Rose Petal Graves (The Lost Clan #1)

by Olivia Wildenstein

  “Nope.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line. “Is he still at your place?”

  “Yep.”

  “Is he staying the night?”

  “Yep.” I picked up the tweezers from the mug in which I kept my makeup, the one with the quote written in rainbow colors that read, “Don’t count the days. Make the days count.” Bee had given me that mug for graduation because of the calendar I kept pinned to our fridge on which I would tick off the days until college. She knew how excited I was to leave home. I plucked stray hairs around my eyebrows, then dropped the tweezers back into the mug.

  “He knew there’d be a snowstorm,” Blake said. “He should’ve left your place earlier. He did it on purpose.”

  “Look, I got to go.”

  “Call me later?”

  Steam blurred my reflection in the mirror. “Sure, but don’t worry.”

  “I care about you, Cat. I cannot not worry,” he said, as I dragged my finger through the condensation.

  I’d drawn a heart. “I’ll be fine,” I said, wiping it off. Blake had feelings for me. He’d had feelings for me since the summer I’d turned thirteen and we’d kissed in his tree house. “I’ll call you later,” I said, and then disconnected.

  I placed my phone on the edge of the sink and stepped into the shower. The dried paint liquefied, and trickled off my skin in white rivulets. I scrubbed my body with the lavender-scented bar of soap Aylen cooked up in her kitchen. Making soap was her hobby; she was a naturopath by profession. Like Mom, she believed in the power of nature, which had led to heated conversations around the dinner table when I’d announced my desire to be a real doctor. Aylen had taken my comment to heart. Although she was quick to forgive me, she was also quick to point out the flaws in modern medicine.

  As I dried off, a plate broke in the kitchen. When I heard my dad swearing, I hurried to get dressed, pulling on a fresh pair of jeans and a red sweater. I hurtled down the stairs, just as a glass shattered. My father was crouched on the floor, scooping up the pieces of porcelain and glass with his bare hands.

  “Let me take care of that, Dad,” I said, helping him up. Both his palms were bleeding.

  “She’s not coming back, Cat. Never coming back,” he murmured. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot.

  I guided him toward the sink and ran cool water over his hands, then I blotted away the blood and water, sprayed antiseptic on the cuts, and plastered bandages that would probably not hold.

  “Am I interrupting?” Cruz asked from the doorway. He was holding a bottle of wine with a peeling, yellowy label.

  Dad sniffled. “No, no. Just clumsy, that’s all.”

  “I brought wine,” Cruz said.

  “That’s very kind of you,” he said softly.

  “The wine opener’s in the top right drawer,” I told Cruz, as I walked Dad to the living room and sat him down. I passed him the box of tissues and fluffed a pillow behind his back, then returned to the kitchen to clean up, but Cruz had already swept away the mess, which reminded me… “Did you clean the car?”

  “I did,” he said, twisting the screwpull into the cork.

  “Why?”

  “Do I need a reason to do something nice?”

  I bit my lip. “No.” The cork popped out. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. Now where are your wine glasses?”

  “Over here,” I said, opening one of the cupboards. I took them out and brought them to the living room.

  “Should I be serving you alcohol?” Cruz asked, as he poured a glass for Dad. “Aren’t you a minor?”

  “I’m nineteen.”

  Dad snorted a laugh. “Good luck telling Cat what to do.” He took the glass from the table and sipped it. “This is very good. What is it? Pinot?”

  “It’s a 1973 Bordeaux.”

  Dad sputtered and some wine dribbled down his chin that was in dire need of a shave. “Nineteen seventy-three? It must be expensive.”

  “It is, but a good bottle should never be drunk alone.”

  “Don’t you have any friends?” I asked, swiping the second glass from the table.

  One side of his mouth perked up.

  “Catori,” Dad hissed. He only ever used my full name when he was angry. “That’s not nice.”

  “Well, do you?” I asked again.

  “Do I strike you as a very unsympathetic person?” he asked.

