Year of Lightning Read online

  “Hey, sorry ‘bout charging in like that,” Fred whispered to her. “Coach wouldn’t let me go. ‘Gotta start the year off right,’ whatever that means. Y’know?”

  Valentine barely glanced in his direction.

  “So, uh, what’d I miss?”

  “Oh, Mr. Marshall,” Mr. Carmichael interrupted. “I assume, based on your attention level, that you are familiar with the basic concepts of chemistry. Tell me, how would you identify a chemical element by examining its nucleus?”

  Fred’s eyes widened like a deer in headlights.

  “Care to venture a guess?”

  Fred glanced around the room as if looking for the answer on the walls. His face reddened as he sank into the chair and folded his arms.

  “You don’t know?” The teacher’s stare bored into him. “Well, at least you can throw a ball through a hoop. I’m sure that’s everything you’ll need in life.” He let the silence drag, then turned back to the board. “Continuing . . .”

  Three classes and a lunch period later, the hallways were crowded and buzzing with first-day energy. At their lockers, the twins changed out textbooks and tried not to drop anything in the sea of sneakers. Malcolm slowed when he grasped World History, easing it into his bag to avoid scuffs and bends.

  “Wow.” Valentine shook her head. “So much love, it’s almost creepy. If history were a girl, you’d be staring in her window at night.”

  “Hey, for me, history would just smile and wave,” Malcolm returned, zipping his bag. “But you’d get a face full of pepper spray.”

  “Good thing I only spy on electrons, then.”

  Malcolm glanced over her shoulder with an evil grin. “Tell that to him.”

  “Hey, what up?”

  Malcolm choked back laughter as Valentine slowly turned, face frozen in an awkward smile.

  “Oh,” she said. “Hi . . . um, Fred?”

  “The one and only.” The lanky ball player held out his hand. “We didn’t get properly acquainted. Fred Marshall, slammin’ athlete.”

  “Hi,” Valentine avoided his hand and grabbed for Malcolm. “Um, have you met my twin brother?” She took a step back and shoved Malcolm in front.

  “S’up, player?” Fred leaned against the lockers. “So, you guys ever get social?”

  “Yeah, sometimes,” Malcolm replied. He felt Valentine poke him in the back and suppressed a smile. “Uh, but right now we’re still helping our dad get the house organized.”

  “So gimme the stats. Where you from, where you live in town?”

  “Came from Chicago. We live on the east side, in our grandmother’s house. We’re helping out ‘cause she’s, uh, kinda old.”

  “Awesome. You likin’ it so far?”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty nice, even if the neighborhood’s kind of odd. We’re right across from that blank house.”

  “Blank house?”

  “You know, the one with no doors. Big, super old, looks like . . .” Malcolm noted Fred’s puzzled expression and trailed off. “You don’t know. Never mind, it’s nothing.”

  “Don’t sweat it.” Fred peered past Malcolm. “How ‘bout you, Miss Chemistry? You likin’ the neighborhood?”

  Valentine shrugged and pulled out her phone, focusing on the screen.

  “Well, maybe you’ll like it after you come to my world-­famous Start of the Year party. First chance to let people know you’re somebody! You gonna come?”

  “Are you recruiting for your wannabe players’ club again?” a new voice said.

  Malcolm turned to see a short, pretty Chinese girl stalking toward them. She fixed Fred with a stare through long, half­purple hair.

  “Or do I have to warn them about your lame parties? Your slang isn’t the only thing out of date.”

  Fred shrugged. “Yo, I gotta be me. And hey, be nice around the newbies.” He gestured to the twins. “Malcolm and Valentine, meet Winter Tao. She runs the newspaper and believes every conspiracy theory ever. And say what you want, girl. You know you’ll be there.”

  “Someone needs to make sure you don’t embarrass yourself.” Winter leaned toward Valentine. “Last year, a girl beat him at poker and pushed him in the pool.”

  “That was you!” Fred protested as Valentine laughed. “Man, why do I keep inviting you?”

