by Kady Cross
I reached into the little cubby and curled my fingers around the razor. It ought to have been cool to the touch, but it wasn’t. It was hot, as though it had been lying in the sun for hours.
Images strobed behind my eyes, slamming violently into my brain; Bent as a young man, holding that very razor to a girl’s throat—a thin line of crimson. Using it on a man who had beat him at cards, on another woman who refused to have sex with him. On his own mother.
That was when he’d begun using the razor just for fun. He’d shave his face with it in the morning, then spend hours sharpening it so it could slice through flesh with almost painless efficiency. Bent’s favorite part had been seeing the look of surprise on his victims’ faces when they realized what he’d done.
Little nicks here and there—enough to sting. Enough to bleed, to incite panic. Slicing through flesh like it was butter, watching that sweet, red blood bubble to the surface. The smell of copper in his nostrils, the sobs in his ears. So. Damn. Good.
One girl, he’d licked the salt trail of her tears from her cheeks before following that same path with the razor.
“Ben,” I rasped, because he was closest to me. “Reach into my bag and see if there’s a plastic baggie in there.”
He opened the flap of my messenger bag and rummaged inside. A second or two later, he pulled out a Ziploc bag. It had sandwich crumbs in it, but I’d be embarrassed about that later.
“Dump some salt in,” I instructed. And once he’d filled a third of the bag, I tossed the razor into it. “Now add more and seal it.”
A roar rose up around us as the salt mixture covered the weapon. It seemed to start in the basement and climb up the walls, shaking the floor beneath our feet. The windows rattled, panes cracking. The bars were on the outside and would not protect us if the glass blew.
Neither Kevin nor I should have that blade. Bent would go for one of us immediately. The only other person strong enough to handle it was Ben. He’d been raised with knowledge of how to protect himself, and he wasn’t as afraid of ghosts—not like most people.
“Hide it,” I told him. I didn’t watch to see what he did. I turned to the others. “Get out.”
The place was still trembling when we ran out into the corridor, but not with the same frenzy. I knew better than to be relieved.
“What the hell?” Mace muttered.
A wheelchair moved slowly toward us. There wasn’t anyone in it. Cliche, but effective. Roxi yelped and grabbed Gage’s hand. Wren glided over to it and stopped it from moving any farther. That wasn’t good. The fact that she could interact with it meant that the spiritual energy in this place was strong. Too strong. Behind her I saw a flicker of light—like a glitch on a baby monitor. It was a man.
It was Bent.
“Wren!” I shouted, breaking into a run. Son of a bitch was not going to get her again. I pulled the canister of salt from my bag and wrenched it open, flinging it forward. “Duck!”
My sister dived out of the way just in time. Unfortunately, so did the man. The salt and iron scattered uselessly on the floor. That was okay—it bought us a few seconds.
I grabbed Wren’s hand. “We have to get out of here. Now.”
Her gaze locked with mine. “If he’ll let us out.”
“Oh, he’ll let us out,” I said. It wasn’t all bravado. This wasn’t my first bully of a ghost, and I still had a few tricks up my sleeve. And I had Wren.
Another flicker. I flung more salt, this time hitting a young girl in the chest. She screamed and fizzled out.
Sarah cried out. I whipped around to see several ghosts surrounding my friends. An old woman in a stained nightgown pulled at Sarah’s hair. A small boy tried to bite at Gage’s knee. Mace swung a heavy wrench and scattered a middle-aged woman in a nurse’s uniform. Ben flung salt, taking out another ghost and the one on Sarah.
Josiah Bent materialized a few feet down the corridor. Lights flickered around him like camera flashes. He looked as solid and real as any of us, but he didn’t have his razor—we did.
And from the look on his face, he wanted it back.
“Get to the door!” I shouted, putting myself between him and my friends as they ran for the stairs.
