The Eternity Key Page 7

  “Heads up,” Dax says, looking out the window. “Olympus Hills security just pulled up. Someone must have seen us busting in.”

  “Or they knew we were coming.”

  “Either way, we need to get out of here. Now.”

  chapter nine

  TOBIN

  I sit in the far corner of Olympus Brew, the coffeehouse next to the gelato shop on Olympus Row, observing my prey from over the brim of my gingerbread spiced latte. Marta sits at her usual table—or at least where she’s usually sat for the last three days that I’ve been following her after school—near the door. Her iPad and several documents are set out in front of her. She has shiny black hair slicked into a tight bun, and she wears a dress suit that fits her like a glove. She wears high, high crocodile heels that match her purse. Under normal circumstances, I might think she was attractive in a sexy librarian sort of way, but considering she might be responsible for my sister’s disappearance, the sight of her sipping her daily 4:15 p.m. espresso makes me ill.

  I haven’t actually drunk any of my own coffee, but having something to hold keeps my hands steady. For the last three days, I’ve been building up the nerve to confront her. Or building up the nerve to go against Daphne’s wishes to not let anyone know that we’re onto Olympus Hills’s deep dark secrets. If I were to say something to Marta, she most definitely would tell my mother, and then where would I be?

  My mom would probably lock me in my room and throw away the key if she knew that I’m onto her extracurricular activities—or possibly cart me off to that mathematics-and-engineering boarding school in Virginia that she threatened me with when I got into that fight with Haden back on his first day of school. Back when I thought he was the one responsible for what had happened to my sister and I’d gone in swinging.

  But it’s not like I could do that with my mother—nor Joe’s personal assistant, who looks like she barely weighs 115 pounds. But as frail as she might appear, the sight of Marta may have been what sent Abbie running from the haven of Ellis Fields to a location (or fate) unknown.

  Or maybe Marta had kidnapped Abbie herself.

  In that case, boarding school seems like a small price to pay for the truth.

  I place my coffee cup on my table, straighten my tan fedora, and decide to make my move. But I get only two steps in her direction when Marta receives a phone call. I stop, listening in on her clipped responses, while trying to look like I’m merely getting a napkin from the condiment bar.

  “Really?” she says into the phone. “Finally. I’ve been looking everywhere. Where?” She grabs her iPad and stuffs it into her crocodile purse. “I’ll leave right away.”

  She hangs up and gathers her papers in an almost frantic haste. She’s out the door and getting into an Audi before I make it out onto the street. My car is parked only a couple of slots over. I should follow her. But as I stick my hand into my jacket pocket, I realize I’ve left my keys on the table next to my latte.

  I’m cursing myself as she speeds out of the parking lot. I’d never make it back with my keys before she’s out of sight.

  It’s for the best, I try to tell myself as I head back into the coffeehouse. What was I going to do anyway? Follow Marta to some clandestine location, grab her, and demand she tell me where she’s hidden my sister? She might look defenseless, but very well could be hiding some sort of supernatural power like Simon’s. Or one even more deadly. I shudder at a vision of Marta sprouting a couple of extra fire-breathing heads while I’ve got her cornered in an alley.

  And if that weren’t the case, I can’t assume she’d even tell me anything. She seems loyal to Simon and the Underrealm, and my five-foot-five—with a hat on—stature isn’t exactly intimidating.

  No, I’m not going to be able to force the truth out of Marta. I pull out my wallet and dig for some cash. But everyone has a price. Which means I’m going to have to do some more surveillance to figure out what Marta’s is.

  I place a couple of bills on the table.

  “See you again tomorrow, Donna Lee,” I say to the barista as I leave.

  chapter ten

  DAPHNE

  “ ’Ello, Daphne, come here,” Joe calls from the kitchen as I come in the house after school. I hadn’t seen Haden again since after humanities and I’m just about to text him, but Joe’s voice is filled with so much urgency, I tuck my phone in my pocket and head for the kitchen. I expect to find some sort of disaster, but instead I discover stacks of papers and notebooks lined up on the kitchen table. Each pile has its own brightly colored Post-it tab protruding from the pages.

