Silver (10 page)

Mine.
I try to squash the thought. One stupid date does not make him mine. Still, it takes every ounce of self-control I can muster to keep myself in the car. I want to run to him, to throw myself in his arms, wrap myself in him. Pathetic.

As he reaches for the handle of the SUV, he stops and turns his head, zeroing in on the Blue Box. His eyes, burning silver, find me in the dark. I can feel his mood shift again, even from across the parking lot. He's not happy to see me.

I glare back. Did he think that after what happened I would just disappear? Fine. If Blake Williams wants a fight, I'm more than ready to take him on. I push the door open as hard as I can. The door swings out, but stops abruptly before it opens halfway.

A dark figure looms over my car, blocking the door. I stop pushing and try to pull the door back. It holds firm.

“Brianna,” Joe says in a calm voice. “We need to talk.” He smiles, an unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.

FIF
T
E
E
N

I shrink lower in the seat of my car.

“Mind if I join you for a minute?” Joe steps back, letting the car door come toward me so fast I have to push against it to stop it from slamming.

Blake climbs into his SUV, wasting no time. He starts his car and drives out of the lot. As the car gets further away, the pain in my stomach returns.

Joe walks around to the passenger side of the Blue Box and opens the door. He curls his long body into the seat next to me. His James Dean pompadour smashes up against the roof and his knees press up against the glove box. I laugh.

“What?”

“I don't think you'll be buying one of these beauties anytime soon,” I say.

“You got that right. For starters, it's Japanese. All these newfangled imports have been hell on our economy.”

“This thing is older than both of us.”

Joe pulls the cigarette from his lips. He rolls the filter between his thumb and forefinger. He concentrates on the movement for a few seconds before he looks at me again. “You and I haven't talked much, have we?”

Try at all
.
I don't say anything. My eyes search the street where Blake's car disappeared. Joe sits quietly, staring out at the darkness with me.

“Let me be frank.” Joe's voice pulls me back. “You seem like a nice girl. So why the hell are you chasing down a rat bastard like Blake?”

I smile at the description. “I thought you were his friend.”

“Can't help liking the son of a bitch.” He squirms in the seat, trying to find a comfortable position. “Pardon me for saying so, but you don't seem like his type.”

What is that supposed to mean? So I'm not dumb, snobby, or slutty …
Oh
.

Joe fills the silence. “See, guys like Blake will always have their minions, stray puppies that follow them around begging for the smallest scrap.”

“It's not like that.” The words sound hollow now. Even if I could justify my behavior as a science project to test my pheromone theory, it doesn't explain why I'm sitting in a cold parking lot in the middle of the night. But it's not like I'm about to beg Blake Williams for anything. Last time I checked, I was getting out of the car to kick his ass.

“Blake and his kind are nothing but trouble for girls like you.”

“Thanks for the advice, but if Blake sent you here to let me down easy, you can forget it. There's nothing going on.” Unless you count the weird hallucinations or the fact that I'm sitting in this now-empty parking lot. Minor details.

“This isn't about Blake. It's about you. See, where I'm from, there's two kinds of girls, the kind you screw and the kind you marry. And Blake's got no interest in the second group. Got me?”

Joe has officially taken this retro thing too far. I've been on one ill-advised date. “You think I want to
marry
him?”

“Nah,” Joe shakes his head. “I know you aren't ready for that.”

“So you're saying I'm a slut?” Probably true, at this point, but no way am I going to stand for Joe insulting me in my own car. It's bad enough that I'm never going to get the hair gel off the ceiling.

“Nah, you're not that kind of girl either. It's just that if you take up with Blake, one of two things will happen.” Joe opens the door of the car and stretches out his right leg. “Either Blake Williams is gonna break your heart … ” He stares outside.

“Or?”

“Or you become the other kind of girl.” Joe pushes his head outside the car and unfolds his tall body one part at a time, our conversation apparently over.

“Joe?”

“Yeah?” He bends over and sticks his head back into the car.

I nod to the cigarette still dangling from his lips. “You ever light that thing?”

“Nah. Stuff'll kill you.” He winks. “Don't press the gas so hard when you start 'er up this time. Sounded like you flooded the engine there.” He closes the door with a soft thud and walks down the lot until he reaches a vintage white Buick.

