“I’m sorry, honey. It’s nothing personal. I have to do what’s best for everyone.”
I didn’t bother with a reply. I buried myself under my covers and prayed for the animal part of me to fade away.
Chapter Three
There had been a time when home was better than school, but it wasn’t like that anymore. Strangers treating me like an outcast was always better than my own family treating me like one.
Fletcher was out sick on Monday, but thankfully, I still had Imani.
As the two of us left the school building that afternoon a familiar truck was parked in the front lot—a black F-150 with orange and red flames painted on both sides. The truck belonged to Bruce Wiley who spent his time getting high and never going to class. Any time I saw him, he was in the parking lot, sitting in his truck.
Earlier in the school year Wiley had flirted with me. I couldn’t pass his truck without him leaning out of the window and shouting something. After what had happened that January night, he hadn’t said a word to me. Sometimes when I was leaving the school, his truck would peel out of the parking lot so fast the tires screeched. Wiley had a very good reason to avoid me.
That day I was surprised when he rolled his window down as Imani and I passed. “Hey, Arden. Got a minute?”
I couldn’t believe he wanted to talk to me after what had happened, but I was also afraid of what he would say. I looked at Imani. “I can’t. I’m with my friend.”
“No, it’s cool,” Imani said quickly. “Go ahead. I’ll text you later.”
“Okay,” I watched her move along the sidewalk, wishing she hadn’t left me alone. I looked back at Wiley. “What?”
He gestured with his finger for me to come closer. “Get in. I just want to talk.”
I wanted nothing more than to get as far away from him as possible, but when someone knows your deepest, darkest secret, you’re at their mercy. Dragging myself over to the passenger side of his truck, I reluctantly climbed in. Wiley didn’t have the same silly grin he usually wore. He seemed a little out of it and different than usual.
He gripped his steering wheel and squeezed while I waited for him to talk. Wiley wasn’t a bad looking guy. He had shoulder-length brown curls which he kept under a Red Sox cap most of the time, perfect dimples, and deep amber eyes. I’d never not seen him wearing a long-sleeved flannel shirt. He cleared his throat, but he still wouldn’t look at me. “We haven’t talked since that night.”
“No.” I didn’t want to think about that night. I didn’t want to think about Bailey.
Wiley sighed, still gripping the steering wheel as if his life depended on him not letting go. “I don’t even—what happened?”
I had no idea how to begin to explain that night. It still didn’t seem real to me and sometimes I tried to convince myself that I had imagined it all. Fletcher, Wiley, and I were the only ones who knew the truth about that night. Thankfully Fletcher never talked about it. Seeing Wiley always brought the memories rushing back.
Wiley took a deep breath. “It keeps going through my head over and over. I was sitting in my truck. I saw you and Bailey go into the woods. You were there for a while so I thought you guys might have had a little something something that you wouldn’t mind sharing. When I found you, you were fighting. Bailey had you pinned down to the ground and then seconds later, you were on top of her.”
“Wiley, please . . .” I just wanted him to stop. Why did he have to say those things out loud? I knew exactly what happened. I was there.
He finally let go of the steering wheel, held his hands up, staring at them. “Then you just slashed her to death. With your bare hands. You clawed her like some kind of animal. Bailey looked like she had been hacked with a knife, but it was you. Why did you do that? How did you do that?”
I sank into the car seat, wishing I could evaporate. I couldn’t tell him the true story. I couldn’t tell anyone. The truth was Bailey was a Doppelganger. She had been transforming into a Wendigo and killing innocent people. She had been the one to start all this trouble. Four people had died at her hands. On top of that, she had threatened not only my life, but the lives of twenty plus kids having a party in the old farmhouse. She’d planned the fake party to get us in an isolated area. The two of us had gone outside to talk, and then she’d attacked me. If I hadn’t killed Bailey that night, we would have all been dead, Wiley included, and the Wendigo murders would have never stopped.
