by J. N. Colon
Her thin brows rose far above the edge of her glasses, intensifying the wrinkles in her forehead. “It’s being used as one. And I don’t appreciate it.”
Holy fracken crap. This woman needed some candy in her life. If she were a hair nicer, I might offer her some.
Fat chance.
“Why are you not in class?” She glanced at the watch on her thin wrist. “It’s only a few minutes in. Shouldn’t you be in gym?”
Did she make it a habit of memorizing everyone’s schedule so she could nail them if they were caught skipping? “Coach Morris sent me to the library.”
She blinked. “And why is that?”
“Because I’m clumsy and usually end up causing a bunch of chaos when we play team sports.” Any sports for that matter. If the Mystic Hollow High administration were smart, they’d ban me from P.E. for the rest of my student career.
Ms. Keating adopted her usual expression—one that looked like she sucked sour lemons for a living. “Fine. Then you should get to it.”
I took a step to move around her, but she blocked my path.
“Since you’ve been wandering around the halls these last few minutes, have you seen Mrs. Gracin?”
I shook my head. “Have you checked the library?” Mrs. Gracin liked to stow away and read her romance novels.
“Yes.” She pushed her glasses back up her hook nose. “Mrs. Gracin hasn’t been acting like herself today. She seemed upset and left the office over an hour ago.”
I tried to conceal the surprise in my expression. Was Ms. Keating actually worried about someone? Did a heart exist beyond that rigid cardigan and high collared shirt? “I’ll let you know if I see her.”
Ms. Keating’s lips pursed. “Do tell her I’m looking for her. She was supposed to help me organize this semester’s faculty meeting, and I refuse to get stuck with all the responsibility. Again.”
I choked back a snicker. That sounded more like the bitter woman. “Sure thing.”
She gave one more withering look before slipping past me, a cloud of Bengay and mothballs following her.
I dramatically rolled my eyes and turned the corner. Was my dad the only person Ms. Keating didn’t despise?
The rapid clank of heels suddenly beat against the tile. A pudgy woman raced across the hall, tears running down her round cheeks.
“Mrs. Gracin? Are you okay?” My chest tightened at her frazzled state. I’d never seen her like that. What could have brought the sweet woman to tears?
She ignored me and ran into the bathroom, her blonde hair falling out of its updo.
I glanced back around the corner, Ms. Keating nowhere in sight. Craptastic. That left me to go after her. I was hella awkward trying to console crying people. She might laugh if I tripped or banged my elbow though. It always worked on kids.
I trudged toward the bathroom, slowly opening the door. “Mrs. Gracin? It’s Lena.”
Quiet sniffles echoed through the hollow room. Mrs. Gracin was hunched over the last sink, her shoulders shaking.
“Are you okay?” I asked again, my boots squeaking on the dingy tile as I closed the distance between us. “Do you need me to get a tissue?” I pulled the candy bar out of my pocket. “World’s Finest Chocolate?”
“No,” she whispered. “I just…” The sobs started again.
A lump clogged my throat. Mrs. Gracin was usually so upbeat and chipper. “Do you want to talk?” I stopped at the edge of the sink next to her.
Her shoulders shook even harder as the sobs grew louder—and morphed into something else.
Crap on crackers. My stomach hardened to cement as her wild laughter rang out.
Chapter 8
My pulse skyrocketed as Mrs. Gracin’s laughter reverberated ominously, bouncing off the maroon stalls and grimy tile walls.
Her head slowly lifted, onyx consuming the entirety of her eyes. “You’re so funny.”
Frack. A dweller had possessed her.
I took a step back. Unfortunately, my clumsiness disease decided to rear its ugly head. I tripped over my own foot and landed square on my ass. Pain shot through my bottom, and I groaned.
Son of a buttery biscuit. That hurt like a mother.
Manic laughter brought me back to reality. The round woman loomed over me, mascara leaving black trails down her face. “Do that again. It was hilarious.”
I yelped and crawled backward as her hand swiped for me. “Get away. I mean it.”
