I'm plummeting deeper into the murky lake; the water smothers my lungs and blinds my eyes. I kick my legs, trying to fight my way to the surface. I refuse to drown. I refuse to die.
"Gemma." A voice floats up from beneath my feet. "Hang on."
I kick harder and paddle my arms, attempting to doggy paddle.
"No, Gemma, down here," the voice comes from below me and I'm overpowered by a comforting feeling. I know whoever it is won't hurt me. I'm supposed to listen to it... I'm supposed to go to it. My legs and arms go limp and my dead weight carries me down to the bottom of the lake where tall grass encloses me.
"Good," the voice entices. "Now, I need your help."
For what? I think.
The voice responds inside my head. I need you to save me.
How?
Just trust me.
I trust you. Bubbles float from my mouth.
Good. Now, whatever you do, don't panic.
Why?
A set of fingernails stab into my ankles and I'm being hauled downward again. I panic and claw at the water, but I'm drowning; useless, becoming part of the dead. For a brief, yet very important moment, I don't care.
Someone shakes my shoulder. "Gemma, wake up."
My eyelids snap open, I spring upright, and my head smacks into Alex's. "Don't touch me!"
"Fuck, Gemma." Alex surrenders his hands up in front of him and I pant loudly and hug my legs to my chest. "Calm down."
I eye his hands, then glance around at the vacant front seats of the GTO and then at the shelved walls of Laylen's garage. The interior light is on and the car door is wide open.
"Where are Aislin and Laylen?" I stretch my arms above my head, curl my back in and stretch.
"They're already inside," he says as he reaches around the seat and flips the lever. "Getting things set up for Aislin's spell."
I yawn. "How long have we been sitting out here?"
He pushes the seat forward. "Awhile."
"Why didn't you just wake me up?"
"Because I knew you were tired and I thought I'd let you sleep. In fact, if you want, you can go lie down in one of the spare rooms." He ducks out the door and climbs out of the backseat.
"I think I will." I scoot toward the door and he offers his hand to help me out, but I decline, moving around it, and put my feet onto the cement floor.
"You're mad," he states. "At me?"
I cross my arms over my chest. "Why would I be mad?"
"I have no idea," he says as I proceed towards the steps. "That's why I'm asking."
I twist the knob and push the door open. "I'm not mad. I was just painfully reminded of what and who I am to you."
His fingers encircle my elbow and he stills me. "And what do you think you are to me?"
I look directly into his eyes and utter the truth. "A star."
His fingers prod deeper into my arm, but he presses his lips together, not denying it. I feel my heart fracture down the middle and a tiny fragment chips off. Where it will end up, I don't know.
After I change out of the leather dress and back into my clothes, which Aislin washed, I go to sleep like Alex suggested. He makes me keep a knife on the nightstand next to the bed in case something happens while he's gone. I find images of cloaked monsters, a glacier world and an eerie lake haunting my head as soon as I shut my eyes and, soon I'm wide awake.
I lie in bed for a while before I force myself to get up. It takes me even longer to decide to go find Laylen, but, finally I tuck the small knife into the back pocket of my jeans and step out into the hall. The house is enormous and it takes a while to find him. He's in a small room with black walls, no windows and a corner lamp. There is a trivial bookshelf in the corner and a stereo is on top of it, playing the soft tune of "Into the Ocean" by Blue October. In the center of the room is a red sofa where Laylen is lying down, reading a book. I feel uncomfortable just walking in so I stand in the doorway, deciding the best way to interrupt him.
He's fully engaged in the book and doesn't seem to notice me. I start to back away, deciding to let him be when he turns the page and calls out, "You can come in, Gemma. I promise I don't bite." He glances at me with a sparkle in his blue eyes. "Then again, maybe I should say that I do. That might entice you to come in."
I press my lips together and step over the threshold. "I'm not that fascinated with biting. Just curious."
He smiles, shuts the book and sets it down on a rectangular table in front of him. Then he sits up, lowers his boots to the floor and pats the spot beside him. I take a seat and he studies me, like I'm a foreign creature.
