Seattle 8
Calm Before the Storm
The demon arrived less than two hours later. His face was tired, drawn. The rest of us were still crowded around the front door. He stopped dead at the sight of us, and the silence hung heavily in the air. Before anyone spoke, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Tension coursed through the air.
"Phoenix," he said suddenly, without opening his eyes. If I had been any less attentive, at that moment I would have focused on him completely. "You smell like him."
"He came to Scoops today," I replied. Even to me, my voice sounded small.
"What's he calling himself these days? Jason? Freddy? Michael?" There was a note of ridicule in Francis's voice as he named the fictional killers.
"Jack," I told him quietly.
The tension left Francis's face for a moment, and he just looked tired. I thought about all the workip these boys had done, staying on Jack's trail from the beginning. Was it just for Liam, or was there more?
Drake's expression was tense; he gripped Ahli's hand as if she were his lifeline. In personality, he seemed to be a player. I wondered if it was only because he'd had too many charges as a guardian angel to afford getting attached to one mortal. With Ahli, however, he never so much as glanced at another girl.
Enrique and Sora, standing together by the door of the kitchen, wore matching expressions of concern mingled with feat. The two were practically inseparable, despite being polar opposites. I remembered my dream, or vision, or whatever it had been. The two of them had been Liam's best friends in London, 123 years ago. A lump formed in my throat as I wondered what would happen if Ahli or Britney were taken away as Liam had been.
Mihael, who had joined us, looked just as on edge. He was biting his lower lip, and I could see tiny fangs protruding. His eyes flickered over all of us, worried, and I was again struck by how much he'd changed since nearly refusing to go after Liam on that cold November night.
Laurent was watching me, as if he weren't convinced that I was unharmed. His brow was furrowed and his eyes were dark with worry. It was so different from his normal, friendly, outgoing manner that it scared me. His skin was pale under his tan. In all the time I'd known the group, I'd never seen him like this.
As usual, emotions battled back and forth across Francis's face--now it was fear and anger. I could practically feel his urge to avenge Liam. His eyes were fixed on me, but it was as if he couldn't really see me. His face was flushed, and his eyes were wild. I wanted to reach out to him, but I was afraid to.
"Francis?" Mihael asked quietly, breaking the silence. Francis didn't seem to hear, but my eyes darted to Mihael, seeing the concern there. Suddenly, all I wanted to the was curl up and hide from the world.
Laurent seemed to sense this and pulled me into himself. For once, I didn't struggle; I just clung to him. My head was spinning, and my knees felt weak.
"Phoenix?" Ahli asked, her voice rising in panic. Instantly, everyone's attention was on me. I blushed for the first time in several weeks.
"I'm fine," I told them.
"Liar," Laurent grunted, putting a hand on my forehead, "You're burning up."
"I'm..." I wanted to say "fine" again, or maybe even "embarrassed," but I couldn't say a word. I just let the word hand in the air, my statement unfinished.
"I'll take her upstairs," Mihael said finally, his voice unusually soft.
He walked over and took my hand. Reluctantly, Laurent released his hold on me. I followed Mihael, suddenly feeling too drained to protest. At the base of the stairs, he picked me up bridal-style. I squawked in protest, but didn't fight him. Moving quickly now, he carried me up the two flights of stairs to my room.
By the time we reached it, I was already falling asleep. The world was just a haze around me as Mihael lowered me onto the bed, tucking the blankets in around me.
I felt a slight pressure on my forehead as I slipped into unconsciousness.
The next morning, I was sick. I had a fever and my whole body ached. Francis suspected it was due to exhaustion, as I'd been working hard on the case for months now. Paired with yesterday's adrenaline rush, he suspected that my body's defenses were just too low.
When I woke, late the next morning, Ahli was sitting on a chair pulled up beside my bed. Britney, snoring slightly, was stretched out on the floor beside her. Seeing that I was awake, Ahli nudged Britney with her foot, waking the brunette.
"How do you feel," Ahli asked, her normally bright features softened by concern. Mascara was smeared around her eyes, giving her the appearance of a nocturnal creature.
"Like a mummy," I grumbled in reply, observing that I was, once again, hopelessly swaddled.
Ahli grinned through the worry that lined her face, her eyes sparkling for a moment. I smiled back, though my entire face felt heavy. Britney, attempted to laugh through her waking-up yawn.
Mihael walked in then, cutting the moment short. He carried a glass of water in one hand, a thermometer in the other. His features were soft, and his blue eyes broadcast worry. I had the inexplicable urge to pull him down on the bed and use him as a pillow.
Instead, I just eyed the thermometer dubiously. It looked innocent enough, but I knew it could only be trusted so far.
Mihael noticed my gaze and smirked slightly. "Don't worry, it's new. And yes, it goes in your mouth."
I didn't respond, but continued to glare. He rolled his eyes at me and set the glass down, approaching the bed. Instinctively, I tried to roll over. Of course that turned out to be impossible, trapped as I was.
"Sucker," he commented, his smirk widening.
Ahli and Britney held me down as he stuffed the thermometer in my mouth. "Traitors," I mumbled around the cold glass.
