Siren's Song (25 page)

“Something's not right,” he whispers.

“Besides Eric wanting to rip you apart?”

Patricia and Eric walk out the door. My mom hugs her across the threshold. She leans out. “Dinner in fifteen minutes, okay?”

“Okay, Mom.” I wave to Carly's mom and ignore Eric. We watch them turn around and roll out of the driveway.

“So…” I say. “That was…interesting.”

“Don't eat the cake,” Luke says. “There's something in it or on it. I'm not sure, but I smelled something similar to one of Taylin's concoctions.”

“What?! Should I stop Mom and Dad from—?”

“They already had some before we got here. I'm guessing it's something that relaxes defenses.”

“How? Why?” I shake my head. “Do you think Eric is still trying to do something? Patricia seemed strange, too. Do you think she suspects Eric?”

“I don't know, but he's definitely keeping track of you.” Luke turns to me. “And he makes you nervous, really nervous.” I stare at Luke's hard face and blink. “Your heartrate skyrocketed when you bumped into him.” Luke glances around the porch at the lilac tree. “And his smell is still around the house.”

“Psycho stalker,” I mumble.

“You think he's stalking you?” Even though Luke's voice is low, the fury building like an invisible tornado is evident. “I'll break him into pieces.”

“Luke?” I hear the snapping of wood and see Luke's hand around a three-inch thick limb of the lilac tree. “Luke! Stop!”

“The pictures of your family,” he continues, though the cracking sound stops, “Were they mostly of you?”

“I didn't see them. My mom did. She said that there were pictures of her, too, and my grandmother, and others, real old pictures. I think they're just part of that heritage album Eric's mom is making for us.”

Luke's face is a mask of suspicion and barely contained anger. He nods slowly. “Then why the cake?”

“Are you sure there's something wrong with it?” I whisper and glance toward the door. Could Patricia have baked something into it?

“Was your mom acting normal?”

“I…guess. She seemed happy, like she used to.” But she'd been so sure that she'd stumbled upon something horrific before. Could one conversation with her friend clear up everything? “There wasn't any suspicion in her eyes.”

“If you get me a piece, I'll have Taylin analyze it.”

“Okay.”

“And I just might have a word with psycho-stalker boy.”

“Don't do anything,” I plead. “He's Carly's brother. We kind of grew up together. I think he just has a crush on me or something. If he's not taking pictures of me—”

“But he's been hanging around your house, and he's been watching us, if he saw you on my bike.”

“Yeah, okay,” I exhale. “But I should say something to Carly first.”

“Lock your doors at night. I'll keep watch, too.”

“You need to sleep.”

“Actually…not that much. My system's a bit revved these days. I think it has to do with the curse.”

“Great, now I'm also causing insomnia.”

Luke gives me the lopsided grin that makes heat flush up into my neck and cheeks. “I'll get you a piece of cake to take home for dessert,” I say and leap up before I give in to the electricity that jumps between us spontaneously.

I return with the cake. Luke's standing, looking out toward his house. He doesn't look at me. “How is your arm?”

“Oh, um, I totally forgot about that. It's fine.” And it really is. “It doesn't hurt or anything.”

“Good.” He turns to me. Some dark emotion lurks there. Guilt? “I'm really sorry—”

I cut him off. “I know.” I smile and hand him the cake. “Let me know if Taylin says it's okay. I don't know how much longer I can resist it under my roof.”

He takes the cake, but hovers over me for a moment without touching me. I look up and he brushes his lips against mine. “I've never met someone like you, Julietta Welsh.”

“Someone who can sing and make you go berserk?” I laugh a little. “I guess not.”

“No,” he says still serious. “Someone brave, strong, together.”

“You so can't read minds, can you?” I shake my head and raise my eyebrows in a look of serenity. “Inside, I'm screaming.”

He chuckles and brushes my lips with another kiss. “The bravest warriors scream inside while they fight for what is right.” He cups my face with one palm, so gently I really only feel the warmth without the pressure. “Courageous spirit. So beautiful.”

Instead of leaning into me like I'm expecting, he steps back stiffly at the same time I hear the cake plate crack. He holds the cake and bits of broken ceramic in his other hand.

“Oh my God, Luke, are you…?”

