Nine Lives (Lifeline Book 1)

by Kit Colter

  Erin crawled to her feet, sweeping her bangs aside, and trudged slowly down the hall toward the kitchen. The house was small, but very nice, and filled with expensive furnishings. Stephanie’s parents were moderately wealthy, having made their fortune in the real estate business, which was why Steph had her own house even though she was an unemployed college student.

  Erin opened the refrigerator, searching, then started flipping open cabinets. Pulled out a bowl and a box of cereal, then went back to the refrigerator and retrieved the milk. Grimacing against the pain in her side, she sat down at the table, then groaned, stood, and went back to the kitchen in search of a spoon. Found one and returned to her seat. Then she just sat there, thinking.

  She had to leave soon. But where to? She imagined a vague map of the U.S. and planted herself at the Canadian border. Could she really run from this thing? Erin placed one hand on her side, then pushed a little, measuring the pain. She reached one hand to her back pocket and pulled out the picture of Sirian she had taken when he was taped to the chair in her apartment. The one Andrew had found.

  Erin jumped out of her seat as the front door swung open.

  “Heyyyyy, you better be off my floor, you slut,” Stephanie called from the hallway, and despite the insult she sounded very friendly.

  “In here,” Erin muttered, sitting back down and dropping the picture on the table top.

  “You’re in a good mood,” Stephanie said sarcastically.

  “I was just thinking.”

  “Oooh, who’s the hottie?” Stephanie asked, snatching up the picture.

  Erin’s mouth dipped at one side. “No one,” she said.

  “Well, he sure doesn’t look like no one,” Stephanie said as she admired the image. “Damn. Is he part Mohican or Cherokee or whatever you are?”

  “I have no idea what he is,” Erin said. She hadn’t stopped to consider Sirian’s racial heritage, which seemed particularly irrelevant in light of the fact that he was a vampire.

  “His cheekbones are incredible,” Stephanie said.

  “You can have them,” Erin said.

  “I bet he’s got nice shoulders,” Stephanie added.

  “He’s got nice fists.”

  “Hm?” Stephanie asked, still looking at the picture.

  “Trust me, Steph, that guy’s nothing but trouble,” she said.

  “Well, Trouble, here I come,” Stephanie said, grinning suggestively. “If you don’t want him, then introduce me. This guy’s straight sex appeal, and you know it.”

  Erin snapped the picture out of Stephanie’s hands and stuffed it into her pocket.

  “Oh, come on,” Stephanie moaned. “Don’t be greedy. You said it yourself, you don’t want him.”

  “And you don’t either,” Erin said. “Believe me.”

  Stephanie gave her a pouting look, then walked to the refrigerator.

  “He’s dead broke,” Erin added suddenly. “Besides, don’t you have a date with the perfect man?”

  “Nice try,” Stephanie said over her shoulder. “You want some salad?” she asked.

  “No, thanks. It’s red dye number forty for me,” Erin said, finally pouring in the milk and taking a spoonful of cereal.

  “Oh, yeah, Isaiah’s going to be here in a couple minutes.”

  “Huh?” Erin asked, stunned.

  “Yeah, I mentioned you—can’t remember why—and he said he wanted to come over and see you.” A look of scandal crossed Stephanie’s face. “You two aren’t back together, are you?” she asked. “Behind Andrew’s back? Oh my—”

  “No,” Erin hissed. “We’re not. Seriously, Steph, you’re impossible.”

  “You’re really not?” Stephanie asked, sounding optimistic.

  “No, we’re not. Zaiah and I are friends. That’s it. That’s all there’s going to be,” Erin said irritably.

  “Yeah, sure—”

  “I’m taking a shower,” Erin said, placing her cereal bowl in the sink. She retrieved her suitcase and bat from Stephanie’s bedroom and locked herself in the bathroom. She waited a few seconds, listening to the house, expecting the sounds of an intrusion any minute. Hearing nothing but Stephanie shuffling around in the kitchen, Erin gently balanced her bat against the corner beside the door. Then she just stood there, staring at it. The wooden grain. The dints, scuffs, and gouges. The area near the handle where her hands had stripped away the varnish. For an instant, Erin found herself standing in the back yard with her father. With his endless patience and encouragement. Showing her how to swing, how to track the ball, connect, and pull through—how to play the game that had shaped more than half her life.

