Gilt Hollow

by Lorie Langdon

  She smiled and lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

  A corner of his mouth curled. “What about Brayden?”

  “I don’t want to go with Brayden.” Willow stepped so close that her bare legs brushed the material of his pants. “I want to go with you.”

  He looked down into her eyes and rested his hand on her hip, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin below her ribs. “On one condition.”

  His touch weakening her knees, Willow braced a palm against his chest. “Anything.”

  “Wear your Pikachu costume.” A full smile broke out across his face. In sixth grade they’d trick-or-treated as Ash and Pikachu. He’d worn normal clothes and carried a pokeball while she’d looked like an overstuffed chicken with a tail.

  She smacked his arm. “No way!”

  He winced.

  “Oh, I’m sorry! Are you bruised there?”

  He grabbed her shoulders, pulled her against him, and leaned down to whisper, “No, I just wanted to see your reaction.” His breath ruffled the tiny hairs by her ear and she shivered. He was totally playing her.

  “Idiot.” She shoved out of his arms and propped her hands on her hips.

  “Brat,” he teased as he pushed off the wall.

  Willow was poised to run, but Ashton sighed and stepped back into his room. “I’m too tired to fight with you … or kiss you, which is damn depressing.” He turned and shot her a weary grin. “But yes, I’ll take you to the ball, Willow-ella. Just plan your costume so you can straddle a motorcycle.”

  The door shut and Willow grinned. He was no Prince Charming, but he was hers.

  After sleeping most of the day, Ashton awoke with a sad certainty pressing on his chest. Penelope’s words had rocked him to his core. He’d been using her, and now she’d paid a horrible price. Next time it could be one of the Lamotts. And he could not allow that to happen.

  His sudden release the night before had felt miraculous, but his hope had soon turned to fear as he realized his relentless need to clear his name and prove his worth to the people he cared about had only put them in danger. His return to Gilt Hollow had been a mistake from the start.

  He rolled out of bed and grabbed the phone off his nightstand. Maybe if he took himself out of the picture, the violence would stop. He dialed the number he knew by heart and listened to it ring. Just when he was about to hang up, his father’s brusque voice came across the line. “Winston Keller.”

  “Hey, Dad, it’s me.”

  There was a pause and then, “Ashton?”

  “Yeah.” Ashton swallowed and pushed the words out without taking a breath. “I’m sorry for everything that’s happened. I want to come to Cincinnati … maybe live with you guys for a while and finish my senior year there.”

  Silence.

  “Dad, I came back to Gilt Hollow, but it isn’t working out. There’s nothing for me here.” Except the only people he cared about. Which was exactly why he had to leave.

  “We didn’t think we’d hear from you.”

  Because they’d abandoned him and left him to rot in a jail cell? Ashton stared out the window and bit back his anger. There wouldn’t be a plausible explanation for why he hadn’t heard from his own family—not one Ashton would ever accept. But as a means to an end, he could swallow his pride.

  “I know, Dad, it’s just … I have nowhere else to go.”

  “I don’t know. I need to talk to your mother.”

  Not good. His dad was a teddy bear compared to Catherine Arnett-Keller. His mom definitely wore the pants, and the boots, in the family. But Ashton had inherited her single-minded focus. Tightening his fingers into a fist, he told the lie he knew would sway his father. “I’ve been thinking, and I really want to learn more about what you do. About real estate.”

  His parents had invested the family fortune wisely. His dad was a real estate broker and his mother an agent—the face of the business. They specialized in buying old commercial buildings, fixing them up, and selling them at top dollar.

  “Well … I always said you had the mind for it. Wily as a fox, just like your old man.” There was a smile in his voice. “I’ll send a car for you tonight. Are you at Keller House?”

  “Yes, but I need a bit more time to wrap things up here. How about next Sunday?” He had to make sure Willow would stop digging into things that could get her killed.

  “Good thinking. It’ll give me a chance to work on your mother.”

  “Okay, see you then.” He lowered the phone.

  “Ashton?”

  Slowly, he lifted the speaker back to his ear. “Yes, Dad?”

  “I’m glad you called … son.”

