“Is that all that’s bothering you?”
I’m pretty close with my parents. There are no secrets between us, even though I wish there were sometimes. Both my mom and dad are incredibly intuitive, so there’s no point trying to hide everything about last night. I decide to parcel it out.
“I saw Matt last night,” I tell her.
“Oh? And how is he? He still with that girl who doesn’t like you?”
I manage a smile. “I think so. She wasn’t there, though.”
“Well, good. You don’t need to waste your time with people who don’t like you, sweetie.”
“Uh huh,” I say, sliding the skull pendant back and forth on the chain. “Unfortunately, I think I have to add Matt to that pile of people.”
“What happened?” she asks, pushing the plunger down into the French press, the coffee swirling in the glass like a mahogany nebula.
“I don’t really know,” I admit. “He got drunk and kissed me.”
“Uh oh,” she says, pouring the coffee into a mug and placing it in front of me before pouring herself a cup. She sits down across from me. “I take it that didn’t go over well.”
“He still has a girlfriend, first of all,” I say, giving her a steady look. “So, no. And even if he didn’t, I’m just not … interested. We’re much better off as friends.”
“So I guess he didn’t take the rejection very well,” she says as she lifts the mug to her mouth.
I shake my head. “No. He got angry.”
“Angry? Matt?”
Matt’s been over to my place a bunch of times, and she’s met him and liked him. He’s always been his usual chill self.
“I was surprised too.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, giving me a sympathetic smile. “You don’t deserve that. But try not to take it personally. He might be having a stressful week. You know those start-ups aren’t known for being an easy job. I’m sure there’s a lot of money at stake.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I say, and it makes me feel a bit better.
“Hey,” my mom says, putting down her mug and looking at me with hopeful eyes. “Since you’re having problems with Matt at the moment, maybe you’ll rethink your birthday plans.”
I sigh. My parents have been very weird and emotional about my birthday. When I turned sixteen and eighteen it was all good, but now that I’m turning twenty-one, suddenly they think it’s the end of the world, like I’ve officially grown up and won’t be their daughter anymore.
Anyway, a couple weeks ago they asked me what I wanted to do for my birthday and I said I wanted to have a party with friends, and then they suggested maybe I could spend my birthday with them.
Like, alone.
Like, on a family trip.
And, as much as I love my parents, that doesn’t spell a good time to me.
I told them no, of course, but I’ve been feeling hella guilty about it ever since, and now after the whole thing with Matt, maybe it’s not the worst idea.
“I don’t know,” I tell her carefully.
“Oh, it will be fun. I promise you. We’ve been looking at one of those cool houses to rent in the middle of the desert, like Joshua Tree. You love that place.”
It’s true. I’ve been to Coachella a few times, and once after the festival, Elle and I rented a glamping spot in the middle of Joshua Tree National Park. I totally fell in love with the place. Something about the remoteness, the sparseness of the land, the stars, and that ever-reaching night sky, like you’re plugged right into the universe. I swear I could feel my blood singing to the moon.
“Are you sure you want to take me to the middle of the desert?”
“Of course!” she exclaims. “We can light a bonfire, dance around it, get drunk.”
“Yeah, right,” I tell her. Oh, they’ll totally dance around the bonfire and yell blessings up to the moon goddess or some nonsense, but my parents very rarely drink. They don’t like to lose control. They don’t even smoke pot, although that’s something I do regularly. Helps dull the world a little, and definitely helps me sleep.
“Come on, it’ll be fun. It will probably be our last trip as a family.”
I finish the dregs of my coffee and give her a sharp look. She’s smiling, but behind her eyes she’s absolutely gutted for reasons I don’t understand.
“Mom. Don’t be so dramatic. I’m still going to be living downstairs. I’ve still got two more years of school, and even then I’ll end up doing my Masters and PhD here. I’m not going anywhere.”
She sniffs and gently runs her fingers under her eyes. “I know. I can’t help but hate that you’re getting older.”
Ugh. Talk about pulling at the heartstrings here.
“Stop. Look. If I say yes to the desert birthday, will you stop acting so sad about it all?”
She smiles. Still looks sad though. “Yes. I promise.” She clears her throat. “Do you still want that Alexander McQueen bag for your birthday?”
I’m not really a designer goods kind of gal, most of my clothes I get through AllSaints and Free People when I can afford it, and Poshmark when I can’t. But a couple of weeks ago I saw this black Alexander McQueen purse with this skull and stone design and I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s expensive as hell, so when I mentioned it to my parents I really didn’t think anything would come of it. I’ll be working most of the summer at the Palace of the Legion of Honor, so I figured I would just save up.
“Yeah, but you don’t have to bother with that,” I tell her. “I know it’s stupid expensive.”
“You only turn twenty-one once,” my mother says. “Stay right here.”
She walks off down the hall to the bedroom and I’m left wondering what’s going on. It’s not long before she’s back and holding an Alexander McQueen box. “I did a thing.”
My mouth drops open. “What?!” I immediately reach for it. “You got me the bag?”
She holds the box away from me. “I did. We both did. But we should probably wait until your father is home before we open it.”
