Under Sunless Skies (Starlight Saga Book 2)

by Sherry Soule

  Her eyes widen. “How did you guys get away?”

  “Hayden teleported us to the school.”

  The sky is gray and stony and a chill breeze washes over my skin. We both become quiet, lost in thought while listening to the wind and the cars driving along the road near the front of the school.

  Viola runs her fingers through her long, straight hair like a comb, then glances at me and her forehead scrunches. “I’m confused. Why don’t you seem happier? You told Hayden and everything’s out in the open now.”

  “Remember that branch of the government, I mentioned before? Sector Thirteen? It seems they’re in Grimm Haven and their evil goons might be hunting my father. He broke the law and now they want to punish him or something. I’m not really clear on the details. At least with my dad gone, ST can’t arrest him.”

  “What if your parents make you move or go into hiding?”

  I shrug one shoulder. “Then we go.”

  Viola shakes my arm. “You’d seriously leave me? And Hayden?”

  “I-I don’t know.” Uneasiness curls through my stomach. “Not sure we can keep up a long-distance relationship with me on the run.”

  “Then don’t say anything yet,” she says. “If this evil military group knew where your father was, they would’ve captured him by now. ST could simply be visiting the local Meleah. They might not even know anything about you or your family.”

  I bob my head. “I suppose you’re right. If the ectoplasm wears off quick enough, then the reapers won’t be able to find me. There’s no reason to stress them out, and ruin my chances of getting back with Hayden.”

  “Yeah, and by then, I bet those Sector Thirteen guys will be long gone.” She stands, lifting her textbook. “Let’s go, and don’t forget there’s a test tomorrow in English.”

  “Crap! I need to get a folder from my locker with my notes,” I say.

  “No prob. I have a quick call to make so I’ll meet you by the car.”

  I hurry inside the south corridor to my locker. When I open it, I find another ominous black envelope resting inside. My pulse jumps. Tiny hairs rise along the back of my neck. I glance up and down the hallway, then back to the envelope laying on the folder. I rip it open and read the message.

  ANYONE WHO KNOWS ABOUT THE ZETAS GETS MIND-WIPED. DON’T SAY I DIDN’T WARN YOU.

  This threat makes no sense. I read the message again. Unless it means my friends are in danger. Possibly Viola or maybe it means me. The only other human who knew about the Zetas and Sector Thirteen was Devin, the former editor-in-chief of the school newspaper. Can’t believe I was ever friends with that rat. Hayden let ST wipe his mind after the creeper stole my notebook. I’d heard rumors earlier this week that when the administrators and teachers questioned Devin’s absence—questions only evil governments can answer—a letter was mailed to the school explaining that Devin was in rehab.

  I toss the note from The Blackmailer back inside my locker and slam it shut. I will find this person and expose them for the spineless jerk they really are.

  But how? That part’s still a mystery.

  At Haven High, the students don’t walk through metal detectors upon entering the school, and the main job of the “security dudes” in black windbreakers is to dispense tickets whenever students’ Mustangs and Volkswagens park in staff parking spaces. But any type of bullying is seriously frowned upon, so whoever is doing this is risking being expelled if they get caught.

  Correction: when they are caught.

  Except, I can’t go to the principal with these warnings without possibly exposing Sector Thirteen or the Galactic Brotherhood, or even my own family. Or Hayden.

  I’ve got to do this on my own. And I don’t have a clue where to start…

  Viola drives me across town to the beach to my car in record-breaking time. I’m too shaken up to say much on the ride. I can’t figure out who’s sending me these creepy messages, nor do I have any solid suspects. Too bad I can’t tell if these are threats that’ll out my secrets or only warnings that might help me keep them intact. I say a quick goodbye to Viola and hope into my ride.

  On the drive home, I’m still dealing with my confusing emotions over Hayden, the warning notes, the reapers, and the sudden appearance of Sector Thirteen.

  I park in the driveway and get out of the Jetta, locking the doors with the remote. A twig cracks just beyond the house. On wobbly legs, I run to the porch, thumping up the steps in a totally clumsy and skittish way.

