Secret Worlds (47 page)

As I performed the rites, I kept my thoughts to myself, wanting the support of my friends but not wanting them to know what I needed support for. Start to finish, the ritual took nearly an hour and was entirely uneventful. Maybe the answers would come later. I stubbed out the mint, apple, and nutmeg incense sticks, then shared cakes and a bottle of sparkling wine with my friends.

Lauren suggested we spend the evening making grave-rubbings, and Ivory said she knew just the place. I wasn’t sure. I hadn’t been out after dark since I’d gone to Club Flesh with Ivory…not even to buy milk or bread.

After I closed the circle, I stepped aside to call Charles, who was out for the evening. “Ivory and Lauren want to go do grave-rubbings.”

“That one of your Wiccan things?”

“No,” I said, incredulous he was even asking. “Grave-rubbings. You lay a piece of paper on the grave, then rub it lightly with lumberman’s chalk. It gives an ‘imprint’ of the grave. Didn’t you ever do coin-rubbings in school? It’s like that.”

“I didn’t go to school,” he said, “but it sounds fun.”

“It does?” I walked farther from my friends, lowering my voice. “I mean at night. They want to go now.”

“You won’t have to worry at the cemetery. Cruor don’t go there. Besides, you should be fine in a group.”

An icy breeze crossed the yard, biting at my nose and cheeks. I pulled my coat tighter to ward off the chill. “No Cruor in the cemetery? You’re sure?”

“None in
that
cemetery,” he said. “The only Cruor residing in a cemetery are the Maltorim in Damascus. The Queen, Callista, says it keeps other Cruor away. Cemeteries are where the original Earth elementals came from and the one place they don’t want to return. Moreover, there’s nothing there for them. They want living blood, not dead bodies.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.” I waited for him to say something else—anything—but he didn’t. “I better get going. Meet you later.”

We said our goodbyes, and I snapped my phone shut.

Ivory cleared the black taper and white pillar candles from the altar. She hadn’t said much since arriving.

“How’ve you been?” I asked lightly, coiling the black cord that had marked our circle.

“Dealing with family issues.” She turned away, abruptly dropping the conversation.

Ouch
. I knew she was still upset with me, but I couldn’t understand why and didn’t want to start an argument over it. Instead, I helped Lauren clear away the plate of fruit, vegetables, and bread from the top center of the altar, then packed the black votive candle along with the cauldron into my box of supplies.

As I cleared the ashes of dead twigs, each having been named for things that needed to end—for myself, for others, and for the earth—Lauren crouched beside a stone statue in the yard and pulled a camera from her bag. She snapped a picture of herself and the marble lion. After a few more clicks, she checked the camera screen.

“Cool that Charles bought the old library.” She shoved her phone back in her bag and turned to me. “Cocoa?”

“Please,” I said.

She headed inside. I packed away the boline we’d used to cut our ritual apple. The crosswise slice had created a pentagram at the core, honoring the five elements—earth, air, water, fire, and spirit. I also put away the half-slice of apple we’d eaten from during the ritual, but the other half-slice I wrapped in a piece of cheesecloth to bury later—an offering to feed the souls of nearby spirits.

Ivory stood at the edge of the yard, staring off into space. I should’ve gone to her; instead, I folded the altar cloth away and carried the box to the back steps. She followed me inside, dragging her wine-colored nails along the wood-paneled walls as she peeked into every room. Old offices were now bedrooms, and the single-stall bathroom had been fully renovated.

“What did Charles do to this place?” she asked.

“He couldn’t live here the way it was.”

Lauren called from the kitchen: “Everything’s new!”

Ivory pointed down the hall. “I’ll wait in the parlor.”

I offered Lauren a hand in the kitchen. She nodded toward the mugs.

“So, are you calling him your boyfriend yet? You’re keeping things at his house.”

Lauren didn’t know I was actually
living
here. It was easier that way. “We haven’t exactly pulled out the label-maker.” I opened the cocoa packets and dumped them in the mugs. “Spoon?”

“I’m going say he’s your boyfriend.” Lauren poured the hot water over the cocoa mix, snatched a spoon from the dish rack, and leaned over me to stir. “I don’t see how he could be anything but.”

