Secrets and Lies (Cassie Scot) (9 page)

We were canoeing around the lake in pairs when I noticed a girl with terrible acne sitting alone on the lake shore, her eyes unfocused, staring off into nothing. “Doesn’t she have a partner?” I asked my partner, Kelly.

Kelly followed my gaze and shook her head, a bit more vehemently than I would have expected.

“We could let her sit in the middle of our canoe,” I said. “We can take turns.”

“No,” Kelly said. “That’s not a good idea.”

I was growing pretty annoyed. I didn’t know Kelly all that well, but she hadn’t seemed like the kind of girl to repeatedly spurn a person for the crime of having the worst complexion I’d ever seen. A part of me considered offering the poor girl some of my mom’s homemade face wash, but I knew that without regular applications, her acne would only come back, and I could not be her permanent supplier.

Turning back to Kelly, I let her have a piece of my mind. “That’s really mean. She can’t help her complexion.”

Kelly shook her head. “You don’t get it. She didn’t look like that when she got here. Liza did it. Liza doesn’t like her.”

“Who’s Liza?”

Kelly looked around as if she thought someone might overhear us, but the nearest canoes were yards away. “She’s a witch.”

I snorted. Camp legends were a part of the experience, and I knew better than to take them seriously. “I suppose she’s some hag who lives on an island in the middle of the lake?”

“No, she’s the girl with the green hair. The one who doesn’t even have an oar, because her partner is doing all the rowing.”

I followed Kelly’s gaze until I saw the aforementioned green-haired girl. She saw me at the same time, as if she knew we were talking about her, and she gave me what can only be described as an insolent stare. I instantly loathed her. Had I known she was untrained, I might have managed a bit of sympathy, but I doubt it. She was a bully, and not in the sense that many considered Evan Blackwood a bully. He used his mystique as a protection, though many believed he used magic in public more often than he did. Liza, on the other hand, didn’t need protection. Others needed protection from her.

As soon as we returned our canoe to the beach, I abandoned the other girls to go out in search of the pimply-faced one. She wasn’t hard to find. “Hi, I’m Cassie.”

She looked up at me, uncertainly. “Aren’t you afraid of being cursed?”

“Usually,” I said, smiling, “when someone says ‘hi’ and introduces themselves, you should do the same.”

“Um, hi. I’m Carrie.”

“Nice to meet you, Carrie. Now, follow me so we can do something about those zits.” I barely had time to see her mouth fall open before I strode away, trusting that she would follow.

We didn’t join the rest of camp for lunch that day. I had her wash her face three times with Mom’s face wash, and then had her apply some special moisturizer. By the time she finished, most of the acne had vanished, but it would be dinnertime before the last few stragglers disappeared with the rest. Wanting her transformation to appear as spectacular as possible, I took her on a walk through the woods until dinnertime, partly to keep her from seeing anyone until her face looked as good as mine, and partly to gather a few protective plants in case of retaliation.

Carrie kept touching her face as we walked. “How did you do that?”

“Stop touching your face,” I warned her. “Let it do its work.”

“Are you a witch, too?”

I gave her my practiced mysterious smile, the one I used anytime someone asked me about my magical abilities, and continued to lead her into the woods. “What we really need is stinging nettle and Queen Anne’s lace.”

“Why?” Carrie asked.

“The stinging nettle protects us from curses and the Queen Anne’s lace protects us from the stinging nettle.”

“So you’re a witch, then?” Carrie asked again.

“I’m not the one who cursed you.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean – I guess you’re a good witch.”

“Oh, I assure you, I am a very bad witch.” By which I meant lousy rather than evil, but she didn’t have to know that.

We waited until quarter after six to go to the mess hall for dinner, a ploy to ensure that everyone else would be present and seated when Carrie and I made our grand entrance. Indeed, the whispers started as soon as we were past the threshold. Within a minute they had turned to murmurs, unflattering stares, and a few shouts.

