The Devil's Heir Page 6

  Daisy releases a groan on the other side of the kitchen. “Yeah, it’s not something I really bring up to people I meet. Hi, I’m Daisy Winthrop. Yes, the daughter of Professor Winthrop aka Diablo’s finest demonologist. Blah blah blah.”

  Her voice is muffled as she goes through the contents of her fridge but my gaze is stuck on her father.

  “What exactly does that mean?”

  “Don’t get him started,” Daisy calls out.

  “Well, it’s simple really. At its core, it’s just the study of demons and the beliefs about them. I won’t bore you by going into too much detail.”

  “Thank God,” Daisy says.

  “What made you decide to study…that?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? You come from a town named Diablo, you’re going to want some answers. College was the perfect time for me to begin to ask those questions. The degree that came out of it was coincidental, I assure you.”

  “So, you know everything there is to know about this town?”

  “Oh, yeah, Dad, maybe you can help Calla’s aunt.”

  Mr. Winthrop turns to me. “Oh, how can I help?”

  “My aunt’s writing a piece about the town.”

  “Sure, I would love to help. Anything in particular?”

  “Actually,” I reply slowly, “she’s interested in the…demonic history of Diablo.”

  “Yeah,” Daisy says. “Like the Hales!”

  “Ah, yes, the Hales. I must admit I’m quite fascinated too. I hear they’re back in town.” He shuffles his papers and places them on the table. “I really want to go over and speak with someone.”

  There’s no way any of the Hales would willingly want to speak to anyone.

  “Good luck with that, Dad. Anyways, so, about Calla’s aunt?”

  “Oh, yes, yes, of course. Tell her she knows where to find me.” I thank him and he continues. “Oh, and girls? No more Barn, yeah?”

  Daisy’s smile takes up her entire face. “‘Course not, Dad.”

  Her father knows she’s lying and gives her a stern stare. “Not until the Sheriff says it’s okay. This is the first murder that’s happened in many years and it’s to be taken seriously, understood?”

  Daisy’s smile remains steadfast. “Of course, Dad.”

  Mr. Winthrop purses his lips at his daughter. “Safety before adventure, yeah?”

  Daisy’s mother walks through the door into the dining room. Mr. Winthrop’s eyes brighten at the sight of his wife, and he whistles when she walks into the room.

  “Good morning to you to, Mrs. Winthrop.”

  She leans down to kiss her husband. She places an open palm on his cheek, and I can see what Daisy meant when she said her parents were so in love it’s disgusting.

  “Yuck,” Daisy says and her parents pull away from each other with a laugh.

  “Are you girls ready?” Daisy’s mother asks.

  We nod and stand up to follow her out. I know her father means no harm but all of this talk about demons has me on edge.

  After running errands with Mrs. Winthrop and Daisy, I’m confident I’d be able to decorate my own home. Mrs. Winthrop loves her job and has definitely passed on some of that love to her daughter. We’re in the car going to grab lunch when she glances in the rearview mirror at us.

  “Don’t be mad, but is it okay if we make one more stop?”

  She gestures to the second-hand store Aunt Polly and I went to during our move into town. She finds a parking spot right out front, and we follow her into the dimly lit store.

  An older gentleman steps out of the back when the doorbell rings.

  “Mrs. Winthrop, it’s great to see you again!”

  She hugs the owner and steps back. “Just looking.”

  He nods and gestures around the shop with a wave of his hands. “Of course, of course. Let me know if you see anything you like!”

  “Always do.”

  He laughs all too enthusiastically.

  Mrs. Winthrop disappears into the shop leaving Daisy and me to fend for ourselves. “I swear, my mom is the only reason this shop is still open.”

  “He practically drooled when we came in.”

  Daisy wanders off, leaving me to venture around the shop alone. I’m amazed Aunt Polly managed to find anything here. Everything is so immaculate and expensive while our furniture is simple.