I moved the mugs to a tray. What made someone a ‘boyfriend’? I’d been avoiding any attachment to Charles. He would live forever, and I would not.

I carried the cocoa tray into the living room and pressed a steaming mug into Ivory’s hands before lifting my own. “Are you joining us for the grave-rubbings?”

Ivory’s gaze flickered upward, the flash of an eye roll I’d seen her give Lauren hundreds of times but never me. “Why wouldn’t I?” She set her hot cocoa aside. “We’ll visit the cemetery near my house.”

Back when our town had moved graves from the old cemetery, a few families insisted that their loved ones’ coffins not be moved to the new cemetery. In one newspaper interview, an elder of the town said the dead should never be separated from their ‘first soil’.

As a result, the town set up about fifty graves, all from the same three families, in a small cemetery at the end of Litton Avenue. They’d had to move not only the coffins, but the soil that had covered those graves as well. Moving the soil for
all
the graves would have been too much of a hassle. That was how our town ended up with two cemeteries. One much smaller than the old one, and one much larger.

A wide grin splashed onto Lauren’s face. “I heard that cemetery is haunted.”

Ivory spat out a laugh. “You’re the one who started the rumor!”

I wasn’t sure about that, but I didn’t say anything. Neither did Lauren.

Before we left the house, I made Charles a turkey and cucumber sandwich and left it in the fridge to hold him over until dinner. He’d once told me he liked to eat a human meal after hunting, because it reminded him that there was more to him than his need for blood. I’d been making those meals for him ever since. Maybe it didn’t feel safe to speak my affections, but I hoped he knew I cared.

Probably more than I should.

***

LITTON AVENUE was clear of trick-or-treaters, but the night offered the scents and sights of Halloween through the open car windows—the smell of gutted pumpkins heated from the inside by small candles that flickered through triangular eyes. Stitched mouths with sinister toothy grins were carved into the flesh of jack-o-lanterns, and the aroma of pumpkin pies and roasted pumpkin seeds carried on the crisp night air.

About two thirds of the way down the street, Lauren’s headlights reflected off something in an alley
.
A half-destroyed sign: Basker Street. Could it be the same Basker Street scribbled in the book Paloma gave me? I’d never noticed the sign before, but that wasn’t the first time I’d had that experience. Many times I would swear I’d never seen something, only to start seeing it everywhere I went.

Coming back tomorrow was always an option, but we were already here, and the voices had only been growing in intensity. As the Cruor blood faded from my system, a permanent solution became more and more important—and the truth surrounding my ancestor’s death was the only stone I’d left unturned.

“Stop the car!”

Lauren jerked her 1978 orange Ford Pinto to a halt. I jumped out and popped my head back inside the passenger window. “I want to check an address. Be right back.”

“Wait!” Lauren scrambled after. “I want to come, too.”

“Hey!” Ivory stepped out and yelled after us. “Where are you going?”

“Come with us,” I called, halfway to the alley. I waited for Ivory to catch up while Lauren plowed ahead.

We caught up with Lauren. I expected consuming darkness, but light slanted in from streetlamps to reveal shoe-printed gum and stains of oil on the concrete. Doors with padlocks on the outside and broken windows repaired with plastic bags and duct tape lined the alley.

Toward the end, dirty bricks framed a plain wooden door. The numbers seven and nine hung above the knocker. I could see the outline of another number; there were dirty spots around the edges, and the rest of the door was sun bleached, leaving the shade of a number three.

793 Basker Street.

“This is it.” I traced my fingers over the numbers. “This is the address from my book.”

Ivory stepped closer. “What book?”

I put my finger to my lips, trying to hear the muffled voices behind the closed door and boarded windows, but the whispers clattering in my mind prevented me from focusing on what the people inside were saying.

I frowned. Now what? Knock on the door? When I turned back to offer my friends some kind of explanation for why we’d come here, a shadow shifted behind Lauren. I screamed. She screamed in response, and Ivory laughed.

“Damn it, Charles! Don’t sneak up on me.”

He grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the door. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice dark, maybe even a little angry. “You said you were going to the cemetery.”

“I saw this address in a book.” I tilted my head. “What are
you
doing here?”

“Taking you and your friends to dinner.” His offer didn’t sound friendly.

