Beautiful Darkness - Chapter 11

Bookworm
If it was good enough for Melvil Dewey, it's good enough for me.” Marian winked at me as she pulled a stack of new books out of a cardboard box,
sniffing deeply. There were books everywhere, in a circle around her almost up to her head.
Lucille was weaving through the towers of books, prowling for a lost cicada. Marian made an exception to the Gatlin County Library's no-pets
rule since the place was full of books but empty of people. Only an idiot would be in the library on the first day of summer, or someone who needed
a distraction. Someone who wasn't speaking to his girlfriend, or wasn't being spoken to by his girlfriend, or didn't know if he even still had one — all
in the space of the two longest days of his life.
I still hadn't talked to Lena. I told myself it was because I was too angry, but that was one of those lies you tell when you're trying to convince
yourself that you're doing the right thing. The truth was, I didn't know what to say. I didn't want to ask the questions, and I was scared to hear the
answers. Besides, I wasn't the one who ran off with some guy on a motorcycle.
“It's chaos. Dewey decimal is mocking you. I can't even find one almanac on the history of the moon's orbital pattern.” The voice from the stacks
startled me.
“Now, Olivia …” Marian smiled to herself as she examined the bindings of the books in her hands. It was hard to believe she was old enough to
be my mother. With not a streak of gray in her short hair, and not a wrinkle in her golden-brown skin, she didn't look more than thirty.
“Professor Ashcroft, this isn't 1876. Times do change.” It was a girl's voice. She had an accent — British, I think. I'd only heard people talk that
way in James Bond movies.
“So has the Dewey decimal system. Twenty-two times, to be exact.” Marian shelved a stray book.
“What about the Library of Congress?” The voice sounded exasperated.
“Give me a hundred more years.”
“The Universal Decimal Classification?” Now irritated.
“This is South Carolina, not Belgium.”
“Perhaps the Harvard-Yenching system?”
“Nobody in this county speaks Chinese, Olivia.”
A blond, lanky girl poked her head out from behind the stacks. “Not true, Professor Ashcroft. At least, not for the summer holidays.”
“You speak Chinese?” I couldn't help myself. When Marian had mentioned her summer research assistant, she hadn't told me the girl would be
a teenage version of herself. Except for the streaky, honey-colored hair, the pale skin, and the accent, they could have been mother and daughter.
Even at first glance, the girl had a vague degree of Marian-ness that was hard to describe and that you wouldn't find in anyone else in town.
The girl looked at me. “You don't?” She poked me in the ribs. “That was a joke. In my opinion, people in this country barely speak English.” She
smiled and held out her hand. She was tall, but I was taller, and she looked up at me as if she was already confident we were great friends. “Olivia
Durand. Liv, to my friends. You must be Ethan Wate, which I find hard to believe, actually. The way Professor Ashcroft talks about you, I was
expecting more of a swashbuckler, with a bayonet.”
Marian laughed, and I turned red. “What has she been telling you?”
“Only that you're incredibly brilliant and brave and virtuous, quite the save-the-day sort. Every bit the son you would expect of the beloved Lila
Evers Wate. And that you'll be my lowly assistant this summer, so I can boss you around all I like.” She smiled at me, and I blanked.
She was nothing like Lena, but nothing like the girls in Gatlin either. Which was in itself more than confusing. Everything she was wearing had a
weathered look, from her faded jeans and the random bits of string and beads around her wrists, to her holey silver high-tops, held together with
duct tape, and her ratty Pink Floyd T-shirt. She had a big, black plastic watch with crazy-looking dials on the face, caught between the bits of string. I
was too embarrassed to say anything.
Marian swooped in to rescue me. “Don't mind Liv. She's teasing. ‘Even the gods love jokes,’ Ethan.”
“Plato. And stop showing off.” Liv laughed.
“I will.” Marian smiled, impressed.
“He's not laughing.” Liv pointed at me, suddenly serious. “‘Hollow laughter in marble halls.’ ”
“Shakespeare?” I looked at her.
Liv winked and yanked on her T-shirt. “Pink Floyd. I can see you've got a lot to learn.” A teenage Marian, and not at all what I expected when I
signed on for a summer job in the library.
“Now, children.” Marian held out her hand, and I pulled her up from the floor. Even on a hot day like today, she still managed to look cool. Not a
hair was out of place. Her patterned blouse rustled as she walked in front of me. “I'll leave the stacks to you, Olivia. I have a special project for Ethan
in the archive.”
“Right, of course. The highly trained history student sorts out the stacks, while the unschooled slacker is promoted to the archive. How very
American.” She rolled her eyes and picked up a box of books.
The archive hadn't changed since last month, when I came to ask Marian about a summer job but stayed to talk about Lena and my dad and
Macon. She had been sympathetic, the way she always was. There were piles of old Civil War registries on the shelf above my mother's desk, and
her collection of antique glass paperweights. A glistening, black sphere sat next to the misshapen clay apple I made for her in first grade. My mom's
and Marian's books and notes were still stacked across the desk, over yellowed maps of Ravenwood and Greenbrier spread open on the tables.
Every scribbled scrap of paper I saw made it feel like she was here. Even though everything in my life seemed to be going wrong, I always felt
better in this place. It was like I was with my mom, and she was the one person who always knew how to fix things, or at least make me believe
there was a way to fix them.
But something else was on my mind. “That’s your summer intern?”
“Of course.”
“You didn't tell me she'd be like that.”
“Like what, Ethan?”
“Like you.”
“Is that what's bothering you? The brains, or is it perhaps the long blond hair? Is there a certain way a librarian should look? Big glasses and
hair in a graying bun? I would have thought between your mother and me, we would have disabused you of at least that notion.” She was right. My
mom and Marian had always been two of the most beautiful women in Gatlin. “Liv won't be here very long, and she's not much older than you are. I
was thinking the least you could do would be to show her around town, introduce her to some people your age.”
“Like who? Link? To improve his vocabulary and kill off a few thousand of her brain cells?” I didn't mention that Link would spend most of his
time trying to hook up with her, which I didn't see happening.
“I was thinking of Lena.” The silence in the room was embarrassing, even to me. Of course she had been thinking of Lena. The question was,
why hadn't I? Marian looked at me evenly. “Why don't you tell me what's really on your mind today?”
“What is it you need me to do in here, Aunt Marian?” I didn't feel like talking about it.
She sighed and turned back to the archive. “I thought maybe you could help me sort through some of this. Obviously a great deal of the material
in here relates to the locket and Ethan and Genevieve. Now that we know the end of that story, we might want to make some room for the next one.”
“What's the next one?” I picked up the old photo of Genevieve wearing the locket. I remembered the first time I looked at it with Lena. It felt like
years since then, instead of months.
“It would seem to me that it's yours and Lena's. The events on her birthday raised a number of questions, most of which I can't answer. I've never
heard of an incident when a Caster didn't have to choose Light or Dark on the night of their Claiming — except in the case of Lena's family, when
the choice is made for them. Now that we don't have Macon to help us, I'm afraid we're going to have to search out the answers ourselves.” Lucille
jumped up onto my mother's chair, her ears perking up.
“I wouldn't know where to start.”
“‘He who chooses the beginning of the road chooses the place it leads to.’ ”
“Thoreau?”
“Harry Emerson Fosdick. A bit older and more obscure, but still quite relevant, I think.” She smiled and put her hand on the edge of the door.
“Aren't you going to help me?”
“I can't leave Olivia alone for long, or she'll reshelve the entire collection, and then we'll all have to learn Chinese.” She paused for a moment,
watching me, looking so much like my mom. “I think you can handle this one on your own. At least the beginning.”
“I don't have a choice, do I? You can't really help me since you're a Keeper.” I was still bitter about Marian's revelation that she had known my
mother was involved with the Caster world, but she would never explain why or how. There were so many things about my mother and her death that
Marian had never told me. It always came back to the endless rules that Bound Marian to her job as a Keeper.
“I can only help you help yourself. I can't determine the course of events, the unraveling of Darkness and Light, the Order of Things.”
“That's such a load of crap.”
“What?”
“It's like the prime directive on Star Trek. You have to let the planet evolve at its own pace. You can't introduce hyperspace or warp speed until
they discover it for themselves. But Captain Kirk and the crew of the Enterprise always end up breaking the rule.”
“Unlike Captain Kirk, there is no choice in my case. A Keeper is powerfully Bound to act neither for the Dark nor the Light. I couldn't change my
destiny, even if I wanted to. I have my own place in the natural order of the Caster world, in the Order of Things.”
“Whatever.”
“It's not a choice. I don't have the authority to change the way things work. If I so much as tried, I might destroy not only myself but the very people
I was trying to help.”
“But my mom still ended up dead.” I don't know why I said it, but I couldn't understand the logic. Marian had to remain uninvolved to protect the
people she cared about, but the person she cared about most died anyway.
“Are you asking me if I could've prevented your mother's death?” She knew I was. I looked down at my sneakers. I wasn't sure I was ready to
