Blood and Salt Read online

  “And then what?” I managed to ask.

  He pulled me close, whispering in my ear. “You’d never want to leave.”

  I felt giddy.

  He removed my sunglasses. I thought he was going to kiss me when he suddenly dropped his hands.

  “What’s your name?” he asked as he took a deliberate step away from me, his eyes narrowing into slits.

  “Ash-Ashlyn—”

  “Surname,” he interrupted tersely.

  My mind went blank. What was my name? “Larkin,” I answered breathlessly, still reeling from his touch.

  His eyes went wide before his face turned into a solid block of ice. The muscles in his jaw and shoulders tensed. “It’s you,” he murmured as he slowly backed away from me, then took off running into the corn.

  9

  INVITATION

  “WAIT!” I RAN after him, not caring how pathetic I looked.

  Just as I reached the corn’s edge, Rhys stepped out of the towering stalks, nearly giving me a heart attack.

  “If you mention this to anyone I’ll never speak to you again.” He made a beeline for the car.

  Completely stunned, I stared off into the dense field. Rhys should’ve run right into him.

  “Ash,” my brother snipped behind me. “Do you mind telling me why some guy’s taking off our hubcaps?”

  I turned, my heart pounding with anticipation. Was it him? How’d he slip by me? I pushed past my brother to get to the car.

  When his head appeared over the side of the SUV, my heart fell. An old man, red-faced, wisps of white cotton-candy-like hair shellacked to his skull with sweat.

  “There you are,” the man said, as if he was greeting a friend. “I was afraid I’d lost you.”

  Rhys looked at me for an explanation, but I had just as many answers as he did.

  The old man flashed a grin. “Tanner . . . Tanner Beaumont,” he said as he bent down to put the hubcap back on. “I’ve never seen a spinner like this. Escalade, huh?”

  Stained wifebeater, overalls, missing teeth. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said under my breath. This must’ve been my mystery man’s boss. “I think I just met your colleague,” I said in relief as I leaned up against the car.

  “Goober?” His eyes lit up.

  “That’s his name?” I winced. He didn’t look remotely like a Goober.

  “Yeah, he’s a good boy. He didn’t give you too much trouble, did he? Sorry if he drooled on you.”

  “No, um . . . no, he didn’t,” I answered as I stared off into the corn.

  “What can I do for you?” He stood up and I swear I could hear every one of his vertebrae grind into place. “I got a bunch of Hondas . . . I even got one of them Priuses.”

  “Where did all these cars come from?” Rhys asked.

  “Well, we call this here the Kansas Triangle.” He motioned at the land surrounding us. “You know, like the Bermu—”

  “Yeah, we get the reference,” I interrupted. “But the cars are all here.”

  “Oh, it’s not the cars that disappear. It’s the people.”

  “What?” My brother went ramrod straight.

  “This land here’s cursed. Used to belong to the Indians. See, people come here looking for Quivira. They come from all over the place . . . weirdo spiritualists, reporters, geologists, historians, even a few of them ghost hunters, and they all disappear. Haven’t had anyone in a while, though, not since that 2012 Camry over there.”

  “What do you mean they disappear?” Rhys asked, shifting his weight nervously.

  The old man leaned forward like he was telling us a secret. “They go into the corn, and they don’t never come out.”

  “Have you called the police?”

  The man grinned, digging his thumbs into the straps of his overalls. “I am the police.”

  Rhys pressed his lips together and then let out a nervous burst of laughter. “Okay, time to go.”

  “How do we get there? To Quivira?” I asked.

  “I suppose you’re lookin’ at it. There’s at least forty-five miles of corn. No roads.” He looked up at the sky, dreamlike. “Sometimes at night, you hear the crows. All them flapping wings sound like helicopters, only there’s no lights. Just like Nam . . .”

  An enormous balding Saint Bernard jumped out of the back of an old white Cadillac, knocking Tanner to the ground. A huge line of drool dropped from its jowls onto the man’s face.

  “Goober.” He let out a high-pitched giggle.

