Flock Page 11

  We were indeed early for the meeting. While Penny got us seats up front, I tried to call Jack. No luck. It wasn’t like we had plans for tonight; our weekday schedules were too busy for that kind of couples’ glue. We did, generally, return messages, however. I dropped into a folding metal chair next to Penny. Marik took the seat next to me, leaving Jinky the seat on the other side of Penny.

  I had the school board figured out the minute the meeting began. Their tactic of defusing the larger-than-normal, ready-to-grumble crowd was to numb us to death. Talk about agony. And never again would I proclaim Mr. Harper, the guidance counselor at Norse Falls High, the world’s most tiresome orator. The president of the school board spoke with the kind of thrumming drone that the CIA should clearly consider using as a torture device. The budget reports were all doom and gloom and hardly helped with the overall heavy atmosphere.

  Finally, the meeting got around to the topic of consolidation. Things got under way with a to-date summary of events: after the initial approval by both school boards to go forward with the merger consideration, a joint committee had been formed. A consulting firm was then hired, and their newly released report did indeed find in favor of retaining Pinewood’s building. This news triggered a wave of murmurs and grumbles rippling over the crowd.

  The board finally opened things up for questions and comments. Penny was the first to approach the freestanding microphone set up in the center aisle. Looking around, I was surprised to see Jack leaning against a sidewall with other latecomers. I took advantage of the short break to join him.

  “I didn’t know you were coming,” I said.

  “I texted you.”

  “Just to call you, not to tell me you were coming here. I figured you’d be busy.”

  “Never too busy when it comes to the future of our town.”

  Penny was given the go-ahead to address the board, and the room fell silent.

  “I better get in line,” I whispered. “Penny has assigned me a question.”

  Jack held me back with his arm.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Humor me. I’m just enjoying the moment.”

  “Huh?”

  “You’re on our side now. All in.” He let me go with a small squeeze. My arm buzzed where he’d touched me.

  Taking my place at the back of the line for the microphone, I couldn’t help but reflect on my journey on this issue. When newly arrived, I’d taken a progress-minded, bulldoze-the-downtown stance. But now the idea of change scared the panties off me. And there was a lot more at stake than our high school. And you bet I was all in.

  With all the mayhem that was my daily grunt, the very notion of the Asking Fire should have triggered apathy in me, at most. It had been nearly two weeks since my vision quest, and, although I was admittedly in denial over the Safira-Brigid conspiracy, I’d dearly hoped for a little more clarity on Frigg’s involvement. Nor was I any closer to a placement on behalf of Jaelle. It was all on my mind constantly. A possible collusion of the first two was still a source of an unsettling chill, and the latter simply wouldn’t come. Surprising even me, I was far from indifferent about the fire. I had been looking forward to it, in fact, and hoping it would be a little letup from the beat down of my looming bargain with Safira.

  As Jack and I trekked hand in hand to the remote location, I felt as gooey as marshmallow fluff. It was a postcard-worthy evening. The Indian-summer temps provided a warm — almost charged — quality to the air, to the surrounding clusters of pines, and even to the buzz of the cicadas. The dirt trail was lit by hanging lanterns and cut in and out along the swaying bulk of a dense woods. As we approached the clearing and the already-crackling blaze, I flushed with the memory of last year’s events. Jack and I had arrived as head-butting strangers but had departed as a Homecoming couple. And the fact that someone as grounded as Penny would suspend disbelief for the tradition of a magical fire steeped the evening with even more of a mystical glow.

  I spotted Penny standing off to the side of the blaze with the camera-in-hand Jinky; Marik — praise be — was nowhere to be seen. As we approached, I noticed an unusual bulge in Penny’s jacket pocket. I patted it, expecting mittens or a scarf or something else of a bulky nature. With my touch, the pocket crunched.

  “What do you have in there?” I asked.

  Penny looked quickly at Jack and Jinky, who had struck up a photography-related chat. “Papers for the fire.”

  As the full extent of this pronouncement — including its environmental impact — grew, my eyes widened. “How many?”

  “A lot,” she said, biting back her lips.

