Envy (Fury) (7 page)

“I
think
you look like you’re going to freeze to death, Em. Let’s go inside.” Drea pulled open the door to the theater. Em was grateful to not see the gang of singing drama kids who usually called that zone home, and she was equally relieved that JD, who occasionally worked his techie magic lighting school plays, wasn’t hanging around either.

“All right,” Drea said, once they’d sat down on one of the
slatted benches that lined the lobby. “So what? We have to sacrifice a lamb or something? I don’t know, Em. Sounds bogus to me.”

“It’s not like that,” Em said, although she didn’t know that for certain. “Come on, Drea, at least consider what this could mean.”

“I’m sure that some people
think
there’s a ritual that works, Em.” Drea was gentler now. “But I’ve read so much about the Furies, and I’ve never seen
specific
instructions, like how you’d actually
do
it.”

It was true, the book Em had seen in the library didn’t offer a spell or a chant or information about what the rite might actually entail. But Em wanted so badly to believe that there was some way to get rid of the Furies. There had to be.

“Okay, I hear what you’re saying,” Em said, in the same über-rational tone of voice she’d used when trying to convince her parents to
at least
let her have the car on weekdays, when they wanted to take away her access for good. “But aren’t you the tiniest bit curious? When’s the last time you actually
tried
looking for a way to get rid of them? It’s like you want to know everything about them except the most important piece—how to get them the hell out of our lives.”

She’d hit a nerve, she could tell. Drea’s face fell slightly. Em watched as she fiddled with one of the safety pins in her ears, and swallowed hard and fast like she’d bitten into something sour. Then she gave in. “Okay. What do you want to do?”

Em exhaled. “Let’s go to that library in Portland. The antiquities library you were telling me about?” She’d already written off the rest of the school day, and she hoped Drea would too. Tomorrow she’d start fresh, she told herself. Rededicate herself to her work and her normal life. But for today . . . today, she had to do this.

“Do you have your car?” Drea asked. It was the only answer Em needed; Drea was in. “I don’t have mine, obviously.”

“Well, yeah, but you know I can’t drive it all the way to Portland,” Em said with a sinking sense of disappointment. She’d forgotten that Drea only got the use of her dad’s car on weekends. “My parents will kill me.”

“Crow.” Drea slapped Em’s leg. “He’ll drive us.”

Em thought back to band practice and Crow’s aggressive way of being “friendly.” She felt a flicker of apprehension, but she shrugged. “If you call him, sure.”

•  •  •

Crow’s ride was a dark red pickup truck with silver stripes down either side. Em and Drea had taken Em’s car home; now Crow, who had band practice later anyway, was going pick them up there and drop them at the library. Drea’s dad, who worked on the docks of Portland hauling bait for local lobstermen, would drive them home later that evening. Em was happy her parents weren’t home to raise their eyebrows at Drea’s dyed hair or Crow’s revved engine.

“You squeeze in back, Feiffer,” Crow said out the passenger window as the girls approached his truck.

Drea looked at Em, then back at Crow, and then asked indignantly, “Why does she get shotgun?”

“Because I don’t know where we’re going, and you’re a shitty navigator,” Crow answered, leaning back in his seat and drumming mindlessly on the steering wheel. “Remember when you got us lost out near Sebago last summer? Not again, Fifes. I’m trying a new copilot.”

Drea rolled her eyes and started climbing into the backseat.

“Plus this one’s got longer legs,” Crow added with a smirk as Em followed Drea into the car.

As they drove out of Ascension, Em leaned her head against the cold window and watched the trees blur by. With Crow’s music—some drum-heavy loud stuff that didn’t have any discernible melody—blaring on the car stereo, Em was grateful for a few minutes to tune out.

But once they were on the highway, Crow turned down the volume. “So, what’s so special about this antiques place?” he asked.

“An-tiq-ui-ties.”
Drea overenunciated the word, tapping Crow’s shoulder with every syllable. “As in, related to Greece and Rome. Basically, it’s a really quiet room in the USM library with a lot of really old books.”

Em waited for him to ask why in the world they would want
to go there, but Crow just nodded, as if it was a totally normal place to visit. “Sounds cool,” he said. He cast a sideways glance at Em. “Secret’s out. I always knew deep down you were kind of a nerd. And not just about lava volcanoes.”

