Dare and I stand staring up the winding drive, toward the deserted mansion that seems to leer at us from above, some of its windows broken out and winking. Plants line the drive, and weeping trees form a canopy, creating a shadowy walkway.
Dare glances at me. “Ok. It’s creepy.”
I smile, even as chills already form along my spine. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”
I tug on his hand, and we start up the drive. “When this was running, they used to have ghosts and zombies jumping out along the way, scaring you, telling you to turn back.” I pause, staring up at him. “Do you want to turn back, Dare?”
My voice contains a flirty challenge, and he hears it. He turns to me, grinning.
“Not on your life.” The moonlight shines down on him, illuminating the dark stubble that lines his jawline, and glinting off the ends of his hair. He seems to shine, for a moment, and I itch to reach up and touch his face.
But I don’t.
Instead, I smile. “Let’s do it, then.”
We climb the creaky stairs of the porch, cross the creaking boards, then turn the brass handle of the door. Dare steps fearlessly over the threshold.
“Which way?” he turns to me. I pull out my flashlight and shine it around the familiar foyer. Red velvet lines the walls, hanging in an ominous way reminiscent of blood. It smells musty and old in here, oxygen deprived and dusty.
“That way,” I point to the right, toward the hall that I know leads to the bedrooms.
Because suddenly, I just have to be close to him. It’s a need, not a want. An unconscious pull, a call that I desperately want to answer.
We inch along the hall, with every other step creaking, and I catch Dare glancing behind us several times.
“Scared?” I ask cheekily.
“Not at all,” he answers calmly, stepping around a mannequin lying in a pool of fake blood. The mannequin seems to stare up at me with lifeless eyes, eyes that seem too knowing to be glass, too real to be fake. It’s part of the draw of this place. It’s creepily real. And now, since it’s abandoned and dark, it’s scarier than they ever meant for it to be.
As we walk, I know without looking where Dare is. It’s like I’m a planet and he’s my axis… or my sun. I feel his heat, I feel his presence, and I ache to lean into it, to fold into him, to absorb his strength.
It’s a sudden urge, and I’m startled with the intensity of it.
I’m startled because I’ve never felt it before, not like this. It’s enough to make me feel guilty, because it distracts me from other feelings that have overwhelmed me lately…the blinding grief.
I swallow hard as I lead him to the first bedroom.
Stepping inside, I shine the light around, at the mannequin lying on the bed, with the rope around its neck and the knife in its chest. She stares at me accusingly with matted blond hair, like she wants to know what the hell we’re doing with this intrusion.
I don’t know what I’m doing.
That’s the truth of it. What I know is that I like the way Dare makes me feel. I like being distracted from pain. I like the way my heart flutters and my stomach flips whenever he’s around. That’s what I know.
I turn my attention from the mannequin to her surroundings. The bed-sheets are splattered with ‘blood’ and on the wall, THE GOOD DIE HERE, drips in ominous red, supposedly written by the murderer’s finger dipped in the victim’s own blood.
“Are you?” I ask Dare with a smirk. “Good, I mean?”
He looks at me sharply, then his mouth tilts into a smile. “I’ve had no complaints.”
I shake my head because obviously that isn’t what I meant, but it’s funny so I laugh anyway.
“Hmmm. Then we might be in danger. If you’re good, I mean.”
I scoot closer to him and suddenly, I’m in his personal space. I’m pressed against his chest, and the rock hard solidity of it surprises me. He’s lithe and slender, so I didn’t expect him to be so…immovable, so muscular and hard.
I take a deep breath, inhaling his masculine smell, and stare up at him.
He’s staring down at me, his gaze connected to mine, just like the first day I saw him. But this time, there’s something in his eyes that wasn’t there before, there’s an expression there that I’ve only seen in my dreams. Want. For me. It shakes me to my core, causing my breath to linger on my lips.
I reach up to touch his face, my fingers grazing his jaw, his stubble teasing my fingertips.
“I’m ready to ask my fourth question,” I tell him, my voice wobbling slightly. His nearness makes me dizzy.
“Go on then,” he answers, his voice ever calm.
“Do you have a girlfriend back home?”
My words sound childish, almost. Because girlfriend seems so juvenile. Because my feelings seem huge and adult.
Dare sucks in his breath, and reaches up to enclose my fingers within his own, holding them in place as he stops me from exploring the rest of his face. He stares into my eyes and I can’t read him now.
“No.”
He’s holding my hand against his chest and I feel his heart beat against my palm.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
It’s loud in the silence.
The chemistry between us is palpable enough to touch, weaving around us, pulling us together, the air snapping with its electricity.
But he doesn’t move.
And I don’t either.
I want him to kiss me. I imagine the way his full lips would feel, firm, yet soft. I imagine the way his hands would feel on my back, pulling me closer, closer, closer.
But he doesn’t move and neither do I.
And then suddenly, he releases my hand and steps back.
“So is this all you’ve got, then?” he asks, his voice teasing me now. The sexual tension is sadly broken.
I can’t help but smile though. For the simple reason that it was there in the first place.
