Secretly Sam

by Heather Killough-Walden

  She sat down beside him on the bed and reached for the labels and a black marker. “How old are these?” she asked.

  “Several years,” he admitted.

  She popped the top off of one and swiped it across the paper connecting the labels to see if it still worked. A thick, dark line remained on the page.

  At once, Sam felt a spike in something inside of him. It was virile and good, and bad and volatile. His muscles flexed, his lips parted, and he felt a flare of the supernatural in his own eyes. Fortunately for him, Logan wasn’t looking at him.

  She smiled down at the black mark. “Good markers,” she said, taking one of the full label sheets and placing it in her lap. “Now then… what words to choose….”

  “I’ll help,” Sam said, quickly trying to cover his reaction and maintain a “normal” façade. He grabbed another sheet, the second Sharpie, and began scribbling words. Just in case it actually did matter what they created on the fridge later, he chose words that would have helped him if they were in one of Logan’s stories: “power,” “magic,” “vampire,” “fangs,” “trick” – and “treat.” He stopped short of writing the word “death.” That would have been pushing it.

  Logan sat in quiet contemplation for a few moments, and the air was filled with the sound of his marker scratching against paper. He let her look at the words he’d created, and wondered what she would think. But he was a teenage boy, and a guitarist in a band no less, so he doubted Logan would think it strange that he focused on things a bit darker.

  Eventually, apparently satisfied with what he was writing and probably inspired to create a few choice words of her own, Logan lifted her own marker and began writing.

  Sam almost dropped his marker and laid back on the bed when more of the initial feeling that had spiked through him began to flood his system. It was like liquid pleasure, like being buzzed or high, or a combination of the two. His body felt stronger, his mind clearer, and his will progressively more powerful with each swipe of Logan’s felt tipped pen.

  He looked over to read her words: “shade,” “forbidden,” “mask,” “lurking,” “pumpkin,” “midnight,” “lunar,” “ghost,” “train,” “forest,” “wolf.” Her imagination took him on a veritable ride through October Land without even having to string the words together for him. He closed his eyes, turning his back to her as his returning power threatened to overwhelm him.

  Stars swam behind his closed lids, motes of light and magic and possibility. They swirled together, forming clouds of spells that awaited casting. They danced for him and then shot through him, infiltrating his physical form down to the molecular level, filling every ounce of him with the supernatural, the paranormal, with everything that he once was and now would be again.

  His gums ached, he tasted metal in his mouth, and his tongue brushed the tips of razor-sharp fangs. They were back. And it had only been seconds.

  “Dom?”

  A gentle hand on his shoulder brought Sam’s head up with a snap. His eyes flew open, his vision in stark contrasts – black, white, and red.

  “You okay?

  Sam’s fist curled into the coverlet over Dominic’s bed. He could hear her heartbeat now, smell the blood running through her veins, and a new and familiar hunger began to yawn open inside of him. It was overwhelming, almost too much. It made him feel like a werewolf under a full moon, drunk and out of control.

  But this was it. Sam, pull yourself together. This was the chance he’d been waiting for. If he could only gather his wits and hold on long enough for a few more words, he would have enough power to drain Logan dry and open the door to his realm to carry her across with him.

  Sam closed his eyes, exhaling a shaky breath.

  Suddenly, Logan’s cell phone rang, its harsh ring tone cutting through the thick, tense silence that preempted Sam’s awakening monster. He felt Logan shift beside him, but because he was so inundated with the deluge of sensation accompanying his returning strength, his reaction to her movement was far too slow. Before he could turn to stop her, she was answering the call.

  Sam froze where he was, his back to her, and listened.

  Dietrich Lehrer’s voice came through the phone’s speaker loud and clear, and Sam gritted his sharp teeth. The wizard’s timing was abominably apt.

  Sam shut his eyes, willfully and painfully forced his fangs back into his gums, and pooled a good deal of this burgeoning power into one incredibly difficult task: Biding his time.

  Chapter Twelve

  “How is Dominic?” Mr. Lehrer asked.

