I’d have to find the answers I wanted on my own.
{chapter thirteen}
OCTOBER 31ST marked the beginning of the darker half of the year, and, as if my worries over Mother weren’t enough, Mrs. Franklin’s notes had been getting more frequent. This morning, I’d found another in my mailbox:
Such wisdom does not come down from heaven, but is earthly, unspiritual, of the devil, James 3:15.
Beneath my mailbox, a dead crow sprawled across blood-splattered snow.
I called Mother, but she was certain the bird was a coincidence and that Mrs. Franklin would never be responsible for such a thing. I figured a complaint to the police wouldn’t fare much better.
Still, I wasn’t about to let Mrs. Franklin ruin my holiday. I tucked the note away with the others I’d been saving and went on about my day, pulling on a thick pair of brown leggings under my light-blue jean skirt and pairing them with a chocolate-brown, tight-knit top. I looped a bone-white belt around my hips and tugged on my cream-colored Eskimo boots, then hid everything beneath my snug, hooded wool coat.
With the fading of daylight, the voices had returned. Slowly at first, pulsing into my own thoughts in place of the thudding silence, but then more rapidly, rushing by with renewed intensity. Unintelligible. Tangled. Sometimes I wondered if it’d be better if I understood them, but another part of me feared that would only make me feel more crazy, though not nearly as crazy as my desire to drink more of Adrian’s blood—to silence them for another short time, until I could find a permanent solution.
Samhain would be especially important this year. It was believed that, on this sabbat, the spirits of ancestors visit their descendants—to help them and advise them. This year, I needed all the advice I could get.
Charles and I had been seeing each other for nearly six weeks. Six tortuous weeks of struggling between my physical desire for him and my mental determination not to get involved. There were times the tension between us became so palpable I feared I would toss caution to the wind. Times where I ached for him. But those were the times Charles would step away and say he had to leave. I’d hated him for it every time. And every time, afterward, I was thankful for it as well.
In these short six weeks, I’d come to only one resolve: I would allow myself to enjoy his company and whatever his company might bring. Unfortunately, his restraint not to cross any boundaries between the mortal and immortal world seemed to stand in his way as much as my own.
Tonight he’d offered to let me and my friends use his backyard for our ritual. Well, my ritual, mostly. Lauren wasn’t Wiccan—she was only joining the ceremony to support me in my beliefs, just as I often celebrated the Christian holidays with her. And Ivory said she didn’t want to do ritual for her ancestors this year but was coming along for my sake.
The forest wouldn’t be safe if the ritual extended past sunset, and Mother showing up at my house in the middle of a Wiccan sabbat would’ve been a disaster, so I accepted Charles’ offer. Besides, his place was pretty neat. He’d bought the town’s old library and remodeled the entire place.
We met at dusk. I draped an orange cloth over a stone I’d chosen as an outdoor altar and perched pictures of Grandpa Dunne and Grandpa Parsons, along with Elizabeth Parsons’ court document, in a semicircle around the altar’s pentagram.
This ritual was my last hope of getting answers on my own.
As I performed the rites, I kept my thoughts to myself, wanting the support of my friends but not wanting them to know what I needed support for. Start to finish, the ritual took nearly an hour and was entirely uneventful. Maybe the answers would come later. I stubbed out the mint, apple, and nutmeg incense sticks, then shared cakes and a bottle of sparkling wine with my friends.
Lauren suggested we spend the evening making grave-rubbings, and Ivory said she knew just the place. I wasn’t so sure. I hadn’t been out at night since I’d gone to Club Flesh with Ivory … not even to buy milk or bread. Charles came over every night, bearing Thai food or pizza and movies or some new board game to play. Sometimes Lauren and Adrian would join us, Lauren none the wiser to either of their natures. It was all done under the guise of entertainment, but, deep down, Charles and I both knew he was there because I felt safer with him in my house.
After I closed the circle, I stepped aside to call Charles, who was out for the evening. “Ivory and Lauren want to go do some grave-rubbings.”
