Scion of the Sun Page 4

  Maybe that was my mistake. Being a smartass wasn’t conducive to flying under the radar, like I usually did. Here, guess it was hard to go unnoticed when I was considered gifted. Gifted, my ass.

  These visions were a crock. I didn’t ask for them, but I had to put up with them regardless, kind of like a toothache. As Michael continued to croon, I slipped off my ballet flats, lay down on the covers, and closed my eyes.

  One day down.

  I hated to think how many to go.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  After seven days at C.U.L.T. I felt like a fraud.

  I hadn’t had a single vision or weird dream all week, I hadn’t started official classes, and the antagonism I’d expected from other students for being the new kid hadn’t materialized. Maybe because the term didn’t start until Monday, everyone including the teachers I’d met seemed laid back. We could wear anything we liked, do anything we liked—within reason—and were generally treated like adults rather than a bunch of kids with odd talents or those dying to acquire some.

  Not that I’d seen evidence of any of these fabled talents yet. Not a flash of unexplained lightning or exploding books or levitating lunch trays. Nada. For now, boarding school was just like Wolfebane High but for the new textbooks on subjects I couldn’t comprehend. All very tame and boring.

  Until Quinn came back from a week’s vacation.

  Sliding into the seat next to me at the library where I was trying to get a head start on divination, he leaned in close. “Party. My room. Tonight.”

  My first response, an instinctual refusal, died on my lips as I caught the spark in his green eyes. I’d never had a boyfriend, let alone a male friend, but something in the way Quinn acted around me, friendly with an edge, clued me in perhaps he’d like to be both. “What time?”

  “After dark.” He wiggled his fingers in front of my face and made ghostly noises, making me laugh.

  “Good break?”

  His smile instantly faded. “Not bad.” He tapped the stack of textbooks in front of me. “I don’t need to ask how you spent the last week.”

  Wondering why he’d closed down, I shrugged. “Being the new kid on the block sucks. Thought I’d get a heads up.”

  “Very noble.” His smile was back—genuine, mesmerizing. I noticed the faintest dimple in his right cheek. He leaned across to check the title on the top book, brushing my arm in the process and I held my breath, surprised by how much I liked the momentary illicit contact.

  Seemingly oblivious to my rigid posture, he flipped the book around. “This one’s crap.” He slid it to one side and sifted through the others. “Here, try this one.”

  “Thanks.”

  I exhaled as he straightened, a soft wistful sigh, practically inaudible. But as he stood, his hand brushed mine, a mischievous smile curving his lips. “You’re coming tonight, right?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I held my breath again as he winked. “It’s a date.”

  For the second time, I watched him walk away, my head a confused jumble.

  Considering my lack of social life at Wolfebane High, it was no great surprise I wasn’t a party animal. I never wore makeup beyond the occasional slick of gloss, I lived in jeans, and the only time I wore my hair out of a ponytail was in the shower.

  Angry at myself for caring how I looked tonight, I brushed my hair ten times, slicked a sheer pink over my lips, and did a quick twirl in the mirror to check out my best jeans from behind.

  Not good. My attitude, not the jeans.

  With a resigned huff, I shimmied into a black T-shirt, slipped my feet into silver ballet flats, and barged out the door, slamming it behind me.

  I knew where the mood came from. I hated being out of my comfort zone and that’s exactly what would happen the moment I set foot inside Quinn’s party.

  I stomped down the corridor, headed outside and across a neat quadrangle toward the boys’ dorms. I had no idea how many people would be there tonight or what the protocols were, let alone how to make small talk and pretend like I did this sort of thing all the time.

  Since there were no door numbers, Quinn had hung a red scarf from his door handle, a move out of a bad B movie, and I smiled. I took a few deep breaths and huffed out some of my anxiety before knocking on the door.

  It swung open immediately, and I almost staggered back from the cigarette smoke and thumping bass.