Wren put herself between me and Bent as I grabbed another salt can from my bag. Her hair spiraled like crimson tentacles as she drew herself up. She was taller—bigger than normal, her eyes bottomless black pits as she lashed out at him. Wicked claws slashed Bent’s face and laid it open—black blood spraying.
He looked surprised. Then he grabbed her by the throat. I didn’t hesitate. I emptied some of the can into my palm and threw a handful of the mixture—avoiding Wren—raining it down on him like hail. Bent shrieked and shattered.
I lifted my arm to shield myself from the spray of salt. When I lowered it, I blinked my stinging eyes. For a split second I saw a woman with white hair.
“You have to get out of here now,” she said. And then she was gone.
“Let’s go!” I shouted, reaching for my sister. She grabbed my hand and started running after the others. Her touch gave me preternatural speed.
We caught up to our friends downstairs, where we’d come in.
“Get out!” I yelled at them. “If the door won’t open, kick it down!”
“I’ll kick it down,” Wren promised. And she went and did just that. As it flew open, our companions ran toward it.
Mace fell to his knees, wrench clattering to the floor. He clutched his chest.
“No!” I shouted. I hit the floor hard beside him. The floor was so thick with dirt that I jerked to a stop rather than sliding. I caught Mace as he pitched forward. His eyes rolled back into his skull as he twitched in my arms. This was bad. So very bad.
Ben, Sarah, Gage and Roxi stopped just before the exit, each one staring at Mace in horror. Sarah must have been terrified or in shock, because she didn’t move. She just stood there, staring as though she couldn’t believe what was going on.
And all around us the building shook. Doors slammed. The telephone began to ring. I heard the shuffling footsteps of hundreds of lethargic and drugged inmates above my head. No longer just flickers. They had manifested. Goose bumps jumped up along my arms and neck. Bent was raising a damn army.
Wren heard it, too. “Lark? We have to go.”
Ben—brave Ben—had started toward me, ready to help me with Mace. But he had Bent’s razor, and if he didn’t escape with it, we were all dead. “Run!” I shouted at him and the others. “Run now!”
And they did. Call them cowards; call them smart. It didn’t matter. They did what I told them to do and that was all I cared about.
Wren grabbed at my arm. “Let’s go.”
I looked up at her. “I have to help him.”
Shadows crept down the hall—a legion of darkness coming to claim us.
And then I heard the whisper, “Child. Dead Born.” I froze. Bent wasn’t coming for me, or for Mace. He was coming for Wren. No way was I going to let him have her.
“Get out of here,” I told her.
“Not without you.”
“Damn it, Wren! Get the fuck out of here!”
She just stared at me—scared. I swallowed. I couldn’t help Mace and protect her, too. “I’m sorry,” I whispered as I stuck my hand in my bag.
“For what?”
I lashed out, striking with the iron bar Ben had given me. Normally Wren was solid to me, but the iron cut through her like she was butter and it a hot knife. I heard her cry out as she exploded into sparkling confetti that rained down around me.
She was so going to kick my ass if I survived the night.
The shadows came closer. Apparently Bent had decided anything was better than nothing. I had to act quickly.
“Leave me,” Mace rasped.
I made a f
ace at him. “Don’t be stupid. I owe you. I’m not leaving you.”
He really didn’t look good. His face, usually gorgeous, was contorted in pain. “You are so annoying.”
“Shut up.” And then I yanked up his shirt and took a look at that ugly, ugly gouge on his chest, weeping tar. It was so freaking awful. I slapped my hand on it, and prayed—yes prayed—that whatever mojo I’d worked on Sarah earlier worked again. It was my only chance of getting both of us out of there alive. I was not going to spend eternity in this place, and neither was Mace.
I felt a jolt up my arm—like sticking my finger in a light socket and then getting punched in the chest. Mace bolted upright, eyes wide. Apparently he’d felt it, too.
A tendril of shadow on the floor curled toward him. Another eased down the wall not far from my head. And down by the stairs, Josiah Bent began to flicker again. Any second he could manifest—and he was going to be so pissed.
