Why is everyone so dang curious about me and Blaze? “We bumped into each other yesterday,” I explain, leaving the police station part out.
He pulls his mouth to one side, clearly not happy. “I’m aware it’s not my place to educate you about boys, but I want you to be careful around him.” He moves closer. “He’s not the kind of person a girl like you should be with.”
A girl like me, huh? The fatal-touch kind. “Don’t worry. I won’t get him killed.” I plan to stay far, far away from him.
His eyes pop. “That’s not what I meant, Nisha.” Mr. Thornton draws a deep breath. “Blaze Boswell is trouble. The dangerous kind.”
I almost laugh. C’mon, you have to appreciate the irony. I’m the Angel of Death. If anything, Mr. Thornton should be warning the Brit, not me. “I don’t intend to get involved with anyone,” I promise and mean it. I vividly remember what happened to Mole after that one lousy kiss. No chance I’ll risk that with Blaze. “See you Monday, Mr. Thornton.”
I hear him sigh. “Yes. See you then.”
I don’t think I’ve ever anticipated a weekend this much. Bounding down the hallway, I fantasize about books, candles, and a hot bath. I’ll need all of it and more to get over this day. It was brutal. The only silver lining is that I haven’t run into Blaze again. It seems as if history is the only class we share. I’m more than grateful for that.
I head straight for the exit. My phone vibrates. A text from Izzy. Where are you?
On my way to the parking lot, I text back. I assume my cousin and Oz are already waiting on me. Even when my parents were still alive, and Izzy and Aunt V weren’t living with me, the two lovebirds made sure I drove with them. They picked me up in the morning and took me home in the afternoon. No exceptions. I appreciated the sentiment back then. Now, getting in the same car is kind of nerve-racking. My proximity has always been lethal to strangers. Until the death of my parents, no one I cared about was subject to the curse. The stakes have changed. What if they crash because of me? I could never forgive myself if anything happened to them. The thing is, they won’t take no for an answer. I already tried and failed.
Pushing thoughts of burning cars and fatal accidents to the back of my mind, I saunter to the parking lot. It’s pretty cold for October. The air smells like snow and ice. It’s just a matter of days till the first flakes will settle over Shepherdstown, transforming the perfect American town into a perfect winter wonderland.
I make a mental note to pull out my coat and boots from the back of my closet when I hear his unmistakable husky voice. “Princess, wait up.” And here I thought the worst was over. How fricking wrong I was.
Hands jammed in the pockets of his jeans, Blaze approaches me. I’m faced with two options: ignore him, or tell him to leave me the heck alone. Number one didn’t work so well in history. I go with number two.
“Hey,” he says, lighting up my heart with his smile. “I was hoping I’d catch you after school.”
I’ve never been mean to anyone. Never acted like a bitch or treated people with less than respect. In Blaze’s case, I’m inclined to make an exception for his own sake. “What do you want?”
He narrows his breathtaking eyes at me. “Whoa, someone forgot to eat her Snickers for lunch.”
He thinks I’m a diva, huh? Might be easier that way. “I have somewhere to be, Blaze. So, I’ll ask again: What do you want?”
I swear he’s disappointed. “Help me out, princess. Did I anger or upset you in any way?”
I should say yes and be done with him. I don’t have it in me. Not when he gives me that puppy look I only ever read about in books. “Don’t be silly. We barely spoke.”
Confusion bleeds into his expression. “Then why do you treat me like the Anti-Christ?” he asks, eyes hooded. “Or are you just one of those arrogant queen bee brats who can’t be seen with a tattooed outcast like me?”
I’m genuinely surprised. For starters, I’m the outcast. He’s Mr. Popular. Plus, hasn’t he heard the rumors yet? Did no one warn him about Nisha Blake, the Angel of Death? Hard to believe. “I’m a lot of things, Blaze. Queen bee isn’t one of them.” I can live with Blaze thinking I’m a diva. Him believing I’m a prejudiced bitch is something entirely else.
He bites on his lower lip. For a fraction of a second, I want him to do the same to mine. “Then, why won’t you speak to me? I thought we got along well at the police station.”
