Bijou Page 8

  Silence fell over us as we considered what Ivy had just said. The room temperature, already cool, dropped several degrees. I wondered if I was just tired, overwrought, imagination raging, when I noticed Sawyer shove his hands into his armpits.

  Mean, bad guardians. But I had gotten through this portal tonight—no one tried to frighten me away. Unless I was allowed because I was using it locally, not to enter the Dead Zone. Or perhaps forces wanted me in that closet to overhear Dominique Delphine threaten our lives seventeen years ago.

  We stood breathing, listening. Even Sawyer was silent, as if covered with the feeling that someone had just walked over his grave.

  Then I heard it. A long low growl.

  I couldn’t tell where it came from. Ivy locked eyes with mine. My back was to the portal, and I saw Ivy glance behind me. Great. Fucking great.

  “What the—is there a dog in here?” Sawyer spun around, as if looking for something to pick up.

  Big, bad guardians. The growl sounded again, joined by another one, deep and low—very large dogs, I wagered. Directly behind me.

  They can’t harm us, not really. But fear took hold of me, squeezed big hands around my chest, pushing out my breath. My knees quivered. Ghosts can’t kill. Ghosts I had known all my life told me this. But this felt different, a fouler order of events playing out with game rules I didn’t know. Unpredictable animal-ghosts could do anything.

  Sawyer, brave soul, sprang into action. Giving a yell, he waved his arms and jumped up and down. My feet froze to the floor. Ivy’s eyes matched mine in amplitude of fear.

  Scrape of claws on the cement. The growling intensified as the beasts edged forward, not in the least intimidated by Sawyer’s antics. A cold spurt of air, fouled with the odor of decay. Seizing Ivy, I bolted toward the door, my feet and legs winning over my brain. Passing Sawyer, I gripped him, but he shrugged me off and remained behind, yelling and waving his arms.

  “SAWYER!” They won’t hurt him, I told myself as I stumbled, pulling Ivy with me down the basement corridor. Miles away I could see the door to the basement stairwell, behind snuffling, growling, shouting, and pounding feet. They want us, not Sawyer. They are here for the Novaks, only Ivy and me.

  I didn’t look back until we reached the stairs, relieved that I could hear Sawyer pounding behind us, and behind him I saw two shadows, black with scarlet flames for eyes, bounding, luminous spit flung from their maws.

  Pushing Ivy into the stairwell, I waited for Sawyer. It’s not him they want. It’s me.

  Plowing into me, Sawyer shoved me into the stairwell and whirled around to push shut the door. Scraping on the cement, squealing, the door barely moved.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off the beasts. Their claws struck sparks, growls thundered and echoed through the hospital walls. I couldn’t move.

  Hearing Ivy curse, something snapped in me. Tearing my glance from the dogs, I saw her trying to help Sawyer get the door closed. I doubted the door would stop them, if they really wanted me, but there was a chance. Pushing Ivy aside, I grabbed the door and pulled with all my might.

  A ear-shattering squeal filled the stairwell. My arms gave out, but Sawyer kept on, leaning his shoulder against the door, forcing the rusted hinges to move, closing the gap.

  The door shivered as the dogs struck it, barks and growls deafening. One paw slid through the narrow gap, above a muzzle agape with razor teeth. With one last push, I threw myself against the door, and Sawyer slammed it shut.

  Silence fell like a dead bird straight from the sky. Growls, barks vanished in echoes—our ears rang in dead quiet.

  Except for our quick shallow breaths. Sawyer leaned against the door, pressed his elbow against his forehead. Ivy sat on the lowest step, her hand on her chest.

  “Wow, that was close.” I thought Ivy said it aloud. I was certainly thinking it.

  “JEEzus, what the fuck are those dogs doing down here?” Sawyer pounded a fist against the door. “Who’s keeping dogs down here?” Pushing past us he started up the stairs.

  “Are you all right?” I whispered to Ivy, and she nodded. “He’s right, we need to get out of here.”

  Ivy put her hand on my arm and pulled herself up. We mounted the stairs as quickly as we could, following Sawyer, who didn’t even look back to see if we were behind him. I couldn’t blame him. This must all be a shock to him, not a reality he was comfortable with. I only hoped he would accept my explanation. As soon as I could think of one.

