Scott Tracey - Moonset
“We only need one. ”
“You heard it, right?” Mal wasn’t looking at the door at all, in fact he had his back to it entirely.
“I heard … something.”
“What do you think it is?”
I shook my head. More mysteries. “Who’d you say told you about this?”
“Some guy at the gym,” he shrugged. “He looked like a gym teacher or something. You know, sweats and stained T-shirts, hair that tries to convince everyone isn’t thinning, and all that.”
Was the house haunted? Was that what this was? Maybe some kind of psychic imprint or something? I didn’t know much about ghosts or residual energy, but there was definitely something going on here.
Mal interrupted my reverie. “You sure you haven’t seen this before? I know I’ve seen it somewhere.”
I might have seen the symbol somewhere before, but it didn’t ring any bells. “I’m more concerned with the voice. And why did someone tell you about it in the first place?” We only need one? One what? And who needed it?
“I don’t think he was a witch. They always give you that ‘yeah, I know who you are’ creepy look, and then they move as far away as they can,” Mal said darkly.
“Next time you go, see if you can find that guy again. Find out if he knows anything else about the house.”
“And the symbol?” Mal asked, as we walked back to the car. I turned back to the front door, remembering the way the tentacle had shifted like it was alive.
“We’ll have to look for that, too.” Magic was a language, and that meant there was a written component, too. Maybe the symbol on the door was some kind of spell, and it had been carved there by whoever’s voice had been in my head. Written magic could be just as devastating as the verbal kind—it definitely could have burned down the house.
The question was why.
We headed towards Main Street and the coffee shop, just as he’d promised. Mal turned the radio up the moment I got in, and we left the discussion of the fire and the symbol back at the house. Carrow Mill didn’t have a Starbucks or a fancy coffee place, but it had the mom-and-pop equivalent, and that was good enough for me.
“Told you we’d meet again, big guy,” an amused voice called out before I’d even finished climbing out of the SUV.
It was her. Ash. Sitting on a sidewalk bench not twenty feet from us, completely oblivious to the way my heart dropped into my stomach. She had her phone between her hands, thumbs still texting away even though her eyes were on me.
“Who’s this?” Mal said as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his gray sweatshirt, eyes already crinkling and a smirk on his lips. Ugh. He was going to be a dick about it, I could already tell.
“This,” she said, “is Ash.” She stood up, a Styrofoam cup in hand. Like she was a model on display. And I mean, I didn’t exactly mind. She was wearing a leather jacket over a purple top and jeans tucked into her boots. She looked like she was about to kick someone’s ass. I just hoped she’d let me watch.
“Of course you are,” Mal said slowly, giving me the side eye. “So you’re the girl he met.”
If you swallow me up right now, I promise I won’t mind, I prayed to the earth. Actually, on second thought, take him instead. I waited, hoping that the sudden cave in that swallowed up my brother wouldn’t do too much damage. But nothing happened.
Ash looped her arm through Mal’s. “Obviously. I’m guessing you’re the big brother?”
“Unfortunately.”
The pair of them went inside, as though I wasn’t even a factor anymore. Wait, what the hell?
How had that happened? I hurried in after them, nearly tripping over my feet. Inside, the coffee shop was all blacks and somber greens, which actually fit my mood perfectly. A girl showing more interest in Mal than me wasn’t unusual, but the fact that Mal was encouraging it was.
Love seats and couches were spread out into tiny little nooks, broken up by dust-covered plastic plants trying to feign the illusion of privacy.
“I like this one,” Mal said as he craned his neck over one shoulder to look back at me. “How’d you find a girl this fun, anyway?”
I glared in response.
“She found him, of course,” Ash said, stepping up to the counter and flashing that devil-may-
care grin my way. “Come on, Ponyboy, let’s figure out what you’re drinking.”
Even though I didn’t want to, I stepped forward like a dog being beckoned. Eager, even.
“Coffee.”
She tsked. “Not even going to try a bold new flavor?” I could hear Malcolm chuckling behind us. “Don’t worry,” she said without looking back at him, “we’ll deal with your drink next.” She stared up at the menus, hand written on tiny little blackboards. “I think you’d like the Turtle
Mocha.”
I looked at the list of ingredients. “Definitely not. It’s more syrup than coffee!”
“Spiced Apple?”
“I’m not a big fan of apples.”
She snorted. “I don’t think that’s really possible. No one hates apples.”
Mal laughed. “He didn’t say—”
She held up a finger. “Tut tut, bigger brother. You’ll have your turn. Grown-ups are talking.”
I don’t think a girl had ever talked to Malcolm like that in our entire lives. We exchanged a look, both shocked into silence. Girls flocked around Malcolm like he was the second coming of swiveling hips and rock and roll. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad after all.
Ash snapped her fingers a few times, still focused on the menu. “Come on, Captain No-Fun, don’t be boring and ask for French Vanilla.”
