Ashes and Ice

by Rochelle Maya Callen

  “Little one, you have been empty for so long haven’t you?”

  Jade gasps. “I—”

  “Girl with nothing to cling to or reach for, no heart to love with, no soul to protect.”

  Jade stifles a sound. I look over at her and see a pained expression on her face. I don’t like it.

  “Alathea—” I say, before she cuts me off.

  “But you are much more than what you seem, young one. You must go to him now, because they are all coming for you.” She leans in closer. “The blackness cannot win.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Jade is shaking and I wrap an arm around her. “Leave her alone. Can’t you see you are freaking her out?”

  “Sh, sh, sh.” Her attention flicks to me. “Oh yes, you have a part to play too, young man. Come here.” She motions me forward, I shake my head, but Jade moves away from my arm and pushes me. I feel like I have been thrown to the wolves, or in this case, thrown to a weirdo psychic lady who looks like she could make me alligator bait. I can’t believe my feet are actually marching their way toward her. As I come toward her reluctantly, she asks me to take three cards. When I do, she takes them from me and arranges them slowly on her table.

  “Such a bright soul.” She looks at Jade for a moment, “But of course you know that, right child?” She returns her gaze to the cards. “Oh how your heart will hurt, young man. So many roads will lead to your demise.” Sadness crosses her face as she looks up at me.

  “Demise?” I say.

  She pushes a card forward. It has swords piercing a heart and much blood. “Death.” She lets the word hang in the air.

  Holy crap. Either I was slipped a pill at lunch or this old lady is batshit crazy. Seriously, if a person owns a collection of skulls and has mastered a peel-your-skin-off-glare, she is no one I want to tango with. “Jade, let’s go.” I tug on her arm.

  “Wait.” Jade wrenches her arm away and steps closer to the wrinkly, feral-eyed woman.

  Did my jaw just unhinge? “Jade, I—”

  “I have to hear what she has to say…”

  “Are you freaking serious? I’ll pay for a hand reading somewhere else, you know, at another non-let-me-trap-you-in-my-basement-and-wait-till-your-skin-rots-off-so-I-can-display-you-in-my-bone-collection-kind-of-place. You know, like on the street, in public, with witnesses?”

  Instead of responding, Jade shuffles closer to Alathea.

  The old lady rushes forward and puts her palms on either side of Jade’s face. “There is very little hope for you. But you must find him. Now.”

  “Find who?” I say, no answer greets me.

  “Don’t taste. Don’t taste them. It will ruin everything. Be strong and don’t believe everything you see, and don’t give into the cold. The ice wants you back, but it can’t take you. You are ours.”

  Jade is shaking again, her hands turning white under Alathea’s tight grasp. Alathea looks desperate, hungry, and doesn’t let go of Jade’s gaze.

  “Let’s go, Jade.” I pull her away from Alathea. Her skin is hot and slick with sweat.

  “Now, go.” Alathea ushers us out the door and slams it closed behind us. She eyes the street before flipping the sign to “CLOSED”.

  “Wow. What the hell was that about?”

  Jade blinks up at me, before staring off into the distance. “I, I don’t know.”

  ***

  Jade’s distant eyes and twitchiness worry me.

  I mean, I am a bit twitchy myself. Some old hag said I was going to die. That’s no picnic. But Jade looks lost and vulnerable and I want to distract her from whatever thoughts are weighing her down. We are washing the dishes in the kitchen and a fleeting thought bounces into my head: mom and dad used to wash dishes together. They also used to…

  I smirk and hold the sink hose in one hand. “Hey, Jade?”

  Her sad eyes look at me and, in one rash movement, I drench her with the hose.

  The look of pure shock—wide eyes and mouth gaping open—is worth the pot of water she dumps over my head.

  Before I know it, I am chasing her down the hallway, her giggles a musical sound in the air. I chase her and we end up in the bathroom. With a hard shove, she pushes me into the shower stall, unlatches the showerhead and sprays me until no part of me is dry. I grab her wrists and haul her forward and now we are both under the stream of water. I tickle her ruthlessly and she slumps against me and we both topple to the floor of the stall. My stomach aches because of the laughter. I don’t think she notices when I stop tickling her, when I wrap my arms around her and pull her closer to me.

