House of Darken (Secret Keepers Series Book 1)

by Jaymin Eve

  The man took a step away and I saw a flash of light as he lifted the lantern closer, reading over the documents. He stepped back to the car window a few minutes later, just as the first drops of rain started to hit. The storm was about to rage at us.

  “Well, everything seems to be in order here. You’re one of the lucky few allowed to live on Astoria’s most exclusive street. There will be security cards in your house, one for each of you. Please keep them on you at all times. And make sure you stick to your side of the street.” He cleared his throat. “That’s an official rule – don’t cross to their side of the street and you won’t have any trouble.”

  With that weird and kind of insulting advice, he turned and marched off. Within seconds, the double gates were silently swinging open.

  Our side of the street. Their side of the street. What crap was this? Did they segregate people here? Because I was not cool with any sort of segregation.

  Except for assholes – they could walk straight off a cliff.

  My parents had always drilled the importance of equality into me, that I should treat people as I would want to be treated, no matter their personal circumstances. Despite the fact that sometimes people hit my bitch switch – my redhead temper could get the better of me – for the most part I tried to be a decent human being. I actually tried even harder now my parents were gone. I had to make them proud.

  Michael eased the car back into drive, and with a few shuddering lurches we were moving again.

  “Where exactly did you find this rental?” Sara asked him as she leaned forward in her seat, a dubious look on her face.

  Michael didn’t answer at first – he was too busy staring at the street before us – but he did thrust the same papers at her that he had given to the guard. As she silently read through them, I turned my full attention to this street. Despite the darkness, I could tell how stunning it was. The most picture-perfect street I had ever seen in my life, beyond movies and any fairytale world. The road was wide, long, and straight. There were lanterns dotted in even intervals along each side, casting everything in soft light. Hedges and perfectly-shaped rose bushes filled the spaces between the lanterns.

  To our right, which I knew from the map was the side on the water, the houses were … well, not houses. At minimum they were mansions. Some in the distance looked a lot like castles. Huge and imposing, they were the height of beauty and architectural design. No two were the same layout or color, and each seemed to be set on an enormous block of land with solid gates barring them from the street.

  “Michael!” Sara’s voice was high and stressed now. “This is a mistake, right? We can’t live in one of those houses. They’re multi-million dollar properties.”

  It was then I noticed the other side of the street and I started to understand how we’d ended up in here. Not to mention the our and their side comments from the guard made a lot more sense now.

  The left side of the street was the very poor, rundown cousin to the mansions on the right. Each house was small and dark, as if even the streetlamps didn’t like them very much and decided not to shine any light over there. The blocks were close together, and many of the buildings looked a little worse for wear. Michael and Sara also noticed “our side” of the street, and relief crossed their faces. This was the world we were familiar with.

  “Keep an eye out for fourteen,” Michael said as he continued creeping along. The road was deserted. Everyone must have scurried inside to avoid the storm. We were the only crazies driving around. Already a fair bit of water was splattering in through the still-open driver’s window. Michael hadn’t managed to get it closed yet, although he was still working on it.

  “There it is,” I said, pointing my arm through the center of the car toward a single level, rickety-looking place with a half-porch.

  Outside of the soft lamplight everything looked eerie, shadows awash across that small porch, the wind whipping leaves and debris around the front yard. The clunker eased into the open car space and with one last huff turned off. Michael used both hands then to get his window all the way closed. Well, almost all the way. Then the three of us sat and stared, exhausted from the days of travel, but reluctant to leave the familiarity of the car and step into the dark, creepy house.

  Sara pulled herself together first, plastering on her best confident face, turning to Michael and me: “Let’s go inside. We can deal with all the problems tomorrow. Fresh sheets on the beds and a warm shower. Everything will seem brighter in the morning.”

