by L. L. Muir
Forget that. I’d rather freeze.
The day before, he’d run across a powerful magnet, a slingshot, and a mini recorder. If he’d have remembered to bring them up to the tree house, he could have been recording this crap!
Murmurs started below, getting closer, getting louder. Although he was expecting it, vibrations sent a painful wave of panic through him when someone dragged himself up through the hole, into the clubhouse.
“Cool.”
More vibrations.
“Yeah, but look at the view.”
Heavy steps shuffled toward the big window.
“Uh, oh. Not good.”
“Not good is right.”
“Well, we've cleaned up messes before.” The small search party moved around the room, tossing around magazines, snooping through the long wood boxes that served as storage and seating for generations of little boys’ butts.
“Are you going to come out, Jamison?” The words pushed through the wood.
Hell no.
He wasn't even going to breathe unless they climbed out, squeezed through those twisted tree limbs, and crawled onto the roof. They had no proof he was there. No proof.
He held his lungs open so air could come and go as it pleased, but he wouldn't rustle a friggin' leaf!
“Do you think he's here?” one whispered.
Jamison smiled in relief—they didn't know for sure!
“He has to be. Why would those two be here without him?”
“I don't know. Skye said Ray's been watching her closely. If he knew about the tree house, he could have come without Kenneth's grandson.”
“Uh oh.”
“What?”
“Another trap door.”
Jamison felt pressure on the hip that covered the escape hatch. He held still, not pushing back, but not giving way. In his bladder, Jamison’s heart moved over to make room for his Dew. If he pissed his pants, would they think it was rain?
“A seventeen-year-old couldn’t fit through there.”
“But he could be on the roof... You on the roof, Jamison?”
CHAPTER TWO
Moments earlier...
The silence was broken by a “Holy shit!” and it took Skye a moment to realize she hadn’t imagined it.
From inside the deep circle of flattened cornstalks the only thing visible, besides the star-dotted sky, was the row of trees marking the end of Kenneth’s property. Nestled in the branches of the second tree was the old clubhouse. Dangling beneath the clubhouse, and to either side of the giant trunk, were the spot-lit faces of two wide-eyed teenagers.
No!
Chaos erupted around her. The Final Host moved as one toward the trees. Some broke into a run. She had to go along. What excuse could she offer if she didn’t?
A twisted ankle?
Her ankles didn’t twist.
Too tired?
Her kind didn’t need rest.
Too distraught over losing Marcus?
She wasn’t supposed to be. Losing people was the one constant of their existence. In fact, they’d be losing her in a matter of weeks.
Her turn to stand in the center of the circle had never bothered her before, but this assignment was different. She thought she’d become attached to the old neighbor because he was unusually loveable, in that rough Scottish way. Really, how could anyone resist such honesty, such charm?
But then, two days ago a lot of things changed. Two days ago she’d felt a tug in her empty chest and looked up to see Kenneth Jamison’s handsome grandson looking back at her. Two days ago she’d slipped easily into the character of the sixteen-year-old girl she was supposed to resemble. Of course she didn’t feel mortal; she’d never feel that. But she’d felt something. And in a body with no sensation, feeling something was monumental.
What she felt for the old man had been but a warning. She should have reported it right away. She saw that now.
Step by step she dragged her feet through the cornfield, but instead of leaping over the fence with the others, she stalled. She couldn’t bear it. Young Jamison would have noticed her in the circle. What a freak he must believe her to be.
If he’d seen.
There was a chance he hadn’t recognized her in the darkness, from that distance, and that slim chance kept her from joining in the chase. If she came face to face with him now, he’d fear her, and she dreaded seeing that emotion mar his strong face. Even worse would be finding disgust in his lovely blue eyes.
While they’d noticed each other over the fence for the past two days, she’d gotten a good look at him. They’d exchanged smiles, a nod of the head. A little wave once. His brows were much darker than his golden blond hair with their ends bowed up like the edge of a wing. His flat cheeks rippled into dimples when he’d laughed with his mother, and his straight white teeth only made his Texas tan stand out that much more.
