The Given

by Vicki Pettersson

  “I knew that as soon as I saw her reaction to the news that you and Shaw were a couple, but honestly? I don’t care. I just want you all out of my way.”

  Kit needed more time. Drawing her legs in tight, she went with her gut. “Barbara killed your father, didn’t she?”

  Ray’s expression darkened at that, and his mouth slowly altered, some sort of mute misery drawing it down at the sides. “Her story was that Gina rolled back into town and killed him, which is possible, given that Gina disappeared again, too.” Ray sighed heavily. “But I don’t think so. Gina was genuinely spooked. I know, because I followed her that day.”

  Kit froze, trying to wrap her head around that. “So you . . .”

  “I left the house.”

  He had left.

  “You . . . you followed . . .”

  Ray’s mouth re-formed into its hard line as he waited for her to catch up, watching her struggle for words with a look that was almost hungry. When she finally figured it out, jolting as she stared at him, his lips shifted again, this time turning upward.

  “Life can be so ironic,” he finally said, almost to himself. “I mean, who’da thought I’d be using the same gun on you fourteen whole years after I killed your father?”

  Silence flooded in so quickly that Kit had the sense of dropping into it, as if submerged. Yet it was also the loudest thing she’d ever heard in her life. Both out of breath and unable to take another, she couldn’t even feel her ribs in her chest. Instead, she floated up, up, and up as Ray aimed the shotgun at her, and from within the folds of her skirt, her arm rose as well.

  The bullet that tore through Ray’s naked body was muted, too. All Kit heard was its sizzle as it left the gun, and the only thing that brought her back around was the recoil of the .22 in her palm.

  Ray’s body jerked first left, then right—she must have shot him twice, she thought dreamily—and even after he toppled behind the sofa, his surprised expression was burned into the air where he’d stood.

  Gunpowder fogged the room. It had tears springing up in her eyes and felt thick in her buzzing ears. It worked to clog her throat, and seeped into her pores as well. It weighed her down. Violence now lived inside of her. She breathed death.

  A sound, half sigh, half moan, filled the air like keening as she wiped at her face. Was that her? Then she began to shake, the shudders so great that her breath sawed through the loaded silence. She felt like toppling to her side, curling into herself, and never getting up. She should move. She should run out the back door and never look back, but all she wanted to do was squeeze her eyes shut—like so—and . . .

  “He was going to kill you, you know.”

  Kit’s eyes flew wide as she gasped, and she froze, surprised into stillness. She knew she was going into shock . . . but she also knew that voice.

  Gaining her knees, jerking up that damned skirt—now with two holes blasted through its pocket—she pulled herself up by the back of the sofa and peered over the edge. When she saw the half-transparent form there, blond and beaming, she felt herself sway. “Nic?”

  “Hiya, girly-friend,” Nicole said, perching on the arm of the leather sofa, downy wings folded as she shot her a sweet smile. Kit wobbled and fell back to the floor.

  And Nicole Rockwell, her best friend in the world, dead an entire year, called out to her from the other side of the room. “Go ahead and take a moment there. No one is coming in for a bit, and this guy certainly isn’t going anywhere.”

  Kit’s mouth moved, but no sound emerged and she had to blink furiously to keep her eyes from rolling back in her head. It wasn’t enough. She slapped her own face, then did it again when she realized that made her feel more present, more solidly there.

  Nic snorted from the other side of the sofa.

  When she was finally able to take in a real breath, Kit managed to pull herself to her feet—though she still needed the sofa to steady her shaky weight.

  Nic, whose grave Kit had sobbed over, was wearing gold-tipped wings that rose in beautiful ivory arches. Her hair was somewhat mussed, giving an indication of its state when she died, but she otherwise looked whole and perfect, and would have even appeared serene were it not for the psychedelic swirling of stardust winking in her otherworldly gaze. Kit took a shaky step in her direction, and Nic smiled encouragingly.

  “How am I able to see you?” Kit managed to ask.

  And when, she wondered, had she become so comfortable talking with angels?

