I scope out the back of the castle and the parking lot. I don’t want an unfortunate run-in with Mason. What now? Back to Caleb’s van and my original plan of hiding inside it. Oh joy. Then I see him. Nathaniel stands near the stage door with his back to me.
I’ll have to pass by him to get to the van. I feel foolish for trying to chase him down. I didn’t intend for it to be a chase, but that’s how it ended up. If he wants to talk to me then I will. Otherwise, hi-ho hi-ho, to the van I go.
Ten feet away and he looks over his shoulder at me. His face is unreadable save for those serious eyes. He walks to the stage door and before he enters he gives me another long look. Then he cocks his head to one side motioning me to follow him.
Nervously I take the last ten steps to the door and peer inside. Nathan is nowhere to be seen. I take a deep breath and let it out. Did I just make it up in my head that he wanted me to follow him in? Is he playing mind games with me? I’m mental enough right now. I don’t need this. I swivel my head back around to where I was just walking to make sure no one else is behind me. The embarrassment of assuming a look meant for someone else is for me would be more than I can bear. No one is behind me. Why is he acting so strange? Was it Chris?
I step inside the wide door and then press my back against the nearest wall. In front of me and to my right people buzz around on the stage. Jared and Caleb are not in the mix, but Derrick and Dan are there, busily tearing down the drum set and winding up cords. A handful of other guys bustle about setting up fresh equipment. Microphones are being adjusted and cords are being taped to the stage. I stare opened mouthed at the bassist from Blue Nouveau standing not fifteen feet from me tuning his guitar. He’s even more gorgeous in person. He looks up from his white and black Fender and winks at me. I snap my mouth shut and try to look cute but it’s too late, he’s refocused on his guitar.
I stare down at the tips of my scuffed shoes. All right, quit stalling. Do I want to speak with Nathaniel or not? I tuck my hair behind an ear and take a deep breath and then look around the “church” for him, tall lean body, and short brown hair. I don’t see him anywhere in the low light.
The “church,” as Lance prefers to call it, isn’t what I would call packed, but it’s the most people I’ve ever seen at a private party. The energy level in the room is high, matching the level of the music blaring from the stacks of speakers. Smiling faces atop thousand dollar outfits and endless glasses of alcohol float around the room like a foreign sea of wealth and intoxication.
A woman wearing thigh high leather boots and a scrap of leather I think is supposed to be her dress reminds me I’m still in my shabby work clothes, totally unsuitable for this caliber of a party. I’m sure I still smell like work too. Insult to injury, great. Hey, look at the bright side; it’s not bright. It’s quite dim in here so no one will notice you, including Mason. Maybe he’ll forget I even exist with dozens of beautiful women slinking around. That’s two check marks on my side. Third, there are dozens of people here, more than that. What could happen with so many witnesses present?
Where’s my brother? I don’t see him or Caleb anywhere. If I find them, could I convince them to leave early? It’s more than doubtful. Who would want to leave this shindig? Awesome music, free alcohol, platters of food, beautiful people, and music contacts galore. I shouldn’t even bother to ask him if I do find him. Oh, except the fact there’s a psycho running amuck and ghosts outside waiting to haunt me. Oh yeah, that’s why I want to leave. One more reason pops into view as I see Ashley and her faithful duo. They’re talking to Lance by the bar. Then, across the room, and through a jumble of people, I see who I’m really looking for.
Nathan leans back against the stone wall, hands tucked into his pockets. Our eyes meet and his stern, jaw-clenching expression melts. One side of his mouth lifts in a lopsided smile. He lifts a hand in a small wave.
“Hi,” I mouth back.
The other side of his mouth lifts completing his smile. It’s small and reminds me of how I feel, uncertain.
