I stand there listening, holding my breath. One second ticks by, two seconds . . .
Everything in me shakes, panic becoming full-blown terror. She couldn’t have run off, could she? She can’t be gone. She just can’t.
The bathroom door opens with a squeak, and I spot white-gold hair and hear her humming “Alouette,” the French song Mom used to sing when she cooked. I don’t stop to think. I rush forward and scoop her up, hugging her tiny form to me.
“Ugh,” she grunts. “Aidan, you’re gonna break my ribs.”
I release her after another second. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“I had to pee.” She pats my arm and walks past me back to the bedroom.
I stand for a second trying to catch my breath. Why did I react like that? Way over the top. All Ava’s anxiety from yesterday must’ve gotten to me. I’m losing it.
My head stops spinning, and I turn back to the room. Before I make it inside, Kara barrels through her door, head down, earbuds in, and runs smack into me. I grab her arm, pulling her into me to steady us. She tenses, becoming aware of her surroundings. Her eyes look straight at my torso and then trail up my neck to my face.
She pulls an earbud slowly from her ear and blinks.
“Uh . . .” She stares for a second. Then she glances down at my hand on her arm. She blinks and jolts back, stumbling into the wall as if I zapped her. “Why’re you walking around like that?” She gapes at me.
I look down at myself, my bare chest, my boxers, not sure what the huge deal is. It’s not like I’m naked.
“Sorry.” I shrug.
“Have some common decency,” she says, pushing off the wall. “And watch where you’re going,” she adds, trying to act as if the last six seconds didn’t happen.
Fine by me.
She walks past, heading to the stairs. I open the door to my room, pretending I’m not paying attention. But I hear her footsteps pause at the top step, and when I look behind me, she’s taking one more peek before heading downstairs out of view.
Ava doesn’t mention the vision of that dark hole swallowing me again. I certainly don’t want to say that I saw part of what she had seen, too—that cave.
And I definitely don’t want to tell her I saw a demon standing beside me.
But it’s clear now that I can’t ignore the demon following Rebecca and the fact that it’s aware of my ability to see. That vision Ava got was a warning. I can’t leave a loose end out there at a time like this. I need to do something, get a firm grip on what I’m dealing with. That demon was major, no simpleminded foot soldier. None of them can know I see, especially one that strong, especially now. If that demon or others come looking for me, they’ll find Ava.
I grab my phone and dig into my pocket for the card that Rebecca’s friend Samantha slipped in there the other day. I could ask her for Rebecca’s phone number, ask Rebecca if she could meet me somewhere, like her house. But that feels too close, too personal. It needs to be in a crowd, a place I can keep things strictly superficial, so to speak.
I type a text: This is the guy from the hall—Emery’s friend. You invited me to the party. When and where?
I press “Send” and set the phone down, but it vibrates almost immediately.
The white answer bubble reads: OMG! Totally come! Tomorrow night off PCH 2492 Malibu Rd ;)
That was easy. Now I just have to figure out how to get there.
I go downstairs and find Kara sitting on the couch next to Finger. The two of them are playing some sort of zombie war game.
I walk into the living room, pausing in the archway to watch them.
Kara spots me, and her thumbs go still on the controller. If the house wasn’t muffling all the emotion, I’m guessing I’d be feeling irritation.
I lean on the wall. “So you’re part of the gamer crowd?”
“Is there someone else you can annoy?” Screams come from the TV, and she growls. “Great. Now I’m dead.”
“I need to find out how to borrow a car,” I say.
She sets down her controller. “Excuse me?”
“I need a car tomorrow night.”
“Um, no.”
“Where’s Sid?” I ask.
“He’ll be in soon,” she says.
Oh yeah, the shed. “Why does he sleep in that tiny shack?”
“Why’re you so nosy?” She stands up from the couch and walks past me into the kitchen.
I follow her, but I remind myself to stay focused. I need the car. Sid’s odd sleeping arrangements aren’t my business. “So about the car.”
