Inception (The Marked Book 1) (7 page)

“Is that right?” I said with a hint of ridicule. “Are you going to protect me from all the big, bad monsters?”

“Angel, I am the big, bad monster,” he said grimly as he crossed his hands behind his back. 

A cold chill traveled down my spine as I waited for a smirk or a wink, but neither came. I swallowed hard, suddenly very aware of how little I actually knew about Dominic. This man, as attractive as he was, could very well be some deranged serial killer just out on a midnight stroll, preying on his next victim. I mean, who takes walks at night anyway?

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as the scenarios played out in my mind.

“Relax, Jemma,” he said with a playful smirk on his lips. “You’re making it far too easy for me.”

Exhale.

I laughed nervously, trying to play it cool while feeling ten shades of ridiculous for allowing him to get the better of my fears so easily. Though who could blame me? After everything I’ve seen, there was just no telling anymore.

I forced a smile.

“Tell me about yourself, Jemma.”

I shrugged. “There’s not much to tell.”

“Where are you from?”

“Lots of places,” I said and then shrugged. “The last place I lived was Florida, but we moved around a lot before then so I guess I’m kind of a nomad. Wait—how did you know I wasn’t from around here?” Hollow Hills wasn’t a metropolis by any stretch of the imagination, but it wasn’t that small.

“Word travels quick in these parts.”

“Duly noted.”

“Do you have any siblings?” he asked. If he was curious, his tone wasn’t letting on.

“A sister.”

“Older.”

I nodded. “How did you know?”

He glanced down at me. “Lucky guess. And your parents?”

I could feel that suppressed sorrow thickening in the back of my throat as the memories flooded in.

“I don’t remember my mother, but I was very close with my father before he died. It was unexpected—a heart attack,” I lied, fumbling with my fingers as I relived the guilt of having to leave him behind. It was easier to tell that lie than the one listed on his autopsy report. “It’s just me and my uncle now.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, bowing his head slightly.

“Thank you.”

He crossed his hands behind his back again. “Your sister, she doesn’t live with you and your uncle?”

I shook my head. “She moves around a lot.”

“What sort of places?”

“All over really. Chicago, Portland, Toronto…she’s even been to Dublin and she’s not even Twenty-one yet.”

“Impressive.”

“I think so,” I smiled proudly. I couldn’t wait to graduate high school and hightail it into the world just like she did.

“Does she visit you often?”

“She tries to, but you know how it is.”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

I thought back to the last time I’d seen my sister, when she came to visit me in the hospital and told me that I needed to start playing nice with the doctors if I ever wanted to get out of that place. Of course, I would be keeping that part to myself, for obvious reasons.

“It’s been...a while. A few months.”

He nodded without looking. “So that leaves you on your own.”

“Yup. Just me and my uncle.” Ugh, I said that part already.

“How about a boyfriend?” he asked.

I smiled, seeing an opening. “Thanks, but you’re not my type,” I quipped. I couldn’t help myself.

Dead air. He wasn’t even smiling.

My cheeks ignited. “I’m just kidding,” I rushed to clarify. “It was a joke. I knew you weren’t offering to be my boyfriend.”

It seemed like a funny thing to say in the moment. He probably thinks I’m some high school twit now. Damn me for not having a better mouth filter on this thing.

“I knew it was a joke,” he smiled lazily, and then craned his head in closer to me. “I’m just not sure I liked the part about not being your type.”

“Oh.”
Ohhhh
. Butterflies began waltzing in my belly as my lips moved again. “Well, that part was a joke, too.” The words just sort of spilled out on their own.

He was grinning now, and God was he hot.

“W-what about you?” I stammered, feeling flustered and desperate to redirect the conversation. “What’s your story? Do you have family here? A girlfriend?” I applauded myself silently for slipping that in.

“No family here. No girlfriend.”

“Well, don’t tell me everything all at once,” I scoffed at his nondisclosure.

He smiled crookedly. “If you want to know something, you’ll have to be more specific in your asking.”

“Okay.” I already had a question ready. “How old are you?”

His lips curled up. “Probably too old for you.”

Probably. At least it wasn’t a definitely.

“Your answers are still pretty vague,” I noted.

“I never said they wouldn’t be.”

His eyes gleamed under the moonlight like two magnificent onyx stones—dark, mysterious, and beckoning. I looked away, afraid of what they were stirring up inside me.

“Everything okay?” he asked coyly. He seemed to be laughing at me again, like he knew he was having an effect on me.

