Dream Dark
Page 7
She got up, and he knew she was planning a quick getaway. Link grabbed her arm before she had the chance to run. “I'l always need you, Rid.”
Ridley bit her bottom lip. “For how long?”
“What are you talkin' about?” Link honestly had no idea. Girls were like aliens, and as far as he was concerned, Ridley was their queen. “Just tel me what's wrong.”
“This. Us.” She gestured at the empty space between them. “It's not going to work. We both know it, so let's just quit while we're ahead.”
Link felt the panic rise in his chest. She was going to bolt, the way she always did whenever he thought they were final y starting to get close. “What do you mean, Rid? You're my girl.”
Ridley shook her head. “Don't you get it? That's the problem. I'm a girl—an average, worthless Mortal girl. I'm not a Supernatural anymore. I'm a super-nothing. And you're a hard-core, walk in the daylight Incubus.”
“Quarter Incubus.”
“Wel , I'm a hundred percent Mortal. So we have nothing in common.”
Link grabbed her shoulders. She winced, and he tried to loosen his grip before he accidental y snapped a few bones. “We never had anythin' in common, and it never mattered before. You were a Siren and I was a regular guy. You were Third Degree Burns hot, and I was Thirty Degrees Below cool.”
“I hate to break it to you, but you were never that cool.” Ridley smiled at him.
“So how is it any different now?” Link clung to her smile. That lip-glossed, pouty diva smile meant about as much to him as anything these days.
Ridley looked away.
There was something about saying the words out loud that final y made Link understand. “Oh, I get it.
When you were a Caster, it was al good. But now that I'm the supernatural one, things won't work out.”
He took his hands off her shoulders and shoved them into his pockets awkwardly. “Because I'm just some dumb hick, right?”
She stared up at the ceiling, focusing on a thin crack in the perfectly white plaster. It was funny how one tiny crack could completely ruin something
one tiny crack could completely ruin something perfect.
“You are a dumb hick if that's what you think.”
Ridley hesitated.
Link leaned forward, his forehead touching hers.
“Can a dumb hick do this?” He leaned in and kissed her as softly as he could.
“Yes. And this.” She pushed against him and kissed Link as hard as she could. Then she hauled herself up off the floor and took off before he could say a word.
Stil , he was almost sure she was smiling.
Link picked up one of Ridley's sky-high heels and stared at it. Usual y, he just wondered how she walked in those things, which was the closest Link ever came to contemplating physics.
Today al he could think about was the box sitting next to the shoes.
There was something familiar about it, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember why. Maybe he real y was a dumb hick.
If he hadn't been staring so closely at the shoe box, he might have noticed the light stil glowing, bright as a flashlight, through the crack beneath the closet door.
By the time Macon sent Link a Caster key a few days later, Ridley and Link were back together again, as thick as thieves. I felt sort of jealous—not about Rid but about Macon. Seriously. I mean, I had saved Macon's life, and even I didn't have a Caster key to the Tunnels.
“You also don't have to hide that you're a Supernatural from your mother, who doesn't even like Methodists,” Lena pointed out.
I guess she was right.
Link didn't have to wait long to try out his Caster key. We were shooting hoops over at the middle school court in the blazing heat, the blacktop practical y melting into tar, when Boo showed up with a piece of paper rol ed around his col ar.
It wasn't signed, but we both knew who it was from.
“What am I, a spy now?” Link crumpled the paper and tossed it into the green metal trash can. I half expected it to catch fire when it hit the rim.
“Macon is supposed to be dead,” I reminded him.
Link bounced the bal from one hand to the other.
“Oh, right. I guess it isn't that weird, then.” Only it was, and we both knew it.
If we only knew how weird.
CHAPTER 5
Priority Mail
Three hours later, Link knocked on Macon's door in the Tunnels. He wondered if the Caster key would have worked on this door, too. He'd probably never know, since there was no way he was going to try it.
Macon Ravenwood wasn't an Incubus anymore, but he was stil a seriously badass Caster. Even if he wouldn't tel them what he could do.
Link was ticking off the possibilities in his mind when the door swung open. Macon Ravenwood was holding a glass of sweet tea. Big surprise. Pretty soon he was going to need an IV.
“Mr. Lincoln, I'm impressed. Four o'clock on the dot.” Macon stepped aside so Link could come in. “I believe punctuality is an entirely underrated quality, at least by your contemporaries.”
As usual, Link had no idea what Macon was saying. “Uh—okay, sir.”
“Please have a seat.” Macon gestured toward the pair of wing chairs in the corner. “I apologize for the cryptic nature of my message, but the matter we need to discuss is of great importance.”
“Sir?” Link dropped down into the chair, and the wood groaned.
