Comes the Night (15 page)

The words slid into Brooke’s heart like a hot knife going through butter, straight and sure and devastating. The pain shocked her, even though she knew it shouldn’t. She’d known Seth resented her for giving it up to someone else, and hadn’t he been avoiding her like the plague? But somehow, she’d been unprepared for it. The armor she’d been building around her heart should have provided more protection. Guess she’d have to work on that. Starting now.

“Unlike me, you mean?” Brooke smiled, letting it cover the hurt. “Well, that’s okay. I seem to remember you liking my
skankiness
just fine.” She stepped forward and laid a hand on his chest, and was rewarded by how hard his heart pounded. “Come on, admit it, Seth. You liked what we did together.” The words were bitter in her mouth. “You want to do it again.”

She tugged his t-shirt out of his jeans and laid her hands on his skin beneath, and he tipped his head back and groaned. The sound suffused her with a sudden sense of power, and she grabbed at it. Anything to push back the pain, the self-loathing. She
did
have power over him, with this.

He didn’t even make a token resistance. When she pushed his shirt up, he tugged it off. Then they were making out like crazy. At some point, he broke it off long enough to lead them to the relative privacy of what served as an office. All the while, Brooke reminded herself this was what she wanted, but nothing felt right. It didn’t stop Seth from getting off, though.

Afterward, he tossed her clothes at her and started to dress again. So much for tender afterglow. It didn’t matter, though. She’d won. Buh-bye, Melissa.

When she’d shimmied into her jeans and was working on her shirt, he said, “So, what now? Do you want to do this regularly?”

What the hell kind of question was that? “Hey, you know us skanks and the sex thing. Can’t get it often enough.”

Her sarcasm blew right by him, as usual.

“Great! And this is a good spot. But next time, call first. Bryce helps with the chores most times.”

Brooke’s hands stilled on her buttons. “You want me to come here to the barn for... dates?”

He snorted. “I wouldn’t exactly call it a date, but yeah. How else are we gonna keep it on the downlow?”

It clicked then. She hadn’t won anything. He didn’t want to get back with her, at least not publically. And he wasn’t going to give Melissa up. He just wanted her for a piece on the side.

“You are such a jerk, Seth Walker.”

He looked up, genuinely astonished. “What?”

“I am not going to be your fuck buddy in private while you date Melissa in public. While you and your friends
laugh
about me. It’s not gonna happen.”

He snorted. “What? You thought this meant we were going to get back together? That it meant anything? That we’d go to the Halloween dance together and slow dance in the auditorium?” His eyes turned hard. “That was last year, Brooke. Before you went home for the summer and spread your legs for somebody else. Well, this is a new year, and I have a new girlfriend.”

His words lashed at her, flaying her to the bone. She wanted to explain.
I was lonely. I was angry at my mother for assuming the worst. Dammit, I was hurt. He said he cared about me, and I thought it would make me feel better, at least for a while, but it didn’t. It made me feel like shit.
But she’d
die
before she told him any of that, because he’d made her feel like shit too.

She lifted her chin. “Ah, the ego smarts over that, doesn’t it? Well, I’m here to tell you, it’s a good thing I
did
. Otherwise I might be standing here, not knowing what a sorry excuse for a lover you are, Seth. I might have thought
this
was all there was to it.”

His face darkened like a thunderous black cloud. “Get out of here, right now! And don’t come back. I mean it, Brooke. If you turn up here again, I’ll set Dad’s Dobermans on you.”

Brooke smiled. Oh, she’d be back again. And again and again, until she’d made him pay sufficiently for this. For rejecting her,
humiliating
her. Dammit, for breaking her heart. But when she came back, she wouldn’t have to worry about dogs. Or anything else.

“Fine. I’m going.”

And she did go, for a while. She drove into town and had supper while darkness fell. When it was full dark, she made her way back to the Walkers’, parking her grey Intrigue on the shoulder a few hundred yards down the road. Then she crept onto their property, careful to be as quiet as she possibly could. Though if she were discovered, she’d just say she’d lost an earring in the barn when she and Seth had all that wild sex earlier. Ha! Let him explain
that
to his parents!

