Strega (Strega Series) (17 page)

Another article written weeks later was all too familiar.

Police say they still have no suspects in the case, and the trail has gone cold.

The words sent a sinister chill through my entire body. The pieces fell together in a petrifying picture that I saw for the first time. Mom and Dad, Gram, and Mr. Whitmore were all murdered in the exact same horrific way. Most likely by the same terrible thing that was after me now. And they were all unsolved cases.

Mom and Dad were killed in our home in Falmouth on the Cape Cod coast, at least one hundred miles from Newburyport. Detective Laine wouldn't have known the details of their deaths, especially since there was no reason to suspect or explore any connection. I'd led him to believe their deaths were accidental.

I stared at their faces in black and white on the thin newspaper sheet. Their lives were summed up in a couple of sentences by someone who didn't even know them.
They were so much more than this
. The iron cage around my heart since they died began to crumble, unleashing a sorrow I'd kept locked inside all those years. I dragged my sleeve across my face, but tears kept pouring from my eyes. I drew in broken breaths and my chest heaved in agony as I remembered Mom and Dad with more clarity than I'd allowed myself to in all the years they'd been gone.

I thought of Mom's beautiful chestnut brown hair. It had a fiery auburn hue buried deep within it. I could still remember its scent when she held me close. Her cool blue eyes shimmered like the surface of the ocean beneath the burning sun. She was beautiful. I wanted to look just like her when I grew up. To me, she was a princess.

But after she died, I couldn't bear to focus on my face in the mirror or look into my own eyes. In them, I saw a lifetime of pain that I couldn't bear. In them, I saw Mom's eyes. Everyone told me I looked like her. This only ever reminded me that she was once real. That my memories of her were not just fantasies of a life I wished for, a life I wanted back. It reminded me that she should have been with me, but she was not. She was taken from me. Seeing her in myself only reminded me of the emptiness that was drowning me alive. Everything Mom touched came to life, gained color, joy, laughter. She was a jewel. Her spirit glowed and warmed my soul, but she took that light with her when she died.

Dad was as strong and protective as he was warm and gentle. He was handsome, with dark brown hair and olive skin. His chin was often covered in a dark, stubbly beard that I liked to scratch with my tiny fingers. His eyes were the warmest brown, burning always with passion and desire, radiating the heat and light of the sun. Like amber, I could see right into them, to their depths where small flecks of color were buried like treasure beneath the surface. He looked at Mom the way I looked at him. With complete adoration. He was everything I imagined my prince charming would be someday. I felt safer with him than I did with anyone else.

"I've never seen two people love each other like your mom and dad loved each other, Jay." Gram said this often. Each time, tears inevitably swelled in her eyes.

My memories were so warm. So tender. Filled with love. But these intangible treasures were all I had now. I was lost. Empty. After I lost Mom and Dad, Gram's love filled the great void that overwhelmed me. Now she was gone too. She was the last piece of a life I longed to reclaim, and the great void was so immense it cast a shadow over me that I feared I would never escape. I was still alive. But a part of me died with them.

My life was crumbling. And I wanted to let myself fall. I was too devastated to care about my own life anymore.
What was left anyway?
But as the dark sea of self-pity churned, something in me resisted. There in the darkness, a tiny light flickered.

Gram hid the truth about Mom and Dad for years, and I began to wonder what else she'd kept from me. If I'd known about their murders, maybe I could have dug for answers a long time ago. Maybe I could have prevented her death, and Mr. Whitmore's. No matter what, I had to figure out what killed them now, before it got anyone else I cared about. As I scanned the room full of secrets, something caught my eye.

Its golden leather cover and silver button shimmered in the light I cast upon it. Gram's journal. I could see her sitting in the living room writing in it. She always had her cup of tea next to her, but she never actually took a sip until she was done writing. She wrote intensely, gripped by whatever she was pouring out on the page. When she finished, she'd let out a deep sigh before taking a gulp of cold tea. The last time I saw her write in it was the day before she died.

A twinge of guilt twisted in my stomach. The thought of reading through her personal and private thoughts didn't sit well. She was gone, but it still seemed like a violation. And I'd just lost her. Reading her words, seeing her handwriting, reliving her experiences, I didn't know if I was ready. But if she knew something that could help me, I needed to know. I didn't want to read it. I had to.

