by KB Anne
Ryan lifts his head. I can’t tell if he’s mad at Scott for finding fault with Lizzie, but I am.
“She wasn’t scary,” I hiss at them.
Scott hops off the truck. “Really? Did you ever see her when someone talked about you behind your back?”
I jump off after him. “No.”
Ryan laughs. “She’d haul off and threaten to tear their eyes out.”
Scott holds up his hands. “I wouldn’t want to piss her off. I’d take Gigi any day.”
“Lizzie? Really?”
“Really,” Ryan says. “If anyone dared breath a word of insult against you, she would skin them alive.”
I slump against a tree. “Huh. Guess I didn’t know everything there was to know about my best friend.”
Learning that my best friend was a ferocious protector makes me both sad and proud. There was a side to her I didn’t know, a side I didn’t know existed. A side she hid from me.
* * *
We all needed time apart to work through our own Lizzie’s-not-here shit. Ryan wandered off to the dock. Scott wound up along the shoreline tossing pebbles into the water. As for me, I didn’t go as far or feel the need to physically exert myself. Actually, I wanted to do the least amount of exerting possible. I plopped right down on the grass in front of the truck and closed my eyes.
The intense rays of the sun warm me in a way nothing else can. I just lie still, absorbing the heat, rekindling my soul. A shadow crosses overhead. A whisper of movement dances across my eyelids. I open them to Lizzie, the real Lizzie, with her turquoise hoodie and her secret Twenty One Pilots t-shirt. I sit up, ready to speak, ready to hug her. To never let her go. Maybe even ready to find out what happened at the church. But before I ask her anything, she rests her finger against my lips. I only feel the impression of it rather than her actual touch. She points to Ryan, sleeping on the dock.
Is he okay?
I shrug my shoulders and shake my head “no.” There’s no point hiding the truth from a dead person.
Will you and Scott take care of him while he’s here?
Of course, I mouth to her. We sit staring at each other in silence for a while, until I can’t take it anymore. “I miss you.”
She smiles at me. “I miss you too, but I really miss kissing that guy. How’s Scott?”
“Scott is Scott. He’s keeping the rest of us happy just like always. He’s my brother, you know.”
“That makes sense. I should have seen that. I’m not all-knowing.”
“Can anyone else see you? Are you in spirit form? Will you stay like this forever? What happened to your body?”
She holds up her hands. “Whoa, whoa! Obviously my death hasn’t curbed your curiosity. I can’t give you answers you don’t already know, but I guess I’m in an in-between place.”
“Like limbo?”
“I guess. I’m not dead, but I’m not alive either. It’s like my body is in a deep sleep, but my soul isn’t.”
“Did someone steal your body? Do you know who?”
“I don’t think it was stolen. I think I was summoned.”
Dread spawns in my gut. “By who?”
“I don’t know, but I’m here now, so let’s make the most of it.”
“Did you hear that I’m the reincarnated Celtic Goddess Brigit from Scott’s story at the campfire? Cause that one’s been going around.”
“Whoa, what? Have you taken something again? Remember what happened the last time—you were knocked out for the entire weekend. I thought you were going to stop using.”
I roll my eyes. “Am I seriously getting lectured from a ghost?”
She pulls her hand to her chest. “We prefer the term ‘spirit,’ and yes, you are. Someone has to look out for you.”
“I can look out for myself, thank you very much.”
“Not really.”
I swat at her, and my hand sweeps right through her.
“Well, that was weird,” she says.
“And awkward. Sorry for trying to hit you.”
“Evidently, we spirits don’t like violence either. Now, I would mostly love to hang out with you all day, but you seem fine, and Ryan keeps calling for me.”
I look over at his still body on the dock. “Looks pretty quiet to me.”
“Well, that’s why I’m a spirit, and you aren’t.”
“So, I’m not a reincarnated goddess?”
“I didn’t say that, and remember, I can’t tell you anything you don’t already know.”
“Why does this conversation feel very one-sided?”
“Because it is,” she winks and disappears, reappearing next to Ryan at the water.
