Fading Amber (26 page)

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Authors: Jaime Reed

BOOK: Fading Amber
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T
he downside of secrets was keeping your lies straight. Lies were the seas that separated the land, ensuring that neither coast would touch.
The only way to keep from drowning in the gulf was to confess. I knew I couldn't keep this secret anymore and why I kept it for this long was a testament to my gullibility and pride. Honesty wasn't as easy as it sounded, but it was a quick indicator to tell who your friends really were, who had your back and who didn't. It was a relief to lay it all on the table, and if I was to do that, I'd best do it right so I wouldn't have to repeat myself.
Dougie's mom decided that this meeting should take place outside in their Zen-friendly backyard, where her son could get some fresh air. He'd been cooped up in his room for a week since he'd been released from the hospital and he was just now accepting company. The twenty-degree weather was worth it to see him, to know for myself that he was alive.
Dougie appeared to be his usual wise-cracking, thug-tastic self, but there was a vacancy behind his eyes where mischief and humor used to live. Something haunted them now, something dark and inexplicable that only slept in the daytime, which likely contributed to his insomnia.
He claimed he had little recollection of what had happened to him, or at least that's what he told his parents and the police who visited him in the hospital. Detective Ruiz had done a good job covering the evidence, removing the vehicles and burnt remains, but not the memory of us being there. Dougie was aware that something evil had happened to him and he knew that Caleb and I were connected in some way, but not enough to stitch together a patchy police report.
Caleb came for moral support and, if necessary, to apologize for beating the living crap out of Dougie. I found it funny that we stood in the same place he taught Caleb how to fight off the wanton women in the area. No one expected the teacher to get schooled by the pupil and not in such a brutal manner. Judging by how Dougie narrowed the one eye that wasn't swollen shut, I was pretty sure he could at least remember that part. He took the defensive pose, but it was hard to look tough with an upper-body cast and neck brace.
The doctor said he would be fine in six weeks, but his wrestling career would have to wait until then, which rightly, was another reason Dougie had his panties in a twist. He sat quiet in the bamboo lawn chair under a blanket, his face swollen and placid as I spat my tale.
Mia sat at his side in the twin chair, holding a can of Sprite for him to drink through a straw. One good thing to come out of this was their newfound appreciation for each other, even if it came at the cost of our friendship.
Mia had returned to giving me the silent treatment in school, not even bothering to look at me, but held enough compassion not to rat out anyone to the police. She had seen what came out of Dougie's mouth and heard the demon's cry, but none of the events that night could be explained without the aid of Mulder and Scully. Curiosity had won out and she had agreed to this meeting, wanting to collect on that promise that I would tell her everything.
I talked better on my feet, so I paced the patio area and recapped everything since last summer, from the Fourth of July party to Nadine, to Caleb's coma, to Malik Davis, to the three-way link, ending with, “And then a demon jumped into your body.”
The two kept quiet to the end, their jaws slacked the whole time I revealed the details of the incredible story.
Mia's reactions were the textbook stages of grief, starting with incredulity. “You're joking, right? Quit playing.” Then the last-minute attempt at logic. “Oh yeah? You sure you're not just bipolar?” Followed by overdramatized panic. “Oh my God! You're a monster!” Finally, awkward resignation. “So, what happens now?”
“I go on with my life, if that's all right with you,” I replied. “I'm still me. It's just me with a little bit extra.”
Dougie scowled at me, struggling to process my explanation. “You say that you're Cambodian now? You're not even Asian.”
“Cambion, Dougie. Cambion,” I said.
Mia's body shifted along the chair and she tucked her scarf tighter around her neck. “I thought that was fried squid.”
“That's calamari. Okay, guys, say it with me now. Cam-bi-on,” I pronounced the word slowly.
Dougie turned to Mia, revealing the right side of his face, which had bloomed into a big maroon-colored blister. The two judges leaned close, conferring with each other for the next panel question.
“How do you get rid of it?” Dougie asked.
“You have to die,” Caleb said from one of the patio chairs behind me. He'd been quiet all this time, letting me do all the talking.
The two stared at Caleb, surprised at his comment, too wrapped up in my story to remember he was still there.
“And you say you were like this all your life?” Dougie asked him.
Caleb nodded and blew hot air into his chilly hands. “But Sam's new to our world. She acquired a spirit with Nadine's death.”
“That's why your eyes look like that.” Dougie studied me with new understanding. “And Olivia is one too?”
