Blood

Don’t do it, says the rational part of my mind. Mallory Fionn, you’re looking for trouble, and you know it.

But—

“Who in hell are you calling?” asks Justin from the kitchen doorway. “Sorry, let me give that another go—who are you calling? Nah, I guess that wasn’t much better.”

I shrug, because I know I’m not calling anybody with my brother standing there, especially not Lorna.

I mean, I have to, don’t I? That stone could be the undoing of the Owens family, but that isn’t any of my business.

Then again, how could I not tell her?

But…would I do the same thing for the Quigleys, or the Hannagans, or the Muellers? I reckon not.

Justin takes a few strides forward and glances at the scrap of paper I’d left on the table, and then he scowls. “Oh, come on now. Not her.”

He says ‘her’ as though Lorna’s name would be poison.

“How do you know I’m not calling Reid to have him look at the Ford?”

My brother glances up at me before crumpling up the scrap in his hand. “Please. You used to be mad over her. Now I reckon you still are.”

I squint at him. “I was never mad over Lorna Owens.”

Justin laughs one of those laughs that are supposed to accent a lie. “And I’m a virgin.”

I put the receiver back on the counter and continue to frown. “When did I fancy her, then?”

Justin looks up at the ceiling, meaning he’s thinking. “Oh, you were probably about twelve. You honestly don’t remember?”

“No, I don’t remember, at all.” Oh, wait…

“Ask Dad then, if you don’t believe me. You even came to church with us the one day so you could see her, albeit you wouldn’t actually step foot in the building. It was a tad bit creepy, actually.”

Of course I remember that, but I’d forgotten about Lorna. But thinking about it…It had been a rather stupid reason for fancying her as well. If I remember right, I think it was because she spat at me or summat. Which I figure sounds a little…strange...but nobody else on the island would even meet my eyes—although truth be told, I was a bit of a menace—and then there was one girl brave enough to spit at Tim’s little demon-bastard. Well, I figure that still sounds pretty strange.

“Mallory?” asks Justin.

“What’s that?”

Justin rolls his eyes rather theatrically and tosses the paper ball at me, although it misses by a couple feet. “She’s not worth your time, Mal. It’s a waste to chase after a girl that don’t wanna be caught. ’Specially Lorna Owens.”

“Who says I’m trying to catch anything?” I scowl a little, which makes Justin laugh.

“I do you ruddy moron.” Justin sobers rapidly. “But you shouldn’t. Sure she’s a looker, but she’s not more than a mad wench, and there’s better on the island that you could have.”

I scowl further. My brother talks like a wife-beater, some days, even though I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be.

Justin shakes his head, any remaining mirth gone. “Fine. It’s your mistake to make.”

He heads back down the hall in a defeated fashion, intending to make me feel guilty. Which is why I had held my tongue, as otherwise it likely would have worked.

And he’s wrong. It’s not like I have any plans to “chase after” Lorna. Firstly, it wouldn’t be fair, or safe. No matter how wretched Lorna may be, she can’t be bad enough to deserve the likes of me. Even if I was clever or good-looking, that wouldn’t change what I am, or more specifically, what I’m not—human. And secondly, I’m just answering a question for someone who’s treated me somewhat decently.

At least that’s what I tell myself as I pick up the receiver, dial and listen to the phone ring.

“Hello?” asks a girl’s weary voice.

“Lorna?”

“Unfortunately. What can I do for you, Mr. Fionn?”

I can’t tell if she was being ironic or making a mockery by calling me ‘Mr. Fionn’.

“You wouldn’t happen to still be curious about that stone of yours?”

“I might be. Why?”

It’s your mistake to make.

Fuck you, Justin.

“I know what it is,” I say.

“And?”

“It’d be better discussed in person.”

There’s a sly edge to Lorna’s voice when she says, “Would it?”

“Away from…people.”

Lorna laughs, but quietly. “You sure you don’t mean to kill me?”

Well, I might—Shut up, Mallory.

“Rather. You wouldn’t happen to be afraid of the sea—or heights.”

“Not particularly.”

“So…can I come by…?”

“How about now?”

I tilt my head to the side without meaning to and almost drop the phone. “Right now?”

A glance out the window at the darkening sky tells me it’s like to snow.

“Yeah.”

“Uh, sure…” I wish I knew if she was screwing with me.

She laughs again, and just as quietly. “I’ll meet you at the end of the lane, then.”

The line goes dead, so I put down the receiver and search the counters before finding the keys to the truck inside the bread box.