Beautifully Broken (3 page)

 
He turned his head, his gaze capturing mine. My face flamed, interrupting my ogling. His eyes widened, then narrowed. His arms dropped to his sides. Once those hypnotic green eyes seized mine, the atmosphere shifted, and for a moment, my heart ceased to beat. His gorgeousness silenced the thoughts and whirling emotions inside my head. The lingering anxiety from earlier vanished.

Finally, he turned away. I exhaled. He kept his head down like he had something to hide. Something he didn’t want people to see. Something he didn’t want
me
to see.

Why did his attitude change when he caught me gaping at him? Does he think without even talking to me that he’s so far out of my league that we aren’t even playing the same game? Or worse…has he already heard about me? My family?

“Who’s the guy?” I whispered to Ariana, jerking at the sleeve of my sweater to make sure my scarred forearm remained covered. The skin tingled and burned again.

Ariana giggled. “The babe staring at you with smoldering eyes is Trent Donovan. Whispering Pines’s newest bad boy.”

“Interesting.” I pretended to stretch, glancing sideways over my shoulder to peek at his sublimely beautiful face again. His jaw clenched and his mouth contorted with an unpleasant twist.

“Stop staring.” Ariana bumped my shoulder with her own. “And close your mouth, your tongue’s hanging out.”

I bumped her back, and we giggled. The children finished singing, and everyone applauded. Pastor Williams took his place behind the pulpit. He droned on about how the townsfolk of today were forgetting their heritage, and all that the founding fathers had sacrificed to keep the community together after the Civil War. I’d heard the lecture many times before, about how the founding families had permanently settled in Whispering Pines in 1868. Bored with the history lesson, I easily tuned out Pastor Williams’s voice.
Yadda, yadda, yadda.
I hung my head and pretended to read my bible, but it wasn’t long before my gaze strayed to Trent again.

I noticed Ashley Witheridge twisting around in her seat to smile and wave at Trent. Holding up a hand, Trent twirled his finger to indicate that she should turn back around. Ashley’s bottom lip pouted, but she faced forward.
Good.

The energy shifted in the room. A chilling wave passed over me. I blinked and noticed something odd. A woman in a tattered off-white dress (wedding gown?) sat close to Trent, her hands laced in her lap. Odd, because she hadn’t been there a second ago.

Opaque, wobbly shadows swished over the white walls, swooping near Trent and the lady. They swirled on the ceiling in a dance above their heads, making soft rustling noises. The shadows licked at the air. Fed off my fear like leeches.

Leave me alone!
My pulse rocketed. My head was gonna explode.
Isn’t there anywhere I can escape these damn things? Shouldn’t evil be unable to enter a church?

The lady sitting next to Trent turned her head to fix her gaze on mine. Her sapphire eyes were radiant. Her body flickered. She was gray. Seriously, from head-to-toe she was an unusual grayish color. Except for the twin glittering blue flames of her eyes.

Trent stared straight ahead, occasionally flipping through his bible. Oblivious to the shadows and the creepy lady.

The longer I stared at her, the more I realized there were strong similarities in our appearance. Our facial structure and hair color were remarkably alike. Like looking at a zombie version of myself. A quiver of apprehension ran through me. Her disturbing gaze held me immobile. The strength and intensity of her eyes gave me the terrifying sensation of being pinned by an unseen force.

“Shiloh, you don’t have much time.” The words swept past me, lightly brushing my subconscious, and I heard pain in the tenor. And trepidation. And warning. “Soul Eater’s coming for you.”

CHAPTER THREE

My body twitched. Snatching my bible, I held it against my chest like a shield.

Dammit! A wraith. Nasty things. Won’t leave you alone.

I guess today just wasn’t my day. Paranormals were out in droves and they had apparently decided to pester me.

Ariana nudged me. “What’s with you?”

I didn’t answer. Only gripped my bible tighter. Shudders rocked me as my mind fought to ignore the shadows. I dropped my gaze, but their hoarse whooshing noises were unnerving. 

“Shiloh?” Ariana placed her hand on mine. “What’s the matter?”

