The Seven Wicked: First Read online

  "Oh, really?" he asked, hands tightening ever so slightly on the wheel. "One of the many?" I laughed at him as the cold, night wind whipped at my hair. Despite the chill, he had to drive with the top down, just to show off.

  "You don't seriously believe me, do you?" I asked him, still chuckling. Dad's hands relaxed as he joined in with me. His laugh was as forced as mom's, though not as melancholy. My parents were weird. I still wasn't even sure why they had gotten divorced.

  "Of course not, Eevee. Of course not." But he did and that was what was funny. How two people could care so much about what the other was doing but not be together was beyond me. Maybe it was something that I would figure out later, but I sure as hoped not.

  I hope I only fall in love once, I thought, resting my head against the back of the bucket seat, trying my best not to make fun of the faux fur covering. Because it sure as heck is a messy process to fall out of it.

  "Where are we going anyway?" I asked as I tried not to shiver. Why is it so cold? I glanced over at my dad, but he didn't seem bothered by it. Maybe it's just me ... I wondered, crossing my arms over my chest. I could've asked him to put the top up, but it would've been like taking candy from a baby. I suffered in silence.

  "The Quill," he said, turning a corner so sharply that I had to brace myself against the door. Mom would kill you for that, I thought as he ran the next stop sign. "Your grandparents are meeting us there." I sighed. I had forgotten that they were in town. It wasn't that I didn't like to spend time with them or anything, but they were always asking me about my nonexistent boyfriend. Now I was going to have to tell them that I didn't have a date for prom.

  I wonder what they'd have doneif I'd asked Mr. Golden hair to dinner. I grinned. My grandparents were pretty conservative; Golden Hair had been wearing eyeliner; they probably wouldn't have liked him. I smiled at myself and tried to ignore the strange, creepy feeling in my chest. It felt empty there, had felt that way ever since I'd taken off the necklace. I didn't like the feeling, and I didn't understand it. I could only hope that ignoring it would make it go away.

  "Here we are," Dad announced, swinging into the parking lot like a NASCAR racer. I could see my grandmother frowning from across the lot. Not good. I opened my mouth to tell him that he was going to get it when another violent chill swept over me. It was the kind of chill that I always read about in horror novels but had never actually understood. My heart ceased to beat for a moment, ice crystals clogging my chest and lungs; it hurt to take a breath. Goose bumps sprung up over my skin while I tried to smile and pretend everything was okay. But it wasn't. I knew it then as sure as I know it now. I didn't just feel cold in my body; I felt cold in my soul.

  As we pulled into a parking space in front of the watchful eyes of my grandparents, I snagged a sweater from my duffel bag and took off my seat belt, pulling the warm fabric quickly over my head. It didn't help.

  "Ah, Eevee," my dad said as he pushed the button to raise the car's soft top. "Were you cold? You should've said something, cupcake." He tapped me playfully in the shoulder with his fist before we both opened our doors and climbed out of the car. I shrugged noncommittally, hoping I wouldn't be forced to talk just yet. My teeth were clacking together painfully. I just hoped nobody would notice. Fortunately, my grandmother was too busy reprimanding her forty plus year old son about his driving habits. Meanwhile, Grandpa Jake was eyeing the bloody fairy on my sweatshirt with distaste, trying to keep his voice pleasant as he started the night off early.

  "Hey there, darling, got a date for prom yet?" I smiled and shrugged, let him laugh at my expense and then hung back, trying to scope out the parking lot before going inside. My instincts were on alert. Something isn't right here. But there was nothing odd about my surroundings; the flat expanse of blacktop was moist from the day's unseasonal bout of rain and filled to capacity with the upscale cars and SUVs of the restaurant's patrons. If only I had known that what was presently stalking me was buried several feet below ground.

  "You coming Eves?" I turned back around, fake smile at the ready, and jogged to catch up with my family, suddenly afraid of being left alone in the parking lot.

