What a Lovely Sight Read online

  Damn it. I’d started thinking about him. It was that hair. I was pretty sure I could have moved on if he’d just cut it down to an army style. But no. It was big, soft, shiny curls. And then there were also his eyes, and his lips, and—

  Ugh. I flopped back into Mr. Muffins. I fucking hated having a crush. If he wasn’t so goddamned pretty then I wouldn’t have even looked up that website again. I would have left well enough alone. But instead, I hopped on my laptop and went back to the Uncanny Society. On the site, I came across a subset of forums called the Modern Day Debate section, MDD for short. The first thread was filled with a furious debate about how the site name should change to the Uncrannaugh Observationalists because that was what the group was originally called before its disgraceful bastardization. Then there were people angry that anyone was arguing for the name change at all, because the democratization of language was an American right and that prevented gatekeeping. To which Hexgirl8686 calmly replied that while points were made, the UO was not founded in the US so that was not the best argument. Typical weird intra-community infighting that made practically no sense to me.

  The second topic on the MDD page was about something called shimmerquartz. Apparently, paranormal creatures coincided with the appearance of altered stones. This forum was to keep track of their appearances in the wild. I scrolled until I found a picture and my jaw dropped. The stone filled the palm of the person taking the picture, shifting from blue to red. It was translucent, revealing the shimmering, golden flecks inside. Another had a video, this one of a black rock with the flecks, and showed how the specks brightened and dimmed like tiny lightning bugs. Some comments said it should be called galaxy quartz.

  It was like my brain unlocked a memory stowed away in a box. I was three. My dad was bouncing me up and down on his knee. We were singing happy birthday to my mom. My dad handed her a jewelry box.

  “From both of us,” he said, smiling. And my mom pulled out a necklace. It had a long, thin, golden chain. And at its center? A round shimmerquartz stone.

  Chapter 4

  MANNY

  I was doing better, after the depressive spiral. I’d made good plans to go along with the new, good me. I was being congenial and actually trying to support the girl who refused to leave my head. And, for a moment, it actually worked. She stopped looking at me like the exhausting poser I was and saw me as someone who might be worthwhile. And she opened up, just a bit. She told me about a cryptid, such a bizarre, vulnerable thing to share. So I shared something of mine, something I’d held close to my chest ever since I showed my father at twelve years and he told me to never bring him such horseshit ever again. This site was a world of people who are ignored, overlooked, unseen, like I felt nearly every day. It was an olive branch. And she took that, threw it on the ground, and shut me out. Because she thought I was mocking her.

  Rejection hurt a lot more than it should have, especially from a woman I barely knew. I was trying to be better. To not fuck around and spiral so bad I nearly died in a car accident again. And I was better, in a lot of ways. I was actually going to classes, getting sufficient grades. I wasn’t drinking myself into a stupor every night to numb that feeling that I was dead. And so far the changes were pretty good. But they weren’t enough. It didn’t feel like they would ever be enough.

  On the first day of English, Kat glared at me when I said I found Benedict from Much Ado About Nothing relatable. Then, five minutes later, she said Benedict was a sexist dick who had to get conned into being better, all while staring right at me. I was fascinated by her from then on. She still absolutely saw me as Manny Weston, the disaster playboy. But her knowing who I was and treating me the same as she would anyone else was…intriguing. And more than a little sexy.

  “I can feel you stewing. It’s distracting.” Vincent Worwith didn’t look up as I entered our dorm room, remaining hunched over his computer in the same gray turtleneck sweater he wore every day, even if it was eighty degrees outside. Vincent Worwith could not be polite to save his life, so of course I adored him. And I considered myself fortunate in my roommate selection. Vincent was the cleanest man in the dorm, if not on campus.

  “Sorry, Vincent.” I sighed as I climbed to the top bunk. “I just…I fucked up.”

  “Then fix it.”

  I laughed, staring at the ceiling and brushing my fingers through my hair. “It is not that simple.”

