Bone Dry: A Soul Shamans Novel (Volume 1) (19 page)

“You’re absolutely right,” I said, grinning like a fool.

Instead of turning to go, he pulled me into his arms again.

CHAPTER 19

O
n the drive back, I was hyper aware of Nathan, especially of how his damp t-shirt clung to the planes of his chest and where his hand rested on the seat next to my knee. My skin itched for him to scoot it closer. The heat blasted from the vents again, but this time, I was way too alert to fall asleep.

Nathan glanced sideways at me and fiddled with the heating knobs. “You okay? Should we stop somewhere and buy some towels?”

“No, I’m getting warm. Sorry I’m dripping on your leather seats.” I smiled and tried not to let my eyes linger on his reddened lips.

“It was worth it.”

I bit my lip and stared down at my soggy sneakers, full of squishy hope.
Yes, it was
.

“So, what’s the plan for Megan and Jason?” Nathan asked as he took one hand off the wheel to roll up his damp sleeves.

“I think I’m going to call them and tell them to wait it out since Anthony is going to talk to the Congress. Hopefully, they can take care of all this in a few days…”

I went silent. Anthony and the Congress might take care of the Berrytown shamans, but now I had a decision to make. A horrible one that I wasn’t sure I could. Did I have the guts to summon a spirit? But more than that, could I live with myself if I summoned one onto someone else?

Could I live with myself if I didn’t?

More than ever, I wished there was someone I could turn to and ask for help or advice. Someone I could really trust who would give me the answer straight up without trying to shield me from it. I wasn’t a little kid anymore. I’d proven that by being able to take care of things—even if terribly—for the past year. And yet the only two people I knew—my mom and my dad—who I could look to for answers couldn’t give them to me.

The only person who had ever told me anything useful about shamanism was Anthony Lombardi. I should have stayed and asked more questions, found out as much as possible about the shaman world from him. But when I remembered his swirling eyes and the way he’d been way too eager to hand over his blood to me, I knew I wouldn’t have been able to stay. The guy gave me the creeps.

The car ride seemed both too long and too short. I wished it could last for hours so I could spend more time with Nathan, but I was also anxious to get home and check on my mom after what Anthony had said about the lack of time she had left. And as we pulled into my driveway, I wondered if the kiss had been a fluke, and now that all this was over, Nathan and I would go back to the way we were before. I wondered if he’d decide my life was too weird for him to get too close.

“Thanks for going with me.” I gave him a shy wave and hopped out of the car.

Nathan surprised me by getting out and walking to the front door with me, arms held over his head to shield his face from the light splatters of rain. We ducked under the roof that jutted out over the front stoop. I stuffed my hands into my pockets and looked up at him. He grinned and tugged at my now-dry, frizzy hair.

“I’ll call you later?” He shifted on his feet, clenched his jaw, and I realized he was as nervous as I was.

“Sounds good.” I held my breath and waited, but when he didn’t make a move forward, I pulled out my keys and turned to unlock the door. “See you later, Nathan.”

“Bye, Holly.”

***

When I dumped my backpack by the front door, the Witch’s Drum caught my eye. I smiled, remembering how Nathan had looked so intrigued by it. He knew about (most) of my life and still liked me. I sighed and made my way to the living room. I knew I’d have to worry about some serious stuff later, but right now, I was going to enjoy the fact that my love life had just gotten a lot more interesting. I couldn’t wait to call Laura and tell her.

Traditionally, my mom and I always reserved Saturdays for each other. Back when she’d been running her Spirit Consultation business, sometimes we’d miss a Saturday every now and then because of her work trips. But, most of the time, we spent the day together having breakfast, talking to catch up, going to the beach or just hanging around and watching lots of pulp movies. Since the attack, I’d still spent every Saturday with her. But it wasn’t the same at all.

I walked into the living room and called out, “I’m home! What movie do you want to watch tonight? Pulp Fiction okay? We could make our watch total twenty-two for this one.” Mom didn’t respond. She sat huddled under her wool blanket with her eyes closed. I hesitated, hating to wake her up if she was too tired.

When I stepped foot in the kitchen, Astral ran up to me and meowed in a loud agitated tone. His food bowl was empty. I grabbed the food from the cabinet, poured some kibble and gave him some fresh water. As I opened the refrigerator, he followed me, still meowing in some weird cat howl.

“What?” I asked him.

His orange tail twitched as he stared at me. And then he ran from the room. I crinkled my eyebrows and followed him into the living room where he sat in front of my mom, his tail beating the floor. Something shifted in my stomach.

“Mom?” I asked. Silence.

My fingers curled into fists as I walked over to her chair, leaned down and looked into her face. The knitting needles had fallen to the carpet. I picked them up and set them on the blanket next to her wilted hands.

Astral howled so loud, I jumped a foot in the air.

“Mom.” She didn’t move.

“Hey, wake up,” I said a little louder. Her breathing never faltered, her face slack in a peaceful expression. I really hated to wake her up, but I was more than a little freaked out by her unresponsiveness. It reminded me too much of the last couple of days. I took in a deep breath to calm my rattling nerves.

I placed my hand on her warm skin and shook her arm. “Mom, wake up.”

My fingernails carved lines into my palms as panic bubbled up in my throat. My shoulders clenched into knots. I smeared my sweaty palms against my jeans and shook her harder, fighting back the urge to scream. “MOM!”

