A Hold on Me

by Pat Esden

“Yeah, right. About knives and skinning sheep.” She laughed. “I can see why he turns you on. The secretive outcast image, the muscles and all that stuff. But be careful.”

  Sighing, I looked back to where Chase and I had sat. Any sign that we’d been there was gone, washed away by the surging waves. “If you knew me, you wouldn’t want to—” he’d said.

  For a second, my mind went back to a moment not long after Dad had made me pour Mother’s ashes in the waves. What was it that he’d said about Chase? “He belongs to them, you know.” I shivered as a chill swept up my arms. But it didn’t make sense to be disturbed by those words or even think about them again. Most likely, it had been the demon talking, making up things to mess with my head.

  I hugged myself. Still, I needed to figure out what was going on, who I could confide in. I wanted it to be Chase, but I actually had loads of reasons not to trust him. And Chase had told me I couldn’t trust Selena. It was all so confusing.

  Selena wrapped her arm around my shoulder and pulled me into a quick hug. “We should get going. We’re not home free yet.”

  The ride back through the woods wasn’t wonderful, but a whisper of daylight filtered through the trees and that made me feel less anxious about the darkness.

  When we got to where the trail ended and Moonhill’s yard began, she cut the engine and we pushed the ATV toward the garage.

  There were no lights on in the house. The yard was hushed. But as Selena opened the garage door, I spotted, up on the shadowy hillside near the graveyard, the beam of a flashlight swaggering our way.

  “Selena,” I whispered sharply. I jerked my head to indicate the light.

  She rushed back to the ATV and we pushed it as hard as we could.

  It thumped as it went over the threshold and into the garage, but we managed to close the door noiselessly behind it.

  “Maybe it’s Chase,” I said.

  Selena pulled off her helmet. “Couldn’t be. He didn’t have enough time to get ahead of us.”

  The rustling sound of someone’s quick footsteps came from outside the garage. We dashed away from the ATV and hid behind a car. After a second, Selena snuck to one of the side windows.

  “Who is it?” I whispered.

  “I’m not sure. The Professor, maybe.”

  I hurried over and looked out.

  A slightly plump man with his hat yanked down low and his flight jacket collar pulled up strode away from the garage and toward the house. Selena might not have recognized him, but I knew him in an instant.

  It was Dad. And my missing pink flashlight was in his hand.

  CHAPTER 13

  Tηιρτεεν ισ ωιχκεδ ιν αλλ ιτσ δισγυισεσ

  Thirteen is wicked in all its disguises.

  —Whispered into Solomon’s ear

  Only a few hours later, Selena and I were slouched on the terrace drinking coffees and nibbling raspberry croissants. It was muggy-hot, but neither Selena nor I felt like hanging around the air-conditioned dining room talking with Grandfather and Kate.

  Selena lowered her voice. “Sorry about the early wake-up, but I didn’t dare stay in bed. I think Mom’s suspicious. She was vacuuming—back and forth, back and forth—outside my bedroom door.”

  I laughed. “Maybe it’s the universe getting even with you for fixing me up with Newt’s brother.”

  “Myles isn’t that bad.”

  I nearly choked on my coffee. “What do you mean? He’s the definition of jerk.”

  The dull headache that I’d woken up with began throbbing in earnest, and I pressed my temples to ease the pain. Selena hadn’t actually woken me up. Despite the headache, I was about to leave when she’d knocked on my door. I’d planned on slipping out of the house before she got up to see if I could figure out where Dad had been coming from. My guess was that he’d been in the graveyard, visiting the spot where Mother’s accident had happened. It didn’t make sense why he’d gone at night, especially when he was supposedly bedridden. It was time for me to do some serious digging. And, I needed to do it alone and before the impending thunderstorms arrived and made retracing his footsteps impossible.

  Selena touched my arm. “You okay?”

  I dropped my hands from my temples. “My head aches a little, that’s all.”

  “Man, can I relate to that. I’ve got the worst hangover. Newt told me not to mix beer and liquor. But did I listen? Oh, no.”

