Silver Mortal (The Gracen Chronicles)

by Jenna Kay

  “Yeah, it sucked. It was horrible, key word painful.” I know my reply is woeful, and I hate that is, but...I'm having a moment. An extremely pitiful one.

  He takes his glasses off, looking at me through tired green eyes, one blackened due to the other night's vamp demon venture.

  “What happened? Did he put the moves on you?”

  “The moves?” I laugh loudly. “When were you born, the forties?”

  “What I meant to say,” he retorts, rolling his eyes, “is did he try to get in your pants and feel your naughty parts?”

  “That's more like it,” I tell him with a nod. “Only no, he didn't try anything like that. He was the perfect gentleman, one of the nicest guys I've ever talked to. I was actually thinking of having another date with him. The date was going good and he was about to kiss me when...”

  I can't finish my sentence. Tears began to build in my eyes, the levy holding them in threatening to break. I didn't want to cry anymore, especially since I'd bawled like an infant a good twenty minutes on the way home, which bothered the hell out of me.

  I, Gracen Potts, was not a crier—until tonight, that is.

  “What happened? You know you can tell me.” Jude leans forward in the recliner, his elbows resting atop his thighs and hands clasped together.

  Looking down at my own entwined hands, then back at him I reply, “Everything was fine until some drunk dudes showed up and beat the living hell out of him.”

  His eyes widen and he lets out a whistle. “Whoa, that does suck.”

  “Yes indeedy-freaking-do it does,” I agree, shaking my head with remorse. “I don't know what I was thinking! Going on a date and being who I am, thinking everything would be alright—I blame Bets for all this. For getting my hopes up and all. If she hadn't made the date for me then Mark wouldn't have gotten beat up and I wouldn't be feeling so sorry for myself!”

  “Hey, that's enough ranting, drama queen,” Jude scolds, throwing a hand in the air.

  I narrow my eyes and scowl. “I have every reason in the world to bring the drama right now.” Again that undone feeling begins to whirl inside my brain, and I force myself to slam the brakes on it quickly.

  After a few seconds of silence he asks, “You really like this guy, huh?”

  “Yes I do,” I reply in a whisper.

  “Then let go of what happened,” he states, giving me an encouraging smile. “What happened does suck, but it doesn't mean you have to give him up. If this Mark guy really likes you, and can forget about you seeing him get beat up, then he'll ask you out again. The next date would most likely go a little smoother.”

  “No, forget it,” I react, shaking my head. “There's not going to be a next time, another date, or any date. I can promise you that.”

  “What?” he exclaims. “You mean with this guy or—”

  “Any guy,” I interject, lifting my chin up. “Dates and boyfriends—I don't need it. It's too much trouble to deal with and it takes up too much time. And anyway, Mark's an Untouched human. We couldn't of made it work, so I'll just stick to my first love—kicking demon butt.”

  “Oh please,” he scoffs, “you hate demon slaying, Gracen.”

  “That's not true,” I push in. “I mean, at first I hated it, but now...it's grown on me.”

  He regards me with a serious gleam in his eyes. “Girl, you can't let this get you down. Yes, you're different, and yes your life is on the side of irregular, but you can't give up on a small piece of normalcy. You can't give up on finding someone you can relate to and possibly share your life with. And if you never date then you'll never find that special someone.”

  I arch an eyebrow. “You never date. What's your excuse?” This question catches him off guard.

  “Uh, because...um...” he stumbles, averting his eyes.

  “Ha!” I smile with a sense of satisfaction. “See, you're just as screwed-up as I am. I've been here for, what, almost four years now? I've never once seen you bring a woman home or even talk about dating.”

  “We're not talking about me,” he throws out promptly, laughing nervously. “We're talking about you being sixteen and wanting to give up after one date. We're talking about your love life, not mine.”

  “That's the whole thing, Jude!” I throw my hands into the air, letting out my pent-up frustration. “I don't have a love life. And anyway, I don't have to date if I don't want to. It's my life and no one will tell me how to live it.”

