by Kristie Cook
Monroe tucked her shining blonde hair behind her ears before standing slowly. “Someone should burn that thing!”
Seriously, she was being too dramatic.
Leaning in to grab my ratty back pack, I warned, “Hey, don’t insult the Lady.”
Monroe flipped me off.
Conor slid between us, his brows arched. “Alright Marilyn and Morticia, the mighty halls of Brownstone High awaits no one. Even you self-righteous know-it-all bestie freaks.”
I snorted. Morticia, my ass. I liked my eye liner a little on the heavy side when I could get away with makeup, but that’s where the similarities ended.
“They haven’t turned cannibalistic yet, have they? Or better yet, built the impenetrable Wall of Silence?” Lita Delgado asked as she sauntered up behind us from the parking lot.
Being around the same people for years tended to invite the jibes. There wasn’t much we didn’t know about each other. The silent treatment of 2006 applied as such.
Monroe pointed crone bent fingers toward Lita’s forehead. “Watch yourself.”
My groan was drowned out by the shrill ring of the tardy bell. Students poured around us.
“Incoming!” Monroe warned.
Jacin Young walked toward us from down the hall, his head bent and hoodie pulled low over his forehead. The sight of our shoes kept him from plowing into us. At 5’6, Jacin wasn’t a tall guy, but what he didn’t cover in height, he more than made up for in muscle. As the quarterback on the school’s football team, he was an instant school celebrity. And he had it pretty bad for Lita, our resident punker.
Lita made most girls look tame, but she did it in a my attitude doesn’t match my look manner. With shining black hair highlighted in neon blue, tribal tattoos on her dark Hispanic skin, piercings in places the school board hadn’t yet managed to make her take out, and leather dominating her wardrobe whenever she could get away with it, she was, surprisingly, the quietest girl in our group.
“You could hear the bell if you pulled your ear buds out,” Monroe teased. She tugged on Jacin’s iPod. “By the way, class is that way.”
Jacin fell in beside Lita, his tennis shoes contrasting sharply with her combat boots. “Not me. I have to meet with coach. And anything that gets me out of Fitzpatrick’s class is a God send.”
Sticking one of his ear buds into her ears, Monroe immediately scrunched her nose and threw it down in disgust. She hated most modern music. “Whatever happened to Sinatra? Hell, even Elvis or the Beatles would do.”
Conor grunted. “Try appreciating us alive guys a little more, Roe. What is it we’re missing that disgusts you so much?”
Jacin whispered something into Lita’s ear, causing her to smile as he broke away from our group. I’d choose coach over Fitzpatrick any day, too. Lucky guy.
“A certain civility, gentility, and sensitivity,” Monroe answered.
Conor snorted. “You looking for a dog or a man?” He broke away from the rest of us, Lita on his heels.
“Dumb ox,” Monroe called out.
We walked into Fitzpatrick’s first period English class. Listening to them quarrel had made me forget my strange concerns. Well, almost. I could spin a mean fantasy world in my head, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t pretend the weekend away.
Chapter 4
He is one of the Cursed, a bloodline with no true link to Hell and no link at all with Heaven. The Earth is their domain. Mortals should fear them. They have no love for humankind.
~Bezaliel~
Conor limped to me from across the hall, his hand raised. “What’s up, Red?”
We were headed for fourth period philosophy, a new elective class my aunt insisted I take and the only one Conor and I shared. It was cloudy outside and his leg always bothered him when there was a chance of rain. I grinned and nodded. He pulled up alongside me, his six-foot broad frame completely overshadowing my five-foot-nothing thin one.
“Hey, Con,” I greeted.
Taking my backpack off of my shoulder, he threw it onto his back with his. I didn’t try and make him give it back. Even with a limp, his chivalry wasn’t lost.
“You seem distracted today. You okay, Red?” Conor asked.
We moved into the classroom and took a seat at the back of the room. Neither of us had any desire to sit near the front. Conor was only in the class because he needed one more elective and everything except Home Ec and Philosophy had been filled by the time he managed to finish his schedule.
