by Brindi Quinn
Minx tips his head the other way. “I came over you.”
“Well, that’s true, you were literally on top of me, but I mean the crying and stuff. And that aside, I’m usually not so . . .” I feel my cheeks redden. “I don’t usually just randomly let guys . . . you know. I’m not, like, Queen Make-Out or anything.”
Minx looks confused. “Who’s that?”
“Never mind. What I’m saying is I . . .” Argh! So embarrassing! Come on, Marley Craw, spit it out.
I draw in a breath.
“I like letting you kiss me, Minx. But is it really okay? I don’t really know you. I mean, it took me years to build up the courage to finally let Noah Carmichael kiss me – that was supposed to happen this weekend at Robbie’s cabin, by the way – plus I’m dead and you aren’t even human, and then there’s Pine, and this whole reaping thing . . .”
“You don’t need to think about that.”
“But I DO. Just because I’m dead, it doesn’t mean anything goes, does it?”
“Does it?” he repeats.
I feel my eyebrows flatten. “So not helpful. Can you please just tell me what I’m being judged on, exactly? And why you and Pine are continually in seduction mode? And while you’re at it, explain to me why my life was supposedly so wretched. I always thought I had a pretty good life, actually.”
“None of that matters, Marley Craw.”
“Marley.”
Minx takes my chin in his hand and draws his thumb along my bottom lip. “None of it matters, Marley. We only need to find out what you desire.” He tips his head back haughtily. His eyes gleam in the firelight. “Do you desire me?”
Of course. Who wouldn’t?
Minx’s lip smirks.
“Ugh, knock it off,” I say, self-conscious. “So have you guys been able to hear my thoughts this whole time or what?”
Minx releases my chin and shifts his weight so that he’s leaning back on his arm. “We can’t hear them. We feel them. And only if your soul’s open to us.” Minx tails his finger down my arm. “Your soul is wide open to me right now.”
I don’t really get it, but at least we’re getting somewhere.
“Why do your eyes light up when I say your names?”
Propped on his elbow, Minx stares at the burning pile of books. “I’m not supposed to tell you. HE wouldn’t like it.”
“I won’t tell Pine or Beck or anyone. Please, Minx.”
His eyes glow.
“Miiinx.”
His shoulders shudder.
“Miiiiiinx.”
He grips the netting of the hammock with angst. “You’re marking me,” he says through his teeth. “Giving me access to your mana.”
“Mana?”
“The substance that connects your soul to this world,” he explains.
I tuck my hair behind my ear. “And it feels good for you or what?”
“It feels especially good when you say my name, Marley. Your mana is thick. Your soul’s sticking to this world more than average.”
Is that what Pine meant when he said I was ‘unusual’?
“Why is my soul doing that?” I ask. “Is it a bad thing?”
Minx doesn’t answer.
At least now I have something I can use against him: “Minx,” I purr. “Miiinx.”
“I can’t tell you why,” he says through his teeth, twitching oddly. “I’d get in trouble. We have to be careful what we talk about. I’m on parole.”
“Parole. Right. Is that why Pine says you’re ‘dangerous’? Are you some kind of criminal in reaperville? And you didn’t answer my other question. Is it BAD that my mana is thick?”
Again Minx says nothing. He’s uncomfortable. He chews his lip and stares at the fire.
Fine, if that’s how he’s going to be, I’ll say his name until his eyes glow as bright as the sun. “Minx. Miiiinx. MINX.”
“Yes, it’s bad!” he shouts at last, eyes flaming. “Your soul is screaming, Marley Craw, and I’m dangerous . . . because I like it.”
Because he likes it?
Minx’s brow line isn’t sporting that uncertain, cautious, compassionate look anymore. Another side of him is in charge, and it’s leering at me with a dark expression.
Ohmigosh, that’s definitely leering!
I get it. Well, not really, but for the first time I see it.
Minx is dangerous.
Dangerous.
With that look still hanging darkly on his face, he begins to move over me again. “I understand more than anyone, why you’d want to, Marley. If it were up to me, I’d help you.”
