Darkness Fair (The Dark Cycle Book 2) (22 page)

“You’ve got quite the grip,” he says, shaking out his hand and sitting back in the booth.

I just give him a stiff smile and try to keep myself from noticeably shivering. But because I can’t help myself, before I walk away I say, “I can help you, you know. If you need it.”

His mouth curves up but his eyes look sad. “You bought me bacon. No other help needed, friend.”

And so I nod and walk away. But I’m fully aware that what I saw was his soul running from some demon. Owner or captor, whatever. And from the rising up of my insides, I’m pretty sure my power wants to do something about it. Unfortunately, Raul will have to get in line.

THIRTY-EIGHT

Rebecca

I’m sitting in art theory class only half listening. I can’t believe I’m here, in the real world; I shouldn’t have come. I mean, I thought I could pretend—I’ve been doing it for so long—but I just can’t anymore. I had to get out of that house, though. With Sid all sick and creaky, Aidan gone, Kara not sure about me, and Connor wanting to be “just friends,” I can’t stay there and remain sane. So I called the car service before anyone was awake and left.

First, I sat at Starbucks with the driver. Weird, I know. I bought him coffee and an egg sandwich and we sat reading the paper. A nice guy, Larry. He seemed happy.

Now I’m at school and I’m totally out of it. I can’t stop thinking about that conversation with Connor yesterday. Or his hand on my neck. Or his lips. My God, his lips.

Shut up, brain!

The weirdest part is, it wasn’t Aidan. And I’m okay with that.

The teacher’s voice cuts through my fog.

“I’d like you to incorporate these elements into your final summer project.” He points at the overhead screen, which is sectioned off into four images. “There’s extra credit for those who can incorporate all of them.”

Elements? Project? Oh great. What did I miss?

He continues, “If you’ll turn to page three hundred and five you’ll see more examples. The images might feel disjointed, but each one is like a puzzle of the artist’s mind. I need you to choose one and write a fifteen-hundred-word analysis, along with a visual response in the medium of your choice.”

What, what, what?!
I want to bang my head on my desk, but that’s not exactly the action of a sane person, and I’m supposed to be pretending. I just don’t have the mental power or capacity right now to write a paper or do some pointless school project.

The teacher puts an image of another painting on the overhead and begins picking it apart. I should be at the beach instead of here, hanging out with Charlie’s memory and the dolphins. Charlie would know what I should do right now.

“. . . if Miss Emery can find her way back to us.”

My head snaps up at the sound of my name. I was doodling on my notebook—more skulls from the look of it,
great
—while I was at the beach with Charlie in my head.

“Sorry?” I ask.

He walks toward my desk and glances down at my doodles. “I assume, since you’ve decided to work on something else, that you’re already aware of what the artist was thinking?”

I shake my head. “No, Mr. Hicks.”

He points his pen at my notebook and my skulls. “André Leclair’s
Within The Reaches of Angels
is what we are discussing, Miss Emery. Not pirates.”

This time, the skulls are attached to full skeletons, three of them. “Yes, sir.”

“So,” he turns back to the front of the room and motions to the overhead, “would you please tell us what you believe Mr. Leclair was trying to portray here?”

I look at the image on the screen, trying not to visibly cringe. It’s basically how I’ve always visualized hell. There’s a skinless figure in the center being eaten from the belly by what looks like a huge viper with sharp fangs. Fire rises at the feet of the figure, and the background is made up of twisted green vines weaving in and out of a wall of . . . skulls.

Suddenly, those hollow eyes of death seem to be staring right back at me. I begin to see smaller creatures in the tongues of the flames, in the eyes of the viper, tiny beasts hiding in the layers of horror. I see the vines attempting to break the wall of death, and I wonder if this troubled artist had the ability to draw the hidden story of the future, like I do.

I put on my deep-thinking face for the benefit of Mr. Hicks and say what I decide he’d like to hear, “I think Mr. Leclair was struggling between his need for religious approval and his realization that he’s been corrupted by impurity and sin. This is obviously an image of the agony and injustice the artist felt.”

Mr. Hicks is properly impressed, and clearly a bit annoyed that I was able to sound smart so easily. “That’s an interesting thought. We know that much of Leclair’s surreal work was seen as overly erotic for the day. Would you like to delve into that further, Miss Fallon?” He points to Loretta Fallon and soon forgets about me. Yes, leave it to Loretta. She’s all about the overly erotic; some of her party activities would make even the liege lords of ancient Rome blush.

