A Grave Tree Read Online Free PDF

opened and closed in the kitchen.
    Russell’s face became wolfish, and he took a step closer to her, his lips curved in that dangerous smile that evidently other girls at Coventry High found irresistible. “I know some things. I’d be happy to go over some of the lessons with you after Sylvain leaves… if you like.”
    Abbey swallowed and licked her somewhat dry lips. She should jump at this opportunity, but the way Russell said the word “lessons” made her think it was a euphemism for something else, although what she was not sure.
    “Hey, sis, look alive. That dishwasher won’t load itself.”
    Caleb appeared at her side, his hair at a rakish angle, and gave Russell a squinty-eyed assessment. He followed Abbey into the kitchen with a stack of dishes, and as she bent to place some of the cutlery in the dishwasher, he pressed his lips against her ear. “Get Russell’s phone,” he murmured, his lips warm and a bit gross against her ear. “At ten thirty, on the dot. Make sure he’s still signed in.”
    Abbey froze and launched back into the upright position, nearly hitting her head against Caleb’s. He was planning something. Probably something not good. How was she going to get Russell’s phone at ten thirty on the dot?
    She finished scraping the dishes and placed them into the dishwasher while Mark polished off his third bowl of Rice Krispies and Caleb and Russell talked soccer in the living room. Sylvain returned to the main room just as Abbey finished up. He wore the long, dark grey overcoat they had first seen him in on Mrs. Forrester’s doorstep, five long months ago when they thought he was the enemy.
    And maybe he was the enemy. How could they know? Maybe they had been abducted and were being kept away from their parents and lives by means of trickery and witchcraft. Sylvain had definitely endangered Abbey’s life when he forced her to test the docks with Jake. Maybe his sumptuous meals and general fatherly air were a new variety of Stockholm syndrome designed to keep them docile and in place.
    But she still had access to Facebook, and could text and email Becca and Kimmie; she was not cut off, except for the two days early on in their stay when the Coventry electrical grid had suffered a massive failure. And yet her nightly texts, emails, and phone calls to both her parents went unanswered. Maybe her parents had been abducted. Maybe her parents were the ones cut off.
    She hadn’t heard from Sam either, after his text that his research was being funded by Quentin Steinam and that he was coming to see her. He could have turned up at their house and she wouldn’t know. But he hadn’t updated his Facebook page in weeks, and he hadn’t responded to her text indicating that she wouldn’t be home and proposing a Skype meeting. He also hadn’t replied to her email suggesting that he look into boron as a possible component in the Burton process, which she sent after reading an article in Advances in Chemistry about the possibilities of boron as a nontoxic catalyst due to its incredible, virtually magical, ability to almost become another atom through modification of its electrons.
    Boron: symbol B, atomic number 5, atomic weight 10.811 amu, used as a heat resistant alloy and in Silly Putty, her brainiac mind-feed automatically rattled off.
    Had that been what Mrs. Forrester had been trying to tell her by drawing five sticks? Mrs. Forrester’s drawings were always a curious wild goose chase up a series of wrong trees. But they were always important.
    “Collecting Jake shouldn’t take more than an hour,” Sylvain said, pulling on a pair of black leather driving gloves. “I also will need to go to my old house and look for the file folder”—Sylvain paused and focused his gaze intently on Abbey, Caleb, and Mark in turn—“that somehow went missing when the three of you took my car for a little ride. I understand the circumstances that required you to steal the car, but I want you all to think