I gave a small nod.
“Who's Olivia?” Mia asked, her voice edged with accusation.
“A memory.” Dougie leaned over and kissed Mia's cheek, then asked me, “How can you be cool with this?”
“Because spazzing out is counterproductive,” I said and smiled to Caleb. “I just wanted you to know because you're the closest people in my life aside from my family. You wanted the truth; there it is and I'm sorry that you don't like what you're hearing. What you saw that night was what happens when these things get out of control, when we as human hosts lose sight of who we are. And if we hadn't stopped it, it would have killed you both. It had no humanity, but we do. And I'm holding on to mine for as long as I can.”
When I got no objection, I continued. “So there you have it, the reason why I've been acting weird, why all the boys love me and all the girls hate me, why I have to wear these painful contacts, and why I've signed up for therapy. There are things in this life that are far scarier than school, and you only had a taste of what I've had to deal with. Welcome to my world.”
I turned to leave, but Dougie's voice stopped me. “Wait. I ain't sayin' you're a bad person, Sam. It's just this is too weird for me, you know? Demons? My folks don't believe that one-religion stuff, but damn, I'm ready to go to church.” He dropped his gaze to the ground in deep thought, his brows knitting together. “These dreams, man, they keep buggin' me. I keep seeing that thing—what it wanted to do. Can't even breathe air now and not think of what's in it. And all these people in my head. I can hear them screaming. I just need to think about it, you know? Get my head right.”
When I nodded, he asked, “Malik Davis is dead, isn't he?” but it didn't sound like a question. He knew the answer and just wanted me to say it.
“Yeah.” I stared at my feet and kicked leaves off the clay tiles of the deck.
The hype over Malik had died down in school and the search had been pushed aside to more important matters, as happens with most cold cases. It may sound cruel, but I cared more about his family than the boy himself. The dead didn't have any problems, but the living were riddled with them. They needed peace, and a reason to stop searching and release the hope that was never there. Between the fear of being exposed and the lack of solid evidence, none of us could give it to them. In fact, I was certain that this conversation would go no further than the four of us. As Hamlet said, “Thus conscience does make cowards of us all.”
“What happens now?” Mia asked, her voice small and timid as she hugged her arms.
“We move on and celebrate life while we've got it. Other than that, I gotta get back home. I was only allowed an hour out.” I went to the picnic bench and grabbed my shoulder bag. “So are we cool?” I asked.
“I really don't know, Sam,” Mia said. “Can we get back to you on that?”
“Yeah. I'm not going anywhere. I'll catch you later.” I left the patio and went around the side of the house with Caleb right behind me.
“Don't let it get to you, Sam. They're scared and need time to figure all this out. They'll come around. You did.” He bumped my arm. “Your mom was serious about you being grounded until you're eighteen?”
“Yeah, but it's cool. It's only a month.” I was lucky to get off so easy. I'd put my mom through hell, and I was once again thankful for Ruiz's manner of distraction. He had been in New York for weeks, but called Mom every day, which made her smile and forget her own name at times.
Ruiz told me that the remains along with the photos Caleb took on his phone were enough to sate the Santiagos' bloodlust. Brodie was released from Santiago custody and flew back to England with a belligerent Michael in tow. Our participation had guaranteed a pardon for any persecution, and the family looked forward to meeting me in person. A cold day in hell came to mind. I'm sorry, but threatening to kill me and my boyfriend's family wasn't water under the bridge for me.
Angie left for Poland and promised to return in March after her art exhibit. She had somehow found inspiration through this whole ordeal. She made a comment about using Tobias's ashes for pigment for a piece she was working on, but I hoped to God she was kidding.
Speaking of morbid, I got a package from Olivia last week with the book she bought about the serial killer boyfriend. It was actually a good read, good enough to recommend in our next book meeting at work. Olivia and I still weren't bosom buddies, but it was a start.
The repairs on Caleb's town house were complete, and not a day too soon given the fact that he and his brothers were politely evicted from their lavish hotel room. Haden was staying with Caleb until he recovered from his bullet wound and from how Caleb puts it, milking his injury to keep from helping with the move.
Now with everything settled, all I had to worry about was passing trig and devising ways to sneak off with Caleb to feed. This Cambion soul mate stuff was bigger than either of us signed up for, that was for sure. But as Caleb said, there was nothing easy about us. I will say, it's very entertaining what love will make people do. It's a great way to start your year.
