Mayhem (18 page)

Dad's
already boarding up windows by the time I get home. Falling into step right beside him I pick up one of the boards and stand by as he heads to the next window in the living room.

“Hasn't been an ordered evacuation in Lincoln since before you were born,” he says, taking the board from me and putting it up to cover the bottom half of the window.

I reach down into his toolbox and grab a couple of nails, handing him one at a time. “Really? You think the storm's going to be that bad?”

He cocks his head to the side, looking at me for a minute. Then he resumes his task banging the nail into place. “Let's see, you pissed off a powerful demon by choosing to stay on the good side. Pop, who was your Guardian, is now gone and your mother, who's been gone for ten years, is suddenly showing herself to you. I'd say this storm is going to be worse than anything we've ever seen.”

And with that assessment Dad just proves my worst fear. On the drive back we were all quiet, most likely trying to convince ourselves that this storm evacuation had nothing to do with us or what was going on in the Majestic. Apparently our silence wasn't enough to make it so.

“I haven't heard him since that day at the cemetery,” I say.

“He's pissed off.”

I nod and get another board for the last window. “Yeah, I guess. I still don't know how to fight him.”

“That makes two of us,” Dad says, and scoops up the toolbox. “Let's move the photos and stuff upstairs and get them wrapped in plastic and put into trunks before we head over to the library.”

“Right,” I say, following him.

Lincoln's library is the biggest facility we have, except for the mall, but that has way too much glass to be considered a good place of refuge. We'd be like sitting ducks by the time the winds hit. I doubt the entire town's going to fit into the library, but the entire town probably won't evacuate. There's always those that think they can ride it out. Pop Pop would have been one of them. He wouldn't have wanted to leave his house just because somebody else told him so. He was like that, a man who lived by his beliefs. And so was Dad. I guess this is the first time I really see the differences in them and the similarities. Dad was doing what he thought was best, all the while acknowledging that this could be really bad.

Moving throughout the house, we finished packing up what we could. Dad emptied the little safe where he kept all his extra cash; he didn't really trust the banks. Running back upstairs I retrieved my jar of savings, stuffing it into my backpack. It wasn't like we wouldn't be coming back home. Then again, we didn't know that.

Half an hour later we were pulling our car into the back parking lot of the library. It was crowded but everything seemed to be going along in an orderly fashion. The dozen or so cops and firefighters standing in the streets directing traffic and groups of people were probably the cause of that. In
all my life I'd never seen Lincoln look so busy, so congested. For a minute you'd think we were a big city, but as we approached the entrance to the library we were forced to think again.

This was no state-of-the-art building. It was old redbrick, three stories plus the basement, about three small-town blocks long with no elevators and old-as-dirt vending machines that never worked. The selection of books was good, suited our public school system well, I guess. I rarely found what I needed here now, opting to use the Internet more and more.

“Hey, man.” I turn to see Twan standing behind me.

“What's up?” I nod in his direction. He's standing with a woman who has two shopping bags in her hand. Twan has a backpack like me and two bags in his hands, as well.

“Auntie packed everything we couldn't nail down,” he says with his usual chuckle.

I grin back because Dad and I tried to do the same with what we felt was valuable. Funny how we each only had one bag.

“This line's moving way slow. Hope the storm waits for everyone to get inside,” Twan says.

“The good Lord waits for no one,” the woman who I assumed was Twan's aunt said. She had a stern but caring-looking face, and while her eyes looked deadly serious as she spoke, something about her stance made me feel like I could like her.

“That's the truth,” Dad says to her with a nod of his head.

I'm like, what? I've never heard Dad speak of a Lord being good or bad. Then again, we've never been standing in line to get into a shelter before a super-wicked hurricane hits us either.

After about a half hour of stop-and-go movement we finally make it through the heavy doors of the library. They're glass, too, I note, but they're boarded by some heavy tarnished bronze that'll probably withstand the winds and then some.

Once inside, Twan and I immediately thought of where would be the best location for us to set up. People were choosing their corners first, then heading to the middle of the main floor to get things like blankets and pillows and water bottles.

