Beautiful Creatures by Kami García, Margaret Stohl Read Free Book Online Page A

from the rain. I could just make out a few numbers. Maybe a one or a seven, a
     five, a two. 152. What was that about?
    I glanced in the backseat for the old army blanket Link usually kept back there. Instead there was a ratty sleeping bag, probably
     from the last time Link got in trouble at home and had to sleep in his car. It smelled like old campfire smoke and basement
     mold. I handed it to her.
    “Mmmm. That’s better.” She closed her eyes. I could feel her ease into the warmth of the heater, and I relaxed, just watching
     her. The chattering of her teeth slowed. After that, we drove in silence. The only sound was the storm, and the wheels rolling
     and spraying through the lake the road had become. She traced shapes on the foggy window with her finger. I tried to keep
     my eyes on the road, tried to remember the rest of the dream—some detail, one thing that would prove to her that she was,
     I don’t know, her, and that I was me.
    But the harder I tried, the more it all seemed to fade away, into the rain and the highway and the passing acres and acres
     of tobacco fields, littered with dated farm equipment and rotting old barns. We reached the outskirts of town, and I could
     see the fork in the road up ahead. If you took a left, toward my house, you’d hit River, where all the restored antebellum
     houses lined the Santee. It was also the way out of town. When we came to the fork in the road, I automatically started to
     turn left, out of habit. The only thing to the right was Ravenwood Plantation, and no one ever went there.
    “No, wait. Go right here,” she said.
    “Oh, yeah. Sorry.” I felt sick. We climbed the hill up toward Ravenwood Manor, the great house. I had been so wrapped up in
     who she was, I had forgotten
who
she was. The girl I’d been dreaming about for months, the girl I couldn’t stop thinking about, was Macon Ravenwood’s niece.
     And I was driving her home to the Haunted Mansion—that’s what we called it.
    That’s what I had called it.
    She looked down at her hands. I wasn’t the only one who knew she was living in the Haunted Mansion. I wondered what she’d
     heard in the halls. If she knew what everyone was saying about her. The uncomfortable look on her face said she did. I don’t
     know why, but I couldn’t stand seeing her like that. I tried to think of something to say to break the silence. “So why did
     you move in with your uncle? Usually people are trying to get out of Gatlin; no one really moves here.”
    I heard the relief in her voice. “I’ve lived all over. New Orleans, Savannah, the Florida Keys, Virginia for a few months.
     I even lived in Barbados for a while.”
    I noticed she didn’t answer the question, but I couldn’t help thinking about how much I would’ve killed to live in one of
     those places, even for a summer. “Where are your parents?”
    “They’re dead.”
    I felt my chest tighten. “Sorry.”
    “It’s okay. They died when I was two. I don’t even remember them. I’ve lived with lots of my relatives, mainly my gramma.
     She had to take a trip for a few months. That’s why I’m staying with my uncle.”
    “My mom died, too. Car accident.” I had no idea why I said that. I spent most of my time trying not to talk about it.
    “I’m sorry.”
    I didn’t say it was okay. I had a feeling she was the kind of girl who knew it wasn’t.
    We stopped in front of a weather-beaten black wrought-iron gate. In front of me, on the rising hill, barely visible through
     the blanket of fog, stood the dilapidated remains of Gatlin’s oldest and most notorious plantation house, Ravenwood Manor.
     I’d never been this close to it before. I turned off the motor. Now the storm had faded into a kind of soft, steady drizzle.
     “Looks like the lightning’s gone.”
    “I’m sure there’s more where that came from.”
    “Maybe. But not tonight.”
    She looked at me, almost curiously. “No. I think we’re done for tonight.” Her eyes looked