I grabbed Gram's journal and, reluctantly, Mom's book, and made my way to the door. Surrounded by such dark and troubling secrets, my uneasiness had intensified. I was alone. Vulnerable. I'd already spent way too much time in that house. I found what I came for, and so much more than I bargained for. I needed to get out of there.

The hallway floorboards creaked. I jumped back into the secret room and hid behind the doorway. I peeked out but saw nothing. Then I heard another creak, and another. Someone was out there, I was sure. My heart pounded so hard and fast that whoever or whatever it was could surely hear it. I turned off the flashlight, grabbed the fire poker in my hand, and watched vigilantly.

Something flashed across the threshold and disappeared. A moment later, it reappeared. Its face was light brown and black. Its body slinked around the corner and rubbed against the door frame, eventually finding its way to me in the dark room. I sunk to the floor and let her crawl into my lap. She looked familiar. Possibly the neighbor's cat. But she had no collar. As I patted her, I wondered how she got in. She could have snuck in with me when I came in the front door. But I didn't see her, and I slammed the door behind me.

Holding the cat in one arm, I tucked the journal and Mom's book under the other and gripped the fire poker in my hand. However the cat had gotten inside, I hoped she came alone. I stepped out into the hallway and looked for any unwelcomed guests before I headed down the stairs. I left all the lights on behind me. When I approached the front door, the cat hissed and jumped from my arm. I dropped the books, and as I scurried to pick them up, the curious sound of scraping metal caught my ear. I stared at the deadbolt as the bar moved and it unlocked before my eyes. Before I could react, the door flew open and slammed against the wall.

As if a tornado had entered the house, a gust of wind surged in and knocked over the glass vase on the table. I ran into the living room, but before I could hide behind the sofa, a black cloud, thick and swirling, approached and hesitated just inches away from me. It was shapeless, but its aura was definitive. It was dark. Sinister. And it was determined. I held my breath, frozen in terror. In that moment, I wished that I could shrink into a tiny grain of sand and disappear into the floorboards.

To my relief, the dark mass suddenly shifted, continuing down the hallway and drifting up the stairs like billowing smoke. When it was out of sight, I ran for the open doorway. But before I could reach it, something stopped me. It felt like I'd run into a wall. Out of nowhere, the black cloud materialized again in front of me. Swirling and shapeless at first, it soon settled into a gruesome form. A tall figure draped in black. Its face was cloaked, but its skeletal fingers, tipped with long blackened nails, grazed my cheek. I couldn't run. I couldn't move. I was so stiff I could have cracked in half. Then it grasped my throat and I winced. It was so cold. I stared in horror into the dark abyss where a face should have been.

My trembling hand lifted the fire poker. But before I could swing, the terrifying creature hurled my body through the air. When I hit the wall on the other side of the room, my body crumpled. I landed on the floor and opened my eyes, dreading the sight of the ghastly figure. But suddenly a bright blue, fiery light tore across the room and a thunderous blast rocked the foundation. The air filled with smoke. For a moment I thought I was dead. As the gray plumes dissipated, I searched for the figure but it was nowhere in sight. Battered and bruised, I lifted myself up and made my way to the door as fast as I could, swiping the books on my way out.

My tires screeched as I stepped on the gas and tore down our quiet street. The assaulting sound surely woke any sleeping neighbors. My entire body was shaking. I could hardly grip the steering wheel.

Like so many other recent experiences, I couldn't exactly call the police or rely on Detective Laine to help me with this one. If I wanted to avoid the psychiatric ward, I had to deal with it on my own.

As I drove home in terror, a peculiar memory surfaced. I must have been about six or seven years old when I heard it. A massive explosion in the basement of our old house. The powerful force shook the walls around me. I was scared to death. I jumped out of bed and ran toward Mom and Dad's room, but they weren't there. I ran down the stairs, frantically searching for them until the t
inny sound of Dad's voice traveled up from the basement. I stood at the top of the stairs, too afraid to go down.

"Are you okay?" I heard his soft voice say.

"Yes, I'm fine," Mom replied.

"How many of them this time?"

"Just one," she said. "He's toast."

As they emerged from the dark recesses of the basement, Dad put his arm around her and they made their way up the stairs. When they saw me standing at the top, they both froze.

