Crooked Crossroads (Child Lost Series Book 1)

by Trinity Crow

  Was this dangerous then? I eased my fingers into Corky's fur and put up my own wall. Corky seemed not disturbed in the least. He seemed excited, eager. The wind gusted around us, and I looked up to see clouds turning the bright sky an iron grey, Amandine's head snapped up and her eyes glowed a fierce gold. She called loudly, raising her arms up in supplication, and the candles flared to life, both in spirit and in fact. She looked over at me, slyly, her cat face gloating.

  "Can you do that, little girl?" she asked.

  Power rolled off of her affecting everyone in our little group, but while everyone seemed wary, I was unimpressed. Truthfully, I didn't know what I could do, but letting people bully me was out. I looked at her, and then at the candles. I knew without knowing the why that I could put it out if I chose, but what would it serve? Instead, I opened myself up and called the power to me. It slid from Amandine like water down a drain. Her eyes snapped open in shock. I held the candles' energy easily and then poured my own into it, masking my signature with her power. The flames shot upward, narrow columns four and five feet tall and the sky boiled black. I'd had enough darkness and with a push, I sent it away, shooing the clouds downstream to bring back the light. The wind streamed out from us as the power ribboned free. I shivered uncontrollably from the release of so much power. Amandine looked poleaxed and the rest of them all sat there stunned. The amount of energy in the air was unnerving. Even the water below us seemed to react, moving faster. And yet, only the two of us knew what had just happened. Amandine stared at me, waiting for me to say something, but I looked down at the water, wishing I was somewhere else.

  "Welcome to LaPierre." Amandine's voice pulled me back. I traded looks with her, hearing what was behind her words. I had been here two years but was only now a part of the real LaPierre. She nodded to me. Her gaze was reserved, but minus the animosity that had been so evident. I sat confused. I thought I had just started a war, but maybe I had ended one.

  Whew!” Mason was clearly admiring. He stood up and dusted his hands on his jeans. He turned towards me, his face a mixture of friendly and hesitant. My shiver slowly subsided, letting me focus on what he was saying.

  “I had no one to hand me down a ritual.” He spread his hands like an apology. “My family's been farmers for generations, but far's I know, I am the first with anything like this to crop up.” He glanced at Chloe as if expecting disagreement. “Well, I'm the only one who's admitted it,” he laughed. “Aren's ritual didn't work for me and I don't have Sayre's, um, flair.”

  Everyone laughed at something I didn't get but could guess at.

  “So Sayre told me to start with what made me more comfortable and made me…more me. So, salt was out,” he said.

  "It makes the earth sterile.' I said, remembering Mrs. Evers' garden talk.

  Mason nodded and smiled. "I use a circle of dirt, prime compost." He pulled a small leather bag from his pocket. "I don't do directions or elements, I just do what I do every day. Just link it in my mind to safety and good things." he smiled sheepishly. His movements were deliberate and steady. Instead of the careful round that Aren had poured, Mason used a flick of the wrist, and in the motion, you could see him as a farmer broadcasting seed. Casting. He turned the circle and faced me again.

  "I mark the directions with animal fetishes, chicken feather, horse hair, bezoar from a goat, cow horn. The crossroads are seeds. Oak," He placed the biggest acorn I had ever seen on the deck.

  "Bur oak," he told me, noticing my stare. "Okra,"

  I hid a snicker.

  "Rice and," he looked down, avoiding our eyes, "…jessamine.”

  Aren turned red and Sayre shot me an exaggerated eye roll. Whatever that was about. He quietly placed candles and this time I felt it as he set his protective wards in his mind and the spirit energy lit the candles. I smiled to myself as he produced a box of matches and lit them physically and unnecessarily. You could feel the gentle strength of his will giving unshakeable defense against harm. There was a different quality to it and wondered if it was because he was a man.

  "Hope it helps," he said, shyly.

  "It did," I said, "I think I could connect easier because of the earth part. Thank you."

  Sayre leaped up and clapped her hands. “Showtime!” she announced.

