Blood Magic (Blood Magic Series Book 1) Page 4

  “Can’t you do something about her?” Matt complained.

  “Why mess with perfection?” Eric laughingly replied.

  “How old are you three again?” Dr. Sanderson asked, exasperated.

  “Same age as Allie, you know, the friend who’s on her death bed, just holding on to life by a thread—who doesn’t even know that her friends are here to see her through in her hour of need!”

  Oh, for the love of, God! Did I mention that Cassie’s favorite class is drama? Finally, I decided to take pity on poor Dr. Sanderson. “It’s okay, Doc; let them in,” I called through the closed door. And immediately the door was flung open and Cassie launched herself at me.

  “Oh, Allie, I’m so, so, so sorry for everything I said tonight! Can you forgive me?” and this time she was actually serious.

  “There’s nothing to forgive. You didn’t pour nearly a whole bottle of wine down my throat and make me go for an arctic dive. That was all me.”

  “I’m just glad you’re okay,” said Eric, sweet as ever.

  “I never should have left you there alone. I saw how messed up you were, and I left anyway. Who does that?” Matt said angrily, but the anger was directed only at himself.

  “Guys, seriously, stop it; I was the idiot here—none of you are to blame!”

  “You’re right,” Cassie said, followed by a punch in the arm, “That’s for scaring the crap outta me.”

  “Ouch! Cassie, I’m really sorry you didn’t get the pumps, okay, but you should count your blessings; if I had died and seen my favorite shoes on your bony ankles—I’d have had to haunt you.”

  “How can you even joke about that after what just happened?” Matt asked me, and I was sure I’d never seen such a serious look on his face.

  “Guys, I didn’t die! I’m right here, and I really am sorry for scaring all of you.”

  “What worries us is that it didn’t seem to scare you,” Matt said.

  “Don’t tell me how I feel!” I said, angrily.

  “Okay,” he said, calmly, “I’ll tell you how I feel. I’ve never been scared in my whole life, like I was tonight—the thought of never seeing you roll your eyes at me again, or hearing your smart mouth, or just hanging out with you—was terrifying. And it woulda been my fault,” he told me, and I swear I could see tears in his eyes.

  “Come here,” I said, and he hesitated for only a moment, then I tugged on his hand to get him to sit down on the side of the bed, and wrapped my arms tightly around him. And in a moment I felt two more sets of arms wrapped around both of us. And I knew that this moment would be tattooed on my heart forever.

  When the love fest was finally over, I said, “I love you guys all so much! And I promise you that I am done being reckless for, like, forever. So, please get out of here; go home and get some rest, and I’ll still be here to annoy you tomorrow.”

  And after a few more hugs, kisses, I love yous, and see you tomorrows—I was alone once again, figuring the rest of the night would probably be pretty boring. I could not have been more wrong.

  My friends had been gone for probably only about an hour, but it felt like so much longer than that. I had flipped through all of the channels on the little TV in my room, twice—nothing on. I had tried to sleep—with no success—and I’d stopped counting sheep a long time ago, ever since I’d seen that mattress commercial with the freaky, bug-eyed sheep in it. I had played with all the buttons on my bed and counted all the tiles in the ceiling, and just when I was about to die of boredom, I heard someone yelling and throwing things in the room next door.

  “There are worms in my bed!” someone screamed, followed by another crash, “I’m not crazy! Can’t you see them?”

  “There is nothing in your bed, Molly. It’s the medication. Sometimes people see things that aren’t there. You just sit on down right here and—”

  “No, no, no, no, no, now they’re crawling all over me! Get them off! I have to get them off of me!”

  That was when a very naked woman went running past my room, screaming all the way down the hall. When she was caught, she had to be assured that all of the worms had been killed to get her to go back to her room, but then there were frogs. She had to be sedated and restrained, and then everything was quiet and boring once more. I don’t remember much after my small dose of live reality TV, so I must have fallen asleep shortly thereafter, but the craziness had only just begun!

