“Who’s Helen?”
“The maid.”
“Another one?”
“The last one whistled.”
“The horror, the horror,” I deadpanned. Adrienne was infamous for her inability to find help she approved of. The house had easily gone through a hundred different employees over the last few decades, from cooks to maids to gardeners. I couldn’t believe there was anyone else to employ in the state that hadn’t already been subjected to Adrienne’s unenviable standards.
Nora hopped into the bed and slid underneath the flat sheet. “Are you going to be okay in here?”
“As long as the door locks.”
She snuggled down, hugging one of the pillows to her chest. “It does.”
I playfully yanked the sheet off of her. “You don’t have to sleep in here, Nora. I’ll be fine. Seriously. Go back to your own bed.”
“I know you’re fine,” she retorted. “This is for me. I had a nightmare right before the intercom woke me up.”
She sneezed as dust danced through the milky moonlight.
“Liar,” I said.
Nora propped herself against the ornate headboard and pushed her lower lip out in a pout. “Did you miss me at all?”
I pulled on her pinky toe until it popped. “Of course I did.”
She played with the hem of her nightgown, picking at the seams. “But you hate Mom so much that you won’t even come see me anymore. Not even for my birthday.”
“I sent a card,” I said. “And a gift. Didn’t you get it?”
“It’s not the same.”
I heaved a sigh and stretched out across the foot of the bed, making sure to keep the rumpled duvet cover between my sweaty clothes and the comparatively clean sheets. My head hung off one side of the bed and my feet off the other. Nora’s toes poked my ribs. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, Nora. If it wouldn’t kill me to visit more often, I would, but look at what just happened downstairs. Five minutes in, and your mother already wants to crucify me.”
“Whatever happened between the two of you anyway?” Nora asked as she continued to prod my side with her feet. “Neither one of you has ever said.”
“That woman has hated me since before you were born,” I told her. I captured her left foot and tickled the bottom. She shrieked and hugged her knees into her chest. “I have no idea why. She’s not precisely forthcoming.”
“Do you think she can tell?”
“What? That I hate her too? It’s no secret.”
“No, that you’re different.”
“Different,” I mused, rolling the word around in my mouth. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
Nora flipped over so that she could lay on her stomach and rest her chin in her hands. “I don’t know what to call it,” she said. “But you’re the only person I’ve ever met who’s the same way as me. From what I figure, that makes us pretty different.”
For the umpteenth time that afternoon, I thought about my fiery power knocking the ego out of Chad. Nora needed to know—maybe it would finally make her understand why I was so hesitant to fully embrace that part of me—but I was scared to admit that I’d unleashed myself at long last. What would Nora think of me if she knew what I’d done? The first conscious blast of my power had caused someone harm, the exact opposite of what Nora used her energy for.
“I think she can sense it,” Nora went on. “You give off a vibe, you know?”
“So do you,” I told her. “Except yours is all warm and fuzzy, and mine is sharp and pointy.”
“I don’t think you’re sharp and pointy.”
“Tell that to my ex-boss, my property manager, and the guy who lived across the hall from me,” I said, ticking people off on my fingers. “I’m practically a poison dart.”
“Maybe you need to hone your skill.”
I scoffed. “I’m not like you, Nora. There’s nothing to hone, unless you count my inexplicable ability to light things on fire.”
“That’s a skill!”
“For cub scouts maybe.” I groaned and heaved myself off the bed. “I need a bath. Are you staying in here tonight?”
Nora rolled over to balance on her elbow. “Do you want me to?”
I thought of Nora’s bedroom on the opposite side of the house, right next door to the master, where Adrienne probably lay awake plotting my demise. It was safer for her here, and if I allowed myself to admit it, I wanted Nora’s soothing presence to sway me to sleep.
“I don’t mind,” I said.
She pulled the sheet up to her chin and sank into the mattress. “Good, because I didn’t plan on moving anyway.”
