Awaken Page 13

  I barely heard him. I was staring at the photo Farah had sent. Where u at, girl? she’d written at the bottom of the photo. We miss u! Get on over here! Mr. Smith had been right about Farah’s generous use of emoticons, many of which were smiley faces wearing devil horns.

  That wasn’t what I found so fascinating about her message. It wasn’t even the garishly painted wooden coffin in the background, on which our class’s year had been scrawled in gold, or the fact that a girl I didn’t know was riding the coffin like a horse.

  It was Seth, with his tussled blond hair and easy smile, straight white teeth and an allover surfer tan. He looked so wholesome in his polo shirt and board shorts — well, except for the obscene gesture he was making to the camera. The shirt he had on in the photo was black, probably in honor of the occasion, Coffin Night.

  I couldn’t quite put my finger on what bothered me about him.

  Oh, yeah. He’d killed my cousin.

  “You’re not going,” Mr. Smith said. “Are you?”

  “Of course we’re going,” I said, lowering the phone. “They actually invited me the other day, before I killed Mr. Mueller.”

  Mr. Smith sighed. “The police will be looking for you.”

  “They’ve been looking for me all along,” I said.

  “But you hadn’t killed anyone then.”

  “We’ll have to be extra careful,” I said. “Thanks for everything.”

  He sighed again, then looked heavenward. “At least use Patrick’s car. The police won’t be looking for that.”

  “Why Patrick’s car?” I asked curiously. “Why not yours?”

  “You’ll see,” Mr. Smith said.

  A few minutes later, I did.

  “But of this water it behooves thee drink

  Before so great a thirst in thee be slaked.”

  DANTE ALIGHIERI, Paradiso, Canto XXX

  There were only two ways to reach Reef Key, the remote island located a mile or two off the coast of Isla Huesos where Seth Rector was throwing his Coffin Night party. One of them was by boat. But with coastal advisories warning of tidal surges of as much as four feet due to the massive power of Hurricane Cassandra, getting to Reef Key by boat was out of the question.

  That same surge made the narrow two-lane highway that led to Reef Key almost impassable.

  Almost. Unless you were driving a specially equipped recreational vehicle.

  “Is that a snorkel?” Alex asked after Patrick threw the cover off the tricked-out hardtop Jeep he had parked in the aboveground parking garage we’d already heard so much about.

  “Of course,” Patrick said, looking pleased. “This baby can cross through depths of up to six, seven feet, easy. I installed the filtration system myself — along with the roof rack, fog lights, winch, and CB radio.”

  “Wow,” Alex said, widening his eyes at Kayla and Frank and me as if to ask, Where’d this nutcase come from, anyway? Which wasn’t very nice, considering Mr. Smith was standing right there, too, and Patrick was his special friend. “A CB? How forward thinking of you.”

  “Hey,” Patrick said, looking serious. “You think this is a joke? Climate change is real. They’ve got these buoys out in the ocean between Cuba and Isla Huesos, measuring the sea level, and every year, the level goes up another inch thanks to all those melting glaciers. At that rate, everyone on this island who owns property on the waterfront will be underwater within our lifetimes … maybe sooner. That’s why Rich and I bought a place eighteen feet above sea level …. Not that that does anyone much good in a storm this size — and storms this size are becoming more and more frequent. That’s why we’ve got this baby” — he patted the side of the Jeep Wagoneer fondly — “so we can get out fast if we need to. But she’s only for extreme emergencies. No one should be out on a night like this.”

  “Yeah,” I said, apologizing for all four of us. “We know. But we really need to get to this party to, uh … ”

  “Pick up her sweetheart,” Frank rushed in. “He’s stranded and needs a ride. And the coppers are still looking for him, you know.”

  Mr. Smith had buried his face in one hand, as if embarrassed for us.

  I didn’t blame him. I was embarrassed for us, too.

  But Frank’s lie — which wasn’t entirely untrue — did the trick. Patrick handed over the keys, which had a fob depicting Napoleon Dynamite with the motto SKILLS!

