Absolution (8 page)

Only their talons shifted.

I swallowed.

Brady’s strained countenance remained intensely focused on Britt, sending my body into a wave of uncontrollable shivers. “Come on,” Brady growled when she didn’t respond to him. His eyes grew wide and he lifted his hands, looked at them in wonder.

Britt lunged for the steering wheel. She grabbed hold, causing the car to swerve. My heart stammered.

“What the hell?” Brady screamed, shaking his hands, as if they were asleep and the action would awaken them. “What. The. Hell!”

“Britt stop.” I shoved her back.

She rammed her fist in my cheek. The car jerked when my face took the impact of the blow. I straightened the wheel and jammed my elbow into her head. The black spirits danced and leapt. Britt fell back against the seat in an unconscious heap. Breath raced in and out of my chest.

Light filled the car and Matthias appeared. He wasn’t sitting, he was simply there, between the front seat and the back, his presence powerful and unyielding to anything physical or otherwise in his way. The black spirits on Britt’s back stood upright, their soulless eyes rounding, their fleshless forms shimmering, then turning matte when their attention locked on Matthias.

They leapt and jumped, mouths opening and closing in soundless protest.

Matthias raised his hand in their direction and they vanished.

He set his penetrating gaze on Brady and horror filled Brady’s astonished face. I sucked in a breath. Brady dissolved.

“Your friend is out of sorts.”

“He’s not my friend.”

“I’m speaking of the young lady.”

I glanced over my shoulder at Matthias, now sitting in the backseat.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I said. “Sheesh. She’s nuts,” I mumbled, touching my sore jaw. “Between her and Brady, I wasn’t sure what I was going to do.”

“That Brady’s a smarmy fellow, isn’t he?”

“Smarmy, sleazy—you name it. I hope he’s not going to be showing up all the time now.” I crammed my hand into my hair. My gaze latched with Matthias’ through the rearview mirror. My heart sunk. “Is he?”

“I told you, the fight for souls is relentless.”

My cell phone vibrated, and I fished it out of my pocket. Weston.

“You okay?” His voice was strung with worry. “What happened? I saw her attack you. What a freaking psycho. We should have left her in the parking lot. Looked like she was trying to kill you.”

“She probably was.” I glanced at Britt out cold in the seat next to me.

“You should have let me drive.”

“And take a chance she’d try to hurt you? Forget it. See you at her house.”

“I don’t like this, Zoe.”

My eyes met Matthias’ through the rearview mirror.

“She’s unconscious now. I’ll be okay.”

Weston sighed audibly. I snapped the phone shut, returning my attention to Matthias in the backseat. “Would she have killed me?” I asked.

The sparkle in his eyes disappeared. “Her mind is not her own.”

“Yeah… I know.”

“And already you’ve forgiven her. That’s my bearcat.”

“Forgiving’s easy when you’re around,” I smirked.

“You would have forgiven her even if I wasn’t here,” his smooth voice dripped truth into me. I didn’t like the way Britt chose to live, but I wasn’t taking her assaults, both verbal and physical, to heart.

“She needs help,” I murmured.

“She’ll get it.”

I marveled at his certainty. “I’m taking her home no matter what the consequences.”

“She won’t see it like that at first, but someday, she will thank you.”

I sighed. “She’ll hate me.”

“Better she gets help than she loses control and ends up in an early grave, condemning herself.”

“Condemn?”
That’s a strong word.

Taking the life of another is not something to trifle with.

Is your father… condemned?

A long silence drew between us. Matthias’s gaze remained with mine—strong and undeviating. “It’s not over yet.”

“I can’t believe you still think he can change. I don’t know, he’s pretty far gone if you ask me.” Immediately I wished I could retract my observation.

Though I found it unfathomable, Matthias still loved a man who had sent him to his death, ending his young life of twenty-one years over an unpaid debt.

“Would you ever give up on Luke?” he asked.

“Of course not, but Luke’s not a murderer.”

“You believe there is good in Luke deep down, don’t you?”

“Yeah, of course. I’ve seen it.”

His gaze drew sharp. “As have I… seen good in Pop.”

Matthias had shared with me a handful of his memories—both happy and sad events that flashed into his mind, part of the fascinating miracle of him being my guardian. I’d slipped into Matthias’ conscience and
been
Matthias, reliving moments between his father and him—even his death, a stark, horrid moment that still wracked me with shudders.