  “That’s Goober?” I said. “I was talking about the boy . . . the man I met here earlier.”

  He looked up at me in confusion. “How long you been out here, missy? Kansas heatstroke ain’t no joke.”

  There was no boy or man or man/boy. Awesome.

  On the plus side, at least the figment of my imagination wasn’t named Goober.

  “You weren’t planning on going in there, were you?” he said as he got to his feet, squinting into the corn. “’Cuz if you do, save me the trouble and leave the keys. This car would make a fine convertible. I could cut off the top. It’d be good for haulin’ trash.”

  “Give us a minute, please.” Rhys dragged me toward the back of the car. “We have to get out of here and call the police . . . the real police,” he whispered. “You heard him . . . people go into the corn but they don’t come back. Look at all those cars, Ash.”

  I stepped in front of him to try and block his view. “Maybe those people wanted to disappear. Mom said it was some kind of utopia.”

  Rhys tried to grab the keys out of my hand. “But he just said—”

  “The guy had a Vietnam flashback right in front of us. Since when are you so gullible?”

  He stared out over the corn, a deep crease settling in his forehead.

  “The summer solstice is only five days away now,” I said as I put my hand on his shoulder. “The sun is getting ready to set. If we’re going to find her it has to be now. We have to try. We can always come back and call the cops if we have to.”

  Rhys gave me a nearly imperceptible nod.

  I grabbed the bags from the car before he could change his mind again and set them down in front of the junkyard guy. “Can we park here for a few days?”

  Tanner twitched his head to the side to spit through the gap in his teeth. “Not for free you can’t.”

  I peeled off a bill from one of the stacks and stuffed it into the bib pocket of Tanner’s filthy overalls. “Here’s a hundred. I’ll give you another when we come back.”

  He fondled the cash from outside his pocket. “Sure thing.” He grinned.

  I put on my backpack, then tossed Tanner the keys.

  Rhys begrudgingly picked up his duffel and the briefcase.

  “Hey, what’s your name?” Tanner called after me as we walked toward the corn.

  “Larkin,” I answered. I didn’t have to think about it this time. I felt it all the way to the marrow of my bones.

  The old man’s face went slack as he turned and scurried away from us up the dirt road.

  “What the hell,” I murmured. I was starting to get a complex.

  As Rhys and I stood at the edge of the corn, the sun began to melt into the horizon, casting a golden glow across the field.

  A breeze blew in behind us, forcing its way through the stalks, revealing a path.

  Like an invitation.

  I heard my brother swallow.

  “It’s good to be afraid,” I said. “It means you still have something to live for.”

  I took his hand and we stepped into the corn.

  10

  CORN

  THEY SAY THE FIRST STEP is the hardest.

  But it’s really the third—when you’re too far in to turn back and not far enough to completely commit. Either way, you’re kind of screwed. />
  “This is a bad idea. A really bad idea,” Rhys said as he led the way through the narrow path in the corn.

  I wasn’t going to argue. It wasn’t worth it. There was no stopping him when he got on a roll like this.

  Tuning him out, I focused on how dense and lush everything was. It was like stepping into a different world; the world before man. The twelve-foot-high stalks had a thick bamboo-like quality. The leaves, brilliant green, had a beautiful translucence—creating a lacy display of shadow and light. The scent was sweet and earthy—like spring, but with a slight hint of decay.

  Other than my brother’s incessant complaining, it was eerily quiet. No insects, no wind, not a sound other than my boots sinking into the rich soil.

  With each step forward, I had the strangest feeling of déjà vu, like I’d walked this path a thousand times before.

  I closed my eyes, dragging my fingers along the stalks, and tried not to imagine what the sunflower field would look like in this light or, more importantly, what he would look like in this light. My junkyard crush. Obviously, my name had set him off, but what made him ask in the first place? It had to be the eyes. What did he and Tanner see in me? Were all the Larkins something to be feared?

  And in that brief moment of reflection, I found myself alone.

  There was no trace of my brother.

