The Emerald Mask (7 page)

Darren glanced anxiously over his shoulder. There, not far away, a flash of red—a baseball cap . . .

They've found us,
he thought.

“Hey, bro! What's up?”

The sound of Ray's voice almost made Darren cry with relief.

“Ray! I'm downstairs!” Darren babbled into his phone. “Can you—can you—the door—”

“Sure, let me buzz you in,” Ray said.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Darren yanked on the door so hard that it shuddered. “Hurry!” he yelled as he and Fiona dashed into the building.

The door shut behind them with a reassuring click.
That, Darren knew, was the automatic lock resetting—but he wouldn't feel at ease until they were safe in Ray's dorm room.

“This way,” he told Fiona as he led her up a flight of stairs, which seemed safer than waiting around in the glass-paneled lobby for the elevator. Luckily, Ray's room was on the third floor. He was waiting for them in the doorway when they arrived. But one look at their faces made his smile fade.

“Darren, what's wrong?” Ray asked.

“I . . . ,” Darren began, panting. He bent over with his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

“Hi, I'm Ray,” Ray introduced himself to Fiona. His forehead was creased with worry. “Are you two okay?”

Fiona swallowed hard. “Yeah. We were working on our book reports and we—we kind of got lost,” she said, thinking fast. “But Darren recognized your dorm, so, uh, it's all good now. I'm Fiona, by the way.”

Ray's face relaxed. “Oh, good. You had me worried for a minute,” he replied. “Are you seriously winded from the stairs?”

“Yeah,” Darren said, laughing nervously. “Sorry—I
was completely turned around. I couldn't even find the cafeteria.”

Ray laughed loudly. “Now
that's
hard to believe,” he joked. “I have to go meet my study group. Want me to show you where to get some lunch?”

Fiona and Darren exchanged a glance. On the one hand, they'd probably be safer with Ray to escort them around campus . . . but then again, what could Ray do to protect them against three warlocks?

“Actually, can we hang out here for a while?” Darren asked.

“You don't even have to ask,” Ray said, flashing a smile. “Text me if you need anything. I'll be down at the library.”

Darren forced himself to return Ray's smile as he remembered the terror he'd felt, being chased by the warlocks among the stacks of books. “Thanks, bro. I'll see you soon.”

“Family dinner next weekend,” Ray reminded him. “You make sure Dad's there; I'll make Mom drive me home. Nice to meet you, Fiona. You two stay out of trouble now.”

Then Ray grabbed his backpack and left. Neither Darren nor Fiona spoke until the door had closed behind him.

“Easier said than done,” Fiona blurted out.

Darren looked at her, confused. “What?” he asked.

“Staying out of trouble,” she explained. “It's easier said than done. Those guys . . . They were—”

“Magic,” Darren finished for her.

Fiona reached into her backpack for the book, which was nestled in the soft folds of her
selkie
cloak. Then she paused. “Does Ray have a roommate?” she asked.

Darren shook his head. “This is a single room,” he said. “It's safe.”

With extreme caution, Fiona brought the ancient book out of her backpack. Then she laughed suddenly, making Darren jump.

“What is it?” he asked.

Fiona held up her gloved hands. “I just realized I'm still wearing these!”

Darren watched over Fiona's shoulder as she placed the book on Ray's desk. When she opened it, her hand hovered over the words—and once again, they
rearranged themselves, moving around the page like fallen leaves scattered by a gust of wind. When they settled again, the text was clear:

Circe's Compasse

Useful in the Search for Changers, Circe's Compasse was closely held by the Bonekamp Family until the Time of the Dark, when it was Lost amid the carnage. Some 400 years later, it Resurfaced during the reign of Ilyana the Conqueror. In Recognition of the extreme Power and Usefulness of Circe's Compasse, it was secreted away in the Year 1792, secured in a Magic Chest on the
Seafarer
, a ship bound for the Americas. Alas, a storm claimed the ship, its crew, and cargo near the coast of the settlement at Middletown.

Fiona's white-gloved finger trembled as she pointed to the word “Middletown.” “Darren!” she breathed. “Middletown is
right next
to Willow Cove!”

“I don't know,” he replied, still staring at the text.
“There are lots of Middletowns. There's a chance it might not be the one near us.”

As if on cue the book produced a map of the coast. There was Middletown, and not far from it, Willow Cove.

“See? It
is
the same one. Circe's Compass is
close
!” Fiona cried in excitement. “And if the ship wasn't salvaged—if no Changer ever found it—then Circe's Compass may be at the bottom of the ocean!”

Darren was still staring at the book. “ ‘The Time of the Dark,' ” he said suddenly. “What—what do you think that means?”

Fiona shivered. “I have no idea,” she admitted. “We could ask Ms. Therian, I guess.”

“Or we could ask the book,” Darren pointed out.

Fiona hesitated, but only for a moment. Then she purposefully turned the page and waited for the letters to shift.

But they didn't move.

As fast as she dared, Fiona flipped through the pages, scanning each one for “Time of the Dark.” But the phrase never appeared again.

“This book,” she marveled. “I've never seen anything like it. It shows you what you need to know. I feel like—like it's
writing
itself.”

Darren rubbed his neck, trying to get rid of the creepy, prickly feeling that was spreading across his skin. “I don't like it,” he said. “It's weird.”

“It's
wonderful
,” Fiona corrected him, wrapping the book in her
selkie
cloak and safely stashing it into her backpack. “Come on. Let's go find my dad. We've got to go home—there isn't any time to waste!”

