Forsake

by Andrea Pearson

  The woman’s entire body had been stabbed with tiny glass shards. They pierced through her dress into her legs, chest, and stomach. Her throat, arms, and face were coated in them. Her mouth was wide open, so full of shards that it made Nicole choke. Even her eyes were covered with the sharp little things. Blood pooled around the lifeless woman, dripping down the marble steps.

  Nicole screamed, barely noticing as several others did too.

  “Someone call the cops!” a man yelled.

  That wasn’t necessary—one of Dad’s best friends was a detective. He pulled out his badge and ordered everyone to sit at their tables. No one was happy to be told to what to do, but fairly quickly, Detective Brooks had things under control.

  Minutes later, the ballroom was sectioned off with police tape, and cops were streaming in and out through the door. This wasn’t Detective Brooks’ jurisdiction, so he only gave a few directions until the right detective arrived.

  “Why are you holding everyone here?” a woman called out when the new detective came and started telling people what would happen. “It’s obvious that whoever killed her is an Arete.”

  Nicole felt her ears turn red. She was the only Arete present—Tiffany would never invite one to a party.

  And everyone else knew that too. As one, a hundred pairs of eyes turned and stared at her.

  “It was Nicole!” someone shouted. “She did this.”

  Nicole shook her head. “No, I didn’t! There’s no way—no way I would have been able to.”

  Several people began shouting at once, demanding to be let go. Nicole’s eyes scanned the group for Tiffany and Dad, but they were busy arguing, Tiffany motioning angrily at the shattered window. How like her to be more concerned about the window than a murder.

  Detective Brooks stared at Nicole for a moment, his eyes narrowed. They’d never been friendly with each other—yes, he was one of Dad’s best friends, but he distrusted Aretes as much as Tiffany and Dad did.

  He grabbed the new detective’s arm. “It’s true.” He pointed at her. “She’s the only Arete here.” The detective assigned to the case nodded. He strode to Nicole, grabbed her by the shoulder, and flipped her around, pushing her stomach against the table. He pulled her arms behind her back and handcuffed her, giving her the standard Miranda warning.

  “It wasn’t me!” Nicole shouted. “This isn’t right—I didn’t do it! I can’t even use my magic yet! Mother! Dad!”

  They obviously couldn’t hear her over the commotion. Even more people were shouting and screaming now. Several were insisting on calling their attorneys, others were pointing at Nicole, and the rest were upset about the murder and their lack of control over the situation.

  Two officers pulled Nicole out of the building and searched her for weapons before pushing her into the backseat of a cop car. Her face burned as she felt eyes on her. She looked out the window at the night sky, feeling tears of anger, fear, and frustration building up.

  Sitting with her hands behind her was uncomfortable. They could have at least undone the cuffs. Her head began to pound as she thought back on the events that had just taken place.

  Who had murdered that woman? And why? There must have been another Arete present. There was no way Nicole was the only one. But everyone knew that her parents disliked Aretes and wouldn’t ever knowingly invite one to any of their parties. Nicole excepting, of course.

  Thinking about the glass that had been pounded into the woman’s body until she died made Nicole’s stomach roil. She couldn’t believe how barbaric that was.

  Something occurred to her. No one else had been injured, even though the glass had gone everywhere. How had the murderer prevented anyone else from getting hurt? Were Aretes really that powerful? Nicole hardly knew anything about her heritage—what she was supposed to become. She’d tried to ask, but her parents had been unwilling to talk about it. Of course, she could always look online, or ask Lizzie. But she had been so busy working three jobs, dealing with school, and teaching cello lessons that anything extra had simply slipped to the back burner.

  They finally arrived at the police station. A female officer took Nicole by the elbow and pulled her into a shower room where Nicole was strip-searched. Her face burned the entire time—she couldn’t even protest, she was so humiliated.

  After the search was over, Nicole’s hair was a complete mess. The woman made her dress in a jumpsuit, and she got booked.

