Living Violet

Book 1: Cambion Chronicles

by Jaime Reed

Genres: YA Paranormal; YA Romance

Synopsis

Book 1 of The Cambion Chronicles He's persuasive, charming, and way too mysterious. And for Samara Marshall, her co-worker is everything she wants most--and everything she most fears. . . Samara Marshall is determined to make the summer before her senior year the best ever. Her plan: enjoy downtime with friends and work to save up cash for her dream car. Summer romance is not on her to-do list, but uncovering the truth about her flirtatious co-worker, Caleb Baker, is. From the peculiar glow to his eyes to the unfortunate events that befall the girls who pine after him, Samara is the only one to sense danger behind his smile. But Caleb's secrets are drawing Samara into a world where the laws of attraction are a means of survival. And as a sinister power closes in on those she loves, Samara must take a risk that will change her life forever. . .or consume it. "Jaime Reed breathes fresh life into paranormal romance. I loved it!" --Lee Nichols, author of the Haunting Emma series

Release date: October 24, 2011

Publisher: Kensington Teen

Print pages: 322

Sample

Love indulged the masochist. Truer words have never been spoken, if I do say so myself. It’s a philosophy that has kept me sane for as long as I can remember and helped me survive the weirdest summer of my life. On the flip side, it’s very entertaining what love will make people do. It’s a great way to spend your lunch break.

Sitting on my car hood, sucking down a Big Gulp, I watched the pinnacle of love unfold before my eyes. My best friend, Mia, and her on-again off-again boyfriend, Dougie, squared-off like prize fighters in the middle of the outlet center parking lot.

This week’s drama included props. Dougie pivoted along the concrete, ducking and avoiding death by the finest designer handbag money could buy. Through the litany of screams, cusses, and purse swinging, I figured Mia had caught Dougie hanging out with another girl. Mia could be a little high-strung sometimes, but when it came to her man, she advanced to straight head case. That jealous insanity went both ways, depending on the day, and much amusement awaited all who watched.

“God, you’re such a liar! How could you do this to me?” she raved.

“Chill, baby! She was my cousin!” Dougie escaped the oncoming blow from Mia’s handbag by an inch.

“You lying piece of crap! I’ve met all of your relatives, Douglas. She never came to your house before.”

Dougie ran in circles around her, the blood rush turning his face beet red. “She just came into town! I swear, baby.”

“Why didn’t you introduce me, huh?” Mia wiped her sweaty brown hair from her forehead. “What, are you ashamed of me?”

He paused, clearly hurt at the suggestion. “No! Why would you say that?”

“Liar!” Her purse swung at his head, but missed.

Dougie grabbed one of the straps, and the two began a full tug-of-war in the middle of the parking lot. Weekend shoppers watched in horror, covering the ears of their children from the curses flying in the air. At any moment, someone would definitely call security, so I decided to leave the lovebirds to their own devices.

“Hey, guys,” I yelled behind me. “I gotta get back to work, but I’ll see y’all later, okay?”

“Okay, I’ll call ya!” Mia yelled back before shoving Dougie in the chest.

I dumped my cup in the trash, then entered the side door of Buncha Books. The air-conditioning slapped me in the face and pushed the June heat back outside. Mellow jazz rang through the speakers in a chronic loop from the satellite radio. Tourists and townies overran the floor in a slow, indecisive dance around the bookshelves.

I strolled through the main aisles, past the kiosk of new releases and bestsellers toward the customer service desk in the center of the store. Working at Buncha Books since sophomore year taught me a few tricks of the trade, namely to never get caught on the actual book floor. I also discovered that if I didn’t make eye contact with the customers, they wouldn’t talk to me. That policy remained tucked in my back pocket until my shift started. Casting a wary glance over my shoulder, I singled out an empty computer and clocked back in.

Stealth infiltration and quick reflexes allowed me to reach the other end of the store without incident. When I breezed by the magazine aisle, I caught something odd in my peripheral, a scene disturbing enough to break my stride. I stopped, blinked a few times, and then backtracked to the Home & Garden section to confirm what I just saw.

