Under Sunless Skies (Starlight Saga Book 2) Read online

“You’re my whole world, and I can’t seem to find the strength to give you up.”

  “Then we’ll figure it out together.” I nestle into his side. “Tell me more about Delta….”

  For the next two hours, it’s just Hayden and me sharing our lives in the graveyard and staring at the starry night sky. No barriers between us, no walls separating our lives, only two people holding each other and pretending the rest of the world doesn’t exist. We’re on our own little oasis hidden by the shadows of the full moon, as if lost in a secure place where there’s no Sector Thirteen, reapers, hateful Meleah, or blackmailers.

  Hayden shares his memories of Delta, and how after her disappearance, his mother quit working at the lab. Then how she turned distant and cold, and his parents became even more anti-human than ever, blaming ST scientists for Delta’s death.

  In a way, it explained so much and why they hated humans.

  I tell him all about my fight with my parents and the harsh things I said in anger to my mom. Lastly, I confess why I told Viola about the Meleah because I desperately needed someone to talk to after we broke up.

  I’m reluctant to leave the graveyard, not because the winds grow cold, but I know this tender moment can’t last forever. Tomorrow we’ll go back to our secret lives and hidden agendas. Back to the real world where Hayden and I still can’t be together.

  FRIGHT NIGHT BABBLE

  Hey there, Grinning Gremlins!

  Many things are becoming totally unoriginal in Hollywood scripts, but there are a few tropes that if dragged behind the woodshed, no one would even notice.

  The most inherently hated cliché is the evil corporation or the corrupt, secret branch of the government. These sinister jerks try to take as hostages any creatures from outer space that they claim don’t officially exist.

  Or their top-secret research creates a deadly virus that causes the zombie apocalypse. Sometimes the evil scientists even create killer cyborgs or a few genetically engineered humans.

  Of course, the very existence of these underground factions are always denied by officials, which allows the guys in charge to maintain plausible deniability. Hello, Roswell!

  Like all the conspiracy theories surrounding Area 51, these covert groups don’t really exist…

  Or do they?

  Peace, love, and horror flicks,

  Sloane

  TWENTY-ONE

  “You guys doing anything interesting over Easter break?” Viola glances over her shoulder at Tanisha and Raymond as we walk into the school lunchroom.

  “Sleep until noon every day.” Tanisha straightens her maroon top, then peers at me. “What about you? Doing anything exciting?”

  It isn’t like I can tell Tanisha or Raymond I have the equivalent of ghost slime all over my body after almost getting run over by a speeding hearse.

  “We usually attend church in the morning and have brunch before going our separate ways,” I say. “The candy basket is a definite positive.”

  “There’s the Lancaster brothers.” Viola points to the front of the cafeteria. “Why don’t we break protocol and sit with them?”

  “Are you cracked?” Tanisha bristles. “We weirdos need to stick together. No branching out.”

  Tanisha sounds as prejudice as the Meleah are against humans.

  I try not to look at the brothers. Today Hayden and I are back to ignoring each other as usual. Taking a seat at a table near the back with my friends, I take out my notebook and a pen from my backpack. I scribble down all of my suspects on the “Operation Blackmailer” page.

  Top suspect, Zach Lancaster. Check.

  Emma Fowler. Check.

  Her evil minion, Kaitlyn Carter. Check.

  Nosey, Saxton Ridge. Check.

  Arcane Vogel. Check.

  Creeper Xavier. Check.

  With a heavy sigh, I put my notebook away. I still haven’t got any grand ideas on how to find out who The Blackmailer is or what their real agenda might be…

  Yawning, I slump down and cross my ankles. I’ve had a hard time sleeping at night. Nightmares still plague me. Before going to bed, I make sure the bedroom door and the windows are shut and locked. Then I go downstairs to check the front and backdoor. Last night, I shoved a chair beneath my bedroom doorknob. Just in case.

  Paranoia does not look good on me. Or do much for my beauty rest.

  When Saxton catches sight of our group, he ambles over to our table and sits across from me. I wish with all of my black little heart that Hayden was bold enough to cross the room and sit beside me.

