Hexed (9 page)

I
stumble back a few steps, turn, and run. People swear and complain as I charge through the crowd, back downstairs, and through the living room, but I couldn’t care less right now. I just need to get out. I need space. I need
air.

Paige calls my name somewhere behind me, but I don’t stop. I don’t stop when I stumble out the front doors into the thick night air. I don’t stop when Paige runs up behind me, begging me to wait. I don’t stop until I reach the car, and even then I don’t want to slow down. Not really. Because then I’ll have to face what I just saw—Devon and Bianca. In bed. Together.

I brace my hands on the pockmarked hood of the Sunfire to keep from crumpling to my knees.

“Ind, wait up!” Paige jogs up to the car, gulping for air. “What’s going on?”

Good question.

“I think you missed your true calling,” Bishop says, hiking his pants up as he saunters over. “The Renegades could really use you on offense.”

“Not funny,” Paige says, wrapping an arm around me.

I haven’t had a single drink, and yet I’ve never felt closer to puking.

Devon and Bianca? I mean, sure, she flirted with him, and yeah, he flirted back, but I always thought that was as far as it went. I thought he loved me. I thought she was my best friend.

But I should have seen it coming. She’s Bianca—she always gets what she wants. And he’s got a dick.

“Shit, are you crying again?” Bishop asks.

“No.” But when I touch my cheek my fingers come away wet. I turn my back to him.

“Come, now,” he says. “Is it because they ran out of bruschetta?”

“Still not funny.” Paige pats my back and shushes me, which makes me feel about five. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

I shake my head.

Bishop comes around the car and paces in front of me. “Ten bucks it’s about Quarterback Jack.”

I cover my face with my hands.

“Oh shit,” Bishop says. “I was just joking.”

“Why are you still here?” Paige yells, and then she’s talking to me in her calming voice again. “Is it something Bianca did? Want me to punch her in the face?”

I look at her through laced fingers.

“Just kidding,” she says gently. “The ovaries.”

I let out a tiny laugh, and Paige hugs me closer.

“Okay, so we’re all done, then?” Bishop kind of hops in one spot and refuses to make eye contact with me.

I swipe my hands over my cheeks and take a shaky breath. This is stupid. There are much bigger and more pressing things for me to worry about right now. Like Mom, and the Bible, and school, and, I don’t know, world hunger. So what if Bianca and I have a lifetime of memories? If she knows me better than any one person should be allowed to know another? If I can hardly think of a single childhood memory that she wasn’t a part of ?

And he’s just one stupid guy. One stupid guy I wasted the past eight months of my life on. Who cares about his lopsided smile and his clear blue eyes? And so what if he smells like apples and soap, and after being near him I can catch his scent on my clothes for hours afterward and it makes my stomach flutter like there are a million little tap dancers inside me?

My face crumples up again and out comes a fresh wave of sobs.

“Oh, come on,” Bishop says. “He’s obviously really stupid if he’d choose that chick over you.”

“Shut up,” I mumble.

“I mean it,” he says. “She’s so obvious. Blond hair, big tits. It’s really lame. Even if her tits are pretty nice.”

I groan.

“I’m kidding! They’re just mediocre.”

“Screw off already,” I say.

He sighs. “Okay, forget about those guys. You’re much better off without them. Trust me.”

“Yeah,” Paige says cautiously, obviously reluctant to agree with him about anything. “He’s right.”

I straighten, not because I believe any of the crap they’re feeding me, but because I’m sick of being the token crying girl at the party.

“Right then, so we’re all done?” Bishop claps his hands. “Good. Been a little anxious to get on with the next portion of the evening.”

“really?” I ask. “You looked pretty comfortable with Amy back there.”

“Jealous?”

“Yeah. Right.” I wipe my nose on my arm. “So listen—I’m tired. I want to go home. It’s time for you to talk.”

“I will. Once you take me to the Hollywood sign.”

“What the …” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “No, no Hollywood sign.”

“Well, okay, Mount Lukens, then, but I thought the sign would be—”

“No! We’re not going anywhere, okay? I’m sick of—”

“Look. You want answers, I’m ready to give them to you”—he glances at Paige—“and your little friend here, I guess. But we’re going to need privacy.”

“And the only place to get privacy is at the Hollywood sign?” I shake my head hard. “Abso-freaking-lutely not.”

“You okay to drive or should I?” he asks.

