Darkness Brutal (The Dark Cycle Book 1) (16 page)

TWENTY-ONE

After a while, I wander downstairs and sit on the couch next to Finger. His thumbs are flying on the controller as he attempts to kill a dragon with a sword. It looks like some kind of medieval game.

“What’s the score?” I ask.

He shrugs. He smells like Funyuns.

“Looks exciting,” I say, even though I don’t really give a crap.

He shrugs again.

“Man, life sucks.”

Finger snorts.

We sit there in silence for a while as he kills the dragon and then a horde of trolls. After an hour or so I begin to feel like I can breathe again.

As if he felt me relaxing, Connor comes into the archway. “Garage, now. Sid wants you on a job.”

I stand to follow him, but before I leave the room, I turn and say to Finger, “Thanks for the chat, man. It really helped.” And strangely enough, it did.

Finger smiles, but he doesn’t look away from the TV.

On my way to the garage, I work up my nerve to ask Sid for help. I’m not sure what to say to him or how, but I need more information than what I’ve got. I need a clearer understanding of my abilities and how they link to my mom. I need more of the story of how she started down her dark path.

Whatever I request from Sid, though, needs to be simple and not point back to Ava. I’m not ready to trust him with her yet—or anyone, for that matter.

In the garage, Sid is sitting in the passenger seat of a Jeep, walking stick in hand. He’s always holding that thing, and he doesn’t even have a limp. He frowns at me as I open the door to get in the backseat. “You look horrid, son.”

Gee, I wonder why.

“Connor mentioned there was an altercation,” he adds, nodding to Connor, who’s entering the garage behind me.

“Just a misunderstanding,” I say, watching Connor as he gets into the driver’s seat. “Nothing major.”

Connor doesn’t say anything; he just starts the engine and backs out of the garage. Sid makes a sound of agreement, and I wonder if he actually believes me or if he’s just going along with it to keep the peace.

As we drive down Hollywood Boulevard, heading for the freeway, my pulse races. I can’t shake my nervousness about asking for Sid’s help. But I need to do it as soon as possible. I need to do it now.

“So how are you and your sister settling in?” Sid asks, looking over his shoulder at me.

“Fine,” I say. “Thanks.”

“Your sister is very talented,” he adds. “Hearing her music fill the house is lovely.”

“Yeah, she’s been playing one instrument or another since she was five.” The music helps her channel her abilities better, she says. It definitely feels otherworldly when she plays.

“Does musical talent run in the family?” he asks.

“Um, no. I can’t tell one note from another to save my life.”

Sid laughs. Connor hasn’t reacted to our exchange at all. He just focuses on the road ahead. There’s a slight tinge of purple on the side of his jaw where I hit him. I’m thinking he won’t be laughing at anything I say for a while.

I decide to take the segue. “Speaking of family, I’m wondering if you could help me with something.”

Sid turns a little in his seat to face me. “I’ll help with whatever you need.” No red spark lights his eye. He’s being truthful. Whatever I need.

“I want to try and find some of my mom’s family. Her mother or her grandparents maybe.”

He nods slow, considering.

“I’m not sure I want to talk to them,” I add, “or let them know Ava and I are around. I just have a lot of questions.”

“Understandable,” Sid says. “You have questions about your mother. What about your father?” His voice is careful as he asks the question. Measured. As if he knows my fears.

I look out the window. “I’m not sure about that yet. But he’s also the reason I want to contact my mom’s family. They may know who he was.”

Sid nods again. “Answers are important.” He turns back around and adds, more to himself, “We all need to know where we come from if we’re going to fulfill our destiny.”

It’s silent after that. My nerves settle knowing that Sid’s willing to help me, knowing I might actually be one step closer to answers.

We head to what I think might be Brea or Anaheim. The neighborhood we end up in is nice, with each house a perfect stucco replica of the next. Lots of peach and tan. Not a word has been spoken about the job we’re here for or why Sid wanted me to come.

We park in front of one of the clone lots, and Sid pulls out a folder from a file organizer at his feet.

He hands the folder to Connor. “Lester said you saw the footage and read the summary, so I’ll let you take this one. All we need to do for now is get them to sign the papers and hand over the check.”

“Why me?” Connor asks, looking perturbed. “You’re the paperwork genie.”

“Actually,” Sid says, glancing at me, “Holly is the paperwork genie. I’m just the closer.” Then he looks back to Connor. “You need to start doing more of the front work. I won’t be here forever, and you’ll need to forward the mission.”

What does he mean by
that
? Sid’s only in his twenties.

“Also,” he adds with a sly grin, “these clients are more into pretty blonds.”

Connor rolls his eyes and gets out of the Jeep.

