Dragons of Drupes - 13. Chapter 13

Chapters 13, 14 and 15 . . . I have posted these together as I'd like to get the story out to you before I go on my trip. This is the second to last posting. Enjoy.

 

Chapter 13

 

“We’ve got something to tell you,” Faye said from the table as soon as we’d entered the lounge. Terry was on the floor doing stomach crunches, his legs wrapped under Faye’s chair. Each time he came up he slapped her a high five. “But first, how was your evening?”

Jack and I shared a look. I wasn’t sure what he was thinking, but seeing Terry had me thinking I really needed to sport-up some.

We slipped onto the bench and I snagged a piece of paper from the table and a pen.

“So?” Faye asked, still not looking toward Jack.

We told them about the evening, about the discovery we made about Rohesia Auber being Professor Quincey’s sister.

“Are you okay?” Faye said, finally glancing at us both.

“Yeah, we got out of sight pretty quickly.”

Jack added quietly, “But we could still hear them. . . . ”

No one said anything for a moment. Only my pen scratching over paper could be heard as I doodled Perold and the night sky.

Am I not a being, can’t I be your friend?

“I’m sorry about before, Faye,” Jack said. “I mean, I do still think Jack should have been able to use the computer, but it was wrong of me to make this”—he threw his hands up, gesturing our home—“out to be your fault. It’s not.”

Terry grunted.

Filing a nail on the table, Faye gave a slow nod. “Yeah, I’m sorry too.” Finally she looked up, fingers stilled. “Forgotten,” she said, then smiled as she pushed off her chair. It toppled onto Terry, who caught it.

“Warning would be nice, love.”

She ignored him, but I could see her grin. “Want some tea?” She put on the kettle and flung herself over the old sofa in the corner of the room.

“You know,” she said, propping a cushion behind her head. “It explains why Rohesia’s house had no dragon fireplace.”

“Yep,” I said, putting my pen down. I’d forgotten about that. Hard to remember much about Rohesia’s house except how messy it was. Made me even look like a clean freak.

Jack turned to Faye. “Didn’t you have some news to tell us?”

He picked up my pen, stealing my doodle, and began absently tracing the dragon’s plea again and again.

The kettle whistled in the background.

“I was listening in on Avice,” she said, turning to look at the spluttering kettle and dragging herself up. “She’s engaged. Engaged! It happened tonight about a half hour after you left.” She unplugged the kettle and flung open the cupboards, pulling out mugs. “It was quite romantic.” She sighed, pausing a moment with a smile before pouring hot water into the mugs.

Terry slipped next to her, pulling two boxes of tea out the cupboard. “You’ll have that someday too,” he said—sincerely, I thought.

Then he grinned. “If you can keep a guy long enough.”

She slapped his arm.

“Once we figure this mystery out, Terry dear”—she batted her eyelashes—“You’ll see. I’ll show you.”

He leaned down to her ear and whispered loud enough for all of us to hear. “I said it already, you’re on.”

Jack stopped tracing and I could feel his eyes on me, but when I turned he was focusing on the doodle. “Isn’t she a bit young?” he said suddenly, “I mean, she’s only eighteen.”

A year older than we were.

Yeah, weird thought. How many people found the one they wanted to be with the rest of their lives so young? I slipped a side-ways glance at Jack and grabbed another piece of paper, doodling with fast, rough strokes, almost splitting the page.

“Age doesn’t matter when you’re in love,” Faye said. “Earl grey? Or English breakfast?”

“Breakfast,” Jack and I said at the same time. We looked at each other a split-second, and Jack continued scribbling.

“But that’s not all the news,” Terry said, taking one of the teas and lounging back on the sofa.

Faye handed us our mugs. “No, that’s not all.” Her voice was serious.

“Avice pregnant?”

Faye scowled. “You think that’s the only reason she’d get married?”

“Well, I dunno. Just a thought.”

“No,” she said. “After the proposal, about an hour ago actually, she was talking to Walter. Apparently he’s visiting her in New York.” Faye opened up the small laptop lying on the table. “It’s difficult to catch everything, so you’re gonna have to listen up.”

Faye tapped a button and at first I heard a soft scratching as if someone was sketching over coarse paper, and then Avice’s voice came, distant.

‘Those detectives know ... than they... on.’

‘And you think ... impediment?’ Walter said.

‘Well... be. Can’t... happen.’

‘... worry. I’ll get ... off....’ And then, clear and curt, ‘Leave it to me.’

 

I started chugging my tea as if it were juice. Its warmth soothed my throat, quelling the chills the recording had brought.

“So, Walter, aye? You think he was the one to threaten us?”

“Well,” Jack said, “Think we can assume they have something to hide.”

“Like Red Eye,” Terry said, jaw tight. “I knew it!”

Faye nodded. “But I’m curious why Walter set up a will if he stole the jewel to give him his health back. What about his argument with Avice in the museum?” Faye’s fingers tapped against the keyboard. She spun the screen around in my direction as if I’d be able to answer her question, raising her brow hopefully.

 

Avice: ‘How much longer?’

Walter: ‘Not long. You’ll see. Don’t worry.’

Avice: (nod) ‘Don’t you think mum should know? So she’d understand? If she found out any other way...’

Walter: ‘If she finds out... Don’t explain it, she wouldn’t understand. But if you have to tell her, tell her after.’

(Moment jewel disappears) Avice: ‘After! She’ll be enraged!’

Walter: ‘It’s almost all done!’

 

My empty mug made a clacking sound as I put it down. “Either it really is about them stealing the jewel, like we first thought—and tonight’s additional info would lean in that direction—or it’s about him dying and not having told Josina. Honestly, I haven’t got a clue.”

I got up and made myself another tea while Faye and Jack discussed the different possibilities with an occasional interception from Terry.

Across the room Jack’s eyes briefly met mine, and he quickly averted them.

And, despite the rush of leaving the protest and sharing information about Rohesia, Avice and Walter, I found myself back in the stairway, remembering the kiss .

My cheeks tingled.

Was he thinking the same thing?

I watched him as he stumbled over a couple of books on his way to the kitchen. He dropped the mug on the side of the sink, eyes dancing with the reflection of the living room lights, murmuring softly that only I would hear him, “Stop looking at me like that. Unless you want them to know.”

I looked down at my tea. Had I been staring so plainly? I glanced at Faye and Terry, who were now bickering on the couch. They didn’t appear to be curious. Whew.

I spoke up so they all heard me, “I’m gonna go jam a bit. Gotta practice, tomorrow’s the big night!”

Jack followed me to the door. “Here’s a name for your guitar,” he said smoothly, “Marmalade: jam with a twist.”

When I heard it, something within me clicked. That was the name. The name I’d been waiting to find for my orange guitar.

* * *

Okay, I knew I was nervous about the gig. But did I really have to dream about it again?

In front of me, the crowd swarmed toward the stage. The buzzing was so loud I could hardly hear the beat Chrissy was tapping out behind me. Trying to ignore everything, I focused on Marmalade, on the strings cutting into my fingers and strummed; but the sound of a badly played violin screeched through the air. “What the fuck?” I yelled to Chrissy, not daring to look out at the now booing crowds. A tomato flew toward me and I jerked back in time for it to fly past.

“Seriously, a tomato? Who the hell brings tomatoes to a concert?”

“Just shuddup,” Simon said, “and get the microphone to stop buzzing.”

I fiddled with the mic, but the buzzing grew louder, and it no longer sounded like it came from the mic. I turned to ask Chrissy, but something was caught around my legs. I yanked hard, and I woke up.

Sheets twisted like cuffs around me. I heard the vibrating of my cell phone from my desk, telling me it was out of battery.

I got out of bed and stuffed it into the charger. Ben had sent me a message.

Gig 2nite. Think I need 2 start puking already. C u @ 9.

Like he had to remind me we had a gig on tonight.

Chucking on a tee-shirt, I went into the bathroom and brushed my teeth. Insistent knocking interrupted me.

Jack.

“Hurry up.”

“Use the upstairs loo,” I said with a mouth full of foam.

“Faye’s in the shower.”

“What? Faye’s up?”

“I know it’s weird. Hurry up!”

“You know the less you tell me to hurry up, the quicker I’d be.”

He muttered something, but after that waited quietly until I came out. He darted past me and into the bathroom without so much as a glance.

Jeez, he was a pleasure in the morning.

I heard a door slam and raced up to Jack’s floor to see Terry carrying his bike inside. “Just went for a ride to the supermarket. We were out of milk.”

“Hope you bought the low fat stuff.” Milk in New Zealand was awfully creamy.

He grinned. “Sorry, Drake.”

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m fussy enough with the organic stuff. It’s fine.”

Faye trundled down the stairs, wrapped in a towel, hair an absolute wet nest.

“It’s nine,” Terry said looking at Faye incredulously. Then added with a grin, “Morning suits you. You look radiant.”

“If I had anything besides just this towel, I’d throw it at you,” she said.

His grin widened. “Why the early hour?”

“Got mail last night from a friend of mine who needs a bit of help with his PC. We’re meeting at nine.”

“His PC?” Terry said, his knuckles white on the bike handles. “Who is this guy?”

“Just someone I met a few weeks ago.”

“Met where?”

“Online. But he lives in London.”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“You’re not going.”

Her face flushed, but not the happy kind. “I am, too. You can’t stop me.”

“He could be a psychopath. I’m not letting you met someone who you’ve only met online. No way.”

I had the feeling he wouldn’t have wanted her to go if she’d met him before in person, either.

“It’s a job,” Faye shouted at him. “Money. That’s food for us to eat. Get over it, Terry.”

“All the hot water’s out,” Jack said, coming up the stairs.

Terry handed him some letters. “I emptied your box. Looks like we’ve got some bills to pay.” Then he turned back to Faye. “No.”

