Darkness Becomes Her

Four

ALUMP ROSE IN MY THROAT, AND I IMMEDIATELY THOUGHT OF the blade-wielding maniac. I bit the inside of my cheek so hard the skin split, releasing warm, iron-rich blood onto my tongue. “Who’s looking for me?”

“The Novem.”

“Yeah,” I said, putting two and two together, “they already tried to kill me once. I won’t let them get that close a second time.”

His brows drew together. “The Novem doesn’t want to kill you.”

Crank came around me and jumped onto the long table against the wall, sitting on it and swinging her feet. “He’s right, you know.”

I shook my head, not understanding. “How would you know?”

“’Cause Sebastian’s my brother, and he knows everything that happens in New 2. It’s his job to know.” I cocked an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to at least agree, but he stayed silent. “Bas works for the Novem. They pay him to run messages, get info, that sort of thing.” Crank twisted her cabbie hat backward. “So who’s really after you, Ari? Does it have anything to do with that bloody sword in your backpack?”

I let my eyelids close slowly and then counted to five. I had killed a man. Seen him disappear. There was a tiny Goth girl with fangs. And now the Novem might or might not be after me. I was guessing “might,” no matter what Crank said.

How the hell did I get into this mess? No, this wasn’t my mess, this was my mother’s. And I wasn’t so sure I wanted to know the truth anymore. I pulled my cell phone from the holder on my waist. Bruce would come get me. He’d be mad as hell, but he’d come.

“Cell phones don’t work in New 2,” Henri said from behind me.

I glanced at the display. No signal. “Fine. Is there a phone or a pay phone somewhere I can use?”

“Newbies,” a boy around Crank’s age muttered, sitting on one of the steps to peel his orange. He was so odd-looking that he distracted me for a second. Light brown skin. Green eyes. And a short dark blond Afro. Even his eyebrows were blond.

“Unless you got money or connections, no phones, no Internet. Nothing but running water, electricity, and mail runners,” Henri said. “Welcome to New 2.”

“Ari was born at Charity Hospital. She wants to find her records. You can help with that, can’t you, Bas?” Crank asked her brother.

Sebastian picked his backpack up, avoiding my eyes. “No. She should go back home.” He walked up the stairs.

Crank sputtered, and no one else said a word. The only sound was Sebastian’s unhurried footsteps on the stairs. I glanced from the front door to the stairs and then let out a groan, not believing I was about to run after Mr. Warm & Welcoming.

I jogged up the steps, catching up to Sebastian on the landing. “Hey, hold on a sec.” He stopped, turning partway. “Look, if you know something. . why these people are after me. .”

At five-eight, I wasn’t that much shorter than Sebastian, but I felt small under his storm-cloud gaze. The guy gave nothing away. He tossed a quick glance to the others, who had gathered halfway up the stairs. His jaw clenched and his eyes went hard. He bent forward and kept his voice low. “The Novem got a call a few hours ago with your description and name. . the word went out to all the runners and people who work for the Novem— which is basically everyone in this city — to look for you.”

Dr. Giroux. He must’ve called. But why? “And you work for them.”

“They just want to see you. No one said anything about hurting you, so I don’t know shit about that whole sword thing Crank is talking about. And yeah, I work for them. Doesn’t mean I always listen.”

He marched down the hall and disappeared into a room at the end.

A wave of exhaustion settled over me. My shoulders slumped. I could feel the others’ eyes on me from below, and more than anything I just wanted to be left alone so I could regroup and think straight, to digest everything that had happened so far. My hasty decision or desire — whatever you wanted to call it — to bolt wouldn’t do me any good. It was dark. I needed a place to stay. I’d already paid. And, I sighed, I guessed this was it.

I went back into the bedroom, snagged the box, and sat on the rug in front of the fireplace. But the shuffle of footsteps in the hall made it clear I wouldn’t be getting privacy anytime soon.

Crank, the odd-looking boy, and tiny fang girl — who was now wearing the gold Mardi Gras mask — filed into the room. They sat on the rug, making a circle. The boy leaned toward the fireplace and snapped his fingers over the wood. It burst into flames.

He held his hands over the fire, warming them before turning back to the others. “No big deal. Just a trick,” he said at my open mouth. “What’s in the box?”

Yeah, just a freaking trick. It was easier to believe that than the alternative. “Stuff about my mother.”

A drum echoed from somewhere down the hall. Then another and another, until a rhythm took hold. The walls and the floor vibrated. The tempo picked up, fast, furious, and seriously good, seeping into my skin and bones, finding its way to my heart and beating in time.

“That’s Sebastian,” Crank said. “He plays when he’s in a mood.”

