Sunlight cast warmth through the bedroom windowpane. The leafless branch of the tree outside her room swayed in a breeze. A sparrow perched on the branch, eyeing her as it bounced and ruffled its toffee feathers.
Amber laid back and stared at the slowly turning blades of her ceiling fan. She lifted her hand and splayed her fingers. Not a single mark or hint of red colored the skin where the snake had bit her. She flexed her fingers. She blinked. She sat up. “What the hell?”
Without another thought, she sprang from her room and bounded downstairs. The necklace sat just where she had thrown it the night before. Her jacket rested on the back of a dining room chair, exactly where she threw it when she returned from the cemetery. She stood in the kitchen and tried to make all the pieces of last night fit together in a way that made some sort of sense.
“I heard you,” she said, searching the floor with her bleary stare. “I know I heard you, Toby. Was it a dream? Did I make it all up?”
Amber raised her hand again and flexed her fingers. Nothing from last night made sense. It might have been a dream, but the wind on her cheeks, the whisper of her brother, the freezing grave, the snake’s poisonous bite, and the woman’s seductive voice were all so real, so fresh.
“It doesn’t make any sense. No sense at all.”
The distinctive click of the front door unlocking sent her heart rocketing up her throat. Amber spun out of the kitchen and ran for the door. A dark form silhouetted against the frosted glass. The deadbolt slowly twisted.
“Toby? Toby why did you—”
The door flung open. Amber skidded to a halt. Ms. Flannery stood in the open doorway with dangling key in hand. She blinked at Amber, then snapped on a smile that looked more reflexive than actually heartfelt. “Good morning, Amber! What a wonderful morning it is, don’t you think? I thought it might be nice to come check on you, see how you’re doing. You were so distraught when you left, and I thought I might’ve been rather insensitive.”
Amber swallowed, lightly placing a hand over her chest. She reflected Ms. Flannery’s smile and stepped back. “Good morning, Ms. Flannery. It’s Sunday, and I, um, wasn’t expecting you on the weekend.” Amber ran her fingers through hair, untangling the knots. “I just woke up.”
Ms. Flannery’s brows knitted with concern. She pursed her lips and flitted into the foyer. “Sweetie, what have you gotten into? I knew I shouldn’t have been so harsh on you. I just, well, I just thought it was very inappropriate to try and use that silly necklace. There’s no such thing as spirits and ghosts and it’s just best to let sleeping dogs lie. It just is.”
“I….” Amber shook the last of the sleep from her head and pivoted as Ms. Flannery clicked past. “The necklace, I….”
“It disappointed you, didn’t it? You tried to call the spirit of your brother, and it didn’t work. Dear, I knew it wouldn’t.” Her frown slipped into something like pity as she turned and clucked her tongue. “You poor thing. You poor, poor thing.”
Amber’s jaw tightened at Ms. Flannery’s words. She didn’t need this patronizing woman clucking around her all day, not after what happened last night. “Yes, well, thank you so much for checking on me. I’d like to get some cleaning done, and I’ve got this paper due on Monday in my Environmental Science AP and it’s so much harder than I thought, sooo … Mind if we talk about it over tea tomorrow? I’ll need to study if I want to keep my grades up, just like you always say! Remember?”
Eliza clasped her hands, her furrowed brows pinching closer together. “How odd. How very, very odd.” She headed into the living room before Amber could speak another word and began scouring the place. Her scrutinizing stare stalled at the scratches on the wall where Amber had smashed her phone. “Good Lord, whatever happened here?”
“Oh, it’s nothing. Chris called and we sort of had a stupid argument. It’s over now. I was going to get a new phone anyway. I’ll do it tomorrow after class.”
“It doesn’t look very trivial to me if you were angry enough to fling your phone at a wall. I understand these things are expensive. Don’t have one myself and don’t think I ever will. They disconnect you from the real world, Mr. Flannery used to say.”
With robot precision Ms. Flannery bent her knees to the debris and fingered through the fragments, lips puckered into a point. She glanced at Amber from the corner of her eye, and she straightened, brushing off her hands. “What did you and Christopher argue about? Out with it.”
