Drop Dead Demons (7 page)

“How ba—?” He choked on the word. Turned back to me. Swallowed hard. Blood drained from his face. “How bad did I burn you?”

My forehead creased as I touched softly around the wound on my head.

“It’s a gash. From the wolf demon. I’m okay. Are
you
okay?”

“Wolf?” He breathed. Finally. “Oh. The thing that’s like a hellhound but isn’t. I’m not sure what it was, because hellhounds don’t have spikes. Or silver eyes.”

“Whatever it is got a swipe at me. Like I said, I might have oversold my Lara Croftiness. It was more dumb luck.” And a Divinicus vision, but he didn’t need the details.

“So I didn’t do anything to…hurt you?” Some color seeped back into his cheeks.

“No. Of course not. You just touched it by accident.” I grinned. “Because I’m so boo-tay-licious.”

He didn’t laugh. Just blinked like he was coming off a concussion-level blow to the head. So much for my comedic career.

“Okay, what’s going on?” I took his hand and wiped off the blood. “Since when do you get so freaked out over a little blood?”

“Nothing. Let me see.”

Then his hands were all over me. And not in the kind of way you hope the super-hot guy puts his hands all over you. No, he was more like a mother ape picking through my hair for fleas and ticks.

I winced. “Ow.”

“Sorry. But hold still. This doesn’t look good.”

“It’s no big deal.”

As I started to push him away, I caught a glimpse of Tristan’s stalker wall and froze. There was something new. When I’d pulled off his piles of paranoid paperwork, I must have partially uncovered another picture which had been hiding underneath. I recognized this face too, but in a very different context.

Last time we met, this someone had tried to kill me. 

I reached past Ayden and snatched the photo, ripping the paper and sending the pushpin flying.

My hands shook. My stomach lurched, sloshing bile up my throat. I swallowed it down but couldn’t stop the memory of that stupid college field trip, the party gone wrong, and me walking back to the dorm, alone, in the dark, where things had gone…fatal.

At least for parts of me. Like my appendix. Not that I needed it anyway.

But trust? Yeah, that one I’d like to have back. 

“Where are they?” I seethed. “Where are the pictures of the rest of them?” In a wild burst of energy I clawed at the papers still pinned on the wall.

“Stop!” Ayden held me from behind, pinning my arms to my sides. He spoke close to my ear. “There’s no more. Only Heather.”

I fought hard, but his muscles overcame my desperation, and I finally stilled. My chest heaved rattling breaths through clenched teeth. I choked on the words a few times before I could create a sentence.

“Why does he have a picture of Heather? How do you know her?” My hair tangled in a red mess across my eyes. “I’ve never mentioned her. Or any of them. I don’t ever talk about them, don’t ever want think about them. Ever.”

My eyes burned. I ground my teeth and bullied back the tears that threatened, refusing to shed any more over the maniacal group of people who had delivered the most horrifying living nightmare of my life. And the way my life had been going,
that
was saying something.

Ayden turned me around and smoothed back my hair. He smiled, dark chocolate eyes shimmering with compassion.  

“Listen.” He held my face in his warm hands, thumbs gently wiping the tears from beneath my eyes as he gave my forehead a soft kiss. “Fiskick said that your friends attacked you because a Hallucinator controlled their minds and manipulated them into…” His voice trailed off. 

I gave him a pained smile. “Beating the crap out of me?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Yes. So we decided to track them down.”

“And get all the gory details? Jayden has the police report for that.”

“No.” He smoothed his hands over my shoulders. “But we wanted to check a theory which…Tristan found was true.”

I breathed deep. “What?”

“Tristan can get into a person’s mind.” Ayden ducked his head to catch my gaze. “He can tell if another Hallucinator has done something to mess with their brain. It leaves a sort of,” he glanced sideways, thinking, “he calls it a signature. Anyway, the kids Tristan talked to who were involved can’t remember the attack on you at all, but he confirmed that each of their minds had been manipulated. And by the same Hallucinator.”

