Fading Amber (5 page)

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Authors: Jaime Reed

BOOK: Fading Amber
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“This must be hard for you, Sonya, not knowing if your boyfriend is alive or dead. This is the second time you've had a guy meet a sudden misfortune. How strange. But we're all rooting for Malik to come home safely. Just know that you're also in our prayers.” The three of them made the Catholic sign of the cross at the same time.
Holding the clipboard to her chest, she leaned in and said, “I hear Caleb is out of the hospital, so you might not want Malik to come home too soon, am I right? I understand.” She gave me a sly, just-between-us-girls wink.
I was getting really sick of repeating myself. I had the urge to blurt out that an incubus was now the captain of the basketball team, and that we might actually have a shot at winning regionals this year. Though it would certainly make
me
feel better, it would just confirm the rumors of my flakiness. After all, I had no proof to back me up, none that would hold up in court.
In a true act of mercy, the bell rang.
“Oops, gotta go. Thanks again, Simone.” With a wave, Courtney skipped away with her two trusty lapdogs at her sides.
First period went by without incident or my full attention. I had other things on my mind and a list of questions that needed answers. Number one: where the hell was Tobias? My concern wasn't brought on by fondness, but a basic survival tactic while in battle, to always be one step ahead of your enemy.
I kept looking over my shoulder in government class, staring at the empty desk in the back row. A part of me expected him to materialize out of vapor, or roll up late in his Malik costume. The way I saw it, if you were going to steal someone's identity, then at least have the decency to follow through with it and show up to class.
I was on edge by the time lunch rolled around, my curiosity growling louder than my stomach. Instead of the loners that I usually sat with, I wandered past enemy lines to the more popular side of the cafeteria, prowling for spiritual sustenance. My lunch mates hadn't expected my seating change, but I assured them it was a temporary transfer. I moved from table to table, taking in that thin film of vitality that covered each living creature in a yummy aura.
You would think I rolled up to the lunch room in see-through lingerie the way the guys were staring at me. Even the ones who had girlfriends (plural). I got bum rushed by every type of the Y-chromosome, from that really close talker guy, the dude with the breath that could curl lashes, that player that always grabbed at his crotch. They were all food for me, much like how a cow was nothing but a cheeseburger with legs.
As a rule, I try to avoid people who make lewd comments about me and my genitalia, so I skipped over those and headed to my main entrée. The real heartbreaker was the painfully shy guy who conjured every ounce of courage to talk to me. These are the ones I actually give the time of day and in turn, made
their
day with a kiss on the cheek. And even with this level of discipline it was still a challenge not to feed directly or take too much from one person. Temptation would always be there.
Now that my hunger was sated, my curiosity needed fuel. There was no better source of intel than the eyes and ears of the school.
Dougie, along with his teammates, gawked at me as I sat next to him. He snuck a glance around the cafeteria for someone else I might be staring at, then asked, “I'm sorry, have we met?”
“Yeah. That one time in the fourth grade.” I patted his hair and almost got impaled by the short black spikes glossed with gel.
Once the shock of my presence wore off, he dove into the pyramid stack of burritos on his tray. The muscles in his arm flexed under his thermal undershirt. Though he was about five-eight, Dougie was filling out in all the right places, thanks to his spot on the wrestling team and the excessive appetite that rivaled Caleb's. “So, you makin' up for your shadiness and finally gracin' us with your divine presence?”
“Shut it, Dougie. I'm here on a mission.” I craned my neck over the heads of students and scoped out the entrance.
“What kind of mission?” He wolfed down the rest of his burrito in one bite.
“For one: I have an appointment with Jason Lao and he won't meet with me at my own table. Some crap about social boundaries. So you're neutral territory.”
“Right,” he drawled with his mouth full, salsa dripping down his chin.
“And two: I want to ask you about Mia, specifically which type of bug crawled up her ass and died. You know, just so I can classify what species of crazy I'm working with here,” I said.
Keeping to her word, Mia continued to avoid me in class, proof that the “silent treatment” wasn't just for fifth graders anymore. It was high time that I got to the bottom of this before a fight broke out on the monkey bars at recess. If anyone knew what was up, it would be her estranged other half and part-time stalker.
