The longer Link stared in the mirror looking for al the things that were wrong with him, the more he noticed the things that were different. Maybe even right. It seemed impossible, but from what he could see in the mirror, the baby face the girls teased him about was almost gone, replaced by the kind of jaw that could take a serious punch. He felt like his skin had been stretched over someone else's face—a guy who was older, better looking, and bigger.
Because he was definitely bigger.
He tried to stand up straight, but he'd been slouching for so long that his body almost couldn't remember how. He'd grown at least an inch in about two hours. Was that even possible? Link wasn't sure, but he knew that when he tried to fal asleep last night, he had felt his bones cracking and groaning, like they were literal y stretching under his skin. And his skin tingled, his nerve endings more sensitive than when he'd skinned his knees break-dancing on the blacktop. Then there was his arm—
the pain that seemed to disappear overnight.
Link was looking good today, roadkil , puke, and
Link was looking good today, roadkil , puke, and al . The extra height was worth a little bone stretching, or whatever was happening. Especial y since he wasn't just getting tal er. He felt like he was getting stronger, too. He glanced at the door, then flexed his biceps in the mirror. Yeah, he had some hard-core guns.
“Don't make me fire these puppies,” he said to his image in the mirror.
It was sort of like Invasion of the Body Snatchers.
He felt like himself. He stil rocked out to Black Sabbath and Led Zeppelin. He stil couldn't stop thinking about Ridley and becoming a famous drummer. But the body he was in didn't feel like his body. It felt borrowed—or stolen. Crazy as that sounded.
Link splashed some water on his face with one hand. He was going to give Power Ballads another shot. He grabbed his iPod and flopped down onto his bed. When his back hit the mattress, he heard the sharp crack of wood splintering underneath him
—and half his bed crashed to the floor. His heart sped up, but he cranked Mötley Crüe's “Home Sweet Home,” listening to the words he'd heard a hundred times before, hoping they would drown out his mom's voice hol ering from downstairs.
The pee was warm and yel ow and, wel , it was pee.
A few hours later, Link was staring into the specimen container as if it could explain everything. He was pretty sure it couldn't, but at least he hoped it would get his mom off his back. She was convinced his sudden physical changes were the result of steroids.
Link shook his head. “Kinda like Mountain Dew in the mornin', after you let it sit by your bed al night long.”
Since he didn't know what to make of his new physique any more than the rest of the stuff that was happening to him, Link gave up and screwed the lid on the container. He wrote his name on the sticker right where the nurse, Wanda Beezer, told him to. He stil hadn't seen Doc Asher, but Link knew why he was there. His mom had made that clear, and it had nothing to do with the sling on his arm.
There was no way in H-E-double-hockey sticks you could ditch out on his mom's cooking and puke two minutes later without ending up in the doctor's office. Not unless you had a doctor's note excusing you from eating in the first place.
If only she hadn't served the white gravy. Anything but that. Maybe he could've choked down pancakes.
He shuddered at the thought, and the smel . Maybe not.
What was wrong with him?
He'd been trying to convince his mom he was fine, but he hadn't been able to convince himself.
Maybe she was right. Not about the drugs, but maybe about the Devil. He didn't know what was going on in his head—or his body—but none of it was normal. Not that the things going on in Link's head were al that normal to begin with.
Stil , this was abnormal y abnormal.
“Are you takin' drugs, Wesley?” his mom had demanded after she charged into his room right before lunch. “Gettin' yourself al hopped up on the marijuana?” The way she said it, you'd think she was proposing to someone. Marriage-you-wanna?
Link didn't wanna. He didn't want anything.
“No, ma'am. You want to go through my drawers again?” That would make twice in one day, but it was worth it to get her off his back. “No dirty magazines.
No Harry Potter movies. I promise.” She hadn't thought his response was funny. He was just hoping she wouldn't find his Iron Maiden CDs. That would be worse than marijuana.
She had her hands on her hips, which was never a good sign. “Al I know is you're not eatin', but you're bigger than Bobby Watkins. So if it's not the marijuana, you must be takin' steroids like those footbal players they're always talkin' about on TV.”
Link had let his head fal against the wal in defeat.
“Mom, I'm not an NFL footbal player, and I'm not takin' steroids.”
Her eyes had narrowed. “We'l see.”
Now she was about to.
Someone was pounding on the restroom door.
“Wesley Lincoln, are you al right in there? Do you need help?”
“Give me a minute, Mom. It's not like I can press a button.”
“Don't you sass me, Wesley.” She was hammering on the door again, and he knew he was going to have to go back out and face her. Five minutes alone in a bathroom was more freedom than he could expect this day.
One breakfast left on the plate and some gagging.
You would've thought he'd shot a guy.
Link pul ed the door open. His mom was standing there, between Doc Asher and Wanda Beezer, al looking impatient. Jeez, wasn't anyone else ever sick in this town?
“Come on, son. Your mother thinks we should have a little talk. And I'l take a look at that arm a yours.” Doc Asher patted Link's shoulder.
