Chapter 7 #2
Despite the rain hammering viciously at the windows, he turns toward the door.
For fuck’s sake, why did he have to be so nice about it?
Why couldn’t he just be an arsehole? Is that too much to ask?
Now my conscience has got me in a choke hold and is about to take me down in a classic wrestling move that would make Dwayne Johnson proud.
“Wait,” I blurt, and he looks back at me. “Stay, it’s fine. I’m just…”
“You’re just?”
“I’m not good with people.” I scowl, annoyed with myself.
I wish I had the confidence to adjust to any social situation, but I don’t and I don’t think I ever will.
It’s just not the way I’m made. “I lack the skills and patience, but you shouldn’t have to miss out on dinner with your friends because of me. ”
“Actually, this is the first time I’m meeting Tristan properly.”
“You and me both,” I mumble.
“Really?” He tilts his head as he studies me.
“I helped him with…something.” I hesitate.
I don’t really care if people know I’m a witch, but I’m also aware most people don’t believe magic is real.
“Anyway, he got it into his head that he wanted to thank me. I tried to tell him it wasn’t necessary, but now he’s decided he wants to befriend me and doesn’t seem to be taking no for an answer. ”
Sam chuckles. “I knew I liked him. He does seem like the type to kill with kindness. He and Danny are a perfect match from what I’ve seen so far.”
“Sickening, isn’t it?”
“Completely nauseating.” He grins.
“Am I right in thinking it’s your birthday?” I ask. “Danny mentioned it earlier.”
He shrugs again, and I realise it seems to be his fallback means of communication.
“We should probably go and join them before they think we’ve both legged it,” he says, avoiding talk of his birthday, and it makes me wonder why. I don’t particularly celebrate my birthday either, given that it was the day I was abandoned by my birth mother.
I shouldn’t be intrigued by this man, but I am—not that I have any intention of doing anything about it.
“Shall we?” He lifts his hand in the direction of the table.
I’m about to move when I hear a hard clattering, and we both turn back to the front windows of the restaurant.
It’s completely dark outside now, but the rain is coming down in a torrential downpour, hammering at the glass so hard it sounds like it’s going to shatter. The lights above us flicker violently.
“That’s some storm,” Sam mutters, his brows drawn down.
“Yeah,” I murmur, staring at the windows. “Some storm.”
The memory of Herne’s words echoes in my mind, and I continue to suspect, as I have for the past few days, if he meant an actual storm was coming, not a metaphorical one.
Because this storm is definitely not natural.
The air is heavy with crackles of energy and the scent of ozone, even from inside the building.
My gaze skims over to Sam. Our eyes lock, and for a brief second, I think he feels it too, a strange sense of foreboding, but the sound of a sharp crack of lightning followed by the boom of thunder jolts us both.
“That sounded very close,” Sam murmurs.
“Yeah.” I swallow tightly. I’m not scared of storms at all.
I’ve always loved the thunder and lightning—the moodier the weather the better as far as I’m concerned—but there’s something about this particular storm that has my body flooding with a surge of adrenaline and my skin crackling with static electricity.
“Well”—Sam straightens—“we’re safe enough in here. I think we need a drink though. What do you say?”
“I say make it a double,” I mutter, and Sam laughs as we wind our way through the tables to take our seats beside Tristan and Danny.
“Everything okay?” Danny asks.
“All good.” Sam nods. “Got a hell of a storm brewing out there though.”
“You’re not kidding.” Tristan groans, eying the driving rain through the windows. “The flat’s going to be flooded by the time we get home. We’re going to have to buy Jacob Marley a wetsuit and a snorkel at this rate.”
“Jacob Marley?” I question.
“My cat, or I should say, our cat. Jacob Marley seems to have adopted Danny. He literally won’t let Danny out of his sight,” Tristan replies.
“You have a cat called Jacob Marley?” Sam chuckles before I can respond.
“Don’t ask.” Tristan rolls his eyes.
“Good evening.” Our server appears with a smile and hands us each a menu before reaching into the pocket of her apron and retrieving a notepad. “Can I get you any drinks?”
“Scotch, please,” I reply when she looks to me.
“Same,” Sam says.
She turns to Tristan and Danny, but I don’t pay any attention. The air in here seems to be getting heavier. I can feel it pressing down on me.
“Whoa.” Tristan blinks. “That’s weird.”
“What is?” Danny asks.
“The air in here.” Tristan frowns. “It feels weird, heavy and crackly. I know some people say they can feel storms, but I’ve never experienced it before. I always thought it would be kinda cool, but it actually feels–”
“Ominous,” Sam finishes for him, and I look at him in surprise.
“You can feel it?” I whisper to Sam as his dark gaze holds mine. I’m not surprised Tristan can feel it, the air is saturated with psychic energy. He’s as attuned to it as I am, even if he doesn’t realise it, but the fact that Sam can feel it too only raises more questions.
“Here you go.” The server returns and sets our drinks on the table. “Are you ready to order yet?”
“Could you give us a few more minutes?” Danny smiles at her.
“Sure.” She nods and disappears back through the winding maze of tables, her ponytail swinging.