“Okay, fine, it’s more than the money,” Faye said, calming down. “Look, I like him, okay? We’ve been chatting most days over Skype—trust me, he’s who he says he is.”

I watched Terry pale and took his bike from him. Faye looked away from him and Terry slowly inclined his head. Then he snatched the bike back from me and banged his way down to his floor.

Jack had pressed up next to me to let Terry pass. “Whoa,” he said, under his breath.

Faye was staring down the stairs where Terry had left, her bottom lip wobbling slightly. She bit it, and hurried away.

“Crap,” Jack said next to me and I thought he was talking about Faye and Terry, until I saw the opened letter in his hand.

“Electricity: $140 NZ.” He stuffed the opened bill into my hands and opened the next one. “Nice” –laced with sarcasm—“$40.” He rubbed his head and looked at me. “We’re not going to have enough to pay this and eat.”

“We will,’ I said. “Sell the record.”

“I can’t, Drake,” Jack said. “I know it’s your favorite. I just . . . I don’t want to do that.”

“It’s better than the other options you’ve come up with.”

It was low of me to bring it up again and I regretted it immediately. But I didn’t ever want him doing anything like that again.

Didn’t want him to even think about it.“I want to contribute, and the album will sell well.”

“It was your birthday—”

I stopped him. “And thanks for the thought, but this,” I pointed to him and around us, “is more important.”

“That’s . . . considerate,” Jack said, flustered.

“Come on,” I said, motioning toward the stairs. “Let’s get a cuppa tea.”

In the kitchen, I flicked on the kettle and, as I’d been neglecting my duty, had to wash up two cups. I put English Breakfast teabags in both cups. Jack poured himself a bowl of muesli and munched at the kitchen bench.

“So,” he said between mouthfuls, “big gig tonight. Nervous?”

I wanted to say ‘nah, it’s gonna be great’ but instead I shocked myself by saying, “Actually, yeah.” Since him opening up the night before, I’d felt both shy around him and confident.

Now was a confident streak, apparently.

“I keep having these weird dreams where I start singing opera or Marmalade is a violin. I mean, I’m really excited about it, but . . . I’d hate to embarrass myself.” I dunked the teabag a couple of times before removing it.

Looking at Jack, I unscrewed the milk lid. His eyes were wide and soft, and his lips formed a slight smile. A boyish smile. “Marmalade?” He said so quietly I wouldn’t have heard if I hadn’t taken a step toward him to pass the tea.

“Yeah,” I said, pushing the cup into his free hand. I took a sip of my own and let the liquid roll around my tongue a moment before swallowing. It had a bitter aftertaste.

Jack blew on his cup, took a sip, then stood, moving over to the sink. I watched as he filled the sink with warm soapy water.

“I’m still on dishes,” I said.

“Think of it as a b-day pressie, since you’re selling your last one.” I smiled. “We’ll resume our old wash routine after that.”

“Thanks.”

“You’ll do fine,” Jack said, making my insides squeeze. I didn’t know how to respond.

I couldn’t wrap him in my arms like my body screamed at me to do, and none of the words floating through my mind seemed appropriate. So I continued sipping my tea.

It was strange how much I wanted to know what he was thinking. And it was frustrating that I couldn’t help but hope it was about me. About our kiss. Ever since our lips had touched, I’d felt a pull in his direction and I wondered if he felt it too—or was it enough for him after that moment? Was it straight after, when he told me we shouldn’t do it again that he realized it wasn’t what he wanted? That he didn’t really like me? Not that way?

These questions hurt my insides.

But also other ones too. Because I didn’t know what I really wanted, either. Or . . . I didn’t know what it meant that I felt this way. The implications. Should it even matter? Maybe it wasn’t even such a big deal?

It’d never bothered me before.

But that was before it was happening to me.

God, wasn’t it simple? Why the hell couldn’t I just admit it, move on . . . Yeah, I liked Jack. I’d liked him since I’d first seen him.

I’d just been bloody brilliant at denying it.

“Ugh!” I growled aloud. My head was killing me with all this thinking—rationalizing.

“What’s up?”

Everything. “Nothing,” I snapped and added my cup to the pile of dirty dishes.

Just before I left the room, Jack said, “Drake?”

I wanted to ignore it; pretend I hadn’t heard him and leave the room. But I couldn’t, when he said my name my anger melted and stupid fuzzy bliss pumped through me.

“I really am sorry last night happened. I wished it hadn’t.”

His first sentence was sore enough to swallow, but he wished it hadn’t happened? Ouch.

My throat tightened. “Me, too.It was a mistake. No biggie.”

No biggie? Why couldn’t I fucking say the truth? How much of a chicken-shit answer was that? I pried my mouth open, urging something real to come out, to take away the lie I wasn’t fooling myself with anymore, but there was nothing and I was screaming at myself inside.

Jack smiled, turning back toward the dishes. With every step down the stairs, the pain of the lie—of not being honest—ricocheted.

Think of the gig. Think of the mystery. Think of anything else.

Music. Jamming. Marmalade. Jack.

What were Avice and Walter hiding? Beatrice Courcey has the ability to dissect the jewel, but why would she? Rohesia Auber is Professor Quincey’s sister. Dragons. Perold. Jack.

Shit.

Threat on house. No money. Bills to pay. Selling stuff. Jack.

Why did everything have to connect back to him?

“You alright, man?”

Terry’s voice thankfully severed my thoughts. I was so preoccupied I’d completely missed my floor and walked all the way to Terry’s.

He was hunched up against the wall in his hall, a shaft of light hit his face and neck, his tattoo brightening. I sat next to him.

“Just a bunch of walking nerves,” I said.

“You don’t need to worry. You’ll rock.”

But there was no enthusiasm in his words. He stared at the opposite hall, at a picture of the four of us we’d taken after our last mystery with the camera Terry had tweaked.

“You and Faye are close, right?”

Terry rested his head back. “Right.”

“You don’t talk about her much . . . with me.’

He shrugged and said sincerely, “Guess not. But, Faye, I think she’s my best friend.”

Terry sighed, shuffled his feet closer to him, wrapping his arms around his knees. His mouth opened to say something more, but he hesitated and shut it. A darkness lurked in the shadows under Terry’s eyes and I couldn’t place it. Worry? Anger? He picked at his jeans and started fidgeting, indecisive.

“What’s up, Terry?” I asked. “Spill.”

He looked at me. “It’s something Faye told me the night of your party. She was only tipsy at first, but later, after you’d left, my friend Chen tried to flirt with her and she just started crying. I mean, she was bawling her eyes out, man.”

“I don’t get it,” I said. “Was he pushy or something? What did he do?” A sudden anger and protectiveness made me straighten up and clench my jaw.

“Nothing, Drake. He only gave her a couple of compliments.” Terry’s throat rose and fell as he swallowed hard. “I took her outside for some fresh air, and when we walked around the block, she told me.”

“Told you what?”

His eyes narrowed as if severely pissed off at something. “Her story. She wants us to know, but hasn’t known how to tell us. It was why she was so scared someone was coming to get her right after she arrived. Why she doesn’t like to speak German.” Terry’s jaw clenched and he took a deep breath before continuing. “Her parents are—” Terry shuddered. “—rightwing extremists. Neo Nazis.”

A cold chill ran through me. Of course I knew something wasn’t right with her parents, but it still shocked me to hear that. Especially when Faye was such a loving, caring girl. I flipped through the memories I had of her since living in the house. I’d had plenty of friends of all nationalities around, and she’d been kind to all of them. Like she was to everyone.

“The family,” Terry continued, “lived in an area of Berlin with a lot of Vietnamese immigrants and her parents hated that. They didn’t think it was right that Faye grew up in such a ‘degenerative multicultural society’. So they kept a real tight leash on her. She had to come home straight from school and was never allowed to make friends, unless they were children from other Neo Nazis.”

The word made me sick. I couldn’t imagine Faye living with people like that.

“I get why she ran,” I said.

Why she was frightened to open the door and see a pair of racists there.

Terry grunted. “As if that wasn’t reason enough to leave.” He closed his eyes, trying to keep control over his temper. I was afraid of what he was going to say next. “At school she met a Vietnamese boy and she liked him. In the school holidays she dared to secretly meet up with him. Someone saw them together and told her parents.” Terry’s fist was pumping at his sides. “They beat her, Drake.”

I put my arm around him and drew him into a hug. “Shit.”

So Chen’s compliments had taken her right back to that date.

“It’s not all.” Terry’s voice was shaking. “They locked her in the closet, she was only allowed out to use the toilet. For two weeks. Two fucking weeks.” Terry’s chest started heaving but instead of letting me comfort him, he moved out of my grip, turning his head away. His back shuddered.

When he spoke again, his voice was low, lethal. “If I ever see them…”

“It’s good she ran away,” I said, knowing it was my turn to speak but not sure what to say. “Faye deserves better. We’re a better family for her. She’s safe here with us now.”

Terry met my gaze and nodded, his eyes rimmed red. “I don’t want her going out meeting boys she hasn’t met before. I don’t care how much she’s chatted with him online. I can’t . . . what if it goes wrong and I’m not there? After Chen . . .”

His brow furrowed. “I want to meet him first. Give him the okay.” He got to his feet and started toward the stairs.

I wondered if he’d ever give anyone the okay.

“Faye,” he called running up the stairs.

In the distance, as I slowly climbed up after, I heard a “What now?”

Then a pause and a, “I’ll never win the bet if you come. You’ll frighten him off!”

A little later, I heard her laugh. “No.”

I rounded the corner, bumping into Faye in my hall.

“Oops, sorry.”

“No harm, no foul,” I said.

“I’m outta here. If I don’t see you before the gig, good luck! I’ll be watching.” She turned to Terry who had followed her down the stairs, arms crossed. “Fine, you can pick me up, okay?”

