Bijou Page 7

  The bomb shelter.

  Get up, you loser. Get up and get moving. Forcing my muscles, I fought to stand, but in the black had no reference point and felt myself listing to one side. Reaching out a hand, I fumbled to find the wall, but my knee crashed against something hard—touching, I felt a wooden platform—one of the bunks along the south side of the shelter. Above would be two more.

  Now I knew where the door was. Blind, I groped along the bunk and found a wall. Images of Dominique’s bedroom flashed in my mind like an art movie, glimpses of scenes, rerun over and over. They had meant to kill one of us? But who? Me or Ivy? And my father! My head spun as I thought of it—he knew now to collect Bijou from the living? How was that possible? Why hadn’t he told us? But I knew the answer. Because it was too horrific to imagine. Bad enough, sinful enough to collect the soul of someone who was dying, rob them of their shot at eternity, even coming back, if they believed they could. But to take the soul out of a living body violated every principle of being that I knew, and some I probably didn’t.

  But I couldn’t dwell on the questions to which I had no answers. Why had the veil chosen to fling me back in time to witness that moment? Messages, symbols from other worlds, forces that we can’t understand, abound in the universe. The veil had given me a terrible, burning gift.

  My hand found the door. It was a steel door, padded with layers of paint. Pressing the handle, I pushed the door open and stepped into our old basement.

  Chapter Eight

  The Hidden Diary

  Distant streetlight lit the cellar, falling on an pile of discarded belongings under the stairs—a bicycle, child’s toys, a torn over-stuffed chair, boxes of clothing. Each owner, likely, had bestowed some sacrificial item on the pile, until it had grown into a sizable accumulation of detritus. I padded past, put my foot on the bottom stair, took a breath to ease my tense muscles. The cellar smelled of moldy clothes with a taint of spilled alcohol. Likely Mark and Maddy and their friends explored this region and left behind libations of beer.

  A thump sounded above my head. I hoped Sawyer would not try anything stupid, especially if Mark really had a gun. Raised voices—Mark’s, I thought, yelling “Shut up!”

  Clearly I would need help. I could deal with the dead easily enough, but the living were exponentially more dangerous. Hesitating by the basement door, ajar under the main staircase, I ordered my thoughts and summoned assistance.

  Jonah appeared even before I was ready, as if he were again waiting for my call. He took on a luminous glow on the dim basement stair landing, outlined in silver and rainbows. Through him I could see the high shelf along the wall, where jars of preserves still sat in their dusty coats. My god, how long had they been there?

  “Annie, are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He grinned, showing his small, uneven teeth.

  “In a way, I have.” I inhaled again, pushing away thoughts of Dominique’s voice, the silver stiletto, the way she kissed Joseph as if it were the final good-by. “But that’s not why I called. I need a distraction.”

  Quickly I told him my plan. His grin widened as he nodded, and disappeared through the wall into the main house.

  As I waited, I pulled out my cell phone and pressed Ivy’s number.

  “How is it going? You need me?” Her voice came after the first ring.

  I had told Ivy my plan to break into the house with Sawyer, forcing her to swear she would wait for my call, not interfere in any way. Oddly, she obeyed me. I explained about Mark and Maddy and that they had Sawyer—I didn’t tell her I thought they might be armed. I also told her I had sent Jonah in to distract the two would-be ghost hunters long enough for me to get past them and up the stairs without being seen.

  “What do you want me to do?” Her voice was eager, sharp. I worried I had done the wrong thing in calling her, hit the panic button a bit too hard.

  “Just—OK, you have to promise me. If things get really bad, I will hit your number on my cell and hang up. That is your signal to call the police.”

  “Wait a minute.” Ivy coughed. She always coughed when she got excited. “What is going on. Annie, if you’re in danger, get the hell out of there!”

  “Promise me, Ivy. Let me handle this.”

  “Annie, I mean it. Get out of there. It’s not worth-” I ended the call. I figured I had ten minutes before Ivy got here. I had no doubt she would come flying down here, eyes blazing, walk straight up to a psycho meth freak and think she could handle him.

