Bad Blood Page 9

  “And…” He leans in, his face inches from mine, his hand resting on my shoulder. “You were worried that the first time you kissed Alistair wouldn’t be magical because you didn’t know how to do it properly…so you nearly jumped me, right here in the entryway.”

  I’m feeling a bit light-headed, and I let out a small breath. “As I recall, you were a more than willing participant.” I swallow, hard.

  He smiles and leans in even closer. His hand reaches up and he sweeps a stray lock of hair off my face and puts it behind my ear. “I’d like to do it again,” he says softly.

  “What?” I ask breathily.

  “See another film with you, of course,” he says with a roguish grin.

  “Robby, you are such a jerk.” I push him away.

  He laughs. “What did you think I meant?”

  “Go away,” I say as I get out my keys and unlock the front door.

  “I’ll kiss you if that’s what you want,” he says loudly. “At least this time you won’t taste of popcorn and Maltesers.”

  I turn back to him. “Not in a million years, Robert Brodie,” I say, flustered.

  “We’ll see, Heather,” he tells me, taking a step back. He does a kind of good-bye salute and turns on his heel, humming his song. As I go inside and shut the door, my heart is beating out of my chest. I can just make out his voice singing “My love is liiiiiiike a reeeeed, red rose” as he disappears into the night.

  I CAN SMELL his scent on my clothes as I hurry along the dark street. I will have to change and wash before Father gets home. The walls of the city close in on me. After dark is the only time he can meet. I cannae help but smile. Love. It’s such an inadequate word. I don’t just love him. I adore him. I worship him. I want to consume him. I want to crawl inside his skin. When I am with him I feel on fire, as if my blood will burn through my flesh. It is at once terrifying and exciting.

  I want to say his name. Jonas. I want to yell his name. Jonas. I want to sing it—Jonas, Jonas, Jonas.

  But I cannae. I must remain silent for now. Nobody knows but us. We are to be married, but my father would have my hide. If he knew, he’d lock me up, or send me to the nuns. He’d never allow me to marry a Jew.

  But these labels—Jew, Catholic, Protestant—that mean so much to so many mean nothing to me. My religion is the earth. My soul belongs to nature, to Scotland. And my heart belongs to him. Jonas. Is this how my mother felt about my father? Was her love not enough to melt his cold heart?

  Prudence knows there is something amiss. She has left off her questioning for now, for she has come down with some illness. I hope she stays ill for days. I hope she is bedridden and I can have my moments of stolen bliss with Jonas go on until we elope.

  My face heats at the thought of him. I know what we do is supposed to be wicked, but all I feel is the good of it. All I feel is love.

  I STEP ONTO the short well-kept grass, walking slowly. I take the path that cuts straight across the Meadows, where Fiona’s family’s café sits, nestled in a tall, modern building across from a much more imposing Gothic university one. Out of the corner of my eye I see a figure in the shadows, but when I turn my head, it’s gone…if it was ever there in the first place.

  Not for the first time, I debate whether I should tell anyone about my increasing sense of paranoia. I don’t want my friends to think I’m a freak, and I don’t want to put that worry on Aunt Abbie. I can’t tell Gram or my parents. My mom would probably insist I get on the next flight home. Dr. Casella is the obvious solution, but…I don’t really want to.

  My phone rings and I check the screen and sigh.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “Hi, Heather, I’m just checking in….” My mom pauses, listens. “Where are you?”

  “Crossing the Meadows, going to have a snack at Fiona’s,” I say without thinking. I should have just told her I was at Aunt Abbie’s flat.

  “You’re not by yourself, are you?” she asks. “I don’t want you walking around without Abbie.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m fine,” I say. “I’m not going to make Aunt Abbie escort me everywhere. She can barely get out of bed some days.”

  “Then maybe you should keep her company at home.” Yeah, that would be my mom’s dream come true, me as a shut-in. What’s the point of traveling halfway around the world to be cooped up in an apartment all day? Besides, Abbie would hate me constantly hovering over her.

