Sherrilyn Kenyon - Invincible

Nick snorted. That was 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.

Dang it all … He looked up at the ceiling in frustration. “Was one break really too much to ask?”

That being said, Nick wasn’t without a few skills. One of them being the ability to pick a lock fairly quickly. It’d been a gift from one of his dad’s “roommates” who’d thought it would be funny to teach a six-year-old how to enter.

Even though he should have, it was a skill Nick had never allowed to atrophy.

Just in case.

Five minutes later, he was inside the office. Making sure to stay away from the cameras and to keep the lights off, he went through the desk drawers first.

Nothing.

Just the typical stuff you’d expect to find in a coach’s desk. Grade book. Whistle. Pens. Pencils. Paper clips. Agenda. Hall passes. Play books. Schedules. Rosters. Player lineup.

And then it struck him. Something that had toyed at the edges of his mind last night at the coach’s house, but here in the office, it was epically clear.

There was nothing personal in the entire office. Not a photo, a trophy, certificate.

Not even an Altoid.

Nothing.

Hired at the same time as Devus, Principal Dick had completely taken over Peters’s office and made it his own. This one looked like the coach could quit and walk straight out the door without packing up a single item.

Literally.

His house last night had been the same way. Sterile and impersonal. Ubiquitous. Unremarkable. Just like the coach himself. Everything was forgettable.

Now it all made sense.

Wow … Devus must owe some serious change that kept him running constantly. What kind of mondo gambling debt had he accrued? It must be steep for him to live in this kind of fear all the time. A fear that wouldn’t even allow him his choice of car since he drove one that wouldn’t stand out on the road. Everything about him was a study in vanishing.

No wonder we can’t find any trace of him.

He must be staying off grid to avoid loan sharks or collection thugs. Nick almost felt sorry for the man. Had Devus not been the ruthless killer who was blackmailing him, he would have. As it was, Nick wouldn’t really mind handing him over to whoever was after him.

Shaking his head, he slid the drawer shut.

“What are you doing here, Gautier?”

He jumped out of his skin at the deep baritone of the coach’s voice coming from behind him.

Ah, crap. I’m dead.

Trying to act as normal as possible, Nick turned around even though he was shaking so hard, he wondered if the coach could hear his knees knocking and his heart racing.

C’mon, Nick. Think. Don’t blow this.

But in his mind, all he heard was the sound of a police siren coming for him to take him away. Meanwhile, an image of him hanging dead in an isolated jail cell danced in his head. Ah, gah, don’t let that be my psychic powers kicking in now. Not when he really didn’t want them.

His panic rose higher.

Nick forced it down and decided on the simplest tactic.

A bald-faced lie. “Waiting for you, Coach.”

Devus’s gaze narrowed dangerously. “How did you get in here?”