Spellbound - Cara Lynn Shultz [66]
“Yes, he was,” Christine said. She sounded happy, not mournful. “I am a very lucky woman, to have had that kind of love. So, is this boy from school?”
“Yes.” I started nervously picking at my cuticles. “Brendan Salinger.” I trembled a little as I said his name out loud.
Christine’s eyes widened at the name. “The Salinger boy?” she asked, surprised.
“Yes…is that bad?”
“Oh, no, it’s not bad, dear. His family’s quite…prominent, though. I know his mother from the school board and some of her charity work.”
Prominent? Before I could ask her what she meant by that, she asked if I was seeing him again.
“I’m going to see him tomorrow, if that’s okay.”
“Sure, dear. Ashley’s family invited us over for dinner but I’m sure they’ll understand. Just nothing too late, it’s a school night.” I gave her a big hug.
“Thank you, Aunt Christine!” I hugged her more tightly, and whispered, “Thank you.”
As soon as I curled up underneath my purple comforter, thoughts of curses and witches and magical crests began assaulting my thoughts. I didn’t understand how I let all of my concerns dance out of my head when Brendan was around—it was like each touch of his hand caused my IQ to drop a few points. It’s not just his hands…it’s those hypnotic eyes…and those lips…and his hands… Okay, concentrate, Emma!
I resolved to keep my focus better tomorrow—to look for some tangible signs that Brendan really was my soul mate—before I started worrying about what doom that could bring for me. After all, he kissed me tonight and nothing bad happened, right? Content with my plan, I snuggled under the soft fleece comforter and shut my eyes, letting sleep take over my senses.
When I opened my eyes again, I expected to see my open bedroom door and the short hallway to the bathroom. Instead, I saw heavy velvet drapes and an unfamiliar, musty room. I sat up, swinging my legs off the bed, and stared down. I was wearing a long white nightshirt that looked hand-sewn—not my familiar blue plaid pajama bottoms. Disoriented, I stood up, and the stone floor was cold and clammy underneath my bare feet. Each step brought on a new wave of nausea, and all I could think about was getting outside. Suddenly, getting outside was imperative.
I found a narrow staircase, and eased myself down the steps. My brittle fingernails split as I dug them into gaps in the hard stone walls, dragging myself forward. Each footstep made me sicker, and my feet were clumsy as I staggered on. A series of spastic chills shook my body. I rested my forehead against the wall, feeling sweat trickle down my face as I tried to stabilize myself. My body was wracked with spasms. I tackled the steps slowly, and finally reached the ground floor. Using what little strength I had left, I heaved myself off the staircase toward a heavy wooden door. I knew I had to get through it—salvation was on the other side. I shoved it open, expending all my strength on opening the bulky, thick door.
I was outside. The smell of roses hung heavily in the air, mixed with the chilly scent of grass and trees at night. Shaken and spent, I surveyed the manicured grounds, looking for a sign of danger before slowly stepping into the garden. Each footstep equaled pain as I faltered toward the roses.
I heard a guttural shout and whipped around. A group of large, hulking men approached from the clearing on the left. I couldn’t make out distinct forms—they were just a pulsating, terrifying mass. I heard my brother Ethan’s voice yell to me, “Run!”
I began running to the right, through the fragrant roses, but three men met me in the garden. I heard shouts behind me. I was surrounded. My eyes spun around wildly, my hands formed into claws as I feebly held them up defensively.
The mass of men closed in, surrounding me. My ears felt like they were plugged shut—I could only hear my own pulse as it sped and throbbed in my head. I couldn’t make sense of what they were saying; I could only see their angry, mottled faces and stained beards as they shoved me back and forth, jeering at me, spitting on me,