Dark Sacrifice (14 page)

“
Shh
, damn it. We're friends, Dee. Not fornicating like rabbits in my empty house beneath the nose of my mother's ghost.” And certainly not with the rev lurking about. Shudders.

Dena's face blanches again, and she groans. “Oh, gosh, I put my foot in my mouth again. How can you stand to be around me?”

“I swear, if you weren't family—”

“Very funny, but I'm serious. I can't believe he's living with you. Everyone thinks he helped his dad try to kill you.”

“But you know better, right?”

She swallows and meets my gaze. “Guess he told you that I drove him to your house that night.”

I let out a strangled “What?”

Dena practically curls inside herself. “Oh. He didn't tell you.”

“No, he didn't,” I say crisply. “Spill it.”

“Don't be mad at him. Promise?”

“You know I don't make promises I can't keep.”

Her guilt dries up faster than a puddle on a summer's day. Once ignited, my cousin's temper flames hotter than a brush fire. She pokes my arm again, only this time she doesn't apologize. “Dad and I went to his house after the funeral. Landry said he wanted to see you, but he wasn't in any condition to drive.”

“I knew your dads were friends, but not that you and Landry hung out or anything.”

“Yeah, our dads played poker every week at the hunting cabin. Landry occasionally came with him. We'd watch movies, or I'd take him over to spy on you…” Her voice trails off into a guilty whisper. “Oops, I wasn't supposed to tell you that.”

“Did you say
spy
on me?”

“Uh, yeah.” She glances over my shoulder, and I turn. Landry has reached the front counter. My eyes narrow on his back. He must feel my glare because he glances over at me and winces.

“What exactly do you mean? Spy?”

“He came over a couple of times a month and snuck over to your house so he could watch you. I swear it's not as stalker-y as it sounds. I would've told you if he got superobsessive.”

My legs go weak. “For how long?”

“What do you mean?” She blinks her sea green eyes at me innocently, but I know her. She's not as ditzy as she seems. If she's telling me this now, it's for a reason.

“How long did he watch me?”

“Oh. Since our senior year.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. I meant how long did he stay at my house watching me. Thank God I never pranced around the yard buck naked. “I'm gonna kill you.”

“Why? It's cute. He's had a mega-crush on you for years, but you never noticed. Shoot, I'm jealous. I've hung out with him since grade school, and he never once looked at me the way he watches you. Like now.” She tips her head in his direction. As soon as he sees me staring, he turns away.

“He doesn't have a crush on me.” If he did, he wouldn't keep rejecting me.

“Whatever. Continue living life like an ostrich with its head in the sand if it makes you feel better. It doesn't change the truth, only makes the situation more tragic. He's put himself out there. It's one thing to break his heart out of ignorance. It's another to deliberately stomp on his affections while knowing the truth but ignoring it.”

God, I hate her logic. I prefer flighty Dena to wizened sage. I want to wipe the smug expression off of her face. Her honesty today doesn't make up for keeping Landry's obsession a secret for two years. “You've distracted me long enough. You said you brought Landry over the night Mama died?”

“Yeah, he wanted to give you a book, or diary, or something, so I agreed. We didn't know our dads were there.”

Her playful tone drops, and she takes a deep, shaky breath. “I saw the fire so I got out of the truck and walked up. Oh my God, I was so scared.”

“You saw Landry grab me?”

She shakes her head. “I saw my father shoot you. He chased you into the woods.” She twists her fingers together. “Dad never came home. I waited, afraid he'd know I went there, and I'd get beat, but he never came back. Did something bad happen to him?”

I don't want to say.
“He chased me into the Black Hole.”

She doubles over, clutching her stomach. “So, he's dead?”

I nod.

She wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. “Wish I could say good riddance to bad trash, but he's…he was my father. He wasn't always bad—just crazy when it came to Reverend Prince. He thought the man walked on water. When Lainey died, I think Dad really believed your mama sacrificed her in a satanic ritual.”

“Landry said a fourth guy was at the house. Do you know who he is?”

“No, the men wore masks. I knew Dad by his voice. The curses he screamed at you…”

I wrap my arms around her. “I'm so sorry you had to go through that.”

“It's not your fault.”

“Still…”

She sniffs and wipes her eyes on her sleeve. “Still, nothing. You almost died. Don't ever apologize for surviving. Ever! What my dad and those men did was evil.”

