THE SEVENTH

 

The last time I spoke to my brother, Winston, was Christmas Eve last year. He hadn’t been with us for Christmas day, he hadn’t been there to receive his blanket knitted by Theresa, he hadn’t come home for Christmas supper. In fact, he hadn’t come home at all.

The last words he’d said to me before he disappeared into the night on Christmas Eve were, “Stay away from me.”

I thought he was just in a bad mood and was annoyed that I’d been right about Winter. I didn’t realize that when he told me to stay away, he meant, “Don’t follow me. Don’t come looking for me.”

For the first few weeks I’d been restless. I looked around for him at school, but I never saw him there. I risked my own humiliation by approaching his friends to see if they knew where he was, but they’d scowled at my proximity and told me they hadn’t seen him, either. So, I’d hustled over to the police station, and I’d tried to explain to a chubby police detective that my brother was missing. The man—Jeffrey Stromer—had the audacity to roll his eyes. He’d said, “You Bells always seem to have someone missing.”

I didn’t know what he was talking about, but when he flipped open a box of jelly doughnuts and started eating them in front of me while I was still talking, I decided he was the most useless detective in the world. After I left, I tried not to think about how much his words stung. Yes. We were a family who had started as five, but who would always have someone missing. Then, for a while it was two someones. Now, it was three.

So, in September, when I saw a boy with shaggy, blond hair and a tacky guns-crossing neck tattoo at the end of the junk food aisle in the grocery store, I felt a fireworks show of emotions: relief, worry, confusion, anger.

Winston had a new girlfriend—she hung off his arm with half-closed eyes and I tried not to cringe at how they both teetered. Winston stared blankly at the chip options for a solid two minutes before he came to his senses and grabbed one.

I thought about approaching him. I imagined confronting him for bailing on us at Christmas, and for never coming back. Because for someone who spent so much of his childhood angry about how our father had left us, I wanted to point out that he’d done the exact same thing.

I’d abandoned my half-filled shopping cart, left the grocery store, and drove back to Syliva’s in silence.

That was the moment I realized I’d lost Winston for good.

 

 

I sipped a steaming mug of hot chocolate at the breakfast table as I scanned the Pebble Paper: Prince Forrester and Lady Holly Kissing had an upcoming engagement party, Prince Driar was coming to the end of his research trip in Polar Territory, the Crimson Queen was extending her vacation, again. Zane found me when I was halfway through the last page.

A glass plate piled with my favourite chocolates—smooth mint, white-vanilla-stuffed frosting, butternut crunch—slid out in front of me, pulling my attention from the paper.

When I glanced up, Zane was folding his arms.

“What’s this?” I nudged the plate, trying not to get too excited about the butternut crunch candies.

“It’s a bribe, Trite.”

Suddenly the butternut seemed less thrilling. “A bribe for what?”

Zane slid into the chair beside me, his hickory hair falling out of place, his knuckles rapping the tabletop in a fidget. I felt like I was back in the detective’s office, being assessed by jelly-filled Jeffrey Stromer.

“Something is still bothering you. I was going to wait until you were ready to tell me yourself, but I can sniff it on you, Helen. Trust me, you’re even less inconspicuous this season, which I didn’t think was possible.”

I set the newspaper on the table.

“Why did you really want to go to the circus?” he asked.

I bit my lips. “I don’t know what you’re—”

“Oh, come on, Helen. You weren’t running away from that bearded man. I watched you let him take you. Who is he?”

When I didn’t reply, Zane slid the plate of treats back to himself where I couldn’t reach, and my jaw dropped.

“That man is no one. I wanted something from him, but he couldn’t help me.” Before Zane could retaliate, I grabbed a butternut crunch candy and shoved it in my mouth.

Zane huffed. “I thought we learned not to keep secrets from each other. The last time you shut me out, you got bitten by an ashworm snake-prince.”

I bit my tongue so I wouldn’t bring up what Apple had told me about Zane’s secret visit to the Red Kingdom.

“The circus was a mistake, and I shouldn’t have asked you to bring me.” I glanced down at the table and pushed the Pebble Paper aside with my knuckle. I was done with it anyway. “Thank you for the chocolates, but I’m fine.” I lifted my gaze to prove it, and I smiled. “I’m fine.”

“You’re a scotchy liar, Trite.”

I threw up my hands. “How about you tell me how you’re doing, Zane? Let’s start with that.”

He folded his arms and leaned back a little. “This isn’t about me.”

“Sure it is. You go first.” I tried again, and his jaw hardened.

“I’m fine.”

The silence that followed was crisp with cheery background noise and brick-solid willpower. Finally, Zane reached over and tugged the Revelation Orb necklace from beneath my shirt. He studied the glass ball and sighed.

“I suppose we’re being petty with everything that’s going on,” he said.

I glanced past him to where Patrolmen were packaging chocolates with Apple. I looked down at my hands, then at the orb in Zane’s fingers.

“Do you think the believers could use a reminder of the Truth?” I asked. “If we’re waiting for Gathadriel to bring back Kaley, and for Cane to get the drum, shouldn’t we be doing something to help?”

Zane’s shoulders relaxed and he dropped the orb back to my chest. “I thought you’d never ask. I’ll take you to Wentchester Cove if it’ll help you shake whatever unmerry thing that’s got you muddled.”

Joy filled my chest at the thought of putting a message of hope across the smokey Winter skies. “How far is it? I want to be back here when Kaley arrives.”

“It’s a good measure closer than the last time.” He cracked a smile. “I can have us there and back in a pinch.”

“Perfect. Should we bring more Patrols?”

“Halt your scotcher, Trite.” Zane stood. “I said I’d take you, but Porethius will never let us scuttle off with the Beast on the hunt,” he said, and I stood too.

“So how do we get her to change her mind?”

“We don’t,” he shrugged. “She and Cane are leaving in an hour or three to go to Red. We’ll sneak out as soon as they’re gone, but you and I will be doing this alone.”