Blood and Salt (10 page)

WATCH THE ROPE

IT WAS THE SOUND
of creaking rope that pulled me down the ladder, plunging me into the darkness of the east corridor.

“Ash, wait.” Rhys juggled our bags with his lantern, trying to keep up.

I opened each door as I went, shining my light inside. One had a nautical theme—red, white, and blue, with little anchors painted along the trim, another was drenched in floral chintz, and then there was a nursery with cream-colored lace. Bedroom after bedroom, spotless and carefully arranged. It was like walking through an abandoned dollhouse.

I wondered what happened to the Larkins . . . how they died.

Along with the sound of my brother's labored breath was the sound of the dead girl's delicate skin scraping against the rough texture of the rope, pulling me toward the last room at the end of the hallway.

The instant I opened the door, I knew this room had once belonged to my mother. Her scent was everywhere.

But there was a new resident, too. Hanging from the light fixture in the center of the room was the dead girl, her sun-kissed waves dragging across the gleaming hardwood floor in a slow, circular pattern.

I walked past her, keeping my eyes trained on the wall in front of me. Rhys couldn't know she was with us or he'd bolt out of the house screaming.

“This was Mom's room,” I said as I browsed through her things. Achievement ribbons decorated the walls—swimming, archery, and something called double ball. This was a part of her life I thought I'd never get to see. “It's strange thinking about her as a teenager.”

“Don't touch anything. We shouldn't even be here.”

I smoothed my hand over her brass bed, the worn patchwork quilt. “She was our age when she got pregnant with us and left Quivira. Can you imagine?”

“You can cut the act now.” Rhys stood in the doorway, clutching the bags as he looked toward the stairs.

“What are you doing?”

“I want to make sure Henry isn't coming back to check on us. If we—” He tilted his head, listening closely, and then lowered his voice. “If we keep running in the same direction, we'll make it out of the corn eventually. Do you remember anything about celestial navigation?”

“Rhys . . .” I took a shaky step toward him. I wanted to
tell him about the corn, I truly did, but I couldn't bear to see the look on his face when he found out we were trapped. He'd blame me for bringing him here . . . for everything. I just needed to buy some time, keep him calm, until I figured something out. “I think we should stay.”

A deep crease settled between his brows. “Are you scared of Coronado and the Arcanum? Because it's like the boogeyman, Ash—it doesn't exist. This is the kind of thing they tell people so they won't leave. Cult playbook one-oh-one.”

I gathered the sides of my dress in my sweaty palms. “It's more than that.”

“Are you talking about Betsy?” He tightened his grip on the bags.

“That's not a natural death . . . People don't die like that.”

“Exactly.” He nodded emphatically. “That's why we need to get the police . . . get some medical personnel out here. These people are stuck in the dark ages.”

The air felt heavy, like I could hardly move, guilt gnawing at my insides. “After everything that's happened, everything you've seen, you
still
don't believe in any of this, do you?”

Rhys pressed his lips together, taking a deep breath through his nose. “These people think they're going to become immortal.” He tried to keep his voice low and even, but I could tell he was on the verge of a mental breakdown. “Even if Katia's real, how could she do that? They're delusional, Ash. And I don't want to be here when they figure out they've been had.”

“What if you're wrong? What if all this is real? And aren't you the slightest bit curious about our dad?”

“I'm curious about the Loch Ness Monster, too, but you don't see me going to Scotland with a harpoon!” He peered down the hall again, then lowered his voice. “Of course I'm curious about Dad, but where has he been if he wasn't here in Quivira? Why hasn't he tried to find us? Why didn't Mom try to find
him
? Something's not right.”

“Maybe he's been with Aiyana all this time, waiting for Mom.” I swallowed hard. “I just need a little time,” I said as I stared past the dead girl, out the window.

I felt him glaring a hole into the side of my head. “Something's going on that you're not telling me. I can tell. I don't know what's happening, but the Ash I know would never run around in that creepy dress and get all crazy over some guy. And what's with that weird black ribbon?”

I pulled the strand from my neck. “I'm sorry,” I whispered as I secured the ribbon tight around my wrist.

