Boil (Salem's Revenge Book 2) Read online

  “What was that?” Rhett says, his firm jaw set even tighter than usual.

  “How the hell should I know?” I say sharply, feeling the familiar tug of anger in my chest. Why did Xavier have to bring Beth back to life just to have her die again in front of Rhett? If that hadn’t happened, maybe I could talk some sense into him. Instead, it’s like talking to a fireball that refuses to be doused. And behind my rising anger is a question I wish to God wasn’t there:

  Why am I not enough for him?

  Stupid, stupid, pathetic girl, I think.

  I grit my teeth and get up. “Laney,” Rhett says, also standing.

  We’re a full five feet away from each other, but he feels close enough to touch. “Yeah?” I say, remembering how it felt hitting him, how strong his chest and arms felt beneath each blow. Like he was impenetrable. Like he really was Superman, the nickname I gave him after he nearly sacrificed himself trying to save people. And now he wants to play superhero again.

  He’s practically twice my size and I tried to fight him?

  I laugh to myself at my own stupidity. It reminds me of when I switched schools for the third time in three years and this bully everyone called Big Sue decided to make it her mission to make me look like an idiot in front of my classmates. Eventually her tormenting became so humiliating that I challenged her to a real fight after school. I was suspended for three days after losing that fight, wearing two black eyes for a couple of weeks; but Big Sue never messed with me again. Yeah, fighting above my weight class has become somewhat of a pattern for me.

  “What?” Rhett says, raising an eyebrow as I continue to laugh at myself.

  I know my frivolity is just a lame attempt to avoid talking about what my sister just did. “Nothing,” I say. “Sorry I hit you earlier.”

  “I think you bruised me,” Rhett says sternly, but he’s smiling. At least we’re both avoiding talking about Trish.

  “Can’t take a hit, eh? I thought you were a manly man.”

  “You hit hard,” Rhett says, still smiling.

  “I’m going to take a leak,” I lie, pushing through the back door.

  “Be careful,” Rhett says. “Shout if you need anything.”

  “I think I can handle peeing,” I say, “even if I don’t have an aimer.” I let the door slam behind me. I head straight for a spot behind a large bush, out of sight, relishing the cool rain on my face. I glance back once through the window to see Rhett’s dark skin appearing even more shadow-like in the fading daylight. Ducking behind the green foliage, I feel the tears threatening to push their way out once more.

  What the hell?

  I don’t know what’s making me crazier, that my sister finally spoke or that my best and only friend wants to use her to help him get his revenge.

  Or it could be that it’s my time of the month again, and there’s only one thing worse than having your period while on the run: having your period while on the run during the witch apocalypse. I’m glad I found some undamaged tampons at the gas station we passed the other day.

  Stupid crying. Stupid Rhett. Stupid witches. Stupid period.

  I feel like I’m on a brakeless runaway train that’s falling apart on the tracks. No wait, even the tracks are breaking.

  Blinking furiously, I fight off the tears. Even if I can’t convince Rhett Carter, The Avenging Witch Hunter, to take a different path, I have to be strong for my sister. I can’t let her get involved in Rhett’s vendetta. She’s just a kid. An all-powerful witch who kills people and explodes missiles with screams, yeah, but still a kid.

  Even still, my tears earlier and the tears that threaten now aren’t for her.

  They’re because of what I know I have to do.

  And in that moment, with my face moist with rain but not tears, I make my decision.

  Chapter Three

  Rhett

  Every time I try to make conversation, she stares at me like I’m a monster, so eventually I give up.

  Unable to bear the silence any longer, I go to bed early, stretching out on a plush, wide couch that’s only mildly dusty. My eyes flutter closed and weariness rolls in.

  My eyes flash open when I feel something beside me. “Who’s there?” I say to the dark.

  “Shh,” Laney says, slipping onto the front of the couch. Her body nestles against mine, instantly warming my skin. One of her arms wraps around my chest, hugging me from behind.