  Continuing down the rows, I find myself in the mirror section. I stop in front of a small vanity mirror. The wood surrounding it is dark and etched with what looks like rose vines. I run my fingers across the detail and catch my reflection in it.

  There’s nothing extraordinary about me. Just a girl with lifeless eyes and a ghostly complexion. The type of girl people always tell to “lighten up.”

  I’m growing tired of hearing how lost and empty I seem. I test out a smile in the mirror. My lips pull back and reveal a shiny row of white teeth, the one thing bright on my face. Releasing a sigh, I drop the fake smile.

  In the mirror, I’m smiling again but I don’t feel my actual lips moving. My pupils bleed out into the white of my eyes, completely taking over. I blink rapidly, trying to shake the image but it remains. I reach up to touch my face when I realize I’m no longer the only reflection in the mirror.

  Whipping around, I find a boy standing behind me.

  “I know what happened,” he says and I take a startled step back.

  “What?” I ask. “Who are you?”

  He closes the distance between us. “I know what happened with your grandmother.”

  I freeze. “She’s dead.”

  “No,” he says, “I know who killed her.”

  Time stops. I need to know how he knows, if he’ll tell anyone. “Who are you? How do you know my grandmother?”

  “The truth will set you free, girl,” he says. “Veritas. Veritas liberabit vos.”

  I don’t understand the words coming out of his mouth.

  Daisy rounds the corner and comes over to us.

  “Hey,” she says.

  The boy looks up to her, and then he breaks away and runs.

  “What the hell was that?” Daisy asks.

  “Don’t know,” I say cautiously.

  “Hey, are you okay? You’re shaking.” Daisy reaches out to touch my arm.

  I hug myself tight. “Yeah, that was just weird.”

  “What’d he want?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “There you girls are.”

  Daisy’s mom approaches us. Before she can say anything else, she gets distracted by the mirror I’m standing in front of. “This is gorgeous.”

  The shop owner must have smelled a sale in the air because he saunters down the aisle. “A good eye, as always, Mrs. Winthrop.”

  “Where is it from?”

  “Believe it or not, it came from Hale Manor.”

  Mrs. Winthrop looks down at me. “Are you interested in it, Calla?”

  My first reaction is to object. “I could never afford something like this.”

  “But are you interested in it?”

  I glance over to the mirror again. The reflection looking back at me isn’t one I pity, for once. The girl staring back at me is confident in the way she holds herself. I don’t know if the light is playing tricks on me or if I’m finally beginning to project those feelings. But, either way, I’m not ready to let that hope go.

  I nod.

  “Then we’ll take it.”

  I glance up to Mrs. Winthrop. “Oh, no, I can’t—”

  “Listen,” she interjects, “I have some events to run over the holidays. I could really use the extra help. Passing out flyers, manning some booths, picking up some last-minute decorations…that sort of stuff. Call it a seasonal job. Deal?”

  Gazing into that mirror, it’s the first time in my life I want something for me.

  “Deal.”

  The Hales didn’t show up to school today.

  I’m positive because there’s no red hair in sight.

  The looks I receive walk
ing around campus are worse than those in the police station when I was a suspect in my grandmother’s murder. Those were filled with sympathy and disbelief; these are pure hatred.

  And, I can’t blame any of them. Daisy, Becca, Tyler, Freddie, and I walked away from the scene with zero consequences. According to Freddie, backup arrived after we left, and they made sure all of the students stayed out in the cold until their statements were taken.

  I understand the frustration of being wrongly accused. To have your peers think you could commit the worst sin. But everyone can sleep easy knowing none of the upperclassmen are responsible for the murder because the body had been there for over a week.

  While I would think that’s case closed and we can all go about our innocent lives, the student population of Diablo High has other ideas.

  The horde of students surrounding my locker confirms it. None of them see me approaching but I can hear the whispered accusations from down the hall.

  Murderer.

  Suspect.

  Catholic schoolgirl.

  Sinner.

