Silver Mortal (The Gracen Chronicles)

by Jenna Kay

  “So, no action at all, huh?” she queries, picking up another pot to scrub.

  “None,” I tell her with a mouth full of apple, though I'm lying through my teeth. I know I need to tell her about the blonde Night Viper, but the problem is I don't know how to approach the subject. I'd have to come up with a way to tell her about him...and also that I didn't feel threatened by him.

  Yep, that's right. I said it. I don't feel threatened by him. Last night I sensed that the viper outside the window of the restaurant was not a threat, and that confused the living hell out of me. I mean, what kind of Silver Mortal am I, thinking that the enemy is not really my enemy? And it's not just my thinking—it's the way I feel. Deep down I know that I have nothing to fear from him, and that certain feeling leaves me unsettled. But before I can talk to Mom about this Viper I would have to get the date with Mark over with. Gazing out the window I'm discouraged to see rain pelting the outside world. Man, oh man, I hope it stops before I have to walk to Starbucks. Even though I'm not interested in dating I still want to impress Mark. The rain would ruin everything.

  As if on some strange cue, Mom starts up the questions.

  “So, got plans tonight?” she inquires, taking in my appearance with raised eyebrows.

  I shrug, feeling my face blush. “Sort of.”

  Mom continues to stare at my outfit with a smirk on her face, and I know she's wondering what I'm up to. I took a chance and ditched my black clothes for a lacy white top, jeans, and a white wrap-a-round sweater. I'd also ditched my ponytail and flat-ironed my long hair, which flowed way down my back.

  “Bets isn't having another party, is she?” she wonders, going back to scrubbing pots.

  “No, she's not. Her dad's back in town.” I take another bite of apple, then toss the remains into the garbage. Realizing I have less than an hour until my date, my stomach shakes, full of dancing butterflies that cause my nerves to ignite.

  She looks at me curiously. “If Bets isn't having a party, then why are you so prettied up?”

  I hesitate before replying, “Because I have a date.”

  Mom drops the pot she's scrubbing, looking at me with a floored expression on her face. Nervous, I stand there, not knowing what to expect next. This would be my first date, and I'm not sure how she's going to take the news. I mean, she can't be too surprised. I am sixteen, for crying out loud!

  “You have a date?” she states in a bare whisper, wiping her wet hands on her robe and walking over to me. A second later Jude walks in...well, limps in. He's still roughed up from the night before last, and apparently he'd just heard the last part of our conversation.

  “Who has a date?” he asks, looking at Mom and then at me.

  “Gracen does,” Mom answers, taking me by surprise and hugging me tightly. She adds, “My baby's going on her first date!”

  Wow. This is so uncomfortable.

  “Mom?” I squeak out, hardly able to breath. “Mom...can't breathe...”

  “Oh.” She lets go of me and grins. “I just can't believe it! Your first date! How exciting! Is the boy cute? Oh, I bet he's cute!”

  Before I can answer Jude gives me a celebratory slap on the back. “Way to go, Silva Sista! Who's the lucky guy? Someone from school?”

  “No, not from school,” I respond, grabbing my purse and hoping to make a quick exit. Their reactions have me a little freaked out, causing the butterflies in the pit of my stomach to dance even faster.

  “So who is he? Where's he from?” Mom inquires, following me to the door.

  With my hand inching towards the doorknob I answer, “His name is Mark Hopkins, he works at Applebee's, and is in college. He's just a friend, so don't make any wedding plans yet. We're meeting for coffee.” My hand is on the knob and beginning to twist it. All this oohing and ahhing about me meeting up with a guy is making me more and more nervous.

  “Alright, an older man,” Jude smirks.

  “Well, don't be too late,” Mom warns, though her tone is light. “You've got school tomorrow and you need your rest.” She turns all motherly on Sunday nights. She wants me to live as normal a life as possible, and part of that normalcy is getting an education, graduating, and most recently, a date.

  After an awkward pep talk from Mom about birth control (in front of Jude who threw in a few words of his own), I was finally able to start my trek to Starbucks. Thankfully the rain had slowed down to a drizzle. I place the hood of my sweater on top of my head to protect my hair from frizzing.

