Pawn (Nightmares Trilogy #1) (30 page)

“I did wear it to bed,” I told Kannon.
“And if I did dream, I don’t remember it.”

“Huh,” was all Kannon said in
reply.

After lunch, we made our
way back to Westwood so he could drop me back at the Holloways’
before anyone noticed that I wasn’t there. My mother had left
several messages on my cell and I was willing to bet the Holloways’
home phone as well. As angry and upset as I was, I hated causing
her stress. So I texted and let her know I was alive. She texted
back immediately, practically begging me to come home that evening
so we could talk. After spending the day with Kannon, I felt
marginally better and more forgiving, but still not ready to face
the woman who’d lied to me for so many years. I informed her that I
needed another night with the
Holloways
to mull over her
spontaneous admission, but would go to school the following
day.

When Kannon parked the Jeep in the
Holloways’ driveway, he turned the engine off and turned towards
me. The afternoon sun made the green of his irises even more
vibrant than usual. After holding hands for the better part of our
aquarium date, the shock when he laced his fingers with mine was
mild and familiar. The jolt when our lips met, however, was even
more potent than before. My skin felt alive with the electricity,
the hairs on my arms and neck standing at attention.

Kannon wound his fingers
through my windblown tangles, and tiny pinpricks of current passed
from the pads to my scalp. My free hand rested on the thin cotton
over his chest, feeling as his heart skipped every third beat. His
tongue dancing with mine was like eating Pop Rocks
while drinking soda. Even the Jeep’s gear shift
couldn’t stop the magnetic pull of our bodies to one
another.

“Call me later?” he whispered against
my ear, voice husky.

I nodded jerkily since words failed to
form in my brain from lack of oxygen.

Once safely back inside the Holloways’
kitchen, I caught sight of my reflection in the stainless steel
refrigerator: strands of auburn hair stuck out wildly in every
direction; pupils dilated, black blocking out the brown; sweater
hanging off one shoulder to reveal the strap of my bra.

Thank god no one is
home,
I thought. I looked like a teen pop
star after a long night of hitting the Hollywood club scene
complete with too many trips to the ladies’ room for a
pick-me-up
. Kannon
affected me in a way that no other person ever had, and I was
pretty sure I liked it.

****

That night over a
home-cooked
meal of
chicken and potatoes, comfort food according to Mrs. Holloway, I
told Devon everything. It was a warm night, and her parents had let
us eat outside so we could have privacy to talk. To her credit, she
remained silent, allowing me the luxury of babbling and asking
rhetorical questions that she had no better answers
for than I did. This time I didn’t shed a single
tear; the shock that had previously paralyzed my emotions had worn
off, replaced by anger and resentment for the two people that I’d
trusted most in the world. Being angry with my father felt wrong,
particularly if he was no longer alive, but I couldn’t help it.
While my mother had always treated me like a china doll that
belonged in a cabinet, my father had always treated me as an equal,
a friend. Keeping such a monumental secret wasn’t in line with the
man I’d thought he was.

“Maybe we could go visit Samantha,”
Devon suggested when I was finished.

I narrowed my eyes. “She’s dead, Dev,”
I said bluntly.

“Right, but she must be buried
nearby.”

“If by nearby you mean California,
then yes, she is,” I retorted in a harsh tone.

I often wondered just how much it took
to offend Devon Holloway. Sure, she got angry at Rick all the time,
but nasty comments usually rolled off Devon like water on a duck’s
feathers. Apparently, her best friend acting uncharacteristically
bitchy did not. Wounded was the only way to describe the expression
Devon wore. I felt horrible. She was trying to be supportive, and I
was taking out my frustration with my imposter parents on
her.

“I’m sorry, Dev,” I said gently. “It
was a good idea. And if she were here, then I would agree with you.
I would do anything I could to learn more about the woman who
shared half of my DNA. But California is a little out of my price
range at the moment.”

“What do you know about her?” Devon
asked, back to her usual chipper self.

I shrugged. The things I knew about
Samantha Cable could be counted on one hand. According to her older
sister, she was a hippy drug addict who had lacked ambition and
focus. She never married and died in a drunk-driving accident at
twenty-four, leaving behind a daughter: me. My mother kept several
old photo albums from her childhood on the bookcase in her home
office. Every picture from Mom’s teenage years included Samantha.
At one time, they’d been close friends, always smiling and laughing
together. In life, my birth mother had been beautiful with big
brown eyes that always smiled, long hair the color of the cherry
wood cabinets in my old kitchen, and a perpetually tanned
complexion that gave her a more exotic look than her name
suggested.

“Not much,” was all I said to
Devon.

“Let’s look her up online,” Devon
replied, a light bulb going off behind her blue eyes.

I almost laughed. Of course Devon
wanted to look her up online. And it wasn’t a bad idea, except
Samantha Cable had died before the internet boom. Her death
announcement wasn’t likely to be in an online obituary. But once
Devon got it in her mind to do something, there was nothing I could
say or do to stop her, so I just nodded and said, “Good
idea.”

I rose, collecting my
half-eaten dinner and empty water glass. Devon remained seated, her
eyes focused on a spot on the patio table
.
She worked a loose splinter with her thumbnail. When my best friend
did meet my questioning gaze, her big blue eyes were bright with
guilt.

“What?” I asked, a hollow
feeling taking over my belly. It was never a good sign when Devon
displayed signs of guilt; it wasn’t in her
normal repertoire of
emotions.

“So, when your mom talked to my mom
again this morning, she told my mother about the possibility your
dad was more than missing. I got to thinking that maybe if we saw
his house, or wherever he’s been living, it would give us some
clues.”

“Okay,” I said slowly. “But I bet the
PIs have already searched Dad’s place, if Mr. Wentworth even knows
where it is.”