Caleb Baker, the assistant manager in the music department, held some redhead in a devastating lip-lock. She didn’t seem to have a problem with the public tonsillectomy, but this wasn’t the type of customer service the managers urged us to practice.

Just as I turned to leave, his gaze met mine.

Caleb’s looks would never stop traffic, but he was worth a second glance with his deep dimples, and the most intense violet eyes I had ever seen. Despite his claim of authenticity, eyes that color shouldn’t exist in nature—eyes that now reflected every purple tone of the color wheel.

Light brown strands draped over his face as the two continued to slob each other down. If they didn’t come up for air soon, Caleb would no doubt suck the life out of her. From what I hear, cheap hotel rooms existed for such an occasion, and there were plenty in the area to choose from.

Of the year and a half I worked here, that kid weirded me out in one way or another. Not to mention the number of women who chased after him on a regular basis. This fact went unnoticed and unaddressed by everyone in the store, including the managers, which disgusted me even more. Having seen enough, I walked away toward my station before my lunch came back up.

Cuppa-Joe was a coffee shop in the back of the bookstore, the place where people kicked back and talked trash about everyone; the cesspool of company gossip and customer-bashing.

I closed tonight with my weekend partner in crime, Nadine Petrovsky, a Polish exchange student at The College of William & Mary, and one of the most cynical people I ever had the pleasure of meeting. Guys came to the café just to hear her exotic accent and watch her work. One glimpse of her explained why.

Model scouts would salivate over her European beauty: her long wheat-colored hair that reached her butt, and her freaky green cat eyes. Too bad none of the attention interested her. Having no time for the BS left the girl cutthroat and caustic. She was just too focused to let a guy or anyone else slow her down.

Nadine stood in front of the barista machine, rinsing the steam wand, when she caught me in the corner of her eye.

“You’re late,” she noted without looking up.

“Sorry. Mia and Dougie were having it out in the parking lot again.” I tied my hair into a bun and grabbed my apron from the back kitchen.

“Oh yeah?” She craned her neck, straining to see the front of the store. “Their fights are good. They need their own sitcom.”

“I told them that.”

Worry lines etched her forehead as she shook her head in disapproval. “Their relationship isn’t healthy, Sam.”

“What relationship is?” I tightened my apron, then went to the sink to wash my hands.

“The sane kind.”

“Well, as soon as I see one of those, I’ll let you know what I think.”

While drying my hands, the second reason why I hated customers approached the counter. A kid dressed in all black with a dog collar leered at me.

Nadine kept herself conveniently busy, so I made my way to the register. “Can I help you?”

“I’d like an iced chai latté,” the boy said, deadpan. It was hard to tell if the kid was high or half-asleep, or whether he was, in fact, a boy. His parachute jeans dragged the floor like a prom gown, the cuffs frayed and dirty, hiding the clown boots underneath.

I rang up his order and shot Nadine a look, which she mirrored perfectly. After he left, I leaned against the counter and laughed.

Nadine didn’t smile, no matter how hilarious the joke, which I’m sure made her a real delight during the weekdays when she babysat preschoolers in daycare. Instead, she wiped down the work area with aggravated swipes.

“I hate those Elmo goth kids,” she griped. “What self-respecting sociopath drinks chai anyway? What do they know about real torment? Let them survive a concentration camp and then they can complain.”

“It’s called ‘emo,’”I corrected her. “And your great grandparents didn’t even get to the camp before the U.S. troops came in.”

Nadine moved to the back counter and checked the timers on the coffeepots. “It’s still torment. And if you say ‘emo,’ I say ‘Elmo’ because they are equally childish.”

Shaking my head, I watched her in amusement. “You don’t know what his home life is like.”

“Everyone knows what his home life is like. He doesn’t get along with his parents. He stays in his room and whines and writes bad poems about being a vampire.”

Laughing, I stepped to the espresso machine and stole a shot.

“Hey, it’s your turn to wipe the tables.” Nadine tossed me a rag. “And don’t forget to put back those magazines.”

