Sunblind (14 page)

“Ms. Robineau, may I remind you that accusations about a resident's mental capacities are not taken lightly, and any such diagnoses should be left to the professionals,” he states. “Not lumbered about haphazardly by the children of the incapacitated.”

What?! I jump off the desk so quickly that Lundgarden stumbles backward, looking like a scared boy in a big man's suit. For no other reason than added effect, I pick my backpack up off the floor and sling it over my shoulder. It works; Lundgarden flinches. He wants to get personal by bringing my mother into things? I'll up the ante by adding my brother to the equation.

“The old witch has been inappropriate with my brother,” I declare.

It takes three seconds for The Cell Keeper to reclaim his composure. It's amazing how quickly he goes from coward to commander, but he does. And he does it with precise detail.

“Whatever Barnaby told you about Mrs. St. Croix,” he says, “was a lie.”

My mother's incapacitated, and my brother's a liar. Well, okay, he's probably right, but there's no way I'm letting him get away with such language.

“Barnaby hasn't said anything, because victims who are abused usually keep their mouths shut!” I shout. “But there's no reason for him to be in her room with the door closed, and if you don't put an end to it, I'm going to call the police.”

Smiling devilishly, Winston goes in for the kill.

“Are you referring to your new guardian, newly appointed Sheriff Bergeron?” he asks rhetorically. “Louis knows all about Barnaby's, shall we say, vivid and highly entertaining imagination.”

Deep inside of me I howl. No sound emerges, but I can feel the intensity of the scream nonetheless. I want to strike out with my paw and rip off a chunk of Winston's unnaturally young-looking skin and devour it while he screams out in agony.

“My brother isn't making anything up!”

I hear something else topple over onto the floor next to Essie's desk, but I'm shaking so hard that this time I think I'm the cause.

“So you share his belief that full moons are the reason for the recent rash of killings in our quiet hamlet?” Lundgarden asks.

My backpack slips down my arm as I reach out to grip the side of Essie's desk to steady myself.

“You, like your brother, hold the Weeping Water
werewolf
responsible for our latest tragedies?”

I swallow hard, pushing back the fear and rage and hysteria that I can feel swirling inside of me. This man has gone from untrustworthy to dangerous with only a few choice words. He knows things; I don't know how he knows things, but he does. I don't know if his knowledge has led him to uncover the truth about me, but I can't stand still any longer to find out.

“I need to see my mother,” I whisper pathetically, and race down the hallway to Room 19.

Shutting the door behind me I've separated myself from one dangerous person and come into direct contact with another.

“Luba!”

She lifts one finger up to her lips. “Shhhhh.”

The sound extends for longer than it should, not ending, but melting into the air, like an imperceptible poison seeping into the wind. The circles under her eyes are almost as dark as her hair. I have to fight the urge to leap over my mother's bed and tackle Luba to the ground when I see the tips of her long black hair touching my mother's arms. Just being grazed by her hair could be like being injected with a dirty needle.

The thing I'm looking at is rancid. I don't care what Essie or Lundgarden or anyone says; Luba looks like she's dying right in front of me. Even her voice sounds weak. Evil, still, but weaker than the last time I heard her speak.

“Such a beauty, your mother.”

“Don't talk about her!”

“Be quiet!”

I'm hit in the chest, as if someone slammed a two-by-four into me. As frail as Luba looks, there's still power within that skeletal frame. But her deep, slow breaths are signs that her power cannot be sustained for much longer.

“I was paying the woman a compliment,” she hisses. “Asleep for so long, and yet she's still retained her beauty. That is quite an accomplishment.”

I don't want her talking about my mother even if she is praising her. I want them separated. I want my two worlds never to collide. But if that's what I want, I need to start sounding as if I have as much power as Luba.

“Why are you here?” I ask sternly.

“To offer a warning,” she whispers roughly.

Bracing myself against the wall, I prepare for a shock worse than any physical battle. I'm only slightly relieved to know that my instinct was correct.

“During the next full moon there will be an added attraction,” Luba announces. “Orion's constellation will be visible in the night sky.”

I can feel my knees buckle, and I try desperately to keep my fear from showing on my face.

“It will be a magnificent and revealing sight,” Luba continues. “Orion, the hunter, will be taking his rightful place in the sky as predator while the soft glowing moon becomes his prey.”

