Insidious: (The Marked Mage Chronicles, Book 1) Page 4

  “Imagine the worst case scenario and multiply it by twenty,” I moaned. “She was in full-blown damage control mode. My mom convinced the police to release an official statement saying that I hadn’t been drinking that night, but by the sounds of the conversations she’s been having with my dad, it doesn’t sound like everyone in town is buying the story.”

  “Where is your dad?” queried Vanessa. “The garage door was open when we pulled up, but I didn’t see his car.

  “He’s still in Arizona,” I said.

  Both Carly and Vanessa’s eyes widened at the clarification.

  “Wait, you mean he flew back there, right? He did come home to see you,” Carly urged.

  I shook my head. “It’s not that big of a deal though. My mom couldn’t get a hold of him until after she already found out I was okay, so by the time they talked, I guess he figured it wasn’t worth flying all the way home. It’s fine.”

  Carly gritted her teeth. “Yeah, right.”

  “It is, really. He’s in the middle of finalizing a huge merger, so…you know.” The room fell silent, forcing me to address the elephant in the room. “I can’t go.”

  “Not feeling well?” asked Vanessa, gently brushing the hair from my eyes.

  “It’s my fault.” I hadn’t actually uttered those words out loud since the accident, and the moment I heard them, I buried my face back into my pillows with a sob.

  “That’s not true,” Carly assured as V ran a hand up and down my arm. “You weren’t the one behind the wheel.”

  “Yeah, and he wouldn’t have been either if it wasn’t for me,” I cried. “Blaine’s dead!”

  Vanessa tried soothing me as Carly returned my comforter to the bed.

  “It’s all my fault,” I sniveled.

  “No one thinks that, and neither should you. The police even said so. There was an animal in the road. It could have happened to anyone,” Carly confirmed. “You can’t blame yourself for that. Accidents are just that; Accidents. We can’t control them no more than we can control the weather. It’s out of our hands. You’re obviously going through survivor’s remorse, but that’s exactly what you should be grateful for. You’re a survivor. Considering how bad the crash was, it’s a miracle you walked away at all, let alone with next to no injuries.” She plopped down next to Vanessa on the bedside. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want. If at any time during the service you feel like it’s too much, we’ll go.”

  “It might be good to, you know, be around others who are grieving as well,” added V. “You’re not alone.”

  “I’m a total mess,” I murmured.

  “We’d figured you would be,” Carly chuckled, flashing me a large department shopping bag.

  ***

  I took a quick shower, and Vanessa helped do my hair as I applied some makeup at my vanity mirror.

  “How long were you in the hospital?” she asked hesitantly, continuing to wrap sections of my blonde locks around the barrel of my curling iron.

  “About a day and a half.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yeah, the doctors said I only suffered superficial injuries, so they just kept me for observation.”

  “You’re lucky,” Vanessa sighed as Carly kept sorting through the lot of clothing options she brought with.

  “How about this one?” Carly pulled out a low-cut, black mini dress from the bag.

  “Car, it’s a funeral; not a nightclub,” remarked Vanessa. “She cannot go in that.”

  “Why not? I’m wearing this.” Carly disrobed from her pea coat, revealing a black haltered dress with a dangerously plunging neckline.

  “Are you kidding?” barked V.

  “What? It’s still black,” she argued. “And what’s wrong with wanting to look your best?”

  “Your best doesn’t require your boobs to be propped up and put on display for everyone to see.”

  “Please just give me something,” I finally mumbled. “I’ll take a freaking poncho at this point.”

  Vanessa took control from there, handing me a black brocade dress that fell respectfully to the knees. I headed over to the bathroom to change when a loud thud struck the window closest to me. We all shrieked, jumping back from the pane.

  “What the hell was that?” yelped Carly.

  I hesitantly made my way over to the window, looking down at the ground. A small black clump lay beside the flowerbed below. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

  “What is it?”

  “It looks like a bird flew into the house.”

  “Oooh.” Carly had a total soft spot for animals, so she promptly jumped to action.

