I know his intentions are good; I’ve missed out on so much of my life. Not doing any of the normal things people my age have done, like skiing, for example. But I confess, even if I had spent the last twenty-one years being normal, I'm pretty sure I would never, ever, go skiing. Don't like the cold, don't like the hills, and I definitely don't like the boots. I'd much rather be sitting in the lodge with a hot beverage, a good book and a pair of Uggs. But I’m trying it once, for him.
Once.
As less and less people get off the ski lift, I notice the sun starting to fade. The slopes are closing. Predicament: I can’t see the bottom of the hill, but I know if I want to get there I only
have two options - ski or walk. And right about now, with the
threat of being lost in the wilderness, alone in the dark, the skiing option is looking better and better.
I stand on the hilltop a few more minutes, searching for some courage to push off, but I can’t muster a lick. Its early twilight now and I need to act fast or else I’ll be pulling an Into the Wild.
The light drizzle of snow makes the forest look illustrated, like a page right out of a storybook. The large pine trees are dusted in sparkling white and the tracks on the snow run have all but disappeared. There seems to be no one around for miles. I like the feeling the quiet gives me; calm, peaceful.
With a deep breath I dig my poles into the fresh powder and steady myself on my skis; the tips hanging over the bluff. My heart pounds in my chest as the adrenaline builds, I don’t know what’s in store for me, but I have no other choice now. I just hope I stay in one piece.
As I hold my breath and prepare to launch, a brisk wind catches me in the stomach. It carries heavy emotions; strong, desperate feelings of loss, loneliness and despair. Its power hunches me over, forcing tears from my eyes. The dark energy gyrates around me, vigorously intensifying, trapping me in a cyclone of desolation. Little by little, my desire to live starts to fade. The force coaxes me, tempting me to surrender as it drags me inside.
The tears streaming down my face crystallize in the cold as I
try to fight, but the energy pulls at me harder and harder, spurring
a tug of war with my soul. As I punch and twist and pull and strain, I’m suddenly knocked off the mountain’s edge. Tumbling out of control, my body flips and spins as a flood of snow surges around me.
With extreme speed, I careen down the mountainous slope, hit a small cliff, and catapult into some nearby woods.
I hit the ground with a thud.
I wake to a light dusting of snowflakes kissing my face and severe pain coursing through my body. I’m unable to move. I lay there, face up, paralyzed under the gentle fall of the snow. My face burns and my muscles are tense, but it’s nothing compared to the alarming realization that I’m alone, lost in the Vermont wilderness with nightfall approaching.
Woozy, I push myself up. Something warm drips down my face. I touch my forehead: blood. Lots of blood.
I test my limbs; everything seems to be in place. No broken bones, but tons of bruising. I shift my legs to find my skis are gone, and my plastic boots a shattered mess. The buckles are broken, but the soles are still attached to the bindings. Balancing is going be difficult.
Slowly I stand, wobbly at first, but quickly gain enough stability to walk.
Disoriented and confused, I start to make my way down the mountain, fearful that whatever attacked me is still in pursuit.
With my boots barely clinging to my feet, I toddle awkwardly down the hillside, huffing and puffing, spitting blood.
The darkness follows.
Cold tears pool in my eyes. I’m scared, so, so scared. I blubber from the dread and my face becomes a watery mess.
There’s a crack in the outlying trees, then a snap, and a figure suddenly appears out of the shadows. I panic and throw a blast; energy radiating from my palms.
KABOOM!
“Jesus Christ Liv!” Justice shouts from somewhere in the blackness. “You don’t need to blow me up!”
I hear the rustling of piled brush and the shifting of his snow pants.
I collapse, sobbing in pain and relief.
He crouches down in front of me, and I immediately dart into his arms, bawling.
“It’s okay, you’re okay now,” he tries to soothe me.
“I’m not okay!” I erupt. “I was just attacked by some invisible energy, and then hurled off a mountain top! I am far from okay!”
His eyes widen, and then his lips part with a relieved smile. “It’s not funny,” I demand, sniveling.
“No, it’s not,” he says trying to stifle his amusement, “but I’m glad you’re in one piece.”
“That depends on your definition of one piece,” I huff, trying
to pull myself together.
“In this particular circumstance? No severed limbs or brain injury.”
“Brain injury remains to be seen,” I reply dryly. My vision is fuzzy.
“How did you find me?” I ask, wiping the cold wetness of my tears away from my face.
“I tracked the scent of your blood,” he says, like he’s telling me the time.
A reasonable explanation coming from him.
“I’ll admit, the scent was so strong I thought I was going to find you a mangled mess.”
“Who’s to say I’m not?” I argue. My emotions have just gone through the ringer.
“You’re breathing, that’s good enough for me,” he says as his attention suddenly shifts. His gaze becomes razor-sharp and his face alarmingly tense.
“And how about we keep it that way? Can you get up?” he asks sternly.
“Yes,” I sniff, and he helps me to my feet.
Justice slides one of his arms around my waist and we start walking; my legs aching with every step.