  Flinging open the front door, I slam it closed behind me and lock the deadbolt. Then I check the lock again, before I rush to the backdoor and deadbolt that, too. I scurry around the house to ensure every window is shut.

  Feeling a tad safer, I go upstairs to my room. I know locks won’t stop a reaper or a keep a Meleah from teleporting inside the house if they really wanted to get to my family or me, but it makes me feel better knowing we’re locked in for the night.

  I flop on the bed, and Jinx pads into the room, jumping onto the mattress to snuggle beside me. I absently stroke his silky fur. Maybe if I try to figure out who’s sending the cryptic messages, I’ll be able to rid myself of at least one problem.

  Sitting up, I reach into my backpack and retrieve my trusty Hello Kitty notebook. I open a new page and write: “Operation Blackmailer.” For my top suspect, I write: Zach Lancaster. Check. Then I add, The guy doesn’t want me anywhere near his brother. Check.

  Thinking of Zach reminds me of Hayden…

  We had come so close to kissing this afternoon. Because I’m such a film geek, I close my eyes and imagine all those notable romantic moments captured on film and my own fervent desire for an epic love scene strikes my heart.

  Then the creepy warnings and scary mutants invade my daydreams, replacing sexy kisses with scarier images. All I can do is push them away, hoping Hayden and I can survive all the crap being thrown at us again. I am not giving up just yet.

  I’m due an HEA—dammit!

  FRIGHT NIGHT BABBLE

  Hey there, Grinning Gremlins!

  Today’s post is about female tropes that make me wanna behead my stuffed panda!

  The first cliché is the “ordinary girl” (and often unpopular) who discovers her mysterious heritage. Then she learns some wicked cool new skills and/or unlocks her special powers to kick bad-guy-ass and save the day. Barf!

  The second cliché that I’m sick of is the damsel in distress. She’s the dummy, er, passive victim who ends up in some dangerous situation that she can’t escape on her own and must be rescued by the hot male character.

  What about the kickass female lead? It seems like tons of paranormal romance and urban fantasy storylines feature an aggressive, tough-talking heroine, who’s cold heart melts after she meets the sexy alpha male. What’s especially annoying is when this strong chick isn’t such a snarky ass-kicker once she finally gets some lovin’ from her stud-muffin.

  Isn’t this depiction demeaning to all women? Ugh!

  Peace, love, and horror flicks,

  Sloane

  ELEVEN

  While my mom is busy painting in her studio and David is still in talks with the Galactic Brotherhood, Jonah and I have a quiet dinner alone tonight. Once we’re finished, I clean up and decide to go see the latest zombie flick so I can review it for my column.

  It’s been a few days since I’d teleported with Hayden, so I’m fairly certain the residue has faded enough for it to be safe inside a theater. Given the current suck-fest that is my existence, watching a bunch of zombies eating brains is going to seem downright normal.

  Leaving the house, I’m aware of a gloomy aura hanging over the town. At night, the streets appear dark and shadowy, the storm clouds clotting the sky adding to the eerie vibes. Very Hitchcock. The constant anxiousness since the eerie notes started arriving and being hunted by reapers has my stomach churning one minute and resisting the urge to vomit the next.

  Despite all the epic weirdness in my life, there’s a bounce in my step as I
stroll into the movie theater with my tub of extra buttery popcorn and large diet soda. k'12

  Thoughts of Sector Thirteen, nasty reapers, and creepy messages diminish while I sit in the middle row—not many moviegoers during a weeknight—and wait for the movie trailers to start. I zip up my jacket to fight the draft in the old theatre, sinking into the soft cushioned seat. The minute the lights dim, I let out a little squeal. I’ve always been able to lose myself in a spooky film.

  For me, scary movies are an essential diversion, like comfort food. It’s oddly therapeutic—my love of all things horror. And if I’m ever in another terrifying movie scenario like I was before, hopefully I’ve watched enough horror flicks to avoid obvious stupidity and getting myself killed.

  When the credits roll hours later, I wipe the butter from my lips with a napkin, then stand to stretch my legs. I’ll rate the campy film at least four pentagrams in my online review, despite the raunchy humor, because it featured these wickedly cool zombie cats that made me chuckle.

