Gods and Mortals: Fourteen Free Urban Fantasy & Paranormal Novels Featuring Thor, Loki, Greek Gods, Native American Spirits, Vampires, Werewolves, & More (74 page)

I
skidded
out of my memories and walked back alone from the funeral, away from the eyes.

The wind blustered and thin silk was no match for its icy tentacles. My feet dragged me back toward Ms. Custer’s, the silent afternoon keeping me company. I was thankful for the solitude. Thankful for the subtle warmth soaking into my body from the amber at my neck.

One block to go. An engine suddenly growled behind me, throbbing closer and closer, raucous laughter raising the hair on my neck. A car tailed me; its honking brought goose bumps to my skin. A bunch of nasty, dumb kids voicing their displeasure at my survival. I kept walking. Exhaled only when they whined past. The driver thrust his arm out the window and raised his middle finger. Strident laughter followed. I flushed, embarrassed, furious at his nerve.

My heart stuttered as the twin red eyes disappeared into the gathering shadows ahead. Sighing, I turned into Elm Wood, seeking the lights of home. Bright lights beckoned in the dusk like so many welcoming flames. The house promised warmth and comfort. A blessed haven in which to hide away.

But only a temporary home. I’d learned not to grow too fond, not to get too comfortable.

Three other kids occupied the loving home of Ms. Custer, laying claim to foster-hood more than I had the right to. All orphans. Simon Harper and Brody Stevens were both ten and cute as a pair of unmatched buttons could be cute. Simon, pale and blond, in contrast to Brody’s dark skin and sooty hair. Otherwise, they were the same. Boisterous, cheeky, funny and a handful. Ms. Custer called them “Ebony and Ivory.” Most appropriate.

Isabel Martin was elegant, sweet and very, very quiet for a twelve-year-old. But all three accepted me, drew me into their little family despite my discomfort and constant protests.

I let myself into the house, expecting Brody and Simon to be in the living room pretending to do their homework, and Izzy in the kitchen peeling vegetables or laying the large dining table. I craved peace and quiet and knew I wasn’t going to get it.

The living room’s silence greeted me, while the kitchen simmered with cheerful chatter amidst the clinking of utensils. As I stepped inside the kitchen a second of peace reigned before Brody and Simon spoke over each other, asking how Joshua’s brother was doing. Izzy smiled, waiting for her turn to question the life out of me.

Ms. Custer stood at the sink, drying a dish that looked dry to begin with, her smile a faded copy of her usual toothy blessings.

“Come on, kids, get to your chores. Boys, help Izzy set the table please. Use the good dinner service and be careful. Anyone break anything and they’ll be scooping horse poop at McGregor’s Farm for the whole of spring break.”

They groaned and flashed out the door, bickering comfortably as they worked.

“It’s dry, you know?” I lifted an eyebrow at the dish.

She huffed, laid it on the table and proceeded to fill it with steaming mashed potatoes. The food should have assaulted my taste buds, but not a particle within me did any sort of dance at the prospect of eating. Not anymore. It’d been weeks since food had last satisfied me and I longed to eat the roast just for the sake of recalling the taste and sensations on my tongue. It would no doubt do no good. These days food equated to tasteless sludge.

“When was the last time you ate a proper meal?” Ms. Custer’s eyes narrowed, as if she possessed some kind of inner lie-detecting radar. She had no idea how long it had been and I didn’t intend to tell her I survived on air and water these days. Just about anything could get a foster kid moved.

“A proper meal you mean?” I received a curt nod and a further narrowing of her eyes. “Around the time Aimee Graham died.”

The truth was the last thing I’d intended but it slipped out of my mouth anyway. The queen of avoidance was also an awful, awful liar.

Ms. Custer nodded. The skin around her eyes softened. “That was three weeks ago, young lady. How are you surviving?” I waited as she yelled for Izzy, who hauled the mashed potatoes to the dining table.

“Not sure,” I said. What was wrong with my mouth?

Way to go, Bryn. A secret stash of smartass quips, a thousand snarky responses and you spew out the bald truth?

“Are you eating anything at all?” Concern and fear swam back into her warm brown eyes.

I shook my head. “Food tastes like sawdust. And makes me ill.” I gripped the chair in front of me, needing the solid wood to ground me.

“But you don’t look like you’ve survived on nothing. Not skin and bones at all. You
look
fine.” Ms. Custer spoke below her breath. Since she didn’t seem to expect an answer, I bit my tongue. “Maybe you need to see a counselor?”

My head shook a violent response while inside my mind I screamed, panicked. I drowned in memories.

My mother’s voice echoed in my head, harsh with pain. Her accusations. My fear when I figured out what I’d done by admitting I could see the glow.

