by J. L. Weil
The sinister gleam in his irises wasn’t reassuring. He was, after all, the son of Death. Wickedness was probably hereditary. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied. “Although I’m sure you wouldn’t mind.”
“Try me,” I countered.
The deeper we went, the thicker the shadows became, and with it Zane’s mood shifted. A thin fog slid over the sand, white as smoke. “I probably should have told you sooner.”
“Told me what?”
Running a hand through his windblown hair, he said, “You have the mark.”
A chill rippled through my heart. “I have the mark?” I echoed, confused. “What mark?” But I was afraid I already knew.
He flipped over my wrist. “The mark of a Raven.” The pad of his thumb outlined a pale shape, and as his touch passed over my skin, the mark grew brighter.
There it was. A white raven etched into my skin. “What the…? How the hell? That wasn’t there before,” I murmured mostly to myself.
But Zane answered nonetheless. “Your mind wasn’t open to the possibility.”
My head snapped up. “What possibility? What does the mark mean?”
“You’re a banshee, Piper.”
Queasiness tap danced in my belly. That couldn’t be. He had to be wrong. I stared at him, bewildered. “You’re shitting me.”
He made an air circle around his head. “Does this face look like I am shitting you?”
No, and that was what was scaring me. “This isn’t funny, Zane. If I knew you were going to be an asswipe, I never would have called you.” I threw up my hands. “I should have known better than to trust you.”
I turned to leave, but his hand shot out, spinning me back around to face him. His hands framed my face, keeping me from running. “Piper—”
The moment he touched me, my sensibility went out the window. “There is no way I’m a-a banshee.” My voice grew louder and louder as I punctuated each word with a shove to his chest. “Don’t you think that’s something I would know?”
Finally fed up with the jabs to his pecs, Zane caught my wrist midair, eyes blazing. “I can’t say why no one told you, but I assume since you mother never brought you to Raven Hallow, she didn’t want you to know. Whether you believe me or not changes nothing. The mark is proof.”
The immature teenager in me wanted to give him the middle finger salute and tell him to buzz off. But the near adult in me knew that if what he said was true, it wasn’t something I could hide from. Confused, hurt, and betrayed, I wondered how they could keep such a secret from me.
“Haven’t you ever wondered why your mom never came home?” he persisted.
Only a bajillion times.
“Why would she lie to me?” I retorted.
“Your mom was a reaper. A banshee, Piper,” he pointed out as gently as possible. “And not just any reaper—a White Raven.”
I tried to gauge his expression, but it was too dark, his expression hooded. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
“It should, but given that a month ago you didn’t even know reapers existed…”
We were close, and there was too much tension between us. “Yeah, okay, I get the point, but I’m still not convinced that a stupid mark means I’m a supernatural, soul-collecting freak.” As soon as the words were out, I bit my lip, feeling like a complete jerk. Now who was the asshole? A hot flush swept down my cheeks. I wanted to take the nasty words back. I wanted to stuff a sock in my mouth. I wanted to apologize.
Zane’s jaw tensed, and he took a step back. “Ask her highness. She’s the queen of freaks.”
Several non-polite responses lined up at the tip of my tongue, but I pushed them away. It was pointless arguing when my emotions were already out of whack-a-doodle.
“Maybe I will,” I seethed, trying not to be hurt by the hardness radiating in his eyes.
He seared me with ice. “You’re in danger, Princess, if you haven’t figured it out yet. You need me.”
I was in danger all right. In danger of making a complete and utter fool of myself. He might be right. Maybe I did need him, but before I could do any permanent damage to this thing we had going between us, I turned and ran. And this time he didn’t stop me. I wasn’t sure I wanted him to.
Then why did my heart feel so heavy? Why was I on the verge of tears?
There was only one thing I was certain…
I had been right. Zane had changed my world. My life would never be the same.