  And here she was using it as a weapon. Using what he’d taught her, what she’d practiced for fun, to fight off vampires. Wendigo. The Owl Man. Whatever they really were. She was using the only thing she truly knew to fight for her life. Erin recognized the absurdity of it, but she felt something else, too. Gratitude. Astonishment that the one thing she was good at was actually useful. How many times had it saved her life?

  Erin took one last look at the bat, then loosened her hair, stripped, gently removed the wrap from her ribcage, and stepped into the tub. She pulled the clear Hot Lips curtain closed and started the faucet. She studied her body as the water streamed across it. Bruises, cuts, gashes—she was a mess. The discolored skin on her left side had gotten much worse. She looked like she’d been run over by a truck. Erin sighed and grabbed the soap. Showering hurt—more than she had expected—but it also made her feel a little more in control. She spent the most time on her hair, convinced she’d feel normal if she could just get it completely clean. When the water started to go cold, she toweled off, dressed in a fresh pair of jeans and blue tank top, and pulled out her toothbrush. She heard the doorbell ring and froze, listening, waiting, wondering if she ought to be running already.

  Then the sound of Isaiah’s voice made its way down the hall, followed by Stephanie’s fake laugh, the one reserved for eligible bachelors and ineligible rich guys. Erin quickly brushed her teeth, shoved everything back into her suitcase, and stopped herself from taking a deep breath.

  She didn’t want to lie to Isaiah, but she was going to. Telling the truth could be a death sentence for him.

  Couldn’t it?

  She couldn’t involve him. She couldn’t involve anyone. In fact, being here—however desperate she felt—was a mistake. She was going to get Stephanie killed. When Krysis or Sirian or the Gemini or Coach or one of those demons found her here, she wouldn’t be able to protect anyone. She couldn’t even protect herself.

  Right then and there, Erin made up her mind. She’d run. She’d get in her car and drive like hell and hope to outrun this whole mess. And if it caught up with her, at least she would have put enough distance between herself and her loved ones to keep them out of harm’s way. To keep them alive. Espy kept telling her to go to the Rez, but she couldn’t—not now that she knew what she was up against, what would inevitably follow her back.

  Tonight. She would leave, she would run, tonight.

  Erin stepped out of the bathroom, walked down the hall, and leaned against the doorway to the kitchen in silence. Isaiah was sitting at the table peeling an orange. Stephanie, who was on the phone, propped one heeled foot on the side of Isaiah’s chair, exposing most of her leg.

  “Hold on a minute,” she said into the phone, then turned to Isaiah with a delicate expression. “Fix the buckle on the ankle strap, would you?” she asked, giving him her infamous dove eyes.

  Isaiah dropped another orange peel onto the table and ignored the request.

  “Isaiah,” Stephanie implored.

  “Sorry,” he said, “allergic to pleather.”

  Stephanie gave him a pouting expression, then returned to her phone call.

  Erin sat down at the table and smiled at Isaiah. “Where are you staying?”

  “Chad’s place,” he replied.

  Erin nodded. “Lorraine wouldn’t take you?”

  “I didn’t
ask her.” Isaiah split the orange and passed half to Erin. She took it with a grin.

  “So—”

  “Shush,” Stephanie hissed.

  Erin stood up, gave Isaiah a nod, and walked into the living room. She sat down on the carpet and leaned her injured back against the sofa. Isaiah sat down beside her, his long legs stretching out across the beige carpet. Before she could say anything, Isaiah took her forearm and gently turned it over, examining the bruises. He gently brushed his fingers across her skin.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “It’s complicated,” she said, almost amused by how great an understatement that was. Complicated didn’t even begin to describe this.

  “You think I won’t understand?” he asked slowly.

