Sing Sweet Nightingale (16 page)

It takes a minute to give her the list—quartz, lazulite, bloodstone, sugilite, scapolite, rhodizite, spinel, red jasper, and obsidian—and tell her to rush everything.

“It won’t be cheap, but I’ll get you as much as I can,” Dawn says.

“Quick is better than cheap.”

When I hang up, Horace is still examining the burned-up insides of my cell phone.

“If this is what they can do to a phone, I hate to think what they would’ve done to your head,” he mutters, tossing the broken phone onto my smoldering mattress. “Guess I don’t have to ask where you’re goin’ today?”

“You
did
want those concept plans, right?”

I ignore the way my legs tremble as I push myself to my feet. Unlike the last two times a demon tried to kill me, this time I know it was Mariella’s demon. I hope he didn’t take his failure to kill or capture me out on Mariella. I hope she’s alive when I get to her house.

The exhaustion of last night’s battle knocked me out until after nine, so as soon as I clean myself up—hard to do when most of my clothes smell like smoke—I head over to the Teagans’.

The stones I couldn’t sneak into Mariella’s house last night are sitting in the backseat. How do I get them inside? One of the amethysts is about the size of a football. Sneaking it in isn’t going to be easy.

So I won’t sneak it. Amethyst is beautiful. A lot of people have geodes on display in their houses. After being invited over for dinner, a thank-you gift is a very nice gesture.

I hope Dana agrees. It’s the best idea I have.

When I pull up in front of the house, I stuff as many of the smaller stones in my pocket as I can, and pick up the largest amethyst geode and a black jade statue for Mariella before walking up to the house.

A couple of kids are playing hockey down the street, and a bluebird chirps as he swoops a few feet over my head. It’s a peaceful summer day, bright and warm. No one on this street knows what it’s like to live fearing that, at any moment, you could die in a burst of light. Or vanish completely.

I don’t know what would happen if they got to me. All I know is I don’t want to find out. And I don’t want Mariella to find out either.

“Good morning, Hudson!” Dana grins at me and steps aside to let me in. “You just missed Frank. He left about twenty minutes ago. Had some things to work on at the office.”

“Oh, I can come back later.” I’m glad he’s not here. It gives me a solid excuse to be here this evening. “I wanted to bring you this.”

I hold out the geode, and she stares at it for a second before reaching out to take it.

“Horace and I collect crystals. We wanted to give you this to say thanks for having us over for dinner last night.”

Dana’s cheeks turn a little rosy. “You really didn’t have to do that. It was a pleasure to have you both.”

“Amethysts are supposed to be good for clearing away negative energy,” I tell her. Dana raises her eyebrows, and I nearly wince. Damn. There has to be something more positive to say. “And, uh, they bring luck.”

“Well, thank you, Hudson. It’s very thoughtful,” she says, carrying it into the dining room and placing it in the center of the table. “Purple is my favorite color.”

I peek into the living room and the kitchen, but I don’t see Mariella. There’s a faint pulse of bass coming from somewhere in the house, so I guess she’s upstairs. Maybe she only comes downstairs for dinner? If that’s the case, I need to get invited to dinner again.

“Yeah, um, we owe you a favor. We’ve burned through most of the restaurants in town already. And, anyway, even good takeout can get old fast.” Dana glances at me, and I smile. “Until the renovations on the kitchen are done, we’re pretty much stuck with it, though. Home-cooked food was a nice break.”

Dana puts her hands on her hips and watches me for a second. Then she smiles and says, “We’ll have to have you over more often until that kitchen gets done.”

It starts soft but builds quickly—the static sparks I felt when Mariella was around last night. Without moving my head, I look toward the stairs. Because of the vaulted ceiling, I can see the edge of her legs poking around the corner. It’s the same spot where she sat to listen to her mother’s performance last night. I don’t know if she can hear what we’re saying, but it’s probably a safe bet that she knows I’m here.

“We don’t want to impose,” I tell Dana, keeping most of my attention on Mariella.

“Oh, no imposition! We’re more than happy to have you.”

“Thanks. I’ll let Horace know. He’ll be thrilled.” I turn to go, but then stop like I remembered something. “Um, Horace said something about concept plans? That’s what I needed to see Frank about. Horace wanted a copy of some concept Frank mentioned last night.”

