The Mask of the Damned (The Damned of Lost Creek Book 2)
Page 3
He cocked an eyebrow. “And Justice?”
Told you I’m his favorite, but no. I’m not there yet.
“She can’t handle that either at the moment,” I said with a shrug.
A smile filled his face. “Not only do I get the honor of witnessing your first day of high school, but I also get to teach you to drive? That is much more than I thought I’d get the privilege of experiencing. Two more to add to the list,” Price mused when I groaned.
“Please tell me you’re kidding,” I dramatically complained. “You’re keeping a list?”
“Of course.” He smiled. “I missed your first steps, but after seeing you fall into the pond a dozen times now, I think that I’ll get to add teaching you to walk to the list.”
“Hey!” I whined. “Not cool. Shep knocked me in there a couple of times and Cujo was responsible for a few more… At least that’s my excuse.”
“Uh huh,” he said, resting his head in his hand, propping himself up on his elbow, and for the first time since I’ve met him, he appears completely at ease. “You keep telling yourself that. Ellie ordered you the Samsung because it’s water proof, and with your inability to not fall in the water, she thought it’d save us money.”
I made a mocking face.
“In case you were wondering, Cujo’s actual name is Celeste. Cinder Dick and her never got along. He liked her size and alertness, and she liked to make his life a living hell, and that got her the name Cujo. I’m sure she’d appreciate it if someone called her by her actual name. She does love you and will protect you so it’s the least you could do.”
That name is so much better than Cujo and less nightmare inducing.
“I like her as well,” I admitted, “when she isn’t snoring her ass off, hogging the bed or pushing me around. There’s something weird about those dogs, huh?”
He sat up. “What do you mean?”
“They aren’t like normal dogs. I’ve never had a dog before, one that was mine, or seen a hunting dog, but they’re different and possess a level of heightened intelligence that I can honestly say surpasses half of the homies I knew in Philly. I was just curious. I mean, it’s cool, and I’m not going to say anything to anyone about it. I was just wondering if I should listen to her no matter what. I honestly think that Pablo was trying to push me into… The fencing.”
That was close. I almost slipped up there.
Almost slip up? You totally did! This is why I don’t let you cover our ass.
Shut up!
Price’s head tilted to the side. “Why the mess of emotions?”
“One, don’t read me, it’s rude,” I scolded and he chuckled. “Second, I don’t like that horse very much. Pablo is a little bitch that needs to be knocked down a peg or two. But I like Moonshine. He’s not an asshole and keeps me in the middle pasture and doesn’t let me go anywhere near the corral fencing.”
Moonshine is strangely smart and pretty compared to the other horses. Somehow, I ended up with a pet horse when I wasn’t looking. I haven’t ridden him; I’m excessively nervous to even attempt that right now. He’s huge! But when I help Shep with his chores, mainly I watch while he complains about random stuff, the pure black colt with the strange blue eyes follows me around. He became my shadow after I ventured to the west pasture on my morning walk, looking for my Frenchman. Moonshine jumped over the corral fencing separating the pastures and followed me back to the house. I wasn’t sure how to get a horse to stop following me so I just rolled with it.
No one was surprised that Moonshine was following me.
After all, he was segregated from the rest of the population because he was a total prick that kept going buck nutty on everyone and everything he could get a hold of. So of course, he would flock to me like flies to shit.
We’re the animal whisperer of the prick variety.
Great name for an Animal Planet show, huh?
Yeah, we should submit that to producers.
I’ll take it under advisement.
Oh come on! That’s funny!
Mildly. I still can’t believe Price gave us the horse though.
You mean a horse worth seven figured in the breeding and racing world?
Yes.
Just an everyday thing for rich white people right?
Shut up!
“They are... We’ll talk about it when you get home,” Price said.
“Okay.” I smiled and stood. “Thanks again for everything.”
Price laughed for some reason, maybe because I blurt out off the wall stuff that has absolutely nothing to do with what we were talking about, or that I’m so accepting of him putting off everything he needs to tell me but doesn’t want to tell me.
I should be concerned with what he’s keeping from us, but I’m not.
I think we’re both scared of the same thing.
His secrets might push me away, and I know mine will cause him to turn his back on me, on us, so we’re both completely content being kept in the dark to prevent the inevitable.
Yet another thing we have in common.
Daddy is awesome!
Oh whoa. I hate to agree with you on anything, but you’re right, he’s pretty awesome.
Shep complained about the music the entire drive to school, so of course Bleu turned the music up even louder to drown out his complaints. Kieran was smiling, overly amused by the other two.
I was enjoying it even if I wasn’t listening to it and instead was listening to some tracks from my collection. I had my feet on the seat, knees pulled up and was balancing a notebook on them while I jotted down some lyrics, softly singing under my breath.
The twins I met in June aren’t the same twins that are heading to school with us today. They’ve changed, and for the better. They still have the ready to run at any moment thing going on, but they seem happier and less closed off now. They stay in their room less, and attempt to see the outdoors without an invitation.
From what Shep had said, that was creepy and why they were as pale as they are. They used to spend most of their time in their room, now they can be found outside listening to music or absently walking around, as if they are trying to understand what the logic behind being in nature is.
