Shadow Train (47 page)

Aimee grabbed his hand and Raphael, still holding her other hand, grabbed Dalton, who grabbed Nass. “Let's go,” she said, and they slipped back to the tunnel mound in Middleburg. The last thing they heard was Azaziel's thunderous roar of rage.

* * *

When they'd finished materializing back in their own normal world, Nass laughed. “Wow!” he said. “We've literally been to hell and back. That was wild.”

“Yeah,” Dalton said. “You did it, Aimee. Let's go home.”

They all started walking away, except Orias. When Aimee looked back, she was surprised to see that all his wounds were healed—but his eyes still looked tortured.

“Aimee, wait,” said Orias and he sounded sincere, Aimee thought. Not arrogant, like he usually did. “I promised restitution, and I want to start with you. How can I make you know how truly sorry I am for what I did to you? I did love you—I still do—and I've lost you. I think that's the worst punishment I'll ever have. I will never feel anything more painful than losing you, but letting you go—I guess that's my first step at making things right. I can never thank you enough for standing by me.”

She smiled. “Just go home—and have a good life,” she said.

“Uh . . . there's just one small problem with that,” said Nass, and they all looked at him. “His house blew up. It was the only one that wasn't restored after the battle. He's got nowhere to go.”

After a moment of silence, Dalton spoke up. “Oh . . . all
right,
” she said. “My grandma would skin me alive if I didn't offer him shelter. We've always got room for one more. Come on, Orias—but be prepared. She's a real stickler for that restitution thing. She'll be on your case twenty-four seven.”

They all laughed and walked down the tracks together.

Chapter 32

Four days later, Maggie was walking up
to Hilltop Haven with Aimee. Aimee and her mom had been staying at Maggie's house, and it was such a beautiful day, they'd decided to walk home from Emory's funeral instead of catching a ride with the guys in the Beetmobile. The Flatliners and their families had all attended and even the Toppers were there to honor his memory. Myka and Raphael had given the eulogy, and Dalton had sung “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” as a special tribute.

“Hey, Aimes, you want to hang out?” Maggie asked. “You can come with me to Bran's if you like. I want to see how he's doing, and he wanted to hear about the funeral.”

“Can't,” Aimee answered. “Family meeting. My mom's had the divorce papers drawn up. I don't want to miss that.”

They both laughed, and when Maggie turned up the walkway that led to Bran's door, they parted ways. Maggie's old crew had just come out of Bran's house, and they were chattering about how cute he was when they caught sight of her. They all averted their eyes, and Lisa Marie bumped Maggie with her shoulder as she walked by. As they passed, Maggie could hear them mocking her.

“Nice black eye.”

“I know, right? Ugly much?”

“And now she's hanging out with Aimee?”

“Freaks. They're two peas in the same loser pod.”

Maggie watched them walk away, feeling a kaleidoscope of emotions exploding through her like starbursts, from hurt, to outrage, to sadness—since she knew that only a few months ago, she had put Aimee through the same torture. But to her surprise, those feelings evaporated and she giggled, then chuckled—and then laughed out loud. Because she now understood: some day, all those girls would be outcasts, and someone else would make them feel like crap.
The Wheel of Karma,
she thought. And it would serve them right. Maybe it was the only way they could learn.

Bran's mother greeted Maggie at the door with a smile and directed her up the stairs to Bran's room. He was lying in bed watching ESPN, tossing a football up in the air and catching it, clearly restless in his current, injured state. The room was filled with a half dozen Mylar balloons with messages like
hang in there
and
get well soon
written on them in bright, shiny letters.

“Hey,” Maggie said awkwardly, and she realized suddenly that she'd never had a one-on-one conversation with Bran. To her, he'd always been nothing but Rick's best friend, and he was her friend only by extension. Most of the time, they'd barely looked at one another. But they looked at each other now, as Bran pointed to a chair near the bed, gesturing for her to sit. They
really
looked.

“How'd it go?” he asked.

“Sad,” she said. “You know. But everyone was there and Dalton sang. It was nice. Emory would have liked it.”

“Yeah.”

As Maggie sat down, she took a big Toblerone chocolate bar out of her purse. “Here,” she said. “I didn't know what to get someone who's been . . . you know . . .”

