Fade (8 page)

Dad said very little as we got the food on the table. His brows were furrowed, a telltale sign that he was deep in thought. I didn’t have to look far to figure out what held his attention. Dace.

I kept my eyes on my plate, giving him time to work out whatever he wanted to say on the subject. I hoped he had more luck making sense of his thoughts than I’d been having since meeting Dace. Mine circled the same track, never deviating too far from the same questions and lack of answers.

Halfway through the meal, Dad looked up from his plate and cleared his throat.

“So, how’d you and Dace meet?”

Dad starting a sentence with “so” was never a good sign.

I took a sip of water before answering. “Um, in the woods. One of the girls I met on Thursday suggested I go through the park to the Inn. I ran into him out there.”

Now that I thought about it, there was something off about the entire situation. Chelle had gone all cryptic over Dace, sent me off on a shortcut, and there he’d mysteriously appeared. Coincidence? Given the weird vibe I’d gotten from her, I rather doubted it.

“Oh.” Dad ate quietly for another few minutes.

“Was he a student of yours?” I asked, trying my best to sound only mildly curious. I think I succeeded.

He could probably hear my heart racing though.

“Sort of.” Dad sat down his fork before picking up his glass. “He was in my Mythology 101 class four years ago. I think he taught me more than I taught him.”

“Really?” That sounded interesting.

“Mmhmm.” He took a long drink of his tea, his brow furrowing again. “He’s like a walking encyclopedia of myths, legends, and the supernatural. There is nothing he doesn’t know about each of the three, so far as I can tell. It’s quite fascinating.”

Fascinating, indeed. Although not very surprising. At this point, I didn’t think I could learn anything about Dace that would truly surprise me. He felt way too familiar. And secrets? The boy had those in droves.

Where was my sense of self-preservation?

“So, how well do you know him?”

“Me?” I blinked at the question. “Not well. We talked for a while Thursday, and he helped me get home tonight. He seems like a nice enough guy.” Okay, so I was going to Hell for stretching the truth as far as it would go, but telling my dad that Dace had kissed me senseless in the middle of the woods, and I wanted to do it again sooner rather than later? Probably not a good idea.

I doubted telling him Dace could talk to me in my head would go over any better. I’d end up in a straightjacket, swallowing little cups of pills, and sleeping all the live-long day, and I found that possibility less appealing every time I considered it.

We ate in silence for another few minutes and then Dad cleared his throat.

I looked over at him.

“You didn’t … notice anything unusual about him?” he asked.

Was he kidding me?
Everything
about Dace was unusual, and gorgeous, and … . “Unusual?” I asked innocently. “What do you mean?”

“It’s … nothing.” He picked up his glass. The look on his face gave away the lie, but he might as well have been Fort Knox. I wouldn’t be getting anything out of him until he decided to spill on his own.

I considered asking outright if he’d ever heard Dace speaking when he hadn’t said anything, but I couldn’t do it. I kept envisioning awkward conversations about the effects of grief on mental health, and I
wasn’t
crazy.

Dad took another drink and then said, “Did he mention he’s been helping me with a book?”

He most certainly had not. “No.” I frowned. Was Dace intentionally infuriating or did it come naturally? “What kind of book?”

“Oh, the darker myths and superstitions. Shapeshifters and werewolves. Demons.” Dad waved his hand like the entire thing was no big deal. “I think he should be the one writing the book.” He paused thoughtfully. “He didn’t mention it?”

I shook my head. Dace hadn’t mentioned it. Not so much as a single word. Why did that not surprise me? “I don’t know him well,” I said. “Maybe he was waiting for me to bring it up. You know, being modest or whatever.”

I’d strangle him when I saw him. With both hands.

Dad shook his head. “I’m not sure I’d call it modesty. He’s … an old soul is the best way to describe him. A very old soul,” he amended, his tone just short of emphatic. “You didn’t pick up on it?”

Yes. No. I hadn’t thought about Dace that way, to be honest. But now that I did, I wasn’t sure I agreed. He had an air about him, like he saw more than most guys his age, but the old soul adage was too simplistic an explanation for him. The mystery surrounding him seemed more complex than that. A lot more. As usual, I just didn’t know what that meant.

I put down my fork, no longer hungry. “I didn’t pay much attention.”

“Oh, well.” Dad rose and gathered up his dishes. “Like I said, he’s a great guy.” He started to the sink and then stopped and looked back over his shoulder at me. “Be careful, Ari.”

Of what?
I wanted to ask.

“Of course,” I said instead and gathered up my own dishes. My head spun.

I got the distinct impression Dad wanted to say something, that he knew something about Dace, and for whatever reason, didn’t think he had the right to tell me. But whatever he wasn’t saying had him worried, and that made me nervous.

Chapter Six

N
ot even in sleep could I escape thoughts of Dace. When I managed to shut off my mind long enough to sleep at all, I dreamed of him. I awoke every morning disoriented, afraid, and unsure what I’d even dreamed. All I remembered clearly were impressions and snatches of color. Blood red on pure white. Black. Fire. Fear.

I still wasn’t afraid of Dace though; I was afraid
for
him. Something . . . stalked him? Chased him? I didn’t know. But trouble lay around the corner for him, and for me too. I had no doubts about that fact.