  I let my grandpa wrap his arm around my shoulder and drag me into the white bricked building, casting one last, fleeting glance at the empty blacktop. Still nothing. I tucked my hands into my sweater pocket and followed the hostess to a table in the corner next to a floor to ceiling window of stained glass. I sat down, pretending not to notice that everyone else was taking off their coats, and opened the fancy menu which was designed to look like old parchment paper. The food was of little consequence to me in that moment, with my stomach a solid block of ice and my brain wrapped up in a never ending freeze. I perused the contents quickly before deciding on a Greek salad and an iced tea.

  By the time the server had come to take our order, my shaking had stopped, and I was able to remove my sweater. The creepy chill was still climbing up and down my spine with its icy fingers, but my goose bumps were gone. Luckily for me, across the city the boy with the green eyes was trying to grasp a concept he barely understood. If he hadn't been, I would've been a contender for first place in an ice sculpture contest. I smiled at my dad and his parents and tried to join in on the conversation. All the while, my logical brain was attempting to reassure the rest of me, pretty unsuccessfully, that what I was feeling was just a byproduct of nerves and excitement for the upcoming dance and nothing more.

  "So," my Grandma Dorothy began, adjusting a crimson napkin on her lap with one hand while she fingered the string of pearls around her neck with the other. I counted myself lucky to have been born from her genetic pool. She was in her early sixties and had the smoothest, most supple skin of anyone over the age of forty that I'd ever seen. I only hoped that I would be so lucky. "Tell me some more about this theme." She paused and looked to my dad for confirmation.

  "What was it, Eevee?" my dad asked, rubbing his dark goatee. Mom said it made him look like some sort of drug lord, but I could tell that she secretly found it attractive. "Darkest Dreams, right?"

  I nodded and smiled at the waiter who had just delivered our appetizer. It was served on a thick piece of wood shaped like the end of a paddle. In typical overpriced restaurant style, everything was miniature, including the brown slices of bread that were covered with gobs of tiny fish eggs and creamy goat butter. On the side opposite me, a pink and red wheel of thinly sliced fish circled a small, ceramic cup filled with a viscous, yellow sauce. I avoided all of it and skipped right to the garnish, a piece of bright green celery, and munched on the end of it while I tried to explain my scene to a group of semi-conservative adults.

  "Darkest Dreams is like," I paused to finish chewing the stringy vegetable and swallowed. It slipped down my throat like an ice cube and landed like a ball of hail in the pit of my stomach. I ignored it and kept talking. "It's like, the embodiment of your deepest desires. The ones that everyone has buried down in the bottom of their soul." I touched my belly for emphasis. "It's a chance for everyone to express themselves in a way that they've always dreamed of, without being judged. No matter how dark, no matter how strange."

  "How on earth did you ever sell that one to the football team?" my grandpa interjected, chuckling. My dad and grandma joined in with him, and I smiled a self-deprecating smile. It was okay that they didn't understand. They didn't need to. I did and I'd managed to sell it to the other nine committee members, five of which were some of my high school's varsity cheerleaders, without a hitch. I might have dressed 'Gothic,' but I didn't act like it. I didn't have a set group of friends either. I liked to mingle from group to group. I'd even spent my fair share of time hanging out after school at some of the football games and pep rallies. The only problem with being friends with so many was not being able to be close with a few.

  I sighed and adjusted my napkin as our food arrived. The plate in front of me was a colorful combination of red tomatoes, green lettuce, and hunks of soft, white feta cheese. I wasn't interested in any of
it, but I picked up my fork and pretended to be. It will pass. Just ignore it and it'll go away. My mantra of discipline wasn't helping anything; my chest still missed the necklace. I stuffed a bite of food in my mouth and checked out of a conversation that was now headed towards foreign policy and free trade agreements. My mind was not in a space for politics.

  As I forced myself to eat a dinner I didn't want, I let my gaze wander to the window next to me. It wasn't a horribly interesting design, just a bottle of red wine next to a basket of purple grapes. I raised a finger and traced the lines between the glass, wishing I could go home and curl up in bed. A good night's sleep cured most anything. I can take a hot bath, get the down comforter from the closet, crank up the heater ...

  A dark figure loomed up against the window, its movements stilted and uneven like a marionette. Ice clung to my lashes for the briefest of moments before melting down my cheeks in two lines like tears. I barely noticed. There was a brief second where I sat stone still, my heart hammering against my ribcage in warning. Alarm bells sounded in my head, begging me to get away. I'm going to die. The unwelcome thought crashed into my mind at the same instant as the silhouette crashed into the window. I screamed and dropped my fork into my lap before standing up and knocking my chair to the floor.