Loretta starts theorizing about how society has made men the keepers of the sexual and I half listen, sort of agreeing with her, but not caring enough to add to the discussion at the moment. I’m just glad that I’m not the center of attention anymore.

When class is over, Samantha’s waiting for me outside the door, hugging her music notebook to her chest. “I don’t have anything for an hour because Mr. Smythe got the chlam from sucking face with Mrs. Florence last week.”

“That’s not how chlamydia works, Samantha,” I say. “And Mr. Smythe’s father just passed away, so that’s probably why he’s not here.”

She shrugs. “Well, Loretta said she saw Mrs. Florence making out with him in the green room backstage after the encore performance of
Pippin
last week. In any case, I’m bored and Apple is skipping to go to her mom’s shop on Rodeo because the assistant called and they got next year’s line in early from France. I think we should celebrate and ditch, too. I miss you.” She side-hugs me. “Plus, you owe me for all the acrobatic lying I’ve been doing for you to my mom and your overprotective father.” Then she starts babbling about purses and why this new line is
so
much better than the last one because of something to do with the texture patterns they’re going with this year . . . I have no idea. And I really don’t care. Fashion isn’t my thing, even if it is everything to Samantha. The only real reason Samantha and I have stayed friends all these years is because when you peel back the silk and satin, she’s a lioness. She’d never hurt me, and she’d defend me to the death if anyone else tried—socially speaking, anyway.

I agree to tag along because I can’t take school anymore. And if I go to Rodeo with Apple and Samantha, I won’t have to go back to the LA Paranormal house yet and confront Connor. I’m wondering if I should just collect my things from there and head home with Samantha. Then I won’t have to be in a house filled with tension, and I won’t be lying to my dad anymore, either. Every time he calls, I feel more guilty.

We climb into Apple’s Audi and are soon stuck in traffic on Santa Monica Boulevard. The two girls up front are gabbing about the fall shows they’re planning on going to and trading gossip about some of the designers. Apple’s mom is a queen in the LA fashion community and she always knows everything about everyone: movie stars, politicians, designers, you name it. Apple is always happy to share her dirt.

I look out the window and suddenly wish I’d applied for one of those art residencies abroad like my aunt suggested after Charlie died. Dad certainly has the money. It would’ve given me a goal, and maybe I wouldn’t have felt so disconnected from my life. And I wouldn’t have met Aidan or had my heart broken. And then broken again.

“Some guy in a trash heap with wheels is waving at you, Emery,” Apple says, looking in her rearview mirror. “He’s been following us since we got off the 405.”

I spin around and gasp when I spot the familiar mangy Jeep in our blind spot on the right. Holy crap. Connor? He sees me looking at him and waves for us to pull over. Is he high?

I hold up a finger, mouthing,
Just a second!
Then I turn back to Apple, growling under my breath as I ask, “Can you pull over?”

She laughs and snaps her gum. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously.”

She turns onto Avenue of the Stars and pulls into a hotel valet area. Connor pulls in behind us, brakes squeaking.

I slide out of the backseat and ask Apple to wait, saying I’ll only be a second. Then I stomp my way to the rear of the car as Connor rushes toward me. “What the hell?” I say.

“You left—you can’t
just leave
.”

“Actually, I can. It’s this weird thing called,
you’re not my father and it’s a free country.
”

He gives me a look, then shakes his head and leans closer. “It’s not safe right now, Rebecca.”

“Emery!” I say louder than I mean to. I hear whispering and turn to see that Apple and Samantha have gotten out of the Audi and are sharing a cigarette and pretending not to eavesdrop. Perfect. “Call me Emery,” I say more quietly.

“Just get in the Jeep,” he orders.

I set my jaw and turn back to the Audi, going for the door handle. He grabs my wrist from behind and spins me around, getting so close his heat mingles with mine as he puts his lips to my ear and whispers harshly, “You want me to say it so they can hear? You want them to know that the demon that wants you dead might be back?”

My pulse skips at the word
demon
. And it dawns on me what he means. The demon Hunger. Aidan said it might be back, but why would that mean Connor needed to stalk and kidnap me?

I pull away a little so he’s not so close. “I’m wearing my amulet.”

He shakes his head, then glances behind me, probably to the other two girls who’ve gone totally silent. “Can you please just come with me?” His voice has a desperate edge to it now.

