Page 16 of The Redd Key (Bone Coven #1)

E very day since my first night on the island, something had been stirring inside of me, just beneath the surface. It was as if every vein inside of my skin tingled with electricity, like when your foot falls asleep after sitting on it for too long. It surged when the wooden chest from the cove had opened, and even now, while sitting with Sarah and Bridget in the whimsical shop, the sensation was faint but strong. There was no way to identify its source – it was everywhere, yet lingered unseen. As blind as ever, its presence was one I desperately tried to ignore since the day I moved to Redd Hills Island.

At that moment, the static flared under my skin, reminding me of when Bridget and I ran into Tamara on Peak Drive. What was that whispering she and I heard? I was exhausted from trying to understand all that had been happening since my arrival. Even if I tried to rationalize my way around the constant feeling of something unfolding, my subconscious unleashed the waves of impossibility at night during my restless slumber.

Usually, when I dream, I’m an outside observer, watching the images flash by. The cove dream was different – it felt real. I felt the water as I fought against the sea, smelled the burning wood as it crackled in the fire, and tasted the salt on my lips. I burned from the heat of Cole as he held me.

My stomach dropped. As real as it all felt, it was still just a dream. There was no denying that the version of Cole I have since encountered in person was nothing like the Cole from my cove dream. If anything, I felt the complete opposite from him. The man was cold and harsh, like the island’s bedrock.

The crisp evening air sobered me as I walked home from The Wicker Basket. The weight of Anabel’s words hung heavy on us all, and it immediately killed the vibe of the night. It wasn’t long after the three of us accepted something was happening that I stood, gathered the artifacts, and said my goodbyes.

“Raina, I am so sorry. This has to be a lot, I know.” Bridget chewed on her lip before enveloping her arms around me. “It’s a lot for us, and we’ve heard the stories our entire lives.” Her voice was soft in my ear as she continued to squeeze me tightly.

“Even if it does mean imminent doom, we are really glad you’re here…with us.” Sarah hiccupped, covering her mouth in embarrassment. Bridget pulled away from me to shoot her a sharp look.

“You are not helping,” Bridget hissed.

Only after I reassured them that I was alright, and they were stuck with me for life, did they finally send me off.

Ferran accompanied me on the short walk home, and I heard Martin caw from somewhere in the night. Pilot was likely nearby as well. There was something reassuring about knowing the three of them were always close and on patrol.

For the first time since the initial night on the island, I dreamt of the cove again. This time, the dream was disjointed. Images of splintered and cracking wood flickered through my mind. The sound of the planks being torn apart was deafening. Flames from the bonfire at the heart of the cove shot into the sky at great heights, lashing out to burn anything they licked. More foreboding than ever, the giant stone pillars loomed even higher casting haunting shadows in the fire’s light. There was no making sense of the chaos that surrounded me, and it was terrifying.

When I woke up, the crimson sun sliced through my window, unnervingly causing me to question if I was really awake. The ruby glow of the morning was jarring as I fought to remember the sequence of my dream. Recalling the scenes was like cupping water with my hands; the more details dripped away, the harder I tried to recollect them. Reality somehow felt wrong, and even after coffee, I was still disoriented.

Steam filled the bathroom, fogging the mirror, as I turned the tap as hot as my body could take. Obscured by the haze, the reflection looking back at me nearly made me sick. My inner demon of torment was frozen like a portrait. Her features were distorted, twisted like nightmare fuel. The fiend grew within my soul from feeding off of every tragedy in my life. She was locking her hold on me, gripping me tighter every day. Wiping her away with the palm of my hand, I saw my usual, albeit exhausted, self looking back.

My lungs protested against the deep, shaking breath I took. Constantly fighting the racing thoughts that consumed my mind was taking a physical toll on me. The stirring in my core purred, reminding me of its presence. Until last night, it had been such a passive sensation, and now, it was as if Anabel’s note drew my attention to what was dormant inside of me.

Another thought sprouted, and my heart raced. Glancing over to the white sage candle on the bathroom vanity, I shut my eyes and envisioned the cream-colored wax melting in the jar, pooling at the base of the wick. A thin tendril of smoke rose like a beacon from a tiny spark at its apex. In contrast to the wooden chest opening, I was not surprised this time as my eyes fluttered open to witness the charred wick had come to life with a cheerful flame. I inhaled the sweet scent of its smoke. Then I felt it. Aecor.

Goosebumps spread across my skin, and I felt charged, like I had been wrapped in a current of electricity. It was intoxicating. How had my power been awoken?

