Under My Skin (19 page)

“No, I’m not sure if I’ll ever be okay again.” She lowered the phone, her eyes bleak. “You’ve seen it before too. Haven’t you?”

I raised a brow, but said nothing. Olivia was bursting to get something off her chest, and if it was paranormal in nature I needed to look cool and noncommittal. Hunter training rule 7,876 or something like that.

“The wolf and skull,” she said, frowning now.

I raised both brows. Noncommittal, noncommittal. “The what?”

“The picture Stantial showed.” Olivia shoved away from the sink. “Travis had one like it on his arm.” She thrust her cell toward my face, showing a closeup of a guy’s muscular arm. The skull-and-fangs image had obviously been recently etched into his skin leaving his arm red and raw looking.

Olivia stared at her own waiflike arm as she traced the spot where Travis had his tattoo done. The girl was wasting away. All jutting bones and sharp angles. “He got it right before he disappeared.”

I shifted my backpack. The art history text I’d stuffed inside jabbed into my shoulder. How did an ancient piece of art end up on the arm of some kid from a small town like Redgrave?

“Are you saying Travis had that thing carved into his skin?” I cringed. “Lovely.”

Olivia’s brilliant blue eyes flashed with anger. “He wasn’t himself. He hated tattoos, never saw the point of jabbing yourself with ink. Then one day he said he dreamt about this awesome design and had to get one done.”

I held my breath. Dreamed about it? Or had it flashed into his mind the way it had for me?

Her expression softened, and her eyes filled with tears again. “That was the last time I saw him.” She sniffled. “You know, we were going to leave town together after graduation.” She gave a sad laugh as she scrolled through the images saved on the cell. She held up one of her and Travis laughing in front of a locker. “Well, that was the plan.” She showed me another, a closeup of Travis. “Wasn’t he beautiful?”

“Uh, sure.” I shrugged, then plunked my backpack on the counter, and fished inside for my makeup bag. I made a big show of putting on my lip gloss, covering up the odd blemish, and powdering my nose. This part of being a hunter bothered me the most. The evasions, the lies. But what could I tell her? That Travis might not be so pretty as a werewolf—with the molting human skin and matted fur? I’m sorry, Beauty and the Beast was hopelessly romantic...on paper.

“He wouldn’t have left me here. We were getting out. Together.” Olivia pushed the phone back into her backpack with trembling fingers. “So you can either tell me now, or I’ll find out myself. That tattoo—you recognized it too. What does it mean?”

I stared blankly at Olivia, my thoughts like a pinball gone mad, ricocheting around in my head.

Stantial had no idea the true value of the artwork she’d photographed. A tangible connection between the human and paranormal world. Lucky she worked in such an isolated community. I’d heard of humans stumbling onto proof of paranorm existence, but those unfortunate souls didn’t live long enough to show anyone their finds, especially not a classroom of impressionable high school kids.

At my continued silence, Olivia sighed. “Fine. Don’t tell me where you’ve seen it.” She grabbed her backpack and made for the door. “But I know something’s not right in this town.”

Humph.
She wasn’t kidding.

Chapter 9:
Stereotype Much?

Brit and I walked to the café only a few blocks from the school. Although it hadn’t snowed, the grey sky and crisp air threatened the white stuff at any time. My wolf compensated for the chill as soon as we hit the outdoors, my internal temperature spiked. I started to take off my jacket, but with Brit shivering in her black canvas coat, wearing more layers than I was, I decided not to draw attention to my sudden tolerance for the cold.

Talk about premature hot flashes. Yikes. I lowered my zipper to catch some of the cool breeze. Uncomfortable and sweaty in sweater weather. How the hell was I going to survive a scorching hot summer day?

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Brit said, hesitancy in her voice. “You might get mad, so I’ll say it fast.”

“Fire away.” I shrugged. Whatever Brit had to say couldn’t be as bad as the thought of me hiding in my room all summer because I’d started shedding all my hair. Now
that
thought made me mad—as in one-way ticket to bedlam mad. I squeezed the bridge of my nose, a de-stresser technique I’d learned from a school counselor.
Damn
. I rubbed away the dart of pain I’d self-inflicted.

Not only had my nose become a super sniffer—I couldn’t even touch it without sensory overload. A sigh that could easily have slipped into growl territory rumbled in my chest.

