by Nancy Holder
“She’ll hear Holly anyway,” Amanda said, smiling at Holly.
“Thank you.” Holly was touched. She cuddled Bast under her chin, and the kitten began to purr and knead her chest.
“I’ll show you the guest room.” Amanda gestured for Holly to follow.
Nicole stayed behind.
They went down a long hall papered in gray and white. It was far more elegant than the ice-cream parlor entry. Holly’s sandals clicked on the marble floor, and the cat purred as Amanda led the way. Then Holly’s cousin turned to the right and headed up a flight of stairs of plain white wood.
“This used to be the servants’ staircase,” she said. “Back in the old days. We don’t have servants, unless you count me.” She half-smiled. “Our house is supposed to be haunted. You’ll have to let me know what you think.”
“This is a big house,” Holly said as they got to the landing and Amanda headed down the second-floor hallway.
“Mom added on. Have you ever heard of Michael Deveraux? He’s a famous architect here. He did our house. We were in some magazines for it.” She stopped at an oak door decorated with a carved, bas-relief rose and pushed open the brass knob. “This is your room, Holly.”
It was done all in white—white lace curtains at the arched windows, white lace bedspread on a canopy bed, white wicker furniture. On the white floor was a white floor rug.
On the nightstand, a white porcelain vase held a single red rose, the only color in the room.
“I’m going to lose track of Bast in here,” Holly said, and Amanda chuckled. She gave the cat another affectionate pat as they walked into the room.
“My dad will bring up your suitcases and stuff,” Amanda told her, curling up in one of two wicker chairs. She picked up a throw pillow—also white—and settled it in her lap. “How long are you staying?”
“I don’t know,” Holly admitted. “I . . . I want to finish school back home. . . .” She trailed off. Her throat was closing up.
“I’m really sorry about your parents.” Amanda shook her head. “It really bites, what happened to them. It was a big surprise to us. My mom hadn’t heard from her brother in, like, forever. I had forgotten we even had an uncle.”
Unable to speak, Holly only nodded.
Just then, the door pushed open. Aunt Marie-Claire stood on the threshold. “You’re here. Good.” She smiled at Amanda. “I knew I could count on my good girl. Listen, I have to take Nicole to drama class. I’ll be back in a while, all right?”
Amanda dropped her gaze to the floor and took a breath. Then she picked at the pillow and said, “Sure, Mom.”
“I’ll probably go to the store while she’s in class. Save a trip.” Color rose on Marie-Claire’s cheeks. “Do you want anything?”
“Nope.” Amanda looked at Holly. “Do you?”
“Silly, she just got here.” Marie-Claire’s laugh rang false. She dabbed at the corner of her mouth as if to smooth out her lipstick, then said, “You’ll be okay until I get back?”
“And even after you get back,” Amanda shot back. Holly wasn’t sure if she was trying to make a joke, but Marie-Claire looked a little hurt.
“All right, then.” Her gaze swept the room, then rested on the red rose. “How nice to put that there, Amanda. That was sweet of you.” She shut the door behind her.
Amanda frowned after her. “Put what where? I don’t know what she’s talking about.”
“Um, the rose?” Holly ventured. “On the nightstand?”
The other girl shrugged. “I didn’t do that, Holly. Probably it was my dad.” Her face softened. “He’s like that. Very thoughtful.”
A silence fell between them. Then Holly said, “So Nicole takes acting lessons?”
“Summer school. Drama club stuff.” Amanda’s voice was dismissive as she picked some more at the pillow, trying to sound casual. “My sister is an actress. My mom was into theater when she was our age. So . . .”
Holly took that in, understanding dawning. Nicole is their mom’s favorite, and Amanda knows it. As an only child, Holly had never had to share her status with anyone. But when someone was nearly exactly like you, and yet she was the preferred child, that must hurt a lot.
She said tentatively, “It must be weird to be a twin.”
Amanda gazed at her. She didn’t blink as she replied, “It’s weird to be Nicole Anderson’s twin, that’s for sure.” She moved her shoulders and laid the pillow aside. “Do you want to do something, see the town? My dad would be glad to drive us.”
