by Zoe Arden
A single, blood red rose petal.
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CHAPTER
SEVEN
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"You won't forget?" I asked.
"Snowball will not forget. Noon at Whisper Crossing."
"Are you sure you can get there on your own?"
"Yes. Snowball knows the way."
Tootsie walked past just then and Snowball took after him, playing a game of feline tag.
My dad was sitting in the same kitchen chair he'd been in last night, wearing his bathrobe, when I came down. If I didn't know better, I'd have sworn he'd sat there the whole night.
"Dad?"
His glazed eyes looked up at me, barely registering.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
He smiled softly. "I'm okay. Just tired. I'll take a nap later and perk right up." There was something in his voice that bothered me, but I'd slept in this morning and didn't want to lose any more daylight.
"I'm going to the bakery. I promised Aunt Trixie I'd make some tranquility extract today."
I hadn't exactly promised her. She'd slipped a note under my door this morning asking me to come down when I was ready. I'd anticipated this, though. If I hurried, I'd have enough time for the bakery and Whisper Crossing. Plus, there was one other little side project I wanted to check out. It had been lurking in the back of my mind since the night Lucy disappeared.
"Have fun," my father said and poured himself another cup of coffee. I wondered how much he'd had. It was almost as if he was trying to stay awake. He was clearly in no mood to talk.
"Okay, try and get some sleep. Love you."
I hurried outside and sped toward the library. It was nine. As long as I didn't take more than an hour, I could still make it to Whisper Crossing by noon.
From the outside, the Sweetland Cove Library looked no bigger than a 7-11. Inside, though, Pennyweather had used an expansion charm. The library was three levels high and looked more like the Macy's department store I'd grown up with in New York City. A momentary flash of nostalgia for my old city pinged my heart, but then it was gone. I'd done more in the six months I'd lived in Heavenly Haven than I had in twenty-one years in New York City.
I walked up to the front desk, where Pennyweather Kelso was busy checking in returned books. I hadn't seen her since the night of the dance when she'd run off with Melbourne Hammond. Melbourne's picture was sitting in a gold frame on her desk. Someone had drawn little fangs coming out of his mouth in pencil. Pennyweather had tried to erase them, but the pencil lines were still there.
She looked up when I approached.
"Can I help you?"
"Yes, hi. I'm looking for some books on a couple subjects I'm not too familiar with."
Pennyweather pursed her lips. "And those are?"
"Vampires and something called a draugr." Drow-gurr, I reminded myself, trying to correctly pronounce the word.
Pennyweather's eyes narrowed. "Vampires?" she screeched. A few heads turned and she lowered her voice. "Vampires," she said again, clenching her teeth. "Certainly. Right this way."
She led me through rows of shelves toward a back corner of the library, muttering to herself the whole way.
"Don't know why people insist on persecuting them. Nothing wrong with vampires."
She stopped short in front of a large book stack that nearly reached the ceiling. A small ladder stood nearby, ready to assist. Her hand flew out, palm open, toward the books.
"Here," she said. "Vampires galore. Just remember not to believe everything you read. Vampires are good people. They're nothing like what's written in these books." She paused and took a breath. "At least not anymore. Not all of them."
I listened, fascinated, as she carried on a conversation with herself.
"No, definitely not all of them," she mumbled. "Sure, there are some bad eggs in the basket, but there are some bad witches out there, too." Her eyes finally landed on me, remembering I was here. "You'd do best to remember that."
She waggled her finger at me. A lock of dishwater blond hair fell over her eye, making her look wild and crazed, especially since I knew how tidy she normally kept her hair. She blew it out of the way.
"Um, thanks. I will." I was almost afraid to ask my next question. "And the draugr?" I had a hard time rolling my R's and hoped my pronunciation of the word wasn't too far off.
"The drrrrow-gurrrr section," she said, showing off her perfect trill, is to your right." She pointed with her finger, smacking a book and knocking it off the shelf.
"Now, is there anything else I can help you with?"
"Um, Sara Sweetland?" I asked, wishing I didn't sound like a mouse.
"What about her?"
"Do you have any books about her?"
Pennyweather grabbed her hair and pulled it into a ponytail behind her back. "I'll see what I can dig up."
She turned with a huff and I had to wonder if it was just me she hated or if it was anyone who dared to use the word "vampire" in her presence.
I picked up the book Pennyweather had knocked over. Goblins: Friend or Foe? I tucked it under my arm and perused the rest of the vampire section.
I ended up just grabbing the two books with the best-looking covers and moved to the draugr section. I realized right away this section was much smaller than the one on vampires. In fact, looking up and down the floor to ceiling shelves, all I could find was one book on the subject. It was a thick book with a menacing picture on the cover. A skeletal face with glowing eyes and bits of skin hanging off its bones.
I added it to my pile.
I flipped open the book on goblins first and paged my way through an assortment of pictures. Short gremlin-looking creatures stared back at me from the pages. Part human, part troll, part... I had no idea what. There was a section entitled "Tracking Goblins." Inside, I found pictures and drawings of a four-toed foot mark with what looked like curled toenails digging into the dirt. Those nails looked like they could slice you open if they wanted to.
