by LJ Swallow
Because I don't want to become involved with him. Even though I do. Okay, I shouldn't become involved with him—I'll leave soon, anyway.
The afternoon we met for coffee confused me. The whole time I sat there, I wanted to touch his face, and I wanted him to smooth those long fingers over my hand. Crazy. In the dreams, he holds me, but there's no sensation, and I want to know what it really feels like to connect physically with Jack. With anyone. But mostly with Jack. I must’ve imagined the connection; maybe he doesn’t have the dreams I do, or feel the strange pull to him, hidden behind the awkwardness.
Jack slouches in, eyes down, and walks straight over to his friend. I inhale sharply and my insides dissolve. He's dressed in his hoodie and jeans uniform with soggy sneakers. He’s an ordinary guy, but to me, Jack’s extraordinary. He’s in my mind permanently; whether I'm here or back with the Caelestia, Jack is with me. When he doesn't look over, my stomach fills with disappointment. I guess I imagined the connection I saw in his eyes the other day.
The lesson passes slowly; I focus hard on the lab task. Why do I bother studying? I’m not aware of any other soul hunters integrating themselves into their personas, but I like being thorough. Plus, hanging around and waiting for instructions on where to go next becomes tedious; this way I learn something useful, skills to help hunt demons.
Some soul hunters find this place abhorrent; they’re disgusted by the ridiculous inhabitants. These humans have freedom and don’t realise how damn lucky they are. They’re born with free will and don’t need to work for this in the way we soul hunters do. I know this freedom is why most soul hunters hate them, but humans fascinate me. This inappropriate interest is what's leading to trouble—I find one of them more fascinating than all the others.
Sitting at the front, it takes all my willpower not to turn around and look at Jack, on the off chance he might be secretly looking at me. Like in the cafe when he couldn't stop staring at my breasts, I shouldn't have taken my jumper off but his reaction was funny.
Screw this. I glance over my shoulder. Jack focuses on his computer and doesn't notice. Ironically, considering my last thought, he's taken off his hoodie and I'm transfixed by his bare arms. Muscled, strokeable arms I imagine holding me. Jack's mouthing words to himself as he types, and I wonder if he's talking to himself or maybe singing. If he'd just push that thick dark hair from his face, everyone could see those sculptured cheekbones and deep brown eyes.
Jack looks up, and for the first time in over a week, our eyes meet and stay focused on each other. I hope he can read how much I want his look to hold onto mine. He does. Jack smiles, a hesitant half smile that sharpens his cheekbones.
This is so wrong. What the hell am I doing?
JACK
So I did it. I spoke to Dahlia again. Kind of. Kyle stuck his nose in for the second time, talking over me and inviting her to Craig's birthday. She appeared a bit flustered by him asking; kept glancing at me, so I tried one of my most encouraging smiles, and Dahlia said yes. I hope Kyle isn't hitting on her. Is the three of us plus random new friends a sensible idea for a first date?
First date? Yeah, right, don't delude yourself, Jack. Normally, you ask the girl yourself, and you don't take her to loud bars where shouting at each other will be the only communication. Craig's birthday coincides with a gig for Chaos Ride, the type of band with loud guitars and louder drums. They're friends of mine who’ve played together since they were fifteen, and they’re pretty good. Well, a lot better than they used to be. Chaos Ride gained some success recently, especially since arriving in Leeds. Sam's the lead singer who laps up the sexy-band-guy status and has perfected his edgy, rocker image. He’s the only one of us never short of a girl; he's a good singer, but his peacock performance is laughable.
Faith's on drums. She's there now, dyed blue hair falling across her face as she plays with arms moving so fast they almost blur. Most chicks wouldn't choose drums as their weapon of choice in a band, but Faith's not most chicks, and it’s exactly like her to deliberately choose the unexpected. Even being in a band is strange for her, she's quiet and introverted, which you wouldn't believe looking at her now. Sometimes the band persuade her to sing, and if you close your eyes, you'd think the ethereal voice came from a tall, elven girl. Elven isn't a word I'd use to describe Faith. She hates the attention, prefers hiding at the back with her drums. Craig's into her and has been for years, but neither of them will admit it or act on it.