Why I’d want to? Why I’d want to what?
I have no idea what he’s talking about, but for some reason, the tick in the back of my skull that’s been bugging me lets up just a little.
But something else in me feels wrong-ish.
Maybe it’s instinct. I’m not really sure. All I know is that my body moves on its own, not even asking my opinion, as it makes a quick roll off the edge of the hammock to get away from the leering reaper.
Thunk!
I land on a messy stack of books.
Minx immediately stops his pursuit.
“No.” He shakes his head vigorously. “No, Marley Craw. You shouldn’t think about those things. You shouldn’t.”
“M-Minx?”
Eyes lit, he springs swiftly from the hammock, landing in a crouch on the floor in front of me, and his face, though covered in moving shadows from the firelight, is softer. “I messed up,” he says, and looks to the ceiling. Letting out a sigh, he shakes his head like there’s someone up there he’s apologizing to. Then, he drops his eyes to mine and puts his hand lightly over my clenched fist. “Please don’t ask me anything else. Please don’t make me tell you more.” He swallows. “Please don’t tempt me.”
ME tempt HIM?
That’s a laugh and a half.
But because I’m still all flustered over the darkness I just saw in him, I nod. Whatever it takes to keep that at bay, I guess.
“I’m thinking we should probably head back to our room, don’t you?” I say.
Minx rubs his face out of guilt or worry or a mixture of the two. Like someone about to be in BIG trouble.
I’ve seen that look before. Once, Milo’s mom found a stash of weed in his sock drawer. It was tied up in a little bundle and stuffed inside a pair of wool work socks, real sneaky-like. Milo’s mom gave him the first round of punishment, but the worst was yet to come. My cousin’s pale face was even paler than normal as we waited for his dad, ‘the big bad dad,’ as Mallory called him, to get home. Crestfallen, too. Mallory and I were never super fond of Milo, so we just sat on the couch, eating grapes, and watching the little scab squirm. It was great.
But it isn’t so great seeing Minx that way.
Aww man.
I know I wanted to find out as much as I could, but I feel bad for the guy. After all, if he’s about to get in BIG trouble, it’s my fault.
“I won’t tell,” I promise. “You really didn’t tell me all that much anyway. I still don’t know anything about anything.”
He shows a little relief.
I put my hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be okay, okay? And if anything happens, I’ll tell them I forced you to tell me. I’ll tell them it was what I desired.”
Minx perks. “Really?”
I shoot him a giant thumbs-up. “No problemo.” I’ll prove once and for all that I’m not a jerk. No siree! Not me!
Minx reacts to the news with gumption, zest, and pizazz. His face lights up brighter than a glow stick. Then, he throws his arms around my shoulders and pulls me into his chest, wrapping me in his linen scent. “I love you, Marley Craw.”
“You don’t.”
But for some reason, hearing him say so takes my breath away.
~ #2287, Minx ~
Chapter 8: What Will You Give Me?
When we return to the glass room, it’s changed.
Three of the four walls are filled in solid,
leaving only one wall of glass. The room has filled in some, too, with large cushions scattered along the floor and puffy beanbag chairs settled in the corners. From the ceiling, metal containers hang, out of which, tails of wispy smoke linger, staining the air with a fragrant aroma. Incense, I think. It smells like one of those record shops, you know? The ones that sell indie band posters and candy dispensers made to look like Jesus? I always feel out of place at those shops. Like a poser or something.
“What’d you do to the room, Pine?” I ask, taking in a hearty draw of smoky air. The smoke is calming. With it in my lungs, I feel like I should be drinking tea and listening to obscure, unsigned music.
The annoyed reaper stands with arms folded against the last remaining wall of glass. Annoyed, yup. That’s him. For the first time, his expression outmatches his irritated tone. “I didn’t do anything,” he barks.
Minx, on the other hand, is joyous over the change. “Oooh, this is much better. Nice work, Marley!”
Nice work, me?
Not bothering to explain, Minx makes a dive into a pile of floor cushions. He pokes his head out of rubble. “Cuddle me, Mar-mar!”
Mar-mar?
