A Want So Wicked (12 page)

CHAPTER 19

L
ucy's comment haunts me as I lie in bed. I only vaguely remember the conversation from when we were kids, but my sister has always hidden things. Or at least, hidden her feelings. She's told me about her boyfriends, about her friends. But our talks were always under a veil of jokes. I wonder what could be going on with Lucy. I'm scared to ask. I'm scared for her.

I fall into a restless sleep, determined to fix my life, fix my sister's life. And I know the only person who has answers is Marceline. So after work tomorrow, I'm going to her house. And this time I won't let a guy distract me.

When I wake up, I feel exhausted but anxious to get started. I'm working the morning shift for our after-church rush and opt out of going to my father's service, telling him I picked up an extra shift to keep my mind off of Harlin. But that's not true. This is my opportunity to see Marceline.

My father drops me off at Santo's on his way to church, and when I hug him good-bye, he tells me again that he doesn't think I should give up on Harlin. I can't believe he's actually hoping I get a boyfriend, and by the expression on his face, I don't think he can believe it either. But in the end, my father just wants me to be happy. So I appreciate him going against all of his fatherly instincts for me.

The
OPEN
sign buzzes to life in the Santo's window as I walk inside. I'm punching my card in the time clock when Abe clears his throat from behind me. He's leaning in the doorway, sipping from a cup of coffee.

“Morning,” he says, smiling. It's the first time we've spoken since he brought donuts the other night.

“You're in a good mood,” I say, stopping to tie my apron around my waist. I follow Abe into the kitchen, where he pours me a cup of coffee. I thank him as I take it, even if he does make it too strong.

“Missed you last night,” he says, watching me carefully.

I pause midsip, uncomfortable at where this conversation might lead. “Did you work?” I ask, hoping to guide him to safer topics.

“I did. And it was boring and miserable. I didn't have anyone to entertain me.” He leans close in a mock whisper. “Santo doesn't flirt back
at all
.”

I laugh, remembering why I find Abe so entertaining. “Well, I'm here now,” I say. “And I plan to make at least a million dollars over the next two hours. You?”

“Million five.” Abe drains the rest of his drink. “What do you say we go out to lunch later? After all, we will be millionaires.”

My stomach flips. “Uh . . . I can't.” I don't dare tell him about Marceline. He'll realize there's something wrong with me—or at least strongly suspect I've lost my mind.

“Going out with your new boyfriend?” he asks, his expression curious.

I don't respond at first, focusing my attention on the wall clock, the hand-washing sign. Anywhere but Abe. I'm too humiliated to tell him that I liked Harlin, but he didn't feel the same way.

“You don't have to answer that,” Abe offers. “I guess the nice thing to say is that I'm happy for you.”

I look back at him, relieved to avoid the conversation. “Thank you,” I tell him. I start toward the dining room when Abe reaches out to take my wrist.

“Then again,” he murmurs, “I can be quite a bastard.”

“Abe?” I say, my heart skipping a beat. “Let go.”

He looks at my arm, as if surprised he'd touched me, and shrugs sheepishly. “Sorry.” He takes his hand off, holding it up in apology. “What can I say? You bring out the devil in me.”

“That's not a comforting thing to tell a pastor's daughter,” I joke, trying to lighten the mood. I have no idea how I'm going to continue working with Abe. This is incredibly awkward.

“I don't know how we'll keep working together either,” he says, as if he read my thoughts. “I tried to be different with you. And now, well, now you've gone and ruined everything.”

“What are—”

Abe tears his dark gaze away and stalks toward the back room. Anxiety immediately begins to twist my stomach, the worry that Abe will never talk to me again. Whether it's true or not, I feel like I've been cruel. I'm not sure I can leave without at least trying to work things out. Maybe salvage some sort of friendship.

I look for Abe, but he's not at the time clock or the walk-in cooler. On the other side of the room, I notice the back door propped open with a bucket and go to peek outside. I find him there, leaning against the wall.

“Hey,” I say cautiously, sliding out the door. Abe glances over, his apron balled up in his hand.

“What?” he answers evenly.

“I was hoping you weren't mad at me.” I take a spot next to him on the wall.

“Then that's your fault for being stupid.”

Ouch. This is exactly the reason why I didn't want to kiss him that night after camping. He hates me.