Home, to Willow Cove; home, near Middletown; home, to the coast where that sunken ship and all its mysteries rested at the bottom of the sea. Darren knew it was the right thing to do—the smart thing, even. It certainly wasn't safe for them to stick around here much longer, not when those guys were probably still searching for them.

Back in Willow Cove, Gabriella stood by the side of the soccer field and chugged a bottle of water. It was hard to believe the game was already half over; for Gabriella, it had passed by in a blur as she raced up and down the field. Her muscles were twitching with eagerness to get back out there and win this game. The Willow Cove Clippers had never played better, but for Gabriella, that wasn't good enough. She wanted them to be the best in state. The best
ever.

“Mija!”
Tía Rosa said, beaming as she approached. “You run like the wind out there!”

“Tía Rosa!” Gabriella exclaimed. “Thanks—but you
shouldn't be down here. Fans have to stay in the bleachers. If Coach saw you . . .”

Tía Rosa waved her hand in the air. “
Pssh
, what do I care?” she said. “If anybody has a problem with me telling my niece what an amazing athlete she is, they can say it to my face.”

“You've gotta get out of here.” Gabriella laughed as she gave Tía Rosa a kiss on the cheek and then nudged her back to the stands. “I'll find you after the game.”

“Find me? You won't be able to miss me,” Tía Rosa teased. “I'll be the one down front, screaming your name!”

Thweeeet!

When the ref blew his whistle, Tía Rosa scurried back to the bleachers, and Gabriella prepared to take the field again. The unexpected halftime visit from her aunt had supercharged Gabriella. Now she felt like
anything
was possible out on the field—but most of all, she wanted to make her aunt proud.

This half is for Tía Rosa,
Gabriella thought suddenly.
To show her what I can really do.

That thought, more than any other, pushed Gabriella
to do her best. She scored goal after goal, dodging every opposing player who tried to block her. There were no other thoughts on Gabriella's mind but how free she felt, how powerful. She no longer felt like she was running on the field, but dancing, flying. For Gabriella, it wasn't a game anymore.

It was everything.

And then it all went wrong.

A sudden pop, like a balloon bursting at a little kid's birthday party; a swift hiss of air. There was no smooth, seamless arc for the ball; no sail across the clear blue sky. Instead, the ball fell to the ground with a dull thud.

No one moved.

It took a few seconds for Gabriella to realize exactly what had happened: Somehow, the ball had burst.
But how?
she wondered numbly.

The referee jogged across the field, blowing his whistle. The rest of the players crowded around him as he knelt down to inspect the ball. Even from a distance, Gabriella could see the problem clearly: a gaping, four-inch gash across the soccer ball's scuffed surface.

How did
that
happen?
Gabriella mused. As she stepped
forward to take a better look, her foot caught in the grass and she nearly tripped. Steadying herself just in time, Gabriella glanced down—and saw a row of sharp claws sticking out of her shoe.

No,
Gabriella thought, her heart pounding with panic.
No!

She'd felt so confident on the field, so in control. But now here she was, her own
nahual
claws jutting out of her cleats for everyone to see. Thankfully, the rest of the players were focused on the ball.

But what would happen when they looked up?

“Defective ball,” the referee announced. “Back-up ball in play.”

I have to get out of this game
. One thing was clear to her: that feeling of being in control was nothing but an illusion. A joke.

After a quick glance at her hands—her fingernails were fine, thankfully—Gabriella jogged toward her coach.

“Rivera. What's up?” he asked.

“I'm sick,” she said breathlessly, staring at the ground, just in case she had
nahual
eyes. “I've gotta sit the rest of this one out.”

“But—” he began.

“Sorry!” Gabriella said in a strangled voice. Then she took off running for the locker room. Gabriella crashed through the doors and locked herself in a bathroom stall, where she closed her eyes and counted backward. When she reached
one
, she opened her eyes and looked down. The
nahual
claws were gone. The only traces of them were ten small holes in her cleats.

Gabriella laughed with relief, the sound echoing strangely off the metal lockers and tile walls.
It's okay,
she told herself.
You
are
in control. There's nothing to worry about. Splash some water on your face, and get back out there.

Gabriella opened the door, headed for the sinks, and turned on the faucet. She glanced at herself in the mirror.

Two blazing cat's eyes stared back.

No.
Gabriella's heart started pounding.
But I counted—and my claws changed—

So why hadn't her eyes?

You've got to get control of yourself,
Gabriella thought as she gripped the sides of the sink for support.
Focus. Focus. Breathe. Ten . . . nine . . .

But she couldn't wait. She didn't have the patience. She opened her eyes.

Her
nahual
eyes.

What if I can't change them back?
Gabriella thought in a panic.
What if they stay like this—forever?

Her thoughts spiraled out of control.

The rest of her teammates would think—no, they would
know
—that she was a freak. But that wasn't all.

Everyone would know that she was a cheater.

Because that was the truth, wasn't it? Somewhere, deep inside, Gabriella had to admit that she'd known all along she was using her
nahual
powers on the field. Even if she didn't mean to; even if it had all been subconscious—or even an accident—that didn't really matter, did it?

Cheating was cheating, after all.

And maybe this was the price she would have to pay—halfway transformed, half human, half . . . not. Her shame shining from her eyes, for the whole world to see.

Her eyes smarting with tears, Gabriella blinked rapidly, stared down, and wondered,
Can jaguars cry?