“You got me.” He shrugged; a hopeless gesture of a man who had given up on life. “She's got nothin' but attitude these days, but it's time for her to grow up. Anyway, I'm done with her.”
I shook my head and made a tsk-ing sound. “Dougie, you know good and well that you'll never really be done with her.”
“As long as she's actin' stank, I am. I'm officially on the market.”
“Did you put out an ad yet?” I joked.
“As a matter of fact, I posted a full spread on Jason Lao's site. Got two hundred hits already—even got a reply from a forty-year-old lady in Norfolk. She looks hot for her age.” He winked, and the mischief in his eyes made them twinkle with greens and browns that changed to match whatever he wore.
God, I hoped he was kidding, but knowing Douglas Emerson III, I doubted it. Talking with him like this reminded me just how much I missed my friend, the privileged anti-prep with an obsession with all things hip-hop. He embodied everything normal in my life, and I clung to each nuance. Warm and fuzzy memories came with Dougie, and Lilith noted each one and stopped targeting him as food, which was another reason I enjoyed hanging with him. He was the only non-virgin who didn't want to jump my bones. Telling by the hungry stares by his teammates, he was also the only guy at the table who wasn't imagining me naked. Refreshing.
Jason Lao scurried to our table, wearing a white shirt, a tweed blazer, and a permanent note of urgency. Of the four years I've known this kid, he always dressed like he was going to a job interview, and always searched his surroundings in case the feds were after him.
“You rang?” he asked, sounding annoyed at our secret meeting.
“Yeah? What's the latest on the web-a-sphere?” I asked.
“A whole lot. There's a Secret Santa thing going on and it's causing heavy traffic and slowing down my site. Oh, Doug, you had a few more hits on your personal ad. I checked out some of the girls' profiles, and whoa—HOT!” Jason fanned himself, then continued. “And I just set up a dedication page on Malik Davis. The comments are piling up pretty quick.”
I rolled my eyes. “Isn't this a little too much? We don't even know where he is? Didn't you say he ran away?”
“Yeah, but tell that to his groupies on the pep squad,” Jason replied. “Just this morning, a girl bursts into tears in the middle of class. Man, I wish I had that kind of power over the ladies.”
Trust me, you don't,
I thought.
“Besides, the police aren't so sure that he ran away,” he added.
Dougie and I exchanged glances. “What do you mean?” I asked.
After a quick peek over his shoulder, Jason leaned in and said, “Well, Patricia Hughes works in the main office after school, answering phones, sifting mail, and all that crap, right? Well, she was there when the police came in yesterday, and she heard that his truck was found on a side road in the Colonial Parkway. It's really weird. That's Malik's second accident. Remember the one in September?”
Dougie scoffed. “He wouldn't shut up about it. And we had to sit through that dumb ass assembly about drinking and driving. Malik might wanna lay off the sauce and practice what he preaches.” He unwrapped his third burrito.
“That's cold, dude!” Jason exclaimed, but still found it funny. “He could be dead for all we know. The parkway is no joke. I won't even drive through there in the daytime.”
I kept quiet as the guilt of what I knew rode me hard. Malik had died in that first accident and my continued silence only piled on to this growing mountain of suck. This latest development only made me hate Tobias more. His sick game was prolonging the pain of an innocent family and denying them closure.
The bad news just kept on coming as Jason went on with his story. “She said the cops found the truck abandoned in a ditch. There were scratches on the driver's side, like he might've hit something. But anyway, Malik wasn't with the truck, so wherever he is, he's on foot, or . . .” he let the sentence hang, but every grim possibility filled the blanks.
I wouldn't have been surprised if they saw smoke coming out of my ears—my brain was working overtime. Had Tobias gotten hurt in a car accident? Maybe he was in a coma. It would serve him right, a true stroke of karma after what he did to Caleb. But Tobias was virtually indestructible, well able to walk away from a simple fender bender. More importantly, I would've sensed his reactions to the collision, his pain, his alarm. But I couldn't feel him anymore. In fact, I hadn't sensed him at all since yesterday just before . . . my blackout.
“So, Sam.” Jason leaned in with intrigue; the local gossip hound still on duty. “How do you feel about the latest development? You guys were sort of an item, right?”