My stomach flutters. The sensation is completely new to me. I look down at it, surprised, and check internally to make sure my stomach isn’t deciding to turn against me. Nope, not an upset stomach, the sensation is already gone. I look back at Nathaniel. He’s still watching me. And there it is again, flittery flutter-bye’s dancing in a most unusual spot in my abdomen. I smile again, feeling shy for reasons I don’t quite understand. I brush my hair out of my face, tucking it behind an ear again and try to unglue myself from the wall. Maybe he isn’t trying to avoid me after all. I’ll go and thank him again for the, what? Do I call it a “rescue”? It sounds absurd, but there it is. See where things go. I owe him everything and I want to tell him.
I make my way around groups of people who are waiting on the dance floor for the band to begin. They shift and bounce to the recorded music playing, waiting with obvious anticipation for the live set. The music sounds good. The beat throbs out of the speakers and vibrates in my blood giving me pleasant sensory overload. With my head down I try to move unseen through the crowd. It doesn’t work. A high heeled shoe steps backward in front of my Chucks and as I maneuver around it, my already sore ankle turns over sending a shock wave of searing pain up my leg. It hurts so bad all I can do is take little whiffs of breath through my nose and hope the tears don’t actually spill over.
Hopping on my good side, and still trying to get away unseen, a soft hand grabs my elbow.
“Oh Juliana, my apologies. I am so sorry.” Lance’s assistant has a beautiful voice to match her beautiful face.
“No, no. I’m fine. It was my fault. I’m sorry, Yvette. Are you okay?” I hear myself babbling from nervous discomfort, and I hate it. It’s like not having any control over an annoying tick.
“Yes, of course. I am fine, but you are limping. Please come with me.”
She tries to guide me toward a chair but I resist. People are staring now. I try to stand as if I’m uninjured.
“No, it’s fine. I’m not hurt, really.”
She lets go, but she doesn’t look convinced. “Oooh, I’ve broken you. How terribly clumsy of me. Juliana, please forgive me.”
As her distress grows I detect more of an accent; European, and very faint but there nonetheless. I put on my most brave face. “Please, don’t worry, I’m fine.” I smile at her and take a couple of tentative steps.
In a level of hell no one has ever informed me of, is a maze. It looks just like Castle Hill, and it has endless road blocks. My next barrier is Lance.
“I see my assistant is doing her job well.”
“Excuse me?” I say half-pleading and miserable.
“I asked her to tell me if she saw you join the party.” His smile is as wide as ever. The next thing he says, he directs to Yvette who is hovering, mosquito-like. “Always doing more than expected, thank you. I can take care of her from here.”
“I don’t need any taking care of, but thanks.” I look across the room trying to find Nathaniel but I’ve lost sight of him through the screen of people.
“Oh, no you don’t. I insist you let me help.”
With that he takes a hold of my hand and leads me to the nearest couch.
I protest the entire way and am entirely too aware of his warm fingers wrapped around my own. “I just want to walk it off. And, Yvette’s not to blame, I did this outside.” I leave out the “dozens of times” thinking he doesn’t need the extra details.
He practically forces me onto the couch. I’m relieved when he relinquishes my hand, but now I have to sit next to him instead of pursuing the mysterious Nathaniel.
Lance bends down reaching for my foot. I yank it away from his grabby hand. “No, really you don’t have to do that.”
I think he must have heard how serious I am because he sits back. “I need to know if you need a doctor, don’t I?”
“No, you really don’t,” I persist.
“Well, I have to make sure you’re not dying. It’s the least I can do, as yo
ur host, of course.” He rests his hand on his chest making him look ever so sincere, but the playful grin gives him away.
“Oh, of course. No, I assure you I’m not dying of a sprained ankle.” And you can keep your hands off too. I am not feeling receptive toward him, no spark. None at all. In fact, I’m beginning to lose my temper with him. I have to hold true to my feelings and there is no point in letting this go any further.
“All right, but you must sit here for a moment and let it rest.”
Lance leans back a few inches, moving away from me, but looking at me closer, if that’s possible. A wide angle shot. There’s a glint of humor in his eyes and the corner of his mouth twitches. My discomfort grows by the second. I look back and over my shoulder for Nathan, thinking this would be the ideal moment for another interruption. All I can see is the rounded chocolate curve of the back of the couch and a few floating heads of party guests.
