by Lisa Jackson
In San Francisco, she’d searched for her cousin’s adoptive parents, the Ralph Gainses, who’d lived around the Bay Area. That was all the information she’d had to go on except for what they’d named their new daughter—Elizabeth.
Ravinia had managed to track down two Ralph Gaineses, both in San Francisco, and a third in Sausalito, but none of the men were or had been married to a woman named Joy. Frustrated, Ravinia had thought she’d come to another dead end, but her luck turned.
When she’d finally connected with Sausalito Ralph Gaines, he’d told her, “Might be the couple you’re looking for moved to Santa Monica. I had a confusion once over a prescription at my pharmacy. They kept calling me and saying Joy’s prescription was ready. I didn’t know who Joy was, so I went on down there and said I was Ralph Gaines and what the hell were they talking about. They asked for ID and then handed over Joy’s prescription. Had a different phone number on it. Don’t know how they mixed it up with mine. So, I wrote down the number, handed ’em back the bottle, then later on I called up this Joy and told her she’d better make sure those fools down there didn’t hand out the wrong pills to any Tom, Dick, or Harry. She thanked me and said it wasn’t gonna matter as they were moving to Santa Monica. Pretty sure that’s where she said.”
Ravinia had been jubilant. She’d thanked him and then booked passage on the next train south, which was scheduled for the following morning.
She’d boarded bright and early while a thick layer of fog cloaked the bay and filtered through the city streets. Settling down in her seat, she’d closed her eyes, intending to rest, but she’d inadvertently picked up threads of surrounding conversations. Through half-closed lids, she’d watched the twentysomething college kid work his smartphone to play games, text, and connect to the Internet. Though she’d only briefly used that kind of high-tech equipment on her unsupervised forays outside Siren Song, she had the kind of mind that understood technology. She knew deep down that she could use a tablet or a phone to help in her search. So as the kid in his hoodie and baggy jeans rapidly thumbed the phone’s tiny keyboard, she started thinking that she needed a smartphone as well.
In Los Angeles, the winter sun was pale and the layer of heavy fog she’d witnessed in San Francisco had been replaced by a higher, thin tier of smog that gave a slightly yellow hue to the city, at least in Ravinia’s eyes. She hadn’t wasted time, but had made her way to Santa Monica, a community west of LA where the air was clear, the breeze blowing off the ocean cool and fresh, the beach long and white, and the place where she’d hoped to locate her cousin.
To save money, she’d been sleeping in the park on a ridge that looked out over the Pacific. She wasn’t alone, as the park was used for the same purpose by the homeless, men mostly, who cradled their heads on rolled up clothes and slept on the grass. Nothing much disturbed them until they wanted to be disturbed, not the early morning joggers, tourists carrying coffee cups, or anyone else who might meander along the path that ran along the cliff’s edge.
The warm days turned to cold nights and Ravinia slept in three pairs of pants, a long-sleeved T-shirt, sweatshirt, and jacket. She always kept her back toward a tree and a hand on her knife, just in case she was accosted, but so far she’d been left alone.
There had been a minor incident when she’d first headed out, walking along the road. A car had stopped in the growing dusk on a stretch of highway south of Tillamook. As one man sat behind the wheel of his idling vehicle, the bruiser in the passenger seat had opened his door and stepped a foot on the gravel shoulder as if intent on forcing her into the vehicle when she refused their offer for a ride. She’d sensed they meant her harm and wondered if she was going to have to use her knife. Fingering the blade, she’d tensed then suddenly felt a wraith move up beside her. In that instant, her would-be attacker backed up, scrambling into the car. The driver had hit the gas, and they’d burned away as if the hounds of hell were on their heels.
She’d turned her head and spied the wolf. Standing near her on the side of the road, the wind ruffling its fur, its yellow eyes following the vehicle as it had disappeared.
Unafraid, Ravinia had asked in a whisper, “Friend or foe?”
The shaggy animal had only turned and padded away into the forest. She thought she’d caught sight of him later as she’d made her way to a motel where she’d taken refuge for the night, but she hadn’t been certain.
Sitting nearly a thousand miles away, she wondered if the wolf had even existed. That eerie encounter had been weeks ago and she hadn’t seen him since. She’d been told there were no wolves in the Coast Range. She would have said the same if she hadn’t seen him, but she was beginning to wonder if the beast had been in her mind after all, a specter she created when she needed help.
Those two men at the side of the road near Tillamook had certainly blasted away in their car as if they’d seen something that scared the liver out of them.
Now, she got to her feet, dusted herself off, then undid the dark blond braid that hung just past her shoulders, raked her fingers through her wavy hair, then quickly replaited it. After stripping off the top two layers of sweats, she shoved them into her backpack, stretched, then hiked the straps of her backpack over her shoulders and started walking. She wore sneakers—a new purchase since she’d arrived in Santa Monica—her favorite olive-green dungarees, one of her three long-sleeved T-shirts, and a black jacket over a gray sweatshirt. As the day wore on and the sun became warmer, she would shed more garments.