She slipped past the house without detection—not even the Dobermans stirred in their kennel—and opened the barn door. The horses lifted their heads and snuffle/snorted a greeting. She spoke quietly to each of them for a moment, then unlatched their stall doors and pulled them open. One gelding took the opportunity to leave his stall to join the mare in the next box, but the others were content to stay where they were. They knew it was nighttime, and none of them wanted to venture out of their safe, warm stalls. Which was a good thing, because as she walked away, she left the barn door propped ajar.

Maryanne

T
HEY DIDN
’
T REALLY
need the candles anymore. They could all find their way around the attic blindfolded. But behind the closed door, Maryanne lit each of the thick white candles anyway—one by one. First Brooke’s then Alex’s and finally her own. Somehow those small flames were part of it now. Part of the ritual.

But as she lit the candles, she did so with a shaky hand.

She knew that trembling would soon settle, once she cast out. So would her jangling nerves. And this time, it was she who led the group up the attic stairs.

“You’ve already been up here! Alone!” Alex said, unable to keep the accusation from her tone as she looked at the arrangement of pillows on the moonlit floor. It was an amazing full-moon night, the brightest so far.

And yes, Maryanne had been up here earlier in the day, after pilfering a few extra pillows from the storage room below. She’d landed hard on her elbow the last time she’d cast out; that wouldn’t be happening this time.

Before she had a chance to answer Alex, Brooke jumped in.

“Get over it, Alex. We’ve all been up here alone. You included.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Yeah, but
nothing
.”

Alex didn’t sputter; but she
did
narrow her dark eyes as she glared at Brooke.

Of course, Brooke spoke the truth. Though the three girls had made a pact to only cast out together—one that even reckless Brooke seemed to realize was necessary—they’d all ventured up here on their own. Just the other morning, as she was padding down the hall to the bathroom, Maryanne had come across a startled, white-faced Alex, sneaking back through the attic door. She’d been holding something tightly in her arms as they’d passed. Maryanne figured it must be something of Connie’s Alex had found up there, or at least something she associated with Connie. She’d wanted to ask, but Alex was so weirdly possessive about Connie, she just let it go.

And when she herself had quietly crept up the stairs earlier this evening, she’d found Brooke there already. Brooke hadn’t seen her. Maryanne had been about to call out, but something told her not to. Instead, she sat down, three steps from the top, leaned forward and spied over the edge of the floor.

Brooke had stood before the window. Her hands pressed to the cool, day-lit glass. Her forehead bent toward it.

“Bastards. Rotten, hurtful... bastards! Users. Every one of them.” Brooke’s voice had been heavy with tears and Maryanne had backed down the stairs slowly so as not to be heard. Later, as they’d rushed through their homework—rushed being a major understatement—Brooke had suddenly announced that she wouldn’t be going home for the American Thanksgiving after all.

She’d complained all through the Canadian one. Too early in the calendar year. Too much grease in the gravy. And what the hell was up with Canadian football—three downs instead of four? At least
then
she’d actually been looking forward to a long-weekend at home in New York for the American Thanksgiving in November. But now her plans had been canceled. Her mom and new husband were heading to Vermont to spend the holiday with his folks. She wouldn’t be. And though she proclaimed it a Godsend not to be included in the gathering at Herr Kommandant’s family homestead, Maryanne knew that had to hurt. Yet that wasn’t the only thing eating away at Brooke. Maryanne could almost swear to it.

“The diary, Alex?” Brooke asked as they moved toward the center of the room.

They’d not ventured into Connie’s book in a few days. Not since Alex had read to them about the old dog, Sugar, and Ira Walker and that terrifying shriek. And of course in that reading, the girls had learned the legend of the Mansbridge Heller.

“No. No reading tonight,” Alex answered.

“Why not?” Maryanne protested. “You can’t keep it to yourself.”

“I know. But we’re just not reading tonight. Tonight... let’s just soar.”

“I’m good with that,” Brooke said.

Maryanne felt the niggling of relief, and almost sighed with it. She just wanted it to happen. She just wanted to cast out. Get away from everything. Get that blessed reprieve. And stop the thoughts about Jason.

