03 Saints (12 page)

“I never got to go to a real school,” Reaper admitted as he also stared at the field.

“You’re not missing much,” I said.

“One still wonders about what one didn’t experience,” he said.

“If you say so…”

Beyond the school was a doctor’s office. We left the forest and crossed the parking lot. I pointed at the only car in the parking lot. It was a ridiculous-looking sport’s car. I knew the doctor who owned it to be a jerk, who only treated people willing to pay top dollar.

Reaper shook his head at my choice.

“It’ll bring too much attention. We need something cheaper.” Reaper said.

“The cheap cars belong to people who work for a living,” I said. “This guy deserves it.”

Reaper shook his head and sighed, but he didn’t back out. He had the alarm dismantled and the ignition hotwired in a matter of fifteen seconds. A couple seconds more and we were on the road. I clung to the door as he raced us down the street and out of town, following my directions to Daniel’s house. I didn’t look at our speed, but I knew we were well over eighty.

I opened the window, so the fresh fall air could circle through the car, and watched as the familiar wilderness flashed past. The closer we got to Daniel’s house, the more my stomach filled with butterflies. What would I find? Would Daniel be in Beatrice’s living room, pacing in agitated circles, because he couldn’t find me? Would he be in his tower, a scowl on his face? If he wasn’t there, would Beatrice and Han have heard from him?

I expected everything except for the one thing I saw.

My heart dropped as we crested the top of the mountain. The black gates that normally blocked the road were bent and twisted, a shell of their once tall reaches. Beyond them was one wall. That was it. A single wall. The rest of the castle was a blackened heap on the ground, burned beyond recognition. The wall framed the sun as it stretched over the horizon. I gasped in terror at the sight.

All of Beatrice’s furniture, her things she had taken so much pride in…gone. Had Beatrice and Han been here? Had Daniel? I jumped out of the car and ran to the structure, searching for piles of ash in nothing but ash. There had to be a clue. My heart pounded with my fear. Were they gone? Were they really gone?

“Clare!” Reaper called from the car.

I ignored him. There had to be a reason behind this fire. I had to find it. It was life or death. The scene was not forgiving and did not give up its secrets easily. Frustrated I couldn’t see anything beyond burnt wood and charred stone, I kicked at a piece of wood in my way. It flew through the air and crashed into the one standing wall. The whole thing tipped over at the hit the ground. When the dust had settled again, I felt tears well to the surface.

“Clare?” Reaper asked softly as he joined me.

“This was Beatrice and Han’s house. They were…are scientists. It was so beautiful here. Perfect. My castle in the woods.”

Reaper’s eyes raked the ground for ash piles. “I’m sorry. Is there anywhere else we can look for them?”

His words reminded me this wasn’t the only sanctuary I had. My heart started beating wildly again.

“Oh, God! My house!”

I ran back to the car and got in the driver’s seat, prepared to race home. Reaper reached me just in time. He pulled me out of the car by my shirt and forced me to walk around the car.

“I’m not letting you drive so work up,” he said. “Besides, we should be cautious.”

“Screw caution!” I yelled at him. I slammed the passenger door shut. “Drive!” I yelled impatiently.

Reaper crossed his hands over the steering wheel. “One of the first things I tell my people is that to live long, you must first gain control over your emotions.”

“Start the damn car, or I’ll ram emotion down your ever-loving throat!” I yelled.

He didn’t move, so I started screaming at him. I wasn’t sure what I yelled, but I knew there were a lot of curse words involved; words learned from Jackson and my time spent wandering the streets. His eyes grew wide, and, between one of my threats and the next, he started the car and maneuvered us back down the mountain, going as fast as he could.

When I stopped screaming he looked relieved. But the problem with not screaming was that it made me focus on the questions. What would I find when I got home? Would my house be burnt to crisp? Would all the memories Ellen and I had started to collect be wiped away as easily as flame to wood? If it wasn’t, what did that mean? I wasn’t sure if Beatrice and Han were dead, but could I face the reality of Ellen being gone?

My heart in my throat at the unanswered questions, we raced toward the house I had learned to call home.

It felt like a million miles away.

Chapter 6

Reaper ditched the car at an abandoned gas station, and forced me to walk the rest of the way to my house. He was cautious, making us come at the house through the backyard, instead of the front. I knew it was a good idea for multiple reasons. Reaper’s worry was focused on the possibility that whoever had set fire to Beatrice’s house was still around. I was more worried one of the neighbors would call the cops or, worse, each other. In a place like this, rumors destroyed faster than the time it had probably taken Beatrice’s house to be consumed by flames. Walking was agonizing, though. I counted every second.

I was glad, more than glad, when I saw the white gothic-style house still standing. It looked as serene as the day we had moved in. The lights were off and the place looked more than a little empty, but it was a relief against the fear.

The kitchen door wasn’t locked when I tried it, so getting inside was easier than I had thought it would be. The kitchen was a mess. It wasn’t the worrisome kind of mess, just the kind that happened when Ellen was left alone too long and was allowed to order nothing but take-out. I passed through the mess of my kitchen and quietly walked down the hall, not calling out in fear someone else besides Ellen was hanging around. Reaper followed after me, his stance cautious and his eyes alert.

The living room was another story in messiness. I sensed Ellen’s normal messiness overriding the room. Clothes were scattered about, blankets left unfolded on the chair and sofa, shoes poked out of the entertainment center, but I also sensed a colder messiness. It was as if all her things had been picked up and meticulously placed back in the same position, as someone searched for something. It was eerie to see. Who would go to such trouble? I peeked out the blinds and saw the wagon was parked along the curb, as was Sam’s silver Mercedes. Did that mean they had been taken against their will? I couldn’t see an alternative.