  “Well,” I said, balling up my napkin and tossing it into my empty coffee cup. “I think I’m going to go lie down again.”

  Selena hopped up. “No need for that. I’ve got the perfect cure.”

  I tried to argue with her, but it was impossible and a second later we were on the other side of the terrace, headed through the solarium’s side entrance.

  Damp warmth and the smothering scent of jasmine surrounded me as Selena led the way down a gravel path, between beds of towering trees and plants of every description. Overhead, dense leaves and shadowy green light replaced the sky. Astonished, I scanned a row of pots teeming with orange fungus and mushrooms. Long, contorted pods hung from a tree with grotesque growths on every branch.

  “Wow, this is quite the collection,” I said.

  Selena slid her fingers across a silvery plant. “It took Kate years to gather it all—and a ton of messing around with genetics and cross-pollinating as well.” She rolled her eyes. “Kate calls this place—her little hobby.”

  I laughed. “Whatever happened to knitting?”

  “That would be Chase’s hobby,” Selena said, without missing a beat.

  I gaped at her. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Not at all. He made me a gorgeous scarf for my birthday.” She shrugged it off. “Must come from being around the sheep too much, shearing them and stuff. He makes knives, too, that kind of seems more fitting.”

  My breath faltered as an image of Chase opening the clam with a flourish of his knife came back to me: his strong hands, the gorgeous planes of his cheekbones shadowed in the low light, the comforting warmth of just having him near, the moist heat of his lips against mine, then the cold air coming between us. He really was a man of mystery and mixed messages. But since last night, I’d had time to think about the way he’d ended our kiss. His holding back made sense—and not the kind of sense that involved demons and shadows. He’d had a crappy childhood: lost his mother and ended up nearly beaten to death by a cartel. Those kinds of wounds might make it hard for anyone to open up or realize they were desirable. Well, it was about time someone helped him break down those walls and showed him some fun, at least for a few days. Someone like me.

  “Hey!” Zachary’s voice came from a ways up the path. He sat on a wall that surrounded a small fishpond, tossing pieces of bread to a school of surfacing koi. When we got up to him, he added, “You haven’t seen the Professor? He was supposed to meet me here.”

  “He probably overslept,” Selena said, shooting me a knowing look. She held out her hand to Zachary. “Can I borrow your knife for a minute?”

  He produced a jackknife and she used it to peel a toothpick-wide strip of bark off a miniature willow that sat nearby.

  “Chew this,” she said, giving me a smidge of it.

  I grimaced. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  “Go on. I know what I’m doing,” she said.

  Zachary snorted. “Just don’t spit any of it into the fishpond. It’ll kill them for sure.”

  “No it won’t, Zach.” Selena flicked her hair back. “Aunt Kate developed this plant from the common weeping willow. It’s called Salix brainus. It should cure things like headaches.”

  “Yeah, right,” Zachary said. “Should cure isn’t the same as safe.” He turned to me. “She put leeches on Tibbs’s face and one of them migrated into his ear.”

  Selena shot him a dark look. “That wasn’t my fault.” She turned to me and widened her eyes. “Please try it. Promise, I’m not a total moron.” She popped some of the bark into her own mouth. “See. Deli
cious.”

  Thoughts of Alice in Wonderland’s mushrooms went through my head, but I shoved them aside. It was a tiny piece and a lot better than having her slap leeches on my face, maybe. Besides, I wanted to get this done with so I could escape and head for the graveyard.

  I stuck the bark in my mouth and then tucked it into my cheek. I could always spit it out later.

  Selena tsked. “You have to chew.”

  I chewed a couple of times. A bitter taste filled my mouth and a slippery coating anesthetized my tongue. Oh, God. Something was happening.

  Zachary leaned forward, studying me intently. “Aunt Kate said it could make people pass out.”

  I stared from him to Selena. This wasn’t good.

  “That’s not true either,” Selena said. “Kate said it could possibly make someone dizzy for a few minutes.” She smiled at me. “I’m going to go take a bath and relax. In a half hour we should both feel on top of the world.”