I let this sink in. It felt too heavy. My knees buckled. Ayden caught me in his arms and pulled me to his chest, holding me upright when I would’ve fallen into a pathetic heap.

This night…had just been too much. I felt drained and broken.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I put my arms around him, hands under his jacket, feeling the strong, solid body through his T-shirt, listening to the steady beat of his heart. The photo was still in my hand. I crumpled it up. “Why does he still have Heather’s photo?”

Ayden tensed.

So did I.

“What’s wrong?” I leaned my head back to look at him. “Ayden?”

His lips rolled in and out of his mouth. “She’s missing.”

“Missing?” I pulled away and this time he let me go, freeing me to pace around Tristan’s room. “Missing like she escaped detention and is wandering around with a screwed up mind and going to find me and go all psycho again?”

“No.” Ayden raised his palms at my freaked out look. “Missing like someone went to the trouble to forge documents to transfer her from the detention center, and then effectively hide her without a trace.” He paused. “Or…”

“Or what?”

Ayden looked uncomfortable. “Maybe she knew something they wanted to keep quiet, and they…”

I felt cold. “
Killed
her? Would they do that? The Hallucinator? The Mandatum?”

“We don’t know. We’ll keep looking. She could still be alive. And if we can find her, we can get answers.”

“
If
she’s alive.”

I scrubbed my face with my hands. It was a never-ending nightmare. Heather dead because of me. Some girl in hell because of me. Who was next?

My gut bubbled acid. 

“Aurora.”

Ayden reached for me. I rested my forehead on his shoulder, but only for a moment. This romantic evening had taken one too many fatal blows to be salvageable. I needed time alone.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be okay.” I hoped it was the truth.

I opened the window and climbed out onto the gnarled branches of the old oak between Tristan’s house and mine. Cold mountain air tackled the heat ravaging my skin.

Mother Nature’s earthy scents filled the night, but either a chainsaw or power drill screamed from my garage. Joining the cacophony was a baby’s wail, an angsty teenager’s doom and gloom music cranked on high, and my mother screeching for silence.

Couldn’t wait to wade into that.

I straddled the branch and started to make my way across to my bedroom window.

“Wait.” Ayden picked up my jacket, his worried look hard to miss. “At least let me clean that wound before you go.”

“I’ll do it. Besides, I’m a fast healer, remember?” At least physically. One of the perks of my Divinicus powers. I reached back for my jacket. “Just don’t tell my parents.”

Ayden lost all color. His voice flooded with dread. “Your
parents
.”

He pulled my coat out of reach, and bolted out of the room, door slamming behind him.

I stared at the closed door. I was alone, miserable, and dangling two stories above ground with my inner klutz ready to rear her ugly head and have me cracking my skull down below.

I nodded. “Yep, that’s about right.”

I grumbled all the way across the oak, slid open the window to my pitch-dark room and would’ve slipped quietly inside if my toe hadn’t caught on the sill and sent me thudding to the floor.

“Oh, for the love of—” I hauled myself up to close the window, thankful for the household noise because with all that hoopla no one would notice my kaboomie entrance.

The lights flipped on.

“Gotcha!”

I whirled, catching my shoulder on the curtain which then wrapped across my face.

Blind! I’m blind!

I flailed, yanked it away, bringing the curtain, along with the rod, crashing down on my head. Real smooth.

Hysterical laughter ensued. Not mine.

“Thanks a lot, moron!” I rubbed my scalp. Like it didn’t already hurt.

My sister Luna sat at my desk stroking my gray cat, Van Helsing, who sat on her lap. She finally contained her merriment. “Well, well, well. The golden—”

The cat made a break for it.

“Helsing!” Luna scrambled to control him, resumed stroking methodically, and cleared her throat to continue in a deep, dramatic voice. “The golden child breaks curfew. Again.”

Helsing let out a low mewl.

“Shhh.” She scrubbed his head and gave me a cunning look. “What could possibly keep me from telling dear mother and father?”

I smirked. “The fact that I know how you really spend third period.”

