Hearken (Daughters of the Sea Series) (30 page)

             
We were still spilling over with laughter when the waiter came back with a bottle of wine and two glasses. We looked on as he poured each glass with practiced formal regalia and set the bottle down gently.

             
“You know I’m not old enough to drink, right?” I reminded Sebastian.

             
“We don’t have drinking laws on Atlantis.” His face broke into a conspiring grin and he squeezed my hand – reminding me we were still holding hands. “Wine and beer are seen as fruits of the Earth. Therefore, something that everyone should have access to.”

             
“That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day.” I smiled and attempted to pull my hand out from under his. He automatically held mine tighter and our eyes met.

             
For a long moment we simply studied one another. His shaggy blonde hair added a flare of rebellion to his traditional white Atlantis wardrobe, but it was the depth of his blue eyes that captured my attention the most. There was a hardness behind the obvious amusement and mocking jokes. I could tell his stubborn side would rival my own, and I felt my heart thaw ever so slightly as he smiled almost shyly at me and then let go of my hand before clearing his throat.

             
“I hope you like red wine.” He filled the silence effortlessly, but it took a moment for me to gather myself. “This is the best on the island, in my opinion.”

             
I took a long sip and felt my anxiety relax into my chest; replaced by an odd feeling of contentment. I was used to guys taking me out, trying to impress me, and showering me with compliments in hopes of getting some action. But I had never met a guy quite like Sebastian. Although I wasn’t sure how, he ‘saw’ me. He treated me as his equal. He wasn’t afraid to call me out, and he took the cheap shots I threw at him in stride. I felt like I could be who I honestly was around him, and I didn’t have to worry about hurting his feelings or trying to figure out his intentions. He was willing to lay himself out on the table and if you didn’t like it, he didn’t care. He was going to be who he was, no matter what anyone thought. And that was incredibly refreshing to me.

             
After another bottle of wine and ten minutes of him convincing me that Atlanteans didn’t have a form of currency, we left the restaurant. I was buzzing from the alcohol, but still far from drunk. The sun had dipped beneath the horizon and night cloaked the city in darkness. Flickering oil lamps lined the streets, and crowds of people were still meandering along the cobblestone lanes. I turned to Sebastian.

             
“Where to now, Mr. Tour Guide?”

             
“I figured you’d be ready to head back to the tree houses and be rid of me.” He raised his eyebrows in fake surprise and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “It was my pickup lines that changed your mind, wasn’t it?”

             
“I have to admit, I’m a sucker for lame pickup lines and bad James Dean impersonations,” I divulged. “Your plan to get me drunk and take advantage of me is working out well for you.”

             
“Wait - I thought
you
were getting
me
drunk so you could take advantage of
me
?”

             
“Don’t flatter yourself.” I ducked out from under his arm with a smile. “You’re not my type.”

             
“Oh thank God.” He wiped his forehead in relief. “I don’t need any more stalkers. I’ve already had to put security cameras in my shower.”

             
He stopped abruptly in front of a bland, gray door and knocked twice with his knuckles. Not even a second later, the door swung open on its own and he led me into a small hallway. Fresh paint filled my nostrils, and I heard the faintest beat of music.

             
“Where are we?” I asked a little too loudly. My voice echoed against the bare walls as we reached yet another door. Sebastian pushed this one open, and we descended a set of stairs that seemed to go on forever.

             
“I figured we needed to find you something to match those fingernails.”

             
I glanced down at my nails and noticed they were glowing in the dark. I gasped and wiggled my fingers around. At the bottom of the stairs, I literally ran into a very large security guard. After peeling myself off of his broad chest, he looked Sebastian up and down and nodded in acknowledgment before swiftly moving aside to allow us through. The deep bass of music thumped against the walls and rattled my insides, and we walked into what could only be explained as pure chaos drenched in neon paint.

             
A dance club of epic proportions stretched out before us with hundreds of people our age dancing, drinking, talking and laughing.  It took my eyes a moment to adjust to the contrast of the black walls, floor, and furniture with the neon colors flying through the air and splattering on people’s skin, clothes and hair. A girl in a white bikini ran by us with two bottles of pink spray paint. She held them up, squeezed them and sprayed pink neon glow-in-the-dark paint everywhere. I felt it spray all over my arms and chest, and squealed with delight when I looked down and saw that I was glowing.

             
“This is amazing!” I yelled at Sebastian over the loud music. 

“Just keep your mouth closed – it doesn’t taste very good!” He smiled down at me with a pink streak over his white glowing teeth. He grabbed my hand as he wiped at the paint with his other one and pulled me into the mass of dancing people. Bare, muscular chests and skimpy clothes were covered in neon paint, making everyone look like a deranged Indian tribe. We made it to the other side untouched, except for a few new splatters of blue and purple in my hair and across my stomach. A glowing bar lined the back wall with bartenders handing out drinks and glow-in-the-dark paint alike. 

Sebastian quickly received two drinks that glowed in the dark and two bottles of paint from the bartender in exchange for nothing. I couldn’t imagine living in a place that had no need for money or trade. It just seemed impossible. But there I was, in the middle of a neon dance club where alcohol was legal and everything was free, so what did I know?

I took a sip of my drink, which tasted like springtime, and wasted no time in spraying him directly on his chest with the neon green paint bottle. He casually took a sip of his drink,
handed it to me and pulled his shirt over his head. He tossed it somewhere over his shoulder, and I fought to pick my jaw up off the floor. The white linen pants he wore hung perfectly on his hips, and the muscles of his torso and stomach moved in tandem with his movements as I handed him his glass.

