Silver Smoke (#1 of Seven Halos Series) (22 page)

When photos were done, Annie ushered the guys back inside. Now, they stood in the van Rossum foyer dutifully, waiting for the girls to come downstairs.

The smells of shrimp, cocktail sauce, small vegetable lumpia, and crab rangoon wafted from the kitchen into the foyer. Most of the guys around him were messing around, joking with each other—but Justin leaned against the chair rail next to Rykken. "Do you like her?" he whispered. "Just tell me. It's not a big deal."

Rykken took off his jacket, loosening his collar to combat the heat. "Who?"

"Don't joke. You know who."

Rykken wasn't sure how to answer. "I take an interest in her well-being."

"Sure you do." Justin snorted. "Because she's your best friend's little sister, right? I can't believe Pilot buys that shit."

This was not a conversation Rykken wanted to have with anyone, but especially not Justin. "Look, just watch yourself with her," he replied. "She's fifteen and her mother just died, so don't try to take advantage of her."

Justin whistled. "Wow. And I thought we were friends."

"We are. You're just making it difficult to stay that way."

Justin chuckled, adjusting his tie. "Despite what you and the rest of the school might think, she's not just another notch on my bedpost."

"Not
just
another notch," Rykken said, balling his fists. "How generous of you."

"You know what I meant. I'm not going to pretend I don't want to hook up with her. That's your deal, not mine." Justin paused. "And don't think I haven't heard about how angry she was at you. I'm surprised you're even on speaking terms."

Rykken took a deep breath, pain spreading through his chest. "Did she tell you something?"

"No," Justin said. "We're too busy to talk about you when we're together."

Rykken glared at Justin. He didn't think Brie was that type of girl, but Justin's words had produced the desired effect—insane jealousy. "I apologized to her," he said. "We're working on it."

"That's cute," Justin said. "But some things can't be repaired, bro."

At that moment, Brie walked down the stairs. She wore a playful silver beaded dress, sleeveless and backless, that ended mid-thigh. Her hair was pulled back into an intricate braid, revealing her delicate, smooth neck, and her eyes were bright and warm as she smiled down in their direction.

Justin was the first to recover. "Wow. You look gorgeous," he said, pushing himself off the wall to meet her.

"You like it?" she asked, spinning around.

Justin rested his arm lightly on the small of her back and faced Rykken. "Doesn't she look great?"

Rykken tried not to stare at Justin's hands or Brie's exposed skin. He blinked several times, his heart beating wildly. "You look beautiful," he said, trying to conceal the emotion in his voice.
Not for you.

She didn't dress up for you.

Brie smiled. "Thanks Rykken. You look nice too."

Rykken knew he had to get out of there. He excused himself, heading for the first floor bathroom where he could escape the couples that were pairing up. He sat down on the lid of the toilet seat, burying his head in his hands. Every part of his body felt like it was on fire. He could feel the sweat beads on his forehead, like he'd eaten spicy Indian food. He had flashbacks of the miserable pool party the weekend before and wondered if he could stomach the dance by himself. He wanted to go home and hide until the Homecoming court was announced—then, he would congratulate the king and queen and make his escape for the night.

After several minutes, he stood up and left the bathroom. He got all the way to the foyer when he heard a familiar voice behind him.

"Where are you going?"

It was Brie. He turned around.

"Home," he said. He faced the door again. He couldn't stand to look at her.

"Why?" she asked.

"I left something there," he lied. He walked to the front door, opening it.

"Rykken." Brie's voice caught when she said his name.

It was the sweetest sound he'd heard in awhile.

He faced her, wiping his forehead. She looked into his eyes, batting her eyelashes the way she always did. She bit her lip.

"You're still going to the dance, right?"

"Yeah, of course. I have to. I'm on the court."

"Right, I forgot." The green in her eyes matched his lei and contrasted nicely with her silver dress, which matched his white tux. She shook her head back and forth the way she always did when she was nervous. "Save me a dance, okay?" She gave him half a smile, her face flushed, the dimple in her left cheek deeper than ever.

He tried not to smile, but a small one broke through his calm exterior. "Sure Brie." He walked out the front door.