  There was an eye roll from Chloe and a head shake from Amandine, but it was good-natured. Sayre was annoying as hell, but to dislike her was like being against the sky or the wind. She walked to the center of the deck and stood, hip cocked. Her hair lifted by the breeze that had kicked up, blowing the last traces of Mason's dirt over the deck's edge. The tiers of her skirt's ruffles gusted about her bright stockinged legs. The tights ended at her ankle and bare feet with blue painted toes were firmly planted on the concrete. Her gypsy get up was somehow less jarring out here against the backdrop of trees and water, more appropriate than in Chloe's formal living room. Sayre winked at me as she posed, putting her hands together over her head, Egyptian style.

  Closing her eyes, she began to chant, "Sal-lika doola, Men-chika boola." Her hips swayed, making tight half-arcs, and she raised one bare foot, dipping her hips in rhythm.

  I narrowed my eyes, staring at this extravaganza.

  Was she seriously doing a belly dance ritual of protection? This had to be a joke.

  I leaned forward to watch her burlesque act through Corky's ears, and my mouth literally dropped open. Colors flowed and shimmered around her, scarves of light and sparkles that moved as she moved. Opening an eye, Sayre laughed at the look on my face and the lights laughed with her. The water below us was running in iridescent ribbons, rainbows of every hue. Sayre danced wilder, chanting louder, the sounds blurring together in a familiar rhythm, teasing at my brain. I leaned back and shot Sayre a look of utter disbelief. But it was true and to prove it, she sang the punch line.

  “Put 'em together and whatda ya got? Bibbidi bobbidi, bibbidi bobbidi, bibbidi bobbidi BOO!” Sayre laughed and twirled, the colors around her part of the world she lived in. She was her own protection, and what could darken the colors and energy she wore like a second skin?

  She finished with a twirl and flopped down beside me.

  “Whew! That takes it out of a girl!" she said.

  I didn't answer. I was still thinking about how you didn't need a circle if you were your own protection. Isn't that what she had said to me at the Crossroads shop? My belief in myself was my own best defense.

  "She's always sung that chant," Aren said, "since she was about two years old and saw the movie."

  "But," said Mason, grinning, "you never quite know how the mood will strike her!”

  "No," Aren agreed, "cabaret, blues… Remember Bibbiddi Bobbiddi Rap?"

  "Worst running man I ever saw," Chloe said, dryly.

  Sayre stuck out her tongue.

  I turned Corky's head toward Sayre and centered my view. The colors still fluttered around her less frenetic, but just as bright.

  Sayre smiled at the look on my face. “What?" she said at the same time Mason burst out, "You are looking through his ears! Is that old wives' tale true?"

  "What tale?" Chloe looked bewildered.

  "My grandad said if you look through an animal's ears, you can see the spirit world. Know how cats and dogs act as if they sense something and nothing is there? Well," he amended, "nothing we can see anyway. I tried it a few times as a kid," Mason shrugged, "but it never worked."

  "I think it takes a spirit animal," Amandine said, speaking up for the first time. "A familiar"

  We all considered Corky. He was so full of himself at the attention, cocking his head and woofing softly.

  "Can I try?" Sayre asked eagerly. "Will he let me?"

  I shrugged and leaned out the way. Sayre squashed eagerly against me.

  "Take it easy!" I complained, scooting over.

  "Shh, shh." She brushed me off, leaning forward to rest her chin on his head. "This is a nice dog," she said absently, rubbing his neck. "What am I supposed to see?'

&nbs
p; "Um, put your hand in front of him?" I suggested.

  She moved her hand, palm flat in front of her view and Corky slurped it happily,

  "Eww," she said, "and nothing."

  I leaned in and saw her lights, curiously Corky's spit was there in a golden wash against her skin.

  "Lean in," I said and she pushed her head against mine.

  "Coolio!" she breathed, "That's what it looks like huh? Ohhhh, is that his spit?" She wriggled her fingers and the colors swirled and ribboned as if her movements made ripples in the air. "Wow." She turned to me expectantly. "Do you want to try?"

