Intertwined

Chapter Seventeen

"James?" I called, stepping into the void. A loud metallic clank slammed behind me. The door locked from the inside.

I knew I shouldn't have followed him here. This was a trap, everything was too dark, too suspicious. I started to back slowly toward the door, attempting to find the parred handle and flee, screaming for Mike or Lyall or anyone who would be capable of saving me from a pack of wolves intent on my death.

Huge spotlights clanked to life, and I realized that I was overexaggerating.

I walked forward, toward where James was standing. On either side of him, huge red curtains hung in draped unison. It took me a moment to see past the curtain on my left that we were on the stage. Rows and rows of matching red seats staggered in a row, rising as they reached the furthest back row. We were alone.

When I was close enough, to the point where the audience would only see me, talking with an offstage voice.

"Emerson, I needed to talk to you," James said, looking less skittish. He still looked in every direction, making sure we were alone.

"I gathered that much. Why? Aren't you buddy-buddy with the guy who tried to kill me weeks ago? Or am I missing a chapter?"

"I'm not friends with him. He just–that doesn't matter. Not right now. I need you to take this," he said, pulling out a withered, leather notebook. It looked old and damaged, used beyond belief.

"And why should I?" I asked.

"Because, this has the answers you've been looking for," he said, eyeing me meaningfully.

I took the book from him, about to open the first page.

"No," he hissed, "not here, wait till you're alone, or with Marleene."

"What is it?"

"It was my grandmother's, she suffered from the same... affliction you do. I can't tell you much, I'm sure your guard dog is on the hunt for you as we speak. All I can say is that it's not safe for you here. Duskfall is about to become a warzone, and yes, I've heard your group's little theories, and yes, Emerson, you are the missing piece. You are the key. The only way to stop all of this is for you to leave," James said, his voice deep, serious.

"Why do I have to leave you need–"

"Emerson," he said, hard and cold, "I am not at liberty to tell you everything. I do not have the time. All you need is this journal. You'll be able to piece it together on your own, or at least with Marleene's help," he contemplated for a moment before springing to life. "One more thing, you need to ask–no, tell–Marleene that the Gallican coven is spearheading this. Above all else, read this book. I can't say any more. I'm sorry."

James ran off, a subtle clanking of metal sounded as he used the emergency escape.

Almost on cue, Mike came bursting through the door behind me. I turned slowly, keeping the aged notebook behind my back.

"What the hell is going on," Mike barked, half-crazed.

I had to lie my ass off in order to calm Mike down. I guess what Lyall said about the full moon setting the wolves on edge was true. Mike, and even Jason for that matter, were never angry. He kept a close eye on me for the rest of the school day.

Once home, I threw my bag onto my bed, eyeing it. I wasn't scolding the bag, I seethed against the journal that rested inside. I didn't want to read it, nor did I even want to look at it. What did James mean about affliction? He couldn't know that I had drawings of dead people. Or could he? The only way to find out would be to read what he'd given me. That begged the question, did I want to know?