  Nicole frowned, as if the question disappointed her. She snapped her fingers like that would suddenly make Kit understand, yet the movement produced the sound of bells, which only had Kit jerking her head in disbelief. “C’mon, honey. After all you’ve seen and done this past year? After that?” She pointed down at what Kit presumed was Ray’s body. “Don’t be dramatic.”

  “Are you a—”

  “If you’re going to say ghost, I’m leaving now.”

  The sarcasm was pure Nicole, and that’s what really, finally calmed Kit. She hadn’t been about to say ghost. She didn’t believe in ghosts, she believed in angels . . . specifically in Centurions.

  “How long have you been listening?”

  “I got here when you did. It’s my punishment for disobeying heavenly orders.” Seeing Kit’s dropped jaw, she shrugged. “I take it Grif didn’t tell you about my new gig.”

  Kit shook her head. It came out as more of an uncontrolled jerk.

  “I’m not surprised. He probably didn’t want to upset you, and he really just learned of it himself. My Take is usually some sob story.” She cut her eyes back at Ray. “But I get the occasional riffraff as well.”

  Which meant Nic’s soul was tortured. She’d be stuck with a Centurion’s responsibilities until her soul healed enough to forgive and let go of her earthly regrets. Kit’s heart sank, and she placed her hand over her chest as tears filled her eyes.

  “Don’t.” Nicole held up a hand and softly added, “Don’t cry for me, Kit.”

  The understanding in her gentle tone ripped a sob from Kit anyway.

  Nicole sighed. “Okay, it was hard at first. I mean, letting go of your dreams about a life not lived is like a death all in itself. But I’ve seen some awesome things since then. I get to go to amazing places, and I don’t have to pay some crappy airline to do it.”

  That surprised a laugh from Kit. She immediately covered her mouth. There was nothing funny about this situation.

  “And before you can say it,” Nicole went on, “I know you’re sorry. I’m sorry, too, but the only way to move on is to let go, and . . . I think I’m almost there.” She nodded at Kit, an acknowledging bow. “You guys have helped, you know.”

  “Us . . . ?” Kit asked, inching around the sofa. They were only feet apart now. Two more steps and she could reach out and touch her old friend . . . if she were still alive. She had an almost uncontrollable urge to try, but refrained, just to maintain the illusion.

  “You and Grif,” Nicole clarified. “I’ve been watching you. Especially you, Kit. Every time I’m assigned a Take I pop back to the Surface a little early and find you. As a Centurion, I can always spot others like me, and your man Grif is like a beacon to me. So I find him”—she shrugged—“and I find you.”

  “You’ve got it wrong. He’s not my man, Nic.” Kit shook her head, not bothering to hide the sadness in the movement. Nic would see it even if she weren’t a Centurion.

  “We haven’t been together for months.”

  “Honey, didn’t you hear me?” Leaning forward, Nicole quirked an eyebrow, causing the stardust in her gaze to shift and swirl in a different direction. “I’ve been watching. I saw you together. I saw you apart. I even saw you following him when he didn’t know you were there.”

  “Grif has a terrible sense of direction,” Kit said defensively, and felt the heat rush back into her cheeks. “Someone had to look out for him.”

  “But it cost you to do so,” Nicole said softly.

  It’d cost her more to
be away from him. Kit looked away. Unfortunately, her eyes landed on Ray, prone where she’d felled him, and she shuddered.

  Nicole followed the direction of her gaze. “He would have done it, you know. Killed you just like he killed your father.”

  Yes. Kit had seen that . . . and she told herself that’s why she’d fired. Not out of revenge for her dad, or for the havoc the deed had wreaked on the remainder of Kit’s mind and life, but in self-defense. Right?

  Swallowing hard, she inched forward and then propped herself on the coffee table before Nicole. Dead or not, Take or not, Ray could damn well wait while she talked with her best friend.

  “You’re still helping Shaw find his wife,” Nicole stated.

  Kit frowned. Maybe it was time for them to go. “I want what’s best for him” was all she said.

  “Is that all?”

  Kit sniffed. “I forgot what a pain in the ass you could be.”

  “I mean, have you asked him lately?” Nicole went on, ignoring her. “Because like I said, I’ve been watching.”

