by Natasha Deen
“It’s not—the reverend and your mom played a giant role in some of the choices you made,” I said.
“Yeah, but they were still my choices.” He stood. “I’m going to go home. I’ll see you two later.”
He blipped out. Dad and I finished our meals, then stood to leave. As I walked out the exit, I caught Amber Sinclair and her mom coming in the other set of doors.
Dad saw them too. “That’s not your doing.”
“Maybe.” But for good or bad, everyone in town knew about the reverend and Amber. Everyone whispered and judged her mom, May, for not seeing it, for not protecting her daughter from it. What would happen once Amber had the baby?
I may have brought the reverend to the light and to justice, I may have taken down the bad guy, but Principal Larry hadn’t been all wrong, no matter what Serge said. I left destruction in my wake. And now, the entity I battled wasn’t simply one of flesh and blood. He was supernatural and his powers were stronger than a man standing at a pulpit.
I had a duty to save Zeke and Homer, to find out if this soul-eater had my mother too. But there would be a cost to this, and I wondered who would pay it. I pulled my collar against the wind, stepped around the blond man coming in, and followed Dad into the night.
Chapter Six
“Feeling better?” I asked Serge as I came into my room.
He nodded and muted the TV. “I can’t undo the past, but I can work on the present and change the future. That’s my focus. There are a lot of Mindys out there. I can do something good for them.”
“I like that plan.”
“But if you want to give me a hug and make me feel better—”
“I’m full of sundae, burger, and fries. Keep going and I’m going to throw it all up on you.”
He laughed, then grew serious. “You know I’m just using Mindy as a place-holder. I mean anyone in trouble. Albert, John, Kia, Lonnie.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Kayley, Madison, Emily—”
“What is wrong with you?”
“I don’t know.” He rubbed his chest. “I feel like I’m caught in a loop. Sure you don’t want to give me a hug and make it all better?”
“Stop. Just stop.”
He grinned.
I did too. Hard to believe when he was alive, I would’ve run the other way if I saw him coming. That we’d been enemies. I sat next to him. “I’ve been thinking.”
“I thought I smelled smoke.”
“Focus. The soul-eater came because of Zeke—” I spun my hands. “—But there’s a good chance this thing has my mom.”
“And now it’s coming for you. If it has your mom, it would have her memories of you. It knows how to get you.”
“Except I’m alive, and soul-eaters want ghosts. What would it do with me?”
“That’s the question,” he said. “Unless he was coming for me.”
“Why didn’t he come the day you died then?” I asked. “I don’t think it’s about you. I’m not even sure it’s about me.” I crawled on the bed. “I can’t fight the feeling that there’s another reason this thing is here.”
“You’re overthinking its motivations. It’s here for you. The night we saw Rori on the road, your mom sent you a warning.”
“‘He’s coming, Maggie, he’s coming for you.’”
“Right. What if she was warning you about the soul-eater?”
“Soul-eaters come for souls. I’m still alive.”
“But the soul-eater is a living person,” he said. “All he has to do is kill you and your soul is up for grabs. You’re a guardian-in-training which means you have powers. Plus, they’re growing.”
“In other words, I’d make a tasty treat.”
He put his arm around me. “He won’t get you, I’m here.”
“Just to confirm, that’s supposed to make me feel better, right?”
“You’re hilarious.”
“You’re a guardian, too,” I said. “Maybe he missed his chance when you died. Maybe he’s coming for you now.”
“I’m not worried.”
“No?”
“I’m a man with a plan.”
“Let me guess. Your plan is to toss me in front of you, then run?”
“I thought I’d kick you in the shin first, really make sure you’re down before I escape.”
The jokes helped, but they didn’t make me feel better. “A soul-eater has taken two of our charges and now it’s after me or you, or both of us.”
“He’s our biggest and baddest bad guy yet.”
“I get that he clears the bottleneck of wandering souls, but how do the higher-ups not see the bigger picture? Why don’t they take him out?”
“Maybe we’re the ones they’ll use to do it.”
This was driving me nuts. There were too many things that didn’t make sense, too many things still hidden in shadow. Now, that shadow was growing and I feared it, like the soul-eater, would consume everything it touched.
✦ ✦ ✦
I came out of the bathroom, rubbing the last of the lotion into my hands. A shadow flickered in the corner of my eye. I thought I heard the echo of my mother’s voice as I stepped through the threshold into someone else’s room—one that belonged to a small child. Blue walls, shiny white shelving, and toys stacked in precise lines. I stepped on to the lush carpet, checking for signs of life. No one was there. I turned to go back to my bathroom, but found a wall where the door had once been.
This was either the most vivid dream, ever, or I’d transported into someone else’s life. Transportation wasn’t part of my gifts, but considering everything happening, I supposed it wasn’t out of the question. Trust my luck to end up in someone else’s house and their kid’s room, too.
I’d heard that pinching yourself was supposed to wake you from a dream state. Three attempts later, all I had to show for my efforts were arm bruises destined to turn purple. I tried psychically calling for Serge, but as soon as I opened my mind, I knew it was futile. The connection between us usually hummed and vibrated in a four-dimensional experience of light and sensation. Now, there was no bridge, just emptiness. Whatever was going on here, dream or reality, I was on my own.
