The Dark Divine

by Bree Despain

  Was this how it started for April’s family? Was this anything like it had been for Daniel in his broken home?

  But I knew it had been worse for him. My parents’ shouting was nothing like what Daniel had lived through.

  I dropped a bag of cranberries into my basket and pushed all thoughts of Daniel aside. I foraged through the picked-over shelves for whatever else I could remember from the list, paid for my stuff, and headed back home.

  When I opened the door into the mudroom, I was slammed by a wall of stench. Something was burning. I dropped my grocery bags and ran to the kitchen. All but one of my pies was cooling on the counter. I yanked open the oven door. Black smoke billowed out, making me cough and gag. I pushed open the window above the sink and tried to direct the smoke outside. But it was too late. The smoke detector started screaming from the hallway.

  I covered my ears and ran for Dad’s study. The detector was right in front of the closed doors. I flung the doors open and was surprised that Dad wasn’t in there—and even more surprised that no one else in the family had responded to the screeching alarm.

  I struggled to open the study window, almost snagging my hand on a protruding nail in the sill. Stupid old house. I finally pried the window open and grabbed a book from the stacks on my father’s desk. I used it to fan the smoke away from the detector until the blaring stopped.

  My ears were still ringing as I took the book back to the tower of babble that used to be Dad’s desk—books and notes were scattered everywhere in heaps. The book I held was cased in crackling leather and looked older than anything I had ever checked out of the local Rose Crest library branch. A delicate hooded flower was etched in silver on the cover. The title was also engraved in worn silver: Loup-Garou.

  I’d never heard such a word. I flipped the book open. It was all in what I assumed was French. I checked the next book in the stack where I’d gotten the first. This one didn’t look quite as old, but it was just as battered. Lycanthropy: Blessing or Curse? I was about to open it when I saw a long, slender velvet box sitting in the stacks of papers. It looked like one of those necklace boxes from a high-end jewelry store. I put down the book and popped open the lid of the box. It held Don’s silver knife. The one I’d locked in Dad’s office over at the parish. Why would Dad bring it here? And why would he leave it out like this with a toddler in the house?

  The front door rattled open.

  “What on earth?” Mom’s voice echoed down the hall.

  I stuck the knife box on the highest shelf of the bookcase and went out to meet her.

  Mom had James on her hip and a Day’s Market bag in her hand. “Great. I forgot one of the pies, didn’t I?”

  I nodded. Though I felt like it was my fault for taking so long at the store.

  “Just great!” she said. “I remembered a few more groceries just after you left, so I ran over to Day’s…. And now the house stinks. Just what I need.”

  I contemplated reopening my petition for a cell phone but thought better of it as James started to fuss when Mom tried to put him down. He wrapped his legs around her knee and clung to her shirt. I offered to take him from her.

  Mom peeled him from her legs and handed him over.

  “It’ll air out,” I said, and tried to bounce James on my hip.

  Why did it seem like I was the one holding everyone together lately?

  James dropped his blanket in a desperate attempt to jump from my arms to Mom’s. “Banket!” he shrieked, and burst into tears, kicking his Curious George slippers against my legs.

  I picked it up and wadded it into a puppet. “Mwah, mwah,” I said, and pretended to kiss his face. His whines turned to laughter, and he hugged his blanket in his skinny little arms.

  “I’ll open a few more windows,” I said to Mom, “and then find Charity so she can entertain Baby James while I help you cook.”

  “Thanks.” Mom rubbed her temples. “Charity should be back soon. She went over to the Johnsons’ to feed their birds. Tell her to make James some lunch in a couple of hours. Dinner is at three, so I want him to go down for a nap by two. Oh, but we’ll have to put him down in his Portacrib in the study. Aunt Carol will be staying in his room.”

  Great. Just who my dad needed today—Aunt Carol.

