Starfall (7 page)

A few more sweet kisses, and Caleb leaves. From my window I watch him get in his car and drive away. A crescent moon hangs in the sky, and I breathe in deeply to smell his scent lingering in the air. If only each night could be this perfect. And if only the morning didn't have to come so soon.

Sitting on Caleb's front porch, I'm hit with the undeniable truth that he's leaving. He's going off to college, and although I know he's only going to be an hour car ride away, he's not going to be in my life day-to-day. I know senior year of high school will keep me busy, but I'm going to miss him terribly.
Don't think about the separation; no, think about the connection, the connection he and I have and the ones he has with our friends.

Arla and Archie have joined us for this last farewell, so Caleb's front porch is a bit crowded. In honor of Big Red, Arla is wearing a big red wig that makes her look a little bit like a grown-up Little Orphan Annie. Archie looks the same as he did last night. His eyes are still the color of violets, so physically things seem to be normal; mentally I can't tell. I can't worry about him right now though; this morning is all about Caleb and gift-giving. As a group, we agreed that we would give Caleb our going-away presents now instead of at the party so they would be more personal. And if necessary, kept private.

It's obvious that Arla is still a resident of academia, but at least she isn't one of its most wanted offenders. She doesn't promise to do Caleb's freshman-year homework, but she does give him a biology app for his smart phone so he can be up-to-date on the latest bio breakthroughs and developments.

“You are now one step closer to becoming Prince Caleb, MD,” Arla announces.

“Excellent!” Caleb beams. “Thank you so much.”

“Me next!” Archie cries, shoving a wrapped present into Caleb's hands. Its slim size means that it can only be one thing, a DVD. And I'm right. It's the old Christmas special starring the white-haired Winter Warlock who reminds Caleb of Archie.

“Just in case, you know, you miss me while you're becoming collegiastic,” Archie says, trying to sound more sarcastic than sentimental, but failing.

Caleb hugs Archie tightly and whispers in his ear loud enough so we can all hear. “Winter, don't tell Domgirl, but I may miss you most of all.”

When the boys release each other from their bromantic embrace, my turn arrives. Like Archie, I wanted to give Caleb something that would remind him of me, and since subtle is not my forte, I decided to go with the obvious.

“A calendar with all of the full moons highlighted so I can keep track of your transformations,” Caleb says.

“And think good thoughts,” I add.

“When I think of you there are no other kind.”

Clearing her throat loudly, Arla jokes, “Based on last night's nontivity, thoughts are all you got.”

Slapping Arla in the shoulder for her comment and Archie in his for his lewd expression, I change the subject. “I made one for myself too so I don't get blindsided by another blue moon like I did last year.”

Yes, this is Dominy Robineau taking control of her life.

“And this is something for you,” Caleb says, handing me a small gold box.

And this is Dominy Robineau losing control once again.

The tears running down my face feel almost as soft as Caleb's touch, and the beauty of his gift is as sweet and natural and honest as his feelings. Two bracelets made of string, one for me and one for Caleb. They represent the invisible string from
Jane Eyre
, our favorite novel, come to life. When Caleb ties my bracelet around my wrist, he leans in close, and this time when he whispers it's soft enough so I'm the only one who hears.

“Until Christmas.”

Standing in between Arla and Archie, I watch Caleb drive away with his parents toward his new life. Selfishly, I'm grateful that it isn't that far away and I'll see him again in a few months. But even while I can't see him, I'll still feel his presence. Just like Jess.

“Dominy.”

I hear her voice, but I don't see her golden sunshine. She hasn't come to visit, just to issue a warning.

“You need to protect him,” she declares.

What?!

“How can I protect Caleb?”
I silently ask.
“He just left for college! You couldn't tell me this yesterday when I still had a chance to stop him?!”

“Not Caleb,” she corrects. “Archie.”

I can feel my breathing quicken. I can feel fear spreading throughout my veins, but I don't want to frighten my friends standing next to me. Let them think I'm just reacting to my boyfriend's leaving town and not because I'm being issued a telepathic warning by an Omikami.

