Haunted (18 page)

The back door’s been wrenched off the hinges, and it’s half blocking the doorway, so we’re going to have to climb over it to make it outside. I scan the parking lot—no rusalkas in sight—and push Ben ahead of me. “Go to Mom’s car, and don’t move,” I order him. “I’m serious, Ben. Go. I’ll be right there. Go to the car. Then Do. Not. Move.” He looks longingly over my shoulder toward the horde of burning, moaning rusalkas, but he hoists himself over the broken door. One down.

I ease my grip on my mother’s hand. She’s still holding on to Mrs. Benson. “Go,” I tell them. “I’ll be right behind you. Find your keys, Mom. You need to unlock your car. Can you do that? Just focus on getting to the car. Don’t think about what’s behind us. If you can do that, we’ll be okay.” I’m lying about that last part, obviously. We’re not going to be okay. But at least we’re not going to be dead—or worse.

My mother nods. And then things go terribly wrong.

“This isn’t my fault,” Mrs. Benson wheezes out. “I’m being punished—but it isn’t my fault! I tried to save her! I kept her secret! I protected her daughter! But now look. You’ve ruined my store. You’ve ruined my life!” The wheezing turns into hysterical crying. The cameo with Viktor’s picture falls from her hand to the floor.

She whirls on me. “It’s you,” she says. “Everything was fine until you. I protected your mother from whatever Lily was afraid of. But it’s found you and taken you. And now it’s come back for me. I can’t have it. I won’t have it!”

“No, Amelia.” Anger and fear mix in my mother’s tone. “Are you crazy? Look around you. Do you think Anne caused all this? We—oh, my God, there’s no time to argue. We need to get out of here now!” She grabs Mrs. Benson’s right arm and starts to pull her toward the back door. It’s only then that I see the residual glow in Mom’s hands. The power surge that she just shared with me isn’t gone.

“You’re burning me! Your hands. Let go! Don’t touch me!” Mrs. Benson wrenches her arm away with such force that my mother stumbles into me.

Unfortunately, the rusalkas take this as a threatening move.

“Sisters,” one of the rusalkas cries out. “Sisters! Rouse yourselves! You know what we must do! Lily has told us. We act as one, sisters. Lily must have her vengeance! And she won’t have it without the girl! Keep her safe, sisters!”

As one hugely creepy unit, the rusalkas advance on us, so swiftly this time that they surround us before I can even move. Ben’s outside, and we’re inside, and I think that I’m going to vomit or drown in this mucky air—or both at once.

A dark-haired rusalka, her white dress filthy, her teeth sharp as arrows, grabs Mrs. Benson and pulls her away from us.

“No!” I reach for her. My mother reaches for her. But we’re not quick enough. The rusalkas, some still smoldering, circle tightly around Mrs. Benson—a cluster of crazies closing in tighter and tighter.

“Amelia!” my mother shouts. “Amelia! No!”

“I’ve kept your secret!” Mrs. Benson cries as a rusalka in a long gown—gray with age and ripped across the chest, so that the edges of her breasts are visible—clutches at her. “It’s Anne you need! You just said so! She can help you! That’s what you need, right? Someone to help you? She’s right there in front of you, you stupid fools! Don’t you see?”

I guess they don’t. Or possibly they don’t appreciate being called stupid. Or maybe they’re just pissed off in general about being crazy mermaids. In the time that it takes me to process what’s about to occur, the mermaids reach as one for Mrs. Benson. I hear a dull crunching sound as the mermaid in gray twists Mrs. Benson’s arm in a direction it doesn’t want to go.

“Help me!” she cries. Another cracking sound punctuates her scream.

We try to save her. I paw at the rusalkas and pull them aside, and I think my mother’s hands burn some of them again, but more appear each time we remove one. I’m sobbing and gasping, and I barely feel it when my mother pulls me away, forcing me to climb over the fallen door and stumble into the parking lot toward the car and Ben.

“Are you satisfied now?” I scream at the clouds while my mother digs into her pocket for her car keys. “Is this what you want? Is this what makes you happy? They’re killing her! Or turning her into one of them. It’s all the same, isn’t it? Does this make you happy? Are you done with me now? Please! Just be done with me!”

If Baba Yaga hears me, she makes no answer.

My mother thumbs the remote, and the car doors unlock. She looks too shocked to cry, and Ben is just standing where I’ve told him to stand, staring back at the ruins of the Jewel Box. I grab the keys from her, numbly hustle Ben into the back and my mother into the front passenger seat. I don’t know what else to do. I should go back for Mrs. Benson. But it’s too late.
Tess,
I think dimly. I need to make sure she’s okay. And my dad. And—

I turn the key in the ignition and screech out of the little parking lot onto the street. I don’t even know where I’m going. Ben and my mother are saying something to me, but I don’t even hear them. I just find myself annoyed that the phone has started vibrating yet again in my pocket. I yank it out and slap it open. “What?”

