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Copyright
First published in hardback in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books 2015
HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
Visit us on the web at www.harpercollins.co.uk
Derek Landy blogs under duress at www.dereklandy.blogspot.com
Text copyright © Derek Landy 2015
Cover photography © Larry Rostant 2015
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers 2015
Derek Landy asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008140816
Ebook Edition © 2015 ISBN: 9780008140878
Version: 2015-12-23
Laura J –
I introduced you to scary movies, the books of Stephen King, and the myriad delights of horror.
You introduced me to StarKid.
I have still not forgiven you.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Read on for a Sneak Preview of Desolation
Also by Derek Landy
About the Publisher
TWELVE HOURS BEFORE AMBER LAMONT’S parents tried to kill her, she was sitting between them in the principal’s office, her hands in her lap, stifling all the things she wanted to say.
“We don’t stand for troublemakers in this school,” said Mrs Cobb. She was a fleshy woman in her fifties who wore a necklace so tight that when her neck quivered and her face went red, Amber expected her head to just pop off, maybe bounce on the floor and go rolling underneath her massively imposing desk. That would have been nice.
“There is a reason we have been placed in the top three educational facilities in the great state of Florida,” Cobb continued, “and do you know what that is? It’s because we run a tight ship.”
She paused for effect, as if what she’d said needed to be absorbed rather than merely tolerated.
Cobb inclined her head slightly to one side. “Mr and Mrs Lamont, I don’t know you very well. In previous years, there has been no reason to summon you here. In previous years, Amber’s behaviour has been perfectly adequate. But your daughter has been sent to my office three times in the past month for altercations with other students. Three times. That is, I’m sure you’ll agree, beyond the pale. Speaking plainly, as I feel I must, her behaviour this semester has worsened to such a degree that I am, regrettably, forced to wonder if there might have been some drastic change in her home circumstances.”
Amber’s mother nodded sympathetically. “How terrible for you.”
Her parents were, as expected, completely calm in the face of overwhelming stupidity. That specific type of calm – detached, patient but at-times-veering-into-condescension – was pretty much their default setting. Amber was used to it. Cobb was not.
Betty Lamont sat in her chair with perfect posture and perfect hair, dressed smartly yet demurely. Bill Lamont sat with his legs crossed, hands resting on the understated buckle of his Italian belt, his fingers intertwined and his shoes gleaming. Both of them good-looking people, tall, healthy and trim. Amber had more in common with Mrs Cobb than she did with her own parents – Cobb could, in fact, have been Amber in forty years’ time, if she never found the discipline to go on that diet she’d been promising herself. The only thing she seemed to have inherited from her folks’ combined gene pool was her brown hair. Sometimes Amber let herself wonder where it all went wrong with her – but she didn’t ponder that mystery for very long. Such pondering led to the cold and darker places of her mind.
“It gets worse,” Cobb said. “The parents of the other girl in this … fracas, we’ll call it, have intimated that they will report the incident to the local newspaper if we do not take appropriate measures. I, for one, refuse to see this school’s good name dragged through the mud because of the actions of one troublesome student.” At that, Cobb glared at Amber, just to make sure everyone present knew to whom she was referring.
“Can I say something?” Amber asked.
“No, you may not.”
“Saffron’s the one who started it. She picks on anyone who isn’t as pretty and perfect as her and her friends.”
“Be quiet,” Cobb said sharply.
“I’m just saying, if you want to blame someone, then blame—”
“You may not speak!”
Amber answered her glare with one of her own. “Then why am I here?”
“You are here to sit and be quiet and let me talk to your parents.”
“But I could let you talk to my parents from somewhere else,” Amber said.
Cobb’s face flushed and her neck quivered. Amber waited for the pop.
“Young lady, you will be quiet when I tell you to be quiet. You will respect my authority and do as you are told. Do you understand?”
“So I’m not allowed to speak up for—”
“Do you understand?”
Her mother patted Amber’s leg. “Come on now, sweetie, let the nice old woman speak.”
Cobb’s eyes widened. “Well, I think I have identified the source of the problem. If this is how Amber has been raised, I am not surprised that she has no respect for authority.”
“Naturally,” Bill said, as composed as ever. “What’s so great about authority, anyway? It takes itself far too seriously, if you want my opinion. You have a little problem that you blow all out of proportion, drag Betty and myself across town for a meeting we’re obviously supposed to dread, and here you sit at your ridiculously large desk like a mini-despot, assuming you wield some sinister power over us. Betty, are you feeling intimidated yet?”
