Chapter 17

“Get dressed,” Mom said, shaking me out of sleep. “We’re leaving.”

I rubbed my eyes and found her sitting on the edge of my bed, her hand on my arm. It was so early the attic was still dark.

Mom had spent the night on my floor, but her sleeping bag was all rolled up and put away. When she opened the door, I got a better look at her in the gray morning light. She had her leggings and workout tank on, ready for a two-hour road trip.

It took a second to force myself out of the comfy, Cecelia-shaped dip I’d made in the mattress and remember what was going on. We were bailing out, leaving the whole Crow circus in the rearview, and driving home. I’d see Dad today.

That should’ve been good news. But I couldn’t ignore the pit in my stomach. Couldn’t stop wondering what Crow had summoned last night, and whose problem it would become. Couldn’t shake the feeling that problem should be mine.

I put on the clothes I’d laid out the night before for the trip—a rose-patterned tank, soft, lacy shorts, and slip-on sandals so I could kick my bare feet up on the dash—and went out onto the landing.

In the dim house, I could barely make out Martina sacked out on the couch and Dr. Jacobs asleep in the recliner with her hat over her face.

Mom flipped on the light in the kitchen. Stopped short in the doorway.

“Why are you here?” she said, keeping her voice low.

Her withering tone made me freeze at the top of the stairs. She wasn’t talking to me.

I took my foot off the first step and backed away. Instead, I ducked low and crept along the landing, peeking through the railing to get a better angle through the kitchen door.

And slowly, the intruder came into view.

Dixon’s mom. She sat on a stool, legs crossed, bouncing the toe of her high heeled sandal. Her white-blond braid fell over a dress that looked like modern art.

The sight of her punched me in the stomach.

I gripped the rail bars and hunkered in the dark, hoping I was hidden. She wasn’t supposed to see me. What the heck was she doing in our house?

Mrs. Hemming lifted a paper cup with a cardboard sleeve and flashed Mom a Colgate smile. “I said I’d buy you a coffee sometime.”

My mind sped faster than one of those floating Japanese trains. Was this about the giant hole Crow’s dinosaur left in the museum? Had she traced it back to us—to me? Had Dixon squealed?

Mrs. Hemming held the drive-thru coffee out to Mom. “Dark chocolate mocha.” She gave the cup a waggle like she was teasing a cat.

Mom stood stiff in the doorway.

“It’s on me. My pleasure.” Mrs. Hemming set the cup on the counter and pushed it toward Mom with her French tips. “It might be a little cold, though. I took a few wrong turns. This place isn’t easy to find.”

“I like the privacy.” Mom’s voice was taut as a tightrope, but she held it balanced and steady. “You need to leave.”

“Or you’ll call the police?” Mrs. Hemming took her own drink off the counter—something iced and creamy in a clear plastic cup. “I had a chat with Officer Wines over the phone this morning, actually. Told him I’d pay you a visit. I don’t think he minds.” She gave her coffee a swirl. “I doubt the DA will, either. I’m very active in the community.”

A slimy chill slithered down my back. Was that a threat?

I checked in on Pine. He was supposed to be asleep downstairs. Mom set him up where she normally slept, in Grandpa’s room. But when I entered his mind, he was already wide awake.

Stay where you are, I said.

What’s wrong?

I’m not sure. Just stay put.

“If this is about the damage to the museum . . .” Mom left the idea in the air.

“Oh. That.” Mrs. Hemming held in a giggle like she didn’t want to wake up the others and waved the thought away. “By now, I know that stunt at the party was yours. I’d hate to make a fuss about it. Accidents happen. And frankly, what an audition. You blew me away.” She leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “I’m here to talk to you about that opportunity we discussed. You may have noticed that I recently came into some remains.”

Mom didn’t waste a second. “I’m not interested.”

Mrs. Hemming gave a little smile, like she had a secret. “But you summoned him. Didn’t you?” The way she said it, it wasn’t really a question. She knew Crow was alive.

It was so quiet I could hear the wall clock tick.

“. . . But not on purpose?” Mrs. Hemming guessed.

Had she used her divination powers to figure that out? Or had she learned about the 911 call from Officer Wines and put two and two together? Or maybe, by nothing but Mom’s expression, she realized just now.

Mrs. Hemming took a sip of her iced coffee. “You know, my great-grandmother Blanche, she was the first of us Hemmings to scry backward. To look into the past. She was fascinated by deep time and our place in it. I always wondered if it had something to do with living through the Second World War. You know. All that fear. All that destruction.” Her eyes glazed over, like she could remember it herself. Maybe, with magic like hers, she could. “One night, during the blitz, Blanche looked further into history than she’d ever looked before. And do you know what she saw?” Her voice dropped low. “A mage—a king—leading his four-hundred-thousand-year-old culture in the face of extinction.”