  “You’re rich as sin.”

  “My parents are rich as sin.”

  “Same difference. Just pay your way out of it.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I don’t know how to pay my way out of embarrassing someone.”

  “Who did you embarrass?”

  “Kat King.”

  “Oh. The witch girl.”

  I rolled over to glare down at the back of Vincent’s head. “What did you call her?”

  “Calm down. I didn’t say she was dumb. She’s actually brilliant. She got National Merit. I only got Commended Scholar. Not that I’m bitter.” He sounded bitter.

  “What does that have to do with her being a witch?”

  “Oh, nothing.” Vincent went to the mini fridge and grabbed an iced coffee, chugging the entire bottle before he caught me staring at him. “What?”

  “What do you mean ‘what’? What’s with the witch thing?”

  “Oh.” He crossed his arms and frowned. “Well, her parents came to Mayday from New Orleans.”

  I waited a moment, but he stared at me as if that was sufficient. Then I sighed. “Vincent, this is not a race thing, is it?”

  “What? No!” Vincent shuddered. “Crows and ravens crowd their lawn all the time.”

  “So, the black birds—”

  “It’s not about their race!” Vincent was blushing. I grinned. It was very, very fun to tease white people about race. “The dad was weird, too! And people would forget what happened when they walked out of their house. And then, when the dad died, the mom suddenly came down with sickle cell. Like two days later. It was like she was cursed.” He pulled his arms tight around his chest. “The first time I met Kat in kindergarten, she told me about how some people just liked to eat blood. In middle school, she’d write these stories about people she saw passing through town. And she’d say they were real but…we would have seen them. Should have seen them.” He pulled on his turtleneck.

  “So everyone thinks she’s crazy.”

  Vincent shrugged. “More like people hope she’s crazy.”

  “But you don’t think so.”

  Vincent froze. “…no. Mayday is…the whole town is strange. Which is why I need to ace all of my classes and get out of here.” With that, he started typing again.

  I had never seen this side of Vincent. He was so…nervous. It was almost endearing. But our conversation had given me an idea. I climbed back down and grabbed my leather bag. “Thank you Vincent. This has been most illuminating.”

  Vincent spun around in his chair, all the nerves replaced with rage. “Did you some in here just to distract me?”

  “Of course not. I came to a friend for advice and direction. And for your service, I thank you.” I put the accent on thick and bowed.

  Vincent’s face darkened. “That is a distraction, you asshole!”

  I burst out laughing. “See you later, Vincent.” He said nothing as I closed the door and walked out whistling. While he hadn’t been very receptive, I was grateful for his help. I understood Kat’s reaction now, and I had an idea about how to move forward.

  I strolled to the Weston computer lab in the STEM wing of campus. I needed to check over my photos for class. Photography was one of the few classes I actually felt alive and worthwhile in. I think the term for that is passion, though my father despises that word. On the way, I made a call to someone I knew would answer.

  “Mr. Weston?” Spade, our family fixer, picked up on the second ring.

  I smiled. “Spade, please. You know you can call me Manny.”

  “I am aware, Mr. Weston. What situation do
you require assistance with? And does this need to be discussed in person?”

  I bit back a sigh. “No, Spade. It is not that serious. But it is a rather strange request.”

  “Mr. Weston, there is very little that is capable of unsettling me. Please tell me what I can do.”

  “Katiana King filed a strange persons report in the Sheriff’s Office in Mayday, Ohio. I’d like you to make sure it is taken seriously.”

  “Of course. Anything else?”

  “No.”

  “It will be taken care of. Have a good night, Mr. Weston.” She hung up before I could respond. I didn’t take it personally. Spade was even more brisk than Vincent. I gravitated toward people who were very open with their criticism of me, it seemed.

  Vincent did have a point. Money solved a lot of problems.

