Death and the Girl Next Door

by Darynda Jones

  She was honored? I sat there, staring in awe at the most magnificent being I had ever seen—so bright, I could hardly look at her; so loving, I thought my heart would burst—and she was honored?

  She leaned toward me. “You, the last prophet of Arabeth, are of fire, an element that can also bring light or darkness, that can do good or cause harm, that can tip the scales or bring balance. Combined with the powers of Azrael, the possibilities are limitless. You may even, given the right circumstances, save the world. You must decide now. Do you accept?”

  “Yes.” I answered even faster than Cameron had.

  “Lorelei.”

  “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  “Lorelei.”

  I bunched my face up, confused again.

  “For heaven’s sake, young lady.” Grandma’s voice broke into my dream. “It’s time to get up. You’re going to be late for school.”

  I awoke with a start and took in my surroundings. Everyone else was just waking as well. I looked at Jared. He flashed a sleepy, boyishly gorgeous smile at me and I almost seized with the jolt of pleasure that shot through me.

  “My heavens. You kids must have been working for hours.” Grandma stood in a flannel button-down and loose slacks, otherwise known as her cleaning duds, her soft blue eyes concerned as she surveyed the room. Glitch was on the floor, Brooklyn on the window seat, and Cameron in Brooklyn’s bed. Rumpled clothes and bed-heads gave us each that much-sought-after, all-night-kegger look. And as amazingly healed as both Jared and Cameron were, their appearance still had a certain bar-brawl quality to it.

  Grandma took it all in, pausing a long, long moment on Jared, then looked back at me. “I’ll make some breakfast while you kids get ready for school.”

  “Oh, no, Grandma, you don’t need to do that,” I said, trying to sit up without cringing outwardly. Freaking ribs.

  “Lorelei Elizabeth McAlister,” she scolded, “you never let me make you breakfast. It’ll just take me a minute.”

  I acquiesced. “Thank you, Grandma.”

  “I get the first shower!”

  Before I could argue, Glitch jumped toward the bathroom. He glanced back, eyeing Cameron, his expression hard, before he locked the door.

  “So much for hot water,” Brooklyn said, oblivious.

  * * *

  The morning progressed in a rather tense, tight kind of awkwardness. My grandparents hovered over us throughout breakfast, asking a million questions about the most bizarre things, which was very unlike them. And I didn’t miss the odd looks cast in Jared’s direction, or the quick glances they cast toward each other. I couldn’t blame them. He had been sleeping on my floor. Thankfully, the T-shirt he wore had sleeves just long enough to cover the tattoos around his biceps. It was one thing to have a boy in my room. It was another to have a tattooed boy in my room.

  The five of us drove to school in utter silence. Glitch reluctantly drove Cameron’s truck again so I could keep an eye on the middleweight contenders in the backseat. But they didn’t say two words to each other. It seemed no one knew quite what to say.

  Even though Jared and Cameron were both sore, they weren’t in nearly as much pain as they should’ve been. Their scrapes and bruises were nothing but light marks on their perfect faces now. I wanted to comment on it, but everyone was so quiet, I couldn’t bring myself to speak.

  I also wanted to ask about the dream. It felt so real, so warm and intoxicating. But, again, the silence was like a rock wall, cold and impenetrable.

  As we pulled into the parking lot, I noticed a crowd gathered in front of the gym. Then I saw a guy with a microphone and another with a camera.

  “That’s him!” Brooklyn screamed, proving the wall wasn’t that impenetrable. “That’s the reporter!”

  “What reporter?” Jared asked.

  “Well, crap,” I said, and made an illegal U-turn.

  “Where are you going?” Cameron asked.

  I decided to answer Cameron’s question first. It was easier. “I’m going to the faculty parking lot.”

  “Students can’t park in the faculty lot. Quite the little felon these days, aren’t we?” he said.

  I chose to ignore him. “And as for that reporter,” I said, responding to Jared’s question, “he apparently saw me get hit by that delivery truck and then saw Hercules over there drag your unconscious body to his pickup.” I narrowed my eyes on Cameron before refocusing on the road. “Let’s just say he’s very curious. He’s been following us around.”

