Cass and I shared a couple slices of pizza and a Coke (yes, Cass drinks Coke, too, but none of that diet stuff), and I decided we needed to find a place to stay for the night. And then I needed to find a job. I knew five thousand dollars was probably not going to get us very far in the land of glitz and glamour.
I found a motel a few blocks from the beach. It was fifty-five bucks for the night, which seemed like a lot. But we were tired, and I thought being close to the ocean might be cool, because I could take Cass for a walk in the morning. Problem was, they had a “no pets” policy.
“You gotta stay in the bus, girl,” I told her. She thumped her tail slightly and looked at me with her big, dark eyes. I whispered in her ear, “Only for a little bit. Soon as the coast is clear, I’ll come get you.” She thumped her tail even harder. I may sound a bit biased here, but Cass is the smartest dog ever. “You be a good girl, and I’ll be back.”
And I was, after a shower and a change of clothes. I snuck my half-coyote, half-lab, possibly some border collie pooch into the dingy motel room that smelled of stale cigarettes, bug spray, and mildew. She jumped on the bed with me and we fell fast asleep.
The Dead Celeb
is available at:
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Shadow Boxer
Alterations, Book 1
By Jen Greyson
(read on for a sample)
Chapter One
Based on the last two, I’m getting an increasingly bad taste for Tuesdays.
“Damn.” I grind my teeth as the needle stitches color onto my right shoulder blade.
Brin rakes a paper towel across the bloody area and slathers Vaseline over my new tattoo. “Wanna see?”
I press my shirt over my boobs and hop off the chair. The ache in my back radiates through my entire arm, but I peer over my shoulder at my reflection and his impromptu handiwork. High on my right shoulder blade, he’s painted a vibrant orange-yellow sun with a crescent moon piercing the bottom, and eight long strands of lightning radiating outward in feathery bolts. Day blurs into night and back again, held together by nothing more than lightning. A perfect illustration of time’s chaotic movement for me.
I gingerly pull my shirt on. “Nice.” One-word answers are enough here. I’m not capable of much else.
“Eighty bucks work?”
I dig in my front pocket for a crumpled hundred. My waistband slides over my hip and I grimace at how much weight I’ve lost. I don’t like being this skinny. I want my curves back.
Brin takes the cash, enveloping my hands between both of his. “Merry Christmas, Evy. You have plans?”
I force my gaze to stay steady, though I wince inside. “Dinner with the folks.”
“Cool.” He lets me go and taps the cash register, popping open the drawer.
I wave away his money. “Keep it.”
He jams the bill into the drawer and hums “Jingle Bells.” “Thanks, babe. Don’t be such a stranger.”
I test a smile and fight the burn stinging my eyes. “Thanks for fitting me in. Tell Tasha we need to go out for a drink.”
He walks me to the door and holds it open. “She’d like that.”
Back in Papi’s truck, I roll my shoulders. Even though some of the tension is gone, I still fight to stay above water. Please let this get easier. I’m going to run out of skin if this is how I have to unload the stress of an arc every time.
A snow-covered Accord slides toward my bumper and I brace for the impact, but the driver gains control at the last second and waves in apology. She grins, buoyed by the Christmas packages piled high in the back of her car. I manage to lift my hand in forgiveness. If only the rest of my problems were that easy.
I shift Papi’s truck into drive and pull out of the snowy parking lot, grateful he didn’t let me take my bike. I know he’s worried about me, but I don’t know how to reassure him—or if I even can. Not that he’s faring much better than I am, but at least he’s had a couple months to come to grips with what we are.
Lightning leaps from my fingertips and rings the gearshift. Another bolt races around the steering wheel. My heartbeat steadies and my chest expands with a calming fullness. I need to play with it again. Nothing else can get me balanced and centered like my lightning. My throat tightens and I fight the flood of memories.
Empty streets guide me home, but as I pass each driveway overflowing with visitors settling in for the long holiday weekend, the stiffness returns to my shoulders. I suppose I need to decide where I’m going to spend it as well. Someone’s shoveled my driveway, and I park between the small mounds of snow.
It’s weird to be back here in my own house. I’ve spent what feels like months between Papi’s house and ancient Spain. Everything here is so . . . normal. Bamboo floors gleam, the stainless-steel kitchen is unused as ever, and the couch and gadgets remain untouched.
I pace the length of my living room. The plan Papi and I formed earlier disintegrates as quickly as I try to recall the details. It seemed so easy and simple while we talked through saving Aurelia and then rescuing Penya.
I pull a blue strand of lightning from my middle finger and twist it around my hand, covering and uncovering my fingers. That’s not the right order. Penya’s abduction weighs on me, but not just because I failed to save her in the forest. That whole situation doesn’t feel right. The longer I wait to save her, the more chances of something going wrong. She thinks Aurelia is important—and I completely agree—but leaving Penya to Ilif’s mercy until I save Aurelia makes me uneasy.
The lightning jumps and pops around my hand. I close my eyes and inhale, drawing the cord of light out and back in a slow rhythm. When my mind empties and the unease quiets, I snuff the lightning and return to my living room.
