The Dreadful Tale of Prosper Redding

  “Unfortunately for you,” Mrs. Anderson said, “I saw you chatting with your friends in the yard this morning. You had plenty of time to get here before the warning bell, never mind the tardy bell.”

  Man, Mrs. Anderson was stone cold.

  “What’s happening?” I whispered to Nell as Parker assumed his seat on the stool, balancing against his crutches.

  “Pop quiz,” she said. “If he gets the question wrong, he gets detention.”

  “Now,” Mrs. Anderson said, facing him. “Your question is: How many interior layers does Earth have?”

  Parker flinched, his face falling, and I knew he didn’t have the answer. I made four fingers and started to lift them just above the edge of the raised table that served as our desk, but Alastor seized the arm and drew it back down.

  “Um…five?” Parker guessed. I sighed.

  Mrs. Anderson shook her head. “Four. Looks like we’ll be eating lunch together, then, Parker.”

  His crutches clicked against the tile floor as he sat down heavily in his seat, burying his head in his hands.

  Do not pity him, Alastor said as Mrs. Anderson instructed us to open our textbooks. He received what he deserved, and a soft heart only makes it easier for a knife to slip in.

  During humanities, Mr. Gupta pulled me aside and told me that he had spoken to the art teacher—weirdly enough, another Ms. Drummer—and that I was welcome to join her last period to see if I wanted to sit in going forward.

  There wasn’t a big enough word to describe my excitement, so I ended up accidentally screaming a Yes! directly into Mr. Gupta’s face. I hadn’t felt like I could take any of the art classes as Redhood Academy, not without people judging me or mocking whatever I was working on. But here I was Ethan—and, awesomely, no one cared.

  I’d made it two steps inside the classroom when I was met at the door by another purple-red-haired woman with curly hair exploding from the fabric she’d wrapped it in. All I needed was one look at her familiar face to know why there were two Drummers in this school.

  They were twins, like me and Prue.

  I blew out a sigh from my nose, trying to push the thought away.

  Ahhh, Alastor cooed. More sadness, more loneliness, Maggot, please. Delicious.

  “You must be Ethan,” Ms. Drummer said, smoothing her hands down her paint-splattered apron. “It’s nice to meet you. I loved the sketches Mr. Gupta showed me—you have a real talent for playing with light and shadow. Have you taken an art class before?”

  I shook my head.

  “That’s not a bad thing, but even innate talent needs some guidance to reach its full potential. Hopefully we’ll be able to share some useful skills and ideas that will help you push yourself to grow and develop your vision and style.”

  I couldn’t form a word. A high, happy noise escaped my throat like a squealing balloon.

  “These are my eighth graders, but that doesn’t really matter,” she said, guiding me out of the doorway so the kids waiting behind me could come in out of the rain. “The only real difference is the techniques I teach, but you clearly have a handle on the ones I’d teach to my seventh graders.”

  She walked me around the cavernous space. It looked almost industrial: wide-open, with metal shelves of paint and supplies. At the center of the room were big tables with wood tops, tattooed with carvings and stains and drawings. The class was small, only two dozen kids or so. While they were retrieving their canvases from where they’d been stored in large, flat lockers, Ms. Drummer introduced me.

  “There’s an open seat here,” a girl said, raising her hand. She moved her bag as I sat down. “Hi, I’m Lizzy. That’s Cody and Brayton on the other side of the table.”

  “Pros—um, Ethan,” I said. “Thanks for letting me sit with you.”

  She gave me a strange look. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

  Because in Redhood, kids I didn’t even know would get up and move to a different table or desk if I tried to sit down next to them.

  The huge windows behind Ms. Drummer let in a ton of light, even with the rain sheeting down on the school.

  “All right, a few announcements before you dive into your projects,” she said, making her way over to a freestanding bulletin board. “I’ll give you the bad news first: the school is officially out of walls they’re willing to allow us to cover with a mural. We’ll have to think of a different graduation gift.”

  The class booed in disappointment.