  The entire restaurant went silent as I stood, heart pounding, pulse racing, and stared at the now empty window. My dad exchanged a worried glance with my grandparents and stood up next to me, placing a concerned hand on my left shoulder. I jumped again, still hyped up from the rush of adrenaline. What the hell was that? I put a hand to my chest. Did nobody else see it? Am I going insane?

  "What's the matter, honey?" he asked, voice pitched low so that only I could hear. "Are you okay?"

  "Oh, uh, I, uh," I turned around and flushed at the sea of concerned faces gazing back at me from around the room. The manager of The Quill, dressed in a fancy, black suit and bright blue tie, approached the table carefully, like he thought I might break.

  "Is everything alright, miss?" he whispered, leaning in over the table. At least he was attempting to be discreet. Not that it really mattered, the entire restaurant was watching me now. I'd just made a fool out of myself, made worse by the fact that I had started to shake again. I clenched my jaw to keep my teeth from chattering.

  "Yeah, um, I'm fine. I thought I saw something. It was probably just a dog. It startled me is all. I'm sorry." I looked around at the other patrons and tried to project my words so that most of them would hear me. "I'm fine. I'm sorry, really, sorry." The buzzing in the room started up again as I smiled a smile that I didn't feel and assured my family and the restaurant manager that I was okay, retrieving my fork from the floor before sitting back down again.

  "Too many horror movies?" Grandpa Jake asked as he reached out a reassuring hand and squeezed the back of my own. His gaze was concerned, but condescending. I hated when people looked at me like that.

  "Yeah, yeah, I'm sure that's it." I tuned up my smile wattage to blinding. "You know how it is." I tapped the window jokingly and then tried to melt into the back of the plush, burgundy upholstered chair. Please don't look at me anymore, I silently begged the whispering staff and guests. Leave me alone.

  The chill down the back of my spine had intensified into a deep, cold ache. Like what I imagined frostbite might feel like before the limbs turned purple. I was shivering again, despite the warmth of the packed room, and I slipped my sweater off of the back of my chair and put it on again. Something was wrong. I knew it from pure instinct. Whatever had leapt towards the window was no dog. It wasn't a person either.

  I forced myself to pick up my fork and stab a bite of lettuce. Put it in your mouth, chew. Pick up the iced tea, drink. I was going through the motions, but I wasn't hungry. Each and every bite of food sat like lead in the bottom of my whirling stomach.

  Every time somebody asked me a question, I would smile and answer carefully, making certain that my words came out clear and unshaken. The rest of dinner was a horrible blur for me and even in the car ride afterward (my dad was very adamant about leaving the top up and blasting the heater), I had trouble remembering what had happened after the window incident. It was like I was walking through a fog with only a lantern to guide my steps. I could see what was right in front of me, but everything else was a mystery.

  When we got back to my dad's new apartment, a two bedroom, third floor place in the heart of downtown Avondale, I feigned a slight headache and retreated to my bedroom. I felt way too messed up to unpack, so I tossed the duffel bag on the floor in front of the mirrored closet doors, turned on each and every light in the room, and checked the lock on the door and windows twice before climbing into bed.

  Whatever had been outside the window of the restaurant was what was making me sick. I was certain of it. I didn't know how I knew, but I did. Maybe it was the well of ancient magic I had hidden inside of me that even I didn't know about yet. Or maybe I was just picking up on the thoughts and desperation of the boy who was standing outside of my window, not knowing why he was even there, but feeling the need to protect me. Maybe it was a little of both.

  Chapter Two

  I woke up the next day drenched in a cold sweat, shaking like I was in the middle of Antarctica naked rather than tucked under three comforters with the heater set at ninety degrees. I didn't want to miss school since the dance was only two days away and there was a ton of work that still needed to be done, but I didn't have much of a choice.