  “V, can you-”

  “Sorry, Car,” Vanessa interrupted. “I love your go-to attitude and everything, but I’m not good with blood and all that. Besides, isn’t that, like, a bad omen or something? A bird hitting your house?”

  “That’s just an old wives tale,” huffed Carly. “Kat, would you mind helping me?”

  “No problem,” I said, following her out of the room.

  “V, can you at least get a blanket or a large towel along with a box? If the bird’s still alive, I’ll need to handle it properly.”

  I gave Carly a pair of handy gloves to use as we headed outside. We walked down the front porch over to the small garden, seeing the little broken body resting beneath the window.

  “Oh, you poor thing.” Carly crouched down in front of the fallen bird, observing its body. The animal lay motionless, and it didn’t appear to be breathing either. Car still picked it up for good measure, just in case there was something she could still do.

  “How does it look, Doc?”

  “Her neck’s broken. She’s already gone.” Carly set the body back down. “I’m gonna go grab a plastic bag so we can dispose of it.”

  She took off the gloves and headed back inside.

  R…R…Ruff-ruff!

  “Oh, no.”

  Paws clacked up the driveway, and no sooner when I turned did a big, wet snout come barreling into my face.

  “Stanley!”

  The black and white spaniel bounced about like Tigger the Tiger on crack cocaine. He started sniffing my shoes, and the dog’s eyes then pinpointed to the raven’s body.

  “Stanley, don’t!” I lunged for the bird, narrowly managing to sweep up its tiny frame and raise it above my head to ensure Stanley and his drooling chops couldn’t reach it.

  “Stanley,” whined Mrs. Corvets two houses down. “Stanley, get over here, and stop harassing the poor girl!”

  The dog’s ears drooped at the command.

  A cracking noise erupted from my hands, and I immediately lowered the bird back down to eye level. The raven’s once crooked collar was now snapped into place, and its contorted wing suddenly twisted and set itself back into the socket.

  “What the…?”

  The bird’s chest puffed up quickly and deflated a beat later.

  Puffed up and deflated.

  Again.

  And again.

  Mrs. Corvets howled something, and Stanley seemed to finally relent to the order, trotting slowly across the lawn back to his owner.

  A soft tweet resonated from within my hands, and the bird’s eyes flung open.

  “Holy crap!”

  The bird shot out of my hands, its wings fluttering crazily. I instinctively began swatting, trying to get the frightened creature out of my face. Last thing I needed was a plucked eyeball!

  “Oh my God!” exclaimed Mrs. Corvets as the raven finally flew away. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

  I nodded dazedly, still unsure as to what the hell just happened.

  “Hey.”

  I jumped, turning to see Carly standing behind me again.

  “Where’s the bird?” she asked, looking over my shoulder to observe the flowerbed.

  I still couldn’t find an answer.

  Car’s eyes settled on Stanley as he galloped back over to his owner’s yard. “Eww. He didn’t…you know, take it, did he
?”

  It was an easier explanation, I suppose, so I just nodded again.

  “That’s so gross.”

  ***

  “I can’t do this.” I started backpedaling through the mass of people in the main aisle when Vanessa and Carly both caught hold of my arm, coaxing me forward.

  “Yes, you can. You’re doing fine,” V assured.

  “Why the hell did I agree to this? Everyone’s staring at me,” I muttered.

  “No, they’re not.”

  It wasn’t my imagination. Everyone was. The entire congregation seemed to pause in the midst of their actions the moment my presence was made aware. The Ryders weren’t particularly religious, so Blaine’s mother had chosen to hold the service at their family’s sprawling estate. And no expense seemed to be wasted by the looks of it. The entire banquet hall had been refurnished with everything from pews to even an altar. Whispers filled the hall’s warm, stagnant air as V and Car ushered me to a vacant section of a nearby pew.

  I heard an indistinct murmur come from behind me as I headed over to the space, and a sharp whack echoed immediately after. I turned around to see Tiffany Albright rubbing the top of her head before my eyes caught sight of the rolled up brochure in Carly’s hand. I cut Vanessa a look, and she grimaced as the three of us sat.