  “He’s the one who’s still looking for her,” Kit pointed out.

  “Yes, but he’s looking over you.” Nicole gave her a meaningful look, then feigned looking at a wristwatch before stepping behind the sofa and giving Ray a little kick. “Hey. Get up! We gotta go.”

  Kit stood, too. “Nice bedside manner.”

  “Learned it from Shaw,” Nic admitted, and surprised she was capable of it, Kit actually smiled. Nicole glanced back down at Ray. “The bastard’s hiding in there. Even newly harvested souls know when they have to answer for their crimes.”

  Kit’s heart resumed an unnatural thud. She put a hand to her forehead. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  Nicole just shrugged the magnificent wings at her back, causing the gold tips to flare as if lit. “What do you expect? That big lug gave you awareness. He handed you an apple of knowledge and you took a big ol’ bite of it. Now you can’t unknow it. That would require someone more prone to fantasy, and the Kit I knew and loved valued the truth above all else.”

  “Still do,” Kit admitted, because it was what her father had taught her, what he’d died for, and what she had lived for ever since.

  Don’t just find the easy answer, Kitty-Cat! Find the truth!

  “And that’s why you can see me,” Nicole said, crossing her arms. “It’s why you can see Grif for who he really is, too. The Pure actually love that about you, by the way.”

  “You mean Grif’s angelic asshole of a boss?” Scoffing, Kit shook her head. “He hates me.”

  “He didn’t understand you,” Nicole corrected, “but now he does. He’s had to feel what it’s like to be one of us. He’s actually felt every ounce of your pain and sorrow. It’s excruciating for a Pure.”

  Kit was not going to feel sorry for that bombastic, judgmental, blackmailing Pure angel. “I don’t care.”

  “Is that why you won’t allow yourself to feel good things anymore? You just don’t care?”

  Kit crossed her arms now. “You calling me on my shit, Nic?”

  Nicole smiled and pointed at herself. “Bestie, remember?”

  Yes, they were besties . . . and Kit wasn’t just happy to see her, she was relieved to be with someone with whom she didn’t have to feign strength.

  “It’s hard,” she finally said, chin wobbling.

  Nic smiled. “Because it’s worth it.”

  “It hurts.”

  “Because it’s passion.”

  “I’m afraid,” Kit finally admitted in the smallest voice yet.

  “But feeling love, even losing it, is better than simply existing,” Nicole said, and shook her head as she frowned. “Take it from someone who doesn’t have to worry about anything anymore, taking a risk is a gift. It means you still have a chance to build something great and new. You should throw yourself at that.”

  Kit just stood there.

  “I said throw yourself,” Nicole said wryly, and Kit laughed self-consciously. Nicole laughed, too, then straightened and took a step toward Ray. “I really do have to go. This ass-nozzle is starting the Fade, and it’s my wings if he gets Lost.”

  But Kit just stared at Nicole, and there was no room for thoughts of Ray or, momentarily, even Grif. This was it, she somehow knew. She wouldn’t see Nicole again, not on this side of the life/death divide, and that reopened the wound that she thought time had healed. A million little memories and moments raced through Kit’s mind: Nicole’s love for potluck cookouts and swing-dancing, the way tears streamed down the apples of her cheeks when she really got to laughing, how their sides would hurt afterward, sometimes for hours.

  Kit bit her lip, feeling tears well up, and wished she could hug her friend one last time, or that they could at least link arms as they had so often after a long night out, gazes turned toward the rising sun, making wishes upon the new day.

  “Careful,” Nicole said, her star-speckled gaze now surging. She was remembering, too. “Father Francis is going to blame me if he feels all of that.”

  Kit still didn’t care. Her sorrow at Nic’s violent, needless death struck her all over again, and as her heart swelled in her chest, she realized that was why God never let people see the loved ones who’d passed on after death. You’d never heal if the scab was continually ripped from the wound.

  “I’m glad we get to say good-bye,” she choked out. “We didn’t get to . . . the first time.”

  “Yeah, sudden death due to multiple stab wounds and strangulation tends to interfere with the more heartfelt farewells.” Nicole laughed darkly at Kit’s responding wince. “Don’t worry about me, Kit, just . . . don’t shut down. I know it’s not easy, but I think I can deal with facing eternity on this side of things as long as I know that you still have your face turned toward the sun.”

