Ravenswood (Ravenswood Series Book 1)

by Christine Zolendz

  That book. It was the book in the library. The same book my grandmother had held. Was it him who drew the picture of me I had found inside it?

  I scuttled back until I hit the wall and pulled myself up off the floor, saying nothing. I watched silently as he began pacing back and forth, fisting his hands until his knuckles became white with tightness.

  Terror clawed at my heart. If he touched me just then…if he just reached out his hand…

  “All you human girls are the same. You’re all looking for that pathetic soul-crushing thing. And you all come to this place trying to find it. Somewhere beyond your own world where you think magic happens.” He stepped closer, and ice-cold air drifted off his body. “You’re all empty holes.”

  His words tore into me, making me breathless and raging. “You’re horrible. You’re heartless and mean… and—”

  “Soulless?” He laughed. “Is that the word you’re looking for?” He shrugged. “Having a soul here would be terrible baggage to be carrying around.”

  “Were you ever alive?” He could never have been human. He was a monster. A mean, evil, bitter brute. “Have you ever felt kindness or love?”

  His eyes focused on mine.

  “There are no such things,” he answered calmly.

  No such thing as love? Kindness? I looked up and around, taking in the dark room I had run into without realizing. This was his part of the castle, his lonely little part of a dead world. Something about that stirred a small tingle of sympathy deep inside me. Of course he was bitter and angry. He was stuck in some sort of purgatory without any hope of ever getting out.

  “Even when you were alive? Haven’t you ever felt that rush? That human need to be with someone?”

  “No, stupid girl. That’s lust. It lasts no more than a mere second in a lifetime, and it’s a pretty little shell wrapped over emptiness.”

  His face lowered closer to mine. There was no place for me to get away to; my back was pressed into the wall. Suddenly, I was cursing myself for giving him my pity, as short-lived as it was.

  “It’s that empty shit you read in your little corner of your grandmother’s bookstore when you think no one is looking. Pouring over the words like you’re the main character, heating up between your legs, pretending and wishing it were your reality.” He smiled wickedly at me, which was really no smile at all. Then he leaned in even closer and whispered harshly into my ear. “When you read about his teeth biting softly down on her bottom lip, you pretend it’s you, clenching at that flutter between your legs. When you read that his hand slides down the back of her thigh, you alone reach down and feel where his fingers spread their heat over her and pretend he’s touching you. Circling your fingers inside your warmth and only knowing pleasure when you’re alone. It’s words with no meaning. Fight with no honor. It’s not love. You don’t know what love is.”

  My eyes burned with humiliation. He became a big blur of muted grays and salted tears.

  How would he know that? How would he know about the books? And my thoughts? How would he know how lonely I felt? How would he know I live a better life between pages?

  I accidentally sobbed out a low gasp. I hated myself for showing him any emotion, for being weak in front of him, but the reaction was uncontrollable.

  “You don’t know me,” I quietly countered.

  “I know you have buried yourself so deep in words that you sometimes can’t tell if you’re the person the words speak about or just some lost little girl hiding between each line.”

  He spoke such truth, it was as if he had reached right into my chest cavity and crushed my heart with his bare hands. “Was it you who killed my grandmother?” It must have been him. I hated him so much, it had to be him. He was the devil himself.

  “No,” he murmured, still standing too close to me.

  There was no more than half an inch between us, and his head hung low into the crook of my neck but never touched. If he was alive, I would be able to feel his warm breaths, but then I only felt the black ice he seemed to be built from.

  “And I’m supposed to believe you?” I lifted onto my tiptoes and whispered back into his ear. I had nothing to lose now. “The person who knows I hid in bookstore corners to feel something, anything that has anything to do with love or fucking kindness?” My voice cracked, and I desperately wanted to hit him. No one had ever made me feel more ashamed in my life. I balled my fists tightly. I never knew anyone who knew me that well. I was always invisible, insignificant, until now. “You watched me, didn’t you? And you drew that picture of me.” His eyes flickered quickly to mine, filled with guilt. “How would you know that about me unless you watched me?” I was suddenly breathless again.