Badly as I want to leave this decision up to someone else, I need to decide between the two. Time travel should not be this hard. In a perfect world, I could stop time and do both. Ilif is both the wild card and the ultimate pain in my ass.
My shoulders sag and I run a hand over my braid. It’s crusted and beyond grunge. I have no idea the last time I washed it—a week ago, a month? Time holds no meaning for me anymore.
I growl and shake my arms. “Snap out of this, Evy! Do something. Anything!”
A shower will help me sort things out. Right now any movement is progress.
I toe my boots off and pad across the floor to the bathroom. Even the opulence of my simple place is jarring. I twist the knob on the shower and peel my T-shirt off, wincing at the new soreness on my back and the days-old scrape on my forearm.
The one Constantine gave me.
Tears burn the back of my eyes, and I swallow and scramble to get myself under control. We knew it was an impossible situation. We knew a relationship wouldn’t work. As I shimmy out of my pants, my fingers brush the bruise on my hip where he had me pressed against the rock wall of his bedroom while my naked limbs entwined with his. I can’t hold the sob anymore. It bursts free in a tortured wail.
My hand flies to my lips and I bite my fist. No falling apart. Even though I gave myself permission to do it once I was alone, this is no time for a meltdown. Only a few hours until Christmas dinner, and I need days to purge all this.
I grip the edge of the sink and lean over the marble countertop, avoiding my image in the mirror. My braid slithers over my shoulder like his fingers across my skin. I squeeze my eyes shut and block everything. Bolts absentmindedly extend from my hands. They skitter across the counter and retract like an electric yo-yo.
I force a breath into my lungs and hold it then let it seep out. The exhale shakes as it leaves my lips, but I calm, even if just a small amount. On trembling legs, I turn toward the shower and check the water temperature. I slip my fingers beneath the waistband of my boy shorts—
Thunk.
Something hits the closed door.
I freeze.
It can’t be Ilif. Not yet. Not here.
I hold my breath. Straining for any sound, any indication of which stranger prowls my hallway.
Ilif doesn’t know where I live.
He’s never been here, but who knows what kind of tracking software he uses to monitor me now. If he’s using Penya to compensate for his shortcomings, he could go anywhere . . . even here.
I force air from my lungs before I hyperventilate. I’m a warrior and need to effing act like one.
Down the hallway, the floor creaks, but the silence stretches too long for a footstep. I press myself against the door and listen again. Nothing. Steam curls above my head and against the ceiling, swirling and billowing in white clouds.
I flick the light off and let my eyes adjust then curl my fingers around the doorknob and twist, concentrating on silence, drawing on all the warrior stealth Constantine taught me. The steam sneaks out before me, my lookout. Tendrils of lightning crisscross my palms. Tensed for battle, I take one big breath and sweep into the hall, silent on bare feet.
Something hard strikes my foot and I stumble. Instinctively, I tuck and lean into the momentum. With a roll and twist so I can see my attacker, I come up on one knee, hands splayed with thick bolts of lightning leaping from my palms. Snapping white bolts extend all the way past the bathroom door.
The hallway looms empty except for a strange, small book propped against the doorframe. I ease toward it, ready for whoever left it.
My ragged breathing and the crackle of electricity are the only noises. Standing, I retract my lightning. I like that my reaction time is getting better. I suppose attacking a book isn’t exactly the right response, but I’d rather be ready than dead. Not that Ilif would kill me . . . but then again, I’m not one hundred percent positive he wouldn’t.
I march to the stairs and peer over the railing. Nothing moves.
Returning to the book, I crouch and poke at it, but as far as I can tell, it’s exactly what it seems. A leather thong holds the worn cover closed. Deep grooves carve the front, and the edges are worn with what I imagine must have been constant use to make the leather so light. I rub my hand over the smooth surface to wipe away a fine layer of dust then turn it over and examine the back. There’s no writing or anything.
No one sneaks into a house, drops off an old book, and leaves. Whoever left this is coming back. Cold fingers of ice trace my spine. Coming to harm or to help.
With my luck lately, my money isn’t on help.
I tuck the book beneath my arm and turn off the shower. Silence. Still half-naked, I creep upstairs, but all the rooms are empty. Downstairs is the same. I don’t get it.
Taking a breath, I relax. It’s no good for me to stay wound this tight. I need to chill until they face me. Nothing I can do until then. I retrace my steps and burrow into the corner of the couch, tucking my feet beneath me. I undo the book’s strap and ease the cover open. Hard slashes of script mark the page, punching me in the gut and yanking me instantly to another place. My fingers trace the letters, recognizing the handwriting from a map drawn nearly two thousand years ago while I stood next to him.
If this is someone’s idea of a joke, it’s beyond brutal.
I see him bent over this book, pouring out thoughts, dreams, plans . . .
A sob wrenches from my throat, but I choke it down before it breaks completely free. My lips tremble and I bite them hard until my breathing slows.