  Let me just begin by saying that I am not pretty when I sleep. I usually lay on my side with my mouth open—snoring—and a small round puddle of drool forming on the pillow next to my mouth. Just not attractive at all! So, of course, this was exactly how the mystery guy who fished me from the lake found me when he walked in.

  I could hear something in the distance that almost sounded like a bumblebee. Maybe there were bumblebees in my bed. I slowly opened one eye to search for the source of the noise and realized that there was a hot guy standing in the doorway of my room. The “bumblebee” was him clearing his throat.

  I quickly sat up and stuffed the drool-soaked pillow behind my back, and I was pretty sure that all of the blood in my body had instantly rushed to my face. Why couldn’t I have been sitting here brushing my hair or putting on lip-gloss? But I guess I should look on the bright side; it could be worse, at least I hadn’t been picking my nose.

  When I finally stopped obsessing about how I looked, and got up the nerve to really look at him—my heart just about stopped—right before it started pounding so hard, that I was certain it would burst right through my chest cavity and flop onto the bed.

  Brains are funny things and so are the dreams that they spawn. After the trauma I’d been through tonight, I guess my brain figured that poor little Allie just couldn’t deal with anything else right now. But sitting here, looking at him right now, everything came back. The time my subconscious had spent in Salem while I was out of it, felt just as real as anything else that had happened tonight.

  I remembered everything about the dream, especially Joshua Abbot and his sea-green eyes and black, shiny hair. The names and faces in my dreams were usually hard to recall, but this time I remembered it all. And some small, little part of me wondered if I was dreaming right now, because the guy standing in front of me looked exactly like Joshua Abbot!

  “Hi, I’m Mason, Mason Adams,” he said, smiling hesitantly at me.

  I didn’t say one word. Nope. Nuh uh. Not one! Instead I just sat there staring at him with my mouth hanging open.

  “The guy who pulled you from the lake,” he said helpfully, probably wondering if he’d gotten to me too late and I had suffered some kind of brain damage.

  I finally remembered to close my mouth, but I still didn’t say anything. What was I supposed to say? Hey, you’re the guy that I’ve been dreaming about for the past few months—because now that I was actually remembering the details of my latest dream—I remembered that the older dude in my recurring dream was also named Joshua. But how on earth could they be the same person when they were from two different time periods, and one of them was old and one was young? They both had green eyes and black hair, but the younger Joshua was from 1692—and the older one from ... Well, not that far back. My brain was beginning to hurt, and I still hadn’t spoken, so he was probably convinced I had brain damage by now. And I wondered if I started screaming and hitting myself in the head if he would just go away.

  “Maybe I should go get the doctor,” he said, moving toward the door.

  “No,” I suddenly yelled, “I’m fine, really. My name is Allison Chamberlain,” I told him, smiling.

  “It’s really nice to meet you Allison,” he replied, smiling in return.

  “It’s really nice to be alive, Mason. Thank You.”

  “You’re very welcome.”

  “Sorry I ruined your evening. I’m pretty sure plunging into a frozen lake wasn’t on your to do list.”

  “I’m pretty sure it wasn’t on yours either. I’m sorry,” he said.

  And there really w
as sorrow in his beautiful green eyes and in his voice. Why did he care so much? He didn’t even know me. I was a stranger to him. And why did the look in his eyes suddenly make tears want to fall from my own.

  “Actually it was,” I said, trying desperately not to fall apart, “Right in between getting my belly button pierced and getting a puppy,” I tried to smile, but it felt pretty wobbly. What was wrong with me? What was he doing to me?

  “Why do you do that?” he asked sadly.

  “Why do I do what?” I asked him, pretending not to understand.

  “Act like nothing can touch you. Like everything that happened to you tonight doesn’t even matter.”

  “You don’t even know me, so how do you know what matters to me and what doesn’t?” I asked irritably.

  “There’s just this vulnerability about you. The melancholy look in your haunted eyes belies your beautiful smile and your flippant words. And no matter how cavalier you may seem, I know that deep down you realize this is nothing to joke about.” he said, almost desperately.

