Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea by April Genevieve Tucholke Page A

Let’s, you know, go play in the Citizen’s attic. Come on, Violet, we haven’t done that in years.It’ll be fun.Come on .” She took my arm and began to tug on it. 
    “Okay, okay,” I said to Sunshine. I turned to River. “Want to see the attic? It’s big and dusty and scary.” 
    “Yep,” he said. 
    So we all climbed back up the trail to the road and walked home. 
    Jack was waiting. 

Chapter 12
    "I want you to show me how you do it,” he said. 
    Jack was standing on the steps of the Citizen. He stared at River for a second, and then repeated himself. “Show me how you do it.” 
    River tilted his head and smiled.“Do what?” 
    “The magic.”Jack kept staring,and his expression began to match River’s—cagey, and smart, and suspicious. 
    I looked at Luke and Sunshine.They were laughing and flirting with each other in a drunk,shameless way,and not paying attention. 
    But I was paying attention. I watched River closely. Very closely. 
    Because I knew. I knew that River sneaking away during Casablanca and the kids seeing the Devil in the cemetery weren’t two separate things. I just didn’t know how yet. 
    River leaned down and whispered something in Jack’s ear.Jack nodded.Then River stood back up.“Jack,”he said, out loud now,“do you want to explore a dusty,scary attic?” 
    Jack glared at River for a second and then shrugged. 
    So we all walked through the Citizen, up the marble staircase, down the second-floor hall, past Freddie’s room,which was now my room,and up to the third floor, past the small library, past Luke’s bedroom, past the old ballroom that was now the art gallery, until we reached the rickety spiral staircase at the end of the hall that led to the attic. 
    The Citizen’s attic was, objectively, breathtaking. The place was littered with trunks and old clothes and wardrobes and pieces of furniture and strange metal toys no one had played with in sixty years and half-painted canvases and on and on. There were several round windows to let in the sunlight, and I loved how it raked its way across the floor as I watched,dust dancing like sugarplum fairies in the bold yellow glow. If attics could make wishes, this one would have nothing to wish for. 
    “Will I find Narnia inside there?”Jack asked, pointing to a tall wardrobe against the wall. He was wearing dark jeans that were too big, and a faded brown T-shirt. Over the T-shirt he had a green army-style jacket, which was also too big but looked kind of cool on him. It had a lot of pockets, which was probably why Jack liked it. 
    Jack turned to River and me,and he was smiling about the wardrobe, his thin lips parting and his freckles shifting with the movement. “ The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe is a good book.” 
    So there was still a little kid inside Jack after all.A little kid that liked fantasy books and wardrobes. 
    River smiled.“There’s no way Narnia isn’t in that thing. I’m going in.” 
    Moth-eaten fur coats began to fly as they dug their way to the back of the tall, deep cupboard. I went over to the old wind-up phonograph in the corner and began to sift through the yellowed record sleeves, occasionally stopping to push my hair out of my face so I could lean in closer. By the time the tips of my hair were covered with dust,I’d found what I wanted. 
    I put the record on the player and turned the crank. The rustling blues of Robert Johnson filled the attic. 
    After River and Jack disemboweled the Narnia wardrobe of all its old coats, it served as the attic’s changing room. Sunshine put on a wrinkled saffron dress that was two sizes too small in the chest, which suited her fine. My brother found a dashing pinstriped suit, probably one of our grandpa’s. When he came out of the wardrobe I wanted to say he looked good, and that he should dress like this all the time, and hey it’s pretty awesome to wear your dead relative’s clothes . . .but I kept my mouth shut, because I was afraid