Uninvited: A Paranormal Urban Fantasy Novel (The Dark Skies Trilogy Book Two) (10 page)

“
T
he one and only
,” Jax smiles proudly. “Dr. J at your service.”

Bella hurries away. “I have to go… feed the four-tongued serpents.”

“I guess I embarrassed her.”

“You think?” he smirks.

“I thought you were some sort of warrior-soldier-pilot guy?” I ask, letting this new revelation sink in.

After Jax rescued me from the Horlocks, he stole this slick little flying saucer that was being held in an underground government facility and flew us to safety. He told us he’d been a soldier, so I guess I just mentally put him in the soldier box.

“My planet has a mandatory military service. They trained me first as a soldier, then as a pilot. But, it didn't take long for me to figure out that I prefer to fix the wounds as opposed to creating them,” he explains. “I became a healer. Something close to what Dr. Maggie is here.”

“So are you a doctor or veterinarian?”

“On earth, a doctor only helps one species — humans. But, on many planets, a doctor, or healer, has to deal with multiple species. If you think about it, that's equivalent to what a veterinarian does on Earth. A vet has to understand the biology and physiology of each creature it serves. Since I’ve been here, I’ve had the good fortune to study the anatomy of most of the living creatures on this planet.”

It never occurred to me that this might be true. I always assumed that being a doctor was more difficult than being a veterinarian. But vets are total rockstars.

“Hey Dr. J.,” Waylon calls to Jax from a few stalls over. “The Quwogs are out in the paddock like you asked.”

“Thanks, Waylon.” Jax tips his hand.

Stone-faced, Waylon barely nods and walks away. He seems different from when I met him last night. The sunny disposition has been replaced by a sullen one. The change is so drastic, he seems like an entirely different person.

“Is Waylon okay?” I ask Bella a few moments later as I put a broom away.

“Was he rude to you?” she asks, suddenly worried.

“Oh no,” I say, not wanting to get him in trouble. “It’s just I met him last night. He and my roommate Ruby seemed to hit it off. But he seems different today.”

“Tell your roommate to be careful,” Bella warns. “Waylon gets, um, well let’s just say emotional; either really angry or sad for no big reason.”

“Yikes,” I reply. “That’s not good.”

“Also, right now he's having a tough time. This is the three-year anniversary of the day his mother disappeared."

“But I thought Brother Carlyle said he’d been abducted the longest? Forty years or something.”

“Not just him. He and his mom. They both came back together. But then less than a year later - poof - she vanished.”

“That’s terrible. Was she abducted again?”

“They don’t know.” Bella shakes her head, then leans in and whispers, “And it’s not only that. He’s one of the ones with a bug in his head.”

“What’s a bug?” That’s what Farmer Ray told me in the hospital last night. He said he had a bug in his head too.

“That ain’t Waylon’s problem,” a skinny Asian boy with a mean glint in his eyes butts in as he walks past. “His mom wasn’t abducted. Everyone knows she’s a skank who ran off with the town drunk.”

“Shut up, Cal,” Bella hisses, her eyes darting toward the door to the paddock. “Don’t let him hear you say that.”

“You know it’s true,” Cal says loud enough for everyone to hear. “Cause his old mom was a drunk and a low life loser too.”

“Take that back,” a deep angry voice from behind us growls.

Everyone turns to see Waylon standing in the doorway. His eyes are cold, and his hands are balled into fists.

“C’mon, Waylon. I'm just kidding around,” the mean boy laughs, trying to play it off.

"You heard me. Take it back." Waylon’s not letting this go. He wants an apology.

Cal scoffs. “Go to hell."

In the blink of an eye, Waylon flies at the boy. Fists and feet flailing. Cal is on the ground. Waylon pounds on him and says, “You take it back. You take it back. You take it back!"

“Okay fine!” Cal relents, trying to cover his face. “I take it back!"

But the beating doesn’t stop.

In a frenzy, Waylon continues pounding on Cal as Bella hollers, "Waylon, leave him alone. You made your point. Stop!”

“Hey!” Jax appears from nowhere and pulls the boys apart. “That’s enough from you two!”

Waylon finally releases his grip as Cal collapses on the straw.

“Pull it together, man!” Jax pushes Waylon a few feet away from the group. “Calm down.”

Then he offers a hand to Cal. “You alright?”

Blood pours from his nose and his shirt is ripped, but Cal tries to act tough. “I’m fine. And he started it.”

“Right. I’m sure you had nothing to do with it,” Jax says without much sympathy. “Go to the nurse. Have her clean you up.”

The whole stable watches in stunned silence as Cal limps off.

Waylon stomps off the other way. As he passes me, I hear him mutter under his breath, "I just wanted him to take it back."

“Come on, everyone,” Jax addresses the group. “Get back to work.”

The small crowd disperses, including me. I head back to finish cleaning a few stalls.

Five minutes later, Bella pokes her head into my stall as I’m washing out a feed bucket in the deep industrial sinks along the back wall.

“Sorry, Astrid,” she says apologetically. “It isn’t always this crazy here.”

