The Blood of a Nightlock

Chapter Seventeen

I pushed past a group of fourteen to eighteen-year-old girls gabbing about high school drama. It was nothing I wanted to listen to or be a part of. A few of them glanced up at me as I approached and whispered. I ignored them and slipped through their group heading for the stairwell. I moved into the stairs as the sound of whispers carried up. Not wanting to bust anyone's romantic interlude in the stairwell, I quietly shut the door and jogged with light steps down towards the third floor for the gym. It wasn't until I was clearing the fifth floor that I heard the flow of a conversation between two males.

"What do you mean you can't find it?" The first one hissed.

"We're looking and it's starting to feel impossible. I have someone back at school looking through student records, but nothing out of the ordinary as of yet."

"This is taking longer than you promised." The first one snapped.

"Lower your damn voice." The second one said. "If you want it, you'll have to be patient. If Chief Mitchel finds out about this, it's over and you'll never get what you're looking for. We're doing the best we can right now with the current situation." He explained. "If you wouldn't have rushed that attack on the school because of your impatience, we could have flown under the radar a little better."

"You were taking too long! We needed the attack."

"What is it you want me to do? You jumped the gun and now I have to play clean-up while I'm looking through records. This is taking longer because of your actions."

"You promised me a Nightlock."

Nightlock. I thought back on the term, I'd heard it before. I was having a hard time remembering where until Dad's voice crept into my head and the story of the Nightlocks returned to my memory.

"I think I'm a little old for bedtime stories." I said as I wiped the tears away from my eyes.

Dad jogged into my room with a bowl of ice cream and a dopey smile anyway. "Oh come on! You're never too old, Wrenny." He said as he collapsed down beside me on the bed.

"I've heard them all a million times."

He gave me a look. "They always made you feel better as a kid. Why wouldn't it work now?"

"A boy kissed me behind the school today for a bet. I'm not sure any childhood story is going to make me feel better."

"Stop mentioning that thing you did with that person," he said, "you're fifteen, you shouldn't be kissing any boys anyway."

"Isla gets to kiss boys!" I argued.

"She's older."

I shook my head. "You're always babying me."

"No, I'm not." He squeezed my knee. "You're just... my Wren. You're my girl. My buddy."

"You make me sound like one of your homies."

"You are a homie." He took another bite of the ice cream.

"Dad, this is why boys don't like me."

"Good they shouldn't like you. Not yet anyway. I need a few more years, Wren." He said with a sad look. "A few more good years with my youngest."

I sighed as I snuggled into him, stealing a spoon and diving into the ice cream. "Fine. Which story?"

He watched me for a few minutes. "How about a new one?" He spooned some ice cream for himself.