The Switch

Sarah: Tunes [Part TWO]

“We’re pretty far away from White Rose. Given the barriers Shiloh put up, it should take Kenny at least three hours to find you—if at all he knows you’re gone” Juan unbuckled his holster.

“He knows” I replied, not moving my gaze from the fireplace. The flames hissed and crackled, consuming the wood…like how Dean would be consuming Luke.

I crushed my lids at the violent imagery. I had to do something!

I scanned my surroundings, trying to think up a way to get out.

There were no more seeds with us. The last one was with Luke, and I had no idea where more were stored. Juan, too, was keeping a strict watch on me.

“I’m going upstairs” I declared.

“What for?” he asked, poking the fire.

“I’m exhausted.” I replied “If we have three hours, I’d better make use of it”

“Well” he never took his eye off the fireplace “If you sense danger, I’m down here”

“Okay” I replied, and began climbing up the staircase.

“Don’t do anything stupid” he called out again “Luke’s risking his life to keep you safe. You should trust that.”

“Yeah, I know” I said out loud.

Tell that to the stupid bracelet.

It had turned freezing cold, which never made me forget it’s presence on my wrist.

I hid upstairs in Luke’s room, remembering what Dina had told me.

 

If the bracelet is against them, then you should be too, because that thing can never lie.

Was Juan someone I couldn’t trust?

Then again, the bracelet hadn’t precisely proven its accuracy to me.

So far, the guy had done everything Luke had asked him to. Where was I supposed to go for answers?

I sighed, leaning against the bed frame, sitting on the carpet. I stretched my hand out, and grabbed Luke’s charger, plugging my phone in. I wanted to talk to my father.

His phone was switched off.

Groaning, I fell onto Luke’s bed.

“Shit!” I cursed, when the edge of something rectangular and hard dug into my back.

I shifted the sheets around, trying to locate whatever it was, until I spotted a hard bound diary:

 

Skjalasafn af Blake White

I didn’t know Icelandic, but the title was understandable enough to take a wild guess.

Besides, it wasn’t like it was the first time I had seen the book. It was the exact same thing that Derek wasn’t handing over to me— Luke’s father’s journal.

The only problem was; I didn’t know Icelandic.

I opened up the first page and ran my fingers across the beautiful cursive.