Evan Elemental (The Evan Elemental Series) (6 page)

I stand
still, my arms wrapped around me, as I watch the sun burn gold and fade to
darkness. Slowly, I feel the dread in my stomach begin to dissolve, but I still
feel uneasy. There are so many secrets and lies to wade through and I have to
believe that there is a reason for all this.

Secretly,
I want that reason to be
Lex
. But I know that it's a
selfish and vain thought. My parents died for more than a cute boy, if they
died for any reason at all. It's hard to believe that the events of my life, so
far, have just been random, even if it would be easier. I press my fingers to
the heart-shaped stone and it warms, but the sensation isn't comforting. It
rings of warning that the worst is yet to come.

I'm not
exactly sure why I care so much what these women think of me, but I wake up at
dawn and dress and change and fix my hair and put on make-up and wipe it off
and reapply and change and change back. I've also downed at least a pot and a half
of coffee, much to Thelma's disapproval, which only adds to the manic jittery
feeling that I woke up with.

So, I'm
standing on the steps of a painfully white two-story house, completely strung
out on caffeine, weighing the pros and cons of bolting. For the millionth time,
I straighten my hair with the palm of my hand and fix the perfectly straight
hem of my dress. I'm violently fighting the urge to call
Lex
and ask him to take me home. The thought of
Lex
calms
me slightly, but I'm still nervous as fuck. I'm sure if I don't go in Magda
won't kick me out on the streets, right?

Before
I have the chance to escape the door opens, revealing a squat middle-aged woman
with dark curls cropped close to her head. Her lacquered pink lips are split in
a wide cheery smile. I suppress an eye-roll and climb the rest of the way up
the steps to meet her, my own fake smile painted on my face.

"Evangeline!
My goodness! Mag said you were pretty, but I had no idea!"

"
Uhh
," is all I can get out before she pulls me into a
surprisingly painful bear
hug.

"My
name is Mary Morris!" she exclaims, giving me another squeeze. Finally,
she lets go and starts to head inside, pulling me with her. "Come in, come
in! Everyone is dying to meet you!" she practically shouts. Everything
that Mary Morris says seems to end with an exclamation mark.

The
house isn't as grand as the Price Estate, but it's sparkling clean and well
furnished. Mary leads me down a short hall into a sunny dining room where there
is a cherry wood dining table set for tea.

When we
step into the room the lively chatter stills. My face
burns
as a half dozen pairs of eyes look me up and down, scrutinizing every inch of
me. I keep my hands pressed to my thighs to prevent myself from fidgeting or
balling them into fists. Despite my deepening blush, I manage to keep my face
smooth and unbothered.

One of
the women sitting around the table stands. She's tall and painfully thin, in
the way models strive for, and she has bleach blonde hair that she keeps
scraped back in a tight chignon. The skirt suit she's wearing is skin tight and
blood red. I glance at Mary who suddenly seems worried. My pendant begins to
sizzle against the thin skin of my wrist where it's tucked snugly inside of my
sleeve.

"My
word. You are the spitting image of your mother," the woman croons in a
sickeningly smooth voice. I watch in fascination as she walks slowly around the
table until she stands just before me. She reaches out her slender arms and
pulls me into a loose embrace. I can almost feel the cold coming off of her; it
makes my skin crawl in waves. She pulls away quickly, to my relief. "Hopefully,
you're not too alike," she says with a smirk as she glances over her
shoulder and shares a knowing look with a sour looking woman.

Mary
Morris clears her throat nervously, takes me by the shoulders, and leads me to
an empty chair. I manage to sink into the chair gracefully as I fight the
tremble that threatens to erupt through me. My fingers itch to caress the stone
and find comfort in the familiar gesture, but I keep them folded in my lap and
ignore the impulse.

The
creepy woman and Mary both take their seats. Everyone else turns to stare at me
expectantly. I give what I hoped is a big, beaming smile, but I can't keep the
look of wild confusion out of my eyes.

"Oh!"
Mary exclaims, jumping up, "I need to introduce you!"

