Kelly Creagh - Nevermore

“Baltimore,” Isobel blurted. “January nineteenth. I have to be there.”

Gwen turned to face Isobel. Phones pressed to their ears, they stared at each other from across the expanse of the clearing hallway.

“What?” Gwen asked, already starting back toward her again, shouldering her way through clusters of stragglers.

Isobel lowered her own phone. She held the article out at arm’s length.

Closing in, Gwen snatched it from her. “Hey!” she said, “It’s that guy! From the Grim Facade . . .”

Gwen suddenly grew quiet, and Isobel watched her eyes grow wide behind her glasses as she scanned the brief paragraph. Meanwhile, Isobel allowed her thoughts to spiral backward to the moment when Reynolds had laid her on her mother’s wicker bench. With that memory, a new thought occurred to her, one very important detail that, until that very instant, she had managed to overlook entirely. Despite what he had said about the separation of worlds and the destruction of the link, he had still stood there, in her world, fully real and tangible.

And hadn’t Varen created the link in the first place? Wouldn’t that mean that Poe had done the same?

Isobel’s eyes narrowed. Her gaze slid back to the article in Gwen’s hand, just as she was lowering the paper. Gwen’s eyes met with Isobel’s, and her face held a wondering expression, one that went through several quick changes as the wheels of her brain spun to catch up, to draw the same conclusion that Isobel had already decided on.

Isobel was going to Baltimore. One way or another.

And contrary to what Reynolds thought, she would see him again.

Of that she was now certain.

That night, Isobel waited until everyone was asleep before sneaking down the hallway to Danny’s room. She pressed in on the door, and it creaked slightly as it opened.

Her little brother lay in his bed, snoring, huddled to one side, his arm slung around a giant Transformers pillow. Drool pooled on the robot’s plushy shoulder. She shook her head, taking in the scene. If her mood had been any different, she might have risked snapping a blackmail photo.

Instead, she crept inside, tiptoeing around the minefield that was his bedroom floor.

Quietly she slid into his computer chair. It squeaked as it swiveled into place, and her ears pricked up as she heard Danny stir behind her.

She ignored his groan and wiggled the mouse, causing the sleep screen to disappear. The PC hummed to life and, when the window for Google popped up, she started typing.

“What are you dooooing?” Danny moaned. “Get out of my roooooom.”

“Shh,” Isobel said. “Go back to sleep.”

The web page for University of Baltimore popped onto the screen.

It had been Gwen who, despite her reluctance concerning Isobel’s plan, had thought of using the excuse of visiting colleges to get to Baltimore. After Nationals, if Trenton won the championship this year, then there would be no way her mom and dad could deny her the request. Especially if she happened to utter the word “university” all on her own.

Of course, that meant Trenton would have to win.

From there, things wouldn’t get truly difficult, until she was in the city, in Baltimore. It would be sneaking off and getting into the locked cemetery that was going to be the tough part.

“I was having a good dream,” Danny mumbled. She heard him roll to face the wall. “I was an only child.”

“So go back to sleep.”

Isobel typed “Athletics” into the search field. The only return was for an athletics club. “Damn it,” she hissed. She pressed back and, returning to Google, typed, “University of Maryland + Athletics.”

When the page loaded, she clicked the first option, and the sports page splashed onto the screen in a flash of red, yellow, and black. And there, dead center, was a photo of the football team.

“Home of the Terrapins?” she whispered aloud.

“It’s two a.m.,” Danny whined. “Aren’t you still banned from life?”

Isobel squinted at the little image of the mascot. Apparently, a terrapin was some sort of turtle.

Weird.

She went to a drop-down menu and clicked “Spirit Squad.” The page went black before the Terrapin cheerleaders flicked onto the screen. Girls wearing big ear-to-ear smiles and bright red uniforms trimmed in black dominated the monitor. A few of the pictures showed squad members suspended in midair, doing high-difficulty stunts. Not too shabby, she thought.

She scrolled down and there, just below a championship portrait, was the info she needed. Yesthey competed.

“Turn the screen off!” Danny growled. “You suck.”

Isobel closed out of the page. She powered off the monitor, then stood.

Stepping around Danny’s beanbag chair and kicking aside his school shoes, she lowered herself to sit on his bedside.

“Guuuh,” he snarled into his pillow. “What do you want?”

Isobel pulled up her knees and lay down on the edge of her brother’s narrow twin-size bed. Turning to face his back, she looped an arm over him.

“Get off me,” he growled, but made no move to pull away or push her off.

For a long time, he let her lay there, and she stared at the back of his head, at the part in his dark hair, and then at the wall, at the Darth Vader poster that loomed over them.

“You’re a freak,” he muttered.

“I know,” she whispered.

The hum of Danny’s computer slowed and went out, the PC going back to sleep.

“I’m sorry your boyfriend’s still missing,” he said, his words startling her, catching her off guard.

She felt a sudden straining pinch behind her eyes. Her throat constricted, and she swallowed against the impulse to cry. She shut her eyes, and despite her best efforts, a warm tear tumbled from her cheek, hitting the sheets beneath her.

“I hope they find him,” he said.

“Yeah,” she managed, the rust of emotion caking her voice, “me too.”

Danny grew quiet again, and beneath her arm, she felt his breathing deepen. She watched and felt his side lift and lower. The steady motion rocked her arm and, like a balm, smoothed the pain back down.

Carefully, Isobel unfolded herself from Danny’s bed, doing her best not to wake him again. She put her bare feet onto the carpet and wove her way through his room to the door. She slipped down the darkened hallway and into her own room, taking care to ease the door shut behind her, turning the knob to silence the click of the latch. Then she did what until that very moment she had forbidden herself to even think of: She retrieved Varen’s jacket from her closet and, sitting with it on the edge of her bed, clutched it to her chest.

She pressed the collar to her lips, breathed him in. The coarse fiber still held his essence, reminding her of the moment they had been so close. She traced the length of one sleeve with her fingertips, remembering the feel of his body pressed against hers and the taste of his lips.

Isobel pulled on the jacket, threading her arms through one sleeve at a time. The weight of it settled onto her shoulders. She hugged herself, imagining that it was him who now held her and not this vacant shell, this last remaining relic.

She felt, and heard, the right pocket crinkle.

Isobel froze.

Without looking, she slipped a hand inside . . . and touched the edge of smooth paper.

She pulled free the folded slip. A note.

Its ash coating powdered to nothing at one pass of her thumb. Lips parted, she gaped at it, half expecting it to dissolve from her touch.

It didn’t.

She slowly opened the paper, handling it as though it were a wounded sparrow. She could tell from the uneven, crushed folds that it had been crammed into the pocket, hastily stowed away by its author, as though to put it out of sight before it could be seized.