Hexed (4 page)

“Ms. Blackwood and Ms. Abernathy?” she asks in her pinched little voice.

“Yes,” I answer for the both of us.

“Right this way.”

Mrs. Fields leads us to the principal’s corner office, where, through the door’s glazed window, I can just make out the silhouettes of three figures.

Mrs. Fields knocks on the door but doesn’t wait before cracking it open. “They’re here.”

Mrs. Malone and two men I’ve never seen before swivel to face us.

If I’d run into them under any other circumstances, I’d never have guessed they were policemen. The taller of the two men wears his long, steel-wool hair slicked back in a ponytail that falls halfway down his back. His features—from his pointed chin to his slender nose to his pale blue, slanting eyes—give him the appearance of a wolf. The other man, short and muscular compared with his partner, has what looks like a burn covering three-quarters of his hairless head and extending over his right eye, making it droop as though his face were melting. In fact, the only thing that looks policeman-like about the two of them is their sleek black suits.

“Thank you, Mrs. Malone,” Mr. Wolf says to our principal, in such a way as to dismiss her.

Mrs. Malone applies a false smile I’m all too used to seeing around the halls of Fairfield High. “I’ll just be right outside if you need anything.” She shoots Paige and me a warning look before pulling the door closed behind her.

Mr. Wolf indicates for us to sit in the wooden chairs across from the big desk. After that, there’s about thirty seconds when no one says a thing. Which doesn’t seem like that long, but things start to get really awkward after the ten-second mark. Paige and I shift in our chairs as Mr. Wolf saunters over to Malone’s desk and picks up a snow globe, turning it over in his hands. Scarface takes a seat in the principal’s chair and thumps his boot-clad feet up on the desk, dry mud crumbling off the soles. He pulls a package of Marlboros out of the breast pocket of his suit, slides one out, and presses it between his lips.

Paige sits up straighter. “Hey, this school is nonsmoking.”

“Paige!” I cry, incredulous. If I’m in trouble, the last thing I need is her getting me on their bad side.

The cop flicks his lighter. The cherry of the cigarette flames as he sucks in a breath, then exhales right in Paige’s direction.

Paige wafts the smoke out of her face with dramatic arm-sweeping gestures. “I don’t care who you are, you can’t—”

“Excuse my partner’s rudeness,” Mr. Wolf says now examining the snow globe close to his face. “You can dress him up, but you can’t take him out. Know what I mean?”

Scarface laughs, a barking, unkind sound.

I haven’t had many encounters with policemen in the past, but this isn’t going down as I’d imagined.

“You girls saw something pretty frightening yesterday, didn’t you?” Mr. Wolf sets down the snow globe and picks up a picture frame holding a photo of two blond children—probably Mrs. Malone’s kids.

I’m about to answer when Paige cuts in. “How did you know that? I mean, we didn’t leave our names with anyone, so how did you know where to find us?”

“Shut up, Paige,” I say, elbowing her in the ribs.

“What? I’m just wondering. If he can blow smoke in my face, I can ask a question, right? And since I’m asking, you didn’t tell us your names. Isn’t that part of an interview?”

Mr. Wolf ’s thin lips curl up in an amused smile, revealing a row of crooked teeth. “We have ways of knowing … things, Ms. Abernathy. Cute kids.” He sets the picture frame down and starts ruffling through papers on the desk.

“You didn’t answer my last question,” Paige says.

“That’s right,” he says. “My name is …” He looks up, as if considering his response, and then levels his eyes on me. “Mr. Wolf.”

A gasp falls out of my mouth.

“And this,” he continues, giving me a knowing grin as he gestures to the other cop, “is my partner, Scarface.”

My heart thrums like a bird in a cage, a cold damp slicking my palms. “H-how did you do that?”

“Do what?” Paige asks.

I can’t say it aloud—that he’s read my mind. It sounds too implausible. Too ridiculous. But it has to be true. That can’t have been a coincidence.

“We’re wasting time, Frederick,” Scarface says.

“Shhh, I think I’m on to something here.” Mr. Wolf, or Frederick, or whoever he is, rubs the stubble on his chin, assessing me.

Scarface removes his feet from the desk and sits up straight. “There are at least a dozen more people who saw Bishop die who still need to be dealt with.”