“Did you want to get something to eat?” I asked as he walked me to my car.
“Naw. I gotta finish moving my stuff back. But I'll call you later tonight.” He pecked my lips, cheek and neck, successfully making me shiver from more than just the cold.
Finally, he pulled away. “I'll see you around, Miss Marshall.”
“I know.”
He was halfway to his Jeep before he rushed back across the front lawn for another kiss. This one was quick but with more meaning than the first. A cold, flat disk passed from his mouth to mine. The invasion startled me, but the soft clink against my teeth made his motive clear. We pulled away and stared at each other, examining our fate mapped in front of us.
I've seen this face a hundred times, but the image seemed new to me. This wasn't Caleb, the guy in the music department at work, or Caleb, the Cambion, or Caleb, my boyfriend. This was my future, my matter of life and death, calm and very aware of his effect on me.
Without another word, he walked away, taking another piece of my heart with him. I watched him drive away before I pulled the quarter from my mouth, hoping against hope that he washed it beforehand. Tucking the coin in my back pocket, I realized at this rate, I was going to need a bigger jar.
The Cambion Chronicles
 
 
On sale now
 
 
Book 1:
Living Violet
 
He's persuasive, charming, and way too mysterious. And for Samara Marshall, her co-worker is everything she wants most—and everything she most fears . . .
 
 
 
Book 2:
Burning Emerald
 
Dating the most popular guy in school is every girl's fantasy. But to Samara Marshall, he's a dangerous force come to rekindle their tangled past. Only it's not
her
past . . .
 
 
 
Turn the page for an excerpt from these
exciting novels . . .
Living Violet
L
ove indulged the masochist.
Truer words have never been spoken, if I do say so myself. It's a philosophy that has kept me sane for as long as I can remember and helped me survive the weirdest summer of my life. On the flip side, it's very entertaining what love will make people do. It's a great way to spend your lunch break.
Sitting on my car hood, sucking down a Big Gulp, I watched the pinnacle of love unfold before my eyes. My best friend, Mia, and her on-again off-again boyfriend, Dougie, squared-off like prize fighters in the middle of the outlet center parking lot.
This week's drama included props. Dougie pivoted along the concrete, ducking and avoiding death by the finest designer handbag money could buy. Through the litany of screams, cusses, and purse swinging, I figured Mia had caught Dougie hanging out with another girl. Mia could be a little high-strung sometimes, but when it came to her man, she advanced to straight head case. That jealous insanity went both ways, depending on the day, and much amusement awaited all who watched.
“God, you're such a liar! How could you do this to me?” she raved.
“Chill, baby! She was my cousin!” Dougie escaped the oncoming blow from Mia's handbag by an inch.
“You lying piece of crap! I've met all of your relatives, Douglas. She never came to your house before.”
Dougie ran in circles around her, the blood rush turning his face beet red. “She just came into town! I swear, baby.”
“Why didn't you introduce me, huh?” Mia wiped her sweaty brown hair from her forehead. “What, are you ashamed of me?”
He paused, clearly hurt at the suggestion. “No! Why would you say that?”
“Liar!” Her purse swung at his head, but missed.
Dougie grabbed one of the straps, and the two began a full tug-of-war in the middle of the parking lot. Weekend shoppers watched in horror, covering the ears of their children from the curses flying in the air. At any moment, someone would definitely call security, so I decided to leave the lovebirds to their own devices.
“Hey, guys,” I yelled behind me. “I gotta get back to work, but I'll see y'all later, okay?”
“Okay, I'll call ya!” Mia yelled back before shoving Dougie in the chest.
I dumped my cup in the trash, then entered the side door of Buncha Books. The air-conditioning slapped me in the face and pushed the June heat back outside. Mellow jazz rang through the speakers in a chronic loop from the satellite radio. Tourists and townies overran the floor in a slow, indecisive dance around the bookshelves.
I strolled through the main aisles, past the kiosk of new releases and bestsellers toward the customer service desk in the center of the store. Working at Buncha Books since sophomore year taught me a few tricks of the trade, namely to never get caught on the actual book floor. I also discovered that if I didn't make eye contact with the customers, they wouldn't talk to me. That policy remained tucked in my back pocket until my shift started. Casting a wary glance over my shoulder, I singled out an empty computer and clocked back in.
