Bad Omens

by Lorraine Kennedy

  I didn’t mind sharing a room with Kayla, mostly because I didn’t have a choice. She was the sorority house’s official ghost, and she just kind of did what she wanted.

  Did I mention I see dead people?

  Plopping onto my bed, Kayla lit up a phantom joint and held it out to me. I didn’t have the heart to tell her it wasn’t real.

  I shook my head. “No thanks.”

  “Why are you packing already?” she asked. “You aren’t leaving until tomorrow.”

  “I don’t like doing things at the last minute. It makes me feel rushed.”

  I knew this was something Kayla wouldn’t understand. She’d never studied for tests when she’d been a student. Death hadn’t changed her attitude toward attendance and studying. She was always causing havoc when we had to get up early or study for tests.

  A slamming door and a lot of moaning wasn't something that was unusual at Zeta House. It either meant that our resident ghost was restless, or one of the girls had brought home a date.

  Lying back on the bed, Kayla stared up at the ceiling. “Why are you going for a visit? I thought you hated your hometown.”

  I knew what was bugging her. When Kayla had been alive, she’d had no family life at all.

  I’d done my research on our house ghost.

  Kayla Lathy had been the only one at Zeta House not to go home during the summer break of 1976. With her parents separated and starting new lives, neither had time to entertain a wayward daughter.

  Kayla disappeared that summer.

  Most thought she’d run off with some boy, but I knew better. She’d been murdered and her body hidden where it would never be found. They’d done a good job of hiding her too, considering it had been decades and she still hadn’t been found.

  What I didn’t know was who killed her or why.

  If Kayla knew, she wasn’t talking. Every time I brought it up, she would disappear, as ghosts tend to do when they were no longer interested in communicating with the living. For that matter, living people did that too.

  Pushing thoughts of Kayla’s murder out of my mind, I turned my attention to her assertion that I hated my hometown, which wasn’t really true.

  “That’s where my family is,” I pointed out. “Besides, I don’t hate my hometown. I just don’t want it to be my future.”

  For the first time in four years, I realized just how true that was. When I’d first left home, I’d definitely had no intention of returning, not even for a visit. But time and space had given me a different perspective.

  I didn’t hate the town of Raven Point. I didn’t even hate the Zone, but I wanted a normal life and I wouldn’t get normal if I didn’t leave the past behind.

  My life had never been what one would call normal, partly because I sometimes saw dead people, but mostly because I came from one of the Zones.

  And then, there was the fact that I had an extremely dysfunctional family.

  Kayla rolled her eyes. “For someone who claims to come from a long line of witches, you sure are a nerd. It isn’t your responsibility to maintain family connections.”

  “Yeah, it kind of is,” I told her.

  Kayla sat up. “Whatever you say, but I have a bad feeling about this.”

  “You always have a bad feeling about anything you can’t control,” I reminded her.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Kayla said with a shrug before getting to her feet and walking through the bedroom door, literally.

  I dismissed Kayla’s bad feeling. Another decision that I would soon regret.

  Since moving to California, I’d decided that part of having a normal life had to include my family, at least to a point. I would never forgive myself if I just deserted them, especially my sisters. If I had a guilt complex, it would be nearly impossible to have a normal life.

  Things hadn’t been easy since leaving home, but I had been living a relatively ordinary existence. If I didn’t count Kayla popping in and out at various times, the last four years of my life had been just average.

  When one came from an insane blended family of witches and wolves, an average life can seem pretty appealing.

  But looking back, I have to admit that on this particular issue, Kayla had been right.

  If I hadn’t gone home – if I’d just stayed in California and vegged out in front of the TV, things would have turned out a lot different. I could have downed tequila shots until I couldn’t stand and had one hell of a time. The hangover would have sucked, but my plans for the future would have been intact.

  If only I’d stayed in L.A that summer.

  To put it simply, I made the mistake of allowing the normalcy of biology class and frat parties to lull me into a sense of security that didn’t really exist.

  The morning my stepfather called, I was feeling good about life in general. I’d aced my finals and graduation was just around the corner.

  Sure, my ex-boss was a total jerk, but with a Criminal Justice degree from UCLA, the future was all mine. I could finally break away from Raven Point and the past.

  I could have had a mostly normal life with a career, a boring husband, and maybe even a few messy babies to clean up. It had all been within reach.

  But I’d allowed the normalcy of my new life to chip away at my resolve. And then there was my stepfather. He really wanted to make things right with the family. Since Mom’s death, life hadn’t been easy for him either.

  I couldn’t say no. After all, everyone else was going home for the summer. I figured it couldn't hurt to spend a few days with my sisters and stepbrothers.

  Boy, did I screw that one up.

  My dad wasn’t beneath using guilt to convince me I should be at this family reunion. Normally, attending a family reunion wouldn’t have been a big deal, except that it wouldn’t just be the Nash family. My mother’s family would also be there.

  I found the idea somewhat intriguing, if a little odd.

  The two families weren’t exactly friendly with each other, though they typically did a fairly good job of pretending civility.

