The fire happened in our neighborhood when my dad was coming home from work. When he found out a mother of four was still inside, and the fireman hadn't arrived yet, he chose to run in and try to save her. He got her out, but his burns were too severe, and he died less than twenty-four hours later.
The woman had lived, though, and was actually the one to save my mom from her self-destructive behavior after she nearly OD’d on a bunch of pills and alcohol. Her name is Judy, and she just happens to be one of the nurses at the hospital my mom was staying at. Somehow during my mom's week stay there, Judy convinced her to get help. She did, and almost one year of sobriety later, she became this life-is-so-precious-we-should-spend-every-day-doing-something-great woman that's grinning at me. Now the two of them are best friends, and I couldn't be happier for my mom. I only wish she didn't expect me to be the cloudless blue sky to her sparkling sunshine.
But convincing her of that is an entirely different story, so I don’t even bother.
“Fine. Let me get changed first,” I grimace.
“We leave in fifteen minutes,” she calls out. “Wear old clothes. We’re helping someone move.”
“All right.” I kick the door shut.
I change into a pair of old cut-offs, a black tank top, and tug on a pair of clunky boots. I run the brush through my wavy long brown hair, tug the out-of-control stands into a ponytail, and check my reflection in the large, oval mirror Brecken gave me for my birthday, a few days before he died.
“I found it in an antique store.” He ran his fingers along the edge of the old gothic-styled frame inscribed with strange symbols. “It reminded me of you. Different and unappreciated, but beautiful.”
I smile at the memory and reach out to run my fingers along the mirror. When my fingertips brush the cool, shimmering surface, an electric spark nips at my flesh. I yank back, wincing.
“Damn static shock,” I murmur then turn away from my reflection and head out of my room.
“Just in time,” my mom says as I step out the front door. She’s loading up a dolly into the back of our truck. Why she owns a dolly, I couldn’t tell you. “I was about to leave.”
“Aw, shucks.” I stomp my foot exaggeratedly and snap my finger. “If only.”
She attempts to glower at me, but that lasts for a whole second before the smile returns, all bright and shiny and blinding.
“Come on, let’s get going.” She skips toward the driver’s side of the truck like a kid about to go to a toy store.
“It’s going to be a long day,” I mutter to myself as I hop into the passenger seat.
“Want to pick out a song for us to sing to?” she asks as she backs out onto the road.
“Sure.” I reach forward and channel surf to the 90s station.
She beams, but her eyes carry a raindrop of sadness. “This was your dad’s favorite station.”
“I know.” I prop my boots up onto the dash. “That’s kind of why I love it so much.”
She turns out onto the main street in town. "He'd be so proud of you. You're turning into such an amazing woman."
Yeah, she probably wouldn’t be saying that if she heard the colorful word choice I used in class on Friday. Or if she knew how Brecken and I used to sneak liquor from her cabinet. Or if she knew how many times I wanted to smack half the kids in my school.
“So, where are these people moving too?” I ask, casually changing the subject.
“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” She distractedly checks the address written down on the back of an old receipt. “He’s moving in with us for about a month.”
My feet fall to the floor as I sit up. “Um, what?”
She sets the receipt down on the dash and makes a right hand turn into an older neighborhood lined with ranch style homes. “Oh, get that surprised look off your face. You should be used to this by now.”
“I might be used to it, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“Now Willa, you were raised better than that. We Marlow’s have truly been blessed with a roof over our heads. We need to share our wealth with those who are not as fortunate.”
I open my mouth to protest, but then seal my lips shut. No matter how I spin this, I’ll end up sounding like Oscar the Grouch.
“Who is this guy, anyway?” I ask as she pulls up to a small two-story red brick house with the plainest front lawn I’ve ever seen. “And why does he need a place to live?”
Before she can answer, a woman in her fifties wearing a black turtleneck sweater and grey pants walks out of the house and heads for our truck. The closer she gets, the more I notice the etched frown lines on her face like she's been pissed off at the world all her life.
I roll down my window as my mom hops out of the truck and meets the pissed off woman in the middle of the front lawn.
"Hello, Louisa." My mom offers her hand.
Louisa eyeballs the old, muddy gloves my mom's wearing before using two fingers to shake her hand. "Thank you for doing this Livvy. I hope my nephew can behave himself. If not, give me a call, and I'll find another place for him to live."
“I’m sure he’ll be fine. And I think Willa probably knows him from school, so we should all get along,” my mom says with a smile.
Huh? The guy about to live with us goes to my high school. Well, this isn’t going to be good.
Two seconds later the front door to the house opens, and I discover how un-good the situation is. Because Gaige freakin' Irvins strolls out, carrying an armful of boxes. He’s dressed in his typical outfit, jeans, and a dark T-shirt, his dark hair hanging in his eyes and over his ears.
I press my finger to my forehead and try to massage away the approaching headache. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Out of all the people in the world, it has to be him.”
“Willa,” my mom hollers, waving at me. “Come help Gaige carry out some boxes.”