  “And he has a tape,” Brooklyn said.

  “A tape?” Jared asked, suddenly alarmed. “What’s on it?”

  Brooklyn turned to him. “We don’t know. But we do know there’s just enough on it to make him dangerous.”

  Even though I parked at the farthest edge of the faculty lot, we had barely stepped out of the car when Ms. Mullins came charging toward us.

  Cameron tsked. “See, crime never pays.”

  “Listen, blondie,” Brooke said, pointing a finger at him, “if you don’t have anything nice to say—”

  He stepped close and stared fixedly down at her, his eyes sparkling with humor. He meant to fluster her, and it worked.

  “—then just … just don’t say anything at all.”

  “Okay,” he said softly.

  Brooklyn turned from him slightly winded. Oh, this was getting so very, very good.

  Ms. Mullins stopped short when she saw who we were with. After a brief recovery period, she eyed Jared up and down, did the same to Cameron, then waved her arms to herd us inside.

  “You kids hurry in. There’s some creepy reporter guy and a camera crew looking for you.”

  “Oh,” I said in surprise. “I thought we were in trouble for parking here.”

  “I figured you might have to. That’s why I came over.”

  Once again, Ms. Mullins saved the day. Man, I loved that woman. But before we made it to the door, creepy reporter guy found us anyway.

  “Ms. McAlister!” he called, running with his microphone like they did on TV. He was short—well, for a man—and had dark slick hair plastered to his head. His cameraman, trying to keep up, slipped on the wet grass and almost fell. Which could have been costly. “Lorelei McAlister?”

  “Crap,” I said. I looked back at Jared and Cameron. “Go. Hurry before they get you on tape. Again.”

  The doors facing the faculty lot were always locked. Ms. Mullins tossed Cameron her keys, then turned back to the reporter rushing toward us, her arms raised to stop him.

  “Gentlemen,” she said with a fierce authoritative boom in her voice, “this is school property. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  “I just need to ask Ms. McAlister some questions. I’m John Dell, Ms. McAlister, investigative reporter for the Tourist Channel.”

  I was a little surprised the Tourist Channel had investigative reporters.

  Ms. Mullins stepped in front of him and almost got knocked in the face with a microphone. She couldn’t have been more than an inch or two taller than me, but that didn’t stop her for an instant. “I don’t care if you’re Walter Cronkite. This is school property and you don’t have permission to be here.” She glanced over her shoulder. “You girls go inside.”

  We obeyed immediately. As Ms. Mullins fended off the reporter, Principal Davis came bustling out the door Cameron was holding open for us.

  He took in Cameron and Jared with surprise. “I see you two have kissed and made up.”

  “Not really,” Cameron said, but Mr. Davis was already out the door and dealing with the intruders.

  “Well, that was exciting,” Brooklyn said as we rushed inside and headed for class.

  “That guy’s gonna be a problem,” I said.

  “Like we don’t have enough of those already.” Brooklyn kept an eye on Cameron, her insinuation clear.

  “What?” he asked.

  After Glitch caught up with us, we made plans to meet in the back hall between first and second hours. Brooke and I esco
rted Jared to Mrs. Geary’s office, the school counselor, to iron out his schedule before we headed to our first class.

  I was worried Ms. Mullins would bombard me with questions about creepy reporter guy, but she didn’t bring it up once. She did, however, spring a pop quiz over the chapter I had neglected to read the night before. Grandma was going to kill me.

  SOPHOMORE BLUES

  “So, he said you were like forbidden fruit?” Brooklyn asked as we walked to meet the boys in the back hall.

  Ms. Mullins gave us free time after the quiz, and I told Brooke everything Jared had said the night before. Well, the best parts anyway.

  “He said I made his mouth water.” The memory had me blushing with elation.

  “Man, I want to be someone’s forbidden fruit.”

  “Well, you are pretty fruity.”

  “True.”

  Glitch was talking to Jared when we strolled up to them, asking him something about becoming transparent, and I was amazed at all the attention directed our way. I was also a little pissed off. We had important stuff to talk about, and the last thing we needed was a bunch of spectators listening in on our every word. We were standing in a tiled alcove in the back hall that, unfortunately, amplified sound.