I rolled my eyes and left her to it. In the adjoining bathroom, I set the dimmer switch for the vanity light at the lowest level. My eyes were so tired that I strained to keep them open. There was no shower in my bathroom, but the tub was big enough to do laps in and for once I was glad that I didn’t have to stand while I shampooed my hair. I turned the hot water on as high as it would go and added a liberal amount of bubble soap. Then I stripped out of my dirty clothes, tossed the ugly orange polo to the floor, and shook my ankles free of my jeans. Gingerly, I stepped into the tub and lowered myself into the water. An involuntary moan freed itself from my lips as my muscles relaxed in the warmth. I took a deep breath and slipped below the surface.
The muffled space underwater was a different universe. It balanced me out. Water and fire. Two opposing elements. Air bubbles escaped from my nose and floated to the surface. My hair hovered like a cloud. After a minute, my lungs began to burn, but I stayed down. Anything to escape the reality above me. Then I realized that an intense orange glow penetrated my closed eyelids. The vanity lights didn’t have that kind of luminance. With a jolt, I opened my eyes underwater. It was my hands.
I splashed upward, sputtering, and gasped for breath. A tidal wave crested over the edge of the tub to soak the bathroom floor. My eyes stung from the bubble bath as I stared at my glowing skin. The tips of my fingers glimmered with incandescent orange light. It was dimmer than it had been a moment ago, but there all the same. Before I knew it, it faded again, leaving nothing but the dirt beneath my fingernails.
“What is this?” I murmured, inspecting my calloused palms for a hint. No answer was forthcoming. My skin remained as ordinary as anyone else’s. I shook my head, showering the wallpaper with water, found the shampoo bottle, and lathered up my hair. It was late, and I was tired. My luminous skin condition could wait until tomorrow morning.
Several minutes later, I toweled my hair, found a clean shirt to sleep in, and crawled into bed beside Nora. She curled up in a little ball, clutching Boots in a tight hug and breathing evenly though her nose. I figured she was already asleep, but as I punched the downy pillow into a more agreeable shape, she rolled over to face me. The moonlight turned her pale skin silver.
“Are you okay?” she asked groggily.
I turned away from her, staring at the far end of the room. “I don’t know.”
She inched closer and draped an arm around my waist. Instinctively, I tried to wriggle away. After all, most of my human contact ended in some kind of bodily harm. Then she said, “Don’t even think about it.”
I gave in to Nora’s big spoon. The picture was comical at least. Nora was tiny—her toes didn’t even reach my calves—and yet in that giant bed, with the canopy looming and Nora’s calming presence at my back, I felt safer and more secure than I had in a long while.
4
In the morning, Nora lay with her arms sprawled across my face, squishing my cheek to the pillow, but that wasn’t what woke me. Someone was yelling in the dining room below, and if I knew my stepmother like I thought I did, Adrienne had risen early to fill my father in on my untimely, ill-favored arrival. Nora stirred beside me as I dislodged myself out from under her. She rolled over and squinted at the sunlight pouring in through the open window. The voices crescendoed, carrying up to the bedroom. Nora groaned and covered her ears with a pillow.
> “I hate when they fight,” she said, her voice muffled by the cushiony fabric.
I stood up, stretched, and touched my toes. “Sorry. That’s probably my fault.”
Nora kicked the sheets off of her spindly legs. “No, they yell at each other nonstop these days.”
“Really? Why?”
“Dumb stuff. She moved his keys. He changed the settings of the driver’s seat in her car. You name it. Boom. Argument.”
I rifled through my sparse collection of clothing, looking for a pair of pants, but every garment smelled annoyingly questionable. “But Dad hates bickering.”
“He’s certainly becoming better at it. The other day he told her she had crow’s feet.”
I snickered. It was the kind of petty comment I’d make to Adrienne, but my father wasn’t usually so quick to insult his wife. He was one of the most passive people I’d ever met. His only goal was to keep the peace between his wife and eldest daughter, but our white flag of truce ended up soaked in blood most of the time anyway.