Amber cleared her throat and tried to the woman’s hawkish glare. “Toby. Chris didn’t come down for his birthday. He was partying instead.”
“Boys will be boys,” Ms. Flannery sighed. “It’s been many years since Toby left us. Perhaps this is how Chris moves on. He won’t forget Toby, Amber, not ever. But things change with time. Wounds heal. We’ll always carry the scars, but they fade.”
“Thank you, Ms. Flannery.” Amber swung her arm toward the front door. Hopefully Eliza would get the hint and head that way.
Ms. Flannery sighed and strolled toward her. She placed a hand on Amber’s shoulder and with the other forced Amber’s chin to her. “Did you take a drug? You can tell me. I’m here for you, for whatever you need. Just ask, and I’ll do everything in my power. I truly care about you, but you have to be honest with me. What were you on? Was it the pot they always talk about? You’re not smoking those awful reefers are you?”
Amber saw red, and her fists trembled. She ripped her chin from Ms. Flannery’s chilly fingers, shooting daggers with her glare. “Are you kidding me? You come in here, uninvited, and then accuse me of doing drugs? I’m going through a hard time right now because if you haven’t noticed my entire family decided to get as far away as they could from me on my dead brother’s birthday. And now you have the nerve to come in here when I’m trying to get some rest and accuse me of doing drugs? Get out!”
“Amber, I’m only trying to—”
“No! I said get out. How dare you accuse me of doing drugs. I’ve never so much as taken a hit of weed, thank you very much.”
“But—”
“No. I let a lot of things slide, but this is out of line. I’m eighteen. I’m an adult, same as you, and I’m tired of people treating me otherwise. Drugs? Seriously?”
“Amber Blackwood!” Ms. Flannery stomped her heel on the floor, face hard as stone. “Today IS Monday!”
The words hit Amber like a steel brick. “What?”
“It’s Monday. School is about to begin. I came to your home as your mother instructed I do every weekday. And thank God I did! You are clearly completely out of sorts.”
“Monday? It’s really … it’s really Monday?”
“Yes, Amber. It’s nearly eight. You’ll be late as is. Maybe you should call in. Maybe you and I can spend the day together and talk.”
“What? No. It’s … Shit. I’ve got to get to class!”
“Amber!” Ms. Flannery scowled. “Language, please.”
“I’m so sorry.” Amber yanked herself away from the woman and charged upstairs. “For everything, I really am. I never should’ve spoken to you like that, but I’ve got to get ready! I’ll be late. You can wait for Jason if you want. He’ll be here to get me in a few minutes.”
“Oh don’t worry, I will!” she called back.
Amber jumped into the shower. Steaming lines of water splattered onto the porcelain tub. Today was Monday. Monday. She went to the graveyard Saturday. What happened to Sunday?
Soap bubbled between her fingers as she scrubbed at the spot where the snake bit her. The skin flushed red with rawness. “What the hell happened to me?”
The doorbell rang. Amber rinsed her hair and lurched from the shower. She readied herself as fast as she could, tying her damp hair back as she struggled into her uniform. Wrinkles crinkled the shirt and dress, and her collar refused to fold neatly. Groaning, she slipped into a hoodie and thundered downstairs.
Jason and Ms. Flannery stood in the foyer. When she slid around the corner, their conversation died.
Jason frowned. He shared a parting glance with Ms. Flannery before flashing his polished smile. “Good morning, sweet sunshine. Did we oversleep a little?”
“Just a little.” She swung her bag over her shoulder and motioned for the door. “Let’s go.”
They funneled outside. The onset of winter noticeably chilled the weather. Thankfully, Jason had put the top up on his car. Ms. Flannery flitted down the drive. She paused beneath the elm and spun around. “You do know my number, don’t you?”
“Yes, Ms. Flannery,” Amber said.
“Good, good. Don’t be afraid to use it. I’ll be checking on you tomorrow. And the next day. And the next!”
“Wonderful,” Amber murmured through clenched teeth and wide smile.