So foolish! What she should worry about was losing his cooperation, not his approval. Making an enemy of Jamison Shaw would jeopardize her assignment, and all she could think about was his dimples?
Ridiculous! She was impervious to everything. She felt nothing. The emotions of mortals were things she watched from a distance, manipulated when necessary. They did not manipulate her.
Why, then, did she suddenly feel opposing waves inside her body, crashing into each other? What would the others say? Was she flawed? Would they call for a replacement and send her to the center of the circle early?
Fear. This is fear.
She sagged against the fence and nearly laughed in relief. Those of the Final Host had nothing to fear; that was the entire point of The Arrangement.
Her thoughts calmed. Everything would happen as it was destined to happen. Jamison, and the strange connection she felt with him, had a purpose. She needed only to wait and see what that was.
She heard Ray Peters pleading for God’s help and found a gap through which she could watch the proceedings. He was on the ground, held firmly by three of her robed “cousins.” Shock had him shaking like a junkie in withdrawals and she pitied him, even though he half-deserved a good fright. She’d warned him to mind his own business, first kindly, then sternly. She wondered if at that moment her warning was replaying in his head—”Curiosity killed the cat. Curiosity killed...the cat.”
She took a deep, bracing-but-unnecessary breath and looked back to where the other captive sat.
It wasn’t Jamison!
A very black-haired Burke Costley struggled and spit, but his captors only laughed and interrupted when he began cursing. If he meant to punch empty air he was succeeding nicely. He probably saw six robed men, not three, and he was fighting the wrong three.
Clearly he was far too wasted for adrenaline to sober him up. The fight drained quickly, turning his arms to sagging rubber and he slumped to the ground in a loose pile next to his well-recognized beanie. Burke was soon carried away like a baby, and Skye had little doubt that if left to himself, he probably wouldn’t remember anything in the morning.
As Ray was led away his army fatigues churned beneath him, but there was no need. He barely touched the ground, thanks to his escort.
The yard was quickly emptying of white robes, except for the circle of men surrounding the base of the tree, as if they might shake the mighty trunk until Jamison dropped from the branches like a ripe peach. Thank goodness that wasn’t an option; from that height, they’d end up with peach jam.
Skye had assumed, when she’d first seen Kenneth’s grandson, that he noticed her only because of her apparent age. After all, she’d been given plain, non-memorable looks. But as she’d moved throughout the compound, and he’d gone in and out of his grandfather’s house, the connection between them had become real.
It was this connection that made her sharply aware of his presence over nearly thirty feet above her. Too bad she hadn’t been so aware of him before the ceremony began. If she hadn’t been so distracted over losing dear Marcus, perhaps she would have felt that tug and warned the rest. An in
terruption would have been welcomed; it would have supplied an excuse to keep Marcus for an additional day.
Lucas and Jonathan began climbing the tree. If the situation weren’t so serious, their struggle to find the elusive footholds in billowing skirts would have been funny. The two were aware of Skye’s assignment and that Jamison could not be handled as Ray and Burke would be. But what would they do? Jamison must not resist. If he struggled and fell...
She turned her back; she couldn’t watch. Lucas and Jonathan would keep him safe. Besides, she and the boy would both be embarrassed if Jamison fought like Burke then found her watching it all for entertainment.
Conversation was apparently unaffected by gravity since she couldn’t catch a word that was said. She strained to discern a voice other than Lucas and Jonathan’s, but got nothing.
Leaning back, she slid down the fencepost until the ground hit her rump and she folded her bell sleeves over her knees. Nothing to do but wait and count stars.
Two robed figures vaulted over the fence to land beside her.
“Too weak to clear the fence, Skye?” Lucas chucked her under the chin and pulled her to her feet so abruptly she nearly took flight.