  Logan glanced at Dominic’s turned back and noted the tension that visibly rode through his tall, strong body. She chewed on her lip for a moment. “About as you’d expect,” she finally decided.

  There was a brief pause as Mr. Lehrer no doubt processed this. Then he asked, “How are you?”

  “Okay. We’re playing with LEGOs.” She didn’t know why she added that. She supposed she thought that if he knew that they were doing something low-key and ultimately therapeutic, maybe he would worry less.

  “Perfect. It sounds both relaxing and distracting. Listen, we found some older text in the library – about bards. I know you’ve already agreed not to write any new stories, but until we can get this all figured out, it would be best if you don’t put a pen or pencil to paper at all, okay? According to the mythos, there’s a kind of magic released at the moment when a bard actually marks parchment. So, no words, no symbols even. Stick to LEGOs.”

  Logan blinked. She looked down at the paper full of labels that she’d filled out. “Umm….”

  “Did you write something?” Mr. Lehrer asked, his voice tight.

  A heaviness settled over Logan’s chest and began to squeeze. “Just words on labels,” she told him. “But no harm’s been done. Sam isn’t anywhere around. It’s just me and Dominic and we’re both fine.” She felt defensive, suddenly – and angry. Was she never going to be allowed to hold a pen again?

  There was a long, drawn-out silence in which Lehrer probably tried to keep his temper – and Logan did the same. Finally, Mr. Lehrer said, “Alright, we probably got lucky this time. Sam might have to be within a certain distance of you for him to glean any power off of your writing. But let’s play it safe from now on,” he told her. “Stay away from writing utensils completely.”

  Logan’s fist squeezed her phone. Her pinky threatened to disconnect them by sheer proximity. She closed her eyes, gritting her teeth. “Fine.”

  “Also, it’s possible that Sam’s spirit entered one of the police officers nearby, so if you drive, keep it under the speed limit. Don’t give anyone a reason to pull you over.”

  Again, Logan replied, “Fine.”

  “Logan, I’m sorry,” Mr. Lehrer said, his tone a touch softer now. “I really am. I know this is very hard for you. But it’s temporary. One way or another, this month is going to end. We just have to stay strong, and smart, until then.”

  Logan opened her eyes. This wasn’t Mr. Lehrer’s fault. He was helping her, that’s all. And he was right; they needed to be smart. Besides, the last thing the five of them needed to do right now was turn on one another.

  “I know,” she said. “I’ll try.”

  “Good. Please call me later to check in and let me know how Dominic is.”

  “I will.”

  They disconnected and Logan slipped her phone back into the front pocket of her jeans. It bit into her hip bone, but she ignored it. She wanted the phone close by and her jacket was downstairs.

  She looked at Dominic’s broad back and chewed on her lip some more. He had yet to turn around to face her, but he had to have heard at least her side of the phone conversation. She wanted to explain to him what Lehrer had told her about the writing.

  On impulse, she raised her hand, her fingers poised just centimeters above his shoulder. But then she lowered it again, completely unsure of what to say. He was clearly in more pain than even her words could heal.

  She was saved from having
to say anything at all, however. The doorbell rang, its loud, crystal-clear chime emanating throughout the entire mansion like a hymnal round. Logan’s head snapped toward the door that led to the hall. She wondered who it could be. Dominic’s father probably hadn’t even been reached yet, much less made his way back state-side.

  The police?

  Beside her, Dominic stood. She went still as his green, green eyes found hers. They seemed more a deep, almost bluish emerald than jade now. They were so vivid, so brightly mesmerizing, she felt strange looking up into them. She felt caught.

  “I have to get that,” he told her. His voice sounded gruff, as if choked by something. She wondered whether a sob were stuck in his throat, held in check by Dominic’s force of will. That would explain the near glow to his eyes; maybe they were unshed tears.

  Logan nodded and rose as well. They made their way out of the room and down the hall, down several flights of stairs, and finally to the front door. By that time, the doorbell had been rung a second time, and someone had begun knocking.

