The Eternal Ones (9 page)

Dr. Tidmore removed his glasses and rubbed the lenses with a scrap of red silk. “
That
is what worries me most,” he said. “The possibility that you might have inherited your father’s affliction—that the same evil forces may now be acting on
your
mind.”

Haven turned the statement over in her head. It was ridiculous from every angle. “You’re not saying I inherited a
demon
from my father, are you?” she scoffed.

“Demons take many forms,” Tidmore said scientifically, like an entomologist describing different species of cockroach. “Sometimes they manifest as physical and mental illnesses.”

Haven stood up. “Give me my box.”

“Sit down, Haven,” the preacher commanded, placing the box back in his desk drawer.

“Fine. Keep all the stuff. There’s plenty more back at the house,” Haven lied as she headed for the door. “Imogene only found part of it.”

“You’re free to go,” Dr. Tidmore informed her. “But if you do, you may find yourself stuck in this town for longer than you can possibly imagine.”

Haven froze.

“Good. Now sit back down,” Tidmore added gently. “Remember, I’m here to help you.” Once Haven had returned to her seat across from him, he picked up a pen and prepared to take notes. “Let’s talk about this boy from your visions. Ethan, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.” Haven’s head was bowed in defeat.

“Tell me. What do you remember about Ethan?”

“Not very much. I don’t know.” There was no way she could tell a preacher the things she remembered.

“When you were younger, you said that you loved him. You used to talk about how he was young and handsome and brilliant. Do you remember that?”

“No,” Haven muttered. She felt her scalp begin to tingle and the sensation of flames creeping up her legs. A vision was on its way.

“But you didn’t trust him. You questioned his faithfulness. You know, Haven, sometimes Satan disguises himself as an angel of light.”

Dr. Tidmore’s voice was growing fainter. Haven struggled to empty her mind, repeating the Lord’s Prayer over and over again in her head. But the fire kept burning. There was nothing she could do to stop it.

 

 

HAVEN’S EYES OPENED and she found herself staring at the ceiling of the pastor’s office. Dr. Tidmore was still sitting behind his desk, looking past her out the door. All around him were flapping papers, fragments of a porcelain vase, and shards of glass. Haven’s chair had been hurled through the cabinet at the far end of the room, and the stained-glass window behind Dr. Tidmore’s desk had been shattered. Haven turned her head toward the sound of prayer and saw the cleaning woman, Eula Duncan, standing in the hallway.

“That girl ought to be locked up!” Eula exclaimed with one hand pressed to her heart.

Haven groaned and dropped the paperweight that was clenched in her fingers, ready to be thrown.

Thursday morning Haven didn’t get out of bed. She knew word would already be spreading that she had succumbed to a demon in front of the pastor. Soon the knowledge would infect the entire town. When her mother urged her to dress for breakfast, Haven refused, too anxious to face her grandmother across the dining room table. Instead, Haven locked her door and spent the morning studying the postcard Dr. Tidmore had once given her. For eight years, the aerial view of Manhattan had stayed pinned to the wall above her desk. It was faded and crumpled, but the feeling it gave her remained the same. Haven traced the streets with her eyes, and no matter where they started on the map, they always arrived at the same tiny patch of green toward the bottom of the island. She had always known there was something waiting for her there. Beau was right, Haven thought—she had to find a way to get to New York City.

At last she set the postcard aside and pondered Dr. Tidmore’s suggestion. As much as it frightened her, Haven knew in her heart he was wrong. The only thing she had inherited from Ernest Moore was her unfortunate head of hair. A demon or a mental illness might explain the visions. But it couldn’t account for her talent for drawing, her skill with a needle—or her knowledge of a city in which she had never set foot. Haven knew she’d inherited these gifts from someone with whom she shared no blood. She had inherited them from Constance Whitman.

The visions, however, remained a mystery. Constance wanted Haven to find Ethan. But Haven no longer knew
why
. She had always assumed that love was drawing her back to New York. Now, after the vision in Dr. Tidmore’s office, Haven was no longer so certain. Constance had made the same mistake as Mae Moore. She’d fallen for the wrong man, and he’d broken her heart.

So why did Haven still feel the irresistible urge to make her way to Manhattan? The desire was so strong at times that she knew if she started walking, she wouldn’t stop until she crossed the George Washington Bridge. Was she doomed to fall in love with someone who would hurt her? Or was there another reason she had to find Ethan Evans? Haven needed answers. And as far as she knew, she only had one lead to follow.

Shortly before three o’clock, Haven crawled out of bed, cracked open her laptop, and typed in the address of the Ouroboros Society:
www.OuroborosSociety.com
. She remembered seeing Constance visit the club in her most recent vision, and she was sure the girl had been a member.

As the Website loaded, the silver snake swallowing its tail spun on the black screen, creating a mesmerizing effect. Haven felt dizzy as she clicked on the snake and read the list of options that appeared on the page.

 

 

Haven chose
Reincarnation and the Ouroboros Society
. The snake began to spin again before it dissolved, leaving behind a page of silver letters.

 

 

Intrigued, Haven returned to the previous page and clicked on
A Message from Our President.
The picture that accompanied the text showed a beautiful Indian woman with violet eyes and a regal nose.

 

 

That night Haven was watching the fireflies dart about the yard when a small object flew through the window, landed on the braided rug, and rolled under her desk. She slid off the bed and crawled on all fours to retrieve it. It was a piece of paper wrapped around a small, round stone.

Meet me in the yard,
it read.

After stepping carefully over the creaky floorboard outside her room, Haven tiptoed barefoot to the stairs and slid silently down the banister. On the first floor, she crept past the parlor where her grandmother stared blankly at the television. Each action was performed to perfection, like a gymnast executing a familiar routine. Within seconds Haven had escaped out the back door.

She found Beau at the edge of the forest. He was leaning against a tree, his blond hair gleaming in the moonlight.

“What’s up with the secret notes?” Haven asked. “Why didn’t you just knock on the door?”

“You weren’t at school today. I thought Imogene had you under house arrest.”

“Maybe she does,” Haven said with a shrug. “I’ve been avoiding her all day.”

“So what happened with Tidmore?” Beau asked.

“You haven’t heard? I figured everybody would be talking about it by now.”

“I’m sure they are. But do you really think they want to talk about it with
me
? Besides—why would I listen to gossip when I can get the goods straight from the source?”

Haven sighed. “Imogene gave Dr. Tidmore all the notes my dad took. I got worked up about it and fainted right there in his office. While I was out, I saw something I’d never seen in any of my other visions. It was Ethan with another girl. I guess I was so mad that I destroyed Tidmore’s office.”