Authors: Margaux Froley
“I … I’m sorry, Bodhi,” Devon murmured. She reached out and squeezed his hand. They were almost at the front door, and she realized she didn’t know what she was about to walk in to. She slowed until they were standing at the steps below the front door. “He’s really bad?”
Bodhi nodded but couldn’t make eye contact with Devon. She suddenly felt like a jerk. All of this obsessing about one incident, and here were Bodhi and Raven, watching as their stand-in parent was flirting with Death. Hell, flirting was putting it mildly. Reed was
in a relationship
with Death.
Devon realized she and Bodhi were still holding hands. She gave him another squeeze. “Hey, you know I’m here for you guys, too. It doesn’t always have to be the other way around.”
“Thanks, but you know what? Dealing with your stuff is just way more fun than this.” Bodhi nodded toward the house looming above them, but held on to her hand for a few more seconds. “Shall we?”
Before Devon had made it halfway across the front hall, she heard yelling. Bodhi ducked into the shadow behind the archway leading into the living room and put a finger to his lips.
“There are still treatments you haven’t tried yet!” came a man’s voice.
Devon couldn’t recognize it. He wasn’t Reed; this guy was too healthy, too dominant. But who would have the gall to yell at a dying man? She leaned forward and glimpsed the tightly cropped gray hair of Bill Hutchins—Reed’s son and Hutch’s father. He was bent over someone. “We’ve got some good options in R&D, and that’s not even including what Dover’s got. His company has a cancer-research division twice the size of ours. Why don’t you call Edward? You know he’d help if you would just let him—”
“I will have nothing to do with that man, and you know it.”
Devon cringed at the sound of Reed’s voice. It was calm and firm, but fragile. The words were like sandpaper, followed by a few wheezing breaths.
“Dad, listen to me.” Bill softened his tone. “We’ve got to make peace with them. It’s the only way to move forward. We’re losing money holding out for no good reason, and you know it.”
Reed cleared his throat. “Not everything in life is always about money, William. I thought I raised you better than that. If you don’t listen to me now, you’re going to learn that the hard way later. Do not trust Edward Dover …” The rest was lost in a fit of coughing.
Devon winced at the sound, so strained and sickly.
More wheezing breaths, followed by the slurp of a straw in a cup. “Priscilla!”
“That’s it!” Bill spat. His footsteps pounded toward Devon’s hiding place.
She and Bodhi looked at each other, wide-eyed. Should they say something before being discovered? Bodhi leaned forward, about to take the first step, when a short nurse rounded the corner in front of them—in pink scrubs, squeaky white tennis shoes with pink laces, and her hair neatly pulled back into a long braid. She stopped short. Then she drew in a sharp breath and frowned at Bodhi, her eyes flashing at Devon. Shaking her head, she continued into the living room.
“Priscilla, there you are,” Reed croaked.
Bodhi hesitated another few seconds before he stepped out of the shadows with Devon. Bill turned at the sound. His eyes narrowed.
Was that glare aimed at Bodhi or her?
“Do you need to get up, Mr. Hutchins?” Priscilla went straight to Reed’s side.
Devon tried to smile at Reed across the room. Her heart squeezed.
Reed was propped up in a large hospital bed made up with dark-green-and-red plaid flannel sheets, with a thick tan blanket draped
across his legs. The sleeves of his red robe were slightly rolled up to reveal his thin wrists. A square bandage across the top of his palm held an IV in place, with the plastic line extending up into a clear bag of fluid hanging by the top of the bed. He’d lost a lot of weight and color since the last time she’d seen him. The skin over his bones was practically translucent.
“The chair, please, Priscilla. I have company,” Reed said with a kind smile. “Bill, I expect I’ll hear from you tomorrow.”
Bill grunted and turned to leave. He glared at Devon—definitely at her this time—as he crossed the room to the front door. Moments later, the door slammed behind him, followed by the purr of his Audi’s engine.
“We’re not interrupting, right?” Bodhi asked. He sat at the foot of Reed’s bed. “Priscilla said you wanted to see Devon.”
“Of course I do. Devon, welcome to the Hospital Hutchins.” Reed’s arm flailed in small circles as he tried to look behind him. Priscilla was returning with a wheelchair. “Bodhi, maybe you could help us here.”