“I like French Vanilla!”
“Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“You’ve met Jenna, remember? Rule number one, you never upstage the star.”
Her head tipped and her smile widened. “Good point.”
Malcolm coughed. “Better hope she didn’t hear that.” Ash glanced backwards, and Mal added, “They have that whole twin-brain thing.”
I turned, placing my hands on the railing. “You should finish your errands,” I said. “We’ll be fine.”
“Oh, but I like the brother. He can stay,” Ash decided.
Malcolm, traitor that he was, didn’t help matters. “Errands can wait. ”
There had to be a spell that caused an acne outbreak. Maybe pair it with something to make his hair fall out. Jenna would probably know, I mused. I’d have to ask her.
Mal deserved it.
“So Justin got a bowl cut, all because his sister and I told him it was the coolest haircut ever.”
The three of us sat down by a small, round end table.
“So he just … let you cut his hair?” Ash had her hand over her mouth, trying to hold in the laughs. Malcolm was a decent storyteller, lots of arm motions and animated reenactments.
“I didn’t let them cut my hair,” I said, trying not to sound testy. But seriously, why this story?
Why? “They kept harassing me until I finally gave in. I just wanted them to shut up.”
“It’s the power of peer pressure,” Malcolm agreed. “I think that’s the last time he listened to the two of us.” “And,” I added, “I was seven. Who doesn’t make stupid hair decisions when they’re seven?”
“I didn’t,” Malcolm volunteered.
Ash chimed in too. “My mother wanted me to get my hair permed, but I said no.”
“Well, you’re both a pair of geniuses then,” I snapped.
Ash giggled, holding her hands over her cup. “Maybe I should have let him get the French
Vanilla.”
Malcolm nodded. “Or decaf.”
“So there’s five of you?” Ash sat up, looking between the two of us before centering on me.
“And you’re the middle child.”
I nodded. “Guilty.”
“Not to be weird or anything, but you guys don’t look at all alike. You sure you’re related?”
Mal slid in smoothly, the way he always did. “Adopted. Kind of a long story, but Justin and
Jenna are the only two who are actually blood related. The rest of us are just siblings by choice.”
“Huh,” she said, mulling that over. “Five kids, all the same age? That’s a little weird. Your house must be insane in the morning.”
“With two sisters? Obviously,” Mal said with a laugh. He was the best liar out of all of us, so I let him take the lead. Wherever we went, we never really talked about our living arrangements.
Most people assumed we lived together, and we let them think what they wanted. We didn’t have friends over or anything like that. “Especially Jenna. She’s a little high maintenance.”
“Yeah, I’ve met Jenna. ‘High maintenance’ is being nice. So which one haven’t I met?”
“Cole,” I said, jumping in. I didn’t want Mal completely dominating the conversation. The fact that he was still here was already annoying enough. But he didn’t need to completely hog the spotlight, either. “He’s the next oldest after me. And Bailey’s the baby.”
“So Jenna’s older than you?” she asked. I nodded. “She probably never lets you forget it either.”
Mal snickered. I set my cup down and grinned. “Something like that.”
“Justin’s used to getting bossed around by girls,” Mal said. “Just in case you were wondering.”
“Candidates with that quality move to the front of the line,” she grinned. “I’ll have to make a note on your application.”
“I don’t like this,” I said, waving my hand between the two of them. “The two of you together
… nothing good will come of it. You’re both too evil.”
Ash laughed. “Relax, Justin,” she said. Hearing my name on her lips was strange—I almost forgot she knew it. I’d gotten used to her strange nicknames. “Besides, Malcolm wouldn’t be nearly as much fun to torment.”
“So Ash,” Mal began, his tone abruptly serious. “What’s the deal with that house that burned down.”
“Seriously, Mal?” I snapped.
He shrugged, unapologetic. “I’m just curious.”
Ash was literally the last person I’d want to get involved in any of this. She was a bit off, and she took too much pleasure in teasing, but I would have liked to wait a bit longer before dropping the “my family is insane” bomb. Not that Jenna hadn’t already spoiled that a bit already.
She looked between the two of us, her lips curving slowly into a smirk. “Something I should know?”
“Justin thought it was a little freaky, that’s all,” Mal said, rolling his eyes. “He has nightmares.”
“Wow, really? You’re the one who was obsessed,” I said, crossing my arms in front of me.
“Oh, is that all?” She pulled her legs up onto her chair and watched us, half hidden by her knees. “You’re talking about the rec center, right? Not much to tell, I think. Some kids broke in one night, and one of them left a cigarette burning. My dad’s trying to raise money to rebuild, but it’s going to cost a lot, I guess.”
“That’s all?” I could have punched Mal for sounding so obviously disappointed. Like Ash didn’t think we were weird enough. I was surprised she hadn’t edged her way out the door already.
