Sign of the Throne: Book One in the Solas Beir Trilogy (25 page)

Abby wondered for a moment if the kiss was for her benefit or Jon’s, and then decided she didn’t care. She kissed David back, hard.

David pulled away and sighed. “Are you
trying
to make it difficult for me to leave?”

She smiled. “Absolutely.”

He shook his head and laughed. “You evil,
evil
girl. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Okay.” Abby kissed his cheek and let him go, watching him drive away.

When David was out of sight, she looked up at Jon’s window. He was still staring at her. Frowning, she picked up her phone from the porch railing and dialed his number. “
What?
” she asked.

“You tell me,” Jon said, enraged. “You let him spend the night with you?”

“No! Well, I mean, he was here, but we were just talking. Nothing happened!”

“It didn’t look like nothing,” Jon growled.

“Why are you even looking?” Abby asked. She walked down the front steps toward his house. “It’s
none
of your business!”

“It
is
my business.” Jon’s tone of voice had taken on a deadly calm. “When someone is trying to take advantage of you, it is my business to protect you.”

Abby rolled her eyes. “He is
not
trying to take advantage of me. He just kissed me. It’s not a big deal. Besides, what about all that stuff you said about giving me your blessing?”

“I changed my mind.”

“You can’t change your mind,” Abby said.

“I can. I revoke my blessing. I don’t want you with him. I want you with
me
.”

“No,” Abby said, shaking her head. “I’m not going to be with you. I’m with David now, and you’re with Marisol. I thought you really liked her.”

“I do. But I can’t stand the idea of
you
being with
him
.”

“Well, you’re going to have to deal with it, because I’m in love with him.”

Jon’s expression darkened, and he hung up the phone. He pulled the blinds closed.

“Fine,” Abby snarled, glaring at Jon’s window. “I’m too tired to talk to you anyway, jerk.” She stormed back inside the house, locked the door, and trudged upstairs to finally tumble into bed. She was furious with Jon, but she didn’t want to think about him.

Instead, she forced Jon from her mind and thought about David. Telling him the secret had gone better than she expected. David believed her, and at least he was still on speaking terms with her. He had kissed her, and it looked like he wouldn’t mind doing it again. And once they got a few hours of sleep, he was coming with her to meet Eulalia. Aside from the conflict with Jon, maybe things were finally coming together.

CHANGELINGS

D
avid dragged himself into his bedroom and glanced at his watch: 5:59 a.m. His parents were still asleep—they’d left the ball long before. Hopefully they would let him sleep for a few hours. He set his alarm clock for one in the afternoon so he would have time to talk with his parents before calling Abby.

He sat on the edge of his bed and pulled off his jacket and shoes. Untucking his dress shirt, he lay on his bed.

Wait.
He sat back up. Pulling open the top drawer of the nightstand, he rifled through some loose papers and belongings.
Where is that pendant?
His fingers closed around it, and he retrieved it from the messy drawer. He studied it, fascinated as silvery blue light streaked across the shell, coming to life in response to his touch.

It was true—everything Abby had said was true. His trip to London was off.

He tucked the shell into his pants pocket and settled into bed, his hands folded beneath his head under the pillow. He stared up at the ceiling. He didn’t know what fate had in store for him, but knowing that Abby would be there with him gave him peace. Thinking of her, he drifted off to sleep.

Hours later, Abby awoke to a knock on her door. She
opened her eyes—the light in the room had shifted.
What time is it? Almost four?
She had slept solidly for ten hours.

Bethany Brown opened the door, her green eyes twinkling mischievously. “Well good
morning
, Sleeping Beauty. Have fun last night?”

Abby realized she had fallen asleep in her dress. “Oops—guess I crashed.”

Abby’s mother smiled. “Guess so. Jonathon called while you were dead to the world.”

Abby frowned. “I don’t want to talk to him.”

“Why not? Didn’t you have fun together?” Bethany asked.

“We did, but then we got into a little argument. Did David call?” Abby asked.

“David?” her mother asked, feigning ignorance. Abby rolled her eyes, and her mother hid a smile.

“Yes, Mom, David Corbin,” Abby said. “Did he?”

Bethany shook her head. “Sorry, no. Was your little argument with Jon about David, by chance?”

