Flock (13 page)

“I don’t think I can say.”

She gave me a look that could skin a rat. “You and Marik both, huh?”

I twitched my mouth to the side.

She stomped off in the direction of the car, lighting a cigarette and blowing back a huff of smoke. It probably wasn’t good karma to piss off a shaman, even one in training; I had enough figures in my “foes” column. But there was nothing I could do about it right now. And I didn’t care how mad Jinky was or how much I owed her; she still wasn’t smoking in my car.

The next morning was a grind. I was exhausted from two treks out to Alpenstock, and it was a Monday, never my favorite to begin with. OVQ had provided me with information; I was pleased with myself for initiating it, but it hadn’t been quite as empowering as I’d hoped. Two things were for sure: Safira was getting restless, and Brigid was keen for a co-conspirator. Even if I resigned myself to Hulda’s fullness-of-time mantra, it sure didn’t sound like that was the two queens’ MO. One thing I was in no hurry for was meeting up with the source of that ungodly howl. I couldn’t get it out of my mind. Thinking about it made my stomach drop and my body spasm as if the temperature had suddenly plunged.

In Design, Jinky arrived late and took a seat in the back without ever glancing my way. She was always late and never one for eye contact or acknowledgments of any kind, but I couldn’t help reading more into it on that occasion. She wouldn’t tell Marik what we’d been up to last night, would she?

“Penny and Jinky, would you like to go next?” Ms. Bryant’s voice tugged me from my reverie.

Jinky stood quickly, which surprised me. She was usually the eyes-on-desk, non-participatory type. Penny’s jutting chin and tiny huff indicated that she had expected to be the team’s spokesperson.

“The name of our business is the Sage Hand.”

Jinky paused. I wondered at her timing; it seemed for dramatic effect, but that didn’t seem her style. The small delay gave Ms. Bryant the chance to cock her head to the side in interest; Sage was, after all, her first name.

“It’s a kind of New Age market,” Jinky continued, “offering homeopathic remedies, books, artwork, jewelry, crystals, gems, and candles. Our slogan is ‘Where open minds meet healing hands.’”

While Jinky spoke, Penny shuffled through the note cards in front of her as if trying to catch up.

“Very original,” Ms. Bryant said with an appreciative nod of her head. “And definitely not on the list of suggestions. I look forward to your final project.”

Judging by the vigor with which Penny tapped her pencil against her notebook, she wasn’t sharing Ms. Bryant’s enthusiasm. I noticed that Jinky had nothing in front of her, not even a single sheet of paper, while Penny had now turned her stack of cards facedown. Not only had Jinky hijacked the project, Penny had put a lot of work into the original topic.

I was relieved when Ms. Bryant called on another team next. Marik and I weren’t adequately prepared. We’d had a hard time agreeing on a business. My original idea of a hat store had met with little to no excitement from Marik, the guy who liked everything. Even Penny had rolled her shoulders when I’d run the idea past her. You’d think in a climate where protection from the elements was necessary that people would be keen to combine fashion and function. Guess not. Marik’s idea, the one we’d settled on, was a toy store. Now
this
he did get excited about. I’d come up with a name, the Toy Box, but we’d still yet to create a slogan and had only the bare minimum of a proposal.

The bell rang, and I stuffed my things into my book bag. Abby and Marik walked down the aisle and through the space separating my desk from Penny’s. Abby had her hand on his shoulder, pulling at him playfully.

“Wait up, goofball,” she said, her hand now slipping into the crook of his elbow.

“Yes, Abril Julianna,” he said, continuing his forward progress. Neither of them looked my way, which was fine by me. I didn’t want Marik picking up on the dark circles under my eyes, my distracted state, or the gooseflesh that sprung to my arms every time that horrible screech came to mind.

Abril, I mused. I’d have guessed Abigail. It reminded me of the way Marik always called me Katla, never Kat. Furthermore, it spoke of a deeper friendship, one where he knew her full name, middle included.

I glanced at Penny. She didn’t look any better than me. That little spark that had been growing in her like a hidden ember was gone. She didn’t even seem all that mad at Jinky; she just appeared ashen and beaten down. And Abby had the glow that had gone out in Penny. I drummed my fingers across the desktop as I stretched to a stand. What was it about Marik that was so alluring? No one, not even Mean Dean, seemed immune. Even Jack was amused by the guy. And given his mission, my relationship with the guy should have been adversarial. But it wasn’t. Not really. He was too damn pleasant all the time. A slump-shouldered Penny, not Penelopa, heaved herself out of her desk and shambled toward the door. I wondered what kind of homeopathic remedy the Sage Hand would have for a broken heart.

Between my schoolwork, preparing for the move, working at the store, missing my busy college boyfriend, worrying about a two-queen scheme, and hearing bone-buckling howls in every dog bark, the week stampeded by. As proof, I had hoof marks on the side of my face when I woke up on Saturday.

A packing crew had spent the previous day boxing up our shockingly numerous belongings. That morning, a parade of moving dollies made its way out the front door, down the driveway, up the ramp, and into the huge van. Watching from a lawn chair on the front porch as the house emptied out, I felt oddly sad. It made me think of our move from California just over a year ago and of the fear and misgivings I had in leaving my home and neighborhood since birth. As if in counterpoint to this melancholy, Jack, in his old truck, rolled to a stop at the curb in front of the house. It was a nice reminder that things had a way of working themselves out.

This happy buzz was short-lived; a few minutes later my frenzied mom dispatched Jack and me to the new house with a mop, broom, and bucketful of old rags and cleaning supplies. “Kitchen first. No goofing off,” was her directive. She was not in the mood for my “KP duty, no fun allowed, copy that,” message into an imaginary walkie-talkie. At least Stanley thought it was a little funny, though he probably bought himself an extra hour or two on diaper patrol.