I grunted. “I’m fine.”
Leaning my chair back on two legs, I watched him drop my back pack onto the floor.
“Roe told me about her vision,” Conor whispered.
My chair dropped so hard, it jarred me from the soles of my feet to the top of my head. “What?”
Conor shrugged. “She seemed disturbed by it, Red.”
I scowled.
It wasn’t like Monroe and me to skirt around an issue. But we had done that. Both of us. She had gone to Conor, and I still hadn’t told her about the weird conversation with Grayson, or the confrontation with Aunt Kyra. The window incident had been disturbing enough.
“Look, we back each other up when something is bothering us. And she had a right to be worried,” Conor said. He leaned close. “What if it wasn’t a vision?”
I shivered. It had to be a vision. Had to be. “You don’t have to elaborate.” Fear coiled in my gut.
Conor grinned. “I could always camp outside your window?” Wrapping one of my curls around his finger, he tugged it gently.
Smiling, I slapped his hand. “My aunt would have you drawn and quartered. Trust me, you don’t want to camp anywhere near my window.”
He frowned. “I don’t?”
His eyes caught mine. The emotions I saw there bothered me, and I gave him my best be serious look.
He shrugged. “I’m the quintessential knight."
A tapping sound interrupted us. “Mr. Reinhardt, Ms. Blainey, if you two would please refrain from conversing in my class, I would appreciate it,” Mr. James announced. I hadn’t even heard the bell.
Conor laced his fingers and cupped the back of his head. “I’m afraid she’s a lot prettier than you, Mr. James. I got a little distracted.”
Laughter filtered through the room. My cheeks burned. Conor winked.
Mr. James’ jaw tightened. “Let’s just get back to the topic at hand, shall we?” He turned to the board.
A discussion about the philosophy of Camus ensued, and my mind wandered. Monroe approaching Conor meant the vision had been more disturbing than she’d admitted to me. What had she really seen?
Anxiety sent chills through my body, and I rubbed my arms, my eyes darting from the board to the window. The grey clouds beyond were ominous and full of searching eyes. I was lost in them, my head full of gnawing doubt.
More than halfway through the class, Conor tapped me on the back and pointed at the front of the room. Mr. James looked at me expectantly.
I straightened. “I’m sorry. Can you repeat that?”
Faint snickers surrounded me.
Mr. James stepped down the aisle. “I wondered what your opinion about life after death was, Ms. Blainey. Each philosopher had a theory about death. I was curious to hear a student’s perspective."
His scornful tone made me nervous, and I eyed him before glancing around the room. Lodeston was a small town with the majority of the acreage owned by the Abbey. Everyone here knew I lived there. It wasn’t a secret. And it hadn’t made me the most popular student. If it wasn’t for my association with Conor and Jacin, I’d be nonexistent.
“Shouldn’t that be obvious?” I asked.
Mr. James shrugged and leaned against an empty desk across from mine. “We’re all aware of your upbringing, Ms. Blainey. But I’m asking for your opinion, not your aunt’s."
My shoulders tensed. Conor stiffened behind me. I hoped he wouldn’t interfere. Mr. James might be walking the "family" line but I had been the one to bring it up. It wa
s my bad.
“I’m not sure what you want, Mr. James. I believe in God. I believe in Heaven and Hell.”
I didn’t like reminding people I lived at the Abbey. I stared at Mr. James. He was a young teacher, strict but incredibly good looking. Most of the girls at the school were in love with him. He disturbed me.
“I want your in-depth opinion, Ms. Blainey. We know the basics of modern day religion. I’m talking about death. Camus believed that there was a void after death. Once we died, that was it. We must live life while we have it to live. What do you believe death holds for you? If you believe in Heaven, then what do you believe waits for you there?”
I glanced at the clock. Five minutes until the bell.
Conor raised his hand behind me. “I’ll answer.”
Mr. James stood beside my desk, his gaze peering down into mine. “I asked Ms. Blainey, Mr. Reinhardt,” he said firmly. I cringed. “Your answer, Ms. Blainey."
