Death, Doom And Detention Part 32

"Atherol," he said with a smile. "I seek Azrael."

"You've found him," Jared said. "What do you want?"

"Out."

"Then leave him."

"To have you come after me?" he asked. "To wait for the war? I can't go back. And you are the only way out."

Jared was in front of him in that faster-than-the-eye-can-see way of his. Cameron was beside me, doing his static-cling thing he did so well.

Jared tossed the boy onto the island like a sack of potatoes, oddly enough, knocking over a sack of potatoes. Noah started to struggle, but it was short-lived. Jared relieved him of the knife and tossed it to Cameron before refocusing on him.

He held him down, his brows drawn in question. "You'll cease to exist."

Noah's gaze slid back to him. "Better here with you than face what is to come."

"So be it."

The thing inside the boy finally spared me an angry glance. Like this was somehow my fault. "They'll never stop," he said, his words venomous. "And everyone close to you will die."

"That's enough." Jared leaned over him, almost touching his mouth to his like he was about to give mouth-to-mouth, but Noah kept his gaze locked with mine.

"More are coming," he said. He refocused on Jared. "So many more."

"I know." Locking his hand around Noah's throat, Jared opened his mouth and breathed in the evil spirit that had been consuming him. A dark fog left one mouth and entered the other, and I jerked forward in reflex, my only thought that Jared would be possessed.

Cameron caught me to him. "It can't live inside him," he said. "The spirit is essentially committing suicide."

"Why?" Brooke asked, her eyes glued to the scene.

"It's jumping ship. Like a rat does before it sinks. It wants out before the war begins."

Jared rose up, looked toward the ceiling, and filled his lungs as though absorbing the spirit. Noah grew limp and the woman ran to him, her eyes pleading with Jared, hopeful.

"It's done," Jared said. "The spirit's out."

"Thank you," she said, sobbing and holding an unconscious Noah to her.

"Do we need to call an ambulance?" I asked Jared.

"Wouldn't hurt."

Grandma went for her phone just as an older man rushed into the store. "I'm looking for someone named Azrael," he said, glancing around, his expression panicked. "My granddaughter. There's something wrong."

"Where is she?" Cameron asked.

"In the car. Out here. Please, hurry."

We hurried outside, leaving Grandma inside to help with Noah. I was right behind Jared and slid to a stop when I saw the little girl.

"Please," the man said.

Glitch took over. He went to the man's car and lifted her out, so tiny and frail, no more than five.

"Jared," I said, my voice a soft whisper. He wrapped an arm around me and looked up at the sky. The clouds were dark and low, rolling over us in waves.

"It has begun," he said, words I never wanted to hear. Words I feared more than anything.

I felt a sprinkle then, a drop of rain, and I knew everything I'd ever known was about to change.

THE LIGHTS OF RILEY'S SWITCH

Everyone close to me is going to die.

Those words reverberated in my head over and over as I gathered my belongings by candlelight. After the incident with Noah, I realized my presence was the problem. I was the problem. I was the reason bad people were coming to Riley's Switch and I was responsible for all the horrible things that were happening to everyone around me. So I did the unthinkable. I bent to my grandparents' wishes. I went to them and agreed to be secreted away, thus the 5 A.M. wake-up call. I'd packed that evening while everyone was at church so no one would know what I was doing and then hid the bags in my closet until Brooke and Glitch went home.

"Don't forget your pillow," Grandma said, holding the candle up high to give me more light. "You'll need it."

Her voice trembled like china during an earthquake, and I understood at last how hard this was for her. For both of them. They were doing this to keep me safe. I was doing this to keep them safe. If my presence was going to get everyone close to me killed, then surely my absence would keep them alive.

But sneaking out of town with two supernatural beings on full alert was not as easy as it sounded. Granddad sent Jared back to the Clearing with the sheriff to investigate some mysterious anomaly he'd made up. Then he sent Cameron to the church to check the munitions supply. There was about to be a war, after all. We had to prepare.

