by Nina Walker
I drop into the closest chair. It smells like dust. Faros shoots me a pointed look and I sit up straight, resting my hands on my knees and smiling meekly. “Do you have any novels in here?” I pick up a book about the Jeweled Forest and toss it aside. Geography is no fun for someone who’s never allowed to go anywhere. Not that I’d go there, not from the way people talk about it like it’s sure to lead to a gruesome death.
“Like what kind of novels?” He doesn’t look up.
“Action and adventure,” I respond. “Romance, too, of course.”
That gets Bram’s attention. He peers up at me with mossy eyes like I’m one of the puzzling science experiments dissected in his books. “No,” he clips.
I roll my eyes and reach for the nearest history text, absentmindedly thumbing through the worn pages. Neither of us wants me here. There’s no way Bram will be named King and we both know it. A Non-Blessed prince has never been king. But the law requires us to spend this time together and so we suffer through it.
A photograph in the text catches my eyes and I gasp.
Bram jumps forward, ripping the book from my hands. “You can’t have that,” he snaps. But my heart is racing so fast I hardly care what he has to say about it.
“That’s not our history,” I challenge, “that’s from the other realm.” My mind reaches back to what I saw. A city of glass buildings towering into the sky like giants, glinting in the sun. I’ve never seen anything like that here, but I’ve heard stories of the non-magical realm where people aren’t dragons or wizards or seers, but are instead slaves to technology. I don’t quite understand what that word “technology” means, but I’ve had good enough sense not to ask. Whatever it is, it’s not for our realm. “Are you allowed to have that?”
Bram’s eyes level on mine. “Yes,” he says plainly. I don’t believe him. But I don’t press him on it either. He sighs with exasperation and stands, rummaging through books for a while, until he drops a novel into my lap.
The title says, A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
“What’s this?” I ask, running my fingers along the spine. It’s smoother than any book I’ve ever seen before and glossy in the sunlight. It doesn’t seem to belong with the rest of the books in his library.
His eyes dart to Faros, but she says nothing. She sits in the back of the room, busying herself with her needlepoint work, feigning that she’s giving us privacy. She’s not. But even then, she can be trusted.
He swallows hard and levels his gaze back on me. Something foreign shoots up my spine and I sit up taller. “It’s a play. Just read it,” he finally says. “You’ll like it.” Then he settles back into his own text.
I’ve nothing better to do so I begin reading. The words are lyrical and somewhat difficult to understand, but I soon find myself drawn in, laughing through the tale of mischievous fairies and unrequited love. It’s the first time today I’m able to stop thinking about what happened last night with my wayward magic. Finally, after a few hours of nothing but comedy playing out in my mind and my occasional laugh to break the silence, Bram speaks. It catches me so off guard that I jump in my seat.
“Pardon me, what was that you asked?” I close the book but hold a finger between the pages. I don’t want to lose my place!
His gaze pins me down. “I said, I’d like to talk to you about what happened with my brother.”
My heart jumps and my eyes dart to where Faros sits in her chair along the edge of the room. But she’s just as startled and can’t help me. “Which brother?”
He raises a dark eyebrow, calling my bluff. His voice is dry as sand, “Who else but the one you got exiled?”
Tears warm my eyes. My lips press together. I knew this day would come eventually, but now that it’s here, I can’t remember all the lies I’d so carefully prepared.
3
Hazel
The comforting aroma of coffee wafts from The Roasted Bean and wraps me up like a warm blanket. I sigh and breathe it in, my eyes darting to the shiny glass door. When I notice the “help wanted” sign, I smile at my good fortune. I worked at a coffee and bubble tea shop back home in Ohio, so this place is a perfect fit. Fighting down the sudden flutter of nerves, I pull open the door and stroll into the upscale coffee shop. I am a girl on a mission. I am a confident goddess. I am the best candidate for the job and they’d be crazy not to hire me.
Help wanted? Coming right up!
For a girl like me, receiving a full ride scholarship was a complete godsend. Growing up with a single mother, we never had a lot of money. Not that I noticed it too much. Mom works ridiculously hard as an emergency room nurse and has always made it a point to provide for me in every way that two parents would have. But when it came to paying for college, my options were limited to student loans or scholarships. I earned good grades, and I even graduated a year early from high school, but I wasn’t “Miss Valedictorian/Debate Captain” or anything like that. Not to make excuses, but having spirits in my face at all hours was rather distracting, not to mention the bullying that went on in my Ohio hometown kept me from being much of a joiner.
So when all was said and done and it came time to apply to colleges, I assumed scholarships were out of the question. I applied to all the best schools located in small towns that I could find. The day a thick letter from Hayden College landed in my mailbox, I opened it up and my world opened up with it.
The craziest thing about it was that I didn’t even think I would get in to this school. It’s ranked high and the class sizes are small. And now I’m here with a scholarship? I sometimes wonder if the admissions office made a mistake, but it’s not like I’m going to ask. Anyway, if I keep a full schedule and my grades above a 3.5 average, my room and board will continue to be paid through four years of undergrad. All I need is a part-time job to pay for extra expenses and save up for vet school. Easy enough.