  DINNER

  My mother’s family is half Roman Catholic, half Jewish—kind of ironic for the wife of a protestant pastor. And even though she was raised Catholic, her family still celebrated Passover and Hanukkah. I think that is where they got this interesting tradition of always setting an extra place at the table for special occasions. According to Aunt Carol, it was supposed to be an expression of hope and faith in the Messiah who would someday come. While I thought it was kind of cool, it usually bugged Dad because, of course, he believed that the Messiah had already come, in the form of Jesus Christ, and that such a tradition was an affront to his devotion for Him.

  Mom, trying to appease both him and her sister, would tell him to think of it as an extra place for an unexpected visitor. However, today Dad seemed to find my mother’s family’s tradition especially irksome as he scanned the ragtag group of lonely hearts, young families, widows, widowers, and single moms who congregated around our holiday table, and noticed that there was not only one empty seat but two. One was at his end of the table. The other, across the table from me, was set with a special golden goblet and golden utensils.

  Dad glared at the goblet and mumbled something under his breath. Then an almost-genial smile spread across his face. “Shall we get started?” he asked the crowd.

  Eager faces nodded, and April actually licked her lips—but she was staring at Jude when she did it, so it may have had nothing to do with the food.

  “Who’s missing?” Pete Bradshaw gestured to the two empty seats. He and his mother sat to one side of me. I’d felt bad when Pete told me his dad had cancelled their annual Thanksgiving cruise because he had an emergency meeting in Toledo, but I was glad Pete was there to close the distance between my mom and dad—who threw each other pointed looks when Pete asked this question.

  “Don Mooney had to close up at Day’s Market,” Dad said. “Meredith does not feel like waiting for him.”

  Mom coughed. “Don did not RSVP, so there is no point in waiting if we don’t know if he’s coming.”

  “I’m sure he will be along soon.” Dad smiled at her.

  I wondered if he was right or if Don was still brooding over his encounter with my father the other day. I actually got this heavy feeling when I imagined him sitting alone in his apartment behind the parish.

  “The other seat,” Mom started to explain, “is a family tradition of ours—”

  Dad grunted. “Meredith has asked me to say a special blessing over the food.”

  Aunt Carol gave Dad the evil eye, most likely on my mother’s behalf.

  Dad extended his hands to Jude on his right side and Leroy Maddux on his left. We all joined hands around the table, my fingers slipping tentatively into Pete’s. Dad began his blessing. His voice was even, and he sounded like he was speaking words he had rehearsed in his office at the parish or wherever he had disappeared to until dinner.

  “We are gathered here, O Father, to celebrate thy bounty. Thou art giving and kind unto us, and we wish to share that with others. That is why we leave a space at our table for any unexpected visitors. To remind us to open our home to those in need. And also to remind us of those who should be here: our extended family, my father, and Maryanne Duke.” He paused for a moment and then went on. “Let us give thanks for thy blessings—”

  The doorbell rang. Mom fidgeted in her seat.

  “Let us give thanks for thy blessings. Keep us and bless this food that it will nourish and strengthen us as Thou strengthens our souls. Amen.”

  “Amen,” the rest of us intoned.

  My seat was at the end of the table that stuck out into the foyer. I jumped up, went to the door, and flung it open, expecting to find Don. Instead, there was this amazingly attractive
guy with shortish, light brown hair, dressed in khakis and a blue button-up shirt, standing on the porch.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he said.

  “Grace, who is it?” Mom called from the dining room.

  “Daniel?” I whispered.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Unexpected

  AT THE DOOR

  “You came?”

  “I was invited, wasn’t I?” Daniel said.

  “I didn’t expect … and you look so … different.”

  “Compliments of Mishka,” he said. “That’s why she was there last night. I needed to change it for school. Couldn’t strip all the dark out, though”—he brushed his hand through his shorter, brown hair—“so we settled for this.”

  The mention of Mishka made me want to slam the door in his face. Oh, but what a nice face he had now that it wasn’t obscured by long, black hair.

  I shook my head. “You should go.”