Even though the dock is a good two hundred feet or so away, I focus all my energy on a single thought, Will I see you again?
She smiles at me. I’ll always be there when you need me.
I need you now.
She shakes her head and laughs. No, you don’t, but he does.
She lies down next to him. He doesn’t sit up like I did, but he seems to settle into the dock more and shift toward her.
I smile at them as I shake my head. Nothing like talking to a spirit to uncomplicate your day.
8
Night of the Walking Werewolf
For the next week, Ryan is calm. Peaceful even. Scott and I spend every waking moment watching him, studying him, waiting for the first indication that he’s turning wolf on us, but nothing comes. No growls. No extra facial hair. No aggression—or no more than he usually demonstrates. We think we’re in the clear. We think he escaped the curse. We think wrong.
Hot breath. Hot, stinking breath. And teeth. Sharp teeth ready to bite my jugular. Thoughts that are not my own leap into my subconscious.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I’m instantly aware that someone is in my room. I fight to open my eyes, but my lids are much too heavy with sleep. I shake my head, trying to wake up, feeling that it’s a matter of life and death. I kick. I scream. I punch. Finally, I wake up. And I see who’s standing in my room, and he’s not an invited guest . . .
“Ryan, what are you doing here?”
He doesn’t answer he just stares at me with his eyes strangely glowing in the darkness.
“Ryan, what are you doing here?”
The light switches on in my room, temporarily blinding me. When my eyes shift back into focus, I watch Ryan blink once, then blink again. Scott runs in with Dad following behind. Even over the panicked thoughts racing through their minds, I hear the soft shuffle of Gram’s slippers on the floor. Her concern is palpable.
Dad grabs hold of Ryan’s arm. “What is the meaning of this?”
Ryan gazes at him, bewildered, then back at me. “I don’t know,” he whispers. “I have no idea how I got here. One minute I’m sleeping in my own bed, and then the next, I’m standing here.”
Puzzlement crosses the three of our faces except Dad’s and Gram’s. In theirs, I see the acknowledgment of an ugly truth.
“Ryan, let me take you downstairs and get you something to drink,” Dad says, trying to guide him to the door, but he stays rooted to the spot. “Son? Come on now.”
Ryan stiffens. “I am not your son. There is only one that rules me. I will be your slave no longer.”
“Ryan, let’s go,” Scott pleads. He and Dad seize Ryan’s arms and drag him out of the room, but it isn’t easy. He’s gotten stronger. He’s probably been hitting the weights to get his mind off Lizzie.
Dad nods at Gram before he shuts the door behind him. She locks it and shoves the key in her pocket. I didn’t even know there was a key for the lock. She takes a deep breath. I breathe along with her. I already feel better with her near.
“Gram, what happened? Why did he show up here? Is he upset about Lizzie?”
She sits next to me. “I don’t know dear, but Mark and Scott will take care of him,” she whispers, stroking my hair.
I notice a bulge in her pocket that’s much larger than a key. “What’s in there?”
She pats my head. “Nothing you need to worry about. Now, get some sleep, and we’ll talk about everything in the morning.”
“Tomorrow might be too late. Scott and I need to know the truth. All the truth.”
She sighs. “I know, child. Your dad and I learned that lesson the hard way.”
Whatever tea blend she gave me earlier puts me right back to sleep, but for the remainder of the night, I sleep in fits, springing up periodically screaming, “What? What?”
Gram tries to reassure me I’m all right each time, but I’m not so sure. There’s not much I am sure of anymore. Especially when the warms rays of sunshine wake me, and I expect to feel safe and maybe get some answers, but only discover that the world has become Gigi Brennan’s own personal shit show. Entranced by the shiny object lying at my feet, I am completely bewildered. My gaze shifts to Gram’s now-empty bathrobe pocket. Still not ready to throw myself out the window and call it a day, I pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming, but all it does is assure me that I’m awake. Wide awake. And a shiny silver gun is lying on my bed.
