Chosen at Nightfall (A Shadow Falls Novel) (36 page)

He stood up, concern in his face. “Why? What is it that you know?”

“Just a feeling,” she lied.

“I don’t like that feeling,” he said.

“Join the crowd.” She blinked. “Just teach me to fight, Lucas.”

Appearing resigned, he picked up the two swords. Her weapon started glowing the instant she wrapped her hand around it. Perhaps it was her imagination, but it seemed to be glowing brighter. What did that mean? Did the sword, like the ghost, know the time for battle drew near?

Lucas stood beside her and commenced doing warm-up stances. She immediately followed suit.

Kylie’s phone, tucked in her pocket, beeped with an incoming text. She waited for the next break before she pulled it out. It was from Derek.

Call me.

Was he back to trying to convince her to rekindle their relationship? She recalled seeing him frown last night when Lucas had insisted on staying at the cabin to protect her.

“Who is it?” Lucas asked.

She hesitated, then just spit it out. “Derek.”

He frowned but remained silent. They went back to the basic form exercises.

“When are we going to spar?” she asked as she copied his moves.

“When are you going to tell that fairy that it’s really over between you two?”

“I already did,” she answered before she realized the wisdom against it.

He stopped moving. His sword, pointing upward, came down in a whoosh. He faced her. “You did?”

It was too late to take it back. “Yes.”

He smiled. “Thank you.”

She frowned. “I didn’t do it for you. I did it for him.”

His smile remained strong and one eyebrow arched up. “But I’m the reason you did it.”

It wasn’t a question, but she could deny it. Then too much time had passed for her to do it. It would’ve sounded false. It would’ve been false.

An even bigger smile appeared in his eyes. A smile of confidence. Of hope.

“I love you,” he said, his voice almost musical with happiness.

She shot him a scowl. “Isn’t saying that a bit dangerous considering these aren’t wooden swords and the ends aren’t even taped?”

He laughed. A real laugh, and the sound of it washed over her like a soft summer rain on an extra-hot day. Then flashing in her mind was the look on his face when the weres had left him alone on parents’ day. Then she recalled that Will and Chris were out there, probably listening to every word they said. Will was supposed to be a friend, but would he, too, turn his back on Lucas?

She cut her eyes to the woods and whispered, “We’re not alone, remember?”

“I don’t care who hears it. I love you!” His voice rose louder this time.

She frowned. “Nothing’s changed.”

“Everything has changed,” he said.

No it hadn’t. He might think he could walk away from everything that had mattered to him, but she wasn’t about to let him do that. She loved him too much.

“Are we going to practice? If not, I’m leaving.”

“Then let’s practice,” he said.

They continued with the exercises for another ten minutes. Finally, he faced her. “We’ll start, but remember, this isn’t wood. We start slow.”

He wasn’t joking about slow. They moved at a snail’s pace and continued for the next fifteen minutes. “Who were you fighting with last night?” His question broke the long tense silence as they finally started picking up speed.

“The ghost.”

“Is she good?” he asked.

The fact that he asked about a ghost surprised her.

“She claims she’s better than you.”

“I knew I didn’t like her,” he said, and half smiled. After a pause, he asked, “Who is this ghost?” His gaze stayed on the swords.

“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. And just like that, Kylie sensed it was imperative that she find out.

*   *   *

Kylie didn’t remember to call Derek. She and Lucas had a good practice. They didn’t really let loose and spar like they would have with wooden swords, but almost.

When she checked her phone at almost midnight that night and found another text from Derek, she felt guilty.
Call me now!

She’d seen him at dinner—that had been after his text—and he hadn’t said anything. He hadn’t even sat with her; instead he’d grabbed his dinner and left.

Still a bit worried, but not knowing if he’d still be awake, she texted him back.
What’s up?

She waited up for a good forty-five minutes to see if he would text her back. Nothing.

Frustrated, she flopped back on her pillow. The ghostly chill waved through the room for about the third time since she’d come to bed, but the spirit didn’t stay.