“But…but it’s not my birthday for another two weeks.”
“I know.” She rotates the box around and around in her hands. “But why wait? Why not enjoy it now? You can wear it to class when you do your final exam. For good luck.”
“I don’t know what to say.” My parents have always spoiled me throughout my life, I know that much. I work extra hard because of it, because I’m always trying to be deserving of it. They have money, too, my father coming into a huge inheritance from his father, someone I never got a chance to meet before he died, but even so, the guilt is real.
“The bag is gorgeous,” my mother says. “You have good taste. Plus, the skulls and the black stone on the front are so very you.”
And she just gave me the perfect segue.
“What kind of stone do you think it is?” I ask innocently.
She shrugs. “I’ll have to take another look. Might just be costume jewelry.”
“Or it could be black tourmaline,” I say.
She pauses for a moment, frowning, then nods. “Could be.”
“Is my necklace black tourmaline?” I ask, lifting up the skull.
“And my ring?” I nod at the black stone between two rams’ heads on my right hand.
“That’s pietersite. The Tempest Stone.”
“Where did you get these again?”
“I can’t remember. They were for your sixteenth birthday though.”
“I know that. I remember my English teacher Mrs. Price saying they were practically demonic. She couldn’t believe it when I said you gave them to me.”
“Some people aren’t very open-minded, are they?” She reaches for my mug. “Want more coffee?”
I nod. “Yes, please.” I pause as she brings my mug over to the French press. “So, what does black tourmaline mean?”
“It means protection,” she says, her back turned to me.
“Why do I need protection?”
She gives me a soft s
mile over her shoulder. “All girls need protection, Lenore.” She turns her head back to concentrating on the coffee.
I jump right into the big question, watching her body language carefully. “Mom, who is Atlas Poe?”
She stiffens for a moment, her hand shaking, coffee spilling. “Who?” she asks, but her voice is a register higher than normal. “Shit. I spilled.”
She keeps her back to me, reaches over for a dishcloth to mop it up.
“Atlas Poe,” I repeat. “I saw him last night. He said he’s been trying to contact you for some time. Maybe he’s sent you an email.”
She clears her throat loudly and finally turns around, putting the coffee in front of me. There’s a tremor in her hand and she quickly hides it. “What did this man want, do you know?”
I shake my head. I hate that she’s lying. Well, not lying…yet. But she definitely knows him, that much I can tell. “He just wanted to talk to you. But I’m going to guess it’s important since it was midnight when I saw him. Right outside my door.”
Her eyes go wide. “Last night?”
“Yeah. I thought he was…I don’t know, a creep.” I’m not about to mention the stalker thing. “But he said he belongs to some guild and that he’s an associate of yours. Of course I told him to just call you like a normal person, but I got the impression that he’s done that already.”
She presses her lips together, nodding. “Ah. Yes, I do remember some emails from him, but I don’t remember what they said. We get so many about this and that.”
Okay, so now she’s lying. Her eyes go squinty. “Did he…did he say anything else to you? Did he do anything?”
“No. He gave me his card and left. I have it downstairs. It’s just his name and a phone number. Want me to get it?”
“That’s okay. Just…tell me if you see him again. Okay? He shouldn’t be approaching you so late at night. Especially not here.”
“Is he dangerous? Should I be worried?”
She stares at me for a moment, and from the angle of the light, her eyes look like they’re reflecting crescent moons. Then it’s gone. She smiles. “He’s just a weirdo. I’m sure it’s all fine.”
Weirdo, huh? Very comforting.
The sound of footsteps up the stairs breaks the strange vibe in the room, and then the door swings open, my father laden down with several reusable canvas bags from a range of retailers, gorgeous crimson roses peeking out the top.
“Lenore!” he cries out happily. My father is never not happy to see me. I don’t think he’s ever been mad at me, not even when I broke a priceless Egyptian artifact when I was five. Now that it’s my line of study, I know I would personally be furious.
“How’s my girl?” he says, plunking all the bags on the counter, zucchini and asparagus spilling out. He grabs the roses and hands one bunch to me. “These are for you.” Then he notices the Alexander McQueen box and shoots my mother a scandalous look. “What’s been going on here, Elaine?”
My mother shrugs, smiling brightly. “I figured we could give it to her early. Why not?”
He looks at me, a wry grin on his face nearly buried by his beard. “You working your magic on your mother?”
I protest. “It was her idea.” But now I’m watching my mother. When my father’s back is to her, her smile abruptly fades. I can tell she’s still stuck on the Poe thing. So am I.
“Sure, sure,” my father says with a sigh. “Okay then, let’s do this. Do you want to open it now?”
“Yes, please,” I tell him. I’ve never had much patience, and the purse would be a good distraction.
He hands me the box. “We should have at least wrapped it,” he says, glancing over at my mother who is staring off into nothing, biting her lip. “Are you okay?”
“What?” she says absently, then runs a hand over her head. “Yes. Just drifted off there.”
I contemplate bringing up Atlas Poe to my father to see if he recognizes the name at all, to see if their stories differ, but I don’t want to ruin a good moment.
