Dark Child Page 3

  Good, he hasn’t noticed me ogling him. I lift my chin and tear my gaze away from him to locate a spot to sit and eat.

  Or maybe I should just head out, find a spot in an empty classroom to eat, lame as that would be. I mean, what, I’m running away from the guy just because he’s sexy enough to lick like a lollipop?

  Come on.

  But next time I glance his way, because of course I do, he sees me, that cool blue laser-beam gaze going right through me, stopping my heart.

  My feet freeze.

  Or maybe I’m melting on the spot? Hard to tell. He has such a cool gaze for such a hot guy.

  Since he is staring at me, those pretty blue eyes wide, I open my mouth to say hi. At this point, what do I have to lose? Other than my sanity, that is.

  He lifts a hand as if to stop me. Then just shakes his head and turns away.

  Ouch. What did I do, huh? Is it my ‘Impress me, Human!’ cat T-shirt?

  With a huff, I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear, press my lips together and head blindly toward the other end of the cafeteria.

  Stop thinking about it.

  About him.

  He obviously doesn’t know or care that you exist, and that’s how it should be. Leave pretty boy to his gaggle of fangirls and keep your head down.

  I’m done with that sort of man, right?

  Right.

  Chapter Three

  Merc

  After a bad night, falling asleep in class and getting dragged to the cafeteria by some classmates even though I can’t stomach any food today, I find her right there, looking right at me. Seeing me.

  But maybe it’s all in my tired mind. What if she was looking at someone behind me? Or even if she really saw me today, so what? She’ll forget my face again by tomorrow.

  Not in the mood for this shit, not today.

  Not ever again, all right?

  Damn, I’m stumbling around like a zombie today. Not sure what triggers the nightmares, but once they start, they’ll go on for nights on end, and I’ve resigned myself to losing stretches of my life to this black hole.

  If only I knew what it is I’m reliving in my dreams… if something actually happened when I was a kid, something that scarred me then, and it’s still replaying in my mind at night, or if it’s something else. Stress. Exhaustion. Some fucking twist in my neurons.

  A disease of the mind.

  Last thing I need is more confusion. Her confusing me.

  Then why can’t I fucking stop thinking about her? Not fair that she’s everywhere I go these days.

  She looked great. Fucking hot. Dark hair up in a messy ponytail like usual, dressed in jeans and a black coat, a funny cat T-shirt stretched over a nice rack, but her eyes…

  They shone so bright. She shone so fucking bright, as if she had a light burning inside her, and I guess it’s what drew me from the start.

  And yet she looked… different.

  Settling my Bose earphones more firmly over my ears, ramping up the volume of “Things Change” by Cassandra, I try to steer my thoughts elsewhere, though they’re having none of it. I rub a hand over my eyes as I cross the street to Mancave, the garage where I work some afternoons and the flash of something big coming at me shocks the living shit out of me.

  It’s a car. Barely missing me, it honks, and I jerk back, cursing and stumbling, pulling my ear phones off, letting them dangle around my neck.

  The car swerves a little and speeds by, spraying me with muddy water from yesterday’s rain.

  Joy.

  With a groan, I brush some of the muddy water off me and finally cross the damn street and enter, dripping, my brother-in-law’s garage.

  “And what the hell happened to you?” he asks, straightening behind the open hood of a car, hands smudged with oil. His dark eyes narrow. “You look like roadkill.”

  “That’s because a car almost ran me over,” I mutter.

  “Hell, man. Come here. Let me see.”

  Grumbling, I amble over, brushing my hands over my soaked jeans and jacket. “Said I’m fine.”

  Yeah, I’m a five-year-old around Matt sometimes. His fault, when he acts like my fucking dad. Mostly, though, I like hanging around him, and most of the time he’s like my older brother, teaching me stuff, talking to me straight.

  Hey, a man needs a break while living in a house populated solely by women. Of course now I don’t have that excuse anymore.

  Matt says I don’t need an excuse to hang around the garage. We’re family now. I like that, too. My family rocks—my sisters and their guys, the kids, my mom and her boyfriend.

