Crossfire (Book Two of the Darkride Chronicles)

by Laura Bradley Rede

  If we must… there was no question in my mind a day ago. The outside of the envelope says “For emergencies only” and I can’t think of a bigger emergency than this. We need a place to hide Cicely, a place to keep D.J. from hurting anyone. Following Michael’s last advice seems like the obvious thing to do.

  But the closer we get, the more I worry. Michael would never steer us wrong on purpose, but what if things have changed? We could find anything at the end of this road—or worse yet, nothing at all.

  Cicely has stopped feeding. She sits up and peers at me over the back seat of the van. Her eyes meet mine and I can tell she’s as scared as I am.

  But someone has to make the decision, and I’m in charge. We can’t have come all this way for nothing.

  Five grins at me. “Would I be here if this was gonna end badly? Trust me, I’m not the self-sacrificing type.”

  True, of course. That makes me feel a little better. I square my shoulders, pull the van back off the curb and turn down Peninsula Road.

  A minute later it is clear that, although the address says “Number One,” it could just as easily say, “Only house.” There are woods on either side of us with no signs of people. The road cuts straight down the center of the peninsula, towards the Atlantic Ocean, but in the fog it looks like we’re driving into nothing. Everyone is on high alert now, leaning forward in their seats, straining to see through the fog. Luke sits stiffly in the passenger seat and I wonder if Five’s comment about the witch in the woods scared him. Luke has a history with witches, and it didn’t exactly end well.

  Well, it’s not my job to reassure Luke Marianez, but I can’t take the tension in the van. “We’re just gonna check it out,” I say. “If it doesn’t work out, we leave.”

  “And go where?” D.J. asks.

  I pretend not to hear him.

  At the very end of the peninsula, a house emerges from the fog. It’s tall and Victorian with one of those towers and it’s painted sky blue. The color is cheerful, but the house itself looks like it has seen better days. The paint is peeling in scabs and the wide front porch sags. One white shutter hangs like a broken tooth. A rusty pickup sits alone in the driveway.

  “Jinkies,” says Five. “It looks haunted, Shaggy. Maybe we should stay in the Mystery Machine.”

  “It’s not haunted,” I say. “And I would totally be Fred.”

  “You want me to go in?” Emmie asks quietly.

  It would make sense. Emmie’s the human one, and the most trustworthy-looking among us—plus if Naomi Faire happens to be a vampire, she’d be a lot more eager to help Emmie than she would be to help me. Too eager, in fact.

  And if Five is right and Naomi Faire is a witch… well, witches are unpredictable. “No, I’ll go,” I say. “You guys stay here.”

  “Are we even sure anyone’s here? Or that they’re awake?” Cicely says. “It’s not even dawn.”

  As if in answer, a light turns on in a downstairs window. I give Cicely what I hope is a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll be right back.”

  I climb out of the van and head for the house. All around me, things rustle in the fog—little animals, darting to get away. Why are there so many of them? Something rustles on the porch, too—a chicken that had been roosting on the railing. She shakes herself awake and hops down to the ground in an indignant poof of feathers. On the other side of the porch, bright eyes shine at me from a make-shift cage. Baby raccoons. I’m getting the impression Naomi Faire is an animal person.

  I climb the creaking steps and knock on the door.

  For a second, nothing happens. Then I hear tentative footsteps inside. The door eases open part way and a slice of warm light cuts out into the fog. “Hello?”

  It’s a girl, maybe a few years older than me, like nineteen or twenty. Her long hair is the same red-gold as the light behind her, but her eyes are gray like the fog. She’s wearing a ratty blue bathrobe and there’s a big, black bird perched on her shoulder. She peers up at me, confused. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m looking for Naomi Faire.”

  “I’m Naomi.” She doesn’t open the door any further. “Do I know you?”

  “No,” I say, “but Michael McNair said you might be able to help me.”

  “Michael who?” Her confusion deepens. The bird on her shoulder—it must be a raven, because it’s too big to be a crow—cocks its head to one side, like it’s puzzled, too. “I don’t know any—” She looks past me. The fog is starting to lift and you can see our van from here. My friends have opened the side door a little, and I can see them watching me anxiously. Five smiles at us and gives a little wave. For once she doesn’t show any fang—luckily for her, or I swear I’d have to knock her into next week—but she doesn’t have to. I see understanding dawn in Naomi’s eyes as she looks first at Five, then at Cicely.

