Death and the Girl Next Door d-1

by Darynda Jones

  “Oh, my goodness, thank you so much,” I said, fastening it around my neck. I couldn’t believe he had it.

  He lifted the pendant where it rested, the backs of his fingers brushing the base of my throat, his skin warm against mine. If I let myself, I could look at him for all eternity. His strong jaw. His full mouth. His eyes so dark, they were like the ocean at night.

  Realizing I had to get a grip, I snapped back to the present. Holy moly, I could barely think when he was around. “Right, um, I got you a few things from the store.” I pointed toward the sink. “A toothbrush, toothpaste. You know, the usual.” I smiled, pretending his whisper of a smile wasn’t causing a slight head rush. “But if you need anything else…”

  His demeanor changed in a heartbeat. Pain etched his face as he snaked an arm around his stomach. “I feel wrong,” he said, grabbing the doorframe of the bathroom for stability.

  “Wrong, how?” I asked, concern raising my voice an octave.

  “I don’t know. Just wrong.” His stomach muscles seemed to contract. He clutched at his midsection and fell to his knees.

  “Jared!”

  Before I could kneel beside him, he lunged toward the toilet. He swallowed several times and I could almost feel the acidic bile as it rose up and burned the back of his throat. It refused to be squelched. Everything he had just eaten wound up in the toilet in a succession of violent purges.

  With empathy guiding my every move, I jumped up to wet a washcloth, then knelt down and rested it on his forehead.

  Breathing heavily into the toilet, he said, “Wrong like that.”

  After I flushed the commode, I wiped the cloth over his face, being careful not to reopen any wounds. “You’re human now,” I said in my best scolding voice. “At least a part of you is. You have to be more careful.”

  “I have to clean my mouth.”

  I helped him to his feet. He shook, suddenly weak and pallid. And he was so tall, well over six feet, but I did my best to get him to the sink.

  After he brushed his teeth, I filled a cup with water and tried to hand it to him. His doubt kept him from searching for it.

  “You’re dehydrated,” I said as I placed the cup in his hands. “Take small sips.”

  “I don’t feel dehydrated.”

  “No matter, you are. Two days without H2O will do that to a person.” When he still didn’t drink, I pushed the cup up to his mouth. “We don’t have a very big water heater, so we run out of the hot stuff pretty fast. You might want to shower quickly.”

  “Okay.”

  I turned and pointed out the necessities. “Soap, shampoo, conditioner, a razor if you need one.” I had to admit, I liked the shadow along his jaw, but he might not.

  “Thank you,” he said as he gingerly lifted his shirt over his head.

  I turned from him with a gasp. Did six-packs get any sexier? “Um, okay, then. I’ll be downstairs.”

  “Lorelei?”

  I stopped but didn’t turn around.

  After a moment, he said, “Thank you for the toothbrush.”

  I smiled. “Yeah, well, you saved my life and all. It’s the least I could do.”

  His silent laugh caused a rush of warmth as I closed the door. Then, with thoughts of melted cheese driving me, I hustled downstairs for a sandwich myself. Glitch had a magic touch with grilled cheeses. I could live off them if I had to.

  “How is he?” Brooklyn asked.

  “I’m not sure.” I took an orange soda out of the fridge and jumped onto a stool beside her. “He got sick.”

  Glitch had the gall to look offended. “You mean he ate three of my sandwiches and then just threw them up?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Well, that sucks.”

  “Yeah, for him,” I said with a bit of peevishness. “Not you, sandwich boy.”

  “Hey, you want one of these or not?”

  “Of course.”

  He studied me suspiciously and pointed his spatula. “You’re not going to throw it up, are you?”

  “Not likely.”

  “Wait,” he said, suddenly smiling, “where’d you find it?”

  I reached for my necklace with a smile of my own. “Jared had it. It must have come off when we were in the back of Cameron’s pickup.”

  “Oh, right,” Cameron said, “when he was trying to choke the life out of you. That makes perfect sense.”

  He sat at the breakfast table in the corner, sipping a Dr Pepper.

