Into Dust: The Industry City Trilogy - Book One

by Marlee P. Louis

  “Is this going to hurt?” I asked once we’d walked out of the neighborhood and back onto the main road. Gina shrugged.

  “My mom’s way of doing things isn’t normal. I guess you could think of her like a soul doctor—sometimes, just like going to any doctor, things have to hurt to heal.”

  “So, it is going to hurt.”

  “Don’t go soft on me now, bait.”

  We walked for a time in silence, heads down against the passing traffic, hunched into our jackets. Here the trees were mixed with evergreens, needles rustling anxiously with every gust of wind that whipped up the streets, and I looked up at a darkening sky threatening rain. I wasn’t sorry, though, when the first fat drops splashed the pavement a few minutes later, giving us the perfect excuse to rush down the sidewalk without drawing attention to ourselves. We pulled our jackets up over our heads and ran the rest of the way, reaching Maria’s street just as the skies opened with a crack of thunder and water poured down, soaking us both by the time we made it to her porch.

  “You’re wet,” Maria said as she opened the screen door the moment we arrived, joining us on the porch, shaking her head as we wiped rain from our eyes and dripped onto her mat. “Here, give me your jackets, I will hang them up. And take off your shoes.”

  I wasn’t sorry to strip out of my wet jacket, handing it off to Maria before stepping out of my shoes, then looked back up to see her frozen, my jacket still raised in her hand with an odd expression on her face. “Is there something wrong?” I glanced at Gina, who shrugged, stepping closer.

  “Mom?” Maria didn’t answer, and Gina gave her shoulder a shake. “Mom!”

  Maria started, blinking at the jacket and then us before her eyes cleared. “Yes,” she said absently, “I know. You are hungry, mija. Hurry and come inside.”

  “No,” Gina told her, “We’re not hungry. We can’t say long, remember? I told you on the phone.”

  “Sí, nunca en ningún momento para tu madre.” Maria turned, giving me a long searching look before disappearing into the house with my jacket in her hand, leaving Gina still hold hers. Gina shot me a look before kicking off her boots and following her mother into the house.

  “That’s not true. I have time for you, mom,” I heard her say in the hallway, “Just not today.” I followed, jumping slightly when the screen door slammed behind me, giving the street one last look before closing and locking the front door.

  “In here, Avery,” Gina called, and I followed her voice down the carpeted hall. Framed pictures of Alex and Gina lined the walls, and on any other day I would have stopped to examine them in detail. One did catch my attention, however—brother and sister posed back to back in matching jean jackets. I smiled at it, just as Gina stepped back into the hall and caught me with a roll of her eyes. “Don’t,” she told me, taking hold of my arm to drag me into the kitchen, “Don’t you dare say a word about that picture.”

  “What?” I asked innocently as the warmth from the kitchen washed over my damp skin, “I like it. It’s retro.”

  “Shut up.” She pointed me into a chair at the kitchen table and I took it, looking around the room with obvious interest. I’d never been in a witch’s kitchen before. Bunches of herbs dangled from the windows and colorful crystals lined the sills. There were plants everywhere. The kitchen was built in an open design, with a large bank of windows looking out on the backyard, framing the small breakfast nook where I now sat. All around me, life was thriving, growing and blooming, pots crowded along the floor, onto shelves and hanging from the ceiling. The room itself was clean and smelled of spices and good food, but it was the plants that kept drawing my attention back. Since coming to Industry City I’d been surrounded by fear, death and decay, and yet here on the outskirts, hope grew inside one woman’s home, each leaf and sprout a small resistance to the encroaching blight.

  I spent a few moments taking it all in before realizing that Maria was still holding my jacket, walking around with it draped over her shoulder, her expression dazed. As I watched, she reached up and patted it, shaking her head and muttering to herself. I raised my eyebrows at Gina, who rolled her eyes and mouthed ‘who knows’. The problem was, my jacket had become something of a safety blanket—the times I’d felt the strongest despite the danger around me were the times I’d had it as my armor, and I felt naked without it now. I remembered thinking that I could pretend to be CARTER, just before the real Carter appeared to save me, pulling me out of the darkness again and again. Images from my dream flashed through my mind and a sick feeling of dread ran through my stomach. Nightmare or premonition, it scared me, and I wished again that I’d been able to find him at the apartments, just to make sure he was okay. And to say thank you—there was that, too. If I couldn’t have the real Carter to protect me, though, I still had my jacket, and I realized that I didn’t just want it back. I needed it back.

