Chapter Twenty-Seven A Deal with the Devil
The radio in Min's old pickup only got three stations. You could listen to whatever you wanted as long as it was country and western or classic rock and roll. Madison turned up the volume and sang along, making up the words she didn't know.
She rolled down the windows, and her hair whipped around her shoulders. Now spring peepers and the low growl of thunder competed with the radio. The taste of the air said it would rain before morning.
As the hills crowded in on both sides, even the most powerful stations began to break up. So she switched off the radio and practiced her lines.
“I'm Madison Moss. I go to the Art Institute of Chicago.” And then her stomach did that little flip again—half fear, half joy.
Sara had found the money through a scholarship program for disadvantaged students. Who would've thought that living on nothing but dreams all her life would pay off? But Sara said it wasn't just based on need.
“The scholarship committee loved your work, Maddie,” Sara had said. “They said you had a unique perspective that appeals to those who like both primitive and high-concept art. They can't wait to meet you.”
That part made her nervous. What if they saw her wild mane of hair and thrift-shop clothes, and heard the way she talked and decided they'd made a mistake? What if they treated her like some kind of awkward, backwoodsy charity case?
Never mind. The work was what was important. She'd find a way to survive the committee. And attend the Chicago Art Institute in the fall on scholarship.
Her portfolio rode alongside her in the passenger seat. Sara had been a bit bewildered by some of the more exotic images. But she thought they would play well in Chicago.
Chicago. Madison had never been there. There would be libraries and museums and theaters. She could sit in cafes and talk about books and art and music. Things nobody ever talked about in Coal Grove. Every day she'd see thousands of people who knew nothing about her. Who hadn't already made up their minds about Madison Moss.
She could hardly wait.
She was scared to death.
One dream could lead to another. Maybe she could still convince Seph to attend Northwestern. If it was too late for fall, he could come as a transfer student in the spring. It could work. He was at home anywhere. Plus he was comfortable in cities. He had a way of organizing the world around him so it fit him like a skin. Knowing that she had one friend would make all the difference. Knowing it was Seph…
She was ambushed by the image of his face: his gray-green eyes, like smoke layered on still water, hiding secrets. His rangy frame filling a doorway. His smile: so worldly-wise, yet not full of himself. The way he switched into French when English just wouldn't do.
His kisses.
She had to stomp on the brake and wrench the wheel around to make the turn-off to Booker Mountain.
You're hopeless. Just like Carlene. Seph will never come to Chicago. Not on your account. Not while the fate of the world hangs in the balance. And who knew what would happen if he did? She let go of the wheel and examined her hands. Since the day she'd touched the Dragonheart, there had been no sign of the hex magic she'd absorbed at Second Sister. Was it really and truly gone, or was it just that she'd been away from Seph?
Falling in love was like falling off a cliff. It felt pretty much like flying until you hit the ground.
The road plunged back into dense forest and rippled through several hairpin turns, crossing Booker Creek on the stone bridges her great-grandfather had built.
The first big splats of rain hit the roof of the pickup as she pulled into the yard. It was pitch dark by now and Carlene hadn't even turned on the porch light.
Madison pushed open the driver's door and slid to the ground. She grabbed a bag of groceries from the seat, slung her backpack over her shoulder, and shoved her portfolio under her arm, meaning to make one trip to the house before the deluge.
By the time she made it up the steps, it was pouring. She hesitated under the imperfect shelter of the porch roof, thinking Hamlet and Ophelia might come to greet her. But no enthusiastic wet dogs came splashing onto the porch. No Grace or John Robert, either.
Guess they know enough to stay in out of the rain.
As soon as she shouldered open the front door, she could hear the television going in the front room. She set her portfolio and backpack down next to the door.
“Mama?” she said. “Grace? J.R.? I have the best news. Just wait till you hear.”
“Hi, honey,” Carlene said from the other room. “I'm watching my shows.”
Madison put the eggs, milk, juice, lunchmeat, and cheese into the refrigerator to join a jar of Miracle Whip, moldy bacon, four bottles of beer, and a pitcher of Kool-Aid.
She threw out the bacon.
It was dark in the living room, too. Carlene was slumped in a corner of the couch, her face illuminated by the changing images on the television screen.
Madison switched on the table lamp. “You sitting here in the dark, Mama?”
