Between the Bleeding Willows (The Demon Hunters Series Book 1) (14 page)

Killian stepped before me. “Cass, I know you would work hard to train and bravely fight with us. I saw you in action in the cemetery. But time is not on our side, and there’s not enough of it to allow you to train for a battle. I’m sorry, but I need you safe at home and away from the gates.” He pulled me toward him and kissed my forehead. “You’ll be okay,” he said quietly.

Tears fell from my eyes as I accepted my departure.

Angeline took the place of Killian and dabbed her forefinger on an amber bottle. She rubbed woody-scented oils in symbols on my arms and forehead. My skin tingled beneath her touch—from her energy or the oils or both. “Hmm, good,
now
you are ready. We won’t be needing that, Killian.” My eyes looked toward the side of the room where Killian set down the needle gun they’d used last time. Our eyes did not meet. “Now, close your eyes and lose yourself…here, in your mind.” She rubbed the center of my forehead with gentle circles. “Go where your thoughts take you, and let your body become feather light, carrying you on your journey.”

Her voice faded as darkness consumed me. My limbs disappeared from my body. I was light as a feather floating down, down…down…

Chapter Fourteen

The first week back wasn’t terrible. I was busy. Bills needed to be paid, bushes trimmed, but the worst was cleaning out what food had gone bad. Once I disinfected the fridge, I hit Dominick’s to restock. Filling my cart with fruit, dairy, a bit of protein, and enough starches to feed ten grown men, I made my way to checkout.

“Welcome to Dominick’s, hope you found everything you were looking for.”

No way. “God, don’t they give you a day off?” I muttered to myself, but of course Ashley heard.

“I just had one last week. Hey, how was the Toasting Party at Mr. Sentry’s?”

“Awesome.” Blowing her off, I loaded my groceries on the belt.

“Really? I didn’t see you there, in fact I didn’t see anyone there—and I was there from six till midnight.” She looked at the belt and picked up a loaf of bread. “Are you gonna try again?” She looked excited that I might actually go through with it. Did she really stake out the principal’s house for six hours because of a silly made-up story?

“Maybe.”

To my shock, she giggled with glee. I should probably be nice to Ashley as she was the one human I conversed with these days. It was just so hard because we were so opposite in school and I didn’t really care for her. Plus, she was gullible, making her an easy target.

“Is that all? Cash back?”

I shook my head no and reached into my messenger bag for my wallet.

“What is that?” She grabbed my arm and looked at the tattoo. “Oh my, I never pegged you for body modification. Is this new? What does it mean?”

“It means I’ve joined a heavy metal band.”

“Really?”

Oh God, this girl. Okay, no more messing with Ashley; I needed to stop being mean.

Ashley let go of my arm and assessed me. “You seem different. Maybe it’s the new band. What do you play?”

“Ashley, listen, I’m just messin’ with you. There is no band and no toasting party coming up. Sorry.” I pushed the cash into her hands and grabbed my bags. “Thanks, Ashley.”

“Anytime.” She looked at me with a serious expression, then smiled and waved goodbye.

Once the fridge and pantry were restocked, I grabbed my old dust rag and began cleaning the house. When I got to Gram’s room, I hesitated since I hadn’t been in there since the day after she passed. I don’t know what compelled me to go in now, but I turned the knob, walked in, and sat on her side of the bed. The analog clock on the bedside table still ticked away. The frame next to the clock held a photo of her and I at my eighth grade graduation; we both looked younger and happier. The memory made me smile.

I needed one of Gram’s heart to heart talks, where she’d tell me to get moving and live life. I missed her. Damn sadness, what a useless emotion. But I didn’t cry, and when I finished cleaning her room, I left her door open.

I walked down the hall to my room and set the cleaning supplies down on my long dresser. The wooden jewelry box that Jace had given me sat on my dresser. He had teased me that I was too old to put gold and silver in a box made out of a cardboard craft I made on my seventh birthday. He had been right, but I had never thought to ask for a new jewelry box or buy one for myself. The wooden box was heavy in my hands. I sat on my bed and opened it. My mom’s ring sat inside—still without a chain to hold it. The golden band twinkled and gleamed as I lifted it from the box.

fortitudine, et virtute

It looked like a normal gold ring, but as I held it, it felt different. I could feel its power just as I had felt the power Angeline emitted. I placed it on my middle finger; it slid perfectly into place. Energy sizzled inside of me; it was an amazing feeling. Was this how Angeline felt?

