Free Dark Halo (An Angel Eyes Novel) by Shannon Dittemore

but Damien just smiles.
    “Keep your eyes on the pretty lady, boy. I’m not done yet.”
    Olivia gasps. Her knees buckle and she falls forward. Even strapped to a chair, Jake tries to catch her. But the attempt is useless, and Olivia smacks the concrete floor hard, knees first and then face. Her legs curl and shake, her expensive shoes scraping against the floor before working loose and falling away. Jake watches in horror as the backs of Olivia’s legs blister and burn, an invisible fire melting the skin away.
    “No!” Jake yells. “Damien, stop! Please! Stop!”
    And then Olivia’s legs scab and scar. In just seconds the body’s healing process has completed itself. It’s not as tidy a job as Jake’s hands are capable of, the skin puckered and pink, but her screams of agony fade to whimpers, and Jake sags against the chair.
    Damien grabs Olivia under the arms and lifts her to her feet. She’s trembling, head to toe, her face streaked with tears. He tips her chin up and then dusts the dirt from her hands and face in a motion that is almost tender. Bile fills Jake’s mouth.
    “Now, Liv, go get me a chair.” Damien eyes Marco. “I like the idea of having two guinea pigs.”
    Olivia gives a spastic little nod and gingerly walks toward the stairs. With a lacquered finger she strokes the silver scars on her arm. Bare feet and scarred legs . . . it’s not hard to imagine Olivia as the singed child from Brielle’s nightmares. Jake’s heart breaks for her. For the life she’s lived. Even with head high-five

9
    Brielle
    I brought Oreos.”
    Kaylee’s standing in the doorway of the old Miller place. She’s wearing a Snuggie with monkeys printed all over it and her Tasmanian Devil slippers.
    “Aren’t you hot?” I ask.
    “A little,” she admits. “But I’m cozy!”
    “What are you doing here?”
    “I told you, I brought Oreos.” She shakes the bag in front of my face. “Hot boy better have milk.” She steps inside, tugging a bedazzled rolling backpack behind her. “I did bring my Justin Bieber collection, though, so I didn’t forget everything.”
    I’m still staring at the backpack. Surely that’s not what she plans to take when she leaves for the Peace Corps.
    “Are you under the impression that I’m throwing a sleepover?”
    “No, you’re waiting and praying,” she says—air quotes around the waiting and praying. “Did I get that right? I’m the one throwing a sleepover.”
    “Kay . . .”
    She closes the door and adopts that doe-eyed innocence shewields so easily. “Let me do this, okay? Let me make this better for you. Please, please, please. You need me.”
    I love her, that’s true, but need is such a specific kind of word.
    “Come on, Elle. I want to be here. I want to help.”
    She looks so eager and so not scared.
    “It’s just . . . it’s dangerous,” I say. “And you’re wearing a Snuggie.”
    She points at me with a sparkly blue fingernail. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. And dangerous? Dangerous like the crazy demon who stabbed your dad and chucked him into the wall? I was there for that, remember. And I think I helped a bit. Right? I was helpful?”
    “You were awesome, Kay, but being close to me right now, tonight, it’s just . . . it’s not safe. I don’t want anything awful to happen to you.”
    “Funny you should say that, ’cause the only way I could get out of massaging Aunt Delia’s feet for the rest of the night—yeah, awful—was by telling her I promised you a night of juvenile frivolity. If she asks, you and Jake are having problems, which is kind of true. I mean, missing is kind of a problem. So really, by letting me stay, you’re saving me from something awful.”
    She slides the plastic tray out of the cookie bag and offers me an Oreo.
    “Don’t worry. I washed my hands.” She waggles the cookie in front of me. “Go on, take it.”
    I do. I take the cookie. How can I not?
    “You’re—”
    “Incorrigible,” she says. “I