Eliza stretched for the altar and, striking a match, she lit the black candle and began to recite from memory. “The land is beginning to die, and the soil grows cold, the fertile womb of the earth has gone barren. As Persephone descended into the Underworld, so the earth continues its descent into night. As Demeter mourns the loss of her daughter, so we mourn the days drawing shorter. The winter will soon be here.”
I took the matchbox from Eliza and, lighting the green candle, I too recited. “In her anger and sorrow, Demeter roamed the earth, and the crops died, and life withered and the soil went dormant. In grief, she traveled looking for her lost child, leaving darkness behind in her wake. We feel the mother's pain, and our hearts break for her, as she searches for the child she gave birth to. We welcome the darkness, in her honor.”
Evan sat on his knees and broke open the pomegranate. He plucked six seeds from the fruit and lined them in a row across the wooden altar. “Six months of light, and six months of dark,” he said, “The earth goes to sleep and later wakes again. O’ dark mother, we honor you this night, and dance in your shadows. We embrace that which is the darkness, and celebrate the life of the Crone. Blessings to the dark goddess on this night and every other.”
Damien gaze, fixed on what was going on at the altar, seemed pensive. He shuffled to his knees, took the chalice filled with wine, and raised it to the half-moon high above us. The wind picked up almost in response to his movement.
“Demeter, Inanna, Kali, Tiamet, Hecate, Nemesis, Morrighan,” Damien said, without skipping a beat. “Bringers of destruction and darkness, I embrace you tonight. Without rage we cannot feel love. Without pain we cannot feel happiness. Without the night there is no day. Without death… there is no life. Great goddesses of the night, we thank you.”
We took turns sipping from the chalice. In the silence I thought I heard whispers coming from the trees, riding on the back of the chilling wind creeping in. I peered around to try and catch the source but found only restless darkness. Still, the whispers remained until the last of us had drunk from the cup.
Damien, however, seemed to share my awareness of the strange sounds coming from the tree line. We returned to our seated positions and took a few moments of quiet meditation to reflect on the negative things in our lives.
I thought about Corey, my sister, and how I wished we weren’t so distant. I considered my turbulent relationship status and why I was so attracted to jerks who didn’t give two shits about how I felt. This was the point in the ritual where we would try and figure out how to turn the negative things in our lives into positives, but when Damien slipped into my thoughts my ability to concentrate evaporated.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
We left the cabin at daybreak on Sunday to make good tracks and beat the traffic. Plus, we wanted to distribute the weekend’s harvest and we figured Sunday would be the best time to do it since we wouldn’t be opening the shop. I decided I wouldn’t be much of a conversationalist on the way down and spent almost the entire ride catching up on some reading. When I wasn’t reading I was glancing at Damien in the mirror, but he wasn’t glancing back this time.
I didn’t see Damien at class on Monday either, though even long after we’d parted ways he still dominated my thoughts. But Eliza’s good mood back at the book shop in the afternoon saved me from my drooping spirits. She came in to work wearing a black hoody, a pink tutu over black leggings and a pair of hot pink Doctor Marten boots. Eliza only dressed this way when she felt like she could eat the world.
Loud, throaty, fuzzy grunge blared off the tiny speakers on her laptop. Eliza sang and swayed her hips with the music as she dusted bookshelves from atop a step ladder. She could’ve been mistaken for some kind of book pixie in that outfit.
“You’re pretty happy,” I said once the song ended.
“Aren’t you?” she asked, “This weekend was awesome. This year has been awesome!”
“I’m happy, trust me. You’re just beaming and… it isn’t normal.”
“Man,” she said, hopping down from the ladder, “Waking up to that field… didn’t that just blow your mind?”
“Was it any different to us praying for you to get pregnant, and you now actually being pregnant?”
“People can chalk that up to coincidence. What happened at the cabin was a miracle, and I want you to fucking acknowledge it.” Eliza’s Samuel L Jackson impression came out of nowhere, but I burst into a fit of laughter and let go of the weekend’s worries in that single instant. Minutes later, I still couldn’t keep a straight face.
