The Complete Set

by Ainsley Shay

  “Listen, this was all me. You have no right to be angry with her. I—”

  “I know; you were the one who put her up to this. She’s just the driver; blah...blah...blah...I don’t care whose idea it was. Get your ass in my car, I’m taking you home.”

  There was no way I was going anywhere with him. Snow came and stood by my side. I could tell she was aching to say something, but she stayed quiet. “No, thank you, I have a ride.”

  “Iris, this is not the time to be—”

  It was my turn to cut him off. “Be what? Your little sister you keep in the dark, and think that she doesn’t know shit.” I was the one who was furious now. He backed up as I walked toward him. “You know, if you were just a little more understanding, and willing to help me figure this whole fucked-up situation out, instead of keeping me locked in my apartment like Rapunzel, I’d share with you what I’ve learned. I’m not completely useless, nor am I helpless. In fact, over the last couple of weeks, I've learned more than you have over the last couple of hundred years.” He flinched. “So, why don't you try being my brother instead of my warden?”

  “She doesn’t even have the hair to be Rapunzel.” Snow’s timing for interjection was always a few minutes off. Chandler’s glare strayed from me to her. His brows buckled as he tried to decipher why that had anything to do with the situation at hand. “You know, she was in the tower and the witch would holler, ‘Rapunzel, let down your hair,’” Snow called out, as she was playing the part.

  I took her hand. “Snow, this really isn’t the—”

  “I know who Rapunzel is.” Chandler, clearly spent, ran his hand through his hair. “Now let’s go.”

  Flabbergasted, I asked, “Have you heard anything I’ve said?”

  “Every word. But we can get out of this creepy place and you can tell me everything you know when we get back to the apartment.”

  Snow scooted past me and went out the front door. I couldn’t believe she was ditching me like this.

  “See, even your BFF wants to leave.”

  The door creaked open when Snow returned a minute later. She held the journal in her hand. I pursed my lips and shook my head. I wanted to tell Chandler about it after I found out more of when Adelina was at Skelside. As she walked past Chandler, she stood on her tippy toes and kissed his cheek. He gave her a sideways glance that could possibly have said thanks, or another moment of bad timing. I wasn’t sure.

  Snow handed the journal to me. “You need to tell him,” she said under her breath.

  Sighing in defeat, I took the journal. “The last time we were here—”

  “I had a feeling, a feeling I had hoped was wrong, that this wasn’t the first time.” He balled his fists and growled.

  “God, would you shut up and listen?”

  Chandler laced his fingers behind his head and threw it back. He paced in the small space. “Tell me.” Snow went to his side and his agitated walk slowed.

  Bracing to be cut off again, I took a deep breath. “The last time we were here—just once before—Carina had left the key to the journal for me on the finger of that statue.” I pointed to the woman near the front door. “She left the journal on the table to your right.”

  He glanced down. “When was this?”

  I looked at Snow whether to tell the truth of how long I’d had the journal and not told him. She nodded. “About a week and a half,” I answered.

  Instead of going ballistic on me, he asked, “So, whose is it and what’s it say? More so, can it help us?”

  “It’s Adelina’s first journal.” He finally looked at me. I was very pleased to see the dumbfounded expression on his face. “She was cursed as the Carving Witch when she was sixteen.”

  “I guess that explains why Carina isn’t a witch.”

  “I haven’t got to the part, if there is one, as to why Carina is still alive after all these years. She did write after she was cursed, her mother disowned her and cast her out of their home. Weeks later, she ended up at Skelside.”

  “Would you get to the good part,” Snow said.

  Chandler propped his elbow on the head of a statue of a small girl. “There’s a good part?”

  I wasn’t sure how to tell the good part she was talking about, so I dove in headfirst. “All of these statues were once alive.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Snow explained. “Um, that little girl you’re casually resting your elbow on was once a real little girl; running around, playing, probably happy, until Adelina stabbed her with her carving knife.” She said it with more attitude than emotion.

