“Why do you ask?”
“Because my mom said you’re grumpy because of your lot in life. But I don’t know what that means.”
Dare seems to turn pale, and he looks away and I think I’ve made him mad.
“It’s not your business,” he snaps. “You’re supposed to be learning how to be a good Savage. And a good Savage doesn’t pry.”
I gulp, because Lord knows I’ve heard Grandmother Eleanor say that a million times.
“But what does it mean?” I ask after a few minutes, ever persistent.
Dare sighs heavily and gets to his feet. He stares into the distance for a minute before he answers.
“It means your place in the world,” his words are heavy. “And mine sort of sucks.”
“So change it,” I tell him simply, because it seems simple enough to me.
Dare snorts. “You don’t know anything,” he tells me wisely. “You’re just a kid.”
“So are you.”
“But I’m older.”
I can’t argue with that.
“Can I hold your hand?” I ask him as we make our way out of the gardens. “I forgot my shoes and I don’t want to fall on the stones.”
I’m lying. I just want to hold his hand.
He’s hesitant and he seems a bit repelled, but he glances up toward the house, then reluctantly lets me cling to his fingers.
“You’ve got to be more responsible, Calla,” he advises me with a sidelong look toward my bare feet. But he lets me hold his hand as we slowly make our way back to the house. He shakes off my fingers before we open the doors.
“See you at dinner.”
I watch the house swallow him up before I follow him in.
As I walk down the hallway, I can’t help but glance over my shoulder every once in a while because even the sunshine can’t keep the shadows away at Whitley. Something always seems to be watching me, hovering around me.
Always.
When I find Finn in the library, I tell him that.
He shakes his head, annoyed, yet clearly concerned. Like always.
“Have you taken your pills today, Calla?”
“Yes.” If I don’t, I see monsters.
I see red-eyed demons and black-eyed serpents.
I see fire,
I see blood,
I see terrible
Terrible
Things.
Finn stares at me dubiously.
“Are you sure?”
I pause.
Then I grudgingly pull the two colorful pills out of my pocket.
He glares at me. “Take them. Right now or I’m telling mom.”
When I don’t rush to do it, he adds, “Or I’ll tell Grandmother.”
That threat bears weight, and he knows it. I hurry to get a drink of water, and I swallow the pills while he watches.
“You know better, Calla,” he chides me, sounding more like a parent than a brother.
I nod. Because I do.
“They taste bad,” I offer by way of explanation.
“That’s no excuse.”
“What isn’t?”
Our mother breezes into the library, red-headed and beautiful, slim and glamorous. If I’m lucky, I’ll look just like her some day.
“Nothing,” I hurry and tell her.
She seems suspicious, but she’s in too much of a hurry to ask again.
“Have you seen Adair?” she asks us both. “Your uncle is looking for him.”
We both shake our heads, but Finn is the only one telling the truth. I’d rather die than tell that monster where Dare is.
“What does uncle Dickie want with Dare?” I ask her as she turns to leave.
She pauses, her face drawn and tight. “It’s grown-up stuff, Calla Lily. Don’t fret about it.”
But of course I do.
Because every time Uncle Richard finds Dare, I hear screaming.
And even though you’d think that was the worst part, it’s not.
The worst part is when the screaming stops.
Because silence hides an abundance of sins.
That’s what my mom says.
And she’s always right.
At least, that’s what my dad says.
At dinner, I mention my dad.
“I miss him,” I tell my mom. “Why doesn’t he ever come with us in the summers?”
She sighs and pats my hand before picking up her shrimp fork.