Hidden Worlds

by Kristie Cook

  Wait. No. What day was it?

  Glancing quickly down at the screen of a cell phone next to me, I shook my head to clear it. The date and time glowed neon. I reached for the phone as the numbers blurred together and almost fell over when a hand came down on it swiftly.

  “Hey!” the cell phone’s owner exclaimed before jerking it away and placing it soundly in her purse.

  “Nosy much?” she accused with a screech.

  I flinched away with the pain the sound caused in my head. I’d seen enough.

  It was my birthday and I was sitting on a stool in Everett’s in the early, still dark hours of predawn with a fuzzy head and what felt like a nasty hangover. I certainly didn’t remember getting here but looking at the large number of shot glasses in front of me, it wasn’t hard to figure out why. But even that didn’t make sense. I wasn’t much of a drinker. Especially after last year. And why was my memory of the past day a blank? My head spun wildly.

  “Dayton?” a voice asked warily.

  I turned quickly but saw no one.

  “Dayton?”

  My brows knotted in confusion as the voice called out distantly again. I ignored it and shook my head hard. It didn’t help.

  Suddenly, I needed air. Needed it bad! A hand brushed my shoulder, but I waved it off and stumbled away from the stool I had been sitting on, not quite sure which direction I was going but knowing I had to escape the sudden fuzziness. I was suffocating! The club lights were too bright, the air too hot, the bodies too thick, and I was disgustingly close to being completely and utterly sick. Ugh!

  “Hey, watch it!” someone yelled angrily as I blurred past them toward the door, my head spinning as the lights around me coalesced into a fascinating halo of wavering colors.

  My heart thudded loudly. It was all so strangely beautiful and disorienting at the same time. And I fought to keep my focus as I battled the sudden strange urge to just lie where I stood, becoming as one with this new, overwhelming ambush on my senses—the rainbow of colors, the musky scent of sex, and the intoxicating sound of low moans that filtered just below the flow of screaming music. A stray arm brushed against my breast as I weaved unsteadily, and I gasped. My body was on fire, my breasts heavy, my thighs damp, and I cursed inwardly as I realized I was turned on by the music, by the cacophony of raw need that surrounded me from all sides. Oh sweet Jesus! What had been in those drinks? I really needed air!

  “Yo, hey now!”

  More angry exclamations followed me as I jerked towards the edge of the wall, stumbling over a pair of alcohol besotted lovers on the floor, their movements jerky but obvious. And I quickly averted my gaze, cheeks flaming as I groped for the door.

  “Sorry,” I muttered helplessly as my hand finally found the knob. It wouldn’t budge.

  No! This was fucking ridiculous! I kicked at it but still it wouldn’t budge. I shoved at it desperately.

  “Dammit!” I yelled.

  I pushed at it one last feeble time before finally throwing all my weight into the wooden frame, my hip burning with the impact as air suddenly gushed profusely against my face.

  Ahhhhh. Air! Wonderful. Soul searing. Life giving. Air. I gulped it down hungrily, drinking it, savoring it, indulging in every last merciful breath.

  And then I shuddered.

  Something wasn’t right. The air didn’t taste right. It was delicious but metallic, tainted warm and thick. The alley I looked up to find myself in explained most of the discrepancies, but something still tasted very wrong. Steam filtered fancifully through the narrow concrete passageway, and I suddenly felt very vulnerable, very alone and very afraid. The door behind me snapped shut, and I fought hard not to cry out. I had made a mistake.

  I was female, and I was alone after midnight in a dark alley. This was a bad combination. I shouldn’t have left the interior of the club. Every pore in my body cried out that I was in danger, but I stubbornly refused to believe I was stupid enough to have gotten myself into this predicament. No, I was smarter than that. Wasn’t I? Then again, being here at all, alone, meant I had been stupid. Dammit, why was I here? I inhaled sharply.