  I chose to ignore his sarcasm. “Have you eaten yet?” I asked him.

  “He doesn’t get another one,” Glitch said, waving his spatula as if it were a magic wand. “Five is the house limit.”

  I whistled, impressed. “Well, I’m starving. Pass one over, pretty please.”

  Sinking into a grilled and cheesy heaven, I devoured Glitch’s sandwich in less than five minutes along with a few chips and an apple for dessert. Afterwards, I sat chatting with Brooke and sandwich boy, all the while keeping track of how long Jared had been in the shower. And it was an awfully long time, much longer than the hot water would have lasted. I couldn’t keep from looking up toward my room every few seconds.

  Brooklyn noticed. “Why don’t you just go check on him?”

  “Okay,” I said, needing little encouragement. I jumped from the stool and raced upstairs. The shower was still on, the door still closed.

  I knocked lightly. When he didn’t answer, I cracked open the door.

  “Jared?”

  When he still didn’t answer, my heart leapt in alarm. What if he got sick again? What if he’d passed out? Or worse. What if he disappeared back to wherever it was he came from?

  With worry driving me forward, I rushed into the tiny room and pulled back the curtain. Then I gasped and stood frozen a solid minute. Jared stood under the rushing water, naked. And not just a little. He’d lifted one arm and braced it against the wall to rest his head upon. The other hand had grasped the pipe that led to the showerhead. His eyes were closed as ice-cold water sheeted off his shoulders and down his back.

  With effort, I stopped my gaze from going any lower. “Jared?”

  His grip tightened around the pipe as he pecked at me, and the emotion that poured off him, that glistened in his eyes, was none other than regret. “I shouldn’t be here,” he said, and I couldn’t help the guilt that washed over me. It was my fault. He wouldn’t be here if I could learn to walk and chew gum at the same time. Really? Falling in front of a delivery truck was the best I could do?

  I plastered a hand over my eyes and felt blindly for the shower valves, trying desperately to avoid body parts. After turning off the water, I grabbed a towel off the shelf and handed it back without facing him. “Wrap this around your waist.”

  He took it from me, and I heard the soft sway of material as he worked to fasten it around his nether region. The fresh scent of soap and shampoo filled the room.

  “Okay,” he said.

  I turned back and was struck speechless by the sight of him, devilish and handsome. Dark wet locks hung over his forehead, dripping water down his face and onto his chest. The bands around his biceps almost glistened, they were so inklike, so sharp. The width of his torso tapered to a lean, sculpted stomach. He’d managed to cover the most pertinent part of his maleness, which I was terribly thankful for. I took another towel, beckoned him to bow, then draped it over his head to dry his hair.

  “I shouldn’t be here,” he repeated, his voice thick with sorrow as I massaged wetness from his hair, and a tightness cinched around my chest. He reached back and took hold of the pipe again, making me realize how low the plumbing was in the shower. I’d always thought it the perfect height. “I don’t know why I shifted and locked on to this plane.” He looked at me from underneath the towel. “I’m risking everything by being here.”

  I couldn’t imagine what he must be going through. Was he afraid? I would have been. Absolutely terrified. Whatever he was feeling, he would not go through it alone.

  �
�We can figure this out, Jared. I promise you.”

  What did I expect? That he would want to stay here? That he would revel in his circumstances? Rejoice in the fact that fate had discarded him, like a kid abandoned at a truck stop in the middle of the night?

  “At least while I was fighting Cameron of Jophiel,” he said, his voice rough with emotion, “everything stopped. I could think of nothing beyond survival.”

  Fear lurched inside me. “Jared, you can’t fight anymore.” I leaned in to assess his expression under the towel. “Please, promise me.”

  He looked at me through slitted eyes. “I would never have hurt you, Lorelei,” he said, his voice laced with a sadness that almost brought me to tears. “In the back of Cameron’s vehicle when I grabbed you, I would never really have done those things.”

  I forced a smile past my doubt and continued to dry his hair. “I know.”