Bodhi patted Reed’s leg and used the remote control attached to the metal handrail to move the bed into a more upright position. Reed smiled at Devon and rolled his eyes. “I spend most of my day just waiting around on this bed.” Gripping Bodhi’s arm with one hand and firmly wrapping the other around the handrail, he hoisted himself into the wheelchair. He trembled with the effort.
Priscilla dropped the foot pedals and tucked a blanket across his lap. “Now you’re off to the races, Mr. Hutchins.”
“Devon, will you push me to my office?” Reed wheezed.
She hesitated; she’d never pushed anyone in a wheelchair before. Bodhi nodded, giving her the okay.
“If you want, yeah—I mean, yes, of course.” Priscilla turned the wheelchair around for her and stepped aside for Devon to take the handles. “This way?” she asked as she started pushing Reed down the hall.
“Onward, ho!” Reed clucked, like he was spurring a horse. Devon had to give him credit; the guy never lost his sense of humor.
The inside of his office was exactly what Devon imagined it would be: softly lit, wood-paneled like everything else in the cabin, a wall of bookshelves from floor to ceiling. The other wall was a patchwork of cupboards and shelves.
“Sorry about Bill,” Reed said as Devon pushed him deeper into the office. He pointed a skeletal finger at the cupboard across the room. Devon wheeled him in that direction. “Still hasn’t come to terms with death, I suppose. Mine or Jason’s. That’s the problem with scientists today. Instead of learning from death, they want to cheat it. Usually not for anyone’s good but their own.” He drew a deep gasping breath and opened a lower door.
Devon took a seat on a nearby chair to face him. “You sound pretty Zen about everything,” she murmured, unable to keep the awe from her voice. His eyes were rheumy and seemed to have shrunken in their sockets.
He pulled a cracked leather-bound book from the cupboard and placed it on the nearby desk. His gnarled fingers remained draped over the cover. “I think it’s because this isn’t about me anymore. After all these years, I’m ready to stop fighting. My body wants to give up; who am I to fight it? But Devon, that’s why I wanted to speak to you. What happens after I’m gone is what concerns me most.” He slid the book toward her. “You’ll need this to get up to speed on everything.”
She picked it up, the leather brittle in her hands, the pages yellowed with who-knew-how-many years. Clearly this book was much older than she was, probably older than Reed himself. Which begged the question: why would she need it to get up to speed?
“For the land,” he wheezed, reading the confusion on her face.
She shook her head. “I don’t understand …”
“You’ll need to know how all of this began, how it involves me and Francis Keaton and Edward Dover. The three trees of this
mountain. Once I’m gone, you’ll need to know what we’re protecting and what you’re going to have to fight for.”
Devon flipped through the first few pages. It was mostly handwriting, like a diary, mixed with pages and pages of formulas and diagrams. “Are you sure you didn’t mean for Raven or Bodhi to read this?” she asked, baffled. “They probably understand the science better than I do.”
“No,” Reed said. He slapped a hand on top of the desk and leaned forward in his chair. His eyes focused intensely on Devon’s. The red-tinged whites threatened to overtake his sky-blue pupils. “This is for
you
. You need to know what they’ll want from you.” His breathing caught, and he broke into a coughing fit. He gasped for air while Devon watched, too panicked to move. Reed’s eyes fluttered.
Oh, God, please don’t die right here
. She reached for the door as Priscilla burst inside with an oxygen tank apparatus, complete with a mask and plastic hoses.
The nurse gave Devon a polite yet stern push against the wall. Without hesitation, she strapped a plastic mouthpiece onto Reed’s face. His breath fogged up the clear plastic in alternating breaths. Priscilla studied him as she hooked the tank to the back of his chair. His eyes seemed to regain their focus; they sought out Devon across the room. He pulled the mask low and croaked, “Take the diary. You’ll need it to follow our footsteps. Follow our footsteps, Devon. Follow them.”
Devon’s eyes flitted to Priscilla. Reed subtly shook his head as if to say,
Don’t worry about her
. Her legs shaky, Devon crossed the room. How could she be so afraid in the face of such bravery? But she knew it was more than fear of losing yet another Hutchins; it was fear of what she didn’t understand. Something about Reed’s instructions felt so final.
Priscilla gripped the handles on the wheelchair and started to push Reed out of the office. His breath still fogged up the oxygen mask, but his eyes never left Devon.
Before she had time to wonder if it was a good idea or even safe, she took Reed’s hand in between hers and knelt down, eye level with the ailing old man. “Thank you. For trusting me with this.”
