Beautiful Creatures(57)

Macon paced impatiently. I shifted in the weeds, trying not to make a sound.

“I can’t get a read tonight. It’s murky. I think Uncle Abner is in a mood. I’m sure it was somethin’ you said.”

This must have been his breaking point, because Macon’s face changed, his pale skin glowing in the shadows. When he stepped forward, the sharp angles of his face became frightening in the moonlight.

“Enough of these games. A Dark Caster entered my house tonight; that in itself is impossible. She arrived with your boy, Ethan, which can mean only one thing. He has power, and you have been hiding it from me.”

“Nonsense. That boy doesn’t have power any more than I have a tail.”

“You’re wrong, Amarie. Ask the Greats. Consult the bones. There is no other explanation. It had to be Ethan. Ravenwood is protected. A Dark Caster could never circumvent that sort of protection, not without some powerful form of help.”

“You’ve lost your mind. He doesn’t have any kind a power. I raised that child. Don’t you think I’d know it?”

“You’re wrong this time. You’re too close to him; it’s clouding your vision. And there is too much at stake now for errors. We both have our talents. I’m warning you, there is more to the boy than either of us realized.”

“I’ll ask the Greats. If there’s somethin’ to know they’ll be sure I know it. Don’t you forget, Melchizedek, we have to contend with both the dead and the livin’ and that’s no easy task.” She rummaged around in her pocketbook, and pulled out a dirty-looking string with a row of tiny beads on it.

“Graveyard Bone. Take it. The Greats want you to have it. Protects spirit from spirit, and dead from dead. It’s no use for us Mortal folk. Give it to your niece, Macon. It won’t hurt her, but it might keep a Dark Caster away.”

Macon took the string, holding it gingerly between two fingers, then dropping it into his handkerchief, as if he was pocketing a particularly nasty worm. “I’m obliged.”

Amma coughed.

“Please. Tell them, I’m obliged. Much.” He looked up at the moon as if he were checking his watch.

And then he turned and disappeared. Dissolved into the swamp mist as if he had blown away in the breeze.

10.10

Red Sweater

I had barely made it into my bed before the sun rose, and I was tired—bone tired, as Amma would say.

Now I was waiting for Link on the corner. Even though it was a sunny day, I was caught under my own personal shadow. And I was starving. I hadn’t been able to face Amma in the kitchen this morning. One look at my face would have given away everything I’d seen last night, and everything I felt, and I couldn’t risk that.

I didn’t know what to think. Amma, who I trusted more than anyone, as much as my parents, maybe more—she was holding out on me. She knew Macon, and the two of them wanted to keep Lena and me apart. It all had something to do with the locket, and Lena’s birthday. And danger.

I couldn’t piece it together, not on my own. I had to talk to Lena. It was all I could think about. So when the hearse rolled around the corner instead of the Beater, I shouldn’t have been surprised.

“I guess you heard.” I slid into the seat, dumping my backpack on the floor in front of me.

“Heard what?” She smiled, almost shyly, pushing a bag across the seat. “Heard you liked doughnuts? I could hear your stomach growling all the way from Ravenwood.”

We looked at each other awkwardly. Lena looked down, embarrassed, picking a piece of lint off a soft, red, embroidered sweater that looked like something the Sisters would have in the attic somewhere.

Knowing Lena, it wasn’t from the mall in Summerville.

Red? Since when did she wear red?

She wasn’t under a bad cloud; she had just come out from under one. She hadn’t heard me thinking.

She didn’t know about Amma and Macon. She just wanted to see me. I guess some of what I had said last night had sunk in. Maybe she wanted to give us a chance. I smiled, opening the white paper bag.

“Hope you’re hungry. I had to fight the fat cop for them.” She pulled the hearse away from the curb.

“So you just felt like picking me up for school?” That was something new.

“Nope.” She rolled down the window, the morning breeze blowing her hair into curls. Today, it was just the wind.

“You got something better in mind?”

Her whole face lit up. “Now how could there be anything better than spending a day like this at Stonewall Jackson High?” She was happy. As she turned the wheel, I noticed her hand. No ink. No number. No birthday. She wasn’t worried about anything, not today.

120. I knew it, as if it was written in invisible ink on my own hand. One hundred and twenty days until it, whatever Macon and Amma were so afraid of, happened.

I looked out the window as we turned onto Route 9, wishing she could stay like this for just a little bit longer. I closed my eyes, running through the playbook in my mind. Pick ’n’ Roll. Picket Fences. Down the Lane. Full Court Press.

By the time we made it to Summerville, I knew where we were headed. There was only one place kids like us went in Summerville, if it wasn’t the last three rows of the Cineplex.

The hearse rolled through the dust behind the water tower at the edge of the field. “Parking? We’re parking? At the water tower? Now?” Link would never believe this.