I stare at the woman I thought I knew. The peace-loving, Vietnam-protest-walking, hippie grandmother who doesn’t eat meat because it kills animals. And now, she’s brought a weapon into my room that kills people. Real-live, honest-to-god people.
I didn’t even know she owned a gun. Sure, I carry around a silver bullet good-luck charm, but what is she doing carrying around an instrument of death? I know she believes that I am Brigit, and Clayone wants to kill me, but he is still trapped up in a church, so who is she worried about?
Oh.
My.
God.
“Were you going to shoot Ryan?” I yell.
Her eyes flash open. “What?”
“Were. You. Going. To. Shoot. Ryan?” I enunciate each word so there’s no mistaking their meaning. Tears crash down my cheeks.
“Honey, no,” she says, shoving the gun back into her pocket. “I just had it as a precaution.”
My absolute unraveling has begun. “Precaution? Who are you?” I shriek, shrinking away from her and toward the bedroom door.
She rises from the bed. “Gigi, my job is to protect you.”
“Protect me by shooting one of my best friends?” I fumble with the lock on the door, but she has the key.
She sweeps by me to open it. “Gi, child, can we calmly talk about this?”
“There’s nothing to talk about!” I storm past her and run down the stairs taking them two at a time and almost slam into Dad.
“Gi, what’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong? What’s wrong? My own flesh and blood was going to kill one of my best friends. That’s what’s wrong!” I rush past him, in no mood for his lessons. I stomp to the back door and push on it, only to discover that it’s locked too. The forces of the universe are working against me, and I think I might explode. “Since when did we start locking doors anyway?” I growl as I struggle to open it.
“Since my best friend snuck into my sister’s room,” Scott whispers with a sadness that will overwhelm me if I let it.
“Scott, what’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong is that my best friend tried to kill you!” Dark circles rim his green eyes.
I cross my arms. “He didn’t try to kill me.”
“What was he doing in your room then?”
“He was probably thinking about Lizzie and sleepwalked over out of habit. I’m the closest thing to her he has left.”
“You’re also the closest thing to a goddess the world has ever known.”
“Don’t tell me you believe that crap. I thought we decided the prophecy was a bunch of garbage.”
He stares at me. “But what if it’s not? What if you are Brigit? Ryan was here to kill you, Gigi. He’s turning into a werewolf. I know it. You know it. You saw how he acted last night. We can’t ignore it any longer.”
“So, what does that mean? We have to kill one of our best friends? I already killed one. I don’t want to kill another one.”
Dad walks in with Gram at his side. Dark circles ring their eyes. The last few weeks have aged them. They’ve aged us too. “You won’t have to.”
“You are not killing Ryan.”
“Gi, child, we might not have a choice,” Gram says. “There’s a much bigger picture here. We have a responsibility to protect you, my granddaughter, but we also have an even greater responsibility to protect the Goddess Brigit.”
“We are not discussing that again.”
She steps toward me. I try to back out of the room, but with the door locked, I’ve nowhere to go.
“It’s time you start accepting responsibility for your actions. It’s not just your life. It’s all our lives. It’s life as we know it. If Clayone wins by killing you, the world will be plunged into a place of endless horror. Werewolves capable of killing at will. You must believe you are Brigit. You must accept who you are.”
I’m about to argue with her when she clutches her chest and collapses, and suddenly, nothing else matters.
9
Twisting the Knife
Dad hasn’t let me stay at the hospital with Gram since she’s been there. Each night he checks the doors and windows in the house, then locks my bedroom door, and he and Scott sleep on my cold, hard bedroom floor. I argue with him. Complain about privacy and not needing their protection. But quietly, inwardly, without Gram around, I find their presence reassuring. She wasn’t as healthy as we all thought she was. She had a heart attack.
Tonight’s the full moon. Not the Super Blue Blood Moon—that’s not until Samhain at the end of the month. This one is October’s first full moon, a seemingly benign one, far away from the thirty-first. But evidently, all full moons generate power that can be harvested. As a result, my normal imprisonment routine will come after Dad’s special little ceremony tonight. With Gram’s absence, the spells and enchantments once cast on the house and the property have lost some potency—or that’s what he told me. He’s invited all the covens and their members to add their own magic to our house in preparation for the next one, which happens to be on Halloween, which also happens to be Samhain, which also happens to be the day Clayone will try to kill me because he thinks I’m the Goddess Brigit reincarnated.