Wanda coughed and held out her gloved hand.
“I'm waitin'.”
Link handed her the warm yel ow cup.
Doc Asher looked at Link from the other side of his desk. “You see, son, sometimes when a boy and a girl—a man and a woman—truly love each other—”
“Are you kidding me, Doc? I think I've got that talk covered.” Not that anyone had ever bothered to have it with him, but he'd learned al the facts of life the way God intended, by spying on the girls' locker room next to the unheated swimming pool at church camp.
Doc Asher leaned back in his chair. “Don't interrupt. As I was saying, sometimes when a man truly loves a woman, he wants to impress her. Maybe develop bigger muscles. Show off a bit.”
“Are you askin' me somethin', Doc?” Link knew his mom had probably already shared her steroids theory.
Doc Asher picked up a pen and Link's chart off the desk. “Have you been feeling angry?”
Was he for real?
“I don't know, Doc. Have you?”
“Wesley, this is serious. The abuse of steroids…”
Link stopped listening and started wondering if the serious abuse of your son's privacy would show up in the container. Until Doc said something that
stopped him cold.
“With al the changes your mother's mentioned, after I cast your arm, I think I'm going to check for puncture marks.”
Puncture marks? It took him a second to put it together. Doc was talking about needle marks, from shooting steroids. But that wasn't the kind of puncture Link was thinking about.
He froze. And suddenly he wasn't in the doctor's office anymore. He was back in a dark cave at the Great Barrier the night before, during Lena's Claiming. The fighting had already started, and he was standing between Ridley and John Breed—who looked like some psycho robot. Link wasn't gonna let John hurt Rid, no matter what. But just as Link was planning to rush him, the guy ripped, disappearing. Link scanned the cavern trying to figure out where John went.
A second later, he knew.
Link felt John's teeth sink into his neck.
It hurt like hel , and it burned like it, too. He could hear Ridley screaming, pink and blond hair whipping through the air as she jumped onto John. Between the two of them, they threw John off. Or maybe he just let go. But he left something behind.
Two puncture marks, shaped like canines.
Link sat in Doc's office for the rest of the visit, but he wasn't listening anymore.
Link doesn't spook easily, but that same night he climbed through my window and told us everything.
He was scared, and Lena and Ridley tried to explain some of the basic Incubus facts of life to him, even they couldn't tel him everything he needed to know.
But I knew someone who could.
CHAPTER 3
Your Average Superhero
Link wasn't crazy about going back down into the Caster Tunnels, but he had questions, and Macon Ravenwood was the only one with the answers. So I offered to go with him. It had taken me an hour to convince him that he wasn't going to burst into flames the second the sunlight hit him.
Ridley pitched a fit when she found out, and refused to let us use the door in her bedroom to access the Tunnels. I guess it was hard for her to watch Link morph into a Supernatural while she was trapped as a Mortal. If anyone knew how she felt, it was me. I was watching Lena become more and more of a Caster with every passing month. Maybe Macon had a pamphlet down in his study: “So You're Powerless Now, But You're Going Out with One of the X-Men.”
Link and I ended up at the fairgrounds again, wandering around until we found the Outer Door.
“Your girlfriend's a real pain in the ass.” It was so hot I thought I was going to pass out. Link hadn't even broken a sweat.
“She says she's not my girlfriend, but Rid's just playin' hard to get.” Link didn't sound like he minded the girlfriend reference. “Right?”
“I don't know. Maybe it's different with an ex-Siren.” I pul ed on the heavy earthen door. “Man, could it get any hotter?” My shirt was already soaked.
Link shrugged. “I guess it is pretty hot.”
“You guess?” There had never been a heat wave like this in Gatlin, at least not in my lifetime. Folks were wandering around town melting like Popsicles in the sun.
“I don't real y sweat anymore. It must be an Incubus thing,” Link said, pul ing the heavy Outer Door open with one hand like he was taking the lid off a piece of Tupperware. His arm had already healed at supersonic speed. “Pretty cool, right? You want to see it again?”
Before I could say anything, he let the door slam in my face. A cloud of dust rose up from the ground, and I coughed. “Thanks, man.”
“Anytime.” He yanked the door open again.
I stared into the abyss below, pausing for a second the way I always did when faced with a staircase I couldn't see. But Link didn't hesitate. He jumped, landing about halfway down. Usual y I was the one who went first when we were faced with a potential y dangerous situation.
“You comin', dude?” Link cal ed from the darkness.
“I'm right behind you.” How often did that happen?
Macon's study was at the base of the stairs that led down into the Tunnels from his old bedroom at Ravenwood—the room that was Ridley's now.
“You sure he's cool with this?” Link asked, reaching out to touch the carved oak door.
Before I could respond, the door swung open and Macon was staring back at us through the green eyes of a Light Caster. “I am nothing, Mr. Lincoln, if not ‘cool,' as you boys say. Particularly considering the state of the climate in our fair town these days.”