Ravenswood (Ravenswood Series Book 1)

by Christine Zolendz

  “Dayum, sweetie. You could play. Tomorrow, we going to get you and me some monogram best friends forever shirts,” Savannah breathed, sliding onto the piano bench next to me. “Here, I got you a Hurricane,” she said, placing a tall glass of red liquid on the edge of the piano top. A half a lemon and a long straw stuck to the rim.

  I smiled to her and listened to Colby play. His fingers moved so fast, I wouldn’t have been surprised if sparks flew from them.

  Sweat dripped off my temples and salted my lips. My fingers trembled as I laid them down against the keys, but they gathered in strength and speed matching every note of his.

  Next to me on the bench, Savannah squealed and clapped. “Girl, I can’t believe you could do this!”

  I breathed in deeply. I couldn’t believe I was up there doing it either. I loved playing the piano. I loved singing and performing. It felt natural, like it was something I was born to do, but I suffered from the worst self-doubt, forever believing I was never quite good enough. At that moment, a chill blew through me, nipping at the marrow in my bones. Playing in front of that crowd was like reaching into my chest and wrenching out my heart, offering it up to them.

  Did they like what they heard? Did they believe I could play?

  My fingers trembled as I thought of what Gram used to say to me: it’s just a hobby, Rainey. The world was cruel and greedy. Dreamers like me would get trampled. Let go of your foolish dreams. You’re no better than the next person.

  “Take it down a notch, girl. Play from the soul.”

  I smiled, biting back a laugh. A soul; wasn’t that what that old fortune teller told me I didn’t have? It felt like years ago I walked into that tent to see her. Before my world went to shit, before I was utterly alone.

  But right now, tonight, I want to forget about that. I needed just a few minutes to forget about everything—pretend I wasn’t searching for a killer—hunting for a family I probably didn’t have.

  I sipped at the sickly sweet Hurricane Savannah bought me, relishing the sting as it coated its way down into the fire of my belly.

  “You need me to slow down?” I winked and smiled at Colby.

  My grandmother was gone; she wasn’t here any longer to tell me how horrible I was or how much talent I lacked. I hit one chord at a time. Slow. Sweet. Lost Boy by Ruth B. A hush settled over the crowd. I drowned out the clinks of glasses and raindrops hitting the windows and sang about living in Neverland. I hoped to God I sounded as good as I felt playing.

  Faces shifted in the shadows of the crowd. Only one stood out with amber eyes so wide and familiar, I almost stopped playing. His bright smile faded, though, as our eyes met. He stood for a moment, watching me, before slowly turning around and dissolving into the darkness of the room.

  When my voice lowered and the ivories sang their last key, I stiffened with the applause of the crowd. My stomach clenched uncomfortably, just like it always did after I played now. But my anxiety didn’t concentrate on that; it was on the strange amber-eyed man who wandered into the back of the bar as I played. It was the same man who scared me on the street in front of the Hollow. And he had stared at me, watching closely, listening to me play.

  I needed to talk to him.

  I needed to ask him questions. He went toward the Hollow that night. I was sure of it.

  Suddenly, I was desperately sure he knew something. He had to know something. I stood immediately. The music abruptly stopped, one lone b flat clinging to the air.

  “Thank you so much, Colby,” I said, quickly climbing off the stage. “Sorry I need to leave so soon, I—” I whirled my head around to face Colby, who was also looking into the back area where the stranger was.

  “You be careful, girl,” I thought he said, but I wasn’t sure. I was on the go instantly, and Colby’s voice teased the next challenger onto the stage, coughing a deep sound into his drink.

  “I cannot believe those sounds came out of that tiny body of yours!” Savannah said, falling into step behind me, pushing her way through the sweaty people.

  A woman with eyes so dark and lips so red pushed a fat roll of money into the palm of my hands as I walked past her. “Y’all come back when you can.”

  A man with a stark white painted face called out to me in some strange language. They slid their hands over my arms, brushing their legs against mine. I didn’t want to be touched. My skin felt tight, like it was stretching itself taut over my dry, crumbling bones.

