Veined (A Guardian of the Angels Novel) (6 page)

He’s trying to be sweet.
I smiled. “You can kiss me anytime. In fact, I’m counting on it.” I squeezed his cold fingers. “But right now, I need to go. Please don’t ask me to explain it.” I wouldn’t have known how to anyway.

He left me on deck a moment and came back with my bag. “Are you sure I can’t give you a lift home? I don’t like that you’re walking alone.”

I didn’t much like the idea either, especially considering what I’d heard. But it was exactly because of it that I needed to go alone and walk in the direction of the scream. How could I do that without Jason thinking I was weird?
Ah, yeah, see I heard this scream and this strange mark on my back burned . . .
Nope, that didn’t sound sane at all. “It’s only just past six,” I said, laughing so he wouldn’t worry. “I’ll be fine. See you in school tomorrow.” 

As soon as Jason and his boat had disappeared, and I no longer had someone watching my back, I strode faster. Logic demanded I go home, that I stop acting on some nonsensical whim. My gut, however, told me to continue until I found it. Whatever
it
might be.

I turned the corner onto Maple Drive and the wind that had kept me company since leaving Jason subsided.

The clicking of my shoes against the concrete gave me the creeps. Why was it so silent here? It didn’t help that apple trees lined the narrow street, layering it in shadows and making it hard for the moonlight to get through.

Something soft brushed against the back of my neck. I gulped.
Just a low branch.
God I hoped so.
Keep moving.

My pace quickened.
Should have listened to logic.
Practically running, I got to the end of the street. A potent tinny smell stopped me short. I swallowed a gag and stepped out of the dark puddle.

In a slow turn of my head
, I captured the scene. For the first time since entering the street I was glad it wasn’t any lighter, that the moonlight was trapped by a net of leaves. I didn’t think I would’ve been able to handle it otherwise.

I sucked in a horrified breath. Blood covered the pavement as if it had been raining. Hard. It offered only minimal relief that I didn’t see the severed head. The rest of the body was spread over a good twenty foot radius, cut into triangular segments. I shook violently as the scream replayed in my head.
This isn’t just death. It’s torture.

My gaze drifted to a piece of flesh on my left. The black outline of half a circle and part of a spiral, sagging into the skin like deflated stretch marks, paralyzed me.
It’s just like the mark on my back.
I took a few steps back, scanning wildly around me. Who did this? Had they left? I gulped. My breathing quickened—too shallow, too fast. Another triangle of flesh caught my attention. On it was a tattoo of an Angel with magnificent feathered wings. Something about it looked familiar.
I’m going to be sick.

I counted to ten, but the nausea didn’t lessen. Finally, I gave in to logic.
Like I should have done right from the beginning.
I pulled out my cell phone and called Dad.

I crouched, waiting at the trunk of a tree, breathing in shallow gasps, determined not to throw up. But after two minutes, I couldn’t hold it back and puked on the knotty trunk of an apple tree. Ten minutes later, Dad’s cruiser came up the road, with its red and blue lights flashing.

I repeated my story at least a half dozen times and made an official statement before Dad dropped me off home. He was so worried about me he even waited until I closed the front door before he drove back to the crime scene.

I avoided Mom and ran straight to bed, covering my face with blankets. Mottle jumped onto the bed, curling between my feet, but tonight her purr wouldn’t be enough comfort. I couldn’t imagine anything in the world that could make me feel even a bit better.

They’d been tortured
.
They’d had a mark.

Just like mine.

I twisted and grabbed my knees, hugging them close to me. The scream I’d heard on Jason’s boat rang in my ears on a loop. What if I’d been quicker? What if I’d just left my stuff with Jason and gone straight toward it? I could have called Dad, got help. Saved them. My sobs shook the bed, the sheet by my head was wet and my nose was running, making it harder to breathe. I couldn’t get up for a tissue, so I cleared it on the blanket. I didn’t care.

The mark. It had felt like it was on fire just moments before the whimper cut through the wind. It had to be connected somehow. It did this around Attic, too. He was hiding something. He must know what this is. And if he did, he owed me an explanation. My ignorance was part of the reason there was a torn up body—bodies?—covering Maple street. I kicked the blankets off me, they were making me sweat.

What if I could have helped?

CHAPTER 7

I STAYED AT
home for a week and a half before I braved going back to school
.
I’d hardly slept during that time and, as I took out my Math book from my locker, the world felt wrong around me. Sharper, jarring—and yet I didn’t feel attached. Like I was watching myself doing stuff, but not really connecting with it.

Maddy and Marcus came by and gave me a reassuring hug before they reluctantly left me to head to Biology. I shuffled toward my class, the sharp clicks of lockers following me. A couple of girls laughed by the door. How could they be smiling? It didn’t seem right. Why had I dragged myself out of bed to come here?
Because you’d finally stopped crying.
Like that was a sign I was ready to come back. Maybe I’d just run out of tears?

I slipped into the back of class, zoning out while Mr. Kerry talked numbers and drew pretty integral signs on the board. Attic sat on the side next to the window, not once looking in my direction.
He has to know something.
I was going to have to force some answers out of him later.

