Daemons in the Mist (The Marked Ones Trilogy: Book One) (2 page)

2

You Don’t See Me

Monday, January 9th

PATRICK

E
very morning they arrived by luxury sport car, chauffeured town car, or taxi. I came via MUNI. My parents were just barely well-off enough to get me into Bayside Academy. They were apparently
not
wealthy enough to let me drive a car in the city.

I didn’t mind the bus, really—you could find the most interesting people in San Francisco on the bus. Foreign grandmothers chatting in a language you couldn’t understand. Convention goers with badges that proudly touted their names for all to see. Art students carrying more supplies than body mass. Urban yuppies playing with the newest handheld tech. A whole city’s worth of culture crammed like sardines in a 320 square-foot space. If you wanted to get to know a city—I mean
really
wanted to know it—then riding its public transit was the way to go.

I never felt more at home—more like I was part of something—than when I was crammed among all the people on the bus. Just a tiny piece in the sea of life. Occasionally I would get the stares from those who recognized my school uniform and would give me that,
why’s a kid like you riding the bus?
look. Mostly they just ignored me, leaving me alone to make up their life stories in my head.

I ignored one such stare and looked out the window. The fog was impressive today, drowning everything in a misty cover. The tops of tall buildings disappeared into it, leaving you to wonder just how tall they
really
were. On mornings like this you were lucky to see a block or two away.

I pulled the signal cord for my stop and fought my way to the door—always an adventure in and of itself. The stops around Market were the worst; most of the time it was like trying to swim upstream through a school of angry fish. Half the time you literally fell off the bus onto the sidewalk as people pushed past you to get on.

The bus lurched to a stop and the doors popped open. I stepped off the bus alone. It wasn’t only the students that didn’t seem to ride the bus around here. Stuffy rich attitudes practically wafted through the air in this part of the city.

Sighing, I started trudging down the sidewalk toward the school. The air whipped past with a biting cold to it. January in San Francisco, cold as crap but at least it wasn’t raining sideways. If you think I’m joking about the rain, I’m not. The wind in San Francisco was a tricky beast; you could walk down one street and have it gently tousling your hair, then turn the corner and get smacked in the face by a gale.

I came to the corner and took a deep breath before I crossed the street to the school. Bayside Academy was a nice enough school, but it was hard to feel at home in a place filled with the children of diplomats and CEOs.

The campus sported an impressive amount of grass and trees for being in the middle of a city. The building itself was three stories with a glassed-over atrium and underground parking—but what didn’t have underground parking in the city, really?

The front of the school was nearly deserted. Like most winter mornings, everyone was in a hurry to get into the building—though most wouldn’t
actually
make it to class until just before the bell rang.

As I neared the entrance of the school building, an electric blue Aston Martin Vanquish pulled into the last available spot in the above-ground parking. Everyone stared—in a parking lot of nice cars this one was in a league completely its own. The door opened, and Nualla Galathea stepped out, shuddering at the cold. I stood transfixed as she glided toward the building in front of me, arm in arm with her cousin Nikkalla “Nikki” Varris. They didn’t look at me as they passed, and I fell into step behind them.

Nualla had the most beautiful hair I had ever seen. Not the short kind of long we see in magazines and movies today, but the kind straight out of a Pre-Raphaelite painting. Black loose spirals spilling down her back to just below her hips. It might have seemed old fashioned if it wasn’t for the lapis-blue streaks through parts of it. Her cousin Nikki’s hair was in sharp contrast—pale blond with a few light blue streaks on either side and a short a-line cut. But the two of them were extremely similar in build with the same slender waspish shapes of dancers, heart shaped faces, and large eyes.

They were some of the extremely popular kids, but theirs was an odd sort of popularity. With that much beauty and wealth, they should probably have had hordes of friends. But they didn’t. Instead they seemed to spend the majority of their time with Shawn Vallen. And although the three of them were friendly to all the students, they mostly kept to themselves. But it was a self-imposed isolation; most of the students at the school looked at them with a strange sense of admiration. In a lot of towns the beautiful popular kids would have used their gifts as an excuse to abuse the other “lesser” students, but not these three.

