In This Kingdom by the Sea
Chapter One
Local Fanaticism
~ \ ~ Chapter One Start ~ / ~
"There are few persons, even among the calmest thinkers, who have not occasionally been startled into a vague yet thrilling half-credence in the supernatural, by coincidences of so seemingly marvelous a character that, as mere coincidences, the intellect has been unable to receive them."
—Excerpt taken from Edgar Allen Poe's, The Mystery of Marie Rogêt
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The smell of Santa Carla was altogether unfamiliar, even if the beach, the sun, and the sand were all the same. The underlying fragrance of the sea, salt tinged with laughter, sun block, and screaming skin cells was eminent. But mixed with something else…something darker…like motor oil and thunder, dried blood on the cement sidewalk. Two sides of the same coin melted together, it was both intoxicating and revolting, the scale tipping precariously from side to side.
Annabel leaned her head back, letting the cool breeze, streaming in from the open window, run tender fingers through her wild, golden hair. She sighed at the slight sting on her sensitive cheeks, closing her eyes in relaxation. There was something about traveling fast that instantly unwounded her, muscles unclenched and all worries released; just her and the gentle hum and vibration of the car.
The soft sound of the radio played in her ears, Whitesnake singer David Coverdale's smooth, aching voice crooning about lost love and heartbreak. Her bare feet rested comfortably on the dashboard, toes curling and uncurling to the beat, her thin silver anklet catching the light with each movement.
Beside her, Ethan bobbed his head, short curly hair bouncing as his lips mouthed the words to the song. Annabel always found it entertaining when he did that, jamming as if he were alone without any embarrassment. Catching her gaze, the older male sent her an excited smile, anticipation and exhilaration tingeing his aura with bursts of luminosity that prickled against her senses like the runaway embers of a sparkler. It was contagious and she eagerly grinned back at him, all gleaming white teeth and bright blue eyes.
The long, winding road spread out like a racing track before her, the finish line a grand beachfront city just around the bend. The sun was a brilliant burning globe on the horizon, sending streaks of red, violet, and orange across the sky, paving the way for night to descend. The air was heavy with expectation; Annabel dutifully ignoring the (by now) recognizable feeling of presentiment in her gut. She needed to be happy about this, for Ethan and for her own sanity's sake.
Within minutes, their decrepit Chevrolet Chevette pulled onto a side street bypassing town, gravel and dirt stirring beneath the squealing tires. Annabel firmly held onto her seat, fingers wrapped tightly around the worn cushion to keep from rattling around. The wispy strands of short hair that fell free from the clip she'd pulled it back with whipped around her ears and her lips pressed into a thin line in irritation. Oh God, Ethan, not even a paved road! She already knew that the house E had bought for incredibly cheap would be in need of renovations, but this proved that perhaps she had underestimated just how much so…
By quite a bit, it seemed.
When Ethan had said the house was a "fixer upper," what he really meant was a "complete dump." Annabel had detected no lie coming from him at the time, meaning he truly believed it only needed a little repair. Apparently, his idea was a lot different from hers.
Although bigger than their old cottage, its condition left much to be desired. From the driveway, which was really nothing more than a cleared sandy lane, Annabel could make out the faded and chipped beige paint on its exterior, could smell the scent of rotting wood, could nearly hear the creak of old modeling like the bones of the elderly. She swallowed, sending a look towards Ethan that spoke legions. He shrugged back sheepishly, his gargantuan shoulders rising and falling heavily. "It was affordable and beachfront. Everything we wanted…just needs a little TLC is all."
Repositioning her messenger bag over her shoulder, she muttered lowly, "More like a bulldozer and cleanup crew…" Opening the car door, the seventeen-year-old stepped out to stretch her aching limbs luxuriously, sighing in momentary satisfaction as her joints cracked. Her toes wriggled carelessly in the comfort of soft sand as she unfastened her surfboard from its secure place on the roof.
Ethan had already situated most of the furniture in the house over the past several days with the help of the moving company, but Annabel trusted no one with her twinfin, no one. It was the single thing she had insisted on staying with her over the four hour journey, along with some other useless objects to pass the time.
