The vile creature is right. Mandy closes her eyes and revels in the truth of his words. She has him to thank for the courage to make it happen. Aside from her fear of this man, this thing, he does have a way of making her feel powerful. She’s resented Aven from the moment she met her, then grew to hate her with every passing day, especially when she started fucking Cal. Morris Stiles has helped her channel her animosity, and she loves the sensations that course through her, making her strong, bold.
It was Morris who found a boy who disliked Aven enough to want to cause her grief, and the boy recruited his friend. Morris has shown her just how many people harbor grudges against Aven. She feels vindicated in her loathing for the woman, and now, the plan to make her a failure is finally set in motion.
Will and Kyle bolt to the nearest elevator, and Will punches the button for the first floor with his fist.
“Fucking bitch,” Kyle says.
“Yeah, but a rich fucking bitch.” Will folds his arms across his chest, a wide grin spreading across his face. “I’m stoked, man—this’ll be awesome.” Will’s grudge against Aven grew each time he remembered how she’d humiliated him in front of his uncle and that stupid, fat girl. “I can’t wait to get her back.”
Kyle snorts his agreement. In a few nights’ time, they’ll get their chance. Dovenelle’s grand opening can’t happen if they do their job right, and they will make sure of that. Easy money.
“Two more days!” Sylvia sings as she bursts through the front door. The morning is crisp and bright; the sun’s rays bathe the wares in the front window in cheery, golden light. Arial is already at her post in the library, posed regally on the window seat, gazing out at her domain. Her tail twitches rapidly as she watches sparrows and wrens dart around the bird feeder.
The shop is closed this week to prepare for the big event. Up since before dawn, I’ve puttered and paced. I even took a short flight while it was still dark to blow off some of this excess energy. I have found new pleasure in flying with Ren at my side. She has hardly been out of my sight since the night we learned we are one and the same. Her positive attitude has kept my spirits up; she’s not daunted in the slightest by the lack of progress on finding an answer. She has learned infinite patience from being immortal, and I envy her that. Ren monitors me even now, perched up on the loft’s railing.
I meander around, inspecting each item for the umpteenth time, tweaking their positions this way and that, rewriting any descriptions that I now consider not detailed enough. I’ve been so absorbed with finding a means to end this curse that I’ve hardly spent any time in the shop. Realizing I’ve neglected it too long, I have allowed nervousness to set in. But there’s no need, of course. Sylvia, with Bertie’s help, has done a fine job.
“Aven Dovenelle!” Jo yells from the kitchen. The sudden interruption to my thoughts snaps me up from my stooped position. My back aches and I stretch to get the kinks out, thinking to ask Cal for a massage later. I march to the kitchen and stand in the doorway with my hands on my hips.
“I would have middle-named you if I knew what it was.” Jo motions for me to sit and presents a coffee cup to me.
Waving off the cup, I sit. “No, thank you. I’ve probably had eight cups so far—been up for a while.”
“You need to relax, lady.” She eyes me over her mug as she sips. “I have never known anyone more prepared than you.” The roll of my eyes brings more admonishment. “Leave everything where it is. I’m telling you, it’s perfect.”
“What are you going to wear?” I ask, knowing she’ll love to talk about her ensemble.
“Oh, my Goddess!” she says. “It’s absolutely gorgeous if I do say so myself. I haven’t sewn in so long. Made my arthritis kick in big time, but I powered through.”
“She’ll look like a cross between Stevie Nicks and Maleficent,” Sylvia says as she bounces in, beelining for the bagels on the counter.
“Oh, be quiet, you.” Jo looks slightly embarrassed.
“I can’t wait to see it!” I lean back in the chair, enjoying Jo’s discomfort. Her snarl makes me laugh.
“I’m going to be a black cat, since you asked,” Sylvia says. “It took a while to find a plus-size cat suit that wasn’t fifty pounds of fur.” With that, she leaves, cinnamon raisin bagel in hand, to resume whatever it was she had been doing in the storeroom.
“And you?” Jo peers at me.
“Oh, nothing too over the top.” I grin and ease up from the chair. “Come on, help me make sure the books are in the right order.”
