Death, Doom And Detention Part 18

As Brooklyn and I entered our sixth-hour History cla.s.s and took our seats near the front, Brooke riffled through her bag and brought out the photo wallet.

"This is my chance," I whispered to her.

She looked up from what she was doing. "What chance?" I nodded to the back of the room and she glanced over at Isaac Johnson. "Oh," she whispered back, "right." She continued to thumb through her photo book until she came to one that would apparently work for whatever torturous plan she'd schemed up. "So, how are you going to do it?"

I was busy trying to get a good look at the photo, knowing what she was about to ask me. "I'll just touch it like usual."

"No, Isaac." She leaned closer. "How are you going to get close enough to him to try to get a vision?"

He sat in the back of the room, surrounded by friends. Several football players were in History with us. Normally they were horsing around and taunting one another into this or that. But today, utter silence. Joss Duffy sat slumped in his desk, staring at his hands. Cruz de los Santos was playing with a string on his letter jacket. And Isaac Johnson, Sydnee's boyfriend, sat huddled over his desk, s.h.i.+elding his face with his ma.s.sive arms. He was huge. He'd made the varsity football team his freshman year and was now the star defensive lineman. Talks of scholars.h.i.+ps had already made the rounds, but I'd heard he wanted to go into the military like his dad.

He was such a nice guy. Polite. Gracious. So when he lifted his head and locked gazes with mine, a grimace I couldn't quite decipher hardening his features, I had to admit I was taken aback.

"I don't know yet," I answered Brooke. "I'm not sure I want to get close enough to touch him. He seems testy today."

She turned back, but he'd inclined his head again and went back to doing whatever it was he was doing. "Well, try this first. I want you to work on expanding your vision. See if you can go further back in time, see more of the scene before the shot was taken."

Mr. Gonzales walked in, so she quickly handed me the photo, then stuffed her bag under her desk.

I turned to face front and center. For some reason, Mr. Gonzales didn't like it when I sat with my back to him and talked to Brooklyn during cla.s.s. Weird.

He plopped some freshly printed papers on his desk. "I'll give the first person who guesses correctly what we're doing today ten extra credit points on the pop quiz." He winked, letting us in on the clue.

While most of the kids sank in their desks, Brooklyn raised her hand with the enthusiasm of a cheerleader on X. I looked back and grinned. She was such a nerd.

"Are we having a pop quiz?" she asked, a disturbingly happy smile on her face.

He pointed to her like a game show host. "Bingo! Ten points to Miss Prather. Cla.s.s, take out your pencils and clear your desks."

A hapless moan filled the room as students followed orders. I stuffed my backpack under my desk, remembered I needed a pencil, dragged it back out, and repeated the process. With a quick glance behind me, I realized the football players weren't complying. They were just sitting there. Isaac's head was still down, his shoulders hunched over whatever he was working on. Brian Klein wasn't doing as told either, but he never did.

Seeing my chance to get close to Isaac, I raised my hand. "Would you like me to pa.s.s them out, Mr. Gonzales?"

"Sure."

I was careful to start on the other side of the room, and while normally one would simply count out the required amount for that row and have the students pa.s.s them out, I went from desk to desk, handing out the quizzes hurriedly so Mr. Gonzales wouldn't feel the need to suggest I do otherwise for time's sake.

Most of the students took them with a grimace, but the football players just sat there, neither accepting nor declining the paper offered, so I laid them on their desks and moved on. Brooklyn cast me a knowing grin when I pa.s.sed her, and nodded her head in encouragement. I planned it just right, and Isaac was my last stop. I tried to hand him the paper, but he didn't look up from what he was doing. How could I accidently-on-purpose touch his hand if he didn't take the paper?

I decided to tap him on the shoulder, though that wouldn't help me get a vision. He was wearing his letter jacket, and in order for me to see anything, the contact had to be skin-on-skin. But he still didn't look up. Running out of time, I decided to try to push the paper under the arm he had draped over the desk. The one he was using to s.h.i.+eld his activity. I scooted it under his elbow, tapping it further-when he grabbed my hand and pinned me with a hateful stare.

