulled away, and after gazing at her one more time with eyes that were filled with a fury greater than any she’d ever seen before, he touched the torch to the piled brush and the flames began to dance around her, leaping ever higher until—

She’d shut down her mind then, but the memory of what she’d already thought and pictured lingered.

A witch.

Josiah Wynton had called his daughter a witch.

And in the night, stroking Houdini’s soft fur, she’d known he was right. Forbearance had used the strange book she and Seth had found to protect herself.

But Angel was certain that Nate Rogers’s daughter had never found it at all. And she had died. Her father had killed her.

But it hadn’t happened to Angel.

She and Seth had found the book, and used it, and it had protected them.

So there it was—Forbearance Wynton had been a witch, and so was she.

And so was Seth . . .

But they didn’t burn witches anymore. In fact, no one even believed in witches anymore. So she was safe.

She and Seth were both safe.

Finally, she’d fallen asleep, and when she awoke this morning, she knew exactly what she would do.

She would be herself. Not the self she’d always hated, but the one that Seth had shown her when he first put the makeup on her face, accentuating the features she’d always hated. So she dug through her drawers and found a black turtleneck shirt and black jeans, and when she put them on and looked at herself in the mirror, she realized that Seth was right. She wasn’t as fat as she’d always thought; in fact, if she lost ten or fifteen pounds, she might actually have the beginning of a real figure!

And when she threw the black cape over her shoulders, she saw that Seth was right again. She didn’t look terrible at all.

And she didn’t feel terrible either. She felt better than she’d ever remembered feeling on any morning of her whole life, and when she went downstairs and saw the look on her father’s face, she felt even better.

This morning she hadn’t been afraid of him; this morning, he’d been afraid of her.

And it was true at school too. After Seth had told her what had happened last night, she decided to wait in the upstairs corridor until Zack showed up, just to see the look on his face when he saw her. When Chad and Jared showed up without Zack, she’d been afraid that her cousin might not show up at all, that perhaps he hadn’t come to school that day. But the expressions on the faces of both Chad and Jared told her that the effect she was having on them was what she’d been hoping for. And then when Zack finally showed up and looked like he might actually faint at the sight of her, it had been all she could do to keep from laughing out loud.

She’d managed to keep a straight face, and when she walked straight toward him, he hadn’t tried to block her. He just got out of her way, as if afraid she might put some kind of hex on him.

Now, in the silence of the hallway, Angel took a deep breath, pulled the door to her classroom open, and stepped inside.

Mrs. Brink was just turning to write something on the chalkboard, but catching sight of Angel, she froze, her mouth hanging open, the chalk hovering in her fingers a few inches from the board.

The entire room went dead silent as her classmates turned to stare at her.

Yesterday, Angel would have wished she could fall through the floor and vanish.

Today, she simply went to her desk, took her textbook and notebook out of her backpack, settled herself into her seat and let them stare.

It felt good.

In fact, it felt very good.

Chapter 40

LAKE BAKER KNEW SOMETHING WAS WRONG THE
moment Ed Fletcher walked unannounced into his office. He assumed it had to be the golf game—the game Ed had not won. “Hey,” he said, holding up his hands in an exaggerated gesture of mock defense. “I don’t like being sandbagged any more than you do, and I told Seth as much. I don’t know when he’s been practicing, but the way he was playing those last nine holes, he looked like a scratch golfer!”

Ed Fletcher’s countenance only darkened. “So what else has Seth been working on that you don’t know about? Martial arts, maybe?”

“Seth?” Baker said. “You gotta be kidding. He’s—” He hesitated, then shrugged helplessly. “Look, Seth’s my kid, but let’s not kid ourselves—he’s not what anyone would call the fighting kind.” When Fletcher said nothing, Baker went on, now uncertain where the conversation was headed. “Come on, Ed—we both know how the other kids have always treated him, and I’ve been telling him for years that sooner or later he’s got to learn to take care of himself.”

“Think there’s any chance that he finally did?” Fletcher asked coldly.

“You want to tell me what this is about?”

“Zack got beaten up last night,” Ed Fletcher said, keeping his unwavering gaze on Blake Baker.

“By Seth?” Baker asked incredulously, as what his client was implying dawned on him “Come on, Ed, Seth’s afraid of his own shadow, for Christ’s sake!”

“According to Zack, the shadows were exactly where Seth was waiting for him,” Fletcher said sarcastically.

As he related Zack’s version of what had happened last night, Blake’s incredulity only grew. “What time did all this happen?” he asked, interrupting before Fletcher was finished.

“About six-thirty. That’s when Sheila Jacobson called, anyway.”

“So why didn’t you call me last night?” Baker asked.

Fletcher glared at him. “By the time we got back from the emergency room and got Zack cleaned up, it was late.”

Baker’s eyes narrowed. “Not that late. Especially given what you claim happened.”

Ed Fletcher took a deep breath. “Which is part of the reason I didn’t call last night,” he said. “The thing is, Zack gave us a couple of different versions of what happened. First he said Seth hit him, then he said Seth threw him into a tree.”

Blake Baker’s brows arched. “Oh, yeah,” he said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “My hundred and thirty pound kid who spends most of his time at a computer screen is going to throw your hundred and eighty pound football player into a tree. I mean, come on, Ed!”

“I’m just telling you what Zack told us,” Fletcher said.

“What about Sheila Jacobson?” Blake asked. “What did she say?”

Fletcher shrugged. “She didn’t see it—she just found Zack and called us and the ambulance.”

“So all you have is Zack’s word.”

“Why would he lie?” Fletcher demanded. “I mean, getting beat up by Seth? It makes him look like a wimp!” Before Baker could respond, Fletcher reined in his anger. “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have said that about Seth. He’s a good kid—he always has been. But the thing is, I just can’t figure out what happened last night. Being thrown into a tree—I know, that’s hard to believe. And I know as well as you do how pissed off Zack was after Seth beat us Saturday afternoon. I’d hate to think my own son would beat anyone up because he lost a tournament. But I know that Zack has a temper, and that he hates to lose. So for the sake of argument, let’s just say that it wasn’t Seth that jumped Zack. Let’s say it was the other way around. So how did Seth manage to slam Zack’s head against the limb of a tree?”