The Blue Woods (34 page)

I hadn't had any chance to look at the book before I'd been hustled off to Italy, and now I saw how truly ancient it was. The first several pages were made from animal hide and covered in pictures drawn in what looked like red chalk. “What is this?”

“It's from the most ancient civilization known to inhabit Maine,” Heath said. “The Red Paint People.”

Confused, I turned more pages. The pictures morphed into words and images, a strange language I still couldn't read.

“Algonquin,” Heath said before I had to ask. “Spoken by the Passamaquoddy Indians.”

Lidia put her hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “This book is a history of all the Benandanti of the Twin Willows Clan. Going back before Europeans ever settled here.”

My breath caught. The letters and images on the pages swam before me. This was my history, my legacy. I turned each page like it was the most precious object on earth. The language moved from Algonquin to Spanish and French and finally to English. Names, dates, and short entries like this one:

August 26
th
, 1794

We were beset upon by the Malandanti when the Moon was directly overhead. I was forced to Call the Clan in its Entire. After a hard-fought Battle, we maintained Control of the site but at the Cost of our own Cougar. The Ritual was performed.

And:

October 21
st
, 1794

We have replaced the Cougar with the Fox, Ned Jacobs, who is of fine Character and Upbringing. In bocca al lupo.

With tears streaming down my cheeks, I touched the well-aged ink on the creamy parchment.
Ned Jacobs . . .
I looked up. Lidia nodded. “He was your five times great-grandfather.”

“Oh,” I breathed. “It really is a family tradition.”

Lidia leaned over, hugging me tight. “I was such an idiot,” she whispered in my ear, “to think I could ever keep you out of it. It is in your blood.” She straightened, cupping my cheek in her warm, calloused hand. “It is in your name.”

“My name?”

“I knew from the moment you were born what you would be,” Lidia said. Her brown eyes gleamed with tears. “And when I asked your father to name you, I knew that he knew, too.”

“Why?”

“Your name,
cara
.” She held my face in her hands. “It means ‘defender.' You were born to defend the magic, and your father knew it. You have been a Benandante since long before you were even born.”

I couldn't speak. Heat trapped itself in my throat, wrapped itself tight around me. I looked down at the book in my hands, worth more than diamonds, rubies, emeralds, or gold. I remembered all those weeks ago in the lair with Heath, flipping through the files we'd stolen from the Guild.
Where are the Benandanti files like this?
I'd asked him. He'd said the Benandanti had never had such files. But he was wrong. The Benandanti just didn't hide their records inside cold glass and steel like the Malandanti; they hid them in the basement of an ancient farmhouse, protected by generations of love.

I flipped to the last page. The last two entries were dated fifteen years ago.

We have lost the Waterfall. More than that, we have lost the Owl and the Hawk. The Ritual was performed. We are searching for their replacements. We are all in mourning. God willing, we will reclaim the Waterfall soon.

And then, one last entry, written in my father's unmistakable hand:

The Hawk has been replaced by the Stag. I know my best friend, Jeff Sands, will devote his life to the Benandanti the same way my father did. They are still searching for the Owl's replacement. If Alessia were old enough, it would be her. But I know someday she will be Called and she will make me—and every Jacobs who came before her—proud.

I have been entrusted with the safety of this book. For now I think it's best to hide it. May the Benandante who finds it continue its history.

I splayed my hand flat on the opposite page, which lay blank and empty. “There were a couple of loose documents tucked inside too,” Heath said, “but we're still trying to decipher them.”

I reached out and grabbed a tissue from the box at the edge of the desk, blew my nose, and wiped my eyes. “Pull up a chair, both of you.” When they were both seated on either side of me, I picked up the fanciest fountain pen I could find in the desk drawer. “Let's pick up where he left off.”

And as they told me the last fifteen years' worth of history of the Twin Willows Clan, I recorded it all, so that all the Benandanti who came after me would know our legacy.

Sneaking out of the house wound up not being a problem at all that night. Everyone else was off picking up the various Benandanti who were arriving on all sorts of planes, trains, and automobiles. Jenny was the only one left, and when she saw me and Bree leaving, she said, “I never saw you,” and put on her headphones.

The problem turned out to be that because everyone was out, so were all the cars. Bree and I stood in the driveway, staring up its empty expanse. “Crap,” I said. “Is there a bus that goes near there?”

“Look up ‘the middle of nowhere' in the dictionary,” Bree said. “There's a picture of that cabin.” She grabbed my arm and directed me around the back of the house. “Come on.”

We fought our way through the woods behind the house, coming out on the next street. . . which was the Wolfes' street. A few doors down from Bree's house, we crouched by the side of the road.

“Is your mom home?” I whispered.

“No. I told her to get out of town when we went to Italy. I don't know where; I told her not to tell me.”

“Did she leave her car?”

Bree shook her head. A dark sedan rolled down the street, its headlights sweeping across the road. We shrank back into the shadows as it passed. Once it disappeared around the corner, Bree pulled me up. “We gotta hurry. It'll be back again soon.”

“But if your mom took her car—” I jogged alongside her. As soon as we got to her driveway, I rounded on her. “Are you kidding? Your dad's car? They'll spot that from a mile away.”

“Not if we get out of Twin Willows fast enough.” Bree unlocked the front door to her house and rummaged inside in the dark for a minute. When she came out, she dangled a set of keys in front of my nose. “Haven't you ever wanted to ride in a Porsche?”

This had
bad idea
written all over it. But it was either Mr. Wolfe's sleek silver sports car or nothing. I muttered a prayer under my breath and ducked into the passenger seat.