“Are you kidding?” I reply. “This place is way better than any bio class I’ve ever taken. I love it here.”

“Good,” she says, holding up a strange leather strap. “Then maybe I’ve got just the job for you.”

“
W
hat the heck is that
?” I ask, pointing at the strap in her hand.

She frowns, walking over to the last stall. “It’s a leash.”

“Oh!” Now that I take a closer look, it’s obviously a leash.

She bends down, partially out of view, when she stands she’s holding the leash now attached to a creature that resembles a cross between a kangaroo and a parrot, except the animal appears to sprout brown-green reptilian scales.

“I thought you might like to take Sparky out for a walk? He’s desperate for a little exercise.”

It’s weird, but somehow this odd combination works.

“Hi, Sparky,” I say, trying to sound friendly and not afraid. “Does it bite? He has a lot of sharp teeth.”

“Only if you're an insect,” Bella laughs. “That's what he eats. Otherwise, I think you're pretty safe.”

Sparky and I head outside. I’m walking at a good clip as he kind of bounces, almost like a dog, at my side. His cuteness and exuberant joy rub off on me, and for the first time in days, I feel myself begin to relax.

We pass a gaggle of younger kids, maybe 4th graders, running willy-nilly around a big field playing soccer. A woman perpetually blowing a whistle keeps pace with them. I'm pretty sure this is P.E. class. Other than the footballers, nobody else is out and about.

Before Sparky and I left the stables, Bella explained that a jogging path lines the perimeter of the school, edging up along the never-ending forest of pine trees.

He and I go back and forth on this trail, that’s one big circle, several times. This is great fun the first three times, but by the fourth lap, I’m pretty bored, and Sparky clearly wants to run faster.

One of my weird alien talents is that I can run about twice as speed of the fastest humans, which turns out to be somewhere around 40 mph. Of course, the risk I run if I hit my top speed is being found out. Only a few people here know that I’m an alien, and I’d like to keep it that way for as long as possible.

As Sparky and I begin our fourth lap, I spot a yellow metal gate flanked by two towering oak trees at the far end of the path. Moving through the gates, we leave the safety of the compound. The paved jogging path around the school gives way to a soft dirt trail that parallels the lonely road that Ruby and I drove in on. It rained last night, and the earth is perfectly smooth and even.

Once I’m sure we’re out of everyone’s sight, Sparky and I kick up our pace, and I can tell that he’s really happy to let ‘er rip. I know I’m taking a chance leaving the compound, but it’s the only way Sparky and I can run faster.

It doesn’t take long before he and I are clipping along at a nice even pace.

Back before all of this happened, my uncle used to sometimes make me run with him. We’d do five, ten miles. Maybe even twenty. He said it was good for my training; good for my endurance.

I used to whine and complain about it all the time, but the truth is I secretly liked it. Running relaxes me. Helps me de-stress. The faster I can go, the better I feel.

After ten minutes of running at full speed, Sparky slows down. We come to a small stream where he happily laps up some crystal clear Oregon spring water. I cup my hands and drink some too. Bottle this stuff and you could sell it for three bucks a pop.

“C’mon, Sparky, we better head home,” I say to him after he’s had enough water.

We turn back the way we just came, but after about an 1/8 of a mile, I look down at the soft dirt path to see a second pair of human footprints right next to my initial set of tracks along with Sparky’s paw prints. These mysterious tracks are only slightly larger than my own.

I’m so startled that I stop. There weren’t any tracks when we came this way a few minutes ago. The ground had been totally smooth and pristine.

Someone was following us.

My blood runs cold. Who would follow me? Who could keep up?

I instantly have the creepiest feeling that someone is watching me. Sparky must sense something too because he trots up and nervously sits right next to me.

“Come on, buddy. Let's get out of here.”

Feeling like a fool for leaving the compound and desperate to get back to the stables, I start to jog again, picking up speed as I go.

Together, we run as fast as we can. If someone wants to hurt me, they’re going to have to catch me first.

Relief floods through me when I finally spot the two towering oaks and the yellow metal gates that mark the threshold to the school compound.

Getting closer, I notice something tacked to the old oak on the left. A piece of paper flutters in the wind.

Sparky and I stop. He sniffs the air and growls. I can hear the whistle and the voices of the little soccer players in the distance.

Was that piece of paper there when I passed by the first time? No. I’m almost certain it wasn’t.

As I slowly approach the tree, I realize this note looks identical to the peach fabric-like note I found folded on the windshield of the truck.

Breathing hard with my hands on my hips, I hesitate for a moment then pull it down.

M
y hands are shaking
as I open the folded paper and read the neat block letters.

If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?

Shakespeare?

I can’t remember if that’s from MacBeth or The Merchant of Venice. Not that it’s important right now.

Does someone know that I don’t bleed? If you prick me, I will not bleed. Is this some cryptic message or just a weird coincidence?

Sparky growls again, then slowly trots a wide circle around me, looking out into the forest of thick trees. Weird claw-like spikes on his back rise. I hadn't noticed these before.

That’s probably not a good sign.