“Please don't be mean,” I say quietly, looking down at my feet. He scoffs.

“You have no idea how
mean
I can be.” Abe drops his apron and grabs me by the upper arms, swinging to pin me against the wall. I gasp.

“Why are you even out here?” he murmurs, as if he doesn't quite trust what my answer will be.

“I was worried,” I say. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“No? You may want to rethink that.” One hand slides into my hair, pulling my face closer to his.

“Abe, stop.” I try to work my arms between us to push him away, but his expression changes to something sad. Crushingly lonely. I stop fighting, his sadness seeming to spread to me.

Abe moves his palm onto my shoulder, looking like he might cry. Against me his chest rises and falls, his pure desperation filling my heart. Then he leans in and kisses me.

Cold winds through my mouth, and I flinch, turning my face away from his. My lips are numb.

“Don't—” I start to say, but Abe takes my chin and tries to kiss me again. I push him back as hard as I can, only succeeding in breaking our kiss. I'm still pinned. “Stop,” I whisper fiercely.

Abe puts a hand on either side of me against the wall. “This is getting really old, Elise,” he says. “You're really starting to piss me off.”

“Abe. I—”

He puts his palm over my mouth to stop me. The darkness in his eyes is no longer inviting. It's angry and sinister, and all at once I am very, very afraid of him.

“Look at that,” he says, almost to himself. “I finally got your heart racing.”

Although I've seen small glimpses of his anger before, it was never like this. This is cold, and dark, and void. Abe tilts his head as if thinking, lowering his palm from my mouth. My body trembles and I consider screaming for help.

Abe smiles. “No one will hear you.”

My eyes widen, and I try to push him, try to get away, but he grabs me hard and slams me back into the wall. The force of it stuns me and I cry out in pain.

Abe leans forward, resting his cheek on mine like we're in an intimate hug. “I tried to play nice with you, Elise,” he whispers. “But . . .” He pulls back just enough to peer down at me. “Since you won't remember this anyway.”

He crushes his mouth against mine, his hand knotting painfully in my hair. I struggle, but he's unmovable—strong. Inhumanly strong. I'm trying to scream for help, but I can't get free of his mouth. He pushes up my shirt, his hands rough and careless on my skin. My body begins to shiver, splinters of ice tearing me apart from the inside. I bite down on his lip and he jumps away, cursing under his breath.

Abe touches the back of his hand to his mouth, checking the blood there. He shakes his head at me, smiling like he's impressed I fought back.

Completely weak, I slide down the wall as tears stream over my cheeks. My mouth aches, my body. Why did he do that? What's wrong with him?

“Didn't know you liked it so rough, Elise.” He wipes his mouth again, and soon the blood is gone and his lip is normal, undamaged. “The things I can do with you.”

My body convulses with the cold, and when I look down, my skin is grayer. I begin to whimper, wanting Abe to go away.

He stands over me and exhales, like he's exhausted. “Just give in,” he says. “If you want, I'll be sweet, treat you like a queen. Will that make it easier,
querida
?” He reaches toward me and I flinch, my teeth chattering. He gently runs his finger over my temple. “I don't know why you're different,” he says. “And I don't care. You're the closest I can ever get to the light, the brightest thing I've ever seen. Just come with me and I'll never hurt you again. I promise.”

His whispers are tender, the only sound in my ears. They wrap around me, covering me in fog. In shadows. My eyelids flutter, and the entire scene slips out of focus.

They've forgotten me. Mercy, Sarah—everyone. My destiny is unavoidable. My life is over. It's horrifying, and yet . . . I've lost the will to fight. I just want it all to be over. Because now I know that I never existed. That there is no such thing as me.

I open my eyes, completely disoriented. The memory still holds me with its sorrow, but I push it away when I realize I'm around the back of Santo's, sitting on the gravel against the outside wall.

How did I get here? The last thing I remember was searching for Abe. And then I woke up, filled with a memory that leaves me feeling helpless.

I hear my name and turn to see Abe rushing over, his eyebrows pulled together in worry as he kneels next to me. “Elise,” he says, checking the back of my head for blood. “Are you okay? What happened?”

I touch my mouth. It's sore, like I've been punched in the face. My shirt is untucked, and my head feels like I smacked it on something.

