Veined (A Guardian of the Angels Novel) (5 page)

Attic poured orange juice into my glass and then filled his. Didn’t he really, really dislike me? I wanted to flick myself, of course he disliked me, and probably just as much as I did him.
This
was putting on the charms for Mom and Jeffrey. 

“Let’s dig in then, shall we?” Mom said, lifting the pasta bowl to Attic.

“Thank you.” He flashed her a smile and piled some pasta onto his plate. As he handed me the bowl, he smiled wickedly through the leaves. His gaze moved to his hand as he flicked his fingers against the side of the vase, tipping it over. He feigned his surprise as the flowers scattered across the table and water dripped off the side, but a small crease at the side of his mouth gave him away.

“I’m so sorry about that,” he said, jumping up and gathering the flowers.

“Don’t worry,” Mom said, “these things happen.” She looked at me. “It’s why I usually leave the vase at the end of the table at mealtime.” Mom took the flowers from Attic, disappeared into the kitchen, and came back with a cloth to wipe up. I stared at Attic in horror and disbelief.

He winked at me. “On the bright side, at least now I can see you.”

I dumped some pasta on my plate while trying to devise a plan to get him out of my house. The sooner the better.

“
So how was Sylva at school today, in your professional opinion?” Mom asked. I focused on the pasta bowl circulating to Jeffrey and prepared for the snide remarks.

“Sylva,” his voice was as soft as I’d never heard it, “is doing beautifully.” In surprise, I raised my head to see him watching me. A sincere smile accentuated his face and I bit my bottom lip as butterflies flapped in my stomach. 

Thankfully, Attic laced his next words with mockery, dissolving the unexpected butterflies. “And she has an exceptionally curious lexical talent.”

He stared at me, knowing he’d wound me up, as he speared a white cube with his fork and wound pasta around it using his spoon. His dinner manners were cultivated, even his wrists didn’t rest against the table. When he took the first bite, his mouth contorted into a mass of quivering muscles. Yeah. Tofu sucked.

Attic finally swallowed, but it was still a moment before his face returned to its normal state. “That is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever eaten.”

My eyes widened. “Don’t you think that’s rude?”

Attic shrugged. “I don’t think your mom heard me.”

“Of course she did,” although even as I spoke, I wondered why Mom didn’t say anything, “she’s sitting right
there
.” I pointed to her, just over a foot from him, but when I saw her face, dropped my arm. She sat eating her pasta with a smile, like Attic had just given her a compliment instead of an insult. What the hell?

“Mom? Did you hear what he just said?”

Mom looked up at me dreamily. “Sorry, Sylva, must have missed that.” She turned to Attic. “What did you say?”

“I said—” Attic started, but I kicked him in the shins under the table. I couldn’t have him say it again, it went beyond rudeness.

Unfortunately, Attic was super quick. He locked my foot between his knees, squeezing so it was impossible to move. “Hadn’t you better eat something? Or would you agree with me?” He asked innocently, raising his brow.

On a normal, Attic-less evening I would have done whatever to avoid eating this, but now I bubbled inside, like I had something to prove. No matter what, I’d eat this plate of pasta without so much as a grimace.

Attic beamed at me, as if he knew I’d accept any challenge he threw my way. I piled up the first fork of pasta and chewed it quickly. Horrible, awful, vile.
Swallow. Don’t gag. Smile.
I even did one better and licked my lips. “Absolutely scrumptious, Mom.”

“That’s good,” Mom said. “I’ll add it to our regulars.”

I added an extra cheeriness to my voice so that my eyes, widening in horror, wouldn’t give me away. “That would be excellent.”

Was my pride worth this?

As if to encourage me, Attic pressed my big toe between his fingers, reminding me he held one foot hostage. He picked up his orange juice and drank, his gaze not lifting.
Daring
me.

I ate quickly, not to have the taste remain too long. The second half of the plate was easier to down. Not only had I managed not to puke, I’d also worn a smile during each disgusting mouthful.

I rinsed my mouth with orange juice and interrupted my mom telling Jeffrey and Attic about some mad woman in the supermarket. “I don’t think Attic likes having to hang around me all the time.”

