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With a groan, I got out of the car, sliding my keys into the pocket of my jeans, and we started up the path to the front door. A creaking gothic structure, all painted in black, it was exactly the house you’d imagine someone like Aunt Marie to live in. People said it was haunted, but I was more or less certain that the only things haunting it were the spiders living underneath the floorboards on the rickety wooden porch.
“Boys!” Aunt Marie was standing in the doorway. How did she always know we were coming? Looking at her now, dressed in some flowing black dress with her wild black curls around her face, it was easy to see why we’d thought she was a witch when we were kids. The reality was that she was an artist, a successful one at that, and her “fortune telling” was nothing more than being exceptionally good at reading people. She loved playing up the witch angle over Halloween, though, scaring the local kids.
We followed her into her cluttered kitchen and took a seat at the oak table. Kian smirked when I got stuck with the chair with the wobbly leg, and I glared at him.
Aunt Marie busied herself at the ancient stove, pouring water from the whistling kettle into the teapot, then carried it over to the table. “Tea?” Without waiting for a reply, she began setting out cups and saucers in front of us. I picked at the fleck of dried paint on the side of my cup before leaning back in my seat, careful not to put my weight on the wobbly chair leg.
Marie’s soft murmur filled the quiet kitchen as she lifted the lid from the pot, swirling the tea inside with a spoon. “One hides behind a mask. One has a secret. Beware the false one. You will lose your heart if you do not heed the warning signs.”
Kian and I exchanged glances. “Which one of us was that aimed at?” I asked, although I knew I wouldn’t get a reply. She never explained her riddles and I’d given up on trying to figure them out.
“Raine!”
The loud croak made both Kian and I jump. There was a flurry of wings, and Picasso landed on the table in front of me. He cocked his head, staring at me with one beady eye. “Raine!” He hopped closer. “Raine!”
I glared at the raven. I couldn’t fucking get away from Raine, even here.
“Picasso.” Aunt Marie snapped her fingers, and he hopped to her shoulder, like some giant black parrot.
“Is he implying it’s going to rain?” Kian glanced out of the window at the clear skies, and then eyed the bird distrustfully.
“I don’t think he was talking about the weather,” I muttered under my breath.
Aunt Marie ignored us both, deciding the tea was steeped enough, and began pouring it into our cups. I picked mine up, steeling myself against the bitter liquorice flavour.
Fuck. It was disgusting.
Kian didn’t even bother attempting to drink his, clicking his fingers at the raven. Picasso obediently flew down and buried his head in the cup. I rolled my eyes at Kian and tapped at my watch.
He nodded, flashing five fingers. “Where’s the table you want me to move?” he asked Aunt Marie, breaking the silence. She stood, and he followed her out of the kitchen, while I was left alone. Idly, I scrolled through my phone, attempting to ignore Picasso’s pointed looks. Somehow, I found myself scrolling through Raine’s social media. Kian was right—there were hardly any photos of her other than a few she’d been tagged in, where she wasn’t the main focus.
“Raine!”
“Shut up.”
Fucking raven.
15
The raven had been taunting me, but that was nothing compared to the effect of seeing Raine in person, in my house. She’d been avoiding me at school all week, so I hadn’t seen her. Not that I’d been looking…or checking her social media accounts.
Lies.
Coming to a halt at the bottom of the stairs, my eyes went straight to her. She stood in the foyer with her aunt and my dad, lashes sweeping down, her gaze focused on the floor rather than on me. The familiar burn of anger hit me as I saw her standing there, but it was almost smothered by the need pulsing through my veins. I took her
in. Her long, thick hair, hanging down her back instead of up in a ponytail, a black dress that clung to her curves, and down to those boots. The same boots she’d worn at Fright Night. How could I hate and want someone so much? Why the fuck couldn’t I want someone else? Anyone else. Someone my dad didn’t see as perfect, someone who hadn’t lied to me and pretended to be someone she wasn’t.
Eventually she raised her eyes to mine, and the hurt in them, directed straight at me, was clear. It was almost enough to make me feel bad for what I’d done. Almost.
My dad cleared his throat, giving me a pointed glance. Gritting my teeth, I straightened up, slipping on the same polite mask I used around Raine and her aunt, and pasted a smile on my face. So this was why he’d cornered me earlier and instructed me to dress smartly.
“Pam. Raine,” I greeted. “This is an unexpected surprise.” Unexpected and fucking unwanted.
Speaking over me as usual, my dad placed a hand on the small of Raine’s aunt’s back. “Pam, come on through. Delia’s just—” He was interrupted by the loud chime of the doorbell, and a smile spread across his face. A smile that filled me with apprehension.
I soon found out why. Our housekeeper, Joan, appeared with Sanjay Patel in tow. As in, Professor Patel, my English teacher.
“Carter.” He didn’t look all that pleased to see me. Unsurprising really, since we both knew that I was only in his class thanks to the pressure from my parents. Neither of us wanted me there.