“I'm fine.” He shakes himself a bit. His mouth clenches shut as if he's trying to control himself. Guilt throbs in me.

“I'm so sorry,” I murmur and notice the blood mixing with the cake in his hand. I reach out to touch it but he turns.

“No reason to be sorry, Jule. I'd better go, though. Taylin can still use this. Sorry about the plate.”

He jumps off the end of the porch and walks briskly across the street into his subdivision.

I hear the door open behind me. “Julietta,” Mom calls.

“Yeah, I'm coming.” I tear my eyes away from Luke's back and jog over to her and into her open arms. “God, I'm so glad you're home,” I whisper against her. She hugs me fiercely. I breathe into her hair, inhaling her Mom-smell I've known forever.

“Me, too,” she says, hugging back. She looks over my shoulder. “He's quite a hunk.”

I turn. Mom waves as Luke stares back at us. He raises his uncut hand and jogs on to his house.

“But I don't like the idea of a motorcycle,” she continues. She sounds just like the mom I remember.

“He's taken all sorts of safety lessons. His mom told me.”

“Oh, really. Hmmmm…we'll talk about it later. I think I need to meet his mom.”

I squeeze her harder and she laughs. She kisses the top of my head. “And…you're sure everything is okay now? With the Ashes?” I ask.

“Yeah, I can't believe that I jumped to such paranoid ideas.” She pulls back and shakes her head. “Patricia's been my best friend since before you were born.”

“So, it's okay for me to sing then, in public?”

I feel Mom's arms tighten around me, but it's more of a hold-on-for-dear-life type of grip instead of a comforting hug. I look up at her face. She blinks several times, a frown over her forehead. “We didn't talk about the singing,” she murmurs. “I don't know.” She looks worried. Oh God, is she freaking out again?

“Mom, it's okay. Don't worry about it. You were upset because a lot of the pictures were of us singing. So if you're okay with the pictures, you're okay with the singing.” I force a normal-ish smile. “Everything's solved.”

Mom's forehead smoothes. “That's right.” She shakes her head as if trying to clear it. “I don't know why my body keeps leaping into panic.” She sighs heavily. “Don't mention it to Dad. He's…well, I've put him through a lot these last few months. Both of you.”

“It's okay, Mom.”

“Julietta,” Dad calls, his head poking around the door. “Carly wants you to call her back.” He holds up my cell that I left in the house. His face pinches into humorous confusion. “She sounded real strange. Didn't want to hold on. Actually, I think she hung up on me.” He chuckles and shakes his head.

I step out of Mom's arms toward the phone. “Is she at home? What did she say?”

He hands me the phone and shrugs. “Couldn't get much out of her except that she wanted you to bring her some lip gloss.”

14

“The highest compact we can make with our fellow is– ‘Let there be truth between us two forevermore.'”
~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Lip gloss? Oh God!

“Dad,” I try to speak casually but realize I'm failing as my voice hits two pitches higher than normal, “did she happen to mention what flavor or type of lip gloss?” What had we decided on for the “go for help” phrase? Was it raspberry iced or ice berry or strawberry? It was definitely strawberry. “Did she say iced-strawberry?” I punch in Carly's cell number, but it rolls into her voice mail. Is she trying to call me?

“Uh…I don't think she mentioned a flavor,” Dad says, his brows furrowing as he looks between Mom and me.

“Are you sure?”

“Well…I don't think she mentioned a particular flavor, but she was so fast to hang up. Is there something wrong?”

“It's kind of a code word that she needs me to help her out with something,” I say, hedging the truth, but not enough to be a lie. Mom can usually hear a lie the second it's uttered. I briefly wonder if Mom thought anything strange of Eric accompanying Patricia to visit her, but the thought is obscured by my wild worry about Carly. “Uh…I know it's dinner time and,” I look at Mom, “you just got home, but I should really check on her.”

“You don't even know where she is,” Dad says with that “about to put my foot down” voice.

“It's okay,” Mom cuts in. She looks closely at me. “You're really worried about her, aren't you?” I nod, my face totally open so Mom can see I'm sincere. Mom peers at me like she's trying to decipher my anxiety, as if it's coaxing hers to return. I try to smile. I won't be the cause of bringing back Mom's paranoia.

