Ask Me (19 page)

“I didn’t,” I said quickly. “I don’t.”

“I mean, looking back …” She glanced around the room, presumably to see if Shelley was paying any attention, but she had moved on to torturing some other girl.
She leaned toward me and whispered. “Looking back … maybe what they’re saying about the hit-and-run is true.” She cringed, like she couldn’t believe she’d said it out loud.

I wasn’t sure what to say. So I nodded and said nothing.

That wasn’t enough for Delilah. “Do
you
think it’s true?”

“Yes,” I said. Yet another confirmation.

She slumped down, elbows on the table, hands on her head, her hair sticking out between her fingers. A single tear built in the corner of her right eye and trembled there.

I took a quick glance around the room. No one was paying any attention to us, not even Mrs. Pratt, who was dealing with a silverware catastrophe.

“It’s not your fault,” I said, reaching my hand out but stopping short of touching her.

She didn’t seem to hear me. “If I’d just made her tell me, maybe none of this would have happened. Maybe she’d be here, and he’d be in jail. I mean, why did she have to die? Why?”

“To shut her up,” I spit out, feeling sick. A fork fell from my fingers and clattered against the table.

That got her attention. She lifted her head to look at me, the tear finally falling. She opened her mouth to say something, maybe to ask something else, but I held up my hand.

“Delilah,” I said, my voice shaky, “can you keep a secret?”

I wasn’t sure if Delilah actually believed me, even after she asked me a few questions and got my typical random responses back. She took it better than I’d thought she would, actually. She didn’t question my sanity outright or anything like that. She just looked confused, which turned quickly to anger at Alex. I told her how I’d been the one to call the police.

I knew I shouldn’t have told her, but I felt lighter the rest of the day. I didn’t even let Will’s absence at lunch bother me. I planned to go see him after school to see how he was doing, like any friend would.

And Delilah had left home ec saying she would call or talk to me later. Heaven help me, I was looking forward to it. Gran and Granddad wouldn’t know what to think. I was actually developing a social life again. My last girlfriend had abandoned me in the seventh grade. Jen Ashley had stuck by me through that first summer after I
turned twelve but had given up once school started, and the true weight of my gift had come to bear. I had never really told her why I had suddenly started spouting nonsense. I wasn’t really sure myself, until I went to live with Gran. My mother never talked about the gift, and after the truth about Dad came out, she spoke with me as little as humanly possible.

Maybe the teachers felt everyone deserved a break today, because Mrs. Rogers didn’t say a word about my earphones in art class even though she disapproved. And if Shelley had any pointed comments to share, I was oblivious to them. I didn’t go near her desk the entire time or even look up from my work. My self-portrait was starting to take shape, emerging out of the murk. Alex was conspicuously absent. I avoided looking at his desk.

I kept my headphones on all the way out to my car, The Pierces oddball tune putting a spring to my step. I had to admit it: in spite of all the terrible things swirling around me, I felt good. I wished it hadn’t taken a tragedy to change my life, but my world was no longer just a sea of Shelleys. I had friends for the first time since I’d developed this curse. Maybe, dare I even think it, something more than a friend.

I had just turned that thought over in my mind when I saw Will leaning against my car, parked in its customary spot at the far end of the lot. I broke into a short run before I collected myself and slowed to a fast walk. He was watching me as I approached. He seemed to be smiling, but I honestly couldn’t tell. The left side of his face was multicolored and swollen. All you could
see of one eye was a tiny slit, surrounded by the deepest purple. Strangely enough, the right side of his face was as perfect as normal, making the contrast all the more startling.

I slowed down as I reached the Colt. “How are you?” I asked. “Are you okay? What are you doing here?”

“You’re the one full of questions today,” he said. He held out his hand to me. I glanced over my shoulder and took it. I had taken my time at my locker after class, and the parking lot was already half empty. No one was near us. Would it matter if there were people around? I had nothing to hide.

I stopped myself before I apologized. “Well,” I said, “shouldn’t you be at home in bed? Your eye …” I trailed off. He surely knew better than I did how he felt. But he looked like hell.

He pulled me closer, and I took another step toward him. “It looks worse than it is,” he said. “And I’ve got more important things to do than lounge around in bed.”

“Oh?” Was that a compliment?

“Yeah,” he said, suddenly serious, the half-grin dropping. He took my other hand so that he held them both in his. “After what happened this morning, I’ve been thinking. If I had been able to talk Jade into dropping Alex, maybe none of this would have happened. I never realized what a violent streak he has.” He turned his face to the right, and I nodded. Close up he looked even worse. If I hadn’t seen the fight with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed Alex had it in him. “I need to ask you something.” He pulled me even closer and bent his head to look me in the eye. “Who’s going to be killed next?”

The question hit me hard, and I gasped for air. “Shelley,” I said. “A new blade, a hunting knife, new prey, falling the same way.” My knees gave out, and Will gathered me to his chest, tucking my head under his chin. I took a deep breath, taking in the clean, soapy smell of him. It spread through me, giving me strength.

“Shelley,” he said thoughtfully. “That wasn’t who I expected.”

I stayed where I was and spoke into his chest, my words absorbed into the soft cotton of his T-shirt. “It makes sense,” I said. “She’s been terrorizing Alex and me in art class.”

“Both of you?” he said, tilting my chin up.

“One who delights in the torture of others often has much to hide, and the easiest to attack are those that don’t fight back.” There I went, sounding like Confucius, but it was true enough. Shelley had more secrets than most. “She’s always been mean to me,” I continued, “but lately she’s been really …”

“A bitch,” he finished.

It hit me then what we were talking about so casually. “Do you really think Alex is going to murder Shelley?”

