by Kristie Cook
I stood and left her there in the kitchens. She didn’t try to stop me.
Chapter 17
The Other is interesting. He is bold, but aloof. He is angry. Silent. Brooding. He has his own unspoken war with his brother.
~Bezalial~
My bedroom felt like a stranger’s. It was mine, an organized mess of paper and clothes, the floor a wastebasket for discarded stories and poems. But instead of being comforting it made me dizzy. My cell phone vibrated in my pocket, and I pulled it out. The screen glowed. It was Monroe.
What’s up, Day? What happened to you?
Just a headache. I’m fine.
Hangover, huh?
What?
There’s a rumor you were seen at Everett’s this weekend. When were you going to tell me?
Oh
Day?
Yeah?
You okay?
We need to talk
Sure. Now? Need me to call?
No, in person. Meet me at the library?
Sure. In fifteen?
Yeah.
The minute I pulled into the library parking lot, I felt better. There, leaning against the outside of the building with a hot latte and a bottle of Tylenol was Monroe wearing a pair of tight black leggings and a peasant top complete with platform sandals. The sight made me grin. It didn’t matter if she was upset about the rumor she’d heard. It didn’t show, and it wouldn’t. She didn’t work that way. Not without an explanation from me.
“Just so you know, I owe the bro a whole English paper typed and double spaced for dropping me off here,” Monroe complained as I sauntered toward her wearily. She and her middle brother were forced to share a car.
One look at my face and she thrust forward the latte and Tylenol.
I took them. “You’ll just buy him one off the internet,” I commented.
She shrugged. “Yeah … well, it’s the thought that counts. Don’t knock my sacrifice. It’s going to cost me nonetheless."
Her lip poked out. I tried to laugh but found I couldn’t.
Monroe led me into the library. “What’s up, Day?” she asked seriously. “I’m worried about you. It’s not like you to spend the weekend avoiding me, then the way you left school so abruptly, and the rumor ... what happened this weekend? Did that guy have something to do with it? The one at school?”
She’d given this a lot of thought, and I hated she’d worried.
“I’m not sure you’ll believe me. I don’t think I believe it myself yet,” I murmured.
Monroe walked into an empty reading area and hijacked two cushy chairs in the corner. She fell back into one and propped up her feet.
“That bad, huh?” she asked.
I plopped down on the floor in front of the chair.
Her fingers swept into my hair, plaiting it. “Isn’t the ’you won’t believe this’ crap supposed to be my line? I’m the one convinced Elvis is still alive and living on my street,” she joked.
I snorted. “This is a lot more serious than Elvis and your Marilyn Monroe conspiracy theories."
Monroe’s fingers stilled in my hair. “What’s wrong?”
Her hands moved to my shoulders. It was the compassionate tone of her voice that finally did me in. I started to sob, the tears spilling so fast, my shirt stuck to me. It wasn’t the pretty kind of crying you see in movies either. No, it was the snot dripping, hiccupping, totally mortifying kind of tears you normally reserve for closed bedrooms or bathroom stalls.
Monroe sat up, her arms going around me. “Talk to me, Dayton!”
I talked. I told her everything, beginning with the strange day I’d had the day before my birthday to the unbelievable conversation I’d just had with my aunt. By the middle of the story, Monroe had grown rigid.
“What are you saying?” she asked. “That your aunt is the head of some cult who is now working hand in hand with a Demon she’s supposed to kill?”
I hadn’t expected her to believe me, but the doubt in her voice still stung.
I spun around to face her and grabbed her hands. “I’m telling you that your vision was real! That you can tell me ’I told you so’ if you want to. I don’t know! I don’t know anything anymore! All I know is that the day of my birthday, my life suddenly turned into a twenty-four hour hallucinogenic trip, full of dreams, nightmares, and truths all rolled into one. And I’m scared.”
Her gaze raked my face.
I pulled hard at her hands. “I’ve never lied to you, Roe!”
