I didn't dare look into their faces to see who they were. I just wanted to get by. I said something about being tired. I didn't see him. I didn't mean to do it.
I stopped short of his prone form. I wasn't sure if it was relief that flooded me as I surveyed the scene and noticed him trying to roll over onto his side or if it was guilt at seeing him struggling to get up. I just kept telling myself that at least he wasn't dead. At least he was still breathing.
My toe caught the edge of my helmet and it clattered as it rolled across the asphalt, The injured man looked awful. I had to do something. I made an attempt to crouch down next to him, thinking I might try to help when someone yanked on my elbow. I turned around to see the neighbourhood florist on her way to work. She gripped my arm until it hurt.
"You've done enough," she said.
"I didn't do anything," I said, arguing, feeling awful and afraid at the same time. I would never hurt anyone on purpose. How could he even think that?
"I had no idea he was there," I said. "He must've just stepped in front of me."
The guy was trying to push himself to his feet and someone was trying to hold him down, telling him he had better wait for the ambulance. He might be hurt. In shock.
I was in shock, that was true. I barely registered the faces around me.
"Let me go," he said. "I'm fine."
The sound of his voice bolstered me. I pulled my arm from the florist's grip and pushed through the crowd. I wanted to see him. I wanted to know for sure that he was fine.
He looked so familiar. I wasn't sure where I had seen those eyes before, those fine features. His hair was milky white, but rather than making him looking look feminine, it gave his jaw definition as it curled around his ears. Take away the skid mark of dirt on his left cheek and the blood on his forehead, he was staggeringly beautiful.
I stuck my hand out, thinking to help him.
He fell backwards onto the pavement.
Out cold. Please dear god, tell me he had only fainted. That he wasn't dead. That he wasn't even dying.
I swung around, looking this way and that, hoping someone would do something.
Everyone bustled about, someone yelled that they needed to give him room. We all backed off and stared at him. It entered my mind someone should be doing some kind of CPR or something, but I already heard the wail of the sirens and the lights were flashing and reflecting off of my scooter. I distinctly heard someone say, "Look at her, she's stoned." I ended up whirling around, trying to find the owner of the voice. I wasn't stoned. I hadn't been stoned in months. I hadn't so much as taken a pilfered drink of wine.
I looked down at him again. Someone, the man who had told everyone to give him some air was checking for a pulse. Finally. At least someone was taking charge.
The sirens cut the air. Closer. Just a moment more and help would arrive. I tried to stand steady on my feet but I felt myself swaying. The paramedics pulled up in the ambulance and bustled out the back door. They yelled at everyone to get back, and then they clustered around the fallen man, a young man, I could see now. Maybe Callum's age.
More sirens warbled on the air. The police, no doubt. The fire truck. Oh god. The fire truck. Callum. I swung around like a soldier in the aftermath of battle, stunned and panic blind. Callum would see all this.
I was aware that my fingers had crawled up to my collarbone and were digging into the skin. I let go a long hiss of breath when I saw the downed man's eyes flutter open. Thank god. He was alive.
"Hell of a ride," he said.
The paramedic attending him chuckled softly, but I thought it was a nervous reaction more than anything. His hands roamed legs and arms and rib cage. He shined a flashlight into those oh so familiar eyes.
"We should probably check you out for concussion," he said." But there's no broken bones or anything."
It wasn't a few short minutes later that the police pulled up as well and then behind that the town's fire truck. I didn't have to look to know that Callum was the one who jumped out of it. It would just be my luck today. I heard him calling to me just moments before the policeman's siren cut off.
It was the policeman who got me first. The entire crowd sidled away from me much the way a herd does when one of their members is sick and ill. Like some cosmic cutting knife had scored me out of the cluster and flipped me to the side.
I felt like a piece of rag as they led me to the back of the police car and pushed me inside. The door thunked closed, leaving me alone as the two officers discussed me outside the window. Their voices came to me anyway, muffled through the glass. Something about the guy admitting to stepping out in front. He didn't see me. Too busy looking at his cell phone. I laid my head back on the seat and felt for my stomach. Was that just nerves wriggling about in there or was I going to lose my breakfast?