“Yeah. Totally.” I looked back up at my surroundings, suddenly noticing we had already reached the main boulevard and were about to take a turn down an unfamiliar road, though in all fairness, most of the roads were still unfamiliar to me at this point. “Are we walking all the way?”

“Yes. Is that a problem?” he asked, evaluating my face.

Well, let’s see. Essentially, the Blackburn estate sat atop the undulating rises of Hollow Hills, overlooking much of the town below. It was a long way up the winding roads, especially on foot, and left us exposed and at the mercy of a wide number of possibilities (
night-walking
possibilities) so yes, it was definitely a problem for me.

Of course, I couldn’t very well say that to him.

“Well, there’s a lot of road to cover. I’m afraid my feet won’t make it,” I said instead, sounding incredibly lazy.

“It isn’t very far if we take that short cut,” he pointed. “We can go straight up through the wooded park and then cut through the cemetery—avoid all those side roads.”

“The
cemetery
?” I stopped walking.

“Yes,” he said, stopping with me. “Are you uncomfortable with cemeteries?”

“Um, yeah. Only entirely.”

He examined me for a moment, grinning. “Because of the goblins and monsters, I presume?”

“No, actually. Because of the dead people.”

He laughed as though I’d said something funny. “A taxi it is then,” he winked and pulled out a cell phone from the inside of his overcoat pocket.

And not a moment too soon.

The taxi cab met us on desolate Edgewood Drive less than ten minutes later. Dominic insisted that he escort me all the way home even though he said he lived on the other side of town. I didn’t argue and did my best to hide my delight as I climbed into the back of the cab with him. When we arrived at my place, Dominic told the taxi driver to keep the meter running as he slid out of the car, gallantly carrying my purse before extending his hand out to me.

I didn’t hesitate to take it.

“Thanks again for your help tonight,” I said as he walked me up to the iron gates where I entered the four-digit security code my uncle had drilled into memory. “I’m glad you were there.” I shuddered to think what might have happened if he hadn’t been at All Saints tonight to intervene on my behalf.

“As am I,” he smiled and then crossed his hands behind his back. “I hope to be of assistance to you again. Soon.”

I smiled at the undercurrent of his words. “I’m working again tomorrow night. There’s a good chance I may need some assistance then if you’re interested.”

He dipped his head once. “I’ll see what I can do.”

There was a moment of awkwardness just then as I stood there idle, unsure of what the proper goodbye was supposed to be. A hand shake? A hug? My heart sped up. A kiss?

I chased the thought away and ended the night with a simple smile before starting up the driveway.

“Jemma,” he called a few seconds later, his voice filling me up with exhilaration and causing my pulse to race.

He glided towards me, stopping just inches from where I stood. The anticipation overwhelming every cell in my body as I stood there, a captive member of his dark, entangling eyes.

This was it. He was going to make a move, I thought, bracing myself for a kiss.

“You forgot your purse,” he said as he pushed something into the pit of my stomach.

“Huh?” I looked down and saw my handbag. “Oh...thanks?”

“You bet,” he said, his lips coiled upwards as he took a step back, watching me with those eyes—those alluring, menacing eyes—and then stalked back to the taxicab.

I lingered for a moment, bemused at the exchange, before turning to make my trek up the long stretch of driveway, the sound of heavy steel gates creaking shut behind me.

That was...weird.

8. head case

I woke up early the next morning, an elusive dream callously prying my eyes open before their time. I struggled to catch my breath as clips from my dream danced around my mind disjointedly, piecing themselves together in fragments.

The red sky was the first thing I remembered. It was the color of fresh blood. It poured over the desolate street, dusting everything in its crimson hue as I stood there alone, watching the strange firmament in wonder.

A figure moved in beside me. The midnight-black hair, the humming sensation in my body; I knew it was Trace even before I saw him. He took my hand in his and began talking to me—warning me about something that I inherently knew was important, but I couldn’t hear any of the words. There was no sound, only visions of his lips moving. His dimples pressing in and out, reaffirming the severity of what he was trying to tell me.

“I can’t hear what you’re saying,” I told him, shaking my head in frustration.

A raven called out above us, its voice echoing through the red sky before diving down to the ground beside me.

“Did you see that?” I asked Trace, but he was still staring forward, talking to himself in voiceless riddles.

I turned back to the raven and found Dominic kneeling in its place, the strange sky illuminating him in all the right ways. He stood up and reached out to me, stroking my cheek with the back of his fingers, letting me know everything was going to be okay. But I knew it was a lie.

“What’s going on?” I asked them, but neither one responded. “Why won’t anyone answer me?”

“This isn’t their time,” said a small voice from behind.

