“What?” He shook his head slowly. “That’s not possible.” My dad held me at arm’s length, searching my eyes for any sign of a lie, but he must have found none, because he didn’t get mad. Instead, he got scared. Obviously and truly frightened—a terrifying expression to find on a man who should represent all things strong and safe. “You crossed over in your sleep?”
“Yeah.” I set the shards on my nightstand, then sank onto the edge of my bed, holding my dirty feet away from the mattress. “Please tell me that’s never going to happen again. Only say it better than Harmony did, because she said we couldn’t cross over accidentally, and she was wrong.”
He sank wearily into my desk chair, the golds and browns in his eyes churning fiercely in fear. “I wish I could, Kay, but I’ve never heard of anything like this. How did this happen? Who were you dreaming about?”
I shrugged, reaching for the clear plastic bottle on my nightstand, wincing as the movement tugged at the fresh cuts on my leg. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I even knew in the dream.” I gulped lukewarm water, watching my father as he watched me. “What if it happens again?” My voice came out soft with fear, and hoarse because of my raw throat.
“We’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t.” My father’s sigh was carried on a breath of determination. “How ’bout some hot chocolate?”
I glanced at my alarm clock, frustrated to see that it was only a quarter to four on Wednesday morning. “Make it coffee, and I’m in.” Because I wouldn’t be sleeping any more that night. Or any other night until I figured out how to keep from waking up in the Netherworld.
“You drink coffee?” My father frowned as he picked up the phone and followed me into the hall.
“Not if I can help it.”
The phone rang in his hand, and he glanced at the display, then handed it to me as we turned into the small galley-style kitchen. “It’s Harmony. Tell her you’re okay before she and Nash show up with the cavalry.”
I answered the phone and assured Harmony—and Nash, by extension—that I was fine, in spite of having crossed over in my sleep. She sounded almost as horrified as I felt, and she promised to see what she could find out about preventing a repeat performance. Then she put Nash on the phone so we could say good-night—or rather, good-morning—and by the time we hung up, the smell of fresh coffee—always better than the taste, in my opinion—was wafting into the kitchen.
Over heavily creamed and sweetened coffee, I told my dad about the field of razor wheat in the Netherworld version of our property and about the trash-can-lid-wielding boy stomping through it. And when we’d exhausted our theories about both the mystery boy and my unscheduled trip, he refilled both of our mugs and started a second pot.
For the next three hours, I sat at the rickety kitchen table with my father, talking about the only thing—other than our species—that we had in common: my mother. He’d always been reluctant to talk about her before; this time he told me everything he could remember about her, probably because, for a few minutes, he’d thought he’d lost me, too. He even answered my questions as I interrupted with them. The only thing we didn’t touch on was my death—followed by hers, to save me.
That discussion would have to wait, in spite of the questions I had ready. We were both too tired and distraught from the latest shock to my not-so-human system to handle memories so painful.
But by the time my alarm clock went off, I felt like I truly knew my mother for the first time since my third birthday.
And like I knew my father a little better, too.
8
NASH’S ARMS WRAPPED around me from behind as I swung my locker door shut, and his voice relaxed me like little else could. “Hey, beautiful,” he whispered, dropping a kiss on my neck, just below my ear. “Rough night?”
“Seriously rough. I can’t even explain how messed up last night was.” I sighed and settled into him, letting the warmth of his chest against my back ease some of the tension left over from my interdimensional field trip. But he couldn’t help me fight exhaustion. Fortunately, for that I had two twenty-ounce sodas in my backpack, their condensation probably making a soggy mess out of the chemistry homework I’d forgotten to finish.
“You really crossed over in your sleep?”
I twisted in his arms to face him, laying my cheek against the thick chenille weave of the white letter E on his jacket.
