If what Gabe was telling her was true, she was supposed to be bonding with these cards, but she had no clue how. And she was running out of time, but she had little idea of what she was supposed to do to stop the clock, or how long it would run. She had more questions than answers, leaving her agitated despite the fact that her body screamed for more rest.
When the clock read 5:30, she got up, unable to tolerate another second of stillness inside the hotel room. She let the door close softly behind her and stepped onto the motel’s exterior corridor, which led to a set of stairs down to the parking lot. As she approached the steps, she heard a familiar voice muttering to someone. Though the sounds of nearby traffic might have had something to do with the fact that she couldn’t make out the words, she was instantly reminded of what Gabe had said last night, about how he’d used his Conceal card to muffle what they were saying so the other bar patrons couldn’t hear. Biting her lip, she leaned over the balcony and caught sight of what was most certainly Gabe standing under the overhang several doors away. His back was to her. He was talking to someone who was mostly hidden by a brick wall, but she managed a partial glimpse as the person tossed a cigarette to the sidewalk and ground it out—black motorcycle boots, black jeans.
“Oh, god,” she whispered. Was that Duncan? She had no idea, but it all fit, and mistrust that had been waiting for its release suddenly crashed over her like an avalanche. Gabe was working with Duncan, and he’d brought her back here to hand her over.
Her brow furrowed. He hadn’t taken the cards when he had the chance, though. Maybe because they were connected to her now? Maybe he actually had to kill her first. Maybe they were getting ready to come up here and do the deed. Maybe it was all a big misunderstanding, but she wasn’t willing to risk it. Her mom needed her, and she was close to home now. She could figure it all out once they were together.
Pressing herself back against the door, she looked down at her bare feet and assessed her options, then jogged along the second-floor walkway, away from Gabe and his shadowy friend. With the cards pulsing against her thigh, she turned down an emergency stairwell, making sure she’d be out of the view of the men. Once she reached the ground level, she took off running, hitting the sidewalk and refusing to slow down until she was blocks away. Each footfall sent bone-jarring pain from her heels up to her spine, straight to the base of her skull. She could typically run for miles, but today she was huffing and puffing by the time she reached a nearby Dairy Queen. She pushed away the memory of Gabe telling her she would slowly start to die, told herself it was just the strain of the last twenty-four hours, and kept limping along. No surrender.
She had no money and no phone—for all she knew, her cell was still under the cabinet in her mom’s office—and the shop was at least five miles away. Normally, she would just say to heck with it and run. She’d grown to take pride in her body, the one aspect of her life that seemed to be under her control, about which she could make choices that affected only her and no one else. Over the last few years, she’d pushed her body over and over, beyond where she’d believed it could go, and it hadn’t disappointed her . . . until today. As determined as she was, she was also about to collapse onto the sidewalk. Sweat slid in fat drops down her neck. Her bare feet ached and flashed with sharper jabs of pain each time her heels came down on stray pieces of gravel. Fear pounded inside her head at the thought of how easily Gabe and his black-clad friend, whether Duncan or someone else, could take her down.
On impulse, she grabbed the cards from her pocket. “You’re my only friend right now,” she said to them between panting breaths. “And I really need one.” She let out a cry as one of the cards in the deck slid loose from the others. She pulled it out and looked at it. Two ovals, slightly overlapping, with three dots on either side of the places they were joined. The moving image beneath the symbol showed a . . . car?
She stumbled back from the edge of the sidewalk as a Honda lurched to a stop at the curb.
“Ernie?”
She blinked at the face that was peering at her through the rolled-down passenger window. “Marcus?”
Her Spartan teammate gave her a confused look. “Have you been training without us?” He looked her up and down, eyeing her muddy pants. “Those don’t wick sweat. You must be freezing.”
She looked down at herself. “I . . . um, I . . . had car trouble this morning. And I’m trying to get to my mom’s shop to check on her and . . . borrow her car.”
