Cold Fire: A Paranormal Novel

by Shaye Easton

  “Melissa,” Caden says, breaking through me, hacking at the stone. It flakes off my skin and is swallowed by the looming night. “We need to go. We need to grab Sara, and we need to get out of here. Now.”

  A classic example of Caden taking action while I just stare.

  I shake my head. “What about Lauren?”

  “Lauren will be fine.”

  Caden’s been looking at me for all of two seconds, but when he swings his gaze back to the backyard, he curses. “They’re gone.”

  I peer towards the yard. The box Sara had been sitting on is vacant. Both she and Kira are nowhere to be seen.

  That’s when the party erupts in noise. And not the kind of noise you’d expect at a party. The music abruptly stops, and shouts and screams rip through the night. Suddenly everyone is rushing out the back door and escaping hurriedly into the darkness, scattering like ants whose nest has been sprayed with pesticide.

  My heart is already pounding in my chest, nerves twisting in my stomach like worms, but I don’t let myself freeze with fear. We rush forward as people rush out, an endless stream of drunken teenagers with fright smeared onto their faces like paint. By the time we’re in the living room, the house is almost completely empty; the last stragglers were running out the door behind us or out the front, making it hard to miss the three girls in the centre of the room.

  Caden and I freeze in our tracks.

  Because there’s Sara, silent and shocked, standing off to the side. There’s Lauren, staring paralysed and wide-eyed down the barrel of a gun, a full cup of beer still in her hand. And there’s Kira, smiling wickedly. Her black eyes lit up with mischief, aiming it at her. No one moves.

  “Oh good,” Kira says. “You’re here.”

  “Kira,” Caden placates, sidestepping slowly into the room. “Put down the gun.”

  She laughs. “You think I don’t want to? I hate these things. They’re so tacky and bulky, and so damn easy to forget at home. But for all their flaws, they’re strangely effective at scattering the roaches. A couple rounds into the ceiling, I find, always does the trick.”

  I let my gaze trail upward. Sure enough, there are three jagged holes in the ceiling, the plaster peeling and cracking around them.

  “There could have been people upstairs,” I say, drawing my gaze back down. “You could have shot someone.”

  Kira’s jaw falls open in pretend shock. “Whoops. I guess I forgot to think about that.”

  Caden’s stopped moving. “Let go of the gun, Kira.” It’s a warning as much as it was a plea.

  “God, if I’d known you were gonna give me so much shit about the gun, I’d never have brought it.” She flips it around in her hand so that she’s holding the barrel, and then throws it boomerang style through the open front door.

  “Happy now?” she asks. There’s the barest hint of a smirk—our only warning—before she throws both arms up, fingers clawed. Lauren and Sara rise rapidly into the air, and they hang there, hovering, defying physics, choking as if Kira’s holding them up by their necks. Only Kira’s nowhere near them.

  My mind races to debunk the trick, looking for the clear cord holding them up, or the invisible pulleys on the roof. But this is no trick. This is an underwalker at work. This is the invasion of the otherworld into our logic-obeying reality.

  Sara’s face has gone blood-red. Her eyes bulge. She peers down at Kira, as furious as she is scared. Lauren just panics, eyes fluttering, hands clawing at her throat.

  “You see,” Kira says. “I’m under orders to kill someone tonight. If the pyrokinetic failed to obliterate you, my job was to lure you here and do it instead. It doesn’t always feel good being the back-up, the second choice, but it does feel good to watch you squirm. It’s not exactly personal, but it kind of is. And if Mr. Pyromaniac failed, I won’t.”

  “But I’m feeling good tonight—I blame it on the alcohol—so here’s the deal. I’m going to let one of these two go and you have to pick. Innocent Lauren or Queen Bitch Sara, who, by the way, is really only a bitch to make up for the fact that she’s broken inside. It’s quite sad actually.”

  “Fuck you,” Sara gasps.

  Kira widens her eyes, mock offended. “Not very pleasant. You have one minute to decide, starting now.”

  “We won’t play your games, Kira,” Caden says.