  Chapter 45

  Jade

  Alathea’s riddles gouge into me, and the idea Connor may be hurt is too much, too much to bear. His laughter soothed the pain firmly anchored in my chest and Connor’s jokes softened the severity of the woman’s words. Maybe she didn’t know, maybe she…, but we aren’t laughing anymore. We are quiet and warm and together. I lean back into him.

  His breath hitches, I feel a hiccup in his heartbeat.

  I smile. He’s so solid and real and, despite everything, he is the one holding me.

  A thought winks at me: He wouldn’t hold you if he knew…

  Rat, tat, tat, The knock on the door is a slow, measured sound. Connor and I crane to look at each other.

  “That’s weird. I don’t know who would be coming over.”

  Muffled voices—Desi’s and the Knocker—come from downstairs.

  We pause to listen, but Desi is already calling upstairs before we can actually hear anything. “Jade, dear. There is someone at the door for you.”

  Connor and I exchange a confused look. Then a thought comes to me.

  “Oh! Nanan!”

  I turn towards the door and Connor catches my hand. His touch is soft and sweet—like a promise. I’m startled by it, because for a moment he doesn’t say anything. A smile tugs at his lips.

  I walk downstairs. Desi stands at the half-closed door, talking quietly with the person behind it. I would be so happy if Nanan and Desi became friends. Desi looks up at me and gives a polite smile. Polite smile? That falters my step. A polite smile isn’t a real one.

  “Well, here she is.” She opens the door wider and standing in the doorway is the hulking figure of Dominic.

  I freeze. What is he …

  “Why the hell is he here?” Connor’s voice yells from behind me.

  “Connor, don’t talk like that to a visitor.”

  Connor lets out a sharp exhale. “A visitor?”

  “For Jade.” Desi says.

  Connor stiffens behind me. “But…”

  Desi moves away from the door. “C’mon Connor, let’s give them some privacy.”

  Privacy? I don’t want privacy with this slimy boy.

  A touch on my elbow. I look to it and the hand then face attached to it. “Do you…”

  “I got this, Connor.” I say to him, wanting to ease the tension .

  “Okay, but I’ll be in the next room if you need me. All right?”

  I nod, knowing I won’t ask for his help. I cannot always lean on him. I am stronger than he thinks, stronger than I want to think.

  Connor stares at Dominic for a long moment.

  Dominic leans against the door jam and crosses his arms. “Don’t worry, Con. I’m not going to steal her away.” He winks at me, lazily dragging his gaze from me feet to my face. “Yet.”

  “Listen, you—”

  I put my palms on Connor’s chest, easing him back. He’s tense, corded muscle poised for action. Like a lion. That makes me smile. When did this decrepit old man become a lion? “I said that I got this.”

  Connor jets his chin out and nods. “’Kay.”

  I watch him walk out of the room. I don’t want to turn back around. I don’t want to see the pair of black eyes tracing my body.

  “You look just as lovely from behind.”

  That snaps me forward. “What the hell do you want?”

  He holds a twinkling thi
ng between his thumb and index finger. “Touchy, touchy. I am just bringing this back to you. You left it at the dance last weekend.”

  I stare at it, suddenly seeing the ornate design and the glittering stones. Desi’s pin.

  “Oh, I—I thought I lost it.” I scramble forward to grab it from his hand. Something so delicate shouldn’t be caught in his hand. He lifts it higher so I can’t reach.

  “Well, it fell out of your hair when you and Connor stormed out.” He passes his thumb over the jewels. “Pretty trinket. Thought you would want it.”

  “I do. Thank you.” I reach for it again and he pulls it back so I have to lean closer. I don’t. Instead, I stand erect and wait, my palm poised in front of him ready to receive it. “Are you going to give it back to me or not?”

  “What? No reward?” He smirks.

  “No. No reward.”

  He sighs. “Well that gives me very little reason to give it back, doesn’t it?”

  “Dominic, stop being a jackass and give me the pin or leave.”

  “Such a temper for a little thing.” He licks his upper lip.

