Living Violet (10 page)

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Authors: Jaime Reed

Tags: #Young Adult, #Fantasy, #Romance

BOOK: Living Violet
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I knew there were forces among us that I couldn't understand. However, I had never held a fear of the supernatural. Mom kept me busy with a healthy fright of creatures in the tangible realm. Man did far worse things than any demon could contrive. But all the things I'd seen left no doubt that what sat across from me, sipping liquid sugar, was not normal.
He paused halfway through his drink and said, “I don't mean to scare you. I'm just giving you the backstory, where my spirit originally came from, what it used to be. See, everything in existence has three components: a vessel, a spirit, and life energy. Trees, birds, humans, even demons—believe it or not—encompass all three in some form. What lies inside me has no viable life and no body, just a spirit. To compensate, it uses me as a vessel, and feeds off the energy I supply.
“It's like electrodes. Little sparks and neurons and wavelengths, an entire switchboard of life going all over your body. That's what you saw coming out of Garrett's mouth.”
“You ate his life?” When he affirmed, I asked, “How?”
“It pulled from the mouth. The kiss of life ... and death,” he intoned.
“Like a dementor.”
He looked confused. “A what?”
“Dude, you've worked in a bookstore for two years, and you've never read
Harry Potter
?”
“No,” he returned; although his expression seemed to shout,
Why would I?
I sighed. “I'll lend you the series. But why does it only attract women?”
“Because it's male. That's his weapon. The spirit gives off a signal that draws females in, kinda like pheromones. It pulls them in with an allure so powerful they lose all sense of control. When they kiss me, the spirit pulls at their energy. The magnetism works best on vulnerable females. Most unhappy or lovelorn women are especially drawn to me. The more desperate they are for love, the stronger the attraction.”
“And my mom?”
“If you weren't in the house, she would probably be all over me.”
“Ugh. I think I'm gonna be sick,” I replied, more to myself than to my strange company. The thought of Mom going cougar on Caleb left a bad taste in my mouth. “So, what does this mean? What do you do about it?”
“I try to ignore most of them. But things happen, as I also told you before. As a result, the girl in the bookstore parking lot. She jumped me and—”
“And your little roommate heard the dinner bell,” I cut in.
“Yeah.”
“Has this happened before? Is there any way to resist?”
“Yes and no. It's like having a pet tiger. It's wild and carnal, but it has recognition. After a period of time, it recognizes people. I have sisters and female cousins and the spirit never reacted. It won't draw from anything it recognizes.”
“Well, you know what happened to Siegfried and Roy.”
Wearing a mask of boredom, Caleb darted his finger at me. “All right, look, that tiger didn't attack his owner. An excited fan approached the stage and spooked him. The cat acted in defense and pulled Roy away from potential danger and forgot his own strength. That's pretty much what happened with the women at Buncha Books and Europia Park—”
“So it was you! You were the cause of their heart attacks.” I accused.
He at least owned the decency to look shamefaced. “The spirit only attacks when confronted. Those women jumped on me, and it responded. It really has no conscience when it comes to the unfamiliar. It just knows what sustains it. If it can't feed on others, it will feed from its host.”
That got my attention. “What?”
“Over the years, I discovered that the spirit can be appeased by large amounts of endorphins, the ones that come with excitement or when I eat sweets. It's a passable substitute if a life source isn't available, but I have to be replenished constantly.”
At his words, his weird baked-goods fetish began to make sense.
Wait, no, it didn't. “So it feeds off euphoria?” I asked.
“Euphoria, fear, anger, adrenaline, excitement. It all produces dopamine, a different quality or grade of energy. Do you know what life is? It's not flesh, blood, and bones. It's the spark. It's that universal core that makes us what we are, the beginning of all things. It's not the body, not the soul, but the bridge where the two meet; what keeps the soul in the body. That is what it eats.”
I tried to follow, I really did. “Okay, then why didn't the women die? They just had heart failure.”
“Because I fought against it. If they held on any longer, the spirit would have taken more, and ...” He raked a hand through his hair. “I don't wanna hurt people.”
“Then how do you explain Garrett?”
He brooded over the question while sipping his tea. “That was my fault, not the spirit's. That can never happen again.”
I leaned away from him. “Your fault?”
“Like I said, the spirit's primary prey is women. I'm a slave to its cravings, but I can curb the appetite. When I saw Garrett hurt you, I reacted, and things got out of control. I couldn't stop.”
“Why?”
“Garrett had an unusual amount of energy. He'd been using an artificial stimulant.”
“Like steroids,” I supplied.
