Plagued: Book 1 (35 page)

When I could breathe again, not think maybe, but breathe, I whispered, “Yes, Savan. I surrender.”

The room seemed to pitch dangerously to one side and then back again. I had drunk too much.
Way
too much apparently. Closing my eyes against the sudden vertigo, I felt Savan change position. When I opened them again, he was standing a few steps away, the mask once more tied in place.

“It is done.” Savan's voice was commanding, loud. I could hear him clearly even through the fuzz in my brain. Too clearly. Silence fell on the crowded little bar like someone flipped the
off
switch for volume. No music, no voices, silence so complete, I heard one of the snakes in the jar hiss.

As if on cue, the Club members stood. They were all wearing their masks, still I thought I could pick out Anders, Simon, Lilly, the red-headed twins and dark-haired young man with the ponytail. Louis. That was his name. Other people I didn't know pushed their way forward, crowding around Savan.

“Alexandra Carpenter has surrendered of her free will without duress.”

“Do you swear?” said Vanessa.

“Do you swear?” said Anders.

“Do you swear?” said Lilly.

The question was taken up and echoed by voice after voice.

'
This isn't righ
t,' one part of my mind tried to tell me. Savan should not be standing there proclaiming to all the very,
very
private and personal news I agreed to give myself to him. “Surrender” as he had put it in that rolling, sexy, Italian accent. Unfortunately, the other part of my mind had gone all soft and mushy and I couldn't seem to think what I should do about it or even get upset. I think I was sitting there, grinning like an idiot, looking at him with that love light shining from my eyes, still thinking how lucky I was to have found the Club and all my dear friends.

Finally, when it seemed as though every person there including the wrinkly bartender had shouted the question one by one, they all yelled in chorus, “Do you swear!” so loudly I jumped in my seat.

Savan spread his arms wide. “I swear on the soul of Alexandra Carpenter.”

Savan turned around to face me. His mask shifted, changing. The exaggerated
carnival
contours melted until a dark wolf's head stared at me, his eyes turning black.

He smiled a terrible smile, fangs extending. “Let the lottery begin!”

I fell into darkness.

Chapter 16

After Burn

And that was how I woke up nearly naked on a mattress in a shabby Tokyo apartment, in bed with a beautiful boy, his eyes the color of emeralds, his arms wrapped tightly around me. A boy who was also a sorcerer and, as I came to learn, much worse.

Julian Lake had rescued me, or so he said. Found me in a warehouse and brought me to this dingy, studio apartment and anchored me to this world. Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. All I knew was that I wanted to see my friends again. Vanessa, Savan, Lilly, Anders. My wonderful, clever, lovely friends.

Crouched on the floor, shivering, frightened and confused, I listened to his crazy story of having my soul ripped out by members of the Club. “Soul Eaters,” he called them. I mean honestly! Who believes that sort of stuff?

Over hot cups of strong tea, he tried to explain I was a victim of black magic rites. The Club, he said in his cultured British voice, had stolen my soul in some bizarre ritual. Ripped out and divided it among three members into equal portions like pieces of a birthday cake.

“There are two types of people the Club seeks: converts and sacrifices. You were,
are
a sacrifice. A dubious honor, yet those chosen must be very special. Pure, glowing souls, young people of rare ability caught just as their souls are beginning to mature. All that brilliance barely contained, waiting to burst out. Singular people. Don’t be sorry you were not wanted as a member, a convert. Be thankful you are not as them.”

Despite the look of sheer disbelief on my face, he barreled on with his crazy talk. Because of my soul being stolen, he said, apparently in all sincerity, my body will gradually weaken. As it weakens, those three portions of soul will increasingly become enriched.

“Those glowing, beautiful Club members have given themselves wholly to dark enchantments. They seek immortality, eternal youth with this power. The spell must run its natural course or it will fail. That is why they did not kill you outright. When you are too weak, body and mind, to keep your soul tethered to this earth, they will break the chain binding it and consume the energy utterly. At that moment, your body will turn to dust.”

Dust. That was a new one. I didn't know a lot about the occult or supernatural stuff, but dust? The story was just too preposterous. How do you comment on something like
Soul Eaters?
Especially sitting on the floor, wrapped in a blanket.

What I wanted desperately was to be back in my apartment, or anywhere else except here. If I screamed, would someone hear me? Scanning the room, I checked for something to use as a weapon. I was not becoming a teenage girl statistic, not without a fight.

I decided to ask the most important question. “Am I your prisoner?” There was hardly any quaver in my voice. I was proud of that.

He gave a deep sigh. “Have you heard
nothing
I've said?”

I didn't know whether I should humor him or not. That's what you did with crazy people as I recall. Even extraordinarily handsome crazy people. Before I could decide on an answer, he stood and walked to the other side of the room, his muscles rippling just beneath the pale, scarred skin, graceful as a big cat.

