The Girl and The Raven (27 page)

“I love you, too.”

I stand on my tippy toes and kiss him. He doesn’t kiss me back. I see the strain on his face. The nasty voice snickers.

“I get your concerns about Jude. But I need you to trust me.”

He glowers.

“I have to do what’s right for everyone, Marcus.”

“By everyone you mean Dylan and his family,” he says coldly

“I screwed everything up. It’s my responsibility.” I’m blown away that we can go from amazing—admitting we love each other—to infuriating within a minute. “Call me crazy, I don’t care. I’m going to meet with Jude to make things right.”

His brows pull together sternly. “You’re stubborn, Lucy. Maybe even selfish.”

“If this is me being selfish, then I’m okay with it.” I laugh bitterly. “I love you, Marcus. More than you can imagine. But please don’t try to stop me from doing what I need to do.”

I’m not surprised when he turns away without kissing me goodnight. I guess he needs to be mad at me for a little while. As he starts to climb out the window, he turns back to me.

“If your father kills you or turns you into someone like him, then you’ll have thrown away everything your grandmother worked for. Everything she died for.”

I stand there, his words washing over me. I grind my teeth, biting back a nasty response. My muscles quiver with anger. Throwing Gram’s death in my face is a sucker punch.

“What if I asked you to choose between Jude and me? Who would you choose?”

“It’s not about choosing and you know it.”

“Not very encouraging, Lucy,” he says darkly. He jumps to the ground.

I rush to the window. I want to call him back, but he’s gone. With a heavy heart, I turn back to my desk and homework, knowing it will be nearly impossible to focus tonight. I grab my cell phone and ear buds, hoping music will drown out the anger and doubt raging inside of me.

Ethan and Brandi are little kids. Their lives are in danger. I have to at least try to help them. Why can’t Marcus see that? I swallow hard and my stomach knots painfully.

Later that night as I snuggle under my blanket, I mull over Marcus’ ultimatum. He’s wrong if he thinks I have warm and fuzzy feelings for Jude. As a kid, of course I was curious about my father but I pretty much assumed he was a drunk loser like the other men Momma dated. Finding out he’s not…I can’t lie to myself and say that isn’t a relief. Although, finding out he’s a demon sort of threw a wrench in the whole thing. I never had anything in common with Momma, though, and I hoped I’d have something in common with my father. Just not, you know, being a demon. I giggle at the ridiculousness of it all. Gram was a witch and my father is a demon. It’s like I woke up in a horror novel. I realize I’m not laughing anymore but crying. Tears stream down my face and my shoulders shake. I’m walking a tightrope between good and evil.

What happens if I fall? Will I land on the wrong side?

Arnold stops the car at the wrought-iron security gate of Jude’s Lake Forest home. It’s dark and foreboding, like something from a scary movie. I swallow past the lump in my throat as I sink down in my seat.

“Are you okay?” Arnold asks, casting an uneasy glance at the dark gray mansion.

I hesitate, not wanting to leave the safety of his maroon Chevy.

“I appreciate the ride, Arnold.” When I asked him for the favor of a ride, he agreed immediately, no questions. “I wish you’d let me give you money for gas. You’re already spending your day off driving me around.”

“I’m happy to help. Not only do you make sure I always get lunch and dinner when you work, but you bake me cookies, too. Since Louise died, I haven’t had anyone look after me like that.” He reaches over and pats my hand. “Now I get to return the favor.”

No more stalling.

“I guess I’ll head inside now.” I look at the towering gate again and my mouth goes bone dry.

“I can wait right here for you. I brought the newspaper.” His gaze flits from the creepy mansion to me, his tone hopeful.

“No. It’s going to be a while.”

“I don’t mind,” he says quickly.

“That’s okay. I’ll text you when I’m ready.”

Arnold nods unhappily. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” I reply as I climb from the car. I hide my fear from Arnold. I’ve gone over this in my head a hundred times. I still haven’t figured out what to say to Jude to save Ethan and Brandi, let alone how I’m going to get away from him to search his house for Lola.

I take a deep breath.
I can do this
. I gape at the massive gray rectangular structure through the metal bars. It isn’t glitzy. It looks super old, but sturdy. Large pillars stand on both sides of the front door. A series of three huge, arched windows line the second floor. The front of the house juts out further than the rest. In history class last year, we studied castles from various periods. I think Jude’s mansion would classify as Renaissance style.

I scan the yard and see dozens of enormous trees. They seem eerie, with their huge, knotted limbs. They look like giant ogres frozen in place.

To my left is a metal box on a steel pole. I press the single large, red button and hear a strange whirring sound overhead. A security camera moves from right to left, stopping as it fixes its lens on me. I wave at the camera awkwardly. The gates creak open slowly, like a huge mouth about to swallow me up.

I order my feet forward, but they don’t want to go.

I think of Ethan and Brandi. I think of Lola.

The driveway runs as long as the street I live on, probably longer. I’m scared to meet Jude on his turf. There won’t be anyone in the next room to intervene or to let Persephone know if Jude does something to me. Jude tortured Dylan with hideous visions. He inflicted a bloody gash on Marcus’ arm. What else is he capable of?

I want to believe that Jude won’t hurt me. I’m his daughter. His only child.

I cross the entrance and the gates slam shut behind me. I suppress a shudder and focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

I continue along the driveway stiffly, hugging my arms across my chest. The tall, gnarly trees lining the driveway blot out the sun and the air is unnaturally cool.

Something screeches above me. My head jerks skyward. One screech becomes a chorus. What is that?

My feet move faster as I search the trees. That’s when I see the small black shapes in the branches. Crows. Dozens. No, hundreds. My blood turns to ice—they’re all staring at me with their beady- red eyes.