“You said it yourself,” he said. “Shelley’s next, and it makes perfect sense, if what you’re saying is true.” His eyes searched mine. “What do you think?” he asked deliberately.

“As I say it, so it is,” I said, my voice dull, the words like lead in my throat. I was surprised at how numb I felt. Only moments ago I’d been on the verge of something approaching happiness.

Will took my shoulders in his hands and pulled me upright. “You get home,” he said. “Take care of yourself. Can you drive after that?”

“Yes. What are you going to do?”

“The same thing,” he said. “Don’t worry about it. He’d be stupid to try something tonight, after getting in that fight with me this morning. We’ll figure out something tomorrow. Mom already said I could stay home tomorrow and take it easy.” He pointed to his eye.

“Okay,” I said. I didn’t have any better ideas. Maybe it was time to confide in Gran.

I PUSHED THE COLT
and made it home in record time, though I really only shaved off five minutes.

Gran was home alone, baking a key lime pie. The sour tang of lime juice hung in the kitchen, mixed with the smell of the sweetened condensed milk.

“Gran,” I said, “I need to talk to you.”

“Go ahead,” she said. “I’m not like you young folks. I can do more than one thing at a time.”

Now that I was here, I wasn’t sure what to say. Maybe it was best to get right to the point. “I think there’s going to be another murder,” I said.

Gran stopped her stirring. Her wrinkled lips pressed into a flat line, her worried eyes on mine.

“Alex is going to kill Shelley. She’s a girl at school.” I left out the bitch part. What difference did it make? No matter how rude or crude you were, you didn’t deserve to die.

Gran carefully set her spoon down on a paper towel. “You’re positive this girl Shelley is going to be murdered?”

“Murder most foul, as in the best it is. But this most foul, strange and unnatural.” I recognized that from
Hamlet
. I wanted to whack myself in the head. Now wasn’t the time for Shakespeare. I sat down at the table, suddenly out of breath. All of these questions revolving around death were getting to me.

“Alex is that other boy that came here to our house?”

“Dark of hair, dark of eye, long of limb,” I said and added a “yes” in case that wasn’t clear enough.

“You look a bit pale,” she said and brushed her hands on her apron.

“It’s hard,” I said. “All these questions about death.” I rubbed my forehead. I was a little clammy, even with the omnipresent heat.

“Aria,” said Gran suddenly, “are
you
in danger?”

“My future is unclear, but danger is certain,” I said. The same stabbing pain that had hit me when talking about Jade settled in, and I doubled over. “Gran,” I gasped, “no more questions right now, please! I can’t take it.”

“What’s going on?” asked Granddad, coming into the kitchen.

I groaned. “Death is coming,” I said, my voice stronger than I felt and unnaturally deep. I lowered my forehead to the table and concentrated on breathing.

Gran rubbed my back. “Shhhh,” she murmured. “Just breathe, Aria, just breathe. I know what you’re feeling right now. Just breathe.”

Did she? Did she remember how awful it felt? She only ever talked about how she missed it, that uplifting feeling she would get when she prophesized, that feeling of
rightness. I never felt that way. Had she ever been doubled over with pain with the cold fingers of death spreading through her body?

“Ellie, please tell me what the hell is going on,” Granddad stated, knowing better than to use the interrogative for once. I heard the scrape of a chair as he sat down at the table.

“Aria is in some kind of danger,” said Gran.

“Why?” he blurted, unable to help himself. “Oh, Jesus, sorry, Aria.”

His apology wasn’t enough to stop my answer. “My gift, my heritage, my meaning … my salvation and my damnation.” I squeezed my eyes shut, tears leaking from the corners.

Gran’s hand stopped moving on my back. “I think it’s time,” she said. “We need to look at the history. Maybe something in there can help us. Help you, Aria.”

I lifted my head from the table as she bustled out of the room. The pain slowly began to subside. Granddad reached for me and brushed the hair out of my face. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured.

Moments later, Gran came back carrying a huge old book. She set it in the middle of the kitchen table, and I swear a cloud of dust came off of it as she did. Granddad sneezed.

It was bound in some ancient-looking dark brown leather with embossed symbols on the spine. Some I recognized, like a crescent moon; others were completely alien, all surrounded by a motif of vines and oak leaves. Metal clasps held the whole thing together, and they were needed; the whole thing was at least ten inches thick.
Something was written on the front, but in an alphabet I didn’t know. Greek maybe?

“What is that?” I asked.

“This is everything,” she said. “Our entire lineage, from the first Sybil down to you. This book has been passed down for generations. Someday it will be yours.” She pressed something on the side, and the book fell open with an audible creak of old leather, roughly in the middle. “I’ve tried to show it to you before but …”

“I’m in here?” I gingerly touched the top page, almost expecting it to crumble. The paper was thick and rough with a creamy yellow color. It looked like something out of a museum.

“Of course. We’re all in here.” Gran turned to the very first page of the book. She had to hold it open with one hand as it threatened to flip back to where it had fallen open originally. “This is the original Erythraean Sibyl I mentioned to you before.”

She tapped her finger on a hand-drawn sketch of a woman in an ancient robe. She looked wise but also rather stern and imposing. Her hair was long like mine, but bound up in complicated plaits.

“How do you think this will help me?” I asked Gran. I didn’t see how learning our history would be of much help right now.

“It has everything,” said Gran. “First questions, last questions, dealing with persecution, advice, ways to focus your talent … I’ll be honest, Aria. It may not help, but it’s somewhere to start. You know that saying: if you don’t know your history, you are doomed to repeat it.”

I don’t think this was what whoever said that first had in mind. On the other hand, at least it was something. I couldn’t handle any more questions, right now, anyway. But Gran knew that. And she knew me. Maybe I
could
find some answers a different way.