“No. We weren't, and let me go on the record by saying that I was never, ever with Malik. Put that in bold print for everyone to see.” I rose to my feet.
“What's with her?” I heard Jason ask as I left the table.
“I dunno, man. Girls are all messed up in the head 'round here,” Dougie replied.
In the quiet of the hall stairwell, I leaned against the wall and controlled my breathing. There was too much going on; too many unanswered questions. Tobias had suddenly dropped off the face of the earth, roughly around the same time I lost consciousness for two hours. Maybe Tobias had a similar effect, but he seemed fine the last time I had a blackout. He mentioned that he preferred me that way, pliant and at his mercy. What happened in those two hours to cause Tobias to disappear? More importantly, where was I when all this was going on?
“Lilith,” I called. “You wanna help me out here?”
No response.
It was worth a try. With a heavy sigh, I pushed off the wall and moved toward my next class, though the only subject I had on my mind was Tobias.
4
A
shiny new quarter slipped through the coin slot as I gave the metal dial one good turn.
At the end of the rotation, five measly pieces of candy fell out the dispenser and tumbled into my waiting hand. Quarters didn't amount to much these days, but I alone seemed to appreciate their value. I frowned at my pitiful rations and saw it as a prelude to a much bigger rip-off.
Popping a Skittle in my mouth, I strolled through the sitting area, past the car showroom to the bank of windows that overlooked the dealership. BIG LARRY'S END-OF-THE-YEAR BLOWOUT SALE was written on a red banner at the entrance.
I'd seen this sign all over town, along with the corny commercials on TV. It was hard to forget a three hundred pound white guy dressed like a pimp and a dancing bulldog. Thankfully, there were no half naked women on the grounds; however, the dog, also named Larry, was an active part of the buying experience. At the moment, he circled around me, sniffing my legs while wearing an elf hat and bells around his collar.
To my left was a closed office door where my dad stood on the other side, filling out paperwork and doing what he did best. Negotiate.
He picked me up after school and brought me here to get my new ride since the old one bit the dust Thanksgiving night. My Nissan Juke had been turned into scrap metal, thanks to Tobias's violent display of love and jealous rage. Dangerous and gorgeous as he might be, the hotness level drastically declined after that stunt.
Though I was furious about losing the car I spent years saving for, being a pedestrian for three days taught me to count my blessings. I didn't care what kind of car I got as long as I escaped the ill fate of parental and public transportation.
I was sure Dad didn't buy the whole “freak storm” excuse about the car, but at least the insurance covered enough to get a replacement. Being a corporate lawyer, he could smell BS from a hundred yards, and the odor was coming off thick from my direction. It didn't seem fair that Mom knew my dirty secret, yet Dad was left to question my eye color change and strange behavior. He was set in his ways with deep beliefs, and I couldn't bear to have him look at me with fear or contempt. I was his first born, his Baby Girl, and I wanted to stay that way a little while longer.
Before little Larry decided to mark his territory on my leg, I took a walk outside to do some wishful thinking. I drifted from car to car, stroking each glossy veneer and wincing at the price stickers on the windows. Tearing my eyes away from a Mustang that I could never have, I spotted a black Jeep at the end of the row similar to Caleb's. It was fascinating to see what his Jeep looked like in its initial state, free of mud splatter and a huge dent on the right side. Cake Boy really knew how to wear down a car, and as of late, he was spending more money on repairs than the original purchase.
Staring at the front grill of the Jeep reminded me of his accident. It seemed odd that he would have a reaction to my blackout while behind the wheel. My previous trips into the abyss hadn't seemed to affect Tobias's ability to drive, so what made Caleb so different? Why couldn't he remember how he got the dent in his Jeep?
“Okay, baby girl. You ready to check out your new car?” Dad asked behind me.
I turned around and smiled up at the tall man in the tailored suit with a proud strut of victory. Mr. Keith Watkins, esquire, had apparently worked his magic, ensuring I was leaving out of here on four wheels with cash to spare. Big Larry himself fell in step with Dad, looking just as greasy as advertised. His gut fell over his belt and the buttons on his white shirt held on for dear life. His sagging jowls and droopy brown eyes seemed to support the myth that people look like their pets.
