by Bree Wolf
“Anyway,” Quinn resumed her story. “When my father proposed, my mother named that as the one condition. And since he wasn’t really married to his last name but very much wanted to be married to my mother, he gave it up.”
“Kind of romantic,” Tate said.
Quinn nodded. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
Turning back to Arnaud, Tate asked, “And there are no accidents and such on her father’s side?”
“Nothing that made the papers. At least not since the 1920s. So whoever is after you seems to be after the McPherson line.”
Suddenly Quinn’s eyes widened with fear. “My parents!” she said, her voice trembling. “And my sister! What if someone comes after them? What if someone tries to kill them?” Part of the shock she felt was from not thinking of them before.
Taking her hand, Arnaud looked into her eyes. “That’s why we need to find out the reason behind these attacks. If we know that, we might be able to do something about it.” He squeezed her hand. “But for now, it looks like whatever the reason, you are the next target. In the past few weeks, there have been four attempts to end your life. And as far as we know, no one has come after your family. It just seems to be you.” His eyebrows rose. “You decide if that’s good or bad.”
“But why?” Quinn felt more and more frustrated. “Why do they want me dead?”
“That’s the one-million-dollar question,” Tate said for the second time that day.
Chapter 29 – Stories
After grabbing a quick bite at her parents’ diner, which drew curious looks from everyone around, Arnaud drove Quinn home while Tate returned to the woods.
“Is there a rule about how much time he needs to spend in his human and wolf form?” Quinn asked as they drove down Main Street.
“Not really. Both halves demand attention but it’s not something you can put in numbers,” Arnaud said. “It’s like …For instance, when you get hungry. You can’t always tell when that will be but you feel when you need to eat.” He glanced at her. “Okay, I know that was a bad example.”
Quinn laughed. “A little weird maybe but I guess I know what you’re trying to say.” For a moment she looked out the window. “And what about you?” she asked, turning back to him.
“What about me?”
“How often do you need to …eat?” He eyed her curiously and she hastened on. “I mean apart from that night I stumbled upon you and Amanda, I’ve never seen you …eat anyone.”
He laughed. “I don’t technically eat people. I feed on them and I only need a few ounces a week or so. Usually they don’t even notice.”
“Because they don’t remember?”
Arnaud nodded. “That helps, yes.” He looked at her, reading the question on her face. “Have you ever heard the expression ‘the eyes are the windows to the soul’?”
Quinn nodded.
“Well, through them, I can form a connection to a person’s subconscious which – if I do it quickly – they are not even aware of. The subconscious is a powerful thing. It controls us, our actions, the way we see the world. And through that connection, I can make …suggestions, if you will. For example, I can suggest to them not to pay attention to their surroundings for the next couple of minutes. Quite literally, to put their senses in neutral. That gives me enough time to feed on them and leave, because every impulse we perceive needs a bit of time to travel to our brain and be processed. If I can intercept it, before it reaches their mind, they are not even aware that I was there.”
“That is really scary,” Quinn said, feeling fascinated nonetheless. “But once an impulse reaches a person’s mind, can you—?”
“I cannot erase memories,” Arnaud clarified. “Once the memory is there, I can’t take it.”
“That’s good,” Quinn said, but thinking about his diet still made her queasy. It was just so disgusting. Not to mention, wrong.
“Don’t look so shocked,” Arnaud said, once again guessing her thoughts with ease. “I’m a predator. I hunt. Every now and then, I even kill. You should understand. You are too.”
“What? I don’t—”
“Do you think just because you don’t do the hunting and killing yourself, that changes things?” he interrupted, his voice not agitated in the least. “Remember when your mother invited me over for dinner that night? What did she serve?”
“Venison,” Quinn said, the conviction in her voice slowly subsiding.
“Right,” he nodded. “So, eating Bambi is fine? That poses no moral dilemma for you?”