  “He knows he’d be bored without me,” Winter said to Valentine. “I like your boots.”

  “Thanks.” Valentine smiled back. “I like your hair.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Malcolm said, then turned to Fred. “Yeah, I think we can be there.”

  Fred pumped his fist. “Sweet!”

  Valentine tugged on her brother’s bag. “We need to run or we’ll be late for class.”

  “Oh yeah, we really should go.”

  “That’s cool. We’ll talk more at the party.” Winter nodded to Malcolm, grinned at Valentine, and punched Fred in the arm.

  “Ow!” Fred yelped.

  The twins plunged into the crowd in search of their next class.

  “You’re not usually so ice queen-y,” Malcolm said to Valentine’s back as they hurried along. “He annoys you that much?”

  “I’d have to care to be annoyed.”

  He grinned. “Careful, Val. You know who the brainy girl always ends up with in movies.”

  She cast a withering stare back at him and quickened her pace, though he could tell she was trying not to laugh.

  The twins’ new neighborhood seemed so odd to Malcolm. Oma Grace’s house sat on a straight road with only a dozen old houses, and not a single tree for a half-mile in any direction. While the rest of Emmett’s Bluff exploded in lush colors, Pleasant Point Drive wallowed in the same drab, muted pallor that it had when the twins’ dad was a kid there.

  The school bus sped away from the Pleasant Point neighborhood entrance. Malcolm coughed as a cloud of exhaust swirled around them.

  “I can’t wait till we can drive,” he said, waving the fumes from his face. They walked down the sidewalk toward their new home. New to them, anyway.

  “You don’t care for the luxury of the school transit system?” Valentine teased.

  Malcolm snorted. “We’re fifteen, Val. That’s another year of taking the bus.” Something cold and hard brushed against Malcolm’s right hand. “Although, this is still better than the Chicago buses, and—”

  Realization struck, and he stopped walking to stare down at his hand. Without knowing it, he’d been touching an old wrought-iron fence. He forced himself to look up.

  The faded white house loomed over them. Despite the blue skies and warm afternoon breeze, the air around it felt gray and chilly, as if cloaked in perpetual shadow.

  He gaped up at the house. “We almost did it again.”

  “Almost did what?” Valentine said, looking at her phone.

  “Walked by without even noticing this place.” Malcolm traced his hand over the gate. “Everything looks so old, but nothing’s broken.” He tried the handle, and the gate swung open without a sound. “Oh, crap,” Malcolm grabbed the gate and swung it closed. He glanced up as it clanged shut, and he gasped. His grip froze on the handle.

  A face glared down from the window.

  “I bet Dad loved growing up here,” Valentine said, still walking. “It’s so odd, and you know how much he loves that.”

  It was the same piercing stare as before—glowering eyes half-shrouded in darkness. Malcolm felt as if a fist gripped his insides and pulled, locking him into the stare. His pulse quickened, hands sweating as he tried and failed to break away.

  Examining her phone, Valentine stepped onto the empty street. “Let’s get home. I want to finish my homework early.”

  Malcolm swallowed, throat dry. His pale skin went clammy. “Val,” he whispered. “There’s a . . . face . . . in the window again.”

  “A what in the
what?” she whispered back. “Wait, why are we whispering?”

  The man pressed closer to the glass. His expression changed, and Malcolm recoiled.

  “Val, look! Look up at the window!”

  “Hey, speak up.” Valentine grabbed his arm and shook.

  Malcolm’s gaze broke away and warm air rushed into his lungs. “In the window,” he said, shivering. “There was a man!”

  She eyed him. “A man? Not just a shadow or something?”

  “I saw him last night during the storm, and just now he was staring at me again!” He turned back to the now-empty window, searching. “I think he was laughing at me.”

  She looked up at the darkened window, then back at Malcolm with raised eyebrows.

  “I’m telling you, I know what I saw!”

  Valentine smiled. Holding his arm, she turned until the house was at their backs. “I know it’s weird, but it’s just an old house. Okay?”