“Let’s go.” I jumped to my feet—knees knocking—and held out my hand. Mace grabbed my fingers and pushed to his feet as I pulled. His arm went across my shoulders, mine around his waist. Together we ran toward the entrance, our fear giving us what felt like superhuman speed. I think I could have carried him if I’d had to.
The door was open, and we squeezed through a split second before Bent manifested enough to slam it shut.
Now we had to make it to the graveyard. There was no way we’d make it there before the ghost—or any ghost—came after us again. I just hoped I had enough salt and iron left to protect us. At least I still had the iron rod Ben had given me.
We ran for the street. I didn’t care if security saw us. Two rent-a-cops were the least of my concerns at that moment. My heart was in my throat and my lungs felt as though they were going to burst as we ran across the street, straight for the grass. Behind us a roar gathered; Bent and his minions weren’t about to let us get away that easily. There was no way we’d get away at this pace, but if I could get Mace close to safety, I might be able to hold them off until he was with the others.
After that, I didn’t know what would happen.
Suddenly, there was a flash of light—right in my eyes! I stopped short, almost falling to the grass. Mace slammed into me, pitching me forward. I blinked, and held up my free hand, shielding my eyes as I looked up at the source of the light.
Shit.
“Hey, kids,” Officer Olgilvie said with malicious cheer. “Whatcha up to?”
WREN
She expelled me. My own sister! Sent me to the Shadow Lands and made me have to pull myself together again. By the time I’d done it, everyone was out of the building, back to the graveyard, and Lark and Mace had been arrested by that terrible man. There was nothing I could do about it, either. If she hadn’t expelled me I might have been able to frighten him enough that he let them go, but no—she had to be all overprotective of me. I understood it, but didn’t like it.
At least getting arrested kept them safe. Got them off asylum grounds.
Josiah Bent was an awful creature. Even if I hadn’t met him, or seen some of his deeds through Lark when she’d picked up that razor—it radiated off him like light from a bulb. I’d never felt anything like that maliciousness before, and to feel it coming through my sister... Well, I never wanted to experience it again, but I would have to. We couldn’t allow him to kill more people, but how could we stop something so powerful that he commanded an army of ghosts?
“Ohmigodohmigodohmigod,” Roxi bent down, head hanging by her knees.
Ben leaned against his car. He looked pale, but surprisingly stoic for what they’d all just experienced. I was a ghost and the whole thing had shaken me. “What do we do?”
Kevin threw his gear into the trunk of his vehicle and slammed it shut. “We find the bastard’s grave and burn his remains.”
“Not tonight,” said Ben. “Not without a plan, and not without Lark and Mace.”
“When?” Gage demanded. “Did you see what he did to Mace? For all we know Mace might be dead.”
They all looked at each other.
“This thing wants to kill us,” Gage went on, eyes wide, voice shaking. “It’s going to kill us.”
He was right, of course. Lark would have said something about not allowing that to happen—that they would kick Bent’s ass. I didn’t have anything like that to say. I was very scared at that moment that not only would Bent get my friends, but that he’d get me, too. He’d been coming for me, taunting me. The pull had been so strong, the urge to join him and let myself go so tempting.
Of the two of us, Lark had always thought that she was the “bad” one. My sister had no idea the things I sometimes thought—the things I sometimes wanted to do. If I could help it, she never would. The one thing keeping me from joining Bent—beyond Lark—was the fact that I was not going to be another ghost’s servant. I was Dead Born. I might be fairly ignorant of my kind, young and still new, but I was aware that I was part of a special caste—one that I wasn’t certain I wanted to embrace.
But I did know that I wasn’t a follower.
“Mace isn’t dead,” I told Kevin. “But if any of you go back onto Haven Crest grounds tonight, you will be.”
He repeated what I’d said.
Gage slumped against Ben’s car. I thought for a moment that he might cry, but he didn’t.
Ben folded his arms over his chest. “What about Lark and Mace? We just leave them?”