“I guess I’m more than a spoiled princess,” she tossed back.

Her self-satisfaction doubled when she was able to direct Crow to the library parking lot using only the map—no GPS, no smartphone.
You can still do
something
right
, she told herself.

The girls hopped out of the truck. “Take care of this one, Drea,” Crow said, nodding his head toward Em. “She doesn’t leave the compound much.”

Then he cranked his music and peeled out of the lot.

Em felt Drea’s eyes on her as they walked toward the entrance. She wondered whether Drea was as nervous as she was. It felt like there was a marching band in her stomach.

“I think he likes you,” Drea announced.

This took Em completely by surprise. She wrinkled her nose. “Who likes me? What?”

“Crow. I think he has a crush on you.”

Crow? Having a crush? On
her
? “Are you high?” Em scoffed. “Crow thinks that I’m Princess Popular. He’s only nice to me because you and I are friends.” And they
were
friends—Em realized it as she said the words.

“It just seems like he likes you, that’s all. He was staring at you in the car. I kept thinking he was going to drive off the road.”
Drea shrugged and looked at Em critically. “You are kind of having a good skin day.”

Em shook her head, laughing a little. This was crazy. Since when did Drea talk shop about boys and skin? That was Gabby’s job. “Let’s go in, weirdo,” she said.

•  •  •

The University of Southern Maine antiquities research room was a special section, wood-paneled and remote, near the top of the university library. A severe-looking woman with black hair and dark red lipstick sat at a desk by the door.

She sat up sharply when Em and Drea entered. “You have to sign in,” she said, pointing to a sign that asked for photo ID.

“Can I help you girls?” she asked as she typed their information into the computer.

“We’re just doing some research for a school project,” Drea said, grabbing back her ID and sailing past the desk nonchalantly while whispering under her breath, “We’re not gonna rob the place, lady.” But then she did a double take. “I’ve seen that woman before,” she said to Em as they moved out of earshot.

They searched
Furies
and made their way to a row of books about ancient Greece; the librarian watched them closely the whole time. She was in heaven, running her fingers over the books’ leather bindings and gold-embossed lettering.

“Here’s one,” Drea said, heaving an oversized volume off one of the shelves. They brought it to a table and hunched over it;
meanwhile, the librarian had moved from her watchful perch and moseyed over to the search computers. Em saw, out of the corner of her eye, that the woman was trying to get a better look at what they had typed into the computer. They were definitely being watched.

“Okay, let’s see,” Drea was mumbling. “Erebus . . . Eurydice . . . Fates . . . Furies . . . Here we go. Page 282.” Em could sense now that the librarian was hovering behind them.

They flipped to the page and Em pulled out her notebook, grabbing a pen cap with her teeth and tugging it off so that she was ready to take notes. She was ravenous for the information.

But page 282 offered nothing more than what they already knew.

“What’s the next one called?” Drea asked as Em scanned the computer search printout.

“It’s called . . . oh my god, Drea,” Em gasped. “It’s exactly what we’re looking for.
Conjuring the Furies
.”

Drea craned her neck to read over Em’s shoulder. “You’re kidding. That’s really what it’s called?”

They eagerly scanned the call numbers; Em’s pulse quickened with excitement. But when they got to the place where the book should have been, it wasn’t there.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” Em approached the librarian politely, trying to contain her impatience. “We’re looking for this book, here?” She pointed to the call number and the book title.

“It’s gone,” the woman said in a clipped tone.

“I thought you weren’t allowed to check books out?” Em was
thisclose
to leaping over the desk and looking at the woman’s computer herself.

“It’s missing,” the librarian told them. Em looked at her blankly. “It was stolen on November fifteenth. And frankly, ladies, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“What the hell?” Drea’s voice got loud immediately.

“Drea . . . ,” Em warned through clenched teeth. She turned to the librarian and spoke overly politely. “I’m sorry, Ms. . . . Markwell,” she said, reading the woman’s name tag, which showed that her first name was Hannah. “Are we doing something wrong? We’re just trying to locate this book.”