He relaxed. “You got it, gorgeous.”

 

 

* * *

After a few rounds on Marmalade, I trudged upstairs, itching for another cup of tea.

“What you doing?’ I asked to Jack, sitting with Faye’s laptop at the table.

He raised his hands. “She let me use it, I promise. Said I—well, we actually—should listen to Jerry’s proposal to Avice.”

“Think she wants to turn us all into romantics?” I said as Terry came into the room behind me.

“Already a romantic.” He leaned back, smirking. “So maybe only you should listen?”

“Haw-haw.” I sat in the chair next to him. The tea could wait. Terry grabbed something from the cupboard, coming back with peanut butter and three spoons. “Turn it up.”

In the background, I recognized the melody of the waltz “The Blue Danube”.

‘Dance with me?’ Jerry said. I assume Avice nodded and started to dance because after a while he added, ‘You move so gracefully.’

“Only because you lead so well. With anyone else, I’d be a klutz.”

“I like dancing with you to our favorite songs.”

“Want to keep dancing with you like this forever,” Avice said.

‘Good. Because... I want to be the only name on your dance card.’ A moment of silence, and then, ‘Avice Ballard-Cardon, will you marry me?’

‘Yes,’ she cried. ‘Yes.’

I choked on a laugh, curbing it as Jack frowned. “Is that type of thing romantic?”

“I think it’s sweet,” Terry said, his mouth smacking with peanut butter.

I grabbed a spoon and dug into the jar and licked the sticky peanutty goodness.

Jack laughed when I offered him the last spoon. “No thanks. Gross. And it’s all over your fingers.” He swatted my hands away. I threw my sticky hands toward him, until I’d smeared some on his cheek, light with stubble.

“Right,” he cried, “That’s it. Terry, the peanut butter.”

Terry slid the jar to Jack and I watched him dip his fingers into the jar. I jumped out of my chair and made an unsuccessful run for it.

 

* * *

 

Terry, Faye and Jack were, of course, the first to arrive at our gig. And they were an hour-and-a-half early. I helped Chrissy set up the stands for her cymbals and snare.

“They’re such dorks,” she said, with a huge grin at my flatmates. “But they’re the best. It’s good to know at least someone’s here.”

“Ah ha!” I said. “You’re just as anxious as the rest of us. And here I was beginning to think you had nerves of steel.”

“Facade,” she mouthed. “Anyway, I heard nerves make you play better. So it’s really for the best that I’m”—she raised her fingers and air-quoted—“‘as anxious as’ you.”

“You just mocked me using air quotes. Chrissy, you’re totally lame.” I chuckled and, feeling a warm tingly sensation on the back of my neck, turned to see Jack quickly looking away.

What was he thinking?

I wanted to hope, but then his words slammed back into me: I really am sorry last night happened. I wished it hadn’t.

“Hey Chrissy,” I said, louder than necessary. Let him think it didn’t matter. Didn’t bother me. “That a new T-shirt? It really rocks on you.”

This time I caught Jack’s glare in our direction. It was a cheeky move, but it made me feel great to see him squirm at my innocent chatter with Chrissy.

“Thanks,” Chrissy said. “You look okay yourself. ‘Cept for the eye.”

I touched my black eye at the same time I caught Jack walking to the bar. (Which thankfully only served pop and cola—I didn’t want a repeat of what happened to Jack on my birthday.)

“I can give you some of my foundation if you like. Should cover it right up.”

But I wasn’t concentrating on Chrissy. I was watching Jack as he started talking to the tall barman. Who must have been at least twenty-five. After a minute he laughed, and leaned toward the barman whose lips curved upwards.

My mouth dropped open. Was he flirting with him? Flirting, flirting with him?

Did that guy have any idea how old Jack was? Okay, granted he looked older than his age . . .

“You look like you’re about to puke,” Simon said.

Chrissy threw up her hands. “I only offered a smidge of make-up. It’s not that bad.”

Simon threw an arm around my neck. “Take a break and go to the rest room. Shove a finger down your throat if you have to. Just get into game.”

“Think I need a drink. Won’t be a tick.”

I wasn’t exactly sure what I was doing, but I headed toward the bar.

“Hmm hmm,” I cleared my throat as a way of catching the barman’s attention. Jeez, did he have to lean so close into him?

I coughed, and this time he dragged himself—too reluctantly—away from Jack.

“I’d like a coke, thanks.” It took all my effort to stay polite. Then I turned to Jack. “So glad you guys showed up.”

The barman turned to get me a drink, but the way he opened the small fridge slowly so it wouldn’t make a noise told me he was listening to every word.

Good.

“Anyway, I was thinking, this place is pretty great. Maybe we could use it for your seventeenth birthday party next month.” I made sure to emphasize ‘seventeenth’ and ‘next month’. Now Barman had to know Jack was sixteen, and to back off.

He handed me a bottle of coke, and I waved a cheery good-bye and went back up to the rest of my band on stage.

“You look much better,” Simon said to me. “Did you chuck? Works for me too.”

“No chucking, just got myself a drink. And, yes, I’m so much better.”

Ben raised his head from his guitar and gave a friendly wave in Terry and Faye’s direction when they hollered cheers. Chrissy threw her arms around my and Simon’s shoulders. “Come here, Ben. Group huddle.”

As I watched Ben put down his guitar, catching sight of Jack behind him, striding across the floor back to Terry and Faye. Ben hung his arms casually around my and Simon’s neck, and while Chrissy spoke, I watched Jack. I couldn’t hear what he said, but before either Terry or Faye could respond, he turned and left the club without looking back.

“How’d you feel ‘bout that? Drake?” Chrissy asked.

“Um . . . ”

“Yay or Nay?”

“Yay?”

“Then it’s unanimous.”

Whew. And what was unanimous?

We hid ourselves backstage until it was time to start. I could see the most of the ramshackle concrete club through a gap in a thick red curtain.

My heart pumped faster with every person who walked through the doors. Twenty minutes before we were scheduled to start, the place was packed. While we got ourselves psyched up, some ambient music played to the waiting crowd. Butterflies with wings of steel and leather enjoyed lashing me from the inside.

When the house lights went out there was a hushed silence. I gripped and threw up a silent prayer both my voice and my instrument would play normally.

Finally we were on stage.

Chrissy quietly tapped the beat. She winked at me—my cue to sing. All my nerves peaked together, but as soon as the first note wafted from my lips, I forgot about everything. After I’d sung the first line, the spotlights hit us at the precise moment I struck the first chord on my guitar and Chrissy pelted on the drums.

I was sucked into a world where nothing else mattered except for music. Exhilarating and liberating, it felt like I wasn’t just contributing, but actually was the music; every strum of the guitar was charging me up with energy. And in the midst of it all, I really understood how powerful a magic based on sound could be. These waves that erupted around us, if composed in the right way, had so much potential.

Lost to the crowd, even to my band mates, I was only really ‘there’ for the music, so I was surprised when it came to a stop, the set finished, and the crowd blasted cheers in our direction. Ben slapped my hand, and at the crowd’s request, we played another two songs.

“Like that?” Ben yelled to the audience and the crowd went wild.

I grinned and leaned into the mike, “Want us to play you another one?”

A chorus of cheers and hoots filled the air. I looked at Chrissy. “Ask them,” she yelled.

“Ask ‘em what?”

Ben budged my arm and spoke into my ear loud enough I could hear him above the crowd. “What we agreed on.”

I stared blankly at him.

“You know, about the band name.” Ben shook his head. “You must have been nervous.”

Ohh.

Giving them a nod, I turned back to the audience and spoke in a voice I hoped was sexy. “Before we play you our final piece we want you guys to help us out with a band name. We have two options: Just Jitters or Manic Hedgehogs. Clap for your favorite. Loudest clap wins the vote.”

Someone threw a slipper on stage and I hoped that meant something good. I picked it up. “Thanks, but I’d be needing the other one, a bathrobe and six of you gorgeous girls wearing bunny ears.”

Or Jack.

I blinked away the thought as fast as it came. A roar came from the crowd.

“Right, remember, loudest clap wins.” I cleared my throat and waited a few seconds before I spoke into the mic. “For those of you inclined, put your hands together for... Just Jitters!”

There was an eruption of claps and whoops.

“And for those others out there, put your hands together if you’d rather like Manic Hedgehogs!”

I’d barely said the name when the crowd went berserk. People were jumping and cheering, and I even heard one girl screaming, “Manic Hedgehog rocks!”

Chrissy hit the tom-tom and ended with a ringing of the cymbal.

I looked at the rest of the band, who nodded. “Manic Hedgehogs it is then. And us, hedgehogs, would like to thank you.” Ben, Simon and Chrissy hit the music and my voice mingled in with it. The crowd jumped and danced until we’d played our final chord.

My ears were still ringing when Terry, Faye and I arrived home.

I didn’t bother to ask them where Jack went; I knew he left the club and didn’t watch our gig. His loss. I stamped on the steps, coming up to his floor so he’d know we’d arrived back. All the lights were out. I assumed he’d gone to bed.

We went up to the lounge and I made myself a cup of tea. My hands were still trembling with adrenalin.

Faye and Terry collapsed onto the sofa.

“Gave me the chills, man,” Terry said, putting his arms on the back of the sofa, behind Faye. “I swear that was the best I’ve heard you guys, and I’ve heard you play a lotta good stuff.”

“Had a great time, too, Drake,” Faye said, yawning. “Really. The gig was epic, I’m just worn out with all the dancing. Good idea to put your band name to a vote. Good...” she yawned again, “...audience involvement.”

Within two minutes she’d fallen asleep. Terry moved so her head rested on his arm. She drooled slightly on Terry’s sleeve. He wiped it off, grinning. Then scooping her up into his arms, he got up. “Better get her to bed. I had fun tonight. You Manic Hedgehogs rule.”

