Chapter 1
one
Ash
My rideshare’s car door slams shut behind me like a thunderclap. The sound perfectly encapsulates the storm of emotions roiling through me as I heft my suitcase and take in where I’ll be living for the next year.
My aunt’s house is small—far tinier than my grandparents’ mansion up in Maine.
The faded brick exterior appears just as sad and neglected as the rest of Banton I’d glimpsed during my long ride from the airport.
Exactly what I expected when I found out I’d be coming to this small town in the Midwest.
An unreasonable number of garden gnomes grimace at me as I trudge up the stone path to a sagging porch where a dozen wind chimes made of metal, wood, glass, and God knows what else tinkle merrily in a light breeze.
I already loathe this place.
Just one year, I tell myself as I set down my suitcase and knock on the front door. Then, you’ll be free to disappear.
“Hang on,” a cheerful voice calls. “Be right there!”
That turns out to be a lie. I shift my feet while I wait and spy a pair of passing kids about my age gawking at me from the sidewalk. A quick glare has them averting their eyes as they hurry past.
Good.
With any luck, they’ll spread the word to the rest of my new school to leave me the hell alone. It’s better that way. For everyone.
The door bursts open to reveal a heavyset woman draped in a sequined dress, her hair pulled back and mostly hidden beneath a sheer scarf. Before I can react, she drags me into an embrace. I stiffen, barely resisting the urge to shove her away.
“Ashton!” Aunt Claudette squeals, squeezing tighter. “It’s good to see you!”
Doubtful. I have hazy memories of her and Mom laughing while stringing beads into makeshift jewelry, but I haven’t seen her in years—not since Mom’s funeral.
If she’d really cared, she’s had plenty of opportunities to prove it before now.
I don’t call her on it, though. Banton’s bad enough.
If my aunt turns me away like my grandparents did, who knows where I’ll end up next.
“It’s Ash,” I say as I disentangle myself from the many necklaces jangling around her throat. Belatedly, I add, “Thanks for letting me stay with you.”
A broad smile splits her face. “Of course, Ashto—I mean, Ash. I can’t tell you how thrilled I was when your grandparents asked if you could live here for your senior year. I’m sure we’ll have a blast together!”
I shrug.
“Well, come on in,” she says, stepping back from the doorway. She starts to turn, then pauses and looks back, squinting at the driveway. “Hold on. Where’s the rest of your stuff?” I hold up my suitcase, and her eyes widen. “That can’t be everything?”
“Everything I need. The Ellingtons are going to ship the rest. It should arrive within a couple weeks.” Not that I care about most of that crap anyway. I’ve long since learned the importance of remaining self-sufficient.
“Well, all right then.” Frowning slightly, she resumes walking into the house. I reluctantly follow, lugging my suitcase behind me.
We emerge into a narrow hall lined with paintings of brightly colored geometric shapes. There’s a cramped kitchen with an attached dining nook to the left and a tiny bathroom on the right.
The hall dead-ends in the living room. More shapes adorn the walls there, along with dangling crystals and shelves full of odd knickknacks I can’t place. A narrow staircase in back ascends to the second floor, where I assume the bedrooms must be.
Aunt Claudette hovers uncertainly in the middle of the living room. “Would you like some tea? I’ve got iced or hot. Or maybe a snack?” I shake my head, and she settles onto a settee. “Well, in that case, make yourself at home.”
I eye the staircase wistfully before trudging over to a high-backed chair instead. Best to put some effort in now so I leave a good first impression.
Clearly, I made the right choice because Aunt Claudette beams at me. “I want you to be comfortable here, Ash. I know it’s going to be an adjustment, but I think you’ll grow to love Banton. It’s small, but it’s got a lot to offer.”
Yeah, right. I opt for a diplomatic shrug and sneak another glance at the stairs. My aunt doesn’t seem to notice.
She smiles at me with a fondness that has to be faked.
“I see you’re a man of few words. That’s okay.
Your father was, too.” Her good humor dampens slightly when I stiffen like I always do at the mention of my parents.
“I know things haven’t been the easiest for you, Ash.
Your dad’s illness, then what happened with your mom, and now this recent business at your old school… ”
Tension grips me. What exactly did my grandparents tell her? Not the whole truth—the Ellingtons would never admit that to anyone. But what about Harvey? Or that awful night?
