02 Awaken-The Soulkeepers (20 page)

“No! I did not get my ass kicked!” I bark out and then reconsider. “Well … maybe.” I suppose it is the truth, and it’s better to let them believe I’ve run away with my tail between my legs.
Who cares anyway?

I want to crawl back into my burrow but Bailey won’t have it. She reminds me that it’s Friday and the roads are open. The basketball game is back on, and I’m expected to take photos. Apparently, Miss Minnie and Mrs. Cooley requested that Bailey remind me of my pictographic obligations.
Shit
. I have zero desire to stand among cheering fans and snap photos of sweating athletes trying to pulverize each other.

Being the control freak that she is, Bailey guides me into the bathroom, where I am ordered to get reacquainted with my shampoo. She sits on the bathroom sink while I shower and shave the forest that is my legs. All the while, she peppers me with questions about the demon hunters, and I explain as much as I can. I can’t tell her where we train, only that it involves cane poles and trees and pain. Lots of pain.

“So is this Kanati guy hot?” she asks. I hear a scratching noise and peek around the shower curtain. She’s filing her nails.

“Yeah, but you may not be the Lone Ranger to his Tonto. He’s off limits.”

“Why is everyone involved with your training off limits, Dear Prudence?”

I snap the curtain back in place. “They just are. Besides, I thought you and Duffy had some sort of agreement now.”

“I suppose we do. Now that he’s promised to stop all jackassery.” She groans and tells me the steam is futzing with her hair and that she’ll wait downstairs. I take a few minutes to finish up and then head back to my bedroom. I stop in the doorway and peer around. The window is open again, and I shiver in my towel and turban.

“Strange.” I hurry over, slam it shut, and lock it. I move through the motions of drying my hair and applying makeup. It’s hard when I don’t care, and I keep crying. Nothing seems to matter much anymore. Mostly, I find myself zoning out and replaying Michael’s ultimatum. Then I snap out of it and continue on autopilot. By the time I trudge
downstairs, I have no idea what time it is or what I’m wearing.

We have an early dinner with Dad before heading out. He’s brooding and watchful, wearing his old worried expression like it’s the only thing he could find in the closet. I know he wants the truth about whatever tragedy had me locked away for two days. I feel bad for worrying him so I reach over the dinner table and cover his hand with mine. He looks up, and I smile my best smile. He seems relieved, and I nod.
I’ll be okay. We are made of tough stuff around here
.

Inside, my heart is ripping. It’s enough to make me a water fountain, and I jump up to clear the dishes in an awkward rush. I grab my camera and Bailey, and we walk quietly out the door. I’m gloomy again, and she takes note, staying respectively silent. We huddle in the cold air and walk around the park as the snow shepherds corral snow from the snow machines. They are packing great mounds for the sculptures and ice architects. The town square is gradually becoming St. Petersburg.

* * *

Our basketball team is slightly better than our football team but not as destructive as our hockey team. I roam the gym, snapping shots while inconspicuously looking for Michael. Raph, Milvi, and Uriel are here but no Michael. I try to avoid them, afraid I’ll lose control if they mention my training or Michael. But Raph catches me during halftime.

“Sophia, where have you been?” He sounds urgent, worried. I shrug and fiddle with my camera, deleting bad shots. He pulls me aside and whispers, “Kanati and Chang`e said you haven’t shown up in two days. You understand that Michael only sent you out of the barn that day because the Halos were coming. He can’t keep you from training there.” I bite my lips together and nod. “Well, what’s wrong then? Has something else happened?”

I’m so tempted to purge everything, to relieve my burden about Michael and me, but I swallow it down. I may have ruined things between us but I can’t be responsible for ruining things between Michael and his family. Raph tips my chin up and I let him look into my eyes. His are bright blue and frantic, flicking back and forth as he assesses me. His brow twitches with a frown, but I have no idea what he’s sensing; I still feel numb and vacant inside.

I tell him I’m sorry, just having a bad couple of days. He says I mustn’t be discouraged with my training; it’s normal to feel inadequate the first few sessions. He’s guessing at my emotions.

“But, Sophia, you have to show up. Demon hunters aren’t accustomed to waiting around. I’ll stall them for as long as I can. Will you at least try to pull yourself together?

I nod but don’t make any promises to be there. The buzzer sounds and the third quarter gets underway.