She looked down at her callous-free, manicured fingers, and I felt like biting off every single polished nail. Dammit! I’d never lied to her!
“Well, there was this one time in second grade—”
I threw down her hands. “My God, Monroe!”
A small smile played wryly at the corners of her mouth. It gave me hope.
“You believe me?” I asked
She leaned back against the chair, her eyes rolled toward the ceiling. “This Marcas? He was the dude outside school, right?”
Her eyes rolled back down to meet mine. I nodded.
She shrugged. “Well, I always did like bad guys.”
I half-laughed, half-sobbed. “You do believe me then?”
She sighed. “I’m not sure I get it, but I don’t think you’d lie to me.”
Silence stretched between us before I suddenly murmured, “I’m scared, Roe. I think they plan to kill me."
Monroe leaned forward. “They wouldn’t!”
I wasn’t so sure.
“Library is closing in thirty minutes,” a voice said from beside us.
We both jumped. The librarian eyed us strangely before turning to walk away. I almost laughed at the absurdity of the moment.
My phone vibrated and I grabbed for it before it could ring. The name on the screen made me cringe. The Abbey.
“Hello?” I answered, peering over my shoulder to scan for the librarian.
“Don’t go home, Dayton!” Amber answered, her voice winded and short.
I glanced at Monroe. “What? Why?”
“Just don’t go home! It’s not safe,” Amber insisted. “There’s no time. Just don’t go home!”
Amber hung up. I stared at the receiver. Her voice had been loud enough I knew Monroe had heard.
I looked up and caught her eye. “You believe me now?”
Monroe stood, her eyes frantic. “Let’s get out of here! You can stay with me.”
I wasn’t going to argue.
***
The Jacobs’ house wasn’t far from the library, and Monroe burst through the front door, her hands cupped over her mouth. “Mom, Dayton’s going to stay tonight if that’s okay!”
Loud banging noises led us to the living room, and I grinned at the disheveled middle-aged woman sitting on the floor outside the living room closet, her hair wrapped in a bright yellow bandana and a dust streak on her cheek. Half the contents of the closet sat in her lap.
“Remind me to just keep ignoring this closet when I decide to spring clean,” Mrs. Jacobs complained as we rounded the corner.
“It’s fall, mom,” Monroe pointed out.
Her mom rolled her eyes. “Details, details,” she murmured, pushing the contents of the closet off her lap and dusting off her pants as she stood. “Hello, Dayton. Fine by me if you stay. The Lady Ky okay with it?”
I nodded.
Mrs. Jacobs clapped and dust fanned off her hands. “Okay, then. Dinner’s ready when you want it. Dad had business out of town, and Robert is about to help me with this mess.”
She headed for the stairs.
Monroe grinned. “Robbie, watch out! She’s reverted to Robert!” she yelled before pushing me toward the kitchen. I stumbled forward.
Once inside, Monroe pushed me onto a bar stool. “So, what are we going to do about all this?” she asked.
I glanced at my phone and shrugged. I’d been trying to reach my sister since we left the library. I wasn’t getting any answer at the Abbey.
“I honest
ly don’t know,” I mumbled.
Pulling a grocery list pad in front of me, I began doodling on it with a pen nearby. “None of this makes sense.”
Monroe pulled the notepad away and replaced it with a dumdum.
She popped a piece of Hubba Bubba in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “My mom may wonder why she needs to pick up Marcas at the supermarket.”
I stared at the notepad, at the first four lines with his name scrolled across it. Then it hit me.
“Marcas!” I cried out before jumping down off the bar stool.
Monroe watched wide-eyed. “We get it. You’re obsessed. Do you have to clue in my family?”
I shook my head. “I need to find Marcas! He can tell me what’s going on.”
Monroe looked at me like I was crazy. Maybe I was.
“You want to go searching for a Demon vampire?” Monroe asked.
I nodded.
Monroe placed her hand against my forehead. “Are you okay? Running any fever? Seeing two Roe’s instead of one?”
I ignored her.