Groaning, I dragged my feet to the sitting area and gathered the discarded cups and straw wrappers. Seeing no one else in line, I took a moment to return the magazines to the racks. When I had finished, I turned around and met Caleb, still as idle and unproductive as when I last saw him.

He sat on a reading bench by the window, holding his head in his hands. Afternoon light showered his back and crowned his dark hair in a golden halo. Normally, I would’ve ignored him were it not for the slight tremors that rocked his body. Was he crying? Did he and his new arm candy have a falling-out? It was just off-putting to see a guy cry, but no tears fell and none were wiped away by his hand. His body teetered back and forth, and I half expected him to start begging for spare change. How long was his break anyway?

I went over to him and tapped his shoulder. “Hey, Caleb. You okay?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled from under his hands. Thankfully, I didn’t smell any alcohol on him, but he definitely wore the hungover look. Then again, he always looked like that.

One hand reached for the sunglasses hooked on his collar, while the other shielded his eyes—whether from shame or the glaring lights, I wasn’t sure. I also wasn’t sure about the source of the purple rays leaking between his fingers.

For a split second, a cast of purple flooded his eyes, swelling in a florescent glow. Caleb quickly turned his head, leaving a streak of color dragging through the air in a residual haze. That was an interesting trick for someone who supposedly didn’t wear contacts.

He rose from his seat and paused at the shocked look on my face. He shifted his feet and messed with his hair, trying to play it off as if he’d been caught with his fly open. However, the only things I caught were vision problems and a bad vibe.

I took a step back. “You sure you’re okay? Are you sick?”

My question made him laugh, but it sounded dry and full of bitterness. “You have no idea,” he said before marching back to his end of the store.

My mom taught me not to judge people, but damn, that kid was out there. I didn’t know much about him, but that only made the fact that much more tangible. Something told me that ignorance was bliss when it came to Caleb Baker, so I went back to work, hoping for a distraction. But the damage was done. My curiosity had been piqued, and that hungry creature wouldn’t let me rest until I fed it.

After another four hours of retail hell, the closing announcements piped through the store.

Customers ambled toward the counter to make last-minute orders. There was always one person who insisted on leaving when we did, and trust me, they were more than welcome to shut down the cook station for me.

Because Nadine did let’s-get-the-hell-out-of-here better than anyone, she wrapped up the food while I stacked the chairs and mopped. Rock music blared through the intercom, letting everyone know that business hours were officially over. After forty minutes of shutdown, it was time to call it a night.

“Don’t forget, we have reading group tonight,” Nadine reminded me.

“Oh, crap!” All joy and enthusiasm vanished. Staying after hours without pay took more patience than I could give.

I flung my apron behind me and turned off the back kitchen lights. After gathering our things, we clocked out, then moved to the restroom hallway toward the break room.

Half the employees were already there, drinking stale coffee to stay awake. The sour expressions and defeated postures made it clear that no one wanted to be here on a Sunday night, so I was in good company.

The monthly book club strived to keep the work morale up, but it usually led to fights. The sales reps from on high thought it was a good idea to have the employees read the new releases and recommend them to customers.

One thing I loved about my coworkers was that they disliked this activity as much as I did. That mutual hatred brought us together, and it made this pointless hour bearable. We could let our hair down and talk true literary smack without censorship. At the end of the night, a book was voted as the store’s choice of the month.

Nadine stood by the broken soda machine talking to Caleb. Though out of earshot, her reddened face suggested that the topic didn’t involve the latest bestseller. Fingers pointed at the other person, teeth bared, features twisted in anger.

Caleb and Nadine barely talked at work, just brief exchanges and whispers in secluded corners of the store. I suspected that Nadine and Caleb shared a thing that went sour before I started working here, but I thought it was better not to rehash the past. No matter how bad the breakup, Caleb was the only guy she seemed to respect.

Trying hard not to look nosy, I slinked over to the low-budget refreshment stand and commandeered day-old snack food.

Placing a doughnut on a napkin, I almost jumped at the deep voice behind me. “Hey, I had my eyes on that powdered one.”

