Beautifully Broken

by Sherry Soule

  Her clear blue gaze penetrated mine—steady. Curious. “Uh-huh.”

  “Do you believe in ghosts?”

  “Not until we played around with the Ouija board.”

  “I read that some souls can be earthbound, lingering in the place where they lived.” In a nervous rush, I added, “Evans says that for whatever reason their souls are not at peace. Maybe they have unfinished business. Maybe Trent’s mother has unfinished business. And there’s more…I’ve been hearing…voices.”

  “What kind of voices?”

  “I’m not sure how to explain it. The paranormal shapeshifters whisper to me.”

  She stared at me, licking her glossed lips. “That doesn’t sound good. Have you told anyone about this? Your parents?”

  “What? Are you nuts? No way!”

  She nudged my shoulder with her own. “You’re the one who’s wacky…and sleep deprived.”

  She doesn’t believe me. And why should she? Now I wish I hadn’t said anything to her. Giggles burst from my mouth. I do sound crazy.

  “Maybe you should quit your job,” she said softly.

  “I can’t…besides, I’m no quitter.”

  “I know you’re not.” Her eyes, deeper and fiercer than I’d ever seen them, flared at me. They drank in the bitterness I assumed only I could see. “Then be careful.”

  My mouth that’s forever blurting stuff out was quiet. Unable to speak additional words once they tumbled into a deep, dark ravine of silence. I managed to mutter, “I will be. Don’t worry.”

  Stress was eating at me every second of the day. I was unsure of how to cope with the horrible effects and make them go away. I wanted my life to be normal. The kind of life where girls think about manicures and getting into good colleges and boyfriends. My heart tugged. I hadn’t seen Trent in like, forever. “I wonder if Trent will be here,” I said.

  “Almost forgot about pretty boy. How is he? Have you guys, you know?” Ariana waggled her brows.

  “No! Get your mind outta the gutter.” I laughed and shoved her shoulder. “I’m sure he wants to, but I’m not ready—it’s too soon. He wants to take it slow, but it’s hard. Even with the good smooches.”

  “Good smooches? Yeah, they can make a girl’s head swim.”

  “He’s sweet and protective and wait…why doesn’t he want me? Why can he wait? Oh God! What if he doesn’t really want me?”

  Her forehead wrinkled. “Um, I think you’re missing the point—”

  “Am I icky? If there was an ick-factor about me you’d tell me, right?”

  “No prob. I’d call you icky in a second.” She grinned. A real smile. “Chill, girl. I’m sure he can’t wait to jump your bones.”

  “Good, ‘cause it’s like…like the lights dim everywhere else. Like he’s the sun to my moon.”

  “You mean moody?”

  I laughed. “So not what I meant. Ari, I’m in love! This is huge.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Did I mention the good smooches and the sexy?”

  “Couldn’t believe it the first twenty times you told me, but it’s starting to sink in.”

  “Sorry. Am I being repeat-o-girl? Did I tell you, we talk—really talk—how hot is that?”

  Ariana stared at me, unusually solemn. “Hot. He’s sensitive, yet manly.” Ariana looked at her spangled blue painted nails. She looked like she wanted to say something else, but instead stayed silent.

  “Ari, it’s so bizarre. He’s in my gut—my heart. I’m drowning in him. And when we’re not together, it hurts.” I covered my heart with one hand. “And I’m not sure he likes me as much as I like him.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  My bottom lip protruded. “I don’t know. Just a feeling. You think he doesn’t really like me?”

  Oh, wow, I’m acting like a total whiner. Sniveling about a stupid boy just before my friend’s funeral. Not cool, Shiloh.