“They’ll be fine,” Sarah said. “Mace’s father won’t let them actually go to jail, not for trespassing. He wants Mace to go to an Ivy League so bad I think Mace could murder someone and his father would still try to cover it up.”
I hoped she was right—not about Mace committing murder, of course. She didn’t seem too worried about her boyfriend, but maybe she was just that confident that he’d be okay. Or maybe she was in shock after what she’d just experienced.
Or maybe she was just more concerned about herself, which was the conclusion I chose, because I didn’t like her very much. I would have stuck my tongue out if I thought she might see it. I settled for tracing my finger along her spine just to watch her shudder.
“What do we do now?” Roxi asked. They were lost without Lark to take charge.
“We go home,” Kevin said after a few seconds of silence. “Bent had to have a patient number. If we can find it, we can find his grave and burn the bastard.”
“We’ve got his razor, too,” Ben informed them. He pulled the plastic bag Lark had given him from his pocket. “Should we try to destroy it first?”
They all looked at Kevin. Kevin looked at me. “Yes,” I said.
Kevin nodded. “Wren says we should burn it.” He glanced around at the other cars parked nearby. “But not here.”
Ben frowned at the baggie. “We should probably wait for Lark and Mace.”
“We don’t know when they’ll be back,” Sarah said. “Are you okay with holding on to...that thing while we wait?”
Ben shrugged. “I don’t think Bent knows where it is.”
“He’s right,” I said. “The salt, herbs and iron keep him from it. Ben will be safe as long as he doesn’t take the razor from the bag.”
Kevin repeated what I’d said. Ben tossed the baggie into his car.
“I need to check on Lark,” I told him. To be honest, I was a little lost without her, too. I was more concerned about her than I was angry—although I was still really mad. Getting smacked with iron came as close to physical pain as anything in my world could. It was terrifying to be ripped apart like that, and my sister was going to hear just how much.
“I can come by later,” I added. “Let you know what’s going on.”
Kevin nodded and looked at me. I could see that he was worried—his aura was wild with it. He was also frightened and angry. The only thing he could do about
it was try to find Bent’s patient number—I wasn’t going to stand in the way of that. Going to Lark was the best thing I could do. She was my tether, and I’d regain my strength with her.
Kevin told the others that I’d update him later. It would be so much easier if I could just talk to them myself, but I didn’t know how to make that happen. For someone who was supposed to be so strong, I felt pretty weak.
I was just about to go when Roxi cried out. I turned and saw Gage stumble out of Ben’s car. I hadn’t even noticed him get into it.
His hands were bloody.
“Oh, no,” I whispered as he fell into Ben’s arms.
“Wren!” Kevin cried.
I skipped forward, crossing the distance in a matter of blinks. Gage convulsed in Ben’s arms. His eyes had rolled back into his head and his skin was covered in a fine sheen of sweat.
“What’s wrong with him?” Sarah cried.
“Roll up his sleeves, please?” I asked. Kevin did. The spectral wounds on Gage’s arms—invisible to all but me—were ragged, wet, red-and-black gouges in his flesh. But there were new wounds as well—self-inflicted.
Bent must have been whispering to him through his infection, like he had to Sarah at the coffee shop. Gage had gotten into the car and cut himself because Bent wanted us to know this wasn’t over. He could still get us. I could see muscle and tendon, inflamed and infected. Tar-like pus ran down his hands, mixing with his blood, dripping from his fingers.
“He needs a hospital,” I said. “Now. Pour salt on his arms.”
“Put him in the backseat,” Kevin commanded, opening his car. Ben put the twitching Gage inside. He grabbed a chip bag from the floor of the backseat and used it to pick up the bloody razor, which he closed before shoving it back into the bag of salt. He shook it so it was covered.
He was learning fast when it came to ghosts.
“Is he going to be coming for us?” Ben asked, glancing around as though there would be any warning. “He knows we have the razor.”
“I don’t feel him,” I said.
