Beautifully Broken

by Sherry Soule

  Mr. Hall made his way back up to the front of the classroom and wrote on the blackboard the word, DECISION, then said, “Our lives are determined by the everyday choices we make. And occasionally, we make a choice, sometimes cautiously, sometimes wisely, that yields unwanted results,” Mr. Hall said, facing the class. ”For your last assignment of the year, I want you to focus on what decision means, and write a short paper on a difficult choice you’ve recently made. This needs to be completed by Thursday, people! So I can input your grades before the end of school on Friday.”

  I pondered my decision to work at Ravenhurst while he droned on. Was it a smart one or a dangerous one? Was my ambition leading me into serious trouble? My thoughts turned to Trent and a smile spread my lips. Yeah, he was worth a little trouble.

  The temperature cooled. Kids were suddenly zipping up jackets and pulling down sleeves. I hunched over and rubbed my arms. I glanced at the air-conditioner, but it wasn’t on. A bad feeling settled in my belly. This primitive instinct always hit me whenever the shadows appeared.

  Dark otherworldly shapes entered my line of sight. They scuttled beneath desks, tables, and heavy drapes. Mr. Hall sat on the edge of his desk and read aloud from the textbook. Everyone had their head down, reading along and taking notes.

  I listened. Counted to a hundred. Mentally picked out my outfit for school tomorrow. Thought about my history assignment. I tried not to fidget. I jutted out my chin.

  Invisible fingers touched my back. Cold as ice cubes. I turned my head. The wraith floated directly behind my chair. Her fair eyes were like dying spring flowers with frostbite. So haunted they held no trace of life.

  Crud. Why did I sit in the back again? Good move, Shiloh.

  She snaked out a hand and stroked my arm. Frost slid in my veins at her soft caress. My teeth chattered. “Shiloh, what makes a person heroic is when they don’t let their fears stop them from finding the answers they seek,” the wraith said, although no one heard or saw her but me.

  I cringed and pulled my arm free from her grasp.

  This is just too much. I mean, a month ago my life’s like, oh—crap—an algebra test! Today it’s oh—crap, it’s the skulking wraith. I am so ready to tell her, “Resolve whatever issues are keeping you in limbo and leave me the hell alone!”

  The bell rang and I shot out of my seat to brave the throngs of students in the hallway. I opened my locker and pulled out my biology book. The hallway was warm and well lit. No ghosts. No shades. Nothing supernatural. Thank god.

  I ducked into the bathroom and splashed water on my face. I used the toilet and as I flushed, someone entered.

  “Shiloh?” Ariana called. “You in here?”

  “Yeah.” I came out of the stall, washed my hands in the sink, and dried them.

  “You good?” She asked, with concern in her eyes.

  “Super. Ari, do you know anything about that lame public organization? You know the one I’m talkin’ about, right? The one that appears to be dedicated to preserving local history?”

  “Heritage Founders? Sure. My mother was affiliated with them. The women in town formed that group generations ago, when they’d first settled in Whispering Pines. Why?”

  “Well, you see, I have a theory about the missing kids. It includes your older sister Rachel.” She nodded and seemed to process what I’d said. I pressed on, saying, “I know it’s hard for you to talk about, but I need to know the whole story regarding your sister’s death. How bad was it?”

  “Bad.” Tears rimmed her eyes. “I was twelve when it happened. I remember there was a storm. The streets were flooded. My parents and my sister had gone out to dinner. I was spending the night at Jada’s house…” Her voice was scratchy, gruff. “Later that night, my parents showed up at Jada’s home and told me what happened. My dad tried to keep from swerving into the oncoming traffic after he saw a dark figure in the middle of the street. But he lost control on the slick road. They plunged through the guardrail into part of the forest. The car hit a redwood tree head-on, and my sister didn’t have her seatbelt fastened. My parents managed to pull themselves from the wreckage, but Rachel had flown out the windshield…and…and the crash instantly killed her. My dad walked to the nearest gas station to call for help. When he returned, my mom was still sitting in the car…but my sister’s body was gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “Yup. Vanished. Sheriff Boyd and his deputies did a search, but they never found her body. They claimed animals dragged her into the woods. Coyotes ate the carcass. After my parents cashed in my sister’s insurance policy, they didn’t come home from the bank. Someone spotted them a few days later crossing the border into Mexico. It turns out my parents hadn’t been paying their taxes, and the IRS got kinda huffy. Go figure. They ended up taking everything…I was basically abandoned for a million in cash and dumped on my aunt’s doorstep.” Her face looked a little green as she added, “Which would mean that they murdered my sister for the money.”

