The Liberator

15 Peekaboo

For the rest of the afternoon, Charlie confuses me. I’ll pull her close, and she’ll collapse against my chest like it’s her home, then tear away and make herself another drink. I’ll lay a trail of kisses along her collarbone, working my way up her throat toward her mouth, and she’ll turn away before our lips connect.

If she’s trying to kill me, it’s working.

Once, I tried leading her into a corner to discuss what the hell is going on, but she just released a drunken laugh and said everything was fine. But I know it’s not. I see it in her eyes, like she wants nothing more than to accept my affection and to return it—but she won’t allow herself the luxury.

When the sun finally sets, the seven of us split up between my lime-green Kia and Blue’s rental sedan. I get the pleasure of chauffeuring the two brothers, who stare at Charlie from the backseat and whisper. Glancing at them from the rearview mirror, I reach over and grab Charlie’s hand. She lets me hold it, and relief rushes through my body. But I can’t completely relax, not when I’m trying to hear what Salem and Easton are saying.

I follow Aspen for twenty minutes before we pull behind what looks to be an abandoned Walmart. Music emanates from the building, and I wonder just how long it’ll be before the cops bust this place. Then again, seeing how many broken-down storefronts surround the area, I wonder if anyone actually ever passes by here.

Charlie releases my hand and gets out of the car. Once I kill the engine, I rush toward Blue. “The brothers whispered the whole way over here.” I step in close so they don’t hear me. “It’s setting me on edge, dude.”

Blue glares at Salem and Easton, then looks back at me. He breathes out through his nose like he doesn’t want to admit what he’s about to say. “They’ve been acting different since we got here.”

“How so?” I ask as Annabelle takes pics with Charlie on her camera phone.

Blue shrugs. “When we were back in Peachville, they acted normal. Like they were just some—”

“Idiots?” I offer.

He nods. “Yeah. Exactly. Even on the plane, they were harmless. Just a couple of fuckwads playing with the barf bags.”

Aspen waves for us to hurry up and mimes that it’s freezing. I hold up a finger. “When they were acting normal, was Max there?”

“Yeah,” Blue says. “So?”

“So maybe they play chill while people are watching.”

“Maybe.” Blue throws a light punch into my shoulder. The action is strange considering how turtle-like he was in life. “Look, collectors can’t walk the earth without a cuff. And we don’t sense anything, so that means we’re cool. Like I said before, Valery thinks it helps having Charlie surrounded by humans, so we watch them like we agreed. And the second they screw up” —Blue smacks his fist into his palm— “pop goes the weasel.”

He’s got a point. There’s not really anything we can do now. We’re all on edge knowing I’m harboring Charlie’s soul inside my body, and that the collectors could return any moment to try and steal it back. The thing is, that may never happen. Lucille may decide to forget about Charlie’s soul and instead concentrate on how to disrupt Trelvator—the hundred years of peace her volunteer work will bring about—as soon as it begins. Makes sense. It’d be a lot more underhanded to lay low and spring up when Big Guy doesn’t expect it.

So yeah, chances are Blue and I are letting our imaginations run away with us. Salem and Easton make me nervous, sure. But I can’t risk harming an innocent human and having my cuff removed. Because if I’m not here on earth, I can’t protect Charlie, should something happen.

Turning back toward the enormous building, I see everyone has gone inside except for Charlie. Even Blue has stopped debating things and is headed toward the door.

Charlie smiles at me, and my feet move toward her before I even know what I’m doing. She’s dressed in black tights, knee-high boots, and a short dress with long sleeves. She looks so good, it makes my body ache. I wonder when she got the outfit. I wonder why she got the outfit.

She stretches her hand out to me, and her smile widens. For once, I don’t question what’s happening between us, I just accept her offer and go inside.

The music inside hits me like a summer heat wave. It washes over my body and makes me feel heavier, like I’m rooted to the ground when I wasn’t before. Glancing down at Charlie, I realize she’s watching me closely. I run my thumb over her cheek.

And she lets go of my hand.

Frustration drowns every other thought I have. The only thing I can focus on now is Charlie moving toward Aspen, who’s already found a spot in the limelight. As red and purple lights slash across the dance floor, and a DJ slams tracks between the bouncing bodies, Aspen dances on a small table. Guys stop what they’re doing and stare. She doesn’t look back at them, just throws her hips back and forth and gives pieces of herself to anyone who asks. I’ve seen this before. It’s nothing new. What I haven’t seen is my own girlfriend climbing onto a table to join the spectacle. Aspen makes room but keeps a cautious eye on her.

Every muscle in my body flexes as I watch Charlie, hair splashing around her, one arm punching the air, eyes closed as she matches the music’s tempo. Her birthday may not be for a few more days, but she’s certainly dancing and partying as if it’s tonight.

When I see a guy in a white v-neck try and get her attention, I decide I’ve had enough. Nothing will stop me from getting Charlie off that table and away from all the surrounding testosterone.

Nothing except Annabelle.

She steps in front of me, a thin red straw between her lips. “Where you going, buster?”

“To get Charlie off that stage,” I snarl, trying to step around her.

Annabelle lays a hand on my chest. “Hold up, Romeo. I know you want to be all romantic and show her just how amazingly jealous and petty you are, but have you stopped to think about why she’s up there on that table?”

“Yeah, it’s Salem and his twin taint. They’re changing her.”

Annabelle frowns in confusion. Then her face relaxes into an expression of contempt. “Oh, man. You’re more full of yourself than I gave you credit for.” She takes another sip of her drink. After she swallows, she says, “I mean, you really think you can do no wrong.”

I glance at Charlie. Easton’s moving toward her. He’s shorter than his brother but still built like a linebacker. He runs a hand through his dark hair, then steps closer to the table Charlie’s dancing on.

“What are you talking about, Annabelle?” I ask. But I’m not really paying attention anymore, because I spy Salem lurking in the corner, watching his brother and talking into his cell phone. His eyes are wide, and each time a purple-red light flashes across him, I see his eyes grow larger, more excited.

“Charlie is doing all of this because of you,” Annabelle says. “Because of what happened—”

I don’t hear anything else she says.

A storm explodes in my chest and crashes through the rest of my body. Because Easton just handed a drink up to Charlie. And when he did, I saw something peek out from the bottom of his shirtsleeve—a branded tattoo in the shape of an “A.”

The same one I spotted on the guy who rammed into me with his car.

The same one I saw on Gage when he straddled the Suzuki.

They’re connected.

All of them.

My pulse pounds in my ears as I brush past Annabelle and crash toward Charlie like an avalanche.

MONSTER

“We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell.”

—Oscar Wilde