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Eddie barely manages to catch the tank before it fell right on me, which it would have if he hadn't stopped it because I was right in the way. I stumble to the side following my near-miss. putting a hand over my heart as Eddie keeps holding it. "Do you have it?"
"It's a little heavy," Eddie responds with a strained voice, and Fabian helps him push it back to a standing position. "Okay, that's heavy."
Right, back to figuring out why the face inside looks so familiar now that it's not about to squash me into a pancake. I step closer to the tank, looking at the cursed man as Eddie tells KT and Fabian that they need to kiss and make up. That face... I swear I've seen it before... in someone else.
"Holy Frobisher-Smythe," I realize, taking a step back. "Sarah." Fabian steps over, seeing the same thing I am judging by his own expression. No, no way. This is impossible. "Fabian, his face... it's Sarah's face."
"But that would mean..." Fabian trails off as we turn to each other with wide eyes.
"Yeah."
Robert Frobisher-Smythe. I'm sure of it now—the man in the tank is Robert Frobisher-Smythe. But how? He doesn't even look a day older than the last known picture of him. He's supposed to be dead—if his daughter, who would be turning a hundred years old in two years if she was still living, was dead, then he was supposed to be, too.
"Fabian? Ashley?" Eddie asks, pulling us out of our trance as we look at them.
"We know who this is," Fabian tells them.
"I hate to admit it, Eddie, but you were right when you said I might know who it is," I add. "I do and it's not a pleasant thought."
"Well, who is he?" KT asks, quickly glancing at the face before looking away.
Before Fabian or I get a chance to answer, the doorbell downstairs rings—our agreed-upon signal for when Patricia and Alfie ran out of things to distract Denby with.
"That's Patricia," KT states, "the warning signal."
I look at the face one last time before running out of the tank room with Fabian, Eddie, and KT. KT locks the door back with her key and we leave the study, but when we get back to the main stairs, Denby, Alfie, and Patricia are already back inside. Alfie quickly distracts our teacher with a shout and falls on a chair nearby as we duck behind the railing.
"Oh, poor Alfie!" Patricia says. "I might need some help getting him back to Anbuis House."
"No, no, I couldn't possibly," Denby argues. "I'm very busy."
The floorboard up here creaks due to Eddie moving his weight from one foot to the other. I glare at him as Patricia adds quickly, "I just hope I don't drop him, 'cause if he sprains his other ankle, what, with his dad being a really high-powered lawyer and everything."
"Fine," Denby begrudgingly agrees. "But understand this. The gatehouse is out of bounds from now on. I will not tolerate trespassers." There's some more sounds of Alfie groaning and I peek out to see that she's helping him up and out of the house. "Why don't you take up knitting or chess, something less athletic?"
Patricia gives us a thumbs-up, saying it was okay to come down now. We wait until we hear the door closes before sneaking down the stairs and through our secret passageway.
—
"That was close," KT points out the obvious as we walk back into Anubis House and into the living room.
"That was nothing," Patricia responds. "Trust me. Just an average day out in Sibunaville."
"No, no, no, you didn't see it," Fabian retorts as he and I both choose to stay standing instead of taking a seat, like the rest of them. I cross my arms, nodding. "Him. It was spooky. What does Denby want with a sleeping body?"
"Who do you think it is?" KT asks us.
Fabian and I glance at each other. Oh, boy, this isn't gonna be easy to explain. Fabian says before I can, "Look—this is crazy, all right?"
As he grabs a picture frame from the desk below the portrait of the Frobisher-Smythes, I add, "You guys are going to think we're crazy. But trust me, we're right on this one." Fabian comes back with the picture frame, showing them the picture and words beneath it—an aged photo of Robert Frobisher-Smythe, his name, and the years 1880 – 1922. The year he was born and the year he allegedly died. "It's him. At least, we're pretty sure it is."
"Robert Frobisher-Smythe?" Patricia repeats skeptically.
"Okay, little problem with that theory," Eddie says, taking the frame. "Well, Robert Frobisher, born, died. Died. Okay, that guy in the tank, he was still breathing. He's alive."
"I told you we were gonna sound crazy," I say, shaking my head. "And, look, we've seen stranger things. It's not entirely out of the realm of possibility—"
Alfie cuts me off, stammering, "Hold on, wait, wait, dead guy in a tank, but not dead. Do you know what that means? Zombies! Guys, we need to be prepared! I am not having a zombie eat my brain out!" He runs out of the room.