Bree kept the headlights off as she drove the car slowly out of the driveway and down the road. Main Street was empty this time of night, but a rising full moon illuminated the pavement, slick as a mirror. We passed sleeping houses on our way out of town. Once the willow tree that marked the border was in the rearview mirror, Bree flicked on the headlights and gunned the engine.

Several miles up the highway, Bree turned off onto a lonely road that twisted through dark woods. “You sure you know where you're going?” I asked as she made a hairpin turn onto a desolate street with no sign.

“I made Jonah ride shotgun when Mr. Salter took us,” she said. “That way, I could sit in the back and map the way with the GPS on my phone without him noticing.”

We turned off the paved road and onto a narrow dirt lane. Barren trees rose on either side of us, curving inward so that it almost felt like we were traveling beneath a covered bridge. I could see nothing past the pool of light created by the car's high beams, but after a moment I felt us going down a hill. At last we emerged into a small clearing, in the middle of which sat a cozy log cabin.

The lights in the cabin were off. I jumped out of the car. “Jonah?” I called out. “It's us. It's me and Bree.”

Somewhere close by, an owl hooted. Cold wind swept through the clearing, rattling the bare branches overhead. A moment later, the front door creaked open, and a thin beam of light shone out. “Alessia?”

The sound of his voice lit my insides. I ran across the clearing, didn't stop until I collided into him. I couldn't see his face in the dark, but I sensed him all around me, his warmth, spicy pine scent, and his heart, his whole alive heart, beating in time with mine.

Jonah dropped the flashlight he'd been holding and caught me tight in his arms. My feet left the ground. I buried my face into his neck. “Oh, God, Alessia,” he muttered, his mouth pressed against my ear, “every night I dreamed you would come.”

I half-sobbed, half-laughed. I didn't care how many Benandanti were arriving in Twin Willows at that very instant, how soon it would be before Jonah and I were fighting on opposite sides of the Waterfall's banks. Nothing mattered except him and this moment.

My lips found his, and I tasted winter and the promise of spring on his tongue. He held me to him, devouring me like I was the prey to his Panther. Still kissing me, he backed us up into the cabin. His hands slid up under my coat, his palms like firebrands against my skin. I buried my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, closer . . .

“Ahem.”

We broke apart, our breath heavy. Bree stood in the doorway, holding the flashlight that Jonah had dropped under her chin so that she looked like a campfire ghost. “What am I, chopped liver?”

Jonah cleared his throat. “Hi, Bree.”

“‘Hi, Bree'? That's all I get?” She shone the flashlight in his face.

He opened his arms, and she went to him and hugged him tight. It was always a jolt to see them together, the beautiful Wolfe twins, so fierce and lovely at the same time.

“How's life off the grid?” Bree said.

“You know, being a hermit isn't all it's cracked up to be.” Jonah crossed to the mantel over the fireplace and lit a kerosene lamp, bathing the cabin in a soft yellow glow. Now I could see it was a lot like Heath's cabin, only a little bigger and with two deer heads mounted on opposite walls. Jonah lit another lamp on the table in the tiny kitchen and came back over to me. “It's a little
too
lonely.” He pulled me against him. “God, I missed you.”

“Okay, you two are gross.” Bree switched off the flashlight and tossed it onto a chair in front of the fireplace. “Let's get our business out of the way so you can be alone to . . . do whatever.”

“What business?” Jonah lifted his head but kept his arm around my waist. “And how was Italy?”

“The Benandanti reclaimed the Olive Grove,” I said, searching his face as I spoke. “And Angel Falls.”

He touched my cheek. “That's good, isn't it?”

“Not for you,” Bree said.

“Why not? If the Malandanti fail, I'm free, aren't I?”

I bit my lip. “I don't know. I don't know what happens if one side gains all the sites.” I looked at Bree. “Do you?”

“No.” She crossed her arms. “But I can't imagine it's good for the losing side.” She raised her eyebrow at Jonah. “Have you been Called while you've been here?”

“Of course I have.” Jonah's eyes darkened. “I couldn't stop myself from transforming. But I didn't go to the Waterfall. I kept my mind closed off and ran through the woods way north of here, so that if they sensed me it wouldn't lead them to the cabin.”

“Well, expect to be Called again soon,” Bree said. “The Waterfall is the last site under Malandanti control. Every Benandanti who can be spared is flying in to help reclaim it.”

Jonah ran his hand through his hair. “I don't know how much longer I can go on ignoring them. Each time, the Call feels stronger, like I'm being pulled toward the Clan by some invisible force.”

Bree's gaze flickered between me and Jonah, something not quite readable behind her green eyes. “You shouldn't ignore the Call this time. You should come to the Waterfall.”

“Bree—he'll be killed. By his own side.”

“They can't, remember? They can't attack him.” She took a long shaky breath. “But if one of our side gets hurt . . . is . . .”

“Don't say it.” I held my hand up. “I don't want to think about that.”

“We have to, Alessia.” Bree tightened her jaw. “It's a big battle. And you can bet your ass that we'll be outnumbered, because all the other Malandanti Clans don't need to be at their sites but at least one Benandante has to stay behind to protect them. You're stupid to think we're all going to get out of this alive.”

Cold silence stretched between the three of us. I knew Bree was right, but when I let my mind go there, my body was flooded with an icy fear I couldn't control. Wasn't I allowed one night, one hour, to not think about it all?

That thought must've been clear on my face, because Bree broke the silence by digging into her jeans pocket for the car keys. “Anyway. Consider yourself warned.”

“Where are you going?”

“Back to Jenny's.” We followed her to the front door. “Alessia, call me when you're ready to be picked up. And . . . be careful.”