Silent Doll Read online

  Silent Doll

  A Cassandra Farbanks Novel

  By

  Sonnet O’Dell

  Eternal Press

  A division of Damnation Books, LLC.

  P.O. Box 3931

  Santa Rosa, CA 95402-9998

  www.eternalpress.biz

  Silent Doll

  by Sonnet O’Dell

  Digital ISBN: 978-1-61572-738-4

  Print ISBN: 978-1-61572-739-1

  Cover art by: Dawné Dominique

  Edited by: Leona Wisoker

  Copyright 2012 Sonnet O’Dell

  Printed in the United States of America

  Worldwide Electronic & Digital Rights

  1st North American, Australian and UK Print Rights

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any form, including digital and electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotes for use in reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Alycia. I finally got the little sister I always wanted. I love you sweet pea. This one’s for you.

  I would like to thank Dani, Sharon, Tina and all the other sheep who have been such a help and support, inspiration and insane distraction while I was piecing this and my new blog together. Thank you guys.

  Chapter One

  LeBron’s car did not like me. It wheezed and juddered as I drove it through the open gates of the community and toward Simian Urquhart’s house. In the passenger seat, LeBron himself was edgy and twitching, especially when the moonlight hit his skin. I wasn’t sure LeBron liked me these days: he wasn’t big on sharing his feelings, but it was my fault he was bitten in the first place. Driving him to his first lunar outing with the pack was the least I could do. He tried going it on his own for the first couple of months, chaining himself up in the basement of his house until he’d broken free and trashed the place. Now he admitted that he needed help. The king, a man by the name of Leroy Craven—who distinctly reminded me of Russell Crowe from Gladiator—had promised him all the help he needed with dealing with his condition. He was injured in the line of doing a service for him, after all.

  I pulled up outside of Simian’s house to find him sitting waiting on the steps. His face was turned up to the sky; I knew he registered me as I got out of the car by my scent alone.

  “Hello, Cassandra.”

  His lips curved into a smile. LeBron remained sitting in the passenger seat while I walked around the front of the car and onto the pavement. Simian bounced down the steps and wrapped his arms around me in a tight hug.

  Simian isn’t an extraordinarily handsome man. He’s in his late thirties and is handsome in a way that is both classic and rarely seen these days. What stands out about his face is the intense blue of his eyes: staring into those eyes makes you think wolf.

  He inhaled deeply and pulled back from me, wrinkling his nose.

  “Your scent has changed,” he said. “You’re…at peace with yourself. Finally.”

  I shrugged. There were still some issues I had to deal with but I was working through it one day at a time. I had spent my entire life believing myself to be as human as the next person only to find that was a mistake. I’d lived my life so far as a human only because my mother, in an effort to protect me from some hideous fate, had bound up my true nature in layers of dense magics. Those magics had started to crumble away when I had nearly lost my life six months ago. Let’s just say there was a demon, a vampire and a near fatal hickey. Said vampire, Aram, was my boyfriend until a few months ago, when my new knowledge of my life made me need to step back from our tempestuous relationship so that I could deal with the new me.

  I missed him terribly some nights.

  “How’s he doing? I swear if I’d have known the test came back positive I would have dragged him here. When we didn’t hear…”

  I looked over my shoulder to see that LeBron still hadn’t gotten out of the car. He was sitting with his head between his knees taking deep breaths.

  “Blank,” I said. “He’s not said much since I picked him up, but I guess he’s scared. I mean, it’s the unknown. No matter how much I know he’s read, he still doesn’t understand what’s happening to him.”

  Simian placed his hand on my shoulder giving it a light squeeze. “He’ll be okay, Cassandra. We’ll take care of him.”

  I gave him a weak smile. It wasn’t that I doubted his promise in any shape or form. The Worcester community of werewolves and shifters were a good bunch of people. It was simply this: I couldn’t tell how LeBron would take his change. I had read—more than I had wanted to—stories about newly turned werewolves who, unable to bear the change, had chosen to end their lives. I wanted to believe that LeBron would never be like that, but I knew from personal experience that big changes like this could bring out the weakness in anybody. My own post loss of identity drinking bender had not been pretty.

  I hesitated, not sure if I should force him out of the car, not sure that he would accept the help–or want me to be the one helping him. This made the second time he’d gotten hurt by following me around.

  Simian ushered me away, pointing me in the direction of the house. “Go on inside. I’ll take care of him.”

  I nodded, conceding that Simian had more experience dealing with newly turned werewolves. I stopped to look back when I reached the door; Simian had pulled open the car door and was crouching beside it, talking to LeBron. I pushed against the door and went inside.

  The minute my feet were both past the doorway, the door shut firmly behind me. I was rushed by a blonde, kitten-pajama-wearing terror that clung to me, wailing excitedly. I bent down, picked her up, and let her give me her customary greeting of full-on hugging my head. I balanced the little monkey on my hip and smiled at her.

  “Hey Zo zo.”

  “Mommy said I can stay up! We’re having a sleep over.”