Jonathan looked at her closely. “More likely she didn’t wish the young man to know of her participation. It might have played against her, and she is working under a time constraint.”
She gave Jonathan a generous smile. He was a great reader—minds, faces, auras—he read them all. Clearly. Subjectively.
“Well, then, you have little to worry over, my dear.” Lucas began walking along the fence, toward the house. “He wasn’t up there.”
Skye had begun to follow, but stopped. “What do you mean, he wasn’t up there?” she whispered a bit loudly.
“He. Wasn’t. Up. There.” Jonathan walked around her to follow Lucas. “No heat traces of him on the ground, either, so relax.”
Of course she couldn’t relax! She happened to know Jamison had been up there. He was still up there. The question was what should she do about it?
Perhaps he was asleep, under a blanket they hadn’t checked. Perhaps he’d missed it all. But that wasn’t likely. Lucas and Jonathan were anything but subtle. They wouldn’t have tiptoed up the tree, taken a peek and come back down. They would have stomped through from corner to corner and bellowed out the windows.
Jamison wasn’t asleep. He’d seen it all, and now he was hiding. She couldn’t blame him. She’d hide if she were him, if she’d seen what he’d seen then heard his friends being taken away.
She had a choice, which was odd since she never had choices to make, only clear-cut objectives. There was no owner’s manual to tell her to report any strange connections she felt with her mortal counterparts. She had no clear obligation to correct Lucas when he claimed Jamison wasn’t up there. After all, her senses could be wrong. She wasn’t supposed to have such a sense anyway. Who was to say she wasn’t imagining something up there? It was over the property line, unhallowed ground. It could be a demon.
It could be, but it wasn’t. It was only Jamison.
Only Jamison. If only it were that simple.
CHAPTER THREE
“There’s the bell. You’d better get going.” Jamison’s mom gave him a subtle squeeze and turned toward the parking lot.
He hoped she wouldn’t look back because he wasn’t moving an inch until Ray showed up. Screw first period.
Mom didn’t look back, but before her car pulled onto the street a green BMW screamed into the space she’d just left.
Okay, actor boy. Act cool. You saw nothing. She knows nothing. I was never there.
The door opened and a ball of white and gray unfurled. He watched like someone had commanded him not to take his eyes off her. So much for cool.
She must be cold. More layers than usual. A leather book bag dug into her shoulder. A white glove pushed the door shut and she turned. Sunglasses. Clever.
Were they allowed to wear sunglasses? Plastic, black sunglasses?
“Hey.” She smiled as she walked toward him, but she revealed nothing. “You’re Kenneth’s grandson.” She held out a gloved hand and stopped two feet away. Guess she forgot she was in a hurry.
“That’s me.”
“You’re wondering if I’m allowed to wear sunglasses.”
Holy shit, he thought, but he kept his face blank, except for his raised eyebrow. Granddad had taught him that, years ago.
“I’m teasing. Don’t imagine I can read minds. I just get asked that every time I wear them.” She started to take them off, took one look into his eyes, then replaced them.
“Hungover?” He couldn’t believe he just asked, but he covered the slip with a friendly smile.
“That’s not allowed.” She laughed. “But I am allowed to shake hands.”
Stupid! Her hand was still out there, hanging!
He grabbed it a little fast, a little hard, but she just laughed again. It wasn’t a silly Tickle-Me-Elmo laugh like most girls. It was a real laugh, like...the kind of laugh that made you think a person got you. And he wished there was a stupid red button on her palm he could push to hear it again.
Push here.
He still held her hand, not looking up as a kid ran past even though he felt the guy staring. Her gloves were the softest he’d ever felt, like the angel hair his mother always laid under the nativity scene at Christmas time.
“Lamb’s wool. Nice, huh?”
“Yeah.” He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, still holding firm. She’d given him the excuse. Not his fault. “Like angel hair.”
She snatched back her hand, biting her bottom lip.
