His tone sounds happy, lighter than before. “Listen to the world around you. Listen beyond the boundaries. Push against them.” His voice slides down the walls behind me, a slow drip that coats the icy air. “Close your eyes.”
14
There Is A Lake
The sun set an hour ago. I have the old parchments spread out on my desk in front of the map I pulled up on my computer. There is only one lake in the area my ancestors are from, and the stories about it read like mythology.
It’s frozen over year-round, according to satellite images, and people rarely venture close because the air in the woods around it is said to be toxic—poisonous. A thick fog hovers over the lake, and anyone who’s strayed too close for too long has fallen ill. Even drones have shorted out and fallen out of the sky over it.
Sounds exciting. Maybe I’ll go there for a vacation. It’s the famed homeland, plus it has an eerie lake. I stretch back in my desk chair and push myself to my feet. I need a break. My neck is starting to feel sore, and my eyes are glazing over. I make my way to Marley’s apartment and let myself in.
Oscar starts squeaking at once. My eyes graze over the colorful array of photographs and art on the walls as I make my way into the living room. The layout is slightly different than mine. It’s more compact, and the built-in fixtures have a more countryside modern feel to them. The cabinets in the kitchen are oak wood instead of glass, like my own. Bright pink and lime green curtains cover her windows. The furniture is upholstered in light colored fabrics with bold, geometric shapes on them. Everything in here matches her personality completely.
A winding staircase leads up from the side of the kitchen to a loft area filled with giant prints of nature photos. I give Oscar a healthy handful of hay, and travel up to the loft while he munches away.
The pictures up here are always different. The first one is of a cluster of pink butterflies. The background is a blurred combination of green and pink and rain. Where did she even find something like this? I need to get out more.
While I study the pictures, my mind travels back to the stories regarding the lake. I’ve never been much for believing in wild stories, but something about it is really intriguing. I don’t know if it’s because the Pendragons lived there, and I’ve always wanted to see it because of the crazy tales my grandfather told us, or if it’s because the area matches the drawing one of my ancestors made.
“There is a lake…hidden from the eyes of mortals.” Or not so hidden, since people keep running into it and getting sick. So many stories say the forest is cold. That even in the middle of summer, icy dew sits on the leaves.
Some say it’s haunted. That wailing echoes out from the darkness when the moon is high. A shiver races up my arms. I have to see that place. Plus, it probably won’t be crowded. That’s always good.
I make my way back down to Oscar, refill his water bottle, and then sit down next to his open pen. I stick a hand inside, and he slowly eases up to me and sniffs. I reach in a little further and run my fingertips over his soft, fluffy head.
The more I think about the lake, the more I want to see it. Nervousness paws lightly at the back of my mind, at the thought of traveling alone. But I want things to change, don’t I? Somehow. Nothing will ever change if I don’t try.
“There is a lake…” That has to be the same one. I wonder what it meant to whoever wrote those words. I wonder how long ago they were written. “Only one marked may enter. All others perish.” Oscar peers up at me while I talk to myself. “I sound crazy, don’t I?” I refill his food dish, and he scampers over to stick his head in it.
I guess if I’m going to make an effort, the first thing I need to do is go to my grandfather’s and rifle through Alara’s things. My stomach twists at the thought. But there’s a quote I read somewhere once that’s really fitting to my situation. It’s probably always been fitting…something about how people never change until it hurts too much to stay the same.
Does it still count if I didn’t realize how much I hated everything until Arthur asked me to think about it?
I nod to myself. It counts. I’m going to step out of this box I was forced into. And I’m going to start with a trip to Northern Scotland. To visit a haunted woods and peer into a toxic, frozen lake.
All others perish.