“‘Sorry'?” He shook his head in dismay. “That's it? That's all you have to say to me?” After a few agonizing seconds, he dumped the briefcase and my backpack to the floor. “I guess I'll have to do this by myself, then,” he said as he hoisted the duffel onto his shoulder.

“Three days.” I got the words out before he could take a step out the door.

The sheer panic in my voice must've given him pause. His shoulders slumped as he turned around to face me.

“That will still give us plenty of time before the summer solstice . . . to get help.”

“Why?” he asked. “Give me one good reason why we should risk it.”

“This is going to sound crazy.”

“Believe me”—he cracked an uneasy smile as he stepped toward me—“nothing would sound crazy to me right now.”

I took his hands. “I had a vision of Mom and Dad. I saw them walk the corn seventeen years ago. Katia cut into the palm of Mom's hand and said, ‘A vessel at last.'”

Rhys looked me straight in the eyes, like he always did when he was trying to calm me down. “That wasn't real, Ash. It's just your imagination.”

I wanted to tell him I was fine . . . like I always did, but nothing was fine. Not anymore. “I'm a conduit, Rhys. The visions . . . the horrible memories . . . the feelings that don't belong to me—they're real and they're only getting worse.” It hurt to say it out loud. “If you believe
one
thing, believe that. Believe
me.
” Tears stung the corners of my eyes, but I held them back.

“What can I do?” He squeezed my hands before letting go.

“The dead girl.” I snuck a glance at her over my shoulder. “She's been leading me here all along. She wants to show me something. Maybe through her I can figure out what's happening to me and find a way to get Mom back . . . and our dad.”

He lowered his eyes as he set his bag down. “I'll do it, but
not because I believe in any of this. I'll stay because I love you.”

“Thank you.” I wrapped my arms around his neck and hugged him. I didn't want to let go.

After a while, he gave me an awkward pat on the back. We weren't a very huggy family.

“Okay, then,” he said, prying himself away and taking the toiletry bag out of his duffel. “Three days.” He stepped inside the bathroom and shut the door.

Feeling completely spent, I slumped down on the edge of the bed, staring at the dead girl. The downward curve of her mouth, the golden sheen to her hair—“Who are you? What are you trying to tell me?” I whispered. “I'm here. Help me.” But she just stared out with those dead eyes.

I held my head in my hands, as if I could somehow shake the cobwebs free, when I felt the wreath Brennon had placed on my head at the end of the night. I pulled it off, feeling the distinct ridges of the leaves between my fingers. The realization slowly burned from my fingertips all the way to the tips of my ears. I stood up like a shot, eyes glistening with fear, breath dying in my chest. I dropped the wreath to the floor, staring up at the rope binding the dead girl's ankles.

It was made from corn leaves. Someone at Quivira made that rope.

As Rhys came back into the room, I pretended to look for something in my bag—a sad attempt to hide the terror building inside of me.

“It's in the bathroom,” Rhys said, giving me a weak smile. “You always forget to pack your toothbrush.”

“Thanks,” I said as I slipped inside the old-fashioned bathroom and shut the door. When I looked down and saw my toothbrush resting on the edge of the sink with a thick line of toothpaste already applied, I lost it.

It wasn't just the toothpaste, or Rhys, or my mom, or even Quivira—it was me. Rhys was right. Something in me had changed. I could feel my ancestors, their feelings, their memories, swelling up inside me, taking over.

I'd bought myself a little time, but there were only five days until the summer solstice, until my mother was lost to Katia forever. Or Coronado killed us. I had to get a grip for all our sakes.

I splashed cold water over my face until I felt I could look my brother in the eye without bursting into tears.

I dimmed my lantern as I came out of the bathroom so he wouldn't see my red-splotched face, but Rhys was already curled up on the floor next to the bed with the quilt. I felt guilty for taking the bed, and for a lot of other things, but I knew he wouldn't have it any other way. He was always too chivalrous for his own good. Even with the dead girl still hanging there, I was glad he didn't want to stay in a different room.

