Beautifully Broken

by Sherry Soule

  “You said that.”

  I flashed him a smile. “Yeah, I know. Felt it needed to be said twice.” I tilted my head and let my gaze linger on his artfully tousled hair, generous mouth, and rigid gym-built muscles.

  “Why’s that?” He wiggled his eyebrows, more in amusement than curiosity.

  For a magical moment, I ignored the shadows, the fog, and the wraith. It was as if the moonlight and Trent’s gaze had transformed me into something brave and beautiful. Something enchanted, like a wildflower in the shade of the forest. He seemed to hold my gaze with a fierce unrest. The world had gone still with a seething passion, agitating the space between our bodies. Night contained only the two of us. Trent’s emerald eyes were half-closed, the pupils huge, and I felt myself falling into them. My body ached. My heart swelled with desire. So many words went unspoken as we lingered in the dark. But all thought and words seemed to slip away. A feeling of being spellbound stole over me. He looked dazed too.

  A car drove past and I blinked, breaking eye contact with Trent. What were we talking about?

  “Ohhh, I dunno,” I said, thickly. “Heard the stories, the usual wealthy playboy crap.”

  He laughed, white teeth gleaming in the moonlight. “And you believe it?” He moved closer to the entrance and rested one hand on the gate as if luring me inside.

  “Nah, but I understand how it feels to be talked about.” I looked at the ground, trying to gain the courage to step through the gate. Change my destiny. Take a risk.

  “Seriously?” His mouth softened. “Why?”

  I kept my head down and mumbled, “Maybe cause you’re talking to the town weirdo.”

  “Ah ha! I thought there was something special about you.”

  I lifted my eyes and playfully slapped his arm. “Nice comeback.”

  Without warning, he reached out a hand, his movements slow and deliberate, as he brushed a strand of hair from my eyes. At his touch, my tension dissolved, and a feeling of warmth and security took its place. His fingertips lingered on my skin. I hoisted the strap of my purse higher on my shoulder and opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off.

  “Why do people call you that?” He tilted his head and studied me. “Seem perfectly normal to me.”

  “I am—at least, I think I am.” I chewed my bottom lip. “My family…we’re sorta different. Got a bad rep years ago and it stuck. Witchcraft.” I stifled a laugh. “Ugh, small towns. Gotta love them.”

  “Could be worse…could be scandalous.”

  “Oh, we’re scandalous all right!”

  Another eruption of laughter escaped our lips.

  Trent leaned against the gate and smiled. “Witches? Yeah, that would definitely sound shady in this religious community.” He rubbed his chin. “And this town is so damn gloomy. Especially with the endless fog. Like we live in some Silent Hill-esque world.”

  My eyes widened in mock surprise. “Ya think?”

  He smirked. “Didn’t I see you in church last Sunday with that pretty blond girl?”

  “Bingo. Nothing gets past you.”

  He likes Ariana. Of course. She’s spunky and flirty and blond. Everything I’m not.

  “So what are you doing out here? Besides sneaking up on innocent girls?” I asked, glad my voice sounded normal. I chewed on my nail, eating a flake of pink nail polish.

  “Waiting for my father to leave. He should be done”—he glanced at his gold watch—”in about ten minutes and on his way to the airport. Thank God.”

  “You’re staying here alone?” I hedged forward, closer to the open gate.

  Trent kicked at the pebbles in the driveway. “Nah, my uncle is staying here.”

  Throughout our conversation, my gaze flickered between the mansion, the wraith, and the shadows huddling behind Trent. His back was pressed to the gate, while I still hesitated by the entrance.

  “How old are you?” His husky voice seeped through my veins. Like a drug soothing me and taking away my fears.

  Shuffling forward several steps, I lifted my chin. “Almost sixteen. How old are you?”

  “Seventeen.” Trent thrust his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I’m new here…and don’t know many people. Would you like to come by sometime? I’ll give you a tour of Ravenhurst. We could hang out.”

  Floodlights suddenly came on, blinding me. Slinking closer, the shades reached the gate and the lights cut into them. They evaporated. The wraith too. I blew out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. With its release, I also let go of the fear residing in my heart.

