Page 50 of Together We Rot

I lift my arm, pointing at a lingering mark on my skin to break up the tension. “Get bit and join the club.” My attempt at a joke is weak at best.

Cherry’s home is an exact caricature of her—satchels of dried flowers and herbs hanging from her ceiling, bold rugs assembled together like mismatched puzzle pieces. The wall is flooded with oddities: a mirror resembling a cat’s-eye that she found in her late neighbor’s garbage, a glass case of river rocks and pretty weeds, and a portrait shrine for Morticia Addams.

“Oh my God,” Elwood mouths. I jab my elbow into his ribs, but really, I can’t blame him.

Her house is like a sucker punch to the gut.

“Here, sit. You two look like Popsicles.” She guides us to deep purple cushions. Couches are for normal people—something Cherry wouldn’t be caught dead with. Instead, we sit on a chaise lounge with a twisted wooden frame. It is velvet-lined, the trims painted gold. I only know what it is because we’ve had a full conversation about it. “Found this little lady on her way to the dump. People have no taste.”

Cherry doesn’t own a TV; she claims she can hear the low pulse of static rolling off it from a mile away. Her living room consists of the chaise lounge, a dark walnut coffee table, a parlor chair, and a couple low-rise tables—only there to hold her copious amount of candles.

“Remember to lock the door,” I harp at her.

“Don’t worry about that, kid. I’ve got a protection ward,” she trills from the kitchen. “Fine, I’ll do it myself.” I twist the dead bolt into place.

The lights above us twitch as I rejoin Elwood. They sizzle and burn within their bulbs, a tiny coil exploding into an enclosed flame. And then it’s black. Shot from blinding to nothing in a matter of seconds.

Starlight leaps from Cherry’s arms, and we hear a curse in the kitchen. The power has been zapped throughout the entire house. If it were any other home—especially with the blinds drawn shut as they are—we would be bound into darkness. But the votives trapped within smoky glasses and long tapering candles in alternating shades of red and black save us. A large enough collection to give any firefighter a heart attack on sight. It’s soothing, though. Reminds me of Mom.

“You guys okay in there?” Cherry calls from the other room, her voice carrying in a shrill, worried way. We each mumble something to the effect of “Yeah, your ten million candles make a difference.” She hums at that, content neither of us have grievously injured ourselves in the dark.

Starlight begins to sniff his way over. I prepare for him to get snippy and hiss at one of us—maybe even leap toward me and attack for the hell of it—but he doesn’t.

“Ignore him and he’ll leave you alone,” I grumble.

With the adrenaline high gone, doubt creeps in to take its place. Elwood isn’t human—not fully. There’s something in him. I’d been too eager to brush off the incident at the house.

Engulfed in vines and weeds, infested with greenery. I’d seen his eyes burn black and his mouth contort. He hadn’t looked like a boy; he’d looked like a beast.

I shake it away and a new fresh memory takes its place. I kissed him. Elwood Clarke. I pushed him into a tree and kissed him.

I burn as scarlet as Cherry’s hair.

“Here, kitty,” Elwood calls, oblivious to me. The cat paddles closer to him, leaping in one strained burst. I brace myself to see Starlight go straight for his face, but he doesn’t. Instead the cat walks in circles on his lap, pawing and kneading his legs into shape before collapsing. If I’m not losing it, I hear a soft rumble, too. A deep, contented purr.

Elwood scratches the tufts behind Starlight’s ears, his free hand rubbing his belly. I try to find my voice. It comes out as a pathetic squeak: “I forgot how much you love cats.”

“I’ve spent half my life begging for one.” The petting picks up at that, almost as if in defiance. He mimics his mother, his voice rising higher: “Animals are dirty, Elwood.” He clears away the fake voice with a cough. “But look at him, he’s not dirty. He’s even wearing a sweater.”

Sure enough, Starlight is sporting a scratchy holiday number that reads Merry Christmas, Ya Filthy Animal. It’s no longer Christmas, and Starlight chews on the fabric like he might be able to rip the thing off with effort.

“Right?” Elwood picks back up, but when he finally—finally—looks up, I swallow, my fingers twitching in the space close to his. A blush of his own creeps up, and I watch his eyes drop again to my lips.

“I don’t know if you’re hungry.” Cherry breaks the tension with her presence, making us both jump out of our skin.. She sets a bowl of roasted dandelion root in front of us and some questionable-looking berries. I don’t know why I was expecting peanuts or a frozen pizza.

“Sure these aren’t poisonous?” I ask her, eyeballing a palmful of the berries. They’re as red as everything else she owns.

She shrugs, pops one in her mouth, swallows. “Haven’t killed me yet.”

I guess I’m willing to take those odds. I take a bite and leave the charred dandelions for Elwood. “Would you look at that?” Cherry breathes, staring right past me to Elwood. “Starlight rarely takes to strangers. Did you bribe him?”

“He’s the cat whisperer,” I tell her, deadpan.

She blinks. “Huh.” Her hands move as she speaks, and she pops a dandelion into her mouth. Then comes the crunch. “So, you’re Elwood. Notorious Clarke’s son. I’m Cherry Delacroix, Wil’s personal handler and fill-in grandma.”

He jumps at the sound of his own name. Starlight lets out a frustrated mew, readjusting himself on Elwood’s lap. He pets harder as an apology.

Somewhere in the shadows of Cherry’s house, a cuckoo clock sings the time. “You match Wil’s stories. Her mother’s, too. I knew who you were the moment I opened my door. You were right, Wil. He is quite the looker, isn’t he?”

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