I turn the ignition, tapping lightly on the gas, and am relieved to hear the whining of the engine as it coughs to life. Joe's car cruises behind me, following me all the way to my driveway. He idles outside until I've unlocked the front door and am safely inside.

It's not the least bit creepy. It's kind of nice.

I'm still half asleep when I grab a granola bar from the kitchen and head off to school in the morning. But the hair on my arms stands at attention almost as soon as I open the front door, jolting me awake better than a triple-shot latte ever could. The pain in my gut is replaced by a satisfied hum.

His black SUV is across the street. Blake is out of the car, leaning against the door.

I storm up to him, still furious that he's ignored me for the last four days. With every step that brings me closer, my traitorous body celebrates, making the combination of pleasure and pain almost unbearable. I try to read his expression. There's no trace of emotion in his face. He barely spares me a glance.

I want to put my hands around his neck and kiss him, right here on the street. No. I don't need
that
humiliation. When he finally lets his eyes slide to mine, there's anger, yes, but something else too. A fear that claws at my neck. A sadness that floats up from nowhere and pulls me along. Desire, so strong that I want to fall into him.

My anger flees, taking any trace of courage and self-respect with it. I bite my trembling lip, fighting back the tears that threaten to escape at any second.

Blake starts to run a hand through his blond waves, stopping halfway through. There's no point trying pull off relaxed or casual, not with me. “Let's get this over with.”

Is he breaking up with me? Panic courses through me. We aren't exactly together, so he can't really break up with me, right? I bite down harder on my lip. I start to wipe away a tear. Before I can, his hand is there, his thumb lightly rubbing my cheek. The soft touch sends flickers of heat to my stomach.

“Can we go somewhere?” Blake's voice is softer now.

I nod, my eyes closed, not wanting to see how he doesn't look at me, not wanting the touch to end. It does anyway. When I open my eyes, he's already sitting in the car, his eyes facing straight ahead.

Once I'm in the car, Blake drives in silence. The current of emotion that mixes with my own becomes increasingly hostile. It's like I can feel his anger from the inside.

“
You're
pissed?” I shout, even though I'm only inches away. “I'm the one who was manipulated and used, then thrown away like I never mattered.” The tears flow freely now. There's no stopping them. “You are such a jerk.”

Blake's cheek twitches. A vein on the right side of his throat pops out, creating a ridge that travels into the collar of his yellow T-shirt.

I feel the violence that simmers just beneath the surface—my own. I lean against the window of the car, putting as much distance as I can between us. I can't afford to lose control.

We drive into the Heights, a neighborhood of mini-mansions that was hit hard by last fall's wildfire. After about a mile, he turns up a meandering driveway that leads to a tree-filled lot, although half the Eucalyptus trees are dead. As we get closer to the top, it's clear that there is no longer any house, just a bare slab of blackened concrete and an empty swimming pool. It's desolate and depressing. The perfect setting for our little breakup. Especially since he thinks I'm the one who started the fire.

“Is this your house?” I ask.

He rolls down the windows before turning off the ignition, letting the smell of charred and rotten wood fill the car. “Was.”

I choke a little as the stale air fills my lungs. My eyes travel out across the lot to a ridge with an expansive view. I can see almost all of R.D. from this angle, a sea of tract homes with tile roofs. The view is a stark contrast to the rotting waste of the American dream that surrounds us.

Blake finally looks at me. And I wish he wouldn't. His eyes hold nothing but anger. I press back further against the window, my right hand clutching the door handle.

“Let's get one thing straight,” Blake says, his voice a growl. “If anyone has been manipulated, it's me. I didn't ask for this, and I don't want it. So just do whatever hocus-pocus you need to do to undo it, and do it now.”

I stare back. He's still putting this on me? “If I remember correctly, you're the one who kissed me. I'm not the one who tried to pretend like nothing even happened.”

Blake barks out a laugh. “Nice try. So I kissed you. You unleashed the power of the
bandia
.” The last word rolls off his tongue with undisguised venom. “You did this to me, and you will
undo
it.
Now
.
” The vein on his neck pulses and flexes. His hands ball into fists.