  I had only been to the Asking Fire once before, but, as I understood it, girls fed the name of a single guy to the fire. Single as in one piece of paper. It looked like Penny had the equivalent of a shredded phone book in her pocket.

  “Not taking any chances, are you?”

  “I guess you could say that,” Penny said.

  The screech of a microphone filled the air. Abby, as class president, was ready to get things under way. I followed Jack and Penny to a spot near the temporary stage; Jinky took off with her camera.

  By now, I had endured a few of Abby’s speeches. She used the upper register of her voice at all times and paused with an “umm” every third or fourth word, but we all got the message: On Monday, Homecoming-dance tickets would go on sale and voting for king and queen would begin. I noticed she looked to a specific spot in the crowd when she trilled the word “king.” Glancing in that direction, I noticed Marik’s shaggy head.

  Abby then got down to the business at hand, giggling and sending her already high voice into chipmunk range.

  “Should your mind be open

  And your heart be true,

  Then let the fire’s magic

  Make a match for you.”

  Of course, I’d been through it all before, but it still smacked of high fructose to me.

  “So are you going to ask for me again?” Jack said, bumping me with his hip.

  “Again?” I said, heading toward the table where the paper and pencils were set out. He followed me, his left thigh jostling against my right. “We both know that was a mix-up; you’re just lucky it all turned out so well.” I chose a pale yellow slip, cupped my hand over my work, and jotted down Jack’s name.

  “Let me see,” he said.

  I folded the paper and slipped it into my pocket. “Against the rules.” I had no idea if it was, but I liked the pout it produced in him. It made his lips even more irresistible. I gave him a quick kiss and then jogged off for the fire. He followed slowly, affecting a little swagger. OK, so we had our corny moments, too.

  I found Penny at the edge of the fire. She was dropping papers by the fistful into the flames. Sparks shot up into the air. I hardly knew what to say. This time last year, she’d asked for Jack; we all knew how well that one turned out for her. I was worried she’d be disappointed again. The rumor mill had Abby and Marik as a predicted matchup. I noticed Abby and Shauna just a few girls down from us releasing their chits of paper. Abby gave hers a kiss before letting it be swept away by the wind. Beyond them, to my surprise, I noticed Jinky. She, too, had thrown something into the fire. Well, well, maybe it was magic, after all. Or just a trickster. I’d have given my knee-high suede moccasins to know who she’d requested.

  Jack pulled me away from the flames by my waist. “So is it a date?”

  “Dude, you’re stuck with me for more than just a date.”

  The band’s electric guitarist ran through a few warm-up chords and segued into a first tune. It seemed that the evening was progressing as planned, but then a kid with a picket-style sign jumped onstage. I didn’t know his name, but I recognized him from school.

  “Before we move on to the entertainment,” he said in a booming voice, “a few words about the proposed merger.”

  The band stopped, the drummer the last to sound a few jarring beats. Judging by their confused looks, this was not a scripted interruption. I not
iced that more kids with signs had appeared, crowding the area close to the stage. Obviously, some preparation had been made.

  Jack, Penny, and I took a few steps forward. I figured it was a heartfelt display of school spirit.

  “We won’t sit back and watch our community get the shaft,” the kid said.

  “Who is that guy? What’s going on?” I whispered to Penny.

  “His name is Carter,” she said. “I had heard he’d organized some kind of task force. I guess this is it.”

  “We’re going to take action,” Carter said, working himself up.

  His fellow sign bearers urged him on with impromptu “Yes, now” and “You know it” shouts of agreement.

  Watching him, I felt there was something about the Carter kid that felt off. His eyes were glassy and he was swaying a little onstage. I wondered if he was drunk, or if it was a nervous kind of energy from speaking in public. I took a moment to study his sign. An addendum to a neatly blocked SAVE OUR SCHOOL was a sloppily scrawled DESTROY PINEWOOD. I wondered at the wording. Pinewood would be our opponent at the Homecoming game; the rivalry was fierce. Destroy was definitely the kind of word a football team threw around with a harmless bravado. Still, one of our schools could have a wrecking ball in its future.

  “Who’s with me on sending Pinewood a message, one that shows just how much we like their school?”

