The Journal of Curious Letters (The 13th Reality #1) (29 page)

Tick couldn’t remember the last time his dad had looked so stern. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now let’s run through those clues.”

~

It took a half hour, but they read through each and every one of the Twelve Clues, studying their words one last time to make sure they hadn’t missed anything. But it all seemed to be there, straightforward and solved. Looking back, it had all been pretty easy in a way. The real test seemed to be the endurance and the bravery to keep going.

And, of course, figuring out the magic words, which seemed to be the most important piece of the puzzle. No matter what else he’d done, without those words to say, he felt sure everything would fail.

When they read the twelfth clue, they realized they’d perhaps missed something—a little phrase their mysterious friend had thrown in to verify they’d decoded the magic words correctly.

Listen to the words of Master George—they’ve been there all along!

And they really
had
been there. If Tick had just known to look at the first letter of the individual clues, he probably would’ve figured out “Master George” the second they’d learned the name from Norbert up in Alaska.

And so, after thoroughly examining the entire
Journal of Curious Letters
with his dad, Tick felt ready to go.

Tomorrow night, in the cemetery close to downtown, at nine o’clock, he’d show up, alone, in warm clothing, say the words “Master George” with his eyes closed, hands in pockets, then stomp the ground with his right foot ten times.

After that, who knew
what
might happen.

~

Tick went downstairs to check his e-mail before bed, realizing this might be the last chance he had to see if his friends had sent anything. It was already approaching early morning on Monday for Sofia because of the time difference, and Paul was probably already in bed.

What would happen to the others between their turns and his? If they were being taken somewhere, would they just wait around all day until he arrived? Was the staggered time difference on purpose—so Master George wouldn’t have to do . . . whatever he was going to do to everyone all at once?

There I go again,
Tick thought. Asking a billion questions even though he knew the answer was out of his reach for now. One more day. Twenty-four hours. Then, hopefully, he’d know everything at last.

He logged in to his e-mail and was excited to see messages from both Sofia and Paul. He opened Sofia’s, who’d sent hers hours before Paul.

Tick and Paul,

Not much to say now, huh? Don’t think Sofia Pacini is in love with two American boys, but I really hope I see you both tomorrow. I’m sure somehow they’re going to bring us magically together. Right?

Good luck. I wish we knew what to expect.

Ciao,

Sofia

For some reason, Tick felt a pang of sadness in his heart, realizing the possibility he might never hear from Sofia again. What if something terrible happened tomorrow? What if only
some
of the people who performed the ritual made it to wherever they were going? Tick told himself to shut up and clicked on Paul’s e-mail.

My little buddies,

Hot diggity dog, tomorrow’s the day. Let’s don’t jinx anything.

Hope you’re right about us meeting. If so, see ya tomorrow.

Out.

Paul

Tick hit REPLY TO ALL and typed a quick message, knowing his friends might not see it anyway.

Paul and Sofia,

Good luck tomorrow. See you soon. I hope.

Tick

He turned off the computer and stood up, looking over at the fireplace. He thought back to the two events that had happened in the last few months related to the pile of stacked brick, now cold and dark. First, the commitment he’d made to not burn the first letter, to stay in the game—made while kneeling before a fire that could’ve ended it all. And then the bizarre incident with Kayla and the letter—something that either proved miracles really did happen or Tick had serious mental issues.

With a swarm of butterflies in his belly, Tick finally turned out the lights and headed up the stairs to his room, ready for one last night before the Big Day he’d been preparing for since November.

It took him over two hours to fall asleep.

Part

4

~

The Barrier Wand

~

The next evening—Monday night, May sixth—Tick stood on the front porch with his dad, looking at his digital watch every ten seconds as the sun sank deeper and deeper behind the tree-hidden horizon. The last remnants of twilight turned the sky into an ugly black bruise, a few streaks of clouds looking like jagged scars. It had just turned seven-thirty, and the temperature couldn’t possibly be any more perfect for a romp in the town cemetery. Warm, with a slight breeze bearing the strong scents of honeysuckle and pine.

“Are you ready for this?” Dad asked for the fifth time in the last half hour.

“I guess,” Tick replied, tugging at the scarf around his neck, in no mood to offer any smart-aleck response. He felt like he should have done more to prepare, but there was nothing he could think of to
do.
The only real instruction he’d been given in the Twelve Clues was to show up and do a couple of ridiculous cartoon actions.

He did have a backpack full of warm clothing, some granola bars and water, a flashlight, some matches, and—most important—his
Journal of Curious Letters.
He didn’t know if he’d be stranded somewhere and suddenly realize he needed to search for clues he’d missed before. Or maybe he needed it to enter the realm of Master George—kind of like a ticket.

Tick was as ready as he possibly could be. He looked at his dad, who seemed ten times more nervous than Tick did, wringing his hands, rocking back and forth on his feet, sweat pouring off his face. “Dad, are you okay?”

“No.” He didn’t offer anything else.

“Well . . . there’s nothing to worry about. I mean, it’s not like I’m going off to war or something. Mothball and Rutger will probably
be
there in the cemetery waiting for me. I’ll be fine.”

“How do you know?” Dad asked, almost in a whisper.

“How do I know what?”

“That you’re not going off to war?”

