Entanglements (27 page)

“I am weary of this,” Rom snarled. “Tearing here, hurtling there.” Rom straightened slowly, his face ablaze with rage.

I stood there stunned, unable to react to the sudden change in Rom.

“Always we move at your dictate," Rom shouted. "Always the result is a fool’s errand.”

Finally, I came out of my stupor. “I suppose I’m the fool then.”

His brows converged angrily and Rom seized me by the wrist in a grip I was sure would leave bruises.

“Am I not a man?” he shouted. “Am I not a warrior? I take no orders from a woman. No, not yet a woman. A girl.”

Jerking me against his hard length, Rom’s strong arms wrapped around me like iron bands. With one hand he took hold of the back of my head, his fingers knotting in my hair.

“A girl is not meant to be served, she is meant to serve,” he said in a furious whisper, tugging my hair until tears sprang to my eyes.

He forced my head closer and then his mouth devoured mine in a hungry punishment I wouldn’t call a kiss. Trying to push him away proved futile. So my hands went to his face to try to do damage there. When I touched his skin I found him blazing with fever under my fingertips.
The ghoul bite
, I thought. The hand that had been tangled in my hair went to my neck and gripped with amazing power. Ceasing to fight, I went limp in his arms. Slowly and tentatively I tried returning the kiss to his marauding mouth.

As my hands gently stroked his face, his hair, his back, I felt the rage seep from Rom until the kiss softened. His lips pulled away and he rested his forehead against mine, panting as if he’d run a race.

“Apologies,” he murmured. “I know not what—”

“It’s okay,” I murmured.

“If I had harmed you, I…”

“You didn’t.” I kissed his cheek and then stepped back. At one time I would have said I knew he couldn’t hurt me because he cared too much about me, but after my father on the bridge I knew better. Crazy trumped love or caring.

“Kizzy?” My father’s voice came from behind me.

I’d forgotten he liked getting breakfast at that restaurant before going home when he was on the night shift at the factory where he worked manufacturing private jets. Should I brazen it out and try to deny my identity? I wasn’t sure if I was a good enough actress for that.

“Kathleen Elizabeth Taylor,” my father said. “I know it's you.”

Well, that took care of that plan.

“Dad.” I twisted out of Rom’s arms, forcing a smile. The smile went from fake to genuine when I saw the man who’d always been my hero growing up and not the crazy loon version of the person. However, his furious expression was one I hadn’t seen often.

“Who the hell is this?” Dad glared at Rom.

“Rom Calixo, sir.” Rom offered a hand, which my dad didn’t take. After a few seconds Rom dropped it.

“That’s just a name. Who are you to be kissing my daughter like that?” Dad got up in Rom’s face with his hands clenched in angry fists. The two were the same height so they ended up nose to nose.

“He’s my friend.” Boyfriend wouldn’t be a good term to use in front of either Rom or my dad but for different reasons.

“No one hurts my girl and gets away with it,” Dad said to Rom. “Is he abusing you?” Dad spoke over his shoulder to me before directing his intense glare on Rom again.

“Of course not.” I searched my improv bank. “We’re in a drama class together today at school and we were just rehearsing a scene.”

“A scene?” Dad turned to me and scrutinized my face while I tried to make my expression as blank as possible by thinking of math equations.

“I’m going to be having a conversation with the principal,” he finally continued. “A scene that includes something like that is too sophisticated for a fifteen year old.”

Nodding in agreement, I suppressed a smile. My poker face had definitely improved. But I was getting lots of practice these days.

Dad fingered my shoulder length curls. “You’re not straightening it anymore?”

“Not today,” I said.

“It looks good, honey.” He kissed my forehead.

Biting my lips, I choked down tears. “Thanks.”

“But you should wear your uniform to school or you’ll get in trouble.”

“You’re right.” I wrapped him in an impulsive hug. Should I say something about avoiding bridges? Warn against a random angel-demon? Beg him not to try to kill me in a month?

“Gotta go. See ya, Dad.” Stepping back I pivoted and walked away.

* * * * *

After asking Rom to wait outside, I climbed up the tree in front of my house and peered into my bedroom through the window. Fortunately, I wasn’t in there so I lifted the sash and crawled through. Juliette wasn’t in the bathroom or her room. She must have left already.

I quickly threw on my school uniform and tossed a change of clothes into a canvas messenger bag. After twisting my hair back in a ponytail, so the curls weren’t so obvious, I went downstairs to find my mom doing dishes in the kitchen.

“Hi Kizzy,” Mom said. “I thought you left for school a few minutes ago. You’re gonna be late.”

“I forgot something.”

A pterodactyl toy sat alone on the island counter.

Not being able to help myself I asked, “Where’s Adam?”