  Saxton leans across the table. “Meet me at the beach after school. There’s a volleyball tournament going on.”

  “No thanks. I’m busy and not really into sports,” I say.

  Saxton settles in his seat, looking like a puppy that’s been smacked by a rolled-up newspaper. “Busy doing what?”

  I twist off the cap of my bottled water. “I have a new column to write, a movie to review, and a test to study for. So my time is limited.”

  Saxton leans closer and sniffs the air, wrinkling his nose. I’m suddenly filled with all this awkwardness. Did I remember to put on deodorant? Wash my hair this morning? Brush my teeth?

  Saxton bobs his head. “I read some of those articles you wrote for Fright Night Babble. Pretty damn funny.”

  I proudly lift my chin. “Ah, welcome to my geekdom, Stalker Boy.”

  “You’re snarky and weird,” Saxton says with a smile.

  I deadpan. “I’d like that engraved on my tombstone, please.”

  The rest of the time, we eat lunch and chat about college apps, ACT tests, and graduation parties, all normal teen stuff.

  I glance at Hayden’s table and catch his glare. My warring feelings for Hayden along with his fiery stare confuse me just as much as everything else going on in my crazy life.

  In the one class that I share with Hayden, I keep my head down and read over the notes that I clearly haven’t put much effort into. I don’t dare peek once in Hayden’s direction during the entire class, but his presence is overwhelming anyway. Every part of my body thrums with awareness. When Hayden scrawls notes, or when he rubs a hand over his face, or flexes his right hand holding a pencil. My nerves feel stretched taut by the time the class ends.

  My phone buzzes with a new text alert in my jacket pocket and I pull it out to check the screen.

  Hayden: Go straight home after school.

  Me: Yeah, yeah. Do not pass go or collect 200 dollars.

  Hayden: LOL Smartass.

  By the time the last bell rings, all I can think about is confronting Saxton and discovering if he’s The Blackmailer.

  Only one way to cross him off my suspect list.

  Since I gave Saxton that tour on his first day at Haven High, I got a chance to inspect his class schedule, which happens to comes in handy when needing to stalk, um, I mean to find someone on campus. I skip my last class and march to the homeroom where Saxton should hopefully be studying. Lucky for me, I catch him just as he’s entering the room.

  “Hey, Saxton!” I yell. “Don’t go in yet.”

  He releases his grip on the doorknob. “Hi, Sloane. What can I do for you?”

  I stop in the hallway, then gesture for him to step out of the doorway. We move a few feet away from the classroom and stand in the quiet corridor devoid of any students or eavesdroppers.

  “I was on my way to the newspaper workroom when I remembered that the new editor asked me to talk to you,” I say, quickly improvising.

  Saxton leans one shoulder against the wall. “About what?”

  Biting my lip, I study him. I need to discover if Saxton is The Blackmailer. But I must proceed with caution…

  “He wants me to interview you for the school paper. You know, being a new student and all.” I pull out my Hello Kitty notebook and a pen from my backpack, then flip through it until I find the page I started on Saxton Ridge. “Let’s start with a few questions for the bio.”

  “What?” He lifts his hands,
his palms upward like he’s trying to stop traffic. “School’s almost out, and nobody’s gonna be interested in some random student who transferred schools so late in the year.”

  “Not true. I’m interested. So let’s proceed,” I insist. “First question…you mentioned that your mom remarried, but not why you felt the need to move. And your lame three’s a crowd answer doesn’t really explain anything.”

  He rubs the back of his neck with one hand. “Um, well, I didn’t get along with my mom’s new husband.”

  I stare at him. “You’re lying.”

  His eyes go big and round. “W-why would you say that?”

  “Because I did some research for this article and discovered that your mother is dead. I read a short obituary online that stated she died eighteen years ago. Care to explain?”

  His eyes flare momentarily in surprise, then darken. “You did your homework,” he says, slowly, cautiously. “It’s true. My father told me that she died in childbirth, and I suppose I thought it might be less awkward to just say she remarried.”

  Not sure I buy into his explanation. I scribble into my notebook: Admits mom is dead. Check.