  The emotion in his dad’s voice loosened something in Ashton’s chest, but he wasn’t about to let his father off that easily. He lowered the phone and disconnected the call.

  Ashton sunk down on the edge of the bed. For four long years he’d dreamed of coming back home, and not just for revenge. He loved this house—where generations of Kellers had grown up and raised families of their own. He’d missed Gilt Hollow in all its eclectic glory. And a rough plan had begun to form in his mind; he’d graduate, work on a local farm, and defer college until his trust fund kicked in. Then he’d study business and eventually buy Twisted Beauty, expanding it to take over the whole building. Maybe make the first floor a pub with a stage where he could bring in indie bands.

  He had zero interest in learning real estate and becoming a clone of his parents. His shoulders slumped. Maybe someday he could come back, but for now it was best for everyone if he disappeared.

  He had one last hope. It was thin at best, but he had to try. After digging through his duffel bag, he unfolded a slip of paper and made another call. This time to an old friend.

  CHAPTER Twenty-Six

  It’s Isaiah. I’m sure of it. He came looking for me at the Martins’ house. Probably to lure me outside.” Willow jabbed her scalpel into the pumpkin’s eye with a glee bordering on psychotic. It was two days until the big party, and Mom had sent her and Ashton to the backyard and put them on carving duty. Willow’s life might be totally out of control, but jack-o’-lanterns she could handle.

  “Heck of a lot of good that does us, since his dad’s the chief of police.” Ashton scooped out a spoonful of orange guts and splatted them onto a newspaper. “Besides, the knife they found at the scene had been wiped clean of fingerprints, and Penelope said the voice that threatened her was muffled. She hasn’t been able to give the police any more information.”

  “Can’t we go to the county prosecutor or something? Tell them that the police chief and his son are psychopaths? I’m pretty sure that sort of thing runs in families.” An unseasonably warm breeze ruffled Willow’s hair. The hint of dryness in the air made her want to soak up the sun before it disappeared for the long Ohio winter.

  “Yes, but for that we’ll need solid evidence. Which—”

  Willow finished his sentence. “Which is what you’re working on that I could ruin if I get too close. I know! But I’m starting to feel like you just made that up so I’ll stop snooping. I’m telling you, Colin’s family is hiding something. If I could just …”

  A plop of wet goop struck Willow’s face. She jerked back and crossed her eyes to see strings of pumpkin pulp hanging from her nose. Ashton bounced on his toes, eyes dancing, spoon loaded and ready.

  “Ashton!” She swiped at the stinking mess and raised her knife. “I have a scalpel, don’t make me use—” Another splat.

  “That’s it!” Willow lunged and grabbed a handful of guts, flinging them just as another mass smacked her chest. Ashton hooted his victory and ducked behind the table.

  “Ugh!” She dodged another missile and then reached for more ammo, but the moment she did, pumpkin innards splattered her neck and face. Rethinking her strategy, Willow faked one direction, and then spun and sprinted around the end of the table. Ashton raised his hand to fling more gunk, but then froze, his eyes widening just before she threw herself at him. He let out a sta
rtled grunt as she tackled him to the ground and began to rub her arms and face against him like a cat.

  Within a matter of seconds, she’d completely slimed him. His chest shook beneath her and she realized he was laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe. Willow giggled as he sucked in a sharp breath.

  He gripped her arms and rolled to the side so they lay in the damp grass facing each other. “You’re surprisingly strong for such a little thing.” Grinning, he pulled a clump of seeds out of her hair and flicked them away.

  Willow brushed a glob of pulp from his throat, her fingers grazing warm skin. “I imagine that has something to do with my mass, times the velocity as I ran …”

  Ashton wrapped his arms around her and pulled her flush against him. “I get it, science girl.” He cupped her face and leaned in, his lips hovering a hair’s breadth from hers as he murmured, “Velocity times mass equals momentum.” He kissed her top lip and then lifted his head.

  Sparks ignited all over Willow’s body. He sure knew how to sweet-talk a girl.