“Again?”
41
Will and Kyle sit in Kyle’s piece of shit car a few houses down from Dovenelle’s. Their conversation includes frequent rants about why that bitch hasn’t left yet and long periods of silence as they play on their phones. Boredom brings a discussion in vulgar detail of the inevitable booty call from Will’s uncle. This quickly makes Will uncomfortable, and he punches Kyle in the shoulder repeatedly until his friend shuts up.
“Man, I gotta take a piss,” Kyle says, opening the car door.
Will grunts an acknowledgement as his thumbs move rapidly over his phone’s screen. Kyle is getting out when Will looks up abruptly, his eyes glimmering with an idea.
“Wait, dude.” Will grabs Kyle by the arm.
Kyle falls into the seat with a suspicious glare. “Yeah?”
“You can piss all over that bitch’s store,” Will says with a grin. “Better yet, on her mattress!”
A wicked smile curls Kyle’s lips. He settles back into the seat and puts his hands between his legs.
Night has settled in well by the time Aven Dovenelle trots down the porch steps, almost skipping along the path, followed by a big white dog.
“Damn! That’s her?” Kyle squints and leans forward to better see the woman in the dark. “You made her sound like some bony, crooked-nose hunchback. Shit, man, I’d tap that too.”
Will plants a knuckle punch on Kyle’s arm. “Shut the fuck up.”
Kyle laughs at his friend’s grossed-out face. “Come on, let’s go.”
“No, man, we gotta wait. Too many people still out walking around.”
Kyle lets out an exaggerated grunt and tucks his hands back between his legs. “Come on, bladder,” he murmurs, leaning over.
It’s after midnight when Will decides it’s safe to get moving. The contents of the duffel bag given to them by that crazy blonde woman clank loudly as Will throws it over his shoulder. While he would have preferred to just torch the place, the idea of letting out his anger with a crowbar is deliciously appealing. The psycho broad had gone nuts at Will’s suggestion of setting fire to the shop. Absolutely not, she screamed at him. The houses were much too close together, and she didn’t want anyone to get hurt. What a pussy.
In the shadows of the dark alley, they creep unseen alongside Dovenelle’s. Hopping over the short picket fence enclosing the side yard, they hunker down for several minutes, ensuring they haven’t been seen. The gigantic bush beside them, surprisingly still green and full-leafed, is lit up like a Christmas tree. Kyle comments on how cool it looks, which earns him another punch in the arm. Instantly pissed, Kyle returns Will’s punch with all his strength, sending Will to the ground. Will holds his hands up in surrender, and then hisses at Kyle to get a move on. Kyle peers into the bush as he creeps by, squinting at the movement he thinks he sees within. Will pushes him to get moving.
They launch themselves onto the porch from the side, halting momentarily, panicked by the loud creaking of the old wood. Single file, they pick their way around the furniture to the front door, stepping gingerly on the protesting wood. Will snorts in triumph at how easy the lock is to pick. She deserves to be robbed if this is all the security she’s got. When the door hits the entrance chimes, they sink to the ground and freeze. A pungent aroma hits Will’s nose.
“Did you just piss yourself?” Will looks at his friend in disgust.
“Dude, I’ve had to piss for hours.” Kyle hisses through his teeth. H
is glare turns into embarrassment. “Just a little came out. Shut up. Go!”
The door chimes bring no attention, so they duck into the house and close the door behind them. Both boys stand in silence as they survey the shop. Will’s skin tingles with excitement. He sets the duffel bag on the floor and unloads its contents.
Will takes the crowbar while Kyle opts for the hammer. Each looks around, divvying up the shop between them. Going in opposite directions, they set to work.
Will’s palms are sweaty as he grips the crowbar. He wipes each hand on the front of his black jeans and wanders around the shop, contemplating what to smash first. A glint to his right catches his eye. Dangling from the ceiling by the front window is an ornate dragon, made of silver wire and purple glass, catching the moonlight with each slight twist. The dragon’s impressive wing span must be at least three feet, the purple shards of glass affixed like jagged scales and secured with the delicate wire wrapping. Will snorts when he checks the price tag. People are idiots to pay that much for this shit.