“And you decided to run in that?” He shook his head. “Let me drive you. It’s only a few minutes out of my way, and I left a bit early this morning.” He sheepishly lifted a McDonald’s bag from the front passenger seat.
She trudged over to the car and got in, chuckling. “Dude, you’re allowed to cheat sometimes.” Marcus was absolutely ripped and, on top of that, a super nice guy. “Also, thank you. You’re saving my life.” Possibly literally.
And maybe because of the card she’d just drawn. Or . . . played? Ernie shook herself. This was so hard to believe, but surely it wasn’t just coincidence.
“Whoa,” Marcus said, glancing at her feet. “You are hard-core this morning. I tried barefoot running a few years ago and got the worst case of plantar fasciitis ever. Had to lay off for months.” He pulled a golden, greasy hash brown from his McDonald’s bag and took a huge bite. “I gained twenty pounds.”
“No way. With your eating habits?”
Marcus laughed. “Why do you think I work out so much?” He munched his McMuffin and drove them along Broadway through Five Points, then onto Riverside Drive, which clung to the river’s curves. Fall had gilded the birch and hickory leaves with yellow, and the dogwoods had gone crimson, their pointed leaves hanging heavy off the branches like bloody tears. She suddenly wondered where Jules was now; she’d always loved the fall colors. Was she still on her cross-country odyssey? Had she seen the Grand Canyon? Had she crossed Death Valley? Had she finally answered Ernie’s texts?
Ernie pushed her surreal thoughts away and pretended her life was as normal as it had been a few days ago. She and Marcus talked about an upcoming Spartan Race, a Sprint over in Concord in a few weeks, and which members of their team were going. They joked about trying a new shake powder that Joe, another of their teammates, had said had given him epic gas. Ernie laughed until she had tears in her eyes.
That mirage of normalcy all fell away again as Marcus turned into the driveway of the shop. Fortunately, her mom or the police had removed her burned car, but the spot where it had been was marked with a large black patch. “Jesus,” said Marcus as he pulled to a stop next to it. “What the hell happened there?”
“Bonfire,” Ernie said quickly. “Mom probably thought it would repel troublesome wood sprites or something—it’s why I need to check on her so often.”
“You’re a good person, Ern.”
“So are you,” she replied. “And thanks again.”
“Will I see you for tomorrow’s practice?”
“I’m . . . not sure if it’s in the cards for me,” she said slowly.
“Yeah, we all have those weeks. I get it.”
She got out and watched him drive away, completely sure Marcus had never had a week like hers. Ernie felt for the cards in her pocket again. If she’d really used a card to draw Marcus to her, did it mean something good, like that she’d bonded to another card? She didn’t have the luxury of ignorance, but she had other fish to fry at the moment. Eyeing the shop, she limped toward the porch on her aching feet. The windows were dark, but her mom’s car was in the carport. She paused as she noticed the thin white line of salt running along the front of the house and across the walk. Just inside the line, those wooden tiles she’d seen before had been placed in a row, a new tile every few feet. “Oh, Mom,” she whispered. Her mother had told her no one would be getting in, but did she really think a little line of salt was going to—
Ernie bounced off an invisible wall and staggered backward, hitting the ground with her nose throbbing. Cup
ping her hand over it, she stared at the house. “What the heck?”
Aching, she got up and walked forward, this time with her hands out. When she reached the salt line, her palms hit a smooth, cool barrier that didn’t budge an inch as she pressed against it. She traced it as high as she could reach, then jumped as high as she could—whatever this was, it was at least eight or nine feet high, with no hand- or footholds that she could feel. She walked along the perimeter of the house, sliding her hands along that invisible wall, panic shuddering through her. “Mom?” she called. “Can you hear me?”
There was no movement inside—no lights flickering on, no flutter of curtains.