He shuffled out of the room, leaving me alone with my half finished tea.

Too worked up to go to bed, I caught sight of Faye’s opened laptop, and logged into my eBay account where I’d placed an add before the gig. “Hundred-and-fifty pounds. Not bad.”

A window popped up on screen. Jack is online. Faye’s messenger was open. I moved the mouse to click it away, but hesitated. He wouldn’t have to know it was me chatting to him . . .

I opened a chat window and typed in ‘Hey’.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 14

 

I tapped my foot as I waited for a response. After a minute I decided nothing was going to happen, so I hovered the cursor over the red ‘x’ box. My index finger was about to click down when the little bell rang; the sound of an incoming message.

Hi, it read.

I wrote and rewrote my next message three times before entering. It still came out sounding lame.

U get home ok? U left early. What’s up?

It seemed like ages before the response came, although it was probably only thirty seconds.

It’s nothing. Was peeved.

Peeved? I typed quickly.

Doesn’t matter.

My pulse quickened. If you’re upset, you can tell me.

A long wait. Close to a minute.

It’s Drake. He talked to Faye about me? Maybe those two got on much better than I’d thought. I was about to reply when another message came in.

The guy seriously drives me up the wall. He was an ass tonight. Total. Ass.

Ranting much?

I wished I hadn’t bothered with the chat. It was getting uncomfortable. Somehow I managed to respond with, Yeah, Drake can be an ass sometimes, but I don’t think he wanted you to leave, tonight. I’m sure he’d be sorry about that. Without thinking, I added: U still going 2 the dragon execution protest tomorrow morning?

Yeah. R u and Terry coming 2?

Sure. Bloody fantastic. Why didn’t I think sometimes! Now I’d have to drag Faye out of bed tomorrow. I’d owe her big.

Gr8. I’d better scramble off 2 bed. Night.

Night.

I couldn’t turn off the computer fast enough. I’d been on such a high and now it was like having been repeatedly kicked in the gut. My own stupid fault.

 

* * *

Getting Faye up required tact. Actually, it boiled down to a couple of essential ingredients, namely a cup of hot coco and a banana-choco toastie pie.

I held the plate close to her nose and let the hot sticky aroma of toastie pie do the work for me. She wriggled a bit, then her eyes snapped open. The first thing she saw was the plate of goodness; then, as her eyes adjusted to the early morning light, me.

“What do you want?” She stretched and whipped the plate off me. “Mmmmh, gooood.” After she’d swallowed a bite, she shot me a suspicious glance. “Spit it out.”

“I’ll owe you?” I said.

She tried to resist taking another bite, but kept glancing at the chocolate oozing out the side of the bread. “It means getting out of bed, doesn’t it?”

I nodded.

“Stupid deliciousness.” She grabbed the toastie and bit into it some more. “What do ya want then?”

“We’re protesting a dragon execution.” I didn’t tell her the main reason I wanted her to come was so I didn’t look a fool in front of Jack. Didn’t sound very noble out loud.

Or in my head either, for that matter.

After gulping half the cup of coco, Faye stretched. “Alright then.”

“Terry’s coming too. If you’re tired, my arm’s always there for you to sleep on.”

“Yeah, yeah. Now get out so I can get dressed.”

 

* * *

 

The four of us didn’t say much as we walked toward Drupes’ main square. Terry and Faye stuck closer together, their eyes were distant as if they were lost in thoughts and the set of their shoulders reminded me of people in mourning.

Jack trailed a bit behind, but I could still see him in my peripheral vision. His face was pale and he was fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves.

A fresh layer of dew touched the grass around us, covering the leaves of the apple and plum trees lining the streets. The amount of people increased the closer we got to the square.

Soon we were standing at the edge of a crowd. A makeshift stall to our left sold candy floss and toffee apples. Confetti blew over the sea of heads. Children were holstered up on their parents’ shoulders.

Sickening.

Jack said, voice sour, “What do they think this is? A carnival?”

I wish.

Turning to Faye and Terry behind me, I said, “Just watch out for anyone wearing a red and black striped mask.”

“Watch out for and run away from,” Jack’s jaw twitched as he amended. He added, scanning the crowds, “Half the people here want to see this dragon die.”

I clapped a hand on his shoulder. “And the other half are doing their damndest to prevent it from happening.”

Terry frowned, looking around. “Half? They all seem cheerful to me.”

Faye pointed to the right hand side of the square. “Not over there. Guys, shouldn’t we make our way to the group holding the protest signs? Might make more of an impact there.”

We pushed our way through the crowd, and I didn’t hold back on elbowing until we got to Professor Quincey, leading the protest. There was a black bruise, thrice as dark as mine, beneath his left eye and a cast around his left arm.

“You came,” he greeted us. “Thought you’d have been scared off after the last protest. But I see you’ve even brought more support. Well-well, I’m impressed.”

“Happy to help out,” Jack said. “How do we stop it from happening?”

Professor Quincey’s eyes turned somber, and I felt Jack freeze next to me.

“There’s nothing we really can do to stop this execution happening.” His eyes flickered behind me. I followed his gaze. Until then, I hadn’t dared to look toward the centre of the square.

I gagged. An erected platform forming a stage stood in the square’s center. Two thick wooden beams and a large crossbeam awaited its prey. The noose swung in the slight breeze, like a tongue licking its lips.

“Gallows?” The words came dry and sore from my mouth.

“A foul and disgusting ritual.” Professor Quincey’s eyes were cold. I thought he’d spit on the cobble stones. “If you haven’t seen one of these, I’d suggest not watching. Take a sign and hang out at the back of the crowd. Of course, just to warn you, it won’t stop the sound.”

“The sound?”

His answer made me wish I hadn’t asked.

Professor Quincey rested a sign on his shoulder, leaning his temple on its edge. His voice sounded heavy. “An execution is set up to deliver two things: one, to punish a dragon for a crime, and two, as a reminder to other dragons not to step out of line. That’s why it’s done in the square, not just so people can gather and watch.” He pointed to the buildings and houses surrounding the square that were lined with dragon chimneys. “But so they can see what’ll happen to them if they’re not careful—Like speaking out against their slavery, for example.” His gaze traveled to each of us, emphasizing his words. “Before the execution, the dragon goes into surgery to give him his voice back.”

Bile rose up my throat. How repulsive.

Faye wrapped her arm around Terry’s, almost green. “That’s so wrong,” she said.

Grabbing signs from a pile lying next to Professor Quincey, Jack handed them out to us. Faye took hers and stalked a path to the back of the crowd. Terry’s was broken so he exchanged it.

I moved my satchel so that it hung behind me and didn’t interfere with the long wooden stick on my sign. Just as I was about to walk to the back of the crowd, Jack caught my arm. I followed his hand as he pointed across the square.

Horses pulled a cage, making their way to the gallows. In it sat one orange, yellow and red speckled dragon, its stub from where his wings had been pruned jutting through the bars, nostrils flaring in panic as it pushed against the metal bars trying to get out.

It was the dragon we’d seen on the chapel roof.

Squinting, I saw part of the red speckles dripped blood; a jagged cut in the dragon’s throat poorly stitched back together.

My tonsils swelled, hurting when I swallowed. I looked for a quick way out of the crowds, somewhere I could be without having to see anymore.

Bowing my head, I stomped toward the back of the crowd. Half-way, Terry caught up, Faye already lost behind the crowd. Jack was still talking to Professor Quincey.

“Sorry, man. It’s rough,” Terry said.

Scanning the crowd, I paused as I made out two of the protestors: Rohesia Auber and Beatrice Courcey. Professor Quincey’s words sounded in my head: We are really lucky so many professors from the university regularly take part. I shook off the weird feeling I got seeing them both there.

“Sucky life,” I grunted.

“Maybe things can get better,” Terry said. “These protests—doing this is what will help bring change.”

“Too slow.”

“Unfortunately, these things take time.”

And too much life.

The only way things would go faster is if they had a strong leader. I glanced at Professor Quincey. Sure he’d managed to de-dragonize the psych-building, but it wasn’t enough. “Only the mayor has the decision making power to stop dragons being treated as slaves,” I muttered, thinking of the article from the Drupes Herald. “He doesn’t seem to be doing much.”

“What’s that?” Terry said, dipping his head to catch my words.

“Nothing.”

Exactly the amount the Drupes Mayor seemed to be doing.

Stupid Berlin City Councils. Stupid, stupid Mayors.

Cheers and boos of the competing crowds filled the space around them, made the air feel thick and suffocating.

I itched to flee, but the crowd was thick and we were struggling to push our way to the back. Church bells started ringing. Terry and I twisted toward the gallows. I couldn’t remove my gaze off the dragon and the noose around its middle.

The bells silenced the hoards of people on and around the square. Everyone save the protestors, who wailed and screamed even louder.

When the bells stopped, a trapdoor in the platform opened. A terrified wailing scream came from the dragon as it fell. The sound echoed around the square, over and over. The dragon bounced, the noose tightened, and its screaming turned into gasps.

Listening tugged at every bit inside me, pulling my tears and my breath away until I was verging on a sob.

Not even as people pushed past my back could I tear my sight from the dying dragon. I don’t know how many minutes I stood shocked, mortified and watching it suffer. Only when Terry gripped my shoulder did I let him drag me away, the image burned in my mind.

I wasn’t aware when exactly, but when I looked up again, Jack was there, tears streaming down his face, holding tightly onto his Stop the Killing sign.

“Awful,” I choked out.

“Cruelest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, looking at Terry and me. His features darkened as his voice dropped, “How can people watch that for fun? Are people so sick?”

A group of teenagers knocked Jack as they walked behind him and he stumbled into me. I caught his elbow, steadying him, then took the sign he held and stabbed it alongside mine into a patch of earth.

