Deadly Darlings (October Darlings Book 2)

by Wendolyn Baird

  “Of course,” Ramona replies, her voice soft and not nearly convincing enough.

  “Okay.” I squint at her and step into the hall, arching my back against the dark cold that seeps through the passageway. “So, I’m going to go put my bag away. As soon as you’re done getting comfortable, come back out to the kitchen. Lunch will be ready in just a few.”

  OF COURSE, IT MAKES sense I can’t sleep. Three weeks of sleeping like the dead, and once I’m safe in my own home, I’m wide awake. The blinking, green light on the alarm clock at my nightstand says it’s nearly three in the morning, and the pale moonlight drifting through my window leaves me lonely. Dad passed late at night. Moonlight used to be pretty; now it’s just another ugly reminder.

  Slipping my feet into the bunny slippers Delia bought me as a joke, I wrap myself up in an oversized sweater and trudge out of my bedroom. I’m not sure where all the ghosts go at night, but they usually stay out of the way unless something strange is going on. I’ve always assumed they’ve had better things to do, but honestly, I have no idea where my relatives go when they aren’t haunting us. Can they make it to the in-between? Would they want to?

  Shaking my head, I slip out the back door, reflecting on the day.

  Delia took to the Erebus twins immediately, and it only took one or two awkward questions to get her to stop mentioning Sabrina and Ellis. Long-winded talking is one of her strongest traits, but subtlety is not, and she made no attempts to hide her disapproval at the latest rift.

  I wish she’d spend her time focusing on something other than me or the bakery, but she never seems to want to socialize much with people at all. And honestly, her shop manager is probably her closest living friend. Instead, she insists on light small talk and hosting events at her little bakeshop.

  I guess it’s easy to pretend everything is put together when people aren’t looking at the skeletons in your closet, or in this case, the ghosts in your house.

  The slope of the backyard is difficult to navigate in my slippers, and bits of dried grass stick to the faux fur. For November, the crisp air isn’t as cool as it could be, and I’m thankful my sweater can keep most of it from stinging my skin.

  Frank jumps off of my wrist as I reach the graveyard at the base of the property, and sighing, I step through the large, iron gate. The perfume of wild mint envelopes me, and standing with my face to the night sky, the insatiable powers within me rise, filling me with an exhilaration that makes me want to go shrieking through the trees and hollering from the shadows. It’s a wildness in me I’m still trying to control, and it’s so strange that something connected to the dead should make me feel so alive. But that’s magic for you; chaotic and difficult to understand or explain.

  Stopping in front of my parent’s graves, I flop into the ground cover and wrap my arms around my knees. I know they can’t hear me. I know they’re technically not here, or at least my mother isn’t for sure... but isn’t talking at gravesides supposed to be therapeutic?

  Besides it’s three in the morning and everyone’s asleep; I can do what I want.

  “So, Mom,” I begin, “about these powers... What do they do? What do they mean? I thought witches couldn’t go to the in-between and neither could clairvoyants, so what’s dragging me through? Did you know about me? The danger I’d be in because of what you were. Is that why you left me Frank?”

  I adjust my position, setting my chin on top of one knee and staring intently at the dark shape of the tombstone. Delia and I hung about a million solar powered lights from here up to the house last year, but in the sanctuary of the graveyard, the lights don’t seem nearly as warm enough.

  “Dad,” I choke out, “I miss you. That’s all. I just, I, I just miss you. But I’m okay. I’ll be okay,” I promise him, praying he can hear me some way.

  “Is that why you don’t talk about him?” Ramona asks, making my heart skip into my throat and my muscles spasm in fear. She stands at the entrance of the gate silently, her sharp, pale eyes watching me sadly. “Because you’re still trying to convince yourself you can just somehow move on with your life? Because it doesn’t always work that way.”

  “What are you talking about?” I croak.

  She steps over the threshold and strides over to sit next to me, hair tangled, pajamas wrinkled and worn, and the sneakers on her feet untied and mismatched. Like the facade that drops away from Tomas from time to time; this is the true Ramona.