Okay, so I admitted it went both ways, but I knew my request would appeal to my mother better if I approached this from a more selfless angle. “
If
it’s absolutely necessary that someone be around at school, maybe Albelin could suggest someone else to take over?” Someone that didn’t lie. “I’m sure Attic here would be grateful.”

I was handing him a way out of my life on a silver platter. Much more than he deserved, but I wanted it just as much as he probably did, so it was a win-win.

I was surprised when, instead of Mom, Attic answered, his voice firm. “I’d rather you not assume what I think and feel.” He dropped my foot and my heel bashed against the floor.

My mouth gaped and all the response I could muster was to firmly shut it again.

A bird’s twitter cut through the silence. Attic jumped up, taking a cell from his pocket and resting it against his ear. “Yeah? . . . I’ll be there right away.” He clapped his cell shut, holding my gaze. His eyes were deep, thoughtful, as if considering something.

He turned to my Mom, thanked her and left the room without a second glance at me. Only once he’d got to the front door did I hear him shout, “See you tomorrow at school, Lark.”

CHAPTER 6

ON MY WAY
out of the house, I noticed Attic’s hoodie draped over the coat rack
.
I paused. Should I return it to him or not?

While I debated, the front door opened. Dad stumbled inside. Black bags still hung under his eyes. When was the last time he’d slept?

I stepped out of his way and followed him into the kitchen, where he drank milk straight from the carton. I wrinkled my nose. Icky. “What’s up? Were you up all night tracking the killer?”

Dad sighed and shook his head. His voice came out hoarse, tired. “There was another death last night. And not far from your school.” He faced me and gripped my shoulders. “Some crazy murderer is on the loose, and I want you to be careful, honey. You know the drill, don’t talk to anyone you don’t know. Report anything suspicious. Do you remember how to defend yourself?”

“Poke the eyes, rip the corners of their mouth, kick ‘em real hard where it hurts. Then run.” Dad patted the top of my head like I was still his six-year-old little girl.

“Good. I’m off to bed. I have to be back in at three. I only hope no one else dies before then.” He kissed my forehead and left.

I walked down the hall, stopping in front of Mom’s picture with our house in Portland in the background. Frigging aye, why hadn’t Shirley contacted me yet? There was so much to tell her. She would have loved to hear about Jason and would have let me vent about Attic. Though she might have been a tad jealous of Maddy.

I gritted my teeth and turned away, grabbing Attic’s hoodie. Light and warm in my hands, I folded it and put it in my bag, then started for the bus stop. At least this morning the air was crisp without being butt-numbing cold, and the sky was clear.

At school, Maddy greeted me at my locker, hugging a copy of
Names and Meanings.
She yawned and I raised a questioning brow. Spill.

“Marcus kept me up on the phone for hours last night,” she explained. “There’s only so many ways to describe how hot someone is, but somehow he seemed to come up with more. And the later the evening, the weirder they got: ‘A hunky crackerjack who’s so finger lickin’ yummy he may as well be spread with jam and cream’? I mean, come on.” She shook her head while chuckling. “The only way to stop him was to promise to do a bit of research on lover boy.” She tapped her book, pointing behind me.

I casually swept the corridor as I shut my locker. My gaze brushed past Attic as I forced myself not to stare. He twirled a girl by her hand and walked toward the entrance. What? That wasn’t Ashleigh. Well, didn’t he make the rounds!

In the corner of my eye, I watched him pause as if I’d shouted the insult down the corridor. A fraction of a second later, he continued gracefully out the door and out of sight.

I sighed. “I’m curious about those results. Although if you’re right about names representing character, then I can only guess what his name means.”

Maddy chuckled. “But first we have to find out his
actual
name. Surely it can’t be Attic. What were his parents thinking?” She put a finger to her lips, mocking a thoughtful expression. “Unless that’s where he was conceived . . .”

When we arrived at English Lit, Marcus had saved Maddy and me seats on either side of him at the back of the class. I sat down. Scanned the room. Attic sat on the left, his back against the wall, looking like a bored angel with his chiseled face and blank stare. Jason came down the same aisle.
No, don’t sit there!
Too late. Jason slid into the seat in front of Attic. Great. Now every time I wanted to check Jason out, I’d have Attic in view. Darn it.

Ashleigh sat next to the window looking out onto the street. She flashed Attic a small smile. Strange how lightheartedly she seemed to be taking this. Like she couldn’t remember a thing.