She headed toward the nearest Starbucks, thinking about Aunt Catherine. Her aunt needed to be brought up to date. The problem was, communication was nearly impossible. Aunt Catherine didn’t have a cell phone and there was no landline at the lodge. The disposable cell Ravinia had purchased wasn’t much of a help. The older woman only called when she went into Deception Bay to use the phone.
Pain in the ass, Ravinia thought. It had been one of the favorite expressions of the twentysomething women she’d sat behind on the train, and she’d adopted it as her own.
The Santa Monica Pier with its iconic Ferris wheel was up ahead, but Ravinia turned away from it, crossing Ocean Avenue, having to skirt a curly-haired little dog straining against a leash and the woman holding tightly onto that leash with a death grip. The woman wore tight short-shorts and a long-sleeved hoodie that was cropped below her breasts, leaving her abdomen bare. Her outfit was a far cry from the long, print dresses Aunt Catherine had made all of Mary’s children wear after Mary herself had lost her wits and somehow opened Pandora’s box to all manner of ills, putting the residents of Siren Song in direct peril.
As Ravinia passed by the woman, who held a cell phone to her ear with her free hand, she caught information about Botox, another one of the twentysomething’s topics. LA had a whole different language from Deception Bay where the main topics were the weather, fishing, crabbing, and well, her odd family.
For most of her life, Ravinia had believed Aunt Catherine was either just plain wrong or paranoid about the dangers to her and her sisters. Maybe a little of both. Recent events had caused her to reassess, and she thought there was a very good chance her aunt wasn’t completely off base. It was true that Ravinia and her sisters had been born with certain traits—supernatural “gifts”—that defied explanation unless the strangeness of their ancestors was known and believed in. Those gifts, Aunt Catherine had insisted, put them all in danger, and Ravinia now accepted that as truth.
The Starbucks she’d visited during yesterday’s rain shower was two blocks ahead. Though she was watching her cash pretty closely, money Aunt Catherine had given her for her mission, Ravinia found if she started off with a muffin and a coffee she could go nearly all day. Besides, coffee shops offered up a steady stream of people who were sources of information. Once in a while, when eavesdropping didn’t help, she could ask a patron to look up something for her and learn a bit about the Internet and her surroundings. She wasn’t always lucky in this regard, but occasionally someone would take the
time to show her how to research different kinds of information.
Ravinia had discovered fairly quickly how little she knew of life outside the gates of the compound. Her knowledge was eclectic, learned through lessons from Aunt Catherine, from the old television that they were allowed to occasionally watch, from the few townspeople she knew around Deception Bay, and from people she’d recently met on her journey south. But the more she learned, the more she needed to know. She was like a visitor from another planet, observing the ways of the beings who populated a foreign world.
As she entered the coffee shop and smelled the rich scent of the brewing coffee mingled with the aroma of sweet pastries, her stomach growled. In reaching into her pocket for her money, she noticed the dirt around the edges of her fingernails. What she needed was a shower. Her last one had been in a rundown motel that was way more money than she’d wanted to spend for a night just before she took the train south. Lodging sure wasn’t cheap, and that’s why she’d resorted to sleeping in the park. She needed to re-up the minutes on her phone, too, or when Aunt Catherine finally deigned to phone, she might get cut off in the middle of the call.
Pain in the ass.
Ravinia stepped out of line, walked to the restroom, and once inside, used the toilet, then stood in front of the mirror. Not only did she scrub her hands until any bit of dirt beneath her fingernails had washed away, but she also washed her face, ignoring the fact that someone angrily rattled the locked door handle. You can just wait, she thought, gazing critically at her reflection. Her hair needed washing, her clothes should be laundered, and all in all, she had to find a place to stay, despite the state of her finances. And she needed help. Searching on her own was taking too long.
When she dried her face and hands and finally left the restroom, a woman in sunglasses and a grim face shot her a disparaging glance before hurrying inside and locking the door.
Ravinia walked to the back of the ever-growing line to order coffee, taking her place behind a woman in black leggings and a long khaki tunic who, just like everyone else, was studying text messages on her phone. Once again Ravinia considered her options for food. A pastry? Breakfast sandwich? Just a cookie or piece of coffee cake? Everything looked good as she was flat out hungry.
Hunger was becoming part of her lifestyle, she reflected dourly, as she was counting her pennies. The train trip had cost her a lot more than she’d expected, but there it was. At least she’d learned a few things from the people on the train with her—the college student with the smartphone, the women she’d sat behind, and then Mr. SoCal.
The women had given her a lot of information, she reflected. Not all of it worthwhile, but definitely interesting. It was when she’d learned that their ultimate destination was also Santa Monica that she’d tuned in. Hour upon hour, they’d discussed the best bars and restaurants, the best places to shop for clothes, even the best street in both of their biased opinions—Montana. They couldn’t live without a daily trip to Starbucks, and standing in line at coffee shops was the best way to meet interesting people and guys with good jobs. Finding these same guys with good jobs at bars was iffy. Men in line at a coffee shop were a much better bet, but that didn’t mean that you stopped going to bars. You just had to know what you were looking for.
Well, huh.