Nora watched as I dug through the wardrobe. “Do you want to borrow something to wear?”
“Like I’d fit into anything you own.” I settled for a pair of running shorts that were less odorous than the rest of my clothing. At least that’s what I tried to tell myself.
“Let’s go shopping today!” Nora suggested, sliding out of bed. “Mom gave me a credit card. I can buy you some new things.”
“I don’t need—”
“You owe me,” she interrupted. “Time to pay the piper, Kennedy. I’m cashing in on all those promises you made to hang out with me. Besides—” she plucked the sleeve of my ratty, oversized T-shirt “—you absolutely do need a few things.”
I stared down at my holey shirt. It was an old track and field jersey from one of the various high schools I’d attended. “On second thought, I have no qualms about spending your mother’s money.”
“It’s settled then,” Nora said happily. “Let me get dressed, and then we can go out for breakfast. From the sound of it, Mom’ll be throwing toast across the dining room in a matter of minutes.”
She pranced out, leaving me with no desire to venture beyond the four walls of my bedroom. I wandered into the bathroom and washed my face with some kind of pink concoction left over from the last time I was home. Nora had bought that for me too. The French phrases on the bottle boasted of anti-aging benefits and redness relief. With my shade of hair, there was no escaping a feverish appearance, but the soap smelled like fresh roses and felt good on my hot skin.
My jeans rested in an abandoned heap on the floor. A glint of gold reminded me of what lay nestled in the front pocket, and I knelt down to free the necklace. The tree pendant was cool and smooth between my fingers. I considered clasping the piece of jewelry around my neck, but thought better of it. If my dad or Adrienne caught sight of it, it would spark another battle. Instead, I hung the jeans over the towel rack, hoping to air them out, and zipped the necklace inside one of the pillow protectors on the regal bed.
“Psst!”
Nora poked her head into the bedroom. She wore dark wash jeans, a cozy, oversized sweater made out of something not meant for washing machines like cashmere or wool, and a pair of sleek black boots with heels that clicked a joyful rhythm across the floor in the hallway.
“Ready to go?” she asked.
I looked down at my outfit. With my tattered shirt and running shorts, I was neither prepared for the cozy weather or the upscale neighborhood that Nora intended to parade me through, but this was as good as it was going to get. I rooted through my single drawer, found my windbreaker, and zipped it up over my T-shirt. Then I tapped mud out of my sneakers over the bathroom sink and pulled them on over a pair of threadbare socks.
“Ready,” I told Nora, tying my hair up in a messy ponytail. I made to follow her out of the bedroom, but the expression on her face caused me to stop short. “What?”
“Nothing. Sometimes, I forget.”
“Forget what?”
She gestured between us. “It’s not fair.”
I caught on. It was the stark contrast between Nora’s crisp clean outfit and my own shabby one that made her uncomfortable, but not for the same reasons other people in this area might think. Most kids Nora’s age wouldn’t bat an eye at someone like me other than to serve a look of lofty disdain and wonder how a common garden mouse had the audacity to roam their polished streets.
“Maybe not.” I rotated Nora around so that she would stop gawking at my attire with a pity that should be reserved for stray dogs. “But that’s the way it is. And there are a lot of people who have it worse than I do.”
“I know.”
I steered Nora along the landing. As we neared the main area of the house, the voices grew louder. Our parents were arguing from opposite sides of the lavish dining room table. My father’s low baritone carried up to the mezzanine. He wasn’t the type of man to shout and never had been. When he raised his voice, it resonated like the bass drum of a symphonic band. You felt it reverberate through your chest and head. Ultimately, it was harmless, but the impact was profound.
Nora and I tiptoed down the staircase. The dining room was set off to our left, beyond the lavish entryway. As Adrienne’s shrill demands echoed through the open doors, a harried maid—Helen, I presumed—scurried past us, holding a hand-painted glass plate upon which a delicate breakfast of toast, real bacon, and a poached egg complete with a parsley garnish rested like a fine piece of food-related art.
