The Airel Saga Box Set: Young Adult Paranormal Romance

by Aaron Patterson

  But then he broke the silence, picking up where I had clumsily left off. “You’re right, though … you know, about the kind of people who fall all over themselves trying to fit in. I call them robots—they think life’s about having the right friends or looking a certain way, but they’re just acting exactly how their master wants them to. Like a collective consciousness.”

  “Yeah. That’s kinda Orwellian, dude.”

  He chuckled and looked into my eyes. In that moment, I forgot what we had been talking about. I even forgot where I was. “So,” he said, “what do you want to see?”

  “Uh—what?”

  “The movie.”

  “Oh. The movie?”

  “Yeah. What do you want to see?” He moved closer to me, into the gap between my open door and the car.

  “Oh, my gosh, Airel,” Kim bellowed as she walked up, “you aren’t going to believe the deal I got.” She was like an exploding bomb sometimes. She held up her shopping bags as her trophy, oblivious that I was having a moment with quite possibly the most gorgeous boy in the world. “They had a BOGO—the second one was half off. I mean, I only needed one, but you have to get the second one if it’s only half price. I mean, come on.”

  I sighed. That sigh betrayed a little of my relief, actually. Things were moving pretty quickly between Michael and me, and I needed time to feel, to talk it over with Kim. I hoped that meant she and I would be chatting things up later tonight.

  “So, James.” Michael shot a smile toward him. “You’re still alive.” He nodded. Kim then gave us a full report on the deals and the food and everything else that she had seen and experienced, even though no one had asked her. James, surprisingly, seemed like he was enjoying himself. He wasn’t much of a talker, which was just fine with Kim.

  “Okay, what are we seeing?” I asked. “Are we in the mood for scary? Funny? Or do we want to see a boy movie?” I looked at Kim.

  “Boy movie? What’s a boy movie?” Michael asked, tossing his keys to James. He’s going to ride with me. My heart sped up.

  “A boy movie,” I said, “is an action shoot-‘em-up with pointless gore and violence. Guys like it because it makes them feel like the dominant male they all wish they could be.” I smiled at him a little too broadly and shoved my hands in my back pockets.

  Michael didn’t miss a beat. “Or we could always see a girl movie. In case you were wondering what that is, it’s a movie with a sappy love story where two people hate each other and then fall in love against all odds, one betrays the other—usually the guy is the jerk—then there are fifteen minutes of crisis where they’re so sad and they reflect on how everything sucks now, but then they always get back together. The end is usually some ridiculous wedding. Girls like it because it makes them feel like there’s a dream man out there for them. Like there’s some specimen of perfection who doesn’t exist.”

  There was a lengthy silence as we all looked at each other.

  “Comedy,” James and Kim said in unison.

  I laughed, and for the tenth time that day I actually felt great.

  CHAPTER VIII

  WE MADE IT TO the theater before anything disastrous could happen—miracle of miracles. After I parked, Michael opened my door for me, and on the way to the ticket booth he grabbed my hand and held it and would not let go. I was flattered and elated, but terrified.

  On one side of this shiny new coin, he wasn’t shy about his affection for me and didn’t feel like he needed to ask permission for anything. On the other side, what the heck was he doing holding my hand without asking my permission? I wanted to be offended, but at the same time I didn’t pull away. I didn’t want him to stop.

  We bought our tickets and went into the theater, but not before Kim and I had an impromptu conference in the bathroom to compare notes. She insisted on digging for dirt about Michael, and dishing me all the dirt she could about James.

  “Guess what? Guess who his favorite band is? Just guess.” She was giddy.

  I didn’t really want to know, but it was cute to see her like this. They were both crazy about the exact same music. We walked out holding hands and laughing. Luckily, that discouraged any more handholding with Michael as we found our seats. I needed a little space, but not too much. Of course I let him sit next to me. I couldn’t be rude. Besides, I wanted to sit by him.

