by Sarah Dalton
“He comes back today, Mary. He won’t be happy, but I'll see if I can talk him round. To be honest, he’ll probably be so glad that you’ve made friends that he’ll let it go, even if you are sleeping in the same house as Jack.”
“Nothing is going on,” I say.
“He’s a lovely boy. You could do worse.”
“I know.”
“Last night was terrifying, Mary.” She pauses. “Be careful tonight. I haven’t told your dad anything about what happened, but he has eyes. Your moods have been all over the place recently. He knows that something is going on and I think he’s worried.”
“But what can I do? I can’t tell him about the ghosts, can I?”
She sighs. “No, I suppose not. It’s a big secret to keep. I...” Another sigh. “Nevermind. Actually, I’m glad you’ll be with Jack when you do this... business. He’ll keep you safe.”
For some reason, the idea that my mum trusts Jack to keep me safe bowls me over. I take a moment to answer. “Yeah. Yeah he will. I’ll be careful, Mum. Don’t worry.”
“Telling a mother not to worry is pretty redundant, but I’ll try. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
The second call is to Jack. Then I leave.
It’s a perfect autumn day, if a little blustery. I decide to drive my car to the Maynard’s house, something I don’t do as often as I used to. Ghosts are the reason. They kept almost killing me and then Dad got twitchy about me doing anything even remotely dangerous. On the way there, I flick through the radio, finding songs to hum along to. I hardly know any of the recent songs. How long have I been in this fog for? It’s like I’ve not been in the real world. It’s almost bizarre.
The world seems fresher today, harsher. The sunlight is cool and penetrating. Now that it’s late afternoon, night is already drawing near. I’m all too aware of the low sunlight dipping below the Ashforth hills. I’m all too aware of what is approaching. I glance at my bag on the passenger seat where I’ve hidden the Athamé. I need to be ready to go into battle. He isn’t going to release me any time yet.
And then there’s how Jack sounded on the phone. He said there was something he needed to tell me and it was to do with what he told me in the café about Willa. He sounded shaken, and that’s something that concerns me.
I think back to that day in the café. The dreams had started and I was already intoxicated by his poison. But had Jack confided in me and it had felt special. He told me a story, a chilling story, about how Willa killed her brother when she was a young girl. He told me how she bashed his head in with a stone and that he’s afraid that some of that darkness is still within her. It was self-defence, but he said there was something savage about the way she killed him. How could any child go through that and come out of it normal?
Maybe that’s why I’ve avoided Willa since then. Maybe that’s why I haven’t protected her as well as I ought to have done. And maybe, the biggest maybe yet, this is why Willa has been the focus of the ghost attacks.
I pull into the Maynard’s drive, wondering about how things have come to this. When I get out of the car, Lacey is waiting for me.
“I need a hover hug,” are the first words out of her mouth.
Tears prick at my eyes. I hadn’t realised just how much I needed my best friend until that moment. “Come here, then.”
After our electricity-filled hover hug, she pulls away and I see the pallor of her skin. She looks even more dead today, which is how I know something is wrong.
“There’s a lot we need to tell you,” she says. “We know who is attacking Willa.”
I follow her into the house. Willa sits at the kitchen table hunched over a mug of tea, staring into its depths as though standing on the edge of the world and staring into the abyss. Jack leans against the kitchen table grinding his teeth and gripping the counter.
“I’ve already had a nightmare of a day,” I say. “Just tell me everything and tell me fast.”
It’s Willa who lets out the first sigh. “I killed my brother Bram when I was twelve and now he’s trying to form a ghost army to assassinate me.”
“I know,” I say. “What else?”
Chapter Twenty-One
MARY
“He killed my little brother—Alfie,” Willa says after I tell her how I figured it all out. “Then he stalked me across the moors at night and tried to kill me too. He’s the second most dangerous man I’ve ever met, and the second most charismatic.”
“Who’s the first?” I blurt out before thinking. Then I close my eyes, knowing who she is going to say.
“My father,” she whispers. “Bram was his favourite. I think they did unspeakable, violent things together. Father Merciful ordered Bram to beat me up because I dared to go against their teachings. When Jack helped me get away, he chased me. When I found the body of my little brother, he tried to kill me. I managed to break free and kill him first.” She pauses. “I always knew he would come for me. But I never realised it would be like this. I never thought he would use you.”
“I fell for him.” The words taste sour. I hate to say them, or even think them, especially in front of Jack. For some reason, I hate the thought of him thinking badly of me, above all others. “Or at least the version of himself in my dream.”
“Bram always had a way of getting people to do what he wanted, especially the young kids. I think he preys on the vulnerable. Mary, you’ve been weakened by everything you’ve been through. You can’t blame yourself.”
But I can and I will. Those girls died because I didn’t figure any of this out sooner.
“He has some sort of power over me when I’m dreaming. Emmaline tried to cleanse me of it today and he taunted me. He hurt Emmaline, too.” I see Jack’s eyes flash when I say that. “But I know it will be a thousand times harder to resist when I’m sleeping. That’s why I’ve come here. I can’t do this alone.” My gaze flicks up to Jack. Then I feel heat flood my cheeks and I look away. “I think someone needs to be with me when I next go to sleep. I think that person should be Jack.”