I didn’t have to ask what that meant. I knew moods as well as the next person. In the background, very faintly, I heard music and vocals, and realized that he must be playing in time to the radio or a CD. Whatever it was, it was something you could dance to, or lie down on the floor, close your eyes, and weep to.

As the flames in the fireplace grew, shadows danced on the walls and over the skull, which seemed to grin at me as though it knew something I didn’t. Firelight glinted off the colorful beads and the black satin of the top hat. It needs a name, I thought, wondering which was creepier, the skull or the little girl who stared at me through the gold mask with those luminous black eyes.

“This is Dub,” Crank said, motioning to the boy. “And this is Violet. She doesn’t talk much.”

Violet still cradled her orange in both hands, occasionally bringing it up to her tiny nose to smell it, but her round eyes were fixed on me. She looked like some strange Mardi Gras Goth doll. And for some reason, I found myself warming to the odd little kid. She couldn’t have been more than ten years old.

“I think she likes your tattoo,” Dub said, tapping his fingers on his khakis. “Are you a doué too?”

“A what?”

“Doué. That’s the Novem’s nice word for freaks. Weirdos. You know. . us,” he explained in a fast breath. Everything about Dub was nervous energy. Some part of his body constantly moved. “Violet’s got freaky teeth. Henri’s got weird eyes. I got tricks. Crank’s got—”

“Nothing,” she cut in, disappointed. “I’m the normal one.”

“Yeah, but no one else can make things work like you do,” Dub said. “And”—he put one hand over his heart and the other straight out like he was about to serenade her—“since you fixed the fridge, you rule this house of freaks.”

Crank’s head dipped, and she rolled her eyes, but I could see she was pleased with the compliment. “And your brother, Sebastian,” I asked. “Is he normal too?” Besides being a jerk and a kick-ass drummer.

“Sebastian doesn’t like to talk about it. But he reads people, you know? He feels what they feel. Sometimes too much.”

The drums still banged, but not so demanding as before, not so fast. Now it was a steady, even rhythm full of emotion. There was no other way to describe it. It wasn’t just a beat echoing down the hall, it was something more.

“So what about you?” Dub asked again more quietly. “You look weird and everything.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Well, you got that tattoo on your face, your hair is white, and your eyes are a little freaky.” He shrugged. “You could be a doué is all I’m sayin’.”

“Maybe she doesn’t like to talk about it either,” Crank said, giving me a small smile. I returned the smile and then looked down at my hands. It was the truth; I didn’t like to talk about it. I never had. And suddenly sharing wasn’t something I’d ever do.

“Holy smokes,” Dub said. I looked back up to see him pulling the blade from my backpack. “It’s got blood on it and everything!”

“Give me that!” I lunged onto my knees, snatching the hilt, and then my backpack, out of his hand.

“Sheesh. Sorry.” He sat back down, acting as if I’d made a big deal out of something small. But it wasn’t small. He had no business going into my things. None at all.

I shoved the short sword into the backpack, hoping the blood was dried by now and hadn’t gotten all over my clothes. Smart one, Ari. Should’ve thought about that before I put the thing in there to begin with. “Look, just stay out of my things, okay? I’ll be out of your hair by morning.”

“I can try to talk to Bas again,” Crank said. “I’m sure he’ll help you at the hospital, and—”

“No offense, Crank, but I don’t want his help.”

Crank nudged Dub on the arm, and they stood. Violet stayed motionless, so Crank reached down and tugged on her arm. “Come on, Vi.”

The dark little girl hissed at Crank, but got up and left with the others.

After Crank brought me the sleeping bag, I waited until silence descended beyond my bedroom door, a silence broken only by the natural creaks and moans of the house.

I took two tall candles from the mantel and lit them with the red-hot coals in the fireplace, setting them on the floor in front of me. Finally, I was alone. No interruptions. No kids. No drums. Nothing to distract me. Though, honestly, it had taken me this long just to work up the nerve to see whatever else was in the box.

With a deep breath, I opened the two small jewelry boxes first. In one was a silver ring with a Greek inscription running along its length. It was polished and beautiful and simple. I placed it on my right hand, fourth finger. It fit perfectly. The next box held a worn medallion, so worn that it was hard to make out the image on the front or the words that went around the edge. It might’ve been a sun, I couldn’t tell for sure. I put the medallion back in the box and then picked up a newspaper clipping about a woman beheaded in Chicago, leaving a small daughter, Eleni, behind with no family. My heart gave a hard bang. Holy shit. Eleni was my mother’s name, so this woman could be my grandmother.

The next was a faded letter written to my mother.

Tears stung my eyes, and a lump swelled my throat. I folded the letter carefully and slid it back into its envelope. I didn’t want to believe it, but inside I knew. The words were true. Fate had had its way with all of them, and now it was my turn. A warm drop fell on my cheek, and I brushed it away.