  “So it’s back to the drawing board!” she said with a wink. “Good thing that we’re all creative types and we’re good at reworking ideas. Take the weekend to think about it. Remember, it has to be something we can work on together, and it has to be of use. Now, on to good—and I mean great—news.” Ms. Drummer brandished a sheet of paper. “Our very own Lizzy has won second place in the statewide art contest for junior high for her piece At Home in the Harbor!”

  Next to me, Lizzy froze, turning bright red as the class cheered.

  “Well done, you,” Ms. Drummer said. “They’re sending me your plaque and the information about the award ceremony.”

  “Wow, thank you,” Lizzy managed to get out, looking overwhelmed. She stared down at her oil painting of a nighttime sky until the attention of the room shifted onto their own projects.

  As Ms. Drummer went around to critique everyone’s work, I opened my notebook and tried to plan a few ideas to present to the other Drummer.

  “I forgot to explain; I’m sorry, Ethan,” she said when she finally reached me. “Our project for the week is depicting our favorite aspect of nature through oil painting. I’d love to see what you come up with—just let me show you where to pick out a canvas.”

  “Actually,” I said, looking at the supplies around me. “I was wondering if I could maybe join your class for the full week and a half and work on a project for Madam Drummer?”

  Ms. Drummer’s face went carefully blank at the mention of her twin. “Oh?”

  “She needs new backdrops for The Crucible,” I explained. “I don’t have a space big enough to try to paint them anywhere else.”

  “Oh yeah,” Cody said from across the table. “Didn’t one of the water heaters in their storage closet explode? All of the backdrops are probably a wreck.”

  “Really?” Ms. Drummer said. Then, muttering to herself, she added, “Why didn’t she say anything about it?”

  I didn’t want to tell her it might have had something to do with her sister calling her “parrot-brained,” which now seemed totally uncalled for.

  “Could that be our class project?” Lizzy asked. “Creating new backdrops of different scenes for them to use in upcoming plays and sketch shows?”

  “Not a bad idea,” Ms. Drummer said, putting a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll ask my sister about it and have her come up with a list of scene possibilities for us to create. Thanks for bringing it to our attention. In the meantime, I’ll show you where the canvases are….”

  I shrugged and followed her over to another rack, listening to her explanation about which sizes and materials to use for different projects. By the time I made it back to my worktable, Lizzy had retrieved the notice about the art contest off the bulletin board.

  “Who won, though?” Cody asked as I sat back down and laid out my paint.

  Lizzy looked down at the sheet of paper, and then laughed. “I should have known. It’s a Redding.”

  My whole body went rigid.

  “Figures,” Brayton said. “That family is unreal. Can I see the piece?”

  She slid the paper over to him. My heart was beating so hard in my chest it felt bruised.

  “A View of the Cottage by Prosperity Redding,” he read.

  “What?” The word was out of my mouth and echoing around the art room before I could catch it.

  Cody blinked, sliding it back over to me. “Yeah, check it out. It’s not bad at all—at least we know the win came from talent, not from someone buying off the judges.”

  “There
are so many of them, though,” Brayton said with a laugh. “The judges were probably all related to them in one way or another.”

  My hands shook as I looked down at the announcement. But there it was. My name. A photo of the small painting I had done of the Cottage to give to Prue for our birthday. Instead, I’d been too embarrassed to actually gift it to her and had hidden it under my bed.

  Prue. It had to have been her. She had to have found it and sent it in on my behalf.

  Oh no. My eyes were itching, burning, and I felt like I wanted go hide outside for a few minutes to get a grip. But…I’d won. Not Ethan White. Prosperity Redding.

  “Do you know the Reddings, Ethan?” Lizzy asked. “You seem surprised.”

  “No,” I said truthfully, setting the paper aside and picking up a brush.

  If the past week had shown me anything, it was that I didn’t know my family, never mind my twin, at all.

  Nell met me outside of the theater, bright-eyed and out of breath.

  “I got the part!” she said. “I got the part!”

  “Which part?” I asked, playing dumb.

  She punched me in the arm. “You know.”

