Authors: Kristin Dearborn
He eased into bed, drew the sheet to his chin, and stared at the ceiling.
20
Jemma slept. And as she slept, she dreamed. She tossed and turned in her sleep. Sweat-soaked sheets tangled around her waist and legs. When she closed her eyes, she saw sharpened bamboo rods and black baby chicks.
She woke before the power went out and cast off the moist, stinking sheets. Her sensitive skin felt stretched, shiny, and new. Later today it would feel better enough to rub on some aloe lotion to soothe the pain.
It took hours to organize her thoughts. To weed out Terry’s from her own, untangling them and tugging them apart.
There were no ghosts on Sacrifice Island. The lurking woman in white was much worse than any ghost. She’d experienced the moment when Terry met Virginia, when she lived in one of the rooms on the island and he was living in a room above a bar in El Nido. Jemma saw it all—each failed pregnancy, then Virginia’s stomachaches, which were a symptom of a particularly aggressive cancer. Then she saw a much younger Mr. Lucky, a creature… She hadn’t muddled through the rest yet.
And Terry wanted her to take Virginia’s place. Wanted her to become this creature, this
Aswang.
In her mind she could picture an inquisitive baby chick, coal black, peering at her, cocking its head inquisitively.
What would it matter? She lived an empty, lonely life anyway.
Jemma stepped out into the early morning. Dogs barked and roosters crowed. The air smelled cool and clean, free of the heat and humidity that would come after the sun rose. The world was still cast in gray under a lavender cloudless sky. She wished for coffee. She knew she could go to the restaurant, or if she didn’t want to, she could ask Alex to bring her some. But the idea she wasn’t even in control of her life enough to get herself a coffee made her drop onto a bench overlooking the sea. She watched waves lapping at the shore. A fisherman landed his boat and carried in a net full of fish.
“Witch.”
Jemma’s heart pounded, blood rushed in her ears, but she simply turned her head to the newcomer.
There stood Anna. Her dark brown—almost black—eyes glittered with malice. “You should leave, witch. No one likes your kind here.”
“You don’t understand—”
“I understand you’re a witch and you snoop in holy places you’re better off not going to.”
The first trappings of rage trickled in Jemma. She could hurt Anna. The mere thought made her set her jaw.
“Get away from me,” she said.
“You’ll leave today. Might come a time when you can’t leave.”
Jemma stood, facing her. Neither Jemma nor Anna were particularly tall, but Jemma had maybe an inch on the other girl. She took in the girl’s tank top, her shorts. Anna didn’t have to wear gloves. Didn’t have to keep herself covered.
“I tell you this for your own good. We don’t let witches live around here.”
“Are you threatening me?” Jemma asked. She started to peel off her glove. Anna glanced at it, trying to keep the curiosity out of her gaze. This was a situation she did have power over. Finally, something she could control. If she became the
Aswang
, then everyone would fear her. She would have power over every situation.
“Not threatening. Telling. Leave El Nido. Leave this country. You’re a witch.”
Jemma almost faltered. If she was wrong about Anna, she would only hurt herself. But she wasn’t wrong.
Jemma slapped the other woman. Not a hard slap. It didn’t have to be. Relief, cool as the early morning breeze, washed into Jemma. She forgot about the man she’d been married to, forgot what he’d done to her as the sun pushed up over the mountains to the east. It changed the water from a mysterious gray to cheerful sparkling blue.
Anna clutched at her face and dropped to her hands and knees. She made a sound she’d maybe intended to be a scream, but it came out as a guttural, barking noise.
One of the nearby stray dogs trotted over, perhaps to investigate, but caught wind of something he didn’t like and ran away with his tail between his legs.
Jemma embraced her sensation. Remembered the first time she’d felt this way, after she thrust a week of torture and three days of starvation into Alex. Watched him scream and writhe on the floor. The memory remained but it still wasn’t connected. Didn’t tug at her inside and make her hurt. She couldn’t process what she’d done yet. She wondered what it would do to her when she could.
It didn’t matter. It was worth it.
Anna seemed older. Lines stood out on her face where they hadn’t before.
“Don’t say a word to anyone about this,” Jemma said.
Anna shook her head. Silent tears coursed down her cheeks.
Reluctant, Jemma pulled the glove back on. She made her way back to her cabin, and let herself in.
She didn’t want victims. She never wanted to hurt anyone. It had seemed so easy. She could be a good
Aswang
. Could only eat cattle, or pigs. Look at the self-control she’d carried for years. She could think of it as insurance she would never be pushed around again.
Something moved outside her curtains. Alex slowly walked past, to see if she were awake yet. She opened the door and waved him in. She didn’t want to tell him about Anna, but she had to. The other she would keep to herself.
“I hurt Anna,” she said.
“Anna?”
“The kitchen girl. Who tends bar for Terry.”
“Jesus, Jem. Where is she?”
“The beach. I didn’t touch her for long, I slapped her.”
Alex’s eyebrows asked what the hell had happened on the beach. “She called me a witch. She told me we had to leave or someone would kill us. That they didn’t tolerate witches here.”
