LURE

by Stephanie Jenkins

  “We need to talk.”

  Terrified, I followed him into the living room. The sight of Kyle Sanford and both of his parents sitting on our couch made me cringe. Once Kyle’s eyes met mine, he recoiled, too.

  His mother—a skinny brunette who wore too many bracelets—glowered at him. “Do it,” she hissed, wringing her hands together.

  Dad eased down onto his recliner, and as I stood by his side, I noticed Cam and Lorelei sitting across from us on the piano bench. Her green eyes peered down at a full glass of water. Did I condemn her in my anger? I expected the worse when Kyle started to speak.

  “I made it up, okay?” he grumbled.

  The silence was agonizing, and my hand crept to my chest. This—this moment—was what I wanted and dreamt about, yet it seemed surreal.

  “And?” Mr. Sanford probed, slapping the back of Kyle’s head. The resulting crack was earsplitting, and I knew it must have hurt. “You’ve harmed these people enough. Finish so we can deal with you.”

  “I lied about Mrs. Brewer because she pissed me off, okay? I didn’t think things would get out of hand.”

  Nevertheless, they had, and Kyle’s confession came almost fifteen months after the irreversible damage.

  Dad’s shoulders trembled, and his head drooped. When Cam let out a strangled sound, Lorelei wrapped her arms around him. I squeezed my dad’s arm; he touched my hand.

  The exchange between my family and Mr. and Mrs. Sanford was a blur. I caught a few of the words used in the conversation like ‘attorney’ and ‘sorry’. Those two words were repetitive.

  They only stayed for ten minutes, and Mr. Sanford yelled at Kyle all the way to their fancy Lexus. My dad excused himself to his bedroom once they backed out of our driveway. Cam disappeared, too, claiming he wanted to take a drive alone. I expected Lorelei to admonish me for what I did in hushed tones. Or threaten me and tell me that Hermes or Zeus or whoever wasn’t happy.

  Instead, she leaned over my trembling body and pressed cool lips to my cheek. “It takes a strong person—even if immortal—to do what you did. I’m proud of you.”

  I could not bring myself to tell her that my mom was the reason why Kyle still lived.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Dad was happy.

  Kyle’s confession gave him closure to my mom’s suicide. His heart would always ache for her, but the doubt he carried since before she died evaporated. Once Francesca made her decision, I would have finality too. I was willing to give up my chance of ever being mortal again just so my mom wouldn’t have to suffer.

  The last two days, I returned to the ocean and looked for her. She refused to see me. Her soul was probably still livid over what I planned on doing to Kyle. I figured she would find me once she was ready to talk again.

  I hoped that would be soon . . . disappointing her in death was just as bad as when she was fully alive.

  One of Matt’s friends, the guitarist from the band who played at the festival, invited us to an end of summer get-together at his parent’s beach house. Andy talked Sophie’s parents into letting her go, even though they were still on edge about what happened to her at Romano’s.

  I asked Matt to pick me up at The Lighthouse, and before I left home, I stuffed all of Wyatt’s clothes neatly into a box. I had no reason to hold on to them. He made it clear he did not want to see me again.

  Golden Boy’s new car and a shiny red Honda that I assumed belonged to Audrey were the only cars parked in his circular driveway. I was relieved that his parents’ cars weren’t around. His dad was my least favorite person, right under Kyle, and I did not want to lose control and tell him he was an epic dumbass. As I walked to the front door, I thought about what could have been. Deciding against ringing the doorbell, I dumped the box on the front step, turned around and whispered, “I will have a good time tonight.”

  “Charlotte?”

  Slowly, I faced Wyatt. He bent over to pick up the box. “Hey,” I said. Lame.

  He hopped off the steps, a smile stretching across his face. Dimples. God, his dimples were glorious. Everything about his expression was beautiful, but his eyes were what struck me. They were vivid and truthful and . . . apologetic. As if he forgot the last couple of times we spoke. Then he lowered his eyelashes and the look was gone.

  He swallowed hard, fingers pulling the box closer to his chest. “What are you doing here?”

