A Want So Wicked (2 page)

CHAPTER 3

I
'm standing in the back room as Santo lectures me for (a) spilling my drink everywhere and causing a scene, and (b) not knowing the menu already. He's a big guy with a shaved head and grease burns up and down his arms, and I try to tell myself he's probably a teddy bear on the inside. But I'm pretty sure that's not true.

Santo says that he doubts I'll make a capable server, especially since I have what he calls “butterfingers,” but he's willing to give me a shot since he's understaffed. I'm grateful. Humiliated, but grateful.

Even as he talks, I glance toward the dining room, thinking about Diego. About the girl on the church steps. I run through a list of possibilities: low-blood-sugar-induced hallucinations, narcolepsy, schizophrenia. Obviously there is no way that stuff
really
happened to me just now, so it has to all be in my head. There's an explanation, and I'll figure out what it is. I just can't panic in the meantime.

Noticing my distraction, Santo dismisses me to the food line to help load trays, saying that he doesn't trust me on the floor without an escort. And since the water incident, Abe has been too busy to train me.

It's nearly two hours—and countless plates of food—later when Abe comes up to me at the line, reaching past me for a tray. “Hey,” he says. “Do you think you could help me out for a second?”

“Sure!” At this point I'll do anything to get out of the sweltering kitchen.

“Thanks,” he says, sounding relieved. “They just sat tables seven and eight. Would you mind getting their drink orders for me? I'm slammed right now.” I agree, and he rushes back onto the floor.

I follow after him, grabbing a green pad of paper from the register as I pass. I feel like a real server, and it's kind of exciting. Abe heads to the counter and I make my way over to his section.

At table seven is an older woman whose overabundance of perfume tickles my nose. She tries to give me her food order twice, but I honestly don't know what she's talking about. So I tell her I'll send Abe right over and promise to be back with her iced tea.

As I'm passing by table eight, the person there reaches to gently touch my arm, startling me. I gasp and swing around, dropping my notepad on the floor. Nice. Maybe I do have butterfingers. I bend quickly to gather the pages that have scattered.

“I'm so sorry,” a soft voice says. “I didn't mean to scare you.”

At the sound, my heart kicks up its pace and I slowly lift my eyes. The guy—the hot one from the motorcycle—is looking down at me, apologetic. The frazzled feeling I just had immediately evaporates as I stare at him, struck by how incredibly handsome he is up close. His eyes are an amazing shade of hazel, more green than brown. His dark hair is long, curling under his unshaven chin, evening out the prettiness of his features. He's certainly rough around the edges, but I like it. He looks kind of dangerous.

“It's okay,” I say, grabbing the last of the papers and standing. I'm suddenly self-conscious and want to smooth back my hair, but decide that would be trying too hard. “Did you want something?” I ask him instead.

He chuckles. “I was hoping for food, but if that's too much . . .”

“Oh,” I say, embarrassed. “I didn't mean to be rude. It's just that it's my first day and, well”—I lower my voice, confiding in him—“I have no idea what I'm doing.”

He leans toward me. “I won't tell on you.” He whispers as if we're in a conspiracy together.

I smile, looking down at the crumples of paper in my hand. “I appreciate that. And I can't help with the food, but maybe a drink?”

“A Dr Pepper if you have it,” he says, sitting back against the seat. He opens his menu, and I take the opportunity to run my eyes over him one more time. His brown leather jacket is worn and his dark sunglasses are tucked into the collar of his T-shirt. As he turns the pages, his every movement is tender.

When he looks in my direction again, a small smile tugging at his lips, I realize I've been staring at him long enough to be obvious.

“Sorry,” I say quickly. “You're . . . really distracting.”

“Thank you,” he says in an amused voice. “You're a bit distracting yourself.” He closes his menu and leans his elbows on the table, giving me his full attention. When his gaze locks on mine, pinning me in place, I take a deep breath. And then I remember that I'm still at work.

“I should go,” I say, motioning to the tables around us. “Otherwise I'll never win employee of the month.”

He smiles. “I'll be rooting for you.”

And when he turns back to his menu, I walk away—pulse racing, face flushed—and hurry toward the drink station.

 

Abe asks for my help on another table, and I never make it back to the guy from the motorcycle. I'm seriously disappointed, but far too busy to focus on it.

I follow Abe to the table of a guy with a buzz cut and a sleeveless T-shirt that says
AMERICAN MADE
on it. The customer mumbles that it's about time, and by Abe's cool expression, I half wonder if he's going to dump the sizzling fajitas in the guy's lap.

“This is Elise,” Abe tells him, setting the skillet down with a clack. “She's new, so tip her well.”

“It took close to a half hour to get my—”

Abe leans in, his hands on either side of the table. “I said tip her well, Carl. We wouldn't want to scare her away.”