  Joe has a fluorescent yellow highlighter tucked behind his ear, and he’s sucking on the tip of a blue pen. He scribbles a note on a loose notebook page. “Hand me a green sticky tab, will ya?” he says. I pull a tab off the dispenser and hand it to him. He slaps the tab on the page and then sets it on top of its color-coded pile. The only time I’ve seen Joe this intent on anything is when he’s composing a new song, but none of this looks even remotely musically related.

  “What’s all this?” I ask.

  “Detective work,” he says, a buzz of manic notes flitting off him. “I’ve been going through that box of stuff Jonathan sent. I’ve read just about everything, and I’ve been sorting them by date and importance.”

  “You mean the box of CeCe’s stuff?” I ask, a wave of anger seizing me. “The box that Jonathan sent me? The box that was in my room? The box that I told you I didn’t need your help going through?”

  “Yes. But you’ve been so busy looking for the Key, I know you haven’t had a chance to touch any of this stuff.”

  “Doesn’t mean I wanted you to. And what about Marta? If she sees this stuff—”

  “I called and told her that Simon showed up out of the blue and wanted her to meet him at the studio in LA. She won’t be back for hours,” he says, like he thinks he’s so clever.

  “And what happens when Simon isn’t there? She’ll know you lied to her, and then she’ll know that we know what happened to Simon.”

  “Oh, right. Didn’t think of that.”

  His manic tone picks up more excitedly, and he doesn’t even notice that I’m annoyed. “I’m just trying to be helpful. Like with the dealership. You should have seen me smooth-talking that saleswoman. She was dead set against sharing another customer’s information at first, but by the time I was done with her, I had not only the Motorcycle Man’s address but her number as well.”

  “A rock star getting a woman to give him her number doesn’t exactly sound difficult.”

  “Yes, but she was eight months pregnant,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows up and down. “That’s a hundred extra points, according to Bobby.”

  “Um. Gross.”

  “Not that I’m planning on pursuing anything, mind you …”

  “I should hope not.”

  “There is the audition thing after she has the baby, though.…

  Anyway, I did such a good job with tracking down the bike, I wanted to show you that I can be helpful in other ways. I saw this box and thought I would help.” He picks up the stack marked with pink tabs. “I think I might be onto something.”

  I am about to ask Joe why the hell he was in my room to begin with and why he thinks I’d be okay with him not only invading my privacy as well as CeCe’s, but his excited melody increases tenfold. I am genuinely terrified when he tosses the stack of papers back on the table and says, “Oh, but I almost forgot to show you your surprise! You are going to love this!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He grabs my hand and pulls me toward the elevator that leads to his basement garage. “Oh, Daphne, you are going to love her so much!” he says, pushing the button that will take us down.

  “Her?” Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap, what has he done?

  “Ta-dah,” Joe says, sweeping his hands out as the elevator door opens into the garage. I half expect to see a very pregnant saleswoman standing there or, like, a puppy or something living, but, in
stead, in front of the row of his six different sports cars sits a teal green Vespa with a bow as big as my head tied to the handlebars.

  “What is that?” I ask.

  “Your Christmas present. You and I didn’t celebrate together, so I thought …”

  “You’d buy me a motor scooter? You know I don’t even have a regular driver’s license yet, right? Let alone a motorcycle one? I can’t drive this thing.”

  “The saleswoman told me that most scooter drivers never even get their license. I bet you could drive this all around Olympus Hills without getting pulled over once.”

