Chapter 9
LYRA
My damp, matted hair fell from the messy bun I’d worn all day. There was little hope of resuscitating it, so I made quick work of braiding two long Dutch braids down my back. I caked on concealer, hoping to mask the sunken circles under my eyes.
A ghost of myself stared back from the bathroom mirror, but after applying a generous amount of bronzer and rose-colored blush, my pale, drained face regained a hint of life. I looked, once again, like someone who could walk among the living.
The wonders of makeup…
A clinking sound came from the direction of my closet. I stepped out of the bathroom to investigate, to find Emory rifling through my clothes.
“Can I help you find whatever you’re attempting to steal?” An edge of annoyance laced my tone.
She didn’t seem worried about being caught red-handed.
“I’m looking for my leopard sweater,” she said, giving up on the closet and moving on to the heaps of clothing strewn across my floor.
“You mean my sweater?” I asked, tugging the garment in question off my desk chair and throwing it in her direction.
“Nope, I mean mine.” She scurried past me, and I knew I’d never see it again.
I picked up my favorite long-sleeved bodysuit off the floor and tugged on a pair of ripped high-waisted jeans, jumping up and down to get them over my thighs. Once they were up, I sucked in a deep breath to get them to button. Breathing was nearly impossible, but my butt looked good.
The sight of my heels in my closet made me flinch, the memory of the pain they’d inflicted on my feet last night still too fresh. Actually, they had nearly killed me. I flung them to the back and pulled out an old pair of sneakers.
“Are you ready? Cal and Eli are already there,” Emory yelled from downstairs.
I snagged my phone off the bed and threw it into my bag and beelined for the door.
The Dutchman was a short walk down the street, a dive bar that claimed to be the oldest in American history.
The claim could be true. No one questioned its legitimacy, and the tourists always flocked to it anytime they visited Twisted Spires.
It was a tourist trap, but was also one of the only places open after ten at night.
Stale smoke and fried food assaulted my nostrils the second we walked in. A song I didn’t recognize blared from the jukebox, its heavy beat rattling the worn walls. In the center of the bar, a couple danced to the melody between the high-top tables like no one else was watching.
Cal’s shouts rang out from the back of the bar.
He and Eli were posted up by the pool table, consumed in a game that seemed a little too heated to be a friendly competition.
Cal’s brows furrowed, but as he took his shot, it veered off course, grazing the edge and sending it bouncing helplessly across the table.
The hundred-dollar bills sitting on the edge of the table must’ve been the main reason for the competition, but Cal didn’t need the motivation.
He had the unique ability to turn anything into a competition.
“Eli already won the first game,” Kenna kept her voice low to keep from riling up the guys. “And of course, Cal couldn’t let it go, so now it’s double or nothing.”
Eli stretched over the faded green felt of the pool table.
The pool stick slid between his fingers, and a loud crack rang out as the cue ball hit off the rail and proceeded to knock the striped ball into the corner pocket.
Wisps of dark hair peeked out from under his hood, and a ghost of a smile tugged at his lips as Cal flipped him off.
Cal and Eli grew up as neighbors and forged an improbable friendship. They were best friends, yet polar opposites. Cal burned with an intensity that could ignite anything in his path, while Eli was cold and unyielding like ice.
“You’re kicking Cal’s ass,” I said, leaning against the table.
“Someone has to bring his massive ego back down to earth every once in a while.”
“That’s not the only thing that’s massive,” Cal said, winking.
“Ew, Cal. Gross.” I shook my head, trying to force the image from my mind.
“Yeah, you also have a big ass forehead.” Eli chided.
“Fucking assholes,” Cal muttered, turning his attention back to the game.
“You doing okay? You seemed…flustered last night.” Eli’s smirked dropped.
I chewed on my bottom lip, knowing I should spill my guts. They were my best friends. They’d understand.
Eli missed his next shot, then turned to me. “Last night, I…” But the words wouldn’t come out. Shame rose like bile in my throat. “I mean, I let a—” The sentence died on my lips as familiar colored eyes caught mine.
A long breath slipped out; my shoulders sagged when I saw him. I guess he hadn’t bled out and died. But the relief barely had time to settle before a sick, sinking feeling took over. I straightened without meaning to, pulse ticking faster because I had no idea who, or what, he was.
Shit, shit, shit.
I rummaged through my purse to find my wire-rimmed glasses, desperate to get a better look at him.
That was a mistake. I remembered Grey being attractive, but holy fucking hell was he hot.
His tall, slender frame towered over the group of men standing in his vicinity.
His hoodie hid the collar at his neck while he casually sipped his beer and watched the baseball game on a TV behind the bar.
Grey was the definition of stupid hot. As in, my brain short-circuited because of how attractive he was.
Girl, get it together.
“What’s wrong?” Eli asked over the string of curses Cal spewed after missing another shot.
Oh, nothing just eye fucking the guy standing at the bar.
“Nothing,” I blinked a few times, trying to jump-start my brain.
“Your shot, Eli,” Cal muttered. “At least pretend to be interested in the game you’re kicking my ass in.”
Eli opened his mouth and then shut it like he wanted to press the issue but decided against it.
A couple shots later, at least, I think it was only a couple, Eli sank the eight ball in the corner pocket.
Cal’s booming voice jolted me back just in time to see Cal shove a wad of bills into Eli’s hand.
