Infatuate Page 25

  “I need a break.” Sabine sighed.

  “Me too,” Emma shot back at Sabine. She hopped off Sabine’s bed and let herself out, slamming the door.

  I took her vacated seat on the bed. “So where are you going?”

  “Look, Haven.” She softened, but only the slightest bit. “I need a couple days away from here, okay? I’m just not cut out for whatever’s going on. I don’t know what this morning was about. I don’t know what’s happening and I’m sick of feeling this way. I don’t want to be here.”

  “That’s fine,” I said easily. “But I was under the impression we didn’t get to decide that, you know what I mean?”

  “I’m sick of these rules. This is some club I’m trapped in that I don’t even want to be part of.”

  “I know, I get it,” I said, though, honestly, I tried not to think that way. It seemed a waste of time to be frustrated. I always tried to channel those feelings into something that would do me good. “I kind of thought either we accept these rules or we’re drafted by the other side.”

  “Whatever. I need to run away right now, and so I am going.”

  “When are you coming back?”

  “In a couple days,” she said, exhaling. She closed her eyes, about to level with me. “Look, I didn’t ask to be in this freak show. To fight anyone or earn any wings. My life was just fine without this.” She continued jamming things into her bag.

  “My life was fine too.” I shrugged, a little on the defensive.

  “I mean really fine. I had everything I wanted. I had friends and a boyfriend and much better things to do than go looking for ways to save other people’s souls and lives and things. I know that sounds terrible—” She stopped zipping for a moment and looked at me sincerely.

  “No, it doesn’t,” I said, meaning it. “It sounds understandable and normal.”

  “So I’m taking a couple days to go home and live my old life. I just need a break from this. From this version of me. I’m not like you . . .” She let it hang there and I didn’t know quite what she meant. And finally: “I can’t handle this.”

  I nodded. But I couldn’t quiet that nagging feeling in my gut. “Watch yourself up there.” She slung her bag over her shoulder. The wide neck of her sweater fell low enough to see a hint of that fleur-de-lis peeking out as she turned to go without another word.

  Knowing I now had the room to myself had the opposite effect than I would have expected. It suddenly felt claustrophobic. The emptiness closed in on me. I pushed open the window and heard muffled voices from outside. I climbed out onto the balcony into the cool evening air, breathing it in to clear my head as I leaned over the railing and gazed into the darkening sky. But something below caught my eye instead.

  There they were: Lance and Sabine, standing in the courtyard, facing each other. He held her bag, and she had her hand on his wrist, shaking his arm, telling him something I couldn’t quite make out. He nodded and looked away, placing the weekender on her shoulder. Then he leaned in and kissed her, one arm around her waist. I stayed only long enough to see that the kiss was returned, enthusiastically. My stomach dropped, nausea setting in and filling the emptiness inside: I felt like I had lost something dear to me. I didn’t want to see any more. Even after these grave matters of life and death that had filled the day, I couldn’t help that this still stung me.

  The next morning, Drew and I had just changed into our painting clothes at the cemetery when Lance pulled up outside the gates in a beat-up once-white pickup truck, its bed overflowing with tools, huge shovels, waste bins, tarps, and slabs of marble. Drew went along to start painting, giving me a look that said she knew the potential for awkwardness would be running high.

  “So does this mean we’re gonna be coworkers again?” I asked, by way of greeting, as I neared him. We hadn’t spoken since that scene in the courtyard and my voice couldn’t quite decide on the proper tone to address him.

  “I finished over at the LaLaurie mansion, so I’m building a crypt here.” He pulled a few rolled sheets of paper from his back pocket, smoothing them out on the hood of the truck. “It’s going to be one of the raised boxy ones, nothing too crazy, nothing like the scale of that one from the night of the ritual or anything.” He said the last few words quietly, as if sorry to have alluded to that night, as he gestured to the blueprints. “It’ll be more like maybe seven, eight feet?” He pointed out the dimensions on the grid, amid a sea of measurements and impossibly perfect handwriting. And then as if reading my mind: “Shouldn’t take long.”

