Vanish

by Nicola Marsh

  The annoying thing was, I could be myself when we chatted online but around him I turned into a shy, uncomfortable dork. Having a crush on an older guy was so cliché but I couldn't help it. He was that…nice. Laid-back, funny, charming, and fun to be with. And probably thought of me as nothing more than the girl who couldn't string two words together around him.

  I unwound my scarf, took off my jacket, and flung them onto the chair in the corner of my room before sitting at my desk and opening my laptop. My gaze instantly fixed on the envelope icon along the bottom of the screen.

  Nada.

  Damn. I'd been counting on an upbeat email from Ronan before I performed what had become a bi-monthly ritual: calling Mom.

  She didn't answer anymore and it hurt. A lot. I knew she was okay because Angie regularly spoke to her and gave me updates. Yet when I called the last few times, the answering machine picked up. I'd grown to hate it.

  At first I'd been resentful and angry, and the messages I left reiterated that. But since then, each time that machine beeped when I called, sadness would make me choke up and I'd leave a few terse words that virtually said nothing beyond “why can't my own mom talk to me?”

  Today, I'd try to reach her a different way.

  I'd abandoned Noah, and he'd killed himself.

  If anything happened to Mom…

  I couldn't keep beating myself up over it but late at night when I couldn't sleep, with car horns and loud voices and thumping bass—the sounds of New York City—filtering into my room, I'd wonder if I'd done the right thing in leaving her.

  Before remembering how crappy my life had been the last five years and knowing I would've gone nuts myself if I'd stayed any longer.

  I hit the speed-dial number on my cell and waited, holding my breath, mentally reciting a plea that she'd pick up.

  One ring. Another. Before the click over onto the machine, the perky message I'd recorded years ago played, and then the dreaded beep.

  The air whooshed out of my lungs as I grappled with finding the right words to get through to her.

  "Hey, Mom, it's me. Hope you're doing okay."

  Yeah, right. She'd probably answer the phone if she was.

  "I'm fine. Made some new friends."

  I left out the part that Ronan and Seth were male. Not that she'd care. She hadn't cared about anything I did in a long while. But a small part of me didn't want her worrying about me hanging out with guys again, as she'd had a major relapse after Noah's death.

  "And I have a new study partner, too, so my grades are good."

  The trivialities exhausted, I launched into the latest way to get through to her: reminisce.

  "I've been filming a music tutor at school for an assignment, and it reminded me of your bodhran. Remember how I loved drumming on it? You'd draw a chalk circle on the ground and gather your althame and candles and stuff for a ritual, while I pounded on it. It was the best fun."

  And it had been. I'd loved Mom's Celtic bodhran, a flat Irish drum made from goatskin. She'd said drumming was a way to commune with the gods and goddesses, but I just liked the way it sounded and the fact I felt a part of Mom's rituals, even though as a kid I had no idea what they really meant.

  Feeling like an idiot for babbling into the machine, I continued: "I've been burning your favorite essential oils, too. Lemongrass, peppermint and grapefruit. Reminds me of home…"

  My voice hitched and I swallowed, willing the tears away.

  "Angie's calendula and chamomile salves aren't as good as yours so maybe you could make some again?"

  Mom hadn't made any salves in years but I wanted to jog her memory, wanted to snap her out of the stupor that was her life these days.

  "Anyway, I have to go, Mom. Take care and we'll talk soon."

  My hand shook as I hit the End Call button and flung my cell onto the bed. I had no idea if any of that stuff I'd said would make an ounce of difference, but I'd keep trying to get through to her.

  Dashing a hand across my eyes to stave off tears, I wandered toward the kitchen in search of a snack. The scent of juniper hung heavy in the air, a remnant of the incense Angie burned for her rituals. Most of them occurred when I was at school, and while my aunt regularly tried to sway me to her Wicca ways when I was growing up, she'd pretty much left me alone since I'd come to live with her.

  Thinking of Angie made me think of Mom, and made me sad all over again.

