Ladies of the House
Ethan Wate, can you fetch me some sweet tea?” Aunt Mercy called from the living room.
Aunt Grace didn’t miss a beat. “Ethan, don’t you be gettin’ her any sweet tea. She’ll have ta use the powder room if she drinks any more.”
“Ethan, don’t you listen ta Grace. She’s got a mean streak a mile long and ten powder rooms wide.”
I looked at Lena, who was holding a plastic pitcher of sweet tea in her hand. “Was that a yes or a no?”
Amma slammed the door shut and held out her hand for the pitcher. “Don’t you two have some homework to do?” Lena arched an eyebrow and
smiled back, relieved. Since Aunt Prue had gone to County Care and the Sisters had moved in with us, I felt like I hadn’t been alone with Lena in
weeks.
I took Lena’s hand and pulled her toward the kitchen door.
You ready to make a run for it?
I’m ready.
We rushed into the hall as fast as we could, trying to make it to the stairs. Aunt Grace was bundled up on the couch, her fingers hooked through
the holes of her favorite crocheted afghan, which was about ten different shades of brown. It matched our living room perfectly, now stacked floor to
ceiling with brown cardboard boxes full of everything the Sisters had made my dad and me haul out of their house last week.
They hadn’t been satisfied with the things that had actually survived: almost everything from Aunt Grace and Aunt Mercy’s bedroom, a brass
spittoon that all five of Aunt Prue’s husbands had used (and never cleaned), four of the spoons from Aunt Grace’s Southern spoon collection and
the wooden display rack, a stack of dusty photo albums, two mismatched dining room chairs, the plastic fawn from their front yard, and hundreds of
unopened miniature jelly jars they had swiped from Millie’s Breakfast ’n’ Biscuits. But the things that had survived weren’t enough. They had
henpecked us until we dragged the broken stuff out, too.
Most of it had stayed in the boxes, but Aunt Grace had insisted that decorating would help ease their “sufferin’,” so Amma let them put some of
their things around the house. Which was the reason Harlon James I, Harlon James II, and Harlon James III—all preserved thanks to what Aunt Prue
called the delicate Southern art of taxidermy—were staring at me right now. Harlon James I sitting, Harlon James II standing, and Harlon James III
sleeping. It was the sleeping Harlon James that really disturbed me; Aunt Grace kept it—him—next to the couch, and one way or another, someone
stubbed a toe on him every time they walked by.
It could be worse, Ethan. He could be on the couch.
Aunt Mercy was sulking in her wheelchair in front of the television, clearly agitated she’d lost this morning’s battle over the couch. My dad was
sitting next to her, reading the paper. “How are you kids doing today? It’s nice to see you, Lena.” His expression said, Get out while you can.
Lena smiled at him. “You, too, Mr. Wate.”
He had been taking a day off here and there when he could, to keep Amma from losing her mind.
Aunt Mercy was gripping the remote, even though the television wasn’t on, and waved it at me. “Where do you two lovebirds think you’re off ta?”
Head for the stairs, L.
“Ethan, don’t tell me you’re thinkin’ a takin’ a young lady upstairs. That wouldn’t be proper.” Aunt Mercy clicked the remote at me, as if she could
put me on pause before I made it to my room. She looked over at Lena. “You keep your cute little fanny out a boys’ rooms, Chickadee.”
“Mercy Lynne!”
“Grace Ann!”
“I don’t want ta hear that kinda dirty talk comin’ from you.”
“What, fanny? Fanny fanny fanny!”
Ethan! Get me out of here.
Don’t stop.
Aunt Grace sniffed. “ ’Course he’s not takin’ her upstairs. His daddy would roll over in his grave.”
“I’m right here.” My dad waved at her.
“His mamma,” Aunt Mercy corrected.
Aunt Grace waved her handkerchief, the one that was permanently glued to the inside of her curled hand. “Mercy Lynne, you must be goin’ senile.
That’s what I said.”
“You most certainly did not. I heard you clear as a bell, with my good ear. You said his daddy’d be—”
Aunt Grace tossed the afghan aside. “You couldn’t hear a bell if it crept up behind you and bit you in the sweet—”
“Sweet tea, ladies?” Amma appeared with a tray, just in time. Lena and I snuck up the stairs while Amma blocked the view from the living room.
There was no getting past the Sisters, even without Aunt Prue. And there hadn’t been for days now. Between getting them settled in our house, and
getting everything that was left out of theirs, my dad and Amma and I had been doing nothing but waiting on them hand and foot since they moved
in.
