Darkness Becomes Her
Page 7

The next was a faded letter written to my mother.
Dear Eleni,
If you are reading this then I have been unsuccessful, like so many others before me. I have failed you.
as you grow and reach womanhood, you will understand that you are different. All of us have been this way. No woman in our family as far back as I’ve uncovered has lived beyond her twenty-first birthday. We have all left behind a daughter. It seems fate has chosen our path for us, and it is always the same.
You will be no different. Unless you can find a way to stop this curse. My mother killed herself when I was a baby. She left me nothing, but I’ve learned that her mother, and her mother before her, also died in the same way.
And soon I will go too. I feel it in my bones, under my skin. My time is coming. I have tried, have seen so many cultists, quacks, and priests, but this curse is still with me as it will be with you. But I refuse to give in to the madness. I refuse. I will not give in to this urge to end things. Perhaps that alone will break the curse.
Find the cure, Eleni. Stop this madness inside of us. I wish we had more time together. …
I will always be with you,
Mother
Tears stung my eyes, and a lump swelled my throat. I folded the letter carefully and slid it back into its envelope. I didn’t want to believe it, but inside I knew. The words were true. Fate had had its way with all of them, and now it was my turn. A warm drop fell on my cheek, and I brushed it away.
Screw this.
I wasn’t about to die or get pregnant in the next three and a half years. This thing, this curse or whatever it was, would end with me. The beheading of my grandmother meant that something came for her, killed her, when she refused to give in to the madness and kill herself. And something came for me in the parking lot of the hotel—a bit shy of my twenty-first birthday, sure, but definitely looking to end me.
I rubbed both hands down my face.
I didn’t have enough information. The only things I knew for sure was that I was different—I’d known that all my life—some thing had tried to kill me, and the women in my family were cursed, all of them dead at twenty-one.
Twenty-one. Twenty-fucking-one.
I rested my chin on the tepee of my fingers, trying to find some calm and direction amid the chaos that had become my life in one night. I had killed the thing that came for me. Maybe that alone had broken the curse.
Weak theory.
But . . . I was here now. In New 2. The only logical thing to do was to find out more about my mother, my father, and why the Novem wanted to see me. Or hurt me.
One day. I’d give it one day.
I woke to bruised elbows, an achy forehead, and a stiff back. And, if the red behind my eyelids was any clue, a shaft of sunlight spilling through the window. I squeezed my lids closed as a shadow blocked the light. The floorboards creaked. I opened my eyes.
Every muscle froze. I was looking straight into the blue eyes of a small white alligator.
“Pascal, this is Ari,” a tiny feminine voice whispered.
It was Violet—on her knees, leaning over the sleeping bag, a burgundy, jewel-encrusted mask pushed atop her head—holding a small white alligator directly in front of my face. All it had to do was snap and my nose would be history.
I held my breath, afraid to breathe on its milky skin.
Finally Violet sat back on her heels and turned the alligator to kiss its nose. “Good, Pascal,” she whispered, and set him on the floor, pulling the half-mask down over her face. The corners swept up into points adorned with two small feathers.
Pascal waddled away and out the door.
Releasing my breath, I sat up, unsure of what to say to the peculiar girl, who had returned to her staring. Her tiny white hands were laid flat on her knees, and the black dress she wore looked like it had once been a woman’s cocktail dress. She had on tights underneath, or they might’ve been knee-high socks meant for an adult, but whatever they were, they disappeared under the hem of the dress. Her shoes were boy’s penny loafers and a size too big.
“Was that your alligator?” I checked the door to make sure Pascal hadn’t decided to come back in.
“He is no one’s.” Violet cocked her head. “He likes your hair. It’s like his skin.”
Without thinking, I reached up and shoved a loose strand behind my ear, forgetting that I’d unwound it before bed. What I wanted to do was gather it up and shove it behind my shoulders, but for some reason I didn’t want Violet to think the hair meant anything, so I left it hanging long and loose, veiling the sides of my face, the ends resting in my lap.
“He likes my teeth. They’re like his teeth,” Violet said, her large eyes blinking through the holes of the mask.
I stayed still, almost frozen. “Why are your teeth like his, Violet?” I braced myself, hoping the question wouldn’t set her off and make her go all fang-girl on me.
“To eat things, of course.” Her head cocked. “You are different.” Then she stood and walked out with silent steps despite the heavy black shoes.