  Damn it, they should have kept the door shut.

  “I don’t want any trouble.” Naomi’s voice is tight with forced calm. “I have nothing against vampires. Our family never sided with the Hunters. But I don’t want to be in the middle of anything, so,”—she looks me in the eye—“you are not invited in.”

  Smart girl. Uninviting us would be enough to keep us out if we were all undead vamps, but we aren’t. Cicely is the only one in our crowd who needs an invitation. “Listen,” I say very calmly. “I’m not a vampire.”

  “Sure you’re not.”

  “No,” I say. “I’m really, really not.”

  She looks at me for a beat—really looks at me—and I see recognition dawn there, too. “You’re a wolf.”

  “Wolf!” the raven croaks. “Wolf! Wolf! Wolf!”

  “Guilty as charged,” I say. “But I’m under complete control, and I don’t mean you any harm. Michael said—”

  “Then why are you traveling with vampires?”

  “Well,” I say, “funny story. And sort of a long one. If we could just talk for a minute—”

  She is starting to shut the door, the warm wedge of light from the kitchen shrinking away. My friends are shutting the van door, too. Giving up. Getting ready to move on.

  “Wait.” I don’t want to scare her, but I grab the door before it shuts all the way. Her gray eyes go wide, but she doesn’t run. “Please,” I say, quietly, “we just need a place to land, just for today. Just a chance to rest and clean up. My friends and I… we’ve been through a lot lately.”

  I can hear the desperation in my own voice, and it doesn’t make me proud, but I don’t know what else to do. We need another plan and I don’t have one and I can’t make one on no sleep. I’m suddenly so tired, I feel like my bones are full of lead. “Please.”

  Naomi chews her lip nervously. “Listen,” she says. “I’d like to help you. I really would. But I just… I don’t do that any more.”

  Don’t do what any more? I’m not sure what she means, but I can’t blame her for saying no. Anyone smart would run.

  I let go of the door.

  But Naomi doesn’t shut it. She’s frozen in place, looking at something behind me. I feel the hairs on my neck rise like hackles as the scent reaches me on the breeze. Wolf.

  I turn, ready to fight.

  But the creature standing on the edge of the woods isn’t a werewolf. It’s a regular old wolf, exceptionally big, maybe, but not a monster. Its fur is almost black. Its yellow eyes shine with fierce intelligence. Ears tipped back, it studies me appraisingly.

  What the hell? I didn’t even think they had wolves around here. Deliberately, I step in front of Naomi. The wolf is yards away, but I still don’t want her in its line of sight. “It’s okay,” I say quietly, not taking my eyes off the animal. “Just step back into the house and shut the door.”

  Naturally, she does the opposite, opening the door wide and pushing past me onto the porch, the bird on her shoulder fluttering excitedly. She stands on the edge of the porch, her bathrobe pulled tight around her, and peers out into the dark. For a moment, she and the wolf lock eyes.

  Then, sudd
enly, the wolf turns and darts back into the woods, disappearing into the shadows.

  Naomi stares after it for a long second and there’s something bittersweet about her expression. It reminds me of the way I’ve been looking at Cicely these past few days, now that the gap between us seems so wide.

  She sighs and turns back to me. “Okay,” she says softly, “you can come in.”

  I stare at her. “What? All of us?”

  “All of you,” she says. “But just for today. And quick, before I change my mind.” She turns and walks back into the house, leaving the door open.

  Yes! I flash a relieved smile at the van and wave them in. Immediately the door slides open again and my friends come piling out. They’re scruffy from a few days on the road, and I can see them as Naomi will see them: D.J. with his red-brown hair sticking up in all directions, his flannel shirt too short in the arms because he’s grown so much just in the past few days; Emmie in her new thrift store t-shirt and my shredded jeans; Luke, dressed all in vampire black and still looking strung out from his near-bond with Cicely; Five, disreputable as always in her 80’s throw-back punk; Cicely hidden in her new black hoodie.

