“Yeah. Read about him in the news when I was in high school. I think the whole country heard. Surely you know all about it. You lived here when it happened. It was the media-mystery of the century! Who’s dead body is found surrounded by so much of their own blood, without a single wound on their body? People still talk about his murder.”
Some people still thought about it, too. Thought about how he’d been standing outside with a cigarette burning down between his fingers, smoke billowing from his mouth as though he were breathing into the cold, while they snuck into his store to fill a large paper bag with food.
I’d known stealing was illegal. I wanted to feed the runaway girl I’d met down by the tracks. Get her help. I couldn’t have stolen from Mother’s cupboard or asked even asked her for the money. I feared Mother might try to ‘help’ that girl in all the wrong ways. Mother might not consider the girl’s situation. The abuse. The girl’s stepfather, and the things he’d done. But none of those things excused my actions.
As I’d been sneaking out the back near the dumpsters, Mr. Petrenko saw me. He hollered and started after me, but then he was bleeding, and thoughts were tumbling in my mind—You have to die, you have to die, you have to die—and I told myself those couldn’t be my thoughts, but then he was dead on the ground and it was only me in that parking lot.
I don’t know what happened. I just know I didn’t kill him.
I couldn’t have.
I swallowed and forced myself to speak. “Murdered in front of his own store. I doubt anyone will forget.”
“People don’t notice the Cruor because they don’t believe in them. They’ve never seen them, or, if they have, they know to keep their mouths shut.” She started to brush the other side of my hair. “You’d be wise to do the same.”
“Are you saying a Cruor killed Mr. Petrenko?”
“As good a guess as any.”
“Why didn’t he have any wounds?” I asked, though I knew that wasn’t true. He’d had them, at least when I’d seen him die. They were just gone by the time the cops arrived.
“Alls I know is, Adrian’s blood healed you. His own wrist healed in mere moments. You saw, right? Well, they can also seal smaller wounds with their saliva. Small wounds…like punctures to the main artery in the neck.”
“How can you be sure? It could have been—” Been what? A human? Me? I’d been there, and I hadn’t seen him killed by any Cruor. I hadn’t seen what killed him, or who. I’d just seen him alive one second and dead the next.
“Can’t say for sure.” She smoothed long strands of hair away from my face. The brush scraped through my shirt and snagged on my bra strap. I winced, and Ivory eased up. “But isn’t it strange?”
I guess she hadn’t heard I’d been there when it happened. I’d never talked to her about it. Heck, she didn’t even know about how my mom died. Ivory was a private person, and maybe that was why she never asked many questions.
Across the room, a beaded lamp with fringe the color of paprika dimmed. One of the tassels swayed, as though a breeze had passed through. Pinpricks of cold spotted up my arm and neck, but when I blinked again, the tassel had stilled. I forced myself back to conversation, making an effort to keep my tone light.
I couldn’t talk about Mr. Petrenko anymore, but silence would make my discomfort too obvious. Thankfully I wasn’t lacking in the things-to-say department.
“Does Charles always stalk people?” I asked.
“Charles? Stalk people?” Ivory let out a bark of laughter. She combed her fingers through my hair a few times, springing my curls back to life. “Why would you even ask?”
“I saw him outside my window one night. Then again at the woods.”
“I found you by the woods, too. Do you think I’m stalking you?”
Okay, so I was a paranoid, self-absorbed idiot. But I was also cautious.
“Ivory, do you believe one person’s life can be closely tied to another’s?”
“I do.” She stopped brushing, and I turned to face her. She was frowning. “This about Charles?”
“I’m not sure. But for a stranger, he’s been popping up in my life a lot. And at the strangest times.”
“You like him?”
“After last night…” I shrugged, trying to hide the hurt that confusion and uncertainty were pressing into my chest. “I still don’t know why he left me. I could have gone with him to get help.”
Ivory sighed, shifting her gaze out the window. “You’ll have to ask him, then.”
I turned around, and Ivory resumed brushing in silence. We shared a secret now. If the Cruor trusted her with their secrets, then I could trust her with mine. I could tell her about the voices.
“About the whole Cruor-thing.” My hands were shaking, but I held them tight in my lap, doing little more than causing my shoulders to tremble instead.
“I said I’m sorry. You need to understand why I didn’t tell you. And don’t just say you do, because you need to keep it a secret for the same reasons.”
“I do understand. There’s something I’ve been keeping from you, too.”