Wickedly They Come (The Wickedly Series Book 1)

by Cathrina Constantine

  “That’d be great.” Her voice sounded quirky. Jordan glimpsed down and frowned at her scruffy sneakers, definitely not a fashion statement. “How’s it going living at Beth Schaffer’s? Does she know you’re here with me? It must be kind of weird.”

  “Beth and I are friends, and I leave early before she wakes. They think I’m an exchange student from South Africa considering the priesthood, as I told you before. Samuel Schaffer’s a good man, and we can converse about faith on all levels.” Markus caught her crazy eye roll. “The Schaffer’s opened their home without questions, and Deacon Schaffer insisted on leasing a car for my use.”

  “Oh, you have a driver’s license?”

  Markus grinned. “Everything’s been arranged.”

  She inspected his attire—a trendy navy pea coat and straight denim jeans that accented his long legs. “Must be nice,” she said, trying not to think about her worn jeans and sneakers. “I wish Henry would offer me his car. I haven’t driven in a while.”

  Markus and Jordan walked, each lost in thought, hearing only the crispy leaves being grinded by their sneakers.

  “Perhaps you’re over your head with Ronan,” he finally said.

  “What’d you mean?” She stopped mid-stride, and had to kink her head back to peer into his impassive face.

  “Ronan Beckman’s in league with a controlling demon named Davian, as you already know. She knows your father had some form of mystical powers, and I suspect she’s conjuring spirits to answer questions that eventually could hurt you and your mother.”

  “I’ve been training. I want to help. Please, Markus,” she said, her tone persuasive.

  “I’ll support you, Jordan, but be on guard. Ronan’s known in the spirit world. She’s gone beyond just playing games.”

  “Since you’re an angel, why don’t you know everything that’s happening? Like, what the heck are Ronan’s capabilities? And…and how’s my mom? And…is she safe?” She pressed the heel of her palm to her tense brow.

  “I’m not God.” He grunted while walking. “And becoming human limits my potential.”

  The whole angel turned human, living an ordinary teenage life seemed totally, totally bizarre. Matching his strides, she asked, “Markus, are you human or an angel?”

  “Technically, both, for now.”

  “What does that mean exactly?”

  “I’m an angelic spirit graced with humanity, which isn’t uncommon.” He peered into her eyes. “Believe it or not, angels walk among humans on a daily basis. I’ve just set up residence, which is unusual, but it’s been done before.”

  “Really?” Jordan persisted. “Then is there a difference in your abilities?”

  He shot her a lopsided grin. “I’m powerful in either form, although a bit quicker and more transportable in spirit.”

  “I mean…like…what if a truck hit you right now? Could you die?”

  A keening draft whipped his golden locks into his eyes. He removed the strands with his lean fingers while she waited impatiently for his answer.

  “Possibly, yes,” he said at last.

  Disturbed by his acceptance of his existence, Jordan dipped her head, the conversation disbanded in an awkward silence. Shriveled leaves scampered past their feet as the brick formation of Elma High loomed on the horizon. Unexpectedly, it looked as if the heavens had parted, liberating white flecks of snow dust.

  “The first snowfall of the season,” she said, while catching flakes with her flattened palms; they melted on contact.

  “Jordan.”

  Bringing her gaze to his insightful eyes, he said, “You know better than to play with the Ouija board and invoke spirits,” he counseled. “I shouldn’t have to tell you how precarious these games can be. And Ronan appears to have quite a dependence on the supernatural.”

  “I want to stop Ronan before my dream becomes a reality, before it’s too late. I needed to see exactly how far she’s ventured into the dark.”

  He gripped her shoulders, features taut. “I know you’re capable, though a little headstrong.” His gaze cut to her soul. “I’m not going to stop you, only guide and protect you, as well as I can.”

  When she gave a brisk nod, he released her shoulders. Buoyed with his unexpected support and feeling confident, she jogged to the school’s entrance with her angel keeping pace. Markus didn’t break a sweat, and she chuckled at her own exertion as he handed her the weighty backpack.

  “Thanks. Talk to you later.”

  She sprinted to her locker, where Ronan appeared to be lingering, wearing leggings and a shirtdress that was cinched with a wide belt. Jordan felt drab in her jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt. Never one to make a fashion statement, she liked to blend. Maybe next year, when she was acclimated, she’d wear something risqué, like a skirt. If she owned one by then.

