Witch & Curse (12 page)

“Never mind,” he said, cutting her off. “I'll try later.”

“Michael! I'm here! I'm sorry I took so long! Nicki needed a ride to drama,” a feminine voice said clearly in the background. Holly recognized it at once. It was her aunt.

He was wondering where she was. That's why he called. They had a . . . a date
.

Ashamed for Marie-Claire, Holly closed her eyes. “Okay,” she croaked.

“I'll come by and check that floor soon.”

“Thanks,” she managed.

He disconnected. Holly did likewise and put the handset back in the charger. She sat for a moment, absorbing her shock.

Back under the bed, Bast growled again.

As quickly as she could, she slipped on her jeans and dashed across the room, avoiding the place that had upset the cat, and bolted out of there.

Breathless in the hall, she leaned against the door, taking in the sight of her pile of suitcases. She longed to carry them downstairs, call a cab, and go to the airport.
There was far too much weirdness here in Seattle.

As opposed to San Francisco
, she thought miserably,
where Barbara Davis-Chin is lying in the hospital with an undiagnosed illness. And I apparently own a house that I'm too young to live in by myself. And I have been sent to live with relatives who didn't even know I was alive
.

And my aunt is having an affair
.

A door farther down opened, and Holly let out a startled cry.

It was Amanda, who raised her eyebrows. She was wearing very small rectangular glasses and she held a book in her left hand. It was
The Mists of Avalon
.

Amanda said, “It's just me.”

Holly ran a hand through her hair. “I'm sorry. I'm kind of jumpy.”

“New house,” Amanda said kindly.

She beckoned to Holly, and Holly trailed down the hall and into a beautiful bedroom furnished in warm woods, lavender, and cream. Amanda had a sleigh bed covered with a purple and green iris spread. Over an antique desk was a bulletin board with a few photographs and some notes stuck to it. Her closet was open, and a pile of shoes and a purple bathrobe was heaped on the floor. Most of the wall space was taken up with bookcases, and Holly noted lots and lots of fantasy novels.

“I like your room,” Holly told her sincerely.

“Mom wants to redo it.” Amanda shook her head. “I don't want her to touch it. Did you see the entryway? Can you say Baskin-Robbins?”

Holly stifled a giggle. “I wouldn't change a thing in here.” Holly hesitated and switched the subject from Amanda's mother. “Are you sure the kitten can't hear anything? It seems like she can.”

“Yeah.” Amanda made a moue of apology. “I'm sorry. We didn't realize it until after we picked her out for you.”

“No, no, it's fine.” Holly made a motion in the air that meant absolutely nothing, dropped her hand into her lap, and added, “It just seems like she can hear me. Maybe she's extra attentive to visual cues.”

“We had her checked at the vet's. Mom wanted to get you a new cat, but Nicole said no. She said Bast was right for you.”

Amanda squatted beside her bed and lifted up the coverlet. “I'll show you
my
cat. Frey-frey,” she called. “Here, baby.”

A chubby orange adult cat emerged, plopping itself down with great dignity and meowing up at Amanda. She bent down and scooped up the enormous feline.

“This is Freya,” she told Holly. “She's mine.”

“She's really enormous.” Holly reached out a tentative hand to pet the cat. The cat accepted her attention like a duchess, preening and condescending, and Holly grinned despite herself. She knew a few horses like Miss Freya, proud and uppity but, in their hearts, craving affection and attention.

Amanda fondly stroked her pet. Holly joined in, then paused as the animal stared hard at her, accepting the lavish attention without blinking or moving its head. The intensity of Freya's gaze was eerie.

“I hope you like it here, Holly,” Amanda said.

Holly swallowed. “I hope so too.”

Freya meowed and settled into Amanda's lap.

FIVE

OAK MOON

Hands to Heaven, feet to Hell
The House of Deveraux casts its spell
Bring the sun out at night
To defeat the maiden's light

To Cahors faithful strong and true
Blessings old we beg anew
And Goddess hear us as we plead
This year kill the Green Man's seed

Seattle, mid-August

It rained in Seattle. Almost constantly.

Holly had heard that one got used to it—eventually—as long as one packed a trusty umbrella or threw on a rain poncho before heading out.

But on the fourth day of her stay with her relatives, she holed up in the attic with a cup of hot tea, listening to the rain, and looking through a treasure chest of her father's old mementos.

It was an old sea chest; on it were written the initials
C.C
. In the dusty, musty box were yearbooks, sports awards, and pictures. Lots of pictures. From the looks of them, Dad had grown up happy in Seattle with Marie-Claire and their parents, David and Marianne. He had appeared to be happy—there were lots of pictures of him smiling, doing things, being with his family . . . and then, abruptly, he left the University of Washington and went to UC Berkeley.

Where he met Mom
, she thought wistfully.

And that was where his history stopped, at least in the collection of items Marie-Claire had preserved.

“Hey,” her aunt said from behind her.

Holly started, feeling a little guilty. She hadn't asked for permission to come up here or to look through her aunt's possessions.

“What're you doing?” her aunt asked pleasantly. Then she cocked her head, studying the picture. “That was taken in his junior year. I was a freshman.” She sounded very sad, and then she began to weep. “It's so hard to believe that he's gone.” She added under her breath, “And that he didn't say good-bye.”

“You . . . you hadn't spoken to him in a . . . a while,” Holly managed.

Her aunt squatted on her haunches as she examined
a sports trophy—Little League—and reverently placed it on the attic floor.

“No. I don't know what happened. He had a huge fight with our mother. I don't know what about. Then he left. He never contacted us again.” She caught her breath as she lifted up a picture. It was Holly's father dressed all in black—jeans, sweater, jacket—and crossing his arm in front of a swimming pool. “I remember this day,” she murmured. “That's the day he had the fight. The day he left. My big brother . . .”

