True Loves (A Collection of Firsts) (60 page)

I can’t handle this. I want to put all this behind me, not confirm what I’ve feared.  

When I look up to Madame Zoë, a muffled sound hums into my ears through my hands. Her glowing blue eyes light up most of the table as she holds up her hands and screams out her chant. The smoke swirls and expands from the bowl and covers the table, and my whole body quivers in fear. 

I need an escape. I rise to my feet and stumble toward her door. My hands pull free from my ears long enough for me to hear one last thing. “Child, come back. I can tell you where to find him.”

“I just want to be left alone!” I cry, as I blast through her front door.

My feet thunder across the pavement until I reach the security of the Focus. I shove my key in the ignition and tear down the street. My body rocks back and forth while I drive home. My teeth chatter uncontrollably. 

What just happened back there? I sure as hell didn’t expect that freak show. 

The tears continue to pour from my eyes. I wipe them with the back of my hand and smear my make-up all around in the process. My heart floods with relief when I pull onto my street. Home never looked so good. Anxious to get inside, I throw my car into park, fling the door open, and nearly tumble out of it. Still trying to recover from my fall, I run, half hunched, toward the house. I probably look like I’m on crack, but I don’t care. After all, people are used to me being crazy. 

Just as I reach the door, I hear Stew call my name, but I don’t dare turn to face him. My triumphant argument cannot happen while I look crazy. My hand turns the knob, but the door doesn’t budge. A growl escapes my throat and I kick the door as hard as I can. 

“Natalie?” Stew’s voice is hesitant. “Everything all right?” His hand touches my shoulder and I shrug away from his touch. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

My throat constricts. I couldn’t tell him even if I wanted to. I shake my head.

“Did something happen? Are you hurt?” His words have a little panic in them. “Is it Steele? Did he do something? I had a bad feeling about that guy.” 

Tears thicken in my eyes and cloud my vision. I blink them away and let them fall down my face. I sort through my ring of keys to gain entry. My hands shake like a withdrawing junkie. I find the right one and finally manage to slip it in the slot. The door shoves open and I bolt through to seclusion and slam the door in Stewart’s face. 

Stew pounds on the door and yells, “Come on, Nat. Talk to me!”

My back presses against the door, and I close my eyes. 

“Please, Natalie.” When I don’t answer, he yells out my name again. “Let me fucking help you!”

I can’t fathom dealing with him right now. Stew and his bullshit will have to wait. 

I sprint up the stairs and lock myself in my room, then throw my exhausted frame on the bed. My clothes are drenched in sweat, and my legs feel like Jell-O. All these years I’ve questioned my sanity, and now I know there is someone else who knows. If people could see what I just saw, they would stop doubting me. Madam Zoe is definitely the real deal. It probably wasn’t the wisest decision to run out of there before she finished telling me all the information she had, but I couldn’t help myself. Those neon blue eyes freaked me out. It was just too much for my brain to process at once. If I would’ve stayed, I’m sure a squad would have had to come and pried me out of that house, and then dropped me off at the nearest padded cell. 

I curl into a ball as Madam Zoë’s words replay in my mind, and I feel ashamed of running out on her. She seemed like she was only trying to help. After all, she even offered to tell me where to find the demon boy. It would be nice to know where he is, that way I can go to him and plead for my soul. 

Tomorrow, I’ll go back, and explain. Apologize, even. I’d do it now, but I’m a mess, and it’s getting late. Stew might still be out there and I can’t face him right now.  

Tomorrow is definitely a better plan.

“
S
o what the
hell was going on with you yesterday?” Stew’s words startle me as I grab my bag from the car, and my whole body stiffens. 

I tuck a loose strain of hair behind my ear, trying to play it off, and throw my bag over my shoulder. “Nothing was wrong with me.”

Stew shakes his head. “You forget how well I know you. Just tell me. You were crying. Did that freak, Rick, do something to you?”

Where does he get off calling my friend a freak? I clamp down hard on the meaty flesh inside my cheek to keep from screaming at the top of my lungs and turn away from him.

Fingers grip my elbow. “For God’s sake, just tell me what happened.”

I jerk away from him. “Leave me alone, Stew. I don’t have to tell you anything. We are not together, remember?”

Stew’s nostrils flare and his mouth draws into a tight line. “Fine. Whatever.”

My chin tips up. “Good.”

I stalk away from him, and a small part of me wants him to stop me. When he doesn’t I wrap my arms around my body and head into school. 

I decide I need to apologize to Madame Zoë for freaking out yesterday. Now that I know what to expect, I think I can sit through the whole reading and find out more about this boy demon. Maybe she can tell me exactly where to find him and how to cut a deal to get my soul back. Obviously my methods of killing him aren’t successful. Thoughts drifted all around last night, trying to pinpoint exactly where the demon might be. She seemed to know a lot about my situation, and she said he was closer than I thought. He could live right in my neighborhood. Madame Zoë is the only one who can tell me where he is. Hell, at this point I’d do anything to not become a killer. 

When my last class for the day ends, I scoot out the door. 