  “Should I ask what that was about?” I whispered.

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re a terrible liar, V.” I leaned over to see Carly giving Tiffany a slew of crude hand gestures.

  “Yeah, like I’m the only one here thinking it,” Albright remarked back.

  “Hey,” Carly finally snapped, her voice sneering above a whisper. “Unless you want us all to be hearing your eulogy next, I’d shut it!”

  Everyone within ear distance turned their attention to us.

  “Will both of you knock it off?” said Vanessa, nodding up at the altar.

  Up until that moment, I had made it a point to not look up there, but alas I finally did. Clawing my fingernails into my thighs, I felt my stomach drop and chest tighten. Beside the closed casket, there was a massive placard with Blaine’s yearbook photo on display, his striking blue eyes and infectious smile beaming back at me. I immediately shielded my eyes with my hand, trying to control the inevitable sob that erupted from my throat.

  Vanessa insisted she switch seats with Carly to put some distance between her and Tiffany, and I couldn’t be more grateful as tears spilled off my lashes.

  Car didn’t miss a beat, immediately coddling her arms around me. I buried my face into her sleeve.

  “It’s okay,” she hushed softly.

  As if someone had gripped my shoulders, I suddenly wrenched upright. The involuntary movement almost caused me to scream. A soothing warmth began spreading across my chest, leaving me in a deeper state of bewilderment.

  “Do not let your heart be troubled.” The words came in a gentle whisper, breathing right into my ear. I whirled around, finding nobody on my opposing side. In the far back of the banquet hall, however, stood a most curious guest. They lingered in the entrance of the corner passageway, an oversized black hoodie hiding their features. The person merely nodded, disappearing into the shadows of the corridor. The warmth was swiftly ripped from my chest, leaving an aching, hollow chill in its place.

  ***

  Mystic Harbor divided into three sections. I, along with the Ryders, lived in the East End where a majority of the upscale residents resided. Some were newer homes, but most were century-old estates, and they all looked like something eerily out of The Stepford Wives. The cemetery was on the whole other side of town, resulting in an exhaustingly long funeral procession. We drove north to the rightly named Old Port, a 19th-century district made up of historic buildings and cobblestone streets. Quaint shops lined the boulevard, moss clinging to the thick roofing slates. With all the antique mold trimmings, handmade bricks, and carved molding doors, it looked just like the design of one of those old novelty village puzzles. It was a particularly gloomy morning, and a heavy blanket of fog had traveled down to the district to cast a subtle glow across the dewy streets. Complimented by the warm gaslights lining the stretch, Old Port remained a place paused in time, like an idyllic English town untouched by modern hands.

  The same couldn’t be said about the south and west ends of town. On the other side of Old Port were all the shopping centers, restaurants, and bars tourists reveled in visiting from just off the harbor. The businesses brought in revenue, but it also brought what my mom’s country club society called “the unfavorable.” Mystic Harbor was built on old money, and the tight knit community didn’t leave much welcomed room for outsiders. So when new businesses boomed, the flock of neighboring locals from less respecting areas gravitated to Mystic Harbor, becoming thorns in the country club’s side.

  One of those said thorns happened to be the Reynolds. Adam’s dad opened up a popular waterfront bar a few years ago off the river, and it had become the local watering hole for those who didn’t drive Porsches and live in seaside castles. I loved it, not only because it gave me a reprieve from Mom since she and the rest of her country club goers refused to travel west of Bowen Street, but because it had become my home away from home...up until recently. It was dubbed The Office, after a running gag. Their novelty shirts read, “Sorry, honey, I’m still at The Office.”

  At last, we arrived at the cemetery.

  “Hey, sweetheart.”

  I froze at the sound of the deep, burly voice. Sure enough, it was Mr. Reynolds. Standing there in beaten up boots, worn jeans, and his iconic racing jacket, he stood out like a sore thumb amongst the other black-clad mourners. I hadn’t seen him at the service, so it came as a surprise to see him here. And I couldn’t be more relieved.

  He opened his arms, and I practically tackled him with his invitation for a hug.

