Dark Star (10 page)

Strong arms whipped around me. Headfirst in his chest, I didn’t know who held me upright—but I understood that he didn’t mean me harm. My senses returned, and my Knowing, jarring and sudden, told me I was safe. I gasped for air. My breath had been knocked from me and my thoughts wouldn’t organize themselves. Everything felt out of focus, as though some disconnect existed between my body and the world. I caught small, disjointed details: the smell of leather and blood; the pain that snaked across my ankles; the rapid, birdlike beating of my heart.

A voice intruded. “Might want to reconsider this rushheadlong-into-danger bit of yours, angel. You’re not quite the bright shining star your mum is. Your light’s a touch shy, yet, isn’t it?”

In a daze, I struggled to make sense of that. The voice was familiar, the trace of an accent, the hint of amusement—

Somewhere nearby, another man spoke. “This is the second time in two weeks.”

The man holding me answered. “I run a popular establishment.” An icy silence. “What would you like me to say? I can’t control them any more than you can. I rang you as soon as I saw her—terribly sorry if I ruined your night. I thought there might bea…problem.”

A short laugh came from the other man. “A problem. You keep rescuing Kin girls, your friends will give you plenty of those.”

“I can’t resist a damsel in distress. Especially one as eager for trouble as our little dark star here.”

I felt as though I were swimming upward through a fog, groping toward an unreachable surface. Nothing I saw made sense. There were only fragments: the dirty pavement, the angle of the man’s shoulder, a dark slash of night. I struggled to arrange them. Voices, I thought. Familiar voices—both of them.

I jerked away, or tried to, but my body wasn’t working. The man who had caught me eased his grip and took a step backward, and for the first time, I saw him plainly.

Wordless, bewildered, I gaped at him. I knew his face. I knew his sandy hair and dark green eyes. I’d seen him once before, when Tink dangled helpless in his arms. The man with the Drought and Deluge shirt.

“You,” was all I managed to choke out.

“So it would seem,” he agreed.

But before that information could sink in, I was in for a bigger shock. A hand came down on my shoulder, and I whirled, wobbling, until a second hand steadied me. I looked upward, directly into the unsmiling eyes of Mr. Alvarez. And if he wasn’t the last person on earth I ever expected to come to my aid, he was certainly in the top ten.

“Can you stand on your own?” he asked. I gave him a slow, numb nod, the best I could manage, and he turned toward the other man. “You know who she is. You didn’t call her mother?”

The man looked down at his hands. “I thought I’d let you handle this mess. I’ve grown rather fond of living.”

“I doubt she’d kill you. She hasn’t yet.”

“Maybe not, but I also prefer my limbs attached.”

The world had definitely flipped upside down. I stared at Mr. Alvarez, struggling for rational thought. I’d never seen him outside of school before, and it suddenly struck me as absurd that he wore raggedy jeans and a leather jacket. Not to mention that his hair was spiked straight up. I felt a bubble of laughter rise in my throat even as I swayed on my feet.

He steadied me again. “We need to get you home.”

I moved automatically, letting him guide me. I thought I might pass out; there was darkness behind my eyes, and nausea waved through me. My throat felt thick and dry.

It wasn’t the pain. That was fading. I felt as though something were missing, like I was a glass of water and half of me had been poured out. It took a long moment for me to realize that I was no longer in the alley, that the lights of downtown had returned and the roar in my ears was the Friday night traffic outside the Drought and Deluge. Mr. Alvarez had brought me to a car.

From the chaos of my thoughts, panic flared. “Gideon,” I croaked out. I wasn’t certain how much time had passed, but he must have noticed my absence by now.

Mr. Alvarez didn’t seem to register my words. He pulled open the car door and set me inside. I said it again, and this time he bent toward me to ask, “He was with you?”

I managed to nod.

He stepped back from the car, hesitated a moment, then said, “Sit tight. I’ll take care of it.”

Inside, the car was warm. A deep chill had spread through my body, and I leaned back against the seat. I took long, slow breaths. Mr. Alvarez’s car smelled like french fries and mechanical heat. Curling my legs against me, I closed my eyes and listened to the hum of the motor.

I was dreaming.

I had to be dreaming.

I was only dreaming.

