by Lindsey Iler
Garrison’s mother can hear a person’s thoughts and whispers without a single ounce of effort. My mother has high intuition, and my father has undeniable strength. My brother is cunning and capable of mind play, making people think they’ve seen something or done something, when, in reality, they haven’t. Much like he used on Lennox and Sarah Beth, I suspect.
At first, I didn’t believe her story of the man appearing in her baby sister’s bedroom. Hunter was supposed to be retrieving something for our mother from a distant aunt. Now, I have no doubt it was my brother.
“Says the boy who can morph into a beast.” I smack the back of his head as I pass by to glance out the window.
Their woods border Hannigan Forest, and if the rumors are true, if history hasn’t lied, then that’s where the unheard go. It’s another old wives’ tale, a bit of folklore told to us children at bedtime. Supposedly, there’s a forest that holds so many secrets, the roots of the trees began to plot their escape, unable to contain everything that had been whispered at their feet.
“Get up.” I rush of the house toward the edge of the forest. The grass is overgrown, unused soil and untampered land. This comes as no surprise.
Garrison groans and his disapproving stare burns into me. “What exactly are you doing?”
“Cross over.”
At my instruction, he glances back at the house, then steps into the forest, fearful of being caught. Once we are far enough into the foliage, I take in our surroundings. There is no threat to be seen, and still, I’m apprehensive of uttering the words that tickle the tip of my tongue.
“Care to explain why we’re hiding in the woods?” Garrison asks. He rests his shoulder against a tree, like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
Garrison has no stake in this. Not for a single second have I thought about that. I came here because there’s this strange compulsion to uncover the family secrets, but it never crossed my mind that Garrison wouldn’t want those things unearthed.
“Something isn’t right,” I say.
The leaves beneath my pacing feet crunch, spooking me.
“Dude, relax.” My cousin comes over to me. “What’s going on?”
“I’m going to say something, and I need you to do one of two things,” I explain.
“Whatever you need.”
“No, don’t say that, because once I say what needs to be said, you may feel entirely different.”
“Oookaaaay.” His answer drags on like a rake through sand.
“I have a feeling our families are linked to the Callahans in some way.”
“Of course, we’re linked.” He rolls his eyes like what I’m saying is ridiculous. “Don’t you remember the stories we were told as kids?”
“I think it is a lot more complicated than a childhood rivalry, Garrison. They’re threatening Lennox like she holds this mystical power over our family.”
“And let me guess, you aren’t going to allow it because you’re in love with her?”
In love with her? I’m not in love with her. There’s no way. I’m not capable of those kinds of emotions. When I found out what was inside me, the hidden beast, I vowed never to let someone in. Only trouble comes with love. When I think of Lennox, what she’s capable of, her own secrets, I know we’d never survive. For right now, we are leaning on borrowed time. Sure, my fingertips burn to embrace her skin, and she can force my blood pressure through the roof with a single glance. All those things don’t equate to a long love.
But that kiss . . .
Our first kiss was something I’d wanted to avoid. It wasn’t until I heard her inner thoughts, how disappointed she’d be if I didn’t, that I switched courses. The moment my lips touched hers, I knew we were done for.
Feeling someone quiver under your touch is undeniably thrilling.
But a kiss can change your whole world.
“By the look on your face, I’d say you just realized your cat and mouse game is far more complicated than you ever imagined.” Garrison chuckles.
I’d give anything to silence him.
“Are you going to help me or not?” I push on his chest. “Because I’m going to need your help.”
“And what exactly do you think I can do? I’m a half breed. They don’t trust me with anything. I’m the damn stepchild of this family.”
He’s right about that one. My aunt loves him, there’s no doubt about that, but they’ve never given him a role in the family.
“That may work in our favor,” I say, a sly grin lifting the corners of my lips.
We walk deeper into Hannigan Forest, and I tell him the plan. Information is power, and information is exactly what we need.
Why is Lennox such a threat?
What skeletons do they have buried between the families?
And how am I going to make sure Lennox escapes without being crushed beneath my family’s thumb?
Chapter Sixteen
Lennox
I walk into The Archives like I own the place. It’s all a façade. Anyone could spot how much of a fraud I am if they bothered to look in my eyes for longer than five seconds. All the information someone needs is right there.
The confusion, the uncertainty, but mostly the desperation to find the missing pieces.
Mr. Reynolds is certain our reign has already started out much differently than the others. The question is, how are we so different. As far as I know, every generation is the same. We are made up of three parts; three families close off our tiny circle of Angels. Why is nothing the same? Why has it been so relatively simple for the generations before ours?
“We need to talk,” I say, entering the room.
Emerson and Amilee sit together, glancing out the window. As they turn, I see what has their attention outside.
“They’ve been circling that spot all morning,” Amilee explains, glancing back at me. “You look like hell.”
“So do you.” I walk right behind them.
Emerson’s thick eyelashes flutter painfully slow as she watches the birds. “I’ll be right back.” She stands and leaves the room.
“What’s going on with her?” I ask, taking her spot beside Amilee.