  “Cool,” I said. “Congratulations, you deserve it—I’m so glad Madam Drummer changed her mind.”

  Will you not take credit for your work? Al asked, curious.

  No, I thought back, there’s nothing to take credit for. Nell’s talent got her the part. I just pointed out to Madam Drummer that she was missing what was right in front of her.

  It happened. Sometimes when you get so stuck in a routine, lost in an idea, it can feel frightening to start over or rework it. And I firmly believed that even if I hadn’t gone to see the theater teacher this morning, Nell would have found a way to audition.

  See how many doors open, Alastor said, when someone with influence and ideas comes along with a key? Fortune can be hoarded, or it can be shared.

  And a bad thing like a contract could be used for real good…like helping people achieve their dreams. Helping them feel more accepted, and less alone.

  Indeed, Alastor purred. All of that and more.

  I shook my head, trying to clear the thought away. It stuck to my brain, unwelcome.

  “All of a sudden she started talking about changing the setting and the characters to modern-day,” Nell continued as we made our way to the bus. “It was so random, but everyone’s really into the idea, and we’re going to run through it at rehearsals this weekend. The blocking is pretty much all the same, and we all know the script—it’s just a matter of getting the set in order. The old backdrops were trashed anyway, so I guess it’s not a bad thing.”

  “Yeah, Ms. Drummer—art teacher Drummer—mentioned that the eighth graders might take on the backdrops as their school gift this year,” I said. “Starting with a few for The Crucible.”

  “Oh, that’s right! How was art class?” Nell said, forcing herself to slow down her happy, skipping steps.

  “It was fine, but the weirdest thing happened—” I began, only to be interrupted by a familiar, gravelly voice somewhere behind me.

  “Can you tell me if you’ve seen this boy…?”

  I swear, it was like the guy took a baseball bat and slammed it into the back of my head. My eyes went all wonky and out of focus. My throat tightened with panic—my whole body felt like someone had stretched it to the point of snapping in two.

  I knew that voice. I knew whose face I would see if I turned around.

  Rayburn.

  For a moment, I just stood there, wondering if I had ever seen his hunched form outside of the Cottage. In the natural daylight his skin looked as thin and pale as white silk, and the ring of fluffy white hair around his head had been groomed and awkwardly slicked back.

  Of course. If my grandmother couldn’t come, she would send the only other person who despised me as much as her. He was the only unofficial member of the family who wouldn’t be recognized by the general public.

  I glanced back, just to confirm it. Rayburn’s cane thumped against the winter grass, rising slightly, as if to strike, as a few kids ran past him. He shook himself, his mouth twisting and face graying with disgust at the laughter around him. Clearly out of practice for anything that wasn’t unlocking, opening, and shutting a door. Beside him, one of the vice principals had a photo in his hand and was showing it to one of the janitors.

  Flee, Maggot! Flee!

  Nell glanced behind me. “Who is that?”

  “Butler,” I whispered back.

  “Okay, stay calm,” she murmured. “Walk fast, but not too fast.”

  “How fast is that?” I whispered, hating the tremble in my voice. It was too soon—they couldn’t take me back, not before we got Alastor out and proved to them I wasn’t wandering around with a fiend bent on their destruction inside me.

  I closed my eyes, and all I could see was the silver knife in Grandmother’s hand, glowing in the candlelight. I stumbled through the mud.

  “I see hundreds of kids every day,” the janitor was saying.

  Nell hooked her arm to mine, forcing me to match her pace.

  Flee! Alastor was shouting. He comes for us!

  “Nell? Cornelia?” the vice principal called, fiddling with his ghost-themed tie. “Can you come here for a moment and speak to this gentleman?”

  “I’m going to miss the bus—” Nell protested.

  “They’ve been instructed to wait ten extra minutes,” the vice principal said. “It’ll just take a moment.”

  “Stay here,” she muttered under her breath. “Don’t forget the glamour. He won’t know it’s you unless you reveal yourself.”