As Quinn looked at him, her brows furrowed slightly. She had to admit that he kinda, somehow did have a point. As annoying as that was.
Seeing the expression on her face, Arnaud grinned at her. “I mean, would it make you feel better if we herded people together, bred for the single purpose of being our dinner?”
Now she laughed. “Okay, okay, I give up. But … I still think it’s disgusting.”
He shrugged. “You’re entitled to your opinion. We can’t all like the same things. Diversity makes life more interesting.”
“I doubt that anyone has ever thought about diversity in this way,” she said, rolling her eyes at him.
“All I’m saying is that we all have our ways, and more often than not they are not so different. You’ve rationalized your way of killing because if you hadn’t, you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself.” He shrugged. “I do the same thing. I’m not a bad guy.” As she laughed, he grinned at her mischievously. “Make no mistake, I don’t see myself as a bad guy. I live my life. That’s all. You do the same thing. If we don’t eat, we die. It’s as simple as that. All that’s up to us is the choice whether to live or die.”
As Arnaud stopped the SUV in front of her home on Park Street, she saw her parents’ minivan parked in the driveway. Like many others, their front yard too was littered with leaves, twigs and even bigger-sized branches.
“Thanks for the ride,” she said, but frowned, when she saw Arnaud unbuckle and open the door. He walked around, opening the passenger door for her to climb out. “What are you doing?”
“I think I should see you in,” he said flatly.
“Do you really think someone’s going to try to kill me between here and the front door?”
There was a ghost of a smile on his lips. “I just thought your parents should know that we … let’s say, know each other beyond the usual niceties. Many people saw us together today, and if your parents hear it from someone else, they will just get suspicious, thinking that you’re hiding something from them.”
Surprised, Quinn said, “That’s actually good thinking.”
“Thanks. It happens,” he said, grinning.
Again she laughed. Sometimes he was very easy to get along with.
As they walked across the lawn to the front porch, the door opened and her mother came hurrying out, her face full of relief. “Thank goodness, you are alright,” she exclaimed, hugging her daughter tightly. “I tried to call you but there was no answer.”
“Sorry, mom, my batteries died.”
Letting go of Quinn, Mrs. McPherson looked behind her at Arnaud. The expression on her face betrayed her surprise at finding him with her daughter. Recovering quickly, she smiled at him. “It’s so nice to see you again,” she said, her eyes shifting to Quinn, a clear question in them.
“Same here,” Arnaud said.
“We met in town,” Quinn explained, her mind racing to be natural and unobtrusive. “I took the jeep to Mr. Blake to get fixed—”
Her mother’s face paled. “What happened? Did you have another accident?”
“I’m alright, mom,” Quinn hastened to explain. “It was the storm. A branch broke off and landed on the roof. There was a huge dent, and so I took it to the auto shop this morning. On my way back I ran into Arnaud and his friend. We hung out together and then Arnaud offered me a ride.”
A smile back on her face, Mrs. McPherson looked at Arnaud. “Thanks. That was really nice of you. You seem more and more li
ke my daughter’s guardian angel.” She laughed, but Quinn glanced at Arnaud, a suppressed smile on her face. Although he managed to keep a straight face, only a slightly amused crinkle showed, she thought to detect a twinkle of amusement in Arnaud’s eyes.
“It was nothing,” he told her mother. “I actually meant to give you a call sometime this weekend.” That surprised Quinn. “I think it’s about time that I return your generous dinner invitation.”
“Oh, that would be lovely,” her mother beamed. “But only if it’s not inconvenient for you.”
Arnaud waved her concerns away. “Not at all. It’s finally an occasion to break out the good china. I found tons of it, still stashed in the old house.”
Quinn eyed him curiously but he didn’t seem to notice.
“When would it be good for you?” he asked. “On the weekend? Or would some time this week work too?”
“It doesn’t matter,” her mother said. “Whenever it is most convenient for you. We will make time.”
“How is Tuesday then?”
