The Girl and The Raven

by Pauline Gruber

It takes a few moments for my hormonally charged brain to grasp his question. “There’s a connection between Mr. Douglas and Jude. I know it.” Marcus looks at me suspiciously. “When I mentioned Jude’s name to Mr. Douglas earlier on the phone, he was angry, but he sure didn’t deny that he knew Jude. There’s a connection between the two of them and Dylan’s illness and I’m going to find out what it is.”

  “What if you’re wrong and Dylan’s just plain sick?”

  It’s like a bucket of ice-cold water is dumped over my head. I push his hands away and sit up. “Aren’t you the one always telling me how evil Jude is?” I snap. “Dylan’s in a coma. I’m going to meet with Mr. Douglas tomorrow and get to the bottom of whatever’s going on. Jude’s part of this.”

  “It always comes back to Jude.” Marcus sighs.

  “He’s torturing Dylan. Someone has to stop him.” Dylan’s symptoms are the same as Momma’s. I finally shared Sheldon’s story with Marcus. Jude’s behind this. Why doesn’t he see it?

  He shakes his head and the corners of his mouth turn up.

  “What?” I ask, confused by the sudden mood change.

  “Because this is the sort of thing your grandmother would do.” He sounds sad. Sometimes I forget that he lost her, too. “Can we make a deal?”

  I stare at him, waiting.

  “You keep your meeting with Mr. Douglas, but I come with you.”

  I shake my head. “He won’t open up in front of you. I’ll be lucky to get him to talk to me.” He’s about to interrupt me, but I continue. “We have to do this my way. You stay in your car while I talk to Mr. Douglas. This will be my only chance to get the truth. I’ll probably be out of a job after tomorrow, so please don’t screw this up for me.”

  Marcus doesn’t protest and I’m grateful.

  “Lay down with me.” I tug on his arm.

  He arches one eyebrow, something I’m unable to do. Then he kicks off his shoes and stretches out beside me. “Just for a few minutes.”

  I curl against him as his arm circles around me. I want him to spend the night. I tell him this and he laughs. “No can do.”

  “Hmmm…you’re right,” I murmur into his chest. “My uncles would kill you.”

  “Yeah…that.”

  I wonder what he means but I’m suddenly too warm and sleepy to ask.

  * * * *

  When the final bell rings on Thursday, students pour into the halls. I hustle to the opposite end of the building toward my locker. A thrill races through me when I see Marcus leaning against my locker.

  “You’re so lucky Mrs. Ring loves you.”

  “You’re the lucky one. I’m here on your orders,” Marcus says.

  “I’ll have to thank her sometime.” I grin and nudge him aside so I can get into my locker. I fill my backpack with the books I need to take home.

  He reaches out to take it from me. “I’ll put this in my car.”

  “Actually…I have pepper spray in here.” I clutch the pack against my chest. “I’d feel more comfortable having it with me.”

  Marcus rolls his eyes. “You’re not going to need pepper spray with Mr. Douglas.”

  “Fine. Put the backpack in your car,” I grumble and thrust it at him.

  It’s three fifty-five. I suspect Mr. Douglas is cranky about our meeting, so I don’t want to keep him waiting. Will he explain his history with Jude to me? Or will this be a huge waste of time? An image of Dylan lying in his hospital bed flashes through my thoughts. Will Mr. Douglas fight to save his son?

  I tug Marcus by the hand. “We should go. He’ll be here any minute.”

  It unnerves me how many girls stare openly at Marcus as we walk down the hall toward the exit. They see we’re holding hands. Then again…Marcus seems oblivious to it all.

  The parking lot is still filled with a bunch of cars. I look around for the car Mr. Douglas nearly ran me down with that fateful day. It’s parked as far away as possible. I feel as if I swallowed a lead weight and it’s settled painfully in my stomach. I didn’t really believe he would show up.

  I nod at Marcus and try not to let on just how nervous I feel. Marcus heads toward his car. I set off for the death mobile. As I approach, Mr. Douglas climbs out of his car and we walk to the cluster of picnic tables.

  “Hello Lucy.” He looks around, probably trying to figure out if anyone can hear our conversation.