She began to cry. She licked her lips and handed Holly the picture. “All this is yours now, honey.”

“No, I—” Holly protested, then closed her mouth. Her aunt was right. It should be hers.

A few moments passed. Then her aunt played with the rings on her hands and said, “Things . . . some things are complicated.” She reddened and wouldn't look at Holly.

She's talking about her affair
, Holly thought with alarm.
No way do I want to go there
.

When Holly didn't respond, Marie-Claire said, “Well, I was looking for you to tell you that the girls want to take you out tonight.”

It was Holly's turn to take a breath.
New kids. A new place. I'm going back to San Francisco for school . . . I'm not staying here
.

“I'd rather just stay around the house,” Holly said. “I'm not up to . . . that.”

“They want to take you. They insist,” Marie-Claire said. She smiled fondly.

But at dinner, it was Amanda who insisted; Nicole had “some stuff ” to do that included her being allowed to take her mother's car, and she promised her parents she would meet up with Holly and Amanda later.

Uncle Richard drove Amanda and Holly to The Half Caff, a funky-looking coffeehouse on a funky block of Hill Street. He kissed Amanda on the cheek and sweetly told Holly to have a good time, making sure the girls had lots of money.

He added softly, as if he hated saying it, “If you have any problem with your . . . ride home . . . call me.”

Our ride home is Nicole
, Holly translated. She was a little taken aback by the look father and daughter shared, a gentle, reassuring smile of recognition that there had been problems before, and that there was a distinct possibility that there would be more tonight.

They're the two outcasts
, Holly thought, confirming Amanda's earlier description of their family dynamics.
Nicole gets away with her drama queen thing, and Marie-Claire... gets away with being unfaithful. And neither one of them cares if the others are hurt by it
.

“Okay, show time,” Amanda said. “Put on your game face.”

Holly swallowed. “Do I look okay?”

They were dressed nearly identically in T's and jeans, nothing too fancy, although Amanda had on a serious choker of garnets and a matching, very lacy bracelet. Holly wore her dad's old silver ID bracelet and a silver thumb ring and silver hoops, also an anklet of little bells that Tina had given her one Christmas.

The coffeehouse was large by San Francisco standards, and dominated by an enormous second-floor balcony that jutted over the main floor. It was decorated with a frieze of Greek warriors with spears, reminding Holly of the figures on the Palace of Fine Arts in San Francisco. All the tables were stone columns of varying dimensions topped with pieces of glass cut to fit. There were stone statues everywhere—busts of stern-lipped men, a sad-eyed Madonna, and tons of angels. Ivy trailed down the walls, which were painted to look like a vast countryside at twilight. The place was a cross between the ruins of a Greek villa and a Victorian graveyard.

“This is great,” Holly enthused.

Amanda looked very pleased and said, “Yay, table,” as she pointed to a two-seater near the frothing espresso machine. In her element, she led the way.
Holly glanced around at all the unfamiliar faces. There were the usual Goths but a lot of other groups, too. The café was raucous, noise bouncing off all the hard surfaces—the floor was cement painted to look like black and white marble. The atmosphere was like a school gym at the end of a pep rally, not the arty, study-heavy quiet she was used to.

The two cousins settled into their chairs and Holly picked up a hand-lettered menu. She glanced at the coffee selections, then began reading the extensive descriptions of the chai offerings.

“Hey, hi, Mani-
chan
,” said a guy who was dragging a chair through the maze of tables and people. “About time you showed.”

He was of medium build, with warm skin tones, crescent-shaped eyes, and hair that had been bleached and re-dyed light blond. It looked good on him, as did his earring and a Chinese character tattoo on his forearm.

“Tommy,” Amanda said warmly. She dimpled at Holly. “This is my bestest best friend in the world, Tommy Nagai.” She gestured to Holly. “My cousin.”

“Hot,” he said appreciatively.

“Leave her alone,” Amanda ordered. “The rules of summer are almost over and this is her chance to score some social points. In a few weeks . . . back to
our correct hierarchy and she'll be with us by default.” To Holly, she explained, “I can't understand it. He's nerdy, with nerdy pursuits, and yet not totally scorned.”

“That is true,” he said, making a half-bow. “I am nerdy in the extreme, and yet tolerated by the ‘cool' ”—he made air quotes—“people. I suspect it's because I display the proper deference, and always remember my rank and station.”

“And serial number,” Amanda threw in, grinning. “So, if you want to snag someone more upscale,” she said to Holly, “don't have too much to do with Tommy. Because ‘tolerated' is the operant word.”

“What about
you
?” Tommy shot back, leaning back on his chair and playfully plucking Holly's menu from her hands. “She's living at your house, for God's sake. Talk about social suicide. I'll have a chai latte tonight.”

“She can't help that,” Amanda said reasonably. “Besides, I have the Nicole advantage.” Her smile was laced with bitterness as she explained. “My mom won't let Nicole go to any parties I'm not invited to. So”—she gave an airy wave—“my semipopularity is purchased, while Tommy comes by his more honestly.”

“Plus, we both like
anime
,” Tommy added.

Holly was intrigued by the difference in Amanda's
behavior, from her speech to the way she carried herself, and realized that her cousin was self-assured and relaxed around Tommy Nagai.
He doesn't threaten her because she doesn't think of him as boyfriend material
, she realized.
And yet, ironically, they'd make a great couple
.

“Anyway,” Tommy said affably. “Let your cousin judge for herself. She may love what she sees.” He flashed his white teeth at Holly and fluttered his lashes, but she could see that he liked Amanda beyond the “bestest best friend” role Amanda had given him. And Holly liked him at once for that.