Crossfire (Book Two of the Darkride Chronicles)

by Laura Bradley Rede

  “Well,” she says. “I’m not rich or dark, but I am a little bitter.”

  I give her a hug. I can feel her body stiffen as I put my arms around her, feel her turn her face away so her teeth aren’t near my neck. But she doesn’t pull away completely. “Give it time,” I say. “You’ll find the sweet.”

  I let her go and she smiles. “You’re pretty smart, you know that, Emmie?”

  I laugh. “I think you’re the first person who ever said that.”

  “I mean it,” she says. “You are.”

  Cicely Watson, honor student, thinks I’m smart. “Well,” I say, “that’s nice and all, but I didn’t come in here to talk smart.”

  “Oh?” She looks at me warily. “Then why’d you come in here?”

  I open the drawer under the sink and take out the little bag Five brought me from the drug store. “I’ll show you.”

  Chapter 8: Ander

  As it turns out, D.J. doesn’t really need me for anything. I think he just interrupted Cicely and me because he didn’t like the idea of me kissing a vampire. But, even so, it takes a while to settle him back in his room, and by the time I’m done, Cicely is nowhere to be found. I don’t like that we fought, even if the fight did end in a kiss, and I really want to talk to her, so I try the kitchen, then her bedroom. By the time I check the living room, I’m really starting to get worried. Is she with Emmie? That would be okay, I guess, although I would still rather they not be together un-chaperoned, just in case things get out of hand.

  Or is Cicely with Luke? I wouldn’t put it past him to have spied on our kiss. Maybe he’s trying to win Cicely back right now. I decide to go make sure the vamp is in his room, but on the way there I pass the bathroom. The door is shut. I can hear someone moving around inside.

  “Cicely?”

  The movement stops. “Ander? Is that you?”

  She sounds nervous, maybe even guilty. Not a good sign. Is she alone in there? I can smell Emmie’s perfume mixed with the smell of vampire and I have a sudden vision of Emmie lying unconscious on the bathroom floor in a pool of blood. The thought is enough to make me try the door.

  Locked.

  “Don’t come in!” Cicely cries shrilly.

  Crap. A feeling of panic is starting to rise in my chest. I reach for the key Naomi gave me, just in case I might need it, but the chain that was around my neck is gone. When did that happen? I’m used to losing things when I transform, but I’ve been in human form since I got it. I just want to ask Cicely outright if she has hurt Emmie, but after our big fight about trust, I don’t want to accuse her of anything. “What are you doing up?”

  Pause.

  “I don’t want to tell you.”

  Uh-oh. It’s bad. “Tell me, Cicely. Tell me right now.”

  I hear her take a deep breath. “I’m doing my hair.”

  Okay, that does it. In the four years I’ve known Cicely, I’ve never known her to use the phrase “doing my hair.” I mean, I’m sure she must wash it and brush it and put it in a ponytail sometimes, but she doesn’t do it...

  “Alright,” I say. “I’m coming in!” I take a big step back, ready to break down the door.

  “What the hell are you doing?!”

  I turn to see Emmie standing behind me, scowling. She has one hand on her hip and in the other she carries… a hairdryer.

  I stop. “Emmie! You’re okay! I mean, you’re not…” I glance back and forth between her and the door.

  “In with Cicely? No. I went to get this.” She points the hairdryer at me in a way that makes me glad it’s not a gun. “Wait, you didn’t think…”

  I can feel my face getting redder. “Well, Cicely wouldn’t say what she was up to, and she wouldn’t let me in…”

  There’s a click as the door is unlocked from the other side. It swings open with a creak. Cicely is standing in the doorway. “I didn’t want to come out because I wasn’t sure I was ready for you to see me.”

  I gape at her. “Your hair! It’s… blue!”

  “Well,” says Emmie. “I had heard you Hunters were observant, but I had no idea.” She smacks me on the arm and whispers fiercely, “Tell the lady it looks nice!”

  “You look… nice.” Otherworldly would be a better word. Cicely’s hair is still damp and half piled on her head so little wet locks trickle down her neck in a way that looks more mermaid than vampire. The bright, electric blue against her pale skin is striking. Stunning. But not at all human.

