TWENTY-NINE
Aidan
I slept in Kara’s arms again. And now I really need to go. I need to see if Eric has a solution. I check my phone, but he hasn’t texted or called, neither has Hanna. I do have a text from Rebecca, though. An image.
The text reads, I drew this, what does it mean? I tap on the photo and then enlarge it, taking a closer look.
My breath catches. It’s the same symbol burned into the leather cover of my mom’s grimoire. A seal of protection from earthly elements, a lock. But parts of the spell were made up by my mom, a cocktail of casting magic and something else. Why would Rebecca draw this? How would she even know about it? She’s never seen the grimoire.
I text her back, When did you draw this?
Then I get out of bed, get dressed, and give Kara a kiss before heading out.
The morning air is cold when I walk out the back door into the yard, the sky a crisp summer blue over my head. I’m unlocking the car when my phone vibrates in my pocket. I’m hoping it’s Eric, but when I pull it out I see it’s Rebecca.
I tap the green button. “Good morn—” But I don’t get it all out.
“It’s dead!” she chokes out. “There’s all this blood—oh my God, it’s horrifying, I can’t—”
“Rebecca, stop,” I cut in, panic grabbing me by the throat. “What’s dead?”
“I think it’s a possum,” she whimpers.
My rushing pulse begins to slow back to normal. “Start over, tell me what happened.”
So she does. She tells me about how a woman came to her door and tossed a bloody dead possum on the welcome mat. The creepy woman said that the gift was from the queen, and soon Rebecca would have to choose a side. Everything in me sharpens as she speaks, her voice shaking. My nerves burn, my head aches. And helplessness fills me again.
I know what the woman—who was possessed, by the sound of it—I know what she was doing. Breaking the wards that I just put around the house.
A crunching sound makes me turn.
Someone is standing three feet from me, holding up a cell phone. Recording video of me.
I step back, lifting my arm to block my face as I mumble to Rebecca that I have to go. But the man moves closer. He’s short, with spindly arms and legs, head topped with a backward baseball cap, his cargo shorts’ pockets bulging. “How did you do it?” he asks in a rush. “The readers at Blind Man’s Blog want to know: Are you going to come out and let us know the truth, Blink Boy? Why did you kill that woman with your alien powers? What are you hiding from?”
The sound of my lame-ass media name coming from his lips makes me stop retreating.
I come at him, grabbing for the phone. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I yank it from his hands.
He smacks at me like a debutant, yelling, “Hands off the gear!” Then directs his voice to the street. “Help! Police!” As if the cops are waiting just a few yards away.
I chuck the phone as hard as I can, over the fences and the backyards of about three houses.
“Hey!” he yells as he watches it fly away.
I turn on him and get in his face. “Back off.”
The smell of his thick fear bursts out between us.
Okay, I could’ve handled that better than I just did.
“You need to leave,” I say in a more measured tone. “You really don’t want to be here.”
His eyes dart back and forth between the direction I tossed his phone and my face. “This is my job, man.”
“To stalk people?”
He shrugs. “Yeah.”
I look around again, making sure he’s alone. This is bad. “How did you find me?” If this dimwit caught me, then it won’t be long before someone else does.
“I’ve just been watching the house the last couple days—heard the address come over dispatch, so I’ve been keeping an eye out.” He points to a yellow MINI Cooper parked across the street. “I saw when you got here last night. I just waited it out to get the money shot.”
“You’ve been out here all night?”
He shrugs again, calmer now. He’s also apparently not in a hurry to leave, only a little nervous as he eyes me. I don’t know what to do with him. Technically he’s trespassing, but it’s not as if I’m going to call the cops. I could shoo him off, but he’d just come back, likely with more curious eyes in tow.
“I can tell your story,” he says, his hope sparking when I just stare at him. “I could be the Lois Lane to your Superman.”
I sneer, annoyed. “Are you kidding?” I take him by the arm and tug him farther down the driveway so the house will block the view from the street entirely. “This isn’t some comic book, dude. You’re going to get yourself killed.”
“I feel ya, man, you’re a rebel to the system. I didn’t let the cops know you were here, I swear. We don’t need the pigs getting wind of shit. You need to be able to do your thing and let your voice be heard. I can—”
“Shut. Up.” My head feels like it’s going to explode. It must be nice living in his world, where this could all be some movie plot he can twist to his narrative, like my life is made up of sound bites and Vines he can tweet to make me look good.
“Look . . .” I start, trying to figure out how to say this, “thanks for not calling the cops. But you need to understand, it’s not safe to follow me. There are . . . things—forces—after me, trying to hurt me. You don’t want to be in the middle of this shit.”
His mouth opens in amazement. When I’m done, he says in a hushed voice, “Like the government?” He looks around as if there might be people watching now.
I sigh and let the thought stand. “Yeah, sure.”
“Oh, that sucks, man.”
“Yeah, so don’t come back around, or they’ll come after you, too.”
He looks less relaxed about that, stepping away from me. “Gotcha.” But then he pulls another phone from his jacket pocket and taps at it. “Could I maybe still get a quote on the record to go with the video?”
“I chucked your phone, there’s no video.”
