Witch & Curse (6 page)

It amused Holly that even though her mom repeated those words over and over, Elise couldn't remember the name of the writer who had written them, or where she'd read them. But Holly got the
message, and she was immensely proud of her mom; whatever had happened to her as a little girl, it hadn't held her back. She was a skilled, compassionate doctor and a fabulous mother. The only thing she didn't seem to be very good at was being a wife.

Or is all the fighting Daddy's fault?

There would be other times to puzzle over that; for now, she and her father savored the peace and quiet together. It was a gift, this moment. So many of the parents of Holly's friends didn't get that it was about just being together, not overscheduled days and nights saturated with “activities” and expensive presents to make up for absences and missed dance recitals. Tina's mom got it, though.
She's a great mom, too
.

Her father's grip began to slacken, and she heard his voice inside her head:
Time to wake up, punky
.

Then the panic started, because she knew what the dream was. The word
survivor
echoed in her muzzy brain and she knew she was stalling; when she woke up, they were going to tell her about death. Someone had died...
no, wait, I don't know that. We could all be survivors. Of course we all survived. Because this is my life and in my life, things like dying don't happen. . . .

Her father's voice whispered more insistently,
Wake up
, and then she realized that the words were sounds outside her head. That meant he was alive, really there
beside her, really trying to rouse her from her dreams.

Her heart beat a little faster and she tried hard to pull her eyelids open. She was incredibly tired. Her head swam as if she were falling; then her left leg jerked, the way body parts sometimes did when one was falling asleep or waking up. From the heat on her face, she assumed she would be staring into the sun, so she tried to turn her head, but she simply couldn't manage it.

“Holly. Wake up.”

And then she did, because that was definitely Dad's voice; she not only turned her head but opened her eyes, a smile on her face and—

A scream ripped out of her, tearing up and out from her stomach to the top of her head. She screamed again, and again; because her father was leaning over her, only she had no idea how she knew it was her father, because the face of the figure had been smashed flat, and the flesh was swollen and black. There were no eyes, just compressed eyelids; the nose had been crushed by a head-on collision, the cartilage and bone smeared across the cheekbones. The chin had been cracked in two, and the hinges of the jaw dangled like the wings of a roasted chicken.

A voice echoed from the destroyed mouth, but she was screaming so loudly, she couldn't hear what it was
saying. She couldn't hear if it was her father. She shot away from it, arms and legs flailing, scrabbling backward in terror, shrieking. The face moved with her, then glanced in another direction.

Something jabbed into her arm with a painful prick, and the ruined face melted in slow motion. As her shrieks slid into moans and then into whimpers, she was forced to watch the bloated, purplish skin slide down from her father's forehead and cheeks, rivuleting down the hollows of his cheeks, taking the rapids of his chin. Then the bones stretched like pliant candle wax, elongating hideously; and then, for one instant, an oval of black stared at her. The shadow mask stared at her, and then it vanished, all at once.

In its place emerged the face of a woman, very lovely and glamorously made up, almost middle-aged, with Dad's dark, flashing eyes and Dad's generous mouth and Dad's dark, wild hair. Holly blinked, too woozy to speak, and the woman raised a hand toward her.

“I'm your aunt,” the face said with brilliant red lips, and then Holly went back to sleep.

On a beautiful, gentle sea, she held hands with her father, and—

And Holly Cathers's life was about death after all.

She was the only survivor of the rafting trip. Mom, Dad, Tina, and even their guide, Ryan—all were dead.

She was in a hospital near the Grand Canyon, where she had been treated for exposure, and they had sedated her after her freak-out.
But I saw him. I saw my father, all . . . all injured
. The daughter of an E.R. physician, Holly was not squeamish.
But that was Daddy. My daddy. I want my daddy . . .

Holly began to wail. She shut her eyes and keened like a dying animal, rocking herself. Acid filled her mouth; her stomach burned; she leaned forward and heaved, clutching a wafer-thin hospital blanket as if to protect her hospital gown. Heavy, deep, rolling sobs exploded out of her, breaking her down. All she could do was weep.

Someone spoke with great authority, announcing, “That's okay, Holly. You go right ahead, honey. Get it out.”

She didn't know how long she cried until the same someone said to another person in the room, “Jesus. Let's give her something.”

There was another jab, and as she began to descend into drugged sleep, she heard a flapping like the wings of a hunting bird. Swooping, diving, careening down the tunnel of blackness with her . . .

. . . and then she realized it was her own heart beating hummingbird fast, then slowing . . . slowing . . .

. . . and a gauntleted hand made a fist, and the bird perched upon it.

Holly woke up again, worn out and sick and numb. The woman who said she was her aunt tried to stop crying. Her makeup was smeared all over her face. She wiped her nose with a tissue from the box on the nightstand and said, “. . . your guardian, in your father's will.”

Holly couldn't remember her name.
Daddy never even told me he had a sister
.

“Um, and you'll like the school.” The woman swallowed hard. Her eyes darted left and right, as if she were looking for somewhere else to be. She had on a lot of jewelry, and her earrings caught the light as she moved. “My girls like the school.”

Holly squinted her swollen eyes, trying to follow. “School?”

“You're going to be a senior, right?” the woman asked.

Years ago, when Janna Perry's brother had died, Janna had been like the star of a movie. Everyone had circled around eleven-year-old Janna at school, treated
her carefully, whispered in furtive circles about the poor girl, the poor thing, the one left behind. Janna had been pretty much of a creep, and now she was a saint. She even acted like a saint. She was good. She was kind. She was very, very sad.

Sad kids get their way.