Lacey is the first to grin.
Jack rubs the back of his head and flashes us a half smile. “Why me?”
“You keep me grounded.” I stare at my feet when I admit this. I can feel both Lacey and Willa grinning at me. They must be loving it.
Jack clears his throat. “Okay. I’ll do everything I can to help.”
“What about us?” Lacey asks. “What can we do?”
“I need to know you’re safe so I can do this. Willa, I think you should be next door with the Athamé. I’m going to give you a crash course in how to use it. As soon as I wake up, come into the room and pass me the Athamé. I’m going to force Bram to reveal himself and then I’m going to send him on to the otherside.”
“Amen,” Lacey says with aplomb.
“We should get to work.” I dump my bag on the kitchen table and open it up. “We don't have much time.”
*
I go through the Athamé symbols with Willa a few times before she learns to arc the knife in the right way. Jack watches thoughtfully as the symbols light up the kitchen like fireworks, the light reflecting in his eyes. I’m struck, not for the first time, by how attractive he is. But I can’t think about that right now. I have to focus.
Lacey is a not so willing test subject, wincing every time the Athamé comes anywhere near her. But she lets Willa practice the symbols around her until she’s trapped by the ancient power of the knife. I can’t help but notice that Lacey is different around Willa. She’s calmer and more patient. It’s nice to see her like that. They would make a good couple. I pull my thoughts back. How can the dead and the living be a couple? Then again, how can the dead and living be friends?
“All right, I’ve got it,” Willa says.
I want to say something sarcastic, like “at last”, but I refrain. I can’t hold a grudge with Willa about her not learning this stuff sooner. Not when I’ve spent the last month trying to run away from my own ca
lling.
“What’s next?” Willa’s face is flushed and excited. I think learning a new skill has distracted her from her brother’s return.
“I guess it’s time for me to go to sleep,” I say.
Jack’s body turns rigid against the kitchen counter. I know he’s nervous about being in the room with me when I go to sleep. It’s a big responsibility. I’m asking a lot of him. But it makes sense. Lacey needs to stay with Willa to protect her from the suicide girls.
“Are you sure about this, Mares?” Lacey asks.
“This is something I need to do,” I say, nodding to myself. “I need to weaken him and strengthen myself. Emmaline seemed to think this was the best way to do that and I trust her.”
When Jack nods, we walk slowly upstairs to the bedrooms. We’ve arranged for me to sleep in Jack’s bed, while Willa and Lacey are next door. I glance at the time on my phone before turning it off. 11:30pm. Half an hour before midnight. It’s dark outside, and a full moon. I think Wiccans believe that a full moon has power. But who ends up with the power? The living or the dead? I don’t know.
There’s an awkward moment as we hover outside the rooms.
“See you on the other side,” Lacey says with a grin. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“That’s not saying much,” I reply.
She winks at me as she disappears into Willa’s bedroom. Jack opens the door to his room and I frown. Should I be worried about Lacey’s relationship with Willa?
That frown disappears when I follow Jack through the doorway. My stomach is alive with nerves, but is that because of what I’m about to do or because I’m entering Jack’s bedroom for the first time? It’s a softer space than I thought it would be. I expected the books. I knew Jack would be a secret reader. I think bookworms can sense each other, like we have a distinctive scent or something. Maybe it’s the smell of old books. Most of his appear to be second hand and falling apart. Then there are the postcards taped to his wall. They almost cover one side.
“From your adoptive parents?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No. I just like collecting them.”
My gaze travels the length of his room. He has a bed with a headrest made out of what looks like a cut down tree.
“I like to make things out of reclaimed wood,” he says with a shrug, as though everyone in the world possesses the ability to carve beautiful things out of bits of old wood. He gestures to his desk, which is tall, gleaming from wax, and built up from pallets.
It’s as tidy as I’d expected. His bedspread is a deep navy blue, the carpet and walls are cream, there are old movie posters on the wall, and prints of artwork too obscure for me to recognise, but all really cool and interesting.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were a thirty year old hipster?” I say, flashing him what I hope is a cheeky grin.
He returns the favour with his slightly amused half smile. “You just wish you were this cool.”
He’s right. I do wish that. And I wish I was as cultured, too.
Then his smile fades and he scratches the bad of his head. “You take the bed. I’ll sit in the armchair here.”
“Okay.”
“Do you, um, want to change? I can leave the room.”
I shake my head. “That’s okay.” I slip off my cardigan. “I’ll be fine in my jeans, if that’s all right.”
“Sure,” he says.
“What? Am I the first girl you’ve brought home?” As soon as I say it I regret it. I’d forgotten all about that conversation with Willa when she suggested that Jack was still a virgin. I could kick myself.
His eyes don’t leave the bed. He doesn’t say a word.