“Yeah, it was weird. Scary. I was asleep, dreaming that someone died, and in the dream, I was standing in a bunch of that gray fog you see when you peek into…”
I lifted my head to make sure no one else was close enough to hear. Across the hall, a small cluster of students was gathered around a girl showing off the answers from her algebra homework, but they hadn’t even glanced our way. The mohawked junior with the locker next to mine was rifling through his stuff, but his headphones were playing loud enough for me to recognize the bass line of Korn’s “Evolution,” so there was no way he could hear me.
“…into the Netherworld,” I continued, whispering just in case. “I couldn’t see who was dying, and I couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything but scream.”
Nash’s arms tightened around me and the greens and browns in his eyes swirled rapidly as he listened.
“And when I woke up, I was screaming for real, and I’d already crossed over. I was standing in a field of razor wheat, barefoot. In my pajamas.”
Before Nash could reply, Mohawk man slammed his locker and took off down the hall in the growing stream of early-morning students.
“Damn, Kaylee.” Nash sank onto the cold tile floor in front of the lockers and drew me down with him, brushing aside a crumpled piece of notebook paper. “How could that happen?”
I shook my head slowly, almost washed away by the wave of fear that crashed over me at the reminder that I still had none of the answers I needed. “My dad thinks that because I subconsciously repressed so much of my bean sidhe heritage for so long—” because no one had told me I wasn’t human “—that now it’s basically demanding to be recognized.” I hesitated, reluctant to mention my father’s other theory. “That, or I’ve somehow developed too strong a connection with the Netherworld.” Or with someone—or something—in it.
Nash paled, which almost sent me into a tailspin of panic. I’d hoped for something more optimistic from him than I’d gotten from my father, as grateful as I was for my dad’s honesty. But Nash had no comfort to give. “That’s the scariest thing I’ve ever heard.”
I rolled my eyes and pulled my backpack onto my lap. “Thanks, Nash,” I snapped. “You’re a huge help.” I’d just about reached the limit of how much fright and frustration I could take. At least, on so little sleep.
“Sorry.” He turned so that I could see him. “You’re sure you can’t remember who died in your dream?”
I nodded. “I’m not sure I knew even during the dream. All I saw was an outline in the fog. I couldn’t even tell if it was male or female.”
“Do you think it was just a normal dream, or could it have been part premonition, too? Maybe the way your brain deals with them when you’re asleep?”
I shrugged and leaned with my left shoulder against Mohawk man’s locker. “I don’t see how it could have been a premonition. I’ve only had them about people I’m physically close to at the time, and there was no one else in the house but my…”
Oh, no… Terror lit my nerve endings, which blazed until it felt like my entire body was on fire. I sat up, and when I looked at Nash, I knew from his expression that my irises were swirling madly.
“What if it’s my dad?” I demanded in a horrified whisper. I’d already lost my mother and had just gotten my father back. I couldn’t lose him again so quickly. I couldn’t.
“No.” Nash shook his head calmly, running one hand up my arm, over my sleeve. “It can’t be. When you have a premonition, someone dies quickly, right?”
I nodded, not yet willing to grasp the branch of hope he held out to me. “Usually within the hour.”
“See? And you had that dream in the middle of the night, right?”
I glanced at my watch and counted backward silently. “Almost five hours ago.”
“And your dad’s still alive, right?” Nash grinned like he’d just discovered the meaning of life, or the root of all evil, or something equally unlikely, but I was already digging in my pocket for my phone. “What are you doing? Didn’t you see him right before you left?”
“Yeah. But I have to be sure.” I autodialed my father, hoping the school’s no-cell-calls policy didn’t apply before the first bell.
“Hello?” my dad said into my ear, over the rush of highway traffic, and I let my head fall against the lockers in relief.
“Kaylee? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I could practically hear the smile in my own voice. “I just wanted to make sure you’re not asleep at the wheel or anything, since I got you up so early.”
“I’m fine.” He paused, and I heard his blinker ding faintly.
“Thanks for checking, though.”
“No problem. I gotta go.” I hung up and slid my phone back into my pocket.
“Feel better?” Nash asked, brows raised.
