by Katie May
Hadley drops my arms.
“Kinda?” she hedges, as if unsure of herself. “I mean, ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” I chime in. “Walking classes are first.”
Auston’s glare might scare others, but not me. I’ve spent years under his unapproving gaze.
“No. Flying lessons—”
I hold out a halting hand. “You said it yourself, Auston. How did you put it?” I grip my chin in thought before snapping my fingers. “Oh yeah! We might want to master walking first… right?”
I offer him a smirk and Hadley my arm.
Instead of accepting, she scowls and crosses her arms under her chest, pushing her cleavage right out of her tank. Auston and I both follow the movement with wide eyes.
“Will you two put your dicks away!” she shouts at us, throwing up her arms. “I’m of the mindset right now not to go with either one of you! I’m here to learn, not to watch you two sword fight. And if either of you stand in my way of doing that, then I’ll request another mentor. Preston, I already warned you about this. You know better. I hear Jake might be interested in the position.”
She cocks her head to the side and looks at us expectantly. For once, Auston has nothing to say and looks down at the ground, finding something interesting in the grass.
I cave first. “I’m sorry, Hadley. You’re right,” I acknowledge, hanging my head. “We should know better. Especially with all that talk about the Darkness—”
“Yeah… about that,” she cuts in. “Jake mentioned something about the Darkness earlier. Do you guys think it’s a real thing?”
“Fucking, Jake.” I meant to mutter that to myself. “Oops. Didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
Hadley laughs. “No worries, Preston, that’s what I call him too.”
“You should see him in class,” Auston chimes in. “He’s seriously obsessed with the Darkness. He thinks he’s been sent to the Afterlife to catch it, and that only he alone can do it. That guy is seriously demented.”
For once, Auston and I agree on something.
“Be careful around him, Hadley,” Auston warns. She huffs and rolls her eyes. “I mean it!” He stalks over to her and lifts her chin with his hand, making sure she’s looking at him. “He’s up to trouble. You hear me? And once he sets his sights on you, which he clearly already has, he’ll put you on a path of destruction.”
She bats at his hand. “Don’t be so fucking cryptic, Auston. I can take care of one rogue Angel.”
Auston and I exchange a worried glance. One thing’s for sure. He cares about her as much as I do. That thought is comforting and aggravating at the same time.
“Auston’s right,” I interject. “A rogue Angel is nothing to shake your head at. Angels are powerful creatures, especially after they obtain their halo.”
Hadley doubles over in laughter. “You mean, those are actually real?” she asks, wiping a tear from her eye.
Auston’s perma-scowl returns. “Yes, they are, and they hold great power. Only Guardians are able to obtain them.”
“Guardians?” she questions. “Like… Guardian Angels? Those are real too?”
Auston’s face grows red. “Yes. More real than you know.”
Auston gives me a knowing glance before turning back to Hadley.
“Okay, flight lessons, since you clearly already know how to walk just fine.” He turns to me. “That seem appropriate to you, Preston?”
“Yeah,” I concede. “She walks just fine.”
If Auston had feathers, he would have ruffled them. Oh wait! He does. Even though we’ve been at Afterworld Academy for three years now, it’s still hard to think of my brothers as anything other than human.
As if he read my mind, Auston flutters his massive wings and launches himself into the air. Hadley shields her eyes from the sun and watches as he swoops and spins in the air.
I feel a twinge of jealousy at the way she looks at him. Yeah, he might be able to fly, but I’ve got something equally as cool up my sleeve. Just wait until she finds out I can reanimate the dead.
Chapter 11
Hadley
Flying sucks.
Or I suck.
At this point, I can’t tell the difference.
The potion Auston handed me was a sickly green color and tasted as nasty as it looked.
And then came the pain.
It lasted only a second, there and gone before I could do anything but moan. It was a tightening sensation, almost as if my skin was convulsing, a snake slithering beneath the surface, followed by what felt like my shoulders snapping. And then, emerging from my back were two glorious wings.
Under the bright sun, they appear iridescent, and they are soft beneath my fingers.
They’re beautiful...
But I can’t fucking use them.
I try, sure, and flap my wings like the best of them, but the most height I manage to get is a few feet off the ground. It’s that feeling of suspension, my feet hovering over the grass and the wind rushing through my hair, and then...
A Hadley pancake as I splatter on the ground.
Falling? Not something I would recommend.
“You’re doing great, Hadley,” Preston calls encouragingly from where he’s sitting on the grass, shoving popcorn in his mouth. How he got popcorn, I still don’t know.
“I’m falling on my ass,” I counter with a huff, pulling my tired and weary body off the ground. I ache in places no person should ever ache.
“Using wings is the equivalent of using any muscle,” Auston tells me. “You have to work up endurance. You can’t just run five miles overnight.”
Maybe, but, shit. I didn’t expect it to suck this bad.
The wings feel leaden and heavy, an unnatural weight that presses down on my back and shoulders. No matter how hard I try, they droop on the ground, dirt collecting and tarnishing the white feathers. Auston’s, of course, are as white as mountain top snow, the unblemished color painfully noticeable in comparison to my own.
