by Brindi Quinn
Annoying thing.
I only remember seeing one moon since being dead. Has this whole time been only a day? No, that doesn’t sound right. It’s been much, much longer than a day. Feels like months, even. And at the same time, only a few hours.
Minx has changed clothes since the last time I saw him. Now, he’s wearing a tight long-sleeved thermal-type shirt. Mmm. The pattern feels nice against his abs.
But hot-hot-hottie abs aside, I’m not sure how I got here, and there’s a weird pain in my chest. I need to sit up and clear my head. I’m groggy. It feels like I’m suffering a minor hangover. I start to sit up, but Minx puts a hand to the back of my head and forces my face against his chest.
“Don’t go yet,” he groans. “Stay with me.” He begins to run his fingers through my hair.
“G-good morning, Minx,” I say.
Tensing up, he lets out an enormously cute yawn and asks, “How do you feel?”
“I feel like . . .” I search my mind. “Like there’s something I’m supposed to do.”
I begin to sit up again, but Minx pounces, pinning me down in the pile of cushions. I feel my brows flatten. Someone’s got a lot of energy for morning time.
“There IS something you’re supposed to do, Mar-mar.” He smiles at me widely, playfully, puppy-like. “You’re supposed to cuddle with me.”
“I think I already did that.”
His smile transforms into a smirk. “How’s your tick?”
Tick?
Tiiiick.
Right. It’s still there. And after being acknowledged, it grows more persistent.
Minx’s expression switches abruptly, becoming dark, dangerous, and mischievous– “You might not realize this, Marley, but we hit luck. I don’t know if it would have been possible to get away with it before, but now . . .” He lowers himself over me and into my ear speaks, “I’ll steal you later. Wait for it.”
Then, he rolls off of me, stretching out, cat-like, in the cushions.
I stand and try to make sense of my surroundings. The room is the same as I remember it: one wall, three windows, cushions scattered about, and a few random bits of furniture hovering over the floor.
And there, in the corner, staring out the window is . . .
Who is that, again?
“Darling Marley.” A reaper with long black hair sends out a sly smile. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
The reaper’s voice is quiet and a little raspy and seems to have some sort of nether-quality. I say so because just hearing it gives me the urge to scoot closer, as though a secret could be delivered at any moment. He’s bigger than Minx – not by much, but a little more built, I’d say. Like a soccer player. Not that I’m into sports at all, but if I had to peg him, I’d say soccer’s his game. His eyes are pale green and fit craftily into his face, making him look as though he’s on the verge of starting trickery.
Artful.
That’s the word I’m thinking of.
The reaper looks artful.
And hot, of course. That goes without saying. Apparently, all reapers are hot.
Hah! What if there were a hundred hot reapers and one ugly one? I don’t know why, but I think that would be really, really funny.
Actually, I think there’s a lot that could be really, really funny right now. Downright hilarious, even.
From out of nowhere, I release a giggle.
The crafty reaper smirks deeper. “Excellent,” he says.
“No fair,” I hear Minx say into a pillow.
Oh gawd! I just thought of something else! What if the reaper shaved off all of his hair and just had a super obnoxious rattail? So funny! I release a second giggle.
Quicker than quick, the longhaired reaper jets across the room. He takes my hand between both of his. “There you go, Marley,” he says. “Now do you remember? I’m Zae.”
“Zae,” I repeat, mid-laugh, and the reaper’s eyes light up as green as a stoplight.
“Yeah,” he says, smirking. “Zae. Your reaper. Your favorite reaper.”
“Hey!” Minx’s voice is clearer now. He must’ve popped his head out of the cushion. “You can’t say things like that!”
“I’m sure it’s no worse than what you’re planning,” Zae calls, singsong.
I don’t really get what they’re talking about. Everything just seems so insanely funny right now. Hah! What if I ran and grabbed that dangling nightstand and rode it, swinging, across the room?
“Yeah,” Zae says. “That’d be fun. You like fun, right, Darling Marley? We should go out and do something fun.”