“Yeah. I guess your balls of steel saved you today,” I tell him. He grins again, and then we make our way toward the foyer. As we cross the parlor though, I see something interesting, and pause next to the door-jam.
DD and CP are inscribed inside a heart. Corny and sweet. I trace the letters with my finger.
“What a coincidence,” I murmur, for some reason aching on the inside, aching to be that CP and for Dare to be that DD. Because Corny or not, it’s so intimate, so heart-breakingly personal. It smacks of first love, of high-school sweethearts, of things that are normal.
My hand falls away and I keep walking… because we’re not those initials, and my life is not normal.
When we step outside, I take a deep breath of fresh air, breathing in the moon and stars and pine trees.
“There was more to see in there,” I tell him softly, on the edge of the darkened driveway. The corner of his mouth tilts.
“Let’s leave that for another day,” he suggests as we walk.
I nod because our moment back in Nocte wasn’t imagined. Maybe it scared him, like it sort of scared me, and that’s why we’re running from it now.
Because it was sudden and hot and blinding… like a shooting star.
After we’re back in my car and driving toward home, I glance at him.
“Maybe you could give me a ride on your motorcycle sometime? I’ve never been on one.”
He nods. “Maybe.”
He stares out the window, careful to stay on his side of the car. I muse about that for a second, but refuse to dwell on it. But I’m so busy dwelling on it five minutes later that what Dare says next seems to come from left field.
“I’m ready to ask you a question,” he tells me softly, his voice husky and seeped with the night.
I raise an eyebrow. “Okay. Shoot.”
I’m expecting him to ask about a boyfriend, or my dating history, or even how old I am. He doesn’t. His question actually slams into me with the force of a freight train, returning me to my reality.
“Can you tell me about your mom?”
“Why?” I manage to croak, still stunned.
Dare shrugs, but his expression is soft, his dark eyes liquid.
“I don’t know. It just feels like a way to know you better.”
That answer, of course, melts my ovaries and I relax, the small of my back slumping against the seat.
I take a deep breath and grip the steering wheel hard enough to turn my knuckles white.
“What do you want to know?”
He stares at me for a second, before reaching over and loosening my grip on the wheel. His fingers are dry and warm, where mine are cool and clammy.
“Whatever you’d like to tell me. For instance…are you like her? Do you look like her?”
I smile. “I wish I was like her. She was artistic and amazing. I’m…not. But I do look like her. I look exactly like her, actually, which is probably hard on my dad right now. Finn looks like him.”
“So she was born in England? Why did she move to America?”
It’s my turn to shrug. “She was. But I don’t know why she left. She said she didn’t get along with her parents very well. She hasn’t spoken to them in years, and I’ve never personally met them.”
“Huh. Interesting,” Dare murmurs. “I think it’s good you can talk about her. When my mom died, I couldn’t talk about her for almost a year.”
I do a double-take. “Your mom’s gone, too? You only mentioned your dad before. I’m so sorry! What happened?”
Dare stares out the windshield, into the night. I can tell he’s not really seeing it.
“She died in an accident with my step-father.”
My stomach tightens into a knot for him, because God, I know that grief, that sudden, shocking, annihilating grief. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell him limply. He nods.
“Yeah, it sucks. But I know how you’re feeling right now, at least. I realized after my mom died that it always helps when someone knows what it’s like.”
He’s right. It’s hugely comforting.
“It’s hard,” I admit to him. “It’s especially hard because it was my fault. I called her at night when it was raining. If I hadn’t done that, she would still be here.”
Dare looks at me sharply. “You can’t believe that. That it’s your fault, I mean.”
I look away. “Of course I can. It’s true.”
“It’s not,” he argues. “I personally believe that when your number is up, it’s up. Surely, living in a funeral home your whole life, you believe that, too. Sometimes, there isn’t an explanation for something.”
“And sometimes, there is. In this case, the explanation is a telephone call.”
Dare shakes his head. “It’s going to take some doing to convince you that you’re wrong. I can tell.”
“You can try,” I tell him resolutely. “But if Finn and my father can’t do it, I doubt you can.”
“Challenge accepted,” he says seriously, and the look in his eyes takes my breath away.
“Why do you care?” I ask him suddenly. “You barely know me.”
He’s silent for a second, fiddling with the silver band on his middle finger. When he looks back up, his eyes are filled with a hundred things I can’t name.
“Because I feel like I do. Because we’re the same in so many ways. Because I know how horrible it was to lose my mother. I can only imagine how hard it is when you think it’s your fault.”
Yeah, I think to myself. It’s almost too much to bear.
“It is hard,” I admit. “But sometimes, when you least expect it, someone tosses you a lifeline.”
His eyes meet mine and I see that he knows exactly what I’m saying. That he might be my lifeline. There’s no reaction, though, only a silent acceptance and maybe a spark of satisfaction.
We fall quiet now, comrades in this special club of having lost our mothers. It’s not a club that anyone enjoys belonging to, but I know that I, for one, feel even closer to him now.
After a few minutes, I can’t stand the silence anymore.
“You’d better be careful with those questions,” I tell him, feigning a smile. “You’ve only got eighteen left.”
