by Lisa Olsen
Sam’s lips quirked. “Yes, he has ever been so.”
“How is he?” I asked before I could talk myself out of it.
“Would you like to know how he has instructed me to say he is or how he truly is?” he asked me with a perfectly straight face.
“Both.” Alice came in then, dressed like a cat and I gave her a distracted wave.
“He is fine, he has moved on to somewhere on the East coast of these United States. I am not entirely certain where.”
I guessed that was the line. “And how is he really?” I pressed, trying to tell myself I didn’t care.
Sam’s head canted to one side as he mulled that over. “I do not honestly know. When I speak with him, he does not sound as his usual self.”
“You mean obnoxious and bossy?” I smirked.
“To some extent,” Sam smiled back. “As you would say, he is still acting as though he is… the boss of the world?” He waited for my reaction and I nodded approvingly. “I believe his absence has caused him great pain, though he will not speak of it.”
I digested that for a moment. “Does he ever ask about me?” I could feel my self esteem eroding even as I asked the question. Why did I give him that kind of power over me?
“You are the only reason he calls me now, for some word of how you fare.”
I felt my heart speed up a little in spite of myself. “Where is he?”
“I do not know.” My eyes narrowed at him suspiciously and his hands came up in a supplicating gesture. “I truly do not,” Sam assured me and after a brief consideration, I found I believed him. It was probably part of why Adam asked him to stay away from me, Sam was practically incapable of lying.
The door opened then and Daphne and her date walked in with Matty and his date dressed as hippies from the sixties. Daphne’s eyes went wide at seeing Sam and she gave me a surreptitious wave before steering everyone to a table instead of coming up to the bar to interrupt us. I never loved Daphne more than in that moment!
Pulling my thoughts back from the interruption, I turned back to Sam. “What did Nathanael say, when you went up to visit him?” Was that why he’d felt the need to come and talk to me?
“The powers that be have adopted a watch and wait attitude.”
“What does that mean?” Was I still living under the threat of possible execution for carrying the Grace?
“They are reserving judgment for the moment.”
Super. So I still had that to look forward to. But there was no sense in worrying over it, for all I knew they were content to watch and wait for a century or more before making a decision. Time was likely not the same to them as it was to me.
“What was so important you decided to break Adam’s commandment and come and talk to me then?” Why did I have a feeling it wasn’t because he’d missed me?
“I had to warn you.”
In a stroke of perfect timing, Ben walked in, his easy smile of anticipation freezing in place as he spotted me talking at the bar with Sam. I could see disappointment cloud his features and the desire to walk up and join us. I couldn’t have blamed him if he had, but instead he went to join Daphne’s table, his eyes never leaving me.
Sam was talking and I realized that I’d only been partially listening to him as he spoke of the impending danger. “Wait… what? I’m sorry, say that again?” This time I gave him my full attention, forgetting all about Ben and his hurt feelings as Sam repeated the troublesome news. The ball of stress in my stomach expanded, suffusing my entire being and I saw the telltale glow emanating from my hands. I knew they only did that when I was afraid… when I thought attack was eminent and the Grace responded for my protection.
Sam noticed it at the same time and he reached for my face, gently drawing my gaze to his. “Mercy, you must not be alarmed. We will not allow this to come to pass.”
A near hysterical bubble of laughter left my lips. Don’t be alarmed? That was like saying whatever you do, don’t think of a purple hamster. What’s the first thing that pops into your head? “How can you say that after what you just told me?”
“They are rumblings only, but I thought you should know for your own safety.”
“And what about Adam, did he think I should know?” I demanded.
Sam looked uncomfortable at that question. “He has made it most clear he believes you should remain ignorant of all of this, also for your own saor ">Sam lookfety.”
“I am sick and tired of everyone making all of these decisions for my own damned safety!” I all but yelled and every pair of eyes in the room swiveled to rest on us. Immediately I felt my cheeks flush with warmth and the glow began to recede.