  “Death,” she says simply. Dropping into the mint beside me, she sits cross-legged and leans against the back of a tombstone, hands fiddling with her laces. Her hair falls into her face and in the weak light, the emerald streaks appear yellow. “Even for us,” she continues, “you can’t pretend death doesn’t affect you. Just because we see some of the dead doesn’t mean you can’t miss when they were living.”

  Wiping my eyes, I stare at her for a moment. I like her better this way. Understanding, free. Cold and put together doesn't suit her.

  “Who did you lose?” I ask and clear my throat.

  “Our sister. She was the oldest; Diego’s twin.” She doesn't even try to meet my gaze, preferring to twist a ragged shoelace around her index finger.

  I want to ask her how her sister died, but it feels disrespectful somehow. Instead, I lick my lips and say, “Wow, two sets of twins in your family. That’s something.”

  “Not really,” Ramona mumbles. She raises her peculiar eyes my way, and I’m trapped in them. If Tomas’ are like stars, hers are a frozen sea.

  I frown at her, stuck between my own grief and the strange turn in this unplanned meeting.

  “You see, we’re cursed.” She shrugs and holds back a grimace, her chin twitching as she speaks.

  Cursed. I used to think I was cursed, but the way she’s talking, I think she means something much darker than my small abilities.

  “There are things just as dangerous as mages are to us, maybe more so. Covens of witches who are obsessed with the veil between the realms will extort any shifter or clairvoyant they can. Sometimes they just want to peek on the other side, but more often than not, they want us to drag a soul back over.”

  “But how does that work with your whole purpose in life being to prevent corrupted spirits?” I ask. “Wouldn’t pulling them back over screw them up?” I shirk back, thoroughly repulsed by the idea.

  “Exactly the problem.” Ramona purses her lips and presses the heels of her palms to her eyes before continuing. “They cursed our parents for refusing. Bianca died, we were born twins, and Rosa had a stillborn sibling at birth. Since both Tomas and I are still kicking... well everyone’s terrified something is going to happen to one of us. They just don’t know which one.”

  Gaping at her in horror and shock, my mind rejects the idea that witches could be so wretchedly powerful, even as my stomach wrenches in knots as concern for my friends takes over. I can’t lose them! And, oh god, they can’t lose each other...

  “I know.” Ramona nods at me. “It’s a lot to take in. Just don’t tell Tomas I told you. You’ve seen how he is.” She pushes herself to her feet and brushes mint off the backs of her legs. “My point is...” she mutters, “you can’t ignore death or pain. And it makes us less human when we refuse to feel. Just, let yourself be, Addie. Sometimes that’s all you have to do.”

  Holding her hand out to me, Ramona suggests we go back up to the house, and taking the help, I find that I can’t let go of her. I don't want to lose yet another friend, and definitely not in such a permanent way. I’ve barely just found her, the real her, that is.

  Maybe I can't ignore death, but if a witch cast their curse and I’m half a witch... there’s got to be a way to reverse it. And if there’s anyone who’s going to help, I know it will be my enigmatic ancestors from the in-between. After all, they’ve been together for so long, there’s no way they’ll let a pair of siblings be torn apart.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “BEAU, CUT IT OUT!” Marlowe shrieks as we’re finishing up breakfast. The photos o
n the walls tremor as we look up from the table, and Delia’s face is a mixture of exasperation and anxiety.

  “Not again,” she moans. Scooting her chair back, she murmurs a quick apology to Tomas and Ramona before darting out of the dining room.

  I drop the last bit of my French toast on the plate, and leaving it to congeal in syrup, I rush after my aunt. Sometimes, temperamental is an understatement.

  Beau is levitating all the clothes in Tomas’ room, and the rocking horse in the corner is clattering back and forth with such force, it’s a wonder the legs haven’t broken off yet.

  “Beau, sweetheart,” Delia’s saying, trying to soothe the undead child. “Beau, you listen to me now!”

  But of course, he won’t. Whatever has him out of sorts is impacting us all as a ringing obscures my hearing and Marlowe cowers in the corner she’s floating in.

  Pushing my hands out in front of me, I envision another bubble, but with Delia at my side and Beau this furious, he’s much harder to contain than last time. Vibrations on the floorboards tell me Tomas and Ramona have both risen from the table, but I don’t have the energy to turn to them.