Gaige’s eyes widen as his gaze snaps in the direction of our truck. When he spots me, he nearly drops the boxes he’s holding.
What? No smirk, Gaige, now that your friends aren’t around?
Instead of getting out of the truck, I scowl at him. And in return, he stares at me blankly.
“Willa,” my mom says with a drop of impatience. “Please get out of the truck and help.”
Yeah, right. Like I really want to get out and help Gaige carry boxes out of his house so he can move in with us.
I cup my shoulder. “I don’t think I can lift any boxes, Mom. My shoulder hurts.”
“That’s okay. Just lift the light ones,” she says, opening the door for me.
“It’s fine, Mrs. Marlow,” Gaige says, dropping the boxes into the bed of our truck. “I really don’t have that much stuff left.”
“That’s okay. Willa can still help you with the rest.” She lightly tugs on my arm, forcing me to get out of the truck. Then she closes the door and urges me forward with a soft push. “Just carry out a lamp or something if your shoulder hurts.” I give her a dirty look, and she blinks at me confusedly. “What’s wrong, hon?”
I sigh. None of this is her fault. It’s not like she knows about Gaige since I rarely tell her about my personal life. If I did, she’d either offer me some chin-up-buttercup advice. Or worse, she’d start to worry. And she worried a lot before she went off the deep end.
“It’s nothing. I’m just tired.” I trudge past her and trail after Gaige as he heads back across the front lawn and toward the front door.
The second I step into the house, I notice two things.
The lack of decorations or photos on the plain tan walls and bookshelves. Seriously, it’s like no one lives here.
And the pungent scent of potpourri.
I crinkle my nose as my gaze skims the living room. I spot a bowl of it on the coffee table, the empty bookshelf, and on top of the old-school television.
Holy obsessed much?
“It’s worse upstairs,” Gaige states, studying me intently.
“What is?” I ask, fighting the urge to cove
r my nose.
“The smell.” He points around the depressing living room. “She puts these bowls full of this flaky shit all over the place, but there’s over twenty upstairs.”
“It doesn’t smell that bad,” I lie, more to disagree with him. “And that flaky shit is called potpourri.”
“Oh.” He continues to stare at me.
I shift my weight, loathing how uncomfortable his stare makes me. I should be tougher than this. I used to be. “So, are you going to show me where your room is? Or am I going to have to wander around and find it myself? “
He stares at me for a beat or two longer, which pisses me off. I don’t know if he’s trying to be rude, but after what he said at school, I don’t even want him near me.
“You really don’t have to help me carry anything,” he finally says with a dash of disappointment.
The disappointment puzzles me. What does he expect? For me to be happy I’m here with him and get to carry his boxes out?
Knowing Gaige, probably.
I hitch my thumb over my shoulder. “My mom’s not going to let me leave until I at least carry out one thing, so you might as well just take me up to your room and get this over with.”
His lips quirk as he rubs his jawline. “Huh? Never had a girl say that to me before.” When I stare at him unimpressed, he raises his hands in front of him. “Sorry. I was just trying to make a joke.”
“Well, maybe I don’t find your jokes funny.”
“Just my jokes or jokes in general?”
“Just yours.” I’m being a total bitch, but I can’t get my anger to turn off.
I keep thinking about how everyone laughed at me when Porter implied I wanted to sleep with Gaige. How Gaige did nothing to stop it after I stood up for him to the teacher. And now I’m here, being forced to help him move his stuff out so he can move in with us.
"Just because you said I'm not funny, I'm not going to show you where my room is." Gaige crosses his arms, a smile playing on his lips. "You could always try being nice to me, though. I might change my mind and decide to be nice to you in return."
My jaw muscle spasms.
And there’s the Gaige I despise so much.
“I guess I’ll just have to find your room myself.” Lifting my chin, I brush past him and walk further into the house even though I have no clue where I’m going.
He trails after me. “You’re going the wrong way.”
I flip around so fast I nearly crash into him.
“Shit,” he curses, jumping out of my way and bumping into the wall.
I march in the opposite direction, determined to find his bedroom on my own as if this somehow proves I don’t like him.
“Still going the wrong way,” he says from behind me.
I make another right. When I reach the living room again, I pause and scratch my head. “This place is a freakin’ maze.”
Gaige slants against the doorframe, crossing his arms, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Lost?”
Grrr… “No.” I turn in a circle, getting frustrated with myself. “This is ridiculous. I shouldn’t even have to be here.”
“Willa.” His expression softens. “Just let me show you where it is.”
I shake my head. “I’m not going to let you force me into being nice to you. You don’t deserve my niceness.”
His expression falls. “I was joking about that. I thought you knew that.”
“No, I didn’t.” Or maybe I do, but I don’t want to admit it. “And I thought we already established that I don’t find your jokes funny.”
He studies me carefully with his lips pressed together.
What on earth is he looking for? Or is he just trying to nitpick me apart and find a weakness to use against me?
He suddenly steps back. “I’m going to head up to my room.” He turns for the doorway on the right. “You can follow me if you want to.”
Blowing out an exhale, I walk after him.