“We need to move faster,” Justice says, his animal-keen senses alight. Flinging me into his arms, we take off into the darkness, my boots slipping right off my feet.
Goodbye and good riddance.
A few short minutes traveling down the treacherous, hilly terrain and we’re back at the ski chalet.
Four walls have never made me so happy.
Justice carefully rests me on one of the oversized leather chairs next to the fireplace. With a flick of his finger, the hearth sparks, igniting a roaring, Caribbean-blue fire.
He peers attentively out the front window; waiting for what, an attack?
I drink in the fire’s warmth as I watch him, desperately trying to decipher all that’s happened.
When everything seems calm, Justice tends to my wounds. He hands me a rag for my lip and kneels in front of me to gently apply pressure to my head.
Sniveling, chattering and an emotional mess, I finally combust. “What the hell just happened!?”
“Darklings,” he says evenly, but I can see the anxiety flickering in his eyes.
“Darklings?” I repeat, stressed.
That moment, the front door busts open, causing me to jump. I swear, I am worse than a goddamn spooked cat.
“You could have warned me!” Melenia screams. She clearly isn’t happy.
“I didn’t notice them until it was too late.” Derrin struggles to keep his composure.
“What happened to you?” I ask stunned.
Melenia is covered in…goop. Black goop. It looks like she’s been slimed with tar.
“Why don’t you ask my better half?” she seethes, and then storms upstairs, stomping so hard she breaks right through one of the wooden steps.
Derrin falls onto the couch next to us; he waits until she’s out of sight, and then busts a gut.
Jerk.
“I can still hear you!” She yells in a pitch so high my ears ring. I glance between Justice and Derrin. “Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on?!?!” Excitement mixed with fear, shaken by a near-death experience results in me not holding it
together very well.
“What’s going on is that we just lost our security depo
sit,” Derrin says, swinging one leg over the other. He laces his fingers on top of his stomach and lounges, completely at ease.
Justice gives him a look. Derrin gives him one back.
I swear, it’s like assault of the attitudes with these two. “Darklings!” Derrin suddenly declares, overly ecstatic.
I stare at him crudely. “What the hell is a Darkling?” I ask, knowing full well, whatever it is, I already detest it.
“They’re…nothingness.” Derrin says almost in awe.
I grimace. Nothingness? That sounds a little too Neverending Story-ish for me.
“They only emerge once every five hundred years, and now they’re after you,” he confides.
“Me? Why?”
He shrugs. “Darklings are sort of like the grim reapers of the immortal world. They seek out immortal souls that want to give up living.”
“But I don’t want to give up living!”
I think.
“And I’m not immortal, so why me?”
“You may not be immortal,” Derrin agrees. “But you have absorbed immortal energy, and with all the other things going on inside you,” he twirls his index fingers in the air. “They can’t really decipher what you are. They just know they want you. Think of them like bomb sniffing dogs, they’re trained to go after one thing, without discrimination. And you my friend, are one juicy, explosive projectile.”
Great.
“That’s not the only problem,” a newly sparkling Melenia broadcasts as she bounces down the stairs, making sure to avoid the broken one; she’s small like me - just a little more than five- feet - with short, dark punky hair, almond eyes and pointy ears.
“Darklings serve two purposes. One, like Derrin said, they ingest immortal energy, energy that has given up and wants to move on. Two, they hunt power.”
I go pale. Power?
“They lure you into their shadows, forcing you to become the nothingness that they are. They steal both beauty and rage from the world, with no code of balance. Your powerful lineage, combined with your active abilities creates the perfect storm of splendor and fury.”
I look between Derrin, Melenia and Justice with wide eyes. “I thought evil couldn’t sense me unless I use my powers?”
Justice gives me a grave look. “You did use them, last night.”
Shit. I rub my arms remembering the hand prints burned into the flesh.
Dejected, I look down at Justice. Can my life can get more disastrous?
“Liv, what are you thinking?” He asks restlessly, pulling me away from my wearisome thought.
I look around the room holding the bloody cloth to my lip. “Never, ever, will I go skiing again.”
Bombshells and Bridal Showers
“Ouch!” I bellow and grab the top of my head. “Eunique!
What are you trying to do, pull my hair out?”
“I’m sorry!” He says exasperated. “I feel fanatical!”
I turn to look at him, he’s flushed and acting totally flustered. “I need a smoke, do you mind if we take five?” He asks,
completely unbalanced.
“I think that’s a good idea,” I say, smoothing my hand over my hair. My scalp has a pulse. He throws the hairbrush down on the rolling table and hurries out the back door of the salon. A grey and maroon argyle sweater vest and rolled up shirt sleeves is all I see.
I exhale a hot breath.
Poor Eunique, he’s been having a rough time of it lately, and I’m not helping things one bit. After a nasty breakup with his boyfriend Aaron, he is now sleeping in the back room of the salon while he tries to find an apartment that meets his outrageous standards. He’s battling through a cut throat custody agreement for their Chihuahua, Lucky Charm, and this morning, the young son of one of his clients picked off all of the dazzle from his bedazzled chair.