And repeating this to myself, I fell asleep.

***

The sound of the car door slamming woke me. Confusion returned. I hadn’t slept long, or deeply, and I remembered that I was in a car, but I still couldn’t make sense of what had happened. Gram’s cloak was wrapped around me, but I had somehow lost my shoes. Through the windshield, I saw familiar objects: the mailboxes down my street, damp and gleaming from the storm; the curve of the road, full of leaves; evergreens stretching skyward. And my own walkway, partially obscured by hedges and the hint of ivy.

Mr. Alvarez had walked around to my side of the car. He opened the door and bent to remove me, but stepped back in surprise when I blinked up at him.

“Oh—you’re awake. Can you walk? Do you need me to help you out?”

Although my world was still fuzzy around the edges, I felt more lucid. And I wasn’t about to go anywhere without an explanation.

“You need to tell me what’s going on,” I said, hunkering down in the seat. Even with Gram’s cloak and the heat from the car, I was cold all over. I couldn’t stop shivering.

Mr. Alvarez ran a hand through his spiked-up hair. “Your mother should be here soon.”

My mother. I hadn’t considered until now what she’d say to me. Or do to me.

“She’s going to kill me,” I whimpered. But then another thought struck. It was still early in the evening. Mom and Leon would be out in the dark of the city, where things I’d never before imagined hunted in the streets. Things that seemed human, but weren’t.

My mind caught there.

Not human.

“Whitticomb?” Mr. Alvarez asked. When that didn’t get a response, he added, “Audrey?”

“I’m not moving,” I said. “I’m not going anywhere.” I heard the edge of hysteria in my words, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t going out there, out into the open, empty street, where darkness beckoned and the wind shifted the trees and anything could be waiting, silent and watchful, ready to spring. I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t think. I could barely breathe. I could only sit there, paralyzed, searching for motion along the street.

I don’t know how long I stayed there. It could have been minutes, an hour, forever; it could have been only a second. Time seemed to freeze. Distantly, I was aware of Mr. Alvarez speaking, but I didn’t answer. I sat clutching my cloak around me and thinking of all the stories Gram had whispered and all the things she hadn’t said.

And then, suddenly, there was a shape before me. A tall form in a dark jacket, bending into the car. I caught the curl of dark hair, a searching glance, blue eyes shadowed with concern.

Leon.

“Let’s go,” he said. He slid one of his arms across my back, the other under my knees, and lifted me out of the car.

He set me on my feet and I sank against him. I tucked my head into his shoulder, gripping his shirt. I held tight. In that instant, I didn’t care how angry he could make me. I didn’t care about whatever lecture he had in store. He was familiar—that scent of vanilla and soap, the worry that creased his face, the sound of his voice repeating my name. He was steady, solid. Safe. His arms circled me. His hands were warm. For a moment, I just stood there, leaning against him, breathing, shutting out the world.

Then his arms fell away. Slowly, gently, he reached for my hands. His fingers closed over mine, detaching me from his jacket. He took a step back. His gaze dipped downward to my bare feet in the grass and the blood that had dried on my skin.

I took a shaky breath. His eyes met mine. Neither of us moved. I looked across the darkness at him and recalled another night we’d stood here at the end of the drive. That night he’d first appeared, a strange boy with a backpack and a motorcycle and a secret we shared. I remembered him stepping through the grass toward us, that crooked little smile he wore.

He wasn’t smiling now. Something I couldn’t name flickered in his eyes—and then fury blazed across his face.

He grabbed me by the shoulders, his fingers digging in almost painfully. “What is the matter with you?”

The anger in his voice sent a shock through me. It managed to do what neither the fear that gripped me nor the pain in my ankles had been able to: I started to cry.

I said his name, pleading, my voice trembling, but he wasn’t done yelling at me.

“What were you thinking, Audrey? Why would you go back there? You think nothing can hurt you? Do you know what your mother faces every night? It’s worse than you met. Worse than you can imagine.”

A shudder ran through me. I felt that flash again—blank eyes I’d almost seen, an impression of movement, something sharp against my skin. Tears scalded down my face, and I began to feel hot, crowded, unable to breathe.

“Back off, Farkas. You’re scaring the poor kid.”