Why not put this energy to good use! How long had it been since we cleaned the gutters? I went to the shed and grabbed our twenty-four foot ladder. The days and nights were getting colder as fall became the dominant season; today was no exception. With my work gloves on, I climbed to the top and began purging the gutters of dead leaves. Near the gutter seam it was impossible to free the debris. Leaves were stuck tight, so I reached in my back pocket for my screwdriver and began chiseling away at the decaying mess. As I leaned away from the ladder to stab at the leaves, my foot slipped. In my attempt to catch myself, I punctured the back of my hand with the screwdriver. My feet regained their place on the ladder but I was shaken and injured. I descended the ladder to the safety of the ground below where I could examine the damage. The glove turned crimson with the blood from the wound—screwdriver still sticking out of the gloved hand. Using my teeth, I took off the glove of the unaffected hand. It had already begun to shake with the shock.

It had to come out, I thought. I wrapped my hand around the handle, closed my eyes, counted to three, and then pulled with everything I had. It hurt, bad, and I yelled a slew of curse words. And then it felt better. Much better. My hand began to heal right before my eyes. My punctured hand was completely healed within five minutes, freakishly fast and unnatural. Had Killian’s blood healed me?

I went inside to wash the blood from my hand and screwdriver. That was enough excitement for one day. After storing the tools and ladder, I finished bagging the leaves and took them to the curb for collection.

After dinner, I jumped into a hot shower. As I soaped, I saw the faint white scar on the back of my hand, the only indication I was injured today. My fingers glided over the intricate serpent image on my inner forearm, my mind drifting to memories of Casper and Killian.

I dried off and finished getting ready for bed. Then I settled in to finish reading Casper’s copy of
The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy
, a physical reminder that I had not dreamed about the Demon Realm and its inhabitants. Just before midnight, I finally finished the story, and fell asleep with my body coiled around the shut book. My brain mixed the story with memories of the Clan and played a wonderfully silly dream of aliens that looked like members of Killian’s Clan, chasing me yelling, “Arthur Dent, beware of the leopard!”

When I awoke the next morning, I decided to return the book to Casper and gift him a book from my collection. There was no guarantee my plan would work, but it was worth a try. I grabbed my copy of
The Mists of Avalon
. The King Arthur tale, told through the eyes of the women in the story, shared many similarities with Killian’s Clan. There was magic and mystical elements in both the story and the Clan and both were dysfunctional and enmeshed. Thinking about the similarities brought a smile to my face, and I wondered if Casper would see the semblances they shared. I missed that huge family in the other realm.

Scribbling across the paper, I wrote:

Thinking of you and missing you. Thought you might like this book. It reminds me of the Clan.

Love, Cassidy

I put on my coat and grabbed my bag. Weatherman Tom Skipling promised another cool day, and he was right. The drive to the cemetery went quick, and I parked in the lot across the road. The leaves on the trees had begun to change colors—a month too early, as we had just entered October. And while the sun shone bright and felt warm on my face, the cold breeze blew strong.

There was a time when I was frightened to walk down the dirt path to the abandoned cemetery, but not anymore. The clearing was empty today, and although it looked the same as it had the last time I was here—when those creeps tried to carve me up and offer me to Rya—I felt no fear in my body.

The two giant willows bent and swung their arms about me in greeting. Placing my palm on the trunk of the right tree, I noticed the wood was dry. No trace of blood from an opened gate. I placed the books on the ground beneath the tree and walked over to the invisible gate…

Would I fall and fall until I landed in the other realm as I had before? Did I care if I did? Nope. Inhaling a deep breath, I stepped over the gate and shut my eyes. Nothing happened.

Maybe there was a switch. I jumped up and down and stomped my feet. Nothing activated. Nothing happened.

Desperate to see Killian and the Clan again, I sunk low on my morals and bluffed to try to get his attention. “Killian. If you can hear me, I’m here and I got a question for you.” I had no question; I just wanted to see him again. “Killian!” My voice was absorbed by the trees and scattered tombstones. I tried again with more volume. I jumped up and down a few more times.

“Miss, is everything okay?” A middle aged cop, attractive and slightly pudgy, approached.