hear the answer.
Marian put her hand under my chin and pulled my face up to meet hers. “I didn't know your mother was in danger, Ethan. But she knew the
risks.” Her voice was uneven, and I knew I had gone too far, but I couldn't help it. I'd been trying to get up the courage to have this conversation for
months now. “I would have gladly taken her place in that car. Don't you think I have wondered a thousand times if there was something I knew or
could have done that might have saved Lila …” Her voice trailed off.
I feel the same way. You're just holding on to a different edge of the same jagged hole. We're both lost. That's what I wanted to say. Instead, I
let her put her arm around my shoulder and pull me into a rough hug. I barely felt it when the arm slipped away and the door closed behind her.
I stared at the stacks of paper. Lucille jumped down from the chair and onto the table. “Be careful. These are a lot older than you.” She tilted her
head and looked at me with her blue eyes. Then she froze.
She was staring at my mother's chair, eyes wide, fixated. There was nothing there, but I remembered what Amma told me. “Cats can see the
dead. That's why they stare at things the way they do for so long, like they're just lookin’ into thin air. But they're not. They're lookin’ through it.”
I stepped closer to the chair. “Mom?” She didn't answer, or maybe she did, because there was a book lying on the chair that wasn't there a
minute ago. Darkness and Light: The Origins of Magic. It was one of Macon's books. I had seen it in his library at Ravenwood. I lifted it up, and a
gum wrapper fell out — one of my mother's bookmarks, no doubt. I bent down to pick up the wrapper, and the room began to sway, the lights and
colors swirling around me. I tried to focus on something, anything, to keep from falling, but I was too dizzy. The wood floor rushed up to meet me,
and as I hit the ground the smoke burned my eyes —
By the time Abraham returned to Ravenwood, the ash had already made its way inside the house. The charred remnants of Gatlin's great
houses wafted down from the open windows on the second floor like black snowflakes. As he ascended the staircase, Abraham's footsteps
left impressions in the thin black layer already coating the floor. He secured the upstairs windows, without putting The Book of Moons down
for a second. But he couldn't have put it down even if he had wanted to. Ivy, the old cook from Greenbrier, was right; the Book was calling
him, a whisper only he could hear.
When he reached the study, Abraham rested the Book on the polished mahogany desk. He knew exactly which page to turn to, as if the
Book was flipping the pages itself. As if it knew what he wanted. Even though he had never seen the Book before, Abraham knew the answer
was in those pages, an answer that would guarantee Ravenwood's survival.
The Book was offering him the one thing he wanted above all else. But it wanted something in return.
Abraham stared down at the Latin script. He recognized it immediately. It was a Cast he had read about in other books. One he had
always considered more of a myth. But he had been wrong, because it was staring back at him.
Abraham heard Jonah's voice before he saw him. “Abraham, we have to get out of the house. The Federals are coming. They've burned
everything, and they aren't planning to stop until they reach Savannah. We have to get into the Tunnels.”
Abraham's voice was resolute, and it sounded different somehow, even to him. “I'm not going anywhere, Jonah.”
“What are you talking about? We have to save what we can and get out of here.” Jonah grabbed his brother's arm, noticing the open
page beneath them. He stared at the script, unsure he could trust what he was seeing.
“The Daemonis Pactum? The Demon's Trade?” Jonah stepped back. “Is this what I think it is? The Book of Moons?”
“I'm surprised you recognize it. You never paid much attention during our studies.”
Jonah was used to Abraham's insults, but there was something different about his tone tonight. “Abraham, you can't.”
“Don't tell me what I can't do. You would watch this house burn to the ground before you thought to act. You have never been capable of
doing what was required. You are weak, like Mother.”
Jonah flinched, as if someone had struck him. “Where did you get it?”
“You don't need to worry about that.”
“Abraham, be sensible. The Demon's Trade is too powerful. It cannot be controlled. You are making a bargain, without knowing what you
will have to sacrifice. We have other houses.”
Abraham pushed his brother aside. Though Abraham barely touched him, Jonah flew across the room. “Other houses? Ravenwood is
the seat of our family's power in the Mortal world, and you think I intend to allow a few soldiers to burn it to the ground? I can use this to save
Ravenwood.”
Abraham's voice rose. “Exscinde, neca, odium incende; mors portam patefacit. Destroy, kill, hate; death opens the gate.”
“Abraham, stop!”
But it was too late. The words rolled off Abraham's tongue as if he had known them his entire life. Jonah looked around, panicked, waiting
for the Cast to take effect. But he had no idea what his brother had asked for. He only knew that whatever it was, it would be done. That was
the power of the Cast, but there was also a price. It was never the same. Jonah rushed toward his brother, and a small, perfectly round orb,
the size of an egg, slipped from his pocket and rolled across the floor.
Abraham picked up the sphere, glowing at his feet, and rolled it between his fingers. “What are you doing with an Arclight, Jonah? Is
there a particular Incubus you're planning to imprison in this archaic device?”
Jonah backed away as Abraham advanced, matching him step for step, but Abraham was too fast. In the blink of an eye, he pinned
Jonah against the wall, his iron grip closing around his brother's throat.
“No. Of course not. I —”
Abraham tightened his hold. “What would an Incubus be doing with the only vessel capable of imprisoning his kind? Do you think I'm
that stupid?”“
I am only trying to protect you from yourself.”
In one fluid motion, Abraham lunged forward and plunged his teeth into his brother's shoulder. Then he did the unthinkable.
He drank.
The bargain was made. He would no longer be sustained by the memories and dreams of Mortals. From this day forward, he would
crave blood.
When he had his fill, Abraham dropped his brother's limp body and licked the ash from his hand, the taste of flesh still lingering in the
black residue. “You should have been more concerned about protecting yourself.”
Abraham turned away from his brother's body. “Ethan.”
“Ethan!”
I opened my eyes. I was lying on the floor of the archive. Marian was hovering over me in an un-Marian state of panic. “What happened?”
“I don't know.” I sat up, rubbing my head, wincing. There was a knot growing underneath my hair. “I must have hit the table on my way down.”
Macon's book was lying on the floor, open next to me. Marian looked at me with her uncanny ESP — or not so uncanny, if you stopped to
consider that she had followed me into visions herself only months ago. Within seconds, she had a cold pack in her hand and was holding it against
my throbbing head. “You're having visions again, aren't you?”
I nodded. My mind was swimming with images, but I couldn't focus on any one of them. “It's the second time. I had one the other night when I
was holding Macon's journal.”
“What did you see?”
“It was the night of the fires, like in the locket visions. Ethan Carter Wate was already dead. Ivy had The Book of Moons, and she gave it to
Abraham Ravenwood. He was in both of the visions.” His name sounded thick and fuzzy on my tongue. Abraham Ravenwood was the original
boogeyman of Gatlin County.
I gripped the edge of the table, steadying myself. Who wanted me to see the visions? More important, why?
Marian paused, still holding the book. “Oh?” She looked at me carefully.
“And someone else. His name began with a J. Judas? Joseph? Jonah. That was it. I think they were brothers. They were Incubuses.”
“Not just Incubuses.” Marian snapped the book shut. “Abraham Ravenwood was a powerful Blood Incubus, the father of the Ravenwood Blood
Incubus line.”
“What do you mean?” So, the story folks had been telling for years was true? I had cleared another layer of fog from the supernatural map of
Gatlin.
“Although all Incubuses are Dark by nature, not all of them choose to feed on blood. But once one does, the instinct appears to be inherited.”
I leaned against the table as the vision sharpened in my mind. “Abraham — he's the reason Ravenwood Manor never burned, right? He didn't
make a deal with the Devil. He made it with The Book of Moons.”
“Abraham was dangerous, maybe more dangerous than any Caster. I can't imagine why you're seeing him now. Fortunately, he died young,
before Macon was born.”
I tried to do the math. “That's young? How long do Incubuses usually live?”
“A hundred and fifty to two hundred years.” She replaced the book on her worktable. “I don't know what any of this has to do with you or Macon's
journal, but I never should have given it to you. I interfered. We should leave this book locked up here.”
“Aunt Marian —”
“Ethan! Don't pursue this, and don't tell anyone else about it, not even Amma. I can't imagine how she would react if you said the name
Abraham Ravenwood in her presence.” She put her arm around me and gave me a halfhearted squeeze. “Now, let's go finish up in the stacks
before Olivia calls the police.” She turned to the door and stuck her key in the lock.
There was one more thing. I had to say it. “He could see me, Aunt Marian. Abraham looked right at me and said my name. That's never
happened in the visions before.”
Marian stopped, staring at the door as if she could see right through it. It was more than a few seconds before she turned the key in the lock and
swung the door open. “Olivia? Do you think Melvil Dewey could spare you for a cup of tea?”
Our conversation was over. Marian was a Keeper and the Head Librarian of the Caster Library, the Lunae Libri. She could only tell me so much
without violating her obligations. She couldn't take sides or change the course of events once they were set in motion. She couldn't be Macon for
me, and she wasn't my mom. I was on my own.

