“It’s my fault that they’re here,” Gwennie said. She shifted, and I could see she was worried. She knew me pretty well, so she had known how very much I would hate having carolers. But I knew her pretty well. This version of her. And this version of her hated caroling as much as I hated carolers. She’d engineered this little visit just to make me squirm and find a little enjoyment out of her own torture.
“You were sharing the pain. Bringing them here,” I told her, jerking my head towards her choir members who were awkwardly not looking at each other and pretending to cry. “I might have done the same to you.”
“No you wouldn’t,” Gwennie said. “You wouldn’t have been guilted into going in the first place.”
She wasn’t wrong. I looked around the room again and wished I could be considering upon Russian literature and not on these folks. Or this murder. Or perhaps on what was happening with my Daddy. Or anything else. Anything at all.
“They love you,” I told her seriously, making myself focus. “It’s important to have family who loves each other and you. It changes everything.”
I pretended that saying that wasn’t breaking my heart. That it wasn’t forcing me to say aloud what I had been facing inside for so long.
“It’s a foundation that changes everything. You can face the world and all the haters with the utter surety that you are adored. Adored by people that you love in return, despite who and what they are. It doesn’t matter that your family is shapeshifting monsters. They’re badass, and they adore you. That makes you powerful beyond measure.”
She said nothing, but I could see that my words mattered. And that she knew what it cost me to give them to her. The little brat. I don’t know why I liked her.
“Sometimes we fake things for our family. Sometimes we go through horrible things for our family. Sometimes we even dig up bratty little girls for our chosen family. Sometimes that bratty little girl becomes a new member of the family.”
She sniffed, but her face was stone. Her heart was as buried as my own. We were twin souls in a lot of ways. I didn’t understand the girl she had been, but I knew who she was now. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t been through what she had. What mattered is that I knew about being buried inside of your mind. And we had way too much heart to heart for either of us.
“What about that one?” I nodded at the woman with long black and gray hair that needed a haircut so she didn’t look quite so like a 50-year-old who’d had the same hairstyle since she was seven.
“Melody,” Gwennie said. “She was best-friends with Joni.”
“Really? She doesn’t seem sad.”
Gwennie examined her and then said, “She smells sad.”
“Oh,” I felt that moment of sorrow for the woman I didn’t know and I pushed it away. I couldn’t afford to internalize the problems of the world, the town, or even this one small werewolf pack. Not even if they’d come to my house to sing songs and spread joy rather than madness. I took a deep breath, focused on Gwennie and told myself that what I had to give was enough.
“So do you,” Gwennie said.
Exposing the lies I told myself, the little brat. “Shut up.”
Her lips twitched again and she said, “That’s the one I’d bet on. Geraldo.”
Heather shifted and then demanded, “But why? Geraldo is nice.”
“He’s too nice,” Gwennie said stiffly, “I don’t trust it. Or him. If I can’t pick Rue’s mom, I choose Geraldo.”
Heather stood and said, “I’m going to get some air.”
I stared at my mother until she followed.
The moment they were both gone, Gwennie looked over and said, “Heather’s secretly dating Geraldo.”
“He’s definitely the killer then.”
CHAPTER 5
“As much fun as this has been, my sweet,” I told Gwennie, “That cop over there is making eyes at me.”
“Ew,” she said.
I rose, smacked the back of her head, and told her, “You can stay in the room you often sleep in which is definitely not yours alone even though no one else ever sleeps there.”
She didn’t say anything, but I saw her pull her phone out of her pocket and knew she’d be texting her brother in moments to stay behind.
The cop led me through my own house which brought everything in me that was territorial and made me want to kick them all out. He opened the door to the little room that I had told Officer Drake he could use and then left me there alone with him.
“Rue,” Officer Drake said, “I need you to work with me.”
His face was so hesitant that I was immediately furious. I could see he was going to say something that I didn’t like. There had been a murder in my home. Martha was a crime scene. I guessed he was going to tell me to stay out of my kitchen or…I didn’t know. I could see that the forensic types were here.
I didn’t answer but just looked at him.
“We have a call about ghost activity.”
That I had not expected.
“I’m not really the keeper,” I told him.
“You’re all we have,” he replied, as he spoke both of my parents as well as my sister entered the office.
“What?” I snapped. “What? You know I barely have any training. You know that I am useless as a necromancer.”
“I know that you’re the keeper.” Officer Drake said as if my family hadn’t come into the room, but…but his eyes went even shiftier. What in the ever living hells was going on here?
“That doesn’t mean anything,” I said. “Are you trying to get me out of the house?”
Gwennie shifted and my mother looked like she had something to say. It was my daddy, however, who spoke.
“Veruca, baby,” he said, “The stories your mother has told to me tell me that you are the keeper.”
Officer Drake nodded, my sister snorted, and my mother didn’t move a muscle.
“Daddy,” I said, softly—if it had been anyone else, I wouldn’t have been nice. “I was just lucky.”
“Baby,” Daddy said, “I might believe that if it were just one story. But you’ve survived several times now. Isn’t that what you call it? You even saved Branka.”
