Silence - eARC Page 15

  He peered into the shadows around the house next door, acting as if someone was speaking to him, although Staci couldn’t hear a thing. Then he nodded, at first tentatively, then enthusiastically.

  Still nodding, he staggered off next door, walking into shadows that were so black, she couldn’t make out anything in them. Not even him.

  A chill went up her back as she waited for him to come back out again—because if past history was anything to go by, he wasn’t done yet. But he didn’t. And the night was utterly silent.

  Probably has a friend living next door, she told herself, as that icy unease crept over her. Probably let him in to sleep it off.

  Her whole body shivered for a moment, then she shook her head. After a few deep breaths, she went back to her shoulder bag and pulled out the cell phone. It’d be better to call Dylan now, while everything was still fresh…and also to keep her from thinking too much about what had just happened.

  Dylan picked up after the first ring.

  “Staci. It’s kind of late…is everything okay?”

  For some reason, she couldn’t hold back any longer; once she heard his voice, his concern, everything came rushing out at once. “No!” she said, choking on a sob. “My mom’s drunk boyfriend tried to rape me!”

  “Are you hurt? Is he still there? Listen, I’m coming over right now. Are you somewhere safe?”

  “I’m okay, I locked myself in my room, but he’s still next door!” she wept. “I don’t—I don’t—”

  “Okay, sit tight. Keep the door locked. I’m on the way.” The connection cut, leaving Staci to slide down to the floor, dead phone in her hand, staring over the windowsill. Waiting.

  Even if she didn’t really know what she was waiting for.

  Chapter Ten

  Staci almost jumped when she heard the motorcycle’s—well, elvensteed’s—engine rounding the corner to her block. She didn’t waste any time; she unlocked her door, pelted down the stairs, and slammed open the front door. From the corner of her eye she saw that her mother had passed out again, and didn’t even stir at the noise. When she was on the porch, she saw Dylan. His face was stern, his lips pulled tight as he scanned around the yard, searching for…something.

  “I got here as fast as I could. Are you okay?” His features softened when he turned to face her.

  “I went to Sean’s party like you said I should and when I got back, Mom had this dirtbag here and they were both drunk and—” she began blurting.

  “Whoa, whoa, you said he had just gone next door. Let’s get out of here, in case he comes back out. Hop on.”

  Staci hesitated for a moment, glancing over her shoulder at the house. Then she walked up to the bike, throwing her leg over the bike behind Dylan.

  “You’ll want to hold on really tight. Metalhead likes to go fast. Just lean with me when I lean…and try not to fall off.”

  “What about helmets—” Before she could finish her question, the motorcycle roared to life, sending a plume of dust and gravel spitting out behind the rear tire. Staci saw the entire world tilt backwards as the front wheel came off the ground for a few seconds, before planting back down on asphalt. With the wind in her eyes and Dylan’s jacketed shoulders in her way, it was difficult to see much besides the houses and lawns on the side of the road streak by in the night. It felt like they were going ridiculously fast, taking corners without even braking. And sure, she and Sean had been going a lot faster in his sports car, but that had been a car, with a whole body around them, and four wheels. And seat belts! And air bags!

  Despite the speed, the wind and everything that had just happened earlier in the night, both at the Blackthorne Estate and at her mother’s house…Staci felt safe with her arms wrapped around Dylan. She couldn’t understand why. The vibrations from the engine, the way the world seemed to melt away from them…it all made her feel free and shielded, rather than in danger. She tucked her head against Dylan’s back, closing her eyes and losing herself in that moment.

  What seemed like hours later, but what could have only been a few minutes’ worth of riding, they arrived at Makeout Hill. Dylan waited for her to let go of him and dismount the motorcycle before he swung off of it, patting the elvensteed on the gas tank approvingly.

  “All right, I figure that we’re pretty safe here. Now…are you okay? Tell me what happened.”