Lugging its weight under her arm, she followed the path past the front porch to the patio facing the beach. The sound of the crashing waves echoed all around her and she reveled in the fact that she'd be able to go to sleep to that lullaby every night. Setting her board down beside the dirty sliding glass door, she headed inside, or at least tried to. It took three hard yanks using all of her weight to un-stick the door from the track and even then it moved unevenly.
Rolling her eyes, Annabel stepped into her new home, taking in the sight of the large bottom floor spread out before her. The kitchen, living and dining room were separated by open partitions, making the space look tremendously big. The front hall gave way to a small area where their table and chairs sat, leading into the spacious kitchen with all surprisingly updated appliances. The rest of the floor was left as the family room; TV, couch, and coffee table arranged neatly, several boxes out to be unpacked.
A set of straight-shot stairs led up to a glazed, suspiciously flimsy-looking banister, splitting off into two separate corridors. Ethan appeared from within a room to the right, smiling. "Yours is down on that end." He pointed to the left side of the stairs where there were three separate doors. "You have your own bathroom and the other's a closet."
My own bathroom…? Elation filled every inch of her petite body, invigorating her with the sudden need to pirouette into her bedroom. As E turned back into the master, she did just that. Ha! My own bathroom! Mine! All mine!
A ludicrous hum swept past her lips, a dreamy, exuberant quality to it that floated and whirled out the open window in what was to be her room. Like the rest of the house, it was much larger than her last tiny (but comfortable!) eight by ten foot. Her mattress was already made neatly in the corner opposite the door with her dresser leaned against another. The last corner of the room led out to a small balcony she was hesitant to put any weight on considering the rest of the house. Cautiously, she was careful to check for any loose wood panels before stepping, but it was well worth it. From there, Annabel could clearly see the Boardwalk in all its magnificence. With each passing minute more and more lights switched on, flooding the distance in a glorious display of radiance.
The blonde giggled, and then, completely mortified, hurried to unpack the rest of her belongings, organizing the objects within the box labeled "Useful" and scattering the miscellaneous odds and ends from within the other box labeled "Useless". The end result was just how she liked it: organized chaos. Pleased with her work, Annabel made her way downstairs, finding Ethan meticulously arranging his collection of shot glasses in a –highly expensive and equally as breakable- tower that she would be staying far, far away from.
The day had been long and tedious; the sleep she had gotten in the car seemed to make her even more fatigued. She longed to explore the Boardwalk; it was an ache in her chest that needed to be relieved, but sleep was enticing her with alluring calls. Bidding her elder brother goodnight, Annabel quietly undressed for bed, slipping into her soft, downy sheets with a sigh.
She dreamed of blood against the blacktop and rabid carousel horses.
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It turned out that she wouldn't make it to the Boardwalk until Friday night, three days after the move.
Annabel had spent the rest of the week becoming familiar with the layout of Santa Carla's beach. By the end of each day, her bare feet had walked and climbed over a little bit more of the coast, her long fingers had become more antiquated with the rocky cliffs and sandbars. She absolutely loved the view atop the bluff right outside her new home, but that was mostly due to her fetish for high places. However, she kept away from the cave system south of the city. It gave her horrible feelings of terror and –simultaneously- intense longing. The sensations confused her…What could possibly be so atrocious about them?
Other than the condemned caves, the girl adored her new home. The waves were even better than in Santa Barbara, a perpetual squall always raging a couple miles out. The land was beautiful, eternal in a way that left her breathless with wonder. She had even spotted a flock of sirens gliding like graceful dancers through the water after traveling a little too far out, catching sight of their glimmering scaly-feathers shining as the sun caught them. They had smiled, harmoniously greeting her with their hypnotizing voices before diving out of view. I know myths of sirens say they only target men, but…they acted like they were happy to see me. Strange, yet not completely surprising. The fairies had been instant friends upon meeting…I miss them…
Speaking of which: She was going to be an outcast here as well.