“I . . . I don’t know.” Tick couldn’t
believe
how the minutes dragged by.

“
Many lives are at stake.
That’s what the man said, right?”

His dad’s voice shook, worrying Tick. But he had no idea what to say. “I promise I’ll come back, Dad. No matter what, I promise to come back.”

“I don’t know what scares me more,” Dad said. “Letting you run off on your adventure or knowing I have to somehow tell your mom tonight that you may not come back for awhile. Can you imagine how much that woman’s going to
worry
? I may be strung up on a pole when you return.”

“Dad, how long have you guys been married?”

“Almost twenty years. Why?”

“Don’t you think she trusts you?”

“Well . . . yeah. What are you, a psychologist now?”

Tick shrugged. “No, I just think Mom will understand, that’s all. She’s always taught me right from wrong, hasn’t she? And to make sacrifices for other people—to
serve
other people. I’m just obeying orders, right?”

His dad shook his head in mock disbelief. “Professor, I can’t
believe
you’re only thirteen years old.”

“Thirteen and a half.”

His dad barked a laugh, then pulled Tick into a hug, squeezing him tight. “You better be off now, son. Don’t want to take any chances of being late, now do you?”

“Nope.” Tick returned the hug, trying to fight off tears.

“I love you, Atticus. I’m so proud of what you’re doing.” His dad pulled back, still holding Tick by both shoulders as he looked into his eyes. “You go and make the Higginbottom family proud, okay? You go out there and fight for what’s right, and fight for those who need your help.”

“I love you, too, Dad,” Tick said, hating how simple and stupid it sounded, but feeling the truth of it in his heart. They hugged again, for a very long minute.

Finally, without any need for additional words, Tick turned from his dad, walked down the stairs of the porch, waved one last time, then headed for his destiny.

He only wished he knew what it was.

~

Yeah, right,
Edgar thought as Tick disappeared down the dark road.
Like I’m going to let my only son run off to who-knows-what all alone.

Edgar turned and hurried back inside where he grabbed the flashlight and binoculars he’d hidden in the closet. Though he really did believe in the whole Master George affair, he was also a father, and he couldn’t just let Tick go on his adventure without a little . . . supervision. After all, the clues hadn’t banned anyone from being
near
the cemetery, now had they?

“Honey, Tick and I are going for a walk!” he yelled upstairs.

“This late?” her muffled voice called from the bedroom. “Why?”

“Don’t worry . . . I’ll explain everything when we get back!” He groaned at the prospect.

Before she could reply, Edgar was out the front door and down the porch steps. He’d have to be quick if he wanted to keep up with Tick.

One thing,
Edgar vowed as he walked down the driveway.
I see one suspicious thing and I’m ending this.

~

By the time Tick reached the forest-lined road that led to town, the sun had made its last glimmer upon the world and gone to bed for the night. Now past eight o’clock, darkness settled on the town of Deer Park, Washington, and Tick felt himself shiver despite the warm and comfortable air.

He couldn’t believe it was here. The Big Day. The Big
Night.

As he walked down the lonely road, the constant buzz of the forest insects broken only occasionally by a passing car, he ran through everything he needed to do in his mind. Even though it seemed so simple, he knew he only had one shot at this and didn’t want to mess everything up. Dual feelings of excitement and apprehension battled over his emotional state, making him nauseated and anxious for it to be over, one way or another.

He arrived at the town square and passed the fountain area, where the shooting display of water had been turned off for the night, and made his way down the small one-way lane that led to the old city cemetery. A few people walked about the square, but it mostly seemed vacant and silent, like a premonition that something very bad was about to happen to this quiet and unassuming town.

Quit freaking yourself out,
Tick told himself.
Everything’s going to be fine.

The entrance to the Deer Park Cemetery was a simple stone archway, both sides connected to a cast-iron fence encircling the entire compound. There was no gate, as though those in charge figured if some psycho wanted to visit dead people in the middle of the night, more power to them. As for grave digging, that had gone out of style with Dr. Frankenstein a couple of hundred years ago.

Tick paused below the chipped granite of the arch and looked at his watch, clicking the little light button on the side to see the big digital numbers: 8:37. Just over twenty minutes to go.

The moon, almost full, finally slipped above the horizon, casting a pale radiance upon the hundreds of old-fashioned tombstones; they seemed to glow in the dark around the chiseled letters declaring the names and dates of the dead. Barely defined shadows littered the ground, like holes had opened up throughout the graveyard, zombies having escaped to wreak their nightly havoc.

Once again, Tick shivered. No doubt about it, this was plain creepy.

Hoping it didn’t matter exactly
where
he stood when he performed his little song and dance as long as he was inside the cemetery, Tick stayed close to the entrance, near a tight pack of graves reserved for young children. Tick pulled out his flashlight and flicked it on, examining some of the names while he waited for the last few minutes to pass. Most of the names he didn’t know, but he did recognize a few that had been much-publicized tragedies over the last few years. A car accident. Cancer.

Despite his youth, Tick knew there must be nothing in the world so bad as losing one of your kids. Like he’d just swallowed a bag of sand, it hit him then that if anything happened to him tonight, his mom would be devastated. His poor mom. Of course, she’d be so busy yelling at his dad for letting him go in the first place that maybe she wouldn’t have the time or energy to hurt properly.