“We got you a great deal on an O-five, little lady. It's a bit old, but the mileage is impeccable.” Big Larry smiled down at me, showing a row of straight, tobacco stained teeth. “Your daddy is a tough nut to crack, but I'm willing to make a few concessions for such a pretty customer.” He winked.
What a flirt. Whether it was his sales tactic or Lilith's influence, I didn't care. Hell, if I played my cards right, I could roll out of here in that Mustang I had my eye on, but I didn't want to push my luck. The power I had over men wasn't a toy.
Big Larry led the way as we moved to the side of the building to where a green Maxima waited for me. It wasn't my Juke, but it was in my favorite color, which earned a ton of cool points in my book.
I wrapped my arms around Dad's waist and squeezed as hard as I could. “Thanks for doing this, Daddy.”
“No problem, although it appears you go through cars faster than clothes these days.”
“It was a storm. I can't control the weather.”
Or the crazy demon that compelled that weather
, I thought.
“So how's your mother?” he asked me on our slow approach to my new whip.
“The same as when you asked me on the way over here.” That question was just as random the second time around, and I had a feeling it's been sitting on his tongue long before today. This little father-daughter trip had taken an awkward turn as he continued to pry into Mom's personal life, specifically her relationship with a Cuban detective from New York. Knowing I would be too grateful to deny him info, he picked this exact time to launch his interrogation. Well played, old man. Well played.
“For a married guy, you seem awfully interested in what another woman is doing,” I said. “Does Rhonda know about your side hobby?”
“I'm just concerned for Julie's well-being, nothing more,” he replied indignantly. “She is after all, the mother of my child.”
“So is Rhonda,” I countered. “You remember those two six-year-olds that live at your house, don't you? Dad, you have a whole other life and Mom deserves a chance at that too. Let her move on.”
Not to sound gross, but Dad looked good for his age, and why he married a hateful gargoyle was one of life's many riddles. I got my baby face from him, and very few people believed he was thirty-four, with not one wrinkle or blemish marring his mocha skin. I wasn't sure if it was out of anger or something else altogether, but he seemed to age twenty years in a matter of seconds. “Yeah, well your mother's judgment has been cloudy lately. You do remember that last man she tried to date.” His dark eyes narrowed at me, drilling his point with deadly precision.
Of course, this wouldn't be a proper argument without bringing up past mistakes. And Caleb's father, Nathan Ross, was a fatal mistake, one that I singlehandedly removed from the earth.
“Mom's fine. She knows how to take care of herself,” I assured.
“And what about you? Your taste in men is a little questionable as well.”
I was about to comment, but the words fizzled in my mouth. I knew Dad disliked Caleb, but that didn't make his statement invalid. Caleb was cryptic—that was what drew me to him—but that mystique can get old real quick when enemies vanish, vehicles get wrecked, and people wake up on the ceiling. It's hard to fully trust a person and doubt him at the same time, but not impossible. I did it every day. Telling by the skeptical look Dad was giving me, I wasn't the only one.
 
After dinner, another game of twenty-questions, and yet another petition for me to consult a therapist, Dad and I parted ways with the promise of meeting up before the Christmas madness kicked off. Too many people had died around me this year and Dad wasn't sure if I was dealing with my grief properly. He was right; I wasn't, hence the dead girl in my living room that no one could see but me. A shrink couldn't help with my particular issues and being labeled a head case might ruin my chances of getting into law school, so I could tough it out for a while.
I didn't go home right away; instead, I made a pit stop at Caleb's hotel across town. He and his brothers were staying there until Caleb could either find a new apartment or salvage the old one from the wreckage that Tobias left behind. Caleb never told me at which hotel he was staying and with everything going on, I hadn't bothered to ask, but I didn't need a name or directions. I would always know where he was and vice versa.
In my experience, there was no such thing as a broke Cambion; their charm afforded them many luxuries and allowed them to get away with murder, quite literally. Caleb came from money, but he lived humbly; slaving through the grind like the rest of us indentured servants. So imagine my shock when my Spidey senses led me to the gated palace of the Charlotte Hotel.
