What the hell? Since when does she make dinner? Better yet, what the heck does she want to talk about?
Probably not anything good.
No talk with Aunt Louisa ever ends well.
Worry creeps inside me.
What’s going on?
The moment I step foot in the kitchen, I quickly realize three things.
That after nearly eight years of living off TV dinners, I finally get to eat a homemade dinner.
That my aunt does own plates made of a material besides paper and even salad forks, whatever the hell those are.
And we have company—a fifty-something-year-old dude with thinning hair and wearing a brown suede suit with leather elbow pads that looks straight out of the 70s.
When I approach the table, he shakes my hand and introduces himself as Glen. His hands are ice cold, which I find odd, but Aunt Louisa does like to keep the temperature in the house down. I rarely notice anymore, since my body always runs cold now, but Glen is human. I’m not.
At first, I can’t figure out why he’s here. Is he Aunt Louisa’s date? Since she hasn’t dated since I moved in, I highly doubt it. But after I set the table and we sit down at the dinner table, he covers his hand over hers, causing her to smile like a giddy teenage girl.
Well, would you look at that? Aunt Louisa can smile.
But her smile hastily fades when she notes me watching them with mild interest.
“Gaige, we need to talk,” she announces, picking up a large bowl filled with mashed potatoes. She slaps a heaping spoonful onto Glen’s plate and then gives herself a smaller portion before setting the bowl down.
“About what?” I ask, reaching for the bowl of potatoes.
She slides the bowl out of my reach. "Let's talk first, and then you can eat."
“Holding the potatoes hostage in case I try to bail out, huh?” I say dryly.
She scowls at me. “Now’s not the time to joke. I need you to be serious for a moment. It’s important.”
I eye the food and then her. "Is everything okay?"
"Everything's fine, and that's what we need to talk about." She takes Glen's hand, and he gives her an encouraging look. She smiles at him, but her warmness melts as her gaze glides to me again. "Glen and I have been dating for a couple of months now, and things are starting to get really serious."
They stare at me expectantly.
“Um, great… Good for you.” Figuring the conversation is over, I start to reach for the potatoes again.
“We’re not telling you this to congratulate us,” Aunt Louisa says curtly. “God, what’s wrong with you?”
“Easy, honey. You need to calm down,” Glen says. “Remember deep breaths. Air in. Air out.”
I glance up, curious how my aunt will react. She doesn’t normally react well to people telling her what to do, so she sucks in an inhale and releases it, I think, Well, holy shit, this Glen guy might be pretty cool, even with the brown suede suit.
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” she says in a foreign sugary sweet tone. “He just frustrates me sometimes.”
“Remember what we talked about? Don’t let him get to you.” Glen squeezes her hand. “Be strong and confident. You’re the boss.”
Okay, he just lost all his coolness.
My aunt nods and then looks at me, squaring her shoulders. “Gaige, it’s time for you to move out.”
I blink, blindsided. “What?”
“My lease is up in less than a week, and we decided that the best thing for us to do is move in together. He only has a one-bedroom apartment, so there won’t be any room for you. Plus, he lives all the way out in Alpine Valley, which is way too far away from your school.” She looks at Glen with her hand stuck out “Did you bring the card?”
Glen fumbles a card out of his jacket pocket and hands it to Aunt Louisa. “Here you go, hon.”
She slides the card across the table toward me. “I know you have a few weeks of school left, so I arranged for you to stay here until you graduate.”
I don’t look down at the card. “What about after I graduate? Fall semester doesn’t start until August… I wasn’t planning to move out until I could get into the dorms.” Fuck. Where the hell am I going to live?
Relax, the monster purrs inside me. Everything is going to be okay.
I grip my fork. Since when are you so calm?
“Well, I guess you’ll just have to get yourself a job, won’t you,” she says, picking up her fork and knife.
“I already have a job, but it won’t pay for my own place.” My job moving sprinkler pipes pays crap, but the hours work well with school.
