Dark Star (9 page)

At least the rain gave me a convenient excuse to have Gideon pick me up at my house, thereby avoiding questions from his various family members.

“Honey? Are you still getting ready? Gideon’s here.”

I jerked slightly. I’d been sitting on my bed, trying to come up with some sort of plan for the Drought and Deluge. Just because I went there didn’t necessarily mean I’d discover anything. Last time, I’d had trouble sensing anything in the crowd.

“Almost!” I called down the stairs, which was a complete lie. I darted across the hall to what had been Gram’s room.

After Gram died, Mom and I had boxed up most of her things. I’d taken her books, and Mom kept some of her jewelry, but almost everything else had either been sent to the basement or given away. Only a few of her belongings remained, tucked away in her room, quietly gathering dust. Though I hadn’t been in her room for months, I remembered what it held. I pushed the door open and felt for the light switch.

“What’s your costume?” my mother called up to me. She probably hadn’t meant to shout, but her voice was strong. It was a good thing we had few close neighbors.

Gideon’s words were quieter. “She’s going as Teenage Angst,” he said.

“A clever disguise,” my mother remarked.

“I heard that!” I shouted at them, then turned my attention to Gram’s room.

The air was dusty. One of the light bulbs had burned out, and though the blinds were closed, I saw flashes of lightning outside. I moved slowly about the room, pausing at her bed. Gram’s bed was neatly made, with the same quilt she’d always used. I trailed my fingers across it, feeling the patchwork. It seemed to me there was something unique about the spaces people used to occupy. Not just memory, but a quality to the air, a particular presence. Things left behind. In Gram’s room, I smelled lavender beneath the dust. I could picture her sitting on the floor across from me, her hands moving across the Nav cards as she spoke.

She wouldn’t approve of me sneaking out. But I thought she might understand.

I crossed the room and tugged open her closet. Most of her clothing was gone, but the piece I wanted hung directly in front of me. I pulled it from the hanger, dusting it with my hands. A long, red hooded cloak. It smelled of her perfume.

I held the cloak against me, running my hands down the fabric. It wasn’t the most original costume, but there was something comforting about the idea of wearing it. Gram would have enjoyed it. Gram had loved fairy tales.

She’d taught me all the classics: houses of candy and straw spun to gold and girls locked in towers. But she’d taught me her own tales as well, words that still haunted me. Stories that went beyond myth, stories that kindled within me and woke me in the dark, straining to hear voices in the wind. Stories of great battles, of villains and champions, of the Old Race, who dwelled in the Beneath, where red stars cast red shadows. Stories that told the source of our gifts, she said. A pinprick of light in a vast, cold darkness, where all hope began.

A shiver ran down my skin. Holding Gram’s cloak, the fabric pooling in my hands, I could almost hear her. Let me tell you about the dark, she would say. So that you don’t need to be afraid.

I left Gram’s room and headed downstairs.

In the kitchen, Gideon stood with my mother and Leon, eating sugar cookies in the shape of pumpkins. Mom wasn’t dressed to go out yet, which I supposed was because of the rain—even though Halloween was the one night of the year she could walk around as Morning Star and not be questioned. Last year, half a dozen little trick-or-treaters had come to Gideon’s house with eight-pointed stars painted on the backs of their sweatshirts.

Leon was in his usual slacks and button-down shirt, his tie crisp and neat. I wasn’t certain how he fought crime at all. With a cookie in his mouth and his wet hair sticking straight up, he looked about as menacing as a day-old puppy.

It was a shame I couldn’t just stick him in a kennel.

Mom lifted an eyebrow when she saw me.

“What?” I said. “I’m Little Red Riding Hood. My costume is better than his.” I hooked my thumb at Gideon, who was dressed up as some sort of video game character, or so he’d informed me. From what I could tell, he’d just put on a bandana and drawn stubble on his chin with black marker.

It was a good thing neither of us embarrassed easily.

“Don’t be out late,” Mom told me.

Outside, I heard one last blow of thunder—and then the rain stopped.

***

Thanks to the Halloween party, the Drought and Deluge was even busier than it was most Fridays. Gideon and I stood outside as the line was gradually ushered inside. In the aftermath of the storm, the sky was clean and bright, though the lights of downtown Minneapolis drowned out the stars.

