The Accidental Kiss Read online

  “Just because my blood line supposedly believed in magic and voodoo doesn’t mean I have to. There is no way in hell I can see the future. None. I’m a normal girl.” I stormed out of the room without giving my mom a chance to respond.

  The next morning I woke to the smell of fried bacon. My stomach grumbled in response but I ignored it and snuggled deeper under the covers. Reality could wait. Nonetheless, my mom’s confession from last night wouldn’t leave me alone. I slammed a pillow over my head to no avail. The chatter was as loud as ever. Sighing, I kicked off the covers and stared up at the ceiling. A huge chunk of me knew my mom wouldn’t lie about this supposed ‘gift.’ Nonetheless, there wasn’t a shred of evidence to back it up. I had relationships back in Los Angeles that, while fleeting, were deep and meaningful. Not once did I see anything remotely future related when I kissed them. On top of that, my mom didn’t explain why the book was handed down to her. Unless…. I bolted upright in bed. Hope ignited inside me as I skittered out of my bedroom and into the kitchen. Dressed in a tattered old robe, my mom was flipping pancakes at the stove.

  “Do you have it?” I asked frantically, out of breath.

  “Have what?” She wiped her hands on a dishtowel and faced me. When she saw my expression, it dawned on her what I was asking. Her eyes softened with pity. “No sweetie. It’s a special gift.”

  “Special gift my ass,” I grumbled. The air left my body as I slumped into a chair and cradled my chin. “Why did the story about the near death accident prompt you to confess?”

  “Because he’s like you.”

  “He can also see the future?”

  My mom turned down the heat on the stove. “Well no, but he is part of Santeria in a different sense.”

  “The biblical sense?”

  The image of Daemon stark naked popped into my head. Based upon his chest alone, I had to guess the guy was built in other areas as well. My inner temperature skyrocketed.

  I could hear a smile in my mom’s voice when she spoke. “No, you naughty girl. Is there a scar in the shape of a rattlesnake on his left arm?”

  My head cocked to the side. “Yes. How did you know that?”

  She transferred the pancakes to a plate and set them in front of me. They were burned to a crisp. “It’s the mark of a zombie warrior, at least in the Santeria religion.”

  “A zombie,” I sputtered.

  Zombies were green and slack jawed with no thinking capabilities of their own. Daemon was the opposite of that.

  She nodded. “Yes. They are portrayed differently in movies, but in real life they are like everybody else.” She held up her index finger. “Except for one trait. They have super human abilities to abide their master, like lightening speed for example.”

  “Their master?”

  “Or priest. Whatever you want to call it. Basically, he died, and then was brought back to life to do this person’s bidding. I asked about the snake because that is how you can tell he is marked. Snakes are common practice in Santeria rituals.”

  I couldn’t imagine anybody bossing around Daemon. He was the cockiest son of a bitch around. Even so, if what my mom said was true then, he was essentially a slave. A dead slave who looked very much alive.

  “But I don’t understand. Why would anyone want to kill somebody only to bring them back alive?” I questioned.

  She took a bite of a pancake and grimaced. “God, I need to learn how to cook.” She pushed the offending plate away from her. “Why does anybody commit evil acts? I can’t answer that question honey. All I know from what my mom told me is that these ‘zombies’ cannot be trusted.”

  From the little I had interacted with Daemon, it was hard to imagine him having a deceitful side. He was obviously worried about me walking home alone last night, which said something. My mom grabbed my arm, jolting me out of thoughts.

  “I am serious, Sky. Interacting with this boy will only bring trouble in your life. Stay away from him,” she said sternly.

  Yesterday was the first day of school and I already couldn’t seem to shake Daemon. He was everywhere but I couldn’t tell my mom that. She would worry until her hair turned gray.

  “I have no intention of dating him. He’s annoying, cocky, and not to mention dead,” I said, which was the truth.

  “Good. If you have further questions, consult the book.” She hoisted herself out the chair. “I need to take a shower and get ready for work.”

  Daemon’s superhuman speed was explained, however, how he knew about my gift was not. Halfway out of the door, I called out my mom’s name, stopping her.

  “Does anybody else who lives in this town know about my gift, or is there a way to tell I am different?” I asked.