  Outside the cool night chilled me. Holding Ivy’s elbow, I noticed she didn’t pull away, but seemed glad of the assistance. Sawyer waited on the sidewalk, partially shaded from the street-light by the arms of a sycamore. I still detected the putrid odor of the guardians infusing my clothes and brain. And the growling words woven in their voices, words that shook me to my very blood and bone: protect the living from the dead and the dead from the living.

  Our own personal family motto. Why did they throw those words at us, mocking, vicious? Sweat gathered on my hands; pain gripped my stomach and wrung it like wet laundry. What in god’s name was going on?

  Back at Ivy’s dawn painted the sky with pearl as we climbed out of the car. Birds, undismayed by hounds of hell or any other unworldly threat, filled the morning with busy song. Ivy made strong coffee—ordered by myself and Sawyer—while I cleaned Sawyer’s head wound and determined he would likely suffer the mildest concussive head-ache. But I insisted if he felt strange in any way we were going straight to the emergency room. He nodded, accepting my nursing judgment.

  After checking on Zoe asleep under a rumpled mass of sheets, a copy of “The Lottery” splayed on the pillow beside her, I found Ivy and Sawyer silent together in the kitchen, joined by Bruce, of all people. I wondered how my nephew had gotten himself up at such an early hour, and why. Unless he hadn’t been to bed at all. A worried suspicion gnawed at me. Had Libra been here? Or worse, had they slipped away while we were gone and left Zoe alone?

  I’d have to open up that line of questioning later. Other matters pressed on me and I wanted to deal with those first. We all sat stiffly at Ivy’s counter.

  But Sawyer had questions too. As if the first gulps of Ivy’s death-by-caffeine espresso renewed the blood supply to his brain, he fired his questions at me.

  “What the hell happened back there, Annie?”

  I hadn’t had any coffee yet, but my brain raced like a fire engine. I had to explain with care, to avoid sounding like a raving lunatic escaped from the very Sanatorium we had just left.

  “One of those freaks nearly killed you, Sawyer. Ivy and I got you out of there just before the cops came.”

  Sawyer’s lips curled, as if he was trying to remember, put it all together. Dust and cobwebs still clung to his hair, and a fine blond stubble glazed his chin, smudged with dirt. He looked like he was coming off an all night drinking party in a ditch. Bruce stared at him in fascination.

  I told him, when he asked about the dogs and the old Sanatorium, that the entire event had taken place in the Novak house. Maddy and Mark had dogs in the basement, blah blah. On Sawyer’s face I could see doubt, but as he seemingly didn’t have any other ready explanation for the previous night’s events, he said nothing. I turned to Ivy.

  She sat with her chin in her hand, staring at the counter-top. Behind her, through the kitchen window, the sky paled as if the night were shrinking in fear from the day. Birdsong filtered through the cold air.

  So relieved to get home safely, my fury at her for turning up at the house had dampened, but I didn’t want her to know that. “Why did you show up there? I had everything under control.”

  Leaving her chin in her hand, Ivy gazed up at me, giving me the don’t go all hysterical on me look she gave our father when he caught her shoplifting. “First, I knew you would need help. When you told me about those two spin-heads living in the old house, I got suspicious and I thought you were nuts to think you could go there alone and get the diary.”

  “I told you to wait at h
ome. You were supposed to be staying with Zoe.” The thought of her being left alone here shuddered through my heart.

  “Bruce agreed to stay with her. They just dropped me off at the old house.” Ivy’s glance darted toward Sawyer. I had my answer about Libra. She had likely been here when Ivy left and came along for the ride. Bruce took great interest in a crust of red sauce on his t-shirt and picked at it. He and Libra probably fell all over themselves assuring Ivy they could take care of Zoe while she was gone. “Anyway, when I didn’t hear from you I came to the house. Of course I brought protection.”

  I wondered where the gun was now.

  Ivy’s lips stretched into a sneer. “But I didn’t think Jack would show up.” I wondered about that, too. Why would he, at that particular time?

  She continued, “That was where I screwed up. I got mad, seeing him. And he just laughs at me. Of course, I knew shooting him wasn’t smart, so I shot something that he loves more than life itself.”

  “I see his real estate signs everywhere.” Leaning forward, I put my elbows on the counter. Dust filmed my arms. I looked no better than Sawyer. “He’s a busy man.”

