Deadly Darlings (October Darlings Book 2) Read online

  He’s decked out in his work shirt and jeans, deftly arranging calculators on the wall behind him and running his eyes around the room every few minutes. Muscles moving, light hair falling into his honey-colored eyes, and an air of confidence exuding off him, it’s easy to forgive how often he’s bailed on me lately.

  “Come on,” I wheedle, “please? You haven’t even shown up to the dining hall for dinner. I actually let Sabrina drag me to that vegan place she loves so much. It was loud and crowded and I spent way too much money there.”

  “Yeah, I know babe, I’m sorry,” Ellis apologizes over his shoulder. “I think I signed up for too many classes this semester, I’m super overwhelmed. But if I don’t work enough hours here...”

  “I know, I know.” I wave my hand and drop my shoulders. It’s no use. He isn’t going to come. I miss the days when he was laid back and fun. Of course, I also miss the days when my life didn’t revolve around seeing dead people.

  Ellis finishes stocking the calculators, flattens the cardboard box they came in, and then shuffles around to the front of the counter. Dodging a display of hand sanitizers and lip balms, he reaches my spot by the door and pulls me into his arms.

  “Hey,” he murmurs, searching my face with remorse, “I really am sorry. I promise, next semester will be different.”

  My head is aching, and I want nothing more than to pull him out into the rain and spend my lunch break recounting everything over the last few days. But there are already lines under his eyes. Mixing him up in even more of the oddities of my life doesn't seem fair. So instead, I clasp my hands behind his neck and play with the slight curl at the end of his hair.

  “I know it will be.” I smile, holding the expression for just a beat too long. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll figure out the schedule thing soon enough.” Pressing my cheek to his chest, I breathe in deeply trying to figure out where to go from here.

  Ellis kisses the top of my head, and steps away as a customer approaches the register. “I’ve got to go,” he says. “Oh, and Addie, don’t forget— I’ve got a show this weekend!”

  I wave as I walk to the door. Work, classes, and a band. Ellis is becoming the epitome of an overzealous college student. Then again, maybe I’m just a slacker. It’s not like I’ve ever worried too seriously about my grades. Most classes come easy to me, and the ones that don’t... I honestly just haven’t bothered much.

  Making a mental note to jot down the details Ellis had texted me about the gig onto the giant calendar Sabrina’s pinned to our wall, I pull my jacket closed and step outside. The bell rings as the door swings shut behind me, and a gale of wind sends an onslaught of water off a nearby tree straight into my face. Spluttering, I wipe the raindrops from my eyes, and stumble to the side of the steps. A folded square of paper sticks to my heel, and staring at it as I peel it from my sole, a shiver runs up my spine.

  The Ghouls of Blackwood: Ghost tour and monster guide extraordinaire!

  The dark green pamphlet is water-stained, but the thick ink is clearly legible. Emblazoned with garish depictions of open crypts and a cartoon that looks like it might be a werewolf, the sodden paper in my hands should be something to laugh at and toss away. Only, I can’t.

  Because at the bottom of one of the mausoleums depicted on the cover is a tomb with a very familiar scorpion hanging on its door. Illustration or not, the similarity of the crypt door to the scorpion hanging about my wrist is too large to be ignored. As far as I’m aware, Frank is one of a kind, and all of my Nix ancestors were buried in the private cemetery in the back of our house.

  Brushing my fingers across the drawing, bits of paper clings to my skin and the ink smudges, leaving a streak of grey across the page. Before I can so much as tuck the pamphlet away, the sound of scraping across the concrete hits my ears.

  Everyone around me goes about their day in the fading rain. Professors stride along the sidewalk with cases in their hands, students laugh and joke with one another as they meander to wherever their class or dormitory lies. A couple of people even pause to coax the stray cats out from beneath the trees they're so partial to lounging under. I’m the only one cringing from the slow, deliberate noise.

  Okay then, the haunting isn’t just contained to the courtyard or basement. On the plus side, I seem to be the only one bothered by it, so hopefully whatever murderous spirit is lurking about... it's not strong enough to actually hurt anybody.