  I’m perfectly fucking fine.

  So why hasn’t my brain gotten the memo yet?

  “You keep spacing out on me, and I’ll assume you fell and hit your head.” Matt’s dry, amused voice brings me back to the ground. “Did you?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Come on inside. I’ve got hot coffee. You look like you could use some.”

  Gratefully, I follow him into the small office and accept a steaming cup of strong black coffee. I instantly spill some on my black DeathMoth T-shirt that Zane Madden, Matt’s brother-in-law from his previous marriage, sent me some time ago. His wife sings in that group.

  Anyway, this is why it’s a good idea to wear black when you’re sleep-deprived and sex-deprived and girl-deprived, and generally deprived of all the good things in life.

  Matt pours one for himself and props his hip against the desk, watching me intently. He’s a bear of a man, not too burly but strong with a dark beard and hair and piercing eyes. Or maybe he’ll always look that way to me. I was still a kid when I first laid eyes on him, only sixteen, and even though I’m as tall as him now, and probably just as wide in the shoulders, I still feel like I have to look up at him.

  Literally. And figuratively.

  “You were listening to music again and not paying attention to the road again, I’d bet my right nut on it,” he grumbles, sipping at his coffee. “Told you that’s fucking dangerous. What am I gonna tell my wife if you get flattened by a car outside my shop, huh?”

  “Trying to guilt trip me by bringing Tati into the conversation.” I lift my brows. “Well played.”

  He snorts. “But it never works on you, does it?”

  I shake my head, though of course it does. Swallow some more coffee. I’d never want to worry my sisters. Then again, neither does he.

  But he’s just fucking with me anyway.

  It’s not like I have a death wish. I’m careful when I walk around. It wasn’t the music that distracted me but the sleepless night I had combined with the mystery that is Sophie, aka psycho girl, and I’m not about to tell him that, especially not when he’s looking at me like that.

  Right on cue, he says, “Been sleeping okay?”

  I groan. “Can I just have my coffee in peace, please?”

  “I talked to Gigi,” he says shortly, without more preambles. “About your nightmares.”

  Ah fuck. I put my mug down as heat races up my neck. “Did you, huh? And what did she say?”

  “That you saw something as a kid. Went through some sort of trauma but don’t wanna talk about it.”

  Dammit, Gigi. “It’s just dreams.”

  “It’s never just dreams.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “So it wasn’t something you saw?” He pins me with that dark gaze. “Something that happened to you? You can tell me, man. You know that, right? I’ll keep your trust.”

  “Like Gigi did?” It comes out more bitter than I’d intended, dammit.

  “Gigi is worried about you.”

  “Well, there’s nothing to worry about.”

  “Merc.”

  Just that.

  I sigh. He has my back, I know that. From the start, when he met my sister Octavia, he sort of adopted all of us. He’s a great guy.

  As for his question… I wanna tell him no. No, there’s nothing to worry about, no, I didn’t see anything, nothing happened to
me—but I hesitate.

  Can’t say it.

  Why can’t I say it? I’ve been telling Gigi all my life that nothing happened. I take a deep gulp of scorching coffee to fill in the silence and curse when I burn my mouth.

  Why did I hesitate?

  Because I don’t really know that nothing happened. It sure feels so real in my dreams, every little detail, every sound and image, every stab of fear. But aren’t dreams like that?

  Of course there’s the question of why the same dream returns night after night. Is that normal?

  Gigi has insisted from the start that it was all real, but I can’t believe that. Don’t want to. It’s probably a dream disorder. Anxiety.

  For some fucking unknown reason.

  “Okay. Anything else you wanna talk to me about? Girls? Drugs? Sex?”

  “What? No.”

  He laughs at my grimace. “You used to talk to me more before. As I recall, you had fuckloads of questions.”

  “And you answered everything I wanted to know, so now I’m good. Look, got anything for me to work on?” I’m desperate to change the topic from myself to something else. “Just point me at an engine, and I’ll make myself busy.”

