Starfall (22 page)

After the tongue recoils I can feel its foul saliva drip down my face and collect at my chin. I have never been more disgusted in my entire life, but I don't show it. I bottle it inside, keep it as a memory so I never forget that even though Luba and I have entered into a new relationship, she herself has not changed. In fact, I know exactly what words are about to spill out of her mouth, so I beat her to it.

“Do not betray me!” I command.

 

Running down The Hallway to Nowhere, I scrape the snake spittle from my face, surprised that my hands don't burn from the touch. I know that I've just made a pact with the devil, and yet I can't help feeling triumphant. I stood my ground against Luba, I showed her that I'm worthy, and more important I showed myself that I can control my fear and anger and confusion. Just as I get to the end of the hall, Elkie appears, and I have to stop short. Now face to face with someone who is supposed to be my friend, I feel anxiety latch onto my spine, and I know that today's lesson is about to be erased from my mind.

“This is for you.”

The envelope Elkie is holding in her hands is thin, but I somehow know that it contains a powerful message.

“I found it in Essie's things,” Elkie informs me. Her voice isn't a whisper, but she's speaking quietly so we won't be overheard.

“Essie left something for me?” I ask stupidly.

“Yes, there was a note attached that said you should read this after her death,” Elkie explains. “I was waiting for the right time, and I suspect that time has come.”

The simple kindness and sincerity emanating from Elkie's face and voice remind me of her sister, one of the few people I could trust implicitly. I don't know what this offering means or what its significance might be, but my gut tells me that if it's linked to Essie, it has to be something good. So without hesitation I take the envelope from Elkie's hands.

When I see Winston and Melinda enter the hallway from his office, I just as instinctively hide the envelope behind my back.

“Tell me, Elkie, what are you doing out from behind your desk?” Winston asks in his usual arrogant tone. “Do you want to keep this job or wind up unemployed like your predecessor?”

An infuriated woman responds to Winston's heartless comment, but it isn't Elkie.

“Her predecessor was
murdered,
you idiot!”

Revulsion drips off of Melinda's tongue and splatters onto the linoleum. I half-expect Winston to jump up and down to avoid coming into contact with his girlfriend's venom. As usual Winston's true cowardice reveals itself as he awkwardly tries to regain control of the situation.

“Well, yes, Essie w-was mur-mur . . . ,” he stutters. “But I w-was going to fire her. She was becoming . . . unnecessary.”

“A feeling you must know very well, Mr. Lundgarden,” Elkie replies.

Her voice is so calm and even friendly that I'm amazed that she's speaking to the man who indirectly caused her sister's death. I'm not sure if Elkie knows all the details surrounding Essie's murder, but she's smart and intuitive if not completely psychic, so she must know that Winston played a featured role. Is this what it means to be an adult? Being cold and heartless? Or is it all just an act?

“The world is filled with unnecessary men,” Elkie continues. “And an even larger group of unnecessary women.”

Immediately Melinda's smile fades when she realizes that Elkie addressed her last comment to her. Her face is a blank mask, completely empty; the only blemish is the small cleft in the center of her nose. No, Elkie is hardly heartless. She's just really good with words. Guess that's why I know I can trust anything she says. When she hugs me tight and whispers in my ear that I should open Essie's envelope alone, the thought to betray her instruction doesn't cross my mind.

Locked inside my bedroom I sit on my floor facing the window and stare at the envelope. My name has been written on it in red ink, but I don't know whose handwriting it is—could be Essie's, could be Elkie's, I have no idea because I never paid attention to the details of Essie's life. I have to pay attention now. Whatever's inside this envelope has got to be important or else Essie would have just shared the information with me; she would've just told me while she was flipping through a celebrity magazine; she wouldn't have hidden it to be revealed only after her death.

I dig a fingernail in between the top flaps and then run my finger slowly along the length of the envelope. I feel like a surgeon opening up a body, not certain if I'll uncover healthy organs or disease. But all I see is a photograph.

The two girls smiling back at me are about three years old, wearing colorful dresses and party hats, their arms around one another. The joy and happiness and possibility within their eyes leaps out of the photo, and I wish I could grab hold of it, but I see something else in the photo that frightens me. One of the girls is holding something in her hands. Peering closer at the photo with my wolf eyes I see that she's holding the Little Bo Peep compact, the same one that my mother has.

