Teague had no choice but to widen his search, but after a few hours, he lost hope. He’d never find Vern in such a big city. Stopping near a highway overpass, he dipped under and transformed away from prying eyes, then walked to the cheap diner to grab something to eat—the fastest way to refuel, but not the only way.
He grabbed the handle of the glass door and turned to toss his cigarette into the parking lot when he caught sight of something interesting across the street. He let go of the door and walked over to the Sleep Away Hotel where the cab of an eighteen-wheeler was parked. All nice and shiny and blue with a pair of dice painted on the side and the words Big Roller under them. Only one rig had that paint job. The guy who had given Vern a ride. They’d had sex, too. It made Teague irrationally jealous to think about it. He didn’t want to believe it. It broke his heart, but he still couldn’t hold it against Vern. He did what he had to do. To survive. And Teague couldn’t interfere.
Teague’s chest tightened at the memory. It was the same hotel they had stayed at before, and Teague needed to know if Vern had returned. Why else would this guy still be hanging around? He needed to hit the road in his rig and leave Vern alone. It made him ridiculously angry to think about them together, though he had no right. In fact, he shouldn’t have any emotions at all about who Vern took up with or what they got up to, but he still did. Despite how things should have been, Teague would be pleased to rip this trucker’s head off.
He walked the length of the hotel building. He’d left his tools back at his hotel, thinking he could search faster without his pockets full of crap, but it also meant he couldn’t hear into the rooms. It limited him severely, but if he had to get them, it might take too long before he returned. By then, Randy could be gone and Vern with him. He couldn’t afford to let them go without him seeing. He’d have to wait.
He jogged to the back of the building and ducked behind a group of close-cropped trees. He no longer had the cover of darkness with the sun overhead. It was nearly noon. He grumbled and wasted the energy to transform back to his true form, shining iridescence in the sun. At least he’d conserve some energy in that form and wouldn’t easily be seen. He leapt, beating his invisible wings. He flew to the top of the building and hopped around until he had a good view of Randy’s truck. He wouldn’t miss it if they left.
Waiting. Waiting.
He had nothing to do but watch and think. The horrors flooding his brain had been the same ones he’d shoved aside while looking for Vern, but they’d returned, circling and worrying.
What would his father do to him when he fucked this up?
How long would it take them to realize Teague would never again fall in line and do what they wanted?
He could never purposely cause Vern harm. It wasn’t going to happen. Worse—he’d probably attack and kill anyone who did. That would probably mean his brother. Maybe his father. Maybe some other part of the family or someone sent from Beleth.
Then what?
Would they sic the hounds on him? He could still hear them growling and baying, saliva dripping from their open mouths. From a young age, he’d been afraid they wanted to eat him. He still wasn’t convinced they didn’t.
He shook off his morbid ramblings. They could do whatever they wanted. Teague would still do what he had to. Even if it meant losing Manna to Osestra.
Dynäj!
He could curse all he wanted. It didn’t change things.
Soon enough, one of the doors below him opened, and two humans walked out. Male. Teague sniffed the air. The distinct scents of red clay, pine, and grease wafted up, and beneath that, he could smell sweat, salt, and an earthy goodness, assuring Teague one of the humans was his. Vern.
He leaned over the side to watch. Vern trailed Randy, but not to the truck. They crossed the street and went into the diner. Teague growled under his breath. Now he’d have to sit tight, and he hadn’t even eaten first. He sat where he could keep an eye on the diner and went back to waiting.
After a while, they came back. Teague got a glimpse of Vern’s face. He frowned, but he didn’t look entirely unhappy, either—maybe just acquiescent.
Why did it bother him so much? Why did Teague, a demon born on Exilum, care about a human’s happiness? He shook his head. He’d questioned his un-demon like views concerning Vern a million times, and although he never had a clear answer, he was resigned to the fact. He cared. He valued Vern—he was important. It was the truth, and he couldn’t change it.
