The Airel Saga Box Set: Young Adult Paranormal Romance

by Aaron Patterson

  “My point is, this is legit, babe. Love at first sight totally happens. It’s not just a myth or a fairy tale. Heck, look at your own parents, for crying out loud. They’re high school sweethearts. Why shouldn’t you and Michael be too?”

  I swallowed. My heart seized for a second, like I’d been stabbed. The word forever sounded off inside my head and I wanted to cry. “Yeah, but—it’s not like that—”

  “In what way is it not like that?” she asked. “You were taken with him from the moment you saw him, and he totally wants your super-hot bod. What’s different? Clue me in.”

  “Kim, it’s not like that at all.”

  “Okay, then, you like his blue eyes and dashing good looks, and he likes you for your fetching personality.”

  “Kim, it’s just not like that. My life is not a freakin’ movie script, okay? I’m not a princess or a—a—a fairy tale—um, personality or whatever. I’m just Airel.” I added under my breath, “The invisible girl.”

  Kim was exasperated. “Airel, stop it. What happened our freshman year is ancient history. And you-know-who was a real idiot.”

  “I know.”

  “The only way you’re going to keep on getting hurt by people is if you keep on living in the past, being who you used to be.”

  “I know.”

  “Stop acting like stupid Josh Williams is still your idiot boyfriend, Airel. Grow up.”

  “Kim, I’m scared. Okay?” I groaned and rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands. “I’m scared because the only boy who ever noticed me was stupid Josh Williams back in ninth grade, and all he noticed was that he might be able to get lucky and cop a feel so he could brag about it to his stupid friends, okay? I spent the whole next year trying to live it down, being called a slut by everyone in school, sometimes by people I didn’t even know.”

  “I know, Airel.”

  “Just save me the lecture on interpersonal garbage, okay? I get it. Josh was the worst thing that ever happened to me. I’m not talking about it. Or him.”

  “Yeah, you need to get over it already. It’s been like, two years. And Foolboy screwed up plenty of other times that didn’t involve you. Plus, he moved away after he got out of juvie, so you know, yay Airel, move on with life.”

  “I’m just trying to tell you, this thing with Michael is different. He’s different. He sees me. I respond to him like no one else; it’s like we’re connected somehow. I can feel him. I never knew that was even possible. It’s always been kind of a game with me and boys, like I could control my heart more. It’s never mattered this much. It scares the crap out of me.”

  She reached out and touched my knee, her face now very solemn. “I just don’t want to see you let your past define your present, Airel.”

  I caught a flash of playfulness in her eyes and burst out laughing. “You sound like you’re selling a self-improvement course.”

  “I know, right?”

  We laughed. I thought about it for a moment. “You really think so?”

  “Think what?” She had zoned out a little, munching popcorn absentmindedly as she watched a late-night infomercial for some totally lame and pointless invention that was 90% marketing hype.

  “Do you really think Michael is … I mean that he’s … you know, for real? That it’s really … I mean, love?”

  She looked at me. “Of course I do. Would Kimmie steer you wrong?”

  I thought about it for a second and then smirked a little. I leaned against her and said, “I love you, Kim.”

  I couldn’t see her face, but she was quiet for a long time before she said quietly, “I love you too, Airel.”

  CHAPTER XIV

  I LOOKED AT THE clock. 2:00 a.m. Great. This is how I get to start my week. I was lying in bed with my eyes open, unable to fall asleep. Why did stuff like this only ever happen when I had to go to school the next day? Chilly, damp autumn air drifted in through the crack I had left in the window, making me shiver. I didn’t want to deal with that, so I pulled the covers tighter around my neck and curled up into a ball.

  Kim ended up staying all weekend. She was in her room, probably passed out. We had made up for lost time on Sunday after the chaos at the theater, doing nothing but watching girl movies and gorging ourselves on junk food like—well, like a couple of football players. Maybe the only differences were the tissues, the tears, and the lack of a blue dart contest. Guys are seriously gross.