Jason opened the door for her and motioned inside the worn Mercedes. “Luckily it’s just a study hall first period. I reserved one of the art studios we could work on our projects for Mr. Engel. Nobody will notice rolling up to school a little late.”
Amber slid onto the cold leather and dropped her bag between her knees. The car rocked as Jason hopped into the driver’s seat. The engine hummed to life, and they rolled down the drive.
“What was Ms. Flannery talking to you about?” she asked.
Jason shrugged and slipped his sunglasses on. “Nothing much. She’s totally proud about this Rotary Club thing, which I had no idea existed until this morning and now I feel like I know so much about it I could be her vice president.”
“And that’s all?”
Jason squeezed the steering wheel. “Yup.”
“You’re lying. What did she say?”
“You’ll be mad.”
Amber slapped his shoulder. “Just tell me!”
“She’s worried you might be on drugs.”
“That’s so ridiculous. You know me,” Amber said as she snorted a laugh.
Jason joined her, and for a minute, the air was light. Once the laughing settled, he glanced her way. “You’re not, though, right? You do know what day it is?”
“It’s Monday, and no, I’m not on drugs. I overslept is all.”
Technically that wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the entire truth, either. For now, Jason seemed to accept it, and they arrived at St. Luke’s a few minutes later, Jason rambling on about his date from Boston and how it might be just as good a place to live as New York.
Amber flirted with telling him about her missing day and the awful nightmare that accompanied it. But for some reason, she just couldn’t. Not now, not with him and Ms. Flannery thinking she was doing drugs. Telling him about her brother’s ghost and the snake and the woman’s voice would certainly convince them she was doing something illegal.
She smirked. At least then that would get Chris and her mom back home.
Warmth greeted her as they walked into an empty hall. They made their way through the school, passing long rows of dull lockers and tall, closed doors. St. Luke’s had a few dedicated art studios for upperclassmen just past Mr. Engel’s classroom shoved in the oldest wing of the building. The studios were practically closets—in fact, Amber suspected at one time they actually had been closets—but even a closet was a welcome respite from dealing with the rest of the world.
Amber and Jason turned the corner. They both froze.
“Oh snap,” Jason said.
Amber stared down the hallway. Unlike most other corridors in St. Luke’s, lockers didn’t line these walls. Instead, Mr. Engel used the corridor to display various works of art from his students. And there, framed for the world to see, was Amber’s painting. The face glared at her from the swirling blues, its mouth wide in a silent, mournful scream.
“Am I really seeing this?” she asked.
“Now, Amber, don’t get too mad. It’s honestly really good. I actually really like it.”
Amber waved him off and stormed down the hall. She ripped the painting from its perch and stared at the pattern and the face within it. “Why’re you doing this to me, Toby?”
The face didn’t reply. Instead, Jason’s hand fell on her shoulder. “Mr. Engel liked the painting. He’s proud of your work. That’s all it is.”
“He should’ve asked before he hung it up. He couldn’t be bothered to ask me if that’s okay?”
“It’s just the way he is. You know that,” Jason said.
Amber wrested from his grip and tore toward Mr. Engel’s door. She flung it open and rushed inside. A bunch of freshmen straightened over their slick clay mounds and turned with wide eyes toward the door.
Mr. Engel stood at the head of the class, gaze hidden behind his murky spectacles. He caught sight of Amber and smiled. “To what do I owe this unexpected—”
“You had no right to hang this!” Amber shouted, marching through the rows. “This was my work and you just put it out there without even asking me?”
“Art is vulnerability, Amber. If you ever want to succeed in the artistic world, you’ll have to learn to loosen the constricting binds that polite society lays upon you. The business of bearing souls isn’t for the shy.”
Amber jabbed the painting at the infuriating man. “You should’ve asked me first. You could’ve just asked and I would’ve been okay with it.”
“But I thought you would be fine with it.” He blinked, rearing back like she was being ridiculous for absolutely no reason. “You’re so talented, and talent should never hide. It should shine.” The man clapped his hands and beamed a smile. “I am truly so proud of you.”