  “Hi Mr. Douglas. Thanks for coming.”

  He grimaces. “You didn’t leave me much choice.”

  We sit at a picnic table, which is splintered and in need of a fresh coat of paint.

  “Why haven’t you visited Dylan at the hospital?” I ask, once I’m safely on the other side of the table.

  “That’s really none of your business!” He gasps, his eyes bulging. “Who told you that?”

  I sit up straighter, my hands balled in my lap and accept the fact that I’ve lost my job. So much for buying a car. “He’s in a coma, you know.”

  Mr. Douglas stares at me for what feels like a full minute before he closes his eyes. I think I hear him groan.

  I glance past him, across the parking lot to confirm Marcus is still there. He’s leaning against his car, talking on his cell, no doubt telling Persephone or Aiden about this meeting.

  “I didn’t ask you to come here to make you feel bad, Mr. Douglas.” That’s partly a lie. “I need some information.”

  He opens his eyes and rakes his fingers through his hair. “What do you want to know?”

  I look at him, his sagging shoulders and defeated expression. All of a sudden, he doesn’t seem so powerful.

  “How do you and Jude Morgan know each other?”

  Mr. Douglas stiffens, and his complexion grows pale.

  “Mr. Douglas, please.” I reach across the table for his hand, but stop myself. “I believe that Jude is causing this. He’s been following Dylan for a while now.” I lower my voice. “He’s hurting your son.”

  He sits there mute.

  “What does he want?” I ask.

  Mr. Douglas looks off. “I talked to Dylan’s neurologist today.” His voice is barely more than a whisper. “They can’t figure out what’s wrong.” With a trembling hand, he reaches into his suit coat pocket, pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a silver lighter with his initials engraved on the side. He lights up and takes a drag as he continues to stare off into the distance.

  “How do you know Jude?” I push.

  Mr. Douglas frowns at me and flicks an ash off the cuff of his jacket. “When I finished college I landed a job with the largest wealth management firm in Chicago and learned the ropes. I worked long hours and did whatever they asked of me. Within three years, I was the fastest growing young star at the company. I was cocky and arrogant, but the clients loved me and so did the partners.”

  He pauses, staring past me, and exhales slowly.

  “After work one night, I headed to a bar near the office to unwind. A girl I was seeing planned to meet me. By my second martini, this guy at the next table started chatting me up. I don’t recall what he said initially, but we wound up talking about how to get rich managing other people’s money. I found him fascinating…seductive. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I’m pretty sure he hypnotized me.”

  “My date didn’t show up, but I forgot to care. I spent hours with him that night. And again the next. He tried to convince me to start my own firm. I didn’t have the capital, I told him. He waved me off like that was the most minor of problems. I told him I didn’t have my own clients. He shrugged that off, assuring me I would be a huge success. I asked him how he could be so sure. He just smiled. Before long, I believed him.”

  “I started my own company. Within three months, I’d poached every client I ever worked with at my prior firm—“

  “Did Jude help talk clients into leaving with you?” I’m curious if Jude hypnotized Mr. Douglas’ clients, like he hypnotized me.

  “Sometimes.” He shrugs, and smiles sheepishly. “I had the biggest investment port
folio of any twenty-six-year-old in the city. And things just kept getting better. A couple years later I married Celia. She was gorgeous and smart. She stuck with me even when I worked crazy hours. When we found out she was pregnant, she was thrilled. It took her mind off the fact that our marriage was falling apart.”

  I pay close attention to everything he says, but I’m not learning what I came for. Why is Jude hurting Dylan?

  “When Dylan turned five, she left me. I took great care of them after the divorce. They deserved it. They didn’t ask for this crazy life.”

  As Mr. Douglas lights another cigarette, I wonder how he defines “great care.” Dylan never sees his dad, which strikes me as the thing he wants most.

  I wave off the cigarette smoke swirling in my face. “Jude made everything happen for you.”

  He looks at me then, but only for a second. It’s enough. I see fear in his eyes.

  I rise from the bench and start pacing, mostly to get away from the stench of his cigarettes. “What was the deal, Mr. Douglas?”