  I needed a choc-chip ice-cream fix to cheer me up, and then I'd face the arduous task of editing the footage I'd filmed at school so far. It would take ages, because checking scenes featuring Ronan would be tough. I'd have to watch them over and over to ensure I got my assignment just right.

  Beware...

  I froze. Stuck my fingers in my ears, jiggled them, vowed to dry them better after every shower.

  Because I hadn't heard a voice.

  Had to have been the rush of air coming from the open window in the kitchen as I entered.

  I couldn't fathom any other explanation.

  Especially not the one that insisted the voice I'd heard during that final confrontation with Mom at home might just have followed me here.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The next evening, Ronan ushered his last student out then slid music sheets into a portfolio. "Your assignment's done?"

  I nodded and tapped my cell. "Once I upload this last bit of footage and do some more voice-over stuff, I can hand it in. Ahead of deadline, too."

  I inwardly cringed. Could I sound any dorkier? Like he cared about my grades.

  "Good for you." His lips curved into a teasing smile and I struggled to quell the heat surging to my cheeks—and lost. "You can still come see me twice a week, you know."

  Cue happy dance. "Why would I do that?"

  He shrugged. "In case you miss me."

  "I'll live," I said, managing to sound drily amused as his grin broadened. "Besides, you'll keep emailing me those killer sax moves, yeah?"

  "I knew it." He snapped his fingers. "You're a closet jazz aficionado after all."

  Smiling at his antics, I rolled my eyes. "Only because you bombard me with those lame songs all the time."

  "You calling me a geek?" He advanced toward me, every step bringing him tantalizingly closer. "And here I was, thinking you were falling for my awesomeness."

  "I'm not falling for anything," I said, making a mockery of the lie that tripped off my tongue by taking a step backward when he stopped less than two feet away.

  "It's okay, you can admit it." He closed the short distance between us, so close I could feel the heat radiating off his chest, so close I could smell his minty breath, so close I could see a tiny freckle at the corner of his mouth. "You think I'm the coolest musician you know."

  "You're the only musician I know." I inhaled deeply, trying to get some air into my lungs, to ease the lightheadedness that having him this close elicited. "And I think you're an egotistical jerk."

  He chuckled and I stiffened as his head moved toward me.

  Crap, he was going to kiss me.

  I forced my lips to relax. Impossible, as I stared at his, edging closer…

  My heart rate went into overdrive as I resisted the urge to swipe my sweaty palms against my jeans. I'd dreamed about this and now that it was going to happen…

  I wanted to close my eyes, to savor the kiss, but I kept them open, wanting to imprint every tiny detail of this incredible moment.

  But his lips never touched mine. He bypassed my mouth, my cheek altogether, to whisper in my ear, "Liar."

  No use denying it, considering I hadn't moved a millimeter to avoid our almost-kiss. I didn't think he was an egotistical jerk. I thought he was the hottest guy on the planet. And the fact he was still standing within touching distance made me think he might like me in return.

  When he stepped away, I wanted to reach out and haul him back.

  His mouth quirked into a teasing smirk, like he knew exactly how much he affected me. "What are you doing tomorrow?"


  "A history assignment in the library." Sheesh, more of that scintillating conversation. Why couldn't I flirt with him? Have a little fun, rather than sounding guarded every time he asked me a question?

  "Then I might see you there." He touched my arm, the briefest, fleeting brush of his fingertips against my sleeve, and my legs wobbled a little.

  Unnerved by the fact he wanted to see me beyond today, I blurted, "It's a date."

  Damn, could I be any more cringe-worthy?

  Wishing a sinkhole would open up beneath me, I fidgeted beneath his intense stare, trying not to gawk at the caramel flecks glowing amid the hazel.

  "Perhaps it could be," he said, his voice low, without a hint of teasing. "See you then."

  As I watched him stride away, I realized something.

  For the first time in a long time, I had something to look forward to.

  I couldn't wait for tomorrow.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I hadn’t slept well.

  Every time I drifted off, I’d replay my meeting with Ronan, his lips edging closer to mine…so I ended up awake half the night, watching some of the music videos he’d sent me. Yeah, like that helped calm my nerves, with the possibility he’d view a visit to the library today as a date.

