Me, My Elf & I (27 page)

“But didn’t it upset you?” I ask.

“At first, then you learn to ignore it, then you learn to use it. Martin’s right. This kind of chatter only makes people more interested in the music. Heck, if I had rumors like this about me, I’d love it! I could stage a huge comeback.”

I shake my head. The whole thing makes me nervous because some of those rumors are a little too close to the truth. But of course I can’t tell Timber that. “I’ll be right back,” I say to him. I find my dad piling fruit and cheese on a paper plate. “Can I please use your Treo?” I ask him quietly.

He frowns at me. “No, Zeph. Come on. You’ve got your friend here. Don’t start with that again, please.”

“But Dad,” I insist. “I want to check out those rumors for myself.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t pay attention, Zephyr. It’ll only make you crazy. You have to ignore it. It’s nothing new.”

“But Dad!” I say.

“Stop,” he tells me. “The Treo’s down in the van anyway, which is in the parking garage, so I couldn’t give it to you if I wanted to. Just drop it.”

I walk away, but I’m not ready to give up. I stand off to the side with my arms crossed against my chest.

Timber finds me. “What’s the matter, Zeph? You look p.o.’ed.”

“I can’t get Dad’s Treo and I really want to see who’s spreading those rumors.”

“I don’t know what good it’ll do, but if you really want to . . .” Timber pulls a sleek white phone out of his back pocket. “I got you covered. Use my iPhone.”

We go back to the couches and start Googling my dad. We find all kinds of crazy rumors, most of which are just ridiculous but I want to find out who started the ones about him being in a cult and being married to his cousin. We keep going through chat rooms and blogs until we find a post in a folk music chat room from six days ago—the day after Bella and Timber broke up.

I gasp when I see the name of the poster then I nearly yell, “It’s her!”

“Who?” Timber asks.

“Bella.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re getting a little paranoid, aren’t you?”

“Nightshade,” I tell him. “Deadly nightshade. Devil’s cherries.”

“Now you’re starting to sound like the kooks who go to these chat rooms and spread weird rumors about witches and magic and cults.”

I shake my head. “No, it’s her. The password to her secret blog is
belladonna,
which is another name for the plant deadly nightshade, also called devil’s cherries. And this stuff she posted is the same stuff she put on her own blog. Bella is the one who started these rumors.”

Timber takes the iPhone from me and puts his hand on my leg. “Look, even if she did write this one, it’s not the only one. People get a little nutty over rock stars, which is what your dad is now. So they post all kinds of weird stuff. Whoever this Nightshade person is, is just fueling the fire and like Martin said, it’s not such a bad thing.”

“But she knows where we’re from,” I tell him as my stomach ties itself into knots. “Nobody else does.”

Timber blows it off. “So what? People can find that stuff out if they really want to. Plus, most people aren’t interested if your dad’s in a cult, or where he’s from. And anyway, you don’t even live there anymore, so what’s there to worry about?”

Obviously, I can’t answer his question, but I’m still not convinced there’s nothing to be concerned about. “Search Alverland,” I tell him.

He types it in and we wait. Several links come up for weird things like some Swedish guy’s blog and something in what looks to be Arabic, but then at the bottom I see a link to a blog called Drake-o-phile. We click it and find an entry from some nut job who went looking for Alverland so he could join my dad’s supposed cult. At the bottom are blurry photos. I jump up from my seat. The first photo is of Main Street in Ironweed. I see the grocery store, the stoplight, the houses, and the library. The second photo is of a path behind a barn outside of Ironweed where we exit and enter the woods. The third photo is grainy and hard to make out, but it looks like whoever took it zoomed in from far away on a group of elf kids in tunics playing hide-and-seek on the rocks of Barnaby Bluff.

“I have to tell my dad right now!” I exclaim.

Timber shakes his head and points to the TV screen. “Can’t. They just got called onstage.”

I drop back down to the couch. “This is bad, Timber,” I say, shaking my head. But he’s not paying attention because he’s too busy reading whatever that freak Drake-o-phile wrote.

