5
“S
eventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty!” I collapsed on the floor and stared up at the ceiling, wheezing like an asthmatic.
My stomach muscles burned and cramped, my sweaty T-shirt clung to my body, I smelled like complete ass, but I sure felt good. Exercise was a great outlet for aggression, and nothing served that purpose better than Tae Bo. I punched and kicked for over an hour, imagining the open air touching my fist was Caleb's face.
That little stunt in his room really ticked me off, which caused profuse swearing and excessive road rage during the drive home. Each mental replay of the incident made me angrier, but I couldn't quite pinpoint why. I had two options: either curl into a ball and cry all night or invest that energy on something constructive, so I decided on a late night workout.
Plus, Mia's little comment about my spare tire struck a nerve. She was, as my guidance counselor would say, acting on her feelings, but the truth often came out through anger. All the same, it was time to push away from the dinner table and get my fitness on. Just because I was a preternatural man-magnet didn't mean I could let myself go. I did, after all, have a boyfriend to look cute for. Or at least I thought I did.
I opened the window to air out my room, which now had the dank odor of an old gym sock. While getting ready for a shower, everything around me went black. The power went out and all the faint background noises that came with electricity went with it, making the silence more acute. I could see the streetlights outside, so I knew only my house was affected. Normally, I would've freaked out, but since this was the third time tonight that this had happened, I was just annoyed.
I flung my door open and yelled out into the hallway. “Mom!”
“Sorry, honey! One second!” she called from the bottom floor.
Staying close to the walls, I relied on memory and repetition to guide me downstairs. “What are you doing?” I asked.
“Just trying to get these lights to work. One of the bulbs is broken and now the whole thing won't light up.” Mom stood at the front door holding a string of bulbs and a pair of binoculars in her hands.
I groaned and met her by the door, knowing that this was the third stage of the holiday madness.
Phase three: the lawn.
Mom never did anything halfway, so if it blinked, chimed, or twinkled, it was probably in our yard, blinding those who drove by our house. Since she was going for something less gaudy this year, she had to downsize, which was driving her crazy. Her obsession with having the perfect holiday was interfering with me and a hot shower, and that just wasn't going to fly. “Mom, you have got to stop doing this. Just let it go.”
“Shh!” She stepped onto the porch, letting all the heat out of the house while spying on the neighbors across the street. Mom placed the binoculars in front of her eyes and scoped out the competition. “Look at them. They think they're so much with their halogen lights and surround sound.”
I followed her gaze to the yard across the street. Their landscape was always perfectly groomed and stayed green all year, and I had to admit that their display was quite impressive. Baby Jesus and the gang stood on the lawn under a soft glow from inside the manger. A pair of eight-foot angels guarded the scene, their halos blinking in time with the tune of
Silent Night
. “The Cunningham's have a new theme this year, too,” I noted.
“The nativity scene. How original,” Mom sneered. “All of a sudden they decide to get a new concept. Did they tap my phone or something?” She spied through the binoculars again. “They're not gonna win. Not this year. Oh shoot, I think she saw me! Duck, honey!” Mom dipped behind the railing on the porch.
Refusing to cater to the crazy, I waved to my neighbor like a sane person. “Hi, Mrs. Cunningham!”
The slim brunette, wearing fuzzy earmuffs and a skin-tight snow suit that made her resemble a ski bunny, paused on her way to her car. She was what Mom often described as a trophy wife, due to being twenty years younger than Mr. Cunningham and having been under the knife more than a Butterball turkey. “Hello, Samara. Looks like you guys have power trouble. Are you all right?” she said.
“Yeah, just a tripped wire. I just need to hit the fuse box.”
She treaded across the lawn and moved in for a closer look. “Julie? Julie, is that you?”
Swearing under her breath, Mom pulled out of her hiding place. “Debra, hi! How are you?” she yelled cheerfully.
“Oh, I'm wonderful, thank you. I notice you have a new theme, too. Minimalism, I see. It's cute, very practical for those on a budget,” Mrs. Cunningham said with a smile so wide I could see it from the street.
“Yes, but less is more, you know.” Mom threw her head back and laughed, sounding super loud and extra fake. Waving back, she mumbled through grinning teeth, “I hate you.”
“Um . . . yeah, I'm gonna go turn the lights back on.” I left Mom to her obsession and entered the kitchen. After clicking on the circuit breaker, the house came alive with a blast of music from the radio, blinking digital clocks, and the soft whirl of electrical appliances.
With that accomplished, I returned upstairs and took a shower, where Caleb continued to intrude on my thoughts. I still couldn't believe he fed off a woman with me right in the room. More to the point, I couldn't believe I stuck around to watch. Neither of them were naked or anything, but the whole exchange was just as pervy as if they were.
Maybe I was reading more into this than I should. Sucking the life force out of people didn't have to mean anything personal. Caleb didn't seem to have a problem turning his emotions on and off, so what was my issue? It was only food, right?
I dried off and entered my room with a new resolution: to cut loose and stop sweating the little things. I was sick of being cautious and worried all the time, and it was the Cambion motto to celebrate life as long as we could.
While digging in my drawer for some pajama bottoms, the lights went out again.
“Mom!” I yelled.
When I didn't get an answer, I turned and noticed the hallway light leaking under my door. I looked to my night stand and saw the glowing red numbers on the alarm clock blinking in the dark. I opened the door and poked my head out to find all the lights on in the house except mine.
Confused, I stepped back into my room and closed the door.
The scream that followed didn't travel far. Mom was probably still outside fighting with the lights and the neighbors. The radio in the kitchen blasted old Christmas tunes, which would likely drown out any noise I made. But I was pretty sure the lack of sound had to do with the leather-clad hand trapping my mouth.