"What?" I run my fingers through my hair and wipe my face self-consciously. "Do I have something on my face?"
He shakes his head and sucks his lip ring between his teeth. "No, it's just that you look so much like her."
"Like who?"
"Like your mom."
Every single one of my nerves unites with my heart; it bounds in my chest and dispenses eagerness through my body. "You knew her?"
He nods as he pushes up the sleeves of his black shirt. "I did and you look so much like her. Except for the color of your eyes. Hers were blue."
I picture a woman with long brown hair like mine, lengthy limbs and eyes as blue as the sea. "What was she like? No one's ever told me anything about her and I can't remember a single thing."
"She was really nice and she was one of those people who you knew you could trust," he says it like it's the simplest thing in the world to tell me and I decide Laylen might be the one person who can teach me what the term friend means. "You really can't remember anything about her?"
I shake my head, bring my feet up onto the couch, and bend my legs to the side of me. "But I was only one when she died."
"No, you weren't," he says with a pucker at his brow. "You were four. Who told you that you were one?"
I pierce my fingers into the palms of my hand until the skin splits open. "Marco and Sophia."
"Why would they do that?" Laylen reclines back in the sofa, pondering. "Why would it make a difference whether you were one or if you were four?"
"Maybe to torture me?" I flop my head on the back of the chair and stare at the ceiling with my hands lifelessly at my side. Is there anything in my life that isn't built on a lie? "I've never understood them or much of what they did, other than they seem to really hate me."
His fingers graze the inside of my wrist. "I'm sorry, Gemma."
I elevate my head and look at him. "You don't need to apologize. It's not your fault it happened."
"That's not completely true." He lets out a stressed sigh and his muscles flex as he folds his arms. "I knew what the Keepers were doing with you and I didn't do anything to stop it."
"You were like, what, eight when all this was going on?" I say. "Besides, it had to be done to me, right? So the world can be saved and all that; or, whatever the fuck the point was?" I loathe the bitterness that drips into my voice.
He's lost in thought, nibbling on his lip ring and making these soft sucking noises. "Maybe, I guess... Gemma, what has Alex told you?"
I give him a quick recap of what I've been told. The one thing I keep quiet about, though, is the electricity and what it does to Alex and me. That's just too complicated. And too personal.
"I don't even know what to say," he says when I finish. He gives me a sympathetic look and I feel pathetic. "I'm so sorry. I didn't realize how bad things were for you."
"Again, it's not your fault," I repeat, plucking at a loose string on the armrest.
"You know, Stephan made this big plan to keep you from feeling or whatever," he expresses. "But what I never got was how the plan actually worked. How Marco and Sophia were supposed to make you become emotionally detached."
"Alex told me it was because if you raised someone to never know what happiness and sadness and love are, then they wouldn't know how to feel them. It was working great, too, until a couple of months ago when I snapped out of my zombie trance."
"And you don't know what caused that?"
I shake my head. "I have no idea, other than the fact that I remember it felt like someone was watching me right before it happened."
He contemplates everything for a concise moment. "None of this makes sense." He brushes his blue-tipped bangs out of his eyes with his fingers. "It's like when your mom disappeared. Not much about that made sense, either."
My heart strikes in my chest as my eyes enlarge and I verge on a panic attack. "I—I thought she died? I was told my mother and father are dead." My voice squeaks at the end.
"They figured she must have died because of what happened." He scoots closer so we're huddled together, places a hand on top of my thigh and my heart settles. "I overheard my parents talking about how Jocelyn was pissed off when she found out you had to go live with Marco and Sophia so the star could be protected and she was planning on running away with you. As soon as Stephan found out he went to stop her. I guess he found you standing up at the top of this hill in the forest, but he couldn't find your mom. The Keepers looked for her for about a month, but they never found her." My blood boils. "So they just assumed she died because they never found her?"
A look of loathing shadows his face. "That's how the Keepers are—secretive and confusing."
"But that's bullshit!"
