Digging out my phone from my nightstand, I plugged it into the charger. It died, possibly of boredom, after suffering through weeks of my non-social life. Scrolling through the recent call list, I found Gavin’s number and my thumb hovered over it briefly. He wouldn’t answer. How many times would I allow rejection to chisel away at my heart?
Apparently, one more time. Deluding myself into thinking I just needed to hear his voice and I would be fine, I pressed his number.
One ring.
Two rings.
Three rings.
Four more chimed through the speaker, the realization of my desperation growing stronger with each one. The dependence sunk it’s dirty little hooks into my brain, making me the psycho ex who was too dumb to realize the guy never felt the same way.
You can’t be an ex if you were never together.
The thought stung like millions of paper cuts between the fingers.
The automated voicemail rattled off the number I dialed and told me to leave a message. What could I say? “Hey, clearly, you don’t want to talk to me, but I’m losing my mind and could really use a hug.” I didn’t think anything I said would bring him back to me after laying it bare in St. Louis.
Before the impending beep sounded, I threw the phone as hard as I could against the wall. It wasn’t like I needed it, anyway. I was alone in this.
A brilliant explosion of shiny black metal and glass showered the floor, gleaming like sparks in the moonlight, but that wasn’t what drew my sight in the direction of the clash. My attention shifted once the phone struck the built-in bookcase. Unless the walls here had the tendency to shudder, I would say this room had a secret door.
I padded over to the corner, where my phone lay in shattered ruins, and I traced my fingers along the shelving framework for hidden seams. They stumbled over a groove in the hardwood about three feet from the corner. I pressed into it gently to determine its strength. It gave a little but was otherwise fairly solid. If I were a hidden doorknob, where would I be?
A smile crept over my face at the idea of pulling back a book to open the secret entry. It made me giddy with anticipation as I scanned the titles, and I nearly doubled over laughing when I came across the one that read Build your Own Secret Bookcase Door.
No way.
I gave it a slight tug, and sure enough, the doorway pulled away from the wall. It glided out and swung open. The touch of whimsy combined with my slightly neurotic, borderline insane state brought a bubble of hysterical laughter to the back of my throat.
As I stepped through the entrance, I first noticed the stone walls curving in a wide circle, which was highlighted by the spiraling staircase that led either up or down from the landing where I now stood. The inside of the turret was dark and dank, regardless of the thin shafts of moonlight streaming in from the sporadic window slits. The silver light beckoned me upward. I paused in a room at the top where a single chaise lounge sat by the larger of the two picture windows.
The scenery from up here was breathtaking. The pines shimmered under their translucent veil of nocturnal frost. This ideal vantage point would allow me to see enemies coming from miles away, if for any reason the castle were under siege.
A draft wafted in from above. My gaze lifted to find the source, and I immediately spotted it. The outline of a trap door disrupted the pattern of natural stone. I dragged the chaise over and positioned it directly underneath the door, reaching up to pull it open.
A retractable ladder slid down to the floor, and I climbed up to stand in the conical room just beneath the spire. Another metal trap door led out onto the roof. The rusted lock snapped easily with a slight twitch of my fingers. I unlatched the handle and swung the door open. A gusty breeze chilled my heated skin, but I hardly noticed it.
I was mesmerized by the landscape and felt the cold metal slope of the spire under my butt before I realized I had even climbed outside. Patches of remaining snow sat around me, futilely clinging to the rooftop. The steep slope smoothed into a flat overhang with a large gutter. The only thing keeping me from sliding into the gutter was the thick tread on my boots.
I stayed out here for hours. Or minutes. I couldn’t be sure. Only when the millions of twinkling stars reminded me of the view from Gavin’s high rise did I relent to my weariness. Climbing back into the main chamber at the top of the turret, I settled into the chaise and succumbed to the mental fatigue.
Even in unconsciousness, I couldn’t escape my troubles. The dark gave way to the familiar light I had dreamt about since I could remember. When the blinding effect subsided, brilliant vividness replaced the light. Each color in the spectrum grew stronger and adopted a new kind of splendor that rivaled the most coveted beauty on Earth.
When the light faded completely, the normal human spectrum left the world washed out and drab, paling in comparison. I found myself standing in a familiar, dimly lit corridor. I stepped cautiously, not remembering ever being here but somehow knowing where to go. I passed old lamps dotting the walls and came to a stop in front of a heavy wooden door.
I knew what I would find behind it. A table sat in the middle of the room, the walls lined with all sorts of ancient and medieval weapons. I pushed against the solid oak hesitantly. A memory gnawing at my brain forced me to pause. Pain lanced through my chest, and I swallowed back a lump in my throat before drawing on inner strength and pushed the door out of my way.
I gasped at the familiar site. It looked exactly like the memory I had of this place. The problem was, I couldn’t quite remember where the memory stemmed from. The weapons were polished and meticulously placed in their rightful places on the walls and shelves.
I stopped in front of the center table and observed one weapon in particular, highlighted on a pedestal a few feet beyond the table. I skirted the table and reached a hand out to touch the sword. Like a magnet, it summoned me forward.
