Deadly Darlings (October Darlings Book 2)

by Wendolyn Baird

  Chapter Eleven

  THREE TEXTS FROM SABRINA, all inviting me to go out this weekend. Safely, she assumes, off campus. She also assumes I’d be welcomed at Ellis’ show. I wish I was.

  Tomas paces outside my door, clearing his throat every so often, probably to let me know he's there. I can picture him tapping at the box of cigarettes in his pocket, frowning and debating. Ramona, on the other hand, is shut up in her room, soothing Yvette’s anxious questions with lies about my whereabouts the other night.

  So far, nobody but my roommates have noticed or cared about the full day of classes I skipped, and even then, their solution was to skip too.

  “We really need to talk about this traveling talent of yours,” Ramona had insisted. “It just isn’t normal. Only shifters are supposed to cross the veil so easily!”

  “Yeah, I wouldn’t exactly call my experience easy. It was more freaky. And I don’t want to talk about it or repeat it,” I argued. “I just want to stay on this plane and kick some ghost butt, okay?”

  At which point, she went off into another argument about resting... until Tomas had burst into the duplex, still wearing the same clothes as the night before.

  Their worry and attention are concerning in and of itself, because although it seems they care, I’m still not sure if I should be fully trusting them. At the very least, I need to decode Eleanor and Anna’s warning. Whatever bond they were referring to, my death is not a price I’m willing to pay.

  Throwing myself back on my pillow, I stare at the textured ceiling until the speckled dots above me nearly look like constellations. Too bad they aren’t as beautiful as the night sky. Nothing but uneven paint and little flecks of dirt.

  Frank is wandering up and down the footboard of the bed, marching as if to make up for his lack of ability in the in-between. And still, Tomas is pacing.

  Step, step, step. Tap, sigh, turn. Step, step, step.

  “You know, you could just knock,” I say. Shutting my eyes, I groan. I can't stand the constant pacing. “Just, please, whatever you want to say, spit it out!”

  The door creaks open, shushing as it hits the carpet.

  “I didn’t mean to bother you,” he murmurs.

  “Oh, didn’t you?” I complain. “You’ve been pacing for what feels like half an hour.”

  “Wait, have you just been in here listening to me walk?” Tomas asks, crossing over to the chair near the desk. I still haven’t organized any of my books, and they’re scattered across the top of it like Ramona’s usual clutters of research.

  “Uhm, no. I was wishing I could go back to sleep.” Sitting up, I stretch my back and sigh. “But since that isn’t happening...”

  “Right.” Tomas swings a leg over the chair and takes a seat, squirming as he tries avoiding my gaze. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay? Ramona said you didn’t want to talk about the Shadow World, but I really feel like we should.”

  Holding up a hand, I stop him. “Is that it? Because uhm, I’m fine.”

  “Not exactly.” He fidgets some more, hitting his thumb against his leg rapidly. His face turns ashen, and there’s a sick look to his expression.

  “What is it?” I cringe, already feeling the effect of his own anxiety hitting me. “How bad can it be?”

  “Ramona told you about the girl last night?” He asks suddenly.

  “Yeah?” My palms are clammy, and a thick, metallic taste covers my tongue. “So?”

  “It was Aimee.”

  My heart skips, and Aimee’s face flashes through my mind. Her quirky smiles and soft, waving hair; marred by knife marks and blood. My stomach turns and I throw an arm out to brace myself against the wall. This time, there’s no avoiding getting sick, and I barely make it to the bathroom in time.

  It could have been anyone, but it had to be Aimee. The hag couldn’t get to me, so it went after the first person associated with me.

  Tomas tries to get my attention, but I can’t speak. I can’t even look at him. The only thing I can focus on is my guilt and rage, and the energy exuding off of Frank as he scrambles over my arms.

  Leaving a glass of water on the bathroom counter beside me, Tomas shuts the door and leaves me alone. The sunlight pouring through the narrow, frosted window is bright enough to lift the shadows from the corners, but not from me.