Aunt Claudette must catch my clenched jaw because she makes a soothing gesture. “Don’t worry, I won’t pry. Whatever happened is your story to tell if or when you feel up to it. Either way, Banton is the perfect place for a fresh start. I’m certain you’ll make some new friends in no time.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“Great!” She frowns again at the suitcase I left propped next to my chair. “Speaking of friends, I imagine you’ll need to pick up supplies for school on Monday. Your grandparents sent some money to help cover your expenses. We can go shopping later if you like.”
Shopping’s about the last thing I feel like doing, especially if it means having to continue this conversation. “Thanks, but I’ll figure it out tomorrow.”
Uncertainty flickers over her face, quickly muffled beneath another smile. “Okay. I’ll leave it in your capable hands, then.”
She changes the subject. I mostly tune her out, nodding or shrugging by rote while I examine the eclectic collection of objects. The room isn’t as small as I’d first thought. It’s just crammed full of so many shelves and trinkets that there’s little space left for actual people.
Even so, I have to admit it possesses a cozy, lived-in quality the Ellingtons’ mansion always lacked. Their house had been designed for show. Despite the myriad objects on display, I don’t get the same vibe here.
My gaze catches on a small, lacquered box resting on the coffee table between us. Without thinking, I reach out and trace a finger over the lines on its front. They form the shape of a globe captured within a human eye.
Belatedly, I realize my aunt’s watching me. I jerk my hand back. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I told you to make yourself at home. I know I’ve got quite the collection, and what good is a shiny bauble if you’re too afraid to ever use it?”
I nod at the box. “What is it?”
She smiles and reaches for it. “A Tarot deck,” she replies as she slides the wooden lid off, unveiling a stack of worn cards.
She flips the top one over to reveal a stylized moon.
“Each card represents a different aspect of your life. They’re meant to help you work through questions or problems. I can do a reading for you if you like. ”
I’m shaking my head before she even finishes speaking, my heartbeat quickening. “Pass.” That’s the absolute last thing I need to be messing with.
“Suit yourself.” She returns the deck to the box. “But if you’re ever curious, just let me know. I’m not sure what your grandparents told you about my situation, but I’m a practicing psychic.”
Something in my expression must give away my disdain because she raises an eyebrow. “What, you don’t believe in magic?”
The irony of the situation almost makes me laugh. Oh, I believe in magic all right—that’s precisely the problem.
A vision of Harvey’s fear-stricken face flashes before my eyes, and I bolt to my feet, fumbling for my suitcase. “If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to rest. I’m pretty beat.”
Aunt Claudette blinks at me, taking a moment to recover. “Of course. You must be exhausted after your flight. Here, let me show you to your room.”
She starts to stand, and I shake my head. “No, that’s okay. I can find it.”
“Well, if you’re sure…”
She trails off when she sees I’m already halfway up the stairs, my suitcase knocking against the banister with a series of dull thuds.
The upstairs is cramped, with only a tiny landing and two bedrooms. It’s easy to identify which is Aunt Claudette’s thanks to the draped tapestries and cluttered shelves. I step into the other, giving it a once-over.
A twin bed tucked against the wall. A closet empty of anything but hangers. A scarred desk and swivel chair in the corner. Marks on the walls where things had once hung—probably more of the displays so prevalent everywhere else. My aunt must’ve taken them down before I arrived.
I collapse onto my new bed with a sigh and stare at the ceiling, absently counting the tiny holes left over from old decorations. Now that I’m alone, I feel bad for rushing out on my aunt like that. She seems nice enough, even if she had washed her hands of me these past five years.
Not that I’m interested in forging a real relationship. I just need to survive this last year of high school. Then, I’ll be free to do whatever I want. To live life on my own terms…even if I’m not sure what those are yet.
My chest constricts at the murky prospect of my future. Sometimes, I wonder if the world would be better off without me in it. Dad and Mom certainly would’ve been. Dad could’ve enjoyed his final days in peace, and Mom…well, she might even still be alive.
That’s what happens when you let anyone get too close: they end up hurt.
Groaning, I roll over and stumble to my suitcase, rummaging around until I find the familiar orange bottle. Thanks to the Ellingtons, I have access to the best prescription-grade sleeping pills on the market—a necessity in my case.
I tap two out into my palm and down them dry before settling back into bed. It’s not long before the familiar heavy drowsiness takes hold, and as I sink down into myself, I pray as I always do for another dreamless night.