Starfall (8 page)

Luba.

“Get out of here!” I shout.

I don't know if it's because I haven't seen Luba in a few months or because of her close proximity to my mother, but I'm not afraid to be in her presence. In the past, there was always a sense of dread and fear when she stood before me, despite how courageous and defiant and powerful I tried to appear. Or maybe I'm garnering strength from my mother, because this is what it must feel like to be a parent; you'll calmly stare evil in the eye in order to protect your child.

“Is that how your mother taught you to treat a guest?” she asks.

“You are many things, Luba,” I reply. “A
guest
of mine or my mother's is definitely not one of them. Now get out!”

Ignoring me, Luba floats toward me, her feet several inches from the ground. She doesn't bother to land when she reaches me; she hovers in the air so she's taller than me, and I have to tilt my head if I want to look her in the eyes when I speak with her. Not sure if it's a tactic to make herself feel superior or if she simply has more energy now that she's taken over Rayna's spirit. Sadly, she looks like she's taken over the poor girl's wardrobe too.

Luba's sporting a pair of green cotton capri pants and a pink tank top trimmed in matching green lace. Hand-me-downs from Rayna's preppy whoredrobe when she was dating Jeremy that was designed to look innocent while exposing the maximum amount of flesh possible. If you knew Luba's real age, you'd think she looked ridiculous, but if you saw her for the first time, you'd think she looked amazing.

Her skin is still pale, but gone are the bluish veins and bruises that were visible underneath her flesh; her hair is deep black and vibrant, still parted simply in the center and falling way past her shoulders, to the middle of her back. Her face, however, has made the most prominent and disturbing transformation, because now her smooth, wrinkle-free complexion reminds me of my mother. Both their looks are death defying.

“Three stars,” Luba hisses. “I wonder where I've seen that before?”

Her laughter begins slowly, a mere chuckle, but soon she's laughing maniacally with her fingertips pressed against her lips. This gesture looks even more sinister and grotesque and indecent than it did before when she was emaciated and withering, because it's now out of place. Luckily I know exactly where I am, and even though I'm literally standing in Luba's shadow, my defenseless mother at my side, holding a trinket that may be a message to warn me about what's going to happen next in my life, I'm still not afraid. It's not foolhardy; it's learned. I know that I'm not the one who should be afraid; Luba is.

“You don't frighten me anymore,” I announce.

My proclamation only makes Luba laugh harder.

“Don't confuse being arrogant with being courageous, child,” she warns.

“And don't confuse me with a child,” I reply. “I've grown up quite a bit, thanks to you.”

Her laughter stops, and she bends toward me, her body arching so she can gaze into my face and get a better look at the young woman she's helped create. Her hair falls forward to create two black walls on either side of my face that hinder my vision. All I can see are Luba's preternaturally youthful features, and all I can hear is her voice.

“You're welcome.”

She breathes such hatred into each word that I wince. The smell and touch and sound of her words cut right through me; it's a disgusting sensation, but not nearly enough to make me back down. I don't know where I'm getting my strength from—maybe it's this silly compact; maybe it's being next to my mother—but whatever the source, I'm well-armed.

“So don't make the same mistake your granddaughter's made and underestimate me,” I say. “You and what remains of your family may live to regret it.”

Suddenly, the freezing cold travels and consumes the entire room. At first, I think that I'm the only one who senses it, but Luba feels it too; whatever it is, she isn't immune to its power. Landing on the ground with a thud, Luba jerks her head to the left, to the right, searching for the origin, desperately trying to find out why she feels the deep freeze that's taken over the room, what's making her react like a mere mortal. All she has to do is look at my mother.

“Something is coming.”

Those are the same words Jess said to me, the same words I used before my last transformation, and it's the same feeling that's been haunting me for weeks.

“Something is coming,” my mother repeats, “that will change everything.”

My mother's voice is soft, her body is calm, she's unaffected by the cold, but it's clear that Luba is terrified by her words. When my mother speaks again, Luba's artificially youthful face turns even whiter.

