The Umbral Wake Page 11

  With a grin, he snatched the notebook from Scribble’s hands. One by one, with laughter all around, he stripped page after page, letting them drift into the wind. Scribble watched his work drift and flutter, scattering like wild birds as the pages vanished into the moist air, sticking to fences, lampposts, slipping beneath dumpsters. He was beyond crying now, beyond begging; he only felt numb—except for the throbbing in his knuckle and wrist.

  Emil held up the clear glass vial in front of Scribble’s face, dangling it there before his eyes, his image distorted in its surface.

  “Take it,” he said, his voice soft, almost kind.

  Scribble blinked.

  “I said take it.”

  Scribble reached out, expecting Emil to drop it through his fingers. Or the older boy would pull it away, or snap it like he did the pencil. As if on a string, Scribble reached up with his good hand and closed his fingers around the cool glass.

  “Now take that to Hetch,” said Emil, lowering him to the ground. “And come see me the next time you are off to get a haul. From now on you don’t work alone no more. You go it?”

  Scribble nodded, looking at the ground. He watched their shadows vanish, their feet step on the torn pictures. He stood holding his prize alone.

  Chapter 15

  Bollingbrook

  DONA WANTED TO make sure she wasn’t crazy first. The apparition she had seen in that window could have been the result of something else—exhaustion maybe, shock from witnessing the suicide… maybe it was some bad salmon from the recital.

  She reached the Montegut House around midnight and stared up at the window, pondering what she was planning on doing.

  Illegal activities aren’t the proper behavior for a lady of your stature, her father’s voice chided her. At least that voice was easier to ignore as she reached over the side latch and unlocked the fence.

  The backyard had become a miniature jungle with high vines and sunflower stalks six feet tall. Dona reached out to touch one as she walked through the knee-high grass to the back door. She could see it was locked, the bottom of the frame sealed with dirt. A fine layer of dust coated the handle of the door without a trace of handprints. No one had been here for ages.

  So maybe it was the salmon after all, a hopeful voice in her mind said. Mystery solved! Time to go back home to your warm bed.

  Dona cupped her hands and peered in through the glass, but saw nothing, only darkness and blackened silhouettes. Giving one paranoid glance over her shoulder, she placed her coat on one of the small square windows and punched it. Glass shattered with a muted crack and fell to the floor inside. She reached in through the hole to open the door from the inside.

  You do realize, said the persistent voice in her mind, by breaking in you have eliminated the only evidence that the house was unoccupied. Also, now you are a criminal. Congratulations.

  The house was as dark and dry as a sealed vault, the sharp lines of the covered furniture all softened with dust. Cobwebs obscured her path like curtains, and she used her coat to brush them aside, trying not to think of how many spiders she might wake. The old piano that had tormented Melissa with lessons too hard and too boring, sat at the base of the stairs, its keys a matching shade of dust gray.

  Again that voice in her mind persisted, See? She couldn’t have been in here. There wouldn’t be these cobwebs. It’s clearly the salmon, no doubt about it. A warm cup of cocoa, a blanket and a book are waiting for you at home.

  She turned up the aged stairs, feeling them creak unflatteringly beneath her feet, each step a Herculean effort as the void above drew closer. More cobwebs blocked her path at the top. Beyond them, Melissa’s room.

  Dona had been in here once or twice, though apparently never as often as the twerp had. She stared at a room that had changed little since Melissa lived here… when Melissa lived.

  Standing there now, the place felt cold. Dona sniffed.

  Why do I smell pine needles?

  Thick dust coated the wooden floor, creating grim snow from the closet to the window. Dona stared at it, her mind doing little flips trying to come to terms with what she saw. The path of footsteps traveled from the open closet door, paused at the bed, then ended at the window. There Dona saw a wider clear patch, the place where someone had recently sat down, or kneeled—hiding perhaps.

  Hiding because they had just been spotted, said that voice again. Hiding against the wall from someone looking up at them from the street.

