A Crown of Dragons Page 7

  “I think he said he’s pleased to meet you.”

  “We can have the GPS in French if you like,” Harvey said.

  “Oh, no-oo,” Mom tutted.

  “Yes!” squeaked Josie, clapping like a five-year-old.

  Harvey tapped the screen a couple of times. The thing immediately said, “Au croisement, tournez à gauche.”

  Josie rattled with laughter.

  Once again, I caught Harvey’s gaze in the mirror. Was I dreaming it or was he trying to read my eyes? Holding my gaze, he said, “It can be a male or a female voice.”

  I looked away, but he’d given me an idea. When Chantelle had been our au pair, she taught Josie a lot of French phrases. There was one in particular that Josie liked. Est-ce que … Est-ce que tu … Yeah, got it. I turned to Josie and opened my mouth to speak the whole sentence — only to hear the voice of the GPS say it for me:

  “Est-ce que tu veux un chocolat chaud ce soir?”

  I jumped so high my head hit the roof. The BMW lurched to a halt. We all slammed forward in our seats.

  “Michael?!” Mom gasped. “What’s the matter?”

  I stared at the GPS screen, showing us stopped in the middle of the road. “It said …”

  “What said?” she snapped.

  “Michael, are you hurt?” Harvey asked calmly.

  “N-no,” I panted. “Didn’t anyone hear it?”

  “Hear what?” said Mom. She was furious now. “Harvey, drive on.”

  He put the car into gear and pulled away.

  “What … what happened?” I said.

  Josie made a face. She looked disgusted with me.

  Harvey said, “You were asking Josie if she’d like a hot chocolate, when suddenly you jumped for no reason.”

  Me? I was speaking? No. It was …

  Harvey reached out and switched off the GPS. “Perhaps that spider alarmed you?” He gestured at a light fitting above the rear seats. A tiny spider was rappelling down from it.

  I didn’t remember seeing that.

  “Harvey, I’m so sorry,” Mom said, which in its fullest translation meant: He’s been like this for weeks; he’s driving me crazy.

  Harvey brushed it aside. “Please, it’s fine. No one is hurt and no harm has been done. And look, we’re here already.” He pulled into our driveway.

  “What?” I pressed my face to my rain-spotted window. Mom never got us home as quickly as this. I’d heard about the cow that jumped over the moon, but this felt as if we’d jumped a whole section of road.

  Josie got out right away and trudged solemnly indoors.

  Mom unclipped her seat belt. “No one else will say it, but thank you for the lift. You’re a gentleman.”

  “We’ll take care of your car tomorrow,” he said. “It’ll be safe at the college overnight. Actually, Darcy, I’m passing this way in the morning. Would you like me to pick you all up, about eight?”

  “Ohhh … no,” Mom started.

  “Really, it’s no bother,” he said. “Josie and Michael will need to get to school, and I believe you have a meeting first thing?”

  “Goodness, how did you know that?”

  He smiled and said, “I studied mind reading in ninth grade — or was it simply that you mentioned it as we were leaving the college?”

  She laughed and shook her hair. “Well, if you say so, I must have.”

  “Lift?” he prompted.

  “All right, if you insist. It would save a lot of messing around with buses, I suppose.”

  “Eight it is, then. Bye, Michael.”

  I stepped out of the car without speaking.

  I looked back to see Mom still apologizing for me.

  Worse was to come in the house.

  “All right, I warned you!” Josie pushed me against the wall.

  “Hey! Get off, you little —”

  Bang. Not so little these days. And, boy, she was strong when she was wired. “I said if you upset Mom, I’d never speak to you again!”

  “It wasn’t me!” I hissed. “It was the GPS talking! You must have heard it. Chantelle used to ask you if you wanted a hot chocolate before you went to bed.”

  That was it. She’d had enough. She slapped me in the chest and “zipped” her mouth.

  Fine. Let her wallow in her ignorance. But something had made that GPS go loopy. And no matter what Mom thought of lovely, charming Harvey, it was all a bit convenient, his passing this way tomorrow.

