First Kiss (8 page)

Alex seems like a jerk. I highly doubt we will get on at all.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, I have a horrid flash of an idea. I could make him
love me and kiss him. It is a joke in my mind but somewhere in the back of my
head, there is a whisper that tells me that is a bad idea, a sin even.
Something terrible has happened to my brain, I swear it. I feel comfortable and
cocky in this house. It's like I have been around them as long as Lune and Sam.
I don’t need to be meek and scared; I can be me—
the me
I am with my friends and the few people who know me.

Heidi sits down and sips her tea. She is covered in flour, but
it doesn’t stop her from eating and drinking. I like her. I would like to hug
her and have her be my mom. She has that plump, comfy-mom look to her. Tim is a
lucky kid.

“How did you all end up working here?”

She shakes her head, “Oh you know, me and Tim came on after
the boat ride over. We found passage here with a man seeking a cook for his
master’s estate. Been here ever since.” She smiles at Tim. The whole thing
sounds weird and she looks like she’s lying. I have no idea what she’s talking
about. What is a passage?

Lance laughs, “I came to work here from Port’s—uhm,
Portland. I was working the docks and I answered an ad for a driver. Same as
you, I suppose.”

I glance down at Tim, “Do you like it here?”

He looks at his mom before he nods and takes the last bite of
his cinnamon bun.

Following suit, I too take a bite of the bun, moaning into it.
It’s by far the best thing I have ever tasted. I give Heidi a look, “It’s so
good.”

She blushes, “Well, thank you. My mother taught me how to make
them. The secret is to over churn the butter slightly.”

I laugh, “You churn your own butter?”

“Once upon a time, I suppose. Now it’s almost like the butter
just shows up on its own.” She has a funny look in her eyes when she says it.

I shrug, “Whatever works, I guess.”

After breakfast she sets me up in the study to clean. I dust,
wash, and pile debris in a huge heap to put into bags. The work feels like it’s
never ending. I swear, I wipe something, and within seconds, it’s dirty again.

I walk to a corner and start to move things into
piles—junk and possible keepers. When I turn back to get a garbage bag,
the piles are gone and the clutter is where it was. I step back, shaking my
head. I did touch the stuff, didn’t I? I did make piles, right?

Oh my God.

The house is creepy like me.

Great.

I look around the old empty study and wonder why I’m not
freaking out? Isn’t the rational response to run from the scary mansion,
screaming?

I sigh and slump into a reading chair next to a stack of
old-fashioned trunks. They look familiar. I think I’ve seen them in a magazine
or a movie before. I look around the dusty room for anyone who might see me
snooping. My eyes watch the door as I lift a trunk lid. Inside is the oldest
guitar I’ve ever seen. I blow the dust off of it and lift it into my lap. I
tickle the strings lightly. The sound is bad. I wince and start tuning it. I
wish I had a piano, that’s how I learned to tune a guitar.

I get lost in the process a little, and before I realize it,
I’m playing and singing in the study.

“He isn’t paying you to play.”

I look up to see Alex. I shake my head, “What is your issue?”

He scoffs, “I don’t have an issue. He wants to see you, in the
library.”

I get up and walk to him. His eyes lower to the guitar, “You
can probably leave that here. He might think you’re trying to steal it.”

I shake my head, “No. Everything I’ve cleaned has gone back to
dirty. If I leave it in this cursed room, it’ll be out of tune when I get
back.”

A slow smile creeps across his lips, “Someone catches on
quickly.”

I frown, “What’s the deal with that, anyway?”

He shakes his head, “Not sure. You’re the curse girl, surely
you must know more about them than I do.”

I make a face and look around the room, noticing it is a
little cleaner than when I started. Maybe I was hallucinating the mess coming
back. I sigh and point, “Lead the way to the library.”

He gives me an unhappy look back, “Find it yourself.” He
stalks off, leaving me there. I purse my lips and look both ways. The wind
blows from the left so I go right. I walk until I feel it again. The wind blows
right so I turn left. I walk until I am under a massive arch and in the
entrance to the bright and beautiful library. The smell of books hits me
instantly. I sigh and close my eyes, letting the smell transport me. It’s
divine.

He is reading a book on a chaise, still wearing the hood. It’s
like watching a grim reaper read a book, exceptionally creepy.

