Eighteen

Time froze, and so did we. I stared at Iris.

“It’s him! I know those glasses, I recognize his voice!” she said, her voice rising. “He’s the one who kidnapped us!” She was almost babbling, in shock, trying to convince me.

So much happened during the next few moments:

Fitch lunged toward Iris and grabbed her by both arms.

Iris struggled away from him.

I shoved Fitch as hard as I could, kicked him in the shins, and screamed for Matt.

Matt did nothing—it was as if he didn’t hear me. The Jeep doors were closed—but he was right there , in the driver’s seat. I saw him staring down at his phone, completely ignoring my cry for help. Was he pretending he didn’t hear it?

Fitch had lost his balance when I’d pushed him, and my kick had tripped him right off the curb. I pulled Iris away and the two of us ran as fast as we could down the alley toward the river. I knew it would take Fitch only a few seconds before he and—unbelievably—Matt came after us.

When we rounded the corner onto the service road, I looked wildly for a place to hide. A row of large rocks lay atop a seawall that slanted down to the water—but it was too wide open and visible. There was the spot tucked off the road where the blue van was parked.

I heard tires on the cobblestones. Maybe it was a stranger’s car, or maybe it was Matt’s Jeep, but it would round the corner in just a few seconds, and my strongest survival instincts kicked in. There was that row of ancient wooden doors in the brick wall, next to one of the ghost signs. I had tried a few earlier and they were nailed shut. They all looked as if they hadn’t been opened in years. I rattled the rusty knob on one. No luck, it was locked, but the lock felt loose, and the door was splintery.

This wasn’t my property. I knew I was doing something wrong, but I rammed the door with my shoulder once, twice. It hurt, but I did it again, and this time the door creaked open. I grabbed Iris’s hand, pulled her into the dark space, and shut the door behind us. It smelled musty, as if it had been closed off for years. I realized we were in a damp and chilly cellar.

The only light came through cracks in the door, and there were cobwebs everywhere. They clung to my face and arms; I felt a spider in my hair. An animal scuttled across the floor, claws scrabbling on the cement. I held my screams inside and stood right against the door, my eye pressed to the slit in the old wood.

How was it possible that Fitch had taken Iris? And Eloise? My friend Fitch?

The terror I was feeling was not only because of that. Matt had been tricking me. Matt was involved in taking and hurting girls—hurting Eloise.

Killing Eloise.

Now the sound of the tires was louder. I heard the vehicle bumping over the cobblestones, getting closer. I peered out, and I saw Matt’s Jeep drive past very slowly. The brakes squealed, the Jeep stopped, and I heard one door open. Male voices spoke quietly to each other.

“They ran down here,” Fitch was saying.

“Well, I don’t see them,” came that voice, Matt’s voice, that had always lifted my heart, made me tingle, and now made my eyes burn with tears.

“We have to find them,” Fitch said. “Iris was acting irrational. That’s a sure sign of a head injury.”

“Definitely,” Matt said. “Let’s split up and look for them.”

I was still staring out the narrow crack. I couldn’t see clearly, but there was a glitter of water in the harbor, the shadow of a passing ship, and, then, Matt. He walked one way down the service road, stopped right in front of the ghost sign depicting the Sibylline sisters. Then he turned and walked back in the other direction—as if he was pacing.

“Oli,” he called out. “Can you hear me? Oli, please talk to me—this doesn’t make any sense. I need to find you!”

Of course I didn’t answer. But my heart hurt at the sound of his voice, and I was filled with longing for how it used to be—or how I had thought it was, just a few minutes ago.

“He’s right there,” Iris whispered in my ear.

“I know. Shhh,” I whispered back.

I didn’t want to believe it. Matt? My Matt? And Fitch ? Sweet, smart Fitch?

I looked at Iris. I wanted to doubt that she could have recognized Fitch on the street just now. But his reaction upon seeing her—the way he had grabbed for her—made it obvious that she was right. He had been her captor.

But even without all that, I knew. In that instant, all the clues I’d been trying to put together came to the surface. Minerva’s mention of the family foundation: the Agassiz Foundation. The one Fitch was a member of. Fitch, the cousin who drove the blue van.

“Oli,” Matt called again. “Oli!” Then, more as if he was talking to himself instead of me, “Where did you go?”

I heard him walking on the cobblestones. He headed one way, then the other. But now I wondered if he wasn’t pacing: Maybe he was a hunter stalking his prey.

I had never felt like prey being hunted, before. Especially not by Matt.

After a few minutes, the sound of his footsteps receded. He had left the service road. For now.

“I think he’s gone,” Iris whispered. “Should we go out?”

“We can’t chance that,” I said, my throat aching with the tears I was holding inside.

Iris nodded. “Fitch and Matt?.?.?.?they must be working together,” she whispered.