I cringed as chalk scratched across the blackboard. Really. Was Mr. Patterson making that sound on purpose? It was time for this school to upgrade to whiteboards. He wrote a word in the center of the board and underlined it twice.
Marriage.
He wiped his hand on his pants, leaving a white streak across his right thigh. “In
The Importance of Being Earnest
the nature of marriage is debated. Who can tell me what views there are on the subject?”

One of Ashleigh’s tag-alongs answered. “Whether marriage is business or pleasure.”

“And whether it’s pleasant or unpleasant,” another guy chipped in.

Sneaking a peak at Jason’s profile, I caught Attic’s shudder. So obvious why he would think marriage unpleasant. Monogamy must disgust him and totally defy his character. He chose that moment to look my way and scowl.

As a warm up, Mr. Patterson asked the class to put our thoughts on marriage forward. When no one offered an opinion, Mr. Patterson singled Attic out. “And what do you think, business or pleasure?”

Attic answered smoothly and with absolute conviction. “I agree with Algernon. Marriage is business.” He made no indication he would add to his statement
, and Mr. Patterson didn’t push him. In fact, Mr. Patterson rubbed his head and stuttered. He turned, pointed to Marcus and asked the question again.

Marcus hesitated and then replied, his voice serious and his words weighted with sincerity. “I think marriage is romantic. A commitment to be shared by two people in love.”

A low snigger, still clear enough to be heard by the back half of the class, hit me like a foul wind. I scanned the room until my eyes rested on a sandy-haired boy with too much muscle to be good for him. I clenched my teeth and imagined slapping him.

“No fag like you will ever get married.”

What!
Marcus sucked in an audible breath. It wasn't even aimed at me, and it felt like a punch in the gut. Maddy, next to Marcus, snatched his hand and squeezed it tightly. And before I knew it, I was on my feet, bubbling with anger.

I imagined my face matched the color of my hair. It certainly felt like it did. I hadn’t known Marcus or Maddy long, but still considered them friends.
No one
messed with my friends.

I thumped my fist on the desk.
Worry about the bruising later.
“You asshole,” I said. A couple of people, including Maddy, jumped. “Do you think you have a right to treat people like that? Love is love—no boundaries, and any stupid jerk who thinks otherwise will probably never know love even if it managed to bite them in their homophobic ass.”

The windows rattled. A violent gust of wind pushed one open, and I could feel the power of the air circling me, whispering me to continue. Marcus rested a hand on my arm to calm me down. But words already poured from my mouth. “So you can just go fuck yourself.”

That last comment earned me detention.

So, half-past three, I sat in the school library, where apparently we were meant to reflect on our attitude and do homework. I was on top of all my schoolwork, so my mind wandered to English Lit that morning. After I’d exploded, I felt embarrassed. As I looked at Jason to determine what he thought of me, I stilled. Attic was looking at me.

He’d cocked his head to the side, a small smile playing at his lips. A funny static sizzled in the air as our gazes met, raising the hairs on my arms despite my long sleeves. I tore my eyes away. But a part of me had wanted to look back.

Finally, the clock ticked to four thirty. When I walked out of the library, Maddy and Marcus, one on either side of me, braceleted my wrists and dragged me to the side. Marcus grinned.
Good to see you smiling again.

“Hey girl,” Marcus said. “Hope detention was all right and it won’t get stuck on your permanent record. It would be downright sucky if that were the case. If I had my way
, you’d be commended.”

I shrugged. “It wasn’t so bad.”

“We stuck around because we wanted to take you out for a hot drink,” Maddy said, “but we thought of a better way to thank you.”

“Thank me? There’s no need for that—”

Marcus interrupted me with a cheeky grin, “Oh, just shut up and get to the student parking lot.”

There was no point in arguing. “Let’s go then.”

Maddy laughed. “We’re not coming. You’ll see why when you get there. See you tomorrow, Sylva.”

At first glance, I th
ought the parking lot was empty, but as I scanned it again, I saw a dark blue Smart. I smiled and walked up to the passenger door. Without knocking or making my presence known, I slipped inside.

Jason gave me a look of surprise that very quickly turned into a smoldering grin.

