The Xoe Meyers Trilogy (Xoe Meyers Young Adult Fantasy/Horror Series) (29 page)

My birthday was on the 31
^st
, so that meant he could be gone around 10 days. I nodded despite my feelings. “You leave in the morning?”

He drew me closer, wrapping his arms tightly around me. “Yes,” he answered, his lips moving right beside my ear. “I will have to go home to prepare tonight, but I’ll come by before I leave.”

I nodded again and closed my eyes against his shoulder, not sure what else to say. I breathed in the woodsy, vanilla tinted smell of him, not relishing the thought of being away from that scent for even a day.

I felt him glance toward the window again. “If he gives you any trouble, I would like for you to call me immediately.”

“I can handle it,” I said softly.

“I know,” he breathed into my hair, “but call me anyway.”

And just like that, he was gone, shutting the front door silently behind him. I stayed standing in my kitchen for several minutes, my arms wrapped tightly around me. I eventually moved into the living room and tossed my mom’s bags onto the floor so I could curl up on the loveseat. I sank into the cushions feeling sorry for myself. I waited, hoping that Jason would come back and reconsider, or that he’d pop in and say, “Gotcha! Just kidding.”

When nothing happened, I went upstairs to my room. It was close to midnight. I had no idea where the time had gone. I must have sat downstairs for several hours. I walked into my cozy purple-themed bathroom to get ready for bed. I brushed my teeth and scrubbed my face, splashing myself several times with cold water to try and snap myself out of my stupor. I dried myself off with a fluffy purple towel, then forced my eyes up to the mirror.

I looked miserable. I was falling apart because my boyfriend was leaving town during the time I needed him most. It wasn’t his fault, but I still felt slightly resentful. Man, I was
pitiful.

I slapped my hand against the sink with a dull thud, making little sparks of pain run up my wrist. I would
not
fall apart because of a boy. I’d always been able to take care of myself no matter what life threw at me, and damn it, I could handle my situation on my own. I smiled, proud that I had so quickly pulled myself together.

I am demon, hear me roar.

T
here wasn’t any fire this time. I was once again on a cold, stone floor, but this time I was lying down with my cheek pressed against the rock. I tried to get up to explore my surroundings, but I couldn’t move. I could hear footsteps. Someone came to stand in my field of vision, but all I could see was their shoed feet. The feet kept shifting in shape and color so that I couldn’t tell what they looked like. One moment they were a pair of women’s high heels, the next, a pair of combat boots. Then the person knelt down beside me, and I knew with sudden certainty that I was going to die.

When I finally woke up the next morning around 9:00, I could vaguely remember Jason coming in through my window in the ungodly early morning hours to say goodbye before he left. My dream had really thrown me. My dreams of fire had always been unnerving, but this one caused me to wake with a solid cold knot of fear in my stomach. I rolled out from underneath my dark green bedspread, hating everything while trying to push my fear aside. I glanced out my large bedroom window to see that the miserable weather matched my mood. Dark grays and blues swirled ominously, promising snow. It was going to be a white Christmas . . . yippee. 

I took a shower and got dressed in a deep red cable-knit sweater, and faded, holey jeans shoved into dark brown, low-heeled slouchy boots (courtesy of Allison’s annual wardrobe cleansing). Not bothering to do anything with my hair, I clunked downstairs in search of coffee.

I caught sight of my mom sitting at the dining room table dressed in a royal blue sweater dress and black boots. She sipped coffee while carrying on a jovial conversation. My day darkened exponentially when I came around the corner and saw that she was talking to Chase, who looked quite comfortable in his forest green sweater and jeans. He was drinking coffee out of my usual coffee mug. It was oversized and had an illustration of a dejected looking Edgar Allan Poe on one side. It was my tried and true favorite.

I walked into the kitchen to find a completely empty coffee pot. I grumbled to myself as I ground some beans and got a fresh pot going. I grabbed a store-bought blueberry muffin and stomped back into the dining room, taking a seat on the far side of the table, away from my mom and Chase. They interrupted their conversation to turn their attention to me.

I regarded my mom, ignoring Chase’s presence. “No work today?”