Pulling my gaze off his lips, I strive to get a grip on my hormones. “I’m curious. When exactly did you get that impression? After you spoiled my book for me, or before you offered to show me your private handcuff collection?” Here’s the crazy thing: The fact he wanted to show me his shackles doesn’t really bother me, but the thing with One Thousand and One Nights? Let’s just say I don’t have to pretend to sound annoyed.
Blaze’s tempting mouth curls up. “Oh, c’mon, now. You can’t sincerely break a boy’s heart over a book. Can you, princess?”
I slam my hand on my hip. “How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” It’s messing with me.
He averts his gaze. “I’m sorry.” He is. It’s evident in the change of his voice. All that cockiness and attitude is poof, gone. “I don’t know why I call you that. It’s just…the second I laid eyes on you, the word roared through my mind, and I can’t seem to help it.”
“It’s okay,” I murmur, feeling terrible for being angry at him over a stupid nickname. My mom used to call me princess. It reminds me how raw I still am. “I gotta go.”
I manage two steps before he circles my wrist, spinning me around. In the blink of an eye, the real world vanishes. The illusions take over.
Blaze no longer wears jeans. Instead, he’s dressed in a white loincloth only. His bare chest—an eight-pack par excellence—is covered with black markings. They look like tattoos, but not like the ones he really has. “Don’t walk away from me, princess. Not like that,” the illusionary Blaze says.
I blink several times. Reality slowly returns.
“Are you okay?” Blaze asks, worried.
Just had one of my famous hallucinations, which may or may not have involved you being half naked. Other than that? I’m superb. “Yeah. I just realized I forgot something in the library.” I’m the master of worst excuses.
“Want to go get it?”
“Nah.” I shrug it off. “It can wait till Monday.” It can wait for all eternity since it’s not really there.
I glance at my phone. “I really have to go. Izzy and Oz are waiting on me.”
Blaze smiles. “I had lunch with them. They invited me to something they referred to as the Red Shed. I thought it was a synonym for orgy, but Scooby assured me it’s just a place where bored town kids hang out.”
I have a feeling the boys more than just casually invited Blaze. They probably spent the whole lunch hour convincing him to show. “My advice?”
He nods.
“If you’re looking for people you can trust, you should go.” I massage my stiff neck, not sure where all my diva attitude has gone. “My friends are the best Jefferson High has to offer.” Blaze will fit right in.
“Are you?”
I bite back a grin. “Am I going to the Shed?”
“Yeah.”
If heaven and hell froze on Christmas maybe. “I don’t go out.”
He squints. “With me, or at all?”
I sigh. “At all.”
He crosses his arms. “Why’s that, princess?”
I almost scold him for the p-word, but it sounded like a slip, not deliberate. “Most people are scared of me,” I say, shifting my bag from one shoulder to the other. “If you were smart, you would be too.” That said, I walk away.
Saturday morning, I find myself staring down the door. It’s just a stupid door. I bet the devil, if he existed (he doesn’t), would say the same about the gates of hell. He’d be lying. So am I. Behind the massive ebony wood waits hell. Not the religious version of the pit. The real deal. A place where my
inner demons have found refuge. They breed my insecurities in there, nurture my emptiness, and constantly remind me the world and everyone in it would be better off without an abomination like me.
Face the ghosts of the past, I order myself.
I tighten my grip on the silver knob until my knuckles pale. I want to move on from the past, am determined to exorcise the demons slumbering inside. Yet I can’t bring myself to open the door to Dad’s old office. Barging into my personal hell would make everything that happened that night real. Don’t get me wrong. I’m well aware my parents will never come back. It’s just…sometimes, I dwell in the illusion that their death was less horrific. An accident, a plane crash, a heart attack—almost every terrible end is better than the one they really had.
A hand lands on my shoulder, making me jump. Aunt V spots my spooked expression and quickly mutters an apology. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s okay.” I meet her baby-blue eyes, my dad’s eyes. “Just didn’t know anyone was home.” I was also too wrapped up in justifying my cowardice.