“And you forgave him.”

“That doesn’t mean there isn’t a price to pay. In Pop’s case, he chose to lose himself to evil regardless of my forgiveness.”

I swallowed, glanced in the rearview mirror. Weston’s silver truck was right behind me. “He came back last night.”

Matthias’ disapproval of Albert blasted out in the car in invisible force, filling the space. He remained silent.

“After you left I found him in Luke’s room. Luke was close to relapsing.

I did what you did. I told him to leave.”

“There’s no magic in the words, Zoe. It’s the strength inside of you that gives you power.” Matthias leaned forward, his presence whooshing through my being like a gust of soothing wind. My breath caught.

“Wow. I like it when you do that,” I said.

“So, you’re telling me you don’t need me anymore?” he murmured.

“No way am I telling you that.” I turned on Britt’s street, my heart sinking that Matthias would leave soon. Maybe if I kept talking about his father, he’d stay.

I took my foot off the gas pedal and the car slowed. I avoided Matthias’

blue eyes in the rearview mirror.

It doesn’t matter that you don’t look at me. Your thoughts are mine.

Dangit!
Heat rushed my neck and cheeks. “I can’t help that I want you around,” I mumbled.

“You’ve got me when you need me.”

“I want you even when I don’t need you though.” I sighed. “That’s the problem.”

“Well,” Matthias’ voice softened. “The feeling is mutual.”

“What do you say I dump Britt, take her car out on the freeway and drive it off the nearest overpass?” I teased.

Matthias frowned. “Not funny.”

Britt’s red brick house came up on the left. Her dad’s pearly Escalade sat in the driveway. Her mouth hung open, drool leaking down one side onto her chin. Smudged, black mascara had dried in blotches on her pink cheeks. My jaw started to ache. I rubbed it.

“Does it hurt?” Matthias asked.

“A little.”

He reached forward and his fingers grazed my jaw, drawing away the pain like a mist evaporating beneath the sun.

Thank you.

My pleasure.

I parked and turned off the engine. “Now what? You cast your spell on her and she’s out like a light.”

“A spell?” he said with a smile. “I’m no magician, Zoe.” Matthias lifted his hand, his long, elegant fingers stretched out six inches above her head.

“Way better than a magician.” I was awed that Britt now stirred.

Matthias withdrew his hand. The parting look of yearning in his eyes melted my insides. “Till we meet again.” He leaned forward and I braced for a kiss. His warm lips pressed against my cheek.

My body swirled in deliciousness. “Good bye.”

“What the hell?” Britt bounced upright, blinking, taking in her surroundings.

Matthias was gone.

“You brought me home?” she demanded. “You really are a snitch.”

“Whatever. You’d be face down in the parking lot of Wendy’s with your fancy thong on display if it wasn’t for me.”

“Shut up.” She closed her eyes, and gripped her head and leaned back on the seat.

The front door of her house opened and her father, tall, with sandy blond hair like Britt’s, marched toward us. He wore a sleek power suit in soft dove, a periwinkle shirt and red tie. The hard lines of his face prepared me for anger. But his gaze was on Britt who, upon hearing the pound of his stride, opened her eyes. She cursed under her breath and shrunk in the seat. “Thanks a lot, loser,” she growled.

Mr. Walker yanked open the passenger side door and fumed. “What is going on, young lady?”

“Um, Zoe gave me a ride home because—”

“Because you’re drunk?” He reached in and hauled her to her feet. “The school called.”

Britt wrenched free, her face flushing red. Her gaze darted over her shoulder at Weston getting out of his truck. “I’m not drun—” Britt heaved, the yellowish liquid spewing onto her father’s expensive suit in sticky chunks.

I killed the engine and got out of Britt’s Mustang.

Mr. Walker jerked his head toward the open front door. “Wait for me inside.”

Britt hunched her shoulders and glared. Then she stomped across the slushy grass to the front door. Weston joined me, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.

Mr. Walker’s head bowed for a moment. He observed the vomit on his slacks, sighed and lifted his gaze to mine. “Thanks for bringing her home.”

“Of course.” I handed him Britt’s keys.