The visits to the psychiatrist who persisted in his treatment, delving deeper, searching for a reason for the visions. A reason that would match one of his textbook definitions. Even the quiet understanding of my father hadn’t made it any better.

“No!” The skin on my knuckles went taut as I gripped harder, terrified I’d lose control. The word barked out, harsher than I’d intended. “I’m sorry, Mom. It’s just...I’ve had my fair share of counseling. If anything, they make things worse, not better.”

She paused and I just knew she wouldn’t let the issue slide. But her next words surprised me. “That’s okay, Bryn, honey.” Her smile, like the soft pat on my shoulder, was gentle and sweet and enduring. “Did it go well today?” She reached out and gently touched my bandage.

Ms. Custer had intended to come to the funeral but I’d asked her to stay home. Didn’t want the kids exposed to more grief. And my sorrow craved solitude. I wasn’t sure why, but I knew I’d shatter into a million shards of grief if my little family were with me.

I just nodded. No sense in telling her about Cherise and her malicious machinations. Ms. Custer’s face tightened but she let it be.

Tender garlic and herb-roasted chicken and butter-glazed carrots made it safely to the table. I went through the motions, pretending to eat under the stern supervision of my foster mother. Washing up was easier to do and I escaped the kitchen, both dishes and myself in one piece.

A wide veranda hugged the front half of the house, dark and private, especially in the evenings. I surrendered to its comforting embrace. Enjoyed the thrill of having the porch swing to myself, reveled in the enveloping dark night and the sweet scent of Ms. Custer’s pink climbing roses. I sat alone, enclosed in my little private world, with just the crickets and cicadas to vie for my attention.

I
stayed home
, under doctor’s orders to take things easy after the accident and the blow to my head. A week dragged by. A week in which I relished the chattering of leaves outside my window, as the wind frolicked through the thick branches of the red maple. A week I wanted to last forever. Not because the end of it meant I’d have to run the North Wood High gauntlet again, but because I’d lost my support. My strength. My only friend who I’d just let die, without doing a thing about it.

The porch swing creaked, and I sighed, loving the silent, fragrant darkness. A fake haven where I remained invisible and the world walked by without knowing I watched. I should have seen Aimee’s father walking his dog, trying to maintain a sense of normality after losing his only daughter. Should have seen Anna and Cherise slip into Anna’s house and throw vicious stares at our house as if the building itself had taken their hunky quarterback from them. But all I saw were lonely pink petals falling and falling into nothingness.

Until the black and chrome Ducati roared, loud and intrusive as it turned into our driveway.

B
iker-dude cut
the engine and swung off the machine, his movement like a river of mercury. He strolled to the front door.
Walk
wasn’t the most appropriate word for the rolling gait he used to go from bike to door, but it did strange things to my heart and my breath. Deliciously nice things.

I stared from the darkness, half a smile on my lips, one foot on the wooden deck so the swing didn’t give me away with a random creak, holding my breath. He thumbed the doorbell and peeled off his helmet. Long black hair dripped over his forehead and caressed his nape. He fluffed the dark mop, not in the vain I-look-so-hot way, but in an unconscious get-out-of-my-face way.

For the first time in my sad and predictably unlucky life, my heart lurched in my chest. All the soppy, mushy stuff was present: lightheartedness, breathless expectation, deep rosy blushes. Exactly the way girls fell for the male lead in chick flicks or the way the simpering heroines swooned in great romance novels.

I barely heard the porch door squeak open. I even missed Ms. Custer saying, “Oh, it’s you. Come in, come in!” He followed her inside and I waited while they talked. Crickets chirped, reminding me to get my head out of the clouds. A steady breeze tugged at the branches of our red oak and cooled my heated cheeks. I didn’t dare enter the house. Or leave the veranda.

I peered through the drapes as they talked in the living room. Though I strained to make sense of their conversation I got nothing but muffled sounds. When they shook hands and walked back toward the door, I breathed a sigh of relief. Thank heaven. He was leaving.

Ms. Custer let him out and shut the door behind him. I waited. He took the two porch stairs in a single stride and slung his leg over the bike. Right before he put his helmet on he turned and looked straight at me, through the darkened branches of the climbing rose, which should have hidden me from view.

“It’s rude to spy on people, you know?” He softened his words with a smile, teeth glittering even in the fading evening light. The darkness hid the hot red of my cheeks. His deep laughter echoed as he shoved the helmet onto his head. He shut the face-piece of his helmet, cutting off the stomach-tingling sound of his voice, and revving the engine. Silver gleamed at his neck and then he disappeared into the gathering shadows.

