Ravenswood (Ravenswood Series Book 1)

by Christine Zolendz

  I raised my eyes to Eric, once again willing him to look back at me, but he continued to sneak peeks of the girls saying their loud goodbyes.

  “Hey. What? No kiss goodbye?” Eric huffed when he finally realized I made it to the curb and was headed for the main doors of the terminal.

  I shook my head and sighed loudly. He stood waiting, expecting me to jump back into the street and settle for a life filled with unraveling questions and low expectations. Screw that, I held my ground.

  “Rainey, really, maybe I should catch up with you there. I care about you, you know. We were…we were friends.”

  Shut up. Shut up. Shut up and go look at the pretty girls and leave me alone! I couldn’t even look at him. I wished I could just put words to my thoughts, say everything I needed to say out loud and be done with it and tell him how much he was hurting me.

  “Will you call at least? When you get there?” he asked.

  “Sure. As soon as I land.” I winced, not liking the taste of the lie on my lips.

  He nodded and thudded his trunk closed. He wouldn’t be waiting for any calls from me, would he? Did it make a difference? I didn’t plan on coming home until I got answers. I wasn’t coming home without the truth. And let’s be perfectly honest: I wasn’t coming home to him, and maybe after all this I’d have the nerve to say it. I wanted a real relationship, with someone who really wanted to be with me. If I couldn’t find anyone like that, I was better off being alone.

  Chapter 5

  A few hours later, I sat exhausted, over a thousand miles away from the only place I’d ever been—home, staring into a foul smelling swamp and sweating heavily. The taxi I took from the airport had busted air conditioning, and the air here was so thick and heavy, I could practically see the steady floating droplets of moisture. It was beyond stifling.

  My sweat was sweating.

  I had hurried from the airport, hailing the first cab I could get, and drove straight to 32856 Halerow Road without a thought. It was just before dusk when the car sputtered through a crowded touristy town and cut into an old pot-hole-filled road surrounded by breathtakingly beautiful marshland. Tall, twisted trees, their long barks veiled in green, jutted out around the blacktop. Their roots were knotted into gnarled lumps and plunged into a steep slope, dropping into a muddy backdrop of thick browns and moss colored water. Between the tangles of limbs and dark green leaves, the sky was bruised with the darkening of the day.

  Slowly, I opened the car door and climbed out. An endless curtain of pale gray fog drifted over the muddy water, and looming in the middle of it all, settled deeply in the mist, stood a crooked house on stilts, staring down at me. Its unnaturally tall, peeked roofs melted into the fog like the swallowing of spirits.

  I closed the car door softly behind me and slowly made my way to the edge of the pavement. There, the blacktop crumbled under the soles of my shoes and dropped over the jagged cliff.

  “What the shit is that?” I gritted aloud, raking my hands through my sweat-drenched hair.

  I yanked my cell phone out of my back pocket and pulled up my GPS. I eyed my phone and blinked back up to the street sign that displayed the name I’d been anticipating for the last few days. My gaze drifted back to the rotting wood planks of the house and the large sign that swung noiselessly from the first balcony floor.

  The Hollow.

  “No wonder nobody answered the phone.” The place looked condemned.

  “Don’ look like nobody ‘dere right now, lady. Yeah, so that’ll be fordy-five dollars.”

  Frustration burned in my throat and hardened in the pit of my stomach. There was no way I came all the way here, just to turn around right back and go home without any answers. I had nothing back in New York except a bar that had been doing fine without me for the past few days—it even seemed like since my Saturday night piano playing stopped, more people showed up.

  I had nothing else to go back to, a dead grandmother, and an inattentive boyfriend didn’t have me clawing my way back into the taxi. And my audition was weeks away. I handed the man a few crumpled twenties and turned back to the empty building.

  My feet stood immobile as the taxi driver shifted his glance nervously into the darkening bayou. “Miss, you goin’ get your valise now.”