  The lights of the theater dimmed to darkness and the previews started rolling. It was girl, girl, boy, boy—Kim on my left, Michael on my right, and James next to Michael. Kim didn’t seem to mind, or maybe she just didn’t care. Michael made a few jokes about the different movies that were coming out. Then he leaned over and whispered in my ear. “Do you want anything? Popcorn or a drink?”

  His voice in my ear, his breath on my neck made me go all fuzzy, my head spinning in electrified euphoria. I was instantly covered with goose bumps. “Sure,” I breathed. “Dr. Pepper and popcorn. Small. Thanks, Michael.”

  “No problem.” He slipped out and James followed. James wasn’t much for conversation on his own anyway, and since guys probably didn’t have impromptu conferences in restrooms, I figured James left so they could talk about us in private while they were in line for concessions.

  “They went for a junk-food run,” I whispered to Kim.

  “Good. I’m starved.” Then she changed gears again, giving me whiplash. “So, I see you and Michael are getting friendly.” A hint of sarcasm spiced up her voice.

  “He’s nice. But he’s a little out of my league.” Of course, I didn’t mean that how it sounded. I didn’t dare think about having anything to do with Michael other than friendship, even with all the handholding, because I wasn’t sure about me. It wasn’t a question of him being out of my reach as a young woman. I didn’t validate those kinds of things by thinking them. In fact, I usually mocked those kinds of ideas. No, it was mostly a question of me being scared to death at the seriousness of my response to him. My reaction to his sudden appearance in my life was so different in comparison to everything I had ever experienced, and so intense, that I was flailing for any excuse to keep him at arm’s length until I was a little more sure of myself.

  Or maybe I’m just being neurotic.

  If there was one thing I’d learned about guys, it was that they could hurt. I shivered involuntarily at the thought, and kept a tight lid on my feelings in that department. I was going to be cautious about all of this. “Michael’s friendly with everyone, Kim. I can’t really believe he’s seriously considering me as one of his undoubtedly many options.”

  “Come on—he likes you,” Kim said. “Anyone can see that. Don’t overthink it and don’t worry about anything. Just leave it to me.”

  “Oh, no.” I gave her that “don’t even think about it look” and hit her on the arm.

  “Ow. So mean.”

  “Ha. You deserved it. Now don’t try anything or I’ll tell James you’re a stalker.”

  “So? I am.” Kim laughed.

  “Seriously. I need time to know how I really feel about him, and you know, get to know him before I get all goo-goo gaga over him. Okay?”

  She looked at me, adjusting her purse. “Too late for that.”

  “Come on, Kim. Don’t pressure me. I need you chill. You need to help me work through this. Maybe later. I know we’ll be up late talking about them. I need girl time.” I looked her in the eyes. “I need some Kimmie time. You let them hijack our whole day. You owe me.”

  “Fine.” She whipped out her phone, raising the white flag. I watched as she tagged me in a check-in at the movie theater on Facebook, moving quickly from that to her many thousands of Tweeps. I guess a girl’s got to stay in touch, but Kim went a little overboard, in my opinion—what if some crazed psycho found her alone at a coffee shop because of a social media check-in or something? I was on Facebook too, sure, but that was only because Kim had set up the account for me. If I didn’t get on it often enough, she would hack my wall and post LOL cats on my timeline to punish me. It was just another reason why I coul
dn’t imagine how I could ever live without her.

  Michael came back alone and slid in next to me. He handed me a large soda—a 64 oz. “cup”—and smiled. “Big enough for ya?”

  “Yeah, ya think? Holy buckets, Batman.” I giggled like an idiot and turned my face away. What is this guy doing to me? I reminded myself to go easy. I didn’t want to have to go to the bathroom ten times during the movie, but I would have to if I drank out of this trough without restraint. “Hey, where’s James?”

  “He had to go to the bathroom.”

  “What, did he get one of these?” I brandished my soda pop with two hands.

  Michael laughed. “He should be back soon. Unless he’s running scared from … ahem.” He jerked his thumb at Kim, who was busy checking her reflection.