Jack met my gaze. “Are people so sick?”

I saw his pain; not just at this mortifying execution, but of his family, of his world, my world, Terry and Faye’s. Was there any hope for something better? his eyes seemed to ask.

I desperately wanted to tell him People aren’t sick, we’ve just seen the exceptions.

But I was fast losing hope myself.

I clung to what I could. I needed—we needed—to see the good.

And Jack . . .

He was meant to be the angel on my shoulder. He wasn’t meant to lose the light.

I wouldn’t let him.

“You’re a good one,” I said to him. Then I said it to Terry, who was frowning and scanning the crowd. “Coming here, making a stance against this atrocity—that’s noble.” I swallowed. “Let’s get back home.”

Jack fished inside his bag, pulled out some tissues, and blew his nose.

“Yeah,” he said, “I just need a second.”

I went with him to a bench facing the houses surrounding the square. When he sat down, he looked up at me. “Should we like,” he coughed, “say a few words?”

I crouched down in front of Jack so we were level. Closing my eyes, I said, “A terrible murder took this dragon’s life. I sincerely hope his soul will rest in peace.”

Then Jack whispered, “He was a being, he could’ve been a friend.”

When I opened my eyes, Jack was looking toward the overcast sky.

 

Terry turned around in a circle and came over to us. “Where’s Faye?” he demanded.

“You weren’t with her for this?” Jack’s voice was muffled through the tissue.

I shook my head and my voice was croaky. “She got to the back of the crowd before us.”

“Maybe she left the square?” Jack said. “Didn’t want to see or hear . . . I wouldn’t blame her.”

“Maybe,” Terry said, frowning. “Dammit, I should have been with her!”

“Let’s wait for the crowd to disperse.” I said. “Be easier to spot her then.”

“You’d think with her blonde hair, she’d be easy to spot.” My spine prickled at Jack’s words and Terry’s head snapped up. His eyes frantically scanned the heads in front of us. There were a couple of blondes, but the wrong shade and with the wrong body shape.

“Hurry up and leave, people!” Terry yelled out and walked up to the front of the protest crowd where Professor Quincey was stacking protest signs in a crate.

Jack glanced at Terry, then quickly turned away again, face pale. “Shit.” He looked at me. “I have to . . . I can’t see his body. Can we go home?”

I helped him off the bench and Terry jumped on it to scan the square.

“The crowds have thinned, but I still can’t find her.” Terry’s voice strained.

Straightening up, I glanced around. Not even a quarter of the people that had been there ten minutes ago were there now. Averting my eyes from the gallows, I checked the square. “Maybe she went into the park?” I suggested.

“Without telling me?” He fiercely shook his head “Never.”

“Maybe she couldn’t handle to watch, and just left,” Jack said, then ran a hand through his hair. “Kinda wish I had.”

“She’d have said something,” Terry snapped.

A funny rumbling swirled in my stomach, making me want to belch. I pressed it down, but the feeling still remained. “Let’s check out the park,” I said. “She’s not here.”

But we still didn’t find her.

We spent a good two hours walking up and down and circling every tree in the vast orchards that made up the park. Twice we thought we saw Faye crouched up behind the trunk of a tree, but both times we were disappointed.

Terry slammed his fist into a tree, making it rain tiny purple plums. “Damn it!”

I clutched his shoulder. “We’ve probably gone round in circles—she might be trying to find us at the same time. Or she’s gone home and is waiting for us there.”

But I didn’t believe in my own encouraging words. Something seemed off.

We stalked across the grass. Ahead, a bird sucked a worm out of a rotting apple. I stiffened, stopping mid-step, goose bumps flaring up over my arms. I watched as the bird flew up into a nest on an apple tree branch. The bird opened its beak and a miniature brown bird pecked the worm out from its mother.

Something about it nagged in my head.

I was too worried to focus on it though.

Worried, and sorta freaked out.

Jack pulled at my arm. “Drake, you alright?’

Terry was charging up ahead.

“Was a bird. I’m fine.” I shrugged out of his grip, taking a tentative step forward. Then hurried under the branch with the nest. Damn I wish they didn’t freak me out like this.

As soon as our house door opened, Terry sprinted up to Faye’s room. I heard it slam and his footsteps stamping up to the kitchen. “Faye? Faye?”

His voice verged on hysterical.

I frowned and opened my library door to quickly dump my satchel. As I left the room, a light reflected on my bag and I doubled back.

Had I seen that correctly?

I bent over my satchel and confirmed the zip to the outer pocket was undone. Strange. I only used the main pocket under the flap. Never the outer one.

In the background, Terry stomped down the stairs.

Slipping my hand inside the pocket, my fingers touched something smooth. I pulled out a green folded piece of card.

Heart thumping, palms suddenly sweaty, I opened.

Stop prying into matters that don’t concern children.

You are easy to get hold of . . .

Think of this as a warning.

Sickness rose to my throat, but I couldn’t wait for it to be out. I rammed my index finger toward the back of my throat. They’d taken Faye. To warn us? I leaned over the rubbish bin and threw up.

Think of this as a warning.

Another wave of sickness washed over me and I hugged the bin closer.

I knew Terry was behind me before he spoke. His voice was wispy and scared. “Something’s happened to Faye hasn’t it?”

I couldn’t nod, but managed to point at the green card next to me. He moved so fast it was a blur.

The card fluttered to the floor and Terry sank to his knees. I looked at his face: calm. Too calm. Terry’s voice was soft. “I’m going to kill them.”

Jack’s shout had me scrambling up to his room. He stood, shaking, whiter than a sheet. “She’s been kidnapped.”

We sat on the end of his bed. “It’s going to be okay.”

I hoped it’d be okay.

It’d better be.

“Check.” He waved a hand to his opened laptop. “Email.” Terry came into the room, brushing past me to get to it. I came up to his side and watched as he clicked on the message bar. A white page popped up.

If you want to see her again, stop your investigation.

Spend your time solving this little mystery instead.

You’ll be given one clue a day.

In three days you’ll have her back as good as new . . . so long as you quit looking for the Red Eye.

 

One) Of the heavens. NGC6101. IC4499. IC4633.

Terry narrowed his eyes at me.

“This—this is your fault!” He slammed a fist on the desk. “Never would have happened if you hadn’t asked us to come!”

I opened my mouth to protest, but closed it again. He was right.

“Quit investigating the case,” he said as he left the room. Jack looked at me, but I didn’t say a word. There weren’t any to say.

A few minutes later a rush of wind blew into the room. Then the door from my floor slammed.

I couldn’t think—could barely feel, nothing seemed to make any sense as I went downstairs. The carpet underfoot felt too prickly, the banister too smooth, pinching my hand as I moved. I welcomed the pain as the only thing that felt familiar and real.

A square note was tacked to the door and scrawled across it was:

Don’t follow. Figure out clue.

I ripped the note off the door and scrunched it into a ball. Wandering up to the kitchen, I put on the kettle, but I wasn’t thirsty. I slumped on a chair and rested my head against the hard cool wood of the table. The pressure of the table massaged, numbing my head.

Where was Faye now? How were they treating her?

I recoiled at an image of Faye chained up on top of a roof with dragons stretching into the distance on either side of her. Lifting my feet up on the chair, I hugged my knees.

If I hadn’t had convinced her to go . . .

I banged my head against my knees, cursing. How could’ve I been so . . . so . . . “Arrgh.”

The kettle screamed. I wanted to join in but was too drained.

I heard a shuffling and the kettle quietening. I didn’t raise my head. Cups were dragged from the cupboard, magnetic strips in the door clicking together when it shut. The fridge door squeaked open and shut.

Then a cup was placed on the table in front of me. At first I thought I’d ignore it, and leave it to go cold, but the aroma lured my head up. I swept the room, but Jack had already left.

Gripping the warm handle, I scraped the bottom of the cup over the table and, not bothering to lift it, brought my mouth down and slurped the tea.

How the hell must Terry be coping?

Coping? What a stupid thing to think. Of course he wasn’t coping, he was livid. He’d search the square over and over again for any signs we’d missed. I wished I could help him. I pulled the small ball of paper from my pocket and straightened it out.

Don’t you dare follow. Figure out clue.

“Figure out clue,” I re-read. My voice sounded like an empty tin can.

One) Of the heavens. NGC6101. IC4499. IC4633.

Heart somewhere in my gut, I towed myself to my library. The light was on and Faye’s small laptop was opened on the working table. A chord ran taut across the room at knee height, plugging the laptop to the printer.

It hummed, and every few seconds a piece of paper popped out. I headed toward it, but Jack intercepted me, grabbing the pile of paper and unplugging the printer.

Sagging to a chair on the table, I waited for Jack to show me what he had. The table wobbled as he banged against the table leg. He rearranged herself on the seat and, licking his fingertip once, leafed through the printouts, dividing them into five different sets.

Pulling one set toward me, I saw the Avice audio transcripts.

I frowned. “This is the Avice Ballard-Cardon file.”

Jack didn’t look up. “Yes, it is.”

He continued to sort.

“But the email—”

“Do you need anything else printed?”

I pressed the note Terry had left into his hand. “He wants us to figure this mystery out. Find Faye.”

“Do I always do what Terry wants?” he snapped.

I was taken aback by his abruptness. I’d forgotten just how insensitive he could be. Bluntly, I said, “Thought you’d at least respect this request. If not for Terry then for Faye.”

I stood up. I didn’t want to be around him right now.

“Don’t you get it, Drake?”

“No, I don’t.”

Jack placed the final two pieces of paper on a pile to the right of the computer. “Don’t you think kidnapping is an extreme measure?”

What was he getting at? “Of course.”

“Why do it?” Jack said. “Because we are close to figuring it out, that’s why. It’s got them scared.”

