Almost Midnight (46 page)

Yeah,” she said. “As long as the creek doesn't rise
.
”
Or Cary doesn't do something to prevent me from coming.

*   *   *

As she drove away, Brandon stood on the porch waving. But as she pulled past the house, her gaze automatically shifted to the side of the house where she'd seen his sister twice.

Her breath caught when she saw her there again, kneeling at the flower bed. In her rearview mirror, she saw Brandon move inside. She drove away slowly, remembering Holiday's advice.

You need to talk to her. When you see her next time, approach her. Ask her if she remembers what happened to her.

But holy hell, Fredericka didn't want to do that. Nope, not even a little bit.

Then she remembered Brandon talking about his sister. How he wanted to find out what happened. Fredericka owed it to him to do this.

She pulled over and parked. Getting out of her car, she walked down the street. Linda still kneeled at the flower bed. The closer she got, the colder it got. Chills crawled up Fredericka's spine.

Stopping about five feet from the spirit, Fredericka forced herself to speak.

“Linda?”

When she didn't answer, Fredericka spoke again. “I just want to help.”

The woman shifted back just a bit. “I'm dead, aren't I?” she asked, then she slowly looked over her shoulder.

Half the woman's face was beaten to a pulp, her eye dangled out of the socket.

Fredericka screamed. When she went to step back, she tripped over her own feet.

She landed on her ass, and was still screaming, butt-scooting backward, when Brandon came running over.

“What happened?”

Panic still gripped Fredericka. She glanced back at his sister, but the woman was gone.

“I … I…” If she told him the truth, he'd think she was nuts. “I dropped my phone and I … saw a bug.”

“A bug?” He held out his hand.

She got up without his assistance.

He looked puzzled. Disbelief brightened his eyes. “You don't seem the type to be afraid of a bug.”

She searched her mind for something more credible, but nope, nothing came, so she stuck with it.

“It was big,” she snapped. “I … gotta go.” She took off.

He called her name, but she ignored him. When she drove off she saw him standing in the same spot, staring as if … as if he didn't buy her bug excuse.

And right beside him was his sister, waving good-bye, her eye still dangling against her cheek and the front of her sundress stained in blood.

As disturbing as that was, more disturbing was the fact that as she went to turn off Main Street, she recognized the car behind her.

Cary.

 

Chapter Twelve

After tossing and turning most of the night, Fredericka jolted awake an hour late, Wednesday morning. “Crap!” Bolting out of bed, she realized class had already started. She went to her closet and gathered her clean clothes.

She'd spoken with Holiday when she'd gotten home yesterday and told her that now Brandon's sister knew she was dead.

Holiday had given her some pointers on how to encourage the spirit to open up.
Just talk to her, don't freak out.

Right! How could one stand there and have a discussion with someone whose eye was dangling out of their socket and not freak?

As a matter of fact, it had been Holiday's warning that the spirit may come to see Fredericka, versus Fredericka having to go see her that had caused Fredericka's sleepless night.

Seriously, who could sleep knowing a dead person could just pop in? Well, Fredericka had finally cratered, after about four hours.

Of course, also keeping her awake had been Cary. He hadn't followed her all the way back to the camp last night. No, he was smarter than that, because someone might have seen him and had she chosen to tell Holiday about his obvious stalking, then the camp leader might have believed her.

Finally dressed, she ran a brush through her hair.

Between Cary's ire, and the trouble he was causing, and ghosts, you'd think she might just throw in the towel and stop seeing Brandon. But nope. And it wasn't just about the position at the gallery, either. Or because she was too damn stubborn. Though that was part of it.

But it was mostly … him. How just being with him made her smile. How with him, she didn't feel so … damaged.

She felt … beautiful. Feminine. And happy.

She glanced at herself in the mirror, noting she even looked happier.

Which meant this afternoon, she'd go back to Brandon's and … well, try to look a ghost in the eyes. She'd try to help him find the answers he needed.