  “No. Your gift is your secret to keep.” Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why?”

  “Just wondering.”

  If she found my answer unsatisfying, she didn’t let on. Padding down the hallway, the bathroom door shut with a click. The bacon I had smelled earlier was found in the trashcan along with yesterday’s ruined breakfast. Sighing, I went to the fridge to grab a yogurt. As I ate, my brain processed everything I had been told in the last twenty-four hours. Zombies, voodoo, psychic abilities, it was a lot to handle and life as a normal girl didn’t appear to be an option anymore. Who was I kidding? Normal never stood a chance.

  Emily was on the front steps when I arrived at school. Along with her signature button up cardigan, she wore a pair of spiked combat boots that had me green with envy.

  Her hand lifted in a casual wave as I approached. “Hey, girl.”

  Once Melissa died, a majority of my friends fell by the wayside while I navigated my way though grief. I had no idea how much I missed the company of a girlfriend until now.

  “Hey,” I responded. “What are you doing out here?”

  “What do you think I am doing? I am waiting for you.”

  My mouth opened in a surprise O. This simple action had me beaming from ear to ear.

  She tugged at my backpack straps with a girlish smile. “I realized I never told you the mystery behind the lockers.”

  “That’s right,” I said, unzipping my backpack to take out a folder containing my locker number. “It’s 301”

  Emily glanced skyward as if she was counting in her head. I waited, curious why it required a math equation since at my old high school, locker numbers were straightforward. She nodded to herself and hurried toward the front door.

  “Come on,” Emily beckoned. “Your locker is all the way towards the end.”

  Shoving the folder into my backpack, I pushed open the heavy metal doors. Emily slipped into the hallway while I followed and tried to keep pace with her long strides.

  “One year as a prank, the math club switched out the numbers for different math equations,” Emily explained.

  My footsteps faltered as I dogged two girls engrossed in a conversation about nothing. “Why didn’t the school change it back?”

  “It sets McCord High apart.”

  My old high school was like any old establishment: sterile and white, which was why I was charmed when I heard Emily’s answer. Nonetheless, I wondered how the school board would react if they found out a zombie was posing as one of their students. They probably didn’t want to be that unique. Emily skidded to a stop in front of a locker next to the women’s bathroom.

  In Vanna White fashion, she gestured to it. “You got the area within an interval. Congrats.”

  To me the squiggly lines resembled exactly that, squiggles. “Are you a math genius or something?”

  “God, no. I just know this school like the back of my hand.”

  I raised my eyebrows skeptically. “Uh huh, whatever helps you sleep at night.” She playfully punched my arm and laughed, shaking her head. I clicked open the locker and threw my stuff inside. We still had five minutes before class began, enough time to grab breakfast from the vending machine. One measly yogurt did not satisfy my appetite.

  “So…” Emily wiggled her eyebrows.
“What’s up with you and Mr. Sex-on-Legs?”

  I couldn’t go five minutes without somebody mentioning Daemon. He was taking over my life.

  Expelling a breath of air, I gathered my composure so my words wouldn’t come out as annoyed as I felt. “Nothing, I hardly know him.”

  “It didn’t look that way in the cafeteria. His eyes shined with anger while his body yearned for you.” I gave her a sideways glance and she shrugged. “Sorry, I’m a writer, what can I say?”

  “You can never use the word yearned again, for starters.”

  She gave me a lopsided grin. “What do you have against it? That’s pretty much how you would describe what went down in the cafeteria.”

  And here I thought writers had a keen sense of their surroundings, but Emily clearly didn’t. There was no yearning between Daemon and me. He ambushed me yesterday in front of the whole student body and acted as if he was the King of Ireland, when in fact he was a zombie slave indebted to a voodoo priest.

  “There are a thousand words to describe a shared passion between two people. Love, fervor, infatuation….”

  Emily held up her hands in surrender, laughing. “Ok, I got it. I’ll never use yearn again but sheesh, would it be really the worst thing in the world if Daemon wanted you?”