I try again. On the page, the words shift from Latin to English.
Aurelia mortuus est hodie.
They blur, and I wipe my eyes and spread the tears on my bare thigh in a long, wet streak.
When I begin again, the rich timbre of Constantine’s voice carries the words to my heart.
Aurelia died today. Without me there to save her. She died alone while I busied away the day on trifles of war. A mystery flood carried her away from me forever. Such pain. I am without breath. My grief threatens to consume me. To kill me. Oh, I wish it could. I would die in a flame of grief if it could take away this pain.
My sweet Aurelia is gone. Gone, not to a husband I could choose, but to a lover who stole her from me without warning or apology.
My heart twists until I can’t breathe, but I force myself to keep reading. I flip a chunk of pages to another entry, months later...
I relive the morning of her journey again and again. I search my memory for some indicator of the storm, but I find nothing. I remember her face that morning, her jubilation to visit her friends
. . . her laughter.
I hear it, chasing me through the halls. She calls to me from the grave, beckons me to come and play. This life needs me for something, though I know not what. I can feel it like an abrasion under my finger, for it is the only other feeling I have beyond my pain. I tire of this grief. Would that I could take my sword to it.
I miss her. I miss her so.
My hands drop and the pages fan closed in a cascade of sorrow. There’s more, but I can’t bear another word. Every page is full. When we were together, he brushed the edge of his misery with me, but not like this. I didn’t know . . .
“Oh, Constantine.” I close my eyes and relive the aching horror when we saw a glimpse of her. In that split second I got a clue about how losing her devastated him, but somehow, seeing such emotion in his own hand . . . It kills me.
Our time together was so short. My chest constricts. Even if we’d had the time, he wouldn’t have shared this. To expose this much vulnerability would have been a weakness.
And now Penya wants me to find Aurelia and save her before he has to go through this. Eradicate all of this sorrow and pain from his life. And change the man I know . . . I correct myself, the man I thought I knew.
My fingers hover above the pages then curl into a fist. To prevent this, I’d do anything.
With a sigh, I let my head drop back against the couch. My fingers drift to the pages and across each indentation of his words.
There has to be more to Aurelia’s story. Either Penya isn’t telling me the whole story or she doesn’t know. Ancestor to a famous scientist, sure, but who will she be? A mother, a wife . . . I can’t accept that she’s nothing more than an incubator for greatness. My thoughts drift, bouncing and floating from one to another.
Drowsy from the emotional beating, it takes me a minute to realize the bright column of light shining in the middle of the room isn’t coming from a window. Silvery and cylindrical, it slowly rotates counterclockwise—I jerk upright—like last time she visited after the kidnapping.
“Penya!” I dive off the couch and kneel beside the emerging shape.
It morphs and shifts into her short, earthy silhouette. Though she’s transparent and some sort of projection, I can make out all her features, but nothing about where she is.
I lean closer. “Where are you? You still haven’t told me how you’re projecting your image here.”
Her face falls and she glances over her shoulder, waving my question away with a violent swat.
My hands fly to cover my mouth. I didn’t think about someone hearing me on her side. After listening for something I can’t see, she turns back then spots the journal on the couch behind me and clasps her hands together. “Good, good.” Her voice sounds far away, like she’s standing at the end of a tunnel. “I was not certain the journal would travel without me.”
“You left it?”
“Who else? Ilif will not help you. He has almost figured out Aurelia’s connection. You must complete the alteration now.”
“Her connection? What does that mean? Like her connection to Constantine? And it’s Christmas. I have a family dinner in four hours.”
“I have no time to explain, and you will return in time.”
I bristle. “You don’t know that. Last time cost me six months.”
“You must risk it. If Ilif gets to her first . . .” She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “Go now. There is no time to lose.”
I grind my teeth and point at her chest. “Not this time. You’re not leavi
ng me in the dark again. Where are you? How do I get to you?”
“Ilif’s new lab is all I know—”
I cross my arms. “Okay, about that. You guys worked together? Didn’t you think that was worth mentioning?”
She glances behind her again and lowers her voice until I can hardly hear her. “It was long ago. We have no time for this, Evy.”
“No. Not a long time ago. In my future!” I don’t know when I’m going to see her again, and I need this information.
She sighs. “Yes, your future.”
“How are you traveling? You’re here, but you’re not, just like in the forest. What did he do to you?”
“This is why you must hurry. He is developing new methods of travel. Aurelia’s sudden death wiped out an entire line of scientists. Ones he needed.”
So much information . . . I squeeze my eyes shut. Think, Evy. Ask the right questions.
“What is Ilif working on?”
Her image leans closer. “I do not know. I promise I do not. But you are strong enough to handle the answers this time. I promise you will know everything as I do.”
My lightning flickers at her praise.
“I will learn more. He leaves me for days at a time—but there may be stretches when I cannot get to you. I must go.”
“Wait!” I press forward, grinding my knees into the bamboo floorboards. “What time are you in right now—when are you?”
The Judas Relic: An Evangeline Heart Holiday Adventure Page 10