Her teeth were bared, making her look like she was ready to chomp on my flesh. “What are you going to do, little avis?” She lunged, her fingers curling around my wrist.
The bathroom faded, and a dark alley materialized. The moon barely penetrated the smog, lighting the thick layer of grime coating the brick buildings and the damp cobblestone ground. Urine and trash choked the air.
I pinched my nose, cutting off the foul odor. Frack. It was worse than the sulfur and death seeping out of the gate to Hell in the Mystic Hollow Cemetery.
A woman appeared in a long dress buttoned all the way up to her jaw. Her quick steps jarred the bun of sleek black hair pinned to the crown of her head.
I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. Or in the twenty-first century.
Her eyes darted back and forth as she crossed the road into another alley. A pocket of steam blew through the opening, and a man emerged. His top hat rested on a bed of pale, glossy hair. He followed the woman, his strides steady and quick.
Craptacular. It was happening again. Another vision.
The man was the dweller inside of Mrs. Gracin. I just knew it—like a sixth sense. Dwellers used to be humans. He could be possessed or he was the dweller before his death.
I trailed after him. My steps didn’t make a sound, and neither of them noticed me. I wasn’t really there.
My stomach tightened. If the vision in the library was any indication of what was to come, something terrible was on the horizon.
The man sped up, his long legs quickly closing the distance between him and his prey. Tension coiled tightly, puckering my skin. My breath came in quick pants. I tried to dig my heels in, but my body continued forward. I didn’t want to see what was happening.
He pounced, grabbing the woman from behind. She struggled against him.
My heart collided into my ribs as I helplessly watch. I couldn’t do anything. This was a memory. The event had already transpired.
He held a cloth over her mouth, muffling her scream. The astringent tinge of chemicals swirled through the chilly air. She went limp in his arms.
The alley blurred. I reached out, searching for something to grip. Only dark air greeted me. Panic sank through my bloodstream. Oh my God. I was going to fall into the blackness around me and never come up.
Just as I was on the verge of hyperventilating, the shadows faded.
What the effing hell? I wiped a slick sheen of cold sweat from my forehead as I took in the dank basement. Water dripped somewhere. Nauseating fumes of human waste, mold, and decay had me gagging. Something metallic mixed with the horrific odor. Blood.
A muffled cry bounced on the damp brick walls.
The man emerged from a small storage closet that held shelves of unfamiliar rusty metal utensils. A single hanging lightbulb swayed from an exposed wooden beam, spreading a sickly hue on the woman strapped to a table.
My gasp didn’t have an effect on either one of them.
The rigid metal table and leather restraints looked like something out of an old asylum.
Her eyes widened as the man appeared in her line of vision. She struggled in vain. Her entire body was strapped in several places. She wasn’t getting free.
He smiled, his perfect white teeth such a contrast to the filthy backdrop of this nightmare. “Please struggle. I like it so much.” He pulled a scalpel from the tray nearby and sliced into her cheek.
I tried to turn away.
My body refused to move.
I tried to close my eyes.
My lids remained opened.
The man continued joyously torturing the woman with various instruments. Crimson splashed over the white apron covering his pristine suit. A few speckles tainted his sleek, perfect hair.
I screamed, but no one heard me. My stomach heaved, and bile oozed up my throat. Nothing came out—not even when layers of flesh fell to the dirty ground.
The woman’s shrieks continued. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I stood there, an unwilling spectator. I couldn’t even blink to rid myself of the images for just a moment.
Throughout the cruelty, not once did the man’s icy gray irises melt with darkness. No sign of a possession lingered.
This was the dweller before his soul was sentenced to Hell. He was human here.
No wonder this guy was sent to Hell and chose to pledge himself to Lucifer.
A sharp pain ripped through my skull, and I doubled over.
I blinked at the sudden harsh fluorescent lights blinding me. The cold gray tile floor of the girl's bathroom at Mystic Hollow pressed into my back. Something wet leaked from my nose, and a metallic taste coated the back of my mouth.
A pale face marred with streaks of black mascara loomed over me. “You passed out, little girl.” Eerie chuckles slithered out of her mouth.
