Hidden Worlds

by Kristie Cook

I stared at him, at his too close face and bright blue eyes. He smelled like peppermint. He loved mints the same way I did dumdums.

  “Why?” I whispered.

  Conor didn’t move away, his nose inching ever closer to mine. “Because I’m worried about you. More worried than maybe I should be.”

  His statement was unexpected, and I leaned away. “Oh."

  The hand lying behind my back moved closer. My spine tingled.

  “Monroe suggested I ask you out,” Conor revealed suddenly.

  This took me by surprise, and I fought the urge to stand. What the hell?

  My gaze shot to his. “Th-that’s ridiculous."

  He grinned. “Maybe. I used to think so, too.”

  I searched his face. “What do you mean?”

  Conor ran a hand through his hair, leaving it disheveled. “I’m not sure. You’ve never known me to skirt an issue. And today, when you started to come out of whatever trance you were in, when your nails dug into my skin, I realized something I think I’ve been avoiding for a long time.”

  My eyes grew wide, and even though I wasn’t sure I wanted to know his response I found myself whispering, “What?”

  The stare he gave me was intense. “I realized I wanted you to give me your pain. I wanted to take it away from you. I’ve known you a long time, but this past year … I don’t know. I’m beginning to think I’ve been using my flirtation with girls as an excuse to stay close to you."

  I froze. The space between us was way too small, way too claustrophobic.

  He noted the reaction. “I’m not here to make a move on you.”

  His gaze raked my figure, and I felt suddenly self-conscious. My jeans were dusty and ripped at the knee, I had kicked my shoes off at the door earlier as it was my habit to do so, and the oversized black dolman I was wearing had slipped off one shoulder to reveal a pink bra strap. My hair was frizzy and curled up from the walk earlier, and I ran my fingers through it nervously. Money was tight at the Abbey, and my aunt believed heartily in teaching humility. I didn’t own a lot of clothes and the ones I did were usually outdated. I mentally slapped myself. Why should I care about that now?

  I fidgeted. This was different. Conor had never made me feel nervous before.

  “I’ll be honest though. I’m not having good boy thoughts right now. And if you think that surprises you well … hell, it surprises me just as much,” he said.

  He’d always been too blunt for his own good. I couldn’t speak so I stared instead, leaving my face open to interpretation. Whatever he read there made him move away. My breathing came easier.

  He changed the subject. “What happened to you earlier?”

  The question didn’t rid the room of the buzz I could feel now between us, but this time I didn’t skirt the issue.

  Leaning back, I pulled the sleeve of my dolman back over my bra strap. “I think I had a vision.”

  Conor watched me, his gaze frozen on my shoulder. “Who’s Marcas?” he asked huskily.

  He didn’t question my vision theory. This made him more sure of it than I was.

  I shrugged. The dolman fell again. Fixing it would just bring more attention to it. I left it alone.

  “I don’t know,” I answered honestly. The name and the man filled my mind. I could taste his name on my tongue. It was a warm feeling and more than a little strange. “The vision was about two men. They were arguing. I don’t know. I’m pretty sure one of them was referred to as Marcas."

  I didn’t include the part where the aforementioned Marcas was stabbed.

  Conor nodded, his darkened gaze sliding back to my face. “Are you okay?”

  Sighing, I whispered, “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

  I wasn’t going to fall apart.

  Conor shifted. “Something is going on here, Day."

  I stared. His face was a lot more rugged than I remembered. Maybe it was because I’d never really looked at it before. Or I had but never this closely.

  “No shit,” I replied. “One sleepover and there’s suddenly invisible people after me, dark visions, and something strange about the Abbey. I think you guys made hash brownies and didn’t tell me about it.”

  Conor laughed. “That’s hilarious."

  “I try.”

  Conor shook his head, his face inching toward mine. The discomfort level climbed.

  “It does seem like we’re making a big deal out of nothing, but Monroe’s visions have been pretty dead-on in the past. They’re not something to shrug off,” Conor pointed out.

  I knew that. I did.

