“There was a key on the floor,” I found myself lying. “We used it and saw all the paintings. What do you mean, revealed?”
He sighed. “Never mind. Just go home, and stay out of trouble until the festival. The principal is on the warpath making everything perfect.”
I walked to the door and paused, thinking that despite his name-calling and stern looks, he wouldn’t be hiding our involvement unless he actually cared. I looked back at him. “You’re not as mean as you pretend to be, are you?” I said. So why was I lying to him?
His mouth opened and closed, seeming to have no response.
I smiled weakly, saying, “See you Monday,” and closed the door.
Outside the front doors, Camille was waiting with Mac and Destin. They all looked at me expectantly when I stepped out into the cool morning air.
“So,” Mac said, swiping some of the mud from his face. “We have some free time. Who wants to completely ignore what Tailor just said?”
Chapter 14
Mac
“So...feathers, huh?” Jul looks askance at Destin.
He cringes.
“You are hereby sworn to absolute secrecy,” I tell her, pushing aside a low-hanging branch. “Both of you,” I glare at Camille. She returns the stare, unimpressed.
We were trekking through the woods between the school and the Graham property - following the line between them until it dead-ended at a place I was sure would provide some answers: the remains of the old lumbermill.
It had taken less time than I expected to bring them up to date on our run-in with the woman Tailor had called ‘the Ender’ - talk about an overkill title - and the girls had told us about some magic Tailor family sword that Hyde seemed all fired up to get his hands on, and the paintings Jul had popped spells on in the basement. Well, technically Jul had done pretty much all the explaining. Camille just kind of grunted approval here and there.
“Yeah, but why feathers?” Jul seems genuinely curious.
Destin shrugs, blushing. “How should I know? Feral powers aren’t predictable or inherited.”
“It only happens when he’s freaked out, it’s no big deal,” I say, hopping over a fallen log.
“I thought feral and fae powers weren’t supposed to show up until you turned sixteen,” Jul says.
“Where’d you hear that?” I ask.
“I was...there’s...” she stammers, “there’s a library. In my grandmother’s house. She um, doesn’t know I found it.”
“When did we become juvenile delinquents?” Destin asks nervously.
“Since nobody will tell us what’s going on,” I remind him. “Right, so this place we’re checking out - ”
“Monster house?” Camille interrupts dryly.
“I didn’t say it was a monster house, I said I saw the imp run in this direction, and the old lumbermill is out here. Me and Dez were doing some research on it since then, and check this out - the police report from forty years ago says it was burned down by a woman named Meredith, who was never apprehended. Tailor said she was immortal and made of fire, so that could be her.”
“You forgot certifiable,” Destin says.
“There were three people there at the time, doing inventory or something, and one of them died, a guy named Omen Taft. One of the other two was your grandmother, Jul. I mean, it has to be - how many Beatrix Grahams could there be in Havenwood?”
Confusion crosses her face. “What does that mean?”
“No idea. That’s why we’re checking the place out. That, and look for signs of the imp. Wow, I cannot tell you how nice it is to have an actual name for the stupid thing.”
“Who was the other?” Camille asks.
“Huh?”
“The third? At the fire?”
“Oh,” I say. “Some woman named Wilde. Zelda or Xena or something else crazy. I couldn’t find anything else on her, or the guy Taft. Not even a death certificate for him. It’s like that police report is the only proof either of them existed.”
I look up, seeing tumbled-down brick and rotten wood planks rising out of the undergrowth.
“Behold,” I say. “We’re here.”
Camille raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. Jul is more tactful.
“It looks...spooky?” she offers.
“It does at night,” I say defensively.
But it’s the middle of the day - so the old abandoned lumbermill almost looks picturesque. The woods have grown back in around it, and vines climb in and out the busted windows.
“It’s condemned.” I say the word as menacingly as I can. “So that’s pretty hardcore. They keep talking about tearing it down, but nobody’s gotten around to it. Plus they’d have to re-clear a road to get in here.”
Jul skirts around an empty bottle. “Nobody uh...lives here, right?”
I shrug. “Sometimes people come out here on Halloween. That’s about it. I mean it’s wedged between three private properties - somebody would notice.”
Camille stalks forward, pushing an overzealous hydrangea aside.
“Just watch out for spiders,” I tell her.
“Spiders?” Jul squeaks.
“And poison ivy. Other than that it’s fine. Probably.”
Camille shrugs and steps through the open door.
“Is she afraid of anything?” I ask, but no one is listening.
Inside the mill, the rusted remains of the sawing machines still rest in the wide loading bay, the garage-style door wide open to the sun. The small sections of the roof that aren’t totally burnt away are caved in around the metal rafters. Only the parts of the building that are metal or brick have held up in any capacity. The brick walls still hold a black char, and some of the metal railings show warping from the fire. Decades of pine needles and oak leaves carpet the concrete floor. There’s an office recessed from the main mill floor, with what used to be a wide observation window - but it’s cobwebs and shards now. There’s another door further back that interests me.
I move past the corroded saw blades, glancing at the melted chains still hanging from one wall.
Destin is pointing out the poison ivy trailing through one window to Jul, explaining how to spot it by its glossy leaves.
Camille turns around, head raised, nostrils flared. “Do you smell it?”
Jul looks over at her, stepping towards the center of the mill floor, frowning in concentration. “Just pine and rust,” she says.
Destin wanders into the office area, ducking clear of cobwebs. The floorboards creaks.
“What is it?” I ask her.
Frustration crosses her face. “Shimetta. Tsumetai. Water.”
“Water doesn’t have a smell,” I say.
“Yes it does,” Jul backs her up. “You know how things kind of smell different when they’re damp?”