It Begins (19 page)

“It was my fault,” Lucy announced.

Irene and Angela both turned in surprise. Lucy took a deep breath and came boldly into the room.

“It was my fault,” she said again. She could see Irene’s mask of a face, her look of perpetual disapproval.

“Lucy?” Irene raised one suspicious eyebrow.

“I wanted to go to the Festival last night, and I didn’t know how to get there.” Lucy squared her shoulders. “And you know how horrible I am at directions. And Angela
told
me she was grounded, but … but I begged her.”

Irene wasn’t to be swayed. “That’s no excuse. Angela should have known better.”

“But it was my fault,” Lucy insisted again. “Angela didn’t even stay. She dropped me off there, and then she came back to pick me up later. And … I forgot where we were supposed to meet, so she had to come and look forme.”

Irene gave an impassive nod. “I see.”

Lucy glanced at Angela. Angela’s expression was stubborn and defiant. Irene looked at one girl, and then at the other.

Finally she said, “Lucy, I also expect
you
to abide by house rules.”

“I know.” Lucy nodded contritely. “I’m sorry.”

“Both of you go upstairs.”

“What about my credit cards?” Angela demanded.

“I told you,” Irene said. “Canceled.”

With a cry of rage, Angela stomped up to her room. As Lucy stood by uncertainly, Irene gathered her overnight bag, briefcase, her purse and her coat.

“I’ve left the hotel number by the phone. I should be home early tomorrow afternoon.”

Lucy nodded. As Irene passed through the door, she gave Lucy a frosty glare.

“That was very noble of you, Lucy. It’s admirable of you to want to protect your cousin … but in the future, I won’t tolerate lying. Even if you
are
trying to be noble.”

Lucy made a hasty exit, bracing herself against the blast of Angela’s music that shook her bedroom walls. After a while she heard Irene leaving and the music promptly shutting off.

She lay down across the bed and buried her face in her arms. She wanted to sleep. She wanted to sleep and sleep and just forget …

She drifted. She heard the kitchen door open and shut several times, Angela going up and down the stairs, but she was too tired to wonder about it. She wondered instead how she could rearrange the evening now, how she’d
manage to get out of the house. Irene had not only issued orders, she’d confiscated Angela’s car keys. It would be tricky now, getting back to the Festival.

She shouldn’t have worried.

“Come on!” Angela announced several hours later, bursting through the door. Lucy nearly jumped out of her skin.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

“What do
you
think? Going to the Festival!”

“Angela, are you insane? After that major blowup with Irene?”

“Do I look like I care?”

“If someone saw you there
last
night, they’re bound to see you again tonight! Irene’s probably hired spies! She’ll be furious!”

“Trust me …” Angela said mysteriously. “Irene will never know.”

“Angela, what—”

“Don’t ask questions. Just get in the car.”

“But the keys—”

With a Cheshire cat grin, she dangled an extra set between her fingers. “Do I look that stupid to you?”

“Angela—”

“Do you wanna go or
not
?”

Lucy thought about how much trouble they’d be in. And then she thought about the necklace and all that was at stake.

And then she nodded and grabbed her jacket.

“Yes,” she said. “I definitely want to go.”

Despite Lucy’s reluctance—and the fact that Irene had confiscated her license, as well—Angela insisted on driving. Lucy spent the whole ride slumped down in the seat, as though by making herself invisible, no police would dare to stop their car. Unfortunately, Angela wasn’t in such a law-abiding mode—she couldn’t wait to do every single reckless thing she could think of, now that Irene had left town.

“I have a bad feeling about tonight,’” Lucy said, but Angela just laughed.

“Trust me. I will
not
get grounded for this.”

“Angela, you’ve lost your mind. You truly have.”

“I will
not
get grounded or punished in any way, shape, or form, thank you very much.”

“If you say so.”

“Come on, Lucy—just have a little faith.”

Lucy breathed a sigh of relief when they arrived at the Festival. As the two of them walked through the gates, she didn’t even have to come up with an excuse. Angela flipped her a wave and headed straight into the crowd.

“Meet you same time same place,” Lucy said.

Angela beamed at her. “Hey! Don’t count on it!”

