On the two hour ride home, Cheyanne took shotgun, and I lay my head in Blaine’s lap in the back seat. My eyes had long since adjusted to the moonless night, and I watched his face intently and without embarrassment.
Did he wonder what the hell he’d gotten himself into?
Did he regret knowing me?
Or being my only true friend?
I could still feel his kisses and his touch and the memory was heavy in my mind of how he’d comforted me again and again over the past few days. I reached for his hand and twined my fingers through his.
What were we now anyway? Friends didn’t kiss. Friendship didn’t make my heart race the way Blaine made my heart race.
Blaine looked down and pushed my sweat dampened bangs away from my forehead. I couldn’t see them clearly in the night, but I knew his eyes were fixed on mine. I could feel them.
We didn’t speak, but when Marchland pulled the car into her parking place in front of House, and she and Cheyanne got out, Blaine held me still. I sat up and watched my sisters as they went through the gate. Marchland looked over her shoulder, but Cheyanne cackled loudly and ushered her down the cobbled walk way. House shut the gate tightly behind them.
When we were alone, Blaine leaned close, his fingers brushed against my cheek.
“Blaine?” Before his name had fully crossed my lips, his hands were tangled in my hair, and his lips covered mine. Surprised, I froze, but the kiss felt… right, and I relaxed into the embrace. Blaine smelled nice, like Pantene, sweat, and pixie sticks. He opened my lips wider with his own and the kiss deepened. It was everything—salty and sweet. Darkness and light. Soft and firm. A million things that shouldn’t go together, and made no sense, but worked perfectly anyway. His fingers moved from my stringy tresses to my neck. To my waist. I leaned closer still, wanting no space between us.
His body was warm and both familiar and foreign. Blaine was my best friend. We’d touched a million times—fist bumps, shoves, friendly punches—but at the same time we’d never touched. Not like this.
I pulled up my knees and wrapped my arms around his neck as I pressed even closer. Those hands that offered friendship and comfort and reassurance now left a scorching trail across my flesh. His touch landed on the bare skin above my shorts, where my shirt lifted, they burned, and fizzled, and seared in a way that made me want all of him to touch all of me.
Blaine.
Goofy Blaine. Skateboarding, addicted to candy Blaine.
Honest Blaine. Loyal, kind Blaine.
Sexy Blaine?
Yes.
Definitely yes.
He slid his hands under my shirt and we separated just long enough for him to lift the garment over my head and toss it to the floor. In that moment—in the arms of my best friend—it was easy to pretend that the day up to that point was a bad dream. A nightmare.
As my hands reached under his t-shirt to find his skin, as his lips slid down my neck, it was easy to forget that the dirt that stained my knees and shins was from a grave.
As he lay me be back against the window, it was easy to pretend that the soil caked under his finger nails wasn’t from burying a corpse.
Chapter Nine
Marchland cooked breakfast the next morning, and though she was far from a good chef, nothing served in that kitchen ever tasted so delicious as those lumpy grits and rubbery eggs. For the first time since I’d opened that god-awful email to see my own breasts staring back me, I felt like things had the possibility of turning out okay. I could breathe. Which, considering I’d killed a man—then re-killed him… if you can even call killing a dead man, killing… whatever—was no small accomplishment.
To my surprise, Cheyanne was awake early enough to join us. She grinned at me between bites of grits. She never said a word, but her lips stretched comically across her face, and ever-so-often she would nod or snort.
March sipped her herbal tea.
The relief was palpable, and even house seemed back to his normal self. The hole in the floor was gone and the walls were an excited tangerine. He hadn’t spoken to me again, except in the old way of feelings and intuition. There were no words in my mind.
“So,” March began. “Are you going to class this morning?”
She knew I was. But no one wanted to talk about what was actually on our minds. “Yes. Blaine thinks I should. At least until everything settles.”
“What else does Blaine think?” Cheyanne snorted. “I bet you left him with all kinds of good thoughts, huh?”