  Standing to my feet I quickly bring the conversation to a close. I don't understand the anger I'm feeling, burning hot in my veins. Jude's like a brother to me and I know he's only trying to help, but I didn't want to hear any of his thoughts. I'd had all I could take for one night, though Jude leaves me with one final thought.

  “Life is too short to be alone,” he tells me softly.

  I do not reply. Instead I walk into my room and slam the door, ready to escape into my own little world. Crawling into bed with my date clothes still on I pray for a blissful sleep, though instead I find myself plagued with nightmares, unaware that some would be coming true.

  ***

  The halls of Nortin High School are packed, making it near impossible for Bets and I to get to our lockers. It's Monday morning, and already the school is gearing up for the spirit rally that will be held that coming Friday. Posters and banners line the walls, urging students to support their Warrior Eagles football team.

  Before I continue, yes, it's extremely ironic that my high school's mascot is an eagle, but it could have been a whole lot worse. We could have been the Vicious Vipers or Evil Slayers, or something along those lines. Yes, definitely and utterly ludicrous.

  Finally, after pushing through hordes of football players and cheerleaders, we're able to get to our lockers.

  “They're so stupid,” I mumble, digging into my trashy locker and pulling out my English Lit textbook.

  “Why do you say that?” Bets marvels, checking her reflection in a magnetic mirror hanging inside her locker door. “This is what they live for. Guys running and wet with sweat, smacking each other on the butts, while all the ho-bag cheerleaders dance around the field, shaking their perky chests and showing off their bloomers.” She giggles. “Pep rallies, games, and parties is all they know, which is totally pathetic, but that's high school for you.”

  “That's exactly what I'm talking about,” I exclaim, slamming my locker shut and leaning back on it, continuing my woe is me rant. “Real life isn't a pep rally or a game. Real life isn't about scoring a touchdown or making first string. It's not about who's popular or who bangs who at the after party. What do you think these guys are going to do after graduation, huh? When they're spit out into the real world where they have to work for a living?”

  “Well,” Bets begins, still rummaging through her messy locker, “some will go off to college on scholarships, become hotshot lawyers or doctors—”

  “And,” I cut in swiftly, “some will get hooked on crack or alcohol, landing themselves in prison or homeless on the streets, because all through high school everything was handed to them, like grades, money, clothes, cars—the majority of students here haven't worked a day in their lives!”

  Bets shrugs. “So?”

  “So what?” I glare my icy blue eyes at her.

  “Exactly. Why do you even care—ah-ha!” Bets whoops out loud when she finds the textbook she's searching for. “There you are, you little rascal.”

  “Bets,” I say halfway between a sigh and a moan.

  “Gracen, what's your deal? You've been acting pissy all morning.” She closes her locker door, then turns her attention to me, her dark eyes wide. “OMG. This has something to do with your date with Mark, doesn't it?”

  “No, this has absolutely nothing to do with Mark,” I lie, knowing full well my attitude today does suck because of what happened last night. Bets also knows I'm lying—she's always able to see through my ruse.

  “What did you do?” she questions in a condescending tone, her black lips frowning
. “You ran Mark off, didn't you?”

  My jaw drops. “I ran Mark—what are you trying to say, Betrina? That I'm not good enough for him? That I don't know my way around a male specimen?”

  “Now, now,” she says, her tone still patronizing. “All I'm saying is you don't have much experience in dating. If you want I could give you some pointers.”

  “Yeah right!” I let out an abrasive cackle. “If I take pointers from you my reputation will be as splotchy as your neck!”

  My blood is boiling I'm so mad. Who did she think she was, telling me I'm inexperienced and whatnot? Like she's the perfect date and I'm the unwillingly stooge.

  I spin around in a huff, determined to walk away from her, but the crowd is just too thick. I only get a couple lockers away when Bets grabs my hand, tugging it gently. Turning around I shoot her with an arctic glare. Deep down I know she doesn't deserve to be treated this way, but I'm just so aggravated! Aggravated with my school, my life...everything. Fortunately Bets knows just what to say to get my mind off of frivolous junk.