  Uh-oh.

  I looked around. There was a strange energy coursing through the crowd. Kids were rapt with attention, the kind of attention no teen gives anything that isn’t hooked up to a game system. And from under my thin-soled moccasins, the earth was drumming. I had to hop from one foot to the other to relieve the vibrations. It wasn’t like what I’d felt over at Jack’s place; this energy had a charge or live current. And more and more kids were pressing in close to the stage. Penny scooted forward. Jinky, I could see at the perimeter, was snapping photos. With Marik at her side, Abby had moved in also. She, too, had a strange glaze over her eyes. Marik, I noticed, looked at her oddly.

  “I say we deliver part one of our message tonight,” Carter yelled.

  Another kid vaulted onto the stage to join Carter. His sign, which he jabbed up and down, said, HELL NO, WE WON’T GO. He began chanting this while removing a lighter from his pocket. With the Bic, he lit a corner of the poster-board sign. It caught fire, but it was a wimpy little thing. The crowd took up his cry. Abby had pushed her way to the very front of the crowd and was pumping her arms like it was some kind of political rally. As the crowd kept chanting, I felt the wind pick up. Except this was no ordinary breeze. It was more of a blast, something in the gale family with an icy bite.

  The kid’s sign, fueled by the gust, blazed now. Delighted with its sudden ignition, he jumped off the stage and jogged over to the Asking Fire, into which he pitched his sign. Other sign carriers followed suit, jettisoning their placards into the fire. Its flames leaped higher and higher, fueled by both the continued swirling drafts of air and the newly added kindling. People danced around the fire now. Abby and Shauna were two of the revelers. The scene was disturbing to me somehow. Their movements were graceless and primitive, more war dance than waltz.

  The visiting wind rushed among the throng, lifting hair, scattering leaves, twigs, and scraps of colored paper about like confetti. I had spent enough time around my Jack Frost–descended boyfriend to know the difference between an ill wind and one of his inadvertent displays. This wasn’t his, which made it all the more frightening.

  “Something’s wrong,” I said to Jack, pulling on his arm. “Everyone’s acting so strange. Like they’re whipped into some kind of frenzy.”

  As if proof to my point, some kid let go a rebel yell that could have toppled Tarzan from his treetop. More kids pressed closer to the fire. Their faces, burnished by the pulsing glow, were grotesque and distorted. Some seemed hyperalert; others spun about giddy and dazed, while a few had a feral-eyed look of savagery. This latter group, joining the fire moshers, was the most troubling. I sensed it was all too sudden and too intense, as if some kind of mob mentality had taken hold. And taken was an important distinction. Kids I knew to be quiet and respectful were rushing about as if just waiting for a call to action. The only two who seemed unaffected were Penny and Marik, who had her by the arm as if keeping her out of harm’s way.

  “We need to do something,” I continued, tugging insistently at Jack’s sleeve.

  He shook his head as if he himself was struggling with some kind of confusion. “You’re right,” he said, his voice tight. “Something’s very wrong.”

  “We’ll meet up in their parking lot,” I heard one of the guys yell. “Bring whatever you can find: sticks, rocks, and kindling.”

  I grabbed Jack’s shoulder. “You have to do something now.”

  “Like what?”

  “You know.”

  We both knew that he hadn’t used his weather-wielding abilities since our showdown with Brigid in Niflheim. On earth, it had been since the record-setting snowfall that had led to Jacob’s death and summoned Brigid. Not surprisingly, he considered his powers volatile and dangerous.

  With comprehension, his face darkened. “That’s not a good idea.”

  “I don’t think you have a choice,” I said, tightening my grip on him. Two kids ran past us with lit torches made from branches lashed together with vines.

  Pulling away from me, Jack turned and rounded his shoulders. Even from behind, I could sense the effort it required. His back muscles strained against the cotton of his light T-shirt, and I could hear him gnar with pain, though he tried to muffle it.

  Within moments, the sky churned above us and jet-black clouds folded one into another until they were an angry boil. A slash of branched lightning rent the clouds and a whiplike crack of thunder was followed by a sustained boom as the ground shook. Fat drops of rain fell as if thrown by buckets, and it became very cold, very fast.

