Curse of the Spider King, page 12
part #1 of Berinfell Prophesies Series
Heavy footfalls sounded behind him. The chase was on.
Jimmy’s hood flew back, and the rain soaked his hair. He squinted against the water streaming down his face and willed himself blindly down the street. He screamed for help, but the wind seemed to swallow up his voice. It was very unlikely anyone who could help would be out in this weather anyway. He could feel the man gaining on him. Jimmy’s legs were just not long enough.
His frantic mind spun to any possible hope of safety. Home was too far up the hill. Mrs. Landry’s general store was closed up for the night. Farther away was the marina. Mr. McDougal might still be down there doing maintenance. That man never seemed to quit working.
He had no choice. He’d have to leave the main road and sprint down the slope to the marina. Mr. McDougal will help . . . if he is there.
But as he jagged to the right, his shoe caught on the edge of a pothole, and Jimmy went splashing to the ground. He felt his chin dig into the asphalt and his palms burn. Cold water filled his shirt, his trousers soaked to the core.
A hand grasped the back of Jimmy’s arm and began to pull.
“Here, let me help you, Jimmy,” came a woman’s voice. Though Jimmy’s vision was a blur at first, he knew the voice. But from where?
He felt the pull even stronger and regained his feet. He rubbed his eyes and looked up. “Miss Finney?” It was Lochgilphead’s new reading teacher. “What are yu—? I mean, why—?”
“Run home now, Jimmy,” she said. Her dark hair was soaked with a few sodden strands matted against her ivory forehead and cheeks, but there was no mistaking the intensity of her eyes. “Are yu listenin’, boy?”
“But I don’t—”
“There is no time. I’ll handle this. Yu get home, now.” The urgency of her last word was clear, but still Jimmy hesitated.
“Din’ ya hear the lass, Jimmy?” came another voice, this one back down toward the ul. Regis? What was she doing outside?
Jimmy blinked once more before Miss Finney shoved him down the road and yelled, “Run!” Jimmy took off at full speed. Between his hammering heart and the drenching downpour, Jimmy could barely breathe.
Bright light flashed from behind. Jimmy winced, waiting for the thunder that would no doubt follow. But there was no noise . . . no crash or bang. Just a flash of bright bluish light . . . and at street level, too.
Curiosity got the better of him, and he spun around in time to see . . . Miss Finney? There were three figures—two light, one dark—ducking, dodging, lunging, swiping . . . fighting in the street. Jimmy wiped streams of rain from his face and stopped running.
A very dark-haired woman wearing a flowing white cloak stood her ground against something Jimmy couldn’t quite understand. It looked human, but crouched like a beast. Through the rain, its face looked skullish, and its fingers seemed more than twice as long as a normal person’s. It leaped up from its crouch, much higher than a person should be able to jump, and plummeted toward the woman. But she, Jimmy realized, was not unarmed. She whirled a staff upward and struck out at the dark thing like a child smacking a ball. There was a guttural screech. The thing crashed to the ground, rolled, and was back in its crouch in a heartbeat. It flung something toward the woman in white, and there was another blinding, blue flash. The woman tumbled to the ground and was slow to get up.
The second woman, dressed in a similar cloak—but dark blue—stepped in front of the first, and went on the offensive, stepping forward and raining down blow after blow against their enemy. The beast, whatever it was, took a jab in the abdomen and then a cracking blow to the cheek. It went down and stayed down this time.
The woman in white was up and racing after the fallen thing. She raised her staff as if she might deliver one final crushing blow to finish it off. But with her arms raised, her body was defenseless for a moment. And in that breathless pause, the beast lashed out, scraping one hand at her midsection. She nearly dropped her staff as she covered her stomach with one arm and backed away. The woman in blue stepped in to finish the task.
Suddenly the woman in white looked in Jimmy’s direction. “Get home, Jimmy! Now!” Jimmy jumped back at the sudden sound of his name. It was Miss Finney, he was sure of it . . . but her voice had changed; there was more power in it. More authority. But who was the . . . other? The dark hair . . . Regis?
