I wonder if Naomi senses we’re leaving stuff out, but she’s studying Cicely curiously. “Who was your ancestress?”
“Deirdre Falls,” Luke and Cicely answer together.
Naomi doesn’t say anything, but a flash of recognition crosses her face and when she looks at Cicely again, it’s with new respect. “So,” she says. “What happened? Did you…” She doesn’t want to say kill her.
“No,” Luke says quickly. “Let’s say I had a change of heart.” He smiles at Cicely with such devotion, it makes me want to tear him to shreds.
“So our family got wind that the prophecy was being fulfilled—” D.J starts.
“Hang on,” Naomi cuts in. “What prophecy, exactly?”
D.J. and I exchange a look, but I guess there’s no harm in telling her now that it has been fulfilled.
Luke clears his throat importantly.
“Blood of the witch’s bloodline spilled,
Blood that brought death will bring them life.
Sacrifice killed and spell fulfilled,
Wake them again to ancient strife.”
Cicely cuts in:
“All Hallow’s Eve, unhallowed halls
Under the earth will hear her cries
Death and rebirth! The human falls.
Vampire to lead them all will rise.”
She looks at Luke on the last line and he looks away. We all know who the “vampire to lead them all” must be, but that doesn’t mean Luke wants to accept it.
“So my older brother Jason and I came to town,” D.J. says, “and we told Ander if he offed that guy—” He jerks his chin at Luke. “We’d cure his lycanthropy and let him back into the family.”
“Wait!” Naomi’s eyes go wide. “You have a cure?”
“No,” I say quickly. “Not a cure.” I’m not sure why it matters to her, but I feel bad for getting her hopes up, the way mine were up once upon a time. “He means they would let me be alpha wolf. They’ve modified the curse so the alpha of a pack can change at will. That’s why I have control over my changes now.”
D.J. glowers at me. Evidently I’m spilling Hunter secrets. I give him a very alpha look back. I don’t owe the Hunters anything. Besides, I’m still leaving a lot out—like how my dad intentionally infected my brothers and me with lycanthropy to turn us into some sort of super-Hunters. Like how he believed the vampires would get their immortality back, and we would have to be monsters to beat the monsters at their own game.
“So, you have a pack?” Naomi cuts a nervous glance at the window, as if she half expects to see werewolf shadows moving in the woods.
“Nope,” I say. “Just me and D.J., and D.J. hasn’t turned yet. He’ll turn for the first time on the full moon. Until then, he’ll feel the effects of the lycanthropy—anger, hunger, fever, all that—but he can’t actually turn or infect anybody else. He’s safe.”
Or safe-ish. D.J. doesn’t really look safe. There’s a feral gleam in his eyes and his lips curl back over his teeth when he smiles.
But Naomi doesn’t seem afraid of D.J. She’s more bothered by something else. “But, if you two are Hunters—”
“They were Hunters,” Cicely cuts in quickly. “They’re not any more.”
D.J. looks like he wants to argue. He never said he wasn’t a Hunter. And in a way, I get that. I feel like a Hunter, too, sometimes, in spite of all the ways my family has betrayed me, in spite of the fact that a real Hunter would hate the girl I love. It’s my background, my family, the way I was raised. How much of a choice do we really get about what we are?
But I know what Michael would say: human is as human does, and I’m guessing Hunter is as Hunter does, too. I never really understood that in the past, but I understand it now. It’s not what we are or where we come from. It’s not our darkest urges and instincts that make us who we are. It’s how we choose to act on them. “Cicely’s right,” I say. “I was a Hunter once, but not any more. The Hunters killed Michael and Danny.”
Naomi reaches out like she would like to touch me. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah,” says Five. “So skip to the happy ending already.” She grins. “There is a happy ending, right?”
“So we attempted to trick the Hunters,” Luke says, “and my family as well. We decided to convince them we were dead so they wouldn’t pursue us. So we pretended Cicely and I had bonded—”
“Because you very nearly did!” Emmie looks dreamy at the thought.
“—and we convinced them Ander had killed me,” Luke says.