  “I can hang that up for you, Maria,” I stood suddenly from my chair and stepped towards her, already reaching out to take the jacket off her shoulder. She turned, one hand settling protectively over the fabric, the other pointing at me with such force that I froze in place, my gaze locked onto hers.

  “There is a darkness around you.”

  “I know,” I faltered.

  “You know, and you are afraid. You are afraid, and it knows. Do you understand?” I shook my head and she continued. “Gina is not afraid, and the darkness does not come for her. I am not afraid, and the darkness does not come for me. It is your fear it wants. Fear keeps it alive inside you.” She tapped her forehead. “Inside here.” Her hand waved at the chair I’d vacated. “Sit, Avery. We will talk.”

  I backed into my chair and she sat across from me, carefully spreading my jacket onto the table between us, her fingers reaching to run over the nametag. “This jacket is very special. Where did you get it?”

  “A store called Hidden Treasures.”

  “I know it,” Maria nodded. She tapped her finger on the jacket. “This Carter. He is your spirit.”

  “I’m sorry. My what?”

  “Tu ángel. Your guide.” Her tone was very matter-of-fact, and she chuckled, patting the jacket fondly. “Five dollars was a good deal.”

  My stomach flipped at her words, then pushed the price into the lucky guess category to focus on what mattered. Spirit guide wasn’t a completely unfamiliar term to me—I’d done my fair share of watching psychic television shows to know they were something along the lines of guardian angels. In those scenarios, however, the guides and angels had always been a family member or friend who had died. I wasn’t sure how that tied into a thrift store coat. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. My jacket is my guide?”

  “Not your jacket,” Maria said, “There is a spirit around you. He likes this jacket.”

  “Why? Was it his?”

  “Le da raíces,” Maria frowned, looking to Gina.

  “It gives him roots,” Gina supplied, and her mother nodded.

  “Yes. It links him to you. It is your connection.”

  “I’m linked to a ghost through a jacket?” I repeated, and Gina laughed.

  “Do not listen to her.” Maria waved a dismissive hand at her daughter. “Gina has too many roots, she sees only what is put in front of her face. All that evil outside her bar. What do you think keeps it out?”

  “My gun,” Gina said dryly.

  Maria ignored her. “You are different, Avery. You see more.”

  “I don’t understand,” I shook my head. “What do I see?”

  Maria patted the jacket as if the answer was obvious. “You see him.”

  I felt myself go pale. “No,” I answered quickly, “I haven’t seen anyone.”

  Maria smiled and reached across the table to pat my hand. “It is hard to accept at first, I know. You have seen him. I can feel it in you. You have seen your Carter.”

  My mouth was dry, my mind racing to try and keep up with what she was saying, but none of it made sense. “I haven’t seen a ghost.”

&nb
sp; “Because you weren’t looking for one,” Maria chuckled. “Spirits are tricky. Nothing has changed since you found this jacket? What about your dreams?” I tensed visibly at the question and she nodded without waiting for me to answer. “It would be easier for him to find you there, but the darkness finds you, too.”

  I stared at her, my heart pounding. He’d known things no one else had, he’d saved me when no one else could, and yet there was no way to believe what Maria was telling me. He wasn’t only in my dreams. He was real. “I…” I looked over to find Gina watching me with a narrowed gaze, her expression thoughtful. “What?” I asked her.

  “That guy,” she said slowly, “The one that keeps following you around. What’s his name?”

  “I thought you didn’t believe in this.”

  “I didn’t say that. I just want proof. What’s his name?”