  I ignored him with gritted teeth and a tightened jaw. Helplessness and uncontrollable fury clenched painfully in my stomach. There had to be answers here somewhere. I needed to know. I needed something—suddenly, I needed someone to blame—something to blame. I needed to make sure the person—the sadistic animal that killed my grandmother—would be put away forever.

  Yet the house, though ominous and obscure, stared back at me with vacant eyes. This was all a stupid idea. A dead end. There was nobody in that decrepit pile of splintered wood and stone.

  Hopeless, I dropped my white-knuckled fists to my sides. What was I supposed to do now? Just go to my hotel? Try to look up that Rose Delacriox person?

  But before I turned away to leave, something dark moved quickly past the front window.

  Someone was inside.

  I flew through a break in the trees, sloshing noisily into the shallow marsh. A trail of odd-shaped rocks peeked out across the surface of the marsh, barely visible to the naked eye. Gathering my courage, I stepped cautiously on the first one, holding my arms out to steady myself, and followed the peculiar pathway straight up to the front door. My fists pounded against the wood, leaving small dents in the soft, water-worn surface. There was no answer. I slammed my fist once more and pressed my ear against the warped panels of the door. I heard nothing but the thud of my rolling suitcase as the taxi driver tossed it on the road and the peeling of his tires along the gravel.

  “Shit,” I snapped, glancing back toward the road, only to watch the taxi’s taillights disappear into the thickening fog.

  “Asshole!” I shouted, walking around the front porch of the house.

  I peered through windows, cupping my hands over my eyes to try to snatch a small glimpse of whoever was inside. All I could see through the smudged glass were still, dark shadows that could have very well been furniture. Or people. People who knew the truth about the person I called my grandmother.

  I circled around the side of the porch and noticed a trellis at the end, leading up to the second floor balcony. It was coated with a layer of swamp slime and moss colored crud that made my skin crawl.

  I moved to grab onto the first rung, then stiffened when I saw the first reflections of red and blue lights flashing behind me. I flattened myself against the side of the house and held my breath as I peeked around the corner railing. Back on the road, a police car idled, lights rotating around and around atop while a uniformed officer poked at my luggage.

  Definitely not what I pictured dealing with today.

  I swore I heard a low gurgle of laughter from someplace deep inside that house. They probably called the police. Who the hell calls the police because someone knocks on your door? Guilty people, that’s who.

  There was no way I wanted to stay and chat with the cops, or worse, get stuck standing in this foul-smelling swamp after dark. I flipped my middle fingers up against the windows of the house, just in case the idiots hiding inside could see and quietly slid over the side railing. My feet slipped into the cool marsh and immediately sunk into the thick, muddy mess beneath.

  I trudged through as quietly as I possibly could and barreled back into the trees and up onto the asphalt. The cop wandered around the strange trail of rocks up to the house.

  I crawled around the back of the patrol car and grabbed for the handle of my luggage. It was almost dark, and if I could just make it to the main road without being seen, I think I could get away with—

  “You suck at sneaking around.”

  I whirled around, heart hammering hard in my chest, and fell back onto my bottom from the sheer shock of the voice behind me. “What? Who are you? You scared the heck out of me!” I whisper-hissed, looking up and finding a strange person standing over
me.

  Where the hell did I put my pepper spray?

  The guy looked like he was smirking. I could barely make out his features as the shadows of the trees and setting sun danced over his face, but I definitely could tell when he started laughing at me.

  “Nice outfit.” A halo of light illuminated around his shoulders, making him look unearthly—yet, I knew he was no angel from the way his eyes traveled over my body.

  What? Why was he gawking at me like that? Immediately, I looked down at my clothes. They were caked in mud and sopping wet. Oh, and see-through too, let’s not forget that part.

  “Crap,” I snapped, covering my hands over my chest.

  “You’re not from around here, are you, sweet thing?” he asked, stepping closer and darting his eyes around.

  He was tall, muscular. Half his body was hidden in the shadows of the forest; the other half was…nice on the eyes. Everything you ever read in a romance novel of the perfect guy. There was some far off familiarity to him I couldn’t quite put a finger on; it made the hair prickle on the back of my neck.