  All of these thoughts came to rest, though, inevitably, on Michael Alexander. I couldn’t sleep because I was too excited about seeing him again.

  I had to face facts. I was pretty tangled up around the idea of him being in my life. And the romance, or the—well, I still wouldn’t say love, but whatever it was—was putting down roots in my heart. It felt like there was nothing I could do about it even if I wanted to. I was so anxious to find out what was going to happen between us that I was working myself silly trying to shut up the warning buzzers I kept hearing inside my head. Michael was perfect. For me.

  I didn’t know if there was the one out there for me. I always thought that idea was pretty corny anyway. So many other girls were totally hung up on their idea of the one guy that they didn’t even live in reality—they just spent their lives waiting to be found by destiny or whatever.

  I always thought that was weak. I felt like I was meant for more than that—like I was made to be more. I couldn’t explain it—I just knew it. I didn’t know for certain what part Michael might play, but I couldn’t help being drawn back to him in my heart and thoughts. It was a crazy race to run. It reminded me of one of my favorite places to daydream—that mountain meadow where I walked my circular path in the wildflowers, just being, just waiting for something to happen.

  Sure enough, Kim was passed out hard core. I could hear her snoring from down the hall. I had to chuckle. I’d been giving her a hard time for crying during one of those painfully melodramatic chick flicks yesterday, and she’d chased me into the bathroom threatening to dump a whole bowl of popcorn over me. It was then that I noticed my skin in the mirror. I was really starting to become a woman, someone lovely. It was amazing. I didn’t know if this was how growing up was supposed to be, but I was really digging the results. My skin was clearing up, it was taking on a healthy glow, and my hair had this depth and strength to it that I couldn’t explain. I did a double take at myself in the mirror.

  None of this can be real.

  I couldn’t get the events of the weekend out of my mind. I could play at being a grown woman, but in the end I was a fraud, still just a kid, and I was running from what I feared most. It wasn’t just another turn on the roller coaster of my life for the past week or so. It felt deadly. My life was starting to get a little crazy and if it kept up, I didn’t know what I might do.

  The killer looked right at me.

  Talking to myself at 2 a.m. wasn’t helping things. The more I thought about it, the more the memory of that tall killer staring me down creeped me out. He had looked so composed, so calm, as if what he was doing was just another thing to be done, like picking things off a shelf at the store. I shuddered.

  Then a new thought occurred—that I had to do something about all this. What are you going to do, go all “Detective Airel” and hunt down the killer? I didn’t know what to do. I knew I should let the police do their job, but something deep inside me wanted to just do something, anything.

  Outside, the low full moon cast long shadows on everything. The oak outside my window twitched in a chilly gust, and in the moonlight, the shadows looked alive. I normally loved that; there was something soothing about it. Tonight, though, something was different, like when my favorite dream changed. Something had intruded on my peaceful little world. It was subtle, but it was dark, it had its own agenda, and that changed everything.

  I rolled over and closed my eyes. I needed sleep. I had school in the morning, and if I was up all night, I would be a zombie. I turned over onto my stomach, clamped the pillow down over my head, and thought about math
. There was nothing like math to put me to sleep. Boring, blah, blah, boring, nonsense, boring. I’m tired.

  I.

  Am.

  Tired.

  I groaned.

  Crap.

  I gave in and tossed the covers aside, slipped into a warm pair of slippers, stole down the hall, and tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen. It felt like broad daylight, the way the moonlight splashed off the tile floor through the window.

  I opened the fridge and took out the milk, pouring myself a little mug and nuking it for thirty seconds. Mom used to make me warm milk like that when I couldn’t sleep as a kid. I sipped it slowly, trying to relax.

  My pink pajama bottoms and brown T-shirt weren’t super warm. I shivered a little bit. The night air was cold, even inside. I hoped all these things would team up to get me in the mood for sleep once I crawled back into my nice warm bed.

  But I was restless.

  I found myself wandering around the living room, looking out the front windows at the lawn. I took my mug and stepped to the front door, being careful to turn the deadbolt slowly so I didn’t wake anyone else up. I slipped out, closed the door, and looked out over the neighborhood, sipping.