  My face went to my hands. “God, we’re a weird group.”

  Conor snorted. “That’s an understatement.”

  Monroe and Lita were both Wiccans, Monroe was a visionary, and Jacin was a football player with a less-than-desirable home life and a very strange gift. While Lita’s family was pretty lax on the rule system, they also loved her and accepted her eccentric ways. Hell, she had a grandmother who practiced extreme voodoo. Jacin’s family, on the other hand, was a different story. His father was a lawyer who wouldn’t take anything less than perfection. Jacin usually gave him that. But there were some things your nature couldn’t hide. The fact that Jacin saw auras was one of them. As for Conor, I suspected something was different about him, but he never revealed it. His mother was a real estate agent who traveled at odd hours. That was the only freaky thing I knew about him.

  “We’re friends for a reason,” Conor remarked.

  I threw him a look. While there seemed to be something unique about everyone in the group, the only strange thing about me was the Abbey.

  Conor placed a finger under my chin. “I told you your face is as open as a book, sweetheart. You’re just like the rest of us. You don’t have an aura. Jacin has never seen one around you."

  I pulled away from him. We might all be different, but we never discussed what made us that way. It didn’t seem right to be discussing it now.

  “Let’s drop it,” I said.

  Conor might not agree, but he didn’t argue. The silence between us grew. I sneaked a glance in his direction. His face was tilted, a strand of hair falling forward along his forehead, his jaw set. I was more aware of him than I ever had been. It was at that moment, I realized Conor was as close a friend to me as Monroe. He’d always been there, in the background, picking us up whenever we fell.

  He caught my stare and smiled. “I never pegged you for a pink girl.”

  Heat climbed up my neck. His eyes dropped to my bra strap, and I smacked him.

  He stood and backed away, his hands held up. “You’re becoming abusive. Should I be concerned?”

  I laughed and pointed at my window. “Get out of here, Con."

  Walking to the open sill, he started out, pausing briefly with one foot still braced inside my room. I met him at the window.

  “Stay safe, Red,” he whispered, his hand coming up to rest against my cheek. I should have pulled away but I didn’t.

  His gaze fell to my shoulder. “Just so you know, pink suits you."

  We were entirely too close. His gaze moved to my lips. My pulse quickened. I liked Conor, but not that way. I didn’t know how to reply, and Conor didn’t wait for a reaction.

  Pulling himself over the side, he pulled away from me and scaled down the ladder with a grace that seemed strange for his height. I watched him disappear down the driveway, his figure fading into the distance.

  I was deep in thought when my phone beeped at me from my pocket. Pulling it out, I flipped it open.

  Did Conor stop by?

  Monroe had oddly accurate timing. I stared at the screen, glancing briefly at the window before answering.

  He did.

  It took less than a minute before she replied.

  How did it go?

  I laughed.

  Are you trying to set me up?

  She didn’t make me wait long for a reply.

  Who me? I just wanted to make sure you were okay.

  I c
ocked a brow.

  Yeah, right.

  A second later, a :D appeared on the screen. I grinned. My phone beeped again.

  I really was worried.

  My smile grew. She’d do anything to keep me safe. I’d do the same.

  I know. I’m okay.

  I stripped down hurriedly, grabbing a pair of pajama bottoms and a tank top out of a hanging dresser drawer. It was the one I’d relieved my stress on earlier. Conor hadn’t helped. It’d have to be fixed for sure now. My phone beeped again.

  He’d be good for you.

  Pulling the covers up to my chest, I stared at the screen. I knew it! She could have warned me. Conor wasn’t the type to hold back. My fingers flew over the keys.

  I’m not sure that’s true.

  My phone beeped.

  Give it some thought. I’m worried. The vision scares me. I feel safer knowing he’s keeping an eye on you.

  There was more behind her words.

  What aren’t you telling me, Roe?

  There was a long pause and my eyes began to drift shut. I was almost asleep when the phone vibrated and beeped. I lifted it wearily.

  When Jacin saw your aunt today, he said her aura was black.

