Love Sucks! (4 page)

I
spent the night dreaming of soulful brown eyes and big demon baddies. I spent the morning trying to get Tave out of my head. Now that she knew Mr. Charles was back, it seemed I couldn't get rid of her. When I finally managed to reroute my emotions, my cell phone rang.

“Honey, I know it isn't fair that I'm so tapped into you, but I can't help you protect the family if you don't help me.”

“I know you mean well, Auntie Tave, but this isn't about the demon. Please, could you try to stay out of my head? It would be very helpful to my teenage state of mind if you didn't know every time I looked at Ryan and
wished things were different.”

Okay, so that was me fudging things a bit. I didn't want her worrying about how much I was worrying, so I figured I'd make her think my sudden emotional change was over Ryan. It must've worked, because she paused, then said, “I see. I'm so sorry, sweetie.”

“It's fine. Listen, I'm running late. Can we talk later?”
Much later.

I glanced at my reflection one last time. Tattered jeans, T-shirt, flip-flops, and hair pulled into a ponytail at the nape of my neck. Perfect girl next door. Not a hint of vampire anywhere.

Except for the backward “S” birthmark on my neck. I slid the band out of my hair and shook my ponytail free. It may be a birthmark to the world, but to me it represented ugliness, and death, and a family history that I'd like to ignore.

A history that apparently Ryan was having a hard time dealing with, I thought as I rounded the corner from the stairs to the kitchen. Ryan was sitting on a barstool at the island, eating some freshly baked bread.

I used to joke that his eyes were like a Sharpie to my soul—each time he looked at me, he left a permanent mark.

But this time, when his gaze met mine, the mark he left didn't fill me with warm fuzzies and longing. It left me sad. And empty. I tried to shake it off, but the lingering chill was bone deep. Almost exactly like my birthmark made me feel.

What was he thinking?

“Hello, dearie.” Aunt Doreen bustled past Ryan and swatted him on the head. “Ye've eaten enough to feed an entire castle. Get ye away.”

Ryan reluctantly moved. He picked up his backpack, then called out, “First bus is leaving—who's coming?”

A stampede of teenage feet pounded down the stairs. Ana and Ainsley rushed to the carport door and almost made it outside, but Mom's voice stopped them in their tracks.

“Ana, you're forgetting your crutches. Use them,” she said from the doorway.

“Mrs. Fraser, get back to the bed. I'll take care of the weans. Dinna make things worse for the baby.”

“Mooooom,” Ana whined. “My ankle is fine.”

“I know that, and you know that, but how are you going to explain it to everyone who heard the bone pop?”

Ana huffed a loud, angsty breath. “Fine. But I'm telling everyone it was just a sprain.” She shot me a look.
“And you can tell that bitch friend of yours that I will not forgive her. She could've fought for me.”

“Ana!” Mom chastised. “I know you're hurt, but you need to watch yourself. Do you hear me?”

Ana stomped back upstairs to retrieve the crutches. Mom sighed. “You okay today?” she asked me.

Her Spidey-sense must have been on full alert. “I'm good. Just didn't sleep well.”

“Are you still having the dreams? I thought Aunt D's protection spells had helped.”

“They're not coming as often or as strong, but they've never stopped. And there's nothing new in them for you to worry about.” I walked over to Mom, rubbed her belly, and kissed her on the cheek. “Go back to bed, Momma.”

“Everyone's a mother nowadays,” she said with a smile. “I was serious yesterday. Don't think about keeping me out of the loop in order to protect me. I want to know everything that's going on.”

“Yes, ma'am,” I said. I couldn't promise, but I would sure try.

Ana stomped back down the stairs with her ankle wrapped in an Ace bandage. She dragged the crutches behind her, allowing them to bang loudly on each stair as she descended.

“Ana, quit being a baby,” Mom said. “Seriously, just get over it. Sometimes this stuff just happens.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. AJ, can you take me to school? Ryan left without me.”

“Sure. Let's go.”

She was still pouting when we got into the car.