She throws her blonde braid over one shoulder, mustering up a smile she clearly doesn’t feel. “I caught the nightshift again.” Like Izzy, Aunt V is a natural beauty. My cousin can never hear about it, but most guys at Jefferson High refer to her as a MILF. She’s only thirty-five, has gorgeous skin and hair, and dresses like a modern-day hippy. But since she’s doing all the double shifts and lacks sleep, she’s only a ghost of her former self.
Another thing I’m guilty of—ruining my aunt’s youth. She’d never admit it. Yet we all know why she takes on so much work. We’d lose the house—my parents’ house—if she didn’t. “I’m so sorry, Aunt V.” For being alive.
She sighs. “It’s not your fault, Nisha.”
We both know it is. “Have you thought about the bank’s offer?” A couple of weeks ago, one of Dad’s old friends, the manager of our bank, mentioned he’d found someone interested in buying the place. The offer was more than just generous, but Aunt V didn’t seem happy about it.
She arches a brow. “There’s nothing to think about. I told him we won’t be selling.”
I appreciate her sentiment. There’s just one thing she doesn’t consider. “But you’re killing yourself with all those double shifts. Mom and Dad wouldn’t want that.” I blink back tears. “I don’t want that, Aunt V.” I can’t lose anyone else. Not without ending up in a loony bin.
She rests both hands on each side of my shoulders. “This isn’t just about what your parents would want, or what you want, Nisha. I’m not ready to accept that this is the end, that they won’t stroll back in here any minute, lighting up the house with their smiles.” She looks from me to the ebony monster, called Door. “And neither are you.”
A single tear rolls down my cheek. “I love you, Aunt V.”
“I love you more.” She hugs me tighter than ever. For a moment, it feels as if I’m wrapped up in my mom’s arms.
I have no clue how long we hug it out, but when I step back, Aunt V’s eyes are puffy and red. “Rob is doing a nightshift too, and Izzy will be at the Shed with the boys.” She sniffles, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Are you going to be okay on your own?”
I haven’t been home alone in a very long time. My family thinks I’m scared to be alone in the house of my parents’ murder. They’re wrong. After the week I had, I could use some alone time. Maybe I can make yesterday’s hot bath, candles, and books daydream come true. “I’ll be fine.”
She searches my face. “Sure?”
“I have a shelf full of books, waiting to be read.”
She leans in, kissing me on the forehead. “Good. Call us if you need anything?”
“I will,” I promise.
My gaze drifts to the clock on the wall. It’s almost ten. Dang, I’m going to be late for work. “I have to go,” I say, grabbing my bag from the floor. “Amara needs to run an errand. I have to come in earlier.”
“See you tomorrow,” she shouts as I make a run for the door.
Don’t make eye contact with the mean girls. It’s easy at school. I keep my gaze glued to the floor, pretending I don’t exist. Here, at Four Seasons Books, it’s a little harder to be invisible. I’m supposed to sell books, providing excellent customer service. While I’m more than grateful Amara, the owner, aka my mom’s best friend, gave me the job—considering my reputation—it’s days like these I wonder if maybe I should just lock myself in my room and throw the keys away. I doubt Aunt V, Rob, and Izzy would go along with that plan.
“There she is. Our new YouTube star.” Marie’s voice instantly invokes a migraine. She and her pretty friends, Tarryn and Adrianne, stroll toward me, showing off their brilliant teeth. “How’s it going, Nisha?”
I almost drop a copy of Harry Potter and the Cursed Child. I have a feeling this visit is payback for the stunt Oz pulled yesterday. Run and hide. That’s what I want to do. What I should do. The thing is, I don’t want to disappoint Amara. She trusts me to take care of her beloved bookstore. I intend to make her proud. “C-Can I help you?” I choke out.
Marie presses her hip against a display table. “Help us, huh?” She furrows her perfectly shaped brows. “Did you guys hear that? Nisha wants to know if she can help us.”
Tarryn and Adrianne snicker.
“I’m curious,” Marie goes on. “Does the help you’re offering involve a lesson in suicide, murder, or would you rather teach us how to get hit by a car?”
If this were a movie, I’d come up with a snarky retort. Something making me look less like a loser and more like the heroine of the story. But this isn’t Hollywood, and I’m anything but a hero. So, I keep my mouth shut.
