"What was it, Eevee?" my dad asked, rubbing his dark goatee. Mom said it made him look like some sort of drug lord, but I could tell that she secretly found it attractive. "Darkest Dreams, right?"
I nodded and smiled at the waiter who had just delivered our appetizer. It was served on a thick piece of wood shaped like the end of a paddle. In typical overpriced restaurant style, everything was miniature, including the brown slices of bread that were covered with gobs of tiny fish eggs and creamy goat butter. On the side opposite me, a pink and red wheel of thinly sliced fish circled a small, ceramic cup filled with a viscous, yellow sauce. I avoided all of it and skipped right to the garnish, a piece of bright green celery, and munched on the end of it while I tried to explain my scene to a group of semi-conservative adults.
"Darkest Dreams is like," I paused to finish chewing the stringy vegetable and swallowed. It slipped down my throat like an ice cube and landed like a ball of hail in the pit of my stomach. I ignored it and kept talking. "It's like, the embodiment of your deepest desires. The ones that everyone has buried down in the bottom of their soul." I touched my belly for emphasis. "It's a chance for everyone to express themselves in a way that they've always dreamed of, without being judged. No matter how dark, no matter how strange."
"How on earth did you ever sell that one to the football team?" my grandpa interjected, chuckling. My dad and grandma joined in with him, and I smiled a self-deprecating smile. It was okay that they didn't understand. They didn't need to. I did and I'd managed to sell it to the other nine committee members, five of which were some of my high school's varsity cheerleaders, without a hitch. I might have dressed 'Gothic,' but I didn't act like it. I didn't have a set group of friends either. I liked to mingle from group to group. I'd even spent my fair share of time hanging out after school at some of the football games and pep rallies. The only problem with being friends with so many was not being able to be close with a few.
I sighed and adjusted my napkin as our food arrived. The plate in front of me was a colorful combination of red tomatoes, green lettuce, and hunks of soft, white feta cheese. I wasn't interested in any of it, but I picked up my fork and pretended to be. It will pass. Just ignore it and it'll go away. My mantra of discipline wasn't helping anything; my chest still missed the necklace. I stuffed a bite of food in my mouth and checked out of a conversation that was now headed towards foreign policy and free trade agreements. My mind was not in a space for politics.
As I forced myself to eat a dinner I didn't want, I let my gaze wander to the window next to me. It wasn't a horribly interesting design, just a bottle of red wine next to a basket of purple grapes. I raised a finger and traced the lines between the glass, wishing I could go home and curl up in bed. A good night's sleep cured most anything. I can take a hot bath, get the down comforter from the closet, crank up the heater ...
A dark figure loomed up against the window, its movements stilted and uneven like a marionette. Ice clung to my lashes for the briefest of moments before melting down my cheeks in two lines like tears. I barely noticed. There was a brief second where I sat stone still, my heart hammering against my ribcage in warning. Alarm bells sounded in my head, begging me to get away. I'm going to die. The unwelcome thought crashed into my mind at the same instant as the silhouette crashed into the window. I screamed and dropped my fork into my lap before standing up and knocking my chair to the floor.
The entire restaurant went silent as I stood, heart pounding, pulse racing, and stared at the now empty window. My dad exchanged a worried glance with my grandparents and stood up next to me, placing a concerned hand on my left shoulder. I jumped again, still hyped up from the rush of adrenaline. What the hell was that? I put a hand to my chest. Did nobody else see it? Am I going insane?
"What's the matter, honey?" he asked, voice pitched low so that only I could hear. "Are you okay?"
"Oh, uh, I, uh," I turned around and flushed at the sea of concerned faces gazing back at me from around the room. The manager of The Quill, dressed in a fancy, black suit and bright blue tie, approached the table carefully, like he thought I might break.
"Is everything alright, miss?" he whispered, leaning in over the table. At least he was attempting to be discreet. Not that it really mattered, the entire restaurant was watching me now. I'd just made a fool out of myself, made worse by the fact that I had started to shake again. I clenched my jaw to keep my teeth from chattering.
