Sleight (37 page)

We passed one uninteresting business after another, buildings for commerce and rental cars, the occasional al-night diner, sushi joint, or donut shop. There was so much noise, so many conversations in countless languages, laughing and yeling, the hiss of tires on wet pavement, backbeats streaming out of nightclubs, bad jazz coming from restaurants. If there were shades, I didn’t notice them. I kept my eyes down and tried to concentrate on pushing the auditory assaults into a solitary line of humming in my head. Though this ability to hear everything was stil new to me, I was getting better at managing it.

“We needed more time to get things in place,” Henry said as we crossed yet another street. “Now we improvise.”

“And without cel phones, we’re off the grid.”

“Pretty much. Now we just need to find a pay phone, which could be an impossible mission al its own.”

A pay phone. I’d already forgotten that part of the plan. There had to be phones at the airport, but we were moving away from it at a good clip. It wasn’t wise to hang around the terminal for any longer than necessary, just in case. I missed the lump of my cel phone in my pocket. Strange how I’d grown so accustomed to it in only a few weeks of school.

And about school… I should’ve been elated that I didn’t have to be there, but thinking too much about it would lead to even more questions, about Junie and Ash, about the rumors that would rise like beasts from the depths once people realized that the circus freak and the handsome, weird rich kid had disappeared into the ether. And about Summer Day. I needed to tel Henry about Summer.

Irwin’s words suddenly echoed in my head: There’s someone near us who isn’t what he or she says they are. Was he dreaming about her?

“Henry?”

“Yeah, Gemma…”

“That day at school, when I got burned, it was a shade. He forced my hand over the flame. His little sister kept asking me for help—she said that the ‘mean one’ won’t let them through. Do you know what that means? Do you know who the ‘mean one’ is?”

“Yes.” He clenched his jaw.

“Wel, are you going to tel me?”

“You know who it is.” We stopped at a crosswalk and waited to cross with a diverse colection of people. Neither of us spoke until we’d reached the other side and were clear of listening ears.

“It’s Summer…isn’t it. She’s working for Lucian.” Henry stopped and faced me, his hands on my shoulders.

“Summer is a watcher. Lucian has kept her alive in exchange for her loyalty.”

“He’s kept her alive?” I said. Henry looked nervously around us.

“For how long?”

“Since the Crusades. She was a pagan witch, but she was into black magic. The realy dark stuff. He saved her from the stake and she pledged herself to him. They should’ve burned her when they had the chance.”

“Holy shit.”

“Literaly,” Henry said.

“But wait—she said that you guys have gone to school together since kindergarten. How is that possible? How could she have been a little kid if she’s hundreds of years old?”

“With the AVRA-K, anything’s possible.. Lucian knows that book inside and out, about its magic, and then some,” he said. “I told you. This is serious.”

“Yeah…I know.” I stared at his face, replaying the various scenes of Summer’s involvement in my Eaglefern life—at school, with Ash, that day with the elephants, when she growled at me in the halway. “Why didn’t you tel me about her?”

“I couldn’t. For the same reason I couldn’t tel you about Lucian. But, you have to know, I watched. Everything. Her every move. She knew if she hurt you, if she touched you, she’d be dead before her head hit the ground.”

“She hates you. She said some realy horrible things about you and Lucian.”

“Summer is out for Summer. She has to keep up the act, but she knows if she crosses Lucian, her long life wil come to a sudden and painful end,” he said, stopping and pressing the button at yet another crosswalk. “It’s sad. She’s nothing but his plaything. Has been for centuries.”

“But…what about Ash? She’s been chasing him down, like, with a vengeance. You should see how goofy and girly she acts around him. I think he even has feelings for her,” I said. Ash had no idea what he was dealing with. I wish there was some way I could get a message to him, to warn him about Summer. She would destroy him, in a way far worse than a ridiculously unimportant broken heart, and he wouldn’t even have seen it coming.

“There’s nothing we can do about that now. Remember who Ash is, too. It’s not like he’s been too concerned about your wel-being as of late.” Henry looked annoyed.