Kyle's at the bar, and the rest of the guys are nudging and pointing, marvelling at his success. I take a swig from my beer bottle and look over as the conversation about his conquest reaches my ears. A tall girl with blonde hair waits next to him at the bar, smiling and listening intently. I'm stunned by the fact she's with him; the rest of our group is affected by the length of her legs and short, tight skirt. What's weird is that this drop-dead gorgeous, out-of-his-league girl actually looks interested in him.
Kyle brings the blonde over and introduces her as Phoebe, shouting above the music. Close up, she's stunning; she’s stepped out of the fantasies of most of the guys at the table. Perfect skin and teeth, big eyes and lips. And of course the curves. Not my type because Dahlia’s my type. Besides, you never know what lies inside the minds of girls like Phoebe—quite often, it's not a lot.
Everyone offers gruff hellos as she delicately places herself onto a chair at the edge of the group. You've heard the rose between thorns cliché—this rose is so tangled in thorns she's going to suffocate. Although I suspect she might have a thorn or two of her own, something doesn't fit. I glance around the bar expecting to see a group of girls giggling at her trick, but nobody looks. Maybe they're hiding in the shadows; the dry ice and dim lights fill the room, and the wooden tables are so squashed together, it's hard to tell who's with who.
Dahlia's late. I think. Did I say a time? I can't picture her liking this place; she doesn't seem to like crowds much. Or anyone—I've never seen her with a friend. If she comes, it'll be a small miracle.
DAHLIA
The music pours out of the bar as two guys in T-shirts and jeans push open the door and leave. They bump into me, muttering their disdain for the band playing. I hesitate outside the door. For some reason, stepping inside feels like stepping into another world as I move from the fringes of Jack’s world into human lives. Pretending to study is one thing, actively socialising with them completely different. My head shouts run, but the music pounds out the words. Someone behind pushes past and opens the door; a group jostle me through the entrance. Guess the decision's made then.
The noise fades to the hubbub of voices as the band pauses their set. Relieved, I scan the room. This is the sort of place I might watch through a window on the days I amuse myself by studying those I live amongst. Or if one of my assignments requires tracking someone—or something.
Groups of people stick together, not mixing. Some lean across the tables to talk, and others stare absentmindedly into space. The largest number crowd around the small bar. A chalked sign advertises specials between 7 p.m. and 10 p.m. It's 9 p.m. and a few have indulged in the specials a little too much, such as the girl propped up by her friends, long brown hair spilling over her face as she grips their shoulders.
The dishevelled group sitting near the stage catch my eye. More precisely, the tall, dark-haired head member of the gang does. Jack's positioned himself so he can see the door but is currently talking to a girl with blue hair. My blood runs from my face to my toes. Kyle invited me, not Jack. Maybe she's Jack's girlfriend. I ready myself to leave.
“Dahlia!” Jack smiles broadly and waves.
As I approach, the girl with blue hair cocks her head and studies me. Uncomfortable by the girl’s inspection, I look away and sit in the only vacant chair, next to Jack. He grins but says nothing.
Jack wears a black T-shirt with an obscure picture on the front; a round, red symbol I don't recognise. The T-shirt's loose on him, but his toned biceps are visible and distracting. I tear my gaze from appra
ising him, down to his hands, which are flipping his phone over and over.
Everyone at the table stares, and I smile weakly wishing the hell I'd stayed away. Is this some kind of uniform? They all wear black T-shirts over jeans, unkempt hair in different colours and lengths. There's another girl with the group, texting on her phone. She stands out, the opposite to the blue-haired girl who's scowling at me. How’s the blonde girl connected to this motley group?
“Oh. Sorry. This is Dahlia,” says Jack.
The staring intensifies. “Hey again,” says Kyle, “this is Phoebe.”
Phoebe looks up. Her perfect features resemble someone from a glossy magazine, but her eyes are vacant. Phoebe's tall, elegant, and beautiful. Unreal. Her empty eyes widen as I stare into them.
