Reborn (31 page)

eyond the village rooftops, they stared back at me. Cold, iron likenesses of ravens, strewn across the dormer peaks of the Ravenwyck Inn—a place straight from nightmares.

I hated Deadwich. Dark nights terrified me.

An icy chill swept across my shoulders. I shuddered and dropped my bags onto the porch floor. Mom and Dad had unloaded the rest of my belongings from their SUV and were now headed up the steps.

“Mom, please don’t make me stay here.”

She walked right on by, ignoring my pleading gaze.

“Brooke, I’m not having this discussion with you again this morning.”

“But, Mom—”

She stopped in front of the red screen door of her sister’s cape house and looked at me sternly. “You’ve protested this move all summer, and you almost had me convinced until last night. Getting picked up by the police for drinking at sixteen is the last straw.”

“But Luke had the beer, not me.”

“It’s one thing after another with you, Brooke. Your father and I think spending a year away from the city will be good for you.” Her voice lowered. “Now shush, or you’ll hurt Aunt Rachel and Uncle Jim’s feelings.”

In a last desperate plea for help, I switched my focus to Dad. If he’d heard our conversation, he didn’t let on.

It was no use. I was a gazillion miles north of Boston, about to begin my junior year with my cousin and not my friends. Worst of all, the nightmares would return as they always did when I slept in Deadwich.

The scent of cinnamon and freshly brewed coffee did nothing to alter my dark mood as the front door flew open. Aunt Rachel greeted me with open arms. I gave her a fake smile and let her hug me. When she let go, Uncle Jim scooped me up in his arms. After the greetings, we followed Aunt Rachel into the yellow painted kitchen. The whole scene was too cheerful for me, so I headed back outside and slumped into the porch swing.

As I answered a text beep, a sharp caw made me drop my cell phone into my lap. I jerked my head toward the disturbance. An enormous black bird circled above before landing in the large oak in the front yard. With a fringe of ruffled feathers around its neck, and glossy plumage tinged blue, it was the biggest crow I’d ever seen. It tilted its head, eyeing me with curiosity before leaping skyward with a whoosh. One black, downy feather zigzagged through the air and made its way under the porch roof, coming close to tickling the end of my nose on its way to my lap. A twinge of fear opened a rift deep inside me, accompanying the gloom.

I tried shaking off the grim feeling by scrolling through pictures I had taken of my friends the previous night. There was Luke with his arm around me, holding that beer—the beer I blamed my fate on.

The sound of crunching gravel caught my attention. I wiped away a tear and looked up to see a girl I barely recognized coming up the walkway.

“Hi, Brooke,” she said with a smile in her voice.

My cousin Sammy had dyed her hair since I’d seen her last. She’d gone from a natural wavy brunette like me, to unnaturally straight and Gwen Stefani-blonde, with a new set of straight bangs resting on her eyelids. I was impressed.

I forced a smile. “Hey, Sammy. How’s it going?”

Her blue gaze widened as it fell to my fingers, where I absentmindedly twirled the feather. “What is that?”

I held it out and gave a sharp laugh. “A welcome gift from a crow.”

“Eww, crows are bad luck. Throw it away.”

How could my luck get any worse
? Just in case, I tossed the feather over the railing.

Her scrunched up expression morphed into an impish grin. “So, I hear you got caught drinking last night and ended up in jail.”

“Hmph. I didn’t think news traveled that fast in the sticks.”

She ignored my insult and kept her grin, waiting for the dirt.

I glanced at the lush canopy of leaves above me, feeling silly I’d allowed myself to be frightened by a crow, and sat up from my slouch. “It was just a beer, and Luke was holding it, not me. The cops took us to the station when we wouldn’t tell them where we got it, and my parents came shortly after. Now I’m stuck here for the rest of my life.”

“It won’t be so bad.” Sammy leaned back on her elbows against the railing. “Deadwich is a happening place, and there are hardly any cops around. Oh, and there’s a party next weekend on Skull Island.” As she said it, she looked thoughtfully down the street toward the ocean.

“Skull Island? Are you kidding me?” Didn’t sound like the kind of place I wanted to hang out, especially when there was a sale on designer clothing back in Boston that weekend. “Is it shaped like a skull or something?” I asked not out of curiosity, but for lack of something else to say.

