Hell's Hollow (14 page)

“What’s that rash?” Mom asked, as she picked up her purse and keys off the desk. “It could be a reaction to whatever animal it was that you touched out there. I’m going to call a vet. What kind of creature was it?”

I hadn’t touched any animal. “It’s just allergies,” I said.

“To what?” she asked.

“I don’t know — pollen?”

“Since when are you allergic to pollen? What was the animal, and why are you refusing to tell me?”

She was getting frantic. I figured I was better off just making something up. “It was a chipmunk,” I said, figuring I’d had no negative reactions when I’d actually touched one.

“You passed out all day from trying to heal a chipmunk?” she asked. “What was wrong with it?”

“It was dead,” I said, hoping that would shut her up.

It worked. The color drained out of her face.

When we got to the bakery, I slid into the back corner table, plugged in my headphones, turned up my music, and put my head down to sleep. It wasn’t long before the noise of the morning rush worked its way through the music to rouse me. And when I saw the line, I got up and went to help. Mom served, while I rang up.

When things settled, she made me an iced mocha. “You should eat something.”

I didn’t feel like eating. I went back to my table to sip my drink and sulk.

George McGraw came in, ordered a bear claw and a coffee and sat at his usual table by the window. “Seraphina!” he bellowed across the small space. “You sure can surprise!” He chuckled. “I don’t know what you said to get Myra Clay so riled up, but she is vilifying your name all across town.”

My eyes went straight to Mom. Her face had gone pale. She came around the counter and sat down at George’s table. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I crept over to listen.

“What in the world are you talking about, George?” Mom asked.

“Don’t get so serious!” He laughed. “Myra’s just spouting off about how young people today think they know so much more than everybody else. Said Sera here had the nerve to cross her.”

Mom turned and glared at me.

“What? All I did was ask her to hire me. She got all pissed off saying she wasn’t feeble or something and didn’t need any help. It wasn’t
my
fault.”

“Well, I think you’d better write her a note of apology,” Mom said.

“Oh, come on now, Clara, that’s not necessary,” George said. “I didn’t mean to get Sera in trouble. I just thought it was funny.”

“I’m serious,” Mom said. “Go get some paper from the office and write her a note. It doesn’t have to be long.”

I thought about arguing. But when it came to how we were perceived in town, I knew there was no point. Myra could have slapped me in the face for no reason and I’d still be the one apologizing.

“Sorry about that, honey,” George called. He sounded like he meant it.

I sat down in the closet Mom called an office and snatched a piece of paper out of the printer. I tapped my pen against the desk, trying to think what to say.

Dear Ms. Clay,

I’m very sorry if I offended you. I only meant to help. I was happy to carry your groceries at no charge. I was just looking for work and thought I’d offer my services. I didn’t intend any disrespect.

Sincerely,

Seraphina Wylde

I figured I ought to sit there a while longer so Mom would think I’d taken the appropriate amount of time to consider what I wanted to say. The tiny room air conditioner was freezing my feet. I wished I had a pair of socks.

And then it hit me. Since Myra wasn’t likely to change her mind, I had to find another way to reach Zach. And I knew of one hiding place he checked frequently. I took another piece of paper. This time I wrote with a Sharpie, hoping it would catch his attention in the dark.

I’m okay
, I wrote.
Did it help you at all? It wasn’t your fault what happened to me. Don’t think you caused it. I just still haven’t gotten the hang of it yet. She won’t let me go back down below for a while. Leave me notes here. I miss you. ~ S

Now I just had to get this note in his socks without being seen. I tore off the piece I needed, folded it up and stuck it in my pocket. Then I went out to get Mom’s approval on the one for Myra Clay.

She looked over it. “I think you should add that you respect her as a wise elder and an important member of the community.”

I rolled my eyes. “Seriously?”

She raised her eyebrows.

I added in her stupid words above my signature. She nodded and I went to drop the note at Myra’s. I knocked, hoping she wasn’t home, then waited, knowing if she was going to come to the door, she’d have to hide Zach first. I didn’t hear any movement inside.

“Ms. Clay?” I called. “Are you home?”

When there was no answer, I put her note in the mailbox, and then crept around to the back of the house. The ivy on the trellis didn’t look as smushed as it had the other time I’d been back there. It took me a couple of minutes to find his socks hidden behind it. I opened the ball of socks, lay the note inside so it stuck out a little, rolled them back up, and returned them to their hiding spot. The trellis only went as high as the landing above the first floor. If she locked him in the attic at night, how was he getting out that window and down to the landing? Trees walled her yard in so he wouldn’t need to worry about being seen. But it didn’t seem likely that he could jump all that way without being heard, or hurting himself. And that wouldn’t explain how he was getting back up when he returned.

I grabbed a pebble and threw it at the attic window. It missed by a mile. I tried a few more times. Finally, one hit. It barely made a sound. A black cat jumped from the roof to the landing and hissed at me, showing its sharp teeth. I backed away. But it kept hissing, the fur on its back standing on end.

I’d just have to hope Zach went back to The Hollow tonight and that my note wouldn’t drop out of his socks without him seeing it. It was killing me, not knowing if the healing had done any
good — or worse if it had done any harm.

The next day, while I was helping Mom in the bakery, Myra Clay stopped in. I turned down the music on my headphones. She set down her grocery bags and wrung her hands, looking too carefully at my irritated skin. “Apology accepted,” she said.

I nodded.

“I could use a hand with these bags,” she added.

I looked to Mom, who nodded at me.

“This time when I offer to pay you, go on and accept,” Myra said.

“That won’t be necessary, Myra,” Mom replied. “Seraphina is happy to help.” She pulled the earbuds out of my ears.

