Book of Revenge (3 page)

…very soon.

Wes:

I was tapping my pencil against the old desk my foster father had made in high school. It was small and well loved, but practical all the same, now jammed into the corner of my room. “What’s a square root again?”

Emily let a puff of air pass her lips. “Come on, Wes. Don’t make me explain it, for like, the
millionth
time.”

I glanced at her, feeling bad for asking. Her face was twisted with annoyance, like it always was, and I loved it. I couldn’t help but smile, her freckles begging me for a kiss.

Emily’s eyes narrowed. “No.” She pointed at the paper before me with the eraser end of her pencil. “Concentrate.”

I bit my lip, lifting my brows. “Oh, come on, Em. We’ve been doing this for hours,” I whined.

She rolled her eyes, something she was really good at. “It’s only been…” she looked at her pink plastic watch. “Thirty-two minutes.”

“Just think about the principal of it. Angel blood. Blood! It’s just gross!” She shuddered, but I could tell it was a fake shudder—she wanted it too. “It’s gross,” she repeated, as though she was trying to convince herself.

I looked down at her bag which was left open on the floor. “I bet she didn’t think it was gross,” I pointed to an Anne Rice book on the top of the pile.

“That’s different.”

I laughed. “How? You shouldn’t even be reading that stuff. Isn’t that what Max told you?”

There it was again, another eye-roll. “Leave it alone,” she snapped. “I read them before, so I can read them now. Besides, I have control.”

I snorted. “Yeah. Sure. Now you do,” I murmured, intending it to be sarcastic.

“What?” she snapped again. “And that means?”

I shrugged, not upset at all that she’d heard me. “You weren’t always in control, is all I’m saying. You’re track record for this type of thing sort of sucks.” I began listing on my fingers. “Vicoden, alcohol, sleeping aids… the list goes on!”

“Shut up. That’s not fair. You know I only did all that stuff because I thought I was alone, because of all I
endured…
because of all I could
hear.
I thought I couldn’t survive without it.”

I dropped my listing hand. “That’s exactly what I’m saying!”

I could tell by the mounting look on Emily’s face that her anger was about to peak.

Still, I pressed the point further. “You were stupid to do those things. Just look how great you are without all that.” I shook my head. “Besides, it’s not like
I
endured anything, or
anything.”

She growled, leaping off the floor and tackling me from my chair. My head thumped against the carpet, my ears suddenly ringing. “Ouch!”

Emily’s legs wrapped around me like a vise. “Stop it. This is your last warning.”

My thumb grazed the skin at the bottom hem of her sweater, a part of me missing the way she used to dress, but happy she didn’t dress that way at the same time. She smacked my hand away then slapped me across the cheek. It was fluid—
sexy.

I rubbed my burning skin, grinning. “What was that for?” I slid out from under her.

She stood, collecting her things. “I hate this.” Her muscles tensed and flexed as she pushed me away. My animal instincts sensed a fight flaring.

“I just want to forget the first month of this year because truthfully, it sucked. I want to forget the blood, the death…
Him.”
Her voice got deep and dramatic. “And, yeah, even us. It’s all…” She was searching for the right words. “Topsy-turvy.”

I just stood there, trying to look like I was listening when really, I was lost.

She leaned forward. “Is that okay?” The expression on her face conveyed that she was waiting for something, but I didn’t know what.

“Okay… so what do you want me to do?”

She sighed. “Ask me out,” she said bluntly. Her arms were crossed now, her foot tapping.

“Ask you…
out?”

She snorted, further annoyed. “Yes.”

I felt hopeless. She was looking for finesse, but the only thing I lacked more than brains was finesse.
“Uh…”
I was suddenly sweating with nerves. I didn’t like to be put on the spot. “You want to go for pizza with me, or something?”

In two quick strides, I had crossed the room, grasping her hand.
“Stop.”

Emily:

I stopped, hoping he’d come up with something better than pizza.
What was I doing?
I had what I wanted—I had Wes. The problem was, I always wanted more—I always wanted what Jane had, and what she had was a little romance, too.

Wes squeezed my hand. “Emily Marie Taylor, would you like to accompany me to Vicco’s for a gourmet burger tonight?” He was standing as straight as his giant body would allow. Despite my annoyance, I couldn’t help but smile. I could see the effort in his eyes—his thoughts.

He was cute.

My body relaxed, releasing the tension from my pent up emotions. “Yes, Wes. I’d love to.” I loved Vicco’s, and it was the perfect first date with a drive-in feel.

Wes leaned in, his golden eyes sparkling.
“Can I still tell you that I love you?”
he whispered.

Wes shrugged. “You’ll have to earn a better kiss. I just asked you out, remember? I don’t want to move
too
fast.” He was being a smart-ass.

I frowned. “That’s not really what I was trying to say when I said
start over.”

Wes tilted his head, his lips pressed together before answering. “That’s too bad. You should have thought this through. It’s a package deal, so what’s done is done.” He snapped his fingers.

I ground my teeth together.