  I flew through the press of people, my hair wildly fluttering out behind me.

  “Rainey! Wait!” I heard Savannah call out, but I couldn’t stop my feet from running—my mind from panicking. I moved faster and jumped off the steps into the rain, the cool water soaking through my clothing immediately. “Where you running off too? That was amazing.” She stayed under the awning of the porch, right at the entrance of the bar. “Come to the ladies room with me. I done sang all my lipstick off,” she said with a laugh.

  I stumbled into the street and spun around, still trying to keep an eye on the mysterious man in the distance. “Sorry, I…just…” I didn’t want to lie, but I didn’t want her to follow me. I moved further away from the steps and caught a glimpse of the stranger crossing over to the next street. I looked back at her, gauging her expression, but she too was staring off into the direction of the stranger. “I think maybe that guy knows something...” I trailed off, shifting closer to the street. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

  I didn’t wait for her to answer; I didn’t want her to feel obligated to tag along with me on my wild goose chase. It didn’t matter, though, because within seconds she was huddled up next to another skeleton-faced person with rows and rows of beads in his hair.

  I slipped through the slick streets—running—searching for the strange man with amber eyes. I watched for his shadowy figure, taller than everyone he passed, and followed him into the dark alleyways, away from the heart of the city. There the music didn’t pulse under the ground, but something did. Something pulsed beneath those quiet back streets; something dark and deeply unnerving.

  I listened for the thundering of his boots and broke out of a line of trees, almost reaching him. My arms stretched out. All I wanted was to tug on his shoulder, but I grasped nothing but air as he spun around and faced me. I flinched back in horror as his angry eyes met mine.

  “Why are you following me? Go home, lost girl,” he snarled viciously, pinning me with eyes so hard and russet-colored, they looked almost fiery.

  The moonlight hit his face dramatically, making him look inhuman. I mean, that was a crazy thought and all, he looked like a man, but something else too. Like something dark—something starved. I’d never been looked at so harshly, so terrifyingly fierce, not from a strange man in a dark alley. Alone.

  What the hell was I doing?

  I stepped back, putting distance between us. I thought of the thousands of girls before me, killed on some road late at night, the terror that wracked through their bodies just before they were hurt—or worse. I took another step back, lost my footing in the murky wet dirt, and stumbled over a low branch at the side of the walkway. I fell sideways, landing on my hands and knees, the stupid branch slamming into my shoulders painfully. I felt rather than saw the stranger move to help me but stop and step back.

  Would he hurt me?

  All I wore was my wristlet; my purse was back in my hotel room, pepper spray safely tucked inside the front pocket. Shit, all I had was the wad of twenties that woman at the piano bar gave me, my identification, and my cell phone.

  Great defensive tools. How loud could I scream? Would anyone hear me? Why the hell did I chase after him?

  I scrambled to my feet, mud and rain caked wetly across my arms and legs. My skin felt flushed and hot, my palms stung raw, yet I refused to avert my eyes from him.

  But the stranger turned around slowly and just walked away. “Please, just leave,” his voice mumbled, low.

  I swallowed hard, watching him leave. My chest pounded heavi
ly with my gasping breaths. I wanted to call out and just stupidly ask if he knew anything about my grandmother—anything about the woman Rose Delacroix. But the words wouldn’t come.

  Only when he was far in the distance did I let myself look at my surroundings. He’d left me on a narrow road with tall trees and vines blocking most of the sky. When I looked up to my right at the street sign at the corner, my breathing stilled.

  Halerow Road.

  Up ahead of me, I watched as the strange man stepped into the thick darkness of the trees, where I knew there’d be a path to the front door of what was once the Hollow.

  “Rainey! Rainey?” Behind me, Savannah called out my name.

  Jesus, did she just follow me? Did she see me chasing after the stranger? She must think I’m crazy.

  “Why did you follow me? I told you I—”

  “You don’t just let a friend run off around here, Rainey. These parts ain’t safe.”