“Angela?” Lucy shouted, but the girl just ignored her. “Angela!”

What is she up to?
Lucy didn’t have time to worry about it, though. Byron was waiting for her, as promised, right by the carousel.

“Ready?” he asked.

“As I’ll ever be.”

Taking her arm, he steered her toward the exit. Lucy couldn’t help noticing some of the looks they got on their way—girls eyeing them with a mixture of curiosity and blatant envy. When she was certain he wasn’t looking, she stole a look up at Byron’s face—the handsomely chiseled features set off by that guarded, mysterious stare. Now she found herself wondering if anyone else really understood that
expression, the way she’d come to know it today. She doubted if he’d ever shown such vulnerability before; she doubted he’d ever be so willing again.

Still, seeing the wistful looks cast in their direction she couldn’t help but get a warm feeling inside. She was only human, after all.
Nothing like calling attention to yourself, Lucy.
Her appearance with Byron Wetherly would be all over school by homeroom Monday morning.

The world lay shrouded in black. There were no stars tonight, only a bloodred moon, full and round. As they drove through town to the old church, Lucy watched it, fascinated, as it seemed to follow them through the pale tattered clouds.

“Full moon,” Byron said, noting the focus of her stare. “No wonder things have been so strange around here.”

Lucy suppressed a little shiver. “I’ve never seen the moon that color before—it’s creepy.”

He glanced at her sideways, but said nothing.

The church looked ominous as ever when they pulled up and parked. Byron cut the headlights, and they sat there a moment,
listening to the muffled sounds of the night. The sky flowed like thick oil overhead … a light mist swirled through the graveyard.

“Nice horror movie,” Byron commented dryly.

Lucy nodded. It was the only church she’d ever seen that made her feel so unsettled. And she didn’t feel any
less
unsettled once they’d gone inside.

They stood side by side, their eyes readjusting to an almost stygian darkness. Byron took a flashlight from his jacket pocket and quietly flicked it on. They seemed to be alone. Their footfalls echoed hollowly as they walked up the aisle, and Lucy could hear the faint scurryings of mice darting beneath the pews. As they neared the altar, a fiendish howl suddenly rose up, disembodied, from the gloom. It echoed back from the damp stone walls … wafted through the shadows … shivered down along her spine.

Instinctively she grabbed for Byron’s arm.

Then let out a nervous laugh.

“Cats,” she mumbled. “Matt said they keep cats in here. For rodent control.”

Even Byron seemed momentarily unnerved by the spectral howl. As a large black cat slipped
around the end of the altar, he shone his flashlight on it, causing it to freeze instantly. It arched its back and hissed, then crouched down again and slunk away.

“Not very friendly,” Byron murmured, putting one hand on her back, guiding her gently forward.

“Well, he sure didn’t seem to like
you
much.”

Byron ignored the remark. “Do you see it?” he asked her, squinting through the blackness.

Lucy, too, strained her eyes, running her hands over the dusty altar cloth. “No. But he said he’d leave it right here.”

“Maybe he forgot.”

Lucy sighed. “Then we’ll never find it—he could have put it anywhere. He could have taken it with him, for that matter.”

She turned to see Byron standing by the confessionals, and her heart gave a fearful twist.

“Is this where it happened?” he asked softly. “Where you saw … well … whoever he was you saw?”

Lucy nodded reluctantly. As if merely conjuring the memory might bring it back again in all its terror.

“He must have been in here already,” Byron mused. “Before you showed up. From where I was sitting, I would have seen him go in.”

“He could have come through some other way though. Matt mentioned some cellars. In these old places, there could be lots of entrances, right? Even secret ones.”

“Possibly.”

Byron’s voice echoed, empty and toneless. Even the shadows seemed to slither away from it, skulking along the walls and ceiling, worse than any cats. She watched uneasily as he opened one of the confessional doors. As he shone the light in and skimmed it over the dark, cramped space.

“And when you came out from here … it was just the priest,” he murmured.

Lucy wished they could talk about something else. “But it couldn’t have been him,” she said, almost defensively.

He lifted an eyebrow. “I didn’t say it was.”

He opened the priest’s compartment, following the same slow ritual with his flashlight. He opened the door on the opposite side.

