Casters Series Box Set

by Norah Wilson

  Alex dove in further. “I don’t think so. It’s like ever since we’ve known you—you’ve wanted out. And it’s been even more so since we all got back from Christmas. I’m not just talking about tapping on the stained glass, either. Sometimes I think, Hemlock, that you’re looking for a way out of it all.”

  “Get real, Alex! That’s a load of crap!”

  Alex held up a hand against the protest. “I just want to say this: Whatever your issue is, Maryanne, this isn’t the deliverance you’re looking for. That darkness, the press of emptiness… It’s not the way out. Not the way out of the guilt and grief—”

  The door flew open and Alex shut her mouth immediately. Brooke swept in and closed the door behind her.

  “Poor Kassidy Myers. That girl is losing it, I swear! Even Leah is getting fed up with her. Kassidy’s down there crying right now. Betts is trying her best…but you know Betts. Not the sensitive type. Not like me.” Brooke laughed at that last remark. She plunked down on her bed, sat crossed legged, and looked from white-as-a-sheet Maryanne to Alex. “Okay, what’d I miss?” she asked, her face sharpening. “Dammit, I told you guys to wait.”

  “You didn’t miss a thing,” Maryanne said, quickly. Too quickly.

  Brooke looked skeptical. Dammit, she looked betrayed. But Alex couldn’t very well re-open the conversation with Maryanne now. It would have to wait until later.

  Yet Alex’s stomach churned. The last thing she wanted to do was lie to Brooke, especially now. The girl had just saved her life. Not to mention her soul—her sanity! But she couldn’t betray Maryanne either.

  “Alex was just wondering if Connie ever tried anything like that,” Maryanne said quickly. “You know, going through a window. We agreed she probably didn’t, because she didn’t write about it. Then we thought duh, if she had tried it, she wouldn’t have been around to write about it. Or if it had happened after she left her and her diary writing stopped—after they killed her original—she wouldn’t have been around for us to meet at the Walker Farm that night.”

  Alex could only stare at Maryanne. What a load of bullshit! Brooke had to know it, too. She slid a glance at the other girl. Brooke was trying to hide it, but yeah, she was miffed. Yet there was the saddest bit of hope there. She so wanted to believe Maryanne.

  Alex glanced back at Maryanne, whose eyes silently begged her to say nothing, confirming Alex’s suspicion that Maryanne did carry that death wish she’d accused her of harboring.

  Of course, they all had their secrets. At the thought, her gaze went to the floorboard under which she’d hidden Connie’s diary and doll.

  Brooke sat back on her bed, obviously choosing to let it go. She kicked her slippers off and they plunked onto the floor one after the other. “So are we going to talk about it?” Her eyes lifted toward the ceiling. “What happened up there?”

  “Yeah, definitely.” Alex couldn’t help it; she raised the mirror and looked again at her eyes. Thank God, they were getting better. Though not quickly enough for her liking. “Brooke, could you turn off your light?”

  “Why?” Even as she asked, Brooke leaned forward, clicked off the lamp and settled back into the bed again. “Oh, your eyes, I suppose.”

  “Yeah, that too. But I was thinking if Mrs. Betts does some kind of bed check, I don’t want her catching a look at me.”

  “Makes sense,” Brooke agreed.

  They sat quietly for a moment. Alex found the darkness comforting. It had to be the same for the others, too.

  “Okay, I’ll start,” Brooke said, breaking the silence. She turned to Maryanne. “Who the hell is Jason? And why were you screaming his name?”

  Jason.

  Alex felt a tingling in her face and all along her scalp as memory sprang to life. Jason! J-bug! Oh, God, she totally remembered now! The tingle worked its way down her spine, making her shiver.

  “Jason.” Maryanne’s voice trembled.

  “Yeah,” Brooke leaned forward. “And don’t even pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. Lay it all out on the table. You’ve been acting strange for a while, but you’ve been really strange lately.”

  “Strange?” Maryanne huffed. “Brooke, given what’s been happening around here, I think we’ve all been a little strange—”

  “Okay, things have been weird. I’ll give you that. But Maryanne, the things you were saying—”

  “The things you’re hearing,” Alex broke in. “I know you hear things. I see the way you look—not just here or at school, but even when we’re casting out. The sudden snap of the head, the loss of attention. You spin around like you’re looking for someone.”

