October Darlings

by Wendolyn Baird

  “Is that what that was? I don’t think he liked me even before that.”

  “Eh, it probably goes back to Miranda.” He pulls out of the drive, and then we’re coasting through the black arches of towering tree branches that nearly block out the night sky. “Her and Sabrina have a rocky friendship at times. Sabrina hates it when Miranda goes all out over a crush, and Miranda likes to pretend the issue is about anything else. They’ll figure it out one of these days.”

  “It sounds like you know them really well.”

  “Sure, I do. We’ve all been around each other since we were kids. Kind of hard not to pick up on those kinds of things when you see the arguments repeat themselves so frequently.”

  “I don’t know about that. Not everybody is perceptive. Maybe that’s your superpower.”

  “You think I have a superpower?”

  In the dim light off the console, I can just make out the way he raises his eyebrows in speculation. It’s probably just wistful thinking, but he looks almost... proud. Maybe even embarrassed. There’s no way I make him as nervous as he makes me though. It’s so strange because at the same time I feel jittery, sitting next to him is just so damn comfortable.

  “Sure.” I shrug. “If you put up with me, you must.”

  “You don’t think very highly of yourself, do you?”

  It’s such an open question that for a moment I just stare out the windshield. The glare of the headlights into the night only illuminate a small reach in front of us, and the lower branches look like arms reaching out to claw at the sides of the truck.

  “No, that’s not it at all.” I struggle to put my thoughts in order enough to talk. “I just don’t know where I fit into the scheme of things. My family has never been normal, and now I’m finding out how drastically different we are at the same time I’m losing the only parent I have left. Sometimes I feel like I don’t really belong to anyone.” I whisper the last words almost to myself as they stick in my throat. I can’t believe I’m telling him the truth. I’ve never told anybody that.

  The bumping slope of the hillside slows as Ellis goes around a turn, casting light on a half dozen pairs of eyes glowing beyond the tree line. Deer. Flitting off in their perfect family groups, they leave me even feeling more desolate than before.

  “You belong,” Ellis says. Nothing more, nothing less. His eyes stay trained on the road, his hands stick to the steering wheel, but the fervent emotion behind his words strikes a chord in my chest.

  I belong.

  Clearing my throat, I attempt a laugh and run a hand through my hair. “Wow, that got heavy didn’t it? Sorry, let’s move on.”

  “If you want. But hey, you did ask for moral support. You don’t have to do this alone, not anymore.” He spares a glance at my direction, and I wish I could make out his eyes better. Even his silhouette seems to be burning with something unspoken.

  “Thanks.” I nod as we approach the turn off towards Nix House. “But you know, I’m not some damsel in distress waiting for someone to save me, okay?”

  “You?” He laughs lightly. “Damsel in distress? Never. I’ll just be your... moral supporter.”

  “Nice name.”

  “I do my best.”

  The long driveway stretches on beneath the bright moon. The jet-black shingles are as ominous as ever, and sitting in the passenger’s seat, feeling more grounded than I have in a long awhile, I hate the idea of having to climb out. Even the small comfort of having Frank tucked into my jacket pocket isn’t enough to calm the nervous jitters of knowing I’ll have my back exposed to the same shadows I watched from my window the other night.

  “Now, as your moral supporter, am I allowed to walk you in? Just as a friend. I know you don’t need the help either, but I kind of want to bum some time before I have to go deal with Owen again.”

  Before I can answer, a sheet of light covers the hood of the car as the front door swings wide open. A few of the ragged cats jump down from the swing to investigate, but not even one puts a paw over the threshold. Smart cats.

  I jerk my head at the door and shrug at Ellis. “You sure you’re game? Because I can guarantee you that Delia did not open that door for us.”

  He purses his lips, and his fingers brush against the steering wheel once more. I can almost see the cogs in his head turning as he debates.

  My heart sinks as I watch him with still breath. This is exactly how Sabrina’s excitement turned into apprehension. At least she still comes over, but is Ellis as dauntless? As far as I know, he doesn’t have a penchant for haunting cemeteries.