“Haven’t you ever heard of a cloud?” He looks up from his screen and gives me a quick sardonic grin. Then holds the phone up like it’s a microphone. “Quote?”
I just glare at him. Then I walk past him to the car and slide behind the wheel without a word. As I drive away, I glance in the rearview mirror, checking to be sure he’s not going to the front door, but see he’s already heading away from the house to his own car.
As I head for Rebecca’s house I consider whether I should take off the front and back plates of the car now. Since that blogger guy found me, he’s got the license number obviously. I’ll have to get Eric to scrub himself from the paperwork or something, switch out the numbers to keep his name out of it. But if the guy found the house, then he likely has Sid’s name, too . . .
Shit. It’s too many connections, too many threads tying us all together.
I call Hanna to give her a heads up, and she says she’ll take care of the car’s paperwork right away and get some new plates from a contact by the end of the day. But when I ask her if she’s heard from Eric, she gets quiet and I can tell she’s nervous about something.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I don’t . . .” her voice staggers. “He always answers me right away. And after the other day, I know he’d want to be sure I was all right. I just . . . if you still haven’t heard anything, either . . .”
My anxiety rises, the road ahead of me blurring a little as my head starts to ache, but I say, “I’m sure he’s fine. There’s probably a lot going on. Ava’s not just messing with me, there are demons out there all over the place, so the other side has got to be a mess.” She doesn’t answer, so I add. “I’ll be there in a little while, and we’ll send another message.” And then I realize something else. If the LA Paranormal house isn’t secure at all now, then I can’t go back to do the spell there. We’ll have to find another spot to do it. “Is there a way that we could do t
he bonding spell in the warehouse?”
“Of course,” she says quickly, then releases a sigh. “I’m sorry that I’m not very helpful, Aidan. I wish that I could do more, that I understood your world better.”
“No, you don’t,” I say. “And don’t be sorry. I have no clue what I’d do without you and Eric.”
I hang up after reassuring her a little more, but the conversation leaves me feeling unsteady. Why hasn’t Eric contacted her? She’s right. If he thought something was wrong, he’d have been there the instant she sent the message. And if he’s not, then something isn’t right.
I’ve barely set my phone down before it’s ringing again. Kara this time.
“Tray’s in,” she says, relief clear in her voice. “He’s a go for the bonding spell.”
That was quick. “What happened?”
“Apparently something attacked his little sister when she was playing in the park.”
My body goes tense. “Oh, shit.”
“She’s okay, just some scratches. But she’s terrified, obviously. Tray is convinced it was a demon, so he says he’s fine with helping us as long as it means he’ll be able to protect her better.”
“We can’t guarantee that, we have no clue what this bonding will do.”
“We need him, Aidan. We’ll sort all that out later.”
She’s right, but I don’t want Tray to go into this with the wrong idea—thinking I know anything about the side effects. Because I don’t. And I know my power isn’t all safety and roses. The others get that, I think. They see it. But Tray didn’t even know about demons being real until a few days ago.
“So, we should do the spell today,” she says, like it’s not really up for discussion. “Can you call Rebecca, though? Connor acted weird when I asked him to.”
That doesn’t sound good. “Yeah, I’ll take care of it. Let’s meet at the club in an hour.”
“The club?”
“I was caught in the driveway this morning by some blogger who’s apparently been following me. Don’t think I’ll be coming around the house again for a while.”
She barks out a laugh. “A blogger? Are you joking?”
“I wish. And now I’m probably going to be the headline of Blind Man’s Blog tomorrow.”
THIRTY
Rebecca
Aidan’s going to pick me up on his way to the club. I really couldn’t care less about this spell he’s so anxious to do, I just don’t want to be alone in the house anymore, wondering what the heck’s going to get dropped off on my doorstep next.
The truth is, after last night I’m terrified that whatever’s going on with me could mess everything up. I’m not like the rest of them, I can feel it. I’m not like Aidan, with his abilities to read people or his powers to kill demons. I don’t know what I am, but it’s not like them.
If that lady who left the possum was telling the truth, then Ava wants me on her side. And she wouldn’t want someone good.
When Aidan arrives, he cleans up the dead possum, and I hose off the porch. I want to tell him everything that happened last night with the fire—or the nonfire, I guess—but I just don’t know how. I don’t know how to explain it. And I still sort of feel like I may have imagined it all.
Instead, when we’re getting in the car, I ask him if he got my text of the drawing.
“Yeah,” is all he says. His hands grip the steering wheel tighter.
“You know what it is,” I say.
He glances sideways at me. “It’s a spell.” He pauses but then adds quickly, “How did you know how to draw it?”
I knew it was bad. I can tell from the tension in his shoulders, the pinched skin at the corner of his eyes, that I was right. “I, uh . . . well, it just sort of came to me. I drew it with my eyes closed.”
He sucks in a quick breath. “You channeled.”
“I did? Is that bad?”
He shakes his head, and I assume he’s going to say no, but instead he says, “I don’t know. It depends what you were channeling. But it could mean you’re able to call up spirits.” Then something seems to dawn on him. “Maybe that’s what Miss Mae meant by tricking spirits.” He sounds relieved at the idea, like there were worse alternatives. But it all sounds pretty bad.