  A few blocks later I'm at Starbucks. I go to open the door, but it opens on its own. A couple of kids from school walk out, totally ignoring my existence. I'm not upset about it. The whole “being popular” thing has never been important to me, even when I was clueless to the whole supernatural world that existed. Popularity in high school ends right after graduation, and the ones that had been on top of the precious elite food train gets a rude awakening once they're thrown out into the real world where the wolves are always waiting for them in the shadows.

  Literally.

  Searching the coffee house I scan the faces of everyone in there, not finding the one I'm hoping to see. I check my watch—six o'clock on the dot. I sit down at a nearby table and pick up a very used New York Times, turning directly to the obituaries. Yeah, it may seem a little morbid that a sixteen year old picks up a paper and heads straight to the deaths section, but in my line of work it's a must. I look over all the names, not finding an Ashley among them. This gives me a crisp sense of relief, but I'm not feeling too encouraged. Just because there's no girl or woman by the name Ashley in the death notices doesn't mean she isn't dead or being tortured by an insane Night Viper.

  Questions line and rotate in my brain. Who is this Ashley chick and why am I put in her place in the dream? Who is the white-haired Viper who orders beasts and humans around like they're dogs? And what about the young Viper from last night? How did he know my name and why was he looking for me? Also...why did I feel no fear when I thought of him?

  “Gracen.”

  I jump and throw the paper to the ground, my nerves completely rattled. My heart is bouncing around in my chest like a kickball tournament is taking place. Once I see who it is I release a sigh and settle down.

  “Mark,” I breath out, my hand clutching my chest. “You scared me.”

  “Oh, sorry!” he replies, sounding honestly contrite. “Didn't mean to scare you, and I'm also sorry for being late. My boss gave me some extra work at the restaurant and it took me longer than expected.” He grins sheepishly, the dimple in his left cheek making its appearance.

  I smile back, taking in his good looks. Man does he look hot! He's changed out of his waiter uniform and into jeans and a black turtleneck. His brown hair hangs in wet ringlets, and his hazel eyes twinkle with specks of green. For the first time I see how full and plump his lips are. I bet he's a great kisser. All in all, Mark Hopkins is, as Bets so crudely puts it, Grade A Choice Meat. It's just too bad I'm not interested in a boyfriend.

  I think.

  We order our coffees and find a comfortable couch to sit on. He tells me he's from a small town in Kentucky and has always dreamed of living in New York City. I learned a lot about his family, like his parents were divorced, he's the oldest of four brothers, and he misses he grandfather who passed away two years ago. His major in college is Biology, and he's interested in the paranormal, his favorite shows being Ghost Adventures and Ghost Hunters. To my utmost surprise I find myself liking Mark more and more, but then the conversation switches over to me.

  “So tell me a little about yourself,” he says, taking a sip of coffee. “Like your hobbies, interests, goal...things like that.”

  “Hobbies?” I think a moment but the only hobbies that come to mind is training with my Katana and tracking down demons to send back to Hell. I figure those hobbies would not go over well with him.

  Instead of the truth I go with, “I like to hang out with my friends, shop, talk and text on the phone, spending time with my mom.
You know, typical girly boring junk.”

  “Really?” he reacts, his eyebrows lifting with amazement. “Wow, I didn't expect that from you.”

  Now I'm surprised. What did he mean by that? “What exactly did you expect from me?”

  After another sip of coffee he answers, “Well, all the times I've seen you in the restaurant you seem dark and mysterious. Like there's a bunch of stuff hidden under your deep exterior.”

  Confused and shocked I stumble out, “Y-You see me as dark and mysterious?” Never been referred to as that!

  “Well, yeah. That's what I like about you. You're not like other girls.” His expression turns serious. “What I mean to say is...that's what attracted me to you in the first place.”

  Overly stunned I whisper, “You're attracted to me?”

  A blush creeps across his face, his smile showing off the dimple on his left cheek. “Yes, I am.”

