Rock and Ruin

by Saranna Dewylde

  “Have you murdered someone and buried them in the desert?” she asked dryly.

  “Not today,” I quipped.

  “Then I promise not to tell. Shoot.”

  Flailing got my attention.

  Nabila had a pin in her hand and was making dramatic, neck-slicing gestures. She clearly didn’t approve of my phoning a friend.

  I covered the phone mic with my hand and whispered loudly at her, “It’s okay. Cat’s my boss. She’s cool.”

  Neck-slicing morphed into an authoritative fist shake, followed by an ominously pointing finger. The girl not only knew how to make an exit, she knew how to make silent threats an artistic display.

  “It’s fine,” I hissed. I took a breath and uncovered the phone. “You pinky swear?”

  “For the…” Cat chuckled. “Pinky swear with sugar on top.”

  We didn’t have internet at The Milton, and there was no way any of us could look this stuff up at school. Besides, it’s not like I had to tell Cat why I wanted to know about biblical quotes. “Do you know where in the Bible it says ‘the truth will set you free’?” As soon as the words left my mouth I realized how monumentally stupid it was to ask a Shifter bartender about the Bible. There was no way—

  “John 8:32. Why?”

  I blinked. “Really?”

  “Yes, really. Now why?”

  “It’s just important—I think. But I’m not sure yet. I’ll tell you later, if I can. Actually …” I looked again at Nabila and Oscar and mouthed ‘trust me’ at them. “Um, my friends and I might need a place to hang out for a bit, maybe use the internet. Do you think we could come by Ground Zero in a bit?”

  This time her sigh sounded more like a distorted-growl.

  Hart to tell, the signal wasn’t great down in the depths of the Flambeau. But Shifters always seemed to growl. “How many friends are we talking about, Ash?”

  “Just two.” I smiled, even though she couldn’t see it.

  “Fine. No porn, no stupid costs-money-to-click-on-it games, or any crap. And you’re all outta here by nine—deal?”

  “Deal.” I grinned broadly and flashed a thumbs up at Nabila and Oscar. “See ya soon.”

  I disconnected the call and bounced back to my friends. “John 8:32. Please tell me it’s one of the name/number combos.”

  “Freshy,” Nabila grabbed my shirt and yanked until our noses nearly touched. “If you’ve screwed this up for me, I’ll kill you, then bring you back as my shambling servant. Got it?”

  “Take a pill, Voodoo. It’s all good. How else were we going to find out?” I scoffed and shoved her back.

  “It’s here!” Oscar called. Nabila and I hurried to his side, where we stood, staring, at the row of lock-box numbers beneath John 8:32. “There’s nothing in the boxes, so it must be the numbers themselves,” he said.

  My lips scrunched to the side.

  I had no idea what any of those numbers meant, but I dutifully started taking pictures with my phone. “Anyone have a clue what these mean?”

  “Not a one, Freshy. Damn Granddaddy’s sneaky ways. Why he’d have to make this impossibly hard?”

  “They’re dates.”

  “Huh?” Nabila and I spun around in unison to look at Oscar.

  Oscar’s eyes widened slightly at the attention, but he didn’t waver. “The numbers are dates.” He pointed to a set on a middle box. “See, this means April 2, 1950. Here is September 26, 1950. I don’t know why they’re important or what they mean, but I know they’re dates.”

  “Good news,” I said. “I know exactly where we can go to find out. Come on guys, we’re going to the Ground Zero.”

  Chapter Thirty

  “Freshy, if you’ve sold us out—”

  “I know, I know. You’ll shrink my head,” I said. “Come on.” Finally, my friends were about to meet my second, much more enjoyable home.

  With a dramatic flourish, I pushed open the unmarked door to the Ground Zero and waved for Nabila and Oscar to enter. Excitement coursed through me. We’d found something—something real. Soon we’d know what it meant.

  “This is awesome.” We were one, monumental step closer to being free.

  “I have a bad feeling about this,” Oscar whispered behind me. I ignored him. He had bad feelings about all sorts of things. Besides, when I first started coming here, I used to find the bar’s entrance creepy.