I turned towards the sound; a little boy no more than eight or nine years old. His dark hair was parted to the side and his eyes were a familiar shade of gray.

“What does that mean?” I asked him, bending down to meet him where he stood. “Whose time is it?”

“Yours.”

I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”

“You have to go back. You have to make it right.”

“Go back where? Make
what
right?”

“The answers you seek are right where you are,” he said, pointing over my shoulder into the horizon.

I followed his gaze down the abandoned street. “There’s nothing out there,” I said, looking back at him. But he was already gone.

I turned back to Trace, easy as breathing. Something was always drawing me to him, magnetizing me in his direction. I wanted to be by his side, even in this strange dreamlike world. He reached for my hand and pulled me in close to him. His eyes speaking to me, telling me secrets I needed to know, but I couldn’t make out any of their words.

“I don’t like it here,” I told him. “I want to go home.”

He leaned in to me; to kiss me; to comfort me; and in my dream, I waited with bated breath for it, though our lips never connected. Instead, his lips moved down the base of my neck, caressing me as they glided over my hungry skin.

I closed my eyes briefly, indulging in his touch. When I opened them again, short blond curls filled my vision.

“This will only hurt a lifetime,” said
Dominic
and then bit down into my neck.

The pain shot through my veins, burning as his poison consumed my being. He drank from me in unquenchable heaps, over and over again under the strange red sky.

And I didn’t move a muscle to stop him.

It took me several minutes to steady my heart rate and breathe once I realized it was only a dream. I climbed out of my bed and tiptoed my way down the hall, intent on getting myself a glass of water to wash away the dream’s bitter taste from my mouth. I wasn’t sure what time my uncle woke up at so I was extra quiet when I rounded the corner, careful not to accidentally wake him up. I relaxed as soon as I neared his office and heard his voice looming from within.

“Jemma is my responsibility. I will decide what’s best for her,” I heard him say, and froze mid-step.

After a brief pause, he continued. “The problem is she’s neither here nor there at this point. She’s somewhere in-between. We can’t go on this way, it’s much too dangerous. The spell has to be broken.”

The spell? What spell? What’s too dangerous? What in the HELL was he talking about?

I took a step forward, greedily wanting a better view, better sound. The wood creaked monstrously beneath my foot giving me away as though the house were alive and openly playing for the other team.

Crap.

“Listen, we’ll discuss this later at the meeting. Something’s come up.”

I took a series of track-star steps backwards towards my room and nearly somersaulted myself back into bed, pulling the covers up over my head and squeezing my eyes shut.

Several moments later, I heard my door creak open, followed by a brief stint of silence, before it closed shut again.

There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that my uncle had just come in to see if I was awake. If I had been the culprit eavesdropping on his conversation, probably wondering how much I had heard.

Well, I heard enough.

I had no idea what was going on around here, or what he was talking about, but I had every intention of finding out.

I had an impossible time staying focused throughout the day. My mind, despite what I had been commanding it, continued to busy itself with the conversation I overheard this morning in my uncle’s office as I struggled to make sense out of the senseless. After countless scenarios, I finally decided that I must have misunderstood what he had said, or the context in which it was said, because no other explanation seemed plausible. Jumping to paranoid conclusions was a surefire way to get myself admitted back to the hospital.

My thoughts quickly drifted to better things, like the conversation I had with Dominic last night—and our walk, and the shade of his eyes, and the fullness of his lips, and every other little distracting thing about him. It was absolute mutiny of the mind, and Dominic Huntington was reigning supremely.

After the big lunch rush, I was relived to finally be able to sit down at the bar with Paula, the other full-time waitress, and have our first break of the day. We sat side by side eating our lunch as Zane balanced his cash register on the other side of the counter. Paula, with her dark blond hair pulled back into a proper and unassuming ponytail, seemed to be completely distracted with her own thoughts.

I needed to get us out of our heads.

“Is it always busy like this?” I asked no one in particular.

Paula shook her head.

“Not usually on Sundays.” Zane responded without looking.

“Could have used an extra waiter,” I noted quietly. “Where’s Trace today anyway?” I asked and then nearly kicked myself for it.

“He doesn’t work the lunch shift,” said Zane, and then lifted one of his arched eyebrows. “Why? Did you miss him?”

Insta-defense set in. “No. I couldn’t care less. I’m just curious about the work schedule, that’s all.”

Work schedule
? That sounded lame, even to me.

“Sure,” he said, not even bothering to hide his sarcasm. “Me thinks the girl doth protest too much.”

I reverted to kindergarten coping skills and made a face.

“Do you like it so far?” asked Paula, her voice low and timid. “The job, I mean.”