  Chapter 5

  KAT

  I barely slept that night. Visions of the creature—person?—that I saw kept flitting around in my mind. I could only see their silhouette, but I wondered what they looked like. At points, they looked frightening, with glowing yellow eyes and fangs and claws that could slash someone in half. Other times they were a normal human, with perfect curly hair and full, perfectly kissable lips and sculpted tan arms and—

  I woke up, deeply irritated that Manny Weston had found his way into my dreams. But once that feeling faded, a tinge of remorse set in. I had a sneaking suspicion that he was being serious about the Uncanny Society thing. Which made him…really sweet? In a dorky kind of way I never would have expected. I needed to talk to him. But first, I needed to have a much more exhausting conversation.

  By the time I came into the kitchen, Ma was already in there, cooking me instant peach oatmeal. She glanced back at me as I walked in and said, “Oatmeal and orange juice are always good after a cry.”

  I smiled. “Thanks, Ma.” A lot of people found Ma cold, but that wasn’t it. She cared more than most people, she just had a funny way of showing it. I sat at the small round table in the kitchen and asked, “How did you sleep?”

  “Just fine,” she said, which meant, “Absolutely terrible, but I’m not about to burden my daughter with me any more than I have to, so that’s that.” God, I loved her. Which was going to make this conversation much harder.

  I didn’t get up the nerve until after I finished breakfast to ask. “Ma, do you remember the necklace Dad gave you when I was little? Like, around 3?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What happened to it?”

  She stiffened. “I dunno. It’s somewhere with your father’s stuff.”

  I stared down at my empty glass. “Do…do you think we could find it?”

  “What for? You’re not gonna wear it outside.”

  “Why not? It’s just jewelry, isn’t it?”

  Ma stood and went to the sink to wash the solitary mug inside. “We’re not talkin’ about this, Katiana.”

  “Ma...” I followed her to the sink. “Everyone in Mayday thinks we’re spooked. I’ve been called a witch to my face for years. And I found this website—well, someone else showed me this site and…I just wanna know if any of this is legit.”

  “Kat, you can’t just be trustin’ random shit you find on the internet.”

  “I saw the same stone that was in your necklace. That’s not random. That’s something.”

  The mug slipped out of Ma’s hands, crashing into the sink so hard the handle snapped off.

  “Why can’t you leave well enough alone?”

  That stung the way it was supposed to. It was just an escalation of the thing I’d heard time and time again my whole life. “Not now. Wait til you’re older.” Well, I was older then. I was twenty. I’d taken a gap year in order to take care of Ma when things got really, really bad with her, working three part time jobs to cover surprise costs. I was grown in every way that mattered and I needed answers.

  “Ma, if you can’t help me figure this out, I’m gonna do it on my own.” I took the bits of the broken mug, placed them in the trash, and walked out of the kitchen.

  I managed to get through brushing my teeth, shellacking my hair into a bun, and packing up without crying. I probably would have gotten out tear free if Ma wasn’t hovering by the door with the necklace when I was leaving. It was even prettier than I remembered, cherry starburst red on one end and blue raspberry airhead blue on the other, merging into deep, candy grape purple in the middle. Those golden flecks inside were glowing and dimming like tiny lightning bugs.

  Ma held it out to me. “Your father tried to explain all of this to me, but it was like he was speakin’ Greek. He said he’d teach you when you were older, but he didn’t get the chance.” She looked down, eyes set in a thin line. “He had some books and journals with notes in ‘em. Maybe you’ll be able to make heads or tails of it all. But you gotta head to work now. Come back tonight.”

  I reached out and touched the shimmerquartz. It was warm, almost tingling. “Can I wear it?”

  She shuddered and let out a sigh. “I…suppose. But hide it, ya hear?”

  Fuck, I was crying. Silly, happy tears were falling out of my eyes. I hugged her suddenly, pressing as lightly as possible to not hurt her. “Thank you, Ma.” I put the necklace on, making sure the chain and stone were under my button down shirt. As soon as the stone touched my skin, it heated up, sending a pulse over my body. Then the warmth faded.