“I'm sure it's okay, but I really–”

“No, Julietta,” Dad says and shakes his head.

“Go,” Mom says at the same time and looks at Dad. “Max, I think she needs to check on Carly.” Mom smiles serenely at Dad and I watch Dad's shoulders relax a bit. God, he's as tense as me, and he doesn't know half the crap that's going on.

“Thanks! Love you,” I yell as I dash inside, grab my purse and run out to Mom's car. “Can I borrow—?”

She shoos me with her hand. “Go ahead.”

I jump into the sedan that smells faintly like her perfume and start it up. I have to concentrate on keeping a level, soft foot on the gas pedal. Peeling out of the driveway would only cause Mom to worry.

I turn into Carly's circular driveway. Her car's parked next to Eric's.
Crap!
Why can't the guy have just gone back to school? Should I call Luke? God, that would surely heat things up. I call Carly's cell once more. Again, it just rolls to her voice mail. It must be turned off, but she never turns it off.

I exhale fully and get out of the car. The house is quiet. Maybe it's my imagination, but it seems too quiet. I walk past the manicured rosemary and lavender bushes on the cobbled walkway and rap on the back door, my usual entrance. No one answers. I turn the unlocked knob and poke my head in. “Hello?” I call and realize my voice is cracking. I clear my throat. “Hello? Carly?” I yell a bit louder. I walk into the kitchen. A pot of some type of stew is sitting on the stove on low. Cornbread is stacked like bricks on a pumpkin-shaped plate. I touch the top. Still warm.

“Hello? Carly!”

The swinging door from the entrance hallway swings inward as Richard Ashe rushes through. I gasp and he curses.

“Jule?”

“Where's Carly?”

Richard sidesteps past me to the sink and wets a dish towel. “In the study. She's had some type of…I don't know, seizure, maybe. She fainted.”

“What? Is she okay?” I slam through the door and run down the hall into the Ashes' den. Carly is lying on the couch. Eric leans over her and her mom sits next to her. “Carly?”

“She's okay,” Patricia says, but her forehead is furrowed in concern. She takes the cloth from Richard and wipes it over Carly's face. “Sweetheart,” she croons. “Come on, now.”

Carly blinks and rubs her head. “What happened?”

Eric looks into her eyes as if he's a doctor or EMT. “You passed out. Do you remember anything?”

Carly struggles to sit up on the couch. Her mom hugs her close. “Are you eating enough, Carly?”

“When I saw her,” Richard says, “she looked like she was shaking.” He stares at Patricia. “Could it have been a seizure?”

“Richard, don't scare her,” Patricia says and rocks Carly against her. “I think she just has low blood sugar.”

Carly looks over at me. “Jule?” All the Ashes turn. The prickle slinking up my back tells me not to mention Carly's call.

“Uh…” I hesitate. “I was trying to call Carly and, well, her phone was off.” I shake my head and open my eyes in a comical shrug. “Her phone's, like, never off. So I was just stopping by to tell her, see if it was broken or something.”

Richard and Patricia turn back to Carly as if the answer reached their plausibility boundary, but Eric stares at me, suspicion obvious in the hard lines of his face. The prickle turns into a full-blown goosebump reaction across my body and I realize I'm sweating. Fight or flight? I feel my body tense to do either even though I won't let it. At least, not yet. I don't care what Mom thinks, Eric gives me the creeps.

Patricia dabs the corner of the wet rag against Carly's cheek. “You're bleeding a little bit, sweetheart.” Carly runs her finger along her cheek, but her mom brushes them away from a scratch that runs from her chin up to her cheekbone. “Don't get it dirty.”

Eric looks at me. “I tried to catch her when she fell toward me.” He holds up his right hand. “She caught my ring on the way down.” Eric briefly flashes his hand, where a large ring now sits. It looks like a fraternity ring or something.

“Do you remember falling, Carly?” Richard asks, and we all wait.

Carly's eyes move from me to her dad and then the rest of her family all staring down at her. She shakes her head slowly. “No…not really. I was just standing here talking to Eric about…Jule, maybe.” She shakes her head as if clearing it. “No, about school, I think. I felt…hungry.”