That was Mr. Alvarez again. It had never before occurred to me that I’d be grateful for his presence, and now he’d come to my rescue twice in one night.

Leon didn’t release his grip. “She should be scared!”

“No,” Mr. Alvarez said. “She should be educated. She froze up tonight. Fear can be crippling if it’s not overcome.”

My mother’s voice cut in, her tone an echo of Leon’s as she asked, “What the hell happened?”

I tore free of Leon’s grasp, twisting toward my mother. In the darkness of the street, my eyes met hers. She was dressed for work, blending into the night in her black hoodie. Her hair was pulled back, and in the moonlight her face was pale and grim.

I would have gone to her. I wanted nothing more in that moment than to hug my mother, to huddle against her and shut my eyes and forget that anything else existed. But Mr. Alvarez’s next words stopped me.

“It seems that your daughter has met her first demon.”

The words bolted through me.

Suddenly, it was all too much: the strangling fear; the image of those eyes that weren’t eyes and skin that wasn’t skin. The smells of the night—bleach and blood and leather and something rank, like decay. My senses were on overload.

I didn’t go to my mother.

Instead, I turned, stumbling over Gram’s cloak, ran to the hedge, and threw up.

Behind me, the voices stopped. My whole body felt hot, and the edges of my vision darkened briefly, but I didn’t pass out. Tears burned down my cheeks. Dimly, I was aware of someone steering me into the house, a cool washcloth wiping my face, a glass of water being pressed into my hand.

“Sit,” my mother commanded.

I sat.

“You’re okay,” she said. She leaned forward and kissed the top of my head, smoothing my hair with her hand. “You’re okay.”

I nodded, because she seemed to expect it. I didn’t tell her I was afraid I’d left some important part of me at the Drought and Deluge—like maybe my brain—or that I was beginning to feel a little unhinged, and sitting in the parlor with my superhero mother, her sidekick, and my precalculus teacher was not very good for my sanity. And that was without adding demons into the mix.

My skin felt hot again.

“You’re okay,” she said a third time. Then, assured that the shock I’d suffered was not life-threatening, she whirled, stalked toward Mr. Alvarez, and began arguing. “You know I don’t like that word.”

Demon, I presumed. I didn’t like it, either.

“It has its purposes,” Mr. Alvarez answered. “It’s evocative.” He and Mom stood near the doorway, facing each other, both with stern looks and crossed arms. Morning Star versus Math Teacher. Another irrational bubble of laughter rose.

“You used it to force my hand,” Mom said.

“She was attacked,” he retorted. “Your hand was already forced. How long did you really expect to keep her ignorant? What did you think to gain? She needs to know where she comes from.”

“She’s my daughter, Ryan. You have no authority in this. You pull rank, I pull off your arms.”

It was too much effort to try to make sense of this. Turning away, I gulped down water to clear my throat.

Leon had vanished as soon as we entered the house, only to reappear a moment later with the gauze from at least three first-aid kits. Now he pushed Gram’s garage-sale table aside and knelt in front of me, bandaging my ankles.

I was too numb to protest. I just sniffled weakly, staring down at my feet, and said, “You’re making me look like a mummy.”

Without speaking, he pulled a tissue out of nearby box and handed it up to me. He kept his eyes lowered. He wouldn’t look at my face, and I couldn’t look at his. I felt all knotted up inside.

The night had separated into fragments: my mother in her Morning Star hoodie; the alley with its smell of bleach; the air thickening around me; the vanishing lights. Demons.

Demons.

My mind shied away from that thought. I concentrated on little details, trying to orient myself. I focused on the air. The windows were open, and the cool autumn wind pushed in, smelling of rain. I watched Leon’s hands. His hands were really too big for the rest of him. A long, slender scar snaked down the back of one, forming a hook at his wrist.

Mom and Mr. Alvarez went right on arguing.

“We’re not having this conversation here,” Mom was saying. She flicked a glance toward me, like she’d suddenly remembered I had ears.

“Secret’s out, Luce. Hiding things now will only make it worse.”

“Let’s try this again: my daughter, my business.”

“You know I’m right. She’s a target because of who she is, and you can’t change that. She deserves the care and protection of the Kin.”

Kin.

He’d said that earlier, in the alley.