The Demon Hunter (41 page)

My conscience screamed at me to return, to help, say
something
. Years of warning overtook any soft feelings. Shifting my bag strap to my shoulder, I scurried from the cafe before guilt got the better of me. Outside the air was crisp, cool. It was early fall and the bees were swarming an overflowing trashcan. Dumping my cup, careful to avoid the stinging insects, I pulled my hood atop my head and stuffed my hands into the soft, fleece-lined pockets on my jacket, trying to get warm…always trying.

A black truck zoomed by, sending fall colored leaves of orange, red and yellow into the air. For one brief moment, as the leaves settled around me, I felt like I was in the safety of a snow globe. But safety was an illusion. We were never safe. Not the people in the cafe. Not the few pedestrians strolling down the sidewalks. And certainly not me.

A deep shout resounded from inside the cafe, a muffled demand. I shouldn’t have been surprised, still my heart made a mad leap for my throat. People screamed, the sound noticeable even through the thick glass windows. I wouldn’t turn back.

I stepped off the curb, glanced left, then right and darted across the street. I had five minutes to make it home in time and couldn’t be late…
again
or Grandma would worry. I focused on the long road that led to our small Cape Cod style cottage, focused on the crunch of brittle leaves under my sneakers, focused on breathing. I would not react to the scene around me. I couldn’t. As Grandma repeatedly warned, my very life depended on silence.

Boom!

A sudden blast rang through the air, vibrating the glass windows. A flock of black starlings burst from the maples lining the road. I flinched, sucking in a sharp breath of cold air and resisted the urge to drop to the cracked sidewalk. Surprise faded quickly and guilt churned deep within my gut. A sickening guilt that was almost unbearable. So much regret. Angry at myself, I shoved the feeling aside.

A woman with gray hair who was walking her poodle next to me froze, her gaze pinned to the cafe. “My God, I think they’re being robbed!”

I didn’t respond but continued down the sidewalk, forced my feet forward as she fumbled with her cell phone.

Taking in a deep breath, I slipped the ear buds of my iPod into my ears. Home. I had to make it home before I was late, before nerves got the better of me and I was sick all over the sidewalk. Or worse, before I turned and raced back to the scene.

But even as I attempted to ignore the guilt thrumming in time with the music, anxiety clawed its way into my lungs, making it hard to breathe. I knew, deep down, I could have stopped it. If only I wasn’t a coward. If only….

Sometimes it really sucked to be able to read minds.

Chapter 2

“Cafe was robbed, one person shot. They just announced it on the news.” Grandma lifted her remote and turned the volume down on the T.V. nestled in the far corner of the counter. She was settled behind the round table where we ate all of our meals. A table that, according to her, had come across the ocean with her English grandparents over one-hundred years ago. I was pretty sure I remembered her buying it at a garage sale when I was a kid.

Hello to you too, Grandma.

I dropped my backpack on the kitchen table and headed straight for the refrigerator, my sneakers squeaking in protest over the pea green 1970’s linoleum. I shouldn’t have been annoyed by Grandma’s blatant attempt to pry. I’d been living with her since I was five and my ability had surfaced. Grandma hadn’t said so, but it was obvious Mom pretty much thought I was a freak and had shoved me into Grandma’s capable arms, the one person who understood. Another freak.

I barely remembered Mom. But overall, my childhood hadn’t been horrible. Lonely, as we’d moved a lot; a little complicated as Grandma had to explain away my uncanny ability to know what others were thinking. But I couldn’t complain. I had a roof over my head and plenty to eat. Most importantly, she protected me as well as she could.

Grandma didn’t look like your typical old lady. Yeah, she was in her fifties, but she colored her dark hair and refused to cover her trim body with something as hideous as a housecoat. I got my hair and eye color from her, but my smaller features from my mom’s side of the family. Grandma was blunt and a little cold and it showed in her narrow face. But she’d taken care of me when no one else would, and for that I was reluctantly thankful.

“Anyone die?” I asked, pretending a nonchalance I certainly didn’t feel.