“We did a great thing this weekend,” Eliza said, “And those shelters were really grateful for all that extra fruit and vegetables we gave them.”
“They must think we’re farmers.”
Eliza went to her laptop which was on the main counter. I followed. “I’m pretty sure if we were farmers we’d have the farmer police after us wondering how we grew that entire crop overnight—with no actual seeds.” she said.
“And then we’d be pretty screwed.”
“So, are you going to stop stalling and tell me how things went with Damien or am I going to have to wring it out of you?”
“What is there to say?” I asked. I was sitting on the counter trying to find entertainment inside my phone but coming up short.
“I know there’s something going on with you two, there has to be.”
“Sorry to break it to you, but he has a girlfriend. He was texting her over the weekend.” Damien hadn’t confirmed nor denied the fact, and I hadn’t seen him texting her, but then again I hadn’t asked. Not that I wanted to know or anything. Besides, the way he had been treating me would make you believe he was single. And after I had time to cool off and think about it, I decided that kissing me was a sleazy thing for him to do.
I didn’t like cheats, and he should have known better.
Then there was also Aaron. I hadn’t texted him back since the night we arrived, and for all I knew he had moved on to a different girl. Did I want to know what he had done that night without me? Did I want to run after him and explain what I was doing?
“But he was with you and not his girlfriend,” Eliza said, “And you guys spent a lot of time together.”
“Platonic time,” I said, shrugging. “We have common interests.”
“Yeah, each other.”
“He doesn’t see me in that way, okay?”
“Have you asked him?”
“I don’t have to. I just know.”
“I call bullshit.” Eliza shut her laptop and moved around the counter, staring directly into my face. “I wager you and he will end up cocooned in each other by the end of the year.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, don’t be crazy.”
“I’m telling you, this will happen. And the Goddess knows you need it, sister. When was the last time you got laid? You need a man, and fast.”
The corner of my mouth curled into a sly grin. Sometimes I’d forget Aaron was my dirty little secret not even Eliza was wise to. I would feel bad about lying to her, and then I’d feel good knowing she wasn’t the only one who could get a guy into bed. A hot guy. A hot, fit guy.
“I’ll have you know,” I said, protesting, “The only thing I need is standing in front of me, and you’d best not forget that.”
Eliza lit up the way people do when they come face to face with a cuddly animal or someone’s newborn. “I love you too,” she said, hugging me. “I just want you to be okay and to be happy. I can’t make you happy in the same way a man can.”
“Sometimes I hate the Gods for that.”
“Me too. Trust me. You’re a catch; you’re sexy, intelligent and independent. I would totally cut a bitch who tried to take you away from me.”
“Oh shut up,” I said, smiling.
After closing I walked Eliza to the end of the street and hugged her again at the quiet intersection before reaching Joe’s.
“Thank you,” I said.
“For what?” sh
e asked.
“Nothing. Go home, we’ll talk later.”
Eliza made the turn past the intersection before continuing on toward the end of the street. Tiny, dim Rosella Avenue stretched on for about ten minutes before giving way to bright, commercial Houston Boulevard. The high end street saw the hustle and bustle of consumerism rampant even at seven and eight in the evening most nights; something which, when you consider Raven’s Glen was a small town, was impressive.
If you were to see Houston Boulevard from above you’d see the resemblance to a river; the way it pours out of Rosella, a small street at the top of a slight hill, and flows down into the Raven Crest district culminating at a cul-de-sac, you would know what I mean. Only this is a river lined with quirky cafés, fancy restaurants, and high end shops. Not the best kind of rivers. Luckily, cars aren’t allowed through, so the entire street is a massive walkway cut along the middle by food carts, benches, and stone fountains.
