Vengeance Bound (10 page)

I push out of the bathroom doors, heading left instead of back, the way I came in. I’m still hoping to find an exit down here. I end up in a vending area, soda machines and a snack machine lining one wall. I’m pulled to the candy machine, even though I don’t really need anything. It’s hard to resist the siren song of chocolate and caramel.

“Took you long enough.” Dylan sits at a table in a back corner, still wearing that same arrogant smile, and I tense. A flash of memory assaults me, making my heart race. His face is momentarily replaced by an older man’s with sandy hair, blue eyes twinkling like they knew every secret the universe had to offer.

I push the mental image away and take a deep breath.

“What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you. I wanted to apologize.” This isn’t something I expect from a guy like Dylan. Deep down I know I should run, but I can’t help but think maybe I was wrong about him. Maybe my snap judgment was a mistake. So I wait, a doe in the crosshairs of a hunter’s rifle.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I think we got off on the wrong foot.” He stands and moves toward me. I try to back up, but after only a couple of steps, I’m up against the vending machine.

“Okay,” I say uncertainly. A breath of heated air warms me suddenly. I look up for the source, expecting to see a vent overhead. But there’s nothing. Dylan’s words are blotted out by a rasping sound, scales sliding through the grass. There’s the briefest sensation of feathers tickling my cheek before I realize what’s happening.

The Furies are waking.

I have the mental image of my hand whipping out to crush Dylan’s windpipe. I see the way he’ll gurgle as he breathes out his last few breaths. I swallow dryly, because the thought isn’t my own. I try to calm down, to quiet the fear making my palms slick and my stomach sour, but They’re waking so quickly that it’s just making me more afraid.

Dylan is saying something about friendship and getting to know people, but I can’t focus on a single word he says. My heart pounds, and all I can think of is how he isn’t the first guy not to take no for an answer. I remember how Kevin Eames looked lying on the ornamental pavers of my grandmother’s garden. All because he decided to kiss me. The police thought he had run into our yard chasing a prowler, who’d ended up getting the better of him. Kevin couldn’t remember anything when he regained consciousness a month later.

Even as the guilt from Kevin’s assault floods through me, I’m thinking how much fun it would be to hurt Dylan, to punch him in the mouth, maybe claw at his face. Behind my eyes They writhe with glee. I take several deep breaths and focus, pushing Them back to where Their bloodthirsty whispers are quieter. My vision hasn’t split into three, the sure sign that They’ve manifested, but I’m hanging on by a thread.

We don’t have to kill him. How about a little pain, hmm? We can just break his arm.
Megaera’s voice is so matter-of-fact that she could be talking about what she had for lunch.

Come on, Amelie. We’ll fix him up as good as new after we’ve had a little fun.
Tisiphone’s whisper trails off into a high-pitched giggle.

I focus on my breathing, mentally steering Them back into the cage of my mind with the force of my will. While I’m doing that, I turn around and pretend to peruse the selections in the vending machine. The Furies strain and fight, not ready to so easily take up residence back in my subconscious. I count backward from twenty, pushing them back with concentration and some serious mental effort. After a few seconds of resistance, They retreat back into my subconscious, and I slam shut the barrier that keeps Them away. They howl in frustration, and I sweat from the effort.

“So, what do you think?”

I turn around. Dylan is even closer than before. I blink and try to put his question into some sort of context. “Think?”

Dylan smiles slowly and looks at me through lowered lashes. He has me trapped, back against the vending machine. Only a few scant inches separate us, and cold dread uncoils in my belly.

“Yes, think. What do you think about letting me take you out sometime? Like, say, tonight.”

I put my shaking hands to my heated face, and blink rapidly. “I don’t think that’s such a hot idea.”

“I think you’re just not understanding your options.” Dylan’s cologne wraps around me like a winter scarf too tightly wound, heavy and suffocating. The way he stares at me turns my stomach. The Furies helpfully supply a mental image of the way he hopes this will play out, a scenario so far-fetched, it belongs in a porno. I’m nauseous, and my back presses up against the glass of the candy machine. No escape.

He moves in for a kiss. I stiffen and turn away at the last second, so that his lips land awkwardly on the side of my mouth. Panic swells in my chest, and I swallow it down. “Stop it.” It comes out as something closer to a plea than a real threat.