“Marginally.” The front doors opened at the end of the hall, admitting a frigid draft, as well as several dozen freshmen and sophomores. The buses had arrived, and class would start in less than ten minutes. “I gotta go finish my chemistry homework,” I said, using the lock on the locker below mine to haul myself to my feet.
Nash stood with me. “I’ll walk with you.”
I wrapped my arms around Nash’s chest, content for the moment just to lean against him and breathe him in—until his next words drenched my warm, cozy feeling like a cold wave crashing over a sleeping sunbather.
“Have you seen Carter this morning?”
“No.” In fact, I hadn’t seen him since he’d torn out of the student lot on Monday afternoon. He’d skipped school on Tuesday—his parents were still out of town, but rumor had it he’d convinced the maid to call him in sick—presumably too ill from withdrawal to deal with the usual school crap. And I hadn’t given him a second thought so far today, thanks to my nearly sleepless Tuesday night.
“His car’s in the lot,” Nash continued, voice low to keep anyone else from overhearing us as the hall filled with students. “But we don’t have any classes together till after lunch, and I’m afraid he’s—”
“There he is,” I interrupted the moment I saw Scott Carter turn the corner from the gym hallway, strutting as confidently as he ever had.
Nash followed my gaze. “He looks happy.” Which—assuming he hadn’t found a miracle cure for addiction or withdrawal—could only mean one thing. He’d found Doug’s supplier and made another purchase.
“Maybe he’s just a quick healer,” I suggested, determined to be optimistic because the alternative made me want to rip out my own hair.
“We’ll know in a minute.” Nash held one hand up and called down the hall, “Hey, Carter, where were you yesterday?”
Scott threaded a path through the crowd toward us, greeting guys he knew on the way, and shared a hand slap with Nash, whose face froze the moment they touched. And if I’d had any doubts before, they were obliterated a second later when Scott’s hand brushed mine on its way to his side.
His skin was freezing, and his breath smelled like he’d inhaled a hellion whole.
“Sick,” Scott said, smiling broadly for no reason I could see.
“I could barely get out of bed. Had to get Carlita to call me in sick. Good thing she’s picking up some English, right?”
Nash shrugged. “You got a lot of makeup work?”
But Scott wasn’t listening. He frowned, eyes narrowed and jaw tense as he stared over my shoulder. I turned to see what he was looking at and found only our own shadows stretched over the lockers, cast by bright light from the office window. But I couldn’t help wondering what he was seeing….
“Carter?” Nash repeated, turning to follow my gaze while Scott shook his head, as if to clear it.
“Nah,” he said finally, like he’d heard the question on some kind of time delay. “I don’t think they’ll make me do any of it but that quiz in civics.” He stepped back and made a sweeping gesture to encompass his entire body. “I’m Scott Carter, man. Nobody’s willing to piss off my dad until the football team gets those new pads and tackling dummies for next season.”
“Jeez, you say your name like it should be written in all caps,” I mumbled, slapping a smile on at the last minute, hoping they’d think I was joking.
Scott did. Sophie did not.
“It should be,” she purred, stopping at Scott’s side to run one hand over his shoulder and down his back. “But I guess you usually see yours handwritten by some nut job with a half-eaten crayon. Isn’t that how they label stuff in the psych ward?”
“Only when you’re in residence,” I snapped. I was too tired to put up with Sophie’s crap that morning, and for a moment, awe at my own nerve energized me better than three cups of early-morning coffee had.
Scott laughed while Sophie fumed, cheeks hot enough to spontaneously combust. He slapped Nash on the back, still grinning. “Sounds like your little puss grew some claws! Does she purr when you stroke her? ’Cause this one sure does.” He pulled Sophie closer, his hand inching toward the denim pocket curved around her rear.
She smiled and squirmed for his benefit, but when her gaze landed on me, it was cold enough to build a layer of ice in hell.
I rolled my eyes and stepped around my cousin, tugging my backpack higher on my shoulder as I walked briskly toward my first class. Behind me, Scott asked Sophie if she felt like skipping fourth period with him.
