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CHAPTER ONE
12:30 AM: THE PARTY HIT red hot on a freak-warm, breezy October Saturday night in Houston, Texas.
Metal thundered over the indoor surround sound so hard it shook the dust off the backyard lawn furniture and vibrated the pool house windows. Half the junior and senior classes had cups of trashcan punch in their hands and the other half crammed themselves into the pool and the hot tub until they were filled with more bodies than water. Kevin Landon swayed at the water’s edge, early on his way to buzzed and sane.
And on his way to scoring with the one girl he’d wanted to kiss all year, Amy Mathis. She of the long, blue-black hair that reminded him of crow’s feathers. She of the chipped black nail polish and the black pants with the homemade chains that hung halfway down her ass. The tank top that hugged every curve—and those were some luscious curves.
He had to yell to lift his voice up over the music. “What are you doing tomorrow?”
She sipped her punch and shook her head. “What?”
He leaned to whisper in her ear and caught her scent. Something with vanilla. And leather. He breathed her in, could’ve done just that—only that—for an hour. But he would not do something that utterly uncool, no matter how tempted. No matter how fuzzed his mind felt. He wanted her to go out with him, not think he was some creepy stalker-type.
“Tomorrow,” he said. “Movie?”
She moved closer. “Can’t tomorrow. I have a family thing.”
He cocked his head so he could see her eyes, trying to tell if she was making excuses, letting him down easy. A clue he would’ve been able to get easier if he hadn’t already dipped his brain in a vat of hundred-proof liquid.
Her eyes were deep green, like jade, and honest. So he could ask for a rain check without making an ass of himself. He tried not to let her see his relief. “Friday?”
“Halloween?” The corner of her mouth quirked into a half-smile. “It’s a date, Kev—”
She never finished saying his name—but shoved into him, her drink flooding the front of his shirt.
He lost his balance and rocked back on his heels, unable to hold his footing. He tumbled into the pool, with Amy on top of him.
They sank to the bottom, five-and-a-half-feet down. The chill of the water soaked in and rose all the skin on his body to gooseflesh and shrank his balls down to raisins. The taste of chlorine filled his nose and mouth and stung his eyes when he opened them. Amy’s hair floated around them like feathers.
He twined his fingers with hers and squeezed, pushing off the bottom for both of them, sputtering to the surface. He helped Amy to the edge. She held onto the concrete and coughed her lungs out.
“Sorry,” someone said.
Kevin looked up at the someone. Rude Davies. Short for Rudolph Diamond Davies III, six-three, two-fifty, with buzz-cut orange hair and a red Hawaiian shirt, whose house this was. And whose parents were conveniently in Colorado for the weekend.
“Sorry,” Rude said again. He held out a hand.
Kevin knew he was serious with the apology. Nickname aside, Rude was a good guy. Besides, if he meant to push them into the pool, they’d have known it was coming. One thing Rude couldn’t do to save his life? Sneak up on anybody.
“That’s okay, man,” Kevin said. “But payback is hell.”
The big guy grinned and lifted him and Amy out of the water.
The air may have been toastier than usual for late October, but that didn’t translate to warm enough to stand in while soaking wet. The wind gusted, shocking him completely sober.
“Y’all are freezing,” Rude said.
Amy hugged herself. “Talk to me about the pool in July.” She nodded at the whole lot of folks in the water. “They’re wilder than me.”
That went for Kevin, too. Except for the part where the pool had done wonders for Amy’s tank top. He tried not to stare—or not too hard, anyway. “You need a towel,” he said.
“Me? You mean we.” She laughed. “Drowned rat’s the new pink.”
He really did like this girl. And it looked mutual. “Wait here,” he said. “I’ll scare us up some.”
He didn’t have too much trouble elbowing a path to the house since no one wanted to get wet by association. Except one girl who didn’t get out of his way fast enough. Brunette, long hair, eyebrow ring. Usually hated those. The people who wore them struck him as too much faux-cool. But on her it looked…normal.