  “Oh, I think you will. Because if you don’t pick, I will. And I’m not known for making good choices.” She smiles to herself. As she’s been speaking, a line of scarlet has slowly trailed down from her nose. It glistens in the warm, low light. She doesn’t seem to notice.

  Above us, both girls are still struggling. As much as I dislike Sara, watching her squirm and writhe and fight for survival turns my stomach. But Lauren…I can’t even look at Lauren, can’t bear the thought of her hurting, even if we haven’t been on the best of terms recently. Deep down, I know which one I’d pick to save. But it’s a whole other thing to take that decision and act on it. To play god and decide who should live and who should die.

  “Time’s-a-tickin’,” Kira prompts. The blood has trickled over her lip. It bleeds into her mouth. It makes her pretty face grisly and horrific.

  “Lauren,” Sara gasps, her voice barely more than a rasping breath. “Choose Lauren.”

  “How self-sacrificial of you, Sara. But it’s not up to you, is it?”

  Sara’s chest hiccups. Lauren makes a horrifying gurgling sound as she chokes. I feel all the blood drain from my body.

  “Stop it!” I yell. “You’re killing them!”

  “You know the rules, Melissa,” Kira spits back. “One lives. One dies. Pick.”

  But she doesn’t have a gun anymore. She has no way to protect herself except by using her powers. And they’re already draining her of energy.

  As quickly as I can, so she has no chance to stop me, I throw up a palm, intending to knock her over like I did with the pyrokinetic. But nothing happens. Kira sees me and laughs, a manic cackle that reveals crimson stained teeth, blood gathering around her gums and in the gaps between each tooth. I swallow.

  “That was adorable. Did you really think you could use your powers? You’ve been swapped, hun. They’re not going to work.” Her words are slurring, a result no doubt of her exhaustion and inebriety. Louder, she says, “Last chance! Time to make a decision!”

  I can’t pick. I can’t say anything. My life has become a horror film and all the side characters are dying. And I can’t do anything to stop it.

  “Time’s up! Okay Lauren. See ya later.”

  And before anyone has time to react, she draws her left hand down and flicks her wrist. Lauren is flung to the left, her body sagging over itself mid-air as if she’s been kicked in the stomach. She hits the ground with a fleshy thud and rolls across the wooden floor, straight out the front door. The door promptly slams behind her.

  It’s in that moment I realise she didn’t choose to kill Lauren. She let her go.

  Which means—

  “Kira, don’t!” Caden yells.

  “Relax. I’m not going to kill Sara straight away. I want to have a bit of fun first.”

  “I think you’ve had your fun already. You got your wish. You got to see us squirm. Now let her go.”

  She shakes her head and sneers. Two fat droplets of blood fall from her nose and splatter on the floor. “My wish is to see Melissa dead. Actually, I wouldn’t mind killing all of you.”

  “Then why don’t you?”

  “Because I’m not an idiot,” she snarls, the blood running over her chin, down her neck. It trails over her chest, between her breasts, vanishing below her low-cut top. “I know you’re not completely incapable of defending yourselves. You see, it’s like a game of roulette. Play once, and I stand a good chance of winning. Play twice or three times, and I’ll probably get shot.”

  As she’s been speaking, she’s slowly circled the edge of room, Caden and I sidestepping in the opposite direction to avoid her. Now she stops, standing in front of the hallw
ay that leads out into the backyard.

  “The beauty in killing Sara,” she continues, “is I only have to play once. But I win twice.”

  “Then why save her?” I ask. “Why stop the ghost?”

  This catches her off guard for a moment, but her surprise is quickly overshadowed by a wry grin. She lifts her chin. “Because I wanted to be the one to do it. I wanted to be the one to kill your hope.”

  Beside me, Caden’s shaking his head. “That doesn’t make any sense,” he murmurs. Then louder: “Why do you hate her so much? Melissa hasn’t done anything to you.”

  “Oh, I don’t hate her. I just really don’t like her.”

  But Caden’s onto something. “Why?” I ask.

  Kira laughs. Blood is flowing from both nostrils now. It spills over her lip and cascades down, splattering on the ground. Above her Sara is still struggling for breath, legs twitching, arms flailing, face red and swollen. The whole scene makes me want to vomit. “Well, isn’t that the question of the decade?”