  So when Aunt Angie proposed we go for a walk first thing this morning, I jumped at the chance.

  I used to do long walks with Kelsey and I missed that. Missed her. We hadn’t kept in touch beyond the occasional text and those had eventually petered out. That’s the thing about growing up in a weird environment: independence was key and I didn’t need anyone. So why did I feel so goddamn bad for ditching everything and everyone from my hometown?

  “Was splitting that second pizza sub for breakfast too much?” Angie pulled a funny face. “Because you’re looking like this.”

  Wasn’t indigestion making me feel queasy, but a healthy dose of guilt instead.

  “Nah, I’m good.”

  Angie bumped me with her hip as we strolled along East 2nd Street. “We should do this bonding thing more often. It’s nice.”

  “Yeah.” Determined to make the most of this time with my aunt who I rarely saw, I patted my stomach. “Though with more walking next time and less double toppings.”

  “Done.” Angie smiled, the hint of wariness in her eyes alerting me to an incoming zinger I wouldn’t like. “So is it getting any easier?”

  Uh-oh. I didn’t want to talk about Mom. Not when it would bring me down. I wanted today to be a good day, wanted to be upbeat on the off-chance Ronan showed up at the library in an hour.

  “You mean with missing Mom?”

  Angie shook her head, her gaze gentle. “I meant dealing with Noah’s death.”

  She’d asked me this occasionally since I’d come to live with her, and each time I’d shut her down. But today, the usual tightness in my chest that thoughts about Noah elicited didn’t come.

  Maybe time did heal. Or more likely, I’d stopped dwelling on his suicide every second of every day and had started thinking about other things. Like living in a new city, fitting into a new school, and hanging out with new friends.

  “I’ll never get over the way he died,” I said, scuffing the sidewalk and staring at my sneakers to avoid seeing the pity in Angie’s eyes. “And I still blame myself to a certain extent. But I guess living here, away from Broadwater, has made dealing with it easier.”

  “I’m glad, sweetie.” Angie slipped her arm around my waist and squeezed. “You deserve a break.”

  “Thanks.”

  She released me and tweaked me on the nose. “Think you can squeeze in a sundae before you head off to be the model student and study on the weekend?”

  I groaned. “No way.”

  Though the thought of ignoring the pile of homework on my desk and sharing my favorite childhood dessert with my aunt was mighty tempting.

  “I really should get a start on that history assignment…” I trailed off as a buzzing filled my ears like static, only louder. It gave way to a rush of sounds, like a million people trying to talk over one another.

  I stuck my fingers in my ears. Jiggled them. It didn’t help.

  “Honey, are you okay?” Angie’s voice sounded like it came from a mile away, drowned out by the cacophony making my head ache.

  Probably tinnitus, a result of thinking about Noah and dredging up feelings best left alone. Maybe I needed to sit down before I got dizzy.

  Spying a bench thirty feet away, I took a step and froze.

  We were in front of the New York City Marble Cemetery.

  Ghosts. Souls. Spirits. Nebulous things Mom swore she spoke to every day. And now this noise…

  No way. No way in hell.

  Angie grabbed my upper arms and eyeballed me. “Alyssa, can you hear something? Voices—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, I’m not Mom.” I wrenched free and bolted, running toward the end of the block, hoping my aunt wouldn’t think I was as crazy as Mom.

  I reached the bench, collapsed onto it, thankful that the buzzing had vanished, replaced by the thud of my heartbeat. I inhaled, deep breaths to calm the terror squeezing my chest. I wouldn’t end up like Mom. I couldn’t. The thought alone was enough to make me freak out.

  When Angie caught up, she sat next to me. “What happened back there?”

  Dredging up the most plausible explanation I could think of on the spur of the moment, I said, “Since Noah died, I get dizzy spells sometimes. Makes my ears ring. That’s why I ran for the bench so I wouldn’t faint on the sidewalk and make an idiot of myself.”