I follow them, catching up to Sid on the walkway. “And what am I doing here, exactly?”

“Just observe. I’ll be asking for your thoughts after we’re done.” He knocks on the front door. “It won’t take long.”

“Just pretend you’re not here,” Connor says to me.

“No problem.”

A thin guy in a suit and tie opens the door. My first thought is that it’s a bit formal for around the house, when another man—short, rounder, and a bit more . . . flamboyant—comes up behind him, clasping a hand to his chest. “Oh, thank God. I’m not crazy. You’ve found something.”

“We have,” Connor says.

The man in the Hawaiian shirt brightens up as if Connor were Justin Bieber. “Oh my, aren’t you cute as button.”

Connor just glances at Sid, looking tired.

“Come in,” the man in the suit says. “I have about an hour before I need to be back at the office.”

“I’ve got all day,” the other man says, waving Connor and Sid in. “When you work in the industry, it’s feast or famine, you know.”

I follow Sid and Connor in, keeping my walls up against any energy as I walk over the threshold. I still feel a bit of a shiver in the air, but it’s not uncomfortable. It almost feels like a restless child. It seems to be coming mostly from the brighter man.

The two clients give me curious looks, as if I’m a stray cat who followed them all home.

“This is Connor,” Sid says, motioning. “He’s going to take point on this case. And this is Aidan. He’s new and will just be observing.”

The two men shake hands with Connor and introduce themselves. The taller guy in the suit is John, and the other one is Simon. They turn to me, but they don’t offer their hands. Simon just gives me an awkward wave, and John gives me an odd look, like he’s not sure about me.

We all sit at the dining room table. I listen with half an ear as I study the house and its simple decor. I think most would describe it as tasteful. I don’t see any religious symbols or occult items, or feel any energy emanating from one that might be hidden.

And then I recognize a picture hanging on the wall. It’s a watercolor painting of a boy standing and looking out at the ocean. And the couch is familiar, too. I’ve seen it all before. In the footage Lester was watching the other day.

Is this the banshee house?

Connor points at the top page of a stack of papers he’s placed in front of the clients. “This is the release for filming both your property and your person, and in the next section”—he flips up to the third page and points at the bottom—“it says that you agree to the services we’re offering and that there’s no guarantee for the process. It may work, it may not.”

John looks over the papers and nods.

Simon pats his arm. “See, honey, they speak your legalese.”

“And the payment?” John asks.

Connor flips to the back page. “That’s here. And all moneys have to be exchanged up front.”

John, reading intently, nods again.

Simon smiles at me. “He said
moneys
,” he says and laughs. “Sounds like monkeys. Are we exchanging monkeys?”

Connor and John barely seem to notice Simon’s goofiness. But Sid grins back and says, “No monkey business.” And they both laugh like they’re at a party.

Once John and Simon are done signing, and a few more goofy jokes pass between Sid and Simon, the conversation turns to the case. Connor explains what they found in the video while showing pictures that were in the folder and pointing out things I can’t see from where I’m sitting.

From Simon’s descriptions—John hasn’t experienced any weirdness—it sounds like a definite time slip: a tear in the circle of time’s fabric that lets a small moment slip through to another, parallel time. Just a quick moment—in this case, a woman wearing a dress from the 1920s standing in Simon and John’s kitchen. A ghost would cause more of a ruckus and would be more obvious on film. But there’s no ghost or anything here—not that I feel.

However, Connor is saying right now to the clients that it
is
a ghost. And he sounds very sure about it, bringing out news clippings and old photos. He’s explaining that a woman was murdered and her body was found in a nearby ravine. He’s saying that
we
, LA Paranormal Investigative Agency, believe it’s the spirit of this murdered woman who’s roaming their kitchen. Looking for her lost love or something.

It’s all total bullshit. Red is sparking in Connor’s eyes like it’s Christmas.

He’s making it sound very convincing, though.

And John and Simon are buying it hook, line, and sinker. They shake their heads in sadness for the poor dead woman in their kitchen, and Simon even tears up a little. Then John writes a check and hands it to Connor, while Sid and Simon discuss where a guy can get a decent manicure.

I sit in shocked, revolted silence. It’s a complete con?

TWENTY-TWO

When we’re back in the Jeep, I can’t stay silent. “You were totally lying to those poor guys.”

Connor starts the engine and drives away before responding. “It’s not as if we’re not going to help them.”

“There’s nothing you can do about a time slip,” I say. “Except move. You’re not going to help them, you’re going to con them.”

Sid turns around and looks at me with open surprise. “You could tell it was a time slip?”

I raise my brow at him.

“Amazing,” he says, pulling out a small piece of paper from his front vest pocket and writing something down on it with a tiny yellow pencil.