“Well, I guess you’ll just have to get another. It’s time for you to grow up. I’ve taken care of you until you turned eighteen. You’re an adult now. You’re old enough to start taking care of yourself.” She slices her steak, the knife making an ear-cringing noise as it scrapes the plate. “Call that number on the card. Mrs. Marlow is expecting your call. And she’s being very generous by letting you live there for a month rent free, so make sure you don’t mess it up by being… Well, you.”
I open and flex my hand, taking a deep breath. You can handle this. You hate living with Aunt Louisa anyway. And you’ve handled way worse. And you’re not even human for fuck sakes.
I dare a glance at the card and my confusion doubles.
If you ever need any help, just remember who to call. Mrs. Marlow!
For some reason, the Ghostbuster tune plays through my head.
I look up at my aunt in time to see her giggle as Glen whispers in her ear.
“Who is this person?” I interrupt their teenage lovefest moment, holding up the card. “It doesn’t really explain on here, but her name seems familiar.”
“It’s Livvy Marlow,” she says like it explains everything. When crickets literally start to chirp, she huffs in annoyance. “You know, that woman who stands outside the grocery store trying to get people to sign up for the food drive. She wears that funny hat with the yellow flower on it.”
“Oh, yeah.” I don’t know whether to feel comforted by the revelation or concerned. The woman seems nice and everything, but wonky. “Wait. How did she even find out I needed a place?”
For the first time during this conversation—maybe even for the first time since I moved in—my aunt appears guilty.
“I might have mentioned to her that I have a nephew who is about to be homeless soon,” she says then stuffs her mouth full of steak.
“Did you tell her you are my guardian?” I ask.
She avoids eye contact with me, staring at her plate. “I don’t see why that would be relevant. And you’re eighteen now, so technically I’m no longer responsible for you.”
My jaw ticks. How long has she known she was going to kick me out? Days? Weeks? Months? At least if she’d given me some notice, I could’ve tried to save up some money to get my own place. Now I’m going to either have to sleep in my car or live with a woman who chased me across the parking lot once, yelling, “Good deeds warm the heart and soul!” like she was selling soup instead of trying to get me to commit to a week of handing food to people. I tried to lightly joke that I didn’t have a soul, at least not a full one, but she didn’t take me seriously.
“Just think about it.” She shoved the flyer into my hand.
“Sure.” I walked away and tucked the paper into my back pocket where it was long forgotten.
Okay, maybe I deserve what’s happening to me.
"Just call Mrs. Marlow," my aunt says, taking her aggravation with me out on her steak, hacking the meat to pieces. "She told me you could move in this weekend, so make sure to get started on packing tonight. Don't take any of the furniture. That all goes with me."
If you want, you could always let me out, the monster claps with glee.
I consider the offer but decide against it. “Okay.”
A smile lights up her face. “Thank you for being cooperative about this.”
It’s probably the first nice thing she�
��s said to me in years, and it’d be great if it didn’t happen right before she had to kick me out.
Pushing my chair away from the table, I rise to my feet. “You know what, I’m not really that hungry.”
“Sounds good.” She grins at Glen.
And Glen… Well, his eyes flash red.
Fuck. Suddenly, everything is making sense.
He’s a Soulless Keeper, the creature I made the deal with.
But why is he here?
“Oh, before you go, Gaige, I wanted to give you my card, just in case you ever need to get a hold of your aunt.” Glen reaches into his pocket, grabs a card, and slides it across the table.
I don’t want to pick it up, but when his eyes flash red again, I’m reminded that I don’t have a choice—he owns my soul.
“Thanks,” I mutter, snatching up the card.
Then I reel around and stride out of the room. By the time I reach the stairway, my hands are shaking.
At the bottom stair, I turn over the card and read what’s printed on the back:
You’re going to move in with Willa, get close to her, and find out where the sword is. Then, when you do, you’ll tell me where the sword is. If you don’t, you know what will happen.
