The Forest of Shadow and Bones

by Jessica Sorensen

  Every word he said is a lie. He has no job, no car, and is currently living on the streets. The only reason he has a phone is because I bought it for him and make him carry it around with him at all times. He’s lost or sold a few phones already, but I keep buying him replacement ones. If I don’t, then I’ll completely lose contact with him, and he’s the only family I have left. I gave up a lot to keep him around for so long, more than anyone will ever realize.

  “Please, Sway,” he begs. “This is the last time I’ll ask. I swear.”

  I shake my head, fighting back the tears. I want to give him the money. I’d do practically anything for him—already have—but his drug addiction is killing him.

  “Brysen, I can’t give you money. I’m only helping your addiction if I do.”

  “It’s not for drugs,” he growls, going from hot to cold in two seconds flat. “I told you it’s for rent and stuff.”

  “I know you’re not renting a place right now. I know what the money’s for.” I suck in a breath. “And I’m not going to give you money so you can destroy your life more. You need help.” I take another breath. I had planned on saying all of this tomorrow when we met up, but after this conversation, I doubt he’ll meet me. “Please, let me get you some help. I don’t want you to die.” Again.

  “You have no right to keep money from me!” he seethes. “Mom and Dad left that money to both of us. You have to give me some.”

  “Mom and Dad wouldn’t want me to give you money for this,” I say quietly, clutching the soda can.

  The truth is that I really don’t know what my parents would want. When they were alive, they were often absent from mine and Brysen’s lives. My nanny mostly raised me until I turned fourteen when my mom decided I was old enough to start taking care of myself. By then, Brysen had graduated and moved out of the house. He’d told my parents he was going to college but dropped out before the end of the first semester and started dabbling in drugs.

  It was mostly a weekend at parties thing at first. But a year ago, right after our parents died, he went off the deep end and got into some pretty hardcore drugs. He burned through thousands of dollars, and God knows what else before I finally cut him off.

  If he wanted to, he could probably take me to court, because legally, I can’t keep the money from him. But sadly, he can’t get his act together long enough to hire a lawyer and spend the time taking me to court. Plus, I think he has a few warrants out for his arrest.

  “God, I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!” he screams into the phone. “You can’t do this to me! I need this! It’s my money, too! You’re such a bitch! God dammit! You don’t even get it! It’s not for drugs, Sway! I swear! I need it for something else!”

  Deep down, I know it’s not really him talking. It’s the addiction. Still, we used to be so close, and his words slice through my heart like a sharp knife.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him as tears spill from my eyes. “I know you can’t see it now, but I’m trying to help you. You need help—”

  “You’re going to regret this.” He hangs up on me.

  I drop the phone down and grip the edge of the counter, counting under my breath, trying to calm down.

  Tears sting my eyes from all the horrible things he said, from the worry that he’ll never get better, from the worry that he’ll one day show up in my life as a ghost.

  If that happens, what I gave up would all be for nothing.

  Three

  Dash

  Having my spirit removed from my body was definitely interesting. That is, if you find the feeling of being burned alive from the inside out interesting, which I don’t. Honestly, I find this whole death ordeal pretty sucky, and I’m rapidly discovering some huge downfalls to being dead. Well, besides being dead—that’s probably the number one.

  1) Listening to other ghosts whine. There are more wandering around than you think, and almost all of the ones I’ve crossed paths with have been way too overdramatic. Okay, I get it. Being dead sucks. But do something about it instead of crying over it.

  2) It’s boring as hell. There’s absolutely nothing to do except roam around and watch the living people unknowingly rub their aliveness in your face. Thankfully, I have a purpose, or I’d probably die again from boredom.

  3) Some of the powers I had when I was alive are dormant. No more shifting, casting spells whenever I want, or making my hands turn into glitter—okay, that last one really doesn’t bother me. It’s more of a parlor trick. I can cast a few spells, but it takes a lot of strength.

  And 4) You can’t touch most things. While this is cool for getting from place to place because you can just walk through walls, I’ve only been dead for a few days, and I’m craving physical contact, preferably from a woman.

