Vengeance Bound Page 7

  Mindi makes a choked sound at Amber’s comment, but I shoot my would-be tormentor a wide smile. “Oh, that? He was just being neighborly. No big deal.”

  The corner of Amber’s mouth twists down. “You practically gave him a lap dance.”

  Jocelyn laughs a little too loudly. “Amber, weren’t you the one who told me that if you had fifteen minutes alone with Dylan, you’d make him scream your name?”

  Amber’s eyes shoot daggers at Jocelyn, who isn’t even paying attention. Instead she’s busy studying the menu. She has the right idea. After relaxing and then tightening my hold on Them, hunger gnaws at my belly. I don’t really want to eat, but I hope food will ease some of the ache.

  “So, what’s good here?” Scooting my chair closer to Adam’s, I reach for one of the menus in the middle of the table. It takes everything I have not to scoot away to where no one can reach me, to run back to my apartment and hide out. But I don’t. I can’t. I have to live in the real world just as much as in Their world, and this is part of that.

  I will be normal, no matter what They ask of me.

  Relief washes over me when Adam gives me a shy smile. It’s hard to believe that I’m actually fitting in. I’m only half-listening as he starts to walk me through the menu. Instead I wonder whether or not Niko would have made me get my own chair.

  THE GIRL YOU THINK YOU KNOW

  Saturday is a relief, a day without the strain of school. The morning dawns cloudy and cold, and the weather forecast calls for six inches of snow. I’m not sure whether that’s a lot or not, but it’s enough to make me want to stay inside.

  I decide to spend the day working out, beginning with a set of plyometrics exercises I find online. It’s time for me to change my workout, since I’ve obviously plateaued. I’d thought I was pretty strong until the run-in with steroid-soaked Dylan Larchmont on Thursday. Now I feel inadequate.

  So I pass the morning jumping over my coffee table and doing push-ups that launch my upper body off of the ground. My downstairs neighbor yells at me through the ceiling, but I ignore his complaints. Eventually he settles down. After an hour I’m soaked with sweat, and I decide it’s time for a break.

  I bound into the kitchen and grab a bottle of water. My cell phone is on the counter, and the screen blinks at me, indicating that I have a message.

  It’s from Mindi, who is surprisingly clingy. She came over last night and we hung out, watching bad TV and eating junk food. I think she wanted me to ask her to spend the night, but instead I made some excuse about my mom not liking me having company. Mindi probably thinks my imaginary mom is some kind of trashy barfly. She saw a couple of the slinky tops I use for hunting, and I said they were my mom’s. Her expression was relieved. I could almost read her thoughts: Cory is a good girl. No way she’d wear such an outfit.

  Reluctantly Mindi called her dad and went home. By that time it was almost midnight. Even though she left, my evening was spoiled. I’d planned on looking for Dr. Goodhart like I do every Friday, but Mindi’s presence completely ruined that. I could have asked her to go home earlier, but every time I say something she doesn’t like, she gets this scared little mouse face. The look crumbles my resolve like stale crackers.

  So I ended up hanging out with her until way later than I wanted. Still, it was kind of fun. I like her, even if she does seem awfully fragile.

  But now I need to comb through the Internet to see if Dr. Goodhart has turned up somewhere. He left shortly after Annie and I escaped, most likely for fear that we’d tell everyone what kind of monster he was. The Furies can’t find him, and I wonder if it’s because we had our chance with him once before and blew it. I’m not worried, though. The Internet is a powerful tool. He can’t hide forever. And when he pops up, we’ll be there to end his evil once and for all.

  I push my anger aside and flip through screens to Mindi’s text. It’s from only a few minutes ago. What are u doing 2nite? The text asks. Why? I text back. I hope she doesn’t want to go to the mall or something. Malls sort of terrify me. Crowds make Them go crazy, and it can be hard to rein Them in.

  Mindi’s message comes back within seconds. Party? 9ish? She must have been watching her phone for my answer. Before I can reply, she sends another text. Amber wont be there, shes at her dads. I don’t want to admit it, but that text fills me with relief. I’m not sure why Amber doesn’t like me, but the way she watches me makes me nervous. It’s easier to avoid her than do anything else.

