Chapter 8

8

" H uh," Gabe said around a mouthful of cookie as I finished telling him about what had happened between Abigail and I. Stan wasn't with him, having told Gabe it was vital that he and I spend time bonding as brothers. He may not have brought his boyfriend, but he had brought cookies and a thermos full of hot chocolate. He told me he figured that since he'd physically brought those items into my dream, I might at least be able to taste them even if they didn't do anything for me, nutritionally speaking.

He'd been right. Butter cookies and hot chocolate went amazingly well together, as it turned out. We enjoyed them while sitting in the half-cleaned conservatory, catching up while sitting at a very comfortable patio set I'd conjured.

"Yeah," I said. "It was so out of left field that when we got home, I didn't even look at the phone that had shown up in my backpack. I didn't look to see if it came with a charger, either, and that seems kind of important."

"Gabriel thinks of everything, so I'm sure you're fine," Gabe said with a dismissive motion. "But if not, let me know. Do you think Abigail was telling the truth, though?"

"I'm pretty sure, yeah, just based on the fact that it's been over twelve hours, and my father hasn't applied his fists to my face." I cocked my head in thought. "Is there something you can do to know for sure? Maybe go into her dreams to find out?"

Gabe took another long sip of cocoa, then sighed content. "That would be pretty invasive and might constitute as meddling that I'm not allowed to participate in. I don't know the rules like Stan and Gabriel do. I can ask but don't get your hopes up. For what it's worth, my gut says you can trust her. Of course, my gut also told me I should date the cute guy who turned out to be a deceased Roman emperor. Did you tell her what your dear old dad has been up to? About the photos?"

"No," I said firmly, shaking my head. "I had nothing to lose by trusting her with what I told her because I can escape if the focus is on me and my perceived wrongdoings. But if she's planning on snitching to my father and the focus is on his wrongdoings, he'd know to burn all the evidence. I can't chance that."

"Smart kid," my brother said with an approving smile. "Good job, man."

"It's just common sense," I muttered before biting into another cookie. "I wish I could have these when I'm awake, too."

"Yeah, sorry, I can't help you there. The only reason the tarot card I gave you followed you to the real world was because Gabriel helped me when I was making it. I'll see if I can talk him into having his minions drop a tin into your backpack while you're asleep, though." He frowned, looking at me through narrowed eyes. "Are they still on the verge of starving you?"

I shook my head. "No, they've been feeding Abigail and me more lately, which just makes me nervous. I'd wonder if the school reported it, but everyone there is so enamored of my father that I doubt it." I paused, thinking about it for a moment. "Madame Persephone, maybe?"

"No," my brother said immediately, without even pondering the thought. "That's not her kind of thing. Not when the carnival's left the area, at any rate. Even then, I'd think it more likely that she'd stow you in her luggage and take you with her or summon fire-breathing dragons to barbecue your parents than do something as mundane as call CPS."

I thought about that for a moment before nodding. "I could totally see her summoning dragons."

"Right? It's definitely her style." He picked up another cookie and bit into it before changing the subject. "So before I came here, I paid Rose a visit."

My eyebrows raised at that. "The social worker you mentioned?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Gabriel did his usual background check and confirmed she's stayed a good person, so it's safe for you to contact her. Basically, I showed up in her dream, told her who I was, apologized for what I did, and then said I had something very important I needed to ask her. I'm positive she'll just think it was all a dream when she wakes up. Which, okay, is true because it was all a dream; I just happened to actually be there."

"Will she remember it?" I asked. From what I'd heard, my dreams weren't exactly comparable with standard dreams, and I was under the impression that people tended to forget theirs pretty often.

"She'll remember," Gabe told me with a grin. "The old man taught me how to make sure of that. Anyway, I told her she'd be hearing from you and asked her to please listen because it was important. I think it might be best to call her and tell her your brother Gabe sent you and maybe remind her that I talked to her about it."

I snorted, sending crumbs from the cookie I'd been about to pop into my mouth everywhere. "She'll think I'm crazy," I told him before taking a bite.

"Maybe," Gabe agreed with a nod. "But she's our best bet unless I think of something else. Give it a shot. I can bring her into your dream if she believes you."

It would have to be my dream since he'd tried taking me into other people's dreams, but it just hadn't worked. Our grandfather thought it was tied to my lucid dreaming, but we had no real answers. In the meantime, my dream house made an excellent base.

