Mom runs her hand over the lion’s image, like she’s pretending its mane is trailing through her fingers. “The lions won’t touch you, Aidan. They can’t hurt you. God’s closed their mouths.”
When Mom drew her dream images, she drew a lot of ocean scenes with caves etched out of the side of a cliff, but the only time she mentioned God in relation to it all was the day she painted those lions on my wall. She was a witch, after all. God didn’t really come into the picture much.
The familiar weight of the memory presses down on me. I wonder if she was trying to tell me something, to show me my future as she saw it in her fractured mind: danger always surrounding me. Danger only I seem to see.
“Daniel’s okay in the end, though,” Kara says, like she’s sensing my troubled thoughts.
“What?”
“Daniel, in the story. He doesn’t get eaten by the lions.” She shrugs. “And the king—Dairy Queen or whoever—was so stoked that Daniel was unmarked by the lions that he made the people start worshiping Daniel’s god. I guess you could say Daniel was a rock star.”
“Is that right?” I know the story—it’s ingrained in my soul with all the other sacred texts—but her version is very entertaining. “And it’s Darius, not Dairy Queen. King Darius.”
“Yeah, sure. But did you know that Daniel was the head magician? Who knew they had Harry Potter people in the Bible?”
“He was a prophet,” I say, correcting her again.
“Whatever you call it, he kicked ass. The guy went into the palace a slave and ended up a Babylonian bigwig. Very inspiring.”
It’s odd hearing the prophet Daniel talked about like he was some Middle East version of Steve Jobs. “Bigwig, huh?”
“Yep.”
“Inspiring?”
“Something like that.”
She goes quiet as we merge onto the 101 freeway. I let my mind wander through the ancient worlds and legends in my head as I watch the scenery of the city, the buildings, the funny mismatched moods of art and culture everywhere. Life meets death in the paintings that adorn the concrete walls on either side of the freeway—the artwork of famous people, long dead; some images colorful and new; some overlaid with chaotic graffiti; the names of gang members as big as buses, painted alongside images of children jumping rope.
“So, Aidan O’Linn,” Kara says as we pull off the freeway, “what’s your sister’s name?”
I rest my head on the back of the seat. “Ava.”
“And she doesn’t have your talents?”
“Ava’s nothing like me.”
Kara seems to know where the school is without me telling her, and after a few more lights we’re pulling into the busy parking lot.
“Which side?” she asks. The campus is large, at least two city blocks of buildings and grassy areas.
I scan the faces in the crowd, try to get a feeling for the emotions and energy I’m about to dive into, and point at the back corner of the lot where there aren’t as many cars. “Just park back there, under the trees.”
“Are we about to kidnap this girl?”
“She’s my sister.”
“Maybe I should leave the motor running.” She parks the car and turns off the engine.
We get out, but I don’t move far. Kara’s right, this is a little sketchy. And once I take Ava, we’ll have to hide—her foster parents will call the police when they realize she’s disappeared, and it’s not like we can get in touch with them and explain what’s going on. Ava’s never had to hide, not like me. She’s always had a bed, food, and running water. She’s never had to depend on me like she’s about to.
Kara waits in silence, maybe sensing my nerves.
“She’s got music classes. Over there.” I point across the parking lot to a building on the west side of campus. “I don’t think her foster parents send the car until three thirty because she stays for extra practice hours. So we’ll have a good hour to cover our tracks.”
“And how are we supposed to do that?”
I chew on my lip, trying to decide if I should tell Kara what I’m about to do. She’s going to figure out about Ava eventually. But I really don’t want that guy Sid to know anything, or he’ll be looking at Ava the way he looked at me: like merchandise. “Just trust me. And don’t ask questions.”
I bend down, pretending to tie my shoe to buy me a second. I focus my thoughts on Ava, pushing an image of myself out there, into the air, hoping she hears me: I’m coming. Then I stand and start toward the west buildings. Kara follows. We move through a line of BMWs and Mercedes-Benzes, and I ignore the stuff around me as much as I can. There’s a sleek wraith of a demon to my left following a young girl in a blue blazer who’s getting into the back of a black Lincoln; there’s a wash of envy and desperation coming from a tall brunette, about sixteen, who’s waiting for her ride as she stares down a bouncy blond walking by hand in hand with a guy with floppy hair.
I try to focus on Ava, on where she might be. I can’t let her music tutor see me pick her up, so I need her to meet us halfway, maybe near the bathrooms. I picture the hall and the door to the bathrooms as I remember them, and then I push the image out to her as hard as I can.
“You all right?” Kara says.
“Fine.” I unclench my fists and try to relax, hoping my messages were received.
“You look like you’re about to flip out. I’m not really in the mood to get arrested, so just be aware that I’ll deny knowing you if this goes bad.”
“Calm down,” I mumble, trying to convince myself I’m not freaking out, that the ghost of a young girl in the window to my right isn’t making my flesh crawl. That I’m not worried I’ll screw this up and the system will swallow both of us again.
Kara looks at me sideways. “Wise words.”
We cross a grassy area and walk through an arched walkway with climbing roses. The mood in the air changes with the shift in our surroundings, and the lacy sunlight softens the jagged edges of my nerves.
