The rain had lasted for three days, and on the fourth day, the town worked together to clean up the aftermath in Town Square and the surrounding neighborhoods. A limb from the giant beech tree near the gazebo went straight through the front window of Hobb's Grocery, and Agatha and a few other townies stopped to help the grocery store owner nail up a tarp.
Mina passed out coffee since her diner hadn't lost electricity as most of the town had, and I worked alongside Jonah and Monday, my gaze searching for Julian. I hadn't seen him since he'd walked home when the storm first started. I hadn't seen any of the Heathens out and about, helping the town. But why would they? From what Monday and Fable had told me, they didn't care about anyone or anything. They were cold creatures with a cutthroat blood type, Heathens who stayed hidden in the woods and only came out at night.
Once the phone lines were back up, I'd made a call to Dr. Morley and forced Gramps out of the house and into the Mini Coop.
"What is this? This isn't a cah, this is a hearse for midgets," Gramps had commented, rambling the entire way to Dr. Morley's office as he looked over the buttons on the car. "I'll show yah a real cah, Moonshine. This," he had tapped over the dash at all the buttons, "This is a toy. Does it even take gas or yah gotta buy a powah pack? Plug it intah a wall? Is this what it feels like when yah pickin' up dead Bahbie?"
Dr. Morley said that Gramps had a mild heart attack, and the lack of blood flow to the brain caused him to get dizzy and pass out. We'd left with a bottle of aspirin and strict orders to keep stress at a bare minimum. As far as the virus, it had to run its course.
That night, Casper cried from the foot of the bed, pacing back and forth atop the quilt covering my feet. But it hadn't been the cat to pull me from my unconscious state in the middle of the night. There was a flickering moment behind closed eyes when a shadow watched me. It was a sinister lull. In those fleeting moments, I had no earthly—or unearthly—idea what was waiting for me once my eyes opened, but it was there. I could feel it in my bones, in my soul.
I'd always imagined the worst. A contorted face, ripped skin stitched from the center of the forehead and across the eye, disfigurement from a car accident, part of the head missing from a gunshot wound, the most gruesome of death.
A skin-prickling breeze skimmed over my face. Whatever it was, it was here with me. I was not alone, and a lazy terror crawled through my veins as it always had just before I acknowledged the spirit—the ghosts who found me.
I opened my eyes, and both balcony doors were ajar, creaking back and forth, along with the wind. The grandfather clock chimed from the bottom of the stairs, and I held my breath until it was over. The Atlantic Ocean's colors were one with the night sky, endless depths of darkness. A half-moon glimmered over the inky waters, monarch colors glittering over the surface.
The light giggle of a child carried in from the balcony, and my eyes darted to the sound. A small boy with cropped dark hair and a striped red and white shirt appeared behind the billowing curtain hanging between us. His little voice drew me from the bed, and I planted both bare feet onto the wooden floors.
The small boy laughed and darted from the balcony, disappearing at the top step. I pushed away the curtains and stumbled upon the balcony to look down. My white hair slid off my shoulders and hung over the railing as our eyes met, and my breath stopped in a gasp.
The boy was hardly a child, three or four at best guess. My fingers moved across the railing to the stairs, and I descended, keeping my gaze locked on his. He stood there, hands fisting the bottom hem of his shirt at his thighs. He had pale, iridescent skin, and dark shadows painted his round and sad brown eyes.
When I let off the bottom step, another bone-cracking giggle released from his dry lips, and he jumped in place before taking off around the house toward the street. I followed him out of the neighborhood, across Town Square, and toward Norse woods on the opposite side of town, but not to my own accord. I walked willingly, yes, but I had a feeling if I hadn't, the little boy wouldn't leave me alone otherwise. He skipped and jumped and walked backward in the empty streets under the night sky. A cracked smile greeted me with every spin, a childish game—playtime—as his arms swung out at his sides. He sang and laughed and pulled me deeper into Norse Woods territory. How did we get here so fast?
The blue rubber boots he wore were muddied and too big for his little feet as they dragged across the asphalt until we reached the start of the woods. Leaves crumbled beneath my bare feet, and he sped up, zig-zagging through white birch trees and leaping over fallen branches.
