She took it without thanking him and crumpled the flyer with her other hand, tossing it into the trash bucket on her way out.
It landed crookedly, bouncing off the rim and unfolding so that Angie’s eyes were exposed.
Esmeralda was explaining the poster behind her counter—the pentagram of elements—to a customer when the hooded men stepped into the store.
The bells above the door were enough to make her wince. She’d been meaning to replace them but it had fallen further and further down her list of priorities.
The customer, a large man with an undersized, generic Salem shirt, eyed the three men and stopped talking mid-sentence. She could practically see the beads of sweat forming along his upper lip. Without another word, he stumbled out of the shop, tripping on the incense display on his way out.
The bells jangled once more, giving way to silence aside from Esmeralda’s heavy breathing. The extra-large breakfast burrito threatened to exit the way it had entered that morning. She belched under her breath.
“What’s this about?” she said when none of the men offered any explanation.
Their cloaks were long and dark, trailing onto the floor. They stood in a line, the one in the middle closest to her. Their skin seemed too smooth, without any hint of blemish or facial hair. Everything above their noses lay in shadows, hoods obscuring eyes. That felt like both a blessing and curse.
“I don’t mind if you guys come in here dressed up but you can’t go around scaring customers away. If you’re not going to buy anything, I suggest you leave.” Her voice croaked and any ounce of authority was lost.
It was nothing new to have costumed customers but normally they dressed as witches and vampires. This seemed . . . different somehow.
Like they weren’t wearing costumes to begin with.
She eyed the door but that fantasy was shattered when she saw a fourth robed figure outside, blocking the exit, turning away potential customers.
Potential rescuers.
Don’t be so silly. These are just some weirdos who take Halloween a little too seriously.
She tried a different approach. “Enjoying your stay?”
Nothing.
“First time in Salem?”
Nothing.
“I love your costumes.”
Nothing, aside from the closest figure stepping forward.
Salem was relatively safe, even in the city center, but she kept a pocketknife and a can of pepper spray in the top left drawer of the counter. Her hand gravitated that way.
The robed man stood inches away from her face now. He smelled both foul and sweet, fruit left to rot. Though she couldn’t see his eyes, she could feel them.
She pulled open the drawer, grabbed the pepper spray, and pointed.
“If you’re going to give me trouble, think twice.” With her free hand, she grabbed her cell phone, dialed 911, and hovered her thumb over the green call button.
He lifted his gloved hands, latched onto his hood.
Esmeralda prepared for the worst. Whatever was under there, it surely wasn’t human. No normal man could make her feel such fear. Her pulse grew uneven. Was that the atrial fibrillation the doctors had mentioned or was she having a full-fledged heart attack? She held her chest, held her breath.
And cocked her head when the man revealed his true form.
No fangs or scales. Instead: a plain, non-descript face. He could have been thirty or forty, nothing to distinguish him from anyone else. The man smiled, revealing normal-sized, pearly white teeth. He removed one of his gloves and offered his hand. “You must be Ms. Hopkins.”
She breathed, fought waves of nausea. “Yes, that would be me.”
“You own this establishment?” His voice was smooth and she couldn’t decipher its accent. Wherever he was from, it wasn’t Boston. “I’m sorry if we scared you. My colleagues and I are merely getting into the spirit. I’m sure you’ve seen scarier costumes in your time.”
“Yes,” she lied. “And no need to apologize. I’ve just been on edge is all.” An understatement. She’d barely slept the night before. Not since the encounter with the figure outside and the flyer.
And now that she thought about it, hadn’t that figure been wearing a robe? It had been too dark to know for sure but—
The man set down a piece of paper onto the counter. For a moment, she was certain it was another advertisement for Angie’s homecoming show but as she read its contents, she realized it was much worse.
A contract of some sort.
“Ms. Everstein wishes to hold a meet and greet at your shop.”
“I’m sorry?”
“She speaks highly of you. I understand she used to frequent this shop as a girl.”
“A long time ago.” She recalled their conversations, though she’d tried countless times to forget.
I want to learn an evocation spell.
Why’s that?
Because I’m trying to evoke something.
Magic isn’t anything to be taken lightly, Angie.
I’m not taking it lightly.
What are you trying to evoke?
“If you don’t mind,” the man said, pulling her out of the past, “I’ll have you sign here and initial here.”
She shook her head. “I’m afraid not. It’s a busy time of year and I can’t afford to hold an event like that. Maybe next time.” That was it. Blame it on the season.
“The owner of the property has already given us permission. Technically, we don’t need your approval.”
“That’s not possible.”
“I can put him on the phone if you’d like. This is simply a formality. A courtesy, if you will, since Ms. Everstein is so fond of you.”
She gritted her teeth. “Tell Ms. Everstein she can forget it. This is my shop and I call the shots.”
He tapped the contract. “Regardless, we’ll see you this weekend and we’ll be in touch with further details. We hope we’re able to bring in plenty of customers.”
She opened her mouth but the words died in her throat as she noticed the other men. She’d all but forgotten them. They still hadn’t removed their hoods and something told her that was for the best. While the man closest to her had a face, she suspected the others did not. Irrational, of course, but so was the contract on her counter.