Mr. Walker’s countenance reminded me of my parents’ then, filled with sorrow and bone-deep disappointment. My heart ached and I looked away.

I wanted to tell him things would get better. I believed they would because Matthias had told me they would. They’d gotten better for my family. Deep down, Britt had good in her. She’d just lost touch with that.

“It’ll be okay,” I said.

His expression remained uncertain. “She needs help. I found three empty bottles of Vodka in her bedroom. Three. How does that happen?”

A million ways. Distraction. Ignorance. Trusting too much. Not seeing signs.

“It doesn’t matter now,” he said with a sigh. His eyes turned to the house. “I’m sending her to rehab.”

I bit my lip.
Britt will hate that
.

“Thanks for being a good friend, Zoe.” Mr. Walker patted my shoulder.

He gave Weston a genial nod and, once again surveyed himself. He shook his head and crossed the front yard, into the house.

Guilt weighed down my heart. I’d been a drinking, partying cohort with Britt long enough that I felt partially responsible for where she was today: on her way to rehab. That could so easily have been me. The truth was humbling.

I climbed into Weston’s truck and shut the door. The warmth of the heater chased away the chill of truth clinging to my bones, but the ache in my heart was untouched. I stared at Britt’s window as the red, sheer curtains were pulled closed.

“Hey.” I felt Weston’s gentle caress on my shoulder. “You okay?”

I nodded. “She’s safe now.”

“Yeah.” His hand lingered on my shoulder but I kept my face turned toward the window. Finally, his hand left me, and cool air replaced where his warmth had been.

The engine of his truck rumbled to a start and he drove.

“Don’t feel sorry for her,” he said. “You did the right thing.”

“I know. It’s not easy, though.” I looked at him. “Her dad’s going to send her to rehab.”

Weston sighed. “She needs that, Zoe.”

“Yeah.”

“She’ll come out of it.”

All I could think about was the finality of Britt being gone. I wouldn’t see her at all. Not even in her drunk, disheveled state—the one she’d lived in the last few months. I’d hoped that we could finish out our senior year together like we’d always planned: prom, parties, and graduation.

“She’ll blame me for everything she’s going to miss,” I said.

“Her choices landed her here. Don’t do this to yourself.”

“Have you ever felt at all responsible for what happened to Brady?”

Weston scrubbed his jaw. “Maybe. A little.”

We didn’t talk on the rest of the drive back to school. No doubt he was trying to deal with Brady’s death, and his part in it. Even though neither Weston nor I had stayed at Krissy’s fateful gathering, we’d helped her plan it—

Krissy had begged us to help her have a party, even though we’d both warned her that parties can get out of hand.

Now, Brady was dead.

Chapter Seven

____________________

I sat in journalism like a ghost. I stared at my computer, even edited a few articles in my queue, but I had a hard time focusing. I kept seeing Brady.

Every time I thought of him, my stomach threatened to retch. He scared me. I didn’t like that he had shown himself. Again. Why hadn’t he gone—and stayed put—where all the miserable souls go? Why did I have to see him?

“So, fill me in.” Chase planted himself in a chair next to me and studied me from behind his glasses. “What happened with Krissy?”

“Luke found her on State Street and brought her to our house.”

“Just like a stray cat?”

“A stray abused cat. She was really upset.” I told him about the tense, emotional Krissy, sobbing, refusing to return home then reneging and going home anyway, no matter how we tried to talk her out of it.

“She’s so scared she can’t think rationally,” Chase deducted. “Sad.”

“Sad. Sick. Ridiculous. I’m going to call Family Services and leave an anonymous tip.”

“Yeah,” Chase brightened. “Great idea. Still, be prepared for the fact that she might deny everything. Sometimes victims are so afraid, they won’t admit anything’s wrong.”

“At least someone will go over and investigate. Maybe that will give her the time to get far enough away from the situation to see it like it is.”

“That’s probably what she doesn’t want to see. Think about it.”

I didn’t like thinking about Krissy’s circumstances.

“I heard about Britt and the parking lot.”

“You did?” Nothing spread faster than a twisted story about another person’s misery.

“Heard she almost killed you and Weston with her car.”

“Yeah, well, she wanted to.”

“Also heard she was drunk,” he said. “Why didn’t you guys call the cops?”