The Zodiac Collector (21 page)

Evan nods and rubs his stomach.

“You're not going to puke, are you?” I retreat a couple steps.

“No.” He gulps so hard I can hear it.

“You think calling Libra and Aries will bring Mary back? What about Shequan?” William shifts so his back is against the column and crosses his ankles.

“I don't know what else to do…for either one of them.” I chew on a fingernail and pace the length of the porch. Dad paced like this when Mom slashed her wrists last winter. She hadn't showered in days, so I figured it was weird that she suddenly went into the bathroom. When she didn't come out after an hour, I checked on her and found her passed out in a tub of bloody water. The straight razor and several empty pill bottles lay scattered across the floor. Mary called 911 while I pressed washcloths against Mom's cuts. All Dad did was pace. Right now, without Mary, I feel as useless as he was.

“What if the symbol isn't Mary?” William gestures to my hand.

“How can it not be?” I squeeze the thing and almost cut my skin on the jagged edge. It barely weighs anything, but the buzzing is so intense that I struggle to keep my hand steady.

“Why would Z disappear and leave without Mary?” William asks.

“Maybe she doesn't realize she lost the symbol.” I pause. This is my sister I'm talking about. Sweet, level-headed, not the slightest bit interested in magick, Mary. Forced into chanting with me because of my incessant nagging, Mary. Morphed into a one-inch half-Gemini symbol, Mary. I flop on the iron bench next to Evan.

He slides over a bit to give me space. “Maybe we should call the police?”

“Yeah, and tell them what? My sister and friend have been turned into Zodiac symbols by a witch?” I tuck my hair behind my ears and bite my lip.

“Well, she's been kidnapped. We're not sure this
is
her. I mean, how could she be turned into…” Evan points to the little “I.” “This?”

“We saw what happened to Shequan.” My shoulders slump. He's starting to flake. After everything he's done to help William out at the stables, to chum up to Mary, to treat her like a treasure, and he's drawing a line at sharing a teeny-tiny drop of blood?

William stands. “You have to tell your parents, Anne.”

I shoot to my feet and square off with him. “How can you say that? Even if I could get Mom to listen, she'd totally freak out.”

“What about your dad?”

I shake my head. “He'd never understand. He barely pays attention to us anyway, and there's
no
way he'd believe in magick.”

The porch light flips on and the front door swings open. Dad peeks his head outside. He's wearing a blue and gray plaid robe and flip-flops. His hair—what remains of it—is sticking up in several places and his eyelids are droopy. “I thought I heard voices. Hi, William. It's a little late for you to be here, isn't it?” His gaze lands on Evan.

“Uh, yes sir, we were just leaving.” Evan jumps up. He stands so straight he looks like a soldier waiting for inspection.

William clicks the switch on his flashlight and tucks it into his back pocket. “We were talking about our SAT. Lots to strategize.”

The lines in Dad's face deepen with sarcasm. “Is that so?”

I build up William's story. “Dad, we were studying, and William and Evan walked me home.”

“Get in the house, Anne.” He juts his chin in that I'm-the-parent-do-as-I-say gesture. It's about the only time he tries to do anything remotely adult-ish. Otherwise, he spends his time playing with iron and torches.

“But we were just—”

“Inside.
Now.”

I roll my eyes and head inside.

“G'night, Anne.” William calls.

“Bye,” Evan adds.

“See you tomorrow, guys,” I reply.

Dad shuts the door and locks it. He shuts off the front light, regardless of if William and Evan made it down the stairs or not. I try to peek outside, but he blocks me.

“What're you doing out at this hour, with a boy—
two
boys—on a school night?” Dad folds his arms. He's got Band-Aids on three fingers and a puffy blister on the back of his right hand. Must've gotten burned from smelting.

“Dad.” I sidestep to the stairs and rub the newel post. If my palm was sandpaper, I'd be rubbing off the varnish and digging into the wood fibers. My throat chokes on the words I want to say. There's no easy way to bring up magick.

He leans against the door. “I know you and William have been friends for a long time, but you're getting older now. I don't think it's a good idea for you and him to be hanging out all the time anymore. And that other boy; he's been at the faire, right? You shouldn't invite him to the house until we've been properly introduced.”