“That one of your Wiccan things?”
“No,” I said, incredulous he was even asking. “Grave-rubbings. You lay a piece of paper on the grave and then rub it lightly with lumberman’s chalk. It gives a sort of ‘imprint’ of the grave. Didn’t you ever do coin-rubbings in school? It’s like that.”
“I didn’t go to school,” he said, “but it sounds fun.”
“It does?” I walked further from my friends, lowering my voice. “I mean at night. They want to go now.”
“You won’t have to worry at the cemetery. Cruor don’t go there. Besides, you should be fine in a group.”
An icy breeze crossed the yard, biting at my nose and cheeks. I pulled my coat tighter to ward off the chill. “No Cruor in the cemetery? You’re sure?”
“None in that cemetery,” he said. “The only Cruor residing in a cemetery are the Council members in Damascus. The Queen of the Council, Callista, says it keeps other Cruor away. The Cruor don’t like cemeteries. That is where the original earth elementals came from and the one place they don’t want to return. Moreover, there’s nothing there for them. They want living blood. Cemeteries are full of death.”
“Okay, if you’re sure.” I waited for him to say something else—anything—but he didn’t. “Well, I better get going. Meet you later.”
We said our goodbyes, and I snapped my phone shut.
Ivory cleared the black taper and white pillar candles from the altar. She hadn’t said much since arriving.
“How’ve you been?” I asked lightly, coiling the black cord that had marked our circle.
“Dealing with family issues.” She turned away, abruptly dropping the conversation.
Lauren cleared away the plate of fruit, vegetables, and bread from the top center of the altar, while I packed the black votive candle along with the cauldron into my box of supplies. As I cleared the ashes of dead twigs, each having been named for things that needed to end—for myself, for others, and for the earth—Lauren crouched beside a stone statue in the yard and pulled a camera from her bag. She snapped a picture of herself and the marble lion. After a few more clicks, she checked the camera screen.
“Cool that Charles bought the old library.” She shoved her phone back in her bag and turned to me. “Cocoa?”
“Please,” I said.
She headed inside. I packed away the boline we’d used to cut our ritual apple. The crosswise slice had created a pentagram at the core, honoring the five elements—earth, air, water, fire, and spirit. I also put away the half-slice of apple we’d eaten from during the ritual, but the other half-slice I wrapped in a piece of cheesecloth to bury later—an offering to feed the souls of nearby spirits.
Ivory stood at the edge of the yard, staring off into space. I knew I should go to her; instead, I folded the altar cloth away and carried the box to the back steps. She followed me inside, dragging her wine-colored nails along the wood-paneled walls as she peeked into every room. Old offices were now bedrooms, and the single-stall bathroom had been fully renovated.
“What did Charles do to this place?” she asked.
“He couldn’t live here the way it was.”
Lauren called from the kitchen: “Everything’s new!”
Ivory pointed down the hall. “I’ll wait in the parlor.”
I walked to the kitchen. “Need a hand, Lauren?”
She nodded toward the mugs. “So, are you calling him your boyfriend yet? You’re keeping things at his house.”
“Books and supplies, not my toothbrush and pajamas.”
Lauren raised her eyebrows.
“Is he your boyfriend or not?”
“We haven’t exactly pulled out the label-maker.” I opened the cocoa packets and dumped them in the mugs. “Spoon?”
“I’m going say he’s your boyfriend.” Lauren poured the hot water over the cocoa mix, snatched a spoon from the dish rack, and leaned over me to stir. “I don’t see how he could be anything but.”
I moved the mugs to a tray. What made someone a ‘boyfriend’? I’d been careful not to become attached to Charles. He would live forever, and I would not. “Let’s drink up before the cocoa gets cold.”
I carried the tray into the living room and pressed a steaming mug into Ivory’s hands before lifting my own. “Are you still joining us for the grave-rubbings?”
Ivory’s gaze flickered upward, the flash of an eye roll I’d seen her give Lauren hundreds of times but never me. “Why wouldn’t I?” She set her hot cocoa aside. “We’ll visit the cemetery near my house.”
