The Wolf's Daughter (The Tala Chronicles 1) (3 page)

“Funny, I never
was afraid of this place until the incident with Matt. I’ll be glad when my
mother’s funeral is over.”

Vanessa
shrugged. “Well, I don’t blame you. Nothing happened to me here, but I’m still
creeped out by it.”

As they neared
the house, Tala’s heart beat faster. Then it came into view. A sense of
foreboding enveloped her. She fought to stay in the moment. “You’re right about
one thing. It sure needs a coat of paint.”

The house wore a
mourning dress of dirty gray clapboard. The dingy windows said, “Go away!” With
wood missing from the front steps, the stairs warned her with a jack o’ lantern
grimace.

Tala shook her
head. “This wasn’t a good idea, Vanessa.”

“Hey, it
is
a
good idea. I’ll stay with you if you want me to. Isn’t it best to put all this
in your past and move on with your life?”

“Yes, and that’s
why I have to do it on my own.” She hugged herself.

“Okay, I’ll help
you with your stuff.” Vanessa reached in the back and picked up the cat
carrier. Even Maeve looked frightened, her gold-saucer eyes staring out the
window.

Tala hobbled up
the stairs. She touched the rough doorjamb and outlined the crosses she’d
carved. As in her dream, the porch chairs rocked with an eerie rhythm. She took
a deep breath. Tala inserted the skeleton key in the door, and the loud click
made her flinch. She pushed the door open and walked in, Vanessa behind her.  

Vanessa placed
the carrier and suitcase in the foyer. “Want me to let Maeve out?”

“Sure. She has
to get used to the place sometime.”

Maeve stuck her
head out of the security she had and looked around. Then one front paw was on
the Oriental rug, followed by the other.

A piercing chill
surrounded them and the chandelier swayed. Maeve retreated to the carrier.

“What was that?”
Tala asked.

“Oh, it’s just a
draught. This house is anything but airtight. I can practically see the wind
swirling around in here.” She held up an index finger and twirled it.

“You’re right.
Thanks again, Vanessa, for picking me up.”

“Don’t mention
it. Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?”

“No, we’ll be
fine.” Tala looked down at the cat carrier. “But I almost wish I had a carrier
to crawl into.”

“Call me if you
need anything.” Vanessa waved and then left.

Tala scanned the
foyer. Still the same suffocating forest-green walls. Even more threadbare than
ten years ago, the puzzle of an Oriental rug sprawled on the lackluster dark
plank floor. She’d wait till later to open the kitchen door, let the other
memories sink in first before she’d return to the room she always wanted to
forget the most.

To her right,
the ominous mahogany furniture haunted the dining room. The staircase met her
head-on, with the chair elevator. Good for her broken foot, but it was the
spookiest-looking thing. Didn’t haunted houses usually have one? Would she have
the guts to use it?

Her pondering
ended when something crashed in the living room. She hurried in as fast as her Frankenstein
boot allowed. On the mantel Maeve posed, tail held high. On the floor beneath
her, vase pieces formed an abstract mosaic.  

“Bad kitty. Get
off there.” Tala extricated Maeve from the bric-a-brac.

A dust dungeon. Tala
sneezed three times. The room frozen in time. Heavy overstuffed furniture sat
without welcoming her. A monstrous cracked mirror with a tortuously carved
frame challenged her. She remembered the night it shattered.

Her mother had walked
down the stairs with a dangerous wobble. “Tala. Tala, where are you?”

Tala had run and
hidden behind the sofa, one side of her face touching it. She’d tried to
suppress a sneeze.

“I hear you, you
good for nothing. Come out from behind the couch.”

Tala crept out.
Her mother stood there with a candlestick.

“Wh-what are you
doing?” she whispered.

“Shut up. I’m
the one who asks the questions. Come here.”

Tala shook and
her heart hammered.

“I won’t hurt
you. I promise.” Her mother giggled.

Tala got up and
walked over. Her mother looked into her eyes and raised the candlestick. Tala ran
out of the room and listened from the kitchen. She jumped at the crash of glass
breaking.

“It’s your
fault. You made me do it when you looked at me,” her mother screamed.

Her father came
in the front door. “What’s going on?”

“It’s her fault.
I told you we should have done something about her a long time ago.”

