Night Tide

by Kory M. Shrum

  “You’ve been a huge help,” Reese said, standing. She finished the glass of water in a few gulps and set the glass down on a coaster. “I don’t have any other questions now, but would either of you mind talking to me again if I think of more?”

  They both shook their heads.

  “Cool. I need to go now, but I’ll be in touch if I need you.” She turned her gray eyes on Grayson. “Do you want a ride back to your house?”

  “I’ll take him,” Abby said.

  Grayson tried not to break into an enormous grin at the offer.

  “Okay then.” Reese gave them both polite smiles. “I’m off.”

  They watched her exit the house and descend the steps to the walk. Once she reached her truck, they turned and faced each other.

  “You didn’t tell Landon about the coven.” Grayson said again, giving her a chance to speak for herself, truthfully, now that they were alone.

  Abby reached out and took his hand. She squeezed it hard. “No, I didn’t.”

  Grayson sighed, trying to give himself room in the face of all these emotions. He was disappointed that she hadn’t told him sooner, but relieved to know now. He was also honored that he now knew a secret that Landon hadn’t. But this honor was quickly blotted out by a rising tide of guilt.

  “He would’ve freaked out,” she said.

  “You thought I’d freak out too?” he asked. He felt the heat rising in his cheeks.

  “No,” she said with a mischievous smile. “I was looking for the right time to tell you. I’ve been waiting for the right time to tell you a lot of things, actually.”

  “Will you come with me?” she asked.

  He noticed the high color in her cheeks and the way her eyes shone. In that moment he didn’t think he could deny her anything.

  “Your mom—” he began lamely.

  She grinned. “She won’t be home for hours. There’s a lot going on in town at the moment, so she wants me right here. I don’t mind as long as you stay.”

  She stood and beckoned him forward.

  He took her hand, noticing how cool it felt in his, and let himself be dragged into the back of the ranch house.

  Abby’s bedroom was an assault of purple. Her bed, a twin pushed into the corner against the left wall, had a fluffy bedspread and more pillows than the bed could comfortably hold. At the foot of the bed, running along the wall until the wall stopped it, was an enormous bookcase overflowing with books. So much in fact, that a pile had been made on the floor in front of it. The subjects ran from travel guides to design tomes and titles about architecture and engineering. Beneath the window beside the head of the bed was the drafting desk, with a half-finished design for a garden sketched in pencil.

  The floor was clean, the books were neatly arranged on the shelves, and the closet took up the right wall of the room.

  From the stack of papers, Abby pulled out two sheets and offered them to Grayson.

  He took them, reading the top line several times before understanding what he was seeing. Then he turned the page and read the other.

  “You were accepted to CCU. And UCLA,” he managed finally. He was searching her face for comprehension. “For engineering.”

  She beamed. “Yeah. And a half dozen other schools too, but these are the two that matter.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “You know why,” she said. She stepped toward him. “Grayson.”

  She took the papers from him before tossing them onto the desk again. She laced her fingers into his.

  “Grayson, I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time but I didn’t know how to tell you. I want to be with you. I don’t care if we are in LA or if we’re here, I want to be with you. And after what happened to Landon—” Her breath hitched. “No one knows how long they have. I can’t keep waiting for someday to happen. I just need to know if you feel the same way.”

  Grayson Choice 15

  Yes, Grayson Feels the Same Way

  No, Grayson Met Daniel Has Feelings for Him Instead

  Reese: Go into the bar

  Her bare butt stuck to her seat, reminding her that she still needed to finish pulling up her pants. She did, and slid out of her truck. Gravel shifted under her boots as she shut and locked her door. She ran a hand through her wet hair and pulled her shoulders back. She did what she could to mask her scent, knowing it would betray her uneasiness.

  Pushing against the rough, bat-wing door, Reese stepped into the bar.

  The wooden floor creaked under her boots as she crossed the threshold slowly. She made a show of looking around, as if searching for someone.

