Blood Moon's Servant: A Paranormal Thriller

by Leah Kingsley

  He shot Charles a probing look with half a dozen questions on his lips. How much magical power did he have? How much did he know about Amy? How much should he, Damien, tell him?

  Zack’s strained voice broke into his churning thoughts. “I have to text back, don’t I? We need to find her before this guy does something worse.”

  Damien gave him an approving nod. Zack was a major upgrade from Max. Amy had much better taste in guys these days. Zack’s concern came straight from the heart, rather than a thirst for popularity like Max’s had. He nodded to himself. Zack and Amy had a healthy relationship. This ought to have made him happy. Instead, it made him seethe. Why did Zack get to play the special boyfriend card? Everyone was worried about Amy.

  Damien set his own emotions aside and focused on Amy’s and Zack’s. “You’re right. I think it’s time we take things into our own hands. Kimmy is busy in Toronto, and the police are being useless, as usual.”

  Charles’s eyes flashed. “You’re not suggesting Zack give himself up, are you?”

  A few latecomers hurried past them. Zack headed for the outside door. “We shouldn’t talk about this here. Let’s go back to my room.”

  Damien frowned but trudged in his wake. Going to Zack’s room meant seeing Jackson again. Chris Jackson was the only person in the world he hated more than Cory Rinehart, his chief tormentor in school.

  Jackson was up and dressed when the trio trooped into Zack’s dorm. He gargled a hello around a mouthful of toothpaste. Damien ignored him, continuing the pretense of never having met him.

  Zack sagged onto the end of his bed. “Jackson knows what happened. He was here when I woke up and saw the text.”

  Jackson spat his toothpaste in the bathroom sink and flopped face-first onto his mattress. “I never knew university could be so interesting! Glad you guys switched rooms.” He grinned at Charles, who grimaced.

  Damien took a moment to read the room. One of his most useful powers was the ability to sense and alter the feelings of those around him. The small space had an emotional climate taut with hostility. The air hummed with tension like the moments before a nuclear explosion. Charles was uncomfortable around Damien and Jackson, and Damien, in turn, was uneasy around Charles. He also despised Jackson with an intensity that rivaled how much Zack hated Max. Jackson liked Zack but was annoyed with Charles and Damien for invading his room. Zack was oblivious to everything, too busy worrying about Amy to notice the stress.

  Damien explored the minds of his companions to delve deeper into the reasons behind their emotions. Charles felt stupid for trusting Max and was covering it up by being extra loyal to Zack. Damien allowed himself a moment of smug satisfaction. Charles ought to have listened to Amy.

  Jackson was trickier to read. He, Max, and Amy had been an inseparable little clique all through school. Who was Jackson more loyal to these days, Amy or Max? Damien pursed his lips and studied Jackson out of the corner of his eye. Scruffy beard, weak chin, keen blue eyes that took in more than they let on. Jackson had happily lived life as one of Amy’s faithful minions before she moved away. But Max and Jackson had spent the last four years together without Amy there to boss them into halfway decent humans. Would Jackson sacrifice Amy or Zack to help his former best friend? After all, Jackson was, at his core, in it for what served Jackson best. Damien’s simmering frustration threatened to bubble over. He couldn’t even voice his reservations about Jackson without prompting awkward questions about his past identity.

  Damien sighed and focused on Zack. “Okay. We need to text Max and tell him you’ll trade yourself in for Amy.”

  “Are you insane?” Charles said. “Zack is not going to do that! And we aren’t even sure it was Max who took her.”

  Damien glowered. “It was Max.”

  Jackson propped himself on his elbows and inhaled a drag from a light blue vape pen. “Amy’s great and everything, but will trading Zack for her really get us anywhere? If Zack is the one Max wants, then wouldn’t he be in even more danger than Amy?”

  “Exactly!” Charles said.

  “Zack won’t be going alone.” Damien channeled calm and confidence to the rest of the group as a plan took shape in his mind. “One of us will come with and stay out of sight until Max is distracted. We’ll jump him when he least expects it.”

  Jackson thrust a fist into the air. “Radical!” Damien cringed. Having Jackson’s support made him question the validity of his idea.