  “I don’t feel like taking my chances,” I say. “What possessed you to buy me a Vespa?” I have to admit that the scooter is a thing of beauty and just happens to be in my favorite color, but I also know that Vespas costs thousands of dollars. My mom and I have a fifty-dollar budget for Christmas. I mean, I hadn’t even gotten Joe a Christmas present. I’d planned on bringing him back something from Ellis Fields, like a T-shirt, but number one, I’d never got the chance because my Christmas plans had been completely derailed by an Oracle’s declaring that I’m a Cypher and my finding out that there’s an impending apocalypse that only I can stop—and number two, what exactly do you get for the man who sold your soul so he could become a rock star?

  “It’s not as grand as a Ducati—your mother would murder me—and scooters are much safer, and since purchasing something made it easier to get the people at the dealership to talk, I thought maybe you’d appreciate something nice from your dad. You know, with all we’ve been through lately, I thought you might like it.…”

  And there it is. The reason I’m not jumping up and down with joy over my pricey new gift. Because it isn’t a present. It’s a bribe. I’d learned the hard way, promises and presents from Joe—my tuition for school, living in this mansion with him, the starring role in his rock opera—always came with strings attached. My Christmas present is no different. He’s trying to buy my forgiveness.

  “I got us matching helmets,” he says. “Let’s take her for a spin around the lake.”

  “No,” I say, backing away.

  “Come on, Daph. I’ll teach you how to drive it in the school parking lot.”

  “I don’t want to take it for a spin. I don’t want to learn how to drive it. I don’t want it. Take it back.”

  “But, Daph. I thought you’d—”

  “What, that I’d love it so much that I would forget what you did to me? I’d forget that being famous was more important to you than having a kid? That you lured me to Olympus Hills with the promises of a world-class musical education—the chance to make all my dreams come true—when you knew what was really waiting for me?”

  “I had no choice,” Joe says with a pleading urgency.

  “Yes, you did. You just made it seventeen years ago.”

  “Daphne, please. I’m so sorry—”

  “No, Joe. I’m done. I don’t want your apologies. I don’t want the Vespa. I don’t want the lead in your play—I’m quitting! And I don’t want to live with you anymore.” I pull a packet out of my tote bag and shove it at him.

  “What is this?”

  “I was waiting to tell you until I got the verdict, but you might as well know: I’m going to apply to live in the dorms with the scholarship kids.” It’s a cruel card to play, and I know it. The packet had been sitting in my bag for days, and I hadn’t even decided if I was going to use it until this very moment.

  Joe blanches. “Your tuition was contingent on you living here!”

  “I picked up a packet for a scholarship, too, if you decide to stop making my payments. I bet Mr. Morgan will write me a recommendation.”

  “You’re really going to leave me?” Joe’s whole face crumbles. “I am so sorry, Daphne. You have to let me say it. You have no idea how sorry I am. That’s why I started drinking … just something, anything, to try to drown out the guilt. I wanted to tell you, I should have told you, but even if Simon hadn’t been preventing me, I still don’t know if I would have … because I knew you’d hate me even more.… You wouldn’t want me.…” The notes of pain wafting off him are palpable. They snake around him, wrapping him in a coil of hurt, and my anger makes me happy that I’ve wounded him.

  And that’s when I realize it: that I could eviscerate him right now with my words. Unleash the full brunt of my anger onto him. Hurt him more than he ever hurt me. Cause more damage than he ever caused himself. Make him feel so unwanted that he would need to drink himself into oblivion. Or worse …

  So I go. I leave. Before I allow myself to hurt him more.

  I turn back toward the elevator and hit the up button. It opens, and I step inside.

  “Where are you going now?” Joe calls desperately as the door closes between us. “Just tell me where you’re going.”

  “I don’t know,” I say.

  Anywhere but here.

  chapter eleven

  TOBIN

  As far as Mom is concerned, I’ve been coming home straight after school every day this week—but that’s only because I make it a point to be home by 6:25 p.m., because I know she pulls in at 6:30 on the dot every evening. That usually gives me enough time to kick off my shoes and set up my homework in the great room before she walks in the door. However, I make it home today just before 5 p.m. only to find two Olympus Hills security vehicles, with lights flashing, in my driveway. They’re parked right behind my mother’s Lexus.