Forfeiting my date with Jason had been the biggest downside to detention. But maybe now that was about to change? “Still up for that study date?” I asked.

“Well, I wasn’t just sitting here meditating. Although, that may have been a better way to use the time.” He looked down at the CD’s lined up under the player and fiddled through them. “Instead, I was getting more and more nervous by the minute. I’m sure if
you wouldn’t have come just now, I’d have lost my nerve.”

More confident, knowing that he was nervous, I reached out and took the CD from his hand, our fingers brushing lightly together.

“The Doors, eh?” Could he get any hotter?

“A personal favorite of mine.” He started the car and put the CD on.

“So, where are we going to go, ah . . . study?”

Jason’s smile widened as he exited the parking lot. “How about my place? Dad’s still at work.” I noted there was no mention of Mom. “It’s small, but cozy.”

His place was everything he promised it would be: small, cozy and, what he’d failed to mention, on the river. “How long have you lived on a boat?”

He opened a narrow door. There wasn’t any floor to see, the small room only just managed to fit a bed. Above it extended a bookshelf the entire length of the room.

“Since as far back as I can remember.” Jason jumped on the bed and beckoned me to follow. Okay, I was definitely interested in Jason, but jumping into bed with him? Too soon. He must have read my face because he laughed and pulled down a wooden board, shifting a metal lever to hold it up. “My desk,” he explained. “You can sit on the other side.”

I slipped out of my shoes before crawling over the orange bedspread. Not knowing what to do next, I took out my English notes. As I dug in my bag for a pen, my hand brushed against something soft. Shoot. I’d forgotten to give Attic his jumper. I pushed it deeper into my bag. He was the last person I wanted to think about while on Jason’s bed.

“Um . . .” Words were failing me. Again.

Thankfully, they were more forthcoming for Jason. “So, where did you move here from? I would guess somewhere west, judging by your accent.”

I smiled. “That’s right, Portland.” Next he’d wonder why we moved in the middle of the school year. I fidgeted with a pen. The coma. How should I mention it? Should I mention it at all? "Dad got transferred here for work." Sort of true, it'd do for now.

He hmmed and ahhhed and asked a few more things about my family. While thinking up questions to ask him, I studied his collections of books. A lot of them had blood red titles and, more than once, I skimmed the word Demonic. I wouldn’t have guessed Jason to be into that.

Time flew, and before I knew it, an hour had passed. Jason showed me around the rest of the boat. The deck was the best. I scoured the river. At only six o’clock, fall had claimed the day and shadowed it with dusk. A fresh breeze rippled the water, distorting the reflection of lights coming from a long line of houseboats.

I must have shivered or something, because Jason slipped out of his black jacket and draped it over my shoulders. "Better?"

“Oh, thanks.” I looked at him, and his smiling eyes quickened my pulse. He lightly traced the side of my face, down to the collarbone.

“I like this.” He held my necklace between his thumb and forefinger, but his gaze remained riveted to mine. His cheeks went pink. “I like you.” Gracefully, he lowered his head, and I gasped when his nose and lips grazed mine.

I stepped closer, lifting my arms around his shoulders, the jacket falling to the deck. He kissed me again, more deeply this time. A little needy and dominant, but nothing that couldn't be perfected with a little practice. I ran a hand through his spiky hair, and brought my other to join in.

A sharp slice seared down my back. A hot burning. I gasped as I stumbled from Jason’s arms.

“Are you okay?” Jason’s concern showed in the crease between his brows.

The crazy heat faded. I was about to nod when the breeze carried a scream over to me. I paused. There was a raw edge to the sound. A cry of agony.

I spun, facing into the wind, my mark prickling. I hoped I would hear it again. Somehow I felt if I didn’t it would mean something worse.

Jason tugged on my sleeve, but I ignored it, still listening for any sign of the cry.

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what? No. Sylva, what’s up? Is something wrong?”

Eventually, I faced him and shrugged. Had I just imagined it? A shiver vibrated to the tips of my toes.
Don’t think I could have made up the pain.

Jason, misinterpreting my shiver, picked up his jacket and hung it over me again. I tried to smile at him in such a way he wouldn’t read my anxiety, but failed miserably. He grabbed my hand, perhaps a touch too clingy. “Really, you can tell me anything. If I moved to fast or something, I’m sorry.”