An image of Ryan splattered all over the road flashed through my mind, and my stomach twisted. Could something inside me make me do that to myself?
Derrick shrugged. “Maybe. It would have to be absorbed at different rates to affect you guys at different times. And nothing showed up on the tox screen. Still, it’s the only thing I can think of.”
Look, we’re . . . we’re drunk, I think. I feel weird, too. Maybe it was a bad keg. Don’t cry.
“You might be on to something.” I shuddered again and fought to keep my voice even while I filled Derrick in on what little I’d remembered. If I panicked now, if I overthought this and let the dam break, I was half afraid I’d start screaming and never stop.
“So that weird dress was Josh’s t-shirt?” Derrick voice sounded strained behind his tensed jaw.
“Yeah.”
Derrick took a long moment before shifting the topic. “If it was a toxin, you should have died first. You’re lightest, so you would metabolize it faster.”
Comforting. “Maybe I didn’t get as much. Or maybe—” I broke off when Derrick signaled to turn left at No Name Road. Why they put up a street sign for a road no one bothered to give an actual name to was beyond me. “We’re heading to Stalker Ed’s now?”
Derrick touched my shoulder, pushing me back into my seat to see around me. Once he was sure no cars were coming, he made the turn. “Can you think of a better time?”
Chapter 27: Derrick
Friday, September 23rd
“DIDN’T WE SWEAR we’d never come back here?” Tess asked in an undertone when I parked the car in Stalker Ed’s gravel lot.
I grimaced at the memory. Stalker Ed—named for the creepy way he walked with his hands stiff at his side, and his head cocked like a deranged cheetah staring at a gazelle—was Fairdealings’s only practicing Druid. He was the first person I’d ever heard of in our town who wasn’t Baptist, which I’d found fascinating. So Tess, Ainsley, and I spent the summer we turned nine learning everything we could about druidic practices. I even went by his shop and asked him about some of the more confusing bits of research I’d come across. He didn’t know what I was talking about, but he was happy to show me his tattoo.
“PEACE” written in druid, because that’s a language.
The fact that I’d recognized the flowing script as Tolkienian didn’t elevate my respect for the man at all. And then I’d heard all the rumors that had earned him his nickname. “Maybe you should wait in the car.”
“And let you get chained up in a basement so you can star in his next home movie?” She threw open her door. “You’re not going in there alone.”
“Okay,” I agreed, stepping out of the car and striding toward Stalker Ed’s “museum.” Tess fell into step beside me.
The outside of the museum looked every bit like the Civil-War-era roadhouse that belonged to the infamous Jenny Johnston. Inside . . . things got a bit weird.
A bell chimed over our head as we pulled open the door, and the cloying scent of incense nearly had me backing right out. Tess came to a sharp stop, coughing so hard I worried she’d hack up a lung.
“Easy.” I clapped her back, taking a quick look around the museum. The entryway was wooden and bare, save for a few plaques and display cases showing various items that might have been found in a home like this back during the Civil War. The entire museum was comprised of three narrow rooms. The bulk of the cabin had been devoted to the gift shop, while an area for fortune telling and palm reading had been set up on the left. “Take a breath.”
“Yeah,” she gasped, wiping her eyes. “Trying not to, actual—” She broke off with another cough.
“It’s awful, isn’t it?” a voice called out from the gift shop. A gorgeous blonde stepped into the narrow entry way. “Mr. McPherson insists on using that incense. I don’t get the appeal.”
“Who are you?” Tess croaked between coughs.
In a small town like Fairdealings, we didn’t meet new people often. Especially not people like this girl. She looked like a character in one of those shows Tess always griped about setting unrealistic expectations by hiring thirty-year-old actresses to play teenage girls. Not that this girl looked old. She just came across as a lot more mature and put together than the girls at school.
She blushed prettily. “Elizabeth Dare, but you can call me Lizzie.” She must have seen the confusion on our face. “Jeanette McCleary’s granddaughter.”