My skin prickled. She couldn’t mean—Crow?

“In an era of poison gas and atom bombs and curse magic, Blanche had found a man who had seen the end of the world. A mage with the power to take magic from the wrong people. A leader with the experience to save a species bent on self-destruction.” She talked like she was reading red letters straight out of the Bible. “That night, in her heart, Blanche swore fealty to that long-lost king. She spent her whole life searching for him in the past—until one day, she looked into the future, and saw . . .” Mrs. Hemming interrupted herself with a laugh and a shrug. “What can I call it but a second coming? Here, in Glen Rose. A king”—she looked to Mom with stars in her eyes—“and a necromancer.”

“She saw me?” I caught the hairsplitting edge in Mom’s voice. She knew something not even Dixon’s fortune-telling mother knew. She was a Slumber. But she wasn’t a mage.

“Actually, I believe she saw your father,” Mrs. Hemming said. “My condolences, by the way. It must’ve felt like you’d lost everything.”

Mom didn’t say thank you.

“When he died, I was afraid we’d lost everything, too. We’d only just discovered him by accident when Dr. Jacobs brought him on board. And then, suddenly, he was gone. After decades of planning and searching. I felt like such a fool.” She cracked a smile. “But then you came to settle his affairs. I can’t believe what a professional job your parents did of hiding you. We didn’t even know you existed. It was like a miracle.”

Did she just say we? Who was we?

Below, in the living room, Dr. Jacobs slowly pulled her hat down to her chest, revealing a disturbed expression and wide-open eyes. Apparently, she’d been listening for a while.

Thank goodness she was awake. I don’t think she noticed me in the dark, but it was nice to know I wasn’t the only person who thought this lady sounded nuttier than a pecan pie.

“Well. Your caveman’s alive.” Mom deserved an Oscar, she looked so unfazed. “So what do you want from me?”

“I’m sensing we have a common goal. You want to know where the king is, and that he’s being”—she seemed to be searching for the right word—“managed. And I want to find him before things get out of hand.”

“This man.” Mom spoke slowly, like she was choosing every word. “He needs to be put to rest.”

“I know what you’re going to say. That I don’t know who I’m dealing with. But we Hemmings know the king better than anyone. Our fates are tangled. It’s prophecy.”

Mom stood there for a moment. Maybe waiting for Mrs. Hemming to leave. Maybe deciding whether she should get a broom and start swinging. I didn’t know.

“You’re on the fence,” Mrs. Hemming said. She sighed. “You know, after what happened at the party, my attorney advised me to seek compensation for damages. But believe me, I don’t want to go there. I’ve looked down that road. Tens of thousands of dollars in legal fees, not to mention the publicity.”

“Are you blackmailing me?” Mom’s voice went hard.

Mrs. Hemming laughed again, but it came out through a frown, almost like she was offended. “Don’t twist my words. I don’t want your money. I only want your friendship.”

After a long, tense moment, she got up from the stool and took her purse off the counter.

“Let me start over.” When she turned back to Mom, her face had softened again. “I came here because I wanted to offer you an invitation. You have a chance to be part of a respectable institution that serves and supports this entire community. It’s an order of good men and women—first responders, local government, business owners, journalists—all very eager to see a beautiful future fulfilled. I want you to be part of that future.” She met Mom in the kitchen doorway, matching her height on high heels. “I know how you value discretion. And I can promise you, my friends and I are excellent secret keepers.” She reached into her bag and pulled out something small and shiny. She took Mom’s hand, pressed the item into her palm, and closed her fingers around it. “Just think about it.”

Mom opened her hand, and I caught a glimpse of a silver, teardrop-shaped brooch.

The chills on my skin hardened to ice. I’d seen that pin before.

Mrs. Hemming hiked the strap of her purse up on her shoulder, pulled out her car keys, and went for the front door. But when she reached for the knob, she stopped and snapped her fingers. “Whoops. Almost forgot.” She doubled back into the living room. “Jessie Jacobs?”

Slowly, Dr. Jacobs sat up in the recliner.

Mrs. Hemming tipped her head and gave her a sad smile. “We’re letting you go, sweetie. I wanted you to hear it from me.” She spun her keyring around her finger and stepped outside. “Ciao, ladies.”

A second later, I heard her car drive off.

Dr. Jacobs stared at the front door, dumbstruck. And thirty seconds too late, she said, “What?”

“What?” Martina sat up and rubbed her eyes, all pink flyaways and rumpled sweatshirt.

The door to Grandpa’s room opened, and Pine poked his head out. He shot me a look that was one big question mark.

Mom took the drive-thru coffee cup on the counter, dropped it into the trash, and announced to the whole house, “We’re leaving.”