Ernie leaned against the barrier. No way to get through, too high and smooth to climb over. Again, the urge to collapse in a soggy pile of tears was nearly overwhelming, but Ernie kept leaning against the wall and tried to summon her energy and her wits. The tiles just inside the barrier had to be a clue. Now all of them were upturned, and she could see that every single one featured an animal. A bird—she wondered if it was a kestrel. A serpent with crude hatch marks on its body—the diamondback? So many others, too—a monkey, a rat, a raccoon. She knew from her mom that salt circles were supposed to provide protection against evil spirits and other imaginary friends, and now this one was keeping her out.
On impulse, Ernie took the stack of cards from her pocket and set them behind her on the walk. Then she approached the barrier again, palms out so she didn’t hit it nose-first. Her hands sank into what felt like gelatin, and emerged on the other side. Huh. So when she had the cards, the barrier was impermeable, but without them, she could make it through with only minimal difficulty. She looked back at the cards sitting abandoned on the walk.
No way could she leave them behind, undefended. It felt wronger than wrong. She pulled her arms loose of the gelatinous barrier and picked up her cards. She had to get inside to make sure her mom was okay, but she couldn’t leave the deck unprotected. Looking around, she jogged over to the carport and opened a rusty old toolbox that had belonged to her father. “I won’t be long,” she said, as if the cards had ears and a brain. “You’ll be safe here.”
The cards were cold. Ice cold, in fact. Maybe from being on the walkway? Except it was about sixty degrees out now, and the sun was peeking through the trees. Ernie rolled her eyes. She had zero time to worry whether a damn deck of cards was comfy—she just needed to worry about them being stolen. She lifted a tray of nails, screws, and assorted screwdrivers, and placed the cards underneath. It wasn’t much, but it was all she could do at the moment. Once the box was closed with a loud creak, she headed back for the house and plunged through the barrier.
“Mom?” she called as she tromped up the wooden steps, grimacing as the scent of polecat filled the air. “Ugh.”
In a rush to escape the stench, she whipped open the door and came face to face with the business end of a musket.
“Don’t take another st—Oh, Ernestine!” Her mom set the ancient weapon aside and came toward her with shaking hands. “Where have you been?”
“Well, I got out of town like you wanted.” She accepted her mother’s embrace gratefully, inhaling the overpowering smell of caraway and coriander coming from the overstuffed sachet around Mom’s neck. Protection herbs, Ernie recalled. They almost covered up the musty whiff coming off her mom—judging by the matted look of her hair, Ernie was guessing her mother hadn’t showered in at least a few days. “And now I’m remembering why leaving is a very bad idea.”
“This is exactly what I wanted to avoid!” Mom let out a broken cry as she looked down at Ernie’s feet and trotted down the hall toward her bedroom, coming back with a worn gray pair of Keds. “Look at you,” she added as she dropped them at Ernie’s feet.
Ernie grimaced as she slid her beaten-up feet into her mother’s shoes, which were a half-size too small but a damn sight better than staying barefoot. “You’ve been trying to get rid of me.”
“Yes, to protect you,” her mother said, gesturing at Ernie’s odd attire. “Something at which I have clearly failed miserably.” Mom waved toward her office. “Come in—I have tea, if nothing else. But it’s powerful—elderflower, burdock root, comfrey . . . should keep them away. We have to keep them away.” She clutched at the sachet around her neck, and Ernie heard the dried herbs inside crunch.
This time, Ernie didn’t shake her head at her mother’s strange beliefs. Instead, she felt grateful her mom had known enough to put the salt barrier into place. It might be the only reason Mom was still alive. Still, given what Ernie had seen Gabe do, it seemed like a pretty flimsy defense. Another reason to learn to use the cards.
Ernie followed her mom into the office, eyeing the cabinet under which the snake had been hiding.
“Oh, it went with him,” her mom said. “Disappeared as soon as he left.”
Ernie’s shoulders slumped with relief. “Good. But . . . about that.”
Ernie’s mom bustled over to a chair in the corner and moved a stack of papers and periodicals off the seat, then motioned for Ernie to sit. “You must tell me everything. How did you get away?”