“It was luck,” my voice was still soft but my irritation was showing. I could see him flinch back just a little, and I wanted to bite at myself for letting my emotions flash. But it had been luck.
“You are a good witch, Veruca Jo…Hallow.”
“I am Veruca Jones,” I told my Daddy. Yes, I went by Hallow now, but I would never not be his daughter and I would never not claim his name. “Daddy, I want to be who you want me to be….”
“You always are, baby.”
I wanted to start my next statement with but, only I couldn’t. Not with Daddy looking at me so expectantly. So sure I was the hero.
“Where is it?” I snapped. I wanted to shout, to stop, to throw a tantrum that would put a 2-year-old to shame. But I couldn’t. Not with Daddy looking on. So when one of the cops agreed to take me to the site, I went and got the talisman, strapped it to my forearm, added a winter coat and boots and followed them out of my house.
The poor choir of werewolves and friends were still there, I was worried about leaving my Daddy behind, but knew that Bran and—I hated to say it—Mother would look after him.
The police officer was young, not really older than me. She had a ponytail like I did and she seemed as nervous as I felt, but that was where the similarity ended.
“What did it do,” I snapped at the cop who was driving through St. Angelus like an old lady who couldn’t see at night.
“Who?”
“The ghost,” I said. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure what I was going to do, I don’t know why I was so bothered by this whole situation with the ghost, but I was. It just felt…off.
“Oh,” the cop said, “Does it matter?”
“Of course,” I snapped. “There are nice ghosts. They like…haunt places quietly and linger on pathetically but they don’t hurt anyone. I t
hink…I…damn it!”
The cop looked over at me and back to the road. I could see the judgment in her eyes, and I wanted to lash out. Only she was a police officer and that felt like a bad idea.
“Why are we going after this particular ghost if she hasn’t done anything?”
“Oh, she has. I just wondered why you cared.”
My phone rang as the cop pulled onto the highway. I ignored it since I didn’t recognize the number.
“Where are we going?” I asked as I leaned my head back.
“The complaint came from a woman in Chelsea.”
Why did I know that name? I couldn’t remember, but I did know that this wasn’t just down the street. Chelsea was near where Gwennie lived which was the only reason I even knew where it was. Otherwise, I barely left the streets around St. Angelus College.
“You know that I’m barely trained in necromancy right? That this is all a crazy? We’re both about to be slaughtered by ghosts, I bet.”
The cop looked at me so quickly her ponytail flopped and then put her eyes back on the road.
“What are you, 12?” It was the ponytail. The long black ponytail—though this woman had the look of a Hispanic rather than an Asian. But ponytails are for college students,
Her next look was nasty as she said, “How old are you? You have no business being keeper.”
My laugh was sarcastic as I answered, “I know.”
“Drake thinks your Dad might have killed Joni,” the cop said as she exited the freeway.
“I know that too,” I said calmly.
“How can you be so cold? You should be upset.”
“It’s my nature,” I said, “let’s do this.”
“Don’t you care about your Dad?”
“I have faith in Drake to find the real killer. And I am certain my Dad didn’t do it.”
“He wouldn’t get first-degree murder,” the cop said, losing a bit of her antagonism. “Maybe he’d get manslaughter? He’s clearly not in his right mind.”
“He didn’t kill anyone. He gave some idiots cocoa. The end.”
The cop shook her head and kept her eyes on the road, weaving in and out of traffic until she pulled into an empty lot and parked.
“Where is it?” I asked. I should have cared what the ghost had done or that I didn’t have a lot of experience in doing things like hunting ghosts. It didn’t matter that I had the talisman. It didn’t matter that I was supposedly the right flavor of magic.
“What we’re going to do,” the cop said.
“Wait,” I interjected, “what is your name? I can’t face a ghost with ponytail barbie cop and not know your name. What if you die?”
“You're supposed to protect us from ghosts. You’re the keeper.”
“For the moment,” I said. “Only until Captain Finn takes over.”
“Captain who?”
“Gods,” I shoved my hands over my face to keep from screaming and said, “It doesn’t matter.”
We were walking towards a suburb house in Chelsea where the ghost had been harassing some housewife. Why? Why would any ghost choose to spend their afterlife in the suburbs? It didn’t make one bit of sense. I came back to Drake getting rid of me while he…gods…
My phone buzzed as I ambled towards the house. The cop hissed at me and did some weird movement with her hand. But, I pulled out my phone and answered anyway.
“They started asking Daddy questions,” Bran said. She sounded…weird. Not upset so much as utterly and completely confounded. “He was so confused. It was the worst attack yet.”
I took a deep breath while I waited. I knew she wasn’t done.
“Mother said she did it when Daddy started to cry. He started to cry and look for baby versions of us. He kept asking Mother if she’d changed my diaper because he was worried over the rash. Gods, Rue. It was horrible. But then Mother…gods.”
“Drake…that bastard. He didn’t want me to see him question Daddy. Is there even a ghost?” I demanded of the officer, while still talking to my sister.
The cop nodded, shushing me and looking around as if a ghost couldn’t hide from her in the walls or trees or whatever.
“Mother confessed to the murder to keep Daddy from having to answer questions. And then she said that you and I were to take care of it. Here’s the thing. We aren’t going to find this murderer ourselves. We’re not cops.”
