Wraithsong (6 page)

“
They’re not sure. They
found them—they were killed separately—shot to death—but were
taken—” She doesn’t complete the sentence, but instead looks me
squarely in the eyes. “I need to talk to you.”

“
Okay, I’m here,” I
say.

Her eyes narrow. “This is
important. You must promise me that you won’t use your flair on
anyone, you hear?” Her voice trembles.

“
All right.” I want to ask
why not, but it’s definitely not the appropriate moment.

“
Someone out there is after
us. Someone is out to destroy our kind, and if we reveal ourselves
by using our flair, we could be the next ones killed.”

I take a moment to digest
that. “Okay, I just want to clarify. Our kind is—you’re saying
we’re…Huldras?”

She nods slowly as she
grabs a tissue and dries the tears from her eyes. “Promise me you
won’t tell a soul.”

“
This is crazy,” I
say.

“
It’s the truth—swear to me
you won’t tell a soul!” She grabs my wrist and pulls me in close
just a couple of inches away from her face.

“
If what you’re saying is
true…”

“
What I
am saying
is
true, Sonia. Just promise me you won’t use your flair!” my
mom yells and slams her palm into the table with a loud
bang.

The noise frightens me and
I jump. “I promise,” I wince.

At my words, she relaxes a
little. “It’s late and I need to get some rest.”

“
Okay.” A million questions
crowd my mind. “I’m sorry about—” I don’t even know what to say so
I stop talking.

“
I know, sweetheart—thank
you.” She cups my face with her hand, then grabs my head, pulling
it closer to her, and kisses me on the forehead. She stands up and
goes to the master bedroom, locking the door behind her. I’m in
shock. She says I’m a Huldra. She’s a Huldra. Can I believe it? I
don’t know; all I know is that this is so outrageous I can’t wrap
my mind around it.

I hurry to my room and flip
open my laptop to do a search on Huldras. There are a lot of
results that come up. The first website reads:

Huldras have been around
since the days of Adam and Eve. Huldras have many advantages over
humans, the main advantage being that they can control humans in
many subtle and ingenious ways.

Is that what my mom meant
by saying she’s been playing this game of manipulation since the
days of Adam and Eve? But surely she isn’t that old? I scroll down
the page and continue to read.

Another advantage Huldras
have is that nearly all humans don’t believe they exist. A human
doesn’t even know that they are being controlled, because they
don’t know that they can be controlled. Huldras hide their
identities from humans exceptionally well. Not only that, but a
Huldra never gives away her own kind.

Now I understand a bit more
about why my mom is so secretive about it. I click into another
website and see a drawing of a forest maiden that has long, blonde
hair, is dressed in sheer white fabric, revealing cleavage and lots
of leg.

Most stories of the
Huldras tell of the way they can mesmerize and seduce any man, no
matter how faithful he is to his wife or lover. However, what all
the stories leave out is that Huldras can control anyone, both male
and female. The secret isn’t only in a Huldra’s beauty, though a
Huldra is always stunningly beautiful, but the secret is in her
flair—or in other words, in the combination of her beauty, her
saliva, and in all the virtues and character traits she has
appropriated from humans. Though it has been said that Huldras are
on earth to do good, don’t let them fool you. Huldras are only
after two things: Control and appropriations.

Appropriated from
humans—that sounds really sinister. Of course, I already knew about
the saliva part, but I don’t yet know how to use it to my
advantage—only to my detriment. I wonder if these sites are
accurate or not, and who would know about Huldras to write about
them? The websites do state that this is just folklore and Norse
Mythology, not reality. I click on another link, but discover
nothing really important. I click on a few more, but my well of
information has run dry. Then I click on one more, just in case it
might contain more valuable information. It does.

When a Huldra turns
eighteen, that’s when her powers fully develop and she learns how
to use them. It is a second birth, a new beginning, a time full of
magical transformations. It is also a very dangerous time, in which
the Huldra can lose control of her urges, destroying herself and
the humans she comes in contact with, unless she is guided in the
right direction.