15
Faint and Constant
The greenery around the mansion is plush to the point of being obnoxious, and I notice that the long cobbled driveway has a new shape to it. It used to be one thick, straight block down to the front of the house. Now it’s curved, because a hole has been drilled into the center of it, large enough to fit the new giant horse fountain. More fluffy greenery surrounds it, and I have to admit, the change looks really good. Of course, it just screams “rich person,” but that’s my grandfather in a nutshell. He couldn’t be one of those frugal businessmen. He’s the flashy kind everyone wishes they could hate, but they can’t because he’s so damn nice and pays for everything.
I hitched a ride over with Griffin, who claimed he’d been wanting to come over here anyway. He didn’t seem to mind my silence and filled the space between us with music talk. His face lit up as he chatted about the process of writing lyrics and how he usually gets a melody first.
Back when I wrote a lot of music, I usually started with the lyrics. There was always so much I wanted to say.
The voice has been strangely silent since my last visit. Part of me hopes it’s because he’s trying not to smother me. I don’t like it though. It makes me feel abandoned. And worried. Is he just stalking my energy and listening to everything I say? Is he simply giving me some space to digest things? I’m rather torn between going back down there and never going back again. But he and I both know I’ll be back. I have to go back. I have to know what he is.
It’s like I’m Pandora and whoever put him in there was Zeus. All the women in the family were charged with keeping an eye on him. All the others have died trying to stay away—the thought of what’s in there more terrifying than throwing themselves off a tower. But curiosity can sometimes be more powerful than fear.
I’ve never felt energy like that before. Honestly, I’ve never been aware of feeling anyone’s energy. Now that I’ve been thinking about it though, I realize I’ve been picking up on it almost my entire life. Griffin’s energy has a nice hum to it. I can almost see it hovering around him, kind of neon and happy.
“You’re awfully quiet over there,” he says. “Am I boring you?”
“You’re not boring. I just don’t want to be here.”
He laughs and pulls his car to a stop behind Jerod’s. I suppress a groan. It’s freaking Saturday. Shouldn’t he be out throwing diamonds at his stupid girlfriend? She’s inside with him, I know it. And probably Logan too.
“Have you talked to Logan?”
Griffin shakes his head. “No. I’m waiting until I think I can do it without punching him in the face.” His jaw hardens. Then he smiles over at me. “Ervin has been wanting you to come over here for years. What made you change your mind? Has he been hassling you?”
I return his smile. I can’t help it. “Arthur thinks it’s a good idea. He says some of my aunt’s things are still here and that I might find them interesting.”
“Whatever it takes. I know they’ll be happy to see you.”
I almost laugh. “I really don’t think so. My grandfather, yes. My grandmother?” I unbuckle my seat belt and take a moment to steady my breath. “Let’s just say there’s more than one reason I’m showing up unannounced.”
Griffin chuckles as we step out of the car. I’m not joking though. There was no way I was telling anyone I was coming tonight. Not even Arthur. There would have been a voodoo priestess waiting for me by the mailbox, I know it.
A wide staircase flows down from the front door. It’s offset by ramps and newly painted rails. My heart sticks when we stop in front of the door. Griffin rings the bell and then steps inside. When I don’t move, he wraps his hand around mine a
nd pulls me in behind him.
The front hall leads straight to the kitchen. Branching off to the left is the living room, and inside, I can see my grandfather near the end of what looks to be an intense game of chess with Enid. She smirks across the coffee table from behind long, dark bangs. I slip my hand away from Griffin’s and go stash myself in the kitchen.
Mistake.
My grandmother turns away from the fridge at my footsteps, and surprise lights across her face. “Jade…” She looks off to the side and draws her brows tight together. She says nothing else, and I say nothing either. The spacious, country-style room fills with awkward silence.
She clears her throat and tucks a stray piece of silver hair back into her low ponytail. Then she pulls out pitchers of lemonade and iced tea and mixes them together into five tall glasses. I stare at her while she pours, and her hands start to tremble. She pinches her lips together and concentrates hard on the glasses. I still say nothing.