  He means it as a compliment, a vile compliment. His eyes drift down to my breasts and the fabric molding to them. I shiver and cross my arms over my chest.

  He smiles a bit wider and hands out the pin.

  As, I reach to pluck it from his palm, he snatches my wrist with one hand, my bicep with the other and crushes me against his chest.

  His grip is tight—too tight, it hurts—and the bend of him hovers over me, leaning in. I try to shake him off, but he doesn’t let go. I squirm as I feel his thumb trace circles on the inside of my wrist. The touch sends a skitter of sensation over me. Something tinges the air; a sweet, cool feeling brushes over my skin, making my knees want to buckle. He smells like mint, his breath tickles my face. I pull back, hating the sensations that please my skin and curdle my insides. Bile surges in my throat. I tear myself away from him, glaring.

  “What?” He says coolly as if he hadn’t just bruised my arms with his clutching fingertips.

  “That. Hurt.” I say. I don’t say he smells sweet or his breath is refreshing on my skin or his touch sends chills up my spine, delicious chills. I step away.

  His smile is unnerving. “Don’t worry, Jade.” He winks at me. Damn that wink of his. “One day, you’ll like it.”

  I grab the pin, shove him back onto the porch. “Goodbye.” I say sharply and slam the door in his face. I think of the promise of his words. I turn away from the door, angry, because I can’t promise myself that I won’t.

  Chapter 46

  Connor

  What the hell is that bastard doing at my house? Asking for Jade? She was in my arms just a few minutes ago. I wanted to melt into her and then that hulking mammoth of a boy comes traipsing in and ruining it.

  Jade looks shaken when she comes back into the living room. We sit uncomfortably on the couch for a while until Mom leaves for the store. She seems to fall more and more still, folding in on herself. What did that douche bag say to her? The thought of what he told me on the dance floor—what he wanted to do to Jade’s body—screams in my ears. The thought he might have touched her at all makes my palms clammy, makes me agitated and twitchy.

  But, she is here now. With me. And she slammed the door in a way that didn’t seem she wanted to have him over again. She smiled when she laid Mom’s pin on the coffee table. The house is quiet and we are completely alone.

  I feel dizzy, overwhelmed with this desperate need to kiss Jade. It is now or never. Nerves, apprehension, excitement and fear swirl in some sort of concoction in my gut making me slightly nauseated. What if she doesn’t want me to kiss her? I eye her warily. Her legs are pulled up tightly against her chest. She uses her knees as a pillow for her head, leaving her neck exposed and beautiful. But she seems interested. Then again she could just be naturally sweet, warm kind—my head wanders: soft, huggable, smells incredible, perfect. The thoughts make me dizzier. I can’t pass up this opportunity. If I don’t do it now, I may never be brave enough. And my bravery is wavering—pretty seriously, now.

  Okay. First, I have to close the cavernous gap between us, which, in reality, is less than two feet, but for my purposes, it may as well be the Grand Canyon separating us. How can I do this subtly? At nearly eighteen, I realize my lack of experience is appalling, humiliating. I almost decide to lunge forward and kiss her with all the finesse of a Saint Bernard woofing down a meal just so it can be done quickly and meet her response: a kiss in return or a slap across the face.

  I stare at the TV. Having a focal point seems to soothe my nerves and distract me from the possible complete and total embarrassment that surely awaits me after my not-so-smooth come-on. I reach forward to grab a handful of popcorn and as I lean back, I reposition myself a few inches closer to Jade. I pretend to make myself comfortable, wiggling, shifting, stretching, each little movement bringing me a tiny space closer.

  She doesn’t move, doesn’t even look up. And after what seems an eternity, I am finally aligned beside her. She is in reach. So close. It’s just a matter of not wussing out. I stretch my arm out like morons in movies always do and relax my arm on her shoulders. A kick of adrenaline pulsates through me. I have to do it now. I have to kiss her.

  I lean closer her. When I do, I see her eyes are closed, her brows pinched together as if in pain. Oh, crap. She is already preparing for the worst and she just doesn’t want to pull away out of sympathy. God. I’m such an idiot. I squeeze her shoulder, “Jade.” Time to abort the kiss-Jade plan. I feel a flush of disappointment drain me completely. Her face is still tense.

