Vampire Girl (Vampire Girl #1)(8)

I freeze. "Why don't we just walk?"

Es reaches for my hand. "It's time, darlin'. You have to get over this."

Today? Do I really have to do this today? But as I'm standing there, a torrent of rain falls from the sky, soaking us all. To their credit, my friends stand there in the rain, soaking wet, cold, shivering, waiting for me. I nod and climb into the back of the car. "Where are we going?"

"Your house should be safe enough. If that's okay? Our roommate is home and not to be trusted with this conversation," Pete says, pulling out onto the street.

"How are things going with the roommate?" I ask, bracing my hands against the back of Pete's seat, my knuckles turning white.

Es looks over her shoulder at me, rolling her eyes. "It's a nightmare. I swear to god, once I have the money for my surgery, we are out of there." She reaches for Pete's free hand. "It's time we had our own place."

The roads are slick with ice and Pete drives like an old woman, for which I'm grateful. My nails leave imprints in the faux-leather fabric, and I don't stop shaking until we pull up in front of my apartment. When I slide out of the car, I'm dizzy with the jagged memories that cut at me like broken glass.

Es and Pete wait patiently as I take several deep breaths. When I feel like I can walk without falling, I nod and lead them to the door, which is still unlocked; no one would want to steal anything we have. Still, I lock it behind me as we all enter.

Es heads straight to the heater, to turn it on.

"Sorry, it's busted," I tell her. "We'll have to stay bundled."

She smiles. "Don't you worry a thing about it. How's about I make us all some hot coffee and we can sit down and figure this out together."

Es heads to my small kitchen, and I sink into the couch in the living room. Suddenly my whole body aches, and I feel the hours of sleepless exhaustion take its toll on me, but I'm too wired to actually sleep. The apartment is too still. Too quiet. Even the annoying hum of the refrigerator is missing, and I idly wonder if it stopped working as well. There are small signs of my mother everywhere. Her boots by the front door, one lying on its side. Her jacket draped over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. Her favorite magazines spread out on the table in front of the couch.

Pete sits in the love seat across from me, and Es brings us coffees and sits next to him.

Now that we are all settled, I lean in to Pete. "Okay, spill it."

Pete pulls out his phone to look at the picture I sent. "Whose wrist is this?"

"My mom's."

He frowns. "How long has she had a mark like this?"

"It's new," I say. "I've never seen it until today."

"So it wasn't there before she fell into this coma?" he asks.

"No."

"This is bad, Ari. Very bad."

I blow on my coffee and sip it, trying to control my impatience. "Enough with the scary omens. Just tell me."

He opens up a browser on his phone and shows me image after image of the mark on my mom's wrist.

"This is the Mark of Cain. You know the story of Cain and Abel? From the Bible?"

I nod, recalling old Bible stories from my childhood. An old neighbor of ours used to babysit me when I was little and my mom was working. She'd drag me to church with her, and was devoted to the idea that my soul needed saving. It didn't stick, but I remember some of it. "They were both told by God to make sacrifices to him, or something. Abel's was accepted by God but Cain's was rejected. He and Abel fought and Cain killed his brother and was marked for it."

"That's the gist. But some believe there's more to the story. Some believe that mark did more than just serve as a sign to others that he deserved death. Some believe that mark turned him."

"Turned him into what?" I ask.

"Into a demon. One who feeds on the pain of others. That he was condemned to spend eternity torturing others or he would feel that torture himself, day in and day out for all time."

I shake my head. "This is why religion does not make sense to me. What kind of God asks for blood sacrifices, then punishes people who don't do it?"

"A vengeful God," Pete says.

"So what does this have to do with my mother?" I shudder, feeling an evil premonition descend upon me.

"If she bears the Mark of Cain, then she is his." Pete whispers this so quietly it takes my mind a moment to make sense of his words.

"You think my mom is being held prisoner by Cain—a demon?"

He doesn't answer, but I can see on his face that's exactly what he believes. I look to Es for help. Surely she can't believe this nonsense? But she averts her eyes, her shoulders slumped, her hand resting on Pete's knee. She believes him.

"Have you both lost your mind? These stories aren't real. It's all just a bunch of morality tales meant to scare kids—and adults—into behaving in the way whoever was in charge wanted them to."

Pete shakes his head. "I know you're a skeptic, and I've never tried to push my beliefs on you, but Ari... you have to open your eyes. There are things in this world that defy logic."

I want to argue, to tell him there's a very logical and rational explanation for what happened to my mother, to tell him I will find a way to save her with science. But I can't. My mind returns to the man at The Roxy. The man with the same kind of mark but in a different design. The man with the strange eyes and the accent I couldn't place. The man who knew my name, my full name, when no one at work calls me Arianna only Ari.