No, that wasn’t quite right. The thoughts of Jason never stopped. But casting... distanced them. Yeah, that was the right word. When she was out there, the grief and pain seemed so far away somehow. Which was why she was so impatient to cast out again and again. She found herself constantly distracted, even in school, as she counted down the hours—
the minutes
—till night fell. Her marks were dropping. Only slightly so far, but enough that she wasn’t looking forward to that mid-term report.

One by one, the girls set the candles on the dresser. Tonight, Alex added the fourth one—secured in the candleholder that had been Connie’s. Alex had showed it to them just this evening, explaining she’d found it in the attic a few days ago. Maryanne presumed that’s what Alex had been cradling so secretively when they’d crossed paths that night in the hall.

“That bottom drawer’s ajar!” Brooke suddenly said. “I’m sure it wasn’t like that last time we were here. Do you think someone else was up here?”

Maryanne could practically feel Alex panicking beside her. Weakening almost. As if her knees were giving out, as if she had a secret.

“I was up here, Brooke,” Maryanne lied. “Just poking around.”

“Find anything interesting?” Brooke bent to examine the drawer herself.

“Just cobwebs.”

Brooke straightened and immediately brushed her hands on her jeans as if they were suddenly covered in cobwebs. She stared at Maryanne. “Would you tell me if you did find anything?”

“Of course I would,” Maryanne said, and not without a stab of guilt.

“I was up here too.”

Surprised, Maryanne shot a quick glance at Alex.

“That’s when I found Connie’s candleholder,” she continued. “Right there.” She gestured toward the dresser. “Bottom drawer. I’m pretty sure I’m the one who left it ajar.”

“Of course,” Maryanne said. “That makes sense.” Except if the explanation was truly that easy, why had Alex freaked when Brooke noticed the dresser?

Brooke turned toward the window. “Let’s do this,” she said.

Alex joined Brooke quickly, but Maryanne was slower to follow. As usual, Alex wasn’t telling the whole story. No doubt she
had
found the candleholder in the drawer. But maybe she’d found something else? Something she wasn’t ready to talk about?

Well, that was a question for another day. Right now, Maryanne couldn’t wait to get out of her body.

The three girls positioned themselves at the window. With the brightness of the moon outside, the Madonna’s eyes seemed almost alive as they gazed into them. Her smile seemed mysterious now, with the stronger illumination. Maryanne felt a pang for her, the beautiful Madonna who bled amongst the thorns. Yet there was a strength in the way she stood, holding on to that baby. Like Maryanne should have held onto Jason.

Maryanne wet her lips. This was it. She was ready. All that pain—all the guilt—was about to recede again.

“I want out.” She was the first to say it, but the other two girls joined in the next time, then all repeated the phrase.

Maryanne was first to cast out. She realized herself outside, realized her body on the floor again with complete co-consciousness. Simultaneously, she noticed Brooke and Alex were still in the house. She tried to reach. As her body flopped a hand on the floor, Alex’s head almost jerked sideways to observe it—as if she caught herself mid-motion—yet she never broke the ‘I want out’ chant.

Within seconds, Brooke was beside her.

What’s taking Alex so long?
Maryanne wondered.
Didn’t she feel the same elation when she was out here? Didn’t she feel this wonderful sense of... freedom?

Cast Brooke spoke, echoing Maryanne’s thoughts. “What the hell is holding her back?”

Then Alex was there with them.

“In a hurry, Saunders?” she asked, even as she glanced inside at their fallen bodies sprawled on the pillows.

Maryanne laughed. “I know
I
am! In a hurry, that is.” She felt it already. The pull of it, and she moved out quickly from Harvell House, then surged forward again to rejoin Alex and Brooke.

“God, can’t you just feel it? Feel the night all around you?” Maryanne laughed, knowing the answers her roomies—her casting sisters—would give. That too was almost a mantra now, part of the ritual.

“The night is ours. We
own
it!”

Maryanne turned left, then right, to watch Brooke and Alex soaring beside her over the river again. Their shimmering edges helped them see each other, as did the peculiar brightness of their cast vision. But Maryanne trusted the world would see only their black, empty silhouettes. Yet with the moon so bright tonight, the darkness of their casts would stand out.