Sons of the Dark: Book 3

Chapter 1


Kyle pushed his way through the dancers, trying to find his three roommates. He wanted to leave before another fight broke out. He had come to Luna Moth so Obie could check out the drummer in the new band Invent, but now Kyle had a bad feeling. He had lived with Berto, Samuel, and Obie long enough to know they were keeping something from him.

Another song began with blistering energy. Clubbers swept around Kyle, spinning him into their dance. Slithery black leather gloves and gossamer sleeves grazed his sweaty face and neck. He liked the carnival atmosphere here, and part of him wanted to stay and party, but he didn't have time to join the fun.

Over the bobbing heads, he spotted Berto near the exit; Berto's strong features looked tense under the pulsing red lights from the Christmas trees set up on either side of the door. Samuel and Obie stood beside him, scanning the dance floor, as if they didn't want anyone to see them leave. Kyle knew they were going to ditch him. They had been trying to get away from him all night.

He should have known it would end that way, with the three of them turning against him. He had tried to help them adjust to life in Los Angeles and stay out of trouble. It hadn't been easy. They made fun of his fear of the authorities, but Kyle understood what one official could do to ruin a person's life. He had grown up in foster homes and had endured frequent upheavals as a boy, living in strangers' houses, some good, some not. Except for Mrs. Caine, there was no one from his childhood who even cared what happened to him.

A dancer collided with Kyle, knocking him into a girl with long black hair. She whipped around. Her canine teeth had been filed into fangs and her dress looked medieval.

"Sorry," Kyle muttered, trying to ease past her.

The metal tips of her finger armor dug into his arm, pulling him back. Her boldness surprised him.

"I haven't seen you here before." She smiled up at him, flicking her surgically sliced tongue. It darted in and out, forked like that of a snake. She grabbed his hand and turned it, studying his palm as if she were going to read his fortune.

"Were you in a fight?" she asked playfully.

He followed her gaze. In the dim light, the paint stains on his knuckles looked like bruises.

"Oil paints," he said, glancing anxiously at the door. His roommates were starting to leave. "I'm working on a self-portrait."

"I've modeled before." She caressed his hand and tilted her head provocatively. "Do you want to paint me?"

"It would mean hours in one pose." He studied her, and then brazenly swept his fingers through her glossy hair. His mind was racing, imagining her pose, but then he glanced up and saw the door close behind Samuel. He had to go after his roommates. "Sorry," he said. "But I can't."

She dropped his hand, his rejection seeming to fuel a rage in her. "Go back where you belong."

"Where's that?" Kyle asked. He hadn't belonged for as long as he could remember. Everyone called him a loner.

"Any place but here," she said, and she let her body fall back into the throng of dancers. A guy caught her, then two more, and soon the clubbers had lifted her and she was floating over the crowd, carried on a sea of hands.

Kyle pressed forward. He had gone only a short distance when someone tugged on his shirt. He swung around and froze.

Emily stood behind him, looking lost and out of place among the more Goth crowd. Her inviting smile confused him. They shared the same biology class at Turney High School, but she hung out with the popular kids and was always too busy with her friends to talk to him.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, but then he remembered her best friend, Maddie. Samuel had told Kyle that Maddie believed in vampires, spirits, and ghosts, and was determined to prove the undead walked the streets of L.A. Maybe she had made Emily join her on one of her vampire hunts. "Did Maddie bring you here?"

"Stop teasing." Emily gave him a shy look and slid her hands up his chest.

Her touch startled him. Lately she had seemed more timid than her friends, especially around guys. He thought maybe it was because of her illness. She had been sick for three months and had returned to school only in the last week.

She leaned in closer and whispered into his ear, "I like it better when you don't wear so much cologne."

He shrugged, puzzled. He hadn't worn cologne for a long time.

"Let's dance." Emily took his hand and started moving against him.

He was tempted to forget about his roommates and let them fend for themselves, but guilt kicked in, as it always did. "I'm sorry, Emily," he said, pulling away from her. "You'll never know just how sorry. But I have to find my friends."

Her mouth opened, but instead of speaking she just stared at him. Kyle turned and slammed through the kids behind him.

At the door he paused and peered outside. Fog curled thick and heavy around the streetlights and gave the night a milky glow. Kids had gathered in groups, their energy seeping into the air as if they were getting ready to riot. Security guards patrolled back and forth, trying to keep order, but already, broken beer bottles lay scattered across the road.

Kyle eased behind an old Cadillac hearse, and then crept down a path between the building and a row of closely planted hibiscus shrubs to where his roommates stood on the other side of the hedge. Through the branches, he could make out Samuel's face, and in the ghostly light, he looked distraught. Obie and Berto stood close to him talking, their voices flat and strange, as if something terrible had just happened.