  “Sure.” He shoots me a curious, suspicious look, and sets his mug down. “Always plenty of work to go around. And Merc…”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll talk to you if I need anything.” I flash him a weak smile, because I don’t want him to think I’m ungrateful when he’s done so much for me, for my whole family.

  But how can I talk to him about psycho girl or the nightmares when I don’t even know what to ask? Neither she or my violent dreams make any damn sense at all.

  “Merc, hey!” My older sister Octavia comes to stand beside me where I’m checking an engine. She has her baby in her arms and she lifts his little hand to wave at me. “Max, say hi to Uncle Merc.”

  Straightening, I grin wide at the sight of them. “Hey, guys. What’s up? Hey, Maxy. Whatcha doing?”

  The baby gurgles at me. He’s almost a year old now and keeps drooling as more of his teeth come out.

  I wipe my hands on a rag. “Give him over.”

  “Don’t you dare get car oil on his clothes. Have you got any idea how much baby clothes cost these days?”

  “Oh come on. He’ll outgrow these in a week anyway. Unless you’ve got another bun in the oven?”

  She colors. “No.”

  “Not yet?” I tease, and she colors more.

  Hm. Interesting. Is my sis thinking about having another baby? “Will you give him over or not?”

  “Here. Max, say hi to Uncle Merc.” She turns him toward me, and I grab and lift him up in the air, making him squeal.

  “Hey, little buddy. I’m your favorite Uncle Merc. I’ll teach you about car engines, booze and girls.”

  “Oh God…” Octavia rolls her eyes to the heavens.

  “He’s cute.” I lift him up again, then shake him a little, until he laughs. “Clearly takes after me.”

  “Ah-huh,” Octavia mutters, smiling. “Keep telling yourself that.”

  “What? He has my smile. Look!” Even if he’s a spitting image of Octavia with her dark hair and blue eyes.

  On cue, Max grins at me, showing me four lonely teeth.

  “Like a tiger,” Octavia says, giggling, and I have to laugh, too. He looks so happy. Makes my heart race, echo his joy.

  “He’s a ladykiller, this one.”

  “Yeah,” she mutters. “His diaper’s full. The smell alone will end them.”

  Wrinkling my nose, I lift Max up in the air. His socked feet wiggle. “Really, you little stinker. Giving the family men a bad name.”

  He wiggles, kicking at me. Man, Tati is right, he does stink.

  “Here,” I say, handing him back to her. “Take your offspring and deshit him, please.”

  “One day,” she sighs, taking Max in her arms, “I’ll do the same to you, when you have kids of your own.”

  I laugh because Tati doesn’t have a single vengeful cell in her body. This girl can forgive and love everyone. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  I follow her to the little office where she unceremoniously pushes papers aside to change her son. “How are the other kids?”

  “Fine. Asking when you’re staying over to build forts.”

  “That’d be Cole.”

  Mary and Cole are Matt’s kids from his previous wife. She died young, years before he met Octavia. And I love them. I love all my nieces and nephews. I’ve been blessed with great people around me.

  “Yeah, it was Cole. Mary pretends not to want that anymore, but trust me, she does. She misses you.”

  “We’ll do that. Let me know when you can.” I rub the back of my neck, at the hard knot of tension there. “It’s just that I moved to a new place, and I’ve been more busy than usual.”

  “Gigi told me.” Max squeaks and kicks at my sis as she puts a clean nappy on him. “Roommate okay?”

  “He seems decent. How’s Mom?”

  “Happy. At least she seems to be. She wants to invite us for dinner. To officially meet her beau.”

  I nod. “Sure. As long as he treats her right.”

  “Like you say.”

  We’re a tightly knit family. It was always just us three and mom, and it was great, though for most of my childhood I pined for a father figure. I saw other kids with their dads and wished for one of my own. A dad, that is, not a kid.

  Though now, seeing Max and playing with him, wouldn’t it be nice…?

