One Past Midnight (5 page)

I knew what he was doing. He'd been waiting a long time, and I hadn't made it altogether easy. But I wasn't going to sleep with him tonight, so I took the drinks and let him kiss me up to Second Ten on a number of occasions. The effects of
the drinks even helped me relax enough to let him go up to Second Eighteen a few times. But then I discovered that other things happened to Dex's body after Second Fifteen . . .

I went back to calling it quits at ten seconds shortly after.

It was a mystery how many people actually turned up. At least the 150 Lucy had predicted. At some point there might have been more, but just my luck, Lucas turned up some time before midnight. He offered to keep an eye on things and help pull the plug on the party at 2:00 a.m., before Mom turned up.

“Did Mom tell you to come?” I was a little offended I hadn't been trusted.

Lucas shoved his hands in his pockets. It was his standard uninviting pose, the one that always made me feel as though he thought I was beneath him or something. “No. Just thought you might need some help if things got out of hand.”

“Oh.” I eyed him suspiciously, knowing it wouldn't be out of character for Mom to have sent him. But Lucas generally told the truth, so I let it go. “Do you want a drink?”

“No. Not really my crowd.” It was a dig. Lucas approved of very little when it came to me. He thought I was a spoiled brat who got everything she wanted.

If only he knew.

Then again, it wasn't like any crowd was
his
type. Lucas, with his broody-yet-clean-cut look, was as much of
a loner as anyone in this town could get away with. I think that's why he chose to go live with Dad. It meant he could avoid having to deal with more than one other person on a continuous basis.

“I'll just go hang out in the front room. If you need me, come get me.” With that, he walked stiffly past me, leaving space between us as if we were strangers instead of brother and sister.

“Thanks, Luc,” I said to his back, which earned me a shrug in return.

Lucas and I didn't often see eye to eye, but I tended to trust him unlike Ryan. Even if he didn't particularly get me, he was honest and I knew he'd do as he promised. It was hard to remember sometimes that there were only two years between us. Part of me wished he'd just grab a drink and talk with me, loosen up. But simply making an appearance was about as friendly as Lucas could manage, so I let him hide away in the front room, knowing that at least with him there I could relax and enjoy the party.

At 11:30, I was itching for an out. It had always been part of my plan—to just slip away for a while so I could go through the Shift in private. But when I started searching for rooms, there was someone, or
someones
, in all of them. I barged into my own room only to bolt back out when I got an eyeful of Brett and Miriam—which was no doubt now permanently seared into my memory.

“Shit,” I said to myself over and over. It was 11:50 p.m., and I was still desperately pushing through hordes of people trying to find a private space to shift worlds. But there was nowhere; even the bathrooms had lines of people waiting.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

I picked up the pace, heart racing. Only one option left. I headed for the basement door through the kitchen, passing an almost topless chick I did not, thank God, recognize surrounded by three guys I
did
recognize trying to talk her into letting them do shots off her. I threw them a disgusted look before I pushed through the door and stumbled down the stairs in the dark. I just needed to find somewhere quiet. Midnight was only a few minutes away, and I needed to at least be sitting down. I felt around in the dark, my arm jerking away when it caught on something sharp. I gasped, feeling the sting, and grabbed at my arm, trying to see how bad it was.

The door at the top of the stairs opened, spearing just enough light into the room to glimpse the blood beading from the cut on my forearm. I looked up in time to see the light disappear behind someone who had let the door close behind him.

“Sabine?”

Shit. It was Dex. I considered not answering, holding my breath and pretending no one was home. But he'd obviously seen me come in. Hell, he could probably hear my
pounding heart from where he was. Could things get any more out of control?

“Down here. I'm just . . . I'm . . .“
Just hiding in the basement in the pitch-dark so I can shift between my two lives in private.

“Needed a minute?” he suggested.

I considered telling him about my arm to distract him, but I quickly ruled it out. He'd just insist on taking me up to the kitchen to clean it. The Shift was so close I was going to be sick. “Yeah. I'm just . . . you know. I'll be back up in a minute.” But then I half-jumped, because he'd followed my voice and was right in front of me. His arms slid around my waist. “Ah, Dex . . .”

“
Shh
. I know you don't want to tonight. But that doesn't mean we can't do other . . . things.” His hand slid up my side, grazing the edge of my breast. I fought back the urge to swat his arm away.

“Dex, I just . . . I think I'm drunk,” I said, which was true and not helping at all at that moment. I knew I only had about a minute left to get out of the situation, but my stupid mind wouldn't work. My airway felt like it was closing up on me.

I wriggled a bit, but since Dex chose that instant to move closer, he interpreted it in the
very
wrong way.

His voice deepened. “I'm good to wait until you're ready, but just so you know . . . I'm ready whenever you are.”

Evidently.

I opened my mouth to tell him I needed to be alone, but I
was too slow. His mouth was on mine and suddenly I was up against something uncomfortable.

Oh no. No, no, no. This isn't happening.

But it was.

On Second Four, his hand tightened on my waist . . . and I shifted.

I gasped for air, kicking my feet out as if trying to escape from invisible restraints.

As I thrashed around, something that felt like a lead pipe smacked me on the forehead, forcing me to finally take stock of my surroundings.

“Shit, shit, shit!” I'd just shifted with Dex's
tongue
down my throat. I was going to be sick. In some bizarre screwed-up way, for the next twenty-four hours Dex was going to have his tongue lodged in my mouth until I shifted back and threw him the hell off me.

“Shit,” I said again, swallowing back the urge to throw up and concentrating on slowing my breathing. I had to get a grip.