“Ana, you're going to have to let this go. You can try out again next year. Or maybe you can talk to them about being an alternate when your ankle heals.”

She just stared out the window, ignoring my attempt to sway her from pouting. We rode in silence for a few minutes. About three blocks from her school, she sighed.

“What are we going to do about this Bborim thing?” she asked. “We can't let it get to Mom, and we can't let it find the runes.”

“I'm not sure what to do,” I answered honestly.

“I am: Find the runes before they do,” Ana replied.

“Yeah. But where do we start looking? That's the question.”

I pulled into the car-pool line and waited while Ana gathered her stuff. She looked like she was performing sketch comedy as she fumbled with her backpack and crutches. I tried not to laugh because I knew it would only make things worse for her mood, but seriously, it would've
taken the restraint of God to stop me from giggling.

Ana glared at me. After a little more struggling, she finally got her backpack in place and the crutches under her arms. “Bite me, AJ,” she said as she hobbled off.

As I pulled away from the curb, a lanky boy with dark hair and a gangly walk stopped Ana, taking her backpack from her. Ana's blush was so warm, I could feel it in the car. Maybe this ankle thing would work to her advantage.

I arrived at my school, parked in BFE, and made the three-day journey to my locker. I hated being late.

Malia and Bridget were both waiting for me. The tension between them was so thick, it felt like walking through a spiderweb. I wished they would just bury the hatchet already. You would think they'd have been able to make peace after last semester, but no can do.

“Hey, sorry I'm late. I had to run Ana to school because Ryan bolted this morning.”

“He must've been in a hurry to get to Bridget's house and give her a ride,” Malia snapped. Lately she had been relentless with her sniping toward Bridget. It was beginning to get old.

Bridget's eyes went wide. “
Not
what happened. If you would just bother to ask instead of assume . . .”

“Ryan picked you up?” I asked.

“Yeah, I had to take my car in to be serviced this morning. He saw me walking to school and picked me up.”

Malia snorted. “I think you're the one needing servicing.”

Bridget shot Malia the finger. “Whatever, Malia. Listen, I gotta go. I'll see you at lunch?” Bridget asked me.

“No. I have prom committee meeting. We still don't have a theme, and prom is in two weeks. We're choosing today, no matter what.”

“Okay, call me later then.” Bridget slid a glance at Malia, turned, and walked away.

“I'm telling you, something's going on with her and Ryan. I've seen them together a bunch of times now, AJ.”

“Malia, nothing's going on. I promise. Bridget is way too wrapped up in Grady. You really need to just let it go. I love you both, so stop with this pettiness,” I said as the first bell rang. “Crap, I gotta run. See you second period.”

 

The morning went by fairly fast. Even Mrs. Crandall wasn't as crabby as usual. Ryan nodded and said hello when I walked in, but he seemed distant, like he was trying to sort something out about me.

It was fourth period and time to face another hour with Ryan. History used to be Mr. Charles's class. Our new teacher was Mrs. Christopher, Sheriff Christopher's wife. Her family is one of Valley Springs' founding families. We were studying the history of our town, and if anyone knew the history of this town, it was Sarah Christopher.

“How many of you know about Valley Springs' ties to Salem, Massachusetts, and the witch trials?”

I looked around. Nobody raised a hand.

“Well, that's just sad. It's the most important part of our history.”

Ryan raised his hand. “How could Valley Springs be connected to the witch trials? The area that is now Mississippi was largely unexplored then, and aside from the Native Americans it was pretty much uninhabited. We didn't even become an official territory until a hundred years after the witch trials.”

Mrs. Christopher beamed. “Very good, Ryan. You know your history well. But the history I'm going to discuss isn't from a textbook. It's what has been passed down from family to family over the years and is now available in the archives at the library. And, Ryan, the area wasn't uninhabited. The founding members of Valley Springs were the first Europeans in the area, and they lived in
peace among the Chickasaws.”

She pulled out a large book, which looked similar to the one Aunt Doreen used to look up the information on the Bborim. “I've made some copies of the applicable pages for y'all. Take one and pass it back,” she said, handing stacks of stapled papers to the front row.