“The Sword of Michael,” announced a familiar voice.
I spun to face the newcomer. “What?” I asked, confusion lacing my tone.
“It’s important. Whether you believe it or not. We can’t allow any of them to gain that kind of power,” she droned.
“Sophie, I get it, but there are too many other things to worry about right now,” I said calmly.
“She’s right,” a deep voice said from behind me.
When I spun to face him, the world shifted. Suddenly, I was standing on the balcony overlooking the St. Louis skyline staring at Gavin’s wide shoulders and narrow waist. His tailored black suit emphasized his strong back in all the right ways, and when he turned to look at me, I was stunned by the beautiful angles of his face, accentuated by the moonlight.
My heart ached for him even in sleep. And I swore my mind must have wanted to torture me, because a flash of something akin to longing crossed his eyes before fizzling out just as quickly as it came.
He moved toward me. “Lucy,” he whispered almost reverently. “A time will come when you will face armed opponents. The vampires you will fight have infinite knowledge of swordplay and various other weapons you’ve never encountered. You need to prepare yourself to defend as well as attack with those weapons. You can’t give them the advantage.”
“How can I master weapons when I can’t even control my own body?” I asked.
“That will come. Right now, you’re letting your emotions rule you. You will have to get past whatever worries or fears you’re holding onto,” he said softly.
His words sparked a memory of advice I’ve heard before, not because I’ve heard them spoken, but because they were steeped in personal experience.
He stepped up to me, our faces only inches away. His fingertips glided smoothly over my cheek until his palm rested against my jaw and his thumb stroked against my fevered skin. My eyes fluttered shut and my heart jumped fanatically in my chest like a cheerleader at halftime.
Let the torture continue.
“What if I can’t do it?” I whispered.
He leaned in and his lips grazed
my ear when he spoke gently. “If anyone has the strength to conquer their demons, I would bet on you, love.”
His words lit a previously snuffed flame. Clinging to them like a life raft, I found strength in them, and even if he was only a figment of my subconscious, I was renewed with hope. The term love didn’t escape my notice either. It was a cruel joke on behalf of my own buried desires, but I didn’t let it affect the surge of empowerment coursing through my veins.
I sank further into a peaceful sleep with the touch of his lips still lingering on my cheek and didn’t emerge until morning.
†
The melting snow held all the persistence and annoyance of a grandfather clock’s toll, the drops clanging against the metal gutter outside the window. Sunlight bombarded me, and I rose, vaguely aware of where I slept. I remembered the secret door in my wall and oddly comforting dreams.
Without wasting any time, I bounded down the stairs wanting to see something for myself. A theory nagged at my brain. I trounced eagerly down, bypassing my room and tingling at the shift in atmosphere when I went from above ground to below it. Bursting through the door at the bottom landing, I expected to find the same hallway from my dream.
Disappointed crashed into me when I came to a halt in front of a stretch of hallway with tile flooring and plastered walls that were hand painted, depicting various angelic battles with evil. Continuing down the hall and making a full circle around the basement, it was obvious my theory didn’t hold up.
Normally, I would take the time to explore the new area, but I needed to find Sophie and apologize for my behavior last night. She was only trying to help, and her fears about the Sword were warranted. I, however, was in no state to behold that kind of power. Not until I could regain my self-possession.
Taking my time admiring the beautiful murals, I strolled down the narrow back hallway on my return trip to my room. A door appeared ahead, tucked away in an alcove.
There were several closed doors I passed already in my loop, but this one was unusual because it had a latch and a padlock keeping it closed. As I approached, I also noticed the threshold was uneven, and bits of crumbling grout met a different type of material underneath the door.
Curiosity resumed the lead, and the sound of metal breaking echoed through the expansive corridor. Tossing aside the second broken lock in twelve hours, I pulled the door open to reveal a long, rough-stacked stone hallway that met with wood paneling halfway up the wall. Charging ahead, I passed the old world lamps jutting from the wood paneling and stopped right in front of the big oak door.
With a deep breath, I twisted the knob and stared, dumbfounded, at the darkened room with a table in the middle surrounded by an endless collection of weapons. Just like that, a switch was flipped, and I remembered the first time I saw this room. Although I had never actually been here, I had seen it in a dream. Gavin’s dream.
Somehow, I had managed to invade his sleep while I, too, was asleep. I thought I was crazy, but seeing this room confirmed it was true. I didn’t even know how I did it, but it only happened the one time. When I asked him where we were, he replied that it was an old property of his. After that, things got a bit hot and heavy, which explains why I blocked the dream out for so long.
“That son of a bitch,” I mouthed. I have been sleeping under his roof the whole time. He was probably checking in on my progress with Helen. I began shaking with anger.
The door slammed behind me as I ran at a full sprint up the stairs, and I only slowed when I came to the front hall to listen for her voice. I assumed she was in her office, but I also wanted to give myself time to cool down.
No such luck. The bitch squad picked that time to round the corner. They instantly sneered after spotting me.
Allison spoke first, of course. “Look, if it isn’t the super freak. Kill anybody today?” she sing-songed.