At our new-to-us, still-pink house, I pulled into the detached garage, a feature I knew I’d hate come winter. Jack and I unloaded the cleaning gear and were en route to the front door when a crazed and waving Marik came rushing toward us.

“Hi, there!” he called from the driveway.

So much for avoiding the guy now that we were neighbors.

“Hey, Marik,” I said.

“Today’s the day.” Marik caught up with us on the steps to the porch.

“Yep. The moving van will be along soon. We’re on janitorial duty until it gets here.” I hoisted the bucket and swung it from its handle.

“I can help.” Marik pushed the sleeves of his denim shirt up over his forearms and made a muscle of his flexors.

“What’s going on?” Jinky walked up behind Marik.

Regardless of my skittishness around both of them, a Tom Sawyerish scheme began to take shape in my head. Four people could certainly knock this thing out faster than two. “A cleaning party. One of those quirky American traditions.”

Jinky jutted her chin forward. I figured she’d seen right through my ruse. Instead, she motioned with her head toward the house. “Let’s go, then.”

I led the way; Jack, behind me, was snorting with laughter. OK, so someone was onto me. Inside the foyer, I stopped and put down the supplies. The broom clattered to the floor. Jinky jumped as if poked.

“Are you OK?” I asked.

“This place,” she said, circling the foyer with her head tilted upward. “What was this place?”

Jinky had not been in the car when Penny had told me about the Bleika Norn, the Pink Witch; her reaction, therefore, was without bias.

“Why?” I asked.

“I sense a presence,” Jinky said. “Do you mind if I look around?”

Gack. The last thing I needed was for the rune-reading shaman in the crowd to go all poltergeist on me.

“I guess not,” I said.

Jinky moved into the sitting room but quickly returned to the foyer. Moments later she started up the stairs.

“Wait for me,” Marik said.

I was not about to let them out of my sight. I was on their heels; Jack swung me a confused look, but he, too, fell in line.

Jinky paused briefly on the landing of the second floor, but then — like some kind of whiff-frenzied bloodhound — made for the attic. My attic.
Just great.

On the third floor, my new space, she walked from one dormer window to the other, touching the walls as she explored the area. Marik and Jack were quiet, as if hesitant to break her concentration. I, for the record, was more in too-freaked-to-speak mode.

“I’ve lost her,” Jinky finally said, throwing her head back in frustration.

“Lost who?” I asked.

She gave me one of those pure-Jinky scowls and said, “She didn’t exactly introduce herself.”

What I wanted to sass back was:
My house. My ghost. Be nice or go home.
Instead, I asked, “How do you know it’s a her?”

“By the smell,” Jinky said.

“What smell? I don’t smell anything,” I said. Technically, I did smell mold and age and neglect, but those were hardly gender specific.

“It’s gone now,” Jinky said.

“What did it smell like?” I asked.

“Pink,” Jinky said.

It was an awkward moment. Did I respond as if I believed that some kind of ghostly presence — one that reeked of some sensory short circuit — was a real possibility? Granted, the four of us were
Fring
e-cast material, but I was operating on so many secrets and cross-pacts and intentional misleads that I stood there with taboo tongue. It felt an awful lot like swallowing a bee, post-sting, which, by the way, I’ve experienced firsthand.

“My mom will kill me if she gets here and I haven’t even started yet,” I said, making for the stairs. If nothing else, my taskmaster mom was a good diversion.

The nice thing about a paranormal work crew was that they didn’t mind getting their hands a little dirty. Jack stuck a wet rag and his head into a kitchen cupboard. Jinky took off with the Windex bottle. Marik swept the kitchen. I took a scouring pad to the kitchen sink.

“Now that we’re neighbors,” Marik said, “we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other. We could walk to school together.”

“I usually drive,” I said.

“Even better,” Marik said. “I can catch a ride.”

I noticed his subject had been an
I
rather than a
we.

“What about Jinky?” I asked.

“She gets picked up most mornings,” Marik said. “I know when I’m not wanted.”

I coughed and then sprinkled Ajax cleaning powder into the sink, creating a toxic cloud as cover for my reaction.

“Picked up by who?” I fanned the space in front of my nose.

“A friend,” Jinky said, stealthing her way into the room. She grabbed a clean cotton rag. “Who’s asking?”

“Katla can give me a ride to school now,” Marik said, whisking a pile of dirt into the dustpan.

“I thought Abby drove you,” Jinky said.

“Not necessary anymore.” Marik rested the broom against the counter. “This is so much fun. What’s next?”

The three of us — Jack, Jinky, and I — scrunched our brows in unison. Marik’s enthusiasm for football games and downtown Walden were one thing, but grunt work?

“What?” Marik asked, picking up on our vibe. “Am I doing a bad job?”

“Oh, no, you’re doing a fine job,” Jack said. “So fine, in fact, I could just sit back and watch you. All day.”

Jinky pursed her lips in an attempt to override a smile. I lifted my eyes quickly at Jack.

“Really?” Marik puffed up with pride. Pretty scary on a guy who was probably already an XXL. “That good?”

With a groan, the moving van pulled up front. I was glad for the distraction. Marik’s zeal for even the most mundane of life’s chores was odd. And soon someone besides me was bound to comment. Ask questions. Except that smart people, like Jack, Penny, and Ms. Bryant, seemed to find him sincere, if a bit of a goober. That kind of exuberance wasn’t an easy act to pull off without coming across as an annoying cross between Ned Flanders and Forrest Gump. But Marik managed somehow.