Dark of the Moon. Siobhan Curham

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       Chapter Twenty-eight

       Chapter Twenty-nine

       Chapter Thirty

       Chapter Thirty-one

      Epilogue

      Acknowledgements

       Back series promotional page

       Praise for Shipwrecked

      Hortense lights the final candle and steps away from the altar. Tendrils of incense smoke twist through the darkness like ghostly snakes, filling the air with the scent of sage. She takes a small wooden doll from her pocket and places it in the centre of the altar. A sudden breeze rushes through the trees like a nervous gasp, as if the island itself knows what’s about to happen.

      As Hortense stares at the doll, an unfamiliar brew of tension and anxiety begins bubbling inside her. She looks up at the crescent moon glowing hazily in the sky. In a few days, it will have disappeared completely. In a few days, the dark of the moon will have arrived, and she can finally finish what she began all those years ago.

      Hortense turns and walks over to a wicker basket in the middle of the clearing. She slowly lifts the lid and a serpent’s head appears, its burnished skin gleaming in the candlelight. She takes the serpent from the basket and holds it high above her. It hisses as it arches up to the sky.

      ‘Papa Labas, bring me your strength!’ Hortense cries. Lowering her arms, she brings the serpent down around her neck. She shivers as its cold skin glides against hers. Then she starts to dance, slowly bending and swaying, until it feels as if she and the snake are one. As she closes her eyes she feels strength rushing into her, hot and urgent like a forest fire.

      She places the serpent back into the basket and strides over to the altar. She takes a small, curved knife from her belt and holds it up to the moonlight. Then she picks up the doll – and carefully gouges out its eyes.

      I’m drifting in that weird no-man’s land between awake and asleep. Cruz’s arm is circling my waist, anchoring my body to the sand beneath us, but my mind keeps being sucked under, back into the dream.

      There’s no fire this time. No choking smoke or screaming baby. This time all I hear is Hortense singing, and all I see is a hazy yellow glow. Then a beautiful girl’s face slowly appears, like a Polaroid picture. She has gleaming chestnut skin and dark brown eyes. She’s smiling at me, but a tear is trickling down her cheek. She opens her mouth to speak, but before she can say a word a snake slithers out from between her lips, its fangs bared.

      I wake with a start, my heart pounding. Cruz pulls me closer.

      ‘Grace,’ he whispers in my ear. His voice is husky with sleep.

      I allow my body to sink into his, soaking up the warmth, and I start composing a checklist in my head to help bring me back to reality. The singing and the girl and the snake were all just a dream. I’m awake now. Cruz is right next to me. Belle, the Flea and Dan are sleeping on the other side of the palm trees. Everything’s okay. Well, as okay as it can be when you’ve been shipwrecked on a desert island that’s possessed by the spirit of a voodoo queen.

      An icy sweat erupts on my skin as I think of Hortense. Get a grip, Grace, I tell myself, don’t go losing the plot now. I think of the boat we found yesterday, and the fact that we’ll be leaving in it at first light. But if Hortense can read my mind won’t she know what we’ve got planned? Won’t she try and stop us? I lie there, motionless, waiting for her whispered voice in my head. But all I hear are the hisses and creaks from the rainforest and the sound of the waves as they crash on the beach. I haven’t heard Hortense’s voice or sensed her presence since we rescued Belle yesterday and Hortense tried to lure me to her. Maybe Cruz was right. Maybe I did break the spell by refusing to go to her. Maybe the nightmare really is over.

      Cruz grips me tighter, as if he can sense that I’m thinking about him. As his breath whispers through my hair, my skin begins to tingle. Very carefully, I turn over so that I’m facing him. Part of me wishes he would wake up, but another part of me is glad he’s asleep. When he’s awake I have to ration the amount I look at him, so that I don’t appear too love-struck, but now I can gaze away to my heart’s content. I look at the mass of dark curls spilling on to his face, the sharp curve of his cheekbones and the stubble darkening his jaw like a shadow. Then I look at his mouth and the places either side where dimples appear whenever he smiles.

      It’s hard to believe that the words ‘I love you’ came from that mouth just a few hours ago. Did he mean it? Can he really love me already? We’ve only known each other a few days, but so much has happened it’s like we’ve condensed an entire lifetime into them. Once, when I’d been having doubts about my ex-boyfriend, Todd, I asked my mom how you knew when you were in love. She gave me a real sad smile and said, ‘Oh, don’t worry, sweetpea, you’ll know. There’s a reason why they call it falling in love. It’s like stepping off the Empire State Building with your eyes and arms wide open. You know you could end up with your heart all smashed to pieces, but you just don’t care.’ At the thought of Mom my eyes prickle with tears. How will she be coping now we’ve been missing so long? I love you, Mom, I say loudly in my head. I love you and I’m gonna be back home real soon. I pray that through some umbilical-style mother-daughter telepathy, she’ll somehow hear me all the way in Los Angeles.

      I blink my tears away and look back at Cruz. He looks so peaceful; it’s like all the stress of the past few days has drained away into the sand while he’s been asleep. He stirs and moves his face so close to mine our lips brush. My internal, incoming-Cruz radar kicks into action, making my heart pound.

      ‘Hello,’ he whispers, pulling me to him.

      ‘Hello,’ I whisper back.

      His fingers start moving inside my T-shirt, trailing warmth up my spine. Then he moves one hand round so that it’s cupping my breast. I can’t help letting out a gasp and he instantly stops. I guess he’s worried he’s gone too far. But he hasn’t, he hasn’t at all. My lips find his again. If synchronised kissing was an Olympic sport our mouths would be going for gold right now. Cruz rolls on top of me and starts whispering something in Spanish in my ear.

      ‘What does that mean?’ I whisper back.

      ‘You are so beautiful,’ he whispers, breathlessly.

      ‘Grace, Cruz. Are you guys awake?’

      We both freeze at the sound of the Flea’s voice. Cruz rolls back on to the sand beside me.

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