Interesting.
“Is there anything else?” I asked, lowering my voice.
“No,” Sam answered simply, looking uneasy at the scrutiny we were under and I remembered he was still unused to being seen by humans most of the time.
I nodded, still trying to process what he’d said. “Well, I appreciate you stopping by. I’d invite you to join the party but…”
“I cannot stay,” he smiled softly.
“If you talk to Adam, tell him…” I paused, swallowing back the words that leapt to mind. “Actually, nevermind. If he wants to know he can ask me himself,” I shook my head.
Sam nodded slowly, a glance to the others in the room before he began to back away. “All will be well, Mercy, and remember, I am never far away.”
Why was it I had trouble believing him?
To Ben’s credit, he waited until Sam made his departure before approaching me. I knew he was busting a gut to say something at watching me with Sam, but he restrained himself admirably, giving me a tight smile. “Hey, you look great.”
I appreciated the effort, but with what was coming down the pipe I knew it was time to stop dancing around the issue. Coming around the bar, I leaned up to give him a tender kiss before letting out a shaky breath. I reached for his hand, needing his solid comforting presence.&nng ">Ibsp; “We have to talk…”
Read on for a special preview of Lisa Olsen's vampire series, Wake Me When the Sun Goes Down, available now!
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Books by Lisa Olsen:
The Touch
Pretty Witches All in a Row
Moonsong
Nine Steps to Sara
The Fallen Series
Angel of Mercy
Mercy for the Wicked
Mercy for the Damned
Child of Mercy
Forged Bloodlines Series
Wake Me When the Sun Goes Down
Meet Me When the Sun Goes Down
Find Me When the Sun Goes Down (2013)
For more information, visit the author’s website at http://www.lisaolsen.net
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Wake Me When the Sun Goes Down
Chapter One
I couldn’t move.
I wasn’t strapped to the table, or in a straight jacket, though one might have been a good idea in hindsight; I just couldn’t make my limbs obey me. It felt like my entire body was weighed down, as if I’d been mountain climbing all day (not that I’ve ever done such a thing in my lifetime). I couldn’t even turn my head, which was disconcerting, especially since the hard surface at my back didn’t feel at all like my Serta pillow top.
My other senses were in overdrive though. Something strong and astringent in the air made the back of my throat tingle unpleasantly. Was my roommate up cleaning the bathroom with a bucket of bleach? No, that didn’t seem quite right. It had a different chemical smell I couldn’t quite place, along with an underlying scent that smelled good. Like the spicy aroma of Chinese food that lingers long after the last egg roll is gone. Besides, I couldn’t picture a world in which Bridget would be up cleaning in the middle of the night.
My skin felt itchy all over, irritated by the rough material pressed up against it. Where were my warm, cuddly pajamas? A sheet was pulled all the way up over my
head, as if I’d been trying to hide in my sleep. I noticed my feet were bare, which was really odd. I always slept with at least one pair of socks on, so my feet wouldn’t freeze. They didn’t feel cold at the time though; I didn’t feel hot or cold, just… normal, apart from the fact that I couldn’t move. I took some small comfort in the fact that I wasn’t completely paralyzed with no feeling in my body whatsoever. A muffled but steady thump reached my ears, and in my foggy state I lay there trying to figure out what it was.
That’s when I realized… I wasn’t alone.
There was someone else in the room with me, I could hear him breathing. For two seconds I forgot to breathe myself, fear paralyzing what was left of my moving body. Who was in my bedroom? Was I even in my bedroom? Suddenly it seemed less like a weird dream and more like a dangerous situation to be in, especially when I found I couldn’t open my eyes.
A swishing sound hit my ears, like a swinging door being pushed open, footsteps echoing in its wake. “Hey, I’m here to pick up an Anja Evans?”
That’s me! Only the guy mispronounced my name, with a hard “j” instead of the softer “y” sound of Ahnyah it’s supposed to sound like, so obviously I didn’t know the guy. Also his ssp;me,hoes squeaked, so we definitely weren’t in my bedroom, not that I really thought I was anymore.