If this website even has an
ounce of truth to it, this information explains why I’ve acted so
rashly lately. I click into a few more websites, but there isn’t
really any valuable information to find, or at least, anything that
sounds even remotely credible. I lay my head on my pillow and think
about what my mom told me and what I just read. Appropriations?
Second birth? Magical transformations? Dangerous time? My life is
about to change completely. The thought frightens me; yet, it
excites me like nothing else has ever excited me. And as irrational
as it sounds though, I feel comfort in finally being given a
name—Huldra.

Chapter 5

The next morning, my mom
has already left the house when I get up. Usually she goes to
Detweiler’s Fresh Market to purchase produce for the week, and I
catch up on my homework. But not today. Today, I’m meeting Anthony
for lunch, so I hop in the shower. In the shower, when my skin
comes in contact with water, the familiar pricking sensation
spreads across my back. I reach behind to my back and the
transparent markings swell just a tad. The websites hadn’t
mentioned anything about these patterns, but I’m dying to find out
what their purpose is—if any. I towel dry and pick out a pair of
skinny jeans, a peach satin top and my gold wedges. I curl my hair
and apply a little more make-up than usual.

Of all the places Anthony
can choose to go to lunch, he picks his house. I’m not sure what to
expect, but I know I don’t want to meet his mother. Being thrown up
onto a stage where I have to perform and be judged is the last
thing in the world I want to do right now, or ever. I lock the door
to the house and drive east.

Pulling into the Founders
Club, I stop at the wide double gates. Founders Club is known as
the multi-millionaire luxury subdivision, and I’ve never been
inside, only driven by the front gates.

“
Where to, Miss?” the guard
asks. His russet guard uniform blends in with the stucco guard
tower.

“
Uh, Mr. Anthony’s house,”
I say, now realizing I don’t know Anthony’s last name. I text him
quickly, hoping he’ll reply before the guard figures out that there
is no Mr. Anthony or before he sends me to some stranger’s house.
The text comes back.

My surname is
Jensen
and the address is:
10849

“
Sir?” I say, leaning out
the window. “Sorry, I meant the Jensen residence. My name is Sonia
Fredriksen.”

“
Ah, yes, Maureen phoned in
and said she was expecting you,” the guard says.

I nod. Maureen must be
Anthony’s mom and the thought makes me suddenly uneasy. Maybe I
should call Anthony back and say I’ve fallen ill. I don’t want to
have lunch with Anthony’s mom there because it would just be plain
awkward.

“
Thanks.” I drive in
through the gates. There’s a large brick-paved roundabout and in
the center stands a handful of Washington palms, surrounded by
yellow and blue flowers that I don’t know the names of. I steer my
car around the bend and take the road to the left. Numerous oak
trees covered with Spanish moss grow on the golf course to the
right, and a small river runs underneath the bridge
ahead.

“
Number 10849,” I say out
loud, stopping at a huge white stucco house and peer out my window.
Dark grey ceramic tiles line the rooftop and a red-bricked driveway
leads into the three-car garage. A small red BMW stands parked in
the driveway and I wonder if it’s Anthony’s, realizing I’ve never
seen his car. Parking my car, I get out of the car and step up to
the entrance doors inlaid with burgundy glass. I don’t even ring
the doorbell before a maid opens the door for me.

“
Welcome, Miss Fredriksen,”
the maid says and smiles warmly. Her black dress looks like it’s
been ironed a hundred times; there’s not a single wrinkle anywhere.
She lets me in and closes the door behind me. “May I take your
purse for you?” She holds out her hands.

“
No, thank you,” I say,
clenching it tightly, thinking it’s clearly a mistake coming here.
This will be the most awkward lunch I’ve ever had. I swallow
nervously and glue on a smile, ignoring my dry throat and clammy
hands.

The grand foyer has amber
marble floors. A huge crystal chandelier hovers over a glass table
in the center of the octagon-shaped room, and on the glass table
there are orange calla lilies mixed with white and red long-stemmed
roses. At the end of the hall is another vestibule with round
column pillars on either side, and in the room at the end are
sliding glass doors, and beyond that, a pool. A stairwell curves up
along the wall on the right, and paintings of nature adorn the
stairwell wall. The railing is a Norse, swirling pattern
constructed from brushed golden metal.