"Yeah, um, I'm fine. I thought I saw something. It was probably just a dog. It startled me is all. I'm sorry." I looked around at the other patrons and tried to project my words so that most of them would hear me. "I'm fine. I'm sorry, really, sorry." The buzzing in the room started up again as I smiled a smile that I didn't feel and assured my family and the restaurant manager that I was okay, retrieving my fork from the floor before sitting back down again.
"Too many horror movies?" Grandpa Jake asked as he reached out a reassuring hand and squeezed the back of my own. His gaze was concerned, but condescending. I hated when people looked at me like that.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm sure that's it." I tuned up my smile wattage to blinding. "You know how it is." I tapped the window jokingly and then tried to melt into the back of the plush, burgundy upholstered chair. Please don't look at me anymore, I silently begged the whispering staff and guests. Leave me alone.
The chill down the back of my spine had intensified into a deep, cold ache. Like what I imagined frostbite might feel like before the limbs turned purple. I was shivering again, despite the warmth of the packed room, and I slipped my sweater off of the back of my chair and put it on again. Something was wrong. I knew it from pure instinct. Whatever had leapt towards the window was no dog. It wasn't a person either.
I forced myself to pick up my fork and stab a bite of lettuce. Put it in your mouth, chew. Pick up the iced tea, drink. I was going through the motions, but I wasn't hungry. Each and every bite of food sat like lead in the bottom of my whirling stomach.
Every time somebody asked me a question, I would smile and answer carefully, making certain that my words came out clear and unshaken. The rest of dinner was a horrible blur for me and even in the car ride afterward (my dad was very adamant about leaving the top up and blasting the heater), I had trouble remembering what had happened after the window incident. It was like I was walking through a fog with only a lantern to guide my steps. I could see what was right in front of me, but everything else was a mystery.
When we got back to my dad's new apartment, a two bedroom, third floor place in the heart of downtown Avondale, I feigned a slight headache and retreated to my bedroom. I felt way too messed up to unpack, so I tossed the duffel bag on the floor in front of the mirrored closet doors, turned on each and every light in the room, and checked the lock on the door and windows twice before climbing into bed.
Whatever had been outside the window of the restaurant was what was making me sick. I was certain of it. I didn't know how I knew, but I did. Maybe it was the well of ancient magic I had hidden inside of me that even I didn't know about yet. Or maybe I was just picking up on the thoughts and desperation of the boy who was standing outside of my window, not knowing why he was even there, but feeling the need to protect me. Maybe it was a little of both.
Books by C.M. Stunich
The Seven Wicked Series
First
Second
Third
Fourth
Fifth
Sixth
Seventh
Houses Novels
The House of Gray and Graves
The House of Hands and Hearts and Hair
The House of Sticks and Bones
The Huntswomen Trilogy
The Feed
The Hunt
The Throne
Indigo Lewis Novels
Indigo & Iris
Indigo & The Colonel
Indigo & Lynx
Never say Never Trilogy & Never too Late Series
Tasting Never
Finding Never
Keeping Never
Never Can Tell
Never Let Go
Triple M Series
Losing Me, Finding You
Loving Me, Trusting You
Needing Me, Wanting You
A Duet
Paint Me Beautiful
Color Me Pretty
Hard Rock Roots
Real Ugly
Get Bent
Tough Luck
Stand Alone Novels
She Lies Twisted
Hell Inc.
A Werewolf Christmas (A Short Story)
Fuck Valentine's Day (A Short Story)
Clan of the Griffin Riders: Chryer's Crest
DeadBorn
Broken Pasts
Crushing Summer
About the Author
C.M. Stunich was raised under a cover of fog in the area known simply as Eureka, CA. A mysterious place, this strange, arboreal land nursed Caitlin's (yes, that's her name!) desire to write strange fiction novels about wicked monsters, magical trains, and Nemean Lions (Google it!). She currently enjoys drag queens, having too many cats, and tribal bellydance.
She can be reached at author@cmstunich.com, and loves to hear from her readers. Ms. Stunich also wrote this biography and has no idea why she decided to refer to herself in the third person.
Happy reading and carpe diem!
www.cmstunich.com
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Excerpt of The Seven Wicked First
More Books By
About the Author