"A lot about the Keepers is bullshit."
I clutch at my chest as I hunch over, trying to breathe normally. "What if she's not dead and she's out there somewhere... alive?"
"That's the exact same thing my parents thought," he says and runs a hand down my back to comfort me.
I take a few deep breaths and then sit back up. "Maybe we could talk to your parents and try to get more details."
His eyes dim as he lounges back in the chair and rests his arm on the armrest. "My parents are dead, Gemma. They died in a car accident a few months after your mother disappeared."
Me and my Goddamn uncensored mouth. "Oh my God. I'm so sorry."
"Don't worry about it. It was a long time ago." He acts like it isn't a big deal, but he can't even look at me.
"Does Alex know about any of this stuff?" I change the unpleasant subject. "About my mom and how she supposedly died?"
"The thing about Alex is... he's kind of been brainwashed." His voice carries hesitancy. "He's got it in his head that the Keepers can do no wrong, but, yeah, I've mentioned it to him and he didn't believe me."
My mind is spinning. There's so much I don't know and so much Alex hasn't explained.
"Hey, I have an idea." Laylen rises to his feet and tugs down the sleeves of his shirt so they cover his arms and mark. "Why don't we take a break from all of this deep talk and go into the kitchen and get you something to eat?"
I nod and follow him out of the room, wondering what to do next and who I can trust. It seems like the world is full of unsolvable mazes and liars trying to direct me through them.
I might have been witnessing the strangest scene I've ever come across. A vampire/Keeper is making my breakfast and it's nothing simplistic, either. He's cooking bacon, eggs, French toast and pancakes because he says I need choices. No one has ever cooked me anything before and I'm in awe.
I'm sitting on one of the barstools that border the island, breathing in the fresh scent of cinnamon, bacon and the aroma of a brand new experience. We haven't talked much, but I'm enjoying watching him move around the kitchen. The way every time he ducks his head and his hair falls in his eyes, the way his limbs stretch as he walks and the way he keeps sucking on that lip ring of his.
"So, I've been thinking," he says as he turns the pieces of bacon over with a fork and the grease in the pan sizzles. "About your emotions and or should I say lack of emotions."
I inch the stool forward and the legs scrape against the tile. "Okay, what about them?"
He twists the knob on the stove, adjusting the temperature of the burner. "I'm thinking that sounds an awful lot like magic."
"Magic?" I prop my elbows onto the countertop and rest my chin on top of my overlapping hands. "Like Wicca magic? Or like black magic?"
He grabs a plate from the cupboard. "It could be either, really, or something else entirely different from Wicca magic. There's a ton of things that can wipe out a person's ability to feel."
"Wait, you think they wiped out my emotions?"
"It's possible." He scoops up a spoon full of eggs and piles them on a plate. "In fact, it makes a lot of sense. I mean, I knew you when you were a kid and you were fine then; happy, healthy and kind of bossy." He flashes me a grin.
"I wish I could remember you," I say as he slides the plate of eggs across the counter. "It kind of seems weird that I don't."
"That could be because of your emotions." He turns off the stove and grabs a rag that sits next to the sink. "I mean, think about it. You were emotionally detached from life—from everything, right? And emotions play a huge part in why people remember things."
"I guess that makes sense." I take a bite of eggs and they taste delicious. "But maybe, that could come from magic, too?"
"Good point." He finishes cooking the rest of the food. "But the question is, why? I mean, I know it's supposed to be because of the star, but what if it's because of something else."
I choke on my eggs. "You think I was made emotionally numb for another reason?"
He sets a pan in the sink and turns on the faucet. "Gemma, at this point, I have no idea what's going on. I've spent three years in the dark, never hearing a word from any of the Keepers." He speaks loudly over the running water. "And then Alex and Aislin show up with you and say that the Death Walkers suddenly found you after years of you going undetected."
Strangely, he's making sense. What if there's more? Why have I just assumed that the story Alex told me was the correct story?