“I must have fainted,” I say, not sure I believe it.

“We should get you some water.” Abe looks like he's so worried he can barely stand it. He takes my hand and helps me up. “You have to be more careful, Elise,” he says. “I can't always be here to save you.”

“What can I say?” I ask, still shaking. “You're my savior.”

He pulls me into a gentle hug as he kisses the top of my head. “Close enough.”

When we get inside, I know that I have to leave and find Marceline. The memories are getting more intense, the lines of reality blurring completely. I tell Santo that I'm sick—possibly with the flu—and that I have to take off. He reluctantly agrees. Abe makes me promise to call him when I get home. I don't mention that I'm not going there, or that I don't even have a car. But I'm glad that Abe and I are still friends. I think he might be the only one I've got.

CHAPTER 20

I
walk to Marceline's, which luckily isn't too far. I'm halfway up her walkway when I hear a motorcycle pull up at the curb behind me. My stomach drops, and I have to force myself to turn around. There's no reason not to be civil. Just because Harlin hurt my feelings doesn't give me the right to treat him poorly. Look at Abe. I hurt him, and he's still a gentleman.

Harlin notices me, pausing a long moment before climbing off his bike. He seems miserable as he slips his hands into the pockets of his jeans and approaches me, head down.

“Hi, Harlin,” I say evenly.

He lifts his gaze to mine before shifting it away. “Elise, I—”

I turn, walking toward the house before he can offer another excuse. Or worse, try to explain in more detail. Being this close to him and not being able to touch him is torture, a reminder of how much I like him. A reminder that he rejected me. I don't know why he's even here, especially when he knew I'd probably come back.

When I ring Marceline's bell, Harlin stands next to me with his arms crossed over his chest. Of course we'd get to the house at the same time. Hopefully he doesn't plan on staying long. I have a lot to talk to Marceline about.

The door swings open. Marceline is wearing a flowered housecoat, her white hair wild without the knit cap to tame it. She looks between Harlin and me, grinning.

“I figured you'd show up together,” she says in her broken voice.

Harlin and I exchange a look, not mentioning the fact that we're not really on speaking terms at the moment. It also doesn't help that Marceline just rubbed some salt in my rejection wound.

“We're, um . . .” This is so humiliating. “We didn't come here together,” I tell her. “We just happened to show up at the same time. A coincidence.”

Marceline laughs, holding open the door as she waves us in, her bracelets jangling. “Child,” she says, “there's no such thing.”

Marceline's house is comforting in its clutter, in its oddness. I make my way to the couch, wondering if she's going to talk to me in front of Harlin. I'm scared. I don't want him to know the things she's said to me. Will he believe them? Or will he think I'm an idiot for sitting through her ramblings?

As Marceline shuffles in, Harlin stands in the doorway watching us.

“Harlin,” the old woman calls as she takes her spot in the rocking chair. “Don't sulk around like some wounded puppy. Have a seat.”

My eyes widen. Oh no. She's going to tell him that I'm a Forgotten. I start to panic, even think about leaving. Marceline pushes her bowl of mints toward me.

“I think I'd rather be lucid for this,” I murmur.

“We'll see,” she says, taking a piece and popping it into her mouth. I wonder how many of those she's had already today.

Harlin comes to sit next to me, my heart rate spiking the minute he does. His smell is so familiar, the heat from his body radiating toward mine as our shoulders brush against each other. I close my eyes, nearly overwhelmed by the sense of loss I feel.

“I'm going to be candid,” Marceline says. I look to find her staring in my direction. “He should know what you are.”

What I am
. The phrase slaps me, breaks me apart. I think of the memory and the feeling that I was dying. That I'd given up trying to save myself. But I'll never give up.

“I know what she is,” Harlin says. I turn to him suddenly, stunned by his admission. How does he fit into this?

“Do you know
who
she is?” Marceline asks gently.

Harlin's eyes narrow as he tries to find meaning in the old woman's words. The two of them stay like that, but my stomach is twisting in knots.

“What are you talking about?” I demand. “Who . . . what am I? And how does Harlin know any of this?”

Marceline focuses her attention on me. “He's a Seer, child. He helps the Forgotten—leads them to their destiny.” She gives him a sharp look. “Or at least he's supposed to.”

