Daemons in the Mist (The Marked Ones Trilogy: Book One)

by Vancil, Alicia Kat

  “Dude, you haven’t noticed I live across the street have you?” Shawn asked with a crooked smile.

  “Sorry, I’ve been out of it.”

  “Well you were in a bus accident,” Nikki pointed out with a small smile.

  “By the way Patrick, you look like crap,” Shawn said, looking me over.

  “I feel like crap,” I said, leaning my head against the back of the sofa.

  “Well, that could be because you haven’t eaten in over thirty-six hours,” Nualla said as she shoved a plate of pizza at me. “And I’m not giving you anymore painkillers until you eat something.”

  “Yes mom,” I said, rolling my eyes playfully.

  “I also won’t kiss you until you do,” Nualla threatened, glaring at me. I looked at her and then all but shoved the pizza into my mouth. Once I had eaten a few slices, Nualla finally held out her hand. “Here.”

  I grabbed the pills and swallowed them quickly. The pain was beginning to become unbearable, and I didn’t want to show them just how much I was truly suffering. “Do I get some kisses now too?” I asked hopefully.

  “Patrick, can I speak with you?” Alex asked from the doorway of the room. He looked a little serious but not angry, so I knew it couldn’t be that bad.

  “Sure,” I answered, standing and following him out into the hall.

  Alex leaned against the wall, folding his arms in a way that made him look friendly somehow. “Since you’re not actually married to my daughter—”

  “You want me to sleep on the couch?” I guessed.

  Alex looked slightly taken aback. “Not where I was going, actually.” I could have sworn he turned slightly red as he continued. “You are both adults, and what you want to do behind closed doors really isn’t my business.”

  Good to know, because I really didn’t want to ever tell you, either.

  “No, what I was going to say was we need to get you a new Blue Card; which means you may have to go before the Council again.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  I must have looked uneasy because Alex put his hand on my shoulder. “Patrick, don’t worry about it. I will speak with them, and it will all be just fine.”

  33

  Buicks, Extinguishers, and Dancing Platypuses

  Thursday, February 16th

  PATRICK

  We decided to go to school the next day so people wouldn’t think we were dead. But as I looked in the mirror, I decided I looked somewhere between an alien plague victim and a zombie, and I felt about ten times worse. On the other hand, Nualla looked just as beautiful as ever. The skin on her arms and face had mostly healed and by the next day, it would look as if she had never even been on that bus. But she had, and it was my fault. And the guilt was eating me from the inside out, gnawing on my nerves.

  I sat on the edge of the vanity counter and watched her as she started dabbing stuff across her skin. “What are you doing?” I asked, a little perplexed.

  Nualla looked over at me and gestured with the makeup sponge. “Well, whereas you look like you were in a horrible accident, I do not. So I have to play pretend.”

  She turned back toward the mirror and started to add fake bruises to the area around her collarbone. Watching her, I had to admit she seemed pretty good at it. Then I realized she had probably had to do things like this for the last few years.

  Nualla moved her hand to her face and started to add one to her right cheek just below the eye. My heart skipped a beat, and a vision of her falling passed across my eyes; falling out of my reach.

  I reached out and grabbed her wrist gently. “Please don’t do that to your face.”

  She looked up into my eyes, startled by my reaction. “Patrick, I have—”

  “Please, anywhere but your face; I just can’t bear to see you that way. I—when I lost hold of you I thought I was going to lose you forever,” I admitted as I looked down at my hands.

  Nualla put down her sponge and wrapped her arms around me with the utmost gentleness. “Oh Patrick, what am I going to do with you?”

  As Nualla and I walked up the steps to the building, people were already starting to stare at me. Because my uniform had been all but destroyed in the bus crash I had been forced to borrow one of Shawn’s. And since he was a good four to eight inches taller than me I had had to roll up the bottom of the pants and was all but drowning in the dress shirt and black sweater vest.

  I had pulled the white dress shirt over my cast, but it just looked way too weird, so I had settled for having it bunched up above the cast instead. Hey, if people were going to stare anyways why not give them something to stare at, right?

  I didn’t really care what they thought, since I was off in my own little dreamy world already. I had thought Dr. LaCosta was a quack before, but next time I saw him I was going to have to thank him for the wicked awesome painkillers.

  Nualla let go of my hand, though a little slower than she normally did. “I’ll see you later, Patrick,” she said before turning to walk away.

  “Wait.” I reached out gently to pull her back. I slipped my arms around her waist and held her close as I looked down into her eyes. “I’m never letting you go unless I do this first; you never know when it could—”

  “Be our last?” Nualla said, finishing my sentence. “Patrick, I’m almost positive that nothing bad is going to happen to you before—well, you know.”

  “Well, in case you’re wrong, I’d like to kiss you just the same.” And then I kissed her gently at first, then more hungrily. I finally let her go when I could no longer ignore the cat calls from our classmates.

  Mr. Savenrue passed us on his way inside the building. “Last time I checked this was still a school, Mr. Connolly.”