Arthur walks into the kitchen, through the archway behind her. “Let me help you with that, Mom.” He stops short and follows her gaze to where I’m standing. His face brightens. “Jade!” He crosses the room and pulls me into a warm hug. “You finally showed up. When’s the last time you saw her, Mom? Isn’t it great that she’s here?”
She gives me a tight-lipped smile that looks more like a grimace. “Yes. She’s…so beautiful.”
Cursed. She wanted to say cursed. She always wants to tell me to leave. Rumor has it she once told my parents to have me locked up in an insane asylum overseas. Rumor also has it that she urged my father to have me aborted while they could still suck me out without harming my brother. Lovely woman. Super cold, like an ice cube.
“Isn’t she?” My uncle grins and gestures through the archway. “We’re starting a new round of Texas Hold ‘Em. I would ask if you wanted to join us, but I don’t want to mess around and forget to give you that box.”
My grandmother eyes us with sharp curiosity as she loads the glasses onto a polished silver platter. Emeralds line the edge, and they shine under the trio of small chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. And that’s the everyday platter. The “good one” has an actual diamond embedded in the center of it that’s bigger than my nose.
“He’s giving me what’s left of Alara’s things,” I say with a bright smile.
Her sourness drops from her face. “Oh, good. That’s wonderful.”
Yes, don’t worry, Grandma, I’m not here to chat. I’m here to take some hexed objects off your hands. I suppress an eye roll and follow my uncle back through the hall, to a staircase wide enough to fit a large two-story house.
“She hates me.”
“Aw, no. She doesn’t hate you, kid. She’s just…well, she’s not a warm woman.”
Understatement. He leads me to a door at the end of the main upstairs hallway. Back in the day, this closet was filled with sporting equipment for my brothers, Griffin, and Logan. When he opens it now, all evidence of that is gone. It’s been replaced with neat rows of boxes. Arthur reaches for the one squeezed into the top left corner and pulls it down.
“Dad told me to go through all of these when we got here to see if there was anything I wanted.” He presses the box into my arms. The flaps have been taped down, and Alara’s name, printed on a standard computer label, is affixed to one side. It’s lighter than I was expecting. He pulls a small knife from his back pocket and cuts it open for me. “Did you come here with Griffin?” When I look up, he winks at me.
“It’s not like that,” I say automatically.
“Jerod told me you guys are dating.”
My cheeks burn. Of course he did. And of course Griffin said something. They’re super close. “Um…we just had coffee.”
“Cece and I started with just coffee.” He makes air quotes around the words just coffee.
“Well…it was just coffee.”
He laughs and nods at the box. “I don’t know what’s in there, but you can hang out up here and poke around if you want.” He pats my shoulder as he moves past me to the stairs. “I won’t tell anyone you’re here.”
“Thank you.” I settle down on the floor and peer inside the box. There isn’t much to see. There’s a velvet case with a necklace inside. It’s not my style, but it’s pretty. Small flowers made of amethyst and amber adorn a delicate silver chain. I hold it up to the light for a moment. A long piece of chain dangles from the clasp. I can’t tell if it’s just decoration or serves to make the necklace adjustable. I tuck it away and pull out the next item: a purple scarf. It’s soft and gauzy. Not something to be worn in the winter. More like an accessory.
Next in the box are a stack of photographs. They’re all of beautiful places from around the States and other parts of the world. She’s in a lot of them, just off center. In some she’s wearing the scarf. She’s always smiling, but her eyes are haunted…there’s something forlorn in them, something lonely. In a few of the pictures she’s standing next to a guy I’ve never seen before. I wonder who he was…who he is. I look on the back, but it’s completely blank.
The last item inside is a journal with a dark purple cover and her name written across the center in gold. I run my fingers over the neat, beautiful script, and then open it up to the first page.
My case worker wants me to talk to someone about my feelings, even if I’m just talking to myself. He says it’ll help me sort things, whatever that means.
It’s lonely here. And everyone trapped in here with me is crazy. They tell me I’m crazy too. Not in those exact words, of course, but I don’t feel like I am. When things are quiet I feel well. Like there’s a chance things will stay silent forever.
