Awakening (Book One of The Geis) (9 page)

“Come on Zoey, let’s go.”

“I don’t want to go. I want to stay for the bonfire,” Zoey said, but she stood and trudged along behind me.

We walked toward the car, the sound of the band fading as we left the field. I shivered in my thin t-shirt, pressing Benji closer for warmth. When the sun went down, it pulled all of the heat away with it.

People headed past us, going to and from the concessions stand that had stayed open for the dance. Soon the band would pack up, but the teenagers would stay around the bonfire until early in the morning. Part of me wanted to stay with Christa, but I felt tired and used up.

Benji was sound asleep by the time I reached the fence that marked off the makeshift parking lot. He was heavy, and I adjusted him so that his head was resting on my shoulder.

It was difficult to see in the dark so far from the bonfire, and with the baby’s head partially blocking my vision, I bumped into a group of boys who were heading back to the dance, food in hand.

I stumbled, and caught myself.

“Hold on, watch out there.” Lucas steadied me with one hand, catching his nachos before they hit the ground.

“Sorry.” I said, hyper aware of his hand on my arm. I tried to think of something cute to say, but how can a person be cute while holding her baby brother?

“I want some nachos, ‘Kayla.” Zoey whined.

Lucas squinted at me. “Oh hey, McKayla, I didn’t recognize you in the dark.”

“Hi,” I squirmed.

“You leaving already?” Lucas walked backward. His friends were leaving without him.

“Yeah, my mom needs my help.” I tried to think of something more I could say. “How did you do on the Geometry test?”

“’Kayla, can’t I have some nachos too?”

I turned to shush Zoey. Lucas’s friends called for him to catch up.

“Geometry? Yeah, that test was a doozy. See you around.” He flashed me a grin and jogged after the others.

“Is that your friend?” Zoey asked.

I didn’t answer. Lucas joined the crowd around the bonfire. My shadow stretched away from me into the darkness.

“Mrs. Saddlebury was jogging in the park?” Aunt Avril darted around the kitchen, looking for something. “Why would she drive all the way into Afton to go for a jog in the park?”

“I don’t know what she was talking to Zoey about, but I don’t like it,” I said.

Aunt Avril stood still in the middle of the kitchen. She put one finger up and opened the cupboard above the fridge. Her purse sat inside, next to the boxes of cereal. Striding to the door, she motioned for me to follow.

I hollered to Mom to let her know I was going out, and climbed in Aunt Avril’s car before she rocketed out of our driveway.

“Where are we going?”

“It’s time that we pay Mrs. Saddlebury another visit. I’m going to ask her some questions.” Aunt Avril put her hand on my arm. “I want you to pay attention to her emotions, just like you did with Betsy. Maybe we can find out something that will connect her to the other murders.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” The first time I’d tuned in to Mrs. Saddlebury’s emotions hadn’t been pleasant. An image in my mind of Taminy, sitting in the dirt, reminded me that I still wasn’t good at sorting out my own emotions from those around me. If Mrs. Saddlebury got angry with us, would I be able to stay calm? “I don’t have a good handle on the whole emotion-thing yet.” I told Aunt Avril about my run-in with Taminy at the park.

“This is good!” Aunt Avril’s hair bounced as she whipped between looking at my face and keeping an eye on the road. “This means you are becoming more aware of your ability. You need to concentrate on what you are feeling, and learn to discern when those feelings come from you, and how you should—” Aunt Avril stopped mid-sentence and slowed the car, her face forward in concentration. She did a U-turn and parked in front of a brick building with a hand-painted sign above the door that read, ‘Smith’s Seconds’.

“I’ll have to feel it out, but I’m pretty sure that Mrs. Saddlebury has been here, and recently. Let’s look around.” Aunt Avril stepped up to the building and peered in one of the two small windows that were packed with knick-knacks and curios. An antique bicycle parked next to the door. When we walked in, a chime announced our arrival to the absent cashier.

I wrinkled my nose and took a shallow breath. The air smelled sweet and stuffy. Antiques and jumbles of souvenirs crowded every inch of the store. Stacks of books balanced precariously against each other in the corners. Wooden cuckoo clocks, framed cross-stitched sayings, and battered tin plates lettered with advertisements of products long forgotten, overcrowded the walls.

Aunt Avril weaved past the empty cashier’s desk to a glass case full of tiny glass figurines, and animals made out of stone. “I’ve never seen such a collection of fetishes.” Her eyes searched the assortment eagerly.

I wandered into the next room and found myself in a costume emporium. Hand-laced sweaters and beaded blouses adorned the walls next to racks of old-fashioned skirts. A pair of black boots with rows of tiny buttons nestled in a box underneath a rack of feather-topped hats and pearl necklaces. Now this I could be excited about. With a little shoe polish, those boots would look great with jeans.

