Deadwood (26 page)

“You call those principles?” Martin said. He edged forward, angling his shoulder in front of Hannah protectively. “You're destroying a whole town.”

“This town was going down the sewer long ago, and I'm just making sure someone benefits from it—me. Martin, who has the power to change things around here? Jenna Blitzer, with her environmental fairydust? Or me, with the power of the universe behind me?” Michelle looked at him with mixed pity and disgust.

“You can twist the power for a little while, but you don't rule it, Aunt Michelle,” said Martin, his voice tense with rage and his face as red as Hannah had ever seen it. Even his hair vibrated. “The Spirit Tree is alive. It has its own power.”

“Its power
is
mine, Martin. I took it and I own it,” she said, a vein in her temple pulsing. “That tree has been channeling the little bit of power this town has straight to me ever since I carved the runes on it—just like the ancient practitioners of the Saligia rules. And every year, everyone who marks it has been reinforcing my hold.”

“You're stealing the town's life. It's not yours.” Martin shook his head.

“Power belongs to anyone with the guts to grab it.” Michelle raised her chin and squared her shoulders, as if she was challenging Martin. She was taller than he was—taller than Hannah, even. “And I've been more than fair. I introduced Seven Sigma into Junior Executives of Tomorrow and the Brynwood Estates Community Association. I started Junior JET. And I've helped Jake Laughlin and everyone else who complied with me in the Brynwood Estates Community Association. If you play along, you benefit. I'm even helping you all get a new stadium—I'm the one who convinced Horizon Network Communications to fund the building.”

“Why?” Martin asked, throwing back his own shoulders. “Why do you care about some dumb stadium? Why does Horizon?”

“Cell phones, of course. The new bleachers will be a giant transmission tower. Horizon gives money for construction. As Horizon vice-president, I get the credit for improving community relations. Horizon gets naming rights and a rentfree, exclusive fifty-year lease on the tower. The new signal will reach all the way to Upper Brynwood.”

“Jake didn't say anything about that at the football game,” Hannah said.

“Of course not,” said Michelle, turning to Hannah and giving her a stiff half smile, until she saw the anger in Hannah's eyes, too. “Oh, grow up. Everyone wants a new sports stadium, but you always end up with a few nutjobs like Jenna squawking about cell phone towers interfering with bat navigation or causing brain cancer. Collateral damage. That's why Jake made the announcement for the stadium, and not the superintendent or me—to deflect attention from the connection with Horizon and the cell phones. Of course, to keep that news from slipping out, we didn't tell Jake everything.”

“But what about the Spirit Tree?” Martin broke in. “Why do you have to kill it?”

“Trees were good enough at transmitting power for the ancient practitioners of the Answer, but it's time to upgrade the technology,” Michelle said. “I'm too strong now—a pile of sticks can't do the job. And Lower Brynwood is dried up—I need energy from Upper Brynwood, and that's just the beginning. The tree's last job will be fueling the transfer of my power to the stadium itself.”

“That's what you think,” Martin said, triumph in his eyes. “You're wrong. Jenna Blitzer has the Lower Brynwood Historical Commission on the tree's side. They've declared it an historical Witness Tree. By this time tomorrow, it'll be protected by a restraining order.”

Michelle's face reddened and she and Martin stared at each other, each flaring their nostrils like bulls about to charge each other. Then her eyelids flickered, as if she was thinking to herself, and she seemed to pull herself together, the line between her eyes flattening and her face becoming a mask once more. Without speaking, she left the room, clacked across the foyer, and grabbed the front-door knob with one hand while reaching into her jacket pocket with the other.

Hannah and Martin looked at each other—was Michelle retreating? Was she admitting defeat? Had they really won?

Michelle swung the door open and raised her car keys with a flourish. Then they heard the beep of a car alarm disengaging. “Who's protecting the tree right now?” she said, spitting the taunt over her shoulder, not bothering to shut the door.

Martin and Hannah stormed through it, their shoulders bumping. Michelle backed up the SUV, but Martin threw himself behind the moving car. He planted himself behind the bumper, feet wide and his facing glowing bright in the car's reverse lights. Hannah gasped when the car stuttered backwards, inches away from Martin's legs.