  I reached out a shaking hand, my fingertips sadly stroking my jacket. “He told me—” My voice cracked, tears filling my eyes as the realization overwhelmed me. There were too many pieces falling into place, too many things I’d pushed aside, refusing to ask myself why. It was all there, though—the dreams, the things he knew. I realized I’d never touched him, not even a casual brush of our arms when we’d walked down the street. “Carter,” I tried again, watching her eyebrows climb. “He told me to call him Carter.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  * * *

  “Why?” I demanded, turning back to Maria. Frustration and anger rushed in to fill the gaps in my understanding. I wanted to deny it, to fight what Maria was telling me for so many reasons, but mostly because it sounded absolutely insane. “Why would he come to me? Is it just the jacket? If you wore it, would he come to you, too?”

  “Maybe,” Maria smiled, “But he is not my spirit. He is yours.” Her smile grew. “Él te ha elegido.”

  “He has chosen you,” Gina translated. Her tone was tense, and I could tell she felt we were wasting too much time with this. I also guessed from the lack of urgency in Maria that she hadn’t been informed about what was happening with Alex. “Mom, I told you we needed to get those assholes out of her head. We can’t stay much longer, will you help? Please?”

  “The jacket will help.”

  “Mom—”

  “Be quiet, mija.” Maria snapped, raising from the table and moving back into the heart of the kitchen. “You wanted my help, you will do it my way. We will call him.”

  “Call who?” I asked, alarmed.

  “Carter,” Gina sighed, apparently resigned to the inevitable, “She means we’re going to have a seance.”

  “No thank you,” I stood from my chair and pulled my jacket from the table. “I’m really okay, and we should probably—”

  “Sit.” Maria said sharply, opening a cupboard door and moving a jar onto the counter, then shook what appeared to be dried leaves into a small bowl.

  I sat.

  Maria took the jacket from me and spread it across the table again, then placed a large clear crystal in the center. The little bowl looked worked by hand, and she used a match to light the small pile of leaves, a steady wisp of smoke pouring into the air. Sage, I realized as the sharp scent drifted towards me. Then she sat, placed both her palms flat onto the jacket and motioned for me to do the same. I’d expected more—dimming of the lights, candles, creepy undertones. Instead, Maria was acting like we were simply making a conference call to a friend.

  “What’s the stone for?” I was stalling.

  “It’s crystal quartz,” Gina answered, “It helps broadcast thought and intention.”

  “Oh.” I licked my lips nervously. “And the sage?”

  “It cleans the air,” Maria cut over Gina’s answer, looking at me expectantly. “We begin.”

  “I don’t know how,” I told her, and Maria smiled.

  “Call to him.”

  “Out loud?”

  “However you like. He will hear you.”

  I closed my eyes, not wanting to look at Gina. I felt exposed and foolish with my hands on an old jacket, trying to summon the spirit of a guy who was probably living, breathing, and had simply found some other woman to stalk. My dreams were only dreams, brought on by the stress of a mind-controlling cult invading my brain. The ridiculousness of that thought was not lost on me—I was willing to believe the Templars were able to possess me, so why not a spirit?

  I didn’t want to know, though. I didn’t want Carter to be a ghost. I didn’t want any of it to be real—not the cult, not the haunting, not this séance. I should have ignored London. I should have never gone back to my apartment. I should have gotten into the Jeep and started driving far away from this crazy place.

  A memory flooded me. Carter’s gaze on mine—my back against the washing machine, the look of longing in his eyes. Alex and Ethan had taken from me, pushed to see how much I would give. Carter hadn’t wanted or asked for anything from me—he’d only saved me, again and again. I didn’t want him to be dead. My fingers curled on the rough material of the jacket, bunching it in my fists, tears began to make slow tracks down my cheeks.

  Carter. I thought fiercely. If this is real, come here and fucking prove it.

  A sudden gasp from Maria snapped my eyes back open, watching in horror as her hands came up, cupping her eyes, a low, keening moan of pain escaping her.

  “No,” I whispered.

  “Avery,” she rasped, her voice lower and full of pain. “Bad shit’s coming. Fight.”

  “No,” I said again, jerking my hands from the jacket and scrambling from my chair—tripping over plants until I came hard against the windowsill. I stayed there, staring wide-eyed at Maria, half expecting flies to come spilling from her mouth.

  “Pobre espíritu.” Maria’s voice was mournful, but her own again. Her hands came away from her face, and I saw the heavy flow of tears pouring from her eyes. “¿Qué te han hecho?”