  “Wow,” I say, feeling as light as air.

  “You seem surprised,” he tells me.

  I nod. “I am. No one has ever been attracted to me before.”

  He laughs. “I doubt that, Gracen. You have the bluest eyes I've ever seen, a sweet smile. You're incredibly beautiful.”

  To say I'm surprised is a huge understatement. First of all, for someone to think of me as beautiful—I thought that would never happen. And secondly, for me to be enjoying this date after I'd sworn to never get involved with anyone...

  Priceless.

  The rest of the evening went better than expected. We talked for hours, getting to know each others likes, dislikes, and backgrounds. Though I had to keep the majority of my background locked in the vault. By eleven I find myself walking the streets, still finding stuff to talk about with him. The rain had stopped hours ago, giving way to a star-filled sky. Looking at my watch I'm astonished to see it's almost midnight.

  “Whoa! Mom's going to kill me!” I exclaim. “I've got to get home, but I'll walk you home first to make sure you get there safely.”

  Apparently amused by my words he says, “Hey, wait, I thought that was my line!”

  “Sorry,” I say, feeling heat rush into my cheeks. I mentally kick myself for being such a clueless idiot. Lifting my eyes to his I confess, “This was my first date, so I have no idea what I'm doing.”

  “What?” he exclaims, seemingly dumbfounded. “You mean you've never been on a date before...ever?”

  Wanting to stick my head in the sand, feeling immature and stupid, I remark, “Kind of pathetic, huh? Being sixteen and just now having my first date.” I sigh, shaking my head. “You must think I'm such a loser.”

  “What? No, I don't think you're a loser.” He looks at me, his expression thoughtful. “Actually, I think it's pretty cool.”

  I snort. “Pretty cool? Ha! Yeah, if cool goes down the same line as hapless and sad.”

  “Gracen, I don't think your sad at all,” he confesses, taking my hands in his and pulling me to a stop. We turn and face each other, his hazel eyes staring intently at me. “In fact, I'm honored to be your first date. I hope we have more.”

  At that moment I don't know what to say or what to think. I'm completely stumped, at a loss for words, mystified by this whole evening. And when he leans down to kiss me I feel myself migrating toward his lips. Just when our lips are about to touch we're rudely interrupted by a group of raucous men.

  “Well, well, well. Looky what we have here,” says one of the men. “A little romance under the stars.”

  I turn and take in the three men who so rudely cut into my almost kiss. They're wearing worn, tattered clothes, smelling of cigarettes and alcohol. If I had to guess I'd say they were homeless, the streets being their territory.

  “Wonder if he'll let us have a turn with her,” another guy remarks, rubbing himself crudely and spitting a wad of tobacco on the sidewalk, his dark eyes scouring my body up and down.

  I roll my eyes. Great. Just freaking great.

  My supernatural alarms begin to buzz through my body, and I know it's close to midnight. I also know that these guys have been drinking and Mark is in terrible danger.

  “Mark, you need to get out of here,” I tell him in a low voice, biting back a growl that's inching up my throat.

  I fix my eyes on the incoming threats, and I know they're not going down without a fight. Though they're not demons they are filled with evil essence, which means they've recently been visited by some dark entities. They're not possessed so I know their freewill is still in play. They have two choices right now: Darkness or Goodness, and these guys have chosen the dark path, and have chose willingly.

  “Mark, please,” I again say, whispering in his ear, “go home.”

  Instead of listening to me and running away, Mark steps in front of me, which I find very noble. He's willing to take on these guys by himself to save me. With feelings of fear washing over him, there's also a tinge of protectiveness. If he only knew the kind of essence within my body, flowing through my veins, bubbling beneath my skin—he'd be the one standing behind me.

  Trying again I start to say, “Mark—”

  “No,” he shoots back immediately, and when the group of skanky men advances toward us, the fight begins.

  Mark surprises me by throwing the first punch, the man he hits falling to the ground. That's as far as Mark gets, because after that punch the other two men give Mark the beating of his lifetime. It's also when my Silver Eagle side peaks, screaming at me to get down to business.