  Inhaling, Ivy pinned her gaze on me. “Yes, he buys and sells lots of properties, but he has been trying to buy certain ones the last few weeks.” She raised her hand, spread her fingers, touched her first finger with her other hand. “One, our old house, the Novak place. Two, the Sanatorium. Three, the site of the old VA hospital out on Vineyard Road.”

  My suspicions filled my stomach with ice as they were confirmed. Portals. Each place the site of a portal to the Dead Zone. Three of them, the heaviest concentration right here, in the valley. “But why? Coincidence?”

  Shrugging, Ivy said nothing, and an unpleasant silence filled the kitchen.

  “Jack Easton is a thug, that’s all.” Sawyer leaned back in his chair. “He’s got interests all over this valley. The city council is in his pocket. He owns interests in the construction outfit that wins the most contracts. He’s a wealthy and greedy thug.”

  “And lousy in bed.” This from Ivy.

  A hand slid under my arm. Zoe noiselessly appeared, stood behind me, sleepy-faced and curious. I kissed her head, then gave Ivy a warning look.

  Ivy said, “Annie, I don’t think it’s a coincidence. Jack is very good friends with someone we have known for a long, long time.”

  I felt my face grow red. I knew instantly who she as talking about. I didn’t want to say the name with Sawyer in the room, but Ivy was on a roll. I tried to catch her eye—it was as if she forgot Sawyer, or any of us, were there, as she continued.

  “Dominique is planning something, but I haven’t been able to find out what it is.”

  “Ivy, maybe we should talk about this later.” I kept glancing to my right, where Sawyer sat, arms folded, face stony in concentration as he listened.

  Ivy shook her head. “What’s the point of that? We’re in a crisis here. Guardians at the portals, angry ghosts threatening our lives, people around us dying. I don’t like it.”

  Bruce lost interest in his red stain and said from where he leaned against the stove, “And someone tried to run Mom over last week. Just missed her as she was crossing the street—knocked her walker right onto the Stones’ lawn.”

  I stared at him. Why hadn’t she told me about this?

  Ivy ignored her son. She shook her head. “There’s more than just a suicide club and a couple freak accidents. I’m sure there is only one person behind it. And that is Dominique Delphine.”

  Ivy looked at the ceiling as she said the name, and a cold shock ran through me, as if, Harry Potter-like, she had just said Voldemort. I couldn’t look at Sawyer. It was as if we were all waiting to hear what he would say.

  He said, “Dominique? You’re kidding. What would she have to do with the FOD?” He looked more curious than exasperated, or angry.

  The suicide club’s importance had faded into the background as I tried to piece together the disturbing events of the last 24 hours. Sawyer didn’t seem upset at the mention of what role his wife might play in all this. Someone should tell him, set him straight about her. But I couldn’t say a word.

  However, my sister wasn’t through. “Dominique may live in San Francisco, but she never left this town far behind. It’s too valuable. And the suicide club is only a small inconvenience to her.”

  I gazed at Ivy, trying to process what she had just said. Dominique living in San Francisco? I glanced at the ring Sawyer still wore on his left hand. Separated? Living far apart from each other? A silly hope pricked at me, but I quashed it, shook my shoulders, carefully phrased my next question.

  “Dominique’s in the City? How long has she been living there?”

  Ivy’s eyes narrowed. “Only about ten years. C’mon, Annie, didn’t you know? She went to medical school—she’s an oncologist. Big practice in Pacific Heights. Patients come from all over the country to be treated by her.” She cocked her head, a hank of maroon hair with a flake of plaster in it flipped down over one eye. “Are you OK?”

  I must have gone pale, or red, or something; all I knew was that my mouth hung open. Several thoughts hammered through my mind. Dominique and Sawyer—how long ago had they been apart? Why the ring—if they were living such separate lives? But worse than this, and far more consequential, was my understanding that Dominique was a doctor with a practice in which her patients routinely died.

  A steady supply of Bijou.

  “Oh wow, that coffee smells good.” The voice, raspy and soft, came from the hallway. Sawyer stiffened, turned and twisted off his stool. Bruce’s lower jaw went sideways, and I saw him swallow. Turning, I looked to see who had just entered our little circle.

