Echo Into Darkness: Book 2 in The Echo Saga (Teen Paranormal Romance) (17 page)

"Right," I answered, barely hearing a word she said. I was still turning over in my head the probability that Jaxon and I would come out unscathed. I didn't like the odds one bit.

*******

That night, Becca and I sat in her car across the street from Ciao Italia. We'd gotten there at five to make sure we wouldn't miss Jaxon and Luma arriving. Our breaths came out in white puffs in the unheated car.

Finally, shortly after seven o'clock, the two of them came up the sidewalk, arm in arm. Luma was prettier than I'd remembered. Her skirt stopped about a foot above her knees, and Jaxon snuck a look at her legs when she walked into the restaurant ahead of him.

"For the record, she's not all that hot," Becca said.

"Thanks, Becca." A good friend knew when to lie.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" she asked.

"Yes."

For some reason, after I learned about this date, I'd started thinking about the girl on the bridge again, and the conversation we'd had. One phrase replayed over and over, a broken record, in the recesses of my mind:

This is the only way out. This is the only way out.

At first, the words came as a whisper, inches from my ear, close in and then fading, then close again, until finally I accepted that my subconscious was trying to drill a message home.

Luma had been circling me like a vulture, her shadow growing larger as she got closer: first The Asylum, then the Smoothie Shack, and now the guy I was trying to date. Jaxon had promised to ply Luma tonight and bring me information I could use against the Mutila.

Tomorrow he would tell me how to link the members to the recent crimes, or maybe he'd have learned nothing at all. Then I'd be stuck with the same failing game plan—trying to find out more about the secret society before they found me.

The bridge girl's words had started to take on new meaning. Dodging my problems was getting me nowhere. I had to confront Luma in person and convince her I was not gifted. Convince her I was not worth stalking.
This
, I thought,
was my only way out
.

If I did this tonight, at Ciao Bella, I'd be in a public place, away from her super-sized friend. I had my bracelets on. I'd expelled any pent-up energy and meditated for two hours to bring myself into a calm state of being. My ability was as hidden as it would ever be.

I turned to Becca. "Okay, it's simple. Give me a minute to get into the restaurant bathroom, then call Jaxon."

She nodded. "Tell him it's urgent and I need to see him outside because you've gone missing and I'm worried."

"Right, but you need to
sound
worried."

"My best friend is MIA! Somebody help!" she wailed.

"Take it down a notch. When he comes out to meet you, I'll go to his table and have a chat with tat-girl."

Becca pressed her lips together and shook her head. "I have a bad feeling about this."

"I'll be in and out in a few minutes. She won't try anything in public." Maybe. Hopefully.

Becca's eyes flitted to the restaurant's picture window. "Uh-oh."

I followed her gaze. Jaxon and Luma had taken a seat in the window. Now, when he came outside, he'd be able to see me talking to his date.

"We need to go to your backup plan," she said.

"Crap," I said.

"Run it by me. It can't be that bad."

"Crappity-crappity crap." I smacked the dash.

"Dude."

I put my face in my hands. "I don't have another plan."

"Good. I vote we abort this mission. Getting near this faction chick ranks as one of your all-time worst ideas." She started her car.

I scraped my fingernails through my hair. Movement at the restaurant's door stole my attention.

"Becca."

"This is for your own good. We're going home," she said.

"No. Look who came out of the restaurant."

Keenan Feller stepped to the curb. He was much taller than I would have guessed from the magazine cover, and a wiry kind of lean, but I recognized him right away. Next to him was a teenage girl in a blue ski jacket. She adjusted her knit cap, swaying her head to the left, then right, as if looking for a shadow she could slink into. A second later, the valet drove up in a Lamborghini. Keenan guided the girl to his car and when she hesitated, he seized her arm and coerced her inside. He climbed into the driver's seat and sped off.

"She's alive," I said.

"Who is?"

"That's the girl from the bridge." My words were airy as this settled in.

"No way."

"Omigod. Go!" I yelled.

"What?"

"Follow him. I want to know where he's taking her."

"Echo, I love you, but this is a monumentally bad idea. He's famous. He's probably her guardian or uncle or something."

"She didn't want to get in that car. Something is wrong. Go, before we lose them." There could have been thousands of blue ski jackets in Portland, but what were the chances someone else wore it with the same striped knit hat? I knew,
just knew
it was her. I was so thrilled to see her alive that nothing else mattered. Not Luma. Not Jaxon. The thought of losing sight of her again had an unexpected effect. Sadness swelled my chest. Of all the ridiculous things, I felt like I might cry.

"We can't lose them. I have to find out if she's okay," I said.

Becca let out a sigh and pulled onto the street.

I dropped low in my seat. "Keep your distance. I don't want him to know he's being followed."

"Duh."

Keenan slowed for a stoplight and we caught up fast. He zipped over the Morrison Bridge and into the southeast part of town, never getting more than a couple of blocks ahead. We followed him into a neighborhood overtaken by foreclosure signs. Windows on houses were broken. The entire street seemed forgotten.

Becca pulled to the curb at the end of the street. If we went any further down this abandoned stretch, he would notice us for sure. I thought we were going to lose him, but the next block down, Keenan's brake lights lit up. He backed up and turned into a driveway. She and I looked at each other in surprise.

A few seconds later, another car rounded the corner. Its headlights were off. It turned down the same driveway.

"Something wrong with this picture?" Becca asked.

"Rich guy with a teenage girl in a crummy neighborhood meeting people."