“Don’t worry. No one ever comes down here,” he murmurs. Dylan has no idea of the danger he’s in. He doesn’t take the hint and instead leaves a trail of kisses across my cheek, moving toward my mouth. Inside I’m screaming in fear and disgust. I’m sure it’s supposed to be sexy, but all it does is fill me with dark emotions. I don’t like being touched, and right now all sorts of alarms are going off in my head.

It looks like Dylan is about to be a victim of his own overconfidence.

My fingers curl into fists, and I’m about to pummel him into hamburger, when someone clears their throat loudly from across the room. Dylan slowly steps back. Niko stands in the doorway. I can’t believe my luck. Does everyone in this town hang out at the library?

As he takes in the scene before him, Niko’s expression changes from surprise to distaste. “Sorry to interrupt.”

I take a deep, shuddering breath and release it. My relief is so strong that I’m light-headed.

“You aren’t interrupting anything.” I duck under Dylan’s arm and move toward Niko, my legs weak from the rush of adrenaline. The Furies beat at the barrier in my brain, sensing that They just lost out on some fun. I close my eyes and take a moment to steady myself before continuing. “Dylan doesn’t seem to understand the meaning of the word ‘no,’” I mutter.

Niko stares at Dylan, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “So I’ve heard,” he murmurs.

Dylan, sensing a shift in the atmosphere, raises his hands in surrender and backs past us toward the door. “Hey, I just came down here for a soda. Calculus makes me thirsty.” We step out of the way so he can leave, and before he goes through the door, he gives me a wink.

“I can’t believe that guy,” I whisper when Dylan’s gone. I can’t believe I fell for his nice-guy act, especially since I know what kind of jerk he is. I should’ve let him have it as soon as I realized he’d followed me down here. Why did I even bother giving him the benefit of the doubt?

Niko pats me awkwardly on the shoulder. “Yeah, well, be careful. Especially where he’s concerned.” Niko goes to the soda machine, puts in a few coins, and pulls out a can. He pops it open and looks at me over the rim of the can. “Did you need something?”

I’m staring. I flush in embarrassment and shake my head. “Uh, no, just . . . thanks. You saved me from a really bad situation there.”

Niko leans against the machine and drinks his soda. “You really should watch yourself around him. He has a reputation. And it’s not one a girl like you would like to experience firsthand.”

“What do you mean by that?” I tilt my head to the side and study him. Now that he knows I’m watching him, I might as well enjoy the view. He wears a sweater and jeans with a pair of scuffed work boots, and looks good enough to eat. The knit material clings to his chest and arms, revealing that he makes his share of visits to the school gym. For a desperate moment I wish it had been him who’d followed me down here, and not Dylan. I don’t think I would push him away if he tried to kiss me with those perfect lips.

Niko grins at me, and my heart does a little kick drumbeat. In the back of my mind They are curiously silent. “You think I don’t know your type? You’re a good girl. You study on a Saturday afternoon, you say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and ‘pardon me,’ and you have no idea what to do when a guy like Dylan doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

I laugh out loud. The statement is so ridiculous that I don’t even know what to say. I walk toward him, each footstep slow and deliberate. He pauses with his soda halfway to his mouth when I stop, mere inches away. “Is that actually how you see me?” I say, my voice low.

“Yes. Isn’t that what you want people to see?”

His statement cuts me to the quick, because he’s right. That is the image I’m trying to project. But it hurts, because I thought Niko was different. For some reason I thought he knew the real me, not the show I put on for everyone.

But now that I think about it, why would he be any different from everybody else? There’s nothing all that special about him, no matter how much I may be obsessing over those gray-blue eyes.

Still, I want him to know me. The real me. I think I could drop the charade for him.

I take a step back, shaking my head to clear away the silly thoughts. Nothing will ever happen between me and Niko. Nothing can happen. It’s too dangerous.

Still, I can’t help but tempt fate a little. “Miss Perfect, huh? If that’s how you see me, then you don’t really see me at all,” I say. My voice is heavy with regret. He’ll never know the real me.

A flash of something flickers across his expression, and I freeze. It’s too much. I’ve revealed more of myself than I should.