“
Welcome to our humble
home,” a woman says. Her short dark hair is slicked back behind her
ears and with perfect posture, she reaches both hands out to greet
me. “I’m Maureen, Anthony’s mother. My, aren’t you a beauty.” Her
eyes are intense.

Ugh, I sense the
performance has just begun. “Pleased to meet you,” I say, realizing
immediately that
formality
is the word of the day.

“
Anthony is just finishing
up with preparing your lunch. Unfortunately I cannot join you
today. I hope you’ll forgive me. May I take you to him?” Maureen
says, locking my arm in hers. She smells heavily of super-expensive
perfume.

I’m relieved to hear she
won’t be joining us. “Sure—I mean—yes, of course.” I strain as
pleasant a smile as I can manage. There’s something different about
Anthony’s mother. Her demeanor demands me to call her mother,
preferably with a capital
M
. And even if her physical
appearance had been nourished by
Ponce de
Leon’s
Fountain of Youth, she looks too
young to have a child Anthony’s age.

“
Anthony was very excited
to have you visit,” Maureen says.

Her warm smile puts me at
ease, and I am much happier now that I know she won’t be joining
us. “I’m glad he invited me,” I say. We walk through the foyer and
into a hallway with ivory pillars.

“
Mother, you didn’t have to
escort her in here; she can walk herself. It probably made her feel
imposed upon,” Anthony says as we enter the black and white
kitchen. I notice how much more formal his tone is around Maureen.
“Excuse my mother. She takes pride in treating our guests like
hostages.” He smiles, but I almost get the feeling he means
it.

“
Royalty—not hostages, and
there’s nothing wrong with that, is there?” Maureen says. “I
wouldn’t want your lovely guest to think that we’re rude.” She
releases her arm from around me and I can finally
breathe.

Anthony’s wearing a cobalt
blue dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves, and it really brings out
his blue eyes. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in shorts and from
the muscles in his legs, I can tell that he’s an
athlete.

“
So you cook?” I ask,
pushing my wavy, loose hair behind my ears. As he moves closer to
me, the scent of my favorite men’s cologne emanates around
him.

“
My mother taught me, but
don’t set your expectations too high. I made sandwiches by myself,
and it’s the first time.” He laughs. “Let me show you around the
house before we eat.”

“
It was a pleasure meeting
you, Sonia,” Maureen says and lightly touches my elbow. Then she
nods faintly toward Anthony, almost like she’s reminding him about
something. Anthony grimaces so subtly that I wouldn’t have noticed
had I not been staring at him, and then he looks down at the
floor.

“
If you need anything,
Anthony, I’ll be working on some of my affairs in the parlor,”
Maureen says.

“
Thank you, Mother,”
Anthony says coolly.

Maureen smiles at Anthony,
but her smile isn’t loving and there’s something in her eyes that
almost resembles annoyance and stress. From the corner of my eye, I
detect that Anthony’s face falls. Once Maureen has left, I turn to
Anthony again.

“
My mother’s a very busy
woman, please don’t be offended.”

“
I’m not offended at all.
Kind of relieved, actually.” I raise my eyebrows and grin, hoping
he won’t pick up on that what I said was not a joke.

Anthony smiles back and
laughs. Taking my arm in his, he leads me into the hallway,
steering us toward the living room. My stomach tightens. “This is
the main living room,” he says. Off-white leather couches with
zebra and orange pillows stand in the center of the room, facing a
fireplace, which stands on the wall to the left of the hallway.
There’s also a large flat screen TV in the room. “That’s the
breakfast nook,” he says, pointing to a huge room decorated with
what looks like European art. In the center of the room stands a
long rectangular oak table surrounded by tufted dark brown leather
dining chairs. “Through that hallway is the family room with the
entertainment center,” he says, pointing.