DARK SOULS (Dark Souls Series) (2 page)

I gave one last, hard yank, releasing the wires with a snapping sound that couldn’t be good, but I didn’t hesitate as I raced back to the basement steps and took them two at a time.

“Oh,
damn
it!”

I raced back down the stairs, so fast that not even missing a step made me tumble, and threw open my locker to grab my jacket.

Snap.

Holding my pea coat out like a whip, I made like a gazelle back to the steps, refusing to look back into the shadows as I re-entered the coffee shop and slammed the basement door behind me.

I leaned against it, catching my breath as I shook my head. Darkness never scared me. Darkness
couldn’t
scare me, not after everything that happened, and yet here I was, scared of a dark basement.

So cliché.

Still shaking my head at myself, I dragged my arms through my navy blue jacket, pulling up the hood in preparation for the light rainfall outside. I checked my earphones, saw that no damage had been done, and jammed them into my ears before turning my circa-2009 iPod on loud, pushing through the glass-double doors. I pulled down the metal partition over the doors and windows and locked it, noticing with vague interest that yet another graffiti tag had been added onto our growing mural of indecipherable spray-paint words. Turning, I began my walk home down Broadway, my head lowered as I half-walked, half-strode down the street at a pace that any New Yorker can attest to.

My route took me past rowdy dive bars and quiet restaurants, the golden glow of both cascading out onto the glistening sidewalk. With the rain also came the smell of the underground sewers, but I barely grimaced as I walked over the steaming sewer grates and weaved through dawdling crowds, my music drowning out all sound.

I was turning left onto West 3
^rd
Street, waiting at the stoplight, when I felt it.

There was a person—a guy—standing directly in front of me but facing away, the white and red lights of cars bouncing against the wet asphalt in all directions, putting him in a soft light. His hair was a full, dark brown, so dark it resembled the five cups black coffee that I had gulped down today. Tiny tendrils of hair brushed against the collar of his shirt as he moved his neck, and inexplicably, that is where my gaze rested.

As my eyes trained onto the side of his neck, a strange tingling rolled through my body, almost like a wave as it began at the top of my head and flowed down into my legs. It was mild, almost non-existent, but I could feel the tiniest
zing
, as if I were momentarily covered in goose bumps before the feeling faded away entirely, leaving me wondering if I had even felt it in the first place. I frowned.

“Coming through!”

The loud voice and the whizzing bike that followed shot me back and I flushed as a delivery boy flew by, instantly shamed for staring so avidly at the back of a stranger’s head. I ripped out my ear buds and heard someone snicker beside me.

The light changed and I stayed behind him as we crossed, confused. I noticed a girl beside him, her raven curls bouncing like silent bells as she said something to him and pushed him playfully in the arm. His black sweater was pushed up onto his forearm, and I saw the spiraling colors of a tattoo sleeve. Pulling my coat tighter around me, I wondered where his jacket was.

I switched focus and frowned at the girl, not in jealousy, but over the fact that she must have been the one who snickered at me. Actually
snickered.

Thankfully, they stayed on Broadway and turned right, saving me from any more weird feelings or awkward staring as I continued down West 3
^rd
. The street wasn’t nearly as crowded as Broadway, and I left my ear buds out as I let the staccatos of my footsteps lull my heart rate back down to normal. But my mind wouldn’t stop racing. What the hell was happening today?

Between the shadows, sounds, and unnerving tingles, I’d never been happier to cross 2
^nd
Avenue and reach the doorstep of my building. My hands had gone cold with the walk, and I fumbled with the keys for a second as I tried to fit them in the lock.

The door creaked as I used my hip to hold it open while I unlocked the inner door, allowing it to slam shut with the wind once I was able to get all the way inside. Taking a deep breath, I prepared myself to walk up the five flights it would take to get to 5D. Even though I’d been living in this apartment for two years, I was never able to walk these flights without taking a small break to catch my breath on the third floor. But on the positive side, I considered it to be an excellent alternative to paying for a fancy gym membership.