  “But I’m not in school—yet,” I replied in a slightly dazed voice. Kissing Nualla always did that to me and the painkillers probably weren’t helping either.

  Mr. Savenrue looked back at us about to say something then he actually got a look at us; at my cast. His expression turned to one of concern. “Mr. Connolly, Miss Galathea, are you alright?”

  “Oh we’re fine now, but Tuesday was another story,” I answered, wincing.

  “Tuesday?” Mr. Savenrue asked, raising his eyebrows.

  “We were on the bus that crashed at Market Street on Tuesday,” Nualla clarified with a slight shudder.

  Yeah, I’m never going to get her to ride public transit again. Not a chance in hell.

  “So if I seem a little loopy, it’s probably just the painkillers,” I said with a slight grin. Truth be told, I could have been hallucinating this whole conversation and would have been none the wiser.

  “I’ll take that into consideration,” Mr. Savenrue said apprehensively before turning to walk into the building.

  Nualla kissed me on the cheek. “Bye Patrick; try not to injure yourself in math, okay?”

  “You mean like whacking myself in the head again?” I had already done that at least eight times this morning alone.

  “Yeah, like that,” she answered with a crooked smile over her shoulder as she walked into the building.

  “Patrick, why did you bail on me yesterday?” Connor called out from behind me. “And since when do you not answer your—” Connor stopped dead when he got close enough to actually see me. “What the hell happened to you?!”

  I got a feeling that most of my day was going to involve answering this question. If I was smart, I might have just passed out flyers or something.

  “Did you hear about that bus collision on Tuesday?”

  “Yeah…” Connor answered cautiously.

  I gestured to myself with my hands.

  “You were on it?!” Connor asked in shock.

  “Yeah, Nualla too,” I gestured slightly to Nualla with my head.

  Connor l
ooked past me to Nualla; she had done a really good job on her makeup. Still, I looked far worse. “How can she still manage to look that good after a bus accident?”

  “I really don’t know,” I replied, gazing at my unbelievably beautiful girlfriend; wife; wait, what was she now? Oh right, my fiancée.

  Connor looked back at me. “You look like hell.”

  “Yeah, I know.” I looked at my reflection in the front office window. “But on the bright side I can’t feel a thing most of the time,” I stated, turning to grin at Connor in a slightly unhinged way.

  “Those must be some damn good painkillers because you look like—”

  “I was hit by a Buick?” I added helpfully.

  “Yeah, several times,” Connor said with a smirk.

  When we reached the second floor hall Connor turned around to ask, “Aren’t you right-handed?”

  “Yep,” I answered, stopping at my locker.

  “You know Miss Marshall is so going to kill you, right?”

  “Oh fuck!” I cursed, looking at my busted arm. “I didn’t even think about that.” I looked up at him. “What am I going to do?”

  “Learn to use your left hand?” Connor offered with a shrug.

  “Thanks Connor, real helpful,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  “What did you do to your arm?!” I turned around to see Jenny coming toward us up the stairs. Then she stopped dead in her tracks. “What happened to the rest of you?!”

  “Can I go home now?” I said out of the side of my mouth to Connor.

  “Naw man, you’re already here; you’re screwed,” Connor answered, unable to hide his amusement.

  Jenny finally got to us with Sara and Beatrice behind her. Beatrice dropped her book in surprise when she looked up at me. “Well?” Jenny said, throwing out her arms dramatically.

  “Riot at Starbucks,” I said with a stupid grin. These painkillers were seriously doing a number on my sanity.

  “What?!” Jenny yelped, completely flabbergasted.

  “He’s kidding, Jenny,” Connor said, rolling his eyes. “He was on the bus that crashed on Tuesday.”

  “Seriously?” Beatrice asked, still ignoring the book at her feet.

  “Yep, I’m living proof that bad things happen to you if you ditch class,” I said stupidly.

  “Is he…okay?” Sara asked Connor out of the corner of her mouth.

  “I’m pretty sure he’s high as a kite, actually; just wait, any moment he might start dancing,” Connor said with a highly amused grin.

  The first bell rang loudly, and my friends started moving toward our first period classes. “Um, guys?” I called out to my friends. They turned around. “Can someone open my locker? I can’t seem to do it with my left hand.”

  They all just stared at me blankly for a minute in stunned silence.

  “Patrick, that’s a fire extinguisher,” Jenny pointed out in a bewildered voice.

  “Connor, just how many painkillers did he take?” Sara asked as she looked at me apprehensively.

  “No clue, but the next hour should be fucking brilliant,” Connor answered with a huge grin.

  Most of the day was a wash. I’m pretty sure if I hadn’t told Mr. Savenrue ahead of time about the painkillers he might have sent me to the office—or called the cops. As it was, I’m pretty sure I spent the hour staring at the dancing platypuses on Natalie’s backpack. Grooving along with their little dance party in my head.

  The other teachers looked horrified when they saw me, but didn’t say a whole lot to me and Nualla about the accident. Miss Marshall, on the other hand, looked like she was going to have a heart attack when I walked into sixth period Digital Painting.

