Paula Morris (34 page)

"You told your mother about that?" Rebecca felt herself
blushing, thinking about that night. About Anton kissing her. Maybe he was
thinking about it as well, because he met her eyes -- quickly, nervously -- and
then looked away.

"I didn't tell her anything," he said. "Not about
... anything that happened that night. But right away they seemed to want to
know everything about you. My father told me you might not be ... well, who you
claimed to be. They said I had to ask you questions, get information out of
you. But I didn't want to. That's one reason I never got in touch with you
after the party. I told my parents you weren't answering my calls or e-mails."

"You could have still talked to me," Rebecca pointed
out, unwilling to let Anton off the hook. "You just didn't have to tell
anyone, that's all."

"I guess. It was just so much pressure. That day we had the
argument in the cemetery, just after you got back from New York? Someone else
saw you going in that day. I got sent in to interrogate you. I had to, even
though I didn't want anything to do with it."

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"That was the day I told you I could see Lisette,"
Rebecca murmured. She wrapped her arms around her bare legs, huddling to keep
warm, wishing she could stop trembling. This was her fault as much as Anton's
-- she should have kept her mouth shut.

"I never said anything to them," Anton said quickly.
"And somehow they
knew
I wasn't telling them the whole truth. That's
why they sent Toby in to spy on us. That day I tried to warn you about riding
in the parade -- you just wouldn't listen."

"Why didn't you just
tell
me, instead of dropping all
those vague hints?"

"You ran off before I had the chance to explain!" he protested.
"And anyway, I was real confused. My parents and friends were all saying
one thing ....I've known Toby and Helena all my life. Everyone kept telling me
that Helena's life was at stake. I just didn't know what to do."

"So you did nothing." Rebecca didn't know if she could
forgive Anton. All this week he'd known what they were planning for her, and
he'd said nothing. "You just left me to ... to get murdered tonight!"

"I didn't have a choice," he said. "Toby had heard
what I was saying to you, telling you not to ride in the parade. Everyone was
beyond angry with me. They emptied my pockets -- got my phone off me,
everything. They even took me out of school! I had to go to a fishing camp in
Mississippi with two of my uncles. There was no way to reach you. We only drove
back to the city this afternoon, because they were riding in Septimus. They're
both dukes."

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The men on horseback, thought Rebecca. Anton's family. It wasn't
just the Bowmans and the Suttons in the cemetery tonight.

"I was locked in my room this evening," he was saying.
"My dad only came to get me so I could witness the end of the curse in the
cemetery. He thought it was important because ..."

"Because why? Your family likes seeing girls getting
killed?"

Anton shook his head.

"We were part of it. All those years ago, when Lisette died
..."

"Was murdered, you mean."

"When Lisette was murdered. Our families were friends then.
It was my ancestor who talked to Mrs. Bowman and to Mr. Sutton, who was her
lawyer. It was his idea to hide the body in the Bowman family vault and to tell
her mother she'd died of yellow fever. He and Mr. Sutton carried Lisette's body
to the cemetery the night she was killed. Don't you get it? We have her blood
on our hands as well. And the blood of all those Bowman girls who died. If they
hadn't lied to Lisette's mother, this curse would never have happened. It was
the Greys and the Suttons who tried to cover it all up, and the result was ...
well, you know better than anyone. Girls dying, one after the other. All the
way down to tonight. God, I just can't believe Helena is dead."

Anton rubbed at his face: He looked exhausted as well, Rebecca
thought. She almost felt sorry for him. She wanted to believe him -- wanted to
believe that he'd tried to protect her, that he'd lied to his family rather
than expose her, that

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he'd been kept away all week so he couldn't warn her of what was
about to happen.

"At least it's all over now, right?" He glanced up at
Rebecca. "That ghost is gone."

"She was my friend," Rebecca told him. Even though
Lisette would be with her mother now, it was hard not to feel sad. Rebecca
would miss her.

