The May Queen Murders (11 page)

suspected — some hal ucinogenic accident because I wandered too

close to smoke from Milo’s Mary Jane.

Excuses didn’t make what I saw less of a warning.

August swore he wouldn’t speak of it. I believed him, but I wouldn’t

find peace of mind until I saw the real Heather. I final y found her

outside by the football field at school with a joint between her fore-

finger and thumb.

I held my sketchbook to my chest. “W-we need to talk.”

“About?” She puffed on the joint and offered me a hit, but I shook

my head.

“I’m worried. I saw something when you left the trailer park —”

She held up a hand. “Hold up. You followed me to the trailer park?

Ivy?”

“I didn’t follow you.”

She tipped back her head and took a few noisy breaths. They were

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supposed to be calming breaths, yet her shoulders went high at her

neck. “So what is it?”

“You’re in trouble,” I said.

“Did Marsh see me? Uncle Timothy?”

“No,
danger
trouble. Mamie’s stories ’bout shadow selves and

how they’re death omens? I saw yours, Heather! You know what that

means!” I felt sil y saying it, knowing how easy she would dismiss it

as foolery. Stil , I had to warn her in the hope that maybe — not now

but later, once she was alone — she’d hear me and be careful.

She gave a smoky laugh, then a doubtful scan from my face to

my toes and back to my face. She knew I wasn’t joking, but still she

scoffed.

“You gotta be kidding me.” Heather finished her joint, grinding

out the cherry on the metal overhang of the bleachers. “You’re all

worked up over nothing.”

“Will you please listen?” I begged.

“You know what your problem is, Ivy?” she snapped. “If it were

up to you, everybody’d only listen. Wel , I can’t listen anymore. Some

things I gotta
do.
”

“Can you at least be careful?”

“I’m with someone who makes me feel safe.”

A lump formed in my throat. Who always kept an eye on us? Who

was always the protective boy-next-door? And if Rook knew she’d

gone back to Milo for more weed, he’d be hurt.

I was hurt.

“I’ll be fine, Ivy,” she promised.

She stepped out from the bleachers and into the grass, the jingling

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of her necklace of found things loud against the stillness of the park-

ing lot.

I prayed what I saw was nothing. Because I couldn’t save her.

"

After school, I’d been at the clinic only a few minutes when Papa

finished checking a coydog named Ratter for ear mites. Papa waited

until Ratter’s owner left before he placed his palm against my fore-

head, then untucked his stethoscope from his col ar, pressing it to

my back while I breathed for him.

“You feel okay? You’re pale,” he said.

I didn’t get pale. Not with my mother’s Mexican blood in me. “I’m

fine.”

I reached for the jar of dog treats on the counter and knocked off

a pair of scissors. Papa eyed the metal blades, open with one point-

ing toward the entrance and the other pointing at me. Neither of us

could retrieve them. It had to wait until a guest arrived. Otherwise,

bad luck would come.

“I’ll have my next appointment get them,” Papa said. “You go

home. Get some rest. I can walk you there.”

“I’ll go by myself,” I said, brushing away his hand as he attempted

to usher me out from behind the counter.

Papa frowned, but I pushed past him. I sensed him still frowning

as I exited, walking past the weathered lost dog signs. There was

no escape, not at the clinic, at school, not anywhere. It didn’t matter

where I went, dread followed, wraithlike.

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Death’s a-comin’, Ivy. Watch the signs.

I shook Mamie’s voice from my head. Superstitions weren’t worth

a dime if the person they meant to warn didn’t heed them.

I started on the path and looked back once to see Papa waiting

by the door. He’d built his practice close to the road to attract farm-

ers and the occasional townie who liked the idea of the country vet.

The distance wasn’t long to the heart of the Glen, where the home-

steads lay, and the dirt road was well-beaten by hillfolks’ boots, their

carts and horses. But I didn’t stop once I reached my house; I went

deeper into the fields, until the road crumbled away, overtaken by

patchy grass. Above me, the sky held its breath, turning dark blues

and grays, spring storm colors that made the trees’ new buds seem

all that much greener, the red of the barns that much more vivid.

