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  “You’re looking for Skizz.” Ed’s skin felt tight as he said it. The thought had just popped into his brain, and he wasn’t sure where it had come from. But as soon as it left his lips, he knew it was true. He could tell by the wild, wary look that flashed in Gaia’s eyes, the sudden tightening of the line of her body. The way her hand tensed on the strap of her bag. Her knuckles, he noticed, were grazed and raw.

  Then Gaia relaxed. Her face became a careful mask. “I wanted to ask him some questions.”

  “That’s not true,” Ed said evenly, looking into Gaia’s eyes. “You’re looking for Skizz, and it isn’t to ask him some questions.”

  “Well, don’t worry about it,” Gaia said. She looked around with studied casualness. She shifted her feet. Obviously she wanted him gone.

  Ed suddenly felt afraid. Afraid for Gaia.

  Afraid of Gaia.

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  FEARLESS ™

  BLOOD

  FRANCINE PASCAL

  The sale of this book without its cover is unauthorized. If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that it was reported to the publisher as “unsold and destroyed.” Neither the author nor the publisher has received payment for the sale of this “stripped book.”

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS

  POCKET PULSE, published by

  Pocket Books, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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  Produced by 17th Street Productions,

  an Alloy Online, Inc. company

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  New York, NY 10011

  Copyright © 2000 by Francine Pascal

  Cover art copyright © 2000 by 17th Street Productions,

  an Alloy Online, Inc. company.

  Cover photography by St. Denis. Cover design by Mike Rivilis.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce

  this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

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  ISBN: 0-671-03949-0

  ISBN: 978-0-671-03949-3

  eISBN: 978-0-743-43413-3

  First Pocket Pulse Paperback printing June 2000

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  Printed in the U.S.A.

  To Matthew Weiss

  BLOOD

  GAIA

  Mary’s dead. Maybe if I say it over and over a thousand times, it’ll sink in. Mary’s dead.

  I’ve been sitting in this tub for more than an hour now. I’m shivering and the water’s cold, but I can’t seem to move. I keep seeing Mary’s face. Keep feeling her hair in my hands. There was blood on her teeth.

  Mary’s dead. I held her tonight as her eyes closed. Her life flowed out onto the cobblestone pavement of Washington Square Park. I saw who did it. I even fought him. Mary’s old dealer, Skizz, hired that guy to kill Mary. Which he did, tonight.

  Oh God, Mary’s really dead. She won’t call me tomorrow. I’m shaking and sore and Mary’s blood washed off into this bathwater when I stepped in. She won’t ever make me wear ridiculous clothes again. Make me go dancing with her. Tell me her secrets. Listen when I tell her mine.

  What do I do now? Everything I touch gets destroyed. What does that mean for Ed? I can’t seem to get out of this tub. I’m curled up. The porcelain is hard and cold under my head. I’m shaking. I don’t want to cry, can’t cry, can’t make noise. Don’t want Ella to come up here.

  Oh God, Mary’s dead. Is it too much for me to have a friend? Is it too much for me to trust someone? Is it too much for me to be close to someone?

  I need to think. Think this through. Thinking is better than screaming. Better than crying. Better than feeling all this pain. I can’t stand this pain. I don’t want to feel this. I’ve got to stop this.

  Breathe, breathe, breathe.

  Okay.

  No more.

  I have to find a way to never feel like this again. Not because of my mom, or my dad, or Mary, or anyone. I’ve got to make sure I never, never feel this pain again.

  And I’ve got to make Skizz pay.

  too young to die

  “Was this all life was about? The stronger picking on the weaker? Survival of the fittest?”

  You Might Get Eaten

  DAMN. HE ALWAYS FORGOT ABOUT that chunk of broken pavement. Ed Fargo swore under his breath and gave a sharp jerk to his wheels. He pulled himself out of the rut, then rolled around the corner of Perry Street toward Gaia’s brownstone. His breath puffed out in the frigid air. January in New York was as dismal as things get.

  Ed took in the scene around him. The ugly stamp of humanity’s feet had already taken its toll on the winter streets. Pristine white snow was now sullen brown slush. Plowed drifts covered corners and curbs, creating treacherous mounds of filthy, spit-upon, dog-pissed-upon ice. Try getting a wheelchair through it.

  “Gotta get snow tires,” Ed muttered. As he made his way up Perry Street, a memory suddenly clamped over his heart, making him clench his wheels tighter, blow harder as he breathed. For a few moments he’d been distracted from the memory by other things. For a few moments he’d forgotten about Mary.

  Mary was dead.

  Part of him still couldn’t quite take it in. Didn’t want to. For the past month he and Mary and Gaia had been a real threesome. They had hung out, partied, talked. … It was the only time Ed had been with people he considered friends since, well, since the accident. True friends.

  Sure, separate, Mary and Gaia had both been pretty intense. Together the two of them had been compelling, exciting … and infuriating. Like when Mary had dared Gaia to make out with Ed just a few nights ago. Given Ed’s deeply felt but hidden lust for Gaia, that had been pretty wild. Weird, but wild.