  “Answer me,” I spit out through gritted teeth.

  “Wait,” Caden says, “Decade?”

  “Well, as nice as this has been,” she says, ignoring both of us, “I have other things to get to today, so let’s make this quick.” She lifts her arm higher, raising her clawed hand like a prize, like she holds our future in her hand. And I guess she does. “Time to say goodbye.”

  It’s back to the familiar routine: freezing up, bones to stone, hiding away inside of myself as though that can save me from the wrath of the world. Caden steps back, shifting his arm as if to do something. Sara releases a gargled cry. Kira’s fingers twitch with the beginning of movement.

  Then suddenly there’s a thump as something hits her in the head. She collapses to the ground, face smacking the wood. I stare in shock at where my friend stands behind her, a bat in her hands. The house is dead silent.

  “Lauren?” I say, astonished.

  Lauren drops the bat, breathing hard. “You’re welcome.”

  Then the window next to her explodes inward and all hell breaks loose.

  Chapter Thirty

  There’re glasses flying everywhere.

  I don’t know where to look: at Lauren, collapsing to the ground; at the dark stranger who’s just jumped through a window on the other side of the house; or at the source of the screaming.

  Before I know it, I’m running, ignoring the man getting to his feet, ignoring the shouts behind me, ignoring the sound of smashing and screaming and grunting—ignoring everything.

  It’s not until I reach Lauren and my eyes land on her still form that I realise I’m the one screaming. I clamp my mouth shut, and it stops. I feel my body freezes up as shock takes over. I don’t know what’s happened to her, but there’s blood slowly spreading outwards from the centre of her chest like a dark stain and she’s not breathing.

  Oh, god, she’s not breathing!

  I collapse to my knees and suddenly everything feels heavy and dull, like I’m breathing in murky water. The world tilts sideways, then back around, my vision zooming in and out of focus. “Lauren,” I say, but no sound comes out. I’m wading through an infinite sea, trying to reach her, but she’s too far away—too far gone.

  “Lauren?” I say again, only this time the word comes out quiet and afraid. The blood is everywhere, soaking through her clothes, puddling on the floor, seeping into the ends of her hair. I know I have to check her pulse, but when I make contact with her wrist, it feels sticky and wet.

  My heart is pounding, blood rushing to my ears as I draw my hand back and stare at my fingers. They’re bright red.

  That’s when the hysteria sets in. Suddenly my lungs aren’t big enough to hold all my breath. I choke on the air I breathe, my shoulders quaking, my chest rising and falling violently. I snap my hand back around Lauren’s wrist, squeezing it into extinction when I can’t find a pulse, yelling her name, yelling for her to wake up. I’m panicking and I know it, but I can’t stop.

  Her eyes are wide open, staring vacantly at the ceiling. She’s not Lauren anymore. She’s dead. Somehow my friend has been reduced to a lifeless body, and it’s even harder for my mind to comprehend than any supernatural ability.

  “Melissa, she’s gone! You have to get up!” I don’t know where the shouting comes from—it seems to be everywhere at once—but I recognise the voice. Caden.

  I feel a hand on my upper arm—feel someone’s nails sinking through my shirt, into the skin—and I react. A scream rips from my throat as I throw my arm backwards, shooting the person to the wall with a loud thwack. I’m not me anymore. I’m someone else, someone shaking and enraged and merciless. I’m an animal, blindly and violently defending itself, lashing out at anything that comes near.

  I get to my feet just as a muscular man with a face like a bulldog comes charging towards me and my arms shoot outwards on instinct. He flies back before he gets within even a metre of me, smashing into a bookcase that collapses on top of him.

  Then I notice my scarlet hands still outstretched in front of my eyes. They’re covered in blood—Lauren’s blood—and I can’t stop staring at them. My emotions smashing together like wild boars. I’m freaked, hysterical, petrified, dejected and fuming. The emotions are trapped within me and I don’t know what to do with them.