Reed’s eyes blinked slowly, his silent acknowledgment. She kissed his cheek, his onion-paper skin soft against her lips. He pulled his mask down one more time. “I’m trusting you with a lot more than just the book,” he whispered. “It’s your turn now, Devon. I’ll tell Hutch everything’s in good hands.” He winked at her as Priscilla wheeled him out of the office.
“Mr. Hutchins needs his rest now,” Priscilla said to Devon over her shoulder.
Devon watched Reed roll down the dark hallway. She’d never believed in premonition; it defied everything she believed about the realities of human nature, not to mention reality itself. Yet she knew for certain that this would be the last time she saw him. It had been written in his eyes.
S
KIMMING THROUGH
R
EED
’
S DIARY
while eating pizza with Raven and Bodhi in the guesthouse somehow felt wrong. The diary deserved Devon’s full attention; it was a part of Reed, something sacred. But of course Raven wouldn’t let Devon return to school without finishing their interrupted microwave feast, so Devon quietly tucked the book into her backpack. Bodhi stayed glued to his computer, looking into Isaac Green and the mysterious Eli.
“He lives in the Mission District in the city. Takes a few classes at SFCC. And according to his Facebook page, he’s currently single.”
Devon felt his eyes on her across the room. Suddenly self-conscious, she chose to stay focused on Raven.
“Well, that answers everything, then,” Raven said with a wink. She took another bite of her mini-pizza and stretched a piece of cheese as long as it could go between her mouth and the pizza slice.
“So we just track down this Isaac Green in the Mission District?” Devon asked. Even as she posed the question, she thought of
what Presley said at the beach. Did Devon really go out of her way to find trouble? Could she choose not to dig deeper? It would be so easy to let this go and move on, wouldn’t it? Unless, of course, her attacker meant to kill her and wanted to finish a botched job …
“522 Dolores Street. Apartment 4A to be specific,” Bodhi added.
“So we just go pay a visit to our good friend Isaac, ask him why someone else showed up to work with his ID that night?” Devon added. “That’s it, right?”
Raven tossed her pizza crust onto her plate. “Have we ruled out the possibility that our friend Isaac—which, by the way, I totally think we should call him from now on—maybe didn’t know about his ID being used? He could actually have no idea what happened.”
“But his ID was scanned at the yacht,” Devon said. Raven and Bodhi looked at each other and shrugged. “What? You think someone made that ID?”
“It wouldn’t be that hard to do.” Bodhi grinned slyly. “I mean, we could do it.”
“Yeah, but you guys are … you,” Devon said. “As hard to believe as it may be, not everyone has your superpowers.”
“Don’t they?” Raven asked with a raised eyebrow and a certain smirk reserved for her especially clever moments. “Okay, so there is still the possibility that our friend Isaac had no involvement with said yacht incident. You know we’re gonna have to actually get an answer now—for Isaac’s sake, too.”
“Wait, what time is it?” Devon checked her phone. 9:50. “Damn, curfew is in ten minutes.”
Bodhi stood up. “Maybe there’s another soccer game in the city? Or next week, you take a weekend away over here?”
Raven began lacing up her high-tops. “Yeah, we can totally forge Reed’s signature to get you over here.”
“I’ll take her,” Bodhi said.
Devon threw her bag over a shoulder. The diary dug into her back, reminding her that it wanted to be read. She turned to Raven.
“No one else thinks this is weird or stalker-y of me, right? I mean, you guys don’t have to get involved in all this. I know you’ve got enough going on with Reed being sick and all.”
Raven rolled her eyes. “Hey, you’re not crazy. Don’t let your cohorts in the bubble on the hill let you think otherwise. We’ll keep looking into this thing until we find the answers we want.”
“Besides, there’s nothing we can do for Reed now except to live in this house,” Bodhi said quietly. He jangled the car keys in his hands. “Come on, you don’t want to get in trouble.”
Devon dashed forward and hugged Raven. “Thanks. The bubble can make you forget what’s real sometimes.”
“No shit,” Raven murmured, squeezing back. “Night, Dev.”
B
ODHI WAS QUIET ON
the bumpy car ride back over the hill. The moon was so bright he didn’t need to turn the lights on—not that he would have risked getting spotted, anyway. She knew that he wanted to keep this road off anyone else’s radar as much as she did.