  They then continued to the far wall behind Melissa’s bed, and circled back to the closet where they vanished inside. There was nothing in the closet but some boxes and stuffed animals, dresses still unworn, dusty books, a doll. The footprints traveled to the darkest corner then vanished.

  Dona stepped inside, pressing a hand against the very solid wall. She knocked on it, stood back, and scowled.

  “This isn’t the salmon,” she told the voice. It didn’t reply.

  Perhaps she was going crazy after all, under so much constant pressure, not just from school, from this charade she played with Tom.

  Dona couldn’t explain what unnerved her so much about the girl. She was small, weak, easy to bully and push around—just so long as you didn’t let her open her mouth. Once that gob of hers started yapping, you couldn’t shut her up. The twerp would rattle off your life story, blabbing it to everyone around you, flaying you open for the world to see just how sad and miserable you really were.

  That wasn’t the worst of it, Dona knew. It was the fact that the twerp had pitied her. Dona’s cheeks felt hot just thinking about it.

  “Where’d he hit you this time? Did he do it again where the coach wouldn’t see?” Skyla’s voice chanted in her mind. If it had been a lie she could have laughed it off.

  She sighed and stepped out into the hall and out to the stairs. It’s all just nerves. I bet in the daylight you can’t even see these footprints. Or maybe they are from some other vagrant squatting here. I am probably just creating all this in my head. That salmon did taste rather funny…

  A breeze brushed the back of her neck and Dona froze in place on the staircase. Gooseflesh rose on her arms as Dona turned, her eyes wide. A dull footstep echoed through the house from the bedroom—thump.

  It’s just the salmon! The voice was more desperate now, begging her to continue down the stairs and out the door, begging her to run as fast as she could. Dona ignored it, turned and walked silently back to the bedroom door. This time the room was occupied.

  The twerp was taller by several inches, but still thin, waifish. Her clothes weren’t the rags Dona remembered, but clothes covered in straps and pockets—the outfit of a jewel thief.

  Skyla didn’t see her, not yet anyway. She stood facing the far wall as if reading something on its surface. On her head she wore what appeared to be a leather aviator’s helmet. Under one arm, she held a ridiculously large box camera, the kind that Dona had sat in front of for yearly family portraits. The twerp held up the camera and snapped several pictures, unaware she was even being watched.

  It was the missing finger that finally made Dona gasp, the cut so clean it could have been carved in marble. In the dim light from the streetlamps outside Dona could actually see the cross section of bone.

  The girl spun around at her. Even behind the goggles she could see the surprise on her pale face.

  “Dona!”

  “Sk-sk-sk-yla!”

  Before she could even breathe, the twerp turned, took two steps and leaped into the closet, slamming the door behind her. Too late, Dona grabbed the handle and swung the closet door open, blinking at the pitch-dark interior. There was nothing, just the cold hardback wall of the closet, as solid as it had always been.

  That was not the salmon.

  Dona turned and ran.

  Chapter 16

  Bollingbrook

  IT WAS NICE, playing house. Julian’s parents had been on holiday for a week, and would be for another week yet. In that time, he and Tom had lived the fantasy—knowing in
the back of his mind that a fantasy was all it could ever be.

  His eyes traced the darkened form beneath the sheets next to him. His fingers went unconsciously to that bandage over Tom’s shoulder, worry creeping into his thoughts. This whole arrangement with Dona had been fine with Jules up until now, up until danger became a reality.

  Tom snored and Julian found himself smiling. Though it made it difficult to sleep, the reality of that rhythmic breathing was somehow comforting, almost amusing. It was, quite possibly the first time he had been annoyed with Tom over anything. Still buzzing from the strange and wonderful mix of emotions, Jules stared out the window at Bollingbrook’s Grand Cathedral, feeling more like an adult for the first time in his life.

  While other boys his age were off courting girls, Julian was studying in his room, preparing for seminary. When his childhood friend Aston told him about his first kiss, Julian had simply nodded and winked, wilting a little inside that he could share nothing of his experiences, could reveal nothing of the person who made him happy. Instead he was Julian, the confidant, Julian the great listener.

