Page 4 of The Redd Key (Bone Coven #1)
“I am insane.” My voice echoed off the tile. There I was, talking to myself, confirming the statement. I could not—I would not allow myself to believe the impossible. The dream was just a dream. This had to be a part of the grieving process, right? Denial, check. Delusions? Perhaps. I absolutely would be emailing my therapist about this. Normalcy is probably what my therapist would prescribe. But what was normal now? My whole life imploded just a few weeks ago.
“You know what?” I remembered the words my brother Jeff had spoken the night we got the call from my stepfather. “We’re orphans now.” The decade’s worth of grief over losing our father and the fresh wound of our mother’s death created this entirely new identity neither of us had asked for. Yes, we had Eamon, but we were teens by the time he came into our lives. Now, a gaping wound that would never heal festered in my core. Dread in my stomach was punctuated by that chastising ringtone.
Nathan:
No? Now, that’s not being a good girl.
I could see his wry smile, where he would bite his bottom lip like he usually did when he toyed with me. Nathan would have definitely gotten in trouble with the university had I been a better person and turned him in. As a professor and ten years my senior, there was no doubt he enjoyed using his position to his advantage. But the truth is, I fed into it. I devoured every scrap of affection he would give me. Shattered and broken parts inside me were desperate for his unique kind of attention. After a couple of years of being treated like his little pet, I became addicted to his games. I wasn’t ashamed of my willingness to submit to him, even now as I fell back into the role I played so well.
I don’t feel like being good anymore.
Normalcy.
Nathan:
…
…
You don’t get to decide what you feel. That’s my job. And I will make you feel everything tonight.
Water rolled down my legs as I twisted my hair in the towel. My reflection in the mirror stopped me in my tracks. My cheeks were rosy from the combination of hot water and thoughts of what could take place tonight with Nathan if I decided to show up at his office, which was about 400 miles away. As tired as I felt, I looked so alive—my heart raced beneath my flushed skin. My hazel eyes stared back at me, daring me to accept the challenge. Finally, things were happening to get my mind off the real issues. Burdened by loss and my rash decision to stop pursuing my degree, a beautiful diversion was offered—Nathan’s enticing game, the cove being real, and finding out if the mystery man was from my dream.
For three months, all I have thought about was how different my life would be without my mother. She died so suddenly that I never had a chance to catch my breath. Between her admittance to the hospital, then the funeral, the legal arrangements, and the constant calls from relatives and friends, I forced myself to be strong when I just wanted to curl up under a rock. Now, I had questions, and I needed answers.
Clothes littered my floor as I struggled to find something weather-appropriate to wear to meet Eamon and RJ in town. I de-tangled my long black mane. To compliment my burnt-orange knit cardigan, white tank top, and jeans, I opted to line my eyes in forest green eyeshadow. The color made my eyes seem lighter, more golden. If the entire town would stare, I wanted to look a little less like a bridge troll and more put together. Ever since the coffee incident, I felt like he could be around any corner, even outside beneath my balcony.
The moment I imagined him pining for me from below, something slammed into the glass sliding door of the balcony. Startled, I hurried to the door to see a crow flapping around on the wooden planks of the deck. It shook its head a few times as if to gather its senses. Carefully, I opened the door, slipped outside, and bent low.
“Have you been following me?” I asked teasingly. Of course, it hadn’t been. Then, a yelp made me rush to the railing to see the rusty orange fox below. Next to the fox was a smoky fluff of fur. The grey cat from the coffee incident looked up at me. His head tilted with the most inquisitive gaze. My eyes widened as I looked between the three creatures. “You are following me.” The crow ruffled its wings, tucked them in, and tilted its head. The beady black eyes stared deep into mine. The fox whimpered, and in response, the crow hopped onto the railing and flew up Peak Drive. As the fox dashed away after the bird’s exit, the cat remained, twitching his tail.
“Sorry, no pets allowed,” I told him. The little one adjusted his paws but continued to just sit and stare. I scrunched a brow and huffed. “Fine, get up here,” I hissed. “But don’t let my landlord know.” You know those crazy cat ladies? Well, I was one in training. The feline stretched his front paws and arched his back before leaping to the fifth step, then onto the balcony, stopping at my feet. He rubbed his body against my legs, purring loudly. “You can’t come inside though, not until you get checked out by the vet.” The cat had no collar, and his ear wasn’t clipped, showing he wasn’t part of a Trap-Neuter-Return program. Though the island was tiny, there had to be a veterinarian who could check for a chip. I planned to ask around town this afternoon, to make sure I wasn’t about to adopt someone’s family pet. I thought about how he rubbed against the man’s boots earlier. Maybe this cat was his, or he was just a friendly stray.
Placing a water dish on the balcony, I bent low to scratch the cat’s ears. His coat was smooth and long, with alternating tufts of smokey and cream-colored fur. His eyes were bright yellow with a tinge of green. They were shut tight as I continued to pet and scratch his face and chest. The purring never ceased.
“I’ll be back in a while. It would be cool if you stuck around.” Again, he sat and stared, watching me as I descended the stairs.
