Page 156

“What?” Gwen asked, already starting back toward her again, shouldering her way through clusters of stragglers.
Isobel lowered her own phone. She held the article out at arm’s length.
Closing in, Gwen snatched it from her. “Hey!” she said, “It’s that guy! From the Grim Facade . . .”
Gwen suddenly grew quiet, and Isobel watched her eyes grow wide behind her glasses as she scanned the brief paragraph. Meanwhile, Isobel allowed her thoughts to spiral backward to the moment when Reynolds had laid her on her mother’s wicker bench. With that memory, a new thought occurred to her, one very important detail that, until that very instant, she had managed to overlook entirely. Despite what he had said about the separation of worlds and the destruction of the link, he had still stood there, in her world, fully real and tangible.
And hadn’t Varen created the link in the first place? Wouldn’t that mean that Poe had done the same?
Isobel’s eyes narrowed. Her gaze slid back to the article in Gwen’s hand, just as she was lowering the paper. Gwen’s eyes met with Isobel’s, and her face held a wondering expression, one that went through several quick changes as the wheels of her brain spun to catch up, to draw the same conclusion that Isobel had already decided on.
Isobel was going to Baltimore. One way or another.
And contrary to what Reynolds thought, she would see him again.
Of that she was now certain.
50
From Out That Shadow
That night, Isobel waited until everyone was asleep before sneaking down the hallway to Danny’s room. She pressed in on the door, and it creaked slightly as it opened.
Her little brother lay in his bed, snoring, huddled to one side, his arm slung around a giant Transformers pillow. Drool pooled on the robot’s plushy shoulder. She shook her head, taking in the scene. If her mood had been any different, she might have risked snapping a blackmail photo. Instead, she crept inside, tiptoeing around the minefield that was his bedroom floor.
Quietly she slid into his computer chair. It squeaked as it swiveled into place, and her ears pricked up as she heard Danny stir behind her.
She ignored his groan and wiggled the mouse, causing the sleep screen to disappear. The PC hummed to life and, when the window for Google popped up, she started typing.
“What are you dooooing?” Danny moaned. “Get out of my roooooom.”
“Shh,” Isobel said. “Go back to sleep.”
The web page for University of Baltimore popped onto the screen.
It had been Gwen who, despite her reluctance concerning Isobel’s plan, had thought of using the excuse of visiting colleges to get to Baltimore. After Nationals, if Trenton won the championship this year, then there would be no way her mom and dad could deny her the request. Especially if she happened to utter the word “university” all on her own.
Of course, that meant Trenton would have to win.
From there, things wouldn’t get truly difficult, until she was in the city, in Baltimore. It would be sneaking off and getting into the locked cemetery that was going to be the tough part.
“I was having a good dream,” Danny mumbled. She heard him roll to face the wall. “I was an only child.”
“So go back to sleep.”
Isobel typed “Athletics” into the search field. The only return was for an athletics club. “Damn it,” she hissed. She pressed back and, returning to Google, typed, “University of Maryland + Athletics.” When the page loaded, she clicked the first option, and the sports page splashed onto the screen in a flash of red, yellow, and black. And there, dead center, was a photo of the football team.
“Home of the Terrapins?” she whispered aloud.
“It’s two a.m.,” Danny whined. “Aren’t you still banned from life?”
Isobel squinted at the little image of the mascot. Apparently, a terrapin was some sort of turtle. Weird.
She went to a drop-down menu and clicked “Spirit Squad.” The page went black before the Terrapin cheerleaders flicked onto the screen. Girls wearing big ear-to-ear smiles and bright red uniforms trimmed in black dominated the monitor. A few of the pictures showed squad members suspended in midair, doing high-difficulty stunts. Not too shabby, she thought.
She scrolled down and there, just below a championship portrait, was the info she needed. Yes—they competed.
“Turn the screen off!” Danny growled. “You suck.”
Isobel closed out of the page. She powered off the monitor, then stood.
Stepping around Danny’s beanbag chair and kicking aside his school shoes, she lowered herself to sit on his bedside.