“And Luba,” my mother says, opening her eyes and turning her head to face my enemy. “It's getting closer.”

First day of senior year to-do list:

1. Rule the school.
   
2. Pass calculus!
   
3. Try not to miss Caleb too much.
   
4. Protect my best friend's soul.
   
5. Wait for something to come to help me defeat Psycho Squaw.
   

Items one through three are doable. I'm a cheerleader, I've got a boyfriend in college, and I've got gorgeous hair; that's enough to garner an underclassman's respect. If I maintain focus in calculus and beg Mr. Dice for a little Omikami intervention, I'm guaranteed at least a B minus. And as long as I don't lose my smart phone, I can keep texting and FaceTim-ing Caleb until he comes home for the holidays, when he and I will finally share some much anticipated private time. Numbers four and five are a bit trickier.

I don't know what scares me more: the fact that Archie's soul needs protecting, or that something is coming to town that frightens Luba. Neither thought fills me with the warm fuzzies or even the lukewarm fuzzies, but maybe I should stop dwelling on the fear factor that these commands ignite and look at the flipside of what they mean—both of them offer hope.

If Archie's soul needs to be protected, it means that Nadine hasn't completely destroyed it yet. She might have stained it, she might have tarnished the edges, but there's still more white than black, still more good than evil, still a chance for Archie to remain the person he was before he was touched by Nadine's spirit.

An even better thing is that I may soon have a weapon to topple Luba from her bloodstained pedestal. What that thing is, I have no idea, but I've had a premonition that something is coming to help me in my fight against the Cursemaker and her tribe, a feeling that has been seconded by Jess and now my mother, who really only speaks when she has something super-vitally important to say, so I'm convinced that whatever is on its way is definitely something good. I'm not ready to do the paperwork and change my name from Dominy to Pollyanna, but maybe that something will serve a dual purpose and help me fight Luba
and
protect Archie's soul at the same time. Personally, I don't think that's too much to ask for after everything my friends and I have been put through. I just hope it gets here soon, like before Nadine gives birth. The problem is, I have no idea when to calendar doomsday. Neither do my friends.

“Any idea how to convert Nadine's baby bump into a due date?” I ask Archie and Arla over lunch.

“Any idea why she's wearing her pregnancy like a badge of honor?” Arla retorts. “Instead of being embarrassed by her quote unquote ‘situation.' ”

“Why should she be embarrassed?” Archie replies.

What?! I'm not sure if I scream that out loud or if my inner voice bounces off the insides of my skull. Why is Archie once again meandering over to Team Nadine? Sounds like I'm not the only one who's mega-confused.

“Don't take this the wrong way, Archie,” Arla begins, “but what the ef are you talking about?”

Speaking with a mouthful of mashed potatoes, Archie doesn't sound like he's upset by either spoken or silent questioning.

“Nadine shouldn't be ashamed,” Archie states calmly. “She got pregnant, and now she's doing the right thing by taking responsibility for her actions.”

If Nadine were to take responsibility for her actions, she'd excuse herself from school, visit Louis at the police station, and confess to committing murder. Then again, what's good for the bee is good for the wolf, so I'd have to be the next in line. Maybe I should adopt Archie's nonjudgmental stance and not judge Nadine.

“Well . . . I guess when you put it that way, you're sorta maybe kinda right,” I verbally fidget.

“You two are missing the point,” Arla says. “Nadine isn't some normal teenager who's found herself on the receiving end of a broken condom and accidentally wound up with a bun in the oven, as they said back in the day. She deliberately planned this pregnancy.”

“We don't know that for sure,” Archie replies, a bit less calmly.

Looking at me with bugged-out eyes before speaking, Arla is having an even harder time staying calm than Archie is.

“I do,” she states. “Nothing Nadine does is accidental. The only thing we don't know is if she's going to be a single mother or a single mother slash father.”

I grab hold of this chance to veer the topic onto safer territory and share with them Jess's comment that not all coincidences turn into fact. It does the trick.