  She was searching for someone.

  The interior of the bar was a crude outline of Alpha’s. Tables running along the left wall were squat, unstable-looking things. There was a jukebox somewhere. The song had changed to the 99 problems cover by Hugo.

  Behind the bar was the owner, Bathory, a tall woman with black hair, black eyes, and inhuman porcelain skin. She regarded Reese with a curious expression.

  Crossroads stood out from the other bars in Castle Cove for one other reason—apart from the fact it was teeming with demons—patrons could smoke. A thin gray cloud of smoke hung in the air, giving it a cloudy look that Reese hadn’t seen in a long time—since the ban on indoor smoking had gone into effect fifteen years ago.

  Reese felt eyes on her. Hungry, greedy eyes followed her as she moved through the room toward the bar.

  “What brings you to The Crossroads, Reese?” Bathory said. She put one hand on her hip and regarded Reese with an expression that was half curiosity, half suspicion. “Kristine send you?”

  “No,” Reese said, knowing that her lie could be detected easily by a demon. They did specialize in them. “I’m looking for someone.”

  Bathory arched her eyebrows. “You have business here?”

  Reese settled on a half-truth. If there was a woman using dark magic in Castle Cove, wasn’t it her good Samaritan business to find out what was going on? See something, say something. “Maybe.”

  She saw Bathory trying to detect the lie. Her face hardened in confusion. Then her eyes searched the bar. “Do you see who you’re looking for?”

  This gave Reese a full invitation to search the bar.

  Once Bathory had pulled her into conversation, most eyes had slid away, returning to the whispered conversation they’d nurtured before her arrival—except for one man. He leaned against the wall, a cigar balanced between his fingers. He regarded her with his one milk-white eye from beneath the rim of his felt fedora.

  “That’s Cole’s brother,” Bathory said in warning. “He can’t be the one you came for.”

  “She came for me,” a voice piped up.

  Reese turned to see Violet climbing onto the barstool beside her. She wore a grin, masking whatever emotions she felt beneath. Like any demon, she hid her emotions perfectly. “Miss me already, baby?”

  A gentle knock echoed on the door of her mind. Open up.

  Reese cracked the door just enough to allow unspoken communication with Violet. When they’d broken up, she’d revoked the demon’s free pass to play in the recesses of her mind.

  Come get a table with me, before these guys eat you alive, Violet said. Even in Reese’s head, she sounded just as she did aloud. Bossy.

  “I thought you two broke up,” Bathory said, wringing a hot washcloth into the sink behind the bar before wiping down the bar top.

  “We did.” Violet gave Bathory a suggestive grin. “Maybe it’s my lucky night. Maybe she wants me back. Tell me you missed me.”

  Reese smiled, trying to play along. “I did.”

  And Reese realized she didn’t have to lie. Surprise flickered on Violet’s face as she registered the truth as well.

  “Can I get you a drink?” Violet asked, tapping her black nails on the wood. She was searching Reese’s face earnestly now.

  “A beer,” Reese said.

  “Two Surly Darkness, Bath.” Violet cut her eyes to the barkeep who was a
lready opening the cooler. To Reese she said, “Why don’t you wait for me at that table?” The demon pointed at the empty table against the wall. “I’ll be right over.”

  Reese didn’t miss the fact that this table was about as far from the other demons as possible. But she dutifully crossed the room and took a seat. From here, she was able to see the part of the room that had been blocked by the bar.

  The back of the room was cloaked in shadows, actual cloaking magic to be sure. She suspected to most eyes they saw only darkness. But Reese caught the outline of two people talking at a table. One was the woman she’d followed.

  Reese took her seat with her back to the couple. She wouldn’t be able to see them from the other seat. At least this way, maybe she could hear their words.

  “It didn’t work!” the woman hissed between song changes.