“It still boggles my mind that four men would be so willing to conspire and commit murder. It takes a special brand of crazy to think of the idea and carry it out.”

Dena shrugs. “Your mama's crazy, Dad's crazy. Reverend Prince is his own special blend of coo-coo-kachu. Gawd, I hope the psycho gene skips a generation so we'll be safe. I'll call the Sheriff's Office and ask if Andy can bring Rex out to sniff around.”

“I'm not sure the scent—”

“You said he's in the Black Hole. That only means one thing.”

“Quicksand,” we say in unison.

I glance at my hands. “I'm so sorry. I should've told you sooner. I didn't remember what happened to him at first. I had amnesia.”

“Maggie told me.”

“Oh. Well, my memories came back slowly. Then I didn't know how to tell you. I wanted to tell you in person, not by phone. But the words…I couldn't figure out how to say—”

“How to say my father tried to murder you? I get it.” Dena wipes her leaking eyes again. “Do you remember where he died?”

“It was dark, so I'm not positive. I remember thorns and hiding behind a tree. The only place that comes to mind is by the blackberry patch and lightning-struck oak. If you come over this afternoon, I'll walk you to the spot. One of the bullets struck the tree…”

She lets out a low groan but nods. “I'll do my best to come after work, but…Mala, I'm not sure if I can handle this.”

“You won't have to deal with this alone. I promise.” I give her a hug, then watch her walk off, terrified for her. Did this news just destroy her family? Her mama ran off eight years ago. Now her dad's dead, leaving her with four younger brothers. Her part-time job at Munchies won't cover their care. At least she's old enough to apply for guardianship, but I'm afraid the kids will be farmed out to different foster homes.

She's had a month to consider what she'll do if her dad doesn't come home. She knows better than I do whether she can feed and clothe her family on her own. Hell, who knows whether she even wants to take on such a life-altering responsibility. This could be her only chance at freedom.

I spend five minutes in line to pay for my collard greens. By the time I'm done, I can't find Landry. He must've headed for the truck. I walk out of the square, inhaling. The warm air carries the fragrance of roses planted along the wall bordering the Vietnam Memorial Garden. Sweat stains the pits of my v-neck T-shirt. I'm sure I smell less than fresh, unlike the girl who walks around the corner.

Clarice Delahoussaye wears a shimmery scarf over her long chestnut hair. She looks like a bohemian princess. Real pretty, and I'm kind of jealous since the scarf's my favorite color—periwinkle, shot through with threads of silver. It totally matches her flowing skirt, peasant blouse, and silver earrings.

When she sees me, she lays a hand flat on her head. Her fingers tremble.

“Clarice,” I say in greeting, preparing for her scorn.

Instead she smiles, a sickly twisting of her lips. “Mala, you're back.”

“Pretty scarf. Where did you get?”

She turns an unhealthy color green. “Don't, please.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Please, I'll be good. I promise.”

I back away from her. Here comes another brand of crazy.

She grabs my arm. “Please, take off the curse. I'll do anything you ask. I swear.”

I wrench my arm from her grasp. Her nails dig grooves in my skin. Blood wells up and trickles down my arm. “Damn it, that hurt.”

Tears fill her eyes. “I'm sorry.” She drops to her knees. I leap back, afraid she's going to hit me, but she folds up her hands as if in prayer instead. “Take back the curse. I swear I won't bother you ever again. I don't even like Landry anymore. He's the son of murderers. He helped his father kill your mom. I don't want anything to do with him.”

She's got such a tight grip on my pant leg that I can't rip free. I squat down and pry her fingers free of my jeans. “Clarice, firstly, I can't fix a curse. It's not in my skill set. I'm not a real witch, just a bitch. Secondly, damn it, there's no such thing as curses. Whatever you think is wrong with you is only a delusion. Something your screwed-on-backward head tells you is real but isn't.”

Listen to your own words, Malaise.

“A delusion?” Clarice stands and rips off the scarf. Bald, scaly patches decorate her scalp like red polka dots, and I gasp. “If you didn't fix a curse, then what the hell's the matter with me? You said my hair would fall out. You bragged you'd get Landry if you wanted him, but I didn't listen.” She folds her hands. “I'm listening now. Please, I'll do whatever you tell me to do.”