I had never heard Nualla say anything unkind to another person. Well, aside from one really. The only person she seemed to openly despise was Michael Tammore. Which was perfectly alright with me, since he was a pretentious wank anyways.
He
was one of those people who used their power to abuse others. Michael routinely picked on the shy, the less affluent, and anyone he felt was less intelligent than himself.

My friends, on the other hand, were the kind of friends you always hung out with at school, but who never seemed to call you to do things on the weekend. Well, with the exception of my best friend Connor. There wasn’t a Saturday that went by that he wasn’t hanging out at my place or me at his.

My friends and I definitely weren’t the most popular kids in school, but we also weren’t the least popular ones either. We were somewhere in the realm of people not caring. No one aspired to be us, and no one shoved us in the janitor’s closet. Our little group was made up of Connor, Sara, Beatrice, Jenny and myself. We had ended up sitting together the first week of freshman year and had just never bothered to find new seats…or friends.

After a quick trip to my locker I had walked into Trig—my least favorite class—and taken my usual seat in the back of the room next to Connor. Trig had gone by as it normally did—
painfully
. I liked Mr. Savenrue—really I did—but Trig was just about the
least
interesting thing in the world.

Connor and I left class heading for our lockers when Nualla came out of the Calculus class next to us. I opened my mouth to say something to her. “Hey.”

Nualla turned back toward me, and I held my breath. She had turned, she almost
never
turned. She looked right at me. Well not at me exactly, it was more like
through
me. Her brow furrowed in confusion, and she turned back, and continued walking to her locker.

I let the breath go. I don’t know why I kept trying, it was a lost cause really. I must have been less than nothing to them—to
her
.

Sigh.

Nualla and her friends mostly flat out ignored me—looked right through me—as if I wasn’t even there. It was like they couldn’t see me; like I was invisible. If it wasn’t for the company of my friends, I might even have thought I was a ghost.

However, this did not affect my infatuation with Nualla Galathea. I would watch her—not in a creepy stalker way, but more in observational awe—like one would admire a statue or a beautiful painting. I noticed everything about her, but she had only looked at me once, the first day I had ever seen her. She had been walking to a table in the atrium with her friends and had looked up and smiled at me through the glass.

As I watched Nualla travel down the hall to our next class, I popped my locker open. After nearly four years here, I really didn’t have to look too hard to spin the dial to the correct combination. Nualla stopped at her locker and dropped her bag inside in one swift, beautiful gesture of her arm. Every movement she made was like a graceful dance. I don’t know why I hadn’t given up on her yet and gotten myself a real girlfriend. It was just…something in me just couldn’t seem to let it go. Like some piece of me knew something I didn’t. Though I did wish it would get over itself and let me in on the secret.

“Are you staring at that Galathea girl
again
?” Connor asked with a sigh as he folded his arms and leaned against the locker next to mine. His hair was a well-kept spray of dreads pulled neatly into a ponytail. His mother had probably gotten on his case again and threatened to cut it off if he didn’t keep it neat. Which—knowing Connor—would probably last for all of a few weeks before it started getting into disarray again.

Connor looked over at Nualla before looking back at me and rolling his eyes. “I’m telling you man—
never
gonna happen.”

“Yeah, I know,” I sighed as I turned back to my locker and tossed my bag in.

Mr. Lucas had demanded we not bring bags to Chemistry, so no one would accidentally trip over them. He had said something to the effect of, “This is chemistry, not physics. We don’t need to see what happens when someone falls on their face.”

“We need to get to class, you coming?”

“You go ahead, I’ll catch up,” I replied, though I wasn’t really listening because I was still starting at Nualla without
actually
appearing to look at her—a skill in and of itself.

“Well hurry up, I heard a rumor that Mr. Lucas is switching up our seats again,” Connor said and strode off toward our Chem II class.

“‘Kay,” I said, but he probably hadn’t heard me, considering in a few seconds flat he was already halfway down the hall. But then again, he was a 6’4” black kid, and most of that was legs.