Lance’s hand reaches for my face, slow and deliberate. “Hold still for one second.”
I freeze, making a look of horror, I hope.
He plucks something out of my hair and holds it up for inspection. A twig.
I snatch it out of his fingers and stuff it in my pocket. “Yeah, I fell outside. Did I already tell you that?” My embarrassment has leveled out at this point, reached cruising altitude, and is apparently holding firm.
“I can see that. Was it while you were ghost hunting with Mr. Abeyta?”
“Not exactly.”
“So, most people come to my parties for the party. You can’t find better music anywhere and the company isn’t so bad either, if I do say so, but I get the feeling that’s not why you’re here.”
“I, well, you know, I wanted a private ghost hunting lesson. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity,” I say dryly. How am I going to get away from this guy?
“Of course, mademoiselle, why else would you come? Everyone fantasizes about coming here to romp around in the woods with their own ghost hunter. I’m a little jealous to be honest with you.” He laughs a short jiggle of a laugh. “What about a drink? It could help take the edge off.”
“No thanks,” I say.
“Oh, pardon moi. Are you not of age ma petite cherie?” He does the sincere thing again, his fingertips touching his chest over his heart. “Excuse my ignorance, but I don’t know how old you are.”
I give him a short smile. He is just so, what? Like Jared when he’s in a playful mood. Before I give him an answer, I look at his young features and wonder how old he is. “I’m almost twenty and again, no thank you, I don’t like alcohol.”
He leans in close letting his leg brush up against mine. He says in a low voice, although he’s still yelling to be heard over the music, “I don’t care to drink alcohol either, it makes me sick.” He settles back into the couch. “Can I get you anything else? Mineral water? The chouquettes are awesome.”
“You know what? I’m doing fine in that department, but don’t you have other guests to wine and dine? I’m sorry, I don’t want to sound rude, but I mean important business people?” I’m sure he does.
“They’re all fine.” He waves a nonchalant hand. “Besides, no one is more important than my beauté blessée.”
Hurt beauty. Oh no.
Before I get a chance to reply, someone bumps into the couch behind me and half falls over it. I feel the cold trickle of fluid running down over my shoulder and onto my breast and then I smell what I think is a rum and coke. Before I can object, Lance interjects. “Hey, be careful.”
The interruption comes as a welcome relief in a way. Lance is saying things to me in French again — that can’t be good — and I don’t want to deal with him right now.
“Whoops. Oooh, Lance… sorry.”
The baby voice can be none other than Ashley. I look over my shoulder and give her an accusing look but she isn’t paying me any attention. She looks distracted with something I can’t see and don’t particularly care about. My shirt is barely wet, thankfully, so I dismiss it. While Lance scopes out the chaos going on behind us, I stare down into my lap and wrack my brain for a polite way to take my leave. My brain still isn’t cooperating. Overload will do that to a person. It’s like hitting the enter key on a computer a hundred times — it freezes because of too much stimulation.
“I was wondering — could I call you sometime?”
I’m so taken off guard I can’t answer. I can only stare like a deaf mute. Lance is staring right into my eyes. He looks truly sincere this time, not his playful grin, but a small endearing smile.
How could he just throw that out there?
I get another welcome and unwelcome distraction and I’m saved from having to give him an answer, unfortunately it’s not the distraction I was wishing for.
“Her!”
Oh, please no.
Ashley’s three-year-old voice informs everyone in the twenty foot circumference around her, but is directed at Lance. “She’s a witch, you know. You can’t trust her. She’s evil. Don’t listen to anything she says.”
Lance looks up at Ashley then back to me. He gives me a lopsided shrug of apology.
I close my eyes needing a brief moment of black stillness. I open them again to meet my accuser face to face. She’s not finished.
“She’ll be really nice to you at first. Then she’ll curse you or poison you with one of her horrible plants!”
“Ashley, could you just go away?” It would be too easy if she would listen to me.
“Why should I? You’re an evil witch. Tell everyone what you are. You don’t even deny it.”