  The scene was altered instantly. The bonfire hissed as if recoiling like a snake. Kids yelled and screamed, but their reaction, to my relief, was one of surprise. The band, waiting in the wings of the stage, scurried about, stowing their equipment. Cups of punch lined up on the refreshments table were toppled; open boxes of sugary donuts turned to a doughy mash. The remaining slips of pastel paper were plastered to the table or trodden underfoot. I watched as groups of kids grabbed their blankets and belongings and made a dash for the parking lot. With them, I sensed something else shrink and retreat as if it, too, were caught off guard. The distemper that had pervaded the area was dissipating.

  Looking around, I saw Penny and Marik still standing off to the side. They appeared dazed; Marik, especially, seemed frozen with fear or shock.

  When Jack finally turned to face me, his face was gaunt and hollow.

  “What the hell was that?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure.” I shielded my eyes from the downpour. “But I have my suspicions.”

  “What suspicions?”

  Again, I never knew what was privy only to my pact with Marik or, alternately, what qualified as preexisting information, thus open to discussion. Jack had been with me in Niflheim. He’d seen how enraged Brigid had been at our escape. He had to have his own concerns about her revenge. Furthermore, Marik had shrunk from tonight’s small riot and still seemed shaken by the turn of events. Had it been of Safira’s making, Marik would be aware, if not in cahoots.

  “Brigid,” I said, my voice uneven.

  “Brigid!” He jabbed the word back at me as if rejecting it.

  “I have reason to suspect that she’d like to revisit the events of last spring,” I said, hesitating, “and you know I thought there was something odd about the sinkhole at your place. And what I felt coursing through the crowd tonight, it was an ill will, something cold. My guess is that she’s having a hard time getting through. Whatever we did to close the portals, it’s holding.”

  “For now,” Jack said.

  Until she has help, I thought.

  Penny slos
hed her way over to us. “What are you guys waiting for? You’re getting soaked.” She stood a few feet away, oblivious to the tension between us. “A bunch of us are going over to the Kountry Kettle. Should we save you seats?”

  I looked around. Already the area was down to a few soggy members of the cleanup crew. The never-to-be-heard band was loading their gear into a van.

  Jack swung a to-be-continued look my way, but with it, the smallest nod of his head.

  “Sure,” I said, “but we probably won’t stay long.” I was cold, and wet, and weirded out, but no way was I going to be able to sleep tonight unless I was sure that whatever had infected those kids was gone.

  The drive over to the Kountry Kettle was tense. Two keyed-up superpowers in a confined space makes for a highly charged atmosphere; I was surprised we didn’t throw an air bag.

  “Do you really think it’s her?” Jack asked, finally breaking the silence.

  “I do. We left her furious.”

  Jack didn’t answer, but he pressed down on the accelerator.

  “I hate to say it,” I continued, “but I think we need to consider recent events as failed attempts to break through.”

  “One strong enough to pull the ground from under our feet, another vile enough to turn a few ramped-up kids into an angry mob . . . What’s next?”

  “Who knows? A part of me hopes she’s out of ideas.” (“And friends,” I muttered, turning to the window.) Besides, no one ever said hope was the same as belief.

  We didn’t speak again until we were inside the Kountry Kettle. Looking around the restaurant, I anxiously scanned the place for signs of trouble. It had never settled well with me that kettle was a synonym for caldron. Knowing that my own clan was a brand of white witch, I’d always wondered about the genesis of the name. And Norse Falls was obviously some kind of special place, vortex, or whatever. There were days when my para-radar was triggered by some Joe Blow on the street. It made me scribble garlic onto random shopping lists and accessorize even T-shirts with chunky crosses. My fears were allayed; it was the usual scene, one where the school divided into its various cliques. From first appearances, there didn’t seem to be anything brewing following the Asking Fire, though quite a few of the kids looked and smelled like wet dog. I passed Abby and Shauna’s table, where they were cozily munching fries and sipping sodas. Spying Penny in a booth at the back, I braced myself for bad news.