I glance at Kara; her eyes are half closed, like she can feel the calming energy from this place, too. “Thanks for the ride,” I say.
She gives me a questioning look.
“I mean I’m just glad I’m not doing this alone.”
She considers me for a second and then says, “It’s gonna be fine, kid. Really.”
I wish she hadn’t said that. Statements like that perk the ears of mischief-makers.
We leave the peaceful archway and go through the double doors, into the wide hall.
Where I collide with a gaggle of chattering girls.
Books fall, squeals erupt, and I lurch away, trying to avoid stepping on any toes, only to lose my balance and land firmly on my ass. Of course.
Kara’s quickly distanced herself—she’s already down the hall, by the lockers. No one would guess she was with the klutz that just barreled in. The guy trying not to be noticed.
“Ohmygod, you okay?” one of the girls asks.
“You almost broke my phone, you freak!” another one screeches as she tightens her shiny lips and messes with her iPhone.
The third one in the group starts picking up some books. She reaches down with ink-stained fingers to grab the one by my hand—the one that I’m now gaping at: Art and the Psychic Mind.
My mom had that book.
A shiver runs over my skin.
The third girl gasps, her hand gripping the spine of the massive tome. “It’s you!”
I look up at her, and my lungs stop working.
Rebecca.
Holy shit. I might have said it out loud. I’m not sure.
I’m frozen for a second. And then I’m all movement, scrambling up, grabbing the last few books off the floor, handing them back to her as I babble out an apology. My brain screams at me to get the fuck out of here, and I tense my legs to bolt. But before I can move away,
she’s suddenly closer, whispering, “How did you find me?” her emerald eyes wide with amazement.
She thinks I’m here for her.
Her copper hair is almost gold in the thin beams of light coming through the doorway behind us now, her skin is milky white, porcelain, and little freckles dot her nose. My heart begins to race as the familiar smell of mango shampoo fills the air.
“You know this freak?” iPhone Girl asks, looking me over like I’m a pile of trash.
The other girl blinks at me and then gives me a crooked grin. “Emery, introduce us,” she says, using the middle name from Rebecca’s ID—the name she said everyone calls her.
Another girl seems to come from nowhere. “Oh, hey, he’s cute. Who’s this?”
iPhone Girl smirks. “The asshole who owes me a new phone.”
Rebecca just stares at me. “I . . .” She’s probably realizing she doesn’t know my name.
I’m not about to give it, since I came here for a kidnapping.
“I . . . I met him at a club,” Rebecca finally gets out, questions surfacing in her eyes. “SubZero.”
iPhone Girl looks doubtful. “Seriously. This guy?”
The other girls just keep smiling. One bites her bottom lip, the second licks a lollypop suggestively, like a bad cliché.
Something seems to dawn on Girl #2, because her eyes get huge. “Oh, God! Is this one of the guys you met the other night? From USC?”
iPhone Girl rolls her eyes. “Does he look like frat meat, Samantha?” She scrunches up her nose like she’s smelling garbage again. “More like Reseda Community College.”
I turn to Rebecca at the mention of the other guys she met at the club—those guys in the alley. “You knew them,” I say without thinking. College boys. How the hell did she get mixed up with a bunch of USC frat boys? Fresh anger rises at my memory of them, at the way they manhandled her, that guy with the mark of murder on his soul . . .
But wait—I don’t even really know this girl. I take a breath and push the anger back down.
I need to get Ava.
I point down the hall and start to say, “I’ve gotta—”
Girl #2 (Samantha, I guess) cuts me off, squealing: “Invite him to the party on Friday, Emery!”
“Oh, yes!” the other girl adds. “We need more boys!”
“Never enough boys,” another girl who I hadn’t noticed before says as she nods.
Rebecca looks reluctant, but she says, “Sure. I mean, yeah, you should come.”
“Oh, please,” iPhone Girl groans. “Charity invites will only cause problems with the group, Emery—”
I interrupt, “I can’t—I mean, I’m supposed to be . . .” Shit. My brain’s completely blank as they all surround me. I search the hall for Kara, but she’s nowhere in sight.
Samantha grabs the waist of my pants and slides a card in my back pocket. “Text me, and I’ll have all the deets, yeah? It’ll be epic, I swear.” She tucks a piece of dark hair behind her ear, then licks her lollypop again.
iPhone Girl rolls her eyes. “Ohpleasegod, can we go now? I’m supposed to be at Lenox for my appointment at four. It took me six months to get it, and I won’t be late because you’re all mooning over a ratty Valley reject.” She flips her perfectly straight blond hair and walks off.
Her entourage appears to not know what to do.
“We’d better go,” one of them says, looking at Rebecca.
“You go ahead,” she says.
The rest of the girls whisper and smile at each other, hugging their books to their chests as they walk away. Samantha looks over her shoulder at me as they slip outside and gives me a wink.
I look around the hall for a hole to climb in. “I really have to go,” I nearly whine as I start to walk toward the music room. I don’t see Kara anywhere.
“Wait.” Rebecca steps in front of me.
I try not to notice how touchable she looks in that fuzzy pink sweater.