  It’s true; my family is dysfunctional, but I don’t hold it against them. Acting weird and a little insane just comes naturally for most of them.

  I also couldn’t blame my mother for putting our family in such an odd situation. Marrying a wolf hadn’t been the most practical thing for a witch to do, especially a single father with two boys of his own.

  Mom had truly believed she was doing the right thing for herself and her daughters. Unfortunately, reality turned out to be quite different than she’d imagined. There was no doubt in my mind that there had been a real love story between my mom and stepfather. They had both done their best to make it work, but raising witches and wolves in the same house could get pretty messy, even at the best of times.

  Don’t even get me started on extended family. From the moment my mother decided to marry David Nash, a war between the two families became part of the fabric of everyday life.

  Of course, it wasn’t an actual war, but the snippety backbiting on both sides was enough to drive anyone crazy. The world might have moved into the 21st century but in Raven Point and the other Zones, there were still some prejudices that wouldn’t die. Witches and wolves have never been compatible.

  Wolves were naturally territorial and witches didn’t take kindly to domineering personalities. The trickery and manipulation a witch could visit on a wolf made them natural-born enemies, but then most species didn’t care for witches, even humans.

  I should have stayed away.

  Looking back, I can see how naive I’d been. Raven Point would never let me go – not completely.

  Most people don’t have a clue about Raven Point or the other Zones. These are areas in the United States and around the world zoned for certain species of people that human governments felt didn’t fit in well with civilized society. They created the zones a long time ago, and made peace with the occupants. As long as those occupants didn’t bring any plagues down on the outside po
pulations or allowed packs of wolves to roam the streets of Seattle, everyone was happy and they left us alone, mostly.

  But there are conspiracy theories even in the zones, and lots of dark secrets too.

  Chapter 4

  The drive from L.A. to Raven Point is gorgeous, especially if you stick to the Coastal Highway. It’s basically a clear shot after San Francisco. As much as I wanted to make the trip in one day, it wasn’t going to happen. It was at least a two-day trip, which meant spending the night at a rest stop.

  It’s a good thing I have a talent for creating illusions because I sure didn’t have a lot of money to spend on a hotel.

  I put towels in my windows to block anyone from seeing into the car. Then there was the motion sensor that I’d connected to a recording of vicious, barking dogs. We’d originally put it together to scare off package thieves, but it worked pretty well for things like peeping creeps too.

  If anyone got within five feet of my car, it would go off.

  My sleep was only disturbed a few times during the night. By dawn, I was wide-awake and after a quick breakfast, I was on the road again.

  It would have been great if I could actually twinkle my nose and get from point A to point B, but that only works in the movies.

  My second day on the road wasn’t nearly as enjoyable. I couldn’t shake the sense of unease that had settled over me, plus Sam decided to put in an appearance in the backseat.

  I had no idea what his real name was, but I liked to call him Sam. He just looked like a Sam.

  No matter what car I owned, Sam was always in the backseat. I first noticed him the day I bought my first car. It wasn’t so much that I noticed him, as it was that he scared the crap out of me and made sure I noticed him. It was totally his fault that I’d nearly wrecked the car that day. Not that he cared one bit about what I thought. That had been over five years ago and so far, he hadn’t even acknowledged me.

  Although I was used to seeing ghosts, I hadn’t expected to see one in the backseat of my car.

  The boy specter looked about sixteen. He had a head full of unruly blond hair that kind of reminded me of my own hair after a restless night. The unruly part – not the blond part.

  Sam never said a word, but he had no problem staring a hole through the side window. I figured he’d probably died in my first car and for some reason, decided to attach himself to me.

  Ghosts did that sometimes. If the average person knew how often they actually encountered ghosts, they’d be scared to death.

  I didn’t mind. I figured sooner or later he’d tell me what he wanted. Until then, I’d deal with his ethereal presence in every car I owned.

  Things went from bad to worse when I reached Bob’s Crossroads.

  The entrance to the Raven Point Bridge is easy to miss if you’re not paying attention. On the left side of the highway was a crude wooden sign announcing Bill’s Crossroads Travel Stop. That was my turn off.

  Flipping on the signal, I turned onto the rocky dirt road. To get onto the toll road, I’d have to stop in at the Travel Stop to pay for passage.

  I’d never understood the purpose of the toll road. It was as if Raven Point was a big secret. It was even on most maps.

  The Zone Authorities still preferred that the town be at least a little difficult to get to. Other than dirt roads, the only way in and out of Raven Point was via the toll roads. Highway 101 veered completely around the town, and that hadn’t been by accident either.

  There had been a time when Raven Point didn’t want outsiders stopping by, but that had changed in the last decade or so. The town of Raven Point depended heavily on tourism, plus the supercenters had to have their deliveries.

  Heaven forbid if Raven Point had to go without a supercenter and big screen televisions.

  In any case, they had decided to build the toll road in an effort to bring the 21st century to town.

  The travel stop was the official entrance to the West Cost Zone’s southern entrance. There was also toll road north of the zone if you were coming in from that direction.