  “Do you?” His long lashes were spiked with water. “You were so scared, it hurt.” He placed a hand on his chest. “Inside.”

  His confession surprised me. “Well, you were pretty convincing.”

  He lowered his head. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You were scared too.” I rubbed his head with the towel. His body filled the room, made it seem small in comparison. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  The towel draped over his head gave me courage. I didn’t want him to see me when I asked my next question. “If you had wanted to, could you really have boiled the blood in my veins?”

  He froze. After a moment, he straightened and looked down at me. “I don’t know. I had already shifted onto this plane. I don’t know what I can do now, if anything.”

  I dropped my arms. “But if you hadn’t shifted, you could have?”

  He didn’t want to answer. I could tell by his expression. He worked his jaw before answering. “Yes,” he said at last.

  I waited before picking up the corners of the towel and dabbing at the bruises on his face. “Your job must be really interesting.”

  “Interesting,” he said with curiousity. His white teeth flashed, the effect nuclear. “That’s a good word for it. Any thoughts on what I might wear?”

  I was still wandering around ground zero, struggling to come back to the present. I shifted onto my other foot and cleared my throat. “I found some sweats and a T-shirt in the store,” I said, pointing over my shoulder. “They have our logo on it, but they should fit.”

  His eyes slid down to my mouth, where they lingered like a caress. He leaned forward, and my breath caught as his scent stirred my senses to life. Just when his mouth was close enough to brush mine, he reached a long arm over my shoulder and pushed the door closed.

  “Oh, right,” I said with a nervous giggle. “Guess you’ll want some privacy.”

  He flashed another smile as he stepped from the tub.

  With barely enough room to maneuver, I whirled and headed for the door. “I’ll get those clothes now.” I almost fell out of the room in my attempt to escape. That boy was just way too gorgeous for my sense of balance. My original assessment had pretty much nailed it.

  Absolute supernova.

  After I grabbed the clothes, I cracked the door and shoved them through the opening. He thanked me with a soft chuckle. Better that than me making a fool of myself, waiting for him to kiss me, for his mouth on mine. Maybe in an alternate reality.

  With a groan, I fell forward onto my bed and buried my face in an overstuffed pillow. A strong mixture of excitement and fear rushed along my nerve endings. I took a deep, calming draught of air and turned over to stare at the ceiling, unable to wipe the grin from my face.

  “I feel sixteen.” Jared stepped out of the bathroom in the red T-shirt and black sweats I’d found for him.

  “You look sixteen.” A muscular, godlike sixteen, but sixteen nonetheless.

  He regarded his clothes with a forlorn expression.

  “Here, you’re still wet.” I stepped forward to pull down the dampened shirt, but lifted it farther instead. His side had a huge red gash in it. I raised the shirt more to inspect it. “This looks really bad.”

  “Yes. I can’t remember if that was the crowbar or baseball bat.”

  “Oh, goodness,” I said, holding up a hand, “you should probably keep stuff like that to yourself.”

  “Sorry. Cameron is rather creative that way. I’ve never felt pain on this plane, though I have on others. I forgot how much it hurts.”

  I searched his dark fringed eyes. Did he mean the plane I saw in my vision? Could that place have been real?

  “I’m amazed at how much I need oxygen,” he said. Testing his lungs, he took a deep breath, then clutched his ribs in agony.

  I grabbed his arm like that would help. “Are you okay?”

  “I believe so.”

  “I think your ribs are cracked.” I inspected them gently with my fingertips. He hissed in a sharp breath and winced. “Yep.”

  “I’m okay. I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

  “You need something on that wound.” Lowering his shirt, I straightened. He absolutely towered over me, his dark eyes warm and interested. “How tall are you anyway?”

  “By your measurements and in this form, I am six-five.”

  “Holy moly. That’s tall.”

  He chuckled softly. “How tall are you?” he asked, his deep voice touching every part of me. The shadows that pooled in the contours of his muscles shifted every time he moved. It was mesmerizing.

  “You have tattoos,” I said, changing the subject.