Even with those precautions, we didn't want to turn on any lights. It might alert them to our plan. We had a very small window of opportunity in which I could sneak out of town. If we were successful, I would be handed off to another set of believers. Then another and another until we got to the boarding school in the Northeast where I was registered under the name Lorraine Pratt. Granddad had papers, a birth certificate, a student ID from a school in Arizona ... everything a girl needed to start a new life. A new existence.

They drove me to the edge of town, where an SUV sat idling on the side of the road, its parking lights on. We climbed out and Granddad grabbed my bags. He handed them to a man in his early thirties. I had never seen him or the woman with him before. These were complete strangers to me, and I was about to be wrapped in a bow and handed over to them.

But this was my choice. The only way I could keep everyone safe.

"Pix," Grandma said, and the pain in her voice brought tears to my eyes. Before she could say more, she pulled me into a hug, and I realized she couldn't have said more if she'd wanted to.

vzyl Granddad patted her back as she hugged me to her. "Vera, we don't have much time. Cameron's going to figure this out sooner than we want him to if we don't get back."

Her breath hitched and she held me at arm's length. "You know how to contact us if anything goes wrong."

I nodded and bit my trembling lip, afraid to say anything. Granddad hugged me then, and his shoulders shook with emotion. Emotion that almost crushed me into dust. When he let go, I hurried to the SUV and slammed the door shut. I hugged my pillow to me as the couple got in. They introduced themselves, but I didn't hear a word they said. They smiled nervously, and I got the feeling they thought I was something special. It made me dislike them. Just a little.

I was going to be in one car or another for two days straight. Four legs of the journey. Four different vehicles. Trying to keep supernatural ent.i.ties off my trail was going to prove tricky, but Jared and Cameron had been through enough. They had both been shot because of me. And they would both give their lives for me because they also thought I was something special. No one understood I didn't know a thing about war, much less how to stop one. I refused to let their blind faith in my abilities get them killed.

Fear consumed me as we drove off. Fear for my friends. For Jared and Cameron. For my future. But especially fear for my grandparents once everyone figured out what they'd done. Just the threat of sending me away had the Order up in arms. I couldn't imagine what the members would do when they found out I was gone. What my grandparents would face. Derision? Hatred? Hostility?

I turned to look out the back window. We were on an incline and Riley's Switch sat nestled in a lush valley below, its lights twinkling in the thick darkness. Jared was somewhere on the other side. The Clearing lay a couple miles out, and whatever he and the sheriff were supposed to be investigating would keep them busy for a while.

Hopefully it would be long enough.

Read on for a sneak peek at

death and the girl he loves Coming October 2013 Copyright 2013 by Darynda Jones SAME DAY, DIFFERENT DEATH.

The Bedford Fields Academy pitched itself as one of the most prestigious private schools in North America, promising a stellar education and a future brighter than an exploding supernova. Or something along those lines. In reality, it was a last-ditch effort for rich parents with kids who'd been kicked out of every other inst.i.tution in the free world. The boarding school was insanely expensive, but those parents with unruly children and money to burn would pay anything for the illusion of a good education. They took their public guise seriously. Keeping up the pretense of good parentage took effort. And trust funds. And the school kept the children out of their hair. For that, they would pay extra.

I didn't know that when I started at Bedford Fields, of course, but a pretty blonde with too much eyeliner and too few scruples explained the rules and regulations of the school in the bathroom while cleaning her nails with a switchblade. She'd lifted the knife from a pickpocket while on vacation with her family in Cabo San Lucas the summer before, and she made sure to mention how she'd honed the blade to a razor's edge for ease of penetration. That was my first day and my introduction to life sans everything I'd ever known. It pretty much went downhill from there.

First of all, the reality of winter in the North was a complete shock to my system. I couldn't get warm, even bundled in seven layers as I was then. Second, I'd started school in the middle of the semester, thus I was behind in almost every cla.s.s they'd a.s.signed to me. And third, I apparently had an accent, a fact that some of the more irritating students reveled in making fun of.