"It'd have to find it first," Patricia retorts flatly.
"Okay, Sibuna meeting tomorrow," Eddie tells us, looking at me for confirmation. I glance at Fabian, who shrugs, and I nod.
KT puts her hand over her eye. "Sibuna." There was a brief chorus from the rest of us.
"Just forget it, Fabian, Ashley," Eddie says. "There's no chance on earth it's him."
As KT, Patricia, and Eddie leave Fabian and me alone, I turn to him. "We're not crazy, are we? That's the face we saw."
"It is," Fabian confirms, staring at the photo. "But... I don't understand. Any of this. It's him, I'm sure of it."
"Well... we've been sure of things before and turned out to be wrong," I recall quietly. "Is it possible—"
"Ashley, you know what we saw," Fabian interrupts. "Don't doubt yourself."
"I'm not," I deny, despite knowing that I am. "I just... I wish Nina and Amber were here. Neither of them would be so quick to dismiss us on this. Amber might think we're crazy at first but then she'd be listing off a bunch of different skin care routines to stay young and suggesting that's what he did—"
"And Nina would've been there to see his face with us," he adds quietly. "She might've figured it out before you or I did."
"Yeah," I agree. "But one thing I don't get, if it is him—how is he here? Alfie went straight to zombies but my first thought was he might be in a coma?"
"Maybe," Fabian says. "It definitely makes more sense than brain-eating zombies. But even in a coma, he would've aged. It's been ninety-one years since he, allegedly, died."
"He should look like a skeleton by now."
"But he doesn't. He looks exactly the same as he does in this photograph."
"So what did Denby do to him?"
"And what does she want with a comatose Robert Frobisher-Smythe?"
—
The next morning at breakfast, it all seems the same. Amber's seat is empty; so's her bed now. Mara and I packed up things to ship to the address she left, including her bedding, some clothes, and Mara's even planning to go into town at lunchtime to pick up a postcard we could send to her. She told me she's planning to put six little hearts, adding one for Amber, and was going to get the Anubis Sisterhood to sign it. (The boys, she lamented, could put their initials if they wanted.)
Then, as Fabian's passing me the plate of pancakes, Willow comes in, walking slowly and dressed head to toe in black as she sits down in Amber's old seat. I look over, eyeing her weirdly as the table falls quiet, staring at her.
Willow doesn't even acknowledge the many pairs of eyes on her, calmly taking the plate of pancakes from me.
"Don't they feed you at Isis House?" Patricia asks plainly.
"They don't have pancakes," Willow responds.
"Well, now, neither do we," I say, staring at the plate she took from me. I lean toward KT, whispering, "I don't suppose you know why she's here?"
"Why would I?" KT responds at the same volume, grabbing the salt shaker. The cap must've not been on properly, because it falls off and she gets more salt than she bargained for on her breakfast. She pouts, humming.
Trudy comes in, setting a plate of sausages in the middle of the table. "Oh, Trudy," Mara says, "there's no cereal."
"Oh, sorry," Trudy apologizes. "Jerome's been under my feet in the kitchen for the last hour." I look to see that he's fiddling with the pots and pans. What? "Says he's planning something big."
Before I get a chance to say 'oh, this isn't gonna be good,' something crashes in the kitchen and I hear Jerome's laughter and his voice yelling, "Trudy!"
Trudy keeps her anger surprisingly well under-wraps. "A big mess from what I can see." She looks at me. "Ashley, do you mind?"
"I'll get him out of your kitchen," I tell her, and she gives me a grateful smile as I follow her in. Jerome's on the floor, gathering up the pots and pans he had dropped. "What are you doing?"
Jerome's startled by my voice and drops the things he was holding again, earning looks from those in the living room—except for Willow, who's still cool as a cucumber. He looks at me, giving me and Trudy both a nervous smile as he tries to gather the pots and pans again.
"No, don't!" Trudy tells him quickly and Jerome drops the pan he was holding again, freezing in place. "I'll get it. Don't touch it."
I grab Jerome's arm, pulling him up from the ground. Before I say anything, he says quickly, "Adams, my beautiful angelic Ashley—"
I look at the others at the table, asking, "Why does he keep calling me that?" They shrug but I can see them chuckling to themselves. I look back to him. "Jerome. What are you doing?"
Jerome blinks at me, eyes wide and still giving me that stupid smile. "Nothing. Nothing at all."
