He winks and backs away. “Think about it and let me know when the hypothetical can become a reality,” he says before vanishing into the crowd.
It’s probably the closest I’ve ever come to a perfect moment. And I’m actually happy. My happiness elates when I flick the screen on. He’s added his phone number to my contacts.
When I look up, the quad is profoundly occupied with people standing along the wall, sitting on the benches, talking, laughing, yelling. With my shoulders slouched, I take a deep breath before carefully making my way toward the hall.
Someone slams into me from behind. I want to die. Piercing. Heartache. An eternity of self-loathing finally reaching its end.
I dodge to the side, but the crowd thickens. I’m bumped and prodded from all directions. My bag slips from my shoulder and falls to the floor. I scramble to pick it up. Death. Everywhere.
A thick-necked guy gives me a hard shove. “Watch it, killer.”
I elbow the nearest person, trying to make room. Bound, gagged, I see where you’re hiding, blonde hair, blue eyes. I’m not going to hurt you. I gasp.
Mackenzie’s eyes bulge with terror. “What’s the matter with you? Are you having, like, an episode or something?”
I snatch my bag, weave through the nearest gap, and burst out of the front door. The sunlight sparkles on my skin and I breathe in the fresh air. The bell rings and I cut across the grass and round the corner.
Raven is leaning against the side entrance. A guy with greasy hair and sideburns leans over her with his hands braced on the wall. Her eyes are locked on the guy like she is a love-struck puppy. He glances in my direction and I catch sight of the X on his eye—the sleazebag from the other night.
“What are you doing?” I hurry toward her.
Raven’s eyes are red and swollen and her mascara is smudged. “I’m not doing anything. Now go away.”
“You’re not okay.” I reach a hand for her. “What did he do to you?”
“She’s fine,” the sleazebag snarls and slaps my hand away. “Now get the hell out of here.”
“Don’t touch me, asshole,” I warn, breathing through the stench of his death.
Raven wipes her tears away with the collar of her pink shirt. “Ember, just go inside. Please.”
My muscles stiffen under the guy’s powerful glare. “I will, but you’re coming with me.”
“You need to butt out of business that doesn’t concern you.” The guy prowls forward and shoves me backward.
“She’s my friend,” I say firmly, regaining my balance. “So therefore it is my business.”
He glares at me with hatred. “Well, if you want, I could make it directly concern you.” He lunges at me, grabs my arms, and thrusts me back against the brick wall.
His vile death chokes me. He stands in the middle of a field. It’s dark. A gunshot fires and he collapses to the ground.
I blink, stunned. It’s not the same death omen as the other night.
He smiles and a chill pricks at my skin. “What’s wrong Ember? Are you scared?” He drops his voice as he leans in, his stale breath hot against my face. “Tell me, how was your drive home last night?”
“You tell me.” I kick him in the shin, dodge to the side of him, and reach for Raven. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Raven shakes her head and skitters away from me. “I can’t, Em. I have to stay here.”
Rage flickers across his face. He hurdles for me and grips my wrists so tight my skin breaks. I groan as the venom of a thousand deaths paralyzes me: self-inflicting, painful, too early, broken heart, old age, help me, help me, help me. There are so many that I can’t sort through all of them. It’s crushing the oxygen from my lungs and strangles my heart. It’s unbearable and ironic; what if death omens are the cause of my infinite death?
“Let her go,” a deep, demanding voice chips the blackness and pain.
Sleazebag abandons my arms and I crumple to the ground. I clutch the grass, gasping for air. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Deep breaths.
A hand appears in my vision, but I shake my head. “Let me help you up.”
“Go away.” I choke. “Please. I swear I’m fine.”
“Ember, take my hand,” Asher says and the resonance of his voice settles me down.
I slip my hand into his and contentment glides through my body, squelching the pain.
He helps me to my feet, his grey eyes searching me as he brushes grass out of my hair, off my shoulder, and the feel of his hands is invigorating. “Are you okay?”
Intoxication hums through my head. “I’m fine…”
He traces his fingers down my cheekbone, my neck, my throat, heating my skin in an unfamiliar way. “Ember…” He groans and lust fills his eyes.
I repress a moan. “I think I… I think I…”
“A little help here,” Raven’s sobs crash us back to reality.
“I think you’ll be okay.” His eyes focus on the doors of the school as he blinks the glazed look in his eyes away. “But I think you need to take your friend home.”
Raven’s curled up against the door, bawling her eyes out. “Em, help me. Please. I don’t know what’s going on.”
I squat down in front of her. “Come on, let’s get you home.” When I get her to her feet, focusing past the pollution of her death, I notice both Asher and the sleazebag are gone. “Where’d that guy go? Rav, did you see where he went?”
“Take me home!” she screams psychotically, with her hands clenched. “Now!”
