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There’s no question that you two can balance your double lives better than I can.  Because you can slip into your “super suits “whenever the mood strikes you, and forget about it the rest of the time.  But I don’t have that luxury.  Because I’m the chosen one.  You’re the sidekicks .  You have no idea what I’m dealing with.”  With that I skirted around Grams, and marched down the stairs.
    “Celeste !”  Grams called after me.  “Where are you going?”  
    “Out!”
    “Let her go.”  Gabe grumbled loud enough for me to hear, which I’m sure was on purpose.  “Maybe she’ll run into some big bad demon that’ll knock her off her ‘chosen one’ pedestal.”
    I stomped out of the house, crossed the dew moistened yard, and climbed back into my truck.  My earlier agenda for the evening all but forgotten.  I crammed the key into the ignition and fired the engine to life.  Snatching up my cell phone, I punched in the number.  Then cradled the phone between my shoulder and ear so I could throw the gear shift into reverse.  Gravel flung as I peeled out of the driveway.
    S he answered on the second ring.  Music blared in the background.  “Helloo?”
    “Sophia, it’s Celeste.  Are you still at th at club?”
    “Sure am, babe! ”  She bubbled.  “It’s called Smokey Joe’s and it’s off the hook!”
    “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
                                             

     
     
     
    CHAPTER 6
     
     
     
    The thirty minute drive back to Nashville went by in a red haze of me stewing in my own anger.  My entire family had been deliberately keeping things from me, and somehow managed to rationalize it away by turning the blame back on me.  They believed I was “giving up on life”? More like life already gave up on me.  This definitely wasn’t how I envisioned my future playing out.  Just a few short months ago I’d been so looking forward to dorm life.  I planned to discover who I was and who I wanted to be through trial and error.  Every conceivable experience and adventure would be mine to embrace.  Now that could never be.  Because the more people I was around, the more lives I put at risk.  But fine.  They want me to go out and live?  That’s exactly what I would do.  And if someone ended up dead—or unexplainably evil, like Alec—that was on their heads.  Not mine. 
    A ctually finding Smokey Joe’s in Nashville turned in to an endeavor in itself.  And one I really didn’t have the patience for.  All the tall buildings, claustrophobia-inducing side-streets, and loads of people milling all about made me long for the Podunkness of Gainesboro. I puttered down 3 rd Avenue, peering around for the address.  Other drivers honked and threw me the bird because of my snail’s pace, but I couldn’t have cared less.  With my mood I could’ve redefined “road rage” for them if they wanted to start something.   
    A thumping musical beat seeped through my cracked window.  I slowed the truck to an idle and squinted down the narrow alleyway toward the sound.  A jovial group of kids—teens, maybe early twenties—spilled out from the side of an old high-rise.
    “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”  I grumbled to myself.
    The blue piano shaped sign confirmed my fear.  Smokey Joe’s sat back in the tight alleyway, nestled into the basement of the aged brick building.  Cement stairs led down to the entrance.  Fantastic.  And I was supposed to park my truck…where? 
    In a huff , I drove off to find a place to park.  After circling the block four times, uttering every cuss word I knew, and inventing a few new ones, I found a spot three blocks down and a street over.  The walk back involved cutting through the kind of dark, foreboding alleys that girls are always warned never to venture in alone.  Long, narrow, limited visibility—and not the least bit disconcerting if you happen to be a supernaturally