When I sense nothing, see nothing, I look back down at the tiny offering. Then I pick it up delicately and read over the bubbly words. That’s Ava’s handwriting.
Isn’t this fun? BTW: I’m winning. ;) My stomach rises at the childlike tone, familiar and horrible. I keep reading, Okay, next hint: The green witch begins her rise. The first to fall because of fatherly lies. Find her or she dies. Tonight.
I scan the hint over and over. Find a witch? Who? How am I supposed to do this? It seems so random. And silly.
But if I don’t do it, Ava will kill one more innocent person.
A breeze picks up as I knock on my great-grandmother’s door, and my teeth start to chatter. I’m soaked. And freezing. And terrified.
My grandmother’s house is on a bluff, overlooking the Pacific Ocean like a pink 1950s farmhouse in the middle of a man-made jungle. I was supposed to come tomorrow to trim her hydrangeas, so maybe showing up on her doorstep won’t be too weird.
I knock again, more insistent. I can ask to use the landline, call Sid to be sure Connor is okay—things better be okay. I need to know what I did, how bad I fucked everything up, and how much worse it’s about to get. Someone needs to answer the damn—
The door swings open, and Fa’auma clutches her bright Hawaiian dress to her chest with one hand. There’s a box of bandages in her other. “Thank heaven above! You came just in the nick of time, young man.” The smell of mildew and acrid air flows out from behind her—the scents of anxiety and fear.
My own worry sparks even brighter, thinking something else is wrong. Maybe with my grandmother. “What is it? What happened?”
She waves me in, and a splashing sound comes from the other room, the kitchen I think. “I don’t know how to turn it off. She slipped and fell and I thought it was just a scratch but . . .” She shakes her head.
I walk past her, through the door. “Where is she?”
“She’s in the living room, watching her show. I think she’s okay—the fall was minor, she didn’t hit her head. It appears that it’s mostly the Pergo that’s destroyed, which has her quite out of sorts. I’ve called the concierge doctor just in case, but it’s the strangest thing, because you’re actually here—she started asking for you about ten minutes ago.”
My mind is trying to wrap itself around the tangle of things she just said. I pause in the archway to the living room, the splashing sound getting louder in the back of the house.
My great-grandma spots me in the entryway, and her bird arms lift to wave at the air. “Oh, it’s you!” She has a bloody spot on her shoulder, showing through her pink nightdress—probably from her fall. There’s also a smudge of blood on her arm, her paper skin torn and peeled back on her wrist. It makes her look so fragile, so vulnerable. “I’ve been thinking about you! Come here so I can look at you and be sure you’re all right.” She waves her arms again. Her tiny body seems to shrink when it’s framed by the large rose recliner she’s always sitting in. But she looks spunky as ever, her blue eyes bright and sparkling with mischief.
I move to her side, looking her over more closely. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“No one listens!” She humphs. “I told that man that copper was the devil’s tool. Bad luck! But he just thought I was a crazy old bitty. And now there’s a lake in my kitchen, hang it all!”
Fa’auma comes up behind me. “I’ll keep trying to get ahold of the plumber, ma’am. But maybe Aidan can take a look. Since he’s here and all.”
Plumber? Copper pipes?
I turn to Fa’auma. “Did a pipe burst or something?”
“Did it ever!” my grandmother shouts at me like I can’t hear her at normal volume. She’s definitely fine. “It’s Niagara Falls in the kitchen right now, all over the new flooring that my husband’s foolish niece insisted I get. All she ever wants to do is spend my money.”
I decide that the talking isn’t going to clarify anything, so I start for the kitchen. “If a pipe bursts, you shut off the valve under the sink, depending on where it’s broken, anyway. I’ll go check. I just need to use your phone first—can I use your phone?”
“Of course,” Fa’auma says. “I’ll go get it.” She disappears down the hall.
“Be careful not to slip!” my grandmother yells after me.
