Beautiful Demons
by
Sarra Cannon
Published by Dead River Books
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2010 by Sarra Cannon Bittmann
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Find Sarra Cannon on the web!
https://www.sarracannon.com/
www.twitter.com/sarramaria
www.goodreads.com/sarra_cannon
Cover Design by Robin Ludwig Design, Inc.
https://rldprint.com/
Acknowledgments
My heartfelt thanks goes out to my critique partners and best friends, J.D. Robinson and Erica Reeder. This book would not have been possible without your constant support and willingness to read everything I write. Thanks also to Alok Baikadi for your insightful comments on my manuscript. My writing is better because of all of you.
To my parents, Dave and Carol Cannon, for always teaching me that I can do anything I set my mind to. Thank you for always being there for me and believing in me no matter how impossible my dreams might seem.
A debt of gratitude is owed to Karen Anders and Jennifer Harrington for all that you have taught me about writing. Thank you for your years of encouragement and guidance.
And finally, my deepest and happiest thanks to my amazing husband, George. You are everything I always wanted but never believed I deserved. Thank you for being my love, my raised bar, and my muse. I love you.
Table of Contents
This Is Your Last Chance
Do Not Touch My Things
Trouble Always Finds Me
Guys Like Drake Only Date Cheerleaders
Voices At My Window
The Big Stone Demon Statue
I Must Be Electro-Charged
Someone Might Get Hurt
What Is It With This Town And Cheerleaders?
My Best Attempt
Maybe He Wasn't A Demons Fan
That Necklace Was Everything To Me
Tori Has A Secret
For A Girl Like You
What With Tori's Disappearance
You'll Need To Come With Us
No One Ever Believed
Is That You?
This Town Isn't Like Other Places
Sit Down Girl
I Must Be Dreaming
I Wasn't Supposed To Forget
Claire
Not Anymore
A Better Life
I Must Have Seen It Wrong
It's Not That Simple
Promise Me
This Week Is Going To Be Tough
Is This Supposed To Be A Good Luck Charm?
A Demon On His Back
I Have Carried My Fear
We Were Connected Somehow
It Totally Worked
The New Demons Cheerleader Is...
A Night To Remember
They Choose You
A Part Of Me
A Beautiful Demon
This is Your Last Chance
Six foster homes in one year had to be some kind of record. I ran my sapphire pendant along the silver chain around my neck and looked out at the pine trees zooming past. Where would they send me next?
“I don't know what got into you, Harper,” Mrs. Meeks said. Her hair shot out every which way and she wasn't wearing any makeup. The call to come pick me up probably came in after she'd gone to bed for the night. “I can't keep doing this.”
I eyed her. Was she passing me off to another case worker? Mrs. Meeks had been there with me from the beginning. Since the fire. I didn't want her to abandon me now.
“It was an accident,” I said. I sat up straight in my seat and studied her tired face. I needed her to believe me.
“An accident?” she said. Her voice took on the shrill tone I had come to expect from her. “Mrs. Sanders said you threw a lamp at her. How could that have been an accident, Harper?”
“I didn't exactly throw it,” I said. I bit my lip. How could I possibly explain it to Mrs. Meeks? Or anyone for that matter? One second I was arguing with Mrs. Sanders about a party she wouldn't let me go to and the next, well, everything in the room that wasn't nailed down was floating three inches in the air. “It just sort of-”
“Sort of what? Threw itself.” Her face contorted into an angry grimace. She didn't believe me.
I sank into the leather seat and sighed. No one ever believed me. Instead, they called me names like 'witch' and 'freak'.
“Harper,” she said, her voice softening. “I've always tried to place you in the very best foster homes in the city. Places where I thought they would try to understand your...” She searched for the word. “Your unique issues. But this is the sixth foster home you've been kicked out of this year. And with your history.” She glanced over at me and sighed heavily. “It's getting harder and harder to place you.”
My history.
I leaned my forehead against the window and felt the cool glass against my skin. After everything I'd done, it made sense that no one wanted me. I closed my eyes and remembered the beautiful porcelain skin of my adopted mother, Jill. I never meant to hurt anyone, especially not her.
“At this point, there's no other choice,” Mrs. Meeks said.
I opened my eyes and looked over at her. In the light from the dashboard, she looked old. Worried. Angry. A wave of nausea rolled over me.
“No other choice than what?”
She looked over and patted my leg with her hand. Not a good sign.
“I'm taking you to a place called Shadowford Home,” she said. “It's in a town south of here. Peachville. And the woman who runs it is well known for taking in girls who are struggling in the regular system. Girls like you.”
There are no girls like me, I thought. “I've never heard of it.”
“Peachville is a small community. Very different from Atlanta. I think it'll be a good place for you. Atlanta is just too big. Too full of opportunities to get in trouble or get mixed up with the wrong crowd.” She pulled the car off the interstate. From the looks of it, we were in the middle of nowhere. “But I have to be completely honest with you, Harper. If you can't make it work at Shadowford, I'll have no choice but to take you to juvenile detention until you turn eighteen.”