  Cicely bites her lower lip, her eyes on the floor. She winds one blue strand nervously around her finger. “You don’t like it, do you?”

  “No,” I say quickly. “I mean no, that’s not true. I mean, yes, I do like it.” Emmie is looking death at me, hand still on her hip, her bare foot tapping impatiently. I take a deep breath. “Yes, I like it. It’s just…” Just that I desperately need for nothing else about you to change.

  Cicely looks embarrassed. “It was Emmie’s idea! She thought it would be like a disguise, since we’re in hiding—”

  “Blue is your idea of blending in?”

  Emmie shrugs. “I just didn’t want her to look like the pictures on the news. I had Five buy the dye while we were in the thrift store. I asked her to buy blond or red or something—”

  “Blond?”

  “But of course Five had to be contrary and get the crazy color,” Cicely says, “and so of course I said no, because since when do I dye my hair?”

  “Since never,” I say.

  “Right! Zoe has tried to talk me into it like a million times and I never did it.”

  “Well, I talked you into it this time,” Emmie says proudly. “And I think it looks amazing. Cicely wouldn’t let me cut it, of course—”

  “Cut it?” I look at her, horrified.

  Luckily Cicely looks horrified, too. “Of course I can’t cut it! It won’t grow back! Now that I’m deceased, my physical self doesn’t change, remember?”

  “Which means the blue won’t grow out, either,” I say.

  “Yes, but I can always dye it back, right?” She sighs. “You really don’t like it, do you?”

  “It’s really something,” I say carefully. “Zoe would love it.” I never know what to say to girls about their looks, even under the best of circumstances, and, let’s face it, I never wind up in the best of circumstances.

  Cicely tugs at one blue lock, examining it. “I just needed a change.”

  I can’t help it. I laugh. “You haven’t had enough changes lately?”

  “A change I could control,” she says. “A change I chose.”

  “You chose to be a vampire.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them, even though they’re true.

  Cicely looks hurt. “How can you consider something a choice when there isn’t any other option? It was that or die in a cave full of vampires. Do you think that would have been better?”

  I know I should say no, fast. I should say of course not or the important thing is we’re all here together or something like that, but the words just won’t come. I really do feel that way—I’m glad Cicely is still in the world. I wouldn’t want to live in a world without her—but the hunter in me just won’t let me say it was worth her becoming a vampire.

  I’m silent for a beat too long.

  And just like that, we’re back to fighting.

  Cicely’s eyes harden. She juts her chin out the way she does when she’s bracing for a debate. Standing there barefoot in her thrift store jeans and her blue-spattered t-shirt, she shouldn’t look intimidating, but I’m still very aware I’m two feet away from a vampire who’s trying to stare me down.

  I swallow the growl rising in my throat. I’m in control now. I can choose not to lose it. I hold my hands up in surrender. “Listen, Smurfette, it’s cool. Better than cool. It’s just, you know, werewolves don’t deal well with change.” I give her an apologetic smile.

  Cicely’s expression softens. “It’s okay,” she says quietly. “I get it. I’m just trying to move on
a little. Start over again, you know?”

  “I know.” I take a step closer to her. Carefully I reach out and run the tips of my fingers down a damp blue lock. It still feels like Cicely’s hair, smooth and sort of polished. That hasn’t changed.

  The shy smile Cicely gives me hasn’t changed, either. It still makes my heart go faster. “Well,” I say. “Blue has always been my favorite color.”

  Cicely’s smile widens.

  “You know,” Emmie says quickly, “I’m real tired all of a sudden. I think I’ll go catch some Zs.” She gives me an encouraging smile. “See y’all later!” She waves goodbye with the hair dryer and trots off towards her room.

  Cicely rolls her eyes. “A little obvious?”

  I laugh. “What? You think she’s leaving us alone on purpose?”

  “I think she thinks we need to talk or something.”