"Wait up," I whisper-shouted, trying to catch up to him in only a thin pajama tank and matching cotton shorts. The temperatures had dropped to the mid-fifties, and the forest groaned in the dark as if the trees were growing around me, stretching.
"… Ashes, ashes," I heard the chanting song from the little boy, and I continued to follow the young and playful voice deeper and deeper and deeper into the trees.
Until the ghost came into view.
My running turned to a standstill at what laid before me.
Julian was sitting over the forest floor, his head hidden between his bent knees as he rocked back and forth. Blood stuck to his flawless bare skin as dead ravens scattered around him. My eyes snapped up to the little boy who began to fade quickly with his hand on Julian's shoulder.
"We all. Fall. Down," the ghost's last words were, then he disappeared like how an old television would turn off, flickering then all at once.
My hand moved over my throat down to my chest, partly to make sure I was still breathing, partly having no control over my own actions. Julian's gaze snapped up from his knees, and his eyes, the color of two lethal bullets, aimed at me. And at that moment, I knew I was no longer breathing. I'd known once my lungs ached.
Dark circles painted around Julian's eyes as the knife trembled from the fingertips hanging off one knee, blood dripping off the sharp point of the blade. "Death is here," he whispered, his mask absent and only the shadows of the woods shielding his face. "It's here, and I can't stop it. Why can't I stop it?!"
"Julian?" The single word left upon a panicked breath.
He slowly rose to his feet, head down, black slacks hanging off his hips, bare-chested, barefooted, and rooted to the forest ground as the pale birch trees. Their branches moved with him, casting a shadow over his face, protecting him, adoring the man who was more woods than flesh.
Black and red invaded my senses. Dark crimson blood stained his hands. Dead ravens blanketed the forest ground at his feet, a pile of twisted necks, broken wings, beaks, and lifeless beady black eyes.
Then Julian's hollow gaze met mine. Inside his eyes, all the lights were out. There was a deep void, empty rooms, uninhabited planets—the dead zone. At that moment, I knew. Whatever it was he wanted or needed, it had turned him into a monstrous thing.
"Go home," he seethed as if it pained him to say, his empty hand clutching at his chest where silver chains hung over his scars. Blood smeared over his heart.
The ghost wanted me to be here, to witness this, yet for what reason? To help him or to be his next kill. It could have gone either way. And still, despite all odds, I took a step forward.
"Julian …" I pressed again, trying to get through, and something stirred in the depths of his eyes—life, panic, fear, a delusional thought, confusion, or something else entirely. I wasn't quite sure. But he was shaking, why was he shaking? Better yet … why wasn't I running away?
Ca-Caw! another raven warned, flapping its glossy wings in front of the moon, settling over a branch above us. Julian's eyes twisted with the song of the raven, and his fingers tightened on the blade, his chest heaving without rhythm. The rustling of leaves blew around us, a nursery rhyme of Norse woods. It played along with the thrusting of my heart.
Ca-caw, rustle, pound!
My hair blew around me with every step toward him. I kept my arms at my sides. Bones cracked under my feet, and fresh blood slipped and oozed between my toes, feathers sticking to my heels.
Then we were only inches apart. My fingers trembled as they reached out between us, and I laid them over his forearm. He was so cold, and Julian flinched under my touch, his eyes pinned to where I was sliding my fingers down the length of his arm toward the knife.
"Do you want to hurt me?" I dug my teeth into my lip to deter the response awaiting me.
His wild gaze lifted to mine, and his brows bunched together. "What?" Then his eyes softened. "No!" He'd said it as if he couldn't believe he had to convince me of the same.
A long exhale escaped from my nose, and my fingers drifted over his until the knife fell on to the pile of death. His trembling relaxed in my hold. The living raven squawked again above us, causing Julian to slam his eyes closed. I pressed my other hand to his bare chest, and his eyes opened. His hand covered mine.
"The ravens won't leave me alone," he bit out the words through his teeth. "Why won't they ever leave me alone?"