  His nose flared. “I don’t go upside. That’s for the living.” I stared back at him, fiercely locking eyes. Then with a sudden softness of voice, he said, “And I’m dead.”

  Why was he lying? Nothing made sense. Nothing he or Liam did made any sense. “Why do you hate me so much?”

  He straightened up with a growl and stormed to the door, his body like a fire engulfing all the shadows of the room.

  I laughed bitterly, plotting quickly in my head how I could hurt him.

  He stopped at the door abruptly, hands out as if he were physically holding himself back from leaving. “You know hate is a such beautiful word, isn’t it? So close to this love you think exists, in how intense the feeling is.” His hands fisted. “But what do you know of hate?” he whispered.

  I took a deep, slow breath to give myself strength, then charged at him full throttle. His eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open, but he had no time to block my tackle. I was on him before his gloved hands came up, crashing my shoulder into his chest with all my weight, and knocked the book back out of his hands. I ducked for the book as papers flew out around us and he fell to the floor. The first paper I snatched in my fingers was the drawing of me. I held it in front of his face as drawing upon drawing fluttered down like snow covering the dark stones. Each one of them was of me. Me reading, me drinking, me looking through shelves of books, me asleep—all two-dimensional—strewn out all over cobblestone floor.

  Chapter 18

  “Why?” My voice ragged and vulnerable, it was all I could say.

  “Raine,” he whispered, moving toward me, then stopping, a perplexed expression darkening his face.

  Raine?

  The way he said the name lit my collarbone with fire, and my cheeks heated. The name on his lips was full of reverence and something more I couldn’t quite place. A name he shouldn’t be allowed to say—not in that way. I stepped away, dizzy with confusion.

  “Why would you have all these drawings? Why would you call me that?”

  He looked frozen with fear, watching me.

  “Mathias?” I whispered.

  His gaze dropped slowly, down toward a dark, shadowy corner. I followed his line of sight, and there from the blackness he stared into came a flickering image. It was soft and hazy at first, like the waves of heat wafting up off desert sand. The colors were muted, dulled as if aged or far under cloudy water. A small child, laughing and skipping in front of me as if a waking dream.

  “Is that me?” I asked, not trusting my eyes.

  It was me, I knew it was to my very core, and I was next to my mother. I recognized her from the one photo my grandmother kept. And the picture Bain gave me. There was no mistaking my mother; she was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, complete with the saddest eyes that ever looked out at the world.

  My image glowed unnaturally as I danced around her legs. I couldn’t have been more than three or four years old, prancing around wildly, carefree and innocent. Two other children surfaced from the darkness, both boys—one with eyes so blue and clear, I could almost feel them piercing into my soul.

  “Is that real?” I asked, leaning closer to see. “Is this something that actually happened, or a trick?” I knew an honest answer would be far from ever given to me, yet I couldn't hold in the questions anymore
than I could stop my heart from drumming ferociously in my chest.

  The children faded, as did the form of my mother, swirling into a fine mist of other shapes and figures. Shouts and laughter filled the room, and the ceiling seemed to move away and open.

  “You should run,” Mathias whispered.

  “What did you say?” I asked, looking back at him.

  “Run before he sees you,” he hissed out, darting his widening eyes to something behind me. “Go before he finds out it’s you.”

  “Who?” I asked, curiously glancing back to the shimmering images that were now swelling and brightening.

  Cheers and raucous yells mounted, the sounds of glasses clinking and ear piercing scrapes of forks against fine china. We were instantly surrounded by a sudden celebration of face-painted patrons, glossy eyes revelers dressed in their finest funeral attire. I swallowed back a scream, stepping back in shock until my back slammed into Mathias. His hands immediately clutched my arms, fingers pressing down, seeping deep into my skin, burning through every layer.