“Are you seriously taking notes on me?” I ask, leaning forward to see what he’s writing.

He holds it to his chest to hide it. “I need to know what assets all my soldiers have.”

“Does Connor have ‘dreamy blue eyes’ on his list of assets?”

Connor rewards me with a small laugh.

Sid holds out the paper. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

At the top of the paper it says
Aidan
, and under that:
Speaks/reads Latin, Greek, and Hebrew
. He’s just added:
Time slip knowledge
.

“No sinister intent; I’m just not as quick in the head as I was when I was young.”

“You’re only . . . what, twenty-five?” I say.

“Twenty-four, actually,” he corrects.

Connor smiles like that’s funny to him.

“Let’s get back to the fact that you both should be in jail,” I say. “Why are you conning those guys?”

“We’re not conning them,” Connor says. “Not exactly.”

“There is a way to be rid of a time slip,” Sid adds. “But explaining all the magical facts and physics of how time works to those men wouldn’t have helped business much. So we put it in a story form they could understand.”

“You lied,” I say. “Now they think there’s a ghost in their house.”

“No,” Sid says, “now they can have peace. And soon as we do the sight-blocking spell, the image of the woman in the past won’t be seen by them anymore. Then I plan on doing an added blessing for their home as a bonus. It’s a win-win, you see.”

But before I can start asking more questions about this spell he’s talking about and why they didn’t just lay out the truth for the two guys—who looked perfectly capable of understanding the subject—before they took their money, my phone rings.

I pull it out of my pocket, but I don’t recognize the number, so I slip it back in my jeans.

“You don’t plan on answering that?” Sid says.

“Nope.”

It stops ringing and then starts again a second later.

I pull the thing out of my pocket and answer, “What?”

No response. I look at the number—it’s the same one. I put the phone back to my ear. “Hello? Anyone? You obviously want to talk to me, so speak or I’m hanging up.”

“Aidan?”

I go perfectly still. “Rebecca?”

She stutters a bit, then says, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“No! It’s okay. Are
you
okay? How’d you get this number?”

“Samantha had it. She said you texted her about the party—that was crazy stuff once you left. We found Will upstairs, out cold. How’s the girl you were with? Is she okay?”

“She’s fine.”
Not really. Nothing’s fine
. I ask again, “Are you okay?”

“I . . . I’m . . . I don’t know.” Her voice cracks, and my pulse speeds up before I can keep myself from caring. “You’re gonna think I’ve totally lost it. God, maybe I have, I don’t know . . . I don’t even know if I’ve really seen it, if it’s really happened.”

“What’s happened?” I ask, trying not to sound like I feel: stretched thin.

“Charlie texted me,” she says with a sob. “I have his phone in my closet, and no one’s touched it. But somehow . . . he texted me. But that’s nuts, right? He’s
dead
!”

The demon. It must be the demon playing with her.

Now that she’s started telling me, she can’t seem to stop. “Charlie is gone! I saw him in the coffin. How could it be real? How could he text me—oh, God, what the hell’s happening? I don’t know what’s happening, Aidan. I’m losing it. Samantha says I need medication, that I should see a shrink. No one understands. I don’t have anyone, and I’m so lost I can’t breathe. I want to just swim all the way to him, even if that means leaving this place. I can’t keep feeling this . . . death. The only time I’ve seen light is . . . is when . . . I see you.”

My breath catches at her words, and the feel of it all—her despair, her fear, her need to die—rakes over my skin. “It’s okay, Rebecca.” But it’s not. That demon is about to pounce. And I can’t fix any of it without breaking all my rules about letting people in, helping them, and revealing the secrets that I’ve lived with my whole life. If I don’t let her in a little, though, I’m talking to a dead girl right now, because she’s ripe for being pushed off the edge.

Rebecca sobs into the phone, and I can almost see her curled in a corner somewhere clutching it to her ear like a lifeline. “I’m right here,” I whisper.

I glance at Sid. He’s hanging intently onto every word.

“Listen,” I say, “I’m going to give you an address, and you’re going to pack a bag of clothes for the night. Then you’re going to go there. Are you ready?”

She sniffs. “Uh-huh.”

I give her the address for Sid’s house, repeating it twice. “You got it?”

“Yeah.” She sniffs again. “When can I—”

“Just come. As soon as you can.”

“Okay.” Her voice is small and far away. It’s silent for a second. “Thank you.” And then she clicks off the line.

I hang up.
Shit. What did I just do?

“Why did you give that girl our address?” Connor asks.

“Yes, who is she?” Sid scowls at me.

Neither of them seem happy about what I just did. Well, they can join the club.