The Children and the Blood (3 page)

She sank onto her heels to wait.

“This happen a lot?” Patrick asked. Watching her, he leaned on the hallway wall.

“All the time. Rose grows valerian and catnip for her teas. She stores the herbs in the basement and, well… ” she tossed him a grin before she returned her gaze to the cat.

Gradually, the animal seemed to realize none of the humans besides Ashley and Patrick were following it into the room. Though clearly still on edge, the cat lowered itself onto its haunches and began cleaning a paw with an almost theatrical display of calm.

Ashley scoffed. “Yeah, right,” she murmured, gingerly reaching her hand between the legs of the chair. “Here, kitty.” A look of mild disdain surfaced amid the creature’s residual nervousness, but after a few moment’s consideration, it condescended to allow her to pull it out.

Bundling the cat into her arms, she grinned at her father. “Be back in a few minutes.”

“Where are you going?”

“To bring the cat back to Thelma. It’s fine; she’s just down the road.”

For a moment, he seemed torn by the protective urge to go with her, and she smiled. “Really, Dad.” She jerked her head toward the stairs. “Go take care of Lily. She’ll be worried about all the noise down here.”

Still looking reluctant, he nodded. “Be careful.”

She smiled as she scooped up Jonathan’s heavy-duty flashlight from beside the coat rack. “I will,” she assured him, and then let the screen door swing shut behind her.

Darkness surrounded her as she left the island of light around the farmhouse. Stars carpeted the sky, taking full advantage of the new moon and the cloudless night. Crickets ceased their chirping as she passed, and tree frogs grew silent, only to start singing again once she was gone. The cat twisted at the sounds, teased by the idea of chasing all the tiny, invisible things moving in the grass. Shifting the animal in her arms and quietly threatening it with dire consequences if it scratched her, she continued toward the bungalow half a mile away.

A bare light bulb dangled from the rafters of the weathered porch, and moths danced around it madly. The splintered steps bowed beneath her feet as she climbed, and she winced, fully expecting that this time, one of them would finally give way. Swatting ineffectually at the bugs with the bulky flashlight, she ducked low and then rapped on the wooden screen door. A chorus of discordant meows greeted her, and the cat struggled to escape her grasp at the noise.

Moments passed and the meowing faded, but no one came to the door. Flinching away from a kamikaze moth diving toward her head, Ashley bit her lip indecisively. She could leave the cat on the porch, but odds were it would return immediately to the basement and she’d just have to bring it back again. The stupid animals never learned.

Grimacing, she raised her hand to knock again.

With a creak of rusty hinges, the door behind the screen inched open, revealing nothing but darkness beyond.

“Thelma?”

“Ooh,” came a voice from behind the narrow opening.

“Thelma, one of your cats got into our basement again,” she called, telling herself to be patient. Thelma kept things interesting, the farmhands said. She just hoped the old woman was lucid enough tonight to see the cat in front of her. Or the person, for that matter.

The crack widened and a frail hand emerged to push at the screen door. A pause followed, punctuated by renewed meows from within the house, and then Thelma slipped through the narrow space and stepped onto the porch as though emerging onto a stage. A cloud of gray hair surrounded her thin, wrinkled face and too-bright eyes darted between Ashley, the cat and the darkness. Her razor-thin lips parted, revealing yellowed teeth in what passed for a smile. “Ashley, Ashley, burning bright…” she whispered fondly.

Glancing from the glowing flashlight to the tiger-striped cat, Ashley tried not to sigh. Poetry tonight. Last week, Thelma had spoken only in metaphors from children’s stories. At least this time the comment had a vague connection to reality.

“That’s right,” she said. “Now, could you please take your cat?”

Thelma paused, examining the animal as if evaluating whether she’d seen it before. Finally, with the air of coming to a difficult decision, she sighed mightily and reached out, folding her fingers around the creature’s middle and then curling it into her wiry arms.

“Thank you,” Ashley said, hurrying to escape the bug-infested porch.

Thelma had already forgotten her. Chastising the cat with snippets of poetry, the old woman slipped back into her cottage, letting in a score of moths as she went. The chorus of meows grew louder for a moment, and then faded behind the shut door.

