Rogue Read Online Free Page B

searched for down here in vain all those years. The one that Lemuel and Dr. Joe and I finally found.”
    Franklin pulled the curtain, revealing a window looking into a small adjoining room, about the size of a closet. On an elevated platform sat the object.
    It was the ancient brass astrolabe Will had once happened across in the basement of the castle. A larger version of the one Franklin had given him when he’d first revealed his identity—the one sitting on the desk in his bedroom—but an exact replica, as near as he could tell.
    “Put those glasses of yours on,” said Franklin, placing a kindly hand on Will’s shoulder. “And then have another look at it.”
    —
    Jumping out of the shower, Nick dressed quickly, then grabbed the bag he’d packed with all the items on his checklist. He listened at his door, glancing at his watch. Counting down the seconds to seven minutes. He cracked open the door and peeked out.
    Brooke was no longer at the table. Nick’s heart skipped a beat; he looked around and didn’t see her anywhere. The water bottle still stood on the table, half empty; that meant she’d drunk more than enough to do the job.
    Nick cautiously crept through the living room and peeked into the kitchen. She wasn’t in there either. Then he noticed the door to Brooke’s room hung open a crack.
    Nick moved silently across the room. As he was about to nudge the door open, he heard a whisper of movement behind him. Brooke lurched out of the shadows behind the fireplace, extending an outstretched hand at him. Her face twisted in fury and spite, almost unrecognizable.
    Don’t let her touch you.
That’s all they’d told him. That was all he needed to hear.
    Nick vaulted into a backward somersault, landing on his feet on top of the sofa, then springing off again to the far side, putting the sofa between them.
    “Wha’ did you do?” she screeched at him, her voice slurring.
    “What?!”
    Brooke staggered toward him, her motor skills visibly impaired, fighting desperately to stay upright, yelling even louder.
    “Wha’ the hell did you do to me?”
    She tripped and fell over the footstool in front of the sofa, then scrambled after him, pulling herself up onto the cushions.
    “I didn’t do anything to you,” said Nick.
    “Don’t lie to me!”
    Everywhere Brooke touched, every
thing
she touched, wilted and shrank, leeched of color, light, and whatever life or energy it once possessed—blanched, discolored, drained. As she yanked herself up to her feet again, rabid with fury, struggling to find her balance, Nick shuffled back behind the dining room table.
    “I don’t know what the heck you’re talking about,” said Nick.
    “Yesh you do!”
    She lurched toward him again, grabbing on to the top of a dining room chair to keep from falling. As her fingernails dug into the veneer, a coarse vapor issued from under her hand, and the slat of wood collapsed inward, sending her tumbling toward the table. She landed with both hands on its surface, her fingernails dug in, and then she slipped backward toward the ground, leaving scorched, skidding nail marks and handprints behind.
    Nick couldn’t see her for a moment. As a precaution, he took two running steps and parkoured around the wall behind him, flipping and landing in the center of the room.
    He looked back but didn’t see her under the table where he’d just seen her go down. That strange black vapor rose from a variety of places, and the table and chairs looked as if a piano had fallen on them. Nick picked up the small shovel from the fireplace tool set.
    “For crying out loud, Brooke,” said Nick. “You touch your mother with those hands?”
    She rose up suddenly from behind the sofa and leaped at him again, hurling herself through the air between them with astonishing speed. As Nick somersaulted out of her path, he saw the front door fly open; someone entered and pointed their raised right hand at Brooke.
    A bright red flower blossomed in the back