That sounds perfect! I like going out and doing fun things. I like exploring the world. I like . . .
Out.
Exploring.
. . .
Pine.
Holy potato salad! I remember now! This Zae guy isn’t really my reaper! PINE is! Pine, who was going to ‘make a call,’ but then disappeared off the face of the earth JUST because I idiotically proclaimed my undying like for him!
I snap my hand away from the imposter Zae. “Where’s Pine?” I ask.
Zae’s smirk falls and he mutters something obscene under his breath. At least, I’m assuming it’s obscene. What other reason would there be for him to mutter?
“Did he leave because of me?” I glance at Minx. “Is he coming back? Is he–”
I stop because someone’s just grabbed me by the neck in a strangle hold.
The rapist!
For a brief flicker, the memory of my death shoots across vision and through my bones. I remember it, every awful minute of it. Every painful, humiliating–
It’s gone as quickly as it comes.
The person holding my neck now isn’t the rapist. It’s Zae, body-snatcher extraordinaire. The newcomer takes me by the neck, and Minx, seeing it happen, jumps to his feet.
“Relax,” says Zae. “Go dormant. It’s my turn with her.”
Minx tightens his fists. “What are you going to do?”
Yeah, what? I’d also like to know.
“We’re going to play. What else? I’ve got lost time to make up for.”
“Let go of me,” I demand. “Minx, do something!”
“I . . . can’t. I’m sorry.”
Useless cretin.
Still holding my neck, Zae sets his cunning eyes on mine. “Now then,” he says, half smirking. “Say my name.”
“No.”
“Say it.”
Ugh. I get the feeling he’s one of those cocky guys. “No,” I say again. His grip on my neck tightens. I’m not afraid, though. I mean, I’m already dead, right? It’s not like he can strangle me.
And yet, the hold on my neck feels dangerously tight. Maybe it’s a reflex, but I grab his wrist in a feeble attempt to pull him off. No good. I’m still wimpy ol’ me. No nether-powers here.
Firmly gripping my neck, Zae spins me around and slams me flush against the glass. “You need a little roughness, after being with that bore all night,” he says, smirking. Then, he pushes his body against mine, holding me in place with his hips.
I was already mad, but now I’m madder. Practically livid. This is definitely not proper conduct for meeting a person for the first time. Even I know that, and I’m only slightly polite.
Zae’s eyes, pale and crafty, settle on me. Uh-oh. Looks like he’s plotting something. Yup, that’s undeniably plotting!
Stupid reaper. Stupid plotting. Stupid Zae.
ZAE.
“What kind of a name is Zae anyway?” I scoff. “I mean, Minx and Pine were weird enough, but Za–”
Damn and a half!
I stop myself from saying it a second time, but it’s too late to do anything about the first one. That one was a total slip, brought on by rage. Good going, lamebrain!
To my dismay, Zae gets his wish. His eyes light green.
Shoot.
His lip curls with wicked haughtiness. “Now, Darling Marley, that wasn’t so bad.”
Oh no, no – trust me, it WAS so bad.
> His hand falls from my neck, and is instantly replaced by something worse. His mouth. Without waiting for permission or an opening or a hint to go-for-it, Zae swoops in, opens his lips against my skin, and begins sucking, of all things.
Ah! Tickles!
Because I’m not used to being sucked on, I forget to react for a fraction of a second before coming to my senses, at which point I begin swatting at his head without remorse. “H-hey! Knock it off!”
He pulls away long enough to say, “I’m going to mark you, Darling Marley, so that you won’t forget about me again,” before plunging in for a second go.
“Stop it, stop it, stop it!” I swat at his head with even more vigor, but he doesn’t let up, instead moving over an inch and sucking there too.
“CUT IT OUT, YOU STUPID-NAMED REAPER!”
He pushes the strap of my dress down my shoulder and moves his mouth to my collarbone.
“ZAE! Zae, Zae, Zae, Zae, ZAE!”
Maybe there’s a chance I’ll be able to affect him by saying his name, the way I’m able to affect Minx and . . . and who?