“No,” she answered, a big, fake smile plastered across her face. “I’m feeling a bit tired,” she went on, her smile crumbling around the edges.

I nodded, understanding that she still wasn’t ready to discuss things further. She gave me a genuine, if small, smile in return.

“So,” my mom began awkwardly, “I found your friend on the porch and invited him in to wait for you.” She smiled warmly at Chase, but I could sense her wariness underneath. “I don’t know how he didn’t freeze to death out there.”

My smile for Chase was more of a snarl. “He’s not my friend,” I corrected, making eye contact with Chase as I said it.

“Oh,” my mom hesitated. “Well, um, I have a lot of gift wrapping to do, so I’ll leave you two alone.”

She stood and hustled out of the dining room. I caught her glancing back at us with motherly concern before she turned to hurry up the stairs. I had a feeling the days of my mom prying were at an end. She could never be sure what information she might pry her way into.

I turned my attention to Chase. “You got a car?”

He smiled pleasantly at me despite my earlier rudeness. “I can get one,” he answered simply.

I nodded and stood to get myself a cup of coffee. Chase stood as well and immediately let himself out the front door, presumably to “get” a car. I hadn’t felt the need to let him in on the fact that I just wanted him to take me to the mall to finish my Christmas shopping. He might not have deemed it important enough.

I sat back down at the table with hot coffee and my muffin and couldn’t help my mischievous grin. Messing with Chase had made me feel infinitely better. I would have to continue doing so. My thoughts went to Jason, and I immediately redirected them. What else did I need to buy for Christmas . . . oh who was I kidding? I stared down into my coffee cup and wallowed.

By the time Chase returned, I had finished my coffee and muffin and was leafing through a catalog while I waited. I grabbed my keys and wallet to throw into a plain cloth purse I had recently bought and went outside to meet him. The cloudy sky had made me expect miserable weather, but the air felt cool and calm. I still expected snow, but maybe it would be the pleasant, soft-falling snow that’s so popular in Hallmark commercials, rather than the harsh, blizzardy snow that was more often the reality.

Chase was leaning against an ancient gray, rust-speckled pickup truck. I had serious doubts that it would even make it to the mall. He stepped away from the truck and swung his arms out to pose like a model on a game show.

“Your chariot awaits,” he said dramatically.

I raised my eyebrows. “Lovely,” I replied sarcastically.

Chase smiled and went around to get in the driver’s side. I yanked the passenger door open and climbed into the ancient seat. Chase shut his door and started the ignition. I squirmed as I tried to find a position where the seat springs wouldn’t poke into me through the seat’s flattened padding. I finally settled in with a disgruntled expression.

Chase, misreading my expression of distaste asked, “Did you want to drive or something?”

I paused a moment in confusion, then seeing an opportunity, quickly hoisted my nose into the air, as if offended that he had assumed the role of driver without asking me. “Yes, yes I do.”

He didn’t even argue. He just got out and went around to the passenger’s side while I slid across the small middle seat into the driver’s seat. I couldn’t help but be pleased. My driving terrifies my mom, so since I don’t have a car of my own, I didn’t get to drive often. I was practically bouncing up and down with excitement by the time Chase finished buckling himself into the passenger’s seat.

Taking in my maniacal glee, he looked at me nervously. “Something tells me I’m going to regret this.”

I took the time to flash him a quick grin, then slammed my foot on the gas.

The truck peeled out of my driveway, kicking gravel up in its wake. The old clunker had a lot more power than my mom’s little car. I eased off the gas just a little bit as we wove through my neighborhood toward the highway.

I spared a quick glance at Chase. “Mind if we take the long way?”

“Sure,” he said weakly.

I drove a short way on the small highway that leads through the middle of town, then turned onto a street that would take me to the back roads. I was mainly going this way to avoid the graveyard, but I’d let Chase believe that I just wanted a chance to drive the truck on the long, curvy back roads. Heck, he’d be partially right to believe so.

As soon as we reached the start of the narrow road that curves out into the woods on the outskirts of Shelby, I let my foot fall down on the gas. Chase was beginning to look a bit more relaxed, so I rolled down my window and hit the gas a little bit more. The wind blowing in through the window pummeled me, making my hair swirl around my head. Since I hadn’t done anything to my hair that morning anyways, I wasn’t about to worry about it.