Dealt with? What is
that
supposed to mean?

“Patience, Leo. Patience.” Frederick drums his index finger on his chin, and Scarface/Leo crosses his arms like a child who’s been put in time-out.

“They obviously don’t know anything about the Bible,” he mumbles.

For some stupid reason, Mom’s tattered leather-bound book comes to mind. Suddenly Frederick leans in, close enough that he is just inches from my face.

“What is this book?” Spittle flies out the corner of his mouth with the force of his words.

Okay, so that settles it. He’s definitely reading my mind. “Wh-what are you talking about?” I ask.

“That’s it,” Paige says. “I’m getting Mrs. Malone in here—” She starts to stand, but Leo bolts upright and points a finger at her. She stops so quickly it’s as if he’s pressed the pause button on the movie of her life.

“That’s better,” Leo says. “Now sit down, Paige.”

She obeys.

“Paige?” I lean across my chair to get a better look at her. She stares straight ahead, her vacant eyes unblinking, her dainty features slackened like she’s a stroke victim. Nauseating loops form in my stomach.

“Hey, this could be fun.” Leo slicks his tongue over his teeth. “She’s pretty cute, for a nerdy type, don’t you think, Frederick?”

“Shut up, Leo.” Frederick leans in, his breath rushing against my cheek. “Now tell me about this Bible.”

I grip the chair so hard I wonder how the wood hasn’t splintered. “What did you do to Paige?”

“Your friend will be fine if you answer my question. What is this Bible? What does the cover say? And don’t give me any more of this bullshit.”

I swallow. Mom’s warning streams through my mind.
If
that
book
gets
into
the
wrong
hands …

Then what? Mass hysteria? The earth implodes? Cats and dogs take over the world? I don’t know—Mom never delved into specifics. But I get the impression that whatever it is wouldn’t be good, just based on this guy’s savage desire for it. Especially not with Mom at the shop, alone. “I—I don’t know, it’s just a regular Bible. I guess it just says ‘Holy Bible’ or something.”

“Liar!” he yells, so loudly it makes my spine go ramrod straight. “Your mom’s Bible is leather-bound and tattered. You said it yourself.”

But I didn’t say it—I thought it. My already racing heart speeds into Indy 500 territory.

I dart a glance at the door, wondering why no one has charged into the room. How can they not hear this?

Frederick grips my jaw with his long fingers and turns my head to face his. “Because we’ve made the room soundproof. Simple incantation. They can’t hear anything on the other side of that glass. You can scream at the top of your lungs but no one will come. Now, do you see your friend?” He turns my jaw so that I face Paige, then snaps it toward him again. “That is
the
least
interesting thing we could do to her. If you don’t start talking, we might have to change our minds.”

I try to speak, but it’s like I’ve swallowed a bucket of sand. Frederick breathes through his teeth, his patience visibly wearing thin.

“The Bible,” I choke out, stumbling over my words. “It’s an antique. It was passed down to my mom from my grandma, but it’s just a regular Bible. Nothing of value, except to my family.”

I hope what I’ve said will be enough to satisfy him, that I won’t have to say more to implicate Mom at the shop.

His eyes narrow on mine. And then I realize he must be reading my mind right now. I remember a trick I once saw in an old horror movie, and think,
Brick
wall, brick wall, brick wall.

For about thirty seconds that feel like an eternity, Frederick and I engage in a staring contest, each of us waiting for the other to give. His jaw twitches, and I think he’s going to hit me, but then he just laughs. “You’re a stubborn one, aren’t you?” He straightens and adjusts his suit jacket. “Leo, kill them both.”

I
t makes no difference that Frederick said no one can hear us—I scream at the top of my lungs.

I scream until my lungs ache and my veins fill to bursting and my face is as hot as a furnace. I scream until I have no breath left and I can’t scream anymore.

But no one comes.

“Done?” Frederick saunters in front of the desk, one shiny alligator shoe in front of the other. “As promised, no one can hear you. See, I’m not much of a liar, Indigo. That’s something you’ll learn about me. I may kill people for fun, but lying? That’s something I’m strictly against.”

Here I am, literally struggling to breathe, while Paige just stares ahead like an extra from
Night
of
the
Living
Dead,
completely oblivious that she’s seconds away from death herself.

I dart a glance at the door again.