  “STOP!” I yell at the top of my lungs, hoping that they will turn their drunken attentions on me and leave Mark alone. Thankfully they do, even the one Mark had knocked to the ground. Unfortunately for them I'm able to see Mark lying on the dirty sidewalk, unconscious. A storm of instant rage blows into me, soaking through my skin and deep into my bones, my heart feeling a blunt of red-hot fury. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to calm down before complete and utter madness claims me, but all I see behind my closed eyelids is bright crimson.

  “Well, baby,” the one who had been rubbing himself says, “we're ready for our turn. We'll be more...gentle with you.” The other two drunkards laugh and spit out nasty, awful profanities.

  Clinching my fists at my sides, I open my eyes and fix my gaze on them, knowing my glare would stop them cold. They catch sight of my eyes, which halts their rambunctious laughter.

  “Uh...what's wrong with your eyes?” the one who'd been rubbing himself asks.

  “Yeah,” another one adds in a shaky voice. “And what the hell's on your face?”

  Narrowing my eyes I grin viciously, and then...

  I give them the beating of their lifetimes.

  ***

  Mark lives in upper Manhattan—I know this because I found his wallet and checked his ID, memorizing his address. After finding his apartment building, I jump up to the fourth floor and land on his balcony. The sliding glass door is unlocked, allowing easy access into his apartment. My nocturnal eyes take in the space—small, dark, and reeking of young male. His bedroom is simple to find since there's only three rooms, plus a tiny bathroom. I lay him down on his twin-sized, unmade bed, gently placing his head on a fluffy pillow. He has a few cuts and bruises, most likely his left eye will be swollen shut in the morning. Other than that he appears fine. Very fine.

  Gazing down at his unconscious face I realize just how handsome he is. His dark wavy hair, his strong jaw, his plump red lips—lips that I would never get to kiss. I knew this moment would be the last I shared with him. I'd be crazy to think that after tonight's events we could have a relationship, whether it be friends or more than friends.

  Sighing sadly I turn to leave. I stop when he mumbles my name.

  “G-Gracen?” I freeze, my heart thumping like millions of rabbit feet hopping around in my chest.

  “Yes Mark?” I reply without turning around.

  “Had a nice time tonight,” he softly says, letting out a weary laugh. “Thanks for hanging out with me.”

  “Yes Mark. I h
ad a great time, too.”

  “Sorry for getting beat up,” he says softly.

  I bite back tears. “You have nothing to be sorry about. It wasn't your fault.”

  “I can't remember...how did you get me home?”

  “Someone helped me.” Two single tears burn down my cheeks. I want to tell him everything, and I also want to tell him he needs to forget all about me, but I hold back. I begin to walk when his voice once again halts my steps.

  “Gracen?”

  “Yeah Mark?”

  “Goodnight.”

  I wipe the tears off my cheeks.

  “Goodbye, Mark,” I tell him in a whisper, then as fast as possible I run through the open sliding glass doors and jump over to the next building. And then the next, and the next, and the next...

  I run all the way home, jumping on top of every building that's in my way, crying the whole time. And with each roof I touch down on my mind spits out one simple truth:

  Happiness just wasn't in the cards of life for a Silver Mortal like me.

  69

  Silver Mortal

  CHAPTER 6

  Arriving home I open the door, slamming the crap out of it and rattling all the frames hanging on the wall. I throw my purse across the room and it hits the wall hard, all the contents spilling out, falling to the floor. To say the very least I'm ticked, and having rage issues does little to help the situation. Mom would still be out hunting demons so I would have to calm myself down. Alone. I stomp my feet against the hard wood floor leading to my bedroom, ready to sulk in the privacy of my own space. When Jude calls my name from the living room I know that my little pity party would have to wait.

  “Gracen!” Jude calls out. “How did your date go? Was it spicy?”

  With a loud groan I turn around and walk into the living room, pouting the whole way. Plopping down on the nearest loveseat I release a long, drawn-out sigh.

  “That bad, huh?” Jude remarks, his eyebrows raised.