Thirteen Days to Midnight

  She was killing him.

  I screamed at her again to let go, approaching her from the side, but I might as well have been a ghost for all she noticed. Oh was utterly possessed by bloodlust.

  Ethan’s swings went rubbery and soft, the oxygen running out as his arms moved like fins on a half-dead fish.

  I closed my eyes and wearily said the only words that could save Ethan’s life.

  You are indestructible.

  Oh’s breath caught in her throat, and it reminded me of when someone is stabbed in the back in the movies and they react with this sort of Oh my God that hurt and I’m totally dead.

  “Let him go,” I whispered. “You’re going to kill him.”

  Oh still had a hold of Ethan’s neck, staring blank-eyed down into his fluttering eyes.

  “Oh,” I repeated. “You have to stop. You’re going to kill Ethan.”

  Oh’s breathing returned, choppy and hysterical. She started to cry, glancing back and forth between me and the life she was about to end. Ethan had gone limp on the floor, but I could feel his breathing beginning to return to normal.

  Oh let go and stood against the wall wiping her hands on her jeans as if they were covered in blood. I leaned down and slapped Ethan across the face, thinking it might revive him. But it didn’t. He just lay there in the dark, the purple bump on his forehead staring up at me like a third eye.

  “Ethan!” I yelled. “Get your sorry ass up right now!”

  I pumped his chest with my fist twice and shook him back and forth. Yeah, I’m not exactly a doctor. Finally, mercifully, he stirred. Like a boxer knocked out in the tenth round, battered and bruised, he slowly opened his eyes.

  “Fielding? What the hell?”

  “For once I’m really glad to see you,” I said, standing back up and putting out a hand to help him off the floor. Ethan slapped my hand away, kicking at my legs as he crawled closer to the corner. He looked like he was in shock and maybe couldn’t remember exactly what had happened.

  I took the power back before he could use any of the energy he had left to kick my ass, and this time I was surer than ever it was a living thing passing back and forth between us. The lion had emotions, or something like them, because this time it wasn’t afraid or angry or clawing to get back in. I felt heavier at my center, stronger, like I was an iron shell holding a contented little beast in my chest.

  “Ethan, dude, just calm down. It’s over. You’re fine.”

  There was recognition in his eyes as he remembered what had gone down. He stared at me, bewildered.

  “Listen to me, okay?” I said in my calmest voice. “She’s a hell of a lot tougher than she looks. You just tangled with the wrong girl, that’s all.”

  “What happened to your eye?” he asked, touching his neck and feeling the bruises starting to form.

  “Boone,” I said. “My face beat the crap out of his hand.”

  Ethan laughed very softly. I could tell he was starting to calm down.

  “Damn, that girl is strong. All you guys are. It’s freakin’ crazy. Where’d she go?”

  I looked up over my shoulder where Oh should have been, but she wasn’t there. I yelled for her but got no answer.

  “This is it, Ethan,” I said, turning my eye on him. I had to end this right now, before I went searching for Oh. “This is over. I’ll keep Oh and Milo away, but you gotta stop this.”

  “Deal,” said Ethan. He stood up with a painful sigh and looked in every direction.

  “You know the way out?”

  “Follow me.” I had no idea how to get out, but there was no way I was leaving Ethan alone with Oh still missing. The last thing I wanted was the two of them bumping into each other in the dark. I put my head down, felt the blood pushing against my swollen eye.

  You are indestructible.

  It hurt more than ever. It wasn’t like letting the power out anymore, it was like reaching in and tearing it out of my chest while it dug in with its claws and tried to hold on. It hurt so bad I stumbled in the dark and groaned like someone had kicked me in the groin.

  “You okay, man?” asked Ethan.

  I kept walking, half buckled over but feeling better by the second, nodding that I was fine.

  I probably shouldn’t have given it back to her, but I couldn’t help myself. She could be anywhere, doing anything. I had to protect her.