"Jay? What are you doing up, hon? Did that noise wake you?" Mom suddenly sped toward me, waving her hands to clear the smoky air.

"I was scared."

"Oh, it's okay, baby. Everything is okay. Let's get you back to bed," she said, climbing two steps at a time, and wiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand.

"What happened?" I asked curiously. It took a minute, but she finally produced a reply.

"Mice, honey. They got to some wires behind the furnace and there was a small fire. Mommy and Daddy fixed it though."

"Are the mice still down there?" I asked.

"No, baby. They are all gone."

We walked back up to my bedroom together in silence. I was just a child, but something about the whole thing still seemed strange to me. At that age, I was beginning to question the simple answers they gave me for such seemingly complicated situations. But I didn't know enough yet to ask the questions I would have asked now. They brought me to my room and tucked me in, and my mind silently spun.

As Mom leaned down to give me another goodnight kiss, I pointed to her shoulder. She looked down and saw the blood seeping through her shirt. With my eyes wide open, I stared at her in distress.

"Oh, I'm okay, Jay. Don't worry. It's just a little scratch."

I turned onto Ruth's street and impatiently unbuckled my seatbelt. Everything, all my memories, were thrown into question, including this one. A memory of an explosion, much like the one I heard the night Mom and Dad died. I'd always assumed the two incidents were related. I wondered if something could have been done after the first time, to fix the problem and prevent their deaths. I shared this thought with Gram once, and she indulged it. But it crumbled now, and I wondered what the hell really happened that night.

I'd been ignoring Shaun's phone calls all day. I needed to be alone until I figured things out. When I got to Ruth's, I ran to my room and tossed the books I'd plundered from Gram's house on my bed. Her journal stared back at me, beckoning me to open it.

I unraveled the red leather strap from around the silver button.
She is gone now
, I reminded myself. If she knew the trouble I was in, she would understand. I didn't know what to expect when I opened it. I flipped to the back, to her last entry. It was dated the day she died.

They are coming. I've heard the forewarning whispers. I'm afraid the henbane potion will not be enough.

I swallowed hard. Though I didn't fully understand what she meant, these words terrified me more than anything I could have imagined. I closed the journal and braced myself for what was ahead of me. But nothing could have prepared me. I gently pulled back the front cover to the first page. It was dated Friday, July 11, 2003. The day after Mom and Dad died.

Alanna and Dean are dead.

My eyes absorbed these first words, and I knew I was entering a place from which I could never return. One that would change my perception of the past forever. But it had already begun to change. It was way too late to close the door.

I heard it happen. I didn't get there in time to stop it. I am devastated. My beautiful daughter is gone. Dean is gone. My Jay lost her parents. She is the only thing that keeps me fighting. I have to protect her. It breaks my heart that her mother cannot.

The police asked so many questions. I just never know what to tell them. It is out of their hands. Only I can make this right.

The night Mom and Dad died, we were all home. I was up past my bedtime, I remember. It was summer and it was only just starting to get dark. Dad had made a fire in the stone fireplace he recently built in the backyard. We were all gathered around it enjoying the warm, peaceful night together. Gram had come down to visit. She, Mom, and Dad were laughing about something when Mom stood up.

"Does anybody need anything? I'm going to run in and grab a drink."

Dad stood up after her. "I'll come with you." He winked at me and I knew he was going in for marshmallows.

"Go find some sticks," he whispered. I jumped up with excitement to scan the yard as I watched them walk away, holding hands, still laughing about whatever they were talking about. It was the last time I saw them.

A moment later, Gram and I heard a loud crash come from inside the house.

"Oh shit!" she shrieked. Hearing this word from her mouth made me panic. It was the first time she ever swore in front of me. She ran toward the house faster than I'd ever seen her move. I ran after her, but she turned and held her hand out to bar me.

"Stay here Jay!" she demanded. Her grave tone stopped me in my tracks. She went inside, and a moment later, I heard the most terrible noise. One I will never forget. Her voice was almost unrecognizable as she unleashed a deep, thunderous roar.

I went for the door on shaking legs, but before I got there, she came running out and grabbed me. Her face was ghostly pale. She picked me up and hugged me so tight it hurt. She sobbed against me, her face buried in my neck as her body shook. I didn't know what had happened, but I knew something was very wrong.