  She could tell by the way the officers treated her that they were nervous around her. Ridiculous—every police department kept Aretes on their staff. Any one of them should be able to tell she wasn’t dangerous—not even close.

  Nicole was held alone in a cell that managed to smell like urine and antiseptic cleaner. Disgusting. Apparently, murder suspects weren’t allowed to be around other people. She was just fine with that.

  For the first five minutes, Nicole sat on the bed, her face in her hands. What a horrible, horrible day! Once she got over the humiliation of the strip search, she began pacing the cell, requesting her one phone call from anyone who came near. They all ignored her. Nicole realized she didn’t know what the law was—whether she was allowed her call immediately, or if she had to wait for a while, or if the law said it had to happen before a certain amount of time had passed.

  With nothing else to do, she ended up lying on the cot and staring at the ceiling.

  The hours dragged by.

  Was Lizzie in danger? And if so, from whom? Nicole couldn’t help but fret over her situation. She was supposed to be meeting someone, not getting stuck in jail! And where did they take her clutch? Had they removed the metal thing from it? Where had Conor gone after that whole thing happened?

  Finally, Nicole heard the sound of a door opening, and her mother’s voice filtered down the hallway.

  “Thank you for understanding, Officer,” her mother said. “Yes, just a miscommunication. No, you won’t be hearing from our attorney. You were doing your duty, and we appreciate that.”

  Tiffany appeared at the bars and stared at her daughter. “Well? Get up. I’m here to take you home. After you answer some questions, of course.”

  Nicole swung her feet over the side of the bed. “I didn’t do it.”

  Tiffany rolled her eyes. “Obviously not.”

  “Then why have I been here so long?”

  Tiffany stepped aside as an officer pulled some keys out of his pocket. “I had to make sure all my guests were okay,” she said. “Your dad and I were questioned last. We gave our full statements and made sure they knew there was no way you could have done it.” She watched Nicole as the officer stepped back, holding the door open, inviting Nicole to exit the cell. “You don’t have any powers. You just Restarted, after all.”

  Nicole stepped into the hall a little hesitantly, half expecting someone to jump out at her with a camera and yell, “Gotcha!” No one paid her an ounce of attention, though, and she was allowed to change out of the jumper and get back into her evening gown. They returned her items, and she was relieved to find the piece of metal in her clutch still. Thank goodness.

  She felt sad, looking at her dress—the organza had been ripped from the taffeta in her struggle to get away from the officers, and the beautiful blue fabric was ragged. She gripped the edges together and returned to Tiffany, holding her head high as they were escorted to an interrogation room.

  Chapter Seven

  The attitude of the police officer who booked Nicole was completely different now from how it had been when he’d brought her in—though stressed still, he was more relaxed now, more friendly. He sent her an apologetic smile, and she felt her shoulders slump in relief. She really wasn’t a suspect anymore.

  She and her mother were invited to take seats. Then the detective over the case—a very exhausted-looking man named Keeney—began with the questions. The tired way he voiced them told Nicole he’d asked multiple people these questions before. She wanted to help him—she really did. But how much could she tell him? How much s
hould she tell him?

  Detective Keeney looked up in surprise when she said that she’d actually spoken with the woman just moments before her death.

  “What did she say to you?” he asked.

  Nicole shrugged, scrambling for an answer. “She wished me a happy birthday and said she was excited for me that I’d Restarted.”

  Nicole didn’t want Detective Keeney to sense a lie in her voice, so she rushed to change the subject. “Was it really an Arete who killed her?”

  Detective Keeney rubbed his face. “It seems so. How else would the windows have shattered in such a targeted way and only the woman get blasted with the glass?”

  Nicole nodded, biting her lip. “But who would do it?” She glanced at her mother. “It’s no secret my parents hate Aretes, so it’s not like they had any of them there. Apart from me, of course.”

  Tiffany glared at Nicole. “Stop being petty, Nicole. As if we could hate what our daughter—our only daughter—is.”

  Nicole ignored her mother’s comment.