My heart briefly aches for the first time since I made the deal. But as quickly as the feeling comes, it's gone. And I'm left with nothing but hollowness. Which might be for the better. Because when a Soulless Keeper gives a Soulless an order, they have no choice but to follow.
Chapter 3
Willa
After bailing out of school on Friday, I spend the rest of the night and well into Saturday locked up in my room with "Wish You Were Here" by Pink Floyd stuck on repeat and longing for simpler times and trying to convince myself I didn't hallucinate today. That maybe Gaige's eyes didn’t turn black, and it was simply a trick of the light. But a thought plagues the back of my mind. What if I am hallucinating again?
The last time it happened was right after my dad died. The hallucinations were so awful I literally lived in a delusional world full of snow and ash with some creepy ass skeleton. This went on for a week straight, and the doctor's said it was my coping mechanism for my dad's death. I questioned, though, if maybe my brain was broken since it wasn't the first time I've seen things that weren't real.
A while ago, while I was playing in a field near the cemetery, I could've sworn I saw Gaige talking to the grim reaper or someone who looked like him. But when I pointed them out to Brecken, who was with me at the time, he said he couldn't see the reaper or Gaige. Then he placed his hand to my forehead and asked me if I had a fever. Shaking my head, I'd told him I was joking, even though the reaper and Gaige were still standing there.
I never told anyone else about the incident, fearing I might get locked up in a straitjacket.
I sigh heavily. Would that be any worse, though, then constantly locking myself in my room?
Rolling onto my side, I stare at a photo collage on the wall that maps out my life and all the people I’ve lost. I miss everyone and sometimes wish I could go back in time to moments the photos captured.
I continue to daydream, planning on staying locked in my room all through the weekend just to avoid my mom's nagging to get my do-gooder deed quota up for the month. But I should know better than to think some old school tunes and a locked door would keep my mom away.
“Knock. Knock,” she singsongs, rapping on my closed door.
I stay glued to my unmade bed, staring up at the ceiling, letting the lyrics suck me away to a happier time when Brecken was here. We were drinking wine we snuck from the cabinet in the dining room and Brecken was doing an impersonation of Porter getting kicked in his precious jewels by Bailey Alingmany after he tried to dump her at a party. I wasn’t there—parties aren’t really my scene—but Brecken was art buddies with the guy throwing the party, so he went.
After he delivered a very theatrical and quite comical performance of Bailey bashing the tip of her four-inch designer heels straight into Porter's special man goodies, he flopped down on the bed beside me.
“It was so funny, Willa,” he said, all giddy. “I wish you could’ve been there to see it.”
“Ha! Me go to a party. That’ll be the day.” I tucked my hands under my head and stared at him as he grinned at me.
“One day you will,” he said, patting my head. “You’ll see.”
I didn’t say anything, just stared at him.
Brecken was one of those pretty boys with long dark lashes and full lips. I think if he weren’t such a weirdo and didn’t dress like a character from Alice in Wonderland so much, he’d have had a million girls lined up to date him. But I was glad he didn’t. I liked that he belonged to me, not in a girlfriend/boyfriend way, but as my best friend in the entire world. And he always made me smile. All the time. Such a happy person.
At least I thought so.
How did I miss how sad he really was?
That is if he really did take his own life.
What if he didn’t?
My thoughts drift back to the final message I got from him.
I’ve got a secret. A really good one too about a lot of people in this town. Share with you tonight! But we need to go someplace where no one can overhear us. I think I know the perfect place. But you’ll have to trust me, like a freakin’ ton, and not be angry with me for not telling you the truth earlier.
He never said what that place was and I never found out because before we met up, he died. I had told his mom about the message afterward and she passed it along to the police, but Brecken collected secrets like people collect buttons, bugs, or dolls, so no one thought too much of it. Except me. I can’t seem to let it go. I mean, why would he tell me to meet up with him if he knew he was going to take his own life that night? And what was the secret? And who was it about? And what was he not telling me?
“Knock. Knock,” my mom tries again, louder this time.