  I heard the ground cover depress somewhere behind me. I turned, finding nothing, and everything all at once. I felt an undeniable presence, like the corn was watching me, but that was crazy.

  Fighting back panic, I looked up at the sky to get my bearings, but felt completely disoriented. North, south, east, and west didn’t exist anymore—only corn. Dizzy and confused, I spun around, feeling for a way out, but it seemed as if the stalks had closed in around me.

  Something slammed me from behind; I stumbled forward, feeling that strange vertigo again. My hands clenched in the soil, trying to find something to hold on to, but the dirt sifted through my fingers. Even though I was already on the ground, I felt myself falling, the same sensation I’d felt in the library with Katia. A gasp escaped my lips as the crush of memories fell over me like a heavy velvet curtain.

  • • •

  Leaving his armor behind, Alonso makes his way toward me. Tonight, on the cusp of the summer solstice, he will become my immortal mate.

  Using my golden blade, I cut the length of his palm. “A kisctsa rauuir tiaticaa kaukuu’.” I then cut a deep slash above my heart. Just as I’m about to place his palm against my chest to bind our fates, Alonso’s head jerks back. Coronado’s deep brown eyes are full of starlight and malice as he sweeps his blade across my lover’s throat. Alonso’s blood falls across my face like rain.

  Coronado turns his attention to me. I stagger back and start running through the corn. The towering stalks whip my skin, leaving a trail of blood in the moonlight. I don’t know which way to turn. Coronado catches up to me and lunges for my arm. I hit the earth and then he’s on top of me. I lash out with my blade, but he grabs it and uses it to slit his own palm. I can feel my traitorous blood reaching out for his as he presses his wound against the gash above my heart. I writhe and scream, trying to break free, but it’s too late—I can already feel his black soul penetrating mine. I feel his blood coursing through mine and mine through his. We are one, bound in hate, bound in blood.

  • • •

  “Ashlyn.”

  I lifted my head. The devastation I felt was overwhelming. My mother had told me what happened to Alonso, but seeing it . . . feeling it through Katia’s memories was something else entirely. A strange ripple of energy rushed over the corn, followed by the scent of ozone. I heard my brother calling my name. Fighting against the gravity that wanted to keep me there, I grabbed the stalks, pulling myself up and through the corn, toward the sound of his voice. I careened through the field to find my brother kneeling in a twenty-foot-wide patch of scorched earth, the bags strewn around him.

  “Wait,” he called out with a slight tremor in his voice. “It might be hot.”

  I studied the alien ground surrounding him. I didn’t feel any heat, but it wouldn’t have stopped me anyway. I couldn’t leave him there, all alone, in that black chaotic void.

  Charred soil crunched beneath the weight of my footsteps, but it was cool. It reminded me of volcanic ash.

  As soon as I put my hand on his shoulder, he collapsed into a sitting position.

  “Oh God.” The color drained from his face when he noticed the blood from the scrape on his knee.

  “What happened?” I asked as I pulled the first-aid kit from my bag and bandaged his knee.

  “I don’t know.” He let out a huge burst of pent-up air as he held his head in his hands. “I turned, and you were gone. The corn kept opening up in front of me. It felt like I was running in circles. I couldn’t find you and I tripped and fell. The corn just . . . disappeared.”

  “Disappeared?”

  “Like, disintegrated.” He glanced up at me before I had a chance to hide my shock. “I know! It sounds crazy. I think I might be losing it right along with you.”

  “We’re both . . . overwrought.” I chose my words carefully. Maybe Rhys was seeing things, too. “Look, all we have to do is find Mom and get out of here.”

  “Ash,” my brother said as he stared off into the corn. “Something’s wrong with this place. Do you feel it?”

  “I don’t know what I feel anymore,” I said as I helped him to his feet, trying not to give in to the fear gnawing away at me. “But we should try to find her before dark.”

  Suddenly, bringing him here felt wrong, like I’d led him straight into the devil’s mouth.

  “Which way?” he asked as we stood in the center of the barren patch of earth.