If her words weren't disturbing enough, her actions make it that much worse. While talking about Orion, Luba slowly spells out the name in the air, as if her skinny index finger contained invisible ink. Invisible, but leaving a permanent impression.

“I so look forward to seeing you again, Dominy,” Luba taunts. “When the curse takes hold of your pretty little head once more.”

After Luba leaves I allow myself to crumple to the floor. Watching my mother sleep peacefully a few feet away, I want to crawl in bed beside her. I want whatever disease has taken over her body and mind and soul to afflict me too so I don't have to be aware of the things happening around me.

Orion. The name frightens me. Correction, not the name, but the memory connected to it. I remember Mrs. Jaffe in her basement the night of Nadine and Napoleon's party. She wrote the letters O and
R
on the bowl the same way Luba just did in the air, and I understand that she was beginning to spell out the name Orion. The name that was in Jess's diary. The name of the tattoo on the twins' legs. And now the name that Luba has just spoken as a warning.

Melinda Jaffe is part of this too? How can that be?! And what exactly is she a part of?!

Sitting on the floor, sweat covering my forehead and my upper lip and drenching my armpits, I'm exhausted, unable to move. Luba, with only the smallest attempt, has smashed the honey jar into millions of tiny pieces, and the honey is spilling out in every direction. And no matter what direction the honey travels, it will never know the safety of its jar again.

Because I know that I'm about to learn something important, something that will answer all my questions and that frightens me. And even though one nightmare is about to come to an end, another more terrifying nightmare is getting ready to begin.

Chapter 13

I'm still scared.

It's been weeks since I last saw Luba, and I haven't been able to shake this feeling. The feeling that my life is about to change—once again—and not for the better. How it could possibly get worse, I have no idea, but dread and anxiety and fear are all firmly clinging to the insides of my stomach, reminding me every second of every day that there's more to this curse than I originally thought. A curse within a curse. There are going to be more surprises and obstacles that I'll have to deal with and overcome and survive. It's a feeling I've kept to myself, but time's up. Tomorrow night is the full moon.

“Napoleon's in on it too.”

I thought being blunt would be helpful. I thought it would be better to make my indictment direct and simple and unemotional. But when dealing with boyfriends it's impossible to be unemotional. So my direct approach has had an indirect result. Archie hates me.

“I am sick and tired of you bashing my boyfriend!”

Archie's outburst is justified. So is his anger for that matter, but neither will make me change my mind.

“I wish it weren't true, Archie,” I reply. “But it is.”

With just a handful of words, I've destroyed Archie's happiness. He can't press Rewind and gullibly believe that Napoleon's innocent. He can't because I won't let him. I love Archie too much to let him live under false pretenses; there's no way I'm going to let him hide from the truth that Napoleon's one of them. Archie, however, is still hoping for a loophole.

“You don't know that for certain!” he replies.

My heart breaks a little because I can already hear that Archie's voice is stronger than his conviction. He knows, but he doesn't want to understand. I wait for the final school bell to stop ringing, the one that comes fifteen minutes after the official end of the day to alert students that the school buses are set to leave. If you're not on a bus by the time the bell stops ringing, prepare to walk home. Or, in this instance, face the truth.

I've gathered most of the Wolf Pack in what's become our favorite meeting place, the small soundproof room off the music studio. I overheard Gwen say that band practice was taking place out on the field this afternoon so they could perfect their drills for some upcoming statewide competition, so I knew that if we waited a few minutes the entire marching band would be outside and we could enter the room without being detected. My plan worked perfectly. My confidence as a leader is sky-high until it's time for me to speak.

“So, Domgirl,” Caleb starts. “Why the emergency meeting?”

I take a deep breath and am about to speak when I see the back of Archie's notebook. He has scribbled
A + N 4ever 2gether.
In black Sharpie. So the phrase will never fade, so the sentiment will be indelible. I wish I were like the rest of Two W, ignorant as to who N is, but I'm not. I know that Archie and Napoleon have entered blissful boyfriendom, so I can't find the words fast enough, the gentle, kind, humane words that will destroy their relationship and take all possibility of permanence out of their coupling. Arla finds her voice first and sets the meeting on a totally different and unnecessary course.

“Are we officially ousting Nadine from the inner circle?” Arla asks, noticing her absence. “Because if so my vote's a yea.”

“Yea yea for a no no to the Nay Nay,” Archie adds.

