“Gregory—”
“Get in the fucking boat before I leave you here!”
I jump at his tone and I climb into the canoe and he pushes it out, then climbs in himself and begins to row us back to the island, not speaking a word, his eyes burning a hole into me.
18
Sebastian
I’m lying on Helena’s bed reading when she walks into the room. She startles, stops.
Her hair’s wet and she’s wearing a bikini, carrying her clothes. She’s out of breath.
“Where were you?” I ask.
Her eyes fall on the notebook I’m reading. “What are you doing?” She comes forward, goes to grab it out of my hands.
I pull it away, stand up. “Maid found it tucked between the mattress and the box spring when she was changing the sheets. How long have you had this?”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s none of your business.”
“Well, actually, yes, it is my business.”
She rubs her hand over her forehead. “I can’t deal with this right now.” She goes into the bathroom, closes the door.
I open it. She’s standing at the sink, the clothes she was holding in a heap on the floor. She’s looking at her reflection but I’m not sure she’s seeing anything at all.
“Mind telling me what the fuck is going on?”
She turns the taps, washes her face. “I need a shower.”
“Why?”
“Because your brother just took me out to some island for a swim and I’m salty from the water. All right?”
“What island?”
“A cove. Not an island.”
I feel my jaw tighten. “What did he do?”
“Nothing.”
“Doesn’t look like it was nothing.”
“Just leave it alone.”
I go to the sink, switch the taps off. “Did he touch you?”
She looks at me. “It’s always the same thing. You let him touch me, Sebastian. Remember? More than once.”
“And I remember you liking it,” I say, grabbing her arms, shaking her. “I remember hearing you come. Can’t get the sound out of my head, in fact.”
“You know what? I did like it, I liked him fucking me. I came. And maybe I should have let him do what he wanted—”
“What did he want?”
“To kiss me. Just to kiss me. That’s all.”
I release her and when she walks back into the bedroom, I follow her.
“Kissing is different. Intimate,” I say.
“How is fucking less intimate? I mean, I get it that he’s confused. You put me out there and then you take me back. Hang me back out there, then snatch me back. And I can’t tell what you want. What you’re doing out of obligation.” She drops to a seat on the bed. “I can’t even tell what I want.”
I stand back, watch her. “I control it. He can only touch you when I say. He can only touch you how I say. I control it.”
“But you can’t control emotions, Sebastian. It doesn’t work that way, not even for you. You can try to arrange us the way you want in your stupid game and you still can’t control what we feel. No one can!”
“Get showered and changed and stay in your room. I need to have a word with my brother.”
She looks up at me. “What are you going to do?”
“That’ll be between me and him.”
“You have so many secrets, so much between you and him. So how come I’m always the one in the middle? How come I’m always the one tugged around, stretched to the point of breaking?”
I take a minute to answer. I know this broken record.
“It’s what happens. What the Willow Girl does.” I walk to the door but stop and turn back. “Here too,” I say, holding up the notebook. “With your aunt. Only then with extreme consequences. I won’t let that happen to my brother and me.”
“You want it all. You want me. You want him. It’s not going to work. Don’t you see that? Someone’s going to get hurt. Maybe all of us.”
Fuck.
I run a hand through my hair.
“I need to find my brother.”
She shakes her head, turns away.
I walk out the door, down the stairs. I drop the book on my desk before heading out of the house and I find my brother exactly where I think I’ll find him.
“What the fuck did you think you were doing taking that thing out? Taking her in it?” I ask.
Gregory’s sitting on top of the upside-down canoe smoking a cigarette. He’s stored it back where I’d left it that day years ago. The last time I took it out.
He takes the last drag on his cigarette before dropping it to the ground, burying it in the sand. He stands, looks at me.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, walking toward me, then past me. “She’s back, safe and sound. I didn’t tip the canoe.”
I grab his arm, stop him. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“Please. I’m not fucking stupid. Ethan wasn’t ever a good swimmer and you knew it. You wanted to punish Lucinda? What did you do instead? You destroyed any chance of Ethan having a normal life.”
“Like you give a shit about him.”
“He didn’t deserve what he got.”
Fuck. He’s right. “I didn’t…It wasn’t like that.”
“No? How was it?”
I release him, look out toward the water, run a hand through my hair. “What I did to Ethan,” I start through clenched teeth, “it was a mistake. One I’ve paid for.”
At that he chuckles. “You paid? How did you pay exactly?”
I follow him with my eyes as he turns a circle around me.
“Because from where I stand, only one person paid and that was Ethan,” he says. “And he doesn’t even fucking know it.”
“You don’t know anything. You don’t know what it was like for me.”
“Bad enough you almost killed your brother. Oh, sorry, not your brother. I guess that makes it okay.”
“Fuck you.”
“No, fuck you. First-born Scafoni son. What a joke, you’re not even that. And yet, you get everything. Every fucking thing you want, while the rest of us pay for it.”
“How do you pay, Gregory?”