A demon.
5
DAHLIA
Does she know who I am?
I hold Phoebe’s look as long as a human might, then glance away hoping she thinks I'm a jealous human girl; plain Jane next to Miss World. The longer our eye contact lasts, the bigger the chance she'll figure me out. If I don't let her touch me, I should be okay.
Kyle sits close to the demon, grinning at everyone around us, and clearly pleased with the envious looks of his mates. Phoebe strokes Kyle’s leg and switches her focus back to him; he holds her hand, losing himself in her presence. These humans can be stupid sometimes. I drag my eyes away from the pair before one of the guys at the table thinks I'm weird. I realise Jack's talking to me, and I'm missing half of what he's saying.
“This is Faith,” says Jack, indicating the blue-haired girl.
I say hello, and Faith nods in response. She holds drumsticks and taps them on her purple leggings. Her eyes are painted black, disguising how pretty they are. Realising I'm staring at her as much as I did Phoebe, I point at the sticks.
“Are you playing?” I ask
Faith regards me with a screwed-up face and sucks on her lip piercing. “Yeah. Obviously.”
I blink. Polite conversation over, I shift so I'm closer to Jack and out of her line of vision. My knee brushes Jack's and he tenses.
“I wasn't sure you'd come,” he says.
I'm aware of the warmth of his leg touching mine, the hardness of his thigh against my knee. There's an awkwardness—do I move it? Maybe I should because my pulse rate is picking up. I can't do this. Tonight I need to focus on Kyle and his demon princess.
“I'll be back over when we're done.” Faith strolls off, throwing her drumsticks in the air and catching them.
I don't think Faith likes me much, unless her face is normally this sour.
Within minutes, the band screeches back to life, and the noise is horrendous. I resist the urge to cover my ears. Despite the fact Jack talks loudly into my ear, I can't hear anything. His hair brushes my face, and I squirm, the new sensation odd. I give up and shrug at him, palms outwards. He points towards the door with a questioning expression.
We walk into the hallway outside the bar, which is buried in the Student Union. The hallway I now wish I'd remained in. Jack sits on the nearby stone stairs with his bottle, and I hover at the noticeboard nearby, not sure if I should sit next to him.
“Shit. Sorry, Dahlia.” His cheeks turn pink. Do all human guys blush as much as him?
“What?”
“I didn't buy you a drink.”
“That's okay, I don't drink.”
He sets the bottle on the step. “Me neither, much. Craig's birthday.”
“You don't need to justify your drinking habits to me.”
He runs a hand through his hair but not quite out of his eyes. “You don't like the band?”
“I'm not really into bands.”
“What do you like doing?”
There's nothing but curiosity in his voice, but my mind freaks out. This is one of the reasons I don't talk to people; I have nothing to say and my silence says more.
“I mean, we could do something different some time. Me and you. If you want.” Jack breathes out heavily and takes a hasty swig from his bottle.
Relieved he hasn't pushed for an answer, I catch sight of a huge flyer on the wall. Movies. I could do movies. “How about that?”
Jack comes over for a closer look at the poster, beer in hand. “Movie festival? Sure, maybe not all of them though.”
He's closer than ever before, and the beer on his breath is mingled with a freshly showered, spicy scent. Something strange hovers between us, an intensity that pulls me to him. I'm safe with Jack. I can't explain how I know, but I do. Jack stares at my mouth and I frown. His eyes widen and he shifts his look back to the poster.
“Can you even see?” I ask.
“See what?”
Jack’s hair. It annoys me because it obscures his face. I reach out a hand and push his curls from his forehead. My fingers brush Jack’s skin and the deep brown eyes I reveal are a mix of surprise and something else. Desire.
I drop my hand.
JACK
What the hell was that? Dahlia touched my face, and a thousand volts of electricity shot from her fingertips into my brain. It's taking all my will power not to grab hold of her and kiss those lips Dahlia's parting as she looks away. I try to read the signs, but I've no idea what I'm looking for. Misreading signs before has led to embarrassment and the occasional slap across the face. Plus, when I've had a few beers, the signs blur.