  Weakly, I lifted a hand and motioned to his clothes. “Wanted to give you your shi—your stuff—back. Figured you might need it. Because I was cleaning my room.” Because, some part of me hoped I might see you.

  “Making room for band tees and black wrist bands?” he asked, his bright smile suddenly drawn and forced.

  Seriously? A Matt jab?

  “If I were, I probably wouldn’t have to give those back. Guess that’s the difference between the two of you.” I spun around and was determined to get the hell away from Golden Boy, to stop the hypnotic pull he had over me.

  I heard the box drop then his hand fell onto my shoulder. He sighed. “Char, wait.”

  “Why?”

  He moved his cheek by my hair, but I chose not to turn around. I already let down my guard too much for Wyatt Anderson. “Please stay.”

  “Your dad.”

  “I don’t care.”

  But I cared about letting Matt down and standing him up. Especially after Wyatt wussed out on me before. I pulled away from him, shrugged, and fought to laugh. “Already made plans to go to a party with a friend. But maybe next time, right?”

  I almost ran to my car, and I was shocked to see him still standing in the driveway. He watched as I drove away.

  ***

  The small get-together turned into a massive beach party. Matt was full of surprises; the unearthing that he could play the guitar took my mind off Golden Boy. Crowds congregated around him, listening to him play an old Rolling Stones song.

  “Tattoos and talent,” Sophie squealed from beside me. “I’m in love.”

  I crinkled my nose but laughed. “Don’t you have a boyfriend?”

  She glanced sideways at Andy who was listening intently to Matt’s performance and shrugged. “Good point.”

  He played the last cadence of the song and swept into another. The acoustic melody wasn’t anything I ever heard on the radio. I listened to it before, though. To my shame, I even sang it.

  Death and chaos wait beneath the waves . . .

  It was the Lure. Matt looked at me, and I waited for him to give me some sign that the brown eyes I stared into belonged to him and not Demeter. But do I really want this to be him? If it is, then he knows. He winked and continued to play.

  Sophie tugged on my arm. “Hey? Dude, you okay?”

  “I need water,” I choked. I pushed through the throng of people, wanting to escape and figure out why Matt knew that song. Maybe he heard the Lure. Maybe . . .

  I was getting sick of being uncertain about everything. The sound of a heart beating louder than all the others turned my stomach even more. As I moved away from everyone else, it became stronger until it seemed like it was inside my head. The hunter was at this party.

  I glanced over my shoulder into the dark and saw nothing. Nevertheless, as I walked faster, his heartbeat sped up.

  Would he try to drag me into the water? I racked my brain, trying to remember if Lorelei told me that we had to be in water for him to kill me. The sound was right in my eardrums, now, and I looked behind me again. I slammed into someone who was in front of me and screamed.

  Strong arms crushed around me, and the heartbeat faded. The throb coming from the person standing in front of me was just as familiar. I stepped back. “Charlotte, what’s wrong?”

  Golden Boy.

  “I’m fine.” Still, my hand spread over my chest as if I expected my own heartbeat to start racing. It dragged at its usual sluggish, immortal pace. “Why are you here?”

  “Had to see you,” he said. He drew his eyebrows together and pulled his lips in a little. Ev
ery few seconds, he swallowed hard then took a huge, unsteady breath.

  What the hell was that supposed to mean? He was doing a good job of avoiding me so far. “You followed me?” When he nodded, I rolled my eyes. “So in other words, you’re stalking me?” Still, the way he said he needed to see me, breathless and without bullshit excuses, made me shiver. I wasn’t about to let him know that he had that effect on me. “Well?”

  “I don’t want you with him.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Even in the darkness, his blue eyes pleaded with me as he stepped closer to me. “That guy with the tattoos. I want you, Charlotte. And I don’t care what my dad says or what people think.”

  Of all the times for him to make a declaration of . . . want. He couldn’t have said any of this at the festival? No. Because ever since I met Golden Boy, my life was difficult. He had to wait until after I decided that I was completely done with him. Had to make his big revelation at the exact moment when Matt was playing eerie siren songs on a guitar and the hunter decided to start harassing me on land. “Your timing sucks,” I said.

