Gypsy's Blood (Page 10)

“Did you do that?” I ask Anna.

There’s the immediate realization that it’s stupid to expect answers.

“No. The kangaroo did it when he was jumping out the window,” she says seriously.

Rolling my eyes, I go to the window just because she’s got me worried someone went out of it. It’s locked, so my eyes land back on the box that has been turned over.

An odd, almost electric current zips up my back when it feels like something brushes up against me, and I whirl around, looking at nothing but a mirror’s reflection of me.

Which still makes me squeal, because for an unnerving second, I think it’s someone else. I really need a break if my own reflection is making me jump and squeal like a pansy.

Shaking off the lingering sensation that someone is in here—since it’s a small room and it’d be easy to spot someone—I lift the box from the ground, wondering if maybe the brief thunderstorm rattled the house enough to knock it off.

“I really hope there aren’t rats up here,” I say with a shudder, but all thoughts blank when a familiar red cloak falls to the ground, tumbling from the half-opened box.

Putting the box on the small table it used to be on, I bend and slowly lift the scarlet, luxurious cloak, smiling softly as memories of my mother wearing it dance in my head.

“You look like a grown-up Red Riding Hood,” I remember telling her.

“Red is the color of the Portocale gypsies clan. And Red Riding Hood couldn’t slay a pack of wolves if necessary. I, however, can,” she’d boasted with a wink.

“Earth to gypsy girl. Come in, gypsy girl,” Anna is saying annoyingly close to my ear. “Is that a magic cloak? Like Harry Potter’s?”

Carefully, I pull it on and tie it at the collar, before pulling the hood over my head and turning to face the mirror.

“No. Mom wore it when she went hunting,” I say absently, feeling the soft, velvety material as it sparkles with my mother’s residual magic.

It’s almost like I can feel a piece of her in it.

“Hunting?” she asks incredulously.

“She hunted for ghosts who were possessing humans and causing them to go insane,” I elaborate, leaving out the part where she killed them a second time.

It’s not like I know how to do that, so there’s no need in risking Anna’s possible panic attack. She’s under the impression that all girls grow up to be their mothers.

“What’d she do when she caught them?” Anna asks like she’s riveted by this conversation.

“I don’t know,” I sort of lie as I study myself in my mother’s cloak.

“I’ve never possessed anyone before. Or have I? Is it difficult?” she muses.

“It’s actually very complicated to successfully achieve, and it’s incredibly draining on the ghost. Not to mention what happens to the host. When a person doesn’t know what’s going on, it causes them to go insane, because they lose pieces of their life and find themselves in the middle of somewhere they don’t remember going, with every successful possession. Mom isn’t the only gypsy huntress out there,” I add dismissively.

“Gypsy huntress? That sounds like she’s hunting gypsies,” Anna argues as I check the pockets of the cloak, pulling out a small, crinkled receipt.

“Don’t overthink it,” I answer distractedly. “She was a gypsy hunter because she was a gypsy and a hunter.”

“First you said huntress and now you’re de-feminizing it. Truly disappointing,” Anna prattles on, while my head tries to wrap around the large amount of cash my mother dropped in one store.

My eyes dip to the date that is from the night before she died, and my brow furrows. It’s not an itemized receipt, but the bottom dollar is still on it. It’s odd this hardware store has an address that’s from a completely different town.

“So what you’re saying is that a ghost can possess someone without the host going crazy if they’re aware of what’s going on?” Anna drawls.

“That’s not at all what I’m saying, so don’t get any ideas. You’re not hijacking my body,” I say without looking at her, but I hear her immediately start to pout, as I tuck the receipt back into the cloak’s pocket.

“I’d really like to get my hands on that Morpheous fellow,” she says distractedly. “I’d do all the leg work, get a few orgasms, and evacuate your body in time for you to get yours as well,” she adds.

Something clatters to the ground, startling the fuck out of both of us, and I whirl around to see another box has randomly tipped over.

“I think that storm did something to the house,” I tell her, frowning. “It sure as hell wasn’t a natural storm.”

“Well, that’s just a red cloak. Doesn’t turn you invisible like little Harry’s. You totally got gipped. Not even a wand in this joint,” she resumes.

I groan while pushing the hood down, but my brow furrows when I see snow starting to drop outside. That’s…very freaking random.

My breath comes out in a fog as I move to the window, unlock it, and push it open, feeling a cold, wet dollop of the legitimate snow hitting my hand.

“I realize it’s November, but it hasn’t been particularly cold enough to snow,” Anna states rhetorically as we both stare out at the rapidly falling snow that is slowly but surely starting to blanket the town.

“This place just gets more confusing by the second,” I tell her as I pull my hood back on my head.

“Where are you going in that cloak?” she asks from behind me. “You look ridiculous without a basket of goodies for Grandma,” she adds as I shut and relock the window.

“I haven’t unpacked my snow coats yet, and now’s the perfect time for a hike,” I tell her before walking out of the room and hurriedly jogging down the stairs, knowing she’ll follow.

“The bizarre snowfall is the perfect time for a hike?” she asks like she’s confused. “You’re right!”

What has me pausing is the slight shutting of the attic door, and I look up, seeing nothing there, but the door is definitely closed.

I didn’t shut it. Maybe it was the wind…

This weather is playing tricks on my mind, or maybe it’s the house, or maybe it’s this freaking cloak that I really don’t want to take off right now.

It feels like Mom is still here protecting me with it on, and I could use the false sense of security. Especially since I’m about to trek out into the woods to see if I can find the spot where they said my mother’s body was found.

With the bipolar weather as a sign of too much paranormal activity, there’s a good chance I can use my magic to try and catch a reflective image of the past right now.

I swallow the lump in my throat and pull the warm cloak around me a little tighter.

“We’re going to freeze to death,” Anna says as she catches up, mocking a shiver.

“You’re already dead, and I’m not normal,” I assure her, watching as the chunky snow continues to stack a harder trail in front of me.

“Where are we going?” Anna asks as she catches up.

“To the place where my mother’s body was found,” I answer quietly.

“Are you insane? It’s stupid to go somewhere you already know is a death spot.”

“It’s not like my mother’s killer is going to be lingering in the woods all these months later,” I remind her.

I don’t tell her I’m stupidly hoping for something like that, even though that’s not my prime objective. With a subtle dark grin, I move faster. My boots kick up the snow with my determined, forced strides.

Chapter 8

VIOLET

“To Grandma’s house we go, to Grandma’s house we go…hi-ho fellatio, to Grandma’s house we go,” Anna sings, prompting me to groan.

“I don’t think you know what fellatio means,” I mutter under my breath.

“It rhymed with ho, and everyone knows ho and fellatio go hand-in-hand. I excelled at fellatio myself, and I wasn’t much of a spitter,” she tells me.

Bile rises to my throat.

“I’m not sure why I acknowledge you sometimes,” I add as I look around the snowy forest, while the thick snowdrops continue to relentlessly fall.

“Crazy weather we’re having,” she states as the wind comes in from an odd angle.

“It’s from too much paranormal activity congested in one place. In other words, this town has too many ghosts haunting it,” I tell her more decisively than the last time, now that I’ve had a chance to really feel the power so far away from the town. “Which is probably why the shopkeepers and townspeople shrug it off—they’ve just gotten used to it and likely think it’s part of the town’s unique flair.”

“Where is this death spot?” she asks, not even acknowledging my comment.

“Grandma’s house,” I assure her.

She nods like that’s pleasing.

“You should have brought a basket,” she goes on.

I glance up at the sun, making sure I’m still heading west, and hurrying because it looks like the sun is getting ready to descend for the day. I really don’t want to get caught out here at night.