The trees moved again with him, casting shadows along his face. I was so close, yet unable to see anything but the dark tower he was, the smoking gun in his eyes. I lifted his bloodied hand and pulled it up to my neck, then pressed his slippery, cold fingers against my pulse, the same way he'd shown me to calm after Gramps had passed out. It was the only way I knew how to calm in such terrifying moments, because of him. And his stiffened posture relaxed, breathing steadied.
Julian wrapped his fingers around my throat, his thumb resting under the base of my chin. I closed my eyes. He pulled me forward. A cool breath fanned across my lips. Then my lips quivered.
Julian's forehead fell to mine, and he tilted his head. "Don't look at me," he whispered into my mouth, clutching the side of my face, his lips coasting over my parted ones. "Whatever you do, don't look at me."
As soon as he'd said the words, my eyes blinked open.
All oxygen sucked from my lungs, and darkness devoured me whole. Terror cut me open, slicing through wounds that had been scabbed over, but always there. A scream ripped through my throat as I clawed at the walls that suddenly circled me. "Julian!"
The well. I was no longer in the woods. Julian was gone. My eyes darted around me in a panic.
Trapped, trapped, trapped.
My palms hit brick. All around me was brick. This panic exploded within me, and I clawed frantically at the walls on every side. The full moon beamed through the small opening at the top. Water sloshed around at my knees. I continued to claw and scratch at the walls, trying to climb my way out. My nails broke as tears rushed down my face. My throat was hoarse. My fingertips were raw and bloody. But I had to get out.
"HELP ME!"
My teeth chattered, my limbs convulsed, my entire being desperate to escape the hot well in the dreadful heat of the summer night.
"JULIAN!" I screamed again, my throat on fire as if shards of glass lodged in my windpipe.
"… an emergency Town Hall meeting will be held at eight a.m. As always, all are welcome. Except you, Jasper Abbott. You are not welcome."—Freddy paused to chuckle— "And these are your Hollow Headlines with Freddy in the Mournin'. Let's kick Thursday off with some good music, and remember, witches, no one is safe after 3 a.m. …"
I startled from my bed, shaking and terrorized. A cold dew covered my slick skin, the bedsheets tossed at the end, halfway to the floor. Blood-orange swirled and smeared across the sky over the blue waters with the rising sun. Casper pounced over the bed from the armoire and laid beside me at my hip.
My head hit the pillow. "It was only a dream," I convinced myself, one hand protecting my racing heart. "It was all a dream."
Chapter 9
Fallon
Town hall was the biggest building in Town Square, situated at the opposite end of the entrance behind the gazebo. It was like a miniature version of the White House, with large white pillars, black plantation shutters, and a curved door off to the side of the main entrance that opened into a spacious room where folding chairs lined up in front of a podium.
The town's people filed in, one after the other, filling the room with some familiar faces, such as Mina Mae, Dr. Morley, Agatha Blackwell, and those I haven't met yet, seen only in passing.
I took a seat with Jonah and Monday.
Jonah had said it was mandatory to come. The three of us sat at the end of the row in the center of the room. Chatter echoed off the low ceilings, and I turned in my seat and noticed the Hollow Heathens standing against the back wall with their arms clasped firmly in front of them. Julian's eyes never faltered and stayed pinned ahead, but the veins in his arms popped as he tensed with my gaze as if he struggled to remain still and focused.
Each time I closed my eyes, the dream would come back to me. The ghost—Julian. The color of black ice and currant—Julian. Death omens and trees—Julian. Blood and black feathered wings sticking to our skin in the dark and wicked woods—Julian, Julian, Julian.
It had been as real as real could be in a dream—or as real as a dream could be. And as the nonsense crossed my mind, it somehow all made sense to me. I could still feel his cold fingertips against my neck, his breath against my lips, and the horrifying terror that had ripped me away from him. There was no stopping it, no ridding myself of the memory. Julian lived there now, in my malefic imagination, and he had no idea. Whatever had walked in my mind, I'd walked with it alone.
A distinct bang! of a gavel against the wood caused my head to jerk forward. Standing in front of the podium was an older man with a chestnut-colored toupee combed perfectly to the side.