  “Of course. Let’s do this.” He nods at me grimly, but in the hazy light from the house there’s a glint in his honeyed eyes that mirrors my hope. He’s really going to see this through!

  “Aunt Delia? I brought Ellis over! I hope that’s okay?” I holler as we step into the sitting room, partly for Delia’s benefit, but mostly for the rest of the house.

  Ellis, to his credit, latches the front door shut behind us, and even as a draft rises from the floor, he doesn’t flinch. A swirl of violet manifests at the couch and I raise my hand in greetings to the stern man sitting there. With old-fashioned glasses and a pensive stare, he’s far more visible than the other apparitions I’ve seen.

  “Is it okay to have company this late?” I ask. He’s my great, great grandfather, but beyond his insistence at having a clean kitchen, I don’t know much about him.

  Behind me, Ellis watches me talk to the thin air politely, like this is the most natural thing in the world. Great, Great Grandfather nods, and motions us to continue further into the house. I’ll have to come up with a nickname for him, or at least ask Delia for one.

  She’s in the kitchen, shifting food around in the fridge, and I see more of her back half than her face when we walk in. In rose patterned pajamas and her hair piled up into a messy knot at the top of her head, she looks more ready for bed than greeting one of her employees.

  Blushing on her behalf, I clear my throat, but as she turns around, there’s not a trace of embarrassment on her face.

  “Good to see you, Ellis. Darling, have you seen my blue ceramic casserole dish?”

  “It’s in the cupboard, I think,” I answer while Ellis mumbles a greeting.

  “No, that’s what I thought too.” Delia puts her hands on her hips and closes the fridge by leaning on it. “Hmm I wonder who hid it this time.”

  “Hid it?” Ellis frowns at her, one hand nervously rubbing the back of his neck. Ah, he can feel the chill.

  “Some of our older relatives can be just a bit passive aggressive. Heaven knows you can’t blame them though! Sometimes we just don’t listen well enough to hear them and then they have no other way to communicate.”

  “So, if I keep finding bobby pins for instance?”

  She stares straight at me, a smile playing at her lips. “Then I’d say someone is trying to tell you how much they love you. And maybe you ought to use them to get that hair out of your face.”

  Ellis only stays a short while, as promised, and Delia walks him out with a box of pastries to take home and several cats jumping at her feet. Watching their soft paws wrap around her legs as they play, I turn over her words again and again.

  Even if I can’t see, or hear them, they show us love. But that isn’t right. Because Delia can talk to her parents. Why can’t I talk to mine?

  “There, see I told you there was nothing wrong with popping over to the Fisher’s place,” Delia says as she comes back in. “Are y’all planning on doing anything tomorrow after work?”

  Ignoring her not so subtle attempt at matchmaking, I glare at her. All the hurt and confusion I’ve been pushing down into the smallest bit of my chest is boiling to the surface. The blood in my ears is pounding, and despite the frigid air that surrounds me as multiple relatives glide to my side, every inch of me is shaking and so hot I might combust.

  “Why didn’t my mom stay?”

  She jerks back, caught off guard and for once at a loss fo
r words.

  “Why didn’t she stay? I was only five! She left me! She left me in every way possible!” My voice trembles and cracks, and I can’t stop. “And my dad? He’s going to do the same thing isn’t he? Isn’t he?” I sob, pain taking over until I can no longer see in front of me.

  Delia holds me, shushes me, and tucks me into bed. All without a single word, and I don’t speak because I can’t. Because my tears are too thick, and my grief is too strong.

  The last legible thought I have before drifting off to sleep is that the moon shouldn’t be so brightly orange.

  MY LIMBS ARE HEAVY beneath the blankets Delia layered on top of me, and the pulsing ache through my skull tells me my eyes are swollen even before I open them. A handful of bobby pins are resting on my nightstand beside my phone, and sitting up, I catch sight of a small pile of thimbles scattered across my vanity.

  What the hell?

  Blossoms from the crepe myrtle outside are sprinkled near my feet, and a sheaf of worn papers are folded neatly beside my pillow. Each and every sheet is adorned with a graphite drawing of myself, at different ages, going all the way back to a portrait of me trailing behind Delia out to the graveyard.