I turned over the price tag attached with string to the old-fashioned boots. Dang. I’d expected the price to be high, but the amount was ridiculously out of my price range.

“You can rent them.” The voice came from behind me.

I jumped, turning to find a lady in glasses observing me. She wore slacks and a blue silk blouse. I wasn’t sure what I expected the owner of the store to look like—not this average, pleasant-faced woman.

“Thanks. I’m just looking,” I said.

Her eyes settled on the Celtic knot from Aunt Avril that I had strung on a necklace around my neck.

“I have something you may like.” She strode out of sight into the next clothing-packed room. I didn’t know if I should follow her, so I stayed in the costume room. Aunt Avril paced in the entryway, talking on her phone.

“Here is a gown I’ve saved for a discerning eye.” The owner returned, lifting the hanger of a dress and cradling the skirt of it with her other hand.

I fell in love with the dress as soon as I saw it. The satiny fabric appeared burnt orange one moment, and the next an olive green. A strip of terracotta orange velvet accentuated the empire waistline perfectly, lacing down the back and ending in a long bow, where the fabric pooled on the floor. Citrine and amber beads decorated the ruched bodice, and sheer sleeves draped the length of the dress. I glanced at the price tag. It was way too expensive for my job-less budget.

“Thank you for showing it to me,” I told the storeowner.

She didn’t move, probably thinking that if she held it up to me long enough, I wouldn’t be able to resist it.

“It’s lovely.” Aunt Avril stood behind me, looking at the dress. She held a ceramic deer in her palm. “Can I purchase this?” The storeowner put the plastic on the dress and hung it on the nearest rack. While Aunt Avril checked out, I pried my eyes away from the satiny material and looked through a collection of faded books.

“Did a Mrs. Saddlebury come in here earlier today?” Aunt Avril asked.

“It’s been busy today. I can’t say for sure.”

“She has platinum blonde hair, almost white, and she might have a stud right here.” Aunt Avril pointed to her right nostril.

“Yes, there was a woman with white hair in here this morning. Very nice. She asked to see every piece of aquamarine in the store, and ended up purchasing my entire gemstone collection, a handful of jewelry, and my authentic dragon figurine.”

“You didn’t notice anything unusual about her coming in?”

“No. But I was certainly pleased to sell such a fine piece.”

“How fortunate.” Aunt Avril held up her own bagged purchase. “Thank you so much for your help.”

We stepped out the door and I filled my lungs with fresh air, glad to be out of the enclosed space. The mountains stretched in front of me from one end of the valley to the other.

“I was right,” Aunt Avril said as we got into the car. “While we were in there the results of the autopsy came back. The tiny bones in Mr. Saddlebury’s ears were out of place. His death was caused by sound pressure. The bones in his ears punctured his brain.”

“Wow.” I really didn’t think that there would be a connection between Mr. Saddlebury and the other victims in Aunt Avril’s investigation. But the fact that his death was also related to ear damage seemed too much of a coincidence.

“What do we do now?” I asked.

“I need evidence that Mrs. Saddlebury is connected to her husband’s murder, and the others.” Aunt Avril pinched her lips between her teeth. “But I’m leaving you out of this. If Mrs. Saddlebury suspects that we know as much as we do, things could get dangerous, fast.”

I didn’t say anything. My mind raced, searching for an answer. I was determined to help Aunt Avril get to the bottom of this.

I pulled my hoodie over my head and leaned into the wind, chilled before I walked the few yards from the parking lot to the school.

Mom had kept me busy the past couple of days, helping fill special orders for autumn and Halloween. Boxes of caramel apples and pumpkin-shaped cookies filled every shelf and countertop in the house.

In between dance and schoolwork, I studied the pictures in my sign language dictionary and taught words to a willing Zoey. The next time I saw Rourke, I would talk to him in his own language.

Warm air ushered me into the school, the artificial lighting bright in contrast to the gray autumn weather outside. I shivered inside the gym door, watching the tap class finish up. The room was humid with the heat of dancing bodies and it didn’t take me long to warm up. Rhythmic tapping echoed across the floor, and I beat the steps out in my head.

Ms. Slannon dismissed the class, and the girls crowded next to me, stripping off their shoes while I tied mine on.

I pulled a CD labeled
hornpipe
in magic marker out of my dance bag. My heels clicked on the floor as I stepped around the dancers to where Ms. Slannon laughed with a few stragglers.

“And how is McKayla doing this evening?” Ms. Slannon winked and took the CD out of my hands. She slipped it into the player and clapped to the dancers who were scattered around the room, some waiting at the door for their parents, others getting their ballet shoes on for our advanced ballet class. “Girls, pay attention. McKayla is going to dance an Irish jig.”