  “Trent? Is that you?” I heard a resonant and impressive voice bellow from the front doors of the mansion. A tall figure stepped onto the porch, squinting at us. “Son? Is that you? I’m getting ready to leave—who’s that with you?”

  Trent glanced at me, one eyebrow raised.

  “I’m Shiloh Ravenwolf.”

  My spine stiffened and I marched past Trent inside the gate.

  He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Be there in a sec, Dad. Oh!—tell Uncle Tony I found an intern.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  We walked down the long private road, past all the oaks, to the mansion. My steps slowed as I realized that I was about to walk into an evil house and say, “Hey, hire me. I need a job. And by the way, the rumors about Ravenhurst being haunted are true: there’s paranormals hanging around outside.”

  This was stupid. I was tired of being scared of paranormals. Yeah, a wraith haunted this place, but it’s not like she was the first wraith I’d ever seen. I could do this. I would do this.

  Old gnarled oaks stood like giant sentries along the driveway. Short boxwood hedges made a maze winding around the empty fountains and cracked sculptures through the formal garden, making pathways that lead to the porch. Ravenhurst stretched hundreds of feet, north to south like a formidable wall of brick, wood, and glass. I was overwhelmed by the scent of roses and jasmine mixed with boxwood.

  I cannot do this. This crazy. I can’t work here!

  My heart pounded, knocking against my ribs. I glanced up before crossing the threshold and was awestruck by its daunting size and decaying beauty. Goosebumps traveled up and down my arms. Old and run down, yeah, but totally cool. What awesome architecture!

  I followed Trent up the porch steps. He opened the door and moved aside to let me enter first. I took a deep breath and entered an enormous room that was lined with closed doors and had a wide staircase. From the entry I noticed cobwebs, sheet-covered furniture, antique lamps, peeling wallpaper, and gaps in the floorboards. Plastic sheeting covered one section of the wall and the odor of sawdust, mildew, and wet paint stung my nose. Trent ushered me into a parlor on my left, lifting a tarp of clear plastic that hung over the doorway to let me through. Dust hung in the air and coated my tongue. I licked my lips and coughed. The parlor was spacious, with ceilings sixteen feet high, and appeared furnished as though for a presidential mansion. Venetian mirrors captured my reflection.

  The stately gentleman standing in front of the fireplace moved forward and smiled warmly at me. He was dressed in tan Dockers with leather brown loafers and he wore round wire-rimmed glasses—rockin’ the conservative look. He tugged at the cuffs of his stiff white button-up shirt. “Hello. You must be Miss Ravenwolf. So good to finally meet you. Sorry to make you wait.”

  “No prob.”

  He held out his hand and said, “I’m Mr. Evans. We spoke on the phone.”

  I moved forward to give him a brisk handshake. “Nice to meet you too.”

  “Please have a seat.” He gestured to a plump chintz loveseat across from him.

  I sat down and dust rose from the cushions. I stifled a sneeze with my hand.

  “My dad’s got a plane to catch,” Trent interrupted. “He wants to see me before he leaves, so I’ll let you guys chat.” He winked at me and ducked beneath the plastic wall.

  I retrieved my résumé from my purse and handed it to Mr. Evans. My hands shook. Nerves tore at my belly. I wasn�
��t sure if it was anxiety over the interview or how exciting hanging out with Trent had been. Either way, I hoped Mr. Evans didn’t notice.

  He held up the paper and squinted at the information I’d typed up that morning. “Hmm, you don’t have much experience in the architectural field, but this position is really more like that of a personal assistant. Helping me with mindless errands, scheduling meetings with contractors. Some correspondence and note taking. Things of that nature.” He lowered the résumé and sat back, crossing his legs.

  I smiled at the Argyle socks peeking out from beneath his pants. Geek chic. This guy I liked. “Sounds great,” I said, nodding. “I can totally do all that stuff.”

  The chandelier above our heads swung, the crystal prisms jingling. I glanced at the French doors. They were locked. I didn’t see any paranormals, but that didn’t mean they weren’t here.