  “Yeah, I know, alligators,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  “No way, girl. There’s things much worse than alligators around here.”

  Chapter 7

  My stomach turned hollow and cold, rolling with nervous flutters. I had two choices: leave and never find any answers, or follow the amber-eyed stranger and maybe—possibly—find out what the place was, what my grandmother had to do with it. And why, as she was being murdered instead of fighting back, she kept that envelope with an old, tattered book inside close to her heart.

  I don’t remember making the decision, just climbing down into the marsh and wading out across the water to the stone pathway leading to the house. My feet splashed over the slippery surface as I took the enormity of the place in. Without the swirling mist, it seemed to stretch up to some remote distance in the sky. Balconies upon balconies, gables, and odd-shaped chimneys were tacked onto each other with rotted wooden planks.

  My sudden lack of fear should have been something to cause me pause, yet nothing stopped me from ascending the decaying steps and opening the front door. I saw nothing but the image of my dead grandmother clutching her little book of myths in her hands. There were no sane thoughts in my head. No thoughts of trespassing or breaking in and entering. There was nothing but the desperate need for the truth. I was in a place I had no place being, yet there I was, looking past the threshold to the darkness that lay just inside.

  “Rainey, wait up,” Savannah grunted behind me. A quick hot wave of remorse flittered through me. I didn’t want her getting tangled up in my craziness; I wanted to push her back, away.

  “No, Savannah, please. I’ll be back at the hotel later, I promise. I don’t want you involved in this. Please?”

  “Pardon me?” she murmured in surprise.

  How could she be so polite and sweet at a time like this? It made me feel even guiltier. “Go back, in case I need you there. Okay? Please!”

  She nodded, eyes bulging. “Okay. But if you’re not back soon—”

  “Yeah, okay. Then you call someone, okay?” I gave her a little shove and pointed back toward the road, then watched her gradually make her way through, praying I wouldn’t have to watch her become alligator food.

  Okay, I needed to focus.

  “Hello?” I said, stepping in. A curtain of heavy hot wind swept up from the floor, smelling of Cajun spices and the soft, waxy sweetness of magnolias.

  I glanced back over my shoulder toward the road and the tree limbs that hung heavily, almost hiding the view. If I were to leave without trouble, it would have to be then.

  Damn it, why did I think I could do this alone?

  Home—all I had to do was go home and live in the small apartment above the bar and…I rubbed my hands over my tired eyes. I had nothing to lose. Nothing but a bar I never wanted—a life I had settled for—I didn’t want to settle for no answers.

  If I did, would I ever get to sleep again? Would the images of my grandmother and the fear of her murderer ever leave me?

  Something deep inside me propelled me forward. Something deep inside the house called out to me. I needed to be there.

  I took a long, drawn-out, shuddering breath—then stepped in further—through the dark shadows of the room. Wet hair plastered across my forehead and down my cheeks; I had to wipe the raindrops from my eyelashes to see what was inside. Silken fabrics, all of various colors, lay gathered over furniture. They rippled, hauntingly slow, as that flowery breeze drifted in.

  Newspapers and half-filled mason jars teetered in piles along the floor, some at such precarious positions, they seemed to defy the laws of gravity. Along the far wall hung an opulent mirror, with what looked like onyx and gold marble twisting and curving around its perimeter. Framed inside, my reflection looked almost spectral, as the surface was powdered thickly with dust and webbed with gnarling cracks that stretched from ceiling to floor.

  Ahead, through the main room, a sweeping staircase with crumbling worn steps towered up through an unknown amount of floors. Jagged spindles of the railing jutted out like teeth along a broken jawbone, ready, waiting for its next meal. Dark green vines tangled through the rails, descending from somewhere above and spread down across a moss-carpeted floor. Up top, the roof was caved in and a ghostly mist from outside lingered, unmoving. The metaphorical stairway to heaven came to mind.

  “Hello,” I called out again, louder. I knew the man was in here somewhere. Even in the dim moonlight spilling in from the front door, I could see the fresh tracks his boots left in the dust and debris that covered the floor.

