The Artisans (23 page)

“Raven Weathersby?” says the policeman in front. He glances at a photo in his hand. “We received a call at six forty-five yesterday evening reporting you as a runaway.” Sergeant Andrews is around five feet ten with a paunch and crew cut.

“This is a mistake,” Gideon whispers over my head. “Don’t worry.”

I’m not worried.

Sergeant Andrews squares his shoulders and his buddies take a step forward. That’s when I notice the tiny Hispanic woman with them. She’s wearing tan slacks, a blue cardigan, and glasses. “This is Mrs. Rodriquez with DSS,” Andrews says. I tilt my head. “Child Protective Services. She’s going to take you outside now where you two can talk. Mr. Maddox will accompany us to answer a few questions.”

Okay, now I’m worried.

Gideon puts his arm out, blocking the police from approaching me. “Temporary guardianship has been granted to my family by Benjamin Weathersby, her stepfather who is in the hospital. I have every legal document to prove that.”

Hospital? He’s in rehab. Maybe the hospital sounds more dramatic, less dysfunctional, which Gideon thinks will play better with the cops.

“Come with us please, Mr. Maddox,” Andrews repeats. “We’ll talk about the details at the station.”

The station? None of this sounds good.

Mrs. Rodriquez gives me a tentative smile. “Raven? If you will follow me. My car is out front where we can discuss your current situation.”

The woman doesn’t want to talk. Okay, maybe she does, but she also wants to stick me in foster care. I’m sure she’s doing her job. She might even care if she thinks I’m in trouble, but I know how this works. Explaining takes time. Time I don’t have. Provided Gideon has the documents he claims, documents I’ve never heard of before, by the way, straightening out this mess could take days … weeks.

“I don’t want to go with you.”

People are gathering around us. Gideon scans the crowd until his eyes lock with Dane’s. As if guys have some secret code, they exchange a hard look. Dane gently eases Maggie behind him. She clutches at him as he leans forward, but Gideon shakes his head no.

“I understand this might be confusing,” Ms. Rodriguez says. Might be? Try definitely. Her voice is soothing, but I’m not buying into her tired sympathy routine. “For the time being, you will have to come with me.”

“No.” I inch away. “I’m staying with Gideon. My stepdad knows where I am, so does the school. If you move me, he won’t be able to find me. I can’t get my homework.” I find Principal Myers amongst the other bystanders. “Can’t you explain?” I ask him. “Make them leave us alone.”

Before he can answer, a tall skinny cop with red hair holds his hand out, indicating Gideon should follow. He hesitates, glancing at me. “It’ll be okay, Rae. Don’t resist them. My lawyers will clear this up in a few hours.”

I’m sure he means what he says, but I’ve seen the sort of justice the law doles out. The court let the Coffee brothers off easy for what they’d done to my mother, and Ben was arrested for defending her. The state will send me to live with strangers. Boxed in and trapped by someone else this time.

The space feels close and tight, like all the oxygen is being sucked out of the room. My breathing escalates. Blood rushes to my head, pounds in my ears. When I put my hand inside Gideon’s, his fingers grip mine like a vise.

“Rae? It will be all right.” His sure, steady voice filters through the noise.

Thick hands close around both my arms, pulling me away. I’m bookended by a bad polyester blend of navy blue fabric. “Please, come with us, Miss Weathersby.” My feet scrape the shiny wood floor as I’m carted away. Panic engulfs me. “Gideon?” I call, breathless. “Gideon!”

I hear him, but I can’t make out what he’s saying. Dane bursts through the crowd around us, Maggie close behind. He tosses Gideon’s cane in the air. A hand rises over the heads of everyone, catching it.

Laughter rains down over the room. The sound is eerie, turning the blood in my veins to freezing sludge. “Did you hear that?” I ask Officer Andrews.

As I lean back, he nudges me forward. “Hear what, exactly, Miss Weathersby?”

Consecutive peals of haunting laughter echo off the walls, so loud I think someone’s stolen the microphone and is playing a prank.
Raven
… Holy freaking crap in a basket! My gaze darts everywhere and then finally up. A flash of white chiffon flies from one end of the rafters to the other. I gasp and point. “Don’t you see her? Over there!”

