“Did you see that?” I pointed at the spot on the gray stones.
Priest looked around. “What?”
“I saw it.” Lukas gestured at the disk in Priest’s hand. “Turn it again.”
Priest rolled the glass one more time. The light caught in exactly the same spot as before, appearing almost fluorescent. He bent down and ran the disk along the stones, and letters appeared like they were written in glow-in-the-dark marker. “No way.”
DYBBUK BOX, SUNSHINE
“What’s a dybbuk box?” I asked.
Alara shook her head. “Don’t ask.”
“Wait. I know this.” Lukas paced in front of the well. “My dad told me a story about one.”
“So what is it?” Priest asked.
“Dad said that in Jewish folklore they believe that if you commit horrible sins when you’re alive, your spirit won’t be able to rest after you die,” Lukas explained. “They call the disembodied spirit a dybbuk, and it wants one thing—a body to possess. My dad talked about them a few times. It always seemed random.”
“You said he told you a story?” Alara asked.
Lukas nodded. “This woman came over from Poland after World War II, and the only thing she brought with her was this wine cabinet. She kept it in her sewing room and called it dybbuk. The woman never let anyone inside that room, and she left instructions for the cabinet to be buried with her when she died. But get this. The rabbi wouldn’t do it. So they sold it at an estate sale.”
Jared looked at his brother. “I don’t remember this story.”
“I guess Dad didn’t tell you everything.” It was an obvious dig. When Jared didn’t react, Lukas continued. “Anyway, this guy bought the cabinet and gave it to someone in his family as a gift. But after a few days they gave it back. He kept giving it to different family members. And every time, the person brought it back. Eventually, he got everyone together to find out what was going on. Apparently, they all had similar experiences—the cabinet wouldn’t stay closed, it smelled like urine, and while it was in the house, they had nightmares about being beaten by an old woman and woke up covered in bruises.”
“Are you making this up?” Priest asked, wiping his damp hair out of his eyes. At least I wasn’t the only one who thought it sounded completely crazy.
“He’s not,” Alara said. “I’ve heard the story, too.”
“That’s not even the weirdest part.” Lukas paused. “All of them saw a figure moving around the house while they had the cabinet.”
A chill crept up my back. Listening to the story while Lukas paced in front of the well we had almost drowned in made it more disturbing.
“What happened to it?” I asked.
Lukas shrugged. “The guy sold it. That’s all I know.”
Alara walked over and ran the red glass across the stones again. “Do you think this is the same box?” She sounded almost excited.
“I don’t know,” Lukas said. “It could be another one. But it looks like we’re dealing with a dybbuk either way.” The idea that there was more than one possessed box floating around the world wasn’t comforting.
Jared studied the fluorescent print on the well. “What about Sunshine? Think it’s someone’s last name?”
“No.” For once, I was the one with the answer. “It’s a city not far from here.” I drove to the art supply store there every few months to stock up on paint sticks in this amazing shade, cadmium red.
Priest slipped the disk in the pocket of his wet jeans. We trudged back to the van scraped, bruised, and bloody—ready to hunt down a spirit residing somewhere in its own little piece of Sunshine.
Everyone was exhausted, and no one wanted to sleep in the van. My muscles were shredded and sore from treading water, and my chest ached with every breath. Priest didn’t look much better. Even the music blaring from his headphones couldn’t keep him awake.
“If we’re staying in a hotel, I need to find an ATM.” Alara sat in the passenger seat next to Jared. “We’re low on cash.”
“I don’t have any money,” I whispered to Lukas.
“It’s okay,” Lukas said. “Alara gets money every month.”
Jared pulled over in front of a bank, and she jumped out.
I watched her walk up to the machine in her cargo pants and combat boots. “A trust fund? Seriously?”
Priest grinned. “Never judge a girl by her piercings.”
Jared scanned through the radio stations, and I heard a familiar song.
“Wait—”
“Leave it there,” Lukas said at the same time.
