Fire Stones - By Kailin Gow Page 0,53

what might be happening. Because there’s something happening. I’m certain of it.

I go to search every room again, even though it doesn’t make sense. After all, Mom and Dad and Bailey aren’t about to leap out from behind the sofa, are they? There’s still no sign of them. More than that, beyond the car in the drive, there’s still no sign that any of them has even been home.

I check my messages. Maybe there’s an explanation there. There’s nothing. There’s nothing when I check my emails, either. Not even the usual stuff I’d get most days, which only makes me bite my lip harder with the worry of it. I don’t like this. I really don’t like this.

Should I call the cops? That thought springs into my head from nowhere. What would I tell them, though? That something doesn’t feel right in my house, and that it looks like a team of cleaners has been through the place? They’d laugh at me, or worse, accuse me of wasting their time.

I haven’t called my parents yet, so I try that next. I get out my cellphone and call the number for my father. It doesn’t even ring. Instead, I just get this message, saying “Error, number not recognized.”

The same thing happens when I call my mother, and when I try to connect to the number for the cellphone Bailey has ‘for emergencies’. I’ve sometimes wondered what kind of emergencies a ten year old can have. I guess now I know. I’m breathing faster now, and I know I’m starting to panic. This kind of thing just doesn’t happen in D.C. Not that I know what “This kind of thing” is yet.

I punch in another obvious number. That of my Aunt Chrissie. She’s my mother’s sister, and my parents always say that if anything serious happens, and they aren’t around, I should ring her. I’m not sure what good it’s meant to do, ringing a woman we hardly ever see to come and ride in to save the day, but right now, I’m willing to try anything.

“Error. Number not-”

“Stupid thing!” I throw my phone and it bounces off the sofa, coming to rest on the carpet. I stand there seething with anger at it for a minute, my head spinning as I try to make some sense of all this. There has to be a logical explanation for all of it, right? People don’t just… disappear.

Only, I can’t think of an explanation that works. Unless I’m willing to believe that my parents and brother have all chosen to call in on one of the neighbors together right at the moment when a freak fault has developed in my phone, and what are the chances of that?

This is really starting to weird me out. So much so that I can barely breathe with it, while my stomach is tight with the apprehension running through it. Nothing good is happening. I’m certain of that now. I just wish I were as certain about what to do next. I need to calm down. To think.

Grayson. I latch onto thoughts of him like a life preserver. He’s always been my rock; always been there for me. Whenever I panic about not getting good enough grades to make the track scholarship to Georgetown, he’s the one who talks me through it and helps me study. When I’m down about my track times or just annoyed with my little brother, he’s the one who picks me up.

Even though this feels so much more serious than that, I snatch up my phone and speed dial his number. For once, I don’t get that stupid message, either. Now all I need is for Grayson to pick up.

Come on, Grayson, pick up.

He answers on the fifth ring, though given how fast my pulse is currently racing, it feels far longer.

“Hello?” he asks. “Celestra?”

I’m so happy to hear his voice in that moment that I can’t think of anything to say. There’s too much of it, and it all sounds so crazy. There’s the house, and the emptiness, and the stuff with my phone. For a couple of seconds, all I can do is stand there, listening to him on the other end of the phone like some kind of weird stalker.

“Celes, is that you? Are you all right?”

His use of that pet version of my name snaps me out of it. This is Grayson. I can tell him anything, even the strange stuff. He’ll find a way to make all this