Standing close to Dahlia is like drowning. I can't breathe. I'm consumed by her; and like a drowning man, I want to give in and let the peace she brings wash over me. An image of the falling Dahlia from my dreams lands in my mind.
“Did I see you before?” I ask her.
“Earlier today? I was in class.” Dahlia rubs her mouth with her fingertips and a jolt shoots through me again, fuelling my desire to kiss her.
“No. I mean before. Like last year, I came to visit some friends for a few weeks. I'm sure it was you.”
I can tell by her expression, I've freaked her out again. Dahlia dips her head, hair falling over her face. “Yes, but I had to go away.” Dahlia's voice drops. I've said something wrong again. Did I push an event back to the surface, one she wants buried?
“Sorry. It's just...” Just I dream about you, and I don't know why; and I want to kiss you and oh so much more...
In front of me is Dahlia from the dreams, the lost, vulnerable girl.
Dahlia points at the poster again, hand trembling. “The first movie's tomorrow. We can see that?” She shakes her hair back over her shoulders, putting the conversation behind her.
“Sure.”
I grip the bottle, and I'm about to take a drink, when I realise it's empty. “Are you staying? Can I buy you a drink?”
Dahlia turns her rich chocolate eyes to me, a small smile on her face. But her eyes don't smile like they normally do. She's drifted away somewhere, and I didn't catch her.
DAHLIA
Jack leaves me alone and wanders off for drinks. My heart races, and the new world I'm in spins out of control. He remembers me from last year. Does that make me happy? I'm not sure.
Two girls pass through the door from the bar, and towards the nearby bathrooms. Giggling, drunk girls in dresses too small for the winter weather, supporting each other, whispering. The sight of them twinges regret inside; I chose to leave my friends behind and put myself through this daily struggle. No, I can't regret. I made the right choice, and one day I'll get what I want.
As I watch them pass, Kyle and Phoebe walk through the door behind. Slightly obscured by the girls, I push back against the board behind me and let my hair fall forward in the hope Kyle and Phoebe don't see me. Phoebe's hand firmly grips Kyle's, who's sauntering upstairs as if she's his prize. Two guys coming down the stairs double-back their gazes, appraising the stunning blonde whose skirt barely covers her backside.
Shit. Now what do I do?
There's a knife in my pocket, and a soul crystal but only because I grabbed them at the last minute. A small part of me wanted to leave them behind, in case Ja
ck moved too close and wondered why I wander around with a concealed weapon.
Jack isn't back yet and the couple disappear from view. I chew a nail. If I leave, Jack will think I've left because of him, and if I stay, the demon will probably kill Kyle. Will kill Kyle.
I push open the door to the venue, but I can't see Jack because there's a throng of people crowded at the bar, three deep. Crap. I can't wait or look for him; I don't have time.
I smooth my jacket to double-check I have my dagger, walk upstairs, and follow the demon into the winter evening.
6
DAHLIA
Silence covers the campus. I hear a few distant voices, and the music from the band thudding up the stairs, but nothing else. I can't hear what I need to; if my senses were as sharp here as they are back home, this would be so much easier.
Where would she take him?
Tall, grey buildings mingle with the heritage Victorian houses, interspersed with lawn and trees. I know the campus layout intimately and the demons' favourite haunts, their quiet, darkened corners.
I hope a quiet corner is where she's taken him, and there isn't a nearby place full of demons. I'm pretty sure there can't be a nest around here; someone would've told me by now.
Jack creeps into my mind, but I have to push him out. Focus.
I pad across the concrete pavement, towards the huge lecture theatre building. A secluded spot underneath often houses homeless people later at night. I've seen demons amongst them, and I think it's worth a shot. I approach the dank space.
Nobody. Just empty fast food containers and discarded lecture notes blown into a corner.
Maybe I've moved too far into the heart of campus. Phoebe didn't have time to go further. She could be around the Union building somewhere. I double-back and head underneath the concrete slabbed building: ugly, industrial looking grey with rows of tiny windows. My footsteps echo as I walk through; winter shoes don't make for good stalking.