Dark and Shallow Lies(47)

“Please,” I say. Evie looks so much younger than almost seventeen. She looks like a little girl. Terrified and lost. And it makes me feel awful. I make my voice as gentle as possible. “I need you to tell me the truth.”

She pulls away from Sander and looks at me.

“Just leave me alone, Grey. There isn’t any truth to tell.” Her arms are wrapped tight around her chest. “Why can’t everybody just leave me alone?”

Victor’s voice slices through the fog. Thick and slippery with alcohol. He’s calling from their front porch. “Evangeline! Where you at? Git yur ass in here, girl!”

I see Evie flinch at her uncle’s words.

“It’s okay, Evie,” Sera soothes. “Everything’s gonna be okay. Come on.” She slips her arm around Evie’s shaking shoulders. “Let’s get you home, sè.”

Sera and Sander practically carry a still sobbing Evie back toward the boardwalk with Mackey trailing behind them. He looks back over his shoulder to give me a sad smile.

“You get on to bed, Grey.” Mackey’s voice is kind, but his eyes are worried. “It’s not safe out here this time of night.”

Then the dark gobbles them up.

And I’m all alone.

I head back across the boardwalk to the light of Honey’s front porch. I’m still clutching Elora’s good luck charm. Case’s Saint Sebastian medal. I sit down on the steps, slick with damp, and stare at that rust-colored smudge on the back.

My best friend’s blood.

Evie’s wind chimes start to sing again, soft this time. And I think maybe I hear my name whispered in the fog.

“Grey?”

I should go inside. The whisper comes again, over the tinkling of all those chimes. “Grey?”

The hair on my neck stands on end.

“Elora?”

But it’s Wrynn who steps out of the shadows. She comes to sit beside me on the steps. Mosquito bites dot her skinny legs like a bad case of measles, and her long red hair is heavy and wet. She’s still wearing that dime on the CheeWee-stained string around her neck.

Her face lights up when she sees the medal in my hand. “You found it!” she squeals. “I wanted it back so bad. And Case couldn’t find it for me. But you did.” I let her take the little silver charm from me. If Case didn’t kill Elora, then I guess the medal doesn’t mean anything. Besides, I figure Elora would want her to have it.

Wrynn notices the splinter in my palm. It’s raised and angry-looking. Bright red and hot as fire. She runs her finger over it, and I suck in air through my teeth.

“It hurts,” she says, and I nod. Tears prick at my eyes, but I blink them back.

Everything hurts this summer.

Wrynn takes her own palm and lays it over mine. Her touch is soft and cool. And when she pulls her hand back, the splinter is gone. I trace the spot where it should be, and the skin is unbroken.

Perfect.

I remember Honey telling me once that people used to call on Wrynn’s grandmother – Ophelia’s mama – when they were sick or hurting. Because she had a gift for easing a fever or making broken bones whole, just by laying on a hand.

Psychic healing.

I stare at my palm in wonder.

“I tried to do it to Elora,” Wrynn whispers. “But she was already gone. And I cain’t fix gone.”

“She was dead,” I say, and Wrynn nods. Her eyes are solemn. She rubs at the little saint’s medal. Elora’s good luck charm.

“When I came back, she was.”

“What do you mean, when you came back?”

“I saw dat rougarou snatch her by da arm and open up wide, like he was gonna eat Elora right up. All dem sharp teeth showin’.” She shivers. Scoots closer to me on the step. “So I got scared and took off. Hauled for home. ’Cause I sure didn’t wanna see dat. Left Elora dere all alone with him.” Wrynn sniffs. “And I’m awful sorry I did it. But den I got to thinkin’, maybe I could help ’er. So I went on back.”

“But she was already dead.”

Wrynn nods again. “I was too late, Grey.” She points a skinny finger toward the dock. “Elora was layin’ right dere all bloody. And no heart beating in her chest. Not a bit of life in her no more.”

I close my eyes against the image, and Wrynn goes on.

“I tried to fix ’er. Only I couldn’t.” She shakes her head. “Cain’t fix dead. But I found dis lying dere beside her.” She holds up the little medal. “So I kept it.”

“Then what?”

She frowns. “I heard him comin’ back.”

“To get her body,” I say, and Wrynn nods.

“So I went and hid. In Miss Roselyn’s shed. Only . . .” She stops, too afraid to go on. But I know her story isn’t finished.

“Only he came in there, too, didn’t he?” I ask her, and Wrynn nods again. Her whole body is shaking, and she’s chewing at one dirty fingernail.

“I stayed hidden way back in one corner till he was gone. And I was so quiet, Grey. More quieter than a mouse. I didn’t even breathe.”

“He took something, didn’t he?” I suggest. “From the shed. He took a big old trunk. A black one.”

Wrynn nods one more time and closes her eyes tight against the memory of whatever she saw that night. Her words come out in a terrified whisper that makes me wonder how I could ever have believed she was just making up stories.