  “Someone who’s not there.” Maryanne closed her eyes as if bracing herself. With her widened pupils, Alex saw it clearly in the moonlit room. When Maryanne opened her eyes again, she saw the gleam in them, but the real evidence of her tears was in her voice. “Jason.” The word shuddered out. “I hear Jason calling me—Me-anne, Me-anne. Me-anne.”

  “Who is Jason?” Brooke asked.

  “Not is,” Maryanne said. “Was. Jason was my brother.”

  “I thought you were an only child,” Brooke said.

  “I am now. Jason—I used to call him J-bug—died last May.” The tears flowed down now, making Maryanne’s cheeks shine wet.

  “Oh God, I’m so sorry, Maryanne,” Brooke said.

  “Me too.” Alex pulled a tissue out from the box by her bed. She took three steps to hand it to Maryanne and then retreated to sit back on her bed, waiting for Maryanne to continue. Maybe now that she’d begun, she’d tell all.

  Maryanne dabbed her eyes, the white tissue looking like a fluttering ghost in the grey room as she moved it from one side of her face to the other. “J-bug was exactly twelve months and twelve days old when he died last May. My parents were out for the evening at some office party Mom just had to attend. I was babysitting him—when he passed away. I’d babysat so many times before! Nothing…nothing had gone wrong before.”

  “Holy shit!” Brooke blurted. “What happened? “

  “Crib death,” Maryanne said firmly. “Sudden infant death syndrome. It strikes a lot of families, regardless of race or socioeconomic status. Just like it struck ours.”

  Alex went cold; Maryanne was lying. She absolutely knew it. And it all sounded so rehearsed.

  In a monotone voice now, Maryanne went on, “Low birth weight babies are more susceptible to crib death. Jason was underweight when he was born. And they’re more susceptible if they have a condition such as asthma, or even some flu or virus. Jason must have had the flu.”

  “He was over a year old though,” Alex said, hesitantly. “Isn’t that old for crib death?”

  “Yeah, it is. It happens though.” Maryanne looked so sad. So lost. So guilt-ridden, even in the darkness. Especially in this darkness, when she didn’t know how very well Alex could see her.

  “Man, that sucks.” Brooke shifted on her bed. “One of the secretaries at my mom’s office lost a baby girl to crib death about five years ago. One of her twins. She watched the other baby like a hawk after that. I don’t think that poor woman had a full night’s sleep for a year. So scared she’d lose her other baby too; so scared she’d lose…everything. That’s how it is with parents…well, how it should be, I guess.”

  “It…it just about killed my parents,” Maryanne said.

  And that, Alex guessed, wasn’t a lie.

  “I can imagine,” Brooke said. “And it doesn’t matter how rare something is. When it happens to you, it still happens to you. I’m so sorry, Maryanne. It must have been incredibly hard. Not just on your parents, but on you too.”

  Brooke was being sincere—more sincere than Alex had ever thought possible. And silently Alex begged Maryanne to come clean.

  But as Maryanne looked across the room, she marked Alex with a pleading, borderline horrified, look—one that said, ‘Please don’t remember. And if you do, don’t tell!’

  “So,” Brooke said, “is your brother Jason haunting y
ou, haunting you? As in ghostly form hovering in the air? Or as in his memory is haunting you?”

  “Haunting haunting,” Maryanne said. “I never see him. I can just hear him.”

  Brooke was on the edge of her bed now, fascinated as hell. “Just his voice, or does he do the chain rattling thing like on TV?”

  “Just his voice, usually. But tonight I think it was him rattling everything.”

  Alex sucked in a breath. She’d accepted Brooke’s previous reasoning that it must have had to do with her breaking some law of caster physics by going through that second window.

  “Seriously?” Brooke said. “Your baby brother caused all that commotion? That ‘earthquake’ everyone is talking about downstairs?”

  Maryanne lowered her head. “I think so,” she whispered.

  They sat there, the three of them, in silent contemplation as the moments passed. Until Brooke asked another question. One that Maryanne had no answer for.