  Her question gave me pause. Before Daemon opened his mouth or was reveled as a zombie, I did find him insanely hot and out of my reach. Guys like him who had a gaggle of women hanging on their every word never gave me a second glance. I wasn’t ugly per se but I wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. I had long chestnut hair, an olive complexion with freckles dusting my nose, and a curvy bottom due to my donut consumption. So was it the worst thing in the world if Daemon wanted me? No, but he was a temptation I wasn’t willing to indulge in. The sound of Emily’s fingers snapping threw me back into reality.

  A smug smile danced across her lips. “I got my answer!” I was about to correct her when she saw somebody down the hallway. “I have to go talk to my lab partner. I’ll see you at lunch.”

  I watched as she dashed off, her backpack slung over her shoulder. Sighing, I grabbed my History textbook and headed to class. Out of nowhere, a hand gripped my upper arm and yanked me inside a utility closet. One minute I was walking, the next I was jammed into a room the size of my left pinky toe. A flickering light turned on overhead. Squinting against the harsh assault, I nearly groaned when I saw who was in charge of my ambush.

  “What the hell, Daemon? You can’t just kidnap me,” I yelled.

  He slapped his palm over my mouth, stifling my words. “Lower your voice. Do you want the whole school to know we are in here?”

  Offended, my body bristled. It seemed like I was right and Emily was wrong. Daemon didn’t yearn for me; he was embarrassed to be seen with me.

  My fingers tried to pry his hand off my face but Daemon was freakishly strong. His arm snaked around my waist and pulled me against his chest. A bone chilling cold radiated from underneath his thin t-shirt.

  “I just want to talk, Sky.” The way he purred my name sent a secret thrill down my spine. “But in order to do that, you need to stop fighting.”

  It seemed like lately all I did was fight. I had fought the reality of Melissa’s death, moving to a new town, and now my attraction to Daemon. My body relented.

  “That’s a good girl,” Daemon praised as he removed his hand.

  “I am not a fucking kitten,” I grumbled.

  With nowhere to run, I walked over to a shelf lined with paint cans and sat down on an over turned crate. Daemon leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. A Mexican standoff ensued until I couldn’t stand the silence any longer.

  I threw my hands in the air in surrender. “Fine, you are the one who trapped me in this closet and are also the one who wanted to talk. But if you don’t want to begin, I will. You are a zombie, supposedly I can see the future…blah, blah.”

  Daemon’s expression remained natural. “That’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

  Surprised, I nearly tumbled off the crate. Shit, did I just reveal my gift to Daemon? What if my mom lied and he wasn’t a zombie? Daemon would peg me as a level three psycho. Panic sent my heartbeat to skyrocket and a blazing heat crawled up my cheeks. See, this was exactly why he should have spoken first. My inability to handle silence always got me into trouble.

  Daemon took notice of my alarmed expression. “Don’t worry, what you said is true. I am a zombie and I already knew about your gift. Old news, as far as I am concerned.”

  Old news? That wasn’t how I would describe it since these two pieces of information were revealed to me a mere twelve hours ago. Then again, Daemon probably had that knowledge for God knows how long. Years, decades…I can’t remember if zombies were immortal or not.

  I cocked my head to the side. “Can you die like a normal human?”

  “Yes.” Annoyance lined his mouth. “Can we get to the real issue?”

  My expression matched his own as I resisted the temptation of throwing a paint can at his head. He had yanked me in here against my will and he was acting as if I was the irrational one.

  “Sure. I would love to know why I am sitting in a shoebox instead of my English class.”

  Daemon pinned me to the wall with his stare. Any other smart ass remarks I had died in my throat. He began to stalk the small square footage like a caged animal, muttering. As I was about to grow worried about the state of his mind, Daemon stopped and looked at me. His mouth opened, then shut. Shaking his head, he ran his fingers through his hair.

  “I can’t believe I am about to do this,” he muttered. Finally, his chin tipped upwards. “Somebody wants to kill you Sky, and they won’t stop until you have been bled dry.”

  The air felt like it had been sucked out of the room, as I looked at Daemon, wide-eyed in disbelief. I drove the speed limit, turned my homework in on time, and helped old ladies cross the street. Why would anyone want to kill me? He had to be yanking my chain. A high-pitched laugh broke free from my throat.