  Yeah, we really do need to talk, but it’s the “or something” part that gets me. Because I do want to do something, I really do. The memory of our kiss is still very much on my mind, along with the thought that there are no adults in this house, no rules, no curfews or lockdowns, no chains. There’s no authority higher than me and, most importantly, no chance I’m going to lose it completely.

  Now the only barriers are in my mind.

  “You think you might get used to it?” Cicely is watching me with guarded hope.

  “Definitely,” I say. Inside I think, I’ll try.

  Chapter 9: Ander

  And I do get used to it. In fact, I get used to a lot of changes over the next few weeks. When you’ve been through as much as we have lately, it feels like life will never be routine again, but, before long, life at Naomi’s house falls into a pattern as regular as the tides that go in and out, steady as the ocean breathing.

  D.J. and I take the early shift, getting up to help Naomi with the animals at the crack of dawn. My brother complains about shoveling manure, but he’s better off having something to do, and I personally relish the work. It feels good to be in my body without the threat of changing, good to use my strength for something that helps instead of hurts. Hauling buckets from the spigot to the barn, chopping wood for the fireplace—these things are simple and sane. I’m starting to get a clue about some of the Buddhist stuff Michael used to go on about, the way simple tasks are like mantras. Human is as human does, and right now, I need this.

  The horses have gotten over their fear of me, so they are the ones I help with the most, slinging hay and fixing the gaps in the tumbled stone wall. The horses may technically be Naomi’s business, but I can tell they’re her family, too, and they love her. All the animals do. Birds land on the clothesline when she hangs out the wash. Rabbits hop closer when she’s near. To her, it’s ordinary, but to me it’s still amazing to watch her walk on the beach, her long braid swinging down her back, a row of sandpipers trailing after her like kindergarteners after their teacher.

  They scatter, of course, if I get too close, but that’s to be expected. No matter how much the horses accept me, the birds never forget. They know a predator when they see one.

  And we would be wise to remember, too, because no matter how routine our days might be, every night brings the full moon a little closer. With every tide that comes and goes, the tug gets stronger, and every wave that eats the shore reminds me that D.J.’s humanity is going fast. D.J. says he’s ready—that he’s proud to be a wolf, that he isn’t afraid to change for the first time—but the truth is the wolf is riding him hard. He’s a little shit most of the time, snapping and growling and flying off the handle at the smallest things. I’m always afraid he’ll offend Naomi, but she seems to have endless patience for him. She deals with him like she deals with the injured animals who find their way to her door, and luckily D.J. responds. I can’t help being a little jealous D.J. will have her calming touch the first time he turns. That’s so much more than I had. But even with Naomi’s magic, my little brother will probably have to spend a lot of time in chains.

  So I’m determined to help him enjoy his freedom while he has it. As soon as we finish our chores, we head down to the empty stretch of beach to wrestle, or we take off running in the woods. I love the running. Under the cover of trees I’m free to be in wolf form and, now that the change is under my control, I relish the chance. Running has always been my outlet, but now it’s my pleasure, too. D.J. likes to race me. He can’t beat me yet—not with me in wolf form and him in human—but he comes closer every day. The wolf is making him stronger and faster, bulking up his body until he doesn’t look much like the kid he was. Luckily, with the amount of manual labor we’ve been doing lately, I can feel my own body getting leaner and stronger, too. We are outside so much, I’m tan in spite of the weak November sun, and I feel healthier than I have in ages.

  Part of that is probably spending so much time with Naomi, soaking in her magic. She comes with us into the woods sometimes—not if we’re hunting, of course, because she doesn’t want to accidentally lure some poor animal to its death, but just if we’re running. I like that she isn’t afraid of us. Sometimes she laughs when D.J. and I wrestle like puppies. Other times, she’s quiet and I catch a certain sadness in her eyes and I know we’re both thinking of people we’ve lost. She never talks about Jonah and I never ask, but we talk about other things, like what plants grow in the woods in the summer or what it’s like down on the boardwalk once the tourists come. Sometimes, when I’m stressed out, we don’t talk at all. She just lays her palm on my arm and I feel the calming warmth of her magic seep into me. Things are easy with Naomi.