Brit stared at me like I was about to go all Hulkish green. She took a deep breath and said in a rush, “You’re sixteen. That’s close to being legal. After your folks…weren’t you given the option of going it alone? I mean, if
my
parents died, I’d hate to move out of our house, our town. You’re so far away you can’t even visit their graves. Wouldn’t staying at home have made life seem more…normal?” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “That came out wrong. Ignore me.”

I froze on the sidewalk, forcing Brit to stop as well, and studied her for a long moment.

“A normal life?” I said, once I could speak past the maniacal laughter that threatened to burst from my throat. “Now that’s the real fairytale. What about my life has ever been normal? Sure, I wanted to stay home. But I didn’t have a choice. My father was a hunter. My mom…”

Wait. What was I saying? I couldn’t tell Brit like this. The right time would come, but this wasn’t it. I took a second and refocused.

“The Hunter Council doesn’t let people like me walk away. They’ll always be watching.” My stomach lurched, but I said exactly what I’d been feeling since the funeral. “As for my parents—their graves mean nothing to me.”

Brit lowered her eyes and stared at her Doc Martens, but not before I saw the shock on her face.

“Yeah, that sounds heartless doesn’t it?” I choked out, striding forward once more. Brit kept up with me as best she could. “Wanna know why I couldn’t care less about two boxes buried in the dirt?” My voice was too loud, but I couldn’t stop the words from pouring out. “’Cause they’re empty, Brit. We buried empty coffins. My parents’ bodies were never found. I’m not even sure they’re really dead.”

“
Not sure they’re
…” Brit grabbed my arm and pulled me to a stop. “What do you think happened to them?”

“That’s what the Hunter Council is trying to find out.”

“The Council’s involved with your parents? But I don’t understand, I thought they only dealt with the bigwigs…” She eyed me with new awareness. “Oh.”

“Can we drop it for now?” I ground out. “I’m feeling a little not myself today.”

“Dropping it, yup, we’re dropping it…” Brit scuffed her boots on the sidewalk.

I shouldn’t have told Brit, a
human
, anything about my parents, or my suspicions, or my sad little I’m-a-mutant-freakazoid life. I’d only put her in danger. I couldn’t afford to get close to hunters, to people, period. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Uncertainty settled in my stomach as if it were moving in and ready to redecorate. Wasn’t I already too close? To Brit, to Marcus, to Alec. Wasn’t that the whole problem?

All I kept wondering was how Alec would act when he saw me for the first time since our kiss. Would he want to take up where we left off, or did he regret he ever met me? And really, what right did I have messing around with his life anyway? I couldn’t get attached to humans—they were too easy to break.

“Isn’t this place amazing?” Brit exulted when we arrived at the café, our tense conversation about my parents apparently well and truly on hold. I loved that about Brit. She didn’t push, or prod, or try to guilt you into a confession. Probably because she knew I’d tell her the story eventually.

Conundrum Café. Wow, the name was larger than the actual building, a narrow two-story converted house that barely sat ten people on the main floor. According to a chalkboard sign on the wooden stair railing, the place had an art gallery on the second floor. I sucked in a breath when I spotted a bulletin board plastered with flyers about missing pets.

Someone had to get those werewolves in line. And it looked more and more like that someone was me.

Inside, a line of Zen-like hippie types stood to one side of a long, brightly painted counter. The counter’s black surface glittered with gold-foil suns and a bevy of hand-painted stars and moons. A profusion of yellowing posters covered the cobalt blue walls.

Alec and Matt waved to us from a corner near a large bay window. The window’s thick covering of frost muted the daylight. The guys sprawled out on an orange plaid couch, the kind left on curbsides next to garbage cans, free for the taking. Alec had his long legs stretched out, his feet propped up on a heavy oak coffee table, his arms folded across his chest. My breath hitched at the sight of him, and I avoided his half-hooded gaze.

Brit waved to Matt and then pointed to the line. He held up his glass, silently asking Brit to get him another iced tea.

“Let’s order first or we’ll never get to eat before our next class,” Brit said. “Time moves at its own pace in Conundrum. You get used to it or never come back. Personally, I like the atmosphere, the rustic charm. Plus there’s Kate. Wait till you meet her.”

The place was rustic all right, a blend of garage sale chic and vintage clutter. My feet scuffed across a lacquered plywood floor as we approached the counter. The twenty-something barista didn’t appear in any rush as she worked around the various industrial coffeemakers and flavored syrup bottles.