I rolled my eyes and Marchland ignored her.
“Blaine. He’s a good guy.” Marchland looked thoughtful. “I thought y’all were only friends, though.”
I shrugged. Maybe nothing brings you together like killing a man. I bit my lip to keep the snarky words in. I was going to be better—nicer—to my sisters. Life was too short to spend it being a smart ass.
Marchland looked at her phone, then finished off her last sip of tea. “I have to get going. I have to feed Chase and then get to work. Mary is coming by for the last portion of her tattoo.”
It would never not be weird that Marchland became friends with Chase’s wife. You know, considering that he lived in our shed, happy but bespelled. As far as I knew, Mary had no idea about that particular secret.
I stretched my arms over my head and yawned. “Me too.” Though the thought of leaving the comfort and safety of home to spend a morning under the gaze of Jonathan felt like the worst idea in the world. But then I thought of Blaine and his kisses the night before, and suddenly the day was looking up. “I am riding with Blaine today. He’ll be here in a little bit.”
“You ladies aren’t the only ones with plans today. I’m having a pic-nic with Brett.” Cheyanne pushed away from the table and dumped her half-full bowl into the sink. “He wants me to wear that red dress he got me last year. It is going to be h-o-t.” She winked before sashaying from the room.
I caught Marchland’s eye and raised my brows. We had to do something to help our sister. Soon.
Marchland shook her head. “I know, I know. But I don’t want you stressing over it. You’ve had enough to deal with lately. The Elder-Witch of the Oxford coven is coming in a few weeks to see if she can help me with Chase. I am already planning on getting her to check out Cheyanne, too.”
“Okay,” I said. “That sounds good.” I only hoped that a few weeks wouldn’t be too late.
My fingers laced through Blaine’s as we walked into Geology. I’d grown accustomed to the whispers and stares, but luckily I was becoming old news. I’d heard that one of the professors in the English department was pregnant by one of the guys on the football team.
Even though I knew in my gut that there was a chance dumping the body in the woods wouldn’t work—he’d come back after being fed to gators, for shit’s sake—my stomach still dropped when, there at the front of the classroom, stood Broussard. His tweed coat was tidy and his shirt was pressed. His hair and beard were combed. The knot of his tie was loosened, as it always was. Instead of the bored expression he’d always worn, once upon a time, he watched me walk into the class, never taking his eyes from me.
His thick lips parted to show to rows of hungry teeth, while his eyes were flat and void of emotion. “Ms. Murphey. So glad you can join us.”
The floor swelled and sank and the walls seemed to pulse with each beat of my heart. My mouth turned to cotton as sweat sprang from my pores. My magic ability chose that moment to perk up its antenna, and the hatred that spilled from the dead man washed over me, almost knocking me to my knees.
I turned to run but Blaine held fast to my hand.
He pulled me close, until his mouth was over my ear. “He cannot hurt you here. We need to be as normal as possible until we figure this out.”
His voice was even and calm, but once I looked into his face, his expression couldn’t cover his lie. He was as freaked as I was.
I shook my head and yanked my hand free. Without a word, I sprinted from the room. Behind me, I
could hear my classmates laughing. “She is so weird. What is her deal anyway?”
Blaine followed me into the hallway, and we didn’t stop until we were in the parking lot, unlocking his car. I leaned forward and gasped for air. The loathing that I’d felt had reached down to my bones and squeezed. In the sunshine, away from the monster, the feeling was ebbing.
“Where are we going?” He shut his door and slid the key into the ignition.
I didn’t want to go to the house. That would feel too much like waiting for something to happen. House couldn’t protect me, and whatever was keeping Broussard alive was obviously stronger than our magic.
“Mystic Ink,” I said. “I need to see March.”
Blaine dropped me off at the entrance before circling the block to find a parking space.
I ran through the door which made its annoying Bing Bong as I entered. Jeff the shop boy, raised a condescending eyebrow when he realized it was me. We’d never gotten along since I’d called out a god-awful bleach job he’d tried to pull off last year.