  Staci crossed her arms tight against her chest, all the good feelings from the ride draining away. “Okay…Mom’s got…a drinking problem, and a boyfriend problem, which are kind of the same problem if you know what I mean. And this happens every single time I come to stay with her. I got back from Sean’s party, and she was drunk and almost passed out, and she had this dirtbag guy with her who was drunk but not passed out yet. And since she was too drunk to have sex with him, he decided he was going to have it with me instead. It’s not the first time this has happened but” --tears started streaming down her face-- “but this time he was more sober than the others have been, and stronger, and even after I hit him with a bottle, he kept coming up the stairs after me. Mom kind of woke up then and they had a fight and she threw him out. But…this time, I can’t call Dad and go home, because no matter what I say, my stepmother is going to convince him I’m lying, or I’m a slut, or that I’m exaggerating. I’m stuck here, Dylan! There’s gonna be a next time! And the next time if it’s still the same guy, he knows me now, maybe he’ll get Mom falling down drunk on purpose and…” She started sobbing. “And if it isn’t him, it’ll be someone else and there’s no place for me to go for help! Who’s gonna believe me? I’m the daughter of the alcoholic slut that works at the Rusty Bucket!”

  Dylan waited for a moment before reaching out, touching her shoulder. “I believe you, Staci. And I don’t care who your mother is, or isn’t. I’m not going to let you face this alone, or let this happen again. You did a brave thing, standing up for yourself. Luckily, the guy was at least somewhat drunk, and you were able to think quickly on your feet. Next time, though, that might not be the case.” He let his hand drop to his side, then brought it up to stroke the end of his chin. “Listen, I think I can show you something that might help. In case anyone gets…fresh like that again. But…this is an ‘emergency use only’ sort of thing, got it? If you go doing this to the wrong person for no good reason, it could turn out very badly. Do you understand?” He reached into his back jean pocket, producing a handkerchief that he then offered to her. “Dry your eyes, kiddo. Don’t worry, it’s clean, as the old joke goes.”

  She cried for a little longer into his handkerchief, but it was more out of relief than fear, now. The fear of exactly this sort of incident had been lurking in the back of her mind ever since she’d been told she was being shipped off to her mother permanently. She’d tried to tell Dad about this, but she could never get him alone, and Brenda would always cut her off with “I’m sure you’re just exaggerating things” while Dad nodded, as if she couldn’t tell a guy trying to be friendly with his girlfriend’s daughter from a guy who figured every female in the house owed him sex! And she’d been afraid that if Dad and Brenda were that dismissive, what stranger would ever believe her?

  But Dylan believed her.

  Finally she got some control over herself, wiped her eyes and nose a final time, and awkwardly offered him the handkerchief back. He laughed and waved it away. “All right. You wanted to know how to do magic? I’m going to show you something new. Give me your left hand—’cause if a guy grabs for you, he’s almost always going to grab for your right.”

  Curious now, she did as he asked. He traced a complicated little diagram in her palm, and as he did so, it glowed for a moment. “Now,” he said, “remember how you gathered up power and put it into the cell phone charm? When someone threatens you, you gather up power, put it in the palm of your hand, and when it feels ready, you smack him in the forehead with it, like this—”

  He lightly smacked the palm of his hand against her forehead, like she’d seen faith healers do on TV.


  “—and you yell, reodh!”

  “Reh-oth,” she repeated, obediently. “What’s it mean?”

  He grinned. “Literally—freeze. It’ll coldcock whoever you do that to. I also recommend kicking them as hard as you can between the legs. It’s instructive, if nothing else. Now, try building that power up and letting it go.” He looked around. “Hit the tree, I guess, since I don’t see any douche boyfriends around. There’s nothing there to stun.”

  She did as he asked, and felt her eyes widening as the design in her hand got brighter and brighter, until at last she felt as if her chest was too tight to breathe. Then she shouted, “Reodh!” and smacked the trunk of the tree with her hand. There was a flash of light under her palm, and she felt all that power just drop out of her in a way that left her breathless for a moment.

  “That’ll do it,” Dylan said approvingly. “Couldn’t have done it better myself, actually. You’ve got a knack, girl.”

