Nightwalker

Forty-Eight

A/N: This chapter has two songs. However, one of them will be in postscript! Also...trigger warning. This chapter works with mature themes including death and desecration. Good luck! - Angelo

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Riordan

"Riordan, where on God's green Earth are we going?"

"Just take another right at the next light."

Despite not pushing, my father clenches the steering wheel tighter and makes the turn like he's on autopilot. I'm gonna have an earful by tomorrow.

As the street sign for Cyrus Dean High looms into view, his brows twitch.

"Is there a reason why we're near the back lot of Cyrus Dean?" he deadpans, suspicion crowding his voice.

"Pull into the parking lot."

He parks in the first stall he sees, slamming the gear stick into park a little harder than necessary. "I'd like an answer from you, young lady."

I smirk, grabbing the door handle. "So we've transitioned from kid to young lady. Fascinating."

"Riordan--"

"I need ten minutes. That's it. Just... stay in the car."I get out of the car and open the trunk in a haste, grabbing the heavy metal shovel.

I can't believe I'm doing this.

Somehow, despite it being my only request of him, something possesses my father to climb out of the car after me.

"This is as far as you come, Dad," I warn, as I sling the shovel over my shoulder.

"Like hell it is, kid," he snaps, already catching up beside me, "You're gonna get yourself in trouble and I don't wanna be complicit!"

Arguing with the man is fruitless. Not when he's switched into protective mode. Not when I already feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing up.

I turn my head toward the open field, the very place where the new field was carved out of earth and memory. The night air hums--not loud, but steadily. An odd energy rides in under my skin like pure TV static.

What was that?

Boldness swells in my chest, but it's not entirely from this moment. It's borrowed.

Borrowed from all the anger I've felt toward Phoenix Linklater. From the misery he put his own sister through. From the sins of her very own mother.

This energy sits charged and warm like a live wire. Almost familiar--it pulses around me like an invisible heartbeat.

I felt this earlier today, in the classroom.

It wasn't Amalia, though I know she's close--her own energy gently drifting through the school walls, lazily. But the energy out on the field isn't her.

It's something else.

It almost feels like Soren.

But not quite.

''Suit yourself.'' I say as he follows.

I trudge towards the fields entrance through the lot, and walk across the field in long strides.

The energy was strong, resonating somewhere around the benches of the field.

I pull out my phone, my thumb trembling slightly as I click on the flashlight. A narrow beam cuts through the dark, scattering shadows across the frostbitten grass. I move toward the benches, the crunch of my boots against the ground louder than I expect in the silence.