“Where is she?”

“How do I know?”

“It’s not Tala’s
fault. She can’t help it. She’s not in control...and neither are you.”

“That’s just
like you, isn’t it? Making excuses for her.”

“You knew the
chances of this happening if you—”

“Go to hell, you
sorry excuse for a man.”

“Go upstairs,
Carol, before you do any more damage.”

When she’d peeked
out of the kitchen, her father and mother had reached the second floor. Tala had
crept back into the living room. Safe until next time.

Now Tala looked
down at the vase pieces. “Bad kitty,” she said again. She needed the dust broom
and pan. As good a time as any to visit the kitchen. Tala took a deep breath
and squared her shoulders. Hobbling out of the living room and down the hall, she
then stopped short at the entry. She slowly pushed the door open. The shadow on
the floor...blood? No, it couldn’t be. Tala rubbed her eyes and blamed her
imagination in overdrive.

Had something
rotted in there? No obvious filth, just a suggestion of it. Leprous olive walls
shedding curls of paint. A table seating only ghosts. The floor, a few beige tiles
missing, incomplete, damaged like everything else in the place. Like the puzzle
of her life.

The loud ringing
of the house phone jangled her nerves.

Tala limped over
to the phone. “Hello.”

“You never
should have come back here. Go away before someone else dies,” said the deep
muffled voice she didn’t recognize.

“Who is this?”

The phone
clicked.

She considered
calling Vanessa, but she’d insist upon staying with her. Tala sat down on the
antique oak bench in the hallway. It had always been her favorite piece of
furniture. She remembered how gleeful she’d been when her father had shown her
the secret compartment. Working double duty as a hat rack and storage area, its
stained glass with jewel colors of red, green, and blue always calmed her. She’d
insisted her father take a picture of Matt and her in front of it on prom
night. Tala didn’t want to think about Matt, but she couldn’t stop. Especially
the memory about the last time she’d talked to him. Vanessa had waited in the
hall.   

“Tala, what are
you doing here?” Matt had struggled up in the bed when she’d walked into his
hospital room. He lay under a snowdrift, rubber tendrils snaking across the
pristine blanket and connecting him to bags of clear liquid. “My father almost
caught me. I was lucky someone pushed a linen cart on steroids into the hall,
and I walked alongside it until he passed.” She moved to his bedside.

“I’m so sorry.”
He rubbed his forehead. “Everything’s my fault. I don’t understand—”

“Don’t.” She
paused. “Are you feeling better?”

He nodded but
then furrowed his brow. “I guess so.”

She’d bent down and
kissed his cheek. “I don’t understand, either, but my father’s really serious
about my not seeing you again. I-I just wanted to tell you in person.”

“I know. That’s
what he said to me a little while ago.” Matt had reached for her hand. “You’ll
always be the one for me.”

Someone knocking
on the dining room window interrupted her memories.  

Maeve sat primping
on the sill, and a blonde woman in a pink jogging suit tried to get Maeve’s
attention. The cat, though, seemed characteristically unimpressed. Tala hobbled
to the door and opened it. “Hi. I’m Tala. Can I help you?”

“Tala, hi. I’m
Debbie, your next-door neighbor. I’m so sorry about your loss. Your mother and
I never spoke, but I know this must be a difficult time for you.”

“Yes, well, I’m
keeping busy. There’s so much to take care of. Sometimes that’s for the best.”

Debbie nodded. “I
remember when my husband died. I thought the same thing. Anyway, if there’s
anything I can do, let me know.” She looked at Maeve, who still ignored her. “Now
that
is a beautiful cat. And she’s black. Is she a Bombay?”

“Not that I know
of. She’s a rescue cat.”

Well, are you a
witch, too?”

“You’re a witch?
Are you kidding?”

“No. Why?”

“It’s just that
I’ve never heard of a witch named Debbie who wore a pink jogging suit.”

“Well, you know,
you shouldn’t stereotype.” She grinned.

“Are there
others like you?”

“Not here.”

“Don’t you
people usually hang out together?”

“Yes, but the
nearest coven is two hours away—too long for me to drive alone. Maybe you’d
like to join me sometime.”

“I don’t think
so, Debbie. And I don’t mean to be rude, but I just arrived. As I said, I’m
really busy.”

