Darkening Chaos: Book Three of The Destroyer Trilogy (51 page)

“Sorry!”
Laney apologizes. She finally manages to drop her lunch tray on the table, and
grabs a handful of napkins. She passes them to me with another apology. “Sorry,
Van, did I get it all over you? These new heels have been tripping me up all
day.”

“I
told you they were too high,” I say as I take the napkins and start wiping off
my leg. Laney grimaces and points to my hair as well. Shaking my head at her, I
wipe applesauce out of my platinum locks.

“They
aren’t too high! I just need a little practice,” Laney says with a pout.

“If
you haven’t mastered walking by now …”

Laney
opens her mouth to object, but is cut off by a new arrival. Two new arrivals,
actually. Identically adorable, Sandra and Kari barely reach five foot, but
their eclectic style—which consists mainly of as many mismatching colors and
patterns as possible—makes them extremely noticeable. They sit down at the
table in perfect unison. I think they practice that. Beyond weird, but they’re
my friends, and I don’t have nearly enough of those to go tossing them out just
because of a few idiosyncrasies. The banana yellow top with the flouncy green
and pink ruffled skirt, fur lined boots, grey dancer’s shrug, and rhinestone
studded belt are quickly giving me a headache. And that’s just Sandra’s outfit.
Kari’s is even worse.

If
they notice my chagrin at all, they don’t mention it. Kari says, “We think your
stilettos are to die for …”

“You
would,” I interject.

Sandra
throws me a scowl and continues. “But Vanessa is right about your ability to walk
across a flat surface without nearly killing yourself.”

Vanessa.
Why do they insist on using my full name?

“I
am perfectly capable …”

“No,
you aren’t,” Kari interrupts, “so we think you should give us the shoes. We’ll
make much better use of them.”

They
both grin. I feel like Alice staring at a double nightmare of Cheshire cats.
Any minute now the rest of them will disappear—taking their bizarre outfits
with them, hopefully—and leave only their too-big smiles behind. Laney sticks
her tongue out at them. It completes the down-the-rabbit-hole experience for
me.

I’m
determined to tune all three of them out as Sandra starts talking about feather
boas and rubber galoshes. Maybe I should feel left out, but the hum of
craziness that surrounds my group of friends in comforting. Until Laney jabs me
with her elbow and starts waving wildly at someone behind the twins’ heads. All
I can see is a hot pink streak against a background of short ebony hair. Friend
of the twins?

“What
is your problem today?” I snap at Laney when she elbows me again.

The
pink-and-black-headed mystery sees Laney and changes course. Laney is too busy
gesturing like a maniac to answer me, so I scoot away from her and start
stabbing at my meatloaf, or whatever it’s supposed to be. I’m still trying to
talk myself into taking a bite when a familiar feeling courses through me. My
head pops up to stare it this nightmare of a girl.

I
can feel the muscles in my body tightening to the point of near-rupture. Every
cell is begging me to give in again. Tears burn behind my eyes at the effort it
takes not to listen. I can almost feel it … almost feel her suntanned skin
dimpling under the pressure of my grip before giving way and breaking in
welcome of my hunger.

Terrified
by the intensity of my reaction, I scour her for some explanation. I scan the
heart shaped face and subtle makeup that make her pretty, but average, the
clothes that are stylish without being too trendy, and even her mannerisms with
no success. I shouldn’t want to harm her, but I do. I want it more than
anything I have ever wanted in my life. The sound of something snapping draws
her’s and Laney’s attention to me.

“Geez,
use a fork much?” Laney asks me. The girl across from me stares with one
eyebrow cocked curiously.

It
takes me a minute to look down at my fork. I blink in surprise at the broken
shards of plastic littering my meatloaf.

“You
… all right?” Laney asks slowly.

My
gaze snaps over to her. Shame for my thoughts and near-actions overpower my
hunger enough for me to respond. “Yeah, sorry. This food, it’s so gross,” I
mumble.

