The Zodiac Collector (11 page)

“I was apologizing for startling my sister,” I explain.

Her thin lips grow thinner. “Why don't you go up to the board and solve the equation?”

My head whips back and forth. “No way, I can't.”

Her arched brow climbs her forehead. “Try it. The class will help you.”

Swallowing my pride and begging my knees to hold me up, I slide out of my seat and do the dead-man-walking march to the whiteboard.

My fingers curl around the red marker. I yank off the cap and raise the point to the space beneath the math problem. My vision blurs as I search for something recognizable. Surely, I can get the problem started. A wheeze shivers in my chest. I need to start writing. I need to save face.

Soft snickers trickle behind me. My ears combust and sweat bursts from my body.

Ms. Sutters claps once. “Let's be productive, class, not judgmental. Shequan, give Anne a hand.”

I grind my teeth at the scrape of metal chair legs against tile floor. Quick footsteps move in and Shequan appears at my side. He picks up a blue marker, gives me an easy smile without any hint of pity, and explains the solution to me while scribbling across the board almost as fast as Sutters had.

“Can you take the test for me?” I whisper as he underlines his final answer.

His grin flashes brighter. “No, but I can teach you a trick to solving these problems. Come find me during lunch, okay?”

I nod. “Thanks.”

He drops the marker on the rack and saunters to his desk.

I turn to follow him, but Ms. Sutters extends a hand.

“Wait. I'll put another equation on the board for you to practice on.” Her clunky heels pound the floor, sealing my fate step by step.

I stand there, frozen to the ground, in front of the class, wishing I could melt into the wall and disappear.

There's no way I'm going to solve any equation, let alone pass the exam.

* * *

“I think the girls would like riding lessons.” Dad's voice carries from inside, through the screen door, to the porch where Mary and I halt, striking awkward poses—arms mid-swing and legs half in the air—like we used to while playing Red Light, Green Light.

“Horses are dangerous animals. Besides, we can't afford lessons,” Mom says. They must be in her studio. I can't imagine she'd be anywhere else, considering she only leaves the room to pee or grab some food.

“Marcus is a good trainer. They'll be in good hands. It's for their birthdays. They deserve something nice; they're good kids.” He's pleading with her. I gotta give Dad props for defending us.

“It's not happening!” she screams.

I catch Mary's gaze. Her shoulders square with rigid fear while mine slump with disappointment. Mom's heinous. There's no reason to hope she'll change. If I do get a spell to work, she'll find some way to ruin things, whether it's my birthday or something else. The proof is in the porridge, since we can't even go horseback riding. Other kids turning sixteen would be begging for a car. Mary and I wanted a nice party and riding lessons. Not a big deal at all, but in Mom's world both are impossible.

It's like she can't let us be happy. Or maybe she just doesn't want us to be.

“You're being ridiculous, Liz,” Dad says.

Oh boy. He's essentially poked the dragon with a stick. My lips curl back from my teeth. Mary takes a reflexive step backward.

“What?” Mom's screech is like a handful of razor blades slicing down my spine.

“You're out of control. You need to take your medication.” His words settle around me like a shroud. A heavy, confining, restricting shroud. More like a straightjacket, actually. My legs wobble under the weight of it. I tremble, aching to run, but my feet are rooted to the pressure-treated wood under my feet.

“How dare you!”

A jet engine would be quieter. Amazing all the glass in the house doesn't shatter. Something
does
smash with a jaw-clenching clatter. She must have thrown something.

“I've had enough of your insanity, Liz.” Dad's heavy stomps fade deeper into the house.

Mary digs her fingers into my elbow. “We should go.”

“Where?”

A steady scamper takes over for the deathly silence inside. Castor and Pollux appear at the screen door. Castor scratches at it and Pollux picks up his plea with a whine. They hate Mom and Dad's fighting as much as Mary and me.

“To Grandmother's.” She retreats slowly, silently, gaze fixed on the door.

“Good idea.” I open the door, snatching both dogs' collars before they can make a break for it. Mary takes over dog-handling while I slip inside to grab their leads. I paw at the wall like a cat scratching at a laser dot, gaze locked onto the living room door for any signs that the beast is moving. The first sign would be smoke. Second is the stream of fire.