  “Poor spirit. What have they done to you,” Gina whispered, staring at Maria. She had not left her seat next to her mother and pointed back towards mine. “Sit down, Avery. They need you with them.”

  I was shaking when I forced myself back to the table, my hands trembling against the jacket once more. “Why?” I asked her, “Why me?”

  Maria closed her eyes again. “You asked for his help.” She said after a pause. “He is sorry he can’t help you anymore.”

  “What’s happened to him?”

  “The darkness has taken him,” she said sadly. “Now he is punished.”

  Punished. The word screamed out in my head.

  “No, that’s not possible. He’s not real.”

  “The darkness came for you. He gave himself, instead.”

  “He can’t do that,” I told her, my voice rising in panic, “He can’t do that for me. He needs to save himself.”

  “It is too late.”

  “How do I get him out?”

  Maria shook her head sadly.

  “No. There has to be a way. Please.”

  “I’m sorry. The darkness is too strong now, even for me.” I could tell it pained her to admit that she was losing whatever battle she waged against the evil bleeding slowly out from the heart of the city.

  “What will happen to him?”

  “He will fade,” Maria said. “It will take him.”

  Tears filled my eyes and I looked uncomprehendingly at Gina, my mind refusing to believe what it was being told. In a matter of minutes, Carter had gone from a person in my life, to a person haunting my life—and now even that was slipping away.

  Gina’s expression was oddly blank and closed in, her arms crossed over her chest. She didn’t meet my gaze and my heart ached with new understanding when I realized that the darkness had taken someone from Gina in much the same way. “Mom,” Gina said suddenly, “Necesitamos hacer la Limpia, por favor.”

  “Si, mija,” Maria sighed, “It is time.” Then she paused, her fingers curling on my jacket, looking at me with an odd expression. “He says you are marked.”

  My
mouth went dry and I looked from her to Gina, tears filling my eyes and I nodded, unwilling to lie any longer.

  “What?” Gina stood from her seat and made a grab for my hands. “Show me. Where is it?”

  I pulled away from her, then shrugged my left shoulder from my shirt. “It’s here.”

  Silence fell as the two women gazed at the brand on my shoulder. It was worse than it had ever been, the red streaking down my arm and the skin around it hot to the touch.

  “Fuck, Avery.” Gina said finally. “You should have told someone.”

  I swallowed hard, averting my eyes. “I didn’t know what to do.”

  “I do,” Maria rose and beckoned to Gina and I before making her way to the back door and outside. I gathered my jacket up with shaking hands and slipped it slowly back on before I followed. It felt heavier against my skin, weighed down with my grief.

  I was surprised to see a large chicken coop built against the back fence when I stepped outside. It was unexpected in this little corner of suburbia, but it seemed oddly fitting. Several hens were happily scratching around in the dirt of their cage, conversing calmly with each other in chicken-speak. They looked up when Maria moved through the door, chatting to them in Spanish, running towards her for the feed she scooped from a bucket and scattered across the ground. Once they were busy eating, Maria pushed her hand inside one of the nest boxes and came up with an egg—carefully closing the cage door behind her when she rejoined us, motioning to the garage.

  It was dark when we entered, and I blinked against the sudden flood of overhead lights when Maria flipped them on, my eyes widening as I took in my surroundings. The large altar set up along the far wall caught my attention first, decorated with candles, statues and framed pictures. Shelves lined the walls, some containing only candles in glass jars, others holding baskets of leaves and branches. There were glass jars containing unidentifiable liquids, boxes of incense, stacked clay bowls like the one in the kitchen, and more. In truth, there was too much to see, though I noted how perfectly organized it was—reminding me of the back room of Gina’s bar and her bookshelves at home. Above the shelves, many pictures were hung, some portraying skulls, other the Virgin Mary, and still others that were darker representations that sent chills down my spine, causing me to quickly avert my gaze. The center of the room was clear, save for a single white sheet placed neatly on the floor. This was closer to what I had imagined when I thought of a witch’s house, though now that I was seeing it, I wasn’t sure if I was excited or terrified.