  My mouth dries out and my chest tightens as I try to keep my breath quiet. I want to back away but don’t want to draw any further attention to myself. There’s laughter coming from the group and I reach out to prop myself up on a nearby locker before I crumble.

  I see mouths moving, but the ringing in my ears thankfully prevents me from hearing the words.

  Before I realize what’s happening, my sweaty palm slides across the metal and I slam against it. I close my eyes through the pain and try to ignore the audible whip of everyone turning around to see me.

  Aunt Polly’s words flow through my head and give me the strength to push forward. The crowd parts just enough to let me through.

  Stuck to my locker are articles written about Grandmother’s murder. How they found these, I’ll never know. I didn’t even think the newspaper was online where I grew up. Written in red paint across the articles is the word MURDERER. I find it harder to look at the photo of my grandmother than the accusation. The woman in the photo must be twenty years younger, as I’ve never seen my grandmother take a professional photograph. She didn’t even have a driver’s license.

  I reach out to begin tearing down the papers, but when my open hand hovers over the photo of my grandmother, I can’t get myself to make the final contact.

  My feet shuffle backward and I run into someone.

  “Calla?” The voice asks. “What the fuck?”

  Becca peeks over my shoulder, her brown eyes scanning the content in front of her. I count the seconds she’s looking at the articles painting me as something I’m not.

  “All right, if you want to get arrested for harassment, I have the sheriff on speed dial.” Becca strategically backs me up until she’s shielding me from the rest of the crowd. When nobody moves, she ups her tactic. “And if you don’t want your asses kicked by me, get the hell out of here.”

  With everyone gone, Becca does my job for me. She pulls down every flyer stuck to my locker and shoves the garbage into a nearby trashcan. I watch as she storms into the bathroom and emerges with a wad of paper towels. Without a care in the world, she scrubs off the remaining splatters of paint from my locker and steps back to admire her handiwork. It’s like it never happened.

  Becca wipes her hands on her jeans and faces me. “See, no harm, no foul, right?”

  From the corner of my eye, I see a blonde ponytail approach. “Hey, why’s Sasha going around saying these awful things about you?”

  “Sasha Warren, that bitch,” Becca responds for me.

  “What’s wrong with you two?” Daisy asks. “Whose dog died?”

  I sniff and wipe at the corner of my eye.

  “Hey,”—Daisy touches my arm—“what’s wrong?”

  Becca grabs a flyer out of the trash and straightens it, shoving it into Daisy’s hand. The blue in her eyes darkens as they scan the paper. When they turn to me, I expect to find the same confusion and disgust the rest of my peers showed.

  Instead, they’re understanding.

  “I’m sorry people found out this way,” Daisy says sincerely.

  Her immediate response stuns me. She doesn’t ask any questions, doesn’t provide condolences, doesn’t do anything of the sort. As if… “Did you know?”

  Daisy lifts a corner of her mouth. “Yeah. I volunteer in the front office, and Mrs. Henson was talking about it.”

  My initial response is to be repulsed at the idea of anyone knowing the past I’ve been trying to escape from, but the lack of pity in Becca and Daisy’s eyes tells me I don’t have to. That I shouldn’t be ashamed of something I had no part in. Grandmother’s or my parents murders.

  “Yeah,” Becca adds, “and then she told me about it. Figured you’d bring it up yourself if that’s what you wanted to do.”

  I sigh. “I didn’t want you guys to think I was crazy or anything that those papers made me out to be.”

  Daisy laughs. “We’re in a town called Diablo, where I’m pretty sure people worshipped the Devil, so, really, who are the crazy ones?”

  I knew from the moment she ambushed me on the steps of Diablo High the day I came to register that we were going to be good friends, just like she promised.

  “Don’t let those idiots convince you that you’re anything but who you are.”

  It’s my turn to smile. “I’ll let you know when I find out who that is.”

  Becca nudges me. “If anyone gives you problems, let me know. I can ask the sheriff to arrest them.”

  “Because making more enemies is exactly what I need.”