I was about to speak, but Jack continued over me. “My guess?”—he waved his hands over the five piles—“The key for finding Red Eye is here.”

“Jack! Hell! Don’t you care about Faye? We can’t go after the Red Eye, they’ll hurt her! I know you two aren’t close, but she means something to me and Terry! Quit this.”

He stared at me evenly. “No.”

I couldn’t believe him. I shook my head and dumbly repeated, “No?”

“That’s right, no.”

My pulse hammered and I squeezed my fists together. Jack’s brown eyes were serious. How could something as beautiful as him be so . . . so . . . “You’re a bastard! Get out the hell out of my library!”

“I get you’re angry, Drake, but—” I shuddered at his use of my name, which he must have seen, because he stopped talking gathered the paper together. On his way out, he said, “Find me when you cool down. Whether you believe it or not, I do care.”

I helped push the door shut behind him.

A hole pierced deep in my middle. Not only was Faye kidnapped and my close friend distraught, but the guy I couldn’t stop thinking about, even now in the midst of this crisis, was being an insensitive bastard. And though I wanted this moment to sever any kind of connection we had, I yearned for him to come back.

To tell me that everything was going to be alright.

 

 

 

Chapter 15

 

For an hour, I paced up and down, but my anger still flickered like a flame. Come find me when you cool down. The words made me want to pulse my fists.

Figure out clue. I tried to focus but my thoughts kept drifting. I had to go up and talk to Jack. Before that nothing was going to stay clear in my head.

Still too upset to knock, I barged into his room. He was kneeling on his bed with the five piles spread out around him and the laptop perched on his side table. The draft of air I let in with my forceful entry made paper fly off their piles, some leaving the bed entirely.

He didn’t growl, or snap something at me, or even pick them up. Instead, he looked at me.

All remnants of my temper vanished. His eyes glowed hazel under the tears that welled out of them. Under them, his skin was puffy and nose bright red. I wondered how I hadn’t noticed all the screwed up tissues surrounding him.

Normally I found it sort-of weird to see a guy cry. But this I understood. Got.

I wanted to join him.

Tentatively, I took a step closer. Jack flinched. I paused and watched as his shoulders heaved with fresh sobs.

“What’s wrong?” It was a dumb thing to ask, but it slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it.

Jack gulped in a deep breath, calming himself and swiping his eyes. “What’s wrong? Isn’t it obvious, Drake?” He cleared his throat. “Faye’s been kidnapped . . . ” his body trembled with the word. “Terry’s gone and we have no idea if he’ll be next . . .” He placed his head on his knees like I’d done earlier. “And you think she doesn’t mean anything to me?”

He forced his head up again. “I think of her as my sister. I always just thought we had a love-hate relationship, the way siblings do. I do care.”

The hole inside of me shrunk a little. Of course he cared. Hadn’t I seen the way he was so gentle and understanding of Perold? How despite the stress—the danger, the hurt—he’d wanted to support the dragons?

I could be so damn stupid.

“I want to figure out the mystery,” Jack said, “not because I don’t care, Drake. But because I do. Because I want to find out who did this to her and I want to . . . Hurt. Them. Back.”

Air whistled as I sucked in a breath. Revenge was the reason he wanted to continue the investigation? Terry wouldn’t want to risk using Jack’s method, but he’d understand—I’d seen the look on his face in the library.

He’d totally understand.

I brushed some of the papers aside and sat next to him on the edge of the bed, our shoulders touching. “Sorry I called you a bastard,” I said softly.

After a moment he replied, “I get how people think that sometimes. I know I do stuff you guys don’t understand. Like when I stole your lighter . . .” I twisted my torso in his direction. His cheeks were flushed. It seemed crazy to me someone who’d bawled his eyes out could still look so good.

Unfair, if I could be jealous at this moment.

“I only wanted to protect your health.” The image of him leaning against the closet door, his breath on my neck when I slid my hand into his pocket . . . I shivered. I wanted to do it again, but with a totally different outcome.

I pinched my arm. Hard. So not the time to be caught up in my own emotional mess.

I took Jack’s hand. “I really am sorry. I know you care for all of us.” I gave him a small grin, as much as I could muster, anyway. “But right now we need to keep Faye safe. Would you help me figure out our first clue?”

In a flash he’d withdrawn his arm away from me, reaching across the bed to one of the piles of paper. He handed me a printout of the email we’d been sent. My eyes scanned down to the first clue.

One) Of the heavens. NGC6101. IC4499. IC4633.

“I figured that out first, of course!” he said. “But it won’t help until we get another clue at least.”

I looked up at him in wonder. “You figured that out already? How?”

“It wasn’t that hard. I should have picked it up straight away.” He looked at me and my dumbfounded expression. I concentrated on his lips as he spoke.

“I’m into all kinds of science—that’s why I should’ve known.” He pointed to the first part of the clue. One) Of the heavens. “I’m sure the ‘one’ here isn’t meaning clue number one, but rather connects with the first bit. One of the heavens.” He looked at me, waiting until I gave him the cue to continue.

“Go on.”

“A constellation is sometimes defined as a section of the heavens, so I thought that’s what it had to be.”

That made sense. One of the heavens. Constellation. “Okay, which one? What does it mean?”

Jack’s hand started to twitch as it often did when he was excited. “Those numbers,” he pointed to the three sets of code, “are the names of the clusters that make up the constellation. I typed them into a search engine and found it forms Apus.”

I didn’t know too much about constellations—I could only point out the Plough and Cassiopeia if anyone asked me to.

I really hope no one asked.

Thankfully, Jack continued to explain. “Apus translates as bird of paradise.”

I frowned. “That’s it? That’s our first clue?” As I said the words, an idea formed in my head. Now it was my turn to get excited. “Could it be that she’s in an observatory? Somewhere where one could see Apus?”

Jack shook her head. “Unless they somehow shipped her off to the Dowrl version of New Zealand.” Huh? “Apus is a constellation in the Southern Hemisphere. You couldn’t see it from Drupes.”

Shit.

“We have to wait for the next clue, sorry.”

I sighed. “Maybe then we’ll have more of an idea.” Lying back on the bed and arching my body to reach into my jeans pocket, I pulled out the green threat card and handed it to him.

“What’s this?” Jack said, but his eyes were glued to my body.

“Whoever took Faye somehow shoved this into my bag. Is there anything there that you think could help us?”

Jack looked at the card and shuddered, but his eyes glowed. “I could break down the components of this paper and see what it’s made up of.”

I went to say ‘huh’ but he was off, talking more to himself than explaining to me.

I think.

“Different manufacturers use different woods and rosins. I could figure out who made this paper and then find out who they supply to. Maybe the shop has video coverage and we can find out who of our suspects bought it. Yes, yes.”

The guy was genius. I was about to tell him I thought it was an excellent idea, when his cheeks flushed red. “Oh my God. How embarrassing. Of course there’s a much easier way.” He looked up at me sheepishly, as if I’d already rumbled him. “We could just do a handwriting comparison. You’ve seen Avice’s writing, is it like this?”

I didn’t need another look at the writing to answer. “No, it isn’t. But we don’t have any samples of Beatrice or Rohesia’s writing.”

“True. But let’s see about Walter. We can play this a little by elimination.” He lifted the small laptop off his side table and placed it on the bed. I had to move my head in front of his shoulder to see the screen.

From here I could hear his heart galloping.

Or maybe it was my own.

He clicked on the mouse and the footage from Walter’s house came up. He fast-forwarded to the bit where he opened his will.

“How does Faye enlarge the shot?” He pressed a button, and the screen went blank. “Man, computers are a pain. How do I get it back?”

“Keep pressing buttons, maybe something will happen,” I suggested.

I had no idea how Faye did all this IT stuff, either.

“Have a feeling Faye would ban us from her computers forever if she’d heard that.”

Just as I lifted my head to speak, he moved down to study the laptop and my lips brushed over his check. For a split second we both froze before he tapped wildly at the keyboard. I completely forgot what I wanted to say.

“Hungry?”

Hungry? Where did that come from?

Not to mention the fact there was no way I could keep any food down.

Jack shook his head. “Don’t think I could stomach it.”

Great, that made it sound like all I wanted to do right now was scoff me some grub. My cheeks heated up. Quickly, I said, “Just try turning it off and on again.”

“One step ahead of you,” he said, and the corners of his lips turned up. But almost as soon as they had, his lips pressed into a thin line. He shuffled away from me and said, “How are we meant to act right now, Drake? It’s so confusing.”

Was he talking about Faye, or us? The answer I gave was true in either case. “I don’t know.”

He sighed. “I have a confession.”

The computer rebooted with a sound, but Jack put it back on the side table. He rubbed his palms over his jeans.

“What?” I asked.

“It’s about Faye. I think. . . it’s my fault.”

I waited for him to continue but it seemed like he wasn’t going to. “What do you mean, your fault?”

I could hardly see how Jack had something to do with it.

He breathed out, long, slow. “Because I made her come,” he said finally.

“What are you talking about?” If it was anyone’s fault, it would be mine. Like Terry said. If I hadn’t convinced her to come with me this morning, she would’ve stayed wrapped up in bed. My shoulders slumped. “How on earth do you think it’s your fault?”

“Because I made you make her come.”

Before I could ask him to clarify, he held his hand up to stop me from talking. “I knew it was you online last night, Drake. I saw Terry carrying Faye to bed when I got home. I pretended you were Faye because I was angry at you and I wanted you to know it.” Then, perhaps as an afterthought, or because I still hadn’t responded, he added, “I don’t actually talk to Faye about us. I wouldn’t do that.”

“When did you get home?” I asked.

“I waited for one bus after the one you guys took home. I wanted you to think I didn’t watch your gig.”

