The Eternal Ones (10 page)

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Authors: Kirsten Miller

BOOK: The Eternal Ones
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Beau’s eyebrow shot toward the stars. “You mean you saw—”
“No!” Haven interrupted before he could spell it out. “They were just talking. But it was pretty clear they’d been together.”
“Wait—hold on a second. I don’t know what you saw, but Constance must have forgiven Ethan. Remember—you told your dad they eloped! You showed me the notes!”
“Let’s just drop it, okay,” Haven pleaded. “Whatever happened between them, it’s pretty clear their relationship wasn’t exactly ‘soul mate’ material. I’m not interested in hooking up with some guy who cheated on Constance. But I’m still supposed to find Ethan. I can’t explain why, but I know I’ll go completely insane if I don’t.” It was the only conclusion Haven had managed to reach.
“So what’s your plan?”
“I’m going to go to New York like you said I should. You were right about the Ouroboros Society. I need to pay them a visit. I saw Constance there in my last vision, and I think she may have been a member. Plus, their Website said they help people solve ‘mysteries from the past.’ I guess this qualifies, right? And maybe—just maybe—I’ll try to say hello to Iain Morrow. So. What do you think? Want to take a trip? You think your truck can make it up to New York in one piece?”
“You’re saying you want
me
to go?” Beau looked away into the woods, as though searching for an excuse among the trees. “I’d love to, Haven, but we’ve got school.”
Haven’s spirits sank to new depths. “But it would only be for a few days. Come on, Beau! You were the one who told me I needed to go!”
“I still think you should. But I can’t,” Beau replied stubbornly. “Who’d take care of my dad while I was gone?”
The ridiculousness of the question pushed Haven over the edge. “Your dad’s forty years old! What’s going on here?” Haven demanded. “Why have you suddenly turned into some sort of wuss?”
Before Beau could answer, they heard a shriek from the house.
“Never mind. I gotta go,” Haven said, shaking her head in disgust. “Imogene must have caught sight of her own reflection.”
“Will I see you at school tomorrow?” Beau asked as Haven stormed off.
“Of course,” Haven said without turning around, unable to give any other answer to someone she’d just called a coward.
 
INSIDE, HAVEN RAN straight into her grandmother, who was hurrying toward the phone in the kitchen. The old lady’s hairdo was tucked under a protective net and her robe tied too tight to offer even the briefest glimpse of her nightgown. It was hard to believe that Imogene had once been the beauty who, according to Mae, favored ruby-red lipstick and tight sweaters and drove all the Snope City boys crazy.
“Where’d you come from?” Imogene yelped. “Were you outside?”
“Had to get some fresh air,” Haven said. “What were you screeching about just now?”
“Did you see anything when you were out there?” Imogene asked breathlessly. “I was looking out the sitting room window, and I could have sworn I saw a man sneaking across the lawn. I was fixing to wake up your mama and call the police when you came through the door.”
“It was Beau.”
“I don’t think so, Haven.”
“Take my word for it. I was just out there. You saw Beau.”
At last, Imogene appeared convinced. “And what exactly were you two doing outside on the lawn at nine P.M.?”
“Oh, hell, Imogene, you might as well know. We were out there summoning Satan.”
The old lady’s eyes bulged as if she were being strangled. “That is
not
funny, Haven Moore.”
“Who said I was joking?” Haven left Imogene standing in the hall and started for the stairs to her room. She could hear her grandmother’s slippers sliding across the floor behind her.
“Just where do you think you’re going, Haven?” Imogene demanded. “You better start taking this situation seriously, young lady. You have no idea what kind of trouble you’re in. Do you even remember what you said to Dr. Tidmore?”
Haven spun around at the base of the stairs. “Why don’t you go ahead and tell me?”
“They say you called him a . . .” Imogene put her hand over her mouth and whispered prissily. “Bastard.”
Haven rolled her eyes. “That all?”
“You accused him of having relations with someone named Rebecca Underwood.”
Haven felt herself blushing. Hearing Imogene Snively refer to sex was like hearing the queen of England make a fart joke. “Wait a minute. How do ‘they’ know all this?”
“Eula Duncan told everyone you were yelling something awful. And Dr. Tidmore called this morning to cancel all your appointments with him. He said he needs to spend more time in prayer before he can confront your demon again. He told me I’ll have to watch you like hawk in the meantime. He’s convinced you might try to run away. And he thinks that if you have any more visions we should consider having you put away for your own good.”
“Put away? You mean in a
mental institution
? Like Mama? You’d really do that?”
Even Imogene seemed to know she’d taken things too far. “It would only be temporary. I just don’t know what else to do after everything that’s happened. I never expected much of you, Haven. But this . . .”
“Well, whatever I’ve done, it’s all
your
fault,” Haven declared. “How dare you go through my things and give my personal possessions away?”
“Are you saying
I’m
responsible for this? I’m
trying
to save your soul, you ungrateful child. I saw the look in your eyes after you fainted in the sitting room. It was
lust
. I saw the same look in your mama’s eyes after she met that no-good philanderer she married. You want to end up like her, Haven? Is that what you want?”
“You mean end up like
you
, Grandma?” Haven had finally said it.
Imogene gasped.
“Yeah, I’ve done the math. Either Mama was three months premature or you suffered from a little lust yourself.”
The slap caught Haven unprepared. She glared at the old woman, then brushed past her and started climbing the stairs.
“You get back here this instant!” Imogene snarled.
“I have to get ready for bed,” Haven told her through clenched teeth. “There’s school in the morning.” She would have loved nothing better than to stay and fight—to have it out with her grandmother once and for all. But she knew she had to resist. Imogene was looking for any excuse to lock her away, and Haven wasn’t about to give one to her.
“School?” The idea seemed to strike Imogene as ludicrous. “You don’t really plan to go to
school
tomorrow, do you?”
“Why shouldn’t I?” Haven snapped back. “Who’s gonna stop me?”
 
