Just as I’d expected, the house was empty when I got home. I turned the lock and stood with my back against the door, trying to bring my breathing back to normal while my head throbbed with pain.
I still had the envelope he’d given me clutched in my fist.
At least I’d gotten away from him. I guess I was a faster runner than I thought. I let out a long, shaky breath and tried to relax.
I was home. I was safe. Everything was fine.
Breathe.
I went into the kitchen and saw that my mother had left me a plate of food in the fridge—vegetable lasagna and salad—and a note reminding me about the party that night.
I wasn’t hungry. Not even for leftover birthday cake.
When I passed the door again, I glanced out the side window and felt my insides freeze.
Michael was in front of my house at the end of the driveway.
Just standing there.
My heartbeat, which had just calmed down to normal, picked up its pace and panic welled up inside me again.
He’d followed me home. He knew where I lived.
I dropped my backpack with a thud and went to the phone. I’d call 911. They’d take care of my escaped-mental-patient stalker. Just as I reached for the phone, it rang and I shrieked, nearly jumping right out of my skin.
I picked it up and held it to my ear.
“H-h-hello?” I croaked out.
“I didn’t know you had a stutter,” Melinda said, obviously amused. “You should probably work on that. Listen, I wanted to know if anything else happened with Chris. Since I’m your official matchmaker, I’m painfully curious.”
“Melinda,” I whispered. “You have to help me.”
“Help you? With what?”
My hand was sweating and I cradled the phone between my ear and shoulder so I could wipe it against my jeans. “That guy from the cafeteria. He followed me home. He stopped me in the park and told me the craziest things.”
“He followed you home? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. But he’s outside my house right now.”
“Have you called the cops?” she asked, concern now evident in her voice.
“I was going to, but you called first.”
“What did this freak tell you?”
“He said that I’m the daughter of a demon king from another dimension. And he wanted to take me to this other dimension to meet him.”
“A demon king,” she repeated.
“Yeah.” When she didn’t say anything for a moment, I prompted, “Melinda?”
“This sounds too crazy to even come from a crazy guy. Besides, the guy in the cafeteria looked like a loser, but not a crazy loser.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
She paused. “You know what I think this is?”
“What?”
“I think somebody’s playing a practical joke on you. It’s probably Chris’s friends. They know that he asked you out and they’re—”
“Trying to scare me to death?” I managed. “You really think that’s all this is?”
“Did he try to hurt you?”
I held the phone so tightly my fingers were numb. “No.”
“And where is he now? Still outside?”
I pulled at the curtains and peeked out again. Michael was gone. I scanned what I could see of the dark street but saw nothing. “I can’t see him anymore.”
“Figures. Maybe Chris found out and called the guy off.”
The panic was quickly stepping to the side to make way for a seething annoyance. “Well, I don’t find it very funny.”
“They got me once. And trust me, it wasn’t funny either, but they didn’t mean any harm by it.” There was silence for a moment. “But call the cops if you think it’ll make you feel better. It would serve them right.”
I checked the driveway again. Nothing. Michael was gone. “If he was still out there, I would, but now I’ll just come off as a paranoid teenager.”
“You okay now?”
“I’m okay.”
“Good. Now forget about the crazy loser guy. You have to tell me everything that happened with you and Chris.”
So I did.
I talked to her for ten minutes about the dance—and her date and what she was planning to wear—until I felt better. After I hung up the phone, I figured I’d get started on my studying.
I was so mad that I’d allowed myself to believe Michael’s stupid joke. That jerk was probably laughing right now at how gullible I was.
Other dimensions. Sure.
I wondered why I hadn’t thought of it myself without Melinda’s help, as I shakily walked through the dark and silent house and up the staircase to my bedroom. Lining the walls were framed covers of my mom’s romance novels. Being married and divorced multiple times hadn’t done much to change the fact that she was a hopeless romantic and she loved to talk about—and write about—being in love. My father had never been part of those conversations, though.
My eyes narrowed at the thought of my father. If I did have the chance to someday meet the man who had left her alone, I’d have several choice things to say to him, none of which was, “Nice to meet you, Daddy.”
Demon king.
I was sure he was a demon, all right. But of the purely human variety.