  My heart skipped a beat. I remembered Ariana’s parents as being self-centered to the point of being cruel, like Jillian, but murderers? That didn’t fit my theory. Blew big holes in it. Still...her body had vanished. Like the others.

  “Not sure what it means.” I embraced her. “All I know is that if you’d been there, you might’ve died too.”

  Ariana shrugged, and wiped the tears from her eyes. “What’s your theory?”

  “More of a hunch then a theory. First I need to check this book Jillian keeps locked in her room.”

  Ariana blew her nose with a wadded tissue. “I’m so glad school gets out this week.”

  The bell rang and we headed for class.

  If I can obtain the names of the members, then I might be able to figure out who’s next on the supernatural hit list. The founding families have to be behind this somehow. And I have to find a way to stop Shadow Man before anyone else dies. Like, me.

  After Aunt Lauren’s warnings, I’d figured Jillian knew something about who was behind the disappearances. Why else would my aunt have warned me away?

  That afternoon, I searched my parents’ room when I got home. Luckily, no one was there. I found Jillian’s wooden chest on the top shelf of my parent’s closet and took the key from her drawer. I unlocked it and removed the book. Inside were other things: someone’s hair (ewww), black feathers, a vial of red goo (blood?), and several candles. The book was bound in black leather, and the cover had a symbol of the triquetra within a circle. I flipped through the book until I found a page with a list of names. The first six had been crossed out. Bingo. Then I gasped as I read on. The Heritage Founders were a coven, not a community service organization! These were witches, not women intent on preserving our local history. Each member of the coven was a direct descendant of the founding families. And they secretly called themselves the Blood Rose Circle. I read further, then I sat down hard on the bed. My shoulders fell forward. No effing way.

  My mother was their leader.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “You’re up early.” Jillian said when I staggered into the kitchen in search of caffeine. She yawned into her cup of coffee, still clad in her burgundy bathrobe. Even tired and with massive bedhead, she still looked awesome. Me? Not so much.

  “My job starts today.” I’d graduated from the tenth grade with honors on Friday, thanks in large part to the “A” Mr. Hall had given me on our last assignment, the one on our big “decision.”

  I dumped strawberry Pop Tarts in the toaster, staring out the window, a little surprised Jillian was even talking to me. Lately she’d gone out of her way to avoid me. As if I were something she’d rather avoid. I knew other kids had moms who were loving and kind, but mine never had been. And I’d finally figured out why. Jillian was downright evil. I’d never told Ariana about what I had discovered in Jillian’s box. What would I say? Guess what, Ari? My mom is the leader of an evil coven that your mom belonged to. And you might be right—your parents may have killed your sister.

  �
��You seem…animated.” Jillian’s expression was almost imperceptibly amused.

  “Yeah. Sorta edgy too.” I grabbed the Pop Tarts, blew on one, took a bite, and watched her. Behind her mask of innocence, she was a frosty, calculating person. The leader of a coven—gone bad. Real bad. Maybe that’s why my intuition had told me not to trust her all these years. She had no qualms about sacrificing her only child. But why? And for what? My gut told me that Dad didn’t know she was into witchcraft, but it didn’t make me feel any better.

  “You sure about taking this job?” she asked. She gazed out the open window above the sink. Flowers had returned to life, the trees had regained their leaves, and nature had shed her seasonal layers for lighter clothing. But June mornings in Whispering Pines were still gloomy, soaked in ground fog that burned off by afternoon.

  Good for the shadows. Not so good for me.

  “Of course.” My gaze darted to the kitchen clock. “Gotta run. Bye!”