  “Go,” Patrick whispered to me. I had to lean in to hear him. “Go and get your boy.”

  Outside the aboveground parking garage, open on four sides, lightning had flashed, followed a few seconds later by a boom of thunder so loud, it seemed to shake the cement floor beneath our feet. I hadn’t been sure at the time if it had been John or the storm.

  Now, sitting snug and dry in Patrick’s car as it approached Reef Key, I was fairly certain I knew. The waves crashing on either side of the road didn’t quite wash all the way across it, so we hadn’t had to use the snorkel feature. But every time lightning streaked the night sky, I could see the clouds overhead, dark and violently colliding with one another, moving even more quickly than we were. It did almost seem as if a part of John was alive and being held somewhere against his will, and was taking out his wrath about it by churning up the sea and sky.

  “Guess I don’t have to ask which one it is,” Alex said as we approached Seth Rector’s father’s multimillion-dollar development. Only one of the units was finished, and I could see it lit up like a beacon through the rapidly beating windshield wipers.

  “I still can’t believe we’re doing this,” Kayla said from the backseat beside me. “This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, except possibly for that time I did all those lemon drop shots on my birthday.”

  “It’s going to be fine,” I said in what I hoped sounded like a convincing voice. “We won’t be staying long.”

  “What are lemon drop shots?” Frank asked from the front seat. He’d reluctantly allowed Alex to drive, but only because the latter had actually driven a car before and had a license. The two of them were equally in love with Patrick’s tricked-out Jeep.

  “Never mind,” I said. “Just don’t drink one if someone offers you one at the party. Don’t drink anything anyone offers you, in fact.”

  “Why are we even doing this?” Kayla asked. I recognized the anxiety in her voice from the day Farah Endicott had asked us to sit at her table at Island Queen — now undoubtedly underwater — and Kayla had refused. “How is going to a stupid party given by the guy who killed Alex possibly going to help the Underworld?”

  “It’s going to help me,” Alex said, “when I walk up and kick him in the nuts.”

  “We’re here to look for Furies and evidence that Seth and those guys murdered Jade,” I said. “That’s all. We are not killing anyone, kicking people in any part of their anatomy, or bribing anyone with pieces of eight.” I smacked Frank in the shoulder as I said this last part. “Is that understood?”

  “What if they try to kill us first?” Frank asked, clearly disappointed.

  “Then,” I said, “you may maim them. But only a little, and only in self-defense.”

  Frank looked more cheerful.

  Alex found a place to park along the road leading to the spec house. It was impossible to park any closer due to the waves, which were sweeping well into the development’s construction site, swamping its half-poured tennis courts. The private swimming lagoon, of which Mr. Rector had been so proud, had been swallowed up by the sea, its recirculating waterfall now clogged with sea grass.

  The driveway of the demo home was just as clogged, only with expensive sports cars and F-150s, the vehicle of choice for most students at Isla Huesos High School. They had clearly gotten to Reef Key well before the weather had turned.

  “They’ll have been drinking since way before the storm started, too,” Kayla informed us grimly.

  “How nice,” I said, before we left the safety of Patrick’s car to run the considerable distance through the rain to get to the front
door.

  In order to take advantage of Reef Key’s natural beauty — water views on three sides, mangroves in which my mom’s favorite bird, the roseate spoonbill, had once nested (before construction and the oil spill caused by my dad’s company disturbed them) — without compromising the multimillion-dollar homes’ integrity during storms like Cassandra, all of the houses on Reef Key were being built on ten-foot-high stone pilings.

  The space beneath the pilings — at least according to the presentation Mr. Rector had shown me the time he and Farah’s dad had taken me for an impromptu tour — could be filled with a three-car garage, or a storage room, or even a stylish in-law apartment (which would technically be illegal since, according to recently passed legislation, this violated flood-zone regulations. But who was going to tell?).