I walk in, gripping the guitar. “You look really creepy with
the cloak up. I think the simple act of reading with it on makes it worse.
Like a Dementor.
I feel like I need
Harry Potter
to
save me from you. You know that movie? Just take it off. Besides, whatever is
under there can't be as bad as killing boys who kiss you. Let’s be honest,
there is no way you are as big of a freak as I am.” I turn and point at the
doorway, “The wind fights me on decisions I make, and when I walk near them,
plants die. Whole trees lose their leaves, all of them.”

A smile crosses his lips when he lifts his face, “You found
your guitar?”

I am startled by the scars
. I look
down at the guitar abruptly, forcing myself to not look at him, “It’s not mine.
I just found it in the study.”

He sounds funny, breathy. “I mean, I got it for you. It is
yours. I hear you sing beautifully. When I asked Lance about you this morning,
he told me that you were a singer. I sent him on a hunt for the guitar. I knew
we had one somewhere here.”

I frown at him, not wanting to tell him I snooped but not sure
I want to tell him how I got the guitar. Will Lance tell him that he never gave
it to me? I decide not to answer
either way and
nod,
“I do play and sing. I like music a lot.” I take a breath and lift my face to
see it all, now that I am prepared for it. He pulls back the hood, and it takes
me a second to take it all in. He is a mess, a frightening mess.
A horror, really.
An old scar splits his hair across the
middle of his head, making a bald strip. His dark, shaggy hair covers it mostly
but you can see the shine of the scar there. His face has three scars that come
down across his face, high on the left and making their way low to the right,
like he got into a fight with a comic book character. One of his ears is cut in
half, as is his left eyelid, making his eye sag. I can see the scars working
their way from his neck to his chest and shoulders, but his cloak and shirt
hide them. He is a mess. I am holding my breath so I don’t make a sound. I
force a smile across my face, “You wear your curse on the outside. I wear mine
on the inside.”

He nods once. His eyes strike me as odd. I can't see the
color. They are dark.

I tear my gaze from him and glance about the room, “You like
to read?”

He nods again, “You play music and I read.”

I laugh, “I like to read too. I worked at the school library
before. I love books.” I see his smile in my peripheral, along with his scars.
They look like stripes, angry ones. I want to cry for him. Whatever marked him
that way, hated him. I want to make it better.

“Have you read them all?” I don’t know what else to talk
about. I want to be rude and ask about the scars but I don’t.

“No. I try to read a book a month. I don’t like to skim read.
I like to do it slowly and take in every feeling or image the author is trying
to show me.” His voice is calm and his words are slow, “Are you scared of me?”

I look at him, holding my breath again. I shake my head and
force my words to match his, slow and calm. “Should I be?”

He shakes his head but his words speak otherwise, “I am a
monster.”

I smile, “You don’t look like a monster. You look like you
might have met with one.”

He laughs and I see his beautiful smile behind the scars. He
contemplates something, like he might move but he doesn’t, “And if I told you I
did this to myself?”

I shake my head, “I would never believe that.”

He seems so unsure of himself around me. It’s an odd
experience. My whole life, everyone has acted like they’re my
superior
. My flaws have been out there for everyone to see.
I see now that there are always people who have it worse than you. His life
must be hard.

“I’m Lynnie.”

He sits, “Shall we discuss your contract, Lynnie?” He doesn’t
tell me his name.

I sit across from him on the other sofa. It isn’t as
comfortable as I imagined it might be.

“You will agree to stay for one year, cleaning and helping out
around here. I will pay you whatever sum you demand.”

I frown, “A year? I can’t wait a year. I have to go to New
York in October. I can only work the summer.”

He nods slowly, taking it in maybe. “Do you have enough money
for New York?”

I swallow hard and bite my lip. I think for a second and cock
my eyebrow, “Any amount of money I ask for?”

He nods. I think about the fancy red car and nod, “One year?”

He nods again. I stand and look past him at the yard. This
can’t possibly be worse than Mary’s house, and it is only a year, and I can
replace all the money she stole. I walk away from the couches, pacing, “Alex
has to be nice to me.”

He laughs softly. It reminds me of something I heard once. I
shake my head to myself as I think aloud, “One year and any amount of money I
demand.”
I am not verifying it
,
I am
contemplating
. I sigh, “I want twenty-nine thousand, eight hundred and
forty-five dollars. I want room and board, and to be allowed to play with the
musical instruments.”