  The air is still, like the ghosts are giving me my space, but their message is clear. Ellis just might be right.

  Curled up, surrounded by my wordless gifts, I let the early morning sun wash over me and pace my breaths to the low singing of a bird outside the window. Moving slowly, I work at regaining my equilibrium.

  A squashy orange envelope is tucked into the corner of my desk, and turning it over in my hand, I snort at the return address. I’d purchased a shirt on a whim, and here it is, folded neatly and ready to go. Taped to the package is a small note from Delia.

  Wear what you want, you don’t have to work today. I still want you to come to the shop when Ellis picks you up though. Don’t be late. I love you.

  Guilt and relief flood through me as I tear through the paper, and a flash of metal glints at my wrist. Dumbstruck, I stop. Frank is impossibly curled around my right wrist, transformed from a door knocker into a broad bracelet. His worn face has the same familiar shines and scratches he’s always had, his flat eyes sparkle in the light, and the cruel curl of his tail is tucked inward gracefully.

  “You do move.” I whisper at him in wonder, lifting him to my face. Number one research task for today: living metal creatures. “So, what are you? A friend? Protector? Could you always move?”

  Of course, he doesn’t answer. I don’t know why I even bothered. Living metal is one thing, talking arachnids though? Clearly something else.

  “Huh.” I shake my head and go back to my mail. “Perfect timing, I guess.”

  The black shirt is adorned with stars and two stylized words. I’d bought it when I was in a cynical mood, but now it feels fitting.

  Brujita Bonita.

  I wonder if there’s a word in Spanish for what I am. I guess witch is close enough.

  By the time Ellis pulls up front, I’m just throwing my brightest red lipstick into my backpack along with my camera case and pacing around the kitchen searching for a water bottle.

  “Come in!” I yell, my bag slung over one shoulder and my white, iridescent boots still untied.

  “You do know that the door was locked, right?” He asks as he saunters in. In his black tee shirt and jeans, I’m surprised not to see a mess of sprinkles and flour smudged on his clothes.

  “Was it?” Ah ha! There’s a water bottle! Covered in jack-o’-lanterns and shoved behind a stack of bowls, but a water bottle, nonetheless.

  “Yeah. I could hear it unlatch, and then the swing started moving behind me. On its own.”

  “So, what you’re saying is, you’re getting used to the house?” I turn towards him, only half put together. My swollen eyes are lined with thick eyeliner that I hope is enough to hide my late-night crying, and my barely brushed hair is held back by a broad headband.

  “That’s one way to interpret that.”

  “Good.” I nod, finish packing my bag, and trek to the door. “So, should we go?”

  I tie my boots against the dashboard as Ellis starts the car, and the old smell of cupcakes floats through the air as the AC kicks on.

  “I’m guessing you’re not actually planning on working today?”

  “What gave it away?”

  “The clean shoes, and the fact that your aunt would have a cow if anyone tried going to work in shorts.”

  “Good eye. Yeah, no work for me, but I’ve been summoned to the shop anyway.”

  He nods, intent on the road in front of us. “Did something happen last night?”

  “Too much to talk about right now.” I laugh to conceal the shakiness of my voice. “But hey, what do you know about objects that can move on their own?”

  “Are we talking about inanimate things coming to life, or like ghosts knocking cups of water off the table? Either way, you should talk to Sabrina, that’s something her crowd would know.”

  “Her crowd?” Is there a whole cemetery fan club I’ve somehow missed?

  “Drama students, majorly dramatic, and completely on board with anything to do with myths and legends. Whether it’s vampires or magic, they’ll at least have heard about it.”

  “Uhm, that doesn’t really sound like my kind of thing.” There’s a big difference to what being a Nix is starting to mean, versus a bunch of teenagers camping outside a movie theater to watch yet another trendy blockbuster, that probably has all its facts wrong.

  “Isn’t it?” He glances at my shirt and chuckles. “I’m sure they’d love you.”

  “I’m a person. Not a novelty.”

