Calling for a Miracle [The Order of Vampyres 2] (Siren Publishing Classic) (33 page)

“
No!
”
Wakened by his own scream, Dane jolted upright in bed. His brain first became aware that he had been dreaming when the smell of his grandmother’s home intruded in his nose, sweet powder, the kind that older women seemed to bathe in, that and the scent of dried paint.

He rubbed his eyes and saw the boxes crowding the room that was now his. Boxes. Boxes of baseball cards, boxes of old clothes and video games. Boxes of his mother’s knickknacks. Boxes of crap he no longer held interest in.

He pushed the heavy blankets off of his body and realized he had once again fallen asleep in his jeans.

“Cybil.” When his sister made no sound, not that she would, but when he heard no movement, he looked to her bed. Empty. Sliding his feet the floor, he stretched and stood. Dane looked to the dog pillow on the floor between the old oak twin beds and saw that that, too, was empty.

As he stood and gazed out the window, he noticed it was late in the morning by the way the sun was already far above the house. He could feel the coldness from outside coming off the glass of each windowpane as if it were a living, breathing thing trying to break in.

He ran a hand through his sleep-matted hair and went to put on his sneakers. As he walked through the house, he sidestepped more boxes and saw that his grandmother had already painted a portrait that day. The woman never slept, well, never slept like a normal person.

She woke up before dawn and would begin painting as if she were possessed, called to do so, before the coffee was even perked. Sometimes Dane would wake up to find her exhausted and painting with hands that shook so badly it was a wonder she could even hold a brush.

He went to the kitchen and grabbed a Gatorade
from the fridge and chugged it in one long, continuous chain of gulps. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the coffeemaker, filled with a fresh pot, forgotten and gone cold. His grandmother must have been up extremely early again.

Tossing the Gatorade
bottle in the recycling, he turned and called for his sister again. “Cybil?”

When she didn’t answer he felt a familiar irritation settle in the pit of his stomach. He moved through the house and found his grandmother napping on the couch. She looked smaller than she had the day before when he found her napping there. He covered her with the ugly, tattered afghan she kept over the back of the sofa and went to the front porch.

The screen door opened with a whisper, its tight springs whining as it pulled shut behind him with a snap. He moved past the plethora of stacked clay pots along the wood-planked porch and leaned over the spindled railing, looking, first left and then right, for his sister. The railing was badly in need of a fresh coat of paint.

Releasing a frustrated sigh, he cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed, “
Cybil!
”
He heard Shimmers bark from somewhere in the distance. Dane stepped off the porch and began heading in that direction. He had only taken about twenty steps before he began to regret not grabbing a sweatshirt. He shoved his fists into his jean pockets and began walking quickly. “Cybil! Shimmers!”

The dog barked again and it wasn’t long before he saw its mangy face and mismatched brindle hide waiting on a hill in the distance. His sister’s small form sat silently beside the dog. Dane shook his head. She knew better than to go this far out alone.

As he jogged up the hill, he started in on the same old lecture. “Cybil, how many times do I have to tell you? If you want to come this far out, get me and I’ll come with you.” She didn’t move or even acknowledge his presence, but Dane knew she heard him.

He caught his breath and quickly petted the ugly fur-covered face nudging his hip. Cybil sat, still in her pajama pants and thermal, but with the addition of her jacket and sneakers, sans socks. Her knees were drawn up to her chest where she held them with her arms wrapped tightly about her shins. She stared out over what could have been a once beautiful view, but was now just the Pennsylvania Turnpike.

The highway weaved in and out of deep valleys cut far into the mountains. Cars whizzed by in the distance. He felt almost like a giant being up so far from the rest of the world. Loud tractor trailers passed like little matchbox
cars with only a mumbled hum as they downshifted around the bend and newer cars moved as if behind a sheet of soundproof glass. It almost sounded like the ocean, but rather than the soft, rhythmic wash of waves breaking over the banks of the shore, it was automobiles sending waves of smog and toxins over the hills.

He sat down beside Cybil and scooted close, trying to steal some of her body warmth. She never took her eyes off the highway. A strand of her long, blonde hair blew into his face and he batted it away. Her hair still held that baby-soft quality girls his age no longer had.

“You can’t keep doing this, Cybil. You can’t keep running off like this.” She didn’t answer. Dane was beginning to forget what her voice sounded like. It had been so long since he heard her say a word. Sometimes she would sneeze or cough and he would try to pick up parts of her voice in that bodily function, but it was no replacement for her laughter or conversation. Sometimes he could make her smile, but if she did laugh it was nothing but a silent chuckle that soon was replaced with a shameful expression as if she felt guilty for still being able to experience joy when their parents could not.

A high-pitched, almost-silent whistle filled his mind and he had the brief impression of their dog. He knew Cybil was thinking she didn’t need his company because she had Shimmers. “Shimmers is not the same as having a person with you.”

He had a vision of Shimmers growling fiercely. “No, Cybil. You need a grown-up out here with you or at least me.” That was when he saw it, him, from his sister’s memory, her perspective. The vision was of him standing before the animal in the woods, holding his mother and being completely useless.