Anger caused my cheeks to flush.
“Angels, I suppose,” I said. “Streets of gold—”
Mr. James didn’t give an inch. “Your true opinion, Ms. Blainey. Not a guess.”
His knuckles rapped my desk. I jumped.
Conor stood. “Yo, dude—”
Mr. James rapped my desk again. Harder this time. “Your opinion, Ms. Blainey!”
I flinched, tears burning the back of my eyes.
He rapped yet again.
I snapped. “My parents!”
The bell rang. A tear slid down my cheek.
Mr. James nodded. “Was that so hard, Ms. Blainey?” He walked away.
Students slowly gathered their things, some glancing surreptitiously in my direction, as they exited the room.
Conor scowled at them. “That bastard!”
He offered me his hand. I stared at it.
“You okay?” Conor whispered.
Nodding, I slid my palm into his. My hand was sweaty. His was warm and dry.
I didn’t look at Mr. James as I followed Conor out of the classroom. Conor threw the bird at his back.
“Why should he jump you like that?” Conor asked.
Monroe met us in the hall, her gaze moving from me to Conor, noting my red eyes and his deep scowl. “What the hell?”
Conor’s jaw tensed. “That jackass, Mr. James.” He handed me my back pack. He had gym last period. Out of all of us, Conor had the easiest five period senior schedule. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked.
I nodded, and he flicked my chin before turning to head for the gymnasium.
Monroe’s gaze followed him before returning to mine. “What happened?”
Frowning, I murmured, “Nothing. It’s no big deal.”
I was okay. Really I was. Even if Mr. James’ voice kept penetrating my thoughts. What do you believe death holds for you?
***
My friends and I met at Monroe’s house after school. It was something we’d done since being put on probation the year before. We’d fulfilled our community service two months ago, but my aunt still thought I was working off my time.
“Try not to get the couch wet, please,” Monroe begged Conor.
The rest of us threw ourselves down randomly around the living room.
Conor, who’d come straight from the gym showers, shook his head. Water droplets hit us in the face. Monroe growled.
“Fight it out in a ring, you two,” Jacin teased.
Lita and I laughed. Monroe might enjoy a good wrestling spar, but I was pretty positive Conor had more interesting ideas for relieving angry tension. Conor winked at me.
Lita twirled a skull-covered cigarette lighter around in her fingers as Monroe popped a piece of gum into her mouth. She offered me a dumdum lollipop. We all had our addictions, though Lita was trying to quit hers. She wouldn’t light up in Monroe’s house, but it didn’t stop her from wanting to.
Lita glanced at me. “How long do you think it’s going to take your aunt to realize we’ve done our time?”
I shrugged. I honestly didn’t care. “At this point, I don’t think I could get her any angrier."
Monroe didn’t look convinced.
Conor’s gaze skirted Monroe’s shadowed expression before meeting mine. “I think you need to be more careful, Red.”
Monroe exhaled, her relieved gaze meeting Conor’s. Silence stretched. Lita’s lighter twirled faster.
My eyes narrowed. “Now would be a good time to tell me what’s going on."
Conor sat beside me, one arm stretched casually behind my head. It was a familiar gesture, but Conor was familiar with anything female.
“We’re worried,” he said.
My gaze went to his face. “Because of one vision?”
I saw Monroe shift uncomfortably from the corner of my eye.
Conor touched my shoulder. “It’s more than one vision, Red. Monroe scryed last night."
I stiffened, my back hitting Conor’s arm. Scrying, I knew, was the Wiccan method of divining the future or getting a clearer perspective on something.
Monroe came to sit at my feet. “Now, Day. Don’t get angry. What I saw … something’s wrong."
I looked at her. I wasn’t Wiccan, but I knew from being friends with Monroe as long as I had that scrying wasn’t accurate.
Lita sat forward, her elbows on her knees as the lighter flipped faster and faster. She was a part of Monroe’s Circle. “The visions were too clear to be discarded,” Lita murmured.
I glanced between them suspiciously.
Monroe stared at me. “I asked Lita to sit in on the scrying.”