I jump in front of him before he can open the driver’s-side door. “Wait a minute, here. We’re not driving to some remote wooded area so you can kill us both and then leave our remains for animals to eat.”

He pulls a disgusted face. “You’re a sick woman, Indigo.”

“That
was
pretty gross,” Paige agrees.

“I’d be sure to bury your remains where no animal would ever find them,” Bishop says.

Paige gasps, which makes Bishop burst into laughter.

“Kidding! Now can we get on with this?” He places a hand over his heart. “I promise not to kill you.”

“Why should I bother?” I ask. “Why not just drive you right to the police station and tell them I have the guy who broke into Mom’s shop?”

“This again? You don’t think I did that, or you would’ve called the cops ages ago. Now let’s go. We’re wasting time.”

“Ind!”

My spine straightens. I look over the hood of the car and see Devon pulling his shirt over his head as he stumbles down Jarrod’s front steps.

“Ind, wait, I can explain.”

“Let me guess,” Bishop says. “You were just trying to jump over her and couldn’t quite make it.” He laughs, and Paige slaps him so hard he grabs at his arm.

I grapple for the door handle and slip into the front seat, gunning the engine. Bishop and Paige scramble to get inside the car before I peel away. Devon calls my name, but I don’t stop. I don’t even look in the rearview mirror.

S
omewhere between Wilshire and Franklin, I notice that the faster the wind slaps hair across my face and the more blurred the palm trees bordering the road become, the easier it is to block thoughts of Devon and Bianca from my mind. The speedometer needle vibrates around eighty miles per hour. I’d go faster if my throwback of a car would allow it.

“Mind slowing down?” Paige asks from the backseat. “I think I’m going to vomit.” One glance in the rearview mirror tells me she isn’t exaggerating: her pale skin has turned a sickly shade of green, and she’s clutching the Oh Shit handle like a life preserver. Bishop, on the other hand, is slouching in his seat, tapping out some secret tune no one else can hear on his thighs.

“It’s all right.” He looks out the window. “She’s just pulling a Bella.”

“A what?”

“A Bella. You know—guy does you wrong, so you punish him by practically killing yourself.”

“What?” I bark a laugh. “That is
so
not what I’m doing.”

“Whatever you say, boss.” He starts up his stupid drumming again. I’m beginning to feel homicidal.

But even though he’s majorly wrong, I lay off the gas a bit. For Paige’s sake.

Soon, I’m navigating the Sunfire along the narrow, two-lane street that winds up around the Hollywood Hills. On the left are the stupid-big homes of the stupid-rich-and-famous, interspersed with a bunch of eroded rock and grass and trees. And on the right is the guardrail that stops motorists from careering to their fiery deaths, all overlooking a beautiful view of Los Angeles.

“Okay, we’re here.” I slide the car into park in front of the gate at the end of Deronda. “Start talking.”

“Hold on, now.” Bishop climbs out of the car.

“This is as close as we can get,” I call out the open window. “Service road. Hello?”

He takes off up the hill and disappears into the dark.

It would be dumb to get out of the car. Worse than dumb: idiotic. But I’ve come this far already, and I can’t imagine the grocery list of bad decisions I’ve made to this point being for nothing. I turn off the car and unfasten my seat belt.

“You’re really going out there?” Paige asks, but she’s unfastening her seat belt too.

“Well, I’m not just going to let him get away, am I?”

“Nooo,”
she says, throwing as much sarcasm into one word as humanly possible, “you definitely want to run
toward
the ax murderer.”

I ignore her and jog after Bishop, brush needles clawing at my ankles as I struggle to find my footing on the loose gravel.

“Bishop!” I hiss into the dark. “It’s against the law to hike to the sign.” Like I’d hike to it right now even if it weren’t illegal. Without the lights of the city, we’re boxed in by an eerie darkness that would make a field mouse feel claustrophobic. Plus, there are mountain lions, and rattlesnakes, and rough brush, and a zillion other reasons to stay in the car. And did I mention it’s illegal?

“Hello!” Paige calls. “Security cameras, motion sensors, razor-wire fence?” She sighs. “This is stupid, Ind. I’m going back to the car.”

“Over here.”

I can’t tell where Bishop’s voice came from. It sounded like it was above me, but that’s obviously impossible. I squint into the dark and scan the silhouettes of trees and bushes that jut out from the rocks.