Chapter 21
I faked sick on Friday, staying in bed and vegging out on cartons of cookie dough ice cream. Okay, so I might not have been entirely faking. I did feel out of it, and who could blame? I didn’t want to do the “family” thing. Hell, I wasn’t sure how to resume life after learning I was a reaper. A banshee. It was impossible to believe, and I still couldn’t fathom it. I didn’t feel like a banshee. I felt like me.
What did it mean? How did I move forward? What was I supposed to do? Start reaper basic training?
I couldn’t think about it. I was still going to be whatever I was tomorrow. Life would be there with all its ups and downs. Today, I wanted nothing but bad reality TV and junk food. Today, I wanted to be normal. Well, as normal as I could be, because every time I closed my eyes, I saw that girl’s face, reliving her horrible fate. In my dreams, there were two different versions of me: the normal me and the reaper me, except the girl always died. It didn’t matter what I was; she always died at my hands.
Of course, I knew eventually I would have to deal with the possibility that Zane was telling me the truth. If he was, then I was going to have to take the bullet, swallow my pride, and apologize to the big jerk. He was my only link to this reaper life. I never thought I would have to utter the words “I’m sorry” to him. I could feel the words sticking in my throat.
Then again, it never crossed my mind that I could be a banshee.
As difficult as it was to consider, it was harder to ignore the signs I didn’t want to be there. Starting with the ghosts. I knew now that they hadn’t been figments of my imagination. They had been very real souls, reaching out to me to help them pass on and leave this realm. If I had known that, I could’ve helped them…
Would I have?
I’d like to think I would have, but that didn’t explain why my mom would lie to me. Let me believe that something was wrong with me. It was so hard to think ill of my mom. She had been my best friend, my rock, and the betrayal I was feeling stung like a bitch.
I nibbled on my nails, but it didn’t stop my eyes from constantly glancing at my wrist. As much as I hoped the little white raven would be gone, I was disappointed each time. The usual distraction of reality TV and other people’s drama did little to make me forget my own. TJ took one look at my face and kept on walking past the media room, knowing better than to haze me when I was in a mood. Rose must have known that something was up, because she showed up after I’d binged watched an entire season of Keeping Up with the Kardashians.
Seeing her, I quickly folded my arms, covering the little raven from sight. I expected a surge of anger, but I guess it had defused and turned into disappointment, regret, and confusion. To be pissed at her would also mean being pissed at my mom, and I couldn’t muster up the feeling when it came to her. So I let it go. The anger would come again once I worked through the hurt of being lied to by the most important person in my life. I needed Rose to confirm Zane’s story. Then I could figure out the rest. I deserved the truth from her.
Looking up as she took a seat beside me, Rose surprised me. I’d never seen her in something comfortable. She was wearing a set of black silk pajamas. A steaming cup of coffee was in each of her hands. “I figured if you were having a pajama day, so would I.”
A small smile cracked on my lips, at the sight of coffee, of course. “I wasn’t sure you even owned jammies.”
Holding out a mug to me, she took a sip of hers. “What? These old things?”
I’d bet my measly savings that the price tags were
in the garbage, but it was the thought that counted, and I had to hand it to her; she was trying. “It’s a good look on you.”
The skin around her eyes crinkled. “Having a rough day?”
I huffed. “More like a rough year.”
“Everyone is entitled to a day for themselves. It is how you pick yourself up tomorrow that counts.”
“Wow. You get that from a Hallmark card?”
She chuckled. “I never thought I would miss that sarcasm. It is funny the little things you miss.”
I stared down inside my coffee. “I know what you mean.”
Rose scooted to the edge of the couch, setting aside her cup. “She loved you very much, Piper, and whether you believe it or not, she was my world. Your mom did what she had to do to protect her family, and I lost a giant piece of myself the day she died.”
My eyes began to well. It was so hard to talk about her, but I realized that Rose felt immense pain, too. We just both showed it differently. I might lash out in sarcasm and lose myself in the nightlife of Chicago, and Rose might be stiff and boring, but I was beginning to see it was as much a rouse as mine was. Underneath our pain and grief we were genuinely different people, but a lot alike. We might actually like each other.