If I'm not careful, I'll be overcome with sympathy for this girl. Clarice made it her mission in life to make me miserable. Unfortunately, even though I can't stand her raggedy ass, I can't leave her like this either. Her condition will only get worse. Her belief is too strong.

“Be at my house at two p.m. By then I'll have figured out a spell to help you.”

She nods.

“And bring fifty bucks,” I yell at her retreating back.

Landry swings around the corner and watches her jerky stride.

“How long were you listening?” I ask.

“Parent murderers, delusion, balding.”

“So the whole thing?”

“Why ask questions you already know the answers to? Let's go home.”

I wave at Reverend Shane, and the pregnant woman I assume is his wife, Molly, on the way out. Landry travels in his own world. He doesn't look up to acknowledge them. When did he get this intense?

T
he house smells funny.

“Is that baloney?” Mala asks, sniffing the air like a bloodhound.

I raise an eyebrow. “What kind of baloney are you asking about?”

“There's more than one kind?”

She doesn't get the innuendo, and I'm kind of glad. When am I going to learn to keep my distance? I gave in once already today with the mind-blowing kiss. I can't afford to do it again. I can't scare her off. I can't protect her if I'm not here.

God, here I go again.
I can't think of anything else but how to protect Mala. What I'll do if the fourth guy or a poltergeist tries to hurt her. I draw in a deep breath then lie, “I don't smell anything weird.”

“It smells like baloney and cheese.” She runs into the kitchen.

I'm careful not to rush, but I follow at a quick pace. There aren't any tracks on the floor, but she's right. Someone's been in here. I feel a strange, hair-raising sensation, like someone's hiding in a closet waiting to jump out with a chain saw to cut me into bite-size chunks.

Mala points to the greasy skillet on the stove. “I washed that this morning.”

Dad.
Damn it! If he doesn't learn how to clean up after himself, he's gonna get busted. “Are you sure? We were rushing to get out of the house this morning.”

Her nostrils flare. “Are you calling me crazy?”

“Are you saying we're in the middle of another Goldilocks situation?” I force a laugh. “Who's sleeping in your bed, eating your food? A ghost?”

“Why would a ghost eat a baloney and egg sandwich?” Her voice rises several octaves. She shakes the skillet in my direction, splashing hot grease on her hand, and cries out. She slams it back onto a burner. “Earn your keep and catch the blond bitch living in our house or get out!”

I'm so screwed.
“Do you hear yourself, Mala?”

After several deep breaths and hard sucks on her burnt fingers, she wipes her eyes.

“Are you crying over a dirty skillet?” I ask. “I'll clean it if it makes you feel better.”

“It's not the skillet, Landry. It's that I never thought to hear you call me crazy. I guess I just expected you to trust me.” She shakes her head. “Why am I wasting my time? Dena's as delusional as Clarice.”

“What?”

“Forget it. I have to prepare for my magic act.”

I'm more than happy to change the subject. “So what are you gonna do? Wave a magic wand over Clarice's head and chant poetry or something?”

“Something like that. If I don't, she'll never believe the curse is lifted. She'll end up spending her life as a stunt double for Humpty Dumpty. I'll find a spell on the Internet. There has to be one that's not too hard to copy. If I do it up real spiffy, I know I can pull it off.”

“Maybe you can, but do you want to? Won't you feel guilty?”

“Nah, Clarice is my archnemesis.”

“Well, go ahead. But be careful. If one of those ghosts possesses you again, it might blow your brain out for good this time.”

She grimaces, then shrugs. I hear her mumble Dena's name again and “full of shit.” She wipes leftover grease out of the skillet with a paper towel then proceeds to scrub it as if getting a pig spruced up for the fair.

I lean my hip against the counter. “What did you and Dena talk about that's got you so pissed off?”

Mala leaps back with a squeak, not having heard me walk up behind her. It startles me almost as much, since I wasn't aware of how close I'd gotten. “Sorry.”

She waves off my apology. “Dena told me how she brought you over here that night.”

I swallow hard. “Did she…”
Say anything else?
I back up until my back hits the edge of the refrigerator.

She gives me a long, steady look then shakes her head. “She didn't know the name of the fourth guy. Her father won't tell me what he knows until I get his body buried. I promised to take Dena to where he died. She'll be over later.”