“Third floor's gonna be the safest. It's the highest ground we can get to,” Dad says.

Twan's aunt, who told me about fifteen minutes ago to call her Aunt Pearl, agreed. “Well, let's get to the stairwell. You boys can come back down and get our supplies.”

Following the adults, I watch my dad take one of Aunt Pearl's bags and help her with the two landings of steps. The third floor has the only conference room in the library, which holds about fifty people and is currently filled to capacity. We keep moving down the hall past the international book section. The bathrooms are to one side, but we walk through another doorway and we're in the tax section. I guess just as in real life everybody tends to avoid anything to do with taxes if they can. This corner is just about empty. Dad and Aunt Pearl are already heading to a corner away from the windows, pushing tables to the side as they go. Pulling one of the chairs along with him as he walks, Dad props it against the wall and tells Aunt Pearl to sit. He then turns to me and Twan and nods for us to go get provisions.

“Your dad seems pretty cool,” Twan says as we move down the stairs trying to avoid bumping into other people as we go.

“Yeah, so does your aunt.”

“Hey, you think the girls are coming? I tried to call Sasha on her cell but didn't get an answer.”

“When I left them earlier, I know Krystal and her parents were planning on coming. I don't know about Sasha and Lindsey. Sasha's house is pretty big, they might be safe enough there.”

“Yeah, but who's going to board it up and make them safe? Her dad's MIA remember?”

I remembered and it bothered me, but probably not as much as it was looking like it bothered Twan.

“I think they'll probably come,” I say more to comfort him than because I really believe it.

On the main floor we stand in another line, and who should I see across the room just entering the building but Mateo Hunter, his mother and his two sisters. The tension must have showed on my face because Twan claps me on the shoulder.

“Don't worry about him, man. I got your back.”

I nod my thanks but get the feeling that I won't need Twan's protection. Mateo doesn't look my way, but he looks plenty angry. I don't know if it's because he's here or for some other reason, and after about fifteen seconds I decide not to care either way. As long as he steers clear of me I'll stay away from him. That's what Principal Dumar had advised anyway. I heard Pace and Mateo both got some kind of probation from the school board and the cops. If either of them got into trouble during the rest of the school year they'd be instantly expelled, a huge blemish to the Ivy League college hopefuls. Dad wasn't totally pleased with the judgment, and while I didn't think it was a hundred percent fair I just didn't want them in my face anymore.

We were on our way back up the stairs when I saw Krystal
and her parents. Walking right behind them was Sasha and her mother. Twan's walking away before I can even say a word. Of course I follow him until we catch up with the girls.

“We've got a space up on the third floor. Get your stuff and head on up there. We're in the tax section,” Twan tells Sasha.

“You don't even like to pay a tip,” she says, smiling at him. “What are you doing in the tax section?”

“Jake was leading the way,” he says.

“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Bevens,” I say to Krystal's parents. Her mom's looking at me with a small smile while Mr. Bevens gives me that barely tolerant look. Something's just not right about this man, and it's not just because I hear Krystal complain about him all the time. This is an entirely different feeling that I get whenever I'm around him. Maybe it's because he's another man in Krystal's life or some other such male rivalry thing. I don't know, but her mother speaks and a few minutes later I watch all of them entering the tax section where we'll be spending an unspecified amount of time together.

“Where's Mouse?” I ask Sasha when we put some distance between us and the adults, who seemed to be making cordial conversation.

“He dropped us off. I don't know where he's going or if he's coming back,” she says.

“That dude is some kind of weird,” Twan says, sitting on the floor beside the chair where Sasha sat.

“Anybody hear from Lindsey?” Krystal asks, pulling up a chair for herself.

“Nope,” I say and look toward the door like I expect her to walk through at any second.

Instead, through the windows we hear the first whistles of wind start to pick up.

“Hope she gets here soon,” Sasha says and reaches for Twan's hand.

I scoot my chair closer to Krystal's as we prepare for whatever's coming our way.