“So you saw it?” I couldn’t hide the happiness in my voice, and suddenly felt like I was betraying Faye by feeling so unbelievably good. I bit my tongue to keep me grounded.

“Of course I saw it. You were amazing.” His eyes lit up as he said it and I had to bite down until I tasted the metallic tang of blood between my teeth.

I couldn’t be happy right now.

“I was peeved you embarrassed me at the bar.” His voice rose, then leveled. “But that’s how it’s my fault. When you slipped and asked me about the execution, instead of admitting I knew it was you, I kept playing and asked if Terry was coming, too. I wanted to see how long you’d actually continue the charade. I’m sorry.”

His voice broke at the end.

I couldn’t think of anything to say. I shifted in my seat, trying not to concentrate on the fact he’d known it was me, and the butterflies that came with the thought. Jack sniffed, and I couldn’t stand it.

“It’s not your fault. Whoever kidnapped Faye is to blame. You did not choose this.”

By that reasoning, it wasn’t my fault, either.

Still, I couldn’t help feeling guilty.

Jack leaned back against the head board and I shimmied up so I was doing the same, our sides touching from shoulder, side, to foot. “Yeah, about the bartender thing. . . . It was totally out of line.”

He nudged my shoulder with his.

“I was just”—I scrubbed my hair—“jealous.”

I felt him stiffen as I said those words.

I jumped off the bed and picked up some of the papers that had fallen to the floor. “Cup of tea?”

“What’s with all this tea drinking, anyway?”

“If I tell you, you can’t get all smug.”

“Me, smug?” He chortled.

I glared.

“Fine, no smugness.”

“I’ve stopped smoking, cold turkey. But it turns out I need to end one addiction with another. But at least it’s not so bad for me. Tea, well, it kinda helps.”

“Kinda helps?” he asked, not even trying to cover the smugness in his voice.

“Well, I can think of better addictions,” I said, then quickly added, “but they aren’t going to happen.”

Jack blushed, and looking down, worried his bottom lip, but I could see the corners lift slightly, as if he tried to hold back a smile.

I cocked my head just enough to see more of his expression, but when he glanced up I felt my own cheeks warm, and quickly left the room.

 

* * *

 

I was surprised when I looked at the clock in my library and discovered it was close to midnight. I closed the book I was reading on the constellations (I was trying to get up to speed, so tomorrows clue would come easier), and walked back up to Jack’s room. Light spilled from his room into the darkened hall. I popped my head round the doorframe. “Hey, you should get some sleep. Need clear heads for the next clue.”

He waved me away and I went and got myself ready for bed. I was really warm, so I didn’t bother with a shirt and only wore a pair of dark blue boxers with cat paws over them.

I’d turned off all the lights and shut my curtains tightly, so I had to feel for the edges of the bed. Too many times I’d stubbed my toes or banged my shins into its legs.

The crispy sheets were welcoming, and at first it helped to cool me down, but then it seemed as if they were warming me up. I chucked one leg over the bedcovers.

Half an hour of tossing and turning later, I lay on my back and tried to count sheep. It had worked the last time, even if it did take into the three hundreds.

But there was no way my eyes were staying shut.

I slipped out of bed and opened one of the curtains letting in a little moonlight. Back in bed, I stared at the cracks in the ceiling paint. I shuddered, thinking how Faye’s room directly above mine had no one in it tonight.

I thought I heard a noise and turned my head to face my opened bedroom door. It had been too warm tonight to keep it shut.

Something creaked on the staircase.

“Sorry,” his voice wafted.

“Jack?” I whispered.

His outline popped into view at my door. I held my breath. He was wearing as much—or as little—as I was.

“Couldn’t sleep. I wanted to know if you wanted to get up and do some more research? Or go out to find Terry.”

I bunched over so half my bed was free and motioned him over.

“Terry will be back. We can’t do anything right now.”

He trundled over. There was a thunk and a string of curses. “Shiiiit!” Jack jumped up and down, clutching his shin.

I couldn’t hold back a smile.

“Seriously, you’re laughing?”

But his voice had gone soft again. He sat on top of the bed as though a little unsure of himself.

“I do it all the time,” I said, “Believe me, I sympathize. It’s also pretty funny.”

He shuffled further onto the bed, hitting my arm. I caught his arm, but instead of throwing him off, just held on. Our eyes moved from where we touched to each other’s face.

Jack pulled himself away. But not far.

“We fight a lot,” he said.

“I know.”

“You really do annoy me.”

“I know. You annoy me too.”

“But I don’t really know you.”

“Me, you, either.”

“I want to.”

I leaned back against my headboard. “As friends, right?”

I wasn’t sure, but I thought I caught him frown a second, and a small hopefulness built up inside. And even though he nodded, the hope stayed strong. A hint maybe not all was lost.

“Right,” he said.

I tugged a pillow out from behind me and chucked it to him. Then lay down on my side, facing him, watching as he lay back too. “What do you want to know?”

He thought for a moment, his eyes on me, smiling at me, making my heart beat so fast I wasn’t sure he couldn’t hear it.

“How’d you find this place?”

“I was drunk.”

“Drunk?”

“I needed a place to squat,” I told him. “For weeks I’d been drinking. Really drinking. There wasn’t a moment where I wasn’t drunk, hung-over or trying to get more alcohol.”

I searched Jack’s face for any sign of judgment, but there was nothing but genuine interest. So I continued, “That was when I found the house. Or maybe it found me, I’m still not sure. I staggered around the streets, falling over blue recycling boxes along the curbside, somehow managing not to spill any of the wine I cradled. It wasn’t pretty.” I shut my eyes. “Anyway, this house didn’t have any recycling sitting out front and the letterbox spat adverts on the grass. Seemed a good place to crash.”

 

I slept soundly that night. In the morning, sweating alcohol and battling a wicked throb in my head, I pulled myself up using the door handle.

The door seemed to groan, as if it were trying to beckon me in.

I rubbed my head. Jesus, I had to be hung over bad.

Then it spoke again, “Come in.”

“I get three wishes, right?” I said, laughing as I gripped the handle. But really, I was nervous. Pop. The door swung open and a gentle breeze momentarily cleared my head. The whisper came again, urging me further inside. A wicked rush of adrenalin pushed me down the hall.

On one door hung a yellow envelope. Seeing it, I swore under my breath. I felt like Aladdin about to meet the genie. I gulped. Drake, the envelope read.

With shaky hands, I ripped it open.

I breathed out. “That note, this house, changed my life. It protected me from myself. From what I was becoming.”

Jack was suddenly closer. Had he moved or had I? My gaze glanced to his lips. “I have to do everything in my power to return the favor. A funny little circle of dependency we now have on each other.”

I thought Jack was leaning forward, thought for a moment we’d kiss, but instead he said, “How long were you on the street?”

I shrugged. “On and off. Between foster care homes—or until I was caught and made to go to the next one.”

“Your parents?” he said tentatively, voice rising at the end as if he was questioning himself whether to ask.

“My real parents died in a car crash when I was two.”

There was a pause and a hesitant “Sorry.”

“I don’t remember them.”

“They had no family for you to go to?”

“Apparently not, or maybe I wouldn’t have ended up on the streets.”

“Were the other parents . . . were they bad to you?”

I thought about it a moment. “Not all of them, no. The first ones I had until I was twelve—they were both teachers and I felt like a real part of their family. Martha was the smartest woman I know, she taught me to read and write, made sure I got a good education. Tom knew everything about music—he taught me to play guitar.” I waved a hand to where I kept Marmalade across the room—“he gave me that when I turned twelve. Same birthday I’d saved enough pocket money to get Refused’s The Shape of Punk to Come. It was a great day, we stayed up all night strumming Billy Joel and making up shit.”

I felt the sigh before I heard it slipping from me. “But then Martha got pregnant and had her own child, and after the first year she and Tom divorced. She couldn’t handle the both of us on her own and Tom was off as a roadie somewhere. Eventually I was moved. I was too old for the others—I think they were glad when I ran off.”

“Oh, Drake,” Jack said, Adam’s apple jutting as he swallowed, “I’m so sorry.”

His hand drifted over, across my pillow to my face and with his knuckle he wiped away a tear I didn’t realize had fallen.

“Ask me something else,” I said, and he must have seen the need in my eyes because he nodded.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“No, not that, something real.”

He tucked an arm under his pillow, worrying his lips before asking, “Why did you start drinking?”

I rolled onto my back. I didn’t like thinking about that, but I wanted to tell him—be open. Finally start trusting myself to be honest about things—the way I felt.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You don’t have to say. Sleep well, Drake.” He shuffled and I snatched his arm before he could get off the bed.

“Stay?” I asked. “Stay with me tonight?”

I thought he might protest, and I was ready for it, but he didn’t. “Okay.”

He pulled the bed covers over us.

A fuzzy image of Raphael stabbed into my mind as memories whirled back to me, kicking me good in the gut.

“Raphael had been in bad shape,” I said, “He was my street-friend. We shared a bench. I’d tried to get him to reduce his drug intake, but he always got upset.

“‘It’s not that easy,’ he’d said.”

I twisted my head on the pillow, pushing it down to see Jack better. “I get that. If my addiction is bad, his was worse. Much worse. One day I found him on our bench convulsing.”

I yelled like a freaking madman. “Call the ambulance. Someone. Anyone.”

I grabbed onto Raphael, taking him into my arms. “Everything will be okay.”

He had to be. He would.

I yelled again. Why was nobody helping? “Please,” I cried out to a passerby. “We need an ambulance.”

The girl stepped away from us, but rang in the emergency.

“Dralov—”Raphael’s words came out garbled.

“What? What is it?”

He shook harder. “You’ll be alright.” I stroked his sweaty hair back from his face. “You’ll be just fine. Hang in there.”

But he wasn’t. He opened his mouth as if to say something when his head rolled back. The whites of his eyes showed as his eyelids twitched uncontrollably.