Luckily, the torture didn't last long. Mihael removed the thermometer and stared at it as if transfixed, making small, worried noises. I stared at him, my panic level rising.
"What is it?" I demanded finally.
He looked at me, unable to keep the smile from his face. "You're fine," he announced finally, "just a little warm."
I found a stuffed animal on the bed and chucked it at his head.
The guys bustled in and out of my room all day, updating me on what sounded like battle preparations. Apparently, a sighting of Jack was the cue to beginning the countdown to a showdown. Francis was checking and double-checking all his resources. Laurent was talking to the neighborhood dogs to keep an eye out for the enemy. According to Sora, Mihael was even sharpening his fangs--every time he walked into the room, I couldn't help but stare at his mouth.
Even Ahli, Britney, and Beth, whose knowledge was restricted to the bare minimum (I never could figure out why I was different, unless maybe it was the "visions") seemed energized. They, however, restricted their activities to raiding the kitchen and delving through every jam-packed closet on the first floor. In the closet by the back door, they'd found a tattered broom, a broken toaster, four packs of old baseball cards, a croquet mallet, a plastic flamingo, a moth-bitten trench coat, muddy galoshes, a crushed umbrella, and a worn comic book with the first five pages missing and the rest bent, among other things--and that was only one closet.
When I recovered, I found that the house had changed considerably. Mysterious packages littered the front hall, and all I could find in the fridge was a rotting watermelon. The library looked as if a hurricane had passed through, judging by the books strewn across every possible surface. There were usually about four or five dogs lounging around the mansion at any given time.
Without wasting time, I sent Britney, Enrique, and Sora shopping to re-stock the fridge. Ahli and Drake were already who-knows-where, and Francis and Beth were at work. I considered cleaning the house, forcing Laurent and Mihael to help, then thought better of it. In a house where testosterone outweighed estrogen, I knew it wouldn't last.
With the fridge replenished and everyone back on their feet, things seemed to settle back to some semblance of normal. The difference, however, is that the other girls and I weren't allowed to leave the mansion alone, even for work. It applied to me most, as I was the one Jack had approached.
However, life continued. A week later, I found myself alone in the kitchen with Laurent. I held a can of soda in one hand, swirling the orange contents slowly. He watched me, a plate of lumpy scrambled eggs on the table in front of him, untouched. I could feel his bright green eyes tracing the bridge of my nose, the hair that fell across my shoulders, the slope of my torso as I leaned against the counter. After a few minutes of silence, I finally looked up. His eyes, studying my high cheekbones, met mine.
"You have ketchup on your chin," I told him, letting a mildly amused expression cross my face. He wiped it away, a slight blush flitting over his cheeks. I turned my gaze on the cupboards over his head, studying the grain of the wood. In my mind, I was reviewing all I knew about Jack and his crimes.
He'd been so normal at first, just a tired man in Whitechapel. From what Drake had told me, no one would have suspected him of being a demon. He had been friendly, easy-going, and hardworking.
Then, in 1888, he snapped.
"What's wrong?" Laurent asked, breaking me out of my thoughts. He was standing at the sink now, scraping eggs into the sink.
"You shouldn't waste those," I informed him. I hadn't heard him move, but that didn't unnerve me anymore. I was living with mythical creatures, after all.
Laurent rolled his eyes. "Don't change the subject," he reprimanded.
I shrugged. "I was just trying to figure out what Jack's problem is," I admitted.
The werewolf rolled his eyes again. "He's just crazy. That's all there is to it," he replied.
I just shrugged in response. Honestly, I couldn't think of a better answer.
Laurent's expression softened. With a sigh, he leaned against the counter next to me. For a moment, neither of us spoke, and I could hear only the continuous hum of the fridge filling the silence between us.
"Why me?" I asked quietly and unexpectedly, surprising us both. I hadn't been thinking about anything but the buzz of the fridge, but I knew instantly that I was referring to the fact that I had more information than my friends.
"What?" Laurent asked blankly. He looked shocked and confused.
"Why did you guys tell me what you were and not the others? Why am I the only one helping with Jack, even though we all live here?" I found myself blushing and nearly hyperventilating, staring at Laurent. He stared back, stunned.
"Because you're clairvoyant," Francis's voice responded from the doorway.
I spun to look at him. He leaned casually against the door frame, watchIng us. His eyes were calm, devoid of emotion.
"You can help us," he added.
I walked over to the table and slumped into a chair. Laurent followed, running his hands lightly across my shoulders. Francis entered the room and pulled out a chair facing me.
"Phoenix," he said softly, his golden eyes searching my face, "you don't have to do this. It's not your fight. Even if Jack's interested in you, we can protect you."
I stared at my hands, resting palm down on my knees. His words sank in, slowly penetrating a shell of frustration and despair. Finally, I shook my head.
"No," I said. My mouth felt dry and I swallowed several times before trying again. "I want to do this," I told him, "Besides, you guys are important to me."
He stared at me, as if he could read the future on my face. I saw worry, relief, and exhaustion on his face. Finally, he nodded. Then, without a word, he got up and walked out of the kitchen.