All day, every day she spent surfing and exploring, actions not going unnoticed by the local population—specifically, the vilest feeling people she had ever had the misfortune to meet. A group of posers –bunnies clad in skimpy bikinis and kooks that stood around and acted like they knew how to surf- had approached her mid-Thursday morning before she had tested the water.
Annabel had been busy waxing her Maui and Sons before a nauseating aura descended around her, accompanied by a loud, cocky voice oozing overconfidence. "Hey, baby, you new around here?"
Swallowing, she had responded without looking up, "No." Technically, two days isn't 'new' by its true definition. She wanted nothing to do with this man or any of his "friends".
"Well I haven't seen you around and we own this beach, so why don't you put away that board before you hurt yourself and come hang with me and my peeps?" He shared a superior glance with his chuckling friends, winking at the tittering bimbos. God, I hate people like them.
Annabel looked up at him, narrowing her stunning blue eyes in warning. She saw his dart to the gruesome scar marring her face and felt the abrupt lash of repugnance. Hatred coiled like a snake poised to strike in her gut, and she let it, putting as much venom into her words as possible. "Just because people like you eat it if they set foot on a stick, doesn't mean I can't carve. I'm not some cheap hussy like the 'fine ladies' you've surrounded yourself with, so get lost, get a life, and stay out of mine, you ignorant hodads."
And then she had left them standing there like the morons they were, rage beginning to boil and rise up like a tsunami behind her. I regret nothing.
It wouldn't be the last she would see of them, Annabel knew. Hopefully next time she'd be in a crowded place so she'd have an easier time of escaping should they choose to act out on those violent urges.
But this was not something she wished to think of at the moment. No, right now she was heading to the Boardwalk for the first time. Surf Jerks and Surf Sluts would not stop her from having fun, maybe even finding some guys to hang with. I wonder if they have a comic store…? Or a pizza place? That delivers, can't forget that…
Annabel continued walking down the deserted road. She and Ethan were the only ones who lived anywhere remotely close—which was good because if her neighbors saw her speaking to air (the things only she could see), it might have raised some unwanted questions. It was enough that she was wild and untamable, but thoroughly insane? She hadn't quite reached that point, yet.
Sighing in exasperation, she pulled out her portable cassette player, winding back the reels with a mechanic whirr. Her favorite mix tape began to play, John Parr's "St. Elmo's Fire" echoing in her ears. The words were a prayer on her lips, "…But maybe sometime if you play the game…You'll find you're all alone, everything has changed…"
Her eyes closed, long golden lashes lowering to block out the world. The music consumed her, serenading her into her place of ultimate paradise where nothing could touch her. She saw nothing but the darkness of closed lids. She felt nothing but the cool night air on her skin. She heard nothing but the song, "…flying higher and higher!..."
Suddenly, evil.
Gut-wrenching.
Terrifying.
Bad, bad, bad.
She needed to run, to get away, and go towards it, hold it, let it drown her. She needed to revel in it and make it go away. No, yes! But, how-?
Her eyes snapped open, still did Parr sing, "…Take me where my future's lyin', St. Elmo's Fire!..." But all she saw were four lights racing from the direction of her home, fading into the distance.
Confusion.
It was the same feeling she had gotten from the caves.
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Twenty minutes of walking later, Annabel set foot on the Boardwalk, completely mesmerized.
Miraculous.
Her eyes were wide and she stretched on the tips of her –for once- sneaker clad feet to take in as much of Neverland as she could. This is unbelievable. The roar of the rollercoaster, the screaming teenagers, the live music, the insane clothing. It was fantastical, out of this world. Maybe I won't be so different around here.
Anticipation roiled within her and without another second of hesitation, she took off into the crowds, getting lost amidst the masses. Running a hand through her damp hair, she bit her lip, bobbing and weaving in and out of the enthusiastic groups, families, and couples. Even here, it was as if she was looking in from the outside, there but not there. She would never be the daughter, or the friend, or the lover. She'd only ever be the sister, and barely at that. But it's enough. Other people don't have the magic of the unknown, the hope for a brighter future, the unconditional love of a man who put life on hold for an infant he'd never seen.
