Ash #2
That could be another reason why she’s being so quiet. It’s hard on the science-minded when they’re suddenly confronted with
something that can’t be explained rationally.
And what happened out there on Center Island is definitely something that can’t be explained rationally, though Troy keeps
trying.
“I had no idea there was so much devil’s weed in the preserve,” he says every chance he gets. “It’s an invasive species, you
know? And when it burns . . . well, there’s no telling what kind of hallucinations someone might get after breathing it in.
When we were out there looking for you, Frankie, I thought I saw all sorts of weird things—but that was only an effect of
the weed.”
It’s pretty apparent that this, along with the earthquake, is going to be the official explanation for what went on tonight.
The last time West Harbor had been rocked by magic, it was blamed on a thunderstorm.
And that’s fine. It’s easier to believe than the truth, that a little grifter like Haley almost managed to take down Olympus.
It’s right then that the curtains around my bed part, and I see Frankie standing there, chewing her lower lip. She looks pale
in the harsh fluorescent light from the overheads, her neck and wrists small as they jut out from the neck and cuffs of the
oversized sweatshirt she’s wearing. Her eyes widen when she sees I’m awake.
“Hey,” she says, laying a hand on my arm. It’s bare because they made me take my clothes off and put on a hospital gown, even
though I protested against this vehemently. There’s nothing less heroic than a hospital gown. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”
“It’s hard to sleep when there’s an Italian feast going on next to you, and no one will let you have any.”
“The doctor just wants to make sure you’re okay.”
“I think when the patient is verbally able to assure the doctor that they are, in fact, okay, the doctor should take the patient’s
word for it and let them have grapes and sausage.”
She laughs, then leans forward to push back some hair that I guess has fallen over my forehead. Her fingers feel light and
cool against my skin. She smells of sunshine and her coconut shampoo.
“Do you want me to break you out of here?” she asks. “I can. I know Dr. Silver. I can get her to release you into my care.”
“There is nothing I have ever wanted more.”
Which is how, only a little more than an hour later, Mark and Dina are dropping us off in front of Frankie’s house. Lakeview
Drive is dark. Even the DeLong boys have gone to bed, which makes sense since Frankie called them from the hospital to let
them know we were okay, and found out they were still camped out in her living room with their grandmother, watching Daisy
and the kittens.
Well, Grandma DeLong was watching Daisy and the kittens. All the little DeLongs had fallen fast asleep on Frankie’s couch. Mrs. DeLong was happy to wake them and give them the good news that we’re still alive, then march them all home to bed.
Now it’s close to five in the morning. The sun hasn’t even begun to lighten the dark sky in the east, but there’s no sign
at the lake that anything unusual occurred the night before—except for the fact that all of my watercraft are currently lying
at the bottom of the lake.
“You want help getting him to the door?” Mark asks Frankie as she jumps out of the back seat.
“I can walk,” I growl. Back at the hospital, they wouldn’t discharge me unless I agreed to be pushed to the exit by Frankie
in a wheelchair. This didn’t turn out to be so bad. There are far worse things than being pushed in a wheelchair by a beautiful
woman.
But I’m not about to let her brother babysit me.
“I’ve got him,” Frankie says, slipping an arm around my waist. “We’ll be okay. You two go home and go back to bed. I’m really
sorry for all of this.”
“What are you sorry for?” Dina asks from the front passenger seat. “You’re not the one who tried to kidnap him.”
“Ha ha,” Frankie laughs nervously. “Okay, thanks, see you later.”
Mark and Dina drive away without bothering to ask a single question. No one—no one at all—has asked about Mother Nature or
Hecate, or my personal relationship to either of them.
No one, it turns out, except Frankie. As soon as she gets inside the house, she turns on all the lights, checks to make sure
Daisy has enough food and water and that the kittens are all right, then puts me to bed—where I was hoping she’d join me.
But instead, she stands at the end of it and looks down at me very seriously.
“Despite what Troy might think,” she says, “I don’t believe what I saw tonight was the result of anticholinergic poisoning.”
“No, it wasn’t.” It’s nice in Frankie’s bed. She has very high thread count sheets. They feel soft against my skin.
But not as soft as Frankie herself feels.