He casts a glance over his shoulder and smiles. I feel the corners of my own lips pulling up into a smile, a move that puzzles me. But then my smile falters as his eyes blacken.
I grind to a stop and blink. But bam, his eyes return to their normal shade of blue.
Shit! Not again. No! No! No! No! I won’t go back to crazyville!
Gaige faces me with his brow crooked. “Is everything okay?”
“I don’t know.” I waver, deciding how crazy I want to look. “Do you wear contacts or something?”
A flash of fear flickers across his expression, but as swiftly as the look appears, it morphs into amusement. “What do you mean by ‘or something’? What else would I put in my eyes other than contacts?”
I shake my head. “You know what. Forget I said anything.” I move to step around him.
He reaches for me. But I skitter out of his way and rush down the hallway, trying my best to ignore the eerie shiver running up and down my back.
The shiver I’ve only felt two times in my life. Once right before my dad died and once before I got the news that Brecken had taken his own life.
I don’t know what to make of the feeling, but one thing’s for sure. There’s definitely something off with Gaige Irvins.
Chapter 4
Gaige
Last night when I was lying in bed, I stared up at the ceiling and started talking to my mom. No, I don’t really believe she can hear me, but it’s nice to pretend sometimes. Plus, I’d had a few too many shots while I was out feeding the monster inside me and my head was all foggy.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I really am,” I said, tucking my arms underneath my head. “I really am a disappointment, aren’t I?” I sighed tiredly. “Look, I know why you’re ignoring me and let me just say that you have every right to be mad at me. I’m not a good person. I get that. And I did it to myself. But back then… When I was normal… I was so worried all the time that I was never going to have any friends. Then when the Soulless Keeper showed up and offered me popularity and all of my heart’s desire in exchange for my soul… I don’t know… I couldn’t see past the greed.” My eyelids drifted shut. “I wish I could take it back sometimes… I didn’t realize what I’d have to do… the sins I’d commit at night… The person I’d become…” I’m not sure if the words belong to me or the tequila.
Sleepiness dragged me under then and until I’d woken up haunted by the memories of the sins the monster committed.
And to top it off, a Soulless Keeper is forcing me to get close to Willa and find some sword that does who knows what. I'm not sure what the sword is or why he wants it, but I have a feeling it can't be for anything good. And then, of course, he wants me to kill Willa afterward. So, yeah, there’s that…
I stare down at my clean hands, but I can imagine blood on my skin pretty easily. But that doesn’t make the gnawing ache in my stomach any easier to bear.
What’s even worse is Willa seems to know something is off about me.
That remark about my eyes. What did she mean? Did she see the monster inside me? How could she? Humans aren’t supposed to be able to.
But she ran off before I could press her for details and hasn’t talked to me since.
So much for getting close to her.
Yanking my mind back to reality, I enter my room to carry out the last of the boxes. I try to ignore the fact that I'm about to move in with a girl who hates my guts. I can't really blame her for hating me. My friends tease her all the time because she dresses grungy, is kind of weird, doesn't have a lot of friends, and is mostly quiet, which makes her an easy target, I guess. Well, that, and they're all soulless bastards themselves.
And Willa has to endure the torture all alone.
She used to be friends with a guy named Brecken. He was a strange dude and liked to wear weird, colorful, flashy outfits and dyed his hair to match. He was teased more than Willa for being different, but neither of them seemed to care.
Last summer, I worked with him for a few months and discovered he was a nice guy and that his odd c
hoice in clothing was how he expressed himself, that he considered everything, including his clothes, art. I sort of envied that he could do that. That he wasn't afraid to be who he was and didn't care what people thought. If I could've been that way, I'd still have my soul.
“What do you want me to carry?” Willa grumbles, her gaze traveling across my bare walls, my bed, and the empty dresser.
I pick up a small lamp and hand it to her. “I think that should be enough for your mom to leave you alone, right?”
She scowls at me. “I can carry something heavier. I’m not weak.”
I wrap the cord around the base of the lamp. “I never said you were weak. I was just trying to make this easy for you.”
Her scowl deepens. “Again, I’m not weak. I don’t need you to make things easy on me.”
When I first saw Willa in the truck outside my house, I wondered how this was going to go down. After humiliating her on Friday, would she yell at me? That didn't seem like her style. She seemed more of the brooding in silent type. But apparently, I read her wrong. Snarky. Determined. Stubborn. Yep, she's definitely all those things. At least that's how she's acted for the last fifteen minutes while she's been around me. I don't know if that's normal for her or if she acts this way to people she loathes. Maybe if I can get her to smile, though, I can attempt to try to smooth things over. Because I need to smooth things over if I have to get close to her. And that's the only reason I want to get closer to her… I think.
Honestly, I’m sort of finding her snarkiness amusing for reasons I can’t even figure out, which is probably a really bad thing, considering I’m supposed to kill her.
Still, I find myself setting the lamp down on the floor, motioning at the dresser, and saying something that I know will only drive out her feistiness more, "Have at it then."
The Curse of the Soulless Page 3