  “Hey, Papa Bear.” I nuzzled my face into his chest, welcoming the comforting aroma of cinnamon and cigarettes that always lingered on his clothes. He easily dwarfed me, which wasn’t that hard given I was only five-three, but he took it to a whole other level. Mr. Reynolds used to be an ultimate fighter, and the years hadn’t robbed him of his muscular physique. The only indication of his age was the sparse gray strands riddled in his copper brown locks and cultivated facial hair. Top the fact that he was six-foot-five and looked like he could take down Wolverine with his bare hands, and I honestly felt like a little kid hugging him.

  It had been hard not being able to have the same relationship with him that we had before Adam and I broke up. He’d become something of a second father to me since moving to town.

  “I didn’t see you at the estate,” I said, peering up at him.

  “I didn’t go. I’d just spotted you in the procession on the way back from the hardware store, and I wanted to see how you were doing.” He planted a kiss on top of my head as I finally pulled away.

  “Been better,” I admitted, noting the handful of mourners eyeing me as they passed by.

  “Hey.” He perched a finger on my chin, redirecting my head in his direction. “Don’t pay any mind to them, okay? Things will get easier. I promise.”

  I gave a meager smile.

  “How about you swing by the bar sometime, give us a chance to talk.”

  “I’d like that,” I affirmed.

  We both noted the last of the cars pulling into the lot, and Mr. Reynolds sighed.

  “I’ll let you go,” he said, giving me one last hug.

  We said our goodbyes, and I fell back into step with Carly and Vanessa. As we walked along with the others to the burial plot, a few girls ahead of us shared in a less than discrete conversation.

  “Why didn’t they have an open casket? My brother knew this one guy who was in a car crash, and his folks still had an open casket,” said one of the girls.

  “Yeah? Was this guy decapitated, too?” remarked her friend sourly.

  “Are you serious?” Her two friends gawked.

  “From what I heard, that wasn’t the
only body part that got taken off,” she confirmed.

  They gagged at the thought, and I immediately slowed my pace.

  “They’re gonna need closed caskets when I’m done with them,” growled Carly as she and V noticed me lingering back.

  “I need some space,” I affirmed. “I’ll see you guys after.”

  “You sure?” asked Vanessa.

  I nodded, heading across the cemetery. A massive black oak tree sat nearby, so I made my way over to it, resting my back against the ridged bark. The funeral was still close enough that I could observe it, but I thankfully couldn’t overhear anything being said by the pastor…or anyone else.

  “Nauseating, isn’t it?”

  I whirled around and stumbled back as a figure appeared from behind the tree. “I’m sorry?”

  Reese Blackburn pushed off the tree bark and strolled out towards me, sporting an expression I couldn’t quite decipher. Resentment? Frustration, maybe. He ruffled a hand through his bed-head brown hair. His clothes weren’t in much better shape. Reese appeared to have pulled his black slacks and matching blazer out of the hamper, as the articles were pressed with wrinkles. It was by far the most disheveled I’d ever seen him look. “The bloviating,” he affirmed.

  There was a large camera dangling from his neck, and when he lifted it up to take a distant snapshot of the service, I caught a better look at his AC/DC ‘Highway to Hell’ t-shirt. Not exactly what you’d call funeral-friendly attire.

  “Obviously no one wants to cast dispersions on some dead guy, so you always hear the same things. ‘He was the nicest, gentlest, sweetest person,’” he drawled flatly. “All a funeral really is is just a social facelift. Put ’em six feet under and any asshole becomes a saint. Just once, I’d like to see a little honesty.”

  “Excuse me?” I finally uttered.

  “What? You disagree?”

  “To your blatant psychosis? Yeah,” I blurted, my tone swiftly shifting from stunned to downright anger.

  He smirked as he lifted his camera again, but I swatted the lens away, ruining the shot.

  “Why the hell are you even here?” I demanded.

  “Trust me; I had better things planned for my morning, but our editor insisted I come here to cover the service. You know, write a touching article about my firsthand account of the tear-wrenching memorial of our beloved quarterback. Yada, yada, yada.”