  It was a haul climbing up the majestically curved steps to the front door, especially under the assault of the rain, and I could only imagine it would be worse when carrying bags of groceries or, in the case of Seth and his friends, kegs of beer. I heard the heavy beat of the music coming from the house before we’d hit the first step. By the time we reached the gaudy stained-glass door — double dolphins cavorting in sea foam — it was so loud, I could make out the lyrics.

  Alex didn’t bother knocking or ringing the bell since no one would have heard anyway. He let himself in, hoping, I expected, that the sight of him alive and well would send everyone running and screaming in shock.

  “Surprise!” he shouted.

  Not a single person noticed. The people dancing — and there were a lot of them — went right on dancing. The people sunk down on the white leather couches, smoking, went right on smoking. The people gathered around the sliding glass doors, looking out over the water, pointing at something and laughing, went right on pointing and laughing.

  “Better luck next time, mate,” Frank said to Alex sympathetically, and slapped him on the shoulder.

  “Move,” Kayla said, shoving Alex a little so she could get inside from the rain. She and I stood on the white tile floor of the threshold, dripping and looking around. There was a DJ in one corner — or rather a guy who looked like he attended IHHS but had his own portable equipment and probably a large van. But he seemed to be doing an adequate job of keeping everyone in the mood … him and the keg in the corner opposite him.

  “Beer,” Frank said appreciatively. “Real beer!” He immediately began moving towards the line for the keg.

  “Great,” Kayla said with a sigh. “Ditched for beer. Story of my life.”

  “I can’t believe this,” Alex said. “No one recognizes me.” He looked down at himself. “Is it the shirt?”

  “Oh, my God,” Kayla said irritably. “I liked you better before you died, when you were the silent, moody type. Ever since they revived you, you never shut up.”

  “Maybe that’s it,” Alex said. “Maybe instead of an NDE, I’m a whadduyacallit? Oh, right, a revenant, and no one but you guys can see me.”

  “Everyone can see you,” I assured him, closing the door behind us. “It’s just that it’s a party. Everyone’s too busy having a good time to care about anyone else.”

  “This sucks,” Alex said sullenly. “If someone murders you and you get revived and come back to wreak vengeance on your killers, they could at least have the decency to notice you.”

  I patted him on the shoulder in a manner I hoped he’d find comforting.

  “Mr. Rector has a business office downstairs,” I said. “Since no one is paying attention to you anyway, why don’t you go break into his computer and look for proof of his dirty dealings?”

  Alex stared at me blankly. “Like what?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Like that he set up your dad to take the fall for his drug dealing back when they were in high school together. Or maybe that he uses his current business for money laundering. Something like that would be good.”

  Alex brightened. “That’s an excellent idea,” he said. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it myself.” He began to mill through the crowd, barking, “Move it,” in a deep voice that sounded to me like an imitation of Frank when anyone got in his way. Everyone was so drunk that they actually followed his command.

  “Ladies.” Frank returned, carefully balancing three red drink cups in his hands. “Elixir of the gods, one for each of you.”

  Kayla made a face. “Is that beer?”

  Frank made the same face right back at her. “No, it isn’t. I know how you feel about beer, my fair young lass. I got the two of you punch, from right over there.” He nodded at a crystal bowl set up on a long narrow table along the lone wall that wasn’t made up of sliding glass doors. Beside the punch bowl were bags of chips and deli trays that might once have contained meat and crudités, but which now looked as if they’d been ravaged by hungry raccoons.

  Kayla, who’d taken a sip of the punch, quickly spat the mouthful back into the cup.

  “Don’t drink it,” she said to me, and dashed the cup in my hands to the floor.

  “Kayla,” I said, looking worriedly down at the pale pink stain on the floor (pale pink because the rainwater from our dripping clothes had diluted it). “What’s wrong?”

  I’d never been to a high school party before. After becoming an NDE, I hadn’t exactly been a social butterfly, and no one had invited me anywhere once they heard about the mess I’d gotten into with Mr. Mueller. He’d been incredibly popular, and I’d been incredibly not so.

  Still, I was pretty sure it wasn’t socially acceptable to go around dumping your drinks out on the floor, no matter how wild the party or how huge of a hurricane was raging outside of it.