  “Hey, Mom, I gotta go. Some guys just pulled up in an unmarked van. They say if I go with them I can have all the candy I want. And a puppy.” Sometimes my smart-ass-ness diffuses my mother’s worry—at least, it did before this summer. Now all she does is worry.

  “That’s not funny, Heather,” she says, her voice going up an octave. “You are thousands of miles away in the middle of one of the biggest festivals in Europe. There are a million people crawling the streets, and any one of them could be a weirdo.”

  “Well, I’m here now,” I tell her. “Unless you want me to turn around and go home unescorted across a park full of potential weirdos.” She’s silent, and I think I may have gone too far, but after a few seconds she exhales loudly.

  “Just say hi to Janet and Doug for me. And in the future I don’t want you to go out on your own.”

  “Sure thing, Mom,” I say, though I have no intention of following her orders. I toss my phone into my bag and push open the door to the Celtic Goddess Café. It’s packed, though it’s past lunchtime. That’s the festival for you.

  I spot Fiona’s mom running around like a crazy person, and her stepsister, Mary, jotting down orders.

  “Hey, Mary,” I call out across the restaurant. Mary glances up, not recognizing me. Her dad only married Fiona’s mom a year and a half ago, and she’s a little kid, so it’s not like her not remembering me hurts my feelings. “Where’s Fiona?”

  She nods over her shoulder and turns back to her customers. I wonder how Fiona’s mom gets around the child labor laws. Fiona’s been working at the café since she was eight.

  Fiona’s sitting at a small table in the corner, her head in her hands. Even her curly red hair seems limp and tame. I slide into the seat across from her.

  “Shouldn’t you be working?” I ask. “You look absolutely awful, by the way,” I say.

  She winced. “Please, dinnae talk so loudly.” Fiona catches Mary’s arm as she walks by. “Fetch me a cup of coffee, would you?”

  “Sure, Fifi.” Mary grins. She idolizes Fiona, though they have nothing in common.

  “And dinnae call me Fifi. I’m not a bloody poodle.”

  Mary turns to me. “And you…I know you…?”

  “Yeah, it’s me, Heather,” I say. “We met last summer.”

  “Oh, right. The American. What can I get you?”

  “Cup of Earl Grey with honey…and some caramel sponge cake.”

  “It’s not vegan,” she warns. She points at the menu on the table. “Only items marked with a green V are vegan.”

  Fiona makes a growling noise. “Does she look bloody vegan?” she snipes. Mary backs away with a hurt look. Fiona’s face softens. “Look, sorry, pet. I’m just not feeling well today.”

  Mary grins again. “It’s okay, Fifi. I’ll get you your coffee right away.”

  “What?” Fiona asks when I give her a look. “She’s a pest.”

  I shrug. “She seems to be a big help to your mom.”

  “Yeah, no kidding. I think that’s half the reason Mum married Doug…adding one more free waitress to the family.”

  Mary brings our drinks and cake and puts some scrambled eggs in front of Fiona. “Janet said to make you eat this and then you have to get off your arse and stop your moaning because she needs you to do some actual work today.”

  “Tell Mum I said thanks,” she says sarcastically.

  Mary eyes the eggs, a disgusted look on her face. “You know, that’s the embryo of a chicken.”

  Fiona takes a heaping forkful and puts it in her mouth. “Mmmmm, embryo,” she says
with a big grin. The Celtic Goddess has a lot of vegan and vegetarian options, but it also has plenty of meat dishes, all free-range organic. Fiona once told me her mom, as much of a hippie as she is, didn’t think the café could survive if it went straight up meatless.

  Fiona drinks her coffee and picks at her eggs while I wolf down my cake. After she eats she offers me a small smile. “Thanks for getting me home last night.”

  “What are friends for?” I grin. “Robby helped more than me. He even held your hair back while you puked,” I teased.

  Fiona makes a face. “Yuck. Sorry. Hey, what’s up with you and Robby, anyway?”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, my face reddening at the thought of Robby and our almost-kiss.

  “He couldn’t keep his eyes off you, and you danced with him all night.”

  “I was having fun.”

  “I bet.” She grins. “Well, the next time Robby carries me to my room, tell him he can just stay the night for a cuddle…ha!” She screams, pointing at me.