  As if answering his question, the breeze whipped through the field, revealing a path and a clearing in the distance.

  Rhys and I walked faster. I think we were afraid the corn would swallow us whole.

  11

  QUIVIRA

  AS WE STEPPED out of the corn, it took me a minute to catch my breath.

  The sun had already set, but the sky was full of life, painted in broad brushstrokes of peach, purple, and pink.

  The scent was heady—honeysuckle, new and fermenting mulberries, and the remnants of a cedar campfire hung heavy in the humid air. But there was something else, too—an appealing mineral smell nipped the edge of my senses.

  Beyond the huge expanse of deep green grass scattered with fireflies was a picturesque lake with an unearthly opal hue.

  Rhys and I moved toward it, looking around cautiously, but there wasn’t a soul in sight.

  Unlike the tiny towns we’d passed through to get here, Quivira seemed to be untouched by drought. Moisture clung to every dark blade of grass, and the air felt lush.

  Nestled around the lake were five large structures. My mother once said she grew up in a lodge, but this wasn’t what I’d pictured at all. I’d expected a desolate place littered with dilapidated shacks and millions of shirtless, dirty kids with unusually tiny ears.

  Each of the buildings was architecturally unique. One was a Tudor—cream, trimmed with dark brown accents. There was one that looked like a giant gray clapboard box. On the far end of the lake stood an enormous A-frame that blended into the surrounding woods so perfectly I almost missed it. On the left side was a beautiful Spanish Colonial made of tan stucco and dark wood, but the grandest of all was a stone mansion with a red-clay-tiled roof. It was like seeing a vintage photograph in full color.

  It was a utopia.

  When we reached the shore, I leaned over the low stone wall, scooping up the water in my hands and tasting it with the tip of my tongue. It was the color of sea glass, but brinier than the sea.

  “It’s a salt lake,” I marveled.

  “In the middle of Kansas?” My brother skimmed his
hand across the water. “That’s impossible. How could they’ve kept this place a secret?”

  I looked over the dense woods nestled between the structures. None of this was visible to us from within the corn. “Mom said Katia put some kind of protection spell over Quivira.”

  Rhys shook his head. “Maybe you really are having a heatstroke.” He started to splash water on his face, but halted. “Do you hear that?”

  The lake was still, except for the occasional ripple breaking against the wall where dozens of canoes and rowboats were tied. The boats clinked together softly, the gentlest of wind chimes. Other than that, it was eerily quiet. No lawnmowers or cars, not a sound, except for a faint, high-pitched lament that grew stronger by the second. Someone was singing, if you could call it that.

  Rhys stood next to me, pointing to a speck of bright yellow at the far end of the dam, jarring against the muted greens, blues, and browns. It came slowly toward us like a wayward ray of sunshine, finally revealing itself to be a girl in an ankle-length yellow cotton dress, skipping alongside the stone wall. She was about our age, with peaches-and-cream skin, long strawberry-blond hair, and a pert nose.

  “‘Tell me why-ee, ain’t nothin’ but a heartache,’” she sang. “‘Tell me why-ee, ain’t nothin’ but a mee-stake. Tell me why-ee, I never wanna hear you say, I want it that way.’”

  Rhys and I stood there, mouths agape.

  The girl glanced over at us and did a double take.

  “Oh God.” Rhys grimaced. “I hate that song.”

  “Stick to the plan,” I whispered. “We’re going to become a part of the community until we can get Mom out of here, got it?”

  The girl bounded toward us with a huge grin plastered across her pleasant face. “Oh my stars, it’s you.” She crashed into me with a crippling bear hug.

  I stood there, stiff as a board, waiting for it to be over. “Um . . . do I know you?”

  “Oh.” She let go and slapped her palm against her forehead. “I completely forgot myself. I’m Beth. I live in the Grimsby lodge.” She pointed to the Tudor-style compound on the right side of the lake. “And that’s the Hanratty lodge, the Larkin lodge, the Mendoza lodge, and the big one past those woods on the left is the meeting house.”