  Almond-shaped eyes tapered at her approach. “What’s going on between you and Mark?” Ronan hooked her thumbs over her belt.

  “Mark?” said Jordan, muddled. “There’s nothing going on between us.”

  “You were walking with him again this morning.” In a show of aggravation, she folded her arms and tapped her foot on the floor. “I saw the way he was holding you.” Then she stamped her foot like a spoiled brat. “Thrill drove me to school this morning. We would’ve stopped to pick you up, but you both looked—intense.”

  “It was just a coincidence. We bumped into each other.” Jordan didn’t like the cadence of her insecure voice. The history textbook slipped from her hand, slamming to the floor. Stooping to pick it up, she rose and came in contact with Ronan’s evaluating gaze.

  “What’s wrong?” Jordan asked.

  “What do you have that sucks Mark in? Definitely not your style of fashion.”

  “Me? He’s not interested in me,” she emphasized each word. “I know you’ve already called dibs on the guy. Don’t worry. I won’t stand in your way.”

  Her face relaxed. “What’d you think goes on at Beth Schaffer’s house? You know what I mean? They live together. She hangs all over him. Makes me puke.”

  “Mark says they’re friends, nothing more.” She boosted Ronan’s confidence before the girl sent Davian after poor Beth.

  “Mark asked me to go to Taste after school today,” Ronan said, stunning her before she pivoted in the direction of her first period class.

  In a way, she was hurt that Markus had never mentioned his coffee date. Why keep it a secret?

  Since the Winter Ball was fast approaching, the lunchroom pulsed with energy. Animated chatter filled the space, building to an outrageous racket. Threading among tables and chairs, Jordan nearly lost her pickle when someone backed their chair into her hip.

  She couldn’t help overhearing students ragging about every little thing. One girl complained, “—committee voted on silver and white. Weren’t those last year’s colors?” A group of guys were discussing music. “Better not play crappy music or the dance will suck.” She strode past another table. “—dress Paige is wearing? It’s hideous.”

  Wow! Tough crowd.

  She felt dwarfed seated next to Cayden, who swiftly leaned and pilfered the pickle from her tray, taking a hearty chomp. Pickle juice dripped along her chin, and she helped herself to Jordan’s napkin as well.

  “Just about everyone saw you and Mark walking to school this morning.” Her voice was garbled with pickle chunks.

  “Um-hm.” Jordan’s dry turkey sandwich was sticking to her teeth. “Why is everyone so bothered? We were just walking.”

  “Let me give you some advice.” Cayden glanced over her shoulder. “Ronan wants Mark. I mean, she likes him.” Then, cupping her hand around Jordan’s ear, she confided, “Like I tried explaining over the phone, last year’s Winter Ball ended badly. Beth and the popular kids blamed Ronan for what happened, and they’ve ostracized her ever since.” Cayden stiffened. Her eyes froze like a deer in headlights when Ronan entered the cafeteria.

  Puzzled by her sudden panic, Jordan watched a dynamic Ronan make her
way to the table. “What’s up, Cayden?” Her tone was sharp. “What were you whispering to Jordan about?”

  “I was explaining the Winter Ball isn’t as exciting as everyone makes it out to be,” she lied.

  Ronan’s head bobbed. “Cayden’s right. All the hype, and it’s just a lame dance in the school gym.” Her voice lowered. “Do you think the Ouija board is right and Mark is going to ask you to dance?”

  “Mark will probably dance with anyone who asks.” Jordan ripped a piece of bread from her sandwich. “I don’t think he’s the type to go to a dance.” Would he?

  “Oh, he’s going.” Ronan’s pupils dilated. “With Beth’s group. Do you plan to ask Mark to dance? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Not a chance. Why would I ask him to dance?”

  Startling her, Ronan reached forward, picked at a loose lock of Jordan’s hair, and hooked it behind her ear. Then in an odd gesture, she skimmed her finger the length of Jordan’s jaw line, producing a shudder from her scalp down the length of her backbone.

  “Will he ask you?” whispered Ronan.

  “I dunno,” Jordan said.

  Peering into her eyes, Ronan’s upper lip rolled. Without another word, she sauntered to the lunch counter.