  He nodded and pushed up his sleeves to give me a better look. “I was able to make them disappear before, but now they’re just … there. I should not let Alan Davis see them.”

  “Alan Davis? You mean Principal Davis?” I asked, alarmed.

  “Yes. You were right. He’d recognized me that morning, remembered me from when he was a boy, when I came to take his brother, Elliot Davis. Like many others, he saw me in the crowd as I waited, took note of my tattoos. He approached me, fascinated, and asked what they meant.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “The truth, that they are a testament to the power that was bestowed upon me as well as my station, rank, and mission.”

  “Oh.” I looked back in surprise at the bands just visible under the sleeve edges. They were beautiful, fluid. Crisp black curves sprang into sharp points that wrapped around his arms, forming symbol after symbol like a line of ancient text. “And you think Mr. Davis recognized them?”

  “He caught a glimpse before I thought to conceal them. If he sought my image in that yearbook, I know he did.”

  “Well, then, we’ll just have to keep them hidden in the future.”

  I took the ointment Brooklyn had been using and began spreading it onto his side as he held up the shirt. The gash was horrible and grotesquely deep. And his back was covered in scrapes and bruises. I shook my head again in wonder. Boys.

  “May I ask you something?”

  “I welcome it.”

  The way he talked sometimes threw me. Well, that and the fact that he welcomed my questions. No one alive welcomed my questions. I could be very obnoxious.

  “You said that you’ve never felt pain on this plane. But you have on others?” I went further with the ointment, quickly covering the worst of the scratches while I had the chance, just to be on the safe side.

  “I have.”

  That realization made me cringe inside. The fact that he ever felt pain for any reason saddened me. “In my vision, you were fighting something. A huge dark monster.” I looked up at him to gauge his reaction. “Was that real? Did it really happen?”

  He hesitated as though unsure if he should be honest. His mouth thinned and he answered. “It did happen, most likely. I’ve fought many.”

  “But you don’t have scars on your chest. It had ripped through you like paper.”

  He placed a hand above his heart in thought. “Ah, yes, what you saw happene
d. I was charged with bringing down a rebel demon who had escaped from Hell and made it into another dimension, but that was many centuries ago.”

  Sputtering, I stepped back. “A demon? Like, a real one?”

  His head tilted in curiosity. “I believe they are all real.”

  I sank onto the edge of my bed and stared at the carpet a long time. “That was a demon. Are they all that … monstrous?”

  The bed dipped as he sat beside me. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “Wait, why don’t you have scars?” I glanced at his chest.

  With a glint of understanding, he placed his hand under my chin and lifted my face to his, commanding my full attention. “Despite our appearance,” he said, his tone purposeful, “make no mistake, Lorelei McAlister, we are nowhere near human. Our origin and existence differ vastly from your own. We are powerful and dutiful and execute our orders without empathy or the slightest hint of remorse.”

  His statement sounded more like a warning than a friendly tip. In spite of everything, the warning he was obviously offering for my benefit, my attention wandered. I noticed the fatigue that had fallen over him like a veil, his heavy lids, his body drained of energy.

  “Do you want to try another sandwich?” I asked. “Or maybe some soup?”

  When he shook his head, I stood and pulled his shirt back down over the cut. I felt so guilty. What he did for me had obviously cost him a great deal. And there I sat, offering a supreme being a grilled cheese sandwich. A stab of regret shot through my heart. He was there because of me. And he clearly didn’t want to be.

  “I’m so sorry, Jared. You’ve lost everything because of me.”

  He grabbed my hands as they fitted his shirt around him. “Is that what you think?” he asked, his tone full of surprise. “Do you think I don’t want to be here because I’ve lost something?”

  The warmth of his hands seeped into my skin. “Of course. You’re stuck here because of me. You’ve lost everything.”

  “Lorelei, I am stuck here because of me. Because I changed history, remember? Locking on to this plane is the least of my worries.” He squeezed, then let go.

  “I don’t understand. You said you didn’t know why it happened.”