Huh.
Well, spewing off the reaper’s name does something, at least. Eyes glittering like emeralds, he pulls away from my neck and throws back his head in ecstasy, gasping, “AH. It always feels so good the first time they say it. Even better the first time they shout it. Now, if we can just get you to whisper it.”
I get the feeling this guy’s some kind of pervert.
Not like I have any right to judge, considering the things I’ve been up to lately with Minx and . . . and who?
Hrm.
The pervert reaper grabs my wrist and plops down onto the floor in a cross-legged sitting position, pulling me down with him. I wrench my hand away from him, but he takes me by the shoulder instead. “I marked you here, here, and here.” He taps each forming hickey. “You’re mine.”
“You’re annoying,” I tell him flat-out.
Like one of those aggressive, class clown types. Or the guy putting a fog machine in the locker room.
“I’m hurt,” says Zae.
“Doubt it,” I call his bluff. “I think you like being annoying. You like havoc and mayhem, too, I’m guessing. My friend Robbie’s like that, always doing stupid stuff like forking the school’s lawn, and hitting on the lunch ladies. Not to mention, he has a habit of sneaking up behind my friend Carmen and me to give us wet willies. I hate it, you know? It feels like a slug or an earwig or something.” I shudder. “Anyway, the difference between you and Robbie is that Robbie’s got a handful of qualities redeeming enough to make him tolerable. Plus, he has a sweet cabin. You on the other hand . . .”
The reaper gives a twitch. “Are you psychic?” he asks bluntly, before looking over his shoulder at Minx. “There wasn’t anything in her file about her being psychic,” he says.
Minx shrugs.
Yeah . . . now that I think about it, someone ELSE asked if I was psychic recently . . . or did that happen a very long time ago? And who was it, anyway? Someone with black hair, like Zae’s.
As I try to reach the unreachable parts of my memory, Zae reaches forward and puts his hand on the top of my head.
Whoa.
Ho and whoa again.
With his hand on my skull, this crazy, non-ignorable rushing feeling moves through my body, starting at the place where he touches and flowing down, through my abdomen, and to the ends of my feet.
“Take me somewhere,” my mouth mutters.
“Bingo,” says Zae, smirking.
The sensation overtakes me – consumes me, even. I want to move, run, flee, FLY.
I want to have fun.
Zae removes his hand from me. “Let’s go outside. What do you say?”
“O-okay.” Suddenly, he doesn’t seem that bad anymore. Actually, he seems pretty okay. Maybe I was just being overly harsh before. Judgy, much, Marley Craw?
With my consent, the not-so-bad reaper hops to his feet, flips up his hood, and begins conjuring his nether-powers, placing his right pointer and middle fingers on his left wrist and vice versa, saying, “The wages of sin is death.” On command, his hands glow green.
Green.
A green glow.
It looks so familiar . . .
Way familiar.
Too familiar to resist.
The green glow falls as I grab Zae’s hand.
He looks down at me. “Darling?”
I’m not really sure what it is, but I feel sad. And grabbing the hand that produced the green glow SO doesn’t make it any better. If anything, it makes me even sadder. Zae moves into a squat. His knee pokes through a hole in his jeans. He pushes the hair from his face and leans in to inspect me.
“What is it, Darling Marley? Not ready to play?”
“I . . .” I stare at the hand holding his.
Zae’s eyes twinkle mischievously. “Don’t you remember how much you like playing with me, Marley? Don’t you remember how fun it is when I make you fly?”
Well, that’s true, I guess. I do LOVE when he makes me fly. Going down the mountain with him was completely and utterly terrifying, but that’s what made it sort of great, looking back. When I was alive, I was never really one of those thrill-seekers – you know, the ones that go skydiving and cave spelunking just for the heck of it? But I get it now . . . I think. Being afraid can be a rush. Like watching a really freaky movie with demons and ghosts and dolls without heads, and coming out of it as sweaty as a swamp monster, and with pulse pumping heart-failingly fast.