“I grew up with Ash. He’s like…a brother or something. I don’t want him to get hurt, Henry.” On top of everything else that had happened to my family, now I had to worry about Ash and Junie and their parents. What would Lucian do to them? What would Lucian do to everyone we’d left behind at the circus?

“And if you told him to stay away from Summer, what do you think his response would be?”

I thought for a moment. “He’d say I was being jealous and stupid, and then he’d carry on as before. Like I’d never said anything at al.”

“Exactly.”

Another crosswalk, another yelow button.

“What about Harbourne? Is he one of Lucian’s minions, too?”

“No, he’s just an idiot. But there are others like Summer. Tons of them, al over the world. Lucian has been building an army for centuries, or at least that’s what the Delacroixs believe,” Henry said. “Don’t think about this too much right now. I need you to stay sharp.” He patted my cheek. “Come on. We need to keep moving.”

After about thirty minutes of walking the streets, we accomplished the impossible: we found a pay phone—with the receiver stil intact—at a 7-Eleven. Henry had to get a transient to move over so we could get to the phone itself, and when the guy grumbled at us, Henry gave him a ten-dolar bil for his troubles. The man stood up and disappeared into the convenience store, but not before pushing his shopping cart ful of worldly possessions next to a garbage can.

“Don’t let nobody steal my dog.” His breath nearly knocked me over. From under the cart, a mangy mixed breed poked out his head and watched his master walk into the store.

Henry puled out the number Ted had given him and deposited enough coins to get a dial tone. He depressed the numbers slowly to make sure he got each one right. We waited, both of us holding our breath, for someone to answer.

“Helo,” Henry said. “I was given this number by Ted Cinzio.” Just the basics, just in case. I watched the homeless guy through the store’s windows. He had made it to the checkout with his purchases, a large bottle of cheap beer and two tins of dog food. At least the poor dog would eat tonight. My eyes wandered over the newsstand along the face of the main counter and I scanned the fronts of the magazines and newspapers that screamed headlines about cheating husbands, reality show scandals, and lovers’

quarrels turned homicidal.

I froze on one of the papers. The local daily out of Seattle.

“Circus teen wanted for questioning in suspicious death of athletic classmate.” I pressed my face closer to the window and squinted to see it better. I had to hold my breath so as not to fog up the glass.

Two tiny photos were nested just under the heavy black headline.

“Yes, okay, we can get there. Fine. See you then.” Henry hung up.

I reached for him, my eyes on the newspaper, my hand searching for his arm so I could draw his attention to what I was looking at.

“Henry…look…the newspaper.” He moved closer to the window and found what I was seeing.

“Oh, my God,” he said. “Oh, this is bad.”

I searched his face, desperate for him to say the right thing.

“Bradley’s dead. He’s dead? And they think I did it?” Henry put his arm over my shoulder and turned me away from the window.

“I didn’t do it! It was Lucian!”

“Sssshhh,” he said, inspecting the area around us. He turned and placed both hands on my face so I would focus on his eyes.

“Gemma, listen to me. We need to get out of here before someone recognizes you.”

“But where are we going? What did the man say?”

“We have to wait for him at the Denny’s on International Blvd.

We must’ve walked right past it.” We didn’t have a map and although the city wasn’t that big, this was unfamiliar turf for us and we’d traveled a twisted route to get to where we were. We risked missing our ride if we got lost.

“We need a map,” I said, starting toward the store’s door.

“No! No, we can’t go in there. Your picture is on the front page.” Henry was quiet for a moment, his thoughts interrupted as the homeless guy walked out of the store with his beer and dog food.

“Hey, thanks, guys,” he said, peeling the lid from one of the cans and placing it on the ground next to the dog.

Henry looked at me, and then to the transient. “Excuse me, can you tel us how to get to the Denny’s on International?”

“Which one? There are two,” he said.

“I don’t know…the one closest to the airport, I suppose,” Henry said.

“Lived here my whole life. Know the place like the back of my hand,” the man said, holding up one of his hands in front of us, as if there were some invisible map etched in its surface.

“And…?” I said. He smiled, revealing gums devoid of teeth.