Jimmy stumbled backward and turned, running past the general store and then turning up the lane to his home. With every step Jimmy realized he had no idea what he was going to tell his parents when he burst through the door out of breath. They would never believe this. In fact, he didn’t know if he believed this!
His lungs burned, he gasped for air as he rounded the corner into the driveway and took the stone steps two at a time. He glanced behind him to make sure he wasn’t followed.
Nothing but rain and a street lamp.
He stood on the porch and gasped, watching his breath in the cooling air. His chin burned from hitting the pavement, as did his palms. With his heart beating loudly in his ears, Jimmy tried his best to calm down and control his panting. But the images that played over in his head were too extravagant. Too unusual.
He took one more breath and then walked inside. To his surprise, both his father and mother were seated on the sofa beside the fire, with a platter of tea and cookies on the low table. A man sat across from them on the other sofa. Geoffry was busy playing with something in the corner.
“Jimmy,” his mother piped up. “Whatever took yu so long?”
“What?”
“Yu’re late gettin’ home, boy.”
“I—I was—”
“Yu was fixin’ to catch a cold is what yu’re doing,” said his mother. ”And now yu’re drippin’ all over the carpet. Mind yurself!”
“Do as yur mutha’ says,” added his father.
Jimmy looked between them. Something didn’t feel right.
“Don’t just stand there like a doe in the headlights, take off yur wet things and com’a sit down,” his mom commanded. Then her tone softened a bit. “We’d like ta introduce yu to Mr. Ogelvie. He is our new neighbor comin’ for a wee chat.”
Jimmy turned to the man and got a clear look at him. What he saw stopped his heart cold, and only one thought came to mind: Get out, now.
17
Stolen Thoughts
“BUENAS TARDES, Senorita Simonson!” called the new housekeeper from the open window of the blue luxury SUV. Kat’s parents had bought the vehicle especially for the housekeeper to use for errands.
“It’s Kat. Just Kat,” she said, closing the rear passenger-side door to the SUV. “So, uh, what should I call you?”
“Well, my full name es Anna Rosario Delarosa Espinosa,” the petite, Latino woman replied. “But my friends call me Anna. So please, Kat, call me Anna.”
“Okay, thank you, Anna.” Already she liked Anna much better than Mrs. Braithwaite, the last housekeeper. She was an English lady who served tea and condescending insults three times a day—if not more.
Kat smiled at Anna in the rearview mirror. Anna smiled back.
Anna had long black hair pulled back in a bun and wore a nondescript black dress coat and a white-collared shirt. The Tahoe moved slowly forward. The bus lanes were full of cars and, of course, buses.
Kat put her earbuds in and clicked play. No sound came out, but she heard a whispered voice. I know who you are.
Kat tore the earbuds out. “Anna!”
The housekeeper put on the brake and turned round. “Sí, Kat?”
“Did you just say something?”
“No.”
“Nothing at all?”
“No, Kat, nada.” Anna looked at her. “You okay?”
Kat nodded. “I’m good,” she said. “Just thought I heard something strange when I put my earbuds in.”
“I know de kind of music you kids listen to,” Anna said and laughed softly. “And it es strange.”
Kat laughed. True. Some of the bands she had on her player were pretty weird. Spiked, multicolored hair. Nose rings, eye rings, lip rings, . . . leather everything, studs, chains, the works. The singers often screamed or growled, but Kat hadn’t remembered any of her song downloads beginning with someone whispering.
In a flash, the earbuds were back in and she fast-forwarded to another track. This time, the music came on right away: a long drum fill concluding with a thunderous double bass drum and a scorching guitar riff. But above the music came the same raspy, whispering voice: I know you, Alreenia.
Kat rewound the track. Same song, but no whispering. She took out both earbuds and leaned across the backseat to look out the other window. And there he was, the creepy detective man standing at the driver’s side of a black truck. And, based on the direction of his sunglasses, he was staring right at Kat.
You need not steal my thoughts. I will give them to you freely. I am coming for you, Alreenia . . . coming to correct an ancient wrong. You are going to die today. Or . . . perhaps, I will take you to my home where there is fire and lightning. And you will dine on the black fruit of Vesper Crag. Such a slow, painful death. Yesssss.