"Are you destroying Trudy's kitchen?"
"Not on purpose."
Trudy almost scoffs, putting the pots and pans back where they belong. "Well, it seems like it."
"I," he whirls around to face her, "am planning something big."
"I thought you were doing nothing?" I ask, crossing my arms and smirking. He turns back around, stammering. "Jerome. Please get out of Trudy's kitchen."
"But—"
"I will call Poppy if I have to. Tell her how badly her big brother wants her to visit."
That gets him out of the kitchen. His eyes widen for a second, and then he calmly turns to Trudy. "Thank you for letting me borrow your kitchen. I'm afraid I must go now." I bite back a smile as he turns to me. "And you—I love you but I will get back at you."
"Just remember Alfie and I still have something up our sleeves as revenge for you causing us to fail our project," I respond. Jerome blinks again, and just nods before leaving the kitchen and going back to his room.
"You are a miracle worker, Ashley," Trudy tells me.
"Trudy, you're the miracle worker," I counter, giving her a smile (one she returns) before sitting back down at the table. "Why does my boyfriend have to be like that?"
Patricia shrugs. "He's your boyfriend."
"But I will say this," Mara adds. "He's definitely softened since you two got together."
"Maybe," I agree, looking at Willow again. "She's still here?"
Mara nods, leaning closer to the ginger. "Have you lost someone close to you, Willow? The black clothing?"
Willow nods. "We all have. Amber. When she left, she took away all of the color from our hearts." Those of us who actually live in Anubis House share looks. Is she crazy? "So I am honoring her this non-uniform day by wearing black and no color."
I slowly look down at the jumper I'm wearing—one of Amber's, blue and cute. I found it in her wardrobe last night and figured she probably wouldn't miss it since I don't recall her ever wearing it. Fabian raises an eyebrow at Willow.
"She's at fashion school," Patricia retorts, "not dead."
"But who will I follow now?" Willow asks. "Oh, it's so sad. Are you sad? I'm sad." She grabs my wrist and Mara's, as we're the two closest to her. "At least we have each other." Mara and I share a glance, pulling our arms away. Willow suddenly takes off her sunnies. "Does that mean there's a bed free here?"
Mara and I look at each other again, this time with wide eyes.
—
After breakfast, while we tried to get Willow out of the house, Jerome managed to sneak past but stopped long enough to ask me what's wrong with Alfie. I told him I didn't know, but apparently according to him Alfie's been freaking out all night and stockpiling homemade weapons for the 'zombie apocalypse.'
Which explains the foam arrow I get hit with when I go to check on Alfie. I blink as it falls to the ground, pursing my lips. "I'm not a zombie, Alfie," I tell him, picking the arrow up.
"But he is!" Alfie counters, still holding the toy bow he used to fire the arrow at me. He's definitely on guard and ready for the apocalypse. If there ever actually is a real one, I'd want him on my side. Save for the toy weapons.
"Actually, Fabian and I both agree he's comatose—"
"What's the difference?"
"Alfie," I say calmly, tossing him the arrow back. "There are no zombies. But to make you feel better, you do not have to go into the tank room if you don't want to. I can promise you that, as leader of Sibuna."
"Co-leader," Alfie corrects.
"Eddie would make you go in there."
"I hate Eddie."
"Welcome to the club. Come on, we've got to go to school."
Alfie suddenly grabs his pillow and puts it in front of him, scrambling to grab the foam arrow from his bed. "School's a firm no! I need to stay here, hold down the fort, protect Trudy from the zombies!"
Arguing with him on this is pointless. He'd just insist on staying at the house. "Fine. If you see Frobisher, tell him I say hi."
"If I see Frobisher—"
"You'll stab him with a foam arrow."
"Exactly!"
I roll my eyes and start to leave, but I remember something and turn back. "Oh, our revenge on Jerome—how are we going to get back at him? And don't say zombies," I add quickly, seeing his mouth open.
"I was going to say we switch out his conditioner with temporary pink hair dye," Alfie says, though he's still on guard for the apocalypse. "I'm not dealing with zombies!"
"Pink hair dye?" I repeat. "Why pink?"
"I don't know. Because it's girly and he'll look ridiculous."
"He'll look even more ridiculous with, say, bright green hair," I tell him. Alfie says 'oh,' nodding. "And pink isn't girly. It's just a color."
"It's a pretty color. Reminds me of Amber."
"So many shades of pink Mara and I are shipping to her."