Unveiled: A Paranormal Urban Fantasy Novel (The Dark Skies Trilogy Book One) (8 page)

My uncle and I cross the parking lot to the white pickup. As we're pulling out, I glance over at the exterior brick wall. It's completely painted.

Jax is gone. His paint cans, brushes, and drop cloths have vanished. Yet, somehow in twenty minutes, he managed to paint the entire front of the huge building that sits half a block long and twenty feet high.

My jaw drops because that's totally impossible.

As the white pickup truck rambles onto the street, and we pass the front of the plaza, I realize that he hasn't just painted one wall, he's somehow painted the entire building.

"
W
hy are
you in such a good mood?" my uncle asks as we drive to school the next morning.

And it's true. I'm in an incredible mood. I’ve put the embarrassing defeat to Jax in karate class behind me. Now two little words make my heart soar -- Chad Olson, Chad Olson, Chad Olson!

I can't wait for first-period bio where we’ll continue working with our lab partners.

"Um..." I shrug one shoulder and look perplexed. "No reason, I guess."

There is no possible way I am going to mention anything about a boy to my uncle. He would pop out a kitten. The idea of boys and me completely unhinges the man. Trust me; I know from previous experience, it's not pretty.

"You just seem..." he glances suspiciously at me out of the corner of his eye as he drives. "I don't know. Different."

This morning, I got up early to straighten my hair and actually slap on a little more makeup than my standard mascara and blush. Not too much. Just enough to spruce me up a bit.

"I guess I'm just looking forward to my history quiz." I avert my eyes. "Cause I'm super prepared and everything."

"Right," he says, with a tight grin. "Just because you aren't going to tell me why you're in such a good mood doesn't mean you have to lie."

"I have no idea what you're even talking about."

After he drops me off, still floating on air, I head down my school's main hallway. My mood is dampened a bit when I see somebody has trashed one of the lockers. Open books and papers lie strewn across the wide tile hallway.

As I get closer, I realize that it's my locker.

Ruby is already there, trying her best to collect loose papers and stack my books up, so they don't get kicked down the hallway.

"Astrid." Ruby stands when she sees me coming. She looks frazzled. "I just got here and found it like this."

“Who would do this?” My positive vibe instantly vanishes.

I thought I fit in at this school. I thought people actually liked me here. I've been at other schools where I was the outcast. I've even been bullied. But not here. Never here.

"It was Meegan McGovern," Ruby glowers. She leans toward me and whispers, "She's totally pissed that you're all lovey-dovey with Chad Olson."

"What are you talking about!?" I ask, completely mortified. I bend down to collect a few runaway worksheets. "I was his science lab partner for exactly 45 minutes. There is no universe in which that could be considered lovey-dovey."

"I'm just saying," she shrugs, then hands me a sad, rumpled pile of my notes and worksheets. The pages are torn and crumpled. A couple even have footprints on them. "Is anything missing?"

I do a quick inventory. None of my books or folders are gone. My pencil bag, hairbrush, and water bottle are all still there. I quickly scan the inside of my locker. It doesn't hit me until I glance at the inside of the empty metal door.

"Wait. My photographs are gone. I had pictures taped to the door."

"That's random," Ruby replies.

"There were only a couple," I say, still rummaging around to see if they got stuck in any of the other papers. "Two from the school trip to San Francisco last year, and a really old one from my old school."

"Were they your only copies?"

"No," I say, realizing that I have backups. "They’re all on my phone."

"Then it's not that big of a deal." Ruby nods as the first-period bell rings.

"Right," I nod and grin like it's no big thing. But I feel oddly violated. And somehow I don't think Meegan McGovern is behind this.

Strolling into bio, I do my very best to shake off the locker thing and look all calm, cool, and collected. Chad is already sitting at our lab table with the squid on the desk.

"Hey," I say, as I pull off my backpack and take a seat.

"Hey," he nods.

A long awkward silence follows as I pull out my bio folder and retrieve my worksheet.

"So, um," he begins. "Did you already do the reading and fill in all that stuff on the lab report?"

"Not really," I lie. Actually, it's only a half lie. I didn't do the reading because I've already had bio three times, so I just filled in the report.

"Cause I was having a little trouble with the anatomy section," he confesses.

"Oh," I say, not sure where he's going with this. Am I supposed to offer to help him or something? Would that be weird?