“How did you find us?” Did he see the car parked on the side of the road? Why was he on Litton Avenue?

“We’re leaving,” he said. “Now.”

I grasped Lauren’s hand and started to follow Charles. Ivory stayed a few steps behind, and Lauren kept flashing narrow glances my way.

“What’s
his
problem?” she asked.

“I have no—”

Several strangers jumped from somewhere above, landing almost silently to block our exit. To my left, several more stood on a fire exit, all dressed in familiar brown cloaks. They peeled back their hoods, some male and some female. Each had the same unnatural pallor, the same glistening fangs.

And they weren’t dressed for Halloween.

They must have been Cruor. Judging by Charles’ earlier reaction, he knew this too—and had known since before they showed up. So much for the idea I’d be safe traveling in a group.

There were at least a dozen Cruor. Most stood as if frozen by pain, hands balled in tight fists, teeth pressed firmly together. A few leaned toward us, some inched closer. None looked like the type I wanted to invite over for tea.

I backed away, heart speeding. Charles turned to me, jaw clenched. Lauren moved aside, pressing her back against the building’s brick wall—even
she
sensed something was off. Ivory took a protective stance in front of her, but I was too stressed to be surprised.

I glanced over my shoulder. More Cruor crowded the other end of the alley. There must have been three dozen or more in total. I stepped closer to Charles, and he wrapped his arm around me.

A petite, dark-haired woman stepped out of the gathering. She circled us, seemingly more at ease than her companions, then stopped by Charles and rose on her toes to put her lips close to his ear.

“Hello,
Charlie
.” She drew out each word and emphasized his name with a giddy lilt. She ran her fingernails slowly down the back of his neck. “Who are your friends? We’ve never met
them
before.”

Charles recoiled from her touch.

A tall Cruor-man with cropped blond hair glided over. Ivory pulled Lauren farther behind her.

“They don’t know anything,” Ivory said.

He tilted his head, and his lips pulled back. The expression was too unnatural to call a smile. “I could enlighten them.”

He peeked around Ivory and waved at Lauren.

“Back the fuck off,” Ivory warned.

Lauren glanced to me, but I had nothing to offer. This was one of those times where I was too scared to freak out. Whatever part of the brain reacts to such events just shut right down. Just like it always did when a situation was too much for me to handle.

Lauren clutched Ivory’s hand, her eyes wide, her stance wooden. Her olive complexion paled, and the skin above her cheekbones and around her lips turned ashen. Clearly her freak-out meter wasn’t broken like mine.

The dark-haired Cruor circled behind me. She placed her hands on my arms. My skin crawled, and I shrank closer to Charles. Her hair grazed my neck as she leaned over my shoulder.

Charles pushed her away, holding her at arm’s length, and glared at her.

She giggled. “She’s cute. Is she your new girlfriend,
Charlie
?”

Each time she said his name in her singsong way, anger overtook my fear. I locked my gaze on him. “Do you know her?”

Her irritating grin stretched into something plain sickening. “Of course he
knows
us, honey. Or hasn’t he told you?”

THE DARK-HAIRED Cruor-woman looked at Charles and laughed. “This is rich. You should drop by more often.”

His fists clenched—one at his side, the other at the base of my spine. “Back off, Thalia.”

She giggled. A tangle of eggplant-black curls tumbled down her back as she sauntered in front of him and snaked her arms around his neck. “Oh, don’t be like that. You used to be fun.”

She walked her fingers up the side of his arm and clicked her teeth. “Don’t you remember? Oh, but these last few months—where have you been? I’ve been so lonely.”

The pout on her face filtered into her voice. I wanted to smack her. My hearing blotted and my stomach churned. The stress frenzied the voices in my mind worse than ever, but soon a warm push at my mind calmed them away. The Cruor were trying to influence me. I pushed back.
Not this time
.

“Cut the crap, Thalia,” Charles said, a warning cloud settling across his features. “I know what you’re trying to do.”

“I’m just playing,
Charlie
.” She cinched her gaze on my friends and me. Violet rimmed her large pupils—two large voids illuminated with an eerie glow. At least she wasn’t hungry, not with such a bright glow to her eyes. “How did you meet these…
girls
…anyway?”