I reached the horse paddock and peeled away a pernicious vine

rooting near the rusted gate, and then I nickered at the horses. Be-

tween a sorrel and bay, Whimsy lifted her dark head, ears forward.

She plodded forth and met me. My hands stroked the sides of her

muscular neck and the silken coat as she warmed me.

“I’m gonna ride you today,” I told her. “I’m gonna forget every-

thing. We’ll trample the ground. I’ll take you down to the river, and

we can go as deep as you want.”

Her big nostrils puffed, her whiskery lips loose. I had reached

for her when she reared three steps. Whipping around, I glimpsed

brown trousers and dark hair disappearing behind a cart loaded with

hay. I left Whimsy’s side and rounded the cart, covering my mouth

in surprise.

Rook didn’t look right. Stubble scruffed his cheeks. Some curious

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part of me wanted to run my hand over him, his roughness. By the

gray light, his skin was pasty, the natural flush of his lips even redder.

He was handsome and spooked.

“I haven’t seen you in days,” he said.

Which was true. Rook hadn’t been in class. August claimed what

we’d found in the field had left him bone-sick. Looking at the sad

hollows of Rook’s face, I saw August hadn’t lied.

“What’s goin’ on, Rook?” I asked.

He gestured to the horses. “Wanna ride?”

I had reasons not to go: the danger of being outside at dusk, fear-

ing what he might tell me — and what I might say, hurting Heather.

But it was Rook asking me.

I slipped inside the stable with him. Dust danced in the sunbeams

where light poured through the barred windows. His boots scattered

hay on the concrete floor while barn swallows nested. Rook lifted

two bridles from the tack room, and it was all I could do not to pic-

ture him sitting with his legs apart as Heather spun topless before

him. Bile stung my throat.

He slung the bridles over his shoulder. “I wanted to see you soon-

er, but my pops said you needed space after . . .”

His words trailed off as he handed me Whimsy’s bridle and I eased

it over her head. If he saw how my hands shook, he didn’t let on.

He followed with his blue roan gelding, Journey. We rode bareback

down the Glen’s far northwestern edge, wandering near the riverbed.

I listened to the horses’ hooves against the earth, their tails whisking

in tandem.

“My folks say if you dream of someone, they’re awake and pacing,”

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Rook said as he negotiated Journey around a swath of bel adonna.

“Do you have trouble sleeping, Ivy?”

I slowed Whimsy’s gait. He dreamed of
me?

Heather,
Heather,
Heather . . .

Yet I didn’t want to break the spell by saying her name.

Rook steered Journey in a half circle to peer at me. “I shouldn’t

have said anything.”

“Why’d you come out here with me instead of Heather?” I asked.

“Why would I be with Heather?” He seemed puzzled. “You’re the

one I want to talk to.”

He dug his heels into Journey’s sides. He wore new boots, not the

ones with the scuffed toes. The horse sauntered onward. I kicked

Whimsy forward and launched into a posting trot, my hips moving

up and down with her rhythm.

The wind blew my skirt even higher above my knees. I listened

to the rush of the river and groan of Denial Mill turning. Behind

us were more fields and barns succumbing to decay. A scarecrow

leaned on a post, his overal s stuffed with hay and a tattered, leather

hat hiding his sack face.

Alone with me, Rook watched the dark river water sloshing over

the rocky shore. His fists wound in Journey’s reins until the knuckles

protruded white. “I’m tired, Ivy. Too damn many nightmares.”

“T-tell me what you dream,” I said.

I motioned to a sizable chunk of limestone half submerged in the

water. It was big enough for the both of us to sit. We weren’t pre-

pared, no blanket to protect against the rock’s scrape, no lantern to

light the way once it grew dark. We’d made a stupid move coming out

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alone when death roamed the Glen. Yet my blood tingled. Alive. So

alive. Scared. So scared. Of what I’d hear. Of being with him.