Shaking her head, Ashley jogged up the gravel road, the beam of her flashlight bouncing wildly as she went. Six months after her family moved to their property, Thelma arrived at the decrepit bungalow they’d all believed to be condemned. Apparently abandoned by her children for being too much of a handful, the old woman had been gifted the house as a last gesture of nominal support from distant and uninvolved relations – or so the story went. In truth, she seemed to scarcely remember her family and what information they managed to get out of her made so little sense, it could as easily have been fantasy as reality.

She caught the screen door to keep it from slamming as she returned to the house, and then grinned at Jonathan as he glanced up from his almanac. Beneath the buttery light of the living room lamp, the old farmer sat in his customary position on the worn leather sofa, one leg propped atop his knee and his reading glasses perched on his nose. Down the hall, dishes clinked to the melody of a softly playing ballad as Rose finished the washing.

“All taken care of?” he asked.

“Same as always.”

Beneath his bushy white brows, his blue eyes twinkled. “So we’ll see the cat tomorrow.”

“Probably.”

He grinned. “You headed to bed?”

She shrugged and he gave her a knowing look. “Don’t stay up too late, bookworm.”

“When have I ever done that?” she replied innocently.

He scoffed. “Upstairs with you. And, Ashley Rebecca, if I see that light of yours on…”

Fighting to keep a straight face, she nodded. “Yes sir.”

She could hear him chuckling as she ran up the stairs.

Past the landing, the second floor hallway was dim, though the light spilling from Lily’s room and beneath the door to Patrick’s study softened the gloom. With easy familiarity, she swung around the wood banister and headed for the end of the hall, where the stairway to her attic bedroom was a black opening in the shadows.

“Hey, Ashley,” Lily called as she passed the little girl’s room.

She caught herself on the doorframe. Her brow furrowed. “Where’s Dad?” she asked, looking around. Multicolored scraps of paper carpeted the floor, and boxes filled with crayons, markers, scissors and glue were stacked in every available corner.

“Work called.”

Ashley glanced across the hallway. Beneath the doorway, she could see his shadow block the light intermittently as he paced. His muffled voice carried through the wood, harried and intense, but unintelligible.

She bit her lip. Tomorrow afternoon might be too long for him to wait before leaving.

Forcibly pushing the disquiet aside, she turned back to Lily with a smile. “What’s up?”

“I-I’m sorry I ruined things earlier.”

Ashley rolled her eyes. “You didn’t ruin anything. Just get to sleep, okay?”

Shoving off the door, she grinned and then started toward the stairs again.

“Ashe?”

She stopped. Lily rarely used the nickname she’d given her sister when she was too young to pronounce words correctly. And though it was a common enough derivative of her own name, Ashley had never known anyone else to use it.

The name belonged to Lily. Rose and the others seemed to understand that.

She stepped back into the doorway.

“I didn’t,” Lily repeated.

With a sigh, Ashley crossed the room and sank down into the middle of the craft paper. Gently, she took Lily’s hand.

“Lil,” she said, responding in kind with her own nickname for the girl. “You didn’t ruin anything. I swear. Dad just misses Mom.”

The girl’s gaze went to the door. “I think he’s going to leave soon.”

Ashley studied the paper beneath her knees. “You need to go to sleep, kiddo.”

Lily paused, watching her sister. “It’s really soon, isn’t it?”

“Tomorrow,” Ashley admitted.

A small breath escaped Lily. The little girl closed her eyes, her brow furrowing.

“At least there’ll be a birthday party first, right?” Ashley offered.

Expression unchanged, Lily nodded.

Ashley put a hand on her sister’s shoulder. A heartbeat passed, and then Lily leaned against it.

“Come on,” Ashley said. “Let’s get you to sleep.”

Lily let Ashley help her stand, and then followed her to the cluttered bed. Stuffed animals crowded every inch of the surface, barely allowing a glimpse of the patchwork quilt beneath them. Carefully pushing the animals closer to the wall, Ashley made space for Lily to burrow beneath the quilts. A few months before, Rose had tried to remove them, saying Lily was too grown up for toys. While Lily held the dolls and cried, Ashley had refused to allow Rose through the door.

No one would take anything from Lily until the little girl was ready. Not if Ashley had anything to say about it.