  I shook my head. I figured I had the gist of it. "I think I get how to keep myself protected. It's a form of blocking really." I paused, "I don't think I need to learn a circle ritual. I don't plan on using this stuff for anything." I glanced down at Corky. "Not again anyway."

  I heard a sharp intake of breath and looked up to see a circle of disapproving faces. Only Mason and Sayre seemed unaffected.

  "What?" I said, narrowing my eyes. "It's my choice to use it or not."

  They were silent, Amandine glaring.

  "Right?" I pushed at the tension.

  "Yes…"

  "No!"

  "What the hell?"

  Their various answers spilled into the air. Sayre giggled and then bit her lip as we all stared at her.

  "How can you just think you can walk away from this?" Amandine bit the words out in short snaps.

  "I don't think I can," I said, calmly "but I'm not going to encourage it. This…" I waved my hand at them, the deck and the power still rippling the air. "This is not my life."

  Amandine spluttered and Chloe looked fit to be tied.

  Aren chimed in with her calm reasonable manner. "But what about others that you could help?" Her voice tried for reasonable, but there was a current underneath it.

  "What about them?" I didn't bother to hide my disinterest. "Why am I responsible for anyone but myself?"

  She gasped and stared at me, eyes wounded, but growing angry. "How can you say that? Be so selfish? You were given that power for a reason, to do good with it. There are people in need…"

  My head shake cut her off. "That is not my problem or my responsibility," I said flatly. "I'm not you. I don't think people are worth saving. I don't think there is some grand plan to the universe. I plan to keep myself safe and mind my business."

  She opened her mouth to speak, but I shook my head again. "And that's all. Good luck to those in need. I'm not going to be their hero."

  The room fell silent. Aren was furious, disappointment written all over her, but I could not have cared less. A few cups of tea and some books, and we were besties? I was supposed to be some kind of magical justice warrior and help her save the world from evil? To hell with that. I sat there fuming for another minute and then threw a match and burned the bridges.

  "I guess we're done here," I stood up. "Thanks for everything." I clicked my tongue at Corky and we walked out. They sat in silence, letting me go. Amandine's face burned itself into my brain. That look on her face. If the power struggle hadn't bothered her, why was she jealous of me now? Now that I was walking away?

  Chapter 24

  I rode back to the house at breakneck speed, burning off the anger. Yeah, I was angry. These people barely knew me. Didn't know me, but knew what I should and shouldn't do. I threw my bike down on the ground and stomped up the stairs, Corky, my shadow. I stared around the room, wanting to break something wanting to lash out. Instead, I started baking, trying to rein in my churning thoughts. So the woo community was going to manage my life for me?

  Screw that! I thought, slamming pans around the kitchen. I didn't owe anyone, anything. All my life, I had done for myself. The rest of the world could just manage on their own.

  I flung flour, salt, and baking powder into the sifter, recklessly ignoring the measuring cups.

  “Butter!" I muttered, stomping to the fridge. Corky had retreated to his bed in the corner.

  Who had helped me? I had helped me, so I definitely did not owe anyone.

  I creamed the butter and sugar together with short, sharp whips of the fork, adding vanilla and rum extract in wild splashes.

  “White chocolate!” I snapped at Corky who licked his paws, ignoring me. I snatched the bag of white chocolate chunks out the cabinet, shaking in half the bag and then shaking another fourth, just because…because I could. Because no one could tell me what to put in my own damn cookies any more than they could tell me what to do with my life. The days of being controlled by something bigger than myself were over.

  I cracked two eggs and beat them in, sifting the dry ingredients into a separate bowl, and then mixed the wet and dry with a barely restrained hand.

  "Who helped ME?" I asked Corky, loud enough for half of LaPierre to hear.

  "No one!" My voice was thick with bitterness and resentment. I slung spoonfuls of the dough on a cookie sheet.

  "All those times I wanted someone? All those times I needed someone? And who gave a fuck?" I demanded from Corky, from the world. "Who helped me?" He stared at me, his eyes liquid and comforting. "They all just walked away." I shook my head, dashing away the stupid tears.