I watched her disappear from view, a little confused and thrown by how much she fascinated me. But it was more than the masks, and her sharp teeth. Violet made me feel softer inside, like some kind of weird big sister/mothering instinct was being awakened. I guessed it was the same feeling Casey and Bruce had when they first met me—just an unexplainable connection or need to care. I shook my head. Didn’t matter, though. I’d be gone tonight.
I went to drag my gaze away from the door when Sebastian passed by, his head turning. It was clear by the falter in his step that he didn’t expect to see me sitting there.
My stomach flipped. Heat stung my cheeks. His gray eyes drew me in like two fascinating pools of liquid mercury. Yeah, and mercury is poison, you big dummy.
But he wasn’t looking at me, I realized; he was looking at my hair. Just like everyone else.
It seemed like forever, but in reality, it was only a second or two before his gaze dropped and his footsteps continued on.
I blinked out of my haze, quickly gathered my hair, and began twisting it as I got to my feet and headed after him. “Sebastian!”
He stopped halfway down the stairs, body language screaming reluctance as I approached, tying my hair into a knot and trying to ignore the fact that the guy made me extremely self-conscious.
Two steps above him, I dropped my arms to my sides. “Look, I know you don’t want me here, but . . . the Novem, do you really believe they’re not out to hurt me?”
One corner of his mouth almost lifted into what might’ve been a smile. Or a grimace. “Yes, I do,” he answered.
I bit my lip, making a quick decision. “If you help me find the information I’m after, I’ll go with you, willingly, to see the Nov —”
The front door flew open, slamming against the wall, the knob sinking through the drywall.
Violet appeared, stopping just inside the parlor with Pascal tucked under her arm, as three young men entered the house.
They were all similar in age—late teens, early twenties. The guy in the middle tossed a glance at Violet, shaking his head. “Welcome to The House of Misfits.”
His friends laughed as he lifted his eyes to the stairs. “Adding another one to the ranks?” His attention shifted from Sebastian to me. “Darlin’, you’re better off in the swamp than with these losers.”
“What do you want, Ray?” Sebastian’s hand gripped the railing so hard his knuckles turned white.
I took another step down as Dub shuffled from the dining room with an orange, starting to peel it, when Ray snatched it out of his hand.
“Hey!”
Ray threw it on the ground. “What’s up, Dub? You half-breed little shit.”
“Fuck you, Ray mond.”
Ray reached for Dub.
It seemed like the next few seconds happened in slow motion.
Violet put Pascal on the ground, pulled her mask over her face as though preparing for battle, and then launched her small body at Ray. She was on him like an octopus, arms and legs wrapped around his middle. Her sharp teeth sank into his bicep. He shrieked, trying to pull her off. He succeeded in getting space between them, but Violet’s legs and hands clung tight. He cursed in French and yanked again at her, this time flinging her small body across the room. She hit the floor and slid down the smooth hardwood hall.
Something in me snapped.
I flew around Sebastian and down the stairs as Dub and Crank ran to Violet. Violet stood up on her own, swiped the blood from her mouth and chin, and then darted out the back of the house and into the garden. I just caught a glimpse of her diving under the dead leaves before I turned back to Ray.
Adrenaline thrummed through my veins, fueled by fury. Nothing got me going like seeing a kid being hurt—I knew firsthand what that was like. “Why don’t you try that on me?” Better yet, I slugged him in the jaw.
The pain that shot through my knucklebones and up my hand felt good. And when his friends came to his aid, I welcomed the fight.
Bring it on, you assholes.
As the first guy reached out, I spun on my heel and grabbed his arm over my shoulder, flipping him onto the floor. As soon as he was down, the other one’s breath fanned the back of my neck. My gaze met Sebastian’s. His eyes were smiling at me, challenging me, seeing what I could do. I cocked a grin as the second guy grabbed me around the waist. I threw back my head, bracing for the crack as my skull collided with his face. He grunted. It hurt him way more than it did me. I spun and kicked him in the gut. He went down next to his friend.
I took a step back and surveyed my handiwork, heart racing.
Dub whistled from somewhere behind me. But my attention was fixed on Ray. He was the only one not on the floor and therefore still a threat.
“You fucking bitch!” he snarled, one hand over his bloody shoulder and the other rubbing his jaw. His face was a shade paler than when he’d first arrived.
I smirked and flipped him the bird. Red blushed through his skin, and his lips drew back slightly as though he was about to bare his teeth.
Sebastian appeared beside me. “She’s mine,” he said in a calm voice. “I found her first.”