Last month, I had actually hired a cleaning service to get my chores done. This month, those four hundred dollar boots put me in a hole for the month… but it was well worth it.
I got home and did my chores, which took way longer than I expected. Then, I did my dreadful homework while I watched some lame reality TV show. It was one of those that was so pathetic that you knew you were just never going to get that time back, yet, I couldn’t turn away from the drama.
Kelly and Andrew had car-pooled that day, so they got back from work at the same time.
Andrew said that he was taking Kelly out to some charity event for his work and asked if I minded ordering some take-out, which was fine by me.
After eating some pizza that I’d have to workout triple hard at the gym to get rid of all those calories, I grabbed Kelly’s laptop (I wasn’t allowed to have a computer in my room)… and went to my room.
My room was actually pretty awesome. I had no complaints there. It was huge and well furnished, other than missing a damn computer.
I walked in and turned the lights on. I put the laptop on my bed, took my shoes off and got on the bed, getting ready to check on Ashley’s Facebook to see what kind of lies she was already making up.
I had just got on the website when my cell phone started to ring, scaring me to death. I had actually changed my ring-tone that morning and I totally forgot about it. I looked at the caller ID to see that it was Justin.
I was kind of curious to know what he wanted… So I finally picked up the phone, probably right before it was about to go to voice mail.
“What?” I said as I answered.
“Kayla, don’t hang up!”
“Fine! What do you want, Justin?”
“Kay, I made a mistake. I’m sorry. We’re the ones who are perfect together. Can’t we just get back together?”
Okay, I didn’t see that coming. I was tempted to say yes, just to get back at Ashley. I could always break-up with him again in a day or so.
I was just about to agree when I heard the sound of someone sobbing coming from outside of my room.
“Kelly?” Sometimes, she didn’t answer, just to get me to call her mom…”Mom?”
Nothing.
“Is everything okay, Kay? Is that a yes or no, to my question?” he asked before I even answered whether I was okay. Jerk!
“Justin, I don’t have time for this, I gotta go,” and I hung-up on him.
I walked to my door and the sobbing seemed more distant than before.
“Andrew? … Anyone home?”
No answer. Great!
It sounded like the sobbing was coming from downstairs. I followed the noise, holding my phone and having it ready to dial 911, even though the smart thing would’ve been to lock myself in my room and call someone. I always made fun of scary movies because people never think things through and make the dumbest choices…funny how that’s just human nature, and acting on instinct is not always a good thing.
I got downstairs, walked into the kitchen and saw that the door leading to the basement was open.
“You have got to be kidding me!”
I went to the kitchen counter, grabbed a knife, and continued to follow the sobbing sound, which was just…strange. It was almost as if that sound had a volume switch, going from extremely high to barely noticeable at times.
“You know… whoever you are, I already called the cops, so you might as well show yourself now,” I lied, hoping that would scare whoever it was.
I opened the door to the basement all the way, and went down the stairs.
As I got closer, I realized how familiar that sobbing sounded. Okay, so now I’m getting paranoid.
I used the light from my phone to look inside the basement, but there was nothing…. just that sound. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I turned the basement light on.
The noise was coming from the closet. I put my cell phone down, and firmly grabbed the knife with both hands to stop myself from shaking so much. I walked toward the closet door. Freeing one of my hands from holding the knife, I swung the door open as fast as I could.
I didn’t know if I felt relieved or freaked out.
Sitting all curled up in the corner there was the lost girl from the museum… Carolyn.
http://www.danielelanzarotta.com
#####
The Deaths of Me
By Cydney Lawson
http://www.cydneylawson.com
There’s nothing wrong with you that reincarnation won’t cure.
--Jack E. Leonard
Rory couldn’t scream anymore if she tried. She held as still as possible which wasn’t very. Stop, stop, stop, she silently prayed. The incisions were everywhere and they were deep. Every inch of her skin was either bleeding or covered in blood.
A nervous, overly-bronzed young woman rushed in and squatted next to a man who called himself a doctor. Yes, Rory had seen her plenty of times. She was the appointed ‘nurse’. Tendrils of dark hair had escaped from her white hood. Nervous blue eyes flitted to Rory’s face as she snapped out, “Are you sure we shouldn’t give her something for the pain?”