Screw this.

I wasn’t about to die or get pregnant in the next three and a half years. This thing, this curse or whatever it was, would end with me. The beheading of my grandmother meant that something came for her, killed her, when she refused to give in to the madness and kill herself. And something came for me in the parking lot of the hotel — a bit shy of my twenty-first birthday, sure, but definitely looking to end me.

I rubbed both hands down my face.

I didn’t have enough information. The only things I knew for sure was that I was different — I’d known that all my life — some thing had tried to kill me, and the women in my family were cursed, all of them dead at twenty-one.

Twenty-one. Twenty-fucking-one.

I rested my chin on the tepee of my fingers, trying to find some calm and direction amid the chaos that had become my life in one night. I had killed the thing that came for me. Maybe that alone had broken the curse.

Weak theory.

But. . I was here now. In New 2. The only logical thing to do was to find out more about my mother, my father, and why the Novem wanted to see me. Or hurt me.

One day. I’d give it one day.

I woke to bruised elbows, an achy forehead, and a stiff back. And, if the red behind my eyelids was any clue, a shaft of sunlight spilling through the window. I squeezed my lids closed as a shadow blocked the light. The floorboards creaked. I opened my eyes.

Every muscle froze. I was looking straight into the blue eyes of a small white alligator.

“Pascal, this is Ari,” a tiny feminine voice whispered.

It was Violet — on her knees, leaning over the sleeping bag, a burgundy, jewel-encrusted mask pushed atop her head — holding a small white alligator directly in front of my face. All it had to do was snap and my nose would be history.

I held my breath, afraid to breathe on its milky skin.

Finally Violet sat back on her heels and turned the alligator to kiss its nose. “Good, Pascal,” she whispered, and set him on the floor, pulling the half-mask down over her face. The corners swept up into points adorned with two small feathers.

Pascal waddled away and out the door.

Releasing my breath, I sat up, unsure of what to say to the peculiar girl, who had returned to her staring. Her tiny white hands were laid flat on her knees, and the black dress she wore looked like it had once been a woman’s cocktail dress. She had on tights underneath, or they might’ve been knee-high socks meant for an adult, but whatever they were, they disappeared under the hem of the dress. Her shoes were boy’s penny loafers and a size too big.

“Was that your alligator?” I checked the door to make sure Pascal hadn’t decided to come back in.

“He is no one’s.” Violet cocked her head. “He likes your hair. It’s like his skin.”

Without thinking, I reached up and shoved a loose strand behind my ear, forgetting that I’d unwound it before bed. What I wanted to do was gather it up and shove it behind my shoulders, but for some reason I didn’t want Violet to think the hair meant anything, so I left it hanging long and loose, veiling the sides of my face, the ends resting in my lap.

“He likes my teeth. They’re like his teeth,” Violet said, her large eyes blinking through the holes of the mask.

I stayed still, almost frozen. “Why are your teeth like his, Violet?” I braced myself, hoping the question wouldn’t set her off and make her go all fang-girl on me.

“To eat things, of course.” Her head cocked. “You are different.” Then she stood and walked out with silent steps despite the heavy black shoes.

I watched her disappear from view, a little confused and thrown by how much she fascinated me. But it was more than the masks, and her sharp teeth. Violet made me feel softer inside, like some kind of weird big sister/mothering instinct was being awakened. I guessed it was the same feeling Casey and Bruce had when they first met me — just an unexplainable connection or need to care. I shook my head. Didn’t matter, though. I’d be gone tonight.

I went to drag my gaze away from the door when Sebastian passed by, his head turning. It was clear by the falter in his step that he didn’t expect to see me sitting there.

My stomach flipped. Heat stung my cheeks. His gray eyes drew me in like two fascinating pools of liquid mercury. Yeah, and mercury is poison, you big dummy.

But he wasn’t looking at me, I realized; he was looking at my hair. Just like everyone else.

It seemed like forever, but in reality, it was only a second or two before his gaze dropped and his footsteps continued on.

I blinked out of my haze, quickly gathered my hair, and began twisting it as I got to my feet and headed after him. “Sebastian!”

He stopped halfway down the stairs, body language screaming reluctance as I approached, tying my hair into a knot and trying to ignore the fact that the guy made me extremely self-conscious.

Two steps above him, I dropped my arms to my sides. “Look, I know you don’t want me here, but. . the Novem, do you really believe they’re not out to hurt me?”

One corner of his mouth almost lifted into what might’ve been a smile. Or a grimace. “Yes, I do,” he answered.

I bit my lip, making a quick decision. “If you help me find the information I’m after, I’ll go with you, willingly, to see the Nov —”

The front door flew open, slamming against the wall, the knob sinking through the drywall.