“So
you thought killing it a second time would help that problem?” Laney laughs and
bumps into me with her shoulder. She’s known me for long enough not to be
surprised by my sudden and unexplained funks. She flicks away her worry and
turns back to the pink and black haired girl. I reluctantly follow her gaze.

The
hunger tries to explode again when I look at her, but I do better now that I’m
expecting it. A little better, at least. It’s only a gnawing ache on the brink
of breaking me rather than an all-consuming need. What really helps me keep
myself in check is her wide-eyed expression. Laney may be able to brush off my
weirdness, but this girl is staring at me like she’s afraid I might take my
mangled fork to her eyes. She must be psychic. Or just smarter than the average
bear.

Frightened
by my reaction to this girl, I sit very still, and will her to do the same. I
can’t mess up. I can’t give in. After Oscar … one more mistake would mean
leaving, at the very least. Being locked up, dying, those would be the worst,
but still very possible. I can’t do that to Zander. My brother has suffered so
much already. Thinking of him focuses my energy. I’m the only one left who can
protect him. Even knowing that, I struggle to rein in my hunger.

“This
is my cousin, Ivy Guerra. I told you about her, remember? Her family just moved
here from San Diego,” Laney says.

I
just stare at Ivy for a few seconds. It’s not that I’m trying to be rude, but
if I open my mouth right now the result may not be pretty. I flex and point my
toes, slowly, focusing on the contracting and relaxing of my muscles. It’s a
trick my grandma taught me. It helps sometimes.

“Nice
to meet you, Ivy,” I finally manage to say. “I’m Van.”

“Short
for Vanessa?” she asks.

I
nod, not wanting to open my mouth again. 

A
tray drops onto the table next to me, splashing yet another blob of apple sauce
onto my body. My arm, this time. “Would people please stop spilling food on
me?” I snap at the newest arrival.

His
answering grin weakens my anger as it always does. His presence distracts me
from Ivy beautifully, as well. I do my best to remain annoyed, but I’m secretly
grateful he showed up. The warmth behind his smile seeps under my skin.

“Sorry,
Van. Who else spilled goop on you?” he asks. “Laney? I saw her fall into a row
of lockers on her way to class this morning.”

Laney
pointedly ignores him after that, and he turns his attention to trying to wipe
the applesauce off my arm. His touch is a little too much like a caress. My
body softens in response, savoring the contact. Ivy notices the exchange, her
brow rising in question. I force myself to snatch the napkin out of his hand
and finish cleaning myself up without looking at either of them. It earns me a
frustrated sigh from Ketchup, but he knows this is how it has to be. Knowing
doesn’t stop him from scooting his chair close enough that our knees touch. I
resist the urge to lay my hand on his thigh, but I can’t make myself move away
from him.

“Ivy,
this is Ketchup. Ketchup, Ivy. She’s my cousin,” Laney says casually.

“Ketchup?”
Ivy asks. Yeah, she definitely thinks we’re all crazy. “What kind of name is
that?”

“Why?
What’s wrong with it?” Ketchup asks in mock outrage. “You’re named after a
vine. Why can’t I be named after America’s favorite condiment?”

Ivy
doesn’t seem to know how to respond. She takes a bite of her roll, watching him
carefully. He keeps up his attempt at an intimidating glare. I know he’s a big
dopey pushover, but Ivy doesn’t. I grab an apple slice off Ketchup’s tray and
throw it at his chest. Laney backs me up by chucking a piece of bread at him.
His façade cracks when he jumps and tries to deflect the food missiles. I just
shake my head at him and try not to regret having pushed him away. As if he
knows my unspoken desire, he moves his chair even closer to me when he sits
back down. I swallow hard and turn my attention back to Ivy.

“His
name’s not really Ketchup. It’s just a nickname,” I say in an attempt to appear
halfway normal and ward off any awkward questions.

“How
do you get a nickname like Ketchup?” she asks.