  They make their way up the steps. Emmie gives me a smile and reaches up to rumple my hair as she passes. “Good job, you!” she whispers. I’m not sure I did anything. In fact, I’m really not sure why Naomi changed her mind at all, but I’m not about to question it. A place to land is a place to land.

  I let the others pass, waiting for Cicely. When she reaches me, she gives me a cautiously hopeful smile from under her hood. I take her hand and give it a squeeze. Her hand feels colder than it should, and it strikes me this is one of the first times I’ve really touched her since she died. I always thought if I could ever touch Cicely without worrying about turning into a monster, I would do nothing but kiss her for days. Now I have my chance and we’ve barely spoken.

  Not my fault, I remind myself. We’ve been in a van with four other people. But I still feel a wave of guilt. Well, maybe now that we’re stopping someplace, Cicely and I can talk. I step through the open doorway, into the warm light of the house.

  But something jerks me back. Cicely drops my hand with a little yelp.

  I turn to see her standing on the other side of the threshold with a stricken expression on her face. She reaches out her hand to me, but it stops at the doorway like she’s hit a pane of glass. “Ander, I can’t get in.”

  “She needs to be invited, lobo, by the person who owns the house.” Luke is standing behind Cicely. He glares at me, like it’s my fault Cicely can’t cross the threshold.

  I feel my face go hot. It was stupid of me to forget. “Oh,” I say. “Right. Naomi?”

  Naomi turns and looks doubtfully at Cicely. “Is it safe?”

  Cicely certainly doesn’t look dangerous. Stranded there in her oversized sweatshirt, she looks tiny and lost and embarrassed, and I know what I should say.

  But there’s too much Hunter in me. I can’t just say, “Sure, invite the vampire in!” because once you give that invitation you can never truly take it back.

  I hesitate a second too long.

  Luke’s eyebrows narrow. “Of course it is safe. Invite Cicely in.”

  “Well…” Naomi still looks hesitant, but she takes a deep breath. “Cicely, please come in.”

  Cicely doesn’t move. She looks at me, and I know she heard my hesitation. I can see the hurt in her eyes. “Maybe I should stay out here.”

  “Of course not, querida. Perhaps you need a little help.” Without warning, Luke sweeps Cicely up into his arms. She yelps as he pushes past me, carrying her over the threshold like it’s their wedding night, and sets her firmly on her feet in the middle of the entry hall. “There,” he smiles. “Much better.”

  “Thank you.” She smiles back at him and I feel a rush of envy. Clearly, Luke hasn’t given up on her yet. As if he hasn’t messed her life up enough already.

  Five gives me a wicked grin as she passes. “I think that round goes to the vamp.”

  A few minutes later, the shades are all drawn to keep out the impending dawn. Naomi has grabbed a teapot and cups and gathered us into the living room. Like the rest of the house, it’s big and old and has seen better days. The antique furniture is etched with cat scratches, the oriental rugs worn thin.

  But, at the same time, there’s something homey about the house. The spindly antique couches are covered in homemade quilts. There are candles burning on the side tables and books stacked every which way on the shelves. A spider web of twine stretches from the crystal chandelier to the mantle piece, strung with herbs drying in the heat of the fire. They give off a warm, woodsy smell that reminds me of my own kitchen at home and the smell of Michael’s potions. It should be a relaxing scent.

  But no one looks very relaxed. D.J. is too restless, pacing the length of the room like a wolf on a tether. Cicely is too still. She sits with that unnatural, undead calm. Her hood is still up and she’s curled around her teacup like she’s trying to soak in the warmth, but she never takes a sip.

  Luke doesn’t drink either. He has set his teacup on the coffee table as if he doesn’t quite trust anything that comes from a witch, and I can hardly blame him. Naomi Faire has been helpful so far, but who knows if that might change. I stand near the door to the kitchen, vigilant as a guard.

  Only Five and Emmie look relaxed. Five is lounging on the couch, a knowing smile on her face, like we’re her favorite TV show and she’s seen this episode before. Emmie just seems happy to be out of the van. She ladles a third spoonful of honey into her tea. “You have a beautiful place here, Naomi.” She flashes her one of those Emmie smiles that would make a vampire swoon.

  On Naomi, it has no effect. She looks at us warily. “So,” she says. “Who are you people?”