Crossing his arms, Caleb leans his head back against the foam-padded wall and adopts a very scholarly expression, kind of like the way he looked when he first started tutoring me. “Does a double positive negate a double negative?” he rhetoricalizes. “If so does that mean you want Nadine to remain a member of the Wolf Pack or do you suggest that we, um . . .”

“Toss the lying bitch out with yesterday's fashion trends?” Arla says, finishing Caleb's question. “Acid-wash jeans, platform flip-flops, and Nadine.”

“Nicely stated, Bergeron, even though I don't understand why acid-wash jeans are offensive,” he replies.

“One of the few reasons to be thankful for the Two W school uniform,” she says.

“What about you, Winter?” Caleb asks. “Do you vote yea or nay to exile Nadine?”

Without hesitating, Archie answers, “The time has come to set the bee free.”

But where the bee goes, the butterfly is sure to follow.

“I know Napoleon isn't a member of the Wolf Pack,” I say. “But he is our enemy.”

Again, Archie's response is immediate. “That's ridiculous!”

“I'm sorry, Archie,” I say. “I really am.”

“No, you're not!” he scoffs. “You've always hated Nap. You've tried to hide it, but now you think you've come up with a slick way to get rid of him forever! Well, I'm not going to let you get away with it!”

And I'm not going to let Napoleon get away with hoodwinking my friend, which is why I finally decide not to be gentle and kind and humane and blurt out, “Napoleon is in on it too.”

I don't know why I'm surprised by the intensity of Archie's reaction, but I am. I know Barnaby is somehow involved with Luba and Nadine. He shot me for God's sake! I love him, but I'm suspicious of him; I have balance where my brother is concerned. Archie has to find the same kind of balance with his boyfriend. But his reaction is ferocious, and I have the feeling that he wishes he could borrow my wolf fangs and claws and attack me, make me take back every disagreeable word I uttered. But I guess brothers are different than boyfriends. I mean, how did I expect Archie to react? What did I expect him to say?
Sure, okay, whatever you say, Dom. I mean, my life just revolves around whatever you want, so just say the word and I'll disown my very first boyfriend.
He's in love with Napoleon. He feels like his life is just beginning, and I'm suggesting that it has to come to an abrupt and final end. His pissed-offedness shouldn't be surprising.

“I wish it added up differently,” I say. “But I've been thinking about it for weeks and the only logical conclusion is that Napoleon is connected to all of this.”

“Along with Luba and Nadine?” Caleb asks.

“And Mrs. Jaffe,” I add.

“You think she's in on it too?” Arla asks.

I relay how Luba and Mrs. Jaffe used the same gesture to spell out the word
Orion
and how the twins' mother had been extolling the virtues of the stars and astrology the night of the party.

“So now you think the four of them are in on the curse?” Caleb says, summing up my hypothesis.

“As implausible as it sounds,” I reply. “Yes.”

The cushioned wall feels comforting against the back of my head, and I lean into it farther. It's soft, but firm, and beyond the embrace there's support underneath. The situation doesn't call for it, but I can feel a smile form on my lips because I'm reminded of my father; his touch and his voice were always gentle, but underneath was a foundation as strong as concrete. Before my smile reaches its full potential, it's ripped from my face, not with a fang or a claw, but with words.

“You're a spiteful idiot, Dom!”

Archie has never spoken to me like this before. Part of me understands that he's just frightened, but the other part of me acknowledges that by condemning his newly minted boyfriend to eternal residence in enemy territory, I may have unwittingly unleashed Archie's inner beast.

“Hey, Winter,” Caleb scolds. “Take it easy.”

Ignoring his friend, Archie keeps striking out at me. “Listen to yourself, Dom!” he barks. “You just disproved your own theory!”

Arla whips her head to the right to face Archie, the curls of her chestnut brown wig continuing to bounce even after she stops. “Theory? What are you talking about, Archie?”

In one quick move Archie repositions himself to sit on his knees and lean forward. He looks like he's kneeling around a campfire, about to tell a ghost story. A ghost story that, sadly, we're the stars of.

“Jess warned us to keep Barnaby away from
three
of them, not four,” he reminds us. “We know that Jess can't tell us the whole truth, but we also know that she wouldn't lie to us or deliberately try to confuse us.”

No, she would never do that.

“Which means one of them isn't our enemy!” Archie concludes.