  Not that it mattered anyway. In a year he would be off to seminary and Tom would be married to a mutual friend. He should have been happy about things as they were. It was for the best.

  For the best, he thought. That was a laugh. What would Father Thomas say? Would he judge? Would the man send him to reeducation, working the coal generators to the rhythm of prayer until his mind had changed? Julian didn’t think so; Father Thomas had been a lot of things to him, but never a judge, never a condemner.

  A deep chime startled Julian as a thrill ran down his back, making him sit up in bed. Tom barely stirred as the doorbell rang.

  “Door…” Tom muttered into the pillow.

  “It was nothing.”

  “Lies.”

  “Stay in bed,” Julian said.

  “I intend to.”

  Julian stood and got dressed. His eyes searched the streets first as he raced through his mental checklist, the story he would stick to, the lies he would tell. But the streets were empty, no constables standing guard at the door, no Holy Guard here to drag him and his lover into the night.

  Anyone visiting at this hour would have to be a friend, right? The Church didn’t know, Mayor Perlandine didn’t know. That didn’t help the nagging worry in his mind. Tom was old enough to be charged, and they had both read the books on how those sorts of criminals were punished.

  A loud knock sent Julian’s feet to the cold floor. “I’ll get it.”

  He slipped out of bed and felt Tom’s grip on his arm, warm and strong and cautionary. He looked down and saw that Tom’s eyes were open. He held Julian in his gaze, the bandage on his shoulder glowing blue in the moonlight. Nothing was said.

  “I know,” said Julian, pulling away.

  As he passed the guest room, he stopped at the extra bed to pull the sheets back, rumpled them, tossed some of his clothes in there. It wouldn’t be the first time a priest had come by at a late hour, upset over some misfiled paperwork, or remembering some sermon notes at the last minute. And there was nothing suspicious about a sleepover between friends, right?

  He peered through the peephole and rolled his eyes in relief as he opened the door. The figure on the porch was small and blond, her blue eyes wide and bright. Victoria gave a thin-lipped smile and a tiny wave.

  “Hi Jules.”

  “A bit late,” he said.

  She gave him an analytical stare that he had seen so often before. “Surprised you haven’t been celebrating—all this free time with your parents out of town.”

  “Well, I’ve still got school work,” he said. “I am still trying to get Father Franklin up to speed before I leave for seminary. You can imagine how that’s going.”

  “Still?”

  “He’s forgetful.” Julian shrugged. “I actually had to file his sermon cheat cards last Sunday. I think he might be senile.”

  “You can afford to relax a little bit,” she said. “It isn’t like they are going to send Holy Guards into your house.” She paused and he studied her face for a hint of a joke.

  “What do you want, Vicky? It’s after midnight.”

  “I know it is,” she said, cocking her head. “May I come in?”

  Before he could answer, Victoria was already inside, crossing the living room and perching on the edge of the couch. She stared back at him with a pout of overwrought concern.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked.

  “It’s Dona,” she said.

  “Is she all right?” He yawned, closed the door, and crossed the room. He sat in the leather chair across from her. “She’s been at church, so I never suspected.”

  “You mean Tom hasn’t told you?”

  “Told me what?”

  She lowered her voice. “She’s been… troubled lately, acting distracted… strange. She won’t tell me what’s wrong, and now I can’t find her.”

  “She isn’t at her house?”

  Vicky shook her head. “I went by and her father said she was out. I thought that after her birthday party she would want to tell me what’s bothering her. I mean she told Tom.”

  Julian ignored the tone. “I’m sure she was planning to tell you eventually.”

  There was no response. Victoria looked beyond Julian at the landing. He turned to see Tom standing there in his striped pajamas, rubbing his eyes. Julian was glad it was dark in the living room, hoping that Victoria wouldn’t see the color rising in his face.

  “I thought you were Dona,” said Tom. He yawned. “Hi Vicky.”

