“What is up with all the rebellion lately?”
Her parents are strict, sure, but what Vanessa doesn’t seem to get is that the more she acts out, the more their grip tightens.
“I just want to do me,” she says, leaning back on her elbows. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. But can’t you do you without getting a tattoo?”
“Nope.”
I feel a wrench in my chest. All this talk of parents just reminds me that mine aren’t around. And, okay, my mom has a pretty solid excuse for not being here, but I’ve been carrying the guilt for what happened that night for five months.
“You okay?” Vanessa asks, nudging me with her foot.
No. But I give her a small smile. “Just thinking that if you’re going to get a tattoo, a four-leaf clover is perfect,” I say. “Because if your parents find out that you got one, you’re going to need all the luck you can get.”
Chapter
14
SPENCER’S BROTHER lives in the middle of nowhere in a rundown cabin almost completely hidden by trees. I park Uncle Roy’s car in a grass field, and Vanessa and I walk toward the house.
Classic rock is playing from behind the log walls so loudly that the front door is thumping like a beating heart. The unmistakable smell of weed drifts on the chilly night air. Vanessa curses with each step as her neon yellow heels sink into the grass. She’s not used to wearing heels, so she looks a bit like a baby giraffe that’s just learning to walk. The shoes, coupled with her jeans, were carefully selected to make Mark notice her. Her hair is long and loose, her dark curls turned up at such full volume that they’re practically shouting.
We step onto the porch. I knock on the door, which is painted a soft blue-green. I knock a little harder, and someone turns the music down. A few seconds later, a short man with long, out-of-control curly gray hair—not unlike Vanessa’s own wild hairstyle—answers. He’s older, approaching Uncle Roy’s age bracket, and built like a teapot, round in the middle. Black leather suspenders with skulls imprinted on them are holding up his faded black jeans, and he’s wearing scuffed motorcycle boots.
“Hi. Um, is Spencer here?”
A smile crawls across the man’s face. Friendly or creepy, I’m not exactly sure, but I’m going to take it as a good sign that he’s opened the door to let us inside. Either Spencer is here, or this guy is inviting us in so he can kill us.
Hopefully Spencer is here.
We scoot past him. The door closes behind us, and the man grunts and lumbers over to a table in the center of a huge room where a good-looking blond guy and a woman about my mom’s age are playing cards. The woman has a huge stack of poker chips in front of her, while the blond guy has a sour look on his face. Mark’s friends, I assume.
“Shelby!”
I turn around and, speak of the devil, there’s Mark parked in front of a massive stone fireplace. He’s holding on to the collar of a big black Rottweiler, the same dog that was at the tattoo shop. It starts to growl when I approach.
Seriously, what is up with this dog?
“Hi,” I say.
“Good to see you.” Mark strokes the dog’s fur, and the animal stops growling and puddles at his feet, his long, pink tongue curling out of his mouth. “Veronica, right?” he asks Vanessa.
The smile freezes on her face. It’s not a great sign that he doesn’t remember her name. “Vanessa.”
“Right. Knew it started with a V,” he says. “How’s your tongue? Healing all right?”
“Your place is nice,” I say to save Vanessa from having to explain that her parents made her take the piercing out. I know she doesn’t want Mark to think that she even has parents, because then he might remember that she’s only sixteen and not an appropriate person for him to date.
“It belongs to my uncle. I’m just crashing here for a while. Looking after Cerberus while he’s out of town,” he says, scratching the dog behind the ears.
Cerberus. Right. The devil’s dog.
“What’s with the blue ceiling?” Vanessa asks. I glance up. The ceiling is painted the same blue-green as the door. It’s out of place with the rest of the cabin, which looks like it hasn’t seen much in the way of improvement in generations.
Before Mark can answer, a tall, red-haired girl appears holding two red solo cups. He shifts so she can sit down beside him. Vanessa visibly deflates as the girl puts a proprietary hand on his thigh. When he takes the cup from her, the sleeve of his plaid shirt slides down his arm just enough to reveal a small tattoo on the inside of his wrist.