Is that supposed to be a nickname for me now? I feel my mouth flatten. It sounds like something you’d call a horse.
“Later,” I tell him. To be perfectly honest, I’m a little scared of what might happen if I lie with the sporadic reaper.
I fan the incense away and sneak a look at Pine. He’s shifted over to the center of the window, putting the sun directly at his back. Because of the brightness of outside framing him, his figure is dark, his face hard to make out.
I feel guilty.
I don’t know why I should, though.
Liar.
Okay, I know why I should. This whole reaping thing is clearly a competition between the two guys, and I’m guessing Pine would be less than pleased to find out what went down in the library.
Speak of the devil.
With his face still in shadow, Pine raps his knuckles on the glass at his side.
I look at him with forced innocence. What? Who me?
Without saying anything, he raps again.
Yikes.
I fiddle with the end of my hair and inch toward him a little. “W-what’s up, Pine?”
His eyes flash, lighting his dark face. “We need to talk,” he says.
Uh-oh. He’s mad. He’s SO definitely, mad-as-a-bull MAD! I should run. Skip town. Rent a car and drive away to no-man’s land. Yeah. That sounds good right about now.
But sigh and grimace. It’s no use. I have to face what I’ve done. I might not be perfect, but at least I know when I’ve acted irresponsibly.
Like the time I snuck Chinese food into swim class. Or the time I stole the welcome rug from a rivalry school on a band trip. That was pretty badass, actually. The rug had a sleek, wide-fanged panther on it. It complemented my collection of stolen cardboard cutouts from the movie theater nicely.
I guess I kind of stole a lot when I was alive.
I hang my head and march to the window. “Talk. Sure thing, Captain.” I don’t meet his eyes when I reach him. I stare at my toes, as though toes are the most interesting things on the planet. I suppose they are quite interesting. Did you know if you cut off one toe, it can seriously screw up your balance? I mean, crazy! One measly little toe can really do a lot of damage.
“How was it?” he says. “With him.”
“Honestly? Kind of intense,” I tell my toes.
“Are you all right?”
“Me?” Finally, I meet his eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”
Pine snatches my chin and turns my face first to the left and then to the right. And he’s peering, of all things.
Eep! What the what’s he looking for?!
Next, he bends over and puts his ear to my chest like he’s listening for my heartbeat. The weight of his head against me makes me forget to breathe. Awkward! . . . Or does it just make me nervous? Either way, I have a weird impulse to wrap my arms around his head and . . . nuzzle it, or something. He stiffens. “I knew it.”
“You knew it!?” I spurt. He knows about the nuzzle?!
Standing, he puts his hand around my shoulder and protectively tucks me into his armpit before shooting a death glance at lounging Minx. “YOU, dumbass. Get over here.”
A sleepy groan erupts from Minx’s cushion pile.
“NOW,” Pine orders. But when Minx still doesn’t move, the dark-haired reaper defers to me. “Call him, Marley.”
“Maybe we should let him sle–”
“Call him.”
Right! Aye-aye, Cap-I-tan.
“Minx? Can you come over he–”
The cushions burst from within. A Minx-fueled explosion. Faster than a shot of vodka, Minx is at my other side, chin rested on my shoulder and fingers ensnarled in mine. “Yes, Mar-mar?”
In one fluid motion, Pine shifts me to his other armpit and uses his free hand to take Minx by the throat.
Whoa! Ninja reaper mode commence!
“What the hell are you thinking, dumbass?” Pine says, deadly.
Oh no. This is about the KISS, isn’t it? Pine can tell, somehow! I mean, if this is a seduction game for them, then obviously he’d be really mad that Minx’s seduction got to me before his, right?! . . . But I was feeling vulnerable then! I was hardly aware of what I was doing!
But I liked it.
But who wouldn’t like it? There isn’t a gosh damn girl in the world that wouldn’t like it. Well, unless guys aren’t your thing, I guess. But that’s not the point! I’m sure I probably would have liked it if it had been Pine kissing me, too!
Oh crap. I AM becoming a slut. Sigh. Just look what death’s done to me.
