Chapter Seven

About a week or so later, on a perfectly ordinary cloudy day, another new guy arrived at our school. Heather, Fiona, Jesse, and I were hanging around outside before our first class when a loud, vintage-looking motorbike pulled into the school parking lot.

“Who’s that?” Fiona asked, perking up at the sight of its leather-clad rider.

“Is that…?” Jesse sat up, surprisingly animated for first thing in the morning. “Oh my God, it is!”

“You know him, Jess?” Heather asked. Sipping her coffee from a travel mug, she linked her arm through his.

“No, but he’s riding a 1988 Norton Rotary Classic.” When we weren’t impressed, he added, “It’s a collector’s bike. They only made 100 of them. You know how hard they are to get?”

“I think Fiona was asking who, not what,” said Heather.

By the time he parked and dismounted his bike, a few of us had stopped to see who the new guy was: teacher, student, or substitute? When he took off his helmet, I guessed him to be about our age. Everything about this guy exuded sexy, from his long lean body decked out in tight leather riding gear to his almost-shoulder-length brown hair and twinkling brown eyes.

A few sophomore girls stood closest to him in the parking lot and he gave them a perfect smile, flustering them into an eruption of giggles and blushes. Everyone was looking at him and he didn’t seem to care. In fact, he smiled at all of us equally, as though he enjoyed the attention.

As he walked toward our group, Jesse called out to him. “Dude, that’s an awesome ride.”

He scanned each of us, but when his gaze landed on me, the corners of his mouth turned into a half-grin. “Thanks.” His voice was deep and a little gravelly, appealingly so.

“You gotta tell me how you got it.”

He motioned to his leather riding gear and winked. “It came with the outfit.”

He then entered the school, leaving an awestruck Jesse and a practically drooling Fiona in his wake.

His arrival set the school on fire. By mid-day, we all knew his name: Damiel Lucas. Everyone was talking about him.

Damiel was in my English class, and it was intense to watch him and Michael interact, or rather not interact. They never spoke, but Michael’s back went up the second Damiel entered the room, his eyes tightening like fists. But Damiel just gave him a wolfish grin as though it were a game of some sort—one I didn’t understand the rules of but really wanted to.

By the end of the day, practically everyone at school had flocked to Damiel at some point. He was dark and interesting and, unlike Michael, he had no past. Try as they might, no one could dig up any gossip about him. We didn’t even know where he came from, and people seemed to like it that way. He brought a sense of mystery and adventure that was sorely missing to the senior class, not to mention the school itself.

“He’s so hawt,” I heard one girl say to two of her closest friends in the hall.

***

Those same girls, juniors, stood in a cluster outside their classroom before the bell rang the next morning.

“Bet he’s a great kisser,” said one of the girls with a little sigh. The three of them giggled.

“So totally badass,” said another, flipping her pale blond hair. She had porcelain skin and eyes that were almost cobalt blue. I couldn’t help but think she and Damiel would look good together. “Think he’s seeing anyone?”

“Hey, Tricia, get in line!” said the first girl. “He’s mine.”

I walked past them on my way to class. Was I the only girl in school who didn’t swoon at the thought of Damiel? Girls flocked to him. Every day he had a different one on his arm. Blonde, brunette, tall or short, it didn’t matter. He petted and charmed each of them, working one girl into a frenzy before moving on to the next. He had a certain appeal, I guess, but all I could think about was Michael.

I still couldn’t figure out what happened between him and me the day of the hike. I thought we’d connected, that he cared—until he read Elaine’s article. We hadn’t spoken since. Occasionally he would give me a look I didn’t understand. Deep and intense, as though he really knew me. Sometimes I even thought he might come over so we could talk, but then he’d hesitate and walk away.

I hadn’t seen any other strange anomalies lately—no shadowy dogs or flickering lights. But whatever it was that I’d seen nagged at the back of my mind like a chore I’d forgotten to do. I had to know if there was some kind of explanation, and asking Michael wasn’t an option. So, during a free period after lunch on Friday, I decided to do some research. Not knowing where to begin, I tried the school library. But it didn't exactly have books on the subjects of shadowy dogs or flashing lights, and I was hardly going to ask the librarian for help.

I didn’t even know how to describe what I saw. It might have been easier if I could name them, or if there were a pattern to what I was seeing. At first the lights appeared when Michael was carrying me, but it wasn’t consistent. The other day, when I was out with Bill, the lights flickered at the café.

I decided to try the Internet and did a search for “seeing flashing lights,” which actually produced results. I found lots of information on eye problems and detached retinas. All of it was too scary to consider. I vowed if I started seeing the lights again, I would go to the doctor.

I was in the middle of looking up “seeing shadows” when Damiel slid up behind me.

“Homework?” he said.

Startled, I instinctively closed the web page I was looking at.

If he’d seen what I’d been reading, he didn’t let on. His voice was as smooth and rich as black satin. “You’re Mia, aren’t you?”

I nodded, flattered he knew my name.

“I’m Damiel. I don’t think we’ve formally met.” He offered me his hand with an elaborate flourish. I shook it. “What do you normally do for fun around here on a Friday night?”

“Nothing,” I said, then cringed inwardly. With both Heather and Fiona dating, my social life was pretty much non-existent these days. But that wasn’t something he needed to know.

He pulled up a chair beside me and leaned in close. “How about we make our own fun then? Go for a ride?”

I looked down at the keyboard. Having him so close made me hold my breath, a little freaked out. “I don’t know.”

He leaned back but reached his hand out on the desk so it rested hardly an inch from mine. Eyebrows raised, mouth open, he paused dramatically before he spoke, as though making sure he had my attention. “You know, I once heard this myth about the afterlife…”

“The afterlife?” I shifted in my seat and pulled my hand away, not wanting to give him the wrong idea.

“Yeah. You believe in one, don’t you? Heaven? Hell? Reincarnation? Or do you think when you die it’s all over?”

“I–I don’t know,” I stammered. Many ancient cultures did believe in an afterlife, but I wasn’t sure what I believed. “I wasn’t raised religious or anything.” My mind flashed back to Farouk’s comment about Michael’s near-death experience, the idea of Michael coming back different. What did it mean?

“Well, some cultures used to believe, at the time of death, that instead of being judged on how well you abstained from the pleasures of life…” He leaned in closer. “…you would be judged by how well you enjoyed them.” With a smile that could boil glaciers, he ran a finger up my arm from elbow to shoulder. It left a path that tingled all the way down to my toes.

“Interesting,” I said, surprised by how fast this was going. No one had ever touched me that way before. All the blood rushed from my head, leaving me dizzy and more than a little scared of him. “W–where did you hear this?”

“Read it somewhere.” He shrugged. “In order to honor the gods, they believed you should live your life to the fullest.”