  I helped him unload his supplies and then left him to get to work. I tucked myself behind one of the nearby crypts for just a moment to watch him dig out his space. He had gotten immensely strong. He then carried a slab of marble nearly his height under one arm, as though it were a gigantic skateboard. He set it between two sawhorses, wound up and smashed the side of his hand into it, chopping it somehow into two with a perfectly clean, sharp break. Then he carted over another slab and did the same thing. He did it all with such ease, as though it were made of flimsy Styrofoam, giving no indication that it might have hurt in the least. Of course, he should have broken his hand.

  Watching Lance so easily and openly using these newfound powers incited my competitive side. I looked around, finding no one, and I went for it. I stood beside the tomb, focusing all I had on one of the paintbrushes. My stare was firm, unwavering. Within seconds, the brush flew into my hand, its wooden handle hot to the touch. Thrilled with my success, I got another idea. Setting my eyes on the trees drooping over the top of the cemetery wall in the distance, I left my work behind for a moment, turning that brush over in my hands. One tree in particular was just the right height, with plenty of its trunk visible amid its leafy branches. I chose a spot about twenty feet away and settled into position, staring down this target. Then, as though throwing a pitch, I wound up, lunged, and flung the paintbrush. It cut through the air and landed with a sharp CRACK against a part of the tree trunk exposed above the cemetery wall. The pointy handle wedged itself right in and appeared to be embedded nearly up to the head of the brush. Unless I wanted to climb up the tree, I’d be using another brush to edge the corners of the Degas family crypt I was working on today. I couldn’t help but be secretly pleased: my levitation power gave me hope. And though I hated to admit it, having Lance working nearby, being able to hear the dull crash of him fitting those pieces together and see him when I found a reason to walk past that spot, gave me a sense of comfort, even after all that had happened between us.

  The evening could not have passed in a more mundane fashion: tutoring followed by the hotline, then returning to the house to look through those pictures (no new casualties, but Sabine’s image had failed to improve) and do laundry. But it all served to distract me from what was to come. Even after what I had encountered on my last trip next door, I still couldn’t quite manage to share my plans with Dante, or anyone for that matter. I knew I should—intellectually I knew that it was dangerous not to tell. Reckless, even. But I didn’t want to be talked out of going, it was that simple. And I also didn’t want to be saddled with chaperones. No one wanted to trust Lucian, and I could accept that, but I didn’t have to agree.

  Standing on the porch, hand poised over the doorknob, I braced myself and gave it a jiggle. Unlocked this time. Slowly I turned it, pushing it open as it creaked back at me. I stepped inside, closing the door behind me as quietly as possible but steadying myself should I find the need to strike.

  “Hey,” I heard from the space behind me.

  Gasping, I whipped around, not expecting him to be so close by. He sat on the staircase, illuminated by the soft rays of light filtering in from the streetlamps outside.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I promise, it’s just me tonight.”

  “Good.” I exhaled but my pulse failed to slow.

  “I’m impressed you found your way in the other night, even though I wish you hadn’t. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I was just . . . caught off
-guard. I mean, I didn’t realize this place had become a hangout. I thought you said the others didn’t come here. Should we be expecting company now?” I didn’t want to sound afraid, but I also didn’t care for surprises like that.

  “I’m sorry.” Lucian shook his head, regretfully. “I don’t know what he was doing here. They usually prefer being out where the action is. We’ll keep our meetings short. And watch out for that guy, okay? He’s a problem.” I wondered what constituted a “problem” when you were already a native of the underworld, but I only nodded. “So, come ’ere.” He gestured for me to join him on the stairs. I took a seat beside him, his gray eyes glowing in the near darkness, his familiar cedar scent making me a little woozy. “I don’t have much time,” he said, looking apologetic. “There’s a meeting tonight. They’re starting to assemble for Metamorfosi Day, the day of metamorphosis.” He waited before going on, bestowing an extra importance to it.