  “No,” I said, climbing to my feet, wiping off the dirt and grime covering me.

  “You do realize you’re in Louisiana, though, right? The state with the largest population of alligators in America,” he said, surveying me with great interest, then darting his eyes out around us.

  “Al-Alligators?” I stammered. Nope, not once did I ever think of alligators. I lived in New York City my entire life; the only wildlife there were pigeons and rats and other New Yorkers.

  His gaze trailed over the street quickly again, then back to mine. “You’d make a nice little snack for the couple dozen that live right in that marsh you just crawled out of. We get a couple of accidental deaths a year just in this swamp alone from you ignorant tourists. Do you know alligators kill…”

  “What the hell are you, a walking documentary?” Stupid o’clock news? I thought to myself. “How long were you watching me?”

  “Since your cab pulled up.” Oh, his smile was maddening. “What were you looking for in there anyway?” He had a strong, chiseled jaw and dark hair, with the same dark-colored eyebrows curved in downward arches across his brow.

  “Answers,” I huffed, pulling my suitcase next to me.

  He eyed me quietly for a few moments. “To what questions? That place has been empty since I can remember.”

  He took another step closer, closing the distance between us. His face unnerved me. Angles and perfection, eyes the color of topaz, and a smile that made heat rise to my cheeks. I shifted back uncomfortably until I was stopped abruptly by a solid wall of the police officer standing behind me and stumbled over my own feet.

  Strong, uniformed arms steadied me and spun me around to face him. “Well, well. What do we have here?” the officer asked, smiling, gold badge glinting off the red and blue pulsing lights.

  I snapped my head up and swallowed loudly. “Uh…evening, Officer,” I stuttered. “I just…my taxi dropped me off at the wrong place. I’m staying at the Elder Ridge. I think the driver was confused.”

  I turned back to the stranger who had scared me, but the space behind me was empty. I narrowed my eyes at the place where the stranger had stood as the friendly officer offered me a ride to my hotel. I nodded thankfully and climbed into the front seat of the car, still searching the trees for a place the guy could have hid.

  “So, where you coming from?” the officer asked as he pulled himself into the cruiser. “You sound like you’re from up north.”

  “New York,” I said, trying to smile. His eyes did a quick glance at my attire as he started the car. “I, uh…sort of fell into the mud…”

  “Yes, ma’am. I could see that. You’re pretty lucky there weren’t any gators around.”

  I gave him a curt nod and chanced a peek in his side mirror. “Yes, sir. I was really lucky.”

  Behind us on the road stood the stranger, his form getting smaller and smaller the farther we drove away. Then, as we turned, I watched him step through the trees into the walkway of the Hollow.

  Chapter 6

  “How’s your investigation going?” Savannah, the girl at the front desk, asked me two nights later. She’d quickly befriended me, the lost-muddied-tourist who was dropped off by the cops, from the very first minute I stumbled inside the front foyer of the little bed and breakfast. Her parents owned the establishment, and she, just like I had, guiltily built a life around a family business. “Have you found any more information?

  I leaned my tired arms against the counter and sighed. “I went to the city clerk’s office this morning. Got the land records for the Hollow, but I didn’t find anything new. The records say Rose owns the place. I just wish she’d answer the damn door when I knock on it.”

  Savannah slid a sweet tea across the counter. “You should take a break, see New Orleans for a minute.”

  She fluffed her curls and lathered on a bright red shade of lipstick without the aid of a mirror. She was ridiculously beautiful, blonde and blue-eyed, with cheeks that naturally blushed without a hint of makeup. If she weren’t so darn sweet and innocent, I’d hate her.

  I shrugged and sipped at the tea. That stuff would be the death of me; I’d never tasted anything so good.

  “Come on, now,” she said, leaning forward on her elbows. “There’s so much to see here. We could go to the French market…or Mardi Gras World…Reverend Zombie’s House of Voodoo…”

  I swallowed back a laugh. “Voodoo? And Mardi Gras World? I don’t even know what Mardi Gras is.”

