Blackwood (27 page)

  In his head, a voice said:
Worse than you think
. Another echoed:
Much worse
. He pushed the voices away.

  "Where is she?" Phillips demanded, fighting to keep his panic theoretical.

  Bone rubbed a hand over his cheek in a gesture that made him seem more mature. Maybe his actual age. "She's fine – I mean, awake. Doing better. A lot better." Bone stopped, seeming to choose his next words carefully, possibly the most frightening thing that had happened yet. Finally, he said, "She's with him. The 'master.'"

  
"What?"
Phillips raked a hand through his hair.

  Dee entered the bedroom. He'd changed into a fresh suit, and his skin glowed like a commercial for skin cream.

  
He's getting stronger.

  Phillips wasted no time being polite. "But I didn't choose. You said it was my choice."

  "I believe I told you I could offer
her
a choice, help
her
. I could not stand by watching the poor woman suffer through the purification cycle any longer. Now she'll have time to build her strength before tonight."

  "Where is she?"

  "Come see for yourself. She's much improved." Dee swept out his arm and left the room, obviously meaning for Phillips to snap to and follow.

  Bone got to his feet. "This is bad, isn't it?"

  Phillips nodded. His feet felt inches off the floor, the surfaces around him distant and unreal. As he left the bedroom to see his mother's miraculous recovery, he felt like a ghost.

  Dee preened on the tree-shaded central lawn outside, lifting a hand to point out his mother in the swarm of people.

  His mom's health
had
improved greatly. There was no arguing that.

  Phillips assumed the people around her were members of the returned. Maybe some of them were from her rook club. Whatever, the group was solemn and mixed in age and dress. But his mother chatted and gestured, her energy at odds with the subdued people around her.

  The entire one hundred and fourteen settlers must have been accounted for between the people outside and the ones in the kitchen. Phillips scanned the scene.

  At the edges of the main group, a few uneasy people lurked. He had to assume they were confused family members. He considered trekking over to them, casting his own confused lot with theirs. There was also a smattering of other people. They gave a wide berth to the lawn, toing and froing among the houses like they belonged. They must be the regular theater workers.

  Dee really was going to put on a show.

  Miranda was near the door with Sidekick. She was staring at his gabbing mother. Scratch everything: Dee already
was
putting on a show.

  Phillips' mother saw him and smiled. He lifted his hand, gave a forced wave.

  He was glad she was awake and smiling. But not like this. Not if it meant she had to cozy up to these body thieves.

  She made her way to him, members of the group moving to let her pass. She looked like this was some sort of town event and she was heading over to say hello and catch him up on the gossip. She still wore her sweats, clog straps dirty around her heels.

  He had to admit she looked great. After they moved to the island, too often she had worn exhaustion like a second skin. The weight of her worry was plain as coffee stains and cigarette smoke. All because of him.

  That weight appeared not to exist anymore. Her happiness taunted him. Dee had given her this. Dee had repaired the damage he'd done.

  "Phillips," she said, and pulled him into her arms.

  He let her, but it didn't feel right.

  "I called your dad," she said, speaking louder than she needed to. She pushed him back to arm's length, keeping a hand on his shoulder. "He knows we're both here and that everything's OK now. He'll keep the others away until it's over."

  Dee grinned at his mother, who gave him a stiff smile back. Getting a closer look at her, Phillips decided what he'd read as happiness was simple relief. She'd made a deal with Dee.

  "Everything is most definitely not OK," Phillips said, quietly.

  Miranda walked over, Sidekick close on her heels. The other people outside pretended to be ignoring them, but they were as nosy as the people whose bodies they wore. And the normal people at the fringes, they were nosier. Their town drunk commanded the scene.

  He was supposedly dead, though, so they must believe this was some stranger. They'd still want to know why their mothers and sisters, brothers and sons wanted to hang out with the theater people. Dee must have conjured a convincing story, if they were content to stand by and watch.

