by Lynne Ewing
He stopped in a backyard lined with beech trees and breathed the bitter smoke from chimney fires as he studied the house where Serena lived. He had gone looking for her tonight because he had felt something bad in the air, like the first tremor of premonition. She hadn’t been at the Halloween party with her friends. That had surprised him. Now he saw no reassuring light in her bedroom window.
He had always been careful. What they had done was forbidden. Only the Followers he most trusted had even seen them together. That had been his first mistake. He couldn’t trust his kind. He should have known.
He looked around to see if anyone was watching, then searched with his mind in the cool air to make sure no one was there in the dark unseen. At last he released his body and let it blend into the night until he became no more than a phantom form among the many sinuous shades of darkness flowing beneath the swaying trees. He glided among the shadows to the motionless black one near Serena’s house, then slid up the wall and slipped through the crack between the French doors on her balcony.
The air inside her room was thick with the scent of eucalyptus and lemon. He materialized near her dresser. His hand automatically turned her alarm clock to face the wall, then brushed across a tray filled with Vicks, cough syrup, aspirin, and a thermometer. He tenderly touched the lemon slices near an empty teacup. Could a simple illness have filled him with so much fear that he had risked coming to see her?
A dim light from a purple Lava lamp cast an amber glow across the bed where Serena lay, the leopard-print sheets twisted in a knot beside her leg. Her long curly hair was half caught in a scrunchy that matched her flannel pajamas. The words Diamonds are a girl’s best friend—they’re sharper than knives curled around a dozen marching Marilyns in army fatigues on the blue fabric. Stanton had been with her when she bought the Sergeant Marilyn pajamas three months back.
The amulet hanging on a thin silver chain around her neck began to glow. Her moon charm was warning her that danger was near. He edged around her cello to the bed, then knelt beside her and touched the dark curls on her pillow. He had been drawn to her from the first moment he saw her. She had clicked her tongue ring nervously against her teeth and smiled at him. That was just moments before she understood what he was. He had known her secret immediately; she was here to protect people from his kind.
He was a Follower, but an invitus, one taken against his will. He had been kidnapped from his family when he was only six and consecrated to an ancient evil called the Atrox. Because it had been done against his will, he still had memories of what he had once been. Over time he had learned that both love and death were denied him, but Serena had surprised him and offered him acceptance and affection.
He traced a finger down her arm to her hand. Her fingers uncurled as if they welcomed his touch. He wanted desperately to take her hand, but he held back. Their relationship was beyond hope. He could never change what he had become. He might struggle against it for a while, but the longer he defied what he was, the stronger the pressure became to surrender to his dark urges.
She stirred as if she sensed his presence. He stared at her beautiful face. She was wearing a small diamond in her nose piercing. He had given it to her the day he told her they had to stop seeing each other. He had lied and said it was because their love was forbidden and Regulators would destroy them both if their secret were discovered. He did not let her into his mind that day for fear she would uncover the truth. The real danger had always been from him. Even now he felt the pressure building. His darker side was close to the surface tonight. He could feel it pacing, eager to escape and hunt.
Serena’s arm moved and the pajama top pulled up, revealing her flat, tanned stomach. His hand hovered over the tiny gold hoop piercing the flesh above her belly button. Her skin radiated sweet warmth.
Without warning, she sat up in bed. “Stanton?”
He jerked his hand back and released his body to the darkness, then curled inside the shadows around her bed before sliding into the corner.
She kicked back the covers and sat on the edge of her bed. “Show yourself,” she whispered.
He was stunned.
“I can feel you.” She turned and surveyed the room again. “I know you’re here. Please.”
He coiled between the French doors and escaped to the outside, then drifted to the yard below. He materialized again and stood in the falling leaves, wanting her.
Serena opened the doors and stepped on her balcony. Low-hanging clouds reflected the city lights, and in the strange illumination he was awed by how perfect she looked. He fought the urge to show himself to her. It was the dark of the moon and on this night it was even more dangerous to spend time with her. His allegiance to the Atrox was strongest when the moon was dead.
