Dark Companion (37 page)

“I have, but my pronunciation isn’t very good.”

“Your best effort will be good enough, Jane. How are things between you and Lucian?”

“Everything is going well. I think we’ll be very good friends.”

“He’s said the same.” Then her brow wrinkled. “Jacob has been so moody lately, and he’s usually my sunny one. Maybe he feels left out, but he hasn’t expressed any wish to participate in Lucky’s Companion initiation.” She tapped a silver pen against her desk. It was the first time I’d ever seen her fidget. “He seems to have a … an affinity with you. Has he said anything to you about … what could be bothering him?”

In chemistry, affinity was the force of attraction that could bind dissimilar substances. “No, there’s no affinity—I’m just close by and he’s bored.” I willed myself to keep my expression even. When I looked at the headmistress, I wondered what she really knew about BB’s disappearance. “Sorry.”

She sighed. “Well, I’d like to take you to brunch on Saturday. We can go over everything that will happen at the initiation that night and have some one-on-one time.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Are you tired, Jane, or nervous? We can use the injury as an excuse to postpone your midterms so you can rest and relax.”

“Thank you, but it’s important to me to keep up with my classwork.”

“That’s the right attitude, Jane.”

I could barely function through the day that didn’t end until the
Birch Grove Weekly
was put to bed. I hobbled to my cottage and wished I could slow down everything—including the initiation that would connect me forever to Lucky … and to Jack.

A ladder was leaning against the railing by my front door, and a box wrapped in gold paper was on the chair on the porch. I picked up the box and went inside. A gift card was slipped under the red satin ribbon and it said, “Best wishes, the Radcliffe Family.” When I opened the box, I found an embroidered white robe and a beautiful long ivory dress made of fine, gauzy material. It was the sort of dress a girl would wear to her first special event. I put the dress and the robe in my closet, not wanting to think of the initiation.

I had no appetite, so I did my homework until almost midnight. My Latin translations were accurate and my trig equations balanced perfectly: I could control this part of my life, and becoming a Companion would ensure my success. Time would heal my broken heart, just as it had healed the wound in my shoulder, leaving thick scar tissue in place of a child’s delicate skin.

When I went to the bathroom, I saw the plaster wreath sitting on the sink counter. I decided to put it back on the ceiling so no one would know what I’d been doing.

I lugged the ladder inside the cottage, banging the door and furniture as I maneuvered it to the bathroom. I placed the plaster piece, screws, and screwdriver on the ladder shelf. My ankle hurt as I climbed up. I was higher now than I had been on the chair. On impulse, I put my arm into the opening of the ceiling and felt around.

My hand hit something solid and rectangular. I dragged it to the opening. It was a jewelry box. I climbed down awkwardly and took the box to my desk to examine it.

Glued-on rhinestones formed the letters
BB
. I opened the lid and took out programs from student plays, birthday cards from Birch Grove girls, wristbands from parties, and a dried rose corsage. These were atop a framed family photo of the Radcliffe men. Lucky could have been a model, but my heart ached at the sight of Jack. Mr. Radcliffe was smiling and had his arms around his sons.

When I took out the photo, I saw a thick stack of cash, mostly twenties, but also tens and several fifties, bound by a rubber band. A lock of golden hair was tied with a red satin ribbon. At the bottom of the box was a passport. I opened it and saw a photo of a smiling girl. Breneeta Justine Browning was ordinary-looking, like me, the sort of sad, broken girl who had fantasies of love. The passport’s pages didn’t have any travel stamps.

None of the items mattered as much as the money. No one who’d grown up poor would ever leave so much cash behind. Which meant that something terrible had happened to BB.

I needed to do something, but what?

There was one person who knew about the Family and had always been understanding. I thought I could trust him to help me now. I got my new phone and scrolled to Albert Mason’s phone number. I called him and when my call went to voice mail, I said, “Mr. Mason, this is Jane Williams. I really need to talk to you. I’ve learned something disturbing about … I really need to talk to you. It’s about Breneeta Browning. Call ASAP.”

When the phone rang a minute later, I answered it without looking at the incoming number. “Mr. Mason!”

“It’s Jack.”

I ended the call.