I look again at the two girls and focus on their noses. They each have a small line running down the center, a cleft just like . . . no! I can't see their faces anymore because the photo starts to shake in my hand.

Gripping it tighter I turn the picture around, and the writing on the back is blurry because there are tears forming in my eyes. I know the truth before I read it, and some truths are too heinous to accept.

 

M & S, 3rd Birthday

 

There's no doubt about it. I don't have to read any further to know that Melinda and Suzanne are sisters. But when I read the rest of the writing on the back, the same handwriting from the front of the envelope, I have confirmation that the world is a vile and unforgiving and unnecessary place.

 

Melinda is your aunt.

Blindly I rummage through the contents of my closet until I find it. I slam the metal box onto my bed and try to lift the lid, but it's locked. I know the key is on my keychain tucked inside the pocket of my jeans, but I want it open now. One wolf-yank and the lock is broken. I dip my hand inside, and it's like I'm sticking my face into shark-infested waters; as careful as I try to be, I know I'm going to get bitten. When I touch the engraved inlay of the compact I expect to see blood gush from my fingers.

Comparing the compact I'm holding—the one my mother told me her mother gave to her on her third birthday—to the one the little girl is holding in the photograph, I can tell they're identical. Melinda Jaffe and my mother are not just sisters, but twins! That's not possible! That isn't fair! But deep down in both my guts I know that it's more than possible and that life is anything but fair.

From the first moment I met Melinda, she reminded me of my mother, due to her physical resemblance, especially the cleft in her nose, and some other intangible connection that I couldn't explain or describe. Afterward, however, when I found out her true character, all thoughts of a link were eradicated; there could be no way that someone as ugly and vicious and remorseless as Nadine's mother could be related to mine. Except I've forgotten one very important thing—the importance of maintaining balance. And what better way to do that than to make two children born from the same cell become the antitheses of each other. Nadine and Napoleon are twins, so why not Melinda and Suzanne?

But can this really be true? Can our families truly be bound together by more than just a curse? Are the fates crueler than Luba?

The last thing Essie said to me before she died was “Melinda is your . . .” I filled in the blank for her and thought the next word in that sentence was
enemy.
I assumed that Essie was trying to warn me about Melinda before crossing over, before she no longer had a chance, but no, she was trying to tell me that Melinda is my flesh and blood.

Essie has become so much more surprising to me in death than she ever was in life. She must have been way smarter than I ever thought she was to have uncovered this information. Maybe she was conducting her own private investigation into Winston to find out who his girlfriend was and stumbled upon the truth? I'll never know, because even though I hardly thought about Essie, she was always thinking about me. She spent her last moments on this earth trying to connect with me, while I spent almost my entire life ignoring her. How awful a person am I? I used to think my actions while under this curse were deplorable, but it's the things you don't do that are worse.

“Oh, Essie, I'm so sorry,” I sob.

Please, God, let Essie hear my apology. Please let her know how terribly sorry I am that she had to die because she got mixed up with me and that it's taken me so long to see her for the truly wonderful woman she was. For someone who has such incredible vision, it takes me quite a while to see things the way they really are.

My hearing, thankfully, is much better.

Downstairs I hear Arla and Barnaby in the kitchen. In another moment they'll call out for me to find out if I'm home. I can't be here; I can't deal with them right now. Yes, they're my family, but some new relatives have just crashed the party, and I have to figure out what all this means.

When I stop running and see that I'm surrounded by dirt and sand and rocks, I know exactly where I am—at Dry Land, where all this started. The place where I first transformed, the place where I first was cursed, the place where I first killed.

“Why is this happening, Jess!?”

My cry is so fierce that I disrupt my surroundings. A small flock of birds flee the barren branches of a tree a few hundred yards away; the bushes in the distance shake as some creatures scramble to run from the noise. I don't care! I don't care who hears me!

“Why does it keep getting worse and worse and worse?!” I scream.