By this time, the envelope Michael had given me was all wrinkled up, and I threw it on my bed along with my backpack. My stomach was churning and I still had my headache.
I wondered what the point of the practical joke had been—other than just messing with me. I was supposed to read this note and then go with him. Where was he going to take me? Or would he have come clean about everything before that?
Not to mention, how did he even know that I’d never met my father before? That was inside information I didn’t share with just anyone.
Strange.
On the other hand, what if the letter was from my father after all? I was sure he was out there somewhere in the world. When not imagining that he was dead, I would imagine that he was in jail. That’s probably where he was. And now if he was writing to me . . . maybe it was to borrow some money. Maybe he had some mob bosses after him, wanting to break his kneecaps unless he came through with cold, hard cash.
Yeah, that made total sense.
I was sure he was a bad guy. What kind of person would abandon his unborn child? And leave a beautiful woman like my mom?
I frowned. What was I even thinking? The envelope wasn’t from him at all. I was totally obsessing.
Just a practical joke. Right?
If that was the case, then why were my arms crossed so tightly that I couldn’t even feel my hands? All over a stupid envelope?
I grabbed it off my bed and sliced it open with a fingernail. Something heavy and loose slipped out and fell to the floor. I leaned over to pick it up and realized that it was a bracelet. A thin gold chain with one charm—a clear crystal in the shape of a teardrop. It was very pretty, actually.
With the bracelet dangling off my index finger, I pulled a folded piece of paper from the envelope. I held it in my hand for a good three minutes before unfolding it and focusing enough to read the short, precisely handwritten message:
Dearest Nikki,
As Michael has explained to you, it is imperative that I see you immediately. There is much to explain about who you are and what it means. Now that you’ve turned sixteen, time is of the essence. You may have trouble believing all of this, or you may have already experienced the side effects of being a Darkling—one who is half demon and half human. Please try to open your mind to this, because it is the truth. Wear the bracelet I’ve given you. It will help focus your power and may, with practice, make it manageable. Let Michael lead you to see me, I trust him implicitly. I look forward to finally meeting you after all this time.
Your father
I set the letter aside. My hands were shaking.
My father was a demon king. So that meant I was a half-demon princess—a Darkling? He ruled the . . . what had Michael called it? The Shadowlands?
The letter had talked about side effects. Well, other than a persistent headache, I hadn’t experienced anything strange since I turned sixteen. So what was it? A magical headache? A demonic migraine?
I glanced at my reflection in my vanity mirror. Long, straight honey blonde hair. A scattering of annoying freckles on my nose that only went away if I took the time to use both foundation and pressed powder. Hazel-colored eyes with golden flecks. Pale lashes that required two coats of mascara to give the look of actual eyelashes.
Well, hello there, demon princess.
What a joke.
I tore the letter into itty-bitty pieces and then threw them in the toilet bowl. I flushed them away before going downstairs to take two Tylenol with a glass of milk. Stress headache. That had to be it.
Even though I’d rationalized the entire experience, I still felt shaken and tired and more than a little mad. It had been such a great day and this Michael freak had to go and ruin it for me. I couldn’t even concentrate on studying, so I decided to forget about it. There would be some time in the morning to read about the doomed star-crossed lovers and try to fake my way through the test.
I was exhausted. Utterly exhausted.
At least one good thing had come out of this lousy experience, though.
I had a really nice, shiny new bracelet.
Even though my first inclination had been to flush it down the toilet along with the pieces of the letter, I’d stopped myself. It was way too pretty to throw away.
Besides, Robert-the-jerk would probably kill me if I clogged up his plumbing. He was funny like that.
* * *
The next morning, I left the house early enough to walk to school the long way. I wasn’t taking any chances by cutting through the park again. I’d decided to wear the bracelet, and the teardrop crystal sparkled in the sunshine. I tried to forget who’d given it to me and just enjoy it for what it was.
Besides, I figured it was probably fake and would turn my wrist green by lunch. Then I’d throw it away. It was a plan.
I turned the corner at the end of my block and my stomach sank.
“Not you again,” I said, feeling my heart speed up as crazy-stalker-practical-joke guy stood blocking my way. “I’m not in the mood this morning.”
