She glowered at me. “Fine. Anyone else?”
No one said anything.
“What about you, Heather?”
I followed her gaze to see that my friend had arrived. She must have slipped in after the auction started.
“What about me?” she echoed quietly.
It made no difference to me if Heather made an offer, but it worried me that it mattered to Sarah.
“Raise your hand if you want to bid,” Sarah said. Next thing I knew, one of the It Girl twins knocked into Heather’s elbow, shooting her hand up.
“Sold, for twenty-one dollars to the pretty lady in the white dress!”
What the…? Whatever. Sarah’s idea of trying to get under my skin could be a little off sometimes. I slouched in my metal folding chair and offered Heather an encouraging smile as she put the money in the jar.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
“Don’t be.” I grinned. “You saved me twenty dollars.”
She laughed. “Don’t worry, he’s not my type.”
“You’re just in it for the free pasta.” I winked at her then smirked at Sarah. It was hard reading her expression, but the smile painted on her face seemed angry. Good.
I spent the next fifteen minutes collecting donations as more guys got auctioned off while the dance chaperones continued to sort through valentines they had probably already sorted twice by now. Kate scurried to and from the cafeteria’s kitchen to behind the decorated room partitions, plates of spaghetti and meatballs in hand.
I would be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about what was happening on the other side of that wall. Even more so when Heather screamed. I jumped from my seat and rushed over right as she was turning the corner. Spaghetti sauce covered her head and stained the front of her white Marilyn Monroe dress, and little bits of spaghetti stuck in her hair.
She froze as I came up to her. The room went quiet. Then, tears spilling down her cheeks, she pushed past me and ran out the double doors. I went after her and found her where every girl goes to cry during a school dance – the bathroom.
“What happened?” I eased my arm around her, not wanting to wind up covered in sauce myself.
“Noah,” she said, turning her head into my shoulder to cry.
I was so lost. But my best friend was crying, so I pulled her in closer, spaghetti sauce and all. Right then, I would have went swimming in the stuff if it meant Heather would stop crying.
“What about Noah?” I asked softy.
“How do you stand him?” she mumbled angrily against my shoulder. She leaned away and shook her head. “He dumped the pasta on me. After calling me a pig!”
“What?” I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. Heather was hurting, and I understood why, but I needed to defend Noah, too. I knew it wasn’t him who did it. He was just a vessel. “I’m sure there’s some –”
“Don’t!” Heather held up her hand. “Don’t you dare make excuses for him.”
I tried picking my next words carefully. “It’s not what you think,” was all I could come up with.
“Then what is it?”
God, I wanted to tell her everything. But it would only be so she wouldn’t hate Noah. I had to decide what was more important: her acceptance of my relationship with him – or her safety. The choice was obvious. “I’m so sorry,” I said, hugging her again. “You want to get out of here?”
She wiped her eyes with the insides of her wrists. “Won’t you get in trouble if you leave?”
I shrugged. “I can’t get in any more trouble than I already am. Besides, I think we raised a few hundred dollars. That makes up for the ribbon I didn’t steal, right?”
When she didn’t respond, I tried again. “How about some onion rings?”
“Nah,” she said, her gaze distant. “I think I’m gonna go home, change, and go to bed. I’m done with today.”
I knew the feeling. “I’ll walk you out then.”
We left in silence. It wasn’t until I made it home, changed, and climbed into bed that I got a text from her: IF YOU WANT TO BE WITH NOAH, FINE, BUT KEEP HIM AWAY FROM ME.
That was Heather-speak for “I know you’re too crappy of a friend to stop dating a guy who dumped spaghetti on me, but you’re the only friend I’ve got.”
The next day, Noah picked me up at the library. Dad thought I’d gone there to spend my Saturday studying. Instead, I’d parked my car and taken off with Noah to meet his family.
It felt as if we’d planned this meet-up months ago, not earlier in the week. The events of last night remained unspoken – like an elephant in a room the size of a shoebox.
I could hardly breathe as we pulled up in front of Noah’s house. The place was depressing: out of the way, far off the road, lots of trees on unkempt property casting a dreary shade over the yard. Large but dark windows staring out from the huge house. Way too big for such a small family.
He squeezed my hand. “You don’t have to do this.”
I managed a smile. “I don’t have any better ideas, do you?”
He shook his head. “Though this isn’t much of an idea, either.”
I frowned. “Is it…safe here?”
“It is inside. At least from her. I can’t make any promises about my parents.” He winked, but I shook my head.
“Not helping.”
Noah came around and opened my door to help me out. “We should probably get inside.”
I nodded. I didn’t feel like hurrying, but I was less scared of what his parents might think of me than of what Sarah might do.
Once inside, Noah shut and locked the door behind him. “Geoff? Kathy?”
His voice echoed through the whole place.
“Who’s Geoff and Kathy?”
“My parents,” he said quietly. Then to the big house he called, “Emily’s here!”
“We’re in the den,” came a woman’s scratchy voice.