  “Okay, there’s one thing I don’t get. If he died from SIDS, then why is Jason haunting you, Maryanne? And why the hell is he haunting you now?”

  Chapter 23

  Shout Out

  Maryanne

  Maryanne’s heart pounded as Bryce slipped his knee between her legs, pressing her more fully into the old mattress of the cot. And God help her, it wasn’t fear that made her heart race. Well, maybe a little fear, but it was mostly lust.

  They’d started on their feet, kissing. Then he’d urged her to sit on the edge of the cot. Their coats had come off then, and they’d kissed some more, hands roaming over territory that was becoming more familiar every day. It was Maryanne who’d pulled him down to stretch out with her on the lumpy mattress. Even fully clothed, the current between them was positively electrifying! She’d never, ever made out with a guy like this, but amazingly there was no awkwardness. Her body seemed to possess a knowledge of its own. Or maybe a will of its own.

  For instance, it didn’t seem to require any conscious decision just now to rock and arch against Bryce’s pelvis, seeking more sweet friction. And her hands! They burrowed under his shirt to skim his back, then down to his denim-covered—

  Her cell phone rang, the sound jolting in the tiny shed.

  Right on time…dammit.

  Bryce groaned and rolled to the side so she could scramble up. “Saved by the…cell.”

  Maryanne had thrown her coat on the end of the cot. She sat up, grabbed her cell from her coat pocket, and lay back down again. Automatically, Bryce’s arm went back around her. Maryanne looked at the number as she snapped the phone open. “Hi Alex,” she said. She held the phone away from the ear between her and Bryce—just a bit and just enough. She had cranked up the volume earlier and Bryce couldn’t help but hear.

  “Hey. Don’t be late, okay?” Alex said. “Mrs. Betts wants everyone here by six o’clock. Another meeting.”

  “Geez, a meeting on a freakin’ Friday night? That woman must be looking for a mutiny.”

  “Tell me about it,” Alex grumbled, loudly.

  Maryanne sighed. “Okay, I’ll be there.” She let Bryce hear Alex’s “See ya soon,” then flipped the phone shut.

  The call hadn’t been unexpected. Neither had the message—word for word of it. Maryanne set the phone down behind her on the edge of the cot, then bumped it with her hip as she turned on her side toward Bryce. As she’d hoped, it slid between the bed and the wall, hitting the floor with almost no noise as it slid down the blankets. She held her breath as she waited to see if Bryce noticed. He didn’t.

  So far, so good.

  She looked up into Bryce’s still smoldering eyes and felt more than a little bit guilty about that.

  Bryce had picked her up after school as he so often did these days. The public school got out about ten minutes before Streep Academy, so he was right there in the parking lot, truck all warm and cozy, waiting for her at the school’s back door after the last bell.

  “Remember the plan,” Alex had whispered, catching Maryanne just before she had scooted out the door.

  “And remember to play safe!” Brooke said.

  Maryanne had shot her a look.

  “Yes, Virginia,” Brooke drawled. “I mean exactly what you think I mean.”

  Blushing furiously, Maryanne had run to Bryce’s truck and climbed in.

  Rather than go to the mall and chat over coffees as they sometimes did after school, or over to the rink while Bryce had hockey practice, they’d headed here to the Walker place. Maryanne had gone in to say hello to Hannah Walker, Bryce’s mother, and again her heart went out to the poor woman who’d so recently lost a child of her own. Hannah Walker was—as always—polite, and glad to see Maryanne, but the sadness never left her eyes. Never completely left her.

  Afterward—again, according to plan—Maryanne and Bryce had stolen away to the shed for some privacy. Nothing out of the ordinary about that, either.

  “So, Alex checking up on you again?”

  Maryanne shrugged. “Roomies…what are you gonna do?”

  “You girls are tight, huh?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

  Bryce put his arm around Maryanne and she snuggled in close. He kissed her quickly on the forehead, a clear signal that the mega make out was over. Which was probably a good thing, considering the speed with which things had progressed.

  He sat up suddenly, swung his legs around the side of the cot, and looked back over his shoulder at her. “I’ve got something for you.”

  She sat up beside him. Bryce straightened his leg, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small bag. The drawstring was pulled tight on the little felt bag, and he handed it to Maryanne.