For a moment, I consider crumpling the paper up and tossing it into the brush. I just want to get rid of it. Pretend I never saw it.

Instead, I fold the note and tuck it into my back pocket.

I know I can't bother my uncle with this right now, and I should probably show it to Jax or maybe Brother Carlyle.

But something inside of me doesn't want to.

What if they decide to move me again? To take me away from my uncle. I really can't bear the thought of being separated from him.

And what about Ruby? Will they separate me from her too?

“C’mon Sparky,” I say, yanking his leash a little harder than I meant to and jogging back toward the stables. “Let’s get out of here.”

As we’re running back, I decide that I'll show it to Ruby. She saw the first note. She’ll know what to do.

Returning to the stables, we’re met by Bella. “Whoa! Looks like you two just set the new world record for the 50-yard dash.”

“You said he needed exercise, so I gave him a good workout.”

“Great,” she smiles. “But don't feel like you have to run the half marathon every time you take one of them for a walk.”

I laugh and force a smile like everything is just fine.

It’s funny how good I’m getting at pretending everything is a-okay.

When I get back to the dorm room, I find Ruby furiously typing on a brand new laptop. “Hey, look what they just brought us.” She gestures to the laptop, then points to an identical one sitting on my desk.

“This place may be 200 years old, but at least they’re all state-of-the-art when it comes to gadgets and gizmos,” I say, trying to swallow the bad feeling that finding the second note gave me.

“How was the barn?” she asks.

“Good.” My hand instinctively goes to my pocket where I can feel the fabric-like note. “It was really more of a stable than a barn.”

“Oh la la. Stable sounds way posher than barn.”

Maybe I shouldn’t mention it to Ruby, after all. It’ll just worry her. If it comes up later, I’ll tell her about it.

“What’s wrong?” she asks as if reading my mind. “Did something happen?”

“No.”

“Yes, it did. Tell me.”

So much for that strategy.

I hesitate, then move closer in order to keep my voice just above a whisper. “I got another one.”

“Another what?” she replies, her face creased with concern.

Slowly, I pull the peach-colored note from my pocket. “One of these.”

Her eyes widen in recognition, and she gasps. “Where? When?”

“Just now. Behind the school…” I explain how I felt like someone was watching me when I took Sparky out and found it attached to one of the trees.

“You have to tell someone,” she says.

“Who?”

She thinks. “Tell Jax. He’ll know what to do, and if he doesn’t, he’ll know who else to tell.”

“But what if they make me move? What if they take me away from you and my uncle?”

Her face darkens. She hadn’t considered this. “They wouldn’t do that, would they?”

“They might.”

“I think you have to tell someone. For your own safety.”

“I know.” I nod, but I want to buy some time. “You’re right. Let me think about the best way to do it.”

After dinner, I head over to the hospital ward to check on my uncle. On my way, I make a quick pitstop.

As I sit down, his eyes flutter open. “Hazelnut?” my uncle murmurs quietly. He’s back to his familiar cloaked human form.

“Yep, made it myself,” I say.

“Uh oh…“ He pretends to look worried. Must be a good sign if he still has a sense of humor.

“The nurses told me you were awake and giving them trouble.”

He smiles proudly and nods. “Someone’s got to keep them on their toes.”

“And I see you have your own personal bodyguard,” I say looking down at Tom, back to being a cat, curled up at the bottom of the hospital bed sound asleep.

“Bah. He just wants to sleep someplace warm,” my uncle says dismissively, but he gently strokes the cat’s head as he speaks.

“I’m so glad you’re doing better,” I say. “I’ve been really worried.”

“Don’t worry about me. It’s almost impossible to kill a Moon-Eyed Blue.” He looks tired. Even talking to me seems to be difficult.

“I thought you might like me to read to you,” I suggest.

He nods and smiles. “As long as it’s not one of those crazy YA paranormal novels you’re always reading.”

“I wouldn’t make you suffer through one of those.” I pull a book out of my bag. My uncle is a lover of the classics. “I found one of your old favorites.”

When he sees the cover of “Call of the Wild” by Jack London he grins.

I open the book and begin. “
Buck did not read the newspapers, or he would have known that trouble was brewing, not alone for himself, but for every tide-water dog, strong of muscle and with warm, long hair…
”

As I read, Tom gracefully hops off the bed, spins a circle turning himself into a dog that closely resembles Buck. Except, of course, for the ever-present red collar.

I give him a little wink. “Thanks for the visual aid, buddy.”

We get through about twenty pages before I look over to see my uncle has nodded off and is softly snoring. Quietly, I pack up my stuff and tip-toe away.

As I pass the last bed on the left, I see that Ray the farmer - the guy who told me he has a bug in his head - isn’t there.

But when I pass the nurses’ station near the entrance, I see two of the attending nurses are eating chocolate turtles. I stop. “Are those Ray’s?”

The nurses exchange looks as the one nearest to me says, “They were.”

“Were?”

“He didn’t make it,” the other nurse says sadly. “The surgery was unsuccessful. His family gave the candy to us when they came to get his belongings.”