Evie's Knight (20 page)

Chapter Twenty-three

The phone cupped within her hands reminded Evie of his absence. She’d refused to slip under the covers, admit how late it really was. Between short and restless bouts of sleep, Evie would wake and check her phone, hoping she’d simply slept through Calvin’s call.

She spun the small piece in her hand, wishing she could will it to ring, desperate to hear the sound of Calvin’s voice. Of course, he wouldn’t want to wake her if he’d been out too late, and Evie took comfort in the thought, assuming that–though Calvin was most likely safe and sound, probably staying the night at Parker’s place–he’d wait until morning to call her.

Yet each time she closed her eyes, Evie’s unconscious mind conjured alternate scenarios: images of Calvin and Parker, bloody, beaten or stabbed, lying helpless in an alley next to whatever bar they’d gone to. She whispered another prayer, anxious to vanquish the vision, and wished for the morning to come.

***

“Hey, Cal.”

Calvin took his gaze off the star-lit sky, looked at Parker. “Yeah?”

“Do you think this is only a dream?”

Seated on the hood of his Jeep, Calvin straightened his legs, leaned his back against the windshield. “It’s got to be.”

Parker leaned back as well. “I know.” 

The steady sound of the rushing river was like a loyal friend, staying constant and true among the madness.

Parker nudged Calvin in the shoulder. “You up for one more thing?”

Calvin shrugged, barely mustering the energy to speak. “Doubt it.”

“I was just thinking. If we can spring into the air like that, I wonder if we can press off and go straight ahead, parallel to the ground like Superman.”

The thought hit Calvin like a fist to the throat, made it hard for him to speak. He’d been trying to piece things together the entire evening. Thinking of Evie, of the bar incident, the curse, and of what Grandpa had said about the girl named Fiona. He’d nearly forgotten about the recurring part of his dream. “I am an idiot,” he said. “How did I miss that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Just that, I know we can.” It was such an obvious tie to his dream. Or nightmare, the one that had him fighting for Evie’s life, shooting across the earth in a mad rush to save her.

Calvin slid off the hood of the Jeep, reached into the glove box through the broken window, and grabbed a flashlight. “Let’s go the route of the river. We don’t want to hit any trees.”

As he reached the base of the waterfall, his mind burdened with the mystery before him, Calvin turned to face the river. Parker took the light from him and shined it over the rushing water. The speeding torrents flowed in cool shades of black and grey. Thin sheets of frosted ice canopied the edges of the river, while frozen crystals clustered around the high, protruding rocks, lending a contrasting white to the dark scene.

“Aim the light straight ahead,” Calvin said. “We’ll curve around the bend, stay just above the river.”

Parker nodded. “Shouldn’t we climb up to that ledge, get a little higher?”

Calvin eyed the ledge behind him, about eight feet off the ground. “Probably a good idea.”

As he made his way onto the ledge, visions of his nightmare played through his head. “You ready?”

“I think so. Count of three?”

“Okay.”

Parker aimed the beam of light straight ahead. Though weak compared to the endless dark, the yellowed glow brought life to the canyon land before them. Small critters scattered out of the beam’s reach. Dark limbs twisted and reached their way over the waters, some greeting neighboring branches across the way.

Calvin placed his foot behind him, against the rocky mass of mountain.

Parker did the same. “One,” he said.

Thoughts of his haunting dream stabbed at Calvin’s mind.

“Two.”

He already knew what to expect. He’d done this before, even if it was only in a dream.

“Three,” Parker yelled.

Calvin jumped, maneuvering his other foot against the mountain’s edge, deftly noting the familiar warmth rushing through his legs. He pressed off, away from the mountain, into the dimly lit night.

Brisk air bit at his skin as he sped over the river, catching splashes of cool mist from the massive spray. The experience–the sheer movement–mimicked the flights from his dream. And though he wasn’t speeding to Evie’s aid, Calvin feared for her safety more than ever. Elements of his haunting dream had become a reality. It was only a matter of time before the rest would too.

Calvin shifted his gaze between the rushing river and the bark-covered branches, maneuvering as needed to avoid them. He and Parker were almost neck and neck.