“Seer,” I repeat. I think back on the stories of the Forgotten. Harlin knows all about this. He's part of this.

“More importantly,” Marceline says, crunching down on her mint, “he's in love with you. Again.”

I'm about to ask Marceline what she's talking about, but I shoot a look at Harlin. He stares past her then, not seeming to react to her words. His mouth parts as he takes in a shuddered breath. His eyes well up, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. All without a word.

“I'm so sorry, honey,” Marceline says to him. “I didn't know at first.”

“What's going on?” I ask. Seeing Harlin this destroyed is killing me. He already told me he loved someone else. Marceline is talking in riddles again.

She gives me a weary glance, but it's clear she's worried about Harlin, who still hasn't moved or said a word. “Fine,” I say, sick of constantly being left out of the loop. I stand up, ready to take off. “I'm leaving—”

“Wait,” Harlin whispers, reaching to take my hand. Startled, I turn to him. He studies me with what can only be described as absolute pain. I nearly reach for him, but he lets my hand drop.

Harlin leans to put his elbows on his knees, his face in his palms. Marceline slides the bowl of mints toward him, but he doesn't lift his head.

The wrinkles in Marceline's skin seem to deepen. When her eyes meet mine, she shrugs apologetically. “You're the reincarnation of his girlfriend. A Forgotten.”

I stumble back a step. “I'm
what
?”

“Your name was Charlotte Cassidy. Beautiful soul—very loving. In the end, you—”

Harlin jumps up then, rushing past us. He doesn't say a word, and when the front door closes, I know he's gone. Tears begin to gather in my eyes.

“He's never learned to handle his grief,” Marceline explains. “He'll find you when he's ready. He always does.”

I'm not sure how to process what's happened. Instead, I reach to take a peppermint. As I suck on it, my body begins to shake with the realization. “I had another life?” I ask. “It's all real?”

Marceline nods. “Take heart in the fact that you sacrificed yourself for the good of the world. That's admirable. And now they've sent you back to do it again.”

I'm light-headed, and I'm not sure if I'm prepared to hear any more. “This isn't possible,” I murmur. “None of this is possible.”

“I assure you, there are many things in this world that you can't understand, child. But it doesn't mean they're impossible. In fact, like coincidences, there is a reason for everything. Even the things we can't explain.”

I meet the old woman's eyes. “How do you know all this?”

“I'm a Seer, like Harlin. Only, my vision is keener—mostly because it's mixed with my psychic abilities. I thought I was retired, but it seems you've brought back my sight.” She leans forward in her chair, the wood creaking. “You're special. And not because you're Forgotten. But because you've come back. And that's never been done before. There is a purpose in this, even if we can't see it just yet.”

“So all that stuff—the skin turning gold, the people forgetting, that's going to happen to me?”

“Eventually. But you're still very new, and you seem to handle the Needs better. Maybe it's because you've done it before; maybe not. Either way, these things take time.”

I sway with grief, but then something she said the first time we met occurs to me.

“Shadows,” I say. “You told me once to watch out for them. But I don't know what a Shadow is.” The mint has worked to calm me, not creating the same confusing sensation as last time. Now it's more like a warm blanket has been wrapped around me. I lean back into the sofa cushion and Marceline begins rocking again.

“The Shadows were like you once,” she begins quietly. “They had the Need, gave people hope. They found them at just the right time, and said just the right thing. But instead of filling their destinies, they turned away from the light, binding themselves to Earth for selfish wants. And when you turn away from the light, all that's left are the Shadows. Those Forgotten didn't find the freedom they'd hoped for. Their existence is dark and cold. Lonely. They are compelled once again, but this time, it's with Want—the overwhelming desire to find someone and change their lives for the worse. They fulfill their Wants to stay powerful. If they don't, they'll wither, but never die. Being a Shadow is a fate far worse than death.”

Suddenly my memories and hazy dreams click together. “There's a woman,” I say. “I've seen her life. She . . .” It takes me a minute to recall, but when I do, I'm terrified. “She became a Shadow,” I say. “I saw her become a Shadow.”

Marceline straightens, and I think she knows exactly who I'm talking about. “Yes,” she says. “Onika is like you in a way. Different from the rest of her kind. Stronger. That poor child is filled with hate and horror. She's the embodiment of misery.”