  Jordan scrubbed away her touch and turned to Cayden. “We’ve known each other for a while, and I know we’re not best friends or anything like that,” she said, peeved. “But why didn’t you warn me about Saturday night? And why’s Ronan so crazed about Mark?” She instantly regretted speaking harshly.

  Blotchy-faced, Cayden sipped on a juice packet. “Ronan asked me all kinds of questions about you for weeks, and I remember you’d mentioned something about your mom trying to get your dad’s book published,” she said miserably. “I thought your dad was a writer. Then she’d planned the log initiation to see if you’d be receptive to crazy stuff.” She sniffed. “By the way, you passed with flying colors.” Cayden paused to shred a napkin. “Ronan got a copy of your father’s book. I couldn’t give her the information she wanted about him because all you ever told me was that he’d died.” Her eyes darted to Ronan. She was leaning against the sidewall, talking with a boy but watching them.

  Jordan almost felt sorry for the forlorn Cayden. “So what were you talking about before Ronan walked in? Something happened last year?”

  Cayden started to cough, a fit that shook her slim body. Sipping more juice, she nervously glimpsed Ronan. In the midst of coughing, she mumbled, “Maybe you should ask Thrill or someone else.” Standing, with her hand covering her mouth, she stumbled out the doors.

  Between classes, for the rest of the afternoon, Jordan hiked the crowded halls, searching for Thrill. She’d only managed to walk into an open locker. Massaging her bruised shoulder, she peeked around and found a solitary girl leering at her. With the end of the last class, she planned to beat Thrill to his car.

  The flittering snowflakes had amassed into a heavy snowfall. Her sneakers sank into the wet, slushy snow as she traipsed through the parking lot. Thrill usually drove Ronan home, but she was going for coffee with Mark after school, so she assumed he’d be alone.

  Surprisingly, two arms engulfed Jordan from behind, lifting and twirling her in a circle. “Hey, Jordan!” Thrill exclaimed. “Want a ride home?”

  She giggled, loving his enthusiasm. “Sure. I was looking for you, and you found me.”

  Tracking him to his car, she attempted to step in his snow-flattened footprints. Obviously, her sneakers weren’t holding up well in the snow.

  “You were looking for me?” he said over his shoulder. He unlocked the door and held it open.

  Frowning at the globbed snow on her sneaks, she felt awkward tramping it into his car. She knocked them on the door ledge, but it was too late, water had already soaked into her socks.

  “My car’s used to the snow, don’t worry about it.”

  Jordan was glad for the cold weather as her blush mingled with her rosy face.

  “So what’s up?” he asked.

  She enjoyed his glowing cheeks as well, and the way he ran his fingers through his hair. For a nanosecond, she forgot what she wanted to ask him. He revved the engine and switched on the defrosters, giving her time to gather her wits.

  “I was wondering if you could help me.” She paused as he put the car in gear. “Er…Cayden said something happened last year at the dance. I’d like to be informed before I get myself in trouble.”

  “Why?” Thrill appeared agitated, swerving onto Main Street. “Does this have something to do with Mark?”

  She must’ve looked a bit speechless, because his next words were, “Ronan told me she’s nuts about the guy. She doesn’t like the idea of him living with Beth, and then you’ve been seen with him lately. In fact, we saw you two walking again this morning. Are you crazy for this dude like every girl in school?”

  “Mark’s…nice.” Is he calling me crazy? “We’re friends, that’s all.”

  He nodded, not convinced.

  “I’d like to know what happened last year. It has nothing to do with Mark.”

  He gnawed on his inner cheek. Her question must have really bothered him because his fingers were turning white around the knuckles on the steering wheel. All of a sudden, he veered to the side of the road and switched off the ignition.

  Taking a cleansing breath, he said, “What do you know?”

  “Not much. Cayden started to explain how the Winter Ball ended badly, but as soon as Ronan walked into the lunchroom, she got all weird and jittery. That’s about it.”

  A snort rumbled his throat as he wiped down his face with his hands. “It’s a long story. I don’t have all the facts. We might never know what really went down.”

  “Please enlighten me.”

  “Are those beautiful eyes flirting with me?” An engaging smile spread over his face.

  Confounded at first, and then mad at her traitorous burning cheeks, she joked, “Not really, but if it’ll help…then yes.”

