The Awakening of Sunshine Girl (The Haunting of Sunshine Girl) (22 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Homecoming

A
shley and I take turns driving. I force myself to sleep when it’s her turn; I have to be strong to face Helena. As we drive the landscape shifts: out of the jungle and into the desert, and then up through Texas. It reminds me of driving from Austin to Ridgemont with Mom back in August, though it’s hard to believe just how much has changed since then. The weather goes from balmy to frigid somewhere along the way. At a rest stop in Idaho I put a sweater on over my T-shirt, change from shorts to long jeans, and slip the knife and map from one back pocket into another. I’m dozing when we cross the state line into Washington.

I dream of Nolan. No—it’s not a dream. I know that now. It’s a
vision.
He’s sitting. He’s struggling to get up, but an invisible force is holding him down. He’s bleeding from a gash above his left temple. I read somewhere that a cut to just the right part of the temple can kill a man. Drops of blood drip onto the chair’s upholstery. A chair that looks so familiar . . .

“The GPS says we’re only seven minutes away from your house.” Ashley’s voice wakes me. Groggily I open my eyes. We’re driving through downtown Ridgemont—well, as much as Ridgemont has a downtown—turning onto Main Street. It’s nearly midnight, and all the storefronts are dark. I gaze longingly at the pizza place where Mom and I had take-out on our very first night in this town. That seems like a million years ago. For most girls
homecoming
is a word associated with dresses and football and glittery plastic crowns.

Not for me.

Ashley turns a corner, and I find myself staring at the coffee shop where I dreamed of Nolan with Helena.

Wait. Just wait.
This isn’t a homecoming. I’m not going
home.
Not to my actual house. I’ve got to get to wherever Helena is holding Nolan hostage. I close my eyes and try to remember every detail of my vision. I know I recognized it, but it feels out of reach somehow, like a word on the tip of my tongue that I can’t remember.

“Stop!” I shout.

Ashley slams on the brakes so hard that if I hadn’t been wearing my seatbelt, I would have slammed into the windshield. I turn around and look for cars honking like crazy behind us, but it’s late at night in our quiet little town, and the streets are empty.

“I didn’t mean
stop,
stop.” Slowly Ashley presses on the gas.

“Be more specific next time. What kind of
stop
did you mean?”

“I meant . . .” I pause. “We’re not heading for my house. That’s not where Nolan is.”

“You sure you want to go straight to Nolan looking like this? Don’t you want to, I don’t know,” Ashley continues like she’s
ticking items off a list: “Shower, put on some makeup, maybe some clothes that you haven’t been wearing for this many hours in a row?”

Somewhere Nolan is struggling. Nolan is fighting. Nolan is
bleeding.
I shake my head.

“Okay then, where to?”

I purse my lips, but it’s too hard to concentrate with the coffee shop staring me in the face. “Pull over for a sec,” I say. I close my eyes as she shifts the car into park. In my visions I saw Helena dragging Nolan down a pinecone-littered street. I saw him sitting in a pretty plush chair. Light pink, with little flowers embroidered into it.

And then, as though I’m adjusting the lens on my camera, everything snaps into focus.

“Can that really be where she took him?” I ask out loud.

“Can where really be where who took who?”

I take a deep breath and direct Ashley to number three Pinecone Drive.

“
This
is where Nolan is holed up with some girl?” Ashley asks. The headlights from her car are bright enough that even in the thick Ridgemont darkness, she can make out the Victorian-styled wedding cake of a house where Victoria Wilde lived. Where her daughter, Anna, died. “Not exactly my idea of a romantic rendezvous.”

“Not mine either,” I agree, but my voice is shaking. On the other side of the house’s front door a woman who wants me dead is holding the boy I love prisoner. Sweat pools at the nape of my neck, the moisture curling what’s left of my hair.

I unlock my door, but I haven’t even stepped outside when I feel a presence.

“Anna! What are you doing here?”

“Who are you talking to?” Ashley rolls down her window and searches the empty space around her little hybrid.

I don’t answer; instead, I get out of the car. I’m cold, but for the first time in months it’s not only because a spirit is near. I’m cold because it
is
cold. I take a deep breath, savoring the familiar Ridgemont chill. There are patches of snow on the ground, and I can see my breath. The clouds hang thick, so low that it feels like I could reach my arms up and touch them.