  “You know,” she begins softly, “I wouldn't worry much about your reputation.”

  Arching an eyebrow I ask, “Why's that?”

  A sly grin slowly spreads across her face. “Because most people think you're a lesbo, since that's what you've told every single guy that's ever asked you out. So about your reputation being splotchy—that ship has already sailed.”

  I want to be angry with her, but the comical look on her face makes it hard to follow through with the madness. Trying to hold in my laughter, I bite down on my bottom lip. It doesn't work. We both burst out into uncontrollable giggles, hugging each other, while people openly gape at us as they pass. I'm sure they're thinking we'd just had a lovers quarrel and were making up...idiots. The rumor mill was already in full spin. I could almost hear the wheels turning. By the end of the day our friendly hug would most likely be turned into a spicy make-out session.

  Pulling away from her, I lean back, bang my head on a locker two times, and stare off into space. What is my problem today? I've always had anger issues, but this was something I could not explain or control. Could it be that my date last night had me so down in the dumps that I feel it necessary to take it out on my friends—well, friend, and everyone else around me?

  Bets, sensing my tension, says, “Why don't you tell me what happened last night? It'll make you feel better.”

  A laugh escapes my lips. “You really think so?”

  “I know so,” she replies, her head bobbing up and down. “Tell me, girl—was he a total scumbag?”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “Cheapskate?”

  “Uh-uh.”

  She studies me a moment before adding, “Did he try to get in your pants?”

  I shake my head again. “No he—wait a minute. Wouldn't that qualify him as a scumbag?”

  “Um,” she responds, quirking a pierced eyebrow, “I think my definition of scumbag and your definition are polar opposites.”

  Looking at my best friend, my completely human best friend, I wish for the millionth time I could let her in on all my secrets. But that's an impossible wish. She can't and will never know the truth about me and what's out there living in the shadows. The less she knows, the better.

  Again the weight of not fitting into normal human society hits me, and to my disgrace tears begin to gather in my eyes. Luckily a distraction causes any blubbering I may have let loose, my sadness dissipating, only to be replaced with fury.

  “Support your Warrior Eagles this Friday!”

  Bets and I turn to see the distraction in the form of a chirpy cheerleader. The red and black uniform she wears is two sizes too small, showing off her tiny midsection, and the skirt barely covers her black bloomers. Her bleached blonde hair is put up in pigtails with red and black ribbons tied on the ends. She's your typical, ditzy cheerleader, and when she hands us each a flier that states the time of the pep rally and game, an image crosses my mind—the image of me tearing off her cute little pigtails and shoving them down her puny little throat. A bit harsh, I know, but sometimes it's hard to squelch the built-up rage in my system. Rather than the situation resulting to violence, I take a deep breath and direct my anger onto the flier.

  Ripping the bright red flier in two directly in the girls face I respond, “I'd rather drill screws into my skull than show up at some moronic, adolescent waste of time!” I throw the two halves in the air, my eyes never leaving hers. Shock covers her face like a mask and her cheery lips transform into a frown. She covers her mouth with her hand and runs away, her blonde pigtails swishing back and forth.

  Facing Bets again I see that she's watching the girl push through the crowd, her expression thoughtful. Then her face brightens when she smiles and her eyes come back to me.

  “I just figured it out!” she cries excitedly. “You've got PMS!”

  “Yeeaah,” I reply, cracking a grin, “that's it.” Actually that's not my problem. The truth is I have no clue what the problem is. Thankfully the bell rings for first period, bringing our conversation to a steaming halt.

  “See you at lunch Gracie-Baby! Oh, FYI, Billy may sit with us today.” Leaning closer she whispers, “Also, for your sake, keep your foot out of cheerleader bums today.” She winks, spins around on her heels, and skirts off to her Biology class.

  With a sigh I walk the other way, trudging down the hall which is quickly becoming empty. Students scurry around like mind-controlled rodents, eager to get into their boring routines. There's a few stragglers hanging in the hall, and when I walk by I hear them whisper and snicker to each other. I figure they're talking about my albino-like skin and hair, or my black clothes and pierced eyebrow. Good thing I don't care what these idiots think of me.