But the worst part of all was the homesickness, which I took to a whole new level. I missed my grandparents, my friends, my old school to the point of feeling like I had the flu twenty-four/seven. I even missed Tabitha Sind, the bane of my existence. Luckily, I had Kenya here to take up where Tab had left off. At least Tabitha had never threatened me with a switchblade. Life was simpler in New Mexico. Life at a boarding school for rich kids in a state where the weather rivaled that of Siberia was far too complex. And hazardous to my health.

"Lorraine!"

I heard my nom de plume but kept walking. I hated nothing more than being late to cla.s.s. These teachers at BFA could wither a winter rose with one look.

"Lorraine," she called again.

While my friends in New Mexico knew me as Lorelei McAlister, aka my real name, the students and faculty here in Maine knew me as Lorraine Pratt, a transfer student from Arizona. Fortunately, I'd been to Arizona a couple of times, and knew just enough to fend off questions from the more curious students.

I walked the halls with my head down and my gaze glued to the floor. Now that I was no longer a novelty, I could slip relatively unnoticed from cla.s.s to cla.s.s. At first, everyone had stared. Everyone. That's what I got for transferring in the middle of a semester. But once the other kids found out I was a scholarship student, and not a particularly interesting one at that, they stopped staring and ignored me altogether. Most of them, anyway.

I could handle being ignored, but the scholarship was a mystery I had yet to figure out. I'd been secreted away from everything I'd ever known in the middle of the night. Driven in four different vehicles with four different groups of caretakers for more than two days straight, and delivered onto the steps of Bedford Fields in the bitingly frigid pre-dawn hours with little more than a suitcase and a hair tie. How on earth did I suddenly have a scholarship? That was clearly a part of the plan my grandparents forgot to mention.

"Lorraine, wait up."

I finally slowed and let the eighth-grader catch up to me. She was the only student still enamored with my shiny newness. I'd been there for weeks. Hopefully my gleam would wear off soon, because she could be a little annoying.

She beamed at me when she caught up, her cerulean eyes sparkling behind round-rimmed gla.s.ses on a face framed by thick dark braids.

Well, annoying in a charming way. She was another scholarship student, a science whiz who was destined to be the next Stephen Hawking if I had anything to say about it. The girl's mind was like a supercomputer on steroids.

"Hey, Krystal."

"Hey," she said back, breathless from trying to catch up to me. "So what are you doing?"

I tried not to chuckle and indicated the door ahead of me with an index finger. "Just headed to cla.s.s."

"Oh, right, okay, that's a good idea."

"Isn't your next cla.s.s across campus?" I asked her.

She looked around in utter cluelessness and spun in a complete circle to get her bearings. I felt the crush of students acutely, especially when one knocked me forward as he rushed past. I felt a tug at my coat and started to say something, but I barely caught sight of the back of his head before he disappeared into the crowd.

"Yes, it is." Krystal's pale face had a light sprinkling of freckles over cheeks slightly chapped from the crisp winds of Maine, and she had a bow-shaped mouth like a doll's. She stopped then put one foot behind the other. "I guess I should jet, then."

I couldn't help but grin. "Okay, you jet. I'll see you later?"

After flashing me a smile that could have melted the heart of that Ice Queen in Narnia, she nodded and hurried away.

I watched her leave, a little enamored myself with such a guileless creature, then turned and ran right into the one girl in school I did not want to run into. The only one with a switchblade. Well, the only one I knew of.

She gaped then pushed me away. I stumbled back and barely kept myself from tumbling head over heels by grabbing on to another student's backpack. He scowled over his shoulder then jerked out of my grip before I could apologize. Or right myself. I almost fell anyway, but I managed to get my footing without any more humiliation than absolutely necessary.

"Nice save," she said, raising her brows as though impressed.

But I was still reeling from what I'd discovered from our little encounter. I wasn't fond of Kenya. She wasn't fond of me. But it disturbed me nonetheless to watch her die.