A blast rocks the gymnasium. Debris flies in every direction.

A girl screams. Another crash and an orange glow spreads in one corner of the bleachers. Black smoke billows from the flames. “Fire!” Someone yells followed by more screaming. A crush of freaked-out students pushes against us, knocking me from the policemen’s hold. Fabric rips as I fall on my hands and knees. Pain shoots up my thighs to my hips. Pins rain from my hair as half my up-do tumbles down my back.

When I glance up, I see her. Desiree. Her ghostly image shimmers near the ceiling. Trails of dank smoke snake their way upward, tangling themselves in a cloud around her delicate feet like silver ivy. She’s giggling as we run for our lives. Did she cause that explosion; start the fire? Our eyes meet, and I know she sees me, too. What on earth?

Cole said they couldn’t leave the grounds. Well, he was wrong. A truth clicks in place inside my brain once and for all. Desiree was never a figment of my imagination. She’s real. An actual ghost, and while I’m not sure what that means, she’s a nasty piece, not a romantic idea or harmless vapor.

The heel of someone’s shoe stabs my hand, and something crunches. A cry tears from my throat as a steady arm wraps my waist, righting me. I’m drawn against a rock hard wall. “I’ve got you.” Gideon, thank goodness. “Let’s get out of here.” Another explosion blasts from the same spot, rocking the room and raining ash down on us. A girl stumbles past. Soot covers her face, blood drains down her temple.

“No! Wait.” I cough on the smoke filling the room. “We have to get Dane and Maggie out.”

“I need to get
you
out.” Gideon tucks me under his arm as he leads me on, but I fight him. He stops. His hands grip my arms and he gives me a shake. “Dane took Maggie through the emergency door, but I came back for you.”

I came back for you
…

“What about the cops, Child Services? They’ll be waiting for us out there.”

“The cops have their hands full with the fire. Besides, I have a plan. Stick with me.”

Always the guy with a plan, Gideon pulls his phone from his pocket as we run for the door. We stumble into the hall where other students run for multiple exits. Gideon chooses the one farthest away where fewer kids are filing out along with a thin trail of smoke.

“Hey, how come you get a cell phone?”

His teeth gleam in the dim, emergency lighting. “I’m special that way. Do you really want to argue about a phone right now?”

No, probably not.

Along with the rest of the student body, Gideon and I find our way out one of the exits. Cool air hits my lungs. I suck in a long breath and cough it back out.

Gideon’s hold on me tightens. “Are you all right?”

I lean against him. “Yeah. I hurt my hand, but I’m okay. I hope everyone else is.”

Phone against his ear, Gideon makes a beeline for a stand of trees near the football stadium. “Jamis, can you take the car to the foot of the hill, under the scoreboard? I’m calling Richard. I’ll be in touch tomorrow.”

Wait, tomorrow? My mind spins. “How can you be in touch tomorrow if he’s picking us up now?”

“We’re not meeting Jamis now. The police may be watching him. However, he will wait for Dane, should he and Maggie want a ride home.”

Right. “So where are we going?”

He stops short, and I stumble. When I right myself, Gideon shifts to face me. “There’s a place I know not far from here where we can rest for the night. Can you walk?”

“Yes.” I’m unsure what he means by a place we can ‘rest,’ but I’ll do anything to avoid that Child Services woman and foster care.

With both hands, he gently pushes the hair from my face. His palms settle on my cheeks as his eyes search mine, but for what I don’t know. A muscle in his jaw jumps in time, like a pulse. “If anything had happened to you in there, I’d …” He drops his hands, lets his head fall back. When he speaks again he sounds more composed. “Richard is my attorney. Well, one of them. I’ll have him fax the necessary papers both to the police and to Mrs. Rodriquez’s office at DSS. A day or two of red tape and we’re in the clear, but right now, we have to go. Understand?”