I didn’t want to hear it. My head and my heart were not in sync. I’d been feeling so happy, for the first time since Eloise died. Matt had brought me out of that terrible place. But now I felt despair. I thought of all the times in the last hours that I’d seen Matt on his phone—probably texting Fitch. The bracelet he had given me felt like a snake around my wrist. I tried to rip it off, but he had pulled the knot too tight.

The math of it all was adding up to pure horror. If Iris recognized Fitch as her kidnapper, and if he had tried to capture her again just minutes ago, and if Matt was driving him—with him even now, trying to get us—then the sum of it all meant that Matt might have helped take Eloise. I felt as if I was going to be sick.

My phone vibrated—it was Matt calling. I just stared at the screen. I wanted so badly to answer, to hear his voice tell me I’d made a mistake, misinterpreted what I’d seen, and that I could trust him after all. But I kept replaying the scene on the street, Fitch grabbing for Iris, Matt doing nothing. I waited to see if he left a voicemail, but he didn’t. He texted.

Oli, where are you?

My fingers twitched, wanting to reply. Should I do it, see his response? Finally, I decided I had to try.

What are you doing? I texted.

Looking for you! Where are you?

Where’s Fitch? I asked.

He’s looking for you, too. Why are you acting like this? Matt wrote.

He’s bad, Matt.

WHAT? he asked.

Fitch’s the one who took Iris and Hayley, I wrote. Are you in it with him?

Oli, that’s INSANE!!! Matt said.

I started typing a reply, but then another text came in—but it wasn’t from Matt.

It was from Fitch.

Oli, don’t listen to Iris. She’s delusional. That can happen with a head injury, with brain trauma.

I didn’t reply, then Fitch texted again:

You could be in danger with her. She’s lying to you, and we don’t know what she’s capable of. From what Matt tells me, her sister is being held somewhere—or is she? Is there really a sister? Matt and I are waiting for you. Come find us. Please. We’ll get Iris the help she needs.

A few seconds later, Matt texted again:

Fitch explained everything to me, how Iris is totally unhinged. Come out and find us—I’m so worried about you.

I wanted to believe him. More than anything, I wanted that.

The basement was pitch-dark. Iris was standing against the wall. I gazed at her through the darkness. I had to ask myself: How well did I know her? I had met her just yesterday. What if Fitch was right, and she was unwell? I knew that trauma could cause changes in personality and behavior.

Had she made everything up? Or what if she was evil—the person behind what had happened to my sister?

I felt a quick rush of relief and told myself, Matt’s not involved, he’s on my side .

But then I remembered finding Iris in the grave, the same one where my sister’s body had been found. I could still see Iris’s panic, the terror in her eyes. I had pulled her out of that fissure in the rock. I had seen the cut on her head, the scrapes on her arms and legs, the mud and leaves caked onto her skin.

And I knew for sure: Iris wasn’t making anything up.

She had not climbed into that grave herself. Someone else had buried her there. And held her prisoner.

Fitch. She had recognized him. He had tried to kill her just as he had killed Eloise.

And maybe Matt had helped him.

“Let’s try to find the stairs,” I whispered to Iris. We inched away from the sliver of light slanting through the crack in the door. Even though I was afraid of what I might touch, of what bugs or mice might be hiding in the dark cellar, I felt my way along the walls. My fingers traced brick and stone. If we could find the stairs, we could climb up to street level—and escape the building when we were sure Matt and Fitch were gone.

I stumbled and fell, banging my knee against something sharp. It was the corner of a box, and when I felt around, I realized it was one of several. I pulled the lid off one, and even though the darkness was almost total, there was just enough light from the broken door to illuminate pots of enamel.

Suddenly, I knew where we were—directly below Minerva’s jewelry shop. And I had the feeling the ghosts of sea witches and sibyls were encircling us.

“Over here, Oli,” Iris whispered. “The stairs.”

I went toward the sound of her voice, then hesitated. I remembered Minerva’s face when I showed her the charm I’d found at the grave. I could hear her whisper: Not that one?.?.?.?Please, not that one. She hadn’t denied knowing what it was, or that she had made it. Would she hurt us? Was she involved?

I felt trapped between two hunters, both of them after us. Which one was worse?

I decided Iris and I had a better chance against Minerva. My heart was pounding as we climbed one story up the stairs. We opened the door at the top and stepped into the back of the bright store.

Minerva was sitting at the counter, and I saw her jump when she heard the door hinges creak. Her brow was furrowed, and she narrowed her lips, as if unsure of what to say to us. Then, finally, “You ran out so fast.” She held out her hand, and I saw the charm. “You left this behind.”

Iris walked toward her. I hung back. My eyes were on the plate glass window in front, monitoring for the Jeep. It wasn’t there. Matt and Fitch must have been driving around, looking for us.