He uncapped the yellow paint he’d gotten for himself and sprayed some in my hair and neck with a big smile. When I remained frozen, he frowned.

“What’s wrong?!” he asked over the music.

“You took your shirt off!” I accused him stiffly and eyed his physique. He stepped closer and bent down until his lips were at my ear.

“You’re welcome,” he whispered. His sarcasm finally woke me out of my trance, and I placed my hands on his chest with intentions of pushing him away. I hesitated a moment too long, however, and got yellow paint down my arms in return. I pushed him away and aimed my paint bottle at him, and for the next couple of minutes we assaulted each other with neon paint until we matched the rest of the club-goers. I shook my bottle one more time to get the rest of the paint toward the top, but he put up both hands in surrender.

“Truce!” he called out. I had trouble hearing him even though he was right in front of me, but I could tell by his lips what he was saying. He held my gaze and slowly stepped forward; taking the loaded paint bottle from my hand carefully and setting it down on a nearby table. His face became serious as he drew in even closer. He wrapped a strong arm around my waist and pulled me to him. The warmth of his skin was made that much more erotic by the still-wet paint dripping from our skin and clothes. 

He leaned down slowly, never looking away. The blue of his eyes appeared to glow right along with the neon paint, and I realized I wasn’t breathing anymore. His hand cupped my face and he leaned in even closer, until I couldn’t tell the difference between the thumping music and the pounding of my heart as the world melted away around us. He hesitated inches away from my mouth, and I felt like I might explode.

Then he grinned, and I saw his other hand a second too late as it smeared a glob of yellow paint all over the right side of my face, ear and hair. I stood there stunned for a second before grabbing my paint bottle and just throwing it at him as he ducked behind a cement column. I took a sip of my drink to calm my frenzy of emotions and tried to convince the electricity surging through my veins to calm down.

My stunned silence was quickly followed by burning embarrassment at my assumption that he’d been leaning in to kiss me. I should have pushed him away.  I downed the rest of my drink and ran after him in vain. As I rounded the column where he had been, I found nothing. I twisted around just as an arm wrapped around me and threw me over a bare shoulder. The music suddenly got louder as he carried me out to the center of the dance floor. He set me back down on two feet and pulled me close.

The feel of his bare skin against mine sent renewed electricity down my body. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and scowled up at him with annoyance.

“You can’t just ask me to dance like a normal guy?!” I yelled at him over the music. He grinned and bent down to whisper in my ear.

“I already knew you’d say yes.”

Chapter 30

Finn

             
“You can’t know that for sure, Mom,” I insisted again with more impatience.

             
“I’ve been around a lot longer than you have Finnegan, and I can
promise
you that is NOT Luna.”

             
“I couldn’t take any chances,” I argued.

             
“Just like your father,” she accused. “Action first, ask questions later.”

             
“I can think of worse ways to do things.”

             
“And I can think of better ways.” She raised a motherly eyebrow at me. “At the moment, it doesn’t matter. What
does
matter is that we figure out who that girl in the living room is.”

             
“She must have some relation to Luna,” I surmised. “The signs are all there.”

             
“Luna has no descendants.” Mom gazed out the kitchen window in thought. “But that doesn’t make it any less possible, I suppose.”

             
“Dammit!” I slammed a fist down on the countertop and put my head in my hands in defeat. I had to get the girl in the living room to talk. Someone with violet eyes took the Book, and more than likely the Key as well. That same person probably released Menoetius from Tribeca, and had taken the crystal. This was escalating way too quickly, and I felt helpless to stop it or even contain it. No matter who was doing this, they had a reason…and it was that reason that ate at my soul the most. It was a recipe for disaster, and the longer we sat around spinning ideas aimlessly in our minds, the farther away we came from stopping them.

             
“Get her to talk,” I commanded Mom in a lighter voice reserved for her and Stasia. She sighed and set down her cup of tea.

             
“I need you to understand that she may be immune.” She placed loving hands on my cheeks and kissed my forehead. “But I will try.”

             
We walked into the living room and the girl watched us with little emotion as I sat down on the couch and Mom placed one of the chairs from the kitchen directly in front of her and sat down. They exchanged a few words and Mom twisted around to me.

             
“Release her bindings.”

             
“But Mom-”

             
“Release her bindings, Finn,” she insisted with her perfect motherly voice; eliciting snickers from Ian and Ricker. I dissipated her bindings and stood. I felt more in control that way. Mom took the girl’s hands and I watched as her mouth spoke unheard words and she closed her eyes. Having a witch as a Mom definitely had its perks.

             
As we looked on, the girl’s face went blank and she leaned back in her chair. Her shoulders slouched slightly as the stress went out of her body and my mother began to command her mind. After several more moments of chanting, Mom stood and placed a hand on the girl’s head.

             
“She is ready,” she announced, without looking away from the girl’s blank gaze. “I will ask the questions. Anyone else’s voice will only cause static.”

             
I walked behind the girl and nodded at Mom to let her know I understood. She held the girl’s hands once more and cleared her throat.

              “Who are you?” she asked the girl quietly.

             
“My name is Fallon.”

             
“Did you take the Book of Souls or the Key to Tribeca from the Order of the Sons?”