  A shriek burst from the living room, followed by panicked laughter. Maddy had caught sight of Jonah. I hoped he looked appropriately menacing. A loud crash followed, and I took that as my signal to dash for the stairs.

  Up to the second floor, end of the hall. Above, near the window at the end of the hallway, a chain hung. Stopping under it, I waited.

  Another crash, this time with a breaking glass sound. Good Jonah! Poltergeist manifestations! Gripping the chain, I yanked. Hard.

  The collapsing stairs ratcheted down, sounding like the groaning of a million ghosts, just another noise in the haunting. As soon as the bottom rung hit the floor, I was up.

  The Novak attic was a small room, barely 12 feet by 12. It was painted yellow, and we had played here often as children, peeking out the round windows at either end, climbing around stacks of boxes and lamps and pieces of furniture Dad stuffed up there. Here was the only place leavings of our mother were stored—she left us when I was only two, the reason being, I suppose, another of Dad’s many affairs. He never spoke of her, but Ivy and I had uncovered her history in photographs, letters, the marriage certificate. I always thought of this attic as my mother’s room, imagining a secret, crazed mother kept in the attic, slipping her food under the door.

  Now the attic was empty except for the heavy maple bureau—how had Dad ever gotten that up here—so heavy no one wanted to get it down again, even though it was probably valuable.

  Below me, the house shivered with thumps and booms and more shattering glass. I hoped Jonah wouldn’t hurt Sawyer as he frightened the meth-duo. I opened the bureau drawers, the top one empty, the next, a pile of dried potpourri in the corner, the third, empty except for a pair of boy’s underwear. No diary.

  She said it was here! Cursing, I slammed the drawer shut and rose, scanned the attic. Nothing, not a shred of paper, not even a paper clip. The attic was filmed only with dust and cobwebs—not a spiral-bound notebook in sight.

  Why would she hide it here? Unless it had something very revealing in it that she didn’t want her parents to find. Furious, desperate to help Sawyer, I kicked the dresser, numbing my toe.

  Something slipped to the floor behind it. My heart rolled in my chest. Kneeling, I pulled a pink and white thesis notebook from underneath.

  Without looking at it, I stuffed it into the back of the waistband of my shorts and bolted for the stairs.

  A scream blasted through the house, louder than a human, almost like an eagle’s cry. Jonah was really hamming it up. Now if I could just get downstairs safely and get Sawyer out of the house.

  As I reached the second floor landing, a gunshot exploded. My breath choked my throat and I froze. A shocked silence followed, as if the house too were holding its breath.

  Too terrified to go any further, I strained to hear anything. Seconds ticked by. I sent a silent summons to Jonah, but he didn’t appear.

  I had to do something. Slipping my cell phone out of my pocket, my fingers shook as I punched Ivy’s number, waited for the first ring, then ended the call. Then I put my foot down on the top step.

  The creak it made echoed through the house, and I sprang back. The next moment, hours later but really only a few seconds, I heard angry shouting coming not from the living room below, but toward the front of the house.

  Seizing this as my chance, I flew down the stairs, skidded to a stop beside the living room entry, hidden from view. Listening, I heard nothing. Outside voices continued and unmistakably one of them was Ivy’s, h
ysterically angry. The other was a man’s voice—I wondered if Sawyer had escaped, and was outside fighting with Ivy about Agnes again. Then there was a loud pop, as if someone had fired a gun.

  I had to find Sawyer. A moan, a soft scrape, came from the dark living room. I waited, leaning, listening.

  It came again, a moan, rustling. Nothing else.

  Gathering my courage, I peaked around the doorway frame.

  Someone lay on the floor, under the shattered bay windows. Jonah had done a lot of damage—floorboards pulled up, all the windows broken, piles of ceiling plaster on the floor. Mark and Maddy were nowhere in sight, and Sawyer, under the windows, started to sit up, pressing a hand against the side of his head.

  Darting to his side, I helped him stand up.

  “Must have been some party.” Blood trickled down his temple. “I must have got pretty loaded.”

  I got him to lean on me and we crunched through plaster toward the front door. “Yeah, you were hitting the infused vodka pretty hard.” I had to get him out of here.