  “I think I don’t even understand,” Erin said.

  “Let me try,” he said.

  Erin remained silent, studying the contours of the stone fireplace. She’d only seen it in use once—the night they all drank Peppermint Schnapps. The night everyone else passed out. The night Isaiah had kissed her again for the first time in almost two years. And she’d told him, once again, that their friendship was too important to jeopardize with romance. She had lied because the truth—that she was crazy, homicidal, unstable—wasn’t an option.

  Exhaling slowly, Erin pulled the picture of Sirian from her back pocket and handed it to Isaiah.

  “Is that the guy who messed up your face?” Isaiah asked.

  “Yes and no,” she said. “It’s seriously complicated.”

  “Have you been seeing this guy or something? Is he beating you?” Isaiah didn’t wait for an answer. “Erin, you’ve got to report him.”

  Stephanie stepped into the room with a look of elation. “Okay, I’m, like, flipping out here,” she said. “You won’t believe this.”

  When neither Erin nor Isaiah asked for more information, Stephanie scowled.

  “Joshua wants to take me to Sahara Club! How perfect is that!?”

  “Really perfect,” Erin said awkwardly, unable to come up with anything else to say.

  “Very perfect,” Isaiah chimed in.

  Erin grinned at him.

  Stephanie let out a frustrated huff. “Alright, whatever, I bet neither one of you has ever even been there.” She glanced at the clock. “Oh crap! I am so late!” Stephanie rushed back into the kitchen, scooped her purse off the table, and ran out the door.

  Isaiah gave Erin a long look. “What’s so complicated about this? Some guy is beating the hell out of you. Why are you protecting this creep?”

  “The cops can’t do anything about it.”

  “Someone’s got to,” he said.

  Erin shook her head. “If you call the cops, I’m going to be in serious trouble.”

  “What did you do?” he asked.

  “I didn’t do anything, but—”

  “But nothing. You’re scared. That’s okay. Believe me, anyone who’d been through—whatever it is, and you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to—anyone would be scared in your position. But I’m here for you. I will do whatever you need me to do.” He searched her face momentarily. “But you’ve got to report this guy.”

  Erin pursed her lips and tried to at least appear as if she was thinking it over. She wasn’t, of course, because sending the cops to Sirian’s place would be homicidal.

  Isaiah took her face in his hands. “You know I’ll do anything—anything—for you, Erin.”

  Erin stared up at him, speechless. Then she nodded. “Just give me until tomorrow, so I can figure out what to say to the police.”

  Isaiah nodded. “I can take you. I’ll stay here tonight. Stephanie won’t care.”

  Erin thought about it. Isaiah had class at 6 p.m. That would have to be it, her getaway. She’d leave him a cryptic note about how much he meant to her. About how she hoped to see him again someday. About how this was for the best and how she’d never forgive herself if she got him involved, got him hurt.

  “Okay,” she said. “That sounds good.”

  For the next five hours, Erin spent what felt like a normal evening with her best friend. She loved him, of course—always had—so it was never completely friendship. Never completely relaxed. But she’d closed that door a long time ago, so she tried not to think about wrapping her arms around him and telling him how she felt. Tried not to think about how she’d fantasized about having him again someday—whenever her craziness went away. Tried not to think about what it would feel like to know that possibility was completely gone.

  Chapter 12

  Isaiah left twenty minutes before six because he had to swing by Chad’s place to pick up his books on the way to class. It was only at Erin’s insistence that he left at all. He’d intended to skip class to stay with her, but she needed him gone, so she smiled and said all the right things and promised to lock all the doors. She told him she’d text him during class to let him know she was okay. She had lied like a dog.

  Erin waited thirty seconds after Isaiah’s car disappeared around the corner, then walked down the hall to the bathroom and grabbed her suitcase. She dropped it next to the front door, then ripped a Passions Party flyer off Stephanie’s cork board, flipped it over, and started writing anything and everything that came to mind.

  Isaiah meant the world to her ... best friend no matter what ... never forgive herself if he got hurt ...

