Pandora's Key (12 page)

Evangeline shrugged, trying to flatten her hair.
Maybe I look different because I watched my godmother try to murder my mom last night—that’ll change a girl quick.

“It all really happened, didn’t it?” She forced her eyes to meet the doctor’s.

“I’m sorry—yes. Detective Morrison called. Samantha Harris’ office and apartment were totally cleaned out. Morrison said whoever did it was a professional and didn’t leave a fingerprint or anything else that could identify Sam. And there’s no Social Security number for any Samantha Harris. So, according to Morrison, your godmother has vanished without a trace. I’m so sorry.” Dr. Sullivan walked back into the hall. “Morrison said to bring you by the station so he can fill out paperwork and someone can take you to a group home.”

Group home? What does that mean?
“Will I still get to see my mom?”

Dr. Sullivan ran a hand through his short hair. “I really don’t know.”

Don’t panic—don’t panic—think.
“You have to go to the hospital every day, right?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then can I—can I please stay with you a little bit longer, just so I can spend time with my mom?”

Dr. Sullivan shook his head. “Sorry, but no can do. You really should eat before I take you to the police station.”

Evangeline pushed cold cereal around a blue ceramic bowl in the kitchen of Dr. Sullivan’s modern house. She noticed that there was a large pile of unopened mail on the counter and a lot of gift-wrapped boxes and pink gift bags on the floor. Dirty dishes filled the sink. Pictures of who Evangeline quickly surmised was Dr. Sullivan’s gorgeous wife were stuck with magnets on the sub-zero refrigerator. In one, the woman was in Middlebury sweatshirt riding a bike, her brown ponytail flying. In another, the couple was grinning on a red-plaid picnic blanket. A third shot showed their wedding day. They looked like the couple on top of a five-tier cake. There was also a black and white sonogram on the fridge door.

“So, are they on a trip?”

Dr. Sullivan’s pager went off and he pulled out his cell phone to dial a number. “Dr. Sullivan…Yes…Okay, I’ll be there in fifteen.” He hung up and looked at Evangeline.

No more bad news
, Evangeline prayed.
No more.

“One of your mother’s kidneys has stopped functioning. The other is working at thirty percent.”

Evangeline’s fingers darted to the key. The smooth stone gave off tiny prickles of electricity. She had the strange notion that maybe the feeling was her mom reaching out—but that was crazy.
Quit it! Crazy is the last thing you need right now.

“Dr. Sullivan, can you explain to me what the kidney thing means?”

“The part of your mom’s brain that regulated her kidneys isn’t working anymore. We’ll monitor her still-functioning organ and put her on dialysis if necessary. But—”

“But, what?”
Why do I keep asking questions when I don’t want to know the answers?

“I’m sorry—but when this happens to the kidneys, it’s the first step in her body breaking down.”

“Let me go with you to the hospital!” Evangeline begged. “Please!” A shiver ran down her spine and she recalled the childish idea that a chill meant someone had just walked over the grave of a person you loved. “Please! I need—I deserve the chance to say goodbye, don’t I?”

Dr. Sullivan hesitated, then grabbed his keys and headed to the door. “Okay. Let’s go.”

They rode in silence for a while.

“Why did you help me last night?” Evangeline finally asked.

“Because no one should be all alone at a time like this—especially not a kid.” Dr. Sullivan reached below his seat and pulled out a silver thermos. He put it between his knees and unscrewed the top, took a swallow and then screwed the cap back on.

“We can swing by Coffee People and get you fresh joe,” Evangeline offered, figuring the stuff he was drinking would have to be pretty nasty from being in his car for who knows how long.

“I’m fine.”

Evangeline nodded, but she had the distinct impression that Dr. Sullivan was lying.

Juliette watched Malledy put books and folders in his black backpack—the backpack he’d insisted on buying to attend classes that were so remedial for him as to be ridiculous.

“I want to experience what it would’ve been like to be a normal kid,” Malledy had said, “while there’s still time.”

I believed him
, Juliette silently thought,
because I wanted to believe.
Just as I wanted to believe that his choice of a physician practicing in Portland, Oregon was a coincidence.
She had left Castle Aertz and flown with Malledy to Portland seven weeks ago so that Malledy could be poked, prodded, imaged, and treated like a guinea pig by Dr. Aali, the specialist he’d said might be able to find a cure, or at least give him more time.

And Juliette had let Malledy attend a local high school, even though he had to take a triple dose of anti-spasmodic drugs so his tremors wouldn’t be visible to the other kids. All because he’d wanted to be live out a fantasy of what life would’ve been like if he hadn’t been brought to the castle; if he hadn’t been a genius accepted into the Order.

“You look exhausted,” Malledy said, hoisting his backpack over one shoulder. He wore the New York sweatshirt he’d insisted on buying when their plane had landed at JFK airport, jeans that hung off his hips, and Nikes.

“I didn’t sleep much last night.”

“Maybe you should take a rest—”

“I know.”

Malledy looked at her quizzically. “Juliette, are you okay?”

“Last night I translated words you mumbled in your sleep. You were speaking Clickita.”

Malledy’s raised his eyebrows. “I was? Okay, but why would you do that?”

“Don’t you want to know what you said?”

Malledy walked over to the window by his desk and stared out at Mount Hood. “It’s not much of a mountain compared to the Italian Alps, is it?” He turned back to Juliette. “Say what you want to say.”

“I couldn’t translate all of it, but I got enough. Mother. Key. Daughter. Box. Need both.”

“What does that mean?” Malledy asked, appearing confused.

