Mister I’m-sexy-and-I-know-it throws his head back and laughs. “Gotta write that one down,” he says, shoving another shot toward me. “I’m Bay.”
“Amanda.”
A genuine smile touches his eyes. “Nice to meet you, Amanda.”
I look him over. Shaved head, gunmetal-blue eyes, brawny, inked arms, and an “I’ll give you an unforgettable night and disappear from your life forever” aura, he’s definitely a guy after my own heart. But today, I just don’t feel it. I could tell myself it’s not because of Alex, but lying to others is so much easier than lying to myself.
Leaning against the counter, Bay puts a bowl of nuts in front of me. “You’re not from around here, are ya?”
“Let me guess, my accent gave me away?”
He points to my boots. “Nah,” he says, an impish grin tugging at his lips. “The Gucci boots did, angel.”
What’s wrong with my boots? They’d cost me a freaking fortune. “What about you?” I ask, popping a handful of nuts into my mouth. I expected them to be stale, like most bar food, but they were delicious. “Are you a Texas cowboy?”
“Nope, I’m a true-bred Mainiac,” he confesses, voice filled with pride.
“You’re what?”
He laughs. “I’m from Maine.”
I kinda like this guy.
His gunmetal-blue eyes meet mine. “Tell me, what’s a pretty girl like you doing in a crap hole like this?”
Chewing on the nuts, I shrug. “Figured the Titty Twister would be the ideal place to get shitfaced before I head to a safe house in Mexico.”
“Safe house?”
“Oh, didn’t I mention I robbed a bank?”
Bay’s jaw drops, and his eyes go wide. “You what?”
Damn, if a guy like Bay believes that crap, I must be a better liar than I thought. His benumbed expression is hilarious, but I let him off the hook before he calls the cops. “Jeez, relax. I was just kidding. I’m on my way to Bakersfield and checked into the motel across the street for the night.”
Bay’s eyes narrow and he takes a step back. “Bakersfield, huh?” He looks curious and surprised at the same time. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those prying journalist chicks.”
I’m not the Gossip Girl type, but my gut tells me this could be interesting. “What if I am? Is there a story for me in Bakersfield?”
Bay runs a hand over his shaved head and knits his brows. “You’re screwing with me, right?”
“Trust me,” I say, my gaze traveling to his crotch. “You’d know if I was screwing with you.”
He bites his lower lip and swallows hard. “I bet I would.”
I smile and pop more nuts in my mouth. “About Bakersfield…you were saying?”
Bay squints. “Haven’t you seen the news lately?”
“Would I ask you if I had?”
He studies me closely. “I guess not.”
Bending over the counter, I shove my two girlfriends under his nose. “Why don’t you bring me up to date?”
Bay’s cheeks flush a bright red, and he has a hard time taking his eyes off my boobs. “Y-You…” he stutters, “haven’t heard of the disappearing kids?”
Leaning back, I slide a finger over my neck. “No, but I bet you’ll tell me all about it, am I right?”
Bay looks at me as if I’m some kind of porn star, and I can literally see the dirty fantasies flickering across his mind. I snap my fingers in front of his face. “Earth to planet Bay!”
Embarrassed because I’d caught him staring, he tears his gaze from my body and refills our glasses. “Ten kids disappeared in the last couple of weeks. Some of them were found, but they’ve”—he hesitates—“changed.”
Gosh, getting him to spill the story is like getting blood out of a stone. “Changed how?” I try to sound causal, but my voice is higher than usual.
He scans through the room, and when he’s certain no one is listening, he leans in. “They’re possessed,” he whispers.
What is it with hot guys and stupidity? Sure, there’s the all-jocks-are-dumb-as-bread law, but Bay doesn’t strike me as an arrogant asshole who only dates brainless cheerleaders. “Is that supposed to be some kind of crappy bartender joke?”
Bay’s expression is dead serious. “I wish,” he croaks. “But as I said, it’s been all over the news.”
Oh boy, he’s serious about this possession shit.
“Son, can I get ma drink or what?” an elderly biker shouts from the other end of the counter.