Categories: Beautiful Darkness

Beautiful Darkness - Chapter 9

The Lake
If it wasn't Ridley, why weren't your tires slashed?” I pushed again. What happened in the parking lot didn't make sense, and I couldn't stop thinking
about it. Or the motorcycle. Why did I recognize it?
Lena ignored me, looking out at the water. “It's probably a coincidence.” Neither of us believed in coincidences.
“Yeah?” I grabbed a handful of sand, brown and gritty. Except for Link, we had the lake to ourselves. Everyone else was probably lined up at the
BP trying to buy new tires before Ed ran out.
In another town, you might have put your shoes back on and called the sand dirt and this part of our lake a swamp, but the murky water of Lake
Moultrie was the closest thing Gatlin had to a swimming pool. Everyone hung out on the northern shore because it was on the edge of the woods
and a hike from the cars, so you never ran into anyone who wasn't in high school — especially not your parents.
I didn't know why we were here. It was weird to have the lake to ourselves, since the whole school had planned to be here today. I hadn't
believed Lena when she told me she wanted to come. But she did, and we had, and now Link was thrashing around in the water, and we were
sharing a dirty towel Link had grabbed out of the back of the Beater before we left.
Lena turned over next to me. For a minute, it seemed like everything was back to normal and she wanted to be there on my towel. But that only
lasted until the silence set in. I could see her pale skin glistening under the thin white undershirt, which was sticking to her in the suffocating heat and
humidity of a June South Carolina day. The sound of the cicadas chirping almost drowned out the awkward silence. Almost. Lena's black skirt was
riding low on her hips. I wished we had our bathing suits for the hundredth time. I'd never seen Lena in one. I tried not to think about it.
Did you forget I can hear you?
I raised an eyebrow. There she was again. Back in my mind, twice in one day, as if she'd never left. One minute she was barely speaking to me,
and the next she acted like nothing had changed between us at all. I knew we should talk about it, but I didn't want to fight anymore.
Not like there'd be anything forgettable about you in a bikini, L.
She leaned closer, pulling my faded shirt over my head. I could feel a few stray curls of her hair brushing against my shoulders. She slid her arm
around my neck and pulled me closer. Face to face, I could see the sun glinting gold in her eyes. I didn't remember them looking so gold.
She tossed my shirt in my face and took off running for the water, laughing like a little kid as she jumped into the lake, still wearing her clothes. I
hadn't seen her laugh or joke around in months. It was like I had her back for an afternoon, even if I didn't know why. I pushed it out of my mind and
chased her, running into the water and across the shallow edge of the lake.
“Stop it!” Lena splashed me, and I splashed her back. Her clothes were dripping, and my shorts were dripping, but it felt good to be out in the
sun. In the distance, Link was swimming out to the dock. We were really alone.
“L, wait up.” She smiled over her shoulder and dove under the water.
“You're not getting away that easy.” I grabbed her leg before it disappeared and yanked her toward me. She laughed and kicked, twisting until I
fell into the water next to her.
“I think I felt a fish,” she squealed.
I pulled her waist into mine. We were face to face, nothing but sun, and water, and the two of us. There was no avoiding each other now.
“I don't want you to leave. I want things to be like they were. Can't we go back, you know, to how it used to —”
Lena reached out and touched my lips with her hand. “Shh.” Warmth spread from the tip of her finger down across my shoulders and into my
body. I had almost forgotten that feeling, the heat and the electricity. She moved her hands down my arms and clenched them behind my back,
laying her head against my chest. It felt like steam was rising off my skin, prickling where she touched me. I hadn't been this close to her in weeks. I
inhaled deeply. Lemons and rosemary … and something else. Something different.
I love you, L.
I know.
Lena lifted her face to mine, and I kissed her. Within seconds, she disappeared into my arms, in a way she hadn't in months. The kiss began to
move us involuntarily, as if we were under some kind of Cast all our own. I picked her up and lifted her out of the water, her legs dangling over my
arms, the water pouring off us. I carried her back to the towel, and we were rolling in the dirty sand. Our warmth turned into fire. I knew we were out
of control, and we had to stop.
L.
Lena gasped under the weight of my body, and we rolled again. I tried to catch my breath. She threw her head back and laughed, and a chill ran
up my back. I remembered that laugh, straight out of my dream. It was Sarafine's laugh. Lena sounded exactly like her.
Lena.
Was I imagining it? Before I could make sense of it, she was on top of me and I couldn't think about anything else. I was lost in seconds, tangled
up in her. My chest tightened, and I felt my breath growing short. I knew if we didn't stop soon, I'd end up in the emergency room, or worse.
Lena!
I felt a searing pain cut through my lip. I pushed her off and rolled over, stunned. Lena slid away from me in the dirt, backing onto her heels. Her
eyes were glowing, gold and huge. Barely a trace of green. She was breathing hard. I doubled over, trying to catch my breath. Every raw nerve in
my body had been lit on fire, one match at a time. Lena raised her head, and I could hardly see her face through the wild mess of dirt and hair. Just
the strange golden glow.
“Get away from me.” She spoke slowly, as if each word was coming from a deep, untouchable place within her.
Link was out of the water, rubbing a towel on his spiky hair. He looked ridiculous in the same plastic goggles his mom made him wear when we
were little. “Did I miss somethin’?”
I touched my lip, wincing, and looked at my fingers. Blood.
Lena rose to her feet, backing away from us.
I could have killed you.
She turned and bolted into the trees.
“Lena!” I took off after her.
Running through the South Carolina woods barefoot is not something I recommend. We'd been in a drought, and the shoreline around the lake was
littered with dry cypress needles, which bit into my feet like a thousand tiny knives. But I kept running. I could hear Lena more than see her, as she
crashed through the trees in front of me.
Get away from me!
A heavy pine branch splintered and cracked without warning, smashing across the trail a few feet in front of me. I could already hear another
branch groaning ahead.
L, are you crazy?
Branches were falling around me, missing me by inches. Far enough away so they didn't hit me, but close enough to make a point.
Stop it!
Don't follow me, Ethan! Leave me alone!
As the gap between us widened, I sped up. Tree trunks and scrub brush flashed past me. Lena was swerving around the trees, not following
any distinct path. She was heading for the highway.
Another tree fell in front of me, catching horizontally on the trunks of the trees on either side of me. I was momentarily trapped. There was an
osprey nest upside down in the broken tree. Something Lena, in her right mind, would never have dreamed of hurting. I touched the twigs, checking
for broken eggs.
I heard the sound of a motorcycle, and my stomach caved in on itself. I shoved my way under the branches. My face was scratched and bloody,
but I made it out to the highway in time to see Lena climb on the back of a Harley.
What are you doing, L?
She looked back at me for a second. Then she disappeared down the highway, black hair flying behind her.
Getting away from here.
Her pale arms were clinging to the biker from the Jackson High parking lot, the tire slasher.
The motorcycle. I finally remembered. It had been in one of Lena's graveyard pictures, the one that vanished from her wall right after I asked
about it.
She wouldn't jump on the back of some random guy's bike.
Not unless she knew him.
Right then, I didn't know which was worse.

