The Raven Game by Jessica Sorensen

Raven

Jax says nothing as we walk through a washroom, into a dimly lit hallway, and then into a spacious kitchen with arched ceilings, chandeliers, and a table so long it could seat probably thirty or so people. Although, it only has twelve chairs around it, so it technically couldn’t.

Hunter and Zay are raiding the fridge and arguing about what to have for lunch. It’s such a normal thing to do and, for an instant, I feel normal. But then I recall everything—how I met these guys, why I’m here with them, how Hunter kissed me in the car, and the memory I had.

Who are they? Should I just ask them? Ask them if I know?

Who am I?

Who are you?

Who are we together?

Maybe I would’ve asked everything, but then my mom’s warnings ring through my head.

Trust no one, Ravenlee. Promise me you won’t. It’s too dangerous to trust anyone in this world.

Fuck.

Why did she say that to me? What was she so afraid of?

Sighing, I swallow down the questions burning on the tip of my tongue and make my way farther into the kitchen. Zay is now munching on a granola bar, and Hunter is grabbing a bag of cookies. It’s all very comfortable for them, this big kitchen and a fridge full of food. To me, it’s not.

Yes, my aunt and uncle have always had enough money and the fridge is always stocked, but I have never been allowed to just dig through the fridge and grab whatever I want. I always have to ask. And when I got old enough to start making my own money, I had to buy my own food and a mini-fridge to put it in. It broke during the move here.

Anyway, I’ve never been to family dinners. Never hung out in the kitchen and joked around with someone. I’ve never been comfortable in a home before. At least not since my parents died.

And this time is no exception. I feel oddly out of place, a stranger in an unfamiliar home that I probably don’t belong in.

Or maybe I do. Perhaps I’ve been here before.

I wrap my arms around myself, nervousness bubbling inside me.

“We need to get some stuff taken care of,” Jax mumbles to no one in particular, a distracted look on his face as he leans against the counter.

“What sort of stuff?” I ask—more like pry. “Isn’t the town on lockdown? So, how are you going to get stuff done? Unless you guys are just going to break the town rules, which kind of seems like something you’d do. Seriously, though, what sort of town is Honeyton? What sort of town has a lockdown system? And what sort of bad drugs are getting dealt …?” I trail off as I become aware that the three of them are staring at me.

So much for not asking questions.

Zay is over by the island, pouring a glass of juice, but his gaze is on me. Hunter is leaning against the fridge, looking at me with a hint of a smile on his face. And Jax is standing beside me, his gaze dissecting me.

“What?” I ask, feeling like I’m the butt of a joke.

Hunter and Zay trade a look. Hunter presses back a smile and Zay looks the slightest bit amused. Jax, though, looks indifferent like always. Well, except when I’m pushing him toward the edge.

“You ramble when you get nervous,” Jax states almost confusedly.

I wonder if he’s just picking up on that or if he remembers it about me from whenever we knew each other.

Just ask him, Raven. Just open your mouth and get past the fear.

My lips actually part, but the question won’t leave my lips.

Dammit, what the hell is wrong with me? It’s almost like I’m physically incapable of talking about this aloud.

“I was just rambling because I have questions,” I mutter as I lower my hands. “Why would I even be nervous? I’m just standing in you guys’ kitchen.”

Maybe because you know me and are starting to wonder if I’m remembering that I know you, too.

“Nervously standing in here,” Jax says with a hint of suspicion in his tone.

“I’m not nervous.” I lift my chin in a defying challenge. “You look a little bit squirmy yourself there.”

He stares at me with a blank look on his face. But that blank expression is more unnerving than if he was showing a trace of emotion, even if it was rage. Because, at least I could attempt to read him. But this nothingness … he’s like a book with blank pages. And maybe that’s the point. Maybe all this control and indifference is his way of concealing the truth.

The truth that he knows me.

“I’m never squirmy,” Jax states matter-of-factly.

I roll my eyes. “If that’s true, then why’re you squirming right now?”

He stares me down hard then takes a step toward me.

“Um …” Hunter pushes away from the fridge and rests his arms on the countertop of the kitchen island. “What’s going on?”

“Ask our new little pet,” Jax answers him without removing his gaze from me. “She’s been trying to push my buttons since the moment we walked into the house.”

“Hasn’t she done that from the second we met her?” Zay mumbles then takes a sip of his juice while glancing at me, probably thinking about how I took his seat and refused to move, which kind of started this whole thing.