"Sheriff Knoxx is part... this?"
I tried to wrap my mind around it but just couldn't comprehend it. Somewhere along the way, Sheriff Knoxx's great-great-grandmother or someone had hooked up with one of these. How was that even possible? I shut the book, horrified at the idea.
I flipped through the vampire books but it was the book on draugr that I was really interested in. The vampire books seemed to focus mainly on whether or not vampires had to drink blood or chose to drink blood. The one thing everyone agreed on was that they drank blood. Though, apparently, they preferred humans and witches. Goblins, trolls, and fairies were all out. Their blood tasted acrid to vampires.
Lucky for them.
The draugr book felt ancient in my hands. I could almost hear it squeak when I opened it.
I skimmed the passages, looking for something to explain Lucy's disappearance.
The draugar (draugr in its single form) are animated corpses that live in or near their graves. Different from zombies in that they continue to use their brains after death, draugar are known for their superhuman strength and magical abilities. They will seek out those who have wronged them in life, taking their lives as retribution for either real or perceived wrongs.
The draugar subsist on blood and must feast often. The longer they walk the earth, the more dangerous they become.
My phone vibrated on the table and I jumped in my seat, letting out a small yelp. Pennyweather shot me a contemptuous look and went back to her business. I picked up my phone. The text I'd just received was from Trixie.
AVA! GET TO MYSTIC ASAP. 911!
Oh, my roses! Had they found Lucy? That had to be it. What else would Trixie be nine-one-one-ing me for?
I slammed the book shut and saw Pennyweather glower at me again. I turned my head, anxious to get away before she could ream me out for making too much noise, and saw Anastasia standing there. Watching me. Hiding from m
e. How long had she been there?
"Anastasia?" I asked.
Her face colored. She waited half a second before she turned tail and ran.
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CHAPTER
EIGHT
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"Anastasia! Wait!" I screamed as I chased her down the street. A few people stopped and stared after me. I was still the new girl in town and it was easy to draw attention to myself.
But Anastasia showed no signs of slowing. She was twice my age but she was fast. She bounded around a corner at the barber shop and I nearly lost sight of her, but then her blond hair caught my eye and I was on her trail again.
I kept her in sight until we reached Brigham Road, a small road nestled near Beggars Forest that took you to Catchum Highway. Catchum was really little more than an upgraded town road. It was also the only road that ran across the entire island and connected Sweetland Cove with Mistmoor Point.
At the edge of the road, Anastasia disappeared. I stood and searched the area around me, but I saw no signs that she'd gone anywhere. Not a puff of dust. Not a bent blade of grass. As far as I could tell, she'd simply vanished.
My side ached as I breathed deeply, trying to regain control of my lungs. I walked slowly back toward town.
Where had she gone? She'd been standing in front of me when she disappeared. Just like Lucy. It couldn't be the same thing, though. She couldn't have just vanished before my eyes. Not literally. She must have turned off somewhere.
But where?
By the time I got to Mystic Cupcake, I was hungry and tired and it still wasn't noon yet.
"There you are!" Trixie cried. The bells above the door jingled to the tune of "Jingle Bells" as I shut it behind me. "We've been waiting forever."
Aunt Trixie had a way of saying things that were something of an exaggeration. It wasn't that she was as melodramatic as Anastasia. She just liked to say and do things with a bit of flair. Like her outfit, for example. Not many people would have thought to combine zebra print and polka dots. Yet there it was. Yellow polka dots against a white cotton-backed shirt, and zebra-striped pants that flared out at the ankles. Like understated bell bottoms.
Eleanor was draped in her usual gypsy garb, although I'd begun to notice that she seemed to think gypsies preferred dark, drab colors. I'd always thought they preferred rich, bright colors. Things that screamed of excitement and exotic lands. But then again, what did I know? When had I ever met a gypsy?
"Thanks for coming so quickly, Ava," a deep voice boomed softly through the air.
"Oh, Sheriff Knoxx. I didn't see you standing there." A few more inches to his right and Sheriff Knoxx would have been standing under the mistletoe that Trixie had so painstakingly hung.
The rest of the bakery resembled Pixie Punk Dance Hall. Garland was strewn about. The scent of Christmas cookies filled the air. Nutmeg nurture scones sat on the counter and peppermint boredom reliever brownies lined our shelves. Soft pink and green lights, instead of the normal yellow and white ones, filtered the air color.
In the center of our bakery shelves sat a magnificent tray of assorted Christmas pastries. A cranberry cupcake with rich swirls of cream cheese frosting sat next to a honey and pistachio cupcake with cherry icing that peaked like a mountain top. Christmas was less than two weeks away now, and it showed everywhere in town. I hoped Lucy wouldn't have to miss it.
Sheriff Knoxx smiled politely but I could tell there was something on his mind.
I couldn't wait any longer.
"Where is she?" I cried.
Eleanor, Trixie, and Sheriff Knoxx all looked at each other.
"Well?" I practically screamed. "Is she okay? Where's she been?"
It was killing me that they were holding back whatever new information they had.