Sighing, I lead her toward the parking lot, picking up my bag along the way. Holding my breath, I exhale through her death omen: blood under her head, pain in her body, rain falling from the sky. I lower Raven into the passenger seat of her car and buckle the seatbelt for her, then climb into the driver’s seat.
“Do you have your keys on you?” I adjust the seat back.
Tears rain from her eyes as she rummages the keys out of her shirt pocket. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I yelled at you.”
I press my lips together, fighting back the urge to yell at her, and turn the engine on. “Sorry for what?”
“For bailing on you so I could meet up with Garrick.” She covers her face with her hands and cries.
“You bailed out on me this morning to be with that guy that has the X on his eye?” I’m stunned. “But he’s a total creep.”
“I like him,” she says, blinking her tears back, looking possessed. “He’s nice, has good teeth, and is courteous.”
“No he’s not.” As I back the car out of the parking spot, I notice Asher’s GTO peeling out of the parking lot. “Okay… where is he going?”
“Ember!” Raven shouts with terror in her eyes. “Please take me home!”
“Okay. Okay.” What is going on with her?
I drive toward our neighborhood, letting her cry for a few minutes. Then I turn down the volume of the radio. “Okay, you have to tell me what the hell happened to you that night Laden vanished,” I demand in a soft but determined tone. “And why you were just with a guy that probably slipped you a roofie.”
“He didn’t do that,” she protests with a quick shake of her head. “It was another guy with the same kind of X in his eye.”
“I know you’re lying,” I accuse. “Your eye just twitched.”
She dabs her eyes with her fingers. “I’m crying. Of course my eye twitched.”
“I don’t believe you,” I say. “You’re lying and you’ve been lying to me since the other night. And you’re not acting like yourself… You’re not taking drugs again, are you?”
“Of course not.” She rolls her eyes.
As we drive over the bridge, her eyes dart to the median. There’s a faint scent of death in the air and on the lamppost is a blue flyer with Laden’s face on it. His car is no longer in the street, but the large red X on the asphalt is still visible.
“Such a shame.” Laughter hints her voice. Her eyes, smeared with mascara, widen as she gawks at the spot Laden v
anished. “He was a really good kisser.” She leans forward and relaxes her head on the dashboard. She shuts her eyes, sweeps her hair to the side, and fans her sweaty face. “It’s so hot… Isn’t it so hot?”
I notice the scratch on her shoulder blade looks a little infected. “What happened to your shoulder?”
She shelters the spot with her hand. “Things got a little rough between Laden and I, if you know what I mean.”
I press my lips together. “How rough?”
Her head whips up and her eyes scorch fire. “What are you getting at exactly? That I might have had something to do with his death?”
“There’s no proof he’s dead yet.” I veer down the road that leads to our houses. “And I didn’t say anything about you being involved. It just looks infected.”
“Yeah, whatever. If anyone should be accused of his murder it’s you. Especially with the whole I-saw-him-standing-outside-my-house thing. You better watch what you say, Ember, or people are going to think you’re as crazy as your dad. Oh wait, they already do.”
At that moment, I hate her. She is not my best friend and I don’t care if I ever see her again. I want to rip her hair out and hurt her.
“You need to tell me what happened. With the details,” I demand as I turn into the driveway of her house. I force the shifter into park and place a hand on her arm. “It’s like you’re possessed by the devil or something.”
She glances at my hand on her arm and then her eyes drain of emotion. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She jerks her arm away and jumps out of the car.
I remove the keys from the ignition and jump out after her. “Raven, we’re not done with this conversation yet. I’m worried about you. You’re acting like you’ve lost your mind.”
“You would be the expert on that, Death Girl.” She whisks around the front of the car and shoves her hand at me. “My keys, please.” I slam the keys into her palm. “Thanks, Emmy. And I mean for everything. But honestly, I really need a break from you. You’re too much baggage. ” She sashays into her house and slams the door, leaving me in the driveway, stirring in my own anger.
I storm for my house, but a flash of black in the trees sends me to an earthshattering halt. Laden’s body hangs from the tree in my front yard, a rope around his neck, and blood dripping from his lips. His pale skin is blue and his eyes stare lifelessly at me.
Death. Silence.
Trying not to panic, I fumble my phone out of my bag and nearly drop it. I start to dial the police, but when I look back at the tree the phone falls from my hands. The body is gone, but his blood still stains the grass.
Chapter 8
I swivel in the computer chair with my fingers to my temples. I’m tucked in the corner desk just outside the living room. The words on the computer screen are blurry from the hours of searching on the internet. Ghost possession. Demon possession. Cult rituals. Nothing explains what’s going on with Raven. Or what’s going on with me.