Caleb nodded. “It was killing him before I even touched him. I started giving him CPR when I felt his energy in my mouth. The spirit got one taste of that and went completely haywire. I couldn't stop if I wanted to. Then there's the fact that I
didn't
want to stop. I wanted Garrett to pay for hurting you and Alicia. And the pull was so damn good, so painfully exquisite, it brought me to tears.”
I reared back. “And here I thought you were crying out of grief.”
“I just know what I felt, and remorse wasn't it. But it scared me, Samara. I've never let it go that far before. I've never ... killed anyone before.”
His features twisted with anguish. I noticed his skin appeared paler than usual, and he likely hadn't slept all night.
“What did you do with Garrett's body?” I asked.
“I went to Robert's house and called the police.” Scowling, he leaned forward in his seat. “What? You thought I buried him in the backyard?”
I lifted my hands in resignation. “Hey, I don't know how these things work.”
He just stared at me, disappointed and greatly offended. “I'm not a monster, Sam.”
“Then what are you?” I demanded.
“How's everyone doing in here?” Mom chimed from the hall. She made a beeline for Caleb and continued with the touchy-feely.
He handed her his empty cup. “We're fine. Could I have some more tea, please?”
“Of course. You can have anything you want,” she assured in a breathy voice that made me cringe. I tried to ignore how her fingers caressed his when she took the cup.
When Mom left, Caleb turned to me. “I'm not a monster. We call ourselves ‘Cambions,' because of the spirit's origin. I am one-hundred-percent, flesh-and-blood mortal with a few stipulations, that's all. I've had this thing all my life and I can control it.”
“What if you run out of doughnuts and your little pet is starving for energy?”
His face set in a hard block of determination. “I see to it that it doesn't happen.”
Mom's head popped from around the corner. “Did you want milk or lemon with your tea? I forgot to ask.”
“Nothing. Plain is fine,” Caleb called back.
Flashing a wink, Mom disappeared.
He looked back at me. “I can control it, Sam.”
I shook my head. “I can't rely on that.”
Mom's head reappeared. “Do you want some cookies to go with—”
“Mom!” I yelled. This fixation was getting on my nerves. And where did she get cookies? I scoured the four corners of the house and found not a crumb of junk food. “Could you give us a minute to talk, please?”
“Huh? Oh, I'm sorry, sweetie. I'll be in the kitchen if you need me,” she announced, almost running into the wall to leave.
“Let's take this outside.” I went to the front door with Caleb fast behind me.
The heat felt like an octopus latched onto my head—clammy, suffocating, and highly intrusive. The smell of charcoal and barbecue drifted up the block, escorting the sun on its journey west.
Leaning against the railing, I folded my arms. “All right, let's take this from the top. Act one, scene one. How did you get a demon in your body?”
His eyes narrowed at me. “I don't like the word ‘demon.' ”
“And I don't like the word, ‘conversate,' but people say it,” I shot back.
He stared down at me with open impatience. “It. Is. Not. A. Demon. Not completely. If you wanna be technical about it, it's a sentient, a being capable of conscious thought and emotion. A soul.” Caleb ruffled his hair and dragged a hand over his face before continuing.
“True demons still have their physical bodies, have unspeakable power, and they're evil as fuck. They have no morals, humanity, or conscience. ‘Demon' is a very sensitive word among my kind. We try not to use it.”
“Duly noted.” I shook off the chill creeping up my neck. “But if this ‘sentient' once had a body, then how did it get inside you?”
“I don't know. My dad says that I was born with it, but I never felt it until I was about twelve.”
“Whoa, back up. How does your dad know?”
“He's a Cambion too. There's another thing about this entity. It can multiply and spread, kinda like a gene or a curse.” He chuckled bitterly.
I reared back. “Can I catch it?”
“It's not a germ. You can't get it from touching. It's passed down at birth and it's been in my family for centuries. My children will have it.”
“Let me guess, your brother Haden is just like you, too?”
“Yes,” he confessed, though he seemed reluctant to do so.
“So that's what he meant by
legacy
.” I nodded, not having the brainpower to do anything else. I suddenly felt tired and drained, and I hadn't even touched Caleb. “Does Nadine know what you are?”
His cold stare locked me in place. “It's not something that should ever come up in conversation, Sam. Can I trust you to keep this to yourself? Tell no one, not Nadine, or even Mia.”
Was he kidding? People would think I was just as crazy as he was. “Yeah, sure. I won't tell.”
He sighed as if my silence offered some great relief. “Samara, I like you, I really do. You're about the only woman in this town who doesn't have this reaction. I would never hurt you or your family. I can control this; I've done it for years. I'm able to live a normal life. I told you, this spirit has recognition. The more time you spend with me, the less likely it is that it will draw from you. My parents were married for twenty-eight years without any problems.”
Just as I was about to respond, Mom opened the door and yelled, “Honey, Mia's on the phone for you. She sounds upset.”