666.
The sign of the beast.
My stomach drops. Why does Mark have that tattoo?
He catches me staring and yanks his sleeve down. “Spence is in the back room,” he says. He’s smiling, but I know a dismissal when I hear one. For whatever reason, Mark doesn’t like that I know he has that tattoo.
I smile back, hoping it’s sincere enough to convince him that I had no idea what I was looking at. But I’m not a very good actress. And he’s not an idiot.
My mind is reeling as Vanessa and I head down the hall. There doesn’t seem to be an evil presence in this house. And Mark doesn’t give off a demon vibe; he doesn’t smell like rotten eggs and his eyes are a clear blue. I’m sure he’s not possessed.
Pretty sure.
But the fact that he has that tattoo and that he clearly didn’t want me to see it is weird. It means something. I’m just not sure what.
“Let’s just say hi to Spencer and then get the hell out of here,” Vanessa says, stopping to kick off her heels.
I’m not surprised she wants to leave, but I’m hoping her mood will turn around. This is my opportunity to move my relationship with Spencer past emojis and to the next level.
We enter a small room with rough wood walls. Spencer’s standing with his back to us, facing a dart board that’s mounted on one wall, about to throw a dart at his friend Grayson’s head.
“Vanessa,” Grayson yells.
Spencer turns. “Shelby. You’re here,” he says. The way his voice rolls over my name causes something to flutter inside of me.
“You weren’t actually going to throw that at him, were you?” I point to the dart in his hand.
He smiles, then turns back around. The dart whistles past Grayson’s head and neatly lodges in the board, dangerously close to his left ear.
Grayson measures the distance between the dart and his head. He holds his fingers up, a centimeter apart. “Sheesh, bro. That was a little too close.”
“Haven’t missed yet,” Spencer says.
“We just came to say hi, then we’re leaving,” Vanessa says.
“Aw, you can’t leave. You just got here.” Grayson slings his arm around her shoulder. Without shoes on, she’s considerably shorter than he is; her head is about level with his armpit. “At least have one drink. We have beer.”
I fold my hands under my chin. Please.
Vanessa rolls her eyes. “Fine. But just one drink.” She lets Grayson lead her out of the room in search of the promised keg, leaving Spencer and me alone. Well, as alone as we can be in a house full of people.
I should ask him about Mark’s tattoo and why that damned dog is named Cerberus, but Spencer reaches out and laces his fingers through mine. My heart feels like it might burst.
“Come with me,” he says. “I want to show you something.”
He tugs me through the back door and out into the yard. My heart is beating wildly as we walk between the trees and toward a row of small cabins. He heads to the one farthest from the house. It’s made of rough logs, just like the lodge, with the same blue-green door.
We go inside. The first thing I notice is the cedar smell—it’s like being inside a hope chest. Spencer pulls on a chain hanging from the ceiling. The bare light bulb casts a glow of yellow light over the room. The cabin is empty aside from a scarred wooden desk covered in various tools, some loose black stones, and ropes of silver chain.
“
My uncle lets me use this place as my studio,” Spencer says as I walk over to the desk.
I pick up a hammered copper bracelet. “You make jewelry.”
He nods and hands me a square black stone on a thin chain. I know that bringing me here is his way of letting me see him, a way to show me who he is.
“It’s beautiful.” The stone is smooth and flat. I run my finger over the two circles engraved on the top. “What does this mean?”
“It’s an old Gaelic protection symbol.”
“You know Gaelic?”
“Not even a little,” he says. “But I know how to google.”
“What does it offer protection from, exactly?”
“Evil spirits, if you believe in them,” he says with a half-smile. “I just like the look of it.”
“It does look pretty badass,” I say. “How did you learn to make these?”
He shrugs. “My dad’s a silversmith. Sometimes he uses black onyx.”
“I thought your dad was a professor.”