  “Grace, who is it?” Mom repeated as she came to the door. “Is this a friend from school …” She stopped mid-step beside me. “Grace, what is the meaning of this?” She pointed an accusatory finger at Daniel, who stood motionless on the porch. “What is he doing here?”

  “I invited him.”

  “You invited him?” she said too loudly. I was sure we had an audience by then. “How could you? How dare you!”

  “You told her she could invite whomever she wanted,” Dad said as he came up behind us. “You must be prepared to deal with the consequences if she interprets your suggestion literally.”

  “You’re right, Grace. I should go.” Daniel glanced at Dad. “I’m sorry, Pastor, this was a mistake. I’ll leave.”

  Dad dropped his gaze. “No,” he said. “You were invited; therefore, you are welcome.”

  Mom gasped. I looked back at my father in shock and a bit of awe.

  “If we say we’re going to do something, then we do it. Right, Grace?” Dad looked at Daniel. “I’m sorry I forgot that.”

  Daniel nodded.

  “He can’t stay,” Mom said. “There’s no room. He was not expected.”

  “Don’t be silly. You set a place for him yourself.” Dad turned to Daniel. “Come in then, before the food gets cold.”

  “Thank you, Pastor.”

  Dad took my mother by the shoulders and steered her back to the table. I think she was too shocked to protest. I gestured Daniel inside and closed the door behind him. He followed me to the table, and I pointed to the empty seat across from mine.

  Everyone sat there staring at him, probably trying to figure out what the big deal was.

  “Is that that Kalbi guy?” Pete whispered to me.

  I nodded and he turned and whispered something to his mother.

  Daniel tentatively prodded the golden fork next to his plate. He looked up at me and winked.

  Jude rose from his chair. “This is ridiculous. He can’t stay. He doesn’t belong here.”

  “He stays.” Dad put a heaping scoop of mashed potatoes on his plate. “Pass this to Daniel,” he said, and handed the bowl to Leroy.

  “Then I’m leaving,” Jude said. “Come on, April, let’s get out of here.” He held his hand out to her.

  “Sit!” Dad said. “Sit, eat, and be grateful. Your mother made this fabulous meal, and now we—all of us—are going to eat it.”

  April shrank into her chair like a scolded pup. Jude looked for a moment like he was going to do the same. He clenched his fists and then relaxed into his sullen shell. “I’m sorry, Mother,” he said in an even tone. “I just remembered that I volunteered to serve dinner at the shelter. I should get going so I won’t be late.” He sidled his way past the dining room chairs.

  “What about our dinner?” Mom called after him.

  But Jude kept going. He took a set of keys off the hook and headed for the garage. “Let him go,” Dad said.

  Mom smiled to her guests. “You know Jude. Always thinking about others first.” She grabbed the bowl of cranberry sauce from Aunt Carol. “Eat up,” she said to everyone. But as she shoveled cranberries onto her turkey, she shot me a look that made my heart shrivel with guilt.

  I stared at the lump of green bean casserole on my plate. It didn’t look right to me. Too soggy—I’d overcooked it for sure.

  Pete brushed my arm. Warmth crept up my face.

  I felt someone’s foot nudge my leg. I looked up at Daniel, and he raised his eyebrows and smiled like he was completely innocent. My face got even warmer when I noted how much I liked the way his sandy hair flopped above his dark eyes as he raised his golden goblet to me. I scowled and turned back to my food, feeling like a silly little kid.

  The meal went on in awkward silence for another ten minutes or so. I literally jumped when there was a loud bang on the front door. The banging got louder, and the doorbell rang several times. Everyone looked at me like I was also responsible for this mysterious interruption.

  “Who did you invite now, the Ringling Brothers Circus?” Mom asked as I got up from the table.

  Aunt Carol chuckled. She always got a kick out of our Divine little family.

  “Pastor? Pastor?” a loud voice shouted from behind the door. The second I pulled it open, Don Mooney came barreling into the house. He almost knocked me flat. “Pastor D-vine!” he shouted.

  Dad shot up from the table. “What is it, Don?”