Holly yawned. “To tell you the truth, I’d like to lie down for a little while. I’m really tired.”
“You’ve been through a lot.” Amanda rose out of the chair. “It’s nice that you’re here.” Her voice was soft and wistful.
She’s been lonely, Holly realized. My guess is, Nicole doesn’t hang out with her much.
“I’ll leave you alone to decompress. Get used to . . . everything.” Amanda flashed her an uncertain smile and headed for the door.
Holly nuzzled Bast and added, “Thanks so much for the kitten. She’s adorable.” She laughed softly as the little creature tried to bat her nose. “She’s so cuddly. It’s like having a live stuffed animal.”
Amanda smiled sweetly. “I’ll tell my dad to leave your suitcases in the hall, so he doesn’t wake you up.” She turned to go, then turned back again. “I hope you like it here, Holly.”
“I’m sure I will,” Holly answered sincerely, though she was pretty much wanting to go to her own home and crawl in her own bed. Then Holly asked, “Did you guys have a fire recently?”
Amanda looked puzzled. “You mean, in the fireplace?”
Holly shook her head. “I mean, did something catch on fire? It smells so smoky.”
“I don’t smell anything,” Amanda observed, sniffing as if to prove her point. “We haven’t had a fire. Well, except last night in the fireplace.”
Holly shrugged. “Maybe I’m smelling something else. I’ve got some new perfume.”
Amanda considered; then she brightened. “Dad made dinner last night. He’s not very good at it. In fact, he usually sets off the smoke alarm.” She chuckled. “I’ll bet that’s what it is.”
“That makes sense,” Holly agreed, not convinced. The smell was so strong, she couldn’t believe Amanda didn’t notice it. Not that I think she’s lying about it. It’s just odd.
“Mom’s doing the honors tonight, because of you,” Amanda continued. “She’s really good. She studied at culinary school.”
“Wow. Cool. You guys are talented,” Holly said admiringly.
“No. Just my mom and my sister. My dad and I are really boring.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “We’re the audience. They’re the stars.”
Holly was a bit shocked. She didn’t know what to say. Without speaking further, Amanda left, closing the door behind her.
Holly took off her sandals and jeans and pulled back the white lace coverlet. The sheets were silky soft, caressing her as she lay down in her bra and panties. Bast mewed and crawled on top of her chest. Holly stared down her nose at the cat, who stared intently back.
“So, here I am,” she whispered. “I’m . . .” Tears slid down her face. It was all too much. New cousins, new house. New bed. New everything. The kitten cocked her head, blinking large blue eyes at her filled with innocence and curiosity. “I want them back,” Holly whispered. “I want everything to be the way it . . . it’s supposed to be.”
The little animal blinked, then lowered her head to Holly’s collar bone. Bast kneaded her shoulder a few times and began to purr. She nuzzled her new mistress, settling in for a good catnap.
Will I ever stop crying? Will it ever stop hurting?
Suddenly the cat jerked up her head. She scampered off Holly’s chest and dropped to the floor. Facing the closed door, she growled deep in her throat. Her hackles rose; she arched her back. Her warning growl grew into a squall of anger; she put her ears back and hissed.
“Kitty?” Holl
y murmured. It’s probably my uncle in the hall. She must have heard his footsteps.
Except she’s deaf.
“Kitty?” she said, more urgently. “Is something wrong?”
The cat backed away, then turned tail and scooted under the bed.
Holly sat up. She stared at the door and the floor just in front of it. There was nothing there.
The cat kept growling, sounding very threatened. She must feel the vibrations of someone walking.
Then, without warning, the temperature in the room plummeted. It was freezing cold, so cold that when Holly exhaled with surprise, she saw her own breath. Freaked, she grabbed the bedclothes and twisted them around herself. The cat yowled again and leaped onto the bed, scrabbling up to Holly and pawing at the blankets. Holly grabbed her up and pulled her inside the blankets, where the cat mewed frantically and tried to burrow into Holly’s stomach.
They must have a bad thermostat, she told herself firmly. The cat’s cold. That’s all.
