Secrets of Skin and Stone

by Wendy Laine

  “Piper.”

  “Gris.” She leaned forward slightly. “I want, Gris.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want to live. I want to take chances. I’ve cut to pay for things I’ve done wrong. I’ve cut to pay for being happy. I feel like I’ve been paying for that my whole life, and I want…more. I’m not fixed. I’ll still be like this, but I want to quit avoiding life ‘cause I don’t want to pay for it. I want.”

  “Do you want me?” I held completely still, despite my heart pounding. If she said “no” because I’d waited, holding back, keeping my options open…

  “How much will you cost me?”

  I exhaled. “I’m free.”

  She shook her head. “No, you’re not. If I take a chance on you and you leave right away ‘cause you’ve got a more exciting offer than Hidden Creek can extend, there’s a cost.” She rubbed her shoulder. “I keep all these transactions on my skin. I’m not saying that I’m not interested, but I want to know ahead of time.”

  I’d been reckless since I’d arrived in Hidden Creek—with our lives and with Piper’s feelings. This last week had taught me how empty the value of that wandering independence was. “I don’t want this to end. I can continue renting the apartment from Dick and use this as my home base. Also, there are still fiends in town.” This town was still crawling with them, despite my best attempts.

  “So, you’ll just stay here in town?” She raised her eyebrows, her skepticism obvious. “Indefinitely?”

  “No.”

  Piper nodded, her jaw tightening.

  “It’d be boring here without you, and I’ve heard valedictorians tend to jet off to fancy colleges.”

  Her whole face brightened and she straightened up. “I found out my test score online.”

  “On your ACT?”

  “Yep, three points higher. I got a thirty-four this time.”

  “Thirty-four out of thirty-six, right? That’s fantastic.” Piper and her badass brain.

  Piper grinned, blushed, and wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Thirty-four is a good number.”

  It was nice and even. Part of me was curious if she’d retaken the test to get an even number. I could see her doing that.

  “I decided I’m, uhh, going to focus on Georgia State and Loyola and sending them this higher score. I should be able to get a full-ride with them.”

  My gaze caught on the college brochures on her desk. Georgia State wasn’t so far from my parents’ house. Loyola was in New Orleans. Neither of them was on the other side of the country like her mom had said she’d been planning on.

  “You mean, in addition to the others you were sending applications to,” I said.

  Her chin tipped up, all defiant again, like she was staking claim on this section of the United States. “No. Just them. Right now anyways. That might change. It might not. I mean, they’re both close. I thought being close to home might be nice.”

  She would be close, but not close enough for me. I could live in an apartment in New Orleans or stay with my parents in Atlanta. If that’s what she wanted.

  “It would be nice. There are probably a lot of fiends in New Orleans.”

  She smiled. “There might be.”

  This was better. “So, what would you be majoring in?” I asked to keep her talking.

  The question somehow made it through her guard because she said, “Psychology or maybe math. I haven’t decided.”

  “Psychology might include some anatomy classes. Anatomy classes usually involve working with cadavers. I’ve heard how much you enjoy that.”

  Her eyes widened with a look of horror.

  I laughed.

  She threw a pillow at me. “Gris!” Her horrified look shifted to staring at the door.

  “I’ve muffled the noise,” I said.

  “You can do that without changing?” she asked.

  Under the guise of returning her pillow, I sat down beside her on the bed. “Yes. When it’s this late at night.”

  Wrinkling up her nose, Piper asked softly, “How come you haven’t told me not to tell anybody about you?”

  “Because I trust you.” I feathered my fingers across her fist clenched in the blankets atop her bed. “I’ve missed you this week. I’ve wanted to see you every day. You’re not the only one who wants things.” I wanted to be right here, right now. Preferably holding her, kissing her. But I worried that everything had changed. Blown to hell by my birthright and Danny coveting it. There were also those dark moments in the barn. I’d jumped through the side of the barn and pulled Danny back in with me. The fiend’s shrieking had blended into his shrieking. Then, I was there, and I’d had to get Piper out. Nothing else mattered.

  This last week she’d been the only tangible thing for me. My future was hazy—other than I wanted Piper in it. Sensible, beautiful Piper with her logic and control. I probably didn’t deserve somebody as amazing as Piper, but I still wanted her. I wanted her, body and soul. I needed her in the same way.

  “You missed me?” she whispered.

  “Every moment.”

  Like the sun breaking from behind clouds, her wide smile shifted something inside me, dispelling the darkness left over from Danny’s death and all the unanswered questions. She flipped her hand and held it open, waiting to see what I’d do.

  “You know, we never really got that date.” I took her hand. “Mostly on account of you not hunting me down to go skinny dipping.”

  Piper rolled her eyes. “There were dead bodies marinating in that water. I wouldn’t even put my toes in there if you dared me, Gris Caso.”

  “How about I take you out to the movies tomorrow night instead?”

  “Or you could take me flying right now, as long as you promise not to ever strand me in a tree again.”