Rick yells for me as I fly down the hallway. My pace slows, and I whip around to face him.

He eyes me suspiciously. “You weren’t going to wait on me?” 

I chew on my bottom lip. “I’m in a hurry. Sorry.”

He nods. “Hot date?”

I sock him lightly in the ribs. “Whatever.”

He holds his hands defensively. “Hey, I’m just checking. I mean, you could at least tell me where you’re running off to.”

I shrug. “I told you, it’s no big deal. Just something I got to do.”

He looks around. “It doesn’t involve Masterson, does it?”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Okay,” he says as he leans in and kisses my forehead. “Call me tonight.”

I nod and back away from him. “I will.”

A couple minutes later, I’m in the Focus, zooming toward Madam Zoe’s. Mentally, I’ve prepared all day what I’m going to say to her. 

When I pull up to the blue house, it appears just as innocent as yesterday. I wonder if the neighbors have any clue about the freaky stuff that happens inside this place? The absolute filth is probably a health code violation. 

The thought drifts away when I get out of the car. It only takes a few seconds to get on her little stoop. The lion knocker stares me in the face. There’s no nervousness in my body today because I know what’s on the other side of the door. After three knocks, I wait. 

Nothing. 

Yesterday it took her a couple of seconds to come to the door, but at least she’d yelled to let me know she was coming. I press my ear to the door. The birds squawk and their cages rattle, but I don’t hear Madam Zoe. 

I try again, knocking a little harder this time. This time I hear footsteps behind the door. It opens. My eyes almost bug out of my skull. It’s not Madam Zoe. Taylor Gee stands in the doorway, mouth open. She doesn’t say anything. She stares at me expectantly with big chocolate eyes.

I swallow deeply, and then ask, “Is—is..Madam Zoe in?”

Taylor stands a little straighter. “Natalie? What are you doing here?”

I scratch my head. It’s not like I can tell her that I’m here to get help tracking down a demon. No way does she need more information to back up my crazy-chick status. Life has been a little more bearable the last couple of weeks since I’ve gained her acceptance again.  “Um…I came back to finish my reading.”

She frowns. “Listen, Natalie. You can’t tell anyone about what Grandma does here. If this got out, people would treat me like…” She looks me up and down. 

That look says it all. The last thing Taylor Gee would want is to be like me. If it got out that her grandma was a freaky fortuneteller, her reputation would be ruined. She’d be out-casted like me. So, I understand why she’s worried. “I won’t say anything. You think I need to give people any more ammunition against me.”

Her mouth tilts sideways. It’s kind of a sad smile. “Good. But, you have to go. Grandma got really sick last night and I’ve got to get things cleaned up around here while my mom watches over her at the hospital.”

My mouth feels dry, like I haven’t had a drink in years. I wet my lips and open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. 

Could this be my fault for involving her in my demon madness? Had he come here and hurt her?

I nod and step back as guilt rushes over me. “I’m so sorry.” My breath catches, and I can’t get anything else out. 

Taylor shuts the door without saying goodbye or telling me what exactly happened to her Madam Zoe.  

When I flop into my car seat, my brain wanders. She was really old. I’m sure telling a fortune the way she does is hard on the old ticker. That was probably it. A heart-attack. Nothing I did. My hands grip the steering wheel, and my knuckles turn white.

My breath comes out in ragged spurts. I try to calm myself down and convince myself this has nothing to do with me. I rest my forehead against my hands and breathe deeply. How the hell am I going to find that little bastard now? The one person who can help me is out of commission. Now that his visits have become so frequent I just know something is about to go down. I can feel it. I need some major help with this. But who can I turn to? Rick hasn’t exactly been a great resource. He romanticizes demons to much and never gets down to business about how to kill them every time we talk about it.  

My four-cylinder starts up and putters down the street. Things never work out for me. Whenever I want something, it never happens. Stew is a prime example of that. Finding the demon is never going to happen. It’s funny because I never thought about searching for him until Madam Zoë brought it up. Maybe that’s what I need to do? I could gain the upper hand. 

She did say he was close to me. I bet that creeper lives in my neighborhood somewhere, pretending to be a regular kid. If I keep my eyes peeled, maybe I can find him on my own. After all, I’d never forget his little face. 

After I make it home, I peek through the blinds, looking for any dark-haired male suspects. There’s a couple of blonde kids playing across the street, but they don’t fit the profile, no sense in checking them out any further. Next door is where Stew lives. I know the demon doesn’t live there, so I move on to the neighbors. None of them have kids. At least I don’t think so, anyway. 

Frustrated, I flop down on my bed. Where do I even start? 

* * *

T
he rest
of the week drags by, the soul-sucking depression returning to drain the last bit of life from me. Rick—the ever-attentive guy—constantly asks me if I’m okay. Lying to him is kind of hard. The way he looks at me, like he truly cares, works on my conscious. I want to trust him, tell him things, but I don’t think I can be that real with anyone. Things tend to work better for me when I shut people out. Eventually, they leave me alone, but I don’t want to lose Rick.  He’s the best friend I’ve ever had, and I know he wants more. I want to give him more, but this whole demon situation won’t let me lead a normal life. 

