by KB Anne
“If we leave, can we come back?”
“You heard them. We have an open invitation.” He grabbed my hand. “Starr, it’s time to begin the next leg of our journey.”
Chapter Forty-Six
Christian played with my hand as we walked into Ben’s house. “So, what’s the plan?”
“I thought you said, ‘no planning,’” I said in a mock Christian voice that did no justice to his deep baritone sexiness.
He squeezed my hand. “We don’t plan at the cabin, but here, it’s okay.”
“We need to contact Di and Frank.” I braced for his reaction. With the exception of a right eye twitch, his face remained expressionless.
In a carefully controlled manner, he said, “How are we going to do that?”
I reached over the side of the sofa and held up his laptop. “Unless you have a better idea.”
“No, we need as little direct contact with them as possible. Let’s not even email. I’ll contact Di through one of her favorite sites. No one will look there.”
He booted up the computer. It wasn’t until the Google logo appeared on the screen that I realized how starved I was for news from the outside world. It had been weeks since I had paid any attention to the anything occurring beyond my own pathetic life. I skimmed what was trending—a stabbing, Kim K. divorce, NBA contract negotiation. I read two ten-second headline segments on the newsreel—a two-headed shark was found along the Florida coast and some NFL player signed a multi-million-dollar deal—before Christian typed in a new URL and the screen went black.
“I’m not even going to check my email,” he said. “If the Organization hacked into my account, there could be a tracking device on it.”
I tousled his hair. “Someone sounds paranoid.”
“After using my credit card for the horses, I’m not taking any chances.”
The Portal to Darkness flashed across the screen. A woman dressed in a tight black cat suit with fishnet stockings and a mask and brandishing a whip stalked from the side. Club Black flashbacks came rushing back to me—never in all my life had I been so out of my element. “So, do you visit this site often?” I tried to sound casual but failed miserably.
He grinned at me. “No, actually. I did in the beginning when I was turning to the ‘dark side.’ I wanted to learn as much as I could about Goth culture. I went with Di and some of her friends to a bunch of clubs. There’re some great bands you can’t hear anywhere else. Di and I mainly use it for communication purposes. It’s like an online coffee shop that’s Big Brother free.”
He zipped through a bunch of pages, clicking on pictures, letters, and other images.
“How in the world did you figure out how to get to this page?”
He shrugged as his pointer finger moved across the touchpad. “It’s like a secret password system. The clues are all over the place, but you only gain access if you know where to look. Some songs even have password links in them.”
I draped my arms over his shoulders and bent down. His hair smelled like fresh air. “What should we say?”
“We’ll keep it basic. Let’s just see if she’s on first.”
He typed, “Demongirl, you up? Werewolf2.”
“Werewolf?” I smirked. “You really are a werewolf fan, aren’t you?”
He kissed my cheek. “You have no idea.”
I strummed my fingers on the table next to the laptop.
“I could think of a way to pass the time,” he said, pulling me into his lap. Just as our lips were about to meet, the computer beeped loudly.
“That’s Di.”
“Werewolf2, k?” Flashed on the screen.
After a few pecks at the keyboard, Christian hit send. “K. Must talk.”
“Spot?”
“7Eph11.”
“K.”
After he received Di’s “k,” he shut the computer down. “All set.”
“I think I lost something in the translation. What’s all set?”
“I’m going to call her at the Seven-Eleven at eleven o’clock. Her friend’s cousin works there, so she can use the phone.”
“I’m impressed. I had no idea that you were so adept at this cloak and dagger stuff.”
He raised his lips in a sweet and irresistible smile. “Goth’s like to be covert. Big Brother’s always watching. Now, where were we?”
At eleven p.m., Christian called on the disposable cell Ben bought him.
Someone said, “Seven-Eleven, where time stands still.”
“Di?”
“Hey. Did you find what you were looking for?”
Christian looked over at me and smiled. My heart literally skipped a beat. “Yes, but I need help.”
“Name it.”
“You and Frank Wagner.”
“What?”
“Tell him it’s about what I found.”
“K.”
“Saturday bus to Asheville, North Carolina. Use cash, only cash.”
“Got it.”
“Thanks and be careful.” He powered down the phone, then smiled at me.
“That was impressive. My friends would never just drop everything to come to me—they’d need to know the who, what, when, where, why and how come.”
“That’s why we need Di.”