I sat up. “What? You can't be serious.”
A home for troubled girls was bad enough. I certainly didn't belong in juvie. I'd known people who had gone to the one in Atlanta. It was practically like prison for teens. Constant supervision. No freedom. Strict rules. My entire body tensed just thinking about it.
“What did you expect?” she said. “Since you were eight years old, I've placed you in foster home after foster home, and you've been nothing but trouble for these families. Throwing lamps. Breaking windows. Fires.”
“None of those things were my fault,” I said. I could feel the stirring of anger and frustration deep in my stomach. How dare she bring up the fire. I had only been eight when that happened, and it wasn't my fault. It wasn't!
Change rattled in the cup holder that sat between us in the car. Quickly, I slammed my hand down over the top of it. Not now, I begged.
Mrs. Meeks continued on, thankfully not noticing the rattling noise. “It's time you learned to take responsibility for your actions,” she said. “Make things work at Shadowford or you'll go to juvenile detention for the next two years. I'm sorry, but this is your last chance, Harper.”
/> Do Not Touch My Things
We spent the night in a hotel just off the interstate. First thing in the morning, we were back out on the road, heading to Peachville, Georgia. I had never lived in a small town before. Or a group home for that matter.
The light was shining through the thick pine trees as we turned down an unmarked gravel road an hour later. “We should be close,” Mrs. Meeks said.
A large, weather-worn sign that read “Shadowford Plantation” came into view. I sat up straight and peered through the dense trees. A winding red dirt road led back to a clearing. Mrs. Meeks stopped the car at the top of the hill and we both stared open-mouthed at the huge white plantation house below.
Shadowford stood three stories tall with long white columns running from the roof to the wraparound porch. Paint flaked off the white walls and green ivy blanketed the sides of the porch, as if nature was slowly reclaiming the house for itself. Centered on the second floor level was a large balcony with a wrought-iron railing. A girl with bright red hair stood on the balcony. She waved toward us, then disappeared into the house.
As we drove the rest of the road up to the house, a chill ran down my spine. There was something different about this place I couldn’t quite put my finger on. The house itself, though old, was breathtaking. But there was also something dark about it. Unsettling. The house grew slowly larger, and my stomach lurched. I wanted to tell Mrs. Meeks to turn around and take me back to Atlanta. To juvenile detention if that was the only option. This house was... what?
Evil.
The word popped into my head and I shivered. That was ridiculous. A house couldn't be evil. It was just my nerves getting to me.
A pretty middle-aged woman had stepped out onto the porch. She wore a faded blue dress and her brown hair was piled high in a messy bun at the top of her head. When I looked up at her, she smiled. Her dark eyes were warm and kind, immediately putting me at ease. I realized I'd been holding my breath, and I exhaled. Maybe I had only imagined the creepy aura around this place. Maybe everything was going to be alright.
I stepped out of the car and grabbed my bag from the backseat.
“You must be Harper,” the woman said. She walked over and gave me a gentle hug. “We’re so happy to have you here at Shadowford.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m Ella Mae Hunt. I help Mrs. Shadowford out quite a bit, so we'll be gettin' to know each other pretty well.” She had a lilting southern accent that was sweet and gentle.
Ella Mae took my bag and set it just outside the front door. “I’ll give you a few minutes to say goodbye, and then I’ll take you inside and introduce you to our other girls.”
I walked over to Mrs. Meeks and she gave me a big hug. “I’m sorry,” I said.
“Everything could be different for you here,” she said. “Treat this like a fresh start. A clean slate.”
I squeezed her back briefly, then let go. Maybe she was right and things really could be different here. A new school in a new town. No one here knew my history.
“I’ll do my best,” I told her.
“I know you will.”
With a sad smile, she got in her car and drove away. I watched until she disappeared from sight, then turned to my new home. Ella Mae was waiting for me by the front door.
“I think you’ll really like it here,” she said, opening the door to the big house. “Girls, come on down here and meet Harper.”
Ella Mae’s voice echoed through the high ceilings of the front hallway. Honey-colored wood floors shone beneath her feet and a large staircase rose up to the second floor landing. Three girls made their way down to us.
“This is Courtney James,” Ella Mae said. A tall girl who looked to be slightly younger than me stepped forward and held her hand out to me. Her long, straight blond hair lay over her face, covering nearly the entire left side. She kept her head down, her eyes on the floor. When I touched her hand, it was ice cold and limp.
“I’m Agnes.” The redheaded girl I'd seen on the balcony stepped out from behind Courtney and gave me a big welcoming hug. Her eyes were light green and she seemed to smile from within. I liked her immediately. “You’ll be in the room next to mine,” she said. “I’m so excited to have another house-mate here, you have no idea. Where are you coming from?
“Atlanta.”
“Oh cool, I’ve never been to Atlanta. In fact, Peachville's even bigger than the crappy town where I was born, and believe me, that’s saying a lot.”
I laughed. Her bubbly attitude was contagious and I felt all of the anxiety about the house begin to fade away.