Most of the campers were staring at Carrie, but more than a few were staring at the green-haired girl, as if waiting to see how she would react. As I had hoped, she decided to make a stand right there in the middle of the crowd.

“Did you do this?” Liza’s accusation was directed at me, which was exactly where I wanted the blame. She didn’t strike me as anything I couldn’t handle, not after dealing with Nicolas, Juliana, and Isaac.

“Do what?” I asked innocently.

“What happened to her zits?” Liza demanded.

“What zits? I don’t remember seeing any zits.” The mutterings in the mess hall increased in response to my bold and obvious lie. It wasn’t the sort of magic I specifically had to hide, although I wouldn’t give out the recipe, but I resented the fact that I had to bring magic into this safe haven. Besides, the denial got a rise out of Liza.

“Let me see,” Liza said, “do you prefer itching or burning rashes?”

I managed to keep my lips from twitching into a smile, but it was a near thing. Even I can make potions to cause rashes and acne, and with a lot less melodrama. Not that I would need to spend hours brewing a potion if Liza decided to hurl a curse – the stinging nettle would hurl it right back.

“Why not both?” With that, I turned my back on her and ushered Carrie to the food line.

I didn’t feel the curse hit my back, but I did hear the shriek of pain from Liza when it rebounded on her. It took a while for the other campers to react, but as I turned away from the food line with a plate full of spaghetti, everyone began to clap. That’s when Liza scowled and ran from the room.

They all wanted to know how I’d done it. Of course, they were convinced that I was a witch as well – a good witch, as Carrie had put it – but I refused any credit for what I’d done. When pressed, all I would say was, “I hate bullies,” and give the questioner a mysterious smile.

* * *

Camp Ozark looked to me to be a mosaic of every camp I’d ever attended. In a way, we hadn’t strayed far from home, because the southernmost tendril of Table Rock Lake wound into Arkansas, straight through Camp Ozark. But Table Rock is a long, many-headed serpent of a lake with many thousands of miles of shoreline. Though these waters connected with the waters back home (that I used to be able to see through my bedroom window, before my parents kicked me out), it felt different in a way I could not quite comprehend. There were the same types of trees dotting the shoreline, similar hillsides, and a similar view of the other side of the lake across a narrow stretch of water, almost like a wide river. Yet it may as well have been in a different country.

When I commented on this to Evan, he nodded. “No node down here.”

I couldn’t feel node energy, so I was sure that hadn’t been what I meant, but I understood why Evan would latch onto that fact, first and foremost. A node is a concentration of magical energies that sorcerers can tap into, increasing their strength and potential. The reason that so many sorcerers lived in such a small area around Eagle Rock was that such a node existed beneath the nearby section of Table Rock Lake, and they all wanted to live as close to it as they could manage.

We drove up a small hill to the left, and then spotted the administration building. It was a small, unassuming wooden structure that probably couldn’t have supported more than half a dozen people at any given time. On that particular afternoon, all the action was at the mess hall. It was located just beyond the administration building, nestled against a copse of trees that allowed only taunting glimpses of the lake beyond.

A small winding road forked to the left along the lakeshore, past a boat dock and swimming beach. It continued around a bend that probably led to the campers’ cabins and other activities.

Though it was a beautiful afternoon when we arrived, there were no campers at the beach or on the lake. There were a few milling about the mess hall, but all of those held packed bags and stood with adults that could only have been their parents. Clearly, the exodus had begun.

The mess hall buzzed with a charged sort of energy that felt like it might explode at any moment. A small parking lot between the mess hall and administration building was full to overflowing, vehicles spilling out onto a large grassy area in front. The grassy area was full, due to some ill-conceived parking jobs. Evan stopped the car, focused, and slowly, the cars began to shift. It took a few minutes, but he not only found a place to park, he left the other cars in more manageable rows. He didn’t even look winded.

