by Kristie Cook
“You should watch your back, Blainey,” Jessie said suddenly.
I looked up, startled. “What?”
“Just watch it.” Her face was empty, her eyes dark. The bathroom suddenly felt like a scene from a Stephen King novel. She leaned toward me. “He’s coming."
What the hell? Maybe it was the way she said it, with no inflection, but an eerie feeling stole numbly over me. I wanted to ask her what she meant, but Jessie moved toward the door and disappeared into the hall, no backward glance, no wave goodbye.
He’s coming.
I looked down at the floor and sat in silence, my thoughts tumultuous as I traced the geometric shapes the tiles made on the floor.
He’s coming.
The bell rang, and I finally moved.
Look toward the light, my dad’s voice whispered. I was going crazy.
“You look beat,” Monroe pointed out when I met her by her car.
Conor stood with her, his gaze on my face. He leaned in close when I approached, looked like he was going to say something, and then flicked one of my curls playfully instead.
“Hey, Red. Didn’t see much of you today.”
“Likewise."
I wasn’t sure how to deal with the Conor situation just yet, so I ignored it. Honestly, I don’t think he did either. His words the night before had broken barriers, and neither of us seemed inclined to test the waters without caution. He peered into my face a moment and then moved away. My gaze followed him. He glanced back, and our eyes caught.
My gaze went to Monroe, and I inclined my head in Conor’s direction.
She shook her head. “Oh no! So not going there! I’m way more interested in your day than anything else right now.”
I got the feeling she didn’t want to break Conor’s trust, but the change in subject put me back in an instant foul mood. Aside from my aggravation with Mr. James, I couldn’t shake Jessie’s dead-panned comment. He’s coming. I shivered.
Grumbling, I slid inside Monroe’s pristine white Cadillac. Even her car was still stuck somewhere in the late 50’s and it was disgustingly clean. In my mottled state of irritation, I wanted desperately to mess it up. Monroe slid in beside me and gave me the don’t even think about it raised brow. It made me wish I’d driven my messy, old clunker.
Turning the key in the ignition, Monroe backed out of the parking lot. “Let me guess. You spent the whole day re-writing James’ paper.”
My lips twitched. “You underestimate my stubbornness, dear Roe."
I was so worked up, I could cry. And that made me even more upset. I tend to cry when I’m angry which only serves to piss me off more and make me cry harder. It made me feel weak, and I was not weak.
“Oh well,” Monroe soothed. “It’s Friday. And, from what I overheard this morning, you have an interesting weekend ahead.”
There was humor in her eyes, and I grinned. Monroe loved to re-invent moments almost as much as I did.
“Your aunt has invited a mystery man for dinner,” Monroe began, her voice husky as she spun her fantasy.
“A recruiter,” I corrected.
She gave me a look. “Let me have my movie narrator moment.”
I snickered. “By all means, continue."
With a big wave of her hand, she said, “Okay, just imagine, he’s dark and elusive, his manly jaw covered in five o’clock shadow, jeans slung low on the waist, and no T-shirt. His chest is tan and muscled and, ten minutes into the meal, he offers to give you a private massage." She sighed, leaning over just long enough to pull down the glove compartment. I ogled the bag of dumdums that stared back at me.
“If it’s Mr. James, you can have the massage,” I offered.
Filching a sucker, I popped it into my mouth before using my knee to close the compartment.
Monroe looked at me askance. “I’ll take it! A man that uptight has to be passionate. God knows, we all have to find release somehow.”
I snorted. I so didn’t miss the implication. “You missed your calling in life, writing hyped up, cheesy romance novels.”
Only Monroe would consider a recruiter date material. Her mother would hyperventilate if she knew Monroe was a glutton for older men and, when I say older men, I mean quite a bit beyond the suitable few years older age gap. Mature, she called it. I insisted she just didn’t know a better word for geezer.
Her car moved onto the lane that led up to the Abbey, and I leaned back with a sigh. “Feel free to be my stand in if you want.”