  She came in, dark as a winter sky. “I realize you’re still very young, Michael, but you are so immature. Less than twenty-four hours ago, you told me you were keen to meet Harvey. After that dreadful display, it wouldn’t surprise me if he moved to another county to avoid us.” And into the front room she went, slamming her car keys onto the tray in the hall.

  I looked at those keys for the longest time. And the more I stared at them, the more I began to wonder. What if I was right and Mom was wrong? What if Harvey was not all he claimed to be? What if the car breaking down had been cleverly arranged so that Harvey could worm his way into our life for some reason? What if he really could read minds?

  It was time to raise my head above the maze and look around. I was tired of waiting for orders from Klimt. Something was wrong about this whole Harvey business — and I was going to prove it.

  Starting with the car.

  What made me do it, I couldn’t say. I just fished Mom’s car keys off the tray and slipped them into my pocket. Holton College was a twenty-minute bike ride from home. All I had to do was find an excuse — and get pedaling.

  It didn’t take much. I waited till dinner and homework were done. Then I piped up. “I’m going to Freddie’s, okay?”

  Mom didn’t even blink. “Home by eight. Not a minute later.” She flapped a hand, dismissing me.

  I burned along the country lanes, but I didn’t go straight to the college. I stopped at the crossroads between Holton and Poolhaven and tried to figure out what route Harvey’s BMW had taken to get us home from school so quickly. I was certain there were only two basic routes, one through town (Mom’s normal trip) and the longer run via the coast road. I would have remembered the coast, so we’d definitely come the other way. But how had we gotten through town so fast? Short of being clamped by an alien spacecraft and taken along at warp speed and dropped, the only explanation I could come up with was a reality shift. I’d been thinking about Chantelle in the car — which might explain the madness with the French GPS — and I’d wanted to be anywhere but in Harvey’s presence. So maybe I’d pictured a shorter journey and bing, it had simply happened? But if it was a shift, it was fuzzy around the edges. Harvey, for instance, had come through unscathed. If I’d wanted to screw up his chances with Mom, I’d have picked out a universe where he was tied up with duct tape in the trunk of the car or something. So did that mean I didn’t want to mess with an innocent man, or that part of me was trying to accept that it was finally time for someone else to come into Mom’s life? I sighed and got back onto the bike. No. I couldn’t let that happen. Dad was here, close, within reach. He could still be rescued. I mustn’t ever lose sight of that. I put my head down and pedaled harder. And as I rode toward Holton, I fixed my mind on the one thing that had kept Dad alive for me for years: the chain of paper dragons he’d made. They meant more to me than anything else, those dragons. One day, I would join the chain into a crown, place it on my father’s head, and say, “There, you were always my prince, my king. I never forgot you. Welcome home, Da —”

  “Oh, good gracious! Look where you’re going!”

  I braked hard, screwing my front wheel sideways. I’d been so lost in my thoughts I’d almost run over the toes of a woman crossing the road.

  “Sorry,” I said, and looked up. Between a couple of spreading chestnut trees was the redbrick frontage of Holton College.

  The woman crouched down to pick up a book she’d dropped. She walked away muttering about bikes being “lethal weapons in the hands of irresponsible children.”

>   I wasn’t listening. I dismounted and pushed my bike along the sidewalk. I’d seen the college many times before but never actually been inside. It was a beautiful building, three stories high with a tall, arched doorway and ground-floor windows to match. A stone balustrade ran around the roof. Two men dressed as pirates had once hung a skull and crossbones off it and ranted about cuts in educational spending. According to Mom, that was as lively as her day ever got. She worked in an office at the back of the building, in a student admin role. So that’s where I headed, around the main building. In a matter of moments, I was in the parking lot. Mom’s Range Rover was parked close to a wooden fence that separated the college from the neighboring cemetery. It was one of only half a dozen vehicles present.

  I freewheeled over, trying not to appear suspicious. I wasn’t exactly sure what I planned to do. I knew nothing about cars, their batteries or engines, but I didn’t want anyone getting nosy while I figured something out.