“Uncle,” I wheeze, dramatically tapping my palm against the grass.
“Again.” This comes from the drill sergeant himself. Auston stands above me with his arms crossed over his muscular chest and a scowl etched on his face.
“You trying to kill me?”
“This is why she needed walking classes!” Preston yells out helplessly. “Reaper knows all.”
“Reaper shouldn’t speak in third person,” Auston retorts, twisting the word Reaper so it holds the weight of a swear word. My lips purse instinctively at that.
The divide between each species is exceedingly clear, even for me, a person who hasn’t been here long. Dearly Departed, the first years, are the only ones to interact with all four Afterlife groups. Angels tend to stick with one another in little groups...or—wait for it—flocks.
Demons, though surly bastards, are also clustered together in their designated “teams.”
Reapers and Ghosts are the same way, though both are not on campus as frequently due to their travels down to the mortal plane. Hell, I still haven’t even met my Ghost mentor. And my Demon one, come to think of it.
I don’t like the dissent, the animosity. Even as a newbie, I can decipher the cause for such divide—prejudice. This unrealistic mentality that one species is better than the other.
Why am I the only one who sees how fucked up that is?
“Can we stop with this bullshit, please?” I snipe, rolling onto my back and staring up at the light blue sky. Ironically enough, wispy clouds anoint the canvas, giving strength to my original belief that it is an illusion. It’s too perfect.
Or something.
Honestly, I have no idea where I am. Heaven? Hell? A place in between?
Preston and Auston begin to banter back and forth amongst themselves, but I pay them very little mind as I stand, grab the unnecessary water bottle Preston had procured for me, and walk in the opposite direction. It takes the dipshits a few moments to realize I’m leaving.<
br />
Their footsteps crackle foliage as they hurry to keep pace with me.
As one, like little petulant boys getting reprimanded by a teacher, they mutter, “Sorry.”
Yeah, I’m sorry too.
Sorry that this world created a divide between brothers.
“You two are acting like children,” I snap, never one to handle awkward silence. It always have to be filled with something, whether senseless chatter or quips. “Is this just about being different species?”
“Species.” Preston snorts. “You make us sound like gorillas and tigers frolicking through the woods.”
Auston adds tersely, “I don’t frolic.”
“Sure you don’t.” Preston pets his brother’s bicep sympathetically.
“And no,” Auston says to me, ignoring the Reaper, “it isn’t just about our divisions.”
“We haven’t been brothers since we died,” Preston adds crossly. It’s strange to see the normally good-natured, cheerful man looking so broody and somber.
“What happened?” I ask before I can stop myself. In all honesty, I have always been a nosy bitch. It’s a curse and a blessing.
Curiosity gets you answers, while passivity ends with more questions.
Auston and Preston exchange an expressive, almost intimate, glance before they remember they’re supposed to hate each other and look away.
The tips of Preston’s ears burn a vibrant red, and Auston’s perpetual scowl is once more firmly in place.
They’re both as taut as the strings on a violin, and I know I will receive no answers from them.
Yet.
Again, curiosity.
It’s always been my greatest strength.
Dropping it for now, I realize we have looped back towards the bridge. Below, water gushes angrily against the protruding rocks. It’s a steep decline from the shore to the water, one I would not want to experience firsthand. The turbulent river dances, its white foam cresting the shoreline, almost frothy in appearance.
I take a deep breath, trying to ease the tightness in my chest. The conversation with the brothers left me rattled, unhinged. I can sense tension brewing between them like a kettle that has been on the stovetop for too long.
One of these days, they are going to explode.
And I’ll be damned if I get caught in the resulting inferno.
Something in the water catches my eye moments after we reach the intricately crafted bridge sheathed in a golden glow.
My curiosity piqued, I tentatively move to the railing and stare down below.
“What are you doing?” Auston rasps out.
“Maybe it’s a girl thing,” Preston whispers conspiratorially.
I do a double take, my attention fixating on what I thought I saw. At first, I think it’s a trick of the light. My own macabre fascination with death. A product of my already dark mind. Anything is a better alternative to what I actually see.
The water brushes the dead body against one of the many rocks, relentlessly smothering it, wave after wave. Still, I can see every detail of the lifeless form.
It will haunt me for the rest of eternity.
Again.
Until the day I die...again. Because I am dead. A real sucker punch, that thought.
But what I see is even worse than that. It looks like a girl with a cascade of auburn hair, her Academy skirt pushed up to mid-thigh. Her skin resembles fine chinaware after it has been dropped one too many times. Cracks snake down her face and legs, morbidly reminding me of a spiderweb. Gorged out holes remain where her eyes once were. Black, charred skin spans from her nose to her ears.
A large body comes up behind me and takes a sharp breath.
“Don’t look,” Auston urges, grabbing my shoulder and hauling me into his chest. Preston makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat, a combination between a cry and a yell.
Auston can tell me not to look as many times as he wants to, but that doesn’t change the fact that I did look.
I saw everything.
My stomach is a tumultuous mixture of dread and fear, as each breath saws out of me. What little I ate last night threatens to expel.