He reached the gates to the van Rossum driveway and cracked the combination on Pilot's bike—the month and day of Milena's birthday. He didn't think Pilot would mind if he borrowed it; it wasn't like Pilot ever rode a bike anywhere.

Save me a dance, okay?
What did that mean? He didn't have much time to think about it though; he really did need to get home for a shower. His shirt was nearly drenched in sweat, and he wanted to get a thermometer to check his temperature.

Rykken biked four miles until he reached the blue and white house where his foster parents lived.

The sweat dripped off of all his limbs and he wanted nothing more than to get out of the clothes he was in.

The change in temperature inside stifled his breathing—it was cooler outside with the breeze. He ran through the living room to get upstairs, charging past his foster mother on the couch.

"Rykken—what are you doing here?"

"Quick shower!" he yelled back, not stopping.

Rykken took the stairs three at a time. As he made his way past his bedroom, he stripped away his clothes as quickly as he could, leaving a trail of garments in the hallway. He was heating up so fast, and all he wanted to do was get under running water.

When he reached the bathroom, he twisted the controls for the water temperature and flipped the setting to the showerhead. He stepped in and felt cooler for a few seconds—until he collapsed into the tub.

The water smacked his face and he heard a loud crack. He wondered if the cracking sound was his skull, but the water stayed clear—no blood running through it. Pure horror shot through every fiber of his body when he realized that it was the
bathtub
that had cracked.

"Rykken!" He heard a yell, so loud, like a megaphone in his ear. He tried to cover his ears, but he couldn't move his limbs. The water surged up around him, like it had in his dream with the rain—only this time he knew he wasn't going to wake up. "Rykken!" His foster mother sounded angry. He struggled to sit up, but his body felt limp, like a jellyfish. "Rykken, what happened? There's water pouring into the living—" His foster mother burst into the bathroom and stopped. The next thing Rykken heard was a piercing, endless scream.

*****

Clara had no idea what Thessa was planning to do. If she had, she would have tried to talk Thessa out of it. Cora, on the other hand, sensed the impending danger in Thessa's blood.

The twins powers were strange, so similar, yet the exact opposite in many ways. Clara could figure her way out of room with no doors or windows, but could not make sense of people. Cora couldn't remember things—couldn't solve even the simplest of puzzles—but nothing escaped her when it came to emotions.

Thessa loved the twins like her own daughters. She had kept the promise she'd made to their mother—the girls had grown up and could take care of each other, continuing Thessa's work if anything were to happen to her.

Thessa wondered if tonight was the night she might die. She calmed her excitement by reading the names on the tombstones to herself—
George Blacken, Emmett Vala, Tucker Mann
... finally she came to the one she was looking for.

Silver Smoke
. Thessa chuckled to herself at the arrogance. The only reason a secret group would put the entrance to their homes in plain daylight is if they had nothing to fear from intruders. Thessa guessed that very few true intruders had even the slightest chance of coming back out alive.

Thessa traced the tombstone's Gothic cross three times, its angel wings once. Within seconds, she was plummeting through a tunnel of dirt, deeper and deeper into the ground, far below the city of the angels.

She landed in a soft bed of hibiscus flowers and chuckled again. The hibiscus was a symbol of old royalty on the islands of Hawaii, but there was nothing old nor royal about the Silver Smoke. Silver Smoke was full of its inside jokes.

"Thessa." A skinny man with a small frame and dark features, wearing a dark plum suit that contrasted with his pale skin, greeted her.

"Thomas." Thessa frowned, taking his hand. He lifted her up into standing position. "Why are you here?"

"I could ask you the same question," Thomas replied.

Their voices echoed through the vast chamber decorated with half earthly elements, half modern elements. Splotches of dirt wall peeked out from under the oak wood, while dry wall covered a good portion of the chamber. The ground was tiled in wooden slabs, hibiscus flowers and dirt scattered across it from her landing. She wondered who would clean up the mess she made.

"I'm here to see Bristol," she said.

"Uninvited?"

"Yes. Though I doubt I'm unexpected."