  Chandler slowly lowered his elbow and glanced around the room. “How do you—”

  “It’s in the journal,” Snow answered before he finished his question.

  “What’s in your hand?”

  I had forgot I was holding the articles. I glanced down at them. “I don’t know. I think Carina left them for me.” I took the edges between my fingers and unfolded the soft, worn, paper. As I skimmed the heading, I didn’t understand why Carina left the articles for me. Then, recognition took hold. The title read “Local Woman Goes Missing.” I looked at the date of the article. January 8, 1998, two months after I was born; also the day after my mother disappeared.

  19

  The articles fell from my hand, and I fell to my knees. My stomach lurched. Chandler grabbed hold of me and hauled me outside, onto the porch. I threw up everything in my stomach. As weak as I felt, I had to get back into the house and look for my mom. I only knew the way she looked from pictures. But, I was sure, if she were here, I’d find her. I had to. Hauling myself off the floor, I tried to stand. I wiped the spittle from my mouth and started for the front door.

  Chandler grasped my arm and pulled me back. “Whoa. Where are you going?”

  “Let me go. I have to see her,” I cried.

  Snow was next to me. “See who?”

  “My mom!” I yelled and tore from his grasp. I pushed through the door. Having no idea what direction to go, I stumbled my way through the rooms; searching the faces of every statue. I passed through the kitchen and went into the back yard. Frantic, with Chandler and Snow on my heels, I glowered across the garden. The sun’s glare made it difficult to see. I held my arm over my eyes and scanned the yard. A mass of statues stood just at the foot of it. Some of their backs were to me. Slowing my frenzied pace, I cautiously went to the mass of statues and stood in the center of them. Snow and Chandler stopped just on the other side of them. I closed my eyes and gathered every picture I ever remembered seeing of my mother and opened my eyes. Twirling in a slow circle, I studied each one of the five statues. None of them were my mother.

  When I stopped between two of the statues, I saw a small clearing in the corner of the yard. A woman stood wearing a garden hat and gardening gloves. A child was at her feet, kneeling, as it reached for something off the ground. I slipped out from the cluster through the two statues and made my way to the woman. With each step, I came closer to her. With each step, her features became familiar. With each step, my heartbeat grew faster and my limbs felt less like my own as curling snakes of longing, disbelief, and unfathomed hatred tightened over my entire body. I stood face to face with my mother. My mother who I don’t remember but had always missed. Mold had grown over the left side of her face and body. Jealous pangs for the child at her feet were so absurd, but I hadn’t tossed them aside; I wanted to be that child made of stone; anything to be here with my mom.

  Snow came up behind me and looped her arms around my neck. “Oh, Iris, I’m so sorry.”

  I reached for my mother’s hand, wanting to feel its warm touch and her fingers lace through mine. But, it was hard, cold, and perfectly still. My anger flared. The statues weren’t Adelina’s family—they were her trophies. Anguish and hatred danced in perfect rhythm to the pain playing over and over in my chest. The scream I had chained to the inside of my throat for weeks now, finally, broke free.

  On our way home, Chandler stopped at th
e store and picked up cans of soup, crackers, cookies, and tissues. I wasn’t hungry. The only thing I wanted to do was to curl up in the fetal position on my bed. Again, my world had been ripped opened by a deranged witch, and filled with despair. I was the reason my mom’s life had been taken from her. Adelina would make sure everyone I cared about was taken from me, as everyone had been taken from her. It seemed my suffering was her only joy. Why hadn’t she just killed me? Why leave me alive? I should have been standing next to the statue of my mother, not as her living, breathing, child, but as lifeless as she was.

  Chandler made me soup and left it on the nightstand. I tried to fall asleep to dislodge some of the pain, but it refused me at all costs. Chandler brought me a small glass with dark liquid. I sat up and drank it. It burned the back of my throat and warmed my belly. “Thank you,” I mumbled, and lay back down. I heard him clean up the kitchen and settle on the couch. He turned on the TV and muted the sound.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I thought I was hearing things. Chandler was not one to apologize. “What?” I rasped.