“Allow me to walk you home, my beautiful.” He bowed from the waist like a Shakespearian hero—more like Shakespearian joke.

I faked a gag.
“
Bleck
!
Don’t call me that! That’s what Max calls Jane.” My brows knitted together, glaring at him.

He chuckled. “That’s just the reaction I was looking for.”

Wes placed his hand on the small of my back, leading me through the bedroom door and into the hall. He walked me home every day as though he were my personal body guard, afraid I’d be abducted in the yard between my house and his. Once we passed the threshold of any space, it was all business, all brawn and attention to detail. Wes was afraid that
He
would return—though I doubted it. Snake venom tainted my blood, so to
Him,
I was a big, green Mr. Yuck sticker—He wouldn’t touch me ever again. He simply couldn’t.

We walked down the stairs, Wes’s watchful eye already on full alert. Until the day Greg was dead, I knew Wes would never relax. We all knew he was still alive because Max was. The best we could do was to pretend Greg was dead, and for now, that was the only way to get through it. Since the incident, none of us had yet mentioned his name out loud, let alone think it as I was now. Chills ran down my spine at the mere skip around the subject. I trembled.

Wes held onto the pocket of my backpack like a leash, our proximity to the door reason enough to become overly protective. There was a delicate clatter of dishes in the kitchen as we passed. Wes’s foster mother caught my eye, leaning over her old olive-colored dishwasher.

“Hello, Emily.” Her voice was soft like a whisper.

“Hello, ma’am.” I’d been told to address Gladys properly. Wes respected the fact that Gladys and her husband had taken him in, despite the enormous dent in their grocery bill.

She smiled sweetly at Wes, her mind filled with delighted thoughts of me, how I’d changed, and what a relief it was to see us both happy. I laughed to myself, thinking of the days my father spent with Gladys, drinking tea. It comforted me to know that he had endured the same torture of hearing that I had—the same
knowing.

Since Jane had told me about my father’s secret, my whole outlook on life had changed. I was no longer alone. I was no longer afraid of what was happening to me because I finally felt a part of our family—a part of my father. It was normal for me to hear these things, and I was proud of that fact. I’d managed without Vicoden for two weeks now. Drugs had only separated me from the gift my father left me and the giant shoes I was destined to fill. I was embracing what I once loathed. It felt good.

Wes tilted his head and addressed Gladys, a show of respect he used universally. Grasping the handle of the front door, Wes guided me out onto the porch. I wanted so badly to turn and peck him on the cheek, but I refrained, remembering that I’d ruined my ability to do so with my stupid idea of starting over.

A soft chortling sound animated the otherwise silent fall air. Wes and I both looked up at once. I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth.

“What the—” Wes’s gruff voice was close to my ear.

“
Shhh
,”
I elbowed him in the stomach.

He grunted, doubling over.

Leaves slowly spiraled to the ground, covering the front yard in an organic blanket of oranges and red. Though that sight alone was gorgeous, it was the brown-white owl perched on Wes’s car that had taken our breaths away.

“It’s not moving,” I commented.

Wes was rubbing the spot where I’d elbowed him. “Well, that’s obvious.”

I swallowed, glaring at Wes over my shoulder before inching forward. My pink Converse slid across the decking, making nothing but a dull shuffling sound. The owl remained perfectly still, unfazed by me, a statue among the falling leaves.

The owl had yellow eyes, its feathers dappled and thick. It watched both of us, a spark of intrigue in its eye. I wanted to get closer to it. I wanted to hear its thoughts. I lowered my foot off the deck, inching onto the pathway. The owl’s feathers fluffed, as though annoyed that I’d tried to come closer. I shut my eyes, focusing my attention, trying to hear. At first it was just a whisper, but as I moved my other foot from the deck and stepped down, there was a sudden burst of sound.

Stop!

My eyes flew open, just in time to see the owl take flight, its talons scratching across Wes’s hood.

“
Great.”
Wes cursed under his breath. “Thanks a lot.”

I spun.
“Wes!”
I scowled at him, making this his fault, not mine.

“What?” He was genuinely confused, wondering what he’d done wrong.

I tried to re-collect my thoughts. Was it me or the owl that I’d heard in my head? Did it tell me to stop? Or did I tell myself?

I grumbled, “Thanks a lot, Mr. Smooth.”

Wes’s shoulders hunched in his defense. “What did I do?”

I twisted my backpack out of his hands as he continued to stand on the porch, holding me back and looking shell-shocked. “That thing’s been here like, everyday this week, Em. Chill out.” He jumped off the porch, both feet landing on the pathway with a loud slap.

“What? It has?” I gaped.

Wes walked to his car and I followed after him. He ran his hand over the hood, inspecting the new set of scratches, right next to a number of other, older ones, some already rusting.

Jane:

I ran my fingers down the frets, my hair draped over the neck of the cello. My eyes were shut, feeling the emotion in me swell. A cold hand touched my neck, tracing up to my ear. I opened my eyes, the song breaking as I gave in to a shiver.