Shades of Doon (14 page)
“Lucas Who?”
“
Lucius Jobe
. I read about him when we were researching the limbus. He was Addie’s minion. She sent him across the
Brig o’ Doon two Centennials ago to sabotage the kingdom from inside. What we need to figure out is if Adam was already the witch’s lackey when he came to Doon or if she somehow corrupted him from inside the kingdom.”
“I don’t see how it matters. Either way, Adam’s embraced the dark side.”
Pacing away, Vee mused, “If he’s like Gideon, he can be saved.”
I thought about the overzealous guard who’d wasted away under the influence of an evil enchantment that caused him to do unspeakable things. “But Addie’s curse corrupted Gideon from the inside out. By the time we figured out what was going on, he looked like Skeletor — cadaverous and bulge-eyed. Adam looks great for an evil henchman.”
Vee gasped at me from the opposite end of the room. “That’s it. Gideon wasted away because his will rebelled against Addie. He didn’t want to do evil things. Adam seems to enjoy doing them. He comes alive — ”
“Because he was the witch’s flunky long before he came to Doon,” I said, finishing her thought.
Holy Schwartz!
We’d blindly embraced him. Let him into the Scooby Gang, asked for his help with the limbus. I blinked at Vee, who’d moved farther into the room. The chamber, which hadn’t seemed particularly large before, now looked to be the size of a football field. The murky light touched Vee’s head but allowed shadows to swallow up her body. Those shadows seemed to carry her away even more . . . Or was I the one being carried?
I tried to move closer, reaching out. But I couldn’t make much progress. The shadows held me back, clinging to my arms and legs like vines. It was like fighting through an invisible jungle.
Vee was also struggling. I could see her straining forward. She called my name but she sounded distant, her shout barely carrying over the whooshing in my ears. No. Not my ears — the whooshing noise came from behind me, appearing much closer and louder than my best friend.
With a final burst of effort, I lunged for Vee’s hand. Our fingers touched for an instant, and then I was plunging backward into the dark. Spinning into nothingness, I lost Vee, the room, everything but the nauseating sensation of blindly swirling out of control. I was Dorothy Gale — but without a house, minus a little dog, and with no hope of encountering a good witch at the other end of my journey. I was at the mercy of evil, helpless to resist the Wicked Witch of Doon.
P
ainful prickles raced along my spine, across my shoulders, and down to my fingertips. My eyes fluttered open — pink-and-green-striped curtains, matching coverlet, an outline on the wall where my “Dance is Life” poster used to hang, a desk covered with stacks of paper shoved in the corner. My room, but not my room. Two large filing cabinets stood against the far wall, my old dresser long gone. I squeezed my eyes closed and willed myself to wake up. My chest rose and fell as I struggled to pull in enough oxygen. I clutched the scratchy synthetic fabric beneath me.
This had to be a nightmare.
“Bob! Start the coffee. I overslept!”
At the sound of my mom’s screeching voice, I popped up, the room spinning around me. I pressed my palms against my closed lids. Blood roared in my ears. “Please let this be a dream. Please let this be a dream,” I pleaded.
A memory rushed back — Adam’s maniacal face, the throne room, the rings, Kenna and I running to the keep. Emily. Oh
no, I’d given Adam the rings! I rubbed my empty finger, bereft of the weight and security the ring provided — a link to the Protector of Doon. And I’d given it away willingly, to save Emily, but as a result Doon had lost their queen. A stronger ruler would never have sacrificed their own safety for one individual. But the blood pouring down her neck . . . Adam would’ve killed her to get to the rings.
I buried my face in my hands as a horrifying thought occurred to me; what if this wasn’t the dream? What if Doon had been one big, fat, movie-length dream? I’d had those before, dreams that felt so lifelike that when I woke up I could feel it and taste it for hours afterward. But surely my giant guardian Fergus hadn’t been just a dream? My gifted advisor and friend Fiona? My loyal-to-a-fault sentinel Eòran? The Rosettis? Blaz? The castle with the most spectacular view on the planet? Duncan, the big brother I’d always wanted?
Jamie?
My breath hitched on a sob.