“Nope.” She said the word with ease. Her lack of empathy had always bothered me, but I guess years of running for your life would do that to a person. She snapped her cookbook shut and peered up at me through her wire-rimmed glasses. I tried to ignore her hazel eyes, but it was impossible. I swear Grandma’s beady gaze could read a person’s soul. It was why I’d never lied to her. What was the point when she’d know the truth?

I wrapped my fingers around the handle of the refrigerator and couldn’t deny the relief that released sweetly from my gut. No one had died. Just injured. No death. No guilt. At least not this time. But it was there, always in the back of my mind. Shame was the worst of it, knowing I could help if I’d just open my mouth. But as Grandma had taught me early on, there were worse things than feeling guilty, like feeling dead. I hadn’t realized a person could “feel” dead, but knew it was pointless to argue with Grandma.

“Cameron, isn’t that the cafe you visit?”

I pulled the refrigerator door wide, the burst of cold air adding to my unease. As if she didn’t know where I went. As if she didn’t know every tiny thing I did. “Yeah.”

“Were you there?”

I pulled out a can of coke, letting the chill aluminum numb my fingers, hoping that numbness would move to my heart, my gut, my brain. No such luck. “Yeah. I was there”

There was a short pause. I knew what she would ask next. Not that I could read her mind. I’d never been able to read Grandma’s thoughts like I could others. Grandma had learned, over the years, how to keep her thoughts to herself. An ability she refused to share with me and I knew why…then she wouldn’t be able to spy on me. Her power would be gone. And at times like this, I resented the hell out of her.

“Did you know?” she asked, her own voice casual.

Did I know the man was going to rob the cafe? Did I know he had a gun? Did I know someone might die and I could stop it? I swiped my hands on my jeans, wiping away the condensation. Slowly, I nodded.

“You didn’t say anything?”

Annoyed, I released a puff of air through pursed lips. Why did she even bother asking? She knew the answer. “No,” I grumbled.

“Good girl.” She pushed her chair away from the table, the legs screeching across the linoleum, and stood. “You’d only be courting questions and trouble. You remember what happened in Michigan. Always remember that when you want to warn someone. I’m going to the garden.”

Michigan. There it was again. As if I could ever forget the incident. The time I’d blabbed and we’d almost been caught. The time I’d realized I couldn’t trust anyone with my secret.

I watched her move to the door, my bitterness growing with each step she took. Whenever she praised me for keeping quiet, it felt so patronizing. Like inside she was smirking. Good little girl had done what she’d been told once again because she was too afraid to rebel.

The screen door banged against the frame and she disappeared into the back garden. Truth was, Grandma controlled me; she knew every one of my dark secrets, and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it. At times I felt beaten down, exposed, exhausted. Imprisoned like an animal at the zoo, constantly watched. One of these days she’d find me pacing my room…back…forth.

At other times I felt ready to explode, like a giant pinata full of secrets. I’d imagine myself standing on top of a table in the cafeteria and proclaiming to all that I could read minds. That for the past year I’d read every single one of their ridiculous thoughts. The idea left me grinning.

But in less than one year I’d be free of Grandma. She had to know I was eager to attend college, yet she never said anything. She had to know that when I went away, I could do whatever I wanted. She had to know I had plans to visit her as little as possible. Part of me worried that she had some nefarious plan to keep me by her side forever. I shuddered at the thought.

Slowly, as if pulled by some invisible string, I made my way to the screen door. Grandma stood in the middle of our small, overgrown yard, just stood there, looking at her stupid lilac bush. She worked on that thing night and day and still it didn’t bloom. Why, I wanted to know, would she waste her time? But she never could give me a proper answer. She’d lost her son, she’d lost her daughter-in-law and maybe she knew she was losing me. Was the lilac some desperate attempt to hold onto something?