  “Wow! Someone’s been reading the dictionary,” I quipped. “How old are you, anyway, like a hundred? ‘Cause in teenworld we use words like, like and cool and sick and awesome and dude,” I grinned.

  “What?” he asked, with the most adorably puzzled expression on his face.

  “The things you say sound way older than you look,” I told him.

  “I’m an old soul,” he said, with a lopsided smile.

  “Well, that’s as clear as mud!”

  “I’m seventeen.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked, wrinkling my brow.

  “Yeah, last time I checked. How’d you get so good at avoiding touchy subjects?”

  “The subject is closed.” Jeez! He was like a dog with a bone.

  “I heard your earlier conversation with your father,” he said, completely throwing me off.

  “You were eavesdropping?” I said, angrily.

  “Not on purpose.”

  “How do you accidentally eavesdrop on someone?”

  “That’s not the point, Allison! He treated you like garbage, when he should have been on his knees thanking God for every smart remark that came out of your mouth—because at least you were alive.”

  This little speech was delivered so passionately that all I could do was stare, and try not to die—because when I really thought about the fact that my father had never loved me—I usually started to wonder why. Maybe I just wasn’t loveable. Maybe he blamed me for my mother dying while giving birth to me. Maybe I wasn’t smart enough or pretty enough. Maybe, maybe, maybe…

  “Allison,” he said, when it became clear that I would not respond, “You’re allowed to be upset about the way your father treated you. It’s not okay. And nearly losing your life isn’t funny, no matter how many jokes you make. Don’t hold it all inside. Feelings don’t go away just because you want them to; they fester and grow until they poison you.”

  “If that’s true, then I’m pretty sure I’m toxic by now,” I said, still trying to make jokes, as a fat tear rolled down my face.

  That was when he brushed his finger gently against my cheek, catching the tear on his fingertip and said, “One down.”

  And then I completely lost it, as I covered my face with my hands and began to sob. In a moment, I felt the bed dip, as he sat down beside me and pulled me against him. I moved my hands from my face, to latch on to his shirt, as I pressed my face against his chest and cried. His arms around me felt more right than anything had ever felt in my life. And with every tear I cried, my heart felt a little less battered and broken.

  I have never had a home, not really. I have a house and lots of stuff. But the people are what really make a place home, and as crazy as it sounds, right now, Mason Adams felt like mine.

  Chapter Four

  Nightmare

  I had been out of the hospital for a week now, and the last of the snow had finally melted away. Unfortunately the ending of the blizzard ushered in the beginning of the bane of my existence—the new school year. Don’t get me wrong, hanging out with my friends all day was cool, it was the homework part that sucked!

  So, naturally the night before my first day back, I lay awake half the night in dread of the annoying beeping sound of my alarm the next morning. I was so not a morning person. I tried a radio alarm once, but I would usually just lie there and listen as it sang me back to sleep. Nope! It had to be the annoying one, or else I wasn’t gonna budge, and even then it had to be placed across the room; so I’d have to get up to turn it off and wouldn’t just keep hitting snooze.

  After tossing and turning until three a.m., I finally gave up and took an ambien. It was for Cassie’s own good, really, because the only thing I hate worse than mornings are morning people. And she was always so disgustingly chipper in the a.m. that I was pretty sure—without any sleep—I would have killed her. Not long after taking the pill, it began to work its magic.

  I think I read somewhere once that sleeping pills can cause bad dreams, but after the nightmare I had, every bottle should read, in glowing neon letters: Warning, may cause disturbing visions of ugly-ass monsters! Take at your own risk!

  I was struggling for every gulp of air I could drag into my lungs, but expelling the air from my lungs wasn’t so easy either. I felt so cold, like there was a thin layer of frost coating my body, and the tiny ice crystals pierced my skin, drawing blood. The wind was howling through my room like a banshee, and there was a thin covering of ice on my bedroom floor that snaked up the walls, cracking the plaster.