  'Master' Dee chuckled.
Chuckled
and said, "Does your mother look harmed? She will be one of mine now, Phillips, an immortal. It's almost like Virginia has come back to us – not in blood, of course, but you
are
her family. It's as if you are one of us, too. There will be a place for you in New London."

  The stiff smile remained on his mother's face. He wanted to grab her shoulders and shake her.

  Miranda appealed to her. "Sara, please. Think. You know Phillips can't be part of this."

  His mom dismissed Miranda's objection. "He can't stop it either," she said. "We are
all
a part of this now, and we've come too far to stop now. The world is going to change. Tonight. And no one has to be hurt for it to happen. We can all get what we want."

  Her certainty sounded like a little kid's. So did her logic.

  "What about your rook club?" Phillips asked. "Your friends."

  "There are some things I'm willing to let go of, and some things I'm not. You're my son. They would understand."

  
Doubtful.
But his mother was too scared to listen. Nothing he could say would change her mind. He knew just how Dee would have manipulated her to his way of seeing things. As long as she thought Phillips and his dad would come through this unharmed, she'd go along.

  Phillips had to try anyway. "Mom, you can't give up your soul–"

  "I value those who are mine, Phillips." Dee stepped closer and placed a hand on his arm. "You need not worry for your mother any longer, unless you try to disrupt the ceremony.
I
would never willingly give up anyone who belongs to me."

  Phillips didn't miss where Dee's eyes landed – on Miranda.

  "You see, Phillips. This is fine." A slight falter in his mother's voice, but he didn't bother to believe she'd do anything to cross Dee, even if she changed her mind.

  A short, square-jawed man joined their small, unhappy group. His face was tight with barely-concealed anger, and a gray-haired woman Phillips had never seen before was at his side, frowning at him.

  "Master, I apologise for the interruption," the woman said.

  "No need, Eleanor," said Dee. "What can I do for the director?"

  Phillips turned to see Miranda studying her sneakers. This must be her boss. And she'd said Eleanor was inside her friend Polly – so he was the gray-haired woman's boss, too.
Not anymore
, the voices whispered soft, so soft, overlapping.
They are trapped. We feel them
. They whispered as if they were afraid Dee would hear.

  "Who is Eleanor? Wait, I don't care." The director was clearly used to holding court. "You have to understand one thing: I won't have my name associated with a sham production. Not while the whole town is watching. If we're going to put on the show, I need my employees back," he said. "That includes my intern, too." He looked past Miranda, where Bone was lurking. "And my other intern. I need all my people. Now."

  Beside Bone was his father, holding his leather valise. Roswell smirked at the director trying to direct the dead man.

  The dead man who smiled, slow and cold. "They are not yours any longer and–"

  "This is Polly's support group," Miranda interrupted. "And Kirsten and Gretchen. Surely you can sub in someone for them this once?"

  Dee watched Miranda with naked admiration. He stayed silent.

  The director cracked his jaw. "And you?
You
need a support group?"

  "Me, well… I…" Miranda seemed lost. Her shoulders ticked down a fraction, and Phillips was probably the only one who caught the movement before she lifted them. She shrugged. "I quit."

  "Me too," said Bone, though
he
sounded happy about it.

  The director wasn't trying to conceal his outrage anymore. He opened his mouth to respond, but Dee lifted his hand and touched the man's shoulder. "Leave us in peace. You have work to do."

  Phillips braced for a fight, knowing the director didn't have a clue who he was dealing with.

  But the director gave a simple nod. "I agree," he said, scowling like he wanted to argue with himself. He turned and left.

  
What just happened
? Dee must not want any of them thinking about it too hard. "Now, Sara, you'd best continue with the others," Dee continued. "The director is not the only one with work to do. Today is all we have to finish the preparations."

  Phillips watched as Dee ushered his mom away, Eleanor trailing them like an obedient puppy. "I can't believe I quit," Miranda said. "Or that your mom's decided to go along with this. What are we going to do now?"