I jump from the car, walking fast, putting distance between us with every step. I stop only when I reach the ridge at the end of the barren lot. I cross my arms across my waist, hugging them to me. I remind myself to breathe.

The cars move along on the roads below. People go about their morning routines, heading to the gym, work, playdates, school. Just another Thursday in R.D. Lucky bastards. Even listening to my lit teacher dissect every line from
Paradise Lost
would be better than standing in this dead yard waiting to be dumped. And that's only half of it.

He said it again. B
andia
. Nana's name for me. My name. I don't trust myself not to lose it. At least there are no chemicals handy.

After about ten minutes, I finally hear the footsteps I knew would come, slow and resigned. His breath teases my neck as he steps behind me. If I lean back just an inch, I could rest my head against his chest. He could fold his arms around me and hold me to him. Or he could push me off the edge of the ridge. I turn to face him. Whatever happens, I'll see it coming.

“I'm sorry,” he says. “I didn't mean to scare you.”

“You know what happened.” My voice breaks. “On the beach.”

“I have an idea.”

“You know what I am?”

“You still don't?”

I rub the poisonous flower that hangs from my wrist. “It's nothing good, is it?”

He actually laughs, a sound that warms me from the inside. “I'm sure that depends on who you talk to.”

Taking my hand, he guides me to a retaining wall abutting the ridge. We sit and stare out at the view for a few minutes. I don't let go of his hand.

Blake is pre-med. Maybe he just recognized the symptoms of my psych issues. Maybe there's a diagnosis somewhere I haven't found. I could just be a pyromaniac schizo. It's beyond pathetic that this is sounding like a good thing.

“What am I?”

He's silent for a few minutes before he answers. Finally, he takes a breath and looks right at me. “You're a living, breathing
bandia
.” He swallows. “But it's not like I've ever seen one before. I didn't think there were any of you left.”

S
I
X
T
E
E
N

I'm more confused than ever. “There are others? With my nickname?”

“I don't know.” Blake's hand squeezes mine. “I mean, you … they … it's just stories. No one has seen a
bandia
for generations. Then there was the fire, but even then, I didn't believe you really existed until you walked into that kitchen.”

“Without this.” I hold up my wrist, ready to release the clasp.

He eyes the bracelet. “Don't. It's hard enough as it is, now that we're … just don't.”

“What does ‘
bandia'
mean?” I brace myself for his answer.

“It's a word from an old story, like a fairy tale. It means goddess.”

I want to laugh. I was ready for something like witch or fire monster, but goddess? He's really reaching here. So it's definitely crazy. Crazy I can understand, at least.

“You know the fairy tale? Are there horses?” I ask.

“Not that I remember.”

“A handsome prince?”

“Just listen, okay?” Blake scoots closer to me so that I feel his body heat along my side. I turn my face up to the sky but Blake's warmth is a hundred times stronger than the sun on my face. “So, a long time ago … ” Blake starts.

“In a galaxy far, far away?”

“Close. A small village in Ireland.” Blake finally makes eye contact. “Will you let me finish?”

I shift, pulling my knees to my chest, trying to ignore the word that echoes in my head at his mention of Ireland:
home
.

He starts again. “This girl named Danu lived in a small village. She was hot, and all the guys noticed, but the villagers feared her as much as they wanted her. She was a creature of dark magic, with power over fire, earth, air, and sea. Yet lust won out over fear. The men fought for her attention.”

Okay, definitely not me. There has to be an evil stepsister.

“Danu ignored them all, except for the one man she couldn't have, a young warrior named Killian, a leader in the Crusade against dark magic. Danu represented everything he was sworn to bring to an end. And even with her dark powers, she couldn't make a man fall in love with her.”

I stifle a snort. Maybe I can identify with this girl after all.

“Danu would not be denied, so she seduced Killian and lured him to the spirit realm, where she bound him to her soul, creating a connection that couldn't be broken. When they returned to Earth, Killian discovered that Danu had not only taken a piece of his soul, but cursed him with dark powers. He rejected her, even though it hurt him physically. He swore that she would never have his heart. Killian married the daughter of a neighboring landowner, even with his soul all tangled up in Danu. Her heart broken, Danu disappeared.”

“What about Killian and the girl next door? Did they live happily ever after?”