Michelle rolled down the window.

“I'm going for a walk in the woods,” she said. “Move, Martin. Your mom's recovery might take a setback if she hears you had a tragic car accident while out running.”

“She's bluffing,” Hannah said, hoping it was true. Martin stepped aside.

“So was I. I don't want to get run over,” he said. Michelle gave a nasty wave as she rolled out of the parking lot.

“What do we do now?” Hannah asked, nearly wailing.

“We know where she's going—to the Spirit Tree,” said Martin. He seemed calm now, and when Hannah looked at him, she felt clearer, too. “But she's driving, and traffic right now is all jammed up. With all the cul-de-sacs in Brynwood Estates and all the detours from broken trees and sewers, there's no direct route.”

“Unless you know the shortcuts. Do you think we can get there before her?” Hannah asked.

“We can try.”

They looked at each other, and Martin smiled.
So this is what we were training for
, Hannah thought as they took off running.

34

Confrontation

T
he sky darkened. This wasn't just twilight—a storm came out of nowhere, clouds tumbling into existence before Martin's eyes. He and Hannah sped up, synchronized in step, breathing in time. Neither spoke—there was nothing to say, and they were going too fast, anyway.

When they reached Brynwood Park, Aunt Michelle's SUV was parked at an angle by the side of the road, headlights still on.

Hannah ducked onto the path first. The woods were dark, except where the tops of the trees caught a glint of light before the sun sank behind the ridge of houses. Martin looked up—despite the setting sun, the sky directly overhead was black. That was no ordinary cloud.

Aunt Michelle stood next to the tree, stabbing the mud with her spiky heels and brandishing something sharp in her hand. She sneered at them, and the tool in her hand buzzed to life. Martin recognized the tiny pink saw that had seemed so ridiculous in her garden tote. It didn't seem ridiculous now. He felt rage swelling in his chest. He wanted to hurt her.

“Stay away,” Aunt Michelle said, waving the saw toward them. “I'm warning you now.”

Martin surged forward. Hannah hauled him back toward her and spoke into his ear. “She can't possibly cut the tree down with that little saw, but she could do a lot of damage to you.”

Martin nodded. Aunt Michelle would use his anger if he let her, but he was smarter than she was. He called out, “Come on, Aunt Michelle. I know you won't hurt me. You agreed to take care of me.”

“More or less. I thought having a displaced Army brat living with me would help my image. Nurturing and patriotic, too—the perfect combination when I run for Congress.”

“Congress?” Martin asked. He imagined Aunt Michelle in Washington—how much evil could she do with the whole Federal government at her disposal?

“Why not? I have the Seven Sigma—the Saligia rules. The ancient Answer to success—demand what you want, and the universe provides it. Do you think someone like me could be satisfied as president of a community association?”

“I don't understand,” Hannah said, but Martin was sure she knew exactly what she was saying. “If you destroy the tree, doesn't your hold on the town end?”

Aunt Michelle buzzed the saw again. “The tree is a conduit—it's the transmitter that makes power flow. You know what works even better? Money.
Avaritia
. Every dollar we earn from selling off the tree transfers its power to the stadium it built. Money is power.”

“You can't do that,” Martin said. “If you cut down the tree now, you can't auction it off in public. The fundraiser's ruined. You're breaking the law.”

“I don't need the whole tree, Martin. Enough money will flow into the stadium, with or without the fundraiser. The most important piece of the puzzle is the rune itself—the Seven Sigma. Remember the time capsule we're dedicating in the stadium with a section of the Spirit Tree? Which inscription did you think we were going to include inside?”

“That's how you were going to transfer the curse to the stadium,” Martin said. The runes were going to become part of the transmission tower.

Aunt Michelle bared her teeth. “Why do you call it a curse? It's a blessing.” She powered the saw again, its tiny motor thrumming, then held it above the carving that had first gotten Hannah's attention. Hannah had been right—the sigmas were the key all along.