“Please let me help you move on,” I beg. “You can’t stay here.” And it will give me strength. Strength I desperately need right about now.

Ashley sticks her head out her window. “Seriously, who are you talking to?”

Again, I don’t answer. I lean back against the car. It’s been almost three months since I exorcised the water demon, setting her spirit free.

“You know what happens to a spirit who lingers too long,” I say, even though Ashley thinks I’m speaking to the air. If anyone knows what’s at stake when a dark spirit manifests, it’s Anna. But her certainty fills the air around me: she doesn’t believe she’s at risk. Her life flashes before my eyes: learning to ride a two-wheeler, baking cookies beside her father, hugging her mother when she was home from one of her long business trips, clutching the stuffed owl that matches the one in my duffle bag.

Anna had a happy life before the demon showed up. Her joy fills the air around me, charging it like electricity.

She’s trying to make me feel better. To make me feel
stronger,
even if she won’t let me help her move on.

“More proof that my father was wrong about my empathy making me weak,” I mutter. It’s the first time I’ve referred to him as
my father
like that, out loud. It surprises me how easily the words just slipped out. Why would I say those words for the first time now?

I shake my head, and the images of Anna’s life disintegrate. I turn around to face Ashley. “You should go.” My voice isn’t trembling anymore.

“Go?” she echoes incredulously. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you alone like this.”

“Like what?”

“Sunshine, you’re standing out there talking to yourself in the dark. I know you want to see Nolan, but maybe you should get some rest or something first. Let me take you home.”

“I told you, I don’t have that kind of time.”

“If the boy loves you, she’s not going to be able to take him away in a matter of hours.”

“You don’t understand.”

“No,” Ashley agrees. “I don’t understand. I’m worried about you. This isn’t like you.
None
of this! Believe me, no one was more excited to see you so worked up over a boy, but I have a hunch that whatever this is, it has just as much to do with whatever happened back there with your birth father as it does with Nolan.”

Once again Ashley has no idea just how close to the mark she is. I wish I could explain it all. Someday, somehow, I
will.
If I have enough somedays ahead of me.

I turn back to look at number three Pinecone Drive. It looks just like it did in December, right down to the patchy snow on
its lawn. Narrow, with a set of disproportionately wide stairs that lead to an enormous front porch. The second floor with its big wrap-around terrace, and the third floor has that same pointy turret like the house is a teeny, tiny little castle. I think part of me was expecting it to look different. Like there had to be something on the outside to give away all the sinister stuff going on inside.

I lean down and reach through the open window to hug my friend good-bye. “I love you,” I say. “Thank you for everything.”

“I’ve literally never heard you sound so serious.” When I pull away, I see the fear in my friend’s eyes. But she must see in mine that there is nothing she can say that will make me get back in the car.

“I’m going to get Kat.” She turns back to her phone, my address still programmed into her GPS, and shifts into drive. “I really don’t understand what’s happening here, but I can tell you need your mother.”

“Ashley, don’t—” I begin, but she pulls away before I can finish my protest.

I’m left alone on Pinecone Drive, across the street from my old visual art teacher’s house. No—not alone. I can feel that Anna is still close. Her spirit sends pleasant shivers up and down my spine, almost like she’s putting her arms around me.

I put one foot in front of the other and make my way to her old front door.

CHAPTER FORTY

Inside

S
hould I knock? Ring the doorbell? Instinctively I start to slide my hand into my back pocket, but before I can so much as touch the knife, someone opens the door from the other side.

Victoria.

I throw myself into my old teacher’s arms.

If Victoria is here, then everything is going to be okay. Maybe she’s already saved Nolan. Maybe she’s already sent Helena running scared in the other direction, and we can all just go home and take a break from all this luiseach drama.

Or maybe . . . maybe Helena is holding her prisoner too. I loosen my grip so I can look Victoria in the eye, but she keeps hugging me tight. Has Helena been trying to force Victoria onto her side of the rift? No. That wouldn’t do Helena any good—Victoria doesn’t even have her powers anymore. Can Victoria even sense Anna’s presence?