My mouth opens as I'm about to tell them that it's fine, I really don't deserve a tip, but Carl reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a five-dollar bill and tosses it onto the tabletop. He glares at Abe, but says nothing else before taking a spoonful of guacamole and slopping it onto his chicken.

Abe grabs the money off the table. “Thanks,” he responds brightly, turning to hand it to me. I take it awkwardly, shooting a cautious glance at Carl, who seems to have already forgotten that we exist as he shoves food into his mouth.

“Now,” Abe says, putting his hand on my arm to lead me away, “I'm taking a fifteen-minute break. Come with?”

“Won't we get in trouble?” I ask.

“I never get in trouble.” He grins. “Meet me out back in five?”

I nod, and then Abe strolls across the dining room. Several women lift their gazes to watch him, and by his nonreaction I guess that Abe is probably used to it. Following his cue, I leave the room, stopping to grab my phone from my purse.

I see that I've missed two calls from the “old man” already and roll my eyes. I find my way to the back door, slipping through into the parking lot. It's quiet, the air humid with the promise of rain as I lean against the outer wall of the building. Since Abe's not here yet, I decide to check in with my dad and ask if he knows what could have possibly caused my hallucinations.

“Technically,” my father says as a way of answering the phone, “I called before your shift started, so you can't yell at me for bothering you during work.”

I'm immediately comforted by the sound of his voice. “What could possibly be on your mind that you had to call twice?” I ask. “I'm a mile and a half away.”

“I was wondering if you've seen your sister,” he says. “I know you're partners in crime, but I'm worried. You have her car, right?”

My heartbeat quickens, sure that he knows about last night. “I did borrow it, but she was home when I left. Have you called
her
twice?” I ask.

“Three times.”

“Huh. I don't know, then. I'm sure she just forgot her phone somewhere.” I'm surprised that Lucy isn't answering. It's unlike her to purposely worry our father. She prefers to commit her acts of rebellion in secret when possible. But my sister is the least of my concerns right now.

“Actually,” I say. “I wanted to ask you—”

Abe pokes his head out of the back door then, looking around until he sees me. He smiles and walks out, holding two cups. I don't want Abe to hear about my brush with the unexplained, so I turn away to talk into the phone.

“I have to go,” I say quickly to my father. “I'll call you as soon as I'm done.”

“Home by eleven—”

I hang up and shove the phone into the pocket of my black pants. Abe comes to stand next to me, passing a soda in my direction. “Sorry about that,” I say.

“Boyfriend?” he asks, taking a sip from his drink.

“No. Father.”

His mouth quirks up. “What a sweet girl you are.”

“I try.”

We're quiet for a few minutes as the darkened parking lot of Santo's continues to empty. My shift is nearly over, and I'm glad. I'm exhausted from being on my feet all night.

“So,” Abe says, turning to me. “Do you want to hang out after work? I'm going to a party.”

I smile. The idea of going out with him is more than a little tempting. “Thanks,” I say. “But I can't. My dad's on high alert right now because my sister is a rebel without a cause. He wants me home by eleven.”

“Eleven? Reminds me of when I was in kindergarten,” Abe says, pretending to be nostalgic.

“Shut up,” I say. “It's not that bad.”

“It's pretty bad. Straight home from work? Is he a police officer? Are you under house arrest?”

“Nope. He's a pastor.”

Abe snorts back a laugh. “Of course he is.”

“Hey!” I push his shoulder playfully. “My dad is cool.”

“As are most overprotective pastor fathers,” he says, like it's an obvious fact. “I bet you have to bring home all of your dates to meet him first, right?”

“No,” I say, not mentioning the fact that I've never been on a date.

“Really?” he asks. “With a beautiful creature like you under his roof I'd think he'd bar the doors and windows.”

“Nope, just a curfew,” I say, a small catch in my voice at being called beautiful. I feel Abe's dark gaze studying me, and when I turn to him, he bumps his shoulder into mine.

“Come out anyway,” he whispers. “Be bad with me, Elise.”

I laugh, thinking he's all kinds of adorable. But it doesn't change the fact that I have to talk to my father about what happened to me. So my workplace romance will have to wait. “Another time, maybe,” I say instead.

Abe sighs dramatically and reaches to take the cup from my hand. “Another time,” he repeats, backing toward the door. “I'll hold you to that.” And then he walks inside.

CHAPTER 4

B
y the time I finish vacuuming the dining room, Abe has already left for the night. Santo and Margie—his wife and head server—are at the door, packed up and ready to leave. And even though he doesn't come out and say it, Santo must think I did a decent enough job, because he asks me to come back tomorrow at four. Hopefully next time I'll make more than five dollars in tips.