  “What?”

  “The look on your face. You like him.”

  I sigh. “I don’t know. Maybe I do.”

  Fiona flashes a triumphant grin. “I knew it. Before, when Asha said there was something there, I thought she was just imagining it. She’s been so gaga over Duncan and wants everyone to be in loooooooove. But now I totally see what she meant about you two.”

  “If…,” I say, “and this is a huge if,” I stress. “If I like Robby, I don’t think I could date him. We’ve been friends for so long. It would be strange.”

  Fiona shrugs. “Just go for it, Heather. Let him know how you feel. Also”—she raises her eyebrows—“have you seen how hot he’s gotten? Who’d have thought our fat little Robby would get so fit? You’d be crazy not to jump for a chance at that. If I thought he was at all interested, I would,” she says wistfully. I narrow my eyes and she quickly adds, “But I really wouldn’t ever because, you know, we’re friends and that would just be wrong.”

  I laugh, and Fiona’s mother appears suddenly at our table. “Hello, Heather,” she says, her eyes on her daughter. “Lovely to see you.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Darrow.”

  “Fiona, we’re swamped. I dinnae mind if you go out and have a little fun, but you’ve got to get yourself together the next day to work. Mary cannae do it all by herself….”

  “Okay, Mum,” Fiona says with a sigh. She stands, gathering her plates. “I feel better now.”

  Her mom grabs a handful of hair, yanking it playfully. “I’d appreciate it if you told Mary what a good job she’s doing. It would mean the world to her.”

  “Okay, okay.” Fiona flashes me a grin. “See you later, Heather.”

  “Bye,” I call as Fiona’s mom turns to me.

  “And how are you, love? How is Abbie holding up?”

  “Good. The chemo is hard, but we’re hopeful.”

  “Tell her to stop in if she’s up for it. Sheena Brodie and I are collaborating on a holistic anticancer regimen of medicinal herbs and organic foods.”

  “I’ll tell her,” I say, standing so that paying customers can have my seat.

  “And how is your grandma?” she asks, following me toward the door.

  “Good, good. The home really was the best choice.”

  Her eyes drop to my Trinity knot necklace, then snap back up to my face. “Did your grandmother give you that?” she asks quietly.

  “No.” I almost forgot about it.“Mrs. Brodie, I mean, Sheena did. I saw her at her shop and she said I could have it.” I touch the cool silver. “Is something wrong?”

  “No. It’s a lovely necklace.” She hesitates, then smiles. “All right, love, take care of yourself.”

  “Thank you. I will,” I say as I walk out onto the sidewalk. I think Mrs. Darrow is still watching me from the doorway, because I get this creepy feeling down my spine, but when I turn to look back, she’s gone.

  THE NEXT TIME I see Gram she knows exactly who I am. The nurse is in her room, readying her for her daily walk, and I offer to take her. We head outside; the grounds aren’t enormous, but there’s a pretty garden and a nice path lined with benches. Gram wants to sit on one of the benches, and she asks me a million questions about what I’ve been up to, school and my life.

  After a while I realize I’m starting to lose her. She seems unfocused and asks who I am.

  “Heather, Gram. I’m Iain’s daughter. Remember?”

  “Oh, of course. I wanted to talk to Iain about the property in the Highlands. I dinnae want them selling it after I’m gone. It’s been in our family for hundreds of years.”

  “What property?” I ask.

  “You know, the cottage, Abigail. The one we’d bring you to when you were little so we could spend a few days in the country.”

  “No, Gram, it’s me, Heather. Not Abigail.”

  “Of course, Heather. I get confused sometimes.”

  “I know.” I put my hand on her arm. “It’s okay, Gram. So, who used to live in the cottage?”

  “What cottage, dear?”

  “The one in the Highlands,” I say patiently.

  “Oh, no one for years and years. It was built…let’s see, four hundred years ago? For a while it just sat up there, forgotten, falling apart. But then my great-grandmother had it restored. They were able to keep most of the original foundation and built around the bones of the place…but even those enhancements were made ages ago. It’s quite the relic. Maybe you’ll fix it up again. I’d like that.” My grandmother shivers slightly.

