The Deepest Cut

by J. A. Templeton

  Laria.

  She moved behind a group of people. She wasn’t walking, but rather gliding across the floor, moving in exaggerated slow motion.

  Everytime I caught a glimpse of her, those dark eyes were looking straight at me and I swear she never blinked.

  I stepped closer to Johan and didn’t even realize that I’d reached for his hand until his fingers threaded through mine. Terrified, I squeezed his hand as Laria stopped beside Shane.

  Warning bells rang in my ears when Laria put a hand on Shane’s shoulder. She turned her face toward the side of his, her lips near

  his ear and she whispered something, all the while she watched me.

  Shane, who had been talking to Richie, stopped in mid-sentence, his brows furrow-ing as he looked to his right. Richie just kept on talking, but I could see the disturbed look in my brother’s eyes. He leaned forward, set his drink on the table, and shook his head as though to clear it.

  The corners of Laria’s mouth curved in a malicious smile as her hand slid toward Shane’s neck, her fingers squeezing tight—

  Shane started coughing, and I rushed over to him, reached out, and jerked him toward me.

  “Let’s go,” I said louder than necessary, my gaze shifting to Laria, who laughed maliciously, the sound making the hair on my arms stand on end.

  My cheeks burned as the others looked at me like I’d lost my mind. I was probably

  coming off as a bitch, but there’s not much I could do about it.

  Thank God Shane didn’t argue with me.

  He brushed his hand over his neck—in the exact spot Laria’s hand had been moments before.

  Johan was beside me a second later, his hand resting at my back. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, I think it’s just time for us to leave.

  Will you walk us home now?”

  He nodded, still looking surprised by my strange behavior. “Sure, no problem.”

  “Thanks again,” I said, relieved to have him with me. I was terrified out of my mind, and the last thing I wanted was to face Laria alone, with only my wasted brother to protect me.

  I glanced at Laria and her head tilted to the side at a strange, impossible angle, a twisted smile on her lips. I could hear bones cracking.

  She was trying to freak me out, and she was doing a damn good job of it.

  “Riiiiiiley—Riiiiiiley—Riiiiiiiley—Riiiiiiley…” she said my name over and over again.

  Her sinister laughter rang out, and then her expression changed abruptly as her gaze jerked to something—or someone— directly behind me. She took a step back, then another, her expression a mixture of fear and anger.

  My pulse skittered as I looked over my shoulder.

  Ian.

  I don’t think I’ve ever been so relieved to see someone.

  Laria glanced at me, ran a finger across her throat, and then shot to the ceiling…and was gone.

  Ian’s expression was intense, his eyes fierce, and his form more translucent than I’d ever before seen. Appearing to me had to

  be taking a toll on him, and yet he had come here to protect me.

  “Who’s Ian?” Johan asked.

  “A friend,” I said absently. I hadn’t even realized I’d said his name aloud.

  I wanted to go to Ian and hug him tight, but as I walked toward him, he began to fade before my eyes.

  I opened my mouth to say

  something––anything––but in a flash, he was gone.

  Chapter 8

  The morning passed without any sign of Ian, and I was beginning to worry that Laria had done something to him. But what could one ghost do to another? I mean, technically they were both already dead, so how could she hurt him?

  Ian had told me Laria was powerful and dangerous. Now I was beginning to understand just how dangerous. Look at the way she had whispered in Shane’s ear at Milo’s party, at the way she had squeezed his neck, and he’d felt it, because he’d started choking.

  Had I inadvertently put my family in danger because of my friendship with Ian?

  Desperate for information on ghosts and spells, I reached for the library books I’d stashed in my nightstand. I had already scoured the book on witches and spells, and came up with very little information that would help me in Ian’s case—except about

  standard love and hate spells. One love spell said to make a doll out of clay, wax, or by sewing a straw figure of the person you longed for, carving their name in your blood on said doll’s chest, sticking a pin in its heart, and reciting a phrase each night of a full moon. If you did all those things, then the person you desired would fall madly in love with you…or so the book said.