Hazel eyes betraying no alcoholic influence, she smiled at him. Not a nervous reflex. A real grin. Weird, and so much so that he kept an eye on her as she disappeared into the crowd.
On that trajectory he caught sight of his best friend Scott, who he’d come to the party with, imbibing yet another cup of punch. His long, blond hair hung in his face, but couldn’t hide his huge grin and glassy eyes.
How many drinks did that make? Five? Six? A little out of hand.
Scott raised his glass to Kevin. “A toast!” he roared.
Kevin didn’t hear the particulars because he ducked inside. Ten steps down the long hall, linen closet at the end, across from the bathroom. He opened the door and pulled out two of the richest towels he’d ever seen. Who had towels this thick?
Rude did. He also had someone to wash and fold them and clean the house and a whole lot of other things Kevin would never see in his lifetime. For a good, long second, he felt jealous. He didn’t like the thoughts that started to worm their way into his head. Stuff like whether Rude deserved to have so much. Why some guys got so lucky, and other guys ended up taking care of the house and the grocery shopping while their dads spent evenings guzzling beer and watching Sports Center while the finances got tighter.
Shut up, Kev.
It wasn’t like Rude’s life was perfect either. More perfect, yeah, but only in the got-money department. Rude’s parents expected him to be the next President of the United States. The pressure to get the grades, to run for school office, to stay on everyone’s good side? It was too much. Which was probably why Rude’s greatest ambition was to see his picture in the senior yearbook on the page under LIFE OF THE PARTY.
This party sucks out loud.
Kevin heard the words loud and slurred and close, as if someone next to him had accidentally busted out their out-loud voice.
Except no one had. He was alone in the hall. He must have hallucinated. He put it out of his mind. He’d head back to Amy. Be a towel-carrying hero.
I think I’m cool to drive.
More words from no one and nowhere. What the hell?
Kevin blinked. It seemed like he hadn’t heard the words with his ears—he’d heard them in his mind. It made no sense. He himself was having an excellent time, nowhere near wanting to leave. No way would he have thought for two seconds about driving.
He stood there holding the towels for half a minute, waiting to see if it would happen again. And annoyed as hell. He had Amy to get back to. He didn’t want to lose her to some other guy who happened to be there and more convenient.
He shut the closet door and started back down the hall to outside, where his dripping-wet might-be-girlfriend waited. One step, two steps, three. Then he heard:
Keys.
Dammitall to hell.
He looked around. Had somebody slipped something into his punch? Had being pushed into the pool made him lose his mind?
Puh-lease. Someone had to be playing tricks on him. Someone familiar, by the sound and tone of the voice. Scott, mayb
e. The voice sounded a lot like Scott.
He waited for his buddy to do it again. He mentally dared him to do it again. When he didn’t hear anything else weird, he slowly started to relax. Maybe Scott had lost interest.
He shook his head. Chalked the whole thing up to the punch and the party vibe. He bet he wouldn’t even remember it in the morning. Which, if he got lucky, wouldn’t come for a very long time. He could have hours with Amy.
This time he kept his eyes front and center, and walked down that hall like he owned it. He emerged into the living room. And it took him a crazy minute to compute what he saw.
Scott. Looking for his keys. In the entry hall. Where the key sergeant guarded the bowl so no one could drive home tanked. Except the key sergeant was nowhere in sight.
Scott focused like his life depended on it, digging into the mass of metal and plastic and leather. His fingers closed around the right set of keys—the ones that went with Scott’s father’s Mustang, with the silver horse keychain.
Scott closed his eyes. His voice invaded Kevin’s brain again.
I’m think I’m gonna blow.
Kevin heard that so strong, he felt the nausea himself. His knees wobbled. He dropped the towels.
But Scott didn’t throw up. He pulled himself together and headed for the front door.
