Witches & Werewolves: A Sacred Oath (2 page)

 
The fasten seatbelt light dings overhead. The flight attendant crackles over the loudspeaker that we are about to make our final descent. This is always the worst part of flying for me. The blood rushes to my head, my sinuses fill with pressure, and my stomach churns. I have to look forward and focus on happy thoughts, reassuring myself that I’m not going to puke. It doesn’t seem to bother Noah at all. He just stares out the window watching the clouds rush by, searching for the ground below. I can’t even look at him doing that without wanting to hurl. It’s easy for me to get into a negative feedback loop where I worry that I’m going to get sick. Which makes me feel sicker, which makes me worry more.

Finally, I feel the wheels touch down, and the plane level out, back on solid ground. I heave a sigh and peel my fingers from a death grip on the arm rests.

 
We deplane and hit the baggage claim. That’s where I see a disheveled, dark-haired man in his early forties holding a sign that reads “Madison and Noah.” I recognize uncle Jake, slightly older, grayer, and a little rounder.

“Maddie,” he says, as we step up to him. “My God, you’re all grown up.”

“It happens,” I say.

“And you, little man… you were knee-high last time I saw you,” Jake says, as he kneels down to eye level with Noah.
 

 
Noah doesn’t respond. He hasn’t said much at all since the accident.

“Well, let’s get your bags and get you settled in,” Jake says.

 
We haul our bags across the parking lot when I catch a glimpse of it. Spotlit with the orange glow of a mercury halide streetlight—a nice, glimmering, bucket of rust. A car so decrepit, I can’t even tell what it is. “I suppose you parked this far away so you wouldn’t get any door dings?”

“She’ll get us there,” Jake says.

 
This doesn’t bode well. The last time I saw Jake he had a 63’ split window Corvette Coupe.

 
We pile our luggage in and Jake creeks the trunk shut, scattering flakes of rust, dancing in the shafts of orange glowing light. I climb in the front seat and quickly discover there are no seat belts. Jake sees my concern.

“We’re not going that far,” Jake says, as he pulls a beer from underneath the seat, popping it open. Beer foams, overflowing into his lap.
 

“You can’t drink and drive!” I exclaim, my eyes wide.

“This ain’t drinking and driving,” Jake says.

“That’s a beer.”

“I’m just going to sip it.”

“How much have you had to drink today?” I ask.

“No more than usual.”

 
At this moment it dawns on me, this is why uncle Jake was always falling down.

“Okay, switch seats. I’m driving,” I say.

“Are you old enough?”

“Yes, I’m old enough.”

 
Jake hops out and I scoot over into the driver’s seat. He rounds the car and slides into the passenger seat, “Well, hell, in-house, designated driver.”

 
I switch on the ignition, and the car starts like a charm—I’m shocked.
 
I look over at Jake, “So, how do we get home?”

“Go that way,” Jake says, as he points an unsteady finger north.
 

Jake mumbles out directions, and after twenty minutes of driving I’m thoroughly confused. None of this looks familiar. Winding down the two lane blacktop highway, endless rows of evergreens blend in to one another. A thick fog hovers above the mountain road, catching the high beams, dropping visibility to near zero. At any moment, I expect a deer, or some other creature, to leap from the forest into the roadway. “Did you move?” I ask.

“I guess you haven’t been here in a while,” Jake says, realizing just how long it has been.
 

I drive through the soupy fog for another few miles, then veer off down another dirt road, then another. Two things become exceedingly clear to me at this point. One, I’m going to get lost a lot over the next few weeks. Two, there is no way Jake has high speed internet.
 

Jake is on his third beer when he says, “It’s just up here on the left.”

I turn the rust bucket onto a well worn path, rattling and creaking as we head up the hill. My heart sinks when I see it. My blood pressure rises, and I grind my teeth. “You’ve got to be kidding?”

“Life happens,” Jake says.

“This is where you live?”

“Technically, this is where
you
live. It ain’t the Taj Mahal, but it’s home.”

I heave the pedal to the floor and the rust bucket’s brakes squeal to a stop. Jake hops out, weaving his way to a dilapidated mobil home. A single wide trailer, overgrown with weeds sprouting from the foundation. I glance at Noah through the rearview mirror, looking for sympathy. Noah just shrugs, hefts the creaky door open, jumping out.
 

I haul my bags into the glorified tin can, and I can’t help but smirk at the doormat that reads “There’s No Place Like Home!”

Jake stands in the kitchen, cracking a new beer. “Let me give you the tour.” He points to one end of the trailer, “That’s you,” then, pointing to the opposite end, “That’s me… and this is the kitchen.”
 

“Noah and I are sharing a room?” I ask.

“I’ve got a tent, if you’d rather camp outside? But I can’t say I’d recommend it with all the critters out there.”

 
I let out an involuntary huff, then I realize that I’m being snotty. “No, it’s great, thank you.”

“Okay, well, holler if you need me.”
 

Jake lumbers to his bedroom, and I trudge to mine, taking full note that there is no TV in the living room, if you could call it a living room.
 

 
One thing about my brother, and I love him to death, is that he is capable of the most foul of odors. Sometimes I think he purposely adjusts his diet to maximize the degree of stench that he can produce. He takes great pleasure in this, like some kind of demented science experiment.
 
When I get into the room, I notice he’s taken the top bunk. I’m afraid that no amount of perfume or flowers will be able to mask the scent of sweaty sneakers and flatulence.
 

 
I throw my bags down and fall into bed. I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and try to focus on everything that’s great in my life… At least I have a bed. I have a roof over my head. And I’ve got my little brother, stinky sneakers and all.