This was Ravens Glen’s most costly beautification, and it was totally worth the money we paid. Personally, my biggest gain was being able to choose where I want to buy my latte from instead of being forced to go to the same place day-in-day-out. Every night I’d check in with Joe for more of his wife’s delicious cupcakes, and on the way home I’d pick up a vanilla latte, brimming with cream and chocolate sprinkles.
Bliss.
So, armed with my latte and my cupcakes, I turned headed down Houston and cut into an alley which would see me emerging on Sycamore Avenue. This was basically a shortcut that shaved some ten minutes off my trip home, so I took it nightly. Tonight, whilst trying to decide between Jack off Jill and Garbage as my last song artist of choice, my phone died on me.
“Oh, come on,” I groaned.
After several attempts to revive the phone I pronounced it dead, which struck me as odd given that the battery was at least half full last I checked. But phones did stupid things sometimes so whatever. That’s when I caught the sound of a glass bottle clinking across the floor. I spun around and spied a figure in the alley, partially obscured by darkness. But I couldn’t figure out who he was or what he was doing.
Shrugging, I turned around and headed for the mouth of the alley and Sycamore Avenue. But my heart was starting to pick up the pace. I got the impression that the guy was following me, and a quick glimpse with my peripherals verified it. Shit. Who was this guy? What did he want?
Maybe I was just being paranoid, but I picked up the pace and tried to turn my phone on again. I’d make a call as soon as I could, or at least pretend I was on the phone if that didn’t work. Before I knew it I had broken into a light run, and the figure behind me was following. In my mind’s eye, an image of a Raven was forming. The bird was cawing madly and flapping its wings.
Run. Run. Run. It was saying.
Then the phone lit up. I entered my pin and made a left turn into Sycamore. I could see my house from here! The man’s footsteps faded to nothing and a wave of relief washed over me, but I found myself wondering who I would have actually called if I had really been in trouble. Eliza? Evan? Damien?
Aaron?
The Sheriff I guess. That was the best choice, even if it had taken me a moment to get to it. Had I been in trouble in that alley, the moment’s hesitation could have meant the difference between… well, I didn’t really want to think about it. But I barely took five steps down Sycamore before someone violently grabbed me and threw me head first into a wall.
I didn’t even have time to finish the thought.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Stars.
I saw stars.
I couldn’t blink them away, couldn’t close my eyes hard enough to shut them out, and couldn’t scream for help. But I had to. I had to call out to someone—anyone—because this guy—a fist connected with my face with a loud crack and I staggered back a few paces, dropping my phone and my latte. My bag also crashed a few feet away from me, its contents spilling all over the sidewalk. I brought my hands up to block the next attack but the man pulled me by the hair and tossed me to the ground a few feet away.
I struggled to get up. My face was burning from where he had hit me and from where my head had hit the wall. Blood was trickling down my forehead and the stars still hadn’t disappeared. A pair of thick, black boots shuffled around in front of me. I curled myself into a ball but one of the boots buried itself in my stomach and took the wind out of me so hard I thought I was going to wretch.
No.
I thought I was going to die.
That’s when I saw the pepper spray sitting not far from me. I always carried one in my bag because I was afraid to carry a gun. But I reached out to get it the attacker pinned my hand down with his boot, crushing my dainty wrist against the rough floor. He then lifted me from the ground by the neck and I couldn’t even stop him. He was wearing a black ski mask but he was tall and broad.
The man pinned me to the wall again and produced an object from his pocket. With a flick of his wrist, a knife extended from the object in his hand and he pressed the blade against my neck. Cold, sharp metal caressed my skin, its sharp teeth cutting a line of blood across the skin simply by the fact that it was there. Somehow, I didn’t feel any pain.
“Please,” I begged. “Please don’t.”
The attacker’s eyes were dead and cold and he didn’t say anything, either. Did he want my money? My phone? Or… no. I wouldn’t let him! I closed my eyes hard and imagined any number of ways in which Fate itself could get me out of the situation. A strong gust of wind, a passing car, or even a charging animal would do. All he had to do was let go and I could run home from here.