Looking back, it all seemed too fantastical to be real. How could
I,
an eighteen-year-old ex-cheerleader from the Midwest, have ruled a kingdom? How could a boy that noble and beautiful exist?
A short screech shattered my musings and I looked up to find my mom framed in the doorway, her mouth opening and closing like a guppy’s. “Veronica? What are you doing . . . I mean, where did you come from?”
“Good question,” I muttered.
“What?”
“Mom, how long have I been gone?”
“Is this some kind of joke?” Her brows pinched over her nose.
“Where did I go after I left here?”
“You ran off just like your daddy.” She waved her hand dismissively.
If I’d run off, then where was Kenna?
Kenna.
Of course! She’d been in Doon with me, and she’d been with me in the keep. She could confirm it hadn’t been a dream. Now all I needed to do was find her. I jumped off the bed. “I need your cell phone.”
“Not until I get some answers, young lady!” Janet propped her hands on her hips, barring the door.
“Who’re you talking to, dumplin’?”
Bob the Slob, fatter and slobbier than before, stood behind my mother, his eyes scanning me from head to toe. “Oh, hey, Veronica. When did you get back?”
I crossed my arms in front of my tank-top-clad chest. “Mom, may I
please
use your cell phone?”
“What happened to yours?”
I’d left it in my tower room on the bedside table, so I could listen to my music as I fell asleep. The answer popped so readily into my brain that it had to be the truth. Didn’t it?
“I left it . . . um . . .” When it came to lying on the spot, I was a Padawan to my BFF’s Jedi. As a result I blurted, “It’s in my suitcase and the airline lost it.”
Janet cocked a brow. “Why on God’s green earth would you put your cell phone in your suitcase? Seriously, Ronnie, of all the harebrained, stupid things to do. Don’t you dare think that I’ll replace — ”
I didn’t dare think anything when it came to Janet. I stepped forward, raised my brows, and stared her in the eyes. “I need to use your cell phone immediately.”
Janet blinked once, twice, three times, and then stepped back out of my way.
“Ohh . . . little Vee’s grown a backbone.” Bob’s voice, deep and whiny at the same time, made me want to punch him.
“Mom, where’s the phone?”
Deep brackets appeared around her mouth before she answered. “In the kitchen, by my purse.”
Rushing through the hallway and into the cramped kitchen, I ignored the sick waves of déjà vu washing over me. After five long years, I knew every crack in the plaster and every creak in the floorboards. The tiny house, held together with duct tape and a prayer, was all we’d been able to afford after my dad left. It made me wonder what Janet and Bob were still doing in this dump.
I stumbled over a peeled-up corner of linoleum and grabbed Janet’s smartphone off the counter. Scrolling through the contacts, I searched for the name Walter Reid. If I ended up here, then maybe Kenna ended up with her dad in Arkansas.
I’d spent half my life glued to Kenna’s side — surely my mom had her family’s contact information programmed into her phone. But after scrolling through the “R” section twice, I’d come up empty. I keyed in a “W,” praying it would be under his first name. I scanned the short section of contacts and the blood froze in my veins.
Welling, Paul.
I clicked on my dad’s name with a trembling finger. It was a local number. My pulse accelerated, and my heart pounded in my ears as my finger hovered over the call icon next to his name.
“Vee, I need that back. You showing up here out of the blue is going to make me late.”
Janet’s voice snapped me back to reality. I
had
to find my best friend. Quickly committing my dad’s number to memory, I switched to the Internet.
“I just need three minutes, Mom.” I glanced up and met her eyes, the lump in my throat growing larger by the second. “Please.”
Her expression softened in a rare show of vulnerability, and
in that moment, she was my mom again. The one who read me bedtime stories, braided my hair with rainbow ribbons, and watched movies with me when I was sick — the woman she’d been before my dad broke her heart. “Maybe I should take the day off work.”
Tears burned behind my eyes and I stepped toward her, ready to throw myself into her arms and sob like a baby.
“No way, Janet.” Bob stomped into the kitchen as he tugged a sweat-stained ball cap onto his head. “If you miss another day, you’ll lose that job. And they’re talkin’ layoffs at the quarry.”
Janet whipped around and shoved a finger in Bob’s chest. “You said you were looking for another job. What happened to the construction position? Or the delivery job? You’re really a . . .”