  I dashed out the back door, then drove to the mansion, singing along with Britney Spears. Beyond the windshield, the first day of summer was signaled by barefoot children running in the street and playing in sprinklers, liberated of textbooks and backpacks. My head buzzed with excitement. Spending my summer working doesn’t seem so bad anymore. Because I have something to look forward to—hanging with Trent.

  Although it was muggy, an eerie mist blanketed Ravenhurst like a dense cloud of smoke. I parked next to two trucks and a van. Gardeners trimmed hedges and mowed the lawns. A breeze stirred the detritus, filling the yard with the smell of decay and freshly cut grass.

  No buzzing bees. No birds sang. Not even a scurrying squirrel.

  Three men clad in jeans, t-shirts, and work boots stood by their vehicles, obviously ready for their day. I climbed out of the Jeep, and their eyes shifted my way. One of the men nudged the other, pointing at an upstairs window. I glanced up. Nothing. Only shutters that needed mending. But something twisted inside my belly. Still I decided to disregard the uber creepy sensations Ravenhurst gave me. Told myself it was just first-day-on-the-job nerves.

  All eyes turned in my direction and inspected me in my casual attire: denim shorts, pink boots (of course!), and a long-sleeved hoodie over a lace blouse.

  “Uh, hey…” I gave the workmen a short wave, my eyes wide, eyebrows raised, forcing enthusiasm into my voice. “I’m Shiloh, Mr. Evans’ assistant.”

  A burly guy with brownish-red curls stepped forward, saying, “Good morning, ma’am. I’m the foreman Judd McCabe and these men are my brothers.”

  I nodded and smiled at the group. Two of the men were identical twins, with large blue eyes and curly hair. The third brother, Judd was tall, with lots of freckles and the same reddish hair. They smiled back, genuine in their warmth.

  “Has anyone seen Trent this morning?” I asked.

  “No ma’am.”

  My heart sank into my feet. Well, that sucks eggs! Trent must have started his summer classes.

  “Our crew’s here,” Judd said, motioning to the truck that pulled up. “We’re gonna get started.”

  I barely nodded. My senses tingled. Hair on my arms stood up. I squinted at the yard, seeing the dead oaks with branches, long and spindly, waving in the air, veining like capillaries, the bark flaked in spots, diseased with a forging moss. Crisp brown leaves littered the yard and danced macabre on light feet. Cats crouched in the high grass, rattling in their throats, mean and wild. The only thing flourishing in the yard were the rosebushes planted on each side of the porch. Full blood-red blooms hung heavy, bending the stems. Ravenhurst dwarfed the trees and shadowed the driveway.

  Obsidian shapes slipped in and out of the mist. Tangled disembodied voices whispered in an ancient language, barely discernable above the rumble of a lawnmower. Another unseen presence drained the fresh air and turned it sour.

  Panic surged through me. A prickly sensation heated the scar on my forearm with a power that frightened me. I lifted my sleeve; the marbled and bumpy scar had turned an angry crimson. Matched the color of the roses.

  Stay focused, Shiloh. Do not freak out on your first day of work in front of everybody.

  Workmen unloaded lumber and materials from their trucks, then grabbed their equipment and started working on various tasks. They seemed oblivious to the black shadows I could see intertwining around their legs, climbing up their backs. A Mercedes sped over the gravel driveway, spraying dust, and came to a stop next to my Jeep.

  Mr. Evans emerged and waved to me. “So nice to see you again, Miss Ravenwolf.” He leaned against the Mercedes and gazed up at Ravenhurst. His clothes were as nerd-preppy as the last time we’d meet, creased tan slacks with loafers and round wire-rimmed glasses. He tugged the cuffs of his beige long-sleeved shirt. A small smile touched his thin lips. Then he squinted and frowned. “And there she is.”

  I stared at him in confusion. “Yeah, I’m here. You can call me Shiloh, Mr. Evans.”

  Mr. Evans brushed gray hair off his damp forehead, then pushed himself off the car. “Ah, then Shiloh it is. Just call me Evans. Everyone does. However, I was referring to Mrs. Donovan.”

  Crazy person, party of one. Mrs. Donovan? Isn’t she like, dead?

  I raised an eyebrow. “You mean as in…”

  “Yes, the former mistress of Ravenhurst, Claire Donovan.” His warm, honey-colored eyes found mine. “Ready to start work?”