The hours passed, and Teague grew anxious. Wrath rode him like a horseman. He couldn’t stand the stupid trucker spending so much time with his Vern. He couldn’t make any moves against the bastard, as much as he wanted to. All his worry about his family’s intervention accompanied by a dose of cold fury ran down that particular forlorn road. If he intervened between Vern and his trucker friend, they would know. Such irony...he finally wanted to do something, but it happened to be the exact wrong thing to do. Teague grasped his hands behind his back as if physically restraining himself.
The hotel door opened. Vern ran out. He didn’t shut the door. Didn’t look back. He ran out into the city with the fading light of day darkening around him.
Teague’s thighs bunched, and he leapt into the sky with a heavy downstroke of his wings. He soared above, following Vern. He didn’t know why Vern ran, but he could sense Vern’s heart thumping in his chest and smell the tangy sweat from his brow.
It would be a long night. Vern could run like no one else.
FOURTEEN
Vern
The early evening air practically drowned Vern as he ran. He missed the cool Georgia breezes. In Miami, everything pressed against him, muggy and slightly damp. Though he had a bit of trouble breathing through the humidity, Vern didn’t stop running. He couldn’t stop. He had to get as far from the hotel room as he could.
Vern had been tired, damned tired, and he’d had nowhere else to go. He headed back to the hotel where they’d stayed, hoping Randy would be there. He was.
Vern had hoped Randy could protect him. Keep him safe a little longer. He’d been wrong.
Vern searched for an explanation, convinced he’d been marked for evil. The demon had meant what he or it had said. It was a demon after all, and Vern wouldn’t have a demon watching over him unless he was doomed to evil. So anyone in his life would end up getting hurt. Like Randy.
How could he have been so stupid?
Vern wanted to mean something to someone. And maybe Randy had cared some about him. In the long run, Vern should have stuck to his loner ways. He would have been better off on the streets. He didn’t need anyone to care about him, not if it was going to end up like that.
He wouldn’t let anyone get close to him again. He had to live alone. If he was marked for evil, then living for himself would ensure only he got hurt, and it would be perfectly fine. He was damned used to getting hurt, but someone else getting hurt because of him? He couldn’t live with that, and it had already happened. Maybe the angel-demon would return and take him out of this world or on to the next. Vern could only hope.
He wanted to be an actor. He would become an actor. Nothing would stop him. He slowed to a walk and straightened his shoulders. First, he needed somewhere to stay. Somewhere the police wouldn’t find him. They wouldn’t understand his relationship with Randy or why he’d run when Randy died. What else could he have done, though? Yes, Vern ran. He didn't need the police sending him home to Georgia or thinking he had anything to do with Randy’s death. He hadn't even known Randy used drugs. If he had seen anything like that, any drugs at all, he would have split.
He sat on a bench and stretched his legs out in front of him to figure out where he could sleep safely. Maybe on the beach. He wouldn’t leave Miami. He loved the beach, the palm trees, and the low buzz of energy permeating everything. Even the humidity. It worked as well as any other place for getting into acting. Even if he couldn’t attend school right away, maybe he could still land some parts.
He dug into
one of his packs for a bottle of water. A massive highway overpass system crawled across the skyline ahead. He made his way there and crossed one of the highways. Then climbed a fence at the side of the large concrete structure. Several types of palms and palmettos sprouted up along one corner. They had been planted close together, providing a little spot Vern could settle into. He couldn’t easily be seen from the road, and at night it would also hide him from anyone else walking by.
Vern’s feet ached, and the last remains of the sun had long since disappeared. He could only see by the street lights along the highways and the flashes from headlights of passing vehicles. The hiding hole was his best bet for the moment.
Using one pack as a pillow, he held onto the other, wrapping the strap around his arm. He wished he still had Randy’s hat for a moment, but he couldn’t take it a second time, not when he had left Randy dead on the bathroom floor. He had his chess piece. That had to be enough.