  The girl standing in the hallway was small, well-shaped as I could see from the swell of large breasts under the t-shirt she wore—and little else. Straight blond hair, dark roots, nose-piercing a glinting blue, thick, smeared mascara. Her nose was strong, almost hawk-like, with eyes so pale blue to be almost white. One corner of her mouth raised in a brief show of embarrassment. I could see traces of Dominique in her face.

  “Oh. Hi, Dad.” She rolled one of the several silver bracelets on her arm up and down her arm.

  I got off my stool. Sawyer’s face had gone blotchy, and I saw his fists close. No one spoke.

  Except my blessed daughter, supreme peace-keeper. “Hi Libra.” Zoe went to Libra’s side, extending an arm on which hung a silver bracelet similar to Libra’s. “I really like my bracelet. Do you want to play another game of Scrabble?”

  Seeing the bracelet shocked my brain into order, and several pieces slammed into place in my puzzled mind. I pushed my stool with my foot to block Sawyer, or at least delay anything he might impulsively do. “So you’re Agnes. I’m Annie, an old friend of your dad’s.”

  Libra/Agnes managed a wary smile. “Hi,” she said with little effort at enthusiasm.

  Not Dominique’s daughter. Nothing like her, although she was small, like Dom, but with features stronger, alien, almost. She only resembled her father in her hair—the roots, that is—and chin. She was not a pretty girl, but striking, very mature-looking for fourteen. I could understand Bruce’s attraction—any boy’s, for that matter. Poor Sawyer. No wonder he was overwrought about her.

  Mae’s diary, which I had almost forgotten about in the light of recent life-threatening events, dug into my back. Pulling it free from under my t-shirt, I handed it to Sawyer who pressed it against his chest, as his furious gaze went from Bruce to Agnes and back.

  I said, “Time to break up this little party. Sawyer, read this, see if it sheds any light on the baby sitting incident. Justin Nash, remember?”

  Sawyer blinked, looked at the notebook in his hands. “Yeah, OK. Agnes, you’re coming home with me. Now. Soonest. Get your clothes.” His voice was tight. Bruce didn’t say a word, which I thought either showed he knew how to stay out of a fight, or he was terrified of Sawyer Webster. A little of both, I figured.

  Agnes shrugged, but
I could see curiosity light up her otherwise scornful, dispassionate look. As a Mae Worthington groupie, she would know all about the Justin Nash case. I wanted to read the diary badly too, but I had to do something to get Sawyer out of here before he decked Bruce, Ivy or even me.

  Sawyer gazed at me, as if he were seeing me for the first time. I drew a quick breath. “Sawyer, you know how it is with us Novaks. Nothing is ever quite what it seems, even though it looks pretty bad.”

  He said nothing, and when Agnes finally appeared, wearing jeans thankfully, carrying her flip flops, he ran his hand through his hair and winced. “Someday you will tell me the truth, Annie.”

  His words stung, and I felt a flush run under my cheeks. I nodded. “Someday.” It might be sooner than I wanted it to be, the way things were going.

  Bruce’s eyes followed Agnes as she followed her father through the sliding glass door toward the breezeway. When Bruce pulled out his cell phone and instantly began to text a message, I knew who the recipient would be.

  As soon as I heard their car doors slam and the Beamer engine start in the driveway, I turned to Ivy, my hands shaking, my head about to explode.

  “Ivy. You aren’t. Tell me that what I think you are doing you aren’t doing.”

  Ivy’s shoulder’s sagged. She picked a cigarette off the counter and played with it. I wanted to snatch it away from her and fling it across the room. But I stayed still. Zoe stood a little behind me; I wanted to grab her and hold her, but I was too upset.

  “I don’t know what you’re asking, Annie. Make sense.” Ivy’s voice sounded stretched and weak. I knew I should get her to bed, but my anger overruled my better judgment.

  “Bijou. That is what I am talking about. You are dealing in Bijou. That is why Dominique is coming to town so often, isn’t it?”

  Ivy gave me a convincing look of incredulity, her eyebrows crossing closely over her eyes. “Are you nuts? Me get mixed up in that? I don’t have a death wish. I’ve seen enough of the dead to want to stay alive as long as I can.”

  Maybe I was wrong, but it fit with so much I already knew. Bruce glanced up, finished texting his girlfriend. His glance darted from his mother to me, then he suddenly became interested in his phone again.