“He is. But he used to make jewelry. When he quit, he gave me all his tools.” Spencer clears his throat. “That one’s for you.”
My breath catches. I can’t believe he made this for me. If I needed another sign that he likes me, that his feelings run deeper than friendship, then he’s just given it to me. And as happy as that makes me, I also feel guilty. I still haven’t told him I’m an exorcist, and he deserves to know who he’s getting involved with.
I have to tell him before this goes any further. But the words stick in my throat and I start to shake. I’m so afraid that he’s going to freak out, that it will change the way he feels about me. I’ve waited so long for this moment, and I don’t want to ruin it.
So, like a coward, I don’t say anything. I let him take the rune and move behind me. I lift my hair, and his fingers whisper against the back of my neck as he fastens the necklace. The rune nestles just above my heart. His fingers linger on my skin, sending major electric shocks through my body.
My heart is pounding so hard, I’m sure it’s going to punch right through my chest. This is the moment. When I turn around, he’s going to kiss me. Or I’m going to kiss him. Either way, we’re going to be kissing.
All I need to do is turn around.
And I’ve just about gathered the courage when someone knocks on the cabin door. Before Spencer even has the chance to ask who it is, the blond guy I saw playing poker when I first arrived barges in. He’s about my height, and his hair is so blond, it’s almost transparent.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he says, but from the intense look on his face, I can tell that he’s not sorry at all. “Can I talk to you for a second?” he asks Spencer.
Spencer sighs. “Shelby, this is Lucas. Lucas, Shelby.”
The guy that called him when we were in the library.
Lucas gives me a cursory glance, frowning when his dark eyes land on the rune around my neck. He turns back to Spencer. “This is important.”
Hello? What he’s interrupting is important!
But instead of demanding that Lucas leaves, Spencer says, “Fine.” He touches my arm. “I’ll meet you back at the house?”
Whatever. The moment is lost—probably forever—so fine. I’ll go. But I’m not going to pretend to be happy about it.
I slam the cabin door. I hear them whispering furiously as I hurry back across the yard, toward the main house. Vanessa and Grayson are sitting on the back steps, facing each other, a board game spread out between them. They’re so focused on the game that they don’t even look up as I approach.
Vanessa’s wearing Grayson’s hoodie. Her hair has grown wilder, like someone has messed it up, and from the goofy smile on Grayson’s face, I know that Vanessa has been too busy with him to wonder what was taking me so long.
Busy playing with the Ouija board.
What is she doing? Ouija boards are portals from the underworld. These two are just asking to be possessed.
“Where did you find that?” I ask.
“In one of the bedrooms upstairs,” Grayson replies without taking his eyes off the game.
Vanessa’s fingers are resting on the little plastic planchette. “It wasn’t working in the house for some reason. I thought it might help if we brought it out here.”
The planchette starts to glide across the board, picking up speed as it moves through the alphabet. A B C D E F …
“You’re moving it again, right?” Grayson asks nervously as the planchette stops on G.
Vanessa just smiles. Maybe she’s just screwing with him.
Please let her just be screwing with him.
Grayson lifts his fingers off the planchette. The plastic piece keeps zipping around the board, even though Vanessa’s fingers are barely touching it. It’s moving too fast now for me to read what it’s spelling out, but Vanessa seems to have no problem deciphering the message. Whatever it is, it makes her smile widen.
“Vanessa, we need to get going,” I say.
Vanessa shakes her head. “I’m almost done.”
I dig in my bag for Uncle Roy’s car keys. I lean toward her and shine the tiny flashlight attached to the key ring right in her eyes.
“What the hell?” Vanessa’s hands fly up to cover her face, breaking her connection with the Ouija board. But I see her eyes—still a familiar, clear blue—and relief floods through me.
I click off the light. “All good.”
The two of them are staring at me. An explanation is obviously required.
“Just … checking to see if you’re okay to drive,” I say.
“I guess that would make sense if I had my license,” Vanessa says. “Why are you being crazy?”
