Instinct Ascending: Rabids Book 2 (2 page)

Amiel

Amiel’s eyes popped open; she felt as though someone had just walked over her grave. Shuddering, she wiped at the tears that were still fresh on her cheeks. Again with the dreams and tears! They had been haunting her sleep for weeks now, leaving her gut twisted and body exhausted when day came.

Sensing something odd, Amiel sat up, kicking the covers back from her legs. Her nights were getting weirder and weirder. As if the nightmares weren’t enough, now she was often waking to find that the cuffs of her pant legs were dirty, or different from the pajamas she would have sworn she’d put on for bed. In today’s case, her pants were wet. Wet was new. If the wetness hadn’t been in this particular placement, she would have feared she’d peed herself in the midst of her horrid dream. As it was, it was a bit too talented, even for Amiel’s particular brand of weirdness, to be able to pee on
only
the cuffs of her pant legs.

Groaning in frustration, she flopped back on the bed and tossed an arm over her eyes, releasing a burdened sigh. What was wrong with her? The alarm on the bedside table trilled out a warning, pulling her back from under the covers. No rest for the wicked, nor the crazy, apparently.

Climbing out of bed, Amiel headed for the bathroom. She looked in the mirror, taking in the darkened circles beneath her eyes, as well as the matted rat’s nest atop her head. Lovely. And yet she was so tired, she nearly left it alone: who cared if she went to work looking like the crazy woman she was? Frowning, Amiel grabbed a brush and began the arduous task of raking it through her hair. Okay, maybe she still cared, a little.

A huge yawn made her eyes water and her jaw pop. These sleepless nights were really starting to catch up to her.  The brush snagged on a particularly tough snarl, earning a brusque, half-hearted nonsense curse. Tossing the brush on the counter, she dug her fingers into the mess and tried to pick it apart by hand.

“Oh, my heckadiddley… is that a…?” It was. A branch, a real-deal, certified tree branch was gnarled up in her hair. “How the funkadoodle does that happen? I mean, really. A tree branch, of all things?” She growled angrily at the innocent looking branch, tossing it in the trash. Grabbing the brush back up, she went to work again. “Weirder and weirder,” she grumbled with less vehemence, and more concern.

Life was getting all kinds of screwed-up, and she was beginning to question her sanity. Her mind drifted back to that conversation months ago with Harley: the one where he had revealed so much of himself and the life he lived. The conversation where she had found out that a good portion of the Hybrids went mental and had to be “put down”. Was that what was going on with her?

True, she wasn’t a real-deal Hybrid, but she certainly had a lot of their characteristics, thanks to the dog tags hanging around her neck. What if becoming a whole lot of crazy was part of that little package deal she’d inherited? Would Harley have to put her down, too? Her hands shook as she set the brush down and grasped the counter top, head hanging low.

A knock sounded at the door; the tags tingled against her chest, and a tired smile curved her lips. Speak of the devil. With a deep, settling sigh, she pushed away from the counter and hurried toward the door. Sliding the locks open as quietly as possible, Amiel grinned mischievously. After silently counting to three, she threw the door open and kicked outward with her right leg. Her eyes widened as the leg was quickly grasped before contact, and a countering fist flew toward her face. She ducked to the side to avoid it, but ended up bonking her face into the open door in the process. A deep laugh filled the air, and it almost made that bump on the cheek worth it.

“Graceful as ever, kid.” Harley grinned, releasing her leg.

“Shut up,” she muttered grumpily, though the angst was easily smothered in her joy at seeing him. “How do you always catch me, anyways? I was extra-quiet this time.”

“I heard ya runnin’ for the door like a stampede of elephants, first of all. Besides, you always count to three after twistin’ the last lock.” Harley smiled, lightly tweaking her nose before turning her jaw to the side to examine the damage. “To think, I was worried about bein’ the one to give ya bruises with all this trainin’, but most of them bruises have ended up bein’ self-inflicted.”