Yeah. Sure. Whatever you say. I nod. He takes me by my good hand and hauls me into the trees. My steps are wooden. I can hardly believe I agreed to all he said with such sheep-like compliance, or maybe I can. My spirit feels brittle. I’m exhausted and confused, and for once, it feels good not to be the one in charge. The grown-up everyone else looks to for strength, to make decisions, to lead.

For tonight, I put myself in Gideon’s care. Unwilling or unable to think or be strong anymore, my jailor’s confidence and capable attitude is a balm to my grief-worn soul. Whatever I tell myself when I want to hate the guy, he’s a complicated mix. There are plenty of bad-boy qualities to list, but he’s not wholly evil either.

I came back for you
…

Maybe he’s not the monster I thought.

Gideon makes several calls. I’m only half listening as he speaks with people I assume are his lawyers. We press on through the woods, spilling out onto the paved road on the far side of the school grounds. Sirens pierce the otherwise still night. We trudge down the road, past the Quick Stop located several blocks away from my high school. My shoes are not designed for long walks. They pinch my toes, and my heels are screaming. Both design issues I intend to remedy for the sake of future clients—if I ever get out of this mess, that is.

My feet sing the hallelujah chorus when Gideon points me toward the yellow cab waiting on the curb. The taxi must have been one of the calls he made while I zoned out. I could kiss both him and the driver right now.

Inside the cab, we’re safe, at least for the time being. Gideon keeps a protective arm wrapped around me and examines my hand. I don’t object. His calm bleeds into my body somehow, and I greedily absorb what he gives. He guesses my bone is bruised not broken, as I can wiggle all five fingers. That’s good news, but it still aches.

Twenty minutes later, the taxi pulls up in front of the Oak Winds Motel. I scan the building with a critical eye. The bushes in front are clumps of dead sticks. A broken plate glass window is taped together with silver duct tape, and there’s a bald guy standing in the office doorway smoking a cigar. Few lights are on, other than a sickly neon sign hanging askew by one chain. With perhaps a total of twenty rooms facing the highway, lodging appears the type that one might rent by the hour.

Facing Gideon, I raise a brow. Not because I think I’m too good to stay here. I’m not far removed from the roach-infested floor of my old leather shop. I just don’t picture a Maddox sleeping here. At all.

Gideon grins. “No one’s going to search for me here, are they?”

Point taken.

We pay the cabbie and get out. Gravel crunches under our shoes as we step onto the parking lot.

“Manager here,” barks the older man still watching from the doorway. “Room?”

Gideon nods and follows him into the office. I wait on the front porch while Gideon pays for our rooms in motel hell. I hope I don’t have to stay here more than one night. Staying in the Maddox mansion is starting to ruin me for ordinary life.

A light breeze caresses my skin, disturbing the drooping curls around my face. The full moon casts a blue glow over the pines across the street. It must be after midnight. I hope the police haven’t called Ben. A call from Child Services in the middle of the night might be just the excuse he needs to drive him back to drinking.

I’ll call tomorrow. See what he knows before I blab about what happened tonight and reassure him if need be. Deep breaths leak out of me, as I resolve a plan to handle Ben. A screen door slams behind me.

“Ready?”

I shift my weight and face Gideon. “Sure.” Covered in dust, the boy still looks fantastic. He seems so relaxed, so self-assured while I’m a hot mess—in both my thoughts and disheveled appearance. All I want is a shower and a long sleep. I’ll have to wear my wrinkled, too-formal-for-daytime dress again, but at least my body will be clean of ash.

Gideon leads the way to room seven, fits the key in the door, and steps aside so I can enter first. Wow. The room is sparse and the bedspread appears a bit dingy. The first thing I do is pull the cheap, floral spread off the bed and place it on a nearby chair.

“What are you doing?”

My hands rest on my hips. “Haven’t you seen the specials on TV about the disgusting stuff left on hotel bedspreads? Housekeeping doesn’t wash them every time, you know. I’m not sleeping with that thing.”

He’s grinning like a chimpanzee. “What if I get cold?”

I freeze. A long pause. “You can do whatever you want in
your
room.”