  “No. That’s not what I’m saying.” Ariana stared into my troubled brown eyes. “Stop stressing so much. I’m sure he likes you a bunch.” She shook her head. “Oh! There’s Brandon Rouke. He needs to ask me out already.” She hopped out of the Jeep and slammed the door. “Let’s go…”

  I guided us through the crowded church, where we found seats in the non-family section. Around us, people were crying, sniffing, and speaking in low voices. On the platform next to pulpit were dozens of flower arrangements and a huge funeral wreath decorated in roses and white carnations. It had a big white ribbon across it with gold lettering that said In Memory of Jada Jones. I figured it was from Trent’s family. I scanned the mourners, but didn’t spot Trent. Doubtful he’d be welcome anyway. From the murmurs around us, people were pissed about the reconstruction, and Jada’s death had reinforced their prejudices. I overheard mutterings about an old witch’s curse, which seemed to put everyone on edge.

  For the next hour, we listened to Jada’s family take turns saying how wonderful and smart she had been. How Jada loved life and how she would have wanted us to move on. Ariana’s eyes watered. My vision blurred with tears.

  Then Jada’s mother Donna looked directly into my eyes. “We need to halt the construction on Ravenhurst. It is stirring things up again. We need to call a town meeting to stop it. We need to take a stand—”

  “Are you crazy? Maxwell Donovan provides most of our jobs in this community!” someone yelled from the back of the room.

  Sheriff Boyd stood up. “Clam down. We are looking into this, folks. We’ll find the psycho that is kidnapping the local teenagers and—”

  “There’s no psycho!” Mr. Hart stood up and faced the crowd. “Let’s face it folks. We’ve been lying to ourselves for long enough! These are mystical disappearances. We can no longer be afraid to voice the truth! It’s the curse!”

  The room burst into murmurs and arguments. Pastor Williams attempted to appease the assembly and remind people they were in God’s house. Everyone settled down and the ceremony continued.

  When it was over, Ariana and I made our way slowly out the doors, caught up in the steady stream of mourners. When we got into the Jeep, Ariana slumped in her seat and sighed. “Do you think more kids are in danger?”

  “Yes. They’re being picked off one at a time by a supernatural entity. Mr. Hart was right. This town is cursed. For whatever reason, I’m guessing some of the founding families are trying to cover up the truth.”

  “What should we do?”

  “I have no idea. I’m working with Evans on a solution.”

  Her smile was slight. “Shiloh?”

  “Yeah—what’s with the face?”

  Ariana’s brow furrowed. “Do you think people are gonna do anything about Ravenhurst? I mean it’s owned by Maxwell Donovan. Donovan Enterprises owns half the town. Employs hundreds of workers at his hotel.”

  “How can they? The founding families reign over Whispering Pines. Sheriff Boyd was cited in the local newspaper yesterday, pronouncing his opinion that the disappearances and deaths were done by an unknown murderer.”

  “Or at least that what the founding families claim,” Ariana said. “I guess they’re too scared to actually do anything about it…but they must know the truth.”

  “They do. Those thirteen women are all descendants of the founding families of Whispering Pines. They formed this secret society called the Blood Rose Circle. It has thirteen members, each representing the thirteen original families. On the outside, it appears to be a public organization dedicated to preserving local history, but really,” I paused, thinking of Jillian, “they’re a coven. Witches.”

  “That’s interesting. And, um, freaky.” Ariana toyed with the gearshift, avoiding my eyes.

  “Yeah. Whispering Pines has a long history of supernatural occurrences. According to Evans, more people have vanished from Whispering Pines than any other area in California.”

  We were both quiet a moment, then I spoke again, my voice low, ominous. “I did overhear my dad say once that they should burn Ravenhurst
down. But with a place like that it wouldn’t do any good. It sits on a spot of unimaginable power. Did you ever hear the saying that disrespecting an Indian burial ground leads to a curse?” Ari gave me half-hearted shrug, so I continued, “Curses sustain on negative energy. One of the problems is that as the curse feeds off malevolence it creates a vicious cycle, continuously replenishing the area with power.”

  My gaze went to the woods beyond the city limits. It looked like dusk. Whispering Pines was a dark place, even with the sun shining. Like living in the aftermath of an enteral atomic twilight.

  I had a lot to ponder. Maybe a spell would give me some answers on how I could conquer the evil forces before it claimed another life.

  But what was I willing to sacrifice to save the other teens? My own soul?

  My phone vibrated in my purse and I pulled it out. Trent texted: How was the memorial?