Lance steps in. “How about a little fresh air? Doesn’t that sound nice everyone?” He directs his words to Eric, who is near at hand. He takes his cue. Ashley narrows her eyes into dangerous slits as Eric drags her toward the door. I see her mouth moving the entire way across the room, apparently unable to stop her annoying torrent of lies.
I try not to make eye contact with anyone, feeling mortified beyond belief. What if her accusations follow me around for the rest of my life?
“A witch? Really?” Lance is laughing as he says it.
“Will you excuse me? I want to go make sure there aren’t any more sticks in my hair.”
“Of course. If you need me to carry you, I can.” He raises his brows at me, looking for an invitation. At least he didn’t seem to take Ashley seriously.
“No,” I answer too fast. Then with a calm voice I add, “No, my ankle feels much better now.”
I’m up and away before he can see through my lie. I move as fast as I can, ignoring the pain and hoping he doesn’t realize I didn’t give him an answer — not about being a witch — but about giving him my phone number.
I duck through the door of the closest restroom feeling relieved at my escape and then I almost die.
Chapter Seventeen: Little Orange Cap
If someone were to see me, I don’t think they would have seen any physical change. I saw it though. In a split second, I saw everything. I saw the change you can never go back from. I saw it on my face’s reflection in the mirror on the wall, but mostly I felt it. An unfamiliar squeeze around my chest and the small splitting crack as my heart broke.
No one else in the room saw me enter. Or, if they did they just didn’t care. They looked so engrossed in their obliteration that my presence didn’t matter. Caleb sits on a velvet cushioned chair looking down at his outstretched arm. Mason kneels in front of him holding a syringe in his beefy hand. Mason slides the needle out of the tender flesh of the inside of Caleb’s elbow. One tiny drop of crimson blood pearls onto his white skin. Caleb releases a leather belt from around his bicep and then he closes his arm hiding the tiny hole.
Caleb’s eyelids flicker and then close. He lets out a breathy “whoo…” and sinks back into the chair.
Somehow, I know the drug has just reached his heart and is giving him the “rush” druggies are always searching for. Jared’s back is to me. I feel sick, horribly sick.
“Hey sweet thing, wan
na go next?” This came from the pocked faced weasel, Fredrick.
That got all of their attention. Jared whirls around, his eyes are huge and his mouth, so much like my own, is pressed into a hard line. Mason stands up, casual as a hit man, and shifts himself to block the pile of paraphernalia on the countertop. I see him slip the used needle out of sight.
“Jared?”
I shake my head in denial and feel the tears welling up. My throat tightens and the crushing feeling around my chest is keeping me from being able to breathe. I wonder if I’m about to fall down. His hand lifts as if he’s reaching out for me and the little orange cap from the syringe falls to the floor. The safety orange color clashes against the plush red carpet. It clashes like my expectations of what Jared’s life is supposed to be like versus what’s happening right in front of me. I look back up at my brother. I’m numb and shattered, simultaneously. He opens his mouth to say something, but I’m already gone.
Outside I seek a place to run and hide in misery but I can hardly move. The cool night air washes over me and I close my eyes, trying to shut down the pain growing like a red tide. How could he do it? We swore to each other to never do any hard drugs. He promised me pot and alcohol were it for him. God, why would he do it like that, with a needle? It’s unbelievable. It could kill him! Doesn’t he care about his own life? No! It can’t be. How could he do that to himself? Why? And Caleb too? No! No! No!
“Jules?”
I can’t turn to face him. My only brother, he’s everything to me. My family, my friend, he’s supposed to be on my side.
“Jules, I didn’t do anything,” he spits the words out onto the ground.
“What!” I turn then, and wipe away my tears so I can see him better.
“I wouldn’t touch that shit.”
He defends himself before I even accuse him of anything. That’s suspect in and of itself, but I can hear a difference in his voice and I can see a change in him. I step close to him and pray he doesn’t see my intentions. I snatch a hold of his arms and yank them forward exposing the soft inside skin.
Death Lies Between Us (An Angel Falls Book 1) Page 18