* * *

I’m sitting in my academic advisor’s office after school, listening to Mrs. Cunningham expound on the reckless disregard for my grades and college potential. I stare blankly; nod occasionally. She asks a question and I snap to.

“Yes, I still plan to go to college,” I say on reflex.

“You don’t sound very convincing. Perhaps I should send you to see Mrs. Patronus?” she says.

She means Dr. Sasha Patronus, Milvi’s mother and Michael’s aunt. Sasha has recently been hired as the school psychologist. She’s very nice, but I have no desire to have my emotions analyzed by a member of Michael’s family. I post a winning smile.

“Not necessary. Just got a little overwhelmed with trying to conquer the world. I’ll be fine.” I stand up to put an end to the session. I can only pretend for so long. Mrs. Cunningham quickly jots down a follow-up session that I’m not to miss, and I slip out the door.

I walk through the town square like I’m in a trance. Now that I’ve cried until there is nothing left, the numb realization of things has settled in. Despite my training and spiritual connection to a guardian angel, I’m no different than anyone else. I fell in love only to have my heart broken. And the pain is worse than anything I could’ve imagined. It feels wrong, as though I’m losing something I was meant to have. Like I’m losing Mom all over again.

I bypass the café and head straight for work, where I upload and edit my photos from the game. Miss Minnie is hovering. I’ve apologized three times for ditching work, but she is watching me like I’m a chick ready to hatch. It’s stifling, and I cut out the moment I can. By the time I reach my house, Dad is waiting at the door. News travels fast, and he wants to know what my advisor had to say.

“I have some catching up to do,” I mumble. I brush past him, heading for the stairs. I feel like a recurring guest star on
The Walking Dead
. He tells me to eat something; I’m looking thin. I smile vaguely. “Later. Gotta get to it.”

Sundance follows me up and around the staircase and then stops outside my
bedroom door. He won’t go in and that’s fine. I have a serious amount of homework to do before Rama arrives, and I can’t get distracted. So I hoist my backpack onto the bed and pause. I look around. Something’s not right. My window is open again. I walk over, close it, lock it. Then I hear a faint
ping
sound and turn to the desk. Another ping and then a tinkle and soon a soft lullaby fills the air.

I gasp and stare. The song is familiar and makes the blood drain from my face. There on my desk is a small antique music box. It’s the same box that Dante gave me in the pretty pink room on Halloween night, right before he set the place on fire.

“Ciao, cara mia,”
a deep voice says, and I whip around. Dante is leaning against the wall. He closes the door and then walks toward me, his green eyes alight with mischief. I gape and stumble backward, reaching blindly behind me. My back is against the window with no place to go.

“Dante,” I breathe out. I try to process what I’m feeling, what I’m
seeing
. He looks exactly the same: tall, lean, and devilishly handsome. Black hair falls across his forehead while he sports that sexy grin, so telling of what he’s thinking. He is relishing my surprise. He always loved to shock me, good or bad. Anything to provoke a reaction.

And he has certainly provoked a reaction. I just can’t decide what that reaction is. Part of me is relieved to know he isn’t suffering somewhere in Hell. Another part of me is afraid; he always brought out the darkest thoughts in me. And here he stands in his fine Italian clothes as though he’s been on holiday and didn’t put me through my own personal Hell. It all comes back in a rush, and I narrow my eyes and steel my spine.

“What are you doing here?” I ask coldly, and his eyebrows shoot up in mock surprise.

“Why,
cara
, are you not happy to see me?” He strolls closer, and I slide by him, moving into the room.

“Uh, well, you did kill me, Dante. And I’m not particularly fond of people who kill me.” I hold up a finger. “Correction: of
demons
who kill me.” I give him a hard look but he is unfazed. He stands close and caresses my cheek with the back of his fingers. His touch is electrifying and makes me flinch.

“Ah, but you begged me to take your life, didn’t you? Just as I said you would. You said you belonged to me and then you begged me to take you home.”

I’m not as strong as I want to be around him, and I feel myself trembling beneath his touch. Dante always had a way of unnerving me, of setting my blood on fire with just a look. I’m reacting the same way now, and it’s making my thoughts scatter.

“That’s … not exactly the way I remember it, Dante. You were … going to kill my dad.”

