Sisters of Misery Read online

  Sisters of Misery

  Sisters of Misery

  Megan Kelley Hall

  KENSINGTON BOOKS

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  To my little ray of sunshine,

  my creative inspiration,

  my fairy princess,

  Piper Elizabeth

  Acknowledgments

  While there are many people to thank, I have to begin by thanking my parents first and foremost. They raised me in a house filled with thousands of books, instilling me with an immense appreciation and love for literature. I could not have written a single word without their love, support, and encouragement to follow my dreams of being a writer. They made me believe that anything was possible and that is a gift that carries me through each day.

  To my mother, Gloria Kelley, thank you for your wisdom, your love, your strength, and for being the most giving and self-less person I have ever known. You inspire me to be a better person (and a better mother). I am consistently awed by your abundant supply of caring and generosity, even when times are tough.

  To my father, Jim Kelley, I thank you for passing along your creative and artistic genes. Who would have thought that so many readings of I Packed My Trunk when I was a toddler would have set my career as a writer in motion? Thank you for carrying the Mickey Mouse cards for all those years. I think that they were indeed lucky.

  To my sister, Jocelyn Maeve Kelley, you are my biggest cheerleader, my strongest defender, and my best friend. You fill all of our lives with boundless enthusiasm and happiness. Even though you are my little sister, I look up to you (no short jokes, please) more and more each day. I’m so happy to be working with you and Mom in Kelley & Hall Book Publicity, and I thank you for coming up with the idea of doing something with our love of books and authors. It’s definitely been a fun (and sometimes crazy) ride.

  To my brother, Connor Patrick Kelley, your knowledge of books and writers and literature is astounding. You put all of us to shame with your powerful and unwavering love of books. You are the dark horse who will one day—quietly and effortlessly—write the Great American Novel.

  I would also like to thank my agent, Elisabeth Weed of Weed Literary, and my editor at Kensington, Danielle Chiotti, for making my dreams a reality. You both made Cordelia, Maddie, Kate, and the rest of the Sisters of Misery real for me. Your endless devotion to making every word, every character, and every plot point sing is more than any writer could ever dream for in an agent and editor. Elisabeth, thank you for taking a chance on me and my vision and helping me find a home for my debut novel. Danielle, thank you for taking my story and working tirelessly with me until it was ready to be shared with the world. I am forever indebted to you both.

  It is also important to thank the following people: to Professor Steven Millhauser, I feel so fortunate to have taken so many fiction writing classes with you at Skidmore College, and yet I’m still searching for that magical well that you seem to have unlimited access to for your stories. I hope to someday find it and infuse my own work with it. To my friend and client Michael Palmer, thank you for the warning. The words WRITING IS HARD, BE FEARLESS will stay over my computer, as will the ingredients for Rhinoceros Stew. I really appreciated your advice when I was in my first stages of trying to get published, and I’m happy to have had the chance to work with you promoting your novels. I would also like to thank Doug Mendini, who became a friend long before I joined the Kensington family, Kristine Mills-Noble for her amazing cover design, Christiana Sahl for her insightful edits, my in-house publicist Adeola Saul, and, of course, Kelley & Hall Book Publicity for your tireless efforts in promoting my book.

  To my husband and best friend, Eddie Hall, thank you for being so supportive of my writing career from the very start. Most men would have been scared off by their twenty-something girlfriend writing about parenting and childcare for magazines long before there was even a proposal in sight. And yet you stood by me, giving me the time and space to write and follow my dream of becoming a published novelist. You have also been an amazing father to the most important person in our lives, Piper Elizabeth. Eddie, you’ve been there through the most challenging times and have always given me more love and support than I ever thought possible. You and Piper truly are the loves of my life.

  And, of course, to Piper, who inspires me every day. Thank you for coming into our world and making us appreciate the little things in life we had all taken for granted. You bring sunshine to our lives and continuously amaze us with your artistic, independent spirit and gentle, inquisitive nature. From the time when you were a 2.5 pound preemie—with your daddy’s wedding band fitting over your foot—to today when you are one of the healthiest and most beautiful five-year-olds I’ve ever known, you make each moment magical and filled with wonder. I write these stories for you, so that one day you’ll be as proud of your mommy as I am of my baby girl.

  According to the Illustrated Encyclopedia of Divination the word “rune” means hidden, whisper, mystery or secret. Originating as the written language and letters of the Norsemen of northern Europe (dating back to the time of the Vikings in 800 A.D.), rune stones were often associated with magic, divination, and witchcraft. The runes were never the basis of a spoken language, but through their written use, they were believed to be powerful magical symbols, each linked to a god and a specific meaning. As Christianity spread throughout Europe, runes were eventually banned from the Church. Rune casters (typically women) quickly became associated with paganism and ultimately, witchcraft. To speak or write the name of a rune was thought to summon the powers of nature and the universe. Many believed that runes were a way of interacting with both the spirit and the living world.