"Such confidence, Thessa!" Thomas gazed at her with a hint of admiration, a dose of lust. "To be nearly omniscient, not because you are gifted, but simply because you are one of the oldest Hallows to ever live." Thomas laughed wickedly, narrowing his eyes. "How fun it must be to know so many secrets. You are a legend, doll."

"Yet, you still haven't told me your secret. Why are you here Thomas?"

"Why is anyone here?" He crept around her in a circle. Her eyes followed him until he stopped. "It's in my blood," he said, laughing. He flew around her. "The New Order doesn't know yet," he whispered in her right ear. A split-second later, he was on the other side of her, pulling her hair away from her neck.

"You won't tell them, will you doll?" he asked her, licking the lobe of her left ear.

Thessa shuddered, wiping at her ear. "Why would I? Your infiltration serves my purpose. For now."

Thomas was in front of her again, laughing. His laughter bounced off the walls of the chamber, echoing deep into the tunnel openings that surrounded them.

"Bristol," Thessa said, breaking through his laughter.

"Straight to business." Thomas laughed even louder. "We're alone, you know." He fingered the top button of her jeans. "Why don't you stay awhile, enjoy yourself a little?"

Thessa shoved his hand away. "They've really done a number on you," she observed.

He frowned. "I'm the same person, Thessa, just a truer version." He traced the lines of her throat, kissing her neck. She pushed him off her. "What?" he asked. "You've been alive long enough—there must have been plenty of others."

Thessa slapped him. His head swung to the side, then recoiled. "You're still not over that little bastard you married, are you?"

"Are we done yet?" Thessa asked, walking toward one of the tunnel entrances. If Thomas wasn't going to help her, she would find Bristol's chamber herself.

Thomas laughed, though with less vigor, trailing off when his company didn't share in his amusement.

"Fine. Right this way doll." He led her to a different entrance, a narrower one. She glared at him before following.

The two of them walked in silence through the tunnel, turning right or left several times before reaching a set of brass doors.

"I was messing with you," Thomas said in a low voice. "There's no need to speak of it again."

Thomas' voice returned to normal, similar to the one he used at the capital, but it didn't stop Thessa's skin from crawling. "You're pathetic." Thessa stepped away from Thomas to knock on the door, but before she could, it opened.

"Thessa!" Bristol said. She wore a bright green evening gown, her silver hair teased up into an elegant bun on top of her head. She had a wine glass in her hand, with liquid the color of blood inside.

"I've been expecting you." She let her wine glass waver in the air for a few seconds as she embraced Thessa, kissing Thessa on each of her cheeks. Thessa allowed it, before being dragged into Bristol's chamber.

The chamber was bursting with pinks, silvers, golds, greens, blues, and oranges. And glitter. There was glitter everywhere, as if a cloud had rained silver confetti into the room.

"You're covered in dirt!" Bristol said in her high-pitched voice. "Don't tell me you came in through the graveyard entrance."

"You imply there's another option?"

"Of course! You didn't think I would jump into a hole of dirt once I took over, did you?"

"I suppose that wouldn't fit your personality," Thessa said dryly, looking around the room. The bright, loud colors made her dizzy.

Bristol drew a chair for Thessa, and they both sat.

"No guests?" Thessa asked, glancing at the table. The sofa table was covered in bottles—wine bottles, beer bottles, liquor bottles, and unmarked bottles in all different colors.

"I drink my spirits alone," Bristol said. "It's less tedious that way. You can avoid all the pleasantries and hostess duties."

Thessa picked up one of the bottles. It was shaped like a gothic goblet with a shaft of pewter metal at the top. Thessa tried to open it out of curiosity.

"Don't drink that, silly," Bristol said. "It's perfume. See?" Bristol took the bottle and pressed a button on its shaft. The room filled with a strong putrid, bubbly scent.

Thessa coughed, waving her hands in the air to disperse the scent.

"Have you enjoyed your time at Silver Smoke thus far?" Bristol asked. "Meet up with any old friends?"

"I have neither time nor friends tonight at Silver Smoke. Though I did meet your guard dog on the way to your chamber."