“By
pulling his lunch out first day of kindergarten and having nothing but a plain
piece of bread and a bunch of ketchup packets,” Laney says. “He sat there
squirting ketchup all over his bread while the rest of us just stared at him.
And then he actually ate it.” Laney shivers at the memory.

I
like ketchup as much as the next person, but gross! Ketchup just laughs as he
tears the corners off three ketchup packets and starts squirting them all over
his meatloaf. Ivy and I both wrinkle our noses at him.

“What?”
he laughs. “You’re supposed to eat ketchup on meatloaf!”

“Not
that much,” I say.

“Whatever.”
He drops the empty packets on my tray and takes a huge bite of his ketchup-drowned
lunch.

“What’s
your real name?” Ivy asks him when he finishes chewing the gloppy mess.

Ketchup
stops, taps his finger against the side of his head, and says, “You know, I
don’t think anyone remembers.”

“Really?”
Ivy asks sarcastically.

He
looks over at Laney and me for confirmation. We both shrug. Even the teachers
know him as Ketchup. Ivy shakes her head.

“This
has got to be the weirdest group of friends I’ve ever met. Two matching fashion
catastrophes, my klutzy cousin, a guy named Ketchup, and a … and Van. You guys
are messed up.”

Ketchup
and Laney both laugh at Ivy’s apt descriptions of everyone, but I’m left
wondering what she was going to say about me. And a what? She can’t possible
know anything about me. Right? People knowing is dangerous. She just thinks I’m
strange, that’s all. I tell myself that, but for some reason, I don’t believe
my own words.

Something
seems off about this girl, though I can’t put my finger on why. I’m going to
have to keep an eye on her, which is probably a bad idea given the hunger I am
still struggling to control. Just thinking about subjecting myself to her
presence again makes giving in that much more irresistible. My fingers grip the
edges of my chair, clenching to the point of deforming the bumpy plastic seat.

I
frantically try to calm myself back down. Breathing, stretching, counting down
from one million. Sensing my need, Ketchup’s hand slides onto my knee and
squeezes. My hunger instantly drops a few notches as I focus on his touch. No
one else notices the contact, but it helps immensely. I try to banish the rest
of my hunger by drinking in the ambient noise of the cafeteria and letting it
momentarily numb my brain.

“So,
how did you all end up becoming friends?” Ivy asks, her voice ratcheting up the
hunger inside me. “You guys seem like a pretty odd combination, so there must
be a good story behind it.”

Oh
no. My insides squirm and twist in panic. My hand snaps down over Ketchup’s,
begging for strength. I try to find my voice somewhere amid the aching need to
hurt Ivy so I can stop anyone at the table from answering and giving her any
more hints that there’s something wrong with me, but Ketchup is faster.

“Not
just one story, but six very interesting stories. One for each of us.”

“But
there’s only five of you here,” Ivy argues.

“You
haven’t met Wyatt and Holly yet,” Laney pipes in.

“That’s
seven.”

“There’s
six, not including Van.”

“Why
doesn’t Van get a story?”

“Because
she’s in all of ours,” Ketchup says. “She’s the one who brought us all together.”

“How
did she do that?” Ivy asks.

I
want to stop him from saying anything. My rigid muscles won’t let me. All I can
manage is to look over at her and see the heat of something I don’t understand
held tight in her features as she waits for her answer.

Ketchup
grins, sending my stomach down to the basement. “She saved our lives.”                 

About
the Author

DelSheree
Gladden lives in New Mexico with her husband and two children. The Southwest is
a big influence in her writing because of its culture, beauty, and mythology.
Local folk lore is strongly rooted in her writing, particularly ideas of
prophecy, destiny, and talents born from natural abilities. When she is not
writing, DelSheree is usually teaching yoga, coaching gymnastics, reading,
painting, sewing, or studying about teeth as a Dental Hygiene student. Her
works include
Escaping Fate
,
Twin Souls Saga,
and
The
Destroyer Trilogy
. Look for her new series,
SomeOne Wicked This Way
Comes
, with the release of the first book in the series,
Wicked Hunger
,
coming July 2013.