Before he can respond, I flee.

I’m out the door and up the stairs before I make a bigger fool of myself. Maybe it’s because I’m feeling grateful for his timely intervention, or maybe it’s the way he makes me feel more alive, but I want to tell him my deepest, darkest secrets. And that can’t be a good thing.

I find my way out of the library and to my car, and drive home in a daze. There’s too much on my mind. First there’s my fascination with Niko, which is starting to feel like something a little more. He’s no better-looking than boys I’ve met at other schools. So why do I feel like there’s something between us, some connection that I have to explore?

But my reaction to Niko isn’t half as worrisome as Their increasingly violent behavior. There’s no way I should’ve been so close to losing control in the library, and that potential lapse frightens me more than Dylan’s unwanted kisses and my response to Niko. My control is so thin these days that I have no idea what’ll happen if I lose it on an innocent.

Today’s lapse makes me wonder if one day They’ll have full control of me, and not just the little bit I allow Them now and then. They need me to exist in the mortal world. That’s what They get out of the possession. I’m Their tie to the guilty They crave. Without me They would be trapped in the other realm like Alekto, in the land that’s the final resting place of the long-dead god who created Them.

But now I wonder if They’ll somehow take me over completely, instead of just killing me by inches. I push the thought away. Now is not the time to worry about it. I have to believe that as long as I let Them have what They want every now and then, I can still have a life, or at least some semblance of one.

But I still can’t help but worry that something of Their personalities is seeping into mine, like french fry grease leaking through a fast-food bag. Are They slowly remaking me into Their image, the way They changed my hair and eyes to be more like Alekto’s? And if so, what happens when They decide They’re finished?

I don’t want to think about becoming any more like Them than I already am. So I don’t. I shove the thought aside more easily than I pushed Them back into the dark reaches of my brain. Instead of dwelling on my fears, I think about what I’m going to wear to the party tonight.

PARTY MONSTER

I am more popular than I ever could have hoped.

From the minute Mindi and I set foot in Tina Faber’s house, we are bombarded with people coming over to say hi. Part of my popularity is because of the four bottles of liquor I bring. Mindi called me in a panic right as I was putting the finishing touches on my makeup, saying she needed liquor and a ride. I happily provided both. I went into the state-run liquor store, flashed my fake ID, and grabbed a few of the biggest, most expensive bottles, none of which meant anything to me but just looked cool. Thanks to Hank Meacham, a good portion of West County High will be drunk tonight.

When we walk in, the sight of the booze elicits a kind of awed hush.

One pimply-faced guy wearing a creative interpretation of a beard rushes over. The facial hair barely covers his chin, it’s so sparse. “Holy shit. Is that a bottle of Grey Goose? And Patrón? You brought Patrón?”

“Here,” I say, thrusting the bottles at him. “They’re yours.”

“Not so fast,” Adam interrupts. He appears from the crowd and gives me a smile before he takes the bottle of tequila from me and hands the enormous bottle of vodka to the guy. “Now get lost, Werner.”

The guy gives Adam a dirty look before grinning at me. “Thanks, Dixie.” He disappears into the crowd before I have a chance to correct the nickname.

A girl with short dark hair and wide eyes appears. “Mindi, you made it.”

Mindi smiles shyly and hugs the girl. “Do you know Cory?”

The girl nods at me without smiling. “Yeah. We have English together, and I heard Amber talking shit about you during Life Skills. Welcome to the club.”

I smile. This must be Tina, the hostess. “Thanks. Here, I brought these.” I take the two remaining bottles from Mindi and hand them to Tina.

She smiles at me for the first time. “Whoa, you brought Jäger. Nice. I’ll take these and put them in the kitchen. Dylan should be here shortly. His brother is supposed to buy me a keg. But there’s other stuff to drink until it gets here.”

“Dylan?” I have a flash of anger at the mention of Dylan. I’m still pissed at myself for letting him get away with touching me earlier. After I got home, I started to wish I’d let him have it, even if retreat was the best course of action at the time. Guys like Dylan need to be taught a lesson.

Tina tilts her head slightly and studies me. “Yeah. Funny, he doesn’t seem like your type.”