  Marching back to my room after brushing my teeth, I dig through my boxes until I find my lighter and some salt. Drawing a circle on the carpet, I make a note to ask where the vacuum is later and retrieve the graveyard mint from my windowsill. Ramona has done her best to discourage her friends from coming over, and Tomas doesn’t seem to have any, so I don't bother with closing my door. Instead, I shove my books off my desk and arrange three tea light candles in their place. Frank curls up near them, turning the triangle I'd created into a diamond.

  “I need help,” I say as I spark the lighter in my hand. One by one, I light the wicks, and each flame burns a brilliant violet before turning white.

  Marlowe doesn’t appear. Nobody does. Instead, the mirror fogs over and condensation trickles down the edge of the frame. Franks clicks his pincers erratically, but before I can look down at him, a hand slams against the other side of the glass.

  Shrieking, I jolt back, staring in horror at the palm pressed against the inside of the mirror. Startled voices yell my name across the duplex, and with my heart thundering in my chest, I try to stand.

  My heels stick to the carpet, and with chills covering my body, an invisible force comes over me, pulling me towards the mirror.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I fight against it, but I can’t.

  Ramona and Tomas stumble through the doorway just as the spidery hand reaches out of the glass and wraps around my wrist. Gaping at it, I stop breathing and force my panic into a small box in the center of my chest.

  My roommates scream as I'm pulled forward, and in shock I fight against the grip pulling me beyond.

  DARKNESS SURROUNDS me, heavy and grey, like I’m wading through fog. This is unlike the places I’ve landed in the past when I’ve crossed the veil, but I must be in some counterpart of the living world.

  There’s no sign of the spirit that wrenched me across, and I shiver. I can only hope my plea for help will actually bring some good... and not something waiting to prey on me. My wrist is sore, and will most likely bruise, but I’m more unnerved by Frank's complete absence. He must have been left on the desk. It’s a wonder I didn’t burn myself on the candles when I was pulled through.

  “How are you here right now?” A female voice breaks the silence around me.

  Twirling around, I find a familiar face peeking through the haze, her bright green shirt the only thing to help me find her.

  “Terra? How are you here?” I demand.

  “I’m a shifter,” she explains, as if it was common knowledge. “But you aren’t. There’s not a trace of fur or feather anywhere on you. Clairvoyants aren’t supposed to come this far.”

  I shift my weight, uncomfortably pushing through the grey to step closer to her. Every step I take is accompanied by another wave of cold and the jaw tightening sensation of unseen hands brushing across my bare arms.

  “My mother was a witch,” I whisper, barely loud enough for her to hear. There’s no telling who or what is hidden in the fog beside us.

  Terra’s eyes widen and her tanned complexion pales. Grabbing my already hurting wrist, she pulls me further into the dark with quick, frenzied steps.

  “What are you doing near other people then?” She hisses. “Do you know how much trouble you can cause the Erebus twins by living with them? You shouldn’t exist!”

  Grimacing, I pull my arm back and rub my wrist. “So, we’ve gathered. But what am I supposed to do? Go be a hermit?”

  “I don’t know!” She shrugs helplessly.

  “Real helpful,” I scowl, “chastise me over something I can’t control even though you don’t have a solution.”

  Terra shoots me a dirty look and opens her mouth, but a loud
moaning noise cuts through the fog, sending ice through my veins. We huddle together, staring blindly into the haze, but nothing appears.

  “How do we get out of here?” I whisper.

  Terra merely shakes her head, too scared to respond.

  The moaning starts up again, and this time, some of the fog dissipates. Brightly colored curves draw my eyes to the floor, and before I can work out whether or not it’s a good idea, I step forward, hand outreached.

  Terra whimpers behind me, and when my palm comes down on one of the objects at my feet, I gasp.

  Painstakingly painted, and heaped into piles, are human skulls, their empty sockets peering at us mockingly.

  Withdrawing my hand, I scuttle backwards until I hit Terra’s knees.

  “Are those... real?” She squeals.

  This time, it’s my turn to shake my head silently. I have no way of telling, but my gut says that they are.