Electricity shot up my spine. I tried to step back, but he had a death grip on my wrist, and while I didn't get a vision, the sight before me was enough to stop me dead in my tracks. He was carving into the desk with a pocketknife, the deep gashes resembling barbed wire. When taken line by line, the vandalism looked like nothing more than sharp angles and thick, angry lines. But when taken as a whole, I had to admit, I was a little surprised.

He'd carved my name, each letter looking more like a first-grader did it than a straight-A high school student. I realized he was still glaring at me, his grip tightening with each pa.s.sing moment. I tried to pull out of it, but he squeezed his fingers around my wrist so hard, I was certain he would break it.

I gasped and looked back at Mr. Gonzales. He was busy reading a message on his desk and didn't see what was happening.

"Isaac," I whispered. I didn't want to get him in trouble-he was a good friend-but his grip was really strong. "Please let me go."

Instead, he jerked me closer until my nose was almost touching his. I noticed a smudge on his forehead, a dark crimson stain. Then his expression changed, became almost apologetic. He was holding the knife with his other hand, his fingers locked around the blade itself until droplets of blood decorated his artwork.

"Isaac-"

"They want you dead, Lor," he said, a hint of panic in his voice.

I couldn't say anything. Any words that formed in my mind got stuck in my throat, and all I could do was stare into Isaac's frightened face.

"Isaac!" I heard from the front of the room. It was Brooklyn. She must've seen what was happening and came running down the aisle.

That caught Mr. G's attention. He stood and started toward us, but it was Brooklyn's outburst that startled Isaac into letting go. He stumbled to his feet, shock on his face as he looked at the knife in his b.l.o.o.d.y hand like he'd never seen it before.

"What is going on?" Mr. Gonzales asked. He stopped short and gaped, his gaze traveling back and forth between Isaac's hand and his carving. He had good cause to look shocked. Isaac was one of the nicest guys I knew. He would never hurt anyone on purpose, despite his enormous size.

Still gazing at his hand as though wondering whose it was, Isaac dropped the knife. It bounced with an ominously loud thud on my name, then tumbled to the floor. Before anyone could say anything, Mr. Gonzales picked up the knife with his thumb and index finger, handling it like a crime scene investigator might, then took Isaac by the arm and led him out the door.

"Everyone stay quiet and seated. I'll be right back."

But the moment the door closed, the room burst into an uproar of conversation. Half the room was asking me what happened, and the other half had rushed over to see the desk.

Brooklyn shooed them all away and led me back to my own desk, saying, "Boy, Syd wasn't kidding about her boyfriend acting strange."

Honestly, I wondered if this day could get any stranger?

Little did I know ...

After ending up in the nurse's office again, this time selecting a stylish blue cold pack for my wrist, Brooke and I headed to the last cla.s.s of the day, grateful that the end was nigh. Luckily, Foods and Nutrition was usually a very low-stress cla.s.s. Even so, a part of me was hoping Ms. Phipps would have another hangover. Sadly, she wasn't quite the lush we'd hoped she would be. Instead, she gave us a quiz on the video we saw the day before. If I'd actually paid attention, I might have pa.s.sed it.

But Brooke, dang her, knew every single answer. It was at that moment, at that pivotal turning point in our relations.h.i.+p, that I realized she'd sold her soul to the devil. No way could she have aced that quiz when neither of us paid any attention.

"It's an absorption thing," she said. We'd stayed behind to clean the kitchen for extra credit, so the halls were almost empty when we left cla.s.s. "I just absorb information. I'm like a sponge."

"You're like a sphincter." I said it before I thought. And yet, didn't regret it. Clearly, I needed to work on a few issues. Resentment was never the answer.

She raised a superior brow, mocking my insolence, but her gaze quickly slid past me. "Jared's coming."