  “Go with me somewhere? Just to talk. Just to—” He held up his hands in frustration as he tried to figure out what to say.

  Why did he have to look at me like that? Why was he dragging me back to him? “I came here with friends,” I said. “I told you that before. I can’t leave. No, I take that back. I won’t leave.” It was a lie. I was just too chicken to go with him because I was afraid of putting myself out there again just so he could walk away. I intended to ditch the party as soon as possible to get away from the acoustic Lure and the threat of the hunter.

  For the second time that evening, I retreated like a coward and left him standing alone.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  I ignored everyone’s calls.

  Matt continued to leave messages, each one slightly more urgent than the last, wanting to know why I left the party early two nights ago. What was I supposed to tell him?

  Oh, yeah, you were kind of playing the song I use to kill men.

  The terrifying part was that maybe he already knew exactly what the song was for, what I was. Of course, that made no sense . . . unless he was the d-bag trying to off me.

  A platinum head poked into my bedroom. Lorelei. She flicked on the light switch and frowned. “Are you sure you don’t want to go?”

  Dad was working third shift at the hospital, and she and Cam made dinner plans in Boston. When she invited me, I felt like the loser third wheel nobody wanted to ask out on a date. I mean, I realized they wanted to include me in their relationship or whatever, but I couldn’t stand the overly sappy PDA.

  I twisted my lips into what I hoped resembled a smile. It didn’t feel like one. “I’m good. You guys have fun,” I said.

  “You can’t just lie in bed all the time. I know you’re worried about the Winter Solstice and Demeter, but try to put it out of you mind. Go out and see Andrew and Sophie or spend time with Thelxiope.”

  “Fran and I despise each other,” I reminded her. Shunning my friends to sulk over the injustice of immortality and the hunter seemed like a better way to spend my time. At least until I figured out what to do about the soul auction. Tapping my finger on the alarm clock, I said, “Besides, it’s past eight. I’m not hurting anything by going to bed. You should be happy I’m trying to stay out of trouble.” I rolled over so I wouldn’t have to look at her.

  She grumbled about me being a class-A social outcast then flounced off. Ten minutes later, the front door slammed and her precious Shelby’s engine came to life. I stretched out on the floor, examining my glow-in-the-dark ceiling. The stars brought my conversation with Matt to the front of my mind. That night, at Plum Cove, his knowledge of the gods and mythology staggered me.

  “He knows something,” I whispered. “Effing creeper.”

  The doorbell rang shortly after Lorelei and Cam left. I rolled my eyes. Getting rid of them was impossible. I expected to see him on the front porch, complaining about how he forgot something important, like his wallet. Maybe he left his key to the house in the kitchen drawer again.

  Instead, I flung the door open to come face to face with Golden Boy.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” My greeting was just a tad ruder than it should have been, but this was a surprise. Showing up unannounced was rude, even though I did the same to him several times before. But then, things between us were different now. I wore a tank top and underwear, and I struggled to pull my shirt around my hips.

  Shrugging his shoulders, he flushed. “Your brother’s girlfriend called me, and—”

  I started to slam the door in his face, peeved that Lorelei took the liberty to interfere with my life when she constantly preached about the horrors of meddling. He stuck his foot in the crack of the door. “Wait! Can you just talk to me?”

  Our neighbor jogged by the house and did a double take at the sight of me standing in the doorway skimpily dressed. God, someone was setting me up for extreme fail. I groaned and shuffled out of the way so Wyatt could come in.

  “I need pants,” I snapped, skulking to my bedroom. He followed close behind. As I scoured my drawers for anything that would cover my butt, he leaned against the doorframe.

  “I can’t stay away from you, Charlotte.”

  My head popped up. He said the same thing a few nights ago, but this was 50 times more frustrating. Now he was in my house, trapping me. “What changed?”

  I missed his flush, and I bit my lip as it deepened. At last, he sighed. “I told you, I don’t want you with that other guy.”

