Black Creek Crossing (24 page)

“Maybe nothing at all,” Seth said. “But if it’s a book of potions—”

“But it’s not!” Angel interrupted. “It’s a book of recipes and remedies. Yesterday, you thought it might be some kind of cookbook, remember?”

“Maybe it is,” Seth agreed. “But when I ran recipes and remedies on the Internet, all I got were a bunch of new-age stuff and a few about witchcraft. I found one that has all kinds of spells and things, and according to that one, there really are magic remedies and potions, and things you can eat that make things happen.”

“The only thing that happens when I eat is I get fat,” Angel insisted. “And everybody knows none of that stuff works.”

“I didn’t say it did, did I?” Seth said, starting to sound exasperated. “All I said was that that’s what I think the book is.”

“Well, how are we going to find out if you’re right?”

“Meet me at the library tonight—there’s a whole section on the history of Roundtree, and I bet we can find out all kinds of stuff. Even if we can’t find out exactly what the book is, I bet we can find out more about your house.” His voice rose. “I mean, what if it turns out all the stories about your house are true?”

Angel felt a sudden rush of adrenaline. Could it really be possible that—

No! There was no such thing as witchcraft, no matter what Seth had found out on the Web. “I don’t know—” she began.

“What’s the matter?” Seth broke in. “You scared?”

“No! I just don’t think—”

But Seth wasn’t listening to her. “You are too,” he shot back. His voice took on a mocking singsong tone, but he kept it low enough so no one but Angel could hear. “Angel is a scaredy cat, Angel is a scaredy cat—”

“Stop that!”

“Why?” Seth asked, putting on an expression of exaggerated innocence. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

“No! I’m not scared—I just don’t believe in that kind of stuff!”

“Then meet me at the library tonight!”

Angel glared at him. “Maybe I will, and maybe I won’t,” she finally said, but even as she spoke, she was pretty sure that she’d show up. After all, even though she didn’t believe in witchcraft, she still wanted to know what the leather-bound book was about.

“What’s going on over there?” Heather Dunne asked, nodding toward the table on the far side of the room where Seth was grinning maliciously at Angel, whose back was toward Heather and her friends, but whose shoulders were hunched over and her head bent down as if she were angry about something. “Looks like Beth and your cousin are having a fight!”

“They better not,” Zack Fletcher said. “If they get mad at each other, they won’t have any friends at all.”

“What I want to know is how come they’re sitting way over there?” Chad Jackson asked. “How come they’re not sitting at Beth’s table?”

“Maybe they want to be
alone,
” Jared Woods said, putting enough emphasis on the last word so everyone at the table began snickering.

“Why would two girls want to be alone?” Chad Jackson asked.

“Maybe Angel likes girls,” Heather Dunne said.

Chad Jackson elbowed Zack Fletcher, who was sitting next to him. “Is that it, Zack? Does your cousin like girls?”

Zack’s upper lip curled into a sneer. “Even if she did, so what? Even another girl wouldn’t go out with her!”

“So what are they up to?” Chad pressed. “I mean, they sit together at lunch, and they go off together after school every day.”

“So do you and Jared,” Sarah Harmon said. Sarah, whose hair was as dark as Heather Dunne’s was blond, usually sat quietly through the lunch hour, content to listen to her friends talk but rarely saying anything herself. Now everybody was looking at her, and she suddenly wished she hadn’t spoken at all. But it was too late. “What do you and Jared do every day after school?” she finally asked.

“What do you mean, ‘What do we do?’ ” Chad said. “We hang out!”

“Maybe that’s what they do,” Sarah Harmon said. “Maybe they aren’t up to anything at all!”

“Then how come they’re not sitting where they usually do?” Jared demanded.

Now Sarah found herself getting angry. “Maybe because of the way you and Chad act every time they sit anywhere near you.”

Heather Dunne stared at her best friend. “Sarah! What’s going on with you?”