“Here,” Bishop says.

I startle. Because, yes, his voice definitely came from above me. Holding my breath, I look up, and—holy freaking crap—Bishop is ten feet in the air, his moonlit back floating against the dark night sky. I scream and scrabble backward, bumping into Paige.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.” Paige’s fingernails dig into my arm. “What the hell
is
he?”

Even in the dark, I can see the smirk on Bishop’s face. Somehow, it stops me from running. He can’t really be flying. This
has
to be a trick. I swipe my hand under his army boots—nothing. I squint into the darkness, looking for a tree or a rope or, I don’t know,
anything
to explain what I’m seeing. Which is Bishop. Very clearly. Flying. And making it look easy, hands jammed into his pockets like it’s no big deal.

“Come on.” Paige yanks on my arm, trying to get me to run with her, but I pull free and root myself in place. I don’t claim to be a medical professional or anything, but it
can’t
be healthy for my heart to clang this way in my chest, for my head to drain of blood, and for me to breathe so fast and hard that I feel the stretch of every single alveoli in my lungs.

“No patrolman tonight,” Bishop says. “I checked.”

Fear grips its talons around my throat, making my words come out too high. “Oh good,” I say. “Because
that’s
obviously what I’m worried about right now.”

Bishop’s laughter chimes through the night.

“I don’t like this, Ind!” Paige cries. “What is he? Some sort of freak?” Her voice vibrates like she’s about to have a nervous breakdown. “I’m going back.”

I try to grab her arm, but she slips from my grasp and runs a few steps.

“You have to come with me,” Paige pleads. “Your mom wouldn’t want this.”

If that’s what she believes, then she doesn’t know my mom at all. I’m so close to answers. “You can go back if you want.” My hands shake as I fish in my bag for my keys and toss them to her; she misses, and they jangle to the ground in front of her feet. “Go back to Jessie’s. I’ll find my way home.”

Paige picks up the keys. She glances behind her like she’s about to bolt, then lets out a frustrated groan. “Like I’d leave you with
him.
”

“Great,” Bishop says brightly. “So are we going up, or what?”

“Up where?” I ask.

“To the sign.” He gestures behind him. “It’s why we came here, right?”

“Right. Stupid me. Care to tell me
how
the
hell
you’re flying
?”

“Of course, since you asked so nicely. Once we get up there.”

“We?” I say.

“Yeah. Don’t worry, I froze the security system. We’ll get up no problem.”

“We?” I repeat. “Just how are
we
going to get up there? If you hadn’t noticed, Paige and I can’t fly.”

“I’ll take you, obviously. Even though you have a major attitude problem.”

“No way.” Paige backs up. “Uh-uh. No chance in hell. Not happening.”

“You won’t drop me?” I ask.

“You can’t be serious,” Paige says. “Ind, no. You’re coming with me. We’re going home and we’re calling the cops and telling them there’s a nuthouse inmate on the loose.”

“Paige, I’m doing this. It’s too important.” I fasten my curls back into a ponytail, then nod to Bishop and hold my arms out to the side to show him I’m ready to be picked up.

Bishop touches down lightly. I wave for him to hurry up before common sense (or the fact that I probably reek and shouldn’t let a boy get close to me) makes me go with Paige’s plan instead. He bends and scoops me up, one arm under my knees and another around my waist, like I weigh about twelve pounds instead of ten times that. He’s so close that his breath rushes against my ear, and the little hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. For the first time since we got out here, I’m grateful for the darkness, because he can’t see how furiously I’m blushing. Which is insane. He’s flying! He could be a vampire or a demon or any manner of paranormal creatures, for all I know. And I’m blushing? There’s something fundamentally wrong with me. If it turns out that I’m crazy, I blame Devon and Bianca for pushing me over the edge.

I look forward and clear my throat. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

Paige passes in front of us, wringing her hands and mumbling under her breath.

I try to ignore her, even though her babble is really making me question my decision. But then it’s too late. We’re flying.

And it’s nothing like I imagined flying might feel. I mean, I never really put much thought into the matter, but I guess I just expected there to be some sort of effort involved when defying the laws of gravity. Instead, we lift from the ground with ease, as if flying were child’s play, and hover twenty feet above the ground as Paige cranes her neck to watch us.

“You okay?” she yells.

My heart races, but I manage to nod and yell down an affirmative. This is all right. I can do this.