  It was as good a plan as any. I wiggled my legs to get the blood pumping again, before dragging my Converse up off the floor and pulling them on. I was wearing short shorts and a tank. It was summer, and hot when we left this morning. Apparently the Pacific Northwest cared nothing for seasons though; it did what it wanted. Which meant I was going to freeze my butt off trying to get my bag and box from the back.

  The three of us dashed to the trunk of the car. Michael yanked it open and started handing things across. Arms full, we all made our way up onto the porch, which provided only the slightest shelter from the rain. It was just shy of a downpour, and we were damp in moments. The front door opened right up and we hurried inside.

  Sara found the lights in the front room, flicking them on. As everything came into focus, I sort of wished she would turn them back off again. The house was small and boxy, set out in a square formation. Living room and kitchen in the front half, hallway in middle, and I would guess the two bedrooms and bathroom made up the back half.

  We stepped into the living area with its threadbare carpet, two old ragged couches, and a coffee table that looked like it was put together with cardboard. Sara’s smile didn’t dim; she was used to this life, and had embraced it long ago.

  “Great, they actually left some furniture. Even when they say fully furnished, so many times they aren’t.” Her overly chipper chatter continued as she moved farther into the house, turning on more lights. “Isn’t it great that electricity is included in this rental property?”

  That was a positive. For once we wouldn’t have to worry about that bill getting paid.

  “Come on, Em. Let’s get settled.” Michael briefly dropped his hand on my shoulder. His expression didn’t change when I subtly shifted away, breaking contact. I loved my guardians, but ever since the fire I had avoided being touched. Emotions and images would overwhelm me. Like … I was only able to remain contained if I existed in a world devoid of touch and comfort. If it bothered Sara and Michael, they never showed it; they just minimized the amount of physical affection they forced on me.

  They had learned quickly when to push and when to let me be.

  We explored the tiny place. Of the two bedrooms, the smaller one with the twin bed was mine. I dumped my box and bag on the floor and took a second to examine my new space. Besides the bed there was a closet, side table, and dresser, more furniture than I was used to having in the last six months. I didn’t even care that it had seen better days, the white paint peeling and tattered. It would do the job I needed.

  There was no bedding but that was okay. I had my own. Sara said that no matter how many houses you lived in, as long as you had clean, familiar sheets, and a secure roof over your head, you’d be okay. Personally, I wouldn’t have minded a sandwich and hot cocoa to go with that, but she was half right at least.

  Stepping to the mattress, I wrinkled my nose as a slight smell of stale dampness assaulted me. Glancing up, it didn’t seem as if this room leaked, so hopefully it was just from sitting unused. If the increasing heaviness of the rain was any indication, we were in for a bit of a thrashing this night, so I’d find out soon enough on the leaking situation.

  “How you getting on in here, Emma?”

  Sara popped in, and seeing that I was in the middle of making the bed, strode over to help. It took us a few minutes to get my pale rose sheets on, throw a couple of pillows to the head of the bed, and finish with a simple white knit blanket over the top. Hopefully I’d be warm enough. Somet
hing told me we weren’t even remotely prepared for the weather here.

  A crash of thunder rocked the house at the same time my stomach growled. I thought Sara looked at me closely, probably wondering if she’d heard right. She wasn’t used to me wanting food. My curves were long gone, grief and lack of interest whittling my frame down to one that was far too slim. I was just starting to get my appetite back. I really hoped my curvier figure would return with it.

  “Are you hungry?” Sara said quietly. “I just realized we haven’t really eaten since lunch and those few other snacks. I can duck out and get you something.”

  I shook my head, forcing a smile across my face. “No, it’s okay. I can wait for breakfast.”

  She nodded a few times, her own smile looking forced too. “Mike will get up early to grab some essentials. You know him, always up with the birds.”

  “You talking about me, woman?” Michael’s shout came from the living room, where he was no doubt trying to hide from the storm.