  My eyes shot open. The phone kept beeping, but other than a quick response, I didn’t text again. Sleep was a long time coming. Aunt Kyra’s aura was black?

  Chapter 8

  He has come for her. I knew he would. He is enchanted by her fire, her thirst for life. I fear for her. But I cannot come. I cannot save her. May God have mercy on her soul.

  ~Bezaliel~

  “You have to close your eyes, Day,” my father whispered, his hands closing over my face gently but near enough my lashes brushed up against his palms. Butterfly kisses. I had to fight the urge to giggle.

  “What am I looking for?” I asked him, not for the first time.

  He leaned in closer from behind me, his breath fanning along my neck as he bent even more to accommodate my height.

  “The light, Day. Always look for the light."

  I squinted against his hands. I wanted so very badly to get this right, to hear approval in his tone as a conclusion to whatever lesson I was supposed to be learning, but my mind was blank. I did not understand him, in so many ways.

  “I can’t see anything. There’s only darkness!” I cried. This was ridiculous.

  Dad didn’t move, just grew very still in that way of his, the one that reminded me in vivid detail of a marble statue I’d seen in a museum once. It was a little scary.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered as the seconds ticked by.

  He didn’t remove his hands. The silence stretched.

  “There is always light in the darkness, Day,” Dad said suddenly.

  I almost jumped as his voice boomed around me. He wasn’t yelling. He just wasn’t whispering anymore. Dad had what I liked to call a large voice. He spoke. You listened.

  “You need to learn to look past the dark. If you don’t, it can consume you."

  I opened my eyes to look at the back of his hands. I didn’t understand that word consumed. I said it to myself as I stared at the lines etched into his palms. They almost seemed to glow. His hands dropped, but he still held me away. The sun was setting behind us, and our shadows loomed large against the ground, his monstrous one looming over my smaller one. I felt like I was going to cry, and I hunched in on myself as I watched his broad shoulders lift in a sigh.

  “Don’t worry, Day. It’s not your time yet,” Dad said.

  His shadow hand came to land gently on my small shoulder. His skin was warm. I wanted to lean into it, but I was too hurt by my own sense of failure. I would never understand him.

  “I never get it right!”

  Stomping my foot, I pouted. He stood and moved around me then, his face stone-like and solemn.

  “Day—”

  I stomped again anyway. I knew I was throwing a fit, but I didn’t care.

  “Amber always gets everything right. Always!” I whined.

  Dad studied me a moment before kneeling down in front of me.

  “Amber is . . . different,” he said slowly, as if carefully weighing his words, “And it’s good that you two aren’t alike. You are special, Day. There’s a fire in you no one else can see. Not yet, but it’s there."

  I squinted up at him. I didn’t understand this stuff about fire, but dad looked so sure, so confident that it made me feel a little better. It didn’t stop me from stomping my foot again though just for good measure. Dad smiled.

  And then the darkness came.

  Confusion engulfed me. The scene changed. It was like someone pulled a rope and the backdrop was different.

  It was sudden, the rain, but I felt it pelting my body unmercifully as the clouds came tumbling one over another across the sky—thick, black, and ominous. I wanted to scream but nothing came out. Lightning flashed in jagged lines across the sky and mud started to slide in large avalanche-like chunks as water piled on top of water. The rain hurt, digging sharply into my skin, and I cried.

  “Run, Day. Look for the light,” I heard him whisper in my ear, but when I started turning to look for him, the space behind me was empty. The rain was coming harder, more brutal, like fingers trying to peel away the skin.

  “Run. . .” I heard again.

  This time I listened, slipping and sliding as I tried to get my feet into the sucking mud. I kept falling, my knees gripped by the punishing ground. I cried harder. Blood was dripping from my face, and I worried skin had indeed been peeled away. I tried running again. I had to run. Had to!

  “Dad!” I screamed as I fell again, the earth trembling beneath my knees, bucking and rolling till fissures began to open up along the ground, widening until a large hole had materialized in front of me. There was nowhere I could run, no one to turn to.