“Nope. Just wool.” She cleared her throat. “I’m Skye.”
“Skye what?”
What an idiot. He’d let a little bit of small talk make him forget all about Ray and Burke, about what the Somerleds may have done to them to keep them from making it to school that morning. Ray knew how Jamison dreaded that first day. If somewhere, deep down, there was any trace of the best friend he’d grown up with, Ray wouldn’t let him down today. Not if he had a choice.
“Somerled.”
“Skye Somerled?” Skepticism snarled out around his tongue. “Do they make you change your name when you join up?”
Her lips pursed like an old woman’s, but with less wrinkles, pushing the tip of her nose up slightly. Cute nose.
“I’ve always been Skye Somerled, thanks. And no one joins up; you’re either a Somerled, or you’re not.”
“And what if you start craving hamburgers?”
She smiled and folded her arms. Ray’d been right about the vegetarian stuff.
Jamison guessed she’d be blowing off the whole first period too, and the thing he’d dreaded all day—running into her—was the last thing he wanted to end.
“Or what if you fell in love with...blue jeans?”
“Ha!” She tossed her head back and put her hands on her hips, holding back all those layers of sweater, coat, and scarf. Actually, the white jeans looked pretty hot.
“Or if you got caught wearing black sunglasses?”
He didn’t want to let the chance pass to learn more about her cult rules. The thought of them punishing her for misbehaving made him want to retch.
She bit her bottom lip again and looked down, adjusted her bag, preparing to walk away. “I found them in the car.”
She’d mumbled, but he’d heard her. It was his turn to laugh. She didn’t sound like she was afraid of punishment. She was just embarrassed to get busted. Sunglasses weren’t allowed, after all.
When he could speak again, he meant to say something smooth, but what came out was, “I’ll keep your secret.”
Her head snapped up. Damn it!
“You’d better be careful, though. Don’t forget you’re wearing them and drive home like that.” He gave her a teasing smile to distract her from the smell of fear in the air—his fear. It blew in and out his nose with each breath. He hoped she had a cold so she’d miss it.
Surely girls who helped blow up people in mid-air knew what fear smelled like.
Jamison struggled to keep a straight face and block the image of Ray and Burke being lifted off the ground, knowing they were seconds away from being blown to smithereens.
Okay. He needed to get away from her. This couldn’t end well.
“Fine,” she said. “You keep my secret, and I’ll keep yours.”
He couldn’t have walked away if his shoes were on fire.
Would she slap his hand away if he reached for her glasses? If he could just see her eyes, he’d know just how busted he was. No one was as good an actor as he was. No one.
“And do I have a secret?” Innocent. Think innocent.
“Don’t you?” She lowered the sunglasses and smiled a smile that bore into his soul.
He suddenly saw nothing wrong with confessing every secret he’d ever kept. Thankfully she winked and that stupid urge disappeared. He stuck his tongue between his teeth and clamped down, just in case.
“It looks like you’re all registered for classes and you’re skipping out on your first day.”
“Oh.” He looked at the schedule in his hand. “No. I’m just waiting for my friend, Ray. Said he’d meet me here before classes started.” He should get an Oscar for the morning’s performance. Honestly. “You know Ray Peters?”
Skye smiled and pushed her glasses back up, but not before he saw something flash across her face. Regret? Pity? He sure as hell hoped it wasn’t guilt.
“Sure I know Ray. And I know him well enough to not be surprised he’s late for school.”
“Yeah?” Jamison stiffened. “I know him pretty well myself. We’ve been best friends all our lives, and he’d rather die than let me down.”
She frowned, though he could barely see the pucker in her brow over the glasses. “And he’s letting you down by not showing up to school on time?”
“Yeah, he is.” Jamison looked down at the sidewalk, no longer wanting to explain. She’d think he was so stupid for wanting someone to have his back when he walked through those halls the first day. Then something else came to him; he was more worried about his first day at school than he was about what had happened to his friend. “Loser!”