I dismounted Whimsy and took her to the water’s edge where she

drank. Rook brought down Journey, and we unclipped the horses’

reins and climbed onto the limestone. Rook’s legs dangled over the

rock’s edge, his body deflated like his insides were no longer ripe

with blood. The wind was cool, but his heat radiated against my

arm. Questions rolled around my mind, and I couldn’t ruin the hush

by speaking. Because I liked that moment. I couldn’t bear to think

about its price.

Rook cracked his knuckles, blurting out, “I’m thinkin’ ’bout leav-

ing the Glen.”

“What? No!” I felt as if kicked from behind and teetering on the

rock’s edge. “Y-you can’t!”

Before I could stop myself, I reached for him as if by latching our

fingers, I could stop him from running. Heather had already pulled

away. I couldn’t lose both of them. I squeezed his hand, tight and

tighter.

“You’re Sheriff’s son,” I persisted. “That’s gonna be your job some-

day.”

He looked at our hands, blinking behind his glasses. “I dream the

goat’s blood turns into a puddle beneath our feet that gets so big it

sucks you down. I look but can’t find you. Then we both drown in

blood. I sound like I’ve lost my mind.”

A whimper peeped through my lips.

“No,” I said, “you sound like someone who’s seen something aw-

ful. But you can’t run away, Rook.
I
don’t want you to go.”

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He stiffened. Every inch of him tensed. I unwound my fingers

from his before placing my hands on his shoulders, broad shoulders

he had yet to grow into and yet seemed like they could withstand the

chaos inside me. His neck bowed forward. A wisp of his black hair

fell and twisted into mine.

Stay, Rook.

“The Glen can be safe again,” I promised. “Our families built this

place to keep the outside world away. What’s happening now? It’s

that monster in the woods.”

“Birch Markle?” Rook scoffed.

“They said the Devil got him,” I said. “He could’ve come back.”

“More reason to get away from here.”

I dug my fingers into his shoulders and fought the lump in my

throat. “You can’t go ’cause I can’t stand the idea of you leavin’, of you

bein’ with someone else!”

I clamped my hands over my mouth. I’d said too much. He was

with Heather, not me. Guilt flooded my blood, dizzying me. Rook’s

eyes widened. That hint of movement was the only indication he’d

heard me. His face was like a full moon, haunted and stripped of all

its shadows. But me? My skin burned from my chest all the way up

to my ears.

Then Rook took my hands. “What d’you mean? You don’t want

me with anyone else?”

“Just ignore me. It don’t matter.” My face was so hot, and I tried to

pull my fingers from his to fan myself, but he didn’t let go.

The tip of my nose grazed his cheek as his forehead pressed to

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mine. His breath drew in. I ached to feel his mouth, to fold my lips

between his. I didn’t want to hold back, but going forward would be

wrong.

He tucked my hair behind my ear and balanced his mouth over

mine. I turned my face. “I can’t.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I know you’re with Heather.”

“No, I ain’t. I wanna be with you, Ivy.”

I sniffed.
What?
“Wait. Heather was with someone in the stable.

Wasn’t it you?”

He furrowed his brow. “No. Of course not.”

My heart pounded in my ears, and I stared at him in disbelief.

What I’d thought was true, how I’d been hurt so badly, it was all a

mistake. His fingers stroked down my neck, twisting the cord of Au-

gust’s necklace between them, and right before he found the acorn,

I tucked it inside my shirt col ar. I should’ve never taken it from Au-

gust, but it was nice at the time.

Rook’s mouth skimmed mine. “I like you, Ivy. I’ve always liked

you.”

His lips were gentle as they touched mine. It took several passes

of our mouths before we warmed to each other. His hands cuffed

my arms and then slipped around to my back. He eased me onto

his lap and kissed me again. And again. Everything I ever wondered

about how his lips felt — the truth was softer, wetter than I imagined.

His hands wandered down from the middle of my back to my hips,

to my thighs. My chest rose from holding my breath, but his lips