“Oh, of course.
But let me give you my card...and as
I
said, let me know if I can do
anything for you.” She gave Tala a pleasant smile.

“Thank you. That’s
nice of you, Debbie.” Tala read the card she handed to her. It said “Deborah
Austen, practitioner of the ancient wisdom.” Underneath was a phone number. “So
is this your business card?”

“No, it’s more
like my hobby card. I’m collecting Tom’s pension, but I need to keep active.
Let me write down your phone number.”

Tala gave her
the numbers of the house phone and her cell. “Nice to meet you, Debbie.”

“Welcome back,”
Debbie said and turned around.

Was the strange
expression in her eyes just Tala’s imagination. A chill shook her for the
second time that day? She tried to shrug it off and cleaned up the mess in the
living room.

Tala went to the
china cabinet and took out a teacup, saucer, and plate. Her mother had never
allowed her to use them. “May as well live a little, huh, Maeve.” As a child,
she’d loved to gaze at the dishes, follow their delicate pink rose pattern and
gold trim.

After she had
some wild berries herbal tea and buttered raisin toast, she nibbled on a
handful of cashews. Night had overtaken the house, and she eyed the chair
elevator.

Time to go
upstairs.

Chapter Three

Tala sat in the
chair elevator with her red silky nightgown and matching robe, which she had
bought to cheer herself up. She smiled again at her excuse—they matched her
black boot so well. She also had her toiletry bag. She had always loved the
paintings of Renoir, and his
Girl with a Watering Can
graced the pouch. She
imagined the child had been much loved by her mother and wished she could have
switched places with her. 

Maeve crept over
to her and yowled.

“Stop it, Maeve.”
A useless objection. The cat was in one of her moods and would likely draw
blood before too long. Maeve’s ears lay plastered back on her head, and her
eyes resembled the insane ones of a goat. The cat jumped at her left arm and
sunk her teeth into it. Tala pushed her off, but the cat jumped back up.

She couldn’t do
anything until the mood passed her. When she could get around better, she’d pick
her up and store her in the bathroom until she calmed down. She had no such
luxury now. Tala pushed up her robe sleeve. Maeve had drawn blood again.

She’d found
Maeve, a little spot of black, in a parking lot. She’d bottle-fed her in the
beginning. Maeve grew quickly and rewarded her with purring companionship. The
cat seemed perfect. She’d jump up on Tala to cuddle, always eager for a napping
companion. However, at some point she started with her aggressive behavior. But
she misbehaved only 10 percent of the time. The other 90 percent—the perfect
housecat.

Her behavior
confused Tala, and she even considered asking the vet for medication but decided
against it. Who knew what other problems that would cause? For the time being,
she could put up with her nonsense.

Tala pushed the
button on the chair and slowly rose up the stairs. Maeve lost interest in
gnawing on her arm and followed her. 

The closed door
to Tala’s room stared at her from the left of the staircase. Tala hobbled over
and stood outside. Fear overtook her. But why? Finally, she took a deep breath
and pushed the door open. She covered her mouth with her hand. Empty. Had she
ever existed? She started crying softly, and Maeve jumped up into her arms. She
held the cat with one arm and let her purring comfort her.

She dreaded
going into her mother’s room. But she had to. Tala stood outside the door and
almost knocked. Did she really hear noises inside? She pushed the door open. Empty
except for the furnishings and as beautiful as she remembered. The canopy bed
with flowered bedding and the armoire and the vanity she coveted. Above the
wainscoting, wallpaper in a soft pastel stripe lined the walls like gift wrap. The
same print on the bedspread covered the cushions of the window seat.  

Although the
room may have been worthy of decorating-magazine coverage, she didn’t want to
stay there. She’d sleep in one of the guest rooms instead. But first, she wanted
to investigate. Tala walked over to her mother’s dresser and opened the top
drawer.

Beautiful
trinkets, some in 18K gold flashed up at her. Tala picked up her mother’s charm
bracelet that had fascinated her as a child. The charms with moving parts had intrigued
her the most—the slot machine registering three sevens when she pulled the
handle; the miniature purse with a comb, mirror, and lipstick; and the
Cinderella coach, covered with sparkling jewels and revealing tiny figures when
she opened the door.