“As much fun as it would be for me to stand around bragging, you won’t put off this jump by having me tell war stories. I know what you’re doing. You’re not that smooth.” He repeated my words from the classroom back at me, and I blushed. “Look, this jump is really easy. I’ve done this a billion times.”
“That’s you, not me.”
“You can do this. I’ll go first. But we have to go soon before anyone sees us. It’s dark out and, well, you kind of stand out,” he added, and I looked down at my burning feet again, frowning.
“Can you try to calm down? That should calm the flames.”
“I’ll give it a shot.”
Calm down, calm down. I slammed my eyes shut as I tried to relax, but images of Blaise’s bulging eyes and hungry mouth and Travis’s tortured face fought for dominance behind my eyeballs.
When I opened my eyes, the fire seemed actually brighter.
“Sorry,” I whispered. Logan frowned and put his hands on my flaming shoulders.
“Okay, try this.” Logan’s voice was low, soothing. “Shut your eyes again.”
I squeezed them tightly shut, screwing up my face in concentration, and Logan laughed gently.
“Just close them. You look like you’re hurting yourself.”
I could practically hear the smirky smile in his voice. With some effort, I relaxed my face.
“The thing to remember is that you control it. It’s a part of you,” Logan explained, his voice soft but confident. “Try to feel the fire.”
“I can’t feel anything,” I fretted.
“I couldn’t at first, either. I was on fire in the middle of a football field. I’m pretty sure there’s a town in Michigan that tells stories about the flaming ghost of Novi High, running like a maniac through the high school, ripping his burning clothes off because he doesn’t know what’s happening.”
“Seriously?” I asked, my eyes springing open.
“No, not seriously. Now, close your eyes again,” he added, that amused little smirk still on his face.
I rolled my eyes before shutting them.
“Now, here’s what worked for me. Think of it like a muscle that you didn’t know you had, that you didn’t realize you were flexing. Do you feel it?”
I shifted my weight from one foot to another, feeling gritty particles of wet grime on tar grind underneath my feet. I felt Logan’s hands on my shoulders, strong and reassuring. And then I felt it—it wasn’t quite like a muscle, but the sensation was similar to that of a muscle that ached and burned after a workout. I relaxed it, feeling cool, refreshing air hit my face.
“Wow.”
“What?” I asked, my eyes popping open. Everything looked darker to me.
“You did it,” Logan whispered, awed. I looked down at my hands in the darkness—I wasn’t on fire.
“I could still explode into flames like a stupid firecracker,” I reminded him, holding out my arms in wonder. They were again the same plain, boring arms, covered in an oversize dark blue sweater.
“Still, that’s...pretty impressive.” He grinned. “I was starting to wonder how I was going to get you the two blocks to my place without people noticing. I didn’t think anyone would buy that you were a performance artist.”
“I guess you didn’t save my ass today just to ditch it on top of a building while it was on fire, huh?”
Logan gave me a wry smile. “So now you admit that I was trying to save your ass? You had me fooled with the way you threatened me with my own sword and all.”
“Sorry about that,” I muttered, as the sirens wailed more loudly. If it weren’t for Logan pulling me out of that classroom, I’d have been burned to a crisp when Blaise imploded. “I don’t think I said it yet, but thanks for saving my life.”
“Some lifesaving. You ended up having to save my ass,” Logan countered, poking me in the shoulder.
I opened my mouth to protest, but Logan turned around and stepped up on the wall between the two buildings. He crouched low, then sprang into the air. I rushed to the edge of the building just in time to see Logan land on the roof next door with a few feet to spare. He jogged forward a few steps from the force of his impact before turning around to beam at me triumphantly.
“See, easy. Just don’t look down,” he called.
“Why did you say that?” I moaned, my eyes dropping to the alleyway between the two buildings as if they had weights attached to them. I felt the world spinning, and I turned around, my back sliding down the wall until I was crouching in a puddle on the roof.