“Perhaps,” Jax says, his gaze never wavering from me. “But it’s gotten worse over the last ten minutes, and I’m starting to wonder why.”

No one says anything else, the three of them fixing their gazes on me. I think it’s some sort of weird tactic to get me to tell them something. But what?

“Stare at me all you want,” I tell them as I wander up to the kitchen island and sit down on a barstool. “It’s not going to intimidate me. And I’m not sure why you guys haven’t caught on to that. Did the bridge incident teach you nothing?”

A beat of silence ticks by.

“She’s right.” Zay rolls the sleeves of his shirt up. “Intimidation doesn’t work with her.”

“Maybe.” Jax walks over and sits down on a barstool beside me, still staring at me.

“Keep staring all you want,” I tell him. “It still won’t work.”

“You sure about that?” he questions, continuing to stare at me.

I stare right back, daring him to keep playing whatever game this is.

He either gives up or just pushes pause on our game as he stands, shucks off his hoodie, and looks at Zay and Hunter. “Go find a room for her.”

I let a trapped breath ease from my lips. I was more nervous than I was letting on. But that’s how it needs to be until I can figure out what the hell is going on.

Hunter gives Jax a salute while Zay returns the juice to the fridge.

“What’re you going to do?” Zay asks Jax as he closes the fridge.

“I am going to make a call,” he replies evasively. Then he looks at me. “Call your aunt or uncle and let them know you’re here. Then you can go get set up in your new room.” He doesn’t wait for me to respond, heading out of the room. But before he exits, he calls over his shoulder, “And Zay? Make sure you show Raven around. Both Hunter and Raven are officially on probation from being able to be alone together until we decide otherwise.” With that, he walks out.

Hunter dramatically rolls his eyes. “Probation? Since when did he become my probation officer?”

“Do you have a probation officer?” I ask as I cross my arms on top of the counter.

He’s standing on the other side of the island but leans over it, getting closer to me. “Now, why would you think that?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. It just seems like you might have one.”

He grins. “Okay, I’ll give you that. And if we were normal, we probably would. However, we’re not normal.” He winks at me then pushes away from the counter and turns toward Zay. “I’ll go figure out what room to put our little raven in.” He moves to leave the room, but not without giving me one last glance. His eyes glitter as he wets his lips, his gaze briefly falling to my mouth. Then he sinks his teeth into his bottom lip and walks out of the room.

And my lips? They burn with the memory of his kiss. But my mind? It sears with the worry that perhaps this is all some sort of twisted game, that they’ve met me before, are fully aware of it, and are up to something.

But the question is: why?

I can’t think of a damn answer, and the more I try, the quieter the room grows.

Finally, I dare a glance at Zay, who’s staring at me with a frown on his face.

“You don’t have to show me around if you don’t want to,” I say, figuring that’s why he looks all grumpy. “You can just show me to my room. Besides, it’s not really even necessary to show me around since I won’t be here for very long.”

He shakes his head with annoyance. “When are you going to get it through that thick head of yours that you’re moving in with us?”

I cross my arms on top of the counter. “When are you going to get it through that thin head of yours that you guys can’t boss me around into doing stuff?”

“Thin head? That’s not even an insult.”

“Yeah, it is. Because I just made it one.”

“Yeah, in your own head.”

“So? It’s a very validating place. Thick, too.”

He stares at me like he has no clue how to respond. It’s a look I get quite often.

Finally, he must give up on trying to understand the inner workings of my twisted mind because he shakes his head, grabs his glass of orange juice, and starts for the doorway. “Come on; I’m going to show you around your new home.” He tosses me a little smirk that makes my lips twitch then strolls out of the room.

I flip the middle finger at him as I get up and walk after him. “This isn’t my house,” I say as I follow him down a wide hallway with red walls that are covered with framed photos I’m guessing Hunter took. They’re all beautiful scenes of landscapes and places I’ve only dreamed of seeing in person. And yet, in the beauty, shadows cast across them, like a darkness is hovering there, waiting to take over.

Just like how the boys’ faces looked in that memory I just had.

As Zay takes a sip of his juice, I discreetly study him, trying to pick up on the similarities between him and the boy with the raven on his shoulder. Zay has a scar on his face. Did the boy have a scar on his face?

I can’t remember.

Just like always.