  He hesitated, glancing back at the window. “But, there was a . . .” A cloud of doubt wrapped around him again. He rubbed his arms. “I’m so cold.”

  She tugged, leading them across the street. “Come on. Let’s go play your Xbox.”

  He eyed her. “You never play video games.”

  “Well, you never see creepy faces in abandoned houses. It’s a day for firsts.”

  Malcolm laughed and the cold seemed to dissipate as they walked toward home. A breeze blew again, and in a moment they were at their front porch.

  “So, he laughed at you, huh?” Valentine opened the door.

  “Yeah. Weird, right?”

  She tousled his shaggy brown hair as they stepped inside. “Well, you are kinda funny looking.”

  “Says my twin.”

  Chapter 3

  Malcolm turned from the front window of his new bedroom and got back to work. He’d found good spots for all his stuff except the last few things. Now an Apache arrow went on the shelf above his headboard, next to the brass spyglass. The antique Damascus steel daggers with leather and bone handles would have a special place.

  “How’s your room looking?” Valentine called from her own room.

  Malcolm paused from hanging the daggers on the wall. “Well, I’m trying to finish here so I can go to one of the rock concerts in the front yard,” he said. “Apparently, we got free tickets to all the shows.”

  “Ha-ha, nice try. I’ll bet nothing’s happened on this street in a century.”

  Malcolm plopped onto the foot of his bed and leaned against the front window sill. “Ever notice how it has a fence and a gate but no walkway?”

  “What does?”

  “That old house.”

  “There aren’t any doors.” Valentine appeared at his doorway. “Where would a walkway go?”

  Malcolm shrugged. “Still seems weird we missed it for so long. I mean, it’s right across from us.”

  “Technically it’s across from our neighbor. Speaking of which,” Valentine pointed through the left-facing window, “your old house isn’t the only weird thing around here.”

  Malcolm peered at the squat brick house, which was situated directly across from the mysterious old house. On the porch sat a graying man in a worn leather chair. Like always, he stared out at the street with hardened steel eyes.

  “Yeah, I’ve seen him,” Malcolm said. “It is kinda odd. Is he looking for something?”

  “Maybe he lost his marbles.” Valentine grinned. “Or maybe he’s just retired and bored.”

  “We could ask Oma Grace.”

  “Yeah, Grace the Immortal probably knows everyone. She’s been here forever.”

  “And don’t you forget it,” a voice said from behind.

  The twins whipped around to see their grandmother at the door. Tall for an elderly woman and slightly plump, she stood over them with the regal posture of a queen and wore her silver hair like a crown.

  “Grandmothers know everything and everyone.”

  “And they’re ninjas, apparently,” Malcolm said. “I didn’t even hear you come in.”

  Oma Grace chuckled. “What, you imagined old granny would need help on the stairs?”

  Valentine smiled. “I can’t imagine you needing help with anything.”

  “Well, you can help set the table. Dinner’s almost ready. Oh, and please wake your father.”

  Malcolm sighed. “Again?”

  “Yes, he’s asleep in front of that computer. Honestly, how does he find time to write all those novels?”

  “We’ll get him up,” Malcolm promised.

  The twins crossed to the opposite side of the house and stopped at the closed door at the end of the hallway. Valentine reached out but hesitated just short of the handle. Malcolm stepped past her and grabbed the knob.

  The door opened to their father’s bedroom and office. On the opposite wall sat a tall wooden desk cluttered with papers, a computer screen, and their father’s snoring head. He had fallen asleep on the keyboard and the screen displayed a cascade of Q’s.

  Valentine brushed his shoulder. “Dad,” she whispered. Nothing.

  “Dad,” Malcolm said, louder.

  Valentine grabbed his shoulder and shook. “Dad! Neil Gilbert!”

  He woke with a start and grasped Valentine’s hand. Brushing brown hair out of his face, he looked up with half-alert eyes.

  “Emily?”

  Valentine’s face froze. She recoiled, shaking free of her father’s hand. He stared confused for a moment before his expression straightened.

