“Oh?” Noah said, looking over at me.
A small smile tested the corners of mouth. “Yeah. Because now we don’t have to hide. She knows where I live now. There’s nothing left to protect.”
He pulled me back against his body once more. “There is,” he said. “But you’re right. Hiding has lost its edge.”
“Sarah can’t possibly make things worse than she already has,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. I took a deep breath. “Even if we aren’t stuck here, in this clearing, we’re still going to be stuck here.” I waved my finger back and forth between us. “That’s why I need you to tell me the truth about Sarah. If you did anything…anything that would make her seek revenge on you…I’m not going to judge you. Just tell me. Please.”
“I’ve never lied to you,” Noah said. “And I never will – not if I can help it. But I can’t tell you things I don’t know.”
He sounded so exasperated, so honest, that I nodded. “We need to figure this out. One way or another. Together.”
“We do. But we’re not going to solve the mystery tonight, and I really should get you home.” His gaze touched on my face, blue eyes sharp and focused. “No sense giving your Dad more reason to hate me.”
“He doesn’t –”
Noah raised an eyebrow.
“Well,” I said, grinning, “he only hates who he thinks you are. The version Sarah told him about. He would like the real you.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“Fine,” I said, hopping back in the car. “I’ll prove it.”
16
IT’S NOT A BIRTHMARK
When Noah dropped me off, it was too late for company. I needed to smooth things over with my dad first anyway, so I decided to give it the weekend before arranging a formal meeting between the two.
In the meantime, Dad took away my shoes. He drove me to and from school on Monday and had me turn them in at the door. “It’s so you won’t run off,” he said, an explanation that was met by the biggest eye roll I’d ever given him.
A big fat “whatever” hung on the tip of my tongue, but I knew it wasn’t going to get me what I wanted. Instead, I muttered, “Sorry. I won’t go anywhere, but I want one favor.”
My dad crossed his arms. “What makes you think you –”
I put my hand up. “Please, hear me out. All I’m asking is that you meet Noah. He can come here.”
My dad’s eyebrows shot up so high they might as well have hit the ceiling. “Like hell!”
“You aren’t even giving him a chance,” I protested.
“What respectable father would?”
“Just meet him,” I begged. “You don’t have to like him.”
“I already don’t like him, so there you go. Saves us all the time.”
I missed talking to my dad. Missed lying to him for fun instead of out of necessity. Missed him being able to read me like an open book. If everything was the way it used to be, I might’ve told him the truth about Sarah. Not the voodoo stuff, or the hunch I had that she somehow knew something about my mom’s death, but about her bullying me. That even on days where she wasn’t at school – like today – I feared her. In fact, I was more worried by her absence than by her presence.
I stared at my toes, trying to think up something that would get my dad to agree. “If he can come for dinner, I’ll make shepherd’s pie,” I offered. “Your favorite.”
“What is this?” he asked, throwing his arms in the air. “You saw him at school today. Can you not go five minutes without him?”
“It’s not about that!” Anger bubbled up in my chest. I took a deep, slow breath to recompose. “It’s not about me seeing him, Dad. It’s about you meeting him.”
Dad cocked an eyebrow. I had his attention.
“I’ll stay upstairs,” I said finally. “You two can meet without me around. I’ll work on my history paper.”
Dad’s chin tilted, the expression on his face familiar. He was assessing me to decide if I was lying. This was good.
“If I don’t stay out of the way, you can kick him out.” There. How could he argue with that? Dad pressed his lips together and heaved a sigh. “Fine. Tell him to come at eight. I want dinner, but with you, not him. I’ll talk to him after.”
I wrapped my arms around Dad in a big hug. “Thank you, thank you! I promise you’re gonna love him!”
I ran upstairs, flopped back onto my fluffy white comforter, and shot off a text to Noah.
He promised he would be there on time, and I promised my dad would love him.
I probably shouldn’t have said that.
***
When Noah knocked on the door, I gave Dad a pleading glance. He shook his head, pointing upstairs. I went up with a pout and sat past the landing, watching through the stairway spindles as the front door swung open and Noah stepped in. My stomach flipped as his gaze flicked up to where I sat. We knew where to find each other, even when we didn’t know where to look. It just happened that way.
I smiled, though I only got the briefest peek at those bright blues behind the dark hair that fell into his face.
Please let this go well! I thought, watching him hold out a hand to Dad. I’d even painted my nails in a lucky pastel rainbow, the same as when I’d won that large frog stuffed animal at the carnival when I was twelve.
My dad crossed his arms and pulled away. Noah’s hand fell to his side. So much for luck.
“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bishop.”
My dad made a grunting noise. Then, “I’m only meeting you because I wanted shepherd’s pie.”
Noah shoved his hands in his pockets and dropped his head. “I understand.”
My dad turned and walked into the kitchen. Noah glanced up at me again, sending my heart into a panic. Poor Noah. He was a nervous mess. It was written all over that crooked smile of his. I wanted to run downstairs and wrap my arms around him, but I needed the meeting with my dad to go perfect.