  “I said, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what happened to your mom. I’m sorry for being such an over-protective ass. And a million other things I should probably be sorry for.” His thin voice carried through the apartment.

  I curled in on myself on the bed. I used a balled tissue to wipe my eyes. “Thank you.”

  “I know you think it’s Blacwin who would be lost forever if anything happened to you...again. But, you should know, I would be devastated, too.”

  My heart lurched again, and the tears came. I reached for a fresh tissue. “Nothing is going to happen to me,” I said more confidently than I felt, especially not knowing what was going to happen in thirty days.

  “I can understand if you don’t want to talk, but I need to tell you something.”

  My stomach tightened and my nerves were electrified with tension. My emotional state was so weak I hadn’t even had the energy to put up my guard. “What?”

  “I read the other two articles.”

  I stiffened. Pleading with the universe, I hadn’t known whoever was the subject of those newspaper clippings.

  “The second disappearance was six years later, her name was…” he hesitated. I wasn’t sure if it was a natural pause or an intentional one. “Roslyn Holton.”

  At first, the name didn’t sound familiar. It had been a long time since I had heard it. When my brain finally settled on a face, I sat up in bed. “Are you sure?”

  He looked back to the article. “Yeah. It says she was fifty-five. The last time she was seen was leaving Yves Antique Pages.”

  “She was Mr. Yves wife,” I whispered.

  “What?” he brought the articles over to the bed and lay on his stomach.

  “She was Mr. Yves wife,” I repeated, still struck with horror. “I used to call her Miss Rosy. Sometimes, when my dad was out of town or working late, she’d pick me up from school and bring me to the bookshop.” The tissue box was already more than halfway empty when I reached for another one. Telling Mr. Yves, and causing him more pain was out of the question.

  “Who was the third?” I needed to get the final jab over with as fast as possible.

  He slid the last article out from under the other two. “This one is pretty recent, December 2015. His name was Justin Wilkins.”

  I closed my eyes. “Oh, my God.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “A guy I used to know.” I fell into an abyss of gloom. Everyone I knew and cared about was being turned into stone. The sudden urge to see them, set fire to my muscles. “We have to go there. Right now.” I scrambled off the bed and went to the ladder for clothes. “Chandler, why aren’t you moving?”

  Finally, I heard him slide off the bed. “Iris, please sit down.”

  He reached for my hand, but I pulled away. “We need to save them; all of them. They’re not hers to keep.” I broke down and fell onto the bed. “We have to save them.” I covered my face with my pillow and sobbed.

  His touch was gentle as he rubbed my back. “I’m not sure there’s a way. And, even if there was, I don’t think we’d know how.” He pulled me back against him. “Shhh. Why don’t you lie down and we can talk about it in the morning.” Exhausted, I did. He sat on the edge of the bed. “Iris, I know my timing is off, but why do you think Carina is helping you?”

  I turned onto my back. “I’m not sure she is.” Sniffle. “She’s trying to help her sister. I’m not exactly sure why. She said she was tired of seeing her miserable.”

  “It all seems a bit extreme, just to see her sister cheered up.” He stopped as he realized what he was saying. “Who knows? I’d probably do it for you.”

  “Thanks. But, I think there’s more to it than that.” It was quiet except for the candle with the wood-burning wick. The crackling was a small distraction from what I wanted to tell him—what I should tell him. “Remember a couple of weeks ago, before you let me have two hours to myself, and I was at the bookshop?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, this one particular time, as you were coming in, a girl was leaving and you held the door open for her—”

  “If you tell me that was Carina—”

  “It was.”

  “Holy shit,” he whispered. “I let her slip right by me. Wait! You let her slip right by me.”

  Sniffle. “Yeah, I did. I wanted to know what she knew. And, I knew if you got involved that wasn’t going to happen.”