  Given the strain between us during the day, I’m shocked. At the same time, I feel the burn of shame on my cheeks, countered only by an unexpected burst of excitement in my chest, speeding up my heart.

  I’ve hugged Laney before, even kissed her once—well, she kissed me—and it felt good, but never like this. Never so…intimate. No, this isn’t right. Not when Beth’s only just been…

  Not when I just watched Beth…

  I feel her legs against mine, and I know I need Laney now more than ever before, and yet I keep pushing her away. And that’s when I realize: Even though it feels like it just happened a few days ago, Beth’s been gone for months, living only in my dreams and memories.

  Even still, the shivers of excitement rolling down my spine as Laney spoons me feel so wrong. The smile that spreads across my face feels so out of place, so foreign, like happiness is a fictional emotion that only belongs in stories.

  She hugs me tighter, her body so close to mine, separated by only a few swatches of fabric.

  A memory strikes, like hot iron. The first time Beth lay like this with me. The feel of her arms tight around me. Her legs intertwined with mine, her hot exhalations tickling the back of my neck.

  The shocking thing is that it feels just as good with Laney. Which is so unexpected. So weird. My body stiffens and I feel Laney’s reaction. Our moment of closeness is shattered, an awkward fog blanketing the mood.

  And then she’s gone, as quickly as she came.

  Struggling to steady my breathing, to slow my beating heart, I hear her settle down on the floor.

  I lay awake for what feels like hours, wondering when I started having feelings for Laney and how the hell I’m supposed to seek revenge now. Maybe she’s right. Maybe we could just run away, hide from the witches, survive. Be happy. Is such a thing possible anymore? The gentle and even breathing of Laney, her sister, and my dog provide the background music for my confused thoughts.