  Kit blew out a shaky breath and finally gave a matching nod, though she wasn’t sure that would ever be the case again. She’d always valued knowledge and truth, but now it felt like she knew too much to ever be that blithely, or blindly, happy again.

  “Go out the back,” Nicole told her, jerking her head at the far door. “I’ve messed with the cameras, so they’ll never see you leave.”

  Kit nodded, and Nicole just smiled and gave her a slow blink when she hesitated. Kit drank in the sight of her, committing this new-yet-old girlfriend to memory, then finally turned away. She’d just touched the handle when Nicole called out to her.

  “Do you still love him?”

  “I do,” Kit answered, and as soon as she said it, a weight seemed to lift from her chest. Her head felt lighter, too, almost dizzy, but she couldn’t be sure that wasn’t just shock settling in. Still, it felt good to admit. She turned, and they locked eyes one final time, and Kit grew momentarily lost in the stardust swirling in her friend’s pupils. It was still startling, but somehow it made Nicole more beautiful than ever. “It’s the truest thing I know,” she admitted.

  Nicole smiled and her stardust gaze glinted. “Then throw yourself at that.”

  Biting her lower lip, Kit tilted her head. “I love you, Nic. Always.”

  “Of course you do. I’m your forever friend.” Nicole tossed her mussed hair, jerking her head at the door. “Now hurry. You have a life to get on with.”

  And so Kit got on with it, leaving quickly and closing the door behind her on stardust and wings and a smile she would never forget.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  After Dennis left to get the car, Grif retraced his steps back to the tables where Larry and Eric waited. He thought about drugging them again, but decided against it when he looked into their gazes and saw the resignation there. They were defeated and knew it. All that was left was to bundle them up and roll them out.

  Grif uncuffed the smaller Eric first, and then kept hold of Larry’s arm as he straightened and jerked his head to the door. That’s when he stumbled and swayed. It was a tossup as to who was more surprised, the men hemmed in by the tables or Grif, suddenly braced against
them. He tried to shake his head of it, this fugue that hadn’t so much crept up on him as it had sprung in an unexpected attack.

  The two men needed no more encouragement than that.

  Grif had time to turn his head, though it was in the wrong direction and all he caught was a glimpse of Eric’s teeth—straight as railroad ties—before catching Larry’s knuckles as well. The blow caught him square, he didn’t even have time to back away, though his legs had already quit working in any case. They were ensnared in plasmic chains that only he could see, banded silver coils pulling tight, as if meant to tie him to the tracks. Two of the three tables toppled, pinning Grif to the ground, and then a chair thrown from overhead crashed into his skull.

  A spear of light tore through his vision, either from the blow or the front door as Larry and Eric fled. All Grif saw after that were twilight grays rushing him as the blood in his borrowed flesh tingled, zinging through his limbs and pooling in his toes. The bar shimmered and lost its shape. Movement undulated from the corner of his eye, and Grif gasped as more plasma rushed him, a flood now.

  Grif lost all control of his body then, his limbs shorting out like faulty electrical wires. His eyes were open, he was sure, yet they were also rolled far back into his battered skull. A thrumming reverberated around him, which he registered as his heartbeat, but even that knowledge couldn’t touch him. Plasma soaked into his pores, sizzled in his brain, and burrowed between the folds of his mind to separate past from present like playing cards divided into two different piles.

  Then it began to burn. Flames roared to life in his skull with a searing crackle, a crescendo that whipped down to fill his chest. It was as if he were centered in a fire, burning like a dry log, and just when he thought he would die of the anguish, his body temperature plummeted, and his veins hardened in an arctic freeze. The abruptness stole his breath . . . and whisked him away where plasma could no longer reach him.

  And then he was there. Feet planted firmly on the Surface, he glanced around and saw that he was no longer in the bar but on a garden path, standing in a night that was quiet but for the soft chirping of crickets and a woman’s tipsy laughter. He turned without willing it, as if a giant hand were swiveling him around on a platform.