  There’s a noise behind me and I whip around just as a platinum blonde is closing in on me. She’s too close for me to be able to use my ability, so I grab her bare hands and squeeze. The lady gives a shrill cry. The smell of burning flesh wafting up between us. However, she’s still stronger than me and she inevitably pulls her hands back, her eyes alight with fiery rage. I lift my hands towards her face, intending to do to her what I did to Newman.

  It’s a mistake.

  Her hands go straight for her waist where she’s got a gun tucked into her pants. As I move forward to press my ice-cold skin to her cheeks, she tugs it out and presses it firmly to my stomach. I go still.

  “Yeah, you know what that is, bitch.”

  She fires.

  I’m sure if I was anyone else, I’d be screaming right about now. I feel something akin to a punch to the gut, if a punch was more focused, if a punch could break through my body and emerge on the other side. I feel blood trickle down my stomach and seep into my clothes. But whatever pain I should be feeling is absent.

  The blonde backs up, freaked, and I realise I haven’t reacted. In the end, it’s this brief moment of horror that gets her killed. I draw on my aerokinesis and the air knocks her off her feet, rams her into the ground, her head slamming down hard. I swear to god I hear a floorboard crunch beneath her.

  That or it’s her skull.

  Caden, whose up until now has been wrestling with a brute on the floor, gets to his feet and kicks the guy in the head. There’s no anger in the violence. Just the cool, deadly precision of someone who has done this countless time before. I don’t let myself think about what that means.

  He looks over at me. “Melissa, you’re—” his eyes have latched onto the new bloody stain in the middle of my shirt.

  “Oh, right.” At this point, the shock has rendered me detached and illogical. I can still think, but the words sail through my mind as empty ships, no meaning, no purpose, and nowhere to go. I look down. My hands are covered in blood. I press them to my stomach anyway.

  “There’s too many,” Sara gasps, running over to us. Her neck is ringed by large dark blotches—bruise coloured purple and black and blue—but she’s nonetheless alive and conscious. The same wooden bat from earlier is now splattered with blood and held loosely in her hand. A quick look behind her reveals a woman dead on the floor, blood seeping outwards from her skull like a sticky crimson halo, her forehead smashed in so violently that I can see the bone, shattered and deflated like a balloon.

  My stomach revolts. I turn my eyes away.

  At that moment, a whole new host of dark-clad figures come rushing in through the front door, swarming around us like gnats.

  �
��They’re underwalkers,” Caden breathes.

  “Thanks for the insight, Caption Obvious,” Sara replies sarcastically. “Kira failed. This must be the back-up, back-up plan.”

  The three of us stand back to back, shifting our eyes over all our mounting enemies. My stomach is throbbing beneath my hands. I don’t think I’ll be able to defend myself if anyone comes for me.

  Not that it matters. It’s three powerless teenagers against a deluge of strong, gun-toting, power-possessing supernatural beings. We don’t stand a chance.

  Suddenly, Sara steps forward into the no man’s land between us and our gathered assailants. It seems the last of them have fled into the room, because now they’re all still and silent, watching us as though their collective gaze can stop our hearts.

  “What do I have to do to get a little democracy around here?” she yells.

  “We have orders,” a gruff voice replies. The source is somewhere on my left, but I can’t discern who spoke out of the dark crowd. In fact, I can’t even tell the dark crowd apart. They’re all wearing the same black outfit, all with dark shades and dark hair. They almost look like the same person.

  “Which are?”

  “Eliminate,” another voice says from the other side of the room, sounding freakishly similar to the first.

  “No survivors,” says a third.

  “No witnesses,” says a fourth.

  Okay, that’s definitely the same voice. But it’s jumping impossibly between the underwalkers, like they’re playing a game of catch with the talking ball.

  Or like it’s just one person in multiple places at once.

  Sara seems to be thinking along the same lines, her eyes passing over each of them, her brow furrowed. She steps back. “Okay, losers,” she whispers to us, “you ready for a magic trick?”

  “As long as it involves getting us the hell out of here,” Caden replies.

  “Even better.” She raises her voice to address the room. “Who do I speak to about making a deal?”

  “No deals,” one says.

  “Are you sure about that? How’s this for a deal? You leave and tell your superior that we’re dead—,” and now she smirks mischievously, “—and I won’t kill you.”