Minerva’s expression turned to alarm when she had the chance to get a good look at us. “Yikes, you’re covered with spiderwebs.” She reached beneath the bench and handed us each a white muslin towel.

Iris and I wiped off the dust and cobwebs; I hoped I’d brushed away the spider I’d felt, too.

“What were you doing down there?” Minerva asked, holding the charm out toward me again.

“I’ll tell you if you tell me about that,” I said, without taking it.

“I’m just surprised you have it. I gave it to someone and?.?.?.?well, I wouldn’t have expected it to wind up with you or anyone else. It’s kind of precious, at least to me. How did you get it?”

I wanted to blurt it all out, tell her that I had found it next to the crevice where my sister and Iris had been discarded like trash. From the way Minerva stood so tensely, eyes burning into mine, I knew she was waiting for an explanation. But I was jostled by Iris as she ran past us to the shop’s front window. She peered out, scanning the street where we had encountered Matt and Fitch in the Jeep, where Fitch had tried to grab her.

I stood frozen next to Minerva.

“Aren’t you going to tell me?” Minerva asked. “I made this piece. Don’t you think I deserve to know?”

“Here they come again,” Iris said, shrinking away from the glass.

“Who? What’s going on?” Minerva asked. She walked to the window, stood staring at the street.

“Don’t let them know we’re here,” Iris said in a begging tone.

I crouched behind the counter. From there I had a clear view as Matt’s Jeep slowly passed by. I could see him at the wheel, Fitch beside him. Fitch’s glasses glinted in the afternoon light.

“Oh,” Minerva said. “That’s my cousin Fitch.” She waved, and from my hiding place—peering over the counter—I saw Fitch wave back. He said something to Matt, and the Jeep halted. Fitch opened the door and got out. I knew he was going to enter the shop, and I had only a few seconds to convince her.

“Minerva,” I said. “Please let us hide. Don’t tell Fitch we’re here. I’ll explain.”

“Wait,” Minerva said, eyes wide. “Did Fitch give you the charm?”

“I think he dropped it,” I said. “And I found it.”

“Oh my God,” Minerva said. “You don’t have to explain, things are actually making sense. I’ll tell you why after I get rid of him.” She pointed at a closet, and both Iris and I scrambled inside. It was full—a mop and a bucket and shelves of jewelry-making supplies. I eased Iris behind a tall stack of boxes and held my breath, afraid we might jostle a box or jar or make a noise. The door didn’t close tightly, so we had air. We could hear everything.

“Hey, cuz,” Fitch said as he entered the store.

“Well, if it isn’t the wannabe doctor,” Minerva said. “What are you cooking up in your lab these days?”

“Not much,” he said. “Listen, have you seen?.?.?.”

“You mean the cure is out of reach? No Nobel Prize for you this year?” she asked with a sharp edge in her tone.

“Minerva, I’ve apologized for hurting you that time,” he said.

“I should have told someone,” she said. “My parents, your parents. I could have called the cops on you, Fitch.”

“I told you I was sorry!”

“Are you doing it to other people?” she asked.

“Of course not! It was a mistake, I told you. Just leave it, will you? This is important. I’m looking for two girls who probably came in here,” he said, and I heard him describe me and Iris.

“Nope,” she said. “Haven’t seen them.”

“They were standing right out front twenty minutes ago,” he said.

“I told you, no one like that has come in today. What do you want them for?” she asked.

“One is very sick, on the edge of a breakdown. The other is my friend’s girlfriend.”

At the word girlfriend , I couldn’t help it, but my heart jumped. Did Matt think of me that way? How could I still feel excited when I knew Matt might be behind my sister’s death? I felt guilty and ridiculous for it, so I shut that feeling right down.

“Well, I’ll keep my eyes open for them,” Minerva said.

“Okay,” Fitch said. “Text me if you see them.”

“I will,” she said. Then, “How’s your sister?”

“She’s not doing well,” Fitch said. “More episodes.”

“Well, give her my love,” Minerva said. “My little cousin Abby-Gale.”

I exchanged a look with Iris. Gale. Abby-Gale. Abigail.

And now more things began to click for me. Fitch’s sister, Abigail, who had had a seizure and had to leave school. The illness that had affected the Sibylline sisters, the disease that ran in the family. Related elements, falling into place.

“Listen, I need some dust, and the keys,” Fitch said.

“The keys, fine,” Minerva said. I heard her open a drawer and the jingle of keys as she handed them to him.

“Now the magic dust,” he said.

“Go away, Fitch,” Minerva said. “It’s valuable, and I need it for my work.”

He laughed. “You’re here only because Daphne is subsidizing you. You’re her little favorite. If you won’t give it to me, I’ll just take it.”

I heard his footsteps getting closer. He opened the closet door, and light poured in.