“Because I very nearly did, about ten different times,” I say.
“And we faked Cicely being dead with a potion,” Emmie says, “like Romeo and Juliet. A fake death potion. Heartsbane.”
“Heartsbane?” Naomi looks shocked. “I thought that was a myth! Where did you even—”
Emmie laughs. “Another long story.” She winks at Cicely. “Let’s just say we’re good.”
“And it almost worked,” says Cicely, “because Michael was a genius. But the vampires found us out.”
“My family was determined to sacrifice Cicely to regain our immortality,” Luke says, “but now they knew I had tried to betray them. So they decided I should be the one to kill her, knowing if we were bonded, killing her would kill me, too.”
Naomi looks confused. “But you weren’t really bonded.”
“Right,” says Cicely. “But we were close. Luke had already bitten me twice, and I was afraid if he bit me a third time to kill me, he might bond us in the process, and I didn’t want him to die with me.”
I feel like I want to die right now, just hearing how casually Cicely talks about Luke biting her, about not wanting him to die. Maybe she really does love him. Maybe it has been him all along. Luke watches her with a strange expression on his face. It’s almost humble, like he knows he doesn’t deserve that level of devotion. And he doesn’t.
Maybe Cicely knows that, too, because she turns to me. “I wanted Luke to become immortal because it was the only way the three of us were going to get out of there alive.”
“But,” Naomi says gently, “you didn’t…”
“Get out of there alive?” Cicely frowns. “No, technically I didn’t. I knew they were going to kill me, so I had to find some way to die that didn’t involve Luke. The only way I could think of was to ask to be made a vampire.”
“So the vampire queen would have to be the one to kill you.” Naomi is starting to understand. “You did all that to avoid taking Luke out with you?”
Cicely sets her teacup down. The tea must be cold by now. “I did it because I had a theory—okay, more like a half-assed hope—that the heartsbane potion might still be in my blood and it might slow the vampire queen down.”
“And did it work?” Naomi asks.
“Better than I hoped. It put the queen temporarily in torpor and, because all the enluzantes were psychically connected to her, they fell out, too.”
“We killed the vampire queen.” Luke’s tone is cool. To hear him, you would never guess the queen was his cousin and life-long friend.
“You…” Naomi gapes at us, speechless.
“We killed a Hunter, too,” I say, quietly. Best to come clean about it all up front. I look Naomi in the eye. “They’re probably looking for us. We understand if you need us to leave.”
She shuts her eyes, and for a second I’m afraid she’ll tell us to go right now. I wouldn’t blame her. Naomi isn’t some powerful ally like we had hoped. She’s not much older than us, and it seems like she’s alone. It isn’t fair to ask her to put herself at risk.
Naomi shakes her head. “No.” She sounds determined. “That’s more reason for you to stay. At least for today, to regain your strength. And even if they are after you, you escaped them once, right?”
“Yeah, we did.” Escaped doesn’t begin to cover it, really. The whole scene flashes through my mind: Cicely nearly burning to death in the sunlight, Emmie riding to the rescue on my dad’s motorcycle, me exploding the b
ike to collapse the vampires’ tunnel and nearly falling in the Mississippi… the details. But Naomi doesn’t have to hear all that. She’s already heard enough.
And, to her credit, she hasn’t run screaming. “But what I don’t understand,” she says, “is why you are here.”
“This is why.” I take the red envelope out of my back pocket, straighten it on my palm, and hand it to her. “In emergency…” she says thoughtfully. “Well, that’s my name, but…” Naomi bites her lower lip. She looks apologetic. “Michael didn’t mean me. I’m named for my grandmother. She hadn’t gone by that name in years—everyone just called her Nana—but if Michael knew her in her youth… she’s your Naomi Faire.
Emmie brightens. “Well? Can we talk to your grandma?”
“Only if you can speak with ghosts. She’s been dead for almost two years.”
Chapter 3: Cicely
Well, I think, that’s it. We’ve come all this way looking for a savior and it turns out there isn’t one to find.
“But you’re a witch, too, right?” Emmie looks at Naomi hopefully. “Maybe you can help us.”