  “Sort of.”

  “That’s enough,” Dad said.

  “What? I’m allowed my opinion,” I said.

  Cruz laughed. I wasn’t expecting him to laugh.

  “You understand why we stopped after one child?” Dad said.

  I rolled my eyes and sat down beside him.

  “They used to tell me they wished me luck with finding a husband,” I told Cruz.

  “Used to? We—” Dad stopped short. “I still think that.” He squeezed the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb.

  “Look at that snow,” I said, before Dad could break down again. For a while, we all watched the spectacular white downpour in silence. Then I stood up and popped one of Dad’s old CDs—the best of Etta James—in our obsolete CD player. The warm, rich voice eased the cold melancholy almost immediately.

  “Where are you from?” Dad asked Cruz.

  “Originally from Minnesota, but I live on Beaver Island now.”

  “Beaver Island? Doesn’t it belong to this uber-rich family…what’s their name?”

  “The Woods?” he said. “Yes.”

  “And they let you live there?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you related to them?” I asked.

  “Not yet,” Cruz said, swirling his wine. He took a sip, and then set it back on the table.

  I wanted to ask him what he meant by “not yet,” but Dad spoke before I could. “Nova told me her relatives were from Beaver Island but had a falling out with the Woods way back when. Apparently, they cursed her ancestors. She actually believed she would be burned alive if she set foot on that island.”

  I snorted. “Mom and her curses.”

  “Show her some respect,” Dad said.

  My mouth gaped at his reprieve. He’d made it sound nonsensical just seconds earlier.

  “You’re allowed your beliefs, but so was she. So was she…” Dad slipped his hand out from behind me and leaned forward. “Could I ask you for a refill?”

  “Of course,” Cruz said.

  I snapped my jaw shut, and kept it closed for a long time. When Cruz asked me a question, I would nod or shake my head, but that was the extent of my participation in their discussion. At some point, I excused myself, placed my empty glass in the kitchen sink, and stared at the terrible paint job I’d done.

  Although I’d had every intention of going upstairs, the pull to go downstairs was overwhelming. Quietly, I eased the door handle, flicked on the lights, and walked down the steps. I was curious about the old coffin Cruz had mentioned. How I hadn’t noticed it this morning was beyond me, considering it was smack in the middle of the morgue. I circled it, stroked the wood that was rough and knotted, so unlike the modern-day coffins which were varnished and smooth. I grasped the lid and lifted it. It weighed a ton and slammed shut, nearly chopping off my fingers. I tried again, this time prepared for the weight. I heaved it up. Since it didn’t have hinges, I slid it over the base until I could see inside.

  Rose petals. That’s all there was. A lot of them. I pushed the top farther off. Still, I found no bones. I scooped up the petals. They were velvety and fragrant—fresh. Had my mother put them in there?

  “You opened it,” Cruz said.

  I jumped. “Jeez…creep up on people much?”

  “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. He was looking at the petals. “Where’s the body?”

  “Body? There wouldn’t be a body anymore.”

  “I meant the bones?”

  “Maybe Mom put them in one of the cold chambers,” I said.

 
Pulse battering, I pulled a lever at random. It opened the chamber stuffed with the casseroles. I closed it. My fingers froze on the handle of the next one. It was the one containing my mother. Slowly, I let them glide off. I tore my gaze away from the metal door and continued my frenzied search for the remnants, but all the other chambers were empty.

  “They’re not anywhere,” I said.

  “They must have turned to dust, Catori,” Cruz said.

  I bit the inside of my cheek. “Of course. That’s what happened. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust,” I said. I’d been present at my fair share of funerals, whether I’d wanted to or not. Even if I closed my bedroom window, I could still hear the eulogies. “But what’s with the rose petals?”

  “They’re said to preserve the bodies of dead faeries.”

  Stunned, I blinked. He had to be pulling my leg.

  He cracked a smile. “You fell for it.”

  “No,” I said, although I had believed him. But just for a second.