  I look back up at hm. “Why not just tell people the truth?”

  “My father told me to lie...” Saxton grimaces as if he’s said something he shouldn’t. “Um, I meant, my father advised that it wasn’t a very good ice breaker if I hoped to make friends at a new school.”

  “Hmmm, next question…” I eye him with a critical squint. “Why don’t you have any social media accounts? Most teens do. Even Viola has her own YouTube channel where she reviews books. I only found a Facebook page. But what was weird is that you don’t even have one single friend or any personal photos. Why is that?”

  He’s rapidly blinking at me as if he’s a malfunctioning Furby toy, and his face pales. “The Facebook account is only to keep in touch with my old friends.” He clears his throat and continues, “But I’ve been busy since I moved to Grimm Haven and I haven’t had a chance to look anyone up yet.”

  Not fully believing him, I write in my notebook: Only has 1 social media account. Weird. Check.

  “You have something against social media?” I ask.

  “Uh, I wandered around Twitter for a couple of months. I also had a passing flirtation with Instagram last year,” Saxton says, his voice lowering. “While I’ve dabbled with various online platforms, I rarely amuse myself with any of them for very long. I find it too impersonal, don’t you?”

  “No…I don’t.” I scratch my cheek with the end of the pen. “I enjoy the interactions I get from my column, and all the cool people I meet online because of my love of all things scary.”

  “About that…you like those slasher films. Why?”

  “While I’m not really into plotless slasher movies, I am a certified horror film junkie. Even though, I’m terrified of sleeping in a house alone, but whatever, I’m still obsessed with them.” I shrug. “I like movies that give me thrills and chills. Nowadays, a lot of slasher films have too much gore, and not enough genuine fright…” I stop talking.

  Dammit. He’s good at sidetracking me. We stare at each other and he slowly smiles as if he’s won this round.

  “Back to the interview. Do you have any interests outside of school?” I ask.

  Like blackmailing people?

  The smile wilts and a deep frown touches his lips. “Sure. I have some diverse interests, Sloane.”

  “Care to elaborate?” I ask.

  “Well, if you’re a horror junkie, than I consider myself a sports fanatic. I like playing them and watching it on TV.” He smirks and lifts his chin. “I was the pitcher of my old baseball team at my former high school and I hold the league’s strikeout record. My father was very proud of me…”

  “Impressive,” I say politely. “So what does your dad do for a living?”

  “He’s a private contractor.” Saxton’s facial muscles tense. “Look, I’m kinda a private person and I hope you have enough for your article. I have to go.” He turns on his heel, and speeds off out the outer doors without going to homeroom.

  I write in the notebook: Saxton is uncomfortable talking about himself. Check. Then quickly add: But why? What is he hiding?

  Shoving my notes into my pocket, I walk down the hall and try to decipher Saxton’s odd responses and reactions. I’m still unsure if he’s guilty or not. My attempt to uncover if he was the blackmailer was a total bust. Saxton’s almost as good as Hayden is at avoiding questions during my interrogations.

  My next plan could be to black bag each suspect, shove them into the back of an SUV, and then try waterboarding them to get the confession. But that does seem a bit extreme.

  Maybe I do watch too many thrillers.

  When I stop at my locker, I don’t want to open it. Don’t want to know what’s waiting for me inside. I’m not in the mood for cryptic fortune cookie-esque messages from The Blackmailer.

  Questions bombard me like machinegun bullets from one of Jonah’s video games. Why is someone doing this to me? Do I have a mortal enemy on campus? And what have I done to deserve these threats?

  Constant paranoia is not a state I like to be in or visit on a regular basis.

  With trembling fingers, I spin the dial on the lock. I clench my jaw and every time someone walks by, I practically jump out of my skin.

  As I swing open the door, another black envelope spills onto the dirty floor and I stumble backward, as if it will melt my shoes.

  This. Cannot. Be. Happening. Again.

  The black envelope glares up at me, as if daring me to pick it up. Crouching, I snatch it and tear the envelope open.

  POOR SLOANE, YOU DEFINITELY HAVE A TYPE: LOVE ME AND LIE TO ME.