“No one asks. No one cares.” Hot tears filled her vision. The face in the painting stared at her from the deep blue. From the water. From the pond. “But you didn’t. You didn’t care enough to ask me first.”
She didn’t save Toby in time, even though she could have saved him. It was her fault. It would always be her fault. And the world would never let her forget it. A wick of anger sparked inside her, and the tears burned away beneath a scarlet veil and the pounding of her heart.
“You should’ve come to me. You should’ve asked. You. Should. Have. Asked!”
The lights buzzed. The air electrified. The freshmen squealed. Mr. Engel yelped. None of them mattered. She hated them, hated all of them.
A sharp crack ripped the air. Hot sparks spit over her shoulders while glass shards rained around them.
A hand latched onto her wrist and whirled her around. “Amber, calm down!” Jason shouted. “What’s wrong with you?”
His voice sounded distant, like he yelled down a well and she listened from the bottom beneath ten feet of water. Lights popped on and off. Behind him, students rushed for the door. His mouth opened, repeating her name in that same, distant voice.
Amber blinked, and reality hit her like a tsunami crashing onto the coast. “Jason?”
“Amber,” he rasped, his words regaining clarity.
For an awful, horrible moment, she hadn’t recognized him. Her best friend, the only one in Portsmouth who would do anything for her, was a stranger in her eyes.
She looked down at the painting and dropped it. It fell on its face, and her tension disappeared like a mouse scurrying for the shadows. “What happened?”
Jason pulled back and ran his finger through his hair while he picked a shard of glass out of hers. “I think a fuse blew or something. The light above you just exploded while you were going all apeshit on Mr. Engel. I’m pretty sure half these freshmen just wet themselves.”
Amber rubbed her temples and turned to their art teacher. “Mr. Engel—Ben—I’m … I’m sorry. I….”
Mr. Engel waved his trembling hand and somehow managed an awkward laugh. Most of the color had drained from his face, and he stood with his back pressed against the whiteboard. “No, no, no, Ms. Blackwood. The fault was mine. I should’ve asked. You, ah, obviously have every right to be angry.”
Amber bent to the debris. “Let me at least help clean this up.”
“No.” Mr. Engel peeled from the board and charged around his desk. “Please, take some time to rest. I’ll handle this mess.”<
br />
“But—”
“Ms. Blackwood, please leave. I have a class and need to tend to them. We’re fine. Everything is fine.”
Amber knew enough to know when people said everything was fine, it meant nothing was. Amber swallowed. She picked up the painting and backed out of the class. The freshmen kept a wide berth between them and her. As soon as Amber and Jason stepped into the hall, Mr. Engel grabbed the door. He flashed a quivering smile and swung it shut.
“I just got so mad,” she said.
“We all do sometimes. Mr. Engel will get over it. He’s always been a drama queen.”
Amber followed Jason to their studio. He joked around in a vain attempt to lift her spirits, and she played along as best she could. But Amber knew something was wrong. She felt it now, deep inside her, and she feared it had two red, serpentine eyes.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
On the Trail
On the Trail
“Dino, get your ass out of bed. This is not a drill!”
Faye’s voice tore through his clouded mind like a knife through wax paper. He lurched to the side, swinging his arm. His knuckles smacked into the whiskey bottle on his dingy nightstand. Glass crashed to the floor, shattering into glittering, razor shards.
His head throbbed like a thousand hammers beating nails into his temples. His throat cried out for water, and his stomach threatened to spill its contents if he moved too quickly.
The springs in his shoddy mattress groaned as he reached for the nightstand and clicked the lamp on. The light bulb popped and lit the room in painful gold. Dino squinted and slapped a hand over the unshaded lamp. “What is it?”
“I said get up,” Faye snapped through the scratchy intercom speaker. “I’m calling a meeting. Something’s gone down at the palace.”
“Right. Be there in a second. I’m almost ready.”
“Brush your teeth and clean your face. I’m sure you look like the wrong end of a pig right now.”
Afterlife (Second Eden #1) Page 9