6.12

Categories: Beautiful Darkness

Beautiful Darkness - Chapter 10

Caster Boy
Link and I didn't talk much on the way back from the lake. We had to take Lena's car, but I was in no shape to drive. My feet were cut up, and I had
messed up my ankle trying to climb over that last tree.
Link didn't mind. He was enjoying his turn behind the wheel of the Fastback. “Man, this thing can haul. Pony power, Baby.” Link's usual worship
of the Fastback was annoying today. My head was spinning and I didn't want to hear about Lena's car for the hundredth time.
“Then speed it up, man. We have to find her. She's hitchhiking on the back of some guy's motorcycle.” I couldn't tell him the odds were she knew
the guy. When had she taken that picture of the Harley in the graveyard? I punched the door in frustration.
Link didn't state the obvious. Lena ran away from me. It was pretty clear she didn't want to be found. He just drove, and I stared out the window
of the passenger's seat as the hot wind stung the hundreds of tiny cuts on my face.
Something had been wrong for a while now. I just didn't want to face it. I wasn't sure if it was something that had been done to us, I had done to
her, or she had done to me. Maybe it was something she was doing to herself. Her birthday was when it all started, her birthday and Macon's death.
I wondered if it was Sarafine.
All this time, I'd been thinking this was about those stupid stages of grief. I thought about the gold in her eyes and the laugh from the dream.
What if this was about different kinds of stages, stages of something else? Something supernatural? Something Dark?
What if this was what we'd been afraid of all along?
I hit the door again.
“I'm sure Lena's okay. She probably needs some space. Girls are always talkin’ about needin’ space.” Link turned on the radio, then turned it off
again. “Killer stereo.”
“Whatever.”
“Hey, we should go by the Dar-ee Keen and see if Charlotte's workin’. Maybe she can hook us up. Especially if we show up in this sweet ride.”
Link was trying to distract me, but it wasn't going to happen.
“Like there's a person in town who doesn't know whose car this is? We should drop it off, anyway. Aunt Del will be worried.” It would also give
me an excuse to see if the Harley was at Lena's house.
Link persisted. “You're goin’ to show up with Lena's car without Lena? Like that won't worry Aunt Del? Let's stop and get a freeze and figure this
out. Who knows, maybe Lena's at the Dar-ee Keen. It's right off the highway.”
He was right, but it didn't make me feel any better. It made me feel worse. “If you like the Dar-ee Keen so much, you should have gotten a job
there. Oh wait, you couldn't, because you'll be in summer school dissecting frogs with the other Lifers who failed bio.” Lifers were the super seniors,
the ones who always seemed to be at school and yet somehow never graduated. The guys who wore their letterman jackets years later, when they
were working at the Stop & Steal.
“You should talk. Could you have a lamer summer job? The library?”
“I could hook you up with a book, but you'd have to learn to read.”
Link was baffled by my summer plans to work at the library with Marian, but I didn't mind. I was still full of questions about Lena, her family, and
Light and Dark Casters. Why didn't Lena have to Claim herself on her sixteenth birthday? It didn't seem like the kind of thing you could get out of.
Could she really choose to be Light or Dark? Was it that easy? Since The Book of Moons was destroyed in the fire, the Lunae Libri was the only
place that might have the answers.
Then there were the other questions. I tried not to think about my mother. I tried not to think about strangers on motorcycles and nightmares and
bloody lips and golden eyes. Instead, I stared out the window and watched the trees pass by in a blur.
The Dar-ee Keen was packed. Not a big surprise, since it was one of the only places within walking distance of Jackson High. In the summer, you
could pretty much follow the trail of flies and you would eventually find your way here. Formerly the Dairy King, the place had gotten a new name
after the Gentrys bought it but didn't want to fork up the money to pay to put all new letters on the sign. Today everyone looked even sweatier and
more pissed off than usual. Walking a mile in the South Carolina heat and missing the first day of hooking up and drinking warm beer at the lake
wasn't anyone's idea of a good time. It was like canceling a national holiday.
Emily, Savannah, and Eden were hanging out at the good table in the corner with the basketball team. They were barefoot, in their bikini tops
and supershort jean skirts — the kind with one button left open, offering up a powerful flash of bikini bottoms without ever completely falling off.
Nobody was in a very good mood. There wasn't a tire left in Gatlin, so half the cars were still sitting in the school parking lot. All the same, there was
plenty of loud giggling and hair flipping. Emily was spilling out of her string bikini top, and Emory, her latest victim, was loving it.
Link shook his head. “Man, those two wanna be the bride at the weddin’ and the corpse at the funeral.”
“Just so long as I'm not invited to either.”
“Dude. You need some sugar. I'm gonna get in line. You want somethin’?”
“No, thanks. You need some money?” Link never had any money.
“Naw, I'm gonna get Charlotte to hook me up.”
Link could talk his way into and out of almost anything. I pushed my way through the crowd, as far away from Emily and Savannah as I could get.
I slumped down at the bad corner table, beneath the shelves of soda cans and bottles from around the country. Some of the sodas had been there
since my dad was little, and you could see the different levels of brown and orange and red syrup, disappearing to the bottom of the bottles from
years of evaporation. It was pretty disgusting, I guess, that and the fifties soda bottle wallpaper and the flies. After a while, you didn't even notice it
anymore.
I sat down and looked at the disappearing dark syrup, my mood in a bottle. What happened to Lena back at the lake? One minute we were
kissing, the next she was running away from me. All that gold in her eyes. I wasn't stupid. I knew what it meant. Light Casters had green eyes. Dark
Casters had gold. Lena's weren't completely gold, but what I'd seen at the lake was enough to make me wonder.
A fly landed on the shiny red table, and I stared at it. I recognized the familiar churning in my stomach. Dread and panic, all turning into a dull
anger. I was so mad at Lena, I wanted to kick out the glass window next to our booth. But at the same time, I wanted to know what was going on and
who that guy on the Harley was. Then I'd have to kick his ass.
Link slid into the booth across from me with the biggest freeze I'd ever seen. The ice cream rose about four inches above where the plastic cup
ended. “Charlotte has some real potential.” Link licked the straw.
Even the sugary smell of the freeze was making me sick. I felt like the sweat and the grease and the flies and the Emorys and Emilys were
closing in on me.
“Lena's not here. We should go.” I couldn't sit around like everything was normal. Link, on the other hand, could. Rain or shine.
“Chillax. I'll suck it down in five.”
Eden walked by on her way to refill her Diet Coke. She smiled down at us, as fake as ever. “What a cute couple. See, Ethan, you didn't need to
be wastin’ time with that lil’ tire slasher window basher. You and Link, y'all lovebirds were meant for each other.”
“She didn't slash your tires, Eden.” I knew how this was going to look for Lena. I had to shut them down before their mothers got involved.
“Yeah. I did,” Link said, his mouth full of ice cream. “Lena's just bummed she didn't think of it first.” He could never resist the chance to harass
the cheer squad. To them, Lena was an old joke that wasn't funny anymore but nobody could drop. That was the thing about small towns. No one
ever changed their opinion of you, even if you changed. As far as they were concerned, even when Lena was a great-grandmother, she would still
be the crazy girl who busted out the window in English class. Considering most of our English class would still be living in Gatlin.
Not me. Not if things were going to stay like this. It was the first time I had really thought about leaving since Lena came to Gatlin. The box of
college brochures under my bed had stayed under my bed until now. As long as I had Lena, I wasn't counting the days until I could get out of Gatlin.
“Hell-o. Who is that?” Eden's voice was a little too loud.
I heard the bell on the door of the Dar-ee Keen chime as it closed. It was like some kind of Clint Eastwood movie, where the hero steps into the
saloon after he's just shot up the whole town. The neck of every girl sitting near us snapped toward the door, greasy blond ponytails flying.
“I don't know, but I'd sure like to find out,” Emily purred, coming up behind Eden.
“I've never seen him before. Have you?” I could see Savannah filing through the yearbook in her mind.
“No way. I'd remember him.” Poor guy. Emily had him in her crosshairs, target locked and loaded. He didn't stand a chance, whoever he was. I
turned around to get a look at the guy Earl and Emory would be kicking the crap out of when they realized their girlfriends were drooling over him.
He was standing in the doorway in a faded black T-shirt, jeans, and scuffed black army boots. I couldn't see the scuffs from where I was sitting,
but I knew they were there. Because he was wearing exactly the same thing the last time I saw him, when he ripped out of Macon's funeral.
It was the stranger, the Incubus who wasn't an Incubus. The sunlight Incubus. I remembered the silver sparrow in Lena's hand when she was
sleeping in my bed.
What was he doing here?
A black tattoo wound around his arm, sort of tribal-looking, like something I'd seen before. I felt a knife in my gut, and touched my scar. It was
throbbing.
Savannah and Emily walked up to the counter, trying to act like they were going to order something, as if they touched anything here other than
Diet Coke.
“Who is that?” Link wasn't one for competition, not that he was in the running these days.
“I don't know, but he showed up at Macon's funeral.”
Link was staring at him. “Is he one of Lena's weird relatives?”
“I don't know what he is, but he isn't related to Lena.” Then again, he did come to the funeral to pay his respects to Macon. Still, there was
something wrong about him. I'd sensed it since the first time I saw him.
I heard the bell chime again as the door closed.
“Hey, Angel Face, wait up.”