I sighed. Gabe had given me Rose's full name and her office's location so I could look up the number once it was safe, and I remembered the information. Still, I wasn't so sure about his plan to just call her and say, "So yeah, my dead brother showed up in your dream to warn you I'd be in contact with you, and here I am!"

He was right that she was our best option, though, so I'd figure out a better approach. I loved my brother, and ninety-nine percent of the time, he was brilliant, but that other one percent made me shake my head and sigh when it showed up.

"So what are you going to do after you've got what you need?" Gabe asked. "Are you going to wait until the FBI has picked them up, or will you wait just long enough to be sure you have the evidence?"

I wrinkled my brow in confusion. "What?"

"When I come get you," he clarified. "Personally, I think you should somehow get your parents to Denny's to see it for themselves. Give them the finger and tell those fuckers you'll see them in Hell."

"Gabe!" I protested, laughing but also a little shocked. "I'd never do that."

He grinned. "Which is what would make it so fucking beautiful."

"I'll think about it," I promised, still chuckling. I would think about it, but I hoped Gabe wouldn't count on it happening. It just wasn't something I could see myself doing.

When I woke up the following day, I immediately dug through my backpack to find there was indeed a charger. Unfortunately, I didn't have time to figure out the phone before I went to school, so it would have to wait until after I'd gone to bed.

I expected my day to go as usual—bland and repetitive, with me not paying attention. There was a change in my routine, though, when Abigail walked up to me at lunch. "Want to eat with me?" she asked.

I blinked in surprise, then smiled. "Sure," I said, "but don't you have friends you usually sit with?"

She glanced around. "They have opinions about what you and I discussed at the library," she said. "I don't want to be around them. I told them I wanted to study with you."

After getting our food, we sat outside at an empty picnic table near the school's library. "Thanks," she said. "And I'm sorry for using you as an excuse, but I did want to have lunch with you."

"It's fine," I told her as I picked up the useless plastic spork I'd been given and stabbed at the paste-like macaroni and cheese. "I get it. Who wants to sit with a bunch of bigots who make you feel bad about yourself?"

She gave me a little smirk. "That sounds like dinner at home every night."

That was when I learned that you could snort milk out your nose, and that it hurt. I didn't know Abigail even knew how to laugh as hard as she did.

That night, after I'd gone to my room for the night, I pulled the shiny new phone out of my backpack and immediately hid it under my covers in case someone barged into my room. When I opened the case, a sticky note was attached to one side, with writing in glittering gold ink on it. It listed a phone number and noted that it was for the phone. Then it gave basic directions and a PIN for unlocking it, with directions to put the sticky note somewhere else in case someone got hold of the phone.

It took me a while to figure out how to use the thing. I shoved it under my pillows as it turned on for fear it would make a sound upon awakening, but Gabriel—or whoever he'd had retrieve the phone for me—must have turned all the sounds off because I was met with silence. After I was sure it was safe, I pulled out the phone and figured out how to unlock it following the directions in the enclosed note, using the PIN they'd given it. Once it unlocked, I nearly laughed out loud when the background picture greeted me. It was the photo Gabe had taken of him, Stan, and me. My insides went warm and gooey, and I was thrilled to know I had that picture to carry around with me. How had Gabriel gotten it so fast, though? Maybe Gabe or Stan sent it to him.

So I had a phone and a way to contact Rose. The only problem was going to be finding time. I could probably do it if Abigail and I finagled another trip to the library from our father, but I'd probably have to tell her who I was calling, why, and how I'd gotten the phone in the first place. That didn't seem advisable without having her meet Gabe during her dreams. He might have been more amenable to that since it involved speaking to her directly and not snooping.

The more I thought about it, the more I thought that might be my only option. There were a lot of things that would be easier for me to handle if I had a partner-in-crime, and Gabe was ruled out because he was, well, dead. At that point, I was relatively sure Abigail wasn't trying to trick me, but that didn't mean I didn't want Gabe to give me a second opinion. I may have been sheltered, but I wasn't stupid.

There was a knock on my door, and I nearly jumped out of my skin before shoving the phone back under my pillows. It couldn't have been my parents because they wouldn't have knocked. "Come in," I said.

The door opened, and Abigail stuck her head in. "Sorry, I didn't wake you up or anything, did I?"