  He lowered his mouth again and kissed her with slow deliberation, as if she were a dessert and he wanted to savor every mouthful. Willow ran her hands over his strong shoulders and then laced her fingers in the hair curling against his neck. He gripped her waist and their mouths opened together. Urgency flooding her veins, Willow kissed him until she couldn’t breathe—and didn’t want to.

  The sound of a throat clearing intruded into her bliss, but she ignored it, drowning in the feel of Ashton’s skin, the taste of his lips. Until a deep voice said, “I didn’t expect a heartfelt reunion, but a thank you might be nice.”

  Ashton pulled back and then leaned his forehead against hers. “Sorry. I’ve gotta take care of this.” He planted a quick kiss on her chin, then released her and sprang to his feet. “This better be good, Rozelle.”

  Willow sat up and self-consciously straightened her shirt and plucked pumpkin bits from her hair. Ashton gripped the other boy’s hand and raised it between them as they pounded each other on the back in a one-armed guy hug. Willow stood and examined the other boy. Tattoos swirled around the tan skin of his upper arms, and he wore some kind of pendant on a black cord around his throat. He was tall but not quite as muscular as Ashton. With his straight dark hair and the exotic tip to his eyes, he reminded Willow of a real-life Aladdin.

  “Willow”—Ashton glanced back at her and then turned to the boy—“this is my old roommate from JJC, Toryn Rozelle.”

  When she shook his hand and his eyes danced with mischief, the image of the iconic Arabian thief was complete. She smiled at him, seemingly unable to help herself. He grinned back and then released her hand and pulled a roll of papers out of his back pocket. Turning to Ashton, he said, “I dug up what you asked for, man. But I’m not sure it’s all that helpful.”

  Ashton took the papers, and Willow read over his shoulder. It was a police report from four years ago. She raised her eyes to Toryn. “Are you a hacker or something?”

  His perpetual grin still in place, he replied, “Nope. I just know one who owed me a favor.”

  Ashton glanced up. “Doesn’t just about everyone owe you a favor?”

  Toryn shrugged. “It’s a living.”

  “One that’s going to get you thrown back in the clink. And I won’t be around to back you up next time.”

  Toryn raised two palms in defense. “Whoa, okay, I’ll lay off the criminal activity and go work at McDonald’s.”

  “Yeah, right.” Ashton went back to reading the report.

  Willow skimmed the document and found Daniel Turano’s name. She had to weed through the legal jargon but pieced together that Daniel claimed to have witnessed another boy selling drugs. The dealer was described as average build, average height, and wearing a beanie over his hair—which could be half the teen boys in Gilt Hollow.

  “He covered it up,” Ashton ground out. “I can’t freaking believe it.”

  “But if Isaiah was dealing, Daniel still knew it. We could tell the DA that the chief buried the witness testimony.” Willow was grasping at straws, and she knew it. Taking this to the county prosecutor would only make them look like fools.

  “Sorry, man, I know you were hoping for something solid,” Toryn said.

  “Yeah.” Ashton’s shoulders slumped, his mouth dragging into a frown. This had been his last hope to reopen the investigation.

  “I’m not giving up,” Willow vowed. “We can still find the evidence we need.”

  “But at what cost?” Ashton spun on her. “No one else is getting hurt because of me!”

  Toryn shifted from foot to foot. “Um … I gotta go, dude.”

  Ashton stared Willow down for several more seconds before breaking eye contact and digging in his pocket. He handed a wad of bills to Toryn, who folded them with a smile. “Nice doin’ business with you. Let’s hook up in Cincy next week. If you and your old man need an intern, I’m your guy. I’m not above making coffee or kissing a little corporate butt.”

  “Dude, shut up.” Ashton strode forward, grasped Toryn’s shoulder, and guided him around the side of the house.

  “What? You told me to go legit, and real estate beats flippin’ burgers …”

  Toryn’s words disappeared into the sudden vacuum swirling in Willow’s head. What was he talking about? Ashton was going to Cincinnati? Had he talked to his parents? Was he going for a visit … or something more permanent?

  When Ashton came back around the house, both of his hands jammed into his pockets, the look on his face confirmed Willow’s worst fears.

  “You’re leaving?” Willow croaked.

  He stopped a foot away from her. “Yeah.”