"Where's who?" Eleanor finally asked.
"Lucy, "I said. My face began to fall as I realized from their own sorry expressions that that was not the reason they'd called me here.
"You mean you didn't find her?" I asked.
"No," Sheriff Knoxx said. "I'm sorry if we gave you that impression." I could tell he felt bad. Lately, Sheriff Knoxx had really been trying to warm up to me. I think it was important to him that Eleanor's family liked him. Although his inability to find my friend wasn't exactly swaying me to his favor.
That's not fair, my mind automatically reprimanded. And it wasn't. Sheriff Knoxx was just doing his job, and he was good at it. Eventually, he'd find Lucy. If I didn't find her first.
I noticed for the first time that there was a pile of Eleanor's peanut butter dream bars on the counter. Sheriff Knoxx had one in his hand, and I detected faint traces of chocolate at the corners of his mouth. He'd made a rather large dent in the plate, which I was sure was meant especially for him.
"Mind if I have one?" I asked, suddenly feeling the need for a little peace and tranquility, which the dream bars instilled.
"Of course," Knoxx said, passing the plate to me.
"Maybe two. One for now, one for later." I packed one in a tiny container just big enough to hold a single brownie and set it in my purse.
"So what is it?" I asked. "Why'd you call me here if you haven't found Lucy?"
I took a chomp out of the first dream bar and the sweet milk chocolate flavor filled my mouth. Creamy peanut butter infused with marshmallows and white chocolate only enhanced it. A feeling of euphoria washed over me.
"I was hoping you could shed some light on this," Sheriff Knoxx said, handing me a photograph I hadn't even realized he'd been holding.
The picture was of me and Lucy. It was taken about two months ago when she'd decided to teach me to scuba dive.
"We live in on an island," she'd screamed. "What do you mean you don't scuba dive?"
"Well, there are no islands in New York," I had snapped back at her. She'd given me a crazy one-eyed stare.
"That's a joke, right?"
I thought for a second and blushed. "I meant in the city. I mean... Manhattan doesn't count. Who scuba dives around the Statue of Liberty?"
Lucy and I had cracked up and Megan, in a rare, non-jealous moment, had snapped a picture of us on her new phone. She'd messaged me a copy and I'd printed it out and given one to Lucy. We were both smiling in the picture.
Or at least, I was smiling.
In this version of the photo, Lucy's head was scratched out with black pen. It looked as though someone had scribbled all over her face, but only her face. There was an odd, jerky motion to the scribblings that seemed almost violent.
"Take it," Sheriff Knoxx said, holding it out to me. I took it from him and felt the weight suddenly shift in my hand. I flipped the photo over. A crusty penny was glued to the back of it, directly behind Lucy's head.
"I'm sorry to have to be the one to show this to you," Knoxx said, lowering his eyes as though he'd just told me Lucy was dead. The way my aunts looked, they felt about the same. "I found it when I went back for another look at the Pixie Punk."
"I think I'm missing something," I told them. "What is this?"
Eleanor took a deep breath. Her voice trembled slightly as she spoke.
"It's a hex."
"What do you mean? Like a curse or something?"
"No. Curses are worse—"
"In the long run," Trixie chimed in.
"But for instant damage—"
"Or bad luck—"
"A hex is the way to go."
"What are you saying? That someone used this photo to... what? Cast some kind of spell on Lucy?"
"Not just any spell," Eleanor said. "A hex. A vanishing hex. Ava... whoever did this wanted to get rid of Lucy. And they succeeded."
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CHAPTER
NINE
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"Who would want to hex Lucy?" I yelled. "Why would someone want to
hex Lucy?"
"All good questions," Sheriff Knoxx said. He had his hands on his hips and was standing with his feet shoulder width apart. Typical cop stance.
"So how are we going to find out the answers?" I asked. Despite the peanut butter dream bar I'd eaten, I felt more on edge than ever. I handed the photo back to Sheriff Knoxx.
"Ava, it's going to be fine." Trixie smiled reassuringly. I wanted to throw a cupcake at her.
Suddenly, an idea hit my brain like a metal pipe jarring something loose. "Anastasia!" I shouted, the glow of triumph on my face.
The three of them looked at each other.
"What about her?" Eleanor asked.
"She was following me. Today at the library. I was there reading about g—"
I'd almost said goblins. I didn't know what Sheriff Knoxx might think if he knew my reading material of choice had become books about his family ancestors. He was a little touchy on the subject. Then again, seeing the way that some people in this town treated him because of it, I couldn't exactly blame him.
"...great cities of the past. When I looked up from my books, I saw Anastasia standing there. She was hiding behind some bookshelves, watching me."
Sheriff Knoxx frowned. "Watching you? Are you sure?"
"Yes. I walked toward her and called out her name, but she ran off."
"She did?" Trixie asked, her eyes wide. "That doesn't sound like Anastasia." A deep frown creased her face.
"No," I told her, "that doesn't sound like the old Anastasia. The new Anastasia gives cryptic messages about finding answers and seeking clues in the wrong places. The new Anastasia runs when I call her name."