  With a laugh, Sara turned to leave, a gleam in her eye that told me Michael was in trouble. She paused at my doorway to wink and blow me a kiss, before closing the door to give me privacy, which was my general request.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I braced my hands on the dresser. Closing my eyes, it took me many moments to center myself and push off the sadness, the pressing ache in my chest that sometimes literally took my breath away and had me dizzy and shaking. I managed to keep up a happy façade when I was around my guardians; they tried so hard and I knew my pain hurt them. I kept waiting for it to get easier, for the day I would wake up and be able to breathe again. The psychologist had said – during my five forced appointments right after my parents’ deaths – that only time could ease my agony. “Give it time,” he’d say, over and over.

  Clearly, eight months was not enough time because I felt nothing but constant pain.

  Miss you guys. Love you both so much.

  A part of me hoped they were around, watching over me, that death wasn’t the end of it all, that there was something more. Something beyond. I needed to believe I’d see them again one day. We weren’t a religious family. Math and science had been our calling, but I was taking a leap of faith for the first time.

  There was only one bathroom in this rental, so I gathered my toiletries and pajamas before opening my door and entering the green-tiled room.

  Five minutes later I emerged shivering as I dashed to my room. “No hot water,” I yelled as I passed the living area.

  I heard a few curses; most of them sounded like they were from Sara, but by this time I had already shut my door and was jumping into bed – which was not much warmer than the outside, but it was cozy at least. Despite the fact I’d only sat on my butt all day, I was exhausted. Tomorrow was a new day. I would hopefully explore the stunning little town that was to be my home for the next twelve months. Astoria. For the first time in a long time, I actually fell asleep with a sliver of positivity inside of me.

  2

  That night I slept solidly. When I woke, I opened my eyes to a dimly lit room, but lingered in bed for a few minutes, enjoying the warmth under the covers. The air was chilly on my nose and cheeks; it was definitely not summer weather here. The worst of the storm had died off during the night, but there was clearly no sun shining on the town of Astoria.

  After enjoying the quiet for some time, I eventually stretched out, trying to ease the stiffness from my extremely crappy bed – pretty sure the mattress was filled with sand and rocks – and pulled myself up.

  The minutest sounds of conversation drifted through the thin walls. Sara and Michael were awake, which hopefully meant food. As soon as I thought about eating, the hunger gnawing at my belly roared to life. A few gulps of water from the cup on my bedside subsided the cramps for a short time. I was getting pretty good at this minimal food thing. On top of grief killing my appetite, the Finnegans also forgot about food all the time. Neither of them were big eaters, focusing more on their crazy research. Team that with our limited money and there had been more than one night we all went to bed with empty bellies.

  God, I missed my mom’s cooking, my dad’s laughter in the morning when he would read the papers and shout about politics and the world going to shit. I missed my family. I didn’t even have a place to visit them. The fire had burned so hot and fast that there was literally nothing left but ash. Some days I imagined they had escaped and were out in the world looking for me, but I knew that was just wishes and dreams. They would never have abandoned me. Which left only one logical conclusion. The fire had … taken them. The two empty graves back home signified their official deaths.

  Swallowing against the painful lump in my throat, I forced the memories down, brushing off a few tears as I hopped out of bed, keeping the blanket wrapped around me to ward off the chill.

  Crossing the room, I dropped down beside my box of belongings, ripping off the tape and flipping the top open. I only had a few things I would call personal possessions – including the jewelry box my mom had given Sara as a gift, which she’d passed on to me. I lifted out the heavy box, dark wood with its mother-of-pearl inlay, and placed it on my dresser. Normally I would be worried about leaving it out in the open, especially since I often placed my opal necklace in there for safe keeping, but now we lived on a special magic street with door guards and stuff, which had better mean my belongings were safe.

  My clothes took about five minutes to hang and put into drawers, and just like that I was unpacked. The minimalistic life was certainly easy in some ways. Poking my head out around the door, there was no one in the dark hallway. I followed the sounds to find Michael and Sara in the kitchen. A few brown paper bags were scattered across the scarred bench-tops, and I almost shrieked when I saw my favorite cereal sitting there.