Lowering my head, I mumbled, “Nothing.”

 
“Donovan is checking you out,” Ariana whispered.

My stupid face burned red again. “No, he’s not.”

“An educated hottie and a heartbreaker. Nice combo, eh?” Ariana elbowed me in the ribs.

“Ow,” I said, rubbing my side. “Will you stop that?”

She stuck out her tongue.

I gritted my teeth. “Very mature.”

“What? He is…” Her words trailed off when Dad threw us a “shut the heck up” glare.

Dang, it’s hot in here. Is it because of the nocturnal creatures swarming Trent and the creepy lady?

Unknown heat crawled over my arm, seeking the scar. I pushed up the sleeve of my sweater and stared at the mark gracing my forearm. The sight of my scar gave me an emotional chill, part melancholy and part horror. It extended from my wrist to my elbow. A long, serrated, nasty reminder of the time I’d blacked out and awoken lying in a puddle of blood with a razorblade in one hand. Evidently, I’d pulled the blade across my arm, and the kiss of the razor had more than pricked my delicate skin. My muddled attempt at suicide. My dad had found me before I’d slit the other wrist, and I was rushed to the ER. The paramedics said I almost died. I wore bandages from my wrist to halfway up my forearm for a month. I’d lost enough blood to need a transfusion.

We never spoke of it again. I’d been on the brink of death and had viewed the underworld. Not a place I planned to revisit. Since that day, seeing shadows and auras became an everyday occurrence.

I flipped through the bible, looking for the verse the pastor had recited, and silently chanted:
Wall of light. Wall of light. Wall of light!
No use. I dared another glance. The lady beside Trent had vanished. So had the shadows. My heart returned to normal. Well, almost normal.
 

Once the service ended, I overheard everyone talking about Trent’s guest appearance. I strained to catch what they said, but the fading conversations were rendered inaudible by the ceaseless shuffle of feet as we left the building. From the exit, I gazed at Trent one last time and instantly regretted it. He stopped next to his Mustang and found me gawking. Again. His eyebrows drew together in a frown before he got in and drove off.

 As we crossed the parking lot, Jillian offered Ariana a ride home, which she accepted.

“I’m gonna catch the game with Sheriff Boyd. He just bought a flat screen,” Dad said. “He’ll drive me home later.” He came over and wrapped me in a hug.

I felt a tug on my heartstrings and buried my head against his chest. The warm scent of his aftershave reassured me. I’d faced a demon on my own this morning to protect my dad. I knew he didn’t know any of this, but still, I wanted to hug him tighter. Make sure he was all right. Assure myself that he was safe.

 
Jillian fluffed her short golden hair with a slim hand. “Enjoy. I’ll drop the girls off. Don’t drink too much, honey.”

Dad chuckled and landed a peck on Jillian’s cheek. Then he walked toward three men standing near Sheriff Boyd’s police cruiser.

Ariana and I climbed into the backseat, and Jillian slid into the driver seat. As she drove out of the lot, the bizarre incident at church still lurked in the dark edges of my mind. So the wraith had super creepy eyes. No reason to freak out…
Wait, was that a pang of familiarity in my gut?

No, I’d only imagined a resemblance—or, at least, I would have if my intuition hadn’t suddenly told me otherwise. And I didn’t need my gut feeling to tell me something was terribly wrong. Not when I recalled the shadows swarming near her and Shadow Man materializing in my bedroom.

Yep, that’s bad. Very, very bad.

But I didn’t want to dwell on it, not when hunky, mysterious guys made appearances at church. I figured I would later; right now it was easier to focus on something else. Something normal, which certainly didn’t include stressing about the shadows or the eerie wraith. Or shadowy demons that made my scarred arm throb just from a glance.

My mind drifted back to Trent, though my thoughts didn’t linger on his face. No, they recalled the bulging biceps beneath his tight shirt and his long legs. My curiosity regarding the new guy quashed any lingering anxiety over the morning’s strange events.

Jillian turned right on Oak Street toward Ariana’s house. She hummed along to the radio.

