Spellbound - Cara Lynn Shultz [32]
I’d tried to find out what the crest meant hundreds of times before, but an internet search for “medieval-looking crest” only brought up pages and pages of similar designs and “make your own crest” websites.
“I have no idea what it means, Ladybug.” My twin brother Ethan had smiled at me, using the nickname he’d given me when we were eleven, and both covered in spots from the chicken pox. (Except then, he called me Ladybug-Face and I called him Spot.) Ethan gave me the necklace after finding it at a garage sale, just a few weeks before he died. He went looking for vintage video games and came home with this instead.
“It just seemed like you. I hope it brings you good luck, Ladybug.”
I had always thought it was something special—I fancied it to be a one-of-a-kind, rare design, something only shared between me and my brother, my hero. And now that stupid idiot Brendan had to go and ruin it. He probably saw it at the mall.
I stared at my beloved necklace, my only tie left to my brother, until tears pricked at my eyes, blurring my vision. I slammed Brendan’s locker door shut and grabbed my bag, running as fast as I could away from his locker, away from the school—away from all reminders of him. I needed to get out of there.
Chapter 7
It would soon be too cold to go jogging in the park, but I needed one last day before hanging up my sneakers for the winter. I had to clear my head.
There was a chill in the air, thanks to a morning rain that had dampened my walk to school. It chapped my cheeks, still wet from tears that sporadically burst forth. I tried to keep them at bay, running as fast as I could through the leaves. Just work it out, one more time in your head.
Could I have been imagining a connection with Brendan? I thought about the way he’d put his arm around me at the bar. The way we’d talked. The way he said he wouldn’t let anyone hurt me. The way he leaned into me, saying goodbye. I’d always read about seeing emotions in someone’s eyes, but it had never felt real to me before. I know I’d seen something real in his emerald eyes. And losing that connection today made me feel so alone—more alone than I did during those last few weeks at Keansburg High.
I ran for about an hour, slowing to a quick walk as I neared the Eighty-sixth Street exit to the park. It was the same exit for the Met, and I turned to the imposing white structure and defiantly gave it the finger.
Seeing the Met set off a new series of emotions, so I decided to keep going. I was racing faster than I ever had, so there was plenty of time for me to get back to my aunt’s for dinner. I headed across town, aiming for the pathway that ran along the East River. Once the shimmering black water came into view, I slowed to a walk and pulled my foot up on the metal base of a streetlight to retie my loose laces. Suddenly it was dark.
“What the hell…?” I said aloud, looking up. The streetlight was soot-black, as if it had exploded from the inside—just like the lamppost at the Bethesda Fountain a week ago. And the one that burned out when Brendan hailed me a cab. Again? What’s the shelf life of these bulbs?
My eyes adjusted and I finished tying my shoelace.
I pulled my earbuds out and walked along the sparkling water, listening to the wind skipping along the waves. I wrapped my earphones around my purple iPod cover and stuck the player in my pocket.
I kept my ears peeled for footsteps, looking behind me sporadically as Aunt Christine had drilled into my head, to make sure I was not being followed. There was nothing behind me but a dark expanse of pathway, garishly lit by the yellow streetlights. All I could hear was the soft squishing of my own feet on the wet leaves as my sneakers pressed them into the concrete.
And then I heard it: a low, hissing, popping sound that made my bones jump. It was similar to the sound of a balloon exploding, only deeper. I whirled around, seeing nothing but the river, and the still, silent