“Stupid Blake!” Luna slapped her knee. “I knew he couldn’t keep a secret.”

I plucked Helsing from her lap and stroked him till he purred. “Now be a good little minion and scram.”

Our front doorbell chimed. Luna and I shared a confused look.

“At this hour?” Luna hurried out of my room. “Must be drama.”

“Super.” I dumped Helsing and followed her.

From the top of the stairs, I saw Mom answer the front door adjusting my one-year-old brother Oron on her hip. She wasn’t happy.

She glared at Ayden. “If you brought back my daughter’s jacket and not her, the fact that you blew curfew is the least of your problems, mister.”

I rushed down the stairs. “Mom, I’ve been home for ages. Chatting with Luna.” I turned to my sister. “Right?”

Luna flicked me a cold look. “Yep.”

Ayden laughed nervously and sidestepped in, flashing a way too charming smile. “I was halfway home when I realized she forgot this in my car.” He held out my jacket.

“How thoughtful of you, honey,” Mom said sweetly then stepped back to bang on the wall to the garage and screech, “M! It’s after nine o’clock! If you don’t stop, I’ll make you change diapers!”

The sudden silencing of power tools left a ringing in my ears.

With a wary eye, I snatched my jacket from Ayden. “Thanks. See you tomorrow.”

Ayden gasped and pointed. “Oh my gosh! Mrs. Lahey, look, she’s bleeding!”

The way my night had been going, I really should’ve seen that coming.

My head smashes into the dumpster. I collapse. Pain sledgehammers across my shoulders. I claw the ground, try to find purchase to drag myself away. Another blow knocks my breath away. My lips are wet. I taste blood.

No escape. Too many of them. And only one me. Broken. I can’t fight. Can’t understand. I trusted them. My frien—

Nails rip through my arm as they wrench me onto my back. A rotting wooden two-by-four slams into my side so hard it splinters apart, and I’m not sure if the sharp
“crack”
is the wood or my ribs as they shatter. Maniacal laughter shreds fresh pain. Hands slip on the blood on my throat. I feel hands choking the life from me.

“Fight!” orders a voice which whispers harsh, like sandpaper across my brain, jolting through my paralyzing fear. Words fade in and out. “I’ll find…you safe…forever…until then—”

A roar charges through my ears, cutting off the rest of the words. Pressure on my chest. Too much. Something over my mouth. Can’t breathe.

“Fight!” the command echoes, faint but no less demanding.

I know I need to grab and shove and—

High pitched giggles pulled me to consciousness. Something fuzzy crushed over my mouth. Someone sitting on my chest.

“It worked!” The smiling five-year-old lifted her stuffed toy off my face and held it high in the air. “Prince Bubbles to the rescue!”

“Selena?” I gulped down air, blinked rapidly.

I’d been seconds away from strangling my sister, taking out Bubbles’ only remaining eye, and chucking the lot of them across the room. I steadied myself and scooted her off my chest to sit beside me.

“Daddy said I got to wake you up, but I couldn’t.” She shoved her stuffed platypus in my face again. “So Bubbles pretended to be a prince and kiss you awake just like Sleeping Beauty, and it worked.” She poked me in the face, just shy of stabbing out my eye. “Why are you crying?”

Dad, who’d been passing my door, immediately backtracked into my room. “Is it your head? I
knew
I should’ve put stitches in that. Stupid curtain rods!”

The story of the curtain rod causing my head injury wasn’t a hard sell, given I’d waged a war with coordination since birth.

He kicked the clumped drapery fabric still lying on the floor. “When your aunt lets me back into my garage, I will cement this to the wall.”

“I’m fine. And I’m not crying.” I rubbed a hand over my face to find my skin dewy with sweat and tears.

Selena dropped her forehead against mine and squinted into my eyes. “It looks like you’re crying.” I pushed her away, but she just crawled up to lay on my chest and stare intently into my eyes. “Did you have a scary dream? I have scary dreams. They’re scary. But Bubbles can make them go away because her pirate patch gives her superpowers. Matty said so. Here.” Selena tucked the platypus under the covers. “You can borrow her.”