I raised my eyebrows at Ms. Slannon. When I’d asked if she could watch what I’d learned so far, an audience wasn’t exactly what I’d had in mind. Ms. Slannon laughed.

“The practice will be good for you. Now go ahead.”

Ms. Slannon shooed me to the center of the gym and started the music. I squeezed my fists at my sides, my back straight and unmoving—like the dancers in the online tutorial I imitated. The music jump-started my heart, and I held the first step in my mind, ready to dance. The steps of the hornpipe came naturally, but the watchful faces of the girls I danced with threw me off. I missed a step.

Tip-down, tip-down, shuffle hop back.
I fell into the rhythm, and soon forgot about the girls.

When the second half began, I relaxed, falling into the dance and letting my body take over what it had learned. In the back of my mind I could feel everyone’s eyes on me, but I no longer cared. The music and movement immersed my senses, filling me with the familiar rush that comes when I can express myself through dance.

The sound of my steps echoed back to me. The energy flowed from somewhere deep within. I focused on the feeling of confidence and contentment, allowing myself to drift to that place where nothing else mattered.

Christa had come in while I danced, and now she leaned against the wall, smiling at me when I finished. The girls from the tap class clapped for me before rushing outside to waiting parents.

Ms. Slannon squeezed my shoulders. “That was wonderful,” she whispered as the smattering of appreciation died away.

I looked past her, noticing Rourke near the outside exit, garbage bags in hand. Leaves blew swirling eddies around him as the door shut behind him.

“I think your Irish dance number would be a welcome addition to the Christmas program.” Ms. Slannon clapped toward the waiting dancers, “Shoes on, girls, let’s get going.”

“Can I be excused for a minute?” I asked. Ms. Slannon nodded her approval and I slipped off my tap shoes and made a beeline for the door.

Christa caught up to me before I made it outside.

“If that’s the same dance you found on YouTube, you’ve been working hard on it.”

“Yeah, it is. Thanks.” I pushed open the door. A gust of frigid air blew past us into the gym. “Hold on, I’ll be right back.”

“You can’t go out in bare feet.”

“I’ll be fast.” I didn’t give Christa a chance to answer. I propped the door open with one tap shoe, and scanned the grounds for Rourke. I spotted him dumping bags of leaves into the dumpster—the lizard standing sentry beside him.

“Rourke!” I called against the wind.

He lifted his head at the sound of my voice, a scowl on his face. For a moment, teaching myself to Irish dance sounded preferable to asking the irritable janitor.

Before I could change my mind, I brought my hands in front of me and forced them to sign the words I spoke out loud.

“Please,” I began with a circular motion, “Will you teach me to dance?” My hands tingled, and I let them fall to my sides.

Rourke watched my attempt at communication, and went right back to tossing the garbage bags. The lizard regarded me with wary eyes and a flick of its tongue. I stuck my tongue out in return.

“I love to dance,” I tried again, fumbling with the newness of speaking with my hands. “Will you teach me to dance?”

Rourke ignored me, hefting bags into the dumpster until there were none left on the ground. I was starting to think that his hearing was impaired as well as his speech.

“I’m trying to talk with you!” I shouted over the wind.

Rourke spun from the dumpster and limped to me, one finger raised in front of my face. He leaned so close that I could see the gray turbulence of his eyes, like roiling storm clouds. Anguish and frustration slammed into me with the force of a hurricane. I stifled a sob.

I could have run for the safety of the gym—most sane people would. But I had been waiting for this moment. My desire to learn dance from this man was greater than my fear of him. Remembering how Rourke could dance, I stood still, willing myself to stare back at him.

Rourke dropped his finger and straightened. He studied my face and nodded his head once.

“Yes?” I said, forgetting to sign. Raindrops pricked my bare skin. I shivered. “Does that mean you will teach me?”

Rourke spoke with his hands, his face red, his mouth pinched.

“I don’t know much sign language,” I stammered, backing away. “I’ve been practicing so that I can speak to you, but I don’t understand.”

The lizard darted between us, wrapping his tail around Rourke’s feet. I stepped back. Rourke gave me a sharp look.

“This lizard, is it yours?” I pointed at the reptile.

Rourke regarded me before raising his chin to the affirmative.

I couldn’t imagine how he got permission to bring a pet lizard to work with him. But if he would teach me to Irish dance, he could bring a fire-breathing dragon.

I looked back to the school where the other girls were warming up. “If Ms. Slannon says it’s okay, could you teach me in the gym after classes next week?”

Rourke nodded.

“Thank you,” I signed, unable to contain the smile that snuck onto my face. I continued walking backward for a few steps, and then ran back to the warmth of the gym, leaving Rourke and his lizard standing like statues in the drizzling rain.