He looked startled, like he'd been jerked out of a dream. I knew how he felt.
"It's the first step. Right now, I'm trying to block the nightmare.” He scrubbed a hand across his face looking embarrassed. In fact, the heat from both our faces could have lit the Bunsen burner at forty paces.
Okay, this was really awkward and time was ticking away. I had no desire to face the wrath of Melissa Bradford. In spite of what Beck had told me, she'd probably think I was bringing out the beast in her son. I decided to kick it into gear.
"Great!” I chirped. “What's next?"
"We have to bless the stones.” He fished around in the pan and extracted four gemstones, wiping them carefully on his shirt before setting them on the table. He selected one I recognized as an agate and set it in his palm. “The energy from the agate will give you strength and courage."
He held up a brilliant yellow-green stone. “The citrine will protect you from harm and enhance your powers."
Next came the turquoise. According to Beck, it would “relieve my guilt.” I was all over that. The final stone was a rose quartz “for strength and emotional healing."
Beck reached in his pocket and pulled out a small silk pouch with a drawstring top. He dropped the stones into the tiny bag, pulled the drawstring tight and placed it in my hand, clasped both of his around mine and said, “Mother Earth and Father Sky, bless these stones. May their healing power restore balance to this child of the universe."
An involuntary shiver danced down my spine as I felt the stones warming in my hand. Beck smiled. “Keep them with you all the time. Put the pouch under your pillow when you sleep."
He stood, stretched and checked his watch. “I need to get you home."
The ride home was filled with comfortable silence, the awkwardness between us gone, blown away like a whisper on the wind. I turned slightly to study Beck's profile. His tawny hair was shaggy and curled down the nape of his neck. When he glanced over at me, a wayward lock fell across his forehead. I wanted to reach over and brush it back. Before I could act on my impulse, he gave it an impatient swipe with his fingers.
"Feel okay?” he asked.
Good question. How did I feel? The anger was gone. True, I wasn't giddy and jumping up and down with joy, but it was a good start.
"I'll find out tonight.” At his questioning look, I added, “You know, the dream."
He nodded and pulled into Uncle Sid's driveway. The trailer was dark and the truck was gone. Faye would be home any minute. Beck stopped and cut the lights. I reached for the door.
"Allie, wait."
He reached under the seat, pulled something out and thrust it into my hands. “I made you a dreamcatcher ... to stop the nightmare."
The dreamcatcher was beautiful, a work of art. Three pieces of woven rawhide hung from the round hoop, each decorated with turquoise beads and feathers. An intricately-woven web studded with beads filled the inside of the hoop.
I stroked the feathers and thanked him. He looked so serious I couldn't resist saying, “What about the good dreams?"
He smiled. “Test it out. Maybe you'll dream about me."
I blushed and reached for the door again. Once again, Beck stopped me.
"I've been thinking about school, you know, in case we need to talk or something."
"I figured you'd just go back to ignoring me like always."
Okay, that sounded a little snotty. Snotty but true.
Beck cleared his throat and stared straight ahead. “Maybe we could be like pretend girlfriend and boyfriend when other people are around."
Was he serious? He removed the night glasses he wore so he wouldn't freak out oncoming motorists and peered at me with dancing, golden eyes.
"You up for that?"
He acted like it was the most natural thing in the world instead of the wackiest idea I'd ever heard. But two could play that game.
In my calmest voice, I said, “Sure. See you tomorrow."
"One more thing,” Beck said, one hand slipping around the back of my neck. “Since we're sorta going together—not really, but sorta—I thought I'd kiss you good night."
I smirked at him. “Oh really? A pretend kiss?"
Beck's voice was husky. “Call it whatever you want."
He stroked my cheek with his free hand. I shivered. I knew what would happen if I looked in his eyes, so I clamped mine shut. His scent filled my nostrils. Fresh air. Sage. Pine. I sensed him coming closer. When his mouth touched mine, it was hot and insistent. My lips parted and, blindly, I reached for him, my arms encircling his neck. I felt his heated breath mingle with mine, coiling deep in my belly. I ignored my troublesome brain shouting, Danger! Danger! and leaned into him.