  I hesitate before answering. A gathering of people in a small house fills me with unease. But there’s no way I can not go. My social standing in the group is shaky, since I’m the new kid. Going to a party is the perfect way to show everyone that I’m cool, even though my palms are sweaty with fears of doing something completely inappropriate.

  I quickly squash my doubts. It’s a chance to hang out with people who like me. Actual, real friends, not the murderous voices that live in my head. Hell, with my fake IDs I can even buy liquor.

  I send Mindi a text that I’ll be there and that I’ll call her later to talk. I set the phone back on the counter and feed Odie, who comes running as soon as he hears the food hit the bowl. I scratch him while he eats, and mull over how quickly I’ve found friends. I don’t always end up fitting in so well.

  It reminds me of Dr. Goodhart, and the way he was so certain I’d never be able to form meaningful relationships as long as I was beset by Their presence. Shows what he knows. I can control Them and lead a normal life.

  Find him. We need to find him and end his evil.

  I sigh and head to my computer.

  There’s nothing new on the Internet, not even on government sites. This makes me unhappy, but I tamp down the emotion. There is a bright side to not knowing where he’s hiding. The longer I can put off that particular justice, the more I can pretend that Brighter Day and Saint Dymphna’s never happened.

  And the more I can enjoy my new life.

  After a long run—despite the snowflakes—and a shower, I get dressed. It’s a little after noon, and I decide to eat lunch before heading to the library.

  It’s a little old-fashioned of me, but everywhere I end up, I go to see if the library has anything different on the Furies. I know what the Internet has, and it’s not what I’m looking for. But libraries are different wherever you go, and I can’t help but hope that one of them will hold the missing piece to give me back my life. For a long time I was convinced that if I just learned enough, I could get rid of Them, beat Them at Their own game. But in all the places I’ve looked, I’ve never been able to find much more on Them than a couple of ancient poems and hints about Their nature. It’s almost like people are afraid to even mention Them.

  The idea of going to the library fills me with excitement and a little fear. If They knew what I was searching for, They’d be angry. But if I don’t look for a cure for Their possession, then I’m giving up, and I hate to think that the answer could be out there just waiting for me. So I keep searching, and keep coming up empty.

  But I’m still hopeful.

  I grab a sandwich and settle onto the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table. I spend the next hour watching MTV. The people on the endless buffet of reality drama are confident and self-assured, and that fascinates me. I feel that way only when I’m handing down justice.

  I eat my food without thinking, and when the program goes to its sixth commercial break, I head into the kitchen to get water.

  On the refrigerator a news clipping flutters in a nonexistent breeze, Their way of getting my attention. I pull it off the door with a sigh. My blood chills as I read the headline.

  West Chester Girl, 12, Missing; Police Have No Leads

  I swallow thickly, my hands shaking. The article is several years old, but I know it by heart. They manifest it whenever They feel I need a reminder of how much I owe Them.

  I blink back tears, and crumple the news article in my hand. “I haven’t forgotten why I’m here,” I whisper out loud. This is a gentle r
eminder from Them, Their way of telling me They know something is up. A warning not to betray Them. I still owe Them so much.

  I start to throw the article into the trash can, but instead I put it on a living room shelf under a figurine of a dark-haired girl reading the Bible. The memory is fuzzy, like all of my memories before They came to me, but I think my dad and I bought my mom the little statue for her birthday. When I went back to my grandma’s house after escaping Saint Dymphna’s, I found the figurine in my untouched room along with my trunk. Now it’s one of the only mementos I have.

  I check my reflection in the mirror, studying my eyes for any telltale movement. The blue iris is calm and undisturbed, despite my emotional state. It’s surprising, but a good thing. I have enough to worry about right now.

  It takes me only a second to grab my schoolbag and make my way out of the apartment and to the library. “Schoolwork,” I say aloud as I head to my car. “I need to do some schoolwork.”

  They may not believe me, but as long as They haven’t manifested, I can lie to Them. It seems so silly, but the tiny shred of hope that one day I can be normal again is all I have.

  I won’t let Them have the satisfaction of squashing it.

