“I . . . met them on the internet.”
“You invited strangers from the internet here?”
“We’ve been talking for—a while.”
Uneasy after our run-in with Dad’s copy, I feared Ben served as another vessel for the Institute’s agents. But his presence itched my wizard sense. The Dreamhaven confined him, too, but he didn’t yet know it.
“What’s that?” Ben asked, pointing at a smattering of blood on Alison’s jeans. Imperceptible in the darkness, the bright red popped under fluorescent lights. A clammy horror overcame me. Our whole plan was about to unwind.
Alison spied the stain and fretted. “I . . . was working on a costume for Halloween.”
“It’s April.”
“I celebrate Halloween year-round. It’s”—she searched the room until she found a hanging calendar with a picture of Jesus—“a religious thing.”
Ben looked askance, his chocolate-brown eyes making a case for the implausible. He didn’t buy the story, but he didn’t press it, either. Blake walked into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and pulled out a water jug. He got Alison a plastic cup from an adjacent cabinet over the microwave and poured her a glass, which she greedily drank. Blake came into the living room and handed me a cup, too, and I drank until my throat no longer felt like a scratchy deathtrap.
Alison poured herself another glass and drank some more. Satisfied, she set down the glass and let out a powerful grunt. “We almost died getting here.”
“Ben, we need to talk in private. Can we use your room real quick?” Blake said.
Ben shrugged. Blake nodded to the hallway that led from the kitchen to the trailer’s rear. We followed the narrow passage into Ben’s room. A huge bed swallowed most of the space, with a tattered patchwork quilt atop a mattress. Schoolbooks were piled high on his dresser. Unlike the rest of the house, Ben’s room smelled cute, like bubblegum. Alison squeezed between the bed and the dresser and checked Ben’s wardrobe.
“He seems nice,” she said, sifting through twenty differently colored polos.
“I like the new look,” Blake said.
Alison turned and saw Blake flashing her a playful grin. She put her arms around his neck. “I’m rebranding.”
“Really?”
“No.” And with that, she pecked him sweetly on the lips. Blake reeled her in for a second kiss. A smile spread across her face.
The digital clock on Ben’s dresser read 11:30. “You guys,” I said, waving. “We’re running out of time. And we still need to get Hunter.”
“He might be at Scott’s party. And if not, someone there will know where he is.”
“We’re going over there covered in blood?” I asked.
“Why are you two covered in blood anyway?” Blake asked.
“We had to kill J’s dad,” Alison said.
“It wasn’t really my dad. It was one of those copy things Luther mentioned. The Smiths can take over their bodies.”
“That’s creepy,” Blake said, looking unsettled as he left the room.
“That boy out there is a wizard,” I said to Alison.
“And?”
“Shouldn’t we get him out too?”
“Yeah right, J. He wouldn’t even believe us.” A soft agony filled her face. “I didn’t even believe you at first.”
Blake returned with two black shirts. He handed one to Alison and the other to me. Alison took the shirt and walked into the hallway bathroom. Blake’s sturdy shoulders stretched broader than mine, so the big shirt swallowed me. Alison came back in with the shirt hanging off one shoulder because it was too big for her too.
“How are we getting to that party?” I asked Alison.
Alison searched her pockets and pulled out a paper slip with someone’s phone number scribbled on it. She stared at the digits painfully, like their presence alone chewed her up inside. “Tiffany gave me her number, in case I needed a ride. I don’t have my phone, though.”
Blake left the room, and came back with Ben’s phone and handed it to Alison. After a short exchange, Alison hung up, but she didn’t return the phone. She held it like she didn’t want to let it go—to let any of this go, not even after Dad’s copy tried to kill us.
“She said she’d come get us.” Alison handed back the phone. “We need to wait outside, though. She’s not going to know which trailer we’re in.”
Blake noticed Alison’s sadness but didn’t say anything. She didn’t like people pushing her to talk about her feelings. She’d tell us when it suited her.
Blake returned Ben’s phone as we headed out the door. “Where’re you going?” Ben asked.
