Afterworlds (26 page)

“Who says I’m hinting?”

She reached across the table and punched me. “I say you are! More hinting, now!”

“Okay,” I said. But what could I tell her that would even make sense? “He knows how to deal with tragedies.”

“Like a grief counselor?”

This was probably as close as she would ever get, so I nodded.

“Deep.” But then she frowned. “Isn’t that kind of unethical? Swooping in on someone who’s totally traumatized?”

“It’s not . . .” I groaned. “He’s not an actual grief counselor, Jamie.”

“You just said he was.”

“Not officially or anything.” This conversation was getting too specific, so I went for vague. “He’s just someone who gave me what I needed to survive all this. When nothing else made sense, he saved me.
He’s
why I’m not falling apart right now.”

She nodded slowly. “Okay, I like him so far. But he must be in Dallas, right? You know long-distance relationships mostly suck.”

“He’s here sometimes. He travels a lot. Um, for his job.”

“His job? Lizzie, what
is
he?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Soul guide? Psychopomp? Guardian of the dead?

“It’s a secret,” I spluttered. “His job is a secret.”

There was a long pause as Jamie considered this, while I contemplated the epic corner I had painted myself into. Maybe
this
was why I hadn’t called Jamie, because she always made me tell her more than I wanted to.

“Wait,” she said a moment later. “He’s some kind of spook, isn’t he?”

“Um, what?”

“It’s obvious.” Jamie started ticking off points on her fingers. “Secret job. Travels a lot. Was at terrorist attack. Good at dealing with tragedies. Age inappropriate.”

“Not
that
inappropriate. He looks really young.”

“You’re hooking up with a government agent!” she cried. “And how
old he looks
is what you’re focused on?”

I looked around, wondering if anyone in the diner had managed
not
to hear Jamie’s outburst. Nobody I recognized was there, but my mom’s friends came to Abby’s all the time. Plus, my face had been on the news a lot lately.

“We should stop talking about this now,” I whispered.

“Because you can neither confirm nor deny.” Jamie checked her phone. “Plus, we should get to school. I’ll pay.”

*  *  *

A little later we were in the car, watching the road slip past in silence.

This was what I got for opening up. I was stuck with a lie, and a ridiculous one. But if I denied that my secret boyfriend was some sort of secret agent, Jamie would just start asking questions again. And there wasn’t anything true I could tell her that would make as much sense.

For that matter, how much truth did I have to tell? What did I really know about Yama? I had only the vaguest notions about how old he was or where he was from. He’d never even had a chance to finish his story about becoming a psychopomp. Something about a donkey, was all I remembered.

I didn’t know the answers to any of the questions Jamie probably wanted to ask. But I had to say something.

“I know this all seems weird.”

“Yeah, it does.” She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “Part of me wants to believe that you’re just straight-up crazy. Like, you invented a secret-agent boyfriend to make yourself feel safer.”

“Why would you want to believe
that
?”

“Because then no one’s taking advantage of you,” she said.

I stared at her, my breakfast twisting in my stomach. “He’s not like that.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t
seem
that way, Lizzie. Because in every action movie the girl hooks up with the guy who saves her, like that’s supposed to be normal. But in real life it’d be a pretty messed-up way to fall in love, because your emotions go all haywire when you’re getting shot at. Isn’t it called Stockholm syndrome or something?”

“Um, I think that’s when you fall in love with the terrorist, not the good guy.”

“Right. That
would
be worse. But you didn’t just hook up with somebody because you were scared, did you?” She pulled her eyes from the road to stare at me.

I shook my head. “It’s not like that at all. In fact, he kept saying it would be better if I forgot the whole attack, even if that meant forgetting him. But I couldn’t. We’re connected, since the first moment I saw him.”

Her eyes were on the road again. “By which you mean, he’s hot.”

“Yeah, he is.” For a moment, I didn’t know where to start,
though my body was singing at the thought of describing him aloud. “Brown eyes. Brown skin, too. He’s tall, kind of wiry.” I could still feel the way his muscles moved beneath silk.

“Wiry? You mean he works out?”

“No. He’s more like someone who grew up on a farm.” As I said the words, it fell into place. There’d been lots of manual labor all those years ago.