“Hey check it out,” he says. “Isn’t gothboi your man Ari?”

“How’d you know that?” I ask.

“He IM’ed the other day about a gig he’s doing next week. But look at this.” He hands me the iPhone and I scan through the comments below Drake-o-phile’s photos.

“Oh my goodness.” I feel close to tears. “That’s so nice of him.”

Timber takes the iPhone back. “You want to IM him and say thanks?” He hands me the phone. I start typing.

“Check it out.” Martin turns up the volume on the TV in front of us, then he plunks down on the couch beside me. “They’re on. This is going to be hot. Super hot. Your dad is a star, baby, a star! I’m going to take this song all the way to number one!”

Timber elbows me and snickers, but I can’t laugh at Martin. I’m so furious that I can barely pay attention to my dad singing or to the fact that Timber is right beside me. Nothing feels more important to me right now than getting back at Bella. No matter what my grandmother Fawna says, sometimes revenge is the only thing you have left.

 

That night when we get home to Brooklyn, I grab a flashlight and I head straight for my mother’s special pantry with all her herbs, tinctures, tonics, and books of remedies. I close the pantry door behind me so my dad and brother won’t know what I’m doing. My piddly magic with its silly wart hexes isn’t enough for what I want to do to Bella. I know that somewhere in this pantry is a special book. One that is handed down from healer to healer in the family. It was my great-grandfather’s. Then it was Fawna’s. Now it’s my mother’s. Some day it will likely go to Bramble, since he seems to be the one with the best magic of all us kids. But for now, I want this book for myself because it holds the secrets of casting powerful spells, both good and bad, and I’m going to need all the help I can get.

As I’m searching, I hear Dad in the kitchen listening to the messages on the answering machine. I try to tune out the noise, but it’s hard because the phone is right next to the pantry. Most of the messages are from potential clients for my mom, but then there’s one that catches my attention.

“Hello Mr. and Mrs. Addler. My name is Maria Arellano Sanchez. I’m Mercedes Sanchez’s mother. I’d like to speak with you about my daughter’s actions at school. I’m sure your daughter is very upset, and my husband and I feel that Mercedes must apologize to you and your daughter in person.”

I hear my dad muttering, “What? Huh?” Then he calls out, “Zephyr!” I stay quiet. Before he can call my name again, my mom’s voice comes through the speaker. “Drake, we have a problem,” she says in a quivery voice, and I know something must really be wrong because she’d have to go all the way to Ironweed to use the phone, which no one does unless something awful has happened. I grasp the flashlight tightly, bracing myself to hear that Grandma has taken a turn for the worst, but that’s not what it is.

“Today some of the men were hunting and they found a man sneaking around up on the bluffs with a camera,” Mom explains. “He’d been taking pictures. He said he wanted to join Drake Addler’s cult. The men told him to get out. They said they’d never heard of you, but he obviously knew you were from near here. Everyone is very upset.” She pauses. I hear her pull in a shuddering breath, then she continues, even shakier than before. “Everyone says it’s the work of the Dark Elves. They’re all so angry with us. They don’t want the children and me to stay. They’ve asked us to go before we cause any more harm but Willow is refusing to come. My brother Cedar has offered to drive us down to Calumet so we can get a bus back to New York. I don’t know what to do.” Then she breaks down and cries.

I’ve never heard my mother sob. Crying out of sadness is a rare thing for elves. Listening to her weep makes me feel like my chest is being crushed under the weight of a hundred fallen trees, my throat is full of stinging wasps, and my eyes are filled with tiny sharp pebbles. Is this what it feels like to have your heart darken? I don’t know and I don’t care. All I know is that this is Bella’s fault.