"I'm your friend as well," Anton insisted. "You
have to believe me! I wouldn't do anything to hurt you, I swear. That's why I
never said a word to anyone, even though it meant choosing you over Helena. I
didn't want to be part of this any more than you do."

"Too bad, buddy." A sneering voice from somewhere in the
darkness spoke up, and Rebecca almost fell off her tree root. She knew exactly
who was speaking before he stepped out of the shadows.

It was Toby Sutton.

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***

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

***

Toby stood, hands on hips, glaring at them. In his parade costume
he looked like a malevolent clown.

"You're part of it whether you want to be or not," he
told Anton. "And we've got some unfinished business to take care of."

"Get out of here, Toby." Anton scrambled to his feet.
"It's all over now, OK? Helena's dead, and there's nothing we can do about
it."

"Nothing we can do?" Toby parroted in a bitter, mocking
tone. He sneered down at Rebecca as though he'd like to spit in her face.
"Your girlfriend here murdered Helena -- and our lame-ass parents just let
her father walk away."

Rebecca gasped: Her father was OK -- thank god. Toby shot her a
look of contempt.

"Well, excuse me if I'm not in the mood to play happy
families," he said. "Nothing's over until
she
pays."

"Nobody's
paying
for anything." Anton took a step
toward Toby; he was much taller than his friend, and for that reason,

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maybe, Toby warily backed away. "Haven't we just had a
hundred and fifty years of people paying for something that shouldn't have
happened? Isn't that why Helena died tonight? That's it -- the curse is over.
Helena's death was a bizarre accident, like all those bizarre accidents and
illnesses that killed all those girls. It's not Rebecca's fault. There's no
more unfinished business. Just get out of here and leave us alone."

Toby gave a theatrical sigh, taking another few steps backward.

"I guess I'll have to do this alone, then," he said. He
was fingering something, Rebecca noticed -- something small, obscured in one
hand. The moonlight caught it, and it gleamed. Not a gun, she thought! But no,
it was too small.

"He's got something," she warned Anton, standing up to
face Toby. "In his hand, he's got something."

"She's a genius, your girlfriend." Toby looked smug. He
opened his palm, and there lay Anton's silver lighter. "Your father left
this lying around, and I thought,
Now
that
could come in
useful."

"You're talking nonsense," Anton said impatiently.
"Give it back, and get out of here. I'm not in the mood for your stupid
games."

"Whatever," said Toby. He was walking backward to the
corner now, a vile smile cracking his face. "All I know is, a house has to
burn tonight. And it's not going to be one of ours."

"No!" Rebecca clutched Anton's arm. Toby had disappeared
around the corner. "He's going to ... we can't let him ..."

Her mind was a fuzzy mess. Why was Anton just standing there? If
Toby wanted to burn a house down tonight, there

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was one prime target: Aunt Claudia's house on Sixth Street. The
stories about Toby's pyromania weren't just idle gossip: He'd probably doused
the place with gasoline already.

"We have to stop him," said Anton, and he took off down
the street, skidding as he skirted the corner of Prytania. Rebecca pounded
after him, running as fast as her numb, shaky legs would allow. Toby was way
ahead of them: He'd had too big a head start. All he needed was seconds to light
that fire. Aunt Claudia's little house was a dry wooden box; it would go up
instantly. And for all Rebecca knew, her aunt and her father were inside.

"Stop!" she shrieked, but she knew this was just as
futile as all her pleas on the steps of the Bowman tomb. Except this time there
was no Lisette to save her -- or to save the house. Toby was right: There was a
burning house in the prophecy. Rebecca and Aunt Claudia had never imagined that
it might be
theirs.

Anton ran in long, loping strides, and he was gaining on Toby.
Rebecca pushed herself on, willing Anton to catch him. The boys had reached the
Bowman mansion when Anton threw himself forward, tackling Toby around the legs.
Toby fell hard onto the sidewalk, and the two of them started rolling like one
long, angry snake, thrashing on the ground. They were punching each other,
Rebecca saw as she ran up. Toby kneed Anton hard, and for a moment it looked as
though he was going to get up and run off again.