  “Did you get your schedule?” I asked Jared. He was wearing a pair of Cameron’s jeans—much to Cameron’s chagrin—a red and black Riley High T-shirt, and an old bomber jacket Glitch never wore because the company had sent the wrong size. It practically swallowed him, but he was too lazy to send it back. It fit Jared perfectly.

  “Yes. It seems I’m to be a sophomore.” He handed me a folded paper. A tiny thrill spiked within me. He was a sophomore, like me. Yes! “I’m not certain it’s a good idea,” he continued. “I feel like I should be older.”

  “Well, you totally blend either way,” Brooklyn said. “Cameron’s a sophomore and you’re both the same height … freaking-tall-foot-five.”

  “I suppose,” he said, unconvinced.

  Brooklyn seemed to be getting annoyed with all the stares too. One girl in particular had taken quite a fancy to Riley High’s newest student. “Keep walking, freshman,” she said, like being a freshman was something to be ashamed of.

  “Do you feel out of place?” I asked Jared.

  He lowered his head. “I do, but not for the reasons you think.”

  Cameron walked up then, his brows raised at Brooklyn. “That was rude. I’m impressed.”

  “Don’t be.” She craned her neck back and forth, but the girl had already started down the hall. “Sorry ’bout that!” she yelled after her.

  Cameron shook his head. “All my hopes, dashed in a blinding moment of regret.”

  “Well, you were right,” she said. “That was rude.”

  “You’re rude to me all the time,” Glitch said.

  “You don’t count.”

  He folded his arms over his chest. “I forgot I was pond scum. I’m like a minuscule one-celled organism in a multi-celled world.”

  “What are the reasons I think?” I asked Jared.

  He placed his fingers under my chin and raised my face to his. I froze. One corner of his mouth tipped up in a devilish way as he nailed me to the floor with one steady look. The world quieted, and I wondered if he had stopped the spin of the Earth again, if he had stopped time.

  “Listen, amoeba boy—,” Brooklyn said behind me.

  Nope.

  “—it’s just that being rude to you is different from being rude to a complete stranger.” She placed her arm in Glitch’s. “It’s like that time you set your little brother’s shorts on fire … while he was still wearing them. I mean, would you ever do that to a complete stranger?”

  “I guess not,” Glitch said.

  “So, you feel better now?”

  “No.”

  “You think I’m sorry I’m here,” Jared said, his voice quiet and sure, “and that could not be further from the truth.”

  Sometimes I could see through his dark eyes straight into his soul. So old. So knowledgeable. And yet he seemed like a kid, like us. Charm radiated from every inch of his body, an innocent charm, like he was completely unaware he had it. I thought I saw silver flakes in his dark eyes. They sparkled as always when he smiled.

  “You, you, you, you, and you.”

  I startled to attention as Mr. Davis barreled toward us.

  “I need you five in my office now.”

  Concern made my heart beat faster. “All five of us?” I asked.

  Mr. Davis’s brows snapped together like he thought I was being smart. I wasn’t. I was simply in denial.

  He turned without comment and headed back toward his office. I glanced up at Jared. His smile had vanished. He watched Mr. Davis walk away, his expression guarded.

  When we walked to his office, Mr. Davis was standing outside, talking to Sheriff Villanueva. A jolt of fear raced through me. This was it. This was the end. We were in so much trouble. I just wasn’t completely sure why. I mean, what did we do wrong? Besides vandalize a car or two, shatter a few windows downtown.

  Principal Davis turned toward us. “If you four will go in, the sheriff and I would like to talk to Lorelei alone.”

  Jared’s hand was around my arm instantly while Cameron, Glitch, and Brooklyn shifted nervous eyes at one another.

  “Sure, Mr. Davis,” Brooklyn said at last, adding a light bounce to her step. As she walked past, she took hold of Jared’s sleeve and dragged him, as nonchalantly as possible, inside.