Jax comes into the kitchen behind me. “Where do you think you’re going?”
I glance at him. “Not exactly your concern.”
“But it’s an easy question,” Kara says, pulling a basket of strawberries from the fridge. “Where are you going?”
I shrug like it’s nothing. “A party.”
She squints, and then something dawns on her. A grin spreads across her cheeks like the Cheshire cat. “You little slut! You’re gonna go to that prep school sex party, aren’t you?” And she laughs like it’s the funniest thing she’s heard in a long time.
“Whoa, you’re not going to a sex party without me,” Jax says. “With that face you’ll definitely need a wingman. I’ll do the honors.” He pats me on the shoulder like he’s trying to be buddy-buddy.
Kara snorts and bites into a strawberry. “You just wanna check out that red-headed girl with the boobs,” she says to me.
“Ooh, nice,” Jax says. “I wanna meet her.”
“Never mind,” I say. “Forget it. I don’t need a car.” I’ll ride the damn bus. It’ll take all day, but at least I won’t have to deal with these two.
“Aw, the boy’s feelings are hurt,” Kara says.
“Tragic,” Jax adds, opening the fridge and searching the insides.
“Want a strawberry?” Kara holds out a plump red fruit to me like she’s presenting a peace offering.
I take it, popping the whole thing in my mouth.
She laughs again, but this time the sound is pleasant, and I can’t help feeling pleased with her good mood. At least she’s not hating me right now.
“I’ll take you,” she says, setting the basket of strawberries on the table.
“Sucker,” Jax says, giving up on searching the fridge contents and moving to the pantry.
I shake my head. “Don’t worry about it.” The last thing I need is to try and check out a demon and keep it all off her radar while she—this girl who supposedly hates me—follows me around the party.
“Tomorrow night?” she asks.
I sigh and plop down in a kitchen chair.
Kara smiles in triumph and leaves the kitchen, saying over her shoulder, “Be ready at eleven.”
“I’m ready now,” Jax says.
The day goes by fast. Sid’s not around for most of the morning, but at noon he comes in carrying about twenty shopping bags. “I would’ve taken you with me,” Sid says from the hallway outside our room, “but I thought it would be more fun to surprise you. It’ll count as your first paycheck.”
Ava shoves her bags into the closet without even looking in them, but she seems pleased. She probably knows what he bought her without looking. I love the stuff he got me—shoes and jeans and tons more. It’s been so freaking long since I’ve had anything new. The crisp smell of each item is striking and unfamiliar.
After Sid goes back downstairs, I start to settle in. Ava and I pick drawers in the dresser, and I put away my new clothes. Next I pick up the mezuzah from its resting spot on the windowsill and hold it to the outer doorpost. I find some nails in one of the kitchen drawers and a paperweight on the mail table by the door, which’ll work as a hammer. Once I get the mezuzah hung correctly—right side, upper section, within three inches of the opening—I press my fingers to th
e Shaddai and whisper the Hebrew blessing: “Barukh atah Adonai Eloheinu melekh ha’olam, asher kideshanu bemitzvotav vetzivanu likboa’ mezuzah.” Then I bring my fingers to my lips before going back into the room.
I dig in my backpack and find the tiny vial of myrrh oil inside a folded-up ad for the mystical bookstore where Eric sent me to pick it up. I put some on my finger and run the slick liquid over the sill of the window and across the floor of the room’s entrance. Myrrh stays stronger longer than salt or rye. Plus, it doesn’t blow away.
Last thing I do is take my pocketknife out and carve into the windowsill in Latin: Deus meus protectio—God is my protection.
Now that I’m done with all that, the air feels light. Maybe the energy following Ava and me can balance itself out better. I have a sudden feeling of rightness, like everything’s actually going to be okay.
SIXTEEN
The house where the party is supposed to be is huge, set against the bluff of a small cliff overlooking the ocean. As we get out of the car, the salt and brine cling instantly to my skin. I breathe deep, taking it in, feeling lighter now that I’m away from the city, away from the smog and the sin.
