Moonset (9 page)

Nine

“I knew they were trouble from the very first
day. None of that ‘they were quiet children;
good children’ namby-pamby nonsense.
Those kids were spoiled, powerful, and reckless. Someone shoulda seen Moonset coming
a mile away. But people are idiots.”

Jack Wyatt (S)
Carrow Mill, New York:
From
Moonset: A Dark Legacy

“I saw something the other day when I went to the gym,” Mal said a few days later. I was waiting in his kitchen for the coffee to brew when he dropped this little bomb on me. “The kind of thing you were talking about, remember?”

The problem with the coffee maker at home was that it hated me. Every time I tried to use it, the thing grunted and hissed at me like it was some kind of demonic creature. Possessed, no doubt. But Mal had no trouble with his, and so nearly every morning I made the frigid walk across the street for coffee.

I did my best imitation of a Mal morning grunt, one that said, “Really, I’m fascinated. Please, tell me more, and take as long as you need. Use big words.”

He chuckled quietly, then looked pointedly at the T- shirt I’d come over in. “Go grab a jacket or something. We can stop and get coffee after.”

Well, he did use the magic word. I went upstairs, grabbing one of the hooded sweaters that was fitted on Mal, but loose and roomy on me. I didn’t need a jacket to run across the street, and none of us ever really locked the door, so there was never any fear of getting stuck outside. Until Mal decided on a field trip.

I figured wherever we were going would be near either the gym or the coffee shop, since those were the only two places that Mal went with any regularity. “One of the guys at the gym was talking the other day, telling me about this house,” Mal confided as we got into the car. He was behind the wheel, of course, because he was the only one that the adults trusted to drive, and because I was still barely conscious.

“What house?”

“Well, it’s not a
house
. It was some kind of city building. Like a rec center or something? Anyway, there was a fire a few weeks ago.”

Mal started taking side streets at random, first zigging then zagging in a vaguely nauseating manner. I kept getting jostled around the passenger seat, and while it helped wake me up a bit more, it did nothing for my mood.

“And why do we care?”

“You’ll see,” he said, glancing at me from the other side of the car. “It’s hard to explain.”

A few blocks later, Mal pulled over to the side of the road. We weren’t
that
far from the downtown area—I could see the big clock tower that was Carrow Mill’s pride and joy in the distance. I had no idea where we were other than that, though. There were almost as many side streets as houses in this town, making it a veritable maze of suburbia.

“I was curious, so I went looking for it,” Mal continued as he got out. I did the same. “It’s one more creepy thing to add to this town’s r
é
sum
é
, though.”

The building had been gutted by fire, a white finish that in the best spots was now a sooty gray, but the entire second floor had been consumed by flames. It looked like a house, but it was more of a duplex or triplex.

It wasn’t just that there’d been a fire that had basically destroyed the house, though. I saw now why Mal was so interested in it. There was something in the air, a sense of foulness that made the house and everything around it seem a hundred degrees colder.

Mal crossed into the front yard, and I followed, feeling a pressure bearing down on me like we’d crossed an altitude threshold. My ears twinged, threatening to pop at any second.

But there was more. Mal vaulted up the porch steps, stopping at the center unit’s front door.

“I know I’ve seen this before somewhere,” he said. “Do you know what it is?”

There was fire and smoke damage everywhere I looked, but the burns on the door were … different. There was a pattern in the char. It looked like there had been
two
fires. The one that had swept over the entire building, and caused serious damage to the door, and one even older than that, one that had gouged a pattern into the wood.

At first I couldn’t see it for what it was, but after a moment it snapped together, like eyesight suddenly going from blurry to clear. There was a circle, almost completely shaded in, and waves trailing off of the side, like when Cole was really young and drew his suns with wavy rays instead of straight and all his teachers kept trying to correct him.

It
did
kind of look like a strange sun, but the rays coming out from the sides were more like tentacles, writhing away from the center. The entire image was scarred deep into the wood, except for the sliver at the center that still hadn’t been touched. Originally, the front door had been painted white, and there was a strip that still gleamed against the darkness next to it—a strip that was shaped like a crescent moon.