  I texted back: Sad. Everyone crying.

  We still on for 4 tomorrow nite?

  Of course.

  I turned back to my best friend. “I’m just glad you’re safe, Ari. The demon already snatched your older sister—so not in any real danger. I think.” I shoved my cell back into my purse. “I’m not positive who’s next, but I need to figure it out.” Before I turned on the engine, I looked Ariana in the eyes and added, “Because I think it’s me.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The next day, my eyes were puffy from crying about Jada. I put on big dark sunglasses and avoided meeting anyone’s gaze when I arrived at Ravenhurst. But I wasn’t going to stay away from Ravenhurst. Not when my life was in danger no matter where I went. Not when I could possibly find answers within its walls and make Esael go away.

  On a massive structure, such as Ravenhurst, the restoration process was demanding work. Evans had hired carpenters to restore the crumbling chimneys, shutters, and repaint the exterior. They barely finished one project before commencing on another. Today Evans was in a bad mood because three men had quit, so I stayed out of his way. He had a hard time finding workmen that would stay longer than a week or two. And really, who could blame them?

  In the library, I read another chapter of Crowley’s Demon Index, then placed it on the shelf with the other tomes on the paranormal.

  The room pulsated with energy. Dark energy. As if it was alive, breathing and writhing in pain. Or maybe it was mirroring my emotions. Beneath my feet, the hardwood floor grumbled with power like a sleeping beast. The loud furnace was its beating heart. There is power here. Oh yes, I feel it. The energy traveled through the floorboards, seeping past my pink Doc Martens and into my skin.

  I stretched and went into the adjoining bathroom to touch up my makeup before Trent got home from class. After applying glitter to my cheekbones (my signature sparkle), I changed into ripped-up black leggings with a jean mini-skirt. Then I slipped on an oversized shirt that hung off one shoulder and added a pair of ballet flats I’d brought with me, then a hoodie to conceal my mark. Having to wear long-sleeves in the summertime sucked.

  In the foyer, the grandfather clock said five-fifteen. The chandelier overhead stirred, though there wasn’t a draft. A soft lullaby floated into the room, startling me.

  “Hush little baby, don’t say a word, Momma’s gonna buy you a mockingbird…” The temperature dropped. A glacial blast whipped through the rooms.

  “Chilly wind? So not scary.” I put my hands on my hips and stared at the vaulted ceiling. “Whatcha you gonna do? Chap me to death?”

  I know, brave words coming from a chicken like me. Show no fear, Evans said. Whatever.

  I strained my ears for a hint of song. Instead I heard thump, thump, thump sound from the staircase. A doll’s head bounced and landed near my shoe. A cracked porcelain face with glass eyes stared up at me. The doll stirred a sick fear in the pit of my stomach. I kicked the head across the room and climbed the stairs.

  “And if that diamond ring turns brass, Momma’s gonna buy you a looking glass. And if that looking glass gets broke…”

  I took the steps two at a time, humming the melody. Upstairs, I wandered the halls. Hardwood floors moaned beneath my feet. My blood coursed through my veins like an awakened river. I embraced my slab of granite-like resolve and marched onward. Another muggy day and my clothes already clung with perspiration. Visions of tall, cold diet sodas danced in my head. From an open window, the thuds of hammering, the hum of a lawnmower, and the casual chitchat of the workmen getting ready to quit for the day floated upstairs.

  “Hush little baby, don’t say a word…”

  I entered a new corridor, letting the ghostly music wafting from the abandoned corners of the house lead the way. The lullaby became steadily louder, drawing me toward the eastern wing. My pace slowed when I entered the next hallway and saw the shadows. They detached into four small upright blobs. Whispers, cajoling words filled my ears. My gaze followed the black rustling shapes. The shadowy creatures slunk ahead, squeezing beneath a door on my left. I twisted the knob. Locked.

  The music stopped. Silence as quiet as a sleeping infant blanketed Ravenhurst.