The man slid a very pale hand from his pocket. He pointed a long, bony finger at Kat.
“Anna!” Kat shrieked.
The housekeeper spun around. “What es wrong?”
“There’s a man over there!”
“What man?” Anna ducked and bobbed, trying to see around cars and between busses.
“He’s there,” she said, poking the glass. “He’s standing next to that black truck. He’s been staring at me. And just now he pointed at me. Eww, he has really long fingers.”
“Did you . . . did you say this man, he have long fingers?” Anna’s expression changed as if her face had been erased and redrawn.
“Yes, Anna, it almost looked like a claw.”
“Was he wearing a gray hat, coat, and sunglasses?”
“How did you know that?”
Anna turned back to the wheel and revved the engine. “Senorita Simonson,” she said, “again, fasten your seat belt.”
“Anna, what are you doing?!” Kat wailed from the backseat. The housekeeper ignored her, stomped on the gas pedal, and swerved between a parked car and a slow-moving bus.
Kat slid hard to the other side of the backseat as Anna yanked the SUV around the school’s pickup circle and then out into traffic. Kat pried herself away from the side panel and climbed into the passenger seat next to Anna, somehow feeling safer up front. She put on her seat belt and then wheeled around to look out of the back window. With dread icing the bottom of her stomach, Kat watched a black truck jump the curb, tear across the grass island in front of the school, and blast onto the road. It sideswiped a small convertible and surged forward. “Anna, he’s coming!”
“I see him!” she replied. She made a swift left turn, barely missing oncoming traffic. The black truck followed, and a silver pickup clipped its back end. The truck fishtailed but regained control and pursued.
“He’s still coming!”
“I must get us to the freeway. We lose him there.”
“Anna!” Kat turned around again. “Lose who? Who’s after us?”
“Not now, Kat!” Anna swerved around a car trying to parallel park in front of a florist, and then darted onto a four-lane highway. “We are almost there!” She paused and then said, “Ah, these will help.”
Kat heard tires squeal. She watched the black truck race out behind them, maybe five car lengths back. Then she turned and saw the traffic light ahead of them was turning from yellow to red. Anna barely made it, but no way the black truck would. The light turned. Cars from both sides began to cross the intersection. But the truck did not stop. Kat watched it barrel through the intersection, slipping between a slow-moving van and a tractor-trailer that was screeching to a stop. The truck had swerved so suddenly to avoid collision that it went on two wheels and seemed likely to roll. But somehow it righted itself and tore after them.
“Oh, no, he made it!” Kat growled. “Gun it, Anna!”
Anna watched the speedometer needle pass sixty, but there was too much traffic to go any faster. She saw the sign she was looking for: Rt. 101 Hollywood Freeway—1 mile. Anna surged ahead and muttered, “He drives well for a . . .”
“What?” Kat hadn’t heard Anna’s last word. She leaned forward, but Anna said nothing more.
Anna was grateful that no cars were immediately in front of them as she took the freeway on-ramp at high speed. She raced onto the six-lane superhighway and looked to pull away. The black truck came up behind them much faster than she anticipated.
Thud! The Tahoe lurched forward. Kat’s head snapped back against the headrest as the tires barked against the highway asphalt. She screamed.
“Hold on tight and keep your head down!” Anna shouted, glaring into the rearview mirror.
Kat grabbed the hand brace, but continued to look out the back window. The jet-black truck trailed right behind them and, from the looks of it, intended to ram them again. For the first time, Kat considered the possibility that she might not survive the afternoon. As foreign and frightening as that thought might have been, it only served to infuriate Kat. Who is this idiotic, detective-looking, maniac? And why was he coming after them?
The second impact jolted Kat harder than the first. It made her swallow her gum and bite her tongue. “That hurt! What’s happening, Anna?” Kat looked up at her, surprised to see how calm Anna seemed behind the wheel.
“Don’t be afraid, Kat. Everything will be all right.”
“Don’t be afr—are you crazy? What’s going on? Do you know this man?”