“Oh,” Tess and I said at the same time.
She drew in an inward hiss of breath. “Yeah . . . that one. My parents shipped me here to keep me out of trouble. So far that’s going . . . swell.” Her smile reached epic levels of sarcasm.
“Nice to meet you,” Tess managed to say, salvaging enough manners for both of us, since I still hadn’t picked my jaw up off the floor. “I’m Theresa D’Ovidio, friends call me—”
“Wait, like the prostitute?”
The smile froze on Tess’s face. “That would be my mother.”
“Also, not a prostitute,” I added helpfully. We weren’t sure how that rumor got started, but man did I wish the town would put it to rest.
Elizabeth turned bright red. “Oh gosh, I’m sorry. The words sometimes just . . .” She waved her fingers around her mouth. “Happen.”
“It’s fine.” Tess’s tight smile betrayed her lie. “And uh, this is Derrick Hernandez.” Got anything you wanna add about him? Her tone seemed to challenge.
“Yeah?” Elizabeth looked me up and down. “Very nice to meet you.”
Tess coughed again, and I looked at her in concern. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Her voice sounded thick. “Um, so we had a question about a book we saw here once. Can we take a look around?”
“Sure. Would y’all like the guided tour or—”
“Just admission.” I fished a twenty out of my wallet.
“Museum closes at five. Let me know if you need anything.”
I nodded, ushering Tess to the back of the cabin. Her shoulders shook with the force of her suppressed coughs.
“She’s pretty,” Tess muttered.
Was she jealous? A spike of irritation rushed through me, but I buried it. After the crack about her mother, Tess had more than enough reason to be annoyed with Elizabeth Dare. “You did say you were looking for a girlfriend,” I teased.
Tess’s sputtered laugh morphed into a rough cough.
The smile faded from my face. “You sure you’re okay? You’re not looking so good.”
The look Tess cut me was so deadly, I almost drew back.
“Is this the book y’all are looking for?” Elizabeth’s voice called out. “It’s the only one on display . . .”
I hurried through the narrow wooden room and found Elizabeth standing in front of a glass display case.
“Legend has it,” Elizabeth intoned dramatically, “this is the long-lost diary and spell book of Aunt Jenny Johnston. It was uncovered in the ruins of her road house the first time it got burned down.”
I moved closer, studying the diary. A drawing stretched across the open pages, with tiny, scribbled notes written in the corner. It did look like Tess’s drawing, except the people were different.
Beside me, Tess shuddered with a suppressed cough, looking everywhere but at the book.
I leaned closer, trying to make sense of the scribbles in the corner. “What is this?”
“Latin?” Tess coughed again.
“Latin uses our letters. No swirlies.”
“No, she’s right. There’s some Latin.” Elizabeth leaned over the other side of the case. “And there’s also a bit of Cherokee here and there, and oddly some Hebrew. Quite the mix.”
“Has anyone ever translated it?”
“I’ve tried my hand at it with the copies we’ve got in the g
ift shop.” Elizabeth pinked. “I’m a bit of a language nut. It’s not very—”
“Copies?” Tess managed to ask before doubling over in a fit of coughing.
Jennifer eyed her, looking concerned and nodded. “Detailed reproductions. Would you like to take a look? We’ve also got some bottled water. It might help.”
I watched Tess with growing concern as we made our way to the gift shop. Sweat shone across her forehead as she fought back another cough. She caught me looking, and I shifted my attention to the shop.
It hadn’t changed much since we were nine. Huge wooden bookshelves lined the small space, covered in knickknacks and crystals. Lamps sat on end tables with purple scarves matching the thick drapes and the worn rugs.
“Here you go.” Elizabeth plopped the book on the counter between us, sparing me from Tess’s murderous gaze. Elizabeth’s plump lips twisted into a pouting frown as she studied the price tag. “I don’t think this is the right price. Let me look this up.” She tapped away at the computer while I flipped open the book. “Oh, and the water’ll be a dollar fifty.”