Bay waves a hand in the air. “Be right there.” He pulls a newspaper out from behind the counter and hands it to me. “Check this out if you don’t believe me.”
When Bay takes off to serve the grandpa version of Jax Teller from Sons of Anarchy, I skim through the cover story. Victims show extremely aggressive behavior, speak in languages they’d never learned, and claim to hear demons. Damn, this reads like an article in Weird NJ, a semi-annual magazine of the strange in New Jersey, not The New York Times.
I throw the paper aside and rub my temples. What the hell is going on? Children can’t be possessed.
“Told you.” Bay’s deep voice startles me. “There’s some weird shit going down in Bakersfield. Maybe you should stay in Texas.”
“You don’t sincerely believe this crap, do you?”
He pulls a barstool out and takes a seat. “I’ve seen the CNN coverage, angel. I guess I do.”
I burst out laughing. “What, did they show footage from The Exorcist?”
Bay’s jawline hardens, and the muscles in his arms tense. “This isn’t funny.”
I tilt my head to the side and sigh. “Actually, it is. These kids aren’t possessed.” Humanity’s knowledge of possession is limited to flicks like Evil Dead and The Exorcist. Most of the stuff Hollywood invented, though, is a whole lot of bullshit and has nothing to do with reality.
Bay cocks a brow. “And you’re a specialist in possession because?” A pale yellow aura engulfs him, hinting at the excitement, boiling beneath the calm façade.
I bat my thick lashes. “I’m Constantine. Exorcist, demonologist, and Master of the Dark Arts.”
His deep laughter roars through the bar. “Damn, I gotta say, you look fucking awesome for a chain-smoking dude who’s been to hell.”
“Shut up,” I say, smiling.
His intense eyes lock with mine. “Look, angel, my shift ends at eleven. You could give me a lesson in dark arts at my place.”
“Sounds promising.” I pull a twenty-dollar bill out of my lace bra and put it on the counter. “But I have to pass.”
His eyes roam my body. “You’re missing out, angel.”
Peeking over Bay’s shoulder, I see Grandpa Jax and his biker friends glaring. “Son,” the old man hollers. “She ain’t givin’ it to ya. But I sure as hell will if ya don’t start servin’.”
Bay shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “Sorry,” he mutters and heads over.
I grab my bag, stagger to the door, and wink at the guy with the shaved head and the gunmetal-blue eyes, knowing he was right. I am missing out.
****
“I can’t believe you spent the night in the car,” Alex bitches as we walk into the diner.
There’s only so much a girl can endure at seven in the morning, and Blake Shelton’s “She Wouldn’t Be Gone,” the sound of sizzling hot oil, and the scent of fried bacon and scrambled eggs already works on my last nerve. “Why don’t you just leave me the hell alone?”
Bathing in my misery, he grins. “What’s wrong, Manda? Couldn’t get laid last night?”
I really want to cut that stupid grin out of his face, but before I can get my hands on a knife, a middle-aged waitress with a pencil in her hair approaches us. “Welcome to Joe’s Diner. Pick a seat, and I’ll get you some coffee.”
Following jerk-face to a table at the far end, I peek over the shoulder of a trucker and stop dead in my tracks. The man stares at the headline of today’s paper. It reads: Another girl missing in Bakersfield.
“Manda?” Alex says. “What are you waiting for?”
A frown on my face, I stomp to a booth.
“Make it fast,” he orders, shoving the menu at me.
Massaging my temples, I try to ease the stabbing pain behind my right eye, but it’s pointless. Spending the night in front of my iPad has taken a toll on me. I read every article I could find about the missing kids. The MO is always the same. The kid goes missing from their bedroom, reappears after two weeks, and acts like a holy terror. In hindsight, I can’t blame Bay for believing the whole possession thing. Watching the CNN footage was sort of scary.
I feel Alex’s eyes on me. His expression is a mixture of worry and curiosity. “Wanna talk about it?”
He hasn’t spoken to me since we hit the road, but now that I try to relax, he feels chatty? “About what?”
“Last night,” he says casually.