He holds his scarred hand out. I walk to him, placing my hand
in his.
He doesn’t shake
,
he just
holds it
. I would swear I know him but that is impossible. He has a face
one would remember. I will probably have nightmares about it tonight.

But even with the horrors before me, I find myself trying to
see his eye color and staring at his lips. I imagine that at one time he was
handsome beyond belief.

It makes me sad that someone would take something so beautiful
and destroy it. I imagine my heart is like that. I imagine it once stood a
chance at being beautiful, but now it is like his face.

Chapter Six

“She is killing everything—it’s a sign.”

I know Alex is talking about me. I don’t move from the dark
hallway to let him know I am right on the other side of the swinging door.

Heidi sighs, “Darling, just let the process take effect. She
is a good person, deep down. We cannot change the way she is, nor can you. Be
grateful she isn’t Baylor.”

“Not yet. Give her time.”

My stomach drops. Are they talking about me?
A good person deep down?
That’s mean. I stand there, more
frozen than before. Alex stomps off but I don’t move. The wind starts to move
around me. I shake my head, telling it to go away.

Heidi comes into the room that I am in. She looks nervous when
she sees me, “Did you hear that?”

I nod.

She puts a hand on my arm, “Honey, he doesn’t mean it. He
knows you can’t help it. I know you can't.”

I shake my head, “It's the curse, I think. I think it's worse
here. It's not me, I swear. You said Baylor. Who is Baylor?”

Her eyes widen, “Oh, that’s my pet name for Tim. We always
call him Baylor. It is his middle name.” Her voice does the thing it does when
she is lying. Why would they be grateful I’m not like Tim? She’s lying and I
want to know why. I force a smile, “Sweet name.”

Her eyes narrow, “Lance said that he heard in town you had a
sister once?”

I
nod,
taking the iced tea she has
made me. She walks into the kitchen. I follow her and sit. “She was my baby
sister, named Rosie. She was a small child when she died.”

“Oh, a little sister?” She bites her lip.

I sigh, “She was the sweetest kid in the world. Our father
died when I was young. Rosie was in the womb still. We lived somewhere in
Maryland at the time. Mom made us come to live in Lakeland. The whole curse
thing drove Mom nuts. She gave birth and killed herself a few months later. We
were left with our grandmother, Mary.” I can barely get the next words out, but
for some reason, I do. I continue talking even though I want to stop. “She,
Mary, hated me. Rosie was her favorite. I always thought that, but then Rosie
died when it was just
her
and Mary at the house. Rosie
fell down the stairs.”

My voice cuts out and my words slowly become nothing but air
leaving my trembling lips, “I was supposed to babysit her, but I made a stink
about going to a friend’s birthday party. When I came home, Rosie was gone and
the ambulance was just leaving. I think she might have killed Rosie to spite
me. She never said it out loud and I never saw it, but I suspect it was her.” I
shake my head, “If I’d only stayed home, she’d still be here.” I don’t realize
I’m crying until I can't see anymore. The tears have taken over my eyes.

Her hand covers mine, “I am so sorry, Lynnie. That is truly
awful.”

I look at her and see tears in her eyes too. She is the
sweetest lady. I flip my hand over and grip to hers.

We sit there for a second and then Tim comes running in and
points outside. She stands and follows him. He rarely talks, and when he does,
I swear he has an English accent.

Alex comes into the kitchen. He sees me there and scowls. I
sigh, “Why can't you just be nice to me?”

“Why do you have to kill every plant in the yard? You know we
have a dead spot around the house that goes in a perfect circle?"

I frown, “Well, now it matches the inside of the house.”

He laughs and sits across from me. He puts his hands over his
face and laughs, “You are a pain in the ass, Lynnie.”

I laugh with him, “Then we should be best friends.”

He lowers his hands and points, “Stop flirting with me, it’s
disturbing.”

I try not to wince and instead scoff, “Don’t flatter yourself,
fat head.”

“You really have no idea, do you? The affect you have in this
house? You have no idea who you are?”

I shake my head, “I’ve been here a week. How can I have an
affect yet? It’s us hired help in the kitchen and you and the great and powerful
master in the other room. You eat together in silence and mope around here the
rest of the time. What affect could I have on that merriment?”

