Sisters and Graves: A Rue Hallow Mystery (The Rue Hallow Mysteries Book 4)

by Amanda A. Allen

  “Don’t mind us,” I told the kids. “She stole my sweater.”

  One laughed, while another backed away. But a third, with the glow of magic about him said, “The cops aren’t going to delay forever.”

  I nodded once, leaned down, and grabbed my sister by the ankles. I tossed the skateboarders one of those casual, upward nods and then leaned over. My sister was small. She could reasonably be called adorable. I had infuriated her by calling her a pocketful of cute more than once. That did not make dragging her inert body across the field any easier. I had to ignore the throbbing pain in my arm and the horror of what I had done in my mind. I had to set aside everything and focus on the next step.

  The pain in my arm intensified as I dragged Bran towards the ancient wagon. Her head and shoulders burrowed a trail in the grass and dirt. When we’d fought before—we’d fought in quick exchanges that ended almost before they began. It had been years since we’d actually wrestled and pulled hair. And even though I had been through some pretty intense things since I’d gone away to school, my reaction to this had left me shakier than I would have expected beforehand.

  The young witch jogged across the ground to me, magic ready, hat turned around backward and jeans riding low.

  “You need to get going,” the skateboarding witch said.

  I looked him up and down. I’d let go of my magic and didn’t pull it back now. Instead, I asked, “You’re not alarmed by the fact that I’m dragging an unconscious girl across a field.”

  I had stumbled to a stop and stood wavering, looking down at my sister and wondering what in all the hells I was supposed to do to help her.

  The kid shuffled as he answered, “I took hold of my magic and my witch senses…I’m not comfortable being this close to her even now. What’s wrong with her?”

  “She is,” I huffed as I dug through her jeans for the car keys, “haunted.”

  “Oh shiiiii,” he started, but stopped when we heard sirens in the distance. He finished his curse under breath, apparently fighting the need to run and the need to help.

  “Life is never easy,” I told him and grabbed Bran by the shoulders. “Take her ankles.”

  He helped me to lift my sister into the wagon, I covered her with an old blanket, and wrote the ‘obfuscate’ rune on the back window with my blood. And then I focused my wavering power and will and ordered in proto-Romanian, “Burn.”

  The garbage at the back of school burst into high flames as I held onto the side of the wagon, and forced my body to the driver’s seat.

  “Oh man,” the kid said, jogging towards his friends who were already scattering away. Given the way they fled, I guessed that if the police found them around, it wouldn’t be the first time they had gotten in trouble.

  “Gotta go,” I ordered myself and started the wagon with the realization that the smell of old lady and mold was fading with the smell of my blood.

  Chapter 8

  I would have driven until I reached Martha and collapsed into my bed, but that bite demanded attention. Something was not right with it. More than just the fact that my sister had drawn blood. It was bleeding more than it should have, though what did I know?

  Except, when I caught my own gaze in the mirror, I scared myself. My eyes were too-dark, the circles under them were chasms, the paleness of my already pale skin was alarming. Somehow in the struggle, Bran had gotten a good hit in on my face and when she’d knocked her head back, she’d gotten my nose and mouth.

  I must be in shock, I thought, as I stared at my bloody face and noticed for the first time where blood had started to dry around my nose and lips. I had been tasting blood and hadn’t even realized it. My phone buzzed and it was Daddy, and this time, I had to answer. I needed to hear his voice, I needed to feel his strength after what I had done. So I pulled the car over and answered.

  “Rue, baby,” he said.

  The sound of his voice and the fact that I was beaten and bloody with my unconscious sister in the back of my car made me cry.

  “Daddy…” My voice sounded similar to how it must have when I was 5, and he’d hold my hand after a bad dream. “I want you to be my dad.”

  “Veruca Dominique Jones,” he said sternly, “I am your Dad. That hasn’t changed.”

  I shuddered and it took me several attempts before I said, “She stole you for us.”

  He took a shaky, shivery breath and then he said, “I know. But I could never regret you or one moment as your Dad, Veruca.”