“Shot in a gang fight?” Bran finished in his charming Southern drawl. “I believe a do-rag and a bullet-proof vest are the traditional gifts, but chocolate always works for me. Wanna split it?”

She nodded. Bran unwrapped the bar and held one end of it out to her. Their hands touched briefly as they broke it apart. As they each took a bite, his eyes caught hers. She was amazed at how blue they were, and when she looked into them, she was convinced that Bran was exactly what he seemed to be: a kind, good, caring, honest, funny guy. His aura was blue, too—a rich, unwavering cobalt that was as constant and lovely as a clear summer sky. She realized he was staring as much as she was, and self-consciously she touched her swollen eye.

“Sorry,” she said. “I look like a monster right now.”

“No, you don't,” he told her, shaking his head. “You look amazing.”

His words were so rich with meaning, and the connection between them was sudden and so deep that for an instant, Maggie felt breathless.

“Oh, I'm so sure,” she said, and the tension that mounted within her became a quivering in her chest, and the quivering became laugher. Soon, Maggie and Bran were cracking up together, like a couple of best friends.

* * *

Aimee walked into her father's study with her mom, who was dressed in a lovely beige suit, her hair beautifully coiffed and her nails freshly manicured. Unlike Emily Banfield, who seemed perfectly calm, Aimee felt tension building within her. Her father was always like a volcano on the verge of erupting, and since Rick had been arrested, it was worse. The scandal of Jack's bigamy had spread all over town, and it was tainting his so-called clout. Savana Kain had filed papers to have their marriage annulled on the same day that Aimee's mom had filed for divorce. Emily had hired the best attorney in the state, and Aimee had overheard her telling Violet Anderson that she wasn't going to settle for less than half of everything Jack had.

“And believe me,” she'd confided to Maggie's mom. “I have my own ideas about what to do with his property and companies, once I've taken over my half of them—especially when it comes to the Flats. He won't be bulldozing people's homes on my watch.”

Things weren't going any better for Jack in his bid to win custody of Raphael's little brother. Savana was now denying that he was the father, and despite his repeated requests, she refused to submit to a paternity test.

But even in the midst of this major life implosion, the thing that seemed to gall Jack Banfield the most was that Aimee and Raphael were seeing each other again, and no matter what he said or how he threatened her, she refused to stop.

“Thanks for coming,” he said to Emily when he opened the door. “I know that if we both behave like civilized people we can work all this out.” His voice was sickly sweet, even smarmy, and Aimee hoped her mother knew better than to trust him.

“There's nothing to work out, Jack—except the divorce settlement,” Emily told him as she handed him the papers. “I know you've already been served by a disinterested party, but I couldn't deny myself the pleasure of giving the papers to you myself. My attorney says it'll go better for everyone if we can come to some kind of agreement before we go to court.”

His attitude changed. “Yeah, well—we'll see about that. There's nothing I can do for Rick, it seems, but I want my daughter to come back home.”

“That's not happening,” said Aimee.

“No way,” said Emily.

He ignored his wife and turned to Aimee. “Come on, sweetheart. Don't you miss your room? I'll double your allowance and we'll start shopping for a car for you—”

“No, thanks,” she said.

So he got tough with her. “Look—you either come back home right now, or I will personally take you back to Mountain High Academy and instruct them to lock you in and throw away the key.”

Aimee shook her head sadly. “What is your problem, Dad? Why do you think you have to control everything?”

“You are my daughter, Aimee—and you will not throw your life away by spending it with losers,” he told her. “You will live up to your potential, and you will appreciate the sacrifices I've made for you and for this family.”

“What family?” Aimee said calmly. “Your family is gone—because of you.”

Her father leaned close to her, his face white with anger. “You be very careful, young lady.”

“Sorry, Dad,” she said gently. “That just doesn't work anymore.”

Jack snorted. “Well, we'll see about that,” he scoffed.

“That's enough, Jack,” Emily said. “Aimee will continue to stay with me at Violet's until our apartment is ready. She isn't going to stay with you, and if she doesn't want to see you, you won't even have visitation.”

“You shut your mouth—you're done here,” he said and was as stunned as Aimee when Emily laughed at him.