  He looked at me uneasily. “This isn’t a joke, Sky. Somebody wants to kill you.”

  I felt myself unravel further when Daemon uttered the dreaded k-word. Kill. I bent over in half, clutching my stomach as a round of hysterical giggles racked my body.

  “This wasn’t the reaction I was expecting,” he uttered.

  Out of breath, tears streamed down my cheeks as I looked up at him from underneath my eyelashes. “I didn’t peg you as a funny man, but you are hilarious.”

  “You won’t see your death coming until you’re hung by your ankles, being bled out like a pig at a slaughter house.”

  The gruesome description stopped my giggles cold. With the back of my hand, I wiped away the moisture from my face and studied Daemon’s unflinching expression. He wasn’t joking. Bile turned in my stomach as the room swayed.

  “Who?” My voice cracked. “Who wants to kill me? I don’t have any enemies.”

  “The Priest of Santeria, but he won’t do it himself. His zombies will carry out the order.”

  The hair on the back of my neck bristled. “But you’re a zombie…”

  Daemon read into what I was implying and his eyes softened. “You don’t have to be scared of me, Sky. Violence isn’t part of who I am anymore.”

  The word anymore hung heavy between us. I reached behind me for a paint can, in case I needed to defend myself. Daemon closed the distance and kneeled in front of me. I scrambled away from him, knocking into the rack. The cans wobbled precariously.

  “Don’t come any closer,” I choked out.

  He took a step backwards, not nearly enough breathing room for me to gather my thoughts. I would have preferred if he crab walked out the door, down the hallway, and outside to the front lawn.

  “I’m going to tell you a story,” Daemon said.

  “Since when did this turn into fucking story telling hour?” I replied ludicrously. “If you’re going to kill me, kill me.” Getting to my feet, I snatched a paint can
and held it over my head. “But I’m not going down without a fight.”

  Daemon looked at me with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “Sky, put down the paint can. I told you I’m not going to kill you.”

  I eyed him skeptically. In horror movies as soon as you let your guard down, BAM! Your head gets chopped off.

  Daemon sighed. “Fine, don’t, but at least listen to my story. You ready?”

  My arms grew fatigued. Cursing my lack of upper body strength, I plopped back onto the crate and placed the can between my legs. “What other choice do I have? If you get out of line though, don’t think I won’t hurt you.”

  He waved away my threat like it meant nothing. “Sure you will. Ok, I’m going to start at the beginning.”

  I groaned. “Really? The beginning? Can’t you start in the middle or something? Or even better, wrap up the story in a paragraph or less?”

  “You are a huge pain in my ass, Jesus. Just shut up and listen.”

  Rolling my eyes, I crossed my arms over my chest and closed my mouth. The sooner this was over, the sooner I could get to History class and away from Daemon.

  He changed positions, stretching out his long legs. “I was a punk ass kid growing up. My parents were too busy with their careers to pay attention to me so I rebelled. I ran with a group of five other boys. We used to break into cars, steal, and commit other petty crimes that are not worth mentioning. One night, we broke into an abandoned mental hospital. Real creepy shit. My friends and I took turns scaring the pants off of each other. It was fun.” A haunted look entered his eyes, wiping the happy trip down memory lane off his face. “Until the situation got out of hand.”

  I leaned forward, engrossed. “What happened?”

  “My friend brought a knife none of us knew about.”

  No story ends well when there is a knife involved, unless you’re a ninja. “Oh no,” I said.

  Daemon turned his fierce gaze on me. “Oh yeah. He thought it would be useful to have. Little did we know this mental hospital was a hang out spot for junkies. I was downstairs exploring when I heard a blood-curdling scream. The place was a maze so it took me awhile to find the source but when I did…” He trailed off, white as a bed sheet. “When I did, it was too late. A young woman was lying on the floor dead with my friend over her. Knife in hand. Supposedly, she bum rushed him when he came around a corner. The gaping wound in her neck said otherwise.” I instinctively ran my hand across my neck and winced. Eyes shut, Daemon leaned his head against the metal door. “When I tried to call the police, my friend knocked my phone out of my hands and said she was a no good junky. Spending a life behind bars wasn’t worth it. Her life didn’t mean anything.” Daemon hissed.