Vern slept off and on throughout the night, and no one bothered him. He’d probably come back to that spot to sleep again if he had to, but he hoped he wouldn’t. It wasn’t secure by any means. He needed a job and a real place to stay. Then he could contact the acting school and figure out what came next. He could only do one thing at a time, though, and the first thing had to be breakfast.
Since he had some cash left over, he brushed off and headed out to find some cheap food. He crawled down from the overpass and walked along the highway until he found a fast-food joint. He washed up in the bathroom then bought a few breakfast sandwiches and a cup of coffee. On his way out, he noticed a free local news rag posted by the door and picked one up. Glancing through the paper revealed a lot of advertisements on Miami’s happenings. Maybe he could find something in there.
Taking the smaller streets, he headed east toward the beaches. The multitude of concrete and houses surrounding the area amazed him. He’d expected the whole place to be a tropical paradise, but mostly he’d seen nothing but paved landscape until you hit the bridges that crossed to the beaches. Vern took the free metro system to the causeway, then walked to South Beach. It took him about an hour, but it was peaceful and hard to be unhappy even in his circumstances with the bright sunshine coaxing out his smile.
After the long trek, he needed a break. He found a grassy lot between restaurants and the backside of a strip mall. He climbed the small fence and settled down behind an overgrown palm tree, which provided some much needed shade and partially hid him from the road. Hopefully, he could spend the afternoon there without getting in too much trouble if anyone noticed him, since he wasn’t hurting anything.
He took out his paper and looked over the ads. It didn’t take long to find a gay night club hiring dancers and a casting call for extras. He needed a place to wash up and a way to get there. Since he’d already turned eighteen, he should be able to get either job. Maybe both. He had a direction.
Vern went to the club first. He expected the place to be loud with a lot of lights, but those images came more from his imagination than anywhere else. In fact, when he pushed through the painted glass doors a little after noon, the place was eerily quiet. Some kind of reception area with a shiny black podium stood inside the door, but it must have been too early for anyone to man it.
Vern passed it and walked along the short hall. The walls were exposed brick, and the floor was finished with scuffed-up linoleum. He walked by four bathroom doors on his way, two on each side and all marked as men’s. Beyond the restrooms, the hall opened into a huge room, two floors high and about the size of his school gym, maybe a bit larger. Across the way, a long skinny stage lined the far wall. Purple curtains draped it above and below like a skirt. Glossy, black tables stretched out around the room. The bars lined each of the side walls. They had shiny black shelves of alcohol and empty glasses behind them. Two stairways near each bar led up to the second floor. Purple handrails and railing along the balcony circled the room and stood out against all the black. The emptiness stood out more than the decor.
He dropped his bags on the nearest table and contemplated searching the place for signs of life. He hadn’t waited long when a door opened behind one of the bars, and a nice-looking man walked out.
“Hey, you bring the cages?”
“What?”
“You from Ronco Rentals?” His brown hair with subtle reddish highlights matched his thin beard, framing the edges around his jaw but not covering his cheeks. His eyes were a dark, inquisitive blue.
Vern shook his head. “No, sir.”
“Oh. Who are you then?”
“Uh...I saw the ad for dancers.”
The man chuckled softly and eyed Vern’s body, down to his feet and back up. Vern didn’t look great dressed in jeans that needed to be washed and a t-shirt he’d worn two days in a row.
By contrast, the man wore nice dark jeans over expensive-looking boots and a t-shirt shimmering in the light beneath his suit jacket. He looked expensively casual.
“Can you dance?”
Vern shrugged. “Is it hard?”
The guy shook his head, but his eyes twinkled with mischief. “Maybe. Maybe not. Depends on if you have talent. Or rhythm.”
“I like music. I performed in our high school musical. That had some dancing.”
“Do you like taking your clothes off?” His facial expression didn’t give away if the guy was kidding or not. It could go either way. He figured he’d better take him seriously.
“Well, uh...I like making money?”
“Are you asking me? Don’t you know? You don’t sound very confident.”