The first line she waited in led up to a massive wooden rollercoaster, sporting the name The Giant Dipper. Annabel had bypassed the carousel earlier once seeing the Butt Crumbs stirring up trouble in that direction; her dreams were not overly welcoming of the attraction, either.
"You're new, aren't you?"
Blinking, the blonde looked beside her, where the voice had originated from. A girl stood quietly there, about nineteen, with gorgeous chocolate eyes and feral brown hair. She looked like a gypsy, someone with Romani blood, but something was strange, unnatural. Annabel could feel absolutely nothing coming from her, no feelings, no intentions, nothing. I feel things even from ghosts! And they're just apparitions, not corporal!
"You can tell, can't you? That I'm not right?" The line moved forward, the pair set to go on the next ride. The gypsy laced her hands behind her back, looking up at the stars shining behind a blanket of low overcast fog. "I can tell you're different. I'm drawn to you. They will be, too." Those enchanting eyes turned back to her, pleading and beseeching her to understand. "I can't tell you why, but you'll figure it out if you see them. Please, please stay away from them."
The carnie ushered them forward, but the woman dashed out of the way, grabbing the gate separating the crowd from the tracks. She shouted out to Annabel, "I don't know why I feel like this, but please! Please listen to me! Stay away from the caves!"
And then she was gone.
The Giant Dipper had suddenly lost all of its original appeal. Annabel's instincts screamed at her in warning, all of her nerves set on fire, heart thrumming like a hummingbird's wings. Down the drop and around the bends, the howl of wind in her ears, she lost herself to the nothingness. Her memories of unbuckling and departing were vague and before she could think, her legs had brought her out front of a store selling wonderfully familiar little books.
This is good; a new comic to distract me. I wonder if they have that comic I've been dying to get my hands on…
Rows and rows of disorderly comics lay out before her, new and second-hand, some wrapped in clear plastic and others worn with the tells of use. Annabel couldn't resist trailing her fingers over the books, calloused digits reverently tracing the titles: The Tomb of Dracula, Uncanny X-Men, Daredevil, Superman, Batman…
"Hey! Hands off the merchandise!" A brusque male voice grunted from the direction of the cash register. She turned to see a…boy? Probably about a year or two younger than her and several inches taller, wearing camouflage and a folded bandanna tied around his forehead, more for show than to keep his unruly caramel-colored hair out of his eyes; eyes that were glaring at her. "If you're here to steal like the rest of your Surf-Nazi friends, then don't even bother."
Irritation twisted her features and she narrowed her striking bi-colored eyes in return. "For one, that attitude's why you barely have any customers. Two, the Waxboys and their whores aren't my friends. And three, I'm looking for something specific: Tales of Suspense number 39. You have it?"
The boy seemed taken aback, concreted by the spike of astonishment in his aura. Annabel waited impatiently, agitatedly swiping her hair behind her ear, unwittingly uncovering more of her deadly scar. He glanced at it briefly and –to her utter astonishment- she picked up a trace of awe. Awe of all things and attraction.
He cleared his throat awkwardly, darting his gaze to the right, then down and back up again. "The…uh, Iron Man's first appearance, right?"
She quirked a brow and crossed her toned arms, nodding. "Yeah."
"I'll just…uh, check with my brother," the Rambo-lookalike said, spinning on his heel and exaggeratedly swaggering away whilst shouting for his brother, Alan.
Annabel followed after him, surreptitiously pondering his reaction to her. Weird child.
Another boy, this time about her age, came thundering down from the stairs bearing a long piece of wood with a pointed tip, voice urgent in reply, "What? Edgar? Is it a bloodsucker?"
"No, it's not a vampire…hopefully."
"Then, what is it?"
"Do we have any Tales of Suspense?"
"I think we've got a couple. Why?"
"She—"
"She?"
"Yeah, she. She wants 39."
"That's—"
"…Vampires?"
The sound of her wavering voice broke them from whatever comedy marathon they had immersed themselves in. Both their heads turned toward her, seeing her frozen frame and haunted eyes.
The older brother, Alan answered her, "Yeah…There's a high amount of vampire activity in Santa Carla."