“I didn’t catch your name,” she said to the leader of the group, not taking her eyes off the other two.
“No,” he said, pulling his own hood back up, “you didn’t.”
He turned toward the door and exited. The others followed.
The bells gave one last ear-piercing jingle that reminded her of screams.
CHAPTER FOUR
BAR TALK PART I
A DRINK WAS IN ORDER.
Make that five.
The bar did laps around Josh. McMurphy’s Pub was everything you’d expect: dim lighting, sticky stools, and a jukebox that hadn’t been updated since Y2K. The speakers blared a dance tune from the early nineties. He couldn’t remember the artist, couldn’t discern the words, but anything—anything—was preferable to the song that had been drifting through his mind all day.
Forever with You.
He shook his head and hoped that wasn’t the case.
Downing the rest of his beer, he signaled Jimmy and lifted his empty glass. One more to close out the night. Aside from the six-pack in his fridge he’d finish off when he got home. What else was there to do in a studio apartment the size of a sardine can? He felt closed in just thinking of it. It was all he could afford, recent events considered, and he couldn’t find another place until the divorce was finalized and the condo was sold.
Jimmy set another Miller Lite onto the bar and closed Josh’s tab without asking. The bartender wasn’t the original owner but he faked an Irish accent just fine when college girls ordered from him.
The place was tucked back in an alley between a laundromat and convenience store. Even though it was October, the crowd had thinned considerably. It was the only bar without
a line out front during the holiday season.
“Who died?” Jimmy said, wiping down the counter.
“Sorry?” Josh shook his head.
“You look like you just came from a funeral. Someone stop breathing on you?”
“Just my marriage.”
They shared a laugh, though the moment passed quickly. Jimmy found a group of girls farther down the bar. His accent came out in record time.
The woman sitting next to Josh stood, left a two-dollar tip, and stumbled out the front doors. A cool draft blew through the bar. Josh shivered but his skin went from frigid to boiling when he spotted the man two seats down.
Don’t start anything, he thought. He’s not worth it.
He being Dan Peterson, one of the men who’d fucked Melissa. They’d gone to high school together. Not friends exactly, though they hung in the same circles. Dan worked construction for the city. His skin was covered in grime that defined the contours of his muscular arms. His hard hat lay on the counter beside two shot glasses. When Dan caught him staring, Josh was certain the guy would mock him.
But instead of a cocky grin, Dan Peterson offered a vacant stare. It was, Josh supposed, not unlike how he himself looked that very moment.
Preoccupied.
Scared as hell.
“I don’t want any trouble,” Dan finally said. His words slurred badly. He sounded as drunk as Josh felt. “I just want to finish my drinks and forget about my day. That okay with you?”
Josh’s anger subsided. “Yeah. Fine by me.”
After a few awkward moments, Dan slid over one seat and leaned in close. “Look, I know you’re not my biggest fan but I need to ask you something. You didn’t order it, did you?”
“Order what?” He sipped his beer, throat suddenly dry.
“That cardboard cutout. Not exactly aimed at your target audience. Which got me thinking: I bet it just showed up on your doorstep.”
Josh wiped his mouth and set the glass back down. “Not my doorstep. That thing was inside my store. None of my employees know where it came from. Not to mention they didn’t see anyone bring it in.”
Dan ran a hand through his oily hair. For a moment he was no longer the bully that screwed Melissa. For a moment he was human again. “Had a feeling.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Dan looked around as if they were being watched. “Between you and me, there’s something going on in this city. Something big. Something wrong.”
Josh wanted to say Dan was being foolish, that the cutout was an elaborate prank. Instead he nodded. Because Dan was right. There was something wrong.
“They’re building a stage,” Dan said before downing the first of two shots.
“Who is?”
“Technically I am. The city, I mean. But the city isn’t who’s behind it. The city just okayed it. They’re behind it.”
“I’m not sure I follow.” He took another sip. Not because he wanted to get any drunker but because his hands fidgeted.
Dan nodded as if Josh was on the same page. “It’s being built in the woods up on Gallows Hill. Not like the ones they put up for the bands downtown on Halloween night. Those things only take a few hours. Can barely fit four guys on them. This one’s the real deal. City cut down a shit ton of trees to make way for it. Can’t be legal. That place is conservation land. I asked around but no one will give me a straight answer.”
He’s nuts, Josh thought. Except he knew that wasn’t the truth. The guy had a buzz going but his words made sense even if Josh didn’t grasp their meaning. “What’s the stage for?”
Dan downed shot number two. “What do you think?”
Josh shook his head. “I hope you’re not talking about—”
Dan cut him off, held a finger up to his mouth like they’d been bugged. “Damn straight. She’s coming home, Josh. Coming back to Salem. Hell, from what I’ve heard, she’s already here.”
Josh shrugged, pretended his balls weren’t shriveling that very moment. “So what? Girl wins a reality show, blows up overnight, and has a homecoming concert. What’s so strange about that?”
“It’s not a concert,” Dan said, his words barely audible over the jukebox.
“What?”