  My first instinct was to run, but his fingers squeezed tighter, and I realized his gloves were back on—our skin separated by leather and lifetimes. “Looks like an upsider brought wine,” he growled low against the back of my neck, his icy breath pulling up goose bumps along my shoulders and arms.

  And just like he said, in front of us stood a pretty girl, full of life with bronzed cheeks and ruby red lips, holding a bottle of deep red wine. She poured the dark liquid into glass after glass, never coming to the bottom of the bottle. The dead of Ravenswood smiled at her, with shark-like grins, then drank from their cups, leaving crimson stains around their mouths and dripping down their chins.

  I tilted my head toward Mathias. “Does she know she’ll die here?” I turned to face him, his hands reluctantly letting my arms go. “That’s what will happen if she stays. You said so, right? She’ll die?”

  His faded irises looked into mine. “People create their own Hell, Rainey. They step right into it, with eyes wide open. She knows what will happen here.”

  “I didn’t step into this knowingly. I wanted to know who killed my grandmother. And I followed an asshole who said they had answers. He said he knew my family and they missed me.”

  “Addy destroyed her own soul the minute she took you from here and let you live upside. It was a matter of time until she was caught. You though, you don’t belong here. You never did.” He stepped back, a look of anguish washing over his face. “And we did, Raine. We missed you.”

  My heart screeched to a stop, thudding painfully hard. Beads of cold sweat burst out across my forehead and upper lip.

  “What did you say?”

  “I told you, you should run. But you didn’t, and when my father finds out who you really are, you’ll never be—”

  “What do you mean we missed you? Who do you think I am?” I screamed, slamming my balled up fights into his chest. My punches thwacked against his leathery shirt he was suddenly wearing, and puffs of ash and dust flew back at me. “Tell me, you piece of shit!”

  I flailed at him, hitting him over and over, as hard as I could, feeling powerless. He just tightened his lips in a pinched up grimace and let me wail on him. He took it completely, and when my arms gave out, I began throwing my shoulders into him until I slumped against him in defeat. Tears soaked my cheeks and salted my mouth and dampened the sleeve of his arm that held me up.

  “Hate me,” he whispered into my hair. “Hate me so much, you could never feel anything else.”

  I looked up, swallowing back a sob, hiccupping uncontrollably. His eyes were already locked down on mine, just like the image of the little boy’s eyes, stunningly blue, stealing more of my breath with a sudden, strange familiarity. Every cell in my body paused, and an undeniable charge of energy swirled up in the air around us. It rolled through me like the swell between a flash of lightning and the roar of thunder.

  “I knew you, didn’t I?” I asked softly, dabbing my sleeve against my cheeks. “Why can’t I remember?”

  He stepped back with a roar, pushing his arms off me. I stumbled back, surprised, almost falling flat on my ass. “You are nothing more than a stupid girl,” he growled.

  I was momentarily speechless; my face flushed with heat, and vertigo slammed my shoulders back against something hard. Sweat broke out all over my body, boiling like poison on my skin. I wanted him to shut up. I hated his words. I needed to shut his mouth. I slapped him, whipping my hand hard across his stupid face.

  My palm stung with the burning fires of Hell, but I laughed when his head snapped to the side and my handprint tattooed his check. Next time, it would be my fist.

  His glare slowly came back to mine, his eyes suddenly blazing blue and full of color and heat, his teeth bared.

  I laughed harder. Louder. Making a spectacle of myself until I realized the room had quieted down and all the dead-eyed occupants of the party who had just materialized around us were watching me.

  “Mathias,” a voice grumbled from just over my shoulder.

  Mathias could hardly control his death-stare at me. His nose flared and chest heaved from holding himself back. His blood was on fire, like mine.

  “Son, there you are. Put those awful archaic fairy tale books down and come and—” The king stepped in front of me, pushing between us. “Well, well, well. Look, you found the beautiful creature. She still seems warm. Have you been hiding her all to yourself?”

  My eyes were still locked on Mathias’s glare, full of rage and anger. My hands bunched into fists, waiting for him to say one more horrible thing about me. I bet I could knock out one of his teeth.