Back when our town had moved graves from the old cemetery, a few families insisted that their loved ones’ coffins not be moved to the new cemetery. One old woman said in a newspaper interview that the dead should never be separated from their ‘first soil’.
As a result, the town set up about fifty graves, all from the same three families, in a small cemetery near Ivory’s house, at the end of Litton Avenue. They’d had to move not only the coffins, but the soil that had covered those graves as well. Moving the soil for all the graves would have been too much of a hassle. That was how our town ended up with two cemeteries. One much smaller than the old one, and one much larger.
A wide grin splashed onto Lauren’s face. “I heard that cemetery is haunted.”
Ivory spat out a laugh. “You’re the one who started the rumor!”
I’d never been sure about that, but I didn’t say anything. Neither did Lauren.
Before we left the house, I made Charles a turkey and cucumber sandwich and left it in the fridge to hold him over until dinner. He’d once told me he liked to eat a human meal after hunting, because it reminded him that there was more to him than his need for blood. I’d been making those meals for him ever since. Maybe it didn’t feel safe to speak my affections, but I hoped he knew I cared.
Probably more than I should.
* * *
LITTON AVENUE was clear of trick-or-treaters, but the night offered the scents and sights of Halloween through the open car windows—the smell of gutted pumpkins heated from the inside by small candles that flickered through triangular eyes. Stitched mouths with sinister toothy grins were carved into the flesh of jack-o-lanterns, and the aroma of pumpkin pies and roasted pumpkin seeds carried on the crisp night air.
About two thirds of the way down the street, Lauren’s headlights reflected off something in an alley. A half-destroyed sign: Basker Street. Could it be the same Basker Street scribbled in the book Paloma gave me? I’d never noticed the sign before, but that wasn’t the first time I’d had that experience. Many times I’d swear I’d never seen something, only to start seeing it everywhere I went.
Coming back tomorrow was always an option, but we were already here, and the voices had only been growing in intensity. As the Cruor blood faded from my system, a permanent solution was becoming more and more important—and the truth surrounding my ancestor’s death was the only stone I’d left unturned.
“Stop the car!”
Lauren jerked her 1978 orange Ford Pinto to a halt. I jumped out and popped my head back inside the passenger window. “I want to check an address. Be right back.”
“Wait!” Lauren scrambled after. “I want to come, too.”
“Hey!” Ivory stepped out and yelled after us. “Where are you going?”
“Come with us,” I called, halfway to the alley. I waited for Ivory to catch up while Lauren plowed ahead.
We caught up with Lauren. I expected consuming darkness, but light slanted in from streetlamps to reveal shoe-printed gum and oil staining the concrete. Doors with padlocks on the outside and broken windows repaired with plastic bags and duct tape lined the alley. Toward the end, dirty bricks framed a plain wooden door. The numbers seven and nine hung above the knocker. I could see the outline of another number; there were dirty spots around the edges, and the rest of the door was sun bleached, leaving the shade of a number three.
793 Basker Street.
“This is it.” I traced my fingers over the numbers. “This is the address from my book.”
Ivory stepped closer. “What book?”
I put my finger to my lips, trying to hear the muffled voices behind the closed door and boarded windows, but the whispers clattering in my mind prevented me from focusing on what the people inside were saying.
I frowned. Now what? Knock on the door? I turned back to my friends to offer some kind of explanation for why’d we come here. A shadow shifted behind Lauren, and I screamed. She screamed in response, and Ivory laughed.
“Damn it, Charles! Don’t sneak up on me.”
He grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the door. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice dark, maybe even a little angry. “You said you were going to the cemetery.”
“I saw this address in a book.” I tilted my head. “What are you doing here?”
“Taking you and your friends to dinner.” His offer didn’t sound friendly.
“How did you find us?” Did he see the car parked on the side of the road? Why was he on Litton Avenue?