  Dom opened the door to reveal two of his band mates, Nathan McCay the drummer, and Shawn Briggs, the bass guitarist and keyboardist.

  Logan knew at once why they were there. The stricken, pale looks on their faces told her everything. They’d obviously heard about Alec.

  Nathan looked from Dominic to Logan, and Logan suddenly felt way, way out of her league. Too far left field. She felt conspicuous, as if she were trespassing. She shouldn’t be there; this was guy time. They’d lost one of their own.

  “Logan,” Nathan said, and some strange emotion crossed his features. His hazel eyes focused on her and he frowned in seriousness. “I’m glad you’re here with him,” he said, and Logan could swear he sounded like he actually meant it.

  Shawn brushed past his companion and stepped across the threshold, taking Dominic in a hard hug. “We heard, Dom. My dad’s friends with one of the cops.” His voice was tight, strained with the same unshed tears Logan had been wondering about with Dominic. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, man.”

  Nathan made his way inside as Shawn pulled back from the hug, releasing Dominic. Logan did the only thing she could think of doing and closed the door.

  Nathan ran a hand through his long blonde hair. “Dom… what the hell happened?” He shook his head. “I mean, I heard it, but I don’t believe it. Alec went nuts or some shit? Was he high?” He seemed desperate for some kind of explanation that would make sense. Alec Sheffield had been one of their closest friends, one of the gang, a band mate. This kind of thing just didn’t happen.

  Dominic looked from Nathan to Logan, and there were secret, hidden messages galore in his emerald gaze.

  “He wasn’t himself,” Dom said without looking away. He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. “That’s all I know.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Logan left Dominic’s home shortly after his band mates showed up. Dom hadn’t wanted her to leave. At least, that’s what he’d said. But she’d felt like a fourth wheel, if there could be such a thing. Or maybe it was more like a fifth wheel, where one of the wheels was a ghost wheel…. Anyway, she’d told him that she should be heading home so her parents wouldn’t worry.

  Reluctantly, he’d agreed. It was hard to argue with something like that, especially in the face of murders and escaped Death Gods. In the end, even teenagers understood that family came first.

  It was too bad families couldn’t understand as much.

  Now Logan squinted against the stark lines of the road highlighted by her headlights. She ran her hand over her face. It felt flushed and feverish, and she wanted a shower. As she navigated the winding streets back home, she wondered what would be waiting for her. Another fight? Would everyone be asleep, or would Taylor still be up?

  She braced herself for whatever she’d find and turned onto her driveway.

  *****

  This was bullshit. He was wasting time.

  Sam swore internally and pinched the bridge of his nose. This human body was frail compared to his true form. He’d been rejuvenated, re-energized, and now the bulk of his power swirled and swelled just beneath the surface of Dominic Maldovan’s form, stretching this puny reality until Sam was afraid he would come apart at the seams. What was worse was that he was at a fraction of the strength he could be. What Logan had given him was fuel on a fire that burned and craved more fuel, a catch-22 of epic proportions, and it was driving him rather mad.

  The actual result was that he was getting a fairly bad headache, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he would be able to keep his eyes from glowing. As it was, their true color was barely being masked… and he was growing tired of wearing a mask at all.

  “Yo, Dom?”

  Sam let the words slide over him. They felt like sandpaper on his already raw nerves. Maldovan’s friends were still here. Despite his wishes, Logan had left, and these two boys had remained behind. It was the opposite of what he wanted.

  They lounged in Maldovan’s living room, their faces ashen, their quiet demeanor so typical of the human reaction to traumatic loss. They’d asked him to fill them in on what had transpired, and because he needed the time to figure out what he was going to do next, and also because he couldn’t have cared less what they thought, he’d obliged. He gave them the same story he’d given the cops because it never hurt to be careful.

  But now enough was enough. The inferno raging to life inside of him wanted to be fed. It wanted Logan’s words.

  It wanted Logan.

  First things first. Lehrer had to go. The witches were too dangerous, and Sam wasn’t going to allow anything to stop him this time.