“What about last night?” I grunt.
He cocks his head. “C’mon, you know what I mean. Since when does Amanda Bishop walk out of a bar alone?”
My gaze shoots up. “Did you spy on me, Alex?”
He rolls his shoulders back and grins. “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”
I lock my hands on top of my head and close my eyes. What is wrong with him? Can’t he at least give me a break until I’ve had my first cup of coffee? Drawing in a few deep breaths, I try to relax, but apparently, there’s no rest for witches.
“Where the Wild Roses Grow” blares through the speakers of the diner. The melody makes me dizzy and nauseous. My heart pounds like crazy. Icy chills rush down my spine, and seconds later, I’m floating.
****
Black. That’s what I saw when I opened my eyes. No Alex. No diner. Just utter darkness.
“Amanda,” a faint voice gasped.
Hugging myself, I fought the bitter cold that wrapped around me like a thick pile of snow. “Who the fuck are you?” I shouted like a crazy person.
“We need your help.”
Damn it, what in Christ’s name was happening?
Spinning, I tried to get an idea of where the hell I was, but I could hardly see my own hand, let alone my surroundings. “What the hell do you want from me?”
Icy fingers circled my wrist. “You oughta help us.”
An unexplainable wickedness crushed my corrupted heart. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me who you are.”
“You know me.”
I trembled. “No, I don’t.”
“Turn around,” the otherworldly voice ordered.
I’d rather run, but curiosity got the best of me. Jesus Christ, I couldn’t believe what I saw. A bunch of girls, none older than ten, stuffed into dog kennels like animals. My attention was drawn by the apparition of a little girl, standing next to one of the kennels. Her white dress soaking wet and raven hair covered her face.
“Save them,” she begged, pointing to the other girls.
I took a step toward her. “What is this place?”
“It’s hell,” she whispered, silent tears rolling down her cheeks.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and stumbled backward. But she advanced toward me, and her pale blue eyes locked with mine. “You can end this,” she said as the skin fell off her face, and red flesh turned into white bones.
“Stop!” I screamed, horrified by what I saw.
She levitated toward me. Her skull twisted back and forth, jerked left, then right. The kid was like a skeleton puppet without strings. “Enfer les avaler,” she said, pointing to the kennels.
The ankh tattoo itched as I stared at the helpless kids behind their bars. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Hell will swallow them,” the kid explained, and bright white light flooded the room.
****
“Manda?” Alex snaps his fingers in my face. “Where the hell did you go?” he asks, wearing a worried expression.
Hell?
“Jesus, Amanda, talk to me. You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
I think that’s exactly what happened.
“Are you all right, hon?” The waitress stands next to me with the coffee pot in her hand. “Would you like a piece of sugar or a saltine?”
I ignore her and face Alex. “We need to talk.”
Jerk-face cocks a brow. “So talk.”
I look at the waitress, who instantly gets the hint. “Want me to come back later?”
I shake my head. “No.” Skimming the menu, I point to the blueberry pancakes with syrup, fruit, and freshly pressed orange juice. “I’ll have that.”
“Bacon and eggs for me,” Alex adds.
She nods, pours two coffees, and heads back to the counter.
When she’s out of hearing, Alex bends over the table. “What’s going on, Manda?”
Good question. I hoped he could answer it for me. “Why did you withhold the info about the missing kids?”
He frowns. “What kids?”
He works for the FBI, for Christ’s sake! There’s no way he didn’t know about this. “The disappearing, reappearing, claiming-to-be-possessed-by-a-demon kids who are all over the freakin’ news,” I snarl through gritted teeth.
Alex folds his hand around the hot cup and stares at me as if I’m nuts. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” His voice is even, and his aura shines a soft blue. Could he be telling the truth?
I pull the iPad out of my bag, open a browser, and shove it toward him. “Look for yourself.”
Alex skims several articles as I tell him about the weird nightmare, and the even weirder vision, I just had. He listens patiently, and by the time our food arrives, I brought him up to speed.
“That’s impossible,” he says. “Children can’t be possessed. Demons can only possess someone if the vessel agrees to it. Kids can’t make that sort of decision.”