“A party.”
“Can I come?”
Alison led Blake away. “Sorry, invite only.”
We headed outside and waited fifteen minutes before Tiffany’s Lexus pulled up. Alison slid into the passenger seat next to Tiffany, and Blake and I hopped in the back.
Tiffany turned and studied Blake. “Who’s he,” she asked Alison.
“My boyfriend.”
“He’s cute.” Tiffany sized up Alison’s outfit. “What are you wearing?”
“I didn’t get to change. I had to borrow one of Blake’s shirts.”
“I’ve got some stuff in the trunk. We’ll look through and find you something when we get to Scott’s.”
Hearing Alison talk like that reminded me of when she joined the football team back in middle school, to impress her longtime crush: Todd Pilkerton. He used to rave about the Chicago Bears, so Alison had spent hours on Wikipedia, teaching herself about the sport. Football research bored her, though, and they grew apart when Todd realized they didn’t share any of the same interests. To me, Alison usually talked about punk bands and obscure cult horror movies, but with Tiffany she changed into someone else. Which was the real Alison? The one I knew, or the one sitting and babbling about makeup gurus?
North Misthaven’s sprawling mansions, with their slate rock walls and fields that ran for miles, rested deep in the country. Tiffany abandoned the main road for a rutted driveway that led to a log house perched on stilts along Lake Misty’s shores. Cars filled the driveway, but a gravel lot out front provided additional parking space. Tiffany wedged her car between two jeeps then got out and headed for the trunk with Alison. Alison borrowed a fuzzy pink jacket and some heels but kept her jeans. We walked to Scott’s house and climbed a staircase to a deck that encircled the home like a hula-hoop. A tall guy in a letterman jacket puked over a rail near the front door. His teammate patted him on the back.
Rap music blared through the cracked front door. We ducked our heads as we walked in right as the mist crawled out from the forest and started snaking through the parking lot, slowly covering everything. Although the entrance lacked refinement—just an alcove with an end table and a fallen-over coat rack—the A-frame parlor faced the lake. A smoky fog bank covered nearly all the water, though. Drunk teenagers packed the room from corner to corner, jabbering loudly and sipping from red plastic solo cups. I scanned the crowd but didn’t spot Hunter.
“Come on, let me get you a drink,” Tiffany said. She waved for us to follow then burrowed into the throng. Lacking party experience, Blake lit up upon seeing the festivities in full. Either the AC was broken, or the crammed bodies produced heat at atomic levels. Colognes, perfumes, and raging hormones combined into a heady mixture that smothered me like a horny teenager’s Burberry-scented pillow. In short: I wanted to die. Thankfully, Tiffany quickly led us through the living room and into the kitchen, where the claustrophobic mob thinned out to a few clusters huddled together. In the middle of the kitchen, the island overflowed with half-drunken liquor bottles and opened plastic cup sleeves. Hunter was leaning against a wall at the entrance to a hallway. His verdant eyes fixed on me when I walked in. He clamped his teeth on his cup’s rim, like he’d stopped drinking to stare at me. Sco
tt and two other guys talked to him, but he didn’t look too invested in the conversation.
“What are y’all feeling,” Tiffany said, gesturing to the drinks.
Alison bumped me with her elbow. “Go get him,” she whispered while pointing Tiffany toward a bottle. But I couldn’t just go over there and kidnap him. I needed to jog his memory, but going off on a tangent about our old lives as wizard boyfriends didn’t sound too sober—he’d laugh and think I was high. I needed more time, but we didn’t have any. What was time in this place? Too much going on. People surrounded us and the heat choked me. Panic set in and I felt blood rushing to my head.
“I have to get out of here.”
I bolted out of the kitchen, down the hallway past Hunter and his friends. Six kids in a line blocked access to the downstairs bathroom, so I ran upstairs and walked into the master bedroom, then into the lavatory and slammed the door. I ran some water at the sink and splashed my face before taking a few deep breaths. Blasting off into full-blown panic didn’t help anything, but parties always did this to me. The racket downstairs compromised my ability to think, and right now, I really needed that intact. I had to get back in there and convince him to follow us. Somehow.