Violet appeared, stopping just inside the parlor with Pascal tucked under her arm, as three young men entered the house.

They were all similar in age — late teens, early twenties. The guy in the middle tossed a glance at Violet, shaking his head. “Welcome to The House of Misfits.”

His friends laughed as he lifted his eyes to the stairs. “Adding another one to the ranks?” His attention shifted from Sebastian to me. “Darlin’, you’re better off in the swamp than with these losers.”

“What do you want, Ray?” Sebastian’s hand gripped the railing so hard his knuckles turned white.

I took another step down as Dub shuffled from the dining room with an orange, starting to peel it, when Ray snatched it out of his hand.

“Hey!”

Ray threw it on the ground. “What’s up, Dub? You half-breed little shit.”

“Fuck you, Ray mond.”

Ray reached for Dub.

It seemed like the next few seconds happened in slow motion.

Violet put Pascal on the ground, pulled her mask over her face as though preparing for battle, and then launched her small body at Ray. She was on him like an octopus, arms and legs wrapped around his middle. Her sharp teeth sank into his bicep. He shrieked, trying to pull her off. He succeeded in getting space between them, but Violet’s legs and hands clung tight. He cursed in French and yanked again at her, this time flinging her small body across the room. She hit the floor and slid down the smooth hardwood hall.

Something in me snapped.

I flew around Sebastian and down the stairs as Dub and Crank ran to Violet. Violet stood up on her own, swiped the blood from her mouth and chin, and then darted out the back of the house and into the garden. I just caught a glimpse of her diving under the dead leaves before I turned back to Ray.

Adrenaline thrummed through my veins, fueled by fury. Nothing got me going like seeing a kid being hurt — I knew firsthand what that was like. “Why don’t you try that on me?” Better yet, I slugged him in the jaw.

The pain that shot through my knucklebones and up my hand felt good. And when his friends came to his aid, I welcomed the fight.

Bring it on, you assholes.

As the first guy reached out, I spun on my heel and grabbed his arm over my shoulder, flipping him onto the floor. As soon as he was down, the other one’s breath fanned the back of my neck. My gaze met Sebastian’s. His eyes were smiling at me, challenging me, seeing what I could do. I cocked a grin as the second guy grabbed me around the waist. I threw back my head, bracing for the crack as my skull collided with his face. He grunted. It hurt him way more than it did me. I spun and kicked him in the gut. He went down next to his friend.

I took a step back and surveyed my handiwork, heart racing.

Dub whistled from somewhere behind me. But my attention was fixed on Ray. He was the only one not on the floor and therefore still a threat.

“You fucking bitch!” he snarled, one hand over his bloody shoulder and the other rubbing his jaw. His face was a shade paler than when he’d first arrived.

I smirked and flipped him the bird. Red blushed through his skin, and his lips drew back slightly as though he was about to bare his teeth.

Sebastian appeared beside me. “She’s mine,” he said in a calm voice. “I found her first.”

“Yeah, and you just got to be the golden boy, don’t you, Lamarliere?” He spit on the floor as his friends finally managed to stand. “Oh, and you’d better get her there soon. Otherwise Grandmère will start wondering.”

After they were gone, Dub wrenched the door handle from the drywall so the door would close, as I whirled on Sebastian. “I’m yours? What the hell was that?”

“Ray works for the Novem too. He’s just trying to find you first. Someone must have seen you come in with Jenna.”

“Jenna?”

“Crank.” He paused. Four seconds went by. “I’ll help you find the records.” And then he walked toward the back door.

All righty, then.

Drawing in a deep breath — I was going to need it dealing with Mr. Personality — I followed him through a set of massive French doors to the backyard garden. Dub and Crank were standing on a moss-covered stone patio, staring at a lump in the leaves. Despite the winter season, humidity had settled over the district, making the garden more like a jungle, a damp place that reeked of earth, decaying leaves, and those pungent white flowers that crawled up the house.

“Vi, he’s gone. And you missed Ari’s awesome smack-down.” Dub reinforced his words with a few air punches and an imaginary body slam. “C’mon, Vivi. You stood up for me. Come on out so I can say thanks in person.”

Two black eyes blinked beneath the leaves. I slid closer to Sebastian as Crank talked to Violet. “What’s her deal, anyway? What’s with the baby vampire teeth?”

“She’s not a vamp,” he said with a quiet laugh. “Dub found her out in the swamp last year. She was living alone in a trapper’s houseboat. He fed her for three months before she came back with him. She comes and goes as she pleases, takes to weird things like the masks and fruit. Never eats it, though.”

My eyebrow lifted, and I rocked back on my heels. “So you actually do speak more than one sentence at a time.”

He glanced over and frowned. “Come on, we better go. Violet will come out when she’s ready.”