  “It’s mystery drink,” Kayla said in a tone that suggested I should know what that was. When I looked blank, she explained, “Everybody brings whatever pills they find in their parents’ medicine cabinet and dumps them into a bowl of vodka mixed with Kool-Aid.”

  She pointed at the empty prescription bottles scattered amidst the crumpled potato chip bags.

  “Oh,” I said, thinking of all the warning labels written along the sides of the drugs I’d been prescribed after my accident: May cause drowsiness. May impair the ability to drive or operate machinery. I’d actually heard of this kind of thing before, but they’d been referred to as pharma parties. “I thought parties like this were a myth created by the media.”

  “Like the Underworld is a myth created by the Greeks?” Frank asked.

  “Good point,” I admitted.

  “In Isla Huesos, nothing is a myth. Look.” Kayla pointed grimly at my chest. My diamond was as black as the night sky outside the wraparound sliding glass doors.

  “Oh, my God!” The voice was so shrill it was easy to hear above the pulsating thump of the music.

  A second later, Farah Endicott was in front of us, all stick-straight hair and cherry-red lip gloss.

  “You came,” she cried, woozily waving a party cup as she spoke. “I was just saying to Seth that I didn’t think you were going to make it; the storm’s gotten way too bad.”

  “Well,” I said to her with a watery smile. “We made it.”

  “You sure did,” she said. “I’m so glad. And you brought your friends.” She said the word friends so it came out sounding like friendsh, then leered drunkenly up at Frank. “I’ve never met you before. I can guarantee I’d have remembered that.”

  “And I you, fair madam,” Frank said, leaning forward to lift the hand in which she wasn’t holding a cup, then lightly kissing it on the knuckles.

  “Oh, my,” Farah said, giggling, while Kayla rolled her eyes at Frank’s courtliness. “This party is getting better and better! And I see you came in costumes.” She glanced down at my belt. “I love your whip! It’s cool you respect the occasion. It’s Coffin Night, you know. You guys totally rock … not like some people.”

  She glanced darkly in the direction of the coffin. There were several girls dancing on top of it, a risky proposition in their stiletto heels, especially considering the coffin
was hollow and made only of plywood, sagging under their combined weight.

  “We told them to guard it from juniors,” Farah said mournfully, “not trash it. Even though it’s not full-size, it took me ’n’ Serena all day to paint it.” She looked back at us. “You’re supposed to write your name on it with these gold pens.” She pulled a metallic marker from the back pocket of her denim mini. “We’re trying to get the signature of everyone in the class. But it hardly matters now. You can’t even see them.”

  “Would you like me to go over there and knock those girls’ heads together?” Kayla offered, apparently finding Farah less offensive when she was three sheets to the wind.

  “Aw, that’s so sweet of you,” Farah said, touched. Then her gaze seemed to focus and she really looked at Kayla for the first time. “Hey, you’re that girl with the big boobs Serena is so mean to online.” Farah’s eyes became misty with tears. “I don’t know why I’m friends with Serena. You’re super nice, and you look really beautiful in that dress. Oh, my God. Have you seen what the storm is doing to this place? Seth and those guys are over there making fun of it.” She gestured towards the group gathered in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows at the far side of the room. “But it isn’t funny. My dad is going to lose all the money he invested in this development, and then he’s never going to be able to pay for me to go to college, and I’m not smart or athletic enough to get a scholarship anywhere.”

  Farah surprised everyone by throwing her arms around Kayla and beginning to sob into her hair.

  “Uh,” Kayla said, startled. “There, there.” She patted Farah on the shoulder. “It can’t be that bad.”

  “Yes, it is,” Farah wailed, still clutching Kayla. “I’m going to have to go to Isla Huesos Community College. Then I’ll have to live on this stupid island forever, like my dad. And there isn’t even a Gap, let alone a Sephora.”

  After uttering the word Sephora, Farah sagged in Kayla’s arms, her eyes closed.