The Zodiac Collector (24 page)

“You don't look freaked out,” I complain.

He shrugs. “Things changed since we invoked Libra. I think it helped somehow.”

“I wish I had your sign.”

The edge of his mouth creeps up.

I sigh and use my fingers to shake out my hair. “We have to go back.”

His head tips to the side. “Go back where?”

“To the faire grounds. Maybe we'll find some clue or something about where Z went.” I pick at a fading red dot on my arm.

“Like what? She took everything.”

“We have to do something.”

“Come inside. We'll eat some breakfast and think about this logically.” He tugs on my belt.

A flash of Zeena's light rope crashes into my mind. I jitter and retreat from his hold. “I can't sit around and do nothing.”

“Whoa, take it easy.”

“I can't.” I storm away from him, too jacked on adrenaline to care if I slop in mud. My toe catches on a rock and I crash to the ground. I can't even get walking right.

William grabs my elbow and tries to haul me up.

I shove him off. “Stop it. I can do it myself.”

He doesn't really let go until I'm fully upright. “So stubborn.”

I scrape the muck and mud off my jeans and coat and end up smearing it all over. “Yeah, I know.”

William's blue eyes spark. “I know you blame yourself for all this, but you shouldn't. And you don't have to solve this alone.”

“I
am
alone.”

“Weren't you just saying a couple minutes ago how glad you were to have me around? What am I supposed to do? Hang on the bench until I'm called into play?”

“Huh?”

His mouth twists. “Sports reference.”

“Oh.”

He leans close, until the space between us fizzes with possibilities. His mouth is so close to mine I can feel the warmth of his skin.

“William?” My brow arches.

“Yeah?”

“What're you doing?”

He smiles. “Something else happened when we invoked Libra. I got this
clarity
about things. About how I should trust my instincts and stop putting off things I know are right.”

“Like what?” So unfair. I didn't get anything like that from invoking Gemini.

“Way to ruin the moment, Anne. I'm kissing you. If you shut up, that is.”

I suck in a breath.

His lips brush against mine, light as a whisper. I fall into him. He pulls me closer and sucks on my bottom lip. I run my hands through his thick hair and give a solid yank. A laugh barks from his throat and his hands move lower. While our mouths duel, our auras meld. The wild energy from Gemini leaches out of me in golden streams, and the calming force of Libra soaks in through my pores, immobilizing my worries and fears as it goes. Inside, a flux of power sloshes around, turning my brain to mush and my heart to a hard jewel of flame.

The war within pours out of me and splits us apart.

William pants. “Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“I'm not sure what just happened.”

“Me neither.”

“It was pretty cool. We should try again.”

I don't disagree. Mud is caked on his sweatshirt. Impulsively, I brush it off. “If I don't at least try to look for some clue or something, then I'll never be able to stand it. No one remembers Mary, Shequan, or Evan exist, so who else will look for them?”

“So, no more kissing?”

I stare at his mouth. For a long time. “Come with me to the faire?”

“I'll go wherever you go.”

The faire is shut down due to the weather, like cousin Tommy said. It's the first time that has happened in my lifetime. The paths are just as washed out and muddy as the main roads. William has a harder time walking in his grubby three-million-year-old sneakers. We shift to the grass, which is slightly more solid, but way more slippery. It's like walking on gelatin instead of sponges.

“My feet are soaked.”
Squish, squish, squish
.

“I doubt those were ever waterproof. Why didn't you put on boots?”

“Didn't think I'd be sloshing through mud lakes.” His eyebrows waggle.

“At least you're not covered in mud.” I turn toward the woods. This part of the faire grounds is on a hill, so we don't have to worry about puddles, but we do have to be careful about not slipping and sliding on saturated leaves and mulch. Finally, we get to the old witch's shoppe. While the sun bathes it in rich yellows, there's a hollow quality to it, as if I'm wearing 3D glasses. I swipe my hand, testing it for solidity. My palm smacks the siding with a
whack
.