“Wolfgang wanted your dad, remember? I only wanted you.” He smiles softly, and I do remember; Dante’s love for me was overwhelming and ancient. He believes we share a past life together and that my soul belongs to him. I see by the love in his eyes that he has still not accepted the truth. That no matter what past we may or may not have shared, it’s Michael I love. And always will.

The idea that the demons are back for Dad jolts me awake, and I knock Dante’s hand down. “Are you here for Dad?” I demand, turning the fire in my blood into anger. I head for the door. “Because if you are, I’ll fight you with everything I—”

He grabs my arm. “Please,
cara
. I only want to talk.” He tries to lead me to the bed but I don’t budge.

“Are you guys here for Dad?” I demand.

“Wolfgang is not here. Only Vaughn and me. And Santiago. But we are not here for your father. As far as I know, Pastor St. James is safe, considered untouchable. Does that satisfy you? May we sit and talk, hmm?” He lowers his chin and smiles. It’s that luring look that reels me in. Knowing Dad is safe puts me at ease, somewhat. I allow Dante to lead me to the bed. We sit too close so I scoot back. He gives me a dubious look but decides to move on. He reaches for my hands; I pull away and clutch them in my lap.

“Why are you here, Dante? And where is Vaughn?” I glance around in case I’ve missed him. I learned the hard way that demons move silently, like shadows.

“He is at home, trying to salvage the mansion.”

“You’re calling the Hardgrave mansion home again?” Now I give him a dubious look, and he sighs heavily and shrugs.

“Temporary, of course.”

I nod, contemplating. He seems quiet, strangely tired. “How did you get in here anyway? The window?”

“I would rather use the front door but your father is home. I thought perhaps you would prefer that he and I not cross paths again.” He smiles brightly, ever the thoughtful little demon.

“Oh, I would most definitely prefer that. Besides, I would love to see you shimmy up the trellis in those clothes.”

He laughs and takes advantage of our light mood by moving closer. He pries one of my hands from the other and holds it, staring purposefully into my eyes. “I am always happy to please you,
cara
. Unfortunately, I do not shimmy up trellises, in these clothes or any others. And I have access to your home because you invited me in, remember? Our date to the Harvest Festival dance?” Ah, now I get it. I do remember that he wouldn’t come inside until I invited him. Dante grins. “I can come and go as I please now.
Undetected.” His eyebrows dance, and I feel myself blush.

“Oh.” I look down and squirm on the inside. “And just how long have you … been coming and going … as you please?” I’m hoping like hell that Dante hasn’t been around to witness anything embarrassing. Especially my breakup with Michael or the self-deprecating aftermath.

Dante throws back his head and laughs. I hate to admit it, but I actually missed that laugh. It haunted me for a year before I even met Dante. He was in my head, and I somehow felt an intimate connection with his deep, devilish laughter.

I fight back a smile and feel my cheeks burn.

“Not to worry,
cara mia
. We arrived yesterday, and I have been the consummate gentleman. Oh, I was tempted to peek in the shower;
mio Dio!
how I was tempted. But no. I was a good boy.” He leans forward and cups my face, caressing my cheeks with his thumbs. His touch is as scorching as I remember and makes my pulse jump. “God, how I have missed you, Sophia. You don’t know what I went through to get here.” He rests his forehead against mine. I feel a pinch in my heart; it’s as if no time has passed for Dante. He’s picking up where he left off when so much has changed for me. I want to tell him about my Awakening, that I’m going to be a spirit walker, but the faint scent of cinnamon hits me and I push him away. It was an old trick he used, lacing his breath with a sweet cinnamon toxin to control me. I won’t fall for it again.

“What are you doing?” I stand and move away, angry with myself; I keep forgetting who Dante is and what he’s capable of. I pace and wring my hands. I look at him when he doesn’t answer. Dante is grimacing and tugging at his shirt. “What’s the matter with you?” He shakes his head but I can see he’s in pain. I go to him and sit back down. “Tell me, Dante. And this had better not be a trick.”

“Nothing,
cara
. It is nothing.” He answers in a strained, thick voice. Something black is spreading along his left sleeve, across his bicep. I touch it, and he flinches.

“Dante, what is it?” My fingertips are black and sticky, and I wipe them on my jeans. He shifts uncomfortably and sweat appears across his forehead. Strangely enough, I’m gripped with fear; something is wrong with him.