  Trying to keep the grin off her face, she opened it, spilling the contents out into her hand, aware every second of just how closely Bryce watched her.

  It was a necklace, and it was beautiful.

  The chain was silver, quite obviously old, if not antique. In a silver pronged-type setting hung a gorgeous stone. Polished smooth, quite large, and oddly-shaped. Black as the blackest night. Breathtakingly beautiful.

  “Do you like it?” Bryce asked.

  Maryanne couldn’t take her eyes off the stone, and Bryce couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her.

  “I—”

  “What?” Bryce asked, his voice oddly intent. “Does it… bother you?”

  That brought her head up. “Bother me? Why would it bother me?” She cradled the dark stone in her right palm, feeling the weight of it. Then, with her left index finger, she touched it, feeling its texture and glorious coolness. Just feeling the stone itself—on a level she couldn’t explain. For the second time in her life.

  When Jason had died, one of her grandfather’s friends—an older woman whom Maryanne had suspected was more than a ‘friend’—had given her an Apache Tear stone ring. “This’ll help,” she’d said. When she’d put it on, Maryanne had immediately felt some sort of connection with that stone too.

  And as Maryanne gazed down into the black and shiny stone, all at once she could see it—her reflection in the polished surface. Her dark silhouette against the light behind her. Dark as night. Caster dark. Her head shot up quickly and she saw Bryce had been watching her closely.

  “I…I love it, Bryce,” she said. “It’s…gorgeous.”

  Bryce seemed to relax at that. Literally, his shoulders loosened and Maryanne could feel the tension going out of his posture. “It was my Grandmother Walker’s,” he said.

  “Oh my gosh, your grandmother’s.” Reluctant as she was to part with it, Maryanne knew she had to give it back. “This has got to be expensive. I can’t possibly take a family heirloom and I just—”

  “Keep it,” he said. “Grandmother was into stones—crystals, she called them. Dad just thinks of them as rocks, and Mom’s already claimed all but the smallest of the diamonds. This is for you, Maryanne.”

  “But Bryce—”

  “Don’t you want it?”

  She bli
nked. “Are you serious? Of course I want it. I love it! That stone…” Lost for words, she shook her head.

  “Hematite,” Bryce supplied. “It’s supposed to be a grounding stone. Strengthening—mind, body, spirit.”

  She squeezed it in her hand. “You think I need strengthening?” She’d meant the comment lightly, but it didn’t come out that way.

  Bryce shrugged. “You look sad sometimes. Lost. I just want to help you find whatever it is you need.”

  He saw it too, Maryanne knew instantly. Just as Brooke and Maryanne had, Bryce Walker must have noticed her odd behavior those times when she’d heard her J-Bug’s voice calling to her. The knowledge should have made her want to push him away. Before tonight, before this lovely gift of the calming stone, she might have.

  Instead, she cupped his face with her free left hand and kissed him. When they broke apart, Bryce took the necklace from her and opened the clasp. She swiveled on the cot so he could put the necklace on for her, then turned around so he could admire the stone where it nestled just below the hollow of her throat.

  And admire it he did. Strangely, he also looked relieved to see it on her. “Beautiful,” he said, looking into her eyes now, rather than at the stone.

  Now Maryanne could feel the color rushing into her face. Ducking her head, she fingered the black crystal. “It’s amazing. You said your grandmother had a trunk full of these?”

  “Yeah,” Bryce said. “All kinds of stones, not just hematite. Crystals from all over the world. She collected them. Loved them. Geez, she cherished them. Called them her friends. Her helpers. My grandmother was really spiritual.”

  “Religious?”

  “Not church religious. Though there was this place she used to go to sometimes, but Grampy absolutely hated it. She just…” He shrugged. “Grandmother believed in what she called the divine, and never doubted for a second that it believed in her too.” He chuckled at his own remark, but Maryanne knew it was a covering kind of laugh. “Seriously, though, she was totally intuitive. And she loved her crystals.”

  “Will you show it to me someday? The trunk? I’d love to see all those stones.” Maryanne surprised herself with the question—she wasn’t usually so forward. But so what? She wanted to see those stones, those crystals. Hold them and feel them and—