I lay back on the bed. The sheets were crisp, like they'd just been dried on the line. There was a hint of rose water, the same thing my mother liked to use in the wash. Surrounded
by her belongings, it felt as if her heart had never left this place—that it had been perfectly preserved here among her possessions.

“I'm sorry I yelled at you,” Rhys said softly. “It's this place. Can you feel it?”

“I won't let anything happen to you,” I whispered into the dark.

“It's not me I'm worried about,” he said before drifting off to sleep.

I tried to keep my heavy eyelids open so I could watch the dead girl, study the familiar angles of her face, but my body had a different idea.

LET THERE BE LIGHT

THE SICKENING CRACKLE
of the corn-husk rope pulls me from sleep, down the hall, up the stairs, and out into the night. The sky is the strangest color, a dusky gray rose. Dark blond hair skims the ground as it disappears into a patch of tall prairie grass.

Tearing through the coarse grass, I try to reach her. As I break into a small clearing, I catch a glimpse of her face—eyes wide and lifeless, she stares back at me as her body's being dragged into the corn.

Sensing a presence, I turn to see a winged figure made of smoke move toward me, but I'm not afraid. The scent of freshly rained-upon soil, salt, hay, cloves, sandalwood, and saddle leather permeates the air. It's the most beautiful smell in the world. I close my eyes to breathe it in, hoping it will imprint on my memory. And when I open them, the smoke has sharpened into the face of Dane.

I reach out to touch him, but he flinches away. I can't help but laugh. Even my illusion of Dane won't cooperate.

My skin is pulsing with light. Faint at first, the golden light soon grows into a soft halo that wraps around me, illuminating the protection marks.

I stand perfectly still, coaxing the golden light forward to reach him. As soon as it meets his skin, I can feel him, just as if I were touching him with my own fingers. Every bit of our connection is alive and electric as it flows through me and into him, back from him to me, and around us.

I feel his spirit, damaged and beautiful. Perfect in its flaws. Suddenly, I become worried that he can see all of me, too; something in me wants to cover up, to hide my imperfections. I feel vulnerable, like a gaping wound with salt water lapping at the edges.

“Do you see the light?”

“There's no light,” he answers.

It makes me so sad he can't see or feel what I feel. “Just because you don't see it, doesn't mean that it doesn't exist.”

Dane's shadowy figure takes an unexpected step toward me. Even though he's only a hallucination, I swear I can feel his gentle breath on my face. He leans forward, pressing his lips against mine. I can taste him, along with the salt of my tears that stream into our mouths. Sadness and ecstasy consume me.

I open my eyes to find Dane has vanished, along with every bit of light that beamed from my skin. I hear the crops rustle behind me. I turn and step toward the corn. As I peer through the stalks, a feeling of dread presses down on me, crushing me, holding me in place.

The dead girl's hand emerges from the corn, clasping my ankle. “I thought you loved me,” she whispers.

• • •

“Ashlyn.”

I awoke sometime before dawn, sprawled on top of my covers, a thick sheen of sweat covering my body. I stirred; my muscles ached. My feet gritted against the sheets. Looking down, I found them caked in dirt.

I leapt out of bed.

“What's going on?” Rhys mumbled.

“Nothing. Just need to get ready.” I escaped into the bathroom and rested my forehead against the closed door.

“This is real,” I told myself as I pressed my fingers into the cool wood grain. I stole a glance at myself in the mirror and did a double take.

Threaded into my tangled hair were coarse strands of prairie grass. In a panic, I checked the rest of my body. “Holy shit.” I exhaled when I discovered a bloody handprint coiled around my left ankle.

I'd gone outside without a clue of how I got there or how I got back. I'd lost time again. Maybe hours. Was Coronado's black magic trying to lure me into the corn? But it felt deeper than that.

“Are you okay in there?” Rhys knocked on the door, startling me.

“Find another bathroom,” I snapped as I pumped water
into the washtub. I stepped into the cool water and scrubbed my legs with a washcloth until they were raw, then pulled the plug, watching the dirty water swirl around my ankles and disappear down the drain.

The dead girl spoke to me. She touched me. She wanted me to find her in the corn. And Dane could take me there.