I cross the room and slip in between the covers. It feels strange to be in his bed, to rest my head where his has lain. It smells deep and woody, from the headrest and from Jack, as layered and unique as he is. Jesus, I need to pull it together if I’m going to get through the next few hours, if I’m going to stop Bram from hurting anyone else. My heart is beating hard against my ribs, fingers are shaking slightly. My stomach is full of butterflies.
The uncomfortable silence is broken by the sound of the armchair dragging across the carpet. Jack sits down and places both elbows on the arm rests.
“Are you comfortable?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“Shall I turn the light off?”
Being in the dark doesn’t appeal to me, but I know I won’t sleep without it on. I’m not sure I’ll sleep at all. I just need to focus on not being alone. There are people here to help me. I’m going to be all right.
“Okay, turn it off.”
Jack leans across to pull on the chord to turn the main light off from the room. As he does, the scent of his sandalwood aftershave washes over me and my heartbeat slows for a moment.
“Jack,” I say.
“Yeah?”
“I think you should get into the bed.”
There’s a long pause and my pulse thuds in my ears. Am I crossing a line? What am I doing? What do I want to happen?
“Do you think that’ll help with Bram?” he asks.
This is more than me and Jack. It’s more than Willa and Lacey. I have a job to do, and I need to be sure that it really will help. But all I can think about are his arms around my shoulders and the car horn that pulled me out of the nightmare. That was all Jack.
“Yes.” My voice is more of a breath than a word. I need it to be true.
The bed dips beside me as his weight shuffles next to me. I find his hand with mine. The room is silent apart from our breathing. I don’t close my eyes at first. I take him in. As my eyes adjust to the light, I examine his features. I take him in, drink him in. Then I close my eyes.
Chapter Twenty-Two
MARY
The garden is brighter than ever. I lift my hands to shield my eyes from the sun. Even when I close my them I see the bright orange sun forcing its way through the delicate skin on my eyelids.
It’s too much. How did I not see it before? I force my eyes open so I can look at my garden, my dreamworld. There it is. Still as perfect as before. My chest aches, like I’ve been thumped in the chest. Why does this place make me feel so…
“Mary.”
While his voice unnerves me, it also eases the knot in my chest. Before he appears to me, his presence wisps around me. Like a swatch of silk pulled against my skin. I feel almost naked, with a coolness against my feverish flesh. He wraps around me and I groan. Then he’s gone. I open my eyes and he stands before me. He smiles and places a hand on my cheek.
“You came back to me.”
I swallow a hard lump in my throat. He’s every bit as beautiful as I remember. I take a step back but, he moves with me, as though we’re dancing.
“It’s so good to see you.”
The words take me off guard. They’re so simple, they sound so genuine. The scent of pine winds around me. I can see the vapours swirling through the air. I watch as he raises his arms and more of the vapour winds through the air towards me, smelling of the forest, of grass and flowers, all the things I love.
“Walk with me,” he says, reaching out and taking my hand.
My feet move for me. They’re bare, but the grass is warm and soft to the touch. His skin feels good against mine. It feels reassuring. I know I came here with a purpose, but the longer my hand is in his, the less of that purpose I remember. It’s as though it filters out of my mind, like feathers escaping from a pillow. Part of me wonders if I should reach out and grasp those feathers.
He leads me through the garden past the swing. For a split second, I think I see a little girl sitting on the swing, with a golden retriever puppy at her feet. When I look again, she’s gone. I shake my head, I’m imagining things again. Just like I did before… before what? When did I imagine anything?
There’s a tug on my hand. I frown, because it isn’t the hand being held by him, it’s my free hand. I stop and turn back. There’s no one there.
“Mary?”
<
br /> When I look at him, at his open, honest face, standing here in my garden, I have a niggling thought in the back of my mind. I used to know his name. But now I can’t remember it. Why can’t I remember his name?
“Are you all right?” he asks.
There it is again! My hand is tugged. It’s my free hand. Then… a whisper. Mary. But it’s not from him, the person standing in front of me. It’s coming from somewhere else. Somewhere far away.
“I’m fine,” I say.
He lifts my hand and brushes my fingers with his lips. “I need you here with me, Mary. This is right where you belong. You know that now, don’t you?”
Those pine scented mists twist around me, fogging my mind. “Yes.”
But there’s that tug on my free hand which keeps confusing me. It keeps reminding me that there’s something else I need to do. But what is it?”
“There’s something you need to do for me so you can stay here with me,” he says. “It’ll only take a moment and then you’ll be with me forever. I’m going to whisper it to you and then you’ll wake up and you’ll do this one thing, and then we’ll be together at last. Will you do it?”
He leans towards me. His brown eyes are a warm chocolate sea that I find myself lost in. His breath is intoxicating. He leans towards me, his lips closing in on mine.
“Will you do it?”
No! screams a voice in my mind.
“Yes,” say my lips.
What is happening?
He tastes sweet, but an electric current shoots down my spine when his lips touch mine. It jars me at first, but then I sink into him. Until…
Yank!
I’m pulled back by the hand. I stumble away from him, leaving him open and exposed. His eyebrows knit together. His top lip curls up. But what I am most drawn to are his eyes. They are so dark. They aren’t warm and inviting anymore, they’re black and emotionless.