  “Pastor D-vine, come here quick. You have to see.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “There’s blood. Blood all over the porch.”

  “What?” Dad flew out the door, and I followed. There was blood—a small pool of it on the porch step and several drops around it.

  “I thought maybe one of you was hurt,” Don said. “Maybe the monster—”

  “We’re all fine,” Dad said.

  I followed Dad as he followed the trail of blood. Our porch wrapped around the side of the house, and so did the trail—little red gems of blood instead of bread crumbs. It led to the outside of the study’s open window. There was a spattering of blood there, like someone had shaken a wounded hand. Or paw. Dad crouched to inspect the mess. I looked inside the study. James’s Portacrib was on its side next to my father’s disheveled desk.

  “Mom!” I whirled around, almost smacking into Daniel, who was suddenly behind me. “Mom, where’s Baby James?” I couldn’t remember him being at dinner.

  “He’s still asleep,” Mom said. She’d appeared on the porch with most of the dinner crew. “I’m surprised he didn’t wake up with all that racket….” She looked at the blood at her feet. Her face went white. She bolted into the house.

  Dad, Carol, and Charity followed. I didn’t have to. Mom’s screams were enough to confirm my fears.

  Daniel inspected the window frame. “Was the screen missing before?”

  “Yes. Jude broke it out a couple of months ago. We locked ourselves out of the house. No one knew how to fix it.”

  Mom’s voice grew shriller from the other side of the window. Dad tried to calm her.

  “Perhaps James wandered off,” old Leroy said. “Everyone, let’s go search the yard.” Leroy hobbled off the porch. “James?” he shouted as he went around to the back.

  Pete and April followed.

  Dr. Connors, Mom’s friend from the clinic, handed his tiny baby daughter to his wife. “Stay here. I’ll go down the lane.” He and most of our other guests fanned out into the yard. They all shouted for James.

  “Do you think it was the monster, Miss Grace?” Don asked. “If only I had my knife … I could kill it … hunt it down like my great-great-granddad.”

  “There’s no such thing as monsters,” I said.

  Daniel winced. He’d found the nail I’d almost snagged myself on earlier. His finger was stained with blood—but not his. He brought it to his nose and sniffed. He closed his eyes, as if to think, and smelled the blood again.

  Don made a blubbering noise. He sounded just like my mom.

  “Is there anywhere James loves to go?” Daniel ask
ed me.

  “I don’t know. He really likes the horses at the MacArthurs’ stables.”

  “Don,” Daniel said. “Go get as many people as you can and search the route toward the MacArthurs’ farm.”

  I knew I should go, too, but I waited for Daniel.

  He wiped the blood on his sleeve. “Pastor,” he called into the open window.

  Dad held Mom to his chest. “He’ll be okay,” he said, and cradled the back of her head with his hand.

  Mom was usually so on top of things. Seeing her act so helpless made me shake with anxiety.

  “Pastor,” Daniel said.

  Dad glanced at us. “One of you go call the police. They’ll organize a search party.” I started to move.

  Daniel grabbed my arm. “No.” He looked at my dad. “The police can’t help us.” Mom whimpered.

  Daniel let go of my arm. “I’ll find him for you.”

  Dad nodded. “Go.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Revelations

  INTO THE WOODS

  Daniel launched himself over the porch railing and flew around to the backyard. I stumbled down the steps and went after him. Pete and Leroy inspected the wood fence Dad had had installed after Daisy was killed. It shielded our yard from the encroaching woods. Daniel stopped where the fence ended in a narrow gap. It was the same section that blew down whenever there was a windstorm like the one this morning. He scanned the ground as if searching for tracks. I didn’t see any.

  Daniel squeezed through the gap. “Go help Don search the way to the MacArthurs’,” he said through the fence. It sounded like a blanket order to all three of us.

  I started after Daniel. “Grace?” Pete asked.

  “Go call the shelter,” I said. “Tell them to send Jude home as soon as he gets there. Then take Leroy and help Don.” Pete nodded.

  I slipped through the fence.