Beautifully Broken (2 page)

CHAPTER TWO

 
Instantly, the pink shade covering the window spiraled upward. Light erupted, spilling into all the dark corners of the room. My eyes blurred momentarily. I rose on shaky legs and searched the room. Empty.

I stood still as ice for several minutes until my heart settled down. My mind ran in helpless, futile circles.
Had I somehow subconsciously willed the window shade up?

The mystical power I’d experienced tingled in my fingertips.

Lately the shadows had appeared more often, growing bolder, but they’d never formed a human shape before, or attempted to become tangible. Real. In retrospect, I should’ve known that was a bad sign.

Unease swelled within me. My bedroom wasn’t my safe sanctum anymore. Open to danger. Susceptible to whatever nightmare wanted in. Unprotected during the day now.

My legs gave out. Miserable and weak, I pressed my back into the wall and slid down, bursting into sobs. I hugged my knees to my chest and swiped at the snot coming out of my nose with my sleeve.
Why me? Really.
I wanted to know. My life was sucky enough without some curse of darkness. A series of bad choices. Bad dreams. Bad hair days.

Blah, blah, blah. Well, I guess bad hair days didn’t really count, but when you’re fifteen, weird and boyfriend-less, everything meant far more than it should.

The light dimmed—a cloud separating the sun from the earth. Grim May weather made my room seem oddly dismal and barren. Hollow, just like me. People think that just because Katy Perry sings about melting popsicles and sunny beaches, California is perpetually bathed by the sun. Not so along the northern coast.

I shivered and sought to ground myself by glancing at the messy room—the mound of clothes in the corner, the unfinished homework littering the desk, the books stacked below the windowsill—all things that reminded me of who I was. Shiloh Ravenwolf. A typical teenage girl in a typical teenage girl’s room. Well, except for the dreamcatchers over the window, the bottle of holy water near the bed, and the burnt sage leaves resting in a bowl.

My vision, blurred by shock, gradually unclouded. My breathing slowed.

“Shiloh! Nearly time to go.” The sound of Dad’s strong voice, even muffled through the walls, got me back on my feet. I stretched my tense limbs and rubbed the outer edge of my eye. The aroma of coffee and bacon drifted beneath my door, pulling me further from the horror and closer to my familiar, secure world. I brushed my hair from my forehead, steeled my spine. And like an actress on cue, I plastered on a big, fake smile, hoping to conceal the terror I’d just endured.

After I blew my nose, I picked out something to wear to church that would ward off today’s projected sixty-degree weather: a black tunic sweater-dress with leggings. I parted my waist-length black hair along the hairline and braided it, letting the thick braid rest on my cheek. At least the hair was out of my face, which should keep my mother off my back. Or at least, not tick her off. Not much made her happy. I made a quick attempt at applying makeup before heading downstairs to the kitchen.

My parents sat at the table, eating breakfast. I hung back in the doorway and studied them. Tried to gauge their mood. From the small TV on the counter, a newscaster announced, “...third disappearance in the sleepy town of Whispering Pines. Sheriff Boyd has yet to confirm whether the most recent case is related to the string of missing persons reported over the last sixteen years.”

Dad ran his fingers through his ebony hair. “Did you hear that, Jillian? It’s happening again. How many people have to disappear before we take action? We should burn that place down. This town has tried to bury its secrets—”

“Whispering Pines was built on secrets.” My mother—
Jillian
—shot him a cold look. Hazel eyes dark and burning. “
You
should understand that better than anyone.” Her tone pulsated with so much violence and intensity I felt it creep across my skin. Something vicious and fearsome passed over her face. She switched off the TV when I entered the kitchen. A slow smile quirked her lips. A false smile. “Breakfast, Shiloh?”

I slouched on a chair next to my dad at the Formica table and landed a peck on his unshaven cheek. “Nah. Just some orange juice, please.”

Jillian’s eyes scanned my outfit. “What have you got on your feet?” One hand rested on her hip.

“What? I love these shoes.” I lifted a hot-pink Doc Martens
 
boot. “It only has a
little
scuff mark.”

She handed me the juice she’d just poured. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

My big phony grin hurt my cheeks. I gulped the juice to avoid her stare, then wiped my mouth with the back of one hand just to annoy her.

“Oh, Shiloh!”

“Let’s not start arguing first thing this morning.” Dad stood and stretched his arms, lacing his fingers and cracking his knuckles. The sound reminded me of when I was little and he’d hold me tight, cracking his knuckles as he squeezed me close to him, telling me he’d always protect me. Talk about role reversal. I’d just dealt with a demon in order to protect my dad.