  Not wanting to stick around any longer, I fold the damp brochure in half and shove it in my jacket pocket. Moving as quickly as I can, I decide to blow off the rest of today’s classes. I can grab a snack on the way to my room and then contact Marlowe when I get there. And if she doesn't answer, then maybe it’s time to give Delia a call. The plus side of coming from a family of clairvoyants is that there’s usually someone else with an answer. And if the dead can’t help me, I'll talk to the living.

  As I hurry along, the sound grows louder, and I hunch my shoulders in an effort to not look back. Frank scuttles onto my shoulder, and perched beside my ear, I can hear him snapping his claws in agitation. Every few feet, a living scorpion will run across the pavement, like a tiny army waiting to assemble. Because they’re perfectly normal arachnids, and it’s only Frank’s magic that has any effect on them, but every time I blink, violet flashes behind my eyelids.

  Picking up my pace, I’m careful not to step on the allies Frank is calling forth. Stray roots lift and crack the uneven sidewalk, and stumbling along, I clench my jaw tight as the noise continues. Rain hits the back of my neck and head, and then an arm shoots out from behind a large tree trunk.

  “Careful!” Tomas hisses, dragging me into the shadow with him. “Can’t you hear it?”

  Too startled to lie, I shove my fists against his chest and struggle for some space. He smells like sage and tobacco, and his dark hair is slick with rain. Droplets course down his face, and his pale eyes are flashing with concern.

  “Of course, I hear it!” I snap back in a hoarse whisper. “Why do you think I was walking so fast?”

  Instead of answering, Tomas lifts a finger to his mouth, beckoning me to be silent. Jerking his head to the side, he releases me, but keeps one hand on the middle of my back.

  The shrill shriek of metal scraping sounds above the dropping rain and shifting tree branches, and just like the other night, my stomach drops. Even without seeing its shape, I can feel the darkness emanating from its approach.

  I let Tomas guide me into the nearest building, glancing around every few seconds until the glass door swings shut behind us. We’re alone in a deserted hallway and I can still hear the scraping circling around outside, but something about being in these walls keeps it at bay.

  Tomas checks a couple of different doors before finding one unlocked, and with his jaw tight and his shoulders tense, he waves me inside. Instead of entering, I set my feet apart, cross my arms, and give him the best glare I’ve got.

  “Stop acting like you’re standing between me and death,” I tell him. “I know how to handle spirits. What I don’t know is why you can sense them too.”

  “That’s my business, not yours,” he retorts curtly. “But I am standing between you and death and it’s getting really tiresome, so can you do me a favor and stop being so moody?”

  “The hell, it’s not my business!” I drop my fists to my hips and I’m about two seconds away from stomping my feet like a kid. “And stop it with the hero act,” I add. “I’ve killed a demon, so whatever little poltergeist is around here, I can take care of myself.”

  Irritation fuels my overly confident claims, but even as the words spew out of my mouth, my stomach is tossing in complaint. The truth is, I have no idea what kind of dark force I’m working with here. And as for the demon... that was more Frank and some luckily placed plants.

  Tomas jerks his arm back, alarm drawing over his face the instant I say the word demon, and I swear a speck of fear floats to the forefront of his collected facade. “If that’s true,” he asks onc
e he recovers, “then why haven’t you already gotten rid of it? You must have noticed, Addie. Wherever you go, the spirit is following.”

  This time, shock drives prickles of fear into my limbs, making it nearly impossible to move. The air at my back is frigid and threatening, and goosebumps race up my arms. “So, what? You’re saying this thing is after me specifically?” I roll my eyes, but my jaw shakes as I struggle to keep my tone even.

  “I think it recognizes the people with the power to bring it down. And if we’re not careful, it’s going to come after us before we can get to it.”

  “So, then you are a clairvoyant.” I point at him, drawing closer to keep an eye on his expressions.

  “No, I’m really not.” He shifts his weight from one side to the next, sighing nervously. “I’m something... stranger.”

  “Stranger than a person that talks to the dead?” I raise an eyebrow at him and re-cross my arms. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s your brand of weird?”