“Hardly. Killian was cursed with the very powers he'd vowed to banish from the earth. The evil he fought against now lived deep within himself. Even as he struggled to live life as a simple man, his soul still ached for the loss of Danu.”

Nice story. “What about Danu?”

“She appeared again, many years later, still young and beautiful, and hell-bent on destroying Killian and his family. Unlike his father, Killian's son Brom found it impossible to resist her. Brom ran away with Danu, abandoning his own wife and child. Then Danu burnt Killian's land to the ground and forbade the sea from giving rain, creating a famine across all of Ireland.”

The fire thing hits a little too close to home. “Isn't there supposed to be a happy ending?”

Blake smiles. “You believe in happy endings?”

He has a point. “For fairy tales.”

“Not this one. But there's more.” Blake looks at me then, really looks. “Brom and Danu had children. And their children had children. It's said that every seventh generation, Danu's daughters become more than just carriers of her DNA. The Seventh Daughters are said to embody the power and beauty of the
bandia
herself.” Blake closes his eyes, lost in his own thoughts.

My breath stops. “And you think that's me?”

Even as I ask the question, I can feel the surge of adrenaline that comes with positing a new theory that
might actually work. The scientist in me is already checking off the boxes. The nickname Nana gave me … my connection to Ireland … the woman in the field with flowers … the seventh generation thing Mom told me about.
My fire.

Hell. What if the monster in me isn't something I can chase away with scientific theory or antidepressants? What if the monster in me is really some dark goddess who won't hesitate to kill to avenge her broken heart?

Blake opens his eyes. “I've seen you when you aren't hiding behind that bracelet.” He stares out at the view. “We were together in the spirit realm.”

I'm trembling. “At the beach?”

Blake nods. “That was all you, sweetheart.”

Except I'm not sweet. “Can you not call me that?” I push his shoulder.

Blake pushes me back. “I wish I didn't like you so much.” There's a darkness behind his eyes that makes me uncomfortable.

“Why?” Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I'm a raving lunatic who burns things. Who may or not be the descendant of a crazy goddess.

“It would make it easier to end this.”

Oh. I'd almost forgotten that we're here for some big breakup scene. Yet another way that I'm like Danu in the story. I can't make a guy love me. Not Derek Kingston, and certainly not Blake Williams.

“You're shaking.” He lifts a curl of hair away from my face and tucks it behind my ear.

“When we were together, something happened. We were joined somehow. It hurts to be apart.” I run my fingers along the bare skin of his arm, marveling at the little electric shocks that play at the tips of my fingers. “Do you feel this?”

He stares. “Even with your bracelet on.”

“It's why I came to see you last night.” I look out at the view. Blake knows more than he's saying. He knows the story of the
bandia
; he knew it before we even went to the beach. “How do you know all this?”

“My godfather likes to entertain us with stories about Ireland. I never believed it before.”

“Wait. Your godfather? The scary hunter guy? He's from Ireland?”

Blake nods. “My whole family is. Well, my great grandfather moved to the States after World War II.”

Okay, this is starting to feel a little weird. “So, what are you doing for Beltane?”

He laughs. “I wouldn't mention that word around my family if I were you. It's not a holiday we're particularly fond of in my house.”

“And you call yourself Irish?”

“Aye. As Irish as they come.”

“But you don't celebrate Irish holidays? Not even as an excuse to drink whiskey?”

He squeezes my hand a little tighter. “We celebrate enough. St. Patrick's Day, for one.”

“That doesn't count. Everyone celebrates St. Patrick's Day.”

“Even your family?” He looks skeptical.

He's dead right on that one. For all Nana's insistence on keeping old Irish traditions, she hated St. Patrick's Day. One year I made the mistake of pinning a shamrock to my sweater before going to school and was branded a traitor. “How'd you know?”

“Lucky guess. Beltane's an ancient pagan holiday. St. Patrick's Day is basically the celebration of the death of paganism.” A cloud sits behind his eyes. “They're not exactly compatible.” I can almost feel the remorse as he says the last part. I
can
feel it.

“Why does it matter to you?”

He looks back out over the view. “It shouldn't. Let's just say that your family's Ireland and my family's Ireland are two different places.”

“How'd your family end up in this town? It's not like Rancho Domingo has a huge Irish contingent.”