  “Are you cold?” I ask, wishing I’d brought a sweater for her.

  “Aye, Abigail. Let’s go back inside.”

  I nod, not bothering to correct her, and help her up. My grandmother is disappearing little by little and there’s nothing I can do about it. I try not to cry as I walk her back to her room, even though my heart is breaking. The Gram I know will soon be gone.

  Blood drips down my thigh as I slice through my skin. The release makes me gasp. I work on the mark on my hip, slowly recarving the symbol, the one that hangs around my neck. I can focus for hours, slowly cutting the pattern in my flesh.

  After a while, the need passes and I put the knife down. I stare at the symbol etched in my skin and tears well up in my eyes. Why do I cut myself?

  Ashamed, I clean and bandage the wound, flushing the bloody tissues down the toilet. I return to my room and lie on the bed, crying softly. What is wrong with me?

  The next time I Skype with Dr. Casella, I try to explain to her how I feel like I’m two different people sometimes. The Heather who likes to have fun and be with her friends, and the Heather no one knows. Someone dark and twisted.

  “But they’re both me,” I tell her, not looking at the computer screen, afraid of what she’ll say.

  “Heather, what you’re describing sounds normal. At one time or another, everyone feels torn between two parts of themselves. I have to ask, though, have you ever lost time? Not known where you were or what you were doing?”

  “No, nothing like that. I’d tell you if I had, I promise.”

  “Okay, I believe you. You’re just under a lot of stress. Have you been taking your medicine?”

  “I took my meds while I was in the Wellness Center, but when I started having the freaky nightmares, I stopped,” I admit, slightly ashamed.

  “Thank you for being honest with me. I’d actually like to write you a new prescription for antianxiety medicine. I’ll have to speak with your parents about it.”

  “My mom thinks there’s still something wrong with me.”

  Dr. Casella nods. “You mother expressed her concerns to me. About the night terrors.”

  “About having me committed?”

  She tilts her head. “And how do you know about that?”

  “Aunt Abbie told me.”

  “I did speak with your mother about that, and I explained to her that placing you in a facility against your will at this point wouldn’t be prudent. You did wonderfully at t
he Wellness Center and seem to be committed to healing. I’ll make sure she understands the ramifications of what she’s advocating. I’ll also always be here for you, Heather. I just want what’s best for you…even if it means disagreeing with your parents about your course of treatment.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Casella. Do you think this antianxiety medication will help?”

  “Yes. If your parents approve, I’ll write the prescription in the morning. You should be able to pick it up at a pharmacy near you in the afternoon. My office will email you and let you know. But you have to take it. Every day.”

  “I will. I promise. Thanks again, Dr. Casella.”

  “No problem, Heather. Speak with you next week.”

  I turn off the computer with a strange mixture of relief and fear. Dr. Casella is in my corner, but what if she knew what I really thought? What I really do? What would she do if she knew the truth?

  I’m not better at all.

  “ROBBY, IF YOU don’t tell me where we’re going, I’m turning around and walking home.”

  “Five more minutes, Heather, I promise,” he says with a grin, grabbing my elbow and pulling me along. When he called asking me to come out with him tonight, I assumed we’d be with a group. But when he showed up at my door all tight lipped and mysterious, I knew he was up to something else.

  “It’s late. I have to get back soon,” I warn. He’s wearing jeans and a crewneck sweater, and I have to admit, he looks good. We went for dinner at an Indian restaurant and walked around the city, checking out the street performers.

  “I told your aunt we’d be back late.” He stops suddenly. “Here we are.”

  I look around at the crowd of people, then at the building behind them: an old theater. “Are we going to a movie?” I ask.

  He grins. “Not just any film. The Scottish premiere of”—he pauses for dramatic effect—“The Last.”

  My mouth drops. “Shut up.” The Last is the biggest movie of the summer. “How did you score tickets?”

  He shrugs. “Someone gave my boss a pair and he said I could have them. Well, actually, after I heard he had them, I went to his office and begged. I even offered to work the dreaded early shift. People on morning tours just dinnae tip. Why is that?”