And no one touched me at the airport.
“Amanda?” she called, but her throat was dry, and barely any sound came out at all. She cleared her throat and tried again, but her second try wasn’t much better than her first.
Then she heard a footstep on the floor, near the doorway.
Inside her room.
Her scalp prickled; the hair on the nape of her neck rose straight up. The air in the room got even colder, if such a thing was even possible; she was shaking, she was so cold. Her teeth were chattering and the skin on her face seemed to tighten across her features.
The cat was going absolutely crazy, writhing beneath the blankets and squalling for all she was worth. Her sharp little kitten claws dug into Holly’s thigh; she was dimly aware of it, but she was so cold—and now so scared—that it didn’t hurt her at all.
She tried to speak, tried to move. She couldn’t even blink her eyes. Couldn’t swallow or breathe. She wasn’t even sure her heart was still beating.
There was another footstep, very odd, like something that was almost there but not quite; it was like hearing a sound when one was deeply asleep but aware that one was dreaming. Like in the hospital, when I saw Daddy so . . . so . . . dead. . . . Oh, no, don’t let it be my father. . . .
. . . No, let it be my father. Oh, Daddy, I miss you so much. Please . . .
The door swung open, and Holly opened her mouth to scream.
Uncle Richard smiled broadly and said, “Hi, honey. I’ve got your luggage.”
The room was warm. The cat snuggled out of the covers and began to lick Holly’s face, as if nothing had happened.
“Th-thank you,” she managed.
“I’ll just leave it in the hall for now. You’re resting.”
“No,” she blurted. She didn’t want to be left alone. But he had already shut the door.
She sat in the bed, afraid to move. She felt incredibly foolish but she kept staring at the empty spot where she had heard the footsteps. Her head began to pound with tension.
The steady ticking of a clock vied for her attention, but she couldn’t stop staring at the spot, bracing herself in case something else happened.
I imagined it. I was asleep.
She didn’t know how long she sat there, but eventually the room grew dimmer and a little chilly. She didn’t want to sit there in the dark. Darting her gaze briefly away, she noticed a lamp on the wicker nightstand, beside the rose.
The rose, which was now out of the vase and lying draped across the stand. Droplets of water glistened on the white wicker.
Holly gasped and pulled her hand away, cradling it against her chest. Her heart pounded wildly.
The cat knocked the rose out of the vase, she told herself. It had to be the cat. Or maybe Amanda, when she got up and left the room. By accident.
Then a phone rang somewhere in the room, making her shout and jump out of the bed. The phone shrilled again. Holly saw it on the other nightstand, on the far side of the bed, and scrabbled across the mattress to grab it up. She knew she should let someone else get it—she was just a guest in this house—but she couldn’t stand the ringing.
“Hello?” she breathed.
“Holly. It’s Michael. Deveraux. Welcome to Seattle.”
“Ah. Tha—thank you,” she stammered.
“Are you enjoying your new home?”
It’s not my new home. “It . . . it rains a lot.” She was very uncomfortable talking to him.
“They put you in the guest room.” She raised her eyebrows. “I suppose,” he continued. “Since that’s what it’s for. I designed that space. Do you like it?”
“Yes. The floor . . . creaks.”
“Mmm.” He sounded displeased. “I told the carpenters to put extra nails in. So. Is your aunt available?”
Holly hesitated. “I’m not sure. She took Nicole to—”
“Never mind,” he said, cutting her off. “I’ll try later.”
“Michael! I’m here! I’m sorry I took so long! Nicki needed a ride to drama,” a feminine voice said clearly in the background. Holly recognized it at once. It was her aunt.
He was wondering where she was. That’s why he called. They had a . . . a date.
Ashamed for Marie-Claire, Holly closed her eyes. “Okay,” she croaked.
“I’ll come by and check that floor soon.”
“Thanks,” she managed.
He disconnected. Holly did likewise and put the handset back in the charger. She sat for a moment, absorbing her shock.
Back under the bed, Bast growled again.