That’s when I realize: the instant Victoria opened the door,
Anna vanished. Why did she disappear on me? Even with my teacher’s arms around me, I feel suddenly, terribly alone.

Victoria’s long, almost-black hair is soft against my face. She’s wearing the same flowing, witchy clothes she’s always worn, clothes I thought made her look creepy before, but now I realize they’re just part of what makes Victoria look like Victoria, just like my colorful vintage choices are part of me. It’d be strange to see my old teacher in jeans and a T-shirt instead of a long gray skirt and matching peasant top, with a crocheted shawl around her shoulders.

From somewhere inside the house a husky voice inside calls, “Let our guest inside, Victoria.”

I follow my old teacher into her living room. It’s just the same as it was four months ago, bright and preternaturally warm.

Except for the fact that now Nolan’s blood has stained one of Victoria’s plush floral chairs. He struggles to get up when he sees me, but he can’t. Goose bumps rise on my forearms, a cool breeze in the otherwise warm room. A spirit is near.

Nolan’s head tilts to one side. Invisible hands press like ropes into the sleeves of the jacket I love so much (Mom must have gotten it back to him after all), and I can see him wince in pain as they squeeze ever tighter. His blue jeans look even more worn than usual, and his tawny hair is pushed back behind his ears instead of falling across his forehead. He hasn’t changed his clothes or showered for at least two days, not since Helena brought him here. And judging by the circles under his eyes, he hasn’t slept either.

A woman stands facing him, her back to me. She seems to tower over him, despite the fact that she’s at least six inches shorter than he is, just like I am. Her hair is pulled back into a
tight bun, but I can tell that it’s thick and long and curly, just like mine used to be.

I hold my breath as she turns.

I’ve dreamed of her for so many nights, but now here she is, come to life right in front of me. The brown eyes that started out warm and then narrowed as she squeezed my helpless infant body.

“Apologies for the blood,” she says, gesturing at Nolan’s forehead. “We had a bit of a scuffle before I could secure him. The boy seemed to think he had a chance at escape.” She smiles. Nolan struggles ever harder. Helena flicks her wrist, and Nolan stills as though an enormous weight is sitting on top of him. His face twists in pain.

I focus my energy on the spirit in the room to see him. His name was Ryan Michaelson, and he was a promising college football player with a real chance at going pro. Now his neck is twisted from a fatal football injury, bones bulging out of one side. He’s angry because his life was cut short.

“You’re
using
a spirit who doesn’t want to move on?” I ask, shocked by the cruelty of it. This is one lesson I wouldn’t want to learn.

“Only for a short while longer,” she answers, a fake sort of sweetness in her voice. “His strength is coming in handy at the moment. As soon as my task is complete, I will force it on.” For an instant her face relaxes: the circles under her eyes vanish, the tightness around her lips releases. With a start, I realize we have the same mouth.

But just as suddenly her features shift. She looks starving, like she hasn’t eaten for months, as parched as someone who hasn’t had anything but tiny little sips of water to keep herself
alive for weeks at a time. She’s been manipulating this spirit for days to torture Nolan.

There’s something else in her face.
Surprise.

Maybe she can’t quite believe the girl she’s been hunting for so many years just walked right into her clutches.

Or maybe she’s just surprised to see me all grown up. Maybe for all these years she’s been thinking of me as the baby she let go.

“Why don’t you offer our guest a seat?” Helena says to Victoria. Her voice sounds like no voice I’ve ever heard before, hoarse yet powerful. She sounds a thousand years older than she looks.

That’s the second time Helena referred to me as
our
guest, like she and Victoria have been living in this house together. But Victoria would never have willingly allowed Helena into her house, would never have just stood by while someone tortured Nolan.

Would
she?

“Sit down, Sunshine.” Victoria nudges me toward the couch where I sat when she answered my questions just a few months ago.

I look at my protector, gasping for breath beneath the weight of the former football player, and then back at my old teacher, who looks perfectly normal. Well, as normal as she ever looked. She still has deep hollows beneath her eyes and the palest skin I’ve ever seen. But she doesn’t look any
different
from the way she looked the last time I saw her. She certainly doesn’t look like a prisoner. After all, prisoners don’t get to answer the front door.