  Violent energy is bursting from my distant cousin as his distress takes over the room. The curtains and blinds lift as though he were tugging at them, the dresser drawers quake in their place, and the ringing in my ears grows worse. My head is pounding and everything I look at is glowing bright violet. It hurts my eyes, and my knees grow weak as I exert myself as much as I can. I just need to contain him...

  Finally, I cover him with a shield, keeping his tantrum in place, and as soon as he calms, my legs give out beneath me. Again, my vision goes dark, and as I fall to the ground, lightheaded.

  What a way to spend my first day home!

  “FOR THE LAST TIME,” I complain. “I’m fine!”

  “Of course, you are,” Delia agrees fretfully. “You’re a Nix, darling.” She hands me a second cup of tea. “Just finish that up before you head out, for my sake of mind.”

  Rolling my eyes, I lift the cup and take a sip.

  “And you’re sure this doesn’t happen often?” Tomas is demanding. I don’t like how he towers over me, perched like a gargoyle ready to protect their own.

  “No,” I roll my eyes again, “it doesn’t. But I’m fine.”

  “Chill, she says she’s okay, then she’s okay,” Ramona backs me up. Lifting a muffin from the counter, she picks a fleck of blueberry off the top and pops it in her mouth.

  My chest aches at the casual movement. Sabrina tears her food apart too, and god knows how many times she’s done just that in this kitchen.

  Setting the tea down with a thunk, I push the chair out, not minding the scraping screech it causes as it moves across the floor. “I’m going for a walk,” I announce. “I’ll be back.”

  Without listening to anyone’s complaints or rejections, I pat Frank on the head and head out the front door. Sabrina can’t avoid me forever. Not anymore.

  Striding confidently down the road, I walk until I come up on Sabrina’s imposing home, a nervous laugh slipping out of my mouth as I step over forgotten action figures her younger brothers left in the front yard. An orange flag boasting a turkey and a piece of pie is stuck in the ground by the porch, and I can hear the lawnmower running in the backyard.

  “Adeline!” Mrs. Thomas exclaims as she answers the door, “come on in! We’ve missed you! How are your classes going? Sabrina didn’t say.”

  “Oh, you know,” I blush, “I’m passing, but they could be better.”

  “No matter,” she grins at me, “passing is passing, and that’s all that counts.” Patting me on the shoulder, she moves to let me in, scooting over the door mat as if to remind me to do the same.

  Obliging, I wipe my shoes off and move through the foyer. Besides a few glittering, faux pumpkins scattered around, the house hasn't changed much, and it’s like stepping back in time. I can do this.

  Sabrina doesn't see me at first. Her back is to the door as she leans over a massive book. She’s cross-legged on her bed, curls falling over her shoulders as her hand moves along the words on the page she’s reading. It’s a sight I’ve seen a million times, and not one I ever thought that I’d miss.

  Clearing my throat, I plant my feet in the doorway and cross my arms. “Can you stop avoiding me now?”

  Sabrina jumps, momentary surprise taking over her face before she replaces it with a grimace and shrugs back at me. “You were avoiding me first,” she argues.

  “For good reason! Sabrina, look what happened to Aimee and Eden! I didn’t want that to be you,” I exclaim.

  “Really? You expect me to believe that?” She raises her eyebrows and slams the book shut. “You told me it was a temporary thing and then next thing I know you’re dumping Ellis and hooking up with Tomas? Like, what is up with that? And then Eden started freaking out that you stole from her, which I still can’t believe, but come on, what’s going on there? Are you fighting with her too?”

  “What?” I stare at her, exasperated. “That’s why you won't talk to me? I didn’t dump Ellis— he broke up with me!” My throat is sore, and the words are hard to get out, but I have to. “I’ve never even held hands with Tomas! And as far as Eden goes, I have no idea what’s going on with her, but we aren’t fighting.” I mean, yeah, I may have stolen from her, but only because what she had was dangerous. I shake my head and focus back on her first accusation. “How could you think I was hooking up with Tomas?”