“So what’s his deal? Tell me
everything
,” I asked, keeping my voice low

She bent her head. “You haven’t heard the juicy gossip? My aunt told me his family used to live here. He’s yummy, for sure. Trent’s dad sent him to a boarding school in Switzerland or something after his mother died. Three weeks ago, they returned to Whispering Pines.”

“Does he go to our school? How old is he?”

“Dunno what school he’ll be at. He’s gotta be at least seventeen,” she said.

“Geez, he’s
sooo
tall and pretty.”

Ariana stared at me, then shrugged, as if shaking off bad feelings. “Heard the guy’s a rebel. So I won’t help you stalk him.”

A spark of excitement coursed through my veins.
Those eyes, those lips. Sheesh, bad enough the shadows are creeping me out—now this supercute guy I don’t even know is messing with my emotions too.

“Not that I’m above stalking, but bad boys aren’t my type.” A nagging sensation tickled my senses.
The wraith’s strange blue eyes
. The bubble of unease swelled inside me again until I worried my mind would explode.
If his mother was dead, then was she the lady sitting by him?
My stomach twisted. I lowered the window to let the fresh air hit me in the face like a cold splash of water. “Uh, Ari, about his mother—”

“His house is haunted.”

I whipped my head around. “Say what?”

 
Ariana lifted a pale brow. “Yeah. It’s practically an urban legend.”

I looked out the window again while I collected my tangled thoughts. My gaze stayed glued on the passing traffic. “Fill me in.”

“Get this...his house is
Ravenhurst Manor
.”

“I’ve heard the rumors about that place.” My forehead wrinkled as I shifted to meet her eyes. “Isn’t that the same creepy mansion where those kids disappeared during that college hazing?”

 
“Yep. Awful things always happen there. The mansion used to be a home for disturbed teens in the 1950s. And remember that kid, Jacob
Proctor,
who disappeared on the property? Oh!—and two years ago, the police found this wacko attempting to break into it. He was all bloody and mangled. He said a black mist attacked him.” Ariana scratched her nose and said quietly, “People say Ravenhurst killed Trent’s mother too. Trapped her soul within its walls.”

What she’d said made me quiver. “Those are stupid old stories. Wouldn’t that place be condemned or something, if it was true? A house could be haunted but not evil. Right?”

“How the heck should I know? But I wouldn’t live there.”

“Do you think Trent’s heard the stories? About Ravenhurst, I mean.”

“He might’ve, but he didn’t actually grow up here.” She touched my arm. “I think you’re right, he’s probably a stuck up private school jerk.”

“Maybe not…he’s
different
. When I looked into his eyes, my insides went all jittery. Know what I mean?”

She cracked an amused grin. “Uh-oh. You got it bad, girl.”

 
“Nooo. Shut up.” I stared at my hands that lay in my lap and mumbled, “I suppose some girls might think he’s hot.” A big sigh escaped my lips. “Alright, he’s a
honey
but—”

“Fine. Don’t listen to me—”

“What are you two whispering about?” Jillian’s voice rose above the radio.

We giggled and refused to answer. Ariana and I had been friends since the fifth grade. Our ancestors were among the original settlers who founded Whispering Pines. But even with the founding families as part of our lineage, Ari and I didn’t quite blend in. Ariana had lost her wealthy parents in an accident, so now she was basically an orphan, which made her different enough to have been rejected by the popular kids. And people…well, they just thought I was weird.

After dropping Ari off, Jillian took a different route home. We drove through the affluent neighborhoods on Pine Street and Acorn Avenue, past mansions built in the style of the grand Victorian era. The estates had curving driveways, high gates, and spacious lawns. I loved, this area with its aesthetic beauty and exquisite designs. The personalities of the buildings and the charming structures spoke to the budding architect lurking inside me. It was said there were more Victorian homes in Whispering Pines and Alameda, based on California’s population, than anywhere else in the country. The styles varied from Eastlake cottage, Queen Anne, to Gothic Revival, that were characterized by steeply pitched roofs, pointed arch windows, hoodmolds over the windows, gingerbread trim along the eaves and gable edges, and the high dormers. The town hadn’t changed much, since many of the houses were built more than a hundred years ago. Over the years, many people moved to Whispering Pines to raise families and to escape the density of San Francisco and Oakland, mostly charmed by the antiquated architecture. The stuff I loved.