  CHAPTER 5 – SPARKS

  Before getting into bed that night, I collected the leather-bound book my mother had ordered. I read well into the night, absorbing facts and stories. As I was about to nod off, I stumbled on a chapter about rose petal burials.

  Throughout the ages, bouquets have been deposited on graves to mask the stench of decaying flesh. This tradition was perpetuated by the fae whose use of flowers—particularly roses—originated from a desire to keep dead bodies from decomposing. Instead of laying flowers on top of the casket, though, they would place them around the dead body. This practice was called rhodonpreservation and was widely used by all the fae. But rhodonpreservation was taken to the next level by the faehunters.

  After Negongwa’s tribe was almost entirely decimated by the woodland faeries, the powerful chief and his surviving relatives filled caskets with rose petals, etched a spell inside the lid, and had humans bury them alive in a circle of rowan trees that no faeries could penetrate. Although being buried alive might sound gruesome to some, to them it was their only means of survival. The longer they lived, the stronger they became. By immobilizing their bodies, they were growing their magic, and when the time came, they would be powerful enough to move the earth and rise again.

  My hands shook as I reread the last sentence. And then goose bumps rose over every inch of my skin.

  This was completely insane! This book made no sense and yet too much sense. What was I supposed to do with this information? Accept that Mom might have been right? That magical creatures walked the Earth? I shut the book and tossed it at my feet. And then I just stared at it and replayed the rose petals and Cruz’s “joke,” until my brain throbbed. Massaging my temples to alleviate the ache, I came to the conclusion that Cruz had read this book, and that Mom had researched rhodonpreservation.

  I thought about the last message she’d left on my phone. “Cat, I discovered something…” She’d sounded breathless. “Something unbelievable. And I’m dying to tell you. Call me back. I love you.”

  By the time I’d called her back—because I sucked at checking my voicemail—Mom was dead. Is this what she wanted to tell me about? Had she opened the casket? Had there been a body?

  “Ugh,” I groaned, just as a text message appeared on my phone.

  “You never called me back.” It was from Blake.

  I checked the time: 3:40 a.m. “Go to sleep. All’s well,” I texted back, even though all was not well.

  The snow was still falling. Under the light of the moon, it glowed bright. As I went to draw the curtains, something caught my attention. A dark figure with bright skin. The person was circling the rowan trees. I squinted and made out black hair and broad shoulders. What was Cruz doing outside in the middle of the night? I caught the glow of a cell phone, which he raised to his ear. I cracked my window open so that I could hear him. Sure enough, his voice drifted into my room. However, he wasn’t speaking English. He was speaking some foreign tongue that sort of sounded like Latin.

  I was so busy eavesdropping that I didn’t react fast enough when he spun around and looked up. By the time I yanked my curtains shut, I knew I’d been made. I paced my room. The temptation to confront him overwhelmed my desire to hide out. Sliding the thick book underneath my bed, I threw on the red sweater I’d tossed on the back of my desk chair and tiptoed down the stairs. They only creaked once. I checked Dad’s door. When it remained shut, I dashed into the living room, slid my boots on, wrapped a scarf around my neck, and threw open the front door.

  Cruz was standing right there, ridding his shoes of the excess snow.

  “What the hell are you doing outside at this hour?” I hissed.

  “I had trouble sleeping,” he said, coming in. “Apparently, you too.”

  “Who were you talking to?”

  “Are you training to be a detective or a doctor?” He pulled off his leather jacket and hung it in the closet.

  “Answer the question,” I said, folding my arms.

  “I don’t see why I owe you an explanation, Catori.”

  “Because you’re staying under our roof. And it’s four o’clock in the morning. And you were lurking outside.”

  “I called a friend. And I went outside, so that I didn’t risk waking you or your father.”

  “What language were you speaking?”

  “Not that I don’t enjoy your inquisition, but why are you up?”

  My cheeks flushed. “I…you…I was reading. And then I heard you.”

  “What were you reading?”