“And have your aunt threaten to have my family burned at the stake? No thanks.”
Monroe’s Wiccan upbringing made my aunt cringe. It had taken threatening my own conversion to Wicca to convince Kyra to let Monroe stay on Abbey property. The whole friendship was not debatable.
“You think it’s serious?” I asked after a pause. I was worried. And I wasn’t good at hiding it.
Monroe glanced at me. Her face was scrunched, her pitiful attempt at neutral.
She noticed I noticed and shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m all for you leaving the Abbey. The vision … what Jacin said about Lady Ky’s aura … it’s all messed up. But, if I can’t convince you to leave then worrying about it isn’t going to get us anywhere. If it’s bad, we’ll figure it out.”
The car rolled to a stop, the Abbey looming in front of us. I sat, my gaze distant. My aunt’s vague behavior was making me sick. Something just felt wrong.
“Leaving won’t help. She would just have the police bring me back,” I mumbled, taking the dumdum out of my mouth before sticking it sucker down on the seat next to me. Monroe didn’t notice, but she would later.
She patted the steering wheel. “I’m here. Text me if you need me.”
I climbed out in front of the Abbey, leaning in just long enough to flip her the bird. It was a habit of ours.
Monroe gasped dramatically. “Well, then!”
My laugh rose over the car as I slammed the door. We were a flip the bird and roll our eyes kind of group, out of habit rather than a need to be clichÉ. There was comfort in habit.
My grin widened as I stepped away, but ended shortly when my back came up against a familiar stoic figure. My eyes fell closed, opening just long enough to catch Monroe’s sympathetic frown as she pulled away from the curb.
“The school called,” Aunt Kyra said.
With a sigh, I turned to meet her gaze.
“I made one request, Dayton, and you not only refused to do it but clearly disrespected a teacher and me. What were you thinking? The things you said to him … you know better.”
Arguing with Kyra was out of the question. She’d not only give me fits about the whole ordeal, but begin a rather lengthy lecture on morality. Disappointment filled her gaze. I knew the look well.
“Dayton, I’m only trying my best to look out for you."
My chin lowered, my eyes meeting the small pebbles in the concrete sidewalk. Sometimes I think Aunt Kyra really tried, and I’m pretty positive that I wasn’t the easiest teenager to foster, but she never attempted to understand me. I wanted to be closer to her, but I didn’t want to sacrifice my own personality to do it.
“Tell me what you want to hear,” I offered, preparing myself for a verbal bashing.
Ky surprised me when she pointed at the Abbey’s arched entryway instead. “We’ll discuss this at dinner, Dayton. This weekend could mean a lot for you." Reaching up, she brushed a stray curl out of my face, her eyes watching me intently. I think I reminded her of Mom sometimes. Not so much in looks, but in character.
“Oh Dayton … the man you’ll be meeting Sunday … give him a chance, please. He’s not your average guest. He has plans for you. We all have plans for you,” Aunt Kyra pleaded.
My eyes narrowed. The mystery man again.
“What kind of recruiter am I meeting?”
She didn’t answer, just gestured at the Abbey again. “Just give him a chance.”
Brushing past me, she headed for the chapel side of the Abbey. Probably to pray
for my soul.
“A hint?” I called out.
“I’ll see you at dinner,” she replied.
Her silence on the subject unnerved me, and I shivered. My aunt was being too vague, her voice full of strange desperation. My imagination was working overtime, and as I opened the door to the inner sanctum, I began picturing Monroe’s shirtless male creation. Despite the gnawing in my gut, I giggled. It was a mad giggle, the kind that came as much from nervousness as it did from amusement.
My phone went off, and I looked down at the text message on my screen.
Come stay with me if you need to, Day.
Monroe could read my feelings entirely too well.
Chapter 10
The Other has me confounded. He is lawless but remains on the outskirts of his own kind. He seems to seek only to indulge himself with no ultimate goal. What could he want?
~Bezaliel~
Dinner came too quickly that night, and I made my way warily down to the refectory.