He groaned and pulled away, his eyes showing just a tiny rim of gold around enlarged dark pupils.
"Enough pretend kissing?” I gasped, grateful he'd been strong enough to break the spell.
With a bark of laughter, he said, “Makes me wonder what a real one would be like."
Before I was tempted to find out, I grabbed my back pack and slipped out of the car. “See ya, Beck."
He raised a hand in farewell and watched me walk to the trailer before he backed down the driveway.
My mind was busy making up a story for Faye. She would want to know who gave me the dreamcatcher. I decided to tell her I had a new friend from the Cambion Indian Reservation who heard about my nightmare and made the dreamcatcher for me, my theory being, a half-truth is better than an outright lie.
Faye had been home. I found a note stuck to the fridge “Back at nine,” and, inside the fridge, today's leftover Blue Plate Special, greasy chicken-fried steak from Bea's. I used a thumbtack to fasten the dreamcatcher over my couch bed and retrieved the moonstone from its special hiding place. I slipped it over my head and settled in at the table with my homework. Processing the strange events of the evening would have to wait.
Pouring over a geometry problem, I started to move into my usual thinking pose ... chin in hand, elbow on the table. When I raised my hand, I caught a glimpse of my palm. My heart stuttered in fright and I gasped.
I'm very familiar with the lines on my palm. God knows, it was the subject of many a Star Seeker conversation. I know what the fate line looks like. Where it starts and where it ends. Mine has always ended cleanly in the center of the Apollo mound, the mound below the longest finger. But now—I gazed in horror at my suddenly shaking hand—now it split into three lines.
Somehow, during the course of the evening, I had acquired a demon mark.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Nine
"Mr. Boswell?” Miss Yeager, our school counselor, screeched through the intercom. “Is Allie Emerson in class today?"
I groaned and slumped down in my seat, wishing I could slip through a crack in the floor.
"Yes, she is,” Mr. Boswell said.
"Send her to my office, please."
"Mr. Boswell!” I said in a loud whisper. “Tell her we're taking a test."
He lifted his hands helplessly. “You know that won't stop her. Sorry."
Since I sat at the front of the row, everyone in the room watched as I closed my geometry book, stuffed it in my backpack and slouched out of the room.
It's not like I didn't have enough to worry about already. Now I'd have Miss Yeager probing my mind, trying to get me to tell her more about my “trauma.” Just because I'd spent a few days in the hospital with my head cracked after a couple of vicious Trimarks tried to off me. Swear to God, the woman wouldn't be happy until I was sobbing in her arms.
I dawdled down the hall, resolutely not looking at my palm. I'd awakened that morning, blissfully nightmare-free and feeling all warm and fuzzy toward Beck Bradford until I remembered. A quick peek assured me it was still there. The split lines were much shorter than Beck's, but what if they grew? Starting the day by checking out your demon mark is a real bummer. I'd made the illogical decision not to look at it again, hoping it would spontaneously disapp
ear.
Beck had some explaining to do. Did the mark mean I was in debt to him? Did it mean he owned part of my soul? Was I now a demon's plaything?
I whispered to myself as I walked, Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! What part of the word ‘demon’ don't you get? Granted, Beck doesn't have horns and a forked tail but sometimes demons look like hot teenage guys. That's why they're called demons, dummy! And, last night in the car ... what's up with that? He had you under his spell. Don't deny it!
I slipped into the library to check out the computer stations, but I kept thinking about Beck. He'd blown his breath into my mouth. We'd exchanged a really hot and heavy kiss. He must've given me some of his demon stuff ... DNA or whatever. I needed to go online and do some research. Our librarian, Mrs. Moats, looked up from her post behind the counter and called, “Can I help you, Allie?"
Somehow, I just knew she'd be looking over my shoulder when I Googled, How to obtain a demon mark or, worse yet, Effects of swapping spit with a half-demon. I'd have to wait for another opportunity.