I flipped through the pages. They were indeed very similar to Aunt Doreen's book—lots of handwritten notes, sketches, recipes, and information about the area and the natives.

“You all know about the Salem witch hunts that started in 1692 when three Puritan girls began to act erratically and claimed they were being pricked by invisible pins. When no physical evidence of any ailment was found, the rumblings of witchcraft began to make their way through the village until finally three women were arrested.

“Those three women were not witches. However, within a day's walk of Salem, there was a small, mostly Scottish, settlement of holistic people. They lived quietly and peacefully with the natives. The Puritans were frightened of them because they did not understand their use of herbs, crystals, and metals. They were also labeled witches.

“And they
were
witches in the sense that they believed
in the use of magic, potions, spells. They really weren't that different from the Native Americans. Anyway, once innocent people were being accused in Salem, they knew it wouldn't be long before the Puritans hunted them down as well. So they made their way south.”

“Wait a minute, Mrs. Christopher. If they were really witches, why did they bother leavin'? Couldn't they have just done some magic woo-woo and escaped?” Hank Fellows asked.

Mrs. Christopher laughed. “Very astute, Hank. And yes, I suppose if they really were magical in the ‘woo-woo' sense, they could've escaped unharmed. But if that had happened, would the witch hunts have ever ended? If they had stayed and escaped their punishment, then an innumerable number of innocent people would've lost their lives as a direct result. This was not the first time they had to run. On page two of your handouts, you'll see that they came to America to escape persecution by another group of people they had once been allied with.”

I looked up at Ryan. He briefly made eye contact, then looked back at his handout, his face a little ashen. This was hitting a little too close to home for him.

Cathy Ledbetter raised her hand. “My momma says that witches are from the devil. She's not gonna take
too kindly to you spreadin' the word of the devil, Mrs. Christopher.”

“I'm teaching the history of our town, Cathy, and nothing else. Now, where were we? Okay, the settlers left in the middle of the night sometime before the trials began. They needed to get far away from the puritanical arm of the church. They followed the rivers, preferring to make their home near a water source, until finally they settled in Mississippi.”

Cathy raised her hand again. “Why isn't any of this in the history books? Why is it that only you have this information? Are you a witch?”

Mrs. Christopher sighed. “Cathy, as I said, this information is available at the public library and it has been verified by a historian. There are loads of artifacts on display in the library as well that verify this information. And no, I'm not a witch, but yes, some of my ancestors were practicing witches. Now, can we continue?”

Surprised murmurs spread over the classroom. It wasn't every day that a teacher admitted to having witches in her family tree.

“Who were the people they ran from the first time?” Hank asked. “Maybe our founders were really just bad guys who kept pissin' everyone off around them?”

“Well, we're not sure exactly. Many of those pages have been removed from the books. We've seen the word ‘dichampyr' here and there, but nobody can translate that. We've read several references to serpents, so we know they felt double-crossed. And there is one mention of bloodsuckers, but the reference is so vague, we haven't really been able to determine what they meant. So we're having to piece together a lot of the history based on notes here and there, since so many pages are missing.”

I flipped through my handout and stifled a gasp. There, in black and white, was the Serpentine “S.” Next to it were different places on the body the “S” had been spotted, and other variations of the mark.

Boy, was I glad I took that ponytail down this morning.

I self-consciously lifted my hand to my neck and made sure the mark was hidden. Sure, everybody had seen it by now, but maybe nobody in this class had ever—

“Hey, AJ! That looks like your birthmark! You some kinda descendant of those dichamp-whatevers?”

Heat burned my cheeks. I laughed nervously. “Guilty.”

The class chuckled. Mrs. Christopher winked. I glanced at Ryan as he stoically stared straight ahead. His face was even grayer than earlier.

“I'm assigning a project that's due in two weeks. I want each of you to research your family history or ties to Valley Springs. If you're new to the area, come see me after class and I'll assign you a family to research. You can do a family tree, a report, charts, whatever you want. The specifics of the assignment are on the last page of the handouts.”