by Brindi Quinn
Fwomp!
I fall off the side of the couch. Well, I didn’t spare myself any gooberdom, that’s for sure.
I scuttle away.
Minx sits up on the couch. “Where are you going?”
“I thought we were going to–” I glance at Pine and decide to cup my mouth away from him. “Talk,” I mouth.
Minx tips his head to the side. He pats the cushion next to him. “Over here.”
Nuh-uh. It’s a trap. If I crawl back into that clusterfudge of pillows and near-sex, I’ll only get distracted again.
“Let’s go out,” I say.
The reaper’s eyebrows tip in confusion. “Out?”
“Out of this room.”
The corner of Minx’s mouth scowls. “You want to go out THERE. With HIM.”
“No, no.” I put my hands up in defense. “I just mean out into the aquarium. Fish and stuff? Totally my thing.”
Maybe the biggest lie I’ve ever told.
“The aquarium . . .” Minx taps his chin. “Hang on.” He hops from the couch and walks to where Pine stands stiff. Pine tears his uncovered eye from the window in a flash. The two of them look to be discussing something serious.
Oooh. Official reaper business.
A minute or two later, Minx returns.
“I can’t take you to the aquarium, Marley Craw.”
“Marley,” I correct. “And why not?”
He slides his finger down my cheek sympathetically. “You don’t need to go there. You shouldn’t want to go there, okay? That guy made a mistake by opening the portal here. It’s dangerous that we’re inhabiting somewhere you visited when you were still alive.”
“Dangerous. Like you.”
Minx’s expression shows a fast glimmer of naughtiness. “That’s the story,” he says, tone changed impishly.
Aha! I SO was right! Pine IS the one in charge, and Minx is like a puppy in training. He’s conflicted. Run by two different sides: one comfy and unsure; one naughty and jealous . . . and dangerous. If I’m going to find out anything, it’s going to be from him.
The tick in the back of my skull throbs.
“So we’re just stuck here?” I ask.
Minx shakes his head. “Wait here.”
With that, he trots away to retrieve his nether-hoodie. Then, he positions himself in front of one of the windows and takes up reaper stance.
Score!
But before I can start celebrating my victory, Pine kicks off of the corner. “Marley.”
“Hm?” I ask, raising my brows in fake innocence.
“You’re manipulating him.”
“Am not!”
“Tch.” Pine frowns at me. “If you want to go somewhere, I should be the one to take you.”
Yeah, but . . .
“The more you encourage him, the worse he’ll get. I wasn’t lying. He’s dangerous. Think about it, Marley. What do you desire?”
Right now? I just want to satisfy the tick.
Pine squints at me. “Tick?”
“Yeah, mind reader, tick. It can tell there’s something funny about all this, and it won’t let me rest until I figure out what’s really going on.”
Pine’s face falls. “Marley . . . you’re . . . unusual. You notice things. Just . . . try to remember that you’re dead. If you have questions you should talk to your angel.”
Yeah, I get it, okay? I’m dead. Dead as a deadbolt DEAD. And right now, my strongest deathly desire is to get Minx alone and figure out what my reaping and judgment are really about. At the end of these two weeks, I’ll be judged on something that no one’s bothered to explain. For all I know, I could seriously be screwing over my afterlife as we speak!
Besides, I’ve already decided. If this is a game, I intend to win, but being the only one who doesn’t know the rules puts me at a major disadvantage.
I think the tick wants to level the playing field.
“Sorry, Pine. I know it’s your job or whatever, but I’m going.” I glance over my shoulder to see his eye lit bright. “But this time I’ll promise.”
“Promise.”
“I’ll come back.”
“Ready, Marley?” Properly hooded, Minx beckons to me. There’s a fresh hole in the glass where he worked his nether-powers. The hole doesn’t open to the sky, though. It opens to foggy darkness.
“Ready, Freddy,” I say.
Minx looks hurt. “It’s Minx,” he says.
From behind my back, Pine lets out an annoyed sound.