“Anne! Oh, my God, Anne. Finally!” Tess’s panicked voice shrieks from the cell. “You wouldn’t pick up! Anne, you have to come! You have to come now!”

“What? Come where? Tess, you—I can’t. Whatever it is, you need to take care of it yourself. I can’t.”

“You’re not listening. Anne, it’s Ethan! It’s Ethan, Anne! You have to come now. I didn’t trust him. You know I don’t trust him. So I—I didn’t go to work, Anne. I’m not at Miss Amy’s. I followed him. I wanted to see what he was up to. I followed him to the cemetery.”

“You did what? Why? Cemetery? He went to the cemetery?”

“I—it doesn’t matter. Just listen to me. She’s taken him. The rusalka. Lily, or whoever she is. She’s taken Ethan, Anne! I’m at the lake. Right past Lighthouse Beach. She’s got him, Anne. She’s done something to him. She’s got him! And they’re headed toward the water!”

Ethan

The rusalka is trying to make me look at Tasha Levin. We’re at the edge of the water. Somehow, I’m barefoot, or at least I think I am, and the sand—wet from rain—feels cold and damp and gritty under my feet. I haven’t seen Tasha in so very long, and I wonder if this woman standing up to her knees in the waters of Lake Michigan is actually what she looked like. She’s taller than I remember, and her hands are thin and narrow. Her dark hair—was it really that dark?—is piled atop her head in a loose bun. Did she wear her hair like that? Maybe when she was playing the piano. This is what I remember. At least, I think it is.

But here’s what the rusalka does not seem to know. I may not have much magic left now that I’m mortal, but I’ve got enough. And I’ve got my years of discipline. I know what I’m looking at is a glamour. I just don’t know how to break through it. And she’s strong enough that I’m finding it hard to think.

“See?” the rusalka’s voice whispers in my ear. Her wet breath tickles my skin. “Do you remember how she made you feel?”

“Of course,” I tell her. “But that was a long time ago. I’m not quite as young as I look. But I guess you know that, because neither are you.” I have to force the words out. My tongue aches to form other words—ones the mermaid wants me say. I can feel them in the back of my throat. Words of endearment for someone I no longer love try to slither their way out of my mouth. My arms tingle with the urge to reach out for Tasha, so I shove my hands in my pockets and grip the sides of my legs, digging my fingers in hard enough to make myself wince. Pain is a great focuser, and right now I need to focus. If I know Anne even a little, I know that she’ll end up here at the water with me eventually. And when that happens, I damn well better be able to protect her.

Lily whips me around to face her. She bares her sharp rusalka teeth. Her breath is dank and wet. I focus on this too, use it to help me block out my desire to do what she tells me. The wind’s picked up again, and it’s spraying drops of lake water against my back even as the drizzle continues overhead. The rusalka’s in her element. “No need for insults, Ethan. That’s not really the way to win me over, now is it? And here I thought you were a fine, old-fashioned gentleman.”

I shrug, work to keep my breathing even and my pulse steady. “I don’t find it insulting. It’s the truth. Both you and I have been around for a while. But we also both know that’s not Tasha Levin. So what’s your purpose in showing me her face?”

My tone is almost pleasant, but it makes no difference. Against my will, my feet propel me into the water. Tasha beckons, gestures at me with those long, graceful fingers—and in a rush of memory, I see her hands at the piano keys, feel them against my skin.

“Think. You are not that foolish.” Lily’s voice sounds pained. I walk deeper into the water, my jeans growing heavier with each step I take. “My granddaughter would not fall in love with a foolish man. She is smarter than that. She is better than I was—better than those who came before me.”

With an enormous effort, I dig my toes into the bottom of the lake and stand still. I blink, hard—try to remove my gaze from Tasha Levin. But when I open my eyes, she’s still there.

“Sister, no!” Lily says sharply, and in the tiny space of time where those words hang in the air, the image in front of me wavers. Tasha disappears. In her place stands a rusalka with long blond hair and a gown so torn and ruined that I can see most of her naked torso underneath. She looks human but only barely. She waves me toward her with pale, emaciated fingers, then submerges one hand in the water. Something thin and barbed twists and cuts at my ankles.

Behind me still, Lily grabs me around the waist, her grip impossibly strong. And in that moment, I understand my situation. I hear Lily’s voice.
To be a rusalka is to grieve. It is to know how men see us. It is to have everything and nothing. The power to seduce and the pain of never knowing love.
Seducing me to drown isn’t a choice. It’s what she has to do as long as she is one of them—even if it means that she thwarts her own desires in the process. Back and forth we’ll continue to go, neither of us really in control of the outcome.