“PLEASE!” Rory cried out into the chrome room. Her voice was a broken gospel.
The ‘doctor’ glanced over his shoulder at the worried woman and shook his head before making another incision with a new silver blade down her thigh. Rory choked back her whimpering gasp. The fluorescent light glint off of the sharp instrument as if it were mocking her. “No,” he said, and his voice was law. “We can’t chance it. The Phoenix must remain alert.”
The fear and exhaustion clashed in Rory’s brain, so that the pain was almost an afterthought. For the third time since being kidnapped, she was going to die. Rory knew it and still the panic came fresh and tangible. She begged, bartered, threatened; anything to get the man to stop what he was doing. Humans weren’t supposed to be this ruthless. They had to know better.
Then it came. Death for Rory was never swift. Death for Rory came in a torrid cycle of flames. First, two fiery wings sprouted from her shoulder-blades and yanked up into the air almost immediately. The flames burned her skin as she flapped her graceless, wounded wings. The burning was the only thing that didn’t hurt anymore. The fire started from her feet and ripped fierce ribbons around her calves and thighs, shooting up her body and scorching her nerves. All she could see was red shadow. Her arms shot out streams of fire afterward, nearly setting the entire room ablaze. But the humans were clever and had learned to use steel cabinets and counters: nothing flammable.
And at last, Rory’s hair set itself alight, claiming her soul and her body to ashes, as she whispered, “Please.”
Hurting people is my business.
--Sugar Ray Robinson
A cold drop of water hit Ivy’s bright red hair with an audible plunk noise. Even a sound as small as that echoed ominously in the murky, sunless cave. It was hard to believe that somewhere, above the caverns Ivy was standing in, Atlanta traffic crept, inch by agonizing inch. Ivy’s black steel-toed boots thundered as she made her way up to the Council. Her knees did not shake. Her lip did not quiver. And of course, her heart did not beat. Vampires couldn’t show signs of nervousness, and so Ivy was stoic as she approached the stone steps. Even though her mouth was dry and her mind was whirring like a slot machine.
She dared a quick look at the ceiling. Nothing but hanging stalagmites and shadows. Ivy thought it was disgusting that Underdwellers like herself had to meet secretly in the hollowed-out underbelly of the city to avoid the humans when they wanted to gather in bulk. What could humans really do to most Underdwellers? It was by her own conscience and carefully practiced patience that she didn’t slaughter at least one pimply pre-teen a day. Humans, for the most part, were pathetic and—ironically enough—beneath her. They walked around in the sun, ignorant to what lay just beneath them, waiting.
Snapping herself out of her daily mental loathing, Ivy came upon the cave’s opening. Suddenly, the room beyond the dank hallway
she’d been walking down swelled out into a grand cavern. Candles hid in the natural nooks and crannies of the old walls, lending a leering glow to the otherwise gloomy domain. She would have shuddered if she could have without being noticed. Though the chamber was at least twenty feet high, her boots ceased to make sound at all as she approached the lone bench in the room. Behind it were rows and rows of benches, made for rare occasions when a plethora of Underdwellers had something urgent to discuss. Ivy stopped walking and stared down at her feet before stomping. No sound at all.
Ivy hated enchanted rooms.
She looked back up and paced forward, ignoring the eerie stillness of the chamber. She nearly let out an annoyed hiss as she came upon the dozens of wooden crosses making up the perimeter of the panel. The simple symbols made her veins constrict and her mouth dry out. She turned her contemptuous gaze instead to the Council of the Covenant, and stared each of them down. These were the people who had demanded her presence, never mind she’d been vacationing in Prague.
At the far left there was the robust and friendly Pompeii Leodus, the most well-known diplomat from the largest pack of werewolves in recorded history. But then, Ivy thought smugly, when were the lycanthropes ever prone to honesty? The man was not hairy, and from what Ivy could tell he didn’t stink like many of the dogs tended to, but it made him no better than the rest. Treaty or no treaty. His bright eyes were set square in the middle of his face, too close together for Ivy’s liking. She certainly didn’t trust his slicked-back raven hair.