  “Pardon me? Are you for real?” Her charming southern accent made me smile. “New Orleans is known for Mardi Gras. Parades and masquerade parties. Starts here in January, where they hold the biggest masked ball ever. If you’re here long enough, you could come as my plus one. We could find two faceless masked men and have a wild night of debauchery.”

  Debauchery? Sounds a bit raunchy and fun.

  I laughed. “Okay, if I’m still here.”

  I knew I wouldn’t be. This whole trip was turning out to be a colossal waste of my time. I wasn’t getting any closer to finding out who killed my grandmother or who my grandmother really was or why all these people lived near alligators.

  “How about listening to some music, then?” she asked, wiping down the small ring of condensation my sweet tea had made. “If you like music, this is the place to be to hear it. Nobody plays music like New Orleans plays music.”

  I raised my eyes to hers. I did like music. “Music is good.”

  “Oh my, well, let’s see. We have jazz bars, dueling pianos—oh, and we got some haunted bars here if you like that sort of—”

  “Did you just say dueling pianos?” I asked, leaning my elbow onto the counter.

  “Oh, yes, those are so much fun. You watch two piano players dueling over music. Sometimes people just go right up and challenge the players. Everyone drinks and has such a good time.” Her gaze was smiling up toward the ceiling, probably remembering one of those fun, debaucherous nights she spoke about.

  “That. I want that one.”

  It sounded like fun, and a little bit of fun might give me the strength to keep searching and not feel so defeated and hopeless. I needed to play a piano, needed my fingers to touch the keys and rid me of the overwhelming feeling of stones in my pockets as I swam out to sea.

  “Well, okay, then. How about we head out around eight tonight?”

  “Okay,” I said, handing her my empty tea glass. “Thanks for the tea. I’ll meet you down here?”

  She clapped her hands excitedly. “Laissez les bons temps rouler!”

  “Yeah, I don’t understand,” I said with a laugh.

  “It’s what we say here, sugar. Let the good times roll.”

  My hair was sweaty and slicked back over my forehead. The room was hazy with bourbon and heat; it tasted salty and sexual. My heart drummed wildly in my chest, my fingers tingled and pulsed with raw delight. The lights were on low, and something heady and want
on came over me in the small jazz bar when I first heard the piano players. We’d walked along Bourbon Street for hours, tasting strange food and drinking strange things. At night, the streets there came alive with skull-painted faces, candy skulls laughing in slow motion as lights flickered over them. The city exploded with music. The sounds of jazz and blues pulsed through the streets like blood through veins. Some places were dark and filthy, the music gritty and raw. The sky was tombstone gray and darkened swiftly as we danced through the streets below. When it rained, the streets became slick with more sound; even the rain landing turned into music there.

  When we first walked into the dueling piano bar, it felt like I’d finally come home. It took all of fifteen minutes, and then I was on stage.

  Savannah didn’t have to drag me up; I floated toward the ivory like a moth to a flame, and my fingers immediately burned a hole in the keys. Something dark and dangerous swirled through the air with my notes. Conjuring up the magic of this place. Ex’s and Oh’s came sprawling out of my fingertips, and the haunting voice of Elle King became the breath from my mouth.

  Across from me on his dueling piano sat a gentleman named Colby, with skin the color of a midnight sky. He leaned forward, head cocked to the side, listening to me play. A large, wide smile danced across his face, and his shoulders moved along to my rhythm. To my right was a crowded room of shadowy silhouettes, swaying with arms raised to the music. Hands clapped a drumbeat, and somewhere behind me a tambourine slammed against the smoky stage floor.

  I was lost in its rapture. The crowd sang along with me, the vibrations along the bench so powerful, I felt it in my bones.

  When my last note hung in the air, Colby erupted in deep, raspy laughter. “Dat liddle girl can play, eh?” He flicked the tip of his hat and moved his fingers across his own piano. “Let’s see if she be able to keep up wit dis. Devil Came Down ta Georgia.” A whoop went up from the front of the stage, and his piano exploded with the quick strokes of his fingers. “Join in when you can, girl.”