The sky is starless as I walk out, the clouds turning the black night a dark gray. At least it's not raining. I've always hated the rain. I climb into Lucy's car and take out my phone to see if my father called again. But it won't power on. It's dead.

“Perfect,” I say, and toss it onto the seat. I close my eyes, my earlier conversation with Diego haunting me. The memory that wasn't mine. I'm not sure how I'll explain this to my father in a way that doesn't make me sound crazy—even if that's how it feels.

I could never know those things about another person. No one could. So how did I—

A swift knock at my window startles me and I stifle a scream. Standing there is an old woman, a knit cap pulled down over her white hair. She's motioning for me to open my window, but I hesitate. She's creepy.

I consider starting the car and pulling away, leaving her in my dust. But it seems cruel. So I lower the window—halfway.

“Hi,” I say, keeping back from the glass.

The old woman tilts her head to the side. “What are you doing here, child?” she asks in a ragged, broken voice. It's a terrible sound, and I cringe from it.

“Leaving work,” I respond, glancing toward my purse. I figure she's looking for a handout, maybe hasn't even eaten today. And though the woman is freaking me out, I can't leave her here with nothing. I reach inside and take out my five-dollar bill. “This is all I have,” I start to say as I hand it to her, but suddenly she grabs me by the wrist, yanking my arm out the window.

I shriek, trying to pull it back, but she's strong. I'm afraid she's going to bite me. Instead she ducks down, her wrinkled face close to the glass, and puts my palm to her cheek. “You're so bright.”

“Let go!” Tears are streaming down my face and then images begin to fill my head—dark pictures of skin cracking, dead and gray underneath. “Stop!” I cry out again.

Suddenly the woman is pulled from the car, her broken nails digging into my flesh as she's yanked away.

“What's going on?” It's Abe, and he has the woman by the shoulders. “I told you not to come here anymore. Do I have to call the cops?” He looks over at me. “Elise, did she hurt you?”

Next to Abe, the woman is fragile and small. I sniffle and then shake my head no. She seems harmless now, especially near Abe's imposing frame. “Get out of here,” he growls at her. “And if I see you again, I won't bother calling the cops.”

The old woman turns to me as she backs out of Abe's arms. “I showed you. They're coming, child,” she says, pointing to me. “Watch out for the Shadows!”

“Go!” Abe yells, pushing her toward the empty street. When she's gone, he comes to stand outside my window. “I had to come back for my jacket. But—” He stops, peeking down at me.

I'm shaking as I inspect the four long scratches raked across the inside of my arm. “Ow,” I murmur, my throat thick with tears.

Abe motions to my cuts. “Looks like it hurts.”

“It does. Who
was
that?”

“Local psychic. Although now she's mostly just a sad old lady who wanders around town sometimes. She's never been violent before—just a pain in the ass. Why did she grab you?” he asks.

“I don't know,” I say, touching the raw skin around the scratches. It really does hurt and I want to go home. I've never been attacked before. I've never even been yelled at before. I can only imagine how pink and puffy my face is from crying, but it hardly matters now. Not after the day I've had.

I wrap my uninjured arm around myself just as little taps begin to hit my windshield—drops of rain. I turn the ignition and flip on the wipers. Abe lifts his eyes toward the sky, annoyance passing over his features.

“Elise,” he says. “Since I just saved your life and all, do you think you can give me a ride home?”

I nod, and as Abe crosses to the passenger side, I brush the tears off my cheeks and unlock the doors. The minute Abe's inside, I lock them again. I don't need any more crazy old ladies grabbing me tonight.

The car is silent for a long moment before Abe reaches out his hand to me. “Can I see?” he asks. I slide my palm into his and he lays my arm across his thigh to inspect my wound. “It's not so bad,” he says, running his finger gently over a scratch. He traces it back up again, tickling me. “I don't think it'll scar.”

“Lucky me,” I say.

He lets go, and I pull my arm back in front of me. My skin tingles where he touched me.

“Why were you alone, anyway?” Abe asks. “Didn't Santo and Margie walk you out?”

“They did. I stayed an extra minute to call my dad, but my phone was dead. Then the woman came up to my window and I thought she wanted money—”

“And you gave it to her?” He laughs. “Elise, didn't your mom teach you not to talk to strangers?”

“My mom is dead.”

“Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't—”

“It's okay. And yes, my dad did teach me that, but I was being nice. I didn't expect her to—”

“Hey,” Abe interrupts. “You don't have to dismiss the subject like that. My mother died last year.”

I look sideways at Abe, struck with sudden grief. He shrugs, as if acknowledging that we're both in the dead-parent club. And it's not really an awesome place to be.

“What happened to her?” I ask. “Was she sick?”