How long had I been unconscious?
The vision swam through my mind—every nauseating moment replaying. My stomach cartwheeled. “You sick bastard. I saw what you did.” The white walls spun. The floor heaved like I was on a dizzying amusement park ride. Effing crapola. I was going to hurl.
The door swung open, slamming against the wall with a vibrating thud. A tingle sped down my neck.
Jayson appeared, his body trembling as he took in the scene before him.
Mrs. Gracin hissed. “Stay back, Nephilim.” She lifted her foot, letting it hover over my torso. “Or I’ll break your soul mate in half.”
Jayson’s growl shook the tiles beneath me. “Hurt her, and I’ll make sure you burn in the pits for the rest of eternity.”
This creep should have never been let out in the first place. He’d done horrific things to that woman. He tormented her for hours, laughing at her pain. He enjoyed her cries. He relished in her agony.
Angry heat lashed through my insides. He should be paying for his sins in Hell instead of walking around freely.
Without thinking, I reached up and grabbed the foot dangling above me, yanking hard. Mrs. Gracin toppled to the ground. I winced as she hit hard. Shitzu. I forgot the sick monster was inside a sweet middle-aged woman. She didn’t deserve the bruises she’d get.
Jayson moved fast. He pressed his knee against her chest before she could scramble up. His massive hand slapped her across the cheek. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she went limp.
Holy Snickers. Good thing he didn’t hit her with a closed fist. He would have knocked her head off.
The rancid odors swirling through the basement in my vision flooded over me. I gagged. The torture spun on a loop in my brain, rapid snapshots firing the worst parts mixed with the sickening sounds.
My stomach clenched and rolled.
Crapola. It was coming.
I scrambled on my hands and knees, barely making it to a toilet before my guts emptied.
Jayson’s presence materialized behind me. He grabbed my hair, holding it out of the way.
A groan slipped out between the retching. This was effing mortifying. The shmexiest guy I’d ever met was watching me drive the porcelain bus.
When my stomach was hollow, I reached over and pulled the handle. More warmth leaked from my nose and blood dropped onto the edge of the bowl.
My lids clamped shut. Invisible nails were being driven into my skull. What the hell was happening to me?
“Lena, are you okay?” The pounding in my head muffled Jayson’s voice, but there was no mistaking the worry in it. He pulled me against his chest.
I wasn’t sure what was worse, talking to him with puke breath or repeating what I experienced.
“It happened again, like in the library.” Tears slipped down my cheeks. The images kept coming. “When the dweller touched me, I saw things…” Ragged breaths escaped my lungs as I tried to hold back the sobs threatening to spill out. “He was torturing some woman. I couldn’t look away.” My voice cracked.
Jayson’s arms tightened. “You’re not there. You’re here with me now.”
I shrank into a ball, hiding in his embrace. I breathed him in, trying to expel the horrific scents that clogged the basement. Old bloodstains had lingered on the concrete and dank walls. That wasn’t the only victim the dweller had captured. He committed those sins over and over again. And enjoyed them every time.
Chapter 9
Jayson helped me sit on the edge of his bed. My knees were so weak I could barely walk, and my body still trembled. The sunlight streaming in through the windows was piercing. He must have realized this because he stood and quickly closed the blinds.
“Thanks,” I mumbled. “That’s better.”
A foul, rancid taste lingered in my mouth even after brushing my teeth twice and swishing a gallon of mouthwash. Nothing was actually there though. My breath was minty fresh. The visions had left the horrible flavor on my tongue, some psychic aftereffect.
I ran my fingers through my hair, massaging my scalp. Drops of blood stained my cream sweater. What had I been thinking this morning? Light colors and I didn’t mix. I was bound to ruin it. I yanked it over my head, leaving me in a thin tank top. “Throw this away. There’s blood on it.” It wouldn’t come out.
Jayson took it and tossed it in his hamper anyway. He opened his closet and pulled out a green and blue flannel shirt. “Do you want to borrow this?”