“P-Pine!” I cry, feeling more and more guilty by the second. “H-hold on, would you–”
Thwump!
Minx takes advantage of the small time window of Pine’s lit eyes. With a sudden spin, he chops his captor across the arm and breaks free.
Whoops. That was my fault, too. Now Pine’s going to be even madder!
. . . But at the same time, I’m glad Minx got away.
Minx brushes himself off and glances over his shoulder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says.
Pine keeps his arm firmly wrapped around me. “Enough, dumbass,” he spits. “Did you think it would go undetected? While you were gone, it rained in here.”
Minx sticks his hands into his pockets. “Stay out of it.”
Without releasing me, Pine punches the window. “What are you trying to do? You’re a Sleeper now, remember? Stop messing around and do your job.”
“I just want to give her what she wants,” Minx responds, quiet.
“Tch!” Pine squeezes me closer. “If you ruin her, I swear I’ll make sure they never let you out again.”
Ruin?
Ruin.
Minx says nothing. He digs his shoe into the carpet.
“I’m taking her out for repair.” Pine gives me a sidelong glance. “You don’t have a choice this time, Marley.” He spins me around and pushes my shoulders to the window. “Stay.”
Then, in fast-forward, he throws on his nether-hoodie and begins conjuring his green glow. Meanwhile, Minx stands below an incense burner, chewing his lip, as though he’s deep in thought about something. I’m also in deep, deep thought. Maybe even deeper than I’ve ever been. I’m downright contemplative.
Minx is dangerous. I saw it with my own eyes. What’s more, Pine is worried that Minx will ruin me? Minx and Pine are fighting to win reaping rights to my soul, but Minx isn’t doing it right? And then there was that thing about Minx being a ‘Sleeper.’ Sure, he’s sleepy, but what’s a Sleeper? It sounded like a title. So then, Pine is a captain and something called an Usher, and Minx is a Sleeper? And now Pine’s taking me out for ‘repair’ whether I want it or not?
Yeah, my thought is deeper than deep.
So deep that I barely notice when Pine draws a green rect
angle around my body. I barely notice when said rectangle opens into air. And I barely notice when he wraps his arms around me and pushes me through the opening.
“AAAAAAHHHHHHH!”
When I regain recognition of time and space, Pine and I are falling straight downward and I’m screaming. Ohmigosh, ohmigosh, OHMIGOSH! Pine’s arms are wrapped firmly around me, but that doesn’t make the sensation of falling any less perilous. This isn’t like before. This SO isn’t a fun little zip down the mountain. This time, we’re completely upside-down, pummeling towards the ground.
Freaking gravity!
The fall lasts a minute or more, and is ended by a loud–
SPLASH!
We’re submerged in wet, wet wetness.
Like a rocket, we’ve landed in a pool or a lake or an ocean. Who knows which it is? What’s important is that I’m unwillingly underwater and I don’t know which end is up.
I’ve never really been a water person. No, maybe it’s more that I’m not a bathing suit person. I think they’re hypocritical. If a girl’s bra shows through her shirt, she’s sent to the nurse’s office to change, YET if the same girl walks around the beach in a tiny two-piece, it’s perfectly okay? That makes no sense!
. . . All right, you caught me. I might just be bitter over being sent to the nurse’s office that time to change. I could also be bitter over my not-beach-ready bod.
Either way, swimsuits aren’t my favorite, and so, swimming isn’t my favorite. Not that Pine bothered to ask my opinion on the matter before, you know, DIVING OUT THE DANG WINDOW WITH ME! I flounder around a bit, ungainly, I’m sure, until vaguely, I feel someone pulling me.
Down, down, down . . . oh wait. That way’s up. Up, up, up. We break the surface of the water with a bob.
Heaving in a deep gasp, I shake the water from my eyes and find that we’re in a small lake. Or maybe it isn’t a lake. It’s bigger than a pond, though, that’s for sure. You could call it a pool, I guess, but not like a man-made pool.
Let’s just say we’re in a small, circular gathering of water surrounded by rocky, plant-covered boulders and vine-wound trunks.