“Hey!” Kevin yelled after him.
But Scott sped out the door like a bullet.
Kevin followed, half-aware of shoving people out of the way. He tripped over the threshold and into the yard just in time to see the Mustang’s lights flash twice where Scott had parked it at the curb.
“Wait!” Kevin yelled again.
But Scott either didn’t hear, or he didn’t want to. He slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine.
Kevin did the only thing he could think of.
He stepped into the street. Into the path of the car.
CHAPTER TWO
SCOTT HIT THE GAS—and saw Kevin a second too late to stop in time. Kevin heard him think OH SHIT before he stomped on the brake.
Kevin backpedaled as fast as he could. The bumper still nicked his leg. He lost his balance. No water to cushion the fall this time—he hit the asphalt hard enough to lose all the air in his lungs. The street and the car and the cracked curb and the grass beyond it blurred, then rushed back into sharp focus.
Footsteps vibrated the pavement—people running—and a car door opened.
Scott hunkered down next to him. He reeked of beer, at least in part because he’d spilled some on his skull-and-crossbones T-shirt. And on his leather boots, the sticky, steel toes of which menaced an inch from Kevin’s head.
Kevin got a good look at his friend’s too-red face. The pupils of Scott’s coal-black eyes were dilated, his lips curled in a snarl. He looked Godzilla-sized, but that had to be the angle and the alcohol, because he was Kevin’s size, maybe a little smaller.
He clutched the car keys in his fist and boy, did he look pissed.
Angry? Oh, yeah. Scott wanted to hit him.
“Are you fucking crazy, Kevin?” he spat.
“I should ask you that.” Kevin got his elbows under him and pushed up. He expected to be dizzy, but no. He lobster-crawled back a couple of feet and stood up slowly. “You can’t drive, man. You didn’t check out with the sergeant.”
“What was I supposed to do, hunt him down?”
“Those are the rules.”
Scott rose and moved in, nose-to-nose. “You saying I’m drunk?”
“I am.”
An actual crowd had formed around them. Folks from the yard, from inside the house. And from poolside: Rude elbowed his way to the front. Amy pushed her way in behind him. And behind her, the brunette with a silver ring in her eyebrow who Kevin recognized but didn’t know.
Rude took in the whole scene in a heartbeat. He glared at Scott. “What do you think you’re doing?” He held out his hand, palm-up. “Hand ‘em over, dude.”
Scott shook his head. “What’re you gonna do? Make me?”
“Yeah,” Rude said. Plain as that. Do what he said or get squashed.
Against all logic, Scott turned back toward the car. Rude grabbed him by the arm. Scott took a swing, proving Kevin’s point. Because sober, he’d never have been dumb enough to try something like that.
Rude not only blocked the shot, he leveled Scott with a right hook to the jaw. He scooped up the keys to the ‘stang and handed them to Amy. “Park that thing, will you?”
She slid into the driver’s seat.
Kevin watched her put the car into gear, then tore his gaze away in time to catch the crowd headed back inside. And, next door, a nosy neighbor lady peeking through her curtains.
Kevin heard her think, the way he’d heard Scott: Damn kids damn kids damn kids. I’ll show them.
“Rude, I think your neighbor’s calling the cops,” he said. But Rude had already gone back inside.
The nearest police station was ten minutes away, max.
He looked over at Amy again. She turned the key in the ignition. The engine hummed. Let’s go, she mouthed. He heard the words in his mind at the same time he read them on her lips.
She’d seen what he had, and come to her own conclusion without anything more than that.
“Wait,” he said. He hoped to hell she did.
He found Rude in the living room. The big guy loomed over Scott, who was laid out on the sofa, half-conscious.
Rude glanced over his shoulder at Kevin. “He’s coming around.”
“Good,” Kevin said. “Lady across the street saw what happened.”
“You think she let it alone?” Rude asked.
Kevin shook his head.