His dark-blue eyes sparkle, “You should go for a swim. Or go
to town. Get out for a day.”

I don’t know what to say to that. He laughs again and slaps
the table hard when he gets up and leaves me there. I get
up,
following him out the front door and see he’s right. The grass is brown and
yellow and dry. The bushes are dead. Everything is dead. The wind comes and
cools the warm breeze around me. The wind seems lost and less powerful. I walk
around the back of the house, and there in the long grass to the lake, is a
line. It is rounded and circles the house. The grass on the other side is green
and healthy.

I walk down the path to the healthy grass. The wind pushes me
hard enough that I nearly stumble.

“STOP!”

I turn to see him. The master is running down the grass to me.
In the bright sunlight, he looks normal. He runs, and I swear, I know him. He
is handsome and makes my heart beat faster. When he gets closer, I see the
scars, but maybe less until he opens his mouth. “You said you would stay a
year.”

I point at the lake, “I just wanted to see the lake and the
grass. See how it’s dead around the house? I think that’s from me. Mary’s house
always looked like that. Dead. Sometimes I think the whole curse is more real
than I can even imagine.” I look up a him, “Sorry, about the yard.”

“I could not care less than I do about the yard.” He looks
confused, “You can't leave. You said you would stay a year. You promised.” He
looks on the verge of one of his angry attacks. His hands are shaking. It
almost makes me curious why he’s so determined I have to
stay,
it makes me want to leave just to see what will happen. Of course the money
makes me stay, that and the feeling of belonging.

I smile as sweetly as I can, but I’m freaking out inside.
“Looking at the grass is not leaving. I am not leaving. I swore it and I
won't
leave.” I don’t get why he's so fired up. I don’t
understand why he cares if I look at the yard—he has serious trust
issues. Of course being
here,
makes me think that
maybe he has been abandoned to this haunted house by his family. He is here
with servants and no family. It’s horrible but maybe that’s just it. He’s
scared that I will abandon him too. But who am I to him? I’m the maid who
doesn’t really clean much and not for a lack of effort. I do try—the
damned place just won’t stay clean.

“All right then, let’s go back.” he sighs, running his hand
through his hair, and I recognize that movement. I know him, or at least, I did
once.

I narrow my gaze, “How long have you been scarred?”

He gives me a cold stare, “What?”

I shake my head, “I just swear, I know you from somewhere.”

His eyes light up, “You would never forget my face, trust me.
I have looked this way a long time.”

I nod, “Alex thinks it's me killing everything too.”

He laughs, “He’s an irritable bastard. Let's go get something
to eat.”

“You want me to eat with you?”

He gives me a sideways glance. I try not to stare at the cut
in the eyelid when he speaks, “I was thinking that maybe we should get to know
each other better. Me and you.”

I cut him off, feeling the air with my hands, “Does it feel
crazy warm to you? I think this is the hottest it has ever been in June before,
and only last week, it was freezing.” I give him a smile, "I would like to
get to know you too. We can't be that far apart in age.”

His lips play with his smile, “Living on the lake does wonders
for the aging process.”

We laugh and I swear the scars are lessened when he smiles. He
walks into the house and leads me to the library. He pulls out an old board. I
scowl, “Doesn’t look like food to me.”

He laughs and rings a bell. Heidi is there within seconds. He
looks up at her, “Snacks maybe?”

I sigh, “Please and thanks, Heidi. Do you want any help?”

She gives me a wide smile, “No, child. Have a break.”

He laughs, “Clearly she doesn’t realize what you’ve been doing
all day.”

I gasp, “Whatever. I was working.”

He rolls his eyes, which looks creepy. There is no getting
past that. “This is backgammon and you will love it.”

I sit across from him and look at the board, “Looks hard.”

He shakes his head, “‘Tis not.” He teaches me to play and I do
love it. We laugh and joke and eat the delicious concoctions Heidi makes.
Before I realize it, it's night. I am cold and the fireplace is lit, but I
don’t recall he or I doing it. I don’t recall being cold before that moment
either. It is like a switch was turned. He is talking, but it’s not the
haunted, lost-in-thought talking. It’s sweet. He smiles as he speaks, “Lance
has gotten us all addicted to Nutella. We are eating it on everything and every
time we run out, you can see the mood of the house shifts.”