I rubbed my arms, shivering. “Yeah.”
After I emptied my stomach in the girls’ bathroom, Jayson called Kale and Seth to deal with Mrs. Gracin. They’d get the demon out, and she wouldn’t remember a thing. She’d have a nice bruise on her face from Jayson though. Maybe some from me too.
Thankfully, no one had walked in. I couldn’t even imagine the kind of story we’d have to crap up to explain us in the bathroom with an unconscious faculty member.
The bed dipped as the Nephilim sat beside me. He draped the shirt over my shoulders, and I threaded my arms through. His scent clung to the fabric, washing away some of the disgusting taste in my mouth. When I reached up to button it, he pushed my hands away.
“I got it,” he whispered, quickly securing each button.
My throat tightened. Jayson was so sweet and gentle. You’d think I was a kitten he found in a gutter. I looked just as ragged right now.
“How’s your head?” He finished with the shirt and ran his fingers over my temples.
The sharp pain had melted into a dull throb. “It’s better.”
On the car ride to his house, I told Jayson as much as I could muster. He had at least understood half of it through my broken sobs and snotty sniffles.
His gaze flickered toward the hall. “Seth and Brenna are here. Do you want to lay down in my bed?”
“I’ll go with you.” The last thing I wanted to do was close my eyes or be alone. Those graphic snapshots would slither back into my mind like a movie I couldn’t shut off.
“Come on.” He stood and grabbed my hand, leading me into the hall.
In the living room, Brenna and Seth perched on the end of each leather recliner. Their heads shifted toward us as we descended the stairs.
“Is Mrs. Gracin okay?” I asked, my voice dry and raspy. I took a seat on the couch.
“She’s fine, darling,” Seth said. “Don’t worry that pretty little head of yours.”
Jayson shot him a narrowed glare.
Seth tossed his hands up. “What did I say? She is pretty. And darling.” He playfully winked in my direction.
A ghost of a smile curled my lips. “Thanks, but I’m not feeling real pretty right now.” Icky was more like it.
Jayson bent, bringing his face close to mine. “I have some chocolate chip cookies. Do
you want some?”
My stomach churned. “Not right now.”
Seth cursed under his breath. “This is bad if she turned down sugar. She never turns down sugar.”
I shot him the one-finger salute, and he cracked a smile. The Irish Nephilim was right though. I didn’t even turn down cake and ice cream when my throat was on fire after Moloch choked me.
Jayson folded down next to me, his mouth in a grim line. He was trying so hard to make me feel better, but he didn’t know how. Not even sugar could fix me. “Are you absolutely sure she’s not a seer, Brenna?” His arm stretched across the back of the couch behind me, his body brushing mine.
“Yes.” Brenna motioned her delicate hand toward me. “Seers can always detect others. Nothing is coming from Lena.” Her head tilted, her gaze lingering over my pale face. “What exactly did you see? Maybe it would help if I knew.”
I could already feel the bile oozing up my throat. “Nope. Not happening.” I clamped my lids shut and took a deep breath, forcing the images away.
“She saw a memory from the dweller when it was human.” A shudder ran through Jayson. He hadn’t seen the horrific incident through my eyes, but he’d felt the agony crashing over me when my mind returned to the present. “He was torturing a victim. That’s all I’m going to say.”
A warm wind stirred my hair, and Jayson’s body stiffened to marble.
“How is she?” A resonant, soothing timbre echoed through the living room.
I cracked my lids. An unfamiliar man stood in front of a window, the sun streaming in lighting his body with an ethereal glow. Kind, amber eyes flecked with pops of gold roamed over me, a small frown on his full lips.
Holy hotness. The stranger was as tall as Jayson with equally impressive muscles straining beneath a white t-shirt.
“I didn’t know you were coming.” Jayson’s jaw flexed.
The man brushed soft, golden curls from his face and pushed away from the window, walking toward us. “I didn’t realize that.” His gaze flicked toward Brenna as he leaned against the brick fireplace.
“I called him,” she said, her expression unapologetic. “None of us know anything. I thought he could help.”