“How do we stop?” Parker yelled as their speed declined.

Calvin focused on a large limb reaching over the river. “I’m going to grab onto that branch.” He straightened his arms as the tree sped toward him at an alarming rate, tightening his muscles in preparation.

As the rough wood slammed against his palms, Calvin clenched his fingers around the sturdy branch. Momentum swung his body up and around the limb in a lurching spell. Using his hands as anchors, he watched the speeding blur of darkened earth and blackened sky rush by him, nausea setting in. Before he could stop himself, Calvin spun around a second time, the brittle bark slipping beneath his fingers and palms, threatening to throw him recklessly into the night.

Sharp splinters of jagged bark dug into his palms as he tightened his grip on the limb, brought himself to a stop over the river. Hands hot and ready to give, he swung himself onto dry ground and spotted the yellow light across the water.

Parker came to a stand, wiping dirt and twigs from his clothes. “That was wicked.”

“How’d you land?” Calvin asked.

“I did a tuck and roll off to the side. Your landing was way cooler.”

Calvin dropped to his knees and sunk his sore palms into the splashing river, letting the cool water soothe the heated ache. “Yeah, well it killed my hands.”

Parker wedged the flashlight between his knees and leaned over, shaking the dirt and leaves from his hair.

A new sort of anxiety gripped hold of Calvin. Concern for Evie, coupled with frustration at his inability to solve the riddle before him. All he wanted was to go to bed, wake up, and find the whole night had been nothing more than a wild dream.

“Come on, Parker. Stop primping and give me that flashlight.  Let’s get back to the Jeep.”

Parker must have been exhausted, too, because rather than take to the sky in a flight over the river, he trudged right through the water instead. 

Going home sounded nice. Going to Evie’s sounded better. Certainly she’d gone to bed by now. But she’d probably made herself sick with worry first, and he hadn’t even called her back. He’d make it up to her tomorrow. Go to her place first thing.

Calvin could hardly imagine seeing Evie face to face now, without telling her the truth. All of it. He wanted to tell her about every detail, show her what he could do. But for now, the truth would have to wait. For all he knew, the truth could be deadly.

Chapter Twenty-four

A distant knocking jolted Calvin from sleep. He yawned, stretched, and realized he was on the couch. His eyes shot open as he recalled the night before. “Parker.” He looked across the room.

Parker lay sleeping on the smaller couch, his feet dangling off the edge.

The knocking came again. A loud booming that caused Parker to reach for a throw pillow, cover his head. 

What if it was Evie? Calvin rushed to the door, peeked through the blinds. It was still dark out, but the glow from their porch light stretched into the driveway, illuminating a motorcycle parked out front. Crap. “Parker, get up. Someone’s here.”

“So what?” The pillow muffled his voice. “Don’t get it.”

“I think it’s someone from the bar last night. Probably here to kill you.”

“Shut up, man.”

“I’m serious.”

The knock came once more.

Just as Calvin moved to the edge of the window, hoping to get a look at their visitor, a pair of legs donning striped tights stepped into the light. “
What?
I think it’s a girl.” He grabbed the doorknob.

“What do you mean? Like a girl scout or something?” Parker sprung from the couch and peeked through the window behind him. “You mean a
hot
girl. Red hair, pouty lips and a tight bod. Yes please.”

Before Calvin had the door open, Parker was at his side, swiping a hand over his hair. “Can I help you?” he asked, once she was in sight.

“No.” The uninvited guest stepped through the door, slid between them, and strode toward the couch. After sinking into one of the cushions, she propped her knee-high boots onto the coffee table. “Name’s Fiona,” she said. “And I’m here to help you.”

“You’re the waitress from the bar,” Calvin said.

Parker shot him an incredulous glare. “You
know
this girl?”

“I’m here to explain why you guys were able to do all that in the bar last night,” she said in a rush of words that nearly merged together.

“
What
?” Parker squeaked.

Calvin felt his heart sputter. “Tell me it doesn’t involve Evie.”

The young visitor glanced at him. “You already know it does.”

“Why would it have anything to do with
her
?” Parker asked.

“You’re about to find out.” Fiona held out an open palm.