All of them, empty.

“Byron,” Lucy said suddenly, “let’s go.”

He turned to her in wary surprise. “What’s wrong?”

“I … I don’t know. I just. . .”

Her voice trailed away. She cast a nervous look around them, down the center aisle, the intersecting pews, the dirty linen altar cloth.

“Please,” she whispered. Was it getting colder in here? Just like the time before … just like the last time when she’d heard the whisper … followed the voice … seen that malevolent shadow behind the screen …

“Byron …”

And she could see
him
looking now, too, trying to follow the direction of her eyes, trying to see what was wrong. And somehow she knew what would come next … she was
expecting
it—was
ready
for it—and yes, she realized with a shock,
longing
for it, as well, like the scent of a favorite flower or the warmth of a favorite memory that transported the spirit back to sweeter times …

Without another word she turned and ran for the doors.

“Lucy! Wait!”

She could hear Byron shouting at her, but she didn’t stop. She put her hands against the doors and pushed, but they wouldn’t open.

“Oh, God!”

She struggled against them, pushing, pushing, and she could see the crazy arc of the flashlight sweeping the ceiling, over the faces of the saints, the broken shards of agonies and ecstasies and long-forgotten prayers …

“Lucy—for God’s sake—”

With one last effort, her body fell against them, and the doors burst wide and welcomed the night in.

Screaming, Lucy toppled right into a strong pair of arms.

And a very shocked expression.

Shielding himself from her flailing limbs, Matt tried to steady Lucy and keep his balance at the same time. The next thing she knew, Byron had ahold of her, both his arms around her, restraining her and pulling her back.

“Lucy—what is
wrong
with you?”

She stopped struggling. She stared at Matt, who was staring back at her—tousled hair, easy
grin, only now the grimy jeans and sweatshirt had been replaced with black pants, black shirt, and a priest’s collar.

“Lucy!” He gave a relieved laugh. “I didn’t expect to see you in here! I thought I saw a light—thought maybe someone was breaking in.”

She clamped her arms across her chest. Byron had released her now, but she could feel him, the warm, lean strength of him, pressed against her back.

“So,” Matt was trying to peer around them into the darkness. “Is there something wrong? Is there—”

“Byron,” Byron said quickly. “Byron Wetherly.”

The two stared into each other’s eyes. Held each other’s gazes for an extended moment. Exchanged handshakes, firm and slow.

“Oh, Byron, hello. Matt.”

“The new priest,” Byron said.

“Well, more of a gofer right now.”

Their hands unclasped and slid away.

“Well,” Byron said politely. “Welcome to Pine Ridge.”

“The necklace,” Lucy blurted out. “Do you still have it?”

For a second Matt looked puzzled. Then his grin relaxed.

“Right! That green necklace I found this morning. What happened—did you suddenly remember it was yours?” At Lucy’s wan smile, he moved his shoulders in an apologetic shrug. “But … I’m so sorry … somebody else already came by for it.”

Lucy and Byron traded glances. “Who?”

“Well … I don’t know, actually.” Another gesture of apology. “I left it by the altar like I said I would. But I had to leave for a while, and the cleaning lady was here. She said someone came by to claim it.”

“But you don’t know who it was?” Lucy persisted.

“I sure don’t, sorry.”

“What about the cleaning lady? Would
she
know who it was?” Byron asked casually.

“Well … from what I understand, she knows just about everybody around here. Do you know Mrs. Dempsey?”

“Sure. Come on then, Lucy.” Byron nudged her from behind. “We better go.”

Nodding, Lucy looked back over her shoulder,
making one last survey of the church. No cold now … no fragrance. But her heart was still racing, and her blood still had that chill …

“Sorry we worried you,” Byron mumbled, pushing past Matt onto the steps.

“I wasn’t worried,” Matt said.

Lucy glanced up into his face as she passed him. His smile was still warm, still teasing. He gave her a conspiratorial wink, and she quickly glanced away.

As they reached the sidewalk, Matt suddenly called them back.

“Hey, wait a minute—I
do
remember something she said.” At Lucy’s perplexed look, he added, “The cleaning lady. When the guy came for that necklace.”