Accessory

  “You, Kayli Winchester, are a smart girl. You keep your heart closed off a bit, but I think deep down, you want a relationship, with who, I don’t know. I’m going come out and say I just hope it’ll be with me in the end.”

  I rolled my eyes, unable to hide the smirk from my face. I elbowed him in the arm. “After this, you might be the only one left.”

  “Can’t say I don’t like the sound of that.” He put his arm around my shoulders and rolled me toward him, kissing my forehead. “That’s not what I want, though.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I don’t want to be your last resort,” he said. “You barely even know me. We always end up fighting or you call me in at the last minute to save your pretty self. Well, here I am, finally able to talk to you. The real you. The real Kayli I’ve been dying to get to know. Literally. Did you hear I was shot? In the leg? It was by this really hot girl. And then the boat exploded. I could have died.”

  This caused an even bigger smile, and it almost hurt because I was trying so hard not to smile. “Don’t even start.”

  “You’re the one who crashed my party, sugar. You started this whole thing, not me.” He pressed his lips to my forehead again, kissing it, and then he held on to me tight around the shoulders in a hug. “No, sweetie, I don’t want to be your last option. Eventually, I’m hoping you’ll want me because you actually like me. I want to be your first choice.”

  The Academy

  The Scarab Beetle Series

  Accessory

  Written by C. L. Stone

  Published by

  Arcato Publishing

  Copyright © 2015 C. L. STONE

  http://clstonebooks.com

  Published by Arcato Publishing

  http://www.arcatopublishing.com

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-1516885343

  ISBN-10: 1516885341

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  From The Academy Series

  The Ghost Bird Series

  Introductions

  First Days

  Friends vs. Family

  Forgiveness and Permission

  Drop of Doubt

  Push and Shove

  House of Korba

  The Other Side of Envy

  The Healing Power of Sugar (November 2015)

  The Scarab Beetle Series

  Thief

  Liar

  Fake

  Accessory

  Hoax (July 2016)

  Other Books By C. L. Stone

  Smoking Gun

  Spice God

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  HARD ROAD

  “Kayli,” Raven said to me, his Russian accent thick after waking up on the couch. The tattoos on his bare arms and stomach shifted and danced on his skin as he stretched and sat up. “Don’t touch my box.”

  I had been left with Raven for the evening. I told the other guys that I didn’t need a babysitter, but as usual, no one listened. So while Raven was passed out, I found my way to a McDonald’s. I may or may not have had permission to take Brandon’s car, and stole the keys from Raven while he slept.

  I’d been restless. Sue me.

  I dropped the bag of chicken nuggets on the table. “Sorry, babe,” I said, shirking out of the brown jacket I’d borrowed from Marc. I still had on Corey’s Zelda T-shirt and the boots belonged to...Brandon? I’d borrowed so many of their things, it was hard to keep track. Plus it was easier to borrow stuff from them than to ask to go to the store and buy actual girl clothes. “You snooze...you don’t get McNuggets. House rules, right?”

  Raven sat up, snatched the bag from the table and brought it closer to him. His broad fingers fiddled with unrolling the top. “You’d never...”

  I smirked. I did know better than to bring any food into the apartment and not bring extra. I wouldn’t give them any reason to do that to me. That would be going too far. “I’ll let you have one.”

  “Two,” he said, and lifted two boxes of nuggets from the bag, leaving five more at the bottom. “You get the rest, until you get full and then I’ll take care of it.”

  I split some fries with Raven, too. He turned on the television, and I insisted he change the channel to Sponge Bob: one of the few shows he could understand without asking me a jack ton of questions about what words meant.

  I was working on my second box of nuggets when the front door opened quickly, slamming into the wall next to it. My head snapped around. Raven sat up straight, dropping the fry from his hand, clenching it into a fist.

  Marc stepped in through the open door. He was breathless, as if he’d taken the stairs instead of the elevator. “I think I’ve got a lead on Wil,” he said.

  Shocked, I froze and stared hard at him, a half-eaten nugget in my mouth. My brother. Marc had found him? I swallowed and tossed the other half of the nugget into the box and pushed it aside. “Where?”

  “We’ve got to go,” Marc said. “Hurry.”

  Raven wiped his hands on his jeans. “Let me grab a shirt,” he said. He rushed to his room, the tattooed bear on his back was wide-eyed and wild: exactly how I felt in that moment.

  I’d abandoned the food and the television was already forgotten, but I couldn’t wrestle any other information out of Marc, no matter how much I begged or threatened.

  As soon as Raven returned, Marc rushed us out and into the black SUV in the parking lot. It was around nine, dark and chilly.

  We were quiet until Marc pulled the SUV onto the I-26 ramp. I’d been trying to wrap my head around what we were doing and what it meant. Marc may have found Wil. We were supposed to keep our distance, but he was taking me to see him.

  “Where is he?” I asked again, unable to keep silent a second longer. Since it was late on a Friday night, he obviously wasn’t at school.

