Blood Brothers (15 page)

The world seemed almost beautiful tonight, Lucy thought.

Matt had reassured her that he could talk Irene into anything. And he'd promised to take care of the headstone. And as Lucy drove through the quiet streets toward Pine Corners, she realized that the snow had stopped falling and that stars were scattered brilliantly across the sky.

She'd told Irene she was meeting Dakota at the bookstore to study. Not exactly a lie, Lucy rationalized—Dakota
would
be showing up later, after she went shopping with her mom. And it wasn't as if Irene paid much attention, anyway—the only thing Irene had been concerned about was Angela's car.

“But it started right up,” Lucy had reassured her. “It seems to be running perfectly fine.”

“Which doesn't necessarily mean it will start right up and run perfectly fine the next time you try it,” Irene had reminded her crisply. “This is a very expensive car, Lucy, and a very good one. You must be abusing it in some way. It never gave Angela one bit of trouble.”

Lucy had bit back an angry reply. But only because Matt had made a mimicking face at her over Irene's shoulder.

Now she didn't want to think about Aunt Irene anymore. Or Jared. Or Byron. Or Wanda Carver's murder, or the sheriff 's interrogation, or the possibility of some lunatic running loose around Pine Ridge.

She just wanted to go somewhere comforting.

She just wanted to believe that her life might finally be getting better.

The Candlewick Shop was crowded when Lucy got there. Those same wonderful smells of musty books and strong coffee and aged wood greeted her the second she came through the door. Mr. Montana wasn't at his usual spot behind the counter; Lucy could hear him talking and laughing with someone in the adjacent room. She was actually glad to slip in unnoticed. As much as she liked Dakota's father, she didn't really feel like having a conversation tonight.

She wove her way around the store, taking her time. She strolled slowly through each section, up and down each narrow aisle, checking out titles from time to time, taking down a book to browse through it. But as the small rooms began to grow more and more packed with customers, Lucy finally headed upstairs.

Disappointingly, she found the second floor nearly as busy as the first. After squeezing herself in and out of several more cramped rooms, she escaped to the the last and tiniest one.

Supernatural section, she realized.
Dakota's favorite.

To her surprise—and relief—there weren't as many people in here. Probably because it was so claustrophobic, she reasoned, with its impossible maze of tall shelves, nooks and crannies, and dead ends.

Pausing inside the doorway, Lucy scanned the overflowing collection of books. She could still remember when Dakota had shown her all these, and the conversation they'd had at the time.

“Some people call it supernatural,” Dakota had told her. “Some call it real. There are just so many things out there that can't be explained or understood—not by our limited human perceptions, anyway. But those things still exist. They still happen. People are still affected by them . . . destinies are still controlled by them.”

“Is that what you believe?” Lucy had been both curious and fascinated with the discussion. “That our destinies are predetermined?”

“I believe in everything,” Dakota had answered. “But the question is . . . what do
you
believe in? Just because you can't see what's in front of you doesn't mean it's not there.”

Lucy sidestepped a reader and moved slowly down the first row of shelves. She'd been right to confide in Dakota, she told herself—it had been absolutely the right thing to do. Dakota hadn't flinched at Lucy's confessions—Dakota hadn't seemed shocked or scared or even all that surprised.

Dakota believed in everything.

And Dakota would keep Lucy grounded.

With a sudden rush of gratitude, Lucy wished her friend would hurry and get here. She felt better with Dakota around. She felt almost like a sane, normal person.

“Is that her?”

The voice spoke softly and at a distance. In fact, Lucy didn't even pay attention to it until she heard the question repeated, and then the muffled laughter that followed.

“Don't touch any books in here. You might get the Lucy Curse.”

Startled, Lucy spun toward the door and saw two girls huddled together, whispering. Instantly she recognized them from school and assumed they were whispering about her.

Her face flushed with embarrassment. Realizing they'd been caught, the girls ducked their heads, giggled again, and quickly disappeared.

Lucy felt sick. Just what she'd feared would happen was actually happening. Were the whispered insults and superstitions outside of school now? All over town? How could she keep going, day after day, knowing how everyone felt about her and trying to act as if it didn't hurt?

Slipping to the end of the aisle, she busied herself skimming through books. Top to bottom, left to right, pretending to read every title. Perhaps at one time they'd been categorized, but now there was just a messy and double-shelved hodgepodge of subjects that were mostly alien to her.

Witchcraft. The occult. Time travel. Ghosts and spiritualism, vampires and werewolves. Death, near-death, and how to talk with the dead. More myths and legends than she'd ever known existed. Satanism. Magic. Dreams and astrology and Tarot cards.

From time to time Lucy glanced around, alert for more whispers. The customers were dwindling now, and the upstairs area was quiet, except for an occasional sniffle and shuffling of feet.
Isolated incident,
she told herself,
no need to get all paranoid.
But in her heart she knew better. In her heart, she knew that facing the kids at school was only going to get worse.

Making her way down yet another aisle, Lucy continued exploring. Symbols and talismans. Zombies. Rituals and secret societies. Haunted houses. Unexplained disappearances. Mysterious ships and lighthouses. Human sacrifice. The history of Evil.

Lucy nervously checked over her shoulder and peeked around the end of the aisle. A scholarly looking gentleman was still in here, and a woman in a purple velvet cape, and three college guys who were taking notes. One of them lifted his head and leered at her, and she moved farther back into the labyrinth of shelves.