I froze. I would have known that voice anywhere. Link was staring at the door, too. He looked like he'd seen a ghost, or worse….
Ridley.
Lena's Dark Caster of a cousin was as dangerous and hot and barely dressed as always, except now it was summer, so she had on even less
than usual. She was wearing a skin-tight, lacy black tank and a black skirt so small it was probably made for a ten-year-old. Ridley's legs looked
longer than ever, balancing on some kind of high, spiky sandals that could stake a vampire. Now the girls weren't the only ones with their mouths
hanging open. Most of the school had been at the winter formal, when Ridley brought down the house and still managed to look hotter than any girl
there except one.
Ridley leaned back and stretched her arms over her head, as if we'd woken her from a long nap. She laced her fingers together, stretching even
higher, revealing even more skin and the black tattoo encircling her navel. Her tattoo looked a lot like the one on her friend's arm. Ridley whispered
something in his ear.
“Holy crap, she's here.” Link was slowly absorbing it. He hadn't seen Ridley since the night of Lena's birthday, when he had talked Ridley out of
killing my dad. But he didn't need to see her to think about her. It was pretty clear he'd been thinking about her a lot, based on every song he'd
written since she left. “She's with that guy? Do you think he's, you know, like her?” A Dark Caster. He couldn't say it.
“Doubt it. His eyes aren't yellow.” But he was something. I just didn't know what.
“They're comin’ over here.” Link looked down at his freeze, and Ridley was on us.
“Well, if it isn't two of my favorite people. Fancy meeting you here. John and I were dying for a drink.” Ridley tossed her blond and pink strands
over her shoulder. She slid into the booth across from us and motioned for the guy to sit down. He didn't.
“John Breed.” He said it like it was one name, looking right at me. His eyes were as green as Lena's used to be. What would a Light Caster be
doing with Ridley?
Ridley smiled at him. “This is Lena's, you know, the one I was telling you about.” She dismissed me with a wave of her purple-polished fingers.
“I'm Lena's boyfriend, Ethan.”
John looked confused, but only for a second. He was the kind of guy who looked relaxed, as if he knew everything would go his way eventually.
“Lena never told me she had a boyfriend.”
Every muscle in my body tightened. He knew Lena, but I didn't know him. He had seen her since the funeral, at least talked to her. When had
that happened, and why hadn't she told me?
“How exactly do you know my girlfriend?” My voice was too loud, and I could feel the eyes on us.
“Relax, Short Straw. We were in the neighborhood.” Ridley looked across at Link. “How ya been, Hot Rod?”
Link cleared his throat awkwardly. “Good.” His voice came out kind of squeaky. “I've been real good. Thought you left town.” Ridley didn't
answer.
I was still looking at John, and he was staring right back, sizing me up. Probably figuring out a thousand ways to get rid of me. Because he was
after something — or someone — and I was in his way. Ridley wouldn't just show up here with this guy now, not after four months.
I kept my eyes on him. “Ridley, you shouldn't be here.”
“Don't get your panties in a twist, Boyfriend. We're just passin’ through, on our way back from Ravenwood.” She said it casually, like it wasn't a
big deal.
I laughed. “Ravenwood? They wouldn't let you in the door. Lena would burn the house down first.” Ridley and Lena had grown up together, like
sisters, until Ridley went Dark. Ridley had helped Sarafine find Lena on her birthday, which almost got us all, including my father, killed. There was
no way Lena would hang out with her.
She smiled. “Times have changed, Short Straw. I'm not on the best terms with the rest of my family, but Lena and I have worked things out. Why
don't you ask her?”
“You're lying.”
Ridley unwrapped a cherry lollipop, which looked innocent enough but was the ultimate weapon in her hands. “You clearly have trust issues. I'd
love to help you with that, but we've gotta get going. Have to fill up John's bike before that hick gas station of yours runs out of gas.” I was holding the
side of the table, and my knuckles went white.
His bike.
It was sitting out front right now, and I bet it was a Harley. The same bike I had seen in the photograph on the wall of Lena's room. John Breed
had picked up Lena from Lake Moultrie. And before he said another word, I knew John Breed wasn't about to disappear. He'd be waiting on the
corner the next time Lena needed a ride.
I stood up. I wasn't sure what I was going to do, but Link was. He slid out of the booth and shoved me toward the door. “Let's get outta here,
man.”
Ridley called after us. “I really did miss you, Shrinky Dink.” She tried to make it sound sarcastic, like one of her jokes. But the sarcasm stuck in
her throat, and it came out sounding more like the truth. I slammed my palm against the door, sending it flying open.
But before it swung shut, I heard John's voice. “Nice to meet you, Ethan. Say hi to Lena for me.” My hands were shaking, and I heard Ridley
laugh. She didn't have to lie to hurt me today. She had the truth.
We didn't talk on the way to Ravenwood. Neither one of us knew what to say. Girls can do that to you, especially Caster girls. When we reached the
top of the long drive leading to Ravenwood Manor, the gates were closed, something I'd never seen before. The ivy had grown over the twisting
metal, as if it had always been there. I got out of the car and shook the gate to see if it would swing open, knowing it wouldn't. I looked up at the
house behind it. The windows were dark, and the sky over the house looked even darker.
What had happened? I could've handled Lena's freak-out at the lake and feeling like she had to take off. But why him? Why the Caster boy with
the Harley? How long had she been hanging out with him without telling me? And what did Ridley have to do with it?
I had never been this mad at her before. It was one thing to be attacked by someone you hated, but this was something else. This was the kind
of hurt that could only be inflicted by someone you loved, who you thought loved you. It was sort of like being stabbed from the inside out.
“You okay, man?” Link slammed the driver's side door.
“No.” I looked down the long driveway ahead of us.
“Me neither.” Link tossed the key through the Fastback's open window, and we headed down the hill.
We hitched back to town, Link turning every few minutes to check the stretch of road behind us for a Harley. But I didn't think we'd see it. That
particular Harley wouldn't be headed into town. For all I knew, it could be inside those gates already.
I didn't come down for dinner, which was my first mistake. My second was opening the black Converse shoe box. I shook it open, the contents
spilling across my bed. A note Lena had written me on the back of a wrinkled Snickers wrapper, a ticket stub from the movie we saw on our first
date, a faded receipt from the Dar-ee Keen, and a highlighted page ripped out of a book that had reminded me of her. It was the box where I
stashed all our memories — my version of Lena's necklace. It didn't seem like the kind of thing a guy should do, so I didn't let on that I did it, not
even to her.
I picked up the crumpled photo from the winter formal, taken the second before we were doused with liquid snow by my so-called friends. The
picture was blurry, but we were captured in a kiss, so happy it was hard to look at now. Remembering that night, even though I knew the next
moment was going to be awful, it felt like part of me was still back there kissing her.
“Ethan Wate, is that you?”
I tried to shove everything back into the box when I heard my door opening, and the box fell, scattering everything onto the floor.
“You feelin’ all right?” Amma came into my room and sat at the foot of my bed. She hadn't done that since I'd had stomach flu in sixth grade. Not
that she didn't love me. We just had things worked out in a way that didn't include sitting on beds.
“I'm tired, that's all.”
She looked at the mess on the floor. “You look lower than a catfish at the bottom a the river. And a perfectly good pork chop's lookin’ as sorry as
you are, down in my kitchen. That's two kinds a sorry.” She leaned forward and brushed my brown hair out of my eyes. She was always after me to
cut my hair.
“I know, I know. The eyes are the window to the soul, and I need a haircut.”
“You need a good sight more than a haircut.” She looked sad and grabbed my chin as if she could lift me up by it. Given the right
circumstances, I bet she could. “You're not right.”
“I'm not?”
“You're not, and you're my boy, and it's my fault.”
“What do you mean?” I didn't understand and she didn't elaborate, which was generally how our conversations went.
“She's not right either, you know.” Amma spoke softly, looking out my window. “Not bein’ right isn't always somebody's fault. Sometimes it's just
a fact, like the cards you pull.” With Amma, everything came down to fate, the cards in her tarot deck, the bones in the graveyard, the universe she
could read.
“Yes, ma'am.”
She looked into my eyes, and I could see hers shining. “Sometimes things aren't what they seem, and even a Seer can't tell what's comin’.” She
took my hand and dropped something into it. A red string with tiny beads knotted into it, one of her charms. “Tie it ’round your wrist.”
“Amma, guys don't wear bracelets.”
“Since when do I make jewelry? That's for women with too much time and not enough sense.” She yanked on her apron, straightening it. “A red
string's a tie to the Otherworld, offers the kinda protection I can't. Go on, put it on.”
I knew better than to argue when Amma had that look on her face. It was a mixture of fear and sadness, and she wore it like a burden too heavy
for her to carry. I held out my arm and let her tie the string around my wrist. Before I could say anything else, she was at my window, pouring a
handful of salt from her apron pocket all along the sill.
“Everything's gonna be okay, Amma. Don't worry.”
Amma stopped in the doorway and looked back at me, rubbing the shine out of her eyes. “Been choppin’ onions all afternoon.”
Something wasn't right, like Amma said. But I had a feeling it wasn't me. “You know anything about a guy named John Breed?”
She stiffened. “Ethan Wate, don't you make me give that pork chop to Lucille.”
“No, ma'am.”
Amma knew something, and it wasn't good, and she wasn't talking. I knew it as sure as I knew her pork chop recipe, which didn't have a single
onion in it.