“Thanks, dude.” He headed out back to start rounding people up.
Kevin hauled Scott off the sofa.
“What?” Scott mumbled.
“Carrying your ass out of here. Just shut it and walk if you can.” He could, just enough so Kevin didn’t have to lift him. Still, it was slow going.
By the time they wove their way through the tipped-off party people screaming out the door and landed on the driveway, sirens wailed. By the sound of them, the police were only a few streets over and closing in by the second.
Everyone who’d been at the party piled into their rides and took off—or they couldn’t get out because others blocked them in.
Amy and the Mustang should’ve been snarled in the mess. But they’d disappeared. She’d left.
He maneuvered Scott onto the sidewalk and kept moving. If they could get far enough away before the real trouble went down, maybe they’d be okay. Before he could think too much more about their choices—run on foot (which was definitely not happening) or hide—something flashed red four houses down, taillights on a black car in the halo of a streetlamp. Amy’s head poked out of the top. Out of the sunroof.
He aimed for Amy and pushed hard. “Move it, man. Gotta go, pronto.”
The cops were so close that by the time they tumbled into the car and Amy put the pedal to the metal, Kevin could hear them think. He slapped his hands over his ears. Didn’t help at all.
He got a mindful of thoughts about how rich kids never think they’re gonna get caught breaking the law and how the cops expected to make at least twenty arrests. How “these kids” would be in deep shit with their parents.
The last thing Kevin heard before Amy turned the corner freaked him beyond all else.
The cops weren’t just coming to shut down the party. They were there to look for him.
CHAPTER THREE
HE TRIED NOT TO PANIC—or at least not to show it. He met Amy’s gaze. “Jam. Now.”
She got the message. She put some blocks behind them. None of them said another word until they’d gone a mile in the dark and quiet without picking up a blue-and-white tail.
She sighed about the same time he let himself relax a hairbreadth. “You got problems?” she asked.
“All kinds.”
He sneaked out of the house at
night to party, but mostly just to get some space. He’d skipped out on his tab last weekend at Hooligans, though he’d made it into the club in the first place with a fake ID, so if the bartender remembered a name, at least it wouldn’t be his. Minor transgressions. None of it bad enough to come back to haunt him at a Saturday night party.
He figured he was the proverbial Good Kid. He had all As, one B, and his teachers liked him. He could get away with a lot more than he tried to, but he was set on getting into a good college. On a scholarship. Someplace far away from here. Somewhere he wouldn’t feel like prisoner.
He messed around a lot, but not with school. School was his ticket out. A couple of his classes this semester were harder than he could handle. He’d have to really bring it, and then some.
Amy raised a brow.
He had to say something. “I had a bad feeling.”
“Uh-huh.” She didn’t believe him.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, hoping to lighten the mood. And change the subject. “We escaped. It’s still early. We’ve got wheels.”
“True. But your friend looks like shit.”
Kevin looked over his shoulder at Scott passed out in the back seat. He’d be pissed. Probably not at Rude. Honestly, Rude couldn’t have done anything except what he did. Rules were rules. No, Scott would be mad at him. His best friend. The guy who hadn’t trusted him, who’d ratted him out. Maybe he’d have made it home, or wherever else he’d been headed, with no problem.
Or maybe he’d have wrecked himself or someone else. Kevin knew what that was like. He knew it close to the bone.
His father had smashed them up once, and once was more than enough for a lifetime. And then there’d been the accident (let’s call it what it was—vehicular homicide) that’d stolen his mother’s life.
She’d been hit head-on by a guy who’d left a bar after having ten too many. It hadn’t even been a year. Halloween night would be the anniversary of the four-in-the-morning ring of the doorbell, when the police had come to give them the bad news.
He refused to go any further with that thought. He would. Not. Think. About. His. Mother. Because he would cry. That was not allowed.
Hunt: An Urban Faery Tale (The Faery Chronicles Book 1) Page 1