Unfortunately for me-and everyone around me-I have, for lack of a better word, visions. Sometimes when I touch people I can see into their futures or their pasts. It's heart wrenching on several levels. I never see the time they were laughing at a party or riding a roller coaster at the fair, screaming with exhilaration. No, I see the bad parts of their lives. I see the catastrophic. I see the pain and fear and anxiety. And now, thanks to this nifty skill I'd inherited, I knew exactly when, where, and how Kenya was going to die.

Her death had flashed before my eyes the moment we touched. The visions were thoughtful that way. And now I had a decision to make. I'd struggled with the question of divulgence before. Many times. And this scenario was no exception. I might be able to prevent her death if she listened to me, but that took a lot of faith. And since she threatened me with a switchblade every chance she got, I didn't figure faith was her strong suit. Especially faith in me. The new girl. The girl she most liked to hara.s.s and promise a slow and painful death to. I was pretty sure I'd developed a nervous twitch after meeting her.

But this was different. Maybe it was a timing thing. She was going to die too soon. Too young. She literally had only days to live. And the vision stole my breath with its vividness.

In it, a storm rolled in, darkening what had been a sunny afternoon. She was on a boat with her aunt, uncle, big sister, and little brother, but it wasn't a vacation or a pleasure trip. She was scared. Her aunt and uncle were scared too, terrified, in fact, running, trying to get away from something, to escape. The clouds roiling overhead like a cauldron of a dark witch's brew dipped lower and lower in the sky. If Kenya reached up, she could have touched them, but she was busy clinging to her brother for dear life. The water churned and crashed against her uncle's sailboat. Rain slashed horizontally through the sky, the stinging chill cutting to the bone. Her sister had wedged herself between two seats, huddled there, shivering, worried she'd fall overboard.

I could feel the unimaginable fear that blinded Kenya to everything but those clouds. Yet it wasn't the storm she was afraid of. It was something else. Something inside them.

Before I could ascertain the origin of her fear, another wave hit. It slammed against the boat causing one side to tip and rise with the swell until the small boat had no choice but to succ.u.mb to the fates. The water hit Kenya hard, slapping against her as she crashed into it. She tried desperately to keep ahold of her brother, reached blindly for her sister, but the pull of the waves was too strong. It sucked her deeper and deeper into its icy grip. She kicked. Fought with every ounce of strength she had. Then, left with no choice, she exchanged water for air and filled her burning lungs. Panic seized her with such a violent force, she gagged, tried to swallow the entire ocean, searching for oxygen in the thick liquid. Found none.

The last image that flashed in my mind was of her floating in the deep gray depths of the arctic water. Her eyes open. Her mouth a grim line as though she'd accepted her fate at last, but did so unhappily.

And she knew. She knew who was to blame.

Ricocheting back to the present, I sucked in a sharp gulp of air, fighting the feeling of suffocation, of drowning. I doubled over and coughed, then clamped a hand over my mouth when I felt bile slip up the back of my throat.

What were they running from? Why were they so scared? And why would anyone be to blame for a storm?

"Pratt?" she said, her voice edged with wariness instead of her usual menace.

I ignored her, turned, and began fighting my way to the bathroom when I b.u.mped into a boy. Another vision gripped me and performed a hostile takeover of my brain function. And just like the vision of Kenya and her family, this boy's expiration date was rocketing toward him. And it was disturbingly similar to hers. The storm. The dark clouds. The roaring winds. The boy was running toward his dorm on the school campus, but unlike Kenya, he was scared of the storm and nothing else. He died when a tree was uprooted and took down some electrical wires near him. The currents hammering through his body brought me down, because I didn't just see what happened to people in my visions, I felt it. Every spike of fear. Every wince of anguish. Every spasm of pain. And being electrocuted to death hurt. An agonizing pain pulsated through me, attacking my nervous system until the boy breathed his last breath and his nervous system shut down.

I felt a hand on my arm. I pushed it away and stumbled to my feet, reeling from that experience when another boy reached out to help me.

Same day.

Same storm.