They exchange a knowing glance before Paige blows out her candles. “Yeah, I guess I should start my English paper.”
Mom pats my back. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”
I wait until after their footsteps have retreated down the stairs and the front door clicks shut before I escape into the bathroom to begin my usual nighttime hair ritual—wash, condition, attempt to pass a comb through the poodle growing on my head, consider chopping it all off, then eventually wrestle the last knot out,and reconsider the drastic haircut—and though it feels strange to be doing something so normal after such a bizarre couple of days, it also feels kind of good. Like tonight is the start of my new life.
Mom must be feeling really bad for me, because I’m in the bathroom for what feels like forever and she doesn’t knock on the door twenty times to ask when I’m coming out or to remind me that it’s late and it’s a school night.
I wrap a towel around my midsection and open the door, releasing a wave of steam.
“Done!” I yell down to Mom.
She doesn’t answer.
I shrug and cross the hall to my bedroom, flicking on the light.
Weird—my window is open. A breeze flutters the curtains and makes goose bumps rise on my bare skin. Looks like I’m going to have to have another “my room is my business” conversation with Mom, I think as I pad across the soft carpet.
I muscle the old window down, and my breath catches in my throat. A man is reflected in the glass.
16
I whirl around, gripping the towel tight over my chest. “Who are you?”
The man smiles, but with his row of crooked teeth, it looks anything but friendly. “I’ve been called Mr. Wolf.” He takes three big steps forward, so that I’m backed against the window, and extends a hand. “But I also go by the name of Frederick.”
“Stop right there or I’ll scream!”
He laughs. “Relax, Indigo.”
I could stand naked in the middle of Melrose Avenue on a Saturday afternoon and not feel more exposed than I do right now in this thin towel. “Wh-who are you and how do you know my name?”
“And why am I in your room?” His eyebrow arches.
I brace my arms tighter over my chest to secure the towel.
Frederick grins. “Don’t worry, you’re not my type.”
He strides in the other direction, so I see the gray ponytail that falls down the back of his black suit jacket. My mouth has gone dry, and I can hardly think past the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears.
“Now, let’s talk about what you’ve done.” Frederick turns, regarding me with slanted blue eyes.
I wet my papery lips. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.” He stops in front of a corkboard covered with photos, cards, and every other item of junk I can never think of where to put, and leans in to inspect something. “Twilight?” he asks, full of disgust as he fingers old theater stubs.
I look at my open bedroom door. If I make a run for it, I can probably get out before he’s even—the door slams shut, and I gasp. He hasn’t moved an inch, and the door closed. The door closed on its own.
“You—you’re Frederick, from the Priory,” I stammer.
“And now that we’ve established the basics,” Frederick says without turning, “why don’t you tell me what you know. This can very simple, Indigo. You’ve put a spell on the Bible”—he runs his finger over a photo of Mom and me from the year I had my birthday at American Girl, before violently ripping it out from under the tack that holds it in place—“that prevents it from being opened.”
I swallow what feels like a whole fist in my throat. “You obviously don’t know what you’re talking about, because I’m not a witch, and I don’t know any spells.”
“really?” Frederick says. “Then tell me how a spell came to protect the Bible that is in your possession? It wasn’t your mother. It wasn’t your aunt. So who was it, then? The family cat?”
I race through my brain for an answer to his question. “My grandma! It must have been my grandma. She was a witch.”
He shakes his head. “This spell is new, Indigo, within the last few years. Strong and unbreakable. You know, this was so much easier when I could just pluck what I needed right out of your head.”
I swallow my rising panic at his nonsensical words. “But even if I was a witch, it’s only my two hundredth moon tonight. I couldn’t have possibly put a spell on the Bible before it went missing. Think about it! It makes sense!”
His jaw hardens, and I can see why he said he’s called Mr. Wolf. He looks at me like he’s considering ripping me to shreds with his bare teeth.
He takes slow steps toward me, fanning the picture in front of his face. “You know what? I think you’re lying. I think you know a lot more than you’re admitting.”