A cypress tree hangs over the main entrance, darkening the shadows. The lights along the path are bluish green, and they give Kara’s skin a haunted look as she walks beside me. Music spills out into the night as we head up the walkway. I didn’t tell her that the reason I’m here is a demon. I probably should’ve. But then she wouldn’t have brought me.
“You can wait in the car, you know,” I say.
“And miss this?” She slips her keys into her back pocket. “Anyway, I need a drink.”
“No drinks.” I reach out and open the front door.
Kara sighs. “Sure, Dad.”
We walk into the pulsing air, pausing in the barely lit entry. The smells of sex and drugs and alcohol hit me like a rolling wave, pungent and thick. I push it back the best I can as we move past bodies dancing in the center of the living room, a mass of sweat and urgency. Couples twist together, pressed against the walls, tangled limbs on the couch, in sync with the music, like some strange, erotic symphony.
I turn away. There’s no demon in there.
“Wow,” Kara yells over the music. “Rebecca’s quite the girl to invite you to a party like this.”
I steel myself and follow her deeper into the house through an archway into the kitchen. The marble counter is covered in spilled bags of chips and M&M’s, red cups tipped over next to pools of liquid. There’s a large glass bowl filled with pills in all shapes and colors—rich kids collecting their parents’ prescription drugs from the bathroom cabinets and pooling them together for a form of LA roulette. The sight of the bowl makes me tense up more, wondering if Rebecca’s taken any yet.
Kara sticks her hand in an open bag of chips and then pops one in her mouth. “What now?”
“I need to find Rebecca.”
She eyes me. “Now that we’re here, you don’t sound like you want to.”
I lean on the counter and stare at my new shoes. I’m here for the demon, not for Rebecca. But thinking about her makes my insides twist. What if she’s with someone? I really don’t want to see that. I don’t even want to think of her that way—I shouldn’t. There’s a list of a hundred reasons why it’s a bad idea.
Those damn if only thoughts roll through my head like thorny tumbleweeds, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to hold them back.
“It’s not my business what she does,” I say, mostly to myself.
“Or who.” Kara pops another chip in her mouth and winks at me.
“Don’t be a bitch, Kara.”
A spark of pain comes from her skin, and I realize I may have said the wrong thing. I shouldn’t have called her that.
She moves within an inch of me. I can smell the salt on her lips and that candy-sweet taste of her soul. “But, honey, I’m so damn good at it.” She gives me a forced smile. “You know what else I’m good at?”
I shiver a little, feeling her energy bite at my skin.
“Parties,” she says. “I’m really, really good at parties.” She moves back and unzips her hoodie, then slips it off her shoulders and tosses it aside. “I think I’m feeling a little smothered.” She pulls her rocker T-shirt over her head and drops it, too. “I need some air.”
I swallow and stare at her bare stomach, her purple bra, not sure what to say.
She smirks and pulls the keys from her jeans pocket, dangling them in my face. Then she shoves them at my chest. They stab through my T-shirt.
“You just won yourself designated driver, jackass. Congrats.”
My mouth opens to tell her to get dressed, that I’m sorry, to calm down, but none of it shapes into actual words. All I seem to be able to do is reach up to catch the keys.
“Have fun finding your virgin earth angel.” She reaches over and snatches up a full red cup. Then she sticks her fingers into the bowl of pills, grabbing a handful. “Better hope she’s not wrapped around a chunk of frat meat.” She slides past me.
I catch her by the arm, her skin buzzing against my palm on contact. This has gone way too far. She’s off the rails.
She turns and glares at me. “Let. Go.”
“Kara, don’t be stupid.”
Her nostrils flare.
I reach for the fist of pills, but she tosses them in my face. “You’re not my father, asshole, even if you are just as big a dick as he was.”
I let go of her arm, stung. “I’m sorry,” I practically yell. I obviously hit a nerve.