  Mr. Evans looked up at the chandeliers then back at me. An inscrutable look crossed his face. He leaned closer, opened his mouth as if to say something, then leaned back, and snapped his lips shut. Giving a little shake of his head, he cleared his throat, then said, “Right. Well. Back to the job. It might be a tad boring on occasion. And no need to dress up for this type of job. Ordinary summer apparel will be fine…” We talked for another fifteen minutes until he inspected his pocket watch. “Good Lord, it’s getting late. Thank you so much for coming by.” He got to his feet. “Shiloh, I think you’re perfect for the job. That is, if you still want it.”

  “Yes. I really do.” I grasped his hand, meaning to shake it, but instead felt a snap of electricity zap up my arm. Mr. Evans must have felt the same voltage, because he nearly dropped my hand. Stupid synthetic carpet, making me zap my new boss. I gripped tighter and said, “You won’t regret hiring me, Mr. Evans. I’ll do the best job ever—you just wait and see!”

  “I know you will, my dear. Now, would you please give me back my hand.”

  “Oh!” I released my grip and he shook out his hand. “Sorry. I get overly excited. My bad.”

  “No. No, it’s fine. Enthusiasm is a good quality to have.” He smiled. We walked to the foyer and he unlocked the door. “Would you like me to walk you to your car?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “Nope. I’m good. My friend is picking me up.” I stepped onto the porch. “Thanks! See ya in a couple of weeks!”

  Moonlight filtered through the trees and lighted my path. I texted Ari, and she picked me up five minutes later at the entrance. I was so happy, I didn’t even remember the drive home.

  The rest of the weekend I drifted around in a daze. On Sunday morning, I was dressed and ready to go to church on time, hoping I’d see Trent today. When I entered the living room, Dad stood near the door.

  “Where’s your mother?” he asked. I shrugged and Dad yelled, “Honey? Let’s go!” His brown eyes met mine. “You know how I hate being late.”

  Jillian finally came downstairs in a scarlet dress, her three-inch heels giving her added height. My dad held out his arm for her, always the gentleman, and we headed out the door. Whispering Pines Chapel was packed when we arrived, and the service had already started. Pastor Williams, standing at the podium, announced, “We’ll have the choir sing another hymn while the collection plate is passed along.”

  My family and I took our usual seats in the rear of the crowded church.

  “We meet again,” a husky masculine voice said. “Shiloh, the budding architect.”

  I glanced at the usher who had handed me the collection plate.

  All the air left my lungs. Startled, I nearly dropped the plate. Oh hell. Dad took it from my hands. Trent winked. His cocky grin pulled me in further. He moved to the pew behind ours. For the next hour, I stared straight ahead, battling the urge to look behind me.

  After the service, my knees wobbled when everyone stood to exit the building. Fog hovered, clouds shrouded the sun. My parents stopped to chat with an elegant couple, the Harts, whose fifteen-year-old son James had disappeared three years ago.

  The grey hair streaking through Mrs. Hart’s dark hair laid claim to how deeply grief had affected their family.

  They started talking to my dad about Sarah Boyd and Venius Johnson, the two teens who’d gone missing. When the conversation moved to the town curse, I stared down at my feet, wriggling the toes peeking out of the open-toed heels. A nod to summer, even though the weather still hadn’t turned warm yet. I tugged on the hemline of my dress, glad I’d decided to challenge the weather and wear a sundress. Although, I’d paired it with a long-sleeved knit sweater.

  The whispered word Ravenhurst caught my attention.

  “You can’t believe a house had anything to do with those kids’ disappearance,” Dad said. I watched as Mrs. Hart’s dark African-American features twist in pain. My glance shot over to Mr. Hart, who blanched, his pale skin a sharp contrast.

  “That’s no ordinary house!” Mr. Hart snapped. “We all know that place is evil. It should be torn down. Demolished. Now.”

  Jillian rolled her eyes and folded her arms as if bored. Mr. Hart put an arm around his wife. Dad gave me a look, then shrugged. Sheriff Boyd walked over to them, and they moved away, speaking in hushed voices. Pastor Williams joined them and I could tell by their serious expressions and hunched over postures that something was up. Something bad.

  I dropped my gaze, and sat down on the wooden bench near the entrance of the church to wait. I didn’t understand why the Harts thought Ravenhurst had anything to do with the recent disappearances. Yeah, I got that Ravenhurst was haunted—sure I’d felt its ominous aura—but houses weren’t actually evil entities. Just the things that lived inside. And died inside. I think.

