I have to do something. I have to tell them the truth, or something else.
I walk into the den where they’re sitting with the TV muted. “Don’t bother, Mom. He called earlier today to say he didn’t need the money anymore.”
Mom’s eyes light up. “Has he got a job?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t say.”
“Did he say where he’s staying?” Dad asks.
“No. You know he doesn’t talk to me.”
Behind his reading glasses, Dad is frowning. He wants to believe me, but I don’t think he does. Josh has never changed his mind about wanting money before.
Dad just nods. He’ll accept what I’m saying, whether he believes it or not.
I’ve discovered that full disclosure isn’t always the best way to go. Sometimes you have to lie to protect the ones you love.
♦ ♦ ♦
“Still no word from Josh?” Zin asks as we take a step forward in the ticket line.
“No.”
“Shit.”
“That sums it up.”
I’m not a fan of outdoor movie lineups. Not when it’s freezing out and my arm is sore and my mind is haunted by a ghost. Thank God for Zin. He can keep my mind occupied. I only wish he’d share his body heat. He must have a lot to spare, standing there with his coat open.
Zin steps up to the cashier and pays for both tickets. As we walk into the theater, I ask, “What was that for?”
“I thought it was a nice thing to do.”
“It is. Thanks. But don’t go thinking this is a date, because I’ve moved on. Way on.”
He glances my way, and we start laughing. I’m glad we can still joke around.
We grab seats in the middle of a row halfway to the back. The lights dim as the trailers begin. After each one, we give a thumbs-up or a thumbs-down. The only film that we agree has a chance of being decent is the raunchy Spanish one about a love triangle. I’ll overlook the subtitles if it’s juicy.
We’re barely twenty minutes into the film when I realize it’s a dead bore. I swear I’ve seen the same story line a thousand times with minor variations. It strikes me how ridiculous it is—I’m sitting here next to the most fascinating person I’ve ever met, and I’m wasting my time with this crap.
I want to know more about Zin, about his past. But lately he’s been talking about anything but that, as if he hopes that if we don’t talk about it, I might forget everything he’s revealed. Fat chance of that.
I haven’t pushed him, though. His health had me worried for a couple of days, but he’s his old self again. He looks cuter and healthier than ever, like he’s been re-energized at some celebrity spa. I glance at him, his profile etched in darkness. Still beautiful.
Sometime during the movie he shakes my shoulder.
I look up. “Wha’?”
“You were sleeping,” he whispers.
Uh-oh. I don’t need to ask if I was making noise. I’ve always mumbled in my sleep, ever since I was a kid. Which is why I mostly avoided sleepovers. Who knows what secrets I might give away?
Zin pats my arm. “Nothing incriminating. This movie sucks. Wanna go?”
I nod sleepily.
As we step out of the movie theater onto the street, the shock of cold air wakes me up. My body contracts under my coat for warmth. I’m not tired anymore, and I’m in no mood to call it a night.
I turn to Zin. “Your place for some food?”
“Sounds good.”
We go into a deli for groceries. I grab a basket, which he takes from me. “Easy on your arm.”
“It’s feeling much better. I wish I could go back to work this weekend. It’s going to be so boring at home.”
“Wait till you get the stitches out. Don’t worry, Carlo understands.”
“He sent me the most amazing flowers.”
“Did he?” He plunks a can of red beans into the basket. “How charming.”
♦ ♦ ♦
As Zin stir-fries chicken, I lean against the counter, watching him.
“I want to know more,” I say.
“About what?”
“About you.”
He sighs. “I’m sorry I lied to you about my past.”
“It’s okay. The truth wasn’t exactly an option.”
“What would you like to know?”
“Everything you’re willing to tell me. Tell me about your childhood.”
“I grew up in Yemen in the 1790s.” He pours a dollop of hoisin sauce into the stir-fry, tastes it. “Childhood wasn’t supposed to be fun. I don’t think we even had a word for childhood. My dad died when I was six. My mother tried her best to make sure there was food. Lot of the time, there wasn’t.”
“God.”
“Yeah. I begged for food in the market square. So did a bunch of other kids. I learned to flip and tumble to set myself apart. It worked.”
“Must’ve felt good.”
“Damn right. That was just the beginning. My routines got better and better. People started going out of their way to see me perform. Eventually I got recruited for a circus.”
“You were lucky.”
“Luckier than the others, yeah. But circus life was grueling. It’s a business like any other, and we were the product. We had to perform several shows a day. But they fed me, and I earned money for my family, so it was worth it. This is ready.”
He brings the pan over to the table and pours its contents onto two plates. He dives in with his usual fervor.
After a few minutes of eating, I ask, “So what happened next, after the circus?”
“I got sick. Tuberculosis. Your lungs fill up. . . . I’d never want to go through that again.” He uses some pita to soak up the extra sauce on his plate, then rolls it up and puts it in his mouth.
“How did you meet the magician?”
He finishes chewing before answering. “I didn’t meet him until weeks after he changed me.”
“You must’ve been so relieved to wake up and be healthy again.”
“I was more confused than relieved. I’d been unconscious for days. By that time I wasn’t experiencing any pain. It was . . . soft darkness.”