  “That might actually work.” Charles nodded slowly, a river of suspicion still churning beneath his words.

  Zack scrubbed a hand across his forehead. “I’ll try anything at this point. What should I text him?”

  All three guys turned expectantly to Damien. He squirmed beneath their stares. “How should I know?” Leadership was not his strong suit.

  Charles unexpectedly came to his rescue. “How about this. Okay, you win. I’ll answer to your demands as long as you promise to leave Amy out of it.”

  Jackson scoffed. “Like his word means anything.”

  “Yeah.” Damien nodded. “But we won’t have to work with him for long.”

  Zack sent the text, and they waited in strained silence for Max’s reply. “It says he’s read it,” Zack said a moment later.

  Minute after minute dragged by, but Zack’s phone stayed stubbornly silent. Jackson let one leg slide off his bed to dangle above the floor. “What’s the latest from the classroom hostages?”

  Damien grabbed his phone and pulled up Alex’s website. The others did the same. They clicked on the most recent video a few seconds apart. Four separate gunshots hung in the air as each phone played the death of the sweet Hispanic boy.

  “The time stamp says three a.m.” Charles threw Damien a blistering scowl.

  Damien put a hand to his face. Alex was a true sociopath. Waking the children at 3 A.M. intensified his ruthless Dark tendencies. From 3 to 3:59 A.M., the gates of hell sprang open and released hordes of vicious, bloodthirsty demons to Earth. As if that wasn’t horrifying enough, all demons and Darks around the world were flooded with manic bloodlust and desired nothing more than to kill for the entire duration of the hour. Resisting the temptation took years to learn and decades of self-discipline. Most Darks never tried.

  “Alex needs more than a jail cell,” Charles muttered.

  A grim look settled on Zack’s face. “The school tried to send him to that therapy camp a while back. Doesn’t look like it did much good.”

  “Hey.” Jackson gazed up to the ceiling and swung his dangling leg back and forth. “Max’s parents used to send him to a camp like that. My friends and I teased him about it for months. We nicknamed it Psychopath Camp.”

  “What year was Max sent away?” Charles was poised on the edge of Zack’s bed as if on the verge of an enormous discovery.

  Jackson fiddled with his vape pen. “The summers before ninth and tenth grade, I think. Why?”

  “Before tenth grade? That’s when Alex went.” Zack gasped.

  “I knew Amy’s disappearance had to be linked to the drama in Toronto!” Charles spoke too loud, desperate to cut ties with Max. “They must have met at Psychopath Camp. That’s why Max wants Zack.”

  “Does that mean Max is working for Alex?” Zack buried his face in his hand.

  “Looks like it.” Damien’s gut clenched. He longed to swoop in and save her. His guardian instincts were screaming at him to do just that. To hell with the supernatural code of conduct. To hell with his own dwindling sanity. Amy needed him, and he needed her safe.

  “Still think we should send Zack in there?” Charles train-wrecked his fantasy of rescuing the girl of his dreams.

  Damien gritted his teeth against a surge of irritated disgust. Charles was seriously getting on his nerves. Why did he have to keep throwing her under the bus all the time? He made a conscious effort to keep his words calm. “Max working with Alex doesn’t change a thing. The plan is still the same. All we have to do is get Amy out and Alex loses.”

&nb
sp; “I can’t believe Sue managed to trick Alex into thinking Chris isn’t there,” Zack said.

  “Yeah.” Charles leaned back in Zack’s desk chair. “I’ll give them this, those Evans girls are smart.”

  Zack’s phone chimed. He clutched it between his hands. “It’s him. He wants me to meet him at the McDonalds on Mackenzie Street at two p.m.”

  “He bought it,” Charles said.

  “So, who’s going with you?” Jackson eyed the group with interest. Anxiety swirled in Damien’s gut. Why was he so invested?

  “Charles can come, I guess. We already survived one run-in with Alex. Why not another?”