  Reese glanced over her shoulder and saw the woman from the beach tucked into a deep pocket of shadow. The demon she spoke to remained hidden. He—or she—was wrapped in deliberate shadows with the exception of a pale, bloodless mouth. Reese knew that demons exploited darkness, but she’d never seen one so adept at it. She was more than curious to know who was controlling the dark. Did she know them? If not, from what rock did the creature crawl out from under?

  The chair across from Reese scraped across the floor and Violet settled into it. She rotated her shoulders, shifting the leather jacket she wore. She slid the bottle across the table toward Reese.

  “You didn’t have to,” Reese said, referring to both the drink and the intervention at the bar.

  “Sure I did.” Then directly into Reese’s mind, she added, Channery was about to fuck your soul three ways to church.

  Reese saw that she’d made a small, nearly imperceptible motion toward Cole’s brother.

  In my opinion, he’s the worst demon in town. I wouldn’t spit in his drink for a billion dollars, Violet added. So you’re welcome.

  Reese was honestly touched by the demon’s protectiveness, but she wasn’t stupid. I can’t thank you, Vi. Or you might get the idea that I owe you something. Being indebted to a demon—however chivalrous—invited trouble.

  The demon offered a cocky half-smile. It was worth a try.

  Reese was trying to hear the conversation going on at the table behind her, but nothing was coming through. The next tune—a blue grass remix of another Top 40 hit—now filtered through unseen speakers.

  So what’s really going on? Violet asked, taking a long drink on her own beer. If Kristine didn’t send you for bartender shit, why are you here?

  Reese tried to decide what she could and couldn’t tell Violet.

  “You have your thinking face on,” Violet said, taking another sip. “Last time I saw it, you broke up with me. Should I be worried?”

  Reese flashed an apologetic smile. I’m trying to hear this conversation behind me.

  Violet’s eyebrows arched. Why?

  Reese quickly recounted what she saw on the beach.

  When she finished, Violet turned up her beer, finishing it off in several strong gulps. My advice to you would be to stay out of it.

  Reese had the distinct impression that Violet knew exactly who was in the shadows, making deals with the would-be witch. Why? Reese asked in the same mocking tone.

  Violet laughed. I don’t remember you being stupid about these things. You tend to have a nose for danger. That’s why you broke up with me, right?

  That stung. Violet seemed to realize this and sighed.

  Aloud, she said, “If you’re so bored, Reese, you should come home with me for the night. I’ll keep you busy.”

  Reese Choice 13

  Go home with Violet (ES)

  Call it a night

  Grayson: Now is not the time

  “Abby.” Grayson grabbed her shoulders gently and pushed her back so that she was forced to look at him. “We can’t.”

  She stiffened beside him. The rhythm she’d been trying to build evaporated. “Sorry.”

  Oh god, he thought. She’s going to cry.

  Then the tears were there, standing out in her eyes. Moonlight from the window made her tears sparkle like liquid silver.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she said.

  He suspected he knew.

  Sirens produced powerful sexual pheromones. They aroused their targets so they could keep mating with them. This was supposed to be particularly true for male sirens.

  And while Grayson felt very stupid most of the time, he knew well enough not to say that her feelings were pheromone-induced.

  “It’s been a hard night,” he said, squeezing her against him. He didn’t want to watch her cry. This was easier. Maybe it was easier for her too, as she softened against him immediately.

  “I’m making a fool of myself,” she cried. “You must think I’m an idiot. I mean he isn’t even buried!”

  “I don’t think you’re an idiot,” he said, stroking her hair.

  She pulled back to look into his face. “Who confesses their feelings to their best friend hours after their boyfriend dies? I’m so embarrassed.”

  “Don’t be,” he said. “Nothing has changed.”

  “Everything has changed,” she said.

  “I meant between us,” he said. Then he realized how that must sound. “I mean, we are still best friends.”

  “Is that all we are?” It was such a small, desperate voice that it hurt Grayson’s chest.

  “No,” he admitted. “No, but...” He wasn’t sure how to finish. “Just not now, okay.”