“Not yet,” Betty said kindly, “but I’m sure it will kick in soon.”
Amber did her best not to squirm in her seat. She’d seen this enough times to know what was coming next, and it always made her uncomfortable. Her parents had only so much tolerance for people they viewed as irritations, and the level of punishment they doled out depended entirely on how they were feeling on any particular occasion. The only thing Amber didn’t know was how far they intended to take it today.
Cobb’s unremarkable eyes narrowed. “Obviously, the apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree. I can see where your daughter gets her attitude.”
Mrs Cobb was now little more than a lame wildebeest, the kind Amber had seen on nature documentaries. Her parents were the lions, moving through the long grass, closing in on both sides. Cobb didn’t know she was the wildebeest, of course. She didn’t know she was lame, either. She thought she was the lion, the one with the power. She had no idea what was coming.
“You’ve just said, essentially, the same thing twice,” Bill pointed out to her. “Added to this, you seem to talk entirely in clichés. And we’ve been entrusting you to educate our daughter? We may have to reconsider.”
“Let me assure you, Mr Lamont,” Mrs Cobb said, sitting straighter and smoothing down her blouse, “you will not have to worry about that any longer.”
“Oh, excellent,” Betty said happily. “So you’ll be leaving the school, then?”
“No, Mrs Lamont, it is your daughter who will be leaving.”
Betty laughed politely. “Oh no, I don’t think so. Bill?”
Bill took out his phone – what he half-jokingly referred to as the most powerful phone in Florida – and dialled a number.
“We do not allow cellphones in the Principal’s Office,” Cobb said.
Bill ignored her. “Grant,” he said, smiling when the call was picked up. “Sorry to be calling in the middle of the day. No, no, nothing like that. Not yet, anyway. No, I’d like you to do me a favour, if you would. The principal of Amber’s school, you know her? That’s the one. I’d like her fired, please.”
Faint fingers of a headache began to tap on the inside of Amber’s skull. So this was how far they were willing to take things today. All the way to the end.
“Thank you,” said Bill. “Say hi to Kirsty for me.”
Bill hung up, and looked at Cobb. “You should be receiving a call any moment now.”
Cobb sighed. “This isn’t amusing, Mr Lamont.”
“Don’t worry, it’s about to get decidedly funnier.”
“I have made my decision. There is no arguing—”
Bill held up a finger for quiet.
Cobb was obedient for all of four seconds before speaking again. “If you’re not going to talk rationally about this, then I have nothing more to say to you. It is unfortunate we could not work out our—”
“Please,” said Betty. “Give it a moment.”
Cobb shook her head, and then her phone rang. She actually jumped.
“I’d answer it,” Betty advised her gently. “It’s for you.”
Cobb hesitated. The phone rang twice more before she picked it up. “Hello? Yes, yes, sir, I’m just … what? But you can’t do that.” She turned her face away. She was pale now, and her voice was hushed. “Please. You can’t do that. I didn’t—”
Amber heard the dial tone from where she was sitting. Cobb sat frozen. Then her shoulders began to jerk, and Amber realised she was crying.
Amber felt queasy. “Bill,” she said, “maybe we don’t really have to get her fired, do we?”
Bill ignored her and stood up. “Right then,” he said. “Amber, we’ll let you get back to class. You’re working at the diner later, aren’t you? Try not to eat anything – we’re having duck tonight.”
Her folks headed for the door, and Amber looked back at Cobb, who stood up quickly.
“Please,” Cobb said, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I’m sorry. You’re obviously very important people and … and Amber is obviously a very special girl.”
“Very special,” said Bill, one foot already out of the office.
“I’m sorry I didn’t recognise that,” Cobb said, hurrying out from behind her desk. “Special students deserve special treatment. Latitude. They deserve latitude and … and understanding. Leeway.”
“Leeway, latitude and understanding,” Betty said, nodding. “They’ve always been our touchstones for a happy life.”
“Please,” Cobb said. “Don’t have me fired.”
“Well, I don’t know,” said Betty. “It’s really up to Amber. Amber, do you think Mrs Cobb should keep her job?”
There was some part of Amber, some sly and distant part, that wanted to say no, that wanted to punish her principal for her shrillness, her pettiness – but this was a part that wasn’t thinking of Cobb as a person. No matter how much Amber may have disliked the woman, she was not prepared to ruin her life just to teach her a lesson.
“Uh yeah, she can keep it,” Amber said.
“Thank you,” Cobb said, her whole body sagging. “Thank you.”