He leaned in to kiss me. I tilted my head up. Our lips were about to meet when images flashed before my eyes—white hair, haunting blue eyes, made for pictures smile…. My eyes opened wide. “Oh my god, Christian, I just remembered someone from my grandparents’ house.”
He pulled his face away from me, his eyes wide. “Who?”
“Gimme a second.” I turned the laptop back on. I paced back and forth around the room as it booted up—the WiFi was way too slow for my patience level. “I don’t know his name. I remember his face—his face was plastered all over my grandparents’ wall. He held gold shovels and cut ribbons with my grandparents for all types of charitable events.”
The Google home screen came to life. I clicked the headline section below the search bar until I got to the one I wanted. “That guy!” I pointed at the screen. “That’s the guy!” I clicked on the picture so it took up the whole screen. “Jerry White, the pastor of the Jonathon Drive Church. I didn’t remember him until I saw the picture.” I studied the screen up close. “Who is the other guy next to him?” I said more to myself than Christian. My eyes skimmed the headline for the other man’s name.
Before I could read it aloud, Christian said, “That’s Samuel Langhorne, the new governor of North Carolina.”
I’d be an idiot if I missed the bitterness in his voice. “Christian, what’s wrong?”
“He won the election last fall after his Democratic opponent was killed in a car accident.” Tears streaked the sides of his face.
“Your dad.”
“My dad.”
Did that mean he was a Fae too? What did that mean for the both of us? Our lives were more entwined than either one of us realized. It was time to end what they started.
THE END
CONTINUE READING FOR AN EXCERPT OF SILVER FAE HUNTER: SILVER FAE BOOK 2
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Also by KB Anne
The Silver Fae Series
Silver Shift: A Silver Fae Novella
Throne of Silver
Silver Fae Hunter
Heir of Wings and Shadows
The Goddess Chronicles
Wide Awake: The Goddess Chronicles Book 1
Blood
Moon: The Goddess Chronicles Book 2
Dark Moon: The Goddess Chronicles Book 3
Shadow Moon: The Goddess Chronicles Book 4
Oak Moon
Storm Moon
The Goddess Chronicles Books 1-3 Boxset
About the Author
KB once smashed into a tree while skiing. The accident led to a concussion, a cracked sternum, temporary notoriety as a sixth grader returned from the dead, and the realization that fictionalized accounts are way more interesting than just slipping on the ice.
She writes Urban Fantasy with Druids, Witches, Werewolves, and Fae because life is more explosive with them in it!
She lives in Northeast PA, with 3 goblins, a task master, and a hell hound overlord. To find out more about here visit KBAnne.com
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Silver Fae Hunter: Chapter 1
Goth Girl Cornered
Di
My day began with an epic fail—which shouldn’t surprise me because let’s face it, most days begin and end as epic fails but trying to catch Frank by himself was like dipping my blood-covered hand into a pool of sharks and hoping to grab the bait before a thousand pointy teeth bit it off.
Between his harem of ex-girlfriends vying for another chance and Little Red attached to his arm, Frank wouldn’t be caught easily. Why did Christian ask for him anyway? Mr. Hollywood was the last person Christian would want to be friends with which leads me to believe that Starr’s got to be with him.
I tried not to overthink how Starr and Christian were faring with each other. After all, Christian’s always acted as if Starr’s mission in life was to make his existence miserable. A vendetta of sorts. Then I told him what happened to her and he went all Superman. And Starr, as much as I hated to admit it, was a very likeable person.
And if my day didn’t already go to shit, another one of those Jesus Freak grief counselors from that crazy new church in town passed by me. Between them and the pigs showing up at school and Beans, my one place of solace and java consumption, I couldn’t get a moment’s peace.
The outliers of Frank’s harem skipped down the hallway in front of me. Mr. Hollywood’s crew-cut head hovered above the rest of the pack. How the hell could I siphon him off from his herd in order to talk to him alone? Someone like me couldn’t just go up to Webster’s royal court without violating at least a dozen archaic codes of social interaction, and today was one day I didn’t want to draw unwanted attention. Whatever Christian and Starr got themselves into was freakishly colossal, and I wasn’t going to be the one to mess it up. Not today anyway. Tomorrow? Well, tomorrow was another day.
I shook my fist at the stupid girls in disgust before breaking off from them and slipping down a side hallway. Two basketball knuckle draggers took up the entire hall. When I was almost to homeroom, they split ranks. One lumbered down the stairs to the dungeon—appropriate I know, and the other cut off toward the cafeteria—probably to eat a few freshmen before second period.