“Stanton.” She stared beneath the trees as if she knew he was there.
Her thoughts pressed into the air. That was her gift. She could read minds almost as well as he could. But he had never needed to go into her mind to know how much she cared for him. He could easily read her emotions in her large expressive eyes.
“Tu es dea, filia lunae,” he whispered in Latin. She was a goddess, a Daughter of the Moon, and he had sworn to destroy her kind.
CHAPTER TWO
THE CAR MUFFLER RUMBLED against the pavement as Stanton raced to West Hollywood. He sped around the corner and streetlights reflected off his polished hood in a dizzy show of color. His car was black, low to the ground, and filled with music. He had the goods: a Clarion 6540 CD player with two Clarion 6x9 speakers, a tube amp in the trunk, and more speakers hidden in the doors. The rhythm pounded through his chest. He was ready to party.
He parked under a jacaranda tree. The music vibrated the tips of the branches, sending a shower of pale purple flowers over the car. He switched off the ignition, and the music died. The moonless night shuddered with silence. He climbed from the car and started walking. It was time for some real rock and roll.
He hurried through the gloomy residential neighborhood to Santa Monica Boulevard, then stepped around the barricades and patrol cars that closed the street to traffic. Young and old were already parading in costume, blowing whistles and carrying signs with slogans like NO ONE PARTIES HARDER THAN THE DEAD. The smells of popcorn and cotton candy filled the air.
A line of stick skeletons connected on one pole greeted him. “Par-tee,” said the man, waving the spiky skeletons.
A Spiderman jumped in front of Stanton. He smiled at the man’s meager attempt to scare him. Three people on stilts, white sheets flowing behind them, raced around him, their eyes painted with black squares. Then a small boy dressed as Count Dracula ran up to him, exposing sharp canine teeth. He growled, one hand hooked in a claw, the other grasping an orange bag filled with candy.
Stanton let his thoughts turn silky. His question slid into the boy’s head, Do you want to meet someone more evil than a vampire?
The boy’s eyes widened and he dropped his bag of candy. “Mama!” he yelled. He turned and knocked into a ski-masked terrorist. The boy scrambled away.
Stanton grinned at the terrorist, then picked up the orange bag and stole a caramel apple. He bit into the crisp fruit. Sweet and tart flavors burst in his mouth.
The boy returned with his mother and pointed at Stanton with an accusing finger. His mother had a gentle look.
Stanton grinned. “I was looking for you,” he said with forced cheeriness. “You dropped your bag of candy.”
He handed the bag to the boy’s mother. She gave Stanton a guarded look as if she sensed something sinister behind his smiling face. She took the bag and stroked her son’s head in reassurance. Then she took his hand and pulled him away.
The dark desire rose inside Stanton, demanding release. If he waited much longer the desire would become a need and the physical compulsion would be more than he could bear. He stared after mother and son, his mind following as they pushed through the crowd.
His thoughts were broken by a sudden sense that someone was st
aring at him. He turned sharply. Two girls dressed in flowing robes and steeple-crowned hats blushed and laughed. Glitter covered their faces and curling sequin designs had replaced their eyebrows for the night.
The one wearing the purple robe tapped him lightly with her wand.
“Why aren’t you in costume?” the girl in the lime-green robe asked. Her sultry lips pouted as she brushed back her thick golden hair, trying to work a magic of her own.
“I am in costume,” Stanton answered, his voice melodic and more in her mind than the air.
“You are not,” she teased back. There was a slight tremor in her voice that hadn’t been there before. “Not unless you turn into a pumpkin at midnight.”
“Maybe I do.” He stepped closer, enjoying the fear he had awakened in her. What would she do if she knew what he really was? Would she even believe him if he told her about his evil powers? He let his mind tease around her thoughts, savoring her fear.