I slid my card to Elizabeth before Tess could object. Elizabeth ducked beneath the counter, cracking a mini fridge open.
“What can you tell us about this?” I flipped to the page with the drawing on it. “I’m guessing this was part of the whole blood oath thing she made her kids swear the night her husband was killed?”
“And son,” Jennifer said pleasantly, passing Tess the bottle of water. She studied me for a moment, then let out a long breath. “It’s . . . . look, Mr. McPherson’s nice and all, and I know he’s really into this stuff, but you know this isn’t the actual cabin . . . “
“We know,” Tess croaked.
“You okay?” I asked again.
She took another sip and nodded. “That helped, thanks.” Her voice did sound better, but she still looked like she was standing at death’s door.
She passed out in the hall, like, an hour ago, I remembered. My mind flitted back to the toxin theory, and worry twisted in my chest.
“Good.” Jennifer smiled at her. “Now I don’t want to talk you out of a sale . . . but the people who knew Jenny Johnston said the idea of her being involved in any kind of pagan ritual was ridiculous. She was by all accounts like a super-mega-Christian. The woman lived for like ninety some-odd years, had descendants, and is kind of famous around here. So if that book was the real deal . . .”
“Why would it be here?” I finished for her. “Yeah, I know. Just . . . humor me. What does Stal—” I cleared my throat. “Erm, Mr. McPherson say the story is?”
“Well, y’all know the gist.” Elizabeth spoke fast, the words having a practiced ring to them. “Jenny and her husband harbored deserters, and when the home guard found out, her husband was lynched. Her son tried to save him and got shot in the process. After the soldiers left, she cut her husband down and had the rest of her children swear a blood oath to hunt down and kill all the members of the guard responsible. According to Mr. McPherson, this is the ritual she used to bind the blood oath. She was supposed to be Cherokee, or part Cherokee anyway, so this oath was part of a larger ritual that requested supernatural aid in hunting down the members of the guard. It couldn’t have been too effective though, because one of them got away.”
I frowned, trying to make sense of the scribbled words on the page. I couldn’t imagine Josh and the others gathering around the bonfire for a ritual like this, but maybe it called for ingesting something strange. Strange enough to have a delayed reaction driving them to suicide?
Maybe? LSD side-effects could kick in years later, right? Or maybe there was some kind of suicide pact embedded in the words. Anything that would tell me that Tess wasn’t in danger, and the football team was just . . . weird.
I glanced up at Elizabeth. “You said you’d tried your hand at translat—”
Tess coughed again with an intensity that had us turning toward her in alarm.
“Tess?” I put a hand on her shoulder. I need to get her out of here. Frustration lanced through me because there were a thousand questions I still wanted to ask. “We should—”
“Uh, yeah. Wow, that incense is really bothering you.” Elizabeth’s green eyes narrowed at Tess in concern. “Here, lemme put this out.” She plucked the incense stick from its holder and blew on it, giving it a shake for good measure.
The smoke hit Tess full in the face, and she collapsed with a strangled gasp.
“Tess!” I caught her before she hit the floor.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Elizabeth gasped, springing around the counter. “Is she okay?”
“No! Get the door!” I pulled Tess outside, my mind racing as the gravel crunched beneath my feet. Anaphylaxis? Could you even be allergic to incense?
“Does she have an EpiPen?” Elizabeth demanded, throwing open my car door.
“No.” I shifted, trying to put Tess in the passenger seat without stuffing her in or dropping her. But it was really hard since I had one arm pinned beneath hers and another clutching her legs.
“I got it,” Tess gasped, opening her eyes and wriggling free of my grip. Her coughing eased, and she managed to take a few deep breaths.
“Here, I’ve got some Benadryl.” Elizabeth squeezed past me to press the pills into one of Tess’s hands and the water bottle she’d dropped into the other. I hadn’t even noticed her going back into the shop. “Good catch, by the way,” she told me. “I’ve never seen anyone move so fast. She’s lucky she didn’t crack her skull on that floor.”