My shoulders sagged as I let out a breath. Mia had probably heard the news about Garrett. All the events from the past twenty hours slammed into me like a crosstown bus. When Mom saw me nod, she went back inside, but not before undressing Caleb with her eyes.
“Listen, I gotta go. Thanks for bringing my wallet back.” I started for the door but stopped when Caleb touched my arm.
With a look that echoed torment, he asked, “So, are we cool?”
I pulled back. “No, Caleb, we are not cool. A friend just died last night, and that's something one doesn't shake off right away.”
His features hardened, his nostrils flared. “How can you call him that after what happened?”
“With ease. I know it's a lame excuse, but Garrett was drunk and probably high. He deserved a serious beat-down, some jail time, and a taste of his own medicine by the fellow inmates, but not death. Death is a little permanent for me, and I prefer that it be applied sparingly. You just threw a lot of information my way and I need to process all of it. I don't hate you, especially after you helped me last night. But no, we're not cool, Caleb. So if you'll excuse me, I need to comfort my friend and find a black dress.” I went inside and slammed the door in Caleb's face.
11
G
arrett's funeral took place the following Wednesday. The student body, extended relatives, and half the commonwealth were in attendance. Those who couldn't find a seat stood in the back. Within the ocean of black were the tear-stained faces of children, friends, and teammates who awaited the answer to the universal question:
Why?
The autopsy report verified Caleb's claim of steroid use. Though the cause of Garrett's bruises remained unknown, police speculated the injuries came from a brawl during the party, a pastime he was known for. Medical examiners concluded that his sudden heart attack was caused by the FDA-banned horse pills that polluted his bloodstream. The fact that Garrett hadn't dropped dead in the middle of the practice field was a true act of God.
Seated in the third row were the dreaded Courtneys. Yes, our school had a clique of girls who shared the same name. Rumor had it, they had also shared Garrett. They were nicknamed the Brides of Dracula, because every other week, one hung on his arm, wearing his class ring. They traded off like the Changing of the Guards. They now huddled together, dabbing their eyes with tissue and checking their makeup.
I sat near the back in the second to last pew. I didn't own a black dress, so Mom had let me borrow her old turtleneck dress with the football shoulder pads. Mia looked no better, dressed like the opening scene of
Breakfast at Tiffany's
. She leaned against Dougie, who still looked like the closing scene of
Fight Club
. Dougie and Garrett were far from blood brothers, but Dougie wanted to pay his respects. He held Mia tight, as if afraid that Garrett would make a pass at her from beyond the grave.
After a quick sermon and group prayer, the service moved right into open-mic night. People approached the podium, sharing delightful anecdotes and fond memories of the departed.
I wondered why people only praised others after they died. Was death the ultimate street credit? Dad told me that you could tell how one lived by how many people attend their funeral. Seeing these solemn faces left no doubt that Garrett would be missed.
The service was brief, dignified, and uneventful as all get out. I'd only attended one other funeral in my life, and it was nothing like this. When Grandpa Watkins died, Nana went all to pieces. She fell out in the church, screaming, and pulling the body out of the casket. Cousin Tameka's water broke, announcing the arrival of her fifth child. And Uncle Rudy had some warrants out on him, resulting in his arrest at the gravesite.
Now that was entertainment.
This, on the other hand, was Melancholy and the Infinite Sadness. Not a cough, crying child, or whisper as the silence carried its own noise throughout the building.
I couldn't even look at the Davenports. Garrett was their only son who hauled their dreams on his back. They sat in the first row, showing a brave front, and all I could think of was my own parents.
There was something cosmically perverse about burying one's child. It left several questions in the air. What were those past eighteen years for if he was going to leave? What was the point of expectations and hope? And how would they, could they, move on with life?
 
Once Garrett was laid to rest, I hugged my friends and left. I wasn't in the mood to talk, and I preferred to grieve in private. Halfway home, I pulled over on the side of the road and cried. It came from out of nowhere, one of those nasty, snot-bubble, I-hope-no-one-is-watching-me cries. It was a delayed reaction that was long overdue.
After collecting myself, I stopped for a slushy, because turtlenecks in July were never a good idea. I couldn't even smile as Captain John Smith held up the line by blowing his paycheck on scratch lotto tickets. A cloud of depression hovered over my head and wouldn't go away.
Then there was Caleb. What on earth was I supposed to do about him? I had to think fast because he was parked in front of my house, and I didn't know what to do.
I spent the past three days avoiding him, which he made easy for me. He didn't look at me at work, and that bothered me more than I liked to admit. I still needed to take everything in, process and analyze it to death—which only produced a new batch of questions. Aside from Hebrew scriptures and some very entertaining fanfic, the Internet was not a stable reference for this particular issue, so I thought it better to consult the source directly. Today he decided to take matters into his own hands and pay me a visit. He leaned against his Jeep as if I was running late.