“Well look what the cat dragged in.” His voice was monotone. Normally I would spar before finding my sister, but at that moment there just wasn’t time.
“Not today,” I said, as I crossed the waiting area and headed to the tattoo floor in the rear of the shop.
The tall man lounging on Marchland’s tattoo table had an entire sleeve of my sister’s ink. He noticed me first. Marchland often got so engrossed in her work that Armageddon couldn’t catch her attention.
“Bradley? Are you okay,” he asked. “You don’t look so hot.”
“Hey Samuel. You could say I’ve had better days.”
Marchland clicked off her machine and sat the needle on her tray. “What is it? What happened?”
The look on March’s face was identical to the one Blaine had worn in class while working to keep his voice even.
“We need to talk. In private.”
Marchland pulled her rubber gloves from hands with a snap. “I’m sorry,” she said to Samuel, before planting a kiss on his lips. “You know I wouldn’t stop if it wasn’t important.” She turned to the pretty black woman who’d just finished piercing a man’s nose. “Can you get Samuel cleaned up for me? I am going to have to finish him another time.”
LaQuita smiled. “No problem. Give me just a minute here, then I will get right to Sam-I-Am.” She winked at Marchland’s boyfriend.
I loved coming to Mystic Ink. Marchland’s employees reminded me of what a family was supposed to be like. Happy to see each other and to help each other.
Bing Bong rang out from the waiting room, and a moment later Blaine appeared. Marchland looked from me to him then back to me. “Let’s go to my office.”
Marchland’s office phone was retro, pink with a curly chord and rotary dial. She chewed her lip as Agatha-Rosemary Munn’s voice bit through the ear piece. I sat next to Blaine on the red pleather couch, squeezing my hands in my lap and praying that Marchland could get the Elder-Witch to come down and help us, sooner than planned.
“I know. I am sorry…” Marchland’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your stories. No… I didn’t know how long you’ve been following Marco and Petra’s story. No… No, I didn’t know there was a secret baby. Listen, I just—n”
She held the phone away from her ear a moment and shook her head. “Again. I’m sorry. But we need your help…. I know, but it’s more now. We have a man who won’t stay dead and he is—”
Marchland grew quiet, her mouth open slightly as she listened.
“Wait… you will? That’s marvelous! And I promise we won’t keep you one second longer than necessary. Oh, you think we can take care of everything in one night? Yes, I understand you want to be back in time for your stories the next morning. Yes. Yes. Even better. Yes. You are right. We witchlings do have quite a lot to learn. Okay. Okay. Okay, thank you.” She placed the phone on its cradle and smiled. At least, it looked as if she were trying to force a smile. Her cheeks were strained, and the look in her eye was more relief than joy.
“I don’t know if this is good news or bad news, but she was intrigued enough from our… um… situation to move up the trip. She will be here tomorrow afternoon.”
My breath escaped my lungs in a solitary whoosh as I leaned back into the couch and squeezed my eyes closed. “Thank the Mother.”
Chapter Ten
The rest of the day passed in a quiet whir, as Blaine did his best to distract me. We played tourist, taking a horse and buggy ride through the quarter and listening to musicians on Royal and walking Jackson Square admiring art. Or at least, I would have admired it if I could have gotten my mind to relax. I tried to smile. I tried to forget that somewhere in my city, there was a man—or what used to be a man—who I’d killed and who now wanted me dead.
I was so physically tense, that I couldn’t imagine ever being any other way. My stomach was heavy with knotted dread and my throat felt thick, as if I’d tried to swallow a spoon of flour. But Blaine, bless him, hid his own worry and focused on helping me relax, and by the time he drove me home at dusk I felt better, if only by the tiniest bit. On the porch outside the front door, he tangled his arms around my waist and pulled me close. The tingles I felt from his touch still surprised me—just last week he’d been plain Blaine, my best friend since my first day of college. The guy with a skateboard and an addiction to pixie sticks.