  Tomas stares me straight in the eyes, drawing me in with the same magnetic pull that drew my breath away the first time we spoke. “I’m a shifter.”

  “Uhm, I’m sorry, what was that?” Frank clicks one tiny pincer near my neck, and without straining to glance down at him, I know his tiny iron head is cocked to the side and he’s as flummoxed as I am. Is this guy really insinuating he’s some kind of werewolf? What kind of mindless movie plot have I wandered into?

  “Shifter. Like a shapeshifter,” Tomas grumbles, and I swear he’s shifting about in embarrassment. “I know you know about magic.” Both of his eyebrows skyrocket upwards as he motions to my shoulder. “You literally have a sentinel crawling around in your hair, right now.”

  “Wait, how do you know about sentinels?” It’s not like I’ve made any attempt to purposefully hide Frank from Tomas like I do with normal people, but that’s only because I figured if he could see ghosts, he’d notice the purple haze that usually surrounds my wrist whenever Frank poses as a bracelet. But I’ve never known anyone else to ever use the term sentinel.

  “I told you, I’m a shifter. I exist as much in the in-between as you do. Hold on, do you not know about everything?” Tomas frowns, reevaluating me in an awkward show of staring me up and down.

  What does he expect to find? A stamped dictionary listing all my knowledge floating above my head. I mean, I guess I see people’s regrets hovering around them... but that’s different.

  Instead of responding, I clear my throat and stride past him into the deserted classroom, head held high. As odd as this conversation’s turning, a little added privacy might be a good thing after all. Dropping my bag into a seat, I slide onto a tabletop, swinging my boots up to rest on the back of a chair. Tomas flits one last look into the hall behind him, locks the door behind us, and dumps a few textbooks out onto the table beside me.

  “In case anyone wonders what we’re up to in here,” he mutters in response to my puzzled expression. “Now tell me everything you know about magic and spirits, and I promise I’ll tell you everything I know about shifters and everything else.”

  “How do I know you’re not just going to laugh at me?” Marlowe’s bemused face floats into my mind, her question about trust nagging at my gut.

  Tomas pulls his mouth to the side in half a grin and exhales quickly through his nose. “I’ve done my best to protect you multiple times from an angry spirit, and you’re willingly sitting in a locked room with me. If you didn’t trust me, I’d probably have a black eye and you’d be halfway across campus by now. Which means, you can believe when I say I absolutely will not laugh at whatever you have to say.”

  Narrowing my eyes at him, I toss my head to the side and wait as Frank scurries down my outstretched arm to rest on the back of my hand. “Okay then. So, how do you know you can trust me? I mean, a guy claiming to be able to turn into an animal... sounds pretty weird. How do you know I won’t go telling everyone?”

  “Because I saw the way you watched out for Sabrina. You aren’t that type of person.”

  Clearing my throat again, I brush damp hair away from my face and meet Tomas’ gaze. He’s as serious as ever, with his lips parted ever so slightly in consternation and his eyebrows pulled down so far, a line squiggles up his forehead in a cartoonish frown.

  “Okay. Here’s the deal. My full name is Adeline Nix, and yeah. I’m a clairvoyant," I say. What difference does it make if I spill the beans now? His sister has probably figured everything out anyway.

  “If you’re from anywhere around here, you’ve probably heard about this big, haunted house about an hour outside of the city. That’s Nix House. My house. My ancestors made some kind of deal to make us what we are. I’m not sure on the details, but I know our gift came into power when a pair of sisters massacred a group of men who had killed half of their family. Since then, anyone in my family born in the month of October, becomes a clairvoyant.

  On top of that, I have evidence my mother was some kind of witch. She died when I was little, so besides Frank, here,” I gesture to the scorpion now curled up in a ball on my hand, “I’m not sure what magic she was able to do.”

  “You’re a clairvoyant and a witch?” There’s no mistaking the alarm in his eyes now; Tomas is freaking out. “Well, crap! No wonder that thing is slinking around the place. Do you have any idea how rare you are?”

