by J.M. Cagle
Chapter 7
“You were supposed to call me when she woke,” Sam said from the doorway.
“I apologize, sir,” Jackson responded, bending slightly at the waist as he faced Sam. “I thought it would be easier for her to hear the truth from someone she trusts.”
“She doesn’t do trust,” Sam said as he entered the room, gesturing for Jackson to leave.
Joey watched her friend, at least the creature that she had thought was her friend, walk out of the room. Her eyes fell on Sam and she couldn’t deny the relief that filled her when she saw that he was exactly as she had last seen him.
“Are you . . . ?” she asked, gesturing toward Jackson’s departing back.
“No, not a vampire,” he said with a soft smile. “Not a werewolf, either.”
“There are werewolves?” she asked, the strength suddenly going out of her knees. Sam caught her, swinging her into his arms and carrying her back to the bed.
“Too much?” he asked.
“My mom was telling the truth,” she said, the wonder in her voice dripping with sadness.
“She was,” Sam assured her as he settled onto the mattress beside her.
“The Nephilim?”
“Are growing stronger.” He touched her face gently, pushing hair from her sweaty brow. “You must trust me, Joey.”
She took his hand, wanting the assurance of touching another human being. His skin was warm, smelled of a spice she could not identify. She clung to it, needing to know she had not gone insane, that he was not some figment of her shattered psyche.
“I don’t understand.”
“I know,” he said, caressing her cheek again. “I will explain soon. But first, I need to move you somewhere safe, somewhere far from here.”
“Sam—”
“I have searched for you for so long,” he suddenly sighed. “I had all these ideas of what you would be, who you would be. I have to say, you have deeply exceeded my expectations.”
She stared up into his eyes, felt for a minute as though he had lowered his guard, that he wanted her to see what lay behind his façade. But her vision, whatever it was, did not work with him. She thought it was her attraction to him. That the fact that his touch sent shivers of pleasure through her body was blocking whatever it was that made her vision work. It had happened before. She hadn’t been able to see behind Bill’s façade.
Bill, the boy she had dated all through college, the boy who was so polite that he never touched her below the waist no matter how many times she begged him to. Bill who always seemed to be there when she needed him, who always knew the right things to say, who always made her feel like the only girl in the room whenever they went out together. The same Bill who simply disappeared the day after graduation, sending her a text informing her that he had gotten an unexpected opportunity to travel overseas with the Peace Corps. She hadn’t known the Peace Corps still existed, let alone that Bill was interested in joining.
Bill, Jackson, and Dotty. The only people close to her with whom her vision did not work.
And Sam.
What did it mean?
“Tell me what you saw.”
For a second, Joey thought he was asking if she had been able to see him, the true him. But then she realized he was talking about Mrs. Hernandez. The horror of it must have flashed across her face because he squeezed her hand.
“It was awful, worse than anything I have ever seen before.”
“Describe it.”
Joey bit her lip, no longer sore from where she bit through the flesh earlier in the day. “It was a face, dark and bloody, with horns and this thick, rubbery skin that was deeply wrinkled, and a dark, grey color. The eyes had no sockets; it was like they were held in place with just strips of meat, no shape. They were dark, almost black, but with these odd flecks of gold and yellow.” Joey shuddered. “When she touched me, the face was laughing.”
“Okay,” Sam said, a thoughtful tilt to his head. “Have you seen anything else like it recently?”
Joey shook her head. “Not that vivid.”
“Good.” He squeezed her hand. “Let me know if you do.”
“What does it mean?” She sat up, pulling at his hand to help her. She threw her legs over the side of the bed, coming to rest beside him and recaptured his hand, pulling it into her lap. “You seem to know more than I do.”
“Did your mother ever talk to you about your visions?”
Again Joey shook her head. “Dotty, my grandmother, told me I shouldn’t tell anyone.”
Sam frowned, but he didn’t say anything. He looked down at the floor, clearly trying to decide how much he could tell her. It angered Joey, the hesitation in every angle of his beautiful body. She pulled away, standing with nowhere to go. There wasn’t even enough space to pace.
“You know everything you need to know, Joey. You just think it’s the crazy ravings of a schizophrenic.”
“No,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself as memories of nightmares her mother’s so-called bedtime stories created rattled around in her head. “My mother was—”
“A very strong woman.”
Sam stood, attempting to pull Joey to him, but she moved away before he could touch her. “You don’t know what she did.”
“I know that she did what she had to do to protect you. And so did Dotty.”
Joey’s head jerked up. “What do you mean, Dotty?”
Some person decided that was the perfect moment to open the door. A tall, dark man stuck his head in the door, his fangs distorting what would have otherwise been a beautiful mouth, and said, “We’re ready, sir.”
Sam nodded. “We’ll be there in a minute.”
The man inclined his head, not acknowledging Joey with even a curious glance. His eyes stayed on the floor in front of him until the door was closed by his backward steps.
“What now?” Joey said into the silence that filled the room.
“Now, I get you as far from here as possible.”