"Everyone's been talking about him," Samuel said. "Maddie told me he's been playing girls, stealing them from their guys just to break their hearts." Samuel had been dating Maddie off and on since he'd arrived in L.A., but their romance was shaky. "Everyone's getting pissed off by what he's doing," he added. "Sledge and his friends are out to get him if he doesn't stop." Sledge was the quarterback on the Turney High football team, and he seemed to think it gave him the right to dole out a kind of vigilante justice to students who didn't behave as he thought they should. His best friends, Barry and Forrest, formed his posse.

"Get him?" Berto snorted dismissively. "I'd like to see anyone try."

Kyle wondered whom they were talking about. Sledge and his crew could make school life miserable for anyone who dared cross them, but something more was worrying his roommates. Even from this distance, he could sense the tension in their voices. They should have included him in their conversation. He could have given them advice and needed insight; they didn't understand the ins and outs of modern culture, and without his help, they never would.

"Allison told me the same thing," Obie added. "But I'm not convinced."

"It doesn't make sense," Berto agreed. "Why would Kyle do that?"

Kyle inhaled sharply, stunned to realize they were talking about him.

"He hasn't even dated since Catty broke up with him," Berto continued.

"But he was bitter about the breakup," Samuel put in. "So maybe --"

"He hasn't been interested in anyone, because he's still in love with her," Berto argued.

"I don't think so." Obie shook his head. "She hurt him too deeply. He doesn't even talk about her anymore."

"Even if he is over Catty," Berto continued, "why would he hook up with so many different girls?"

"He's on the rebound," Samuel said. "He's trying to escape the pain. No one likes a broken heart."

"Maybe it's something more. Something we try to forget. Could he be planning to . . . ?" Obie didn't need to finish his question; the others knew he was referring to the darkness that lived inside each of them, a hunger waiting to escape and take control.

Kyle shuddered, remembering the intense desire over which he had little control, and even now, just thinking about it awakened an aching need for that first sweet draw of breath from a victim's lungs.

"Girls have always thrown themselves at Kyle," Berto said. "He's never taken advantage of it before, so why would he now?"

"I'm just telling you what Maddie said." But the solemn expression on Samuel's face convinced Kyle that Samuel believed the lies.

"How can that be true?" Obie added. "Kyle's the one always lecturing us about right and wrong."

"I know," Berto agreed. "But he has been up to something lately. This morning I caught him stealing money from the box, and he's been taking my bike out late at night without asking."

Kyle hadn't stolen any money. That morning he had added a twenty to their pooled funds, and he'd never taken Berto's motorcycle. He didn't even know how to ride it.

Berto raked his hands through his raven hair. "Mr. Keyes doesn't want Kyle hanging around Club Quake anymore. He thinks he's been pushing meth."

Kyle's stomach tightened. How could they believe such lies? Guy Keyes owned Quake, the most popular dance club for teenagers in L.A. Berto worked there as part of the security at the front door. He called himself the gatekeeper; he decided who was allowed to enter and who had their names placed on the clipboard. But even more important, Berto knew how to make celebrities feel comfortable.

"Nolo told me the same thing," Obie added. "And I guess he should know."

Kyle had heard enough. Nolo was the drummer in Obie's band, Pagan, but also a druggie. How could anyone trust what he said?

Kyle started back down the path, determined to confront his friends. But when he reached the last hibiscus bush, Emily blocked his way.

"Why did you ask me to meet you here if you were just going to ignore me?" she asked, challenging him. "That's so rude."

Kyle stared at her, dumbfounded. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "You must have misunderstood. I didn't ask you to meet me."

"I know what you said," she insisted. Her face flushed with a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

"When?" he asked.

"Today!" She seemed to be trying hard not to become flustered. "In class. Did you forget?"

"That's impossible," he answered, shaking his head. "I cut biology today. To go to an audition."

Her eyes widened, and then narrowed into a glare. "Do you think this is the kind of club I would go to on my own?"

He started to say no, but she didn't give him a chance.

"Is this some kind of head game you're playing with me?"

"What?" he asked, baffled, and studied her face to see if she was teasing. "Why would I do that?"

"Other girls warned me about you. I should have listened."

He started to defend himself, then paused, considering. She seemed genuinely upset, but none of what she said made any sense. Maybe she was crushing on him and this was her weird way of letting him know she wanted to hook up. But Emily could have had anyone she wanted. So why would she have chosen him?

"Well?" she said, interrupting his thoughts.

"You didn't have to make up a whole elaborate story," he answered, grinning sheepishly.

Now she was the one that looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"If you wanted to go out with me, all you had to do was ask," he continued. "I would have said yes."

"You asked me!" she shouted. "You practically begged!"

To his astonishment, she turned and walked away. He watched her shove her way through the crowd, but before he could go after her, Berto found him.

"C'mon, we're going over to Cantor's for deli." Berto acted as if nothing were wrong, as if he hadn't just moments ago betrayed Kyle.