“Kind of.” Abby was disappointed. Why hadn’t David called? She looked at the clock again. He had said he would call by four at the latest, so maybe he was still talking to his parents.
Shower first, and then, if he doesn’t call, I’m calling him,
she thought, trying to reassure herself. It didn’t work. She was worried.

“Sounds like an exciting night. Are you going to fill me in on the details?” her mother asked.

“Yeah, Mom,” Abby answered, her mind distracted. She had a bad feeling—something was wrong. She couldn’t shake the thought that David was in danger.
If he doesn’t call by five, I’m going over there to make sure he’s okay.
“Hey Mom, can I borrow the car?”

“No—sorry, honey. Your dad had to run in to the office, and I have to take Matthew to his friend’s birthday party, remember?”

“Oh. Yeah, sorry. I was thinking I’d go over to Newcastle Beach,” Abby said.

“Hmm, I wonder why,” Bethany smiled. “Well, I’d take you over there, but Matt and I have to leave in fifteen minutes. I think you’ll take longer than that to get ready, won’t you?”

Abby caught a glance of herself in the mirror on her dresser. Her hair was a frizzed-out mess—she definitely needed that shower. “Yeah, I’m afraid so. It’s okay, Mom. I can walk like I usually do.”
If he doesn’t call by five-thirty, I’m walking. No, make that six. Ugh—I sound like a stalker.

“All right, sweetie,” Bethany said. “Take your umbrella though—looks like we’re in for more rain.”

It was well after dark when David woke from his own dreamless sleep. He looked at the digital clock on the nightstand, which was blinking
12:00
.

No way
, he thought.
I did
not
sleep until midnight.
He checked his watch: 6:02 p.m. Twelve hours since he left Abby. He was surprised he had slept so long, but then again, he was exhausted when he finally crawled into bed. He’d set the alarm though, hadn’t he? He couldn’t remember.

David looked back at the blinking clock. Something must
have happened with the electricity. He couldn’t remember the power going off, but it must have—why else would the clock need resetting? Maybe there had been a storm and he’d slept through it. He manually synched the digital clock with his wristwatch and then got out of bed to find his cell phone.

He had promised he would call Abby and he hadn’t—she was probably worried. As he pulled the phone from his suit jacket, the cell’s lighted screen blinked once and went dead. He tried to turn the phone back on, but the screen remained black.
Great,
he thought. Now the cell wasn’t working either. He would just have to use the phone downstairs.

David changed quickly, pulling on his favorite pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Reverently, he transferred his half of the Sign of the Throne from his suit pants pocket to the one in his jeans. He grabbed his leather jacket off the back of a chair and stuffed the useless phone inside.

He made a detour to the upstairs bathroom to splash cold water on his face. Inspecting himself in the mirror, he had to admit that he probably needed a shave, if not a shower. He looked rugged—his hair a little wild, his jaw stubbled. He sniffed his T-shirt; at least it smelled okay. He didn’t want to take too much time—he had a feeling he was going to get on Abby’s bad side if he kept her waiting and worrying too long. Maybe she liked the unkempt, bad-boy look.

He started toward the stairs.
Keys,
he remembered, and hurried back to his room. There they were, right where he’d left them on the nightstand. He glanced at the clock and shook his head in disbelief.
Again?
The digital clock was blinking
12:00.
Obviously something was wrong with the thing—the power was still on. He swiped his keys and stuffed them in one jeans pocket, checking the other to make sure the mystical seashell was still there.

Descending the stairs, David heard his parents talking in hushed tones in the kitchen. As he entered, he noticed two things. First, their conversation abruptly came to a halt. His mother and father were standing slightly apart, smiling pleasantly at him. Second, the kitchen was an absolute mess. The countertops and cabinet doors were slathered with some kind of dark goo. It was thick, oily, and dripping off the surfaces of the kitchen—the doors of the refrigerator and oven, the dishes that were waiting to be put in the dishwasher, and even the window over the sink. And it
smelled
. Sulfur maybe, or rotten meat. As it oozed onto the kitchen floor, the oil seemed to gather in the center of the room, its darkness gaining density.

“David, darling,” his mother said. “You’re finally awake. I hope you enjoyed yourself last evening.” She smiled sweetly.