“Really?” Arla pouts. “But it's the
moon
jellyfish; it's so perfect.”

“I know! I was very disappointed to find out that Nadine isn't asexual,” I reply. “But then again, despite her pregnancy glow I still find her unattractive, so I guess she still is.”

And I should have known, if we kept talking about Nadine, it would only be a matter of time before Archie would steer the conversation back into the danger zone.

“Regardless, it makes me sad to see her sitting all by herself.”

It's a powerful comment, because within the absurdity of his words lies some truth. If I didn't know that Nadine was a psychopath, I'd think she deserved pity. She's sitting alone in a corner of the lunchroom eating a sandwich, every once in a while placing her hand on her belly and rubbing it, as if to make sure that her unborn child is still there, afraid that it'll abandon her like everyone else has. As long as she isn't alone, she has the strength to ignore the judgmental stares and hushed commentary. Archie and Arla can't hear the nasty whispremarks, but I can.

“Can you believe she came back to school looking like that?”

“She could've left town over the summer, and no one would've known she got herself pregnant.”

“One kid dies, the other gets knocked up—her mother must be flipping out.”

“It's like the Jaffes are cursed or something.”

Damned is more like it.
Yes, keep reminding yourself of that, Dominy. Don't forget that Nadine Jaffe and the rest of her relatives aren't the hunted; they're the hunters. Don't let Archie's soft heart cloud your thinking, because you can't protect your friend if you go soft too.

After Archie leaves for a football meeting to discuss very important football matters, Arla proves that nothing Archie says could make her soften her opinion of Nadine. Even when it's not her voice doing the talking.

“There's something wrong with him.”

I haven't heard Napoleon's voice in a while, but it's instantly recognizable, even when his words tumble out of Arla's mouth.

“Nap?” I whisper-ask. “Can you maybe be a little more specific?”

“He's changing.”

Yes, into a Nadine sympathizer.

“This is only the beginning,” Nap adds. “There are many more changes to come.”

Glancing around quickly to make sure that no one is listening to our conversation, especially the dead speaker's sister, I grab Arla's hand. She feels the same, not too warm nor cold, hard nor soft. Yet it's so incredibly off-putting, even for me; there's a supernatural being inside of her, taking control of her body, and Arla still looks and feels exactly the same. It's not like she goes all zombie and her eyes roll back in her head; she's staring right at me and talking to me, only she's using another person's voice. Or more accurately another person is using her voice.

“What do you mean the
beginning?
” I ask. I stare directly into Arla's eyes, amazed that Napoleon is looking at me from the other end.

“The arrival,” he replies.

Old news. I've received the warning and the confirmation. I know that something's coming, but tell me what it is so I can greet it when it drives into town!

“I need more than that, Nap,” I say. “Stop being like Jess and give me details.”

Be careful what you wish for.

“You're going to do things you never dreamed you could do,” he replies. “Things you never thought you were capable of doing.”

I asked for details, not some kind of cryptic omen!

“What are you talking about?” I demand.

“Ow! Why are you squeezing my hand?”

Dammit! It's Arla's voice; Nap's gone. And so is any chance of finding out what or who is about to arrive. Or what I'm about to do.

“Sorry,” I say. “I was trying to get Nap to tell me what he was talking about.”

“You were talking to Nap?” Arla asks.

I don't know why I'm surprised that Arla's surprised, but I am. I know that Arla's transformations are different than mine. She doesn't get a warning. When Nap takes over, he does it instantly, and Arla kind of blacks out without the embarrassing slump to the ground. But I thought that while Nap was in control she knew she was losing time. Guess not.

“Where exactly do you go when Nap takes over?” I ask.

“I call it the Quiet Place,” she replies. “I can't hear or feel a thing, but it isn't frightening in the least, very peaceful, almost womb-like, I imagine.”

“So you know when Nap takes over?” I question.

“Of course,” Arla answers. “Just like you do when the big, bad wolf wants to be, you know, all big and bad. But you're sure it was Napoleon's voice?”