  Eventually, however, I sleep.

  ~~~

  For the first time since arriving in Pittsburgh, I sleep through until morning without having any nightmares. At least none that I can remember.

  I stretch and glance across the floor, feeling a lightness in my chest I haven’t felt in a long time.

  The floor is empty save for a few tipped over cans and Hex, who’s snoring softly. I’ve overslept, and Laney and Trish are probably already out back using the “bathroom” and getting cleaned up in the pond behind the house. Readying themselves for another long day of endless walking.

  Pushing to my feet, I stagger to the door and pull it open, blinking sleep out of my eyes. “Laney!” I say. “Trish!”

  Behind me, I hear Hex’s claws scrape the floorboards as he follows me out. As I block the glare of the morning sun with a hand over my eyes, I scan the edge of the pond. Empty.

  Hex strolls between my legs, sniffing at a worm wriggling in the dirt.

  “Where is everyone?” I say aloud.

  Hex responds by peeing on a small shrubbery, his stream of urine changing color from blue to green to electric yellow, like a neon sign. Sometimes I think Hex is the smartest dog in the world, and other times I think he’s just a comedian. “Show off,” I say.

  Finished, he pads over and whines, scratching at my leg. “Where are they, boy?” I say, hoping my dog will use his acute sense of smell to find our friends. He just stares at me—so much for that idea.

  The bathroom. That’s where they must be, behind the big bush. And if they heard me calling to them, Laney was either too embarrassed about last night, or too annoyed again,
to answer.

  I approach the bush, careful not to look around it and see something I shouldn’t. “Laney?” I say.

  No response.

  “I’m sorry we argued,” I say. No response. “And what you did…”—I feel my cheeks flush—“on the couch…that was okay. I’m okay with it.” More than okay, really, but I’m not about to say that.

  No response.

  “Laney, I’m coming around. Shout if I shouldn’t.” Hearing no response, I skirt the edge of the bush and peek at the other side. There’s no one there.

  A sudden wave of dread washes over me. What if someone took them during the night? A witch, a warlock, a wizard. According to the Reaper, Trish is in danger because she might be the last of the Clairvoyants, a powerful witch gang. All the other witch gangs want her under their control.

  But no—that doesn’t make sense. “You would’ve warned us, wouldn’t you, boy?” I say to Hex, who hasn’t moved, other than his tail wagging.

  He barks the affirmative. No one abducted Laney and Trish. Then where are they?

  I head back inside, letting the door swing shut behind me just after Hex leaps inside. “Laney? Trish?” I shout, wondering if maybe they’ve decided to explore the rest of the house.

  No answer.

  Hex runs into the kitchen and barks at the island in the center. He leaps up, scratching at the cabinets and sniffing at the edge of the granite countertop.

  “What is it, buddy?” I say, following him.

  That’s when I see it.

  A single sheet of white paper, nine sentences written in Laney’s handwriting:

  Rhett,

  I know you’re doing what you think you have to. So am I. Protecting Trish is all I have left. I hope you get what you want. If you do, come and find me in the north. I’ll be waiting. Be safe. Be Superman.

  Laney

  PS- You’re my last friend. Don’t go dying on me.

  The room spins and a swirl of confusion whirls around me. This isn’t real. Isn’t real. Isn’t…

  I close my eyes and the room stops moving, the sharp knife of clarity jabbing me in the heart. It is real.

  They’re gone.

  Laney and Trish are gone.

  That’s when I realize what she was saying last night when she laid beside me and held me tight.

  Goodbye.

  And I screwed it up by being an idiot.

  Chapter Four

  Laney

  What have I done?

  Dark is falling swiftly. Our arms and legs are scratched from a day spent fighting through brambles and foliage, picking our way through the forest. We’re heading north—at least I think we are. There’s no civilization in sight.

  Without Rhett and Hex, I decided it was safer to stay off the main roads. Now I’m regretting that decision. If we don’t find shelter soon, we’ll have to camp in the woods, which are still damp from yesterday’s storm—not a prospect I’m looking forward to.

  “Hurry, Trish,” I say, encouraging both of us to pick up our pace.

  Crunch, rustle, crunch. I hope the sounds of our passage are heard only by us and the birds.

  And again I ask: What have I done?

  What I had to do, I remind myself. I don’t blame any of it on Rhett. How can I? What he’s seen, what he’s been through—I wouldn’t wish any of it on my worst enemy. Well, I might wish it on a few witches, but certainly no humans. Yeah, I’ve been through some bad stuff too, but everyone handles things differently. I can’t judge Rhett for wanting revenge. I might act the same if I was in his position and if I didn’t have Trish to worry about.

  Beside me, Trish grabs my hand, something she hasn’t done in a while. Her small act reminds me that she’s still a child. Pure and good and innocent. She squeezes my hand and then releases me.

  I stop, crouching down to look into her beautiful blue eyes. “Trish, no matter what happens, you’re my sister and I love you. And I do fear for you, regardless of what you write in the dirt or how many missiles you blow up just by screaming. I’m here to protect you. Always.”

  Her tiny lips open and close, as if trying to speak. Open again. When she speaks, her voice sounds hollow, like she’s inside an empty auditorium. “Go back,” she says. “Where I go…you cannot. Be brave.”

  Cold runs down my spine. “Trish?” I say, my forehead creasing. “You don’t mean that. We have to stay together. We’re family.”

  She pushes a tiny finger to my lips. “Love you,” she says.

  The speck of warmth those two words give me isn’t enough to chase away the chill that seems to surround me. I hug her, pondering her previous words. Go back? To Rhett, she obviously means. But not with her. She means alone. As if I’m going to leave my nine-year-old sister alone in the middle of the forest.

  “They call to me,” she says in my ear, startling me away from my thoughts.

  I hold her away from me so I can look at her face. As usual, she’s expressionless, her face devoid of fear or worry or stress. She looks…angelic. “Who?” I ask.

  “My children,” she says.

  My heart skips a beat. “Trish, you’re only nine. You don’t have any children.”

  She retracts a hand from behind my back and places it on my chest, feeling my heartbeat. “They need me,” she says.

  I stare at her for two long seconds, before she brushes past me and continues marching through the forest.

  ~~~

  Trish finds a cabin in the woods. It’s so overgrown and woodsy that I would’ve walked right past the structure in the twilight, but she suddenly broke away from me and I was forced to chase her right to it. Maybe night vision is one of her other talents. Maybe all Claires can see in the dark.