Dad scooped up Selena. “Let’s get you and your gender-fluid platypus some breakfast.” He studied my face, touching my nose with tender fingers. “Swelling’s down, but ice it up before you go to school. I’ll redress the head wound too.” He tilted his head. “Sure you weren’t crying?”

“Yes.” I yanked the covers over my head to hide the contradictory evidence.

“Maybe a present would help,” he said cheerfully. “You expecting a package today?”

“No,” I mumbled through the blankets. “I just need a few more minutes. Alone. Please.”

Selena pouted, “She’s a Grumpy Gus.”

“Yet we love her anyway. See you downstairs.” Dad patted my arm before he left. 

Grumpy? You bet. I didn’t exactly sleep last night. And when I did, it wasn’t delightful visions of wreaking a satisfying revenge on Matthias dancing in my head.

Nope, his little stunt last night — and the whole Heather fiasco — cracked the surface of the barrier where I kept nightmare memories safely buried beneath steel traps and mountains of denial. Memories of the night which seemed like both a lifetime ago, and yet fresh as yesterday.

My “friends” had used pretty much anything they could find in the back alley Dumpster. Fists and feet as well as wood, pipe, bottles, and —

I threw back the covers, rushed out of my room and downstairs, heart pounding blood into my head with a steady ache as if Thor himself was mercilessly wielding his mighty hammer inside my skull. I needed to
not
think about that night if I was going to make it through the day.

Denial was how I functioned.

At least The Voice was back. The one that shows up in my nightmares when I’m scared out of my mind. The one that promises to find me, protect me. It was male as far as I could tell, although it wasn’t much more than a raspy whisper. The man of my dreams was the invisible hero my subconscious had conjured up lately to help me through those nights when the Terror Train ripped through the tunnel of my psyche.

Hadn’t heard him in a while, but that was because I hadn’t had nightmares for the past few weeks.

Thanks, Matthias.  

At some point in between nightmares, I’d vowed to find a way to get the Aussie back, but my brain was on slow-mo. No brilliant diabolical plan. Yet.

I opened my door and tripped over Van Helsing as he sprinted into the room.

“Hey!”

He ignored me, raced to his royal purple cat bed, frantically dug under the cushion then sprinted out, a feather gripped between his teeth. 

“You are so weird.”

The feather was from the wings of my guardian angel, Gloria. Helsing was obsessed with them. I hadn’t seen my perky, costume-loving angel in weeks. Guess that was a good thing. As long as she was in the background protecting my family, that was all I cared about. 

At the bottom of the stairs, I white-knuckled the railing, determined to clear my head which felt heavy, filled with a sludge of dread and exhaustion. I needed something to lighten the load of my dark mood.

As if on cue, Dad darted out of the living room past the front windows then slowed to a hunched creep across the foyer. He scowled through the spyglass in the front door and chuckled darkly.

“Wanna dance mailman? Let’s dance!” Then he ducked outside.

Yes, if there was one thing my family was good for, it was distraction.

“Breakfast!” In the kitchen, Aunt M pointed to a steaming pot on the stove. Under an apron, she wore her ritual skirt, blouse, and blazer, and the French twist was smoothed to perfection. I felt more like a zombie than ever.

“Burnt oatmeal, two weeks straight. Yay.” Luna grimaced from her stool, actually looking like a zombie with all the pale makeup and dark, artfully ragged clothing.

My brother Lucian patted M’s back. “Maybe I’ll make scrambled eggs tomorrow.”

Aunt M folded her arms on top of her swollen belly and narrowed a look. “You don’t like my scramble.”

“Because you burn it,” Luna muttered.

Lucian said over our sister’s complaints, “We just want to help out.”

“And not be nauseous all through first period.”

“Luna!” I smacked her.

M jabbed an oatmeal covered spoon Luna’s way. “Your parents asked me here to help take care of you and that’s what I’m doing.”

“We don’t need a babysitter,” Luna protested.