Nothing. Nothing at all. The bitter taste of blood filled my mouth, and I realized my teeth were clenched tight on the insides of my cheeks.

Mom didn’t move, didn’t open her eyes, didn’t slow her breathing. It was like she couldn’t hear me. Like she had no idea I was here. A familiar scent pressed in around me, like something stale and rotten lurked somewhere nearby. I’d only smelled this once before. In Kylie’s house. When she was dying. My ragged breaths shook my body as all warmth swept out of me until I was left feeling frigid, my only emotion bitter fear.

“MOM!” I screamed, falling on my knees, “Mom, mom, mom, mom, mom!”

I choked on my words. My hands dug ruts into the carpet. I gasped for breath, tears pouring out of my eyes and down my cheeks.

I shook her even harder, her body rocking back and forth, the blanket falling off her skin. My hands shuddered like an earthquake as I shoved the bone needles toward her and forced her fingers to close around them.

“Help.” I sobbed into her arms, hoping someone could hear me, hoping someone could make her better. “Someone please help.”

My mom wasn’t here anymore. She was gone.

CHAPTER 20

S
ometime later, I found myself in the shower with steaming water pouring over me while I stood there fully clothed, shivering even though I could feel the warmth of the water. Time seemed to have slipped by, and all I could remember was freaking out because of my mom.

Mom. I groaned and placed my cheek against the blue tiles.

She wasn’t coming back. Not on her own. I knew it as well as I knew a shaman when I laid eyes on one. I didn’t know how, and I didn’t know why, but I knew it in my bones.

I turned off the water, wrapped a towel around my dripping clothes and headed to my room. After I changed, I fell onto my bed, the mattress springs squealing.

Mom wasn’t coming back on her own, but maybe it wasn’t too late for me to bring her back with the special incantation. I knew now that I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try. Getting a glimpse of what it would feel like to lose her, seeing how vulnerable and innocent she looked…I shuddered.

Life comes with hard choices, right? Not everything is black and white, right or wrong. Anthony said the spirit wouldn’t even come close to killing anyone, just feed and go. In the end, the loss of a sliver of one person’s life—maybe just a month or two—was worth it to completely save another.

Right?

I just couldn’t think of who I was willing to do something like that to. It would have to be a stranger, no one personally connected to me. No way I’d ever be able to look anyone I knew in the eyes after hurting them, especially since I might not be able to look at my own face in the mirror ever again.

Me.

That was the perfect solution. I didn’t have to summon the spirit into someone else’s room. I could summon it into mine and feed myself to it. After all, I was the one who needed the information. And I was willing to give a little of my own life to get it.

This sounded like a suicide mission if there ever was one, but what choice did I really have? I could call Laura—ask her opinion, ask for help. I shook my head hard at that thought. I couldn’t get her involved. If something went wrong…

This was something I had to do alone. And something I had to do now. I didn’t know how much longer Mom had like this.

I opened my laptop, put on my favorite song and leaned against the wall, legs sprawled out in front of me, eyes closed. I couldn’t go into this with fear, anger or any sort of strong emotional energy surging through me. I felt drained, beat down and empty, but I knew there was something still simmering under the surface.

As the song played, I fell inside myself to bottle up everything I was feeling. Mom always told me it was one of the most dangerous parts of her job—forcing herself to feel nothing so often. One of her favorite things was heading to the amusement park to ride roller coasters all day long. She said being able to scream at the top of her lungs was therapeutic after keeping so much inside. It was her chance to let it all out without anyone thinking she was insane.

By the end of the song, I felt relaxed, like the drumming had beaten my emotions out of me. Like the strumming guitar had carried my fear away on sound waves, echoing somewhere else in the world.

I let it play a second time while I dug through my backpack and pulled out the purple bag Anthony had given me. I slid open the zipper and dumped out everything on the carpet. I felt sick at the sight of the dark red in a small tube about the size of my forefinger. I opened a tiny notebook with a rune drawn inside. Next to it was one word. Ananann.

I swallowed the lump of fear that burst up from just thinking about talking to a spirit. But I’d be the one in control here. The spirit would have to obey me. But knowing this didn’t stop the churning in my stomach.

I got out the rest of my supplies and turned off my music. After going through the motions of the spell, instead of burning the rune parchment, I placed it beside me on the carpet. I took in a slow breath. Then let it out. Slow in. Slow out.

I could do this. I could summon this thing.

Slow in. Slow out.

I closed my eyes and said in as a commanding voice as I could conjure, “Ananann.”

Power surged through me like a storm, biting and cold. Wind whipped past me. I gritted my teeth, vision blurring from the magic tumbling through me and into the room. It was like I was a vortex that had cracked open, the shaman magic channeling through me rough and fierce. This was nothing like any of the other shaman magic I’d done. That magic had been energizing and electric. This made me tremble from the toll it was taking on my mind and my body.

I felt a cry of fear bubble up in my throat, but I swallowed it down.

Then, slowly the magic dropped into a simmering thing, still harsh and cold, but calmer. I opened my eyes and looked right into the empty, eyeless face of a spirit. Ananann.

I jumped.

“What do you want, shaman?” It spoke in a low-pitched humming noise, and I knew it wasn’t English or any language I’d ever heard, even though I could understand what it meant.