  I tilted my head. “Um…yeah. But are you sure you saw Mrs. Donovan?” I asked then blurted, “Because, she’s been dead for—oh, I don’t know—like, seventeen years!”

  “Maybe so,” Evans said, pointing toward the second floor window, “but her spirit remains in our realm. Claire died in that eastern bedroom a couple of months after Trent was born. Initially, my brother-in-law was accused of murder. Local police thought the suicide looked staged. I’ve read the police reports. They discovered forensic signs of manual strangulation. Small bruises, scratch marks, blueness of the tongue, bleeding under the skin, and damage to her larynx.” Evans drew in his lips thoughtfully. “Sheriff Boyd didn’t have enough evidence to convict Maxwell, so the charges were eventually dropped. Of course, that didn’t stop the rumors about Ravenhurst.”

  “Do you, um, think Maxwell did it?”

  “Not even for one second. Sure, he’s shrewd and self-centered. But a murderer? No. He loved Claire in the beginning before her slow descent into madness…”

  Felt like a sledgehammer hit me in the stomach. At first I didn’t comprehend what my gut was telling me. Then I just didn’t want to believe it. Because a part of me still wanted to deny the truth.

  Claire Donovan has to be the wraith. My ghostly stalker. But why bug me with the cryptic messages? What? She didn’t like me dating her son? Sheesh!

  “She may turn out to be a problem,” he said. “The longer a spirit remains on earth the more dangerous and aggressive it becomes. It is a bit unorthodox, but to put a spirit to rest, you must burn and salt the bones.”

  “Umm, I just met you and you’re already talking about digging up graves. You’re kinda freaking me out,” I said a little too loudly. My hand lifted to fiddle with my pendant.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shock you.”

  My gaze narrowed. Realization dawned. “Wait—when did you realize you had sight?”

  He scratched his head. “Most of my life. One day my grandfather told me I was destined to be a mediator, or I suppose the more urban term would be Ghost Hunter. Meaning I’m a dispatcher of spirits. Most ghosts attach themselves to houses, or other buildings. The place where they felt their strongest emotions.” Evans pursed his lips, adding, “Sight runs in my family, and since I’m also clairvoyant I know you have this unique talent too.”

  I stared down at my hands, twisting the chunky silver ring on my left thumb. “You seem to know a lot about ghosts.”

  “Yes. Actually, I am a part-time paranormal investigator and considered a renowned researcher in the field of Parapsychology. My vocational choice as a re
storation expert allows me to provide a systematic review of empirical investigations into paranormal phenomena all over the Bay Area, and in the process, aid ghosts in crossing over.”

  I tried to listen to my gut and decide whether my instinct was telling me to keep my mouth shut or trust him. My senses probed his aura. A lapis hue surrounded him. I’d read that blue meant someone was balanced and trustworthy. Nothing guarded in his eyes. Nice guy. Intelligent, honest. Nerdy, yeah, but in a sweet way.

  “I’ve had sight since I was a little too. And I can see things from the underworld…it kinda sucks,” I said, crossing my arms like a petulant twelve-year-old. “It’s scary.”

  “I agree—yes.” He sighed. “Not as if I can ignore them. Once lost souls realize you can see them, it’s like a beacon for the undead. You become a lighthouse, emitting a bright light for them to come to for help.” He patted my shoulder. “Life and death are much more intertwined than we realize.”

  Tomorrow I would come to work armed with holy water, a cross, and some salt. My instincts told me to be cautious. I did not want to be a beacon for ghosts. Or anything else.

  “Yeah, well, I’m not super thrilled about having sight. Ghosts are annoying.”

  “Shiloh,” he said, resignedly, “that’s why one dispels them. Many people have psychic capabilities like ours. It is a vital paranormal service I perform. You’re intuitive. It is one of the reasons I hired you, I thought we’d make a good team.”

  I scraped nail polish off my index finger. “I’m not interested in helping ghosts. Just staying alive. I mean, I’m all for helping people and fighting evil, but...” I shrugged.

  “I understand. It’s a hard thing to live with.” Evans remained quiet a minute. “I promise to keep your secret safe, provided you keep mine.”