I turned around and met those freaky purple-blue eyes again. In all honesty, that was the only thing going for him, at least in my book. Caleb was pasty, even for white-boy standards, and he was in dire need of a haircut and shave. With hands shoved in his tan khakis, he looked at me under thick lashes.

“Too bad. It’s the last doughnut, and it’s all mine.” I allowed the treat to hover in my hand for good measure.

“No way I can change your mind?” His eyes ran the length of my body before meeting my gaze again.

“Nope. Sorry.” I took a huge bite of the powdery confection and scooted to the folding chair next to Nadine. I could feel him watching me, no doubt coveting my sugary prize. Caleb was skinny with a swimmer’s build, so who would believe that this guy could wipe out an entire sugar plantation in one sitting? His sweet tooth rivaled mine, and that was no small feat.

Linda, the store manager and the queen of bling, barged in and slung her bag on the floor. Her stilettos clunked against the linoleum tiles, signifying that the bedazzled badass had just arrived. Propping hands on her hips and car keys clasped in her jewel-covered hand, she addressed the group.

“All right, let’s get this over with. I got an hour drive ahead of me, and I’m not trying to be here all night.” She took a seat and pulled her dreadlocks into a bun on the top of her head. “Okay, let’s begin with the young adult section.” She turned to the short, curly-haired girl to her left. “Alicia, what book did you read?”

Alicia Holloway sat up straight, grinning, sporting wide eyes and dimples. She was a freshman at my school—well, sophomore this fall—and the youngest employee at BB. Her work permit was probably still tucked inside her Hello Kitty purse. Alicia had come a long way from the frightened deer who always brought a nightlight when she slept over my house. I used to babysit her when I was in junior high, and even then she tried too hard to act mature. I saw right through it, and it was my duty as a friend to bug her to death.

“I read Specter, by Nan Jacobs,” Alicia chimed with excitement, holding the book up so everyone could see the worn cover.

A number of groans filled the break room. People adjusted their chairs, preparing for the diatribe that would surely follow.

This was the book series that every bookseller loved to hate, and its popularity boggled the minds of everyone in the room. But no one could deny the number of sales among teenage girls, and an entire shelf in the store was devoted to the saga. Anything that mainstream was enough to keep us from reading it. Well, most of us.

“Okay, first off, I have to say I loved this book. It’s so romantic and sweet, and the characters were so believable, and I felt like I was right there with the main character and, Omgoodness, Nicolas Damien is so hot!” Alicia bounced in her seat and swallowed a lungful of much-needed air.

“Have you met him?” Nadine leaned back in her chair and allowed her hands to touch at the fingertips. “This Nicolas Damien—has he come to the store or something?”

Alicia frowned in confusion. “Uh, no. He’s a character in the book.”

“Then how do you know he is hot?”

“Because the book makes him hot, that’s how,” Alicia snapped, then addressed the group again. “Anyway, the story’s about a young girl who goes to detention and falls in love with a gorgeous new guy. But there’s something mysterious about him.”

“Let me guess, he’s a serial killer?” Caleb piped in. He sat at the opposite side of the circle with one leg resting on his knee and his arms folded. Every so often, I caught him watching me, probing me with an open curiosity that had no shame. I tried not to stare at him, tried not to squirm in my seat, but his stare had a physical presence.

I couldn’t wait to get out of there.

“No, he’s not a killer.” Alicia rolled her eyes. “He’s dead.”

“How romantic,” I mumbled. “Forget Teen Beat; go to your local cemetery. Corpses are the new heartthrobs.”

“No, I mean he’s a ghost,” Alicia explained. “Anyway, the girl doesn’t know that at first, and the thing is she’s the only one who can see him. Nicolas thinks it’s a sign that Angelica is his soul mate.”

“Angelica?” Nadine and I mimicked in unison.

Alicia spun her head at the jeering. “What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s reaching, isn’t it?” Nadine asked. “Let me guess, Nicolas calls her ‘his angel’?”