"I'm heading back to the loft," Kyle answered brusquely. He couldn't have it out with Berto, not here. Fights were starting to break out in front of the club, which meant the cops would be there any minute. He didn't want to spend the night in a police station.

Berto stared at him. "What gives? You sound pissed."

"Why should I be?" Kyle asked, and then something inside him let go. He needed to get away before his anger turned into blows. He stepped around Berto without saying anything more and jogged to his rusted Chevy Impala. He started the engine. The tailpipe belched black smoke, and he slammed his foot hard on the accelerator.

He hated the familiar emptiness in the pit of his stomach. It reminded him of his childhood, when everyone had been against him. But he wasn't helpless now, as he had been then. If his roommates wanted to get rid of him, they didn't need to spread lies about him. His life would be easier without them. He'd leave them behind and start over.

Kyle wasn't convinced he belonged with them anyway. Berto, Obie, and Samuel believed that, together with Kyle, they were the Four of Legend, destined to fight an ancient evil and destroy its empire. But the other three had mysterious powers, while Kyle had none. Berto could go into a trance and leave his body. Obie was a rune master who cast spells, and Samuel used totems to call forth power animals. So far, Kyle only had the keen ability to pay bills and hook up the Internet, and he'd never seen anyone ward off supernatural creatures with a credit card.

He parked his car in the lot behind the apartment building as the metro rumbled overhead on its last run through Chinatown. He headed toward the apartment and rode the elevator to the top floor.

The light on the landing had gone out again, leaving the hallway darker than the night outside. Kyle fumbled with his keys and unlocked the door, but as he started to go inside, he was stricken with an odd feeling that someone was watching him. He turned back and saw nothing that should have made him feel uneasy. But past experience had taught him to trust his instincts. For the first time that he could remember, he locked the door behind him and slipped the dead bolt into place.

As a child, he had been afraid of the dark, because he heard things moving about in his room. He had believed his toys came alive after the lights went out, but now he knew the darkness hid greater dangers. Another universe paralleled modern-day Los Angeles, and sometimes things from that world crossed over into this one.

He and his roommates were Renegades, fugitives from Nefandus, where they had been enslaved. Bounty hunters were trying to capture them and take them back for a reward. Could one be stalking him now?

Kyle stood frozen, unable to move. Maybe one had followed him and was waiting somewhere, hidden in the loft. It wasn't the first time he had encountered creatures from the other side, but he didn't understand why this time his courage had left him. He only needed to turn on the light to see who was in the room with him, but his hand clutched the doorknob as if to anchor him in the entryway. He began to tremble, suddenly realizing he didn't want to see what was in the room with him.

A furtive whisper broke the quiet. "Kylie-Kyle-Kyle." Someone called his name in a familiar, singsong manner, dredging up memories Kyle fought to forget.

"Who's there?" he asked, hating the stutter in his own voice.

Silence followed, and then footsteps thudded across the unfinished floor, echoing in the cavernous room. Kyle recognized the uneven tread and was cast back into childhood again. He had spent many nights nestled under his covers in the dark, listening to someone pace back and forth at the foot of his bed.

His heart pounded, and his mouth went dry. He held his breath, listening, but what had been there was gone. Had it only been his imagination? He stepped to the light switch and flicked it on. Three bare incandescent bulbs blazed, but the glaring brightness didn't calm his nerves. His palms sweated, cold and clammy from panic. Then a draft swept through the room. Someone had opened the back door. The bright orange electrical cords swayed, twirling the lightbulbs and making shadows dance across the walls.

Kyle strode forward, nervously studying the corners and doorways. Bounty hunters were also shape-shifters. They could dematerialize into shadows and float, a black mist across the sky; but so could Kyle -- all servi could. That had been the normal mode of transportation in Nefandus. He started to release his body in case he was forced to flee, but stopped, sensing something else.

Beneath the smells of linseed oil and turpentine, he detected another odor that didn't belong. He breathed the fragrance of bitter oranges. When nightmares had awakened him as a child, his room had been filled with the same scent. He tried to reassure himself that someone had brought home oranges, and rotting fruit was the source of the pungent smell. But as he started toward the kitchen to investigate, he glanced at the self-portrait he had been painting, and his blood went cold.

Someone had altered his work, subtly shifting the expression on the face. Kyle stepped closer to the easel, examining the wet paint and brushstrokes. He had been trying to capture his loneliness and longing, not his rage. He couldn't remember adding the furrows to the forehead or the angry lines around the eyes, but even if he had, why would he have tried to make himself look so evil?

Maybe one of his roommates had been playing around with his paints, but he doubted it. The artistry was too delicate; only a few brushstrokes had dramatically changed the appearance. An amateur couldn't have done that, and the style was clearly his. He rubbed his temples, trying to calm the throbbing pain. He had no recollection of changing the portrait, but before he could consider it more, the sound of a creaking floorboard interrupted his thoughts. Someone was in the room with him.