The other, Edgar finished for him, "The murder capital of the world: got lots of people around here that won't be missed if they're sucked dry. You haven't seen the Missing Persons Board?"
"No…No, I haven't. You say there are a lot of them?" Vampires, children of Lilith, Portantes de Morte. Worse than werewolves, not as bad as lycans. Never met one, never had the opportunity. A stake to the heart, ash, hawthorn, oak depending on the region. Up and through the third and fourth ribs with both hands, right above left. Decapitation, preferably by silver blade, arm set in a 90 degree angle at the sternum. Step forward with right foot and swing with equilibrium centered in left shoulder.
What was that?
"Not sure exactly. Haven't really had the chance to take care of any of 'em," Alan responded stepping closer to her, so close she could smell the sweat and old paper scents wafting off him. Everything was happening so fast, too quickly for her mind to compute. She felt as if she had been tricked, like with the Incident—only these creatures weren't restricted to three nights of chaos ("The full moon is freedom, little fighter.") a month.
"So, what does that make you? Are you some kind of supernatural glee club? The paranormal welcoming committee?" Annabel grumbled, stumbling back a step, leaning against the rack behind her for support. Her head was spinning, caught between flashbacks and ways to incapacitate, kill, or maim a vampire. This had never happened before.
She was scared.
"We're dedicated to a higher purpose. We're fighters for truth," Edgar paced nearer, shoulder to shoulder with his brother, "justice," again, "and the American way."
A startled laugh bubbled forth, because seriously? Did they just quote Wonder Woman and Captain America? Is this all a joke to them?
Alan nodded eagerly, or as eagerly as he could with his monotonous demeanor. "We're vampire hunters."
This was enough; she'd had enough. Her lungs were burning. Air. She needed air, now. "I…I have to go." Annabel pushed through them, scrambling to break free of the stifling atmosphere. On some level, she knew she was overreacting. They were just boys, ignorant of the actual danger of what it meant to hunt and be hunted by the superior species. Annabel knew; she'd known from the moment she realized the other kids couldn't see through the glammers of the pixies, couldn't hear the cry of the departed calling for their loved ones, couldn't smell the rotten death of those whose shadows stalked them. However, never before had she been plagued with images and knowledge of destruction, how to take, how to ruin.
Annabel had always known how she was different, not why, but she'd never thought to question it. Now…I think it's time I find out.
First though, she needed to rest, clear her mind of all irrationality, all distraction. No more foolish boys playing hunter, no more gypsy nothings playing enigma. Then she'd tackle it head on, research and ask all of the queries pushed to the back of her psyche throughout the years. Maybe, maybe she'd figure out what she was. If I'm even human…
.
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Annabel had every intention of going straight home, but, as always, things never seemed to go according to plan.
Dazed and ashamed because of it, Annabel trekked through the merry revelers, numb for once to their feelings, connection cut and fizzled out. It was always difficult to be in highly populated places (malls, markets, schools, etc.) without feeling overwhelmed, but now, she didn't have to worry about her carefully orchestrated control.
She was Blind.
Annabel didn't really know how she felt about that. All that registered was the instinctive need for her home and Ethan (they were synonymous anyway).
A high-pitched cry of total despair quickly overcame the heavy shade of melancholy over her head and she looked up from the ground to see a little boy staring dejectedly at his rapidly retreating bright green balloon. Without thinking, Annabel bent her knees and lunged for the tail, hand barely grasping the end of the silvery, grooved string. A shocked gasp left him as her feet landed solidly, the vibrations throbbing up her braced ankles. The boy looked at her in awe, wide eyes, gaping mouth, for a moment before bashfully hiding behind his long dirty blonde bangs.
Annabel's heart nearly melted at the adorable child and she gave him a lopsided grin, getting to her knees so they were eye to eye. He peeked up at her with burning curiosity and she kept her voice soft so as not to frighten him. "Hi, I'm Annabel. What's your name?"
He rocked on his heels and she had to strain to catch his indistinct murmuring, "Laddie."
