Mom smiled. “I heard Dusty calling.”
I returned my mom’s smile, glad it had worked. Mr. Deverell had told us in class that it was possible to communicate telepathically over long distances so long as the two people shared a strong bond. It was nice to know that included me and my mom. I would never forget the way she had charged in and saved Britney. We didn’t always get along, but right now, in this moment, there was nothing I wanted more than to be like her.
Finally, one of the doctors came in and confirmed what my mom had said from the beginning—Britney had survived. She was hurt badly, but they were sure she would recover in time.
Selene finally stopped crying, and the hopeless knot in my stomach began to unwind.
Sheriff Brackenberry and Lady Elaine arrived not long after that. I told them everything, including the stuff about Lance being cursed. He was officially off the suspect list, and it was about time someone stepped in to help him.
The moment I finished, Selene said, “That was Paul texting you?”
I squirmed beneath her accusing stare. “Yeah.”
Her nostrils flared. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t believe him.”
“But—”
“Let me see the phone,” Lady Elaine said, cutting off whatever accusation Selene had planned to say. I handed the phone to Lady Elaine. She examined the texts—navigating the cell’s functions far better than I would’ve expected—and then gave it over to Sheriff Brackenberry, who did the same.
“I’m going to need to keep this as evidence.” Brackenberry set the phone down on the end table beside his chair. “I’ll have one of my men pick Paul up as soon as we’re done here.”
I frowned, unhappy at losing both my phone and the chance to be the first to talk to Paul.
“Are you sure you want to do that?” my mom said, crossing one leg over the other.
Brackenberry cocked his head to the side, eyeing her suspiciously. The animosity between the two of them was well known. “Of course, I’m sure. Clearly, Paul is connected to the attack somehow. This is just the break we’ve been hoping for to put that young man where he belongs. In jail.”
I flinched at the animosity in Brackenberry’s tone. I didn’t think it was so much that he hated Paul, but more that he hated the idea of a guilty person going free.
Moira tossed her blond hair behind her shoulder. “Well, do what you judge best, but if you want my opinion, I think you should hold off bringing him in.” She sat up straighter. “In fact, I think you should pretend that Dusty never showed you the texts at all.”
Brackenberry stared at my mom as if she’d gone insane. But Lady Elaine looked intrigued by the idea. “Why do you think that?”
A smug smile crossed my mom’s face. “Because that text message is a dead end. It proves nothing at all. And I’m quite sure that you’ll have no better luck getting the truth out of Paul Kirkwood this time than you did last time.”
A huge, wolfish grin spread across Brackenberry’s face. For a second, his eyes seemed to glow yellow. “Oh, I wasn’t the one interrogating him last time.”
A chill danced across my neck. I’d never particularly liked the sheriff, and now I had a better idea of why. There was something bloodthirsty about him.
Moira scoffed, completely unimpressed. “Whoever orchestrated his release in the first place won’t let you alone with him for more than a minute, and we both know it.”
Brackenberry’s grin disintegrated into a scowl.
“What do you suggest?” Lady Elaine asked.
The constant attitude my mom gave the sheriff lessened some when she addressed the older woman. “Let Dusty do it. Paul has already reached out to her through those texts. If you give it some time, she’ll be able to uncover all the buried secrets. I’m certain of it.”
I was completely taken aback, and not just by her faith in me. Her stance on this was a complete one-eighty from what she would’ve done a few months ago. I’d noticed the change earlier when she didn’t comment on the sheriff and Lady Elaine recruiting me to spy on Paul, but I’d dismissed it as a fluke. I couldn’t dismiss this, though.
Brackenberry leaned back and rubbed his beard, his eyes thoughtful. “I suppose you might have a point.” It sounded like the admission pained him.
To my mother’s credit, she resisted rubbing it in.
Lady Elaine turned her gaze to me. “Are you okay with this strategy?”
I scratched my head, unsure of how to answer. At the moment I was too numb with shock to be certain of anything. “I guess so.”
Lady Elaine frowned, her lips a thin tight line. “You need to be certain. Clearly, the situation is even more dangerous than we first suspected.”
“How so?”
Lady Elaine gave me one of her patient looks. “It’s obvious that you are as much of a target for whoever this madman is as Britney was.”
“What?”
“Honestly, Dusty,” Moira said, snapping her fingers. “You need to get with the picture.”
I might’ve held back my temper when it came to Selene, but my mom was a different story. “Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid.”
“Then prove to me you aren’t.” Mom shifted in her seat, uncrossing and recrossing her legs. “You told us that Britney admitted she was waiting down there to attack Eli. Well, there’s only one reason why he would be a target of the same people who helped Paul escape punishment.”
Slowly, the answer came to me. Actually, it had been there the whole time—I’d just refused to admit it. The only reason why they would target Eli, an ordinary with only the smallest recourse to magic now that he was a Conductor, was because …
“He’s a dream-seer,” I said, my voice catching.
My mother nodded, her expression both proud and worried.
“Yes,” Lady Elaine said. “Whoever targets him, targets you both. Always.”
20
A New Client
I texted Paul six times that night when Selene and I finally got back to Arkwell. I said the same thing in each one:
We need to talk.
He ignored them all.
I turned in around midnight, plugging in my cell and setting it beside my pillow. Even with the juice pumping to it, the stupid thing would probably shut itself off before morning. But in case it didn’t, I wanted to hear any incoming text messages. I had a feeling Paul wouldn’t ignore me forever.
I was right as sometime later, my phone chimed. I blinked the sleep out of my eyes and stared at the screen.
We will. Soon. I promise.
Irritated by the short, useless message, I tossed the cell onto the floor. It beeped at me in protest then fell silent—turned off at last, no doubt. I rolled over and fell back into a fitful sleep.
I dreamed of the plinth again. The urgency to learn that word was stronger than ever. Even inside the madness of the dream, I seemed to understand that I must finish uncovering it soon. Everything depended on it.
I scraped and clawed and dug until all the skin on my hands was torn away, leaving the bones exposed.
By the end of it, I’d uncovered the next two letters—L L.
B E L L
I woke the next morning with the image of those four letters burned inside my brain. BELL. What did it mean? Was it something obvious, like a literal bell?
Only, there were still four more hidden letters. BELL was just the first part of a larger word. Of course, it was possible the word didn’t mean anything at all. I had no idea if the subject of a block held any significance. It could be something random and stupid, the mental equivalent of an earworm.