  “I…” Jules began.

  “We had a late night,” said Tom. “Jules had this mess of paperwork and I was trying to help him after dealing with the mayor all day. They want to do another parish consolidation. You know: organization by committee.”

  “I’m aware of it.” She looked at Jules. “You know it’s funny, Julian because I could have helped you with this. The archbishop gives me flexible hours now and I can help pull any strings you need taken care of.” She giggled. “It’s such a small world you know?”

  “Yes, yes it is,” said Jules. He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the walls closing in. “I’ll definitely take you up on that. Thank you.”

  “Tom,” she said without missing a beat. “Did Dona say anything to you at all about what’s bothering her? I was supposed to meet her tonight and now she’s gone.”

  “I haven’t seen her, no.”

  “Your own fiancée?”

  “Nope. She isn’t on a leash you know,” Tom said. “She’s as busy as the rest of us these days.”

  She rubbed her hands together, a knot forming between her eyebrows. “I just… oh, after Melissa, I guess I’m just worried all the time. This city used to be so safe. Now people are vanishing… killing themselves even. It’s just terrifying.”

  The two boys stared at her, the dramatics of her performance wasted on both of them. Those who grew up knowing Victoria were well aware of these themes. Rumor had it that her intern position with the Grand Cathedral was a direct result of her theatrics.

  “I’m sure she’s fine,” said Tom. “I’ll check on her in the morning if that’ll make you feel any better.”

  “I can do that,” she snapped. “I was hoping that we might all be able to figure out what is bothering her so that maybe we can help… together.”

  Jules felt cold. “If you’re suggesting reeducation...”

  “I said no such thing.” She sniffed. “I only meant that if our friend is troubled then we need to do our very best to support her. Surely you agree.” She turned to Tom. “And Tom, I’m surprised you haven’t seen a change in your own fiancée.”

  “What sort of change could you mean?” Tom asked.

  “You know… she’s been short with people… secretive. I just know she is keeping something from me.”

  “You think she’s not allowed to have her own secrets?” Tom’s grin was visible even in the dark.

&nbs
p; A moment passed where Victoria seemed almost surprised by this question. She blinked. Dabbed at her eye, and said, “Well, she’s never kept secrets from me before. Nobody keeps secrets from me.”

  Julian wiped his hands on his pants. She knew. Of course she knew. Nothing gets by you, he thought. You’ll weave these little snippets together into a noose to hang around all our necks.

  “I’ll ask her more directly next time,” said Tom. “Will that ease your mind? Look, we’re very tired. It’s been a brutal night.”

  “Yes… I’m sure it has...” She stood and flounced across the room. As she reached for the handle, a knock from the other side stopped her. She turned to face them, her mouth in a surprised O.

  Julian rushed to the door as Victoria held it open. There stood Dona, who appeared just as surprised to see everyone.

  “Oh, Dona!” Victoria cried, throwing her arms around her friend. “I was so worried. Tom was in fits. He hasn’t slept a wink!”

  Dona hugged her back, looking over her shoulder at a bewildered Julian. He shrugged.

  “I’m fine,” said Dona. “What are you doing here?”

  “I should ask you the same.” Victoria pouted. “I’ve been so worried. We were supposed to go over those patterns, remember? You don’t mean you’ve forgotten about the dress patterns? We’ve had that planned for weeks.”

  “Was that tonight?” Dona looked around the room. Her voice sounded tired, defeated. “I—I’m sorry, Vicky. I’ve been distracted.”

  “That is an understatement.” Victoria grabbed her by the hand, pulling her into the house and across the living room. Dona looked from her, to Julian, to Tom as Victoria sat her on the couch.

  “Why is everyone here?” Dona asked. “Why are you all here?”

  “Vicky was just concerned,” Tom said, trotting down the steps to sit beside her. “She’s been up all night it seems.” He shot the girl a pointed look.

  “More like terrified,” said Victoria. “You know how things have been ever since Melissa.”