“Was it scary, the darkness?”
“It was peaceful. There was no thought.”
“So you didn’t see a light or anything?”
He smiles. “Oh, right. You’re a believer. No, I didn’t see a light. When I woke up, I was disoriented. My family was crying with happiness. They told me I’d fought my way back from death. I didn’t know anything about the magician until he came back a few weeks later.”
“Did he tell you what it meant—that he’d made you immortal?”
“Yeah. He told me I wasn’t going to age and that after a while, people would take notice. He told me I couldn’t lead a normal life. I couldn’t get married or conceive children. That was a huge blow. Back then, that’s what people did. That’s what being a man was. You had a wife and kids and you took care of them.”
“That must’ve been awful.”
“It was.”
“Did you have a girlfriend?”
“Yeah.” He picks up another forkful, scarfs it down.
I feel a stab of jealousy. I shouldn’t ask more. I don’t want to know.
But I can’t help it. “You must’ve loved her.”
“Yeah, well, there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t marry her knowing that I wouldn’t grow old with her and there wouldn’t be children.”
“Don’t you think she would’ve married you anyway?” I would have.
“It doesn’t matter. I didn’t give her the chance.” He puts his fork down, staring at his plate. “I left town for a while, but eventually I came back. I had forever to explore the world, but my family was only going to be around once. They were struggling, so I went back to the circus, brought home money. After a few years people began to notice that I wasn’t aging. Some thought I was blessed by God. Others, like my mother, thought I was cursed. By letting the magician change me, she wo
rried she’d made a deal with the devil; she thought it was all her fault for not being able to let go. I told her I didn’t see it that way, but I had some bitterness of my own. Gradually I accepted the situation. Time works on you that way. I knew I was lucky to be alive. It was easier once I left the village after my family was gone.”
“But you never felt like your mother had made a deal with the devil, did you?”
He shrugs. “What difference would it have made if I did?”
DEMON
DREAMING
I’m the one who knows his secret.
I’m the one with a pass into his private world.
The door that was always closed is opening, and I am consumed. I don’t know if a full minute goes by that I don’t think of him, that I don’t replay how it felt to have his hand brush mine, his eyes look my way.
And yet he’s hiding, still. He talks as if my feelings for him are in the past, as if they couldn’t possibly be relevant now that I know the truth about him. But I don’t have that kind of power over how I feel. And if he doesn’t know that, he’s blind.
I spend my days in a haze of wonder, almost as if I’ve been given the ability to see the world as Zin sees it. What would it be like to be immortal? To have no fear of age, disease, or death? To walk the earth in search of every experience you’ve dreamed of? To never run out of time?
Zin hasn’t lost his sense of the miraculous. He’s fascinated by the stars, which he must have studied for lifetimes. And he’s fascinated by the human body, and the way it can move. And I am fascinated by his body more than any other, and what it can do on the dance floor, and what I dream it can do to me.
We talk on the phone every night. He calls me from home or from work when he’s on break. I close my eyes and listen to his stories of times past. Even the most mundane details fascinate me. I want to know how people lived, what they believed in.
“Has it been lonely for you?” I ask. It’s so late that I’ve turned my alarm clock to face the wall so I won’t have to be reminded. All I want is to be here with Zin, holding this connection. I can hear the steady flow of his breath on the other end of the line.
“Yeah. I’ve met so many people, and they don’t really know me. I can’t tell them who I am, or what I’ve lived. Even if I could, I probably wouldn’t want to. It’s not often I’ve met a person I really want to know better. But I knew I wanted to know you the moment I set eyes on you.”
“You made an impression on me, too.”
“Good. You haven’t cut me loose yet, and I’ve given you plenty of reason to.”
“No, you haven’t.”
“I’m glad you see it that way. I’ve tried to be truthful with you, but as you know, there are some situations where it’s not an option.”
“Of course. Some situations make you have to lie.”
“Like with your brother.”
I wish he hadn’t reminded me, but it’s true. I was never a liar before he became an addict. But I don’t feel it’s my duty to let everyone know what’s happened to him. Some things are best kept quiet.
“I’m glad you know about me, Nic. I shouldn’t be, but I am.”
“No one wants to be alone with a secret.”
“No one wants to be alone, period.”
♦ ♦ ♦
My arm heals with what Zin calls “mortal sluggishness,” and I’m back to work in two weeks. The first shift is a little rocky because my arm seems to have forgotten how to balance a tray, and I have a couple of near spills. Thankfully, by the second shift I’ve hit my stride again.
The Toprocks won’t be showing up tonight. Since we’re not battling again yet, there’s no need for them to stop in, and apparently Slide and Rambo are taking out some college girls they met at a bar yesterday. I really hope the girls don’t just let the guys buy them drinks, then ditch them. Slide and Rambo are too innocent in that area.
I don’t have much energy to dance anyway, since my body’s getting back into the swing of things after vegging out for so long. In fact, I’m feeling overheated, so I grab my coat and go outside to get some air. Mig says hey and Richard gives me a formal nod of his blond head. Mig steps back from the lineup. “I don’t know if we officially welcomed you back. It’s good to see you in one piece.”
