grabbed the flashlight, shining it into the corner of the room. Whatever hung on the chair was long and black, just like the cloak I’d seen in the light.
The walls closed in. I’d come this far. I had to know.
I tucked the flashlight beneath my arm, darted for the chair, and then reached for the fabric.
The first thing I noticed was the weight. It had to be twenty pounds. The same mud I’d seen on the boots was daubed across the hem. Sleeves slipped from the folds as I held it up.
A collar. Cuffs. But no hood. It wasn’t the cloak I’d seen on that figure.
Had I really thought it might have been Sol beneath that hood? That he’d conjured some elaborate light show by which to snatch Jay? Anyway, it could never have been Sol. He’d been with me when I’d seen that hooded man.
But how to explain the map? Alex on Rowe. The lights in the cornfield. Jay on the Ridge. All covered with X marks thespot. Still I needed something more. Proof. Solid, undeniable proof. I put the coat back, and then shone the flashlight once more around the room.
There was a trunk close to the door. Long and deep, it was carved from a dark wood. Thick metal bands crisscrossed the lid. There was no keyhole. No padlock.
I looked through the window again. No sign of Sol. There was time.
I crouched in front of the trunk and threw back the lid. Clothes and blankets covered the contents. On top of them lay a sword.
I’d seen swords before. Sheriff Burkett had a few on the wall in his den. But they were fancier, elegant, I guess. Not this one.
First, it was huge. It ran the full length of the trunk. Secondly, it was plain. No etchings or scrolls decorated the blade like the ones at the Burketts’. The only ornamentation was a thick band of worn brown leather on the grip. It was brutal-looking, a weapon designed for one purpose: running something through.
I reached for the sword, my fingers curling around the hilt. It was heavy, like, really heavy, heavier than the weights Willie and I lifted during circuit training in the gym. This was a real, solid, blood-and-guts weapon.
I plunged my hand down the side of the trunk and rifledto see what was hidden beneath. There was a handgun. A box of bullets. More clothes. There was a deep green shirt of linen or hemp, embroidered with tiny silver stitches. Another, heavily woven in the deepest of red. And then other things, things I’d never seen before. A marble-sized glass sphere inside a tiny box. A pouch that jingled as if filled with coins.
I eyed the T-shirts and jeans beside the bed. It was the uniform of every guy at Crownsville High. Not like the clothes in the chest.
I lifted the embroidered green shirt. Sol’s scent rose from it, like the woodlands alongside a river. It was the outdoorsy scent of Sol’s truck that I recognized from when he’d driven me to Mickey’s.
As I carefully replaced the shirt, I tugged at the spine of a book, wedged down the side of the trunk.
Symbols in Legend and Mythology.
The dream bird book. As I pulled on the spine, the book caught on something beneath.
“It can’t be . . .”
I reached in, and then slowly withdrew my mom’s necklace.
With all that had happened, I hadn’t given it a thought. Now I remembered. Almost twenty-four hours ago the necklace had been around my neck. I’d worn it when I’d taken off after Jay. I saw myself in the kitchen with Pete and the sheriff, standingoutside Jay’s room, lying in my bed. I hadn’t been wearing it then. I was certain .
It was definitely the same necklace; only the clasp was broken. A long strand of chocolate-colored hair was tangled in the links.
Images flashed. Sol bowled into me from behind. Was that when he’d taken it? But why? I didn’t feel it fall. Because it hadn’t fallen; the broken clasp was evidence of that. It had been torn from my neck.
The light brightened in the room. Necklace tight in my fist, I sprang to the window. Sol’s truck pulled up outside.
My feet barely hit the
The walls closed in. I’d come this far. I had to know.
I tucked the flashlight beneath my arm, darted for the chair, and then reached for the fabric.
The first thing I noticed was the weight. It had to be twenty pounds. The same mud I’d seen on the boots was daubed across the hem. Sleeves slipped from the folds as I held it up.
A collar. Cuffs. But no hood. It wasn’t the cloak I’d seen on that figure.
Had I really thought it might have been Sol beneath that hood? That he’d conjured some elaborate light show by which to snatch Jay? Anyway, it could never have been Sol. He’d been with me when I’d seen that hooded man.
But how to explain the map? Alex on Rowe. The lights in the cornfield. Jay on the Ridge. All covered with X marks thespot. Still I needed something more. Proof. Solid, undeniable proof. I put the coat back, and then shone the flashlight once more around the room.
There was a trunk close to the door. Long and deep, it was carved from a dark wood. Thick metal bands crisscrossed the lid. There was no keyhole. No padlock.
I looked through the window again. No sign of Sol. There was time.
I crouched in front of the trunk and threw back the lid. Clothes and blankets covered the contents. On top of them lay a sword.
I’d seen swords before. Sheriff Burkett had a few on the wall in his den. But they were fancier, elegant, I guess. Not this one.
First, it was huge. It ran the full length of the trunk. Secondly, it was plain. No etchings or scrolls decorated the blade like the ones at the Burketts’. The only ornamentation was a thick band of worn brown leather on the grip. It was brutal-looking, a weapon designed for one purpose: running something through.
I reached for the sword, my fingers curling around the hilt. It was heavy, like, really heavy, heavier than the weights Willie and I lifted during circuit training in the gym. This was a real, solid, blood-and-guts weapon.
I plunged my hand down the side of the trunk and rifledto see what was hidden beneath. There was a handgun. A box of bullets. More clothes. There was a deep green shirt of linen or hemp, embroidered with tiny silver stitches. Another, heavily woven in the deepest of red. And then other things, things I’d never seen before. A marble-sized glass sphere inside a tiny box. A pouch that jingled as if filled with coins.
I eyed the T-shirts and jeans beside the bed. It was the uniform of every guy at Crownsville High. Not like the clothes in the chest.
I lifted the embroidered green shirt. Sol’s scent rose from it, like the woodlands alongside a river. It was the outdoorsy scent of Sol’s truck that I recognized from when he’d driven me to Mickey’s.
As I carefully replaced the shirt, I tugged at the spine of a book, wedged down the side of the trunk.
Symbols in Legend and Mythology.
The dream bird book. As I pulled on the spine, the book caught on something beneath.
“It can’t be . . .”
I reached in, and then slowly withdrew my mom’s necklace.
With all that had happened, I hadn’t given it a thought. Now I remembered. Almost twenty-four hours ago the necklace had been around my neck. I’d worn it when I’d taken off after Jay. I saw myself in the kitchen with Pete and the sheriff, standingoutside Jay’s room, lying in my bed. I hadn’t been wearing it then. I was certain .
It was definitely the same necklace; only the clasp was broken. A long strand of chocolate-colored hair was tangled in the links.
Images flashed. Sol bowled into me from behind. Was that when he’d taken it? But why? I didn’t feel it fall. Because it hadn’t fallen; the broken clasp was evidence of that. It had been torn from my neck.
The light brightened in the room. Necklace tight in my fist, I sprang to the window. Sol’s truck pulled up outside.
My feet barely hit the
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