"We will begin," he announced with blinding authority. The chatter ceased at once before him. "This meeting will be handled maturely and with respect. I will not have a repeat of last month."
Jonah dropped his mouth to my ear. "That's Augustine Pruitt, one of the four in the Order, which governs the town. Think of them as the regulators."
Nodding, I kept my eyes forward on Mr. Pruitt as he continued, speaking of upcoming events, news within Weeping Hollow, and the aftermath of the storm. A collection of groans and oohs and aahs see-sawed in the room, reacting to his every word, whether the people agreed or disagreed. The man stood with unfathomable posture and wore a sweater vest under his navy-blue blazer. He was a handsome man with wise lines crinkling in the corners of his mouth and eyes.
Off to Mr. Pruitt's side stood Agatha Blackwell, a lady I'd never seen before and a man who wore a plastic white mime mask with black diamonds over the eyes and a thin painted-on mustache over the black lips. His stringy blond hair hit his bony shoulders that poked out from inside the long black trench coat.
"Who is that?" I whispered to Jonah, nodding to the odd creature beside Mr. Pruitt.
"That's Clarence Goody. He's also in the Order, along with Agatha Blackwell and Viola Cantini."
The conversation had changed to smaller issues between townies, and the owner of Hobb's Grocery stood from the crowd after being called upon by Mr. Pruitt.
"What ar-yah gonna do about my shop window?" he called out angrily with a fist in the air. "It should come outta the town's expense! That storm blasted through my window and soaked a quartah of my inventory! What yah gonna do about that, Pruitt?"
Jonah's shoulders shook next to me as he silently chuckled. "Gus Hobb is a cheapskate. Always finds a way to get the town to pay. You know, since the market is essential." He chuckled again while the rest of the town lost interest in the argument, rolling their eyes and looking around the room at each other.
"Sit down, Gus," Mr. Pruitt drew out, annoyed. "Need I remind you that you're behind on the town's dues by two moons? You will pay for back dues and the broken window. Until you can get caught up, the market will be closed. The truck coming in next week will be set up in the East wing. The town will cover the food cost, and the money received will go back into the town. My best advice for you, Gus, is to get your business together, or this arrangement will become permanent."
Gus' face turned as red as a ripened apple. "You can't do that!"
Pruitt ignored him. "All in favor, say 'Aye.'"
The town collectively said "Aye" with smiles and a few laughs.
"Next order of business," Pruitt moved on, and Gus walked with a limp out of the Town Hall, mumbling empty threats in his wake.
"A Heathen was at the coastline!" a woman shouted from behind me. "One of them is always hangin' around the cliffs in the early mornin'."
Julian. I turned to see behind me, and one of Gramps' neighbors was standing with a finger pointed at the Heathens posted at the back of the room against the wall. Not one Heathen showed a lick of emotion or faltered in their poise. Julian remained aloof.
Augustine Pruitt stepped aside and allowed Mr. Goody, the tall man in the painted mime mask, to take the stand.
"Which one?" he asked, his tone like a bass guitar.
"I don't know which one, for cryin' out loud. They all look the same!"
"If you don't know which one, are you certain, without a shadow of a doubt, it was a Heathen at all? It could very well be Augustine's son, Kane"—Mr. Pruitt took a step forward, and Mr. Goody shot up his hand— "or Dolores Claiborne or Jasper Abbott or the mysterious Freddy in the Mournin'?" The people collectively laughed as if the names he'd listed off were ludicrous. "Irene, you know that unless you can identify your trespasser, there is nothing I can do."
"How am I supposed to identify 'im?" the woman, Irene, shot back. "Norse Woods was on our coast! That I'm certain of!" The crowd looked around, the calm before the storm. "Probably coming to hex our land on the eastside or take women from our coven. Like that Norse witch, Freya, took our Tobias. OUR HIGH PRIEST!" she spewed through clenched teeth, and the crowd began reacting, nodding, agreeing. My stomach fell, my gaze darted in a frenzy. "They're coming! They're desperate, and we should all be worried! They'll only take and take and take like the hungry wolves of the Calla!" The woman dragged her rage-filled eyes around the room, warning her people. "Mark my words, chaos will erupt, order will crumble, and the shield will fall. We will all be doomed!"