  “Don’t worry about it though. If you’re an enemy of Sasha Warren, then you’re already a functioning member of society.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  Becca peeks over at the glowering figure at the end of the hall. “She’s just mad she’ll never be taken seriously. She’s run away numerous times to follow some college boy but always comes back when they kick her out of their freshman dorm. You already have something she’ll never have and she hates you for it.”

  I catch the deadly eyes looking back at me. “What’s that?”

  When she doesn’t respond, I look back at my friends, who are each wearing a large grin. “Us…and the love story of the century.”

  I groan. “Ugh, please.”

  “Take your time, I’ll just be here, jealous of you.” Daisy winks.

  The bell rings, informing us of our five minutes before first period starts. I scramble to take out my textbooks from my locker. When we part ways, Becca calls out my name. “BTW, Sasha’s a fan of gossip, so prepare for lunch because it’ll probably be a shit show.”

  Holding my shoulders as high as I can, I bite on my tongue to hold my tears at bay as I walk to first period. I sit at my table and take a sip of water to rinse out the blood pooling underneath my tongue. The stinging is a cruel reminder of my time under my grandmother’s reign.

  By the time lunch rolls around, all I want is a break.

  Even my teachers have been eyeing me differently. Murder makes everyone uncomfortable—I should know—but from my understanding this is the first murder that’s happened in Diablo in a whole generation. I’m just lucky enough to have been present during the discovery of the body, alongside the entire junior and senior class.

  But everyone seems to have forgotten about that part.

  Becca and Daisy are outside of the cafeteria, waiting to walk me into the wolves’ den. Usually there’s a decent number of students both in and out of the glass building, but with the warm draw of drama going on inside, everyone’s cozying up by the fire.

  Daisy links her arm through mine. “Ready?”

  I bite the inside of my cheek. “As I’ll ever be.”

  “Breathe,” Becca says. “Ignore them. Everyone’s too petty to actually approach you, and if they do, we’ll be with you.”

  I bark out a laugh as we step through the door and it echoes across the building. Everyone swivels in their
chairs.

  My friends hold onto me, and I’ve never felt this type of safety before. I know the two girls flanking me will come to my defense.

  We make quick work of getting our lunches and going to our usual table, which Freddie and Tyler are currently occupying.

  Most of the student population are gathered at the table adjacent to us, conveniently close enough so I can hear every word coming from the leader.

  “A murder,” Sasha says, “can you believe it? An actual murder in Diablo. And to think it could be any one of us.”

  “Yeah,” a snotty voice responds. “Someone in this very room.”

  Someone snorts. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m starting to worry about my safety.”

  “If things keep getting worse, someone’s going to have to do something about it.”

  Freddie pipes up at the threat in the male’s voice. “Shut the fuck up, Winslow, you tripped over the ball last week and cried.”

  I mouth my thanks to him.

  My friends attempt to distract me with anything other than murder.

  “So,” Freddie says, “a Catholic schoolgirl, huh? Did you wear a uniform?”

  “I did.”

  “If you ask for a picture, I’ll kill you myself,” Becca tells her boyfriend.

  “I wasn’t,” Freddie insists, “but I can read it in Ty’s mind.”

  The boy in question chokes on his water. “Yeah, no, that was the last thing on my mind.”

  “Both of you are liars,” Daisy says. “And damn, Calla, you’re just winning in the boy department.”

  I scoff at the idea. “That’s not how I’d look at it.”

  “Let’s list it off, shall we?” Daisy holds up her fingers to count. “You have beautiful tan skin, the silkiest black hair, live up to the Catholic schoolgirl fantasy, and have the most powerful family in town eating out of your hand.”

  Becca nods. “Facts.”

  “The Hales and I are a match made in Heaven,” I reply sarcastically.

  Behind me, someone snickers, “The Hales? Now that’s a family that should be thoroughly investigated.”

  Sasha makes sure I can hear her over the chatter. “Yeah, there’s obviously something wrong with that family if he chose her over me.”