I follow the sound of splashing water into the wide hall that leads to the bright open kitchen with a small breakfast nook in the corner. The cupboards under the sink are open, all the cleaning supplies that were stored under there now sitting in a puddle to the side. A fountain is spraying from inside the cupboard like a pipe came loose.
It’s a normal problem. Refreshing.
I kneel down in the inch-deep puddle on the floor; I’m already wet, so it doesn’t matter that the water sprays over my shirt as I duck under the sink to look closer. I find the valve and have to force it only a little to make it turn, shutting it off. The water becomes a drizzle, then a drip, then a nothing.
I actually fixed something. Something lame, but it’s something.
Now I just need to find a green witch—whatever that is—before she dies.
Fa’auma splashes into the kitchen and holds out the phone to me as I move my head out of the cupboard. “Oh, goodness, you are a dream, young man. What a bunch of helpless women we’ve turned into out here. We’re a shame, really.”
I stand, dripping, and shake myself off like a wet dog before taking the phone from her. “Thanks.”
“You’re soaked, you poor thing! Where’s my head—let me get you a towel.” She walks away again, leaving me to drip.
I punch Sid’s number into the phone and listen to it ring as my nerves turn raw, thinking again of what Ava is going to destroy next, thinking of everything that could have already been destroyed in five seconds in that ER. Because of my stupidity. The voice-mail message clicks on: “You’ve reached the Los Angeles Paranormal Investigative Agency. Are your troubles falling into the ‘strange’ or ‘unexplained’ category? Don’t be afraid to reach out—”
I hang up and dial Kara’s number, hoping I’m remembering it right. It goes to voice mail, too: “Hey, I don’t wanna talk to you, so just figure it out, or whatever.”
I hang up and rack my brain to remember Connor’s or Holly’s numbers. But I draw a blank. Damn. I try Kara again, praying she’ll pick up, but it’s still her snarky voice-mail message.
My mind spins, trying to decide what to do. I’ve got no car, no money.
Eric! His number, I remember. All the times I had to call from a pay phone ingrained it in my brain.
He picks up after one ring. “Aidan, what’s happened?” Of course my guardian angel knew it was me. Calling him on the phone. A new era of Heaven, I guess.
I breathe out in relief. “There was a demon in the Gap, then the ER was . . . bad—I did something—” I pause because my throat goes tight, thinking of Connor lying there, the woman’s scream just before I ripped the demon from her insides. “And then I guess I teleported, because I’m at the beach now. My grandmother’s house. But things with my sister are bad, Eric, really bad. And it looks like they’re only going to get worse. There was a note, a riddle or something, about a green witch she’s going to kill. And she’s totally controlling the demons—”
I hear a splash behind me and turn to see Fa’auma holding a towel. There’s a look of shock on her face, like she heard what I just said.
Oh, perfect. Just fucking perfect.
I take the towel from her outstretched hand. “Can you make sure Connor is all right?” I ask Eric, still looking at Fa’auma, wondering what her reaction is about to be. “And call me back at this number as soon as you can. I’m freaking out here.”
“Of course,” he says. “I’ll send a car as well.”
“Great, thanks. I’ve gotta go.” I hang up and hand Fa’auma back the phone. “Thank you.”
She takes it from me slowly, carefully, looking me over with obvious caution as I pull off my soaked shirt and set it on the counter. I dry
my face with the towel and pat down my wet torso before I speak. I need to decide if it’s even worth saying anything. She hasn’t moved, though. She’s got the guard dog look on her face, and she smells like a protective parent.
Fa’auma studies me a little longer than comfort allows. “You’re a mysterious one, young man. I heard what you said about a . . . a demon?” Her eyes follow the lines of my mark, and I realize she might actually believe my words.
I say carefully, “Not easy to explain.”
She nods and keeps studying me like she’s considering. After a few seconds, she says, “Thank you for your help with the sink. You were in just the right place at the right time.” And then she gives me a wink.
The phone rings, making me jump a little.
Fa’auma holds it out to me. “Probably your friend.”