Kylie’s conversation with Holiday this afternoon added merit to her feelings. If she could just figure out the spirit’s identity, it might help to answer a lot of questions.

While the spirit hadn’t confirmed it, Kylie was almost certain the ghost was connected to Mario.

“Who are you?” Kylie asked the wisp of cold moving like a quick shadow in the room. “Tell me. Or at least show me something.”

No answer came. Accepting that no spirit spoke before they were ready, Kylie rolled over and tried to sleep. Tried to think about something other than the ghost.

Anything other than killing someone.

Anything other than dying.

Anything other than Lucas and the hope she’d seen in his eyes.

Sleep had just about lured her in when she heard a slight noise. Footsteps on the wood floor. She opened her eyes and reached under her pillow for the sword.

Under her pillow? She didn’t sleep with the sword.

Instinctively, she knew they were coming after her.

Who was coming for her?

Something wasn’t right. Yet Kylie pulled out the weapon and lunged out of bed. Her feet landed on carpet. She looked down at the Oriental rug. Plush. Expensive.

Where was she?

Or a better question was: Who was she?

Heart pounding at the sound of the approaching footsteps, she looked around the room. A bedroom. Not Kylie’s bedroom.

Heavy, expensive-looking wood furniture glistened from the little moonlight filtering through a large bay window that looked out at palm trees.

The taste of fear and fury lingered on her tongue. She raised her sword. Only to realize it wasn’t the sword that had been delivered to her, but the sword of …

Everything made sense now. She was the spirit and she was in a vision. She spotted a heavy framed mirror over a dresser. For a flicker of a second, she stared at the image. Her dark hair hung loose, uncombed.

But causing Kylie’s first stirring of panic was the gown. The one the spirit had obviously been wearing when she’d been murdered.

And Kylie was going to live it. Her first impulse was to scream out “Hell, no.” Her second was to be aware, to find the answers she needed.

The thundering of footsteps drew closer, thudding as if climbing old wooden steps. Instinctually, Kylie knew that the spirit had expected her attackers. She had known that the night would bring her death. She’d chosen to wear white, yet had questioned if the sign of purity would do her any good.

Now as she waited for the end to draw near, a surge of regret, remorse for the life she had lived, crossed her mind. But deep down she accepted it was too late. Too late to change how she’d lived. But she could and would change how she died.

Who are you?
The question whispered through Kylie’s mind. She prayed the answer would make itself clear so she could leave this vision before she had to live this woman’s death.

The spirit looked to the window almost as if considering escape.
Get out,
Kylie told her.
You don’t have to die.

Even before the thought was complete, Kylie knew the actions of the spirit on this eve of her death had already been written. Kylie had not been brought inside the body, or the memory, to change what was. She’d been brought here to live it.

To learn the truth.

What truth? Why hadn’t the spirit left? Kylie sensed that leaving had been an option. The spirit had chosen to die. For what cause?

“Mama.” The young boy ran through the door.

“He found us.” His eyes rounded with fear and tears. “He found us. Now what do we do?”

She grabbed the boy by his shoulders. The spirit wanted to embrace him, to bury her face in his hair so she could die with the smell of her only son still filling her senses. But time had run out. She pushed him into the closet. “Use the trapdoor like I showed you. Run and don’t look back.” She shut the closet door at the same time the bedroom door crashed open.

Chapter Thirty-four

The woman, with Kylie living inside her, turned to fight. Not because she thought she could win, but for the little time her son would need to escape. She knew she would die, but it was for her son.

They moved in. There were three of them. They wore black, no masks, and she recognized them.

Knew them well.

Had eaten at their tables.

Laughed at their jokes.

She also recognized the look in their eyes, the drive to complete a job. Killing her was their duty.

She raised her sword and fought. Fought for her son. For a few seconds, she actually bested them, blocked their attempts to draw blood. No one could say she had gone down easy.

The first piercing pain went into her ribs. Kylie screamed for it to stop. She tried to tell herself it wasn’t real, that it wasn’t her, but it felt real. She felt the pain the spirit had felt those last horrific moments of her life.