“I think we’re all a bit shaken up from last night.” My best friend glances at me, then back to the window. She sits forward, and I check outside to see what’s so fascinating. “What are you doing, Emerson?”
Through the double paned glass, we watch Emerson waltz out to the middle of the yard. The birds circle a bit higher at her presence. Surprisingly, they don’t flee. They swoop down around her, whipping her hair in every direction, causing a tornado to erupt around her. Amilee and I stand, watching, anticipating what will happen next. As the birds swoop closer and closer, the air leaves the room, electrifying both of us.
“Emerson,” I whisper, hoping she can hear the panic in my voice.
“Nooo!” Amilee screams, slamming her flat hand against the glass.
At the outburst, Emerson falls to the ground, and the birds form a flock and disappear into the clouds.
Stunned, I look over at Amilee, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“You okay?” I ask.
“I don’t know what came over me. They were swooping so close, I thought they’d hurt her,” Amilee explains.
No explanation is needed. I felt the energy around the manor. Something isn’t right.
“Let’s go check on her,” I say, pulling Amilee from the room and through the long hallway out to the back courtyard.
It isn’t a scene I’m prepared to see. Emerson’s cheek rests on the grass, her eyes wide, blood-tinted tears streaming down her cheeks. She watches the sky, unblinking until I crouch in front of her, shielding the rays from her eyes.
“They were coming for me,” Emerson whispers.
“Coming for you?” I whisper her suspicions. “What do you mean, Em?” I lay down on the grass, matching her position, fearful of touching her.
“The birds.” She sits up, drying the tears off her cheeks. “They
came with a message.”
“What message?” Amilee asks.
“Death is easy. Death in spite. You will learn this all tonight,” she whispers, abruptly rotating to me.
“Isn’t that what Dylan said?” Amilee’s eyes widen.
“It’s also what I wrote at your house on our birthday,” I add, glancing at Amilee. “What does it mean, though?”
“Let’s get her home.” Amilee tucks a hand under Emerson’s arm and helps her stand.
“I’m going to stay back. Look some things up. My gut is telling me something isn’t right,” I explain, helping Amilee guide Emerson to the truck.
Emerson grabs my hand as I close the door. “Am I going to be okay?”
“I won’t let anything happen to you, Em.”
“I feel like I’m going crazy. These things keep happening to me. I can’t explain it, but it feels like something is crawling inside me, trying to force its way out.” Emerson’s blood-stained eyes shift down before meeting my gaze. “Am I crazy?”
“No, you aren’t crazy, Emerson. We’ll get to the bottom of it.” I tap her hand and lean forward to catch Amilee’s attention. “Get her home safely, okay?” I step away from the truck.
“Sure thing.” Amilee nods, pulling out of the parking lot.
A pin could drop across the building, and I’d be able to hear it. Silence has a way of making someone more observant. It’s in the silence where you are more aware of yourself. My boots softly hit the black tiled floor, and with the sense of being watched, I glance back and forth. The only thing staring back at me is tall vases full of black dahlias, deep red hanging from the outside of the petals, pitch black toward the center.
The library door creaks when I open it. I burn a track in front of the stacks. Theories run rampant like the never-ending lies my mind is hell bent on believing, but none of them make sense. My mind reels trying to understand why all of this is happening. It’s all for a reason, a reason I’ll probably never understand or get to the bottom of.
That is where the problem lies. My gut, every fiber of my being, tells me, if I don’t get to the bottom of this, if I don’t make some sense of all the strange occurrences, blood will be shed, and I will not be the one yielding the sword.
*****
Eerie quiet greets me when I walk inside the Saville house. A low hum echoes, and something has my neck hairs standing at attention. I’m being watched. A quick inspection turns up a new security camera. Typical Belle Meade household, except for Emerson. She’s one of the lucky ones. Protect our things, but not our children. Go figure.
Earlier today, after witnessing Emerson’s breakdown, or whatever the hell that was, I’ve been uneasy and worried about my friend. Life and this town have the worst intentions for the three of us, throwing us things we aren’t prepared for.
I take the stairs two at a time and pause on the top landing. A sliver of light shines under the door across the hall from Emerson’s bedroom. A muted conversation halts my feet. Is someone arguing?
Inching forward, I question every step I take, crossing my fingers I go unnoticed. When I’m in front of the door, I check both ways before pressing my ear against the hard, dark wood.
“What do you expect me to do? What’s done is done, Margaret,” Emerson’s father whisper-yells at his wife.
What’s done is done? I wonder what he means.
“You’re going to lie down, then? Allow this thing to overcome our daughter, and not blink a single lash when everything we’ve worked for, everything we’ve hidden away, gobbles her up, and the rest of us while it’s at it? That’s what you are telling me?” Anguish and worry bleed from Mrs. Saville’s words, her tone dark and fearful.
Nothing should strike fear in an Angel’s heart.
Unlike me, Amilee and Emerson were wanted, loved, and adored from the minute their mothers held them. Whatever is plaguing Emerson’s dear mother, must be horrific.
What affects Emerson, affects us all.
“What do you expect me to do, woman? You made the deal. You buried the bones,” Mr. Saville barks.