  Not one to miss an opportunity, I got to my feet and used my powers to blink out all but her nightlight.

  Piper gasped, rewarding my showing-off.

  I let go of her hand and pulled my shirt off. Rather than tossing it aside, I put it overtop her tank top.

  She looked down at the shirt before meeting my gaze, her eyes full of questions.

  “I like you wearing my shirt, and it’s a little cold outside.” After slipping off my shoes, I shifted into my Watcher form before reaching for her hand.

  Getting to her feet, instead of taking my hand, Piper ran her fingertips along my hand and up my arms before wrapping her arms around my neck. Standing on her tiptoes, she said, “Gris, I missed you, too,” and pressed a soft kiss on my mouth before dropping down to her heels to look at me.

  Piper stared straight into my soul, without flinching.

  I stared back—and her darkness saw mine.

  A gargoyle and a pixie. Who’d have ever guessed?

  “So are we going on this date or are you all talk?” she asked.

  Pulling her along with me, I opened the window. “Hell no, I’m not.”

  “Don’t profa…” and the rest was lost in a gasp as I dragged her into the sky with me.

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  Author’s Note

  I chose to give Piper the same type of obsessive-compulsive disorder that I have because it’s a lesser known set of symptoms. Piper has purely/primarily obsessional OCD also known as Pure-O. People with Pure-O often go undiagnosed until much older because they don’t have the commonly known symptoms. Like Piper, I thought that I was going insane for much of my teenage years. Like Piper, I’m a cutter, though I haven’t cut for many years.

  When my daughter was diagnosed with OCD, it required me to accept my diagnosis. As this was a secondary diagnosis for her, a family history was the only way she’d be able to qualify. That day, when I stated unequivocally that I had severe OCD, my impression of the disorder changed. I looked at my daughter, who was a toddler at the time, and recognized that what she had—an
d what I had—was not dark. It couldn’t be. Since then, I’ve spent a lot of time trying to spread awareness of what OCD looks like from the inside. I’ve mentored those struggling with it. I’ve talked to people dealing with self-harm. I’ve cried with parents who’ve lost children to suicide and OCD.

  I’ve attempted to create a realistic portrayal of the condition from my experience, but OCD is a broad spectrum of symptoms. If you or someone you love might qualify for a diagnosis or you’d like more information or a consultation, contacting someone in the medical profession is a great place to start, or the International OCD Foundation is also a fantastic resource at: https://iocdf.org/ There are also resources for those struggling with self-harm, and You Matter is an informative starting point.

  Acknowledgments

  I don’t know that it’s ever possible to recognize everyone who helps take a story from an idea to publication and this book is especially difficult in that way. So many people had their hand in this.

  First of all, my family has put up with a lot from me, not just in relation to this book. My husband, my kids, and my extended family have pitched in or been sounding boards. They are such a wonderful support system. My husband saved my life again and again when I sunk deep into the destructive side of my condition. My siblings especially helped with this and in grounding me when my own OCD roared. My mom’s quirks became Piper’s mom’s quirks—and I should probably admit that I never figured out her dishwasher pattern. Also, I know I was a rough teen to raise at times, but I love you and Dad.

  So many betas read this, in addition to editors. Tina Sandoval, Britt Marczak, Trysh Thompson, Sarah Jolley, Tasmin, and Jay Donovan all helped improve this book. Brittany provided a much needed sensitivity read and Jay’s moral support cannot be undervalued. Special thanks to Chelsea Hundley for helping with editing at a crucial point. I know I’m missing beta readers because I ran the cutting scenes by a lot of people. I’m sorry if I didn’t mention you.

  This is the book that brought Sarah Yake into my life as an agent, and then I got all feisty about where it should go. Thank you for sticking it out with me, Sarah.

  The editors and staff at Entangled are some of the finest and most intelligent people I’ve ever met. Kate Brauning’s commitment to clarifying the best in a story without sacrificing its heart is evident in every email. I submitted this to her because she wanted an “own voices” novel, and she’s stayed true to allowing my voice to be heard.

  Finally, we lost my thirteen-year-old dog to cancer while I was in revision of this book. It felt like losing a piece of me. While he couldn’t read this even if he was alive, I can’t go without acknowledging that Nanaimo was a source of solace when my world was on fire. When my OCD was bad and my paranoia was high, I knew he was watching over my kids and I could sleep. Many thanks, old friend…and I hope they have the squeakiest toys in heaven.

  About the Author

  Wendy Laine is the penname of author Wendy Sparrow. Writing is in Wendy’s blood, as are equal parts of Mountain Dew and chocolate. Wendy has been telling tales since she was a child with varying amounts of success. Her parents clearly anticipated her forays into the paranormal because she heard “The Boy Who Cried Wolf’ over and over. She lives in Washington State with a wonderful husband and two quirky kids and is active in Autism and OCD support networks. She can usually be found on Twitter, where she’ll talk to anyone who talks to her and occasionally just to herself.

  Also by Wendy Laine, writing adult fiction as Wendy Sparrow…

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