In the silence that follows Archie's summation I can almost hear the insistent buzzing of the bee and the desperate wing-flapping of the butterfly. No matter what anyone says, no matter how long we debate, the bee and the butterfly will not leave on their own. They need to be forced out deliberately; they need to be defeated. And it sounds as if I may have to do the extermination on my own.

Sheepishly, Caleb looks at me, his teeth biting down onto his thumb. “He's right, Domgirl,” Caleb says, not allowing his teeth to let go of his flesh.

“Of course I'm right!” Archie shouts triumphantly. “If Barnaby needed protection from all four of them, Jess would've said so, but she was very specific; she said three.”

Arla loops her wig hair behind her ear and rubs the ends in between her fingers. It's an absentminded gesture that I've seen her do for years whenever she's taking a test, whenever she's searching for the right answer. Now, she's searching for the right way to respond so it doesn't look like she's flat leaving me to join the majority.

“Well, that is what Jess said,” she adds. “Keep Barnaby away from all three of them.”

If I'm destined to be alone, then so be it.

“I remember what Jess said, Arla,” I reply.

Her back stiffens at the flatness of my voice. Nervously she flips the hair back over her ear and continues, “So if Mrs. Jaffe is part of this too, then most likely Napoleon isn't.”

I know exactly what they're doing. I know exactly what's going on inside all three of their minds. They're looking for a way to separate Napoleon from his fate. I've been trying to do the same thing since Luba spelled out the word
Orion
in the air with her bony fingers. But no matter how hard we all try, there isn't one.

Even still, buoyed by the support Arla and Caleb have shown him, Archie allows himself a moment to embrace his cocky football player side. A moment is all I'm going to give him. He clasps his hands behind his head and leans back confidently. “So there you have it!” he exclaims. “You have absolutely no proof that my boyfriend's dangerous.”

His moment is over.

“Nap has powers. I've seen them.”

Slowly, Archie's arms descend down the walls until they're lying limp at his side. Little red blotches appear on his cheeks, resembling a child's attempt to apply rouge. And a teenager's attempt to conceal anger. “What do you mean he has
powers?
”

For the first time I wish this room were much larger so there would be more things for me to look at, but no, I can't look away; if I'm going to be honest with my friend, I have to look him in the eye. “I'm not sure exactly,” I start, “but he and Nadine have a silver light that lives in their bodies, like the wolf spirit lives in mine.”

“Are you serious, Dom?” Caleb asks.

“Yes,” I answer. “I know I should've told you about it, but . . . I didn't understand what it meant, until now. It means they're definitely linked in some way to Luba.”

Archie isn't returning my gaze. His eyes are focused on the floor, but he's listening to what I'm saying. And examining every word. “If the light lives inside of them, how can you see it?”

“The light emerges from their bodies,” I reply. “Sometimes I think it's a defense mechanism, but other times . . . I think they use it as a weapon.”

“You think, Domgirl,” Caleb says. “Or you know?”

I can feel Caleb tug on our invisible string. He wants me to understand that I need to be very specific, that what I'm saying is terribly important, but most of all he wants me to know that whatever I say he will believe me.

“On separate occasions I've seen them use their silver light as a weapon against someone else.”

Can't be any more specific than that. There can't be any wiggle room for interpretation. Or can there?

“To defend themselves,” Archie grasps. “What's wrong with that?”

“No, Archie, not to defend,” I reply. “To attack.”

Archie and I don't have an invisible string connecting our two selves; all we have is friendship. And unfortunately friendships can sometimes be severed.

“I don't believe that!” he claims. “I don't believe my boyfriend would ever attack another person with some silver light, some special power that you say he has. Nadine, yes, she would do such a thing, but not Nap.”

Guess it's time to get even more specific.

“I saw them!” I scream. “I saw Nadine use her light to try and control Barnaby, and I saw Napoleon use his to attack his sister.”

Sometimes being specific totally backfires.

“Kind of the way you used your wolf-strength to fight against Barnaby?”

Arla's question hovers over my head and threatens to choke me the way I felt I was being choked by a plastic bag when I first started to transform. It threatens to change my world in very much the same way the curse has. Not because her words bring with them destruction, but because her words offer clarity.

She's right. After watching the way Nadine used her silver light against Barnaby, I'm convinced she was up to no good. But I don't have proof that Napoleon is evil or dangerous, only that he's a brother who's used his special power in a fight against his sister. Supernatural sibling rivalry. I'm guilty of the same crime.