She wouldn't let me inside the house. She ran back in to get the phone and called the police. I remember them coming. Their blue flashing lights filled up the night sky for hours as they went in and out of the house, and continuously pulled Gram away from me to ask her questions. One of the officers sat with me by the fire, which had dwindled down to red embers. Dad wasn't there to put on another log, so I sat there and watched it die.

The officer asked me questions about what I did that summer, if I was looking forward to going back to school in the fall, and what my favorite food was. He didn't talk about what was inside the house, and I didn't ask. If I didn't know, then it wouldn't be real. At any moment, Mom and Dad were going to walk back out of the house holding hands and laughing. We would go back to the moment before it all went wrong. The police would leave. Gram would join us by the fire, and we would all roast marshmallows. With a blanket wrapped around me, I sat there shivering on that warm night, frozen inside.

Every word I read in Gram's journal brought me deeper into my past, and each memory tore me apart. The weight of the pain I held inside for so long fell upon me in all its enormity. I'd already reached the bottom, I was sure. But what came next made me realize I hadn't.

Alanna was supposed to go into the city today for an appointment. Dean was going to drive her in. She hated driving in Boston. I came down last night to spend the day with Jay today. We were supposed to go for a hike and a picnic.

I was outside with Jay when it happened. I ran as fast as I could, but I was too late. Two gruesome, dog-faced creatures stood there in the kitchen. One of them was holding Jay's athame. I drew my blade and aimed it at him. His lips quivered over his fierce, blood-stained teeth. His black, hollow eyes were fixed on me. I threw my blade, but it only cut through the spiraling plume of black smoke they left behind. In an instant, they were gone.

Alanna and Dean were face down on the floor. Her shirt was drenched with blood. Dean lay at her feet. He was reaching for her. His eyes were frozen open and his neck was torn apart. He was gone. I crawled over to Alanna and flipped her over. I grabbed her shoulders and shook her with all my might. I hollered her name, hoping she was still in there and she would respond. But she was gone too.

I left Jay outside. She was a second away from witnessing what I never wanted her to see. I wiped the blood from my hands and ran back out for her. She was coming toward me with her beautiful, innocent face, before this ugly reality became her burden too. I scooped her up and held her tight, so thankful she was still alive and they hadn't gotten her.

They were the same demons Alanna had been fighting all along. The Cerberus. Dog-faced demons of Aita. Born from the fires of the underworld. Strong. Fierce. Their flesh blue and rotting, with a horrible stench. I still don't know who is sending them or why. But from the moment Jay's athame came, it was a magnet for evil. Every time Alanna killed one, two more would show up.

I was reading fiction. I had to be. There was no other way I could process it. These were the words of a stranger. As I read them, I felt myself drifting farther and farther away from the people I loved and thought I knew so well.

After my recent experiences, I knew Gram's use of the word
demon
was not metaphorical. I saw it in my dream, in the underground tunnel. The same blue-skinned beast. The stench.
How is this possible?
I shuddered at the thought. This hideous creature was real.

My whole world was turning upside down and I was sure I was going to fall off. Nothing in me wanted to, but I took a deep breath and turned the page.

Monday, July 14

Today we buried Alanna and Dean. Amidst all the rain we've had, we got a sunny day today. This week has been a blur. I've been running ragged. I'm so glad the services are done
—I'm exhausted. But I know what's ahead and I'm scared. The reality of living without them has not set in yet. For me or Jay. This week has been so hard on her, but she has been distracted by her friends and so many people coming and going. The worst is ahead for both of us.

My face was drenched with tears. Sadness overwhelmed me, but for the first time anger raged inside me. Anger at Mom and Dad for leaving me. Anger at Gram for leaving me. Anger at them all for keeping the truth from me. For leaving me with so many questions to which only they knew the answers. How could they abandon me this way? How could they leave me to deal with all of this on my own? I had nobody left to run to. Nobody to help me. Nobody to protect me. They left me in the dark, and in more danger than I could yet fathom.

Tuesday, July 15

I stopped by the church this afternoon. I just needed a minute alone to fall apart. I didn't hear anybody come in. I felt her hand on my shoulder, and as soon as she touched me, I felt peace as if she was sending it through me. I looked up at her soft, gentle face and saw the golden shimmering light emanating from her skin. It created a halo of light around her. I knew she wasn't mortal.