Despite it all, I liked Caleb.
There, I said it. I liked Caleb.
I often wondered why girls were attracted to dangerous, mysterious men. The answer was simple. It's exciting and provocative. They're constantly on edge, nothing's ever boring, and danger is a turn-on. Wearing faded jeans, a tight-fitting black T-shirt, and aviator shades, Caleb epitomized the bad boy.
I got out of my car and strolled down the driveway. “What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you.” He pulled the shades to the bridge of his nose and dragged eyes down my outfit. “Holy 1985, Batman!”
I almost cracked a smile. Almost. “You're just jealous that you can't pull off this look.”
“You got me there.” He nodded. “How was the service?”
My eyes lowered to the grass. “Sad.”
“Sam, I'm really sorry.” The words sounded urgent, almost desperate.
“I know. It shouldn't have happened that way. I don't expect you to understand, but Garrett was a friend. I've known him since—”
“Junior high, I know, but he's not the same boy you knew. The drugs he took changed him and not in a good way.”
“Well then, leave me alone to grieve for the boy he used to be.” I treaded across the lawn, then stopped. “Wait, how did you know how long I've known him?”
“I know a lot about him now.” His tone carried a hint of suggestion.
“Like what?”
“He wasn't a good person. Alicia wasn't the first girl he attacked. There were others.”
If that didn't get someone's attention, nothing would. “Who?”
Caleb shifted his feet and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Someone named Courtney.”
“Which one?”
“I'm not sure.”
I stepped closer. “How do you know all of this?”
“The energy consumed comes with a type of fingerprint of its past, memories. I know all about Garrett. Everything.”
“Like?”
“He was allergic to cashews. He loved kung fu movies. He was very insecure about his body for a while, which is why he took drugs. He had a crush on you when he was fourteen, but he wasn't sure how his parents would react to you.”
“What do you mean
react
?”
“Let's just say that there are some members of his family who aren't as open-minded as most.” Caleb's gaze lowered toward my chest. “Did he really pay you ten dollars to touch your breasts freshman year?”
I dragged my hand over my face. “I completely forgot about that.”
“Garrett didn't. You want me to go on?”
A rush of dizziness rocked my body. “No. Yes. I mean, no. What were you saying about the Courtneys?”
“I wouldn't be surprised if they're not sad to see him go.” The look on his face told me that he didn't want to elaborate.
I shook my head. “I need to go inside. I'm roasting in this dress, and I'm tired.” I moved toward the house.
“When can I see you?” he called after me.
“When you always do. At work.”
“I mean outside work.”
I spun around. “What do you want from me, Caleb?”
He pushed off his car and met me halfway. “For you to be close to me. I need you near me so—”
“So what? So your roommate and I can bond? I don't think that's a good idea.”
“Why?”
“Because it's weird, because it's dangerous, and I've got better things to do on my day off.” I walked away.
“Please?” Though the word was barely audible, its meaning rang loud and clear.
That one word was enough to stop me in my tracks and put a crack in my dam. “What do you get out of this?”
“Company.”
I watched him draw closer. “Is it really that lonely?”
He pulled the shades from his eyes, removing all barriers from getting his point across. Capturing my full attention, he said, “Sam, women want me, crave me, but none of them
like
me. My family lives all over the world, and the guys in this town are nuts. You're the only person I truly have fun with. I'm at peace with you. You like me, don't you?”
I glanced sideways at him. “You a'ight.”
“Sam.”
“What do you want me to say? We've just started talking”—I checked my invisible watch—“a few weeks ago. We're still in the introductory stage. This is all new to me. I'm not a big fan of dating, not counting dealing with whatever it is you are, and that you accidentally helped kill my classmate. Top it all off with the fact that I'm wearing polyester in eighty-degree heat. What do you want?”
He took a deep, controlled breath, as if trying to conjure patience. “Fine, go change and let's go.”
I stared him up and down. “Go where?”
“To eat. I want waffles.”
I jumped back, appalled. “Waf—are you insane?”
“No. I'm hungry, and we can talk. I'm sure you have a new list of questions for me. Now go change. You've got fifteen minutes.”
“I've got as long as it takes for me to shower and get dressed. Don't rush me.” When I got to the porch, I turned back to him. “Mom doesn't come home until seven. Come inside. You can wait downstairs.”
He stepped closer. “Are you sure? You don't think I'll come after you, or something?”
“You could try. The Marshall women don't die easily, and we always go out shooting. Besides, you should worry about yourself. You have no idea what's inside the rest of my house.”

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