“Anne, hurry.”

With a frown and a lump in my throat, I grip the leashes and escape to the safety of the porch. I attach the clips to the dogs' collars.

Mary and I scurry down the driveway.

The dogs have no trouble keeping up. In fact, they rush ahead of us, quickened by the animal instinct to flee.

Mary's face is red. Vertical, wet tracks divide her cheeks.

“You okay?” I ask, handing Pollux's lead to her.

She rubs her eyes and accepts the leash. “I hate it when they fight. I wish things were different. I wish Mom wasn't such a…”

“Beast?” I scuff my heels as we walk, staring at the pebbles littering the sidewalk and avoiding the cracks. I don't believe that stepping on them really invites trouble, but why take the chance? Things are crappy enough.

“What's so awful about riding a horse?” Mary corrects Pollux for tugging too much on his leash, but it's halfhearted and he goes right back to yanking her along. He knows the route to Gamma's and I can't blame him for wanting to get there ASAP.

“There isn't anything awful about it. It's just Mom.”

“I wish we didn't have to live there.”

I almost trip over my own feet. We've talked about getting out of the house as soon as we graduate, but she's never brought up the idea of leaving now. “Maybe Gamma will let us stay for a while? She's got a couple spare bedrooms.”

“Yeah.” A small smile tugs at her lips.

“We should ask her.”

Gamma's on her porch when we arrive, rocking in a rocking chair, sipping iced tea. Her big red glasses look like goggles. “Hi girls! Thought you'd be at the faire helping your father set up shop.”

“Mom and Dad are fighting.” I flop on the floor by her feet and pat my thighs. Castor hops onto my lap and tries to French kiss me. I turn my face to the side and scratch behind his ears until he settles down.

Gamma puckers her mouth, but says nothing.

Mary settles down next to me. “I love my camera, Grandmother. It does so much more than my old one. Thank you.” Her eyes are a little red, but at least she's trying to act cheerful.

“You're welcome, honey.” Gamma tosses her gardening magazine on the small table to her left. “What kind of pictures have you been taking?”

“I've got some early shots of the faire and some of Castor and Pollux.”

A sudden breeze comes at us from behind. My hair blows into my face and I have to use both hands to keep it back. I twist to look up at the sky. Dark clouds stream in from the south, eclipsing the pale blue.

“Where'd that storm come from?” Gamma uses her hands to shove off the armrests and stands. She shuffles a few steps, then slowly straightens up and gains momentum. By the time she reaches the front door, she's upright and perky. “Let's get inside before the sky starts falling.”

The dogs are more than happy to follow Gamma to the pantry, aka The Land of Tasty Treats. Although the kitchen is usually bright from the huge bay window over the sink, it's so dark from the heavy clouds rolling in that Gamma turns the light on. A flash of lightning blitzes across the sky and thunder rumbles a moment later.

Mary and I dump our book bags next to the table and slump into the chairs. Gamma joins us after doting on the pups.

“Why the long faces? Your parents will make up. They always do.” Gamma smoothes the red gingham tablecloth with her palms.

“I hate living there,” I blurt.

Gamma tut-tuts. “Now come on, Anne. Your parents give you a good home and good food. They work hard and they do it for you.”

I can't stop myself from pouting. Gamma usually understands when I talk with her.

Mary leans forward on her elbows. “It's getting worse. Mom yells all the time. I'm getting sick of it too.” She hides her face in her hands. Soon, her body shakes with sobs, and small whimpers leak out of her mouth. The sky releases its stores of rain, as if crying in sympathy with Mary.

Tears burn at my eyes reflexively. I want to reach out, wrap my arms around her, and hug the sadness away. But I don't. A hug won't change things. Instead, I clench my jaw and fists and sit there, mute.

Gamma's mouth puckers like a dying fish. Guess she can't decide what to do or say either. Finally, she clears her throat. “Mary…”

Mary shoots to her feet, sending her chair skittering across the floor. She drops her hands to her sides and dashes out of the room. I blink at the empty space where she just was.