A hard body pressed against my backâI could tell by the woodsy cologne and the prickly stubble that grazed my cheek that it was definitely male. His hot breath covered my ear when he whispered, “Don't be scared.”
It's pretty damn late for that, buddy!
I thought as I tried to wiggle free. I gave him a good jab in the gut with my elbow and the heel of my foot struck his shin.
“Samara! Stop! It's me!”
I kicked and squirmed in his hold. My teeth worked through his glove until I caught the fleshy meat of his hand, then bit down hard. He yelped and pulled his hand away, and I seized my moment of escape. I punched blindly in the dark, aiming for anything solid.
“Mom! Get the gun!” I yelled and reached for the door, but a pair of strong arms trapped my waist again and pulled me back.
I kept screaming and stomped the floor, hoping, praying that Mom could hear the noise. I kicked my feet up until they lay flat against the wood of the door, then pushed backward with all the strength I had in my legs.
The force made him stumble, and he tripped over books and clutter scattering the floor. Being a slob had come in handy tonight, and my room was a death trap for those unfamiliar with the rugged terrain. What followed was a long, clumsy tumble to the floor and I fought my attacker all the way down. Hands and feet flew everywhere as we rolled on the carpet. My nails clawed at skin and hair, but as hard as I tried, he was just too strong.
He rolled on top of me, straddled my hips, and pinned my arms over my head. “Stop! I'm not gonna hurt you. It's me, Flower. I had to find you,” he said.
I stopped struggling and searched for the face in the darkness. “What did you call me?” Only one person called me by that name, the only one who had eyes that shimmered like brass. The color began to change from bronze to gold, his emotions turning the dial on high. If I had any doubt who he was, Lilith's reaction closed that deal. Instead of flips and jitters in my belly, she seemed to bristle with aggression. I could feel her rising to the surface, ready to attack as if all her past efforts to be with him meant nothing. My enemy was now hers, and for the life of me, I couldn't understand why.
“I can't talk long, but I need your help,” he said. “I'm trapped. I can't get out. I need you to find me. I'm locked away somewhere not far from here, but I can't move.”
“What? I-Iâ”
“Listen to me!” He shook me to attention. “You have to find my body. It's weak and will decay if I don't return to it. It will die. I don't have much time. Please, Flower, help me.”
“Your body? I don't understand. If your body is trapped, then what am I looking at?” That really was a legit question, because it was too dark to see anything, nothing but the familiar amber glow that hurt my eyes.
As an answer, light from the hallway poured into the room as the door flew open. Mom stepped in, holding her trusty Louisville slugger with every intent on using it for murder. When she spotted the man hovering over me, the world had officially come to an end. Heaven had poured out the deadly plagues out onto the earth and landed dead center in my bedroom.
Letting out a battle cry, Mom swung the bat, and almost knocked his head clean off. That one strike was so hard; the air that whooshed past my head felt like a slap. The man slammed into the wall by the opened window from where I suspected he entered. I jumped to my feet and went for the light on the lamp by my bed. One click explained the sudden darkness. He must have turned it off when I wasn't looking.
“Samara, go downstairs and call the police. Now!” Mom ordered and aimed her bat at the intruder.
There was no way I was leaving her alone. Was she nuts? “Mom, wait, you don't understandâ”
“Go, Samara!” she commanded.
“That's Tobias!” I pointed to the body.
Mom barely seemed to register my words, but when she did, she looked at me. “What? How did he get in here?”
“Through the window, I'm guessing.”
She stared at the open window and then back to me. “You said blessed oil would keep an incubus out. How did he get in here?”
Good question, one of many I didn't have the answer to. We both looked to the unconscious man sprawled on the floor. Now that I had a good look at him, he didn't look like Tobias at all, but his face was very familiar. From the hulky build to the turtleneck sweater, I knew him as the creepy guy in the elevator earlier tonight.
Possibilities ran through my head in quick-fire succession. Maybe he was overtaken by the Cambion draw and followed me home. But that wouldn't explain why he had golden eyes or why he called me “Flower”. That was Tobias's pet name for me and no one else knew about it. Maybe Tobias was playing chameleon again and was passing himself off as this poor guy, but that wouldn't explain how he broke the protective shield around my house. My mental process came full circle, returning to the original question: How did he get inside without detection?
I stepped forward and kicked his foot, which limply fell back into place. The guy was out cold and wasn't about to get up anytime soon.
“Get away from him! We don't know what he'll do.” Mom pulled me behind her.
“There's something wrong,” I said. As if to prove my point, the body moved.
Mom and I screamed at the same time and retreated toward the wall. In that same instant, my cell phone rang, which made us scream even louder. I inched to my desk and grabbed my phone, knowing immediately who it was. No doubt he could feel my distress and was checking on me. Whatever issues I had with Caleb had fallen to the wayside, and hearing his voice right now became my only salvation.
“Sam, where are you? What's going on? Why are you scared?” Caleb kept spouting off questions, each one making his voice climb a higher pitch.
“He's here. I-I don't know how, but . . .” I looked to the body lying on the floor, which was still twitching. His chest jerked up and down, and his stomach flexed as if he was about to throw up. This man obviously needed help, but all I could do was watch in stunned horror.
“Sam! Talk to me! What's going on? Who's there with you? Sam, can you hear me?”
The man's torso lifted into the air to where only his shoulders and feet remained on the floor. His head turned to the side and he parted his mouth slightly, preparing to yawn. But instead of air going in, something came out. Small at first, a trickle of drool, then it expanded into a fountain of inky fluid. It took a few blinks to understand that it wasn't blood, or even liquid, but vapor.