  The metallic air hit me again and I froze. I froze because I suddenly realized first what the odor reminded me of and secondly because the sound behind me sounded wet. Something was feeding. A dog maybe? A dog hopefully. Either way, it was in the alley with me and every nightmare I’d ever had and every scene from every horror movie I’d ever seen suddenly flashed through my head, and I cringed against the sudden surge of adrenaline. The alley seemed too narrow, the pale brick walls and dark gravel-filled pavement below pushing at me from all sides. There were only three exits: the door next to me, the street beyond, and a chain link fence behind me. I knew I wouldn’t be fast enough to reach any of them. Any movement would draw attention. My heart beat so hard and so fast, I was afraid I would die of terror before I died any other nauseating way. No, I was being ridiculous. Dammit, why was I here?

  The memories suddenly hit, and I gasped. Aunt Ky, Mr. James, Amber, Sects, a building, angry words, robes, Amber again, Francine, Mott, a chalice, sacrifice, the car, the bar, the drink … Wait! Had something been slipped into my drink? Sweet Jesus! I’d been drugged! Of course! And if I had been drugged then maybe I was hallucinating! Dear God!

  A feeling of betrayal swamped me as I struggled with the images rushing through my head. I almost cried out at the pain that tore at my heart until I remembered I wasn’t alone and that whatever was behind me was hungry and feeding. The sound continued, and I realized quite dejectedly that the only thing I could do was turn around.

  “You reek of fear,” a voice spoke suddenly from behind me, and I squeaked.

  Oh my God! I wasn’t alone. Duh! Of course I wasn’t alone. I had known that, had hoped, however, for some sort of deliverance. Not likely, I realized now as I felt the power of the man behind me slam into my back, encompassing every inch of my body.

  I swallowed hard. “Who are you?” I stuttered, my voice hoarse from fear. I didn’t just reek of it, I was fear.

  The voice behind me chuckled. “Or rather, what am I?”

  I cringed. “Please …”

  A pale hand suddenly gripped my shoulder in crushing cruelty.

  The impact of the wall was barely noticeable, it happened so fast. One moment, I was standing in the middle of the alley, the next; my head was slammed up against a brick wall, warm blood trickling unpleasantly into the collar of my shirt. And then I saw him—dark, ominous, huge. He was dark and he was light, his outrageous height accentuated by a long, ebony leather jacket. His hair was black as obsidian in the night, his face pale as snow in comparison. It was Damon Craig. But then it wasn’t. No, this man didn’t have the scar. I stared dazedly, my eyes traveling his face in fascinated horror. It was the contrast between his pale face and his mouth that brought on the harshest reality of all. Blood glistened from elongated canines jutting threateningly from a slightly opened mouth.

  “I am Eternity,” he breathed.

  His breath was metallic and behind him lay the dazed looking figure of a scantily clad woman, flushed as if in the heat of unimaginable passion. She moaned, and I fought the urge to panic. He was Death. And I was the sacrifice. It all made sense now.

  My mouth widened on a scream that never came as my gaze met his. His eyes were the most appalling of all. I knew suddenly what he was though my brain had a hard time wrapping itself around what it saw.

  “Are you going to kill me?” I whispered.

  He rubbed my hair lovingly before pulling his hand away from the back of my head. I hadn’t even seen him touch me, but there it was. My blood. My blood and his hand. And he looked delighted by the crimson liquid as he slowly brought his fingers to his mouth, his gaze never leaving mine as he sucked at them hungrily. I was fascinated despite the pain and fear as I watched, wondering suddenly if hallucinations could be so devastatingly real.

  He suckled and I watched. Fascinated. Was that really my blood? My blood, his hand, his
mouth, his eyes widening … he stopped. Something was wrong. He growled before suddenly spitting my blood loudly into the dirt at my feet.

  And then he snarled. “Fuck! You bitch!” he accused angrily.

  Black spots wavered dangerously in front of my eyes. This was it. I was dying.

  “What?” I managed before darkness overtook me. Overwhelmed me. Consumed me. Somewhere in the distance I thought I heard him. Thought I felt him swing me effortlessly upward, even thought for a moment we were flying. But no. That would just be absurd.

  “Bait. Damn you, Damon! I ought to have known it’d come to this.”

  Had he spoken? Did it matter? This was, after all, Death.

  Chapter 15

  The Other is a part of her now. I did not forsee this coming, and I am afraid. What does this mean?