Felt their weapons slashing into her skin, hitting bone.

Her body grew limp, the pain too much. She dropped to her knees and fell forward to the floor. Her own blood oozed out. The thick flow of fluid warmed the sudden chill. She didn’t fight it. She willed the blood to flow faster. The faster it flowed, the less she hurt.

The coppery scent of blood filled her senses. The stickiness of it seeped beneath her cheek pressed to the cold floor. The last thing she saw was the closet door ajar and her young son watching in horror as she took her last breath.

He hadn’t run. Fury filled her soul.

Would he know? Would he know that the reason she died had been to keep him safe—to protect him from the kind of life she and his father had lived?

The second before death took her, she vowed revenge. Not revenge on the ones who killed her—they were nothing more than pawns doing the devil’s work. She knew, for she had been one of them. The revenge she sought was for the one who’d sent them, the devil himself. As well as the one who had allowed it, the devil’s son.

*   *   *

“Don’t get too close. She might cut your head off with that thing.” Miranda’s shrill voice registered in Kylie’s mind, but it was in the distance.

“She won’t kill me,” Della responded.

“I don’t mean she’d want to.” Miranda’s voice came again. “But hell, you saw how she was dancing around with that sword.”

Her consciousness fought against the void of blackness. She wanted to fall back into the void. It held no memories. It offered escape from what she’d just experienced. The damn voice, the one she couldn’t really identify spoke again.
You need to remember.

Taking a breath, she opened her eyes.

Della’s black, slightly slanted eyes came into focus. “She’s back,” she said in a singsong voice, sounding like a horror film.

Kylie tried to push up but felt too weak.

Della helped her sit up. Kylie looked around. She was in her cabin’s kitchen. Still clutched in her hand was the sword. The vision must have provoked her to pick it up. Remembering parts of the vision, she dropped the sword and ran her hand over her stomach to check for wounds.

None. Only the memory of pain remained. It was over. Everything but the crying. Tears welled in her eyes. How could life be so brutal? So evil?

“You’re not going to kill us, are you?” Miranda asked. Kylie shook her head. As painful as it was to remember details, she needed to remember—she needed answers.

A flash of the little boy in the closet filled her mind, something familiar tickled her memory. Yes,
he
was familiar. Even more, bits and pieces of the story played déjà vu with her mind. Someone had told this story. Who? All of a sudden she knew.

She stood up. Her knees buckled. Della caught her.

“We’ve got to go,” Kylie said.

“It’s kind of hard to go when you can’t stand up,” Della said.

“I can.” Kylie forced herself to stand on her own accord and pushed Della’s hand away.

“Okay, you’re standing,” Della bit out. “Step two is being able to walk.”

Kylie took a few steps and glared back at the vamp.

“Step three is making sense. And it doesn’t make sense for me to walk out of this cabin before I know where we’re going.”

Kylie inhaled. “To Derek’s. I need Derek.”

“Derek?” Miranda said. “And here I thought she’d given up on him and was almost back with Lucas.”

Kylie shot the little witch a pleading look to give it a break. “I’m serious.”

“Can I get my bra on first?” Della asked.

“You don’t need one.” Miranda snickered.

Della shot her a scowl. “You are the witchiest bitch I know.”

Kylie, too emotionally distraught to deal with their bickering, started for the door. She had to know.

Della must have decided Miranda was right about not needing boob support, because she followed Kylie out the door. Pajamas and all.

“You know Burnett will have my head for letting you do this without calling him.”

Kylie started running, her need for answers giving her will. She felt the wind in her hair and the tears run wet down her cheeks.

In less than two minutes, Kylie came to a stop beside Derek’s cabin.

“Okay, wise one, are you going to knock on the door?” Della looked at her, and her smartass expression vanished into one of concern once she saw Kylie’s tears.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It must have been bad.”

Kylie nodded. “I’ll try the window.” She ran to the side of the cabin. The windows were a lot taller than she was. Jumping up, she latched her fingers onto the top of the window ledge and pulled herself up to peer inside.