The girl in purple sensed the predator in him. She pulled on the other one’s sleeve. “Come on, Maryann, let’s go.”
“Wait,” Maryann answered. “I want to hear what his costume is.”
But her friend was already drifting away, leaving Stanton alone with his prey. Stanton smirked. What made Maryann stay? He tilted his head closer to hers. Her breath was wintermint-sweet.
“Use your imagination,” he whispered. “Can’t you see what I look like when I’m not in costume?”
He weaved into her mind and planted an image of Frankenstein. Terror shuddered through her. She sucked in air in a long draw, then let it out in sprays of laughter against his cheek.
“You’re no monster,” she said as Stanton moved through her memories. Her thoughts were a tangled net. He sensed she’d been drinking. Already her eyes were dreamy and lost. It would be a crime against the Atrox to turn someone like her away. She was ready to cross over.
“If you look too long in my eyes,” he said, daring her, “you’ll lose yourself.”
She stared blissfully at him, her eyes saying yes, as if she understood his unspoken offer.
A sudden white flash made him leave her mind, but not before he read one last thought. She thought him handsome but also frightening. The danger and risk of him attracted her.
The light flashed again. A boy dressed as a pirate held up a camera. “Gotcha,” he squealed and ran off, a plastic parrot bobbing on his shoulder.
“Do you go to my school?” Maryann asked, her attitude too eager. “You seem so familiar.”
Already he had left his image in her memories. “I don’t go to school,” he answered. “I live on the streets in Hollywood.”
“Homeless?” He could feel her pity and interest.
“Rebel.”
Her body thrummed and pressed against him in invitation. His eyes lingered over her. As he eased inside her mind again, she giggled. Why was she trying so hard? He pushed deeper into her memories. Then he knew. She was angry with her father and wanted to bring home a guy who would displease him. He snapped out of her mind.
She looked surprised and disappointed.
He wasn’t going to serve her cause. “Maybe we’ll see each other around.” He moved quickly away from her.
He continued past the Haunted House. General admission was ten dollars. He thought idly about going inside and making somebody’s ten-dollar adventure worthwhile, but then he sniffed something floating on the air. Something portentous. He concentrated. It was the same ominous feeling he had had earlier in the day, only it was stronger now, like the warning rolls of thunder before a violent storm.
“Hey,” Maryann yelled behind him.
He turned. She smiled shyly, then took his hand and held it tight against her chest as she wrote her telephone number on the palm. “Call me.”
A derisive grin crossed his face. He would never call the number. He never did. Tomorrow she would be embarrassed by the way she had acted tonight, but she would continue to think about him anyway. Sometimes the ones he didn’t harm came back, looking for him with a hunger of their own.
A band began to play. He recognized the feel-good music at once.
“It’s Michael Saratoga,” Maryann squealed. She pushed in front of a man and woman dressed as a king and queen with blunted sword and coronet.
Michael played bass guitar on a stage lined with jack-o’-lanterns. His black hair fell into his face as his fingers ran up and down the fingerboard. There was fire in his music, even Stanton could feel it.
Around the stage girls waved their hands over their heads in time to the beat. When the song ended, the same girls screamed and stretched their arms, reaching for Michael, their hair and costumes dangerously close to the twitching flames inside the pumpkins.
Maryann gave a loud woo-hoo and turned to Stanton. “Isn’t it great music? I love Michael’s band.”
“Why?” Stanton didn’t wait for an answer. He entered her mind, turning through a labyrinth of Bible study and Sunday school. He hadn’t seen this part of her before. She did volunteer work and played piano for her church choir. Her goodness awakened something inside him. He touched her cheek. Maybe he would take this one after all. The Atrox valued a righteous soul over one already tainted. He liked to bend this kind.
The band played a faster song. Maryann turned away, Stanton’s spell broken. He glared at the stage. Had the music broken the trance he had held over her?
Maryann grabbed his hand. “Come on,” she coaxed, her hips swaying temptingly. “Don’t you want to dance?”