As quickly as she could, she slipped on her jeans and dashed across the room, avoiding the place that had upset the cat, and bolted out of there.
Breathless in the hall, she leaned against the door, taking in the sight of her pile of suitcases. She longed to carry them downstairs, call a cab, and go to the airport. There was far too much weirdness here in Seattle.
As opposed to San Francisco, she thought miserably, where Barbara Davis-Chin is lying in the hospital with an undiagnosed illness. And I apparently own a house that I’m too young to live in by myself. And I have been sent to live with relatives who didn’t even know I was alive.
And my aunt is having an affair.
A door farther down opened, and Holly let out a startled cry.
It was Amanda, who raised her eyebrows. She was wearing very small rectangular glasses and she held a book in her left hand. It was The Mists of Avalon.
Amanda said, “It’s just me.”
Holly ran a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry. I’m kind of jumpy.”
“New house,” Amanda said kindly.
She beckoned to Holly, and Holly trailed down the hall and into a beautiful bedroom furnished in warm woods, lavender, and cream. Amanda had a sleigh bed covered with a purple and green iris spread. Over an antique desk was a bulletin board with a few photographs and some notes stuck to it. Her closet was open, and a pile of shoes and a purple bathrobe was heaped on the floor. Most of the wall space was taken up with bookcases, and Holly noted lots and lots of fantasy novels.
“I like your room,” Holly told her sincerely.
“Mom wants to redo it.” Amanda shook her head. “I don’t want her to touch it. Did you see the entryway? Can you say Baskin-Robbins?”
Holly stifled a giggle. “I wouldn’t change a thing in here.” Holly hesitated and switched the subject from Amanda’s mother. “Are you sure the kitten can’t hear anything? It seems like she can.”
“Yeah.” Amanda made a moue of apology. “I’m sorry. We didn’t realize it until after we picked her out for you.”
“No, no, it’s fine.” Holly made a motion in the air that meant absolutely nothing, dropped her hand into her lap, and added, “It just seems like she can hear me. Maybe she’s extra attentive to visual cues.”
“We had her checked at the vet’s. Mom wanted to get you a new cat, but Nicole said no. She said Bast was right for you.”
Amanda squatted beside her bed and li
fted up the coverlet. “I’ll show you my cat. Frey-frey,” she called. “Here, baby.”
A chubby orange adult cat emerged, plopping itself down with great dignity and meowing up at Amanda. She bent down and scooped up the enormous feline.
“This is Freya,” she told Holly. “She’s mine.”
“She’s really enormous.” Holly reached out a tentative hand to pet the cat. The cat accepted her attention like a duchess, preening and condescending, and Holly grinned despite herself. She knew a few horses like Miss Freya, proud and uppity but, in their hearts, craving affection and attention.
Amanda fondly stroked her pet. Holly joined in, then paused as the animal stared hard at her, accepting the lavish attention without blinking or moving its head. The intensity of Freya’s gaze was eerie.
“I hope you like it here, Holly,” Amanda said.
Holly swallowed. “I hope so too.”
Freya meowed and settled into Amanda’s lap.
FIVE
OAK MOON
Hands to Heaven, feet to Hell
The House of Deveraux casts its spell
Bring the sun out at night
To defeat the maiden’s light
To Cahors faithful strong and true
Blessings old we beg anew
And Goddess hear us as we plead
This year kill the Green Man’s seed
Seattle, mid-August
It rained in Seattle. Almost constantly.
Holly had heard that one got used to it—eventually—as long as one packed a trusty umbrella or threw on a rain poncho before heading out.
But on the fourth day of her stay with her relatives, she holed up in the attic with a cup of hot tea, listening to the rain, and looking through a treasure chest of her father’s old mementos.
It was an old sea chest; on it were written the initials C.C. In the dusty, musty box were yearbooks, sports awards, and pictures. Lots of pictures. From the looks of them, Dad had grown up happy in Seattle with Marie-Claire and their parents, David and Marianne. He had appeared to be happy—there were lots of pictures of him smiling, doing things, being with his family . . . and then, abruptly, he left the University of Washington and went to UC Berkeley.