“Maybe, I guess.” I don’t have a clue what Miss Mae meant. “So, you think this was because of the piece of Kara that went into me?”
“I don’t know. Kara’s ability was very . . . different.”
“What could she do?”
“She, uh . . . well, I guess you could say that she hypnotized people. She was basically able to make them do whatever she wanted.”
I sit straighter, the idea unnerving me. “She could mind control people?” No wonder Aidan was worried that I somehow adopted that part of Kara. “Did she ever do it to you?”
He shrugs. “Once, just to show me how it worked.”
“Oh.” And then I ask, hurriedly, “Did she ever do it to me?”
“No,” he says firmly. “She didn’t like using it, it made her sick.”
“But now it’s gone?”
“When my energy healed her curse, that went with it.”
“Except the piece that went into me.”
He stays focused on the road but reaches over and touches my knee, like he’s trying to comfort me. “We’ll figure it out, don’t worry.”
I nod, but my mind is racing, wondering what it all means. I know the part of Kara that I got will be different than it was for her, but how? I’ll be able to manipulate spirits. Somehow. By channeling them? I just hope it will be something I can control. I can’t seem to control anything lately.
“Why has Connor been ignoring me?” I ask.
Aidan blinks at the shift in subject. “I . . . I don’t think he’s—”
“Yes. Yes, he is.” I fold my arms across my chest, feeling guarded now, embarrassed that I even asked. “Is he ashamed of me or something?”
“Rebecca, Connor really cares about you.”
“Then why isn’t he picking me up and driving me to this thing instead of you? And why won’t he answer my texts?” My stomach churns. I cringe at how much I sound like a petulant girl who’s not getting her way. “I’m sorry,” I add. “This isn’t your problem. I’ll ask him myself.”
I don’t want to, though. I don’t really want to talk to him at all right now. I’m hurt that he would ignore me so blatantly, especially with everything that’s been going on. And after what almost happened between us . . . if my dad hadn’t walked in . . .
I’d kind of like to punch Connor in his perfect abs when I see him.
As soon as we get to the club, Aidan has me burn a clutch of sage and walk around the large warehouse to spread the smoke while he checks on Hanna. I take a path around the empty space, not sure what I’m doing exactly, not sure I’m doing it right, but the motion of it is soothing.
After a few minutes I hear the side door click open and then shut. I turn, thinking it’s Aidan. It’s not. It’s Connor.
The sight of him, his hair damp, a fresh tan warming his skin, making his eyes shine—I find myself swallowing hard, my resolve to be angry drifting away like the smoke coming off the sage in my hand.
“Hey,” he says. But he doesn’t quite look at me.
I turn away, pretending to be focused on my task. “Hey.”
“I’m supposed to be getting something from the apartment.”
I don’t respond. My throat tightens at how awkward it all feels. It hurts. And it’s ridiculous. Because I don’t even know why it’s there between us.
“Rebecca,” he says, his voice heavy.
I turn, shoring up my resolve.
“There’s something . . .” he starts, but he seems unable to say it. There’s pain in his eyes. And I have no clue why. He opens his mouth to say more, but the side door clicks open again, and Jax, Tray, Holly, and Raul all come in, laughing about something Raul is saying.
I don’t look away from Connor, though. He’s tortured by
whatever it is, whatever’s keeping him distant. He glances sideways at the new arrivals, but just as he seems to be turning to start up the stairs to the apartment, he shifts directions and walks quickly over to me, leaning in to whisper, “Come with me.” His hand wraps around mine, and I feel disoriented as he leads me up the stairs to the apartment, shutting the door behind us, blocking out the others’ chatter.
He doesn’t let go of my hand. He moves closer, and I tense, thinking he’s about to try and kiss me, but instead he just tips his head and gives me a hurt look.
“What’s going on, Connor?” I ask. “Why have you been ignoring me?”
His features pinch up. I can’t imagine what it could be that he’s about to say. I just know it’s not going to be good.
“I let myself think I could have you,” he says. “I’m sorry.”
I shake my head. “What are you talking about, I don’t understand.”
He releases me then and walks away, heading for the living room. I follow and sit in the same chair I was in the other day when Aidan asked if I thought I might still be connected to him. I said no, because I didn’t think I could be. I thought my feelings for Connor had overshadowed all that. But as I watch him struggle with whatever it is he needs to say, I realize my link to him is barely a sliver of what I thought it was.
Aidan, I can talk to. It’s easy with him. But this—Connor . . . he’s not making this easy.
“The other night,” Connor says finally, “before your dad came home, we almost . . .” He seems to struggle, then turns and looks right at me. “Would you have had sex with me if he hadn’t interrupted us?”
Why is he asking me this now? “I . . .” I decide to just be honest. “Yes.”
His breath catches. Confusion fills his features. “Even though we barely know each other?”
That cuts me. Is he about to lecture me on purity or something? “What’s this about, Connor?”
He sits on the couch and cradles his head in his hands. “I just don’t think I’m good for you. I’m not good.”
“Excuse me?”
Darkness Savage (The Dark Cycle Book 3) Page 17