“Wait a second,” Bill said, stepping back into the office. “Mrs Cobb, you accused us of being bad parents. If you want your job back, you’re going to have to do more than just apologise.”
“Oh yes,” Betty said, clapping her hands in delight. “You should beg for it.”
Amber stared at her parents in shocked disbelief, and Cobb frowned.
“I’m sorry?”
Betty’s smile vanished. “Beg, I said.”
Amber had been wrong. She thought she had known the full extent of her parents’ punishments, but this was a level beyond. This was vindictive, like they were running out of patience on some scale no one else could see. This was something entirely new.
Cobb shot a quick glance at Amber, then looked back at Bill and Betty. “Uh … please,” she said quietly. “Please can I keep my job? I … I beg of you.”
Bill shrugged. “Yeah, okay.” He swept his arm towards the door. “Shall we?”
They left the office, left Mrs Cobb standing there with tears running down her face, and walked the length of the corridor without speaking. Right before her parents turned right, for the parking lot, and Amber turned left, for the classrooms, Bill looked at her.
“This girl you had the ‘fracas’ with,” he said, “Saffron, right? Wasn’t she a friend of yours?”
“When we were kids,” said Amber, her voice soft.
He nodded, considered it, then walked away.
Her mother patted Amber’s shoulder and looked sympathetic. “Children can be so cruel,” she said, and followed her husband.
THE HEADACHE THAT HAD been building since lunch finally struck by the end of school, driving thin needles of pain deep into Amber’s temples. She popped a couple of Tylenol and, by the time her shift at the diner was half over, the pain had faded to a dull throb somewhere at the back of her skull.
“My folks are getting weirder,” she said.
Sally looked up from the magazine she was reading. “Sorry?”
“My folks,” Amber repeated as she wiped the table. She did her best to sound casual. “They’re getting weirder.”
“Is that possible?”
“I didn’t think so. But do you know what they did today? They were called into my school and they made my principal cry. She literally shed tears. She was begging and everything. They … they traumatised her. It was so messed up.”
Sally shifted position, leaned back on the countertop in her red and yellow Firebird Diner T-shirt, and looked thoughtful. “That,” she said eventually, “is awesome. I would have loved my folks to have made my principal cry when I was a teenager. When my two start high school, I want to make their principal cry. I hated mine. I hated all my teachers. They always said I’d never amount to anything. But look at me now, eh? Thirty-three years old, no qualifications, and a waitress in a crappy diner with a neon Elvis on the wall.”
Amber gave her the thumbs up. “Living the dream, Sally.”
“Damn right,” Sally said. “And hey, at least your parents are taking an interest for once, right? Isn’t that something?”
“I … I guess.”
“Listen to me. Just stick it out for another few years and then you can go off to college somewhere and build a life for yourself.”
Amber nodded. New York, she figured, or Boston. Somewhere cooler than Florida, where the air alone wouldn’t make her sweat.
“My point is,” Sally continued, “wherever and whenever you decide to start your own family, you can do it right.” She gave a little grin. “Okay?”
Amber could never resist one of Sally’s grins. “Yeah,” she said. “Okay.”
“Attagirl.”
Customers came in, and Sally put a spring in her step as she walked to greet them. “Hi there!” she said brightly. “Welcome to the Firebird! Can I show you to your booth?”
Amber watched her, marvelling at how natural her sudden cheerfulness seemed. A smile from Sally could turn a bad mood on its head – it was a phenomenon that Amber had witnessed on multiple occasions, and it rarely failed. The customers smiled back and they exchanged a few words and Sally led them to a booth by the window. Even though the Firebird was the third most successful fifties-themed diner franchise in the state – and Amber had no idea where that statistic had sprouted from – Wednesday afternoons were always slow. On slow days, it was policy to sit as many patrons by the window as possible in order to entice people in. Hungry people liked eating with other hungry people, it seemed. Amber had never been able to understand that. For as long as she could remember, she had always hated people watching her eat. She didn’t even like eating meals with her parents.
Although, if she was to be honest with herself – and if she couldn’t be honest with herself, then who could she be honest with? – their inherent weirdness might have had something to do with that.
Her parents were odd. Amber had known that for quite some time. Ever since she could remember, it was like they shared a private joke that she’d never been let in on. She loved them, of course she did, but she’d always felt like an appendage. She didn’t complete the family because the family didn’t need her to be complete. Bill and Betty Lamont were so perfect for each other that there were no gaps left for Amber to fill.