Reaching into the backseat, Evan grabbed the brown satchel he used to transport magical supplies. “Here we go.”

No one paid us any attention as we strode up the large stone steps and made our way inside what was clearly command central for the search parties. I scanned the room, looking for whoever was in charge of coordinating the search, I couldn’t pick him out of the crowd of frightened campers, angry parents, and helpless staff. Several men and women in the uniform of the local county sheriff’s department stood behind a long table toward the back of the room, near the kitchen, but they were all intent on the donuts and coffee laid out on that table. I had expected to see someone with a map, a row of walkie-talkies, and an authoritative air, but I found only chaos.

“Who’s in charge here?” I wondered aloud.

Evan’s gaze darted around the room, as lost as my own.

Finally, I settled on a gray-haired woman with short cropped hair wearing a costume reminiscent of every camp counselor I’d ever seen – green and quasi-military. She stood in a corner holding a clipboard, which was the most official-looking thing in sight. Gingerly, I picked my way through the crowd until I stood by her side.

“Are you here to join the search party, or collect a camper?” the woman asked.

“Neither, exactly.” I pulled a business card out of my purse and handed it to her. “I’ve been hired to find the girls. From the looks of things, you can use the help.”

She stiffened as she took the card and eyed it suspiciously. “Normal detective? What does that mean?”

Ignoring her question, I asked, “Are you in charge here?”

“I run the camp,” she said crisply. “I’m Nora Jones.”

“Who’s organizing the search parties?” I asked.

“Sheriff Daniels.” She gestured toward the three uniforms by the donuts. Great. I definitely had my work cut out for me. I turned to mutter something to Evan, but somewhere during the conversation, he had slipped away. I should have felt relieved, and I did, but I also felt empty.

Shaking away my feelings, I squared my shoulders and set to work. I had a million questions for Nora Jones, but first, I wanted to know about the search parties. My old boss, Sheriff Adams, would never have put up with such chaos. I suddenly found myself with new appreciation for his skills.

“Sheriff Daniels?” I asked as I approached the donut table, looking back and forth between the three middle-aged men.

The fat one in the middle looked up. “Yeah?”

“Are you organizing the search parties?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said. I wondered if he knew any other words.

“Well, what’s your game plan? How many search parties are there? How do they report back to you? Where are they searching, and how much of the area has been searched?”

Sheriff Daniels blinked a few times. “You here to volunteer?”

I handed him my card. “The girls’ parents hired me to find them.”

He didn’t bother to look at the card. “Now look here, Missy. I’ve got things under control. We don’t need your help.”

I’m sure he meant to get my hackles up by calling me Missy, but I’ve been called far worse. Besides, I had far worse for him. “Now you look here, Sheriff. You and two of your deputies are standing idly by the refreshment table, reinforcing everyone’s worst cop stereotypes, while two girls are missing, possibly dead in the woods somewhere. This place is in chaos, I don’t see any maps of the area, or walkie-talkies, and I’d bet you don’t have a particularly good idea where people have been searching and where they haven’t.”

“Are you trying to tell me how to do my job?” Sheriff Daniels bristled.

“Someone needs to.”

The deputy to Sheriff Daniels’ right stepped slightly in front of him. “All right, let’s all calm down. My name is Jeff.”

“Cassie,” I told him.

“Would you like a donut?” Jeff asked.

“No.”

“Something to drink, maybe?” Jeff insisted.

I glared at him. “Are you even paying attention?”

“Sure I am,” Jeff said, “but you need to calm down. You come in here shouting all kinds of accusations without even knowing what’s going on. We’ve had search parties out in the woods since yesterday morning, and some of us have been up all night.”

Jeff handed me a can of Coke, which I started to take before thinking better of it. “No, thanks.” I glanced around the room, wondering where Evan had gone, and spotted him talking to a morose couple at the other side of the room. “Is that Mr. and Mrs. Webster?”