“No, Mom,” she said. “First, you need to tell me a few things.”
Mom peered at her through the smudged lenses of her horn-rimmed glasses, then sighed. “I suppose I do owe you a few explanations.”
“Putting it lightly there.”
Mom sat down in her own rickety desk chair. “A few days ago, I received an unusual package.” She removed her glasses and wiped them with a grimy cloth. “It was from your father.”
Ernie’s mouth was suddenly dry, dry, dry. “Dad sent you something?”
Mom glanced over at her, then returned to cleaning her glasses. “I recognized his handwriting.” She reached into her desk and fished out a postcard, which she handed to Ernie. “This was in the box.”
Ernie looked at the picture on the front—a painting of a bunny standing on its hind legs, rocking two chicks to sleep in a cradle, while another rabbit sat on the floor with an egg in its lap. On the other side, it said this:
I hate to pull you back into my life, especially now, but there is no one else I can trust. Please keep these safe. Tell no one that you have them. I will come for them soon.
“Jeez,” Ernie muttered. “He never changes.” She looked up to find her mother staring at her.
“You don’t seem surprised that I heard from him.”
Ernie gulped. She’d never told her mom about the postcards. They’d started arriving when she was around ten, about two years after he’d left, and at that time her mom had still been so devastated that Ernie had been doing nearly everything, including fetching the mail. She’d been worried the postcards would make her mother cry. They always made Ernie cry, after all, especially when she realized those postcards were full of false promises.
It hadn’t occurred to her until now that the postcards had kept arriving even when she was in college—delivered to her dorm—and even after that, when she’d moved out of the house they’d all shared and gotten her own apartment. How . . . ?
“I guess I’m not surprised he said something so mean,” Ernie said, refocusing on the now.
Her mother’s brow furrowed. “Mean? I don’t think he was trying to be mean.”
“‘I hate to bring you back into my life’? It’s like he thinks we’re a burden.”
“Oh, no, Ernestine. I don’t think that was it at all.” Her mom seemed to be fighting tears. “In fact, I’m sure that isn’t why he left, and almost sure it’s not why he’s still gone.”
“What was it, then? Did he ever tell you why? It would have been great if he’d sent a postcard explaining that.”
Mom turned in her chair, fished a key from her pocket, and unlocked the Hoosier cabinet behind the desk. She removed a small metal box, maybe six by six inches, which she pulled open and held out. “These were what he sent.”
Ernie stood up and leaned over the box. Inside was a small stack of metal plates. She took o
ne and examined it. Cool to the touch and heavy, it might have been made of lead, but it wasn’t soft or malleable. It was nearly half an inch thick and maybe four inches on a side, just larger than her palm. One side was smooth and blank, but the other side was imprinted with circles intertwined to form another circle, with a separate circle set in the center. Within each of the circles except the one in the center, a different symbol had been etched, but they weren’t Greek letters or anything Ernie could recognize. “Are these runes?”
“I don’t know what they are. I only recognized one—it appears to be a hieroglyph for ‘earth’ or ‘land.’ As for the others . . .” Mom shrugged. “They’re not part of one writing system, or possibly any writing system, that I could find.”
“Why would he send these to you?” She picked up the other two metal squares—they were identical to the first. She put them back.
Her mom closed the metal box, set it on her desk, and seemed to be considering her next words carefully. “I believe what he said—he wanted me to keep them for him until he could come to get them.”
“But what are they?”
Mom’s eyes met hers. “I’m not sure, Ernestine. But the day after I received them, Mr. Gabriel Carrig came to visit me, and the day after . . . well. You know what happened there. Both gentlemen started out by asking if I had any new items for sale, and when I said I didn’t, they asked if I’d received any new items I didn’t intend to sell. Both seemed able to discern every lie I told, and called me out each time.” She frowned. “It was extremely unpleasant. They seemed to know I had something, and wanted it badly, but they wouldn’t say what it was. I can only assume it was these.”