  “Daddy!” I sobbed as the earth gave way beneath me, and I fell. It was dark. So very dark, and I held my breath waiting for the end.

  “Look for the light, Day,” I heard my dad whisper, but as the air rushed in around me I welcomed the darkness. The thought of light now, scared me. I didn’t want to see the end.

  “Day. . .”

  It was an echo this time. My name moved around me and through me, and I finally found the voice to scream.

  “Shit!”

  I sat bolt upright in my bed, the room around me dark except for the single nightlight. My gaze was desperate. I really needed to check its bulb. It had been awhile since I’d changed it, but Grumpy Bear looked as dourly bright as ever, and I gave him a weak thumbs-up sign. My breathing came fast.

  The dream. It had been clearer than it ever had been. I could still feel the rain on my skin, the sucking mud below my feet, and the sick feeling in my gut that came with the fall.

  Cringing, I glanced at my bed, my gaze catching on the cell phone peeking at me from beneath my pillow.

  "He said her aura was black," Monroe had texted.

  My eyes fell shut, thoughts of Aunt Kyra and the dream clinging to my conscious. Waves of anxiety flowed over me. Sweat made my top cling to my back, and I shivered from the chill. Nausea built and then subsided. Bile rose and I swallowed hard. The dream had never affected me this physically before. Was it because of Monroe’s revelation about Lady Ky?

  I bent over, letting my head hang low until the faintness passed. It took me a moment to reassure myself, not only that the dream was just that—a dream, but to remind myself that nothing had changed. I was still breathing, I wasn’t falling, and both my parents were still deceased. My body shook as I looked it over, my mind releasing the last cobwebs, the tiny fragments of the dream still hovering.

  “Look for the light,” his voice whispered.

  I fought not to cry. I missed my parents.

  Running my hand over my face, I looked again at Grumpy. “Survived another one, oh Dour One.”

  I tried to settle back against my pillows, but the moment I reclined, I sat back up again. It was no use. There was no point. My
heart was a jackhammer in my chest and my head pounded relentlessly against my temples. Every muscle jumped as I swung my pajama-clad legs over the side of the bed. Big red hearts surrounded by the small scripted word Juicy swam in front of my eyes. I scowled. It was times like this I missed Amber coming into my room. My breathing faltered.

  The dream was a double-edged sword, a mix of joy and nightmare. It was agony. And last night it had also been different—more real, more deadly in its clarity.

  I fisted my hands into the blankets around me, my nails digging into the mattress. Cramps invaded my calf muscles as the anxiety worked its way downward, and I stood slowly, gasping as the shock of the cold floor against my bare feet brought me out of my reverie. The walls closed in on me, and I cursed under my breath as I stepped on whatever items were playing trash of the week on my bedroom floor in my attempt to flee. The Sisters would fret if they saw it.

  “Cleanliness is next to Godliness,” I mumbled.

  Stumbling to the door, I threw it open.

  The hallway was lit, and probably had been since dawn. The Abbey came alive at ungodly hours.

  Something brushed against my leg, and I jumped, my back going against the stone wall hard before I realized it was the mouser cat my aunt thought would help with the Abbey’s rodents. Exterminators could only do so much in a building as old and as large as the Abbey.

  “Want to give me some kind of warning next time, Raven.”

  I shimmied past her to the bathroom, my heart rate still up but slowing. I didn’t bother looking into the mirror. I didn’t want to see the sweat on my face or the dark circles under my eyes.

  “Look for the light,” his voice whispered around me, and I stiffened.

  The voice sounded so real. The nausea returned, and I swallowed convulsively. What the hell!

  “I don’t see it,” I ground out.

  I gripped the sink so hard I was shocked the porcelain didn’t crack.

  “Don’t see what, sweetie?” Diane asked from behind me.

  I jumped again, my nerves raw.

  Diane moved to my side, her worried gaze raking my face. “You okay, Dayton?” she asked.

  I straightened. “Yes’m.”

  Looking behind me, I realized I had neglected to shut the door.