He turns off the water and begins piling French toast, pancakes, and bacon onto the plate. When he's done, he sets the plates on the counter in front of me. Then he hops onto the counter and watches me as I eat.
"You're not eating any?" I ask, pouring syrup over a few slices of French toast.
He shakes his head. "I don't eat food."
"What... oh." I feel so stupid. Of course he doesn't. He's a vampire. I point my finger at him and click my tongue. "Gotcha." I dig into my food, struggling not to act too uneasy at the fact that he seems to be fascinated by my chewing.
"So what do you eat?" I break the silence.
He shrugs. "Nothing, usually. I'll eat food sometimes when I'm bored, but it's never out of hunger."
I drag the fork across the eggs, deliberating. "Laylen, can I ask you a question?"
"You can ask me anything."
"Anything?" I ask and he nods again. I take a bite of the eggs and chew. "How exactly did you get turned into a vampire?"
His face contorts with confusion. "I can't remember."
"Is that how it normally works when a person goes through the change, or whatever you call it?"
"It's called the transition." He hops off the counter and strolls around the island toward me. "And no, something else caused the memory loss." He pulls out a stool and sits down beside me. "The only thing I can remember about that night is coming out of a club and hearing someone come up behind me. When I turned around, everything went black. When I woke, I had a bite mark on my neck and blood all over me." He holds up his arm and tracks a finger along the Greek symbols that are on his forearm. "And, of course, I had this lovely little thing right here."
"Was it hard to deal with?" I set the fork down on my plate and rotate in the stool so I'm facing him and our knees are touching. "I mean, changing like that? It had to be hard."
He nods. "My Keeper's blood helps me control my cravings for blood, but it doesn't mean they're nonexistent."
"So, you've never bit anyone—ever?"
He scratches at his wrist and shifts uncomfortably. "I didn't say that."
My heart skips a beat. "So, you have."
He stares at the wall in front of us. "I've had a few slipups, but I never killed anyone."
"Do they... Do you..." I have no idea why I'm asking the question, only that I'm curious and need—and I mean need—to know. "How does it feel?"
His eyebrows shoot upward as his head whips in my direction. "How does it feel when I bite someone?"
I nod. "And how does it feel for them?"
"Why are you asking?" he asks me inquisitively.
I decide to be honest. "Curiosity, and the fact that I can't seem to keep my damn mouth shut."
His lips tug up to a miniscule smile. "You really want me to tell you how it feels to sink my teeth into another person's neck?" I start to apologize because I think he's upset, when he leans forward. "How it feels to suck hot blood out of someone's vein?" I swallow hard at the animalistic look in his eyes as he dips his head toward my face. "How it feels to hold someone in my arms, knowing I can do anything to them?" His voice purrs across my skin. He puts a hand on each side of me, slants his body and moves closer. "You really want to know, Gemma?" He breathes on my neck and I choke.
"I don't... I don't..." I trail off as his lips brush against my skin and my eyelids shut on their own accord.
"What if I told you it was terrible?" he whispers against my neck. "Would you run?"
"I don't know..." I begin to fall backwards on the stool and grab ahold of the edge of the counter.
"What if I told you it felt mind-numbingly good?" He kisses my neck and my shoulder shudders into him. "Would you let me bite you?"
My mind has melted into wax and air has gotten trapped in my lungs. "Would you bite me, if I said yes?"
"What do you think?" His lips part and I feel his teeth nick my skin. I don't move because I want to know. I want to stay right here.
As I'm entirely letting go to my curiosity and my body's need for an answer, his tongue slides out and he licks me like a dog. My eyes snap open as he pulls away and there's a huge smile on his face.
"I would never bite you, sweetheart," he says with humor in his eyes. "You're too innocent and pure and that makes for a bad addiction." When I pout, he touches his finger to my bottom lip. "And besides, I'd never be able to forgive myself if I bit you." I let my lip return to its rightful place as he gets up from the stool and makes his way to the window. "And I'm not a fan of feeding. I've only done it a few times and it makes me feel guilty afterwards." He draws back the curtain and lets the sunlight inside. "So, what do you want to do next—"
The window explodes, sending shards of glass through the air, like deadly raindrops. Laylen ducks down as a wave of ice rushes through the broken window and curves down to the floor. It slithers towards my feet and spirals up and attaches to the ceiling, forming thick beams.