“You are not my prisoner, Alexandra. You are theirs.”

Reaching into a cupboard, he pulled out my clothes from last night: the beautiful shiny dress and Vanessa's Prada shoes, neatly stacked. On top of the pile sat my cell phone and little clutch. Crazy kidnappers did not usually give back your cell phone, I was pretty sure about that. I looked not at the stack of clothes, but his face. There were dark circles under his eyes and hollows in his cheeks, a shadow on his chin the same color as his silver hair. He didn't look crazy or evil; he looked every bit as exhausted as I felt, maybe more.

Not caring that he was standing right there, I made a grab for the phone and my clothes. Standing, I looked down at myself.

Oh my.

Arms, legs, stomach, then stretching my neck around to look behind, hips, every inch of me was covered in some sort of scrawling, black script. I looked like the tattooed lady from a Stephen King nightmare
circus
.

“What the hell! Did you do this to me? These better come off!” My voice rose dangerously.

He looked me up and down as though assessing his handiwork. “They were to keep you anchored to this world as I mentioned if you were
listening!
” The hard edge crept back into his tone of voice and I flinched involuntarily. “These symbols helped me bind the thread linking you to your soul more tightly. For a time, I thought I might lose you entirely. It can happen that quickly. Gone in just one night. Dust to dust. That's why I held you as your mind wandered. Joining my spirit, my energy to yours.” Abruptly his eyes lost some of their brittle green glow. “You're far stronger than you look and you fought back hard and long.”

A series of horrible images flashed through my mind.

He put up one hand in an appeasing gesture.“Metaphysically speaking. Nothing more. No wonder the Club wants you. I, myself, have never encountered a complex spirit quite like yours. It is quite unearthly.”

“If I don't have a soul like you say, how can I have a spirit for you to encounter?” I'd show him I was listening!

He rolled his eyes as though I'd only confirmed his low opinion of my intelligence. “Spirit and soul are two extraordinarily different things in magic, Alexandra.” He shook his head, “What passes for an education in America, I just don't know...”

Slipping on my shoes and shimmying into my dress, I pushed past him, desperate to be gone, to be out of this place and away from the frightening young man with emerald eyes. A pain shot through my chest, so intense, so unexpected I had to grab onto the kitchen counter and catch my breath. He moved forward and I shouted, “Don't touch me!”

Throwing open the battered front door, which wasn't even double locked, I staggered out onto a second-floor landing. I could see the outside of the building was every bit as shabby as the inside: weepy gray concrete and a network of deep cracks mapping out its history of neglect, a rusty set of stairs snaking up one side. Clattering down the narrow metal stairs in three-inch heels proved a precarious business. I stepped along as fast as I could with just one backward glance. Julian Lake stood in the doorway staring after me. I shivered.

Not knowing where I was, desperate to put some distance between us, I ran a block or two in a random direction despite the pain in my chest. It's not easy to run in Prada sandals while apparently having a heart attack. At least I was out in the open and away from the frightening boy with the steely stare.

Neighborhoods in Japan have very little to distinguish one from the other with a few upscale exceptions. Apartments – nice to decrepit – stand shoulder-to-shoulder with houses of every size, description and income bracket. Once off the main thoroughfares, it is very easy to get lost.

At this moment, I had
less
than no idea where I was. This street could be in another city entirely. Balancing unsteadily on my heels, heart pounding, I stopped and listened. The roar of trucks and revving motorcycle engines came in loud and clear from very near. After a few wrong turns, I found a busy street and, inevitably, taxis cruising for fares. Ten thousand yen still sat untouched in my evening bag. Praying '
Please let me be in Tokyo
,' I flagged a cab and mumbled my address. The driver tapped it into his car navigation system and we were off. Once settled in the backseat, I tried to ignore the furtive looks in the rearview mirror from the driver. Who could blame him? I looked like a walking doodle pad. My heart slowed a little as I sat in the cab, though my chest still ached. Tapping my phone, I checked the incoming log. Vanessa and Savan must be frantic; who knows what time this Julian guy grabbed me? Scrolling through the calls, I saw they were all from my dad, too many to count. The calls ranged from early morning to afternoon, to night and morning again. Wait, that couldn't be right. The phone said eleven a.m. I looked at the date. Sunday, the ninth.

It took me a moment to process. My party was Friday, the seventh. What happened to Saturday? I missed an entire day.
Oh
spit!
I would call Savan. He would know what to do, he could explain what happened. Speed dialing, I waited to hear his voice, that deep, rich accent telling me everything was okay. He'd make it better; he loved me. The cell phone at my ear babbled  something in Japanese. Sobbing from the pain and maybe something more, I tried Savan again. And again. And again. Then Vanessa's number, then Anders, Stephanie, all of them. The babbling was a recording. The identical recorded response at each number. The pain in my heart flared again and I sagged against the seat.