“No!” Hannah yelled. The saw's teeth tore through living wood. Aunt Michelle chanted something over the din that Martin couldn't understand. Then he realized it wasn't English at all.

“Superbia, avaritia, luxuria, invidia, gula, ira, acedia.”

The wind whipped up, and Aunt Michelle's hair snaked around her face. She spoke louder.
“Superbia, avaritia, luxuria, invidia, gula, ira, acedia.”

The saw splintered the wood as it tore through the last bit of bark.

Aunt Michelle silenced the power tool, but the wind still roared. “That's that.” She held up the flayed bit of bark, peering at them through the carving as if it were a grotesque mask.

S
IGMA SIGMA SIGMA SIGMA SIGMA SIGMA SIGMA
. S
ALIGIA
RULES
.

“You lost, kids.”

Hannah ran to the tree and placed her hand on the raw wound in the tree's side. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry.”

Aunt Michelle clucked her tongue. “I know it hurts. Use that pain. If I hadn't lost the class president election, I wouldn't have joined the Spirit Club and Junior Executives of Tomorrow, and none of this would have happened. You're welcome to accompany Martin at our meetings anytime.” Martin felt as if she'd slapped him when she said his name. His anger flared—he didn't know how much longer he could contain it. “Grudges are not part of the Seven Sigma. Well, some argue that grudges are a subset of wrath, but I save my wrath for those I haven't defeated. And you two are definitely losers.”

“I'm never going back there,” Martin said, the vow bitter but calm.

“You
are
wrathful, aren't you?” she said, throwing the saw to the ground. She dug in her giant handbag until she pulled out a Ziploc bag that still held a few rice-cake crumbs. She dumped the fragile bark in and sealed the bag with a flourish. “At least you learned something from me.”

He wiped away angry tears before they could fall, then placed his hand on Hannah's, resting on the damp wood of the Spirit Tree. His fingers sparked with electricity when he touched her, his life force humming in tune with hers. He felt the strength of his anger transforming into something greater, a powerful force that flowed from his hand to hers, then into the bleeding wound in the bark.

Hannah seemed to be listening to the tree, but he couldn't hear anything. The hard core of anger loosened in his chest, and Martin spoke aloud. He didn't feel stupid. He felt strong. He knew exactly what to say. “O mighty tree, answer us.”

A letter on the bark lit up, inches from Hannah's face, lighting her blonde hair in a golden halo.

The tree's answer flashed out.

T
HE
BAD
ONE
FREED
ME
.

Martin glanced at Aunt Michelle, who was still gloating. She hadn't picked up the message, but he understood in a flash of comprehension. Aunt Michelle thought she would gain power when she cut the rune off, but she was wrong. She had unknowingly released her hold over the Spirit Tree. She couldn't use it anymore. She didn't control it.

F
REE
, the tree spelled again.

N
OW
HEAL
ME
.

The dark sky blazed. Hannah placed her other hand on Martin's, and he stacked his on top. Moments before, the Spirit Tree had been nearly depleted and empty. With the runes gone, it felt alive. Martin felt energy surge through him—from him, from Hannah, from the electron-charged air—and into the tree. Life rushed back into the tree, like a torrent of water once a dam has broken. It didn't hurt—it flowed through them, as natural as the blood in his veins, as soft as the warmth of the sun, but inside his nerves instead of on his skin. Martin and Hannah gave the tree its life force back.

Pure light rained from the dark clouds above, rolling into the leaves and somehow being absorbed. Each twig and root lit up, lacy and bright against the black sky and dark earth. In the glow Martin saw Aunt Michelle watching, too, her triumph gone. She looked frightened, and scrambled backwards until she stumbled and collapsed in the dirt.

The light faded. The beech's silvery bark had sealed over the gaping wound where Aunt Michelle had hacked at the tree. The only sign that she had mutilated it was a smooth spot amid the tangle of inscriptions.

“The letters!” Hannah cried. The other carvings began to glow, and she and Martin stepped back to read the message that lit up in the letters. They broke physical contact with the tree, but Martin still felt connected through the stream of energy rushing between them.

Martin read aloud as each word was completed.