I lift my glass with shaky hands and take a deep gulp.
“Are you okay?” Tristan asks worriedly. “Harrison, you’ve gone very pale.”
“I’m fine,” I croak as I set the glass down on the table, bracing my palms against the pristine white tablecloth.
I’m not okay. The air’s getting heavier by the second. A high-pitched buzzing begins in my ears, drowning out all other sounds, and the pressure at the back of my skull doubles. I hear Sam draw in a sharp breath, and as I glance at him, I find his wide gaze locked on my hands.
I look down at my hands resting on the table to find tiny microbursts of electricity sparking and rippling across my fingers. Balling my hands, I shove them under the table, but it’s too late. I know they’ve seen.
I’d open my mouth to say something, but I can’t. My jaw is locked, my teeth clenched tightly as the pressure in my head keeps building and the atmosphere suffocates me.
Suddenly, a loud boom shakes the restaurant, far louder than any thunder I’ve ever heard. The ground trembles violently beneath our feet.
“Jesus Christ, is that an earthquake?” Danny gasps.
“An earthquake in London?” Tristan replies in confusion.
The lights cut out, plunging us into complete darkness.
The air fills with the sound of several screams as servers crash into tables of customers and trays topple to the ground, but I’m not paying them any attention.
The high pitch in my ears is so painful it feels like my eardrums are going to burst. I clap my hands over my ears and let out a panicked, pain-filled cry.
I can’t breathe, the air is too heavy. I’m being crushed and I only know one thing.
I need to get out of here.
I stumble to my feet, vaguely aware of someone calling my name. I fumble my way toward the exit, the lightning sporadically illuminating my way. I crash against chairs and furniture but don’t stop until I can wrench open the door.
I stumble out into the street, rain lashing at me like vicious shards of ice, drenching my hair and clothes instantly. God, the air out here is even worse. The scent of ozone is everywhere. I stagger forward as if I’m wading through molasses.
The vision hits me like a freight train, and I double over, white-hot agony searing through my head. I grip it tightly and cry out, my voice lost in the sound of the storm.
The images slam into my mind, a confusing kaleidoscope of fragments.
A jagged slash of lightning striking a wide, grassy expanse. The earth splitting open like a membrane revealing human bones.
A tree crashing into a road and a car swerving with a loud squeal of tyres, followed by the sound of crunching metal.
A clock ticking and Tristan standing in front of a strange-looking door.
A creature composed entirely of black smoke, so huge, so vast I can’t even conceive of its true dimensions.
The images slow and the pain in my head begins to subside, but before I can catch my breath, I hear a horn blast and a screech of tyres. I hold my hands up to block the blinding light when I suddenly feel strong arms wrap around me. The next thing I know, I’m flying backwards.
I’m breathing hard, disorientated and slightly dizzy.
Somewhere, I hear Tristan calling my name in a panic.
After a few moments, I realise the bright light has gone, and my face is being bathed in the heavy patter of raindrops.
I also become aware of the fact that I’m not laying on the ground but on top of a hard body, a pair of arms wrapped around me protectively.
I hear a groan and twist to see Sam lifting his head. “Are you okay?” He frowns as he cradles my face with one hand.
“What—” My throat feels dry and scratchy like I’ve been screaming. “What happened?”
“What happened?” Sam’s mouth tightens. “What happened was you stopped right in the middle of the road and were nearly hit by a car. What the hell were you thinking?”
“It’s none of your damn business,” I snap defensively. Even though he had just saved my life while I probably scared a few years off his, I can’t help my knee-jerk reaction.
“Oh my god, are you okay?” Shivering, Tristan drops down beside us. His T-shirt is soaked through.
“Jesus Christ, you scared the life out of us.” Danny appears behind Tristan, wrapping the jacket he’d presumably left in the restaurant around his soaked body.
“I’m fine,” I croak again, and push myself up, trying to ignore the feel of Sam’s body beneath me.
Not trusting my shaky legs yet, I shift sideways to sit on the pavement and Sam sits up, rubbing the back of his head.
“Are you okay, Sam?” Tristan fusses over him.
“I’m good.” He winces when Tristan prods the back of his skull. “Just a bump is all. I hit my head as we fell backward.”
“You both need to go to the hospital.” Danny frowns.
“I don’t need the hospital.” I breathe heavily as my head spins. “But you should take Sam. He could have a concussion.”
“You were screaming,” Tristan says softly, his voice almost lost amidst the rattle of the rain. “You ran out of the restaurant and stopped in the middle of the road holding your head. You looked like you were in serious pain.”
God, I’m exhausted. I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck, and I almost was. I’d have probably been killed if it wasn’t for Sam.
“Thank you,” I say hoarsely, “for saving my life.”
“You should go to the hospital, Harrison,” he says, and I shake my head, wincing at the throbbing pain.
“They can’t help me.”
“What is it?” Sam asks, his gaze intense. “What’s wrong?”
For one insane second, I want to curl into his arms and tell him everything, but I can’t. We’re from very different worlds, and if my experience has taught me anything, it’s that I can’t trust anyone with my secrets.
I shake my head again. “I just want to go home.”