I whirled around. Fast. Too fast. So fast, I lost my balance and had to grab on to Brooke's jacket.

And the world was depending on me.

We were in so much trouble.

Jared smiled as he walked toward us, but it was different-he was different, harder. His gaze was cavalier. His walk was more arrogant than confident. His gait almost taunting.

He strolled up to me. "I've actually stumbled upon you without your bodyguard. That's not an easy thing to do."

I glanced around, looking for Cameron. He was always right outside my cla.s.sroom or waiting just down the hall. Brooke stepped to the side to check her phone. Mine beeped too. I ignored it.

"Is there a reason you wanted to catch me without Cameron around?"

The grin that slid across his handsome face was more like a leer. He hooked his thumbs on the pockets of his jeans and leaned against the wall. Most of the students had vacated the premises. We were alone except for a couple of stragglers at the lockers down the hall.

Brooklyn tapped on my arm. "You should check your phone," she said. When I looked at her, she'd placed a wary expression on Jared, her brows crinkled in distrust.

Jared noticed. His mouth tilted as I took out my phone. Just as it lit up, I heard a clicking of heels and turned to see Tabitha walking toward us, her blond head bouncing, her white teeth visible from a hundred yards.

Then I felt Jared tug at my s.h.i.+rt. I backed away. He'd pulled my neckline and, I could've sworn, looked down my s.h.i.+rt. I clasped it to me with one hand. "Did you just look down my s.h.i.+rt?" I couldn't decide if I should be flattered or offended.

"Ever the good girl." His grin was gone and he stood eyeing me from underneath hooded lids. No expression on his face. No emotion. "Did you know there were seraphim, sons of G.o.d, who came to Earth to marry the daughters of man?"

I blinked at the abrupt change in subject and glanced at my phone. It had a text from Cameron. One word. Run.

"Well, yes," I said, frowning in confusion. Run? Run where? "They had children who were called nephilim, right? Like what Cameron is."

His gaze traveled down again, paused on my hips.

I stuffed my phone back into my bag. "Jared, I don't understand-"

"You don't understand what I am," he said, his voice as sharp as steel with a razor's edge. He tilted his head, his eyes sparkling darkly underneath his lashes. "Did you know that I took the firstborn from ten thousand families in a single night, because one man, one human man, refused to submit to a power greater than his own?"

I tried to step back, but he curled the tail of my s.h.i.+rt into his fingers and held me to him. "The Pharaoh of Egypt," I said. I'd heard the story dozens of times, of how Moses had warned him. Of how he lost his own son that night.

"I have killed princes and paupers, kings and slaves, all upon a word. An order. And I could kill every person in this town without a second thought." He leaned closer and whispered in my ear. "I've done it. So many times, I lost count."

I really should have run. I could see that now.

"And in all that time, I never understood the allure. The desire inside my brethren to give up everything to be with a human." His expression hardened. "Until you." His hand slid around to the small of my back and he pulled me even closer.

I placed my hands on his chest and tried to speak with calm authority. "Jared, let me go."

He looked up as Tabitha walked past. "Then again, maybe any human will do."

Tabitha, seeing our position, had turned up her nose and clearly had every intention of walking on. He looked back at me, the smirk on his face cruel, punis.h.i.+ng. Without taking his eyes off me, he whispered, "Come here."

And she obeyed. Tabitha stopped, turned toward us, and walked forward until she was on his other side.

"Maybe even this human will do."

He took hold of her jaw and dipped his head to place his mouth on hers.

And the world fell out from under my feet.

I couldn't believe what I saw. Not that I could blame him. He was stunning. And I was ... well, I was not. If I defined any adjective in the English language, it would not be "stunning." I wasn't tall or gorgeous or a blonde or brunette. I was a short, redheaded pixie stick with curly hair and freckles. Truth be told, Jared deserved someone just as stunning as he.

But to see that. To have reality slap me in the face with the truth was a bit much to bear at the moment. Was he just doing it to be cruel? If so, why? What had I done?