I nodded, picking up a stack of veggies with my fork. “Sure. It’s alright. Not that I have anything to compare it to.”

“Wait.” Zane lifted his hand in the air dramatically. “Are you saying we popped your cherry here?” He leaned in closer, his skin a perfectly tanned gold.

I rolled my eyes at him. “Do you hear yourself? I refuse to dignify that with an answer.”

“Dignify what with an answer?” asked Trace as he walked up from behind. His shirt was dotted with droplets of rain and clinging to his shoulders in an interesting way.

Not that I was staring.
Much
.

“Nothing,” I said as I tried not to look when he slicked his hair back and leaned onto the counter beside me.

“Her cherry,” blurted Zane. “We popped her cherry.”

I turned pomegranate red.

“You what?” Trace looked over at me uneasily, his own cheeks slightly darker than before. “What’s he talking about?”

“He’s trying to be funny.
Trying
being the operative word,” I explained and then quickly added, “It’s my first job,” as though that cleared up the whole thing.

It didn’t.

Zane jumped in. “First job. Cherry. Virgin territory—”

Trace lifted his hand to stop him. “Thanks, I got it.”

Awkward.

“Is April here yet?” asked Trace, undoubtedly needing to change the subject in a massive way.

“I think she’s in the office,” answered Paula.

“Thanks.” He bounced his striking blues off of me once more and then took off for the back office.

I dropped my eyes to my plate. When I looked up again, Zane was grinning ear to ear.

“What?” I snapped, already defensive.

“What is that? What’s going on there?” he said, ticking his head towards Trace. “I’m sensing a little
je ne sais quoi
.”

“You’re high on spray-tan fumes.”

He smacked his lips. “Mm hmm.”

“I’m meeting Dominic Huntington tonight,” I blurted out, hoping that might quell his suspicions, and then cringed inwardly for trying so hard. Why did I even feel the need to defend myself?

Zane’s eyes rounded out with delight at the revelation but quickly evaporated into something else as he eyed Paula. She flicked her salad back and forth with her fork, her expression obscured in thought, before she pushed the plate away.

“Excuse me,” she said as she slipped off her stool and walked off towards the back. I could have sworn I saw a tear fashioning in the corner of her eye.

I looked at Zane. “Did I say something wrong?”

He leaned in across the bar as though there were prying ears all around us. “She used to go with him.”

“Go with Dominic?” I recoiled. “Go with him where?”

His eyes peeked up at the ceiling. “
Go
with him,” he repeated suggestively. “As in she used to
date
him.” He shook his head in pity. “Poor girl had it bad, too.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. They were damn near on fire. How long did they date? Was it serious? Did they
sleep
together? I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear any of it.

“What happened with them?” I asked, despite myself.

“He dogged her out, that’s what. Dropped her like last season’s Pradas.”

“But I thought he just moved back here?” Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe he was talking about another Dominic Huntington. Okay so it wasn’t likely, but it
was
possible.

“He did,” he said as he pushed off the counter and returned to the cash register. “They moved fast.”

“Oh.”
Gross
.

I changed my mind. I didn’t want to hear this anymore.

“My breaks over,” I said as I grabbed our plates off the bar. “Later, Zane.”

“Laters, Jem.”

I rushed off to the back, putting as much distance between myself and that conversation as I physically could.

The hours passed by slightly disjointed, and for good reason. My head was sort of all over the place yet nowhere in particular. I felt tired, and under the weather, like
below sea level
, and while I initially just chalked it up to the surprise of finding out about Paula and Dominic, as time wore on, things seemed to go from bad to worse, and I quickly realized it had nothing to do with either one of them.

I was standing in the back storeroom looking for the paper napkins when it happened. It was as though a sudden surge of tiny needles began blitzing my skin and when I looked up around me, the entire room had become animated in an unnatural way, similar to what you’d see in the skewed mirrors of a Funhouse.

The melting walls and flashing black dots were the last thing I saw before I hit the ground.

In truth, it only felt like I was out for a split second, but I had no real way of knowing for sure. When I came to, I was face down on a cold tile with an open box of paper napkins scattered on the floor around me. The seconds felt like minutes, and it took forever for the room to slow its rotation long enough for me to regain my balance and stagger back into a seating position, my back planted firmly against the wall like an anchor.

Even still, my stomach wrenched and my head pounded harder than the bass line of a hundred tribal drums. I could feel my skin was clammy, and heated, crawling with uncomfortable, tingling sensations, and I knew I was far from out of the woods.

The door burst open as Trace came barreling through it, his usual controlled expression overtaken by concern.