I’m right there with them. I’ve yet to figure out what the appeal of that naturey shit is.
You three are amusing.
I jumped, startled, when something softly shook my shoulder.
Touch us again and you’ll pull back a stump, Puppy!
Be nice.
Bleu turned the music off and pointed.
I pulled my headphones down and turned my music off. After stashing my notepad in my bag, I looked around.
We’ve already been here.
“I know, but it looks different with cars and teenagers milling around,” I mumbled
I’m freaking out, Man.
I giggled. “Shut up,” I said, shaking my head. “No more Super Troopers for you and Simian.”
You’re no fun, but seriously, I’m freaking out here. Anxiety attack from hell!
“You’ll be fine, we’ll be fine,” I said.
“Mikey?” Shep asked.
I looked over at him. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said, forcing a smile. “That’s it: Hell on Earth.”
“What’s so bad about it?” I absently asked, studying the groups of lingering students in the parking lot. “Justice is having a straight up anxiety attack already,” I said. “I promised her that it isn’t that bad, but are they going to try to kill or eat us or something?”
“Oh Lord,” Shep groaned and rolled his eyes. “No more Hannibal binge watching. That’s just wrong.”
I smirked. “‘Not in discernible way. Perhaps the same way gods abandon their creations. You say he hasn’t abandoned you, but at the same time wandering around Wolf Trap in the middle of the night,’” I quoted, just to irritate him and he groaned even louder, causing Bleu and Kieran to chuckle.
“Mikey, you come from the streets of North Phil
ly. You can work a punching bag over better than Ali! Yet you’re scared of a bunch of backwoods butt-monkeys that think an awesome Saturday night consists of drinking the cheapest beer they can steal from their daddy’s huntin’ coolers, tippin’ some cows, stealin’ a tractor, takin’ it for a joy ride then leavin’ it on the 9th green at the golf course, and getting’ a knobber from one of the skankleaders? Seriously, Mikey, you have issues that I can’t even begin to imagine.”
Huh, he has a point and when he goes all hick it makes him slightly endearing and adorable, but I still want to feed him to Dandy.
“White trash impression and sarcasm are much appreciated,” I said.
He smiled wide.
“Misha, it isn’t that easy,” I tried to explain when Bleu parked the SUV next to a bright green Range Rover. “In Philly, it’s very clear which boundaries and lines you don’t cross. They’re literally painted on everything: blue here, black there, red one block over, Latinos three blocks to the east, Asian eight blocks south. If someone comes up to you wearing a smile, you know they’re about to run your pockets or kill you. If you accidentally bump into someone, there’s a seventy-eight percent chance that one of you will get messed up and not in a good way. Anything pawn worthy could cost you your life... Oh my God! I’m carrying like twenty eight-balls worth of pawn worthy shit!”
Welcome to my anxiety attack, Sis.
“I can’t take this shit in there!” I stammered, panicked, my hands gripping onto the strap of my messenger bag.
The twins shook their heads and Shep scratched his. “What’s an eight-ball?” he asked.
I choked on the burst of amusement that broke past my lips. “Are you serious?”
He cannot be this stupid.
“Uh, yeah,” he said and flipped his hair over his shoulder, which is just ridiculous considering it isn’t long enough to flip over his shoulder. “Just because I look like I fell out of Cali and am thugged out, doesn’t mean I know the street lingo in which your thug butt uses.”
Kill me now. For the love of God, kill me.
Yeah, I’m right there with you. How thugged out translates to long blond hair, Levi’s that are older than we are, and a Ramones shirt is beyond me.
“Okay, Thuggabilly,” I said. “An eight-ball is a quantity of cocaine or crystal meth that weighs an eighth of an ounce, hence the term ‘eight-ball’, which is equivalent to three-point-five grams. Understand now?”
Shep raised his hand. “Okay, two things. One, it scares me greatly that you know that. And second, what the fluck is a thuggabilly?”
I laughed. “You don’t want to know the answer to the first question. And the answer to the second is hillbilly meets thug: a person or people that are from a rural area, but act as if they’re from the hood or ghetto. Thuggabilly. Mikhail takes control of the board!”
I did a little victory dance in the backseat.
He shook his head. “Yeah, that ain’t me. I’m so white that I make Vanilla Ice look like he’s part of the Black Panther Party.”
Whoa, did he seriously just say that?
This time I raised my hand.
“Two things,” I said. “First, I’m surprised you know what the Black Panther Party is, unless you’re just pulling it from Forest Gump which is a possibility,” I admitted, and he smirked.
That’s what I thought.
“And second, it doesn’t surprise me that you know who Vanilla Ice is.”
“I got white boy skills,” Shep informed me then attempted to hoochie dance, which he was trying to do in the backseat of a SUV, in Levi’s and a vintage concert tee, with long wavy blond hair.
Yeah, it was possibly the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.
“You totally didn’t get your sister’s rhythm,” I informed him.
He glared at me. “She only has rhythm when there’s a pole between her legs.”