  The door opens with a rusty-hinged creak.

  There are old mouse droppings in one corner and a wet, musty odor permeates the whole of the single room home. Still, it beats sleeping under the cloudy night sky, which is once more threatening rain.

  As I crack open a couple of cans of veggies for dinner, I feel an unwanted pang of loneliness, like I used to feel before Rhett stumbled into our restaurant. Well, at least Trish is speaking again, even if I don’t exactly like what she’s saying.

  “Thank you,” she says, taking a small bite.

  A few minutes pass in near silence, broken only by the soft sounds of chewing. I want to ask her about what she said earlier, but I’m afraid I’ll end up getting more strange messages. Perhaps silence is better for now.

  In the end, it’s Trish who speaks. “You are strong,” she says.

  I stare at her. “I—I know,” I say, wondering why I stutter like a fool when it’s only my little sister I’m talking to. “You are, too, Trish. I’m proud of you.”

  She cocks her head, looking birdlike in the pale light. “Proud?” she says. “I am only just becoming…again.”

  “I—I don’t understand.” I have the urge to shake her, to make her speak like a normal little girl, like she used to, but instead I just take another bite.

  “In time,” she says. “For now, we must help the witch hunter.”

  The witch hunter? The only witch hunter she could possibly mean is Rhett. “No,” I say. “We can’t go back to him. He wants you to use your magic to fight with him. It’s too dangerous. We’re not doing that. You’re not doing that. Do you understand?”

  She sets her can down and touches my hand. Her fingers are icy. “Trust me,” she says.

  Before I can respond, she pulls back and curls up in a ball on the floor, facing away from me. Despite having only eaten half of my can, I’m not hungry anymore. Even my own sister is on Rhett’s side, willing to put herself in danger. But I can’t let her. I can’t.

  I won’t.

  ~~~

  A noise jolts me awake.

  Thunder booms overhead, sounding like it’s right on top of the cabin. A streak of lightning flashes between the cracks in the log walls, before plunging the room back into darkness.

  All I see is darkness…dar
kness…and then—

  A light. Like a single smoldering coal, the circle of red glows nearby. I blink, trying to adjust my eyes to the dark. The red light is illuminating something—no, someone.

  “Trish?” I say.

  “She’s gone,” Trish’s voice says, just as rain begins pattering on the roof.

  I scoot over to her, panic rising in my throat. “Trish, it’s me. Laney. Your sister. And you’re right here. You’re still here.”

  I wrap my arm around her, hoping my touch will snap her out of whatever waking dream she’s trapped inside, but she just keeps staring at the red light, which I realize is glowing from her finger, raised in front of her.

  “She has another path,” Trish says, and I think she’s speaking of herself.

  The rain begins to fall in deafening waves, dripping between the stacked logs.

  “No,” I say. “She is here. You are Trish and you’re staying with me.” I clutch her tighter, grabbing her hand, trying to douse the light that seems to be inside her skin.

  “I’m a Changeling,” Trish says.

  A memory flares up and I try to place it. I’ve heard that word before—Changeling. But where? “No, you’re a Claire,” I say. “A Clairvoyant. That’s why everyone’s looking for you. That’s why I have to take you far away, so they can’t find you.” Then I remember. It was the Reaper who mentioned the Changelings before. He said one of the three Resistors might be working for them. A human who, like Rhett Carter and Bil Nez, could resist magic.

  “Trish is a Claire,” Trish says.

  “Yes. Yes you are,” I say.

  “I’m a Changeling,” she repeats. “Trish is a Claire.”

  Wait. It wasn’t only the Reaper who mentioned the Changelings. His son, Xavier Jackson, did, too! What was it he said? Oh yeah—that the Reaper suspected it was a Changeling who had killed Beth. But why is my sister talking about Changelings now, in the dead of night?

  I want to scream. What’s happening to my sister? It’s like she’s losing her mind, her witch powers slowly driving her to madness.