I lean forward to stand.

Gamma points a finger at me. “Let her go.”

“What are we supposed to do when Mom is like this?” I angle my chair to keep an eye on the doorway, in case Mary reappears. She doesn't. The screen door hasn't whined open or slammed shut, so I assume she's in the house somewhere.

“She'll get back on her meds and things will settle down.”

I roll my eyes. “Why does she stop them in the first place?”

“She feels better off them.” Gamma stands and scuffles to the cupboard. She pulls out three mugs, then fills a teakettle and sets it on a burner to heat.

I wander next to her. “Can we stay with you for a while?”

She leans back to stare up at me. “I don't think that's a good idea. You can visit every day if you like, but you know your mom needs your help. It's great advertising when Mary and you wear her dresses.”

“What if we don't want to help her?”

“Sometimes we have to do things we don't want to. Wearing the dresses will help keep the peace, don't you think?”

She has a point. I chew on my cheek, eating the regret of asking to stay with her. It had seemed like a solution—a way out—minutes ago. But there's no escape from Mom. She'd come after us if we ran here. It wouldn't be fair to Gamma.

“Not only do we have to pick our battles, we have to choose when to have them. This is not the time to provoke your mother.”

“Yeah, I got it.”

Gamma sighs.

The teakettle whistles. She twists the burner knob to shut it off. I grab some mugs and tea bags—Earl Grey, so traditional—while she carries the kettle to the table and sets it on a potholder.

“When we graduate, we're moving away and never coming back.” I add three heaping spoonfuls of sugar to mine and stir, watching the swirls of steeping tea infect the clear water. I breathe in the bitter scent of bergamot. Reminds me of stuffy sitting rooms, pipes and cigars, and stale, hot summer days.

Gamma squirts some fake lemon juice in her cup. “So you'd leave your Gamma?”

My stomach clenches. “I don't want to leave you, but I can't stay here. Not with
her.”

“Your mother loves you. Her illness makes it difficult for her to show it.”

I want to bite back that it's a lame excuse. She has the chance to stay well by taking her meds and she chooses not to. She chooses mania over us.

“It's not her fault she has bipolar disorder, Anne. She didn't ask for it.”

“But it is her fault that she isn't taking the lithium.”

Her lips pucker again. After a long moment, she says, “Have you been studying the Zodiac spellbook?”

I blow on the tea. The surface ripples. “Yep. I want to practice, but Mary's not interested.”

“Have you been dabbling in the chants already?” She dips her tea bag in and out of the water, then discards it on her spoon.

I slurp a scalding mouthful and choke. “What? No.”

She squints. “I'm no fool, Anne Devans. This is an unnatural storm. Came out of nowhere. You've woken the Gemini twins, haven't you?”

“No.” At least, I don't think I have.

“The storm came up when you said their name. Mary's upset. Emotions can be a trigger.” Gamma lists off her proof.

Weird. I've said their names before without anything happening…except. I cringe. Last night's spell was different. The stardust. My throat goes dry. But Mary said their names not me.

“How'd you do it?” Gamma keeps pushing.

“I didn't!”

She leans over the table, her googly eyes bigger than those of most anime characters. “Don't lie to me.”

“Gamma…” My stomach claws its way up my chest. If I don't keep my mouth clamped shut it might shoot out and skid across the floor.

“How?”

I suck on my lips. I have to come clean and tell her what I know. “Mary and I chanted and all hell broke loose in our room. I thought I'd messed up. Then I tried to chant by myself using some stardust a lady at the faire gave me. It was totally weird. The candle just disappeared!” I flail my arms. Like it even remotely demonstrates what happened.

Gamma's eyes widen. “What do you mean, ‘disappeared?'”

“I don't know how, but it went poof. It was gone, like it never existed.”

She slides her glasses to the tip of her nose and stares at me over the rim. “You said someone gave you stardust?”

“Yeah, but it wasn't real. It was some silly faire stuff. You know, fake.” I nod as if I'll convince myself, despite what I saw.

“Who gave it to you?”