  Maybe that’s why, when I finally find Sway after searching for her for days, all I can think about is touching her. Perhaps the pulsating need to brush my fingers across the freckles on her cheeks stems solely from loneliness. But then, why does it feel like something else altogether? Something stronger than the simple need to have contact with another being?

  It’s hard to come up with a definitive answer since I know zilch about Shadows or what Sway can do. The Shadow Reaper never explained anything about her, whether she has powers or not. He just told me to find her.

  She was pretty easy to find, even without instructions. I only had her first name to go on, but there aren’t a lot of Sways wandering around. And from the second my spirit left my body, I felt drawn to her, like a magnetic string was fastened to my waist and she was tugging on it with metal hands.

  The connection was faint at first, but magnified the closer I got to her. Now, being in the same campus yard as her, it’s taking all of my self-control not to sneak up and feel the softness of her skin. I wonder if that’s how every spirit feels or if it’s just that way for me.

  “What are you?” I whisper, my gaze tracking Sway as she walks across the campus yard, doing her best to listen to her friend and ignore the old dead dude poking her in the back.

  I know she can see him. She’s been glancing at him ever since he appeared fifty feet away from her. That’s why I stay in the shade of the trees, keeping my distance as she says good-bye to her friend and hops into her car. I don’t want to reveal myself until I get a vibe on her—what makes her tick, just how much she knows about her gift.

  After she gets into her car and pulls onto the road, I leave the shade of the trees and cross the grass to chase after her. It took me days to find her, so the last thing I want to do is lose her.

  I pick up my pace to a sprint, never letting my eyes leave her car. But as I reach the side of the road, I get the strangest feeling that someone is watching me.

  I cast a glance over my shoulder at the campus and spot a shadowy figure racing toward the back of the main building.

  Okay, I’ve seen a lot of odd things in my time, like a headless man and a woman with fifteen arms. If I’ve learned one thing from all the craziness, it’s that a shadowy, unidentifiable figure is never a good thing. But if I chase it down, I could lose track of Sway.

  Torn over what to do, I skitter to the left then the right.

  “Dammit!” I shout then veer and take off in a mad sprint toward where the shadow vanished.

  My feet hammer against the ground as I tear across the grass, duck under a tree, and round the back of the main building. The crowd thins as I near the parking lot, allowing me a full view of my surroundings.

  “Come on, come on … Where’d you go?” I spin in a circle, eyeing the vehicles, the doors of the buildings, the houses across the street.

  Nothing. Not a single shadow anywhere, not even my own.

  I rake my fingers through my hair. Where did it go? And why do I get the feeling it wasn’t tracking me?

  Not knowing what else to do, I run like hell down the road, hoping the connection guides me straight to Sway before the shadowy figure finds her first.

  Four

  Sway

&n
bsp; I spend the next hour or so working on my English assignment before getting cleaned up for tonight. After the conversation with my brother, going out is the last thing I feel like doing, but I can’t back out on my promise to Eve.

  By the time I take a shower, dry my hair, and step into my closet to find an Eve-approved dress, the ghost guy still hasn’t made a grand appearance. But I’m nowhere near convinced he’s given up on communicating with me. He’ll show up again. They always do. And probably at the worst time possible: when people are around, and I have to pretend I’m not insane and haven’t been for almost eleven years now.

  The first time I ever communicated with a ghost was when I was about seven or eight years old. I was playing dolls in my room when a girl around my age walked in and sat down on the floor next to me. I remember thinking how her red hair matched her dress perfectly and that her pale skin reminded me of snow.

  “Which one do you want to play with?” I asked her, holding up two different dolls.

  She blinked at me, appearing lost. “I don’t like dolls.”

  “Okay.” I set the dolls down on the floor. “Then what do you want to play?”

  She shrugged, peering around my bedroom filled with toys and fancy furniture. “How did I get here? Where am I?”

  “Nanny May brought you here.” At least, that’s what I assumed.

