2. Darkness in the Blood Master copy MS 5 (10 page)

“Wow,” Logan said, leaning against the wall. “I can’t believe the Dexateens broke up.”

I smacked my forehead against my knees. “I can’t believe we share genetic code.”

Ethan kept reading. “ ‘The most acute part of the hallucinations included lines of darkness wrapping around the fighting creatures. The hallucinations vanished into ‘a door of darkness’ within a matter of minutes. Although some club guests tested positive for common street drugs and some refused testing altogether, the source of the hallucinogen has yet to be identified.’”

I studied the grainy sketch more closely. “They only have his first name,” I read. “Jack. They think.” Bare-chested, maybe he’d lost his shirt in the fight. Maybe he liked to show off his ink. A guy like that was definitely trouble, even if… and then I remembered. “Oh no,” I breathed, as Ethan leaned in close. “I think…” I froze.

“What?” Ethan sounded really worried now.

“I think I’ve seen him before,” I quietly wailed, rubbing my temples with the palms of my hands. “I think I dreamed him.”

“You only draw things that happen. You don’t dream them. Do you?” Doubt pushed Logan’s words up half an octave.

“No,” I groaned. “I don’t. At least, I didn’t. This is something different.”

“Cas,” Logan said, my nickname as taut as stretched canvas. “Now would be a good time to try and talk some sense, hon.”

“I’m not sure if I can,” I said, so frustrated I was almost in tears. “I’m not even sure if that’s him. He never told me his name. But in the dreams he never wears a shirt, and he has a lot of tattoos.” Ethan kept his expression carefully blank. Logan’s eyebrows went up before he wrestled them down again. My own face was on fire. “I’m pretty sure he’s a Nephilim descendent, like me. He says his gift is Dreamwalking. And Shadows.”

Ethan inhaled sharply. Then, the question I’d been dreading: “Why didn’t you tell me immediately?”

“Because I wasn’t sure.” My chin shot up defiantly. “I don’t know, Ethan. Besides my Gran, I’m the only gifted blood I’ve ever met. I don’t know anything about Dreamwalking. At first, I thought it was just some fever dream. But the second time, he was hurt. Whoever he is, he needs help.” I stared at the newspaper. “They all do.”

 Ethan paced to the window. “Did this Jack say where he was being kept? Because the others are probably there too.”

“The first time I dreamed him, I think I went there by mistake. It made him furious. The sky was always twilight, but in a dizzy kind of way. Everything else was gray and dead.” He kept his back to me, and as I spoke, it stiffened. “He called it the Twilight Kingdom, and said he wouldn’t take me there in a million years.”

“You’re sure he said that? The Twilight Kingdom?”

“Pretty sure. It made sense, because of the sky. Why? Do you know it?’

“Some of us… of them, I mean, the Fallen… liked to make little kingdoms for ourselves. In the Dark Realms.” He sounded very far away. “That might be one of them.”

“Ethan, you’re scaring me,” I warned him.

He spun around. “Will you stay at your work until I come for you? It’s well warded. Mr. Markov has seen to that. I just need to know you’ll stay where it’s safe while I check on some things.”

The demon that had been hunting me was never captured. Nephilim descendents with gifted blood were disappearing from nearby cities. One of them was starring in my dreams. He’d kept my blood from boiling over somewhere in the neighborhood of Hell. My insane guardian kidnapper claimed war was coming to Whitfield and that my forbidden powers had already incurred Heaven’s wrath. Oh, and a really sweet old lady had been attacked in a place where nothing ever happened and replaced with my arch-nemesis. If I were a horror-movie heroine, I’d be screaming at myself to pack a bag and leave town as fast as I could.

“Fine,” I sighed. “Just don’t let anything happen to you.” I included Logan in my glare. “You either.”

“I don’t have any special abilities,” Ethan countered. “Unless being the most mortal person in Whitfield counts.”

“You know, in a way, that does kind of make you stand out,” I admitted. Logan snickered at him from across the room.

Chapter Ten:

The Summer People

“Grande moccachino, two grande caramel lattes, and a regular skim cappuccino with a single shot lemon twist,” Amelie fired off, her charcoal-lined eyelids scanning the order screen rapidly. A steel prep counter separated the kitchen from the front. She tapped her garnet fingernails against the steel and leaned towards me like a big cat about to pounce on something cute but delicious. “A favor please, Caspia. Think very bad thoughts when you make that last one.” She cast a swift icy glare over her shoulder at one of the unfortunate customers. “Think of those sad animal commercials. The ones with the depressing music, and the little kittens with no homes?” Her perfect red lips curled into a wicked smile. “For me, please?”