As the sun set and night lay its dark blanket over the yard, I couldn’t help but wonder where Broussard was. I shivered, imagining him standing just on the other side of the shadows. Waiting.
“Hey.” Blaine rubbed my arms until the chicken skin disappeared. “I know you are frightened. I am too. But help is coming, and I believe Marchland when she says this woman can fix things.”
Of course he did. He’d taken in every new thing I tossed his way without so much as blinking. Killed a man? Okay. I’m a witch. Okay. Let’s bring him back. Okay. Let’s kill him again. Okay.
This old lady can solve everything. Okay. Sure, why not.
Me? I wasn’t so sure—but what other hope did I have? I wished Granny and the Aunts were alive. They’d know exactly what to do. If my granny killed a monster, he’d know better than to come back. They were sweet and kind and a flash of good in the hardness of my early life, but there had been power screened behind their elderly eyes. A power that I myself had never known.
Blaine gave me another squeeze.
“I should go,” I said, stepping away from him. “Tomorrow is sure to be insane and I should try to sleep.” Yeah. Right. Sleep.
The corners of Blaine’s lips quirked. “What do you mean? I am staying here. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Oh.” Blaine’s face fell. “I just wanted to be near you. In case you needed me.”
“No. I mean, you don’t have to sleep on the couch.” I took his hand and led him inside. “I will feel better with you next to me.”
I meant it.
Sleep should have been impossible, but worry and anxiety are physically exhausting, as much as they are mentally draining. So with Blaine curled around me in my twin sized bed, with my head resting on his arm while house sent my ceiling and walls into a rolling backdrop of blues and greens, I drifted off.
Get up. Get up.
House jarred me awake as if I’d been doused with ice water. For a moment I forgot that Blaine slept over and I rolled out of bed and landed on my hands and knees, ready to scream and run away from the man in my bed. Thank god my brain caught up with my body before I could fully react.
“What was that?” Blaine whispered in the dark.
Something bumped up the stairs, almost to the second floor. My floor.
“House woke me up,” I whispered back.
Bump. Bump. Bump. The footsteps continued, slow and loud and jarring.
Blaine slid from the bed and tip toed to the door. He motioned for me to stay back.
Something in me cra
cked open and I could feel all the ugliness I’d kept bundled inside pour out of my heart. All of the anger that had once been doused with fear and snuffed out with self-doubt, burned hot and bright and seared its way to the surface, making me brave.
Like hell I would stay back. I wasn’t going to hide behind those I cared about most. I felt like I’d been hiding my entire life. Marchland and Cheyanne had always tried to shield me from our world’s ugliness, and while I’d escaped our childhood mostly unhurt, I’d had a front row seat to the shit show that was the underbelly of humanity. Since I’d gone to college I’d been abused and humiliated. Then attacked. I’d reacted to save myself and killed the monster who’d tried to hurt me, and now he wouldn’t stay gone.
I was done.
I threw open my door and screamed as I ran full tilt from my bedroom before Blaine realized what was happening. I barreled down the hall to find Broussard smiling his disgusting, wicked smile at the top of the stairs. Without thinking, I plowed into him, sending him careening backwards down the steep staircase.
House kept me from falling, tipping me backwards instead of forward.
My screams must have woken my sisters, because by the time I jumped to my feet and made it down the stairs to where Broussard lay in a laughing heap, both March and Chey had appeared from their first floor bedrooms.
Broussard tilted his face up, as if he could see something that was beyond me. “Nice try, but what flows through you, flows through me. You couldn’t hold me on your stairs forever!” He spoke to the walls, to the ceiling. To House.
“As for you,” his eyes landed on my face, “this ends tonight.” Suddenly, he was on his feet.
When you grow up surrounded by people that children should never know, you learn to be scrappy. My sisters rushed the dead man and knocked him back to the ground. Cheyanne’s fingers knotted through his hair and she wrapped her legs around his waist as she did her best to hold him down, while March grabbed for his arms.
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