  “We’re headed his way,” Marc said. He pointed out toward the horizon. “If we hurry, we might catch him. I don’t know how long he’ll stay, so I thought you could at least get a visual.”

  Marc obviously wasn’t going to give up more details, so I fell quiet. I felt like if I spoke, Wil might hear us coming for him and leave before I got a chance to see him. My excitement rose as the miles passed.

  My heart swelled for Marc, too, for continuing to hunt for Wil, even while I had almost given up. I didn’t want to admit it to any of them, but I felt if Wil really wanted to talk to me, he would have found me by now. Maybe he was in danger and avoiding me, but how much danger could he be in to not even let me know he was safe? No, I was starting to believe I’d done something wrong. Maybe he thought I was neglectful or didn’t care.

  Secretly, I was afraid to face him and find out.

  I felt in my pocket for a ponytail holder and combed my hair back with my hands until I could put it up. I tugged Marc’s brown jacket, pulling it tighter around my shoulders. I carried a cell phone now, too. It was something they all insisted on and Corey had programmed each of their numbers in, plus a few extra from other Academy members around the area, just in case.

  Marc was in a leather jacket, black boots and jeans. His longer hair on top had grown down over his blue-green eyes, the mismatched colors contrasted with his dark lashes and hair. His hands
twisted at the wheel as he drove. Lines etched into his face told me I wasn’t the only one anxious about getting there in time.

  Sitting calmly with his dark eyes and short cropped hair, Raven was complacent. He was the epitome of patience as he stared fixedly out the front windshield. He now wore a thick, long-sleeved black sweatshirt, jeans and boots. The clothes almost hid all the tattoos. The only thing left to show his rebellious nature was the lip ring he’d put back in. He fiddled with it with his tongue inside his mouth. I could see the lip ring poke out further every once in a while.

  Every bit of him was Russian: look, voice, and attitude.

  “Where is Wil?” I asked again, breaking the silence. “Should we be interfering? I mean, that Mr. Blackbourne said...”

  “I just want you to see him,” Marc said. He slid a glance over at me. “Could you confirm it’s him?”

  I sat up quickly, swallowing against my heart in my throat, suddenly thinking the worst. “Did you find a body?”

  Marc’s expression moved from shocked to confused. “No,” he said quickly. “I just want to make sure I’m following the right guy. You don’t have to approach him now, but we should follow him where we can. See what he’s up to.”

  “He’s not a troublemaker,” I said, defensive. “He’s a good guy.”

  “I believe you,” Marc said. He smiled. “Don’t worry, I just want to make sure. If all he’s doing is trying to live on his own and take care of himself, then maybe we can approach him about college. We can even do it in a way to make it look like you aren’t helping.”

  “I don’t feel like I am,” I said.

  “Little Thief,” Raven said, reaching an arm around and squeezing my shoulder once tightly. I leaned into his side, feeling the muscle of his chest and stomach against my arm. It was a small amount of support and I welcomed his comfort. "There are many reasons to leave a home. Don’t assume bad when it could be something else, even stupidity."

  “He’s not stupid.”

  Raven blew out a slow breath that caught wisps of my hair, pressing the strands back against my forehead. "We all do stupid things sometimes."

  I started to wrestle myself away from him but he pulled me back in. “No, listen. We all think we can do things alone. It’s not how it works. We need other people.”

  "Right," Marc said. "It’s unlikely he is in trouble to a degree that it is threatening his life, but just in case, we don't want to start running around without checking first. If we follow him around, we can see who is influencing him. Or maybe he’s just hanging out with friends. We’ll figure out the truth."

  "But he's just a kid," I said, still feeling strongly that Wil wasn’t a bad guy. "He wouldn’t be doing something stupid. He wouldn't get into trouble with the police. Where are we going?"

  "There's a shelter," he said.

  "Shelter?"

  "A place where runaways are taken if they get picked up. Or beaten and abused kids who need a place to go while the system figures out where to put them next. There's a couple of them in town."

  "But how did you find out he was there?”

  “A boy with his description was caught by the police recently and taken there. He used another name, but I thought he might have lied.”

  “Why would he?” I asked.

  "If you are going to run away from home, you usually come up with a name. If he gave them a false one, it would take the police several days to identify who he is."

  "So we are going to the shelter," I said, putting the pieces together. "Just in case."

  "We want to get to him before he finds an opportunity to run off again."

  "But once he's in the system, won't they hold on to him? We tried to leave my dad once but the police picked us up and brought us back. They said if we tried again we'd go to juvenile court."

  "They were scaring you," Raven said. "They don't have time to chase runaways all over. They have too much to do. So they warn you to scare you into staying."

  Marc twisted his hands at the wheel again, and then sped up well over the speed limit. "But if he got picked up and didn't talk to the police and lied about his name, they'd put him in a shelter until they can figure out where to put him. That is, he’ll be there until he can find a way to leave.”