“Oh.” I open the refrigerator and pull out a can of soda. When she doesn't say anything else, I ask, “You understand why I didn't tell you about her?”

“Yeah.” She slams the skillet in the drying rack.

Prickles of unease run down my spine.
What aren't you telling me, Mala?

I venture forth with another question. “With George hanging around after Acker's attack, I couldn't ask but…what happened to him?” I hop up onto the counter, but she shoos me off with a snap of a wet dishtowel. I barely dodge it.

“Mala?”

She lets out a heavy sigh. “Acker chased me into the Black Hole. He had me cornered by a tree. That's when he shot me again, point blank. No remorse. And while I lay on the ground bleeding, he taunted me with how excited he was to kill me. How he couldn't wait to watch me die. Lainey shoved him into quicksand before he could shoot me in the head.”

Her breaths come in ragged gasps. I'm standing right in front of her, but she doesn't see me. It's Acker's face that fills her vision.

“Mala, stop,” I whisper.

She blinks, glancing in my direction. “I could've pulled him out, but I didn't. Then he was gone.”

I reach for her.

Her eyes flick to my hands, then she vanishes into my blind spot.

“You don't have to feel guilty. Evil begets evil,” I say to her retreating back.

She pauses in the doorway. Her hand clutches the door frame. “Don't you get it, Landry? What I did or, rather, didn't do. That's evil.”

Why am I doing this?

Mala sits at the kitchen table hunched in front of a laptop only a decade younger than she is, gnawing on the tip of her braid like a squirrel. She shouts the occasional order in my direction but doesn't stop researching spells to see if I'm following through. Maybe she knows I don't have a choice any more than she does.

A bald Clarice bothers me. We lived across the street from one another our whole lives. She was my best friend until middle school drove us apart. Our moms held the crazy idea their offspring would marry someday—though it seemed more likely Red and Lainey would get hitched. Our moms weren't subtle about their desire either. If I'd been born a couple hundred years earlier, I would've been betrothed to Clarice at birth.

I'd never been too keen on the idea of having my life planned out. Clarice didn't feel the same. She saw me as hers, and made sure the girls in town knew it. Most were too scared to go against her. The only person Clarice didn't scare was Mala.

I glance at her again. “You know, inviting Clarice over to perform a fake spell seems the epitome of hypocrisy. Remember how you felt about fake Madame Ruby?”

She sighs and stretches. “We're not discussing this again.”

“The woman died after letting Lainey possess her.”

“The difference between me and Ruby is I really can speak to the dead, and I don't need to be possessed to do it.” She slaps the laptop closed. “Remind me if I forget to ask Clarice for my payment.”

“You're really making her pay?”

“If I don't, she won't appreciate my efforts as much. Plus I need the money,” she mutters. Her eyebrows droop. “Did you finish inventorying the spice rack?”

“Thyme?” I raise the bottle and shake it.

“I'm supposed to use sage, but I'm allergic. I don't feel like spending the next few hours sneezing. Plus it keeps spirits away.”

I line up bottles of spices in front of her. She starts mixing them up in a bowl, referring off and on to a print-out of the instructions—
for the magic spell, which won't do shit!

This has got to be the worst idea.

“What do you want me to do now?” I ask, sitting across from her.

She hands me a rolling pin and a cardboard container of Morton's Salt. “Grind this up.”

I scowl, and she sighs. “Salt protects against evil spirits. It's why Acker couldn't pass the boundary of the house.”

“And the thyme?”

“The thyme—far as I know, it makes super-delicious chicken soup.”

I push the salt back across the table. “I hear a car pulling down the driveway.”

“That'll be Clarice. Dena will be coming through the woods.” She runs her hands down the sides of Ms. Jasmine's shimmery blue dress. It hugs her curves in all the right places. “Do I look okay?”

Fear flickers in her brown eyes. I wish I could talk her out of this. It seems wrong, but maybe she's right. Seeing Clarice earlier shocked me. She looked like she had lost a girl fight and got clumps of hair yanked out of her head. If the cause of her hair loss really is due to her mind playing tricks on her—a psychological response to the “curse” Mala put on her—then the only way to break the curse is for Mala do something supernaturally impressive.

Mala clears her throat. “Well, do I?”

I shrug. “Yeah, you look beautiful.”