I reached out and brushed my fingers against it. The wood was still hot, burning against my fingers. As the feelings of
heat
and
damp
registered in my brain, my eyes saw the impossible. The tentacle
moved
. It strained forward, shifting clockwise as if it could somehow break free. The wood was still hot, burning, against my fingers. “What the hell!” I snatched my hand away, backing up several feet. “Did you see that?”

I understood what Mal was talking about now. There was a weird vibe to the building. Almost like déjà vu. But this was something else. There was a memory of words in my head, a memory that I was sure hadn’t been there before. A voice, broken and tattered, that was pressed against the side of my mind from the outside. Like a stamp, or a scar.

“
We only need one.
”

“You heard it, right?” Mal wasn’t looking at the door at all, in fact he had his back to it entirely.

“I heard … something.”

“What do you think it is?”

I shook my head. More mysteries. “Who’d you say told you about this?”

“Some guy at the gym,” he shrugged. “He looked like a gym teacher or something. You know, sweats and stained T-shirts, hair that tries to convince everyone isn’t thinning, and all that.”

Was the house haunted? Was that what this was? Maybe some kind of psychic imprint or something? I didn’t know much about ghosts or residual energy, but there was definitely
something
going on here.

Mal interrupted my reverie. “You sure you haven’t seen this before? I
know
I’ve seen it somewhere.”

I might have seen the symbol somewhere before, but it didn’t ring any bells. “I’m more concerned with the voice. And why did someone tell you about it in the first place?”
We only need one?
One what? And who needed it?

“I don’t think he was a witch. They always give you that ‘yeah, I know who you are’ creepy look, and then they move as far away as they can,” Mal said darkly.

“Next time you go, see if you can find that guy again. Find out if he knows anything else about the house.”

“And the symbol?” Mal asked, as we walked back to the car. I turned back to the front door, remembering the way the tentacle had
shifted
like it was alive.

“We’ll have to look for that, too.” Magic was a language, and that meant there was a written component, too. Maybe the symbol on the door was some kind of spell, and it had been carved there by whoever’s voice had been in my head. Written magic could be just as devastating as the verbal kind—it definitely could have burned down the house.

The question was why.

We headed towards Main Street and the coffee shop, just as he’d promised. Mal turned the radio up the moment I got in, and we left the discussion of the fire and the symbol back at the house. Carrow Mill didn’t have a Starbucks or a fancy coffee place, but it had the mom-and-pop equivalent, and that was good enough for me.

“Told you we’d meet again, big guy,” an amused voice called out before I’d even finished climbing out of the SUV.

It was her. Ash. Sitting on a sidewalk bench not twenty feet from us, completely oblivious to the way my heart dropped into my stomach. She had her phone between her hands, thumbs still texting away even though her eyes were on me.

“Who’s this?” Mal said as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his gray sweatshirt, eyes already crinkling and a smirk on his lips. Ugh. He was going to be a dick about it, I could already tell.

“This,” she said, “is Ash.” She stood up, a Styrofoam cup in hand. Like she was a model on display. And I mean, I didn’t exactly mind. She was wearing a leather jacket over a purple top and jeans tucked into her boots. She looked like she was about to kick someone’s ass. I just hoped she’d let me watch.

“Of course you are,” Mal said slowly, giving me the side eye. “So
you’re
the girl he met.”

If you swallow me up right now, I promise I won’t mind,
I prayed to the earth.
Actually,
on second thought, take him instead.
I waited, hoping that the sudden cave in that swallowed up my brother wouldn’t do too much damage. But nothing happened.

Ash looped her arm through Mal’s. “Obviously. I’m guessing you’re the big brother?”

“Unfortunately.”