  A strong gale hits our way, sending a cacophonous howling to pound against my eardrums. Terra helps me to my feet, and fearing the unknown, we run from a presence so sinister, all I can register is the shades of purple twisting through the grey like giant fingers reaching out to grasp us. The ground beneath us turns into a soft, swarming mess, and bile rises to the back of my throat when I glance down to see thousands of maggots squirming over my bare feet. Terra’s hand is ripped from my own, and I stumble further, tears blurring my already strained vision. Dizziness overwhelms me, and just as I’m falling over, a sharp sting grabs at the back of my shoulders, wrenching me up above the fog.

  Nothing makes sense, mentally or physically, and I shut my eyes against the chaos as I try to catch my bearings.

  When I open them again, I’m in the middle of a graveyard with Ramona and Tomas on either side of me.

  “What just happened?” I gasp, falling against a tombstone. The marble scrapes the back of my arm and I cringe as my blood flows freely.

  Ramona looks to her brother, apparently in shock, and Tomas frowns, seemingly at a loss for words. Pointing at his feet, he indicates Frank’s small form, bounding my way.

  I hold my hands together and Frank launches into them, nuzzling my palm with his forehead.

  “We followed him here,” Ramona sputters out. “You went through the mirror like Alice! And how the hell did you fall out of a solid mausoleum door? Were you in there the entire time?”

  Shuddering, I consider the old children’s story and shake my head. “Maybe Lewis Carroll knew more about the realms than he cared to share. I wasn’t on this plane, that much is for sure. As far as the door goes, don’t ask me. I blinked and tripped, the last thing I saw was fog.”

  “Well, whatever happened, we need to figure it out as soon as the Blackwood ghost is under control,” she responds.

  “Is that what we’re calling it now?” I cough. “No offense, but I’m a little more freaked out by the mirror I went through and how the hell I ended up —”

  “Another Blackwood student was attacked,” Tomas interrupts. “As weird as what you just went through is, we need to protect the mortals. I don’t know who this one is, but Yvette called to tell us. Some redhead, apparently, name’s something like Eva or Ellen.”

  “Eden? It can’t be Eden!” I clutch my forehead and slump down. I haven’t even talked to Eden in weeks. Not since before I started feeling the spirit in the courtyard. And she just moved on campus! Why her? It can’t just be because of me...

  “I told you, you shouldn’t exist.” Terra strides up to us, visibly shaken, but in better shape than I am. “Dark creatures will hunt you out. Blood like yours,” she shakes her head, “it’s got magic.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Tomas growls, stepping forward to block me from her view. “Why are you even here right now?”

  “Blood magic,” Ramona breathes, effectively shutting her brother up and sending a flash of fear through my chest. “That’s why this ghost is chasing you. Killing you would give anything power, even a twisted soul. I bet it’s after a host to possess.”

  “I’m sorry,” I choke out, “did you just say killing me?”

  Both girls turn my way, their gazes horrified and pitying.

  “What do you think blood magic needs?” Terra asks. “Blood. Lots of it.”

  “Okay, that’s enough.” Tomas helps me to my feet and continues trying to shield me from the others. “Nobody is going to harm her, or anyone else. We’re going to find this ghost and annihilate it, end of story.”

  “Mmhm, that’s a wonderful plan,” Terra nods, “until another spirit comes after her. Or worse, a rogue shifter. And god forbid a death coven get a whiff of her existence, then we’ll all be running for our lives.”

  “Can you stop saying ‘my existence’ as though I’m some sort of colossal problem? Just a person here, with a weird family, okay? Thanks.” I scowl at her, even as I’m attempting to rub warmth back into my arms.

  “She has a valid argument,” Ramona concedes. Putting a hand on her hip and flipping back her curls, she twists her mouth to the side. “We really should consider binding you to someone. Being connected to a shifter should cover your aura nicely, I mean, that’s what I’ve always heard anyway.”

  “What do you mean by binding?” This is what Eleanor and Anna were warning me against. And hasn’t Ramona been wanting me to team up with them from the beginning? She’s never looked at me as Addie. She’s only seen another set of eyes to help her hunt down spirits.

  “She means a blood bond, not as drastic as using your blood for magic,” Terra answers, “but enough to give you a lifelong relationship to a hellhound or gallowbird.”

  “And what are you?” I frown at her.