  “Ha. She would find him,” I whispered in his ear. I could smell his shampoo, feel the warmth his skin radiating onto my own. His arm brushed against me and I was half a second away from fatally embarrassing myself by gasping aloud. It would have come out really weak, given the heart palpitations I was dealing with. Who needs more time? It’s obvious how I feel about him.

  James came back a few minutes later and took a handful of popcorn out of the container Michael and I were sharing. Sheesh. Help yourself, pal. The movie started and I scrunched down in my seat, wondering now what I thought I was doing. Am I a glutton for pain? Do I just like to have my heart broken?

  But my thoughts were instantly cut off by something I had never felt before. I had a splitting headache right at the back of my skull. Everything went fuzzy. I closed my eyes and tried to focus. For the second time in one day, the roller coaster from hell lurched sickeningly and I felt like throwing up. This time the barf-o-matic urge was not as strong, though. I willed the orange chicken in my belly to behave, breathed deeply three times, and then opened my eyes.

  The people in front of us, all the way down to the front row, were a blur—all but two men sitting in the second row, a tall man with short blond hair and a short man with a ball cap. They were talking. From where I was sitting, I could tell they were not having a jovial chat.

  Blond Man leaned in, whispering something to Ball Cap Man. He stiffened. I had a feeling something bad was about to happen, but I wasn’t sure. What are they talking about?

  I didn’t have to wonder much longer. I saw a blade, caught glinting in the momentary light of the screen, appear in Blond Man’s hand. I saw his other arm wrap over Ball Cap Man’s shoulder, reaching around to cover his mouth.

  I tried to yell, but nothing came. I just opened and closed my mouth like a landed suffocating fish. There is no way this is real. No one else even noticed the two men, but I could feel them, I knew what had happened as clearly as I knew the sun set in the west.

  Blond Man jerked the blade, making Ball Cap Man’s body twitch crookedly. A second time he moved, thrusting the knife into his chest. After a few more seconds, Ball Cap Man fell limp in his seat.

  I was speechless. I had just witnessed a cold-blooded murder.

  I couldn’t breathe, let alone talk. Unbeckoned, a cold, calculated perspective came at me: the job was a masterstroke, the signature of a professional. It appeared Ball Cap Man was simply napping in the darkness. No one would see he was dead until the killer was long gone, perhaps not even until the end of the movie. But why would I think such things?

  And now, just as if I had shouted at him, Blond Man turned and looked straight at me.

  His deadly black eyes pierced right through me. I wrenched my gaze away and tried to act like I was lost in the movie, but he stared—I could not escape from his sight. I managed to rasp out, “I have to go to the restroom.” I slipped out of my seat past Michael and James.

  As I jogged down the theater stairs past the killer’s row, I could feel him watching. He was still as I passed, though I dared not look his way. I could feel his black stare following as I turned to go out into the lobby.

  I was in a panic, not sure what to do. My mind felt like sludge and would not work like I needed it to. Quick. What do I do?

  I hit the lobby at a sprint and ran full blast to the bathroom, where I promptly threw up in the sink. I looked in the mirror. My reflection was the image of a beautiful stranger—I wondered at all of this for a split second, but I didn’t have the luxury of taking my time deciphering meanings. Questions tumbled in, jumbled and twisted, piling up faster than my mind could affix its own ill-fitting answers. All I could think of was 911. I fumbled my phone out of my pocket and dialed. Come on, pick up.

  “Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”

  I was drawing breath to give my answer when the door began to open.

  I turned and bolted to an empty stall, shutting the door as quietly as I could, crouching on top of the toilet. I quickly powered off my phone, but it played that irritating jingle that was always way too loud; it gave me away.

  There was silence for what felt like eternity.

  Then I heard heavy footfalls.

  And they were distinctly masculine. Someone was walking slowly toward me.

  It was a man. Tall Blond Man. He was whistling a tune, very low, like a whisper. At first it was unintelligible, then total nonsense, and then the hideous anthem of the deranged. I felt trapped and exposed.

  But then as he came closer, I swore I could recognize the tune. It was beyond me to put a name to it, but I was filled with horror to know that I had connected with it.