  VENDING MACHINE ROMEO

  The library is a relief. No matter how many places I go, no matter how many times I start over again, the library is always a familiar landscape. Books, computers, tables. The layout may be different and the librarians will range from friendly to downright evil, but there’s something reassuring about the musty scent of old books.

  I am sitting at one of the study tables in the back of the library with a reference book when I sense someone’s approach. I’m assaulted by cologne, a scent somewhere between cat musk and a pine tree. It’s so strong that it almost knocks me over. I swallow my nausea.

  When I look up, my breath catches in my throat. “Dylan.”

  Dylan Larchmont grins at me in a way that leaves no doubt that he’s mentally undressing me. “Cory. Good to see you again.”

  My smile freezes in place. Funny, I was thinking just the opposite. I close the book I was leafing through and stand, grabbing for my bag. Dylan moves around the table, incredibly fast, and jerks my bag out of my hand. His smile is playful. “Hey, where are you going?”

  “Away,” I snap, taking back my bag and slinging it over my shoulder. I don’t like him, and all I want to do right now is punch him in his grinning face. I’m not sure why he doesn’t get the point. Especially since he had to have seen Them at the pizza place. Does he think it was just a trick of the light?

  “Why don’t you come over here and help me study. You look like a smart girl, and if you help me, I might be willing to help you.” He sits down in the seat I just vacated, and I pause in surprise at his offer.

  “Help me? How could you help me?”

  He laughs softly and flips through the book I was looking at, The Library of Greek Mythology. “Well, you’re obviously new and have no idea that you could do better when it comes to friends.” He pauses on some picture that captures his interest, and I cross my arms. His cologne is making my eyes water, but I want to know what he’s talking about.

  “Better, huh? Like you and your muscle-head buddies?”

  He isn’t fazed by the insult. Instead he smiles even wider. “I saw you hanging around with the mental patient and her white trash entourage, and it seems to me I could introduce you to a better class of people.”

  I tense at the way he says “mental patient,” like it’s something dirty. But I am curious. Who in my new group of friends could have needed professional help? Amber, with her narrowed eyes and assessing glares? Or maybe Jocelyn, who always has a bit of gossip to pass on?

  But then I remember Mindi’s expression when I asked her if she needed a ride home last night. Ah, Mindi. How did I not realize that she might’ve once been broken? She’s so fragile, it wouldn’t be a surprise that she may have needed a little extra help.

  But it’s nothing to be ashamed of, and Dylan’s comment just makes me despise him even more. He still watches me with an arrogant smirk, and I’m suddenly not interested in anything else he has to say. More importantly, if I spend another few minutes in his presence I’m going to lose it, and flipping out in a library is probably not a good idea.

  I turn around and leave without another word, heading toward the nearest exit, which spits me out onto a staircase. In the back of my mind I can feel Them beginning to stir, which is something I don’t need. They’re groggy and slow but definitely waking. If They wake fully, I’ll have to hunt. That means I won’t be able to go to the party with Mindi tonight. The longer They slumber, the more I can live my life.

  I really want Them to keep sleeping.

  The library, like my apartment, is in a remodeled mansion. Each floor is another section—children’s, nonfiction, reference. At some point I realize that the staircase I’m on isn’t leading outside, especially when I hit the bottom floor and the double doors have a sign that reads RESTROOMS AND VENDING. I look upstairs, wondering if I should backtrack. Up above, a door opens, and I have a flash of fear that it might be Dylan following me. Losing control would be very bad, so hiding is the best thing to do right now. I duck through the double doors and down a short side hall into the ladies’ restroom.

  I camp out in the handicapped stall for what feels like forever. My stomach is tied up in anxious knots, but part of me wonders how poor Mindi ended up in a clinic. It’s not really that hard to end up getting committed. The first place I went to, Brighter Day, had different kinds of patients: eating disorders, attempted suicides, and everything in between. So I’m not that worried that she has a past. We all have secrets that we’d like to keep hidden.

  I just wonder if it’s something I can help her with. It wouldn’t be the first time They took care of a friend’s relative who crossed the line. And it’s nice when I feel like I’m helping someone.

  I wash my hands and study my reflection in the mirror, noting the stillness of my irises. Good. It doesn’t look like my irritation with Dylan woke Them fully. That gives me a little time before I have to go hunting again.

  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.