Abe exhales, reclining the seat back and stretching his long legs in front of him like he's settling in. “No. It was an accident. Yours?”

My mother had never smoked a day in her life, but that didn't matter when she was diagnosed with lung cancer at the age of thirty-five. I'd been eight years old. I can still remember the small things, but I've spent longer with a grieving father. So it seems that my time with her will always be overshadowed by my time without her. “She had cancer,” I say, checking over my scratches as a way of distraction. “I was just a kid, though.”

“I see. And how long have you been here, Elise? In Thistle?”

“A month. We moved from Colorado when my dad got a job at Mission Church. He thought my sister and I could use the change of scenery.”

“I bet. Too much beauty in all those mountains up there. You needed more dry air and sand in your life.” He smiles. “And your sister? Is she like you?”

“What—a victim of random attacks? No, Lucy is her own sort of trouble. She's the risk-taker of our little tribe.”

“I bet she's not as pretty.”

My cheeks heat as I blush, but I pretend like I didn't hear his compliment. Abe makes me feel unsteady, out of my comfort zone. But at the same time, he seems to be genuinely interested in me, and that in itself is appealing.

“What about you?” I ask. “Any brothers or sisters?”

Booming thunder fills the air, followed by blue streaks of lightning across the dark desert sky. The universe seems to open up and pour rain all around us.

“Good thing you offered the ride,” Abe says. “My walk home would have been treacherous.”

“I didn't actually offer,” I tease him, starting the car as I shift into reverse.

“Details.”

Following Abe's directions, we drive slowly, the rain making visibility zero. Lucy's car is a piece of crap, so I don't push my luck with its tire treads on the slick pavement.

“It's amazing that I was here, really,” Abe says. “If I hadn't shown up at that exact moment, she might have dragged you out of the window and gobbled you up.”

“That's comforting. You should consider a job in law enforcement, talking people down from ledges.”

“I
will
consider it. Thanks!”

I slow to a stop at a red light, worrying when I notice it's after curfew. My father is probably having a coronary right about now. But I had to give Abe a ride home. It's the least I can do.

“Do you usually walk to work?” I ask when the signal changes.

“Yeah. I like the fresh air. Well, that and the fact that I don't have a car.”

“How do you get places?”

“I go around saving attractive girls,” he says. “Obviously.”

I park at the curb in front of Abe's house. It's a small, stucco home with bright yellow paint and rocky landscaping with a few weeds popping through. The windows are dark and I wonder why no one is waiting up for him.

“It was
fantastic
meeting you,” Abe says, sounding sincere. “Thank you for the lift.”

“Anytime.”

Abe smiles to himself. “I hope so.”

I wait as he walks to his house, unlocking the door before slipping inside. I think then about the old woman, the visions she showed me. They were nothing like what I saw with Diego, the bright light surrounding us. The woman was sharing something else entirely. And she had a warning:
Watch out for the Shadows
.

Whatever they are.

 

After dropping Abe off, I head home. Our neighborhood is a community of tract homes, variations of the same style all within the desert color scheme—tan. When I pull into the driveway, I let Lucy's car idle for a moment, feeling safer now that I'm here.

The front door opens, spilling light onto the porch. My father stands there, leaning against the frame with his head cocked at a “you are so late and I can't wait to hear why” angle.

“You probably won't believe it,” I say when I climb out of the car. “But I have an explanation.”

“I'm sure you do.” As I get closer, my father snaps his gum like a football coach on the sideline of a big game. He says he used to smoke when he was younger, and the gum-chewing replaced the habit. But now he only does it when he's frustrated. Behind his glasses his blue eyes are tired, his tall frame sagging with exhaustion. I think he's lost weight since moving here, but he blames it on the stress of having two teenage daughters.

“Elise,” he says. “Your curfew is in effect for a reason. That reason being my sanity. And when you break curfew without calling, it makes me think you're hurt, lying in a ditch somewhere.”

“
Or
my phone could have died and I was sidetracked by a wicked old witch in the parking lot of a Mexican restaurant.” I hold up my arm and show him the scratches, which are now an angry red.

My father practically bowls me over as he takes my arm to examine the wound. “Someone did this to you?” His voice is concerned, and I don't know how to tell him that a woman trying to pull me through a car window isn't even the weirdest thing to happen to me today.

“One of the guys from work showed up and scared her off,” I say, trying to reassure him. “It was random.” I lower my eyes then, thinking that it wasn't just by chance that she grabbed me. She saw something in me, the same thing that Diego saw. Just then fear crawls over the back of my neck as if I'm being watched.

“Let's go inside,” I tell my father, and push his elbow back toward our well-lit house. And it isn't until we're on the other side of a dead bolt with the alarm set that I begin to relax.