Flock (16 page)

“Who is that guy? What’s going on?” I whispered to Penny.

“His name is Carter,” she said. “I had heard he’d organized some kind of task force. I guess this is it.”

“We’re going to take action,” Carter said, working himself up.

His fellow sign bearers urged him on with impromptu “Yes, now” and “You know it” shouts of agreement.

Watching him, I felt there was something about the Carter kid that felt off. His eyes were glassy and he was swaying a little onstage. I wondered if he was drunk, or if it was a nervous kind of energy from speaking in public. I took a moment to study his sign. An addendum to a neatly blocked
SAVE OUR SCHOOL
was a sloppily scrawled
DESTROY PINEWOOD
. I wondered at the wording. Pinewood would be our opponent at the Homecoming game; the rivalry was fierce.
Destroy
was definitely the kind of word a football team threw around with a harmless bravado. Still, one of our schools could have a wrecking ball in its future.

“Who’s with me on sending Pinewood a message, one that shows just how much we like their school?”

Uh-oh.

I looked around. There was a strange energy coursing through the crowd. Kids were rapt with attention, the kind of attention no teen gives anything that isn’t hooked up to a game system. And from under my thin-soled moccasins, the earth was drumming. I had to hop from one foot to the other to relieve the vibrations. It wasn’t like what I’d felt over at Jack’s place; this energy had a charge or live current. And more and more kids were pressing in close to the stage. Penny scooted forward. Jinky, I could see at the perimeter, was snapping photos. With Marik at her side, Abby had moved in also. She, too, had a strange glaze over her eyes. Marik, I noticed, looked at her oddly.

“I say we deliver part one of our message tonight,” Carter yelled.

Another kid vaulted onto the stage to join Carter. His sign, which he jabbed up and down, said,
HELL NO, WE WON’T GO
. He began chanting this while removing a lighter from his pocket. With the Bic, he lit a corner of the poster-board sign. It caught fire, but it was a wimpy little thing. The crowd took up his cry. Abby had pushed her way to the very front of the crowd and was pumping her arms like it was some kind of political rally. As the crowd kept chanting, I felt the wind pick up. Except this was no ordinary breeze. It was more of a blast, something in the gale family with an icy bite.

The kid’s sign, fueled by the gust, blazed now. Delighted with its sudden ignition, he jumped off the stage and jogged over to the Asking Fire, into which he pitched his sign. Other sign carriers followed suit, jettisoning their placards into the fire. Its flames leaped higher and higher, fueled by both the continued swirling drafts of air and the newly added kindling. People danced around the fire now. Abby and Shauna were two of the revelers. The scene was disturbing to me somehow. Their movements were graceless and primitive, more war dance than waltz.

The visiting wind rushed among the throng, lifting hair, scattering leaves, twigs, and scraps of colored paper about like confetti. I had spent enough time around my Jack Frost–descended boyfriend to know the difference between an ill wind and one of his inadvertent displays. This wasn’t his, which made it all the more frightening.

“Something’s wrong,” I said to Jack, pulling on his arm. “Everyone’s acting so strange. Like they’re whipped into some kind of frenzy.”

As if proof to my point, some kid let go a rebel yell that could have toppled Tarzan from his treetop. More kids pressed closer to the fire. Their faces, burnished by the pulsing glow, were grotesque and distorted. Some seemed hyperalert; others spun about giddy and dazed, while a few had a feral-eyed look of savagery. This latter group, joining the fire moshers, was the most troubling. I sensed it was all too sudden and too intense, as if some kind of mob mentality had taken hold. And
taken
was an important distinction. Kids I knew to be quiet and respectful were rushing about as if just waiting for a call to action. The only two who seemed unaffected were Penny and Marik, who had her by the arm as if keeping her out of harm’s way.

“We need to do something,” I continued, tugging insistently at Jack’s sleeve.

He shook his head as if he himself was struggling with some kind of confusion. “You’re right,” he said, his voice tight. “Something’s very wrong.”

“We’ll meet up in their parking lot,” I heard one of the guys yell. “Bring whatever you can find: sticks, rocks, and kindling.”

I grabbed Jack’s shoulder. “You have to do something now.”

“Like what?”

“You know.”

We both knew that he hadn’t used his weather-wielding abilities since our showdown with Brigid in Niflheim. On earth, it had been since the record-setting snowfall that had led to Jacob’s death and summoned Brigid. Not surprisingly, he considered his powers volatile and dangerous.

With comprehension, his face darkened. “That’s not a good idea.”

“I don’t think you have a choice,” I said, tightening my grip on him. Two kids ran past us with lit torches made from branches lashed together with vines.

Pulling away from me, Jack turned and rounded his shoulders. Even from behind, I could sense the effort it required. His back muscles strained against the cotton of his light T-shirt, and I could hear him gnar with pain, though he tried to muffle it.

Within moments, the sky churned above us and jet-black clouds folded one into another until they were an angry boil. A slash of branched lightning rent the clouds and a whiplike crack of thunder was followed by a sustained boom as the ground shook. Fat drops of rain fell as if thrown by buckets, and it became very cold, very fast.

The scene was altered instantly. The bonfire hissed as if recoiling like a snake. Kids yelled and screamed, but their reaction, to my relief, was one of surprise. The band, waiting in the wings of the stage, scurried about, stowing their equipment. Cups of punch lined up on the refreshments table were toppled; open boxes of sugary donuts turned to a doughy mash. The remaining slips of pastel paper were plastered to the table or trodden underfoot. I watched as groups of kids grabbed their blankets and belongings and made a dash for the parking lot. With them, I sensed something else shrink and retreat as if it, too, were caught off guard. The distemper that had pervaded the area was dissipating.