  He wasn’t sure she understood. Hell, he wasn’t sure he was making sense. But she nodded, curling against him.

  Slowly her breath evened out and grew steady. Then she was asleep in his arms.

  I do want more, he thought. He’d wanted more for a long time. But he couldn’t do it like this. Not on the back of Landon’s death.

  He woke to a soft knock on his bedroom door. He opened his eyes and found his mother standing in the frame, one hand on the handle, another on the jamb.

  If his mother had any thoughts about the way Abigail was wrapped around his shoulder, sleeping soundly on his chest, she didn’t say anything. She didn’t even look directly at Abby.

  And Grayson was too exhausted to care. He felt like his eyes were on fire. He couldn’t have slept more than two or three hours.

  “Abigail’s mom is going to be here in twenty minutes. I thought she might want a bagel or coffee before she goes.”

  “Abby.” He shook her gently. “Abby, wake up.”

  At first, her hold tightened on him.

  “Abby, your mom is on her way.”

  She raised her head, auburn hair covering her face. She pushed it back with her hand.

  “Morning,” his mother said from the doorway. She came to the side of the bed and put Abby’s clean clothes on a pile. “I washed your clothes. Or you can just wear those.” She seemed to read Abby’s hesitation. “I can get them back some other time.”

  “Thank you,” Abby said, sitting up. “I appreciate that.”

  “Would you like a bagel and coffee?

  “Yes and yes.” She smoothed her abundant hair out of her face.

  “Blueberry or Everything?”

  “Everything. Do you have any of that garlic spread?”

  His mother smiled, but Grayson saw how it didn’t reach her eyes. “I do.”

  “I’ll take that, please. Thank you.”

  His mother gave him a look.

  “I’ll make mine,” Grayson told her before she shut the door with a nod.

  “I love your mother,” Abby said, stretching her arms overhead.

  “Do you need a washcloth or anything?” he asked. He knew Abby liked to wash her face in the morning.

  “I still have one from yesterday.”

  For a long time they both sat there, not moving, not speaking.

  “It really happened, didn’t it? He’s really dead.” She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. “There w
as a moment when I was just coming awake and I thought—”

  “I know,” he said. The last twelve hours of his life seemed like a crazy blur.

  She took her clothes and disappeared into the bathroom without saying anything else.

  Grayson went downstairs and found the bagels by the toaster. The smell of coffee filled the kitchen. It was some sort of mocha blend. He could smell the chocolate.

  He cut a blueberry bagel in half with a knife and forced it into the slots of the toaster. He stood there while the elements glowed red.

  Landon.

  God, Landon. Was he really dead? Could he really be gone?

  His mind kept bucking against the idea with disbelief.

  Before he considered what he was doing, he had his cell phone out of his pocket. He dialed Landon’s cell—he was the last one to call Grayson—and listened to the empty static on the line.

  It went straight to voicemail.

  “If you’re looking for Landon, you found him! What’s up?”

  It beeped and Grayson considered leaving a message. His mouth was half open. The breath was there between his lips.

  “Who are you calling?” his mom asked. She came through the swinging doors and crossed to the fridge. She pulled out a pitcher of OJ and stood there looking at him.

  “No one,” Grayson said, slipping the phone back into his pocket. “I was checking my messages.”

  It was a meaningless lie, but easier than opening himself up to have a conversation he wasn’t ready to have.

  The toaster spit out his bagel and he took it into the dining room. He sat down at the table beside his father. That left a space between him and his mother for Abby, which already had a steaming cup of coffee and hot bagel waiting.

  “What are you going to do today?” his father asked.

  “I think you should stay home and rest,” his mother interjected. Her fierce blue eyes seemed to challenge his father to argue against her. “You clearly didn’t get enough sleep.”

  His father seemed oblivious to any such challenge as he shoved the last bite of a bagel into his mouth and continued to scroll through his phone, catching up on the morning news.