  “Patrick, what on earth happened to you?!”

  I decided I really shouldn’t joke with her since she already looked unstable, so I settled for the truth. “I was on the bus that crashed.”

  “Patrick your…your arm, aren’t you right-handed?” she asked in a horrified voice as she looked at my cast. To an artist there were two things almost worse than death and an injury to your dominant hand was one of them.

  “Unfortunately,” I replied with a grimace; you never realize how much you use something until you can’t anymore. “So…are you going to make me paint with my left hand, or can I just sit here?”

  As it turned out, the answer to my second question was no. Miss Marshall still expected me to participate in class; she just wasn’t going to grade any of the crap that suffered under my left hand. I really had tried my best, but the stylus kept getting away from me.

  “Hey, Patrick?” Connor asked as he worked up a background on the digital canvas.

  “Hmm?” I answered, losing my grip on the stylus again.

  “Are you okay now?” he asked cautiously.

  “Everything’s fine, Connor, really.”

  “Dude, you thought the fire extinguisher was your locker just a few hours ago.”

  “Okay, point taken. But I assure you, I am fine now, so shoot.”

  “So last time I saw you your life had just exploded—again. But based on the way the two of you were going at it out in front of the school earlier I’m guessing everything’s awesome again. So what exactly happened after you ran off at lunch?”

  “I asked her to marry me,” I said in the quietest voice I could manage; we were after all in the crowed computer lab, and even though music was playing in the background it wasn’t that loud.

  “I thought you already did that?”

  “Yeah, but this time I actually got down on my knees and asked her.”

  “Didn’t you do that before?” Connor asked in confusion.

  “No, I’m pretty sure we just drunkenly wandered into the jewelry store at a 24-hour wedding chapel.

  “Seriously?”

  “I was piss drunk, if you will recall. The only reason I know half of what happened is because of the pictures.”

  “What pictures—oh right, the pictures you won’t let me see.”

  “Bingo.”

  Miss Marshall drifted by our section of computers and we fell silent. “Thank you, Patrick, for making an effort in your condition,” Miss Marshall said, looking down at me compassionately.

  Geez, she makes it sound like I’m dying or something.

  “If you can call it that,” Connor said with a snort.

  “Hey, I’d like to see you try holding this thing with your left hand,” I nearly shouted as I gestured to the stylus. “It’s nearly impossible!”

  Miss Marshall glared at Connor slightly before looking over at me. “Don’t worry; I won’t be grading you on this work.”

  Thank God, because I think I might have had better luck trying to draw with my foot, was what I wanted to say. What I actually said was, “Thanks, Miss M.”

  She smiled and continued on to look over the other student’s progress.

  “So…” Connor asked expectantly.

  “We’re doing it for reals this time, the whole big-wedding thing after graduation.”

  Connor looked at me suspiciously. “Geez, you two don’t waste any time do you?”

  There were so many reasons we were rushing this wedding, I wouldn’t even know where to begin. Unfortunately, I couldn’t tell him any of them. “It’s a really long story I can’t exactly get into right now, but don’t head out after graduation; I want you there.”

  “Oh, so you’re actually going to invite me this time?”

  “Yes Connor,” I said, rolling my eyes. “You’re never going to let me live that down are you?”

  “Nope, watching the crap you do to your life is funny as hell.”

  We both scribbled at the tablets for a few silent moments before he asked, “So… can I bring Sara?”

  “Of course, she’
s invited too and—” I said confused, and then it dawned on me. “Oh, I take it things went well, then?”

  “Better than well; as of Tuesday Sara and I are now officially a thing,” Connor answered with a huge grin.

  34

  Facing the Music

  Thursday, February 16th

  PATRICK

  I finally went home for the first time since the accident. Loraly was reluctant to let me go, and I finally got her to agree by promising to come back on Friday to stay for the weekend. In all honesty, I would have loved to stay there forever, but I really needed to get some clean clothes since everything I had worn the last few days had been Shawn’s.

  Nualla’s family’s warm, inviting nature had taken some getting used to, but now it felt entirely normal and in sharp contrast to my own parents. Her family’s outward affection was like a drug and as I sat at the table eating my dinner alone, I missed them. Not just Nualla, but everyone, even Andraya—if only just a little.

  A nauseating wave of pain surged through my body, and I was reminded that I needed to take my actual drugs. I pulled them out and shook one pill into my hand. The instructions on the bottle were obviously not intended for humans, because taking that amount sent me way too far into La La Land. However, I still hadn’t found the magic number yet.

  I stared at the TV screen but lost interest in the show that was on, and my mind began to wander. The pain hadn’t subsided, so obviously one wasn’t the magic number. I took a few more bites of my dinner, but I really didn’t have an appetite, maybe it was the meds.

  “Patrick, what on earth happened to your arm?” my father asked from behind me.

  I nearly choked on my dinner as I turned around. “Dad!” I had been so lost in thought I hadn’t heard him come in. He placed his stuff on the counter as he passed and walked over to look at me. I liked to pretend I didn’t care that they were never there, but I did care, a lot.