I'll Be Damned (Anna Wolfe Series) (22 page)

"Well, girl, you did a good job tellin’ ‘em where to stick it," he says, chuckling. "I called to see if you gots any updates on our girlfriend Janie."

"No," I answer quickly.

"Sounds like you's holdin’ out on me."

"Martello... it... it isn't like that. There are so many things and I can’t make sense out of even one of them,” I groan.

"So? I loves crazy theories... I'm listenin’."

"Martello they're just that... crazy. To be honest, it’s stupid repeating them or trying to explain them to someone else."

"I'm not someone else. I can handle foolishness with the best o’ them. Lay it on me," he demands.

Torn between doing what’s right and what’s safe, I hesitate. If I tell him, he might not believe me; or I might put him in danger just by sharing the information. Then again, he might be able to help me. This must be a good example of what religious people call blind faith. After all, Martello does believe in voodoo and spirits. He grew up in Louisiana, for God's sake; but thinking voodoo and practicing voodoo are two very different things. I might as well start burning my bridges now. Janie would do the same for me.

"Are you busy today?" I ask.

"Nope. I have me a day’s off for once."

I sigh inwardly. "Can you meet me at my house around eleven? I’m taking a trip to my parents’ to explain Janie's disappearance, among other things."

"See you at eleven."

We hang up and I dial my parents’ house, discouraged by how today is beginning to pan out. Butterflies dance in my stomach as I wait for the click of someone picking up the line.

"Mom?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Is Jack there?" I inquire, crossing my fingers.

"Yes, would you like to speak with him?"

Ugh, of course. "No, I want to speak to the both of you... today. Will you and Jack be home around noon? I want to come over with Martello. There's something I need to talk to you guys about."

"Oh, is everything okay, dear?"

"Yes, everything's okay. I'll explain when I see you."

"Okay,” she responds hesitantly. “We’ll see you soon."

I hang up, exhaling a sigh of relief. I'm one step closer to telling the truth, but the liberating feeling I should feel doesn’t come. I straighten up my home, killing time until Martello arrives. At eleven o’clock, on the dot, he pulls into my driveway. His ragtop convertible BMW purrs over the dirt. I watch as the wind lifts the edges of his pink silk scarf tied around his head, tenderly tossing it back and forth over his shoulder. I take one last look at myself in the mirror. I am just checking to make sure I don't look as bad as I feel before pushing myself outside. Martello looks stylish, as usual. A baby pink tank top exposes his muscular arms, a gold choker clings around his bulky neck, and white glittery sandals adorn his feet. I glance down at myself, suddenly feeling underdressed.

"Overdressed?" I tease.

"I looks fine, now let's go," he retorts with a grin. "Besides, your mother is gonna love this outfit," he adds.

"If you say so," I laugh, playfully grabbing his arm and ushering him towards my car. I whistle for Rutey, who crashes through the bushes of the backyard after doing his business. He's my parents’ new roommate until things are under control and Janie's back. It's early, and already the humidity is playing tag with my breath. Summers are challenging, but enduring the three months of hell, in exchange for the nine months of pristine weather, is a fair trade by me. I pull my seat forward, making it easier for Rutey to leap into the backseat before I slide into mine. I turn on the ignition, anxiously waiting to be blasted by cool air. Martello leans into the seat and plugs his ears with his headphones. He's always been a picky music listener. His lack of conversation may insult some, but not me. I'm thankful, seeing how time is an essential part of a mentally clean house. Pulling out of my driveway, I hop on the expressway, cruising to the music of The Doors. Oddly enough, Jim Morrison's poetic lyrics and eccentric songs relax me.

Giddiness pricks my body as I drive over the tar-covered concrete towards the island I love. It may not have clear blue water, but what it lacks in color, it makes up for in cuisine, wildlife and a no-worries mentality. A
Welcome to Hilton Head
sign stands proudly above the landscaped garden underneath, greeting me as I glide over the bridge. Lush grass borders the beach where heat-quenching waves crash lightly onto it in calm strokes, like a Welcome Wagon. A smile crawls across my face as I recall the saltwater memories I left here, memories that weaken me. This was my safe haven whenever life became too overwhelming. I shake my head, silently scolding myself for staring into the rearview mirror of the past. Peace will always be the enemy of memory.

I round Coligny Circle, passing the Sandalwood Shopping Center that's home to the Piggly Wiggly, and numerous other boutiques selling unique items. Beaming tourists saunter in an out of the stores, their hands clutching multiple shopping bags. Their energy is contagious, and dissolves my current despondency. I continue through the hustle and bustle, passing numerous statement homes that line the road and often intimidate the casual observer. Enormous houses, fancy cars and amazing hardscapes all parade as testimonials of power and money. Hilton Head isn't overdeveloped, but some homes are so close to one another, the neighbors can high-five each other while standing on their decks. Why anyone would pay obscene amounts of money to have a total lack of privacy is beyond comprehension. Jack was smart. He bought the two grassy properties on either side of their home before a developer could. I continue cruising, soaking in the natural serenity before turning into my parents’ driveway. Their house is anything but a statement. It proclaims its beauty in a subtler, Audrey Hepburn sort of way - graciously and with class. The cream rancher sits far back from the road with black hurricane shutters over the windows like eyebrows. Strategically planted clusters of palmettos and magnolias flank the driveway like a welcome home hug. Pink foxgloves aim straight towards the sky, offering their ostentatious spikes of cylindrical flowers with speckled amethyst throats to the sunlight. My mother puts a lot of time into gardening and seeing her gorgeous results, I must admit she does well. I park my car and look in my rearview mirror.
You can do this, Anna
.
You need to be strong and make them understand
. I nudge Martello, letting him know we arrived. He looks at me wearily and rubs his eyes like a toddler, waking up from a nap.