“No. There’s a legend that says two lovers were murdered out there, like a hundred years or more ago and—”

“Murdered?” Great, a nature party with murdered lovers. Not my idea of a fun time.

“Yeah, and some people believe their skeletons are still out there somewhere. Their bodies were never found, but like I said, it was ages ago.”

“That’s twisted. It’s a daytime party right?”
Please say yes
.

“Nope. It’s an all-nighter, actually.”

“And you’re allowed to go?” Curiosity widened my gaze behind the hair that blew across my face. I flicked it back and glared at my cousin.

“Not exactly. I tell Mom I’m staying overnight at Robyn’s—you remember my friend, Robyn?”

“Sort of.”

“Anyway, I say I’m staying there and she says she’s staying here.” Her grin widened, exposing perfect white teeth and no braces.

Okay, enough of Skull Island. I had to change the subject. “So, how hard is working at the Inn?”

As I said it, a chill grabbed the back of my neck. The after-school job, which Sammy had gotten me, was something else I wasn’t looking forward to.

“It’s not hard at all; we just make beds and fold laundry. When we’re finished, we can leave.”

I stretched and got up. “I’m going for a walk.” I’d slept through most of the hour-long drive up the coast and needed to wake myself up. I walked past Sammy and down the stairs, looking back over my shoulder. “Coming?”

Sammy darted to my side.

With no destination in mind, I needed to clear my head and went where my feet took me. As we walked, we caught up on the past year. Before I knew it, we had turned a couple of corners and had come to a stop. It was then I realized where we were, and that perhaps my subconscious had a secret agenda.

The Ravenwyck Inn loomed before us, looking like something from a horror movie.

“It still looks haunted,” I whispered.

“You’ll get used to it. I did.”

The century old, dark green building stood three stories high, up a short incline from the road. On the peaks of the dormers, each raven looked the same: wings spread, their tips arching downward like their heads. It was as if they were the eyes of the inn, forever watching the grounds.

“No way can I work inside of that creepy old building.” I pictured long dark hallways and secret rooms and lots and lots of ghosts. I’d even had a nightmare or two, starring the haunted-looking mansion.

“Oh come on, Brooke. You’re not, like, scared are you?”

“Of course not,” I lied. I was terrified of the place.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you to Maggie.”

“Who’s Maggie?”

In a scary storytelling voice Sammy said, “She’s the Mistress of the Manor.” Then she laughed.

I couldn’t find the humor in it.

Sammy led the way and I followed. Once on the other side of the thick shrubs that lined the property’s perimeter, the place didn’t seem as foreboding. Vehicles filled the parking lot. They had to belong to someone—right? The scent from the pink and white wild rosebushes, which hedged the landscape, mixed with the odor of freshly cut grass from somewhere else in the village, created a calming effect. Probably how Maggie the murderess lured in her victims.

With slow and guarded steps, I approached the iron-hinged front door, ready to turn and run at any moment. Sammy peeked over her shoulder at me. I gave her a fake smile and gestured her onward. She opened the door and walked right in. I followed.

My mood didn’t change once inside the creepy old place. If I was to imagine a haunted hotel, this is how it would look. Decorated with dark paneling and heavy chandeliers laced with cobwebs, it held as much charm as movie versions of Dracula’s castle.

Off to the right, a wide doorway opened to a large main room where clusters of people sat engaged in a medley of conversations. Their voices held little comfort. We continued on past a huge, dark wood staircase, which dominated the foyer and wound its way upward.

“Samantha.”

The ancient voice crept under my skin and seeped into every cell, chilling me to the core. I stopped dead in my tracks and turned in the direction it had come from.
For crying out loud, it’s just a little old lady
. So why did I feel like I should run and never turn back?

“Hi Maggie.” Sammy smiled, showing off her dimples.

Alone, leaning heavily on a cane for support, Maggie hobbled toward us, fixing her ice-blue stare on me.

“I wanted you to meet my cousin, Brooke,” Sammy said as casually as if Maggie was her own grandmother.

“Ah yes. How thoughtful of you, Samantha.”