Halfway through the trip was when Mr. SoCal had boarded the train and seated himself across from Ravinia. His gaze had studied her with frank admiration and she’d wondered what the hell he was seeing because she was in her dungarees and sweatshirt and well, it had been a while since that last shower. But he was in long shorts and a sweatshirt, too, and he’d stuck out his hand and introduced himself as Doug.
With nothing else to do in the slow-moving line, Ravinia’s thoughts wandered back to the man she’d named SoCal and her life since arriving in Santa Monica.
He wanted to know all about her, but all she told him was that she was on a trip to visit her cousin. Mr. SoCal—Ravinia just couldn’t think of him as Doug—told her he worked at a restaurant hot spot in Santa Monica as a bartender, though mostly it sounded like he was a kind of beach bum. He shared a place with two other guys who also worked in the restaurant business. By the way he’d talked, she sensed every night was a party . . . and maybe every day.
“Where’s your cousin live?” he asked her. “You got a ride, or do you need a lift?”
“I might,” she said, then changed the subject quickly before he could ask for an address. No way she was giving out more information than she had to. Until she knew whom to trust, she was sharing as little as possible, and one thing she knew for sure was that she wasn’t going to tell anyone about her and her sisters’ “gifts.” Aunt Catherine had pounded that into her head before she left, though that was a “no-brainer” as Mr. SoCal would say. The people around Deception Bay who knew skirted the women of Siren Song. Besides, her own gift wasn’t all that spectacular—she could look into the heart of a person and know if they were good or bad.
She looked inside Mr. SoCal as a matter of course and got a squishy feeling, like he was made of jelly instead of stone, weak and prone to take the easiest path rather than to fight for what he wanted. Not criminal qualities, just not worth knowing.
She left Mr. SoCal and the college student and the twentysomethings at the train station, then went in search of transportation to Santa Monica. Mr. SoCal had a car, and the twentysomethings took a taxi, but the price was too prohibitive so Ravinia eventually learned which bus would take her toward the ocean.
Once she was inside the Santa Monica city limits, she was able to ride a Big Blue Bus and figured out how to maneuver her way around the city without having to walk everywhere. She found a place to sleep in the park and hung out at Starbucks. Her investigation was stalled in her search for Ralph and Joy Gaines because she didn’t have a smartphone or a driver’s license, two very important pieces. She tried looking up their names in telephone books, but that hadn’t worked out. Few phone booths were left and very few of them had books that hadn’t been ripped off. The best way to find out information was the Internet, but she had no way of accessing it just yet.
“But soon,” she told herself as the line moved forward a bit.
The danger to Elizabeth was real enough, as it was to the rest of them. But Elizabeth had no concept of what was coming for her. It was Ravinia’s job to inform her and find a way to keep her safe.
Chapter 6
“Can I help you?” a cheery voice asked.
Ravinia was pulled out of her reverie and found herself at the register where a girl about her age with a broad smile was ready to take her order. The woman in line ahead of her was still texting as she moved farther along the counter to the spot where she’d pick up her order.
“Yeah,” Ravinia answered, nodding and finally making a decision. “Sure. How about black coffee, and uh, maybe a bran muffin and water . . . not bottled?”
To hell with bottled water. Why pay when Starbucks would give her a plastic cup filled with water for free? The whole bottled water phenomenon was beyond her. Siren Song lodge had a well, as did most of the Foothillers, the descendants of mainly Chinook Indians who lived in an unincorporated town nearby, and everybody just drank out of the tap.
Not so in Santa Monica.
After carefully meting out her change, Ravinia carried her drinks and muffin through the crowded seating area where she found a small table that had been recently vacated. Listening to people’s conversations had proven interesting and sometimes even fruitful, but only a man reading a newspaper was seated nearby. Pulling her phone from her pocket, she made a face, realizing it was nearly out of battery power. She needed to get a room to take a shower and charge up the phone, then add more minutes unless she could find a way to get a smartphone.
She sipped from her coffee and made short work of her muffin. Still hungry, she considered getting in line again, but decided to wait.
Glancing around the room, she marveled a bit that she was so far from home, a
world away from the cosseted life she’d known.
Of course, she’d been the one to leave. She’d always been the most vocal and outwardly mutinous of her family. Maybe it was because she was the youngest of Mary’s daughters, at least the youngest living at the lodge. But she wasn’t the only one who had been outside the gates. Some of her sisters had escaped by being purposely adopted before the gates slammed shut, and the boys Mary had given birth to were immediately dispensed with by Mary herself, adopted to families unknown . . . at least unknown to Ravinia.
The only boy allowed to stay had been Nathaniel, Ravinia had heard, a son who’d never been right, apparently. He was long dead.
Ravinia wondered about that, but then, she’d wondered about a lot of things. What was truth? What was fiction? Why all the secrets?
According to Aunt Catherine, Ravinia’s mother had given herself to man after man, but she hadn’t trusted her own boys, hadn’t wanted to raise sons. Maybe there was a reason for that. Maybe there was a bad seed within those male offspring. Maybe Mary had been protecting her daughters. Certainly there had been evidence enough of evil lying in wait, something dark and insidious and wanton. Ravinia’s skin crawled with memories of sensing his presence.