“Hmmm?” Carlene blinked up at her. “I guess so.” She looked kind of sleepy and out of it.
“Where are the kids?”
Carlene shrugged and looked around, as if she hadn't missed them. “Oh. Right. They went to the Ropers.”
“To the Ropers!” Dreams of Chicago evaporated. Madison stared at Carlene. “What for?”
“I guess they went riding.”
Madison looked out through the streaming windows. “Well, they're not riding now. It's pouring down rain. When did they go?”
“This morning.” A crease appeared between Carlene's penciled brows. “I think.”
Madison was tempted to grab her mother's shoulders and shake her. But something stopped her. Carlene seemed almost…spelled.
“Mama.” She sat down next to Carlene and took her hands. “How did they happen to go riding at the Ropers?”
“Brice Roper come by. With another boy. Never saw him before.” Her mind seemed to drift.
“What did the other boy look like?”
“He had long hair paler'n John Robert's.”
Min's words came back to her from long ago.
I see four pretty men coming. Two will claim your heart in different ways. Two are deceivers. Two will come to your door, one dark, one fair. All of these men have magic…
But they have no power that you don't give away.
Madison stood, put her shoulders back, and took a deep breath. Crossing to the hearth, she dug her father's gun out of the wood box and stuffed it into her backpack. Snatching up her keys, she returned to the living room.
“You stay here, Mama,” she said, though Carlene wasn't making any move to go anywhere.
Carlene nodded absently, already lost in the flickering screen.
Maddie's truck with its nearly bald tires slipped and slid on the rain-slick road. It seemed to take forever to get to the turn-off. She swung into the Ropers' drive between the fancy brick pillars, and the house and barn came into sight through the smeared windshield. Brice's fancy sports car was parked in the middle of the drive in front of the house. She pulled next to Brice's car, banged open the truck door, and jumped to the ground. Turning, she thrust her hand into the backpack and closed it on Jordan Moss's pistol.
She climbed the broad steps onto the porch and would have pounded on the massive walnut door, but it swung open under her fist.
The house yawned empty before her, seeming to echo with her footsteps. She walked across shining hardwood, through the foyer and into the hall, looking into richly furnished rooms on either side. At the back of the house, a fire blazed on the hearth in the two-story family room, providing the only light. To the right, a doorway led into what must be the dining room.
A body lay in the doorway, booted feet sticking out into the kitchen. The boots were familiar—expensive black leather.
Stifling a scream, Madison stumbled toward Brice Roper's body.
“I wouldn't get too close,” a voice said behind her. “It's kind of messy. Not my best work.”
She swung around. Her keys clattered as they hit the stone-tile floor.
He stood between her and the hall like a candle in the dark, glittery bright with power, steaming as he drove the rain from his clothing. He was dressed all in black, but his hair was so pale as to seem translucent.
It was Warren Barber.
He smiled. “You're not easy to find.”
Though her heart was pounding, she managed to speak in a clear, steady voice. “Where are they?”
“What? No tears for poor Brice?”
“I want to know what you've done with my brother and sister.”
“You know, Madison, you really had him going. What'd you tell him—that you were a witch?”
Madison said nothing.
“But you're not a witch, are you? You're something else entirely.” He paused, inviting her to speak, but she still said nothing. “Anyway, he was sure convinced. Poor Brice was so happy to have a little more firepower on his side. He hated your guts, you know. You should thank me.”
Thoughts stumbled through her mind. How had he found her? How much did he know? Could she make him try and spell her?
“What do you want?” she asked.
“I need your help, Madison.” He seemed to like saying her name, as if he owned it. “I need you to do something for me.”
“You're out of your mind.”
Barber laughed. “We'll see. I think you're going to do whatever I ask.”
Maybe he knew less than she thought. He seemed almost too confident. Maybe if she charged him, he'd send power into her.
His pale eyes glittered with malice. “I haven't forgotten what you did on Second Sister.” He took a step toward her. “Big mistake. No one comes after me with a knife. I should teach you a lesson.” He raised his hands, raising Madison's hopes, then dropped them again, smiling. “But I'm willing to forgive and forget.”
He knows. He's just toying with me.
She pulled the gun free, gripped it with both hands like her father had taught her, and pointed it at Warren Barber.