What is that noise? I'm so lost in my outrage that I don't even realize that it's coming from me; I'm the one howling. When I recognize the sound that usually doesn't appear unless a full moon is hanging in the sky, I'm not startled; it appears perfectly natural. I've had enough! Miss Ro's senseless death, having to team up with Luba to fight against Nadine, and now finding out that she's my cousin because one of the women I despise most in this world, Melinda Jaffe, shares DNA with my mother. How much more of this destiny garbage am I supposed to take?

“I don't want to be connected to Nadine's family by blood!”

My word-rage is swallowed up by a burst of golden light. But the sunshine that engulfs me isn't bright and filled with promise; it's blinding and filled with just as much anger as is spewing from my body. I'm not the only one who's had enough.

“SHUT! UP!!!”

Jess's voice hurls out of nowhere to slam into my chest and throw me several feet into the air. I linger, suspended, hanging by golden rays of light, and look down in fascination at the earth until the golden rays release me and I fall, not stopping until I land, incredibly hard, on the cold ground. Momentarily dazed, I don't regain complete consciousness for a few moments. When I do, I realize Jess hasn't stopped shouting.

“You are
not
the only one connected to Nadine and her family!” she screams. “You are
NOT
the only one who's cursed!”

Oh my God! Once again I was only thinking of myself. How stupid was I to think that Jess wouldn't find out about Jeremy?

“And how selfish could you be not to tell me?!”

For the second time Jess's supernaturally enhanced voice rams into me, making my body shake like I'm on some G-force roller coaster. I have never seen her this angry or this powerful. My best friend definitely is changing; she is almost all Omikami. I just hope there's enough human left in her to understand why I kept the fact that Jeremy is the father of Nadine's twins a secret.

“I've caused you enough harm and heartache, Jess,” I explain. “I didn't want to add to it.”

“I've told you a thousand times, Dominy, I do not blame you for killing me!” Jess rails. “Let go of the shame and guilt and remorse, because it's not doing either of us any good! What I'm having a hard time dealing with is the fact that you knew Nadine used my brother to father her children and you kept that from me!”

“Because I didn't want you to do anything that would get Jeremy in any more trouble!” I scream. “You know what Nadine's capable of! If she had any idea that you were seeking revenge against her for using your brother or that you were trying to tell Jeremy the truth, she'd kill him just to get him out of the way. Do you actually think she ever intended to share their children with him?!”

I still can't see Jess's face, but her sunlight isn't as blinding as it was a few moments earlier. The sunshadow is lifting.

“Is that what you want?” I ask. “For your brother to greet you on the other side?”

Still no sign of Jess's face, but I know that she's as shocked by the harshness of my words as I am. Shocked, but relieved.

“No, Dominy,” she says. “I would never want that.”

When Jess appears, she looks almost translucent, as if she's part of the sun and not just lit by it. I don't have the strength to get up, not because I'm physically wounded, but because the sight makes me terribly sad. So I sit back on the ground and grab on to a rock to steady myself. My friend, my dear sweet Jess, is almost entirely gone.

No! Don't dwell on that now. She's still here; she's still sitting on the dirt right in front of you, Dominy. Focus on that!

“As far as I can tell, Jeremy has no memory of sleeping with Nadine,” I relay. “In fact, he's said that it's as if he's coming out of a fog, so whatever mind games she was playing with him seem to be over. He served his purpose, so she's moved on.”

Jess turns away from me, and for a few seconds I'm plunged into darkness. Part of me wants to stay here forever, hidden from the world, but soon Jess turns back and I'm doused with light.

“She tricked me again,” Jess states. “I don't know how she does it. Maybe I've helped her by clinging to my human emotions longer than I should have.”

Oh, Jess, I don't ever want you to let go of them!

“She tricked me into believing she was going to use your brother to get pregnant to distract me so I didn't discover that she was using mine,” Jess states. “She might be a witch, but she's a smart one.”

I reach out my hand to Jess, and she stares at it as if she doesn't know what it is or what to do with it. Finally she grabs hold of me, and again I can feel my heart breaking because it's as if I'm clutching a cloud.

“I'm sorry, Jess,” I blurt out. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I'm just . . . confused . . . and tired of all of this. One day I'm ecstatic and I'm making love to Caleb and the next I'm horrified and forced to watch Miss Ro die, and now this.... When, Jess, when will it end?”