  I admired her beaming face and traced my hand tenderly over the locket around my neck; half checking it was still there. She stared at the silver locket around my neck, as she always did; reached out to grab it, as she always did. I pushed her hand gently aside, as I always did: the locket was too important to risk in clumsy four year old hands.

  I lived my life jumping between two realities. The locket around my neck was a spell that would keep me grounded here. It’s beautiful, silver with two doves carved into it. It’d been given to me by my mentor, Virginia Toogood, who I was currently struggling to rebuild my relationship with. Virginia was one of the few people who knew that I switched realities and she had known more about my mother, myself and my step-father than I had. She’d kept the fact from me that the man I thought was my father—wasn’t.

  He was my mother’s husband, sure enough, but she had arrived with me in tow before then. He’d also been her son. Technically that made Virginia my step-grandmother, but I was not prepared to call her that. She had lied to me for years, and we weren’t blood, so it would take longer to forgive her. I felt betrayed by her in the worst way.

  “Did she? That was nice of her. I’ve not been to a sleep over in years. You’ll have to remind me what to do.”

  I’d truly not been to a sleep over since I was in my teens. Once I had started switching realities—when my mother had died—I’d pretty much had to keep my few friends at arm’s length to keep them from knowing my secret. I’d feared what they would do if they knew the truth. However, as the old saying goes, the truth will out. My friends h
ad jumped me at my apartment during my little breakdown determined, I think, to save me from myself. I had really good friends. Unfortunately, they’d found out the truth, and time was going to tell how they dealt with it.

  I carried Zoe through to the living room, where I found her mother, Sophie, laying out a tray of soda, popcorn and various semi-healthy treats on the table in front of their wide screen. There was a selection of girly and kids’ movies piled on the floor by the DVD player, and all the cushions from the couch were thrown into a space between the couch and the TV.

  “Hey, Sophie,” I said, “where’s Jack?” She made a vague gesture with one hand.

  “Off on a camping trip,” she replied. “The young boys go somewhere else during the full moon.”

  I let Zoe slide down my leg until her little feet were on the floor and watched with amusement as she belly-flopped onto the largest cushion. Tiny dust motes spiraled into the air like microscopic ballerinas.

  Sophie finished laying out the treats and turned to smile at me. Sophie is a very slight woman; she has a mane of chestnut colored hair and favors long skirts, light sweaters and crocs.

  “What color do you want your nails?” she asked, sticking out one bare foot and wriggling her toes at me. “I’m thinking purple, myself, and I bet pink would look great on you!”

  Along the hearth she had lined up a selection of nail polish. Girls at sleep overs apparently painted their nails, both hand and feet. I’d never understood why people who wore shoes all day painted their toenails. Sophie had explained it to me: a woman paints her fingernails, wears lipstick and nice dresses for others. A woman paints her toenails for her own pleasure. Whatever floated your boat, right? Personally I ate a tub of ice cream for my own pleasure.

  Sophie handed me a can of diet cola. I settled on the floor and pulled the tab; it gave a satisfying hiss.

  “So? What are we going to watch?”

  I was ready for a full night movie marathon. I had agreed to sleep over so that there would be someone to take LeBron home in the morning. He’d declined the offer to move into the community and I was told he would be in no state to drive himself.

  “Little Mermaid!” Zoe screeched, snatching up a DVD case and thrusting it into my face. I was nose to nose with a redheaded half fish. I placed my hand on top of the case, pushing it down so I could look over it at her. I raised my eyebrows at Sophie, who was chuckling behind her hand.

  “How much sugar has the rug rat had?”

  “None. She’s brushed her teeth. This is just because you’re here,” she said, plucking the DVD from between us and kneeling down next to the player. “You know she adores you.”

  Zoe found a smaller cushion, positioned it on my folded legs and snuggled down into my lap. I wrapped an arm companionably around her waist to steady her and sipped my cola.

  Sophie sat with her back partially to the screen so she could paint her daughter’s toenails a sweet candy pink. Zoe thought it incredibly funny to wriggle her toes every few minutes, which caused her mother to make a ffft sound of annoyance. Now Sophie was concentrating on painting her own toenails a glossy deep purple. They were about half done and the movie was a quarter of the way through Under the Sea when Zoe started to nod off.

  I jabbed Sophie with my foot. She looked back at me, then, tilting her head, she stared at her daughter in the bluish glow of the television screen. Zoe’s little eyes kept fluttering and closing for longer and longer periods of time. Sophie hit the pause button and pointed the remote at the ceiling. I nodded, scooped the little girl into my arms, and headed upstairs.

  Zoe’s room was very girly; all pinks and purples, even the canopy bed was draped with pink gauze. A small table in one corner of the room held a tea party in progress, the stuffed animals staring at me reproachfully, as though they’d been deep in conversation before I turned on the light. Zoe’s closet brimmed with her normal clothes and various costumes. Sophie told me she was going through a princess phase. There were child size versions of all the Disney favorites; plastic tiaras and play make-up littered her small dressing table, which had pink bulbs around the mirror.