I pat the empty side of her bed and try to appear irresistibly adorable. “You look warm in that sweatshirt. Maybe you should
take it off and join me here?”
“In a minute,” Frankie says, and begins to pace.
Uh-oh. Pacing is not a good sign.
“But if what I saw out there wasn’t a hallucination from anticholinergic poisoning,” she goes on, “what was it?”
“Magic.”
“Uh-huh.” Frankie stops pacing and turns to stare down at me, her hands on her hips. “Magic. Your explanation is magic.”
“Look, I know you don’t like it. I know it’s messy and not anything anyone, especially a therapist, wants to hear, but my
family is magic, and there’s nothing I can do about that. We don’t get to choose our family. If we did, would you have chosen
your sister Angie?”
Frankie holds up a single finger. “Don’t even start about Angie. She’s a hair stylist, not a . . . a . . . whatever your aunt
Hecate is!”
“Hey,” I say. Despite my tiredness, I’m beginning to feel a little defensive.
“Cool it about Aunt Hecate. Okay, so she may not have the same kind of social graces as other goddesses. Maybe she doesn’t exactly come to any of the family reunions—except the board meetings once a year at Olympus—because she prefers the Underworld.
But the few times I’ve hung out with her, she’s always been really chill, and her superpowers are—”
Frankie is now standing perfectly still, looking down at me with something in her eyes that I can’t quite decipher.
“Ash,” she says. “Am I really supposed to believe all of this, just because you say so?”
“No, not because I say so. Because you saw it with your own eyes. You saw it, Frankie. You saw the earth open up, and Hecate
come out of it, and—”
“I know what I saw.” She looks away. “I just . . . I just . . . I’m starting to understand what Richard went through last
fall. I can’t seem to wrap my head around any of this—”
“Some things take a while to sink in.” I pat the mattress again and hold out my arms. “But not me. I’m ready to sink in right
now.”
She continues to look away, but I see one corner of her mouth twitch—upward, not down.
“You’re not taking this very seriously.”
“Oh, yeah? What about this? Does this look serious to you?”
On the word this, I flip back the duvet to show her exactly how serious I am. I’m relieved to find that particular part of me still working
after the terrible assault it endured at the hands of those witches.
Then I lean forward to grasp one of Frankie’s hands and begin to tug. She resists, but only for a fraction of a second before
allowing me to pull her into bed with me.
“Okay, but wait a minute,” she says, laughing, as I drag the duvet over us. “I think I deserve an explanation about all of
this that actually makes sense—”
“It’s my family, Frankie, so I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to give you that.” Now I’m tugging at her sweatshirt. “But what I can give you, I think you’re going to like. First, though, I need to investigate what you have on under this. For scientific purposes,
of course—”
“Ash!” she cries. But she’s still laughing—at least until a few minutes later, when I have her sighing.
Which is exactly how I hope to keep her—in laughter and sighs for all of eternity.
Or however long she’ll let me.
West Harbor Daily
Special Edition
Missing Girls Found
By WHD Staff
SPECIAL—Nearly a dozen missing girls were found early Monday morning on Center Island in Walker Lake.
After receiving a tip from an unidentified witness, West Harbor Police, working in tandem with Connecticut Fish and Wildlife,
were able to rescue the girls—who ranged in age from late teens to early twenties, many of whom have been missing for months—from
what is being referred to as “deplorable living conditions” and even “a cult.”
Details of the rescue were unavailable at press time, but when asked about it, Deputy Chief Jackie Boyle said, “We’re proud
of the part we played in removing these young ladies from what had clearly become an untenable situation. We’ll sort out the
hows, whats, and whys later, but for now, parents can rest easy knowing that their daughters are safe.”
Chief Deputy Boyle dismissed rumors the cult revolved around worshipping an ancient pagan goddess of witchcraft and the Underworld,
and that followers held nocturnal rites in and around Satan’s Seat.
“It was basically a multilevel marketing scheme directed at popular female online influencers,” Boyle told reporters. “This is why parents need to stay on top of what their children are looking at on the Internet.”
The West Harbor Daily will have much more on this story in the coming days, including an in-depth report from WHD staff writer Caterina Giovanni, who was on the scene for the dramatic rescue.