Rustling happens in the room, too close for my comfort. I stumble backward, and as the door opens, Mrs. Saville lets out a shriek.
“Lennox?” Mrs. Saville asks. She sounds as confused as I am.
If I could disappear like Edric, I’d let her believe I’m nothing but a figment of her imagination.
“Yes, I’m sorry. I’m just looking for Em,” I say, noticing I’m far enough from the door and close enough to her daughter’s bedroom not to raise any red flags.
“She should be in her bedroom. Amilee left nearly an hour ago. She hasn’t been feeling well, Lennox.” Mrs. Saville moves closer to me. “Now, how are you?”
“I’m okay.” I recoil when she tries to embrace me. “You said Em’s in her room?” I retreat slowly as Mrs. Saville, a woman who has tucked me into bed many nights, scrutinizes me. Does she realize I overheard their conversation?
The second my back hits Emerson’s door, I open it and enter, quickly closing it and looking around.
The lump in the middle of the bed is shaking so hard, the ruffled comforter is quivering.
“Oh, Em.” I sit on the edge of the mattress and pull the quilt off her face.
“Please, tell me I’m not crazy.” Emerson’s broken whisper spears me straight in the heart. Dried tears stain her cheeks, proving I’ve come at the right time. Emerson is too proud to ask for help or burden anyone with her problems. When she sits up, her eyes shimmer with unshed tears.
She’s no burden to me.
“You aren’t crazy,” I say, brushing the blonde hair from her face, allowing my hand to rest against her cool, clammy skin. “And even if you are, we’ll still love you.”
Offering her a mischievous grin, I scoot down beside her, and she kindly shifts over, making room for me. As we share a pillow, neither of us says anything. The weight is heavy, and we both sense it. It doesn’t matter what I say, Emerson knows what she feels deep down in her bones. Something is haunting her, and the way Emerson stares at me now, makes me think she believes I can chase her demons away.
What if I can’t help her?
What if I fail her in some momentous way?
“Can you tell me what it felt like?” I ask, partly out of curiosity. The other part of me wonders if the solution is right in front of me, buried deep in her eyes.
“There was a pull.” As she begins, she sits up, resting her back against the headboard. Agony forces her head from side to side. Her body stills. “I have never felt anything like it. It was like my body needed to be out in the garden. I had no choice, but to follow my instinct.”
“Why do you think that is, Em? I mean, I watched you from inside. You were planted to that ground, and those birds circled you.”
“It’s like they were talking to me, each whispering little secrets. I couldn’t understand a single one of them. They were coming too fast and too loud.” A single tear falls over her lid. With trembling hands, she grips the mattress, ripping the fabric. “Except one of them. One was louder than all the others, at the exact moment it needed to be. An opportunity seized.”
“What did it say?” I whisper. Her recollection of the moment forces a lump into my throat.
“Not it.” She falls onto her back, wide-eyed and fearful. “She.”
“What did she say, Em?”
“All that matters in the end is our blood.” She shakes her head. “What does that mean?” Her throat bobs as she swallows the harsh reality.
“I don’t know, Em, but we’re going to find out.” I embrace her, like she’s Sarah Beth during a particularly bad nightmare. That’s how she appears right now. Frail. Incapable.
Time stands still and rushes by, but here I sit, waiting for her to fall asleep. To leave her right now, while she’s in the middle of her own personal struggle, seems inhumane. To stay will only prolong the inevitable. I’m no good to anyone if I’m not out there searching for the inescapable truth. We n
eed answers, and I won’t stop digging until my hands are bloody and my body wrecked.
Tucking the covers tight to her chin, I kiss Emerson on the temple, tiptoe from her room, and silently close the door. As my foot touches the top step, a heavy sigh releases behind me.
“Lennox.” Mrs. Saville says my name more like a plea than an offer.
I want something from her, something she’ll never be able to hand over. Maybe if I give her something she needs, I’ll be a step closer. The truth of all the odd happenings is held tight in her grip, in all of our mothers’ stronghold hands.
With my back to her, I say, “I’m not a coward. Unlike you, I will figure out what’s happening within these walls of our town. Unlike you, I will keep your daughter safe from whatever is tormenting her.”
“You need to understand, Lennox.” Her bony fingers wrap tightly around my bicep, tugging me from my escape.
“No, you need to understand.” I pivot onto the top landing. “What is with the mothers in this town? You’re so ready to toss your daughters to the curb just to make your own lives easier.” I step forward, forcing Mrs. Saville to retreat. Her back hits the table meant for decorations and floral arrangements.
“Is that what you think I’m doing?” When she covers her heart with her hand, like what I’m saying is unrealistic, my blood boils.
As quick as a whip, I draw back my hand and drive my open palm across her cheek. Her skin turns red, and wild eyes glare into me as I hold my finger centimeters from her face.
“You were one of us. You are one of us.”
“It’s out of my hands.” Her head hangs along with her words between us.
What I don’t understand, what I’ll never comprehend is, how can the adults try to keep their skeletons buried and stay mum when those same bones come back for blood? The night of our crowning, Mr. Reynolds made it clear there would be consequences for our actions if we tried to deny our position. We have been warned several more times of these consequences.