He called again, and then a third time. I answered his fourth call. “What?”

“Is Lucky there?”

“No.”

“He’s not answering his phone.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to talk to you. I know I don’t. Don’t
ever
call me again.” I hung up and then stared at the phone, even though Mr. Mason was probably asleep.

Ten minutes later, I got a text from my teacher. “I’m in the lab. Come see me now.” He must have forgotten about my sprain. I texted him and called him, but he didn’t answer, so I left my cottage with the jewelry box under my arm. The birches shifted and swayed in the wind. A sturdy branch was lying near the path, so I used it as a cane.

The main building was dark except for the lights on in the third-floor chem lab. I went around to the only unlocked entrance, a side door by a stairwell. I was tired and, as I climbed the stairs, I frequently leaned against the wall to rest.

The lab room door was ajar and I went in saying, “Mr. Mason?” The windows reflected the room and I saw someone moving behind me. I spun around as the door slammed shut and then there was a click.

The woman who stood there was about forty, wearing navy slacks, a blue sweater, and sleek mahogany pumps. Her hair was in a low ponytail and she wore gold and ruby teardrop earrings. She had style so it was easy not to notice that she was ordinary-looking under the discreet makeup. Her smile was friendly, but her expression made me uneasy.

“I’m meeting Mr. Mason here,” I said.

“You must be Jane. Mr. Mason is indisposed right now.”

I noticed a stack of papers and a phone on Mr. Mason’s desk. His phone? “Does he know that I called? I can talk to him tomorrow.” I edged toward the door.

She smoothed back her hair with a hand and I saw the gold and red stone ring on her right hand. A gold bracelet set with red stones glittered on her wrist. “Don’t you want to know who I am, Jane?”

“You’re Claire Mason.”

“The Companions are always so bright! That’s why they pick us, of course. What has your agile little mind figured out so far?”

Locate the danger.
“Nothing,” I said, trying to cover BB’s box with my arm.

“‘Nothing’ and that’s why you came to see your chemistry instructor at midnight?” Her laugh had a manic edge. “By the way, the door is locked and I’m faster than you. You look uncomfortable. Take a seat.”

I needed to rest my ankle so I dropped into a chair close to the door and kept the branch in my hand.

“What do you have there?” Claire pried away the box, took it to the desk, and dumped the contents out. “Nice find, Jane. I searched all over for BB’s stash.”

Don’t panic.
“It was in the bathroom ceiling. Where is she?”

Claire opened a drawer of the desk and brought out a hunting knife. “I’d like to know that, too. I left her body in the grove after I saw her with my man. Give me your phone.”

I took it out of my pocket and she snatched it from me. “BB and Mr. Mason?”

“Oh, please. I could barely tolerate Albert! The Family chose him for me because he’d put up with any amount of abuse,” Claire said. “BB decided that being Toby’s Companion was a better gig than dealing with his moody brat. Toby’s rich and not too demanding. He’d have kept me, old as I am, but Hyacinth decided to replace me.”

“But Companions are for life.”

“
Our
lives, not theirs. They live longer and if they want to upgrade us, there’s always another orphan girl.” She ran her finger along the knife’s blade. “Hyacinth was petrified that I might do the impossible and carry one of Toby’s babies to full-term. Then he’d be mine forever.”

Don’t show fear.
“I wasn’t brought here to replace you, Claire.”

“I saw the way Toby was looking at you the night he walked you home. He likes young blood, smooth new skin.” She set the knife on the desk and lifted her sweater so I could see her torso. At first I thought she was wearing a sheer embroidered top. Then I realized that the pale raised lines were an intricate network of
scars
. She stroked her skin, letting her fingers run along the ridges. “I remember each one, each time, Jane.”

Talk respectfully.
“They’re a map of your love for him, love that is like poison.” Claire stared at me, and I saw the pain and surprise in her eyes. I needed her to like me. “I found your letter to Mr. Mason. Your words haunted me because … because we’re alike. We know things. We’ve
lived
things, horrible things that no child should ever have to endure. They talk about ‘deserving.’ They say, ‘You deserve to be here.’ Does that mean we deserved our suffering, too?”