“Batter up,” he says with a nasty grin. Taking a batter’s stance, he lines up the crowbar with the dragon and swings. The smash is ear-splitting in the dead silence of the shop. When the dragon hits the floor, the exploding crash makes Will hunker down. Kyle comes running in a crouch and whistles at the awesome devastation scattered all over the floor.
“Nice,” Kyle breathes approvingly. Fueled by the excitement of his friend’s handiwork, he swings his hammer down onto the nearest display case. Shards of glass fly in all directions and fragments skitter across the floor. He hoots but is quickly shushed by Will. Kyle smashes each item in the case, his eyes wide with maniacal glee.
It isn’t long before the boys have the glass cases reduced to glittering shards and splinters of wood. Kyle can hold his bladder no longer and empties it on a display of medicinal teas. The boys turn their attention to the library, ripping apart each and every book. Will pulls a large screwdriver from the duffel and sinks it into the couch, stabbing and ripping, his face sweaty and determined.
“Ease up, man, the couch is dead. Seriously.” Kyle looks at Will bug-eyed.
Kyle heads up the stairs saying he needs to take a dump and he knows exactly where. Will does not laugh; his face is hard. This exercise hasn’t been the release of rage he’d hoped. He is even angrier now. He wants to hurt that woman, he wants it so bad he can taste it. Will wanders around the devastation, glaring at everything, stomping on things that are much too whole as he goes.
He is about to bring his booted foot down on something colorful when he stops short. Kneeling, he recognizes the piece. It was the eye of something pendant he’d snatched months before. This is the damn thing that started this whole mess. He was grounded for a solid month—no Xbox, no visiting friends, no girls, and the worst of all, no cell phone. It was a torture that made Will resent his uncle more and more with each passing day. Although, really, it is all his dad’s fault, now that Will thinks about it. If he hadn’t left, hadn’t gone to fight for his country or some bullshit like that, Will would never have even thought about taking the stupid thing.
Will is light-headed with the fresh rush of anger. He snarls at the pendant and snatches it up.
A spark of red flame shoots from his hand, and the sudden pain makes him yelp and drop the pendant. His palm is glowing, burning, red. He cries out as the burning becomes more intense and stares in astonishment as his hand flames up before his eyes. He screams, waving his hand in the air. Kyle comes bounding down the stairs, shouting for Will to shut the fuck up before they get caught.
Will shoves his burning hand under his armpit and bears the pain with a pinched face. The pain subsides immediately, and he pulls his hand out slowly, afraid of what he’ll see. To his surprise, his hand isn’t the charred black skeleton he was sure he’d see. His hand is pale and fleshy, if just a tad pink.
Kyle yells something that Will doesn’t pay attention to. He stares wide-eyed at his hand, turning it this way and that.
“Fire, motherfucker, fire!” Kyle punches his friend in the back to get his attention. Will jumps up at the sight before him. The floor, which is littered with the paper and fabric flower decorations from the display cases, is on fire. The fire is quickly spreading, and it snatches at the curtains on the window.
“Jesus, fuck!” Will darts around the ruined cases, heading for the back. “Back door, back door!” he yells, not waiting for Kyle.
Kyle is yelling something after him, something about putting the fire out. The hell with that. Kyle can put the damn fire out if he wants.
Both boys pump their legs full speed out the back door and through the alley to the end of the next block. They finally stop and lean within the shadow of a dumpster, panting hard.
“Man, we gotta call the fire department or something,” Kyle says between breaths, hands on his knees.
“Fuck that. We’ll get busted.” Will stares behind them in earnest. No one is following. He sighs loudly and leans against the wall.
Shaking his head, Kyle pulls out his phone. Will smacks it from his hand and shoves Kyle against the adjacent wall. “Goddammit, I said no!” Will glares at him, daring Kyle to challenge him.
“Get the fuck off me!” Kyle pushes Will hard, landing him against the opposite wall. With a contemptuous glare, Kyle snatches his phone from the ground and storms off.
“Walk home, motherfucker,” he says.