“I’ve had a lot of practice lately. You okay, Tess?” She looked less purple.
“Yeah,” she croaked, leaning her head against the seat. “Sorry, I don’t know what that was.”
“You’re probably allergic,” Elizabeth said. “There was a girl once in my church who reacted to incense like you did. By the time we figured out what was going on, she had to be hospitalized. She almost died.” She swept her hair back, her face a picture of distress. “Ed’s really weird about keeping it burnin’, but if that’s an allergy that’s on the rise, it’s not worth keeping on the shelves.” She glanced at me. “Should we call a doctor?”
Tess shook her head, taking another deep sip of water. “I think I’m okay.”
Elizabeth didn’t look convinced. “I don’t know.”
“I’m okay. Really,” Tess insisted, her hands shaking as she raised the water bottle.
Elizabeth argued with her, but one look at Tess told me she wasn’t going to budge on this, no matter how much I wished otherwise.
Details. We’d visited to this shop before, and she hadn’t reacted like this. Granted, Stalker Ed might not have used this incense years ago, but for all we knew, the day before the bonfire, Tess could have walked in and out of the shop without losing a lung.
I thought back to my theory that all the survivors were exposed to some kind of toxin at the bonfire. Allergic reactions got worse with each exposure, right? Did toxins work like allergies?
My mind flitted to my recent nosebleeds. Secondary exposure? Maybe there was something in the incense that . . . what? Made people go insane and kill themselves?
Except both Ed and Elizabeth were still alive, despite working in a store pumped full of the stuff. Different dosage? Different method of delivery? Stalker Ed might not have offed himself, but he didn’t seem all that sane.
“I appreciate your concern,” Tess reiterated. “But I’m fine now. Thank you.”
Elizabeth scowled and turned to me in appeal.
“I can’t talk her into it,” I said before she could ask. “So . . . instead, can we buy a pack of that? Like, triple bagged?”
“What?” Elizabeth drew back in surprise. “Why?”
“Ingredient list.”
“Ah.” Elizabeth nodded in understanding. “I
’ll be right back.”
“Why would we need to know the ingredients?” Tess asked, voice ragged.
“Because if you’re not fine, it might help your doctor figure out what the hell you’re reacting to.”
Tess opened her mouth to reply, but the door to the shop burst open with a tinkling of bells, silencing her. Elizabeth rushed to the car, slightly out of breath, her cheeks pink with exertion.
“Here.” She thrust a large plastic bag into my hands.
I peeked inside at the bundle of incense packages wrapped in another bag, then wrapped completely in tape.
“It’ll be easier to talk Mr. McPherson out of ordering more than to talk him into getting rid of what’s left,” Elizabeth explained, tossing her hair over her shoulder and looking pleased with herself.
“How much do I owe you?”
“Don’t worry about it. But uh . . . I’d love to get your number.” She flushed at my surprised look. “You were about to ask for my copy of the translation, right? Well, I’m not done yet, and like I said, it’s kind of all over the place, so it’d be better to go over it . . . you know. In person. Over coffee maybe.”
“That’d be great!” I scribbled down my number. “Call me anytime.”
Chapter 28: Harrison
Wednesday, September 28th
HARRISON SIGHED when he opened the refrigerator in search of breakfast and found only ingredients. Mama hadn’t cooked much since Ellie started teething, and no one in his house slept much either.
He pulled out the carton of milk and rifled through the pantry. The sun rose despite the bloated quarter moon that clung to the sky outside the kitchen window. Thanks to Ellie’s three a.m. shrieking, he’d slept in.
“Why are you in hunting clothes?”
Harrison started in surprise and turned to see his mother flipping on a lamp from her rocking chair in the corner of the den.
“Jesus, Mama, would you cover up when you do that?” Harrison turned away before his baby sister could move her head and show him more of his mother than he wanted to see.
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