Noah took me by the hand and led me into a large room that was a step down from the hallway and carpeted in yellowish-brown shag. A woman lay on dusty floral-print sofa with a magazine, and a man sat in a recliner flipping through the television channels. The whole thing was very…retro. Which I would normally appreciate, but Noah’s father distracted me. He looked a little old to be Noah’s father, and he had a tube going into his nose. I followed it down to an oxygen tank that leaned against the side of his recliner.
I gave a panicked glance to Noah. He rubbed the back of my hand and nodded his reassurance.
“Kathy. Geoff,” he said. “This is Emily.”
“Hi, Emily,” Kathy said without glancing up.
His dad made a small “Eh” noise and sort of lifted his hand like he was shooing a fly.
“We’re going to go up to my room now,” Noah said.
“Okay,” Kathy said.
“Alone,” Noah added. “Unsupervised. I’m going to shut the door, Kathy.”
“That’s nice,” she said, waving dismissively.
Noah’s nostril’s flared. He pulled me out of the room, down the hallway, and up a set of creaky stairs. As we proceeded to the second story, he mumbled something then said, “Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay.” I pushed a stray hair from my face. “They don’t like me, or they don’t like company, or…?”
“They don’t care,” he said. “Ever since they found out my dad has cancer, it’s like they both just gave up on life.”
I froze, swallowing back my reaction. Noah was still climbing the stairs, but when my hand slipped from his, he turned around.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
His lips pressed together, regret evident in his eyes. “My room’s at the top of the stairs. Come on.”
Seconds later, we were standing in it, his bed made of dark cherry oak and a blue plaid blanket draped over top of it. The space was
clean for a boy’s room. He pushed some video game controllers out of the way with his foot and quickly picked up what little dirty laundry was on the floor, throwing it all in a wicker clothes bin. Then he shut and locked his door, turning toward me with a sigh.
“Not what you had in mind, is it?”
I shook my head and stepped closer, taking his hand. “It’s fine. Parents, huh?”
He swallowed. “You thought you would be able to get some answers.”
I let the messenger bag on my shoulder fall to the floor. Then I sat and pulled out my sketchpad. “Maybe I still can?”
Noah sat next to me. “You haven’t gotten anything from doing this before.”
“Hey!” I said defensively.
“I’m just saying…”
“Maybe I’m more optimistic than you.” I leaned back against the bed. “Plus, now I’ve met them. Kind of.”
The first hour I spent sketching was pretty unproductive. The crystal didn’t seem to make a difference, and I was beginning to wonder if whatever magic it was supposed to hold had worn off. Instead of revealing anything new, I kept drawing Noah, his warm coconut smell triggering my senses. I could still feel his lips, soft and warm against my own, his breath tickling my neck, his hands…
I shivered involuntarily and took a deep breath, then refocused on my latest sketch. Here I was, drawing Noah kissing me, unaware until I came out of my trance. I looked up to see him watching. My face burned. His smirking didn’t help.
“Something on your mind, Squirrel?” He raised an eyebrow on my third attempt.
I leaned forward to push his shoulder, but he caught my wrist, pulling me onto him as he fell back.
“We should pick up where we left off,” he said low in my ear, rolling me onto my back and staring down into my eyes. What did he see in me, anyway? It wasn’t an insecure thought; it was more me wondering if it was how I saw myself or something else. I certainly wasn’t as fragile as he imagined.
He swept my hair from my face then leaned down, grazing his lips against mine. When he deepened the kiss, his body rocked slightly into mine. I didn’t even notice he’d undone the buttons on my white button-down shirt until his own shirt was off, his warm chest pressed to my own, crescent scar and all.
Before long, our bodies were grinding against one another. I didn’t protest when his hands explored new places, though I wouldn’t be telling Heather where his fingers had been – not even if last night disappeared from history and suddenly she cared again.
Afterward, I relaxed enough to eat half of a dozen Oreos, drink a glass of milk, and draw something other than Noah kissing me. Though, admittedly, I was a little concerned about where he had learned to make a girl feel like that. Nope. I wasn’t going there. Nothing good would come of it.
“Do you have any pictures of your family?” I asked. “Other than your parents?”
He offered to check, left the room, and came back fifteen minutes later with a boxed photo album. There were three small albums in the set, each covered in reddish-brown leather and gold stitching. We had to take the pictures out of the plastic casings to read the backs for information. Only a few were marked with names or dates or anything helpful. They would have to do.
I tried again using Hazel’s crystal to help me trance sketch. The crystal dangled pathetically at the end of the chain, rocking weakly in a circular pattern over the images of Noah’s family. I closed my eyes and tried to see something new. Still nothing.
Several hours later, we had exhausted most of the pictures from the box and moved onto etchings of presumed ancestors. Their names were scratched out, but Noah was able to guess at a sort of family tree.
Those details fell to the wayside by the time I drew the next image. When I came out of the trace, I knew something was different before I even processed what my eyes were taking in. I chilled at Noah’s sudden absence from my side and whirled around to find him sitting on the bed, face buried in his hands. I returned my attention to the newest sketch, which depicted several scenes, all telling one utterly disturbing story.