Amiel rolled her eyes, scoffing. “Self-inflicted while trying to get away from you, maybe.” One of Harley’s favorite teaching methods these days consisted of attacking when she was least expecting it. Although she had come to expect the regular sneak attacks, his methods and timing of attack were always different and not only reserved for the gym. And she had to admit she looked forward to it every time, trying to guess what he had planned so that she could counteract it. Granted, most days she failed in counteracting, but she still enjoyed the game of it.

“Hey, it ain’t my fault y’all are so clumsy, Thumbelina. Kinda hard to train someone that keeps trippin’ on their own feet, honestly.” He winked, offering that heart-melting grin he so rarely gave out to others, and instantly the worries she’d faced moments before his arrival evaporated. It was impossible to be sullen around Harley, Amiel had found. He had a way of pulling her out of her dark thoughts, making her put her best foot forward even when it was the last thing she wanted to do. It was one of the things she loved most about their friendship. Pushing the door wider, she yanked on his shirt.

“Shush and get in here. You are letting all of my heat out.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He offered a fake salute, sauntering in. He walked into the apartment, hands stuffed in his pockets and looking completely at ease. The way he glanced at the place where he had bled on her floor was not missed by Amiel, however. She wasn’t sure why he did it: whether it was from bad memories resurfacing every time he saw it, because it reminded him of what she had done for him, or simply because it was a weird Hybrid habit to stare at spots you were wounded on.  Either way, it was a custom as constant as Harley’s visits.

Over the last few months their friendship had grown, deepened. Every day Harley would come by and they would head to the gym together. Amiel would train, shower at the gym and then head to work. Or that’s how it had been, until she was put on day shift. Now he still stopped by in the mornings before she headed to work, and escorted her to work. Then they’d meet up at the gym after her shift was over. If their schedules allowed, Harley would escort her home.

Some days their schedules clashed, and some days she thought he purposely didn’t show up, just to ensure that she still felt the freedom to move about as she pleased. He still didn’t relish the idea of “babysitter.” Though lately that feeling seemed to have shifted from
his
discomfort in the word to worrying about
hers
. He often asked if she was okay with his being around so much, as though she would tire of his presence. As if.

She grinned to herself while she opened up two packets of hot chocolate and heated some water in her tea kettle. She stiffened, feeling his gaze on her. She really hoped she didn’t have any more twigs sticking out in the areas she hadn’t gotten to with the brush.

“Take a picture, it will last longer,” she quipped mischievously. Grinning, she turned to glance at him over her shoulder. He was watching her with his usual intensity, though this time it held a deeper curiosity — curiosity and a tinge of worry. She quickly looked away, feeling self-conscious. “What?”

“Feelin’ okay, kid?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re tired.” He didn’t bother trying to make his statement sound like a question. He
knew
she was tired. Even if he couldn’t tell from her appearance, he could feel it. Hybrids were weird like that, able to pick up on people’s emotions and shifts in hormones and other goofy stuff like that. She was actually surprised he wasn’t staring her down with those funky glasses of his. If he really wanted a lowdown on her mood, he could just pop those suckers on and have a good look at her inner mojo through them. She was glad he didn’t. She was afraid of what he would see. 

All of that aside, their bond was deeper than that of any average Hybrid and human. Something had happened, those months ago in that warehouse. They had formed some sort of deeper bond there. Neither of them had talked about it, but it was heavy in the air every time they were near. And if his Hybrid genetics didn’t tune him in to her exhaustion, their bond did.

“I just can’t seem to get used to this new schedule. Working graves for so long, I can’t seem to transition to the land of the living.” Two weeks ago, one of the day waitresses had gone into labor, one month early. She had been in the hospital ever since. She and the baby were going to be fine, but had to be under observation. Technically, the girl could leave, but who would want to leave their baby behind just to go back to a crappy waitressing job, if they had another choice? The job was more of a hobby for the girl than anything, having married well enough that she didn’t need the extra income. It wouldn’t surprise Amiel if she never came back, now that she had a baby to look after.