“No!” Lily cries. But as abruptly as she’s held me back, now she releases me. My traitorous legs force me even deeper into Lake Michigan. Water laps at my thighs. But my brain finally understands. Whether I manage to get myself out of here or not, no one is going to have a happy ending. If I drown, Lily will have nothing to hold over Anne’s head. If Anne doesn’t go into the forest, Viktor will remain where he is. Lily will be bound to the rusalkas forever. And if I don’t drown, then I’m still bait. Anne will—once again—save me. Or at least attempt to. And if she agrees to free Viktor from Baba Yaga, then what? And what about the witch? What will she do?

Of course, the real question is this: if I’m face-to-face with Viktor, exactly what will I do? Lily might not have to worry about extracting vengeance herself.

“And so you see.” Lily breathes into my ear. She’s walking beside me, and the water’s up to my waist now. “I would rather not. But it really isn’t up to me, is it?”

As if to purposely contradict this, she drags me backward through the water to the shallows, and when I stumble, she pulls me by the hair. Her nails dig into my scalp. I stumble again, and my back slaps against the water, and then I’m under, struggling on the hard sand beneath. At least three rusalkas materialize from somewhere and nowhere and press their hands on my chest and arms and legs, holding me to the bottom. The memory of Lena’s father flashes through my mind. The water I’m in is shallow—but it doesn’t take much for a man to drown.

“She’ll come for you, Ethan,” I hear Lily say from above me. “Have faith in my granddaughter. She’ll help you.” She yanks my hair again, and for a few sweet seconds, my head surfaces long enough for me to suck in a few breaths. Then she lets the others push me under once more. My head slams against something hard and sharp, and for a few terrifying seconds, I think I’m going to black out.

I try to conjure up what little magic I’ve got left. I know it’s there, under the skin—I saw that when Anne’s power mingled with mine yesterday. If I can harness it, I can get out of here.

“Or maybe she won’t,” Lily calls to me. “Maybe what you had with her last night is all you’re going to have. Maybe someone like you just shouldn’t hope for more. Like me and my Misha. And my darling Laura. Maybe you get what you get, and then that’s it. Don’t be so selfish, Ethan. You’ve wasted at least two lives. What gives you the right to hope for more? Love? It’s just an illusion. It doesn’t keep you from dying, now does it? You’re a man. The least you can do is die like one. Anne will get over you. She’s like me. And her mother. And those that came before us. She’ll go on.”

I struggle to stand and manage a small protection spell. I feel a brief, grim satisfaction when the two of the rusalkas shriek in pain, let go, and thrash away. The third moans, then shifts her skeletal grip to my throat. My arms free, I attempt to wrench her hands from my neck. The blackness threatens to descend. I refuse to allow myself the fear, but it comes anyway. I’ve lived this long only to die here in the water. The girl I’ve let myself love will find my body on the beach. Or worse, never see me again.
Forgive me, Anne
, I think.
Will you forgive me for dying like this without being able to even hear you say good-bye?

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” The voice I hear then isn’t Lily’s. Or the rusalka’s. Or Anne’s. “What kind of horrible grandmother are you? I mean, I know you’re a cursed mermaid and all, but give me a break. Enough with the Russian melodrama. Everyone doesn’t have to die in every story. Can’t one of you get on board with living happily ever after? ’Cause Anne’s my best friend. Ethan might be an idiot, but he’s her idiot. So why don’t you just leave him alone? Besides, you’re her grandmother—so going after her boyfriend is just plain creepy. Or am I the only one who’s noticed that?”

If there’s real fear—and I’m sure there is—under Tess’s bravado, I don’t hear it in her voice. But maybe that’s because I’m still gasping for air when, clearly furious at the interruption, the remaining rusalka lets me go, whirls around, and begins advancing on Tess, who’s somehow waded out into the lake, seemingly to save me. I heave myself up and suck in air.

Then so much happens at once that I find it hard to keep track. Above us, the thunderclouds split open. Baba Yaga swoops down in her mortar. Over on the beach, a tan Volvo sedan squeals to a stop at the water’s edge. The doors fling open. From the driver’s side, Anne hurtles herself toward us, followed in quick succession by Ben and Anne’s mother.

Even the rusalkas seem startled.

“Are you going to help me now?” Anne screams up at Baba Yaga. “I mean, honestly, what kind of useless witch are you? The least you could have done was fly us all here, rather than make me drive my mother’s car!”

“Laura,” Lily sighs. Then more loudly, “Laura. Don’t come any closer. Please, don’t. I can’t be with you. Not yet.”