Naomi shakes her head. “I’m not nearly the witch my grandmother was, I’m afraid. I inherited her animal witch talents, but her powers went far beyond that.”
“What do you mean, animal witch talents?” I ask.
“You mean charming animals, communicating with them psychically, stuff like that, right?” Ander is studying Naomi with interest. “Hunters work with animal witches to help bring down monsters. Our family didn’t trust witches—no offense—but other families use them all the time.”
“To charm monsters?” I ask. “So, you can charm werewolves?” I’m not sure how I feel about that. Sure, it could be a major advantage if D.J. gets out of hand or if the Hunter-werewolves come after us, but Ander is already looking at Naomi so intently… No, I’m being stupid. I mean, sure, Naomi is beautiful. With that long, red-gold hair, she looks like something out of a fairytale. But Ander isn’t going to fall for some witch just because she can charm him, right? Not now that he and I have a chance.
“Yes,” Naomi says cautiously. “I’ve charmed werewolves, but not like my grandmother could. She could charm a lycanthrope out of changing—even make them fall asleep mid-change. I’m sure that’s why Michael sent you here. He must have known her at some point and thought she could help.” She smiles apologetically. “I just don’t have that level of gift.”
“Come on,” Ander says. “I bet you’re better than you think.”
I know he’s just being nice, but the way he smiles at Naomi makes my stomach clench, and the way she blushes in return…
“No.” Naomi looks down modestly. “For one thing, my grandmother could charm them from a distance.” She cuts a glance up at him through her lashes. “I would have to be in physical contact.”
Physical contact. Is she flirting with him? I feel my fangs shift smoothly into place. An instinct I didn’t know I had starts calculating the distance between us. I’ll give her physical contact.
“Cicely?” Luke murmurs beside me. “Is everything okay?” His eyes are narrowed with concern.
I take a deep, forced breath. “Yes. Fine.” To hide my fangs, I take a sip of tea. It’s cold and it tastes like dirt.
“Well,” Ander says, “we just appreciate you letting us land here today. That’s the most important thing right now.”
Naomi smiles up at him. “I bet you’re tired. Let’s get you to your rooms.”
There’s no shortage of space in this rambling, empty house. An hour later we’re showered and changed and checked into our rooms. Luke, Five, and Emmie each get a room of their own, but Ander insists on sharing one with D.J. to keep an eye on him. I tell myself Ander is only being sensible, but I can’t help wondering if he’s also trying to avoid being alone with me. A few weeks ago, I would have given almost anything for a night alone with Ander in a house with no parents, and I’m pretty sure he felt the same, but now he doesn’t seem so eager.
But he doesn’t ditch me completely, either. He insists on going with Naomi and I as she shows me to my room (although that’s probably as much about protecting Naomi as it is about hanging out with me). We follow Naomi through the kitchen, to a narrow door at the back. The sun is coming up outside and, even thought the shades are drawn, I can still feel the threat of it, as if the light is pressing against the windows like water against a dam.
Naomi pulls a thin chain from around her neck. The charm on it looks like a spindly, old-fashioned key, but it isn’t made of metal. It looks more like it’s carved from bone. The head of it is shaped like a little skull, the necklace chain threaded through one tiny eye socket. It seems more like a decoration than a real key, so I’m surprised when she sticks it into the lock—and even more surprised when the key reshapes itself to fit the keyhole, turning small and sliver in Naomi’s hand.
“Skeleton key,” she says when she sees my surprise. “It fits any lock. My grandmother crafted it.”
“Wow,” says Ander. “I can see what you mean about her being a witch of many talents.”
Naomi laughs. “And an absent-minded one, too. She was always losing her glasses and notebooks and keys. Trust me, this came in handy.” She turns the key in the lock and opens the door on a narrow little stairwell. “Come on up.”
She starts up the stairs and Ander follows, deliberately placing himself between Naomi and me. It’s a relief to step into the stairwell and I suddenly understand why the enluzantes liked their tunnels under the earth. The close quarters I can do without—a few hours in the grave and a few days in the van have ruined me for tight spaces—but the darkness is as comforting as a cool cloth on a fevered forehead.