  “You should,” I told him, using my sleeve to wipe some of the blood from my face, mostly smearing it. “We’re snakes.”

  “You’re my baby, little snake,” he said. “And I love you.”

  I laughed, a shuddering, tear-filled laugh. It was quiet for a breath and then I dared to ask, “What are you going to do?”

  “I…” His voice cut off and I could hear the flood of emotion that he was holding back. And because he was my Daddy and because I knew him, and because he’d walked me as a baby, and held me after my nightmares, and fathered me in all the ways that mattered, I knew with my heart and my magic that he was conflicted. “I remember loving your mother. But I don’t feel it.”

  I wanted to say good. But I couldn’t. I started to speak, stopped, started and then stopped and then I finally admitted, “I want you to love her Daddy. I want things to stay the same. It always mattered that my parents loved each other. But…”

  Another tear rolled down my face as I forced myself to speak what was true, “You don’t love her. And you deserve to love and be loved.”

  Daddy cleared his throat, and I knew he was crying too. I knew that he was broken too. I knew that he wished things hadn’t changed too.

  But they had. And gods and monsters, there was no going back.

  Then pain in my arm pulsated. My face felt numb and tight and it ached in a way that said it would hurt more later. I was tired. I was soul-worn and broken and I needed my Daddy to love my snake mother, and my sister to not be haunted and so many more things. I needed school to be less complicated that it was. I needed for there to not be some stupid, supernatural calling pending. I needed…I needed not to have another family who I didn’t know and didn’t know what to do with.

  But that wasn’t my life. And I wasn’t going to get any of those things.

  “Daddy,” I lied. “I just want you to be happy.”

  “That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you too, baby.”

  “You aren’t going to be happy staying with Mother without the potions,” I told us both. As painful as it was, it had to be said. Mostly, I needed to hear it and acknowledge what I wanted. As terrible as it was, I would never rest easy leaving my Daddy with her.

  “No,” he said. “No, I won’t.”

  “And if you take them again, it won’t change knowing that it’s all a lie.”

  He sniffled and I knew again that there was this big part of him who wanted to go back. Who wanted to take them again. Who didn’t want to know the truth. Sometimes, the truth might set you free. But the cage has its own allure.

  “Will you hate me if I take them again,” his voice shook and cracked and he sniffled, and I wanted to beg him to take it again. To pretend for me.

  “No,” I said starkly. And knew it for truth, painful as it was. And saying that had hurt far worse than the bite on my arm.

  “Will you hate me if I leave your mother?”

  Gods.

  It hurt me more to answer, “No.”

  I wanted to beg him to take the potions again. To be there when I went home. To not leave and find some other life. I didn’t want him to move beyond home even though I knew I would never live there again. The anchor of my parents united had been stolen from me. I didn’t know how to keep going without that security.

  “I love you, Veruca. Nothing will change that. I have been off the potions for a while now and that hasn’t changed. Not one little bit.”

  “Not for me?” I asked.

  “Not for you.” He replied.<
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  I sniffed and used the trail of tears to clean up some of the blood on my face as I looked towards the back of the wagon where my sister’s unconscious body was covered with an old blanket and then asked, “Not for Bran?”

  “Never for Bran. Never for you,” Daddy promised, and the truth was evident in his voice. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t been my biological dad. There was a link between his heart and mine and the witch in me heard the truth when it came from Daddy. Heard it and knew it for what it was.

  “But for Mother.” This wasn’t a question. It was an acknowledgment of who she was.

  “I…” Daddy struggled to reply and I knew that he wanted to say he loved her. He wanted to give that to me. And to him. And to our family. But he couldn’t.

  “Things have changed as regards to your Mother.”

  Such a precise answer.

  I looked down at the bite on my arm and reached over to grab the bottle of water that was rolling around in the passenger seat. I cracked the door open, ignoring the sounds of traffic to pour water over the bite. There was a flash of gray and black in the wound. Well…damn.