“You plan to stand there all night?” my dad’s voice boomed from the other side of the wall.
“No, sir,” Noah said. He ripped his attention from me and tentatively followed into the other room.
“Sit,” my dad barked.
I couldn’t see any more from where I was sitting, so I moved down a few steps. I pressed my face against the stairway spindles as if somehow it would help me see through kitchen wall. In reality, the only thing in my view was the fridge and Noah’s back jutting past the doorway. Our kitchen was small, and the chair always stuck out too far when not tucked under the table.
Even though Dad was out of sight, I could imagine him: arms crossed, glaring down his nose, polishing his gun. My dad didn’t actually own a gun, but I wouldn’t put it past him to have bought one for the occasion.
“What are your intentions with my daughter?”
Geez Dad. Way to go medieval on him.
“I…I don’t really have any,” Noah said.
“Bull.” The dad in my imagination leaned across the table to emphasize the challenge. “Try again.”
“With all due respect, sir, it’s a pretty vague question.” The nerves in Noah’s voice were gone. Hopefully my dad would respect him holding his ground.
Dad’s signature single-eyebrow-raise was happening right then; I just knew it. I wished I’d had the foresight to put a mirror on the fridge after dinner.
“Do you love her?”
Noah was quiet. Dad had put him on the spot; he knew I was listening. I’d bet Dad’s motivation was to trick him. If he said he loved me, Dad would say he didn’t know what love was, proving his point that Noah wasn’t ready for a relationship. If he said he didn’t, Dad probably figured saying so would create a rift between Noah and me.
“Do you?” Dad repeated.
“I could,” Noah said. Sweet, perfect Noah.
&nbs
p; “And you think she could love you?”
“I think she should be allowed to feel whatever it is she feels.”
Dad made some sort of grunting sound as something slid against the linoleum floor. When he appeared in the kitchen doorway, I realized it had been his chair.
“She’s seventeen. She doesn’t know what she feels. And it’s my job to protect her from thinking she does.”
Another chair scraped. Noah was standing, too. “I didn’t mean –”
“I don’t care what you meant.” Dad was in the foyer now, holding open the front door. A draft of cold February air blew into the house. “Stay away from my daughter.”
I watched Noah go. Outside, he turned back to my dad. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir.”
Dad closed the door in his face and glared up at me before storming off toward the living room. I didn’t go after him. That wouldn’t fix anything. My whole body shook, shepherd’s pie sloshing in my stomach. I ran into my room and fumbled in my purse for my phone.
I’M SORRY, I texted Noah.
A few minutes later, his reply popped onto my screen. DON’T BE. I’LL SEE YOU TOMORROW. AND THE DAY AFTER. AND THE DAY AFTER THAT. NOT GOING AWAY UNTIL YOU TELL ME TO.
I flopped back on my bed, my phone resting in my hand. I never wanted Noah to go away. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I knew it meant something.
All Monday night, Dad watched me like a hawk. Tuesday night, I snuck out after he fell asleep in his recliner while viewing his favorite crime show on TV. Noah picked me up around the corner and we drove to the lake. He placed a large plaid blanket on the ground and we lay there, staring at the sky.
“I wish we could see the stars,” I murmured.
His hands were clasped behind his head. “We can imagine them.”
He turned on his side to face me. I tipped my face closer to kiss him.
“It won’t always be this way,” he said, his voice low. “We’ll figure it out.”
“I hope so.”
He sat up, his arms hooked around his knees. His silence sent a dark feeling creeping through my stomach.
I pushed myself up, holding my weight on one hand. “What’s wrong?”
“I want to show you something,” he said, “but I don’t want you to freak out.”
“Have you ever seen me freak out?”
His gaze met mine. “I guess not.”
With that, he pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his perfectly toned arms, smooth skin, and baby-fine hairs on his chest and stomach. My breathing hitched.
“Not that, brat,” he said, watching my gaze fixate on the hard slab of muscle that was his stomach.
I looked up, and that’s when I noticed the crescent-shaped scar marking the left side of his chest.
I recoiled and instantly regretted it. “Oh my God, Noah. What happened?”
“It’s always been there,” he said, unfazed. “Since I was born.”
“Like a birthmark?”
He shook his head, a weight in his expression I couldn’t understand.
“No.” The word left him like a breath.
“Then what?” When he didn’t respond, I added, “Can I touch it?”
“Sure.”
I reached out, carefully, tracing the deep red crescent with my fingertips. “Does it hurt?”
“I guess you could say that.” He let out a sigh. “When I was little, anytime I touched it, a pit grew in my stomach. This weird sort of unease. I can’t explain it, but I thought I was haunted. In middle school, I tried burning it off. Another time, I tried cutting it out.”
I shuddered, pulling my hand away.
“It always came back. I’ve been thinking lately maybe somehow this is what’s tying me to Sarah.”
I could feel the tension in my face, but couldn’t make it melt away. “Why do you think that? I thought she didn’t start bothering you until high school.”