My relief was palpable when I reached my front door, its questionable flesh-pink paint and all. I wanted nothing more than to forget today, first by lying against my tiny shower walls and letting the hot water cascade over me, and then by crawling into the one luxurious item I ever allowed myself—my queen sized bed.

I bit back my sigh when I opened my door and saw Macy lounging inside on my bed.

“Couldn’t find him,” she said as greeting, rolling over to her side to face me. “But I
did
find your spare keys.” She dangled her purse in front of her as evidence. “Trapped between my necklaces and lipstick.”

I dropped my purse on the floor. “No way. It’s so easy to find one person in the whole of New York City.” I gave her a smile before eying her purse. “Also, your efforts at guarding my spare set of keys are unparalleled.”

She made a face at me in response. “Why haven’t you done anything with this place yet? The white walls are depressing.”

I gave a quick glance around my 4x4 apartment as I shrugged off my jacket. A small, sadly unused desk sat in the corner, with an even sadder old laptop perched on top of it. A budget-friendly dresser was pushed up against the other available wall, purchased at Macy’s insistence at Bed, Bath & Beyond because, in Macy’s words, “I refuse to allow you to live like a caveman.”

A very tiny kitchenette stood behind me, and if it were even possible, a tinier bathroom stood behind that, with just enough room for a toilet and a shoe-sized shower—all in a very vision-pleasing, baby blue porcelain.

Her eyebrow rose as she took in my damp, exhausted state. “Tough day?”

“A little.” I sat beside her and pulled off my boots. “I just can’t get enough of those caffeinated college students.”

“I’m not insulted by that because I only drink hot chocolate,” Macy said, lifting her legs to make room for me. “And it’s too bad, too.”

I stared hard at her, recognizing her tone. It finally dawned on me that she had styled her long, straight brown hair into perfectly coiffed waves and added black liquid liner to her eyes. Oh no.

“So,” Macy continued, pulling innocently at the threads of my comforter, “There’s a party tonight.”

I sighed. It was Friday night, of course there was a party, and of course Macy wanted to go.

“Good! So that’s settled,” she said. “Now get ready.”

“No way.”

She threw a bag of Cheetos at me. I stared down at the bag, my brows drawing together.

Damn her for knowing my weakness.

“Payment in advance,” she said, “For being sociable tonight.”

I had to smile.

“Oh, and wear something hot. My new sexy stranger will probably be there, or that’s what my sources tell me.” She waved her hands around like a queen as she lounged against my pillows. “You need to be surrounded by hotness for the event, which I’ve obviously succeeded in, but now we must make you hotter.”

“You have a boyfriend, remember?” I motioned in the air with my hands. “Sandy hair, cute smile, actually nice to you. I believe you call him Rob?”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t look hot.” She leaned forward again. “Besides, it’s not me
I’m concerned about.”

For reasons unknown to me, my stomach dropped. The dark place, the part that I thought I had padlocked away years ago, drifted up to the surface and stirred in the back of my mind. I couldn’t help but sense that the reason I was so reluctant to go was not shyness or self-consciousness, both of which I possessed in spades, but something that I hadn’t felt in twelve years.

Fear.

CHAPTER THREE

“You’re lucky I know that deep down, you are a good, moral values type of girl, and that is why I am letting you wear that thing.”

I rolled my eyes at Macy’s fake mom-voice as I exited my cramped bathroom—or not so much exited as fell out.

Macy eyed me up and down as I carefully navigated toward her, wearing her sky-high black pumps that she
insisted
needed to go with my royal blue scoop-necked dress that she also
insisted
would go perfectly with my deep blue eyes, both of which she had conveniently stored in her bag before making herself at home in my apartment.

“Oh, don’t look so put upon. You’re probably going to wear your cardigan the entire time, anyway.”

“Are we going to a formal event or something?” I asked as I reached the foot of the bed. I made sure to grab my beloved gray cardigan from the top of my dresser on the way.

Macy shrugged. “No, but what’s the worst that could happen? We’re the best dressed people at the party?”

“Can’t really argue with that logic,” I said, a little reluctantly.  

Macy looked gorgeous, as usual, lounging comfortably in a sequined purple dress as she munched on my bag of Cheetos.