“It was a joke. Obviously I know you can’t drive. Ha-ha.” I clear my throat. “Um, we really do need to go.”
“Okay, okay,” Vanessa says.
Grayson extends his hand to help her up just as Spencer walks across the grass, Lucas trailing a few feet behind him. Whatever just went down between them in the cabin wasn’t good; neither of them looks happy. So that makes three of us.
Lucas ignores us as he walks up the porch steps and into the house. The screen door bangs shut behind him.
“Yikes,” Vanessa says. “What’s his problem?”
Spencer shakes his head. “Difference of opinion.”
“Well. We really should get going,” I say.
“Just give us one more minute,” Vanessa says, pulling Grayson into the shadows at the other end of the porch. The shadows can’t hide the slurping sound of their kissing, however. It’s unbearably awkward and a painful reminder of what Spencer and I didn’t get to do in his workshop.
Spencer rubs his hand against the back of his neck. “Sorry about Lucas. Once he gets his mind set on something, he doesn’t back down.”
“Must have been important.”
He nods. “It was. But his timing could have been better.”
The heavy feeling in my chest lifts a little. He’s not happy that we were interrupted, either. But he’s also not giving me any details on what they fought about. He’s so guarded.
I glance down at the abandoned Ouija board near my feet. I don’t want to touch it, but I can’t just leave it out here for anyone to stumble across. The best way to get rid of a Ouija board is to sprinkle it with salt, wrap it in cotton, and bury it far beneath the ground, but I’m sure Spencer will think I’m beyond weird if I suggest we lay the game to rest in his uncle’s backyard.
But Spencer surprises me by pulling his sleeve over his hand and reaching down to flip the board closed, taking care that his skin doesn’t come in contact with the board, as if it’s made of corrosive material. He makes protective charms to ward off evil spirits, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s reluctant to touch this game. He places the board and the planchette into the box, then nudges the box across the cedar deck with the toe of his boot until it’s nestled under a chair, out of sight.
“I’ll have Mark come and get it later,” he s
ays.
Maybe he wouldn’t think it so weird if I suggest we bury it in the backyard after all.
Vanessa and Grayson emerge from the shadows. She smooths her hand over her wild hair. Grayson stumbles after her, a goofy smile on his face.
“All right, now we can go,” Vanessa says, leaning down to grab her shoes from the deck. She hooks her arm around me and tugs me into the house. I glance over my shoulder at Spencer, but he’s already walking back toward his cabin. From the slump of his shoulders, it’s clear that I’m not the only one who’s disappointed with how this evening turned out.
Chapter
15
WHEN I wake up the next morning, Vanessa’s sitting on the air mattress on my bedroom floor, The History of Exorcism spread open in her lap. “What is this?” she asks.
My stomach plunges. Uncle Roy insisted that I read this impossibly thick, densely written, incredibly old book that traces exorcism through the ages. The guy who wrote it is supposedly some expert on the Catholic religion at NYU.
I definitely don’t want her to know the real reason I have that book.
“Oh. I found it in the church library,” I say, sitting up in bed. “I thought it looked interesting.”
Vanessa raises an eyebrow like she doesn’t quite believe me and slides the book back under my bed without further comment. I should probably ask her why she’s looking through my stuff, but I’m just grateful she didn’t find Mom’s file. I wouldn’t know how to begin to explain that.
“So. You and Grayson?” The quickest way to throw her offcourse is to ask her about Grayson O’Neill.
She wrinkles her nose. “I had a weak moment.”
“He’s a good guy. I get why you like him.”
“I don’t like him. He’s too goofy. And way too young.” But I can tell she’s fighting a smile.
“Vanessa, he’s only a year younger than we are. There’s a much bigger age difference between you and Mark.” Not that she and Mark are ever going to happen. After last night, I think she’s finally given up on that idea.
She shakes her head. “I was just messing around,” she says. “Nothing’s going to come of it.”
When Life Gives You Demons Page 9