I swallow a cry, tucking my head, and my walk turns into a jog. I risk a peek over my shoulder. They’re still watching, but none of them pursue me.

I’m about to go up the steps toward the front door when three brown streaks come tearing around the side of the mansion.

I stop cold. Three Rottweilers block my path, growling, their eyes fixed on me.
Oh crap…oh crap…oh crap!
They’re twice the size of any Rottweiler I’ve ever seen. Like the crows, I suspect these are Jude’s special hybrids.

Should I run? Stand my ground? Wait for Jude to call them off? He knew I was coming, why would he send his dogs after me?

A female voice somewhere nearby utters a sharp command in a language I don’t recognize. The dogs sit down, whining as they look around. I let out a huge breath and press my palm against my heart, willing it to slow down.

The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen stands in the open doorway. Her jet-black hair, straight and shiny, runs the length of her back. Her green eyes—almond shaped and lined with impossibly long lashes—are stunning. Her form fitting black skirt, emerald green blouse and sleek black leather boots look like they’re straight out of a fashion magazine. I hadn’t thought about who else might live with Jude and I feel like an idiot for not considering it before. He could have a whole houseful of servants for all I know. This lady didn’t look like a servant, though. Maybe she’s Jude’s wife.

“You must be Lucy.” She smiles seductively. “I’m Darcy. Please come in. I will let Jude know you are here.”

“Thanks.” I follow her into the house. She sounds like a James Bond villain. Is she Eastern European? Russian?

The foyer echoes with the click of Darcy’s high-heeled boots on the hardwood floor. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting of the foyer. That’s when I notice all the windows are covered with heavy drapes. I suddenly feel claustrophobic.

Darcy leads me down a hall and knocks on a pair of large carved wooden doors. The lightening is too dim to make out the design. She pushes them open without waiting for a response. I take a deep breath. What if I screw this up? What if I make things worse for Ethan and Brandi? Or if Jude asks for something that I can’t give him?

I step inside.

He’s on the phone, a wireless device attached to his ear, and he holds up a finger.

“Joseph, it’s not my problem your deal is falling apart,” he says calmly. “You can’t come to me and expect funding in forty-eight hours.”

Jude’s office isn’t much brighter than his foyer. The décor—modern with sleek black wood and granite surfaces—is stylish, but cold. A single lamp illuminates his workspace but leaves his face in shadow. Jude scans the laptop on his desk, which is clutter-free. His high-back leather chair creaks as he shifts his weight. Two black leather chairs sit opposite his desk.

“Joseph, don’t beg. It’s unbecoming.” I hear the edge in Jude’s voice. “My appointment has arrived. I will call you later to discuss terms.” Without saying goodbye, Jude hits a button on the phone, disconnecting the call. He turns his attention to me. I’ve suddenly lost the ability to speak.

“Darcy, why don’t you get Lucy something to drink?” His eyes never leave my face. “Do you still like those iced tea and lemonade concoctions?”

“How did you know that?”

Jude just chuckles.

Darcy’s heels click their way out of the room and I sit tentatively on the edge of one of the leather chairs. “I want you to stop spying on me.”

“Another demand, so soon?” He smiles, and his voice bounces off the office walls. I feel the blood drain from my face.

“Yes.” I scoot back in my chair, trying to look relaxed. “Stop sending your crows to spy on me. One of them splattered all over the windshield of Marcus’ car. You go to great lengths to protect your privacy. A scene at my school in front of one of my friends isn’t very discreet.”

Jude leans forward, planting his palms on his desk. His black eyes turn into slits. “That’s not possible.”

“The crow had red eyes.” I roll my eyes. “If you want me to trust you, you have to respect my privacy. No spying.”

As Jude mulls this over, I study his office. Next to the black table that serves as his desk is a cabinet holding the largest television I’ve ever seen. It displays six separate security screens at once: the front gate, the porch, two other outside locations, the foyer and some other inside location. If he saw me coming, why didn’t he send Darcy out to meet me? Or have her call the dogs off before I got to the porch? Was that a test to see how brave I am?

Darcy brings a glass of lemonade-tea, flashing me another smile as she leaves. Neither of them wears a wedding band. “Is she your girlfriend or your secretary?”

“Darcy wears many hats, but girlfriend is not one of them.” I pick up my drink and down half the glass.

Jude nods at my glass as he rises from his chair. “You used to enjoy them with your grandmother during your summers together. Isn’t that right?” He walks over to a liquor cabinet built into the wall. After dropping two ice cubes into his glass, he adds amber colored liquid from a decorative glass container.

I ignore his question, annoyed and creeped out that he knows so much about me. “What’s that?”

“Bourbon.” He swirls it in his glass. “Would you like to try it?”

“No thanks.” Another test? Is he checking to see if I’m a drunk like Momma.

Or maybe he just thinks he’s funny.

He returns to his seat behind the desk. “You wanted to meet with me. What can I do for you?”

I rub my clammy hands on my jeans. How should I start? My mind is a total blank—as far as I can tell, he’s not hypnotizing me. I’m just afraid.

Stalling, I take a sip from my glass.

I picture Ethan and Brandi. And Lola.

“I want to thank you for making Dylan well.”
Never mind that you made him sick in the first place.
“I appreciate that.”

Jude takes a drink from his glass and sets it down with such force that I jump. He arches his eyebrows, impatient for me to get on with it. What happened to the look of love and awe he wore during our last two visits?

I take a deep breath and continue. “But…”

My words stick in my throat. After taking another sip of my drink, I rise from my chair, needing to escape the pressure of his dark stare. Jude doesn’t need to hypnotize me to influence me. Just his presence is enough to paralyze me.

I stroll over to the tall bookcases and run my fingers along the leather bindings of his books. On this side of the room, I can breathe.

Please leave Ethan and Brandi alone.
Why is it so hard to get the words out?