  Resting the bike against the fence, I pretended to look at the cemetery for a minute. Two men came out of the college, talking and joking, carrying sports bags and rackets. They paid me no attention, threw their stuff into a car, and drove away. As soon as they were gone, I sidled up to the Rover, bipped the key fob, got into the driver’s seat, and closed the door.

  Everything looked normal — meaning untidy. Leaves and candy wrappers on the floor in the back, along with … I reached down and pulled my French notebook out from under the passenger seat. So that’s where it had gone. Annoying. I opened the glove compartment. A few CDs, the car manual, Mom’s driving shades. No listening devices. No wires hanging loose beneath the dashboard. No Harvey-size fingerprints on the gearshift. Nothing to suggest that the car had been tampered with in any way. I flipped the sun visor down and flipped it back. This was dumb. What was I doing here? What the heck was I expecting to find? I ran my hands around the steering wheel and checked my watch. It was 7:15 already. If I didn’t leave soon, I’d be in even deeper trouble with Mom. I reached for the door handle — and hesitated, the car keys jingling in my hand. Should I or shouldn’t I try the engine? It was the ultimate test, after all. If the car didn’t start, I might as well go home. But if it did … I checked the mirrors. No one around. I made doubly sure the brake was on — BOY CRASHES INTO CEMETERY was not a headline I wanted Mom to read — then plunged the key into the ignition and turned it. The engine made a fast-clicking noise but didn’t fire. I tried it again. Same thing. Flat.

  That was it.

  Story confirmed.

  Done.

  I took the key out of the ignition.

  And then it happened.

  The locks clunked, the headlights started to flash, and the horn went off. Barp! Barp! Barp! Barp! Over and over. Loud enough to open every coffin in the cemetery.

  “No!” I squealed, and tried the door.

  Locked.

  I fiddled with the fob, but in my panic dropped it down the side of the seat.

  Roomy as the Range Rover was, it adhered to the universal laws of awkwardness where tight spaces were concerned. I fiddled for the keys for what seemed like a week, finally managing to get my fingers on them. I must have pressed a button as I did, because the alarm stopped and the locks clunked again.

  Panting like crazy, I pulled the door handle and spilled out onto the tarmac, coming nose to toe with a pair of booted feet. A hand clamped my shoulder. “Don’t even think about running.” And I was hauled up and pinned against the side of the car — by a uniformed security guard.

  He was scrawny but mean-eyed, stronger than he looked.

  “I’m not stealing it!” I gasped. “It’s my mom’s car, honest.”

  “Tell that to the judge,” he said.

  “Please, I’m not lying!”

  “Yeah, and my middle name’s Elvis.”

  “Actually, Frank, he’s not lying,” said a voice.

  I looked over the guard’s shoulder.

  And there was my king for the day.

  Harvey.

  “You know this kid, Professor?”

  “I do,” said Harvey. “I met him for the first time this afternoon. He’s Mrs. Malone’s son. You can put him down now. You wouldn’t want a reputation for roughing up minors — and, oddly, you appear to be upsetting that crow.”

  We all turned our heads toward the graveyard. A large crow was hunkering on the branch of a tree, looking as though it might attack. I couldn’t tell at this distance if it was Freya or one of the others.

  The guard reluctantly let me go.

  Still with his eyes on the crow, Harvey said, “Thank you, Frank. I’ll take it from here.”

  “Strictly speaking, I should log it, sir. Even if he’s known to you, any disturbances should go in the book.”

  Harvey smiled. He was thin in the face with lips that moved like loose elastic. He wasn’t exactly handsome, but he had that lean, intelligent look Mom liked. He touched his glasses at the bridge of his nose. They were lightweight, practically frameless. A gust of wind could have picked them off with ease. “I don’t want you to log this, Frank.”

  The guard blinked. “But … ?”

  Harvey’s dark brown eyes drilled into him. “I really don’t want you to log this.”

  “Well, if you’re certain, sir, I’ll get on with my rounds.” And Frank drifted away, looking slightly dazed.

  The crow, I noticed, relaxed a little.

  “Well,” said Harvey, straightening my clothing. “This is something of a bonus. I wasn’t expecting to see you again quite so soon. Might I ask why you’re here? Please tell me you weren’t trying to steal your mother’s car?”