Then on the far right there was Queen Cayleigh, a fairy if Ivy had ever seen one. Around her pointed face, her hair was an auburn mess, intertwined with branches that seemed to grow directly from the roots. Ivy did not bow to her.
Sure, now she was protected by the Treaty of Nature and Dark, but Ivy would never forget that the Queen had been the last to sign her people into alliance with all other Underdwellers. The Queen seemed unusually excited; her eyes were bright with dark mirth, and Ivy wanted to be the first to smack that self-righteous grin off of her face. Her kind had taken away the closest thing she’d ever had to a brother. A debt Ivy would love to repay.
And in the very middle was Marcus, the leader of the Blue Moon clan. Ivy sighed internally, visibly relaxing at the sight of him. The Blue Moon vampires were the Full Moon vampires’ sister clan. Ivy was a Full Moon vampire and had the tattoo in elf’s blood on her wrists to prove it. Marcus had recruited Ivy into the Covenant, basically saving her life. His hazel eyes, broad shoulders, and propensity for laughter were branded in her head and her heart. He was like the uncle she never had. Finally, she thought as she caught the twinkle in Marcus’ eye, someone with some sense. This meeting was anything but expected, and Ivy was not a fan of being blind-sided.
Queen Cayleigh spoke first, and Ivy reluctantly turned her attention to the fairy monstrosity.
“Ivy Parker, you have been summoned by the Order of The Covenant—”
“I solemnly swear and all that crap to protect, serve, kill for the cause of all Underdwellers and freaks.” Ivy smirked inwardly, keeping her cool on the outside. She couldn’t hide it; she got her kicks by pressing buttons. After five-hundred years nothing else was really fun anymore. At the disapproving look of the Council, she amended the vow, this time reciting it correctly: “I solemnly swear to uphold the Standards of the Covenant by any means necessary. May all humans remain under the realm of my protection or may I commit my soul to eternal torment.”
Marcus nodded in approval, but his eyes were tight. Either the crosses were bugging him as well, or Ivy wasn’t exactly making their clans look too good.
The queen piped up once more, her voice drowning in a heavy Irish accent, and Ivy could barely contain her exasperation. “We apologize for the precautions, Miss Parker.” Her freakish eyes examined the crosses guarding the bench as if to double-check that they were still there. “But we’ve heard many things about you.”
“What, someone told you I was a Christian?” Ivy gestured to the row of crosses. “That part of the job application is private, your Majesty.”
She knew exactly what they’d heard. It wasn’t that she was a kill-for-hire and a ruthless one at that. The Council had been the ones to recruit her, and she owed them a debt. No, it was more likely that they knew she was beginning to exhibit signs of light sensitivity recession. She was becoming old enough that the sun was losing its restraining effects on her. Finally, Ivy would reach a level of strength that only a few hundred vampires ever had, Marcus included.
She wasn’t surprised that the queen was especially nervous. But if she thought that Ivy was going to upset the Council all over again by murdering the queen of the fairies, she was sorely mistaken.
Queen Cayleigh’s fingers stretched out over the table in front of her, as if she were itching to strangle something. Ivy plastered on an innocent smile. Her fangs extended slowly, stretching down to her bottom lip. She had always wanted to taste royalty.
Ivy’s normally bright green eyes had dulled, due to lack of feeding, but they were no less menacing as she daringly glared at the queen. The queen was almost beautiful in a threatening way. Her eyes were wide and completely blackened. She was thin and regal with an air of amusement that made her victims, or subjects, feel as if they were always the butt of some horrible joke. And as for the things she referred to as hands, Ivy made a note to watch out for those talons. But she was more than confident that the odds were in her favor.
Queen Cayleigh flexed her talons and relaxed a bit into her chair. "You don't intimidate me, little girl. Not in those rags." Ivy glanced down at her gloomy wardrobe. It was mostly tattered gray and brown layers which made her look homeless. Except for her boots, those were expensive steel-toed beauties that she rarely ever took off. She liked the way she dressed; it helped her blend into the crowd. No matter how starkly it contrasted with her nearly neon red locks.