  “You made it.” Before I could respond Quinn tugged me inside and kicked the door shut. His smooth moves resulted in us both being momentarily off balance and me landing smack bang in his arms. Grinning, he hugged me tight. “Now this is what I call a party.”

  “Dick,” I said, laughing as I wriggled out of his arms. Despite the semi-flirtation thing he had going on, it was too much too soon, and I was off-kilter enough without adding further complications.

  He clutched his heart. “Ouch.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Your ego isn’t that fragile. Get me a drink.”

  “What’s your poison?”

  Relenting after my abruptness a moment ago, I batted my eyelashes. “What have you got?”

  He laughed, grabbed hold of my hand, and tugged me farther into the room. “See for yourself.”

  As we bumped and slid our way through the crowd of students, most of whom I recognized from the cafeteria or the library, I wondered what the attraction of parties was. Too many people crammed in a too-small space, the reek of cigarette smoke suspended in the air like a nuclear mushroom cloud, blaring bass so loud I couldn’t hear my own thoughts, and—when we finally made it to the makeshift bar—enough alcohol to fuel a rocket ship.

  Holding my hand aloft like we’d just traversed a Saks sale, he said, “What’ll you have?”

  I quickly scanned the bottles, recognizing vodka. “That, please.”

  “Coming right up.” He sloshed vodka into a plastic cup and handed it to me, curling my fingers around the cup. “A toast?”

  I sipped the vodka and hid a grimace as it burned a trail down my throat.

  “To new friendships and new beginnings.”

  Corny, but sweet, and as I raised my cup to gently bump his, unease trickled through me. A cold clamminess that had little to do with the claustrophobic room and everything to do with an incoming vision.

  I dropped my cup and Quinn froze. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” Desperate for the door, I forced a smile. “I have to go.”

  He frowned. “But you only just got here.”

  My skin crawled, tiny zaps heightening my awareness of what was about to happen. “Sorry.” I dashed for the door, forcing my way through the crowd.

  I only just made it outside in time before darkness crashed upon me.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A complex twist of dark, dingy tunnels opens into the cave with the altar.

  The monster braces against the altar, chanting something in an eerie murmur.

  A man flanks him.

  The monster turns to him and nods once. “Bring her to me, now.”

  The man strides toward a crude archway in the far wall, reaches his arm through, and grabs something.

  A long, low moan of torment fills the air, then is quickly cut off.

  The man drags someone into the cave by the hair, feet fighting for purchase against the cold, hard stone. Scrabbling, twisting, writhing.

  Mom!

  I moaned as my eyelids fluttered open and I found myself crumpled against the wall outside Quinn’s room, with him and Magenta Mohawk standing over me.

  “You okay?”

  Concern creased Quinn’s brow and Magenta Mohawk stared, then kicked me in the ankle with her steel-capped boot. “Here’s a tip. Stay off the booze.”

  She guffawed as I shot her a death glare.

  “Lay off, Maisey.”

  “Maisey?” I managed a hoarse chuckle that quickly grew into full-blown giggles at the irony of a badass like Miss Mohawk having a sweet old-fashioned name like Maisey.

  Maisey’s eyes narrowe
d. “You laughing at me?”

  My slightly hysterical laughter had more to do with the vision than a punk girl with a bad attitude. I desperately needed an outlet for the wild fear careening out of control and making me laugh like a hyena on an acid trip.

  I’d just seen my mom being manhandled and brought to some monster like a sacrifice. For that’s what that altar conjured up, some kind of spooky place for crazy rituals. And judging by the monster’s cut-glass commands, I could imagine him going in for some seriously crazy stuff. On second thought, I didn’t want to imagine. Seeing him in scary snippets was bad enough.

  Trying to subdue my chuckles, I snorted a few times before finally sobering up enough to say, “’Course not. You could be called Daisy Duck for all I care.”

  She flipped me the finger, ignoring me as she started patting down her pockets with her other hand.

  “No pot,” Quinn said in a voice threaded with steel.