But there is no way he’d ever know what to do. Not my straight-laced, facts-are-facts dad, who’d probably never believe dark creatures walk among us.

Jillian took my glass and set it in the sink with a loud clink. She turned to say something else but I cut her off. “Thanks,
Mom
.”

She frowned, and I knew she’d heard my
stop-bothering-me
tone.

Dad squinted at his wristwatch. “Ah, let’s go, ladies. Don’t wanna be late for church.” Although my dad is a handsome man, today he looked drained, almost sad. The skin around his brown, almond-shaped eyes sagged, his strong, square chin seemed tight. Severe angles around his cheeks were prominent and his olive skin was sallow.

“I’ll grab my purse,” I said before Jillian could tell me to change my shoes. I grabbed my bag, then went through the house and waited on the porch for my parents. Thick ground fog swaddled Whispering Pines. An early morning hush settled over the town, the drizzling mist softening the streets. I drank in the brisk air, welcoming the chill on my flushed cheeks. Maple Drive appeared uninhabited, the houses strange and reticent.

My parents came out of the house. Jillian wore a cranberry dress of silk; the extravagant scent of orchids, lilies, and musk floating behind her. Once she used to be known as “Mom.” Before she became obsessed with her appearance and those peculiar tonics she created to keep herself young. That was back when I trusted her. Now she didn’t want me to call her “Mom” in public. Jillian. Sounded odd whenever it left my lips.

Dad breezed past me, pulling up the sleeves of his black button-up shirt tucked into slacks, before he unlocked our faded green Chrysler sedan with the key. I hopped in the back seat and my parents got in the front. Now I had a chance to relax and rebuild my psychic armor. I closed my eyes and focused on creating a golden barrier of light, which I knew from experience would block anything supernatural. Weird, I know, but when this all started happening, I was pretty little. I guess I’d just accepted the fact that dark shadows stalked me.

Breathe, Shiloh, concentrate. 

I imagined a high, impermeable wall. Unfortunately, the images from earlier—the yellow eyeballs, the smoky black skin, the deformed face…

“Errr,” I grunted and, my eyes flew open.

“Did you say something, lambchop?” Dad’s inquisitive gaze caught mine in the rearview mirror.

“Um, no…nothing.” I needed to work on my happy face and grin like an idiot. Instead of hoping to study architecture, it occurred to me I should try to be an actress, because I had mad skills. MTV might even star me in a reality TV show:
A Girl’s Guide to the Supernatural.

Out the car windows, lawns were russet, birch and pine trees stood in abundance, and spring flowers were struggling to reach the sun. We lived five blocks from the church, in a one-Starbucks town named Whispering Pines north of San Francisco in Marin County, neighboring Muir Woods. Fog rolling in from the Bay lingered like clouds had fallen from the sky and blanketed the earth, making Whispering Pines overcast and gloomy. We passed silent, melancholy clusters of weathered houses shackled with ivy, amidst ancient shade trees. On Laurel Avenue, when we crossed over the railroad tracks, sunlight split through the haze, shining upon the heads of the identical tract houses lining the streets. Crows perched on a clothesline watched us drive past. My gaze caught eerie shadows swooping menacingly within the shrubs and trees.

Dad turned into the church driveway and parked in the lot. Outside the dirty windshield, my best friend Ariana Parsons’s waving hands snagged my attention.

I opened the car door and ran toward her, yelling, “Hey!” I took the porch steps too fast, tripped and nearly fell to my knees. I grasped the rail and straightened.
God, I hate being a klutz.

“You okay?” Ariana attempted to stifle a laugh by raising her hand, her metallic nail polish sparkling in the morning sun. She hugged me tightly, he sleeves of her ivory babydoll pullover wrapped around me. Her hair smelled like honeysuckle.

The terrifying emotions that had bound me in their tight embrace slowly unraveled. Safe in the sunshine. Safe with my friend. Safe from the shadows. Everything would be okay.

Yeah sure. Not with Shadow Man obviously threatening my life.

“Yep. I’m good. How’s your weekend?”

“It sucks. My aunt left for Vegas with her new boyfriend who—for the record—is seriously annoying. And she didn’t leave any food in the house. So I hit the donut shop on my walk here.” Ariana rolled her eyes. Flaxen curls outlined her pretty, round face. When she moved, the silver earrings dangling from her ears tinkled like bells. “Whatcha doing the rest of the long weekend?”