Stealth infiltration and quick reflexes allowed me to reach the other end of the store without incident. When I breezed by the magazine aisle, I caught something odd in my peripheral, a scene disturbing enough to break my stride. I stopped, blinked a few times, and then backtracked to the Home & Garden section to confirm what I just saw.
Caleb Baker, the assistant manager in the music department, held some redhead in a devastating lip-lock. She didn't seem to have a problem with the public tonsillectomy, but this wasn't the type of customer service the managers urged us to practice.
Just as I turned to leave, his gaze met mine.
Caleb's looks would never stop traffic, but he was worth a second glance with his deep dimples, and the most intense violet eyes I had ever seen. Despite his claim of authenticity, eyes that color shouldn't exist in nature—eyes that now reflected every purple tone of the color wheel.
Light brown strands draped over his face as the two continued to slob each other down. If they didn't come up for air soon, Caleb would no doubt suck the life out of her. From what I hear, cheap hotel rooms existed for such an occasion, and there were plenty in the area to choose from.
Of the year and a half I worked here, that kid weirded me out in one way or another. Not to mention the number of women who chased after him on a regular basis. This fact went unnoticed and unaddressed by everyone in the store, including the managers, which disgusted me even more. Having seen enough, I walked away toward my station before my lunch came back up.
Cuppa-Joe was a coffee shop in the back of the bookstore, the place where people kicked back and talked trash about everyone; the cesspool of company gossip and customer-bashing.
I closed tonight with my weekend partner in crime, Nadine Petrovsky, a Polish exchange student at The College of William & Mary, and one of the most cynical people I ever had the pleasure of meeting. Guys came to the café just to hear her exotic accent and watch her work. One glimpse of her explained why.
Model scouts would salivate over her European beauty: her long wheat-colored hair that reached her butt, and her freaky green cat eyes. Too bad none of the attention interested her. Having no time for the BS left the girl cutthroat and caustic. She was just too focused to let a guy or anyone else slow her down.
Nadine stood in front of the barista machine, rinsing the steam wand, when she caught me in the corner of her eye.
“You're late,” she noted without looking up.
“Sorry. Mia and Dougie were having it out in the parking lot again.” I tied my hair into a bun and grabbed my apron from the back kitchen.
“Oh yeah?” She craned her neck, straining to see the front of the store. “Their fights are good. They need their own sitcom.”
“I told them that.”
Worry lines etched her forehead as she shook her head in disapproval. “Their relationship isn't healthy, Sam.”
“What relationship is?” I tightened my apron, then went to the sink to wash my hands.
“The sane kind.”
“Well, as soon as I see one of those, I'll let you know what I think.”
While drying my hands, the second reason why I hated customers approached the counter. A kid dressed in all black with a dog collar leered at me.
Nadine kept herself conveniently busy, so I made my way to the register. “Can I help you?”
“I'd like an iced chai latté,” the boy said, deadpan. It was hard to tell if the kid was high or half-asleep, or whether he was, in fact, a boy. His parachute jeans dragged the floor like a prom gown, the cuffs frayed and dirty, hiding the clown boots underneath.
I rang up his order and shot Nadine a look, which she mirrored perfectly. After he left, I leaned against the counter and laughed.
Nadine didn't smile, no matter how hilarious the joke, which I'm sure made her a real delight during the weekdays when she babysat preschoolers in daycare. Instead, she wiped down the work area with aggravated swipes.
“I hate those Elmo goth kids,” she griped. “What self-respecting sociopath drinks chai anyway? What do they know about real torment? Let them survive a concentration camp and then they can complain.”
“It's called ‘emo,' ” I corrected her. “And your great grandparents didn't even get to the camp before the U.S. troops came in.”
Nadine moved to the back counter and checked the timers on the coffeepots. “It's still torment. And if you say ‘emo,' I say ‘Elmo' because they are equally childish.”
Shaking my head, I watched her in amusement. “You don't know what his home life is like.”
“
Everyone
knows what his home life is like. He doesn't get along with his parents. He stays in his room and whines and writes bad poems about being a vampire.”
Laughing, I stepped to the espresso machine and stole a shot.
“Hey, it's your turn to wipe the tables.” Nadine tossed me a rag. “And don't forget to put back those magazines.”
Groaning, I dragged my feet to the sitting area and gathered the discarded cups and straw wrappers. Seeing no one else in line, I took a moment to return the magazines to the racks. When I had finished, I turned around and met Caleb, still as idle and unproductive as when I last saw him.