  I never did find Oh. I searched everywhere in the Haunted House until the manager came in and turned up the lights. Oh wasn’t there, but the attendant was sure ready to get rid of me. The swollen eye gave away the fight, and I was not so much asked to leave as escorted off the premises.

  When I got back to the car, Oh’s longboard was gone. She’d brought it along, but they didn’t allow skating on the grounds. I yelled Oh’s name out the window of Milo’s car all the way home. It was freezing with the windows down, but I didn’t care. Around every corner I hoped I’d see her hitchhiking or riding her longboard down a slick, curvy road, but she was nowhere.

  When I got inside Coffin Books, Milo’s mom was sitting behind the counter in her La-Z-Boy, chatting up a customer. She only ever worked days until four, so I didn’t know her all that well.

  “I haven’t seen you for a couple weeks,” she said. “Avoiding me on purpose?”

  “Is Milo here?” I asked, wholly unable to start a conversation with an adult in the wake of what had happened. My swelled eye was hidden behind a pair of barely operational sunglasses I’d found in Milo’s glove box.

  “Up there,” she said, pointing to the loft with a stabbing finger. She went back to her conversation, but I could feel her narrow eyes on my back as I passed the rows of books.

  “He’s in a bad mood.”

  The voice came from down the long, thin row of horror novels to my left. It was the biggest section in the store, and the weirdest. Unlike the other straight aisles of books teetering at the top with overstock paperbacks, the horror section was a zigzagging mess, gobbling up space wherever it could be found.

  “That you, Mr. Coffin?” I asked, though I knew the answer.

  I crept back along the narrow shelves. Mr. Coffin appeared from around one of the sharp corners, scaring me half to death.

  “He’s in a bad mood,” he repeated. “Go easy on him.”

  “This place is scary enough without you appearing out of nowhere.”

  “You look terrible,” he said, trying to see past the sunglasses. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah, fine. Everything’s fine.”

  I started to leave, but turned back to Mr. C, remembering something.

  “Did I see you at the church the other day?”

  He began pulling and pushing books on the nearest shelf, averting his eyes.

  “I go over there once in a while, talk to the old guys.”

  All I could think was yeah, right, like anyone wants to sit in the church house kitchen drinking bad coffee talking to a bunch of old priests.

  “Whatever you say,” I said, shrugging my shoulders.

  Mr. Coffin looked at me, then the floor. He wasn’t great at confrontations.

  “I don’t know, Jacob, watching you three has been a little unnerving.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Oh crap, another adult on to us.

  “Milo’s moody, you’re moody, and that girl—what’s her name, Ophelia?—she comes around without you two lately, picks some pretty dark material. She hovers around too, longer than most. And she doesn’t look… well.”

  I was surprised to hear about Oh visiting Coffin Books by herself. She hadn’t told me or Milo.

  “We’re fine, Mr. Coffin, really. Everyone’s just tired of the rain and the schoolwork is all. You know how it is.”

  Mr. Coffin nodded, but he wasn’t buying it, I could tell.

  “If you say so.”

  I was about to go when he looked at me sideways, like Miss Pines liked to do, and asked about Mr. Fielding’s box.

  “What’s that got to do with anyth
ing?” I snapped.

  “Maybe a lot more than you’d think,” Mr. Coffin answered, giving me a penetrating look. “Nothing, that’s—look, forget I mentioned it. We’re worried about you and for my son, that’s it. That’s all there is.”

  He turned and disappeared around a shelf before I could respond.

  I climbed the ladder and found Milo staring into a paperback copy of The Castle of Otranto. The book was a sort of safety blanket for him. I’d seen it in his back pocket, on the floor in the backseat of his car, and floating around in his backpack.

  “What’s new at the castle?” I asked, flopping down in a chair beside him and hoping he’d pull his nose out of the book and talk to me.

  “Same old thing,” he said. “I like it that way. Predictable.”

