“I thank you, but I mean to burn them,” said her mother.
“In that case, in the trash they go,” said Blythe getting rid of them. “Now please, sit. Relax.”
Delilah obliged.
Blythe opened the fridge. “I can make you a ham sandwich. Oh wait, we’re out of bread.” She opened the freezer. “How about pasta? Got some Chicken Alfredo. Seven minutes in the microwave and it’ll be ready.” She turned around, smiling at her mother.
“I’d appreciate anything coming from you,” she said.
Blythe stuck a dinner in the microwave while Delilah sipped her water. “I have someone I can’t wait for you to meet.” She wiped her hands on a towel. “Where’s my backpack? This uniform is itchy.” Exiting the kitchen, she walked towards the front room and discreetly swapped clothes, talking all the while. “His name is Fredo. He’s my adopted dad, and he’s taken care of me all these years with Natalie.”
“Natalie, you say?” Delilah perked up.
“Yes.” Returning to the kitchen, she leaned against the countertop adjacent the microwave. “Fredo told me she was your nurse when I was born. She basically rescued me from the hospital and I’ve been with her ever since.”
“Where is she?” Delilah straightened up and set her cup on the table.
Blythe’s expression saddened. “She—died. Cancer. But she told me something. She told me that God always had a plan and that He would make sure things would turn out the way they should.” Tugging her shirt, she continued, “I’ll be honest. I’m not sure that I ever believed in God.” She paused, reflecting. “Until now.” She smiled at the thought. The microwave beeped and she removed the dinner, set it on the countertop, and grabbed a fork. When she set the food on the table, Sefira wanted to puke. It had been in there a little too long. Blythe noticed too, her face soured. “I guess you can see I’m no kitchen genie. I can make you another—”
Her mother briefly placed her hand on Blythe’s. “Thank you,” she said. “This looks delicious.” And with that, she dug in, and they didn’t hear a word from her until she finished. “It feels amazing to be out of that nightmare.”
“It’s good to have you back, Mom,” said Sefira, sitting beside her mother, stroking her back.
“Girls,” she put her fork down, clasped her hands together and took a deep breath. “There’s something you should know.”
The sound of movement in the back of the house caught their attention.
“Fredo?” said Blythe. “I’m sorry, hold that thought—it was so quiet back there I thought he’d stepped out,” she said, distracted. “Fredo, come out here, there’s somebody I want you to meet,” she yelled. Seconds passed without a response. “I don’t know what’s taking him so long. I’ll be right back.” Down the hallway she walked, boots clicking. When she reached the back bedroom, she screamed. The chairs squeaked as Sefira was up from the table at once, her mother close behind.
A cold sweat washed over Sefira as soon as she saw the bedroom door—or what was left of it. The heavy wooden door hung half off its hinges and it was scarred by claw marks etched so deeply into the wood that she saw clean through the gashes into the bedroom. Briefly her fingers grazed the splintered wood, her heart lurching at the sound of wailing. Dear God. Her mother broke past her, forcing the door open.
It was as if a cyclone had passed through. Papers and what looked like Fredo’s meal were strewn throughout. A mattress gutted by the same ominous markings lay toppled across a dresser. Its drawers were splintered and scattered along with its innards—more clothes, prescriptions, and papers, as if someone were searching for something. In the center of it all was Blythe, who sat on her knees with Fredo’s bloodied head cradled in her arms.
“Call them,” she waved at Sefira, with a bloodied hand. “Call 911!”
Sefira wasn’t sure if she were moving but her mother was already at work. Grabbing a sheet from the floor she tore it in pieces. Then she too was on her knees.
“Lift his head a little,” said her mother. “We can bind this, but we must do it quickly.”
Fredo groaned as Blythe propped him up.
“911, what’s your emergency?” asked a far-off voice. Sefira studied her hands. Apparently, she had dialed. She didn’t even remember pulling her phone from her pocket. And then another voice spoke. It was her own.