For the first time Jess smiles. It isn't a big smile; it isn't going to turn into a belly laugh, but it's an anchor that I grasp onto. When she speaks, I feel like letting go.

“Dominy, our journey never ends,” she says. “You're staring at proof of that.”

“But does it get any better?” I ask cautiously.

Her smile grows. “Yes, it definitely gets better,” she advises. “But even when it gets better, there are still frustrations.”

Without mentioning it I know she's referring to her limitations, the rules that have been thrust upon her by some higher being. The rules that she has to live her new life by.

“It's almost as if life and death are the same,” I ponder.

Jess cocks her head to the side, throwing a ball of sunlight into the air. “Ooh, Dominysan,” she replies. “Little grasshopper is getting so wise and philosophical. Mr. Dice would be impressed.”

“Mr. Dice would be impressed if I mastered my multiplication tables,” I joke.

My comment makes me laugh out loud, and soon gigglaughs are penetrating Jess's sunlight. Jess doesn't join in; she just watches me, a happy smile fixed upon her face, but a part of me knows that she's watching me in curiosity, from a distance, and not as my best friend who used to laugh with me for hours on end about the most nonsensical things. Ignoring what I'm feeling in my heart, I listen to my brain.

“Remember, Jess,” I declare, trying to sound like my mother. “We're smart too.”

“Then don't be misled,” she replies.

“By what?”

“Just because the Jaffes' blood is mixed in with Jeremy's and your mother's and even with Napoleon's, it's still poisonous,” she proclaims.

It takes me a bit to understand the ramifications of her remark, but quickly I comprehend the Jesspeak. “So even though there's goodness in their history,” I say, “there's still evil, in order to maintain the balance.”

“Well done,” Jess says, sounding more like a mentor than a friend. “And if you want to postpone your permanent relocation to my side of the universe's playground, don't ever forget that.”

 

After the third bang on my bedroom door, I unlock it and let it swing open. Here I am, world, I've got nothing to hide. Yeah, even I don't believe that.

“Are you forgetting to tell me something, Dominy?”

Ever since I got home I've been trying to avoid Arla, but she's been circling me waiting for the right time to strike. Which is now. She's developed some pretty good tracking skills, and from one good hunter to another I respect that. Doesn't mean I'm going to answer her though.

“Nope.”

She stands in the doorway of my bedroom and crosses her arms. I take a good look at her for the first time since I've come home, and I realize she probably just returned from a run since she's wigless, scrubbed of all her makeup, and sweaty. This is her no-nonsense look; she has questions, and she wants answers, and there's no way that she's going to let up on me until I supply them. Like any good hunter I know when I'm cornered.

I usher Arla into my bedroom and close the door behind us. Jumping on my bed, I hold a pillow in my lap in an effort to look as nonchalant as possible before speaking.

“I told Luba that Nadine is having twins and that we have to work together in order to stop her,” I say.

Arla purses her lips together, mulling over my announcement. “Did Grandma agree?”

“It took me a bit of convincing to make her see that my plan is best, but yes, she ultimately agreed,” I say.

“And?”

“And what?”

“And what else aren't you telling me?”

“Nothing!” I protest way too vehemently. “Why the third degree?”

“Because you're withholding information from me, Dominy, and the only way we're going to remain safe is if we stay one step ahead of the crazies,” Arla states, grabbing the pillow from my hands and tossing it onto the floor. “So I'm prepared to give you the fourth, fifth, and if you're not careful, the sixth degree to find out what you're hiding from me. And word to the wise, Dom, the sixth degree is more unpleasant than your monthly curse.”

Oh how I wish Arla were just talking about my period.

“Okay, fine!” I finally shout. “You want to know the whole truth?”

“Why else do you think I'm standing here smelling like something at the bottom of Barnaby's laundry basket?” Arla shouts.

“Melinda Jaffe is my aunt.”

So few statements that come out of my mouth render my friends speechless these days that I'm always surprised—and I must admit to feeling a tad bit pompous—when something does. I give Arla a moment to digest this awful truth.

“Shut your wolf trap!”

Okay, that's a new one. I think I should be offended, but I kind of like it.