“How will I find you again?”
“You won’t.” I force the words, wishing I didn’t care about this girl, wishing the smell of her loneliness wasn’t making me feel like a shmuck for abandoning her again.
She blinks once. Twice. “Oh.”
I want to say, I’m sorry about your brother, or ask, Why was there a demon in your doorway? but there’s nothing more important now than keeping Ava safe.
I can’t save everyone.
“Good-bye, Rebecca,” I say for the second time.
As her shoulders slump and she turns from me, I see it—or, more accurately, its silhouette—through the double doors, standing at the entrance, its horns nearly scraping the wooden beams over its head: a seven-foot demon.
I’m frozen in terror watching Rebecca walk away from me toward the dark beast, unaware. I open my mouth to yell for her to stop, but Kara appears and grabs my arm, freezing the words in my throat.
“Be still,” she hisses.
Rebecca walks past the demon.
The beast nods to me in recognition and turns to follow her as crystal fissures of ice spread through my chest.
The demon knows. It knows I can see it.
NINE
“You’re freaking me out, Aidan. Snap out of it!” Kara pulls on my arm, trying to get me to move.
“I have to stop her!” I say.
She grips my bicep tighter. “No way. I felt that—whatever that was. And there’s no way I’m letting you run after it.”
I jerk free, my body in a panic, my feet desperate to chase after Rebecca, to warn her. “But I—”
“We’re not here for this,” Kara hisses into my ear.
There are footsteps behind us, and we go still as a man passes, looking at us with a frown. He stares more than long enough to get a vivid image for the cops. “There’s no fraternizing allowed on campus,” he says, studying Kara more closely. “Are you in the art or music program?”
She lets go of my arm and mouths at me, like a secret, don’t move. Then she turns to the teacher, and, with a slinky smile, she starts to move a little closer. Not much, but enough that a nervous twitch by the man’s nose reveals discomfort. She’s got an intense look in her eyes that I’m pretty sure isn’t good. The air around him begins to shimmer.
What the hell’s she doing? She shouldn’t be confronting him. Then he’ll definitely remember us.
The teacher clears his throat and messes with his collar, like he’s looking for a tie to loosen.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says. “Is this the art building?”
The teacher nods. “If you—”
“I love your shirt. Is it new?” She moves closer.
He makes a slight choking sound, and my skin jolts with his reaction to her. It’s not a proper teacher reaction. The air around me feels sticky and wrong. “Kara, what the hell?” I say, backing away.
She ignores me, focusing all her energy on him. He doesn’t seem to hear me either now. His gaze is fixed firmly on Kara. On her eyes. Like he’s hypnotized.
And then I recall the way she made me feel so strange back at Sid’s house, and how, when I danced with her in the club, I felt drawn to her and that strange icy-blue energy curling around me.
The mark on her neck—I see it there, pulsing against her skin. And I realize: Kara has a very unhealthy soul talent that she apparently doesn’t mind using for her own devices.
“You’re a bad man, Mr. Teacher,” she whispers. “A very bad man.”
He nods, never letting his eyes leave hers. Her intent is pulsing from her in slowly vibrating waves that I can feel the effects of now.
It’s suddenly very hard to breathe. Dark urges circle around us. Urges best left under rugs and kept in closets.
I’m about to grab Kara and drag her ass around the corner like a possessive older brother when she leans into the man, touching
his chin with her fingertip. “You’re going to do what I say, yes?”
He nods again.
“It’s time to go home to your wife now. No more lingering in the halls and drooling over English lit girls or touching their sleeves hoping to get a glimpse down their shirts. Got that?”
Again he nods, slow, the dark urges shifting, morphing into a heavy weight. A crease appears in his brow, as if he’s remorseful.
“Good,” Kara says, moving a little away. “’Cause if you don’t, something even worse than me is going to come after your ass.”
He swallows, believing her, and the air begins to lift a little.
“One more thing.” She points at the room around us. “This hall is empty right now. You never saw a boy here. Okay?”
He shakes his head this time. “Never saw a boy . . .”
“Perfect. Time to head home, Bob.” She waves him off.
He blinks and wavers for a second, then walks away, looking a little lost as he heads through the double doors.
“Let’s go,” Kara says to me, her voice trembling, “before someone else shows up.”
“What in God’s name did you just do to that guy?” My feet don’t want to follow this girl anywhere.
She won’t look at me. “Not now, Aidan. Not here.” Her skin is sallow. The smell of guilt and sour embarrassment curls into the space between us.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
She blinks up at me, her eyes glassy.
I shift my feet, uncomfortable with the way she’s staring at me—like I just handed her something she’s never seen before. She starts to speak, but then shuts her mouth tight. I realize that she’s warring with herself, too.
After a few seconds she says, “I’ll explain. I will. Just not now.”
I decide that’s the most I’ll get from her at the moment and accept what my instincts are telling me: Kara’s messed up, but she’s not evil.
“Okay,” I say. I’m not so sure she’ll really tell me, but I’m sure I’ll find out the truth eventually—it always has a way of clawing to the surface. And I have secrets of my own, so I get it.
Darkness Brutal (The Dark Cycle Book 1) Page 7