He nodded. “She didn’t. I’m just putting this together now, with what you told me about all our names tying back to the Salem witch trials.”
“I don’t follow.”
“The other day, I told you things have always been this way. That we’ve always been connected to her family, even though things haven’t always been this way for me.”
“I’m not following.”
Noah leaned onto one hand, his posture mirroring mine. “My family has never lived more than ten miles from Sarah’s. Even when I was little, we would try to move, but things kept coming up. I never realized there was a connection until now. It’s like my family can’t escape hers.”
“Do your parents know? Do hers? Were there other attacks?”
He shook his head, as if more sure of this than anything else. “Something ties our family together, but only Sarah seems to know what.”
“The other day, when you said your families were connected, this is what you meant?”
He nodded. “They’ve always been. They just didn’t know it – and neither did I. But I checked the property records a few days ago, after you told me what you did. As far back as I can find, her family has lived within miles of my own. Don’t you think that’s a little strange?”
My eyes widened. “A little strange? Umm…try a lot. Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?”
His hand inched across the blanket to take my own. “I didn’t fully put it together until today.”
“Okay, so what do we do? There has to be a way to get away from her. Can’t Hazel do something?”
“I’m not sure my family can escape hers. I had hoped… somehow…” He swallowed then quickly licked his lips. “I’m going to get you out of this. If I stay away from you, Sarah might leave you alone.”
“What?” I yanked my hand back. “Noah, no.” Tears stung my eyes. “You promised me you wouldn’t go away. Just last night you promised! And you promised me you would never lie. You can’t stay away. You can’t let her win!”
“Then what, Emily? What am I supposed to do? Let her hurt you?” Noah’s frown showed his heartache was as crushing as mine. Difference was, he was willing to live with that pain, and I was not. “She’s been out of school and out of my hair for a while now. Too long. She didn’t even attempt to interfere when I met your dad.”
“So?” I asked. “That sounds like a good thing.”
He shook his head. “You know as well as I do that she didn’t simply decide to leave us alone.”
“I know,” I said wistfully, my stomach hardening at the thought of what she might be up to.
“And now she’s stalking you. She knew where you lived and you think she knows your entire medical history. Not everything she does is through voodoo. She’s got to be planning something, and it won’t be good, whatever it is. As badly as she’ll torment me, she won’t kill me. At least, she hasn’t yet. But you…”
“She would kill. Or have someone else do it for her.”
Noah flinched. His fear of her was like my own. Though nothing good would come from this prolonged silence of hers, it still upset me to hear Noah voice the same concerns.
I bit my lip. When I spoke next, I sounded more angry than hurt. “If you stay away from me because of this, then you aren’t who I thought you were.”
“Emily –”
“Don’t.” I stood, leaning over him as I talked. “You’ve been running for years, and so have I. Even now. Even these last few months. We let her control us. We’re going to stop her.” My confidence deflated as I struggled to think up a plan. “Somehow.”
“But how?”
Hell if I didn’t hate Noah right then.
“Your family or hers must know something more than we do. There’s no way both families are completely in the dark.”
“I can’t exactly ask, Emily.”
I sat on his lap and put my hands on his
chest. “But I can. The way Hazel taught me. I’ll figure it out.”
“How are you going to do that?”
“I don’t know, but shouldn’t I at least try?” When he didn’t respond, I added, “Just take me to your house. This weekend. Take me to meet your parents. Something there might trigger a vision, if this is about your family and not only you.”
Noah wouldn’t look at me. He peeled the skin off a fallen branch instead.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he mumbled.
“Come onnn,” I said. His gaze lifted to mine. “It can’t be any worse than meeting my dad, right?”
God, how I hoped I was right.
17
A CHARITABLE EVENT
Noah and I wouldn’t see each other outside of school that night for Valentine’s Day. Not that it mattered. It was a Hallmark holiday.
Noah did, however, text me that he’d left a gift on my doorstop, which I managed to retrieve before Dad found it.
I sat on the bottom step of the staircase and contemplated the box. Small. Rectangular. He wouldn’t get me jewelry. We weren’t that serious. Were we?
I smoothed my hand over the foiled box one more time before pulling away the red ribbon and lifting the lid. Inside was white tissue paper, which I peeled back to reveal…nothing.
I frowned. Why would Noah send me an empty box? I must have been missing something.
I took all the tissue paper out, but there was nothing to be found. Staring at the paper in my hands, I noticed something scrawled on one of the pieces. I unfolded it.
COME UPSTAIRS.
Hmm. Even though I’d just been, I turned around and climbed the stairs. My bedroom door was ajar. I nudged it open. Inside, vanilla candles were lit all over my room, apple blossoms scattered my floor, and little origami doves hung from the ceiling with pencil marks peeking out the folds of their wings. I took one down and opened it, revealing a drawing of myself. Not one I had made.
Noah. I sucked in a quick breath, my heart fluttering in my chest like the dove I was unfolding. Another drawing. Maybe a little different, though I couldn’t place why.
Something like Voodoo Page 17