The pair of them went inside, as though I wasn’t even a factor anymore. Wait, what the hell? How had that happened? I hurried in after them, nearly tripping over my feet. Inside, the coffee shop was all blacks and somber greens, which actually fit my mood perfectly. A girl showing more interest in Mal than me wasn’t unusual, but the fact that Mal was encouraging it was.

Love seats and couches were spread out into tiny little nooks, broken up by dust-covered plastic plants trying to feign the illusion of privacy.

“I like this one,” Mal said as he craned his neck over one shoulder to look back at me. “How’d you find a girl this fun, anyway?”

I glared in response.

“She found him, of course,” Ash said, stepping up to the counter and flashing that devil-may-care grin my way. “Come on, Ponyboy, let’s figure out what you’re drinking.”

Even though I didn’t want to, I stepped forward like a dog being beckoned. Eager, even. “Coffee.”

She tsked. “Not even going to try a bold new flavor?” I could hear Malcolm chuckling behind us. “Don’t worry,” she said without looking back at him, “we’ll deal with your drink next.” She stared up at the menus, hand written on tiny little blackboards. “I think you’d like the Turtle Mocha.”

I looked at the list of ingredients. “Definitely not. It’s more syrup than coffee!”

“Spiced Apple?”

“I’m not a big fan of apples.”

She snorted. “I don’t think that’s really possible. No one hates apples.”

Mal laughed. “He didn’t say—”

She held up a finger. “Tut tut, bigger brother. You’ll have your turn. Grown-ups are talking.”

I don’t think a girl had ever talked to Malcolm like that in our entire lives. We exchanged a look, both shocked into silence. Girls flocked around Malcolm like he was the second coming of swiveling hips and rock and roll. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

Ash snapped her fingers a few times, still focused on the menu. “Come on, Captain No-Fun, don’t be boring and ask for French Vanilla.”

“I like French Vanilla!”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“You’ve met Jenna, remember? Rule number one, you never upstage the star.”

Her head tipped and her smile widened. “Good point.”

Malcolm coughed. “Better hope she didn’t hear that.” Ash glanced backwards, and Mal added, “They have that whole twin-brain thing.”

I turned, placing my hands on the railing. “You should finish your errands,” I said. “We’ll be fine.”

“Oh, but I like the brother. He can stay,” Ash decided.

Malcolm, traitor that he was, didn’t help matters. “Errands can wait. ”

There had to be a spell that caused an acne outbreak. Maybe pair it with something to make his hair fall out. Jenna would probably know, I mused. I’d have to ask her.

Mal deserved it.

“So Justin got a bowl cut, all because his sister and I told him it was the coolest haircut ever.” The three of us sat down by a small, round end table.

“So he just … let you cut his hair?” Ash had her hand over her mouth, trying to hold in the laughs. Malcolm was a decent storyteller, lots of arm motions and animated reenactments.

“I didn’t
let
them cut my hair,” I said, trying not to sound testy. But seriously, why this story? Why? “They kept harassing me until I finally gave in. I just wanted them to shut up.”

“It’s the power of peer pressure,” Malcolm agreed. “I think that’s the last time he listened to the two of us.” “And,” I added, “I was seven. Who doesn’t make stupid hair decisions when they’re seven?”

“I didn’t,” Malcolm volunteered.

Ash chimed in too. “My mother wanted me to get my hair permed, but I said no.”

“Well, you’re both a pair of geniuses then,” I snapped.

Ash giggled, holding her hands over her cup. “Maybe I should have let him get the French Vanilla.”

Malcolm nodded. “Or decaf.”

“So there’s five of you?” Ash sat up, looking between the two of us before centering on me. “And you’re the middle child.”

I nodded. “Guilty.”

“Not to be weird or anything, but you guys don’t look at all alike. You sure you’re related?”

Mal slid in smoothly, the way he always did. “Adopted. Kind of a long story, but Justin and Jenna are the only two who are actually blood related. The rest of us are just siblings by choice.”

“Huh,” she said, mulling that over. “Five kids, all the same age? That’s a little weird. Your house must be insane in the morning.”