“Sounds perfect,” her mother said.
Turning to leave, Arnaud nodded at them. “See you on Tuesday then. Say at six?”
“Sure.”
Following her mother inside, Quinn wondered about Arnaud’s sudden dinner invitation and what he expected to get out of it. But then she pushed the thought away quickly, knowing that she had something more serious she needed to discuss with her parents. If she only knew how to begin.
Fortunately, her parents had dropped off Cora at Jo’s house on their way back. Welcoming her luck, Quinn wondered if that could be seen as a good omen.
“Mom, Dad, I kind of need to talk to you,” Quinn said, still thinking about how to begin. She had no idea how much her parents knew, and if she asked too directly it would only open up old wounds.
At her words, they both looked up, faces serious. Maybe there had been something in her tone telling them that whatever was coming was serious.
They all sat down in the living room. Her parents occupied the couch while Quinn huddled into her favorite armchair. Catching the setting sun, the bay windows in her back let in its warmth.
“Is something wrong?” her father asked, looking concerned.
Quinn shrugged, somewhat hesitant to meet their eyes. “Not really. I just wanted to talk to you about something.”
“But you’re alright?” her mother asked again.
“Yes, mom. I’m fine.” Playing with the fuzzy corner of the quilt hanging over the back of the armchair, Quinn said, “It’s about Uncle Sam’s accident.”
Instantly, her mother’s face grew darker and Quinn debated dropping the subject right then and there.
“What about it?” her father asked, taking his wife’s right hand into his.
“Do you know how it happened?” Quinn asked. “I mean, do you have details? Why did he crash? Was he just reckless? Or—”
“No,” her mother said instantly. “He was a good driver, as young as he was. He was always careful.” The hint of a smile spread over her face. “He was the kind of big brother who always looked out for his younger siblings. I mean, Paul and I got into a little trouble here and there growing up. But Sam was always just there, not mad, not yelling, just telling us that we had made a bad decision and that he hoped we would learn from it. He was a really good guy. A really good brother.”
“Why are you asking?” her father wondered.
Quinn shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve just been wondering lately. You know, with the accident and everything.”
Her parents nodded.
“So, there’s nothing else you can tell me?” Quinn asked.
Her parents looked at each other, something unspoken passing between them.
“What is it?” Quinn pressed.
“We should tell her,” her father said to his wife. “She’s old enough.”
Her mother nodded. “Well, … Sam was not reckless. He did everything right. It was just bad luck maybe or … I don’t know. After the accident, the sheriff told my parents that the brake line of his car had been bitten through. He thought it must have been a marten or something.” Her mother looked at her, face full of sadness. “He did everything right and yet something so horrible happened to him. Back then, I couldn’t deal with it. It took me a long time to get back in a car. I was terrified. The unpredictability of life was just too much and it made me worry. About everything. Every day. For a long time I couldn’t really enjoy life. I felt paralyzed, expecting something horrible to happen any second, always looking over my shoulder.” She took a deep breath. “I never told you girls because I didn’t want that for you. I didn’t want you to be afraid. Bad things happen. Sometimes you just can’t help that, but living your life in fear is like they never stop happening.” A sad smile curled her lips. “I wanted you to be happy.”
Her mother’s open words ringing in her ears, Quinn looked at her with new admiration. “I am happy, mom,” she said with as much conviction as she could. “And I’m not asking because I’m afraid. I’m not, really. It just made me wonder. That’s all.”
Her mother seemed assured at that, her face visibly relaxing.
Again Quinn didn’t know how to ask the next question on her mind, and so she tried to just be open, like her mother. “To tell you the truth,” she started. “After dropping off the car at Mr. Blake’s, I went to the newspaper archive and looked for the article of Sam’s accident.”
Her parents looked at her with mild surprise on their faces.
“And I found something else,” Quinn said slowly. “About other accidents. Relatives of us who died in the last couple of decades or so.”