Her cheeks flush. She spins in a circle, giggling, as the bottom of her dress bells out, flashing sleek calves. My mouth goes dry…I mentally slap myself on the forehead. Why can't I keep my opinions to myself? I never thought I'd actually wish for George to show up to provide a buffer between us. I take a step back. “Let's go meet your guest.”

She grabs my arm. “Why do you keep doing that—pulling away from me?” She bites her plump bottom lip, and my own starts to tingle at the memory of the kiss we shared earlier. She looks up at me with bitter-chocolate eyes melting in sadness. “Are you upset because you overheard Mama talking about me kissing Georgie?”

Whoa, unexpected.
A rush of anger flows through me at being blindsided. I'm a guy. Doesn't she know guys don't talk about their “feelings”? Not that I want to discuss this now. Or yeah, ever.

I craft a mask of indifference on my face, praying it won't crack. “Your love life's none of my business. We're roommates, Mala. You don't owe me an explanation.”

Her mouth opens, but I brush past her. I get to the door first in case it's not Clarice outside. Mala comes up to stand on my good side without arguing for once, smoothing down the front of her dress and then the curl that escaped from her braid, unable to stop her nervous fidgeting. A quick peek through the window makes me laugh. “Clarice brought Amanda for moral support.”

“Hmm, not sure I want a witness if things go bad with Clarice.”

“Mandy's kind of timid. If I go out onto the porch, I'll freak her out so bad she'll wait in the car.” I reach for the doorknob, but Mala grabs my hand. Warmth flows into my chilled skin and travels upward.

She's too close.
I can't breathe when she gets so close. Not without inhaling her scent. Why does she smell so good? I lift her fingers from mine and step aside.

Mala steps closer, forcing my back against the door. “You're pulling away from me again. Why?”

I hold back my sigh.

“George and I aren't—”

“Fine, we'll talk after your magic act.”

“Promise you'll explain why you're acting so weird around me?”

I run a finger across my eye patch. The doorbell rings. I turn, forcing her to stumble back, and throw open the door. I step onto the porch with a wide grin. “Clarice…” I drawl, using my best Hannibal Lecter imitation.

We watched
The Silence of the Lambs
last night, and Mala laughs in reference to the serial killer. For a roommate, she's not too bad. We like the same movies and music. If I move away whenever she tries to sit beside me on the couch, even for the most innocent of reasons, she's diplomatic enough not to bring it up. At least until today.

Mala steps into the hallway. Clarice keeps her head down and the scarf pulled over her eyebrows. A strong wind wouldn't be able to blow it off. She edges around me without speaking.

Tension tightens my shoulders. I don't say another word but go outside. Amanda sees me and lets out a squeak. She dashes back to the car. My lips clench, but I keep the words locked in. I leave the door open and go sit in the rocking chair. With my chair tilted, I can see and hear everything going on in the house.

Clarice doesn't notice my absence. The girl looks around the small room, and her nose wrinkles. I felt the same way the first time I entered. Yeah, it's a run-down old farmhouse. The living room is the size of my old bedroom, but over the last week, it's become home, and I feel unusually protective of it. And of Mala, whose back stiffens when she notices the slight.

I glance at the painting of Velvet Elvis, and he winks.

“Have a seat,” Mala says, pointing to the card table set up in the middle of the living room. I'd covered it with a tablecloth and lit the leftover candles that Mala's Aunt Magnolia had given her to cleanse the house. They add to the ambiance we're going for. This is a matter of psychological warfare.

“What are you planning?” Clarice asks. She runs her fingers through the thinning ends of hair hanging from beneath the scarf. Strands cling to her fingers. She shakes them onto the floor with a low moan.

Mala's eyes soften in sympathy. “You said I fixed a curse on you.”

Clarice nods.

Mala wanted me to hide in the bedroom during the performance, but I refused. I want to be close if something goes wrong. And with Mala playing around with magic she knows nothing about, even if it probably is fake, chances are good something might go wrong.

The chair beside me rocks, and the hairs on my arms rise. “Ms. Jasmine? Is that you? Gaston?”

“BOO!” Mala's mom yells right in my ear and lets out a cackling laugh as she materializes. She slaps her leg and her white nightgown flutters. “Thought I could sneak up on you.”

I rub my ringing ear. “You got me.” My attention returns to what's going on inside.

Ms. Jasmine leans around me. “What's my girl up to?”