Juliette wasn’t buying his act. She was not a genius, but she, too, was brilliant. “That you know that there are two descendants; that you know that there are also two artifacts; that you are trying to acquire both of those talismans!”

Malledy shrugged and sat down on the bed. “Isn’t that what we do, Juliette? We’re Archivists. We acquire, through any means necessary, talisman for our clients.
You
taught me that.”

Juliette felt her blood run cold. “Why would you hide your work from me?”

“I wanted to surprise you,” Malledy said earnestly. “To make one final acquisition for you to be proud of before I lost the ability to walk, let alone talk and think.”

Juliette’s heart felt like it was literally being torn in two. “Malledy, don’t you understand that I was placed into the Archivists’ Order by Pandora to guard against this instance?”

Malledy stared at the carpet, unable to meet Juliette’s gaze. “But I’m dying.”

“You are playing a deadly game.”
You are losing your mind.
Juliette sat down next to Malledy and took his hand. “So much can go wrong, mon fils.”

“Listen to me,” Malledy said, squeezing her hand. “I don’t want the artifacts.”

“Liar.”

Malledy looked truly wounded. “In another life, maybe, but I just want to live. At first I was just looking for Pandora’s Box for a client—I swear. Finding the key was a means to that end. But then you told me about the descendant and her ability to heal me. You gave me hints—you practically led me to the Sect!”

Juliette felt like she’d been punched in the gut. For a moment she couldn’t breathe and an intense wave of nausea washed over her.
He’s right. I’ve betrayed Pandora. How can I make this right?!

Malledy rushed on. “Listen, Juliette, please! You’ve said yourself that the chance that Pandora will allow the girl to heal me isn’t a given. So I need to have a fall-back plan. If I have the artifacts, the Sect will have to make the descendant heal me! Once I’m better I’ll give both talismans back. I swear it! And I’ll tell the client that I hit a dead end and couldn’t find the box. Don’t you see, using the box and key as leverage are my only hope!” Malledy began to cry. Embarrassed, he turned away.

“Don’t,” Juliette said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Malledy grabbed her wrist, his grip tight as a vice. “Then tell me where Pandora’s Box is hidden—your Sect must know!”

“You’re hurting me,” Juliette said, wincing.

Malledy immediately let go. “I would never hurt you. Never. But time is running out for me. Every day it’s harder to make my muscles respond. Soon the disease will attack my brain and if I haven’t located the box, then there’s no hope for me.”

“What about the key?” Juliette demanded. Malledy met her gaze.
He knows where it is.
“I don’t know where the box is,” she admitted. “I’ve never had the need to know.” This was the truth and she could see that Malledy believed her by the crestfallen look on his face.

“But your Sect has it?”

Juliette looked away and that was answer enough.

“Juliette, you have to find Pandora’s Box for me,” Malledy begged. “It may be my only chance!”

He can no longer be trusted.
Juliette took a deep breath and then exhaled. “I will try to find the box for you,” she said. Malledy wiped his runny nose with the back of his hand, just as he used to do as a little boy. Her heart ached.
He’s no longer that boy…but is he now my enemy? Is there a way to help him without hurting the descendant and my Sect? Can I take the risk of watching and waiting to find out?

“You would do that…for me?”

“Go to school. I’ll do what I can.”

Malledy hugged Juliette so tightly that for a moment she couldn’t breathe. Then he walked toward the door, his back to her, and she pulled a snub-nosed silver revolver out of her pocket.

Evangeline’s mom looked really, really awful. There was a tube taped to her cheek and lodged in her mouth, going down her throat. Her skin was horribly white and her normally shiny hair was flat and dull. The ventilator, an ugly black accordion in a clear capsule, pumped rhythmically, reminding Evangeline with each beep of the heart monitor that her mom was still not breathing on her own.

I’ve got to do something to help my mom now, because once I’m in a group home, I may not get the chance to see her again.
Evangeline gathered her courage and turned to face Stacy, who was changing the IV drip.

“What if—what if I want a different doctor for my mom?” she asked. Stacey didn’t look up.
Stop being timid and try again.
“It’s just that I don’t think Dr. Sullivan wants my mother to do chemo or fight her disease or anything, and I need a doctor who believes my mom has a chance, you know?”

Stacy stopped what she was doing and fixed Evangeline with a steady gaze that made her feel about two-inches tall. She pushed on because she was the only advocate her mom had left.

“I listened to the residents talking and Dr. Sullivan is all about painkillers. He won’t even consider doing surgery to get rid of my mom’s tumor.”

Evangeline reached for her mom’s hand. The fingers were beginning to curl inward—like claws. She felt a sense of overwhelming dread that made it hard to breathe, but she continued. “I’m not—I’m not saying Dr. Sullivan is a bad doctor—I’m sure he’s not—and he’s been nice to me, so I definitely don’t want to get him in any trouble. But I need to help my mom get well any way I can.”

Stacy shut the door and turned to face Evangeline. “Listen, Dr. Sullivan is the best, bar none, oncologist in this hospital. People come from all over the world so he can treat them. And he saves a lot of lives, or at least prolongs them so fathers can see their kids grow up; mothers can watch their daughters get married; and teenagers can learn to drive and go to their proms. I know. I’ve seen him practically work miracles. Dr. Sullivan would do
anything
to save your mom if he could.”

Evangeline’s frustration overflowed. “That’s not true! He’s
got
a real family. He can’t possibly understand how important my mom is to me—that it’s just the two of us. There’s no way he can get what we’re going through.”