I stay paralyzed and sweating, scrunched inside the pantry as I listen to my dad storm through the house, calling for my brother and me. I keep my eyes closed tightly, trying my best to keep my own cries silent until I hear my father stomping up the stairs. Then I open my eyes and wipe away the stream of tears as best as I can while I search for the book that holds the secret to my perfect sweet revenge. My powers might be weakened and my heart may darken, but I will exact vengeance on Bella, no matter what it does to me.

chapter 14

THE NEXT MORNING
I dress carefully. I don’t choose my best or most beautiful tunic. In fact, I put on the most ordinary one I own. It’s rusty brown, the color of fall leaves, and has only simple dark brown stitching around the hems. I pull on leggings, my boots, and my hat. These are work clothes where I come from and today I have work to do.

The last thing I do is put my hunting amulets around my neck. A bear’s tooth that my grandfather gave me for protection. A piece of flint Uncle Cedar carved into the shape of a bobcat for stealth. A small bone from the ankle of a deer that Aunt Flora gave me for swiftness. And a polished river rock for clear vision from Grandma Fawna. Plus, I have one other amulet in my pocket. A new one that I stayed up late last night to make.

My dad is gone. He left right after he learned Mom, Persimmon, Poppy, and Bramble were banished from Alverland. He’s going to drive along the bus route back toward Michigan until he finds them and can bring them safely back to Brooklyn. Grove is supposed to take care of me, but, of course, he’s still asleep and anyway, I can take care of myself. I shove my books in my knapsack, lock the front door, and head for the subway, prepared for the hunt.

 

I’m not scared of the big green doors at BAPAHS anymore. I fling them open. Nor am I intimidated by the crowded halls. I weave through the kids, getting occasional stares from people who know more about my business than they have a right to, but I don’t care. I’m on a mission to find one person and one person alone. I scan the faces for her face. I listen intently for her voice or for someone else to say her name. I know how to track an animal through the forest—this is no different.

It doesn’t take long to find her perched on top of a table in the center of the courtyard, surrounded by Tara, Chelsea, and Zoe. So predictable. She sits cross-legged with a paper coffee cup in her hand, tossing her hair over her shoulder and laughing between sips of her morning brew. Luckily no one else I know is in the courtyard right now so I hide at a corner table obscured by a trash can and bury my face in a book as if I’m studying. I’ll bide my time, patiently and calmly waiting for the perfect moment in my pursuit.

The first bell rings and most people gather their belongings. Bella takes her time. Never flustered. Above the rules. This only plays to my advantage. The courtyard empties out. Her gals leave one by one, blowing air kisses to one another as they head off in different directions to their first classes. Bella lingers, finishing her coffee. She’s in no hurry and neither am I. I stay put, head down, waiting for my chance. She picks up her books and heads toward the trash can with her empty coffee cup in hand.

As soon as she tosses the cup away, I look up. “Oh, Bella!” I say. “I didn’t see you out here. How are you?”

She narrows her eyes at me, cocks her head slightly to the side as if trying to decide how to play this situation. Then she straightens up. “I’m great,” she says, and brushes past me.

I join her, step for step. “Hey listen.” I put my hand on her arm to slow her down. “I feel really bad about what happened. You know, with Timber.”

She pulls her arm away from me as if I’m burning her. “Whatever. I don’t care, you know. I broke up with him. And I was going to long before you came along.”

“I know,” I say. “But still, you’ve been so nice to me and I just hope that there are no bad feelings between us.”

“Okay sure.” She slows down and gives me a little smile, but I can see the smirk in the corners of her mouth. “No bad feelings.”

Before she can turn away, I reach into my pocket. “So I brought you something. It’s an amulet. I remember how much you said you liked mine.” I pull out a long green cord of braided silk. On the end I’ve tied a small linen satchel. “It’s got all kinds of things inside for luck.” She eyes the necklace curiously. “You know, for the audition today.”

She looks up at me. “Are you still doing that?”

“I had to go away for a week because my grandma got sick, so I didn’t get to practice.” I push the amulet toward her. “I remember the dress you wore to the first meeting. Mr. O’Donnell really loved it and I thought this would look good with it.” Bella reaches out and snatches the amulet from me. “I really hope you get the part,” I say.