16
SEDECIM
Finn
My secret is eating me alive, clawing at my skin, trying to get out. But I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.
You’reCrazyCrazyCrazyAndEveryoneKnowsIt.
I stare at my journal, at the brown leather cover, and I grab it, hurling it across the room. It slams into the wall, then flutters unharmed to the floor. I rush to grab it, to clutch it to my chest as I rock with it on the floor.
After a minute, something occurs to me.
Of course.
I can’t tell Calla, but I can tell my journal, the way I’ve spilled every other thing in my life onto its pages.
I grab a pen and then I press hard enough that it almost pushes through the page, as if my secret is bursting to get out as the words rush out through the ink.
Once it’s there, I feel better, calmer, as though I’ve confided in an old friend. I close the cover and leave it on the windowsill. As I flip off the light and walk through the door, I almost miss the hissing whisper in my mind….the sharp female voice that I just can’t get away from.
Coward.
17
SEPTEMDECIM
Calla
I take a cleansing breath and reach for the sky as I do my morning yoga on the edge of the cliffs. From here, I can see to the edge of the horizon, all the way out to where the water meets the sky.
“Why do you do this here?” Finn’s voice comes from the trail, soft in the morning air. “You know it’s dangerous.”
I hold back a smile. “You know I’m not close enough to the edge to worry.” I palm the ground, then hoist myself up into a Forward Fold. I stretch to my feet, feeling every tendon, muscle and ligament elongate as I roll to my toes.
“Why are you up so early?” I ask without opening my eyes. I count as I stretch.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
Finn sighs. “I don’t know. I can’t sleep.”
Eight.
Nine.
Ten.
I finally turn around, and notice that my brother’s face is weary and pale. This alarms me. “You’re not feeling better yet?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
A surge of panic shoots through me and I fight to tamp it down. It’s just insomnia, for God’s sake. Not an instant red flag.
“You’re taking your meds, right?”
He seems to hesitate before he answers. “Yeah.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
He nods.
“Do I need to take you to Group today?”
He hesitates again. “Maybe. I’m going to lie down for a while though. I might go to the afternoon session.”
“Ok.” I desperately try to hide my concern, because I know he doesn’t want me to hover. He wants to find his autonomy, not become even more tethered to me. It hurts. A lot. But he doesn’t need to know that. “Just yell at me when you’re ready.”
He nods and heads toward the house, pausing when he hits the edge of the trail. I worry because he’s starting to stay secluded in his room. A lot.
His shoulders are so skinny as he calls back to me.
“Calla?”
“Yeah?”
He smiles a watery smile. “Did you know that Queen Victoria loved Albert so much that she insisted on being buried in his dressing robe, holding a plaster cast of his hand?”
I shake my head, rolling my eyes. “You’re so weird and random, bro.”
He grins like everything is fine, like he’s back to normal. “I know.”
Then he disappears down the trail.
I sit back down in the reddish dirt, trailing my finger through it. Before I know it, I’ve written Dare’s name, with a flourish at the end of the e. A flourish shaped like a he
art.
“A penny for your thoughts?”
Dare’s wry voice comes from behind me and I cringe because apparently the trail leading to these cliffs is Grand Central Station today. And I’m humiliated because obviously I’m thinking of him. I flush, the heat spreading from my chest to my face, and I don’t want to turn around.
But I do.
Dare’s handsome face is amused and a teench arrogant. He’s dressed in jogging clothes, although he’s not sweaty, so he hasn’t run far yet.
“My thoughts are more expensive than that,” I announce. He grins even wider.
“I’m sure. We still have that little matter of secrets to discuss, by the way.”
This confuses me. “Secrets?”
His eyes meet mine, gleaming ebony. “Yeah. Everyone’s got ‘em, remember?”
Oh, yeah. That’s exactly what he said when we first met. “Maybe. But not me.”
Dare rolls his eyes. “Somehow I doubt that. You had Nocte hidden up your sleeve, remember?”
I smile at that. “Yeah. And we didn’t stay long enough to see it all.”
“Another time,” Dare answers quickly. I nod.
“Definitely.” He doesn’t seem excited though, and that bothers me. He seemed excited last night. He’s an enigma, a contradiction. His emotions change by the day. Today, he’s cool and detached. He’s almost reserved or hesitant. It’s so strange.
“I’ll catch you later, Calla,” he says quietly, before bolting off in a long-strided jog.
That’s when my heart almost stops, because his strides are so long, he’s in perilous territory within two steps.
“Stop!” I scream out, my voice splitting the sky like a knife. Dare freezes, turning to look at me in confusion, his eyes wide.
I’m on my feet now, my heart pounding in my throat.
“Carefully step back this way,” I tell him. “Now.”
Realization washes over his face as tiny balls of gravel and dirt begin to give way around his feet. He quickly lunges toward me, diving at the ground right before a huge hunk of earth breaks free, falling over a hundred feet to land in the ocean below.
Dare is in a heap at my feet, and my heart pounds as I stare down at him.
“You can’t stand that close to the edge,” I utter needlessly, my throat still hot and tight.
Nocte Page 10