  They’re not so easy with Cicely. Sure, we joke and talk, but that’s about it. There haven’t been any more kisses because we’re almost never alone, and some days we barely see each other at all. Cicely sleeps all day while I work, then wakes up sometime after sunset. I usually only know she’s awake because I hear the violin. It’s an old instrument—Luke bought it for her, of course, at one of the little antique shops along the road to town—and it’s kind of scratched up and worn, but the music Cicely makes with it is incredible. She has always been good, I guess. Back home in Monument I would sometimes watch her play, careful and precise, her sheet music neatly propped on the stand in front of her, her brow creased with concentration. But now, with her heightened hearing and her vampire dexterity, she has gone way beyond human skill. She barely uses sheet music at all. She blew through the books Luke bought her in a matter of days, mastering song after song, then gave them up completely. Now she mostly improvises music—intricate, complex, full of a passion I didn’t know she felt. Sometimes she plays up in her attic, but more and more she plays out in the woods, often in the pitch black, her fingers flying across the strings by feel.

  Once I watched her play at night, her bow slicing across the strings like a sword in a desperate battle, the moonlight glinting off her pale skin and making her blue hair shine. I’ll be honest, it scared me a little to see her like that, and when the wolf in the woods joined in, howling, I wanted to howl along, too, crying for all the stuff we’ve been through and all that’s yet to come.

  The moon keeps growing like a very pretty cancer and soon the day of the full moon is here.

  D.J. won’t change until the moon actually rises, but he agrees to be locked down all day this first time, just to be on the safe side. We take him out to the saferoom early in the morning, before the sun is even up, because Cicely insists on going out there with us, even though I’m afraid having her there will just rile D.J. up more. “I want to be there for you,” she says, and even though I know it’s selfish, I want her there, too.

  So Naomi and Cicely and I take D.J. out to the safe room and lock him down. I triple-check the silver-plated chains, but they hold fast. Cicely settles herself on the far side of the room, as far as she can get from D.J. in the tight space, and watches us quietly. Naomi busies herself with preparations, unpacking the bottles of water and potion and the packages of dried meat she brought from the house. She does it with a practiced e
fficiency, as if she has done it a thousand times before.

  Then she takes a small, blue lump out of her box of tricks. It looks like a cross between a piece of coal and a clunk of resin.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “Sleeping smoke. If I light it, it gives off smoke with a sedative effect. It only works on werewolves, so it won’t affect me, but you’d get sleepy, so we’ll only use it if we have to.”

  I take the little blue lump and turn it over in my hands. “I never heard of that. You’d think Hunters would use it all the time.”

  She smiles as I hand it back. “My grandmother invented it.”

  I shake my head. “That granny was full of ideas, wasn’t she? Would it really put D.J. out?”

  “On a normal day, yes, if we used enough of it in a closed space, but on a full moon like this he’s too riled up. It would only slow him a little. That’s why I injected him with the sedative you brought from home. But,”—she shrugs—“I figured it didn’t hurt to bring some down. We can use any advantage we can get, right?”

  “Right.”

  Naomi slips the blue coal back into her bag. Then she holds her hand out, palm up, and closes her eyes. Slowly her hand begins to glow with yellow light.

  Instantly Cicely is up out of her seat and pressed against the wall, as far from the light as she can get. She hisses at Naomi like a cat. “What is that?”

  “Oh!” Naomi drops her hand and the light winks out. “I’m sorry, Cicely! I wasn’t thinking! My grandmother and I always used light spells instead of candles if we had a werewolf chained down here because so many lycanthropes are afraid of flames. Even a little candle flame can upset them when they’re in an agitated state, not to mention the fire risk in this old barn. But I forgot the light spell is essentially sunlight.”

  “Cissa, are you okay?” I ask.

  Cicely is still pressed against the wall. “Yeah. It just surprised me, that’s all.”

  More like scared her half to death, and with good reason. I’ve heard of witches on the Hunter side who could wield sunlight spells as a weapon against the undead. A concentrated flame of sunlight can really do some damage.