  “Just like that, you’re giving up.” It wasn’t a question.

  “This has to end before someone else is killed. The only way that’s going to happen is if I’m gone.” He reached for her, but Willow stepped away.

  “When were you going to tell me?” She had to fight to keep the panic out of her voice.

  He lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know … I’d hoped Toryn would find something solid, but Kagawa covered his tracks too well.”

  “When are you coming back?”

  “I’m … not sure.”

  She stepped into him, anger flashing across her skin. “Minutes ago you … you kissed me like you might die if you stopped, all the while knowing you were leaving! When were you going to tell me? After we did it?”

  “No! Geez, Wil. I wouldn’t do that to you.” He raked a hand through his hair. “It sounds stupid, but I wanted to take you out. Just once. On a proper date.”

  “The ball? How ridiculously classic! You were going to show me the time of my life and then ride off into the sunset? Well, forget it!” She pushed against his chest with both hands. “Our date’s off!”

  Willow spun on her heel and stalked toward the house, her pulse raging in her ears.

  “Can’t you see I’m doing this for you?” Ashton called.

  She spun around. “Really? Because to me it seems like you’re running away.”

  Tears scalding her eyes, Willow turned and fled. She didn’t want him to know he’d broken her heart. Again.

  CHAPTER Twenty-Seven

  The mayor’s antebellum mansion appeared to float in a sea of fog as Willow and Lisa approached arm in arm, the gauzy material of their costumes brushing in a whisper. Eerie music filled the air, old-fashioned gas lanterns lined the winding driveway, and fairy lights twinkled in the trees. Beautiful and haunting, the atmosphere ignited memories from years past. All the times Willow and Ashton had attended with her dad, his eyes twinkling behind whatever creature he’d painted on his face.

  Lisa squeezed Willow’s hand. “I’m sorry I’m your date instead of … you know.”

  Willow had survived the last few days by stuffing her feelings down into the basement of her soul where no one would ever find them. She was good at it. She’d had a lot of practice after Ashton left the first time. But she didn’t want to talk about hi
m now. “Let’s just focus on tonight. I’ve been coming to this ball since I was a kid. It’s totally over the top. You’re going to love it.”

  “I’m not so sure about that.” Lisa’s voice quivered as they reached the first bend in the driveway. Thick mist swirled up their legs and the sounds of moaning spirits echoed all around them.

  “Don’t be a ninny,” Willow chided as a Victorian ghost drifted by covered in iridescent paint from her crow-topped hat to the sweeping hem of her bell-like skirt. “I’m the one who’s supposed to have the anxiety disorder.”

  “Where I’m from, you follow your instincts, and if something doesn’t feel right, you cut and run … or you die.”

  “That might be a tad bit dramatic.” Willow’s words were drowned out by the blast of organ keys as all the lights in the yard blinked off. Lisa shrieked, and every window in the house flashed like lightning with thunder booming close behind.

  After a few beats of silence, the haunted tune wound back up and the lights flickered on one by one. There were a few nervous laughs, and a nearby Jack Skellington whooped and pumped a spindly arm.

  “You were saying?” Lisa demanded. “That was just dang creepy.”

  “That’s kind of the point.”

  Once inside, they checked their coats, and Willow stopped to look at her costume in the hall mirror. Lisa had painted Willow’s face with swirls of black, purple, and silver so that it appeared that a mask was tattooed to her skin. The tiny crystals glued to her temples, fake violet-tipped eyelashes, and lavender-glitter lipstick transformed her into something magical—Willow the Wicked Fairy, to be precise. Lisa had thought it would be hilarious to make straitlaced Willow dark and herself light.

  Willow had to admit, being someone else felt kind of freeing. She smoothed the gossamer layers of her skirt and straightened the laces of her bodice while trying not to imagine what Ashton would have thought. Not that it mattered, she reminded herself. He’d be gone tomorrow anyway.

  Pushing down the rise of grief and anger, Willow lifted her chin and smiled as Lisa joined her in the mirror, all pink, gold, and fluffy—Lisa the Light Fairy. Willow scratched her scalp where the purple extensions clipped into her hair.