I take it as she turns and grabs my shirt, along with the wet towel, then leaves me alone in the kitchen to talk. I click the “Answer” button and put the phone to my ear, my focus back on what Eric might say. “Hello.”
His voice comes over the line, sounding calm. “Connor’s all right, Aidan.”
I release a shaky breath.
“He’s dazed,” Eric continues. “It seems your power linked with his spirit—Sid said that your fire connected to him. It’s obvious that you didn’t read the next under-passage about the power links, and how it pertains to the Lights, but we’ll get to that, I’m sure—”
“What about the woman,” I interrupt, not in the mood for more Eric riddles. “How’s the nurse?”
“The nurse is another story. And you need to understand, Aidan . . . this wasn’t entirely your fault.”
A chill works through me. “Just say it, Eric,” I whisper.
“She died, I’m afraid.” When I don’t respond he adds, “But you’re not to blame, you must understand that. The demon fought, and it’s likely that your power isn’t totally under control. It was a simple mistake.”
“A woman is dead, Eric,” I say, an ache blossoming deep inside me. “That’s not a mistake, it’s a fucking nightmare.”
A sigh comes over the line, and I can picture him leaning back in his desk chair and giving the ceiling a pleading gaze as if he’s asking Heaven for help. “You need to realize that you can only do so much to save them, Aidan. This is a time for focus. You can’t allow yourself to get caught up in the guilt.”
“I’ll remember that the next time my power is ripping apart a woman’s spirit.” My stomach twists. I killed her. Another life gone because of me. Because of what I am.
He ignores my cutting remark and says, “When the car gets there, it’s going to bring you here, to the club. You can’t go back to the LA Paranormal house yet.”
I swallow my torment as his words register. “Why?”
“The police are there, asking questions of your guardian.”
Renewed anxiety surges into my chest. The cops are looking for me. Of course they are. I killed a woman right in front of them. And now I know what Ava meant. Out, damned spot, a quote from Macbeth, when the queen was trying to clean the blood off her murderous hands.
I lean on the kitchen counter, staring at my palm, and try not to puke.
“We’ll talk more when you get here,” Eric says through the thundering in my head.
“Right.”
The line goes dead, and I listen to the buzz, my whole body turning numb.
SEVEN
Aidan
I’m not sure how long I stand there before the sound of the doorbell breaks through my shock.
I hear Fa’auma talking to someone, a man’s voice answers back, something about Mrs. O’Linn. After a minute or two Fa’auma splashes back into the kitchen behind me.
“The doctor is here,” she says. “He’s making sure everything is okay with Mrs. O’Linn.”
I only manage a nod.
“The plumber will be here soon, too, so I suppose I better get started on cleaning this up.” She surveys the small lake on the floor that reaches from the sink and wraps around the right side of the island I’m leaning on.
“I can help,” I say. But I don’t move.
She doesn’t comment, just brings in a mop and a stack of towels.
After a few minutes of working silently, Fa’auma starts humming something. It’s a soothing melody and calms my frayed nerves a little. I focus on the notes and her soft voice and try not to think about the nurse who will never open her eyes again. Or the fact that I could’ve done the same thing to Connor with this freight train inside of me. I could have killed him, too.
I’ve killed. Again.
Because of Ava. And her wicked game. I wonder if she wants me to feel like her, that I belong in her Darkness . . . If so, she’s doing a fucking awesome job.
I need to find her. I have to stop this madness somehow, before she kills that witch. Or causes some other horror.
When the floor is somewhat dry, Fa’auma declares to Mrs. O’Linn that there’s only one small spot of Pergo that got ruined, and a rug will fix that. I go into the living room and settle myself on the couch as the two women chat about the price of contractors these days. I’m only sitting there five minutes before a plate filled with a tall turkey sandwich and chips is set on my lap. My stomach growls like a bear waking up. I grab the sandwich with both hands and take a huge bite as Fa’auma disappears into the back of the house again.
“Doesn’t anyone feed you?” my grandmother grumbles as she looks away from the local news on TV. Her arm has two bandages on it now, and her shoulder, too.