  That last bit made me smirk. Yeah right, I thought, but the more I read, the more I wondered if any of these strange rituals worked. I knew that witches existed even to this day, and even had their own religion.

  But did they have actual powers—like the ability to cast spells and bind people to them?

  I reminded myself that anything was possible. After all, a little over a year ago I didn’t believe in ghosts.

  I grabbed the book on ghosts and scanned the pages about the different types

  of spirits that existed; both benevolent and malevolent. Basically good and evil.

  Like Ian and Laria.

  It also said it took a lot of energy for ghosts to manifest and communicate with the living. Apparently the spirit used as many energy sources as they could to reveal themselves—turning lights, televisions and radios off and on, moving items around, and even throwing things at times.

  All those things scared me, but what frightened me more than anything was the thought that ghosts could tap into our thoughts, and yes, they could also see us naked.

  Oh.

  My.

  God.

  Ian could see me naked.

  And he could read my mind, too.

  Talk about an unfair advantage! All the less than innocent thoughts I’d had about

  Ian raced through my mind. Knowing he had been able to tap into my thoughts was downright humiliating…kind of like someone getting hold of your diary and reading your most personal thoughts, but worse.

  Maybe there was something on the Internet that would contradict what the book said.

  After all, this could be just one person’s opin-ion. That didn’t make it true.

  Hoping I was right, I headed downstairs to my dad’s study where the only computer in the house was located. My parents had never allowed us to have computers in our bedrooms, and I suppose I understood why, but I hated when my mom or dad would appear out of nowhere and look over my shoulder.

  Shane had gone to check out a skateboard park in a nearby town with Milo and Richie, and my dad was at work (shocker), so I at least had some privacy. The last time I’d seen Miss Akin she was in the kitchen making

  cookies, and said something about walking to the post office to pick up the mail.

  With the coast clear, I walked into my dad’s study. I liked all the dark reddish colored wood and the bookcases that took up an entire wall. I ignored the pictures on the fireplace mantel though, especially the one of our family at Disneyland. It was taken two years before the accident, when I was still dancing with my troupe, back when I was the perfect child and my parents were so proud of me.

  Pushing the bittersweet memory away, I sat down in my dad’s chair. I logged onto the Internet and waited a good twenty seconds before Google’s home page loaded. “Not too bad,” I said, surprised it hadn’t taken longer, given we lived in the sticks.

  I typed the word ‘curses’ into the search engine and a ton of cuss words came up. I laughed and typed in ‘spells and curses’, and

  up popped a multitude of websites on witches and magic.

  The first fifteen minutes I spent browsing forums where people asked basic witchcraft questions. The majority of the responses were from skeptics who told the writer of the post to find God.

  Thirty minutes into my search I found an int
eresting website that talked about generational hexes, where one member of a family would be cursed, which in turn would curse the rest of the family. One well-known Eng-lish lord had found a family living in one of his homes without paying rent. He threw the impoverished family out of the place, and the old woman, a witch apparently, cursed the man and his family. Soon after the man’s eldest son died, followed by another, until four of his six children were dead. The man had been crushed by a horse and killed within the fifth year, and it said that the curse died with him.

  But a generational curse wasn’t Ian’s problem. Ian had been cursed at the time of his death.

  I continued searching, and my heart leapt when I found a link about Black Magic death spells. That’s when I heard footsteps sound from behind me.

  Shit! Had my dad come home already?

  I couldn’t say I was doing research for a school assignment since school hadn’t started yet.

  I slowly turned.

  “Sorry to disturb you, my dear, but I thought you might like a cookie and a tall glass of milk,” Miss Akin said, setting a plate of shortbread cookies on the top of my dad’s polished mahogany desk.

  I breathed a sigh of relief, thankful it wasn’t my dad. “Thanks, Miss A.”