So I open the box and see the gorgeous purse, all silver hardware and quilted black lambskin leather with the skulls and stone over a metal knuckle. I slip my hand through the knuckle and admire it, like I’m wearing extra rings. I’m pretty sure the stone isn’t a protection stone, but it’s still nice.
All girls need protection, Lenore.
My mother’s words flit through my head for a moment. Then I bring my focus back to the bag, hug the both of them, gush over it appropriately. I don’t want that to steal this moment, especially when this purse means a lot to my parents, I can tell that much.
I then help my father put his groceries away, have another coffee, and chat for a bit with him about his morning before I head down to my apartment with the box under my arm, roses in my hand.
I take out my favorite vase (a knock off of a find from the 18th Egyptian Dynasty), fill it with fresh water, then cut off the ends of the roses before sticking them in. They look gorgeous on the kitchen table, the petals like velvet. I always try to have fresh flowers in the apartment as it really brightens the place up.
Then I go into my bedroom and take the purse back out of the box, displaying it on the dresser beside my metal figurine of Pazuzu, a demon god from the first millennium B.C., who matches a tattoo I have on my hip. Pazuzu was a feared demon, but he had the power of repelling other worse demons, so in a way he’s about protection too. I admire them together for a moment, then slide the box under my bed (it will be a great place to stick mementos), grab a banana from the kitchen, and go to my desk in the living room, the pile of books beside it ready to go.
I fire up my laptop and start studying.
* * *
Lenore.
Someone whispers my name.
I wake up slowly, like I’ve been drugged. Lift my head up off the textbook, the paper sticking to my cheek.
What the hell?
I must have fallen asleep.
I carefully look around, my head feeling heavy.
What time is it?
It’s pitch black inside the apartment, except for the light coming down the hall from the kitchen. I could have sworn I had my reading lamp on before, but it’s off now.
I grab my phone from beside me and tap it on, the light illuminating the space around me. It’s one in the morning. I have no idea how long I’ve been asleep for. I’d pretty much been studying all day, taking a couple breaks before having dinner upstairs with my parents. After that, I took a glass of wine from them and went right back to studying. Maybe the pasta coma had delayed onset or something, because the last thing I remember was reading my notes on the Austrian archaeologist Manfred Bietak and that was it.
Well, I guess there’s always tomorrow. Normally I’d push through and pull an all-nighter, but I’m still tired enough to go right back to sleep. Might as well take advantage of it.
I’m just about to get out of my chair when I hear a creak in the kitchen, then the sound of a door closing.
I fucking freeze.
My skin prickles in fear.
That sounded like my bedroom door.
And there’s no breeze in here at all, no reason for a door to close by itself.
Shit, shit, shit.
My heart is crammed in my throat, blood pounding in my head, my limbs ice-cold, like the temperature in the room is dropping, dropping, dropping.
Am I freaking out for no reason? I heard that door close, and now I have the terrible feeling that I’m not alone in my apartment. I pick up my phone and contemplate texting my mom. She won’t be up though. They sleep with their ‘do not disturb’ on. And the keys to their place are in the kitchen.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.
I hope I’m freaking out over nothing.
Though honestly the room does feel like an icebox, goosebumps erupting all over my skin, fear spreading through my veins like ink.
Okay, just get up and go into the kitchen, get the keys, and run out.
I mana
ge to get out of the chair. Shaking. With one foot in front of the other, moving like the carpet turned to quicksand, I somehow convince my legs to move until I’m crossing the living room and stepping out into the hallway. The light in the kitchen illuminates the keys hanging below it.
They’re right there.
Just get them and go.
Moving fast now, I head over to the keys, looking over at my bedroom door as I do so.
Only to see it wide open.
I stop, stare.
Okay, now I’m really confused. Did I imagine hearing it close? I try and think back. Maybe I was still half asleep and the sound came from my dream. That’s happened to me before.
That must have been it.
I’m being paranoid again.
I walk over to the bedroom and cautiously poke my head in.
It’s dark in here too.
Pitch black.
Unnaturally so.
And yet…I have the same feeling I had behind The Cloister. Like the room is no longer a room, but a long, cavernous void where nothing can escape, and standing between me and that eternal darkness is someone.
Or something.
I swear I hear it…breathing.
In. And out.
Coming…closer.
Closer.
Oh god.
I quickly fumble for the light switch, turning it on, filling the room with light, expecting to see someone standing inches in front of me.
But there’s nothing.
It’s just my room. Everything in its right place. My purse on the dresser.
I collapse against the doorframe, pressing my hand into my chest. Jesus, I need to stop giving myself a heart attack. I can’t even blame it on the weed since I didn’t have any today.
I exhale loudly, pushing all the air out. It’s starting to feel warmer in here too.
All in my fucking head.
Maybe I’m a little more stressed about this last exam than I realized.
I sigh and turn around, heading back into the kitchen to get a glass of water before I go back to sleep.
I stop suddenly, staring blankly at the red roses in the vase on the table.
Every single one of them is dead.
Black Sunshine Page 4