“This is Mary Anne Marsters,” she said, pulling me over to meet the third girl who was still standing on the bottom step. “She doesn’t really talk much.”
Mary Anne was obviously younger than the rest of us. I’d guess she was about thirteen or so. Her short black hair was tucked behind her ears and her pale skin was flawless. I reached my hand out to her, but she merely stared at it for a second, then turned around and walked back up the stairs.
“Don’t mind her,” Agnes said. “It takes her some time to get used to people.”
Ella Mae picked up my tattered bag and handed it to Agnes. “Take this up to Harper’s room now, would you Agnes? I’m going to take her in to meet Mrs. Shadowford. I’ll send her upstairs in a few minutes and you can show her around.”
“Sure thing,” Agnes said, then bounded up the stairs two at a time.
I wondered why Mrs. Shadowford hadn’t met us out front, but when I entered her dark, lush office, I understood right away. She was in a wheelchair. An older woman, she had shockingly white hair that ran in a single braid pulled over her shoulder. Her pale blue eyes seemed to pierce through me as she turned and sized me up. Butterflies danced around in my belly. This woman was unlike anyone I had ever met before. She had an energy about her that was strong and powerful. I knew right away that she was not the kind of person I wanted to cross.
“Harper Madison,” she said. She studied me for a long moment, her eyes squinted and her lips pursed together in a tight, thin line. “I hear you’ve had some trouble in the past with both your adopted parents and several foster homes.”
“Yes, ma’am.” My voice trembled a bit, betraying my fear. I shifted my weight from one foot to another and studied the thick, patterned rug on the floor.
“It’s no surprise that no one else wants you.”
Her words stung. I wondered if I’d even heard her right.
“You’re damaged. A broken girl,” she said. “And some of the things you’ve done to the people taking care of you? Well, some of those things are unspeakable.”
My face grew hot. Yes, some of the things I had done were terrible. Someone was dead because of me. I had to carry that guilt with me everywhere, but no one had ever said it out loud like that. The tone of her voice was bitter and cold, like she believed I had done those things on purpose. I opened my mouth to defend myself, but the look in her eyes stopped me.
“I don’t want to hear your excuses.”
“I never meant to hurt anyone.” I stepped forward, putting my hand on the mahogany desk that separated us.
“Do not touch my things,” Mrs. Shadowford said through gritted teeth. Her eyes grew wide and intense. I pulled my hand back quickly, but I could see that I’d made the old woman angry. On the desk, her tea cup rattled in its saucer. She reached out quickly to still the cup and the room grew silent. Fear gripped my chest, making it hard to breathe.
The air in the small office grew thick and warm. Mrs. Shadowford cleared her throat, then took her hand off the small cup. “That’s enough for this morning. Ella Mae will take you through the house rules.”
I stepped away from Mrs. Shadowford’s desk slowly, then turned to leave the room. My hand closed around the cold brass knob of the door and a small shock of electricity went through my body. I yanked my hand back, surprised.
“Harper,” Mrs. Shadowford said from her spot behind the desk.
<
br /> My body tensed as I turned to find her blue eyes staring straight into mine. I tried to swallow, but my mouth had gone completely dry. “Yes ma’am?”
“I’ll be watching you.”
Trouble Always Finds Me
“The rules are as follows. No back talk or disrespect, especially when it comes to the staff. You will need to keep your grades up at Peachville High. We expect to see A’s and B’s only. If any of your test grades are lower than a B, you’ll need to bring them home for one of us to sign.”
Ella Mae went on to list rules that were pretty common for foster homes. Lights out at eleven. No boys allowed upstairs. Keep your hands to yourself. Don’t take anything that doesn’t belong to you. All standard rules. Then, as if it were just another rule, she said, “And never, under any circumstances, are you to go up to the third floor.”
Immediately, a strange tingle went through my body. If she had never mentioned it, I probably wouldn’t have given the third floor a second thought. But now it was mysterious. Forbidden. Tempting. What could they possibly be hiding up there that would be so important to protect?
“Let me be completely clear about this. If you are found breaking any of the rules we’ve talked about today, you’ll be expelled from Shadowford without a second chance. Do you understand?”
I nodded.
“And from what your case manager said on the phone when she called last night, you’ll go straight from here to the detention center in Atlanta. You seem like such a sweet girl. I would hate to see you end up at a place like that.”
I didn't want to see myself end up there either. Juvenile detention was like a jail sentence. Not to mention that going there for my last few years of high school would kill my chances at ever getting into a good college. I had to make things work here, no matter what. That meant putting whatever was up on the third floor out of my mind. Not to mention whatever had happened with Mrs. Shadowford's teacup. I told myself it was nothing – that it couldn't be the same thing that happened to me when I got angry – then followed Ella Mae through the first floor of the house.
Shadowford was even bigger than it looked from the outside. The large staircase split the floor in half. On one side was a formal sitting room with a big brick and tile fireplace. Heavy gold drapes hung in the windows and the antique furniture looked ornate and expensive. Ella Mae told me that the sitting room was only used for formal meetings and sometimes for special occasions.