Stifling confusion washes me in a pyroclastic flow of “what the…?” and “did he really just say that?”

He scratches his beard. “It's natural for teenage girls and boys to
experiment
with things, but I don't want you to get into something without knowing what you're doing and then regret it later. Maybe it's best if you and William only see each other on weekends and at the mall with a group of friends. Not alone. And certainly not in the middle of the night.”

The current of puzzlement—a scorching combination of hot ash and volatile gases—threatens to obliterate me, but I glom onto a key word and fire off a question to extinguish the eruption. “Experimentation? Dad, what are you talking about? William's my best friend.”

He shakes his head. “I know it's awkward to discuss…” He waves his hand around in some floppy, Egyptian-esque poses as if it will help him find the right words. “Sex. But your body is going through a lot of changes, and girls your age can be taken advantage of and—”

I fold my arms across my chest and sit on the stairs. Embarrassment broadcasts itself across my cheeks: Level Two Major Disaster commencing in 3…2… “Dad, we're not having sex.”

“It's after midnight and you were alone with two boys.”

“And you think I'm having sex with them? With my clothes on? What, do you think we take turns or do it at the same time?”

His face turns a ruddy tomato-red and the disaster level upgrades to One: Catastrophic Disaster. There's no way I can get out of this conversation intact. “Anne Devans. Don't be so crude.”

“You're the one who brought it up.”

He closes the distance between us and leans over me. His breath smells like beer. “Then tell me the truth. What were you doing with those boys?” His voice is level, but the heat from his eyes is enough to vaporize me.

I can handle Mom's screaming and throwing things, but Dad's anger is more lethal in a lot of ways. I can't play it off as crazy.

“If you don't start talking, I'll have to draw my own conclusions.”

Hazard sirens bleat in a mind-stripping chorus. I have to tell him something, but there's no way he'd believe the whole story. “Something awful happened.”

Alarm creeps into his gaze, sharpening his pupils to laser points. “Did they hurt you?”

“No, of course not!”

“Then what?” His head shakes a bit, like a volcano trembles before it blows.

Mary's gone. Two words. Impossible to say. Thick bitterness rises in my throat and squeezes my windpipe. The slithery tentacles of fear and agony wrap around me and threaten to pull me down through the stairs, basement, and into the earth's bedrock. I fight the urge to fling my arms around him and sob against his round belly. It worked when I was a kid, but it'd be totally weird now. Particularly since he looks like he wants to go all Vesuvius on me.

He straightens. “Anne?”

I clamp my fingers around the railing—grabbing something solid
might
prevent me from exploding. “Mary was…kidnapped.”

Dad blinks furiously. His face squashes into a frown. “Mary who?”

My heart drops to my stomach like a rock plunging into a muddy pond.

“Does she go to your school?” Dad's eye twitches. It does that sometimes, especially if he and Mom are fighting. Or when he's drunk. He drinks when she's manic.

“Mary, my sister.” I hold back from saying,
Duh
. But just barely.

“What, like BFF or something?” He air-quotes BFF.

“No, like
sister
, sister. Flesh and blood. Twin. Genetic replicant.”

He sighs again. “Aren't you too old for an imaginary friend? Is this some kind of spiritual mumbo-jumbo you picked up at the faire?”

Imaginary friend? Mumbo-jumbo?
My brain implodes. I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. After a Level One disaster, the state governor calls on help from the government. In this case, I have no one to call.

“Okay. Go to bed. I'm too tired to discuss this right now. We'll talk about William and Evan and your total disregard of any kind of curfew tomorrow.” Disappointment is plastered across his face, from the vertical line creasing the middle of his forehead to the thin line of his lips.

“But…”

“Now.” He snaps his fingers and waits for me to get up and start climbing.

Inside my room, I lock the door and press my forehead against the frame. He couldn't have been serious about Mary being a figment of my imagination. I take a deep breath. He hadn't asked if she'd been out with us either. Maybe he thinks she's in bed, sleeping. She's the good twin, after all, and I'm the troublemaker.

I reach out to flip the light switch and turn around.