SAFE IN HER BEDROOM with the door locked, Haven stared at the silver snake spinning on the computer screen. Imogene would be breathing down her neck for weeks to come. She might be able to keep Haven trapped in Snope City, but she couldn’t stop her from searching for answers. Haven clicked the
Our Headquarters
link on the Ouroboros Society Website and found herself gazing at a photograph of an old, ivy-covered mansion. Somehow it was as familiar to her as the Snively house. As Haven studied it, the sky behind the building darkened and lights appeared in its windows.
 
She was climbing the stairs to the mansion. The silver snake near the front door was the first clue that she had found the right address. Before she had a chance to knock, the door opened as if her arrival had been anticipated. As a servant led her toward the parlor, an arm whisked her out of the hall and into a dark closet filled with winter furs.
“I saw you on the stoop.” It was his voice. “We have a few moments before anyone finds us.”
He pushed her against the wall, a mink coat serving as a cushion. His hands traced the outline of her figure, and she felt his lips on hers as he bent to kiss her. For three weeks, she had thought of nothing but this moment. She forced herself not to faint, refusing to let her legs collapse beneath her. Still, it was over too soon.
The way Ethan took her hand, she knew she was already his. He steered her though the mansion to the parlor, where a group of people stood chatting by the fire. She hadn’t seen Ethan since Rome, and she wished she could study him for just a few minutes. When he caught her peering up at him, he offered the same devilish grin that had made her heart pound in the Piazza Navona.
“Here she is,” Ethan said, presenting her to a white-haired gentleman in an old-fashioned suit. “This is Constance. Constance, I’d like you to meet Dr. August Strickland, the founder of the Ouroboros Society, the club so exclusive that no one can pronounce its name.”
Dr. Strickland laughed. “It’s a pleasure, Miss Whitman. I have heard a great deal about you. Ethan says you’ll make a wonderful addition to our Society.”
She looked up at Ethan in surprise and his grin grew broader.
“And this,” he said, gesturing to a stunning young woman standing by the doctor’s side. “This is Rebecca Underwood.”
“Your lipstick is smudged,” the girl pointed out. Rebecca’s voice was friendly, her expression deadly. Constance couldn’t remember meeting anyone else who’d taken such an instant dislike to her.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
As soon as Mae dropped her off outside Blue Mountain, Haven saw the faces staring at her through the bank of glass doors that led into the lobby. But it wasn’t until she was inside the school that she realized what a terrible mistake she’d made. At least twenty people had gathered near the entrance, waiting for Haven to make an appearance. Led by Bradley Sutton, they followed her as she made her way down the hall toward her locker, some walking so close behind her that she could smell the bacon on their breath. Many of the students Haven passed looked on helplessly. A few slunk back into their classrooms. When she reached her locker, Haven discovered it had been decorated with dozens of images torn from books. Satan leered at her from each of them. There was even a hand-drawn picture of Haven and the devil cavorting naked in a graveyard. The artist had taken liberties with Haven’s anatomy that might have made her laugh under other circumstances.