I went to leave and turned the knob, but the door didn’t open. It was jammed. I thought about kicking it down, but I didn’t want to draw attention. The Institute didn’t currently know our whereabouts in the Dreamhaven. That much was clear; otherwise, at least a few partygoers would’ve turned into agents and tried to kill us. My earlier suspicion the Institute’s powers had serious limitations in the Dreamhaven proved true so far. If we didn’t hurry, we risked the Cave of Miracles closing before we got there. Then the Institute would have plenty of time to hunt us down. Right then, the door opened and Hunter walked in. My heart stopped. I raised a hand, wordlessly warning him not to shut the door, but he did anyway.
“Sorry,” Hunter said, “I didn’t know anyone was in here.”
“The door’s busted.”
Hunter turned the knob. “Shit. You’re serious.”
“It’s not really the kind of thing you make up.”
He left the door alone and headed for me, awkwardly stopping just short. “I’ve got to pee.”
I was in his way. Embarrassed, I stepped aside and faced the door so he wouldn’t think I was looking.
Now what? I couldn’t just stand there. If the direct approach failed—telling him the truth—few options remained. Kidnapping him sounded good. It wouldn’t be that hard either. He stood a little shorter than me, and I’d won every bed-wrestling match he’d challenged me to (although he usually just giggled and let me pin him). But I didn’t need him screaming and alerting his friends. They might turn into agents and kill us. A much simpler idea sparked in my mind. I searched the bathroom for something heavy. I’d knock him out and drag him outside like a caveman, and call Alison and Blake to help me toss him in Tiffany’s car. Okay, bad idea.
Hunter flushed the toilet and washed his hands in the sink. He leaned against the counter after drying them off and patted the space next to him. “This is pretty funny,” he said. I sidled up beside him. “We could kick in the door.” His words slurred.
“Do you have your phone?”
He searched his pockets. “Man, I left it with the guys.” Even if I restored Hunter’s memories and we escaped the bathroom, it was well past midnight. Braving the mist to reach the cave wouldn’t be easy—assuming Luther was still waiting for us. Hunter bobbed his head drunkenly. He stunk like every liquor bottle in that kitchen. But he also had on this cute athletic cologne, a mix of bergamot and mint that made me want to bury my face in his shirt. “Where’d you go today after homeroom?”
“I skipped.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t want to be there.”
“Can I tell you something weird?” he said. “I feel like I know you. I know we just met, but I feel like I’ve known you for a long time. Like I can just tell you anything. I’m being weird, huh?”
“No.”
“Am I talking too much?”
“I like hearing you talk.” I could listen to you talk all night. If I could only hear one thing for the rest of my life, it would be your voice.
Hunter spun toward me. “Do you like me?”
No point in lying. “Yeah.”
“Can I kiss you?”
A pleasant surprise. We barely knew each other in this world, but even here you couldn’t keep us apart. We were like two speeding trains on a collision course. “Yeah.”
Hunter pinned me against the counter and brought his whiskey-tasting lips to mine. His sloppy drunk kiss didn’t tower as history’s most perfect embrace, but it still hushed the noisy world, made us feel like two fools lost in a daydream. Our passions flared. He pushed me up against the sink until I was sitting on it, then he ran his fingers up my shirt and I cupped his face in my hands. Something sparked between us then, like a supernova exploding between our lips.
Gently, he pulled away, his face warped with confusion. “Johnny? Where are we? Is this the Institute?”
“Hunter? You remember the Institute?”
He groaned and didn’t say anything back, but I could tell: his memories had returned. All that true love’s kiss bullshit wasn’t so silly after all. Hunter grabbed my knees and strained. I thought he might kiss me again, but instead he threw up on my shirt.
Chapter 9
Hunter lay at my feet, passed out on the bathroom floor. Drinking himself into a slobbering coma suited Hunter’s brand. I still needed to get that door down. I thrust my foot at it—it shook but remained in place. Damn thing was sturdier than a redwood.