  The slam of the solarium’s side door echoed through the plants, followed by Olya’s voice. “Zachary!” She came hurrying down the path toward us. Something pea-green streaked one of her cheeks and splotched her apron. Her bony fingers were as orange as carrots. “Zachary, no classes today. The Professor is not feeling well.”

  “Booyah!” Arms flailing, he did a victory dance.

  Olya frowned. “That’s not nice. The poor Professor has the stomach bug.”

  Selena elbowed me. “Told you it was him,” she whispered.

  I nodded, trying to keep my face expressionless. Until I got to the bottom of this, that was probably the best thing for her to believe.

  Less than ten minutes later, Selena had headed off to take her bath and I was sticking toilet paper in my doorjamb. She was right about the willow. Though my ears were ringing a little, the headache had subsided and I didn’t feel faint at all. Maybe I wouldn’t throw the lip gloss out after all.

  After giving the door one last tug, I hurried down the hallway. But when I got to the gallery, my feet froze at the entrance. It was even hotter and darker than it had been earlier in the day, when Selena and I had passed through to get our coffees from the dining room.

  I thought about going back and taking the other stairs, but pushed the idea away.

  “Get a grip,” I told myself. Last night, I’d ridden through the dark woods on an ATV. I’d walked across the sand in the dead of night and sat down by myself. I’d been through this stupid room just over an hour ago and hadn’t seen anything.

  Taking a deep breath, I strode into the gallery, my sandals squeaking on the floor. I passed the first angel, his marble face as stark as bleached bone, his sword thrust skyward with fierce determination. As I neared the angel with the snakes coiled around its base, the clouds must have broken over the skylight because dazzling light flooded all around me.

  A movement in the alcove near the three-faced goddess caught the corner of my eye and the same disturbing sense of recognition I’d felt in the gallery before came over me once more.

  Fear electrified every cell in my body, telling me not to look, to run and get out as fast as I could. But I couldn’t do that. I had to prove to myself once and for all that this was nothing, like Olya had said, even if the otherworldly shadows in Dad’s room had been real.

  I forced myself to remain still, to pretend I was admiring the angel with the snakes, while on the periphery of my vision, a dark cloud coiled and rose, widening into a—it couldn’t be—human-shaped shadow.

  My heartbeat banged in my ears as I slowly slid my hand into my pocket and gripped the flashlight. It’s a juxtaposition of a statue and the light, I told myself—like Olya had said or like the shadow puppets I used to make with my hands and the flashlight’s beam.

  I listened intently and sniffed the air, struggling to figure out if I’d missed any of the warning signs. But there was nothing. No strange smells. No creepy noises. No change in air pressure. Nothing to be scared of.

  In one swift motion, I flicked on the flashlight, swiveled, and pointed it in the direction of the coiling cloud.

  A pure-black shadow, five times broader than a large man, whipped toward me. Its cavernous mouth stretched open and an earsplitting yowl vibrated across the gallery. I stumbled backward into the angel. Then I ran, screaming in utter terror, out of the gallery and down the halls.

  I didn’t stop until I got to the main staircase. Gasping for breath, I bent over with my hands on my knees, so dizzy I thought I might pass out. Holy shit. What the hell was that? This shadow was bigger than the ones in Dad’s room. Much bigger.

  As I struggled against surging lightheadedness and to push the ghastly yowling from my mind, the answer came to me: Selena’s stinking willow. The damn stuff had made me see things. Sure the shadow had been there, just like Olya said it might be. A trick of light, most likely. The yowl could have come from any of a zillion cats I’d seen, probably a Siamese.

  Selena had said, “In a half hour we should both feel on top of the world.” She was right about the timing, but it was more like a hallucination straight from hell rather than an on-top-of-the-world high.

  Sucking in one more deep breath, I willed my pulse to slow. The room had stopped spinning, so I grabbed ahold of the banister and made my way carefully down the stairs and into the hazy sunshine. Never ever, ever again would I take or use anything Selena concocted. And, just to be on the safe side, once I returned from retracing Dad’s steps, I’d tell Grandfather all about the shadows.