  But he’s right, if anyone has any information on the more magical aspects to this place, it probably is Sabrina and her friends.

  Chapter Ten

  SEATED AT ONE OF THE small, round chairs in the bakeshop, I squirm uneasily as I dunk my marranito into my steaming, black coffee. Watching the pig shaped cookie absorb the dark liquid is easier than watching Delia bustle back and forth.

  Norma took up my shift without complaint, and Ellis is perfectly busy loading the silver trays with more sugared concoctions. It’s all surreal and out of place from this end of the counter space, like Alice staring through the looking glass. Customers do double takes as they catch me seated in the corner, and this time it’s my absence of an apron that draws their eyes. Of course, Delia had to pick the brightest color in the world when choosing uniforms.

  Finally, Delia claps the flour from her palms, hangs her apron, and comes out for a break.

  “You look like you need another one,” she says as she slides another marranito my way. “I always need extra carbs the day after a breakdown.”

  “You have breakdowns?” I raise my eyebrows at her and lift my chin from my hand.

  “More often than you know, darling. It’s not easy, you know, living the life we do. It’s hard to exist on the in-between of things.”

  My throat tightens and I have to blink rapidly to keep my eyes clear. “Why do we? That’s one thing I still don’t get. Why are we like this?”

  “Like I said before, nobody knows. The spirits of those ancestors who might have guessed it are too faint now to tell us. The best we can do is move on with what we can.”

  She rubs at my hand. Her trim nails are dyed green from frosting, and her forearms are scored with errant burns from getting too close to the oven. They’re the same arms that wrapped around me every Christmas and birthday when she came to visit. The same fingers that taught me how to cook, to paint, to braid my own hair. I’ve trusted her all my life, but it’s so difficult to trust her now.

  “I don’t feel like I can move on,” I mumble.

  “Oh, darling.” She squeezes my palm. “I promise you; your mama didn’t want to leave you. And my brother still has fight in him, he’s not leaving you yet.”

  “He hardly even talks on the phone anymore, and when he does, he sounds so tired.”

  “He’s tryi
ng to protect you from his fight. Let him do that for you, darling. Sometimes the best gift you can give someone is to simply follow their wishes.”

  “I’m not hungry anymore.” I push away the food and attempt to clear my throat. I could breathe so much better if it didn’t feel like a rock was lodged in my esophagus.

  “Alright then. What’s your plan for today?”

  “Library. Maybe go see Sabrina. I’ve got to pick up George, and then I’ll swing back around for Ellis at the end of his shift. There’s supposed to be a bonfire or something tonight, so I probably won’t be in until around ten.”

  With as much license as she’s given me, I doubt she’d disapprove, but the unsettled stare Delia sets me with has me double guessing.

  “Is that okay?”

  “Try and make it nine-thirty. The county gets restless at holidays.”

  “Okay?”

  But again, Delia is as full of mysteries as ever, only giving me half an explanation before shooing me out the door. I barely have a chance to wave at Ellis as I’m pushed out onto the pavement, and as my eyes adjust to the sunlight, I’m almost positive he winks at me in return. But probably not, maybe he just got some flour in his eye.

  Hyped up on sugar and coffee, I’m too restless to drive, so after stopping by the car for some mosquito spray, I grab my bag and walk down the street. The historic little main street is quaint and covered with faded grey bricks and cozy shops. Mesquites and pecan trees cast ample shade onto the trim sidewalks, and the comfortable hum of honeybees vibrate from the flower beds surrounding each building.

  Life is easier to process through the lens of my camera and wandering down the quiet road soothes my soul in a way I’ve needed. With the sun beating overhead and Frank clinging happily to my wrist, I’m okay for the moment. Delia could be right, Delia could be wrong, but I’ve got myself. I just have to make that enough.

  The library is nestled behind the hardware store, tucked into a grassy glade like a small cottage, and gleaming from the multifaceted windows lining its curved walls. Inside, the clean smell of books and ink draws me in, and the towering stacks beckon my attention. Childish writing covers the walls in the form of summer reading lists, and a special display is set up front, showcasing books specifically for this weekend.