The bottom floor was empty, so I went upstairs. It was as deserted as the bottom floor. Ellen’s bed was unmade, unchanged. The only thing different about her room was the addition of Sam’s clothes in the closet and his pants thrown over the back of the chair placed next to her bed. It was obvious he had been spending more than a little time here. His presence accounted for the increased amount of take-out I had seen in the kitchen.

My room was the last placed I checked. It was messy in the way I liked it. Books piled high, clothes sticking out of my dresser, but not taking up floor space, my bed made but not perfectly. Nothing was out of place, except… I turned in a complete circle to be sure. My guitar was missing.

I scoured the room for the guitar – I looked under my bed, under my blankets, even in the corners to be sure. Feeling as if it was the clue I needed, I went downstairs to check again. I searched the dining room and living room; I even went back to the kitchen. It wasn’t until I reached the hall that I realized the second door in the hall was open. The oddity of seeing it open stopped me in my tracks.

We never opened that door; I hadn’t gone in there since we had moved in. I hadn’t given it a thought, beyond it being a door we never opened. I realized Ellen had never gone in there, either. Not around me, at least. She hadn’t even mentioned it. It was a wonder my curiosity hadn’t gotten the better of me. Curiosity definitely held me now.

I peeked inside the door. The room was unlike any other room in the house. It was a place of study and research. There was a large map on one wall and papers were scattered around an old-looking cherry desk. And, sitting in the corner, as if it had always sat there, was my guitar. I stared at it, thinking hard. The only people who really understood its importance were Alex, Ellen, and, of course, Daniel. He had been the one to buy it for me. But why set it in a room I never went in to? Unless it was another message?

I pushed the door as open as far as it would go and looked around the room again. I searched for another oddity, anything that would explain why the room had been locked away. Not seeing anything else out of the ordinary, I went to the guitar and opened it.

As I opened the case, Reaper appeared behind me. “Nothing…” he said.

“Something…” I said.

There wasn’t a note, but there was definitely a clue. I pulled the perfect mahogany guitar out of the case, to be sure it was okay, and a DVD fell out. I stared at the DVD, trying to piece together an explanation. There were three people who knew about the guitar, of course, but only one who knew about the movie, which was a special edition of ‘The Goonies.’

“What?” Reaper asked.

“We need to go back to L.A., Santa Monica, to be specific,” I said.

Naomi, Ellen’s best friend in the whole world and an aunt to me, loved ‘The Goonies.’ It was a fact we teased her about; something that was an inside joke between the three of us alone. Naomi, for all her love of the macabre, was a fan of kid’s movies. The guitar was a message from Ellen.

“Okay…” Reaper agreed easily. “What’s all this?” he asked moving over to the cluttered desk.

“I don’t know,” I admitted, joining him at the desk. “I’ve never been in here.”

“Don’t you live here?” he asked.

“Have you been inside all the rooms at the school?” I asked back.

He shrugged and looked at the papers on the desk with curious eyes. I looked as well. The papers appeared to belong to a large book of some sort, but had been torn out by a hasty hand. From what I could tell, it was a daily account of a farmer in 17
^th
century England. The name of the farmer stuck out at me: Evan Michaels.

“A farmer with a surname of Michaels?” I read the papers more closely, details sticking out at me; they were details I had never thought I would see. “Someone was researching my family history,” I told Reaper.

“Researching or tracking?” Reaper asked.

“How do you mean?” I asked.

He pointed at the map for an explanation. I realized it was a world map. There were places circled in red and other places circled in black. The black circles outnumbered the red.

“Something is weird about this room,” I said finally.

“Has something been moved?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I told you, I’ve never been in here. My house has been searched. The searcher was very careful about hiding their search…but this room. It’s different.”

“A different person searching through it?”

“Maybe,” I said. It wasn’t so much that the room had been searched, – which it had – it was more like there had been a confrontation. It was hard to place where the feeling was coming from.

“Do you think they found what they were after?” he asked.

“I don’t have a clue.”

“Maybe we can find something they missed…” he suggested.

“I…” I started to protest.

“We can be in Santa Monica in under a minute,” he reminded me.

“Alright,” I agreed.

I was curious, despite the longing to find out of Ellen really was in Santa Monica. The curiosity kept me in place.

I sat down at the desk and started going through all the drawers in the desk. Reaper started going through the bookcases along the wall. He pulled the books out and searched through their pages, before carefully placing them back on the shelves.

We looked for an hour, but didn’t find anything as exciting as the guitar. I learned through the course of my looking, however, that the room belonged to Ellen’s father, my grandfather. Discovering that wasn’t shocking – it was his house, after all – but seeing his name still surprised me. My stomach clenched every time I saw it. I found letters written to him from the Mayor of King’s Cross and letters he had written to various people around the world. The letters suggested he had been compiling a family history. He had been particularly interested in discovering the Michaels had ties to family in Jerusalem; he had written more letters to people there than anywhere else. They were letters requesting more information and access to government records. I didn’t find any record that his requests had been accepted.

“This is hopeless,” I said finally as I read the last letter from a man named Joseph, who worked in the Israeli government. “There’s nothing here.”

“Something about this room is off,” Reaper said.

He had given up looking through the books on the bookcase. He stood in the middle of the room, his arms crossed and his eyes almost closed shut, as he was trying to figure out the puzzle in front of him.

“I already said that,” I said, folding the letter up. While the penmanship was beautiful, the letter was useless.