What was going on?

Chapter 17

Lonely Hearts Club

Nauseated, dizzy, head pounding, I made it home with just a few yen to spare. Shedding my clothes on the way through the apartment, I staggered into the bathroom and turned the shower on full blast. Through the rising steam, I cautiously took a look at my body in the mirror. I didn't really want to look myself in the eyes. Not yet. So I kept my sight focused from the neck down. Nearly every inch of me was covered with intricate symbols and some sort of archaic writing that twisted and turned in marvelous patterns. The change from “happy party goer” to “confused victim of a tagging event
”
was just too much for me to deal with. I could feel my body shutting down.

Future Lexie could worry about it.

I stepped into the shower, letting the hot water run over my aching body. It took an entire container of liquid soap and several washcloths, plus what felt like the top layer of skin, before I managed to scrub all except one of the symbols off. A small, intricate design about the size of my fist directly over my heart remained stubbornly unaffected by soap and water. Cursing, I began to suspect it might be a different sort of ink altogether.

“God damn him!” I shouted at the bathroom tiles. “God damn him to hell!” I think I meant Julian Lake, though at that point, I couldn't be sure.

Belatedly checking, I found Dad wasn't home. Probably seeking consolation in the arms of his blond girlfriend. I curled up into a tight little ball of anguish and tried to cry. It was just too much effort and I drifted off to sleep for several hours. When I woke up, I tried again to contact my friends. No one answered. Dragging my laptop from the bedside table, I opened the net. Emails bounced back; every one.

Dimly I heard the heavy front door close.

After that, there was a lot of yelling in the style of: “Where were you? How could you? I was frantic!” The yelling turned into a rant that spanned the whole range of drugs, sex, alcohol, school and “your future.” The one relevant item – being mind-raped by a beautiful gang of sociopaths – was not included in his list of present or future transgressions.

Honestly, I had never seen him so overwrought, at least with me. The  World Bank and European debt were the only things that brought on this sort of rage usually. Perched on the kitchen stool, I let the words wash over me until he ran out of steam.

He stared at me; I stared at the floor. Finally, in a very different voice he said, “I waited for you to come home. I made your birthday dinner.”

It wasn't until then I noticed the decorations on the dining room table, balloons and streamers, candles, china and silverware in place. Dad always cooked for me on my birthday. I'd completely forgotten to tell him I was spending it with the Club. Birthday dinner at home was our little tradition even before Mom left us. The past two years it had been grilled vegetables for starters with
foie gras
– grilled as well – then beef bourguignon and lots of crispy French bread to soak up the gravy. My dad was actually a good cook, he just seldom took the time anymore. For so many other things as well.

Looking from the table to him and back again, I knew there was no way to apologize. I tried to work myself up into a vicious, “a little effort on your part does not make up for all the days, weeks, months you ignore me” rant. I just couldn't manage it. Right now, I felt bad about a great many things.

“You know, Dad, a good stew always tastes better after a day or so.”

“Are you hungry?”

I nodded.

He busied himself in the kitchen and in a short time, we were sitting at the table. It was then I saw there were unopened cards and two little packages from Brianna and Isobel.

“When did these come?”

Dad was digging into the
foie gras
and had a generous portion along with several grilled asparagus on the way to his mouth. “Middle of the week. I figured you were waiting until your birthday to open them.”

I hadn't even noticed they'd arrived.

“Oh wait, what am I thinking?” He set down the fork and walked swiftly into the kitchen. There was some rustling and a
pop!
I knew what that
sound
meant. He handed me a champagne flute.

“A toast to Lexie!” he said triumphantly. “On her seventeenth birthday!”

He clinked my glass. I felt the world tilt and then it wasn't my father standing in front of me. Instead, I was ringed by members of the Club, their beautiful faces twisted, the snake in the barman's hands writhing and squirming in its death spasms as the blood dripped into my glass. I ran from the room, sick to my stomach.

Around two a.m., I slipped away to search for them. I had to take money out of my dad's wallet for a cab. He always left it next to the mail in the kitchen. Of course, I couldn't find them or anyone I knew. We had been to so many places, I couldn't even remember half of them. Tokyo has more than twelve million people, it's pretty easy to lose yourself. Around dawn, I crawled back into bed. Nightmares haunted me. Waking, sweating and dry-mouthed, I opened my eyes to see the members of the Club around my bed. They looked down at me through the eye holes of their brightly colored
carnival
masks, the ribbons beckoning like spectral fingers. As I watched, their eyes shifted to black. Their smiles were full of fangs. Vanessa turned her grotesque, grinning bat's face to mine and leaned close. I screamed.

This time I really woke up.

My room was empty.

Sweating with fear, I realized I really was alone.