I closed my locker with a sigh. I really couldn’t stand around staring anymore, and I would see her in Mr. Lucas’ class anyways. So tablet in hand I started walking toward class, my eyes fixed on Nualla under the pretense that I was looking at the hallways beyond her.

After only a few steps, a sudden piercing headache flashed across my eyes. I stumbled and dropped my tablet on my shoe. It bounced off the white rubber tip of my black All Stars and skidded across the floor. As I bent down to get it I rubbed my temple. Things like this actually happened to me more than I wanted to admit. Though not enough that I’d ever bothered to mention it to my parents.

When I stood up, Michael was standing next to Nualla, and they were having a heated argument. They both seemed fuzzy and out of focus, like they were much farther away than they should have been. And the more I concentrated on trying to look at them the fuzzier they got and the more my head hurt.

I would have just gone to class and taken some Advil if it had not been for what I saw next.

NUALLA

I
knew what was going to happen a split second before it did. I always knew with Michael. As good as he was with his illusionary abilities, I could always feel the impact to the air as he prepared to release it.

Michael grabbed my arm. “You’re going with me to the Winter Ball.”

“No, I assure you,
I’m
not
.” I jerked away from him, folded my arms and glared at him with contempt.

“Then who are you going with?”

Frak!
I hadn’t
actually
asked anyone yet.

I looked out at the nearly vacant hall; the students that were still there were shuffling to their lockers or dashing off to class completely unaware of us. Then again, Michael
was
using his influence to make them not notice us.

“I don’t have to tell you,” I said, moving my hands to my hips to appear more solid. Michael was a good five inches taller than me, so I needed all the help I could get.

“I can
make
you,” he said, lifting my chin with his finger so I was forced to look into his eyes.

I pushed him away with all my strength and tried to step past him. “You wouldn’t
dare
.” Michal’s illusionary abilities weren’t nearly as potent as his persuasion abilities, trust me I had learned
that
one the hard way.

In one swift motion Michael reached out and slammed me against the locker. “Enough of your games, Nualla! We both know you are not going to choose a human mate, so why do you keep picking them and not—”

“And not
you
, you mean? Because I would rather have
anyone’s
company than yours.”

Michael stood there silently, looking just the slightest bit stunned, but he didn’t remove his hold on my shoulders. The truth was I could say all the snide things I wanted, but I couldn’t get away. He was much stronger than me. He knew it. I knew it.

The bell rang and the last remaining students fled the halls. I closed my eyes and made a desperate silent plea for help even though I knew it was hopeless.

And then something weird happened.

I heard the faintest clatter—nearly inaudible to the human ear—and then an unfamiliar voice demanded, “Get your hands off of her—
now
.”

My eyes shot open, and both Michael and I turned in the same moment to stare. In the hall stood a guy I had never seen before.

“Who the hell are
you
?” Michael said, in a voice that nearly betrayed just how surprised he was. Which was exactly what
I
was thinking. I had attended Bayside Academy all four years and could never remember seeing this guy before—and that’s saying a lot considering the school is pretty damn small.

“It doesn’t matter who I am, that’s no way to treat a girl. Especially one who’s
not
your girlfriend,” the guy answered, glaring at Michael.

I could feel Michael’s hold on my shoulders tighten. This guy had found Michael’s one fatal flaw—his pride. It was common knowledge that Michael got whatever he wanted. However, only a few people knew that Michael coveted one thing more than anything else on earth. The one thing he couldn’t seem to possess. Me. But somehow this guy had figured that out and had thrown it in Michael’s face. The guy was either supremely lucky, or had a death wish.

“I said, let. Her.
Go
,” the mysterious guy demanded, taking a step closer.

“What are you, a white knight or something?” Michael asked with disdain as his hands slipped from my shoulders.

The guy crossed his arms. “When worthless punks like
you
make me. So yeah, I guess today, I am.”

Michael glared at him with a look more deadly than I had ever seen him use; his hands balling up into fists at his sides. I just gaped at the stranger, he might as well have just poked an enraged tiger with a sharp stick. This was about to get ugly.