I shook my head. "Nah, I was just going to read," I lied, gesturing at one of the few plant books I'd checked out of the school library. At least I wasn't likely to be punished for books the school had approved, but they were useless for planning the conservatory.

Abigail entered the room, shutting the door before dropping onto the bed. I hoped the phone stayed where I'd shoved it. "Plants?" she asked when she got a better look at my reading choices. "Why plants?"

"Because I think they're interesting," I told her, grateful it wasn't another lie. "One day, it'd be fun to have a place where I can grow them."

She nodded, and that's when I noticed one of her cheeks was a darker shade of pink than the other. "Do you want to go to the library again after school?" she asked. "The actual library, not what our school calls a library."

"Yeah," I answered immediately. "But what happened to your cheek?"

Her smile wobbled, but she forced it back into place. "I'll tell you about it tomorrow," she promised.

I had a feeling one of our parents had hit her. Okay, or maybe one of our brothers. I could see them doing it and not getting in trouble. "Are you okay?" I asked quietly. I'd learned to stay paranoid in that house, and it was always possible one of our brothers was standing outside my door to listen if they'd seen Abigail come to my room.

"It just stings a little," she whispered back just as quietly before raising her voice to a normal volume. "I'll meet you at your classroom after school."

I nodded. "Sounds good."

She nodded, leaving me and my simmering rage at someone hitting her alone after that. In my dreams that night, I used my anger to get a lot of scrubbing done in the conservatory.

I didn't expect to see Abigail until after school, but she caught up with me again at lunch. This time, she didn't ask; she just joined me on my walk to the cafeteria, and we took our food to the same table we'd been at the day before. The only problem was that this time, Abigail had been followed.

"Oh, so this is where you've been hiding?" one of her former friends said with the most feigned-sounding brightness I had ever heard, sitting at our table without asking.

"We didn't invite you," I said, tired of dealing with other people.

"Oh please, like you have any say," the girl shot back snottily. "You don't even have any friends."

I pointed at my sister. "That's because Abby's the only person in this school worth my time. I'm here to help my sister study, and you're distracting us. Or would you like me to tell my father that you're the reason my sister's grades slipped? I'm sure he'd be thrilled to tell the entire congregation about it, and I'm sure your parents would love to follow up by taking a closer look at what you've been doing lately."

I had no idea if they had been up to anything they wouldn't want their parents to know about, but it wasn't hard to guess they were. Most of the kids at our church probably were. I also didn't like taking that attitude with them. It made me feel slimy and gross, and I really didn't like having to throw my father into the mix. It worked, though, because the screeching harpies left quickly after that while making snide comments about how they didn't want to talk to us anyway. I sighed in relief once they were out of sight. I looked up at my sister and saw her eyes were wide with shock. "Um, sorry," I mumbled.

"That was the coolest I have ever seen you," she said, completely serious. "Also, what did you call me?"

I frowned, confused, and mentally reviewed my words. "Oh," I said, finally realizing what I'd done. "Sorry, I didn't mean to?—"

"Call me that again," she demanded, sounding the most cheerful I'd ever heard.

"Abby?" I said uncertainly.

Her eyes lit up—figuratively, thankfully, given that she had the same demon blood I did—and she reached across the table to grab my hand, somehow avoiding the gooey mashed potatoes on our trays. "Please call me that when it's just us. I love that. It sounds so much nicer than 'Abigail'."

I nodded, smiling in understanding. Considering how much I hated being called Ezekiel, I was happy to use a nickname for her if she wanted me to. "I'll do that, Abby."

We grinned at each other, then got to studying.

As promised, Abby arrived at my classroom shortly after the bell and practically dragged me to the library. "Let's set up at one of the study desks," she suggested.

However, I saw a door that gave me the opportunity I needed. "I'll meet you there," I told her. "I'm going to stop in the bathroom real quick."

She nodded and headed toward the back of the library while I escaped to the men's room. It was thankfully empty, and I pulled my phone out of my backpack. I figured out how to look up the number for Rose's office and dialed.

"Rose Gerstein's office, how can I help you?" The voice was kind and gentle, and the anxiety that had been building in my chest loosened its grip a little, though my heart kept thudding away.

"Is this Ms. Gerstein?" I asked.

"This is she. How can I help you?"