M waved a hand over Luna’s Gothic ensemble. “You’re morgue make-up says you’re not getting enough attention at home.”

Mom came in from the backyard with Oron on her hip and fresh flowers in her hand. “I like her vampire look. Makes me feel tan. Leave her alone, M. And Luna, be nice.”

“Ugh!” Luna stomped out. “Why can’t we just lock her in the garage?”

M snorted. “If only.”

Mom watched Luna go. “What’s her problem?”

I chuckled. “M blocked her from the Internet last night.”

“Just the social networking sites. She was 
supposed 
to be doing homework. Speaking of children misbehaving.”
 
M looked down at me. “Where’s the nervous gervous from next door?”

“Tristan?” I shrugged. “Home, I guess. Why?”

“He didn’t spend the night scouring the world for my identity.”

I sighed. “You promised you wouldn’t spy on my friends’ computer activity.”

“I haven’t. Mostly because I can’t. Yet. They have an impressive firewall.” She dumped oatmeal into a bowl with a dull
plop
and handed it to me. “But I do get an alert when anyone attempts to investigate me. Been getting one a couple times a day from that jumpy brat since the day I showed up. Decent little hacker. Thought he’d try looking longer than a few weeks.”

“I’ll relay your disappoin—” I choked on a mouthful of breakfast, fatally forgetting the gag-worthy flavor of M’s concoction. It stuck to the inside my mouth, thick as cement and just as tasty.

“I don’t want you relaying anything.” Porridge hung like dog drool off the wooden spoon M pointed in my direction. “Because I don’t want you to talk, kibitz or socialize in any way with any of them. I’ve checked around. Those Hex Boys, as they’re called, have a bad reputation. Danger follows them and it already caught you in its wake in Los Angeles. Almost got you and Luna killed at the concert hall.”

Mom shook her head at my aunt. “The explosion wasn’t the boys’ fault.”

She was right on that score.
I
had blown up the building. The boys had been the heroes that averted disaster.  

“They saved my girls, so be nice, M,” Mom said.

“What about her grades?” M asked. “I hacked into the school’s system and ever since she’s been here,
spending time with those boys
, her GPA has plummeted.”

“That’s got to be illegal!” And downright rude. But she wasn’t wrong. At Mom’s questioning, borderline
testy
look, I said. “It’s not the boys. I started here in the middle of the year and was already behind because I missed so much at my old school because I was…recovering. Then I missed school here because of the coma and…” I shrugged. “I’ll get them up. I promise. Please, give me a chance.”

The explanation was partially true, and hopefully my pathetic history of horror would deflect her anger and suspicion and bring on the protective mom mode.

Her eyes softened.

Man, I’m good.

“Fine,” she said. “But if your grades aren’t improved by the mid-semester progress report, we’re getting a tutor and you’re grounded, with no social life, until they are.”

M made an exasperated noise. “Okay, forget about the waste of her education. You’re telling me you’re not worried about your 
daughter
 hanging around with six 
boys
 with dubious reputations? 
And
 dating one of them who looks at your daughter with…
that
look?”

My brow creased. “What look?”

“Oh, please,” Aunt M scoffed. “
That
 look. And not to mention 
that
 smile. Hungry,” she growled the word, “and hot enough to make a nun’s panties spontaneously combust.”

Lucian choked, laughter spewing juice out his nose. I glared at him as the blood rushed to my cheeks.

Aunt M gave me a meaningful look. “And you’re no nun, sweetie. I’m just saying.”

“Mom!” I was beginning to seriously sympathize with Luna.

“M, that’s enough,” Mom said in her And-That’s-Final voice, then kissed the top of my head to cover the fact that she was fighting a smile. “We trust Aurora and so should you. Even if you don’t approve of the boys. Now, I’ve got to open up shop. I don’t know what is in the air, but people have been buying bouquets like it’s Valentine’s Day.” She grabbed her purse and rummaged through the contents. “Remember, M, Clyde’s giving you a ride to the church. Have you finished the baby’s christening plans with Father Bancroft?”