  “This will really knock someone out?” she asked.

  “If you get them right on the forehead, it sure will. Anywhere else, it’ll smart like a son of a bitch on fire, and definitely make the transgressor think twice. Wouldn’t hurt to learn a few self-defense moves, too. But that’s something we can talk about later.” He folded his arms in front of his chest. “So, earlier you said you had gone to the party. What happened?”

  “Well, not much for a while. But then Finn showed up…” With a feeling of nausea, she told him everything she could remember about following the drunks into the maze, seeing what she thought was a body at the feet of the gorgeous woman with the cauldron of “…blood. It looked like blood. And she looked at me, and I could swear she saw me, but when I hid and Finn came and talked to her, she didn’t tell him I was there.”

  Dylan chewed on his lower lip. “That’s nasty stuff there. That woman? One of the Leannan Sidhe. Finn’s playing with fire. They promise the world to whoever they’re dealing with, and they can deliver…but it almost always ends with death. That cauldron of hers, and the blood in it…that’s where she gets her power, how she gives that power to others.”

  “But why—”

  “—didn’t she nark on you to Finn? You’re insignificant to her. The Leannan Sidhe only care about men. You might just as well have been a leaf on the wind to her.”

  “The guy,” she ventured in a small voice. “Was he…dead?”

  “Probably not yet. She inspires her victims first. That’s so they can build up and discharge whatever creativity they have. But once that’s gone—” he snapped his fingers. “—generally they go nuts, or kill themselves. Plenty of Irish poets can attest to that. Given that the poor schmuck was a jock, I don’t imagine there’s a lot of creativity in him. He’ll do one thing, then—piff.”

  “Piff?” she said, in a small voice.

  “Yeah. He’ll probably kill himself, when he does his single creation and then all the life drains out of his world. Not much worth it, in my opinion.”

  “So…what are you going to do?” Staci didn’t even know the guy, not really, but…that was so unfair! It was worse than what Silence was already doing to people—things might suck but at least people still had their lives, and some good times! And the guy hadn’t done anything to Finn in the first place!

  “I’m going to find the Leannan Sidhe and kill it. Save the boy if I can.” The matter-of-fact way that Dylan had said that left little doubt in Staci’s mind that he intended to do exactly that.

  “But—how—” She shook her head. “I mean—can’t you just talk to her, or something?”

  Dylan’s eyes went wide for a moment, then he burst out laughing. It took him a moment to recover enough to get out a sentence. “Sure, I could talk to her. But it wouldn’t do much. Fae like her live off of death, like parasites. Well, not technically; it’s the ‘vitality’ of those she seduces that she feeds off of, from their blood. But they end up dead because of it. No, talking with her would only give her more time to think about how she would try to kill me. Besides, that boy doesn’t have time for me to trade gossip with his would-be killer.”

  “But…” She stopped, realizing she didn’t have anything to actually say. Well, other than, You realize you sound like a cold-blooded killer, don’t you? Which wasn’t going to save that guy. And might make Dylan mad at her and stop helping her and Sean. But it gave her an uneasy feeling in her stomach, to hear him just say that, without a second thought.

  “So, are you feeling well enough to go home?”

  That got her mind back on her own situation. “As long as douche bag isn’t around…” Then she considered the palm of her left hand. “I guess, even if he is around.”

  “I’ll stick around after I drop you off, make sure the coast is clear. If he does come back around, call the cops first. If that doesn’t work, you’ve got my number. And Metalhead here is fast.”

  She sighed. “Okay then. Let’s go.”

  * * *

  The next day was a blur for Staci. She woke up, made herself presentable and went downstairs, ignoring the mess in the living room. Her mother was nowhere to be seen; she probably stumbled into bed or fell asleep in her bathtub again. After making a quick breakfast of toast and scrambled eggs, she got on her bike and rode into town. Nothing looked any different from any other day…but Staci couldn’t help but look at everything in a new light. There was so much more behind the everyday mundane than she could have imagined; a lot of it was dark, and dangerous. Some of it had tried to kill her. Then there was Sean…and Dylan. She was finding that she worried about certain things less than she had before; her old friends, what she was going to wear, how she was going to fit in. How she was going to keep from going crazy in a place with…nothing modern, really. Without things she used to think she was going to die without, like cell phone service and Internet. All of that seemed unimportant now.