Okay, now I'm more confused than before. Even if Arla doesn't get a warning, she knows when Nap is taking over her body, so why does she look so shocked? This isn't the first time she's been Nappossessed.

“I thought the whole Nap-talking-through-me thing was over with,” she admits. “I figured he was too busy doing heavenly things to bother with me anymore.”

My friend has so much to learn about how otherworldly creatures operate. “Well, heaven must have recess, because he was just here,” I convey. “Loud and clear.”

“What did he say?” Arla asks in a voice that doesn't conceal how much she really isn't sure that she wants to hear Napoleon's message.

Holding her hand again, this time not to reconnect with Nap, but to make my bond with Arla even stronger, I answer, “There's something wrong with Archie.”

Breathing deeply, Arla replies, “I don't need Napoleon to tell me that.”

Before I can tell her that Jess has also told me that I need to protect Archie's soul, she continues. “But as much as it's painful to hear,” she says, “I get why he's pro-Nadine.”

“What?!” I cry. “What possible reason could he have for defending Nadine and feeling sorry for her? She's the enemy.”

“She's also his ex-boyfriend's sister,” Arla reminds me. “I think Archie feels sorry for Nadine because he misses Nap.”

“You think Archie is displacing his feelings for Nap onto Nadine, the same way Jess did in her diary?” I ask.

“It's a possibility,” Arla replies.

“But Jess didn't know all the facts,” I state. “Archie
knows
that Nadine is evil.”

“And so is Archie.”

Not only does Arla's voice disappear when she speaks, but this time so does her face; in fact her entire body dissolves in front of me, and in her place is sitting the dearly departed Napoleon Jaffe.

His hand feels warmer than Arla's. Has he been lurking around Jess's golden shadows? Who knows?! The only thing I'm sure about is that Nap obviously felt he didn't convey his message clearly enough the first go-around, so now he's decided to use a visual aid. Since I don't hear any shrieks of shock around me, I'm pretty positive that I'm the only one witnessing the dead twin's return from the grave.

“You're wrong, Nap,” I declare. “Archie is not evil.”

“Because you don't want to see it,” he replies just as firmly. “Look harder, and you'll find it.”

How dare he call my friend evil! Not when Napoleon comes from a family of sin and corruption himself.

“You should talk!” I seethe. “You're not much better than the rest of the filth in your family!”

I'm not sure if it's because I let go of Nap's hand or because of my unedited analysis, but Napoleon's image vanishes. Unfortunately, the memory of it remains. I hear Arla asking me what's wrong, but all I can see are Archie's eyes, one gold and the other black. No! I don't care what you say, Nap. I refuse to believe that my friend is evil simply because he's sympathetic toward your murderous sister.

“I blanked out again, didn't I?” Arla accurately deduces.

“Just for a few seconds,” I reply, shrugging my shoulders as if it were a completely forgettable few seconds. “C'mon, let's go.”

“What else did Nap say?” she asks, stealing a quick glance at Nadine as we walk out of the lunchroom.

As usual when it comes to speaking the truth, I trust my gut instinct, so I lie. I pray that my words aren't a complete fallacy. “He said that he misses Archie too.”

 

The rest of the first day of school is just like Archie and Napoleon's relationship: bittersweet. Every day, every hour that ticks by brings me closer to leaving one of the only places that has given me continuity and rescue and normalcy these past few years. I know that most high school seniors cannot wait for graduation to say good-bye to their alma mater and move forward in their life and never look back, but I'm really going to miss Two W. Even the lame assemblies.

Looks like Principal Dumbleavy took a page out of Archie's style book. Dumbleavy has always kept his hair short in that simple, nondescript, middle-aged professional man style. This year he's sporting a weird hybrid combo of state trooper meets 1950s businessman. His hair, now more salt than pepper, has been buzzcut so the top is as flat as a textbook. It looks like freshly mowed grass after an unexpected snowfall. I wonder if he went to Vernita's Hair Hut during her Men Only Monday special—first Monday of every month—for his new 'do. Jess's mother once told me Vernita loves the military look.