Mary's bed is gone. So are her bedside table, polka-dotted lamp, pictures, books,
everything.
Instead of a row of hangers holding her rainbow-sorted clothes, dozens of fabric swatches fill a compartmented shelving unit.

She's not only gone, but her life has been erased. All of it. That's why Dad didn't know who she was.

My chin trembles. “No,” I sob.

Outside, rain pelts the world, slicking away the memory of the day.

I stumble to my bed and collapse on the mattress, glaring at the trinket. “What have you done?”

My lungs go all wheezy again. At this rate, I'll run out of medicine in a week rather than a month. I take a hit of albuterol anyway and curl into a shuddering ball of panic.

Castor wiggles in his bed and whines. Pollux rolls on his back and wags his tail. At least both dogs are here. I take it as a good sign.

“Poor pups. Here. See Mary?” I kneel next to them, my knees resting on the hardwood floor, and show them the trinket.

They hop up in unison and sniff at it. Pollux barks and practically leaps into my hand. I close my fingers over the half-Gemini symbol and clutch it to my heart. Fresh tears slide down my cheeks. Castor and Pollux plant their front paws on my arms, bodies wagging as much as their tails.

“It
is
her, isn't it?” I pat their heads and stand. I search my dresser drawer for a scarf. I wrap the trinket in it and slide it into my pocket. “I promise, I'll get you back.”

Dad's heavy footsteps stomp up the stairs. He belches in the hallway. A moment later, the door to his room slams.

I watch the clock for a full half an hour before creeping downstairs, sticking to the wall—it's my best Spider-Man impression yet—to avoid the creaky spots. The living-room door is open and Mom's music isn't blaring. I duck my head in to see if she's there. Nope. I bite my lip. She could be anywhere in the house.

In the foyer, I stay perfectly still, focusing on any tick or hitch in the house. The thrumming of my pulse drowns out anything I might catch. I can stand here forever or I can move.

I choose to move, but I hold my breath until I reach the front door. The hinges creak and I scan the foyer, expecting Mom or Dad to hop out of the shadows to tackle me.

Halfway down the driveway Dad's mega-angry voice stops me from the porch. “Anne Devans. Get inside the house. Now.”

Was he at the window waiting for me to sneak out? Since when did he turn into a night watchman? I want to scream. A lot. Instead, I swallow my frustration and scuff my way back to the porch as a bolt of lightning streaks across the sky. Crackling thunder erupts. It's like the weather knows my mood.

Dad grabs me by the arm and jerks me inside. “Get up there. I told you repeatedly to go to bed. I have no choice but to ground you.”

“Dad, no, you don't understand.” I lace my fingers and slap them to the top of my head. “Castor and Pollux,” I mutter.

Another boom of thunder shakes the earth.

“I do understand. William is a nice boy, but you don't have permission to hang out with him all night. Or sneak out of the house. I don't understand why you're doing this. Is it because of your birthday?”

“No, Mary's—”

“Enough! I'll call his parents in the morning. You're grounded.” He holds out his hand. “Come inside.”

I stare at him, immobile. He's never grounded me before. Heck, he's never been so nosy before either.

“Anne.” His green eyes flash with fury.

I can't refuse.

He grabs hold of my arm and shoves me toward the stairs. “I hope your attitude improves by morning.”

I hope I have a plan to save Mary by morning.

Chapter Eighteen

N
o one asks me about Mary all day. The teachers don't say her name, or Shequan's, during roll call. The other students don't ask if she's sick and no one mentions Shequan at all. During a study break I draft chants to invoke Libra and Aries instead of studying for the SAT. William, Evan, and I cross paths during lunch—so many students are preparing for the exam that we're in different review groups—and agree to meet at the faire after the joust.

I don't bother going home after the final bell at two-thirty. The joust is at four, so I have some time to kill. Maybe I can catch the guys before they need to perform.

The barn is full of activity. Horses are lined up along the main walkway, dressed in their tack and attached to the cross ties. Shequan's dad races up and down the line, barking orders and checking to see if everything is in place. He's focused, sharp as a ninja sword, and way too steady, considering his son is missing.