The policeman opened the door and nodded at me.
"I think you should get checked over by the paramedics for shock," he said. "And I don't think you should be driving home."
"I'll take her," Callum said. I only realized he was hovering around the back of the police car when I heard his voice. Just seeing him standing there brought a sting of tears to my eyes. My fingers clutched the material of my T-shirt. I wouldn't cry. Not right yet. Not in front of him or anyone else.
"I don't think anything will come of it," the officer said, and I got the feeling that as he looked at my face, he realized how awful I felt. Felt sorry for me. I wasn't sure whether I was relieved or felt worse.
"She'll have to give a statement," the officer said to Callum. "Officially, I mean. Can you bring her down to the station?"
Callum nodded. "Just let me get someone to manhandle the scooter into the back of a truck and bring it home first."
I blinked. My scooter. I didn't think I would ever drive it again.
For some reason, even though the door was open and Callum was reaching in, I couldn't move a single muscle.
"Come on, Ayla," he said, waggling his fingers at me. "You're good to go."
I swung my gaze to his hand and watched the fingers waggling as though he was trying to lure in a fish. I peered up into his eyes. Green. So green. Something fired in my brain.
"His eyes," I said, remembering how blue my victim's eyes were. It wasn't Callum I'd been thinking of when I met that gaze. So where had I seen them before?
I couldn't help fingering the crest of his cheekbone. "They don't look anything like yours."
I watched as his face softened. "You're in shock, Ayla," he said. "Let me take you home."
I nodded but I still couldn't move. He ended up reaching for me with that hand, burrowing it between my waist and the back of the seat and hooking me just beneath the rib cage. He tugged very gently but firmly as though he planned to pick me up like a mother would a kid from a car seat.
A sob broke through my throat and instead of pulling me out of the car, he slipped in beside me and he pressed my face into his shoulder. The steady beating of his heart pounded against my temple and I inhaled his smell each time I pulled in a breath to fuel another sob. His hand ran up and down my back, soothing.
"It's over," he said. "It's over and he's alright." I felt the palm of his hand against the back of my hair. The fingers tangled in the hair over my crown.
"Take your time," he said. "Cry it out. It will help you feel better."
For some reason that cut short the tears.
"I'm fine," I said, biting down on the next sob that tried to make its way up my throat. I didn't want him to pity me. I didn't care how good it felt to be so close to him, this wasn't the way I wanted to feel when his arms were around me.
I pulled in a racking breath. "Let's get this over with."
I let him get out first, and then I used the handle of the door and the back of the seat to pull myself from the vehicle and found solid footing on the asphalt. I pulled down the hem of my T-shirt, shoved my hands into my pockets. The man was fine. I hadn't killed him. Even the crowd was dispersing. Everything was go
ing to be okay.
I looked up the Callum. A big wet spot on his white T-shirt peeked out from beneath his jean jacket. I chewed my lip, thinking how much tears I would've had to cry to make that big puddle. I caught his eye and he gave me a reassuring smile. I let go the side of the door and stood on my own. Peered sideways, trying to catch sight of the man I had struck. He was sitting on the back of the paramedic's truck, getting his blood pressure taken. He lifted his gaze to mine and our eyes met for a long second.
"I know you," I whispered.
"You've met him before?" Callum said, coming up next to me. He too looked over at the patient sitting on the back of the truck. Something hard crossed the man's face and I could have sworn I saw his jaw clench and tighten. I stole a glance at Callum, but he only looked confused and concerned.
"No," I said to him.
He nodded. "He does have a sort of look to him, though. Familiar." He turned to me and put his fingers on my chin, tilting my face to his. "You look pretty exhausted, Ayla," he said. "Why don't I just bring you home and then I'll pick your grandfather up by myself."