“You know, you act like it’s some sort of huge punishment to stay here. But look the fuck around.” He waves his hand around at the many shut doors lining the hallway. “This place is awesome. You should consider it an honor to live here.”

“And that’s why I don’t want to live here.”

“Because this place is awesome?”

“No, because you act like it should be an honor to live here.” I fold my arms across my chest. “I’m tired of that feeling. Of feeling like I owe people something.” Of people lying to me all the time. Of feeling like I’ve gone crazy.

He processes what I said, his lips slowly curving downward. “You don’t owe us just because you live here. And I think we’ve told you that enough times by now.”

“You may say that now, but eventually, it’ll become a debt.”

“You’re wrong.”

“No, I’m right. I know the drill with these types of things. I’d be a guest here, which means I’d owe you. And you guys would take.” I lower my voice to a mutter. “Everyone always does.”

The look of pity that crosses his face lets me know I’ve said too much, revealed too much about me.

“But anyway, yeah …” I clear my throat. “I’m not going to move in with you, so no tour of the house is needed. You can just point me to the room I’m staying in, and I’ll go hang out until this whole lockdown thing is lifted.”

He slows to a stop in front of a shut door, but instead of opening it, he just stares at me. “You have trust issues. And whatever. So do I.” He steps toward me. “But here’s the thing, princess; if you’re gonna survive this hell hole of a town, you’re gonna need to trust Hunter, Jax, and me. Because, if you don’t, you’re gonna end up like Mary Lee B. lying in a Willow Tree.”

Um … What?

“What the hell is Mary Lee B. lying in a Willow Tree?” I ask. “Because it sounds like a nursery rhyme.”

“Oh, it is. But it’s a nursery rhyme that holds truth to it.” He starts walking again.

My interest is piqued, which I’m sure is why he brought it up to begin with. Whatever. I’m too curious to back off.

I hurry after him. “Well, how does the nursery rhyme go? And why does it hold truth to it?”

He downs the rest of his juice then places the empty glass on a nearby end table. “I’m not going to recite it to you, but I’ll tell you the story behind it.”

“Why won’t you recite it?”

He lifts a shoulder. “Because it’s cursed.”

I stare at him dubiously. “You think a nursery rhyme is cursed? You?”

His brow elevates. “What do you mean by you?”

I shrug. “I mean, I can’t see someone like you, this guy who everyone’s supposed to be afraid of, this guy who’s all tats and scars and shadows, being scared of a nursery rhyme. I mean, I thought you were supposed to be scary.”

“I am scary. We all are. And we’ve worked damn hard to make people fear us,” he stresses, scrubbing his hand on top of his head as he looks at me. “You’re the only one who doesn’t seem to think so.”

“I never said you weren’t scary.” When a smug grin starts to tug at his lips, I add, “But I’m not saying I think you are. I’m just saying that it seems weird that an alleged scary dude like yourself would be afraid of a nursery rhyme because you think it’s cursed.”

“Not think,” he stresses. “It is. And I don’t know why you’re surprised. After everything that’s happened, I’d think nothing should surprise you anymore.”

“Maybe. But you have to admit, you guys, this town, all of it is sort of bizarre.” I just wish I knew the full extent of the bizarreness.

“More than you even realize yet,” he informs me, measuring my reaction like he’s just waiting for me to respond with surprise again.

I don’t give him the satisfaction. I play it cool; pretend like I didn’t just have a memory of the Raven Three playing some sort of game with me in the forest.

What did you guys do to me?

It kind of hurts to think that. I know it might make me sound pathetic, but after getting hurt repeatedly over the years, I was kind of hoping this thing with these guys would go down differently. I guess it was stupid of me. Everyone hurts me.

Everyone will always hurt you, Raven, my mom told me once.

I’m starting to realize she said a lot of stuff like that yet never explained why. She was vaguely ominous about everything. Not that she was a bad mom. She was amazing. She was good, kind to me, a badass. She just sometimes warned me about stuff in a weird way, almost like she sometimes wasn’t herself.

“You’ve gotten really quiet,” Zay observes. “Are you finally afraid?”

I shake my head truthfully. “No. And I want you to tell me about this nursery rhyme.”

He studies me carefully. “I’m not sure if I should. It might be too scary for you.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re the one who won’t say it aloud, so who’s the afraid one?”

He narrows his eyes. “I’m not afraid, princess. I’m just being cautious. And you should be grateful for that.”

