terror on her face as her crying stops and
she looks into my eyes. “I mean it. I’m so sorry. He makes me do these things.
But you don’t understand. He has powers too. He does things normal people
can’t. I’m so scared, Alix. I can’t get away. He’ll find me and kill me. The
only way to free me is to kill Face.” She breaks into a fresh round of tears.
“But I don’t think he can die. He’s too different.”
“Did
Face kill William?” I say, noticing a pristine black four-door Mercedes pulling
up and stopping perpendicular to the Zeppelin lot, blocking any chance I have
of getting out of here in the Explorer. Full black tint covers the sedan’s
windows. The vibe coming from this car is one of pure evil, so much so that I
feel the hairs on my arms stiffen and rise. “Hurry, Aruna,” I say, shifting my
gaze between the car and her. “Your ride is here. Did Face kill William?”
“William,”
she says, tilting her head to stare at the car, which just sits there, engine
humming quietly beneath the blazing sun. “God, I’m in so much trouble, Alix.”
She looks at me. “I don’t know how William died, and that’s the honest-to-God
truth. But he’s something, isn’t he? So bad and yet so, so good.” She forces a
smile. “You know what I mean. I can tell. Could you do me a favor and tell him
I said hello and that I miss him and that I’m sorry I lost it?”
“Lost
what?”
The
car engine revs. I’m in no position to challenge this vehicle. Whatever or
whoever is behind those windows holds far more power than I do. So what I do is
walk slowly backwards toward the Dumpster, eyes glued to poor Aruna as she
struggles to her feet and limps slowly toward the Mercedes, where she opens the
driver’s-side back door and collapses into an empty backseat. The door closes
automatically, and the driver pulls quickly away, leaving behind a filthy cloud
of brown dust that blankets my Explorer.
Looking
behind the Dumpster, I find the silver knife’s well-worn black-leather sheath
resting on a rail just beneath the Dumpster’s top hinges, so I sheathe the
knife, slide it into my back pocket, and allow my shirt to fall over it as a
screen.
I’m
coughing from the dust cloud as I walk the narrow path leading to the front of
Zeppelin Coffee.
Chapter 11
I’m holding back
tears as I enter Zeppelin Coffee and wait in a short line, heart thumping
wildly. I’m struggling with the overwhelming urge to call Dad’s emergency
number.
What
would I say to him?
“Dad,
a girl who’s been missing for two years just tried to knife me in Beaconsfield
right behind your favorite coffeehouse. Then she got into the back of a
mysterious black Mercedes and drove off. By the way, I’m developing some freaky
psychic abilities and am currently communicating with the ghost of the
beautiful bad boy who died in my bedroom. He needs me to figure out who killed
him, and … oh yeah, the girl who just tried to kill me seems to know all of
this and warned me that Face has powers as well. Speaking of Face, I think he
killed William and runs something called Perennial, whatever that is.”
What
else? Hmm. “Oh, William is a pawn of some guy named Vagabond, who wants to see
if I’m a good enough psychic to gain access into some special club of his.
Also, last but not least, I’m pretty sure Oval City is the epicenter of this
mystery, which of course means I have to go there. Tonight.”
Yeah.
Right.
Dad
has never hit me before, but a psycho rant like that might do the trick. At the
least, Clint Keener—a calm man of reason, a man of the law, a man who firmly
believes that the key to a bright future is a solid education and a willingness
to live according to society’s time-tested rules—would handcuff me and commit
me to the nearest psychiatric facility until the doctors deemed me fit to
reenter the normal world.
But
not everything in the world is normal, Dad. In fact, everything I thought was
normal has blown up in my face in
she looks into my eyes. “I mean it. I’m so sorry. He makes me do these things.
But you don’t understand. He has powers too. He does things normal people
can’t. I’m so scared, Alix. I can’t get away. He’ll find me and kill me. The
only way to free me is to kill Face.” She breaks into a fresh round of tears.
“But I don’t think he can die. He’s too different.”
“Did
Face kill William?” I say, noticing a pristine black four-door Mercedes pulling
up and stopping perpendicular to the Zeppelin lot, blocking any chance I have
of getting out of here in the Explorer. Full black tint covers the sedan’s
windows. The vibe coming from this car is one of pure evil, so much so that I
feel the hairs on my arms stiffen and rise. “Hurry, Aruna,” I say, shifting my
gaze between the car and her. “Your ride is here. Did Face kill William?”
“William,”
she says, tilting her head to stare at the car, which just sits there, engine
humming quietly beneath the blazing sun. “God, I’m in so much trouble, Alix.”
She looks at me. “I don’t know how William died, and that’s the honest-to-God
truth. But he’s something, isn’t he? So bad and yet so, so good.” She forces a
smile. “You know what I mean. I can tell. Could you do me a favor and tell him
I said hello and that I miss him and that I’m sorry I lost it?”
“Lost
what?”
The
car engine revs. I’m in no position to challenge this vehicle. Whatever or
whoever is behind those windows holds far more power than I do. So what I do is
walk slowly backwards toward the Dumpster, eyes glued to poor Aruna as she
struggles to her feet and limps slowly toward the Mercedes, where she opens the
driver’s-side back door and collapses into an empty backseat. The door closes
automatically, and the driver pulls quickly away, leaving behind a filthy cloud
of brown dust that blankets my Explorer.
Looking
behind the Dumpster, I find the silver knife’s well-worn black-leather sheath
resting on a rail just beneath the Dumpster’s top hinges, so I sheathe the
knife, slide it into my back pocket, and allow my shirt to fall over it as a
screen.
I’m
coughing from the dust cloud as I walk the narrow path leading to the front of
Zeppelin Coffee.
Chapter 11
I’m holding back
tears as I enter Zeppelin Coffee and wait in a short line, heart thumping
wildly. I’m struggling with the overwhelming urge to call Dad’s emergency
number.
What
would I say to him?
“Dad,
a girl who’s been missing for two years just tried to knife me in Beaconsfield
right behind your favorite coffeehouse. Then she got into the back of a
mysterious black Mercedes and drove off. By the way, I’m developing some freaky
psychic abilities and am currently communicating with the ghost of the
beautiful bad boy who died in my bedroom. He needs me to figure out who killed
him, and … oh yeah, the girl who just tried to kill me seems to know all of
this and warned me that Face has powers as well. Speaking of Face, I think he
killed William and runs something called Perennial, whatever that is.”
What
else? Hmm. “Oh, William is a pawn of some guy named Vagabond, who wants to see
if I’m a good enough psychic to gain access into some special club of his.
Also, last but not least, I’m pretty sure Oval City is the epicenter of this
mystery, which of course means I have to go there. Tonight.”
Yeah.
Right.
Dad
has never hit me before, but a psycho rant like that might do the trick. At the
least, Clint Keener—a calm man of reason, a man of the law, a man who firmly
believes that the key to a bright future is a solid education and a willingness
to live according to society’s time-tested rules—would handcuff me and commit
me to the nearest psychiatric facility until the doctors deemed me fit to
reenter the normal world.
But
not everything in the world is normal, Dad. In fact, everything I thought was
normal has blown up in my face in
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