I study her for a minute and then ask around the turkey and lettuce, “So the doc says you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” she barks. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”
“Sorry,” I mutter. I wipe my face on my bare arm, then give her a forced smile.
She humphs and picks up a book of crossword puzzles.
I go back to my sandwich, only half hearing the news on the screen. I’m so engrossed in the meal that it takes me a minute to realize someone just said the name of the hospital I was at. When I look up, I nearly choke. Flashing across the bottom of the TV, I read STRANGE DEATH CAUSES MASS CONFUSION.
The screen is filled with an image.
Of me.
It’s a bit blurry because I’m far away from the camera, but I recognize myself instantly, perched on the back of the ambulance. Then the picture changes, and it’s video taken inside the ER; looks like footage from a phone camera. I’m holding the nurse by the shoulders and shaking her, my arm shimmering. The light blocks my face as it causes that same glare the cop was talking about. The newscaster’s voice-over is droning on about “questions” and “some panic on the part of police.” Because “how did the assailant escape into thin air?”
Holy fucking hell.
Next, the image on the screen is of a reporter in front of what appears to be the hospital. “The authorities are staying tight-lipped here, Morgan,” she says. “No one is sure exactly what happened an hour ago in this ER you see here behind me.” She motions with her hand. “All we know for sure is that a woman has died under very mysterious circumstances from an incident that occurred while a victim related to a previous incident in Oakleaf Outlets—an animal attack—was being treated. That patient’s name has not been released yet, but we do know it is a male, and we know from an eyewitness that he was being treated for multiple lacerations. As the amateur footage continues to come in, some are wondering who or what we are actually dealing with here. The police are clear on one thing, though. They want to speak to this mysterious patient you see in these videos. And it’s no wonder, when you watch them. Very chilling, Morgan. Very chilling to say the least. Back to you.”
The image switches to a female newscaster in the studio, her face grave. “Thank you, Lisa. Let’s fill the viewers in on what they should be looking for.” And then a hotline phone number and a bullet point list of “things to look for” appear next to her perfectly styled head as she begins reading
the items off one by one:
Age: 16 to 20
Hair: dark brown
Eyes: hazel
Ethnicity: possibly Middle Eastern
Lettered tattoo covering his left arm
They’re giving out my description on KVLA.
I swallow the chunk of sandwich that’s turned to sawdust in my mouth and glance at my grandmother to see if she’s noticed any of what’s just been blasted out to the world. She’s still busy with her puzzle.
“What do you suppose the smallest penguin species is called?” she asks absently, focusing on the page in her lap. She taps the eraser end of her pencil on her chin. “Five letters.”
I grunt in a noncommittal way as my body tingles with adrenaline. I set my plate aside and reach for the remote, quickly turning the channel to a game show.
“Another word for green?” she asks. “Seven letters.”
“Verdant,” Fa’auma pipes in as she comes back into the room. She sits down on the chair across from Mrs. O’Linn and picks up her knitting. “The plumber called, he’s on his way. What’re we watching?”
Eric’s car service shows up just as the plumber does, which lets me slip out without too much of a fuss from the ladies. When I get to SubZero about half an hour later, the sun is setting over the city. I thank the driver and head into the main part of the club. I barely get through the door before delicate arms tackle me, and the familiar smell of vanilla and Kara’s sweet energy fill my head.
“You big asshole,” she says into my neck. “You scared me half to death. Where’d you go? The cops were everywhere; they came to the house and were there for, like, an hour. I was so relieved when Eric called and said he’d gotten ahold of you.”
My nerves settle a little with her touch, hearing her voice, even if it is filled with concern. I kiss her temple and pull back. “Where’s Eric?”
“Here,” he says, entering the main room of the club, coming from the direction of the back office. “We’re so glad to see you’re okay, Aidan.” He hands me a new phone. “Same number. Try not to go swimming with this one.”
Darkness Savage (The Dark Cycle Book 3) Page 4