“You'd be surprised.” He laughs. “My grandfather came here for college and never left. What about you?”

I kick the wall with my heel. “My dad got an offer he couldn't refuse.”

“Sounds mysterious.”

“Yeah, the dark world of life insurance is full of secrets.” I feel a hum in my stomach as he smiles, a combination of my reaction and his. “Do you think we're bonded? Like Killian and Danu?”

He lets out a sigh. “I don't know what else this could be.”

So we're tied to each other somehow? Then the pain when we're apart isn't just my overreaction to his not calling—it's a physical reaction to being apart from him. This could be a problem. It's not like I can follow him around everywhere. Worse, it's not like he wants me to.

“Didn't Killian break the bond and marry someone else?” I ask. “There must be a way.”

Blake shakes his head. “Killian could never break the bond. He rejected Danu but spent his life suffering for it.”

I should be upset at the idea that Blake is bonded to me against his will, but some perverse part of me likes the idea of Blake being tied to me. I can't say I'll mind the suffering he'll endure if he tries to be with someone else. Wow, I really am sick. “So I'm keeping you from a neighboring farm girl, is that it?”

“No.” He looks back out across the valley. “I don't know. I'm eighteen. I haven't thought much beyond next week.” Blake's expression doesn't change but his mood shifts. He doesn't expect any happy endings. “I want my life back. You have to try to end this thing.”

Logically, I know he's right. But I can't say I want to go back to the way things were before. Even if he never really wants me again, he
sees
me now, and that's something. Of course, Blake seeing me and not wanting me is going to be worse than his not seeing me at all.

Still, it isn't like I can snap my fingers or wiggle my nose to fix something I don't even understand. “I wouldn't know where to start,” I tell him.

“I have an idea.” Blake takes my wrist and rubs his thumb across my bracelet, reaching for the clasp. “Maybe we can get back to the spirit realm and undo it.”

I don't try to stop him when he takes the bracelet off. I don't want to. The feel of his fingers on my skin is electrifying. Addictive.

His hand closes around the chain, his fist shaking against his leg as he stares at me with a hunger in his eyes that I feel in my bones. “God, Brianna. I thought it was bad before. I'm not going to be able to hold back.”

I reach across the short distance, setting my hand on his thigh. “So don't.”

He grabs me by the waist, lifting me onto his lap until I'm facing him, my legs straddling him as we sit on the retaining wall. His arms come around me, simultaneously shielding me from the sheer drop of the ridge below and pressing me against him. His mouth covers mine, his tongue thrusting in and out, leaving no doubt where this is headed.

I move against him, desperate to be closer. I run my hands down his back and pull the back of his shirt up. My hands dive underneath, eager to explore his muscled back. He groans as my fingernails graze across his bare skin. I feel his desire build alongside my own. But there is no flash of light or swirling mist. This is purely physical.

He pulls back, his breath coming fast. “This isn't working.”

I lean into him, letting my hands drop lower. “Isn't it?”

His lips move closer to mine, so close that I can feel his breath mix with my own. He hesitates there, and I can feel the war he's fighting with himself, trying to harness a desire that's so strong, so
there
. He's with me, and his lips brush mine for a second before he rips them away.

He lifts me off his lap with such force I almost lose my balance as he sets me down next to him. He throws the bracelet in my lap, his breath coming hard. “Put it on.”

My fingers clasp the charm.

“Better.” His breath is still labored. He turns away from me before he stands up and stalks back to the car.

I hold the charm in my fist tighter, fighting back tears and the biting sting of his rejection. There's no consolation in being right. Having him see me and still not want me is so much worse than being invisible was. I wait until I'm sure I'm not going to cry before I walk back to the car.

Blake turns the engine over before I can shut the door. “You should go to school,” he says as we drive back toward my house, as if it isn't entirely his fault I've already missed my first two classes.

“What's your problem?” I blurt, tired of holding it in.

“At the moment?”

“I'm sorry, I should've realized that I would have to clarify, given the multitude of problems you undoubtedly have.”

“My problem,” he says, still looking straight ahead, “is
you
.”

I don't have to feel the nauseating mix of anger and anxiety that rises in my stomach to know he tells the truth. But it's there anyway.