  ~Bezalial~

  The dark enveloped us as he laid me gently down on my bed, his jacket falling around us in a strange but comforting cocoon of warmth. He lifted his head weakly. It was almost as if whatever edge I’d seen in him earlier had been filed away, the danger no longer quite so suffocating. He looked younger now with his eyes downcast and hooded. I put him, like Damon, at maybe twenty years of age. They looked so much alike. Damon Craig? This couldn’t be Damon.

  “Why?” he asked me quietly. “Why did you do it?”

  I frowned. “Whaaa…”

  He lifted his gaze. His eyes were old. There was no other way to describe them. And considering my love of words, I could have tried. It was as if the dark, coffee-colored depths had seen more than I’d ever hoped or even dared to see.

  I shook my head. “I don’t understand."

  He stared at me, his gaze moving slowly along my face until my cheeks felt as if they were on fire. Never had I been scrutinized so intensely. And then he sniffed, as if testing the air before lifting himself away from me. His hand swept through his ebony hair, and I felt the agitation coming off of him as he drew himself up.

  “Of course you don’t.”

  He paused, his fists clenched. “And I let my guard slip,” he murmured.

  He paced, and I watched. My body felt funny, fuzzy still, and I curled up into myself. Why was he here? What was he talking about?

  He turned and gave me one final perusal before moving to my open bedroom window. Had we come in through there?

  “You’ve grown, Dayton. I never suspected … unfortunately, you’ll see me again,” he said.

  Part of him exited through the opening. I fought hard to sit up.

  “Who are you?” I managed.

  He disappeared.

  “Marcas,” I thought I heard him say into the darkness.

  The name tore through me. Was this the man who was stabbed in my vision?

  Once again, I faded out of consciousness. It was welcoming.

  I was cold next I woke. The curtains of my bedroom were billowing out from the breeze outside. I had a sudden, faint recollection of a bar, my aunt, a young man with his mouth covered in blood. I tried rolling over, but my body hurt.

  “She did well,” a voice spoke suddenly from outside my closed bedroom door. It was a deep voice, rough and monotone. I shivered.

  “What does this mean for her?” I heard someone ask.

  I fought not to cry out. Aunt Ky! I wanted to ask her to come fix this! To tell me what was going on! But no, I couldn’t trust her. I had never been able to. Something nagged at the edge of my memory, and I fought to remember.

  “She is the Chosen, Kyra. It means a good deal.”

  “She won’t be hurt?”

  “She will end a war,” the man replied cryptically. “She will bring him to me. I can no longer influence her thoughts. That fact alone proves she’s tied to him now."

  Kyra said something then, concern in her voice, but the blackness was once again beckoning and in its depth one word circled out of the gloom. Marcas.

  ***

  Beep, Beep, Beep … oh hell! Damn that old alarm clock!

  Very slowly, I peeked open an eye and instantly winced. The moment I got a glimpse of the sun through my open window, I wanted to hiss. Oh it hurt! My head pounded.

  “Argh.”

  I tried to move, every muscle in my body constricting at once. The clock said 6:00 a.m. My mind tried desperately to figure out the day.

  “Dayton!” Diane yelled from the hallway.

  Memories suddenly assaulted me, her voice a key somehow to the black box my brain had forged around my thoughts.

  I cried out. Had I dreamed it all? The memories were too much! Memory after memory lashed against me.

  “Okay, just think,” I thought frantically.

  I managed to slide myself with an indelicate harrumph to the side of my bed, my mattress rubbing me wrong as I realized with even greater alarm that I was still fully dressed. The jeans I wore were caked in dirt, and the hoodie pushed up against my chest was sprinkled with blood. Oh my God!

  “Don’t panic!”

  I looked around my spartan but paper-ridden room, my eyes catching on the violet curtains billowing softly against the stone walls. My phone beeped suddenly, and I looked around until I spotted it sitting casually by the side of my bed. That was odd. I always kept it under my pillow. The date glared up at me. Somehow, it was Monday.

  I had to work this out. Reaching for a notebook at the side of my bed, I scribbled on it mindlessly, the doodling helping me think.

  I was seventeen now, that much I knew. Saturday had been my birthday. Okay, there was Aunt Kyra … then school … a quarrel with Mr. James over an essay.