  “I don’t have to tell you anything,” I muttered.

  He pushed his hands into the pockets of his slacks, letting his jacket ride onto his hips. He was wearing a straw-colored turtleneck sweater, almost the same color as his hair. “I’ve just saved you from a serious grounding, Michael. I think that earns me the right to be curious.”

  “I came for that,” I said, seeing my notebook on the ground. Thank you, universe. Thank you, Mr. Besson.

  Harvey leaned down and picked it up. “French,” he said, flicking through it. “Pity. I was hoping it might be English.” He smiled and handed the book over.

  I gave him a puzzled look.

  “Your mother —”

  “I’ve gotta go,” I said, pushing past him. I didn’t want to hear him talking about Mom.

  “Don’t you want to lock the car first?”

  Frowning, I paused and bipped the key fob.

  The locks clunked and the world seemed to jolt for a second. I heard a buzzing in my ears, and the branches of the trees grew a thin transparent layer before coming back into line again.

  Harvey said, “Oh, by the way, I’d walk the bike home if I were you.”

  Walk it? What was he talking about? I yanked it away from the fence.

  He nodded at the front wheel. “You’ll do a lot of damage if you ride it like that.”

  Holy heck! The tire was flat.

  No way. This couldn’t be happening. How could I possibly have a puncture? The bike was brand-new and riding smoothly. I flashed a look at my watch. It read 7:27. It would take ages to walk home from here. I’d be out with the trash if I was late tonight. Mom was gonna go berserk.

  “It folds, doesn’t it?” Harvey said quietly.

  Folds? What folds? Oh, the bike. “Um, yeah.”

  “That’s lucky. That means it will fit into the car.” He pointed at the BMW, parked some thirty feet away. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen it on the way in. Some agent I was — snooping right under my suspect’s nose!

  “You’re going to take me home?”

  He pulled the keys from his pocket. “Well, it’s either that or I’m planning to steal the bike and sell it on eBay. I know which your mother would prefer. That frantic look at your watch was as bright as a warning flare at sea. What’s your cutoff time?”

  “Eight.”

  He flipped
his wrist. His watch had more dials than a space shuttle. “No problem. We’ll easily make that.”

  We loaded up the bike. This time I rode in the front, with him.

  “I’ll drop you out of sight of the house,” he said. “That way you can walk the bike up the drive and tell your mother you only just got the puncture. Or, if you’re smart and the fault’s not bad, you can fix it and she need never know. Deal?”

  “Deal,” I said, a little stingy with my gratitude. For a guy I hardly knew, he was right on my case. He’d been a boy once, though. I guess he knew the score.

  We cruised out of Holton in silence. As we approached the Poolhaven crossroads, it occurred to me to ask about his route yesterday, but the moment I began to speak, he said, “That crow in the graveyard really did seem taken with you. Do you like crows?”

  “Some. They scare me a bit.”

  He nodded. “They are imposing. You should write about it. Writing is a good way of dealing with issues — but I guess you’re aware of that.”

  Meaning?

  He slowed and stopped for a light. “Your mother told me about your story.”

  “What?”

  He quickly raised his hands. “She volunteered the information. I have to say, it sounds intriguing.”

  I turned away, wanting to SCREAM at my mother. How could she do that? How could she share my personal stuff with a virtual stranger?

  “And just so we’re clear, I know about your father.”

  “What?”

  The light changed and he eased through the intersection. “His disappearance, I mean.”

  Oh. Right. I looked away. Just for a moment, I thought he was about to reveal some vital secret, even show me a tattoo of a rearing black unicorn, a symbol that would tell me he was one of Klimt’s crew. I flexed my left ankle, where my personal UNICORNE tattoo was hidden — something else Mom must never know about.

  “I think it’s brave, what you’re doing with your story,” he said. “Your mother must be very proud of you.”

  How much had she told him, I wondered? I picked at my nails and kept my mouth shut. Just because he’d saved my skin tonight didn’t mean I had to get chummy with him. This talk about Dad was making me edgy. But Harvey wasn’t for stopping.