I didn’t feel good about what I had done, but I had no other choice.
“Wiley, I had to do it. It was self-defense. There’s just some things about that night that I can’t tell you, but I promise you, I didn’t want to kill Bailey. I didn’t have any other option.”
Wiley had recorded the whole thing on his phone which terrified me. He had something he could hold over my head and share with people any time he wanted and my life would be ruined. As far as anyone else knew, Bailey and her parents had moved away suddenly and that was that. Bailey had actually killed her parents, so add them to the death tally.
Fletcher promised me that we didn’t have to worry about Wiley showing the video to anyone because if he did, what happened to Bailey, would happen to him.
“Are you afraid of me?” I asked. Contrary to popular belief, being feared was the worst feeling in the world. I didn’t know what bullies got out of it.
Wiley pulled his cap down lower on his head and finally looked at me. “I was at first, but then . . .”
My throat tightened. “But then what?”
“I’ve been watching the video over and over and it’s kind of badass what you did.”
I reached for the door handle. “What?” If he was actually turned on by the sight of a girl being slashed to death I was getting the hell out of that truck ASAP.
He touched my arm gently. “No, wait. I don’t think you’re, like us. Like people.”
I swallowed hard. He knew. That was my greatest fear come true. “What do you mean?”
He took his hand off me. “I always knew there was something different about you. What are you? You can tell me. I won’t tell anyone. Are you like a werewolf or something?”
I was tempted. Sometimes I wanted to tell someone besides Fletcher all my secrets. I had contemplated telling Imani, but then I would probably lose half of the friends I had. “I’m not a werewolf. Werewolves are extinct.” They really were.
Wiley nodded and lifted my hand to examine my nails. His touch sent butterflies wild in my stomach. “These look like regular nails now, but that night they were claws.” He used my hand to run my nails along his arm. “Wanna watch the video?”
I snatched my hand away. “No, I don’t want to watch the video! I wish you would delete it. It’s really sick that you’ve kept it and watch it over and over. It’s not a movie, Wiley, it’s real life. You’re watching someone die again and again. You’re sick.”
Wiley licked his lips and touched my hair. “Really? I don’t think you’re in any position to be calling anyone sick. I’m not the one who killed Bailey.”
I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him close to me. I hadn’t expected to yank him out of his seat, but I had. “Don’t you ever say that again. Don’t talk to me about that night ever again.”
He blinked rapidly and nodded. His rosy cheeks had paled.
I shoved him away from me and jumped out, slamming the door so hard the truck rocked back and forth. Wiley was demented. I’d done what I had to do to Bailey out of necessity, but he was entertained by it.
The blast of the truck horn made me jump as I stormed away. Against my better judgement, I stopped and looked over my shoulder.
“If you’re ever going to do that again, let me know.”
I kept walking. Wiley was worse than me. I couldn’t help what I was. He was an animal by choice.
Chapter Four
I spent all evening doing what I usually did when I needed to relieve some stress—making a dress. I had found a beautiful lilac cotton material at
the fabric store. I hadn’t made my mind up on what I was going to do with it. While I blasted my father’s Cyndi Lauper cassette tapes on an old radio, I draped and re-draped the fabric over my dress forms. I’d pin the dress a certain way and then unpin it because I didn’t like the way it looked. Listening to eighties music usually inspired me, but that evening it wasn’t working. I finally gave up, rolled my fabric up carefully, and went to bed.
That night I was awakened by what felt like powerful hands twisting my stomach. Another hunger pain, but not like any I’d had before. They were getting worse and I didn’t know how much more I could take.
At dinner I had eaten three servings of mashed potatoes, steamed broccoli, and chopped steak, but I had never gotten full. I would have eaten more, but the looks from my family stopped me. Their stares were harder to endure than the stomach pains. We all knew the truth. I would never be full until I gave my body what it really wanted—Human flesh. The only way to counter that was for my Banshee side to become stronger, to overcome the Wendigo part of me, but I had no idea how to do that.