  Before Phillips could answer, wavering music began, swelling into something like a waltz, swooping and old-fashioned, grand and polished. The song came from within the crowd. As the gathered people moved back, he saw a handful of the returned men were playing instruments while Dee looked on with approval.

  Dee strode back toward them. He grabbed Miranda's hand in his, and swept his other to her waist.

  Miranda stumbled, but managed to stay on her feet as Dee drove her in a clumsy dance around the circle formed by the crowd. Phillips' mom looked worried, and Roswell disapproving, but the rest smiled in muted approval. Dee himself was blissed out.

  Turn after turn, the dead band played on. When Dee and Miranda neared Phillips' side of the cleared space, he took a step forward. Miranda's eyes were wide and panicked when she met his. She shook her head slightly:
No.

  But Phillips migrated closer, dodging Dee's practiced step to avoid getting mowed down. "Mind if I cut in?" Phillips asked.

  Miranda stumbled again.

  "I do," Dee answered, and wheeled her away.

  Phillips was unsure how to force the issue. His mother walked over and looped her arm tightly through his, to prevent him from trying to interfere again.

  At last, Dee circled Miranda back to where he'd grabbed her. He lifted her hand, bent to drop a light, respectful kiss on her skin, and deposited her at Phillips' side. His mother said, low, "Just one more day. One more," and left before Dee's attention fell on her.

  Phillips didn't know what to say. Neither did Miranda. She opened and shut her mouth a couple of times. The crowd retook the lawn. The music wavered and halted. Finally, she said, "Did that just happen?"

  Phillips held her hands in his. They were cold as seawater in winter. He said, "You know, insects can't just stop making noise. And a lot of them have no way to get out of here. They can't fly or swim."

  "Then where are they?" she asked, seizing on the change of topic.

  "There's another possibility. They might be dead."

26

Dead Things

Miranda trailed Phillips along the path to the furthest edge of the Grove's property, Sidekick loping ahead of them. Her hand vibrated with invisible ick she would never get rid of.

  
He
touched it.
He
danced with her.
He
wanted her. She officially had devil cooties.

  After the nightmare dance, the body snatchers and the theater crew went to work. Mounting the production after a few days off was always harder, and preparing for the 'transformation' apparently had its own pages-long to-do list. Dee left Miranda and Phillips to their own devices. It annoyed her that he was so sure they wouldn't try to escape, wouldn't be able to do
anything
worth preventing. Especially since he was right.

  Where could they go? Miranda had no way to get anywhere but here. This island. This day. And if Phillips tried to stop the preparations, he'd be risking his mother's life.

  Maybe it
was
a good thing Miranda had never made life plans.

  Phillips had said he wanted to test his dead insect theory, so that's what they were doing. She also suspected he wanted some distance. So did she. Breathing the same air as Dee was like having FREAK written on the outside of her car a million times in a row.

  Not anything like how nice waking up on the deck with Phillips next to her had been.

  
Stop, you'll blush again. Silly girl, all the way.

  They reached the final house of the Grove. Just past it was a stretch of mowed grass that led down to the shore, thick forest bordering its other side. Phillips knelt at the edge of the trees and rummaged around in the undergrowth.

  "Got one," he said.

  He removed his hand, cupping it to brandish a dead insect at her. She wasn't sure what kind of insect it was – had never been that great at any kind of flora and fauna school projects. Leaf collections were a special nemesis, and carapaces all looked the same to her.

  "Dead bug," she said. She pretended to fan herself. "For me?"

  He rolled his eyes, knelt again and rummaged some more. When he opened his hand this time, there were several tiny carapaces, like small damaged robots.

  "Oh," she said. "You think he killed them."

  "He has to be getting energy from somewhere, enough to keep himself breathing in that body until it's really his. I think he's pulling on nature to get what he needs, for him and for the rest of them. I have nothing to back this up, really, but–" he held up the handful of bugs "–this. And you said animals were being all weird that first night too, right?"