“I said it’s not a concert. There’s something else going on. Something that isn’t normal. And it’s happening on Halloween night. Don’t they say that’s when the barrier is at its thinnest or some shit?”
“What barrier?”
He slammed a twenty-dollar bill onto the bar and stood up too quickly, grabbing onto the sticky wood to regain his balance. “The barrier between the living and the dead. Listen, if I were you, I’d make myself scarce that night.”
“I’d have to be crazy. The shop is already failing. I’ll make a third of my year’s earnings that evening. I can’t just skip town if that’s what you’re saying.”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. And what I’m doing. I’ll finish building the damn thing. Ain’t much choice in that department. I signed a contract and from what I heard they don’t like it when you violate the terms.”
“The city, you mean?”
He shook his head, blood-shot eyes framed by raccoon lids. “No, the city’s not in charge. They just gave the go-ahead.”
“Then who is in charge?”
“I gotta go. Long day tomorrow. That girl and her managers or agents or whoever the hell they are—they’re trouble. Remember what I said. Think about taking a vacation.”
Dan left without another word. More cool air infiltrated the bar before the door slammed shut.
Josh tried to make sense of the conversation but found he was too drunk and too exhausted to come up with any answers.
But he did manage to form one coherent thought that stuck with him.
Like him or not, Dan Peterson and Josh Meyers actually agreed on something.
Angie Everstein was bad news.
From the corner, the jukebox changed tunes. For a moment, he thought it was the song. He could practically hear it pulsing within his ears. But it turned out to be some hip-hop tune about drinking champagne.
He left in a hurry, thought about walking instead of driving, on account of his buzz that was more of a hangover in progress.
But the endless alleyways and dark corners swam with movement. He swore the shadows breathed and the fog chattered.
He waved down the nearest taxi and dove in before it came to a full stop.
CHAPTER FIVE
CHICKEN TETRAZZINI AND BOTTOMLESS PITS
“SHAWNA, SUPPER’S READY.”
She winced, huddled in her room. Lights off. Computer glare washing her face in strange shades of blue. She’d been stalking Mia’s Facebook for nearly an hour. A pile of geometry homework stood on her bedside table, all of it unfinished.
Whenever Shawna looked through Mia’s photos, she saw fewer images of herself. Even though they’d broken up only months ago, it felt more like years, another life altogether. She could see the evolution of Mia’s new personality, which in turn showed the de-evolution of their relationship.
Not for the first time, she wondered what had caused such a drastic change. And so quickly, nonetheless. The more she thought about it, the more unnatural it felt. Like there was something else at play. Something she couldn’t quite fathom.
“Shawna? Come eat. It’ll get cold.”
Her mother, signaling the only thing worse than the morning bell.
Dinnertime.
They hadn’t eaten together this much as a family since Angie had been accepted to Harmony Club. Since then, on the rare occasion her sister had been home in between episodes and concert dates, they’d gone out to eat. Angie had treated them to four-star restaurants in Boston, where the prices were astronomical and the portions miniscule. While Angie had been on the road, dinner was served with remaining daughter and mother eating separately. Kristen on the couch, watching her soaps, and Shawna alone in her room.
“Shawna, come on, will you?”
Should she pretend? Blame it on her hearing aids? It wasn’t the first time she’d taken advantage of her condition. Fate had played her a shitty hand and she didn’t feel the least bit guilty flipping it off now and then.
A knock at her door.
Soft, barely touching the wood, but it sent every inch of Shawna’s skin into a fit. She didn’t need to hear the voice to know who stood on the other side.
“Hey, Sis. You want to eat or what?” Angie said. “Mom’s not gonna wait all night. You know how she gets.”
Shawna nodded without answering, forgetting for a moment that Angie couldn’t see her. It certainly felt like she could. Shawna flipped on the light. She closed her laptop, set it on her desk, studied her face in the mirror and pretended to fix her hair. These were normal actions, actions people took when they weren’t scared out of their mind. She almost fooled herself.
“Be right down.”
“See you soon. Can’t wait to catch up.”
She listened as Angie stepped soundlessly down the hall and down the steps. She’d always been great at sneaking out in the middle of the night. Her footfalls were so quiet it was uncanny.
That’s because she’s not human. Not in the traditional sense, at least.
She shivered, the creeping things from her past crawling back into her memories. If she allowed them to invade, the fear would be too much. She’d have a panic attack and then her mother and sister would be up here, treating her like someone who needed a couple rounds of shock therapy.
She closed her eyes, steadied her breathing, and, most importantly, pushed away the thoughts. At least for the moment.
Then she opened her door and made her way to the kitchen, telling herself it would just be a normal dinner. There was nothing sinister about chicken tetrazzini.
But as she stepped through the doorway and saw the way Angie glared at her—dark eyes hiding awful secrets—the smell of cream and meat made her gag.
“Have a seat,” her mother said, pulling out the closest chair. Just like that morning, Kristen Everstein was in a chipper mood. How could she not be? Her famous daughter was rolling in enough dough to reverse all the debt she’d accrued. Bye-bye, maxed-out credit cards. Hello, new lavish lifestyle.
A Voice So Soft Page 4