He sat on a reading bench by the window, holding his head in his hands. Afternoon light showered his back and crowned his dark hair in a golden halo. Normally, I would've ignored him were it not for the slight tremors that rocked his body. Was he crying? Did he and his new arm candy have a falling-out? It was just off-putting to see a guy cry, but no tears fell and none were wiped away by his hand. His body teetered back and forth, and I half expected him to start begging for spare change. How long was his break anyway?
I went over to him and tapped his shoulder. “Hey, Caleb. You okay?”
“Yeah,” he mumbled from under his hands. Thankfully, I didn't smell any alcohol on him, but he definitely wore the hungover look. Then again, he always looked like that.
One hand reached for the sunglasses hooked on his collar, while the other shielded his eyes—whether from shame or the glaring lights, I wasn't sure. I also wasn't sure about the source of the purple rays leaking between his fingers.
For a split second, a cast of purple flooded his eyes, swelling in a fluorescent glow. Caleb quickly turned his head, leaving a streak of color dragging through the air in a residual haze. That was an interesting trick for someone who supposedly didn't wear contacts.
He rose from his seat and paused at the shocked look on my face. He shifted his feet and messed with his hair, trying to play it off as if he'd been caught with his fly open. However, the only things I caught were vision problems and a bad vibe.
I took a step back. “You sure you're okay? Are you sick?”
My question made him laugh, but it sounded dry and full of bitterness. “You have no idea,” he said before marching back to his end of the store.
My mom taught me not to judge people, but damn, that kid was out there. I didn't know much about him, but that only made the fact that much more tangible. Something told me that ignorance was bliss when it came to Caleb Baker, so I went back to work, hoping for a distraction. But the damage was done. My curiosity had been piqued, and that hungry creature wouldn't let me rest until I fed it.
Burning Emerald
W
hen you're a Cambion, balance is paramount.
Never lose control, never allow emotions to run wild, and never, ever forget who you are and what lives within you. Such discipline requires a sound mind, a thick skin, and a high tolerance for all things weird, because one wrong move and it's over. No matter how tempting it is at first, in the end there's nothing more tragic, more excruciating, than losing yourself.
Well, except maybe high school.
I swam against the rough current of swinging backpacks, sharp elbows, and whipping ponytails, all in hopes of reaching the auditorium in one piece. The corridors overflowed with foot traffic, disorganized chatter, and the rowdy boom of slamming lockers. The floor rumbled from the stampede fleeing the fourth class of the day.
The varsity team hooted victory chants to the trophy gods behind the glass case in front of the main office. Teenyboppers huddled together in tight clusters, sharing magazines and gushing over the latest fad. Straight ahead lay the obstacle course of shameless make-out bandits who needed to rent a hotel room and stop blocking the hallway. The only thing missing was the cheesy pop soundtrack and the CW logo in the bottom corner. TV high school looked a lot cleaner though, and I bet it didn't reek of bleach and dried ketchup.
I hid my face behind my compact mirror while trying to ignore the dagger stares aimed in my direction, especially if the owners of those eyes had a boyfriend nearby. Even Lilith, my “internal roommate,” bristled at the laser beam of hate that shot my way.
My peers had dubbed me the freak of James City High School, not because of the red and white stripe in my hair or my butterball figure, but because of the avid attention from the males who crossed my path. 'Twas the curse of the dreaded possession, I'm afraid.
I wouldn't have been able to explain what a Cambion was three months ago, or known such a thing as human-demon hybrids existed. But now I knew from firsthand experience what it meant to have a soul of a succubus inside me, draining my energy, and luring unsuspecting males to their death to get more. Nothing much I could do about the long, hungry glances and the not-so-subtle whispers. All I could do was avoid eye contact, stay out of trouble, and pray for June to come quickly. I only had eight months to go.
Flashing lights attacked my retinas as soon as I entered the auditorium. Two murky gray backdrops were stationed in the center of the stage, where hired photographers captured our final year for posterity. Two lines ran at opposite ends of the platform steps and leaked into the aisles.
I trotted down the steep incline where teachers directed students to the photo table. I found my name on the list, grabbed my ticket and one of those cheap plastic combs nurses use to check for head lice, and then got in line. A good number of students stood ahead of me, fixing their hair and retouching their makeup. The rest sat in the rows of seats, in no rush to go to class.