“Try smiling, Day. You look like you’re headed for the guillotine,” Amber murmured as she brushed past me on the stairs.
I attempted the smile but ended up grimacing instead. Easy for her to say. I felt the spirit of the French queen keenly tonight. Seemed appropriate my middle name was Marie. The hazy image of an executioner grinned at me from the bottom of the stairs, and I waved my hand through the smoky vision as I moved to the open door.
“Good evening Amber, Dayton,” Sister Pauline chirped as we entered the refectory.
The long table was crowded with Sisters and novices. Aunt Kyra sat at the head.
She motioned to the two seats at her side. “Girls.”
The gesture was disturbing. We hadn’t been seated by Aunt Kyra since the Abbey move seven years before. It seemed somehow significant. I let Amber take the right.
There was silence as we took our seats, followed quickly by prayer. Aunt Kyra said grace before recommending the meal commence. Chatter filtered down the table. The room hummed. Normally, speaking wasn’t encouraged at the table. The chatter was strange.
On my left, Sister Rosaline leaned forward, her gaze catching mine. She smiled. “The Abbess spoke to us about your day at school.”
I froze. “My day?”
The Sister glanced at her hands. All eyes shifted our way. A lump formed in my throat. The dinner chatter made sense now. This was what my aunt meant when she’d said we’d discuss it at dinner?
Fury burned my cheeks. “You made my day Abbey business?”
Aunt Ky’s gaze moved slowly down the table, pausing on each face before finally deigning to give me her full attention. I was keenly aware of my place at the bottom of the totem pole.
“The Sisters are your family, Day. We are all worried about you,” Aunt Kyra answered me calmly.
I growled. “This was my problem, not the so called family’s. The Sisters are your Order, not mine.”
Aunt Kyra didn’t blink. She took a bite of bread and nodded her head at one of the Sisters further down the table.
Sister Katherine stood hesitantly. “We could help you, if you like, Dayton. There are much better ways to deal with situations than anger.”
I pushed away from the table and stood.
Aunt Kyra reached out and touched my hand. “Sit back down, Dayton.”
“Why?” I asked. “So each of you can take your turn condemning me?”
“We aren’t condemning. Only advising,” Sister Mary assured.
I turned toward her slowly. My gaze startled her, and she looked away.
“I don’t need your sanctimonious bullshit advice,” I roared. “It was a fucking paper. And I refused to re-do what was good work! End of story!”
Aunt Kyra shoved away from the table, her face calm. Her eyes, however, flashed with fury. “Your mouth will remain clean at our table!”
I stared at her. “What do you want from me?”
“Subservience.”
My eyes widened. Was she serious?
“Fuck that!” I yelled.
I moved away from the table. The Sisters stood as one.
“What do you expect to do when you leave here, Day?” Aunt Kyra asked as I made my way to the door.
I paused. “I have dreams, Aunt Kyra. I’m not without talent. I’m a good writer.”
Her hands fisted. “I hope your written word is better managed than your mouth.”
I turned on her. “You wouldn’t know, Aunt Kyra. You’ve never tried to know. What do you really expect from me? I’m not a bad person."
Aunt Kyra moved toward me. “When you are not at the Abbey, you represent this institution. What you consider mild behavior is considered repulsive to us, Day. We expect more from you."
I stared at her, the silence stretching between us. The whole room held its breath. Never before had Aunt Kyra brought me before the Sisters this way.
“I am not making the Abbey my home, Aunt Kyra. I want more than that. You expect what I can’t give."
She moved closer still. “Sometimes you can’t deny a calling.”
I glanced at Amber. She was still seated, her head bowed primly. It seemed Amber was resigned to this "calling." I wasn’t.
My gaze met Kyra’s. “I can.”
Aunt Kyra nodded, her face resigned.
She glanced at the Sisters, at their strangely passive expressions. “That’s that then. We can proceed. Dayton, you are dismissed.”
Shock kept me frozen. What?
I risked another glance at Amber, at her bowed head and folded hands. Tears glistened on her cheeks.