For a second Sarah wondered if she shouldn’t just pick up her tray and go sit somewhere else. But even as the thought formed in her head, she knew she wouldn’t do it. She and Heather had been best friends ever since their first day in kindergarten, when they found out their birthdays were only two days apart. She’d known Chad and Jared and Zack just as long, and the half-dozen other kids in their crowd as well. They’d all gone to school together, and hung out at the country club in the summer together, and gone to movies together. They’d done everything together, and Sarah didn’t have to think for even a few seconds to know exactly what would happen if she picked up her lunch tray and went to sit somewhere else.

The conversation would switch immediately from Angel Sullivan and Seth Baker to Sarah Harmon.

And that afternoon, when she went to the drugstore, there wouldn’t be a seat for her at the table where she and Heather always sat with three or four other kids.

And tomorrow, someone else—probably Shauna Brett, who was sitting across from Sarah and seemed to be hanging on every word she said, just waiting for her to make a mistake—would be sitting next to Heather in the cafeteria.

Besides, who would she sit with? She was far too shy to just go over to another table where there was an empty chair, sit down, and start talking to whoever was there, like Heather Dunne always could. In fact, that was how she and Heather had become friends in the first place—Heather had just sat down next to her in kindergarten and started talking to her, and before her shyness could get in the way, they were already friends. It had been that way ever since—she was Heather’s best friend, and all she had to do was follow along and do whatever Heather wanted to do. Heather’s crowd was her crowd.

Heather’s friends were her friends.

And now Heather was looking at her as if she’d gone crazy, and Heather’s question was still hanging in the air:
What’s going on with you?

And everyone was staring at her, waiting for her to answer.

“Nothing,” she said. “I’m fine.”

Then she lapsed back into the safety of silence as Zack, Chad, Jared, and the rest of her crowd talked about Angel and Seth.

Chapter 24

ARTY SULLIVAN’S FORK STOPPED MIDWAY BETWEEN
his plate and his mouth, his eyes fixed on his daughter. The good mood brought on by the three shots of good Irish whiskey he’d chased down with three equally good pints of Irish beer before coming home that evening had faded rapidly in the face of Myra’s pursed lips and disapproving look. Did she think sitting around in a bar listening to Ed Fletcher brag about his country club had been all that great? Besides, he was only about an hour late, and what business was it of hers anyway? But it was Angel that his eyes—now as dark as his mood—were focused on right now. All through supper, which Marty had eaten just to please Myra, even though it wasn’t much good, Angel kept looking at the clock.

Like she had a date or something.

Fat chance that was going to happen. The way she was putting away the crappy dinner Myra had made, even that putz that he’d caught in her room with her the other day wouldn’t be sniffing around anymore. As she ate the last scrap of ham on her plate, glanced at the clock, and finished up the remains of her second helping of Myra’s scalloped potatoes with cheese, “just like her mother used to make”—as if her mother was any better in the kitchen than Myra herself—he put down his fork, leaned back, and crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you think you’re up to?” he demanded.

Startled, Angel dropped her fork, which clattered onto her empty plate.

“Jesus!” Marty snorted. “How’d you get to be so clumsy?”

“Marty!” Myra exclaimed, and for an instant Angel thought her mother was going to come to her defense. “Don’t take the name of the Lord in vain!”

Angel’s faint flicker of hope faded as quickly as it had flared. She stood up to start clearing that table, hoping to distract her father.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Marty said, his eyes narrowing.

“I—I’m just clearing the table,” Angel said, trying the tactic of avoiding the truth by saying something that wasn’t quite a lie, which had worked yesterday when she’d gotten back from finding the hidden cabin with Seth.

“You been lookin’ at the clock all through dinner,” Marty challenged. “And eatin’ even faster than usual. You got plans I don’t know about?”

Angel bit her lip and willed herself not to flush. Her father’s brow was knit into a deep scowl, and the look in his eyes told her she wasn’t going to be able to escape the kitchen—let alone the house—without giving him an answer. “I’m going to the library,” she finally said. “I’ve got some homework.” Again, the truth that wasn’t quite the answer.