I shove a forkful of the pancakes into my mouth and raise a brow. “Thanks for the supernatural lesson, Hawking.”
He shoots me a look, puts the iPad on the table, and takes a sip of his cold coffee. “Do you think this has anything to do with Jesse?”
“Dunno. But he’s a hunter, and being your brother, he wouldn’t walk away from a case like that.”
Alex runs a hand over his stubble and sighs. “You have a point,” he groans. “But none of this makes any sense. Why would these kids claim to be possessed? Unless…” His eyes grow distant.
I put the fork down and wipe my mouth with a napkin. “Unless what?”
He shoves his full plate away. “Unless one of your witch sisters put a hex on them.”
“I hate to break it to you, but this isn’t Hansel and Gretel. We don’t live in gingerbread houses, and we don’t lock little girls in dog kennels.”
He scowls at me, lips tight. “With your kind nothing is impossible.”
I smile, because if I don’t, I’ll scratch the jerk’s eyes out. “Why would the little girl come to me for help if a witch did this to her?”
A half-smile curves his lips. “I don’t understand why anyone would come to you for help, Manda. As far as I know, you only ever cared about yourself.”
“It’s what keeps me alive, Alex.”
“No.” He leans back. “It’s what makes you lonely and selfish, Amanda.”
Facing a wall of hatred and scorn, I rub my temples a little harder. “I don’t wanna fight,” I grumble.
He squints suspiciously. “Are you sick or something?”
My shoulders sink, and I avert my gaze. “No, Alex. I’m just tired of this shit. So how about a deal?”
He thrusts his fingers through his messy hair and frowns. “Why don’t I like the sound of this?”
“Relax,” I say, waving his comment off. “I just want us to stop fighting until we’ve found your brother.”
Alex knits his brows. “You want a truce?” He sounds surprised.
I look him in the eye. “Yeah, just until we get to the bottom of this.”
He gazes out the win
dow. “I don’t trust you.”
“Your brother does,” I counter.
He draws in a deep breath. “I know Jesse loves you, and for some unexplainable reason, you seem to care about him, too.”
“So?”
His malachite eyes search my soul. “I guess we can call a truce.”
A heavy weight lifts from my chest. “Good.”
“I still don’t trust you,” he grumbles.
Glaring at his muddy blue aura, I nod. “I know, Alex.”
Chapter 6
Final destination: Bakersfield.
Sounds melodramatic…but here’s the thing: I hate California—too many pretty faces, and too much pretentious happiness—and I can’t shake the bizarre feeling this trip will be my undoing. I’m not sure what worries me more, though, going against a bocor or spending too much time with Alex. Both could be fatal.
Drowning my sorrow with an iced latte at Starbucks, I wait till Alex books us a room at the Knights Inn across the street. It’s less fucked up than other motels, and as long as I don’t have to share the room with bedbugs, I’m okay with it.
I’m enjoying the warm sun on my tired face, eyes shut, when I sense testosterone and raging hormones. Awesome.
“You’re very pretty,” a weak voice croaks.
I open my eyes. A group of teenage boys, barely younger than me, check me out from head to toe. Jeez, can’t a girl have a coffee without being hit on?
I’m about to pull my sunglasses down when a Zac Efron wannabe slaps Pimple Face. “You’re such a pussy,” he says with an evil grin.
The guys laugh their butts off, but Pimple Face’s shoulders sink, and his aura changes into a depressing dark green. “Shut up, man. I had the balls to talk to her, didn’t I?” he defends himself.
One look at the poor bastard makes me want to drag his ass to the nearest mall and get him a makeover. The boy is the king of Nerddom—plaid shirt, horn-rims, short-cropped hair, and don’t even get me started on the blue suspenders. His so-called friends, on the other hand, live on the brighter side of life, and fifty bucks says they only hang with him because they need someone to do their homework.
“Loser,” one of the morons coughs.
My gaze roams over the nerd. The boy has a lot of potential. He could be the next Mark Zuckerberg while his stupid friends will end up like Al Bundy.
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