Annabel smiled, gesturing to the balloon still hovering next to them, "Hi Laddie. This wouldn't happen to be your balloon, would it?"
Laddie nodded shyly, twisting and turning his tiny body from side to side. She asked suddenly, "May I see your wrist, Laddie?" Immediately, he held up his hand, trusting her –a complete stranger, what have his parents been teaching him? Despite her treacherous thoughts, Annabel began tying the balloon's string. She talked conversationally, as if they were already well acquainted to better comfort him. "My brother, Ethan, taught me this trick. You make a small loop at the end, see? And fasten it there. Then you pull the rest of the string through the ring, slip your wrist through the bracelet, and there! Now it won't ever fly away again."
The older girl chuckled as Laddie tugged his hand with the balloon attached every which way with the inquisitiveness only a child could possess. Once satisfied of its security, he launched himself at her, wrapping his arms in an unpredictably tight grip around her neck and leaning up to whisper in her ear, "Thank you, Annabel."
The girl almost lost her balance, catching herself on one hand with a slight squeak of shock that had her instantly embarrassed. Oh god, I hope nobody heard that. Bowing back, she asked her next question cautiously, "Are you lost? Do you need help finding the people you're with?"
Abruptly, all of his joy and happiness evaporated in the chill wind, leaving his face vacant of expression except for utter horror. He started shaking his head wildly, thin hair flying about his chubby face ferociously. "No! Annabel, you have to stay away from them! I don't want them to hurt you! No!"
Blue orbs widened, dumbfounded by his reaction. That same ominous "them" repeated in her memory like a broken record, needle scratching the same word over and over. "Who? Laddie, tell me. Who you are talking about?"
"I don't know, but you have to stay safe!"
Before she could say anything else, Laddie took off down the Boardwalk, little acidic balloon flailing behind his retreating figure like a train. He was gone faster than she could move and Annabel took a shuttering breath.
This wasn't supposed to happen; she'd already been through this with the werewolves. Haven't I? Why does this feel so different then? Why? More questions, no answers…
Suddenly, she was struck with a realization.
The numbness was gone.
Laddie had been silent.
.
.
The cave was quiet when she returned, only the constant drip, drip of water trickling down the stalagmite walls to greet her. They weren't back yet. She was alone and there…there was the entrance, the exit…
She could leave, run far and fast. They wouldn't be able to find her if she left. She could—
She sat down on her bed.
Laddie was still here. She couldn't leave him. (Liar, liar, pants on fire.) Shut up! (You just don't want to admit it.) Shut up! (You don't want to leave!) No! Stop it! (You love him.) Stop, stop, STOP!
"Star! Star!" Laddie's voice pressed past the mild break of psychosis. It had been happening more and more often, the breaking. No mind could withstand the pull of both worlds for long, being on the edge of mortality and immortality. The precipice of insanity was licking at her toes, stay, go. Fall to rise. Humanity was a cool balm on the remnants of soul still existing. The monster was equally as addictive, the smell of blood always a temptation. When would she break? When would it be too much?
Laddie's hand cupped around his mouth and his loud whisper reverberated around the cocoon of his palm. "Did you meet her, Star?"
"Shh!" Fingers clasped around his mouth roughly, easily spanning the length of his face. "Not so loud!" Yes, her. Her. She'd met her, spoke to her, warned her. She had to stay because of her, too. She didn't know why. (You know why.) She just knew she needed to protect her. (You know why.)
Laddie nodded hesitantly, so she let go, scooting back on her pile of colorful pillows and blankets, scarves and sheets. His gaze fell on his tiny fidgeting digits, "Why will they hurt her, Star?"
She said nothing for several moments, silence a heavy communicator. "I'm not afraid that they'll hurt her, Laddie." She couldn't let them get to her. (You know why. You know why. You know why.)
She waited in trepidation for them to enter the room. Dawn was coming and the rumbling of their motorcycles had ceased minutes ago. (You know why.) She thought of all the ways to protect her, all the ways to keep her innocent of the true horrors of Santa Carla. No more scars like that ugly marring on her face. No more. (You know why.) How to keep (her) them away?