I could hear my mom’s voice, encouraging me with her favorite phrase, “Don’t let life pass you by, Pipes.”
Just as the tears spilled over, streaming down my cheeks, Rose hugged me tight, and more shocking, I let her. Until the tears ran dry, leaving me drained and utterly spent. I sniffed, blinking away the lingering salty drops, and pulled away. “I need to ask you something,” I said, fidgeting on the couch.
Brushing the hair off my forehead, she peered at me under curious brows. “Anything, dear.”
My stomach tightened. Rose and I were finally having a sincere moment, and I was going to ruin it. “I must warn you it’s going to sound insane.”
“Hmm,” she pursed her lips. “This sounds serious.” But the curve of her mouth said otherwise.
Her playfulness gave me a little confidence booster. “Here goes.” My fingers fumbled with the charm dangling around my neck. “There is no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to say it. Are you a banshee?”
I expected her to laugh or give me her best jaw-dropping expression, or maybe a quick denial and accuse me of doing drugs. She did neither. Any reaction would have been preferable to none.
The coffee was suddenly rolling around in my belly.
Oh God. Oh no.
One look at her calm, collective face and I knew. Dread pitted in my chest. There were these little palpitations, skipping in my heart. She was a White Raven. And I…I was a reaper. That was it. My life was over; the walls were crashing down around me. I slumped back into the couch, sinking darker into despair, and the tears were back, forcefully pushing to the surface.
“Zane Hunter, I assume?” she asked, not bothering to hide her disdain.
“So it’s true?” I asked, even though she’d pretty much confirmed the worst. If I hadn’t been so hung up on the discovery of being a banshee, I would have had something smart to say.
A heavy sigh expelled from her lungs. “I was planning to tell you. It just never seemed to be the right time. It was part selfishness on my part. I wanted more time to get to know you, but it was always my intention to tell you.”
“Why didn’t she ever tell me?” I insisted. It was my mom’s silence on the matter that cut the most. I barely knew Rose, but my mom…
“Your mom was running from her birthright in an attempt to save you. This life isn’t easy, and is often dangerous. She only wanted to protect you,” she informed, but it did little to lift the weight on my heart.
I wiped my palms on my yoga pants. “But you feel differently.”
She nodded. “I do.” Looking over my shoulder, she was lost in the past. “It was no secret that I disagreed with your mother. When she left here with your father, pregnant with you, I begged her to stay, but she refused to listen. Stubborn and so sure of herself.”
I had heard this story before, but it took on a different meaning hearing it from Rose’s perspective. “How did she really die?”
Her fingers pinched the bridge of her nose as she collected herself. I could see the emotions she kept in check float to the surface. “She left here thinking she was strong enough to protect you all. She wasn’t. Your mom was killed by reapers for her power, but what many don’t know is the power of a White Raven doesn’t transfer to the reaper, but to the next descendant.”
“To me?” I squeaked.
She nodded. “It isn’t until the last White Raven is killed that our essence can be absorbed. There is an internal struggle among our kind. Many no longer want to follow the rules that have been in place for centuries.”
“Oh God.” I didn’t know a ton about reaper politics, but I knew enough to know it was probably a bad thing. “This is all so overwhelming. I don’t feel any different.” But as I said the words, I glanced down at my wrist for the billionth time. It was still there.
Rose’s eyes followed mine. “You can see the marks?”
I wanted to deny it, but what was the point? “Yeah.”
She frowned. “For how long?”
Both of our coffees were growing cold, sitting untouched. “I don’t know. Since I got here, I guess.”
“Your powers are awakening.”
My eyes bulged like a cartoon character’s.
“Don’t be afraid.” She unclasped the filigree gold watch on her wrist, and it was no surprise that she had an identical white raven.
“I don’t think I want this,” I whispered, looking up.
Her eyes softened as she clasped a hand over mine. “Oh, Piper, I wish it were that easy.”