Looking around, I saw Penny and Marik still standing off to the side. They appeared dazed; Marik, especially, seemed frozen with fear or shock.

When Jack finally turned to face me, his face was gaunt and hollow.

“What the hell was that?” he asked.

“I’m not sure.” I shielded my eyes from the downpour. “But I have my suspicions.”

“What suspicions?”

Again, I never knew what was privy only to my pact with Marik or, alternately, what qualified as preexisting information, thus open to discussion. Jack had been with me in Niflheim. He’d seen how enraged Brigid had been at our escape. He had to have his own concerns about her revenge. Furthermore, Marik had shrunk from tonight’s small riot and still seemed shaken by the turn of events. Had it been of Safira’s making, Marik would be aware, if not in cahoots.

“Brigid,” I said, my voice uneven.

“Brigid!” He jabbed the word back at me as if rejecting it.

“I have reason to suspect that she’d like to revisit the events of last spring,” I said, hesitating, “and you know I thought there was something odd about the sinkhole at your place. And what I felt coursing through the crowd tonight, it was an ill will, something cold. My guess is that she’s having a hard time getting through. Whatever we did to close the portals, it’s holding.”

“For now,” Jack said.

Until she has help,
I thought.

Penny sloshed her way over to us. “What are you guys waiting for? You’re getting soaked.” She stood a few feet away, oblivious to the tension between us. “A bunch of us are going over to the Kountry Kettle. Should we save you seats?”

I looked around. Already the area was down to a few soggy members of the cleanup crew. The never-to-be-heard band was loading their gear into a van.

Jack swung a to-be-continued look my way, but with it, the smallest nod of his head.

“Sure,” I said, “but we probably won’t stay long.” I was cold, and wet, and weirded out, but no way was I going to be able to sleep tonight unless I was sure that whatever had infected those kids was gone.

The drive over to the Kountry Kettle was tense. Two keyed-up superpowers in a confined space makes for a highly charged atmosphere; I was surprised we didn’t throw an air bag.

“Do you really think it’s her?” Jack asked, finally breaking the silence.

“I do. We left her furious.”

Jack didn’t answer, but he pressed down on the accelerator.

“I hate to say it,” I continued, “but I think we need to consider recent events as failed attempts to break through.”

“One strong enough to pull the ground from under our feet, another vile enough to turn a few ramped-up kids into an angry mob . . . What’s next?”

“Who knows? A part of me hopes she’s out of ideas.” (“And friends,” I muttered, turning to the window.) Besides, no one ever said
hope
was the same as
belief.

We didn’t speak again until we were inside the Kountry Kettle. Looking around the restaurant, I anxiously scanned the place for signs of trouble. It had never settled well with me that
kettle
was a synonym for
caldron.
Knowing that my own clan was a brand of white witch, I’d always wondered about the genesis of the name. And Norse Falls was obviously some kind of special place, vortex, or whatever. There were days when my para-radar was triggered by some Joe Blow on the street. It made me scribble garlic onto random shopping lists and accessorize even T-shirts with chunky crosses. My fears were allayed; it was the usual scene, one where the school divided into its various cliques. From first appearances, there didn’t seem to be anything
brewing
following the Asking Fire, though quite a few of the kids looked and smelled like wet dog. I passed Abby and Shauna’s table, where they were cozily munching fries and sipping sodas. Spying Penny in a booth at the back, I braced myself for bad news.

Jack slid in next to Jinky, and I took the spot beside Penny.

“That was an Asking Fire to remember,” I said, slipping a menu out of the tabletop holder.

“I’ll say,” Penny said, biting her lips back to keep from smiling.

I eyeballed her, dropping my menu; I already knew I was going to get apple pie à la mode. “Spill.”

“I’m going to the dance,” Penny said.

I couldn’t help it; my eyes flickered to the front of the restaurant, where Abby was still, for all appearances, happy as could be. “Who?”

“Who do you think?” she said, as if it was a dumb question.

“Uh.” Again my gaze roamed. “Does it start with an
M
?”

She finally unleashed the smile she’d had such a hard time controlling.

“Then where is he?”

“He took off. He wasn’t feeling good. I, on the other hand, feel great.” Penny said. Her smile had broadened; she’d have marionette lines if she didn’t dial it down soon.

Jack and Jinky were discussing burger toppings. He recommended pepper jack to Jinky, who was firm in her conviction that Americans made cheese about as well as they made beer.

I took advantage of the moment to whisper to Penny, “So when did this happen?”

“On the dash for the parking lot through the pouring rain.” She lowered her voice and turned her head to my ear. “It was the fire; I’m sure of it. He said I hadn’t turned ugly like the others.”

Jack and I hadn’t acted
ugly,
either, but it wasn’t like I needed affirmation from Marik.

“We need to come up with a few dresses by next Saturday,” Penny continued.

“A few?” A
couple
meant two, so a
few
was more than that.

Penny motioned across the table with her head. “Jinky needs one.”

“I need one
what
?” Jinky asked.

“Homecoming dress,” Penny said.

“Oh. Cool. Who are you going with?” I asked Jinky.

“It’s a surprise,” Penny said with a lift of her shoulders.

So this evening was getting weirder and weirder.

“Let’s check out that vintage clothing store in Walden,” Penny continued. “They have some nice stuff.”

“I’m not wearing some dorky ball gown,” Jinky said.

I sighed with relief. The world was not off its axis and careening through space. Though there was an alternate realm that I was pretty sure would like to see us roll.