I gape at him. “Why? It’s just a fucking nursery rhyme.”

“Just a fucking nursery rhyme.” Shaking his head, he comes to a stop again and steps toward me, totally invading my personal space. But I refuse to step back and let him have the upper hand. Then he leans in, and again, I think it’s to try to scare me. “Not only does the person who utters the nursery rhyme get cursed, but so does anyone who hears it.”

“I’m still not scared. Curses don’t scare me. In fact, I think you should say it.”

“Are you trying to play chicken with me?”

“Not trying. I am playing,” I quip. “So come on, Zay; let’s see if you’re as badass as you pretend to be.”

The muscles in his jaw pulsate. Clearly, I’ve gotten under his skin. Part of me gets some sick satisfaction in that, in knowing I can get him all riled up. Knowing that I have the upper hand for a moment in this game.

“Fine,” he growls out. Then he wraps his fingers around my arm. With how pissed off he is, I expect his grip to be tight, but strangely, he holds me gently as he tows me down the hallway with him.

He releases me as we enter the room with the pool table, the room that has the closet that I hid in when I was here last night. Then he reels around, standing in front of me.

“You sure you want to do this?” he asks with a taunt in his eyes.

Do I?

I’m not sure now that I’m seeing how worked up he’s getting.

But I wasn’t lying when I said I wasn’t afraid of curses. My name means cursed. Or, at least ravens represent that. I’ve been dealing with curses all my life.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” I tell him. “Why wouldn’t I be? You never even told me what would happen. Just that saying and hearing this nursery rhyme will curse me.”

“You say that like you don’t believe in curses.”

“Oh, I do,” I assure him. “I’m literally a fucking curse.”

This situation with them, every single person in my life … Every person I’ve crossed paths with lies to me, plays with me, carves marks into my flesh; some visible, some not. And now I get it. I get why everything that happens to me is so shitty.

Because, when I killed my parents, I cursed myself into a toxic existence.

I am toxic.

I am all the words that are carved into my flesh.

“Why do you think you’re a curse?” he asks, like he’s trying to read my mind.

“I don’t think. I know,” I stress, but that’s about as far as I go with the truth. “You read all about my past, so I don’t really think I need to explain it to you.”

“You think you’re cursed because you think you killed your parents?”

My chest feels a little tight as I think about my parents, but I ignore the sensation. “Everyone thinks it. Not just me.”

He frowns. “That doesn’t make you cursed.”

I laugh hollowly. “Maybe not. But everything that’s followed has been one curse after another.” Growing super uncomfortable with the subject, I make my way over to a sofa. “So, are you going to tell me this creepy nursery rhyme?” I sink down onto the sofa.

He twists around to look at me. “Who said it was creepy?”

“Nursery rhymes in general are creepy.” I recline back in the sofa. “I mean, have you ever paid attention to any of them? That whole cradle will fall crap, Humpty Dumpty falling off the wall. Seriously, what’s with all the falling shit? Everything is always falling. And breaking. And don’t even get me started with that little old lady who swallowed a spider.”

He presses his lips together, as if biting back a smile. Then every ounce of humor fades as he scowls. “Well, there’s no falling in this one. There’s dismemberment.”

“What?” I can’t conceal my shock.

A slow grin spreads across his lips. “Is that fear I see in your eyes?”

I pull myself together. “Nope, just some good old-fashioned shock.” I dazzle him with a sassy smirk, but it kind of fizzles when I replay what he said. “Dismemberment? Really?”

“Yes, really.” He crosses the room and takes a seat beside me, leaving a bit of space between us as he rotates and rests his arm on the back of the sofa. “Still want to hear it?”

Nope. But I’m not about to back down. I need to find out everything I can from these guys. “Yep. That is … unless you’re too scared to tell me?”

He narrows his eyes. “What if I told you that the curse itself has to do with dismemberment?”

That throws my false confidence off balance.

His grin widens. “Yeah, that’s definitely fear I smell.”

“No, I smell like strawberries, vanilla, and probably a hint of weed. If you’re smelling fear, dude, that’s totally you.”

He doesn’t really smell like fear, though. No, he actually smells kind of nice, like cologne and soap with just a hint of cigarette smoke.

“You do smell like strawberries and vanilla,” he mutters, inhaling. Then he shakes his head and turns all grumpy again. “Whatever. I just want to make sure you completely understand the risk you’re about to take.”