"Damn, girl! That was fast."

"Traveling is always fast when you’re asleep. Come on, let's go."

I pull my leaden body from the car, allowing Rutey to relieve himself before entering. I sigh, somewhat reluctant to face them. On the porch, I exhale my nervousness.

"Relax; it'll be fine," Martello says with a wink.

Easy for him to say, he has no idea what to expect. He opens the door, leading the way inside with Rutey at his heels. I fall behind, using him as a security blanket. My legs feel as heavy as headstones as they crash their way into the kitchen. Rutey runs into the living room, taking his favorite spot on their pale yellow couch. He hastily closes his eyes as if to say,
you're on your own
. My mother and Jack are sitting at the table, anticipating my visit. More anxiety overcomes me, if that’s possible. Martello grabs my hand and squeezes it while escorting me to the table. We exchange pleasantries and I take a seat. A thickly bound book sits in center of the table, looking completely out of place. Its leather brown cover is weathered, giving it a tattered appeal.
Book of Worlds
is written in elegant cursive above a gold circular pendant. The stained, ragged pages stick out the sides like crooked teeth, the color of coffee. Small beads of sweat dot my forehead. My mother extends her hand and lays it gently on my arm.

"Dear, we have a lot to talk about," she says calmly. "Jack and I... well, we hoped you would never have to experience this."

"Yes, Anna," Jack adds, "Please keep an open mind. There are things you need to understand."

There's that request again.
Keep an open mind.
Already, I don't like where this is going. I look at them, waiting. "What do I need to understand?" I inquire impatiently. 

Jack’s grave expression fills me with an impetuous desire to know his secret knowledge. I glance at Martello, begging for help with a desperate look. He responds with a
be
patient, I’m here for you
one. Jack adjusts his posture out of nervousness, combing his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair. He places the palms of his large hands on the book protectively.

"Anna, there's no easy way to start, so here it goes. When you were born, we noticed you were different. Something wasn’t normal per se. Now, when I say normal, I don't mean anything was wrong… it’s just that you weren't like most children. You had special capabilities... capabilities that weren't human."

"I know… I mean I have an idea." My eyes fill with tears. I blink them back, forbidding them to fall.

"Honey, we don't really know what you are, but we do know you're special. Your mother and I assumed you inherited the gene from your lineage, although it was unseen for centuries," he pauses. "This book here," he says tapping it with his index finger, "contains your ancestry and information about the Netherworld. All the answers lie within these pages," he finishes, pushing the daunting tome towards me.

The Netherworld? How many worlds are there? I reach across the table, carefully wrapping my fingers around it. A surge of energy strikes my hands, and suddenly disappears inside of me. What the hell? I try to pick it up, and get surprised by its heavy weight. I open the book reluctantly, not knowing what I'll find. I slide my finger down the crisp edges of the pages, flipping them one by one. I watch as they gently bow under my weight, and expel a crackling noise. Age, visibly displayed by the brown and yellow splatters of color, indicates its ancient beginning. Photographic illustrations of people who resemble normal human beings fill each page. I flip through some more, noting the gradual shift from human to more bizarre-looking figures. Page after page of demons fill my vision. Overwhelmed, I slam the book closed. Everyone's eyes rest on me, all waiting for my reaction.

"Why didn't you tell me? Why did you let years pass without me knowing any of this?” I growl.

"We didn't tell you because it wasn't in your best interest at the time," Jack exhales, pinching the top of his nose with his fingers. "There never seemed to be a right time. Nothing was happening... you seemed protected from this... until of course... well, until now." Jack’s eyes drop to the table. "That's the thing. We don't know what you are capable of."

I gawk at him, amazed at how much he knew. "Jack, what am I?" I ask.

He sighs. "Anna, we believe you are a witch... an extremely powerful witch," he finishes hesitantly.

"A witch..." I state in disbelief. The room spins at hearing something I don’t want to hear from a second person. I glance at my mother, who offers me a soothing grin. I'm going to need more than just a smile.

"All we know is you’re a witch. Your dormant powers will incorporate on your thirtieth birthday. It takes thirty years for the magic to become a permanent part of your physical makeup. You might have been experiencing cramps over the years,” he states, waiting for me to confirm his suspicions. I nod in agreement. “These were tremors or building blocks, so to speak. It's how the magic chips away at your body's natural rejection mechanism,” he finishes.

I look at Martello, almost forgetting he is listening to all this insanity. "Well, girlfriend, you gots some cool voodoo stuff going on... maybe that's why that Shane fellow is around?"

"Shane?" Jack questions, confusion settling on his face.

"He's a guy I went on a date with," I answer. Shane must have some connection to this, but how?

"Honey, you need to be careful whom you allow into your life. You need to read this book, it will explain a lot more than I can."

I glare at the book that will substantially change my life forever. An overbearing silence descends. I try to cram this newfound burden into my brain, without exploding. I glance at my parents who wear solemnly strong faces. My anger deflates like an old balloon, realizing how worried they must be. I no longer have the right to be so selfish.