  As for Maldovan, Sam would remain in his body for now. The disguise might yet come in handy, and in order to leave his form, he would have to orchestrate the Maldovan’s death. Experience had shown him such a task was never as simple as it would seem to be. He would stay hidden, build his power, and gain a better footing on this veritable chess board. Then he would move in for the kill and return to his realm with the prize.

  Sam lowered his hand, raised his head, and stood from where he’d been seated at the bar. Maldovan’s band mates looked up at him.

  They had dressed up as vampires at the Halloween dance. Vampires, Sam mused, liking the idea. As he recalled, they’d looked fairly convincing in their costumes, too.

  Vampirism suited them.

  Sam smiled. And this time, he didn’t bother hiding his fangs.

  *****

  Meagan rifled through the leather backpack with a combination of care and restless impatience. She pulled a small bottle out and then wrestled with a larger metal one she had braced between her legs in the passenger seat. It was hard to do while the car was moving, but one after another, she managed to get the ingredients from several different small bottles all mixed up into one big one.

  “I think that’s everything,” she said. “The sand from an equator island, candle made of summer beeswax, melted snow from the last snowfall, and ink from a pen Logan used.” She screwed a metal cap on tight and slipped the flask into the pocket of her leather jacket.

  “At least that’s taken care of,” said Mr. Lehrer as he continued to watch the road ahead. His tone was strained with stress, and every muscle in his erect form seemed to be pulled taut as a bow string.

  It had begun to rain, and the wind was picking up. Road conditions were deteriorating quickly. It didn’t help the situation.

  The ingredients Meagan had just poured together were components for a protection spell she and Mr. Lehrer had cast earlier that night at the library just after Katelyn had headed home for bed. The spell was intended to protect Logan, hence the pen ink, and existed in two chronological parts. Half of each ingredient was used at the casting of the spell; the other half had to be placed together in one safe receptacle. The spell would then last for as long as the components and their container were unharmed.

  That last ingredient, the ink from a pen Logan had used, had been Meagan’s job to procure.
Thankfully, they didn’t need very much of it, and Logan could pretty much be counted on to make use of every pen within any kind of proximity to her. Logan had stayed for sleepovers a few times and used some of Meagan’s pens to jot down ideas she’d awoken with in the middle of the night. All Meagan had had to do was break the pens open and let some of the ink spill out into a bottle of water.

  She and Lehrer cast the protection spell, which focused on the possibility that Samhain would again take on the form of a vampire or other creature Logan had created if and when he came after her. But half-way through the casting, Meagan received a disturbing call from Dominic Maldovan. The sound on the line had been scratchy and muffled, as if the connection were terrible. Dominic sounded frantic. He said something about the railroad tracks south of town, and about Sam. The rest of the message, Meagan couldn’t comprehend. But before she could ask Dom to repeat himself, the line went dead.

  She tried to call him back of course, as did Lehrer, but both calls went to voicemail. Their texts went unanswered as well. So Lehrer instructed Meagan to grab the spell components and her backpack and told her she could finish the spell in the car.

  Now they drove hastily through the empty, wet streets of a sleeping town. Lehrer switched his windshield wipers into high gear and adjusted his headlights so that there wasn’t so much back-glare. They were headed for the unfinished development just south of the city. There were railroad tracks there that intercepted with city limits; this was Mr. Lehrer’s best guess as to the location Dom had been talking about.

  They couldn’t call the cops; they’d figured out that due to the proximity of the police during the accident with Alec, Sam might now be one of them.

  The most they could do was quickly finish the protection spell for Logan – which Meagan had just done – and then actually contact both Logan and Katelyn and fill them in on what was happening.

  Meagan attempted to do that now as she dropped her leather backpack back onto the floor boards of Lehrer’s car and pulled the cell phone out of her other jacket pocket. She’d forgotten to plug it in earlier that night, and the battery was down to 36 percent. She hated that. She hated it when it wasn’t at least at 91 percent. It was just a sort of OCD thing with her. She would normally never let it get this low… but then nothing about life had been normal lately.