"I was wondering if you could help me?"

"Oh," I repeat, sounding like a babbling idiot.

He must think I don't want to help him because he quickly adds, "I mean, you seem like you're pretty good at this stuff, but you're probably busy and everything."

"I'd be happy to help," I reply as my stomach flip-flops.

"Maybe we could meet after school," he suggests with a smile. "In the library. If you have time?"

"I can probably find a little time." I smile back.

Guess what? My good vibes have returned.

"
W
hat's
wrong with these waffles?" I ask, nearly choking on the flavorless wad of dough in my mouth.

"How should I know?" Ruby replies, busy shopping online for shoes. "I don't do carbs."

"They're buckwheat." Phoebe, who usually doesn't have lunch this period, replies. She's only sitting with us because none of her senior pals are currently around. "Something about the lunch program becoming healthier."

In the shade of a huge eucalyptus, our trio sits at a picnic table dotted with the shadowy residue of years of dried bird poop.

This is the first school I've been to where you can pretty much eat lunch outside all year long. I love this place so much that the remnants of bird poop don't even bother me.

I'm still in a dreamy mood from my pleasant interaction with Chad Olson and our afternoon study date that I continue to eat the chewy and bland waffles.

"What's up with you, Astrid?" Phoebe asks, her eyebrows raised. "You look all glowy or something."

Ruby keeps her eyes glued to the computer screen. "She's giddy because she’s partners with Chad Olson in biology class."

"Please tell me that isn't Brad Olson's little brother?" Phoebe makes a face. I’m starting to think she’s a little obsessed with Brad. "Cause those Olson boys all think they're God's gift."

"Chad and Brad?" I repeat. "Wow, creative parents."

"Don't condemn Chad cause Brad dumped you," Ruby says to her sister as she picks at a Caesar salad between sips of some fruity calorie free liquid. "I think Chad wants to ask our little Astrid here to the spring formal."

"That's ridiculous," I snort. But secretly, I really, really, really hope that it isn't ridiculous. I mean, the spring formal is probably something of a reach, but maybe coffee or something in the next, let's say, 6 to 8 months – that isn't biology class related – might not be totally unreasonable.

"I thought Meegan McGovern had her claws dug pretty deep into him?" Phoebe asks.

"Nuh uh. I hear that he and Meegan are splitsville," Ruby smiles, finally looking up at us as she swivels the laptop toward me. "Check out these metallic, color-blocked peep-toes. To die for."

"Well, I'm sure Astrid here is not interested in a lower life form like Chad Olson," Phoebe says.

"Oh yes, I am," I state emphatically. "Quite interested, in fact."

"Astrid, believe me, you can do better."

"Okay, first of all, I think Chad Olson is super hot, and if he asks me to hold his backpack while he blows his nose, I will feel totally honored." I choose to ignore the sour face Phoebe is making. "And, in fact, he did ask me to study with him after school today."

"That's amazing! Today?" Ruby says, her mouth wide open. "Let's go to the mall."

"What? How does that have anything to do with anything?" I ask, thinking I missed some transition in this conversation.

"To buy you something to wear for your study date," she replies.

"But it's after school in the library," I reply, looking down at my uniform. "I think what I'm wearing is fine."

"C'mon. We have to leave now to make it back before lit." She stands, looking at her watch and calculating. "We have 52 minutes before the bell, so we can just zip over to the London Square Mall and, at least, get you some decent shoes."

"I thought you liked the ones you found online? Peep toes to die for?"

"Not for a study date." She rolls her eyes like she can barely deal with my stupidity. "Oh young grasshopper, you have much to learn. Maybe we can find some earrings and perfume too."

Fifteen minutes later, I find myself strolling through an open-air mall with a $9 pressed juice in my hand. It's pretty quiet except for a few bored window-shopping fashionistas tottering around on wedge heels and clutching their designer bags.

"Maybe this wasn't a great idea," I say as we’re assaulted by a cacophony of scents as we stroll past a fancy candle store. "And you know what, I think I like the shoes we saw online. Plus it's free shipping."

Ignoring me, Ruby spots something in the window of a shop and decides that I must try it on. "You would look fierce in those jeans."

"But I thought we were here for shoes?"

"You need something to wear with them, right?" Ruby says, heading inside the shop toward an impossibly beautiful redheaded salesgirl who's busy texting behind the counter.