“Uh...No, not really...not a question, I mean. I’m sure.” He could do this, but the guy made him nervous.
“Are you even eighteen?”
“Yes.”
The guy crossed his arms. “You can prove it?”
“Yes. I have a driver’s license. Social Security card.” He gestured to his bags on the table.
“I’m Henrik.” He stepped closer and held out his hand.
Vern took it and gave it a firm shake. “I’m Vern, but I prefer to be called Vick.”
“Okay, Vick.” Henrik’s face softened a little. “The least I can do is give you an audition. I’ll cue up some tunes, and you strip down to your boxers and get on the stage.” He jerked his thumb behind him, toward the black platform.
Maybe he expected Vern to chicken out. Wrong. Dancing half-naked in a club? That was acting. He could totally do this.
Acting.
He kicked off his shoes and took a long, deep breath while Henrik marched over to a tall platform on the side of the stage. Vern unbuttoned his jeans and shimmied them off. His t-shirt hit the pile of clothes stacking up on the table beside his bags. He wore nothing but his socks and tighty-whities. He wished he’d had something sexier, but Henrik hardly noticed.
“Put your shoes back on so you don’t slip,” Henrik ordered before fiddling with something in the booth. Then music blasted out, and spotlights came on, spinning around the room.
Vern put his beat-up old sneakers back on and climbed up on the stage.
“Hey! The glasses are kinda nerdy sexy, but think you can dance without them and not fall off the stage?”
“Uh, yeah. Sure.” Vern jumped off the stage and tucked his glasses into the front pouch of his backpack. He had trouble seeing anything at a distance, but right up close on the stage should be fine.
Henrik pressed a mic close to his mouth, and when he spoke next, his voice echoed throughout the empty club. “Ladies and gentlemen, here for his debut performance straight from wherever they let fledgling college boys live, the young and sexy guy...”
He said it like an announcement for some great performer, and Vern was grateful because it got his head where it needed to be. He threw off Vern and became some hot college student, here to entertain a crowd of partiers with dance moves everyone wanted to watch.
He imagined the crowd cheering and reaching up for him on the stage. Vern forgot he couldn’t dance and s
hook his ass. He moved to the beat of the techno music pulsing from the speakers. He didn’t think about what it would look like or what anyone would think. He became the flirty guy everyone wanted and moved his body the way he imagined some sexy guy would—how he’d want to see a guy dance for him. He thrust his hips and swayed his shoulders. He moved his arms up and down his chest, provocatively. No worries about being scrawny. Someone would want to see his scrawny chest. Randy had.
No. He stopped that thought cold. He couldn’t think of that.
He reached behind his head with both hands and rotated his hips, turning on the stage.
The music stopped.
“Okay. I’m surprised and impressed. Vick.” He climbed down from the DJ booth and motioned for Vern to follow him. He pushed his ass against the table where Vern had dumped his stuff. “Okay. If you can prove you’re eighteen—”
“I can. I said I can.”
“Okay. If so, I’ll give you a job. But.” Henrik held up one finger. “First, we need to have a frank discussion. I want to ask you questions, and I want you to answer truthfully. Otherwise, this is not going to work. Understand?”
Vern nodded.
“Okay. Where are you staying?”
“What?”
“Where do you live? Sleep, eat, shower.”
Vern sucked his bottom lip in between his teeth. “I, uh...”
“No lies.”
“No.” Vern inhaled, slowly. “I don’t live anywhere. I need a good job to find a place.” He shrugged. The guy wanted the truth. What else could he do?
Henrik nodded. “Okay. How long have you been in Miami?”
“Couple of days.”
“You run away? From home?”
Vern nodded. “Sort of, but I’m eighteen. It’s not exactly running away as much as, you know, leaving.”
“You’re gay?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“This is a gay club. If you dance here, men are going to watch you. Want to touch you. They will touch you to tip you. It happens all the time. Men will touch you. It makes it easier to handle if you’re gay, actually.”
Demon or Angel (Age of Exilum Book 1) Page 12