They tell me I have auditory hallucinations and the most likely cause is schizophrenia. I’ll take it because it means they’ll stop scanning my brain for neurological damage. But I don’t have that. I know I don’t. There are people here who have that. Most of them are really sweet, but I’m not like them. I have no other symptoms of it, except maybe depression. But doesn’t that come with the territory? Doesn’t that come as a result of being isolated? Constantly scanned? Constantly told that there’s something wrong with me? How can they be so sure I have this condition with only one symptom?
They keep giving me pills. They’re all kinds of different colors and actually quite pretty. But those pills are just making me sick. Nothing silences him.
I wish I’d never said anything. I’m just so tired of his voice, and I don’t know why it won’t go away. It follows me. It’s fainter in some places, distant places like Rome and Argentina and Jakarta. But it’s constant, like his voice is part of the winds.
I shut the journal and hug it to my chest. Him? How old was she when she wrote this? I open the book again, but none of the entries have dates. They’re just separated by a squiggly line.
I put everything back into the box and carry it downstairs. Griffin is hanging out in the entrance to the living room, talking and laughing with someone inside. He looks over his shoulder when I drop down to the landing.
“Is that my Jade?” My grandfather’s cheerful voice travels out into the hall, and moments later, he steps around Griffin, his bright gray eyes sparkling with delight. “Why didn’t you tell me you were stopping by?”
“You know why.”
He laughs at this and drops his gaze down to the box in my arms. “Ah…” His smile fades some. “How did you find out about that?”
I hold it closer to my body. “Arthur told me to take it.”
“Did he?” My grandfather nods as he scans the box. “I don’t why I’ve hung onto it all these years. I guess…” He shakes his head. “Griffin says you guys are heading out to dinner. I wish you could stay a little longer. I have a friend who’d love to meet you. He studied in the Caribbean for seven years under a real Haitian voodoo priest. You’d like him.”
I wouldn’t. “Well, we have reservations.”
“Too bad. I mean, I’m happy you two are hanging out. He’s one of my favorite people.
I just miss you is all. Maybe you can stop by sometime next week?”
“I can’t.”
He runs a hand over the white sprouts of hair along his jaw. “You know, grandpas can die suddenly when they’re as old as me.”
“You’re not that old.”
“I don’t feel old. Sometimes I think I’m still sixty, but then I remember that your uncle is fifty-five, and I say to myself, ‘that can’t be right.’ You know I’m eighty, right? Don’t you want to bond with your grandparents, your only grandparents, before they keel over? Your grandmother is seventy-nine, did you know that? She had the prettiest blonde hair when she was your age. Now look at her, gray as the night is long. Cranky like she’s already got one foot in the ground.”
I smile, just a bit. “If you promise it’ll just be the two of us, I’ll stop by after work one day.”
He twists his mouth from side to side while he thinks on it. “Gerry’s a really great fella. How about this? I’ll take you on one of those granddaughter/grandfather dates, buy you some ice cream, then we’ll meet up with Gerry, just for a few minutes. Just to say hi.” He grins, and his teeth gleam strong and bright.
“Ice cream? Grandpa—”
“What? You’re too old for ice cream? You’re never too ice for an ice cream cone. That place down from the office has some real creamy blends of fancy something or other. Have you been there?”
“It’s been a while.”
“Yeah, you pick a day. We’ll get ice cream. Meet up with Gerry.”
Oh god. “No Gerry, Grandpa.”
He nods. “Okay. No Gerry…”
Liar. A small laugh leaves me. “I’ll think about it.”
His eyes crinkle more as his grin broadens. “Good, good. Well, I’ll let you lovebirds get to your dinner.” He glances at his watch and mumbles, “I don’t know why you young people like to eat dinner so late.” He gives me a tight hug, hugs Griffin, and then goes back to his chess game. All the pieces are back on the board for the next round.
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