I took a deep breath, then let it out. "My name is Zeke Graham. My brother Gabe told me you'd be expecting my call."

There was a loud clatter, as if the phone had been dropped, then what sounded like Rose scrambling to pick up her phone. "I'm sorry, who...?"

"Gabe," I said. "He locked you in a closet in grade school and still feels horrible about it. Also, he's dead and visited you in a dream last night to tell you I'd be calling." I paused, not getting any response. "Look, I know I sound insane, but?—"

"No," she said quickly. "Well, I mean, it sounds crazy, but I know you're telling the truth. Otherwise, how could you know what I dreamed about last night?" She stopped talking, but I could hear her breathing, so I knew she hadn't hung up on me. "Oh my god," she finally whispered. "A dead classmate from grade school seriously visited me."

"While I understand what a bizarre shock this all is, my time is limited," I told her. "Right now, I'm hiding in the men's bathroom in a public library, and my sister's expecting me to come out soon. My father, who heads a very large church, is participating in, enabling, and filming the sexual abuse of children. I'm uncomfortable calling a hotline because some of the people in some of the photos I found in his study were high up the local law enforcement chain." I paused, choosing my following words carefully to not freak her out further. "It's safest if I can have Gabe bring you into my dream. No one can overhear things there."

There was another long pause, and I had to look at my phone to see if the line had been dropped. It hadn't. "Do it," she said suddenly. "Go before you get into trouble."

"Thank you," I said fervently, immediately hanging up and shoving my phone back into my backpack.

I took a deep breath to calm myself, then joined Abby in the rear of the library. She was reading a novel that featured two women in what appeared to be a passionate embrace on the cover. She glanced up at me, and her cheeks went red as she immediately closed the book and hid it under her textbooks.

I snorted and waved a dismissive hand at her. "You don't have to be afraid of being yourself around me," I told her. "You read what you want to read. After we do our homework, though. I do want to help get your grades up."

She gave me a slightly embarrassed smile. "Thanks," she said before her expression turned serious. "Are you okay? You look like something's bothering you."

Either I was too easy to read, or she was too perceptive—or possibly both—and I sighed. "Yeah, I'm okay," I told her. "I'll tell you about it soon, but it's a lot. But..." I paused, chewing my bottom lip.

"But?" she prompted.

I sighed. "If our parents were doing something both highly illegal and highly immoral—and I mean immoral by anyone's standards, not just our father's—would you want to know?"

"He hit me," she answered.

"He what ?" I hissed, thankfully remembering we were in a library before I could bellow the question.

"When I asked about the library last night," she told me. "He said I needn't worry about things like my grades because I only needed to be concerned about being subservient to whatever man he chose for me to marry."

My lips pulled back in a snarl, but I couldn't find the words to describe what I felt then.

She nodded, clearly reading the rage on my face. "Mother suggested to him that I'd be more attractive as a potential bride if I at least graduated high school with good marks."

I put a hand to my face. "I hate them," I admitted in a whisper. "I hate them so much."

"Yeah," Abby said with a sigh. "I'm getting there faster than I'd like to admit."

"They're sexually abusing children who attend the church." The words fell out of me before I could shove them back in. So much for telling her later. The words were already said, though, and I couldn't take them back, so I continued. "The other night, they left the office door unlocked. There were pictures."

Abby turned white, then vaguely green. I sat there in silence as she processed what I told her, watching her go through stages of grief and rage before finally composing herself. "I wish I could say I'm shocked," she finally admitted, her voice a little hollow.

I nodded. "Yeah, I know."

"So what do we do now?"

I sighed. "I'm going to report them to someone I trust. Then I'm going to get proof. Then..." I paused. I couldn't tell her I was going to Hell, not without lengthy explanations, and I'd need Gabe and our grandfather for that. "I have someplace safe to go. I think we need to find you a safe place too." I gave her a weak grin. "And I need to learn how to pick locks."

Abby tilted her head and stared at me for a moment. "You're not telling me something."

"I'm not," I agreed. "But I promise I'll tell you everything soon." That night, probably, when I asked Gabe to grab her from her dream because she deserved to know everything.

She nodded and stood. "Come on," she said, gesturing toward the bookstacks. "I think I know where we can find books about lock-picking." She grinned at me as I just stared at her, bewildered. "Our first step is getting into that office again."