  Charles puffed out his chest. He loved playing the chosen sidekick. Damien’s skin pricked with unease. Charles would be useless if Alex got involved. One of the people Damien guarded was already in mortal danger. He didn’t need the same thing happening to Zack. He locked eyes with Charles. “Can I talk to you outside for a minute?”

  Charles’s eyes widened in horror. Being alone with him was his real-life nightmare. Damien hid a smirk. Messing with the know-it-all mage was ridiculously amusing.

  “What do you want?” Charles turned to face him the second they stepped into the hall.

  “I should be the one to go with Zack. No offense, but I’m about a million times more powerful than you.”

  “But I know Max.”

  Damien’s eyes flashed, irritation cracking his calm façade. “I grew up with Max.”

  “Oh, right. Okay, well, I know Zack.” Charles pouted like a child unwilling to share his favorite toy.

  “Look, this isn’t a trivial human conflict anymore. Alex is a powerful Dark. I’m even more powerful than him. Who do you think Zack would be safer with? Me, a guardian Super Dark, or you, a low-power mage?”

  “Who’s to say you won’t switch sides and screw us over?”

  “Darks are known for many things. Unity is not one of them. Besides, I like your friends. I want them safe.”

  “What would we tell Zack?”

  “Leave it to me.” He strode into Zack’s room with way more confidence than he felt. “Hey. How do you feel about me coming with you instead of Charles?”

  “I don’t know. I barely know you.” Zack shrugged. “Why do you care so much?”

  Damien groaned internally. The last thing he needed was Zack suspicious of him, as well. This trio of friends was loyal to a fault. “I grew up with Amy, and I want to help her. Besides, I’ve been going to shooting ranges for half my life. I bet you a million bucks I’m a better marksman than Charles.”

  “Uncalled for.” Charles sulked.

  Zack snickered. “Come on, dude. You once tried to Taser Alex in the head and missed by a mile.”

  “I also shot him in the foot.”

  “He shot himself in the foot.” Zack laughed. He turned back to Damien, his expression suddenly serious. “How did you know I have access to a gun?”

  “Let’s just say I know Amy has a pistol.” No way was he getting into that mess of a story. Now, or ever.

  Thirty-three

  AMY SLEPT LATE Friday morning and woke up way too warm. Max lay asleep next to her, spooning her from behind. It was stifling under the covers in the early September heat. She had gone up to her old bedroom around 2 A.M. last night, and Max had followed her like a paranoid freak. He had left her untied but insisted on staying in the same room. He had been sitting in the chair by the window when she had fallen asleep but must have joined her in bed sometime during the night. Amy wrinkled her forehead. Which punishment was worse, Max or the handcuffs?

  She eased herself free of the covers, and a small, hard object slid into her side. She fumbled for it and untangled it from the sheets. Her heart rate accelerated as a thrill of excitement skittered through her veins. She had Max’s phone!

  She jabbed the home button and cringed. Max had a passcode. Her muscles tensed with the urge to run for it, slip away while he snoozed. But he was a light sleeper and getting out of bed might wake him up. Hacking his phone was her best shot at freedom. She had to think this through. Amy inhaled a deep, calming breath. She had grown up with him. She ought to be able to guess his passcode. She wrinkled her forehead and tried to recall a statistic Charles had once spouted. Seventy percent of passwords were combinations of important dates. Amy grinned. Max’s family used to make an enormous deal about occasions. She had attended too many O’Neil barbecues to forget a single one. She tried a string of birthdays, including Max’s, each of his parent’s, Jackson’s, and her own. The phone vibrated in anger, each pissed off buzz seeming louder than the last.

  Desperation clawed at her insides. She threw the bedroom door a longing look and tried Max’s old dog’s birthday as a last-ditch effort. The phone switched to the home screen. Amy’s eyes flew wide on a rush of triumphant elation. She was a password hacking genius even Kimmy would be proud to know.

  Her triumph fizzled into uncertainty as she struggled to recall her friends’ phone numbers. Frustration simmered deep in her core. She held escape in the palm of her hand, yet freedom was still out of reach. She blamed Apple products for her stupid predicament. Why had they made storing contacts so easy and remembering numbers obsolete?