Yeah, they still believe that shit.
If I could, I’d run away and make everyone’s life a lot less complicated, but I won’t leave Gram. I just want this night to be over.
Throughout the evening, a steady processional of believers walk into our kitchen and bid me thanks for my sacrifice of immortality to join their lives. Their reverence for me makes me want to vomit and become violent. Dad, Gram, and Scott warned me to remain polite, so instead of disagreeing with them, I bite my lip. Instead of punching them, I dig my nails into my palms so hard they bleed.
There’s probably a giant neon red arrow flashing above my head that says “Fraud Alert,” but I continue along with my B-movie script. I nod my head, graciously accepting their appreciation, but since I don’t acknowledge them with words my throat doesn’t light on fire. I just wish they could see me for what I really am—a stupid, selfish sixteen-year-old girl who doesn’t have a clue who she is or where she’s supposed to go.
The conversation I had with Gram at the hospital earlier makes me feel even more like a fraud. Worse. A liar. A terrible liar. And I’ve always prided myself on trying to tell her the truth. Granted, it hasn’t always worked out that way, but I made an attempt. I lie to other people, but not to Gram.
“Gigi, you must accept who you are,” she said. “You must acknowledge the truth and embrace it to realize your full power.”
“I do!”
“No, you don’t. I know you well enough to know when you’re lying. Besides, I can read your mind too—did you forget that?”
Actually, I kinda did. I tried to block my brain from her, and when I couldn’t, I tried to think goddess-y thoughts.
“Gigi, you have to Believe you are Brigit. Belief gives pow
er. Without Belief you are nothing.”
I nodded along with her, thinking, okay, okay, I believe. I believe.
“Don’t you dare act condescending to me, missy.”
Gram had never scolded me or been so angry with me. Her words put me in a place that made me scared I might lose her, and I can’t lose Gram. I can’t.
“Missy? Is that anyway to speak to a goddess?”
“It is when she’s your granddaughter. You need to protect yourself. Don’t worry about Scott or Mark or me or anyone else. You must protect yourself at all costs.”
“I understand.”
She jumped up in bed, setting the machines off in a frenzy of beeping. I wanted to tell her to settle down, but she was on a rant, and not even the Goddess herself could stop her. “Do you? Do you really understand? What I’m saying, Gigi, is that you will not be able to make everyone better. In the end, you will need to make some hard choices. Choices that revolve around life and death. If you are killed, life as we know it will be over. It won’t matter how many lives you saved. It won’t matter how many people or animals you helped. Clayone will rule the Earth and destroy at will. He cannot be granted that power. Protect yourself.”
“Yes, Gram.”
“You must Believe who you are,” she kept saying, over and over again, even after the nurses came in and made her lie back down. Even after they shooed me out after I kissed her good night. Her words, the belief she had in her words, will be forever etched in my brain.
Another patron of Brigit shuffles into the kitchen. I know exactly what his intentions are—if only I could admit I can read minds without acknowledging I’m a goddess, my life would be a lot easier. And maybe I’d have less of a desire to hit people, because I wouldn’t need to hear their homage speeches twice.
I massage my temples in hopes that maybe he’ll get the hint.
“Ah, I understand. Goddess work must be very taxing,” a voice says with a haughty touch of sarcasm in his Irish lilt.
I glance up at the visitor, delighted with the lack of reverence in his voice. He’s old. Really old. Like maybe older than Gram. He reminds me more of Gandalf than Dumbledore. His long white beard is tied neatly in the middle, and it nearly touches the floor. His shoulders round in on themselves from a lifetime of experience, but he holds his head high. His face reminds me of the bark of a pine tree, but his eyes sparkle with more life and knowledge than anyone I’ve ever met.