“Er, yeah, I know. It’s a saying, you know? Never mind.” I give up. He clearly doesn’t get it.
All the same, Minx takes my hand and pulls me through the nether-powered doorway.
Chapter 7: Fingertips
“A library?”
On the other side of the doorway is a massive room, with walls lined floor to ceiling with disheveled stacks of books, and lit only dimly by the glow of a bonfire in the center of the room.
Oh, sure, a bon– A BONFIRE?! Inside?!
If you ask me, that doesn’t seem very safe.
The fire is contained in a brick-built circle – the kind you’d find on any common patio. The outside of the pit is circled with folding chairs and crushed, empty cans of beer, and upon closer inspection, the fire itself is fueled with . . . books. Pages curl and brown in the center of the hungry flames.
What the hell?
A short distance away, stretched between two marble pillars, a rope-braided hammock swings. Minx tears off his hoodie, flings it onto a stack of old-looking tomes, and makes a run for the hammock.
I should have known that wherever he brought me would have a device for lounging.
“Come on, Marley!” he calls.
“Where is this?” I spin, taking in the high shelves.
When I was in middle school, I thought it would be really cool if my bedroom were in a library. Not that I was super into reading or anything, but the whole feel of being surrounded by rows and rows of dusty books is kind of mysterious, isn’t it? Downright enigmatic. Like if I brought any of my friends home, they’d think, ‘Whoa! What a cool and unique girl! Bet she’s got loads of secrets!’ Sigh. Yeah, still think that would have been great. I also wanted a lamp beside my bed that was actually a secret lever, which when pulled, would make the bed slide over, revealing a trap door in the floor that would lead to a bevy of connected secret passages that I could use to spy on Milo and his parents.
Wait . . . why his parents? . . . What about mine?
Meh. Whatever.
“From the looks of it, this place hasn’t been used in a really long time,” I say. “And I’m preeetty sure it’s not a good idea to start fires, you know, inside.”
“It’s okay, Marley. I made it for us. Now–” With a pleasant tip of his head and a wide grin, he opens his arms to me. “Come cuddle me!”
“You know, I don’t think so because I feel like we won’t get much talking done if–”
Quicker than a shot of gin, Minx is behind me.
Oh? I didn’t realize he was able to zip.
He puts his hands to my shoulders and wheels me to the hammock, and without waiting for permission, shoves me onto it. The hammock responds to my sudden entry by fighting back. It swings unevenly, threatening to buck me off.
Minx gingerly hops over me to settle the rocking. He presses his cheek to my chest.
Ah!
Okay, calm down, Marley Craw. This is less like ‘copping a feel’ and more like a little kid snuggling up to his mom.
Mom.
Why does that word make me sad and a little . . . hollow-feeling?
“I love you, Marley.”
“You don’t,” I say flatly. My stomach doesn’t even fall for it. All parts of my body know he’s just trying to distract me.
“But I do.”
“Naw.” I swat the notion away. “Think about it. Why should you? Like, what qualities do I have that you like, hmm?”
“You have a soul,” he says. “And you taste good.”
Wow. Just wow. Those are his criteria?!
I shake my head at him. “Now that we’re alone, though, you ARE going to give me the LD, right?”
“LD?” He wraps his fingers in mine, setting my veins calm and comfortable. Mmm.
“The lowdown,” I clarify.
“What’s low down?” He peeks through the bottom of the hammock. “The ground?”
I look at him first to see if he’s kidding. Nope. Completely serious. I shake my head at him a second time. “You haven’t . . . interacted with humans that much, have you?”
Minx says nothing.
“Not as much as Pine, am I right?”
The white-haired reaper stiffens. “So?”
“So Pine’s, like, your boss?”
“That guy’s not my boss,” Minx lashes. “That guy’s an Usher.”
“Usher? What’s that? He said he was a captain.”
Minx releases my hand and sits up on his elbow. “Why are we talking about HIM?”