“Why do I have to protect Archie?”

I silently ask Jess the question even though I know the answer before she tells me. I have known it ever since Nadine's black energy ripped through his body and contaminated him.

“Because his soul is in danger.”

“From now on your only reason for living is to be a protector.”

It's heartwarming to hear my father's voice again. It sounds the way I prefer to remember it: strong and unafraid and certain—not the broken, pitiful way he sounded when he told me about the curse. Doesn't matter that it's just a tape of a speech my father gave addressing the Omaha Police Academy and that he isn't talking directly to me, standing next to the open back door that leads into the police station; my father's words sound heaven-sent and not prerecorded. For a moment I get so lost in the sound that I forget why I came here, but then my father says something that pulls me out of the past and back into the present.

“In your new role as a police officer you will see things that you may wish to forget,” my father says, “but those are the very things that you must force yourself to remember if you want to protect your community.”

I came here to the police station to have a private talk with Louis to find out if Gallegos has remembered anything more about the attack, if he's recalled Nadine's being nearby, or if he's mentioned anything else about the unnatural eyes peering back at him from the wolf's body. I never expected to catch Louis in a private moment.

“Dammit, Mason,” Louis whispers. “I need your help, my friend.”

Quietly, I inch closer to the door, and see Louis is sitting at his desk, his back to me. I'm unseen, but I can see that he's reading the already-infamous issue of the
Three W
. Perhaps reading is too physical a description, since Louis is just holding the paper in front of him, looking at the one-word headline—W
EREWOLF
? —and glancing up to look at my father on the TV screen.

Seeing my father's moving image for the first time in almost two years I'm struck with an odd combination of grief and joy. How wonderful to see him alive and talking, but how sad to know that it's fake. I wish I could jump into the TV and be with him just for a few minutes, just to talk things over with him. Louis feels the same way.

“Could this possibly be true?” he asks.

I knew it. Whenever there's a hint of corroborating evidence to back up an idea, no matter how preposterous, the absurd suddenly appears logical. I don't know if Louis believes in lycanthropy, that someone in town is truly turning into a wolf when there's a full moon, or if he thinks that the lunar activity is somehow having a baneful effect on the wolf population, but he's getting closer to believing what really is happening. Which means he's getting as dangerous as Luba. When he speaks again I realize a part of him already believes what most people consider unbelievable.

“Is this why you died?”

Yes! I want to scream. That's exactly why my father died!! Maybe if I explain everything to Louis he would be able to help; maybe he could put an end to this nightmare. Maybe he'd be able to help me protect Archie from Nadine before she causes even more damage. Maybe I should be more careful.

Not paying attention, I take a step closer to the door and accidentally kick a beer can with my foot. Looks like someone's been drinking on the job, and someone else is disturbing the peace. Me.

“Who's there?”

I'm out of Louis's view before he even turns around, and as quietly as possible I walk around the corner to the other side of the building, but it isn't far enough. I can hear Louis's chair squeak against the floor, and I know he's about to come outside to investigate. If I start to sprint I know Louis will never catch up to me, but the police station is in the center of town, hardly an isolated area, so there's a very good chance he'll see me before I can make it to Robin's Park and the shelter of the woods. Nope, the only safe direction for me to go is up.

I've never scaled a building before, but how much different can it be from scaling The Weeping Lady? Turns out, for me, it's just as easy.

Jumping as high as I can to grab on to the top of the window ledge, I hoist myself up until my feet are on the ledge along with my hands. Can't stay in this crouched position for too long, not when I hear Louis exiting the building, his feet grinding into the dirt underneath him. Luckily the police station is only a two-story building, so in one swift move I leap up to grab hold of one of the gutters. It creaks loudly, buckling under my weight, but the sound gets derailed by the wind and doesn't connect with Louis's ears. Not wanting Louis to see me hanging off the side of the building, I call upon my animal instincts and swing my body to the right with such force that I land on the roof. I lift up my hands off of the gutter just as Louis rounds the corner of the building.

