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It’s definitely not the place a ten-year-old girl needs to be visiting at any time of day. When I first pulled up to it in the van the other day, I was ready to tell Graveyard there was no way in hell we were staying there. I’d rather risk it on the streets. And here Charlie is casually wandering over there and speaking with the gang members. Christ, what have I gotten us into?
“What do you mean Cassandra was worried about her friend?” I ask, focusing on the least infuriating part of the story.
“Hex can see Cassandra,” she says simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “He sees all the ghosts. A few years ago, they had to save him from this bad man and—”
“Maybe you should spend a little less time with Cassandra.” I put my hand up to stop her. It’s more than I can take. I knew the men here had strange gifts, but a grown man who sees ghosts is beyond the pale. “In fact, you can’t go back over there again,” I tell her in my most authoritative tone.
This, of course, is the wrong thing to say to her. The color drains from her face. I feel the tantrum coming on. It’ll be the same as always. She’ll accuse me of not caring about her and wanting her to be miserable. She’ll tell me she wishes I’d leave her alone and let her live her own life. Because at ten, she has it all figured out and doesn’t need anyone.
Sure enough, these are the exact words that angrily fall off her lips in her high-pitched scream. Tears spring to her eyes as she stomps her feet and gesticulates wildly at me. This is nothing I haven’t dealt with before, especially not from her. Her words don’t sting any less. I sit there and take it, wishing I could make her see how much I do care, how much I’ve put myself at risk to help her.
“I’ve finally found somewhere that feels like home. People who like me the way I am, and you want to take it all away!” she screams, her face growing redder and redder by the second. “I hate you! I wish you were dead!”
That one is new. It cuts me like a knife. Coming from her, especially.
“You don’t mean that.” I try to keep the emotion out of my voice. “I know you’re upset, Charlie, but we have to be careful. We don’t know these people, not even Pocus and Abigail. We have to keep our guard up and—”
“Stop telling me what to do!” she screams at the top of her lungs. I swear I hear glass break somewhere in the house.
I’m about to get up and walk away. There’s nothing else I can do. I won’t sink to her level and scream at her. She needs to let her feelings out, and I need to let her. But then she drops to the floor, convulsing like she did the other night at the diner.
I spring to my feet, desperate to do something. I hastily grab my phone in my pocket and pull it out, nearly dropping it because my hands are shaking so badly. The screen is blurry as I try to concentrate on the task at hand.Call Graveyard, call Graveyard, call Graveyard, I keep thinking, but my fingers fumble over the screen.
Somehow, I manage to call him and breathlessly tell him what’s happening. I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience, watching this all from a distance. I don’t remember what I told him, not sure if the words are English, but I hear him say he’ll be here as soon as he can.
I reach out to comfort Charlie somehow, but the moment I touch her, she turns her head to the side and starts vomiting blood. Shit, shit, shit! She’s never done this before, and I feel completely helpless. The door bangs open, and I see Tory standing there, looking determined.
She strides over to us and lays her hand over Charlie’s body. I’m about to warn her to stop, that touching her will only make it worse. At that moment, Charlie’s body stills. I’m amazed and peer up at Tory in astonishment, but she isn’t looking at me. Her focus is on Charlie. Her lips move, words falling from them that definitely aren’t English. I see Charlie’s face relax.
She sits up slowly and wipes her mouth as if nothing has happened. She looks at Tory, grateful. To my utter amazement, she throws her arms around the woman’s neck. In turn, Tory holds her in a tight embrace and rubs her back, saying sweet, motherly things. This isn’t a side of Charlie I’ve ever experienced. A pang of jealousy sweeps over me but I push it aside, feeling ridiculous.
Charlie stands up on shaky legs with Tory’s help. Tory instructs her to go get a glass of water. As Charlie leaves, Tory turns her attention to me, a sympathetic look on her face.
“Don’t worry about the blood,” she says. “Trust me, we’re experts at cleaning it up.”
With that, she stands and follows Charlie. In a moment, she’s returned with some clear bottles and an old rag. She scrubs the blood out of the carpet. She works quickly and efficiently, and like magic, the blood disappears in seconds. I haven’t moved, too stunned by the last few minutes to process anything.
Tory gets up again. This time, I follow her into the kitchen. Charlie sits at the counter, slowly sipping her water and looking very weak. All things considered, though, she could be worse off. She doesn’t look nearly as bad as I feel.
Tory discards the rag and puts the bottles back before scrubbing her hands for several minutes. When she’s finished, she walks back over to Charlie and asks her permission to grab her hands. Once again, I’m shocked when Charlie nods. Tory closes her eyes and stands there in a trance-like state for another few minutes in silence. Then again, she probably is in a trance given everything I’ve picked up about this place.
When she comes to, she gives Charlie a reassuring smile and tells her to go upstairs to lie down for a little while. Charlie hugs her again and walks out of the kitchen, not sparing me a glance. It’s as if I don’t exist.
I sigh heavily and sink down into a chair at the kitchen table, laying my head on my arms. I hear a loudthunk. I look up to see Tory has placed a tumbler of a brown liquid in front of me.
“Bourbon.” She pulls out the chair next to me. “You look like you could use it.”
I drink gratefully, not meeting her eye. “What the hell just happened?” I whisper, dazed.
“Your sister has a very powerful gift,” Tory says softly. “I think you know that.”
I nod heavily.
“She’s going to be okay, for now,” she goes on, her voice becoming sad. “But without proper training, it will eat her alive. I’ve never met anyone with such a powerful gift.”
“Neither have I,” I whisper, not even thinking.
Tory grabs my hand, forcing me to look up at her. She smiles warmly at me, trying to be comforting, I suppose. But all I feel is fear. I’ve bit off more than I can chew here, and we both know it.