I looked up at the dark, cloudy sky, watching the lights of a helicopter soar overhead. Travis would never see the world. He’d never sit at the dinner table with his family again. He’d never go to college, or even graduate from high school. And it was my fault. Blaise had come to Holy Assumption looking for me—that much was clear. I automatically reached for my bracelet, momentarily panicking when it wasn’t on my wrist before remembering it was in my pocket. I patted my left-side pocket through Logan’s sweater, feeling a momentary rush of relief when I felt the lump of the bracelet through the sweater. The relief soon turned to revulsion, as I grew disgusted with myself. Disgusted that I could feel comfort at having my precious bracelet back—when Travis was dead. Because of me. Because whatever I had set into motion that day by running into the street to save Dylan now meant someone was gone, and the top floor of my school was on fire.
Maybe I was supposed to die that day, and these were the repercussions of fighting fate.
I heard a soft thud and looked up to see Logan standing a few feet away, an unreadable expression on his face.
“Overwhelmed?”
I nodded.
“Look, it wasn’t supposed to happen this way,” Logan said, walking closer to me and crouching down to meet my gaze.
“I was just thinking that.”
“You were?” Logan’s eyebrows pulled together in confusion, and I nodded.
“I probably shouldn’t have lived. I flatlined, you know. But the doctors brought me back...and I started to see ghosts...and now I’m responsible for someone’s death,” I rambled bitterly, not knowing or caring if I made any sense. I just had to say it. I took a deep breath, steeling myself to say the awful truth out loud. “If I wasn’t alive, Blaise wouldn’t have come looking for me...and Travis would still be alive. I shouldn’t have lived.”
“Hey, don’t say that.” Logan’s voice was firm but gentle. He timidly reached his hand out and rested it on my shoulder, giving me a squeeze. His hesitation was surprising, considering that he’d been holding my hand—but then again, that was mostly just to pull me away from the school.
“I know this is a lot to accept, but what happened to Travis isn’t your fault.”
“You weren’t there when he died.”
“No, but I saw the ash on the floor. I know what happened.”
“Still, it’s my fault,” I insisted. “Blaise was there for me. She told me so.”
“Yes, she was. But it’s my fault Travis died, not yours,” Logan argued, his voice grave as he dropped his hand from my shoulder. “I knew there was someone at the school who would eventually be attacked. But it took me a really long time to figure out that you were the one with a supernatural talent. I was expecting some forlorn, weepy person, speaking in tongues and wearing all black.”
“I wear a uniform.” I picked up a corner of my skirt as if to say, “See?”
“You also hold your head high when you walk down the hall.”
Flashing siren lights whirled in pinwheels on the buildings across the street, bathing Logan’s face in a yellow and red glow. He stood up, holding his hand out to me.
“Come on, Paige. We have to get out of here.” I slid my hand into his, and he pulled me off the ground.
“I’ll jump with you,
okay? Just focus on the stairwell on the next roof.” Logan pointed at the metal door, latched to a small structure with a broken chain. I nodded nervously as we stepped up onto the low wall, not taking my eyes off the door.
“On the count of three, okay?” Logan squeezed my hand before letting go. “One...two...three...”
I bent my knees, and with all my strength launched myself off the wall, keeping my eyes on the door. It was probably a mistake, since my right foot hit the snowy rooftop at an awkward angle, sending me facedown into a snowdrift. I pushed myself out of the snow and looked around for Logan, who was sitting about two feet away, brushing ice out of his face.
“Are you okay?” Logan asked, taking off his hat and shaking his hair out.
I nodded, wiping the frosty bits from my own face.
“See, you faced your fear, you jumped, and you’re fine,” Logan said triumphantly.
“I think we could be a little less heavy-handed with the metaphors, don’t you?” I snorted, scrambling to my feet.
“Come on,” Logan said, jogging to the door. A chain was loosely looped through a hole where the doorknob should have been, secured with a weak lock. Logan yanked the lock off easily, holding it in his hands before turning to me.