“So you did the thing that made her call you a witch again, only this time you dumped all your shit onto her?”
Jemma nodded. He would never understand. What it was like to be trapped in herself, all day every day.
“What did you find out from Terry?” he asked.
“There are no ghosts on the island. What’s on the island is Terry’s wife Virginia. She got cancer, and he made her a…the closest thing I can call it is vampire. He calls it an
Aswang
.” Alex sat on the bed. The springs squeaked under his bulk. “It’s behind the missing people. And why there are no ghosts. It eats them, sort of.”
“We’re leaving. Today.”
“No!”
“You’ve been threatened once already and it’s not even 6:45. We know how to talk to ghosts. I don’t even know what the fuck a vampire is…alive? Dead? I don’t want to know. I bet the poltergeist is still haunting Yonkers.”
“We’re not going.”
For the second time this morning, Jemma swum with power. Most of it siphoned from others. But she had to get it where she could. She couldn’t be powerless all the time.
“I’m calling the airline and getting us on the first fight we can manage. We can get the eleven a.m. van to Puerto, maybe stay there a night if we need to. We can’t fight a vampire.”
“She isn’t a vampire, exactly.”
“I don’t care. Ghosts can’t touch us. Can’t hurt us. Can only mind-fuck us. I’m not dealing with a vampire.”
“You’re not curious?”
“No. And neither are you. Get packed, get your shit together, I want to be ready to go in an hour.”
“It could be an all-new book.”
“I don’t care about books. He turned his wife into a monster.”
“She was dying. She asked him to. She wanted to be with him. They had such a short time together, and she wanted more.”
“And he did it?”
“It’s a romantic notion.”
“How did it work out?” Alex stood.
“Terrible.”
“So why on earth do you want to get involved with something like this? We know ghosts.”
I know ghosts
, Jemma thought. Alex knew machines that measured the energy in the air, measured radiation. He could record sounds, photograph orbs. Jemma still didn’t think orbs were anything more than dust on a lens.
“It’s my book, right?” Jemma asked.
“Don’t pull this bullshit.”
“It’s my book, if I want a vampire in it, we’re doing the vampire.”
“Don’t be a spoiled brat.”
This caught Jemma. The wave of euphoria started to subside. What else could she be beyond a brat? She resisted the urge to withdraw, to curl into a ball and weep.
“Please. It’s important.”
Alex ground his teeth, she could hear it.
“You saw the Chinese kid, Jem. The monster you want to go and look at did that.”
I don’t want to study it. I want to be it.
Alex sighed. “Why don’t you take a rest?”
“I rested all day yesterday.”
“You’re exhausted.”
“I feel fine. After Anna, I feel fantastic. I want to go to the island. What if we could find her in the daytime?”
“I won’t let that happen.” A new voice joined the conversation. Terry stood in the open doorway to the cabin. “After what you took from me, surely you understand.”
Jemma knew this to be true. He would never hurt her. He dreamed of slipping away, back to England, and leaving her on the island. But a monster like Virginia needed a keeper to ensure she stayed in line. The townspeople held him to that duty.
“You both will stay right here until the evening. Then you want to meet my wife? I’ll take you to her.”
“I look forward to it,” Jemma said.
Terry laughed, and closed the door behind him. A lock clunked into place. Alex tried the door, but of course it didn’t open. He could be so foolish sometimes.
Pain crept back into Jemma like water creeping through the bottom of a leaky boat. It rose steadily, reliably. Pain was her only constant. Pain and Alex. He tried the windows, but Mr. Lucky appeared outside, a machete tucked into his belt.
They were trapped. And it was all her fault. She shouldn’t have hurt Anna.
“Any ideas?” she asked.
“Working on it. I could call Karen.”
“Would she help?”
“I don’t know. What do I say? I’m stuck in my beachfront cottage by a machete-wielding madman?”
“The townspeople all know about Virginia.”
“What?”
“Haven’t you felt the way they’ve looked at us?”
“I thought—” He paused, and she knew he felt he’d stuck his foot in his mouth. “I thought they just thought you dressed funny.”
“It’s all right. I thought that too.” How else could she dress? No one could touch her, and she couldn’t tease them. Teasing men got her in this position.
“I’m going to call Karen.”
“And what? We’re thousands of miles from home. They knew we were coming when we stepped off the plane here. She couldn’t get us past Mr. Lucky out there.”
Jemma peered out the curtains. She hated him. He reeked of malice and evil. Another one of Virginia’s keepers.
Alex took his phone out and thumbed a text message. Jemma wondered what he wrote.
They sat for a moment and listened to the morning. The temperature rose.
“You know what no one would expect?” Alex said.
Jemma bit back on a joke that had been played out long ago. “What?”
“You. Dressed like the average Palawan vacationer.”
“Impossible.”
“And if we found some colored tanning lotion, you wouldn’t be so painfully white.”
“I don’t have any touristy clothes.”
Alex pointed out behind her cottage. There hung a clothesline where the Vista Breeze staff hung tourists’ laundry up to dry. “If you went up to Mr. Lucky, you could distract him.”