“Locked.” Frederick leans against the desk and picks his teeth with a dirty fingernail. “Go ahead and try if you like.”

I do like. The chair tips back as I jump up and bolt for the door. There are scuffling noises behind me.

“Just let her get it out of her system,” Frederick says.

I wrench the knob from left to right.

No, no, no, how can it be locked from the inside?
I pound on the door with both fists, rattling the wood in its frame. I can see Mrs. Malone’s silhouette on the other side of the window, can actually hear her muffled small talk with Mrs. Fields, but they can’t hear me. It’s as if I don’t exist. I let out an anguished groan and lean my forehead against the cool glass.

“Ready to start talking?” Frederick asks.

I whimper into the door.

“You’re wasting my time, Indigo. Have a seat and we can start negotiations.” A thump behind me indicates he has righted the tipped-over chair.

I don’t see any other option, so I turn around. Frederick gives a nod of encouragement, his hand gripping the back of the chair. I stumble over somehow and slump back into it.

“Good girl,” he says, patting me on the head. “Now tell me about the Bible.”

I close my eyes and press my lips together to stop them from trembling, tasting the salt of fresh tears.

A shadow darkens the room. I open my eyes to find Frederick standing in front me, straightened to his full height. Slowly, he unbuttons his suit jacket. I don’t take my eyes from him as he shrugs out of his jacket, revealing a crisp white button-down worn under one of those gun holsters that look like suspenders. My pulse races erratically. Frederick looks around for somewhere to put his jacket, before resting it on Paige’s lap. When he faces me again, he seems to notice the focus of my attention.

“You don’t know this about me,” he says, walking slowly in front of my chair like a wolf stalking its prey. “But I’m something of a film buff. Isn’t that right, Leo?”

Leo grunts.

“I usually stick to the classics, but there are a few modern films that I really enjoy. Take
Reservoir
Dogs,
for example.” He gestures to his apparatus, as if that explains why he’s wearing it.

“Oh, come on,” he says. “You’ve never seen
Reservoir
Dogs
? Quentin Tarantino?” He clucks his tongue in admonishment, wagging a long finger at my nose. “You kids have no taste these days. Now, if you’d seen
Reservoir
Dogs,
you’d know that it contains one of the best torture scenes in American cinema.”

I’m suddenly so nauseated I could puke.

“Yes,” Frederick continues. “Mr. Blonde cuts off this guy’s ear and douses him with gasoline. Can you imagine? Sonofabitch would
sting.
But that’s not even the best part. See, the best part comes before he cuts the ear off. Mr. Blonde dances around the garage, to that Stealers Wheel song—Leo, what’s that song called?”

“ ‘Stuck in the Middle with You,’ ” Leo says in a bored tone, as if this is a performance he’s played a part in many times before.

“Ah, that’s right,” Frederick says, a smile spreading across his face. “Great song. So, as I was saying, this Mr. Blonde character, he dances around the garage to ‘Stuck in the Middle with You,’ holding this straight razor. All the while this guy’s bound to a chair and gagged. And Mr. Blonde wears a holster just like this one.” He laughs self-deprecatingly, running a finger under the straps. “Kitschy, I know, but I like it.”

Leo heaves a sigh.

Frederick starts pacing again, only to stop suddenly and face me. “Hey, I know! We can reenact the scene!” A huge smile lights up his face. He looks at his hand, and a straight blade appears there, the metal glinting in the harsh light of the office. “And look, I just happen to have props!”

“Okay!” I blurt out. “I’m ready to talk.”

“Ahhh”—Frederick looks at Leo—“she’s changed her mind!”

They both raise their hands, palms up, making mock-shocked faces at each other.

I pretend they haven’t rattled me and push my shoulders back. “Promise me that if I tell you the truth, you’ll let us go.”

Frederick laughs. “Or I could just read your mind and kill you both anyway. Why should I make any promises? I’ve never been a promise-making kind of man, Indigo. And this goes back to my aversion to lying. I make a promise and I might have to break it. Then what am I but a dirty old liar? You see the problem, right?”