  Argh, Jesus, where did that come from? I don’t even have a girlfriend, for fuck’s sake, even if a certain girl’s face keeps haunting my thoughts.

  “Hey, Merc?”

  “Huh?” I blink up at her. “What?”

  “Doing okay?”

  I rub at my eyes, irritated. “Why the fuck does everybody keep asking me that?”

  She lets out a startled laugh. “Oops. Did I touch a nerve?”

  “Nah.” I wave a hand. “I’m just tired.”

  She doesn’t comment on that as she hoists Max back into her arms. “Have you heard from Ross lately?”

  And okay, this sort of came out of the blue. “Why would I hear from Ross, sis? That asshole had better stay out of touch, or I’ll bash his face in like I did years ago.”

  She winces. “Just asking. He’s not returning my calls.”

  “Then you should take a hint and stop calling.”

  Did I tell you that in the end I found out who my dad is? Not only did he turn out to be an asshole I’ve known all my life, but I also have a douchebag of a half-brother from him. His name’s Ross, and he’s a damn bully. Bullied my sisters, too, in fact, encouraged by our prick of a dad. Turned into a criminal when he grew up. Big fucking surprise. He’s been in and out of prison—and Tati, like the golden-hearted person she is, wants to help him.

  Even though she was the main target of his bullying over the years.

  She pats Max’s back and hums something under her breath. “I was only checking that Ross is still alive,” she mutters.

  It sends a chill through me. “Still having bad dreams about him?”

  Maybe it’s a family thing. Something genetic. Maybe I should tell her my secret, tell her what I dream of, in case she has an answer.

  “Him, and you,” she whispers, and that stops my thoughts in their tracks.

  “Me? What about me?”

  “Gosh, I thought I’d told you.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “About my dreams. I see Ross… and then his face turns into yours. Or the other way round. It scares me to death.”

  Fuck. I hate dreams. Another thing I didn’t tell you. “Tell me about it. What else do you see?”

  A shadow crosses her gaze. “Merc…”

  “I wanna know.”

  “It’s not always exactly the same,” she whispers. “Look, Merc…” She glances at the door, as if expecting someone to walk in. Matt, I think. Maybe she doesn’t want to worry her
husband over her dreams, though I’m sure he knows all about them. Octavia is the sort of person who loves unconditionally, and she’d never keep secrets from him. I sort of took after her, though I’d never tell her that. “Last night… I dreamed that we were walking around in Destiny, you and me, eating ice cream.”

  “Like old times.” I give her a smile. Destiny is the little town where we were born and grew up, before she met Matt and we all moved here, to St. Louis.

  “Yeah.” She kisses Max’s dark curls. “So we’re just walking, and I’m scared, but I don’t know why. We stop in front of our old house, and you point at it, and you say Ross’s name. I feel that you’re telling me he’s in danger, though why you’re pointing at our house, I have no idea. Ross is in danger, and then I see him, lying on the street, blood running down his face, and I know he’s dying. And then…” Her breath catches. “And then his face turns into yours.”

  Shit. I look away, more shaken than I care to admit. “You have that dream often?”

  “Variations of it. But the theme is always the same. Ross is in danger, and so are you. His fate affects yours, and yours affects his. It’s as if… you’re linked somehow.”

  “Well, we’re not. Never were, never will be.”

  “He’s our brother—”

  “Half-brother.”

  Her eyes are sad. I hate that. I hate myself right now. “I’ll leave you to work. Talk to you soon, okay?”

  Pulling back my shoulders, I nod and watch her go, trying to ignore the mad racing of my heart.

  The dream doesn’t mean anything, I tell myself. Anything at all. Just a dream, right?

  Then why do I get this bitter, bad feeling in the pit of my stomach at the thought of me and Ross somehow tangled in my sister’s nightmares? What does it remind me of?

  And why am I still so damn scared of childhood ghosts?

  Chapter Four

  Cosima

  Boy, is my sister’s schedule packed. Running from place to place, completing task after task, taking care of the apartment and the most skittish ginger kitten I’ve ever met…