“You're right about that,” she agreed. “And when I get through with you, you'll be done in Middleburg. Now that Orias has signed over his shares of your business ventures together over to me—plus what I'll get in the divorce—I will wipe you out and take great pleasure in doing it. Come on, Aimee. Let's go home.”

* * *

Jack followed Emily and his daughter to the door when they left and slammed it behind them, letting out a string of the vilest profanity he could come up with. After that, he went into a rage that destroyed his living room, breaking into bits the lamps and bric-a-brac that Lily Rose carefully dusted every other day.

He smashed the coffee table into kindling, kicking it and banging it violently into the wall, and he used one of its splintered legs to slash a painting—an expensive Thomas Kincaid—like he wanted to slash Orias's face.

How could that pompous, self-important son of a bitch just give his shares of Jack's businesses to Emily like they were bubble-gum trading cards? How could his once mousy, mealy-mouth about-to-be ex-wife think she would get away with taking what he'd worked for years to accumulate? How could his ungrateful wretch of a daughter treat him so disrespectfully? Rick was the only one who'd shown any promise, and he'd been stupid enough to get himself arrested for giving some Flats rat a beating that he surely deserved.

Well,
Jack thought,
damn them all to hell.
He didn't need any of them, and they wouldn't take him down. He'd build his holdings up again, bigger and better than ever. He'd show them all—but first, he needed a drink. In fact, he needed to go to the nearest bar and get rip-roaring drunk like he hadn't been in years.

He felt in his jacket pocket for his car keys and came up with a small vial—the vial Orias had given him, filled with some kind of herbal remedy he'd said was good for Aimee's nerves. And if there was anything Jack needed at that moment, it was something to steady his nerves.

He screwed the little silver top off the tiny bottle and slugged back the contents, which actually tasted delicious. As soon as he swallowed, he felt an infinite calm stealing over him, and then he felt nothing. Nothing at all. Every care he'd ever had drifted away . . . never to be remembered again.

* * *

When Maggie got home, after she had spent a pleasant afternoon with Bran, she found a strange car in the driveway. She entered the house calling her mother's name and went directly to the hallway to find her with Vivian Gonzalez, Middleburg's only art framer and a part-time travel agent. The two stood together gazing up at Violet Anderson's completed final tapestry.

There it was, the battle of Middleburg, framed and laid out in exquisite detail, everything from the government choppers to the Obie daggers, from Orias's resurrection to the Staircase of Light. And in the center of it, resplendent in white, stood the angel Halaliel, holding up the glowing Shen Ring, surrounded by the Army of Light.

“It's stunning, Mom. A masterpiece,” Maggie said, shaking her head in awe.

“Yes,” her mother said wearily. “I don't think I'll ever do another. After everything that's happened, I'm quite ready for a break.”

“And you've earned it,” Ms. Gonzalez said, handing Violet an envelope. “Bye, ladies,” she said and headed out the door.

“What's that?” Maggie asked, gesturing to the envelope. Violet smiled.

“It's for you. For us. Open it,” she said, and Maggie took the envelope and ripped it open. Inside, she found a set of three tickets with the words
CARNIVAL CRUISE LINES
on them.

“I've always wanted to go on cruise,” Violet said wistfully. “Now I will.
We
will. As soon as school's out for the summer.”

“There are three tickets,” Maggie pointed out.

“I thought you might want to bring someone,” Violet said.

Maggie blushed as she thought of Bran and wondered if he'd accept her invitation to go on a cruise. Just asking him would be a major step, and they weren't even officially together yet. But it sounded divine—Bran with her onboard a ship in the middle of a sparkling aquamarine sea. But it didn't matter. They couldn't go anyway.

“What about the doorway?” she reminded her mother. “We have to guard it.”

Violet smiled. “Not anymore,” she said. “Take a look.”

Maggie gave her a quizzical glance and brushed past her, unbolting and opening the basement door. She braced herself to see a tunnel of endlessly descending blackness, maybe even a monster or two waiting there to ambush her, but instead she found something much more surprising: nothing.

It was just a normal basement staircase.

She could see beige tiles covering the floor below, and she looked at her mom, confused.

“Now that the Wheel of Illusion has been restored, this back door to hell is closed,” Violet explained. “We don't have to worry anymore about residents of the Dark Territory using it to make their way to earth. An angel—a very tall angel—came and sealed it up.”