Invincible Chronicles of Nick - By Sherrilyn Kenyon Page 0,54
Mark’s favorite movie of all time, and for some reason that made no sense to anyone other than Mark, references to it were forever finding its way into Mark’s conversations.
Meanwhile, Mark continued to rant. “If you’re going to sit in your living room in your underwear, the least you could do is cover the windows. Old dude … really? I don’t think I can drive you home, Nick. I’m snowblind from the miles and miles of exposed white flesh.”
Nick laughed.
Suddenly, Mark went silent and cocked his head as he stared at the porch. “That’s weird.”
Nick leaned forward, trying to see what had caught his friend’s attention. “What?”
“I’m having déjà vu.”
Most people would disregard that, but with Mark …
This could be serious.
“What’s going on?”
Mark shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s … I know your coach. He’s familiar to me for some reason, but I can’t think why.”
“Have you gone to one of the schools he’s taught at?” Nick asked hopefully. If he had, then that might give them some well-needed intel on the beast.
Mark considered it. “Maybe. What does he teach and coach?”
“History and football.”
“Nah.” He stretched that one word out. “I don’t think I’ve ever had him for history, and I know he was never one of my coaches. Their faces are forever burned into my memory.”
That information caught Nick off guard. There was something Mark had never mentioned before. “You played ball?”
Mark stiffened as if the question offended him. “Uh, yeah. I was first-string quarterback all the way to college. Went to school on a full-blown scholarship, too, I’ll have you know. I’d have gone pro had I not blown out my knee my sophomore year.”
Nick was surprised and impressed. “I never knew you played ball.”
“Uh, yeah. Hello? I was born to it. Where you think I get all my good evasive zombie moves from? My uncle was even one of the coaches who worked under Bear Bryant.”
Whoa, that was seriously impressive.… “Really?”
He nodded. “My real dad was a coach, too.”
This was the first time Mark had ever talked about his father other than to say he was gone. Bubba had told him that Mark’s dad had died of cancer when Mark was seven. His mother had remarried two years later, and Mark had felt so betrayed by both his parents that he didn’t speak about his father to this day. Bubba said the pain was just too raw for him still.
Mark continued to stare at the coach on the couch. “He is so familiar. I can see his face clear as a bell. I just can’t remember where. But it’s somewhere odd. Somewhere I spent a lot of time. If I could just remember…”
“Maybe you played a team where he was the coach?”
“Could be.” Mark grunted. “What’s his name?”
“Devus.”
“His first name?”
“Coach.”
Mark gave him an expression of pain. “I can see your education isn’t wasted.”
“Hey, now … I’m offended. I never thought to ask what his name was. Really didn’t care.” Who would? Since Nick wasn’t allowed to use faculty first names, why waste the brain space to store it? It might kick out something he really needed, like the ability to play Donkey Kong. Now that would be tragic.
Mark didn’t say anything. He merely let out sounds of deep annoyance.
While he bellyached, Nick returned his gaze to the coach and tried to use his powers to see if he could pick up anything.
Nothing was there. It was as empty as the dark street. Which made sense to him, since he didn’t think the coach was all that deep a well anyway.
“Can you pick up anything off his house itself?” he asked Mark.
“Not really. There’s nothing much here. It’s all as generic as his white Toyota.”
“Great. Better get me home, then. I don’t want my mom to kill either of us.”
Without another word, Mark turned the Jeep back on and headed down the street.
* * *
After a fretful night of dreams where he was forced to steal against his will, Nick woke up completely exhausted. It felt like he hadn’t slept at all. Groggy and with a headache that wouldn’t quit, he dressed and made his way to school.
For once, he arrived early. Which was good, since he wanted to look around Devus’s office and not get caught. This time of morning, the coach was on bus duty. He should have a good fifteen minutes alone to poke around.
At least that was his thought until he found the coach’s door locked.