“I—there’s a man on the ground. He’s bleeding from his head. And—maybe his chest or um—legs.” The remnants of his white shirt were now scarlet, and blood diffused through his tan cargo pants.
“What’s your name?”
Delilah’s head whipped around, “No!”
“Um—” Sefira continued, “Beth.”
“Beth, where are you?”
“I’m in a bedroom, in the back. He’s on the floor. We’re in LA.”
“1225 Maple Street, #104!” Blythe yelled.
Sefira repeated the address. “Is he awake?” the woman on the other end asked.
“Hang up,” a male voice interjected. It was Fredo. His voice startled her, but it was good to hear it, nonetheless. Thank God.
“He’s awake,” she replied.
“Make sure his head is elevated and try to see if you can put pressure on the wound. We’ll be there shortly, but I want you to stay on the line with me.”
Sefira pressed the end button and noted a litany of missed calls. Kaetano. Great timing as usual. She rushed over to Fredo and kneeled beside him. Now that she was closer, she could see that it was even worse than she thought. His hair and skin were soaked in sweat and blood and his face suffered a gash down the side of his eye. Her mother managed to bind the head wound, then went to work on his chest.
“Who did this to you?” Blythe asked. Anger flashed across her face. Her fingers stroked his head as her mother bound his chest.
He groaned. “They wanted me to tell them where you were.” He swallowed hard. Every breath, every word seemed like an effort for him. “You and Sefira. They’re lookin’ for ya.”
“Who?” asked Blythe.
Fredo didn’t answer. Instead he said, “I don’t understand.” He took on a far-off look, appearing to relive the events that transpired earlier. “I shot clean through ‘em. Both of them. My Colt’s never let me down.” He was frightened, that much Sefira could tell. She hadn’t noticed the gun in his hand until Delilah pried it from his bloodied fingers, setting it aside.
“What did they look like?” her mother asked, as she busied herself looking for more wounds.
“Three. There were three. One of them had hair, long and silver. And his eyes, they were like death.” Her mother froze, then continued what she was doing. “And the others,” he gulped, eyes widening, “at, they—one of them turned into a wolf.” His eyes shot to Blythe. “You gotta believe me.”
“I believe you,” she stroked his head. “I believe you.”
He glanced at Sefira, then Delilah. “You’re her,” he said, smiling weakly before wincing. “Their mother.”
“Yes,” answered Delilah, holding his hand now. She’d done all she could.
“We did our best with Blythe. We loved her.” He looked at Blythe. “I love you.”
Delilah squeezed his hand. “I can’t even begin to thank you enough.”
Blythe’s hair brushed her father’s shoulder as she kissed him on the forehead. With her fingers she traced the outline of the deep, red scar on his face; tears tumbling all the while. As she did so, a warm, amber glow percolated around her fingertips, spilling onto his cheek and to the dismay of all, his scar began to fade.
Sirens blared, getting closer. Sefira was of the opinion that Fredo wasn’t dying—at least, not anymore. But, he was certainly weary. He grew silent and closed his eyes only to have them pop open seconds later. “They went to your house.” Straining, he turned his head toward Sefira. “Your family, they’re in danger.”
The words absolutely skewered Sefira sending a pang shivering through her chest. Stiffening, her body went numb.
�
�Fira,” her mother’s voice called to her. But it sounded so far away. “Fira, you can’t lose your head.” Delilah looked at both the girls. “You’ve got to be strong right now and you’ve got to be focused. You hear me?
I’m weak, but they don’t know that. They must not know that.” She stood up. “I’m sorry but we must go.”
Sefira stood up too.
“The jewelry box I gave you. Is it at the house?” asked her mother, clutching Sefira’s arm as if to keep her from slipping back into a stupor.
“Yes,” she answered, “in my bedroom upstairs.”
Her mother sighed, relieved. “Good girl. I need you two to follow my lead. Don’t make a move unless I tell you. Understand?” This was the mother she knew.
“I’m going to kill them,” Blythe blurted out, cold as ice.
There was a crash as the front doors burst open. “Where are you?” someone yelled.