  “I hate to agree with the Feeder, but…” Nabila hesitated

  “Don’t worry.” I gave them both a friendly clap on the shoulder. “I’m not jeopardizing anything. And Cat kicks us out before the demons arrive.”

  It was funny that a demon bar had become my sanctuary. Yet it had.

  In this poorly lit, windowless basement, I got a couple precious hours every day that weren’t in school or The Milton. More importantly, I could earn some extra money to support Jim and me.

  I hated seeing Jim being worn down, bit by bit. Day by day.

  Whatever his job involved, it was starting to eat him alive. I’d only just rediscovered my father; I refused to lose him to some damn demon contract.

  “Come on, guys. This way.” I led the way.

  Oscar could see better than me in the dark corridor, but my feet knew the way. Cat was nowhere to be seen when we entered the main room, which wasn’t unusual. I plunked my stuff down at round, black table closest to the bar.

  “Let’s set up here. I’m going to find Cat, let her know we’re here and get the WiFi code.”

  “Bet she already knows,” Nabila grumbled as she pulled out her laptop.

  “Hah. Hah,” I said. “Stop being such a downer and chill already. I work here nearly every day after school. I even—gasp—drink and eat here. I don’t think it’s had any effect on me, do you?”

  I proceeded to fake-twitch and paw Nabila’s arm.

  “Stop it, Freshy, or I’ll stab you with a pin.”

  “Whatever,” I laughed and headed for the back room. “Just fire up that computer,” I called over my shoulder. “I want to find out what those dates mean.”

  Reaching the back area, I knocked on the door to the small administrative office I’d initially thought was a second storage room, but was actually a small office. I’d been spending a lot of time in there lately, sorting through boxes of loose, disorganized paperwork. Those that weren’t labeled ‘confidential,’ anyway.

  Shifters sucked at paperwork—or at least Cat did.

  “Come in,” a voice called from within the room.

  Opening the door, I found Cat hunched over a ledger in the office. Her dark hair was pulled back into a messy bun; she had a pencil between her teeth and was sitting cross-legged in the office chair. Whatever she was working on had her frowning down at the page.

  “Hey, Cat, what’s the WiFi code today?”

  “Number of the beast. All one word. Capital N.” The right side of her mouth hitched upwards, showing off fang and more of the chewed-on pencil. I’ll come out and say hi in a few. If you want snacks, there’re some pretzels behind the bar. You know where the pop and hot chocolate is.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  I started pulling the door to, but a sudden memory of Nash glaring at Oscar in the hallway stopped me in my tracks. As much as I wanted to believe Nash was faking that kind of attitude, it was getting harder to convince myself. I’d hate to drop Oscar into another terrible situation.

  “Cat?”

  “Yeah?” Her eyes flicked in my direction, but it was clear her attention was on the material before her.

  “You’re not all weird around other kinds of people—like other demon-kind, are you? I mean, I know some Shifters are a little…”

  “Pack like?” she supplied, swiveling her chair to face me. At my nod, she gave a low laugh. “I promise I’m not going to go all elitist-Shifter on you. As for weird.” She grinned and shrugged. “That’s unavoidable in the place. You’ll have to take your chances. Maybe when I’m done you can tell me what’s going on?”

  Blushin
g, I nodded again. “Thanks.”

  “No prob.” She turned around and returned to studying her ledger.

  Equal parts relieved and embarrassed, I headed back to my friends. I’d never arrived at the club so late before, and I was wondering if my weekly organization had driven Cat into sorting the papers she wouldn’t let me touch.

  “Got it.” Reaching our table, I gave a nervous-looking Oscar a pat on the shoulder before punching the code into my computer. “Search away.”

  I figured a solid hit of fake sugar would help everyone calm down.

  Or at least taste good.

  “I’ve got snacks.” Armed with three cans of Coke and a bag of pretzels, I moved a chair next to Nabila and joined them around the computer. All three of us clustered tightly together, staring at the search screen with rapt attention.

  “That’s the same list,” I pointed to a link.

  Clicking on it, a list of dates appeared for lunar eclipses from 1950 to 2050.