“I don’t know what you girls are up to,” she said, her eyes darting with distress between Em and Drea. Her lips were so strikingly defined that Em could not look away from her mouth. “But you can’t do it here. You should leave.”

The girls exchanged looks. There was something going on here, some undercurrent that neither of them understood.

“You can’t just tell us to leave. We have a right to be here.” Drea stood up straight and defiant.

Em rose slowly. This woman’s nerves were clearly shot. She didn’t want to startle her even more. She had a feeling—one she couldn’t explain—that she knew what was rankling Ms. Markwell. But she wanted to hear her say it herself.

“Why do you want us to leave?” Em kept her voice steady. “Is there a problem with the . . . 
subject
of our research?”

“Girls,” she said again, her voice trembling. “I can’t allow you to stay. I can’t allow her . . .” She gestured with her free hand toward Em. Em drew back, feeling as though she’d been slapped. It was clear that this woman had a problem with
her
, not the book, and not even with Drea.

“Let’s go, D,” Em said quietly, tugging on Drea’s sleeve. “Let’s just go.”

“This is bullshit,” Drea said, picking up her bag. “This is total bullshit.” But both of them could see the terror in the woman’s eyes.

Visibility. That’s what she was shooting for.

“You need to be
seen
,” Meg told Skylar when they were in Skylar’s bedroom a couple days later. With a flourish, Meg produced a black scarf covered in white skulls. It looked like something one of Ascension’s goth kids would wear. Skylar had seen them in the halls, skulking around in their hoodies, skinny jeans, and crazy, heavy jewelry. She knew better than to smile at them.

“I don’t know, Meg. . . . It’s not really my style,” Skylar said tentatively, not wanting to hurt Meg’s feelings. “Why don’t you wear it?”

“I have this,” Meg said, touching the red ribbon she wore every day around her slender neck.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Skylar said. “Do you ever take it off?”

“No!” Meg responded as though the answer was obvious. “Then my head would fall off, silly!” She laughed then, louder than Skylar had ever heard her laugh.

“But really,” Meg said, collecting herself, “Even if it’s not your style now, it will be soon. I just saw it in
Lucky
. Plus it’ll look hot with your new hair.”

It was Wednesday evening, and the third time Skylar and Meg had hung out since they’d met in the ice cream shop two days ago. Skylar was getting used to Meg’s strange sense of humor. Like the other day, she’d told Skylar that only “superclose friends” could visit her and her cousins at their house. “We pick them out special,” she’d said. When Skylar had looked at her inquisitively, secretly wanting to know if she’d made the cut, Meg had giggled and said, “Don’t worry, Sky. I chose you the moment I saw you.”

This evening Meg had shown up brandishing a drugstore box with a blond model on it: “Let’s highlight your hair!” And she’d massaged the dye into Skylar’s hair—her fingers tracing wild patterns on her scalp—as Skylar sat there thinking,
At last. A friend.

And not just any friend. A beautiful, cool, older friend. She felt a flutter in the back of her throat. What would Lucy have to say about
that
?

Now they were upstairs in Skylar’s tower bedroom, Skylar’s hair hanging damp around her shoulders.

“This is going to look
awesome
,” Meg said, twirling a strand of
it around one of her fingers. They both stared at Skylar’s reflection in the mirror as Meg turned on the hair dryer. “You’re going to love it once it’s dry.”

If only Meg went to Ascension. . . .

Because what Skylar wanted more than anything was someone to whisper with in the halls, to pass notes to in class, to giggle with in assemblies.
That
kind of friend. Someone like Gabby. She was embarrassed to admit it, but she’d become slightly fixated on her blond rescuer from day one. Gabby was everything that Skylar wanted to be. She represented the new life Skylar imagined for herself, far away from her old demons.

Meg pointed to a book on the dresser. “Is that the yearbook?” When they’d hung out yesterday, Meg had suggested that Skylar check out last year’s Ascension yearbook from the school library. “Time for a crash course! Who do you know so far? Any cute boys at Ascension?”

Skylar felt warm, and not just because of the hot air being blasted at her head.

“I see that blush,” Meg said gleefully, shutting off the dryer and plopping down on the bed. “You better tell me!”