Wait. I stopped in the middle of the hallway.
The lunchline—we were all equal there.
One person made the mistake of knocking into me. A claw swipe and a hiss sent the clumsy thumb sucker and the rest of Webster’s peons running for their lives.
I ripped off a flyer from the bulletin board and scribbled a message on it. Just as I finished, Mr. Hollywood and Little Red strolled down the hall free from the herd.
I shoved the flyer in Frank’s free hand. “Hey, check out this band.”
He winked at me as he flashed his cheesy smile. I rolled my eyes and walked away. We might have been on opposite ends of Webster’s social hierarchy, but he never changed.
The rest of my morning dragged on period after brutal period. Contemporary Issues, which used to be my favorite class until Starr and Christian disappeared, was now a source of daily torture. New Lifer Tammy dominated every discussion somehow spinning her conservative agenda into even conversations about the weather. As a survival technique and to serve as a warning, I’d taken to sharpening my fingernails into points.
Of course, English Lit was all right. I missed Starr, but One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest sorta read like my personal memoir. Don’t even get me started about Chemistry with Morris—that should be completely self-explanatory
Just as I considered scratching out my eyeballs just to pass the time, the bell finally released us, and we scampered like Pavlov’s dogs to the cafeteria. A few underclassmen fell victim to a well-placed shove, but no one dared complain. No one wanted an up-your-junk meeting with my Docs. My reputation preceded myself. So did my gorilla glued hair. People were afraid of what they didn’t understand, and they certainly didn’t understand me.
The first problem of my plan to talk to Frank arose when he wasn’t at our designated meeting place at the lunch trays. Most likely, he was caught up with Little Red in a well-lit corner trying to pull an R-rating to her PG-13, but if he didn’t show soon, I would smash my bag across his head and drag him out into the street. Sure, I’d draw attention to myself, but Mr. Hollywood might not leave me a choice.
I took my time selecting a lunch tray. My choices? Insane asylum pink or puke green. Yes, let’s select the most disgusting shades on the color wheel to make the cafeteria food appear even less appetizing. I grabbed insane asylum pink, realized Mr. Hollywood was still a no-show, turned back to the rack, and exchanged it for puke green.
If I didn’t enter the food line soon, a Spork wielding wannabe rent-a-cop would start harassing me. Then my next problem became everyone’s problem and I’d probably make a scene and get kicked out of school—which could work to my advantage…I might have to consider that as Plan B.
For now, I would stick to Plan A. I glanced around the cafeteria one more time before I get in line. I spotted Mr. Hollywood heading over. The scene unfolded like a horrible B-movie. A narrow beam of heavenly light shone down upon the high school stud. Girls dropped like poisoned flies as he passed by. Their open mouths leaked puddles of spit onto the floor that somehow the mighty hunk navigated around. These bubblegum popping fangirls forgot the obnoxious short kid who pinched their asses and flicked up their skirts—rich dark caramel skin with light green eyes and extra lean muscles tended to do that. Our superficial society would forgive anything if you looked the part, and Frank fit it magnificently.
He flashed me a blinding-white toothy smile as he walked up to me. Clearly, he had a recent run-in with tooth whitener. “Hey Di, what’s up?”
I made sure no one was paying attention, as we got in line. “It’s about Starr,” I whispered.
His step faltered behind me. I glanced over and saw tears welling up in his eyes. When he wasn’t with Little Red, he spent his time with the grief counselors.
“Frank,” I hissed, “it’s important.”
He nodded and followed me with his insane asylum pink tray.
I reached for an apple, as I whispered, “We need to take a bus.”
“Why?”
At least he matched my tone. He was not a complete idiot. Thank god because it made my already complicated life easier.
I added a burger and french fries to my tray. “I can’t talk about it right now. Go home and pack for a few days. Meet me at the bus stop at 4:15. Bring plenty of cash for the ticket and food, and don’t be late!”
Without waiting for a response from him, I paid the cashier and headed over to my table along the back of the cafeteria. On my way, I had the strangest sensation someone was watchi
ng me. I turned back to see Frank standing at the lunch line exit with his tray. I glared at him and jerked my head toward his table. He still didn’t move as fresh tears streamed down his cheeks. Little Red scurried up to him, took his tray, and guided him over to his seat.
At least she was good for something.
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