Ignoring her, I crank up the music, roll over, and slip my hand underneath the mattress. I feel around until my fingertips brush the edge of an envelope.
About a week after Brecken's funeral his mom showed up on my doorstep to hand deliver a manila envelope with my name written on it with a note that said: DO NOT OPEN UNLESS YOU ARE WILLA. AND TRUST ME, I'LL KNOW BECAUSE I SEE EVERYTHING. BECAUSE I'M FREAKIN' AWESOME.
"I found this in Brecken's room." Her hands shook as she gave me the envelope. "I didn't open it... I wanted to, but clearly, he didn't want me to." She sniffled, her eyes ringed with red. She'd been crying. Probably had been since she found him. "If it's anything I need to see, you'll let me know, right?"
"Of course." I hugged her, and she held on tightly.
I felt so bad for her, not just because she lost a child but of how she lost him. And Brecken was her only child.
“I miss him so much,” she whispered with a tremulous breath.
Me too. But I couldn’t say the words aloud. It felt like if I did, I’d be accepting that he was gone, and then I’d be forced to feel the pain that came with missing him.
So I stayed quiet while she hugged me until she pulled away. Then we said goodbye, and I went to my bedroom to open the envelope. My fingers shook as I tore the seal open and dumped out the contents onto my bed; a map of the town and a note in Brecken’s handwriting.
This will lead you to your very own secret land when you need it the most. And I’ll be waiting for you always. Just be careful with it, please, and don’t let anyone find out about it once you find it.
I traced my fingers along the tiny red heart drawn across the center of the map and the latitude and longitude scrawled beside it. I didn’t know if Brecken had created the map before or after he decided he was going to take his own life, what the purpose of the map was, or where it leads to, or why he warned me to be careful. I looked up the destination online, but sadly, it pulled up nothing. Deep down, I think I hoped if I did find the place, I’d find Brecken waiting there for me. But the place was unfindable, just
like him.
The map wasn’t the only thing inside the envelope. There was also a quote of the day card.
The one who possesses the gift of both seeing the keeping and giving is the one who possesses the gift to ultimately break the curse of the soulless.
It was a bit of a strange quote, but Brecken had often left me an odd quote of the day cards I could never decipher.
“I said, knock, knock,” my mom repeats, yanking me away from my thoughts.
She sounds about as cheery as a cartoon character preparing to break out into a song. Worried she just might do that, I drag my butt off my bed and throw open the door.
She’s sporting a pair of denim overalls, work gloves, and the brimmed hat with the yellow flower, which can only mean one thing. She’s about to go out and help someone in need, probably by doing something like cleaning out an elderly person’s garage or pulling weeds at the shelter. And since she’s here, smiling at me like I’m the most beautiful, kindest soul in the world, it means she’s going to ask me to come with her.
"What's up, Mom?" I shoot for upbeat tone but end up coming off more anti-depressant.
She gives me a look. “I said, knock, knock.”
I breathe in and out, reminding myself that my bad mood has nothing to do with her. “Who’s there?”
“A good deed.”
“A good deed who?”
“A good deed needs to be done so get your behind out of mopeyland and come with me.”
“Can I pass on this one? I’m really tired.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t like you sitting around in your room by yourself. It’s not healthy.”
I want to tell her I'm too depressed to go outside, but it'd be like arguing with Mary Poppins and will probably follow with a tune about sunshine being the best medicine for gloominess. Then she'll go into a long speech about how she knows this first hand.
While my mom’s all rainbows and sunshine now, she wasn’t always this way. After my dad passed away and I went batshit crazy for a while, she used to be hailstorms and lightning her anger threatening to flood our home. She spent her days drinking her pain away and her nights passed out in bed. She was angry all the time. Angry at the world for taking her husband away. Angry at the woman he ran into the burning house to save, only to get killed himself. He wasn’t even a fireman, just a good guy who wanted to help whenever he could.
The Curse of the Soulless Page 2