I gave her a casual wave. “I'm on my way to the counseling office."
When I arrived, Miss Yeager was standing in the doorway, looking annoyed. She waved me through the door. “Did you forget our appointment?"
I gave her a big, fake grin. “Sure did."
The door was open. I could still make a run for it. She must have noticed, because she reached over and slammed it shut. My heart sank.
She sat on her swivel chair and fingered the necklace she wore every day. It grabbed my attention the first time we met, because the clear, pink stone outlined in black was shaped like an equilateral triangle. In the center of the stone was the letter “J” for Jeanette. It hung from a gold chain, pointy side up. Since pointy side down indicated a Trimark affiliation, I was nervous until I got a look at her palm. She wasn't a Trimark, but her overly bright smile and intrusion into my personal space set my teeth on edge.
I put down my stuff and crawled into the over-sized bean bag chair, Miss Yeager's idea of a cozy nest, where troubled teens could curl up and pour out their problems. I hated it.
There are only two ways to enter a bean bag chair: plopping or crawling. Once before, I tried plopping, but the trapped air whooshed out and made a hideous farting noise. This time, I crawled in on my hands and knees, flipped over and squirmed around to make an indentation for my butt. Helpless as a turtle on its back, I waited for Miss Yeager to begin her interrogation.
She perched on the edge of her chair and peered down at me, her head cocked to one side like a robin about to pounce on a juicy worm.
After giving me her standard intro, about how everything I say is confidential, blah, blah, blah, she said, “So, Allie. How do you feel?"
"Fine. I feel fine."
"Any issues you'd like to discuss? I'm here to help you."
"Well, actually, I do have an issue."
Her eyes practically popped out of her head with happiness, and she clapped her hands. “Oh, Allie, that's great!"
From her reaction, I'd guess she was short on clients. Part of me felt sorry for her, but it didn't stop me from saying, “Geometry's kinda hard for me. I can't afford to miss it once a week. Can we meet at a different time?"
Her right eyelid began to twitch, and her lips compressed into a thin, pale line. She leaned forward, her long neck stretched out like an angry goose. “Allie. I sense a definite lack of cooperation on your part. Counseling is a two-way street. You insist you're fine."
Oh, no. Here it comes! The “T” word.
"However, you've been through a severe trauma."
I heaved an irritated sigh.
She glared and continued, “As I was saying, you've been traumatized! You may not know it, but you need my help. May I express my true feelings?"
I heard the tension in her voice and looked at her madly twitching eyelid. “Sure."
"I find your resistance to counseling extremely frustrating."
Sometimes I'm impulsive. Make that most of the time. I should have bitten my tongue and nodded. Instead, I said, “May I express my true feelings?"
"Of course. That's why you're here."
I rolled onto my stomach and began to crawl backward out of the bean bag, my butt in the air. “I feel I'm missing something important in geometry."
I struggled to my feet and looked down at her. Her eyes sparked with anger. When she spoke, her mouth barely moved. “Are you mocking me?"
"You said you wanted me to express my true feelings."
She inhaled deeply and exhaled through her nose, the air making a whistling sound. She grabbed a tissue out her pocket and blew. I edged toward the door.
Before I could make my escape, she said, “Hold it! Your case worker, Susan Wright, dropped in to see me. She told me you and your mother had some issues with Child Protective Services last spring."
Her words flew past my defenses and struck my heart. Direct hit. I started to bristle up, but thought better of it. “My mother's working now. We don't have any issues with CPS."
She folded her hands and placed them on her desk. “It seems everyone involved in your case feels you and your mother would benefit from family counseling."
I barely controlled my urge to groan. Wisely, I kept silent.
"Furthermore,” Miss Yeager said. “Since our counseling sessions—if you can call them that—are going exactly nowhere, I tend to agree. Ms. Wright thought it would be best if you and your mother didn't have to drive to Vista Valley for counseling, so from now on I will be working with you both."