“Yes, just…testing out my new sneakers, officer.” He looked at me in disbelief but said nothing more because I wasn’t doing anything wrong. The cemetery closed at nightfall, and the sun was still in the sky. “What brings you out here, officer?”

“A couple of weeks ago, a girl said she was brought out here by a couple of guys against her will. We are running extra patrols, especially near dusk and during the night.”

It must have been the girl who Killian cut loose.

“Sounds like a big job. Good luck.” I waited a bit longer to see if he would leave, but once it was clear he wasn’t, I started toward the path, hoping he would not find the books and discard them. Who knew when Casper would check that gate? There was a chance they could get damaged by weather or even stolen. But it was worth the risk of losing both books if it helped me communicate with the Clan.

In my car, I Googled Krav Maga. Casper had mentioned he trained in this martial art before crossing over. I hoped it would be similar to the sparring I did in the Clan. The map directed me to a studio on the south side of Chicago. The neighborhood it was located in was new to me, and since I had nothing better to do, I decided to check it out.

After a thirty-five minute drive, I scored a parking spot in front of the building that housed the studio. It was the perfect spot to watch from afar and get a feel for what the class was like. The students inside sparred as I did with Jackson—hand to hand, probably with a lot of sweat and bruises. It made me excited to join…but not today.

At home, I fired up the computer to find out what Krav classes were the best match for me and have some dinner. When I finished, I headed upstairs for a hot shower.

My body felt chilled and I began to shiver. Had the heater quit working? It read seventy-one, the same as we always kept it. But I was cold. I bumped it to seventy-six and returned to my room to find my fleece PJs. Despite taking a scalding hot shower, I couldn’t get warm. After a quick towel dry, I put my PJs on and ran for the bed, pulling the covers tightly around me. My teeth chattered loudly as I waited to get warm.

Socks! I jumped from the bed and got two pairs of fuzzy socks and a sweater to put over my fleece PJs. Within a few minutes, I quit shivering and my teeth quieted.

But now I was warm, hot even. However, I could sleep like this. My eyes grew heavy, even though my mind focused on my illness and fever. Past experience gave me knowledge that if I could stay calm and fall asleep, I would spend most of my sick time in dreamland. And when I woke up, there was a chance the fever would be gone.

What I had forgotten about past fevers was the insane dreams. I awoke from a gruesome nightmare around 3:30 a.m.; the bed and my clothes were soaked.

My legs felt weak as I walked into the bathroom to splash water on my face. I flicked on the light and saw a phantom staring back at me—a frightful, pale face, hair slicked with sweat, and shadows under the eyes.

Downstairs, I looked for Advil and water, and I grabbed the ear thermometer out of the medicine cabinet to keep at my bedside. Next, I needed to replace the wet clothes and sheets. Not wanting to start a load of wash tonight, I threw them in a pile in the hall. With new sheets and a pair of thin cotton PJs on, I lay down and took my temperature. 100.5 F. Low fever, just enough to be miserable.

In the morning, I changed into comfy clothes and brushed my teeth. The medicine had helped me get an extra twelve hours of peaceful sleep, but it was time to re-dose. The chills returned, so I grabbed a warm hoodie and warm socks before heading downstairs. Some tea would help. I filled the old stainless steel tea kettle with water and set it on the stove. Then, I drank some water and popped a few more Advil. I hated being sick, especially fevers. This was my first sickness since Gram had passed, and somehow it emphasized the loneliness. There was no one to check on me, make me soup, or wash my sweat-soaked linens in the middle of the night. The kettle whistled its signature sound.

As I poured the hot water into my big white mug, the peppermint-scented steam swirled up and warmed my face. When I finished my tea, I washed the cup and saucer and grabbed my coat. If I was getting sick, I needed some supplies.

CVS was a perfect one-stop-shop for Kleenex, Mucinex, saline spray, and more Advil. I also grabbed three cans of chicken noodle soup and a jug of orange juice. The soup wouldn’t be half as good as Gram’s, but I knew soup helped people get liquids in them when they were sick. Better than nothing. The clerk rang up my items and I walked to my car.

Outside, the warm sun felt good on my skin. The chills subsided. The Advil must have been working because I felt better, good enough to stop by the cemetery to see if the books were still there.