The “lead pipe” that had hit me in the head was in fact the cast on my arm. I wiggled my fingers and could feel the familiar pain flare up. Still broken. Interesting.

What was going on? I pulled my right arm out from under the covers and felt my stomach slide to an all-bad place.

The cut I'd just gotten in the basement—the cut
I'd just been looking at—was gone. Not so much as a scratch. And though I'd never really experimented with alcohol and the Shift before, I was no longer drunk. In fact, I felt horribly sober. Something had definitely changed.

It was a dangerous thought, but it was there nonetheless.

The physical wasn't crossing over.

I slipped out of bed and walked out into the hall. The house was silent; everyone was asleep.

“Shit,” I whispered, lost for any other words, frozen in no-man's-land. I don't know how long I stood there, mouth agape, but eventually I about-faced and shuffled back to my room to try—somewhat pathetically—to go to sleep.

But in those dazed and confused moments . . . the seed of a thought was watered and had begun to grow. I tried to stop myself. Tried to block it out.

I failed.

When 7:00 a.m. rolled around, I got up and headed for the kitchen.

I could hear Mom humming away in the shower. Since we all shared the one downstairs bathroom, I decided to start on breakfast while I waited for my turn. Today was Saturday,
so at least I didn't have school. Four-day weekends were not the worst parts about my lives.

Partly for Maddie—and partly to block out the mental image of Dex and me before the Shift—I started whipping up some pancake mix. Before long, Mom was in the kitchen with me, frying up some bacon and helping me hold the bowl while I tried to whisk with my good arm.

By the time Maddie's feet shuffled into the kitchen, Mom and I were sitting down to our pancakes with Maddie's waiting on the warm stovetop. I'd let Mom take over while I showered and dressed, opting for a deep-purple stretch mini and gray tank top to avoid buttons. I still had to ask Mom to lace up my boots. She suggested I might like to borrow a pair of her slip-ons. I asked her if she was high. She gave me her Mom smirk, then laced up my boots.

We always sat in the kitchen for meals. We did have a dining room, but Mom and Dad had it stacked to the ceiling with stock for the drugstore. They insisted on buying in bulk for better pricing from their suppliers—if that meant we filled the best room in the house with toilet paper and diapers, so be it.

I didn't mind. It seemed homier, even if the kitchen was our most run-down room. If I had it my way, Mom and Dad would use my college money to fix up the house a bit. But they weren't about to listen to my suggestions. Mom would see it as me being disrespectful, and Dad would just accuse
me of not living up to my potential. He was big on always telling Maddie and me that we could be more. I never missed the subtext, the one that translated to
you're not enough.

Mom put Maddie's plate in front of her and poured her an apple juice. Without a word, Maddie smiled and started eating. She wasn't a morning person. Mostly because she spent half the night snooping around. It would take her a couple of hours to hit her stride, so Mom and I kept the conversation going.

“Do you need help today?” I offered, already knowing the answer. Usually I hated helping out at the drugstore; it was bang-your-head-against-the-wall kind of work, and there are only so many seventy-plus ladies you can show to the hair-coloring section. But today I had ulterior motives for helping.

Mom nodded. “A few hours this morning. Maddie is going over to Mrs. Jefferies's house to play with Sara, and I was hoping Dad could take a day off.”

I mopped up the last of my maple syrup with my pancake and nodded. “No problem. Capri and I were going to meet up at the mall before she starts work, so I can head in by nine.”

Mom stood up and started to clear our dishes away, both of us ignoring Maddie as she quietly worked away on her own breakfast. Mom took a deep breath. “Sometimes I don't know what I'd do without you,” she said softly. Then she sniffed and added with her usual pragmatism, “Try not to get sidetracked with Capri.”

I smiled uncomfortably as I grabbed my backpack and headed for the door. “See you there.” On my way past Maddie, I mussed up her hair. “Don't make Sara climb too high in the tree this time, kiddo.” Last time it had taken forty-five minutes for Mrs. Jefferies to climb up and get Sara down.

Maddie gave her standard 8:00 a.m. grunt and shoveled a piece of bacon into her mouth, but when I reached the front door she called out, “Can I still draw on your cast when I get home?”

It wasn't great timing given everything I had planned for the day, but it was Maddie. “You know it!” I yelled back, and headed out, knowing I'd left her smiling at the kitchen table.

Capri worked weekends at the secondhand music store, Thrifty Tunes. There was double incentive for her: she needed a job plus she got to hang out with Angus, her most-of-the-time boyfriend, who worked weekends there too.

Even if Capri wasn't ready to admit it, they were perfect for each other: both into the Goth look, both into music, both opinionated, strong-minded people. And when they were together . . . well, even unfortunate bystanders could tell they were into one another in all the right ways. But part of that meant they also drove each other crazy and fought like maniacs. Last fight they'd had, Capri had given him the silent treatment for two weeks.

“You wanna meet up later, go catch a movie or some-thing?” Capri offered as we meandered toward Thrifty Tunes, each with a Mocha Frappuccino in hand.

“Can't. Gotta hang out with Maddie this afternoon,” I said between sips, somewhat satisfied that my lie actually held a grain of truth.

“Davis is planning to stop by.” She said it as if it were an incentive.

“I've already told you, Davis and I are just friends. That's it.”

Capri threw her empty bottle in the recycling bin and popped a few pieces of gum in her mouth before reapplying her black-currant lip gloss, all while still on the move.

“That's not what he thinks. I can see his smaller version thinking other things when you're around,” she said teasingly.

I smacked her on the arm. “Please don't go there.”
Please!
It was bad enough knowing how close I currently was to Dex. “Davis is cool. As a friend.”