Two guys walked into the diner, both in their late teens. Joking and chatting, they stood at the PLEASE WAIT TO BE SEATED sign and only looked at Amber when she smiled and said “Hi!” in her perkiest voice. “Welcome to the Firebird. Can I show you to your booth?”
“Don’t see why not,” said the first guy.
She smiled again and turned on her heel, making sure to keep the smile in place. She wasn’t pretty like Sally, wasn’t tall like Sally, wasn’t captivating like Sally and certainly did not look as good in her yellow shorts as Sally did, but, even so, there were so many mirrors in the diner that to lose a smile at any point could mean a drastic loss in tips. She stood by the booth in the corner and her two customers slid in on opposite sides of the table.
“My name’s Amber,” she said, taking her notepad from her back pocket, “and I’ll be your waitress this evening.”
“Hi, Amber,” the first guy said. “My name’s Dan, this is Brandon, and we’ll be your customers.”
Amber gave a little laugh. “What can I get you?”
“We’re keeping it simple today. We’ll take your cheeseburger deals. The whole shebang.”
Amber marked the orders down. “Two cheeseburgers with the works, two fries. No problem at all. And to drink?”
“Coke,” said Dan.
“Coke it is.”
“Actually, no,” said Dan, “I’ll have a strawberry milkshake instead.”
“One strawberry milkshake, gotcha. And for you?”
Brandon didn’t look up from the menu. “Do you have 7-Up?”
“We have Sprite,” Amber said.
“That’s nice,” Brandon said, raising his eyes to her slowly, “but I didn’t ask if you had Sprite. I asked if you had 7-Up.”
Amber’s headache started to spike again, but she kept her smile and smothered her words. She needed this job. The Dark Places convention was in a few months and tickets were not cheap.
“I’m really sorry, we don’t have 7-Up,” she said brightly, like she’d just been told she’d won a bunny in a raffle. “Would you like Sprite instead?”
Brandon took off his glasses and cleaned them. “If I had wanted Sprite, I’d have asked for Sprite, now wouldn’t I?”
“Please excuse Brandon,” Dan said, grinning. “He’s in one of his moods. Brandon, out of all of the drinks that they have here, which one do you want?”
Brandon let out a heavy sigh. “I suppose I’ll have a milkshake.”
“Okay then,” Amber said, pencil at the ready. “What flavour?”
“Well, I don’t know. What flavour do you recommend?”
“I’ve always loved chocolate.”
“Then I’ll have vanilla,” Brandon said, and put his glasses back on.
Dan was trying not to laugh at the antics of his buddy. Amber stood there and smiled. “Sure thing,” she said. “Can I get you guys anything else?”
“If we think of anything,” said Dan, “we’ll be sure to ask.”
Amber smiled and left them, fighting a swirling tide of nausea. She got through the swinging doors to the kitchen and leaned against the wall for a moment, waiting for the feeling to subside. When she was sure that she wasn’t going to pass out or puke, she gave in the order and stood beside Sally, both of them making milkshakes.
“What are your guys like?” Amber asked, ignoring her surging headache.
“Two businessmen,” Sally said, “slumming it, flirting really badly with me and destined to end up with sauce splattered down their shirts. What about yours? The one in the glasses looks cute.”
“He’s a tool.”
“But not that cute,” Sally said quickly. “In fact, if you had let me finish before interrupting, you would have heard me say he looks cute, but, on closer inspection, he’s obviously a tool.”
Amber grinned. “You were going to say that?”
Sally nodded. “If you had just let me finish, instead of babbling on like you always do.”
“I am a babbler.”
“Yes, you are.”
Amber placed the milkshakes on a tray, took a deep breath, and went back out.
Brandon watched her walk over, and Amber tried for a smile. It wasn’t convincing, but it’d do. She didn’t care about the tip anymore – all she wanted was for these two guys to leave, to take their bad vibes with them, and allow her to wallow in whatever sickly unpleasantness had been threatening to engulf her all day.
“Now then—” she started, but the headache sent fresh needles of pain straight to the back of her eyes and she winced, and the tray overbalanced and the milkshakes slid sideways, toppling off the edge and smashing to the ground.
The sound of breaking glass swept the headache away, and as Amber’s vision cleared she could see that the milkshakes had gone everywhere. They’d drenched her sneakers and splattered the cuffs of Brandon’s jeans.
Dan howled with laughter, but Brandon glared at her, heat rising in his face.
“Oh my God,” Amber said. “I am so sorry. I am so incredibly sorry.”