“Do you think you can keep the flames at bay for a few blocks?”
I shut my eyes, focusing on the heat building inside me. When I opened my eyes, everything was ablaze.
“We need you to not be on fire,” Logan said dryly.
“I know, watch,” I said. I shut my eyes again, concentrating on pulling the blaze back. When I opened them, the fire was gone—but even in the dark I could see that Logan was trying his hardest not to look impressed.
“Not bad,” he said, sliding the chain off the door. “Let’s go. Once we get to my place, we’ll explain everything.”
He held out his hand, and just the tips of his fingers were on fire.
“Show off,” I muttered and Logan smirked.
But I took his hand anyway, and he led me down the stairs.
Chapter 4
I STOOD NEXT to Logan in the dimly lit hallway of his apartment building. It could have been any nondescript hallway in any old brownstone apartment building in Manhattan—walls painted a muted pastel color that was some compromise between pink and beige, everything bathed in a faint yellow glow from the flickering fluorescent light above.
“Are you sure you want to know everything?” he asked me, his soft voice contradicting his intense stare.
“What do you mean? Of course I do!” I needed to finally know more about what I could do, what it meant...to finally have proof that I wasn’t insane.
“I mean...” Logan looked down at the bits of frost on the tips of his Converse sneakers. “I could make you forget,” he whispered, rubbing the back of his neck with his palm. “You wouldn’t have to know any of this. You wouldn’t have to know about the existence of demons.”
He finally met my gaze, his brown eyes serious. “You wouldn’t remember what happened to Travis.”
“No, I—”
“All you’d have to do is look into my eyes. I’d say a little spell, and the memory would be gone. Think about it.”
I narrowed my eyes as I studied him, and Logan shifted uncomfortably under my stare.
“Blaise did this mind control thing with Miller. It was like he was her puppet,” I recalled, feeling my stomach churn when I thought of how she robbed him of his free will. “She controlled him and told him what to do. Is that what you’re offering to do to me?”
“It’s called a somnorvik spell.”
“Whatever. It gets a different name in every vampire and witch show I’ve ever seen. It might as well be called mind-vik eraser-vik hypnotizer-vik,” I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “I don’t care what it’s called in real life. But I do care that you want to mess with my head!”
“It’s really not like that,” Logan said defensively.
“It’s exactly like that. Look, I’m so tired of not knowing why I can do what I can do. It’s time I knew what’s really going on.”
He studied me for a moment, his gaze serious. Finally, Logan gave me one quick but decisive nod.
“Okay, you’ve got it.”
I grabbed on to Logan’s hand again as he began to walk down the hallway, afraid he would disappear—and with him, all the answers I so desperately needed would also vanish. But as we stood in front of his apartment, it felt like Logan was the one holding on to me for support, clutching my hand in a crushing grip.
“Is everything okay?” I asked. “Did you forget your keys?”
Logan chuckled and cocked his head to one side as he gave me a slightly amused look.
“This isn’t the kind of door that opens with keys,” he said.
“Why is that so funny?”
He shrugged. “Because it’s such a normal question.”
“Well, what’s the problem? Did you forget which secret compartment to press?” I stuck out my finger and poked the metal frame of the door.
“No, I’m just stalling,” Logan admitted with a sheepish grin. “I should warn you. My uncle can be a little intimidating. He’s...well, he’s a warlock.”
“Warlock?” I repeated, my voice rising in pitch as my studies of the paranormal came rushing back at me. “I thought those were evil wizards.”
Logan shook his head, smiling at my comment. “No, movies got that part wrong. Rego’s not evil—although he can be an asshole,” he said with a grimace. “He’ll probably be in a mood. Especially since things didn’t go the way they were supposed to today.”
“I thought you were supposed to save my life. You did that,” I reminded him, but was met with a wry smile.