People in costumes began to twist and clap, all spellbound by Michael’s music. Two clowns standing nearby slapped their big floppy shoes on the concrete, raising small clouds of dust.
“Enough,” Stanton announced. He started to walk away, but a chorus of squeals made him turn back. Vanessa stood on the stage now giving out CDs and T-shirts to outstretched hands. She was dressed as a devil, in slinky red dress. Glitter made her perfect tanned skin shine. Her blond hair was held back by devil horns and a long sinuous tail twitched behind her. She had lined her large blue eyes with tiny silver gems for this night.
He watched her carefully, but no matter how enticing she was, he could never harm her. He had trapped her once in his memory of the night the Atrox had stolen him from his father’s castle. While imprisoned there, she had tried to save his younger self from the Atrox. After that act of kindness he could never harm her.
Like Serena, she was a Daughter of the Moon, but instead of mind reading, she had the gift of invisibility. It wasn’t a power that she could fully control. Right now her power seemed more to control her. He considered her, thinking how ironic it was that as a Follower he could never harm a person who did him an act of kindness, but he could destroy someone he desperately loved.
Abruptly, the night shifted. Something cruel and dangerous was near. He was bewildered by what he felt. The Halloween celebration took on a sinister feel. The laughter, yells, and whistle calls blended with the music until the noise became one whirling, ominous sound. His heart beat wildly. Instinct told him to run.
He didn’t understand his need to flee, but he started to walk cautiously away. It was as if his body had sensed the approach of something that his eyes had not yet seen. With his mind, he began searching for the danger.
He had only gone a little way when someone grabbed his elbow. His breath caught in his throat. He turned.
Maryann again. She stared boldly into his eyes. “Don’t go.”
“Something’s come up,” he murmured. He tore away from Maryann and left her standing in the middle of the dancers.
“You didn’t even tell me your name,” she yelled angrily after him.
He ignored her.
An unpleasant heaviness filled the air. It came over him in waves. His muscles tensed as his mind searched frantically for the source of the electrical sensation. Regulators were coming. The knowledge pierced him with a certainty he could not deny. Had they discovered him after all? His first thought was of protecting
Serena, but already sinuous streams of static electricity stirred through the crowd with a strange pale-blue glow. He knew it was too late. He studied the masked faces, looking for a disguise from another world.
A surge in current made the streetlights glow brighter. No one seemed to notice. He stepped behind two men dressed as a large pink-and-green dragon and raked his fingers through his hair. The Regulators were closer. Once he was discovered their chase would be relentless. Had they gone after Serena, too?
He became aware of movement in the crowd. The stick skeletons turned as the ghosts on stilts stepped back. Now screams joined the jangle of other sounds. A halo of tiny jagged sparks surrounded whoever walked through the crowd toward him.
“Serena,” he whispered. He had to see Serena one last time. He started to release his body and become one with the shadows when powerful hands clasped his back.
CHAPTER THREE
PIERCING BLACK EYES stared back at Stanton from a scarred face. He had never met Malcolm before, but he had seen him many times and heard stories of his depravity and his fearlessness. His butchery was legend. He belonged to the fiercest class of Regulators, those so committed to the Atrox that over time their faces and bodies became distorted, as if continual contact with such unthinkable evil made their flesh decay.
Normally, Malcolm looked human, tall, slender, and striking. He had the power to transform his ugliness into handsome features. All Regulators did. So Stanton didn’t understand why he wasn’t wearing his disguise tonight.
Malcolm’s monstrous appearance had changed since the last time Stanton had seen him without his disguise. Oozing red sores now covered one side of his face and a translucent blue mold coated his scalp near the few matted tangles of hair that remained by his ears. His breath had a dead-fish smell, as if evil were rotting his insides as well.
“Stanton?” Malcolm barked from deep in his throat.
“I accept my fate,” Stanton answered boldly, and stood tall, his heart racing. Then he closed his eyes and waited. When nothing happened, he blinked.