“Back here!” Blythe answered.
“We must go.” Delilah grabbed Blythe’s arm, pulling her but Blythe didn’t move, looking conflicted.
“Go,” said Fredo. “I’ll be alright. I promise.” He looked at Delilah. “Keep her safe.”
“I will,” she said.
What sounded like boots and something on rollers, probably a gurney, clamored down the hallway.
Blythe gingerly laid Fredo’s head down and got to her feet, but not before swiping the gun. Delilah wrenched it from her and tossed it aside. “That will not work,” she said. “Take us there.” And with that, they were gone.
Black Rose
Shards of broken glass crackled beneath their feet as Sefira powered through the short hall flanked by her sister and mother.
The living room proved empty and relatively unscathed. The bathroom was no different, but she could already tell that the rest of the house would tell a different tale. As they approached the family room, her muscles tensed and heart dropped at the sight of a large object blocking the entrance. Her mother snagged both her and her sister by the forearm; the strength of her grip caught Sefira by surprise. “Slow down,” she warned.
“I heard a scream. Somebody screamed,” blurted Sefira, feeling like a seven-year-old again.
“I know,” her mother whispered. “But you can’t just run in there. You’ve got to keep your head if we’re going to be effective. We don’t know what we’re facing. Now listen, where’s the box?”
“Upstairs, the second room from the left—behind the banister.”
Her mother nodded and said, “We’ll clear the first floor, then the second. Who’s here?”
“My—mother, my sister and brother,” answered Sefira.
“You two are strong. Stay together and remember, my cue.” The girls looked at one another, nodding in agreement, and Delilah released them both.
The large object turned out to be the loveseat that was formerly situated on the North side of the room. Leather torn, it was lying upside down atop a broken coffee table that was now missing two legs. Together, they pushed the couch and table aside, maneuvering around the furniture and into the room. Sefira’s eyes darted desperately from wall to wall and all she could do was gasp. Her family’s cozy little enclave was trashed, as if the same cyclone that had passed through Fredo’s room passed through this one as well. Everything was broken or out of place.
A splintered mahogany plank teetered on the bar’s countertop. A cursory glance at the Northernmost wall confirmed that it was part of a shelf from her mother’s treasured bookshelf. The other half of it hung tentatively from the wall, its broken end scraping the floor. What type of thing could snap a solid wood bookshelf in two? The thought made her cringe as did the rest of the room. She pushed the plank out of her way, stepping gingerly over broken lamps and smashed picture frames, just to get to the point where the family and dining room met. The dining room China cabinet was unscathed but the wooden table was now legless, lying on the floor. Off to the left, the bay window embedded in the family room wall was cracked and its polyester curtains were shredded, hanging dreadfully from a bent rod. As for the long couch she’d curled up in only days before, it was now in a heap in the middle of the room along with a few dining room chairs, some of which had been reduced to kindling. Dirt was everywhere—on the furniture, all over the floor and walls. Apparently, the potted plants were smashed as were the succulents.
Besides the China Cabinet, Grandpa’s easy chair was just about the only thing still in tact, but it lay ripped and on its side.
As her mind began to soak things in, alarms began to sound. If they’d done this to the house, what might they have done to her family?
“Is there another room in the back?” asked Delilah climbing over rubbish.
“Uh, yeah,” Sefira answered, unable to peel her eyes away from the devastation. My mom’s.”
“I’ll go check it out. You two stay here.”
Delilah threaded through broken furniture, past the kitchen and through the dining room, disappearing into the back hallway. Meanwhile, Blythe looked just as shocked as Sefira.
“Everything is going to be okay,” she said, trying to look reassuring. It was a lie, Sefira knew. Things were far from okay. Blythe headed toward the North side of the room, meanwhile trinkets crackled underfoot as Sefira picked past, clearing chairs, trying to make a path. In truth, she was just trying to keep busy. Her stomach was in knots fearing what might lie upstairs.
Her mother had just broached the dining room and was making her way towards Sefira when Blythe called out.