“True. But you weren’t supposed to know. I was supposed to be stealthy, follow the plan. But things kind of fell apart,” Logan said before casting a sideways look at me. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s not your problem.” He gave my hand a quick squeeze before slapping his other palm against the brown-painted door.
“Reclaxarit ne bulsharak,” Logan whispered. I didn’t recognize these words either, all discordant consonants and unfamiliar, tongue-twisting syllables. The frame of the door glowed a brilliant white, and Logan stepped back, pulling me with him. Thin lines of light dripped down from the top of the door, appearing to slice through the metal. The door quivered, then shimmered to the floor in iridescent ribbons, which fell into nothingness in the almost blinding glow outlining the entryway to the apartment.
“Rego? Are you here?” Logan called, stepping inside and tugging me with him. I wasn’t quite sure what a demonslayer’s apartment with a magical entrance would look like. I briefly pictured a cavernous, candlelit stone lair—maybe a pet dragon would be hanging out in the corner. I sure didn’t expect to walk into a small kitchen in a somewhat rundown old apartment. The walls were dingy white plaster, dotted with gouges and deep scrapes. Some surprisingly pleasant fruit-and-spice scented concoction I couldn’t quite identify bubbled over on a hot plate, sending a frothy pink foam spilling onto a kitchen counter cluttered with papers and bags of chips.
Past the pink-stained mess was a wobbly-looking table, which was littered with books and scrolls. Mismatched chairs with shredded vinyl seat cushions sat around it, and a heavy, deep blue curtain blocked off access to the center room.
“I know it’s not much,” Logan said apologetically, his cheeks pink as he surveyed the apartment, clearly embarrassed. “You probably have an amazing home.”
“No, this is great,” I said encouragingly. He smiled self-consciously as the curtain was pushed aside. A lean young man strode out, clad in a rumpled black uniform with some kind of purple emblem on his left shoulder. He was boyishly handsome and looked barely old enough to torment a fraternity pledge, let alone be an intimidating warlock. He
flashed a quick, dimpled grin at us as he ran a hand through his dark brown hair, which rivaled Logan’s in its unruliness.
Nope, there was nothing immediately scary about the person that stood before us—well, except for the spiked mace that hung from his belt, swinging slightly as he gave Logan a friendly clap on the shoulder, a large, opal-like stone glowing on his index finger.
“Logan! I was hoping I’d see you. And you’ve brought a girl over?” He managed to load the four-letter word with innuendo, his arched eyebrows rising in surprise as he not-so-subtly gave me the once-over.
“Hi, you must be Rego—” I began, and the man recoiled in mock-horror.
“Rego?” he repeated, his voice saturated with exaggerated disgust. “Do I look like I forgot to take the hanger out of my shirt when I got dressed this morning?”
He gave me a sly smile as he stepped closer.
“Let me kiss the hand of the most beautiful creature I’ve seen all day,” the man cooed, taking my palm in his and bending down with his lips pursed, only to flip our hands at the last moment and plant a big kiss on his own knuckles.
“Wow. So that happened.” I stared, incredulous, as he winked at me, his lips still puckered over his own skin.
“Paige, this is Ajax,” Logan said dryly, gesturing to the young man, who was grinning widely, clearly pleased by his own joke. “He’s—”
“Devastatingly handsome, renowned for his wit, and thrilled to meet the lovely young thing Logan’s told me so much about,” Ajax said, winking at me again, his violet eyes sparkling above an impish grin.
I gave Logan a questioning look, and he pulled me away from Ajax.
“I didn’t—it’s not like that—I was talking about possible targets and your name came up,” Logan sputtered, glaring at his friend. “You know, Ajax, you’re embarrassing and completely inappropriate.”
“And starving,” Ajax added, hopping up to sit on the kitchen counter. He grabbed a half-open bag of sour cream and onion potato chips and began digging in.
“Mmph,” he moaned around a mouthful of chips. “You guys get the best food, I swear.”
The Dark World Page 7