“Anybody there?” Louis asks.

We're both still as he waits for a reply. I cover my mouth to hide my panting and don't move until I hear Louis retreat back to his office, this time closing the door behind him. Enough with spending time in a place where I don't belong; time to make a visit to the one place I know I'm always welcome.

 

Admittedly The Retreat hasn't put out a welcome mat with my name on it, but Room 19 has. Unfortunately, to get to my mother's room I have to walk past the receptionist's desk. The last few times I was here, either Nadine was filling in or one of the custodians was sitting behind the desk, looking more out of place than I would at a national math competition. As annoying as it was to have to deal with Nadine or some man who grunted at me while clutching a wet mop in order to visit my mother, it was a comforting feeling to know that Essie had not yet been permanently replaced. Today, all comfort is decimated by shock.

“Hello, Dominy.”

Essie?!

I shut my eyes and count to ten, but when I open them, nothing has changed; I'm still staring at Essie's face. The face attached to the body of the person I watched die in the parking lot out front. The same body I saw lying in a casket that was then locked and buried underground. This can't be real! Not even Dominyreal! Essie cannot be back from the dead. What the hell am I thinking? She was buried in Weeping Water soil; anything is possible.

“Essie?” I whispask.

My confusion is laced with a heaping amount of hope that Essie has somehow been resurrected.

“Oh no, dear,” the woman replies. “I'm Elkie, Essie's twin sister.”

And with that announcement, hope, like comfort, is shattered. And replaced with suspicion.

“Essie never told me she had a twin,” I state.

“My sister was a very private woman,” Elkie replies. “And she told me that you never asked her about her family.”

I think I liked this woman better when I thought she was a zombreceptionist and not a well-informed sibling. I can't argue with Elkie's comment, so I stare at her and meet her unwavering gaze. Physically she's an identical blueprint of my dead friend, but she possesses a quality I never detected in Essie—natural courage. It takes me only a few seconds to determine that I'd be a fool to treat this woman like a foe instead of an ally. I also get the sense that unlike Essie, Elkie will have no problem calling me out if I try to rewrite history and sugarcoat it, so I opt for honesty.

“I regret not taking the time to get to know Essie better,” I admit. “Chalk it up to being a self-absorbed teenager.”

“And how would you describe yourself now?” Elkie asks.

“Let's just say I've grown up a lot in the past few years,” I reply.

“Essie told me that too.”

Okay, now I'm curious. “What else did Essie tell you?”

“My sister was very fond of you,” Elkie continues. “And she was right about your transformation.”

My what?!

“You are definitely becoming a beautiful young woman.”

Suddenly I feel terrible. Essie cared enough about me to make me the center of conversation with her twin when I barely made time to have conversations with Essie throughout her life. It's never too late to make up for being self-centered and inconsiderate and disinterested, as long as you mean what you say. And I do.

“Essie was a wonderful friend,” I say honestly. “I miss her more than I can say.”

“I can tell,” Elkie replies. “I can see it in your eyes.”

Again with my eyes! What is everybody seeing in my eyes?! I hope not nearly as much as what I see in Elkie's eyes when The Cell Keeper comes out of his crypt.

The way Elkie glares at Winston Lundgarden, it's as if she's locked eyes with the devil. I'm sure Elkie knows every ugly detail about Essie and Winston's brief affair and hates the man who dumped her sister, but Winston doesn't appear to be very fond of Elkie either. However, his reaction could have more to do with her uncanny resemblance to the woman his lover's mother-in-law killed and less with the evil eye she's brandishing in his direction.

Winston turns around to scamper back into his den, but his scampering lacks its usual finesse, and he slams right into the wall. Trying to collect himself, Winston tugs on his suit jacket, but when he stares at me I trace my finger along my cheek. In response, he touches the scar that is still prominently displayed on his cheek, but the second his finger feels the gnarled flesh, he regrets it. I guess not every man wants to be reminded that his girlfriend slashed his face in a fit of boredom. Melinda Jaffe might not be a card-carrying witch, but she's sandwiched between two demons—Luba and Nadine—so she's had a lot of training. Winston must be an idiot if he thought he wouldn't become a victim to one of them if he hung around long enough.