  "He can leave?"

  "You can't keep a kid still if he really wants to leave. You of anyone should know that."

  I ignored the last part. "How do you know all this about shelters?"

  Marc pursed his lips, turning to look out the side window. The intersection he stopped at was dark and he looked like he wasn't sure which way to go. He made a left, heading along a street that looked run down, with trees on either side and potholes in the asphalt. "Because I ran away a lot as a kid. I've been through the system. Several times."

  He did seem to know where we were going. I swallowed, checking outside to see where we were headed.

  The potholes were plentiful and deep. The truck careened forward and I grabbed onto both Marc and Raven before smacking my head into the dashboard. The lane was small, like it only fit one car at a time, so there was no way to avoid the bumpy ride.

  A house sat at the end of the lane, surrounded by thick trees. It was wide, one story and brick with a circular gravel driveway. Marc stopped the truck close to the entrance and shut off the engine. The house had shuttered windows, bushes pruned until they were almost sticks with a few dried leaves still attached. "This looks like someone's home," I said. For some reason, a local government run shelter felt like it should be more institutional looking. I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting at the word shelter, but this wasn’t anywhere close to what I would have dreamed up.

  "Yup," Marc said. He opened the car door, hopping out and reaching a hand out for me. "Raven, stay here. No offense but one look at you and they’re going to have their guard up."

  "Just hurry," he said. He slid over, taking up position behind the wheel.

  Gravel crunched under my feet as we headed for the front door. The place gave off a forgotten feel. Don’t look at us. Nothing to see here.

  We stood on the tiny concrete porch. Marc pushed the doorbell.

  "Let me talk to her," he said.

  “To who?”

  The door rattled as locks were being undone then cracked open just enough to reveal a shadowy figure behind a still-linked chain. The woman was older, with wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. Her blond hair was pulled back sharply and her eyes were critical.

  "Who are you?" she asked in a tense voice.

  "Mary," he said. "It's Marc."

  She tilted her head to the side, like she was trying to get a better angle. "Marc Weiland? What are you doing here?"

  "Sorry to just show up like this," he said quietly. "We're looking for someone."

  "Hang on." She shut the door and released the chain and opened it again, stepping back to give us room. She reached over beside the door and flicked a switch.

  Harsh florescent lights shone in the nearly empty hallway. The tiles were utilitarian, like what you’d expect in a hospital or a school. Walls were bare except for a security keypad beside the door. There was a single bench, a door to the right and the end of the hall extended to the right and left, not revealing anything else about the interior. It was surreal that, like the outside, while poorly illuminated, it looked like a regular, everyday house and the first step inside had the feeling of an institution.

  Mary’s wrinkles extended to her neck and her hands were bony. She had a small frame, and wore jeans and a light-colored sweater. She turned to Marc after she shut the door. "Who in heaven's name..." She trailed off, as if losing her train of thought.

  "Did anyone new show up here in the last few days?" Marc asked. "A guy, almost seventeen, glasses?"

  "We've had an influx of kids," she said. "Some left and others..."

  "Do you still take Polaroids of the intakes?" he asked.

  "I've got a digital camera now," she said. "Come on."

  They headed to the offi
ce. I lingered in the foyer for a moment. Somehow I felt like if I stared hard enough through the walls, I would see the rest of this house. I wanted to, because if Wil was here, I wanted to get to him quickly. I couldn’t imagine being brought to a place like this. Mary seemed nice, but it still felt like a cold institution. Did anyone actually live here?

  As if in answer to my curiosity, a young girl popped her head out from around the hall corner. She was a little black girl with apple cheeks and rows of short braids along her head. Her eyes were big and she stared at me.

  I did a short two finger wave.

  She continued to stare.

  “You lost?” I asked quietly.

  Her stare continued, and I got the feeling she wasn’t curious about me as much as she was looking for Mary. Maybe she wasn’t allowed to come down the hallway.

  I pointed to the door where Mary was. “She’s in there. You want me to get her for you?”

  Still the silent stare continued.

  “Kayli,” Marc reappeared in the doorway. He gestured to come in.

  I pointed toward the girl. “I think Mary is being requested elsewhere,” I said.

  Marc peered down the hallway at the little girl. He squinted at her and then leaned back into the office. “Mary, you’ve got a straggler.”

  Mary emerged, and the little girl pulled back, disappearing behind the corner. Mary shook her head. “Go ahead into the office,” she said, encouraging me. “I left the pictures on the desk. I’ll see what she needs.” She walked down the hallway, disappearing after the girl. There were murmurs, mostly Mary, and it sounded like she was disciplining the young girl to be patient and wait and not to go down the hall unless it was an emergency.

  I joined Marc inside the small office. It, too, was very sparsely furnished. A simple desk sat in the middle of the room, with a single computer on it. There was a file cabinet, and a chair in front of the desk. The walls were dingy and bare.