There’s not a line at the counter this late in the afternoon which makes me a tad nervous. I guess it’s now or never. I quickly catch the eye of the barista, a young guy with white-blonde hair pulled back into a man-bun and bright cobalt eyes, and wave a friendly hello.
“Don’t I know you?” He grins, and my stomach does a weird flip-flop. He has dimples. Honest to God, all American boy, swoon-worthy dimples. Those might make up for the man-bun situation—not my favorite look.
“Umm, I think so?” I bite my lip, smoothing my hands along my frayed jeans, trying to place him because yeah, he actually does look familiar.
“You’re in my organic chemistry lab.” He leans over the edge of the counter, hooking me in with his gaze. Okay, yup, I remember him now. He looks even better in his black barista apron than his chem lab jacket, by which I mean, he’s freaking hot.
College has turned me into a total boy-crazy lunatic—that much has become alarmingly clear over the last week. I swear, everywhere I go I’m checking out all the new hotties. It can’t be helped.
“Landon, right?” I ask, then immediately redden. I remembered his name and now he’s going to think I’m a stalker chick or something.
His grin grows even larger. “That’s me. And you are?”
“Here to apply for the job.”
He gives me a quick once-over with those startling blue eyes of his and I’m not even going to pretend that I’m breathing properly. Oh sweet baby Jesus, if working here means I get to flirt with this cute guy, then please Lord, give me the job. Don’t I deserve this?
“Right, let me grab an application. You can fill it out now. I’ll give it to the owners myself and put in a good word for you.” Landon winks and holds a hand over the corner of his delicious mouth as if to let me in on a secret. “I’m a local. I’ve been working here for years. This is my family’s business.”
I smile, the bundle of nerves unraveling inside me like a tangled ball of yarn. He slides the application across the counter, and I snatch it up. If he has any say in who his parents hire, then today just might be my lucky day.
“Thanks,” I squeak
out.
“So you’re a freshman, right? I’m sure I would’ve seen you before, otherwise.”
I nod sheepishly.
“But you’re in an upper level chem lab with me, that’s pretty impressive.”
“Thanks.” Is that all I can manage to say to him? Thanks?
“You’re welcome. You must be pretty smart, what with those cute glasses and all. What’s your major?”
I automatically reach up to touch the black frames of my fake glasses. Would he think I was smart if I told them they’re fake? “Umm—biology. I want to go to vet school.” That’s better, at least that was a complete sentence.
He smiles and little wrinkles spring up around his eyes and I nearly melt right then and there. I don’t even care that he used the most obvious question ever of “what’s your major” to flirt with me.
“That’s awesome. Good for you. Well.” He nods to the application and raises an eyebrow. “I’ll look forward to working with you, Freshman.”
Oh my gosh! He gave me a nickname. Never mind that he didn’t ask for my real name. Never mind that he probably uses that name on all the new girls. I smile back and say something awkward about looking forward to it too, the whole time my face growing scarlet by the second. If only all the guys on campus were as sweet as Landon, this place would be heaven.
The altercation with Dean Ashton has been following me around since yesterday like an ugly cloud hanging over this whole “college experience,” and I don’t know how to shake the feeling that Dean’s not going to let this thing go between us, whatever it is. Cora seems to be in the know about everything on this campus and she claims he’s the mysterious, bad boy that all the girls want and all the guys want to be. Talk about a total cliché. This isn’t some bad 90’s movie that’s so bad it’s also so good. If Dean’s really that cool of a dude, then why he is so bent out of shape about me?
Pushing the thought away, I settle into a sleek leather booth and get to work, my mind still spinning at the possibilities of Landon. Back in high school, I never dated. Not that I didn’t want to, but I wasn’t part of the crowd—any crowd—and nobody ever asked me. People thought I was weird. They stared. And laughed. And besides, I took extra classes so I could finish up early, choosing to spend my time on that goal rather than finding some pimply teenager to date.
The application itself is pretty standard: normal questions about previous employment, available hours, references and whatnot. But I find myself getting distracted. Not by Landon who’s looking pretty good behind the counter if I do say so myself—and I do, not by the bell that chimes every time someone enters the coffee shop, and not even by the group of rowdy college kids in the next booth.
No, it’s the dead girl sitting in the booth across from me that’s the source of interruption.
Seriously, why is this always happening? I can feel her sitting there, staring at me. But I don’t look up. My pen scrawls across the application, filling in the information, all the while, a prinkling sense of foreboding creeps up my spine like a needle pulling thread. I can’t help it anymore. I look up. My pen drops to the table and rolls to the ground with a clatter.
I know her.
Terror grips me tight and I press myself back into the bench seat. I just met this girl at our dorm welcome activity four days ago while she was alive and well. And now here she is, sitting across from me, dead. A ring of blue blooms around her mouth in a way that usually means death by drowning. Her black hair hangs around her face, dripping wet, exponentially adding to her creepiness factor. And her eyes are so bloodred that I can’t tell what color they were in life except for the fact that when I met her, I thought she had the most gorgeous green eyes I’d ever seen. I’d been momentarily jealous, annoyed that mine were a boring hazel to match my name.