“Thanks for the warning.” I pat his shoulder. “And it’s really cute how you’re worried about me.”

He slightly tenses, something that seems to happen whenever I touch him, but he doesn’t jerk away. Instead, he glares at me. “In no realm of reality am I cute,” he growls out.

“It’s cute you think that,” I say with a grin.

His eyes darken as he slants toward me, his breath hot on my face. “I know I’ve said this a ton of times, but I can’t stress this enough.” He brings his arm down from the sofa behind me. “You seriously have a fucking death wish.” He’s close to me. Like super close. But I don’t lean back. I want to, but I don’t.

Fear is a weakness, Raven, my father used to say.

I wish he would’ve also mentioned that the lack of fear seems to piss people off. Maybe if he’d taught me how to fake fear at the right moments, I wouldn’t have words branded on my side.

Maybe not, though.

“You say that like you’re actually contemplating killing me right now,” I say, measuring his reaction.

“Maybe I am.” His breath dusts across my cheeks.

“And maybe I’m contemplating killing you,” I say softly. “Considering what you read about me, maybe you should be a little scared that I actually will.”

He turns his head and looks at me. Our eyes lock.

My heart beats fiercely in my chest. And I feel it again—images spilling through my mind like a damn has broken.

“Just run,” the boy with the raven tells me. “If you don’t, it’ll be worse.”

Tears spill from my eyes. “But I thought we were friends.”

“Then you’re crazy,” he bites out. “We were never friends. We were just playing the game.”

“You’re lying,” I whisper, waiting for him to tell me he is, that he really is my friend.

He just stares at me, his eyes as dark as the clouds above us.

“You’re fucking crazy,” Zay breathes out, jerking me back to reality.

“I know,” I say quietly or else my voice will tremble as badly as my heart.

Who are these guys?

He rubs his lips together, a weird look crossing his face, and I wonder if he can tell I’m in the middle of having a mental breakdown.

“Fine.” He slants back and pops his knuckles before bouncing his knee up and down, seeming all jittery. I’m just about to ask him what he’s doing when he says, “Mary Lee B., the woman who sat under the willow tree, she saw everything. All alone, she sat up there with her pen and paper and wrote down the secrets of the town. She recorded everything, every darkness, every inch of this shadow-painted town. For her, it was a game, but then she went insane. And in that state of insanity, she threw open her book and whispered the secrets she had found. And when the darkness heard this, it tracked Mary Lee B. down, swallowed her up, and breathed the pieces of her back out. And while no one knows for sure if she was ever seen again, some say that when Mary Lee B. went away, that willow tree she was so fond of grew new branches the very same day. Coincidence or not, it’s for you to decide. But if you really want the answer, it just may very well lie in the willow tree that has arms that reach toward the cloudy sky.”

He swallows hard and scratches his cheek. “So, yeah, that’s the nursery rhyme, and supposedly, if you say it or hear it aloud, you have nightmares every night of a Mary Lee B. shaped willow tree. And supposedly, the tree branches dismember you in the dream, over and over again, to the point that, when you wake up, you can actually feel the pain.”

I sit there, staring at him for a moment, trying to process what I just heard and trying to process what’s going on in my mind..

Mary Lee B., the woman who sat under the tree …

The words chant in my mind, memories surfacing again.

“Mary Lee B., the woman who sat under the tree,” the three boys and I say as we run around in circles around a tree.

The memory hits me like a punch in the chest. “Who told you that nursery rhyme?”

He lifts a shoulder, tension radiating off of him. “A lot of people around here say it. Although, they always leave a few sentences out because of the whole curse thing. The first time I heard the entire thing was on the playground when a kid got dared to recite the entire thing.” His eyes search mine, and the corners of his lips tug upward. “Why? You scared you’re gonna have nightmares tonight?”

I shake my head, my heart thundering in my chest. “No.”

“Liar.” He leans in toward me. “I can see fear all over your face.”

“That’s not fear,” I whisper. “That’s … That’s confusion.”

Mary Lee B. Mary Lee B. Mary … Mary … Mary … Mary.

“Mary Lee B., can see everything you do,” he whispers in my ear.

“Over what?” he questions, elevating his brow.

I let a quiet breath ease from my lips, preparing to lie to him, but the truth, it sort of just falls out robotically.

“Over the fact that I’m pretty sure I’ve heard it before.”