As badly as I wanted to see Gramp, I did feel as though I was about to collapse at any moment. I didn't think I could face school or wait the hours it would take to go pick him up at the hospital. I wanted nothing more in that moment than to fall into my bed face down.
"Let's get that statement over with," I said. "Then you can bring me home."
"Sounds good," he said and he plucked his cell phone from his jean jacket pocket and tapped out a few numbers. I waited, wiggling my foot back and forth in my sneaker as I surveyed the area One by one, the crowd was disappearing. Some of them stopped to talk to a police officer before they left, but with all of the excitement over, it seemed as though the most pressing thing for them was to get on with their day. I couldn't say I was sorry for that. I didn't like the way some of them looked at me as they spoke to the police officers, but if the victim himself had admitted to stepping out in front of me, what else could they say?
I was vaguely aware of Callum arranging a pick up of my scooter, but I didn't care what happened to it. It could stay there lying on the sidewalk for all I cared. At the moment, I cared about only one thing.
"Don't tell Gramp about this," I said. "Not yet. Just tell him I was tired and couldn't be there to pick him up." It was true, after all.
Callum nodded, obviously completely in agreement and after landing home, I went straight to my mother's room to lie down, leaving Callum to explain.
When I came down stairs after another fitful and dream-saturated rest where Callum was running his tongue along my thigh, it was to a distinct aroma that made my mouth water and to the front door opening.
Callum helped Gramp into the hall and he inhaled deeply and let go a long sigh.
The sight of him standing there, looking more frail than usual, but at least much more robust than he did lying in a hospital bed, I couldn't get down the stairs fast enough. I had known he'd be released, and I had known the doctors said he would make a full recovery, but knowing and seeing are two different things. Now that he was there, shuffling into the hallway with those familiar Birkenstocks and his grey hair stuck up in places behind his ears, I realized how desperately afraid I was he wouldn't come home.
I squeezed him until he laid his hand on the top of my head, patting it like a referee demanding a timeout.
I peered up at him. His black eyes still looked sharp and inquisitive. I sighed in relief.
"As if we don't eat enough bacon in this house," I said as I hugged him again. "We're having roast pork covered in it."
Sarah came bustling through the kitchen to the hallway. "You can never have too much too much bacon."
She stuck her hand out toward Gramp, and while I half expected him to take it with a shake, he pulled her into an embrace instead that had both of us squirming. Then he shoved us aside and pointed toward the counter.
"What's that thing?"
The pottery container. It wasn't the response I expected from him.
"We dug that thing out of the ground yesterday," I said. "We figured you would put it there."
He shook his head slowly.
"I've never seen it before. But it doesn't take a genius to know that you should never have pulled it out of the ground."
CHAPTER 5
Sarah gave the jug an evil eye.
"That's not good," she said and the look of panic on her face told me everything I needed to know about what was running through her mind. She had been counting on Gramp having put the thing there and now that she knew otherwise, her fragile sense of safety was disappearing.
On the other hand, I was feeling much more relieved. Just knowing he wasn't some secret sorcerer planning to revive some mouldy thing made me think I could face anything after that. Didn't matter what it was. Still, she was looking decidedly green.
"Doesn't mean anything," I said, trying to reassure her. I eased my way past Gramp and reached for her hand. "I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation. There has to be."
Her jaw seesawed back and forth and her gaze kept flickering over to the jar.
"You think so?" she didn't sound convinced. In fact, she sounded a little irritated I had trivialized her worries. "You don't know, Ayla. You just have a hint of the things that go bump in the night. You don't know them all."
She wrapped her arms about her and in that moment I thought she looked so alone even though all three of us were standing right there with her. It hurt that she didn't trust us to keep her safe. I'd nearly died to save her. Heck, I'd killed to save her. My hand went absently to the mark on my ribcage, knowing there was a similar one on the bottom of my foot I'd gained when I'd reaped her doppelgänger.