“True. But what we are looking for and
what they are looking for is very different.”

“What are we looking for?” I asked,
confused.

“We are looking for his
research. Your father has been researching your...” Devon
shook her head, at a loss for words.

“Problem? Race? Mythological status?”
I supplied.

“Yeah, all of that. He has been
researching it for years; we don’t have years to learn about the
Egrgoroi like he did. The only thing we know for sure is that your
service to the gods started the day you turned eighteen. Whatever
he knew is valuable to us, and since we can’t ask him and none of
his contacts have responded to my email, the research is our next
best option.”

“You think I should call Jamieson’s
father and ask him to take me to Dad’s house?” I asked.

“I sort of already did ask
Mr. Wentworth to
take
us
to your dad’s place.”

“You what?” I asked
stunned.

“The number for Mr. Wentworth’s firm
is online, so during my free period I called him at work. He agreed
to take us this Saturday.”

I wasn’t sure whether to be miffed or
impressed by her ingenuity.

“He said that was the soonest he could
go.” She paused, gauging my reaction to her newest idea. When I
didn’t jump down her throat for calling Mr. Wentworth without
asking me first, her shoulders sagged with relief and she plunged
forward. “In the meantime, we should go back over the stuff in your
dad’s folder. Now that we have a context for the research, it might
make more sense. Don’t suppose you have your half with
you?”

I shook my head. I didn’t even have my
toothbrush with me; thankfully, Mrs. Holloway had a mini drug store
in the bathroom closet.

“Okay, then let’s go through what I
have here and see what we can learn about Samantha tonight and go
from there,” Devon said.

The way Devon was making
this whole thing into a puzzle for us to solve made me feel better.
Approaching an illogical problem the same way we’d approach a
science experiment - determining the problem, doing the research,
developing a hypothesis, testing the theory - helped me to further
detach myself from the situation. The distance created the pretense
that this was all happening to someone else, a stranger. The more I
thought
about my life in those
terms,
the better I dealt with
it.

Dad’s papers that I had left with
Devon were a lot like the ones at my house. None of the passages
made a direct reference to the Egrgoroi, but there were several
mentions of the Chosen and the Panel. Devon had already made her
own notes on possible interpretations. She agreed with me that the
Chosen were the Egrgoroi, but beyond that she hadn’t made any great
revelations.

As anticipated, there was no internet
information on Samantha Cable, except that she was buried in
Redwood Gardens National Cemetery in Palo Alto, California, which I
already knew. All the deceased on my mother’s side of the family
now rested in that same picturesque graveyard. Undeterred, Devon
continued to scour the digital world well into the wee hours of the
night.

Somewhere around two a.m. ―
I wasn’t sure since my vision had gone blurry staring at the
computer screen ― Devon finally admitted defeat and we went to bed.
Once again, no dreams visited me in sleep; the new dream catcher
was
doing its magic.

Chapter Twenty

On the way to school
Thursday morning, Mandy reminded me about my promise to take her
shopping for her date with Matthew from St. Paul’s. The mall
excursion had completely slipped
my mind. I wanted
to
cancel. Buying clothes
seemed trivial when
my aunt was my mother, my biological father was unknown, the man I
thought was my father was still missing, and I now knew that I’d
been sent back from the dead to work for the gods of the
underworld. However, I couldn’t bring myself to douse the excited
gleam in Mandy’s eyes. This was her first real date and she was a
bundle of anxious enthusiasm ― a feeling I knew well.

The school day itself was
uneventful. Talk over lunch consisted mostly of prom, now only two
and a half weeks away. Limos needed to be ordered, dresses
purchased, tuxedos rented, dinner locales reserved, and ―
most important
― dates
secured.

“I’m going stag,” Devon
announced over the cafeteria’s attempt at chicken curry. The
administration was trying to foster cultural diversity since the
PTA had complained about the lack of ethnic foods being served. It
was a great idea in theory, but the execution was an epic
failure.

Elizabeth dropped a forkful of rice
halfway to her mouth. “Really, Devon? Did hell freeze
over?”

“Ha ha,” Devon intoned, rolling her
eyes. “No. I told Rick it was really over this time, and I have
more important things to worry about than finding a date.” She shot
a meaningful look in my direction. I pretended not to
notice.

“I am going to ask Matthew if all goes
well tomorrow night,” Mandy declared.

“Good for
you,” I told her.

“Isn’t the first date a little early
to ask someone to prom?” Elizabeth asked.

“No way; time is running
out,” Cynthia Zeleski
said. Then she
turned to me and asked, “Eel, who are you going with?”

“Kannon,” Devon answered for me,
batting her eyelashes and making an absurd swooning
gesture.

“How exciting!” Elizabeth squealed.
“We need to finish dress shopping.”

“Um, I haven’t actually asked him
yet,” I pointed out. “Besides, you already have the perfect
dress.”

The admission about asking Kannon
caused my cheeks to flush. Just the thought of asking him to prom
made my stomach churn with nerves. I’d never asked a boy out. And
he was the only person I could imagine sharing the milestone event
with. Every time I heard the word “prom,” Kannon’s bright,
jewel-like eyes materialized in my mind. I pictured him grinning
down at me as we twirled across the wooden dance floor, his
golden-brown locks styled to have that purposely messy appearance,
a blood-red rose adding a splash of color to his black tuxedo. Even
now, I was unable to prevent a smile from turning the corners of my
mouth upwards.

Under those happy fantasies, an ugly
darkness lurked. It crept into my relationship with Kannon,
threatening the only silver lining to my current situation. The
unwelcome thoughts swirled around in my head, an angry undercurrent
of dread and despair blackening my mood and heightening my
anxiousness. I found myself dreading not just asking Kannon to the
dance, but actually attending it with him as well.