“You’re worse than all of them, you know that?” she says through gritted teeth. “You pretend to be so pure and kind, but I can see right through you. You’re a shit. A faux hero. I can’t believe I almost fell for the show.”
She turns away, leaving me behind before I can try to talk her down—even though I’m not sure what I’d say. I’m not exactly sure what just happened. I do know I didn’t handle it very well, though.
I follow her into the mass of bodies, but the energy slams against me, clouding my head with muck. My feet stop and my stomach rises. I knew I should’ve come alone. I spot Kara across the room; she’s climbing the stairs. Her bare back moves through the crowd, a flower tattoo I never noticed before winding up her side. She grabs some guy’s hand—a slick-looking boy in a pink polo shirt—and leads him up the steps to the bedrooms.
I consider pushing my way through the crowd to go pound the pink bastard’s face in and drag her ass back home. How is sleeping with some dickhead going to make her feel better? I stare and seethe and wonder why I even give a damn.
Someone grips my arm and I spin, every muscle in my body full of tension.
“You came!” It’s Samantha—the one who slipped me the card. “Ohmygod! I was so excited when you texted me!” She pulls me toward the back of the house.
We come to a glass sliding door and she pauses. “You have to save her. She’s being all gloomy and needs a pep-me-up. Can I count on you?”
I have no idea what to say.
She slides open the door, and I glance back at the stairs inside, thinking of Kara.
But she made her choice.
“She’s there, on the shore.” Samantha points.
I look away from the party and follow her finger and the sound of the waves to a white figure standing beside the moving darkness of the ocean.
My pulse picks up.
Rebecca.
I can’t sense anything from this far away, but I don’t see the demon anywhere. That doesn’t mean it isn’t close, though. It seems to have a way of sneaking up on me.
I walk out onto the deck, heading toward the shore. The wind hits me, erasing the sticky energy of the party. I let it clear my head as I walk past a couple making out on a lounge chair. It’s about thirty yards to the water’s edge where Rebecca’s standing.
The walk finishes cleaning my insides, and I’m surrounded by the salt smell and the soothing rhythm of the tide. She doesn’t turn as I come closer. She hugs herself, staring out at the dark ocean, allowing its reaching white fingers to touch her bare toes.
I pause, watching her.
Wrapped in a white sweater and white lacy shorts, she’s almost a ghost against the colors of the night. She turns a little and spots me, her hand going to her throat.
I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
She steps closer, and a tiny shiver fills the space between us: anticipation. “You came . . .” Her hair moves with the breeze, covering her lips and chin, shadowing her curious eyes. I clench my fingers into a fist to keep from touching her. She tucks the copper strands of her hair behind her ear, saving me.
“I need to talk to you,” I say, glancing around. There’s no sign of the demon—not that I can feel in the air, not that I can see. All I smell is the brine of the ocean.
“I don’t even know who you are, your name . . .”
“My name’s Aidan. Aidan O’Linn.” I study her face, wondering how to begin, wondering whether to say anything at all.
“Aidan,” she says, like she’s testing the feel of it.
“I need to ask you something.”
She looks at me curiously.
“I’m sorry, so sorry I have to ask this . . . but . . . what happened to your brother?”
Her eyes turn glassy. She shakes her head, terror growing on her face.
“Don’t be scared,” I say.
“Why are you asking me that?”
I need to find out what kind of demon I’m dealing with here. I shore up my courage and ask, “How did your brother die?”
She lets out a small whimper and shakes her head again. “He . . . he drowned.” A tear slips down her cheek. “Went out surfing at night.”
My chest tightens. “I’m sorry,” I say, but it’s so quiet I’m not sure she hears.
The fact that her brother drowned means the demon managed to kill him and make it look like an accident. A high-ranking soldier for sure, but likely not a body-hopper—that would’ve been messier, and a possessed Charlie would’ve taken others with him.
Darkness Brutal (The Dark Cycle Book 1) Page 12
