Heat Stroke by Caine Rachel

Author:Caine, Rachel [Caine, Rachel]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2012-06-04T22:40:58+00:00

Two

The next thing I knew was a rush of cool, sweet air. I convulsively wanted to breathe but I had no lungs, and no body to hold them. Still, part of me knew what to do. I followed the breeze up, out, into the light.

I came out of the perfume vial, which lay on its side on a Chee·tos-dusted coffee table, right next to a much-creased and sticky edition of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue. I ghosted up slowly. It felt like I was drugged stupid, unable to will myself to do anything but wait, drifting, for meaning.

Shit. This was so not working out for the best.

“Uhhhh—”

An uncertain human voice. Soft and hesitant as it was, it still echoed through me like a church bell. Something in me went completely still, waiting. I was focused like a predator waiting to pounce.

This felt nothing at all like what had happened between me and Lewis. Nothing at all. It was perfectly horrible.

“Anybody there?” the voice asked. He sounded scared shitless. Good. Welcome to the club, jerk.

“Yes,” I said—not that I meant to say anything, I just was compelled to respond. My voice sounded odd, because it was coming from the very thin air I was at the moment. I filed that away for later investigation, when and if I got be scientific about such things. “I’m here.”

Oh, God, it was the little bastard who’d beaten Lewis. Lewis . . . God, I’d left him there. How much would he remember? Was he even still alive? Patrick, you bastard. I’d make damn sure somebody paid for this.

Seen close, Psycho Boy didn’t look nearly as threatening: a gawky, acne-pocked teenager, all long legs and stick-thin arms, wearing a Metallica T-shirt that had seen too many mosh pits. This pimply kid— she’d called him Kevin, oh God, was I supposed to call him Master?—sat on the edge of an unmade bed and tried to look everywhere at once, eyes darting like crazy but paying particular attention to the corners of the room. He had a lot to look at, and none of it was pretty. The place was like a Dumpster right before pickup day, piled with trash, discarded pizza boxes, old cartons smeared with dried Chinese food. A pile of filthy underwear moldered near the bed. A pinup of a collagen-enhanced, silicone-implanted beauty in a metal bra and thong was pinned crookedly on the ceiling, for maximum viewing in the lying-down position.

Oh, I could already tell this was not going to be pretty. Lewis. God, what happened to Lewis?

Kevin shifted nervously on the bed, which creaked like old joints. “Um ... I command you to appear!” He tried to sound like some medieval wizard, but he came off like a self-conscious bad actor, and blotched bright red over his cheeks and forehead.

And even so, I responded instantly. My body built itself far quicker and better than it had before, all layers simultaneously, and I felt a certain weird cockeyed pride in that, until I looked down at myself.

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