She didn’t take that well. “What the fuck, Dayton? He could kill you!” She gasped, covering her mouth with her hands, her eyes going to the kitchen door.
I frowned. “He’s had two chances to try already, and he hasn’t done anything,” I pointed out.
Monroe snorted. “And if he’s the one your sister is suddenly warning you about—"
I gave her a look, cutting her off. I couldn’t keep living in a hole, always hiding.
“If that’s the case, then he is the one I want to find.”
My words were more courageous than I felt.
Chapter 18
They are the children of a cursed race, Demons partly by blood. Whatever mortality they have comes from their father. I hope it’s enough.
~Bezaliel~
“You’ve totally lost your marbles, you know that!” Monroe hissed as we rounded the corner of Everett’s. I wasn’t sure I disagreed, but I didn’t know what else to do.
“You should have let me call Conor,” she added.
I stopped at the entrance to the alleyway, my gaze searching the darkness. “He would have tried stopping us."
"And that would have been a bad thing?" Monroe muttered under her breath.
I grinned. It probably would have been the wiser thing to do but I had already walked the plank so why not take the plunge?
“What do we do now?” Monroe asked at my back.
I shrugged. I wasn’t really sure. “Call him I guess."
Monroe huffed. “It’s like we’re looking for a dog, not a Demon. Here Marcas, Marcas. Here boy! That’s a good boy!”
I stepped into the alley, the urge to snicker strong. Imagining Marcas as a big loveable puppy wasn’t remotely possible.
“That’s right, Monroe. Goad the Demon,” I prodded.
Monroe harrumphed. “You got a better idea?”
I didn’t. I walked instead of answering, moving deeper into the shadows. Monroe cursed as she followed behind me. I told her she should have left her platform shoes at home, but for her that was sacrilegious. I was thankful for my trusty old pair of Nikes.
Upon reaching the back entrance of the club, I stopped.
Monroe ran into me. “Ow!”
I barely heard her. My attention was riveted on the spot of the wall where Marcas and I had first encountered each other. There were crimson stains on the pale bricks, and I touched it hesitantly. Blood? I could still picture his face inches from mine, my blood on his fingertips.
“Marcas,” I whispered. Gut instinct told me there was no reason to yell. He’d hear me anyway. “Where are you?”
Monroe grew silent behind me. For a long moment, we stood there surrounded by the faint strains of music.
Monroe grew restless. “We should go, Day. There’s nobody here.”
I looked back down the way we had come, my eyes scanning the darkness. More silence, more music, faint arguing. I was just about to agree with her when I felt him.
I glanced around me wildly. The alley was empty.
Monroe stiffened. “What is it?”
My eyes narrowed. “He’s here.”
Monroe’s eyes widened. “Where?”
I didn’t know where he was, but I knew he was there. His presence was like an electrical current, warm and slightly uncomfortable.
“Where are you?” I asked the alley. There was no reply, but I felt him.
Frustration gripped me. “I need answers!”
The energy shifted, becoming less strong, He’d created distance between us.
“Let’s go,” Monroe begged.
Loud voices echoed down the alley from outside the club. Marcas’ energy disappeared.
“Let’s go,” I agreed.
We moved out of the alley and ran to my car. I cast one final glance behind me as we drove away. Red spots shone from the alleyway. It unnerved me. I wanted out of this. I wanted to leave the Abbey and be rid of the whole mess. I’d hoped Marcas could tell me how.
“That was counterproductive,” Monroe said after we’d re-entered her driveway. Neither of us had spoken since the club.
I parked and pulled the keys from the ignition. “He was there, Roe. I felt him.”
I climbed out of the car. She climbed out on the opposite side and looked at me over the top of the Pontiac. “Felt?”
I shook my head. There was no describing it. I just knew he’d been there.
“Geez, Day. This isn’t Star Wars. If he was there, why didn’t he come out?” Monroe asked.
She motioned at the house, and I followed her through the garage and into the kitchen.
“I don’t really know,” I whispered.