A horn blared out front, pulling me from my morose thoughts. For a brief moment, I paused, feeling bad about leaving her here alone. She didn’t have friends, she didn’t have family but for me. Her entire life revolved around some desperate attempt to keep us safe from unknown enemies. I knew, deep down, she was only trying to protect me, but it didn’t make me feel any less caged. The horn blared again. If I stayed here, I’d become alone and bitter. I’d become her, and I couldn’t let that happen.

I set my pop on the counter and moved to the front door. Emily was parked alongside the curb, her new red convertible shiny, free of dents and scratches. I knew that wouldn’t last long, the girl had almost flunked Driver’s Ed. I hadn’t said how ridiculous it was to get a convertible when you lived in Maine. Icy roads and convertibles didn’t mesh. But Emily loved the car and Emily got what she wanted, everything but attention from her parents.

Blonde and blue eyed, she was everyone’s idea of perfection and she was my best friend. I couldn’t hate my abilities, no, because if I couldn’t read minds, I would never be friends with Emily. I would never get the grades I got, and I wouldn’t be as good at soccer as I was. I knew answers, I knew game plays, I knew what people were thinking practically before they did.

“Come on!” She waved me over, large Chanel sunglasses covering half her face. Fall in Maine was far from warm, but she liked to pretend she was some incarnate version of Audrey Hepburn. If anything, with my petite features and dark hair, I looked more like the old movie actress. But if Emily wanted to be Audrey, Emily got to be Audrey.

I tripped down the brick steps, eager to escape if only for the evening. Some days were harder to get through than others. Today was one of those days. At times I felt like I was acting; no one knew the real me. My smile wavered and I swallowed over the sudden lump in my throat. They only knew the person they wanted me to be. It was exhausting. But today I didn’t care. I wouldn’t care. Today no one had died at the cafe and I was going driving with my best friend. And most importantly, after today I’d no longer have to take the bus to school.

“It’s gorgeous,” I said the one thing she was waiting for me to say, the thing she wanted to hear. She could have gotten a car months ago, but had waited for them to ship this one specially from Germany or some other car-loving country. “You’re so lucky.”

Because we were constantly moving, it made it hard for me to get a job and buy my own car. Heck, I’d be happy to have my Grandma’s rusty Toyota.

Emily shrugged, but I knew she was thrilled I was envious. Emily’s desire was to be worshipped and envied by all. Not that she was a horrible person. No, she wasn’t. At least not deep down. I was the only one who knew she cried herself to sleep most nights. I was the only one who knew what was wrong when her gaze got that far away, sad look. Both doctors, her parents were often gone and Emily looked for attention where she could get it. Of course she’d never admit that dark secret, but she didn’t need to.

How I wished I could tell her I understood. But she’d die if I admitted I knew the truth. And so I pretended that everything was great and so did she. I pulled open the passenger door and settled onto the soft, black leather seat.

Jumping from school to school, I’d had to learn how to make friends fast. I held no illusions. I knew Emily and I wouldn’t be friends if it wasn’t for my ability. I knew exactly what Emily wanted me to do, think, say, and because of that, I was her perfect B.F. We sure as heck wouldn’t be friends if I told her what I was really thinking, but today that didn’t matter because the sky was clear and the air somewhat warm for October.

I smoothed my fingers over the arm rest as Emily took off. I didn’t bother leaving Grandma a note. She knew where I was going. At least, she would until I got out of range. At some point, and I still wasn’t sure where, she wasn’t able to read my thoughts anymore. It was a realization I’d stumbled upon three years ago when I’d gone off with a friend without telling Grandma, only to return and find her frantic with worry. The only time she’d shown she cared.

It was a thrilling feeling of escape that coursed through my body as we drove out of town toward the coast. Emily whipped around a curve and I fell into the door, laughing. Excitement followed Emily wherever she went. It was part of the reason why I liked her; she could make me forget that I was a freak. The world was a movie, and she was the star. At the moment she was pretending she was some hot spy and being chased by an equally hot guy. Of course she’d never admit how many times she invented movies in her head and she’d probably kill herself if she realized I knew.

“Where should we go?” I asked, a secret smile playing on my lips.