By Friday, I felt like an emotional wreck all over again. I was jumpy, irritable, and I couldn’t focus on anything. I went to sleep early that night, and for the first time since meeting Dace, I didn’t dream. My head hit the pillow and I was out. No tossing. No turning. No thinking. Just instant peace.

I awoke at dawn the following morning and didn’t want to let the feeling go. I snuggled deeper beneath the blankets and lay there with my eyes closed for the longest time. When I heard Dad leave two hours later, I slipped regretfully from beneath the covers and dressed, taking my sweet time. I had no real plans for the day, nowhere I needed to be. Nothing pressing I needed to do.

The first thing I noticed when I finally left my room was the note propped up on the table at the bottom of the stairs. Dad had scrawled my name across the top in his unmistakable, nearly perfect hand. I noticed the shopping bag with
Farmer’s Market
written in neat block letters next. My stomach growled.

I grabbed the note then headed to the kitchen.

One of the things I loved about Dad was his fresh fruit obsession. He never did store-bought. Everything he chose came from one fruit stand or another, and tasted delicious. I set the note on the table then headed for the fridge, my stomach growling the entire time.

My appetite returned little by little, and my body quivered at the thought of food. I rummaged through the now stocked drawer, grabbed an apple, then made a glass of tea. Sitting down at the table, I bit into the apple, moaning as the juice flooded my mouth. I picked up the note to read:

Ari,

I didn’t want to wake you, but I’ll be at the Inn all day, helping with renovations. Beth Michaelson called the house before I left to invite you to some sort of party tonight. Her number is on the pad by the phone in the kitchen. I’ll leave the light on for you if you’re out when I head to bed.

Have fun.

Be careful,

Dad
P.S. I think you should go. It’ll be good for you.

I didn’t know if his outlook came from being a college professor or what, but he never stressed about parties. Before he and Mom divorced, if I wanted to go, I went. If I didn’t want to go, I didn’t. No fuss from Dad. No fuss from Mom. Life had been as simple as that.

Some things never changed. Dad was still dad, and his rules were still the same.

I leaned over and grabbed the pad and telephone before dialing the number he’d written down for me.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Beth?”

“That’d be me,” she quipped, her voice cheerful. “Arionna?”

“That’d be me,” I said, turning the apple around in my hand.

She laughed. “Please tell me you’re calling to say you’re coming tonight?”

“Um, I think so. What’s the deal?”

“There’s a rave of sorts at a converted warehouse right outside of Cabot. A bunch of kids from school are going to be there. It’s nothing major, but it’ll be a blast. They always are,” she said. “Are you in?”

A rave? Why not?

I had nothing else to do, and truthfully, somewhere over the last weeks, I’d resigned myself to seeing the next two years through. I needed to get out there and start making an effort to meet people.

“Where do I need to be and when?” I asked.

“The rave starts at nine, so we’ll pick you up at fifteen-after at your place.” Beth laughed. “We’re always late to these things. Do you have anything to wear?”

“Yeah, I think so.” I wasn’t very girly, but I did love to shop. “What’s the standard rave attire around here?”

“Cute, and warm. No dresses, and wear boots,” she said. “The parking lot is gravel. You need to borrow something?”

I made a quick, mental inventory of my closet. “I’ve got it covered, but thanks.”

“Sweet. We’ll see you tonight then!”

“Tonig—” I started to say, only to realize she’d already hung up. I clicked the phone off and sat looking at it for a minute.

A rave. Well, that was something new.

I spent the remainder of the day getting ready. I hadn’t taken much care with my appearance lately, and that bugged me. My hair had lost some of its usual luster and bounce. I missed looking in the mirror and seeing a sparkle in my hazel eyes. Hell, I missed
me.

I painted, plucked, primped, ironed, and otherwise attempted to occupy myself with all the insane things girls do before a night out, relieved to have something mundane and ordinary to focus on for once.

At nine, a black Sante Fe pulled into the drive and honked. I gathered my purse, coat, keys, and phone, then headed out, locking the door behind me and silently blessing the girls for pulling in when they had.

My mind had inevitably turned to Dace. My thoughts were always with Dace these days. That fact irritated me. I wanted to yell at myself that I’d been a normal, rational person once upon a time. I hadn’t obsessed about anything, let alone about a guy I barely knew.

I double checked the lock on the front door then headed to the car. One of the triplets, which one I had no clue, sat behind the wheel in the otherwise empty SUV. She waved me around to the passenger side.

I climbed in, wondering where the others were. I didn’t have to wonder long.

“Beth and Dani are riding with Mandy, so it’s only you and me. I hope you don’t mind,” Chelle said, her shoulders hunched as if she were shy. “They like to stay until the very end of these things usually. It can be exhausting if you aren’t used to it.”

“I don’t mind,” I assured her, grateful that I’d have another way home if I didn’t feel up to staying the entire night. Besides, Dace hadn’t been the only one on my mind lately. Chelle and her friendship with him had come drifting up more than a few times.

I fastened my seat belt, contemplating whether or not to bring up the subject.

Chelle reached over and flipped on the stereo before turning the volume on low. Classic rock wafted from the speakers, low enough not to interfere with conversation, but loud enough to give us a little background noise.

“So, how are you?” she asked.

I looked over to find her studying me out of the corner of her eye in the passing shadows. I opened my mouth to give the stock answer then closed it without saying anything. For some reason, the stock answer didn’t seem right this time.