  “Jordan. It always helps.”

  She loved the way he said her name. Sugary—no, more than sugary, like an unripe strawberry dipped in sugar. A little tart and sweet. She couldn’t think straight and was positively out of her league when it came to this boy. She tried to rid the silly grin from her mouth.

  “I have to give you some background first,” he said, beginning his tale. “Ronan was part of the popular pack all through school. She can be very intimidating.” He shared a perceptive grin with her, both of them on the same page. “And through the years, I’ve seen how she can sway people to her way of thinking.” Thrill hesitated, chasing fingers over the steering wheel. He seemed to be refreshing his mind.

  “Anyway, she fell hard for a guy. His name was Robert. They became quite an item, or so it seemed. I felt sorry for the guy. He couldn’t look or even talk to another girl.” He laughed humorlessly. “It was like she cut off his balls or something.

  “My friend Megan, who is a very hot chick by the way.” He smiled. “She was rumored to like Robert. Needless to say, Ronan found out, probably from Paisley. Then at the Winter Ball, Meg asked Robert to dance. Not once, but twice. Meg hated Ronan and the way she ruled the group. She especially disliked the way Ronan treated Robert. But that nitwit Robert blew it. He enjoyed dancing with Meg way too much. If you don’t know by now, let me tell you, Ronan’s insanely jealous. She has a nasty streak when it comes to anything she wants.”

  He grabbed a water bottle, lying on the seat, and drank generously. “Wanna sip?”

  “No, thanks.” Jordan was getting antsy, wishing he’d get to the point.

  “So, it’d be advisable not to make her jealous.” He looked into her eyes, but didn’t mention Mark.

  She nodded, knowing what he meant.

  Thrill’s brows drew together and started again. “It was the last dance of the night. It happened fast. Ronan stood up, grabbed a fistful of Meg’s hair, and yanked her head back. She swore as Ronan whispered something in her ear. Then Ronan dr
agged Robert onto the dance floor. I asked Megan to dance, but her eyes popped, as if she was scared to death. Her entire body started shaking, and her hands held the table, kind of like for support. And then—”

  Pressing on his eyelids, distracted by the past, Thrill stared at the car’s windshield as if watching a movie.

  “It’s hard to explain—” His voice sounded far away. “But Megan looked like she was playing tug-of-war with the table. Her mouth opened wide like she wanted to scream, but she couldn’t get out any noise. Just gross gurgling and some kind of foamy spit dripped from the corner of her lips.

  Thrill glanced at Jordan. “I thought she was having a convulsion or some kind of seizure.” His haunted gaze wandered back to the window. “Her head flung forward . . . No. She hurled her head forward and smashed her face on the table. Man. I can still hear the thud. Blood gushed from her nose and mouth. It was everywhere. It was disgusting.” He rotated toward Jordan. “Can you believe it?”

  Dazed, Jordan reflected on the mental picture of the peculiar event. Undoubtedly, Ronan Beckman had delved deeper into the black arts than she’d imagined. “Was it a seizure?” she asked.

  “It wasn’t a seizure.” He shook his head. “Right afterward, Megan was hysterical, hollering that Ronan did it. She was blubbering, holding her face. I grabbed the tablecloth to help soak up the blood. She was inconsolable, saying that Ronan smashed her face. I looked for Ronan on the dance floor, only to find her right in front of the table with Robert, watching everything. Megan’s accusations were preposterous. Still, there was something about Ronan. Like she was happy seeing Meg a bloody mess.” He scraped two hands over his grooved forehead. “Arrgh. I don’t know. The whole thing was frickin’ wacked.”

  “Do you think Ronan had anything to with it?”

  Thrill didn’t act surprised by her question. “Meg and Ronan hated each other, but I kept asking myself one thing. Would Megan deliberately break her nose and blame it on Ronan to get Robert? I doubt it.”

  “Do you know what Ronan said in Megan’s ear?”

  “Now that’s bizarre. She was scared to tell anyone because the whole school thought she was out of her mind for blaming pretty Ronan.” He sucked in his lips, as if remembering something unpleasant. “Megan was crying on my shoulder, and it wasn’t cute. Two black and blue eyes, bandages, and packing in her nose. She said Ronan whispered, ‘My friend, Davian, wants to meet you.’”