“Ready?” Bishop asks.

I swallow. “Just be careful, okay?”

“Hold on tight.” A smirk plays on his lips.

Yeah, right, perv.

We dart through the air so fast my heart leaps into my throat. I cling to his neck and press against his chest—his surprisingly hard chest for a skinny guy—wind slapping my cheeks and raising goose bumps on my arms. Yep, I’m going to die, I decide. I’ve just gone and killed myself. But just as I wonder why my life isn’t flashing before my eyes, the wind stops and tendrils of hair that have pulled loose from my ponytail fall around my face.

“Open your eyes,” Bishop says, laughter in his voice. But I don’t. I can’t. “Am I going to have to peel you off me?” he asks.

Ugh.

I wrench one eye open. And great—there’s no chance of my heart going back where it’s supposed to be anytime soon.

I must have been dreaming to think Bishop would land on some safe, flat surface. When I look down, I find that he’s perching on the inches-wide metal scaffolding of the Hollywood sign’s letter
W.
Even in the pale light of the moon, I can see the jutting edges of the rocks some fifty feet below that await my fall.

“Relax.” Bishop gives me a little shake.

“No way, man.” I cling to him even tighter. “You’ll have to pry my cold, dead hands off you before I loosen my grip.”

He chuckles, and I really, really don’t like the way the sound bounces us around. I grip him around the neck so hard I wonder how he’s not losing consciousness.

“Look out there.” He nods to indicate the view, apparently not at all bothered by my choke hold.

I take a two-second break from considering how it will feel to land on the pointy rocks to look at the view. The city of Los Angeles spreads out before us, a landscape alive with trees and lakes and houses built on lush, rolling hilltops. Beyond that, skyscrapers reach into the black of night, winking light and illuminating everything in the horizon with a whitish haze.

“So, what do you think?”

“I think …” Well, that it’s beautiful. Also, that I don’t want to die. “I think you need to put me on solid ground before you’re dry-cleaning vomit off your leather jacket.”

Bishop’s face screws up. “You’re a classy lady … but your wish is my command.” He steps off the edge of the scaffolding. And suddenly we’re falling. My stomach drops into my shoes, wind burning my face like no chemical peel could.

Only at the last second, as we’re just feet from the ground, does Bishop engage whatever flying ability he has, and we float the rest of the way down. As soon as my feet hit soil, my legs buckle, and I stagger to my knees.

I swore after the second time I cried in front of Bishop in the less than twenty-four hours I’ve known him that it would be the last, but now hot tears well in my eyes.

“You …” I don’t hesitate before lunging at him. I catch him by surprise, and he topples backward with a thud. I deliver two-fisted punches to his chest. “Don’t. You.
Ever.
Do. That. Again.”

I don’t know what I thought would happen—maybe that he’d cry out in pain or just plain cry—but instead he gives me this infuriating smirk, as if a toddler were trying to beat him up and it’s too darn
cute.

“Go on,” he says. “I like it rough.”

Double ugh! I’m suddenly acutely aware that I’m straddling him—wearing a micromini and heels, no less—and I can’t roll off him fast enough.

“You’re sick, you know.” I push my hair back from my face, panting for air.

He sits up and brushes gravel from his pants.

A breeze rattles the supports of the sign and ripples through the coastal sage scrub that dots the mountaintop. My ragged breathing is audible over it all.

“Sorry,” he says.

I turn my face away so I can discreetly wipe my cheeks.

“Aw, don’t be mad.” He pokes me in the shoulder.

I can’t say anything or I will break down. So instead I take big, deep breaths and wait until I get control of myself. Bishop, for once, doesn’t say anything annoying, just fiddles with the zipper on his jacket in some sort of quiet understanding.

“How do you do it?” I finally ask. “Fly?”

He shrugs—a whole-body gesture. “Magic.”

“Magic?” I repeat.

“What? You think there’s some more logical explanation I’m hiding from you? A rocket pack in my jeans or something?”

“Okay, so what are you, then? You know, since normal people can’t fly.”

“A warlock,” he says without missing a beat.

I search his face in the dark, but there’s no humor there.

“Okay. …” It’s a lame thing to say, but really, what
should
I say when someone tells me he’s a warlock? Twelve years in the public school system have left me unprepared for a situation like this.

“That’s it?” he asks. “You harass me for information all night and that’s all you want to know?”