Alix (The Coven's Grove Chronicles #1) (4 page)

“What in the hell are you two doing back here!” Sam yelled in exasperation. Her blonde head peaked around one of the partitions that still remained in place. Her eyes widened at the destruction. “Hank’s gonna be pissed.”

Alix ignored her shaken friend. She was glad to see Sam uninjured, but Troy had yet to respond. “Troy, say something!” Alix stumbled across the room.

A deep groan issued from behind the wrecked table. Troy’s hand came into view, as he reached up, and grabbed the debris nearby. With a grunt, he hauled himself to his feet. The tangled, ginger locks on his head were standing every which way, while the hairs on his body stood on end. He teetered for a second, before straightening to his full height.

Alix gasped as she approached.

The symbol of protection she had imprinted onto his chest was smoking. The crisp scent of pine and jasper flooded the air around them. Through the small tendrils of smoke, the tattoo glowed like the coals of a freshly billowed fire. Alix looked on, stunned, as the bright embers slowly dulled to a cool black.

“What the hell?” Troy mumbled, as he staggered.

Alix reached out to steady him, but he pulled away. Moisture came to her eyes, as she saw the shock and fear in his. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened.”

Troy said nothing. He shuffled around her, and backed toward the door.

She let him go. There were no words to explain what had happened. No amount of soothing to ease the terror she had seen in him. No way to get him back.

And then, with the jingle of the front bell, he was gone.

A
lix stuffed another handful of potato chips into her mouth. The crunchy, salted disks of heaven did nothing to ease her melancholy. She’d already gone through a tray of cut veggies and dip, a giant Movietime Pretzel, a package of mini-chocolate candy bars, and two twenty-ounce cups of soda. After all of that, she still couldn’t shake the gloominess. Sam had even come over a few times with tequila and ice cream, but her friend’s best efforts to bring cheer, had proven to be just as much of a failure.

Alix’s thick, flannel pajamas, and heavy blanket, were littered with the fallen crumbs of her starchy victims. She huddled deep within her cushy sofa, watching the news on the 65” flat-screen TV she’d bought just two days ago. The thing was way too big for her small studio apartment, but it’d been a rough couple of weeks, and she figured she deserved a present. The small kitchen remained as cluttered as it had always been. While the door to her one-and-only bedroom, displayed the multitude of clipped illustrations and designs she’d gathered over the past couple of years. The walls of the living/dining area were reddish brick, and the floor consisted of hardwood planks, worn from years of use.

Sam had been right about Hank being pissed after Alix had blown up the shop. The old biker couldn’t even speak at first sight of the place. Only his mustache had moved, twitching madly, while he soaked it all in. The tirade that followed had driven Alix to tears. She’d run from the shop, and didn’t return until Sam came by a couple days later to say that Hank wanted Alix back in the shop pronto. It was the old man’s way of saying, “It’s all right kid, sorry for tearin’ ya a new one.” The relief Alix had felt couldn’t be put into words.

The days that followed her return to the tattoo parlor had actually been booming. Apparently the news stations got wind of the “electrical explosion”, and did a little piece on the incident. Hank had been bummed when he saw the report on the nine o’clock news, thinking it would scare off customers, but just the opposite had happened.

Who knew that the types of people looking to get tattoos could be danger seekers,
Alix thought sardonically. Everybody that came into the shop wanted to get a tat while sitting on the table that had flown across the room. Even the cops had shown up. One of them ended up getting a Notre Dame tat of the little fighting Irish guy on his forearm.

Alix couldn’t believe the turn of events, but she wasn’t about to question the good fortune. Hank’s insurance had covered the damages, and the increase in clientele was at an all-time high. Everyone at the shop couldn’t have been happier—everyone except Alix.

She stared at the TV screen, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man that she couldn’t get out of her head. Those crystal blue eyes of his had bored holes into her dreams every night since he’d backed away from her. His face painted with shock and fear.

The memory of that look wasn’t the only thing keeping her up at night. When she wasn’t scrambling away from his penetrating stare, she was ripping his clothes off in heated passion. She’d wake up burning with sweat, needing him so badly, that her softness ached from the lack of being filled. Alix couldn’t understand it. She’d never pined over a guy like this before, never felt so guilty, or responsible. She couldn’t even say his name without tremors running through her.

Alix shook off the memory.
I’m goin’ crazy,
she thought, as she munched on more chips.
There’s no other explanation
.

The news coverage of the small town where Troy said he was off to had lessened over the past week. Alix had watched every snippet of footage she could, but not a single shot of the footage found its way to an ambulance driver or EMT. The only things the journalists appeared to be interested in were the victims of the tragedy, and the police trying to regain control of the situation.

From beyond her windows, various honks, sirens, and street noise lessened, as the evening stretched deeper into the night. Alix turned the volume down once the weather came on. The forecast stated that a cold front was moving in with a heavy chance of snow.

Great,
she thought bitterly.

The digital snowflakes falling behind the weatherman made her shudder. She snuggled deeper into the soft pillows she had encased herself in, waiting for the weariness that lurked on the fringes of her consciousness to rush in, and carry her off to sleep. Her eyelids became heavier and heavier until they finally closed.