Lena disappeared into my room, and I closed the door behind me. I slid my arms around her waist, and she leaned her head against me.
I’ve missed you.
I know. Chickadee.
She punched me playfully.
“Don’t you close that door, Ethan Wate!” I couldn’t tell if the voice was Aunt Grace’s or Aunt Mercy’s, but it didn’t matter. On this point they were in
perfect agreement. “There’re more chickens than people in this world, an’ that sure as summer ain’t no accident!”
Lena smiled and reached behind me, pushing the door back open.
I groaned. “Don’t do that.”
Lena touched my lip. “When’s the last time the Sisters walked up the stairs?”
I leaned closer to her, our foreheads touching. My pulse started racing the second we touched. “Now that you mention it, Amma’s going to be
pouring sweet tea until that pitcher runs dry.”
I picked Lena up and carried her over to my bed, which was really just a mattress on my floor now, thanks to Link. I dropped down next to her,
purposely ignoring my broken window, my open door, or what was left of my bed.
It was just the two of us. She stared back up at me, one green eye and one gold, black curls splayed out on the mattress around her, like a black
halo. “I love you, Ethan Wate.”
I propped myself up on my elbow and looked down at her. “I’ve been told I’m very lovable.”
Lena laughed. “Who told you that?”
“Lots of girls.”
Her eyes clouded over for a second. “Yeah? Like?”
“My mom. My Aunt Caroline. And Amma.” I poked her in the ribs, and she started to squirm, giggling into my shirt. “I love you, L.”
“You better. Because I don’t know what I would do without you.” Her voice was raw and as honest as I’d ever heard it.
“There’s no me without you, Lena.” I leaned down and kissed her, lowering myself until my body fit perfectly against hers, like they were made to
be together. Because we were—no matter what the universe or my pulse had to say about it. I could feel the energy seeping from me, but it only
made my mouth seek out hers again.
Lena pulled away before my heart began to pound dangerously. “I think we’d better stop, Ethan.”
I sighed and rolled onto my back next to her, my hand still tangled in her hair. “We didn’t even get started.”
“Until we figure out why it’s getting worse—more intense between us—we have to be careful.”
I grabbed for her waist. “What if I said I don’t care?”
“Don’t say that. You know I’m right. I don’t want to accidentally set you on fire, too.”
“I don’t know. Still might be worth it.”
She punched me in the arm, and I smiled up at the ceiling. I knew she was right. The only people who still seemed in control of their powers were
the Incubuses. Ravenwood was a mess, and so was everyone in it.
But that didn’t make it any better. I needed to touch her, like I needed to breathe.
I heard a meow. Lucille was kneading the bottom of my mattress. Ever since she lost her bed to Harlon James IV, she had taken over mine. My
dad had rushed back from Charleston the night of the so-called twister, and he’d found Aunt Prue’s dog the next day, cowering in a corner of the
kindergarten yard. Once Harlon James arrived at our house, he wasn’t much different from the Sisters. He made himself right at home in Lucille’s
bed. Eating Lucille’s chicken dinners off her china plate. Even scratching Lucille’s cat post.
“Aw, come on, Lucille. You’ve lived with them longer than I have.” But it didn’t matter. As long as the Sisters were living with us, Lucille was living
with me.
Lena gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and leaned over the side of the bed to dig through her bag. An old copy of Great Expectations slipped
out. I recognized it right away.
“What’s that?”
Lena picked it up, avoiding my eyes. “It’s called a book.” She knew what I was really asking.
“Is it the one you found in Sarafine’s box?” I already knew it was.
“Ethan, it’s just a book. I read lots of them.”
“It’s not just a book, L. What’s going on?”
Lena hesitated, then flipped through the tattered pages. When she reached a dog-eared page, she started to read: “ ‘And could I look upon her
without compassion, seeing her punishment in the ruin she was, in her profound unfitness for this Earth on which she was placed….’ ” Lena stared
into the book, as if there were answers inside that only she could see. “That passage was underlined.”
I knew Lena was curious about her mother—not Sarafine, but the woman we had seen in the vision—the one who had cradled Lena in her arms
as a baby. Maybe Lena believed the book or the metal box of her mother’s things held the answers. But it didn’t matter what was underlined in any
old copy of Dickens.
Nothing in that box was free of the blood on Sarafine’s hands.
I reached out and grabbed the book. “Give it to me.” Before Lena could say a word, my bedroom faded away—
It had started to rain, as if the sky was matching Sarafine tear for tear. By the time she reached the Eades house, she was drenched. She
climbed the white trellis under John’s window and hesitated. She pulled the sunglasses she stole from Winn-Dixie out of her pocket and put
them on before knocking lightly on the glass.