Dana’s cheeks get pinker as she stammers, “The c-concept?” She swallows and starts nodding like a bobblehead doll. “Of course! Frank would be happy to show them. We both—I mean, they’re Frank’s designs, of course, but he’s more than happy to share them!”

I smile. “You don’t happen to have a copy here, do you?”

“Yes!” Her eyes widen, but then her lips purse and her eyebrows furrow. “I mean, I think so. Let me check.”

She runs off, and a door crashes open. Rummaging of paper and drawers opening and closing, and then, “Hudson, let me call Frank. Make yourself at home, okay?”

The door closes, and I’m left alone with my watcher at the top of the stairs.

“Spying isn’t polite, Mariella,” I call softly, turning in her direction.

A gasp and a soft
thump
, and then there she is, standing at the top of the stairs in red plaid pajama pants and a baggy gray shirt, her long hair unbound and spilling over her shoulders. She’s running her thumb along that glass bird in her hand, and the orange light surrounding her is crazy bright. I wonder if she knows what she kept from happening last night.

“Brought you something.” I pull a statue as tall as my hand out of my pocket and hold it out. Being near her sets off sparks along my skin, but next to the lightning of last night, this is as painful as a puppy licking my face.

Her eyes narrow, and she stares down at the statue like it might attack her. It’s a rearing horse, its hooves raised to pound someone into the ground. I wiggle it a little like it’s dancing.

“It’s carved from black jade. Thought you might like it.”

Her eyes widen, and she takes a couple of steps down. And then stops. I move forward about a foot and offer the statue again. Mariella walks down three more steps.

Jesus. This is like coaxing out a terrified stray dog.

I step closer, and she flinches, her head twitching to the side and her empty hand coming up to rub at her ear.

That last step intensified the static sting. Mariella rubbed her ear at the same moment. I don’t hear anything, but she’s jumpy. Does she feel the static when she gets too close? Is that why she practically
ran
from me last night?

I look down at the blue light surrounding me. The edges of it are dancing like waves on a rough sea. I look at the edges of the orange light around Mariella. It’s doing the same thing.

Our energies are reacting to each other, like two chemicals that don’t want to mix, and they’re trying to keep us apart. Maybe it’s some kind of warning system.
Stay away
, it’s trying to tell me. This girl is tied to something dangerous.

Too bad that’s exactly why I want to stick around.

Inching forward, I place the statue on the bottom step and back away.

Twelve

Mariella

Saturday, August 30 – 10:39 AM

Hudson eases away from the bottom step, moving like he thinks I might bite him.

I’d almost gotten used to the feedback, but now it’s worse. More intense. And the tingling is back, too. The noise may not have anything to do with Hudson, but this pins-and-needles thing only happens when he’s around.

I shudder and wish I could go back to when it was contained to one arm. It’s everywhere now, moving in waves across my body like a rolling pin covered in electrodes.

Clenching my teeth and tightening my grip on my nightingale to help ignore the pain, I take another step down. Instead of looking at Hudson, I stare at the statue he’s set on the step.

He brought me a horse. How strange is that? Not the horse itself—I suppose it’s normal for someone to like horses—but for him to bring me one
today
? After losing the race last night, I’m not sure I want to see anything equine.

Is the universe mocking me?

Taking another few steps down and shuddering when the pinpricks pick up intensity, I consider the statue sitting in the center of the step.

It’s carved out of black stone, but the detail is incredible. The horse’s mane looks like it’s flowing in a breeze, and its mouth is open in a silent cry.

The longer I look at it, the more I think it isn’t mocking me. This is a reminder of the progress I made last night. I lost, but I surprised Orane with how fast I finished and I surprised myself when I figured out how to sense the energy that controls and shapes his world. Crouching down, I wrap my hand around the cool stone.

The feedback ratchets up about fifty decibels, going from dial tone to rock concert in a split second.

I jump and let the statue go.

The whining, grating noise quiets again.

What the hell was
that
? It’s a rock. Isn’t it? There’s not some speaker hidden in there that plays things straight into your head, right? Can’t be. That doesn’t exist, or I would’ve heard about it. I would own one.

It’s a rock. Just a rock.

