by Stacey Kade
“CAN YOU HEAR ME?” A warm hand squeezed my shoulder hard, bringing me to awareness with a jolt of pain.
We were somewhere loud, people shouting, an intercom paging a Dr. Johnson to the OR. There was beeping, at regular intervals.
My eyes drifted open. A familiar outline, tall with rumpled hair, loomed over me. Memories fell into place. The man watching my mom’s house as Ariane and I watched him. Ariane’s flat declaration that he was not with GTX.
The same man at the lake. In the yellow rain jacket.
Who was he? Why was he here? Where was here, anyway?
I tried to ask, but I couldn’t make the words come out.
“No, you can’t talk. There’s a tube in your throat.” He looked over his shoulder at something I couldn’t see. I wished he would go away. I just wanted to close my eyes again. “We have only a few minutes. My name is Emerson St. John.”
Reluctant recognition tugged at me, but I couldn’t place his name. I’d heard it recently, but where? I couldn’t concentrate. My body ached everywhere, especially my side where it felt like liquid fire, and yet I felt lighter than I should have, like being drunk but without that lumbering weighty feeling that accompanied it.
Where was my mom? Where was Ariane?
Ariane.
I had a last memory of her worried face over mine, blood smeared on her cheek. Her dark eyes flooded with tears for me. Because I’d betrayed her.
“You’re dying.” The annoying man interrupted my thoughts again.
I waited but felt no surprise at this revelation.
“They’ve stabilized you temporarily, but your injuries are too severe. If the shock doesn’t end you, an infection will.”
Again, this wasn’t news to me, even though I still wasn’t clear on how I knew what I knew.
“I have one question for you. Do you want a second chance? No matter what the cost?”
Did I? I struggled to think. Of course I wanted to live. I wanted to tell Ariane how sorry I was and—
“Good enough,” he muttered.
What?
He patted me on the shoulder, more gently this time. “When you wake, you’ll be a whole new man. Hopefully.” He sounded pleased.
A little too pleased, actually. If I’d been more coherent, I might have been alarmed.
But I was drifting again, away from the pain, away from the man. Emerson St. John.
There was a loud pop near my ear, then the sound of liquid dripping.
Cold flooded my veins, and the darkness behind my eyelids exploded into stars.
THIS BOOK IS BROUGHT TO YOU by grande toffee nut hot chocolates, Maui sea glass, my regular seat at Starbucks, a family emergency that ended miraculously well, and many wonderful people.
Christian Trimmer, I don’t know what this book would be without you. You said something that really stuck with me and made everything click when I was struggling. Thank you. I’ll never be able to say that enough.
Linnea Sinclair, for her endless patience with me, her wisdom, and her willingness to give me a good kick in the pants when I need it. You’re my Yoda.
Kristen Tracy, who saved my sanity and The Rules by gently reminding me that the middle of the book is important and stuff needs to happen.
Age and Dana Tabion, for allowing me to hijack dinner conversations and turn them into plot discussions. Tornadoes and death by pool skimmer—it’s going to happen. Special thanks to Dana, who keeps track of the various stages of my writing despair and reminds me that I’ve been there before and will be fine.
Valpo people! Ed and Debbie Brown and Becky Douthitt, for being first readers and for sticking with me for all these years. Love you guys! And Tabbi Koller, for getting me that Latin translation for Queen of the Dead right when I needed it.
Sue, Dale, Brian, Susan, Allison, and Nathan Klemstein, for being proud of me. That means so much.
Susan Barnes, for patiently listening to me freak out and talking me off the ledge. Michael and Jessica Barnes, for always being supportive, reading my books, and coming to my events (and bringing Grace and Josh!). My mom and dad, for Sunday phone calls and Saturday breakfasts. I love you.
And finally, you. Yes, YOU. Thank you for reading my books. I have the best job in the whole world, and it’s because of you.
STACEY KADE is the author of the Ghost and the Goth trilogy: The Ghost and the Goth; Queen of the Dead; and Body & Soul. She is also the author of Project Paper Doll: The Rules. Stacey lives outside of Chicago with her husband and two retired racing greyhounds.
Learn more at www.staceykade.com, as well as on Facebook and Twitter (@staceykade).