  I stare at the words. My entire body trembles.

  Is The Blackmailer insinuating that Hayden is lying to me?

  My collarbone feels hot. I squash the note and toss the damn thing into the trashcan. The stress is killing me. I so need a double-mocha latte or a candy bar. Or both.

  Every time I enter a room, I expect one of my classmates to stand up and exclaim, I know you’re a hybrid! And your family’s going down. But nothing happens.

  The worst part is that I’m afraid to tell anyone about these odd warnings. Not that I have many people I even trust anymore.

  When I raise my head, I catch Emma staring at me from her locker further down the corridor. She gives me a toxic little smile. Emma’s now been boosted to Suspect Number Two.

  Suddenly, I can’t seem to focus on anything. The details of the corridor slant and orbit around me. The windows, the lockers, my backpack, the other students, the windows, the lockers—everything swirling in a fast blur. This must come to an end for my own sanity.

  But how do I get Emma to confess? No idea.

  Try to catch her in the act? Nearly impossible.

  What the hell am I going to do? Time for a confrontation!

  TWENTY-TWO

  At the end of the day, I spot Emma swapping textbooks at her locker. I approach her warily, hoping I don’t get my eyes scratched out.

  “I need to have a word.”

  “Let’s have it,” Emma says, with narrowed eyes. “What do you want?”

  I blink. “Are you sending me those lame-ass threats?”

  “Insults about your horrible style choices are hardly threats,” Emma says coolly.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I demand. “I’m asking you about blackmail.”

  “Someone’s blackmailing you?” Emma laughs mockingly. “Oh, this outta be good. Are they terrorizing you about your hideous wardrobe?”

  My jaw hangs open. “If this is your idea of a prank—”

  “Sloane, I’m gunning for valedictorian. I don’t prank people. It’s a waste of time. Just like this conversation.” Emma whips out a cellphone from her blue Kate Spade purse and checks for text messages. “Clearly, you’re upset about something other than raiding Elvira’s closet. So what is it?”

  “Ho
w did you find out?” I grind my teeth, then clench my fists. “Who told you?”

  “Told me what?” Emma stares at me as if I’ve just sprouted horns, and her glossy curls twitch around her head. “You’re sounding like a crazy person.”

  A cold gust washes through me. Abort! Abort now!

  I’m frightfully wrong. Emma is not The Blackmailer. She’s not a good enough actress to feign this level of cluelessness. Time to cross her off my suspect list.

  “Never mind. I have to go,” I say, brushing past her.

  In the school lot, I get into the Jetta and speed off. I catch a glimpse of Hayden’s SUV in the rearview mirror. The instant I park the car, he jumps out of his ride and opens my door.

  “Thanks for the escort.” I wave at him and walk to the porch.

  “Why so grouchy?”

  I spin on my heel. “Are we supposed to pretend the other night never happened?”

  He takes a deep breath and his eyebrows pull inward. “No, why?”

  “Gee, I don’t know…maybe because we pretty much settled things between us and then we kissed? A lot. And now you’re acting like it doesn’t mean anything.”

  A long, lingering pause follows that I wish I could smash with a hammer. He takes a breath, opens his mouth as if beginning to speak, then closes it on a loud groan.

  I prop both fists on my hips. “You’re confusing the hell out of me, Hayden Lancaster!”

  “You think this is easy for me? Hell, no!” His hands open and close at his sides. “It’s hard being around you, all right? You keep looking at me with those sexy eyes, and you’re so damn gorgeous, and you smell freaking awesome. So I kissed you in the graveyard! I’m sorry!”

  The corners of my mouth slightly curve. “You think I’m gorgeous?”

  He rolls his eyes. “You’re hot and you know it. Why are you smiling?”

  I shrug a shoulder. “No reason.”

  Hayden shakes his head. “You’re such a pain in my ass!” He laughs once. “You’re driving me crazy. You know that, right?”

  A bigger smile tugs at my lips. “Yeah, I get that.”

  “Sorry if I’m being a douchebag. The kiss meant everything,” he whispers.