  I must have made some noise, because two sets of eyes and beaming smiles turned toward me.

  “You’re awake!” Michael jumped to his feet and hurried around to my side. “How did you sleep?”

  I shrugged, but before I could answer Sara interrupted: “There’s hot water now. Had to flick the switch on the system. It heated up fast.”

  I froze, torn about my priorities. What was more important, food, or a long hot shower to work out the kinks? My stomach growled loudly, and then again, angrier this time.

  Well, that settles that.

  There were three stools at the tiny breakfast bar, I pulled one out and took a seat. Michael dropped down on my right side. “You got Fruit Loops.” I could hear the excitement in my voice. “I haven’t had that for months.”

  Sara deposited a bowl, spoon, and small carton of milk before me. “We thought you might like a treat – to make up for the rough trip here.”

  I beamed at both of them, diving into the box of goodness. “Have I told you guys how awesome you are?” I said between mouthfuls. “This is the best thing I’ve tasted all year.”

  I savored each bite slowly. These days I was all about taking pleasure in small things, something I’d never done before the fire. I was different now. Now I appreciated all the gifts.

  One bowl filled me, so after rinsing out the dish I excused myself to get ready. Sara was thankfully right about the hot water. Unfortunately the pressure was still crap, but, with a lot of difficulty, I managed to wash my hair. Long, thick waves were a pain, but I’d almost figured out how to control them. Only took me seventeen years.

  Rubbing the steam off the old mirror so I could see my reflection, I grabbed my hair cream and quickly ran it through the damp ends. Then the heat protection. Hair dryer was next. It was one of the few high-quality pieces I owned.

  Ten minutes later: long, shiny, loose curls. For how long one never knew, but right now “good hair day” was mine. I never wore much makeup; it was expensive and my mom had always encouraged me to avoid it for as long as possible. So I just swiped on some mascara, liking the way it enhanced the cobalt color of my eyes, and pale lip-gloss. My skin was naturally tanned – olive was how my mo
m described it. My heritage was Caribbean on my father’s side, and Australian on my mother’s. She had moved to America with her parents at the age of five, and they never left. My father was third generation, born in America. His grandparents emigrated from Dominica.

  My mother’s parents had died before I was born, and my father’s when he was just a child. So I had no grandparents alive, and my parents had been only children. Mom always said small families could be perfect, with more than enough love to make up for lack of numbers.

  She was right. It had been perfect.

  I shook off the melancholy and forced myself to smile. I had to keep living … even more so because of the fire – I had to live for all of us. Plus, my parents would not want their deaths to steal anything from me. I knew that logically, but it didn’t mean I could just erase my pain.

  I was dealing with it. Day by day.

  Aware of the weather, I dressed in one of my few pairs of jeans, and a white, long-sleeved, fitted shirt. To finish my outfit, I pulled on a worn-out pair of black Converse that we’d picked up from a thrift shop. They were the most comfortable shoes ever, and until they literally fell off my feet I would not give them up.

  Stepping into the living area, I took a second to pay attention to the view outside the double front windows. Someone had opened the old blinds and I could see straight out into the street. Daelight Crescent. Even the name was oddly mystical.

  Movement across the other side of the road caught my eye. One of the gates was opening. The house behind it looked straight out of European royalty. A castle, for sure. There was no other explanation for such opulence and beauty. The glimpse I caught was brief: some towering turrets, cream and stone accents, a huge drive, and enough landscaped gardens to keep a team of gardeners busy year-round. A low, sleek car emerged, distracting me. The vehicle was dark, like a rich deep purple or burgundy. It rumbled, intensely powerful, as it slowly glided onto the road. I didn’t recognize the make or model, but it was clearly expensive. The engine purring with just enough grunt that I had no doubt it was going to be fast.