The woman's voice carried throughout the room and fueled the townspeople. More than half the room fed her fire, voicing their worries and theories like gasoline and torches. The rest who were from the Norse Woods sat still and motionless, unaffected by their taunts and threats.
"Sit down, Irene!" Mr. Goody shouted, repeatedly banging the gavel over the podium as turmoil arose amongst the crowd. "Order!" he screamed this time, his blond hair shaking over his shoulders. No one listened.
Half the room was standing and pointing fingers in all directions, toward the Hollow Heathens, toward the people on the left side of the room. But the people of Norse Woods remained stoic, blank features pinned to their faces. The mention of my mother and father suffocated my mind, unable to think, unable to concentrate. All I could do was bounce my eyes around at the fear in the eyes of half the people, the hollow in the eyes of the rest.
"It was me!" Julian's voice boomed within the room as he took a step forward. The room quieted, and arms dropped to the people's sides, surprised. The rest of the Heathens' gazes glued ahead without a tell as Julian fixed his attention on Irene. "Rest assured, we do not want your women," he said flatly, bouncing his eyes to me, then snapping them back to Irene. "We stay true to our own. As far as the ocean, it called out for me, and I listened."
"Lies, you monster," Irene spat.
Kane jumped up from the front of the room, dressed as if he were at a church service, and faced the crowd. "Julian Blackwell went after Fallon Morgan," he added. "And used his shadow-blood against me when I intervened."
The room roared with whispers, and all eyes fell on me. The heat of their stare turned my icy blood to lava as my heart pounded in my ears. I looked to Julian, not understanding the big deal, and Julian's posture remained unchanged and collected. Augustine Pruitt, who I'd learned was Kane's father, stepped up beside Mr. Goody with knitted brows.
"Is this true?" he asked, eyes sailing between Julian and me.
"I … I …" my words were lost in the scuffle of banter as everyone looked in my direction.
"Say what you will, but the accusation is weak at best," Julian scoffed with a tilt of his head, venom in his tone. "The girl is a flatlander, is she not?" Kane growled from the front, and Julian continued, "Not to mention the absurdity in desiring a Morgan. If you must know, Norse Woods embodies morals, and I—a monster—a certain taste. The girl is hardly worth Norse Woods' time or attention. And, yes, I'm guilty of chivalry. Couldn't bear to see the helpless girl hit the ground since Kane's ego weighs him down."
And a knife sharpened by his words twisted me open in places unknown, unfelt. It was a different hurt than the rest. Why did it hurt like this?
Kane took a hasty step forward. "You—"
"Mr. Goody," Julian interrupted, cutting off Kane. "There is no need to cause panic over a misunderstanding. Let's get back to more important matters, like the food rations the residents will have to savor this week until the truck arrives."
"I agree," Mr. Goody stated, then his gavel slammed down over the podium, the topic closed for discussion. Pruitt shook his head, visibly disturbed on how the matter was handled, but after a few moments, he straightened his shoulders and swallowed his thoughts back down. "This meeting is adjourned."
People stood unsatisfied with the meeting's outcome, and I stayed seated as they swarmed around me, heading for the exit. I'd learned two things during the meeting. One: I couldn't bear to be around Julian after the dream I had, the moment we had shared. In my mind, he was vulnerable to me, yet still the very dark soul who controlled the dark forest and the dark things that haunted it. But the Julian who'd appeared today was someone else entirely, aloof and impenetrable.
Two: hearing how Dad was Sacred Sea's High Priest. The older generation cared for him deeply, respected him, looked up to him once upon a time. A time before I'd come into this world. And my mother … What was so terrible about falling in love with my father? Why did they hate her?
Dad had rarely talked about my mother. He had barely been home enough to even speak to me.