I didn’t hear her answer—though I was pretty sure it was a yes—because Nash’s footsteps pounded rapidly on the tile after me. “Wow. That was…unexpected,” he said, slowing to walk beside me.
“Me, or Scott?”
“You.” I heard the grin in Nash’s voice, but glanced up at him to be sure. “I liked it.”
“She had it coming. But Scott…”
“He’s just messing around,” Nash insisted as we passed his class without slowing. Mine was on the other end of the main hallway.
“I don’t care about that.” Scott’s flirting didn’t bother me because it drove Sophie half out of her mind. “But, Nash. He was staring at the lockers behind us like he expected monsters to jump out and drag him off.” Which really only happens in the Netherworld. “He’s wasted.”
“I know.”
“We have to do something.” I lowered my voice for the next part, leaning closer to him to be heard. “Obviously stealing his stash was a short-term solution.”
“I know,” Nash whispered as we slowed to a stop several feet from my advanced-math classroom. “He’s hallucinating, but I don’t think he’s hearing things yet, and he’s still making sense.” Nash shrugged. “As much sense as he ever did, anyway. So I don’t think it’s too late for him yet.”
“What does that mean?” Suddenly I had chill bumps beneath my jacket sleeves. “Why would it be too late?”
Nash’s face fell in a mixture of sympathy and surprise, and he tugged me toward the lockers, out of the stream of traffic. “Kaylee, the effects of Demon’s Breath on a human are irreversible. If he takes enough to actually sever his tie to reality, cutting off his source may save his life, but it won’t fix him. He’ll wind up locked in a padded room.” He hesitated, searching my face for the truth. “My mom didn’t tell you that?”
“No…” I closed my eyes in horror until I had my expression under control. “She didn’t know anyone was actually taking it.” I pulled my backpack higher on my shoulder, almost fascinated by the irony—the Netherworld had proved to me that I wasn’t crazy, but its effect on Doug and Scott would be the opposite.
“How do you know all this?” I glanced at the wall clock over his shoulder to see that we had less than two minutes until the bell. So much for doi
ng my chemistry homework….
Nash ran one cool finger down my jaw to the point of my chin. “Most bean sidhes don’t grow up thinking they’re human, Kay.” He glanced around at the rapidly emptying hall, then back at me. “Anyway, we have to cut off Carter’s access and figure out how to treat him for withdrawal, or…”
“…eventually frost will literally drive him crazy. Or kill him,” I finished, leaning against a row of green lockers.
“Yeah, if by ‘eventually,’ you mean very, very soon,” Nash said, a flash of true fear stirring in his eyes. “He’s obviously really sensitive to it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Scott probably doesn’t have any non-human blood in his gene pool. Sophie, for instance, is human, but she’d probably be much less sensitive to the side effects of Demon’s Breath—though she could become just as physically addicted to it—because of her dad’s non-human blood.”
“And by ‘non-human’—” my voice dropped even lower and I leaned closer to him “—you mean bean sidhes?”
“Yes, us, and anyone else originally native to the Netherworld. There are a few other species that live here in the human world with us. Like harpies, and sirens, and—”
“Whoa…” I felt my eyes widen, and could only hope I didn’t look like a complete drooling idiot to the rest of the student body. “You’re serious?”
His irises swam in sympathy. “I keep forgetting you grew up in virtual darkness.”
“Well, that makes one of us,” I mumbled, frustrated all over again by how much I still had to learn about the Netherworld and its non-or part-human elements. Like me.
“Anyway, the less human you are, the less susceptible to the effects of Demon’s Breath. Though fiends are the obvious exception.”
Because those little buggers only existed in one of two states: stoned, and trying to be stoned.
“So, since Doug’s addiction isn’t progressing as quickly, he probably has some non-human blood in his family somewhere, right?”
“It’s possible.” Nash glanced over his shoulder to where my math teacher was eyeing us both and tapping her watch. He headed toward the classroom with me. “But it could be way, way back in his family tree, and he probably knows nothing about it.”
My Soul to Keep Page 8
