Page 123 of A Curse On Black Lake
“I didn’t realize they were still tracking things like this,” I say.
“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” he says and flips the page from behind me. I lean back into his chest, with his legs on either side of me.
There aren’t many of these family tree books because this town is small, and its population continues to decline. I’m amazed they haven’t tried to put all of this on a computer, but then again, they don’t seem to work well here. Scanning these and putting them into a system would probably be a nightmare. The internet is borderline nonexistent in Black Lake, and most people aren’t willing to pay what they would need to get it.
We go through each book, tracing his lineage and subsequently find his father, Gideon Lennox.
“That’s weird, why aren’t my mom and dad’s names connected with me below it?”
I shrug, not sure. Then the Spirits get louder, making me jump.
“Are you okay?”
“It’s the Spirits. They’re freaking out,” I mutter and rub my temples.
Flipping the page is Gideon and Robin Lennox, showing that they were married, and then a line is drawn to a Vesper Radcliffe.Radcliffe.Right below Vesper Radcliffe is a child listed as Killian Lennox (ne. Radcliffe), and a date with her death.
Oh shit.
I peek up at Killian, and his face is twisted in utter confusion.
If we’re reading this right, Killian is … adopted. His birth mother is a Radcliffe. His many times over great-grandmother is the one who put the curse on this town, and potentially the cause of his mom’s death.
Chapter forty-one
Eliana
Killian’slargebodyisas still as stone behind me, and I’m afraid to move. I don’t know what to do, and I certainly don’t know what to say.
If this is true, Killian clearly didn’t know, and his whole world has blown up in his face.
“I need a drink,” he grumbles and gets to his feet.
I follow his lead, helping him shove the books back, and then he takes my hand, dragging me out of the library and down the street a block to the only bar in this town, Sully’s Saloon.
Killian pulls a barstool out for me to sit on, and it’s tall enough I struggle to sit, then he lifts me onto the barstool and sits next to me. He waves to the bartender with two fingers, and I watch him anxiously. He’s stoic, impassable, and I don’t think any kind of touch or word will get him to give anything away.
The bartender slides our brown liquor to us, and Killian throws it back. I don’t touch mine. “You gonna drink that?” he asks.
I shrug.
“Fine by me,” he grunts and tosses it back. He waves to the bartender again with two fingers.
I don’t know what to do. But this is not the man I’ve gotten to know. He’s hurt. That’s obvious, and every emotion he’s trying to drown in liquor is starting to bubble up.
The bartender gives us two more. This time, Killian takes a large swig and then sets it down. I put a hand around my glass so Killian doesn’t knock this one back too. It doesn’t matter that I won’t drink it. Then again, maybe I should.
Killian’s hand shakes, and he quickly shoves it under the bar top, hiding it from view. He glances at me under the brim of his hat before fully focusing on his glass.
“Please stop looking at me like that,” he says, his words almost pained. He rubs his face and sets his hat on the bar.
I want to hug him, but I can see the violence threading under his skin. He won’t hurt me. That’s not my concern. But anger is powerful. It’s destructive. And when combined with grief, and hurt from the people you’ve loved your entire life, and are now dead. It’s too much for one person to handle.
So I stay quiet.
If it were me, I know I’d want room to breathe, to work through the pile of manure called my thoughts.
We sit there. For hours. I watch the TV with one of the few channels we get in this town, showing reruns ofFriends.