Alicia snarled in our direction, then continued, “Anyway, it’s about forbidden love. They can’t be together because Angelica is still alive and he’s a ghost, and they can’t even touch. The story follows her search to figure out how Nick died, all while fighting their attraction.”

“Why is she the only one that can see him?” Linda asked.

“Because Angelica is a rare and unique snowflake,” I answered, picking at my doughnut.

Redness rushed to Alicia’s cheeks, giving her skin a rich mahogany tint. Her fist slammed down against her knees. “Shut up! You’re just jealous of Nicky and Angie.”

“Wow, we’re on a nickname basis with these made-up people?” Caleb asked, his chest shaking with laughter. “It’s just a book, Alicia. Relax.”

Applying some serious neck action, Alicia contended, “Look, you write a bestselling novel and then you can complain about someone else’s book.”

“Will someone else go now, please?” Linda rubbed the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut. That vein on her forehead looked ready to pop, so I jumped in.

“Okay.” I reached behind my chair and pulled the book from my shoulder bag. “Trick of the Light—I love that title—by Harriet Coffman-Frost. It’s about this male prostitute, Ren, who runs into some bad luck and gets evicted from his house, and ends up rooming with one of his lady customers, named Janice. Janice is emotionally unavailable—some Madonna-whore complex where she can’t sleep with someone she has feelings for, so she buys male company. The tables slowly turn as they get to know each other. Ren ends up having feelings for Janice and tries to woo her, but she clams up and ignores him. So he ends up using his hooker money to buy her affection. I’m almost to the end; I’ll let you know what happens.”

Alicia sucked her teeth in disgust. “That’s sick.”

I grinned. “Isn’t it, though? But the characters are real to life, unlike your oh-so-perfect Nicky.”

“Can’t be too perfect if Nicky can’t remember how he died,” another employee added.

“All right, settle down people,” Linda broke in. She turned toward Caleb and smiled. “Okay, how about you? What book did you read?”

Caleb unfolded his arms and presented the paperback to the group. “Snap Shot, by Orlando Hutchins. It’s about this demonic photo booth in the middle of the Jersey boardwalk. When Mark Daniels goes inside, the camera flash gives him a subliminal message to murder people. And out of the photo slot are pictures of five people he has to kill. So Mark goes on a mindless killing spree, but he only figures it out when a friend comes to kill him. The friend also has a strip of pictures with Mark’s face on the last square. It’s a crazy, vicious circle.”

“Wow, that’s awesome.” Linda jotted something down on her notepad.

“Yeah, it’s got plenty of gore and violence,” he agreed, glancing over at me. “Good family fun.”

After another twenty minutes of show-and-tell, we all decided on Caleb’s book choice. Sighing in relief, everyone got up and filed toward the doors. I grabbed my bag and walked out, ignoring the prickling feeling on the back of my neck, the warm humming over my skin, and Alicia giving me the stink eye.

Linda stayed behind to lock up, while outside an ambulance and two cop cars flanked a vehicle at the end of the lot. Aside from the employees’ cars, the parking lot was empty.

Nadine leaned into me and asked, “What’s that about?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” I stepped to the side as the rest of the crew moved in to watch.

Nadine’s eyes widened with excitement. “You think there was shooting or something? I would kill for action in this town.”

She had a point, but I wasn’t sure if this was the way to go about it. Williamsburg was one of the most boring cities on the planet. It was a far cry from Mayberry, but this town still had some sleep in its eyes. It was a resort town, the hotbed for tourists for the summer, and most of its revenue banked on the hotels and restaurants in the area. So any sign of a skirmish proved enough to keep the townsfolk talking for a while.

A group of skateboarders sat on the grass, watching the fallout from the opposite side of the lot as a heavyset officer took statements from each of them.

I looked to the dark blue SUV parked near the store when the driver’s window rolled down. Mr. Holloway popped his head out the window. “Alicia, come on!”

“Coming, Daddy!”

Alicia rushed from behind me and bumped my shoulder. Obviously, she took her book rejection personally and needed someone to blame.

Reaching the van, I straightened my back and saluted A. . .