Calvin leaned forward as the outline of a transparent square became visible on her hand. In one smooth motion, the creases of her palm faded as the shape fused into a solid shade of creamy white–a folded page. He jolted back.

“What the hell kind of trick was that?” Parker asked.

“This letter will explain a lot. Read over it. And then we’ll talk.”

Calvin reached for the tattered page, vaguely noting the front door was still open. Parker’s hand was set on the doorknob; his gaze was set on the girl.

“Close the door, Parker,” he said, opening the folds of aged paper.

Parker obeyed. “How’d you make that page appear?”

“You found a poem in your grandfather’s journal,” Fiona said to Calvin.

He looked up at her, surprised, but before he could answer, Parker spoke up again. “You did?”

Calvin ignored him. “What about it?”

“It was written by your great, great grandfather, Winston Knight. The letter in your hand was addressed to him.”

Calvin nodded. “Okay.”

“In the poem, he refers to the Raven-haired Ghost.”

A chill slid down his lower back. “Yes.” He nodded once more for her to elaborate.

“That letter was written by her.”

The note in his hand suddenly felt different. Dark, angry, corrupt. A flash of knowledge hit his brain like a block of ice: the ghost was real. And now, he was about to catch a glimpse into her cryptic soul.

Parker came up behind him as he opened the final fold, an ill twist wrenching in his gut. Wordlessly, he read over the black ink script, ignoring the trembling of the page as his hands shook.

My beloved Winston,

Upon addressing this parchment, I, Jocelyn Blanch, will thrust the sweet dagger of death into my breast and reign as a dark spirit among you. You have refused to join me, and in so doing, have taken my only hope for love in this life. For that, I shall never forgive you. For that, I shall seek revenge.

Before winter’s chill puts an end to this year, the woman you love will be taken from you, robbed of her very existence by way of bloody murder. You will be left to writhe in the agony, flounder in the very misery, and swallow that bitter taste of despair, which even now stands stagnant on my tongue. 

But dear Winston, do not think I will stop there. When Winston Jr. should chance to fall in love, envelope himself in the fine feast of it, I shall take the object of his affection by bloodshed as well. This I will continue in effort to satisfy the fever of hate that infects my very soul.

This curse shall pass from seed to seed, until it has been carried fourfold.

Only then, will I return and take, at my desire, one of the Knight men for my own. Be warned, Winston, for it shall be done.

Jocelyn Blanch

Calvin cleared his throat. “What did he do to her?”

“What? You actually believe this crap?” Parker grabbed the letter from Calvin’s hands. “She’s a waitress, Calvin.”

“Hey, Barker,” Fiona interrupted. “Have you been absent the last ten minutes? I’m not a waitress.”

“Then what are you?” Parker asked. “And did you just call me Barker? It’s Parker, with a P.”

“I’ll tell you more about me later. For now, let me explain where this all started. Take me to the kitchen and I’ll get you some breakfast. You’ve got a long day ahead of you.”

Calvin led Fiona to the fridge in a slow shuffle and watched her pull out a carton of eggs. He eyed the clock, surprised to see it was just past five. They’d had only one hour of sleep. Evie was probably sleeping. He’d sent her a text earlier; hopefully it had put her at ease.

“Frying pan?” Fiona asked.

“Drawer under the stove.” Calvin took a seat at the barstool. “So this … crazy woman killed my mother?”

“Yep,” she said.

He waited for this news to grip him with renewed shock and pain. But it didn’t. Either he’d already come to terms with the truth of it, or he was just too numb to digest all the details. He wasn’t sure which.

Parker took a seat at the other barstool. “What are you talking about? And stop ignoring me. Mom was hit by an old guy, not some dead, psycho lady.”

Fiona stood up, frying pan in hand. “Actually, the man driving that car was possessed, in a sense, by this woman. It’s the same way all the Knight men have lost their loved ones.” She cracked a few eggs into the pan. “See, Jocelyn had this ability. Well, she still does. She can mentally persuade others to do her will. She noticed it when she was young, and used it for small, self-serving things like, urging the kid in front of her to step out of line so she could go down the slide first.”