Entanglement (YA Dystopian Romance) - By Dan Rix Page 0,38

and the reek of marijuana wafted through the car. Clive took the next hit, held it in. Two wisps of smoke seeped from his nostrils as he offered the glowing tip to Aaron.

“I don’t smoke,” said Aaron.

They got off the freeway and drove for miles down a deserted road, past dry fields and empty warehouses. Every quarter mile, a street lamp flooded the car with orange light and deepened the hard creases in Clive’s face.

“Pull in here,” said Clive. “We’re in that warehouse.”

Aaron saw what he was pointing at and realized coming here was a big mistake. Nature had tried to reclaim the warehouse but abandoned the job half done. Ancient graffiti flaked off the pitted concrete into tall, dead stalks of grass. Yellow bulbs flickered over twisted steel doors. An old backhoe had been driven into the wall, and the hydraulic rams had long since rusted over with hard, black scabs.

The only sign of activity was the white light spilling onto the dirt through a crack in one of the boarded up windows. At this point, Aaron figured he would rather strap himself into Casler’s device than step inside the place.

Dominic parked behind the warehouse, and two men walked out to meet them. The hoods of their red cloaks covered their eyes.

One man was a whole head taller than the other—Casler Selavio. Aaron’s heartbeat quickened.

Casler signaled for Dominic to roll down his window, and then he leaned in and stared around at the three of them. He paused at Aaron and grinned.

“Glad you could come, Aaron,” he said. In the weak glow of distant street lamps, his face appeared gaunt, chiseled. His eyes glinted out of bottomless pits of shadow.

His eyes darted to Clive, who was taking another hit from the joint. “Is that weed?” he said. “Hand it over.”

Clive passed the joint to Dominic, who passed it to Casler.

Casler stood up, pressed the joint to his lips, and inhaled deeply. Then he breathed out a contented sigh and leaned through the window again. “Everyone out of the car,” he said. “Time for introductions.” He flicked the last burning ember off to the side.

Aaron opened his door and was overpowered by stench. There must have been a sewage treatment plant nearby. He tugged the cloak over his head and staggered to the other side of the car.

The other man was buzzard-like, and for a moment, his fierce yellow eyes targeted Aaron. He wore a gold cross around his neck and a woven sash similar to Clive’s.

Casler wore dozens, all different colors and embroidered with ancient crests. They seemed to indicate his high status in the Juvengamy Brotherhood.

And Aaron became aware, more subconsciously than anything, that a spell-like power emanated from Casler’s proud eyes. He beamed at all of them, and when he placed a hand on Aaron’s shoulder, Aaron moved to stand beside him, feeling calm, blissful even—when a moment before he’d been certain the presence behind Casler’s eyes was not human.

***

“Father Dravin, these are friends of my son,” said Casler, herding them forward like children. “Dominic and Aaron.”

The priest didn’t smile. “Are they Brothers?” he said.

“Just guests,” said Casler.

Dravin straightened his glasses and his eyes flicked to Aaron, but he said nothing.

They walked across the dead field, pitted with gopher holes, and through rows of expensive cars.

Moonlight brushed the back of Aaron’s neck like a whisper. He shivered, with the sudden strange feeling he was being watched. He thought he saw motionless figures in all the cars, in the passenger seats, but it must have been an optical illusion. Aaron passed another car—and froze.

A blue Corvette, just like the one he had seen in front of Amber’s house. Her father’s car. Was this why her parents wouldn’t be home tonight?

Aaron tore his eyes off the license plate, unable to recall the number.

Blinding light spilled from an open doorway in the warehouse, past the mangled, dented steel door.

Before they filed inside, Aaron saw the priest grab Casler’s arm and stop him just outside the doorway. He stood on his toes and whispered in Casler’s ear.

Aaron angled toward them and paused to listen, and because Father Dravin hadn’t noticed him trailing slightly behind the others, Aaron heard every word of their whispered conversation.

“You expect them to believe you?” he said.

“Of course,” said Casler, smiling.

“A child without a half?”

“Half death is a disease, Father, therefore it is curable.”

“He would die of loneliness.”

“Loneliness is not a clinical cause of death.”

“There are other things,” said Dravin. “Things from above. You could never make