Opening my mouth and yelling “hello!” seemed stupid and dangerous. If I had crossed time and space and ended up in someone else’s house, there was no need to bring attention to myself and let the homeowners know a stranger was in their house. I doused the lights, then crept to the window and looked out.
Homes lined the streets, lazy plumes of smoke rising from their chimneys. A thick layer of snow painted the rooftops and glittered silver. Wherever I was, it wasn’t Dead Falls. We hadn’t had this much snow and I didn’t recognize the road. And wherever I was, it had to be a big city. Only a heavily populated area could justify the giant homes I saw.
I felt in my pockets, hoping I’d left my cell in one. No luck. For a psychic chick who had tackled demons and murderers, I was as prepared for the surprises of life as a half-naked girl in a B-rated horror flick. There was no clock in the room, but the dark night suggested the family would soon be coming to bed. I considered hiding under the bed, but discounted it. Ditto with the closet. Those were the top two places a kid checked for monsters.
My only solution was to sneak to the front door and hope I didn’t get attacked or shot on the way there. Maybe the parents left their phones in their coats, maybe their car keys. Either way, there were more options for escape on the main floor than in their kid’s bedroom.
I cracked open the door and peered through the gap. A staircase stood to my left, the open doors of two bedrooms and a bathroom on my right. I scuttled on all fours and peeked through the railing. The stairs swept to the main floor. On its right side was the front door and the main room. Both were unoccupied. I couldn’t see anything else. The house was quiet, and I hoped that mea
nt the family was out. Staying on all fours—like somehow being low to the ground was the equivalent of being invisible—I snuck down the stairs.
So far, so good. No cats or dogs greeted my movements. The house was well made—no creaks or groans from my weight on the steps. I reached the last stair and noticed a small table on my left, complete with a purse and keys. Not so good. Someone was home. Time to find a hiding spot. I wasn’t sure where the hallway led, but there was a light in the distance and common sense said to stay in the shadows. I stood, debating my options and cursing my lack of genius.
Then I heard the sound. A small shift, a quiet creak. Whoever was in the house was in the room with the light and too close for my comfort.
“Don’t move.”
I froze at the female voice.
“Don’t even breathe,” she said.
The quiet menace in her voice raised the hair on my skin. I couldn’t see her in my peripheral vision. Where was she that she could see me but I couldn’t see her?
“I’m tired of you not listening to me.”
My heart risked a faltering beat. She wasn’t talking to me. I eased the keys from her bag, then searched for a cell, with no luck. At least I had one possible means for escape. I slipped the key ring into my pocket.
“How many times do we have to go through this?”
“But, Mommy—” The small voice of a little boy, fearful.
“I told you, pick up your toys and put them away. Care for them. I don’t work hard for you to treat your toys with disrespect.”
“I didn’t mean to break it—”
“Don’t you even think of crying.”
I flinched and imagined her son doing the same.
“But I didn’t mean it, Mommy.”
“You never mean it.”
Fear held me—I was in an unknown city, in a stranger’s house, and far away from anyone who could help. But there was another feeling, one that melted my icy insides. Anger. I’d seen that kid’s room. At most, he would be eight years old. Whatever toy he’d broken, whatever mistake he’d made, he didn’t deserve her fury.
I recognized her tone. When he’d been alive, that was the default emotion Serge used on me. Wrath. Hate. And it always led to violence. If I was going to be arrested, so be it. No way was I going to stand in the shadows and hope she wouldn’t take her anger to the next level.
I moved fast but quietly. My gaze glanced off the table. I grabbed her purse in case I needed a weapon. Some envelopes spilled out of the open compartment, and I caught her first name: Jennifer. Good. If I had to yell to catch her attention, screaming her name would be an effective way to surprise her.
Domestic violence, the abuse between people who know each other, was the deadliest, the most unpredictable. Memories of Serge in his previous incarnation filled my inner vision. The ugly twist of his mouth, the mottled red of his skin, the way he’d flex his fingers, and I would hope he wouldn’t tighten them into a fist.
I hovered in the doorway, hunched close to the floor, and peered out. The mom stood in stilettos and a black pencil skirt, silk blouse, and glittering jewelry. And she loomed over her son. Small, dressed in cowboy pajamas, dark hair like his mom’s. He held a toy car in one hand. In the other hand was the door to the car.
I’d had similar toys when I was small. Dad was all about cool toys, whether they were marketed to boys or girls. I remembered that brand of car. They broke all the time. After the fifth time taking it to Dad, I’d learned how to reattach the door by myself.
“Talking to you doesn’t do any good,” she said. “So, the time for talking is over.” She grabbed a wooden spoon off the counter.
“No! Mommy!” He flung one hand out in protection, used the other to shield his face. The speed at which he did it told me this wasn’t the first time Mommy had put hands on him.
If she was going to hit anyone, it was going to have to be me. I ran for them and threw out my hand to her just as she brought the weapon down. I caught the force of the handle, crying out as the pain ricocheted its way down my arm.