Holiday's words echoed in Fredericka's head.
Linda Hart needs to cross over. Usually they stay here for a reason. And her brother needs answers. Everyone needs answers.

Did Fredericka need them?

Pushing that from her mind, because it hurt too much to think about, she slipped on her boots and went back to thinking about this afternoon. Spending time with Brandon.

She'd be extra careful when she left, just to make sure Cary didn't follow her.

Somehow she was going to have to warn Brandon, too. Not that she really believed Cary would hurt him. Everyone knew that messing with humans could get you in a world of trouble with the Were Council. Cary might be an asshole, but he wasn't stupid enough to risk his job and way of life just to get even with her. At least she hoped not.

God, she really hoped not.

Looking at the clock, she just dropped back down on her bed. No use interrupting math class when she'd only attend a few minutes.

She tried to relax for a few minutes and then headed out to attend her second-period class. After English she had lunch, and then, ready to face Cary, or at least telling herself she was, she went to her history class. The second she walked in, he met her eyes, and she got a sense he had something else up his sleeve. There was just something cocky about his smile.

Fifteen minutes later, she'd almost convinced herself that she'd simply imagined it. But then Burnett James, Holiday's vampire husband, half-owner of the school, and an agent for the Fallen Research Unit—basically the FBI for supernaturals—walked into the class. While everyone here considered the man fair, he had the presence of a hungry pit bull in a meat market.

His gaze shifted around the room and came to rest on Fredericka. And it wasn't a restful gaze, like a simple hello. Her gut tightened and her instincts said the shit had just hit the fan.

Mr. James spoke to Cary, and then motioned for Fredericka to come with him. Picking up her books, fighting the urge to start screaming:
I didn't do it,
she followed Burnett through the door. She looked back over her shoulder and saw that cocky smile touch Cary's lips again. Fury rose up in her chest.

What the hell had he done this time?

*   *   *

Fredericka sat across the desk in Holiday's office, staring at the evidence placed before her. Supposedly, Miranda, Kylie's roommate, had found it pinned to their cabin door after lunch.

“I didn't do it,” Fredericka said, looking down at the picture of Kylie Galen with a doodle of a knife drawn through her chest, the word
DIE
written across the front. The edges of the photograph were burnt as if someone had used a torch. Probably her torch, too.

On Fredericka's lips were the words:
Cary did it
. But she didn't say them. Why waste her breath? They wouldn't believe her. Not without proof.

And she didn't have any.

“The edges look as if someone used a torch,” Burnett said. “Has anyone had access to your shop but you?” His head tilted to one side as if to hear her heartbeat.

“Not that I know of,” she said and she didn't look at him because … because she didn't want to see disbelief in his eyes. Oh, he would know she was telling the truth, but everyone knew that some people just excelled at lying. He probably thought she was one of them. Why not? She was the daughter of a rogue, after all.

Oh, she could remind Holiday that she'd lost a key, and anyone could have gotten in there. She could tell her about her realization that she and Cary were through, and that he was having a hard time accepting it. But again, what did that prove?

“Fredericka.” Holiday said her name. “I know you've had a lot on your mind lately. With your father's death and then the ghosts. I think maybe—”

“I didn't do it!” she repeated. “I don't hate Kylie anymore.”

“But you used to hate her, didn't you?” Burnett asked, as if testing her ability to lie.

“Yes, I used to hate her. Not anymore.” She closed her hands into tight fists. Not angry at Holiday or Mr. James. Her fury was directed at Cary.

“Why didn't you show up at math class this morning?” Mr. James asked.

“I overslept,” she said, and even to her ears it sounded like a lie. “Are we finished here?” she asked, wanting to go for a long run. Wanting to feel oxygen burn her lungs, until the burn of anger in her chest subsided.

“No, I'm not finished,” Mr. James said. “What are you not saying, Fredericka? You are holding back. I can tell!”