Dad was a handsome man with a strong Italian nose, glossy black hair, and bright blue eyes. When he was home, he would spend most of his days in the garage, tinkering with model airplanes. Almost daily, we would get boxes full of ordered parts for his beloved hobby. Marietta and I used to stack the boxes outside the garage door, and for months they would wait for his return, as did I. Then after he would come back, he would disappear even longer.
Once he was done building them, he'd take me out into the field. It had been the only one-on-one time we would spend, out there with the tall grass tickling at my legs. No trees or people, only land for miles and looking up into the clear Texas skies. Together, we would fly the plane far after the sun had set. He would keep his words to himself, locked away. He was barely ever present, but in times when he was flying, he was present—the only time I'd ever seen a spark of life in him. All other times, he was trapped in distant memories, his mind always somewhere else. A place I didn't exist.
On a rare occasion, he'd come into my room at night smelling like sawdust and motor oil and sit beside my bed. It was the only time he had talked about Freya, my mother. His calloused fingers hesitantly pushed my white locks off my forehead as he cried, apologizing for his misery. He'd said it was his fault he couldn't climb out of it. That this slow and painful death of living without her was unbearable, but he had to go on because he'd made a promise.
Monday broke apart my daze when she said, "Jonah let us off the hook for the day but said to keep our beepers on us. Let's go shopping." I scanned the room. Jonah had already left, Julian had already left, and the room was nearly empty, only a few stragglers gossiping at the doors. "Fallon, hey," she snapped her finger in front of me, and our eyes locked. "Defy Superstition Day, remember? It's in like three weeks, and if we wait any longer, everything will be sold out."
"I need to check on Benny first, make sure he's alright." I hated to leave him alone just as much as Gramps hated me hanging around, but if something were to happen, and I wasn't there to help, I didn't know if I could forgive myself. He hadn't done so well during the storm. I'd refused to let him leave his bed this morning and set up his coffee and newspaper at his bedside before leaving the house.
"Yeah, sure," Monday nodded, "Go on and check on him then meet us at the gazebo in thirty. We'll wait for you."
It was late morning, and Gramps was half asleep with the finished crossword puzzle and an empty coffee mug beside him. The sun settled high in the sky, beaming across his wrinkled face. I pulled the curtains closed and turned to clean up the folding bedside table.
"Just leave it, why don't ya," he muttered under his shaky breath.
"Are you hungry?" There were still leftovers in the fridge from the soup Mina had dropped off the day before after the storm passed and word got around that Dr. Morley had made a house call. "I can heat up that chowder."
The tip of the pencil laying over the tray table had broken, and I dropped my eyes to the shuffled newspaper across the mini table. In deep, dark circles, the moon phase calendar was circled so hard the pencil had pierced through the paper.
"If I wanted chowdah don't yah think I woulda gotten up by now?" he argued. "I don't want the damn chowdah, Moonshine."
I bit the inside of my cheek and cleared off the table, tucking the newspaper under my arm and holding the coffee mug in one hand, the used tissue bundle in the other. Before I reached the door, I turned back around. "You know, Benny. I don't ask for much. I came all the way out here, more than willing to take care of you, no questions asked. The least you could do is treat me with respect."
"I don't know how many times I told yah, I nevah asked yah to come. Nevah wanted yah heyah in the first place!" His eyes brewed with indignation, a coldness.
My heart slammed against my chest as a thousand needles poked behind my eyes. But I would not cry in front of the man or increase his stress. Instead, I closed the door, fell back against it, and held back the tsunami inside me. The empty mug shook in my hand, and I looked down, forcing my hand to steady. Calm down, calm down, calm down …
Whenever Gramps had the chance to remind me he didn't want me here, I had to remind myself he was the only family I had left, and the same for him. Past the cruel exterior, I knew he wanted me here too. Why couldn't he admit it?
I placed the cup in the sink and went to stack the newspaper on the window sill with the others when a circle around a specific date grabbed my attention.
TWO FULL MOONS FOR THE MONTH OF OCTOBER
STARTING WITH THE 1ST.
Based on how the year has gone, expect this October to be filled with magic, murder, & madness. The full moons could show kindness, a cursing, or unveil truths that have been buried.