I pulled the spoon, but it was locked tight in her grip. Her face was rigid in a rictus of rage, but what freaked me out was that the rest of her was stuck, too. Frozen in the moment. I yelped and stumbled back. Did I do that?
I spun to the child, crouching next to his cowering form. “Hey, are you okay?”
He didn’t answer but kept his face buried in the crook of his arm.
“Honey, it’s okay.”
The boy lifted his head.
“Hi, I’m Maggie.” I went to touch his arm and found my hand passing through his body. Well, that wasn’t good.
“Mommy?”
“I don’t know what happened to her,” I said.
He stared past me. No. He stared through me. “Mommy?”
Fear is a multifaceted thing, and this prism had me locked in five levels of hell. I flashed back to when Serge had first died and then appeared to me. How I’d pretended not to see him and taken pleasure in his terror and confusion.
I’d thought Karma was a bitch then, and I had confirmation of it now. I was cut off from anyone who could help me, lost in a house and a city that wasn’t my own, facing down a violent mother and a terrified child, and no one could see me.
Chapter Seven
Light appeared behind me. Its radiance filled the space and cast forward its shadow. I turned, holding my hand up as protection, then dropped it when I realized no protection was needed. The light was from the other side, full of love and peace, and from the doorway created, a creature stepped through.
It had no face, no shape save the general form of a human outline, but I’d seen it before. The shape in my bathroom. Though its skin held the smooth sheen of a polished pearl, there was no sense of delicacy. It exuded strength. Instinct and memory of my mother’s warning made me stand and step out of its way.
The boy raised his hand toward it. “Who are you?”
“My name is Serena. It’s time to go, Matty.
My brain told me she wasn’t speaking English but Ancient Greek. I didn’t know how I knew that, let alone how I—or Matty—was able to understand her.
“Mommy’s mad again. She’ll be really mad if I go—” Even as he spoke, he rose and came to the creature.
It reached out to him, its form outlined in golden light, its skin catching and reflecting a rotating spectrum of color. “Come. Let us leave this place.”
“I’m tired,” he said.
“You won’t be anymore.”
He took her hand and the energy that infused Serena turned his cheeks golden and outlined him in the same yellow aura as the creature.
Serena bent to him, wrapping Matty in a hug. The light grew and intensified until I had to hold my hand to my eyes or risk blinding myself, and still it grew. I felt the heat, the cool, I felt the call of the other side and found myself stepping into it.
✦ ✦ ✦
“Guys love strong, silent girls,” said Serge. “But the mime act is annoying. It’s your turn to choose what we’re watching on TV and playing mute isn’t going to work. So, is it a lawyer solving a murder or a doctor solving a murder? In the meantime, check this out—” He gestured to the TV. “The guy’s sending an SOS with a mirror and moonlight. I love ‘80s television. It’s like a drug trip without the drugs.”
I blinked and, dropping my hand, found myself standing in the threshold of my bathroom door. Serge lay on my bed, the animals curled at his feet. He held the TV remote in his hand and was gesturing with it. “Well?”
“What just happened?”
“Are you kidding?”
“No.”
He must have caught the tone in my voice because he shut off the TV. “Mags, you okay?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. Have I been here the whole time?”
“What?�
��
“Did I leave the room at all?”
“No.” He dragged the word out into four syllables worth of concern. Serge set down the remote and moved his hand over my cell. A flash of white light appeared in the space between the phone and his palm. He stood and came my way. “We were talking about which show to watch. I wanted a cop show but you said you wanted something lighter. I asked you to choose. You came out of the bathroom and said, ‘what I really want is,’ then you stopped talking and stared at me for a few seconds.”
“That’s it? I zoned out for a few seconds?”
“Yeah, Mags—” He took my hand and led me back to the bed. “What happened?”
Craig appeared in front of the window. “You texted?”
“That was me,” said Serge. “Something’s happened to Maggie.”
“What?” The question had edge. He sped toward us. “What happened?”
I sat on the bed and they crouched in front of me, scanning my face as I told my story. When I finished, they sat back and looked at each other.
“Well?”
“It sounds like you’re describing a serengti,” said Craig. “One of the mermaids. They all call themselves Serena. It’s odd this one didn’t have a face—they’re among the most beautiful of the supernatural creatures.” He frowned. “More than odd. It’s weird she’s faceless.”
Serge’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. “Mermaids? Aren’t they water-dwellers?”
“Yes,” said Craig. “But supernatural creatures can exist in many forms, in many dimensions. The mermaids are protectors of children and animals, especially when the child or animal’s life will end violently. It sounds like Serena came to Matty and took him. His body remained behind, its systems in play for the mother’s final act, but his soul was gone, free from the trauma of his death.”
“That’s a little bit of good news,” I said. “Serge, hand me my cell.”
He did.
“The mom’s name was Jennifer.” I punched in the search terms: Jennifer, Matty, domestic violence. “Got it.” I clicked on the first link and scanned. “Looks like Mom was convicted of his murder, life sentence. It happened in Vancouver…fifteen years ago.”