“What kinda homework?”

“History,” Angel replied. “It’s a project about Roundtree.”

“You meetin’ that boy there?” Marty demanded, and this time there was nothing Angel could do to keep herself from reddening.

“What boy?” Myra asked.

“That kid I found in her room the other day. What’s his name?”

“Seth,” Angel breathed. “Seth Baker.”

“Oh, I met his mother at lunch,” Myra said. “Jane Baker.”

Marty swung around to focus on his wife. “Lunch? What lunch?”

“At the country club,” Myra explained. “Joni invited me to meet some of her friends.”

“They invite you to the big blowout they’re havin’ this weekend?” Marty asked.

“You mean the Family Day barbecue?” Myra said. “I don’t think you could call it a ‘big blowout,’ really. It’s just more like a—”

“I know what it is,” Marty interrupted. “I heard your high-and-mighty brother-in-law talkin’ about it.” He saw Myra’s lips purse in that disapproving way again, but so what? “They invite you?” Marty pressed.

“As a matter of fact, they did,” Myra said, immediately regretting her words as she saw her husband pull his lips into a mocking imitation of her own expression.

“As a matter of fact, they did,” Marty parroted in an intonation close enough to Myra’s to make her wince. “And what did you tell them?”

“I didn’t really say anything,” Myra said, choosing her words carefully, and silently praying that Marty wouldn’t lose his temper. “I’m not sure it’s our kind of thing—”

“Not our kind of thing,” Marty parroted. Then he dropped both his wife’s expression and her tone. “How the hell would you know?”

“Don’t swear, Marty,” Myra said, and once again wished she could snatch back her words. Too late—Marty’s face was already reddening with anger.

“Don’t you tell me how to talk. And don’t tell me what’s my kind of thing and what’s not either. You know what, Myra? We’re goin’ to that party!” He saw Myra’s eyes widen and a look of something like panic come over his daughter’s face. “What’s the matter? Neither of you think we belong there?”

“I—I don’t have anything to wear,” Myra began.

“You can wear any damned thing you want,” Marty roared. “It’s a fuckin’ barbecue, isn’t it? What’s so fuckin’ fancy about a fuckin’ barbecue?”

“Marty—” Myra began, but Marty was on his feet now. “Go to the library, Angel,” she said quickly.

“But Mom—” Angel began, but her mother didn’t let her finish.

“Just go. It’ll be all right.”

Her father was trembling with anger now, and Angel hurried out of the kitchen, pausing only long enough to pull a jacket off the hook by the front door before slipping out of the house.

“We’re goin’ to that party,” she heard her father bellow as she pulled the door closed behind her. “You call your goddamn sister right now and tell her we’re goin’!”

As Angel hurried away from the house, she told herself that the yelp of pain that came right after her father’s last words couldn’t possibly have come from her mother. Her father yelled a lot, but he never hit her mother.

The same feeling that she was not alone, which she’d felt last night on the way home from the hidden cabin, came over Angel again as she started toward the library. But now, in the darkness of the autumn evening, the feeling was more frightening than it had been yesterday afternoon when she was with Seth, or in the house, where the lights were on and her parents were downstairs. Now she was by herself, night had fallen, and there was no one else around.

Twice, she looked back over her shoulder as she hurried along Black Creek Road, but saw nothing.
Because there’s nothing to see,
she told herself. But the feeling didn’t go away, and only when the library was little more than a block away and the glow of the old-fashioned streetlights around the square began to bolster her courage did she slow her pace to a walk. As she passed the drugstore, she saw her cousin sprawled in a booth with Chad Jackson and Jared Woods. Though she was sure he saw her, he pretended he didn’t. By the time she reached the foot of the broad sweep of granite steps that led to the fieldstone building’s great oaken doors, her heart had finally stopped pounding and her breath was no longer threatening to catch in her throat.