“They say, ‘You’re special, we’ll take care of you,’” Claire sneered. “Where the hell were they when my parents locked me in a closet for days?”

“Where were they when my mother was being beaten by a vicious drunk? I couldn’t do anything.” Memories I had repressed for a decade came rushing at me. I remembered my stepfather’s fists, his shouting, my mother’s screams, and the way she drew him away to protect me from his blows.

I remembered packed bags by the front door.
We were going to run away and she’d whispered, “Shush, shush, be quiet! It will be all right.” But he’d caught us.

I said, “No one stopped him and I couldn’t do anything. I was too small to stop him from beating her. I was too afraid of him, and no one would help us.”

“He deserved to die, Jane. Even a child can kill a man. You go to the library and find a book about human anatomy. You wait until the bastards are passed out. The throat is good and under the ribs, too. The eye requires precision. You use the anger you have from the times they beat you and left you cold and hungry, and those times were better than when they traded you for meth or to pay for a lost bet.”

“Oh, Claire.”

“We do what we have to do to survive.” She picked up the knife again.

“BB was only doing what was necessary, the same as us, Claire.”

“She should have settled for Lucky. He was gone the weekend I came back. I watched BB in the grove with Toby. I watched him drinking from her and listened to her telling him she wanted to be his. Afterward, I tried to talk her into leaving. But she wouldn’t and things got … out of hand.”

“The Radcliffes don’t know you’re alive, do they? Then you’re in the clear. You can leave and start over.”

“That was my plan. I have one thing to do first: take from Hyacinth the thing she loves best, the thing I never had, Toby’s child.”

“Jack,” I whispered, horrified.

“Jack? No, he’s not even one of them. Who knows
what
he is.” Claire stabbed the desk with the knife. “Lucky. He and Albert are knocked out and tied up in the auditorium. I was going to set it up to look like Lucky killed Albert by draining him of blood, and then killed himself in self-loathing. It would
destroy
Hyacinth.” Claire gloated. “But I didn’t expect you to show up tonight.”

“You don’t want to kill me, Claire.”

“Oh, yes, I do. I would have done it before, but Jack spent nights sleeping near your cottage. Toby must have sent him there to guard you.”

In my terror, I felt a sense of elation—Jack had watched out for me! Colors and sounds became sharper and adrenaline shivered through me. My mind raced as I tried to figure out how to save Lucky and Mr. Mason—and get back to Jack. “I can be helpful to you, Claire—unless you’ve lived with the rich people so long you’re used to throwing valuable things away, the way they do.”

She tilted her head and deliberated for a few seconds. “If you can think of a way that we can both benefit from this situation, I’ll consider letting you live. It will be a pop quiz and you must present an equation that solves for X, which is the sum of A, dead Albert, plus B, dead Lucky. Bonus points for constructing a scenario implicating Lucky in BB’s murder. However, selling Lucky to the hunters is not an option. Death is better than that.”

“Who are the hunters?”

“Different groups at different times, but there are always hunters.”

“May I use a paper and pencil?”

“Be my guest.” Claire waved the knife toward one of the lab tables, where there was a stack of papers and a box of pencils. “You have fifteen minutes starting
now
!”

I limped toward the table, leaning heavily on the branch. I remembered sitting here for the first time and Mary Violet’s cheery lilting voice telling me, “Knowledge is power.”

I faltered clumsily and clutched at the wooden stand with the old cloth periodic table, knocking it over so that it fell between me and Claire. “Sorry!”

“Tick tock, Jane, tick tock.”

A beaker of water had been left on a table. I took a pencil and several sheets of paper and sat down. I feigned that I was figuring out an answer, scribbling on pages before crumpling them. I tossed the pages on the chart until there was a small pile.

“You’ve got five minutes left, Jane.”

“Almost done. There are so many variables.” I stood and pretended that I was going over my calculations.

Then, while Claire was examining BB’s mementos, I lunged toward the shelf of chemicals. I grabbed the jar with mineral oil encasing a lump of potassium with its red oxidized edge. I hurled the jar at the fallen cloth chart and crumpled papers. As it shattered, I threw the beaker of water on it, praying that my aim would be good enough. The instant the water splashed away the oil, the reactive metal combusted in a dazzling burst of violet flames.