  “Just great,” Maisey muttered, her Mohawk bristling like an angry porcupine as she glared at me like I’d told her to lay off the drugs.

  “My room, my rules. If you’re heading back into the party, stay off the dope.”

  Maisey stood toe-to-toe with Quinn, who didn’t give an inch.

  After a tense standoff that couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds, she said, “Fricking drug police.” This time, she flipped us both the finger before flinging open the door, stomping back into Quinn’s room, and slamming it shut.

  “Nice company you keep.”

  Quinn shrugged, his smile bashful. “Chicks love me. What’s a guy to do?”

  I loved his confidence and lighthearted banter, but now that we were alone, the enormity of what had just happened crashed over me again.

  My mom was in the hands of a monster.

  While she wasn’t my favorite person and never would be, I broke into a cold sweat at the thought of her being tortured or abused. She didn’t deserve that, even if a small part of me would have liked to torment her myself for abandoning me.

  I rolled my tense shoulders and tried to unwind. But all the exercises in the world wouldn’t relax me if I couldn’t wipe the vision from my mind.

  Quinn’s smile faded. “Want to talk about it?”

  I shook my head, needing time to process what I’d seen and the implications for my mom before I articulated it to anyone, let alone I guy I liked. “I’ll head back to my room.”

  “Sure? Maybe the best way to handle this stuff is forget it for a while? Party on?”

  He made some weird sign with his thumb and pinkie I’d seen on an old Hawaiian Elvis movie once and I couldn’t help but wish I could be the type of girl who’d do exactly that: forget what had just happened, go back to the party, and have a good time. But I wasn’t, and the sooner I got back to my room, back to my comfort zone, the sooner I could start analyzing what all this meant.

  “Sorry, maybe another time?”

  “Party pooper.”

  Before I could move, he slid an arm around my waist and hauled me close. Close enough to smell bourbon on his breath, close enough to see a tiny scar below the cleft in his chin, close enough to make me uncomfortable. For a second I was tempted to just lay my head on his shoulder and forget everything.

  Slipping out of his semi-hug, I forced a smile. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Okay.”

  This time, he watched me walk away, and as I glanced over my shoulder at the end of the long corridor and he raised his hand in a wave, I could’ve sworn I saw my soul-deep yearning to share my problems with someone else reflected in his face.

  I didn’t head back to my room. As I left the boys’ dorms and the fresh air hit me, I immediately felt better, so I decided to take a stroll around the grounds. Probably not the smartest move late at night when I was already seriously spooked by that vision, but hey, it wasn’t as if the visions could become a reality. At least, I hoped not.

  The grounds were deserted; not surprising, considering most of the student body was jammed into Quinn’s room. As I rounded the corner of the main building and saw the river glistening in the distance, I knew where I was headed.

  I loved the water. I loved the fact that Nan’s cottage was nestled on the shores of Lake Wolfe and I had a view of all that pristine blue every morning I opened my eyes. I’d grown up paddling and canoeing on the lake, and more recently had spent hours curled up on the sandy bank re-reading favorite childhood books. Nan had known how much I loved the lake and had known my shifting moods by how often I went or how long I spent down there.

  Picking up the pace again, I pinched the bridge of my nose to stave off tears. Thinking of Nan, of home, made me maudlin. I called the hospital every day to check on her progress. The generic “sorry, no change” reports did little for the part of me yearning to be back in her kitchen, gobbling her infamous chicken pot pie.

  “No more,” I’d told her a million times, yet she still forced a huge slice on me every time.

  “Packed with protein, good for you, young lady,” she’d say with her patient smile and I’d fork a little more into my mouth, despite my skinny jeans busting at the seams.

  We went through this ritual often, for while Nan never spoke of Pop, who’d died a few years after they’d married an eon ago, she always made chicken pot pie, his favorite, when she heard a song that reminded her of him. Lucky for me, because that pie was seriously good, and she made it often.

  A loud hoot made me jump and I glanced up in time to see an owl spread its wings and take flight, majestic as it swooped down on its prey.