  She smiled, and her gaze skipped to the computer screen. Her grin faded fast. “Is there someone who is giving you trouble?”

  I cleared my throat. “No…”

  “Do you mind?” she asked, nodding toward the chair on the opposite side of the desk.

  I shook my head, dreading her next words. I could see it now. She’d corner my dad the minute he hit the front door, and tell him I was Googling Black Magic and asking her about ghosts. He would call my shrink, who would then prescribe those pills that made me numb and sleep all day.

  She took a seat and smoothed her hands over the well-worn apron. “Does your curios-ity stem from the questions you asked me the other day…about the castle’s history. About the ghosts?”

  I sat up straighter, reached for a cookie and killed time by taking a bite. I considered lying, but had a feeling she could read me too well for that. Plus, I had never been a good li-ar. Not to mention guilt would eat at me and it just wasn’t worth it.

  “Don’t worry, love. I won’t say a word to anyone, nor will I judge you.”

  I’d heard that one before. “You’ll think I’m crazy.”

  “No, I won’t,” she said matter-of-factly, and oddly enough I believed her.

  But how much did I tell her? Should I come clean about being able to see Ian and Laria’s spirits, or should I just say I was intrigued by the stories she’d told me about the castle ghosts and had decided to do a little investigating of my own?

  She stared at me patiently, awaiting an answer.

  The cookie stuck in my throat, and I reached for the milk, took a drink, and set the glass back down. Was I ready to tell someone I could see spirits and open up that door? Miss Akin seemed like an awesome lady, but what if she thought I was crazy?

  I debated just how much to reveal to her.

  “You know the story you told me about Laird

  MacKinnon’s oldest son who was killed by the servant back in the eighteenth century?”

  “Yes.”

  My heart pounded in my ears. “What if I told you I believed he was cursed by the girl who killed him, and he can’t move on—as in, pass over to the other side.”

  “Cursed,” she said, calm as could be, but her throat contracted as she swallowed hard.

  “That’s right. He can’t leave here…ever.”

  “What makes you believe such is the case? Did you read something on the Internet?”

  I straightened my shoulders, cleared my throat. “Because…he told me so himself.”

  I waited for it…the wide eyes, the fear in her face, the I need to find another job immediately expression. “When did he tell you this, dear?”

  “He appeared to me the day I arrived in Braemar. In fact, the minute I stepped foot in the inn he was here.” I swallowed hard,

  and then blurted, “Miss Akin, I can see ghosts.”

  Her gaze shifted over my face, and then suddenly, the sides of her mouth curved upward and she clapped her hands together. “I thought you were a sensitive, my dear. I wondered why you looked so frightened when you came home from the castle that day. When you asked me so many questions, I assumed that you had seen one of the castle ghosts.”

  I was so relieved she didn’t think I was crazy. “So you believe me?”

  “Of course I believe you. If you say you can see the spirits, then it must be true.

  There are people who are blessed with such gifts. Anne Marie, who is my best-friend, is one. You would not have been given such abilities if you were not meant to use them, love. I have intuitive abilities myself, and have even had a few precognitive dreams,

  but I cannot see the dead like you can. I wish I could.”

  She wished she could see ghosts? Seriously? I never thought anyone would want to see the dead and actually look upon it as a gift. I hadn’t expected such a non-judgment-al reaction. “What is a precognitive dream?”

  “It’s when you dream about an event before it happens. Many people have such a gift, but they pass it off as coincidence.” She leaned forward. “But enough of me. I want to know—do you mean to help the MacKinnon lad?”

  “Yes, Ian needs me, but I don’t know how to help him. I went to the library and checked out books on witches, spells and ghosts, and aside from a few random spells, there was nothing about lifting a specific curse someone else has made.”

  She tapped her fingers on the chair’s armrest. “I will have to speak to Anne Marie.

  She may be able to help you in this matter.”