  “You should know who ya are,” Ma said. “But please be careful. I can’t protect you from ya father’s world. And that world got him killed.”

  Chapter 6

  THE SEEN ONE

  I see her leave the bus the next morning. I want to go to her, but part of me is afraid. She saw me once and did not reject me, but that was under cover of darkness. What if she sees me in the brilliant light of day and rejects me? I do not wish to risk it. I will speak to her when the moon is high.

  It is fortunate that I keep an eye on her that morning, as I come across the humans who wish to harm her. They are dressed in clothing too different to blend in with the local inhabitants. They wear large golden bands on their wrists and have gaudy sunglasses on their heads. They are, however, normal humans. They cannot see me. So I sit on the edge of the roof across from the restaurant they are occupying and listen to them discuss her.

  One of them, a man with short hair the color of oak, hands a picture of the woman to a man with hair the color of straw. “Katiana King. Goes by Kat,” Oak Hair says. “Mayday native. No flags until today. Several filings but no reports. Very odd, if you ask me.”

  “I’m tellin’ ya, it’s these small towns,” Straw Hair says. “She’s probably seen all sorts of stuff and they all just dismissed it as a little girl trying to get attention. Better for us, I suppose.”

  “Anything on her background?”

  “Nothing, except, of course, New Orleans parents. Can’t get anything else out of the locals. God, I hate small towns.” Straw Hair finishes his coffee and stands. “We’ll find her on campus and then take care of her when she gets away from people.”

  Oak Hair stands. “Woah woah woah. Gettin’ rid of her wasn’t the assignment. It’s just to find Caden Knight.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Straw Hair shrugs. “But, you know. Accidents happen.”

  “Not those kind of accidents, Frank,” Oak Hair says as he stomps away.

  I want to rip their throats out. But they are not acting alone. If I act too fast, others from their group could arrive and I might not catch them all. I need to find out more if I am to keep her safe. Katiana. What a beautiful name for a beautiful woman.

  She must know that she is in danger. I must tell her, face to face. Even if she comes to despise me when she sees me completely, at least she will be safe.

  I will follow these men as they try to find Katiana. And if they attempt to go through with their plan to harm her, I will carve their hearts out.

  Chapter 7

  KAT

  The Night Owls coffee stand on campus was not technically student-run, but considering
how I’d seen Mr. Scalia once in the four weeks I’d been working there, it might as well have been. Jeanine Jones was already there, flitting in front of the oven baking the croissants as if buzzing around it was going to keep some of them from going toasty. It would not, by the way. The oven cooked unevenly, so about half of the croissants came out looking a bit too pale, and at least two were blacker than night. It wasn’t too bad. The main drawback was that the stand always vaguely smelled like burnt bread.

  “Morning Jeanine,” I said as I entered the stand and got behind the counter, putting on an apron.

  She took one look at me and let out a dramatic breath. “Oh, thank god. I thought you were dead.”

  She said that to me every morning. And, as per usual, I responded, “Nope! Bus ride was fine. As it always is.”

  “Not always! Remember when it died all of a sudden last year?”

  “It ran out of gas. A mile from the bus stop. Hardly a crash.”

  “But it could have stopped anywhere. God, can you imagine?”

  “Honestly, no.” I shook my head. Jeanine was a lot on the best of days, and this was not looking like a best day. We’d been friends ever since we were kids, practically out of necessity. Jeanine’s mother was the only parent in Mayday who allowed me to hang out with Jeanine, and she always said that it was because I was so patient with her. I was, apparently, the only person who could deal with Jeanine’s constant paranoia. I supposed we balanced each other out.

  It was a shame that Jeanine was so panicky. She was really pretty, and pretty white girls could make it anywhere. She’d run track and field in high school, and had that long, lanky physique to match. She was pale, but not ghostly, with a round button face, green eyes, and strawberry blonde hair always pulled back into a ponytail so severe that it looked painful. Maybe it was, and that was why she was so prone to flying off the handle into doom and gloom.