  I exit the theater to a dark, foreboding sky. Through the front windows of the building, spatters of rain gently tap on the tinted glass. A flare of lightning lights up the concession stand, followed by a low rumble of thunder.

  Clutching my fuzzy purse to my chest, I hurry through the exit and cross the empty parking lot. Three lamps flicker, and I pray I make it to my car before the downpour washes away my penciled-in eyebrows.

  Gloomy clouds move across the sky, daunting and dominating. The looming thunderstorm makes the streets of Grimm Haven barren. The pavement is slick, black as tar, with white droppings from the pigeons nesting in the awnings on the theater. I glance behind me, considering it might be better to go back inside until the rain pauses, but the manager is already locking the doors for the night. The lights dim inside, the windows obscure as eyeballs of the dead.

  Before I make it more than a few feet, the heavy clouds release a mini-monsoon, soaking my clothes and hair. I shove my bag inside my vintage leather jacket as I fumble with the car keys.

  “I beg your pardon,” a deep, resonant voice says from behind me. “Could you help me, please?”

  I jump, practically dropping my keys into a puddle. The rain splatters on the roof of the Jetta, and droplets run down my face, smearing my makeup. Opening the driver’s side door, I toss my purse onto the passenger seat, and glance over my shoulder.

  The stranger, at least seven-feet tall, moves out of the darkness, shambling and ominous. The weak streetlights cast a ghastly shadow across his sullen face. Wet, scanty hair clings to his narrow head. He reminds me of Lurch from the Addams Family.

  As the stranger, Lurch, steps closer, hugging his body and shivering, he halts under a flickering streetlamp. “My car won’t start.” Lurch points behind him at a white Toyota Corolla parked near the theater under an awning. “I was hoping you could give me a jumpstart.”

  Rain pelts the ground and the wind howls fitfully. I chew on a piece of my hair as I linger by the car door. Every instinct in my body is ordering me to drive off with a halfhearted apology, but part of me feels bad for the guy. My mom’s always preaching her ‘pay-it-forward’ mantra, which sticks with me now. I can’t leave him stranded in the rain if I can help.

  “Sure,” I shout to be heard over the raging torrent.

  “Thank you,” Lurch says. “I have jumper cables, if you could move your car closer to mine.”

  My clothes stick to my body like a soggy second skin and my hair is plastered to my head and neck. I push at the wet strands and clear my throat. “I’ll be there in a second. I need to call my mom first and tell her I’ll be late so she doesn’t worry.”

  “I can wait.” The water from his hair drips over his face, highlighting gaunt cheekbones. His unnaturally large eyes are piercing against the paleness of his almost gray complexion.

  “Really. I’ll only be a minute or two.” I shift my weight from foot-to-foot.

  “No problem.” Lurch’s head bounces up and down like a basketball. “You are a lifesaver. Literally.” He remains near the lamppost, not stepping any closer and rubs his hands. “Damn, it’s cold. I think I even saw a saber-toothed squirrel chasing an acorn.”

  His joke isn’t funny and seems to come out of nowhere, as if he’s trying to get me to relax. It does the opposite. A wave of unease sweeps over me icier than the rain. The rain makes a loud staccato beat against the hood of the Jetta, drumming along with my pounding heart.

  I twist around to get into the car and my boot splashes in a muddy puddle. My back is to the stranger for less than five seconds when a blast of frosty air stirs the little hairs on my neck.

  Lurch chuckles. “I can tell you’re partially human, which accounts for your stupidity. They are such a lower lifeforms.” His tone is gruff, almost threatening.

  My heart thuds. My body quivers. Thoughts fly helter-skelter. For a wild second, I wonder if he’s my blackmailer.

  A cold, soggy hand clamps onto my shoulder in a brutal grip. “It’s Sloane, correct?” From behind, his sour breath ghosts over my shivery skin. “The girl Hayden’s been grieving over.” He sniffs my hair and then grunts. “Guess there’s no accounting for taste.”

  He violently spins me around to face him and I take a startled step back. His eyes are different shades of dark brown, which only means one thing—he’s a Meleah. I tilt my head upward to look at him, almost straining my neck muscles because he’s so dang tall.