“I need you to deliver an urgent message for me, Wesley.” Macon glanced at the polished table between the chairs. A heavy cream envelope was lying on it.
Ridley bit her bottom lip. “For how long?”
“What are you talkin' about?” Link honestly had no idea. Girls were like aliens, and as far as he was concerned, Ridley was their queen. “Just tel me what's wrong.”
“This. Us.” She gestured at the empty space between them. “It's not going to work. We both know it, so let's just quit while we're ahead.”
Link felt the panic rise in his chest. She was going to bolt, the way she always did whenever he thought they were final y starting to get close. “What do you mean, Rid? You're my girl.”
Ridley shook her head. “Don't you get it? That's the problem. I'm a girl—an average, worthless Mortal girl. I'm not a Supernatural anymore. I'm a super-nothing. And you're a hard-core, walk in the daylight Incubus.”
“Quarter Incubus.”
“Wel , I'm a hundred percent Mortal. So we have nothing in common.”
Link grabbed her shoulders. She winced, and he tried to loosen his grip before he accidental y snapped a few bones. “We never had anythin' in common, and it never mattered before. You were a Siren and I was a regular guy. You were Third Degree Burns hot, and I was Thirty Degrees Below cool.”
“I hate to break it to you, but you were never that cool.” Ridley smiled at him.
“So how is it any different now?” Link clung to her smile. That lip-glossed, pouty diva smile meant about as much to him as anything these days.
Ridley looked away.
There was something about saying the words out loud that final y made Link understand. “Oh, I get it.
When you were a Caster, it was al good. But now that I'm the supernatural one, things won't work out.”
He took his hands off her shoulders and shoved them into his pockets awkwardly. “Because I'm just some dumb hick, right?”
She stared up at the ceiling, focusing on a thin crack in the perfectly white plaster. It was funny how one tiny crack could completely ruin something
one tiny crack could completely ruin something perfect.
“You are a dumb hick if that's what you think.”
Ridley hesitated.
Link leaned forward, his forehead touching hers.
“Can a dumb hick do this?” He leaned in and kissed her as softly as he could.
“Yes. And this.” She pushed against him and kissed Link as hard as she could. Then she hauled herself up off the floor and took off before he could say a word.
Stil , he was almost sure she was smiling.
Link picked up one of Ridley's sky-high heels and stared at it. Usual y, he just wondered how she walked in those things, which was the closest Link ever came to contemplating physics.
Today al he could think about was the box sitting next to the shoes.
There was something familiar about it, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember why. Maybe he real y was a dumb hick.
If he hadn't been staring so closely at the shoe box, he might have noticed the light stil glowing, bright as a flashlight, through the crack beneath the closet door.
By the time Macon sent Link a Caster key a few days later, Ridley and Link were back together again, as thick as thieves. I felt sort of jealous—not about Rid but about Macon. Seriously. I mean, I had saved Macon's life, and even I didn't have a Caster key to the Tunnels.
“You also don't have to hide that you're a Supernatural from your mother, who doesn't even like Methodists,” Lena pointed out.
I guess she was right.
Link didn't have to wait long to try out his Caster key. We were shooting hoops over at the middle school court in the blazing heat, the blacktop practical y melting into tar, when Boo showed up with a piece of paper rol ed around his col ar.
It wasn't signed, but we both knew who it was from.
“What am I, a spy now?” Link crumpled the paper and tossed it into the green metal trash can. I half expected it to catch fire when it hit the rim.
“Macon is supposed to be dead,” I reminded him.
Link bounced the bal from one hand to the other.
“Oh, right. I guess it isn't that weird, then.” Only it was, and we both knew it.
If we only knew how weird.
CHAPTER 5
Priority Mail
Three hours later, Link knocked on Macon's door in the Tunnels. He wondered if the Caster key would have worked on this door, too. He'd probably never know, since there was no way he was going to try it.
Macon Ravenwood wasn't an Incubus anymore, but he was stil a seriously badass Caster. Even if he wouldn't tel them what he could do.
Link was ticking off the possibilities in his mind when the door swung open. Macon Ravenwood was holding a glass of sweet tea. Big surprise. Pretty soon he was going to need an IV.
“Mr. Lincoln, I'm impressed. Four o'clock on the dot.” Macon stepped aside so Link could come in. “I believe punctuality is an entirely underrated quality, at least by your contemporaries.”
As usual, Link had no idea what Macon was saying. “Uh—okay, sir.”
“Please have a seat.” Macon gestured toward the pair of wing chairs in the corner. “I apologize for the cryptic nature of my message, but the matter we need to discuss is of great importance.”
“Sir?” Link dropped down into the chair, and the wood groaned.
“I need you to deliver an urgent message for me, Wesley.” Macon glanced at the polished table between the chairs. A heavy cream envelope was lying on it.