The blood drained from my face. What was this? “What did you see?” I whispered.
Conor’s arm tightened around me.
Monroe bowed her head. “Blood.”
Her voice was so low, I had to strain to hear. Blood? Jacin’s face grew pale.
Lita watched me. “There were figures, blood, a chain …”
I could hear my own breathing in my ears. Silence filled the room. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say. Terror consumed me.
I choked. “What does that mean?”
Monroe moved next to me on the couch, her eyes capturing mine. “Day, I think you need to leave the Abbey. There’s danger ahead—”
Lita sat on an ottoman closer to the three of us. “Blood can mean death, rebirth … anything. The figures are completely unknown to us. No meaning seems linked. The chain can mean connection or imprisonment,” she explained.
Her words frightened me.
My eyes remained locked on Monroe’s. “I can’t leave the Abbey, especially after last year. The vision you saw might not have anything to do with the Abbey. My sister is there."
I couldn’t leave. I’d lost enough family.
Monroe’s hand found mine and gripped it. “I don’t think there’s much time, Day."
I glanced at my friends, at their tense expressions and hard eyes. This was crazy! One vision while sleeping over and suddenly my life was in danger? I had lived at the Abbey since I was ten. Nothing happened there. It was the most emotionless, suffocating, boring place on earth.
Ignoring the feelings I’d shared with Monroe Saturday night, I stared at my feet. True, I felt like the walls were closing in on me, but I didn’t trust my instincts not to be influenced by my dreams or fantasies. I had a powerful imagination. The Abbey was a prison in my head, its talking, closed-in walls a product of my mind.
“Scrying isn’t accurate. You’ve told me that before, Roe. We were scared Saturday night. Couldn’t the visions be affected by that?” I asked.
Monroe didn’t answer, her momentary silence lessening my fear.
Her hand found my shoulder. “It doesn’t matter. I’d rather take the chance I was wrong than risk your life."
There were few options left to me. I couldn’t run. Not without Amber. The vision hadn’t been of the Abbey. I lived in a church surrounded by nuns. How much safer could you get?
“I won’t run,” I whispered.
Ever
yone moved away from me except Conor. Monroe’s wary gaze remained locked on my face even as she stood. I didn’t blame her. If the roles were reversed, I’d be terrified for her, too.
Conor leaned down, grabbed the half-eaten dumdum I was holding in my hand, and stuffed it in his mouth. “You should listen to her,” he whispered, his breath fanning my ear.
I shivered.
The room around us buzzed with sudden conversation. Lita teased Jacin and Conor followed suit, his gaze drifting every so often to Monroe.
Reclining, I watched them chat, my body present but my mind gone. At some point, I felt Conor massage my shoulder and point to my cell phone. It had been a birthday present from the Jacobs. Monroe’s mother had given it to me and told me not to worry about the bill. I owed a lot to the Jacobs.
I glanced at the screen and jumped up. “I’ve got to go.”
Monroe followed me to the door.
“See you tomorrow, Red,” Conor called.
I smiled distantly.
“Be careful. Please, Dayton,” Monroe pleaded. “You need me, call me.”
Hugging her hard, I mumbled, “See you tomorrow."
Moving outside, I climbed into my car, laying my head against my steering wheel. Images plagued me. Figures, blood, a chain … that wasn’t my life.
***
Driving down the lane to the Abbey, I took in my surroundings with a trepidation I hadn’t felt before. Everything looked eerie. Things leaped out of the shadows, inky figures that crawled over my Pontiac and away again. A squirrel bounded out in front of my car, and I ran off the road.
“Just breathe, Day."
There was a reason I didn’t watch horror movies. I got scared too easily. This was my life, not some Michael Meyers film. I inhaled deeply and willed my heart rate to slow.
“That’s better.”
My car rolled to a stop, and I climbed out of the vehicle.
The Abbey loomed upward behind me like a gothic mansion from a Bronte novel. Wind tugged at my hair as I walked across the lawn, and I entered the Abbey just as the first sprinkles of rain began to fall.