  “That sounds like a pretty big deal.”

  “It is. They’re going to designate when it will be and then that’ll be the time when you will all sort out and battle to determine who, of those of you in training, become angels and who become devils. This is also the one day when those of us who are consigned to our fates”—he put his hand to his chest, including himself in this group—“can sort of change our stripes, so to speak.” He said it shyly, as if he were embarrassed.

  I let this sink in and then offered gently, “Oh. So this is your chance then? To break away?”

  “It is. So that’s when I’ll be needing some help, if you’ll be kind enough . . .”

  “Of course,” I said firmly.

  “Thank you,” he said looking at me for only a moment and then focusing in the distance, breathing a sigh. “Thank you. You have no idea . . .” He didn’t finish, but he didn’t have to.

  “You’ll just tell me what I can do and I’ll do it.”

  “I’ll know a little more after tonight, but the first thing will be to ensure you make it through your own battle. After that we’ll worry about me.”

  “So I’ll have to go against Clio and the Krewe,” I guessed.

  “No, actually.” He must’ve read the surprise as it swept my face. “I know,” he said. “You’ll be battling someone who is your equal and has fallen to my side. A devil in training. The Krewe, Clio, that whole set, their work is being done now, trying to make the final conversions, grabbing whoever they can. They’ll be helping whoever your nemesis will be, but they’ll mostly be kind of sitting back and watching the mayhem play out.”

  “Okay, so then who am I up against?”

  “We don’t know yet. We won’t know until everyone has been tagged and has sorted out into sides. I’m assuming that I’ll find out and be able to tip you off. But they’re still wary of me, and there’s a lot that goes on that I’m just not included in.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. It’s been hard to walk this line, trying to learn as much as I can without anyone knowing that I’ve found this way to see you.”

  “I know what you mean.” I felt bonded to Lucian by this secrecy, both of us protecting each other by keeping quiet.

  He looked like he was thinking and then, in a heavier tone: “I hope you don’t think that . . . I mean, with Wylie. I hope you don’t think I meant for that to happen, for him to find you, for him to be here instead of me. I promise it was just terrible timing and I should’ve found a way to warn you. It never would have occurred to me that you would have gotten in even with the door locked.”

  “Yeah, I guess I should learn to take a hint. It was a little pushy of me.”

  “I don’t mind pushy.” He smiled. “I just regret that that happened. Truly. I’m not stupid. I know you’re looking for reasons to not trust me and I can’t say I blame you, but I promise I didn’t know he was going to be here,” he said, the pleading clear in his voice. “And I hope you believe me.”

  “I do,” I said simply and it was true. Right now, it was true.

  “But what I really wanted to tell you is just keep strong, Haven. They will attack you with greater force than any of the others— don’t let them wear you down. Know that you can fight them. You can.” A deep gong sounded at the top of the stairs from a grandfather clock that had been added since I had last been here. We both looked up toward it. He sighed.

  “I have to go.” He shook his head, angry, then almost to himself he said, “If they notice I’m gone . . .” Instead of finishing his thought, he lunged, his lips landing on mine. I had wondered if this would happen again, or if it had been a fluke the last time, just an inevitability when you put two people with a history in a dark, empty room after midnight. “I have to go,” he whispered again, still so close to me that I could feel his lips move when he spoke. “I don’t want to, but I have to.”

  I nodded, making no other motion beyond that for a few seconds. And then, not wanting to overstay my welcome either, I got up to go. He grabbed my hand just before it was out of reach.

  “I’ll see you soon. I promise,” he whispered. “Depending on the preparations that start tonight, I may be away a little while. I’ll keep leaving you notes, okay?”

  With that I drifted back outside, the chilly air slapping at my face, waking me up as I walked home.