  Prey …

  Gulping, I tried to eradicate the instant image of that monster ordering his lackey to drag Mom into the cave by her hair. Barbaric, chauvinistic bastard.

  And that’s when the futility of the situation hit me like a sucker punch to the gut. I sank to me knees, oblivious to the damp soil, and clutched my stomach.

  I had no idea if any of this was real.

  Maybe the visions were the warped product of my conscience, denied the truth of my mom’s disappearance for so long? Maybe I wanted to believe she’d been abducted by some monster to avoid facing the uglier truth: that she didn’t give a crap about me, hadn’t loved me enough to stick around, hadn’t wanted me in the first place.

  I watched the owl grasp a helpless mouse in its claws.

  No freaking way would I ever be that vulnerable.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Even when I didn’t have visions, I was still a freak. That was the only explanation for the fact that I was up, dressed, and raring to go on my first day of lessons. There was something about new classes, new books, new subjects, that made me edgy with anticipation. I liked to learn, to fill my head with facts, to memorize fascinating stuff.

  Total freak.

  After snagging my messenger bag, I opened the door to find Quinn standing there with his fist raised to knock.

  “Hey, you look great.”

  “Thanks.” I preened at his compliment before I registered his poorly hidden worry. He’d expected to find a blathering idiot after last night. I eased out into the corridor, not wanting to talk about the vision. I’d self-analyzed myself into a coma afterward.

  “Ready for today?”

  I shrugged. “First days are the same everywhere. Big time suckage.”

  He laughed. “Can’t fool me. A girl who spent the last week poring over texts in the library would be itching to sit in the front row.”

  “Asshole.”

  We grinned at each other. He pushed the dorm’s outer door open, and I stepped through it and under the stone archways that covered most paths in the school.

  As I walked past the first arch, the sun hit me in the face, momentarily blinding me. I blinked several times, confused by the scorching heat that spread from my face down. My arms tingled. I shook them out, but that did nothing for my burning body and jelly-like legs. I stumbled, reached out to the nearest stone, and blindly slammed my palms against it. Unable to get a hold on the rigid sto
ne, I slid down, burning from the inside out. My eyelids slammed shut and my body curled inward, protecting me from the debilitating heat.

  As the burning slowly receded, I swiped a hand across my eyes and opened them.

  And screamed.

  “What the … ?”

  Nan always said talking to yourself was the first sign of madness. If what I was seeing was anything to go by, I’d bypassed an entire highway of signs and arrived straight at the nuthouse.

  The bright lights of New York City in the distance cast a gray glow on a murky sky, creating that weird, permanent half-light that mega cities had. Cities like Tokyo and Singapore and London, cities that appeared constantly awake because of that strange, undeviating light that clung like a pall.

  I saw a large parkland dotted with makeshift housing in rows, fringed by dilapidated, squat apartment buildings. And trees, millions of trees, some surrounded by food and incense and votive candles.

  A few people wandered the dirt pathways between the roughly constructed houses, some tending to the bizarre offerings beneath the trees. They appeared normal enough—no antennae, no multiple limbs, no green complexions—which meant I was having a run-of-the-mill dream. Delusion. Whatever. Or maybe heat exhaustion. That had to be it, what with the bizarre heat that had flushed my face and felt like it had blistered my lips. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and re-opened them.

  To the same scene.

  If being shipped off to C.U.L.T. hadn’t been bad enough, now that’d I’d been here a while, maybe I’d ended up with a one-way ticket to Crazy-Town.

  “About time you showed up.”

  I jumped at the derisive voice too close behind me and whirled around, off-balance, off-kilter, just plain off. What I saw didn’t help. A boy with startling blue eyes, dark brown hair curling around his collar, and enough muscle to make a superhero jealous. Though a surly sneer ruined the overall sexy thing he had going on.

  Annoyed by his unwarranted antagonism, I eyeballed him. “Well, I would’ve shown up sooner, but I guess my invitation got lost.”