Since I was locked in my room, I grabbed my house keys. I couldn’t use my bedroom door to get downstairs to the pantry, so I crawled over my balcony and down the rose trellis, which was sturdy and easy to climb. What would happen if the neighbors saw me? How would I explain sneaking out of my bedroom only to go back into the house?
After unlocking the back door, I crept into the kitchen. I went for my beef jerky in the pantry. I ripped into several pieces, but they didn’t hit the spot. I needed meat, but not that. After searching the fridge for left over chopped steak, I remembered how embarrassed I had been when Mom said I had eaten it all. I let the refrigerator door fall closed and leaned against it. I would have to try to sleep and hope the urge went away by morning.
Climbing the stairs, a scent tantalized my nostrils. The aroma was flavorful and savory. I imagined the source of the smell being soft and tender as it slid down my throat.
Opening a door, I tiptoed toward the scent. Fresh meat called my name and I couldn’t ignore it. The meat would satisfy me and then I could sleep in peace. Nothing else mattered at that moment but getting what I longed for. The meat—I pinned it down with one hand and threw my head back, preparing to take a bite. My gums were suddenly raw and sore. I ran a finger over my teeth. They were sharper than usual. My teeth felt as if they were growing right then and there. A snarling growl escaped from my throat, surprising me. I had never made a sound like that. I was prepared to feast, but a screeching sound interrupted me, knocking me out of my daze.
I looked down. A light flipped on. A mess of blond hair and watery blue eyes flashed before me. “Arden, please,” Quinn pleaded. Her lips quivered. “Please don’t eat me.” She sobbed so hard that her body shook.
Something stirred beside her. Paige. Her hand was still on the switch of Quinn’s teacup lamp. What was Paige doing in there? She had her own bed in her own room, then the obvious answer broke my heart. They were sleeping together because they were afraid.
“Daddy!” Paige screamed before I could stop her.
Bumping came from the end of the hallway and I jumped off the bed and away from Quinn. She scooted close to Paige who wrapped her arms around her. Seconds later Mom and Dad stood in the doorway looking terrified.
“Arden?” Mom said. “How did you get in here? What are you doing?”
Dad looked around, shaking his head. “She must have gone over the balcony.”
“I-I didn’t . . . I wasn’t.” I didn’t know what to say. What could I say? There was no excuse for what I’d done. I looked at my sisters, waiting for them to tell our parents what I’d done, but they only stared at me wide-eyed.
Without a word, Dad took me by the shoulders and guided me back to my room while Mom comforted my sisters. Fletcher was right. My family had every right to protect themselves against me.
The next day Dad stayed home from work. He boarded up all the bedroom windows of the house. I figured it was only a matter of time before they put me in a cage.
Chapter Five
Instead of going to school that day, I walked over to Fletcher’s. He’d texted me saying he would be staying home again. He would let me in through the back door since his parents didn’t want us hanging out either.
Although we were besties, Fletcher and I were supposed to be enemies, or at least not supposed to be friends. Creatures were divided into two categories: Givers and Takers. Fletcher was a Giver and I was a Taker. Givers got their name because they created, protected, and gave life. We were Takers, because we took and destroyed life. We thrived off of death, but we only took when we needed to. I’d only killed Bailey because it was necessary. Both Givers and Takers were essential to keep things in balance.
The kitchen door creaked open. Fletcher stood there with his hair a tangled mess on his head, wearing a white T-shirt and flannel pajama pants. I slipped inside. “Dad’s not here and Mom’s taking a shower,” Fletcher said as we made our way to his bedroom.
Once we were in his room, he shut the door and crawled back into bed, allowing me to get a good look at him. He looked terrible. Paler than usual. His normally pink lips were a sickly gray tint and purple circles had formed under his eyes.
“Fletch, you look like death,” I told him as he snuggled underneath the covers.
“I know.”
I lay down beside him on top of the covers. “Something bad happened last night.”