So I shift the focus to Garrick. A death omen has never been that powerful before. It felt like a thousand deaths, each one a thorn on a dying rose, individualized but connected to the same vine of life. I start to type something on the keyboard when Ian’s head appears over my shoulder and he reads the screen.
“Wow, should I be worried?” he asks, reading my search history on the sidebar.
“We’re studying mythology and human nature in English class,” I lie easily.
“Well, if you need any help, let me know,” he says. “I had to study mythology for this oil-based painting class I took. The teacher was seriously into that crap.”
“Yep, I sure will.” I wait for him to leave and then type “X tattoo” into the search. Nothing pops out, so I delete “tattoo” and put “symbol.” I scroll through the options and click on a link about execution.
I read through the article: “An X symbol has many representations, one being the elimination of a life.” I slump back in the chair and cross my arms. “Well, look at that. It does have to do with death.”
Still, why does Garrick have an X on his eye? Could Garrick be… could Garrick be causing the disappearances? But why does he have so many death omens?
I stretch my fingers and type: Death Omens. I highlight the search button with the cursor, and hesitate before clicking it. I skim through the search results, until I come across a sketch of an angel with her head tucked down, tears seeping from her eyes, and black smudges on her cheeks. Her dark wings elongate the page and a lifeless rose crumbles from her hand. A skeletal pattern tattoos her arms and legs and a circle rounds the stone floor beneath her bare feet.
“It’s just like in Asher’s painting of Angel,” I mutter. Grim Angel is the title of the sketch. “It’s like a mix between the Grim Reaper and an Angel.”
I do a search on Grim Angel. “Grim Angels are a unique breed immune to most of the Angel of Deaths’ and the Grim Reapers’ gifts. Grim Angels are believed to be insane due to the curse of their hybrid breeding of an Angel of Death and a Grim Reaper, which plagues them with a constant burden of death. They may suffer from blackouts and lose track of their mind, if not properly taken care of.” I read the note aloud again. “Blackouts and a general burden of constant death.” I shiver and peek over my shoulder, just to make sure I’m not sprouting wings. But the inner voice deep inside me disagrees.
After reading a few more websites, and finding nothing else, I give up for the night. “What are these things, like some kind of hush-hush mythical species no one is supposed to talk about or something?”
I shove the chair back, shut off the computer, and flop down on the couch next to Ian. “Is mom home yet?”
He surfs through the channels with the remote. “Nah, she called and said she’s going to be late.”
“Did you check on her prescription to see if it was still full?”
“Yeah… and it’s still full. She hasn’t taken them for at least a week.”
“We should talk to her about it,” I say. “She came home last night totally wasted. And ranting about dad being a killer.”
Ian turns down the volume of the TV and sets the remote down. “Where was I?”
I point over my shoulder at the staircase. “Upstairs in the attic with your ‘muse.’”
He squirms uneasily. “Did you get her upstairs okay?”
I grab a handful of skittles from the candy bowl on the coffee table and pop them into my mouth. “Yeah, I made do.”
He slips off his beanie to ruffle his hair. “Was she nice to you?”
I seal my lips together and force the tears to back down. “She was fine, I guess.”
“I can tell when you’re lying.” Ian pushes the sleeves of his shirt up and kicks his feet up on the table. “What did she say to you?”
Ian knows about my rough relationship with our mother to an extent, but there are pieces I omit from him, like her accusations that I killed Grandma Nelly.
“She was as nice as she always is.” I scoop up another handful of skittles and get up from the couch. “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Ember…” He struggles for words. “You know you can talk to me about stuff. My meds are helping a lot and I think I can handle things now.”
“I know,” I say, but he can’t. It’s in his eyes—the fear I might open up and he’ll have to deal with it. So I bottle it up—the accident, Raven, death, that I saw Laden’s body hanging from our tree. “And if I do ever feel like talking, you’ll be the first one I come to.”
He lets out a breath of relief and turns back to the TV. I trudge up to my room, wondering when I’ll crack.
Chapter 9
Asher’s not at school the next day. Or the next. It bothers me for some reason. I barely know him, yet knots wind in my stomach every time I think about him. It’s like I’ve become obsessed and I don’t like it.
I’m in the library, tucked in the table in the farthest corner, writing poetry about my frustration.
In the
midst of a foggy field, the answers are hidden
But the impossible journey deems them forbidden
“Have I told you how much I’m sorry,” Raven says, sliding a candy bar across the table.
I glance up from my journal. “How many times are you going to apologize?” I pick up the candy bar. “My teeth are going to rot out if you keep it up.”
“As long as it takes for you to accept it.” She takes a magazine out of her bag. “So what does Mr. Reynolds want us to do in here?”
“He said something about doing research on our science project.” I point the pen at the computers. “But the computers are full, so I thought I’d hang out and do some writing instead."
Ember (Death Collectors, Book 1) Page 9