  Steering him toward the back, we stumbled through the kitchen and down the steps, listening for any sound or sight of Mark and Maddy. But they seemed to have vanished as thoroughly as Jonah. Maybe they had been ghosts all along? The thought both amused and irritated me.

  “Annie, I don’t remember you at the party. When did you get here?” Sawyer’s arm, around my neck, tightened. His hand crept down and found my breast. “Nice. Thanks for helping me.”

  We circled the corner of the house, walking through the side yard toward the front. I didn’t bother to remove Sawyer’s hand.

  Night air cooled the sweat on my neck. A sweet scent filled my nostrils. Warm against me, Sawyer nuzzled my neck, his guard down because of the knock on the head.

  Ivy still shouted. In the distance the wail of sirens. I had to get all of us out of here before the police arrived. But as I rounded the corner of the house, a strange tableau met my eyes.

  Ivy indeed stood on the weedy lawn, shouting at a man leaning against a fancy little sports car. He wore a black golf shirt stretched over a small paunch, and white pants. Silver streaked his thick, wavy hair.

  Several things cycled through my mind at once, none of them pleasant. Why had she come here? What had she done with Zoe, whom she was supposed to be watching for me? And why did she have a gun in her hand?

  Sirens louder, closer. The man next to the car looked pretty relaxed, considering Ivy had likely just fired a gun at him. But he leaned to one side and ran his hand over the door of his car. Relieved to see he was unhurt, I saw that Ivy had shot his car, not him.

  Could this be Jack Easton, Ivy’s ex-husband and local real estate mogul, whom I had never met? I needed to get her attention, but I wasn’t sure how.

  “Wow, an Audi TT. Sweet.” Sawyer breathed against my neck.

  Silver-hair turned to look in our direction, and I could see, even in the dim streetlight, his eyebrows go up. Ivy jerked toward me, following his glance.

  “Oh, there you are!” She walked toward us, weaving in terribly impractical high heeled sandals, the gun dangling from her hand. “Why didn’t you tell me he was here, too, the bastard.”

  I wasn’t sure if she was talking about Silver-hair or Sawyer, but there wasn’t time to define the point. “Ivy, we have to get out of here. The cops are coming.”

  She shrugged. “Oh, I heard them. Probably one of the neighbors called, hearing all the noise.”

  “Yeah, a gunshot would rouse suspicion, don’t you think?” Turning, I led her toward the back of the house. Sawyer kept craning back to look at the car, but I propelled him forward. He was till pretty unsteady. Ivy followed, muttering all the while.

  “Goodnight, Ivy. So nice to see you.” Jack Easton’s voice floated after us. “Hello Sawyer. I’ll visit you both in jail later.”

  To my great relief Ivy ignored this, muttering, “Why would he be here? Checking on his property in the middle of the night. Doesn’t the man sleep?” We hurried up the back steps, hearing the sirens, roaring motors of Crown Vics rushing up the quiet street toward the old Novak place. Not the first time the cops have ever come here, I knew. “I wish I hadn’t missed him. I’m no good with this thing.”

  I didn’t ask why she even owned a gun. I doubted she had obtained it legally. But she followed me into the house, down the cellar stairs. “Ivy, where is Zoe? You didn’t bring her with you, did you?”

  “She’s with Bruce. He drove me here, dropped me off. I knew you didn’t want my car seen around here.” Ivy huffed a little, clacking down the stairs behind me. Above, outside, I heard voices, police radios. The sound of someone coming up the front steps, a shout: “Police!” the usual demand to put down a weapon and come out with hands up.

  But I didn’t hear the rest. Stumbling across the basement floor, floorboards creaked and thundered above us as the cops rushed through the house. Someone stopped at the top of the basement steps. Another shouted demand, echoing down the stairs.

  Ivy fumbled at the shelter door, yanked it open, pulled it shut when we got inside. Total darkness engulfed us. Sawyer said, “Whoa!”

  Please, please hurry! The veil sprang out of the void—a shimmering warm sliver widened; the smell of stagnant water and rich rot stung my nostrils. I felt Ivy grasp Sawyer as he stiffened, tried to bolt.