Instead, she felt herself struggling to breathe. She ripped down the pictures and opened her locker. A pile of fabric tumbled to the floor, and she reached down to pick up an emerald rag that had been ripped in a dozen places. She barely recognized Morgan Murphy’s prom dress. The dress that hadn’t been paid for.
“We always took you for a freak.” Haven tried to ignore Morgan’s hate-filled voice as she searched for her math book at the bottom of the locker. “I mean, who goes into trances and says perverted crap in the fourth grade? But we never figured you’d turn out to be dangerous. What do you do with the money you make off of us, anyway? Spend it on black candles and goats to slaughter?”
“Hey, how’d that demon get up inside you, Haven?” one of the boys called.
Haven felt the tap of a finger on her back, and she let out a screech. Leah Frizzell was standing behind her.
“You okay?” the scrawny girl asked. Haven gulped and said nothing, afraid she might pass out at any moment. While the invisible flames began to climb Haven’s legs, Leah released her fury on the crowd. “Who do y’all think you are?” she yelled. “What right do you have to torture this girl? You think this is how Christians are meant to act? You think your preacher’s going to be happy when he hears about this?”
Bradley Sutton started to laugh. “How about that? The Holy Roller’s sticking up for the devil. You got any snakes on you today, Leah?”
“I’ve got something for you, Bradley.” Beau had arrived on the scene. “You wanna see what it is?”
“Look, now we’ve got a Holy Roller, a demon, and a big ol’ homo.” Dewey Jones snickered.
“It’s better than a bunch of damn hypocrites!” Leah yelled, working herself into a lather. “You go around drinking and gossiping and having sex with anything that moves, and you think you’re so righteous?”
“All right, everybody.” It was Principal Cogdill—a notorious disciplinarian who’d been promoted to the job from PE instructor in Haven’s freshman year. “Mr. Decker, don’t even
think
about starting a fight. The rest of you, get to class. Miss Moore, maybe you’d like to come with me?”
Haven took a single step before her knees buckled, and she crumpled into a lump at the principal’s feet.
 
As they strolled past the restaurant’s window, she checked her reflection. The golden dress she’d designed herself sparkled under the streetlamp.
“You’re lovelier than you’ve ever been,” Ethan whispered in her ear. She laughed and released her grip on his arm as he opened the door for her. It was their first night out since the funeral—the first night either of them had felt up for an evening on the town.
Inside the restaurant, the crowd roared, their spirits lifted by homemade gin served in crystal water glasses. A suave man in a tuxedo was singing “Yes, Sir! That’s My Baby.”
“Look!” a female voice called out over the music. A tipsy woman stood up and pointed toward the front of the restaurant where they were waiting to be seated. The woman’s long strands of pearls swayed from side to side. One by one, every last head swiveled in their direction. Silently, with eyebrows raised and jaws slack, the diners waited to see what would happen next.
“Miss Whitman, Mr. Evans!” The maître d’ was rushing toward them. “What are you doing here?”
“Is something the matter?” Ethan inquired, and for a moment the man was struck dumb.
“You must leave,” he whispered at last. “Come back in a few weeks when the talk has died down.”
“What talk?” she insisted.
“Murderer!” a man’s voice shouted from the back of the room.
“Please!” urged the maître d’.
A blinding flash of light greeted them as they returned to the sidewalk outside the restaurant. Ethan grabbed the man with the camera by his collar.

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