Eamon’s car pulled into my driveway as I stepped onto the sidewalk. RJ jumped out of the backseat the moment the engine shut off, walked straight to me, and wrapped his arms tightly around me. I rested my cheek on the top of his head and swallowed the sob that threatened to escape my throat. His hugs were pure magic, healing my soul a bit, and I felt his warmth touch my heart.
We hadn’t seen each other in almost a month. Between Eamon deciding they would move here and me having to pack up my things from the house I lived in off campus, I just didn’t get the chance to catch up with them.
Eamon walked around the car and grasped my shoulder with a smile. “You look well,” he said calmly, and I knew he meant it.
“I’m so glad you’re finally here.” RJ’s words were muffled as he still hugged me tight.
“Me too, little man,” I said, squeezing him a bit more.
As predicted, any available stares from passersby settled on the three of us as we walked up Peak Drive toward the shops. I held onto RJ’s hand for moral support as the three of us crossed the street. My head was on a swivel, searching for that man from this morning while Eamon led us into a small shoe store that had a wizened old man behind a dusty counter.
RJ scoured the walls until he found a pair of loafers more suited for a grandpa than a ten-year-old little boy. That being said, they were very much fitting of RJ’s old soul. Ever since his birth, my mother and Eamon joked that this wasn’t Reagan John’s first time on this Earth. Whether he was reincarnated many times or lived just a few lives, I had no idea. Still, there was no denying he beheld a depth of wisdom that few could ever achieve at only ten years old. He sat on the bench to try on the loafers, undoing the straps of his sandals one by one.
“You should look for some sneakers too, buddy. You’re growing out of yours,” Eamon noted.
RJ shot Eamon a stern look as he placed the loafers back into their box, slipped his sandals on, and came to where I was browsing the Chucks. RJ knew what he liked, and the store held no other options for his tastes. We continued shopping, browsing each charming shop in near silence for almost an hour, content with each other’s company. Eamon always followed a step behind, allowing RJ and me the space to just be together.
Peak Drive was surprisingly busy, and I imagined every person who lived on the island was present on the street in front of me. Narrowing my eyes, I looked into everyone’s faces, searching for those grey eyes.
“I’m going to take RJ over there.” Eamon pointed to a children’s clothing store. “How about we meet back here in an hour?” He saw me eyeing a particularly colorful clothing store.
“Sure,” I said and gave RJ an easy high-five. “See you in a bit, dude.” I watched as the two of them walked across the street.
Daisy Chic was a cute, bohemian-styled boutique that looked utterly out of place between the weathered grey storefronts on either side. The front window was decorated with mannequins in flowery blouses and flowing skirts. Patchwork messenger bags, layers of necklaces, and dozens of beaded bracelets tied the looks together. I pushed the door open, causing a soft chime to sing from somewhere within the store.
No one was tending the floor or the counter—I didn’t see a single person inside. Perusing the rows of clothes, I pulled a piece that caught my eye. A pretty gauze shirt looked hand-dyed, but it also seemed a little too small for me. I scanned the store for a dressing room when a woman close to my age emerged from behind a curtain that hid a back room. My memory jogged, and I recognized her. She was the one who ran up to the man this morning, tearing his gaze from mine.
Her hair was cropped short with straight bangs, and the inky black tint definitely came from a bottle. She was dressed in all black; the cut of her corset-style top contoured her curves while her pleated skirt accentuated her tattooed thighs. The ink crept up past the short hem. Her skin was incredibly pale that she eerily glowed. Aside from how odd it was seeing a Goth girl in a hippie store, I couldn’t help being struck by how pretty she was.
The woman shrugged right by me, not acknowledging my presence, and walked straight to the counter. Awestruck, I was taken aback by her cold shoulder. Following her, I wondered when she would notice there was a customer, if ever. She continued to ignore me as she reapplied dark lipstick in a handheld mirror.
“Excuse me,” I said, smiling politely. The woman didn’t look up, looking less pretty every second. “Is there any place I can try this on?” I held up the blouse. She finally lowered the mirror, and her emerald eyes were set in a cold glare. The urge to match her energy was overwhelming, but I kept my face pleasant.
“You’re not from here,” she said in a slow, venomous voice. I almost laughed at the absurdity of her aggression.
“Ok,” I said, oozing sarcasm, “well, thank you very much.” I placed the shirt on the counter. “Have a lovely day,” I sang . Kill her with kindness…because jail would be bad. I walked out into the street and turned the first corner into an alleyway. I leaned against the wall of a brick building. What the hell was that woman’s deal? She seemed to be an absolutely miserable human being.
Around me, the alley was draped with wisteria and ivy, with window boxes filled with weeds and wildflowers. Carved out of the vines was a wooden door with a sign protruding above it. Barely making out the words “The Wicker—”
“Basket.” Someone cut me off, and I spun to see the most whimsical crone of a woman standing under the floral archway. Her white hair hung over her shoulder in an intricate braid with a billion fly-aways. She was wrapped in a heavy shawl, carrying none other than a wicker basket. She walked past me and unlocked the door. “Come on in,” she said with a tender smile. “I’ll make you a cup of tea.”