But Anton surged forward again, dragging Toby back, and then he
smacked Toby straight in the face. Both of them reeled, Toby flopping onto the
ground. Anton staggered

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over to the low iron railings along the Bowmans' front yard.

"This is the house that'll burn!" he shouted, blood
trickling from his nose. His eyes were wild. "This is where it's all going
to end -- right here!"

"No, Anton!" Rebecca couldn't believe he was really
going to do this. Anton had the silver cigarette lighter in his hand; he was
striking the wheel, flicking up a flame. He crouched, reaching through the
railings.

A large plastic tarpaulin heaped with lumber and other building
supplies stretched across the yard to the side gallery. Anton lowered the flame
to the frayed edge of the tarp. Toby eased himself up: He was leaning on his
hands, his mouth an
0
of amazement. He couldn't believe it, either,
thought Rebecca. He couldn't believe that Anton was prepared to burn down the
Bowmans' house to save Rebecca's.

She couldn't see the lighter anymore, or its tiny flame, but
moments later it was clear that Anton had made contact. The tarp was alight,
crackling with flames. Fire licked at the pile of lumber, and then it must have
reached something much more flammable, like a can of paint: With a
"pop" the fire suddenly tripled in size, dancing toward the house.

Anton stood up slowly, looking at what he'd done. Then he hurled
his lighter hard, throwing it onto the gallery. It wasn't too late, Rebecca
thought, looking around -- someone could still stop this. All she had to do was
dial 911, and a fire engine could race up and put this out. But she didn't have
her phone with her: It was too bulky for her shorts pockets, so she'd given it
to Aunt Claudia this afternoon.

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"Call the fire department," she ordered Toby, though he
appeared too dazed to hear her. "For god's sake, before it's too ..."

She was interrupted by a louder, more explosive series of pops:
There had to be paint cans lining the side gallery. The flames licking at the
posts now ran in longer and longer lines as though someone was drawing them
along an invisible string. An acrid smoke filled her lungs, and the heat of the
fire sizzled her cheeks and bare legs. Fire darted up the side of the building,
obscuring the chimney; a window exploded. Anton seemed to wake from his stupor.

"We have to get back," he said to Rebecca. "This
place is going to blow."

Toby, still on the ground, was laughing and shaking his head.

"You're crazy, man," he told Anton. "I thought I
was meant to be the bad one. What the hell have you done?"

Anton took Rebecca's hand and pulled her onto the street. She
could hear doors opening and slamming, the murmur of voices. Lights were going
on up and down the street; in the distance, the whine of a siren sounded.

"Move unless you want something to fall on you," Anton
said to Toby.

"Don't worry." Toby pushed himself off the ground, then
stood wiping the blood off his face. "I'm out of here. This is all yours,
bud."

"Come on," Anton muttered to Rebecca. The Bowman house
was ablaze, flames shooting into the sky, its gray facade crackling into a
ridged, papery black. Smoke billowed into

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the street, and flying smudges of ash showered onto their heads. A
door in the old slave quarters opened, and the elderly butler ran into the
driveway; he was clutching a damp towel to his face, making for the side
street, as far as Rebecca could tell. There were people running in the street,
shouting; the sirens were getting closer. Nothing was clear anymore, the street
a thick smoggy gray.

Anton was leading her past the cemetery and down Sixth Street,
both of them coughing and spluttering. Aunt Claudia: Was she safe? Had they
taken her somewhere? The door to the leaning yellow house was locked, and
Rebecca didn't have a key. She pounded on it, but nobody answered. Without any
discussion, Anton tugged a loose brick from the rickety steps and slammed it
into the window. The pane shattered, and he used the brick to knock the
remaining jagged pieces of glass onto the floor of the parlor.