Will shoots his friend the finger. As the adrenaline wears off, he feels a sudden wave of guilt. The faint sound of sirens in the distance sends him running after Kyle.
42
I take to the sky in pajamas, oblivious to the cold, with Ren close behind. Cal follows in his truck. My home is on fire! Sirens had woken Jo. She instantly knew that those sirens were intended for my home and called me.
I land behind the aster bush as the emergency vehicles round the corner. The residents of the bush are in chaos, surrounding me. Their shrill voices in chorus hurt my ears. Their intentions are true but I don’t want to hear anything from them—I want to see. I beg them to let me pass. Some shouts are angry and vow revenge for the threat to their home. I silently petition Ren to stay with them for comfort—and control. Several frightened little ones surround her. They huddle underneath her wings, and she opens them fully so more can come. Maggie inspects the aster and the fairies crowding around her before leaping onto the porch and disappearing through the wall to investigate.
Movement beside the house catches my eye. Arial darts out of the shadows, drenched and shaken. Why is she wet? I snatch her up and hug her tight. She does not protest. After showering her head with kisses, I set her down. Much to my surprise, the fairies welcome her, touching her trembling body and offering soothing words. In that moment, the past animosity of the two warring factions melts away into a united sense of mutual support.
People are already gathering. I fling myself onto the smoke-filled porch. I see no flames but hear crackling and smell the tang of a wet ash. Wet? But the fire truck just got here. The sprinkler system! That’s right, I remember—I was required to install it throughout the shop. I exhale with relief. Perhaps the damage is minimal.
I reach for the handle of the screen door, and I snatch my hand back with a gasp. Unwelcome images flood my Sight—of two young boys, one extremely familiar, dressed in black and carrying a duffel bag that clanged with each jostle. Feelings of animosity, anger, and malevolent glee wash over me. My hands tremble as rage fills my chest.
“Get back, ma’am, now,” comes a shout from behind me. “Don’t touch anything!” The tenor of his deep voice allows for no rebuttal. I hear the running of heavily booted feet and then feel thick-gloved hands on my upper arms, turning me away from the door. “Step back, ma’am. Are you all right? Are you hurt?” He assumes I was in the house. I shake my head, allowing him to pass me to someone behind him. I barely notice my feet moving.
Several firefighters jog up the path, their faces covered with oxygen masks, large tank
s on their backs bobbing heavily with each step. I let an EMT escort me from the porch as he wraps a stiff blanket around my shoulders. I am not cold; my body burns with outrage. With so many people around, I must marshal my emotions. I clench my fists and set my jaw as someone guides me to the back of an ambulance. I wave off attempts to be examined.
Jo and Sylvia run up to me, spewing condolences and disbelief. There are so many people now, wrapped in fuzzy robes or blankets, gawking at my home. I want to yell obscenities at them and make them go home, but I stare at the ground instead, trying to quell the growing rage.
“You okay?” Jo touches my hand and snatches her fingers back. “Goddess!” She cradles her hand in the other.
I raise my face to her and she steps back. “This was intentional,” I say through my teeth.
Just then, Cal appears, alarmed as he takes in the scene.
“What did you say?” Sylvia breathes.
I stare at the ground again. I take a deep breath, which helps me restrain myself from screaming at her. “Two teenaged boys broke into my home.” I meet Cal’s eyes. “Your nephew and his friend, Kyle.”
Cal’s eyes widen and a reflexive ‘no’ escapes from his lips. He staggers back, mouth hanging open. “Are you sure?” he finally asks, searching my face.
Jo turns to him with a deadpan face. “Really?”
He ignores her and comes to take my hands, then lets go quickly, stepping back, his eyes wider. “I…”
I wave away his words. At that moment, a police officer breaks into our little huddle.
“Ma’am, are you all right? Were you in the house when the fire started?” His demeanor is all business—no sympathy or compassion occupy the lines of his face. I sense his prejudice against my type of shop…and my kind of people.
“No, I was spending the night with my boyfriend. My friend called me.”
He looks at Cal. “I’ll need your address, sir.” Cal nods, his face ashen.
The White Raven Page 27