  “A book.”

  Thankfully he didn’t ask which book.

  “What did you mean by not being related to the Woods, yet?” I asked, untying my arms.

  “My parents worked for Linus Wood, so I grew up with his two children.”

  “You’re friends with Ace and Lily?”

  Cruz nodded.

  The Woods children were like royalty—famous and yet mysterious. Their mother was a famous actress and model who married wealthy and powerful Linus Wood, the man who had a share of every American multibillion-dollar company. Some said he had a keen eye for finding golden opportunities, while others assumed he had a knack for blackmail and persuasion. I sided with the others.

  “Are they as obnoxious as they looked in that Vanity Fair spread?” I asked.

  His lips quirked up in a smile. “More.”

  “What did your parents do for them?”

  “Mom was their nanny. Dad was Linus’s right-hand man.”

  “And you became a medical examiner? What made you want to become that?”

  “When my parents passed, it was my way of making death less alarming.” His gaze roamed over my bare legs. “You do know you’re missing pants.”

  “I have shorts on.”

  “Is that what those are?”

  “They’re not extra-large panties.”

  He laughed softly.

  “You should get some sleep, Catori. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day for you.”

  My smile faltered. “The funeral isn’t tomorrow.”

  “Isn’t your entire family arriving though?”

  “Aren’t you well informed?”

  “Blake told me I needed to get out of town by Thursday because all the rooms at the inn were reserved. I assumed it was people coming for the funeral.”

  “You assumed right.”

  “My friend just told me the ferries to cross back to Beaver Island aren’t going to be operational tomorrow. Do you think I can stay an extra night here? I’ll make myself scarce.”

  I bit my lip. “One more night should be okay.”

  “Thank you.”

  I was about to return to my room to get some sleep, but thought about the book under my mattress. “Hey, Cruz, could you help me flip the lid of that old casket over?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Why? It was empty.”

  “I’m not looking for remains.”

  “What are you looking for then?”

  “Just…never mind.”

&nb
sp; He narrowed his eyes. They looked incandescent in the ray of moonlight hitting the right side of his face, just like his skin.

  “What’s up with your skin?” I asked.

  He tipped his face to the side. “What do you mean, what’s wrong with it?”

  If I told him it glowed, he would think me certifiable. “You’re very pale,” I ended up saying. “Are you sick?”

  “You’re the doctor. You tell me.” He took my hand and rested it on his wrist. “How’s my pulse?”

  My skin burned and then sparks erupted. “Did you see that?” I yelled, yanking my hand away from his.

  “Static shock.”

  I swallowed. “Of course.” I tugged on the collar of my sweater that suddenly felt too tight around my throat. “I’m going to try to get some sleep now. I think I really need sleep,” I mumbled, giving Cruz a stupid wave as I backed up toward the stairs.

  They creaked, but I didn’t care. I was too preoccupied by what I had just witnessed. I flipped my hands back and forth. Could static create actual sparks, or was I hallucinating?

  CHAPTER 6 – SPELL

  The first people to arrive in Rowan were Aylen, her husband, Tony, and her two children. They blustered into the house, carrying several bags in spite of having already checked into Bee’s Place.

  “Sweetheart,” she said, trapping me in a hug. “Sorry it took us so long to get here but this damn snowstorm—”

  “You’re here. That’s all that matters,” I said.

  My aunt didn’t resemble Mom much, but that could have been due to the fact that she colored her hair blonde and used a lot of makeup. Mom had barely ever lined her eyes.

  “Hi, Cat,” Tony said, slinging one fat arm around my shoulder and squeezing. He slugged Dad’s shoulder next, mumbled some condolences, and then he picked up the remote control and plopped down on the couch.

  “Hi, Sati. Hi, Shy.” I tried to hug their nine-year-old twins, but Satyana and Shiloh were too busy playing a game on their electronic tablets to even notice me. They just went to the couch and sat down next to their father.

  “Kids these days,” Aylen said.

  More like parents these days.