  "They all walked away," I told him, "Why shouldn't I?" And then I stopped, and the cookie sheet clattered to the floor. Corky ran over to help himself.

  "Damn it!" I yelled as the stupid, unavoidable truth hit me between the eyes. I sank to the floor. Corky paused from his snack, to nuzzle me with cookie breath.

  All those times I had wanted someone to save me and no one had. All those people who could have helped and didn't. Was I one of those people? Was I going to be another person who turned her back and said "It's not my problem?"

  I swallowed hard, hating the burning behind my eyes. I wasn't going there. Whatever had happened to me as a kid was over now. It was done. It couldn't be changed or helped and I was no longer helpless. I looked at Corky's big head, now wedged under my arm. He woofed softly at me. I was no longer alone.

  My mouth tightened. Who cared what Aren and Sayre thought of me? Only my opinion mattered since all I could ever really count on was myself anyway. If I was going to do this, I was gonna do it my way. I would decide who I helped with this gift, and when. This gift that could apparently make me crazy or get me killed.

  I thought about it, stroking Corky's silky ears over and over. And in spite of telling myself, I wouldn't go there, I thought of myself at age six, of dark shadows and merciless adults. Those were doors and memories I hadn't faced in a long time and I didn't know if I could. It was so much easier to block everything out, become blank-faced and silent.

  I had a sudden image of a little girl with an empty face, standing in a doorway. But it wasn't me, it was Nikki from my last foster home, her eyes void of emotion. What was wrong with her? Everybody said developmental problems, but what about what Emily kept saying? About the shadows and the scary people? Emily wasn't a silly girl, not given to imaginary games about unicorns and monsters. She played house and made sure everyone took their medicine and did their chores.

  What if someone or something unseen was making Nikki into that blank frozen kid? Out of fear maybe? Corky growled softly at my change of mood as memories hit one after another, chills rippling across my skin as I saw them in a new light.

  Emily pushing Nikki protectively into a wall seat and sitting tight beside her, throwing a fit if anyone tried to make her move. Was she keeping someone or something from sitting next to her?

  Nikki and Emily sharing a twin bed in spite of groundings and threats. Who was afraid to sleep alone? Nikki who never showed emotion or Emily?

  Emily closing the curtains religiously to block out the night, the dark. Did Emily know what haunted Nikki?

  Corky growled again. I stood up, moving slowly, blindly. I washed the cookie sheet, and put the remaining dough in to bake, then pulled some frozen dough from the freezer. Creating more cookies and the beginnings of a plan.

  Tomorrow was
Sunday. The various Vacation Bible School programs, day camps, and boys and girls clubs that Deena used to occupy the kids and escape actual parenting were a Monday through Friday deal. I could pedal over and check on the kids. Check out the house. If I was lucky, it would just be a haunted pillowcase or something. But the churning in my gut that Sayre claimed was intuition was saying it wasn't going to be nothing. I looked down at Corky. I needed to take him with me, so I'd need the kids to accept him. I rolled my eyes. That would be the hard part. I flipped the radio on as I pulled out the ingredients for Corky's fave dog treats. The way to their hearts was definitely their stomachs.

  Next morning, I loaded my bike basket and my backpack, cookies for bribes, a melon, cherry tomatoes and some fresh peas so the kids would have something to eat besides sweets. There was a second package that I buried underneath the others. I didn't want to think about that yet. Maybe later, if everything went okay.

  Air whistled around my ears as I pedaled and I looked down to check on Corky. His tongue lolled out as he smiled and ran with ease. The streets blurred past until we arrived, neither of us breathless, in the driveway of my former foster home.

  I left Corky by the bike, hidden behind Deena's Astro van and carried the smaller box of cookies to the door. The theme song of one of Deena's stories drifted through the open screen. They were all her favorites and she raised hell if she was interrupted. It hadn't actually started yet, so I knocked loudly, a firm CPS knock, knowing she'd answer. Sure enough, the sound of her house slippers slapping their way down the hall linoleum echoed back at me.