  I peeked in the front door, no sign of anyone to catch me, and I let myself in as quietly as possible, hustling to my room. I found him standing there, pounding on my door.

  “Hey, what’s up?” I said trying not to sound as guilty as I felt.

  Lance turned around. He was sweating, with skittish, squirrelly eyes. “I was there,” he started. I unlocked the door and he followed me in.

  “What? Where?”

  He paced, holding his head in his hands. “I was there for the partying, for the excitement and the fun and then the rest of it. I don’t know if I did it . . . oh god, oh god, oh god . . . Tell me I didn’t, but I was there. I saw those bodies. I saw those people killed. I saw them take what they wanted from them. I was there, and then I ran away with them. I was there that whole night. I saw it all. And I felt good afterward. How did I feel good after that? What’s wrong with me? What kind of monster must I be?”

  I just watched him, searching for a clue into what he was talking about. It made no sense. He was panting now. “How did this even happen? Why me? What did I do?” He ran both hands through his hair then squeezed his head as though trying to stifle all these cascading, mad thoughts. He stopped pacing, dropped his hands at his sides, and looked at me, expecting me to have answers. But I had nothing. I took both of his arms and gently walked him backwards to Sabine’s bed, sitting him down and taking a seat beside him.

  “What are you talking about, Lance?”

  He took a deep breath now, closing his eyes, then looked at me squarely. “That night I showed up in here? With that thing on my arm? Seeming drunk and out of it? I had been with them. I was with the Krewe.”

  I shook my head. “But how do you know that? You couldn’t remember anything. How can you be so sure?”

  “I don’t know, I just am. I can’t explain it but I fell asleep reading just now and I had these dreams that weren’t dreams. And I felt the same way I had that night—that rush and that excitement, except this time, that feeling came with all these other images. Remember the bodies that turned up the next day?” I nodded. “I could picture all of it like I was there when it happened. And I know that I was. I also know that there was other stuff, too. I thought Sabine was there too, but it’s weird. The image started as Sabine and then I saw this sort of hazy silhouette that I can’t describe. It’s like a blank spot even in this dream, except I know it was her.” He grabbed my arm now, squeezing so tight. “Tell me I didn’t do this stuff, that I’m wrong. What happened to me? Why did I think, at the time, that this felt like the most exciting night of my life? Because it did. And that terrifies me.”

  I let his words and descriptions tally up in my mind and then the connections started to make sense, linking it all to the kinds of th
ings I’d already heard. “What happened to me?” he asked again.

  “You got tagged,” I said simply, studying his eyes. Confusion swept his face and he looked away, as though trying to understand. “They’re trying to draft us, to steal our souls by getting us, I don’t know, infatuated with this feeling of what life is like as one of them. That’s the rush you felt. But if we fight it off then we’ve won and we get to continue on . . . as us, as angels. You made it through, Lance. You fought it and you’re fine.”

  “But I can’t stop seeing these images. I can’t make them stop. And I can’t live with myself if I did some of this stuff. Did I?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t really know how it works.” I felt like a fraud trying to talk him through it all when I hadn’t been tagged myself yet.

  I grabbed his hand and pushed his sleeve all the way up to his shoulder in one quick movement. “But do you see? That marking is gone. And if you looked at my pictures right now, you would look perfect.”

  “Well, it’s little consolation unless I can find out what really happened.” I could understand that. He trudged back to his room, slamming his door shut.

  26. You Only Live Once

  Lance had been especially aloof since the night he had those dreams. Connor had instructed us to levitate him, just to be safe and thorough. And then the others, too: River, Tom, Drew. They had all gotten tagged and we tended to them. Each incident was unique; one might barely be affected and find that marking disappearing quickly, while another would have been lost if not for the group performing its soul extraction. And then, regrettably, there was Brody, who simply failed to come home from the hotline one night and was never seen again. Gone. He and Drew had both gotten tagged that evening, but she had turned up in the courtyard and we got to her fast. That made all the difference.