The Price Guide to the Occult(38)

Horror swept over her like a cold sweat. It had been her hand with those red-painted nails that had wiped Bliss Sweeney’s blood from her face. She had watched those ferns unfurl from her arm. Only, she didn’t have red nails. Or tattoos.

Reuben nodded thoughtfully, as if Nor had given him an answer worth deliberation. His face, Nor noted, was lined with time and endless summers spent outdoors. His eyebrows were as thick and unruly as a briar patch, and his goatee was streaked with the fiery red hair that had once covered his head. “All right then,” he said.

He held out his giant hand and pulled Nor to her feet, nearly crushing her fingers with his meaty paw. Her grandparents, Nor realized as she kneaded her smashed hand, were quite similar. Once upon a time, they must have made quite the pair.

Nor stumbled, hopping back and forth on her good foot in an attempt to regain her balance. With Reuben’s help, she somehow managed to keep her weight on the ball of her foot, hobble over fallen tree limbs, and pick her way through branches sharp with thorns cloaking the path. When they finally emerged from the woods, Nor was surprised to find they were on the other side of Reuben’s farmhouse.

Tucked back from Stars-in-Their-Eyes Lane, the large cabin sat at the very end of the property and was surrounded by acres of farmland. As she limped down the long driveway, Nor could see fields of bright-green asparagus and red stalks of chard. A few free-range chickens roamed the yard. From here, she could also make out one of the closest neighboring isles. Halcyon Island was barely a few miles long and boasted only one structure — the abandoned hotel.

It scared her, all of it: the dream with all that blood on the floor and the fear in Bliss Sweeney’s eyes and those red-painted nails scared the shit out of Nor. Those plants, with their bloodthirsty thorns, scared her, too. And there was something disquieting about that uninhabited island.

As soon as Nor walked through the cabin’s front door, she smelled oolong tea brewing. She hobbled after Reuben into the kitchen, passing a stone fireplace, a braided rug stretched across the hardwood floors, and a rocking chair in the corner. Aside from the tea, the house smelled of leather and pine and wet wool.

Reuben set a ceramic mug on the table in front of Nor. The mug was large and obviously handmade, misshapen and glazed in a multitude of hues, all turquoise and cerulean and jade. After pulling a first aid kit from one of the kitchen cupboards, Reuben settled into the chair next to Nor. He took her foot in his hand, examining the gash on her heel. “You must have been moving fast,” he mused. He wiped the wound clean of dirt, applied a disinfecting salve that made Nor wince, and then wrapped a length of gauze around her foot.

Though Reuben Finch was Nor’s biological grandfather, their relationship was a bit untraditional, because neither had ever acknowledged their relationship at all. Traditionally, the fathers of the Blackburn women didn’t give so much as a second thought to the daughters they’d sired, let alone their granddaughters. The only difference was that Judd Blackburn, who had loved both men and women at one time or another, and Reuben Finch had been childhood sweethearts. Ironically, the only Blackburn daughter who had ever been conceived in love had been Fern.

“That’ll have to do for now,” he said. “Let’s get you home to Judd so she can fix you up properly.”

He pulled her up, and that was when Nor spotted it again — through the window, the little red fox. Satisfied that Nor was safe — at least for now — he darted around the corner of the porch and scurried into the fields and out of sight.

Reuben helped Nor through the back fields toward the Tower. When they reached the gate that divided the woods from Harper Forgette’s property, however, he turned and began walking away.

“You’re not going to help me the rest of the way?” Nor called.

“Eh, you’re strong enough to make it on your own,” Reuben answered glibly. And with that, his lumbering stride took him back into the woods.

“Are you kidding me?” Nor muttered. She pulled herself up and over the fence, catching her leg on the barbed wire Harper Forgette used to try to keep raccoons out of the pastures. She landed on the ground with a grunt and stumbled back to her feet. The alpacas weren’t quite as pleased to see Nor this time. She was much too distressed for their liking, and the pack turned away with quick, nervous steps. She kept hobbling across the pasture, and the dogs came into view. They were waiting at their usual spot, but Antiquity’s attention and hostility, usually aimed at Nor, were directed elsewhere. That can’t possibly be good.

Suddenly, Pike was hurtling over the gate toward her. “Where in the hell have you been?” he asked, gripping her arm.

Nor didn’t answer but glanced toward the Tower. An unfamiliar and flashy green car was parked in the front yard.

A familiar panic began to build in her chest. Those scars — those neat little lines that ran along her ankles, in the crook of her arm, along her hips — began to hum in anticipation. “She’s here,” she said. “Isn’t she?”

Pike examined the cuts on Nor’s face and noticed the gauze wrapped around her foot. He made a face, grabbed her arm, and wrapped it around his shoulder. The sheathed knife he carried on his hip was thick, like a cleaver or a machete.

“We’ll get Judd to heal you up after,” he said.

After what?





Nor wasn’t sure if she was more surprised to find her mother sitting at one end of the dining room table or to find Judd sitting across from Fern at the opposite end. It was an unsettling and incongruous pairing. Judd’s mouth was hardened into her usual scowl. Her calloused hands were wrapped around a teacup, the grip so tight Nor could already see cracks beginning to form in the delicate porcelain. Judd still had on her work boots, and a dusting of dried mud and grime and who knew what else had sloughed off onto the floor under the table.