Oh, you know…sleeping with the lights on, cowering in bed, and burning sage in a large seashell trying to drive out bad spirits. The usual stuff.

“Nothing,” I said.

Big, cerulean eyes stared into mine. “You’re wearing makeup today. You look good, but tired.” Ariana lowered her voice. “Things still bad at home?”

Self-consciously, I tugged on the sleeve of my dress to hide the angry scar on my arm. I knew I looked like utter crap. “Everything’s good. Honest.”

She studied me, one eyebrow raised. “No. It’s not.”

We stared at each other until my shoulders sagged.

“Fine, it’s not.” I gave her a weary smile. “So you’re saying I’m a hot mess?”

“Saying someone is tired doesn’t mean they look like pooh.” She tilted her blond head. “Although more concealer couldn’t hurt.”

Some boys from school smiled at Ariana, and she winked. Ariana had that kind of outgoing confidence most high school girls would kill for. I think it was a residual from her days as a
Trendy.
Before the accident that changed her social status. And majorly changed her life. Or maybe she’d always had swag.

Ariana and I were total opposites. Not that I was shy, but I was super thin compared to her; my slight 5’6 frame made her curvy 5’2 figure seem excessive. Her delicate features, eyes as blue as the sky and a pale complexion, were in complete contrast to someone like me who was composed of differing shades of brown. With my mix of Sioux and French ancestry, I’d inherited high cheekbones, smooth olive skin, bronze eyes that dominated my face and a flood of hair the shade of midnight.

Did I mention I’m jealous of Ariana’s porcelain skin and bigger boobs? Ah, well, I still love her.

I turned to go inside the church, but a crunch of tires on the gravel drive stopped me. A sports car sped by, and through the tinted windows, I glimpsed the driver: male, golden hair, sunglasses resting on a straight nose. About my age, I guessed.

“Nice,” I said.

Ariana giggled, her curls bouncing freely on her shoulders. “The car or the guy?”

“Both?” I giggled too, and a little of the tightness in my chest loosened.

“Yeah, that’s a clean ride. New Mustang Boss.” Ariana grinned at me, making the world seem sunnier. Not so terrible. For a second, I almost forgot the demon. Almost.

The sleek car roared past us, the driver obviously hunting for a space.

“Shiloh.”

I heard my dad call my name and twisted around to see him standing in the entry. At his beckoning, Ariana and I followed him into the church. Dimly lit by wall sconces, the interior had a burgundy carpet lining the middle aisle between the two rows of pews. We found seats in the back row, as a group of children gathered on the platform to sing hymns. My parents sat apart, not touching. Dad stared at his bible; Jillian crossed her legs, eyes forward. Ariana and I parked ourselves at the other end of the wooden bench. Sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows, dappling the congregation in scarlet, butter, and golden hues. Most of the town attended Whispering Pines Chapel, a tradition started a century and a half ago by the town’s religious founding fathers. The benches were congested with people who coughed and murmured. Babies wailed and children squirmed in their seats.

Jillian fingered the triquetra-shaped pendant hanging from a thin silver chain around her throat. Her skin had the kind of unlined creaminess that never saw the sun. So different from my dark tone that looked tan even in winter. She turned and caught me staring. Her body tensed. She didn’t like me watching her. Interesting. Warring emotions passed over her face with vivid swiftness. She faced the pulpit again, dropping her pendant beneath the neckline of her dress.

The double doors behind us opened with a bang. Several people turned their heads and glared at the intrusion. A guy ambled into the empty pew across from ours—the guy with the Mustang.
Ohmygod.
My mouth dropped open like a moron’s.

He shrugged off his leather coat, revealing a slightly wrinkled, charcoal button-down shirt. Dang, the boy filled out his jeans nicely.

Now that’s how you rock the just-got-out-of-bed-and-threw-this-on look.

Would it be too much to ask for him to be as awesome on the inside as he was on the outside? I flicked hair over my shoulder and removed the lip gloss from my purse, smearing strawberry over my lips. The hottie sat down and reclined, stretching out his arms on the bench. He crossed his legs, and I caught a glimpse of his badass black motorcycle boots. The skin on his face was pale and smooth, and only his strong, square jaw saved his features from femininity.
Gorgeous—a ten on a scale of Abercrombie model hotness.
Tall too, with tousled blond hair brushed sideways across his forehead—giving him an arrogant, sexy look—with eyes an amazing emerald hue…