“What the fuck?” Preston breathes.
I close my eyes, but that makes no difference. The air is already contaminated by a dead girl’s silent screams.
Chapter 12
Hadley
Afterlife 101 - The Fundamentals
The fissures on her skin, like a shattered porcelain doll. The black, tar-like blood seeping—no, oozing—from an opened wound in her head. Empty eye sockets with residual ash.
“Hadley. Hadley! Are you listening?” Mrs. Myle shouts, lips pursed as if she’s eaten something sour. Her hands are resting—hovering?—over her translucent hips. If her irritated expression is anything to go by, this isn’t the first time she tried to get my attention.
Layla stares at me sympathetically, but even she isn’t aware of the reason for my inner turmoil.
I’ve never been good at compartmentalizing my pain, preferring to externalize something internal. Being sick had taught me the value of life, but before that? Pain was easier to understand than confusion. The constant swarm of questions all sick kids have—why me? Why now? The trivial bullshit of one doctor saying something and another immediately contradicting it. So, yeah, I relied on pain, some of it by my own hand. It was easier that way.
My fingernails dig into my palms, creating tiny crescent-shaped indents, but I relax my fist away before they can draw blood.
The scars marring the backs of my thighs are a testament to that pain, that agony, that emptiness. Being dead hasn’t eliminated those scars. I wonder if it’s because they’re a part of me, a part of my story. Without them, I wouldn’t be the Hadley I am today.
Seeing that girl...
All of those feelings bubble to the surface until I’m choking on them, drowning beneath their seductive pulls. It feels as if I’m tumbling through an insatiable undertow, never able to breach that pocket of fresh air.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?” I ask, my voice meek.
Mrs. Myle’s face pinches, but she concedes with a bob of her head. “I asked if you knew what happened to the souls not chosen for Afterworld Academy.”
Obviously, they go to Heaven or Hell, but that isn’t what comes out of my mouth. Instead, I ask a question I want to know the answer to.
“Can souls die even though they’re already dead?” I counter.
Cracks snaking down her arms...
Mrs. Myle physically recoils, surprised by my impromptu question. Her face drains of all color.
“What do you mean?” Her strident voice quivers, though I can’t discern if that’s from fear or shock.
“Is it true that when souls die they cease to exist? They go to the abyss?” I continue. Layla looks green beside me, and even Aggie looks slightly unsettled.
Charred eye sockets, as if her eyes were burned out of her head...
“That’s true,” Mrs. Myle answers at last. She straightens to her full height, smoothing down the long skirts cascading around her.
“And how can you kill a soul?” My line of questioning is putting the class on edge, their unease almost palpable in the air. The usual whispers and fidgeting have diminished.
Mrs. Myle clears her throat. “The same way you can kill a human. The Afterlife is sort of like a second life. And if you die in this one, you die for good. To put it simply—if your soul dies, your essence dies.”
“Ceases to exist,” I correct, voice cracking. “You cease to exist.”
Mrs. Myle swallows audibly.
“That’s correct.”
“So souls can be murdered?” That innocuous question has the entire class leaning forward with bated breath.
“As with mankind, there are facets of good and evil. But the Fates have a reason for everything they do. Sometimes, however, accidents can happen. Say...someone falling off a bridge.” She levels me with a pointed look. “Horrible accident. But not
something that could happen regularly. Do you understand?”
The tension I didn’t even know I was carrying leaves my body. My shoulders, which had been up to my ears, droop as Mrs. Myle lifts the burden I was carrying.
One would think I would be desensitized to death and its connotations. I am, in a way. At the same time, it’s difficult for me to comprehend oblivion. Nothingness. How can someone just cease to exist? Ceasing to breathe, I can understand. And honestly, I’m somewhat okay with it. Humans have expiration dates, simple as that. But seeing a soul die? The hideousness that marks them in death? It’s not something I can wrap my head around, causing my thoughts to somersault.
Am I relieved to know it was an accident?
Of course.
Does that eradicate the images assaulting my mind?
Not at all.
Combat Training
Master likes kicking my ass.
Okay, so it’s not technically him kicking my ass, but he might as well have been. The Dearly Departed pitted against me—named Angel, ironically enough—practiced mixed martial arts when she was still alive.
Yup, you heard me right. The poor little cancer girl is forced to fight a two-hundred pound, pure muscled woman, who spent her life perfecting the art of ass kicking.
And Master?
He’s huddled in the corner sipping chocolate milk from a bendy straw and cackling malevolently while his black wings flutter around him. I don’t know if I’m supposed to be intimidated by him...or if I’m supposed to start laughing. But then he glares at me over the rim of his glass, and I realize laughing would lead to pain. Lots and lots of pain.
After the fifth takedown—I’m getting well acquainted with the mat—I gasp out, “I quit! Take me to Heaven or wherever I’m supposed to go.”
“You can’t quit!” Master sneers down at me, moving from his customary spot in the corner. He always wears that expression with me. Sort of a combination of him having to take a shit and him eating shit.
Angel moves off of me and extends a hand. I eye the proffered limb warily...before grabbing it and attempting to take her down with me.