David made no reply. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle—something was wrong here. Her eyes...they were just a little too dark, almost as if they too, were filled with that toxic oil.

“David,” said his father, “it is rude not to answer your mother when she speaks to you.” His eyes, too, were strange, otherworldly.

“That is
not
my mother,” David said.

“Of
course
I am, Silly Billy,” Margaret giggled. Her voice was childlike; sickeningly sweet. “Who
else
would I be? Someone had a
liiiiittle
too much wine last night, didn’t he?”

Open armed, she stepped toward David, right through the oil on the floor, as if she didn’t notice the mess. The oil sucked at her feet, bristling, sprouting glistening black spikes that looked like oily fur standing on end. She didn’t notice that either. A grin stretched across her face, a little too wide, like it was carved into her flesh.

She pulled him into a hug, her hot breath on his face, that same sour meat smell, the smell of something dead and rotting. It filled his nostrils, turning his stomach. He couldn’t breathe. Panicked, he plunged his hand into his pocket, retrieving the sigil of the Solas Beir on pure instinct. It pulsed rapidly now, in synch with his frightened heartbeat. Not thinking, only acting, he plunged the Sign of the Throne into her face. As the silver shell made contact with her cheek, the skin began to smoke, turning black with heat, sinking inward like a rotting melon. She wrenched away, grabbing her face with both hands, screaming like an angry hellcat.

David’s horror at this was short-lived. The thing pretending to be his father growled
. It was a low, menacing snarl that made David’s intestines feel like they were squirming around in his gut—a primal response to unadulterated fear. He turned and fled, shoving the sigil back into his pocket, not daring to look back. There was no need anyway—he could clearly hear the squishing, sucking sound of the oil on the kitchen floor as the creature plowed through it in hot pursuit of its prey.

David clawed open the wood door to the garage, flew through it, and pushed it shut. Beside the door was a heavy steel tool case; he shoved it over on its side, blocking the door to buy time, just a little time. He reached up and palmed the button for the automatic garage door opener as he raced to his motorcycle. As he shoved on his helmet, a deafening bang shook the garage. A wrench lying on his workbench fell to the floor with a metallic clang. David looked behind him to see the blocked door dent and splinter, the tool case threatening to go scooting across the garage floor as it was violently rammed.

He turned anxiously back to the paneled garage door, straining to hear the small motor of the opener whir to life. All he could hear was the relentless thrashing of the creature against the blocked door and the roar of the bike’s engine. There was nothing else.

Come on, COME ON!
David thought, as if by mere force of will he could open the door. To his surprise, the door did open, a little, but not enough to allow his escape.

David put down the bike’s kickstand, and the engine sputtered to a stop. Running to the garage door, he forcibly shoved it upward and rolled it back on its metal tracks. He leapt back to the motorcycle and kick-started it again.

For a second, he held his breath, worried that the bike too, would fail him, but he heard its familiar roar. Then the toolbox clattered across the floor as the door exploded and showered the garage in a ticker-tape jettison of wood fragments. David didn’t wait to see what emerged—he held down the throttle and was gone.

Abby was worried to the point of panic. By the time she was done debriefing her mother, showering, and getting ready, it was after five-thirty—and still no call from David. The sun was setting fast, and pretty soon, the Darkness would gather and grow strong. The Shadows would be on the prowl. After trying David’s cell and his parents’ landline twice each and getting no answer, not even voicemail, she knew for certain
that something was wrong.

Where was he? He had promised to call, and after last night, she was certain he would keep his word.
If
he could. But that was just it, wasn’t it? She thought about the Shadows and feared the worst. She had to find him and get him to Eulalia so they could fix the portal. Her resolve outweighed her fear. She grabbed her hoodie, keys, and phone, and walked out the door. Looking at the phone, she noticed that Jon had called yet again. She didn’t want to talk to him, but at least she knew her phone was working and she hadn’t somehow missed David’s call.

As she stepped off her front porch, lightning streaked across the clouds
, and the sky opened up, pouring down rain.
Great.
She looked back at the house, annoyed at herself for forgetting her umbrella, and then decided she didn’t care if she got wet. She yanked up her hood and started walking down the driveway, aggravated for the ten-billionth time that all the money she had saved from working had to go toward college and not a car. Behind her, she heard a door slam.
Jon.
She ignored him and kept walking.