She inhaled and tried to fight the sting in her eyes. Not just from her emotions making them bright, but from tears. Tears of injustice.

“I'm supposed to go help Brandon Hart plant flowers in front of the gallery. Can I please be excused?”

“No!” Mr. James snapped. “You will not leave here today until you start talking.”

She tilted up her chin, inhaled his vampire scent that instinctively annoyed her senses, and met his bright eyes.

“What does it matter what I say? I'm the daughter of a rogue. You've already got me down as guilty!” Would her father's sins ever stop haunting her?

She stood up and walked out.

She heard Mr. James call her back, but then she heard Holiday say, “Let her go.”

Fredericka couldn't help but think that Holiday would be happy if she did go. Far away. If her shadow never fell on the school again.

Tears of anger, of frustration, burned her eyes and she headed for the woods to run until it hurt to breathe.

She ran five laps around the property. The perfect blue sky peered down at her through the trees as if mocking her angst. The smell of the forest, of the wet earth, just reminded her of a certain artist and his woodsy scent.

Each time she came close to the fence, the temptation to jump over it and go see Brandon hit. She didn't. Because that would just make her look guilty.

After about three more laps, her lungs struggling to breathe, she collapsed on a large rock by a stream. Only a little more than twenty-four hours until the full moon offered her escape from the hurt, but it couldn't come soon enough.

She pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them. Then she closed her eyes and let the tears flow freely.

Once she'd cried it out, she pulled her phone from her pocket and texted Brandon.

Sorry. Can't make it today. See you Friday.

She hoped she could see him Friday. Hoped by then she'd figure a way out of the jam Cary had put her in.

She got a text right back.

Damn. I was looking forward to seeing you.

Me, too.

Everything OK?

No,

she typed. Then deleted it. The last thing she wanted was to get Brandon involved in her problems. He had enough on his own plate.

Fine. Except missing you.

Miss you, too. How did you get under my skin so fast?

Sorry.

Don't be. You make me … happy.

Closing her eyes, she held the phone to her heart. His message offered a slight reprieve from the pain collecting there. What she wouldn't give to have him hold her right now. To feel the sense of happiness sneak into her chest and chase away all the pain, the injustice that seemed to be a legacy left to her by her father.

A few minutes later, she jumped off the rock and started back to her cabin, but that's when she heard it again.

The rush of water.

What did the falls want with her this time?

*   *   *

It was dark, almost seven, and her clothes were still wet from the falls when Fredericka stepped up onto the cabin's front porch. Somehow the trip to the falls had led her to this idea. Had it come from the death angels? Maybe. She just hoped it worked.

The door swung open before she knocked.

Della, her vampire eyes already a bright lime green, stood there staring at Fredericka. “Just take your wolf ass away from here. I swear to God, if you lay one finger on Kylie, I'll have you whimpering like a pup.”

Fredericka held her chin up. “I didn't do it.”

“Really?” Della said, but with her head still tilted to the right to hear Fredericka's heartbeat, she looked puzzled.

Fredericka inhaled to find out if Kylie was here. When the chameleon's scent was absent, Fredericka asked, “Where is she?”

“Like I would tell you,” Della said.

Fredericka frowned. To make this plan work she needed Kylie. The same girl she was being accused of threatening. She just prayed that Kylie didn't believe it. Because if she did, she'd have no reason to help Fredericka.

“Let her in,” a voice called from inside.

Fredericka recognized Miranda's witch scent, and her voice. For some odd reason, she felt she had an ally in the girl. And right now, Fredericka could use all the help she could get. Though, she didn't have a clue why the witch would agree to help.

“Can I please come in?” Fredericka asked.

Della didn't move, except to look back over her shoulder, at Miranda. “Why should I let her in?”

“Because I believe her,” Miranda said.

She does?
Fredericka lifted up on her tiptoes, to see Miranda standing by the kitchen table.

Della huffed. “Yeah, but you still believe in Santa Claus, too!”