  Jared glanced over his shoulder, but I couldn’t read his expression. I didn’t think he was worried I would say anything. He seemed more concerned about me than himself.

  “I guess you’ve made a new friend,” Mr. Davis said.

  I turned toward him.

  “Anything else you care to tell me about Jared Kovach?”

  I took in the two men. Sheriff Villanueva wasn’t very tall, but I heard he’d been a Golden Gloves boxing champion. He had a strong presence, intense, though his kind features seemed to balance out his rough edges.

  I shrugged. “I told you what I know.”

  “But you two have been hanging out more,” he said. “Have you learned anything new?”

  The sheriff’s focus never wavered off my face. He was reading every move I made, every reaction I had to Mr. Davis’s questions. I decided to cooperate fully. And a tad deceptively.

  “Look,” I said in a conspiratorial voice, “Jared’s parents are having a really hard time right now. He’s staying with us for a while, and we’re doing everything in our power to keep him from becoming suicidal. I mean, he’s been really upset. His parents are on the verge of divorce. They’re about to lose their house in Santa Fe—”

  “I thought he was from Los Angeles,” Mr. Davis said.

  Oops. “Well, right,” I said, stuttering slightly, “I was getting to that. They lost their house in Los Angeles a while back, and now they’re about to lose their house in Santa Fe too.”

  “They’re going to lose two houses?”

  “Yes,” I said, praying that he believe me, “if his dad doesn’t get a new job soon.”

  After a long pause, he said, “Okay, go on.”

  “Well, so anyway, he’s staying with us until his parents decide what they’re going to do. That’s why he didn’t show up back to school. He was hoping to be back with them permanently before the week was up.”

  The sheriff spoke up then. “Are you related?”

  “No. Well, not exactly. His parents are very close to my grandparents.”

  “I thought you had just met him,” Mr. Davis said.

  “Yes. I did. But my grandfather has known his dad for years.” Why was I saying these things? I was trying to keep my grandparents out of this mess, but one phone call and I was busted.

  I’d gone crazy. It was true. Somewhere in the midst of all the chaos, I had lost my marbles.

  “Why didn’t you mention that the other day in my office?”

  “Mr. Davis, I didn’
t feel comfortable talking about Jared or his family without his consent. I hope you can understand that. Jared’s been really upset.”

  “Yes, you said that.”

  The sheriff passed a sideways glance to Mr. Davis before asking, “So, why don’t you tell me what you know about a fight on Main Street and a vandalized Buick.”

  “A fight?”

  “Yes, a fight. Between a tall dark-haired teenager and a tall blond one.”

  “Really? When was this?”

  “On Tuesday, supposedly right after you left the Java Loft.”

  I gulped in air as I pretended to understand. “Wasn’t that an earthquake?” I looked from one man to the other, my eyes wide and curious. I should totally become an actor. “Well, whatever it was, I missed the whole thing. Glitch and Brooklyn told me about it later that night. You can ask them.”

  “So, Jared Kovach could have been in a fight and you wouldn’t have known about it?”

  “Sheriff Villanueva, Jared was with his parents in Santa Fe. Remember, Mr. Davis?” I squinted at him questioningly. “I told you in your office yesterday, he was upset and wanted to be with them. He just got back late last night. He couldn’t have had anything to do with a fight or an earthquake or whatever-the-heck else could’ve happened.”

  The sheriff surveyed me suspiciously. “Ms. McAlister, I have some rather credible eyewitnesses. And to be totally honest, both Kovach and Lusk look a little beaten and bruised.”

  You have no idea, I thought. Even though I didn’t comment, I held my ground with an ultra-innocent expression.

  After a moment, and a rather lengthy, annoyed sigh, he looked back at the principal. “This is getting us nowhere. Let’s go back in.”

  When we entered Mr. Davis’s office, I came to a screeching halt just inside the threshold. My grandparents were there. In his office. Sitting. In his office. My heartbeat skyrocketed.

  Grandpa stood.

  “What are you guys doing here?” I asked him, shock forcing my voice into a breathy whisper.

  “Bill,” Principal Davis said, “if you would like to sit down, I’ll explain what this is about.”