The first image was one of Noah’s ancestors standing over a woman sharing Sarah’s surname. His hand was raised as she cowered away, body and face battered. I swallowed hard, wanting to escape as the images came alive in my overactive imagination.
The next image showed the woman strung up outside, naked, surrounded by men throwing stones at her. The same man – Noah’s ancestor – had carved the word WITCH in her stomach. Other images depicted acts too grotesque for me to do more than glance at, but there was one that would be seared in my mind forever.
The woman cradled a newborn baby. But something was…off. You could tell just by looking at the drawing the infant had not survived – it was visible in the bloating and malformation of the newborn’s body. I imagined all the abuse the woman had suffered during her pregnancy. Abuse that had stolen this life from her before it stood a chance.
I pressed my palms into my eyes and took a deep breath then gave my attention to the final image. This time, the woman, Sarah’s ancestor, stood over Noah’s ancestor, strange symbols painted in blood all over his body. A knife stuck out from his chest and a doll dangled from her hand. That had to be it – the start of the curse.
In voodoo, it was fair to curse someone who had wronged you. She hadn’t only cursed him, though. She had cursed the entire Caldwell name, and she had done so using Caldwell blood after murdering her abuser.
It was almost hard to blame her, knowing what she’d endured, but she’d cursed innocent people, too. People who hadn’t even existed yet.
I turned all the images face down and sat beside Noah. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I don’t know,” he said, lifting his bloodshot eyes to me. “That this is awful. That maybe my family deserves this curse.”
I took one of his hands in my own. “No,” I said quietly. “What happened to Sarah’s ancestor was beyond terrible, but you didn’t do it. We have to find a way to end this.”
“How?” he asked meekly.
“No idea. But your parents and her parents – it seems like they’re okay. Probably Sarah’s parents and grandparents didn’t know about the voodoo. Somehow Sarah has reactivated it. If we stop her, it shouldn’t affect you anymore.”
“If we stop her,” he repeated, his emphasis different than mine.
“We will.” I tried to sound confident. “We just need a plan.”
Trouble was, we didn’t have one.
19
SPELLBOUND FOR LIFE
I’d designated Hazel the Witch Doctor, seeing as how she was a witch – kind of – and a doctor – kind of – in that she sometimes used magic to heal Noah.
That was a part of my relationship with him I liked to ignore – when he was sometimes in too much pain to hang out. I half-wished we could move in with Hazel. She always made him feel better. At the same time, it upset me she could help him when I couldn’t.
When we arrived, the first thing I noticed was that Hazel was a one-color-nail-polish kind of girl. Her nails were painted with a fresh coat of the same dark red she’d worn last time. Mine, on the other hand, had gone from a pastel rainbow to shades of coral to match the detailing on my shirt.
The next thing I noticed was that Hazel had prepared dinner for all of us. I didn’t have the stomach to eat – I was too nervous about what she might make of the sketches – but as soon as she set a plate in front of me, that changed. She cooked steak better than any steak house, and whatever the hell sauce she put on it – something with wine, she said – was out of this world. Was there magic involved in her cooking, or was she really that skilled in the kitchen?
After soaking up the sauce off the plate with a piece of her freshly baked bread, I sat back and stared at her.
Hazel giggled. “I think you have a food buzz.”
I shrugged. “I only know h
ow to make a few things, and my Dad thinks adding peas to ramen noodles is both nutritious and exotic.”
Hazel set down her fork, raised an eyebrow, and glared at Noah with those icy-blue eyes of hers. “You haven’t cooked for her?”
“When have I had the time?” he asked, spreading his hands.
She pursed her lips then turned a smile to me. “Don’t let him fool you. He owes you a big fat plate of fettuccini alfredo.”
I grinned, but I was too stuffed for banter. “I think I’m going to pass out.”
Noah jumped up, making both Hazel and me jump.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
The Witch Doctor slapped him with a folded cloth napkin. “Will you relax? She ate too much.” She set her napkin on the table and came to my side to help me up, her short black hair swishing along her jawline as she reached for my empty plate. “I probably shouldn’t have given you that glass of wine. Let’s get you to the couch.”
After making sure I was okay and handing me a glass of water, Hazel walked to the other side of the room and leaned against the wall, lighting some sort of hand-rolled cigarette.
Oh. I knew that smell. “Pot?”
She shook her raven-haired head. “I’ve done enough wrong tonight. None for you.”
“Don’t worry.” I wrinkled my nose. “Wasn’t going to ask.”
She tilted her chin up and blew out a steady stream. “It helps with what I’m about to do. Certain types of magic make me anxious. And when I’m anxious, I can’t connect to what I need.”
I wasn’t about to pretend to understand.
Noah sat beside me, the couch cushion shifting under his weight. I fell slightly into him, but made no effort to move. I sighed quietly as he wrapped his arm around me.
Hazel put out her joint and picked up my drawings off the coffee table. “You guys have seen enough. I’ll take care of this and let you know what I come up with.”
She put the lights on dim and left the room. Noah and I lay on the couch, my body half on his, my head resting on his chest while he ran his fingers through my hair.
Something like Voodoo Page 19