She
starts clockwise around the table, placing her hands on each woman's shoulders.
First up is a brassy redhead with teeth that seem too big for her mouth when
she smiles.

"Evangeline,
this is Hyacinth Rupert." Hyacinth continues to smile, although her near
colorless blue eyes lack kindness.

Next is
Gena
, pronounced "Jenna", Macintyre.
Gena
appears to be one of the younger members. She has a
pretty smooth complexion, dark eyes, and shining waist-length black hair that
is neatly pushed back with a thin, pearly-white headband.

Following
Gena
is a pair of identical faces, both with short
mousy-brown hair, lusterless brown eyes, and impossibly tiny ears. The twins
are named Susan Thomas and Selma Rose. Susan was the one with the perpetually
sour expression on her face that shared a knowing look with the creepy woman.
Selma's face is smooth and difficult to read.

Sitting
next to Selma, trying to make
herself
seem smaller
than she actually is by placing her hands in her lap and hunching her shoulders
forward, is Grace James. Grace can't be much older than I am but there is
something in her eyes that leaves me with a hollow haunted feeling. Her gaze
meets mine briefly before it returns to her lap, her long auburn hair shielding
her face.

Last to
be introduced is Miranda Holloway, the woman who hugged me when I came in, if
you can call that a hug. When Mary introduces her, Miranda has a smug,
satisfied look on her face, as if she is so important I must know all about her
and admire her already. I give her a blank look before managing a half smile;
she sneers in return.

After
the awkward introductions are through, Mary Morris begins to serve tea. It's
Earl Grey and boring. The others make polite chatter for a while, occasionally
asking me questions. I try to be cheerful and friendly but it's taking a lot of
energy; since the accident, I've been mostly on my own and my conversational
skills are seriously lacking. Though, I doubt I would be up to making
conversation with these women under the best of circumstances.

For the
most part, Miranda ignores me, which is lucky. Once or twice I catch her
staring at me with a malevolent look in her eye. I try to convince myself that
I'm imagining it, but there is no mistaking: Miranda Holloway does not like me.
I have no idea why and I have no desire to figure it out. Whatever her problem
is, it doesn't matter. I've known women like this before, and I've found it's
best to just stay clear and not engage.

"Evan,
dear?"

I must
have spaced out because I can't remember what
Gena
asked me. "I'm sorry I..."

"Oh
it's quite alright,"
Gena
replies cutting off my
useless stammering. She and Mary Morris exchange a dark look. "After what
you've been through,"
Gena
continues, "it's
a surprise you could make it here at all. But we are so glad that you
did." She gives me an indulgent smile that I immediately resent.
"What I was asking, dear, is if you are looking forward to starting school
at Price High in the fall." It's irritating how she keeps calling me
"dear" and "sweetheart" when she can't be older that
twenty-five herself.

"Oh,
uhm
, yes, actually. I've been kind of on my own up at
the estate, and it'll be nice to make some friends." It's a downright lie,
but I know it's what they want to hear.

"My
goodness," Mary interjects, "we had no idea! Magda told us not to
bother you until you were ready. You have no idea how long we've wanted to meet
you! After your mother left..."

"Mary."
Selma's cool voice interrupts Mary's incessant stream of words. "Mary,
dear, weren't you going to write down the recipe for this lemon cake for
me?" she asks, gesturing to the dwindling sunny yellow cake dripping in a
creamy glaze at the center of the table. Mary nods, her cheeks tinged pink with
embarrassment. Both women stand up and head to the kitchen.

The
other women give me shy smiles, except for Miranda whose eyes sparkle with
amusement and Susan who just glares. Miranda opens her mouth to speak, but
Gena
quickly cuts in with a story about a recent shopping
trip in New York City.

I do my
best to keep up with the conversation, but I'm dwelling on what Mary Morris was
about to say. My mother never spoke about her time here and I'm aching for any
details I can get. After a while, Mary and Selma return to the table. I notice
that Mary is slightly deflated, and I find myself feeling bad for her. The
others don't acknowledge their return, but keep up the chatter, which also bothers
me.