  Then I felt the rough tip of a gloved finger slide under my chin and watched as Mathias’s expression quickly changed, his eyes and lips speaking of fear and terror without having to say any words.

  “Child,” the king said, pinching my chin with his fingers and turning my gaze toward him. “Someone has brought the most delicious wine. Come,” his voice deepened, “have a taste.”

  I was suddenly aware of king’s presence all around me—how tall he was, how broad—how his crown sat so heavy on his head, it might have been nailed there. He tightened his hold on me, fingers squeezing against my neck and chin, his wintry breath against my cheek.

  I swallowed hard, slowly raising my eyes to his. They were grayish-white pools of death. I tried to hide my disgust, but it rolled noisily in my stomach.

  The other party guests stood around us, watching, anticipating something. I could feel the hum of excitement in the air, the tickle of it along my skin as it raised up the fine hairs along my arms.

  “No,” Mathias said, stepping between me and the king, looking at me as though daring me to speak, daring me to go against his demands. His eyes, flashing with a life I never saw in them before, fixed gravely on mine. He gave me a smile and small shake of his head. A warning. He didn’t seem to notice my balled up fists, ready to strike. “Don’t drink,” Mathias whispered without moving his lips. He reached out his hand toward me but dropped it quickly, thinking better of himself, if I had to guess.

  “Oh, but Mathias,” I said, lifting the goblet of wine out of the king’s hand. “I’m nothing more than a stupid girl.” I smiled harshly, tilting the rim of the glass to my lips.

  Chapter 19

  The goblet at my lips was glacial, the wine sweet and dark. It reminded me so much of home, my eyes welled with tears. I tilted my head back and drained the cup. Above me, the velvet black of the ceiling looked like the midnight sky. Warmth mushroomed low in my stomach, and heat surged through my veins.

  Raine, no.

  I heard the voice in my head, echoing as if it was called out from far away, then the sounds of the most exquisite music drowned it out. More wine was poured into my goblet, and a dark, bitter scent filled the air. After being deprived of my senses for days, the tastes and smells and sounds were intoxicating. The king and his guests watched me with curious expressions, and I knew then these tastes a
nd sounds and smells were only something I could feel. This world was making me crazy.

  The room brightened, and everything became clearer, overwhelming me with strange carnal sensations. We were standing in a great ballroom, like from a photograph or etching of long, long ago. The dark ceiling lightened, and from it hung an ornate chandelier laden with white flickering candles sitting in devilishly carved holders. Surrounding me and the king was a crush of Ravenswood’s dead, swaying to whatever music the effect of the wine created in their minds.

  Two mortal girls sat laughing, cross-legged on the floor directly under the swaying candelabrum. Candlelight fell against their skin and danced through their golden hair. Dark streaks of mascara ran down their cheeks, and red wine stained the swell of their breasts and dripped from their chins. They kept the wine bottle between them and sipped like royalty from chipped teacups. Their clothes were tattered and torn, and plum shaded lipstick smeared across their lips as if they had just kissed. A box of chocolates balanced on one of the girl’s knees, and in each little divot that was supposed to hold a single piece of candy a pile of squiggling maggots festered instead.

  I backed away, trying not to scream. My empty goblet dropped to the floor and rolled into the swirl of mist that crept through the swarm of dancing feet.

  I stumbled into the king, his gloved hands grabbed at my waist, his rumbling laugh squeezing at my heart.

  Raine, I heard the voice again.

  “More wine, my pet?” the king asked, digging his fingers into my skin. “Sit with the other girls. They brought chocolates from upside.” His hand snaked up my back and fisted in my hair. I nearly collapsed when he tilted my head up to meet his stare and the bluish-white haze of his eyes looked back at me.

  I turned my face away and noticed Mathias standing back through the melting crowd. Heavy shadows flitted over him, and everything around him moved and swayed, liquefying into blurry gray toned splashes of watercolor paint. His eyes, bluer and shinier than the others, watched me; full of hate and rage and fire.