  I lifted the corner of the duvet awkwardly, trying not to unbalance Zoe as I slipped her under and tucked it back into place. I brushed some of her blonde hair off her face; her eyes fluttered open for a second as I told her goodnight—then she was fast asleep. I flicked off the bedroom light and pulled the door closed.

  I walked back into the living room to find Sophie pulling the DVD out.

  “Not going to finish it?” I said in mock disappointment. She looked at me with an eyebrow raised.

  “You really like it?”

  “Come on, singing crabs and fish, who doesn’t like that?”

  She finally got that I was being sarcastic and pointed to the adult titles she’d weeded out of their movie collection.“Pick something.”

  I squatted down and frowned at the titles. “Don’t you have anything with explosions or martial arts?”

  Sophie rolled her eyes.

  “You’re letting the whole gender down; I hope you’re aware of this.” I shrugged and pulled out The Bounty Hunter. Jennifer Aniston I could take or leave, but I would watch it for the pleasure of staring at Gerard Butler. Next to Adam Baldwin—the only Baldwin brother I could comfortably watch with or without his shirt on—he was my favorite male actor. I had my doubts about him after P.S. I Love You, but everyone has to have one bad film. We sat down to watch and Sophie went back to painting her toes. A howl rippled through the air outside.

  “They will be okay, won’t they?”

  Sophie looked up at me, looked to the window as another howl sounded and smiled slowly. “You’re worried about him, aren’t you? Don’t be. My Simian knows what to do, he’ll watch out for him, make his transition as easy for him as possible.”

  I stared at the ceiling.

  “Are you and–Michael, isn’t it?” I nodded. “Are you involved?”

  I shook my head. “We’re just friends, but I feel responsible for...well, he wouldn’t have gotten bitten if it weren’t for me.”

  “Does he blame you?”

  “I don’t know. We haven’t talked about it.”

  “You really ought to, you know.”

  “Yeah, well.”

  Silence fell between us so with nothing else for us to say I went back to staring at the ceiling.

  Once Sophie was focused on the movie I let my mind wander over my various worries. The first was LeBron. When he’d phoned me a week ago and told me what he was doing, he asked for help. Actually he’d let me yell at him then asked for help. He was very reckless. If he’d have broken out of his house he could have hurt someone or worse someone could have hurt him. He tried to tell me that he thought it was like when you attempted to quit smoking; no one could help you beat the cravings but you. After some more yelling from me, which I have to admit he took with relative good nature, I told him he was going to the community for the full moon. Then I’d called Simian who’d yelled at me for not knowing “my” friend better.

  If I was honest I should have seen the signs. When at my birthday Simian had asked me if LeBron was okay, I should have twigged that he would know how he was if he was seeing him. I felt really bad. To be fair to me I had a lot on my own mind. Discovering I wasn’t human was a lot to deal with and I had no real idea what I was capable of. Sometimes I could control my powers and sometimes I couldn’t; there was a very steep learning curve. I knew no-one who could teach me to be what I was born to be; so I was left with only one option. Experiment.

  At one point, I had stood on the roof of my building wondering: if I stepped off, would I learn to fly before I became a greasy smear on the pavement? Would I even get up and walk away from such a fall? Coming back to the moment, I shook my head, attempted to clear my mind and focused on something safe—the movie.

  * * * *

  I was half asleep on the couch when I heard the front door open. I rolled my head to look at the clock on the VCR;
it was about six in the morning. The sun was just peeking over the horizon; hazy drafts of light streamed in through the curtains as I sat up to rub the sleep from my eyes. I flipped the afghan onto the back of the couch and stepped out into the hall to see what was going on. It was Simian arriving, keys in one hand and the fairly limp arm of another man slung over his shoulders. LeBron was near enough to passed out; his other arm was slung around DJ Tanner.

  DJ was even more tanned and handsome since the last time I saw him. He’d cut his hair fluffy short so that he looked a little like Jude Law. It looked good on him.

  They carried LeBron over to the couch and laid him down. I was about to shut the door when a woman wearing a man’s shirt and flip-flops bumped through. I’d met her before; her name was some kind of cheese. I stared after her as she fussed over LeBron. DJ moved to stand at my side as I watched her attentive hands flutter over him.

  “Brie seems to be very taken with your friend,” DJ said in a low whisper.

  Brie tucked the afghan around LeBron, then settled on her knees next to the couch, flashing a bit more than I wanted to see in the process.

  “Who said cats and dogs couldn’t get along?” I said quietly, and DJ snickered, trying to hide a smile. Brie pushed some of LeBron’s hair off his forehead and tucked in a hand that had fallen out from under the coverlet. “Doesn’t look like I’m going to be needed here.”

  DJ touched my arm to make me look at him. He had a good face, handsome in a very masculine way. He smiled. “Good, because I think there is something you and I should be doing.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him, but dug around in my pocket for LeBron’s car keys. “Hey, Cheese,” I said, and threw the keys.

  She caught them without looking back at me and said, “I only let the kid get away with that, Ms. Farbanks. Call me cheese again and you’ll meet my claws.”

  I made a mock shocked face. DJ hurried both of us outside so he could laugh his ass off.