Pawn (Nightmares Trilogy #1) (28 page)

Whether it was my words or my tears or
the situation as a whole, I couldn’t know for sure. But Mom looked
so defeated sitting slumped over in the kitchen chair. I actually
wanted to put my arms around her, comfort her. Only before my feet
would obey my brain’s command to move, she started speaking
again.

“All I have ever wanted was to protect
you, Endora. Ever since I found out about you, I have made it my
life’s mission to keep you safe. If I let Mark stay in your life,
you would be in constant danger. The funny part about that is that
when we agreed to raise you we both agreed it was to give you a
better life.” Mom laughed, short and mirthless, and my blood ran
cold. What was she talking about? Found out about me? Agreed to
raise me?

“Sam was hesitant at first, but she
never wanted children. My baby sister was too selfish for that. I
worried that she would change her mind after you were born. I loved
Sam, but when she died and you lived, I actually thanked God. Now I
could protect you, for real. Nothing could come between
us.”

All the color drained from my face and
I shook my head like there was water in my ears. Mom wasn’t making
any sense, her words little more than gibberish. Surely, surely she
was not saying what it sounded like she was saying.

Oblivious to the world crashing down
around me, Mom continued, “Then Mark got this crazy idea in his
head that there was something wrong with you. I begged him to let
it go,” she shook her head sadly, “but no, not Mark Andrews. He
could never let anything go. He told me he did, though. Imagine my
surprise when I found out his sabbaticals were really research
trips for his obsession with the underworld. And now, after I have
exhausted every resource I have to keep you safe from his manic
ramblings, he still manages to get to you.”

Tears glistened in Mom’s
brown eyes when she met my horrified gaze. If I weren’t already in
a state of shock, that would have put me over the edge.
Mom never cries
, I
thought dully. As if realizing she’d said more than she meant to,
Mom jumped to her feet and crossed the room. Tentatively, she
touched my shoulder, giving it a gentle shake.

Words failed me. Coherent thought
failed me. Had my mother really just said she hadn’t given birth to
me? The cold, detached feeling from the Moonlight settled over me.
I was an observer, watching someone else’s life crumble.

“Endora?” Mom said
tentatively. 

“Are you my mother?” I asked, with the
same flat inflection she’d used earlier. The only hint of emotion
was the tears flowing unchecked down my cheeks.

“I am your mother,” she replied
feverishly. “Samantha gave birth to you, but that does not make her
your mother. I raised you. I have done everything to keep you
safe.”

I stepped back, brushing her hand off
of my shoulder as though it were merely a speck of dust. “I need to
lie down,” I told her.

“Endora, please, let’s talk about
this,” Mom called after me.

But I didn’t turn around, nor did I go
to my bedroom. Instead, I picked up the keys to the Bug from where
I’d left them on the hook by the front door. I walked to my car,
got in, and started the engine. As I backed out of the driveway, I
saw Evelyn Andrews standing in the doorway to our house, her pale
and drawn face illuminated by the Bug’s headlights. While I’d never
been close to my mother, she’d never seemed the complete stranger
she did now.

Time ceased to exist as I drove
aimlessly through the back roads of Westwood, no destination in
mind. I kept touching the dream catcher around my neck; it was the
only thing that felt real anymore. The hands on the steering wheel
were too white to be mine. The girl in the rearview mirror was too
haunted to be me. The picture of Devon, Elizabeth, and me after we
won state’s junior year that I kept propped up in my change dish
showed a happy, smiling version of what now seemed like a former
self. It had been taken less than a year before, but it felt like a
lifetime.

How could my mother drop a bombshell
like that out of nowhere? Why did turning eighteen suddenly unlock
all the secrets of your past? Did I no longer have the luxury of
pretending I was a normal high school senior like the rest of my
friends? And who was my father? Aunt Sam didn’t get pregnant all by
herself.

It was like a time warp.
One minute I was on a darkened country road and the next I was
pulling into the Holloways’ development. The numbers on the Bug’s
digital clock glowed 12:34 a.m. Despite the late hour, the
Holloways’
house was lit up like a
Christmas tree.

The front door flew open the instant
my headlights pierced the front bay window. Devon stood in the
doorway, dressed in pajamas, arms crossed over her chest. Before I
was even out of the car, she was running barefoot across the
lawn.

“Where have you been? I was so
worried!” she exclaimed, yanking the driver’s side door of the Bug
wide and practically throwing her body on top of me.

“How did you know to be worried?” I
asked, trying to extricate myself from her vice-like
grip.

“Your mother called. She said you two
had a fight and figured you would come here. I tried calling you,
but you weren’t answering your cell.” Devon squeezed me tighter
before stepping back to access my appearance.

My eyes were dry, though the shock had
yet to wear off. The telltale signs that I had been crying
remained: puffy eyelids, swollen nose and lips from constant
wiping, streaks of mascara left over from the post-practice
application. Exhaustion weighed on my shoulders, and I wanted
nothing more than sleep. I wondered whether my mother had told the
Holloways why we fought, although what had transpired between us
could hardly be called a fight. It was more like a blitz attack of
information.

“Can I stay here tonight?” I
asked.

Devon slipped her hand in mine and
pulled me to my feet. “Of course. My parents already told your mom
it was okay.”

“Thanks,” I whispered, letting her
lead me towards the front door.

We reached the kitchen just in time to
hear Mrs. Holloway say into the phone, “She’s here, Evelyn. We’re
happy to have her.” Pause. “It’s no trouble.” Pause. “I’ll ask her
to call you tomorrow.” Pause. “It’s no problem. Goodnight,
Evelyn.”

“I’m sorry for keeping you guys up,” I
said once Mrs. Holloway hung up with my mother.