  It was so very quiet. Some sprinklers a few doors down hissed and popped up unexpectedly and I hugged myself, chilled by the night air. I finished my milk and set the mug on the porch rail, stepping out onto the front walk, venturing farther. The neighborhood was quiet.

  Most of the houses had their lights off, but I could see everything with the moon looking over my shoulder. My slippers made a smacking sound with each step and I thought of my neighbors’ houses, how each one had someone inside sleeping. It made me feel lonely, but I kind of liked that sometimes.

  It was even a little exciting, like I was cheating, up and awake for a part of the night that most people slept right through.

  Then something crashed in the side yard to my right. I stopped, my breath caught in my chest. I looked into the darkness and saw a pair of glowing eyes. My heart pounded violently. I looked into the bright yellow orbs, a million thoughts occurring all at once, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end.

  Then it leaped into the moonlight: a dark brown cat. It sprinted out from the shadows and took off like a shot away from me down the sidewalk.

  I breathed, “Stupid cat,” and realized suddenly that I had crouched down into the defensive stance I had learned at kickboxing class. Dad will be excited to hear about that.

  My fear was palpable, but the more I tried to fight it, the worse it became. I tried to calm myself, but couldn’t, just like trying to sleep. Here I was, taking a walk in the dark because of my inability to control myself, and I wondered, What next? Now the slightest noise in the darkness was the enemy. A stalking killer lurked behind every trash can and shrubbery in the neighborhood.

  I decided it was time to get back to the house. I had only wandered a few doors down, but as I turned to go back, the distance stretched out before me. I felt like a hobbit exposed on the main road and the black rider was coming for me from anywhere, everywhere. My heart beat harder and faster. Don’t run. That will make it worse.

  I tucked my head down and took off running anyway. I was now completely terrified. I clamped my mouth shut, biting my lips, trying not to scream.

  When I reached my personal top speed, which was surprising both for how fast and for how pathetically inadequate it was, I looked up to see a solitary figure standing at my mailbox. He had come out of nowhere; there was no way I could have missed him.

  I skidded to a stop and beheld with wide eyes the man who stood between me and the safety of my home. His hair was short and blond and he stood well over six feet tall, weighing at least 250 pounds. He looked like the Norse god of thunder, except he was wearing a black leather jacket and blue jeans. My heart was in my ears, I was hyperventilating, my eyes darted over the landscape for a safe place to run to, and I was sweating. All I could think about was getting out of there. I turned and ran back the other way, going past my neighbor’s house, stumbling over their sidewalk on the way. I ducked into their side yard and ran for the back.

  My lips kept whispering, “OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod,” as I ran. I didn’t dare to look back. It’s the same man from the theater. He would certainly be right behind me. I’m sure of it. Within an arm’s length. How did he find me? Surely he almost had me. What does he want from me?

  I was done for.

  I scrambled over my neighbor’s low fence and ran across their backyard, circling toward my house once more. I stopped at the gate, gasping, and in spite of how noisily I was sucking in mass quantities of air, I quietly unlatched it. I could see part of my front yard through the crack.

  If I could get back inside my house, I might be safe. But I wouldn’t be safe if the killer knew I was there. I wanted to make my dash for it completely unseen, but I had to get a little closer if I was going to be able to see where the killer was. I spotted the perfect shrub to hide behind, got down low, and crept out the gate. I moved along the side of my house, hugging it closely and squeezing behind a large evergreen. I parted the branches to look out. I was safe enough as long as the killer didn’t see me. Airel, you are being reckless and putting your life in danger. What did you think you were doing, taking a walk alone in the darkness? I peered out, surveying the moonlit scene.

  He was gone.

  The mailbox stood untended, with the door open and the flag up.

  I looked up the street and back down again. I couldn’t see the killer anywhere. Was he hiding, just waiting for me to show myself? Then a horrible thought struck me. He might be in the house.

  I waited a few minutes and finally decided to risk it and make a dash for the front door. It was only a few feet from where I was hiding, and even if he was waiting, I thought I could probably outrun him.