It’s almost comic to watch Ander angle his big shoulders up the narrow stairwell, his head bent to clear the low ceiling. The old stairs creak under his weight. “I don’t think this place was built with you in mind,” I say.
“Really?” he grunts. “What gave you that impression?”
Naomi laughs. “The house is from the 1860s. These were the servants’ stairs. The attic room belonged to the maid.”
I know she doesn’t mean anything by it—she’s just making conversation—but I still bristle at the implication. Enluzantes like me were made to be disposable slaves. It’s hard to forget that.
Of course I’m being over sensitive. Is that a vampire thing, I wonder? Along with the heightened senses and the mood-swings? Maybe that’s why they brood all the time. And maybe Five’s right: I am feeling sorry for myself. Ander’s not avoiding you because you’re a vampire, I think, he’s avoiding you because you’re a downer.
“Maid, huh? Well, I’ve seen Cicely’s room back home and I’m not sure I’d ask her to keep house.” Ander grins at me over his shoulder. “Or cook, either, unless you really love frozen pizza.”
I reach up and punch him playfully in the arm. It’s a forced sort of normal, but at least he’s joking around.
“Ow!” He rubs arm. “Watch it!”
I smile. “You do love frozen pizza and you know it.”
The attic room at the top of the stairs is dark, but my night vision has gotten better in the past few days. I can make out the basic features of the place even before Naomi turns on the single bulb that dangles in the middle of the room. One side of the space is stacked with boxes and old furniture half covered in white sheets. From the shapes, I try to guess what each sheet hides: an armchair, a birdcage, a mirror on a stand.
The other side of the room is set up as a little alcove. A twin bed, painted white and draped in a homemade afghan, is tucked under the slanted ceiling like a baby bird under a wing. Beside it sits a child’s dresser, its top covered with seashells and smooth stones and jars full of colored glass. Naomi opens the bottom drawer, sending up a puff of dust.
“Sorry it isn’t clean,” she says. “I wasn’t expecting guests.” She takes an extra blanket and a pillow case out of the drawer and sets them on the bed.
“It’s f
ine. So much cozier than a van.” I smile at her. “Thank you.” I feel guilty for suspecting her of flirting with Ander. Naomi is putting herself at risk to help us. The least I can do is be friendly.
Naomi smiles back. “It’s actually pretty comfy. I used to stay up here when I was a little girl. My grandmother was a necromancer as well as an animal witch—séances, divination, that sort of thing. That’s why her talent with monsters was so strong. I would help her with the rituals, but when things got too intense she would send me up here. The bed is comfortable, and there’s no sunlight for you to worry about—the only window is that one, and it’s been covered for years.” She points to a small circular window set high in the wall. I imagine it once looked out over the ocean, but now there is an old, rust-colored blanket nailed across it, like a patch over a blinded eye.
“I broke it when I was a little girl.” Naomi tugs the blanket to test that it won’t come down. “Well, I didn’t break it, exactly. A bird flew into it, but it was my fault. I was watching the birds out the window, and there was one very pretty, tiny one and I wanted to see it closer. I didn’t have control over my powers yet and I charmed it to me without meaning to. It flew right into the glass, trying to reach me.” She touches the blanket thoughtfully, tracing the fractured glass through the rough fabric.
“I’ll never forget the noise when it hit the glass. I watched it fall all the way to the ground, then I ran down two flights of stairs and straight to the yard, praying it would still be alive. Of course, it wasn’t.”—she shakes her head sadly—“God, how I cried! My grandmother came and held me. I begged her to bring it back to life. I knew she could talk to the dead, I’d seen her do it—but she told me that isn’t in our power to do. Dead is dead, she said. And I told her if I could kill something but not bring it back, I didn’t want to be a witch any more.” She laughs sadly. “That was the first time it was clear to me I didn’t have a choice. You are what you are, she said, just learn to use your power.” Naomi turns back to us, like she’s just remembered we’re here. “We never got around to fixing the glass.”
Crossfire (Book Two of the Darkride Chronicles) Page 4