I tried to tear my eyes away when his mouth slanted onto hers. Tried to disengage myself when she melted against him. Against us. Tears burned the backs of my eyes. I pushed against his rock-solid hold in vain.

"Going dark side on us, Azrael?"

I stopped and turned to Cameron, my humiliation complete.

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" he asked.

Before I could blink, Cameron crashed into the wall opposite us. I didn't even see Jared move. The Sheetrock cracked as the two-by-fours holding the wall up bent beneath the force. The moment Cameron started to catch himself, Jared was in front of him, a hand around his throat. He slammed Cameron into the wall again, his head making an indentation.

But Cameron was just as fast and just as strong. In a movement too quick for my mind to register, he broke Jared's hold, grabbed him by the throat, and smashed him to the ground. It shook the floor and rattled the windows. I heard a scream from Tabitha as she stumbled back, and I realized I had fallen as well. Then I felt Brooklyn by my side, tugging me to my feet, trying to pull me out of harm's way.

I had seen them fight before. I had seen the devastation left in the wake of their aggression. And the trauma of it had sent me into a state of shock. This time, I was already in shock. I was confused and hurt and frustrated.

Then a male voice, loud and threatening, boomed from down the hall. "What is going on?"

I looked over and saw Mr. Davis rus.h.i.+ng forward. If he saw them, if he saw how fierce they were, how inhuman, he would have one more piece to add to his puzzle. One more link that would place Jared in his past.

"Lusk!" he yelled when Cameron picked Jared up and slammed him to the ground again.

A part of me began to worry for Jared. He wasn't himself, and beating him to death would not right it. I started forward, but something stopped me. Something dark. That's when I saw it. The grin on Jared's face. The smirk of satisfaction.

He glanced over at me and winked a microsecond before reversing their positions. He knocked Cameron to the ground and crushed him with the force of his body landing with a knee to his throat. I didn't care what Cameron was made of; there was no way he could survive a pulverizing blow like that. Then Jared dropped and rolled, taking Cameron with him and literally throwing him down the hall.

The fight was like before. Supernatural. Otherworldly. Impossible for mere mortals. But last time I had been the only one to witness it. Jared had stopped time. This time, those who were still around saw everything, including Mr. Davis.

Tabitha sat sprawled on the floor, petrified. I couldn't blame her. After Cameron once again crashed into a wall at the other end of the hall, Jared turned on Mr. Davis. The contempt sparkling in his eyes was primal. He was a predator now. And he was angry. There was nothing controlled or sane about his actions.

I broke free from Brooke and ran to intervene, taking a position between Jared and Mr. Davis. Jared smiled, but the gesture held no warmth, no hint of affection. Before I knew it, Brooke was beside me again, clinging to me, her eyes like saucers.

"Stay back, Jared," she said.

A whisper of a laugh escaped him and he took a calculated step forward, mocking her.

I tried to push her behind me as I glared up at him. "Stop."

His dark gaze landed on me, and he showed his palms in surrender. "I just want him to be with his brother," he said.

Slowly, and with deliberate care, Mr. Davis wrapped his arms around us and pulled us back with him. As we inched away, Jared watched, his expression humorous. We were mice and he was the jaguar, playing with his meal before he devoured us.

Just as he started to step forward, a sharp crack echoed down the hall and Jared spun around, jerking what looked like a tranquilizer dart out of his shoulder. Before he could do anything, another loud crack sounded. And another. He pulled out two more darts, one from his chest and one from his upper arm; then Cameron was on him. With a rifle in both hands, he whipped the b.u.t.t of it across Jared's jaw. I was sure he would go down. Instead, he shook his head, then refocused on Cameron, his stance fierce, his expression so full of venom, I wondered who he was.

He took a step forward, then stopped and fell to one knee. When he looked down at his hands as though he'd never seen them before in his life, Cameron struck again.

I squelched the scream inside my throat with both hands as Jared went down. Cameron yelled over his shoulder, "Hurry, he won't be out long!"