  Ed paused and rubbed his chin in the twenty-five-degree air. He realized he’d been smiling. Again he’d forgotten.

  Mary was dead, killed the night before last in the park. To Ed, it looked like a years-long major coke addiction had finally caught up to her. She’d died with drugs in her possession. Gaia had been there, speaking to the cops, when Ed had arrived. Too late. He was always too late.

  Oh, Mary.

  True, once or twice Ed had resented how close Mary and Gaia were becoming. But Mary had been Ed’s friend, too. She’d been fun, beautiful, full of enthusiasm and life and humor and outrageousness. She’d been too young to die.

  Ed rolled to a
stop before Gaia’s brownstone. He swallowed, hard. It was freezing out here. What would he find in there? He reached toward the doorbell, thought better of it, and pulled back his hand to fiddle with the armrest of his chair, his heart pounding.

  Why was this so hard?

  During this last month Ed had seen Gaia unbend more, smile more, laugh more, show her soft side more than in the whole time he’d known her. It had been due to Mary. Now Mary was wearing a toe tag. How was Gaia going to react? What’s more, how was Ed going to make it easier for her to deal? Gaia had refused to come to the door or talk on the phone all day yesterday. Who was to say she would even let Ed say two words to her today?

  Ed’s watch said eight-twelve. The Village School was opening its battered wood-and-metal doors right now. Thanks to a bunch of snow days, they’d been gypped on winter vacation and had to go back to school early. But there was no doubt Gaia would skip today. Maybe George or Ella had already called her in sick.

  The thought of Gaia spending yesterday with just her clueless foster father or bitchy foster mother to console her literally made Ed’s stomach turn. Today he wanted to be the one who was there for her, to hold her as she cried, to comfort her as well as he could. Now he would have a chance to protect her, just like she’d always protected him. Maybe it would even be a chance for Gaia and Ed to get closer. Maybe he would be able to tell her he loved her. That he wanted to be with her. Yeah, in that way.

  Ed took a deep breath and tried to clear his head. Just as his gloved index finger reached out to the bell, the heavy front door opened. Gaia came out.

  In a frozen moment Ed searched her face. Gaia looked pale but otherwise … fine. Calm. Kind of … normal. No tearstained cheeks, no swollen eyes, no pain etched on her face. She was dressed for school in an ancient pair of jeans that looked like they had been rescued from a tribe of renegade dust bunnies hiding under her bed. A pale blue, stretched-out turtleneck collar showed at the opening of a worn, electric blue, puffy down ski jacket. The jacket had a hole in it, and feathers were leaking out. Her glorious blond hair hung in wet, ratlike clumps around her head. Ed knew it would be frozen solid before she reached the end of the block. Same old Gaia.

  “Hey,” Gaia said calmly, tucking some wet hair behind one ear. She hitched her messenger bag higher on her shoulder, strode past Ed, and headed down the block.

  For a moment Ed was too confused to do anything but stare after her. Mary was dead, right? He hadn’t just dreamed it. His wheels spun as he caught up to her. “You’re going to school?” he asked, hating how his voice sounded—flabbergasted, childish.

  Gaia glanced down at him blankly. “It is a school day,” she pointed out. “Is there some holiday I don’t know about?”

  “But—” Ed bumped over a curb that the universal handicapped accessibility codes hadn’t caught up with yet.

  “But what?” Gaia asked. They swung around a corner as Ed struggled to organize his thoughts into some kind of a coherent sentence.

  “I thought you might stay home today,” he said carefully as he caught up to her. Great. Great sentence. You’re a genius, Ed. “I thought you might be upset.”

  Gaia sniffed and wiped the back of her hand across her nose as he stared up at her expectantly. “What is it with cold air and snot?” she asked, just as the light turned green. Ed stopped dead in his tracks. He had to say something, anything, that would help him connect with her. He braced himself, waiting for Gaia to realize he’d stopped and turn around.

  But Gaia didn’t stop. She crossed the street and just kept going, never once looking back. Ed’s mouth worked open and closed, but nothing came out.

  In a matter of seconds she was out of sight.

  Ed just stared after her.

  I Am Pigboy

  “SHIT.”

  Gaia Moore stared blankly into her locker, wondering what books she should grab before rushing off to class. She was going to be on time today. If she could just figure out what freaking books she needed.

  “Shit, shit, shit.”

  Gaia’s locker was inexplicably grouped with a bunch of freshmen’s. Bad luck—freshmen were even worse than seniors. New kids always get stuck with the crappy lockers, Gaia thought angrily as she shuffled a pile of cascading papers, although she guessed she wasn’t all that new anymore.

  Hard to believe she had lasted since September. Usually the educational system gave up on her after only a month or two. Schools in Manhattan must be a little more hard-edged than any of the other places she had been, Gaia mused.

  Hello. Think, Gaia. What classes did she have this morning? She had no idea. Then it dawned on her. Chem lab. She grabbed a thick notebook and two of the less hefty textbooks out of her locker and slammed the door.