The thoughts of a similar, overcast evening drifted to the fore of her hazy mind—the night her gift had manifested. The police hadn’t told Alix much the night her mother died, just that she had been stabbed repeatedly in the chest. That night Alix had unleashed something she didn’t think possible. Some part of herself had lashed out to ease the horrible pain that surely would have devoured her from the inside. She had bound up the agony of her loss into a symbol of her own making, and willed it out into the world. Her first imprint had landed on the same street where her mother’s body had been found. No one had died from the explosion that followed, but plenty had gotten hurt. Alix still didn’t fully understand what had happened. But, the one thing she had figured out over the years of dealing with the gift was that her emotions could be dangerous. Her feelings could amp up the intensity of her power to devastating proportions. The incident with Troy being a perfect example.

The makings of a killer headache pressed against Alix’s temples, and her eyes fluttered open. The trailing thoughts of Troy haunted her. She had thought she was in control that evening in the tattoo parlor. A little turned on maybe…okay, a lot turned on, but in control until she had touched Troy. The sensation of bliss that had rocked her mind and body, had blown that control, and everything else, right out the window.

She would have to be more careful, and possibly even never use her gift again. She scoffed at the thought the instant it came to her. But still, an extended break from imprinting wouldn’t be a bad idea, or unreasonable.
Maybe I can take a few days off,
she thought while rubbing the side of her head.

A series of heavy knocks at the door thundered through the apartment.

Alix snapped to attention. She looked around the room, dazed. It was still dark outside, paid advertising chattered on the TV, and the familiar furnishings of her apartment surrounded her.

The knocking came again, this time more insistent. “Alix?!” a muffled voice called. “Alix, please. Open the door!”

Alix rolled off the sofa, muting the TV as she fell. She scrambled to her feet, and probed the ground with her toes to find her furry slippers. She shuffled across the room to look through the peephole, but before she could, another round of knocking shook the door.

“Alix!” the voice cried. “Please!”

Alix squinted at the tiny dot of light coming from the peephole on her door.

It was Sam.

“Wait a sec!” Alix yelled. “Geez.” She fumbled with the locks and finally got the damn things opened. She pulled the door free. “What the hell S—”

Sam burst into the room shoving Alix back with the force of her entry. The panicked girl then whirled around, and slammed the door shut. Her breath came in ragged gasps, as if she’d been running. She frantically locked everything back into place. Once the door was secured, Sam slowly slid down its surface to rest her knees on the hardwood floor, then her body began to shake with racking sobs.

The grogginess that had clouded Alix’s thoughts from moments before cleared in an instant. She rushed over to Sam, and took hold of the girl’s bobbing shoulders. “Hey,” Alix whispered softly. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

Sam’s soft sobs became a wailing hurricane at that point.

Alix gently stroked her friend’s hair. “Let’s get you to the couch.” She pulled Sam to her feet, and walked her over to the sofa.

Sam clung to her like a child afraid of the dark.

That’s when Alix noticed the blood. It was splattered across Sam’s face in the shape of a wedge, as if it had been sprayed by a high-pressure hose.
What the hell?
Alix thought. She’d never seen her friend like this before. “Were you mugged? Are you all right? What happened?”

Her friend’s only answer was more sobs.

Alix helped Sam onto the couch, then hurried to the kitchen. She poured a cup of coffee from the pot she’d made earlier. She popped it in the microwave for a few seconds. Her gaze lingered on Sam. She wasn’t sure what her friend had gone through, but she knew for a fact it hadn’t been good.

The timer dinged for the coffee.

Alix grabbed the mug out of the microwave, and immediately regretted it. The heat seared her hand, and she jerked away. A dark smear crossed the cup where she’d touched it. She slowly turned her hands over to see the blood covering her palms. It must have come from Sam. Her stomach rolled, and she staggered to the sink to put her hands under the faucet. After scrubbing the blood away, Alix grabbed a towel, and turned back toward Sam.

Her friend sat shivering, eyes darting every-which-way.

“Are you cut?” Alix asked, amazed at the amount of blood. She grabbed her cell phone, as she left the kitchen. “Dammit Sam, are you cut?!”

Sam shook her head.

Alix sat down next to her rattled friend, and offered her the cup of coffee. “I think we need to call the police.”

Sam took the mug, but didn’t drink from it. She looked over at Alix, terror evident in her eyes. “They can’t help.”

“What do you mean?” Alix frowned. “What happened to you?”

The tears that streamed from Sam’s eyes had made her mascara run down her cheeks in two straight lines. Combined with her disheveled hair, and the blood, she looked like a deranged clown from one of those bad horror flicks. “They’re all dead,” she whispered.

“The police?!” Alix’s brows rose in disbelief. “I don’t think—”

“At the shop!” Sam screamed. “Everybody at the shop is dead!” Coffee splashed out of the mug, as Sam came to her feet. “We gotta get out of here!”

“Whoa, hang on a minute!” Alix managed. The thought of everyone at the shop being dead was a bit much for her to believe. She patted the sofa where Sam had been sitting. “You need to slow down, and tell me what happened.”

Sam looked ready to bolt. She clutched the coffee mug so tightly, Alix thought it might shatter in her hands. “You don’t get it. I just came from there, and those…
things
were chasing me. They’re probably at the door right now!” Sam’s expression distorted into a silent cry of horror. Her eyes cut to the door, and she sank to her knees for the second time, whimpering.

Alix had never seen someone paralyzed by fear before, but she figured Sam was experiencing it full on at that moment. The poor girl was delirious. Alix began pressing numbers on her cell. “I’m calling the police.”