The Raven came into my mind again. Run. Run. Run!
Then something happened.
I heard someone racing toward us from across the road before I saw him coming. He was like a blur! A throaty growl behind a large set of arms grabbed the attacker from behind and ripped him off my body. I dropped to my knees and propped myself up with my hands, breathless and aching while a battle took place above. Crying and hurt I scrambled toward the can of pepper spray to take the asshole down, but by the time I pulled it up in front of my face the fight had ended and the masked figure was speeding across the street and melting into the darkness.
“Are you okay?” asked the man who had saved me. His silhouette, darkened by the streetlamp above, cleared when he stepped out of the light—and then I was gazing up into Aaron’s flushed, angry face.
“Oh my Gods,” I said. I leapt into his arms and unloaded a hail of tears and fear into his chest.
Aaron lifted me up. Every second, and every movement, was pain. I wrapped myself around his neck and settled my head against his body, sobbing quietly as he picked my things up from off the floor even with me clinging on to him.
“I’m taking you to a hospital,” he said.
“No! No, no hospitals.”
“What? Why not?”
“Don’t argue,” I begged, “Please, my house is closer. Just take me there.”
Aaron wasn’t a fan of hospitals either. There’d be too many questions, too many papers to sign, and not enough care being given to patients. I’d heard him rant about hospitals before. The whole scene made him sick, stifled him, and frustrated him, so he didn’t argue with me and took me home. Just my luck that I would be the one to get mugged. At least the guy didn’t take anything.
Back at my place Aaron sat me down on the kitchen counter. He grabbed a first aid kit from the cupboard under the sink, cleaned the wound on my neck, and fixed it with gauze. Then, careful not to cause me any more pain, he took a cotton swab and masterfully applied disinfectant to the broken skin on my cheek and lip. I winced from the pain, but my eyes were too hurt for more tears to come.
“Jesus, freak, who’d you piss off?” he asked.
“Please don’t call me that tonight, Aaron,” I said. “Not tonight.”
Aaron paused, met my eyes, and nodded. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Do you know who could’ve done this to you?”
/> I shook my head. “It could’ve been anyone. Maybe a mugger or some kid? I don’t know.” I wasn’t a stranger to bullying and I had taken my fair share of beatings as a kid, but never as an adult.
“I had to pull him off you, Amber. That wasn’t a kid.”
“Let’s just forget about it, okay?”
“How’s the hand?” Aaron asked.
“I can move it,” I said, flexing my fingers, “but it’s really sore.”
“At least it’s not broken.”
“If you think you’re getting a hand job for this you’re dead wrong.”
It was a joke, and Aaron smiled when I said it. My attempt at lightening the mood wasn’t lost after all.
“I didn’t think I’d be getting one,” he said, “I may like it rough, but I don’t want you or anyone who looks at you thinking I’m depraved. The bruises I leave on you are bad enough.”
“Yes, but that’s different.”
“That doesn’t matter much to the people seeing them though, does it?”
I sensed something different in the air then. The way he tenderly took care of my wounds, the softness in his voice, and the simple fact I hadn’t yet shooed him from my house warned me of changing winds. It was as if part of me—a large part of me—expected Aaron to tell me to walk it off and coerce me into sex, despite my injuries. Instead he brought me a glass of water, which I downed in seconds.
“Thanks,” I said, “I’m so happy you were there.”
“I was on my way to see you,” he said.
“You… were?”
“I hadn’t heard from you. Thought maybe something was up. You’re usually pretty quick on the replies.”
Aaron’s messages glared at me from the back of my memory. I wondered if he’d found someone else, as his threat suggested, but then scolded myself for allowing my own insecurity to think such things.
“Guess it was fate,” I said.
“I’ll say. Good thing my car has been in the shop since Friday and I had to walk. I wouldn’t have caught you otherwise.”