Ivy wanted to snap something out at the queen who reminded her more of a vapid cheerleader than royalty, but Pompeii didn't give her the chance.
“Ladies, please. This is a safe-haven for all of us. Do not soil such a bond with violence,” Pompeii stated in a husky, reasoning voice.
Without thinking to restrain herself, Ivy hissed at Pompeii. She saw right through his diplomatic bull—
“Ivy! Show some control,” barked Marcus. He leaned forward and looked straight through her. Ivy shut her mouth but did not retract her fangs. She bowed her head to both the fairy queen and to the wolf, asking silently for forgiveness. Ivy didn’t care how offended Pompeii and Cayleigh were. She only wanted to appease Marcus. He was her only ally, and he was right. She should have learned to control herself after almost six hundred years of this. It was just that she was starving. She was seriously feeling jetlagged from her trip.
“Now,” Marcus began once everyone had visibly calmed. “We’ve summoned you here to ask for your services.”
Ivy knelt on one knee, showing that she was listening. Because when one’s Council asked for something, it was never really a request and it was never simple. “I am at the hand of my brothers,” she said, just liked she’d been taught. It was protocol.
“The Council acknowledges your will and is grateful.”
At those words, Ivy was permitted to stand. She wished they’d just get to the good stuff. Her skin was itching: the equivalent of a stomach growling out of hunger. Her veins were drying up and it was irritating as hell.
Unexpectedly, Pompeii spoke. “We are glad you have accepted our request, Miss Parker. The humans have kidnapped the phoenix.” Ivy waited for the part that was supposed to interest her. “We ask for your assistance in the retrieval.”
Ivy’s jaw almost dropped. They had called her here…for a bird? Yeah, she’d heard a few stories about the ‘amazing phoenix’. So what? It was just a bird. Ivy was a specialist in neutralizing dangerous situations. Whenever a human found out about an Underdweller and had exposure on their mind—Ivy was there. Whenever a crazed cult decided the
y wanted to summon demon whatever from the dimension Whatever—Ivy was there. The Council losing a fire-pet, however, wasn’t exactly her cup of tea.
“Look, I’m not animal control. It’s gonna die anyway, right? When it does, I’ll loan you a dustpan and a broom. Bring back the ashes and play the waiting game.”
Marcus was already shaking his head when Queen Cayleigh began to laugh. “Ignorant girl! You disgrace yourself with your naivety.” Ivy took a step forward. But the queen was already too delighted to be perturbed.
“The phoenix is not a bird. Not simply. Twenty years ago, The Covenant came across what we can only define as a second-generation phoenix.” Ivy visibly started at Pompeii’s phrasing. A second-generation anything was unheard of. That meant hybrid. All of the human-Underdweller hybrids had been wiped out at the beginning of the twentieth century. Ivy would know. She’d had a hefty part in the mission. The wolf continued, pressing past her obvious disbelief. “We convinced this second-generation to join our cause, however, she passed, leaving behind only a daughter. But two weeks ago her guardian was found murdered and the phoenix was gone.”
Ivy wasn’t impressed with Pompeii’s intimate knowledge of the mission. This lycan had the tendency to drone, and it was difficult to keep her attention on him. Her body was nearly burning with hunger and there was blood in that room. Ivy’s dull green eyes were drawn to the fairy and her mouth began moving before she’d realized she’d spoken.
“What if she’s dead already?” The Council said nothing. Oh. Regenerating species. “Right…”
“She is a human when she dies in a spectacular inferno and human when she is born again, at the same age. She ages like a human, but she has the ability to shift into her true phoenix form at will. She is the future of the Underdwelling. You must retrieve her. Whatever it takes, we will cover your tracks. She is the most important asset we have if we want to carry on with the Surfacing as planned. She is our only link to our still human side.”
The Great Wolf: A Legacy of Kilkenny Novel Book Three (The Legacy of Kilkenny Saga) Page 16