  Nanny May once told me that she was going to bring her daughter to work with her so I could meet her. I was really excited about it. I’d never had a friend before.

  Tears welled in the girl’s eyes. “Who’s Nanny May?”

  “Sway, who are you talking to?” Nanny May appeared in the doorway, her forehead scrunched up.

  I pointed at the girl. “Her.”

  “Sway, honey, there’s no one there.” Nanny May inched farther into my room. “Sweetie, do you have an imaginary friend?”

  I glanced over at the girl sitting across from me. “Um …”

  “I want to go home.” The girl lowered her face into her hands and let out a wrenching sob.

  That’s when I noticed her hands were stained with blood, and her red hair and dress weren’t originally red.

  I looked back at Nanny May, horrified. “You can’t see her?” I asked, and she shook her head. “Oh.” I felt so stupid. Here I was, thinking I had a real friend, only to find out she was just pretend.

  Nanny May offered me a kind smile. “It’s okay to have an imaginary friend. It just means you have a healthy imagination.”

  I peered over at the girl covered in blood, wondering if Nanny May would still think it was healthy if I told her what my friend looked like.

  I spent the rest of the day listening to the girl cry until nighttime when she disappeared. It wasn’t until a few weeks later when another girl covered in blood appeared in my room that I realized something was wrong with me.

  By the time I was ten years old, at least a dozen spirits had visited me.

  I did research on the internet. Mediums and necromancy were a couple of things that popped up, but to this day, I’m not positive what I am, why I can see ghosts, or why they’re so drawn to me.

  The doorbell rings and startles me from my thoughts. Crap, that’s probably Eve, and I’m nowhere close to being ready yet.

  I hurry out of the closet and slip on old T-shirt and a pair of shorts as I make my way to the front door. But the second I step foot into my living room, I let out a string of curses.

  The dead guy is sitting on my sofa with his arms resting on his knees, his wide-eyed gaze locked on the blank television screen.

  “You just had to wait until Eve showed up, didn’t you?” I release a tired sigh.

  The guy looks at me dazedly. “I don’t know why I’m here. I just want to go home.”

  I contemplate what to do. Should I let him follow me around all night or rip the Band-Aid off and break the news to him now so I can have a ghost-free night? The latter sounds like the best option. I just hope he doesn’t have an hour-long meltdown.

  I step toward him, getting closer yet keeping enough distance in case he gets upset. “What’s your name?”

  “I’m not sure.” His forehead wrinkles. “Why can’t I remember?”

  “Most can’t.” I lower myself down on the edge of the coffee table. “Can you think of a name you want me to call you?”

  He considers this with a wistful look. “I’ve always thought it’d be cool to have the name Hawk.”

  Um, okay, then.

  “Okay … Hawk. There’s no easy way to tell you this. And from past experiences, it’s usually better to break the news quickly, or else you and I are going to go round and round in circles until we’re so confused neither of us will be able to remember which way is up and which way is down.”

  The doorbell rings again, and someone bangs on the door. “Sway, the door,” Eve says from the other side. “Dammit, why isn’t she answering her texts? She better not be trying to blow me off.”

  “So, here’s the deal.” I look the dead guy in the eye. “You’re dead, and for some reason, you haven’t crossed over, or whatever it is you ghosts do after you finally leave me alone.”

  He shakes his head, jerking back. “You’re crazy. I’m not … I can’t be dead.”

  Great. It looks like I’ve got a denial one on my hands.

  “It’s not as crazy as you think,” I tell him as calmly as I can. “Trust me.”

  “Trust you?” He gapes at me. “Why would I trust you? I don’t even know you.”

  “Yet you came to me for help.”

  “That’s because I … I don’t know … Why did I come to you?” He scoots to the opposite side of the sofa like I’m the scary one. “Did you do something to me? Like, make me take drugs? Is that what’s happening? Am I on a bad trip?”

  I resist an eye roll. Reactions like this are why I avoid talking to the dead as much as possible.