“You could’ve just texted me, you know,” I say, backing away.

“I did. You didn’t answer.”

I give him a disbelieving look, pulling my phone from my pocket. I press the button to turn on the screen and nothing happens. “Battery’s dead.”

“Hey,” comes a sly voice on my left. Apple. “You trying to steal our girl?”

Connor keeps his eyes locked on me.

“Who’s this, Emery?” Sam asks; she comes to stand beside me, taking a protective pose.

“He’s hot,” Apple adds, raking her eyes over Connor’s muscular form. “Way cuter than the Valley reject you invited to my party last month.”

Heat rises on my cheeks. “This is Connor. Connor, this is Apple and Sam.”

Connor really looks at them now. “Apple. That’s your name?”

She giggles her high-pitched flirt-giggle and touches her long blonde hair—she is so typical when it comes to boys. And designer bags, for that matter. “You always follow girls into hotel parking lots, Connor?” she asks.

“I just need to talk to Rebecca here, and then you can get back to shopping.”

Samantha is giving him an assessing look, like she’s making sure he’s safe. “Why do you keep calling her Rebecca?”

“Yeah, only her brother called her that,” Apple says, totally clueless as to how her words just stabbed me in the heart.

Samantha glances sideways at me, a pained look in her eyes.

“And you might be cute,” Apple adds, “but you’re no Charlie.”

I want to curl in a ball and block out the sudden pain. How could Apple be so clueless? Yes, she’s a bitch, but not usually this much. She must really think Connor’s cute.

He looks away from them and back to me, his eyes gentle. “Come on, I’ll explain everything, I swear.” He holds out a hand in offering, a lifeline as the storm rises inside me.

So I take it and let him pull me to the Jeep, ignoring Apple’s chatter behind me. I mouth to Samantha,
I’m okay
, as I get into the passenger side.

She motions back for me to text her before we pull past them in the roundabout.

I don’t let myself cry as we head down the familiar streets and Connor doesn’t say anything, not until we’re pulling off the freeway again and entering his neighborhood.

“I’m sorry,” he says finally. “I was a total jackass to you yesterday. I should’ve thought before I said anything. I—”

“Don’t worry about it.” I just want to forget our kiss and his subsequent rejection of me. Definitely not wanting to talk about it. “Can you tell me now why you needed to kidnap me, though?”

He blows out a puff of air. “Your amulet won’t protect you against this thing if it gets one of its minions into a human host. Once a demon’s possessing someone, the human eyes will see you and the thing will be able to do whatever it needs to do for its master.”

A wave of icy air washes over me as I realize how vulnerable I was all day at Starbucks and then school.

“And I can’t see demons like Aidan can,” he adds, “so if it’s close to you, I’ll have no idea. We just need to be careful, Rebec—I mean . . . damn.”

“It’s all right,” I say, exhausted from it all. “Call me whatever you want.” Then I turn to him and add, “And thanks for coming to make sure I’m safe.”

“Aidan left me a note,” he says quickly, like he’s confessing it to me.

“He did?”

“It’s what I was reading when you came into my room yesterday. He reminded me about the demon and told me to be sure and watch out for you.”

Of course he did. “Oh,” is all I can manage. Because it wasn’t Connor wanting to protect me. Again, it was Aidan.

“I was the ass who didn’t even think of it.”

“Well, I’m not your problem,” I say, looking out the window, trying not to be disappointed yet again. I’m not Aidan’s responsibility anymore, either. I guess it’s time for me to learn to take care of myself.

And with that thought comes a feeling of steadiness. It is time for me to stand on my own.
Past
time. I guess I’ve sort of been doing it already, but I need to get over my fear of being alone.

Connor swerves the Jeep, shocking me as he pulls off to the side of the road and jerks to a stop, putting it in park. He sits there for several seconds in silence, gripping the steering wheel.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, when I can’t take the silence anymore.

“The reason I came after you,” he finally says, “is that just thinking about you being hurt or tormented by any
one
or any
thing
makes me nuts. I came because I can’t stand the thought that I hurt you, because I’m a prick and a coward and all I can think about is how much I want to kiss you again. From the second I saw you standing in the house two months ago, right after you met Aidan, my gut’s been in knots. I go to sleep trying to erase your smell from my head, wake up needing to erase you from my dreams before I go crazy.”