Dark Star by Bethany Frenette Page A
Authors: Bethany Frenette
blinds were closed, I saw flashes of lightning outside. I moved slowly about the room, pausing at her bed. Gram’s bed was neatly made, with the same quilt she’d always used. I trailed my fingers across it, feeling the patchwork. It seemed to me there was something unique about the spaces people used to occupy. Not just memory, but a quality to the air, a particular presence. Things left behind. In Gram’s room, I smelled lavender beneath the dust. I could picture her sitting on the floor across from me, her hands moving across the Nav cards as she spoke.
She wouldn’t approve of me sneaking out. But I thought she might understand.
I crossed the room and tugged open her closet. Most of her clothing was gone, but the piece I wanted hung directly in front of me. I pulled it from the hanger, dusting it with my hands. A long, red hooded cloak. It smelled of her perfume.
I held the cloak against me, running my hands down the fabric. It wasn’t the most original costume, but there was something comforting about the idea of wearing it. Gram would have enjoyed it. Gram had loved fairy tales.
She’d taught me all the classics: houses of candy and straw spun to gold and girls locked in towers. But she’d taught me her own tales as well, words that still haunted me. Stories that went beyond myth, stories that kindled within me and woke me in the dark, straining to hear voices in the wind. Stories of great battles, of villains and champions, of the Old Race, who dwelled in the Beneath, where red stars cast red shadows. Stories that told the source of our gifts, she said. A pinprick of light in a vast, cold darkness, where all hope began.
A shiver ran down my skin. Holding Gram’s cloak, the fabric pooling in my hands, I could almost hear her. Let me tell you about the dark, she would say. So that you don’t need to be afraid.
I left Gram’s room and headed downstairs.
In the kitchen, Gideon stood with my mother and Leon, eating sugar cookies in the shape of pumpkins. Mom wasn’t dressed to go out yet, which I supposed was because of the rain—even though Halloween was the one night of the year she could walk around as Morning Star and not be questioned. Last year, half a dozen little trick-or-treaters had come to Gideon’s house with eight-pointed stars painted on the backs of their sweatshirts.
Leon was in his usual slacks and button-down shirt, his tie crisp and neat. I wasn’t certain how he fought crime at all. With a cookie in his mouth and his wet hair sticking straight up, he looked about as menacing as a day-old puppy.
It was a shame I couldn’t just stick him in a kennel.
Mom lifted an eyebrow when she saw me.
“What?” I said. “I’m Little Red Riding Hood. My costume is better than his.” I hooked my thumb at Gideon, who was dressed up as some sort of video game character, or so he’d informed me. From what I could tell, he’d just put on a bandana and drawn stubble on his chin with black marker.
It was a good thing neither of us embarrassed easily.
“Don’t be out late,” Mom told me.
Outside, I heard one last blow of thunder—and then the rain stopped.
***
Thanks to the Halloween party, the Drought and Deluge was even busier than it was most Fridays. Gideon and I stood outside as the line was gradually ushered inside. In the aftermath of the storm, the sky was clean and bright, though the lights of downtown Minneapolis drowned out the stars.
“You realize this is a stupid idea, right?” Gideon said, adjusting his bandana as the line pushed forward. “And your mother will murder me if she finds out I helped.”
“So why are you helping? You’re not scared of her?”
He grinned at me. “I’m more scared of you.”
“As you should be,” I said, nodding approval.
Within the Drought and Deluge, it was difficult to sense anything. Though the air outside had cooled, the heat inside became increasingly unbearable. Wearing a heavy cloak among so many bodies was probably a bad
She wouldn’t approve of me sneaking out. But I thought she might understand.
I crossed the room and tugged open her closet. Most of her clothing was gone, but the piece I wanted hung directly in front of me. I pulled it from the hanger, dusting it with my hands. A long, red hooded cloak. It smelled of her perfume.
I held the cloak against me, running my hands down the fabric. It wasn’t the most original costume, but there was something comforting about the idea of wearing it. Gram would have enjoyed it. Gram had loved fairy tales.
She’d taught me all the classics: houses of candy and straw spun to gold and girls locked in towers. But she’d taught me her own tales as well, words that still haunted me. Stories that went beyond myth, stories that kindled within me and woke me in the dark, straining to hear voices in the wind. Stories of great battles, of villains and champions, of the Old Race, who dwelled in the Beneath, where red stars cast red shadows. Stories that told the source of our gifts, she said. A pinprick of light in a vast, cold darkness, where all hope began.
A shiver ran down my skin. Holding Gram’s cloak, the fabric pooling in my hands, I could almost hear her. Let me tell you about the dark, she would say. So that you don’t need to be afraid.
I left Gram’s room and headed downstairs.
In the kitchen, Gideon stood with my mother and Leon, eating sugar cookies in the shape of pumpkins. Mom wasn’t dressed to go out yet, which I supposed was because of the rain—even though Halloween was the one night of the year she could walk around as Morning Star and not be questioned. Last year, half a dozen little trick-or-treaters had come to Gideon’s house with eight-pointed stars painted on the backs of their sweatshirts.
Leon was in his usual slacks and button-down shirt, his tie crisp and neat. I wasn’t certain how he fought crime at all. With a cookie in his mouth and his wet hair sticking straight up, he looked about as menacing as a day-old puppy.
It was a shame I couldn’t just stick him in a kennel.
Mom lifted an eyebrow when she saw me.
“What?” I said. “I’m Little Red Riding Hood. My costume is better than his.” I hooked my thumb at Gideon, who was dressed up as some sort of video game character, or so he’d informed me. From what I could tell, he’d just put on a bandana and drawn stubble on his chin with black marker.
It was a good thing neither of us embarrassed easily.
“Don’t be out late,” Mom told me.
Outside, I heard one last blow of thunder—and then the rain stopped.
***
Thanks to the Halloween party, the Drought and Deluge was even busier than it was most Fridays. Gideon and I stood outside as the line was gradually ushered inside. In the aftermath of the storm, the sky was clean and bright, though the lights of downtown Minneapolis drowned out the stars.
“You realize this is a stupid idea, right?” Gideon said, adjusting his bandana as the line pushed forward. “And your mother will murder me if she finds out I helped.”
“So why are you helping? You’re not scared of her?”
He grinned at me. “I’m more scared of you.”
“As you should be,” I said, nodding approval.
Within the Drought and Deluge, it was difficult to sense anything. Though the air outside had cooled, the heat inside became increasingly unbearable. Wearing a heavy cloak among so many bodies was probably a bad