  “What do you mean?”

  His arrogant tone makes me want to scream. Heat claws its way down my arms. I curl my fingers instinctively. I take a couple of slow, deep breaths. I stop pacing and glare at him, my fists clenched at my sides. “You made a deal with Jude. What was it? He made you rich and in exchange you gave him what?”

  The temperature is dropping—or maybe it’s the conversation getting to me—and I start to tremble. I cross my arms over my chest as I stand there. Mr. Douglas rises from the table and crushes his half smoked cigarette. He lights another and faces me, his legs planted wide. He gaze narrows and fixes on me.

  “I promised him my first born child,” he says dully.

  “You what?” The sudden heat in my palms makes me cry out. I shake them out, hoping that will cool them down. Instead, I hurl a fireball at Mr. Douglas. He dodges to the right, trips and falls.

  “Lucy!” Marcus races toward me, grabs hold of my arm. “Are you okay?”

  I shrug him off.

  Mr. Douglas is on his feet. He stares at me incredulously. “What the hell was that? What are you?”

  “Finish the story.” I glare at him.

  “I…I thought it was a joke.” His words come out loud and fast, his eyes dart around, looking anywhere but at me. “We’d been drinking all night, you know? When we shook hands, he did this insane thing where he took a knife from his pocket, cut each of us on the palm of our left hand and insisted we shake again. He said it was a sealed deal. It struck me as a sort of fraternity ritual. No big deal.”

  “So now he wants to collect.” I shake my head in disgust, careful to keep my hands tucked in my pockets. It doesn’t make sense. What does Jude want with Dylan now that he’s found me? “Is that why you haven’t gone to the hospital? Because you can’t face the price you put on Dylan’s head? Or do you think that by avoiding this, it’ll go away?”

  He presses his lips into a thin line, his gaze fixed on the ground. All at once, I feel like I’m talking to Momma.

  “It’s not going to go away, Mr. Douglas. Your son is getting worse every day. The doctors can’t figure out what’s wrong with him, so they can’t fix him. What about sitting down and re-negotiating with Jude?”

  “It won’t do any good,” he says flatly.

  “Have you tried?”

  “He told me when we shook on it that night, when our blood mixed, that the deal was non-negotiable.”

  I stare at him—really stare at him—and realize I am seeing Mr. Douglas for the first time.

  Marcus touches my elbow. “Let’s go.”

  “Lucy.” Mr. Douglas calls after me. “Jude came to me, told me I would run into you. Not literally, I still don’t know how the accident happened. He told me to hire you.” I hear the fear in his voice. “I don’t know how he knew I’d run into you, but he did. How does he know you?”

  “Go to the hospital,” I tell him, barely able to look him in the eye, hatred bubbling up inside of me. “Dylan needs you. When he wakes up, you need to tell him the truth.”

  I leave him there, standing by the picnic table, his slacks torn from his fall, surrounded by half-smoked cigarettes.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  On Friday, Marcus is waiting for me on the front porch when I arrive home from school. My smile falls away when I see his angry expression. He makes no move to hug or kiss me.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he hisses, grabbing my arm.

  I try to wriggle free. “What are you talking about?”

  “Jude’s upstairs in my apartment at your request. Are you insane? I told you to stay away from him.”

  “I’m doing what I need to do to help Dylan.” I wrench my arm from his grasp.

  He follows me inside as I drop my stuff off in my uncles’ apartment.

  “I’m asking you not to do this,” he pleads. “I thought you finally understood.”

  “That’s the thing, I do understand. Besides, with you and Aiden nearby, nothing bad will happen.” I can see he doesn’t agree, but I slide past him and race upstairs before he can stop me.

  I raise my hand to knock when the door opens. Aiden stands there, his expression smooth and blank. “You’ve been a busy girl.”

  “Hello, Aiden.”

  He pulls the door open and gestures for me to enter. Is that a hint of a smile on his face?

  Once inside, I notice Jude standing at the window. He turns and his face breaks into a smile as he spreads his arms wide. I hide my smirk. His standard greeting, I suppose.