Bending down, she pecked her sister on the head with a kiss as Lily pulled the blankets up beneath her chin. “Sleep well.”

The girl nodded.

Navigating the piles of paper, Ashley crossed the room and then flipped off the light.

“I hate when he leaves,” Lily said quietly.

In the darkness, Ashley glanced back. Lily’s pale face shone in the light from the lamps outside.

“Me too,” Ashley told her.

She left the bedroom door cracked slightly and then headed for the attic stairs. The steps squeaked beneath her feet and she automatically skipped the loose seventh step entirely. Slipping past the door, she crossed the room and flicked on the bedside lamp. Instantly, an enormous moth fled the bulb and barreled at her face, making her shriek in surprise.

Grabbing a pillow from her desk chair, she herded the frantic bug toward the window. Yanking the lower pane up, she drove the creature out to join its innumerable relatives dancing around the security lights, and then slammed the window down.

In the yard, one of the farmhands looked up from his patrol, startled by the sound. Heart pounding, she gave him a casual wave, and then shuddered furiously once he turned away. Of all the rooms in the house, the moths only seemed to enjoy her own, a fact which drove her to distraction. Tossing the pillow across the room and then scanning the ceiling for any other invaders, she sank into the window seat, twitching every few seconds as her skin crawled.

Like small stars orbiting the house, the farmhands circled the property, their flashlights bright points in the night. Coyotes were a constant nuisance this close to the mountains and, after such a cold winter, the animals became more of a problem than usual. But even in a good year, the hungry creatures chased everything from children to cats, and after a few close calls when the girls first arrived, Jonathan had ordered the men to stand guard at night.

Taking a deep breath, Ashley watched them, while the rumble of freight trains on the tracks beyond the forest carried through the darkness. Every so often, the farmhands would pause at a random noise, only to continue circling a moment later, and though she knew they traded off from time to time to allow each other sleep, Jonathan’s orders would keep the lights crossing the fields till morning.

A soft knock sounded behind her. Blinking after the darkness of the stairway, Patrick pushed open the door and then smiled. “Can I come in?”

She nodded.

He glanced around as he stepped inside, and she saw his eyebrow rise at the piles of books in her room. In addition to the dozen teetering on her dresser, more lined the walls while smaller stacks crowded beneath the bed.

Ashley glared in mock threat at his surprise and he grinned.

“I came to say I’m sorry about dinner,” he said, sinking onto the bed next to the window seat.

“It’s nobody’s fault.”

Patrick grimaced, seeming unconvinced as he looked away. His eyes came to rest on the nightstand between them, and the photograph sitting there.

“You look like her, you know,” he said after a moment. “More all the time.”

Ashley glanced at the photo. From Rebecca’s arms, Ashley’s smiling three-year-old self beamed out at the world. Under the blazing summer sun, Rebecca’s black hair glistened and her aquamarine eyes sparkled. Ashley knew her father must have been behind the camera that day, because surely only he could have brought out the joy she saw in her mother’s eyes.

“Lily does more than me.”

“She has her eyes,” he countered, bending to catch Ashley’s deep brown gaze. “You have her smile.”

The words brought a hesitant smile to her lips and she tried to push it away, feeling awkward.

He grinned. “I have a present for you.” He pulled a small package from his back pocket and handed it to her.

For a moment, she stared at the rudimentary wrapping, complete with a tangled blue ribbon tied around the middle. Her eyes rose to meet his.

“Yeah, okay, so I wrapped it myself,” he said. “Do you want it or not?”

“You’re leaving, aren’t you? Sooner than you planned.”

The humor in his expression dissipated. “The powers-that-be want me on the east coast by noon,” he admitted.

She struggled not to gape. “But… you’ll have to leave like…”

“I know.” He jerked his chin toward the present. “But I didn’t want to miss something of your birthday.”

Trying to regroup, she looked down at the package. Brow furrowing at the urge to continue protesting, no matter how pointless she knew it would be, she picked off the wrapping paper and then froze.

The pocket knife was pale steel, but the mother-of-pearl in its handle was kaleidoscopic in the light. With a flick of her thumb, the blade snapped out, small but wickedly sharp.