Hunter groggily got up halfway and leaned against the cabinet below the sink. He put a hand to his head and squinted painfully. “Johnny?”
“I’m going to get us out of here, Hunt,” I said. My foot landed against the door with another futile thud. Frustrated, I reeled back and swung at it one last time, but the door flew open, and I smashed some guy in the shin. A couple had been kissing on the other side.
“Ow! What the fu—” said the guy.
“What’s your problem?” his girlfriend yelled at me.
“Door’s busted, sorry! We needed to get out,” I explained. I slung Hunter’s arm around my shoulder and hoisted him. He wobbled up and stabilized himself.
“What’s going on, Johnny? Why do I feel sick?”
“We don’t have time, Hunt.”
I rushed back downstairs with Hunter. Scott gave me a funny look when I walked in shouldering him. “What’s wrong with Hunter?” he asked.
“Who’s that guy?” Hunter muttered.
“He’s really drunk,” I said.
Scott sighed and shook his head like this was nothing new for Hunter. “One of us’ll get him home.”
“He wants to come with me.”
“I want to go with Johnny,” Hunter said.
Alison chattered with some girls near the island. Blake lounged bored on a stool nearby, munching on some chips from a big bowl.
“That palette’s horrible. So chalky and gross. I found one at Ulta for, like, twelve bucks—”
“Alison,” I said.
She turned and saw Hunter hanging off me like he was about to sink to the floor, and excused herself and pulled us aside with Blake. “J, you didn’t drug him, did you?” she asked quietly.
“No, Ali, he’s drunk.”
“Let’s hurry back to Luther’s,” Blake said.
“What’re y’all talking about?” Hunter said. “Is anyone going to tell me what’s going on?”
“All in good time, country boy,” Alison said. We headed back into the crowded living room. Alison spotted Tiffany talking to some people. “Hey, Tiffany, we have to go.”
“With Hunter?” Tiffany asked.
“Yeah, he’s supersick and
wants us to take him home.”
Tiffany held up a cup. “I’ve been drinking. And it’s misty outside.”
“I’ve got a truck . . . I’ve got a truck?” Hunter said. He was like me when I first woke up in the Dreamhaven. His real memories struggled against the fake ones the Institute had implanted. At least this Hunter came equipped with a vehicle.
“I’m driving us in Hunter’s truck,” Blake said. “I’m the designated driver, anyway.”
Alison gave Tiffany one more clumsy goodbye and we left. Outside, the mist had chased everyone who’d been on the deck earlier inside. Scott’s noisy rager drowned the strange sounds bubbling in the mist, but the farther we moved from the house the clearer the noises grew: hums, hisses, shrieks, and yelps sang a haunting medley. It made me want to move faster.
Hunter pointed to a new-ish red pickup truck with hardened mud covering the undercarriage. “That’s mine.”
We walked to it, and Hunter prodded his pants until he found a key. Blake grabbed it and headed for the driver’s side. “Load him into the back.”
I helped Hunter into the back seat, and he plunked face forward with a groan. He pulled himself together, slowly sitting up. I slid in after him. Alison jumped into the passenger seat and looked back at us. “Are his memories back?”
Hunter dropped his head in my lap. “Yeah,” I said as Blake slipped the key into the ignition. The engine rumbled to life, and he backed out and we speedily drove away.
“What’re you guys talking about?” Hunter said.
“Hey, gay cowboy, who are we?”
“What?”
“Just answer the question, Romeo.”
“You’re that goth chick that never shuts up, and I’m lying on Johnny, and I think Blake’s driving.”
“Your milquetoast boyfriend is charming as ever. How did he get his memory back?”
“I don’t know. I kissed him and . . . bam.”
Alison gave me a ludicrous look then mouthed the word “okay” and turned around.
“We’re going to have to sober him up,” Blake said. “We don’t know how dangerous the journey to Luther’s cave is going to be. We need him close to a hundred.”
In the City of the Nightmare King Page 7