  “Look, I get that this is a lot to take in, but this isn’t a bad trip. You’re not drugged. You’re dead.”

  “No … I can’t be.” He repeatedly shakes his head. “I have kids. And a wife. I have bills to pay. A job. I have a life.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say sympathetically, “but all that’s gone. I know it’s hard, but the sooner you accept that, the sooner you can let go and move on.”

  Eve bangs on the door again then jiggles the doorknob. “Come on! You better be in the shower and not just ignoring me.”

  The guy stares down at his pale hands, the skin flaked with dry blood. “I’m really dead?” he whispers.

  I nod. “I’m so sorry.”

  His hands tremble. “How did I …?” He swallows hard as he peers up at me. “Do you know how it happened?”

  “I don’t,” I lie, not wanting to break it to him that he did it to himself.

  “Does my family know?”

  “Probably.”

  Tears flood his eyes. “If I went to them … could they see me like you can?”

  I shake my head. “No, probably not.”

  “Why?” he whispers. “What are you?”

  It’s the first time any ghost has asked me that, and I don’t know how to respond. Deep down, I just assumed ghosts knew what I am since they’re the ones who track me down.

  “I’m not sure. I wish I knew, though.”

  The dead guy’s lips quiver as tears stream down his cheeks. “I don’t want to be dead. I want to …” He trails off as a sob wrenches from his chest.

  Le sigh. It looks like I’ve got a crier on my hands.

  Knowing he’ll spend at least the next twenty minutes or so sobbing on my sofa, I decide to let Eve in before she freaks out. While she’s distracted by going through my wardrobe, I’ll sneak back in and check on the dead guy.

  “What the hell took you so long?” Eve asks the instant I open the front door. “I’ve been standing out here for, like, five minutes.”

  “I was taking a bath.” I step back and signal her to come inside. “I didn’t even hear you knock. I just sa
w the text that you were outside.”

  She whisks into my living room and scans my outfit over. “Please tell me you’re not wearing that to the club.” She pinches the hem of my tattered T-shirt, her face contorting in disgust. “They’ll never let you in.”

  “I just threw this on so I didn’t have to answer the door in a towel.” Doing my best to ignore the dead guy’s choking sobs, I smile at her. “And because I’m so sorry for making you stand outside, I’ll let you pick out my outfit.”

  Her eyes light up. “And you’ll wear whatever I pick, even if you hate it?”

  Even though I’ll probably regret it later, I nod.

  Grinning from ear to ear, she snatches my hand and tugs me down the hallway toward my bedroom. “I’m going to make you look so hot guys are going to drop dead at your feet.”

  God, I hope not. I’ve already reached my limited of dead guys for the night.

  “Please don’t pick out anything too short,” I say as she releases my hand and bounces into my closet. I note the skin tight, navy blue dress she’s wearing and add, “Or too tight. I’d like to be able to sit down.”

  “Sit down?” She laughs as she sifts through my limited selection of clothing. “Don’t be silly. We’re going to dance the entire night.”

  I frown. “You know I suck at dancing.”

  She dismisses me with a wave of her hand. “There’ll be so many people there that it won’t matter.”

  It’s like when we were back in high school, and she dragged me to parties. I should be excited, but all I can concentrate on is the wailing coming from my living room.

  “Don’t pick too high of heels, then,” I plead. “I’ll end up tripping like I did at graduation.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” she says, but her devious grin lets me know I’ll probably be spending the night trudging around in four-inch stilettos.

  A half an hour later, I’m dressed, my makeup and hair are done, and according to Eve, I look “smokin’ hot.” The outfit she picked out for me didn’t turn out to be horribly bad. After a bit of arguing, I got her to agree not to make me wear the leather dress I wore on Halloween last year, and we settled on a red, velvet dress that’s tight at the top and swishes at the bottom, topped off with a leather jacket. And I have platform shoes instead of heels. She lined my eyes with a kohl liner, dabbed on a drop of lip gloss, and swiped on some mascara, keeping most of my face au natural. Then she teased and curled my hair, making the strands look wildly tousled.