He just looks at me for a long time and I think I see how he pays. I see what Helena sees. What she keeps trying to tell me. That aloneness.
Maybe it’s that that draws her to him.
“Fuck. What the fuck is happening?” I ask no one.
I sit on the canoe, run a hand through my hair.
“I fucked up, Greg. I have no excuse. I’m not making one. I fucked up. When I think about what happened, what I wanted to do—what I did do—to Ethan, I’m sick. I’m disgusted with myself.”
“Yeah, well, that’s not really good enough, is it? Not when you look at Ethan.”
I look at the ground. He’s right. “And I’m fucking up now. With her. With you.”
“I just don’t get it. God or karma or something should deal with you. Should make you pay. But here you are, king of the world. You get everything, and on top of it, she fucking loves you. You!”
I look up just in time to see him blink away, shake his head.
“After everything, she loves you. A real piece of work that one. Fucking masochist through and through. You two are perfect for each other.”
I stand.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I ask.
He turns back to me. “Like you don’t fucking know.”
“Helena.”
“At least call her the fucking Willow Girl. At least fucking pretend that’s all she is to you for my sake.”
“She’s been hurt. What Lucinda did—”
“Fuck what Lucinda did. Just fuck it. She’s the fucking Willow Girl. It’s what’s supposed to happen. We’re not supposed to fucking fall in love with her. You take her and you break her. It’s the rule. And it will be when it’s my turn.”
“Greg.” But all I hear in my head is: “We’re not supposed to fuc
king fall in love with her.”
Helena’s wrong. He’s not lonely.
He’s in love.
Or at least he thinks he is.
“No. Fuck you, Sebastian. Just fuck you and fuck her and fuck it all. You let me have pieces of her while you watched. You let me touch her, but you want her eyes on you when I do. You punish her when she looks at me. You punish her when she comes and it’s not on your dick. You know what? She’s right. It’s not fucking fair.”
“I fucking shared her with you.”
“To keep me under control. You think I don’t know that?”
I step toward him, and he to me. A repeat of the other night.
“Because you wanted her,” I say.
“And maybe she wanted me? A little at least? Is that what burns you up?”
My hands fist.
“Can’t stand hearing that, can you? Well, don’t do me any more fucking favors, brother. You keep her. For now. It’s the rule. But when my turn comes, if you haven’t burned your mark into her skin—and don’t fucking tell me the thought of it doesn’t make your dick hard because it sure does mine—well, let’s just say I’ll keep to the rules too. I’ll take her. And I’ll fucking break her and you’ll both wish you’d been the one to do it because when I’m done with her, there will be nothing left. Nothing.”
19
Helena
Gregory is gone when I get downstairs later that night. His place isn’t set for dinner and one of the boats is missing. Sebastian looks like he’s on his second bottle of whiskey, just sitting there watching the fire, refilling his glass.
I slip into the seat beside his. Gregory’s seat.
“Where is he?”
He doesn’t look away from the fire, just shrugs a shoulder.
“You fought?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“Over me?”
“Over a lot of things.” He turns to me, gives me a smile that’s the saddest smile I’ve ever seen. “And he was right.”
“Right about what?”
“Everything. Ethan. You. Me.” He shakes his head. “He must hate me. And I deserve his hate.”
“No, you don’t,” I reach out, touch his hand.
It’s like he doesn’t even feel it.
“You’re right, too, Helena. This whole thing, it destroys us as much as it destroys you.”
“Sebastian—”
“The Willow Girl. Taking her. This insane covenant, it leads to our destruction as much as yours.” He picks up the bottle of whiskey to pour himself some more, splashes the liquid on the table. “You know we stopped once.”
“Maybe it’s enough,” I say, trying to take the bottle away. He’s had too much already.
He pulls it back. “I’ll say when it’s enough.”
“Sebastian—”
“Two generations didn’t do it. That’s when we started dying. That’s when the first-born son started to die.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Used to be four of us. The Willow Girl would serve four brothers over four years. But when they didn’t take a girl, it was like we cursed our own line.”
“You can’t believe that.”
He shrugs a shoulder. “It’s recorded, actually. From the beginning. If the Scafoni sons fail to uphold their end of the bargain, they’re punished. It’s to keep it going. To never forget our duty.”
“Sebastian, you know that makes no sense.”
“Timothy and me being twins, it’s the first time that’s happened. Maybe, since we’ve been taking Willow Girls…maybe the curse is finished. Maybe we paid.”
“Curse?” Doesn’t he hear how ridiculous this sounds?
“Maybe my sons will survive.”
I snort, shake my head. “To carry on this sick tradition?” I get up, walk away. “To destroy more lives?”
“You destroy us too, remember that.” He puts his glass down on the table and rises. “Walk with me.”
He doesn’t give me a choice but takes my hand, weaves his fingers through it and we walk.
“Where are we going?” I ask, pulling back when he doesn’t answer, when I realize where he’s taking me. “Sebastian?”