  I shivered as he came closer, the footfalls like heavy machinery, dropping like lead weights on the tile floor. I saw under the door the shine of a pair of men’s dress shoes.

  Oh, God, oh, God … Don’t let him see me. I was crouched like a jungle cat on the toilet, and if I could have pinned my ears back, I would have.

  I could see him hunch down slowly on the balls of his feet, his coat touching the floor around him like a tent. He started looking under the stall doors, crouching lower. His hand dropped down. A bloody eight-inch-long knife was in it. I nearly screamed, but I clamped my hand over my mouth, only allowing a frightened gasp to escape.

  I watched him through the crack of the door, his body tensed like a vicious predator. He sniffed at the air. Then his hands rested on the floor, balled up on his knuckles with silky elegance. It was more frightening than the anger and violence I was expecting. He exuded calmness.

  Down he sank and as he did, he slid his feet back away from his hands. Lower and lower to the floor, as if uncoiling into a pushup, he descended, the knife in the hand nearest to me.

  I could not bear the thought, but I knew I would see his face—it was inevitable. I dreaded the seconds as they ticked on with me captive inside each one, dreading even more those that were coming for me.

  His face appeared in the small space under the door, the pressure of his gaze anchored and set by his black eyes. He was looking directly at me. I could not bear it. My body twitched and I turned away, trembling in panic.

  There was a noise from the lobby.

  And then, in an instant, he was gone.

  I sobbed. I stopped myself and held my breath when I heard the door open again.

  “Airel, you in here?”

  “Kim. Oh, God, Kim.” I burst from the stall, weeping. As she stood there stunned, I clung to her.

  “Whoa, hold on—what’s going on? Are you okay?” Kim steadied me as I cried. “Airel, it’s okay. I’m here. Everything’s gonna be all right.”

  I was shaking uncontrollably.

  The terror of what I had just experienced was perfected by the sound of screaming people in the lobby outside. I knew, down in the deepest part of me, that this was just the beginning.

  CHAPTER IX

  1250 B.C.—Arabia

  A COLD MARBLE GOD stood on a precipice in the snow-driven wind, draped in fur and leather, expectantly awaiting the time. He did not shiver; he did not move. He looked out into the distance from the stone cliff where he stood, its perpendicular face plunging down, embedding its root deep beneath the scattered roc
ks far below. The frozen landscape moaned in protest as the wind pushed stiffened tree branches and pulled on strands of long-dormant grass.

  He inhaled the icy air and breathed out a thin ribbon of vapor that was quickly overcome and carried away. His eyes were dark but sparkling under thick eyebrows, set on a noble face that was pale, smooth, and nearly white. Even in winter’s strangled and frigid morning light, he seemed to be quite unaffected by its seasonal fury.

  A feather of smoke was harried by the winds from the peak of the roof of the small hut behind him. And across the deeply wooded convolutions of the mountainside, dotted through diffused ancient stands of conifer, more huts sent up their own smudges of smoke, signifying that life was still smoldering in the little winter-locked village. The human heart, the god knew, could endure much in the company of others who shared the same plight.

  He cocked his head at the sound of the fraught cry of a woman coming from the hut behind him. He turned, walking toward the planked door with easy, self-assured strides. He ducked quickly inside and lashed the door shut with a leather thong.

  The one-room hut smelled of wood smoke and was drafty, even with the door closed. Cold air stroked the cracks with its thin fingers, invading. A low bed, layered in woolen textiles and pelts, was situated behind an iron screen at one side, the fire crackling and spitting at the screen on the stone floor beside it, contending with the cold as light battles darkness. Smoke rose upward into the low cone shape of the roof, where it was immediately taken by the hand of winter.

  An uncommonly beautiful woman lay in the bed, in labor with child. She was covered with a thick blanket of mink, many layered and skillfully worked. Her face was twisted in pain, but even in her anguish she was stunning. The fire filled the room with dancing orange light.

  The god pushed the hood of his cloak back from his head and knelt, placing a gentle kiss on her cheek.

  His wife forced a smile.