Too many questions were tangled up in her mind. What was she going to tell John? How could she make him understand she was still
the same person? Would a Light Caster still love her now that she was… this?
“Izabel?” John was half asleep, his dark eyes staring back at her. “What are you doing out there?” He grabbed her hand before she could
answer, and pulled her inside.
“I—I needed to see you.”
John reached for the lamp on his desk.
Sarafine grabbed his hand. “Don’t. Leave it off. You’ll wake up your parents.”
He looked at her more closely, his eyes adjusting to the dark. “Did something happen? Are you hurt?”
She was beyond hurt, beyond hope, and there was no way to prepare John for what she was about to tell him. He knew about her family
and the curse. But Sarafine had never told John the date of her real birthday. She had made up a date, one that was several months away,
so he wouldn’t worry. He didn’t know that tonight was her Sixteenth Moon—the night she had been dreading for as long as she could
remember.
“I don’t want to tell you.” Sarafine’s voice broke as she choked back tears.
John pulled her into his arms, resting his chin on her head. “You’re so cold.” He rubbed his hands over her arms. “I love you. You can tell
me anything.”
“Not this,” she whispered. “Everything’s ruined.”
Sarafine thought about all the plans they had made. Going off to college together, John next year and Sarafine the year after. John was
going to study engineering, and she planned to major in literature. She had always wanted to be a writer. After they graduated, they would
get married.
There was no point thinking about it. None of it would happen now.
John squeezed her tighter. “Izabel, you’re scaring me. Nothing could ruin what we have.”
Sarafine pushed him away and pulled off the sunglasses, revealing the golden-yellow eyes of a Dark Caster. “Are you sure about that?”
For a second, John only stared. “What happened? I don’t understand.”
She shook her head, the tears burning the skin on her icy cheeks. “It was my birthday. I never told you because I was sure I would go
Light. I didn’t want you to worry. But at midnight—”
Sarafine couldn’t finish. He knew what she was going to say. He could see it in her eyes.
“It’s a mistake. It has to be.” She was talking to herself as much as to John. “I’m still the same person. They say you feel different when
you go Dark—you forget about the people you care about. But I haven’t. I never will.”
“I think it happens gradually….” John’s voice trailed off.
“I can fight it! I don’t want to be Dark. I swear.” It was too much—her mother turning her away, her sister calling for her, losing John.
Sarafine couldn’t face any more heartbreak. She crumpled, her body sinking to the floor.
John knelt beside her, gathering her into his arms. “You’re not Dark. I don’t care what color your eyes are.”
“No one believes that. My mother wouldn’t even let me in the house.” Sarafine choked.
John pulled her up. “Then we’ll leave tonight.” He grabbed a duffel bag and started shoving clothes into it.
“Where are we going to go?”
“I don’t know. We’ll find somewhere.” John zipped the bag and pulled her face into his hands, looking into her gold eyes.
“It doesn’t matter. As long as we’re together.”
We were in my bedroom again, in the bright afternoon heat. The vision faded, taking the girl who seemed nothing like Sarafine with it. The book
dropped to the floor.
Lena’s face was streaked with tears, and for a second she looked exactly like the girl in the vision. “John Eades was my dad.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded, wiping her face with her hands. “I’ve never seen a picture of him, but Gramma told me his name. He seemed so real, like he was
still alive. And they really seemed to love each other.” She reached down to pick up the book where it had fallen, open, with the cover faceup, the
worn cracks in its spine proof of how many times it had been read.
“Don’t touch it, L.”
Lena picked it up. “Ethan, I’ve been reading it. That’s never happened before. I think it was because we were touching it at the same time.”
She opened the book again, and I could see dark lines where someone had underlined sentences and circled phrases. Lena noticed me trying
to read over her shoulder. “The whole book is like this, marked up like some kind of map. I just wish I knew where it led.”
“You know where it leads.” We both did. To Abraham and the Dark Fire—the Great Barrier and darkness and death.
Lena didn’t take her eyes away from the book. “This line is my favorite. ‘I have been bent and broken, but—I hope—into a better shape.’ ”
We had both been bent and broken by Sarafine.
Was the result a better shape? Was I better for what I’d been through? Was Lena?
I thought about Aunt Prue lying in a hospital bed, and Marian sifting through boxes of burnt books, charred documents, waterlogged photographs.
Her life’s work destroyed.
What if the people we loved were bent until they broke and were left with no shape at all?
I had to find John Breed before they were too broken to put back together.
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