  She stares at me, exasperation clear even in the way she holds her arms.

  “Can we stop being weird?” I beg her, changing the subject. “I miss you.”

  “I miss you too!” She cries. “But I have no idea what’s going on and I don’t want to talk to you if you’re just going to lie to me!”

  “Who said anything about lying?” I throw my arms out and step closer to her. “Sabrina, I’ve been trying to catch you up for weeks. I couldn’t get you to answer the phone.”

  “Only because you lied to me before. You said this was temporary, but it’s not. I can tell it’s not. And I don’t know what you were hiding before, but maybe if you hadn’t, our friends wouldn’t have needed stitches.”

  I cringe, biting my tongue against the accusations I could spew towards Eden. But I won’t, it wouldn’t help even if I did.

  “I’m just dealing with things in my life I don’t think you’d understand,” I sigh, “I really was just trying to protect you. I never meant to make you feel left out.”

  Sabrina shakes her head softly side to side, her hands brushing wistfully across the cover of her book as she stares at it rather than me. Probably wishing she’d never looked up from reading when I walked in.

  Shifting my weight, I chew on my bottom lip and debate joining her on the bed.

  “That’s the thing though,” she wrings her hands together, “we’re never on the same page anymore. None of us. George still won’t even look at me, Eden’s being weird, and you... I thought we were best friends?” She glances up at me, her face torn in despair. “I just wanted freshman year to be a new adventure but it’s not. You shut me out again, and you’re right, I can’t relate to a lot of your life. But it’s not okay for you to like, pretend everything’s great when it’s not.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, because there’s nothing else that matters. That’s the bottom line. I screwed up, but it doesn’t change anything, and I’m sorry.

  “I love you, girl, you know I do,” Sabrina tells me. “But I’m not about trying to pretend we’re good when everything is all screwed up. When you get your crap under control and you’re ready to move back to the dorm, let me know. Until then...” she trails off, pressing her hands to her cheeks. “Until then,” she tries again, “just give me some space. I’m already dealing with Eden moving out on me, I don’t need any more drama.”

  “Wait, Eden moved out?” I frown

  Sabrina stares at me, mouth twisted to the side and eyebrows furrowed. “Seriously? That’s all y
ou have to say. You’re going to fixate on the Eden part?”

  “No, no!” I insist. “It, uhm, you just caught me off guard. Look, I’m sorry. That’s all I came to say. I’m sorry.” I swallow and turn towards the door to leave.

  “It’s okay. And hey, Addie?” She calls out quietly behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I see she’s half standing, indecision clear even from across the room. “Whatever you’re up to, be careful. And don’t worry so much about Ellis. He’s not worth it, you know? I mean I love him, but he’s just a guy. You’ve got more going for you than a boyfriend.”

  I nod at her, chewing on the inside of my lip so intently the taste of blood hits my tongue. Oops. Mouth stinging and eyes burning, I take a deep breath and turn back to the hall. “Happy Thanksgiving, Sabrina. I’ll talk to you when I can.”

  Except I won’t, because she’s right. This isn’t temporary. But she’s also wrong, because Ellis isn’t just some guy. He’s the person I couldn’t possibly measure up to, and that’s why it’s so hard to move past him. I want to feel chosen again; special. And I know it’s stupid and shallow, but I just want to know I can be loved. That’s why he haunts me.

  I’m still fighting tears when I reach Nix House once more. I feel like I haven’t been able to stop crying since last year. Most people would probably say I’m depressed, but I honestly think it’s just the stress. After all, it’s not like I can talk about this stuff to a psychologist; they’d admit me for inpatient care before I finished the whole story!

  As I walk up the drive, I shudder under the weight of what feels like a million beady eyes. Black birds of all sizes are perched in the trees of the yard, outnumbered only by the sheer amounts of stray cats lounging in the grass. No wonder the locals know this place it’s haunted; it’s not as if we can hide it any.

  The front door opens at my approach and Frank nuzzles my wrist, drawing a half smile out of me as I cross the threshold. Delia is nowhere to be seen, although I can probably find her out back, and from the sounds of water splashing and dishes clinking in the sink, at least one ghost is in the kitchen.