  “Huh.” I tapped the screen. “Who knew there were different types of eclipses? A partial I can figure out. But what’s an Umbral, Penumbral or Antumbra eclipse?”

  Nabila snorted. “They really don’t teach you much in regular school, do they?”

  “Stop gloating and explain already.” I shoved some pretzels into my mouth.

  She stuck out her tongue. “An Umbral Eclipse is the innermost, darkest type—a total eclipse,” she dropped her voice to dramatic tones and added, “of the heart.”

  “Dork.” I rolled my eyes.

  “The Penumbral is another word for partial,” Oscar said quietly. “And the Antumbra is one where the eclipsing body is totally surrounded by the brightness it’s trying to cover.” I sent him a searching look and he added, “There’s a ring around it.”

  “So why would your granddaddy give us a list of lunar eclipse dates?” I asked.

  “I don’t know exactly.” Nabila snagged a handful of food and chewed contemplatively. “Many spells call for different celestial alignments. There are different energy properties that can lend our recipes. Solar events offer more power. Alignments with Mercury can bring clarity; Venus will enhance a love spell. Full moons can lend strength to beasts and Shifters. I’m not sure about lunar eclipses.”

  “Those are linked to a blurring of the lines. Or what some call the truth-blurring,” a voice said from behind.

  “Gah!” My head shot up. Adrenaline firing through my system before my brain belatedly registered the voice’s owner.

  “Geez, Cat.” I rubbed the palm of my hand over my pounding heart. “Way to sneak up on people.” I made a face at her.

  She was standing a few tables back, watching with an odd expression on her face. No longer hunched in a chair, I could see today’s t-shirt featured a smiley-face with fangs and a rainbow mohawk—I really needed to find out where she got those.

  Giving myself a shake, I belatedly remembered my manners. “Nabila and Oscar, this is Cat. Cat, my friends.”

  I waited for the usual circle of greetings to ensue.

  There was only silence.

  It took a moment for me to realize my friends had become human statues.

  Nabila’s eyes were wide, hands still and lip shaking slightly. But Oscar made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. He’d lost every speck of color, becoming whiter than the pages of my notebook. Was he having a fit? Maybe I needed to take him to a hospital.

  “Oscar…?” I reached for his arm, uncertain what to do.

  He flung himself out of the chair and onto the floor. The chair toppled over as he stretched his arms, palms down, along the polished cement floor and pressed his forehead into the ground.

  My jaw dropped.

  What the hell was wrong with him?

  “I’m so sorry, Mistress. I beg your pardon. I beg you please not hold my family accountable for my thoughtless actions. I did not mean to step beyond my place,” Oscar said to the floor. His voice was as strange as his words, completely devoid of inflection. And completely devoid of truth. He hated what he was saying. But his fear was real. “I will be honored to serve your needs.”

  My gaze darted between Oscar’s prostrate form and Cat.

  Cat hadn’t moved. Her posture was unnaturally controlled. A small, barely noticeable tremor rippled across her shoulders. Her gaze seemed fixed upon Oscar, a twitch tugging at her lip. It could have been revulsion, or pity. Or fear. I couldn’t tell. It disappeared too quickly, replaced with a cold, emotionless mask.

  Wait. Oscar never offered to serve the needs of any Shifters at school. He might bow to their supposed authority, but I hadn’t ever seen him throw himself upon the ground before.

  Not even for Churchill. If he wouldn’t do it for Churchill, why was he doing it for Cat?

  She was just a Shifter—wasn’t she? A sick ball began spinning in my belly. No, she was something like a Shifter. She’d never told me exactly what she was. And she couldn’t lie if no words were spoken.

  “Well, this isn’t exactly the introduction I’d expected,” Cat commented, tone unreadable.

  When I’d first met her, I’d thought she was probably very dangerous. I didn’t want to be right.

  “Ash,” she said slowly. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

  Beside me, Nabila twitched.

  Pain lanced through my right arm.

  “Ouch!” I grabbed for the spot, and found a hand there. It wasn’t mine.