Suddenly I can’t breathe. Because I just know that I’m not making it out of this office alive. I’m going to die. I’m going to have my ear cut off and be doused with gasoline and I’m going to die. I’ll never eat another bowl of Cocoa Puffs, never cheer the Renegades on to a Friday-night win, never watch reruns of
Fringe
with Mom on a Sunday night, never feel Devon’s lips brush against mine, never—

“Leo?” Frederick says. “Kill them.”

“No!” I rush to stand in front of Paige. “The book really is a family heirloom—that part is true. But it’s not a regular Bible.” The words tumble out on top of each other in my hurry to stop him. “It’s a witchcraft bible.”

Frederick’s lip twitches, but he is otherwise stock-still.

“It’s just a bunch of stuff written in Latin,” I continue, taking an instinctive step backward. “I don’t even know what it means.”

Frederick waves a hand toward Paige and me in a “go-ahead” gesture.

I whip my head back and forth, looking between the two men, dread and fear competing for priority in my body. “You promised. Y-you said.”

“I promised nothing,” Frederick says. “Nonetheless, I don’t think I’ll kill you just yet. Leo, can I get a hand?”

Leo rises.

I back up farther, and my heels run into Paige’s chair. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Leo says, taking purposefully slow strides toward me. “I won’t erase
all
your memories. Just a day or so’s worth. No big deal.” A grin pulls up one side of his lips, the other frozen with scar tissue. He stops abruptly in front of me and points a crooked finger directly between my eyes, focusing a stare down the straight line of his raised arm. That’s when I notice that his eyes are black. Not dark brown, but black. My heart skips a beat.

“You’re scared now,” Leo says. “But just think, in a few minutes you won’t remember this whole mess. Not the dead body you saw in the street, not Frederick and me. Hell, not even what went on in this office.” He winks, and a chill shudders through me.

Frederick starts for the door. “Make it quick. I haven’t got all day.”

I shield my face, tracking the sound of Frederick’s footsteps across the room. The door opens, and a rush of noises—the hum of the paper copier, the squeak of rubber soles on linoleum, the distant chatter of students—penetrates the quiet office. “Mrs. Malone, my partner is just wrapping things up with the girls—”

The door clicks shut, and the room is quiet again. And then everything goes white.

I blink my eyes and find myself sitting in a wooden chair across from a big mahogany desk. Sunlight slants in through half-cracked venetian blinds. Framed pictures of generic-looking blond children and a nameplate reading
mrs. malone
are on the desk, and the air is scented with middle-aged woman perfume.

All signs point to me being in the principal’s office, yet I have no clue why I’m here. Or how I got here. Or why Paige is sitting next to me.

My heart races. Suddenly the hours of Internet research I conducted six years ago after the backyard hole-digging incident when Mom’s Bible went missing come crashing back into my mind. From what I remember, most crazy diseases run in families. And what is happening now
most
definitely
qualifies as crazy.

“Indie?” Paige says, leaning across to look at me, her forehead creased with concern.

A swoosh of air announces Mrs. Malone’s entrance.

“Hello, girls. Sorry to keep you waiting.” Mrs. Malone strides behind her desk, eyes peeled back in the permanently surprised expression she wears from too much Botox. She adjusts her pencil skirt before sitting in the big leather chair. She flips through a file. Pushes back the perfectly curled, dyed-red hair that frames her face. Taps the eraser end of a pencil on her desk.

“Did we do something wrong?” Paige prompts nervously.

“Wrong?” Mrs. Malone repeats, flipping through the file again.

My cell phone buzzes loudly in my purse. Dammit, I forgot to put it on silent. Mrs. Malone cuts me a disapproving glare and launches into an agonizingly boring fifteen-minute lecture on cell-phone use in school. When she finally excuses us just in time for the end-of-lunch bell to ring, I’m so relieved to get out of there that I don’t piece together that she never did tell us why we were called to her office in the first place until I’m halfway down the hall. Like I would question her anyway, no matter how strange the whole affair. When you escape from the principal’s office, you don’t question your luck.

I decide I’m being paranoid, and wipe the entire unpleasant incident from my memory. It didn’t happen. There.

Between my mental instability, getting my books from my locker, and a quick make-out sesh with Devon by the water fountain, I forget all about the missed call in Mrs. Malone’s office until I’m deep in another agonizingly boring lecture in history class. I sneak a peek at the caller ID under my desk. Mom. I stow my phone away. She didn’t call back, so it must not have been important.