I shoved off the swing, sending it into a creaking frenzy. Caught, embarrassed and fuming I’d even done such a thing. I pushed the front door open and barreled into the living room.

Ms. Custer’s knitting occupied her generous lap; needles flashed this way and that, keen on creating her next rainbow-colored scarf. On the TV Hannibal smiled and chewed on his cigar.

“Who was that guy?” I asked, keeping my expression as neutral as possible, hoping the color in my cheeks had faded away.

“Oh, that nice young man is our latest foster.” Ms. Custer had fallen for his smile, too. “He’ll be moving in tomorrow bright and early.”

Fabulous.

Mr. Hot Wheels, who’d made my pathetic heart race, was moving in. Just great. I harnessed my embarrassed rage, ignored the temptation to run upstairs, slam my door shut, throw myself onto my bed and scream into my pillow. Instead, I gazed through the window at the shadows that had swallowed Biker-dude. I still couldn’t wipe the stupid half-smile off my face. Guess it would do no harm to have some eye candy around. And though Joshua had qualified as eye candy, he’d been my friend.

Biker-dude didn’t look much like
just-friend
material.

Sleep eluded me, and when at last I succumbed, my dreams were hazy, filled with the bright golden gleam of Joshua and Aimee, screeching tires and crunching metal.

And the faint echo of the rev of a motorcycle engine.

M
orning rushed
in on quicksilver feet, clear and bright and at odds with my musty sentiments. Another school day. Running the gauntlet with Cherise and her friends at North Wood High. Just great.

Before Joshua, I’d never cared much what other people thought of me. But then Joshua died and I’d survived. And now Craven deepened its hatred for the interloper, the new girl who’d come into their lovely town bringing darkness, death and destruction.

If I hadn’t figured out the true meaning of the glow, I’d have done the same: blame Bryn.

I pushed scrambled eggs and pieces of hash brown around on my plate under Ms. Custer’s disapproving gaze. The little yellow globs stuck to the roof of my mouth, while oily bits of fried potato tickled my throat. I had to choke down the urge to hurl.

Poor Ms. Custer was certain I was eating elsewhere and though I wished I could express my fear that my metabolism was shot to hell, I knew she’d never believe me. People believed what they wanted. Foster parents had to believe the child coming to them would be a problem. The preferred stereotype because they didn’t dare to wish for a good kid and end up with a rotten one.

Ms. Custer wasn’t the standard out-of-the-box foster parent, but how could anyone believe a person could survive a whole month without food? Me and my big mouth. I was simply unable to lie to her. I sighed. She thought I’d lied anyway.

I scraped off my plate when she turned away, then dragged the strap of my bag over my shoulder. Outside, I tucked my chin in against the cool wind and walked fast. The brisk trip to school cleared my head, refreshing me until I reached the sidewalk in front of the old redbrick structure of the main building. Huge windowpanes stared out, glassy eyes reflecting the clear blue sky above. The pretty picture did nothing to ease the dread in my gut.

I
stepped
into the grey gloom of the school halls, dull and drab compared to the rich red of the building’s facade. Stares tickled the hair at the back of my neck; whispers raised the goose bumps on my skin.

Same old same old, until I received a summons to the vice principal’s office during first period English. My feet got me to his office. Reluctantly.

Vice Principal Warren examined me from behind glasses with rims so thick it looked like he had frightful cataracts. Nevertheless he managed to imbue within them sufficient venom to pique my curiosity and awareness.

My heart thumped.

This didn’t bode well for my day.

“Miss Halbrook, I want to get a few things straight.” His grotesquely misshapen eyes stared.

I waited. Was I supposed to ask him to clarify? Unsure, I decided to go with silence.

Finally, he snorted and said, “It’s enough you’ve managed to influence our young Joshua...and now the poor boy is dead. Such a future he had before him. Such a waste.” Warren shook his head, the fluorescent light above him throwing his well-oiled hair into starker light, casting strange shadows on the sagging lines in his face. His fingers traced the slippery strands at his neck, fingers coming away slick with the oily residue.

He spent too long scanning my face, a self-satisfied, sinister twist to his lips. I squandered precious seconds wondering if Craven had any links to Salem. I waited, vulnerable prey in the face of Warren’s vitriol.

“I hope you will concern yourself with your schoolwork and nothing else, Miss Halbrook.” He leaned forward. I ached to back away, but the steel backrest of the chair wouldn’t allow it. “I will have none of what you got up to at the funeral with Miss Barnes. The poor girl was upset enough without your insinuating comments.”

“Huh? We barely spoke.” But I could tell he wouldn’t believe me. I gritted my teeth.