The third impact shattered the back windshield. Kat screamed again and covered her head. Fragments of glass shot forward and scattered all around Kat. She instantly thought of shows she had seen on TV where criminals had abducted children from high-profile, wealthy families in order to secure a steep ransom. Hadn’t she seen a movie on that? Denzel Washington was in it . . . something about Mexico. What if Anna is doing the same thing? What if the guy in the truck actually is a police detective? Kat took out her cell phone and was about to dial for the police. She stopped. No, that doesn’t make sense. A policeman wouldn’t ra—”
The black truck smashed into them again. Kat’s phone flew from her hand and slid somewhere under her seat. She reached for it frantically but couldn’t find it.
“Do something!” Kat shouted, overcome by fear. She did not want to be taken. She did not want to die.
“They will not bring harm to you, Kat. I won’t let them.”
Kat watched Anna pull hard on the steering wheel and felt the vehicle swerve, careening across three lanes of heavy traffic. Kat looked back again. The black truck followed but was forced to drop back behind some cars.
“You’re doing it!” Kat exclaimed. She was excited at first, but one chilling thought persisted: Anna could be the villain here. “Anna, please!”
“Kat, por favor, stay down.”
Kat turned back around and watched the exit signs fly by. She glanced at the speedometer: ninety-five miles per hour. Had she ever gone this fast before? Her heart raced, and sweat dripped down her left temple. Pictures from the TV news flashed through her head. She had seen highway pursuits on all the police shows loads of times, but she never actually thought she’d be in one. Here she was, flying down the highway with someone she didn’t really know and with someone in dangerous pursuit. Just like on TV, except no police. At least, not yet.
“There!” Kat pointed at a big sign for Hollywood Boulevard West. “Our exit!” But Anna didn’t acknowledge her. “Aren’t we going home?” Kat became more nervous, her suspicions mounting. They were still one lane away from the exit-only lane.
“Sí, Kat. But this is going to get rough. You will want to hold on.”
In a matter of moments Kat and Anna passed the exit; a thin berm of concrete now separated the highway from the descending exit ramp. Kat’s eyes grew wide in panic. “Anna!” She glanced over at the driver. “You missed it!”
“No, but he will.” And with that Anna pegged the steering wheel hard to the right and sent the SUV across the lane and over the concrete berm. The shocks jolted in the wheel wells, and Kat felt as if her stomach had been wrenched up into her chest. Their SUV dropped into the exit lane below with a loud crash, cars honking behind them. The chassis ripped across the roadway and sparks shot up from underneath. A moment later, Anna slammed on the brakes in order to negotiate the sharp turn of the exit ramp. The tires squealed as they flew around the corner, their vehicle scraping against the side railing.
Kat looked to Anna. This is crazy! How are we going to explain this to Mom? Oh, and Dad’s not going to like what’s happened to the Tahoe. Not at all!
“Look out!” Kat yelled, her eyes fixed on the intersection ahead, red lights aglow. But Anna did not reply, she merely veered into the shoulder and slipped by the cars to the right, turned into traffic, and bolted toward Kat’s home.
Kat looked back again. “You lost him!” she said with a wide smile, half-excited, half-delirious.
“We can hope,” Anna replied. “But they will guess where we have gone soon enough.”
“How can you be so sure?” Kat asked, snapping back to look at Anna.
“Because, niña, I know them. They will not give up so easily.”
“What do you mean, you know these people? What are they, like Mexican Mafia? Is that it?”
“Oh no, senorita.”
For a second, Kat was semirelieved.
“They are far more dangerous.”
Kat just stared at her blankly. They were racing down the road at more than seventy miles per hour, Anna weaving through traffic as if she were a veteran NASCAR driver. Confused, Kat rubbed her head. Anna turned off onto Laurel Canyon Boulevard and started up the winding road toward home. Kat thought she might be sick with all the twists and turns, the wheels complaining with each switchback.
Kat’s heart rate had just about returned to normal when she heard Anna mutter, “Mi Dios nos ayude.”
“What?!” Kat cried.
“He es back.”