“Mrs. Larson took him to pre-school.” Mom rinsed a frying pan under the faucet and then placed it in the drying rack on the counter.

“I could have taken him for you,” I said over more lumps in my throat than there were in Mom’s terrible Thanksgiving gravy.

“He likes to go with her son, Peter.” She placed a newly cleaned fork in the rack.

“Mom.” I touched the plastic pterodactyl and ran my finger over its rough surface. “Can I talk to you about something serious?”

Squeezing the faucet off, she wiped her hands on a towel and turned to face me.

“Of course.” She took my hand and drew me to the kitchen table. We sat down.

“This is going to sound weird but just go with it,” I said.

She nodded.

“I don’t want you to let us—me and Adam—go for visitation with Dad on June 21st.”

 
“Honey, you have to go on visitation." Mom’s expression was sympathetic but she shook her head. "We’ve discussed this before.”

“No, Mom. Something bad is going to happen that weekend. Don’t let us go.”

“I know you want to go to that solstice festival with Petra but—”

“That’s not it,” I shouted. “We could die that weekend.”

Chapter Eighteen

Mom's sympathy vanished and her expression transformed from kindly to pissed. "Kizzy, you're being ridiculously dramatic." She clasped my hands on top of the table. "I know you're angry with your Dad for the divorce, but I've tried to explain, he's not to blame. Two people make a marriage and when it breaks down—"

"Really." Pulling away from her, I interrupted. "This is serious. Dad is going to go crazy and try to kill us."

"Kathleen Elizabeth, you are not to say such a disrespectful thing about your father." Her lips compressed in an angry line and she stood, pushing the chair violently back.

"Mom."

"No," she said, holding up a hand. "I won't stand for this kind of behavior. Do you want to be grounded?"

"Just remember what I said." I stood and walked into the hall.

As I went out the door, she called my name but didn't turn back.

* * * * *

Not running into myself in school was going to be tricky
, I thought as Rom and I lurked under a nearby tree watching the entrance.

“Juliette is probably already inside,” I said. “What if you go in and take the lead in trying to find her. I’ll just hang back and try to stay out of my own way.”

Rom nodded and we moved forward. Just when I thought we would make it through the door without being seen by anyone I knew, Petra appeared from nowhere.

“Kizzy,” she called.

I stopped with a groan.

“Keep going,” I whispered to Rom. “I’ll catch up.” Spinning I smiled hoping it wasn’t as strained as it felt.

“Hi Petra. Bye Petra.” I attempted to follow after Rom who by now was about ten feet away. “I’m late for my first class.”

“You are not,” Petra said. “Your first class is with me and you still have a half hour. Are you pissed at me or something?”

“No. Of course not.” I stopped again.

“Just because I went out with Chase last night instead of to that movie with you.” She pushed the hair out of her eyes and adopting a martyred expression. “You’ve already found me guilty of being a bad friend. I might as well be living in Salem during the witches. They couldn’t get a fair trial either.”

“Petra.” I stamped down my impatience. Breathing in a deep calming breath, I exhaled slowly. “Okay. How about this? You do something for me and you’re completely forgiven.”

“What?”

“In about a month, on June 21st.” Our eyes met and I tried to inject every bit of seriousness I could muster. “Don’t let me or Adam go on visitation with my Dad no matter what you have to do to stop us.”

“Wow. And I thought I was a drama queen,” she said. “Visiting your dad can’t be that bad. I don’t like spending time with my dad either but—”

“No. Really.” I took her hand and giving it a shake. “Just promise me, Petra. If you’re my friend, you’ll do it.”

“Okay, okay. I promise.”

“I gotta go.” I turned on my heel and strode off. “Later.”

When I got inside the door, Rom hovered near a bank of lockers a few feet away. Our eyes met and he inclined his head to the right. Following his indication, I spotted Juliette disappearing into the women’s room. After I pushed through the door after her, I saw Juliette standing in front of the mirror over the sinks as she applied lip-gloss.

“Juliette.” I approached her.

“Hey Kizzy.” She glanced at me in the mirror before returning to applying make-up.

“Umm,” I started, not knowing how to begin. “We haven’t had the best of relationships as stepsisters.” She began to speak and I interrupted holding up a hand. “My fault. Not yours,” I continued.

She stopped applying make-up and stared at me via the mirror.

“Let me try to change that.” I took a star shaped gold locket on a chain from my pocket. Holding it out to her by the chain I continued. “This is a family heirloom.” I didn’t say which family. “It would mean everything to me if you would take it and wear it always.” At least for the next four months.

“It’s lovely. I don’t know what to say.” Juliette turned and took it from my hand.

“You don’t have to say anything. Just wear it.”

“Okay.” She turned back to the mirror and secured the chain around her neck. “Thank you. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”