"I must warn you," she said in a solemn voice. "Jay is in grave danger." Her wings cast a great shadow against the far wall, and I knew what she was. I begged her to tell me who is sending these beasts, and why they are after Jay.

"The evil that has claimed her athame is beyond anything you have ever faced. They are coming back for her. You must tell Jay the truth. Tell her who she is. She cannot defend herself if she knows not of her power. You must not keep Jay from her destiny."

I was speechless. Before I could react, she was gone.

Jay is just a child. I cannot tell her the truth. She is not ready. Her power is emerging far too early. It will take years to prepare her for her destiny, and her enemies will not wait. Alanna could not stop them. If I fail, then Jay will be alone and defenseless. I have to do something. I have to protect her the only way I know how. I am not losing her. I've already lost so much.

I'm waiting for Celia to call me back. Ruth is away, but I need her back now. If the phone doesn't ring soon, I am going to lose my mind.

I'd seen the blade before. A vague memory surfaced from the depths of insignificance, where I'd buried it. So inconsequential at the time, the experience had drifted out of my mind sooner than it could take root. When I saw the blade again, I never made the connection.

I was only a month or so from my seventh birthday. I had a calendar on my wall, and I was counting down the days. I was sitting on my bed, dragging a brush through my doll's hair. From across the room, its shiny surface caught my attention. Its sharp blade intimidated me. It was heavy for my tiny hands, but I lifted it and carefully brought it to Mom. I knew it was not something I should have in my room. Her eyes opened wide when she saw me holding it, but she was not upset. She only asked where I'd found it. She took it from me and sent me on my way without another word. I never thought about it again. Until right now.

When the blade appeared in Ruth's living room out of nowhere, I had no explanation for it. Until I read Gram's words. Then I realized that, just like when I was a child, I didn't find the blade. It found me.

Jay just woke again screaming. Her hair is soaked with sweat. Pure terror in her face. She told me that a bad man was chasing her and that she tried to run but could not get away. I'm only thankful she does not yet realize what she is seeing.

The poor child has been through so much. She isn't eating. She is exhausted but she cannot asleep. When she does, she is tortured. She is snuggled up next to me at the moment with a glass of milk. When she does go back to sleep, it will be in my bed and I'm certain with a light on.

Alanna told me these nightmares started just before the athame came, when Jay started coming into her power. She sensed the Cerberus hunting her. She can still sense them now. They are coming for her. And her power of precognition grows stronger every day. If I don't do something soon, her bond with her blade will draw it back to her, and they will track her here. I've charged blue chalcedony stones and laid them along the perimeter of the house. I've cast my most powerful spells. But I know none of this will stop them. I have only one option. I despise the thought of it, but I have no choice. Celia and Ruth will resist, but I will convince them. We have to bind Jay's power before it's too late.

A loud banging at the front door startled me. I ran downstairs knowing it was Rena. Max took her to dinner after she worked my shift, and I was sure she'd forgotten her keys on the hook at work. I looked through the peek hole and there she was, holding a box of leftovers and staring back at me as if she could see me. But when I opened the door, she wasn't there. I stepped outside, expecting to find her hiding just out of view, but she was nowhere in sight. I walked down the steps and around the house, waiting for her to jump out from behind a bush.

"Rena, seriously? Not even funny," I said with irritation at her ill-timed humor. I yelled for her again but she still didn't reply. Then I felt a damp coolness through my fuzzy white slippers. I looked down to discover the cool grass beneath my bare feet. I was in the forest again, surrounded by towering trees. I was wearing the scarlet red dress. Someone was there. I couldn't see him, but he was close behind me. I ran as fast as I could, but I knew I would never escape him.

A dark blur rushed toward me. Like smoke, it had no shape, no distinguishable form, but I knew it was him. Then I felt it. A blade, sharp and cold, plunged into my back. I gasped for air as I fell to my knees.

Life drained from my body. My strength evaporated and I hit the ground. With blurred vision, I watched the black enigma take shape and move toward me. The bottom of his dark robe brushed against my skin. I struggled to look up, to see his face, but my eyes stopped at the familiar blade in his hand. Blood gathered at its sharp point and, one by one, drops fell through the air and splattered on the grassy earth beside me.