Although Whispering Pines appeared serene among the lush landscape, like other coastal towns, twilight would signal the churning fog to ominously surround the town. Neighborhoods would be bathed in an eerie mist when nightfall’s dark veil fell upon the earth. In Whispering Pines, people locked their doors at night and kept their children inside. They didn’t talk about the fog hovering over the streets. It was as if the community realized long ago the divider between our world and the supernatural realm was gossamer thin. Night was a time when ancient magick purred seductively to anyone who dared to listen. From an early age, I’d heard the rumors about the town curse. To others, the rumors were urban legend. To me, reality. Because I saw what others only gossiped about.

Blocks from home, Jillian stopped the car. I knew where we were. On our right stood an unusual mansion, its perimeters barricaded with a high wrought-iron gate. Crickets sang and dragonflies buzzed the entrance. Grass grew wild and tall in the yard, sprouting through the cracks in the cement path leading to the portico. The monstrous Gothic mansion was vast and rambling and wilting. It consumed the sky and blotted out the weak sun. Harsh seasons had torn shingles off the roof. Windows were randomly boarded shut. Tall, thorny weeds grew rampant and towering trees threatened to overtake, overwhelm, and engulf the grounds. Wind rustling between the oaks whispered of an ageless fear. Shrouded in shadows, nocturnal things slithered through the grass like snakes. A crooked No Trespassing sign hung from the newel post.

 
A prickling sensation glided over my body then settled in my stomach. Ground fog swirled and transformed, rising high, forming into a distinct shape in front of me. An apparition with bleak sapphire eyes. The wraith from church floated closer.

Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap.

Jillian twisted in her seat and stared out the passenger-side window at the house. “Ravenhurst.” she said more to herself than to me. Then an odd note of urgency entered her voice. “Ohhh, oh no. It
can’t
be.”

I cast a glance at Jillian. Her fingers clutched the steering wheel until they turned white. Her eyes narrowed and glowed like a fire replenishing itself. The eyes of a huntress.

I looked back at the wraith, then at Jillian again.
Does she see it too?

My stomach did frightened flips. A wintry sense of dread hit me. Rising anxiety made my breathing shallow. I raised my sleeve and the uneven, raised skin on my arm was warm to the touch. My gut twisted on the lump of fear anchoring me to the seat. Again, a strange sense of familiarity stole over me.

The wraith soared next to the car door. She smiled. Pale and emaciated, her eyes conveying pain, apathy, sorrow. Her transparent grey hand sliced through the metal door and clutched my arm. An arctic chill surged through me, and the warmth of my scar turned to ice. The world became fuzzy, distant, like I was descending into an endless, dark chasm. When I regained my sense of balance, I stood inside a dimly lit house, everything around me tinted like an old black and white movie. A door swung open before me. Floral wallpaper covered the walls and a vase of wilted roses sat on the dresser. Soft light streamed through the lace curtains that covered the stained-glass windows. As I stepped near the bed, the stench of sulfur hit my nostrils. Fragments of shadows shifted on the walls. A movement caught at the corner of my eye. I froze. A person stood near the bed. His back was to me, but I recognized the opaque physique, smoky limbs, and hairless head.

My hands twisted together. My lips held back a scream.

Shadow Man’s muscles tensed. His sharp fingernails, like shards of glass, raked the side of the wall. The wallpaper hung in long, shredded strips. He turned, and I saw his yellow eyes were flames of hellfire. His voice, low, menacing, said, “Yes! Yes, freedom from the pain. Take your life. Join me.”

“For
his
life,” a woman said. She stood on the chair in the middle of the room. She wore a lacy wedding gown, her dark hair voluminous against the dress’s lightweight. She positioned a noose over her head. “You must vow to spare him in exchange for my soul.”

Shadow Man tapped a nail on his pointy black chin. He smiled, revealing a mouth full of spiky teeth. “Hmm, a reasonable swap, Claire. I agree.”