She wondered what time it was. It must be almost closing time, she figured, and Dakota still hadn't shown up. Well, she'd wait just a little while longer. Pull out some homework and try to get something done. As she rounded the last row, she spotted a brick-manteled niche in the wall—what might once have been a large fireplace—but was now empty and perfect for studying. She opened her backpack and took out her history assignment. Then she spread out some papers to sit on, wedged herself into the opening, and began to read.

It was warm in here, and she hadn't bothered to take off her jacket. As she flipped back and forth through her textbook, her head began to nod. She was so sleepy all of a sudden, she could hardly keep her eyes open.
Just for a minute
, she thought . . .
I'll finish this page, then I'll close my eyes just for a minute.
Dakota would be here anytime now. Even if she happened to doze off, Dakota would find her and wake her up . . .

Lucy was asleep almost at once.

Before she'd even read another word.

Asleep and blissfully unaware of anything else around her . . . oblivious to the minutes creeping by.

It was the silence, she decided later.

The vast, crushing silence that finally woke her—penetrating her subconscious with a troubled sense of something not quite right.

The room was pitch-dark. For one terrifying second, she didn't know where she was. Starting up in panic, she smacked her head against something sharp, and stars burst softly behind her eyes.

Moaning, Lucy felt her head. Her hair was wet and sticky, her scalp already beginning to swell. A trickle of blood oozed over her forehead and into one eye, and she angrily wiped it away.

She remembered now—sitting down, studying, nodding off. This time she was more careful straightening up. She reached for the top of the opening, to the border of bricks where she'd hit her head. She hesitated, and she listened.

No one was in the room with her now.

And it didn't sound as though anyone was in the entire building.

Still feeling slightly dizzy, Lucy braced one hand against the bricks and shoved herself out. She stood for a moment on wobbly knees, then began searching for the door. If she could just get to the light switch, she'd feel a whole lot better. Even though she was pretty sure now that she was locked in here all alone.

“Mr. Montana?” she yelled.

Why hadn't he woken her up and sent her home? Why hadn't
anybody
woken her up and sent her home?

“Mr. Montana? Is anybody there?”

Lucy was determined to stay calm. As she made her way painstakingly through the maze of aisles and shelves, she reminded herself that this was no big deal, that all she had to do was use her cell phone and call Dakota to come and rescue her. It had probably happened lots of times, people being overlooked and locked in. With the crazy way this place was laid out, how could it
not
have happened before? She'd even managed to find the humor in her situation until she reached the door.

Reached the door and found it locked.

It didn't make sense. She knew the door had been wide open when she'd first come in and sat down—why would anyone close and lock it after hours?

Lucy fought down a fresh wave of fear. She ran her hand along the wall, feeling for the light switch.

She flipped it on, but nothing happened.

The dark seemed to swallow her whole.

“Mr. Montana!” Lucy banged on the door as hard as she could and shouted even louder. “Mr. Montana—
somebody—please
let me out!”

Her heart was pounding in her throat, filling her ears with panic. She flattened herself against the wall and tried desperately to think.

Fumbling blindly, she groped her way back to the corner. She forgot where she'd left her backpack, so when she tripped over it without warning, she fell sideways against the fireplace opening. She heard the painful crash of her shoulder, her feet scrambling for balance, and then something else.

A flat, heavy thud of something falling.

As though a book—or something like a book—had dropped onto the floor.

Lucy felt an immediate upsweep of dust, and backed away from it, coughing. She dug through her backpack, found the flashlight at the bottom, and quickly turned it on.

It
was
a book.

And even at first glance, Lucy could sense that it was unique.

It was of medium size—five inches wide, perhaps, and no more than eight inches in length—but it was extremely thick. The leather binding was brittle and cracked with age, ragged around the edges. The book was caked in dust and mold. A shroud of spiderwebs held it shut, and dampness had disfigured the front and back covers, leaving black sores of decay along the spine.

Even to Lucy's unpracticed eye, it was obvious that this book had been long abandoned and utterly forgotten.

Approaching cautiously, Lucy shone her flashlight over the opening in the wall. She could see now where several bricks had come loose where she'd fallen against them, leaving a deep gap in the mantel.

In spite of the circumstances, Lucy's heart quickened with excitement. What else
could
it be but a hiding place? Someone had taken great pains to conceal this book inside that mantel, no telling how many years ago. But who? And why?

She wondered if Mr. Montana or Dakota knew about it. If
anyone
in Pine Ridge knew about it. Probably not, or else it would be in somebody's personal library right now. Or on one of these cluttered bookshelves, waiting to be sold.

Still, Lucy hesitated to pick it up. She stood over it for several more moments, illuminating it with the flashlight, peering down at its cover. Was that a title, barely visible beneath all that dust? Or some sort of design?

She didn't even realize she was holding her breath.

She knew there was something extraordinary about this book. Something different . . . something ...

Lucy chewed doubtfully on her lip.
What?
What was it about this tattered old book that made her feel such a sense of . . .

It came to her, like a gentle whisper.

Very slowly, Lucy knelt down. She held the flashlight in one hand and reached for the book with the other.

She was trembling.

She completely forgot about making the phone call.

About being alone, about being frightened, about being locked in.

In fact, once Lucy had gathered enough courage to pick up the book, she made herself comfortable on the floor and slowly began to examine her treasure.

At first the book wouldn't open.

As though after all this time, it still resisted being discovered and revealed.

It had taken both time and patience, working her fingers beneath the cover, prying oh so carefully, until at last, and with an almost audible sigh, the book parted itself in her hands.