Her mother nodded absent-mindedly and Quinn realized that what she said wasn’t news to her. Her mother knew. The only questions were how much, and if she would share that knowledge with her daughter.
“You know, don’t you?” Quinn encouraged her mother as the minutes ticked by without another word spoken.
With eyes still distant, her mother nodded. “I’ve heard the stories. My great-grandmother … she died when I was eight or so … but I remember how she always told us about Caroline and Mabel, Julius and Sean, and the others. She was old and her mind almost lost to her. Some days she would ramble on from sunrise to sundown, warning us of a curse put on the family. My parents didn’t want us to know … I guess for the same reason I didn’t tell you about Sam’s accident … but children have ears. They know more than any adult would ever guess. We all knew. My brothers and I always swapped stories at school, boasting about our haunted family. It was a game. Some of the other children even envied us our family history. It was like an adventure. It made us special. But as we grew older, the stories slipped into the background and we almost forgot. Until the night Sam died. The first night after the news of his death, I woke up screaming. I’d heard my great-grandmother’s voice in my sleep, telling me that the curse had claimed yet another one of us and that he wouldn’t be the last. That it would never end.” Wringing her hands, her mother’s eyes focused on Quinn. “When you were born, and Cora too, I remembered that night, that dream, and hoped with all my heart that I would never have to go through what my parents went through when Sam died.” A forced smile appeared on her face. “I guess that was just me being afraid again. Old habits die hard. But you’re fine. Nothing happened to you. I was just being paranoid. I’m sorry if I scared you.”
Quinn shook her head, feeling tears in the corners of her eyes. “You didn’t, mom. But I’m glad you finally told me.”
Seeing her mother’s pain and fear so clearly on her face and hearing them in her voice, Quinn silently promised her that she would do everything she could to stay alive and keep history from repeating itself.
Chapter 30 – The Dearly Departed
With her car still in the shop on Monday morning, Quinn hitched a ride with Tanya and Danielle. As was tradition, she called them up and told them to pick her up, and as expected they complied without hesitation or complaint.
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Just as expected, school was also still school and with each passing minute Quinn had more and more trouble concentrating. With the life-and-death situation in her personal life, school seemed more trivial and insignificant than ever. When you were trying to evade assassins, could anyone really expect you to focus on trigonometry or American history? It was not like that could save your life.
After sixth period Quinn walked out the front entrance and turned left, heading to the gym for cheerleading practice. Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t see Tate walk up to her or hear him call her name. As he grabbed her arm to stop her, she spun around, face terrified.
“It’s alright,” he said quickly, trying to calm her. “It’s just me.”
Feeling her heartbeat slow down, Quinn took a deep breath. “Is something wrong? Did you find out anything?”
“Maybe,” he said. “Arnaud wants you to come to the house after school. Is that okay?”
“Sure,” Quinn nodded, wishing he would just tell her. “But I don’t have a car.”
“I’ll come by to pick you up,” Tate said, pointing behind him at Arnaud’s black SUV waiting in the school yard.
And with the prospect of new information, its disturbing or terrifying significance still unknown, Quinn’s mind was busy contemplating possible consequences. That in turn hindered her from performing a smooth, well-coordinated routine along with the other girls, which caused confused looks and gossipy comments made behind her back. Only Julia didn’t have a wondering expression on her face. She looked at Quinn as though she knew something and didn’t want to know more. Neither did she ask, if Quinn was alright or if something was wrong. Seeing her just walk away, Quinn felt incredibly sad. Julia had been her best friend. They had shared everything. None of the other girls knew her as well as Julia did. But in one night all that had changed.
Meeting Tate outside the gym, Quinn ignored more whispered comments from the other cheerleaders about who he was and where they were going. She just got in the car and let Tate drive her to Arnaud’s place, feeling edgy all the way there. The nearer she got to the potential answers to the nagging questions that had been plaguing her all day, the more agitated she grew.