Sitting under our tree, I stare at Rick’s profile while he reads one of his evil books. Do I even have time to have a real relationship with this guy? Is it even fair to him? And it seems crazy that I am even worrying about this to begin with considering. 

I sigh, my heart heavy. 

“Natalie? What’s wrong?” Rick looks up from his book. His eyes trained on me.

I shake my head and avert my eyes from him.

He exhales noisily. “Please, talk to me. Something has been up with you all week.”

He doesn’t need this dumped on him, too. 

“Nothing’s wrong. Just bummed about Monkey Man’s class. I’m not ready for the exam he’s giving today,” I lie coolly. 

He tilts his head and draws his brow deep over his eyes. “Are you sure, that’s it? You can talk to me, you know. You can tell me anything.”

Not this. “I know. Seriously, it’s just school stuff. No big deal.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t sound so convinced. “We’re still going to Taylor’s party tomorrow, right? Would that cheer you up?”

Crap. I forgot about that. Taylor is the last person I want to hang out with. The thought of going to her house doesn’t thrill me, but Rick’s expression tells me he wants to make me happy. For him, I’ll go. 

I smile. “Sure. Are we riding together?”

He laughs. “Of course we are. You’re my unofficial girlfriend, remember?”

“Right. I forgot.”

He throws his hand over his heart. “You don’t know how deeply that wounds me.”

“Oh, my God. You’re such a drama queen!” 

He puts his best falsetto on, and says, “Shhhhh. That’s a secret!”

We laugh together. It feels good to be happy in the moment. If only I wasn’t about to become a demonic killing machine, there might have been a chance of having a real future with Rick. But the luxury of time is something I don’t have. 

He wraps an arm around me and pulls me tight. I don’t try to fight him on the closeness. It actually feels pretty nice. He has one arm around the small of my back and brushes my hair away from my face with his free hand. “You are so beautiful. Do you know that?”

Blood rushes to my cheeks, and they burn. I drop my chin down, embarrassed by his compliment. Two fingers slide under my chin and angle my face to look at his. Lips light as feathers brush against mine. I thought it would feel wrong to kiss Rick, like I was being slutty for jumping from one guy to another so quickly, but it doesn’t. It feels right, like I belong here—with him. My face tingles, and the taste of his lips sends a rush of heat through my core. When he pulls back, I smile. 

“I’ve been thinking about doing that for a while now,” he whispers, his lips inches from mine.

I bite my bottom lip. “Have you?”

“Oh, yeah.” He smiles before leaning in again.

He kisses me—once, twice, and then the third time he stays—crushing his lips into mine. His warm tongue parts my lips and enters my mouth. He tastes like mint while his spicy scent swirls around me. He cups my face and rubs my cheeks with his thumbs. After he’s satisfied he pulls back and gives me one last peck.

“Wow.” He grins and closes his eyes, clearly delighted. “Just like I remembered.”

I laugh. “We’ve never kissed before.”

“In my dreams we have.” He sighs. “That was pretty amazing.”

Rick leaves me at Art class at the doorway. I watch him walk down the hallway. He’s pretty wonderful—absolutely perfect. A giddy feeling consumes me as the butterflies whirl around in my stomach. My recently kissed lips spread into a wide smile and I sigh happily. Rick is a nice distraction. 

“Ugh. Can I get by now since Mr. Wonderful is gone?” Stew sneers.

Unmoving, I stare him down.  How dare he say something like that to me? Anger rolls through me, and my body shakes. I square my shoulders and huff. The middle finger of my right hand shoots up in his face. His jaw drops, and he grunts. Instead of giving him time to say something, I leave him stunned and whip around. Stewart Masterson no longer has any power to make me keep my anger quiet. He’s an asshole—one that doesn’t deserve my time. Feeling empowered, I throw my satchel down on the table and saunter over to get my supplies. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Stew slip a piece of paper into my bag. What the hell is that? Probably some evil hate letter to get back at me for flipping him off. He’s not going to see me get upset. I refuse to read it in front of him.

Stew already has our painting laid out on the table. It’s funny that the title we settled on for this project is 
Trust
, which is the furthest feeling I have for him. It was the only issue we both had on our individual idea list, so we went with it. 

He’s not very artistic, but he tries. Most of the work falls on me because I don’t want a pathetic grade just because he can’t draw. 

I load my large, round brush, and slap some midnight color onto the canvas. Painting calms me. It’s the only place I can let my emotions fly without judgment. Art doesn’t need an explanation. Everyone interprets it differently. I really don’t have a plan when I work. The flow of the piece usually guides me, but working with Stew puts me in an artistic funk. The vibe he omits isn’t exactly conducive for creating a grand masterpiece.  

Stew sits with one hand tucked under his chin as he doodles on his canvas. He couldn’t look more bored if he tried. How could I have ever fallen for him? I shouldn’t have been so stupid. He never even apologized to me for standing me up.