Lining up espresso shots with one hand and frothing milk with the other was so second nature I could do it in my sleep. I had half the order prepped already before she even brought up sad animals and shelters. “Uh, Amelie?” I called, grabbing the caramel syrup before she could turn away. “I think I can handle things from here if you want to head out early.” I gave her my most energetic smile. “Seriously. You’ve had the counter all night, and it’s finally slowing down. I can handle it.”

“You are a terrible liar, Caspia Chastain,” she pouted, twirling her snow blond hair between her fingers.

I made the last drink and resolutely did not think of animal shelters. “Oh, Amelie. Whoever he is, he’s not worth it. And ‘Coffee Goddess’ is just a courtesy title. Even I don’t have the power to imbue drinks with imaginary kitten tears.”

Her slim shoulders drooped beneath her silk sapphire hoodie. She dropped her apron on the prep counter and gave me a wan smile. “You’re right. I’m just so tired lately.” She rubbed her arms as if she stood in her own personal tundra instead of a warm coffee shop. “Everyone is. Have you noticed? It’s as if the air is extra heavy, or something.” As if she realized she’s said something strange, Amelie gave me a rare, wintry smile. “Never mind. I’m going to head out, if you’re certain you’ve got it.” She nodded at Erik, who sat in his usual corner with his guitar, and ducked into Markov’s office to get her things.

I thought about what she said as I finished serving customers. I’d been so wrapped up in my own little life that I hadn’t really noticed the atmosphere around me. Mrs. Kenner’s attack had been the first sign of anything unusual. As horrible as the attack had been, it was easy to write it off as an isolated incident. Nothing else had happened in Whitfield. Right? Agitated, I grabbed a lighter and went to check the tea lights along the windowsill.

It was full night now. I could see through the window to the park. The tea lights reflected dim images of the coffee shop’s interior against the glass so that I stared into a strangely double-layered world. The square was brightly lit as always, dotted with luminous trees and the colorful fountain. The night businesses were every bit as busy as their daytime counterparts. But did people seem a little more hurried than usual?  No one just stood and talked, or strolled through the park.

I watched through the glass as the last of our customers got up to leave. Business had been brisk but no one really lingered. The Coffee Shop was usually pretty full of people who’d come for the music, to meet up, or just read books. But tonight everyone seemed to be all business; they drank their coffee and left. It was so easy to focus on bad things happening elsewhere, in bigger cities like Atlanta and Nashville. Had I been ignoring more subtle signs right under my own nose?

“You missed a couple,” Erik said right in my ear. I jumped.

“Don’t do that!” My heart raced. I shoved my hands in my pockets as soon as I felt them tingle. “Seriously. You have no idea.”

“Wow,” he said, vaulting up to sit on the counter. “Logan must have really tortured you as a child. You’re jumpy.”

“Something like that,” I exhaled, my fists still clenched. “Want a drink?” I darted around him and pulled a Coke from the deepest depths of the refrigerator, hoping the cold would have some effect on my prickling hands.

“Sure,” he said, sounding contrite. I took longer than I had to, trying to calm myself down. When I emerged, he had made his way down the entire length of tea lights for me, relighting the few that had sputtered out. “Markov really loves his candles.”

“Mrs. Alice does too. They’re pretty though.”

“I guess.” He dropped into my boss’s usual chair by the unlit fireplace. “Sorry I scared you. Really.”

I shrugged, cradling my Coke. “It’s not your fault I’m jumpy. It’s in the air, I guess.”

He scanned the empty room. “Yeah, I noticed. It’s like this everywhere, the whole town. Like a storm’s about to break, or something.”

Guilt pricked me. I hadn’t noticed. I’d been wrapped up in my own drama, or reading about other cities. Which reminded me. As a musician, Erik was one of the few residents who left town on a regular basis. For whatever reason, the rest of us tended to stick pretty close to home. I wondered if he’d noticed anything unusual while traveling. “Hey Erik.” I tried to strike a balance between interested, but not too interested. “Who are you playing with these days? Anybody outside of Whitfield?”

If I’d been trying to play it casual, I failed. I’d suddenly drawn his attention like a bird of prey, and I had no idea why. He leaned in so close I could see each individual worry line on his forehead. “Actually, yeah, I am. And not because I want to, exactly. I’ve been filling in for a buddy of mine who can’t…” Erik stopped abruptly. A gold Zippo appeared in his hand, dancing between his fingers as he played with the flame.