“You are dismissed,” my aunt repeated.
I didn’t spare her a glance, just turned on my heels and ran. I was in my room with the door closed behind me when the tears came. They were angry tears and I recognized them as such. My back slid down my bedroom door, my head resting on my knees.
“Day?” a voice asked.
My gaze shot up to find Conor leaning against my bedroom wall. I didn’t ask him what he was doing there, I didn’t think about why I should be questioning him about it, and I didn’t ask myself how I felt about him. I just stood and ran into his arms, letting the feeling of being held cushion the jarring tears. He moved us to the bed and we sat, my tears soaking his shirt until my eyes fell shut in sleep.
Chapter 11
The factors of this fight are changing. The Other has not been expected, the amount of people involved is increasing. I am not sure if this relieves me.
~Bezaliel~
I woke the next morning feeling drained and exposed. My head rested on my pillow, the covers pulled up to my chest, and the first thought that came to mind was Conor. Where was he?
All the questions I should have asked him the night before reared their ugly heads. What had he been doing here? Why had he come?
The sun was bright and I squinted, my eyes cutting to my bedside table. I swore. 11:00 a.m.. Had I really slept that long?
Rising, I heard something rustle beneath me, and I lifted my pillow to find a note folded neatly, my name etched in fine script along the front. I recognized the handwriting, and I hesitated as I lifted it before flipping it open.
You need to leave, Dayton. Before tonight. Please think about it and call me.
Yours,
Conor
For a long time, I stared at the letter, his words penetrating the fog swirling around my brain. He was right, I should leave. I felt it in my bones, but there was reluctance there, too. The Abbey was my home. Amber was here. But it was more than that. There was something strangely compelling about my aunt’s behavior.
The Yours jumped out at me. Where did Conor and I stand? There were too many expectations. It felt like everyone wanted something from me, and I wasn’t exactly sure what it was I was supposed to give.
I stood, looked down at my day old clothes and stripped down to nothing, pulling on a robe I had in the back of my closet before heading for the bathroom.
On my way out, I noticed my phone blinking, a si
gn that I had messages, but I ignored them, threw my phone in my desk drawer and headed down the hall. There were way too many expectations. It wasn’t much of one, but the Abbey was my home.
“Dayton!” a voice called out.
I reached the bathroom door, my hand closing over the knob, my back toward the Sister bearing down on me. I had no love for any of the women at the Abbey. They were nothing more than robed clones.
The Sister paused behind me, her breathing ragged. “Your aunt wants you downstairs for dinner in three hours. Her guest will be early."
My hand tightened on the door knob. A response wasn’t expected, and I didn’t give her one. Moving into the bathroom, I shut the door firmly before finally turning around, my forehead coming to rest against the wood. I shuddered.
“Don’t be late!” the Sister called out. Her thudding steps echoed as she moved back down the hall.
I showered quickly and returned to my room. Pulling open my closet door, I scanned the contents. There weren’t many choices if I decided to go dressy. A few skirts, yes. Dresses, no. Casual would have to do. If the recruiter was here to meet Dayton Marie Blainey, I was going to give him Dayton Marie Blainey. A pair of hole-ridden jeans, jade leggings, white wife beater, and an off-the-shoulder jade hoodie flew onto my bed. I changed in record time, pulling the jeans over the leggings and hoodie over the wife beater before donning socks and a pair of Nikes. It left plenty of time to wander around the Abbey before dinner.
Grabbing my cell phone and a notebook, I opened my bedroom door, skulked down the hallway to the back staircase, and climbed down into what used to be the back gardens. Now it was a well maintained herb plot.
Sage and mint filtered through my nose as I crept into the yard, the notebook in one hand, my phone in the other. The small, seldom-visited courtyard area was a haven mainly because of its un-tended state and its smaller size. The grass was higher here than it was on the large public, landscaped yards. Weeds grew up along a crumbling stone wall separating a five foot sloped drop into a larger, more maintained garden. The herb plot was the only part of the garden still in use.