  Was Bran contagious? But the sound of Daddy breathing so carefully distracted me.

  He finally cleared his throat and asked, “Something is wrong with Branka?”

  “She’s haunted Daddy.”

  “Haunted?” His voice was cut off as he said, “Excuse me Autumn. I am speaking to Veruca.”

  But Mother must have ignored him as her voice came over the phone, “If she is haunted, she’s dangerous to you as well.”

  I looked down at my bite with my magic senses and caught that same sort of gray, black, edging that shouldn’t have been there.

  “Yeah,” I replied carefully. “I’m figuring that out. Say I was bitten by her.”

  “Bitten?” Mother sounded worried. She was worried, I gave her that much. She was a loving mother enough to steal us a good father. Was that sick and twisted? Yes. But it was how someone like Autumn Jones loved. I didn’t know what or how to deal with that, so I shoved it away to focus on the fact that I was probably infected with a haunting.

  “You need to cleanse it.”

  “How?” I snapped at her, but for once, she ignored it.

  “Fire.”

  “Fire?” I gasped as I imagined how badly that would hurt.

  “A balm infused with sage, but it would need to have aged. I doubt anyone around you has such a thing. Of course, I did. But your sister took care of that. And fire is thorough enough. Maybe if you can find a good healer. Use the right runes?”

  Well, gods, I thought. I knew a good healer. Portia Hallow was a member of the Hallow Family Council, a healer, and convinced that I wasn’t good enough to be the Hallow of Hallow house. I did not want to go to her for help. But then I remembered the sight of Bran’s rolling red and yellow eyes filled with a presence that did not belong to her.

  “What runes?”

  I let her tell me without screaming at her—and despite the flashes of gray and black in my bite, it was ridiculously difficult not to cut off her explanation and rage instead.

  I did know a good healer. Portia Hallow was a good one. The last thing I wanted was to ask her for help, but then I remember it wasn’t the last thing I wanted. The last thing I wanted was all of the things happening to me and those I loved.

  Perhaps, I could muster up the ability to ask for help, regardless of who was giving it. What did it matter now? My phone buzzed and I pulled it away from my ear to see Jessie’s face ringing in.

  “Gotta go,” I told her. Before adding, “What you did to Daddy was unforgivable.”

  “I am still your Mother, Veruca Jones. And you will speak to me with respect.”

  My snort was the only reply she got.

  I would have hung up but Daddy took the phone back.

  “Veruca, baby,” he said.

  “Yes, Daddy?”

  “I know I can count on you to take care of your sister. And yourself.”

  Gods, I thought, layer the worry and guilt on, but I knew that he didn’t intend to do that. He really thought I could fix Bran. He had no idea. No idea at all what was happening. He was a pharmacist. He worked in the little island pharmacy doling out depression meds for gray skies seasonal blues and birth control pills. But I knew that he didn’t intend to make me feel as responsible for what happened to Bran as he was actually doing.

  “Daddy,” I said. “I’m getting a call.”

  I’d have lied rather than telling him that I wasn’t sure Bran was going to make it. But lies weren’t necessary. Jessie was calling.

  “Ok, baby,” he said. “I love you.”

  “Hello,” I answered, considering how thoroughly screwed I was at that moment.

  “Where are you?”

  “No idea,” I told her, watching the gleam of lights flash by while I calculated just how much longer I’d have to drive like this. I hurt. I was tired. I was so tired I could feel it in my stomach. In my bones. In the way my mind was buzzing and shutting down.

  “You’re in danger,” Jessie said in a rush. “I’ve been learning about hauntings. They’re bad. They’re contagious. She’s going to attack you. She’ll keep coming in and out until she’s successful.”

  “Yeah,” I said. Something must have come through because Jessie choked.

  “Are you ok?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Sort of.”

  I pressed my palms into my eyes.

  “You need to confine her.”

  “She’s sleeping,” I confessed.

  “Then she’ll be easier to confine,” Jessie said without sympathy. She was serious. “You have to, Rue.”