With a thrilling sense of pride, an emotion that had all but diminished from a past filled with self-destruction, I entered the shower’s glass enclosure. The water burned, heating the deepest parts of me, but it did nothing to ease the buzzing on my skin. I let the water cascade as I closed my eyes. Inhaling deeply, I willed the rainfall to burn away any residual unease from my dream. Aecor coursed through me, tingling from my chest and outward towards my fingertips. It abruptly stopped.

I sensed someone there with me. Snapping my eyes open, the room seemed empty, although I felt an intruder – someone was in the apartment. My eyes darted to every corner as the steam swirled around me like clouds.

Despite the scalding water, coldness crawled up my ankles and crept up my legs. I looked down and I froze. The droplets were breaking the laws of physics. My power wasn’t the cause of it. This felt different . Slowly ascending, the stream of bathwater flooded my insides. Sputtering, I coughed as the chill hit my lungs. Salt tore through my esophagus as I gurgled mouthfuls of seawater . I clawed at my throat in panic, falling to my knees, writhing, suffocating…drowning.

By sheer instinct, I called upon my power, letting it swell in my chest and willed Water away, but to no avail. The edges of my vision prickled with red and black as the water became a flood of razor blades in my throat. Blindly grasping at the tap, I desperately tried to shut the water off; my hand slipping off of the chrome handle. In a burst of all the force I had left in me, I envisioned throwing my power against the tap. The cascade of the shower stopped, and the icy water receded like the tide, down my body and into the drain. For far too long, I leaned against the tile wall, coughing up the last remnants of saltwater. My chest was heaving, and my throat was raw.

Mewling, Ferran scratched violently at the bathroom door. I stood on shaking legs as tears streamed down my face. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a small trail of black smoke lacing through the air, born from the extinguished white sage candle. The grey cat dashed into the room as soon as I opened the door. His glowing eyes stared at me with an unnervingly human level of concern.

“I’m ok.” I choked the words out while smoothing down his on-end coat. Obviously, he sensed something too. I quickly toweled off and got dressed, though the knit pullover did nothing to warm my stone-cold bones. Grabbing my phone, I shot off a quick text to Jeff asking if he was home.

“ Yes, bring donuts,” was all he said in response. As per usual, his ability to assume my needs was correct. I had every intention to see him.

With a dozen donuts in hand, I parked outside the rickety cedar-sided house on Mapleshade Lane less than fifteen minutes later. I stood on the front porch and took three deep breaths, hesitating to reach for the door handle. The door swung open and without a word, Jeff grabbed the box of donuts and walked into the kitchen, already shoving an entire old-fashioned into his large mouth.

My hands shook as I braced myself and crossed the threshold. Whatever I had expected to happen when I entered my mother’s childhood home, whether it would be succumbing to the overwhelming weight of grief or becoming completely enveloped in her radiating presence, didn’t happen. “Oh,” I whispered out loud, and I followed Jeff. Above me was a vaulted ceiling with exposed beams that ran the length of the kitchen and into the living room. A huge sectional couch faced a sliding door that led to a backyard that edged up to the bluffs. Beyond the rocks was a clear view of the grey horizon, displaying the sun, which was like an orb of carnelian in the sky. The view was breathtaking.

In the center of the house stood an aged wooden staircase that reminded me of a skeletal spine. On the east side of the staircase was another family room, with a fireplace and built-in bookcases. A library, perhaps.

“So, what’s up?” Jeff’s voice caught my attention. Leaning against the kitchen counter with his second donut in hand, his brow straightened into a hard line as he waited for me to speak.

“Where are RJ and Eamon?” The house seemed too quiet.

“Eamon left not long after I got home this morning. We had a late shipment. RJ is up in his room painting. Last night’s dream was a big one, I think.” He consumed the last half of his second donut in one bite.

“There’s something I wanted to ask you about RJ.” The nagging feeling I got after Bridget’s wine math hadn’t fully dissipated. Did I really want to open up a door I’ve been blissfully ignorant about for the last decade?

Jeff’s honey eyes flashed as I grabbed his attention. “You drove all the way here to ask me something about our little brother.” It wasn’t a question. I nodded.

“You see, I was with my friends last night,” I began, but he mumbled something, stopping me. “What?”

“Nothing.” He looked down at his feet and back up at me. “You were with, like Bridget, and…” he trailed off.

“Bridget and Sarah, yeah.” I suppressed the urge to grin. “Anyway,” I pressed on, “they were confused about the timing of everything, between dad, mom, and…” I trailed off.