“I'm having memories—of who I used to be, I guess. Does—”

“Oh, you're still Charlotte,” Marceline interrupts. “The soul is the same, just a different body. But see, you've learned things, child. Things other Forgotten won't know until they cross. This will help you. This knowledge is what makes you strong.”

“I don't feel very strong.”

“You're here,” she offers. “You didn't run to the doctors, who could never understand. Or run to your father, who is a wonderful man, I must say. You came to me on your own, and that is brave. Do you know what you're capable of now?”

“No.”

“Control. You can control the light you spread. The visions. I saw it inside you that day in the parking lot. Child, you're just as powerful as the Shadows, maybe more so. I ask you to think—think of your soul. Do you know why you're here?”

“No,” I murmur.

She nods, looking slightly disappointed. “Well, whatever the reason, your beauty is astounding. It's why the Shadows want you. They crave the light. And although most only want to tempt it away—are in fact compelled to—some want to keep it for themselves. Like Abraham.”

At the mention of Abe's name my muscles tense, a sinking sensation in my gut. “He's a Shadow?”

She nods. “Oh, yes. He used to be my Forgotten, but I couldn't save him.” Her expression softens as if I've struck a deep sorrow within her. She takes another piece of mint, and I wish I could help her somehow.

Suddenly, there's a tingling in my fingers. I blink quickly and look down at them. As the sensation spreads up my arm, I know it's the Need. And that I've willed it to start.

“Marceline,” I say cautiously. Light begins to brighten behind her form, blotting out the small cluttered room beyond us. When she hears me, she straightens, but doesn't look pleased. Then I'm filled with ninety years of her memories.

She's a child on the streets of New York City, poor, but not unhappy. Her mother is clairvoyant and makes a living as a fortune-teller. Marceline's father died, along with her brother and two sisters. It's just her and her mother now. And from her mother she learns how to control her abilities. The memories go on; Marceline watches me curiously as she relives them all. She thinks then that she's never realized how old she really is. And I smile, sharing her thoughts.

But before we get even halfway through her life, my sight begins to change—speeding past all of her memories to now. I meet her eyes with an alarmed stare.

“Marceline,” I say, a strong voice inside my head with a warning. “You're—

“I'm old,” she interrupts me. “Don't you go worrying about my mortality. I'm tougher than I look.” Marceline leans forward, a soft smile on her lips. “When it's truly my time, you can't help me. Not even with the Need. Now get out of my head.” And then it's gone, the light, the visions. Marceline's rocker stills, the light filtering in the window illuminating dust in the air, dust that doesn't move. I sway back into the sofa as a memory pours inside my mind.

Harlin is in front of me, smiling confidently. “Where were you running to, Miss Cassidy?” he asks in a low, raspy voice.

I step up to him, looking deeply into his eyes. Thinking he's the most beautiful creature I've ever seen. “Here.”

His smile falters just a bit, overcome with something else. And then as if he can't help himself, he puts his palm on my cheek and pulls me into a kiss.

“Harlin,” I whisper, his name on my lips as I come back to the moment. He did love Charlotte.
Me
. The thought is both painful and comforting at the same time.

Marceline is now standing by the window, staring out toward the street. “You still have so much to learn, and not nearly enough time.” She sounds regretful.

I go to stand by her, struck with how odd it is that we're together now, so soon after she attacked me in a parking lot. Now I can see her for exactly what she is, an old woman—brave and smart. I put my arms around her fragile frame and hug her.

“I'll be fine,” she says, patting my arm. “And don't start thinking you're all alone. You have your sister and your father. And of course there's Harlin.”

“Harlin won't even talk to me,” I say.

She chuckles at this. “I'm psychic, child. I've told you he'll be back. But there is something bigger at stake here. The universe is supposed to be balanced, both with good and evil. Onika is destroying that balance, corrupting things that were never meant to be corrupted. You need to stop her, for all of our sakes.”

“How?”

“The answer's in here.” She taps my temple gently. “You only have to look for it.”

At her urging, I close my eyes and am immersed in another memory.

Onika is on the bridge, circling Monroe as she runs her gloved finger across his chest. His shoulder. “He really is still handsome,” she says to me as I watch them from the railing. “You have no idea how much he and I loved each other.” She traces her finger across his lips. He stares through her, at me.