  I tried to sit up and look around, but it was as if invisible arms held me firmly in place. And it almost seemed that when I struggled the pressure on my chest increased. It was getting harder and harder to breathe, and my vision was growing spotty. I was pretty close to passing out, when I heard a series of cracking sounds.

  I twisted my head from side to side, trying to discover where the noise was coming from, and then I saw it. The ice on my floor and walls had begun to melt, and the water had begun to rise.

  The bottom fell out of my stomach. There is no way to describe the sheer terror I felt at the sight of the slowly rising icy water. I began to struggle with every ounce of strength that was left in my body, and suddenly I was free; I quickly scrambled up onto my hands and knees, but I did not move from the bed. I was paralyzed by a fear so strong that I could almost taste it.

  When I was finally able to look away from the icy death trap below me, I screamed until my vocal chords failed me, and all I could do was whimper like a wounded animal.

  Standing across the room staring at me from black, empty eyes sockets was the most hideous creature I have ever seen. She wore a black cloak that whipped furiously around her in the wind and carried a staff in her hand that was shaped like a serpent. Her gray skin was so wrinkled that it hung, loose and flapping on her bones. I could see a few strands of white hair peeking out from under the cloak, and her hooked nose reached all the way down to her top lip. Then she smiled at me, and her grotesque lips stretched, literally, from ear to ear, her gaping smile revealing a few rotten, jagged teeth.

  She reached her wizened hands toward me and I noticed that she had very sharp claws that were easily two inches long. I shrank back against the headboard and she laughed. Then she began to sway back and forth and chant in a language that I did not understand. When her song and dance was done, she banged the staff against the floor, and sparks flew in all directions. The sparks quickly turned to flames and quickly consumed all of the water that was left in the room.

  Then she uttered a single sharp word that sounded very much like a command, and the fire raced toward me and ignited my sheets. It quickly coiled around my wrists and ankles—and as the fiery shackles seared my flesh—she began to walk towards me.

  I started to scream again, finding that my vocal cords worked after all, but then she simply waved her hand, and a fiery gag rushed to silence me.

  And when she spoke again, I could understand
every word, “You are but a foolish child and do not deserve the gifts which you have been given. You do not even realize you have them, and the tragedy of that is–they are wasted! Wasted on a girl who does not even possess the talent to wield them! But that soon will change,” she hissed, and I could have sworn I saw a long, forked tongue.

  Then she began to chant again, as she drew a deadly looking blade from beneath her cloak. It looked like it was at least several inches long, and I could see the flames reflected in its shiny surface. She gripped the handle tightly with her bony fingers and raised it in the air, bringing it down with such force that my wrist was slit almost to the bone. I tried to scream as tears of pain filled my eyes. The sounds of my pain were muffled, but the screaming in my head was deafening. And as she leaned closer the scent of death was almost overwhelming.

  Then she did something so horrifying that my stomach rolled and heaved. She leaned her head down to my wrist and began to drink. When her lips touched my skin, I felt like I had been burned by acid, and all I could think—over and over—was that I had to make this torture end.

  She stopped abruptly, grabbing her throat, as if she was choking, then I saw a burst of white light as she was slammed backwards into my bedroom wall. She stood up and advanced toward me again, emitting a terrible high-pitched shriek. I woke up almost immediately after that, with my wrists throbbing. Looking down, I could see a faint pink line exactly where I’d been cut in my sleep. There was also dried blood on my arm; my wrists and ankles looked sunburned; my tongue felt like it had been scalded. And I swear my room smelled faintly of smoke, and the echo of her cries, before I awoke, was still ringing in my ears.

  I had fallen asleep at about four a.m. this morning and awakened at five a.m. with a terror so intense that I did not dare go back to sleep! I was too afraid to get out of bed, so I had assembled a pathetic assortment of weapons—that could be reached easily without getting up—around me. A fly swat, a heavy silver hairbrush, and a very sharp nail file were the only “weapons” within my grasp. And I did not move until the first streaks of dawn lit the sky.