Rough.
Then, here I come adding insult to injury with my wacky abilities that I’m still trying to control. I’m the one all stressed out, and he’s the one paying the price. It used to be everyone else’s feelings affecting me. Now it seems I’m the one doing the affecting. I need to me more mindful of my emotions. They seep out.
As if the threat of Darklings lurking behind every corner isn’t bad enough, I have the enormous task of being maid of honor in Nikkee’s wedding. Pile on the responsibility of personally dealing with Davis’ grandmother, who, by the way, is more militant than a Communist regime, together with the gargantuan task of writing a meaningful and memorable maid of honor speech, and I’m pretty close to reaching my breaking point.
Davis comes from a very pristine, very well off Greek family, who apparently owns half of the Greek Isles. And he’s the only grandson. Talk about pressure for carrying on the family name, which incidentally, he changed from Stavopoulos to Lee when he was eighteen. He explained it was for business reasons, something about it being uncomplicated, American and memorable. Whatever, Nikkee Lee still sounds like a porn star name to me.
The enormity of this wedding needs more coordination than a Broadway freakin’ musical. There are close to four hundred people attending, and everything must be perfect, for Nikkee’s
sake as much as my own. Davis’ grandmother won’t stand for
anything less. Believe me, I know. She barked it through the phone, in Greek no less, as one of her twenty granddaughters translated. She scared me as much as the Spirit Stalker, and she’s just a human, half a world away.
I obsessively go over my to-do list. Nikkee’s bridal shower is this afternoon, and it’s been a good distraction from all the paranormal problems circling around me at the moment; Darklings, my mysterious magical bloodline and my powers hindering the one person I want most to touch me from doing so. I definitely have some issues.
Everything must be perfect. I repeat the mantra that has been drilled into my head.
I look at my watch. Eunique has yet to return. Maybe he’s having a multiple smoke break. Strung out or not, he needs to get the hell in here and finish the other half of my head. Time is running out.
Time is always running out.
“Shit,” I bluster, as I rummage through my favorite Marc Jacobs bag.
I forgot my wallet. Today of all days.
I pull out my phone, completely desperate. The keys hum as I punch them.
Life has become, on some levels, way too normal. I’m not used to normal; but I am used to desperate, and right now, I’m desperate to be saved from washing hair as a method of payment.
Exactly five minutes after my frantic text, Justice opens the door to Les Mis, and I sigh with relief.
It’s a beautiful mid-May afternoon. Perfect bridal shower weather. It’s just warm enough that you don’t need a jacket, but not so warm you’re sweltering in the hot sun. Tourist season hasn’t begun just yet, but with the tease of summer this weekend, Red River is bustling.
I watch as Justice strides towards me; he’s tall and toned with sun-kissed skin, messy dark hair and bright blue eyes. Dressed in low slung jeans and a fitted white t-shirt, he passes patrons and stylists, oblivious to them all, or so it appears. Every eye fixates on him as he leaves a trail of swooning emotion. All he needs is ‘Oh Ya’ by Yellow playing in the background, along with some slow-mo action and he could be a Twix commercial. I can barely contain my amusement. He reaches me in the back of the salon just as Eunique returns from his smoke break.
Justice leans down to kiss my cheek and softly whispers, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you forgot your wallet on purpose, just to get some amusement at my expense,” clearly noticing my enjoyment at his trail of casualties.
“I assure you it wasn’t on purpose, but you have no idea how
much I needed the entertainment,” I say with a huge grin. Justice
straightens himself up and comes face to face with Eunique, who is stunned still. Eyes wide, mouth dropped vacantly open. I cannot contain the laughter much longer.
“Eunique, this is Justice. Justice, Eunique.” I introduce them
. Justice puts out a hand. “Hey man,” he says casually.
Eunique doesn’t move a muscle. You’d think he’s meeting Cher or something.
“Eunique!” I voice, trying to break him out of his trance.
Justice glances down at me, then back to Eunique, then back to me. I shrug and he turns to leave.
He struts back through the salon, leaving another string of lovesick fatalities behind him. He shoots me an adoring look just before he exits.
“Hi,” Eunique mutters a few lapsed moments later. I shake my head incredulously at Justice.
I’ve just witnessed Les Mis get saturated with the Seraph stimulus.
I finish packing the last of Nikkee’s bridal shower favors just as Justice returns from the car. He’s chivalrously carried six large boxes of meticulously wrapped favors down from my third floor walk- up. He probably could have carried all ten boxes in one shot, but how would that look to the average pedestrian?
“This is the last one,” I tell him as I duct-tape the top of the brown cardboard box.
“Tell me again why you need one hundred miniature rake and shovel sets?” He leans on the box and stares down at me; his tantalizing eyes survey me in my black pencil skirt and tight teal dress shirt.
“Because Nikkee is having a garden-themed shower, and they go with the décor.”
Gravitational Pull (Vis Vires, book 2) (Vis Vires trilogy) Page 2