“Go ahead. Ask it anything,” Grammy told me.
Eagerly, I opened the GEM to the first page. It was blank, but I expected that and knew what to do next.
“Why was Alyce inside a coffin?” I asked the tiny book.
A spot of black ink spread and stretched into words across the page.
Hiding.
Not very informative since I’d guessed that already. While the GEM was helpful, it also had a habit of giving annoying answers that led to more questions.
“Why was she at the mortuary?” I tried again.
Searching.
“Searching for what?”
The lost.
“That doesn’t tell me anything,” I griped.
While I was deciding what to ask next, pages flipped wildly as if caught up in a sudden storm. Then the book snapped shut like a slap in my face. When I tried to pry it open, the pages stubbornly stayed closed.
“Open!” I ordered, shaking it.
“It has a mind of its own,” Grammy said. “You can’t force it.”
“Stupid book is giving me attitude.”
“Don’t take it personally. The GEM is only a tool and not designed to solve your Host Soul’s problems. Personally, I find them annoying and won’t use one for my assignment.”
“But your assignment is easy.” I glared at my traitorous GEM, then banished it inside the front pocket on Monkey Bag. “You already know all about me. And Mom is your daughter, so you know everything about her, too.”
“Do you know everything about her?”
I shrugged. “Mom is Mom. What else is there to know?”
“I’m not really sure … yet,” Grammy said, with an odd expression that made me wonder what she was thinking.
Before I could ask, she slammed the brakes and I was jerked forward, then back, like a crash test dummy until we came to a stop on the curb in front of a brown, L-shaped corner house that I knew too well.
But the view through Alyce’s eyes distorted the familiar, so that everything I saw seemed different. It was as if I’d entered a foreign country with no knowledge of customs or language. Shadows were deepening with the setting sun, turning the ordinary into the ominous. The sprawling oak I’d climbed countless times to sneak into Alyce’s bedroom window stood there, starkly forbidding, its trunk a twisted grimace of pain, its limp leaves drooping like shadowy tears. A chilly breeze shivered its bony branches, which looked like arms waving me away.
Grammy Greta came around to meet me as I stepped out of the passenger door. “Sorry to leave you like this, but I can’t stay.”
“I know … although I wish you could.” I bit my lip.
“You’ll be fine.”
“Of course, I’m always fine, but … ” I swallowed hard. “Drive safely … Amber.”
“I will … Alyce.” When she embraced me, I closed my eyes and, for a wonderful moment, I was hugging my silver-haired, soft, comfortable grandmother.
Then she drove away, and I was alone.
The sun was disappearing fast behind distant hills; it was the time most families prepared dinner. But there was no sound of voices from this house, only the soft jingle of a wind chime hanging over the front porch. The front yard was dark without a porch light, and the darkly draped windows were like eyes closed in sleep.
Resisting the impulse to turn around, I walked up the front porch steps.
Crimson flickered through slits in the drapes.
And I smelled smoke.
3
When I walked into the house, candles flamed from the coffee table, countertops, and shelves. The scent of hot wax and swirling smoke clouded the room in a surreal fog. There was no sound from the TV — unusual, since Mrs. Perfetti continually watched CNN and other news channels.
Then I saw her on the couch, lying motionless. I coughed, covering my mouth to block the smoke as I rushed over to her.
“Mrs. Perfetti!” I gasped. Kneeling by her side, I checked for a pulse and — thank God! — found one. But she seemed to be in a deep sleep and didn’t even stir at my touch.
I started blowing out candles, then heard a cough and rushed backed to Alyce’s mother. “Mrs. Per — I mean, Mom!” I cried, gently putting my hand under her shoulder. “What happened?”
“Alyce?” She stirred, her eyelids fluttering open.
“Do you need a doctor? I’ll call 911!”
“No, no, no.” By the third “no” her voice was stronger, and she started to push herself up. “I’m fine.”
“But you don’t look fine. And what’s with all these candles?”
“Nothing wrong with enjoying candlelight.” She stood, smoothing her tousled hair from her face. She had the same brown eyes as Alyce, a deep dark chocolate that I’d always admired. But Mrs. Perfetti’s hooded eyes were shrouded in secrets.
“You should see a doctor,” I insisted.
“I’ve told you how I feel about doctors.” She glared at me, defiantly. “I was only sleeping.”
“With enough candles burning to start a bonfire?” I retorted.
“Don’t use that condescending tone on me — it’s your fault.” She was shorter than Alyce by a few inches yet had a way of making me feel small. “You took so long to come home, I must have dozed off waiting for you. Where have you been? Why didn’t you call?”
Mrs. Perfetti folded her arms across her chest, narrowing her gaze with suspicion that made me squirm. Could she tell something was different about me? How was I going to fool her? I was glad for the dim lighting so she couldn’t read the panic on my face. I didn’t know why Alyce had gone to the mortuary, but I knew better than to share that visit with her mother.
“So where were you?” she repeated.
“With a friend.”
“Which means Amber Borden.” She brushed her pleated skirt with her hand as if an annoying best friend could be brushed away as easily as dust. “Whenever you’re inconsiderate of me, it’s because of that girl.”
“It’s not her fault. I forgot the time.”
“Were you at her house?”
That’s where we usually hung out, so I nodded.
“I called there.” Her bone-thin fingers tapped against the glass top of the coffee table as she breathed in and out a few beats before finishing, “And her father said he didn’t know where either of you were.”
“Oh … well. That must have been when we were out walking.”
“You didn’t answer your cell.”
I glanced down at Monkey Bag, sure I’d find a dozen missed messages from Mrs. Perfetti when I checked Alyce’s phone. “The battery must be dead.”
“Or you purposely didn’t answer because you’d rather talk to your friend than your mother.”
How was I supposed to reply to that? Of course I’d rather be with my best friend. Who wouldn’t? But the truth would only make things worse.
“I’m sorry — I won’t do it again. But right now I’m more concerned with you,” I said in my best contrite voice. “What’s with all the candles?”
“It was so dark … ” Her voice trailed off to a whisper. “But with the candles came flickering flames, and shadows that made me feel less alone.”
It was so strange how her voice and expression changed from angry to vulnerable. Unnerving … and confusing. But I didn’t know her well. Alyce’s mother never pretended to like me, so I avoided being around her.
“You shouldn’t leave me,” she whined. “You know how I worry.”
“There’s nothing to worry about — except choking from all this smoke. Let’s open some windows.”
She nodded, giving me a look like a child seeking approval.