  The quarrel, Aunt Kyra, dinner with a stranger, my sister and then … then what? I went blank.

  I thought back over the events again—the quarrel, Aunt Kyra, dinner, my sister. My sister … “I’m sorry.”

  I’m sorry! Oh my God! I had been hit! Everything after that was hazy, riddled with holes. Bits and pieces filtering through my brain, and as I grasped each one, it came to me. Events fell into place hazily. I had been hazed?

  Whatever it was, it had been against my will. Amber had been there. Amber? And then … and then after that … no! Oh, but yes! I had been drugged, dragged to Everett’s and used … used for what?

  “Bait,” I thought sourly.

  The word wasn’t mine. I had been used to draw out something. What? The rest couldn’t be real. The alley, the man, the blood, my bedroom …

  That was a dream. It had to be. If it wasn’t then I had met a … Damn it! It couldn’t be!

  “Marcas,” I thought warily.

  The name weighed on me. The back of my head burned. I knew my hair was matted with blood. My blood.

  “Dayton!” Diane called from the hallway again. “You’re going to be late for school! You can’t afford any more confrontations with the Abbess."

  Her voice sounded so normal. Looking down at the notebook in front of me, I winced. I had scrolled his name over and over again. This wasn’t right! Turning seventeen wasn’t supposed to feel like a nightmare. Maybe I had been drinking. But if I had, I’d have taken Monroe. I needed to talk to Monroe!

  “Oh no! Monroe!” I groaned.

  I pulled myself sluggishly out of bed and made my way painfully toward the shower. It was my day to drive. We had school. And as mundane as that seemed right now, mundane was easier than the alternative.

  When I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, I almost screamed. My face, surrounded by a mass of tangled auburn curls, was streaked with blood. My eyes widened. Were my pupils dilated? My eyes certainly seemed more black than green today, and my skin was pale beneath the tan I had so carefully cultivated over the past summer.

  Lifting up my shirt, I hesitated. Did I want to see what was beneath my clothes?

  I closed my eyes as I shucked the hoodie, wife beater, jeans, and bra all so swiftly, I wondered vaguely why I didn’t feel any pain.

  “You’re too afraid to."

  And then I opened my eyes.

  And there they were.

  The br
uises. Some ran along the sides of my stomach, others were in the shape of vague fingers along my shoulders, and even more disappeared around my back where I knew the worst ones would be hiding along with abrasions from the brick wall he had slung me up against. This couldn’t be happening.

  “Dayton? Are you okay?” Diane asked suddenly from outside the bathroom door.

  I jumped before glancing quickly to make sure the lock was in place.

  “I’m not okay,” I whispered, my gaze on my reflection.

  “I’m fine!” I answered Diane hoarsely.

  I leaned over to turn on the shower, and as I adjusted the knobs I heard her walk away. Relief engulfed me. I didn’t know how to deal with anyone right now.

  The water fell in a comforting stream, the steam rising mist-like from the floor, and I let the tears fall. I wasn’t okay. I had been drugged by my own aunt and some weirdo group and then sacrificed to a … to a … oh for God’s sake, Dayton! To a fucking vampire! This wasn’t okay! And it wasn’t normal. Twenty-four hours? That’s all it had taken for my world to turn into a nightmare.

  Tears poured as I shucked my underwear and moved into the steaming stream of water, tears and moisture mingling as I began to scrub. A vampire! I wanted to laugh hysterically. Why hadn’t he killed me? Was I going crazy?

  I scrubbed harder. And lost time again. Not the drug induced kind, but the "I can’t deal with this right now" kind of time.

  The next thing I knew I was dressed and moving toward the stairs, so full of anguish I didn’t even remember getting out of the shower.

  “You hungry?” my sister asked as I entered the kitchen.

  I stood there, staring at her. Who was she?

  Amber looked up. She started to move toward me just as a figure glided into the kitchen.

  Amber froze. “Aunt Ky,” she greeted, her gaze flicking from my aunt back to me. I knew what they saw.

  “Oh, Dayton,” Aunt Kyra sighed.

  She walked over to a prep table we kept shoved against the kitchen wall and pulled out a chair. I continued to stare.