Fletcher shivered. “What?”
I swallowed hard and tried to look Fletcher in the eyes, but I couldn’t. I was ashamed of what I was about to say, so I stared at his grizzly bear poster on the wall behind him. “I almost ate Quinn. I didn’t even realize I was doing it until it was almost too late. Fletch, I could have killed my sister.”
Fletcher coughed, but he didn’t seem surprised. “I almost attacked my mom when I first transformed. That’s why they have to lock you in. How did you even get out of your room?”
“I went over the balcony and came back in through the back door. I was going to the kitchen to get something to eat and I ended up in Quinn’s room. Dad boarded up all the bedroom windows.” I sighed and rolled away from Fletcher. “This is wrong. I can’t make my family live like this. Like they’re in prison or something.” Especially when I didn’t really belong there in the first place.
“All of our families have to make sacrifices as we transform. Your father understands at least.”
My father wasn’t Human either. He was a Guardian Angel, a Giver. Contrary to popular belief, he didn’t have wings or a halo.
“There’s only one way to stop this,” Fletcher said after a long time.
“How?” I finally managed to look him in the eye. That special glint that was usually there was missing.
“You have to wait for your Gemini to die.”
Every creature had a Gemini. My Gemini was a Giver born at the exact same time I was. When the Gemini Curse was in effect, one half of the Gemini would inevitably die. One grows weaker while the other grows stronger. There’s no rhyme or reason to who wins; fate makes the choice. If you want to be the one to live, whether fate has chosen you or not, you must kill your Gemini. My Gemini happened to be Rose, my parents’ birth daughter.
The curse only involved creatures under the age of eighteen. It hadn’t been in effect for decades, but once Bailey began killing Givers and innocent people, the Givers took that as a personal threat to their side, so they cast the curse. Because of that, half of us would be taken out.
“Fletch, I don’t know how long that might take. This is the first time any of us has had to live through this curse. None of us know.”
“Just wait," he insisted. “If you’re not getting weaker, then your Gemini is. You won’t have to do anything. But until then, you have to fight your urges. Let your family lock you up. The new strength you have can help you overpower your Wendigo side. You know what will happen to you if you don’t.”
Of course I knew. The six
th tunnel. The sixth tunnel was an underground place where beasts and the worst of the worst monsters were condemned to live for the rest of their lives. Ghouls, Hellhounds, Ogres, Trolls, the other Wendigos—all the beasts that were deemed to be uncivilized. I’d rather die than be thrown into that tunnel. I had to become a Banshee.
Time wasn’t on my side. The closer I got to my eighteenth birthday, the closer I would be to transformation and I had no idea which creature my body would choose to be.
The bed shifted as Fletcher rolled over and placed his hand on my back. It felt icy-cold even through my dress, but I didn’t react. Nobody’s hand should be that cold. He took a deep breath. “I know you don’t want to, but I think you need to go back to the lair. They can help you tame your monster side. I don’t know anything about that.”
I closed my eyes, trying to push thoughts away. Not thinking about the lair had been one of my top priorities. “They’re mad at me. They told me to never come back. I can’t show my face there again. Especially not to ask for help.”
The Takers, my kind, were pissed at me because the last time I was in the lair, I had threatened to kill them. I had only done that because they were urging me to kill Lacey with my Banshee powers. The Takers wanted to see if I could actually kill someone with my thoughts, a skill they could later use for their benefit. Lacey was supposed to be my guinea pig. As horrible as Lacey was, not even she deserved that. In their minds, I had chosen a Human over them, making me a traitor.
Fletcher took his hand away just as it was beginning to warm. “You’re going to let that pride of yours destroy you. You better learn to swallow it.”
“Let’s talk about something else,” I said, even though there was nothing else nearly as important. “Wiley finally talked to me the other day after avoiding me for months.”
“Your hair smells like apples.”
Dust and Roses: Book Two of the Dust Trilogy Page 3