“I’ll do as I please,” Myra said. “If I want to pay the girl, then I will.”

I picked up her bags and followed her out the door. We walked for a minute in silence. “You don’t have to pay me.”

“I know that. I’m still going to. Don’t let it be said that Myra Clay is stingy.”

“I could help with other things,” I said. “Gardening maybe?” I thought she’d like the idea of me doing something that didn’t involve going inside the house.

She stopped, turned to look at me. “I said apology accepted. I didn’t say reopen the wound.”

I gasped. There was something about the way she looked into my eyes, about the way she said “reopen the wound”
— did she know? Did she know what I’d done with Zach, that I knew about him? Had something changed about his scars? Or was she really just talking about her stupid pride?

I set the bags down on her front steps. She handed me a dollar. My heart was thumping all weirdly.
Did I reopen his wounds?

“That will be all,” she said. Then she waited until I left before unlocking her door.

It was crazy risky, but as soon as she went inside, I snuck into her backyard, climbed up the first rung of the trellis, and pulled out the socks. There was paper inside. I looked just long enough to see it wasn’t in Sharpie.
He wrote me back!
I grabbed it, shoved the socks back in their spot and took off. I ran as hard as I could up the street, then ducked behind the post office to read what it said.

I got your note. You’re not dead! Things complicated. Might not be able to send another note for a while. Help soon.

Help soon? What did that mean? Did that mean he was getting help — or he wanted to help — or he
needed
help?

As I walked back
up the street, that same black cat from the roof jumped at me, hissing and baring its teeth. I lunged away from it.

“You okay?” Astrid asked, looking at me funny.

“Did you see that?” I turned to where the cat had been. But it wasn’t there.

“See what?” Astrid asked.

My heart forgot to beat. “The … cat?”

She wrinkled her eyebrows like she didn’t know what I was talking about.

I looked behind me again. Myra Clay stood down the street, pointing at us and shaking her finger. She was yelling something, but I couldn’t hear her.

“Were you running from Myra?” Astrid asked. Then she stepped back and stared at the space around me. “Oh honey, you’re a mess.” She started grabbing goo out of my aura again.

My brain felt crowded and confused. I ran to the bakery. It was empty.

“Mom?” I called. She didn’t answer. I went behind the counter and peeked into the office. She was crumpled in a heap on the desk. “What’s wrong?”

She looked up. “It’s MK,” she said. “She tried to hang herself.”

Chapter Fourteen

Gran sat on the linoleum floor, pressed into the corner of her room. I slipped down next to her and held her
ice-cold hand while Mom went to visit Auntie MK on the locked ward. Gran seemed like she was the one taking both their doses of meds this time, staring off into space without talking.

“She’ll be okay,” I whispered.

Gran looked over at me as if she’d only just now realized I was there. “Seraphina?”

I nodded. “It’s okay, Gran.” I patted her hand, while a couple of tears jogged down my cheeks.

“You’ve got to end it,” she said. “It’s no life — dangling from a light fixture.”

“What?” I asked, wondering if she meant I should help end her
life
or maybe MK’s.

“Your mother won’t be a nutcase like the rest of us. She’s a dud,” Gran said.

“A dud?” I asked.

“Her power is too weak. It’s why shielding is so easy for her. Because she wasn’t born in the shadow. I should have stayed away with them. Now it’s too late. It’s too late. And we’re in the belly of the whale.”

“Why did you come back from San Francisco?” I asked, shocked to find her almost making sense.

“My mother was losing her mind. She swore her mental illness was because I’d abandoned the family’s post in that house, that if I wasn’t there as the next in line to manage the power of the energy, soon the whole town would be crazy.”

“But that’s not true, is it, Gran?” I asked. “That we protect the town?”

She brushed fiercely at her arms. “Get them off me,” she cried. “Bloodsucking bugs!”

Gently, I rubbed her arm, the skin thin and powdery. “There’s nothing there,” I whispered. The blackness inside her pulled at me. I took my hand away.

“What happened to MK?” I asked. “Why’d she do it?”

She looked at me through eyes that seemed not to see — like she didn’t know who I was or what I was doing there. “The visions — they torment her. It was her niece she saw — my granddaughter — some sort of explosion, the world turned upside down. She’s afraid. It’s too great a burden for such narrow shoulders. Maybe you could help the girl, tell her to beware. If only she understood that to save my girl we need her power. A sour pill. A note of hope. Pull the rope.” Then she folded her arms into herself, and disappeared inside her eyes, floated out into some world where I couldn’t reach her at all.

There was so much more I wanted to ask. When Mom came back, her eyes red with heavy bags under them, I went to her side. “How is she?” I asked.

Mom shook her head. “She’ll be able to come back down in a day or two. It’ll be fine.” I don’t think she fooled herself any more than she did me. “How’s Gran?”

I shook my head. “Not good.”

She pulled Gran up off the floor and set her in the chair by the window. Then she squatted down beside her. “She’ll be okay, Ma. They’re going to help her, stop the visions from coming.”

Tears slid down Gran’s face. I’d never seen her cry, not even when they’d first locked her up here with MK. “She’s broken,” Gran said. “She needs to be fixed.” And then she looked right into my eyes like she was certain I was the one who could do it.

Mom didn’t even seem to notice. She busied herself fixing the buttons on Gran’s green sweater, which had been misaligned.

Gran’s eyes continued to hold mine. “When will Mary Kate come back to our room?”

“In a day or two,” Mom said.

“A day or two,” Gran said to me. “You’ll come back then. You won’t let Johnny Rocket bring her down. You’ll be here for her. We can count on you?”