City of Eternal Night (Crescent City Book 2) by Kristen Painter

Author:Kristen Painter [Painter, Kristen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction / Fantasy / Contemporary, Fiction / Fantasy / Paranormal, Fiction / Romance / Fantasy
Publisher: Orbit
Published: 2014-12-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

Harlow stood in her mother’s closet, Lally at her side and before them the hidden door. “You have a key for this?”

Lally slipped her fingers beneath the chain around her neck and removed it. Three charms dangled there: a cross, a locket and a key. “I do.”

She took the small gold key and fit it into the lock. It clicked when she turned it. She put her necklace back on before laying her hand on the door. “This isn’t something you can go talking about, you understand? But I ain’t about to let you and Augie be threatened over something you know nothing about. I know what that man wants. Don’t know how he found out about it, but I guarantee he wants to put his hands on what’s inside this house.”

Inside the house? Harlow couldn’t imagine.

Lally pushed the door open and ducked through the small passage. Harlow’s heart thumped with the excitement of the unknown, her nerves pinging with anticipation. She went through behind Lally and came out on a narrow landing that butted against a trunk. She peered up. “Is that a tree?”

Lally nodded and lifted her hands, resting them on the enormous trunk. The bark looked scorched. She closed her eyes for a moment like she was praying.

The landing they stood on was connected to a spiral staircase that hugged the open space surrounding the tree. The tree rose up through the center of the house, stopped at the peak by a large section of glass roof. Here and there its branches grew into the framework of the house. Leaves sprouted in clusters, their shape fractured and twisted. And all of it, the trunk, the branches, the knots and the leaves, was charred black.

Lally pulled her hands away and brushed soot from them. “This here is a lightning tree.”

“I don’t know what that is. Or what it means.” She reached out to touch the section of trunk closest to her.

“No.” Lally’s sharp command rang out in the enclosed column of space. “You don’t want to touch this tree until you got no other choice. And even then, you still don’t want to touch it.”

“Why? You touched it. What’s so special—or dangerous—about it?”

“I can touch it because that tree and me have a special relationship. Always have.” Lally glanced at the tree once more, then moved to stand between the trunk and Harlow. “Let’s go back inside and I’ll tell you the whole story.” She glanced at the tree. “This isn’t the safest place for long discussions.”

When they were settled at the kitchen table and a kettle sat on the stove, Lally began. “My mama was a traiteuse. That’s what folks around here call a healer. She was the best of her day, so much so that the man who owned this land originally gave her a small portion of it in exchange for saving the life of his son.”

“Impressive.” And the first time Harlow had heard Lally speak about her family. Or her history. Or anything really personal.

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