  Runes were upon his tongue,

  As on the warrior’s sword.

  —Longfellow

  Contents

  Prologue: Berkana Reversed

  Chapter 1: Jera

  Chapter 2: Gebo

  Chapter 3: Raido

  Chapter 4: Isa

  Chapter 5: Kaunaz

  Chapter 6: Uruz

  Chapter 7: Tiwaz Reversed

  Chapter 8: Hagalaz

  Chapter 9: Laguz Reversed

  Chapter 10: Algiz Reversed

  Chapter 11: Eihwaz Reversed

  Chapter 12: Ansuz

  Chapter 13: Laguz

  Chapter 14: Fehu

  Chapter 15: Eoh

  Chapter 16: Mannaz

  Chapter 17: Thurisaz

  Chapter 18: Tiwaz

  Chapter 19: Eoh-Reversed

  Chapter 20: Sowelo

  Chapter 21: Othila Reversed

  Chapter 22: Raido Reversed

  Chapter 23: Pertho

  Chapter 24: Dagaz

  Chapter 25: Mannaz-Reversed

  Chapter 26: Nauthiz Reversed

  Chapter 27: Ansuz Reversed

  Chapter 28: Wunjo Reversed

  Chapter 29: Inguz

  Chapter 30: Berkana

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  BERKANA REVERSED

  FAMILY TROUBLES

  Tensions and Disputes among

  Women in the Family

  There are some girls who have everything.

  And not just the ones who are born with silver spoons in their mouths.

  Some girls are born with an intangible, magnetic aura: something that radiates beneath their flawless skin.

  You know who they are: the Cleopatras, the Marilyn Monroes. They are the present day sirens—girls who have the power to transfix any male who comes their way.

  Then there are the jealous ones.

  Resenting their effortless beauty, the jealous ones—like the Evil Queen who gave Snow White the poisoned apple—will stop at nothing to destroy these special girls—
girls like Cordelia.

  Yet these are only stories, fairy tales. Sometimes, in real life, there are no happy endings. The glass slipper shatters; the poison spreads quickly.

  This is a real story, and Maddie Crane played her part.

  She was careless because she was consumed by fear.

  Cordelia is gone.

  And Maddie fears she may be next.

  The outline of Cordelia’s body hangs slack against the tree perched high up on the sand dunes of Misery Island. The clank of the buoys in the distant harbor are part of the dawn’s symphony of sounds that spread across the island—the screech of the gulls, the gush of waves, the groaning of boats as they strain against moorings. Cordelia’s bloodied and bruised body is barely discernable through the gauze of the early morning mist.

  What have they done to you? Maddie cries, making her way across the clearing to her cousin’s side. The bonfire has died down to embers, occasionally throwing a spark or a hiss. They are trapped together in the eerie halflight between night and day. Everyone else has fled, returning to their houses as if nothing bad has happened.

  But it has.

  While the others run off into the mist under the cover of darkness, Maddie secretly remains on the island, tending to the scars, burns, and welts Cordelia had acquired through the night’s events. Gingerly, she plucks the sharp blood-soaked reeds from under her cousin’s blackened fingernails, brushing away the mud and sticks caked into the singed strands of Cordelia’s copper-red hair.

  The grimy rags that secure Cordelia to the birch tree are taut as tourniquets. Stepping closer to Cordelia, Maddie’s almost afraid to untie her, fearful that her cousin will blame her for all that has happened.

  You saved me, Madeline whispers. I understand that now.

  Cordelia has taken her place as the Chosen One, saving Maddie from that fate.

  It’s all my fault, Maddie’s voice breaks as she sees no flicker of life in Cordelia; her hair rises and falls with each briny gust of wind that sweeps across the shore of the small island of Misery.

  But Maddie knows the rules—the ones created by the Sisters of Misery long ago—and if Cordelia is released, Maddie’s punishment will be far worse. The hair on the back of her neck prickles, and fear tightens across her chest as she senses another presence on the island.

  Are they watching?

  Without another thought for the consequences, Maddie begins pulling at the knotted ties, biting at them when her nails start to fail. The bitter taste of dirt mixes with salty sweat and the metallic tang of blood. The makeshift handcuffs aren’t giving an inch, no matter how much she shreds and tears at them. Soft as sand, voices travel up from Cat Cove.

  We have to hurry, Maddie cries. Cordelia, open your eyes!

  Terrified, Maddie begins to tug and yank at her cousin’s arms and legs, prying them away from the tree. But it seems that the more she pulls, the tighter Cordelia sticks to the aged birch, the white papery bark clinging to her pale skin, the thick gnarled roots underfoot wrapping around the girl’s legs like snakes. Then incredibly, the tree springs to life and begins devouring Cordelia, pulling her deep into its core. Maddie falls backward, horrified and stunned into silence. In an instant, she hears others coming up along the shoreline, dragging their schooners up the beach.

