Darksoul (6 page)

Chapter
6

By the time
I came back into myself, the sun had waltzed across the sky and settled closer to the horizon, casting golden shadows on the littered alley. The bike stood against the wall, as though the angel had righted it before he’d left, and my book bag had fallen from my shoulders long ago. My phone was ringing. It’d been doing so for the last eternity. It sounded like the monster’s screech, shrill and earsplitting.

Trembling, I took it out of my pocket and swiped my thumb across the screen.
“Hel…” My voice faltered. “Hello?”

“Honey?”

All breath whooshed out of me. I nearly fell to my knees. “Mom.”

“Sweetheart.” As always, she kept her voice at a hushed volume to not bother her workmates. “I’ve been calling you for the last hour. Sumi has been try
ing to get ahold of you, and—” She cut off, sensing something in my silence. After a moment, she said tightly, “Tell me where you are.”

“I’m in—” I closed my eyes to rack my brain for the right words. “I’m close to Marco’s. Don’t worry. I’m fine.”

“Hazel Marie
Lisle
.”

“I just—my phone was on silent. I didn’t hear it ringing. I’m sorry.”

“Tell me where you are,” she repeated. “Are you still on your bike?”

“No, no. I have this other friend—um, H-Hunter”—I said the first thing that came to me, and hell if I didn’t want to kick myself for it—“and he, um, he saw me
and stopped to offer me a ride. He’s very nice, you see, and—”

“Okay, then, h
and this so-called Hunter over. I’ve never met him. An introduction is overdue.”

“He’s driving.”
I managed a nervous laugh. “You know men. They can’t multitask without breaking something.”

A sexist comment. It was supposed to be a joke—guys are as
awesome as girls, really—but her silence told me she was less than amused.

“A—
Anyway,” I said. “We just arrived at Marco’s, and I need to focus on getting my art supplies. Love you, Mom. I’ll make sure to wash the dishes before you come home.”

After a
pause, she said, “We’ll talk tonight.”

Overprotectiveness. Can’t live without that one.

Trying to steady my breathing, I hung up and slipped the phone into my pocket. A shudder tiptoed down my spine. My unhurt arm burned. Ice settled on my bones and chilled me to the core.

Suddenly, a
smooth, even voice spoke behind me. “I heard my name.”

Heart gi
ving a jarring thud, I turned around and felt my breath catch at the sight in front of me. Not in a good way. Not in the way that my breath would’ve caught if, say, Ash had appeared out of nowhere and swept me into his arms.

No. Definitely not.

Asshole Slade was leaning against the wall, looking as though he’d been standing there forever. Blonde hair messy and unkempt. Eyes gray and impenetrable as always. A cigarette hung between his lips, a thin wisp rising from its orangey tip. He reached up, grabbed it between two slim—scarred—fingers, and flicked off the excess ash. He blew the smoke out. Lazily. As if he didn’t care whether it made it out of his lungs or not.

“What the—” Great. Just what I needed. Forcing myself to
ignore the centipedes that crawled inside my stomach, I said, “What the hell? What are you doing here?” In an alley? At four in the afternoon?

He said nothing. Simply
gazed at me, his eyes cool orbs under the canopy of his lashes.

The silent treatment wasn’t doing anything for me. “Will you just—” I said, wanting to kick the wall and crumble into tears at the same time. “Go away. Damn it. I can’t deal with you right now.”

“A sign of weakness, if you ask me.”

“No one did.” I turned to get my bo
ok bag from the ground and hitched it onto my shoulder. “Offending me and you barely know my name. Nice. Very classy, asshole.”

And then the most amazing thing happened. Asshole Slade blinked, his dark lashes fluttering like lost angel wings. “Of course I know your name.”

“Congratulations. It’s not like I introduced myself to you earlier this week or anything.”

Was it me, or was there faint amusement playing along the lines of his mouth? “Hazel.”

Grumbling a thousand curses a minute, I
retrieved my bike. My hands shook around the handles, and I clenched them tight.

“Marie,” he continued, leaning forward as though to look at
me better, white-blond tufts falling over his eyes.

I stopped at the sound of that. No one knew my middle name except for a couple of choice humans. That’s right—animals not included. Ash. Sumi. Maybe my teachers, but they always called me by my first name.

“Lisle,” he finished, taking a drag of his damned cigarette. “Am I right, little mouse, or am I right?”

“
What the—” A vein throbbed at my temple. “What the—hell did you just call me?”

“The top of your head barely reaches my waist. Fits you quite well, if I may be honest.”

Ugh. I moodily rolled my bike out of the alley, wanting to shake him off. But he followed, gait lazy and gracious, and I tried not to look at him. I just—I kept seeing them, the beasts, the angel, the boy with the ice arms. Flashing behind my lids every time I blinked.

“Okay, so y
ou know the entirety of my name,” I said. “I guess my Victoria’s Secret good-looks led you to do the unthinkable and stalk me across multiple dimensions. I’m flattered, but I’m not interested.”

“No. Tiny, bad-mouthed, and with
hardly any curves to make up for her plain face. Still not my type.”

“Oh, I’m so saddened.” This, with great and underwhelming emotion. “How dare I live another day? Asshole Slade does not find me attractive. My life has been ruined. My heart, torn to pieces. Oh, how my…”

I trailed off. Across the street, under the awning of the local pizzeria, stood Ash. And with him?

With him was a girl
I’d never seen before.

I stopped on my tracks.
Slade stopped with me.

She was about my height. Blonde hair, pixie face, and a spa
ttering of freckles on her nose. She had no makeup on—not from what I could see—and wore gray chucks and an oversized sweater. Ash pulled her into a bear hug and laughed at something she said. His tongue piercing flickered into view, silver and slick. There one moment. Gone the next.