  Anyway it's high school, and high school sucks. End of discussion.

  Entering my first class of the day, English Lit, I make my way down the aisle, keeping my eyes lowered to the ground. My desk is in the very back of the room, away from everyone else. I sit down and throw my twenty pound textbook on the desk. Even though I'm the social deviant in school and very proud of the title, I can't help but feel a touch of jealously. Watching my fellow classmates laughing and conversing together makes me realize how unfair life is. They seem so happy and content, comfortable with their places in life, having no clue they're being targeted by demons. That their very souls are in danger.

  They have no clue that monsters are alive and well on this earth, stalking them and waiting for them to fall into their designated traps.

  They have no clue that I'm part of a group that's dedicated to saving lives; They have no clue that I'm here to protect them from their own stupidity.

  I wonder...

  If they knew the truth about who I really was, would they treat me different? Or would they continue to think that I'm just some out-of-touch Goth chick with an attitude problem?

  Yeah, most likely that last one.

  Zavebe's words echo in my mind: You are better than they are. Why do you risk your life for these pathetic beings?

  Yes, why do I risk my life for them?

  For a brief moment I believe his words. Gazing around, taking in my surroundings, I suddenly feel superior over every person in the room. Who do they think they are, treating me like I'm dirt underneath their fingernails? If I chose to I could join Zavebe and make every single person here my slave, and the ones who didn't conform to my rules would be snapped in half and—

  Whoa! What is my problem?

  A shudder rips through me and I zip up my black hoodie, wrapping my arms around myself. A wave of nausea crashes into me, then quickly recedes. What is wrong with me? Why had my thoughts turned so evil and malicious? I'd been created to protect humanity, not destroy it.

  The encounter with the fallen angel had definitely done something wicked to me. Zavebe's words had left a damning mark on my soul, twisting my thoughts and wants, trying to turn me against the ones I've been chosen to fight for. The only choice I hav
e is to speak to mom as soon as possible on this matter. She's the only one that can help me get my priorities back on track, and maybe give me a little background on Zavebe.

  If she'd ever open up, that is.

  I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. The bell rings, signaling for all classes to start. As the teacher walks in I prepare myself to listen to her boring, nonsensical lectures. But before the door closes a new student enters the classroom. His eyes catch mine and my heart falls flat to the floor.

  The new guy is a Night Viper.

  81

  Silver Mortal

  CHAPTER 7

  My hands grip the bottom of my seat as I struggle to stay calm, the Silver Eagle waking within me. My enemy just walked in, anger and fear rising in my chest, though another feeling began rising above all the others. One I could not explain.

  Security.

  One of my number one powers is the gift of discerning whether people are good or bad. This Viper in particular didn't make my stomach quiver with rage. Instead I feel this one will not harm the Untouched, which is extremely strange since we are sworn enemies. But that couldn't be right. How can I feel anything but hatred toward this foul human who has been touched by such wickedness?

  Keeping my eyes focused on him and only him, I watch as he walks up to the teacher's desk, flipping his dark shoulder-length hair out of his tanned face. He smiles, handing the teacher a piece of paper. Her eyes are wide as she takes in the new student, most likely wondering if he's eighteen yet. The two of them converse a moment before she turns to the rest of the class and smiles, her eyes a little glazed over.

  “Class,” she begins in a chirpy voice, propelling her to clear her throat, “we have a new student joining us today. Everyone say hello to Phoenix Brooks.”

  A few mumbled hellos resound through the classroom. The Viper—Phoenix—smiles, his teeth bright white against his sun-kissed complexion. No one can see the coiled black viper just underneath his skin, located on his right cheek. No one but yours truly. Giggles from across the room erupt from a small group of cheerleaders, all gazing at him with flirtatious expressions scribbled on their faces. I can't stop the roll of my eyes, the nauseating scene making me want to hurl.