  The people of Raven Point had done a fairy good job of seeming normal. When visiting the zones, the public never noticed that there might be something a bit weird about the people, and those who did see something a bit odd, brushed it off as the strange ways of people in small towns.

  After parking near the front of the old log building, I hesitated.

  Should I turn back?

  As I stared at the glass door and the various beer signs in the window, I was struck with the overwhelming urge to flee. I could return to L.A. and tell everyone that something unexpected had come up.

  It would be easy.

  My inner voice cut off the thought. I couldn’t do that to my family, especially Joby and my sisters. The rest of my family had a tendency to get on my nerves, but I really missed Joby, Pippa, and Ember.

  Damn my inner voice. True, that inner voice had saved my behind more than once, but it was always nagging at me to do the right thing.

  I hated nags.

  Still, I missed my baby sister. Ember was the youngest. She’d only been eight years old when I left for college.

  I could still see the tears glistening in her eyes as she pleaded with me not to leave.

  But I had to go. There was no way I could stick around Raven Point. There were just too many painful memories there.

  I was jealous of my sorority sisters. They could look forward to going home and connecting with friends and family. For me, home was a reminder of loss and my mother’s murder – a murder that was still unsolved after five years.

  Pulling the keys from the ignition, I got out.

  The gravel parking lot was a pain in the ass but Bill thought it helped deter the wrong kind of business – meaning outsiders. Although his livelihood depended a lot on tourism, he still didn’t care for outsiders.

  There was a loud beep when I entered the store.

  Right away, I was overwhelmed with the scrumptious aroma of grilled meat. Hunger pains proceeded to twist my stomach into knots.

  I hadn’t eaten a thing since breakfast and skipping meals wasn’t my thing.

  As tempting as it was to visit the café at the back of the travel stop, I resisted. Stopping to eat would put an hour on the trip and a pound on my thighs. I sure didn’t need that. Besides, I wanted to reach Raven Point before dark.

  The Crossroads usually had a few customers hanging around, but today it was empty.

  Bill stood behind the counter, his attention focused on counting a wad of bills before sticking them into the cash register.

  To look at him, you’d never know Bill was a troll, though to be honest, he is pretty ugly. He hid his big ears and wiry, reddish-tinged hair beneath a blue cap. It seemed to work. No one ever question whether he was human or not, but I half suspected that privately, people might wonder if he was a serial killer. Trolls had that homicidal look about them.

  Furrowing his bushy eyebrows, he asked, “Don’t I know you?”

  “Yeah,” I said, offering a smile. “Destiny Summers.”

  “Oh yeah.” He nodded, the frown never leaving his face. Bill had never been one for smiling.

  “I haven’t seen you in a while,” he commented.

  “I’ve been at school in California.”

  “Coming home for a visit?” he raised one brow.

  Nodding, I pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. “I just need passage on the toll road.”

  Holding up one hand, he shook his head. “Had to raise my prices. Passage for non-residents is now thirty dollars and that includes students attending school outside the Zone.”

  “That’s highway robbery.” I said with a furious glare. “Students don’t make a lot of money, you know.”

  “Sorry, Miss Destiny, but this old man still has to make a living. With the cost of everything going through the roof, I have to raise prices so I can afford to keep the road open.”

  “Fine,” I grumbled, following up with a loud – irritated s
igh. Digging around in my pocket, I searched for more money. I finally found another ten dollars, which was a good thing since Bill didn’t take credit cards.

  After ringing up the toll, he handed me a receipt. Before I could turn away, he grabbed a necklace from the display of charms that sat on the checkout counter. “You might want to buy this too.”

  A gold pentagram dangled from the chain.

  “I don’t need that,” I said, averting my eyes.

  As far as I was concerned, anything to do with witchcraft was something I should stay away from. I was convinced that being a witch was what had gotten my mother killed. This was the real reason my sister was a better witch than I was. I was out of practice and rusty. I'd made the choice to stay away from anything witchy.

  “Really?” He seemed surprised. “No wonder you have a dark energy following you.”

  That got my attention.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked as I turned to look over my shoulder.

  “There is a dark aura hanging over you. I’m surprised you don’t know about it already.”

  I’d completely forgotten that trolls could see energy clouds, or auras, as some people called them.

  What he was really saying was that since I was a witch, I should be able to sense a negative energy. Bill might have been a troll but he wasn’t as dumb as trolls are often portrayed.

  That was just another stereotype formulated by the outside world.

  He was right. I should have known there was a dark energy hanging over me.

  Before moving to California, I would have seen it as plainly as he apparently did, but I’d ignored my natural born talents and like any muscle, a witch’s ability to see and manipulate energy can weaken if it isn’t used.

  “I’m ignoring it,” I told him.

  It was just a little white lie, but I had no intention of going into an explanation as to why someone who had been born a witch had missed something as easy to spot as dark energy.

  That didn’t mean I wasn’t going to take it seriously. I just wasn’t yet sure what I was going to do about it.

  Shrugging, he returned the necklace to the display. I started to leave but remembered how hungry I was.