Blood Brothers (11 page)

Such a sweet addiction that had been. Reeling him nearly senseless, with a craving he could scarcely control . . .

But now his own blood flowed through her veins.

His own blood, easing her through the transition.

For a sudden moment he forgot about Lucy. Something like sadness swelled in his heart as his thoughts searched through the past.

He closed his eyes and tried, himself, to remember.

Tried to remember that first and wondrous change.

But his thoughts remained dark. Dark thoughts of pain and death and begging and tears.

For him it'd been a long, long time.
Too long.

And that sacred memory he'd sworn never to forget had been washed away by an eternity of bloodshed.

No!
He would
not
think of it—he would
never
think of it!

He would think of Lucy instead. He would think of how she'd come to him just a few nights ago, pulled by something she couldn't see, longing for something she couldn't understand and wasn't sure she'd find.

He would think of how he'd been waiting for her as she'd stepped from the house. How he'd watched as she'd opened herself to all the secrets of the night.

For one brief moment she'd come to him.

Come to him and surrendered.

Wearing moonlight like a bridal gown, hair shimmering over bare shoulders, reaching for him, reaching, so full of hope, of life, while he'd started toward her, closer and closer, ready to take her, in fact . . . when the woman had appeared.

The woman—the aunt.

The one who made Lucy so sad.

Tonight he'd bent over her pillow.

Smoothed her brow, and gently stroked her hair.

His lips had found the pulse at her throat . . . he'd smiled as she moaned in her dreams.

He'd watched her first few drowsy moments of fading sleep . . .

He'd felt the warm surrender in her body as he'd kissed her.

Yes . . .

Her dependence on him was growing, just as he'd planned.

Touch by touch . . . and lie by cunning lie.

“I should have known this would happen.” Lucy yanked open the door to her locker and jerked out a stack of books. “I mean, I
figured
it would happen; I just didn't think it would be this
bad
.”

Her first clue had been in homeroom. The whole class fell silent the second she walked in, and the few students bold enough to look at her seemed either extremely nervous or downright hostile.

“It's like I'm a witch or something,” Lucy grumbled. “Like I should wear a big red letter on my shirt.
D
for doom, maybe. Or
BL
for bad luck.”

“Or
BO
for back off,” Dakota added helpfully. “Except then people might just think you smell bad.” She stood directly behind Lucy, as though to shield her friend from the rush of students through the hall. “Everyone's paranoid, Lucy. Just ignore them.”

“Ignore them? If they thought they could get away with it, they'd stampede right now and pulverize me into the floor.”

“But they
wouldn't
get away with it.” Dakota made a subtle gesture toward the office, where several police officers stood talking to Principal Howser. “Not with all the uniforms around.”

“Right. Like
they'd
protect me.”

The two of them shouldered their way to the vending machines. Dakota opted for trail mix, while Lucy, after some hesitation, finally chose a packet of beef jerky.

“What's that about?” Dakota nodded at the strip of dried meat as Lucy unwrapped it. “You always get potato chips.”

“I don't know. Maybe I'm just craving protein today.”

Choosing a table just inside the cafeteria door, they unloaded their books and sat down.

“So what about Jared?” Dakota lowered her voice, glancing around as if spies might pop out of the trash cans.

Lucy's tone clearly conveyed her distress. “I couldn't get over there this morning. Irene was in a terrible mood, and I thought she was going to give me the third degree about missing school yesterday. But she didn't. She never even mentioned it.”

Dakota shrugged. “That's good.”

“And at the last minute I couldn't get the car to start. So she had to give me a ride.”

“No problem. We can go after school.”

“
If
we can sneak in,” Lucy reminded her. She hesitated, then said, “So you haven't changed your mind since last night?”

“About what?”

“About believing me. You said you still had to think about things.”

“I
am
still thinking about things. I'm
always
thinking about things. That has nothing to do with believing you.” Dakota carefully examined several raisins that she'd pulled from the bag. “Of course I believe you. These look like dead flies—you don't think they are, do you?”

After a cursory glance, Lucy shook her head. “Have you heard any more about the murder?”

“Not much. But I think that
thing
we're not supposed to tell anyone is starting to get around. You can't keep news like that secret for very long. People are acting really, really nervous.”

“Is that why we're having an assembly this afternoon?”

“Probably. The police and the sheriff's department are both going to be there. I'm sure they'll tell us to be careful and to travel in groups. Maybe even impose a curfew for a while. And I've heard the Holiday Treasure Hunt might be canceled.”

Dakota finished her snack. She crumpled the cellophane and slowly licked the tip of each finger.

“It's weird, isn't it?” Her gaze shifted toward the noisy, crowded hallway. “I didn't even know Wanda that well—I didn't even
like
her that much—but now that she's dead . . .” Her voice trailed off. She looked at Lucy with a troubled frown.

“What is it?” Lucy asked softly.

“Can you feel her missing? Can you feel an empty spot where she used to be?”

Lucy thought a long moment. “I felt it with Byron.”

“Me, too. Even though you know death isn't an end to things . . . or an end to life . . . or whatever. Still, when someone leaves this dimension, there's this hole left in their place. And the world seems to shift a little off balance, till that hole fills up again.”

The girls lapsed into silence. It was Lucy who finally spoke.

“Do you know when Wanda's funeral is?”