  “Jade?”

  No answer.

  “Jade?” I peer into her face and realize my fingers are touching ice, cold flesh. “Jade, are you okay?” I can hear a renewed urgency in my voice. I rise and stand in front of her. My hands fall squarely on her shoulders and shake her vigorously. She barely moves, her body paralyzed. “Jade?”

  A slight smirk curls her lips. God. She’s joking. Joke’s over. “Okay, Jade. Haha.” I sit back on the coffee table. Her smile fades and she is still; her head still crooked over her knee, her arms still hugging her legs tight to her body. It’s an eerie image. Just a moment ago, her exposed neck triggered admiration and desire, but now it doesn’t look right. Unnatural. As if her neck broke and contorted. A shiver creeps up my spine, sending an uneasiness coursing through me. “Jade?”

  Her eyes snap open, leering up at me in an ominous gaze with not emerald, but inky black eyes as sterile and frightening as death.

  Chapter 47

  Jade

  A searing pain pierces my stomach. The images racing through my mind fade quickly into gold rain and disappear into the air. The chill running down my spine paralyzing me releases its grip and I feel cascades of warmth fall around me. The pain in my gut reluctantly dissipates to a subtle discomfort. It feels like my insides shifted out of place. My fingertips tingle and I clench my fists.

  A gasp. Where am I? My eyes peel open. Connor? I hover over his hunched body in the neon orange armchair. His breathing is heavy, his heart hammering beneath his t-shirt. What did I do? I look over him. Did I hurt him? Fear slaps me in the face.

  No. No blood. No wounds. I didn’t hurt him. My gaze shifts to his outstretched hand. His trembling fingers wound around a rubber handle sticking out of my belly. He had… stabbed me? That bastard. Betrayal and rage flicker in my eyes, my body ready to spasm into motion—aggressive, unmerciful action. But my momentary fury uncoils into pity. He is absolutely terrified. Moisture collected in his eyes, his lower lip quivering. His breath is so ragged that it sounds as if he is hyperventilating.

  “Connor,” I try to temper my voice so that he knows I am not angry. He doesn’t have to be afraid. I reach my hand forward.

  “Stop,” He shakes his head in quick, tiny jolts.

  “Don’t be afraid,” I slowly wrap my fingers around his hand and the butt of the knife. Cautiously, I pull it out. Twinges of pa
in glide along the blade as it slips out of my body. Its mirror-edge is smeared with crimson blood. My blood. The color turns translucent and evaporates leaving the blade bare, all evidence of its wrath invisible.

  “What the hell—” Connor’s voice breaks.

  “Don’t be afraid,” I speak desperately, “I won’t hurt you.”

  “Get the hell away from me,” he stumbles backward over the neon fabric as he feebly attempts to kick at me. He lands on the wood floor in a loud thud and scrambles backwards, his eyes never leaving my frame. This won’t be easy. Of course he is afraid. He has every reason to be.

  “Connor, I won’t hurt you. I am so sorry,” the words come out awkwardly. What am I supposed to say? I obviously already scared the crap out of him. But what did I do?

  “What the hell are you?” he demands with an unwavering ferocity.

  “I don’t know,” at least I can be honest, but my voice shakes.

  “Don’t bullshit me,” he stands up and points his finger at me accusingly.

  “I’m serious—”

  “You are freaking possessed!”

  I cannot find words to respond. What had I done? “What are you talking about?”

  “You—” Now he was having problems finding the words, “you had these freaky black eyes and glided…” His voice questions itself as if he regrets saying it, as if it was proof of his insanity, but he continues, “You flew over the floor and then—“ His hands shook in front of his face, “you grabbed my neck and threw me against the wall!”

  Oh no, oh no, oh no. “Connor, I—I would never hurt you.”

  “Yeah right.” He shouts, his eyes as wide as a deer about to be plastered onto a truck’s front bumper. His face is flushed of its natural tan and looking pale in a headlight’s white glare. “I guessed you missed the freaking dent in the wall!”

  I look up and see it: crushed drywall and a smear of red.

  “Are you bleeding?” I ask, urgency making my voice break. I made him bleed…