  “Well,” says Emmie, “I’m Emmie Gardner, and that there is my friend Ander and his little brother D.J.—Damon James, that is. Our friends Cicely Watson and Luke Marianez…” (I gotta say, I hate how she links their names) “And…”—she hesitates a second, trying to decide if Five counts as a friend—“And Five.”

  “You’re friends?” Naomi looks incredulous. “But, you,”—she turns to me—“you’re a werewolf. And so is he, right?”—She nods at D.J.—“But Emmie, you’re human, and the other three are vampires, right? Two of you undead?”

  Five smirks. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “You’re a very perceptive girl,” Luke says.

  “Well, no offense, but how is it even possible for you to be in the same room?”

  Luke gives me a dry look. “It takes incredible self control.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “On my part.” I sigh. “The truth is, it’s a long story.”

  Naomi perches on the arm of the couch. The bird hops anxiously to the coffee table and back to her shoulder again. “Grimm,” she says. “Settle.”

  “Grim?” Cicely peers cautiously over her teacup. “Like the reaper?”

  “Grimm, like the fairy tales.” Naomi strokes his feathery head and the raven calms. “Now please, tell me your story.”

  Luke catches my eye, and I know what he’s trying to ask: do we tell her the truth? I get why he’s wary. Telling secrets doesn’t come easily to me, either. We don’t know this girl from anyone and I’m not one to jump to trust. But Michael sent us here for a reason, whether we know that reason or not, and the fact is, we need allies. Maybe if we explain things, she’ll let us stay, and not just for today. “Okay.” I take a deep breath. “Here goes. Once upon a time, I used to be a Hunter. Then I got bit by a werewolf, and had to run away from home.”

  “I was living in a cage in his family’s dungeon, playing lab rat to his dad’s experiments,” Five says. “Ander took me with him because he’s not a total idiot.”

  “I took her with me because she’s psychic. Five can see the future of the people she bites.”

  Five flashes her fangs. “It comes in handy.”

  “We stole Michael, t
oo,” I say.

  “You said that name before,” Naomi says. “But I don’t know who that is.”

  “Michael is—” I start. “I mean, he was…” It’s still so hard to put Michael and Danny in the past tense, and just as hard to try to sum them up with a few words. Michael was a good man, I think. He and Danny were my family. “He was a vampire. A potioner. He and his bonded, Danny, took care of me. Michael made the potions that helped me stay human. Or, you know, human-ish.”

  I have Naomi’s full attention. “He was able to keep you from changing?”

  “Not all the time, by any means. I still always had to lock down on full moons, and I had a lot of unpredicted changes, even on the potions. But he made it possible for me to be around people, go to school—”

  “You went to school?” Her eyes are wide. I’m glad, for Michael’s sake, that she’s suitably impressed.

  “Yeah, with Cicely and Emmie. Emmie worked with Michael and Danny, too.”

  Naomi gives her an incredulous look. “As a potioner?”

  “No, silly, as a bar thrall!” Emmie beams at her proudly. “Michael slung potions at the Nightlife. I was just there to get bit.”

  Naomi nods, like that makes sense. Then she turns to Cicely. “And you…?”

  “I was human,” Cicely says. “Just an ordinary, clueless human.” She sounds wistful, and I wonder what she longs for more: being human, or being clueless about it all.

  “You were never ordinary,” I say. “I mean, you know, because you have witch blood in your background.” But I hope she knows I mean more.

  Cicely gives me a small smile. “Ander and I were best friends.” It doesn’t begin to cover the history between us, and it feels weird to hear her say we were best friends, past tense. Are we more than that now? Or less?

  “So everybody was all BFF,” Five says. “And yadda-yadda-yadda, until—”

  “Until he showed up.” I say it with a little more venom than I intended, but Luke doesn’t seem to notice.

  “I was sent to kill Cicely,” Luke says quietly. “A century ago, her ancestress put a curse on our family line and made us mortal. There was a prophecy that said we could break the curse, but we had to sacrifice one of the witches’ line, so…” His eyes skate away from Cicely and he looks ashamed. I notice he’s leaving out the part about being in love with Cicely’s ancestress and the fact that the curse was basically all his fault—and that the prophecy pretty much says Luke will be the next vampire leader.