My stomach growled. I hadn’t eaten breakfast. Hadn’t felt like it. In fact, I hadn’t eaten properly since the body. I mostly drank juice. Lots of it.

The chalk scraped against the blackboard and my attention honed in on Mr. Kerry. He scrawled numbers on the board and seeing them made bile rise in my throat. So many numbers. Like there’d been so many pieces of flesh.

I bolted out of the classroom, running toward the girls’ lavatory. I made it just in time for my breakfast of orange juice to land in the toilet. Oh, God, gross. My stomach churned again. Oh, please, not more. As I retched a second time, gentle hands pulled the hair away from my face.

I knew by the tingle in my mark it was Attic. But I didn’t care he held my hair, or saw me chuck up pulpy orange juice. How could I, when hacked up body pieces stained my thoughts and my stomach pumped painfully? Both were gross.

After a good five minutes, my stomach settled enough for me to unhook myself from the toilet bowl. Avoiding Attic’s gaze, I moved out of the cubicle to the washbasins. Tilting my head under the faucet, I sucked in some water. Swirled it in my mouth and spat it out. I did it three more times, then scrubbed my hands and face with liquid soap from the shoddy dispenser.

Finally, I glanced at Attic in the mirror. Then turned my back to it. I’d caught sight of myself. Needless to say, not pretty. I stared at his gloves, waiting for him to say something. To ask me if I was okay. “You didn’t need to come after me, you know.”

He hesitated. “Are you okay?”

My gaze snapped to his face. “What do you think?” His jaw hardened and his mouth thinned into a tense line. I dropped my gaze and sighed. “I will be.”

I swallowed, tasting soured orange juice, and my gorge rose again. I forced the feeling away. “But I need answers, Attic.” I held up my hand. “And don’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

Attic was silent for a minute, then he sighed. “Right.”

A wave of relief came over me, followed closely by a tsunami of anxiety. I leaned against the basin for support. My body was shaking so much I didn’t trust I wouldn’t crumble to the floor.

Attic rested a shoulder against the wall and looked at me through the veil of hair that swept across his forehead. “But I can’t tell you right now. Not yet.”

What? He knew and didn’t care to help me with an explanation? I wanted to punch him.

He slapped a gloved palm to his head, pressing so hard I could see his temples whiten. His eyes shut and his posture slumped. He looked . . .confused.

Capturing my own feelings, I corked them. “Why not?” I whispered. “That body had a mark like I do. And I felt, I mean, I often feel—”

Attic cut over my unclear thoughts. “I know you don’t trust me. But I need you to know that what you saw . . . I won’t let that happen to you.”

I gasped. “That
. . . that’s a possibility?” I shuddered. Of course I’d imagined scenarios where it had been me tortured and murdered, but I hadn’t wanted it to be real. Which was why I hadn’t asked Dad about the other victims.
But now I know it’s related
—my knees buckled.

Attic launched himself across the room and braced my elbows, stopping me from falling. He practically carried me to the toilet, flicked the lid shut, and demanded I sit. “The
. . .mark on your back,” he started. “It makes you special.”

“How?” But I knew this wasn’t a question and answer sort of talk. He’d only tell me what he wanted to.

“I can’t say until . . . I just can’t right now.” He crouched in front of me, resting his hands on my knees, and looked me in the eye. My mark tingled at the intensity of his stare. “All you need to know is that other than the obvious trauma at what you witnessed, you’re all fine. Nothing’s wrong with you.”

I swallowed. It wasn’t good enough. Now that he’d admitted there was more to the mark, how was I expected to sit tight and wait? “When will you tell me more?”

“Soon enough. But for now I need you to be patient.”

“Patient.” The word tasted bitter on my tongue. “Don’t you think you’ve been hiding things from me long enough?” Ever since he’d landed on my car hood.

He ignored me. There wasn’t anything more I was going to get out of him. “And do yourself a favor?”

“What’s that?” I asked, my throat burning from stomach and orange acid.

“Enjoy yourself. Be carefree, enjoy your friends.”

What?
“How is that supposed to happen, Attic? Without answers, I’ll wonder about it the whole time.” I sighed. “But it’s not like I won’t try. All I want is to be normal, you know.”

Attic averted his eyes and pushed himself up. “I know.”

After that discussion, Attic and I rarely spoke to each other. Only once, when I gave him back his turquoise hoody, did we share words. Most of the time we ignored each other. He went back to his habit of dating a new girl every second day, and I jammed any thought to do with my mark away and slumbered through the next few weeks, trying to get over my trauma. Maddy and Marcus spent most of their time trying to make me smile. And Jason ate lunch with us every day, always asking if there was something he could do for me. How could I tell him sometimes I just needed space, without ruining what little we had?

At the end of the third week, the images that haunted me had dulled enough that I could sleep, and after a few days of solid rest, I felt myself normalizing again.

I shut my locker, glad for the end of the school day. Maddy and Marcus approached.