"Hi. My friend wants to try on the jeans in the window."

The salesgirl turns her perfectly made-up smoky eyes to me and seems to be deciding whether she's going to let me try on her merchandise or not. "What size? An 11?"

Ruby's mouth hardens. "Not unless it runs as small as your --"

"I'll try a size 3," I interrupt, not in the mood for a catfight. "If you have it."

Despite her annoyance that we've asked her to do her job, the salesgirl quickly locates the jeans and gets me installed in the cushiest dressing room I have ever seen.

From outside the velvety green curtain, Ruby says, "I'm going to see if they have anything else you should try on."

After she leaves, I flip the price tag over to see that the jeans cost $268. Really? Could this be a typo?

I slip off my uniform skirt, then wiggle into the jeans. At first, I don't think they're going to fit, but then I get myself zipped up and turn to the mirror.

The jeans fit perfectly.

In fact, they're making me look tall and lean. I guess that's what happens when you pay nearly three hundred bucks for something.

Just as I swivel to check out the rear view, the lights in the dressing room go out thrusting me into almost complete darkness.

"Hello!?" I call out to anyone in the general vicinity. "Um, what's up with the light?"

After a moment, emergency lights buzz on casting everything in a sickly green aura. I turn back around to find I now look weird and gaunt in the ugly light.

My spine tingles with a peculiar sense of deja vu, until I remember where I've seen light this strange color before -- in the back of the Mariposa's minimart.

Suddenly, Señora Mariposa's parting words echo in my head, "The light will be the first warning."

But a warning for what? Why didn't I think to ask her?

Suddenly, the curtain to my dressing room flies open. Even in the dim light, I see the salesgirl staring at me coldly.

"Hey! Excuse me." I cry.

She just glowers at me, and I realize there's something wrong with her eyes. They're glowing like a cat's, except they're a frightening deep red like the color of blood. But even with the weird color, they look dead.

"Did the power go out or something?" I ask dumbly. With my back to the wall, I feel like a trapped wild animal.

Then I see a little projection radiating out in front of her face like a 3-D hologram. It's me. It's the image of me from the photograph taken in San Francisco. The one stolen from my locker.

"Whoa!" I say, trying not to panic. "What's going on?"

But as soon as the words come out of my mouth, she grabs me, with incredible strength, easily lifting my whole body off the ground.

Then I'm slammed into a long mirror on the back wall. I crumple to the floor as a thousand shards of mirror rain down on me, cutting my arms and legs.

"Stop! Why are you doing this?” I struggle to stand, fear filling every inch of me. “You must have me confused with someone else."

The jagged glass has cut me in several places, including a deep gash from by neck along my collarbone. It stings. But I can feel it already starting to heal itself.

The red-eyed redheaded salesgirl says nothing as I heal. Her head is cocked in such a way that I can see she has a strange circular tattoo on her neck. The ink looks like it’s swirling. Like it’s somehow alive.

Before I can scramble away, she lunges forward, bearing down on me with her crazy cold blood red eyes. With super human strength, she hoists me up like I'm nothing more than a rag doll.

"Please," I utter meekly, "I don't understand what's going on."

Swiveling, the crazed salesgirl spins me around then physically throws me for a second time, all the way across the room where I slam into another wall then crumple to the floor.

My left arm takes the majority of the blow and the sharp pain followed by a horrible throbbing makes me wonder if I broke it. Rolling my hand in a circle, my wrist aches but is still functional.

It flashes through my brain that I should know what to do. I've only had ten years of martial arts training. In theory, this is exactly what it's been for.

What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to do!

My mind is suddenly completely blank.

A weapon! That’s what I need. My karate training finally kicks into gear. My mind slows and focuses.

The only thing nearby is an empty clothes rack. I shove the hanging clothes to the ground, grab the top metal bar and give the supporting leg a yank, which dismantles the whole thing freeing the 4-foot long bar.

"This’ll do," I say to myself. Gripping it with two hands, I swing it around and over my head turning it into a makeshift bow staff. The whoosh of air stops the creepy salesgirl’s forward movement.

I strike, but lightning fast, she blocks the bar with her forearm. While effective, I can hear the crunch of her bone, yet she shows no trace of pain. Instead, her other arm moves forward trying to punch me in the face.