That was her way of telling me I was screwed. “What about TJ?” It was second nature for me to be concerned about my brother.
“Our gifts are matriarchic. Only the females are born as banshees,” she said, the picture of calm. At least one of us was, because I was freaking out inside.
“Banshee,” I echoed, running a hand through my second-day hair. “How is a banshee different than Zane?” Not that anyone was like Zane.
Her lips thinned, and I got the feeling she didn’t like that he was the first name that tumbled from my lips. “It’s complicated. Ravens have some of the same abilities as reapers. We can decide what to do with a soul. Banish them, destroy them, or send to the everlasting, their fate is in your hands. Ravens are the only reapers who have a choice. Crows only destroy. Sparrows govern the souls between Heaven and Hell. And Hawks choose who will die. But our greatest power is the ability to create. Not all reapers are born like you. Ravens choose souls worthy enough to become a reaper. Our sole purpose is to keep peace amongst our kind. Your call summons other reapers. Individual or all, it cannot be ignored.”
My call, huh? That was a pretty sick ability—powerful. “You’re their queen,” I mumbled, thinking how everyone always referred to her has Her Highness.
She smiled. “In a sense, but I’ve never quite looked at it that way.”
I didn’t think now was the time to tell her that was exactly how they saw her. Her Highness.
Ooh, how I despised the nickname “Princess” even more. Zane wasn’t just mocking my grandma’s money, but who she was—who I was.
Now that I had those missing pieces, I didn’t know what to do with them, how I fit into the puzzle. My brain felt disconnected. Rose must have noticed the wariness in my eyes, and she pulled the knitted afghan over my shoulders. I definitely needed the warmth, my body chilled to the bone. Stretching out, I snuggled deeper into the soft fabric and curled up into a ball. I must have fallen asleep, because that was the last thing I remembered.
~*~*~
I found myself lingering on the front steps of the Hunters’ house, pacing and biting my jagged nails. My nerves were wreaking havoc on my fingers, and I was in desperate need of a manicure. What was I doing here again?
Rig
ht. I was here to tell Zane that I’d acted like an idiot, and that I believed him. I knew what I was.
Raising my hand, I hovered over the doorbell, battling internally. Just hit the bell, already. He might not even be home, wrestled my subconscious. And so the argument went as I wore out the floorboards of Zane’s porch.
I turned around, positive this time I was going to hit that round button, only my head was down, and I didn’t see the wall of solid muscle until I rammed into it. Bumping into Zane’s chest was like hitting a brick. I stumbled back a step or two, startled eyes glancing up. “Uh, hey.”
His lips quipped, “Hey, stranger.”
The Black Crow polo stretched over his shoulders, and I assumed he had just come from work. I attempted to regain my composure after that bumbling entrance. “Can we talk?”
He nodded. “Come on. No one’s home.”
“Oh.” This was worse. Alone. With Zane. I just hoped my hormones could handle it.
I followed him inside and silently up the stairs, anxious to get the apology out of the way, and knowing Zane, he would soak it up. It didn’t occur to me that we were in his bedroom until I was staring at his rumpled bed. My feet were planted on the carpet as my eyes roamed. Monochromatic tones of steel gray splashed over the walls, yet the room had warmth despite the cool colors. Bonus, it smelled like him.
Heaven.
And Hell, depending how you looked at it.
Whirling around, I was just about to open my mouth when his shirt tumbled to the floor beside a few others. The blade-cut of his body stole my breath. I drank in the sight of him. Shirtless—the wicked tattoo of a reaper’s scythe, golden skin, and washboard abs. He was the epitome of a bad boy. And I wanted him.
Seeing him half-naked made me feel like I was stranded on a desert, parched, and he was a tall glass of water. “What are you doing?” I barked.
Unfazed, he stood, brows wrinkling. “Showering. Is that okay?”
My cheeks turned hot. “Oh. I thought we were going to talk.”
“We will. After I get the sweaty smell off my skin, unless you like it dirty.” He flashed a quick menacing grin that was going to get me in trouble.
