Total pages in book: 209
Estimated words: 196141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 981(@200wpm)___ 785(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 196141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 981(@200wpm)___ 785(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Despite a sickening sense of urgency building inside him with each passing second they spend outside under the looming sky, Kyle feels exhilarated as he keeps up with Lazarus, dodging obstacles with expert focus, flying up and down steps on the pathways, whizzing around corners in the semidarkness.
“You’re nimble,” observes Lazarus as they come to a stop within a thicket of trees on the edge of campus. “A natural.”
“I played football as a human,” says Kyle, as if that explains everything.
When Lazarus continues on, it’s slower and more cautious now, as if they’re zeroing in on their target at last. Kyle mirrors his caution, following behind him in front of a short dormitory building lined with trees and narrow patches of grass lit warmly with lampposts. It isn’t along the path Lazarus walks, but right next to the building, blending in with the pale stone, now and then stopping and narrowing his eyes.
Then he sighs, sounding annoyed, and turns. “He’s busy.”
Kyle lifts an eyebrow. “You’re communicating with him?”
“No. I’m listening.” He nods at Kyle. “Try it yourself. Go. Listen beyond the wall. Do you hear the blood?”
Kyle doesn’t ask what he means. He just closes his eyes and trusts the request, centering himself and trying his best to listen for what he presumes Lazarus means to be pulses.
But it isn’t what he hears that captures him. It’s the four fully-awake humans his Reach finds. Their minds swirl with delirious glee, yet their thoughts are disconnected, as if floating in space. Kyle tries to make sense of it, but whenever he thinks he has a grasp on one of them, it slips away, like their minds are children that keep running off toward the playground, sugared up and too giddy to pay attention to anything. Are they drunk? No, Kyle has felt the emotions of many intoxicated individuals at the bar. This is a different kind of influence that moves their emotions. Are drugs involved? Are they high? Far more likely.
Then he feels a fifth presence.
Entirely separate from the other four.
A light and flirty flair, thin and detached, curious, playfully aloof—yet entirely distinct and in control.
The moment Kyle senses it, it’s gone.
When Kyle opens his eyes and turns to say something, he discovers Lazarus gone as well. He pushes away from the wall, looking for him, listening.
Then, a distant hiss of words: “What the fuck, Drake?”
Kyle turns toward the sound, hurries across the grass, stops at the front of the building. Lazarus stands there, jaw clenched, as he towers over a young human male who looks less terrified of Lazarus and more entirely amused by his presence. Blond hair tinged with pink highlights, like a half-assed dye job that has faded over weeks, uneven, short in places, messy in others, buzzed up the sides, yet with some bangs tucked behind the ear. Slender build, head cocked, mellow eyes lined with dark black eyeliner and a stud piercing over one eyebrow. He leans against the doorframe to the dormitory building with his arms crossed wearing a denim jacket, the collar popped over the back of his neck, with several colorful patches spread across the shoulders and back, as well as a prominent purple skull and crossbones on the chest. His toned legs fill out a mismatched pair of distressed denim jeans, his look completed with a set of high-top sneakers, shoelaces undone. Kyle’s first impression of Drake is that he’s never seen anyone like him before—a total one-of-a-kind.
Drake’s playful eyes flick to Kyle at once. “Laz, you made a new friend?” He nods approvingly. “Honestly didn’t think you were still capable. Not a bad one, either. Cute face.”
“It’s nearly morning,” clips Lazarus like a scolding father.
“What’s your name?” Drake saunters over to Kyle, much to Lazarus’s chagrin. “I’m Drake. Real name, not a stage name. People always think I’m in a band or something.”
“Everyone is waiting,” states Lazarus from the door. “You were supposed to have returned with dinner hours ago.”
“I guess I spent too much time chatting with our dinner,” says Drake, his eyes still on Kyle, taking him in. His smile gives an impression of both sweetness and cunning, lips curled at one corner, even when straight-faced, like he’s always hiding some inner joke. “They’re all liberal arts majors, and boy, can those freaks party. Expected them to pass out hours ago after we got home from the bar, but then one of them slips a molly …”
Lazarus is not impressed. “If we don’t head back now—”
“I’m not that big a fan of casual drug use per se, but when a hot college boy kisses you and tongues a tiny colorful pill past your lips and you find yourself halfway to paradise …” Drake lets out a giggly sigh, shakes his head, runs a hand through his hair. Then he winks. “Ever been halfway to paradise, doll?”