“Just lookin’ for shelter from the cold and the pain Someone to cover, safe from the rain….”
I looked at Lukas, shocked. “You know this song?”
It wasn’t one of the Foo Fighters’ most popular songs. “Home” was quiet and understated, a whisper in a world full of screams.
Lukas gave me a sheepish smile. “It’s my favorite.”
Warmth spread across my cheeks, and suddenly it felt like we were sharing something intimate in front of a room full of people. I was drawn to the song the first time I heard it, right after my mom died. I must have played it a hundred times. It became a sort of anthem, a silent prayer.
What did Lukas think about when he heard it? Did he ever sit in the car listening to it over and over? I wanted to ask him.
He stared back at me as if he wanted to ask me something, too.
Alara opened the door, breaking the thread between us.
“Are we good?” Jared asked.
“No.” She sounded stunned.
“What’s wrong?”
She stared out the window for a moment before answering. “There’s only three thousand dollars left.”
Only three thousand dollars?
Jared shrugged. “You’ll have more in a few weeks, right?”
Alara shook her head. “You don’t get it. Someone took money out of my account. Unless it was hacked, my parents are the only ones who have that kind of access.”
Priest slipped off his headphones. “What are you saying?”
“It’s a message.” Alara got out and hit speed dial. “I need to make a call.”
She paced in front of the van and, judging from her scowl, the conversation wasn’t going well. The way Alara held the phone right in front of her while she shouted into it reminded me of Elle, who did almost exactly the same thing whenever one of her boyfriends screwed up. I wished she were here now.
I tried to imagine Alara and Elle meeting—two iron wills clashing, or forging into one unstoppable and sarcastic force.
Lukas watched as she screamed at the phone. “Not good.”
Alara got in and slammed the door, seething.
Priest leaned over the seat tentatively. “What happened?”
“My parents want me to come home. They’ve been pressuring me ever since my grandmother died. My mom thinks I don’t have enough training.” She laughed. “Like I’ll be able to get any there. Neither one of them is part of the Legion. What do they think they’re going to teach me?”
Jared loo
ked surprised. “You never said anything.”
She reached over and turned the key in the ignition. “That’s because I’m not going back.”
We pulled into a motel parking lot, a cracked vacancy sign flashing above the office. Empty beer cans littered the walkway.
“It’s only for one night. How bad can it be?” Priest asked.
From Alara’s perspective, it couldn’t have been worse. Every door facing the lot was Pepto-Bismol pink.
She crossed her arms, defiant. “I’m not sleeping in a room with a pink door. That’s where I draw the line.”
Lukas got out and walked toward the office. “You can always sleep in the van.”
By the time he came back with the key, Priest had persuaded Alara to check out the room. But when Lukas unlocked the door, he stopped short.
“Alara, you might want to rethink that line.”
Inside, the tiny room was painted the same sickening shade of pink.
“No way.” She backed up, shaking her head. “I’d rather sleep on the thirteenth floor.”
Priest coaxed her across the threshold. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you from the dangerous color.”
The room was practically empty—two double beds with mismatched bedspreads, a broken TV on a rolling cart, and a plastic trash can that hadn’t been emptied lately. Not even a cheap landscape on the tragically bare walls.
Alara crinkled her nose. “This is disgusting.”
Priest fell back onto the tacky Western bedspread. “It has beds. That’s all that matters.”
“Two.” Alara tipped her chin toward me. “And we get one of them.”
“I call half of this one,” Priest said. “I did almost drown.”
“You’re going to milk that for all it’s worth, aren’t you?” Alara teased.
“Ah… that would be a yes.”
“You should call the first shower while you’re at it,” she said. “You smell even worse than Kennedy.”
Jared and Lukas stood next to each other by the door. I wasn’t used to seeing them side by side, the same broad shoulders and full lips, sleepy eyes and long eyelashes.
After Priest took a shower, I was voted second dirtiest. I didn’t argue. Dried well water coated my skin, and my clothes were even worse.