He was dead before the ambulance got there.

 

“There was no funeral; he had no family or friends except for me. I used what pennies I had to buy a small plant, then, after hours, snuck into the cemetery and planted it there in his memory.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack murmured. “Wish I could take some of the pain for you.”

I gulped. “Thank you.”

It was the rawest moment I’d ever had and Jack being next to me—it warmed me.

“Is it wrong?” I asked him, “This with you—it’s been nice. But Faye is out there, somewhere alone. On the one hand I feel terrible and I’m not really thinking of anything else, but then, there were moments today were I still wanted to smile—is it wrong?”

“It’s the only way to cope.” He felt for my hand and held it, squeezing once slightly. “We’ll get her out, Drake, we will.”

That’s how we stayed, talking quietly, sharing sweet and silly Faye stories for the next hour, until we conversation faded and we could shut our eyes.

I listened to his breathing slow and deepen. When I was sure he was asleep, I let myself drift off.

 

* * *

 

I woke up to the beeping of my alarm clock, sounding suspiciously like Terry had in my dream. It was seven in the morning and Jack had already left. I put my arm on his side of the bed and felt the sheets. They were cold, he must have left a while ago.

Stretching my arms above my head, I kicked the blankets away and jumped out of bed. I grabbed a clean black tee-shirt and pulled on my jeans. I didn’t bother to do my hair, who cared anyway?

Jack had showered and was also wearing jeans. His hair was still dripping wet, leaving splash marks on his white tee. He filled the kettle, flicked the switch and turned to see me.

“Oh.” Was that ‘oh’ in surprise or an ‘oh’ in disappointment? “Hope I didn’t wake you?”

I snorted. “Isn’t that your forte?” Okay, I knew that was smart aleck like and what-not, but I just couldn’t help it! “Nah, had the alarm set. Wanted to get onto the next clue.”

He smiled briefly. Then, pointing at Faye’s small laptop at the table, said, “You can check and I’ll make us some tea.” His eyes were kind and encouraging. “Would you like to have an Earl Grey? We’re out of English Breakfast.”

“Man, I hope this is a strong enough addiction to break my smoking habit,” I complained with a tight smile.

“Is it hard? Do you want to smoke?”

I sat in front of the laptop. “It’s not easy. I crave it. It’s like I have an itch, but can’t scratch it. And when I try to ignore it, it gets crazy unbearable. All I want to do is just itch it once, because then it will be okay. But I know the moment I touch it, I’ll be sucked into it all over again.” I gave him a crooked smile. “Earl Grey will do fine.”

But he looked at me as if he didn’t believe it.

“You said you could think of better addictions . . . Why don’t you try them if you don’t think tea will work?”

Good thing I didn’t have the tea already, I’d have snorted it out my nose.

“As much as I think I might like that. It’s not going to happen.”

He frowned, but thankfully let it go. I opened the laptop screen when the doorbell rang. Faye’s doorbell. Jack and I stared at each other a second, both of us confused, then I was flying down the stairs, breathing heavily when I swung open her door and –

“Oh, Detective Wurz.”

“I’m here to find out about the stand of the case.”

My brows pushed together and I was about to ask him to explain when my eye caught on the red and white striped ribbon cordoning off the property. It hung loosely around the fence. Detective Wurz would have had to duck under it to get in.

He must have seen my eyes boggle, because he nodded his head. “They destroy house Saturday.”

But that was only a few days away! How were we going to save it in time?

“I can still help,” he continued. “If you have jewel.”

Jack spoke up behind me, “We don’t have it, yet.” The ‘yet’ sounded doubtful.

I knew it wasn’t the Detective’s fault, but I wanted to punch the guy, tell him to fuck off and leave us alone. We had enough to deal with without . . . I looked coldly into his eyes and thought I saw a flicker of fright in them.

I looked at his physique—he was the same height as me but frailer. I could definitely take him out.

Jack pulled me back and asked Detective Wurz to wait a moment.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed at me.

“I haven’t done anything.”

Yet.

“Your fists are tight balls. You want to fight.” He sounded disappointed. “He’s not the guy who kidnapped Faye or the person responsible for destroying our house; he’s the only beacon of light we have to save it.” He slapped my chest. “Pull yourself together.”

He went back and opened the door. “We’re close to figuring it out. We just need a little bit more time.”

Detective Wurz looked at me briefly, then answered Jack, “You have 24 hours.” He turned and strode off.

“They’re an hour ahead,” I said, “so in British time we have to have it solved by eight tomorrow morning.”

Jack shut the door. “What do you think’ll happen to the rest of the house if Faye’s part is destroyed?”

I didn’t have any answer to that question.

“I sincerely hope we don’t find out.” It could have an effect on the rest of the house, but maybe her floor will somehow just cease to exist.

As we approached the staircase, a whirling wind soared through the house. Jack and I looked at each other and at the same time said, “Terry’s home.”

We descended the staircase and met Terry leaning his head against the banister.

He looked terrible. Eyes frantic with yellowy-grey bags—the only color on his pale face. He rubbed both hands over his face as if to scrub some life back into him, instead it made him look broken.

“Hey man,” I put a hand on his shoulder and he looked up sharply.

“Found out what the clues mean?” he said.

“We’re just about to work on the second. How about you go lie down while we figure it out?”

“Fuck sleeping. I can’t sleep until she’s back. I really need to know she’s safe.” He stormed down the stairs to his floor.

We let him go and went back to the kitchen. I pressed the power button on the laptop, tapping the table as if it would hurry the machine up.

“As much as I dislike it,” I said, “we’re going to have to continue our investigation. At least, we have to make sure we haven’t missed anything from what we’ve gathered so far.”

Jack handed me a cup of tea and I took a little sip as a way of saying thanks.

“I want you to concentrate on the clue to finding Faye.”

“Hold on a sec.” Jack left and when he came back, he carried a pile of paper. “Here.” He handed it to me and reached into his pocket and pulled out a yellow marker. “In case you need to highlight and stuff.” He sat down. “Let’s see what today’s clue is.”

He leant across me to type into the laptop. The close proximity sent pleasant chills through me. I moved my arm ever so slightly that it brushed against his; when our skin touched it was like receiving an electric shock. Current whizzed through me until all the little hairs stood on end.

This effect would do oh-so-much-better than tea.

Jack stared at the screen, yet to type in his password. His face flushed and he hummed.

“Forgotten your password?”

“Look away?”

“Think I’m going to use it and read all your mail? Come on! I’m not that guy.”

Hmm, except for the fact I took Avice’s diary. But, generally . . .

He laughed nervously. “Sure you wouldn’t. Turn your head.” Reluctantly, I looked away as his fingers plodded on the keys. I didn’t see the harm in knowing her password. Faye was allowed to hack into our emails all the time, and I was hardly going to do that.

“It’s in,” he said and I peered back at the screen. “Clue two.” He double clicked on the subject.

The email itself was composed of five words:

Like a prisoun simulating nature.

“Hop off, give me the chair,” Jack demanded and I did as he said. “Sit opposite and figure out who stole the jewel. We are low on time here.”

I shoved the pile of paper to the other side of the table and picked up my tea. The clue rebounded off all sides of my head and I tried to push it out the way to focus on the Red Eye mystery. Jack was certain to figure it out alone. “Hey, did you do a cross check of Walter’s handwriting against the green card yesterday?”

Jack shook his head. “Got distracted. And of course the computer crashed. I’ll check on that after I’m done with this clue.”

I set up the five different piles; Jack had crisscrossed each pile so they stayed separate. I liked how practical he was. Four piles were themed by suspect and the fifth pile was the threats we’d received and the clues we had so far. He’d attached the green card with a paperclip to the first email.

Picking up the Avice audio transcript, I shuffled back on the bench and read.

“Thanks again for the gift, Avice. I just love Mozart. You have no idea how much it excites me that you’re also a fan. We’re just two peas—”

“—in a pod,” Avice laughs. “Nervous?”

 

I flicked to the next one. I’d read it so many times, I probably knew it inside out.

Avice: ‘How much longer?’

Walter: ‘Not long. You’ll see. Don’t worry.’

Avice: (nod) ‘Don’t you think mum should know? So she’d understand? If she found out any other way...’

Walter: ‘If she finds out... Don’t explain it, she wouldn’t understand. But if you have to tell her, tell her after.’

(Moment jewel disappears) Avice: ‘After! She’ll be enraged!’

Walter: ‘It’s almost all done!’

 

I was missing something in those words, but I still had no idea what. You can’t always trust an actor. The words rung like a warning bell in my head. I scanned down the page. At the bottom was Jerry’s proposal to Avice.

Jerry: ‘Dance with me?’... ‘You move so gracefully.’

Avice: ‘Only because you lead so well. With anyone else I’d only be a klutz.’

Jerry: ‘I like dancing with you to our favorite songs.’

Avice: ‘I want to keep dancing with you like this forever.’

Jerry: ‘Good. Because... I want to be the only name on your dance card.’...‘Avice Ballard-Cardon, will you marry me?’

Avice: ‘Yes, Yes.’

 

Jack drummed his foot against the floor and the table jiggled. He must be on to something. I looked at him at the same time he glanced up.

“Do we have a map of Drupes?” he said.

“Sure. I’ll grab it for you.” I ran to the library, and from a stack of books about Dowrl and sound-based magic, I picked up the map of Drupes. Underneath was the tea-towel-like Drupes Herald. I took that too.

I handed Jack the map, in his concentration, he teased his bottom lip, it looked red and raw and I wanted to do something about it. Something soft, sensual. Quickly, I buried my head in Beatrice’s’ file.

“Drake!”

“Yeah?” I said, refusing the urge to look up.

“I’ve figured it out! I know where Faye is.”