Whoops. Struck a nerve. If I’m not careful, Minx might not tell me anything. New approach. This time I take his hand. A tactical move. A show of trust and whatnot.
. . . So I say, but mainly, I just really, really like touching him. So sue me! It isn’t every day you find yourself next to such an attractive guy! With my fingers through his, Minx settles down. He begins to rub the side of my hand with his thumb, slowly and controlled, making my chest kick.
“What’s the point of this whole reaping thing, anyway?” I ask.
Minx puts his free hand to my stomach. “To find out what you desire the most.”
“Between you and HIM?” I press.
“. . . Something like that.”
Lovely. More of the same ambiguousness. Never thought I’d need to use a word like ‘ambiguousness.’
“You said before that you could teach me how to haunt. Were you just kidding or is that something that can happen? I mean, not saying I’d want to be a ghost, per say, but it’d be so fun to mess with people. Move stuff around. Write REDRUM in the mirror steam of Amy Jo’s shower. That kind of thi–”
In a rapid movement, Minx is over me, covering my mouth. And he looks . . . scared. So scared, in fact, that it makes me scared.
Yowsa.
Minx’s hand is shaking, even.
“Be careful,” he says, wide-eyed. “I’m on parole.”
Parole? As in recently released from prison? As in recently reinstated into society? Minx is a convict?!
Uh-oh, for some reason that makes him even sexier. Am I becoming one of those girls that are into bad boys?
Still holding his hand over my mouth, he goes on, “But I understand, Marley Craw. I understand more than anyone, why you’d want to. Your soul is so . . .” He tips his head forward, allowing his hair to fall darkly over his eyes. “If it were up to me, I’d help you.”
“Mfbut are you talffing ambfout?”
Translation: What are you talking about?
“I might not have reaped as many souls as he has, but I’ve had my fair share, enough to know that your soul is . . .” His shoulders shudder. “Special.”
Special?
“Out of the many souls . . . so many souls . . . your soul is the loudest soul I’ve ever heard.”
Minx removes his hand from my mouth and uses it to brush the hair from my forehead, and as he does, he tips his face so that his eyes are showing again. And they’re completely sad. Sadder than sad. They’re downright sorrowful.
In fact, it looks like he’s about to cry.
What the heck!?
“Minx?”
At my usage of his name, his eyes glow, but only dimly as he stares down at me with dripping pity.
My stomach falls, but not in an excited way. Suddenly, I feel wrong. Sick. Out of sorts. I don’t like it. I don’t like the way he’s staring at me.
“What is it?” I whisper, afraid to.
“Your soul, Marley Craw,” he says, voice oddly light.
“My soul?”
The reaper averts his eyes from mine.
“Your soul is screaming.”
With his assertion comes a wild zing through my body. Terror, panic, fear. I swallow them down. I hold them back from rising. There’s no need to let a minor little thing like a SCREAMING SOUL get me off-kilter, is there?
Besides, I don’t hear anything. Only the crackle of the fire drowned by the sound of my own pulse. No screaming. No shouting. No anything. Not from me, not from him.
Minx’s eyes gradually find mine again. Softly, they roam my features, until settling on my mouth. At which point he says, “These are no good,” and brushes something from my cheeks. It isn’t a lock of dyed-red hair this time.
It’s . . .
I’m crying?
Yes, I am. Even as he brushes them away, I feel more wet drops taking their place.
Oh. When did that start? And why? I don’t feel sad at all. Sure, his bizarre-o behavior is making me feel out of whack and kind of queasy, but lately I’ve been a-okay. Actually, I’ve felt chipper.
“You shouldn’t think about it. You shouldn’t think about any of it.” Minx presses his hand to the center of my chest.
How can I not? How can I just ignore phantom tears?
“But I feel it,” the reaper continues, voice light. “Right here.” Hand still on my chest, he draws in an uneasy breath and his eyelids flutter like he’s in some weird state of ecstasy. His fingertips drag down the collar of my shirt. “I know why you’d want to. Your life was wretched. If it were up to me . . .”