“Winner buys the drinks,” he huffed in defeat.
At the bar, Grey turned and fastened his gaze on me. My skin crawled under his stare. I tried and failed to look away. His face was unreadable, devoid of any emotion. If he was surprised to see me, he didn’t show it.
“You want your usual whiskey ginger?” Eli asked, prying my attention away from Grey.
“No, thanks. I’m never drinking again.”
Eli scoffed like he didn’t believe me, and maybe I was being dramatic. But I definitely was not drinking tonight.
My gaze shamelessly traveled back to Grey who brought the beer bottle to his full lips and tilted his head back, taking a long swig. The thin black collar was barely visible as he swallowed. He looked younger than I remembered. He couldn’t be more than a couple of years older than me.
Around the bar, people hovered impatiently, waiting for their drinks.
A young man wildly waved his hand, trying to get the only bartender’s attention and bumping into Grey.
He stared down at the guy, who took a tentative step back, and Kenna wedged herself between the two fighting for an open spot at the bar.
My breath hitched, but neither seemed to recognize the other.
“I’m glad to see you’re still alive,” Cal said.
“What?” My eyes went wide with fear.
“You were in bad shape last night,” he continued.
“Oh, yeah. Right…” I laughed. “Thanks for making sure I got home safe. I owe you big time.” I forced a smile, pushing down the sinking feeling in my gut.
“Shots, shots, shots!” Kenna chanted. Earning cheers from the rowdy patrons as she balanced multiple glasses in her hands.
“Tequila?” Cal asked, scrunching his nose as he sniffed the clear liquid.
My stomach churned, and I held my breath to keep from catching a whiff of it. I passed mine to Eli, skipping over Emory, who couldn’t legally drink yet.
“I don’t know how you can take shots after last night,” I mumbled, averting my gaze to keep from gagging.
Kenna coughed, shoving a lime slice in her mouth. Her face contorted in pain as she swallowed the tequila.
The boys, on the other hand, seemed completely unfazed.
The first beat of the “Cupid Shuffle” rang from the jukebox, and the crowd hollered with excitement. Kenna and Emory darted to the floor, not missing a step to the song.
“Come on.” Cal dragged me behind him.
“No, thank you.” I tried to tug my arm from his grip, but it was useless.
“Lyra, this is the easiest dance ever,” Cal hollered over the music. “The lyrics literally tell you what to do.”
People filled in around me, trapping me on the makeshift dance floor.
I shuffled four steps to the right and four steps to the left on the sticky floor, kicking my feet out in front of me. I hummed along to the music, trying and failing to keep up with the beat. My traitorous eyes risked a quick peek at the bar where Grey was watching me.
I lost focus and shimmied in the wrong direction. The girl next to me shuffled right, and I went left. My momentum carried me forward, and I collided with a solid wall of muscle. The scent of pine and whiskey engulfed me, and I fought the urge to inhale a deep breath of the intoxicating scent.
“Hello, little witch.” Grey’s lips brushed against my hair, his voice only a whisper.
“What did you just say?” I asked, staring into his piercing amber eyes. This close I could see flakes of golden specks floating around.
“Witch.” He mouthed. Cold hatred washed over his face at the word.
I stared at him, too stunned to get actual words out. “Uh…” I stuttered, trying to back away, but his hand tightened around my arm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I forced the words out.
“Liar.” He straightened, towering over me.
Laughter and applause exploded as the song came to an end.
“Lyra,” Emory called over the chatter of the crowd. Grey’s grip loosened, letting me go.
I turned and walked away, fighting every instinct to run as fast as I could.
I risked one final glance. His eyes were pitch black. Soulless. He blinked, and they were back to warm pools of honey.
My head spun. Grey knew I was a witch, and he…he was a demon.
I needed some air.
“I think I’m going to head out,” I said to Emory, pulling her in for a hug.
“You’re leaving already?” Kenna pouted.
“Yeah, this headache won’t leave me alone.” I hugged the others goodbye.
“Let me just finish this drink, and I’ll walk you and Emory home,” Cal said, taking a large gulp from his beer.
I waved off his offer. “I’ll be fine. You guys stay.
I’ll text you when I get home.” I grabbed my purse and hurried for the door before anyone could argue.
I hugged myself for warmth, and without thinking, started to take the shortcut through Trinity Cemetery, hoping to make my walk home a few minutes shorter.
The whine of the wrought iron gate cut through the unnatural silence as I pushed it open just enough to squeeze through. Cutting through the cemetery probably wasn’t the smartest idea, but it was the quickest way, and right now, my top priority was getting home.
Under the moonlight, a chilly breeze rattled the limbs above, creating eerie, shifting shadows.
I quickened my pace, power walking along the dirt pathway winding between the scattered headstones.
I made a conscious effort to tread lightly, trying not to disturb those who lay peacefully in their eternal resting place.
A short, pudgy figure stood blocking the exit up ahead, the creaking gate rattling in the wind behind it. I squinted into the dark, trying to make out the figure, but it was there one second and gone the next.
“Stay away from me!” I yelled, launching into a sprint, clumsily making my way through the labyrinth of headstones. I barely got a few steps before granite smashed against my shin.
“Fuck,” I muttered, hopping on one foot. I looked around frantically but didn’t see anything.
I stood there, alone, encircled by death, wondering if the spirit had ever truly been there at all.