Not even a moment after I stood in line, my best friend rested her head on my shoulder, her whole body trembling with laughter. “Girl, did you see what Courtney G. is wearing? It's what you would call ‘a piping-hot mess.' ”
I blotted my nose and chin. “Now, now, Mia. Be nice. We all can't be a fashionista like you.”
“Of course not, but I expect the basic principles of coordination. I mean, really?” Mia shook her head, her whiskey-brown eyes widened in dismay. “Another thing, when are these kids gonna learn that you don't keep wearing your new clothes the first few weeks of school? You slowly blend it into your existing wardrobe.”
There was the fashion police and there was the one-man Gestapo called Mia Moralez. How she passed dress code with the getups she wore was the magic trick of the century. And today's eye-popping number was no exception. She showed more breast and thigh than an eight-piece combo meal, yet never got called to the office. How did that work? I envied her bravery and her slim physique, but as of late, I envied her ability to ace pre-cal without breaking a sweat. The girl was a walking Pentium chip with expensive taste.
“Ohmigod! What happened to your face?” She spun me around and pinched my cheeks between her fingers. “Sam, who did this?”
Why do people feel the need to poke and prod at a victim's injuries? Ducking her curious fingers, I answered, “Stray dodgeball to the dome.” I took a deep breath, knowing I wouldn't get two feet without telling her the whole story.
Female aggression had reached critical mass today when the girls in third period gym decided to use me for target practice. A simple game of dodgeball had led to a thirty-minute death match, and even the gym teacher had turned a blind eye to the ambush.
Caleb, my main squeeze and fellow Cambion, had experienced his share of rabid females. He'd warned me about our powerful allure and told me to expect hostility from other girls, especially the insecure ones. But oh no, I had to be hardheaded and shrug it off. The daily dose of haterade was bitter and hard to swallow, leaving my thirst for female camaraderie unquenched.
Well, almost.
“Those evil bitches!” Mia shrieked again after hearing my tale of woe. “Of all the days to get a black eye—Picture Day! These are our senior pictures, the ones that are going into the yearbook, for the world to see. Now look at you, a shell of what you once were. Don't worry, I'll take 'em down.” She searched around the auditorium as if one of my attackers lurked in the shadows.
And the award for best actress in an over-dramatization goes to . . .
It wasn't that bad, nothing a little concealer couldn't fix, and the swelling had gone down considerably—a little puffiness near my cheekbone. “Forget it. I can take care of myself,” I assured.
“I know, but they can't just—”
“Let it go, Mia. I don't want any more trouble. I want to survive the year without further bloodshed.”
It took a few minutes, but she finally let the subject drop. Folding her arms, she studied me from head to toe. Her long, dark locks rested over her right shoulder in one enormous curl, accenting her exotic, island features. “You're not gonna wear those contacts for your picture, are you? It would add a little flare to the aesthetics, but it might draw more attention to your shiner.”
I froze mid primp. I knew I'd forgotten to do something when I left the house this morning, but I'd been running late and pretending to be normal took a lot of prep work. For the sake of appearances, I'd had to order a lifetime supply of brown contacts to pass as my old color, thanks to the sentient being living inside me. Lilith's occupancy made my eyes extremely sensitive, and she hated weird window dressing obstructing her view. To give her peace, I switched up every few days and I took them out as soon as I got home. As far as anyone knew, my emerald-green eyes were fake, not the other way around.
“Well, I wanted to make my mark,” I replied with a bit of sass.
“Suit yourself. I'm out. Catch you later,” she said just as I caught Malik Davis entering the auditorium from over her shoulder. I knew as soon as he saw me, he would try to spark a conversation.
I turned to Mia in a rush of panic. “You're done?”
“I was the first in line. Had to get it over and done with. It's hard work to look this good all day.” Mia sauntered away before I could grab her and use her as a shield.
Normally, I wouldn't be so clingy, but I so didn't feel like having another run-in with Malik. It was bad enough my black eye would be immortalized in eight-by-ten gloss; I didn't need him rubbing it in.
Malik Davis, a senior and my new shadow, fueled the wet dreams of every girl in school. As if he needed more attention, Malik had become an overnight celebrity when his truck wrapped around a tree last month and he walked away without a scratch, a heroic tale that he never grew sick of telling. Who wouldn't want to hang on the arm of the sexy basketball captain who cheated death? Oh yeah, that would be me.
“How you doin', Shorty?” he drawled in that smooth, magnolia tone that could melt butter. The solid wall of his body brushed my back.