Aidan said he and Lucio were the only two luiseach left who didn’t want me eliminated. Could he have possibly meant
Victoria
abandoned him too?

“How could you?” A lump rises in my throat, and I swallow it down, determined not to cry in front of Helena. “I thought you were on our side!”

Before Victoria can answer, Helena speaks. “She was. Until your father decided to use her daughter rather than save her when he designed your test. That’s just like him, you see, putting his little experiments above the lives of others.”

I can hardly argue with that. I’m furious at him for exactly the same thing.

“Please,” Helena says. “Sit down.”

I sit. There’s a plush ottoman in front of me, and Helena is standing on the other side, angled so I can’t quite make eye contact with Nolan. Keeping my eyes open, I concentrate on the angry spirit. I shiver as I reach out to him. Maybe if I can just get him to loosen his grip . . .

“Uh-uh-uh,” Helena wags her finger at me. Nolan groans as the spirit redoubles his efforts, every bit as strong as the body it left behind.

Helena squares her shoulders. Even though she’s small—like me—she seems like a wall between Ryan Michaelson and me. Between Nolan and me.

“Why are you hurting him?” I ask. “It’s me you want.”

“I needed him to take me to Llevar la Luz,” Helena answers, confirming that she’s known where I’ve been all along, every bit as calm and scientific as Aidan, even in dire circumstances. They must have made quite a team, barely breaking a sweat even as they took on demons. “I thought Nolan just needed a little persuading, but he’s been unusually resistant. Lucky for me, I don’t need to go to Llevar la Luz anymore.”

She gives the tiniest little nod, and Nolan groans again, this time in relief. I crane my neck so I can see his face. It looks like he
isn’t in quite so much pain anymore. But Ryan Michaelson is still working for Helena, holding Nolan down. He can’t stand. And he certainly can’t run.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Helena continues politely, “how exactly did you know we were here?”

“I saw it.” No point in lying.

Helena looks just as surprised as she did when I walked into the room, but she quickly regains her composure, saying softly, “And you love him too much to let him suffer when you knew you could stop it.”

Months ago, in this very room, Victoria referred to Nolan as my boyfriend, and I was quick to correct her. This time I don’t correct Helena when she says I love him.

Though I have to admit, this wasn’t quite the way I envisioned Nolan finding out. I wanted to tell him myself, not have him hear it from the woman who wants to kill me.

I stand and plant my feet firmly against the carpet, expecting her to lunge for me, ready to fight. But Helena just steps aside, clearing the path between Nolan and me.

“The boy is free to go,” she says. Ryan Michaelson’s spirit vanishes: the chill dissipates, and Nolan is unfettered.

I practically leap across the ottoman. I put my arms around him—nausea be darned!—and use one of Victoria’s pretty throw pillows to apply pressure to the gash above his right temple. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “This is all my fault.”

With effort, Nolan shakes his head. He reaches up and takes one of my hands in his. After months spent in the Mexican jungle, my skin looks so dark next to his, but somehow our hands still seem to fit together perfectly.

The warmth of being near Nolan turns into heat as I struggle to control the sensations rushing through my body. Sweat forms
at the base of my neck, and without my long hair to catch it, the moisture drips down my back, in between my shoulder blades. Touching Nolan feels simultaneously so right and so wrong, but at least now I know that all those
wrong
feelings are just a trick manufactured by Aidan. They’re not
real
.

“Can you stand up?” I ask, putting my arm around his shoulder to help him. I may be shorter than he is, but I can feel my muscles working. All that strength I built up in the jungle has come home with me.

“I think so,” Nolan whispers.

“Let’s get you out of here,” I say, helping him to his feet. I just have to get him to safety. And then . . . I don’t know what happens
then.

Nolan shakes his head. “I’m not leaving without you.” It’s clear from the look on his face that he knows what Helena intends to do with me.

Before I can protest, Helena’s voice makes me jump. I hadn’t forgotten that Nolan and I weren’t alone in the room, but it just didn’t
feel
like anyone else was part of our conversation.

“Well, then,” her hoarse voice begins, “I’m afraid we have a problem. Because I can’t let you leave
with
her.”