  She shrugs and examines her nails indifferently, but her hands are shaking. “A hellhound, what else?”

  “Enough!” Tomas barks. “No more blood magic talk, no more about bindings. We take care of the hag, and then we’ll consider things. You both know how serious bindings can be.” He glares at Ramona and her friend, and as annoying as he can be, I’m grateful for his intervention.

  My head is spinning from everything that’s happened over the last week, and the only thing I know for sure is that I need to go up to the hospital. I need to visit Aimee and find out if Eden really was the second victim. The most startling fact is how quickly this has progressed from casual haunting to full out attacks. It shouldn’t be possible. But then again, crossing into the in-between shouldn’t be happening either, and I’ve managed that often enough.

  “Whatever,” Ramona waves him off, “one way or another, none of this leaves the cemetery. We will work this out between the four of us, no one else. Deal?”

  “Deal,” we all mutter. So many worries and I’m not sure I can keep up with any more secrets or obligations.

  I HATE THE WAY HOSPITALS smell. Between that and the still, frigid air, I’m surrounded by reminders of where I’m at no matter how many lifeless landscapes they hang on the walls to cover it up. My boots squeak as I cautiously angle through the halls, the sound intermittently interrupted by the monitors beeping and the occasional call at the nurse’s station. I clench my fists at my sides and tighten my jaw.

  I’m here to visit my friends, it’s going to be okay. I’m just here to visit my friends.

  But the further into the hall I walk, the harder it is to breathe. The last time I was in a hospital was right before we moved my dad into hospice care. It was the last time he tried to feebly convince me that he could still somehow push through.

  That’s the worst part. He tried so hard to push through it all for me. And he still lost. And I lost him.

  Wiping my eyes on my sleeve, I ignore Frank’s questioning gaze as I nod at a passing staff member. I’m not here to replay old memories or wallow in self-pity or guilt. I’m here because if I’m supposedly enough of a witch that dark creatures want to sacrifice me for my blood, it’s time for me to try and work a little magic.

  I’ve got two little sticks of dried lavender, clove, an
d sage bound in white thread tucked into my pocket because in the notes on spell work Eden ended up giving me last year it said these plants and color of thread can help with protection. Eden, I know will carry it with her willingly, but I doubt Aimee will believe me. For her, I’ve also brought a small hematite pendant on a silver chain. It’s amazing the things you can buy at a farmer's market in such a small town. I’m surprised there wasn’t a booth simply labeled Witch’s Apothecary.

  Outside Aimee’s room, I pause, listening to the sounds of the comedy she’s got playing and the rustling of the hospital bed. Knocking lightly on the dull, grey door, I push it open just enough for her to hear my voice.

  “Aimee? It’s Addie. Ellis’—,” I bite my tongue. I’m not Ellis’ girlfriend anymore, and I can’t bear to call myself his ex. “Addie Nix? Can I come in?”

  From behind the thin, polka-dotted curtain comes a flurry of voices, like a hushed argument is taking place. Someone slams an object down on what sounds like a tray, and then Sabrina’s voice replies, “Sure, Addie. Come on in.”

  Hesitantly, I step around the curtain and instantly regret my decision.

  Ellis is standing staunchly at the window, arms crossed, back straight, and wearing such a glowering expression, I could swear I was looking at his brother Owen instead. In my rush to look at anything but him, I whirl around and stare straight at Aimee instead, completely unprepared for the number of stitches pulled across her face.

  In the areas between the stitches, her skin is swollen and red, and the cuts aren’t contained to just her face. They travel down her neck and both of her hands and forearms are completely bandaged, as though she’d thrown her arms up to defend herself and gotten cut there as well.

  “Oh, Aimee, I’m so sorry,” I cry. I join Sabrina on the edge of the bed and clip Aimee’s hair back for her. “What did the doctors say?”

  She shrugs, tired, unable to speak, and judging by the glazed look in her eyes, on too many pain meds to really pay attention to anything I say. Sabrina retrieves a clipboard for me from the end of the bed and starts to decipher the notes for me based on what the nurse had told her when she first arrived, and I slip the bundle of dried herbs into Aimee’s bag when no one is looking. Or at least, when only Ellis is staring.