  “Milo.” I stopped short, not sure what to say as I took his crappy sunglasses off. Then I just blurted it out. “I’m in some trouble. I need your help.”

  Milo set the book on the table and leaned forward, eyebrows raised at the sight of my bulging black eye.

  “Whoa. How’d that happen?”

  “I’m fine—it’s no big deal—just tell me—”

  “She’s fine. That’s what you came here for, right?”

  “How do you know? Did she call you?”

  Milo shook his head.

  “Where is she?”

  Milo sighed and turned back to the book. I didn’t begrudge him for it. Sometimes I wished I didn’t have to deal with the real world either. I’d chosen a girl over my best friend, that was obvious, and now I was coming to him for help. He was under no obligation.

  “She texted me,” he began. “Said she’d really rather not be bothered for a while. You must have really impressed her.”

  He looked me in the face again.

  “She do that to you?”

  “No, it was Boone.”

  I recounted the scene in the Haunted House, right down to the part where Oh just about killed Ethan.

  “Jesus,” he said. “She’s even farther out there than I thought.”

  “Ethan’s fine,” I said, wincing at the memory of Oh’s crazed face. “But you’re right. I think she’s in real trouble. We have to find her.”

  “Nope, you have to find her. Good luck with that.”

  “Are you hearing me?” I raised my voice, then imagined Mr. Coffin standing under the loft and went back to a near whisper.

  “She needs us to help her. We got into this mess together, right? We all participated and now something’s gone wrong. I know you’re pissed about me and Oh. It just happened. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.”

  He shook his head and fanned the pages in his book.

  “She said to tell you she was fine,” he offered half-heartedly. “She’s at home with her mom, said she needed a couple of days to figure some things out.”

  Are those things about me? Damn. The concern I’d had for Ethan—and what I’d glimpsed in Oh—seemed to vanish, and for some sick reason, all I could think about was how bummed I was that my trip to the coast with Oh was off.

  My true character was coming out, and it wasn’t super amazing, awesome, and great. It sucked.

  “You think she was telling the truth?” I asked.

  “How the hell should I know? And stop putting me between you two.”

  “Okay, okay—sorry.”

  “Look, man, if you’re here for a steak to put on that eye, I can’t help you,” Milo said, digging in his heels and flopping back in his chair. “You got what you came for.”

  I debated with myself, thinking about Oh, Milo, and everything that had happened.

  “There are some things I need to tell you, Milo. Not Oh or Father Tim or anyone else, just you.”

  Milo’s knees swung in and out as he pretended to read something I was sure he’d read ten times before.

  “I’m sorry, okay?” I said. “This whole thing has been insane. I made some mistakes. We all did.”

  Still nothing but the back cover of an old book.

  “Come on, man, cut me some slack here. I’m trying. I screwed up with Oh, but she’s important to me. And I think she’s experiencing something totally different than we are. I think the power is doing something to her.”

  “Like what?”

  I didn’t answer, because I truly had no idea.

  “What are these things you need to tell me?” asked Milo from behind the book.

  “It’s complicated,” I offered, trying to buy some time.

  “It always is.”

  I decided to try some humor and see if it would help. “Will you go on a date with me?”

  I couldn’t see his face, but I was pretty sure he was starting to crack.

  “I promise you won’t be sorry. I’ll be gentle.”

  He put the book down and shook his head at me. Not the smile I’d hoped for.

  “She’s dangerous. You know that, right?”

  We sat in silence and I thought about Oh finding Ethan or Boone and what might happen, but I was even more worried about something that felt far worse.

  “What if she tries to hurt herself?” I asked, staring at the table.

  “I’ve been thinking the same thing. She’s kind of got that look.”

  Milo glanced out over the store, leaned in closer to the table. “She got the power?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, at least we know she can’t get hurt. Kind of risky though, know what I mean?”

  I nodded, then sat there for a minute, thinking the worst, hoping she was home sleeping and dreaming.

  “Did I mention you’re going to have to drive on our date?” I asked.