"Laylen!" I jump from the stool and it topples over. "Are you okay?"
As I round the corner of the island, he stands up. My brain barely registers his movements as he races over to me at an inhuman speed and grabs my hand. The next thing I know, we're racing down the hallway and the ice is chasing us.
"What the hell was that?" I pant as I force my legs to take longer strides.
"Death Walkers." He veers us to the right as one of the rooms' doors blows from the hinges and flies towards our heads. The rest of the doors follow and he hunkers down, pulling me down with him. He shields my head with his arm and glances up and down the hall. "I have no idea how they fucking found us."
Ice crawls across the floor, along the ceilings and glazes the walls. Snow whirls in the air as the house begins to crack down the center of the floor. It's petrifyingly cold and I have flashbacks to the night in the woods, being chased, watching the Death Walkers take out the cabin with their ice.
My heart hammers in my chest as I tuck my head into his shoulder. "What do we do?"
His chin brushes the top of my head as he turns his head from left to right. "Come on. Follow me. And keep your head down."
He moves his body away from mine and keeps his head low as he gets down on his hands and knees, crawling toward the front door. I follow; the ice on the floor burns against my palms and the wintery cold air crisps my eyelashes. Beams are forming in bulks, creating a jail cell with no way out.
I continue to follow Laylen, sliding from left to right out of the beams, but fog starts to seep through the open doors and windows, filling up the entire house. Before I know it, I can't see a damn thing.
"Laylen?" I cough against the plunging temperature in the air. "Laylen, where are you?" He doesn't answer. "Laylen, please."
The dead silence is terrifying, but I try not to panic. I crawl on my hands and knees until I find my way into a room that's clear from the murky fog. I jump to my feet and remove the knife from my back pocket; noting the blue tint of my skin and the tremble and tightness of my frozen limbs. The fog is getting to me and I need to move fast before I get hypothermia.
"What the hell should I do?" There are no windows in the room, just a few empty shelves and a door. I quickly run over to it, but it comes crashing down and flies straight at my head. I drop to the floor, flat on my stomach, and the blade of the knife grazes my hand and slices my palm open. With my uninjured hand, I begin to push myself up when something steps up in front of my face. Black fabric circles its feet and ice cracks out from under it.
I kneel up and tip my chin up to the Death Walker standing in front of me. It's sickening to look at up close; dry peeling skin and blood oozing from the visible muscles. Its eyes are hidden underneath the hood, but the glow is blinding.
I skitter backward on my knees, poising the knife out in front of me. Without warning, it charges, sending ice dispersing from the walls and ceiling. The shards are as sharp as glass and each piece that hits me rips at my skin. I manage to swing the knife at the monster, knowing it won't kill it, but hoping it will wound it. I only slice the fabric of its cloak, though, and seem to piss it off. I dodge to the side and try to get my feet steady beneath me, but it floats over my head and lands behind me. I whirl and aim the knife at it again, but I'm way off goal and I stab at the air.
My feet slip against the slick floor as I try to spin back around to run, but it grabs ahold of my arm and lifts me up until my legs are dangling below me. I open my mouth to scream, but a dense cloud puffs from its fleshless lips. Cold air enters my throat and steals the sound away.
Bits of ice and frost crackle across the inside of my mouth and down my airway. The Death Walker tips its head back, lets out a blood curdling scream and countless shrieks echo throughout the house. Its fingers leave my arm and I crumple to the floor, clutching my neck as I roll onto my back. The Death Walker cries out again as my body stops falling, each limb dying. The ice spreads down into my lungs, wrapping around each bone, contracting them and I can feel the skin shriveling from the pressure. I listen to my heart still as the Death Walker leans over me. As it opens its mouth again, my heart goes silent. Then everything goes black.