  The front door of the house stands wide open.

  Oh no.

  The only other time I’ve seen security cars in my driveway like that was when Abbie had gone missing—just shy of six years ago—and my first thought is that something equally terrible has happened. Like maybe Dad had another heart attack. Or Mom came home early to check on me and had a bad fall.

  My anger and frustration are replaced by fear as I jog to the open front door. “Mom?” I call as I launch into the front hall—only to literally run right into one of the security guards. He’s hefting a large box in his arms that I almost knock out of his grasp. “Sorry,” I say when he steadies himself, and I grab a stack of papers that slides off the top of the box.

  I recognize the top document in my hand—it’s from my mother’s files in her office. The ones I’ve been snooping through for the last couple of weeks.

  “I’ll take that,” the security guard says as he indicates for me to put the documents back on top of the box.

  As I do so, two more guards enter the hallway from my mother’s study. One carries another box of files while the second guard, Travers Johnson, head of OH security, is cradling a glass case that holds one of my mother’s prized antiquities from her collection.

  What is going on here?

  “Be careful with that vase, Johnson,” my mother’s voice rings out as she comes around the corner. “It’s over two thousand years old, and your yearly salary wouldn’t begin to cover it if you drop it.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Johnson says, but I catch the roll of his eyes as if babysitting a crusty old vase isn’t worth his time.

  “Oh, Toby!” Mom says when she sees me in the hallway. The relief in her voice almost startles me. “I was so worried when you didn’t come home,” she says, clutching me to the lapels of her ruby red power suit. “First, my office, and then you not being here. I was beginning to fear the worst.”

  “I got waylaid with a project after school,” I say, not quite lying, as I extricate myself from her grasp. “Did something happen?”

  “We’ve had a break-in,” she says, waving her manicured hand toward the boxes the security guards carry out of the house. “Either that or one of our house staff has sticky fingers. But I think someone must have come in my office while you were at school. A few of my government files are missing.”

  “Oh,” I say. I take a step back, keeping my eyes from meeting hers. I don’t know whom she suspects, but I know exactly who stole those files.

  “What are they doing?” I ask, referring to the guard
s.

  “The thief only took a few files this time, but I can’t risk them getting the idea to come back here and take something from my collection. I’m having everything moved to my office at town hall where the security is much tighter, in order to remove the temptation for our burglar to return. My antiquities are too precious to be left vulnerable to undesirables.” She squeezes my arm. “And so are you, Toby.”

  Her voice drips with concern. I swallow hard, trying to gulp back the anger that rises inside of me. My mother wasn’t the one who had called security when my sister had gone missing all those years ago. It was me. When three days had passed with no word from Abbie, I’d been the one to call the police—only to have my call rerouted to OH security. My mom had been angry that I was making such a big deal out of it. She claimed Abbie had simply run away from home and there was nothing we could do. I imagine she didn’t know yet that she really had run away rather than go to the Underrealm, as was my mother’s deal with King Ren. No, that realization had come later and had resulted in my mother acting as if Abbie had never existed. Even having her scrubbed out of our family photos.

  Where had been her concern then? Where had been her desire to protect her precious things? My hands begin to shake like they had when I’d been watching Marta. From my feeble memories of my sister and from reading her journal entries, it was plain to me now that my mother had never loved Abbie. My sister had merely been a commodity for my mother to barter with. A means to an end.

  And if the roles were reversed, she’d see me that way, too. Hell, she’d taken steps to secure her collection today before thinking of sending someone to come look for me.

  To make matters worse, I have no idea how much my dad is involved in all of this. He has always been the quiet, overly-involved-in-his-scientific-research type, while my mother takes care of business. He walks out the door looking like a normal human being only because my mother dresses him each morning as if he were a dapper little Japanese doll. Or puppet. My father didn’t need to know anything about what happened to Abbie; he’d just think and react to Abbie’s disappearance however my mother told him to.