Unless it’s not.

Is this some kind of trick?

I look up at Hudson, prepared to pick up the statue and chuck it at his head if he’s laughing at me. He’s not. Hudson is frowning and watching me carefully, his black eyes narrowed and deep lines etched in the skin surrounding them. He looks worried. Genuinely concerned.

So, not a trick then. Maybe.

Taking a deep breath, I try again.

The feedback gets louder as soon as my hand closes around the horse’s body, but the intensity is less. I can bear it. Standing up, I examine the workmanship on the statue. I’m so focused on the horse that it takes a second for me to notice the change.

There’s another sound underneath the feedback. The longer I hold the horse, the more both sounds start to warp, one overtaking the other. It’s hard to place, but I’d say it’s like the ring of a glockenspiel or maybe a pure note from a violin. Even the pinprick tingles have quieted—not gone, but almost bearable.

I glance at my other hand and see my nightingale. The glow coming off my tiny glass bird is so strong I have to blink to clear my vision; it leaves sunspots across my eyes.

Smiling, I stroke my thumb along the bird’s back and grip the statue tighter. It’s not the statue changing the noise; it’s Orane.

It’s so nice to listen to a chime instead of that stupid feedback noise that it doesn’t bother me that Hudson is silently watching me. He can stay here all day; I don’t care.

“Do you boys like curry?” my mother asks as she comes out of my father’s office carrying a roll of papers. She blinks when she sees me standing on the stairs. “Oh. Mari, honey, you’re down early. Are you hungry? I wasn’t going to start making lunch for a while yet.”

I shake my head, and she glances between Hudson and me, speculation in her eyes. Hudson smiles and holds out his hand for the papers my mother is carrying.

“Horace and I eat pretty much everything,” he says, answering her question. “I’m gonna go drop these off with Horace, but do you need help with anything today?”

“What do you mean?” My mother’s forehead wrinkles. I know my face is mirroring hers. What
does
he mean?

“Until school starts, I’m at loose ends.” Hudson shrugs, the action rippling muscles most people don’t know exist. Who needs that many muscles? “And I don’t really know anyone in town yet, so I figured I might as well see if you needed help with anything around here.”

My mother’s eyes widen, but she smiles and shakes her head. “That’s very sweet, but you don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind. I like being busy.” He smiles, and a second later my mother caves.

“Actually…” She bites her lip and glances toward the back of the house. “I’ve wanted to rip some bushes out of the backyard for a few months now, but I haven’t gotten around to it. It’s kind of a big project, but—”

“No, that’s perfect.” Hudson says it like he’s afraid she’ll change her mind.

Wow. Be careful what you wish for, I guess. I wasn’t serious when I thought he could stick around. Neither of them asks for my opinion.

Hudson leaves to drop off my father’s concept and change clothes, and my mother calls Teagan Designs to relay exactly what happened to my father.

I walk upstairs with my new statue, but when I turn into my room, I have to squint.

All of the gifts Orane has given me over the years, glass figures and trinkets like my nightingale, are spread out along the top of my dresser, my nightstand, and my desk. They always glitter with a pearly, iridescent glow, but now every single figure is burning like a star about to go supernova. And the chime is swallowed by that obnoxious whine again.

I wince and drop Hudson’s statue onto my bed. As soon as the stone leaves my hand, the light from Orane’s gifts dims. It’s a lot brighter than normal, but it’s better. Or maybe I got used to it. The volume on the feedback gets turned down, too.

Testing a theory, I wrap my hand around the statue again.

The glass gifts pulse and explode with color, blazing so bright that closing my eyes and looking away doesn’t help—an image of my bedroom sketched in light and shadow is burned onto my retinas. The rise in volume is a split second behind the change, but the chime doesn’t return. Only the feedback.

Shuddering and letting go of the horse, I open my eyes, peeking through squinted lids to make sure it’s safe. The light is too bright, but it’s not as powerful. I think. My vision is so washed out, it’s hard to tell.

Plopping down onto my bed, I stare at the horse. The detail on the carving is exquisite, but it’s just a stone statue. It doesn’t glow like the gifts from Orane’s world, and it doesn’t seem to be anything except what Hudson told me it is—a hunk of rock.