“You realize this is a stupid idea, right?” Gideon said, adjusting his bandana as the line pushed forward. “And your mother will murder me if she finds out I helped.”

“So why are you helping? You’re not scared of her?”

He grinned at me. “I’m more scared of you.”

“As you should be,” I said, nodding approval.

Within the Drought and Deluge, it was difficult to sense anything. Though the air outside had cooled, the heat inside became increasingly unbearable. Wearing a heavy cloak among so many bodies was probably a bad idea, especially since most of the other girls were dressed in sleek outfits with cat-ear or devilhorn headbands.

“What’s next?” Gideon asked after we made it to the refreshments table. The watery punch and bowls of chips set out for partygoers hardly seemed worth what we’d paid to get in, but since it had been my idea to attend, I wasn’t going to complain.

“We wander,” I suggested. I turned, searching the crowd. For what, I wasn’t certain—something out of place, a particular shift of light, some hint I would recognize. The lights were low, everything shaded. I recognized a few faces, but no one I’d spoken to before.

Gideon and I wove through the throng until we found a free table on the second floor, tucked in a corner where a boy dressed as a vampire was doing some serious sucking on a bunny girl’s neck. We didn’t have much of a view of the dance floor, so I let my mind drift, listening to the sounds that flowed around me. The air was warm, thick, and beneath the music I heard glasses clinking on tables, footsteps and the rustle of cloth, voices, whispers, someone’s happy laughter floating up from below.

I considered trying to find the man from the alley. He’d worn a Drought and Deluge shirt, so I figured he must be an employee, but I hadn’t seen him when we entered the club. He’d been rather unsettling, and the thought of encountering him again made me nervous, but if he hadn’t hurt Tink, maybe he’d been telling the truth; maybe he had been there to help. Either way, he must know something. It was possible I could get a sense from him—provided he was present at the club.

Closing my eyes, I tried to focus on him. I hadn’t seen him clearly, so I concentrated on what I’d felt: the shiver in his voice, that smile that didn’t reach his eyes. In the back of my mind, some nagging voice whispered that perhaps I shouldn’t try to speak with him, or find him, or read him, that perhaps he was dangerous, but I dismissed it. I wouldn’t confront him alone, and if he meant me harm, I’d be able to sense it.

Except, as it turned out, I couldn’t sense anything. No images or impressions, no fleeting emotion, no hint of Knowing. If the man were there, he wasn’t close enough for me to get anything from him. So much for that idea.

Beside me, Gideon let out a long sigh and said, “Well. This is exciting.”

Distracted from my musings, I opened my eyes and turned toward him. From the look on his face, I knew he was about to remind me we could be back at his house, which might not be the most fashionable scene in the Twin Cities, but at least had chairs that didn’t stick to the floor.

I decided to strike first. “You’d really rather be at home, watching your grandma scare trick-or-treaters?” That was another Belmonte tradition. It wasn’t Halloween until some poor kid ran screaming into the street. I loved Granny Belmonte, but she didn’t need a costume to look undead.

Not to mention, I knew how those parties went. Last year, his mother had actually made us bob for apples.

Gideon gave me a grumpy look and crossed his arms.

“You have to admit your family is weird,” I said.

“Pot. Kettle.”

“Say what you will, but I guarantee you my mother has never bobbed for apples.” I glanced away. An awkward combination of spooky music and some dance remix played overhead. The heat made me a little light-headed. I wished again I’d thought of a more practical costume.

Then a thought struck me. What was it Tink had said?

She’d gone into the alley because she needed air.

“I’m going to the ladies’ room,” I said, leaving Gideon at the table and heading for the stairs. I had a sense of—something. A certain pull. I trailed my hand down the railing. I pictured Tink, the swirl of her dress, her footsteps fading, the way her hair caught the light. In my mind, I followed her path: the dance floor, where suddenly everything was too bright and confined, the overbearing smell of cologne and sweat and grease; the hall, where a door swung open to the alley and the cool gleaming night; and then outside, the wind brisk against her skin.

The night air, I thought.

The sweet night air.