Brit studied the menu board hanging over the counter while I counted the barista’s facial piercings. Twelve. The sweet smell of cookies baking in the kitchen beyond the counter clashed with the jarring scent of silver. My athame’s faint essence, muffled by the shoulder holster and my clothing, hardly registered, but the barista’s piercings were right at nose level.

I covered my gag, clearing my throat loudly.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit much?” I asked Brit after we placed our orders. “Getting your face filled with all that metal?”

Brit glanced at the barista. “I think she looks cool.”

“Sure, now,” I said. “When she’s a grandma, those things will be hanging around her shoulders. How’s that for a physics lesson? Gravity works, my friend.”

“Ugh.” Brit made a face and then stepped aside so a customer could pass us to exit the café. The steamer hissed and utensils clattered as the barista prepared our order. “No way. Kate will be a hip granny. Won’t you, Kate?”

The barista laughed. “Someday, Brit. We’ll see, I guess.”

“Kate?” I asked. “This is
Kate
?” I leaned into Brit’s shoulder and whispered, “As in the
witch
?” She looked way too young to have much magical power. No wonder her spell hadn’t held Wade.

Brit shrugged. “The one and only. Believe me, she’s older then she looks.” Her eyes twinkled. “Wait,” she said and then laughed. “You were expecting green face paint, a hairy mole, and an evil cackle? Stereotype much?” She scanned the counter. “You want chocolate sprinkles?” Grabbing a palm-sized metal shaker, she doused my latte’s foamy topping with chocolate shavings.

“I gotcha covered, Kate.” A young woman came from the back section of the café. She wrapped an apron around her slim waist. “Take as long as you need.”

“Thanks, Beth.” When Kate grinned, muscles flexed around a piercing in her cheek. She flipped up a section of the counter and draped her arm over Brit’s shoulder. “Okay, girls, let’s sit with your menfolk and talk shop. Glad you could join us, Eryn.” She gave me a conspiratorial wink. “I hoped that special brew I made up yesterday would do the trick, but I wasn’t sure.”

“Ah, yeah, thanks. Worked like a charm,” I said, uncomfortable that I’d lied to this friendly, young witch. I couldn’t bring myself to tell the others that Wade had been toying with them. Kate’s magic was about as effective on Wade as control top pantyhose on a Sumo wrestler—some things couldn’t be contained.

Kate didn’t look a thing like the members of the coven my father had bartered with years ago. They had indeed lived up to the witch stereotype—except for the green face paint. An ancient coven was cloistered away in the foothills of the Ardenne Mountains. I had no idea what my father had traded to get my silver athame, but it was major. Well, not fork-over-your-firstborn major, obviously—but still, Mom always said Dad had made a huge error in judgment that day. Wolven and witches usually didn’t get along in the paranorm world. They were both far too outspoken for their own good.

Kate was no exception.

“So, Alec,” she said, dropping into one of the chairs across from the couch. “Did you give Eryn her present yet?”

Matt choked mid-gulp on the iced tea Brit had handed to him. She pounded his back until he could breathe and then squished between the guys to sit on the couch.

“It’s not a
present
.” Alec seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “It’s supposed to give Eryn some protection. How many times do I have to tell you that?” He made a face at Kate and pulled his feet off the coffee table when she stabbed her finger into his calf.

I stood clutching my latte. Confused. Embarrassed. Excited…

A gift that
wasn’t
a gift? For me?

“Sit down here.” Kate waved me into the chair beside her. “The other one wobbles.” I sat down, appreciating the cool air radiating from the bay window behind us.

Kate laughed at Alec’s dark expression. “This guy,” she said, pointing at Alec, “came into the café five minutes after we opened this morning, asking me where he could get Eryn a…” She hesitated. “No, I won’t ruin the surprise.”

“Ignore her, Eryn.” Alec met my gaze for a second, as if gauging my reaction.

I gave a throw-me-a-bone shrug, hoping someone would fill me in on what was going on.

“Kate loves to make every little thing a big production.” He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a small parcel, a few inches long, neatly wrapped in white tissue paper. “Brit told me you didn’t have one, so I picked this up at the shop across the street. Every hunter needs basic protection. You can’t do better than Christian symbols.”