Still nervously touching his scar with one hand, he blindly searches for the doorknob with the other. Once he makes contact, it still takes several tries for him to turn the knob and push so he can flee to the safety of his office. Looks like the once dashing and debonair Winston Lundgarden is playing a new role that showcases his true cowardly nature.

I suppress my laugh out of some warped desire to respect my elders, but as an elder herself, Elkie isn't hampered by such guilt, and soon the hallway is consumed with her deep, throaty laughter. I think I've found a worthy replacement for Essie.

“Elkie,” I say. “You and I are going to get along just fine.”

Still laughing, she replies, “I knew we would, dear.”

I suddenly feel like skipping down The Hallway to Nowhere. It's rare that I'm so happy at The Retreat, and unfortunately the feeling turns out to be not only rare but short-lived. Mixed in with Elkie's laughter that's still wafting through the air, I hear voices coming from my mother's room.

Outside her door, I listen, but nothing, only silence. Perhaps my wolf ears are picking up voices in another room? I don't typically get confused or bombarded by different sounds, as I can easily tune them out, so when a noise breaks through, it's usually trying to capture my attention. Or I'm just hearing things that aren't there.

Inside, my mother is alone, the same way she's been for the past decade. I pull the bottle of Guerlinade, her favorite perfume, out of my bag, and spritz some into the air. We're in a field of lilacs, the tiled floor replaced with grass and the walls torn down to make way for sprawling oak trees.

“Hi, Mom, how are you?” I ask like I've asked her every time I've seen her since I was a little girl. Sometimes I've actually gotten a response; most of the times, like today, my greeting is met with silence. That's okay because that's why I came here, for silence and peace and just to look at my mother's unnaturally beautiful face.

Unless I get close to her to see some lines around her mouth and the corners of her eyes, she looks like she's in her twenties. My mother wasn't vain about showing her age—she's French after all—and I know it's way too early for me to worry about my own wrinkles, but it's nice to know I probably won't have that problem for many decades to come. I have enough problems as it is. Like why is there a silver light in the corner of the room? I blink, and the light is gone.

First I'm hearing voices that aren't there, and now I'm seeing things that don't exist. No, things don't happen to me without good reason. Jess may be right; not all coincidences turn into bombshells. But this isn't a coincidence; this is a premonition, and my premonitions come true. Plus, my senses are excellent, so someone or something was here.

Gently I tap my mother's hand as I walk toward the corner where I saw the light. Just in case she's aware of my presence, I want her to know that I'll be right back. Stepping into the corner of the room is like stepping into a meat locker: It's ice-cold. When I breathe I see a cloud of cold air emerge from my mouth and float up to the ceiling. Shivering violently, I cross my arms, and I swear icicles are forming on my body. I hear something hit the ground. My first thought is that I'll see ice cubes scattered on the floor. What I see frightens me even more. My mother's compact.

I bend down, and I'm amazed to see my mother's Little Bo Peep compact, the one her mother gave her, my grand-mère. What is this doing here? I locked it away with the few other family heirlooms I have in my box, which is now in the back of my closet. I bend down to pick up the compact, but it's so cold that, when I touch it, it burns my fingers. I kick it with my foot so it slides near my mother's bed and hopefully out of the Arctic Circle.

Gingerly I touch it again and as expected it's warmed up; its temperature is perfectly normal, and so is mine for that matter. Wherever the cold zone came from, it's relegated to only a small portion of the room. It has to be a gateway, some sort of time tunnel or dimensional port, to be able to reach out to my bedroom, grab the compact, and bring it here. But why?

It's definitely the same one that my mother gave me. Silver border, Little Bo Peep's worried profile against a shimmering purple night sky that's filled with three stars.

Three stars! What? Were there always three stars on the cover or is that new? Think, think, Dominy!!

“Yes, Dominy, think.”