“Mausoleum.”
I stop. “Why?”
“You know why.”
I try to pull free. “No. I don’t want to go there.”
“You’ve been there already. Even though I told you that you weren’t allowed.”
I don’t answer, he’s not expecting me to.
“I want to show you something,” he says.
“I don’t like it there, Sebastian.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to you, Helena.”
The way he’s looking at me, I don’t know if it’s the liquor or what, but it’s intense and a little scary, actually.
“Let’s go tomorrow. During the day.”
He almost chuckles at that. “They’re ghosts, Helena. They can’t touch you.”
We walk on, because it’s no point arguing with him. If he wants me to be there, I’m going to be there. He’ll carry me kicking and screaming if he has to.
I see the glow of the red light as we near the clearing and I swear the angel’s visible eye shines in the moonlight.
We walk past the entrance to the main room, though, like I know we will. He walks me around the side of the building and takes out his phone, shines it on the gate of the entrance around the back.
The lock is lying on the ground. I wonder if it had fallen off after I’d run away from here. If he thinks it was me, he doesn’t say anything but pulls the chain out and opens both gates wide. He shines his light inside.
“What’s down there?”
“What you read about in your Aunt Helena’s journal.”
He takes my hand, the one with the ring. “This doesn’t belong to you.”
I feel that strange sensation again, that burning where Cain Scafoni’s bone circles my finger.
“It belongs in the ground,” he says. “Here.”
I pull my hand away. “Not yet.”
Not yet. But later, when this is over. When this legacy is no longer that, when it’s finished once and for all. When I end it.
Because I’ll be the last Willow Girl.
I know it.
Even if it costs me my life, I know I’ll be the last.
A shudder runs through me.
“Not yet,” I repeat quietly.
Sebastian studies me and he nods, and I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing. That we’ll bury it when this is over. Really over.
“Sebastian,” I ask, stopping him when he takes a step toward the stairs that lead underground and into that inky black.
He turns to me.
“Do you want it to be over?” I ask.
His forehead is creased, it has been all night. Like he’s deep in thought and maybe mourning.
He nods once, then turns and shines the flashlight of the phone down into the mouth of this dark cavern before disappearing into it.
“Come,” he calls.
I take a tentative step, my heart racing, wondering how I’d done it earlier, how I’d gone down there. I’m terrified of it, of the energy coming from it, like that dank smell of a rotting mouth.
“Helena.” He comes back up and I can see a corner of his face and his outstretched hand. “Come.”
I reach for his hand and shudder, but take a step forward, then another and soon we’re walking down into this forsaken place, and with each step, the temperature drops, until it feels like a cold, damp winter day.
I count the steps, thirteen of them.
Unlucky.
Something scurries across the floor and I scream and if it weren’t for Sebastian holding me, I’d turn and run back up those stairs and out of that condemned place. Out into the night and to the sanctuary of the house.
“It’s a rat. Just a rat.”
“Have you been down here before?”
“Yes,” he says, and shines the flashlight ove
r the room. It’s bigger than the one upstairs and I see along the walls more Scafoni ancestors. We walk toward one and on one of the few where I can still read the inscription, I see it dates back to the 1700s.
“We’ll need to add a floor,” he says, and I am not sure if he’s joking.
“This is creepy. Can we go?”
“Not yet.”
He doesn’t let go of my hand and I’m grateful for that as he leads me around the room and I see along the walls where torches must have been placed at one point to provide light.
But it’s not that that has my attention. It’s the large stone slab at the far end, the one that stands before the altar as if waiting for its sacrifice.
We go to it and Sebastian releases me to wipe off cobwebs, but they’re too thick and an inch of dust or dirt sits on top of every flat surface.
“There should be a sanctuary light here too. Like upstairs.”
He searches with the flashlight on the ground while I try not to hear the sound of rats or other animals and hug my arms to myself.
“Are we done?” I ask.
“Come here,” he says.
I go to him and he holds the phone out to me. “Hold it.”
He crouches down and reaches to pull at what looks to be a heavy chest almost buried by dust.
“What is it?” I ask.
His muscles work as he frees it, then stands back to look at it.
“Your aunt, what she wrote about the marking ceremony.” He reaches down and opens it. “I didn’t realize the middle brother had branded her his.”
“Branded?”
He nods. Hauls the heavy lid open. Inside are various objects, none of which I can make out or give a name too. Sebastian, though, he crouches down again and he’s looking through it, rummaging for something.
“She was blamed for Cain’s murder, but it was his brothers, according to her journal at least. Which makes sense. I can’t imagine she’d have been strong enough to smother him.”
He finds what he’s looking for. Four somethings.
He straightens, sets them on the altar.
“What are they?” I ask, but I think I know.
He picks up the first iron. It’s about a foot long. The handle is woven metal with a few inches of worn wood and it has three prongs that end in a flat almost circular shape but not quite. There are markings, four compartments almost.
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