  I took a deep breath and jumped up, ran to the front door, and burst inside, closing the door and turning the deadbolt as quietly as quickness would allow. I looked around the kitchen and living room for intruders as I stood with my back against the front door gasping, trying to catch my breath. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t woken anyone up.

  No, everything was quiet.

  I sank to the floor and put my face in my hands. I wanted to cry, but I was too angry to go there. Who does this guy think he is? Coming to my house and scaring me to death. Dad’s gonna kill him.

  So much for going back to sleep. Then I heard the sound of footsteps on the porch. I scrambled to the island in the kitchen and ducked behind it. After a breathless eternity, I dared to look up.

  I saw the outline of the killer standing outside my living room window.

  I gasped, but clamped my hand over my mouth. I didn’t think he saw me; he just turned and walked away.

  I stood up to watch his shadow recede down the sidewalk, out of sight. My eyes scanned the yard, and then I remembered something from when I was outside running for my life. Something subtle, something different. The mailbox. Its flag was up; its door was open.

  The killer had left something for me.

  CHAPTER XV

  IT WAS WRITTEN IN the most elegant cursive I’d ever seen and its five simple words chilled me to the bone, even in the light of day.

  I know what you are.

  I didn’t know what I’d expected the killer to leave in my mailbox, but this certainly wasn’t it. I thought about it all night as I tossed in bed, sleep having declared war and deserted me, and I couldn’t get away from it the whole day at school. My mind was elsewhere; I was a total zombie. What did it mean? “I know what you are.” Shouldn’t it say—who you are? What could I do, though? What would I do? Was it admissible evidence for the cops? Should I tell my parents? Did I dare tell Kim, the village blab?

  Any conclusion was impossible, at least for now. While I was preoccupied with how many more days I might have left to live, as I was driving home from school I had to stop the car and open the door so I could puke my lunch into the middle of the street. Weird.
It hadn’t looked much different when it was served to me a few hours earlier. That’s what the school lunch program gets ya—food that could be barf, and barf that could be food.

  My mind was made up right then. Time to call the doctor. Doctor Gee had been our family physician since forever. I closed the driver’s door of my trusty Honda, grabbed my phone, and called his office. The receptionist told me if I hustled right on over, she could get me in—they had a cancellation.

  After I told Dr. Gee I was barfing uncontrollably and we had gone through all the checks of my vitals, I could see the next question on his face. “No—I know what you’re thinking. It’s not possible.”

  He nodded and grinned, hooking his expensive heavy black pen in the breast pocket of his lab coat. “No boyfriend?”

  “No. Only stupid girls think it doesn’t matter. I’m waiting until I’m married.” I held up my left hand and wiggled my promise ring. “My dad gave it to me when I was thirteen.” I was a little embarrassed to be talking about this, even with my doctor, but he was a gentleman and a professional. Thank God. It’s bad enough, all the crap I get for it. I was suspicious that the girls who gave me the hardest time about it were secretly the most jealous of me. In the end, I didn’t care about what they thought.

  Dr. Gee sat back and crossed his arms. He told me what I had suspected he would tell me—that he wanted to run a few tests. He said goodbye and wished me good health, and then the nurse took some blood and had me do a urine sample—all the usual stuff, and I wondered if any of it would end up helping, if I’d get any kind of useful answer.

  As I got dressed and signed out, I thought about all the physical changes I’d been going through in the past week or two, and that there was no possible way it could just be some weird late-stage puberty thing, some “coming into womanhood” or “blooming” phase. And it also went way beyond being merely boy crazy, if I could admit anything like that to myself. It was something else.

  I couldn’t explain why I was getting sick, how it came on without warning, and how after it was over I seemed to be just fine again so quickly. I had no answer for how my appearance was changing so drastically. I didn’t need makeup anymore, not even a little bit. Now when I rolled out of bed—even without any sleep—I had to confess I looked kind of amazing, even to myself. Kim backed my opinion up too, with plenty of complaining about how it wasn’t fair.