Which could be a tasteless thing to say, considering I could’ve been cut into pieces, but Mig means well.
“How are things going out here?” I can see the lineup is almost a block long.
“Gets busier every week. Good for business, but once we reach capacity, we have to keep people out. No matter how nice their clothes are.” He laughs at himself. “Unfortunately, we’re getting more and more characters who think they’re entitled to get in, and they’re getting aggressive about it. A couple of the gangs want this to be their new hangout. Some cat had the balls to try to get past us with a gun last week.”
“That’s scary. I’m glad you caught him.”
“Me too. For the record, we’re sorry we let your brother and his friends in. We figured they were harmless. Obviously we didn’t know the connection.”
“You couldn’t have known. No worries.”
Mig steps up as a guy in a bomber jacket tries to slip past Richard. They each grab an arm and fling him to the curb. The guy curses them out, to which Richard politely responds, “If you have a grievance, send a letter of complaint to our manager.”
I head back inside, throwing my coat behind the bar.
“Fun out there, isn’t it?” Zin says.
“That’s one way of putting it.”
“Don’t worry. They’re highly skilled, those guys.”
“Shouldn’t you be doing a job like that?”
“I have, and will again. But every few years, I go for something cushy.”
“I’ve never asked you about all the jobs you’ve had, have I?”
“No, you haven’t.”
I’m about to try to get more out of him, but then I feel Carlo’s eyes on me, and without saying another word, I go back to work. There are so many needy drinkers that it looks like Viola, and part-timers Jen and Amy, are being run off their feet.
I ride the wave, serving drinks and collecting tips left and right. At some point I have to slip away to the bathroom. Carlo, thankfully, trusts us to go to the bathroom whenever we want, unlike Janice, my boss at Denny’s, who practically expected us to schedule a week in advance.
All of the stall doors are closed, but they naturally settle that way, so I have to bend down to see which ones are occupied. Someone is sitting on the floor of the far stall.
“You okay in there?”
No answer.
I push the door open. There’s a girl slumped on the floor. I shake her shoulder, but she doesn’t respond.
The girl’s purse is open. I spot a scrap of tinfoil and don’t need to see more.
I run out of the bathroom, find Carlo. “There’s a girl in the bathroom—she’s unconscious.”
His brows come together. “Get Viola. She knows CPR.”
“Should I call 911?”
His cell phone is already out. “I’ll do it.”
I find Viola with a tray full of drinks. “Some girl passed out in the bathroom. Carlo needs your help.”
Her eyes widen, and she thrusts the tray into my arms and takes off. I put her tray down and follow her back there.
Carlo is kneeling beside the girl. “Nicole, stand outside and keep people from coming in. Tell them the bathroom has flooded.”
I do what he says, standing in front of the door and turning girls away. But I keep feeling that I should be doing more, like warning Mig and Richard to make room for the EMTs, or helping Carlo and Viola to revive her. I tell myself to stay put and not second-guess Carlo’s instructions.
That girl, that poor girl, could be dying. It could so easily have been Josh. He could be lying on a bathroom floor right now, his life slipping away.
I press my ear to the door but hear nothing. I open it slightly. Carlo
and Viola are bent over the girl. Carlo’s fingers are pressed against her neck as if he’s checking her pulse. “It’s time.”
Viola places her hands on the girl’s head. A light shoots up through her arms, making Viola’s chest thrust out. The light spreads through her and dissolves. She jerks her head back and takes a deep breath. “Yes. I have her.”
“Is she struggling?” Carlo asks.
“She doesn’t understand what’s happening yet.” She looks at Carlo, her eyes gleaming yellow.
My hand jerks, and I release the door.
Oh my God. That light Viola took from her . . . what was it? Was it her soul?
“Where is she?” an EMT shouts, two firefighters behind him.
I point to the bathroom door.
They run in. Moments later I can hear them using a defibrillator. There’s a crowd of people around now, and I’m being pressed against the wall as a group of girls try to get a view inside the bathroom.
It’s too late. They won’t be able to save her.
Viola took her soul.
That means . . . Zin took my attacker’s soul.
A wave of nausea rolls over me. I hurry out an emergency exit and throw up behind the garbage cans. This is just a bad dream. It’s impossible to take another person’s soul. I must have seen it wrong.
I hug myself against the cold, trying to get a grip on myself, trying to make sense of it. But I can’t. Because I know what I saw, and it’s sickening.
The door swings open. Zin is there. “Nic, you’re gonna freeze! Come in.” He waves me in, but I don’t move.
He walks toward me. “I’m sorry you were the one to find her. It’s horrible. A waste of a life. Come, we’re closing up. Let’s get you warm.”
“I’m fine.” I take a step back. I don’t want him to touch me.
He frowns. “I can’t leave you out here. You’re shaking. You’re gonna catch your death.”
I’m not sure if he’s threatening me or comforting me, but my stomach is roiling, and I’m pitted under my thin shirt. “I need a few minutes alone.”
“Okay, but let me get your jacket.” He catches my gaze, and his eyes narrow. “You’re afraid of me. Why?”
Raven Page 6