William taps the wood himself and peers at me. “What're we doing?”

I drop my hand. “Nothing.”

Inside, I spy a white pillar candle perched on a windowsill toward the back of the shack. A matchbook sits next to it. I snatch both up and carry them to the center of the room. “These weren't here before.”

William kneels across from me. “You think we should mess with them?”

“Maybe the twins are helping us.”

“Maybe Z is baiting us.”

“It's a risk I have to take.”

“But there's nothing else here.”

“Not everything can be seen with the naked eye. I'm going to ask our signs to reveal a clue.” I call the four directions and elements.
“North, south, east, west. Earth, fire, wind, and water.”

A tentative smile crosses his mouth. After everything that's happened, I'm surprised he's excited. Must be his Libra confidence.

“This anchors the chant. Say it with me.”

“Okay.”

I extend my hands to him.

He doesn't hesitate to tangle our fingers together. The same chemical reaction that happened when we kissed bubbles inside me. The Zodiac power is our reagent. Physical contact is the catalyst.

Ages tick by and nothing inspires me. I drop his hands. So much for finishing the experiment.

He plants his hands on his knees. “Something wrong?”

My shoulders slump. “I'm afraid to say the wrong thing.”

He leans forward. “I believe in you. You can do this.”

“I wish I could just tell them to bring Mary, Evan, and Shequan back.”

“Then say that.” He shrugs.

I think about it. “It's too easy.”

“Maybe you're making it harder than it has to be. Try following the path of least resistance.”

I take a deep breath. Okay. Right. Path of least resistance. Easy peasy.

“I'm here, Anne. You're not alone. Remember that.”

I lick my lips, close my eyes, and chant:

I open my eyes. We're surrounded by a gigantic soap bubble of swirling blue and yellow. The ripples reflect off our skin, casting fluctuating shadows.

William grins. “This is amazing.”

“Where's the lightning and thunder and hail and wind?” I purse my lips at him and blow out the candle. The bubble bursts and the room goes black-hole dark.

“Crap, Anne, what's going on?” William's voice sounds distant, even though he's sitting inches away from me.

The familiar wind I was waiting for batters the shoppe. It protests with pops and creaks. A battering ram of energy slams into my back. I collapse onto the candle. Wax splashes my cheek, sticking to my skin with its brutal heat.

I yelp and swipe at the hot wax as my body stretches from the inside. An itchy tingle settles in my spine and gut. The invader's icy claws slash as they go, shifting muscle and sinew to burrow into a cavity by my pelvis.

“Anne!” William shouts. He scrambles somewhere off to my right. The doorknob rattles and light slashes into the room as the door opens. “Anne?”

“I'm okay.” I rise up on my elbows and flop over on my back like an unsteady turtle. My intestines and liver are shoved higher than they're supposed to be and compress my lungs. I snake my inhaler from my pocket, but my fingers shake too much. It slips from my fingers and clatters to the floor. William retrieves it and holds it steady at my mouth. I hold up two fingers for two puffs. The rush of medicine seizes my lungs even more. I wheeze and cough, unable to eject the bitter tang from my airways. If the inhaler doesn't work, I'm going to need an ambulance. “What's…hap… penning?”

“We should get out of here.” William half-drags, half-carries me outside. “Focus on slow breaths, Anne. Your lungs will open up. Don't panic, that'll make it worse.” He talks me through it better than any coach giving tips to his star player. I lay helplessly in his lap, with his sturdy arms around me, tenuously grasping to his life, his force, his tender gaze.

I relax a bit. Fresh air flows in and I release the tears that beg for freedom. Every time my breath is stolen, I fear it'll be my last episode, the final one that will take my life. When the albuterol doesn't work, the terror goes from hypothetical to very real.

William wipes my face. Bits of cooled wax stick under his fingernails.

“Am I burned?”

“It's a little red, but I think you're okay. I still see freckles.” He grins, even if it's only to make me feel better.