“Yeah, me, too,” she says in a soft voice.

I hope the storm gets here soon. The sooner it hits the sooner it'll be over.

I hope.

 

It didn't take long for us to become bored out of our minds. About one hour and ten minutes to be precise, right about the time all visibility through the windows was shot. Electricity had blinked out about twenty minutes ago, but flashlights and small battery-operated camping lanterns had been given out when we picked up the blankets and pillows.

So we all had a flashlight and were walking around the library, well, through the halls and stairways. We hadn't planned on going into any of the areas where there were actual books because they were mainly occupied by people. But Sasha had a suggestion that had us heading back downstairs to the first floor.

“We should get as much information on this Charon character as we can. Since he's who we're fighting against, we should know all his strengths and weaknesses.”

“And we'll find that out how?” Twan asked. Clearly Sasha hadn't told her boyfriend everything that had been going on with us, including all the new developments. Twan hadn't mentioned my issues at the funeral even though I'm sure Sasha probably told him that, too.

“Well, duh, we're in a library,” she says.

Lindsey, who just appeared, like she often does, about a half hour ago, pulls her hair up into one of those rubber-band thingies so it's sitting on top of her head like a nest now. “We're in a library with no lights, how do you expect us to find the appropriate books, let alone read them?”

Sasha sighs, her frustration level clearly at its peak. “We've got these, don't we?” she asks, waving her flashlight around so that the stream of light wiggles across the walls of the hallway as we walk.

“I can think of better things to do in the middle of a hurricane than reading some books about a demon guy,” Twan says. I can't see exactly what he's doing but I can hear his lips making a smacking sound just before hearing another exasperated sigh from Sasha.

“We can do that later,” Sasha says.

Twan groans, and I sort of sympathize with the guy. I mean, I know I'd certainly rather be sitting in a dark corner with Krystal right next to me than walking through these dark halls while a storm rages outside.

I laugh and beside me Krystal clears her throat. “I guess we could look him up, see what history says about him.”

“History's going to say what we already know, he's evil,” Lindsey says dryly. “Besides, I've been thinking, if Charon has moved on to Alaska, how is this battle still ours? Wouldn't there be another group of Mystyx there to fight him off?”

“Maybe,” I answer. “Maybe not.”

Lindsey keeps going as we hit the last landing of stairs. She stops in front of the doorway with the exit sign above it. “So we have a global responsibility now?”

“I don't think it works in sections. It's sort of assigned to us
in this time,” I say, giving the best answer I have. Of course, I don't know if this is the correct answer, just adding my thoughts I guess.

A loud rumble sounds and the walls around us shake.

“Wind's picking up,” Twan says.

“That new weather guy said it would be a category-five hurricane,” Sasha adds.

Twan sounds like he's smirking when he responds, “That guy doesn't look too confident in his own predictions.”

“It's going to be bad,” I say.

Krystal touches my arm. “How do you know?”

“I just feel it. Danger, catastrophe, pain. Destruction is in Charon's heart and he is the heart of every storm. He told me that.”

“So he can do all this, and he still wants more power?” Twan asks.

I'm really amazed at how well Twan's taking all this supernatural talk. I mean, when I first told him there was a moment of disbelief, but after Sasha walked in and he looked at her, he simply accepted everything we said. That must be one amazing connection those two have.

“Greed,” Lindsey says on a sigh. “Isn't that the main issue with all evil beings?”

“You're right,” Krystal says.

“And we didn't even need to find a book to tell us that.”

Twan gains another exasperated sigh from Sasha and a chuckle from me and Krystal. Lindsey's standing there but she's like fifty percent with us and fifty percent someplace else. I think I've come to the conclusion that I like the old, chatty, excessively happy Lindsey a lot better than this emotional combo she's got going on now. Thinking about her emotions
has me remembering back to all that I'd been going through and what Sasha and Krystal have already gone through. One time before, Krystal told me our powers were rooted to our emotions. I believe that now more than anything. And if that were so, looking at Lindsey now had me feeling all kinds of sorry for what she might be going through.