  Detective Keeney rubbed his face again. “Yes, well, we’re trying to figure out who the woman even was. We don’t have any history on her, no fingerprints on file, and she didn’t have ID. No one had even seen her before.” He leaned forward, clasping his hands on the table in front of him, his gaze on Nicole. “Are you sure she didn’t say anything else? From what I can tell, you’re the only person she spoke to.”

  Nicole pinched the bridge of her nose, thinking through everything the woman had told her, trying to figure out what would be safe to say and what she should keep private. She hated the fact that she had information she couldn’t give the detective. But until she knew what was going on—and how it affected Lizzie—she couldn’t break the promise she’d made. “Well . . . I mean, I was approached and congratulated by so many that I didn’t wonder who she was or anything like that.” Nicole felt bad for yet another lie. She hoped all of this really would end up helping her best friend.

  Detective Keeney asked a few other questions—things like what Nicole had done during the day and if she saw any weird behavior from anyone else at the ball. She told him about her Restart and her boyfriend breaking up with her and then showing up after all. The detective obviously wasn’t interested in their little quarrel. He gave Nicole his card and asked her to call him if she remembered anything else.

  As soon as he gave them permission to do so, Nicole and Tiffany left the police station. Nicole breathed deeply the moment she was underneath the big Texas sky again. How close had she come to getting locked up for a murder she hadn’t committed? What would have happened if she’d been an experienced Arete? They would have continued under the assumption that she’d done it—she wouldn’t have been released, and an investigation and trial would have ensued. Nicole shuddered, thinking about the humiliation she would have had to endure, but on a long-term basis.

  Her mother dropped her off at the old schoolhouse where her car was. Nicole was surprised to see Conor standing by her door.

  “Don’t stay out late,” Tiffany said before pulling away.

  She didn’t need to worry—the thing Nicole wanted most was her bed.

  Conor gave her a small smile, and she wondered if he was upset by the evening’s events—everything had happened so quickly, she hadn’t really paid attention to him. She checked her phone, dismayed to see that it was one in the morning. How long had he been waiting?

  “Hey,” he said. “How are you feeling?” He took her arms and pulled her into a hug. “I’m sorry I couldn’t have been there with you. I’m willing to bet you didn’t get a lot of support.”

  “I’m okay,” Nicole said. She felt her lips start to tingle as the shock of the evening spread through her again. “Once they realized I didn’t do it, they were much nicer.”

  Conor must have sensed her shaking because he held her tighter. “That was freaky, right?” He kissed her forehead. “I mean, I can’t believe somebody was killed. Right in front of us.” He leaned back, looking into her eyes, his light brown ones concerned. “I heard that the woman spoke with you for a moment. Did she say what she wanted?”

  Nicole shook her head. “She just congratulated me on my birthday and Restart.” She figured Conor was a safe person to talk to, but until she knew more about what was going on, even he wouldn’t hear the whole story.

  Conor looked relieved. “Good—at least they can’t blame you for anything.” He kissed her cheek, then said goodbye and headed to his own car.

  Nicole pulled out of the parking lot, merged onto Highway 75, and drove toward Lucas. She was lost in her own thoughts for most of the way, but something at the corner of her eye drew her attention when she was about fifteen minutes from home. She glanced out her window.

  A huge, dark dog ran alongside her car. She shrieked, nearly pulling her hands off the steering wheel, and barely turning her eyes to the road again before drifting into the car in the lane next to her.

  As she drove, her focus skittered back and forth between the road and the animal running by her. It had large, pointy ears and was slender and sleek. She blinked, expecting the dog to disappear, but it didn’t. Even though she was driving at least sixty miles an hour, the dog was running just as fast. How was that possible? It caught her staring at it and made eye contact with her, the expression on its face intense. It jerked its head toward her, making her wonder if it wanted her to pull over. Like that was going to happen.

  After about five minutes, the dog veered off, and Nicole spent several moments watching the highway behind her. What was going on? The woman, a murder, an unknown Arete, and now a dog that could run at highway speeds?