Drowned Girl opens her mouth to speak, which I know is impossible. Water rushes out in a gagging torrent. It looks just like the water from the hallway earlier. She’s been following me.
I jump up, about ready to scream.
“Oh, heck no,” I mutter, adrenaline racing through every vein. I do not want to deal with this, not today, not right now. She stares after me through watery eyes as I gather up my application and shove it haphazardly into my trendy jean backpack. I zip it up so quickly that I take off a bit of the paper on the corner. Dang it all!
“Is everything okay?” Landon calls after me as I scurry toward the exit.
Oh, crap, I’m not acting normal, am I? I slow and turn around, giving him a 1000-watt smile. I probably look like a lunatic. Of course, since I’m the only one who can see dead people, this kind of thing happens a lot.
“Everything is great,” I sputter. “Thanks, Landon. I actually have to go, but I’ll bring the application back tomorrow.” Even as I speak, I can hear the places where my voice sounds high-pitched and dare I say it? Spooked. Landon’s expression is questioning but luckily a new customer walks in and pulls his attention off of me. The dead girl is still gargling from the booth, still trying to speak, still spitting water all over the place.
I can’t do this.
I don’t spook easily. I’ve seen enough ghosts to make my life a living horror show, so what’s one more. But this girl, this girl is a different story. She was alive four days ago! I met her, her name starts with a K or C or something. She lives on my floor and has already declared a major in Elementary Education and wants to be a freaking Kindergarten teacher. And now? Now she’s one of the ever-present ghosts haunting me.
Tears prick at my eyes and I push my way out the door and onto the street. I try to breathe. I try to calm down. I can’t.
What happened to her? She clearly drowned, but how? This West Virginian town of Westinbrook is small, a college town centered in the Smoky Mountains. With only fifteen thousand residents, a third of them being college kids, there isn’t much to do here to get yourself killed unless it involves drinking oneself to death.
My mind races to any known water sources in the area. There are neighboring forests dotted with lakes, but students have been in school all week. We haven’t even made it to the first weekend when the parties are known to kick off. What was she doing out at a lake? Swimming to cool off or something? Or maybe it happened in a pool on campus somewhere. Maybe something crazy went down in the dormroom shower? Visions of the shower scene from the old movie Psycho pop up in my head and I shudder. I am officially freaking out!
I turn back to make sure she’s not following me.
And she totally is. Awesome.
Water pours off her, an unholy sight reserved only for my cursed eyes. Every time she opens her mouth, I’m met with more of the water. It’s not real. It belongs to another dimension: the spirit world. But it’s terrifying and horrible and I can’t take it. A pang of guilt shoots through me. I should try to help her. She’s probably so much more afraid than I am; she might not even know what’s happened to her yet. Even though I’m standing in daylight in the center of Main Street, what choice do I have but to try to help?
“What happened?” I croak, looking the ghost-girl up and down. Maybe she can send me images and I can piece this together.
I’m met with no response besides an open mouth and more gurgling water.
“Okay, I know you’re scared or whatever but you’re literally going to give me a heart attack. You have no idea how freaky this is,” I reply in a rush. I haven’t engaged with a ghost since arriving on campus and I had vowed not to. That lasted less than a week. Big surprise.
The problem was the few times I’ve tried to help one of them, I’ve tended to create more harm than good. Their family and friends never wanted to hear what I had to say. They didn’t believe me, called me crazy, a crook, blasphemous, and even once, the devil’s child. Not to mention, helping one ghost always means more would show up to pester me.
Turns out, everybody wants something, even dead people.
Mom knows all about my problem—or curse, as I call it. She calls it a gift, which would be downright laug
hable if it were funny. No joke, we’ve spent years and years trying to make the ghosts go away, but nothing ever works. Not therapy. Not pharmaceuticals. Not support groups. Not random blog articles with advice about how to cleanse under the full moon.
Nothing.
We’ve also tried to embrace it. Maybe if I learned how to control the ability, I could pick and choose what I had to deal with. Yeah, all that did was attract more ghosts than before. Scary ones. Nowadays, they are everywhere. All the time. I largely ignore them and try to live a normal life. It’s not easy…
But this poor girl! I can’t seem to help myself from speaking to her again. She and I could have been friends. We’re not that different. If she’s dead, isn’t it possible I could be in her place right now? We live on the same floor and have things in common. She wanted to help innocent baby humans. I want to help innocent baby animals. Practically the same thing, right?
“What do you need?” I press, stepping closer.
Her face slackens, and she points a thin index finger off into the nebulous distance.
“I’m not sure what that means,” I continue, staring back down the street. The area is lined with cute restaurants, shops, businesses, and a few clothing boutiques for tourists. With the swell of Smoky Mountains as a backdrop and the trees lining the sidewalks, it could be a postcard.
Someone giggles from behind, and I turn to find the same group of college kids who’d been in the coffee shop. They’re not laughing with each other anymore. They’re looking at me like I’m a crazy person. Maybe I am. Either way, I’ve become the joke. Embarrassment prickles over my entire body and I grin sheepishly, my eyes probably bugging out of my head. One by one, the group averts their gazes and rush past me.