Kids who had been mean to her brought her little presents. Kids she had been mean to took her home to their houses for dinner and sleepovers. She got excused from tons of homework assignments and even though she missed a lot of school, she made the honor roll for the first time in her life. Holly, only nine at the time, had been a little jealous. All the drama, all the specialness, Janna like some mythic tragic heroine dragging around with dark circles under her eyes and going to the nurse whenever she felt like it. Janna had entered the annals of coolness, and for the rest of her life, she would have an unbeatable card to play whenever she wanted attention.

“So, um, we can pack your things and . . .” Her aunt looked momentarily stunned. “Where do you live?”

Holly stared back at her. “What?”

Before her aunt could answer, there was a rap on her hospital room door. Before Holly could say “come in,” it opened.

Barbara Davis-Chin, in her corduroy overalls and
Birkenstocks, hippie Barbara with no makeup and her black hair in a bun, stood framed in the doorway for an instant. Then she saw Holly and rushed to her side. Holly's aunt moved awkwardly out of her way and Barbara's arms enfolded Holly, pressing her cheek against Holly's own. She smelled of sweat and perfume, and tears slid down Holly's cheeks.

“Holly, baby,” she murmured. “Oh, Holly. Oh.” She rocked Holly as Holly grabbed on to her, clinging as hard as she could, shaking and crying.

“Tina,” Holly murmured back, holding on hard, grateful to her core that Barbara was here. She was solid and real and maybe it had all been a mistake, and now Barbara would tell her that and everything would be the way it was supposed to be.

I don't care if Mom and Dad fight for the rest of their lives
, she thought fiercely.

“It's a mistake, right?” she blurted. “It's not them.”

“I saw them, sweetheart,” Barbara said firmly, caressing Holly's cheek. “I identified them.”

Holly was amazed at the fresh wash of grief and despair that overtook her. She had had no idea that people could hurt this badly. She thought again of Janna and was deeply ashamed of herself.

Maybe God is paying me back for being such a bitch
, she thought.

After Holly quieted, Barbara turned to the stranger and said, “I'm Barbara Davis-Chin. Holly's best friend's mother.” She was amazingly composed.

“I'm Holly's aunt, Marie-Claire,” the other woman said. Her smile was watery weak and sad. “I guess Danny never mentioned me. Apparently he had listed me as next of kin.”

Barbara made a moue of apology, then turned her attention to Holly. “Sweetie,” she said, “your mom asked me to look after you if anything ever happened to her. Did you know that?”

Holly wasn't surprised, but still she said, “No.”

Barbara nodded. She reached forward and trailed her fingertips over Holly's corkscrew curls. “I've watched you grow up,” she said softly.

Holly glanced at her newly discovered aunt. “My dad wanted me to live with her.”

“Yes, about that . . . ,” Barbara began.

The woman stepped forward and cut in, “Holly, if you have someone you want to stay with, that's all right.” She smiled at them both. “I certainly don't want Holly to come to Seattle against her will.”

For a moment, Holly was stung. It was obvious her aunt didn't want her. Then her more adult self kicked in; who would want a third high school student in the
house? Marie-Claire's family had their own lives, and she was a total stranger. Besides, she wanted to stay in San Francisco for her senior year.

“Of course, if you want to come to Seattle,” Aunt Marie-Claire added, “you're more than welcome.” She laid a reassuring hand on Holly's forearm. “I'd love to get to know Danny's daughter.” Her eyes softened. “I missed him, all those years.”

“We can talk about all this later,” Barbara suggested. “Holly needs to think things over.”

“No,” Holly said. She colored at the panicked tone in her voice. “I'd like to stay with you, Barbara. If it's really okay.”

“Oh, sweetheart, it's more than okay.” Barbara put her arms around her. “It's what I'd like, too. That house is going to be awfully empty without . . . without Tina.”

“Okay, then.” Marie-Claire pressed her hands together. She said to Barbara, “I'd like to go back to . . . home with you both and help with the . . . arrangements.”

The funerals
, Holly translated, feeling a little sick again.
Oh, my God, I'm an orphan. My parents are dead. I have no brothers or sisters
.

“Holly?” Marie-Claire said.

Both women looked at her. Holly shook her head. “I'm tired.” She touched her forehead and sighed. “Just really tired.”

“She needs her rest,” a nurse announced as she bustled in. “She's had enough visiting for now.”

Barbara moved away from Holly's bed. She said to Holly's aunt, “Let's get some coffee, all right?”

In unison, they smiled at Holly, then picked up their purses and walked out of the room. Barbara was very much the counterculture San Franciscan, Marie-Claire the upscale fashion trender.

She must be rich
, Holly thought. Then for the first time, she realized,
I'm rich, now, too
.

The nurse said, “You're all wound up. I'm going to ask the doctor to prescribe something for you to sleep.”

“No,” Holly whispered, thinking of her terrible dream. But as soon as she said it, her eyes were closed, and she was drifting, back to the river and her father and life as it never would be again.

The University of Washington at Seattle

The sweat lodge was filled with sweat and nearly naked bodies. Jer was very quiet, searching for the serenity that had eluded him last night. It had been Lammas, one of the most important Rites of the
warlock year, and his father had never showed.

He and Eli had celebrated together, a desultory affair, since neither brother could stand the other. As the younger brother, Jer was obliged to serve as backup during the Rites, fuming as Eli made fun of the entire ritual and finally concluded by intoning in a mockstern voice, “Go in peace. The Black Mass is ended.
Mwahahah
.”

“So, are you tired from whatever you did or what?” Kari asked. Jer didn't open his eyes. It was bad manners to talk in the lodge, and she knew it. She had been upset last night when he had left because he hadn't invited her.