  Jillian told me once you could judge a man by the shoes he wore, and the pair that moved my way were expensive and new. Badass black harness boots. My eyes drifted upwards to long legs clad in dark jeans, on up to the massive shoulders filling out the V-neck shirt he wore, to his face. I gulped, and all those thoughts of missing kids and houses made of malice disappeared from my head like shades racing from sunlight.

  Trent’s mesmeric emerald gaze held mine. I got to my feet and leaned closer, inhaling his tangy cologne.

  “It’s Ed Hardy. Do you like it?”

  I stepped away, helpless to halt my embarrassment. “Uh, oh…yeah. It smells good.” My face warmed, scorching my ears. Thank god my long hair covered them.

  “Did you enjoy the service?” Trent’s voice was calm and his gaze steady.

  “Yes, but sometimes I feel like it’s directed at me. You know what I mean?” I traced the scar beneath my sweater with a finger. “It’s not like I’m some big sinner or anything. Or that I get into trouble a lot. Or that I can relate to criminal-type people—oh—I guess I should stop talking now.”

  He chuckled and I nervously smiled.

  “Sometimes I feel the same way. Mutual sinners?” He grinned and used his finger to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

  I shuddered at the intimate contact. Involuntarily, I leaned into him again. He looked at me then, intensely, as if trying to see my soul. His eyes, dynamic and inviting, snagged mine and did not let go. My heart inflated with attraction and something else. Something magical. Forceful. Powerful. Beyond anything I’d ever felt before. Scary and thrilling. Mostly scary. I just prayed he didn’t notice how fast my pulse was beating in my throat.

  “Actually, I meant to call you, but my weekend’s been sorta hectic. My father left, and I helped my uncle move in. He’s staying with me while my father’s out of town,” he said.

  “So, are you gonna be in Whispering Pines this summer?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I start summer school, which is in the city, but I’ll be based here.”

  Summer school? Well, that just sucked. I’d heard he was kind of a bad boy. And I was majorly bummed he wouldn’t be around this summer.

  “What school?” I asked, then mentally kicked myself. If he were in a remedial class somewhere, bringing it up probably wouldn’t be the best i
dea. Good job, Shiloh.

  Trent shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels. “The Bay School of San Francisco. It has a curriculum emphasizing science, technology—”

  “That’s where the major preps—I mean brainiacs—go. I wondered why you didn’t go to our school.” Who knew? Super rich, super cute, and super smart.

  Trent stooped to whisper in a conspiratorial tone, “I don’t like to brag. Wait!—who am I kidding? I love to brag.” He chuckled. “Seriously, I’m in this accelerated program for science students.” He waved his hand nonchalantly, like it was no big deal.

  “So you really are a geek.” I shifted to jab him in the side with my elbow.

  “Ah, but I’m a cool geek.” His lopsided grin was cocky. “It sucks, though, because after I graduate, my father wants me to work in the family business, Donovan Enterprises.” Trent dug his hands deeper into his pockets. “Stuck in an office? Board meetings? No way. Not for me. I wanna go to medical school. Be a doctor.” He tilted his head closer.

  “What?” I touched my face. “Is there something on me?”

  Oh god, don’t let there be lipstick on my teeth. Or a booger in my nose.

  “No, you look great. I just noticed that your nose goes slightly to one side. You’re a cutie.”

  Okay, having a hot guy tell me that my nose is crooked is so not cute.

  “I saw you earlier in the parking lot, looking around.” Trent said. “Were you hoping I’d come today?”

  I squinted at him. “As if! I was looking for my best friend.”

  “You didn’t want to see me? Be honest.”

  Duh. Of course!

  I flicked hair over my shoulder. “No.”

  He jiggled the keys in his pocket, then said, “That sucks, ‘cause—I was hoping you were. I liked talking to you on Friday.”

  Whoa. Really? Me? An awesome guy wanted to talk to me? But this awesome guy was also a dashing geek. With major attitude. Me likey.

  “Can I ask you something?” I stepped backward, putting space between us. “Are you always this cocky?”