“Miss McGrath,” the maid said, nodding to Nora as she scuttled toward the kitchen. Her eyes rose to take in my full height, and she squinted at me as though trying to understand what this towering, toned woman in rumpled shorts and a too-small windbreaker was doing in the middle of the foyer.
“Other Miss McGrath,” I supplied.
But Helen was more concerned with whatever Adrienne considered wrong with the breakfast than the return of Mr. McGrath’s estranged daughter. She swept herself away to the kitchen.
“Let’s get out of here,” Nora murmured. Her boots clicked against the floor as she crossed to the front door and pushed it open. A gust of wind ruffled the strands of hair that had escaped my hairband. We were nearly free.
“Hold it!”
Nora froze, one foot in the foyer and one foot on the porch. I had half a mind to push her through it and make a wild sprint down the endless driveway toward the wrought iron gate. “So close.”
“I knew we should’ve climbed out the window,” I grumbled in an undertone before pasting a sheepish smile on my face and turning around to face the voice. “Hi, Dad!”
For a guy nearing sixty, my father had aged well. He wasn’t so immortally influenced as Adrienne, but he took care of himself. That was evident in his trim build, wiry jaw, and full head of well-groomed, peppery gray hair. My father had been raised not by his blue-blooded parents but by the instructors of private schools who believed knowledge of etiquette surpassed knowledge of basic arithmetic in the grand scheme of things. He stood tall and broad—the picture of perfect posture—with square shoulders and a strong chin. It pained me to say it, but in looks, he and Adrienne were entirely suited to one another. If you overlooked the permanent sneer on Adrienne’s face, they complemented each other nicely, and they were the envy of the room at every social event.
“Don’t you ‘Hi, Dad!’ me,” my father said. He held a piece of half-eaten buttered toast in one hand and a folded newspaper in the other. “When were you planning on telling me about your visit?”
Adrienne sidled out of the dining room, crossing her arms as she took in my harried appearance. I flashed her a tight-lipped smile. With all four of us in the same room, it was impossible to ignore that I looked more like a member of the staff than part of the family. I hadn’t inherited many of my father’s qualities aside from his eyes and athletic build. The red hair, visible dimples, and entire shape of my face was contributed by the other half of my genetics. The half I’d never met. Gr
owing up, people asked my father and Adrienne if I had been adopted, a question Adrienne always answered with a scowl.
“By the sound of it,” I said, “I’d assumed someone else had already informed you of my visit.”
Dad stared at me, his expression unreadable. Then his cheeks spread in a wide grin. “Get over here, Kennedy.”
He met me halfway across the foyer and hugged me like I was still his little girl. When Nora was born, I thought she might secede me in that position, but my father treated us with an equal amount of love and respect. It came naturally to him. He adored both of his daughters, despite the repeated failures of his eldest. As he lifted me off the ground, I caught sight of Adrienne’s face. There was no joy in her expression, which simultaneously annoyed and pleased me. Couldn’t I say hello to my own father without her silent judgmental input?
My father set me down and twirled me around as though teaching me the essentials of ballroom dancing. “All right,” he said. “Let me look at you.”
“There’s not much to see,” I told him, spinning all the same.
“I beg to differ.” He took hold of my arms, trying to pinch his thumb and index finger together around one of my biceps. “I didn’t know the gun show was in town.”
As I made a face at the overused joke, Adrienne tapped her crimson nails impatiently against her forearms. “Owen,” she said. “We weren’t finished talking.”
Dad glanced carelessly over his shoulder at her. “We weren’t? Because I felt quite finished with the conversation. I don’t suppose you care to continue your diatribe in another room, dear? Or perhaps you could head into the kitchen and apologize to poor Helen for your tactless remark about the poached egg.”
Adrienne didn’t care to respond to these suggestions. In fact, she ignored them altogether. “Nora?”
Witch Myth Super Boxset: A Yew Hollow Cozy Mystery Page 47