  “Oh. Hi, baby. For a second, I thought . . . well . . .”

  She blinked at him, speechless.

  Neil forced an awkward chuckle. “Sometimes you look—”

  “Dinner’s ready,” Malcolm broke in. “Are you hungry?”

  “Oh hey, son.” Neil’s tone brightened. “Yeah sure, I could eat. Go on down, I’ll just be a minute.”

  Malcolm gripped his sister’s arm and aimed for the door. On their way downstairs, he cast sidelong glances at her dark, pinched expression.

  “He didn’t mean to—”

  “Let’s just eat.”

  Oma Grace and her legendary beef stew waited for them. Steam rose from the bowls in slow, lazy tendrils, filling the room with earthy aromas. Neil arrived and they dove in, the first moments passing in silence. Valentine ate head-down, clutching the silver pendant that hung from a chain around her neck.

  Malcolm searched for any reason to break the mood. “So, that neighbor next door seems odd. Some people might say creepy.”

  Oma Grace raised a disapproving eyebrow.

  “I-I don’t mean me,” Malcolm stammered. “But, you know . . . people. Do you know him, Oma?”

  “For a long time now.” She plucked a roll from the basket and tore it into pieces. “Walter’s a . . . complicated man. He’s seen a lot in his time.”

  “Always seemed kind of unfriendly to me,” Neil observed. “Like he never really liked anyone, just tolerated them.”

  “Yes.” Oma Grace’s eyes grew distant. “War can do that to a man.”

  She looked off at something beyond the walls, her spoon hovering above the bowl. Silence fell again. Malcolm’s stomach grumbled as he eyed a roll, but he wasn’t sure if he should move. He jumped as thunder cracked outside and lightning flashed through the windows.

  “I don’t remember this place having so many storms, Mom,” Neil said. “We’ve had several just this month.”

  “No,” Oma Grace said, still distracted. “No, we haven’t had storms like this for a long time.” Her attention returned as rain came pouring down. She chuckled. “But when you’re as old as I am, everything was a long time ago.”

  “How old are you this year?” Malcolm asked.

  “A lady never tells, young man,” she said, and rose to collect the dishes. “Now, you two
come help me clean up.”

  Valentine pushed away from the table and darted into the kitchen. Neil leaned forward to call after her, but Oma Grace stopped him with a hand.

  “Not now,” she whispered, patting his arm. “Let her be. Okay?”

  Neil leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “Can you help her?”

  “She’s closed up tight. Won’t let anyone in, not even me.”

  “Or me,” Malcolm lamented as he gathered more dishes.

  Valentine went to bed early, leaving him to finish cleaning. Afterward, he settled at the table to pore over his World History textbook and let the evening tick away. Gusting wind splattered rain against the house, and before long his mind sank into stories of times past.

  Outside, a dark figure drifted down the street, cloaked in shadow. Approaching the house with no doors, it touched the rain-soaked wall and melted through in a flash of light.

  Chapter 4

  Neil pulled through the gates of the sprawling Marshall estate on the northern edge of town. The driveway snaked through manicured trees and rolling hills and finally onto a wide, green glen. From the backseat, the twins gaped up at the house.

  “Wow,” Neil said. “I’ve seen mansions before, but . . .”

  Valentine nodded. “You could park our house in the entryway.”

  Neil studied them through the rearview mirror. “You’ll be okay?”

  Malcolm faltered. “Sure,” he said, forcing strength into his voice. “No problem.”

  Neil nodded. “Well, call if you need an early pickup. Remember, I’ll be back at eleven.” He smiled. “Have fun!”

  The twins clambered out of the car. The sound of the engine receded into the distance, leaving them alone with the stone monstrosity. Lightning flashed overhead, creating an ominous scene, as if they were stepping into a horror-movie mansion. Except this mansion’s doors and windows were open, pumping bass-heavy music into the air. They paused at the front door, regarding each other with a nervous grin.

  “Well,” Malcolm said, drawing himself up. “Mustn’t keep our public waiting.”