“Ew.” I punched him in the arm, and he cringed, finally realizing how messed up that sounded. “So what am I looking at here?” I asked, turning my attention out the window.
Shep rubbed his arm and looked around. “Okay, that group over there in the skin-tight shirts and the skirts that are so short you can tell that three of the seven forgot to put panties on, are the skankleaders... I mean cheerleaders. The one in the middle with the long dark hair and big boobs is from money: black gold as they say in Texas. That’s the one I was telling you about: Coen and Jaylon’s sister. Their daddy caught his little princess over there with the gardener. I think he was more upset that she was having sex with a Mexican, and not the fact the dude was thirty-five years older than her. She’s a total witch with a capital B and thinks that she walks on water. Those longing for attention and acceptance kiss her jiggly butt for the chance to go to one of the parties at their ranch. Her daddy, Mike Cullens, is the douche that flies over our property in his helicopter. Instead of wrangling their cattle the old-fashioned way on horseback, Captain Douche Bag uses a helicopter. He’s been pestering Price about purchasing some of our land since they relocated up here.”
I nodded.
I think I’ll have a talk with Daddy about taking care of that little problem for him.
No, you won’t. We aren’t killing douche bags because they are annoying.
You’re not fun anymore.
Killing people is never fun. If it were, we’d be a psychopath.
Oh yeah, so much better than being a sociopath, huh?
Technically? Yeah.
Eat the rude.
Whatever, Hannibal.
“Over there you have the skaters,” Shep said, pointing to the large group of teens knocking into each other with boards in hand. “They built a skate park a few years ago, so now every pothead that lives on a paved road thinks they’re a professional skateboarder. Funny thing is I don’t think any of them have actually used the skate park.”
I nodded.
I think I’m getting it.
“It’s the cool thing to be, since there’s a shiny new object of coolness, right?” I surmised.
Shep scratched his head. “Yeah, I guess. Over there are the bible thumpers,” he pointed towards the group with pickets in hand. “Those, by far, are the scariest thing at Anaconda High School. In fact, I think they’re picketing my sister at the moment.”
Oh hell no.
I’m in total agreement with you on that one.
When they aren’t looking…
Deal.
“The football players are all short bus without the mental or physical handicap, so don’t even bother trying to converse with them,” he continued. “Most are good ol’ boys that are as big as roided up gorillas, and just as dumb, from chucking hay all summer. If you use large words, they’ll steer clear of you.”
“Polysyllabic,” I corrected.
“Yeah, that,” Shep said, making a face. “Then there’s the rest of the regular high school cliques, I guess: nerds, band geeks, artistic dorks, trailer park kids, addicts, and a couple of wannabe dealers that sell more kitchen herbs than weed.”
Yeah, I’m getting this now.
And I want to go home.
“Bunk ass shit,” I mumbled under my breath, and he looked at me, confused. “Crap weed usually pushed by a Shisty Nick. And before you ask, that’s a person with a bad reputation of shistieing people out of stuff like marijuana, money, and anything that’s materialistic and can be pawned. They’re assholes with sticky fingers.”
That’s the polite way of saying it.
“Oh yeah.” He laughed. “Amusingly enough, his name is Nick so that’s hilarious.”
“Are there any vampires or werewolves or anything like that I should worry about?” I asked.
If some asshole starts sparkling, I’m out of here.
I’m right there with you.
Shep shrugged. “Not anymore. I think they relocated to Washington.”
Okay, I won’t feed him to Dandy today… But there is always tomorrow.
“I think we’re ready,” I said.
Then again, his ass is on the menu tonight.
“I’ll try not to, but I can’t help if I do,” I admitted.
It was true.
The longer I’ve been in Anaconda, the more accepting I am of Justice. Before it was just a voice of self-preservation and cynical common sense that I struggled to ignore. She talked and I listened. That’s how our life was. Then, she gave herself a name, and is now a constant. Spending time with Price and the family, me referring to me as us instead of I, is weird, but it’s coming more naturally. And, the more time we spend around Price and his brothers, the clearer it is that Justice and I are, essentially, sisters. The way we act, how we argue, the shit we disagree about, it’s as if we’re siblings.
I’m sure if Justice were flesh and blood, her mouth would have gotten her killed by now.
She truly is an acquired taste, one that I’m forced to stomach.
It could be worse. You could be mindlessly walking down a hallway filled with haters and not even realize it.
“Huh?” I asked.
“Huh, what?” Shep asked, startling me.
I stopped and looked around, confused.
We were standing in the middle of a crowded hallway lined with lockers.
“Do that again and I’m calling Price,” I warned.
But I haven’t had any fun yet.
“You’re starting to sound like Dandy,” I grumbled under my breath.
I don’t smell that bad, but I see your point. I’m moody. Feed me or something.
“Did we stop by the office?” I asked.
Already taken care of it. The Principal was just dying to meet me.
“Detention already? Awesome.”
No, she was rather surprised that I requested a change of name on our file.
“I’m terrified to ask.”
Mikhail-Justice Simoeau is now enrolled at Anaconda High.
“Did you ask Price’s permission to do that?”
No. I’ll tell him later.
“He better not deport me because of you.”