  The metallic clang of her locker echoed emptily in the hallway. Damn. The hallways were already clear, the classroom doors closed, and the huge industrial wall clock ticked loudly above her thawing head. Gaia squeezed a little of the moisture out of her hair, tucked her books under one arm, and strode purposefully down the hall.

  Usually Ed would have been here to keep her in check, to make sure she went to class in the first place. But Gaia hadn’t seen him since she’d left him at the corner of Perry, looking completely aghast. Had he made it in okay?

  Gaia dismissed the thought almost as quickly as it had come. Ed could take care of himself. And besides, she was done worrying. Gaia Moore had officially made a pact with herself—she was no longer a baby-sitter.

  As she loped around the corner, Gaia almost collided with a small knot of seething testosterone clumped against the wall. She stopped short, blue eyes rapidly assessing the scene.

  Several large, dumb bozos appeared to be picking on a smaller nerd type. One of the hulks, whose neck measurement probably exceeded his IQ, turned and trained small, piglike eyes on Gaia. She felt his animal glance sweep her from dripping hair to battered Sears construction-worker boots, lingering on her breasts, her long legs. Jerk.

  “Gay-uh? That’s your name, right?”

  Gaia stood rooted to the spot, her eyes narrowed.

  “Take a hike, Gay-uh,” Pigboy muttered. “This doesn’t concern you.” He leaned forward, gripping the soft flannel shirt of a kid Gaia didn’t recognize. The kid’s brown eyes, wide behind glasses, flashed both angry humiliation and mute appeal.

  Gaia frowned with irritation and impatience. Was this all life was about? The stronger picking on the weaker? Survival of the fittest?

  And if that was the case, wouldn’t that put Gaia at the top of the food chain?

  “It’s Guy-uh,” she said. “Let him go.”

  The biggest guy snorted. “He’s not going anywhere, Guy-uh. We’ve got unfinished business with Zack here.”

  Gaia felt her jaw clench. “Oh, your business is finished.”

  Pigboy laughed. “Not hardly.”

  Gaia moved fast, lunging forward and grabbing his left arm with one hand. She pulled it back and to the side, felt the ligaments stretching taut beneath his skin. Pigboy let out a sharp, surprised groan and went on tiptoes to relieve the pressure on his arm. It was useless. Pain and shock contorted his face into true ugliness.

  “You don’t even know what pain is yet,” Gaia whispered close to his ear. She hated people like him. Bullies.

  Bracing her feet, Gaia bent and drove her shoulder into Pigboy’s back, flipping him. He landed with a heavy, sickening thud and lay motionless, staring stupidly at the ceiling, silently trying to draw air into his flattened lungs.

  “Who’s next?” Gaia asked, straightening and pushing her hair over her shoulder. Her nostrils flared, and her fists curled and uncurled at her sides. A thin thread of excitement snaked through her veins. She was aware that her breath was coming faster, that everything around her had snapped into vivid focus.

  One of the guys stepped forward, a cocky grin on his face. How pathetic. Gaia could smell his aftershave. Was it Old Spice?

  She took a step to meet him, but ducked back when he suddenl
y jerked forward under the weight of something, someone, that had just landed on his back. Confused, Gaia took another step back and watched the scene with surprise. But surprise quickly turned into awe. The kid, Zack, was clinging for dear life to Jock Two’s back, his arms wrapped around his neck, his legs kicking crazily. The scene was so comical that Gaia almost laughed. The jock stumbled back and forth, trying to regain his footing, but Zack now had a firm grip around his collarbone with his left arm, and his right hand had already grabbed a fist full of the guy’s hair.

  In one huge, powerful movement, the jock reached over the back of his head, grabbed Zack’s shirt collar and flipped him onto the ground, grunting as tufts of his hair were pulled out in the process. Gaia didn’t hesitate. As the jock straightened up, she moved forward and kicked sideways sharply, her foot angled up. She watched his mouth open in a yelp as her foot connected and popped his kneecap out of the socket. He crumpled to the ground next to Zack, gasping and clutching his leg. The expression on his face took a few moments to translate into nauseating pain. Then he started to moan.

  Almost immediately the third jerk leaped into action, trying to tackle Gaia from behind. She ducked instinctively, planted her feet, and felt him land on her back. With one deft movement she uncoiled his hands from around her neck and gave a little shove to send him flying over her. He crashed upside down against the bank of metal lockers. Bright red blood flowed from his nose. Gaia stared at it, transfixed. Why was it that blood was so surprisingly bright, cheerful, shiny? Like Mary’s blood. Like her mom’s.

  She sensed movement behind her and turned to face Pigboy again, who was now struggling to stand up. She lifted a foot, ready to attack, but out of the corner of her eye she saw that Zack had struggled to a standing position and now he limped to Gaia’s side. Gaia stared at him in surprise as he raised his fists and glared at Pigboy, his glasses glinting in the fluorescent light of the hallway. Gaia followed his gaze back to Pigboy. He grinned at Zack, mockery written across his face, but when he noticed Gaia balling her fists, he raised his hands in defeat and stumbled backward. Then he did a one-eighty and fled down the hall.