  "Just relax," Melissa said when I called to let her know. Dad had only reluctantly left for the office after I'd sworn up and down that I didn't need to go to a doctor, that it was just a little fever, nothing too serious. "Enjoy your day off, watch some naughty videos on your laptop." We both snickered at the idea. "I'll take care of your share of the work today and you can make it up to me by letting me play hooky on Friday. I need every possible second to get ready."

  "Sure thing," I said before wishing her luck on the calculus test that I was missing. There was at least something good to say about being sick.

  I bundled myself up in a fuzzy blanket, one with a pack of wolves racing through a snowstorm, and lumbered into the kitchen, my feet tucked into cushy black slippers. I couldn't stop obsessing about the strange shadow I'd seen last night. Not even as I scored a whole six-pack of triple fudge puddings from the back of the fridge. I snapped one of the plastic cups off the end and rummaged around in the utensil drawer for a spoon.

  Even if I was right, even if whatever that thing had been was what was making me sick, what was I supposed to do about it? Strap on one of my Lord of the Rings display swords and go traipsing about the neighborhood brandishing it at each and every strange shadow? It wasn't going to happen, even if the idea of it did make me smile.

  I sighed and scooped a jiggling spoonful of chocolate into my mouth. Maybe whatever it was would pass if I gave it time. I'm just being paranoid, I decided, taking my prize into the living room and flopping onto my father's newest splurge, a genuine leather sectional, complete with recliners.

  I had only just flicked the button on the TV remote when the doorbell rang. I set the empty pudding cup onto the glass surface of the coffee table and muted an old episode of Jerry Springer that I had guiltily been enjoying.

  "Who is it?" I asked, tucking the edges of my blanket around myself like a robe. I stood up on my tiptoes and glanced through the peephole. It was the golden haired boy from the thrift store.

  I squeaked in surprise and stumbled back from the door, reaching a hand up to touch my matted hair. I was dressed in a pair of green and white pajama pants with singing frogs, their mouths open wide with tiny, black musical notes drifting between them, and a matching shirt. I wouldn't have called my outfit sexy on a good day.

  "Um, just a minute," I said as cheerfully as I could manage. I thought I might have heard him say something in response, but I was already halfway down the hall, flinging my blanket back onto the bed and diving into my duffel bag for some decent c
lothes. I grabbed my purple brush first and jerked it roughly through the knots in my hair, cringing slightly at the sound of snapping strands, while I dug around for an outfit with my other hand.

  I found my favorite pair of low rise jeans and a ribbed, neon pink tank top with silhouettes of pixies and tulips. I ripped off the poor, singing froggies and tossed them in a heap on my bed before slipping on the new outfit and checking myself quickly in the mirrored closet doors.

  Except for the dark, purple circles under my brown eyes and the clammy sheen on my skin, I looked okay. This is as good as it's gonna get, I told myself. Luckily, since I'd first heard the doorbell ring, the shaking had stopped and I didn't feel like I was about to freeze to death. I sighed, brushed my hand once down my shirt to straighten out any wrinkles and marched down the hall with as much dignity as I could muster.

  I didn't really know why I cared so much. The guy had practically insulted me at the thrift store and here I was, jumping over hoops for him but ... he was hot. Really hot. Super, colossal hot. I'm not usually one of those girls who will do anything for a hot guy, but this one felt different. It wasn't something I could describe. It was just there. Just like my feeling about the shadow. I knew it even though I didn't know why.

  I took a deep, aching breath, filling my chest with as much oxygen and courage as would fit behind my expanding ribcage, and opened the door.

  I almost choked. He looked even better standing on my dad's Harley welcome mat than he had in the thrift store. Today, he was wearing a pale blue tee with tight black pants tucked into hi top, blue and white Converse, the sun glinting off the multicolored blonde shades in his hair as he fidgeted nervously in front of me.

  "I'm," he paused, bit his yummy lower lip until it was moist and glistening and continued. Thankfully, he looked almost as nervous as I felt though I hadn't a clue why. He was the one who'd come to see me though if I'd been thinking clearly, I should've been freaked out that he knew where I lived. But I wasn't. With the later exception of the day he died, Caleb has never done anything to freak me out. "I know this is gonna sound sort of ... " He paused again, took another breath. "Weird. But I really need to talk to you." He glanced over his shoulder as if he expected something to leap out at him.