It’s . . . fun.
But it’s also not the kind of thing you want to do alone. Scary movies and mountain plunging – those things are only fun if you’re doing them with someone else, right?
Huh. Look at me, all contemplative.
Zae sees the thoughts running behind my eyes. He waits for them to pass before inching towards me. His hair cascades over his shoulders. His mouth smirks with smugness. His sweatshirt hangs open.
“What do you desire, Darling Marley?”
I spread out my hand on his chest, against his black t-shirt.
Without a word, he peels off his nether-hoodie and tosses it across the room, and next, begins to undo the leather straps running up one of his arms. Now, I see what the straps were hiding. The inside of his arm, from the wrist to the elbow, is tattooed with a scythe like Minx’s and . . . and whose? I can’t remember. I feel hazy. And not quite like myself. Maybe like a cheap imitation. Maybe I’m the one who was body snatched.
In an attempt to clear away some of the muddle fuddle, I draw a finger over Zae’s exposed scythe. His arm beneath the tattoo is warm and firm, and as I move over the veins beneath his skin, I feel my pulse picking up.
Everything is silent. Time is nonexistent. My breath is WAY louder than it should be.
“What do you desire?” Zae asks again, and this time his face is serious.
“You,” my mouth answers automatically.
“You like being with me?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“You like the way I make you feel.”
“Yes.”
He squints. “And . . . do you . . . like me?”
In the distance, I hear Minx protest.
“Shut up,” Zae orders over my shoulder. “An experiment. I want to see if it’s with everyone or just you-know-who.”
You-know-who?
But before my mind can drift too far, Zae calls my attention to him again by pressing his mouth hotly to my forehead.
“Do you like me, Marley Craw?” he whispers quietly when he pulls away. His eyes probe me deviously.
LIKE? That’s a confusing question. That’s like asking if I like the taste of the color purple.
Zae frowns. “Interesting,” he says. Then, over my shoulder, he calls, “You can relax. Seems it’s only the Captain.”
Captain?
Captain.
“PINE!” my mouth blurts.
Ohmigosh! I almost forgot about Pine! This grungy, shiny-haired guy’s b
een hypnotizing me or something! I hurry to scuttle away from him, tripping over myself in the process.
Zae swears under his breath.
“It’s your fault, Usher,” Minx retaliates from behind me. “You just had to ask.”
Zae folds his arms grumpily. “Why are you even awake, Sleeper? I told you to go dormant. You didn’t see me intruding your time with her.” The two reapers continue to bicker over my head like a cranky married couple.
So not sexy.
Meanwhile, I’m fighting to cling to the memory of Pine’s face – his sharp jaw, his full bottom lip, his penetrating silver stare – but it’s fading fast.
NO!
Wait, why is it so important for me to remember him? I only just met the guy, and if there are a plethora of other reapers like this Zae guy just waiting to take his place, then it makes this whole reaping seem like even more of a setup, a sham, a game.
Seduction’s their job, right?
I know that.
I’m not stupid.
But . . . Pine . . .
I think I really like him a lot.
Why?
I touch my own chest and feel that my blood is warm beneath.
Gah! Nice work, Marley Craw! How lame of you to get attached to a guy so quickly! If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were turning into one of those needy, clingy girls!
You know, the kind that can’t function if they aren’t breathing the same second-hand air coming out of their beloved’s facehole? Howard O’Neil, the mix-tape maniac I work with at the Bistro, has a girlfriend like that. She’s always hanging around, painting her nails on the counter, and buzzing all through the building like an obsessed little bee.
Gag.
He should get her one of those ugly monkey backpack leashes people put on their kids and hook her up to the bike-rack outside.
Anyway, back to Pine.
My body won’t let me forget him. It wants to be near him. Oh gawd, if that isn’t clingy, I don’t know what is!
“Come with me, Mar-mar.” Minx’s hands are on my shoulders. “You shouldn’t think about that guy. Only think about me.” He motions to Zae. “Or him, if you must.”