  Then the door slowly opened by itself. It revealed a narrow stairwell and another closed door at the top. Again, I felt that chill. It raced up and down my spine, made the hairs on my arms stand up. My foot paused on the first step when the crunch of a car on the gravel road signaled Trent’s return. Forget paranormals and things that go bump in the night. Trent was back.

  Attraction is a damnable thing. And my raging hormones are definitely in charge!

  I pounded downstairs and reached the foyer just as Trent walked through the door, looking extra smoking hot in a pair of damaged jeans and a black shirt made of the softest Egyptian cotton.

  “Hey you.” He moved past me toward the kitchen. “Is there any food? I’m starving.”

  I trailed behind him. “Yeah, there should be plenty of munchies.”

  Trent opened the refrigerator door, staring at its contents.

  “Trent I think someone is in the house. Upstairs. I heard music—a lullaby.”

  Trent closed the door, his expression darkened. “It was probably Evans or one of the maids.”

  “I don’t think so. Evans left hours ago to meet a client.”

  “Then what was it? A poltergeist?” He laughed, but it rang hollow.

  “Yes. Several in fact.”

  The longest, most abysmal silence fell between us.

  Tears leaked from my eyes, and I hiccupped. “You’re seriously gonna stand there and pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about?” I slumped in a chair at the table and buried my face in my hands. “Am I the only one this is happening to?” I cried, my face hidden in my hands. “And I thought I’d been in denial.”

  “God, I sound like such a tool. I didn’t mean to be harsh.” Trent tugged my hands away from my face. He placed his finger beneath my chin and forced me to look up. “No, you’re not…” He sighed, as if reluctant to say more.

  I blinked back the flood of tears threatening to ruin my mascara and leave me looking like a raccoon. Who wants to look all weepy, red-nosed, and snotty in front of their crush?

  I hiccupped. “Wh—what are you saying?”

  “A maid…mentioned one or two occurrences.” He disappeared into the pantry and returned with a box of Kleenex. I grabbed a tissue and blew my nose. “But she says they only happen when she’s alone.” He began pacing. “I don’t get it. I’ve never seen anything supernatural. Just those odd drafts—but hey, this is a big, old house and drafty. And I guess, no one would argue that Jada’s disappearance is a tad freaky.”

  Is he finally coming around? Starting to believe the rumors?

  “What do you think happened to Jada?”

  Trent sighed wearily. “I have no idea. Serial killer? Some crazed cult, stealing bodies? Who knows?” He shrugged.

  “Is there someone else living here?”

  He ignored my question. “I’m worried about you, Shiloh.”

  “Me too,” I mumbled.
<
br />   Trent closed the space between us and gathered me in his arms, holding me tight. He kissed my forehead. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but I do know one thing. You’re definitely not boring.”

  Or normal, I wanted to add. But I left it alone. Being in his arms was comforting. Nice. Safe. Warm. He smelled of Irish Spring soap and fresh laundry. His mouth found mine, his crushing kisses deepened, and his tongue parted my lips, sending shivers of desire racing through me.

  Trent released me, and it took an effort not to cling to him. “Let’s order takeout and stay in tonight.”

  We played blackjack until the doorbell chimed. Trent threw down an ace and a ten of hearts, grabbed his wallet, and strode toward the door. He returned carrying a large paper sack, which he set on the counter. I laid my napkin in my lap and my stomach made a loud grumble. He dished out the food from the cartons, and the scent of sweet and sour chicken, steamed rice, and vegetables tickled my nostrils and made my mouth water. He handed me a plate laden with food and poured us two glasses of soda.

  “How are your advanced summer classes going?” I asked between bites.

  “Excellent. How’s interning?” Trent bit into a spring roll.

  Oh…still learning the usual stuff: Ghost Hunting 101, how to cleanse a haunted house, break curses and recognize different types of demons. Super fun. Not.

  “Excellent.”

  Once we devoured the food, Trent stretched and stood. “Let’s hang in my room and watch TV.” He captured my hand and we headed upstairs.

  “What’s going through that head of yours?” Trent asked as we reached the landing.

  “Ravenhurst is nearly finished. What were you thinking?”

  “About you.”

  Oh, wow. Butterflies kicked up a racket in my belly.