  Whispers, noises just outside the shelter door. Soft scraping, police in protective gear trying to be silent, signaling to each other they knew we were inside.

  Behind, I heard the door move, shoved by a foot—we had not had time to lock it. As it was flung aside with a bang, I felt the push of air it made.

  Ivy, Sawyer and I pushed through the veil. I thought I heard a shocked “What the-” as the veil snapped shut behind us.

  Chapter Nine

  Summation of a Summoning

  Sawyer tugged at my shirt. “Oh man, where are we? Did I do mushrooms? What kind of party is this?”

  Standing breathless in the basement of the Sanatorium, I listened to Ivy wheezing and worried the portal-travel, so abrupt without the proper preparation, had been too rough for her. Sawyer let go of me, wandered off toward the stairs, weaving slightly. I touched Ivy’s shoulder.

  “You all right?”

  “Oh, fine. Great. Wonderful.” She got all the words out without having to take a breath. “Can you imagine those cop’s faces? When they saw us shrink to nothing before the veil closed, like we were receding into the distance in fast motion? I wish I could have seen that. Hear them try to explain to Chief Stone what they saw.”

  The name was familiar, some lifetime Quantum City resident we went to high school with who stayed behind to join the village finest, cruising the city, harassing Mexican citizens. But the thought flipped out of my mind and I landed on the other, more immediate concern.

  Relieved Ivy was not about to collapse from all this activity—indeed, she was more excited than I had seen her in years—I planted myself in front of her. “What the hell were you doing there with a gun? Where the hell did you get a gun from, anyway?”

  Ivy shrugged, glanced toward Sawyer, who was looking through the half open door of the old storeroom where they now stood. Streetlight filtered in through the steel mesh windows. I could see Ivy smile. “Isn’t it ironic? This is Jack’s gun. He always had guns around. Too bad he never wanted me to learn how to shoot. I guess he was afraid I would kill him.”

  I couldn’t keep the edge out of my voice. “I told you to call the police. I told you to stay home. I don’t like that you involved Bruce and Zoe in this. I only hope Bruce didn’t stick around to see the show.”

  Lowering her chin, Ivy looked at me sideways. “You really think I was going to let you have all the fun? When you told me your harebrained scheme, I made back-up plans.”

  Sawyer had the door open by now, and wandered out into the dark corridor. I didn’t want him out of my sight. Around us wraiths whispered and muttered, disturbed, distressed. “You could have gotten us killed. Those
freaks had a gun, too. They attacked Sawyer—you saw the blood on his head. They were toked on crystal and would do anything.”

  Ivy leveled her gaze at me. Street light glimmered in them, two moon-like glints. “And you still were going to waltz in there like two dancing fairies, and what, charm them out of the house? Don’t you get it?” Her voice drew to a sharp whisper. “They were never there. They were spirits.”

  I stared at her, searching for words. I hated when Ivy was right and I was wrong. I should have known! Why didn’t I see what they were—it would explain their presence in the house, so fierce, so protective. There was no gun, no crystal meth. “So what were they doing there? Ghosts in the old Novak house? I thought that was impossible.”

  Ivy pressed her lips together, thinking. By now, Sawyer had wandered through the door. “Hey,” he called back. “Where the hell are we?”

  He wouldn’t stay dazed for long. I would have to come up with an explanation soon about how we ended up in the basement of the old Sanatorium across town from my old house. But for now, I had other worries. A small concern chewed at the back of my brain as I waited for Ivy’s answer.

  “Someone set them there.” Ivy tapped her jaw with one nail-bitten finger. “Had to be. Someone has been using that portal. Needed guardians. Mean, bad guardians to keep people away.”

  I thought I knew who might have been using it. There was only one other person, besides Ivy and myself. Not even Bruce would dare a portal on his own, I figured.

  “Dominique? Could it be?” I whispered the name as Sawyer came back into the room. Heat ran through me as I remembered my temporal detour into Dominique’s past through this very portal. How could that happen unless she left a trace here? Suddenly I needed to get out of here, get home to my daughter.

  Ivy nodded. “If that is so, she could be using other portals, too. And set guardians there, too.”