Page 94 of Starrily
“Yes?” He looked over his shoulder.
There were so many things she wanted to ask. Was it safe for him to be alone in a room? Was he, too, afraid of things the future held? Could he hold her again, like he did last night?
But none of those words came out. “What should I call you now?”
He scratched the back of his head. “I suppose Raleigh would be better. To avoid confusion.”
She nodded. “Good night, Raleigh.”
He smiled, but it was only a pale version of his true smile. “Good night, Phoenix.”
Callie’s push had left them a day’s drive away if they didn’t dally much. Callie tried to delay the inevitable by telling herself they were still a good distance away. A whole eight hours left to go. They weren’t even in the right state yet. Then, a whole two hundred miles left to go; a whole three major cities; the whole stretch of that road …
As if even the weather tried to match the mood, the skies burst open a few dozen miles before Callie’s childhood town. It was a sudden and swift downpour, and by the time Raleigh could activate the car’s roof, they were soaked to the skin. They tried to dry themselves off when the rain stopped, but with the heavy, thick humidity, they might as well jump into the nearest pond and get the same effect.
“It’s getting late,” Raleigh said. “We can stop in town for tonight.”
One more night before she’d have to face her family. It sounded like heaven … and hell. “No. We’re going there now.”
“Callie …”
“You’re the one who brought a convertible into Louisiana.”
“To my defense, it’s served us well until now.”
The Guidrys’ house was on the very outskirts of Athame. Callie circumvented the town proper to head straight home. Night descended and brought out hooting and chirping noises from the surrounding bayou as she drove carefully down the muddy road. Old trees with crooked branches stifled in moss hung over them, welcoming them into their embrace—or warning them to back off while they still could.
Five more minutes. I have five more minutes of freedom left.
And then they were there. The trees parted to allow a small house to be nestled amongst them. Two stories, raised on stilts; a porch covered in plants and dreamcatchers and little lanterns, twinkling through the darkness. Callie thought she’d forgotten what it looked like, but as she drove up to it, every detail ignited more memories, setting off a chain reaction of pain. In the velvety black night, it looked friendly and welcoming, the light streaming through the first-story windows promising a safe place to stay.
For anyone but her.
“That’s the one?” Raleigh said. “Looks nice.”
Callie didn’t answer. She got out of the car, slammed the door shut, and walked up to the porch. Raleigh’s steps echoed hers, but he stopped when she did, reaching the front door.
She heard them.
Voices came from inside the house: a bit of laughing, a bit of yelling, a bit of screeching—all friendly, judging by the tone. Instead of knocking, an invisible thread pulled Callie’s hand toward the potted plant hanging by the door, and she dug for the spare key. There was no reason they’d still keep it there—and yet, when her fingers closed around the cold metal, every memory fell into place. Digging for this key when she came home from school, tired and sweaty from carrying her backpack through the bayou but happy to be home and free for the day. Playing on the makeshift swing behind the house. Catching butterflies. Running around with—
Callie closed his eyes and clenched her fingers around the key. In one swift motion, she unlocked the door and stepped into the house.
The entrance hallway was still cluttered to the point of being nearly impassable. Clothes, shoes, plants; a bowl of marbles and a box of dice on the console table; amulets hanging off thewalls; Aunt Phoebe’s whole collection of bizarre bronze animal statuettes.
“That’s it! I’m not playing with you anymore,” a voice came from the open doorway to the left. Callie drifted toward it.
“You say that every time,” another woman’s voice, older, replied.
“You’re not telling meshvitzis a word.”
“I ain’t telling you nothing, it’s all in the dictionary.”
The view opened into the living room. Shelves lined the walls, overflowing with stacks of cards, wooden boxes with strange symbols, and even a crystal ball. Hand-woven and macraméed decorations filled the rest of the walls, wooden floors, and the table, currently seating three women.
The floor creaked as Callie entered. Her mom, facing toward the doorway, saw her first, and her eyes widened. Aunt and Nana were still arguing over the unfinished Scrabble game on the table but shut up as Mom swatted at them. They all looked up.
“Hi,” Callie said.
