I put the book back in Gran’s case and run downstairs to Connie’s room where Mom’s Umbra is stored, old article in hand. I pull the black book off the shelf and turn to the family tree. Mom’s is different. Leo and Elizabeth have the four children, no name scratched out. Beatrice and Clara obviously belong to Matthew. There are people blacked out below, but all are marked dead.
They wrote Emmaline Spencer out of our history. Why would they do that? Someone wanted to forget her. Even worse, someone wanted to pretend that she never existed. Umbras can’t be changed; they are magically protected by blood, so they’d have to go through a lot of trouble to hide something.
My family has a secret.
“What are you doing in my room?” Connie asks.
I look up at my sister and close the Umbra. She rests her hands on her hips. “I was just looking up something in Mom’s Umbra.”
“What?”
I shake my head. “An incantation. It’s not there though.” I close the Umbra and put it back on Connie’s shelf. She looks at me like she doesn’t believe me. She always gets this twisted shape on her mouth and her nose twitches a little when she thinks I’m lying.
“I’m going for a run.” I say, and bolt out the door before she can question me again. I would tell her, but I don’t have any answers. I don’t even know what my questions are.
My run leaves me at the Nucleus House. The cat is there with Poncho, who looks up at me before I sneak off to the computer. Today the demon Azsis only pulls up fifty-one results. I sit down, ignoring the way my sweaty legs fuse into the plastic chair, and start reading.
Chapter Twelve
Twenty-five search results later, and all of them are the same crap over and over again. The other ones almost seem completely pointless to look at. I search for Alfie and Emmaline, but there’s nothing on them in the database. How does one person—let alone two—disappear from existence?
Pizza? Ric texts me.
It’s been a long day.
“Finding everything?” Poncho asks as I stand from the computer.
Nothing is more like it. “Not really,” I say with a sigh. Ric texts me back with olives and I glance at Poncho. “You coming to the Pairing tomorrow?”
“I don’t mingle with ceremonial events. Too many people,” Poncho says. “I wish you the best of partners.”
I grab my keys and leave. I wish the same for myself.
Ric turns up the music and some techno-pop dance number blares through his computer. I came here so he could cheer me up. I’d spent the whole run home and shower and pizza pickup thinking about Emmaline Spencer. What could she have done, to be completely obliterated? I should ask Gran. She knows everything, especially about our family, but if I ask her then I’ll have to explain why I was in her Umbra, how I found the Alfie/Emmaline Spencer connection by searching for a demon for a ritual that she will most definitely not approve of. She didn’t even want me to know about Alfie Spencer.
I pop another tortilla chip in my mouth.
“How are the girls doing?” Ric asks, referring to the Enforcer finals.
I move my hand like a teeter-totter. “There are a few good ones. The boys?”
“Same,” he says. “Except William Prescott—as in the Triad Prescotts. He’s really showing all of us up, as expected. I don’t know why he’s even there.”
I shrug. “Can we talk about something else?”
Ric answers by turning up the music and singing loudly. I bob my head with it and eat another chip, looking around the familiar room. I love Ric’s house. Where mine is all antiques and heirlooms, his is sharp edges and black accessories. There’s this weird painting above the television that looks like multicolored squares layered over each other—but it forms this awesome silhouette of a weird-looking horse. Or maybe it’s a dog. Gran would never have something like that.
Ric sings along to the chorus, and then stops mid-sentence. “You seem different lately. I thought it was the test, but it’s not.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s something off,” he says. He spins around in the chair to look at me. “You seem, I don’t know, more angsty?”
“Angsty?” I gasp. I have to yell over the music. “I am not angsty.”
“You are—angsty and feisty. It’s a weird combination for you; it makes you reckless.”
Who is this other angsty/feisty Penelope he’s referencing? I don’t know her. I’m not angsty. Feisty, maybe. I pick up one of the pillows from his couch and twist the tassel around my fingertips.
“You talk like you’ve seen me this way before.”
“I have, once,” Ric pauses. Then he yells and throws another pillow at me. “Tell me you aren’t kissing Jason Prevoy again!”
I throw the pillow back at him. “Never! I’m not kissing anyone.”
“Aha! Bitterness,” he says, pointing at me. “Who do you want to be kissing?”
“No one,” I say, probably too quickly. But my mind drifts to earlier and how close Carter was to me and—
“Liar! Your face is red!”
“My face is not red.” It so is.
Ric laughs at me. “And you’re protesting. Do you have a boy toy? Who is it? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t,” I say.
“Penelope Grey. Tell the truth. Who is it?”
I’m quiet for a few seconds while I process what to say next. How much can I tell him? He won’t leave me alone until I tell him something. I sigh. “His name is Carter.”
“Carter, the mysterious hot boy who caused your hatred of my gender a couple of mornings ago? How did that happen?”
I bite my lip. Ric doesn’t look away. I roll my eyes. “Long story. He sort of sneaked up on me.”
“They always do,” he says, a silence stretching out between us. He gets this look on his face that says all I need to know: he’s checked out, lost in his own memory. Good. There’s a bounce as Ric tosses himself onto the couch next to me.
“Okay, so you want to kiss this hot Carter boy?”
“Ric! No. Okay? No. He’s a friend.”
“Mmm-hmm, just a friend?” He pauses. I don’t reply and he bops me on the nose. “Right. You can’t say ‘just’ unless you have a secret you don’t want to share.”
“Stop,” I say.
Ric gasps at me in mock horror. “Admit you want to kiss him.”
“Stop it!” I say, grabbing his shirt. Ric laughs and puts his hands up.
“Okay,” he says. I let go of his shirt.
He moves the pillow around and leans back. “But if you kiss him you have to tell me. There’s no withholding information.”
“Fine,” I say. He doesn’t say anything, but I’m pretty sure I’m blushing again. “Let’s watch a movie or something.”
We flip through channels until we find some British chick flick. He doesn’t really want to watch it, but gives in. The whole time I think about Emmaline because just like the main character in the movie, someone is keeping a family secret—and it’s only a matter of time before the truth will come out.
It’s only ten when I go home, but between the events from the day, Emmaline thoughts, and Ric pausing the movie every four minutes to talk about the Pairing tomorrow, I’m exhausted. It’s hard enough with so much going on but it’s even worse when your best friend is worried about his future because he’s being forced to pair with a girl. Not that he minds girls. It’s really sort of unfair with so much expectation on Partners to get married. We both just hope he’s Paired with someone who can kick ass.
Inside, Gran is doing a crossword puzzle and Pop is rocking in the chair, eyes closed, while an episode of I Love Lucy plays.