“Thanks.”

William helps me stand. “Let's get you home.”

I don't argue. We walk slowly, in silence, hand in hand.

Together.

Chapter Twenty

I
reassure William I can make it home on my own, but he keeps walking with me anyway. Coming up with a cover story will be hard; if Dad catches me with William, he'll probably send me to an all-girls' school or, worse, a convent. On impulse, I fling my arms around William and give him a hug.

He squeezes back. “What's this for? Not that I'm complaining.”

“I'll call you later, okay?” I let go and rush off.

“Bye,” he calls.

I skirt around the hedge marking our property line, using the greenery as camouflage. Mom's car is in the driveway, but Dad's truck is gone. Good. With any luck, Dad hadn't told Mom about grounding me.

I approach the house with SWAT-team stealth. Regardless of Mom's knowledge (or lack thereof), the situation inside could be critical and I don't want to trigger random open fire. My boots clomp on the porch so I shimmy out of them to deaden my footsteps. I shrug out of my jacket, pull it inside out, and tie it around my waist to hide as much mud as possible. Fewer visuals indicating my participation in mudcapades means less evidence for any potential interrogation.

The house is silent, like a funeral home at night. You know bodies are around, but you don't want to run into one. Shutting the front door without alerting the maternal guard is a miracle. When she's quiet, she expects the rest of us to be too. Even a whisper will irritate her.

I wince at every creak and pop of the stairs. It's not a crime to leave my room, but I don't want her to guess my whereabouts on the rare chance she is listening. Not until after I've changed into clean clothes.

The dogs greet me with happy yips and wet licks and ticking puppy paws. Poor things haven't had enough attention lately. I fight them off me to change, wary of the amount of dried dirt flaking off my jeans. Firing up a vacuum cleaner to suck up the evidence is
not
an option.

“Guys, really?” I palm the kerchief with Mary tucked inside. Then I undress, ball my muddy clothes, stuff them into a spare pillowcase, and rush downstairs. Mom's workroom door is open and she's not inside. She's not in the basement either, thank goodness. I load the wash and dump in extra detergent.

Once the washing machine hums to life, I slip back to the porch and grab my boots. The garden hose is on the other side of the garage. After a quick rinse in cold water, my hands are frigid, but the boots are clean. I dry them off with a spare rag and take them to my room, putting them away in their designated spot.

First time for everything, I guess.

I feed the dogs, take them for a walk, and take a shower. Daily rituals. Routine. Should be calming. But I'm not satisfied. My stomach twists on itself. I have to organize something, anything.
Now
.

The pile of school stuff on my desk could use tidying. Binders from the past school year belch loose papers, crinkled handouts, and torn folders. I carry the lot to my bed and dig in for a solid straightening-up session. When I finish, each page is filed neatly under the proper tab.

Unsatisfied, I scan the room and spy my bottom bookshelf. More binders are squished between the Eiffel Tower bookends. Soon, a layer of sweat covers me, and a rainbow of binders replaces the random chaos.

I stand and run my fingers through my hair. Instead of sighing with frustration at the curls, I luxuriate in the springy pop each lock gives when I let go.

Wait. I hate my curly hair. Mary is the one who—

“Oh. My. God.” I whirl to the mirror next to the closet, legs weakening by the millisecond. My mouth drops open. Without thinking about it—because I was in such a hurry to get out of my muddy clothes—I've changed into Hello Kitty sweatpants and a matching pink T-shirt. Except I never wear matchy-matchy clothes.

Mary does.

The subzero intruder that had been slumbering during my cleaning fest shivers awake. It uncurls and stretches, climbing along my vertebrae to the base of my neck.

I pinch my eyes shut and open them again.

My curly hair fits. So does the pink outfit. I smile.

I close my eyes again and shake my head, jostling loose any funky thought. When I open my eyes and take in the curls sprouting from my scalp, I cringe.