  She got to the bookstore, greeting Tim on her way in. He had started treating her differently, in subtle ways, ever since she had tried to ask him questions that one night. He wasn’t unfriendly…but he was definitely more guarded, a little withdrawn when he talked with her. She sensed that she had moved from one category into another for him. What those were, she couldn’t say. Time would tell. After getting a cup of coffee and settling in at the back with everyone, she started dishing on the party at the Blackthorne Estate. The rest of the gang was the same as always; Sean asked her about the food at the party, Riley about the fashion, Jake about the video games or any supercars she might have seen, and Wanda just wanted to hear about how much the upper crust had made asses of themselves. This time, Staci figured there was no harm in obliging her a little. “The only people that got drunk this time were the townies,” she said, and made a face. “But I have to say, maybe I don’t know much about Ghost Recon, but they suck at it. Seriously. I bet you guys could take them.” She thought a little more. “You know, it’s kind of funny. Now that I think about it, the Blackthornes don’t seem to have a lot of imagination, either. Everything in the house or what everyone was wearing is gorgeous, but…it’s all like they’re copying something else.”

  She had suddenly remembered where she’d seen most of last night’s outfits, at least, the ones on the girls. Vogue International, the issue she’d picked up right here a week ago. There’d been two copies, because Tim had said he’d make sure she got one. Both were gone now. Here I was so intimidated by them! she thought. And all it was, was money. Well, okay, I guess I’m intimidated by the money too, but if I had that kind of money, I could do better than just buy everything on a list and wear it just like in the picture.

  “I guess if you’ve got enough money, you can pay someone else to think for you,” Wanda said snidely, echoing her thoughts. “So, okay, let’s get this show on the road. I am jonesing for some dice-bouncing.”

  The next few hours passed relatively quickly; Staci was really starting to pick up role-playing and the game mechanics. She enjoyed getting into character, and fighting monsters or chasing clues. I
t was almost like what she was doing now, helping Dylan and saving the town. In fact, the only real difference was that in the game, the monsters were obvious. In real life…not so much.

  * * *

  When she got home, she opened the door to find her mom stalking up and down the living room with the phone in her hand, yelling. “…Shit, Melinda, you were right, you were right all along, I am such an idiot! I was stupid enough to loan that dirtbag money, and just like you said, first he sneaks off last night, and now he’s a no-show, he’s not answering his phone, and all of his so-called friends are acting like he’s—”

  She broke off her rant to stare at Staci as if she didn’t recognize her own daughter at first. “…you’re home early,” she said finally.

  “I’m home at curfew, like I always am,” Staci pointed out, acidly. “Why aren’t you at work?”

  “Slow night; they sent me home.” She stared at Staci a little longer, but this time as if she was trying to remember something. “Okay, honey, this is private, do you mind?”

  Since Staci had stopped at the pizza joint on the way back and gotten herself a calzone and soda, it wasn’t as if she needed to be downstairs. She shrugged, said nothing, and went up to her room. But inside…she was wondering. Last night, the scum-butt had vanished into the shadows and hadn’t come out again. Today…he was gone. And it hadn’t been the habit of her mom’s boyfriends to disappear after only a single “loan.” Usually they stuck around until they’d milked her of a couple of months’ worth.

  And last night…Dylan had said he’d “stick around” after he dropped her off.

  And he’d pretty much confessed to being a stone-cold killer. Unless Fae didn’t count? But wasn’t he Fae?

  Okay, last night she’d wanted to hurt that bastard. But…she hadn’t actually wanted to kill him.

  She didn’t have a lot of appetite after that, but she ate her calzone, trying not to feel too queasy about it.