We stared down the darkened street. The wind howled.

"What if it's a drug deal? We should go," she said.

I opened the passenger door. "I'll be back in ten minutes."

"Where are you going?" She got out. "You're not going up there. They could be selling meth. You could get killed."

"It's not drugs. Go back to the car."

"What is it, then?" She stayed on my heels.

"Shh!" I hugged the shadows.

Another car, sans headlights, pulled into a dirt and grass driveway. We followed it to an older two-story house with a wide front porch. Windows on the first floor were boarded up. A porch swing creaked in the wind.

A second-floor light came on and heavy curtains closed over the window, shutting in most of the light.

A shiver went toe-to-toe against my courage. I still had all my limbs, hadn't lost any blood, and was only partially grounded. I did not know what was happening in the house, but I sensed it was meant for exclusive eyes only. Why else would these people gather covertly in an abandoned neighborhood? And why did they need the gifted girl?

Warnings about the Mutila rang through my head. If we were caught spying, I was certain nobody would lecture us about trespassing. We would be facing a darker, uncertain fate.

If it weren’t for the girl, I could have walked away.

"I need to find out what's going on in there," I said.

We crept to the side of the house. Whoever nailed the boards over the windows had done a sloppy job. I was able to peer through the gaps into the darkened first floor. A shadow passed by on the inside and I scrunched to the ground. My heart thundered.

"There's someone in there." I whispered and I glanced over my shoulder. No Becca.

A squeak drew my attention upward.

"Over here." She was around the corner, climbing the trellis on the back of the house.

"What are you doing?"

"Part of the upstairs window is uncovered. We can see inside," she whispered back.

The trellis creaked under her weight. In one swift movement, she scooched her butt onto the ledge and became a dark blotch against the inky sky. She heaved herself onto the roof and disappeared. Her footsteps treaded softly overhead.

"Oh man, oh man." I paced, throwing an occasional glare at the second story. I debated what to do in stuttered starts and pauses: go after her-stay-go see what was happening-stay on the ground because climbing was out of the question. Definitely out of the question.

Icicles of dark energy seeped out of the house and jabbed under my skin. "Come down!" I whispered loudly as I dared.

"Oh. My. G—" Becca scrambled to the edge of the roof. The whites of her eyes cut through the night. "You have to get up here!"

Chapter 20

Becca disappeared again. She had no idea what she was asking. I
hated
being more than a few feet off the ground. But she was up there because of me, and she wasn't coming down.

I had two choices: I could levitate to the roof or climb. Floating ten feet off the ground was about as appealing as sticking my hand in a nest of snakes. My fear of heights made levitation all the more challenging and unpredictable. Plus, if I cracked open my ability, I may as well ring the doorbell and announce my presence to the paranormal agents doing who-knew-what inside.

I gritted my teeth and grabbed hold of the trellis. Placed a shaky foot on the crossbar and started climbing. Right away, nausea set in.

The wood was rough and splintered and some of the crossbars were missing. Wood strained against nails. The slat beneath my foot bowed under my weight.

I reached the ledge of the roof and nerves tossed my stomach. I rolled onto the shingles and inched across the incline to the window.

"We need to leave. Now," I said into Becca's ear.

She shook her head and shifted so I could see through the part in the curtains.

A dozen people sat in chairs around a waist-high platform. They wore plain white masks with a black mark painted under one eye. One person stood next to the platform, wearing a gold mask and holding a tall gold staff. Based on the way they were dressed—in everyday khakis and office shirts, I guessed they were all men. Keenan might have been behind the gold mask, but I couldn't be sure.

A small, motionless figure lay on the platform with her eyes closed. Brown hair gathered around her shoulders. She wore jeans and a short sleeve t-shirt. A monarch butterfly was tattooed above her elbow.

Becca's breath dampened my ear. "Is that her?"

I nodded.

The gold-masked guy gestured to the others, and though I could hear his voice, it was too muffled to make out what he was saying. He reached beneath the platform and brought out a silver chalice. He said a few more words, and the men sitting in chairs went rigid. They looked at the person sitting on either side of them the way you would if they were contaminated with an awful disease.

The man in gold reached into the chalice and pulled out a square of paper. He held it to the girl's face. From our spot, I could see that it was a photograph. Her eyes snapped open and fixed on the photo. Her chest rose and fell rapidly.

"What's happening?" Becca whispered.

The girl lifted an arm toward the ceiling, causing the seated men to jerk and tremble. She pumped her hand open and closed. A bolt of lightning erupted over her head and struck the floor with a loud
SNAP
.

The walls crackled with electricity. Fingers of it danced toward the girl, reaching and receding and eventually filling the room. Lightning flared, leaving burn marks on the walls and floor.

"Omigod, omi—" I slapped my hand over Becca's mouth. Her eyes were big as saucers. If she lost it up here, we would be in serious trouble.

The lightning snapped and faded. Even from my place on the roof, I could see the masked people quivering in their chairs.

The girl pointed at one of the men. The wall behind him went white with electric charge and he burst into flames.

Becca and I let out sharp inhales.

The burning man jumped from his chair, desperately trying to pat out the fire. The flames grew. He ran to the door and tugged at the doorknob. When he couldn't open it, he began pounding and screaming for someone to let him out.

The onlookers clenched the seats of their chairs, too terrified to move. The man in gold watched calmly while the burning man got on his knees and begged. When this had no effect, his shoulders drooped in submission. He raised two trembling fingers in the upside down V sign that I'd seen on the magazine cover.