Adrianne—the only dark-haired girl on the cheer squad—moves closer. Her cold blue eyes pierce straight through my soul. “What’s wrong, Nisha? Or would you prefer we called you Angel of Death?”
I flinch at the sound of my nickname. The real-life Heathers love to throw it in my face.
“She’s not much of a talker,” Tarryn says. She moved to Shepherdstown a few weeks ago with her single mom. She’d seemed rather nice before Marie collected her.
Adrianne crosses her arms. “Hard to believe.”
“Yeah,” Marie snorts. “She does, after all, do anything to be the center of attention.” She shoves her phone under my nose. “Don’t you, Nisha?”
I refuse to gaze at the video flickering across the screen. It was shot after the accident. Some douchebag had recently uploaded it on YouTube. Oz found it and warned me of its existence. He figured I better be prepared in case anyone else at school stumbled upon it. Or should I say in case one of the Heathers did.
Marie’s fake smile cracks. “What’s the matter, Angel of Death?” Her brows fly up. “Don’t you want to bathe in your sick fame?”
All I want is for them to leave me alone. Why can’t they see that?
Marie closes the gap between us. Her breath slaps my cheek. Her hateful gaze roams my face. “You’re a freak. A sick. Disgusting. Freak.”
Adrianne grins. “She’s right, you know?”
The worst part is—I do know.
“Why don’t you do us all a favor and leave town?” Tarryn suggests. “I bet you could get a job at the Cirque du Freak.”
Marie’s shrill laughter rings in my ears. “How awesome would that be?” She lifts her hands, pretending to draw a headline in the air. “Nisha Blake, the Angel of Death. Come and see her if you dare to die.”
Right about now, I wish I was the one dying. I’ve always had to endure gossip and weird glances. Since the incident with Mole, Marie’s ex, things have gotten out of hand. I should have never gone on a date with him. Should have never even spoken to the guy. What’s done is done. The past can’t be changed. The future is already in motion. My dad used to say that. Sounds about right.
“You sure she can talk?” Tarryn asks.
Marie shrugs. “With her, I’m not sure about anything.”
Te
ars prick my eyes. I swallow several times, hoping I can keep it together just a little while longer. “I need to go back to work.” I sound like a mouse.
A wicked smile lifts the corners of Marie’s lips. “No, Nisha.” She invades my personal space. “What you need to do”—she narrows her eyes to two thin slits—“is pack your fricking bags and get the hell out of Shepherdstown before we all end up like your parents.”
Wow. So, that’s how it feels when someone rips your heart out, throws it into fire, and pours salt into your open chest, huh? I’m hot and cold at the same time. For a fraction of a second I contemplate doing my reputation justice by scratching Marie’s eyes out. Then, it hits me. I shouldn’t be mad at her. Can’t blame her for being scared of me either. And no matter how much I want to, I can’t deny responsibility for my parents’ fate.
The bell above the door rings.
“What’s going on here?” Amara sounds less than happy to see part of the cheer squad in her store. She knows dang well these girls aren’t here for the books.
I use my sleeve to wipe the ugly tears off my cheeks and focus on the stack of Harry Potter books I was supposed to shelve.
Amara’s six-inch heels click against the wooden floor. That woman has the grace of a prima ballerina, the coolness of a member of The League of Assassins, and is blessed with the looks of an Arabian queen. “Again.” She crosses her arms and faces the girls. “What is going on?”
Bold and fearless Marie vanishes at the sight of Amara’s cold gaze. Her wicked smile fades. Her hostile demeanor changes rapidly. “Hey, Amara, long time no see, huh?”
Amara narrows her almost black eyes at the Heathers, but speaks to me. “Nisha?” Reluctantly, I look up. “Are you okay?”
“Of course, she’s o-kay,” Marie answers on my behalf. She throws an arm around me. “Tell her,” she orders.
All I manage is a lame nod.
Amara blows out some steam. “Then why are you crying?” By the lethal tone of her voice, I assume she already has a good idea of what happened, but she wants to hear it from me.
Book of Souls (Gods of Egypt 1) Page 6