“Do you think Mother did it?”
The cop choked and stopped, staring at me while I rang the doorbell of the suburb house. The cop had pulled her gun as if that would help.
“What are you doing?” The cop hissed.
“You know we’re talking about a ghost here, right?” I asked the cop and then knocked on the door.
“What?” Bran said, cursing in the background and then saying something to Daddy.
A woman opened the door. She had dark circles under her eyes and pale skin. Not pale from lack of pigment but pale from lack of sleep or worry or illness or something.
“Are you completely incapable of stealth?” Cop Ponytail asked.
“You know we’re talking about a ghost right?”
“Oh gods, thank goodness you are here. I just…I just…I…” The housewife started crying, my eye started twitching and then my phone rang.
“Saved by the bell,” I told Cop Ponytail and then answered, “Yeah?”
“Ms. Jones?”
“Oh,” I said, pulling my phone away from my ear to check the number and finding the one I didn’t know. It was a 617 number. I frowned at my phone, heard the person talking and put my phone back to my ear.
“…ones? Are you there?”
“This is Rue,” I said.
“Are you kidding me?” Cop Ponytail began tapping her foot and I rolled my eyes at her.
The housewife continued to cry and the chick on the other end of the phone said, “Ms. Jones?”
“What?” I might have snapped at her. I probably did.
“I’m calling on behalf of Mr. Louis Knotley.”
I choked and started to cough.
“He would like to meet with you tomorrow afternoon.”
I couldn’t answer. I was still coughing. The crying housewife began to pat me on my back I assumed to save me from death by my own saliva.
Gods, where was Bran when I needed her? Or Chrysie? Or Felix. I wanted Felix back. He’d only been gone days, and the house was empty without him even though when I left it had been full of people who sang and one who murdered.
When had my life become such a mess?
“Ms. Jones?”
“My name is Veruca Hallow-Jones,” I said. “What does he want?”
“To speak with you.”
I wanted to puke. I needed to run, but I was just starting to be able to walk around without hurting. I needed to run and run and run. Maybe I should start swimming. If I couldn’t run, could I swim or would I just die?
“Ms. Hallow-Jones?”
“When,” I snapped.
“Wrap it up,” Cop Ponytail hissed.
“Tomorrow at 4:00 pm?”
Gods.
“Fine. Whatever. Ok.”
I hung up the phone and then turned to look at the crying housewife. She reminded me of all the things my mother wasn’t. I didn’t speak to her just walked into her house, dropped to my knees, and lost myself in the drawing of a pentacle on her living room carpet.
There was something so very comforting in the swooping circle and lines of a pentacle. Comforting like mashed potatoes and gravy, the sound of the waves on Puget Sound and the call of gulls.
“Gods,” I said as I looked up, “I’m having a day, lady. Why is the ghost bugging you?”
* * * * *
“Why would you ask that,” Cop Ponytail asked.
“Because they’re people and they have agendas. I’m only 18, and Sweet Hecate, Goddess of magic even I know that.”
“Why would you ask that,” the housewife asked me in a near wail.
“What is your n
ame?”
“Gerry,” the housewife said.
“Gerry,” I said and just looked at her.
“It wants me to make it stop,” Gerry said.
“Make what stop?”
“The breaking,” Gerry said and started to cry.
“What is she talking about,” I asked Ponytail, but the cop just shook her head.
“Why did you bring a little girl,” Gerry asked the cop.
“I’m the keeper,” I said perkily, tossing my own ponytail and humming a little. It was irritating. It was irritating on purpose, and Gerry seemed to be horrified by my answer when Ponytail didn’t counter me.
I didn’t know hardly anything about being a necromancer, but I did know the basic protection wards, and I knew necromancers could use the same runes as regular witches. The pentacle had been pointless beyond giving me a moment of comfort. I rose and walked to the windows and doorways of Gerry’s house and used the talisman and ether to bind the wards on her home.
The cop and the housewife watched me without saying anything.
“I need you to make the ghost go away,” Gerry said, crying again. “I can’t do what it wants.”
I took a deep breath, held it, and told myself to behave as if Daddy were in the room.
“Gerry,” I said gently, envisioning my Daddy as clearly as I could, “I can’t make a ghost appear. And it’s not here, so I can’t push it through the thinning.”
“But…” Gerry started, wiping a tear away with shaking hands.
“I don’t mean to sound cold,” I said, knowing I sounded cold. “But you are not an unaware normal without defenses. I have no idea what this ghost wants you to do, but I can tell you don’t want to do it.”
“I don’t,” Gerry said. “I need it to stop.”
“So don’t do it.”
“Are you kidding me?” Ponytail’s look of disgust really warmed up my moment.
“My friend Cyrus was haunted by a ghost who drove his friend to suicide. She killed herself. He didn’t. You know what the difference is? Cy wouldn’t do that to his family. I don’t know what this ghost wants from you, but I can see you don’t want to do it, and you’re a full grown adult witch with clearly rusty and crappy skills.”
Yule Graves: A Rue Hallow Mystery (The Rue Hallow Mysteries Book 5) Page 5