  “Who the hell are you and what do you want?” My voice wavers. I turn to start running back to the theater as quickly as my chubby legs will take me, but Lurch blocks my path.

  “To warn you away from Hayden Lancaster.” He sneers. “You are interfering with my daughter’s birthright.”

  A sense of déjà vu strikes hard. There must be some anti-Sloane club, where all the members band together to protest our relationship. Maybe they even had to elect a new president when Hayden’s crazyass ex-girlfriend, Tama, was thrown into prison. I just hope they aren’t printing up free membership T-shirts.

  “Are you Tama’s father? Because they broke up months ago!” A fiery spark burns my insides and I grind my teeth. “Why can’t you crazy Meleah just leave me alone?”

  The seven-foot alien wears a sinister grin too wide for his face that shows his brown gums. That ugly sneer resembles a demented serial killer in a slasher film, and now I’ve been cast as the helpless heroine in the starring role.

  I lift my chin. “You must be the blackmailing douchebag. But I don’t scare that easily.”

  “Oh, I’m not so sure about that. We haven’t even begun to play yet.”

  “Just leave me the hell—”

  Lurch punches me hard in the stomach and I fall back against the side of the Jetta. The impact causes me to lose my footing and I stumble to the ground, the air knocked from my lungs. He grabs the collar of my jacket and jerks me to my feet, then wraps his long fingers around my neck and squeezes. My eyes bulge. His thumbs dig into my throat, squeezing off my air supply. My lungs hurt, demanding oxygen. I gasp for breath, digging my fingernails into his wrists, trying to dislodge him. Lurch only tightens his death grip. Desperate gasps of breath wheeze in and out of my lungs.

  I’m going to die. No more impulse buys at Hot Topic or watching scary movies.

  I will never see my family or cat again.

  Never be with Hayden.

  Or hang with my friends.

  No, no, no! I can’t die like this—alone in a dark parking lot at the hands of an ominous stranger. This is not my movie ending!

  I thrash and kick under him. As the edge of my vision goes dark, I use the last of my strength, bringing my knee up violently into his groin. Lurch groans and his fingers loosen their stranglehold.

  Air fills my lungs again. I scramble away from him, my back banging into the tire. Heavy rain pelts my skin as I collapse there, panting. My hands clutch at my throat and I breathe in sharply. My mouth opens and I release a bloodcurdling shriek that’ll make any scream queen
proud.

  “Do not bother calling for help,” Lurch says, his tone deadly quiet as he straightens to his full height. “No one can hear you in this storm.”

  I stare up at his bony face, then slowly get to my feet. “You’ve got the wrong girl.” My voice comes out cracked and hoarse. “News flash! I’m not even seeing Hayden anymore.”

  My legs tense, the muscles in my thighs quivering. I’m ready to run, because fighting a Meleah by myself is only going to get me killed. And I’m not that stupid.

  I’m a Final Girl—dammit!

  He sniffs the air. “Then why do you stink like a Meleah? You have our pheromones all over you.”

  “Why are you doing this?” I demand, inching closer to the car door. “Who are you?”

  “I am Xavier, considered a royal among the Meleah, and you are only weak and worthless. A lowly crossbreed that’s interfering with my family’s rise to power.” Each word hurls out like spears. “Can that tiny brain of yours comprehend what I’m saying?”

  Xavier moves lightning-quick, lifts me up, and tosses me in the air as if I’m as weightless as a drowned rat. I hit the slick pavement on my side, skidding into a concrete parking block, and my clothes scrape against the rough cement, shredding to expose raw skin. A trickle of blood oozes down my arm and a sharp pain radiates in my hipbone. He strides forward, his ass-kicking boots thudding with each fluid, predatory step.

  He grabs my hair and lifts me to my feet. As he drags me across the lot back to the Jetta, my hair is pulled so hard it feels like it’s going to be ripped from my scalp. I helplessly grasp at his hands, bending my body to ease the tension.

  “I wish it didn’t have to be this way, but you’re an obstacle,” Xavier says. “You must be eliminated.”

  When we reach the car, he whips my head back, and shoves it down so quick and hard, my forehead cracks against the cold metal hood. Bright stars waltz through my vision and dizziness causes my legs to wobble.