“They haven't released her body yet.” Dakota sounded sad. “I think the police are making an attempt to avoid a major panic. Her family's just devastated. Mr. Carver had a heart attack last night and ended up in the emergency room.”

“Is he okay?”

Dakota nodded, twirling a strand of red hair. “I hope so. They want to watch him for a few days.”

“This is so awful,” Lucy murmured. “I mean, what do the police think really happened? Do they have any clues? Any suspects?”

“Well, first they'll say it was someone just passing through town. That nobody in Pine Ridge could have done such a horrible thing. Then I'd be willing to bet they'll target the university—check out all the weirdos there.”

“What do
you
think?”

Dakota fixed her with a level gaze. “What do
you
think?”

“I didn't see who killed her.” Lucy sighed. “I didn't even see her actually dying, much less being murdered. God . . . I wish now that I had.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” Dakota said solemnly.

As the girls hurried to class, Lucy was struck by an oppressive air of mourning everywhere she looked. The shrines, the flowers and special presents, the whispers and tear-swollen eyes. It seemed that Pine Ridge High would never be allowed to recover from one tragedy before being hit by another.

Just like me,
Lucy thought.

She and Dakota slipped into their seats just as roll was being taken. When Lucy heard her own name called, she answered but kept her eyes on her desk. It wasn't just wariness and anger she was sensing now from the other kids around her—it was fear.

The sudden realization surprised her. She could feel it in the air, sizzling like electricity— suspicion and distrust coming at her from every direction. When the intercom came on, asking her to report to the office, she was almost relieved. She shrugged at Dakota, who threw her a questioning look. And as she neared the administration desk, she found someone unexpected waiting for her.

“Lucy.” Matt greeted her with a smile. “Great. I wasn't sure you were even here today.”

He thanked one of the secretaries, then ushered Lucy out into the hall.

“Come on,” he joked. “Let's talk in my confessional.”

“You mean I'm in some kind of trouble?”

“What possible kind of trouble could
you
be in?”

“Well, I didn't kill Wanda Carver, if that's what you're thinking.”

Matt gave her that “get serious” look he was so good at. He seemed perfectly normal today, his usual self, not at all like he'd been at the church last night. Maybe he'd been dealing with a personal problem, Lucy decided. Even priests had problems, didn't they? She felt guilty now for spying on him.

Matt led her into his tiny office, shut the door, and motioned for her to sit down.

“Oh, I see you're wearing the medallion.”

Lucy flushed. How could he tell? When she'd put it on this morning, she'd slid it down the front of her blouse. Only one small section of the chain showed—the part hanging just above her breasts—the rest of it was covered by her collar and long hair.

Self-consciously, she adjusted it around her throat. “I really like it. But you still haven't told me—”

“Where it's from? Hmmm . . . somewhere in Europe, I think. Now—anything you want to tell
me
?”

Lucy couldn't decide if he was kidding or not. “Should there be?” she asked cautiously.

“It's just that I covered for you yesterday when you skipped school.”

“
You
did?”

“Yes. I committed a small sin on your behalf.” Matt sighed. “I told Mr. Howser you were helping me out with a very important project. Important enough to keep you out of your classes the entire day.”

“But . . . why?”

“Because Dakota said you had an important reason for being gone, and that was good enough for me.” He lifted an eyebrow, his expression deadpan. “So . . . what? I
shouldn't
have believed her?”

“It's. . . it's not that . . .”

“Don't worry. She didn't tell me what the reason was, and I didn't ask.”

“I . . . well . . . thanks.”

“You're welcome. And I'm not trying to pry into your business. But if this reason of yours has anything to do with—”

“There's something I need you to see,” Lucy said quickly. She wasn't exactly sure why she'd thought of the special-delivery headstone at that precise second. But since she'd planned on telling him anyway, now seemed as opportune a time as any. Besides, what better way to divert Matt's attention from the tricky matter at hand?

“You need
me
to see?” Matt echoed, surprised.

“Yes. It happened again.”

“What did?”

“You remember the night you came over, and I told you about that blanket and Byron's jacket in the car?”

Matt was beginning to look dubious. “Yes . . .”

“Well, something else happened. Something even worse this time. I got a delivery—”

“Delivery?” He picked up a mug from the desk and began stirring the contents with a spoon.

“A special delivery.” Lucy explained. “In an unmarked truck. The box was addressed to me, and when I opened it, I found . . .”

She'd really thought she could recount the incident without emotion. Yet now the initial horror swept over her again, leaving her voice slightly unsteady.

“It was a headstone. And it had letters carved on it. R I P Angela Foster.”

Matt didn't take his eyes off her. He set the mug back on the desk, his face pensive.

“You . . . you actually
saw
this headstone?” he asked.

“Of course I saw it. I opened the box. I totally panicked, and then I dumped it off the porch.”

“You . . .”

“Dumped it off the porch. Into the bushes where no one could see it. I didn't want Irene finding it. That would have been too cruel.”

Matt sat down. “And this happened . . . when?”

“Two nights ago,” Lucy admitted reluctantly. “The night of Angela's vigil.”

“And you're just mentioning it
now
?”

“I didn't know what else to do!”

“Well, if this is some kids' idea of a joke, maybe it's time for me to get involved.”

“And what if it's not a joke?”

“Then the police should definitely be notified. For God's sake, why didn't you call them?”

“I wanted to. At first I thought if they saw it, then they'd finally have to believe me about all the other stuff I've told them. But . . . if you won't even believe me . . .”