Monroe stopped near the fridge and pulled out two cola cans and a plastic container of leftovers. Fried chicken.
We popped the drink cans open simultaneously and took a bite of the battered white meat. I chewed quickly, my hunger decreasing as I devoured the food.
A wave of dizziness hit me, and I looked at Monroe. "Do you have any dumdums?"
She looked up. "You’re thinking of candy now?"
I put my hand to my forehead. Sweat beaded along my brow. There wasn’t enough sugar in the food or the coke.
Monroe’s eyes narrowed. "When was the last time you ate?"
I shrugged. It wasn’t lack of food. I’d always eaten a lot of dumdums during the day. It was my blood sugar.
She sighed. "I have some in my car."
I shook my head and walked over to the refrigerator, grabbing a spoon out of a drawer nearby before dipping it into a bag full of sugar Mrs. Jacobs kept in her refrigerator door. I filled the spoon and shoved it into my mouth.
Monroe shrieked. "Geez, Dayton!"
The sugar dissolved wonderfully on my tongue, and I felt instantly better.
Monroe stared at me. I stared back. I could tell the sugar thing disturbed her, but sweets were something I needed.
“We should call Conor,” Monroe said finally.
“No!” I argued.
Monroe’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
I headed for the stairs at the back of the kitchen. That was a loaded question, and I just wanted to go to bed,
Monroe followed. “Does this have anything to do with Conor’s new potential beau status?”
I rolled my eyes as we thudded up the stairs. “Who uses words like beau anymore?”
We entered the room, and Monroe closed the door behind us before pushing past me to plop onto her bed. Her room was three times the size of mine and crowded with vintage furniture, posters, and knickknacks. I settled on a black bean bag chair next to the white comforter covered bed. The sheets underneath were as black as the bean bag. Monroe had a thing for mixing black and white. It was retro.
“Don’t change the subject,” she warned.
I leaned back to stare at the ceiling. I so didn’t want to go there. “I just don’t want to call Conor on this one.”
Monroe stood and pulled her comforter
back before walking over and pulling out a drawer on the other side of the bed. She and her brother had to share a room once when the Jacobs had renovated their house. Their parents had purchased a trundle bed rather than trying to move two beds into one room. Monroe had kept the bed. It came in handy when I stayed over.
“I think you’re conflicted if you want my opinion. Here, you take the top mattress, I’ll take the trundle. You’re the guest,” Monroe offered.
I moved to the bed. Normally, I’d argue, but exhaustion made me unreasonably compliant.
Monroe watched me. “I’m not letting you off that easy, but you look ready to faint so we’ll rest on it for now.”
I took a pair of black fold over yoga pants Monroe handed me from her dresser. “I’ll take the reprieve.”
I shed my jeans and pulled them on before climbing into the bed. The loose red shirt I had on over a black cami was comfortable enough I didn’t ask her for a shirt. Sleep came immediately.
The bedroom was dark when I woke to find Marcas sitting there watching me, his face highlighted by the full moon outside Monroe’s open bedroom window. It should have upset me, but it didn’t.
“We need to talk,” he murmured into the darkness, his voice louder than it should seem. Not because he spoke loud, but because the moment was too intimate, too clandestine not to make even the smallest voice sound like a yell.
I glanced at Monroe warily, but she never stirred. He’d had his chance to talk to me. I’d sought him out. He’d disappointed me.
“Talking is overrated. Just disappear,” I said coldly.
I was tired of working on everyone else’s schedule rather than my own. And it was late. I wasn’t anyone’s servant. Not a chance. No matter how hard it was for me to shake the heavy weight the lack of truth placed on my shoulders.
Marcas leaned forward, and I watched in both awe and fear as his eyes shone brightly in the darkness. “You can’t even begin to understand how much I’d love to do just that. I tried, but the pull is too strong. My brother’s groupies have destroyed any chance of me going anywhere,” Marcas gritted out.
I bit my lip to keep from cursing. My mouth wasn’t going to help my situation any.