“And Eamon.” Jeff finished the sentence, his voice gruff. “I was wondering when you’d figure it out.”

Shifting my weight uncomfortably, I eventually leaned against the counter beside him. “I’m still not sure what I’m trying to figure out, but the timing is weird, right? There is some sort of overlap, isn’t there?” He nodded in confirmation.

“You seemed to just accept all of it so well, I didn’t want to ruin it for you. I mean, you probably get why I have my issues. But they’re with Eamon, not with RJ.” Jeff stood upright as he made his point. “RJ is as much of my brother as you are my sister.”

“There’s no way he’s Dad’s?”

Jeff shook his head.

“No, he’s Eamon’s, but I do not see RJ as a half-brother; there’s no ‘half’ in Family.”

“Of course not. But then, was RJ born early? The math doesn’t make sense.” I was hanging onto hope by a thread.

“He was not a preemie, no.” Jeff crossed his arms over his chest.

My throat felt tight. “So that means…”

“It means Eamon and Mom were together as Dad was dying. Or very soon after.” He cleared his throat. “And I know Mom. She wouldn’t have done anything to hurt Dad. Even so, she would have been pregnant within a month of dad dying.”

My heart ached as I grasped the timeline of events that had always been there, but to which I was pleasantly blind to.

Dad was in the hospital for almost three weeks before he succumbed to his injuries. His usual climb out on Mount Greylock turned into a fatal nightmare. No one knows exactly what happened, but the rock face gave out, burying him alive. He had been lucky that some students from the nearby college were out there to hear his yells. He was airlifted to Boston Medical Center and never came home.

“I can’t remember, but was Eamon a part of our lives before it all happened? Was he a family friend?” It was as if I had a mental block, and I couldn’t remember Eamon’s face before his and my mother’s wedding day.

“He–,” Jeff abruptly quieted. The stairs creaked as RJ hopped down each one.

“Raina! I thought I heard your voice. And you brought donuts!” RJ beelined to the box of baked goods. His dark brown hair was sticking up in all directions from a terrible case of bedhead. His face lit up as he picked up a chocolate frosted with sprinkles—his favorite. I fiercely love this little boy, but something changed as I looked at him, like a shadow veiled him. It was not his doing at all, but it seemed some ghost from the past latched onto him, and I could finally see it. I had to walk away. I stepped into the sitting room, distracting myself by scanning the bookshelves.

My fingers trailed against the spines of the books until I came upon the fireplace. I stood in front of the hearth and studied the painting that hung above the mantel. It was an aged oil painting of a wooden ship crashing and splintering against the break-line off of a rocky coast. Waves scaled the height of the mast, which was cracked in half. Destruction. What an odd choice for a centerpiece.

“What are you doing here?” RJ’s soft voice made me flinch. His question forced my mind to race through what had happened to me in the shower. My throat still burned from the water. The briny water. I turned my gaze back to the painting.

“I didn’t want to be alone,” I admitted. He plopped down on one of the wingback chairs. “Where did your dad go?” The words now carried a heavier weight as I said them.

“He said he had to catch the first Ferry. I don’t know why, but he’s on the mainland.” Chocolate lingered on the corner of his mouth, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“You’ve got a little…” I gestured to his mouth.

“Oh man.” Embarrassed, RJ left the room, and I soon heard running water. Jeff was devouring his third or fourth donut. I lost count at this point. He was built like a machine, fueled by sugar and fats.

A draft came through the chimney, drawing my attention to the fireplace. I could faintly hear the waves crashing against the bluffs. Crouching down to see if the damper had been left open, I was surprised to find that the hearth was clean and without any ash. The cool air blew the strands of my hair back , and I shut the damper. Yet, the sound of the breeze continued like hushed voices.

As if the frantic whispering begged me to linger, cold shivers rolled down my spine. My attention was pulled to one of the large bricks of the hearth beneath the grate. It looked odd . The color blended with the others, but the edges seemed less permanent. The masonry between that particular brick and its neighbors was cracked, as though it could be loosened.

Rolling up my sleeves, I shifted the heavy grate aside, and the iron grid left charcoal marks on my hands. My nails screamed in sharp pain as I wedged my fingertips around the sides of the peculiar brick, managing to tilt an edge up. My fingers ached from the heaviness of the stone, and I quickly cupped a hand under the free corner, lifting the entire brick out of place. My heart pounded as it revealed a deep trench under the hearth.

Unexpected emotions swelled up in my throat, and I swallowed the lump as I reached into the void to pull out an ancient-looking tome. A shuddered sob escaped my chest. In my lap, I held a Book of Shadows.