  The car door was still open, so I shoved my legs towards the road and took a deep breath as I stood up. It hurt. It hurt to move and to breath and to figure out how to tie up my baby sister, who I adored.

  “We’ll figure out how to help her,” Jessie said. “I called Finn and Dr. Hallow.”

  “Lovely,” I said, knowing I would have done the same. Eventually. Damn it, Bran, I wanted to curse at her. To yell at her. To scream. I couldn’t handle this. Not with everything else. But I hadn’t been given that choice, had I? I shuffled through the back of the wagon but there was nothing. Felix took too good care of the wagon. It might smell like old lady, but it had been cleaned well.

  And without leaving behind a handy piece of rope. I stared around a little blankly before I realized that I’d stopped and Jessie had kept talking.

  “Rue? Rue? Hecate! Rue!”

  “Oh,” I said. “I don’t have anything to tie her up with. I’ll just drive faster.”

  “No,” Felix said. He must have taken the phone from Jessie or maybe I was on speaker. I didn’t know. “Use your shirt. Use Bran’s. Use your bra, but you tie her up.”

  “If I weren’t so tired,” I said, “You’d be freaking me out.”

  “Where are you,” Felix asked gently. His voice spoke to me. It called to me. In this sort of surreal moment, I realized that if I didn’t love him. I could. It would be so easy.

  “I don’t know. We went to Boston.”

  “Boston!”

  “Rue,” Jessie said gently, “You don’t know how long your spell on Bran will hold. You put her to sleep with a spell?”

  ‘Yes,” I agreed.

  “The haunting will fight the spell. You can’t count on it. And if the haunting wakes while you’re driving, you’ll be in big trouble.”

  A vision of Bran at the field came back to me, the snarling, the way she’d said she was so hungry. I nodded. Her crawling towards me while I drove was a terrifying thought.

  “Rue?” Felix’s voice was gentle again, but insistent. “Do you understand?”

  “Sure,” I said. I put the phone between my shoulder and ear to slip my bra off and walk around to the back of the wagon. Having Bran as your sister gave you all sorts of skills. Tying people up was one of them. And one I’d sworn I’d never need. If we both got out of this intact, I�
��d have to thank her.

  I knotted my bra sound her ankles until I could see they’d hurt and then I pulled tighter. Sometimes you did horrible things for the people you loved. And the realization that my mother had used that same justification to steal my daddy made me ill.

  Her ankles wouldn’t be enough, so I flipped her over and took off her knee high socks, tearing them using my teeth and magic, and then knotting them together to make a crappy rope. Regardless, I infused it with magic and runes and then bound my sister’s arms behind her back and her wrists to her ankles. She was well and truly stuck unless the haunting was stronger than Bran was all on her own.

  That thought made me shiver and I renewed my rune on her forehead and put another on her stomach and another on the back of her neck.

  Hopefully that would be enough. Those runes reminded me of what my mother had said and I stumbled back to the front of the wagon and dug through my bag until I found a sharpie marker and wrote along my arm a series of runes that I hoped would contain the bite I‘d received.

  “Did you get hurt when you fought with Bran,” Felix asked.

  I took a deep breath before I admitted the truth. “Yes. Pretty sure I am overly exhausted from it.”

  They were murmuring again as I searched through my bag until I found my familiar case with its vials. I could taste the potion before I even opened the case.

  “You are addicted, Rue,” I told myself. My coven stopped talking for a moment before they went back to their whispers. I opened that perfect vial and let the smell fill my nose before I tilted my head back and downed it without measuring.

  The burn of it hit me first but it was followed quickly by a rush of false-energy. It didn’t take away the pain. And I was too legitimately exhausted for it to make me feel aware, but it gave me the strength to turn the key in the wagon and start for home.

  “Rue,” Jessie asked, “Did you get hurt enough to bleed?”

  I looked in the rearview mirror, noticed the swelling black eye, the bloody nose and mouth and then glanced down at the bite on my arm.