The crowd was thicker on the first floor, a tangle of limbs and costumes and voices. I stepped near the dance floor and skimmed my eyes over the throng. There was an energy here, a rush of pulses, something communal that ran through my blood. I felt what Tink must have—the flicker of panic beneath my ribs, the need for space. The urgency. Turning, I headed for the ladies’ room.

A jolt of Knowing surged through me.

It wasn’t a sound, precisely, but I heard it. Like a whisper, a voice beckoning, frightened, far away.

Then I saw her. I knew her by the fall of her hair. The long dark sway of it, near her hips, curled just slightly. Iris St. Croix. The girl who wore the triple knot. I caught only a glimpse: sleeve and shoe and black hair disappearing down the same hall Tink had taken.

Coincidence, the rational part of me said.

Connection, my Knowing screamed.

And I thought—It’s happening again.

I should have stopped. I should have turned and gone back and alerted someone, anyone. I should have found Gideon. But I didn’t. I could only move forward, slowly at first, my hand touching the wall as I followed Iris around the corner. It was exactly the same: the smell of bleach, the closing door. The corridor was empty. Iris had gone into the alley.

I hurried the last steps, not sure what I would find. My breath came fast as I shoved the door open and rushed out into the night.

Outside, the street had grown cold. I saw my breath on the air before me. The alley was empty. There was nothing but brick and trash cans and the gray siding of the nearby buildings. A handful of feathers, blown up by the wind, swayed downward onto my cloak. No trace of Iris.

I called to her. My voice sounded harsh and loud. A strange dread seized me. I thought of Kelly Stevens disappearing into a hazy twilight. That could have been Tink’s fate. Perhaps the night itself would have swallowed her, seizing her, taking her— somewhere. I imagined a hole opening in the world, shadows spreading across her ankles, dragging her down into it.

It struck me, then, that I was alone in the alley. I hadn’t moved far from the door, but as I turned, the distance between the building and my body seemed endless. Panic surged in my chest. My pulse slammed in my ears.

“Stop it,” I said aloud, startling myself. “You’re fine. Just go back inside.”

I took a long, steadying breath and stepped forward. The door was there, near, only a heartbeat away. I would return to the club and find Gideon and stop scaring myself. I’d been mistaken. I’d been seeing things. No voice called me out here. Iris St. Croix was fine, safe, wherever she was.

All at once, the lights of Minneapolis flickered and vanished.

I stopped where I stood, half-turned toward the door.

Above, the stars were full and bright, no longer obscured by the glitter of traffic and streetlamps and office buildings, but all other light had died. The city stood silent, the buildings dark. Everything was still and empty. I heard nothing. I sensed nothing. The night air was thick and suffocating and anything but sweet.

A wind rushed up. Gram’s cloak billowed around me. From the corner of my eye, I saw something move.

I spun around. Nothing there.

I tried to calm myself, to focus. I wasn’t helpless. Instinct kicked in; I took a low stance, raising my hands in front of me, ready to block. But nothing in my training had prepared me for this.

It was something I sensed more than saw. An idea that formed an image. A flash of silver. The barest glimpse of skin that rippled. Eyes that blinked and then stared. Movement.

Someone.

Something.

Something human and not human.

Something with talons and teeth.

I had known fear before. Small, irrational fears—of spiders, of falling, of dark water. The looming, uncertain fear of death that sometimes strayed into my thoughts. But I’d never felt fear like this.

This was bone-deep. It filled my body, closing my throat. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I wanted to call out for my mother, but my voice wouldn’t obey me. It was as though the universe had stopped.

Then.

The flash of silver blurred past me. Something sliced across my ankles. My legs buckled. I tumbled forward.

I seemed to fall forever. Suspended in time, the wind around me, I remembered my dream. Fire that burned at my fingertips, Minneapolis dark and quiet and dead. I remembered Gram, the movement of her hands, the blue line of veins beneath her skin. In the silence, I heard her whisper, telling me not to be afraid.

But I couldn’t listen to what she wanted me to hear. I couldn’t cry out. I couldn’t find my balance, or sink into my center as I’d been trained to. I could only fall, and keep falling—

Someone caught me before I hit the ground.