My ears rang, great clanging sounds so deafening it was a wonder I registered a word he said, but I did. Damn well heard Cherise’s pathetic, successful lies. I wasn’t the most popular kid in the school, but I swallowed a bitter pill sitting in the principal’s office, unable to defend myself. It must have been against my constitutional rights in some way, but in Craven things didn’t work well for Bryn Halbrook.

“Oh, that reminds me. We have a new student starting today. And since he is from Ms. Custer’s care, it seems appropriate for you to shepherd him around instead of any of my other students. It’s really, really sad to see there isn’t enough being done with kids like you.” He sneered, the corner of his lip rising to reveal nicotine-yellowed teeth.

He picked up a sheet of school-issue yellow paper, the ones Craven kept for detention and permission slips. The oil from his fingers seeped into the paper, spreading, bleeding the ink of the printed words.

“Kids like me?” I tried to keep the bite out of my voice but it didn’t matter. Warren listened only to the sound of his own voice.

“Yes, Miss Halbrook. Troubled kids like you fall through the cracks all the time. The system is not perfect, that’s quite clear. But I will not, and shall not, allow you to run riot in my school. My school, my rules, Miss Halbrook. One wrong move and you are out.”

He slapped the yellow paper on the desk in front of me and motioned for me to leave. I picked the sheet up, careful to avoid the greasy blobs and the smudged ink.

A name ran across the page in bright red ink beside the words
Student Name
.

Aidan Lee.

I read the paper as I walked out of Warren’s office, my initial desire to slam the door behind me well and truly forgotten. Now I knew the name of the mysterious biker boy.

“
H
i
, I’m Aidan.”

The subject of my recent conversation and my stupid thoughts now stood up in front of me. He’d been seated at the bank of orange plastic chairs outside Warren’s office. I cringed. How long he’d been there and how much he’d heard?

His smile wavered when I looked at him, my face blank with shock. I stared straight ahead, eyes fastened on the bit of silver at his throat. Three triangles merged in an unusual pattern, gleaming as it hung from a simple black cord.

He cleared his throat, interrupting my scrutiny of his jewelry. I recovered, remembered my manners.

“I’m Bryn Halbrook.” I shook his hand. Polite society dictated it. My eyes remained on the worn leather cuff of his jacket. Anywhere but his adorably tousled locks. The warmth of his palm sent traitorous sparks of electricity firing all the way up my spine.

“Ah yes, my voyeur.” His low voice purred against me, then brought me straight out of my electric trance.

“Look, I was out on the porch when you arrived so don’t get big-headed,” I snapped, tugging my bag tighter on my shoulder, crumpling the disgusting yellow page.

“So why didn’t you say something?”

“I wanted to be alone. The last thing I needed was some loud-mouthed jerk disturbing my peace.”

“Mmhh. Sorry if I offended you.” He raised both hands in defense, a slight scowl wrinkling his forehead. “But I do need you to show me to my first class. I’m pretty sure I can find someone to point me to the next one.”

My face bloomed red and this time no darkness or shadows veiled my stupid emotions. “Look, I’m sorry. You are my responsibility for now. And the last thing I need is more flak from Vice Principal Warren. I’ll show you around but don’t get any ideas. We aren’t friends or anything. From tomorrow you are on your own.”

I stalked off, and his footsteps thunked on the linoleum behind me. I sighed. He didn’t put up a fight, throw a tantrum or sulk. Goody for him.

We went straight to English where we spent all of two minutes before the bell rang. Mr. Levy handed us our homework and shook his head.

Okay, so the principal called me to his office. I wasn’t cutting school here. Not doing anything wrong!
I bristled in silence, my anger like a little gargoyle, dark and forbidding and so very unpredictable. The reasons for my summons to Vice Principal Warren’s office didn’t matter. I was guilty as charged, straight to jail, no bail.

The day passed in a gritty blur and the final bell brought an unspeakable relief. Dragging Aidan around all day hadn’t been as bad as I’d expected. Most of the time all I did was get him to the class. He was ogled and drooled over plenty by the day’s end. Lots of short skirts and close-fitting tees to keep him company.

I gritted my teeth for the umpteenth time. Busy stuffing books into my locker, I jumped when someone appeared right next to me. Cherise almost managed to creep up beside me unnoticed. Only her cloying lavender perfume gave her away, seconds before I would have elbowed her in the face as I turned.

“Seems you have only one thing going for you at the moment, freak.” She spoke softly but I caught the sneer right before it turned into a brilliant smile as Aidan closed in.

“Ooh, look who it is,” she said as Aidan joined us. “Aidan.”

Wow. It is really possible to breathe a name.