"Whatever it is," I said, steering her to the table and the luscious meal she had set out. "We'll face it together. Good or bad."
Large bowls filled with steaming carrots, potatoes and gravy sat on the dining room table. She had made stuffing, too, I realized. It looked homemade.
"I had no idea you were such a cook," I said to distract her.
"When someone likes to eat as much as I do," she said running her hands down along her slim figure. "You have to know how to throw a few things together." A spark lit her eye. "Besides, it's been a long time since I've had a good meal and with the way you cook..."
"It looks divine," I said, to stop her from letting go any embarrassing secrets about the eggs I had boiled so dry, they had exploded. That wasn't something I wanted Callum to know. Or Gramp, for that matter.
I caught her stealing glances at the container on the counter and when she noticed, she pulled in a bracing breath that racked her chest and then she gave me a timid smile. Acting, I thought. I'd seen that exact same smile the day the foster services had informed her she was going home the next morning. She was gone by midnight that night. I wondered how long it would be before she slipped out and disappeared again.
For at least ten lovely moments, we enjoyed the meal without discussing anything uncomfortable. However, I knew the peace would be short-lived. That container was a point of contention for all of us. Sarah especially. I knew she was worried about what it might mean to her safety.
"The jar could have come from anywhere," she said, as though plucking my thoughts straight from my mind. "But it's a little too convenient for it to be found in the yard just weeks after I arrived."
"It's been there ages, Sarah," I said. "It can't possibly be anything targeted at you. If anything, it's probably some sort of love spell." I peeked self-consciously at Callum from beneath my bangs, remembering the long nights of languid and sexy dreams with him featured so predominately in them. If it was a love spell in that jar, it was certainly working on me. And he didn't make it any easier sitting there with his chin in his hand, his biceps tensing and letting go as he followed the conversation.
Sarah gave me a long look. "We'll only know when we open it."
Gramp pushed his plate away. "No time like now," he said. In moments,
he'd stood and was beside the pass-through counter with Callum beside him. His fingers hovered over the top of the jar for a long moment, waggling up and down as though he was trying to decide whether or not he should touch it. He dropped his palm onto it ran down the length of the string and I got the sense that he was gauging the strength of it.
"Where did you find it?" he said.
"It was on the edge of your garden," I said.
He shook his head. "I can't imagine why I haven't found it with all the digging I do out there," he said. "Are you sure that's where you found it?"
"Definitely," I said. "I tripped on the thing while Callum and I were out back."
As far as I understood, Gramp had never seen his own doppelgänger the night of his aneurysm. I had never told him about coming home and finding that thing watching him die and how I had killed it by intervening. All he had known was that I had a friend named Sarah in trouble with something supernatural and he had provided that malice bag to help her. No one spoke of how the three of us had gone down into the crypt of the old cathedral and faced a doppelgänger Sarah herself had empowered and then tried to kill her as it gained corporeality.
"What in the hell were you doing in my garden?" he said as though I'd ransacked his underwear drawer.
"Training," I said meekly. "Callum is teaching me to fight."
Gramp eyed Callum as he stood there. "If you're thinking of trying to turn her into a ninja, there's something you should know about her."
"Oh, don't worry," Callum said with a chuckle. "I already know."
I shot him a stink eye and turned to Gramp who was already plucking at the weakest parts of the lashings, but his gnarled fingers seemed to be having a hard time freeing them. Callum reached over his hands and gave the threads a snap. They crackled as they broke with a brittle pop. I thought everyone exhaled at the same time. Callum's hand hovered over the lid and he gave Gramp a questioning lift of a black brow.
"Do it," I heard myself saying and was aware that my hands had turned to fists at my sides and the nails were digging into the palms.
A grating sound broke the silence that descended as Callum dug at the seal around the lid. Wax, it looked like. At least I hoped it was wax. I didn't want to think it was human fat. I heard the sound of my swallow in my ears. My heart was thudding too hard to hear my breath.
Dire (Reaper's Redemption Book 2) Page 4