I pulled my arms through the button down cardigan, lifting my loose dark blonde hair that had actually behaved for Macy tonight and was currently in her version of the “unkempt-bedhead-Victoria’s-Secret-model-wave-style.” Macy had also convinced me to let her do my make-up, a rare treat that she took full advantage of. Her expert hand had brought out the aquamarine in my eyes, and my cheeks flushed with a subtle shade of coral.

“It always amazes me how beautiful you are,” Macy breathed in awe as she patted a coral stain on my cheeks.

I frowned at her statement. I wanted to protest, because I knew exactly
what her fashionably diabolical mind was up to, but before I could, Macy clamped my lips shut and primly started to dab on a coral stain with her fingers. “Move and this stain is getting all over your chin. And it ain’t easy to remove,” she said, her face innocent as she continued her work. I glowered at her as she took a deliberately long time to finish, tilting her head all birdlike and vacant as if to say,
What ever could you think I was up to?
 

“You know I don’t like people looking at me,” I said once she released my jaw.

“Well, you should have thought of that before you let me do your make-up.” She grabbed a powder brush, sending out a fragrant beige cloud as she finished with my face and handed me a compact mirror. “That’s as big a mirror as you’re gonna get. No ‘oh Mace, it’s too much!’ is going to fly with me tonight. You’re hot. Freaking own it, or else…hmm.” She paused, thinking before turning around to rifle through her purse. She whipped back around, saying, “I’ll put
this
on you.”

She held up scarlet red lipstick, her smile devious even as her eyes sparked with glee. “And don’t let these skinny arms fool you. I will take you down like a linebacker.”

Threatening to paint my lips red was like flashing a cross in front of a vampire. I flinched back, mere seconds away from throwing my hands up and hissing.  Macy rolled her eyes.

I threw a Cheeto at her.

“Fine. Point made.” I waited for her to put the lipstick down before I stood up, barely glancing at the mirror before snapping it shut and handing it back to Macy.

After slipping into my cardigan, I added an extra layer, burrowing deeper into my jacket as I followed Macy out of my apartment.

My eyes widened once I realized the very real danger of me going down five flights of stairs in heels. I was willing to do almost anything for my friend, but I wasn’t willing to die, so after toddling behind her for two steps, I took those potential murder weapons off and went barefoot.

“Now remember,” Macy said as she glided down the stairs, her heels nothing but an extra appendage, “No tequila for you.”

I grumbled behind her, remembering a month ago when one of her NYU friends, Nick Daniels, dared me to drink six shots of tequila in less than 30 seconds, which of course I did.

And then puked for two hours after.

Shy as I was, I could never turn down a dare, a phenomenon that not even Macy could explain.

“Yeah okay, Miss Pure,” I said to her as we turned the corner to descend the third flight of stairs. “Let’s not forget who was beside me, cheering me on in pirate-speak the whole time.”

She began to sing in time with her steps. “Aye, here’s to my tequila, so wild and free. As sweet as a woman’s lips, thar she be!”

“Yeah. That,” I said, plodding behind her. “Even though pirates drink rum.”

 I made the mistake of looking down and burst into laughter when I saw her face, one side scrunched up theatrically as she ignored me and finished with, “
Heave ho!”

That statement turned my laughter into sickening memories of those shots hitting the back of my throat and I groaned, gesturing for her to shut up.

“All right, no pirate cheers tonight, since we both know that’s what got you going in the first place,” she said as she reached the entrance. “It has that effect on people. Now put your damn shoes on.”

“Alright, alright.”

Grumbling, stumbling and cursing, I finally got the shoes back on, only to straighten up and walk into drizzle when Macy stepped outside. Before I could continue grumbling, she stopped me by putting one finger in the air and saying, “I know. I owe you. But let’s go have some fun anyway, shall we? No more crotchety Ems.”

She flicked open her golf-sized Burberry umbrella and I stepped under it as we made our way to 1st Avenue. It was just like Macy to own a gigantic umbrella in NYC without heed to any other pedestrians walking around her. “What? I’m dry, aren’t I?” she would say as people lowered their own umbrellas to navigate around her. She wasn’t the exception, though—to each their own in this city.