Tuning out their squabbling, I searched
whitepages.com
. When I found a Walter Reid on the correct street, I tapped the screen to connect the call.
As the phone rang, I moved into the living room, farther away from the noise. Three rings.
Please pick up.
Five rings.
Please let her be there.
Seven rings.
Please God . . .
“This is Walter Reid, If you’re getting this message — ”
No idea what to say, I ended the call.
“I have to go, Ronnie. Give me my phone.” Back to her old charming self, Janet stuck her hand out and glared.
Reluctantly, I gave it back to her.
“Don’t think you’re off the hook either. We’ll be having a long discussion tonight about your future. And if it involves you staying here longer than one night, you’ll be paying your part of the rent.”
“Come
on
, Janet!” Bob yelled from the kitchen. Apparently they only had one car, because Janet turned and followed him out the back door. With a slam and a squeal of tires, I was alone.
Curling into a ball, I rocked back and forth on the sofa, willing the tears to come. But I felt numb — hollow and emptied out. Like my heart had been torn from my chest and I’d never feel anything again.
Then I heard Jamie’s voice, deep and ragged, so clear it sounded as if he were in the room.
“ . . . Dinna let an evil scheme steal your faith. There is nowhere you can go . . . nothin’ that can keep us from finding our way back to each other . . . Do you hear me, Verranica? Doon is your Calling and you . . .
you
are mine.”
Finally, the tears came.
I
shifted in the darkness thinking about how a comforter was fittingly named. The soft weight formed a cozy cocoon that enveloped me in a pleasant sleep. Every time my brain tried to tell me to get up, the comforter lulled me back to dreamland. Whatever the day would bring in the kingdom of Doon could wait while I snoozed for just a few more minutes. Something about that thought wasn’t quite right . . .
I blinked at the bedside alarm clock. Five fifteen in the morning — too early for man or beast. Wait . . . since when did Doon have power?
I sat straight up in bed, searching the cluttered space. At the far end of the room the electric glow of a digital clock cast a greenish tinge against the wall. The faint memory of burrito stink filled my senses as I oriented myself to the familiar surroundings: microwave, fridge, desk/dressing/dining room table, single chair, and my bed. The walls were decorated with Broadway posters and the snuggly comforter depicted two silhouettes, one light, one dark . . . and green. Glinda and
Elphaba — a present from my dad when I’d left Arkansas for my internship.
Holy Hammerstein!
I was in Chicago, in my studio apartment.
The confusion of waking up in my old space caused me to struggle out of my comforter’s siren pull and stagger to my feet. I still had on the fleecy pajamas I’d specially chosen for my slumber party with Vee and Emily. What exactly had happened?
The doorknob began to jiggle, causing hope to blossom in my chest that Duncan would be on the other side. But if that were the case, wouldn’t he knock? He wouldn’t just open the door and barge in. The only person I knew cocky enough to do that was Adrenaline Theatre’s Artistic Director, Weston Ballard.
In my mind’s eye, Wes’s entitled face morphed into Adam’s as the events of my last few minutes in Doon came rushing back. The science nerd I thought was a friend had stolen my ring, along with Vee’s, and somehow forced us out of the kingdom.
My heart began to accelerate as the door knob turned with a soft click. I edged backwards forgetting about the bed until I landed on the mattress with a thump. Light spilled into the room from the hallway as the door opened, illuminating the intruder. Not Duncan or Wes, but a petite, female form. The bands around my chest loosed and my breath whooshed out in relief. The sound drew the girl’s attention. Her head whipped in my direction and she screamed. Before I could stop myself, I started screaming back.
For several seconds we shrieked at one another in the darkness until the girl flipped on the light. Blinking like mole-men against the harsh glare, we both fell silent.
“Kenna? Is that you?” Her voice was vaguely familiar, but since I was essentially blind, I couldn’t place it.
“Oh my gosh — it
is
you.” The girl’s form rushed over to the bed. “We were all so worried. How are you?”
“Okay . . .” Or not. Up close, I could see the girl’s delicate upturned nose and brilliant red curls. She reminded me of — me. Only her hair at the roots was nearly black, and suddenly I could picture her with a dark pixie cut. “Jeanie?”