She sat back in her chair, looking pleased.
I glared down at her. “My mother isn't going to be happy about this."
Talk about the understatement of the century. If Miss Yeager thought I was uncooperative, wait until she got Faye in her bean bag chair.
Miss Yeager beamed happily. “I guess I'll cross that bridge when I come to it."
* * * *
I didn't catch up with Beck until later that morning. I stiffened when he threw an arm around my shoulders. “Any bad dreams?"
The hall was crowded with students changing classes. I pulled him over to a bank of lockers and held my palm up in front of his face. I tried to control my outrage as I spoke through tightly clenched teeth. “No bad dreams, just a real, live demon mark."
His eyes widened in shock. “No way!"
He took my hand in both of his, examining it carefully. I snatched it away. “I assume you've kissed other girls. Right?"
His gaze rolled upward like he hoped to find the correct response spray-painted on the ceiling. When he finally met my eyes, he had that trapped look guys get when you ask them about former girlfriends. He blustered. “Well, yeah, sure. I bet you've kissed other guys too."
I sighed. For a smart guy, he was really dense. “You're missing the point. This isn't about how many girls you've kissed. It's about the demon mark."
My voice had risen in frustration. We were getting some curious glances. I pulled him closer and whispered, “Come on, Beck. Think. Has this happened before? When you kissed those other girls, did they get the mark?"
His brows drew together as he pondered my question. He must have kissed a lot of girls because he took a good long time to answer. “No, I don't think so."
His eyes slid away from mine, and I thought I detected a teensy smirk. “I wasn't really interested in checking out their palms, if you know what I mean."
If he was lying, he was really good at it. But then, a demon would be good at lying.
"Hmmph,” I snorted, not liking the visual I was getting. He was standing much too close, and I felt the same magnetic pull I'd been unable to resist the night before. I took a step back. When I spoke, my voice was shaky. “Does this mean I'm part-demon?"
Beck was totally serious now. He shook his head. “No, no, don't even go there."
He looked around to make sure nobody was listening and lowered his voice. “Allie, please believe me. I'm so sorry. I would never do anything to
hurt you. I'm pretty sure the mark means you were touched by a demon."
I stared up at him. “Pretty sure?"
Beck took my arm and pulled me into the stream of traffic. “We need to get to class. Let me think about it, and we'll talk at lunch."
His eyes dropped to the moonstone, its bulge obvious under my shirt. “You weren't wearing the moonstone at my house last night ... right?"
"No. I thought you might be a Trimark and try to take it from me, so I left it at home."
His eyes gleamed with sudden knowledge. “I think I know what happened. I need to do some research. I'll see you later."
He peeled off and headed toward the library. I watched him go. As he disappeared down the hall, I knew the fragile bond of trust between us was stretched to the max. Did Beck really think I'd sit back and let him tell me stuff that might or might not be true?
Guess what? He wasn't the only one who knew how to do research. My science teacher had a computer in his classroom, and I was way ahead on my work. I'd do some research of my own. Then, and only then, would I find out if I could trust Beck Bradford.
When the bell rang for lunch, I practically sprinted to the cafeteria. Beck was already there, leaning against the wall, a sack lunch in hand. “Grab some food and we'll go talk in the Ranger."
"I'm not hungry."
We were almost to the door when we ran into Mercedes. Her eyes widened in surprise. I knew how her mind worked and braced myself. Her smile was so big, her eyes crinkled shut. “Oooo, girl! Got a better offer, huh?"
Manny, Mercedes and I always ate lunch together. I leaned close and whispered, “I'll tell you all about it after school."
I didn't have time to enjoy the reaction of my female classmates as Beck swept me toward the parking lot, but I knew the drill.
First, the shocked looks followed by, “He's with her?"
Next, shock morphed into downright envy, signaling the unspoken, It should have been me.
Lastly, whispering clusters of girls would gather together to analyze the data, speculate on the cause and make dire predictions.
Moon Rise Page 7