  “I get it. I do. But, you did some pretty stupid things.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. I guess I did.” I wanted to ask him something that hadn’t left my mind since it happened. “Now you know everything I know,” sniffle, “can I ask you something?”

  “What?”

  “What did Blacwin tell you on the phone?”

  Chandler’s sigh was loud. “He said...he said with the immortality of being a fallen, and the power and strength he has, there isn’t a way to kill Darenfys.”

  More bad news added to my day, my life. “Then why isn’t he home yet?”

  “I don’t know. I thought he would have been back by now.”

  His words were like acid poured into my already wounded heart.

  20

  My buzzing phone woke me at ten. Snow had called, texted, emailed me so many times, I was surprised she hadn’t had the SWAT team ramming through my door. I sent back a quick text telling her I just woke, and I wasn’t going to school. Her reply, Finally! And YEAH, I kind of got that! I told her I’d call her later. Sun streamed through the balcony door. I was in the mood for rain not sunshine. I wasn’t ready to be happy, not for a long time. I lifted myself onto my elbows and saw Chandler was on the couch reading the journal. “Anything worth sharing?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  I quickly sat up. My pulse raced. “What? Does it say how to reverse the statue spell?”

  “No.” He closed the journal and leaned his head on the back of the couch. “Actually, the entry on February 20th is kind of sick and morbid. You’d do yourself right to skip it.”

  “Are you trying to use reverse psychology? Because you just jacked my curiosity up and off the charts.”

  Ignoring me, he said, “Listen. I know you don’t want to deal with or even talk about the articles—”

  “You’re exactly right.” I got up and passed him on the way to the kitchen. He grabbed my arm and pulled me down next to him. “Iris, this is serious.”

  “You don’t think I know that? My mom is one of them. Adelina stabbed my—” I couldn’t finish. I felt hysteria rising in my chest.

  “I know what she did. And, if I could change it, I would. But right now, we need to talk about the articles as far as Mr. Yves is concerned. We need to tell him.”

  I was shaking my head. “No! No! He’d be devastated.”

  “He’ll have peace. You’ll be giving him peace. For all these years, he’s wondered what happened to his wife. You can give him closure.”

  Closure.
Like a steamroller, the word pummeled over me and flattened me into a place where dread was my only companion. Was it fair for Mr. Yves to know his wife was frozen in time by some crazed witch? Would he want to know? Chandler had a point though. Mr. Yves wasn’t verbal until he had something to say. So, when he spoke, you listened. And, I remember right after my father was killed, what he had told me after the funeral, “I know you don’t remember your mother, but she was wonderful. She loved you. And with a mother’s love as strong as hers, she never would have left you without reason. Today, be grateful knowing your father is in a place of peace. Together, they will always live inside of you.” I wasn’t sure whether I felt better or worse. But, I thought I understood what he had meant; there will always be unresolved feelings without closure and the absolute of death.

  With tears in my eyes, I looked at Chandler. I could tell he saw my decision.

  “Why don’t you get ready, so we can go do the right thing?”

  I played with the ring on my thumb. “Chandler?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What if he wants to see her?”

  When our light eyes met, they mirrored one another’s. This would not be easy. “Then we take him to Adelina’s house and see if we can find her.”

  I had an instant feeling of alarm, offering the same feeling of helplessness to Mr. Yves as I felt seemed cruel. If his wife was at Adelina’s house, she was still dead, unable to return love or even a hug. I nodded. Closure. I took my time to get ready: extra-long shower and a snail’s pace to get dressed. I figured the longer I could delay the moment of telling Mr. Yves his wife was a statue, the less pain it would cause when I struck the blow. Stupid and selfish.

  It was almost eleven when we walked into the bookshop. Mr. Yves was sifting through a new box of books sitting on the front counter. “Ah, if it isn’t my favorite kids, Chandler and my dear—why the worrisome look on your face?” He glanced at Chandler, probably hoping for a hint as to what was wrong.