  Max’s phone buzzed, horribly loud in her hand. Amy shot him a nervous glance. He stirred and pulled her closer, but his eyes stayed shut. Amy squinted at his phone without daring to move a muscle. He had received a text from a familiar-looking number. Okay, you win. I’ll answer to your demands as long as you promise to leave Amy out of it. Rage-fueled betrayal sizzled through her veins. Was someone else she knew working with Alex?

  She gritted her teeth and clicked on the new message icon. Damien had given her his number earlier that week. She struggled to remember the string of ten digits. The second combination she tried looked right. Her fingers flew frantically over the iPhone’s touch screen.

  “Morning,” Max mumbled into her hair.

  “Sup?” She cradled the phone close to her chest to shield it from his view. Damien, it’s Amy. I’m at 5125 Fern St. Max

  “What are you doing?” Max’s voice was thick with suspicion. He propped himself on an elbow.

  Amy flopped onto her stomach to hide the phone beneath her body. “Trying to snooze,” she mumbled into the pillow.

  “Where’s my phone?”

  Amy scrabbled at the screen, struggling to send the text without looking at it. Max rolled her over and plucked the phone from her hand. She stared up at him and stiffened, expecting him to hit her like Alex would. But the blow never came.

  “Amy. You gotta stop doing this. Nothing bad is going to happen to you. It would really help if you’d just chill out.”

  “Forgive me if I don’t believe you.” She sat up and brushed her hair out of her face. “Your phone fell out of your pocket while you were sleeping. You should have stayed over there.” She nodded to the chair by the window.

  “It was comfier over here.”

  Amy rolled her eyes and slid off the mattress. “I’m going to have a shower. I promise not to escape if you promise not to come with me.”

  Max chuckled. “No can do. I’ll hang out on the other side of the curtain, but that’s all the space you’ll get.”

  Amy rubbed shampoo into her hair and tried not to think about the awkwardness of everything. She was completely naked, her ex inches away with nothing but a thin veil of fabric separating her from him. Amy looked at the water running down her body. Her skin was dotted with goosebumps, the only visible evidence of her childhood trauma. She shook it off with a swish of her sudsy hair. She and Max needed something normal to discuss, that was all.

  “I can’t believe Buddy’s birthday is still your passcode,” she teased.

  “Yeah, well, I still miss him.” Depression blanketed his words. “I still can’t believe anyone could do what they did.”

  Amy nodded sadly. She and Max had been in the sixth grade when Buddy had died. They had arrived home from school one afternoon to find Max’s Gold
en Retriever whimpering on his front porch. Someone had shot him through both his eyes with a BB gun. Seven years later, Amy was still flooded with anger at the pain of that sweet dog’s death. She had flown into such a righteous rage that day, she barely remembered banging on neighbors’ doors to ask if they’d seen anything or calling the cops in an attempt to get justice for Buddy. Justin had told her afterwards that she had screamed at them for over an hour, even after they had driven away.

  Her efforts had been for nothing. Buddy had passed away in Max’s arms, mere moments after they got to him. Amy and Justin had stayed with Max until his parents had made it home. It had been one of the few rare moments her brother had been nice to him.

  “Did you ever find out who killed him?” she asked, her voice tight with emotion. She lathered her hair with conditioner.

  “Nope, but my dad thought it might have been me. He never followed up in case it came out I was a psychopath. Guess he didn’t wanna know.”

  “Seriously? That’s insane.” Amy had always liked Max’s father, but Mr. O’Neill had a habit of believing the worst of his son.

  “I think that’s why he sent me to Psychopath Camp after Katie.”

  “I tried to tell him it wasn’t your fault.”

  Max had spent the summer after Katie’s death at a special reform camp for troubled youths. Amy had spent it locked away in her house, helplessly watching her family crumble into dust. The former couple had barely seen each other during the few short weeks they attended the same high school. Mrs. Evans had packed in a grief-fueled frenzy and dragged them back east the day after Amy’s dad had left. Amy and Max had never spoken of Katie’s death, and it was awkward and foreign discussing it after all this time. The weight of unspoken words hung over them, heavier and harder to shake than the thick steam in the air.