“You’re coming with us.” Marcus gave a grunt that said he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“You’ve been hiding in a shell for the last three weeks, and now that you’re out of it, we’re damn well not going to let you crawl back inside.” He flashed me a large smile. “And another thing, not to be judgmental or anything,” he paused, “actually, fuck being PC, totally to be judgmental, you have got to liven up that wardrobe of yours. You’ve been wearing that blue T three days in a row. Maddy? Did you bring the spare?”

I took a step back and rested my nose against my shoulder, trying to sniff without being too obvious. Gosh. I still had friends smelling like that? I had new respect for anyone who stood or sat in a two meter radius of me.

Maddy handed me a lovely green top, trimmed with a floral lace. “There you go, Sylva. And wear your hair out. It’s so lovely when it falls over your shoulders.” She let out a sigh. “I wish I had long wavy red hair.”

Marcus ruffled Maddy’s hair. “You always want what you don’t have. But you suit your hair short and dark.” He faced me. “Now go change.”

I undid my hair as Maddy suggested, the dark green top complementing it nicely. With a touch of eyeliner and a brush through my greasy hair, I was ready, and rather than the hefferlump I’d been the past three weeks, I felt nice. A pity Jason had to work. Though, it would be nice just hanging with friends.

When I came out of the girl’s lavatory Maddy hugged me. “Much better.”

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Where you can peck to your heart’s content, little Lark.” The answer came from behind me and I jumped a little in surprise. I twisted and my hair followed after me, tumbling over my left shoulder. Attic’s blue eyes met mine. He grinned.

He knows about my mark.
I pushed the thought away. I wouldn’t let it affect me. Not today. I needed to relish the fact I was back.

I forced myself to smile, to look at him without questions popping into my head. Casually, I checked out today’s adornment. Laura’s caramel skin and dark hair combined with her long legs made her model material. She was also one of the smartest girls in our year. Although she was on par with Attic in terms of looks—even more so since Attic’
s hair was the same shade today—I would have classed her too smart to get involved with him.

“Laura, I’m not sure your friends are doing their job. If they had, they would have warned you about him.” My gaze landed heavily on Attic.

He shook his head and chuckled. “It’s good to see your tongue wasn’t damaged.” I poked my tongue at him and he laughed harder. “And to answer your earlier question, we’re going to the steakhouse.”

My tummy rumbled. Attic winked and not wanting him to see my face redden I turned, linking arms with Maddy. “Let’s go then.”

The idea of some fries and steak made my mouth water. I had a feeling I was about to make up for my lack of appetite of the past few weeks in a big way.

“Marcus,” I hissed under my breath as we piled into a Porsche. “Why are we even going with them?” I motioned to Attic and Laura. The idea of crashing their date didn’t settle well with me. I’d been trying hard not to think about the strange things going on in my life, but seeing him, talking to him, made that impossible. Ideally, I didn’t want to be around Attic again until he gave me answers. Yet, a small part agreed about going with him. What was that about?

Marcus looked at me blankly, like I’d asked him what two plus two equaled. But I really didn’t get it. He rolled his eyes and whispered in my ear. “If the guy of your dreams asks if you want to grab a bite with friends, you go. We just got chatting today, and he suggested we all go out. He’s too hot to say no to.” He drew away and then came back. “He kept asking about you, though. As sad as it makes
me
, I think he may have a thing for
you
.”

The seatbelt whipped against me as Attic hit the brakes. When I looked up to comment on his reversing, my breath caught. He stared straight at me in the rear-view mirror, a little golden angel figure swinging madly under it. As soon as our eyes met, he looked away. “It’s darn near impossible to see past your heads,” he muttered, and put the gear in drive.

Attic seemed uncomfortable in his seat, as if aware I watched him. What would make Marcus think he liked me? Maybe loathe was too strong a word, but whatever Attic felt for me, it was somewhere between dislike and hate.

Well, whatever the reason he’d invited Marcus, I couldn’t be more pleased about the choice of restaurant. We entered the steakhouse and walked through a small lobby. It was a much fancier place than I had been expecting, and I was seriously glad Maddy had lent me her top.

Something hit against my knee and I stumbled. Marcus gripped me with the exact amount of pressure to stop me from toppling over, but so he wouldn’t leave a bruise ringed around my upper arm. “Thank—” I gulped my words.

It wasn’t Marcus next to me. I
t was Attic.

His smile widened when he registered my surprise. “You were saying?” He loosened his hold, dragging his gloved hand the length of my arm before dropping it to his side.

“Thank you.” It came out a whisper. I could still feel the pressure of his touch.

My gaze shifted over his shoulder. Maddy elbowed Marcus, who shook with laughter. “What?” he cried. “How could she not have seen what she was about to walk into?”

I frowned and checked out the old-fashioned red fainting couch that had tackled me. “Hmm, perhaps not enough people were fainting? I guess knocking them off their feet would work, too. Besides, who puts one of these right in the middle of a lobby?” I chuckled nervously. What a lame comment. But I had to say something to play over my embarrassment.