  I gripped onto the stair rail and stood a moment, staring up at the never-ending circle of the steps above me. At the top, there was a break in the clouds and moonlight leaked in a watery pale light. Thick, fat raindrops dusted the velvety sky. For a quick sickening moment, I swore I saw a shadow peek out over a railing far above, shifting through the moonlight, looking down at me. I stepped back, heart beating wildly.

  Each step was broken—splintered and decayed—covered in paint peels and moss. I was afraid to put my weight on any one of them.

  How did someone get upstairs?

  From somewhere to the left came a small sigh, a low breath of wind that had me whirling around and breaking into a cold sweat. At the top of the stairs, clouds shifted and the pale rays of moonlight disappeared, bathing me in darkness. I pressed myself up against the wall and pulled out my cell phone. It gave me only minimal light, enough to see the floor and the trail of footprints that led past the stairs and into a back hallway— exactly where I thought the sigh had come from. A sick feeling curled in my stomach.

  “What are you doing here?” a deep voice whispered behind me.

  I spun around, hands clasping at my chest, cell phone dropping to the floor. The stranger’s face was half-hidden in shadows, his eyes dark and disturbing.

  “I…I wanted to ask you a question,” I blurted out. My hands shook against my collarbone, toward my grandmother’s locket, then I instantly dropped them to my sides, not wanting to project my uneasiness. “About this place. The owner? Rose Delacroix? Where could I find her?”

  His whole body tensed from my question. “What do you want with Rose Delacroix?”

  I stepped forward, trying to see him better. “I have a few questions for her. I wanted to know about this place… if she remembered an Adelaide Delacroix.”

  The stranger stepped forward, eyes wide. “How do you know Addy?”

  Addy—he called her Addy—just like the man in black at her funeral. “She’s…she’s my grandmother.”

  The man seemed to watch me for a moment, then leaned back against the wall, much more relaxed then before. “Grandmother? Right,” he smiled widely as if telling a great joke, “and you’re not here, looking for Rose to buy something special.”

  Was Rose a drug dealer? Did my grandmother get into some sort of dark narcotic ring of drug dealing trouble? I knew I smelled some funny stuff coming from her kitchen once or twice, but I just thought it was her horrible cooking.

  I needed to focus on the
here and now.

  “What? I don’t know what you’re talking about. I came here because I need to speak to the person who owns this house. Not to you. Do you know where I could find her? Yes or no? And what kind of things does she sell?” I demanded.

  “Go back wherever you came from, lost girl. Rose is only open from midnight ‘til dawn. Everybody knows that. Even Addy does, which you’d know if she really was your grandmother,” he hissed, folding his hands across his chest.

  I stepped back, confused. “Things don’t make any sense. I don’t think we’re talking about the same Adelaide Delacriox.”

  “I think you’re lying. What do you really want?”

  “I want to find out who Adelaide Delacriox really—”

  “If she’s your grandmother, just ask her. You don’t belong here.” The air in the room grew heavier and charged, making my body restless and antsy.

  “If I could ask her, I would, idiot.” A thick, humid wind pressed down heavily on my shoulders, and a hollow tiredness seeped into my bones.

  “Okay, so why don’t you just go do that?” He smirked.

  “Because of her recently deceased state of being,” I snapped, making him flinch back, shocked.

  A sudden clap of thunder and flash of lightning rattled the windows in their wooden casings. I whirled in one's direction as blustery winds and rain poured down over the marsh, darkness closing in all around. The line between the musky surface of the swamp and shadowy trees beyond were harder to see, making the ground seem to tip slightly and my head spin.

  In the lowering rumble of the thunder, voices whispered from somewhere deep inside the belly of the house. I strained to hear what they were saying as my gaze shot to his. “I can hear people. Who’s here?”

  “No one,” he said, stepping closer. His hands reached out and softly cusped both my wrists. The shock of his touch surged up my arms and spread a layer of goose bumps over my skin.