  Twisting around, I realized Nabila had taken hold of my arm. Her knuckles were white. Fingers digging into my flesh—right along with the pin she’d been pointing at the computer screen with.

  “Goddammit, Nabila!” I yelled. “You stabbed me with your freaking pin.”

  “You work for an Upper,” she whispered. Her gaze was locked on Cat, body shaking. “We’re dead. We’re all dead.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I growled.

  My arm throbbed. I wanted to yank the pin out, but it was being held firmly in place by Nabila.

  “I believe she’s talking about me,” Cat said in that same, infuriatingly controlled voice. I glared at her as she walked toward us and stepped right over Oscar. She kept going until she’d reached the bar, where she pulled out a glass and started filling it with an amber-colored liquid. Then she downed half of the contents in one gulp.

  “You don’t drink,” I said, too stunned to think of anything more sensible.

  “I do right now,” Cat replied.

  “Why?” I asked.

  One black brow lifted into an elegant arch. “Because sometimes, whiskey is just the answer.”

  “No, it's not,” I retorted, thinking of Jim and his growing misery, how I suspected he’d begun drowning that misery with a bottle hidden under his bed. I tried to stand and ended up hauling Nabila up with me—she still hadn’t let go of my arm. “And that’s not what I’m really asking. Why’d you let me think you were a Shifter?”

  Cat took another large swallow before putting the empty glass top-down on the bar with a solid clunk of glass against stone. “Because it was easier.”

  Truth. Her words struck like blows to my middle.

  Gulping, I regarded a person I’d thought I knew and found a total stranger. I’d thought Cat was my friend, I guess I’d been wrong.

  “We’re dead,” Nabila repeated from beside me. “An Upper knows. You killed us, Ash.”

  A glance at my friend’s stricken face had the lump in my belly morphing into a giant, Godzilla egg.

  “Why do you want to hurt us?” I asked Cat.

  “Hurt you?” For a moment, the icy mask encasing her features cracked, revealing what looked like genuine shock. “I don’t want to hurt you, Ash. I don’t have any intention of—”

  She broke off and carefully placed both hands on the bar.

  Truth. My vision shifted, and for a moment, intense indigo light swirled around Cat. She wasn’t a Shifter, but she meant it when she said she didn’t want to hurt us. The monster egg stuf
fed inside me started to shrink. “I don’t… I don’t understand. Why not just tell me what you are? What’s the big deal?”

  A strangled noise emerged from Nabila and she tightened her grip. “She’s an Upper. The deal doesn’t get bigger.”

  “Let go,” I whispered furiously. “And it does get bigger. The Principal and his stupid ball are way bigger. Cat just wears funny t-shirts and makes hot chocolate.”

  “I do make hot chocolate,” Cat agreed.

  A low moan emerged from Oscar, still plastered to the floor.

  I gave Cat a stern look.

  Her lips twitched in response. “Look, being considered an Upper isn’t something I advertise. The Ground Zero is in unclaimed territory, but there are some major players in Vegas and I didn’t want to rattle their cages.” She rolled her shoulders. “Besides, it’s murder on the social life.”

  Her gaze locked with mine. The rims of her eyes were glowing an intense purple-blue. She was waiting for me to acknowledge what she’d said was true. I knew it was, but couldn’t help thinking there was a lot more left unsaid.

  “Are you working for any of those major players,” I asked her.

  “No.” Truth.

  I needed to frame each question carefully, so there wouldn’t be any question about what the truth of her answer meant. “Will you sell me and my friends out to any of those major players, even the Principal?”

  “No.” Truth.

  Biting my lip, I gave her a long searching look.

  She sighed. “I have zero intention of selling you or your friends out to the powers that be in Vegas. Especially this Principal you mention. In fact, I hope you’ll extend me the same courtesy?”

  I wanted to leave it at that, but there was one more question I needed to ask. “Did you buy my father’s soul?”

  Something flickered in Cat’s face. Whether pain or rage or simply boredom, I couldn’t be certain. But something told me it wasn’t boredom. “No, Ash. I did not purchase or obtain your father’s soul.”

  Truth.