Never Be Younger: A YA Anthology by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Metamorphosis Books
Published: 2015-06-07T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

Myra and I sit in silence. You would’ve thought it’d be eerie to sit her with her dead mom, but it’s not.

Finally, Myra shifts suddenly. “Do you think she was telling the truth? That she honestly forgot?”

I close my eyes. Now that the ghost is gone, I feel comfortable enough to seek out what the walls can show me. Between the walls and holding Miss Mascorro’s cold hand, I can tap into what happened, and even delve into her memories. They stay locked in the brain until the body is too decayed. The truth lies there. I have my suspicions though.

And they soon prove correct. Myra’s mom actually was humming as she set the table, blushed when she answered the door, fussed over every detail to make it just right. Miss Mascorro liked Tom Gray. She wanted to date him, even wouldn’t have minded if he was promoted over her.

I open my eyes. “I prophesied she would kill again. Not murder.”

“So she really did forget?”

“Whit do ye think? That’s what matters.”

Myra brushes her mom’s hair back. “I forget things all the time. I used to tease Mom she’d get Alzheimer’s when she got older because of how much she forgot.” Her lips twist downward, and a single tear meets the corner of her frown. “She’ll never forget anything else again.”

She rereads the letter, and I sit back against the wall.

“What do we do now?” Myra asks suddenly. “Should we call the police?”

“My parents will be back soon. They’ll know whit to do. But there be somethin’ else for us.”

“What?”

I hold up a finger and get a steak knife from the kitchen, return to her. Grabbing her hand, I cut open the fingertip.

She sucks in a breath. “What are you—”

“Sh.” After grabbing the pad her mom used for the suicide note and the pen, I focus on her blood and follow the lifeline to her mom. Wrong strand. The other one goes off in another direction. My hand flies over the page, drawing a rough picture of the US. “There.” I point to Connecticut.

“There what?”

“In West Haven.”

Her eyebrows knit together. “What’s there?”

“Your father.”

“He’s dead. Mom said—”

“For whatever reason, she lied. He’s alive.” I stand. “Wanna go and find him? West Haven’s not even fifteen minutes away from here.” Four miles on I-95. I’ve never been there before despite its proximity to New Haven. Doubt Myra’s been there either.

“I… I guess.”

Convincing her to leave her mom here proves impossible though, so I do the blood ritual again to learn his name. Via the internet, we locate his address and phone number.

“Go ahead and call,” I urge.

“I don’t know what to say.”

I can’t help myself. I giggle. “Ye never know when to stop talkin’!”

She scurries upstairs with the number, and I stay down here to give her some privacy. Only a minute passes before the door flies open. Five members of the coven, all in their purple robes, hover there, chanting, my parents behind them, also robed.

“There’s no reason to chant,” I say.

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