Categories: Beautiful Darkness

Beautiful Darkness - Chapter 7

All That Remains
When I went to school the next day, I sat alone with Link and his four sloppy joes at the lunch table. While I ate my pizza, all I could think about was
what Link said about Lena. He was right. She had changed, a little bit at a time, until I almost couldn't remember how things used to be. If I had
anyone to talk to about it, I knew they would say to give her time. I also knew that was just something people said when there was nothing left to say
and nothing you could do.
Lena wasn't coming out of it. She wasn't coming back to herself or to me. If anything, she was drifting farther away from me than anyone else.
More and more, I couldn't reach her, not on the inside, not with Kelting or kissing or any of the other complicated or uncomplicated ways we used to
touch. Now when I took her hand, all I could feel was the chill.
And when Emily Asher looked at me from across the lunchroom, there wasn't anything left but pity in her eyes. Once again, I was someone to
feel sorry for. I wasn't Ethan Wate Whose Mamma Died Just Last Year. Now I was Ethan Wate Whose Girlfriend Went Psycho When Her Uncle
Died. People knew there were complications, and they knew they hadn't seen Lena in school with me.
Even if they didn't like Lena, the miserable love to watch someone else's misery. I had just about cornered the market on miserable. I was
worse than miserable, lower than a flattened sloppy joe left behind on a lunchroom tray. I was alone.
One morning about a week later, I kept hearing a strange sound, like a grating or a record scratching or a page tearing, in the back of my mind. I
was in history class, and we were talking about the Reconstruction, which was the even more boring time after the Civil War when the United States
had to put itself back together. In a Gatlin classroom, this chapter was even more embarrassing than it was depressing — a reminder South
Carolina had been a slave state and that we had been on the wrong side of right. We all knew it, but our ancestors had left us with a permanent F
on the nation's moral report card. Cuts that run that deep leave scars, no matter what you try to do to heal them. Mr. Lee was still droning on,
punctuating each sentence with a dramatic sigh.
I was trying not to listen, when I smelled something burning, maybe an overheating engine or a lighter. I looked around the room. It wasn't
coming from Mr. Lee, the most frequent source of any horrible smell in my history class. No one else seemed to notice it.
The noise grew louder, into a confusing blur of crashing — ripping, talking, yelling. Lena.
L?
No answer. Above the noise, I heard Lena mumbling lines of poetry, and not the kind you send someone for Valentine's Day.
Not waving but drowning …
I recognized the poem, and it wasn't good. Lena reading Stevie Smith was only one step up from the darkest Sylvia Plath and The Bell Jar kind
of day. It was Lena's red flag, like Link listening to the Dead Kennedys or Amma chopping vegetables for spring rolls with her cleaver.
Hang on, L. I'm coming.
Something had changed, and before it could change back, I grabbed my books and took off running. I was out of the room before Mr. Lee's next
sigh.
Reece wouldn't look at me when I walked through the door. She pointed to the stairs. Ryan, Lena's youngest cousin, was sitting on the bottom step
with Boo, looking sad. When I tousled her hair, she held her finger to her lips. “Lena's having a nerve breakup. We're supposed to be quiet until
Gramma and Mamma get home.”
That was an understatement.
The door was open a crack, and when I pushed on it, the hinges creaked, like I was walking into a crime scene. It looked like the room had
been tossed. The furniture was upside down or busted up or missing altogether. The entire room was covered with pages of books, pages torn and
ripped and plastered all along the walls and ceiling and floor. Not a book was left on the shelf. It looked like a library had exploded. Some of the
charred pages piled on the floor were still smoking. The only thing I didn't see was Lena.
L? Where are you?
I scanned the room. The wall over her bed wasn't covered with the remnants of the books Lena loved. It was covered in something else.
Nobody the dead man & Nobody the living
Nobody is giving in & Nobody is giving
Nobody hears me but just Nobody cares
Nobody fears me but Nobody just stares
Nobody belongs to me & Nobody remains
No Nobody knows Nothing
All that remains are remains
Nobody and Nobody. One of them was Macon, right? The dead man.
Who was the other? Me?
Was that who I was now, Nobody?
Did all guys have to work this hard to figure out their girlfriends? Untwisting the twisted poems written all over their walls in Sharpie or cracked
plaster?
All that remains are remains.
I touched the wall, smearing away the word remains.
Because all that remained was not remains. There had to be more than that — more to Lena and me, more to everything. It wasn't just Macon.
My mom was gone, but as the last few months had shown, some part of her was with me. I had been thinking about her more and more.
Claim yourself. It had been my mom's message to Lena, written in the page numbers of books, scattered across the floor of her favorite room at
Wate's Landing. Her message to me didn't have to be written anywhere, not in numbers or letters or even dreams.
Lena's floor looked a little like the study that day, books lying open all over the place. Except these books were missing their pages, which sent
a different message altogether.
Pain and guilt. It was the second chapter of every book my Aunt Caroline had given me about the five stages of grief, or however many stages
of grief people say there are. Lena had covered shock and denial, the first two, so I should've seen this one coming. For her, I guess it meant giving
up one of the things she loved the most. Books.
At least, I hoped that's what it meant. I stepped carefully around the empty, burnt book jackets. I heard the muffled sobs before I saw her.
I opened the closet door. She was huddled in the darkness, hugging her knees to her chest.
It's okay, L.
She looked up at me, but I wasn't sure what she was seeing.
My books all sounded like him. I couldn't make them stop.
It doesn't matter. Everything's okay now.
I knew things wouldn't stay that way for long. Nothing was okay. Somewhere along the way between angry and scared and miserable, she had
turned a corner. I knew from experience there was no turning back.
Gramma had finally intervened. Lena would be going back to school next week, like it or not. Her choice was school or the thing nobody said out
loud. Blue Horizons, or whatever the Caster equivalent was. Until then, I was only allowed to see her when I dropped off her homework. I trudged all
the way up to her house with a Stop & Steal bag's worth of meaningless worksheets and essay questions.
Why me? What did I do?
I guess I'm not supposed to be around anyone who gets me worked up. That's what Reece said.
I'm what gets you worked up?
I could feel something like a smile tugging at the back of my mind.
Of course you are. Just not the way they think.
When her bedroom door finally swung open, I dropped the sack and pulled her into my arms. It had only been a few days since I'd seen her in
person, but I missed the smell of her hair, the lemons and rosemary. The familiar things. Today I couldn't smell it, though. I buried my face in her
neck.
I missed you, too.
Lena looked up at me. She was wearing a black T-shirt and black tights, cut into all kinds of crazy slits up and down her legs. Her hair was
squirming loose from the clasp at the back of her neck. Her necklace hung down, twisting on its chain. Her eyes were ringed with darkness that
wasn't makeup. I was worried. But when I looked past her to her bedroom, I was even more worried.
Gramma had gotten her way. There was not a burnt book, not a thing out of place in the room. That was the problem. There wasn't one streak of
Sharpie, not a poem, not a page anywhere in the room. Instead, the walls were covered with images, taped carefully in a row along the perimeter,
as if they were some kind of fence trapping her inside.
Sacred. Sleeping. Beloved. Daughter.
They were photographs of headstones, taken so close that all I could make out was the rough stubble of the rock behind the chiseled words,
and the words themselves.
Father. Joy. Despair. Eternal Rest.
“I didn't know you were into photography.” I wondered what else I didn't know.
“I'm not, really.” She looked embarrassed.
“They're great.”
“It's supposed to be good for me. I have to prove to everyone that I know he's really gone.”
“Yeah. My dad's supposed to keep a feelings journal now.” As soon as I said it, I wished I could take it back. Comparing Lena to my dad
couldn't be mistaken for a compliment, but she didn't seem to notice. I wondered how long she had been climbing around His Garden of Perpetual
Peace with her camera, and how I had missed it.
Soldier. Sleeping. Through a glass, darkly.
I came to the last picture, the only one that didn't seem to belong with the rest. It was a motorcycle, a Harley leaning against a gravestone. The
shiny chrome of the bike looked out of place next to the worn old stones. My heart started to pound as I looked at it. “What's this one?”
Lena dismissed it with a wave. “Some guy visiting a grave, I guess. He was just kind of … there. I keep meaning to take it down, the lighting's
terrible.” She reached up past me, pulling the tacks out of the wall. When she reached the last one, the photo vanished, leaving nothing but four tiny
holes in her black wall.
Aside from the images, the room was nearly empty, as if she'd packed up and gone to college somewhere. The bed was gone. The bookshelf
and all the books were gone. The old chandelier we'd made swing so many times I had thought it would fall from the ceiling was gone. There was a
futon on the floor, in the center of the room. Next to it was the tiny silver sparrow. Seeing it flooded my brain with memories from the funeral —
magnolias ripping out of the lawn, the same silver sparrow in her muddy palm.
“Everything looks so different.” I tried not to think about the sparrow or the reason it would be next to her bed. The reason that had nothing to do
with Macon.
“Well, you know. Spring cleaning. I had kind of trashed the place.”
A few tattered books lay on the futon. Without thinking, I flipped one open — until I realized I'd committed the worst of crimes. Though the
outside was covered with an old, taped-up cover from a copy of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, the inside wasn't a book at all. It was one of Lena's spiral
notebooks, and I had opened it up right in front of her. Like it was nothing, or it was mine to read.
I realized something else. Most of the pages were blank.
The shock was almost as terrible as discovering the pages of my dad's gibberish when I had thought he was writing a novel. Lena carried a
notebook around with her wherever she went. If she had stopped scribbling every fifth word into it, things were worse than I thought.
She was worse than I thought.
“Ethan! What are you doing?”
I pulled my hand away, and Lena grabbed the book.
“I'm sorry, L.”
She was furious.
“I thought it was just a book. I mean, it looks like a book. I didn't think you would leave your notebook lying around where anyone could read it.”
She wouldn't look at me, clutching the book to her chest.
“Why aren't you writing anymore? I thought you loved to write.”
She rolled her eyes and opened the notebook to show me. “I do.”
She fluttered the blank pages, and now they were covered with line upon line of tiny scribbled words, crossed out again and again, revised and
rewritten and revisited a thousand times.
“You Charmed it?”
“I Shifted the words out of Mortal reality. Unless I choose to show them to someone, only a Caster can read them.”
“That's brilliant. Since Reece, the person most likely to read it, happens to be one.” Reece was as nosy as she was bossy.
“She doesn't need to. She can read everything in my face.” It was true. As a Sybil, Reece could see your thoughts and secrets, even things you
were planning to do, just by looking you in the eye. Which was why I generally avoided her.
“So, what's with all the secrecy?” I flopped down on Lena's futon. She sat next to me, balancing on her crisscrossed legs. Things were less
comfortable than I was pretending they were.
“I don't know. I still feel like writing all the time. Maybe I just feel less like being understood, or less like I can be.”
My jaw tightened. “By me.”
“That's not what I meant.”
“What other Mortals would be reading your notebook?”
“You don't understand.”
“I think I do.”
“Some of it, maybe.”
“I would understand all of it if you'd let me.”
“There's no letting, Ethan. I can't explain it.”
“Let me see it.” I held out my hand for her notebook.
She raised an eyebrow, handing it to me. “You won't be able to read it.”
I opened it and looked at it. I didn't know if it was Lena, or the book itself, but the words appeared on the page in front of me slowly, one at a
time. It wasn't one of Lena's poems, and it wasn't song lyrics. There weren't many words, just strange drawings, shapes and swirls snaking up and
down the page like some collection of tribal designs.
At the bottom of the page, there was a list.
what i remember
mother
ethan
macon
hunting
the fire
the wind
the rain
the crypt
the me who is not me
the me who would kill
two bodies
the rain
the book
the ring
amma's charm
the moon
Lena grabbed the book out of my hand. There were a few more lines on the page, but I never got to read them. “Stop it!”
I looked at her. “What was that?”
“Nothing, it's private. You shouldn't have been able to see that.”
“Then why could I?”
“I must have done the Verbum Celatum Cast wrong. The Hidden Word.” She looked at me anxiously, her eyes softening. “It doesn't matter. I
was trying to remember that night. The night Macon … disappeared.”
“Died, L. The night Macon died.”
“I know he died. Of course he died. I just don't feel like talking about it.”
“I know you're probably depressed. It's normal.”
“What?”
“It's the next stage.”
Lena's eyes flashed. “I know your mom died, and my uncle died. But I have my own stages of grief. This isn't my feelings journal. I'm not your
dad, and I'm not you, Ethan. We aren't as much alike as you think.”
We looked at each other in a way we hadn't in a long time, maybe ever. There was a nameless moment. I realized we'd been speaking out loud
since I got there, without Kelting a word. For the first time, I didn't know what she was thinking, and it was pretty clear she didn't know how I felt
either.
But then she did. She held out her arms and drew me into them because, for the first time, I was the one who was crying.
When I got home, all the lights were out, but I still didn't go inside. I sat down on the porch and watched the fireflies blinking in the dark. I didn't want
to see anyone. I wanted to think, and I had a feeling Lena wouldn't be listening. There's something about sitting alone in the dark that reminds you
how big the world really is, and how far apart we all are. The stars look like they're so close, you could reach out and touch them. But you can't.
Sometimes things look a lot closer than they are.
I stared into the darkness for so long that I thought I saw something move by the old oak in our front yard. For a second, my pulse quickened.
Most people in Gatlin didn't even lock their doors, but I knew there were plenty of things that could get past a deadbolt. I saw the air shift again,
almost imperceptibly, like a heat wave. I realized it wasn't something trying to break into my house. It was something that had broken out from
another one.
Lucille, the Sisters’ cat. I could see her blue eyes shining in the darkness as she stalked onto the porch.
“I told everyone you'd find your way back to the house sooner or later. You just found the wrong house.” Lucille cocked her head to the side. “You
know the Sisters are never gonna let you off that clothesline again after this.”
Lucille stared back at me as if she understood perfectly. As if she had known the consequences when she took off but, for whatever reason, she
left anyway. A firefly blinked in front of me, and Lucille leaped off the step.
It flew higher, but that dumb cat kept reaching for it. She didn't seem to know how far away it really was. Like the stars. Like a lot of things.