  “Lucy, it’s good to see you.” I stand rigid as he approaches and hope he won’t touch me. “What can I do for you?”

  Marcus storms past us and shoots a dark look at Jude. He twitches. I have to make this quick, for his sake.

  “I’ll be in the next room,” he growls.

  Jude nods in Marcus’ direction. “He has feelings for you.”

  I sit down on the couch. “That’s not what we’re here to talk about.”

  “Very well.” He takes a seat in the neighboring chair. “Why am I here?”

  I realize Aiden isn’t in the room. I glance at the door. Did he leave?

  “Don’t let others poison your mind toward me. You have nothing to fear.” He sits perfectly still, elbows resting on the arms of the chair, fingers steepled, watching me.

  “You and Pierce Douglas. Can we talk about that?”

  There is a flicker across his face—ever so slight. Surprise. “What is it you want to know?”

  “You made Mr. Douglas a very rich man in exchange—”

  “I encouraged a savvy business man to take his talents to the next level.”

  “I can’t believe you made Dylan part of this.”

  Jude shrugs. “Pierce and I had a business arrangement. He has enjoyed the fruits of that arrangement for a long time, but defaulted on his end of the deal.” His black eyes meet mine. “That is unacceptable.”

  “And you’re making Dylan pay the price?” I clear my throat, annoyed by my shaking voice. “You’re torturing him. He’s having nightmares, hallucinations, and seizures. He’s in a coma.” My voice fades to a whisper. “You did this to him.”

  “Someone must be filling your head with tales. Who? Persephone? Henry? Surely not my dear Marcus.” His voice is gentle but chiding.

  “No, I just…” I pause, feeling unsure of myself all of a sudden. It does sound crazy. He flashes me a sympathetic smile.

  “You came up with this elaborate scenario all by yourself. My dear, I think perhaps you need to spend more time with your father. Get to know me better. Then you wouldn’t be swayed by the gossip of others.”

  Then I recall being hurled from the roof. And the gray-haired man who broke into my bedroom on two occasions. A demon. What about Marcus, who has wings and the power to erase my worries and lull me to sleep? What about Gram, Persephone and Henry—a trio of witches?

  If Jude is a demon like Persephone says, who knows what he can do?
/>
  Anger swells inside of me. “How can you negotiate for the life of another person?”

  Our eyes lock on one another. That look of love is back on his face. I look away. The room wobbles and I clutch the edges of the couch cushion and blink several times until it stops.

  I fight the urge to squirm. An unfamiliar feeling comes to life inside of me, a strange chaos. My pulse quickens and I feel warm, too warm, all of a sudden. A strange chatter of hissing, whispery voices erupts in my head. Jude’s making this happen. It’s not real, I tell myself.

  I want to run to the safety of my uncles’ apartment. Instead, I raise my chin and look him directly in the eye.

  He shrugs. “Pierce had nothing else to offer.”

  “What about all the money he made?”

  “Money means nothing to me,” Jude says, his posture relaxing.

  “Money means something to everyone,” I protest.

  “I have more than I’ll ever need.” He frowns for a moment. ”Can we talk about your mother? Do you mind?”

  My whole body stiffens. I shake my head. Momma’s off limits to him. “She’s dead. There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “Lucy, it’s difficult to explain the relationship she and I had, so I won’t try. But know this…” He leans forward, his forearms resting on his thighs, his eyes looking blacker than normal. “It wasn’t my choice to leave you in that godforsaken place. If I’d known where you were, I would have come for you.”

  I choke as I fix my attention on the opposite side of the room. I will not cry, not now, not in front of him.

  I look at him through tear-filled eyes and snarl. “Just me? Or for both of us?” I immediately regret my tone as he stiffens. I need to take care of Dylan, then Lola. I can’t risk screwing this up.

  “Lucy…” Jude pushes himself up from his chair and joins me on the couch.

  “I really don’t want you to…” But he takes hold of my hand.

  I feel the blast as my inner circuitry goes haywire. I try to yank my hand away, but he holds tight.

  He leans toward me. “Do you feel it?” His voice is barely more than a whisper and his eyes shine bright. “You are my daughter.”