  “What if what you want isn’t possible?”

  “What if I think it is? Because, I’ll keep coming around. I was stupid before. And I can’t stand to think of your new boyfriend touching you.”

  I whirled on him and threw a pair of old gym shorts at his face. He captured them against his chest. “Just because you see me with a guy, doesn’t mean I’m dating him. Or having sex with him. You, on the other hand . . . ugh.”

  He caught my wrist. “What?”

  “Megan.” Why did I sound so jealous? Why did Lorelei call him to my house in the first place?

  “Not even like that.” When he considered my expression, a look that clearly said I thought he was a total fraud, he continued. “Megan is a friend, but I don’t want her. She isn’t you—never will be. You are always on my mind. Your smell, your touch . . . the way your lips taste.” He dropped my arm and raked his hands through his hair and down the sides of his face. “What’d you do to me?”

  “Creep,” I whispered. Still, I felt a strange satisfaction knowing he thought of me.

  “So you’re saying you’re over me?”

  “Maybe I was never for you. Maybe I never had any feelings for you whatsoever.” My voice shook, and he moved close to me again. “Besides, you’re leaving town soon.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Oh come on, boys like you come to town during the summer and find some stupid local to screw around with, then you leave.”

  “Haven’t you listened to a thing I said this summer? My family lives here permanently, meaning, we’re not going anywhere.”

  Oh.

  “I don’t care,” I said.

  Circling his thumb over my lips, he murmured, "You're lying.” Lip-gloss smudged his fingertip, and he grinned down at it. I froze when his palms stroked my cheeks. Shivered as his fingers found my temples and threaded through my hair.

  I inhaled—a stupid decision because the scent of his cologne flowed up my nostrils—and squashed my eyes shut. "What?" The voice speaking to him didn’t belong to me. It was too needy, too breathless.

  He slanted his lips over mine and pinned me against the wall next to my desk. His mouth was warm. Warm, soft, and hard, all at the same time. I grasped the wooden edge of the desk. Knocked a stack of books to the floor. His hands, the same ones I dreamt about, rubbed my shoulders, the spot behind my ears, my neck.

  I should have been disgusted when he i
nhaled my hair. Should have pushed him away.

  But as he leaned forward, breathing me in, I forgot how to speak.

  I finally opened my mouth to protest. To tell him I didn't want him, that I did not need this drama. He shut me up, crushing his mouth to mine. His fingers snaked behind me and dug into my lower back. "You squint when you lie," he said.

  I loathed him for assuming he was so well-informed about me.

  Arching my back, I moved toward him. The pit of my stomach burned, and my arms were heavy as they draped around his neck. Shouldn’t immortality make me immune to needing this boy?

  He pulled away, cupped my face, and pressed the corner of his mouth to my forehead. “I want to be with you. And this time, no doubt about what we are. Charlotte, I—” He was cut off by the sound of something falling in the kitchen. “Is your dad home?”

  I tripped across the room and peeked out the blinds. Lorelei’s car wasn’t in the driveway or the curb and neither was Dad’s truck. I grasped the windowsill as the heavy heartbeat of the hunter resonated through the house and overpowered the sound of Wyatt’s heart. “Oh shit.”

  I guess the tone of my voice triggered some protective instinct in Golden Boy. He opened my door, letting it bang against the wall. A chair scraped across the linoleum kitchen floor and deafening footsteps went through the living room. Then the front door slammed.

  Apparently, Wyatt was into heroics because he bounded through the house, determined to catch the intruder. He was too late. The hunter was already gone; I could not hear his heartbeat anymore.

  Turning back toward the window, I caught a glimpse of him from behind. Short, with dark, spiky hair. A total creep I would give anything to get rid of so he would stop screwing with me.

  “Charlotte!” Wyatt yelled.

  I walked apprehensively to the kitchen, and my throat tightened when I turned around the corner. He stood in the middle of the room, salt surrounding him. It poured off the table and counters onto the floor. Wet footprints tracked through the room.

  Staring down at the mess, he turned in a circle. “Who was that? What is this?”