“Took you long enough!” Tess calls to them. “I thought you’d never get here! They were trying to drown him, you know. In fact, I think they still are.”

“Which one?” Mrs. Michaelson says. She’s shifting her gaze from rusalka to rusalka. “Which one is she?”

I look over at Lily, but she’s disappeared. The rest of her rusalka spell still fogging my head disappears with her.

“Get out of the water!” I push Tess toward the beach. “Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for you to even be here?”

“Do you have any idea how dead you were about to be unless I did something?”

The words aren’t even out of her mouth when the blond rusalka—the one who’d been wearing Tasha Levin’s face—grabs Tess, and in a blink of an eye, pulls her through the small rush of waves. She’s out of reach and beyond standing depth before I can react.

Just like that, they both slip under the water.

“No!” Anne rushes into the lake, her hair wild around her from the rain and wind. “No! Tess! Tess!”

It takes all the strength I have left to stop her from swimming after them. “You can’t,” I say. “Don’t. You can’t—”

I feel Ben race into the water before I even turn to see him. He wades swiftly to us. “What are you waiting for? Someone has to go after her. Jesus, Anne. I can’t even see her anymore, but it’s not that deep out there. I’ll dive under. Don’t worry. I can find her.” He stops only to slam his fist into my jaw. “Whatever this all is, Ethan, it came with you. So what are you going to do about it? Just stand here? I’m going after Tess. One of you needs to call 911, get a boat or something. I don’t know why no one’s around—so call and get someone the hell out here.”

He wades past us and hits the water smoothly, starts to swim with long, even strokes. The rusalkas, bobbing in the water, begin to smile at Ben in their very inhuman way.

“Ben, no! Wait! Ben! You can’t fight them this way! You don’t know what you’re dealing with. You’re not going to help Tess. You’re just making it worse.” Anne manages to grab his ankle, but he kicks free of her, leaving her sputtering lake water in his wake.

“They enchanted him or something. I thought it had worn off, but I don’t know. Ethan, the rusalkas attacked us at the store. They took Mrs. Benson. I think they—God, Tess. Ben.”

“I need to you calm down.” I feel a trickle of blood oozing from what feels like a split lip from Ben’s fist. Over Anne’s shoulder, I see one of the rusalkas swimming in tandem with Ben, matching him stroke for stroke. Above us, Baba Yaga continues to circle in her mortar. “I need you to breathe. I need you to focus, Anne. I can help you, but I can’t do it without you. That’s how it’s been—you know that—and that’s how it is now. So breathe. And think.”

“But Ben—I can’t just let him swim after her. I can’t! But if he doesn’t, then Tess—”

“Stop. Breathe. Think.”

On the beach, Mrs. Michaelson is shouting something. Overhead, the witch laughs. “Girl!” she howls into the wind. “Girl! Your man can’t help you. Only I can do that. I think you need to promise me now. Promise me that you’ll drink from my stream. Promise, and then see what you can do. You are mine, girl! You’ve always been mine. It’s been your destiny—everything and everyone leading you to this moment!”

“Don’t tell
me
about my destiny! If you won’t help Tess, then don’t tell me anything at all!” Anne grabs my hand in hers. We stand in the water, the rain pouring on us, thunder booming, lightning flashing jagged edges through the purple sky. Her skin against mine. I feel when Anne focuses and centers, feel as she draws her power up and outward until it rests just under her skin.

“
Ya dolzhen
,” I begin. And then again in English, “I must.” I squeeze Anne’s hand in mine. “We need to bring them all to us. Safely. Breathing. We may end up bringing the rusalkas too, but we’ll deal with that when we get Tess back. Concentrate. We can—you can do this. I’m here with you. Don’t look at Baba Yaga. Just hold my hand and focus. Focus, Anne. Tess needs you. Ben needs you.”
I need you. And I’ll lose you if I don’t help you do this—maybe even if I do.

“What if I can’t?” Anne says. She tries to pull her hand from mine, but I hold tight.

“Of course you can. You know you can. You’ve been able to for a long time. Don’t wait any longer, Anne! You can’t wait! You have to act! I’m here. I love you. I’m here.”

If she’s heard anything I’ve just said, she doesn’t give me a sign. Even in the freezing water and the icy downpour, her hand feels warm as I link my fingers with hers. I savor the feel of it, even though I know it’s just the magic—Anne’s magic now, not really mine.

“Don’t let go of me,” Anne says. “Do you feel it? I’m stronger with you here. Help me, Ethan. Please. Oh, my God—Tess. She could be—and Ben—we need to do this. Now!”

I close my eyes. I don’t remind her how little magic I really have, or tell her that accessing it is like scooping water from a well that’s almost dry. I just hold her hand and tether her to me. It isn’t enough. It probably never will be. But it’s all I have.