Categories: Beautiful Darkness

Beautiful Darkness - Chapter 8

The Girl of My Dreams
Darkness.
I couldn't see a thing, but I could feel the air draining out of my lungs. I couldn't breathe. The air was filled with smoke, and I was coughing,
choking.
Ethan!
I could hear her voice, but it was distant and faraway.
The air around me was hot. It smelled like ash and death.
Ethan, no!
I saw the glint of a knife, over my head, and I heard the sinister laughter. Sarafine. Only I couldn't see her face.
As the knife plunged into my stomach, I knew where I was.
I was at Greenbrier, on top of the crypt, and I was about to die.
I tried to scream, but I couldn't make a sound. Sarafine threw back her head and laughed, her hands on the knife in my stomach. I was dying,
and she was laughing. The blood was running all around me, rushing into my ears, my nostrils, my mouth. It had a distinct taste, like copper or salt.
My lungs felt like two heaving sacks of cement. When the rush of blood in my ears drowned out her voice, I was overwhelmed with the familiar
feeling of loss. Green and gold. Lemons and rosemary. I could smell it through the blood, the smoke, and the ashes. Lena.
I always thought I couldn't live without her. Now I wasn't going to have to.
“Ethan Wate! Why don't I hear that shower runnin’ yet?” I bolted upright in bed, drenched in sweat. I ran my hand under my T-shirt, over my skin.
There was no blood, but I could feel the raised impression where the knife had cut me in the dream. I pulled up my shirt and stared at the jagged
pink line. A scar cut across my lower abdomen, like a stab wound. It had appeared out of nowhere, an injury from a dream.
Only it was real, and it hurt. I hadn't had one of the dreams since Lena's birthday, and I didn't know why they were coming back now, like this. I
was used to waking up with mud in my bed or smoke in my lungs, but this was the first time I had ever woken up in pain. I tried to shake it off, telling
myself it didn't really happen. But my stomach throbbed. I stared at my open window, wishing Macon was around to steal the end of this dream. I
wished he was around for a lot of reasons.
I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate, to see if Lena was there. But I already knew she wouldn't be. I could feel when she had pulled away,
which was most of the time, lately.
Amma called up the stairs again. “If you're fixin’ to be late for your last examination, you'll be sittin’ on your sweet corncakes in that room a yours
all summer. That's a promise.”
Lucille Ball was staring at me from the foot of my bed, the way she did most mornings now. After Lucille showed up on our porch, I took her
back home to Aunt Mercy, but the next day she was sitting on our porch again. After that, Aunt Prue convinced her sisters that Lucille was a
deserter, and the cat moved in with us. I was pretty surprised when Amma opened the door and let Lucille wander in, but she had her reasons.
“Nothin’ wrong with havin’ a cat in the house. They can see what most people can't, like the folks in the Otherworld when they cross back over — the
good ones and the bad. And they get rid a mice.” I guess you could say Lucille was the animal kingdom's version of Amma.
By the time I made it into the shower, the hot water rolled off me, pushing everything away. Everything except the scar. I turned it up even hotter,
but I couldn't keep my mind in the shower. It was tangled up in the dreams, the knife, the laughter —
My English final.
Crap.
I'd fallen asleep before I finished studying. If I failed the test, I would fail the class, Good-Eye Side or not. My grades were not stellar this
semester, and by that I mean I was running neck and neck with Link. I wasn't my usual don't-study-and-get-by self. I was already close to failing
history, since Lena and I had ditched the mandatory Reenactment of the Battle of Honey Hill on her birthday. If I failed English, I'd be spending all
summer in a school so old it didn't even have air conditioning, or I'd be looking at sophomore year all over again. It was the particularly penetrating
problem a person with a pulse should be prepared to ponder today. Assonance, right? Or was it consonance? I was screwed.
This was day five of supersized breakfasts. We'd had finals all week, and Amma believed there was a direct correlation between how much I ate
and how well I would do. I had eaten my weight in bacon and eggs since Monday. No wonder my stomach was killing me and I was having
nightmares. Or at least, that's what I tried to tell myself.
I poked at the fried eggs with my fork. “More eggs?”
Amma squinted at me suspiciously. “I don't know what you're up to, but I'm in no mood for it.” She slid another egg onto my plate. “Don't try my
patience today, Ethan Wate.”
I wasn't about to argue with her. I had enough problems of my own.
My dad wandered into the kitchen and opened the cupboard, searching for his Shredded Wheat. “Don't tease Amma. You know she doesn't
like it.” He looked up at her, shaking his spoon. “That boy of mine is downright S. C. A. B. R. O. U. S. As in …”
Amma glared at him, slamming the cupboard doors shut. “Mitchell Wate, I'll give you a scab or two all your own if you don't stop messin’ with my
pantry.” He laughed, and a second later I could have sworn she was smiling, and I watched as my own crazy father started turning Amma back into
Amma again. The moment vanished, popping like a soap bubble, but I knew what I'd seen. Things were changing.
I still wasn't used to the sight of my dad walking around during the day, pouring cereal and making small talk. It seemed unbelievable that four
months ago my aunt had checked him into Blue Horizons. Although he wasn't exactly a new man, as Aunt Caroline professed, I had to admit I barely
recognized him. He wasn't making me chicken salad sandwiches, but these days he was out of the study more and more, and sometimes even out
of the house. Marian scored my dad a position at the University of Charleston as a guest lecturer in the English department. Even though the bus
ride turned a forty-minute commute into two hours, there was no letting my dad operate heavy machinery, not yet. He seemed almost happy. I mean,
relatively speaking, for a guy who was previously holed up in his study for months scribbling like a madman. The bar was pretty low.
If things could change that much for my dad, if Amma was smiling, maybe they could change for Lena, too.
Couldn't they?
But the moment was over. Amma was back on the warpath. I could see it in her face. My dad sat down next to me and poured milk over his
cereal. Amma wiped her hands on her tool apron. “Mitchell, you best have some a those eggs. Cereal isn't any kind a breakfast.”
“Good morning to you, too, Amma.” He smiled at her, the way I bet he did when he was a kid.
She squinted at him and slammed a glass of chocolate milk next to my plate, even though I barely drank it anymore.
“Doesn't look so good to me.” She sniffed and started pushing a massive amount of bacon onto my plate. To Amma, I would always be six
years old. “You look like the livin’ dead. What you need is some brain food, to pass those examinations a yours.”
“Yes, ma'am.” I chugged the glass of water Amma had poured for my dad. She held up her infamous wooden spoon with the hole in the middle,
the One-Eyed Menace — that's what I called it. When I was a kid, she used to chase me around the house with it if I sassed her, even though she
never actually hit me with it. I ducked, to play along.
“And you better pass every single one. I won't have you hangin’ around that school all summer like the Pettys’ kids. You're gonna get a job, like
you said you would.” She sniffed, waving the spoon. “Free time means free trouble, and you got heaps of that already.”
My dad smiled and stifled a laugh. I bet Amma had said exactly the same thing to him when he was my age.
“Yes, ma'am.”
I heard a car honk, and the sound of way too much Beater bass, and grabbed my backpack. All I saw was the blur of the spoon behind me.
I slid into the Beater and rolled down the window. Gramma had gotten her way, and Lena had come back to school a week ago, for the end of
the year. I had driven all the way out to Ravenwood to take her to school on her first day back, even stopping at the Stop & Steal to get her one of
their famous sticky buns, but by the time I got there Lena was already gone. Ever since then, she had been driving herself to school, so Link and I
were back in the Beater.
Link turned down the music, which was blasting through the car, out the windows, and down the block.
“Don't you embarrass me over at that school a yours, Ethan Wate. And you turn down that music, Wesley Jefferson Lincoln! You're goin’ to
knock over my whole row a rutabagas with that ruckus.” Link honked back at her. Amma knocked her spoon against the post, put her hands on her
hips, and then softened. “You do well on those tests a yours, and maybe I'll bake you a pie.”
“That wouldn't be Gatlin peach, would it, ma'am?”
Amma sniffed and nodded her head. “Just might be.”
She would never admit it, but Amma had finally developed a soft spot for Link, after all these years. Link thought it was because Amma felt sorry
for his mom after her invasion-of-the- body-snatchers experience with Sarafine, but that wasn't it. She felt bad for Link. “Can't believe that boy has to
live in the house with that woman. He'd be better off if he was bein’ raised by wolves.” That's what she'd said last week before she packed up a
pecan pie for him.
Link looked at me and grinned. “Best thing that ever happened to me, Lena's mom gettin’ mixed up with my mom. Never had so much a
Amma's pie in my life.” It was about as much as he ever said about Lena's nightmare of a birthday anymore. He floored it, and the Beater went
skidding down the road. It almost wasn't worth mentioning that we were late, as usual.
“Did you study for English?” It wasn't really a question. I knew Link hadn't cracked a book since seventh grade.
“Nah. I'm gonna copy offa someone.”
“Who?”
“What do you care? Somebody smarter than you.”
“Yeah? Last time you copied off Jenny Masterson, and you both got D's.”
“I didn't have time to study. I was writin’ a song. We might play it at the county fair. Check it out.” Link sang along with the song, which sounded
weird because he was singing along to a recording of his own voice. “Lollipop Girl, took off without a word, was callin’ out your name, but you never
heard.”
Great. Another song about Ridley. Which shouldn't have surprised me, since he hadn't written a song about anything but Ridley for four months
now. I was beginning to think he would always be hung up on Lena's cousin, who was nothing like her. Ridley was a Siren, who used her Power of
Persuasion to get what she wanted with one lick of a lollipop. Which, for a while, was Link. Even though she had used him and disappeared, he
hadn't forgotten her. But I couldn't blame him. It was probably tough being in love with a Dark Caster. It was pretty tough sometimes with a Light one,
too.
I was still thinking about Lena, despite the deafening roar in my ears, until Link's voice was drowned out altogether, and I heard Seventeen
Moons. Only now the words had changed.
Seventeen moons, seventeen turns,
Eyes so dark and bright it burns,
Time is high but one is higher,
Draws the moon into the fire …
Time is high? What did that even mean? It wasn't going to be Lena's Seventeenth Moon for eight more months. Why was time high now? And who
was the one, and what was the fire?
I felt Link smack the side of my head, and the song disappeared. He was shouting over his demo tape. “If I can get the backbeat down, it'll be a
pretty rockin’ tune.” I stared at him, and he knocked me in the head again. “Shake it off, man. It's just an exam. You look as crazy as Miss Luney, the
hot-lunch lady.”
Thing is, he wasn't that far off.
When the Beater pulled into the Jackson High parking lot, it still didn't feel like the last day of school. For the seniors, it wasn't. They would have
graduation tomorrow, and a party that lasted all night and usually gave more than a few people a brush with alcohol poisoning. But for us
sophomores and juniors, we had one more exam until we were free.
Savannah and Emily walked past Link and me, ignoring us. Their short skirts were even shorter than usual, and we could see bikini strings
hanging out from under their tank tops. Tie-dye and pink gingham.
“Check it out. Bikini season.” Link grinned.
I had almost forgotten. We were only an exam away from an afternoon at the lake. Everyone who was anyone was wearing bathing suits under
their clothes today, since summer didn't officially start until you had taken your first swim off the shores of Lake Moultrie. Kids from Jackson had a
place we hung out, up past Monck's Corner, where the lake opened deep and wide into what felt like an ocean when you were swimming in it.
Except for all the catfish and the swamp weeds, you could be out to sea. This time last year, I rode to the lake in the back of Emory's brother's truck
with Emily, Savannah, Link, and half the basketball team. But that was last year.
“You goin’?”
“Nah.”
“I've got an extra suit in the Beater, but it's not as cool as these puppies.” Link pulled up his shirt so I could see his bathing suit, which was bright
orange and yellow plaid. About as low-key as Link was.
“I'll pass.” He knew why I wasn't going, but I wouldn't say it. I had to act like things were okay.
Like Lena and I were okay.
Link wasn't giving up today. “I'm sure Emily's savin’ you half her towel.” It was a joke, because we both knew she wasn't. Even the pity parade
had moved on, along with the hate campaign. I guess we were such easy targets these days, the sport was gone, like shooting fish in a barrel.
“Give it a rest.”
Link stopped walking and put his hand up to stop me. I shoved his hand away before he could start talking. I knew what he was going to say,