Money. We were going to have to pay him to get directions. Henry sighed and reached into his pocket for another bil. Maybe we should’ve just risked going into the store to buy a damn map. It would’ve been cheaper.

Once the man had his second ten-dolar bil in less than five minutes, he offered to personaly escort us to the restaurant, if we so desired. Desired, we did not.

“Directions would be great,” Henry said, irritated.

“You head over a few blocks, back to International. Then go north along the main drag, like you’re heading to the airport.

Sounds like you want the one across from SeaTac. You can’t miss it.” He spit a little when he spoke, when he hit the “S” in his words.

We thanked him and headed in the direction he advised. I looked back at the homeless guy, just as he picked up the dog food can and ran his finger around the inside, popping the finger into his mouth. My stomach lurched, and I turned away.

What I did not see, however, was the man watching us walk away as he puled a cel phone out of his pocket and dialed, giving the party on the other end the exact coordinates of our intended destination.

:43:

No enterprise is more likely to succeed than one concealed from the enemy until it is ripe for execution.

—Niccolò Machiaveli, The Discourses

We found International easy enough, just where the homeless guy said it would be. We would’ve eventualy come across it on our own, even without wasting the twenty bucks, but it was easy cash for him, and if it meant the dog would eat, it was worth it.

My photograph was on the front page of the newspaper. I was wanted for questioning in a murder? This was insanity! I was so overwhelmed. My legs felt leaden, my head pounded. My prior grip on the sounds flying at me from every angle loosened, and I felt lightheaded and out of it. I stopped and pushed my hands over my ears. I’d momentarily forgotten about my burn and yelped when the gauze made contact with the scorched flesh.

“Gemma, honey, we have to keep going,” Henry said, trying to pul me along.

“Bradley’s dead and the police think I did it? Lucian did it! I saw him!”

“And that’s what you’l tel the police once we get to that point,” he tried to reassure me, but he looked around the street, his face anxious. “We need to keep moving. And we have to do something about concealing your hair.” He stuffed the length under my coat and puled my colar up high around my neck.

I let him pul me forward along the sidewalk, my body tucked under his arm to shield me from the plain view of cars zooming past on the main strip, my eyes fixed on the sidewalk so I wouldn’t have to make visual contact with anyone passing on foot. I counted the horizontal lines of the pavement slabs—a new one appeared with every third step—and managed to squeeze the noise into a single line of humming. It eased my anxiety to again have that under control.

It felt unfair to hear the planes streaking in overhead. We were so close to the runway that by the time a plane emerged from the cloud cover to land, it seemed you could grab onto a wing if you jumped high enough. It was maddening to be so close to freedom and not take advantage of it.

“Hey, you doing okay?” Henry said.

I shook my head. Ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer.

No, I’m not okay! I wanted to scream. But I had to conserve my energy. One foot in front of the other.

“We’l eat once we get to Denny’s.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Yes, you are. You just don’t know it yet,” Henry said. “Once we stop, you need to eat. I can’t have you passing out from low blood sugar. People wil stare if I have to carry you around the city over my shoulder.” He reached over and kissed the side of my head.

Food was the easiest part of this gig. It was the sleep issue that riled me. We had to sleep at some point. I’d read a book once about sleep deprivation, and al the bizarre things that can happen when a body is denied rest. Within nine days, organ systems shut down and the individual can die. Mental disease sets in long before the ninth day, however, bringing with it paranoia, halucinations, and delusions. But I already had al that, and more.

What difference did it make, to sleep or not to sleep?

The Denny’s sign jutted from between two businesses on the chaotic strip, just across from the airport where the guy said it would be. Our pace quickened in the drizzling rain, and even though most of my hair was under my jacket, the dampness seeped into my scalp and chiled me. I wished I had a hat, especialy now that my picture was plastered al over the local newspapers. How the hel was I supposed to have known that was coming?

We waited for a booth, me standing behind Henry, my head down. He asked the waitress for one in an empty section with a clear view of the parking lot and the door, nearest to the back exit.

“What, you rob a bank or sumthin’?” she joked.

“As a matter of fact,” Henry said, winking at her and giving his best smile. It was the same heart-stopping grin he’d laid on Mrs.