“Sefira?” Something about the way in which Blythe called her caused Sefira to spin around. Her sister’s back was to her as she studied something on the floor. Slowly, Blythe turned to face her, eyes full of sadness.
A sharp pang stabbed Sefira’s chest. “What?”
Blythe didn’t answer. She stepped aside and Sefira followed her gaze to a tennis shoe sticking out from behind a tipped couch. As she drew closer, her heart stopped as there was a leg still in it.
Cold air blasted through the AC unit, but Kaetano was sweating nevertheless. After his run-in with “The Pale One,” he’d tried calling Sefira a million times. Where was she? She wasn’t at the house, that much was clear. He’d made the mistake of knocking on her door, only to meet her loving brother, who proceeded to grill him about the away meet that Sefira was supposed to have attended. He thought he came up with a nice save but wasn’t sure if the guy bought it.
When she didn’t turn up at the house, he decided to go by Sky’s. Of course, she hadn’t seen her either and he had to hang around a bit to make sure she wouldn’t sound any alarms. So now, here he was, parked across the street from a convenience store with his chin buried in his hand.
He raked his fingers over his face and punched the steering wheel. What am I doing? They say opportunity knocks but once. What kind of idiot refuses to answer the door? And yet, that’s exactly what he’d done. All but barricaded it. Here she was, the golden goose. The girl everybody’s been looking for, and all he had to do was take her. There’d been no shortage of opportunities either. The school, the house, the date—the list seemed endless, but he’d failed at every turn.
At first, he told himself that he was biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment when she wouldn’t be missed. But when the opportunity came and went, and several others followed suit, he ran out of excuses and was forced to face the truth. That there was something about this girl’s innocence, her salty-sweet vulnerability, that drew him in. With each passing moment spent with her, he yearned for the next. This was not what he’d signed up for.
The bright yellow ball that was Earth’s sun sailed from one side of the horizon, and half-way to the other and he still hadn’t figured out if he were doing the right thing. Even if he found her, what would he say? How do you tell someone you’ve been secretly stalking them and everything you told them was a complete lie? Well, almost everything. If she thought his other pick-up lines were weak…. There was also another issue which haunted his dr
eams and left him restless while awake—his family. His mother and brother were all he had left. Was he really willing to jeopardize their lives for hers?
Kaetano leaned back in his seat, thumping the back of his head against the headrest. He thought he’d have more time. Guess they weren’t as dumb as he thought. So now what? This wasn’t his battle. Not the one he was supposed to be fighting anyway.
It was getting late. No point in sitting around any longer. Sighing, he jammed his keys into the ignition and took off.
Sefira’s legs had turned to jelly. Like a drunkard she stumbled over furniture in an effort to get to where Blythe stood. Delilah rushed over as well, arriving first. One glance at the floor and she waved Sefira back.
“What is it?” she heard herself say. But somehow, she already knew. Dear God, please….
As she rounded the couch and a body came to view, bile rose from her stomach and set her throat afire. Unable to catch her breath, she staggered forward, tripping over her feet; if her sister hadn’t caught her she would’ve taken a nosedive for sure.
The woman whom she’d come to love for the past eight years was gone. Two vacant eyes stared back at her from a head so violently twisted, her body faced the opposite direction. Blythe put her arms around Sefira, sucking a breath, while Sefira wasn’t sure if she were breathing at all.
Delilah’s brows knitted as she touched the deep violet bruise that spanned the circumference of Celeste’s throat. “There are no handprints on her. No wounds either. This reeks of magic.” Her eyes met Sefira’s. “I’m sorry but you must listen to me. We need salt. Where is it?”
Sefira’s brains had gone to mush. Sitting on her heels, she turned to her sister, clutched her arm and said, “Fix her!”
“What do you mean?” Blythe’s eyes widened.
“Fix her—like you did Fredo!”
Delilah and Blythe exchanged glances. Delilah nodded as if nudging her to try.
For Blood & Glory Page 31