  Angie didn’t buy it. Her gaze was too assessing, too astute, like she could see right through my BS. “You sure that’s all it was?”

  “Positive.” If I nodded any harder my head would fall off. “I’m fine now.” I made a grand show of staring at my watch. “And I really have to head to the library now.”

  “Maybe I should come with you—”

  “I’m fine. Honest.” I gave her a brief hug before standing. “I’ll see you at home tonight?”

  Angie stared at me, concern creasing the corners of her eyes. “Sure.”

  I left her there, eager to reach the library and my possible rendezvous with Ronan.

  That’s what I needed to focus on. Something fun. Something normal. Something that was far removed from the madness that ran in my mom’s veins.

  And may just run in mine.

  Want to read more about Alyssa and the evil stalking her in New York City?

  BANISH, out now!

  Alyssa has one week to destroy her enemy, save her spirit... and save her soul.

  After her ex-boyfriend commits suicide and her mum’s alcoholism sparks yet another psychotic episode, seventeen-year-old Alyssa Wood flees her small hometown of Broadwater and heads to New York City to stay with her bohemian aunt — a Wicca High Priestess.

  Alyssa revels in the anonymity of a big city and her new life. Her grades climb, she has a new best friend, and a new guy: the sexy geek Ronan — a saxophone player who prefers jazz to pop.

  But her newfound peace is soon shattered when she sees a dead body in one of Ronan’s music clips — and she’s the only one who can see it. Worse still, Alyssa recognises the body that has been murdered a week forward!

  Alyssa doesn’t believe in the supernatural...despite her family’s Wicca background. So how will she overcome evil when it’s closer than she thinks?

  Here’s a snippet from BANISH:

  PROLOGUE

  Time to put the past to rest.

  I edged towards the door leading to freedom and clasped the knife, its weight reassuring in my hand. Ignoring the pain in my palm where it had accidentally sliced as I’d bolted to escape, I focused on the kitchen doorway and waited. Waited for him to come after me.

  A shadow fell across the doorway and using both hands I raised the knife, holding it high and extended, like a Samurai.

  He stopped at the kitchen door, malevolence radiating off him. He raised a finger
and drew it across his throat in a slow, deliberate slit. “You’re dead.”

  He stepped into the kitchen, the absence of emotion in his icy glare almost as terrifying as the slow curling and unfurling of his fingers. I had no doubt those fingers would end up wrapped around my throat.

  “Give me the knife, bitch.”

  The insult didn’t freak me out as much as the uncanny timbre of his voice; how much he sounded like my dead ex. Wish I’d noticed the resemblance sooner. Would have saved me the hassle of carving up his ass. For there was one thing I was sure of: I’d managed to endure this god-awful week so far, no way would I go down without a fight.

  My trembling fingers convulsed around the knife, gripping the handle tighter as I lowered it to chest level. “Make me.”

  The eyes of the guy I’d once trusted glowed with hatred. A second before he lunged at me.

  I feinted to the right, slammed my hip against the sink and cried out in pain.

  He laughed, a chilling sound that had me scrabbling faster as he came straight for me.

  I swept the glass on the draining board to the floor and dodged to the left.

  He kept coming.

  Panic clogged my throat as I rebounded against the wall, hard enough to rattle the crockery in the dresser. I should have baulked, should have screamed, should have run. Instead, an inner strength I hadn’t known I possessed snapped its leash. Clawed its way to the surface, howling for freedom.

  He must have seen something in my expression because he hesitated.

  I didn’t.

  I screamed my fury, desperate to lash out.

  Unable to rein in my rage, I slashed.

  CHAPTER ONE

  One Week Earlier

  All the times I’d sabotaged Mom’s spells as an adventurous kid, hidden Aunt Angie’s althame or used runes to pelt the snotty brat next door had come back to haunt me. Maybe there was something to my family’s Wicca Threefold Law after all: whatever you dished out would come back three times worse.

  My history assignment on pagans definitely fell into this category.

  I didn’t want to research paganism. I’d lived it growing up and witchcraft wasn’t for me. Not after I’d seen the results on my mom.