I was hungry and pissed off. There was no stopping my next reaction. The natural instincts kicked in and the fangs came out. I had her pinned up against the wall by her throat before she took her next breath. She gasped for air, making a fish out of water motion with her mouth.
My jaws locked tight to keep from biting, but it took every ounce of energy in me to pull away. I vaguely registered the other girls screaming and calling for help, and the hands pulling at my arms were like butterflies flapping their wings against my skin.
My conscience fought for dominance, knowing my instability could bring down this whole house. Holding back felt similar to what I imagined a matador dressed from head to toe in red would experience when facing a raging bull. Calming the violent storm inside had never been my strong suit, but it was currently a necessity.
“Lucille,” Helen called from a distance. Her voice was stern and authoritative, but that wasn’t what forced me to release Allison.
She wasn’t the one I was after. Helen was.
In all the commotion, the crowd swelled to three times its original size. Keepers flocked to Allison’s side to faun over her, but I kept my eyes evenly on Helen, stalking her.
“This is his house,” I spat, and it sounded like an accusation.
She turned and rounded the corner before calling out behind her.
“Let’s talk in my office,” she said.
“Don’t you mean his office?” I asked, remembering the first day I saw her behind the massive desk and thought she looked out of place. Now, I understood why.
Allison’s threats followed me around the corner. “Bitch! I’ll kill you! You’re a fucking sociopath!”
When Helen ushered me inside, she closed the door and moved behind the desk to stand. Whether it was a defensive move or an assertive one, I wasn’t impressed. Her expression was one of cool superiority. Call it a hunch, but I was betting mine hinted at defiance.
“Have a seat, Lucille. And put the fangs away.”
I stayed standing, unable to sit even if I wanted to. Pacing back and forth did nothing to temper the anger. “Why didn’t you just tell me? Why didn’t he tell me?”
“Does it really make a difference?” she asked, sounding bored.
Did it? All this time, I thought he abandoned me to get away from the shit storm that was my life, but sending me to his own home was like another way to protect me. He renovated what I assumed was the largest room in the house for me, because I had seen Sophie’s one day when she needed to stop for a book, and it was about a quarter of the size. I knew he must have had something to do with the massive wardrobe left in my closet as well. He must have cared a little.
“Yeah, it makes a difference,” I retorted, the rage ebbing, even though the stubborn jackass still couldn’t talk to me. “Does he talk to you?”
“He checks in every once in awhile,” she answered.
“And what do you two chat about? Do you give him updates on all my epic failures? Do you tell him I’m not cut out to save the world?” I asked, my voice trembling with the disappointment in myself.
He always believed I could destroy the First and fulfill the prophecy, and I haven’t done anything except scare the crap out of a couple unarmed girls.
“He does ask about you,” she paused like she might have said something else.
He asked about me? I wanted to suppress the surge of happiness that shot through me, but I couldn’t stop my heart from doing a happy dance. I did, however, keep the smile off my face before I asked Helen to recount her answers to his questions.
“I tell him you aren’t progressing as quickly as I thought, but that never seems to surprise him.”
Of course not. He never let me connect to his moods, but I was damn sure mine were being broadcast in HD twenty-four-seven. He would know when I was frustrated, which happened to be all the time.
“I want to start weapons training,” I blurted. I may not have been able to handle my business yet, but at least I could pick up some moves or techniques and practice them on my own, away from everyone else.
“Fine, Lucille. Maybe if you have something else to focus on,
your little outbursts will be minimized,” she responded.
“Thanks for the confidence,” I sneered.
“Lucille,” she sighed. “If I seem cold and detached, it is in order to prevent coddling you. I only want you to be prepared,” she lectured. Her voice grew softer on her next words and hinted at regret. “I don’t want your mother’s fate to follow you. She couldn’t fight what happened to her, but you can.”
Her eyes glittered with unshed tears in the low lamplight. I often forgot she had been friends with my mother. My brain detached the two of them completely. Tangible verses intangible. My mother was the mere idea of love and family, while Helen was here, acting as a guardian of sorts. Closer to a prison guard than a parental figure, though.
She hadn’t mentioned her since the first day we met, but it was clear on her face how affected she still was by my mother’s murder.
Yeah. We’ve all lost people in this war.
†
I found Wade in the main training room after leaving the office. The whole way there, I thought about Gavin and why he left me if he still planned to protect me. He was the most confusing and aggravating man in the world, but I missed his presence. In St. Louis, he had grown to be a constant in my life.
It was strange. As often as he told me not to do things, my confidence in my abilities and myself had never been stronger than when he was around. He believed in my capabilities even as he protected me, but when he left, he took my confidence with him. I was responsible for the mess created in St. Louis, and the fact that he ditched me in the aftermath made me question everything. He must have sensed the failure in me and bailed, but now… I wasn’t sure what to believe.
When Wade glanced my way, I gave a small wave and met him on the side of the ring where he just showed Max the smack down.
“I need to learn weapons,” I told him bluntly.
He measured me a moment before nodding his approval. “Okay, you can watch Max and I. We were about to spar with the Bo Staff.”
Blinding Light (The Bloodmarked Trilogy Book 2) Page 13