The nickname grated my ears and made my skin crawl. True, the top of my head barely reached to his shoulders, but I wasn't a garden gnome, and pointing out someone's faults was not a good way to spark a conversation.
“Great, thanks. And yourself?” I stepped away as the line moved forward.
“It's a good day, especially after seeing you,” Malik whispered in my ear.
“You give me too much credit. You shouldn't need a girl to make you happy. If so, you have plenty to choose from.”
“Maybe so, but you've got my undivided attention, girl. I don't know why I never noticed you before; we've got a bunch of classes together and all that. But I like light-skinned girls, and your contacts are hot. They look so real.”
Here we go. If I had a quarter for every time someone mentioned my eye color—
“Let me ask you something. What's a fine sistah like you doing with that white boy? You know he's using you, right?”
I stopped. “For what?”
His gaze slid down my body at leisure. “What you think?”
I wasn't even going to dignify that with an answer, but it served to remind me why I couldn't stand him in the first place. Since tenth grade, Malik had made my mixed race a subject of ridicule, judging my choice of friends, my vocabulary, my taste in music, and now my boyfriend. The words
sellout
,
Oreo
, and
zebra
were commonly used in our brief exchanges. “Fine sistah” had never been included, but was a new moniker, courtesy of my roommate's influence, no doubt.
“I don't mean no harm by it,” he said. “I just—”
“Just what, Malik? 'Cause I don't like your tone.”
“That Caleb guy will never take you seriously, Samara. He's just gonna take what he wants, then leave.”
“And let me guess, you're so much better for me, because we all know you would never get with a girl and leave her high and dry,” I bit back.
The photographer's perky assistant yelled for the next pair to approach the stage, which was Malik and me.
After handing the assistant his ticket, the cause of my growing headache turned to me. “Look, I'm just watching out for you. How could you even stomach being with somebody like that?”
That did it. Evidently, people didn't get anywhere in life by being polite in this school. Turning on the balls of my feet, I glared up at him. He looked amused, but that didn't last long.
“Look here, there's no nice way to put this, so I won't even try. It's none of your damn business what I do with my boyfriend. I'm sure it eats you up inside that I'm not sniffing behind you like the rest of the herd, or that you will never in life get to sample any of this luscious I got going on, but seriously, you need to get off my ass, or else I'll break my foot off in yours.” I strolled to the stage, leaving Malik standing with a stunned look on his face.
The assistant directed me to the stool and ordered me to sit up straight. Malik sat in the station to my left, his stare burning at my profile, but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of caring.
There was just something about him that didn't sit well with me, even more than usual. An air of danger loomed around him, an unnatural aura that gave me the willies. Lilith felt it as well, voicing her disquiet with sharp tingles up my spinal cord, and worrying the network of nerves lining my midsection. While the photographer arranged my chin and shoulders in the right position, I snuck a glance at Malik.
He was good-looking, hotter than my boyfriend, though I would never whisper that to a living soul. It shamed me to admit that I'd had a few fantasies of him, most involving a hot tub and a vat of cookie dough ice cream, but that secret will follow me to the grave. Besides, looks meant nothing if you were an asshole, a self-righteous tool who turned into a skeleton in sharp lighting.
Wait, what the—?
I blinked and spun my stool completely in Malik's direction. Did I just see what I thought I did? As soon as the camera flashed, his clothes, skin, and all external material vanished, leaving a framework of bones sitting on the stool. The weird X-ray vision only lasted a second, but that was enough to freak me out.
When the photographer finished, Malik rose to his feet and strolled to the opposite side of the stage. He spared me a fleeting glance and smiled with more humor than the occasion called for. A quick glint of gold flickered in his dark brown eyes, then disappeared.
“Face this way, hon. Shoulders straight.” The voice of my own photographer snapped me back to attention.
My heart tapped Morse code against my ribs as I tried in vain to make sense of what I'd just seen. Forcing the worst smile in history, I waited for the camera flash.
Nothing outside of the natural surprised me anymore, but my curiosity would never die. The events of the summer had taught me well never to ignore those feelings, but to embrace them and expect the unexpected. Maybe I wasn't the only freak getting their learn on at James City High School. Perhaps it was a new power I had acquired that I was just now tapping into, an ability to foresee danger, like in those
Final Destination
movies. More than likely, it was my overactive mind running wild, something that happened a lot lately.

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