and as far as I was concerned, the conversation was over before it started.
“Come on. I know her uncle died. Quit actin’ like you're both still at the funeral. I know you love her, but …” He didn't want to say it, even though
we were both thinking it. He never brought it up anymore, because he was Link, and he sat at the lunch table with me when nobody else would.
“Everything's fine.” It was going to work out. It had to. I didn't know how to be without her.
“It's hard to watch, dude. She's treatin’ you like —”
“Like what?” It was a challenge. I could feel my fingers curling into a fist. I was waiting for a reason, any reason. I felt like I was going to explode,
that's how badly I wanted to hit something.
“The way girls usually treat me.” I think he was waiting for me to hit him. Maybe he even wanted me to, if it would've helped. He shrugged.
I uncurled my fingers. Link was Link, whether or not I felt like kicking his butt sometimes. “Sorry, man.”
Link laughed a little, taking off down the hall a little faster than usual. “No problem, Psycho.”
As I walked up the steps toward inevitable doom, I felt a familiar pang of loneliness. Maybe Link was right. I didn't know how much longer things
could go on like this with Lena. Nothing was the same. If Link could see it, maybe it was time to face facts.
My stomach started to ache, and I grabbed my side, as if I could squeeze out the pain with my hands.
Where are you, L?
I slid into my desk just as the bell rang. Lena was sitting in the seat next to mine, on the Good-Eye Side, like she always had. But she didn't look like
herself.
She was wearing one of those white V-neck undershirts that was too big, and a black skirt, a few inches shorter than she would've ever worn
three months ago. You could barely see it under the shirt, which was Macon's. I almost didn't notice anymore. She also wore his ring, the one he
used to twist on his finger when he was thinking, on a chain around her neck. It hung on a new chain, right next to my mother's ring. The old chain
had broken the night of her birthday, lost somewhere in the ash. I had given her my mom's ring out of love, though I wasn't sure it felt like that to her
now. Whatever the reason, Lena loyally carried our ghosts with her, hers and mine, refusing to take off either one. My lost mother and her lost uncle,
caught in circles of gold and platinum and other precious metals, hanging above her charm necklace and hidden in layers of cotton that didn't
belong to her.
Mrs. English was already passing out the tests, and she didn't look amused that half the class was wearing a bathing suit or carrying a beach
towel. Emily was doing both.
“Five short answers, ten points each, multiple-choice, twenty-five points, and the essay, twenty-five. Sorry, no Boo Radley this time. We're
covering Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. It's not summer yet, people.” We had been reading To Kill a Mockingbird in the fall. I remembered the first time
Lena had shown up for class, carrying her own broken-in copy.
“Boo Radley's dead, Mrs. English. Stake through the heart.” I don't know who said it, one of the girls sitting in the back with Emily, but we all
knew she was talking about Macon. The comment was meant for Lena, just like old times. I tensed up as the ripple of laughter died down. I was
waiting for the windows to shatter or something, but there wasn't even a crack. Lena didn't react. Maybe she wasn't listening, or she didn't care what
they said anymore.
“I bet Old Man Ravenwood isn't even in the town graveyard. That coffin's probably empty. If there is one.” The voice was loud enough for Mrs.
English to direct her eye toward the back of the room.
“Shut up, Emily,” I hissed.
This time, Lena turned around and looked right at Emily. That's all it took — one look. Emily opened her test, like she had any idea what Jekyll
and Hyde was about. No one wanted to take on Lena. They just wanted to talk about her. Lena was the new Boo Radley. I wondered what Macon
would have had to say about that.
I was still wondering, when I heard a scream from the back of the room.
“Fire! Someone help!” Emily was holding her test, and it was burning up in her hand. She dropped the test on the linoleum floor and kept
screaming. Mrs. English picked up her sweater off the back of her chair, walked to the back of the room, and swiveled so she could use her good
eye. Three good slaps and the fire was out, leaving a charred and smoking test in the charred and smoking spot on the floor.
“I swear, it was some kinda spot-aneous combustion. It just started burnin’ while I was writin’.”
Mrs. English picked up a shiny black lighter from the center of Emily's desk. “Really? pack up your things. You can explain it all to Principal
Harper.”
Emily stormed out the door while Mrs. English marched to the front of the classroom. As she passed me, I noticed the lighter was emblazoned
with a silver crescent moon.
Lena turned back to her own test and started writing. I stared at the baggy white undershirt, her necklace jingling beneath it. Her hair was up,
twisted into a weird knot, another new preference she never bothered to explain. I poked her with my pencil. She stopped writing and looked up at
me, curving her mouth into a crooked half-smile, which was about the best she could do these days.
I smiled back at her, but she looked down at her test, as if she would rather consider assonance and consonance than look at me. Like it
actually hurt to look at me — or, worse, she just didn't want to.
When the bell rang, Jackson High turned into Mardi Gras. Girls peeled off their tank tops and went running through the parking lot in their bikini tops.
Lockers were emptied, notebooks dumped into the trash. Talking turned into shouting, then screaming, as sophomores turned into juniors and
juniors into seniors. Everyone finally had what they'd been waiting for all year — freedom, and a fresh start.
Everyone but me.
Lena and I walked to the parking lot. Her bag swung as she walked, and we brushed against each other. I felt the electricity from months ago,
but it was still cold. She stepped to the side, avoiding me.
“So, how'd you do?” I was trying to make conversation, as if we were total strangers.
“What?”
“The English final.”
“I probably failed it. I didn't really do any of the reading.” It was hard to imagine Lena not doing the reading for class, considering she had
answered every question for months when we read To Kill a Mockingbird.
“Yeah? I aced it. I stole a copy of the test off Mrs. English's desk last week.” It was a lie. I would have failed before I cheated in the House of
Amma. But Lena wasn't listening anyway. I waved my hand in front of her eyes. “L? Are you listening to me?” I wanted to talk to her about the dream,
but first I had to get her to notice I was here.
“Sorry. I have a lot on my mind.” She looked away. It wasn't much, but it was more than I'd gotten out of her in weeks.
“Like what?”
She hesitated. “Nothing.”
Nothing good? Or nothing you can talk about here?
She stopped walking and turned to face me, refusing to let me in. “We're leaving Gatlin. All of us.”
“What?” I hadn't seen this coming. Which must have been what she wanted. She was shutting me out so I couldn't see inside, where things were
happening, where she hid the feelings she didn't want to share. I kept thinking she just needed time. I didn't realize it was time away from me.
“I didn't want to tell you. It's only for a few months.”
“Does it have anything to do with —” The familiar panic in my stomach dropped like a stone.
“It has nothing to do with her.” Lena looked down. “Gramma and Aunt Del think if I get away from Ravenwood, I might think about it less. About
him less.”
If I get away from you. That's what I heard.
“It doesn't work like that, Lena.”
“What?”
“You aren't going to forget Macon by running away.”
She tensed at the mention of his name. “Yeah? Is that what your books say? Where am I? Stage five? Six, tops?”
“Is that what you think?”
“Here's a stage for you. Leave it all behind and get away while you still can. When do I get to that one?”
I stopped walking and looked at her. “Is that what you want?”
She twisted her charm necklace on the long silver chain, touching the littlest bits of us, the things we had done and seen together. She twisted it
so tight, I thought for a minute it would snap. “I don't know. Part of me wants to leave and never come back, and part of me can't bear to go because
he loved Ravenwood and left it to me.”
Is that the only reason?
I waited for her to finish — to say she didn't want to leave me. But she didn't.
I changed the subject. “Maybe that's why we're dreaming about that night.”
“What are you talking about?” I had her attention.
“The dream we had last night, about your birthday. I mean, it seemed like your birthday except for the part when Sarafine killed me. It seemed
so real. I even woke up with this.” I held up my shirt.
Lena stared at the raised pink scar, creating a jagged line across my abdomen. She looked like she was going to pass out. Her face went
pale, her expression panicked. It was the first time I had seen any kind of emotion in her eyes in weeks. “I don't know what you're talking about. I
didn't have a dream last night.” There was something about the way she said it, and the look on her face. She was serious.
“That's weird. Usually we both do.” I tried to sound calm, but I could feel my heart starting to pound. We had been having the same dreams since
before we met. They were the reason for Macon's midnight visits to my room — to take the pieces of my dreams he didn't want Lena to see. Macon
had said our connection was so strong that Lena dreamed my dreams. What did it say about our connection if she couldn't anymore?
“It was the night of your birthday, and I heard you calling me. But when I got to the top of the crypt, Sarafine was there and she had a knife.”
Lena looked like she was going to be sick. I probably should have stopped there, but I couldn't. I had to keep pushing, and I didn't even know
why. “What happened that night, L? You never really told me. Maybe that's why I'm dreaming about it now.”
Ethan, I can't. Don't make me.
I couldn't believe it. There she was back in my mind, Kelting again. I tried to crack open the door, an inch further, and get back into hers.
We can talk about this. You have to talk to me.
Whatever Lena was feeling, she shook it off. I felt the door between our minds slam shut. “You know what happened. You fell, trying to climb
onto the crypt, and you were knocked out.”
“But what happened to Sarafine?”
She tugged on the strap of her bag. “I don't know. There was fire everywhere, remember?”
“And she just disappeared?” “I don't know. I couldn't see anything, and by the time the fire died down, she was gone.” Lena sounded defensive,
as if I was accusing her of something. “Why are you making such a big deal about this? You had a dream, and I didn't. So what? It's not like the
others. It doesn't mean anything.” She started to walk away.
I stepped in front of her and lifted my shirt again. “Then how do you explain this?”
The jagged outline of the scar was still pink and newly healed. Lena's eyes were wide, catching the sunlight of the first day of summer. In the
sun, her hazel eyes seemed to glint with gold. She didn't say a word.
“And the song — it's changing. I know you hear it, too. Time is high? Are we going to talk about that?” She started backing away from me, which
I guess was her answer. But I didn't care and it didn't matter, because I couldn't stop myself. “Something's happening, isn't it?”
She shook her head.
“What is it? Lena —”
Before I could say anything else, Link caught up to us, snapping me with his towel. “Looks like nobody's goin’ to the lake today, except maybe
you two.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look at the tires, oh Whipped One. They're all slashed, every car in the lot, even the Beater.”
“Every car?” Fatty, Jackson's truant officer, would be all over this. I calculated the number of cars in the lot. Enough to get the whole mess
kicked up to Summerville, maybe even the sheriff's office. This was out of Fatty's league.
“Every car except Lena's.” Link pointed at the Fastback in the parking lot. I still had trouble getting my head around the idea that it was Lena's
car. The lot was in total chaos. Savannah was on her cell phone. Emily was screaming at Eden Westerly. The basketball team was going nowhere.
Link bumped his shoulder against Lena's. “I don't really blame you for the rest a them, but did you have to get the Beater? I'm a little short on
cash for new tires.”
I looked at her. She was transfixed.
Lena, did you?
“It wasn't me.” Something was wrong. The old Lena would have bitten our heads off for even asking.
“You think it was Ridley or —” I looked over at Link. I didn't want to say Sarafine's name.
Lena shook her head. “It wasn't Ridley.” She didn't sound like herself, or sure of herself. “She's not the only one who hates Mortals, believe it or
not.”
I looked at her, but it was Link who said the one thing we were both thinking. “How do you know?”
“I just do.”
Over the chaos of the parking lot, a motorcycle gunned its engine. A guy in a black T-shirt swerved through the parked cars, blowing exhaust
into the faces of angry cheerleaders, and disappeared out onto the road. He was wearing a helmet, so you couldn't see his face. Just his Harley.
But my stomach balled itself up, because the motorcycle looked familiar. Where had I seen it before? Nobody at Jackson had a motorcycle.
The closest thing was Hank Porter's ATV, which hadn't worked since he rolled it after Savannah's last party. Or so I'd heard, now that I no longer
made the guest list.
Lena stared after the motorcycle as if she had seen a ghost. “Let's get out of here.” She headed for her car, practically running down the stairs.
“Where to?” I tried to catch up to her, Link jogging behind me.
“Anywhere but here.”

Categories: Beautiful Darkness