  As I watched her walk over to them, I realized that while I hadn’t revealed myself, I’d given the other family members who weren’t Mom or Dad a possible lead. Uncle Barnabas was right—my grandmother had enough tricks up her sleeve to find out about a wrong-number call made to Mom’s private, fiercely protected cell-phone number. One of their security guards must have reported it as suspicious to Grandmonster, and she’d sent Rayburn here on the chance it had been me.

  Sorry, Mom, I thought. I’d almost ruined their plan in a single moment of carelessness. At least the glamour was still in place.

  For now, Al said helpfully.

  “Nell and her father run a haunted house that sees many tourists and guests,” the vice principal explained. “She might have seen the boy you’re looking for.”

  The vice principal held the photo out for her to see, and she made a big show of looking it over, considering my face.

  But the butler was only looking at me.

  “Mr. Matthews!” the vice principal called, stalking over to where a kid was about to break his neck skateboarding down a wet rail. He turned around only to hand the photo back to Rayburn. “Do not attempt that!”

  Rayburn pointed a bony finger at me. I could barely hear him over the rain. “—boy matching his description…phone…Witch’s Brew…”

  Sweat poured down the back of my neck with the rain. I knew I was panicking, even with the magic mask Nell had placed over me.

  “Child, yes, I am speaking to you!” One wraith-like hand reached out and gripped the collar of my fleece, turning me back around with surprising strength just as I started to run. “What’s the hurry, young man? Is there something you wish to hide?”

  I shook my head.

  “The owner of the coffee shop told me about a young guy matching your description making a few phone calls. Did you, perhaps, accidentally use a wrong number?”

  Behind him, Nell looked both angry and exasperated.

  I shook my head.

  “Is that so?” Rayburn asked. “And are you sure you weren’t hired by another child to place a call? Say, this one?”

  He held out my horrible fifth-grade portrait. I tried not to wince.

  “Young man,” he said, letting go of my collar. “This child may be in danger. If he asked you to make a call for him—”

  “I didn’t do anything,??
? I interrupted.

  In all of Nell’s warnings about not revealing myself to anyone, in all of her explanations of how the glamour worked, I had never once thought to ask her if the glamour also changed my voice.

  Now I had my answer.

  Rayburn’s face fell, then screwed up in confusion. He turned me back around, leaning in close. “Pros—?”

  Nell was suddenly next to him, reaching into the outer pocket of her bag. She gripped his arm to get his attention, and the second he looked down at her, she blew a small burst of pink dust in his face.

  Rayburn coughed and tried to wave it off, but it was no use. I stood frozen until I saw that his hand had gone lax and I could finally pull away. Eventually he just sort of…stilled. His whole body relaxed as his shoulders slumped.

  “You didn’t find anyone here,” Nell said, rubbing the dust off her palm against her dark pants. “Prosper wasn’t here. Go back and tell them that.”

  She didn’t wait for him to respond. He stood there frozen as she shoved past him to get to me. “Let’s go.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about the voice thing?” I demanded as we left. “Nell? What gives?”

  Perhaps she was hoping you might reveal yourself after all? This time Alastor only sounded as confused as I felt.

  “I—I forgot, okay?”

  “What was that stuff you used on him?”

  “It’s dizzy dust,” she whispered, yanking me along after her, dragging us through the mud to the waiting buses. If she had slowed down for even a second, I might have run for the nearest garbage can and thrown up everything in my stomach.

  “What’s dizzy dust?” I dared to ask.

  “Herbs and crystals and a bunch of other stuff,” Nell said, finally letting go of my arm. We slid down a hill that was slick with orange and red leaves and weaved through the trees, running to the bus just as its doors were shutting. She and I took the only available seat left.

  “My mom created it. It disorients a person and lets you influence their memory,” she whispered, resting her forehead against the seat in front of us. The windows were fogged over with condensation, hiding us from view. The whole town was wrapped in thick, churning mist. “But—don’t tell him, okay? Don’t tell Barnabas I had it, or what happened. If he knows, then we’ll have to stay in the house. He won’t let us leave.”