  I was excited at the prospect of meeting Anne Marie. “I wonder if she’s seen Laria or Ian before?”

  “She has never mentioned either of them, but that is certainly something you can ask her when you meet. I’ll call her to see when a good time to visit would be.”

  “Thank you, Miss Akin.”

  “You’re welcome, love. We’ll find some answers for you both.” In the meantime, you eat those cookies. You’re much too thin. We need to plump you up a bit. Put some meat on those bones.” She stood, smoothed her hands over her apron, and then stopped.

  “Tell me this…is the MacKinnon boy as handsome as history makes him out to be?”

  I couldn’t help but grin. Handsome didn’t even begin to describe Ian. If he were alive today, he’d be the hottest guy in town…or maybe all of Scotland, but I didn’t tell Miss Akin that. Instead, I nodded.

  She gave a long, drawn-out sigh. “Lucky girl.”

  Chapter 9

  I stared out the car window, frustrated and angry that my mom had trapped me inside her Mercedes instead of finding a neut-ral zone in our house to talk.

  And all because I’d been out after curfew and didn’t call. Big, freakin’ deal. I’d made it home, hadn’t I?

  Things between us had been really bad lately. It’s not that she had done anything in particular. She just irritated me with her constant bitching. “Pick up your room. Put your clothes away. Empty the dishwasher.”

  Why did she care if my room was picked up or my bed was made anyway? It’s not like anyone else had to see it, and I kept the door closed twenty-four/seven.

  My mom cleared her throat. “Do you want to start…or should I?”

  I sighed heavily, my breath fogging up the car window. I resisted the urge to draw a

  smiley face on the glass, knowing it would only piss her off more than she already was.

  Feeling her eyes burning into the back of my skull, I turned and looked at her. “What do you want me to say?”

  “Maybe start with why you didn’t call.”

  I shrugged. “Time just got away from me.”

  Her nostrils flared. “Riley, you didn’t get home until two in the morning, and when you did, you stumbled in smelling like alcohol and told me to leave you al
one. You’re a child and I’m your mother, and rules are in place for a reason.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Don’t roll your eyes at me, young lady.”

  “I was out with my friends and I forgot about the time.”

  “You’re only fifteen, Riley. Much too young to be going to parties and drinking, and doing lord knows what else. What has happened to you? Where is my daughter

  from a year ago? Scratch that, where is my daughter from six months ago?”

  She was furious. I could tell by the way the nerve in her jaw jumped, and the way her fingers tightened around the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white.

  “All my friends are allowed to go to parties.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “So now you’re calling me a liar?”

  She pressed her lips together until they disappeared into a thin line. Her chest rose and fell heavily. “I’m saying I find it hard to believe that any responsible parent would allow their fifteen year-old daughter to party into the wee hours of the morning. I don’t even know who drove you home last night, Riley. It certainly wasn’t a parent.”

  “It was Mitch, Sarah’s brother.”

  She relaxed a little. “Well, I just hope he wasn’t drinking.”

  Actually, he hadn’t been drinking since he had baseball practice in the morning, but I didn’t tell her that because she wouldn’t believe me anyway.

  She never believed me.

  “What kind of an example are you setting for your brother? He looks up to you, Riley. When he sees you acting out, then he starts acting out too.”

  Shane was the perfect child. He was every parents’ dream—a good student and a star athlete. “Shane would never disappoint you.”

  Having heard the sarcasm in my voice, she shook her head. “You aren’t a disappointment to me, Riley, but your father and I are concerned. Your grades are slipping and ever since you started hanging out with Ashley—”

  “It’s not Ashley’s fault.”

  “Well, then why the sudden change?”

  I had always been the “good” kid. I got good grades, I did everything my parents

  told me to do…and I’d felt invisible. I was going through the motions, but when I met Ashley, all that changed. She was different—a year older and exciting, and for whatever reason she liked me. She dressed differently, talked differently, and had hippy parents that let her do whatever she wanted.