  By the time I got to the place where Dad had walked past the garage, I wasn’t feeling shaky anymore. In fact, I felt better than I had in months. I looked up toward the hillside. When Selena and I had first spotted the flashlight beam coming toward us from the graveyard, only a few minutes had passed before Dad had appeared, so the path he took must have gone directly down the hill and across the field.

  With my eye on the hillside, I started across the driveway.

  But the sound of a shrill squeak made me jump and whirl toward the garage.

  Tibbs stood on a camo-colored ladder, washing the garage’s side window. He set his squeegee down and smiled at me, his blue eyes brightening. “Did you have fun last night?” he asked in a hushed tone.

  Strolling over to him, I nodded. “I guess. But not as much as Selena did with Newt.”

  “Newt?” His Adam’s apple bobbed and his mouth drooped. “Oh, I should have guessed,” he said, like I’d just given him the most depressing news in the world.

  Then it dawned on me. He had a crush on Selena. “I—um— I meant, Newt and the Beach Rats. That’s what her friends are called, right?”

  “Yeah,” he said. But I had no doubt he’d seen through my cover-up. Watching his forlorn face, I wondered how long he’d had the hots for her. He was about the same age as Newt, but other than that he wasn’t even close to Selena’s type. I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. Selena would never take him seriously, and there had to be other girls in town who would. I wished I could tell him that.

  Shifting uncomfortably, I glanced at the sky. “I better get going, if I want to sneak in a walk before it rains.”

  He gave me a listless nod and then resumed his cleaning.

  I glanced at him one last time and turned around. As long as I acted nonchalant and pretended like I knew where I was going, he probably wouldn’t even think about reporting my whereabouts to Kate.

  Squaring my shoulders, I hiked straight across the rest of the driveway without stopping and came to the field.

  Sure enough, a well-worn path went across it to the hillside. Here and there, the dirt was scuffed as if someone had come this way recently. In one place, I could make out well-defined shoeprints, but there were both larger and smaller ones. Clearly, a number of people had taken this path over the last few days.

  As the path wound its way between dense thickets and sprawling trees and up the hill, I noticed the ground wasn’t sandy, nor did it have any rock outcrops, like I’d expected this close to the ocean—not th
at I was any kind of nature expert. Then again, a graveyard would require dirt and a lot of it, and I was certain that’s where the path was taking me.

  A shoulder-high stone wall surrounded the graveyard and a narrow, filigreed iron gate blocked its entry.

  Flakes of rust sloughed off it as I rested my hand against the gate’s spiraled bars and peered at what lay within: close-clipped grass and ancient hydrangea trees, lines of white gravestones, obelisks and statues and, near the top of the hill, the domed mausoleum fronted by pillars. Somewhere amongst all those things, a marble lamb marked a child’s resting spot, and the place where my mother died.

  A sheep’s blat brought me back from my thoughts of Mother. A dozen of them, all as black as onyx, grazed their way past the mausoleum and into view. Not that black sheep were weird, but I’d never seen a flock that didn’t contain at least a single white or speckled one.

  Black as night, black as witchcraft, black like death—

  Stop that! I told myself.

  The gate creaked as I opened it and latched it behind me. Beyond it the worn path dissolved into grass and any trace of footprints vanished.

  The sheep raised their heads and watched as I brushed my hair back from my sweat-dampened face, then walked toward the closest obelisk.

  FREEMONT was chiseled in bold letters, and in smaller script names and dates going back to before the early 1800s. Phillip: died in the War of 1812. Martha: mother of twelve, devoted wife of Samuel, struck down in the winter of 1832. Stephanie: daughter of Zachary and Prudence, born 1770, drowned at sea 1811.

  A knot tightened in my chest. I traced the words drowned at sea with my finger and felt a stab of sadness. Dad loved history. He loved antiques. He loved telling stories about Moonhill, about pirate treasure and ransacked Egyptian tombs, oil lamps hauled up from the ocean’s depth, escaped yetis and shipwrecks on the way home from digging Aztec gold, and about Samuel going feral and his glass heart breaking. But before, when I’d listened to Dad tell these stories, these people, my people, the people my name had come from, hadn’t felt real. And now . . .