  “Cheap bastard.”

  Milo took me back to the church house, and I lay on my bed and thought about the date I’d planned that wouldn’t happen. That, and what it had looked like to see her getting her head bashed in while she choked Ethan.

  I finally got up the nerve to text her.

  Talked to M. are you sure you’re OK?

  A few minutes later, I got a response.

  I’m good. tired. need to think about some things.

  Like why you tried to kill Ethan?

  Me: You’re scaring me a little bit.

  A three-minute pause, which made me insane. I picked up Mr. Fielding’s Zippo and flicked it alive, letting the flame dance in front of my eyes.

  Oh: No need to be. I’m not coming after you.

  That was some seriously black humor, plus avoiding the point.

  Me: Just saying, you might’ve really hurt the guy.

  Oh: Wouldn’t have gone that far.

  Me: You sure?

  Pushing it, but as long as she was talking…

  Oh: I think you should leave me alone now.

  The flame from Mr. Fielding’s Zippo had gone out, and I flicked it four or five times but it wouldn’t come back to life.

  Me: I want to see you.

  Oh: Take it back.

  Me: Huh?

  Oh: You know what I mean.

  Me: I can’t.

  Two minutes later.

  Me: Oh?

  Five minutes later.

  Me: Oh?

  She was gone.

  I set my phone down and went to my desk for the lighter fluid so I could reload Mr. Fielding’s Zippo and get it working again. The metal casing was really stuck on there tightly, like it hadn’t been taken off in a long while. It made a thick scratching sound when it finally slid free. I turned over the inside of the lighter so I could pour fluid into the felt.

  The part I held in my hand had this thin sheath of metal and a thick, smoke-stained center that looked like burnt marshmallows. I touched the inside, the felt that was dry and soft. Except it wasn’t all soft. There was a rigid center, hard and firm, and when I pushed the felt off to the sides, the rounded top of a small piece of metal appeared. When I touched it the metal moved, and I was worried I might have jogged something loose and the old lighter wouldn’t work right anymore. I got the piece of metal between my fingernails
and drew it out, small and silver.

  It was not the kind of thing you’d expect to find inside a Zippo lighter.

  If I’d never met Mr. Coffin I might have thought, What’s a key doing in a place like this? If I’d never seen Mr. Fielding glance in that certain place at the coast, like he’d hidden something there, I might have thought, A key? What the hell’s it for?

  But I knew what the key was for just as sure as Father Frank would make terrible coffee in the morning. The key was for the box.

  Best I could figure, Mr. Fielding had probably always owned the key, but maybe the box was stolen or lost. He’d hired Mr. Coffin to find the box, the Isengrim, letters, manuscripts, a lot of things.

  My phone vibrated three times where it lay on my bed.

  Her: Take it back.

  It was the last I heard from Oh all night.

  FOURTEEN

  HOURS TO

  MIDNIGHT

  SATURDAY, OCTOBER 20TH

  The next morning Milo picked me up and we drove to the Oregon coast. Along the winding road, lined with forests in every shade of green, we started piecing some things together.

  “Think about it this way,” Milo said, touching the buttons on his iPod. He’d drifted into a Led Zeppelin phase, and we were deep into “Houses of the Holy.” Road trip music, he’d called it. “Something’s happening to Oh that’s not happening to either of us.”

  “I get that part, believe me. But why?”

  “Well, what are the obvious things? She’s a girl, we’re guys. She’s been more affected by the stress of it than either of us, losing sleep and stuff. Maybe that’s something. And she’s had the power more than me by a long shot. Maybe it’s like poison.”

  “If it were poison, I’d be dead.”

  “Not necessarily. I mean think about it, this thing started out inside you, not her. Maybe you’re, I don’t know, immune somehow, and she’s not.”

  It was a curious idea that might have a little merit.

  “I don’t think it matters that she’s a girl,” I went on. “But I see what you’re saying about how much more into it she is and how she’s always angling to get it.”