 
“Are you hungry?” I ask.

 
Noah peers over the edge of the bunk and nods.

“I’ll see what I can drum up.”

 
In the kitchen, I yank open the fridge, and I can’t say I’m surprised at what I see. The entire contents of the refrigerator comes down to this: seven beers, a half-empty bottle of ketchup, a restaurant style packet of yellow mustard, and three slices of moldy white bread.

“I was going to go by the store today, but I got a little sidetracked,” says Jake, stumbling out from his bedroom.

“I’ll run to the store tomorrow, I guess,” I say.

“Toss me another beer, would you?”

“Don’t you think you ought to slow down a little?”

“Hey, beer’s got an expiration date too.”

“Somehow I don’t think you have to worry about that,” I say, tossing a cold can across the room. “What did you mean when you said critters?
 
Like, raccoons?”

 
Jake chuckles, “I don’t think it was raccoons that done this.”

“Done what?”

“Well, I don’t know if I should go into detail before bedtime,” Jake says.

“You can tell me.”

“Mrs. Williams—they found her body not two miles from here, mauled by some type of animal. Probably a bear. Maybe a mountain lion. At least that’s what the sheriff thinks.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“You and Noah should stick close to the house. Don’t go wandering off too far into the woods, especially at night.”

 
Jake disappears into his room. I stand in the kitchen for a moment, dumbfounded. Thanks to uncle Jake, “mauled by animal” is now something that I am doomed to add to my list of things to worry about. As if that list needs to be any longer.

CHAPTER 3

I AM SOMEWHERE in between the frozen pizza and the ice cream when reality kicks in. I can’t hold it back any longer. Tears stream down my cheek and my chest heaves with uncontrollable sobs. What a perfect place to have a meltdown—in the middle of the frozen food aisle. I lean back against the cold glass casing, sliding down to the floor. Covering my face with my hands, I try to stem the relentless tide of tears, wiping them away as fast as I can, but I’m no match. These tears have been brewing for months.

“Madison…?” A vaguely familiar voice calls out.

I brush away my tears and peer through strands of hair up at the voice with my puffy, red eyes.

 
“Maddie, is that you?”

 
The voice belongs to a cute, perky young girl with wavy black hair. She’s gorgeous, with long, tanned legs, prominently displayed by a dangerously short skirt. Her outfit is meticulously coordinated—earrings, bracelet, handbag. Her style is impeccable.
 

“Jennifer?” I ask.

“Madison James, it is you,” she says, kneeling down to me. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I was looking for chocolate chip mint. They didn’t have it,
 
drama ensued,” I sniffle.
 

Jennifer chuckles, “Glad to see you’re still a smart-ass,” she says, helping me to my feet.
 

I try to pull myself together.

“I’m so sorry to hear about your parents,” she says.
 

“How do you know about that?”

“It’s a small town, news travels fast.”

“Right…” I say, nodding.

I had forgotten what small-town life was like. How all of your innermost secrets became the subject of public discourse among the town. I hadn’t even contemplated the fact that I would lose every ounce of privacy by moving here.

Every summer growing up, Jennifer and I were thick as thieves for the two weeks that I came to visit with my parents. Temporary best friends.
 
We’d keep in touch, writing each other letters for a few weeks after each visit. Then our friendship would slowly fade until my next visit, where we would always pick up just where we left off.
 

 
“What are you doing tonight?” she says.

 
“I don’t know, I was just going to chill out and read a book.”
 

 
“Nonsense. You’re coming out with me. There’s a bonfire out at Miller’s field.”

“I don’t think I’m ready for people.”

“There’s gonna be cute guys,” she teases.

“I’m definitely not ready for that.”

“Or girls, if that’s what you’re into?”

“No, I’m… the last thing I need is a boyfriend.”
 

“It’s settled, I’ll pick you up at seven. Wear something sexy,” she bubbles.

 
Before I can mumble out an objection, Jennifer disappears down the aisle. Jennifer always seems to get exactly what she wants. She always did when we were younger. Resistance is futile.

 
At home, I cook dinner for Jake and Noah, and it seems like the first real meal Jake has had in a long time. I have a sneaking suspicion he’s been living on take-out and beer since the last time we came to visit.

 
Like clockwork, there is a knock at the door at exactly 7 PM. I excuse myself from the table and grab the door.

“I said sexy,” Jennifer says, eying me up and down with disapproval. “This… not sexy.” Apparently my jeans, long-sleeved shirt, and down jacket aren’t a good match for Jennifer’s miniskirt and high heels.

“It’s cold outside,” I say.

“Beauty is pain.”

 
I sigh, “Come in, I’ll get changed.”
 

Jennifer steps into the trailer with a look on her face like she’s walking into a toxic waste dump. “Jake, you remember Jennifer, don’t you?”

“I killed a lot of brain cells since then, but… you look kind of familiar,” Jake says.

“I bet you don’t remember me either, do you, Noah?” Jennifer asks.

 
Noah shakes his head and keeps eating.

 
Jennifer follows me back into the bedroom and her nose twists up into a bunch as she enters the room. “What’s that smell?”

“Don’t ask,” I say.

I rummage through what little clothes I have, looking for Jennifer’s approval. After several definite
no’s
, we finally settle on a little black halter top dress. I peel off my jeans and T-shirt and wiggle into the little, black glove of a dress. It's so tight it leaves nothing to the imagination—I feel so out of my element. I’m a jeans and T-shirt kind of girl, and I’ve already got goosebumps from the chill in the air.