Erik was my brother’s age. To us younger kids, he’d always seemed just a little tougher, carried just a little more cool, than the average Whitfielder. As he rolled open flame across guitar-callused fingers, there was no way I was going to tell him to stop playing with fire. He watched me, assessing. “You have really unusual eyes,” he said at last.

“Points for being observant,” I shot back, unsure of how else to respond.

He snorted and leaned in even closer, pitching his voice low. “So my friend’s band. I’ve played with them before, right? And they’re good. Been together for like, ten years or something. Just released their fifth album.” The Zippo danced faster. “It’s supposed to be the one, you know? And it’s selling, getting air time. They’ve worked really hard for this. Everything’s falling into place. Before they go on tour, my friend decides to marry…” Erik stopped again. I watched him struggle for breath, then speech. He slammed the golden metal down between us, its fire gone, but his eyes carried the vanished flame now. “Tell me why my best friend would leave his girlfriend of twelve years, the mother of his child, on their wedding night two weeks before touring with his best selling album ever?”

“Oh, Erik,” I breathed. “I’m so sorry. Do they… I mean, have they found…” I snapped my mouth abruptly shut. What was I supposed to say? Have they found his body, Erik? Or maybe he just ran off with a stripper instead? We stared at each other across Mr. Markov’s favorite heavy wooden table, its surface scarred from countless chess battles and years of customers.

“David would never leave Beth. Not ever, but especially not on their wedding night.” He spit the words out like they were the worst obscenity he knew, like someone suggested he kill his own mother. “And he wouldn’t ditch his band. Not now.”

He wouldn’t ditch me
, Erik didn’t add, but it hung in the air between us nonetheless.

His eyes were a reflection of how much he was burning inside, and I felt the quicksilver stirring in mine. Finally, I buried my face in my hands. “When did the whole world go insane?” I murmured.

“I don’t know, but he’s not the only musician who’s disappeared. A couple of us have gone missing over the last few months. It’s got everybody spooked.”

Cold knifed its way up my spine. Could they be related? “Why hasn’t this made the news?”

Erik kicked back in Markov’s chair, balancing it on two legs. “Not high profile enough. It’s like they’re careful with who they target. Super talented people, but not famous enough to draw attention. It’s really twisted. If that’s even what’s going on. Who knows, really.” He pocketed the lighter in his threadbare Levis and gave me a worn smile. “You’re a good listener, weird-eyes.”

“Cute. I don’t have enough nicknames in my life, you know. Don’t forget I make your coffee.”

“Yeah. Listen. Since it’s so dead, I think I’m gonna take off. You ok here?”

I nodded. “I’m not worried about me. You take care of you.”

As I sat watching him pack his gear, I knew I should have called someone to come sit with me. Ethan, Logan, Amberlyn; even Mr. Markov would be happy to come keep me company, and I’d promised Ethan I wouldn’t be alone. But I also knew The Coffee Shop had some of the best wards in Whitfield and that closing time was in little over half an hour. I could see the tea lights glowing in the windowsill, and I realized I hadn’t really had a half hour to myself all day. It would be nice to just sit and let my thoughts wander. The air was so fragrant and warm here. Relaxing. Somnolent.

I don’t know exactly how much time passed before I realized I held the pencil I took orders with in one hand. I’d been drawing on the back of a paper menu for as long as it took Erik to pack his gear and tidy up his corner. That meant I’d been drawing for fifteen minutes? Ten? Oh no. My automatic instinct to hide my ability at all cost kicked in and I flipped the menu face up. I didn’t look at it; I didn’t want to. My heart dropped when I realized Erik was standing as still as the statues in the fountain behind my shoulder.

“Caspia,” he said, his voice shaky and strained. “What are you doing?”

“Um,” I squeaked. “Looking at the menu?”

“Before that.”

Crap! “Oh, it’s just this project. For school. You know I go to Andreas, right?”

Without another word, Erik reached out and flipped the menu price side down. “Can you explain why my best friend who disappeared, and whom you’ve never seen, is in this picture? And why I appear to be breaking him out of some kind of prison?” I stared at my drawing with him, as stunned as he was. Steps; long, winding steps that were carved into someplace underground; there was Erik, looking rough, separated from a stranger I’d drawn in great detail by bars made of stone… or was it ice? The shading was odd, too. Woven into patches of penciled shadow were faint figures, different scenes. I squinted, but it was hard to make them out. Maybe they made sense to Erik. He jabbed the menu drawing with an accusatory finger. “What the hell is Amelie doing there? And her brother?”