She waved her hand dismissively. “Not
at all, Endora. We’re just glad you’re safe. You had everyone
worried. Can I get you anything? Warm milk? Tea?”

“No thank you,” I mumbled.

“Why don’t you girls head to bed then.
Wake me if you change your mind.”

“I will, thank you,” I
said.

Mrs. Holloway disappeared
from the kitchen, the ties of her bathrobe trailing behind her.
“Not too late, Devon.
You
have school tomorrow,” she called from the
stairwell.

Devon caught my eye and rolled her
baby blues. “Got it, Mom.” To me she said in a hushed whisper, “How
about a shot? That will make you feel better.”

I shook my head, smiling a little. “No
thanks.”

Devon shrugged and reached for the
bottle of brandy her father kept next to the sink. She measured one
ounce in a plastic measuring glass and threw it back, scrunching
her eyes and making a sour face.

“Nasty,” she muttered.

Then she filled the same
measuring cup with one ounce of water and used it to replace the
brandy she’d just drunk.
Just like old
times
, I thought. We used to raid her
father’s liquor cabinet when we were freshmen and had no other way
to get alcohol before parties. At least two or three bottles of
vodka in that cabinet were entirely filled with water
now.

“Want to talk about it?” Devon
asked.

I chewed my lip and shook my head. If
I started talking about the fight with my mother, it would lead
back to my conversation with Mr. Wentworth, and there weren’t
enough hours left in the night to explain it all.

“Tomorrow?” Devon pressed.

“Tomorrow,” I agreed.

Chapter
Eighteen

As a testament to our
friendship, Devon agreed to pick up Mandy the next morning, but not
before telling me I owed her dinner at First Wok, of course. While
Devon was in the shower, I texted Kannon the Holloways’
address and suggested he not show up until after
eight a.m.
, the time both the elder
Holloways would leave for work. Devon’s mother poked her head into
the bedroom and informed me that my mother had called me in sick to
school and I should feel free to eat whatever I liked and watch
whatever I could find on the television.

“Thank you,” I said.

“No need for that. You’re welcome as
long as you need. Just promise me you will call your mother once
you’re up and moving. She’s worried about you.”

“I will,” I promised, even though I
had no intention of calling that fraud. A text maybe, I relented. I
might be mad at her, but I wasn’t the only one who had been upset
after our fight. And I wasn’t the only one visibly distraught over
the news of Dad’s disappearance.

Since there was no concrete
proof Dad had met harm, I resolved to think positively. He was
simply missing. Mr. Wentworth’s hired guns would find him. One of
the PIs once managed to track down an AWOL witness in
Bali; if he could
do
that, then surely he could find Dad.

While Devon dressed
and
dried and straightened her
hair
, we watched our favorite morning news
show,
Good Morning America;
and I told her about my plans to spend the day
with Kannon. I briefly considered canceling on him. But he’d been
so sweet and understanding the night before, and I really did want
to see him.

“What are you guys going to do?” Devon
asked excitedly, barely managing to keep her hand steady and avoid
poking herself in the eye with the mascara wand.

“Not sure,” I said from my perch on
the bed.

“Whatever it is, I hope it involves a
lot of tongue.”

At that, I sent a pillow
sailing across the room, narrowly missing Devon’s head. She laughed
and made kissing noises in my direction. I rolled my eyes, secretly
hoping she was right. The one kiss we’d shared was amazing, the
kind that made your toes tingle and knees go weak. Exactly what I
needed to rid my mind of the knowledge that my parents had spent
eighteen years lying to me. They weren’t even my parents. Did they
even know who my father was? From everything I knew about Aunt Sam,
my birth mother apparently, she was a free spirit or, as my mother
often said, a hippy. To Evelyn Andrews there was no word dirtier
than “hippy,” except maybe “defendant” if she was in the middle of
a trial. Aunt Sam liked
her vices, and
ultimately they killed her
, so I’d been
told. Now I wasn’t so sure. Something my mother said, “She died and
you lived,” made me think there was more to her death than a
drunk-driving car accident.

“Here, I think this is
yours,” Devon said, right before a
white
V-neck
sweater hit me on the side of the
head. The sweater was mine. Devon had borrowed it sometime during
junior year, and this
was the first I’d
seen of it in over a year.

“Thanks,” I told her, grateful she was
such a kleptomaniac, since I failed to grab a change of clothes in
my haste to get out of the house.

“Have fun today. Be naughty. Call if
you need me. I will keep my phone on.”

She leaned over the bed and hugged me
tightly. “Whatever happened between you and your mom, she will get
over it,” she whispered in my ear.

She
might
, I thought,
but will I?

With all of the
Holloways
safely out of the house, I
showered and dressed in record time. I borrowed Devon’s makeup to
cover
the traces of my crying fit
the night before and had just enough time to run
her straightener through my hair before my cell phone rang.
Kannon’s name flashed on the display.

“Hey,” I said into the
phone.

“Hey, I think I’m here. I see your
Bug.”

“Down in a second,” I told him and
hung up.

Kannon’s black Jeep was
indeed parked behind my VW when I emerged from the front door. I
used the Holloways’ hide-a-key ― it was under a faux rock, so
original ― to lock up behind me. Like a perfect gentleman, he
hurried out of the driver’s seat and around the grill and had my
door open before I made it across the front lawn. He didn’t
hesitate when he wrapped one arm around my waist, sending jolts of
electricity coursing through me, and kissed me gently on the mouth.
The contact stung at first, but before long our lips were like
magnets pulling us closer together. He tasted of coffee and
cinnamon gum.

“Good morning,” he whispered when he
pulled back.

“Morning,” I mumbled.