Authors: Kirsten Miller
The Eternal Ones
Table of Contents
The Eternal Ones
RAZORBILL
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Young Readers Group
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Penguin Young Readers Group
345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,
New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East,
Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3 (a divi-
sion of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL,
England
Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2,
Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd)
Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road,
Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of
Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd)
Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre,
Panchsheel Park, New Delhi - 110 017, India
Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Mairangi Bay,
Auckland 1311, New Zealand (a division of Pearson
New Zealand Ltd)
Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee
Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa
Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
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FOR MY PARENTS—
if not my first, then certainly the best.
if not my first, then certainly the best.
PART ONE:
THE POSSESSION OF HAVEN MOORE
CHAPTER ONE
Haven was back. She glanced across the familiar little room. Silver clouds hovered over the skylight high above a rumpled bed. A candle sat on the edge of the vanity, waiting for the sun’s weak rays to finally fade. Her gaze returned to the mirror in front of her. She smoothed a strand of her blonde bob and tucked it behind one ear. The reflection in the mirror wasn’t hers, but she knew it as well as her own. The big brown eyes rimmed with kohl. The smiling lips shaped into a red cupid’s bow. Once again, she watched a slim hand bearing a glowing garnet smooth a robe embroidered with gold. Haven could feel the silk passing beneath her fingertips.
The girl in the mirror was waiting. A clock on the mantel over the fireplace was frozen at five minutes to six. Time had slowed to a trickle.
Outside, the fall wind wailed. The trees groaned in the park she somehow knew was less than a block away. The crackling fire had banished the evening chill. But the girl felt no need for its warmth.
She heard the sound of ladies’ heels on the cobblestones below. Her heart fluttering, she scurried across the rough wooden floorboards to the window, careful not to let the heels of her slippers slide into the cracks. She peeked between the velvet curtains. One story below her, on a quaint narrow lane, two women in fur coats walked past, arm in arm. The shape of their hats and the style of their shoes hadn’t been in fashion for almost a hundred years. The women didn’t stop, and the girl sighed with relief when they finally disappeared from view. The last thing she needed was a visit from her mother on this, their first night alone together.
Her eyes darted up to the skeleton of a skyscraper being built in the distance and quickly returned to the street below. A dark figure had appeared outside in the lane. The girl’s breathing quickened when the figure stopped at her door and stealthily checked both sides of the street. She heard a key enter the lock downstairs, then heavy steps bounding up to the second floor.
In an instant, he was inside her room, his coat and hat in his hands. Auburn hair tousled. Green eyes flashing. Old-fashioned tweed suit slightly ragged about the cuffs. She met him at the door and threw her arms around his neck. He let his coat drop to the floor so his cold hands could find the small of her back. Then his wet lips found hers. She pressed herself against him, feeling the warmth building under his layers of cotton and wool.
“I’ve been waiting forever,” she told him.
“I’m here now,” he whispered as his hands passed over her body.
“Ethan,” she murmured as the room turned blindingly bright.
CHAPTER TWO
Haven Moore stood on top of a footstool, gazing out the open window in front of her and willing herself not to fidget. Over the winter, the anticipation had been building inside of her. Once the weather turned warm, she found herself unable to sleep or stay still. It felt as if every cell in her body were dancing.
Beyond the tall mountains that surrounded Snope City, something was waiting for her, and her impatience had grown almost too much to bear. Haven felt the urge to leap out the window, certain that the wind would carry her over the trees and deposit her exactly where she needed to be. The only thing keeping her tethered to earth was Beau’s hand on the hem of the dress she was modeling.
“Haven, get in here and find me that remote control!”
Her grandmother’s squawk shattered Haven’s concentration. She teetered for a moment, then stumbled from her stool.
“Damn, Haven! When’d you get so clumsy?”
Haven heard a needle hit the floor and saw Beau dip a wounded finger into his mouth.
“Aw, poor thing.” She mussed the boy’s shaggy blond hair. “I’ll be right back. Imogene always sits on the remote. It’s probably wedged between her butt cheeks.”
“Should I go get a crowbar?” Beau joked. He rose to his full six foot four and offered Haven a wicked grin, unaware he was only inches away from getting scalped by the ceiling fan.
“Keep your voice down.” Haven snickered as she threw open the bedroom door. “You want to get banned for life?”
Haven’s bare soles pounded against the floorboards. She liked to put her whole weight into the unladylike display. As she bounded down the stairs and toward the kitchen, her mother stepped out into the hallway, wiping her hands on her apron. She shook her head in a silent plea and held up four fingers still sticky with biscuit batter. Haven slowed her stride and let her feet land lightly. Goading her grandmother was a pleasure she’d have to forgo for now. Four months of good behavior was a small price to pay for her freedom. Come September, she’d be a student at the Fashion Institute of Technology in New York City, with six hundred miles and an entire mountain range between her and East Tennessee.
THE CURTAINS IN the sitting room were pulled tight, and even the floral wallpaper looked gray in the gloom. Imogene Snively sat in a silk-covered chair, her spine rigid and her legs crossed at the ankles. Just back from the hairdresser, she sported a silver bouffant that floated several inches above her scalp. Haven stopped in the doorway and let her eyes roam the room, searching for something out of place. A wilted flower snuck into the bouquet of summer roses, or a run that had started in the old lady’s hose. She spotted the smudge she’d left on the mirror above the fireplace—a perfect thumbprint in the righthand corner—and giggled softly. It was a game they played, and today Haven was ahead.
“Something funny?” her grandmother asked in the sugary voice she used to bait her traps.
“No, ma’am.”
“That boy still here?”
“Beau,” Haven corrected her.
“Excuse me?” Her grandmother’s dainty hand reached for the eyeglasses on the table beside her.
“His
name
is Beau.”
name
is Beau.”
“I
know
his name. . . . ” With her glasses on, she looked the girl over. “Haven, what on earth are you wearing?”
know
his name. . . . ” With her glasses on, she looked the girl over. “Haven, what on earth are you wearing?”
Haven spun around in the low-cut black gown. “Like my new dress? Thought I might wear it to church tomorrow.”
Imogene Snively’s eyes bulged with indignation. “No granddaughter of
mine
will stand before the Lord with her—”
mine
will stand before the Lord with her—”
“Don’t have a stroke, Imogene, I’m only kidding. We’re making this for Bethany Greene.” Haven sighed as she reached beneath the cushion that supported the prim little woman. She fished out the remote control and switched the television on. “Now, what channel do you want?”
“Smart aleck,” her grandmother snapped. “Put it on the five o’clock news.”
Haven punched a few buttons, and the host of a well-known gossip show popped up on the screen. “I think you’re a little early for the news,” Haven said. “This all right for now?”
“When did everything get to be such trash?” her grandmother clucked. “Well, if that’s all there is, go on then and turn up the sound.”
Haven watched the volume bar expand at the bottom of the screen.
“. . .
the nineteen-year-old playboy returned to New York late last night, only a few short hours before his father’s funeral was scheduled to begin. Though their relationship had been strained in recent years, inside sources have informed us that
. . .”
the nineteen-year-old playboy returned to New York late last night, only a few short hours before his father’s funeral was scheduled to begin. Though their relationship had been strained in recent years, inside sources have informed us that
. . .”
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