His ruby eyes snap open. His stare hits me hard.
“Can I kiss you?” he says.
My heart is sprinting now, trying to win a race against my breath. I don’t remember my life being wretched at all. And I don’t understand why I’m crying. Minx must be mistaken. Yeah, he’s definitely, definitely . . .
But if that’s true, why are my eyes so wet?
Expression compassionate, Minx takes the side of my head in his hand. He draws his thumb along my cheekbone. He stares at my mouth while I stare at his.
“I’m going to, okay?” he whispers.
I don’t say anything.
But I’m pretty sure I feel my head nod.
The fire’s warmth reaches us. Shadows flicker along the book-stacked walls. The air is cozy and thick. Minx closes in. Closer, closer, and when he’s too close to handle, my eyes shut.
He kisses me first gently on the bottom lip. Then, he pulls away for a tenth of a second before meeting his mouth fully with mine.
Ah!
I don’t know if the gasp is outside my body or just in my head.
Warmth fills my chest and neck. My mouth opens partway. His mouth moves with mine. His tongue moves with mine. And as I respond to him, he becomes more determined. Heated. Passionate.
Who’d have thought that I, Marley No-Game Craw, would ever have need for words like those?
Minx keeps his body over mine. My hands find the back of his hair. They grip and pull. I think he likes it. I mean, I’m pretty sure he does. He responds by tearing at the bottom of my shirt.
Meanwhile, the deeper he kisses me, the more moisture accumulates at the corners of my eyes, dripping down the side of my face and into my ears and hair.
Way to go, Marley Craw. Weeping while making out is SUCH a turn on.
Minx doesn’t seem to care, though.
This is a different side of him. This isn’t the Minx from the couch, who made me drift into sexy, sleepy oblivion. This Minx is more connected or something. He’s naughty. He’s relentless. He’s . . . on parole?
At the thought, Minx bites my lip.
“Ow!”
“Stop thinking or you’ll be punished.”
His voice is inside my head.
Well, that clears things up. If there was even a shred of uncertainty left, now I know for sure: The reapers can read my mind. Scary. When I think about the past thoughts I’ve had around them . . .
Lame!
And even now, I can’t stop thinking. My mind’s always been disobedient like that. Like during a math test. The harder I’d tell it to focus and remember the Pythagorean Theorem, the more it’d daydream about Noah Carmichael, who happened to sit two seats up and one to the left. A perfect angle for non-obvious staring, by the way. See, all I’d have to do is rest my cheek on my fist and pretend to be zoning out, but in reality I’d be taking in a full helping of teenage dream.
It’s more like an art form, really. I probably could have gone on to become a great stalker.
If I hadn’t died, that is.
Minx bites my lip a second time, even harder than the first.
“Ow!”
“You must WANT to be punished, to be openly thinking about some other guy. And a kid, at that.”
Whoops. I guess he’s right. Kind of skanky of me to think about another guy right now. Though I wouldn’t say Noah’s a kid. He turned eighteen last month. I wonder how old Minx is – with his long, lean body . . . and his defined neck . . . and his broad shoulders . . .
Never mind. I guess compared to sexy, magic-wielding reapers, regular guys do seem kind of like boys.
Minx responds to the thought by positioning my waist under his and then sliding his hand up my shirt to the bottom of my ribs.
His fingertips drift along my skin.
My fingertips pull up the bottom of his shirt.
I wonder what he’d look like naked.
WAAAH! Stop, Marley Craw! No pervy thoughts allowed now that you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Minx can hear them! Quickly, I try to think of something else. Rabbits. Ginger. Candelabras. My mind races from one thing to another.
It’s too late. Minx removes his kiss from me and sits up, head tipped to the side. Then, he begins to lift off his shirt.
“STOP!”
I grab the bottom and hold it firmly in place.
He frowns. “But didn’t you–”
“Yes, but NO, I . . . I don’t know what came over me.” I wipe my tears away with the back of my hand.