(You love him.)
"Wooh! Home sweet hovel!"
They were here. (They were here.) No more time. (No time.) Don't think of her. (Don't.) Stop. (No.)
"Star."
He was here.
She glanced up, lip caught between sharp teeth in apprehension (anticipation). He was looking down with those eyes, devouring. (Let him.)
"Come."
She obeyed reluctantly, knowing she had no choice.
(Liar, liar, pants on fire.)
…Same Time…
"Paul! Marko! Look' it!" Laddie was excited to show off his wrist strap to more people, having already talked excited circles around his favorite (Shh!) make-believe brother, Dwayne. Star and David were somewhere doing adult things that Dwayne said he was too young to know about, but he didn't really care all that much. Star had been acting funny lately anyway. Meaner…and weirder. He didn't really know why, but that didn't really matter.
Annabel was so cool!
She was like a magician! Or a superhero! The way she jumped super high to catch his naughty balloon and then made all those fast laces with her fingers, so the balloon couldn't fly away. Why did it have to go anyway? Why did it try to leave him? Like his mommy and daddy. They had left him, but David and Dwayne and Marko and Paul hadn't left him. Star was moving farther and farther away, like his balloon. His balloon that Annabel had fixed!
Annabel was so cool!
"What's up, little man?"
"Yeah, what's cracklin', short stuff?"
Laddie huffed indignantly; he was not little! But that didn't matter because his balloon was not going anywhere! Ha! HA! "Look' it!" He held up his hand, spastically waggling his fingers at the rough housing duo.
"Sweet trick, where'd ya' learn it?" Marko asked, petting one of his little girly birds. They were super annoying and pooped everywhere. Ewwww.
Laddie couldn't answer, he didn't want to. He really didn't want to. They would hurt Annabel and he didn't want Annabel hurt. She was awesome and he knew he had to keep her a secret. Star had said they wouldn't hurt her, though…but Star was acting so un-Star-ish…They were nice to him, though…but they did bad, bad things to other people…
"Kid?" Paul asked, grinning and waiting for a response, suddenly in front of Laddie's face. His nose twitched and then before he knew it, Paul had his wrist with the (awesome) bracelet/leash in his grip, smelling it deeply. What was he doing? That tickled! "Hey Marko, this scent's totally good."
Annabel.
He'd smelled Annabel! (Salt and sand and sun and warmth.)
Marko raised a brow, swaggering over with curiosity. He repeated Paul's earlier actions, tilting his head, wild curly mane bouncing. "You're right. Who tied this, Laddie?"
He didn't say anything.
It was answer enough.
The two shared a glance and then he just knew they were using that weird but still totally cool mind reading/sharing thing. Before he could even understand completely, David was there in front of him.
"What are you not telling us, Laddie?"
Oh no. Help, he needed help. His eyes automatically sought out Star, imploring her for the help she had always readily given him. She understood the need to protect her, too, right? Right. Yeah.
David followed his gaze to Star and glared, "Star."
Not a question.
An order.
He didn't want to tell, not Annabel. He couldn't—
"I can't, David."
Star…
Laddie trembled in fear, seeking the comfort of Dwayne's legs. Annabel was okay. He was okay. Everything was okay. Shh…Shh…
"Who is Annabel?"
~ \ ~ Chapter One End ~ / ~
A/N: I've met my two week deadline! And this chapter is about the length that I'm going to make the rest of them, give or take depending on the content and my mood. (Good length? Bad length? Too long? Too short?) Thank you so much for the reviews! They were wonderful. If you can, please take the time to leave one. I love hearing constructive criticism, so I can improve.
I'd like to know your thoughts on Star and Laddie's POVs. I tried to implement the unstable aspects of their personalities because of their half-vampire status as well as Laddie's immature, spastic mind, but I don't think it worked out very well. Let me know how I did, please! Also, tell me what you think of Annabel. Any thoughts or guesses as to what exactly is going on with her? (I, myself, don't really know for sure. Oops…)
Anyway, thanks again! I hope you enjoyed!
Love. Love. Love.
Kiss. Kiss.
~Alice