Michael’s hands were still shoved deeply into the pockets of his blue hoodie. In fact, he wore the exact same clothes that he had yesterday.
“Did you read it?” he asked.
I willed myself to remain calm. “Read what?”
“The letter.”
“You can let it go now,” I said through clenched teeth as I started walking again. “The joke’s over.”
“What joke?”
I glared at him. “The joke that makes you feel like you need to stalk me. It’s not funny.”
“I’m not stalking you.”
“Could have fooled me.”
He kept pace with me, since I wasn’t slowing down. “Your father needs to see you immediately, Princess.”
“Don’t call me Princess! Would you just let it go?” I was sure that my face was now flushed, which did nothing to help the freckle situation. “Leave me alone or I’m going to tell Chris.”
“Who’s Chris?” he asked.
“Like you don’t know. Chris Sanders? Pretty sure he outweighs you by about thirty pounds. You wouldn’t stand a chance if I told him you were bothering me.”
Michael’s green eyes narrowed. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
Great. The guy was stubborn as well as crazy.
With a haircut and trendier clothes, though, he’d fit in just fine at Erin Heights—and he was definitely cute enough to be one of Chris’s friends. It was annoying how good-looking I found him, despite what a jerk he was being, but I pushed that aside.
“I did read the letter,” I said.
“And? Are you ready to go? I can find a dimensional gateway, but it might take me a few minutes. Then we can see King Desmond.”
Hold on. I stopped walking and began to feel sick to my stomach.
“What did you just call him?”
“King Desmond,” he repeated.
My father’s name was Desmond. I knew that. That was the one piece of information my mom had definitely shared with me—and which I’d never shared with anyone else.
“How do you know his name?” I asked.
“Because . . .” He looked confused. “Because he sent me here personally. I already explained this to you.”
I turned my attention to the sidewalk in front of me and started moving again. “I have to go to school.”
“School is meaningless right now.”
“Explain that to my mother.”
“Princess, please.” He grabbed my arm and I tensed. He immediately let go of me. “Please stop walking for a second.”
I stopped and turned to look at him. “The name is Nikki. Not Princess.”
“Nikki.” He said it oddly, as if he wasn’t certain he should be saying it at all.
I watched the air puff out in front of me with every quick exhale I made. However, when Michael breathed, there were no puffs of frozen air.
That was odd.
“I can prove to you that what I’ve told you is true.” His brow lowered with concentration and then he looked down at his chest. “My amulet. It’s not from this world.”
His sweatshirt hung open and I couldn’t believe he wasn’t cold—the morning was just as frigid as last night. He wore a strange pendant that rested over his T-shirt—a gold chain with a large green stone, like an emerald, but I didn’t think emeralds came that big. It was literally the size and shape of a flat egg. The strange stone appeared to pulse with light under the gray skies. I tilted my head to the side as I studied it.
It was the exact same color as Michael’s eyes. What was it made of? I felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to touch the stone, and I reached toward him.
“Princess, don’t—” Michael seemed to freeze in place as I moved closer. My fingers brushed against the softness of the worn T-shirt before lightly touching the stone itself.
ZZAAPPPP!
The painful shock shot up my arm and I jumped back from him.
“What the—?” I held my jarred hand against my chest. I felt as if I’d just stuck my finger into a light socket.
Frowning deeply, Michael took a big step away from me. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Why did it do that? Are you plugged into something electric?”
“Just—” His chest moved in and out with increased but non-frosty breathing, and he quickly zipped up his sweatshirt, pulling the hood over his dark hair. I noticed his throat working, the Adam’s apple shifting as he swallowed hard. “Just don’t touch me again.”
I didn’t particularly like the way he said it. As if I couldn’t keep my hands off him.
“Your father will be angry.” He stared at me, and something resembling fear replaced his previously guarded gaze.
“I don’t know who he really is or why he sent you, but I don’t want to see him. Feel free to tell him that.”
Instead of insisting he escort me to my oh-so-important father/daughter meeting, Michael turned away and stormed off without saying another word.
My hand still stung from touching his amulet.
Not a practical joke.
Not crazy.
He knew my father’s real name.
What in the world was going on?