"Evan,
how would you like to be a part of the Church picnic planning committee?"
Gena
asks, causing me to flinch since I'm not paying
attention.

"Oh,
we would just love that!" Mary exclaims.

"Yes,
we would," says a bright, unfamiliar voice.

I turn
to see a girl about my age standing in the doorway. She has hair the color of
corn silk and is just as tall, thin, and tan as Miranda Holloway. The
resemblance is explained when the girl saunters over to Miranda and places her
hand on her shoulder.

"Hello,
mother," she says coolly.

"Delia,
you're late," Miranda replies in a bored tone.

Delia's
hand drops from her mother's shoulder, but her smile remains sunny and
unbothered. "Ladies, I apologize for being so late, but I was being fitted
for my Miss Apple Fest dress."

Everyone
coos simultaneously and I stifle a giggle. They have to be shitting me if this
is a real thing. Delia seats herself in the empty chair next to her mother. Her
gaze wanders around the table and lands on me. The disdain is clear. Internally
I cringe; it was one thing to have to avoid Miranda Holloway, it's entirely
another to have to deal with someone I'm probably going to end up in school
with.

"Dear,
you don't have to apologize for a thing!" exclaims Mary Morris, her
previous enthusiasm fully renewed. "Miss Apple Fest is such an exciting
time! Why, I remember it like it was just yesterday!" She sighs and her
eyes take on a glassy, faraway look.

"Anyway,"
she says, shaking her head as if to clear her thoughts, "you haven't been
properly introduced! Evangeline, this is Delia Holloway. I'm sure you two will
be good friends before you know it!"

Delia
and I exchange a look that clearly says no way in hell. Her mouth breaks into a
wide grin but her eyes remain cold and fixed.

"I'm
sure you're right, Ms. Morris," Delia answers in a honey smooth voice
dripping with sarcasm.

"Ms.
Morris! You make me sound like an old woman! How many times do I have to tell
you to call me Mary?"

Delia
just smiles wider, her gaze still fixed on me. The stone at my wrist grows
cold, so cold it burns. It hurts, badly, but I refuse to flinch.

"As
entertaining as this afternoon has been," Miranda interrupts in a bored
tone. "I'm afraid I must be going. Joshua is returning from his business
trip to Japan and I'd like to be home when he arrives."

Miranda
and Delia both rise in one fluid motion. I clench my teeth to keep my jaw from
dropping; it's unnatural the way they move, like they have an impossible amount
of control over their bodies. Maybe it's Pilates; maybe it's something else.

Everyone
else rises, too, leaving me sitting awkwardly. I stand up as gracefully as I
can, but my legs have gone slightly numb from sitting for so long.

"Evangeline,"
Delia croons as she walks closer to me, "it was so nice to finally meet
you." She looks me up and down as she extends her hand. I consider leaving
her hanging, but everyone's eyes are on us. I straighten my back and take her
hand, locking eyes with her to let her know that she can't intimidate me. Out
of nowhere, I feel a surge of power shoot through me and into the hand that
holds on to Delia's. It reminds me of what happened the night of the lightning
storm except in reverse, the power flowing out of me instead of in to me, and I
realize that I'm entirely in control of it. Delia's eyes widen slightly and she
tries to pull away, but I hold on, pushing the invisible power out of my body
until I feel it envelope us both.

"Call
me Evan," I reply coolly with a smile. After a beat, I drop her hand,
breaking the connection. I have no idea what just happened, but it felt good.
It also left me feeling slightly weak. Even so, I manage to turn smoothly on my
heel and follow the ladies out onto the front porch where they say their
goodbyes.

Albert,
my grandmother's driver, is waiting by the town car. I am relieved to finally
be leaving, but I refuse to relax around these women, no matter how nice some
of them seem.

Before
they let me escape, they make me promise to come to their church picnic
committee meeting on Sunday. It is the last thing I want to do, but I figure
it's what Magda meant by upholding my duty to the town. It makes sense to
comply if I want to keep her out of my hair and out of my life. I slide in to
the backseat of the car, taking care not to relax until we're around the block
and out of sight.