I scowl, “Why doesn’t Lance just go shopping for more?”

He opens his mouth, like he’s stuck for an answer, “We try to
keep our diet as natural as possible.” He looks confused by his own answer.
He’s so weird sometimes. “We only allow ourselves the processed foods every now
and then.”

I laugh, “Is that why Heidi is so weird about the food
delivery truck? She never lets me help. It’s always gone by the time I realize
the pantry is full again.”

He nods slowly.

I yawn and stretch out, “This is nice. I never imagined this
house could feel so homey. But it does.”

He chuckles, “Yes, the house does seem to come to life when
you are here.” In the firelight his scars make him look evil, but I know he is
not.

I laugh and drink the weird spiced wine I can't seem to get
enough of. “Is this house magical? It’s beyond homey. It’s something else. I
have never been more relaxed anywhere in my life. I feel like I'm supposed to
be here and I don’t know why. And the house changes and the time
seems
undetermined. Like I can’t tell what day it is. The
clocks are always different in every room, and I swear sometimes I see
furniture that isn’t there.”

He laughs harder. His eyes squint when he does it. He shakes
his head, “This is but a house, Lynnie. The magic is within us.” He scowls.

I shake my head, “No, there is something with this house."

He looks at me, and I swear his eyes are burning. They are so
dark that I can see the flames of the fire flickering in them. He mesmerizes
me. I lean on the armrest and smile softly at him, "Have you ever been in
love?” I realize then, I do not know his name. I call him many variations of
master, all the while mocking the name, but I don’t know his true name. I am
about to ask, but I stop myself. I can’t imagine a name that suits him more
than master.

He drinks a huge gulp of wine and answers me, “I have.”

I move to sit closer to the fire, shivering from the heat of
it. “Really?”

He nods, “Have you?”

I open my lips and then look down. I can’t say it and look at
him. “I met this guy once, it’s silly. I knew him for a week at best. But it
was the best week ever. I don’t know if I can say love, but there was
something.” I look back up at him, “Who were you in love with?”

The dark room behind him and the flames in his
eyes,
have me captivated. He laughs and I swear it’s
nervous. “I was not much younger than I am now when I met her. She was the
prettiest of girls.
So fair and full of spirit.
She
could sing and play any musical instrument.”

I laugh, “Sounds like you’re describing me.” He doesn’t see
that I am mocking myself. I barely see it. It’s like I am being full of myself.
I clear my throat, shaking my head. I look down at the spiced wine, setting it
off to the side.

He shakes his head, “She’s the sister of the girl my brother
was to marry, or might have already married, I suppose.” It’s weird that he
says that, the girl his brother was to marry or might have already. The way he
words things is weird sometimes.

He sighs when he speaks next, “She was just a child when I met
her the first time. She didn’t know I existed and nor should she, and I saw her
as a baby. She was so young then, but when I met her again, when she was grown
up . . . I couldn’t help myself. I think it was instant. It isn’t important.”
The firelight dances across his face and I no longer see evil—I see
sadness and pain. It’s like he’s watching a movie in his mind, and he’s lost in
the details I can’t see and he won’t say. The next words leave his lips, but I
can see the haunted look on his face is still there and the words are
emotionless. “Our families have no chance at getting past the betrayals that
have been committed. It can’t ever work with her. I could never trust her to
not be like her sister, and I have to think of my people, always.” His eyes
grow haunted.

As much as he is weird, I feel sick for him. His story makes
no sense whatsoever, but he is heartbroken still. He’s such a peculiar guy. I
look around at the creepy house and nod, of course he is. He’s scarred and
damaged and his family has left him here, alone.

I know that pain.

I reach across to him, taking his hand in mine, “You will find
love again.”

He laughs but it’s bitter and horrid, “Yes. I, the man with
the monstrous face will find love again.”

"You will."

He gives me the most frightening look I have ever seen,
"NO, I WON'T. I KNOW WHAT I AM, LYNNIE! AND I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE!" He
tosses his glass against the wall and rips his hand from mine and leaves the
room in an angry huff. It is the first time I have seen him angry since the
first day we met.

I don’t know why he has to rub the curse in my face that way.
I know what I am too. My heart is beating out of my chest. I sit back, shaking
my head. What a psycho. The spiced wine was bad for us both. I became conceited
and he became the monster he fears he is.