Dane knew Cybil wasn’t sharing this memory to be mean. She couldn’t filter her thoughts and he had no idea how to block the ones he didn’t want to see. She was right anyway. He proved himself to be worthless when they had been in real danger.

He had always been able to see her thoughts since she was a baby. He could pick up on others’ thoughts in school since he was young, but back then he just thought he was intuitive. It wasn’t until about second grade that he realized he was more than intuitive. He could see his classmates’ answers on tests, see where they were daydreaming of being when school got boring, and see what they were afraid of. But it was always visions, never words or sounds. The only sound that came with the gift was the sharp whistle that sometimes filled his head.

He had told his mom and dad about his gift, but they thought he was only pretending to be some sort of superhero. When he pressed the subject, they grew frustrated. Eventually they would challenge him to tell them what they were thinking at that very moment, but he never could. He could only see into younger minds, the minds of his peers. He didn’t know if it was an age thing or a purity-of-thought thing. One kid at his school who had a really rough home life was impossible to see through. It made Dane wonder if once a person’s mind became over cluttered with the ugly thoughts of life, it somehow grew too dark to see.

He pushed the vision of him standing useless before his mother away and turned to Cybil. “Come on, let’s go back. I’m freezing.”

He saw the distant trees in her mind. First the vision was of the woods on the opposite side of the highway, then closer, a few trees, then her vision zoomed in to a single tree and that was when he caught it. A hand wrapped loosely around the bark of the trunk.

He turned and looked to the woods across the highway. He searched for the exact place his sister had just showed him. He thought he found it, but wasn’t sure. All the trees looked the same. His eyes scanned for any movement, but it was hard to see any details from this far away.

His mind whistled, and there was another vision. This time there was a bright-yellow tree amongst the other brown and red ones. His eyes scanned the woods and he found that tree. He sucked in a breath when he realized it was on their side of the highway, on their grandmother’s property line. He stood and grabbed Cybil’s shoulder. “Come on.”

She shook him off and continued to watch the trees. Dane watched, too. Someone was out there. A collection of images flooded his mind. It was a man. Cybil had seen part of his profile. He was tall, olive skin, dark hair almost past his ears. He was wearing black pants and a white shirt.

“Cybil, get up,” he growled. “We’re getting out of here.” But by the time he looked back to the trees, it was too late. The man was standing right in the open and had spotted them.

He was young, maybe twenty-something. He stood about fifty feet away from the trees and Dane wondered how he had missed him walking so far into the open.

“Hey, this is private property, buddy,” he yelled to the man. Rather than answer or turn around, the man began to walk toward them. His posture was casual. He kept his hands loosely in his pockets with each unrushed step. The closer he got Dane noticed a smile.

“God damn it, Cybil, get up now!” he said quietly through gritted teeth. Then he turned to the trespasser and yelled, “You can’t be here, man. You’re gonna have to leave.”

The man smiled at him without showing his teeth. His expression appeared friendly, nonthreatening, but that meant nothing to Dane. When he came within ten feet of them, Dane stepped in front of his pain-in-the-ass little sister. She moved to see around his legs and looked at the man.

“How ya doing?” the man asked. His voice was deep and his words made it sound as if English was not his first language.

“You deaf? I said you’re trespassing,” Dane informed him. He cursed his pubescent body. While Dane was sixteen and tall for his age, his body weight had yet to catch up to the rest of him. Even from this distance, Dane could see the man was ripped. If this guy caused any trouble, there was nothing Dane would be able to do to protect his sister, again.

The man tilted his shoulders to the side and looked at Cybil. “Hi there.”

Dane stepped forward and bunched his shoulders. “Yo! Don’t talk to her.”

The man looked at him. “I’m looking for Forsythia Way.”

That was the road his grandmother lived on, but there was no way Dane was giving this J.O. any information. “Sorry. I can’t help you, man.”

A whistle filled his head and Dane saw his sister’s vision of their grandmother’s home and the street sign at the end of the long driveway that read Forsythia Way. The man cocked his head and looked at Cybil and smiled. Dane then saw the same vision in the man’s head as if he had plucked it right from his sister’s mind. He shook his head. It was peculiar to see into an adult’s mind, something he couldn’t often do.

“You must be Cybil,” the man said as he squatted low to the ground. “I’m Cain.” Dane wanted to tackle the guy for talking to his sister. Cybil just sat there, watching the man. Just as Dane was about to freak out, the man looked at him and said, “And you’re Dane.”

“How do you know our names?”

“I am a friend of your grandmother’s.”

Having already done it once, Dane tried to push back into the other man’s mind again. He immediately saw a picture of his grandmother, but it was through a television screen from some news channel. “Are you a reporter? We don’t want any of you on our property. Now either go or I’m calling the cops.”

The man stood and calmly brushed off his pant legs. He shut his eyes and shook his head then quietly mumbled, “If one more person accuses me of being a reporter…” Looking back at Dane, he said, “I am not a news reporter. Can’t stand them as a matter of fact. I am here to speak with your grandmother. Is she home?”