“We’re leaving,” he said. “Now.”
I grasped Lauren’s hand and started to follow Charles. Ivory stayed a few steps behind, and Lauren kept flashing narrow glances my way.
“What’s his problem?” she asked.
“I have no—”
Several strangers jumped from somewhere above, landing almost silently to block our exit. To my left, several more stood on a fire exit, all dressed in familiar brown cloaks. They peeled back their hoods, some male and some female. Each had the same unnatural pallor, the same glistening fangs.
And they weren’t dressed for Halloween.
They must have been Cruor. Judging by Charles’ earlier reaction, he knew this too—and had known since before they showed up. So much for the idea I’d be fine traveling in a group.
There were at least a dozen of them. Most stood as if frozen by pain, hands balled in tight fists, teeth pressed firmly together. A few leaned toward us, some inched closer before jolting themselves still. None looked like the kind of people I wanted to invite over for tea.
I gasped, backing away, heart speeding. Charles turned to me, jaw clenched. Lauren moved aside, pressing her back against the building’s brick wall—even she sensed something was off. Ivory took a protective stance in front of her, but I was too stressed to be surprised.
I glanced over my shoulder. More Cruor crowded the other end of the alley. There must have been three dozen or more in total. I inched closer to Charles, and he wrapped his arm around me.
A petite, dark-haired woman stepped out of the gathering. She circled us, seemingly more at ease than her companions, then stopped by Charles and rose on her toes to put her lips close to his ear.
“Hello, Charlie.” She drew out each word and emphasized his name with a giddy lilt. She ran her fingernails slowly down the back of his neck. “Who are your friends? We’ve never met them before.”
Charles recoiled from her touch.
A tall Cruor-man with cropped blond hair glided over. Ivory pulled Lauren further behind her.
“They don’t know anything,” Ivory said.
He tilted his head, and his lips pulled back. The expression was too unnatural to call a smile. “I could enlighten them.” He peeked around Ivory and waved at Lauren.
“Back the fuck off,” Ivory warned.
Lauren glanced to me, but I had nothing to offer. She clutched Ivory’s hand, her eyes wide, her stance wooden. Her olive complexion paled and the skin above her cheekbones and around her lips turned ashen.
The dark-haire
d Cruor circled again, walking behind me. She placed her hands on my arms. My skin crawled, and I shrank closer to Charles. Her hair grazed my neck as she leaned over my shoulder. “This one is cute. Is she your new girlfriend, Charlie?”
Each time she said his name in her sing-song way, anger overtook my fear. I locked my gaze on Charles. “Do you know her?”
“Of course he knows us, honey. Or hasn’t he told you?”
{chapter fourteen}
THE DARK-HAIRED Cruor-woman laughed and looked up to Charles. “This is rich. You should drop by more often.”
“Thalia.” His fists clenched—one at his side, the other at the base of my spine. “Back. Off. Now.”
She giggled. A tangle of eggplant-black curls tumbled down her back as she sauntered in front of him and snaked her arms around his neck. “Oh, don’t be like that. You used to be fun.” She walked her fingers up the side of his arm and clicked her teeth. “Don’t you remember? Oh, but these last few months—where have you been? I’ve been so lonely.” The pout on her face filtered into her voice. I wanted to smack her.
My hearing blotted and my stomach churned. The stress frenzied the voices in my mind worse than ever, but soon a warm push at my mind calmed them away. The Cruor were trying to influence me. I pushed back. Not this time.
“Cut the crap, Thalia,” Charles said, a warning cloud settling across his features. “I know what you’re trying to do.”
“I’m just playing, Charlie.” She cinched her gaze on my friends and me. Violet rimmed her large pupils—two large voids illuminated with an eerie glow. At least she wasn’t hungry, not with such a bright glow to her eyes. “How did you meet these … girls … anyway?”
Charles’ energy was palpable; a barely controlled anger coiled in his body as Thalia spoke. He shoved her away and grabbed my hand. “We’re leaving.”
The Forever Girl Page 13