“Evans… Evans… I don’t have an Evans here, how long has she been here?” a different man answered, sounding bored as he flipped through papers.
“I don’t know, some time tonight. Are you sure you don’t have her? Maybe she’s not updated in the computer yet? Blonde hair, blue eyes, about average height, wearing some kind of costume?”
That sounded like me alright, but costume? My hands moved a tiny bit, sliding across the heavy fabric that felt nothing like my pj’s. Why would I be dressed up in a costume?
“Oh, Jane Doe number six. Sure, we’ve got her over here.” The steps got louder as they walked in my direction.
“You’ve had six unidentified females today? Are they that common here?” He sounded almost as surprised as I was. If they didn’t know who I was, that meant they hadn’t called my family or anyone yet. I was completely on my own.
“No, they’re really not. That’s why she’s only number six, ever.”
I’m over here, I’m awake… I tried to speak, but I couldn’t make any sound, and my eyes still wouldn’t budge no matter how hard I tried to force them open. My fingers started to respond sluggishly, but the men must not have noticed under the sheet.
All at once, I realized I must be in the hospital. That would explain the uncomfortable bed, the vague disinterest about me and the smell of disinfectant. I drew some comfort from that, because if I was drugged out or paralyzed, at least I was under a doctor’s care. That was my assumption anyway…
“Are you sure you have the right one? I’ll catch hell if I bring back the wrong body. How did she die?”
Die? I couldn’t be dead! I could still hear, smell, and feel everything. On the plus side, my tongue started to loosen, and I could open and close my teeth. If I could move, I couldn’t possibly be dead, but something was definitely wrong. I swallowed uncomfortably past the lump that rose in my throat. What had happened to me? All too soon, the comfort of finding myself in the hospital turned to despair, and I could feel a silent tear slip from the corner of my eye. This went unnoticed by the men in the room thanks to the sheet pulled up over my head.
“Ah… looks like traumatic blood loss. Tissue damage to the neck, died in transit to the hospital, that’s all I’ve got here. But you’re welcome to take a look before you take her.”
A millisecond before the sheet came off, my eyes popped open and a high, keening cry leaked out of me like the air out of a balloon; my only available version of a scream, I suppose. The effect was electrifying. Both men screamed, and like a switch was flipped, I felt the energy rush back into my limbs. Filling my lungs with air, I screamed right back at them, and we stared at each other, all of us screaming for a good ten seconds before the room got really quiet.
“You’re… you’re…” The guy dropped his clipboard as he backed up a few feet. The other man, the one who came to get me I assumed, continued to stare at me like I had just risen from the dead, which was understandable.
“W-where am I?” My voice sounded shrill to my ears and I couldn’t help but wince, doing my best to swallow back my fear. I felt… wrong somehow, but I couldn’t quite identify why, finding myself in such strange surroundings was too distracting.
“Shoreline Memorial Hospital in San Francisco. You’re, um… you’re supposed to be dead.”
“I’m sorry…” slipped out reflexively, though what I had to be sorry about, I couldn’t imagine. Shoreline was the same hospital Bridget worked at, and I wondered if she knew I was there. I was tired of lying down and I might have said something to that effect as I pushed myself up to a seated position, but I was too busy looking at my surroundings to be sure if I’d spoken out loud. It wasn’t a hospital room as I’d assumed, but what looked like a morgue, based on my experience with TV and movies.
I was still half lying on a gurney, but a large stainless steel table stooew ut d in the center of the room, with holes drilled through it for drainage of various… ugh, I didn’t want to go there. “I feel…” dizzy, confused, itchy, nauseous, sore, tired…wrong… “…different.” My tongue finally supplied, and I again marveled at the sound of my own voice. Was it my ears or the timbre of my voice that had changed? It was impossible to tell.