  We have to go now, Maddie pleads, trying not to stare directly at the surreal transformation taking place in front of her.

  I think they drugged me. I-I think I’m seeing things. I can’t…can’t…I won’t leave you. Not again, Maddie shouts.

  Her sobs are drowned out by indifferent gulls overhead.

  And then, just as quickly as Cordelia had been sucked into the tree that once held her captive, she returns to her original form as a bruised and battered girl barely clinging to life. Maddie inches closer to her, still reeling from what she has just seen, consumed with fear.

  Bleary-eyed, Maddie watches and waits as the sun begins its ascent into the sky.

  You’re too late, Cordelia says, snapping her head upright, and her eyes, once the loveliest shade of lavender blue, are now hollow and black.

  I’m already dead.

  Maddie screams as sirens slice through the breaking of dawn.

  Maddie Crane swung furiously at her alarm clock. And just as swiftly as the morning came upon her, the nightmare mercifully slipped away.

  Chapter 1

  JERA

  YEAR

  Anticipation and Excitement Before a

  Major Turning Point in Life

  AUGUST

  “Isn’t that girl up yet? Today, of all days, she decides to sleep in. I don’t care if it’s summer vacation. She needs a good dose of work ethic, or else she’s going to be a bum just like her father.”

  Maddie could hear her mother’s muffled words as she ranted and stormed around the kitchen. Her nightmares were getting worse and more detailed; she’d been waking up more exhausted than when she went to sleep the night before. Ever since Madeline Crane learned that her cousin would be moving in with them, Cordelia LeClaire had appeared in her dreams again and again.

  After showering and drying her hair, she padded down the uneven staircase to the kitchen. Her grandmother, Tess, was clad in a faded bathrobe, and was in a high state of amusement watching Maddie’s mother.

  “Good afternoon, Madeline. So glad you could make it up in time for lunch,” Abigail Crane scolded without turning to look at her daughter. She continued to swipe the impeccably clean counter even though breakfast had long since been cleaned up. Maddie rolled her eyes, but Tess winked and patted the chair next to her, motioning for Maddie to join her at the kitchen table.

  “Mom, it’s only ten o’clock, and it’s going to be a long day,” Maddie said, sighing heavily and trying not to laugh as Tess rubbed her fingers together in a tsk-tsk gesture.

  “Well, let’s get one thing straight,” Abigail continued her tirade. “Breakfast always has been and always will be at eight AM sharp. There are some things that I refuse to let slide around here. If you miss it, then you have to fend for yourself. I don’t need to deal with any more aggravation than I already have. Understood?”

  Maddie’s mother hadn’t adjusted well to the news that her flighty older sister Rebecca was moving back to Hawthorne and would be living with them at Ten Mariner’s Way. The grand old Victorian belonged to Tess, and Maddie and Abigail were technically guests, though they’d lived there for most of Maddie’s life. So when Tess gave word that Rebecca and her daughter, Cordelia, were moving in, Abigail didn’t have a say in the matter, something that she apparently wasn’t handling very well.

  Maddie imagined that this was what it would be like to have Martha Stewart as a mother—living with someone with an unyielding desire for perfection and control.

  And with that, Abigail stormed out of the kitchen, leaving Maddie and Tess looking sheepishly at each other like two bad little girls getting scolded by their teacher.

  Maddie cringed, knowing that her mother’s mood was only going to get worse once Cordelia and Rebecca arrived later that day. While Maddie typically dreaded field hockey practice on the hot, sticky days of August, it was a great excuse to get away from the house and all the last minute preparations for their relatives.

  Maddie gathered her things and got ready to head down to the field for practice. She bent over to give her grandmother a kiss on the cheek and whispered, “Are you going to be okay with her today?”

  “Humph,” Tess snorted, fighting a smile that tugged at the sides of her mouth. “I’ve tackled bigger battles than this in my day.”

  Preseason field hockey practices were always tough, but this one seemed especially brutal. Kate Endicott had naturally been chosen team captain of Hawthorne Academy’s junior varsity squad, and she was determined to beat the school’s varsity team in an upcoming scrimmage. Maddie jogged down to meet the girls and waved excitedly to her best friends Hannah, Darcy, Bridget, and, of course, Kate. Maddie didn’t remember actually choosing these girls as frie
nds; they were just part of the fabric that had made up her everyday life for as long as she could remember.

  Growing up, Abigail Crane had made certain Maddie’s social calendar was filled with every opportunity that she felt she had been denied as a girl. Horseback riding with Darcy Willett, ballet and piano lessons with Bridget Monroe, tennis tournaments with the Endicotts, and golf outings with Hannah Sanders—if there was a lesson to be taken or a social opportunity to attend, Abigail made sure that Maddie was there. But what her mother didn’t realize was that there was a darker side to their friendship. Things that they did together that bonded them as “sisters” as well as friends. Bonds that could never be broken without paying the consequences.