  “Rare? I’m not a freaking trading card. I’m a person!” I quickly gather Frank up in the palm of my hand and instinctively curl my shoulders in. Some of Sabrina’s high school friends had the same reaction when they found out about me, and they didn’t even know the magic part. The rest of our class just thought I was a witch to begin with... and that didn’t go over so well either. Being a bruja in this day and age usually gets you ridicule, or straight up fear. I guess it’s better than being burned at a stake, though.

  “That’s not what I meant!” Tomas insists, pinching the bridge of his nose. He sighs heavily, pushing his elbows across the table as he slumps in his seat. “You see magic stuff, right? It glows?” He grumbles into his hands.

  “Yeah.” I frown and straighten out my shoulders. “Ghosts are usually some shade of purple. Why?”

  Tomas looks up, his silvered irises locking onto my face so intensely, heat rushes to my throat and cheeks. I swallow nervously and curl my fingers around the edge of the tabletop, waiting for him to speak.

  “I see them in gold. And more importantly,” he intones gravely, “they can see us too.”

  Blood whooshes through my eardrums as a violent shiver courses through my torso. No wonder the demon was able to track me so easily after sundown last year. I must have lit up like a beacon.

  “Two different types of magic...” Tomas exhales again, shaking his head while pushing a hand through his black hair. “Who knows what color that gives off? But I bet anything with ill intent would flock to you like moths to a flame.”

  “Wait you’re saying, I’m basically like catnip to evil creatures?” I force myself to ask. Frank is hanging off the collar of my tee shirt, burrowing his face into my neck. I raise my shoulder to acknowledge his presence and shut my eyes to stop the world from spinning.

  “No. Catnip makes cats happy. You should be able to take down most the entities that come your way. You’re more like... the sun. Bright, beautiful and powerful, but a bitch to get too near.”

  His phrasing draws me out of my panic long enough to make me scowl.

  “I’m sorry, are you talking about my powers, or just trying to call me names?” I blink several times, sliding off the table, and intent on making my way back to my dorm.

  “No, no!” Tomas catches me by my forearm and pulls himself to his feet. “It’s just starting to make sense why this thing is so set on you. An unfortunate fact, really. Although it could make my job easier.”

  I narrow my eyes at him, all too aware of how closely we’re standing, the heat off his chest, the light grasp he still has on my arm, and the scent of sage that's almost overpowering. It still can’t
hide the faint smell of cigarettes that floats underneath, Sabrina will be sorry to learn. If I ever tell her about this, that is.

  “What exactly is your job? Howling at the moon?” I scoff.

  “What? No!” He drops my arm and takes a step back, stumbling over an extension cord someone left lying on the floor. “I’m not a dog.” Tomas grimaces and rubs at the back of his neck. “I’m a gallowbird. I take down evil spirits by shredding their souls.”

  The air between us grows so thick, it’s a wonder it isn’t some awful, toxic slime pushing its way around me. He’s silent, I’m silent, and Frank snaps one claw shut with an audible click that makes me jump.

  Several seconds later, when it’s apparent I can’t do anything except stare at him wordlessly, Tomas kicks at the extension cord and shoves his hands in his pockets.

  “That sounds worse that it is,” he murmurs. “I’ve never actually had to do that. Well, I’m supposed to, though. My sister as well. We can sense spirits and turn into... giant birds.” He sneaks a peek at me, and his cheekbones are visibly splotched with pink. “Ravens, actually. Most of the magic we have is defense-based illusions and the ability to talk to black birds. You know, like crows and grackles?”

  “Uh huh.” I nod slowly, reaching for my bag without taking my eyes off his nervous form. The leather jacket slung over his shoulders hides most of his frame, a thin iron colored chain glimmers at the top of his shirt. “So, I'm just going to... process this for a few minutes. You’re fine, we’re fine. This is completely normal.” Pressing my fingers to my forehead, I exhale. “Uhm, why wouldn’t my aunt have told me about gallowbirds? I know she doesn't believe in magic, but this seems like a big oversight. Why am I even asking you? You don’t even know her.”

  Tomas opens his mouth to reply, but before he can get a word out, there’s a click at the door, and a wary looking janitor sticks his head in. The older gentleman does not look pleased to see us but is far too interested in recovering the forgotten cord than in grilling us.