“I’ll see you on Saturday night then. It’s a date.” She snuggled closer, running her hand over the dark leather covering his arm.

As those tiny red-tipped fingers ran along Aidan’s arm, I clenched my fists. The need to act on those vicious thoughts burned like hot lava. I imagined grabbing her fingers and breaking them off his arm, one at a time.

I blinked away those awful images, horrified. Through the blur of anger, one unfamiliar emotion raised its head, daring me to deny it. One emotion that fairly knocked me on my butt. I had absolutely no claim to Aidan Lee whatsoever.

And yet I was rip-roaringly, green-eyed-glaringly jealous.

W
e walked home in silence
. Me, deep within the maelstrom of my pathetic emotions. Aidan with his nose in his iPad. Some foster kid he was. An iPad for Pete’s sake? Okay, so maybe I was somewhat jealous. But who wouldn’t be when you spent years with almost nothing? Not even a mom or dad.

Two weeks after my thirteenth birthday, my father had died in a car crash, killed when a drunk driver and an icy winter’s night met head on. My father had prepared for the unlikely event of his death, but I would have preferred to have him alive and with me again.

I’d have a bit of my inheritance soon. At the end of the school year, I would receive a small lump sum to allow me to prepare for college. Fees and expenses to be paid directly by the lawyers who executed the estate. Daddy happened to be a bit of a rich dude. Guess genetic scientists made a packet. Still, I’d have to wait until the end of the school year before I could indulge in the luxury of an iPad.

I spent a few seconds wondering about my mother. The mother who’d abandoned me when I was five. Not a birthday card or telephone call since. Where was she right now? Did she ever spend precious moments thinking of me? I doubted it. I may see her as my mother. But she thought I wasn’t good enough to stick around for. She’d even refused to take me in after my father’s death. All those psychiatrist visits and my childhood tales of people who glowed had probably freaked her out.

I glanced at Aidan again, who managed to keep up the pace without running head first into the black gums dotting the sidewalk.

“What’s so interesting?” I tried to break the silence, still thick with the memory and odor of Miss Barnes. The rich lavender scent of her perfume would give even a non-sufferer hay fever. I twitched my nose against a sneeze and waited.

“Nothing much. Just checking the news.” Aidan smiled and shut the cover, shoving the tablet into his backpack. Faced with the full impact of his arresting smile I stared, unable to string any words together.

What an idiot.

I was drooling too. It took one sultry stare from Aidan to reduce me to a simpering love-struck mess to rival Cherise and all her handmaidens.

When I didn’t respond he asked, “You don’t like me much, do you?”

Funny you should say that right when I am busy drooling over you. “You are an anathema.” I answered out loud, shaking free of those weak female thoughts.

“Huh?” He grinned, despite his confusion at my words.

“You go against the grain.” I bit the words out, hoping to end the conversation.

“Sorry, you’re going to have to expand on your train of thought there. I’m completely lost.” He shook his head and I wondered if he’d already dismissed me as the fruit-loop of Ms. Custer’s little foster house.

“You’re not the typical foster kid,” I said. “Foster kids don’t fit in. Not with the jocks or the science nerds or the popular kids. Nobody likes temporary inmates. But Aidan Lee is unlike any foster kid ever known. He has the popular girls already panting at his heels.” A nasty, cold bite laced my words, as if a viper now controlled my voice and swayed in silence, ready to pounce.

Aidan frowned, glancing at my face as we paused to cross a street. “I didn’t ask Cherise out, if that’s what you mean.”

It was exactly what I meant but hell if I was going to admit it. And what did he mean he didn’t ask her? I didn’t dare to request further clarification. He’d get an even more inflated ego if he knew his new foster sister was vibrating with pure jealousy a foot away from him.

“That’s none of my business. And it’s not what I meant.” I should have bitten my tongue. Maybe then my mouth would’ve stopped running loose, but things like this usually happened to me. Intention and action didn’t always work hand in hand with me. Some sort of rebel I was!

“Well then, please feel free to explain any time this millennium.” Aidan grinned but it did nothing to ease the sliver of annoyance and more than slight curiosity lurking in his dark eyes.

“You’re here for one day and you’re already amassing an entourage. Forgive me for not bowing and scraping along with the rest.” What I’d failed to ask was why it was never that easy for me. He’d managed to insinuate himself into the student body with disgusting ease. Within a week, nobody would ever mention he was a foster kid. He’d just be one of the popular kids.

Somewhere within the functioning part of my brain, I knew it was unfair to blame him for my failings at this popularity contest or for his sudden rise to stardom within North Wood High, and I clamped my mouth shut before another snarky comment could emerge.