Chase cranked up the ancient radio, then started flipping through the few stations that we get in Shelby. He settled on a station that was playing
Living on a Thin Line
by the Kinks, then leaned back against his seat.

As we made our way down the deserted road, partially shaded by the surrounding trees, I eased my foot off the gas a bit. For the first time in days, a feeling of relaxed contentment came over me. Driving that old truck, I felt in control. Chase may not have been my first choice for company, but the wind in my hair felt good, and we were in little danger of being attacked or confronted by anyone or anything. My thoughts wandered to Jason, and the fact that I didn’t even know where he was going or what his “job” was. I quickly stifled the irritation that bubbled in me, not wanting to ruin the peacefulness of the moment.

Thinking it was as good a time as any, I turned down the radio and rolled my window up partially so I could talk to Chase. I waited in the relative silence for him to turn his attention from the window to me. When he didn’t I cleared my throat.

He turned to me, startled out of his thoughts.

Keeping my attention on the road, I asked, “Now that we’re alone, are you ready to explain to me just how you know my dad, and why he chose you to
protect
me?”

He was silent for a moment, then answered softly, “I owe your dad a favor, really, I owe him my life.”

I raised my eyebrows at that, and spared Chase a quick glance to assure myself that he wasn’t messing with me. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“And . . . ?”

He cleared his throat. “And . . . that’s  it.”

I let that line of conversation drop, not that I was done with it, but I could stand to postpone it until he was feeling slightly more sharing. “So . . . ” I began, “Jason said that you smell like me, like a demon.”

“Yes,” he replied, not elaborating any further.

I pinched my lips in frustration. “What gives? You said you would explain things to me once we were alone.”

He sighed loudly. “Yes, I’m a demon too. My mom was a full demon, and my dad was a half demon.”

“So you’re more demon-y than I am?” I interrupted.

He smiled. “In an inconsequential kind of way. Demons have different bloodlines. The more powerful the bloodline, the more powerful the demon. The more powerful the demon, the more traits they will pass on to their offspring. Your dad comes from a very powerful bloodline. My parents were both from mixed bloodlines.”

“So . . .” I prompted.

“So,” he went on, “though I have more demon blood than you, you’re slightly more ‘demon-y’ than me.”

“How demon-y are you?” I pressed. “What can you do?”

He resigned himself to our line of conversation and began to explain, “I’m told that my dad was a necro-demon, he could speak to the dead and create zombies, and my mom was a Naga.”

I pursed my lips in stunned thought for a minute. And here I was thinking that nothing could shock me anymore. “Okay, first, necro-demon? And second, what the heck is a Naga? And why do you say ‘I’m told’?”

He smiled bitterly. “First, yes, necro-demon. Second, a Naga in the most simple terms is a snake person. Third, I say ‘I’m told’ because my dad abandoned me when I was young. I was raised by my mother.” He said everything as if it was very matter-of-fact, with no emotion whatsoever.

I decided that I probably didn’t know him well enough to question him further about being abandoned. It could be a sore subject. I should know. “So what can you do?”

He seemed relieved that I had taken my questioning in this direction. “Well,” he began, “working with the dead is mostly beyond me. I can occasionally see glimpses of ghosts and spirits, but that’s about it. I have the regular demon traits: extra strength, sharpened senses, better healing. I’m probably stronger in those areas than you, just because of the amount of demon blood I have. It’s the actual powers I’m more lacking in. Also, from my mom’s side, I’m poisonous.”

Oh ick. “In what way?” I asked.

He turned to me and grinned, showing teeth. Two tiny fangs appeared at his gum line and slowly extended over his canines. I almost swerved off the road watching them.

He laughed then looked back out the windshield. “In
that
way,” he answered.

“Oh,” I replied, feeling a major case of heebie-jeebies. Enough of that subject. “And why do you owe my dad your life?”

He cringed, then glanced at me nervously. “Another time?” he asked.

“Sure,” I conceded, “another time.”

He slumped down in his seat, as if giving me all this information had cost him a great deal. Who knew? Maybe it had.