“That’s understandable, you’ve been dead for over an hour,” the morgue attendant replied distractedly, bending to pick up the clipboard.
“Oh come on, Dave, there’s obviously been some kind of a mistake. She’s no more dead than you or me. I know some folks that are going to be glad to see you up and walking around.” The other guy gave me an encouraging smile.
Walking around didn’t sound like too bad of an option. More than anything I wanted out of the morgue with its strange smells and disturbing tables. Despite the dizziness, I launched myself to my feet, throwing myself off balance as my muscles propelled me farther than I had intended. I careened into the icky metal table, sending a tray of tools crashing to the ground. The sound was deafening, and I clamped my hands over my ears as I waited for it to end.
“Whoa, are you sure you should be up and around?” Smiley guy reached out to steady me, catching hold of my elbows.
That’s when I noticed the front of my dress had been cut and gaped open, showing more of my natural assets than I cared to, outside of a beach. When I say my dress, I don’t mean my dress. I’d never seen the thing before in my life. No wonder they reported I’d been wearing a costume, I would have made the same assumption. The underdress was made from a scratchy, coarse linen, the color of marigolds. The outer layer was a heavier, indigo wool, held up just below the shoulders by two round metal broaches adorned with three running horses, their legs intertwined. It was hard for me to gauge the whole effect in looking down. Wherever it came from, they’d never get the deposit back. Besides the long cut down the chest, it was also soaked through with blood on the left side of my body.
“I don’t belong here,” I murmured, pulling myself free from his grasp and doing my best to hold the dress closed. Overcorrecting, I nearly fell over the other way. Trying to muster a modicum of dignity, I swallowed again, clearing my throat in search of my normal tone of voice. “Cce.I nan either of you tell me what’s going on?”
“I’m not sure, this almost never happens,” Dave replied, losing some of the stunned look from his face, I saw his eyes dip to my chest and I shot him a look.
“But it does sometimes?” That was disturbing to hear on many levels.
Dave’s face flushed when he saw that I noticed him looking and he turned away, coughing into his hand as he approached a desk set in the far corner of the room. “Well no, not down here. Usually they catch that sort of thing up on the main floors. Um, let’s see what I can find out here.” He t
apped on the computer and the other man followed to look over his shoulder. “You were brought in a little over an hour ago… and died enroute to the hospital. They tried to revive you, but…”
He’d already said that before, but it was like it had happened to someone else. “I don’t remember any of this.” I shook my head miserably; it was starting to pound something fierce.
Smiley guy took pity on me, fixing me with that same reassuring smile. “You’ve been through quite a trauma, Ma’am. Maybe you should sit down?” Nodding, I avoided the creepy tables and slid into a plastic molded chair by the swinging door. “I’m Mike Turley, I work for the medical examiner’s office with SFPD, and I’m glad to find you alive and breathing.”
“Anja Evans.” I stuck out my hand by force of habit and after a moment’s hesitation, he shook it. I was struck by how warm his hand was, but I didn’t feel uncomfortably cold. Any difference in temperature was probably from my lying in the chilly morgue for an hour without my socks on.
“Nice to meet you, Anja.” He pronounced my name correctly that time. “Sit tight, I’m sure there are a lot of people who want to talk to you.” Straightening, he turned back to where Dave sat at the computer. “I’m going to need to make some calls and my signal’s for shit. Do you have n"> my sa phone I can use?”
“Oh yeah, there’s never any signal down here. Feel free to use this line here, dial nine to get out. I should really get a doctor down here to examine her, or I wonder if I should take her up to the ED myself…”
A lot of people who wanted to talk to me. Cool beans. And lots of doctors poking and prodding me as well. Even better. My eyes flicked to the swinging door beside me, the urge to flee growing stronger and stronger, until I lurched out of the chair and out the door with a soft rush of air. Once I was on the move, it seemed a simple thing to keep going. Objects in motion are easier to stay in motion, or something like that. I’ve never been particularly good at physics, no matter what you may have heard.