  She gripped the steering wheel until she couldn’t feel her fingers anymore. Her knuckles were white in the streetlights. Nicole went way too fast the rest of the way to her house, going at least twenty miles an hour over the speed limit. She punched the code into the gate and pulled up the drive, parking in the garage. She didn’t get out of her car until the garage door was shut, watching through her mirror the whole time. No dog followed her in. Thank goodness.

  Nicole was almost to her bedroom by the time she’d fully convinced herself that she’d imagined the dog. There was no way that had happened. No way.

  She had just shut her door behind her when a knock made her jump. “Who’s there?”

  “Just me,” Derek said.

  Nicole pulled the door open, inviting him in.

  “I heard a woman got murdered at your ball.” He put his arms around her. “I’m sorry. That’s so crazy.”

  Nicole nodded, feeling as tears yet again prickled the back of her eyes. Derek had a scheduled exam the night before—otherwise, he would have been at the ball. Boy, had he missed out on a lot! The whole day had been crazy. Horrible.

  “Did they tell you that I got arrested for murder?”

  Derek’s eyebrows shot up. “What? No, they didn’t. Why?”

  “Apparently, I was the only Arete present, and the woman was murdered by one.”

  “How do they know?”

  “Because she was killed with glass from exploding windows, and no one else was even touched. Only an Arete could have done it.”

  Derek slumped onto the settee at the foot of Nicole’s bed. “Holy crap. Does anyone know who she was?”

  Nicole shook her head, joining Derek. “No. They don’t even know where she came from.” She hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should tell him everything. The clutch with the little piece of shiny metal was still in her hands, and she twisted and turned it, staring at it.

  Derek leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands. He peered over at her. “I’m never more than a phone call away.”

  Nicole nodded. “I know. I’ll call you immediately if I ever need anything.”

  Derek reached over and ruffled her already messy hair. “You do that. I love you, sis. Take care of yourself, okay?”

  Nicole thanked him, then shut the door as he left. She finally let the
tears fall while gathering up her things and changing out of her dress and into pajamas. She got into bed, but tossed and turned for several moments before realizing she would never be able to sleep. She needed another good, long soak.

  She was on her way to the bathroom to start filling her tub when a movement on her balcony caught her eye. Expecting to see Lizzie there, Nicole turned. What she saw made her shriek—it was definitely not her best friend.

  The dog from the highway stood there, illuminated by her bedroom lights, partially hidden by the drapes. It was large, larger than most dogs. Its sleek, dark body shone from sweat. Even though Nicole had never seen a dog like it before, it didn’t look foreign or weird or like it was anything other than an ordinary dog.

  The creature gave a small yip, audible through the double-paned glass doors. It seemed to want her to open the doors and let it in. No way.

  The dog began convulsing, and Nicole scrambled backward, away from the door, tripping over the settee and landing on her butt. She watched in horror as the dog’s neck stretched out, its front legs becoming thicker, and its torso lengthening. The thing bent over, then suddenly straightened on its hind legs. In a matter of moments, a man stood on the balcony where the dog had been.

  Chapter Eight

  Nicole’s mouth opened and closed several times, the scream she wanted to belt out refusing to come. The man wasn’t very old—probably in his early thirties—and was somewhat attractive, though his eyes had a sort of sadness around them. His hair was a bit unruly, but wasn’t too long. He wore a brown leather jacket and light-blue jeans. Not one thing about him said he could turn into a huge dog capable of running at freeway speeds. If Nicole had met him anywhere else, she would have spoken to him if he’d approached her.

  The man motioned again to let him in. The scream finally tore itself from her throat, and she jumped to her feet and ran from the room, slamming the door behind her. She knew her family wouldn’t have heard her scream—the house was too big. She’d have to take care of herself. But where could she go? The dog ran as fast as a car! It could get up onto second-story balconies. And it shifted into a man, which meant it could go anywhere that a man could go. Nicole couldn’t take her car, and she wouldn’t hide anywhere near a window.