But in the meantime the day crew was one person short, and Stint had tossed Amiel in to fill the gap until he found a replacement. After months of working in the darkest hours and sleeping in the brightest, Amiel found herself completely turned around. She bit her lip, refraining from mentioning the dreams, or strange changes to her clothing.

“Yeah, I can understand that. How much longer till y’all can get back on schedule?”

“I don’t know. Stint interviewed a few girls yesterday, I think. So hopefully it won’t be too long now. It would be nice to have things go back to normal,” she muttered wistfully.

“Normal.” Harley chuckled. “Is that what ya call yourself?”

Amiel chucked a marshmallow at his too-bright grin and poured the now hot water into their cocoa cups. “Do you mind cutting a couple slices of that homemade bread?”

“Don’t gotta ask me twice.” Harley eagerly pushed away from his perch against the counter and headed for the savory loaf of bread she’d baked the night before. Her culinary skills were slowly but surely growing, something she was increasingly proud of. “Where’re the knives?”

Amiel smirked at Harley. “Getting senile in your old age, Superman? They are where they always are.”

Harley moved to the side, gesturing to where the knife block had once sat. The spot was conspicuously bare. Amiel frowned. “Well, then, they are wherever you moved them.”

She sniffed, turning back to the chocolate and making it clear that she wasn’t really in the mood for games. Harley grunted in reply and moved about the kitchen. Suddenly he came up behind her, his back brushing lightly against hers as he opened the half-shut cabinet door above her head.

“Knives in the cabinet? Ain’t the safest hide-and-go-seek spot, kid.”

Amiel stared at the knife block as Harley pulled it down, wordlessly watching its progression back to its original resting spot. She felt Harley watching her again and she offered a jaunty grin and shrug, playing it off as though she had known exactly where they were the whole time. She hadn’t. Turning back to the counter, Amiel gripped it hard, naming every animal she could think of in her effort to gain control of her stuttering heart. How in the world had the knives gotten up there? No one had keys to her apartment but her, since Harley had changed the locks out for her. That left a sadly obvious name hanging in the air.

“Amiel.”

She jumped, startled, as Harley slid a slice of bread in front of her. He’d slathered on layers of butter, grape jelly and peanut butter for her. It was just the way she liked it — the butter and peanut butter mixed together on one side, and jelly on the other. Yet, staring down at the bread now, she felt her stomach turn.

“Thanks. Be right back,” Amiel muttered, before hurrying into the bathroom. She locked the door and leaned against the countertop, splashing cold water onto her overheated face. Slowly the nausea subsided, leaving a dull ache just behind her eyes as a souvenir. How thoughtful.

Looking into the mirror, Amiel paused and quickly leaned closer to the glass. Frowning, she moved backward, then forward, then backward again in an effort to reenact what she thought she had just seen. No matter what angle or direction she moved, Amiel couldn’t recreate the same effect she’d glimpsed in her eyes. She could have sworn the pupils had been dilated, etched in a strange sort of criss-crossy design. But now she saw nothing.

Nothing but black mascara gunk in the corner of each eye, anyway. Gross. She was sure she’d washed it all off last night after work. She gave them another good scrubbing, removing the offending black stuff. Rubbing at her aching eyes, Amiel swiped an ibuprofen from the drawer and left the bathroom. Harley watched her silently as he munched his last piece of bread.

“Stop with the silent staring, Harley. I’m fine,” she muttered, forcing a bite of bread just to prove it. It sat in her stomach like lead.

“Sure.” He nodded in seemingly affable agreement. She knew he wasn’t buying it. 

“Okay, look, maybe I’m feeling a bit under the weather today. I just didn’t get much sleep last night, and now I have a headache,” she admitted. Harley nodded, his tense muscles loosening at her confession. Harley wasn’t big on lies. He was a lot like his dad in that respect.

“Probably from the door y’all ran face-first into,” he teased, lightly tugging on a piece of her hair. “I gotta take a rain check on the trainin’ today, anyways. Foundation.”