  Then Erin paused, listening.

  Music.

  Terrible music—roaring somewhere out front. And the sound was getting closer.

  Erin instinctively grabbed her bat and peered out the kitchen window to the front yard.

  Screaming thrash metal blasted from a yellow school bus—with a rusty grey ’68 Camaro in tow—parked on Stephanie’s front lawn. Printed on the side of the bus were the words St. Ignatius’s School for Girls. Erin stood there for a moment, just staring. She thought about running for it, just darting out the back door and heading for the first public place she could find. She considered calling the cops. She wondered if she should just stand there and see what happened next.

  But nothing did happen. The bus just sat there, blaring thrash metal and undoubtedly alarming the neighbors. The police would show up soon, and that was the last thing Erin needed. They would see her bruised face and ask more questions she couldn’t answer.

  Erin hooked her key ring onto her middle finger and grabbed her bat with the same hand. She pulled open the door, wedged it open with one foot, then gripped her suitcase. She stood in the doorway for several seconds, watching, then started slowly across the grass with a tight hold on her bat. Keeping her focus on the bus, Erin reached her car, unlocked the driver side door, and froze with one foot in the door.

  Nothing was happening.

  She bit her lip, watching still.

  Nothing. Just terrible music and tinted windows.

  Erin swung into her car, started the engine, and shifted into drive—then gasped as the bus lurched backward onto the street and blocked her way. Erin took a steadying breath. She was in a car, and that was a bus. She could outrun that thing. She knew she could.

  Erin crammed the shifter into reverse, then hit the gas and plowed back over the curb and onto Stephanie’s lawn. The bus lunged forward, driving head first into the nose of Erin’s car and shoving it backwards until the rear bumper slammed into Stephanie’s house.

  Trapped.

  Erin heard the bus engine die. The only remaining sound was the awful screaming rock. She jumped out of her car—bat in hand—and sprinted up the front steps of Stephanie’s house. She slammed the door closed behind her, twisted the lock, then peered through the window pane.

  Out on the darkened lawn, the Gemini climbed down from the bus and casually strolled across the grass toward the house.

  Erin darted across the house, grabbed a chair, and jammed it under the door handle. She heard the sound of glass shattering behind her. She turned and froze. One of the twins was already standing beside the kitchen table. A second stilted
figure climbed in through the broken dining room window and shook the glass fragments from its coat.

  Erin took a slow step back, bat held tightly in hand. The twins stood side by side, pale blue eyes glinting, black hair draped over their faces. They seemed incredibly tall and curveless—just shoulders and long, stilted limbs. Erin noticed numerous scars running across their faces, necks, and hands, including a slash mark through the right side of the female’s lips.

  “You—You didn’t kill me last time,” Erin stammered. “You don’t have to kill me. You don’t. I haven’t done anything. I swear I haven’t done anything.”

  The female twin took a drink from a silver flask in one hand. The male lifted a handgun, the shape of its barrel modified by a silencer, and pointed it at Erin’s face.

  “Chill out,” he said.

  The female threw Erin a silver flask. She caught it, then hesitated.

  “You got anything to eat?” the female asked, pulling open the refrigerator.

  “Uh?” Erin just stood there, holding the flask and staring. “Who are you?”

  “Tell her,” the male said to the female.

  “We’re the tooth fairy,” she said, then shut the refrigerator and started whipping open cabinets.

  “What are you doing here?” Erin asked.

  The female pulled out a cereal box and sat on the counter. “What are we doing here?” she asked the male, looking mildly confused.

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “Good cereal,” she said with a shrug, throwing a fruit loop at him.

  Erin stared. “Uh, you’re not here to kill me?”

  “Nah,” the male said, rifling through the refrigerator.

  “There’s nothing good in there,” the female said, then tilted the cereal box so that Erin could see the contents. She shook it a little. “Want some?”

  “N-No. I’m okay, I think.”

  The female shrugged.

  “So, why are you here?” Erin asked.

  “Why are you here?” the male asked, peering into the cereal box. He reached in for a handful.