The Awakening (Darkest Powers 2)

More silence. Then, “Not even going to say ‘I told you so’?”

“Of course not. ”

She shook her head. “You’re too nice, Chloe. And I don’t mean that as a compliment. There’s nice, and then there’s too nice. Anyway, I’m back. ” She reached into her pocket, and pulled out something. “With food. ”

She handed me a Snickers bar.

“Thanks. I thought you didn’t have any money. ”

“I don’t. Five-finger discount. ” Her sneakers squeaked on the concrete as she shifted farther onto the cardboard mat. “I’ve watched my friends do it plenty of times. But I never did. Know why?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Because I was afraid of getting caught. Not by the store or the cops. I didn’t care about that. All they do is give you a lecture, make you pay it back. I was afraid of my mom finding out. Afraid she’d be disappointed in me. ”

A crackle as she unwrapped her candy bar, then broke off a piece. “Not really an issue now, is it?” She popped the chunk into her mouth.

Fifteen

ONCE MY STOMACH HAD something in it—even a candy bar—exhaustion took over. I wasn’t asleep long before the dreams came—nightmares of never finding the guys, of Mrs. Enright killing Aunt Lauren, of Tori hog-tying me and leaving me for the Edison Group to find….

I awoke to the sound of voices. I leaped up, breath jamming in my throat, searching the darkness for men with guns.

Beside me, Tori was snoring.

“Liz?” I whispered.

No answer. She must have been out on patrol.

After a moment, I decided I’d dreamed the voices. Then the sound came again—a psst-psst-psst, too faint to make out the words. I strained to

hear but could only catch that papery whisper. I blinked hard. The unending darkness became a landscape of black jagged rocks—boxes and crates. Only a pale moonglow made it through the thick grime coating the windows.

I caught a whiff of something musky, animal-like. Rats? I shivered.

The sound came again. A papery rustling, like the wind through dry leaves. Maybe that’s what it was.

Dry leaves in April? When the nearest tree is hundreds of feet away?

No, it sounded like a ghost. Like the scary movie version, where all you hear is a wordless whispering that creeps down your spine and tells you there’s something lurking just around—

I shook myself, then stood and stretched my legs. I scuffed my sneakers against the cardboard carpet a little more than necessary, hoping Tori might stir. She didn’t.

I exhaled, cheeks ballooning. I’d been doing well so far, facing my fears and taking action. This wasn’t the time to bury my head and plug my ears. If my powers were abnormally strong…

Uncontrollable…

No, not uncontrollable. Dad would say that everything can be controlled if you have the willpower and the will to learn.

The whisper seemed to come from the next room. I picked my way through the maze of boxes and crates. As careful as I was, I kept knocking my knees against them, and each rap made me wince.

With every step I took, the whispering seemed to move farther away. I was clear across the warehouse before I realized the sound was moving away. A ghost was luring me.

I stopped short, my scalp prickling as I peered through the darkness, boxes looming in every direction. The whisper snaked around me. I whirled and crashed into a stack of crates. A sliver jabbed into my palm.

I took a deep breath, then asked, “Do you w-want to talk to me?”

The whispers stopped. I waited.

“No? Fine, then I’m going back—”

A giggle erupted behind me. I spun, smacking into the crates again, dust flying into my mouth, my nose, my eyes. As I sputtered, the giggle turned to a snicker.

I could see enough to know no living person was attached to that snicker.

I marched back the way I’d come.

The whispers followed, right at my ear now, escalating to a guttural moan that made goose bumps rise on my arms.

I remembered what the necromancer’s ghost at Lyle House had said—that he’d followed me from the hospital, where he’d been dealing with ghosts pestering mental patients. I guess if you’re a sadistic moron who’s been stuck in limbo for years, haunting mental patients—or young necromancers—might seem like a fun way to pass the time.

The moaning turned to a weird keening, like the wailing souls of the tormented dead.

I wheeled toward the noise. “Are you having fun? Well, guess what? If you keep it up, you’re going to find out that I’m a lot more powerful than you think. I’ll yank you out of there whether you want to show yourself or not. ”

My delivery was pitch-perfect—strong and steady—but the ghost just gave a derisive snort, then resumed keening.

I felt my way to a crate, brushed dust off the top, and sat. “One last chance or I’m pulling you through. ”

Two seconds of silence. Then the moaning again, right at my ear. I almost toppled off the crate. The ghost snickered. I closed my eyes and summoned, careful to keep my power on low, just in case his body was nearby. I might get some satisfaction from slamming him back into his rotting corpse, but I’d regret it later.

The moaning stopped. At a grunt of surprise, I smiled and amped it up, just a little.

The figure started to materialize—short, chubby guy old enough to be my grandfather. He twisted and writhed like he was caught in a straitjacket. I pulled harder….

A dull thump nearby made me jump.

“Liz?” I called. “Tori?”

The ghost snarled. “Let me go, you little—”

Another thump drowned out the nasty name he called me—or most of it. Then came a weird skittering noise.

“Let me go or I—”

I closed my eyes and gave the ghost one big mental shove. He gasped and sailed backward through the wall, like he’d been thrown out of a spaceship air lock. I waited to see if he’d return. He didn’t. I’d cast him to the other side, wherever ghosts live. Good.

Another thump. I scrambled to my feet, the ghost forgotten. I crept past a stack of crates and listened. Silence.

“Tori?” I whispered. “Liz?”

Um, if it’s not them, maybe calling their names isn’t such a bright idea.

I eased along the crates until I reached a gap. Through it, I saw the pale rectangle of a window. The grime was smudged, like someone had haphazardly rubbed it away.

The scratching sound came again. Then the smell hit, like that musky odor in the other room, only ten times worse. The skittering came again—like tiny claws on concrete.

Rats.

As I pulled back, the window darkened. Then thump. I looked up too late to see what it was. Was someone throwing stuff at the window? Maybe the boys, trying to get my attention.

I hurried forward, forgetting the rats, until I saw a dark blob on the shadowy floor, moving slow, like it was dragging something. That must be what I smelled—a dead animal that the rat was taking back to the nest.

When something brushed the top of my head, I yelped, clapping my hands over my mouth. A shadow flew past and hit the window with that familiar thump. As it fell, I noticed thin, leathery wings. A bat.

The dim shape flapped its wings against the concrete, making a scratchy, rustling noise. Weren’t bats supposed to fly by echolocation? It shouldn’t hit a window trying to escape.