A massive water fountain stood on a thatch of grass in the center of the circular driveway. The place was a throwback to the roaring twenties set under the soft glow of antique lanterns. All that was missing was a bell hop, a couple of flapper girls, and some gangsters with machine guns. The place screamed of good living, from the cheerful valet who took my car, the openly gay concierge behind the check-in desk, to the piano jazz playing in the lounge near the lobby.
This wasn't the place that took kindly to loiterers, so I rushed to the wall of elevators as if I knew where I was going. I stepped inside and punched all the numbers, much to the annoyance of the elderly couple in the car with me. The doors opened on each floor, and I poked my head out in search of any trace of Caleb. The empathic pull grew stronger, thicker, all-encompassing the higher we climbed, so I knew I was getting warm.
The couple got off on the fifth floor as a young man with dark shades stepped in. Not that I was checking him out or anything, but the guy was well-built and dressed even better with a leather jacket, turtle neck, and black gloves. Definitely from out of town. He reached to push his floor of choice then paused at all the lit buttons on the panel.
“Kids.” I shrugged and gave him room to stand.
He stared at me, not saying a word, and grew more fascinated than deemed appropriate for such a small space. Through the cover of the shades, he stared at me with a level of intensity that gave me chills. I glanced up at the tiny security camera in the corner and hoped it wasn't placed there just for show. I had half the mind to get off on the next floor and take the stairs when I felt that familiar tingle gain pressure against my spine. I leapt out on to the eighth floor as soon as the doors opened.
I sucked in a deep draft of air, reaching out for Caleb's essence on my way up the hall. I looked to the passage to my left, then the one to my right, and decided to keep moving straight ahead, following the remnant of French toast and conceit in the air. It would be just like Caleb to request breakfast at night. His brothers were no better when it came to food and I was sure they were giving the room service staff a run for their . . .
Why was that guy still staring at me? He must've gotten off the elevator when I did, and he now stood in that stoic manner that gave me the heebie-jeebies. The dark shades hid his eyes, but not the creepy vibe he was giving off. The feeling only got worse as he took a step and then another, gradually picking up speed.
Maybe he had a room on this floor. Maybe he was one of those crazy killers on the news that Mom kept going on about. Or maybe Lilith was using her mojo again.
Being male catnip, as Mia once called it, had a nasty disclaimer where the attraction could turn violent quickly. I was smaller than him, so I couldn't fight him off if things came to blows, but I was more concerned for his safety than my own. Lilith would shrivel this guy to dust before he so much as copped a feel, but I'd seen my share of dead bodies to last a lifetime.
He wasn't shy about his pursuit, but took his time as if knowing he would catch his prey eventually. I walked to the end of the hall until there was nowhere to go. No emergency stairs or freight elevators offered an escape, and the solid wall ahead seemed to mock me.
I turned around to face my opponent head on. My heart pounded in my chest, my muscles clenched while I waited for him to make the first move. To my surprise, he simply turned to the hallway to his left, but his stare stayed locked on me as he disappeared around the corner.
I lifted my head to the ceiling and pushed out the breath I'd been holding. My bag fell from my shoulder and my limbs relaxed under the rush of relief.
“Sam? What are you doing here? What's wrong?”
I jumped and clutched my aching chest. My heart was seriously getting a workout today. Caleb stood inside the opened door behind me, looking annoyed and very damp.
“Don't scare me like that!” I yelled and swung my bag at him.
“From what I can tell, you were already scared,” he replied, ducking the blow. “I felt you while I was in the shower. What happened?”
“There was a guy by the elevator. He made me nervous.”
Caleb poked his head out of the door and searched the hall. “Where?”
“Nothing, never mind. Did I catch you at a bad time?”
Caleb looked down at the towel hanging low around his hips then smiled at me. “Depends on how you look at it.”
I took that moment to check out the merchandise, and what an eyeful. Water dripped from his hair and trickled down his chest, and a glob of shaving cream clung to his right ear. My gaze journeyed south to the hills and valleys of his stomach, counting the smooth knots of muscle that stood in bas relief under his skin. He wasn't weight lifter material, nor did he achieve underwear model status, but he had a little somethin'-somethin' going on, subtle, and well proportioned. A healthy beige tint covered his skin, and he no longer looked like a walking corpse. He must've fed recently, allowing Capone to munch on something other than his host for a while.

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