Her
cheeks went red, and she buried her face into his chest.

But I couldn’t care about her.
I mean, yes. She was cute. She was great.

Meanwhile,
I sat here, half-dead with a tattooed asshole standing beside me, looking at the person who I thought was my best friend and who I swore I saw twenty minutes ago. Bearing two inhuman arms that could puncture and kill with a simple slash. He was wearing his hoodie. The one from moments before. As always, a curled shadow slithered around his neck and flickered out of sight.

Tears welled
in my eyes, and I turned away. It was as though the universe decided to shit on my head this morning. An otherworldly episode with five clawing little shits, an encounter with Slade, and now this?

“I’ll see you…”
I said to Slade. The words died on my lips. I didn’t know if it was because I was at my wits’ end, but I suddenly felt like crying. Goddamn. Clenching my teeth, I turned on my heel and continued toward Marco’s. Slade followed. “I’m assuming this is where we part ways,” I told him, focusing on an increasingly watery point on the sidewalk. “I’ll see you on Monday. Work on being nicer and I might just—”

My voice broke.

“Damn it.” I tugged the hood over my head and worked on not making direct eye contact. “This never happened, you hear me? You never saw me. I was never here. In fact—”

I think that he was out to give me a heart attack or something. Because ever-so-lazily he reached into his back pocket and, giving me an impassive sidelong glance, held out a Butterfinger
bar toward me.

“What?” I sniffled and looked up at him, not sure whether it was a disguised
bomb or a gesture of kindness. “For me?”

He said nothing. Without a word, he star
ted to pocket it again.

“No, no!” I took it and,
wiping my cheeks, ripped it open. “I guess—thank you. You…you like these, too? I’ve yet to meet a person who loves them as much as I do.”

“No,” he said, letting out a puff of smoke. “I hate them.”

Huh? “Then why—”

“I’m available next week,” he said, following
when I went to lock my bike to the nearest lamppost. Marco’s was across the street. Late afternoon sunlight washed across its colorful awning. “And the weeks after that. I can sit for you every day after school, if you need me to.”

The Butterfinger
was doing something for my mood, as was the prospect of not getting a shit grade on this project. If he sat for me, I might have a chance. “Oh, my goodness,” I said, letting out a bout of watery laughter. “Sweet baby Jesus and saints and cows. You’re actually being nice to me.”

“I was never mean.”

“Sorry, but are you forgetting that you called me ugly? To my face?”

After a final dra
g, he dropped the cigarette and snuffed it under his boot. “I didn’t say that. I said you’re not pretty.”

As I crossed the street, I looked
at him through my bangs, only to pause when I saw that he was already gazing down at me. “Okay,” I said, sniffling, “maybe in your weird blonde universe that doesn’t mean the same thing as ugly. But in Hazel Lisle world, ‘not pretty’ equates with hideous, horrid, and potato.”

He pursed his lips, and a dimple surfaced on one cheek. “Potato.”

“Potato,” I confirmed, opening the door to Marco’s. “So as soon as you said I’m not pretty—which, really, it’s okay; you’re entitled to your own opinion—that translated to potato. And a plain potato, too, according to you. Imagine that. No salt. No bacon. Such a nasty piece of chicken goo. You’ve offended me greatly.”

“I think you’ve got it
wrong.”

“I’m never wrong.” I’d better shut my mouth.

“I said you’re not pretty. And as is typical of women, you’re looking at it in a negative light.” Another sidelong glance. “Think about it for a moment.”

I stopped and stared up at him. “I’m just thinking about the fact that you called me a woman. That cigarette must’ve had something, because if I may be honest, you seem to be in an awfully
high
mood.” Making sure that old Marco, the storekeeper, wasn’t in hearing range, I leaned in. “I promise not to judge you,” I whispered, and gave him an exaggerated wink. “
Wink-a-de-ka-wink
.
Nudge nudge. Wink.
”

He stared at me
.

I was about to make a bigger fool of myself when I saw something on his shoulder, and I blinked. “Is that—” I reac
hed out to touch it, and then pulled back at the last second. “Is that a—caterpillar?”

It was crawling up from the back of his shirt, slowly,
languidly. Vivid green, fat and robust, with pale fuzzies sprouting all over its body. Kind of cute, if I was honest.

He looked unconcerned.
“Probably.”

I met gazes with him. “What, you’re not going to swat it away or shake it off or anything?”

“No.”

Oh? “What have we got here? An animal lover?”

His facial expression didn’t change. “No.”

But then the caterpillar crawled up to h
is neck and stopped. It leaned closer, hesitantly pressing its cheek—or what could pass as its cheek—against his skin, as if it were nuzzling against him. Did it look…good God, did it look happy?

“I think it likes you,” I said, swallowing back a smile.

“Unlikely.” He was already turning toward the door, reaching up to get the cute little insect. “Give me a moment.”

I watched him through the store windows. Outside, he put the caterpillar on
the branch of a tree, doing it with so much care that I couldn’t help but stifle another smile. The caterpillar crawled toward him. As if not wanting to be left behind.

“So,” I said when he came back in, coughing into my fist to cover up my laughter. “Animal lover?
”

He stared at me for
a second too long. “Do us both a favor and go get your art supplies.”

“Fine.
” Before I turned away, I said, “And you should try to act less high and drop that animal thing you have going. Bring back Asshole Slade—it’ll be easier to curse you out that way.”

As I spun
toward the arts and crafts aisle, I could’ve sworn the side of his mouth tilted up.

When I h
appened to pass a decorative mirror, I caught sight of my face and almost fainted on the spot. The hood had long fallen and the atrocity that was my head was in full view. My bangs stood up in all directions, and my ponytail was as disheveled as it’d ever been. My eyes were puffy and red. And was that a piece of Butterfinger stuck to my chin?