“Wiry. Okay.”

Suddenly I wanted to tell Jamie everything, or at least everything that would make sense to her. “He’s got this twin sister who’s really important to him. It’s like they have a bond.”

“That’s weird, but cool.” Jamie sighed. “So you hooked up in Dallas? Like, while you were in the hospital?”

“No. It was here, two nights ago. That’s the first time we . . . the first time anything happened.”

“He was here in San Diego? Not stalking you, I hope.”

“
No.
He just happened to be here. And I’m the one who called
him
. Like I said, we have this connection. Just trust me on this.”

She turned to stare at me, and it was a long moment before her eyes went back to the road. “Okay. I trust you, Lizzie. And I’m glad someone was there for you. Just be careful.”

“I will be.” Of course, that was a lie. Being careful would mean taking Yama’s advice and forgetting all about the five little girls in Palo Alto. But I couldn’t do that. Mindy needed to know for sure that she was safe from the bad man. And I needed to know that everyone else was too.

I reached out and put my hand gently on Jamie’s, wanting to say something that wasn’t a half-truth. “I’m really glad we talked
about this. It all seems more real to me now, just from saying it out loud to you.”

She gave me a smile, our hands parting as she turned the wheel to guide her car into the student parking lot. It was already swarming, groups of friends clumping together, excited to see each other again or mutually depressed about being back at school. It all looked so normal and of-this-world that it made my heart twist a little.

Like I didn’t belong here anymore.

It was strange. When I was in the gray world, I looked out of place, shiny and full of color. But this school parking lot felt foreign as well, too full of life for a psychopomp like me.

That word sucked. I’d started searching online for something better to call myself, but had found only the old standbys like “soul guide” and “grim reaper,” and lots of gods and goddesses with names like Oya, Xolotl, Pinga, and Muut, plus two from Chinese mythology called Ox-Head and Horse-Face.

For obvious reasons, I was still looking.

Jamie drove us carefully through the throng and pulled into an empty spot. The moment I stepped out of the car, people were eyeing me with furtive looks of recognition, a few of them pulling out their phones. But at least there were no TV cameras or reporters. The winter break had lasted just long enough for my survivor fame to recede.

But as Jamie and I headed for the school’s front entrance, I saw a black sedan parked in the street, a lone figure inside watching the students file past.

“Hang on a second,” I said to Jamie, and crossed the strip of lawn between parking lot and street.

The driver’s-side window hummed down as I approached.

“Hey, Special Agent.”

“Good to see you, Miss Scofield.” Elian Reyes was wearing his usual dark suit and sunglasses, and his tie was bright red today.

“It’s good to see you too. But, um . . .”

“To what do you owe the honor of this visit?” His smile gleamed for a moment in the morning sun. “Nothing serious. My agent in charge was concerned about your first day of school.”

“Anything I should know about?”

He gave a little shake of his head. “No new intelligence, Miss Scofield. Simply an abundance of caution.”

“That’s nice of you guys. But my friend saw something about that death cult on the news. Like, the FBI is going to raid their headquarters or whatever.”

“That’s a rumor, Miss Scofield.”

“Right.” I smiled. “Which you can neither confirm nor deny.”

“One I can’t give you any inside information on. Down here in Southern Cal we mostly deal with drug trafficking. A little high-glamour terrorism is always exciting, though.”

“Glad I could help with that.” Behind me, the first bell rang. I turned to look back, and saw Jamie watching us with widened eyes. “Oh, crap.”

“Friend of yours?” Agent Reyes asked.

“Yeah. And now she probably . . .” I groaned at my own stupidity. “She probably thinks that you’re my new boyfriend.”

He lowered his sunglasses a little, his brown eyes narrowing. “Your new boyfriend?”

“My secret boyfriend that I just told her about. Long story, highly awkward.”

“I agree. Feel free to disabuse her of this notion, Miss Scofield.”

“I’ll get right on that.” The beginnings of a blush were creeping across my cheeks. “Um, that was the bell. I have to go to school now.”

He nodded. “Let me know if you see anything unusual today.”

“I already put your number in my phone.” I saluted and turned away.

As I started back toward the front door, I noticed that more people than just Jamie had watched me talk to Special Agent Reyes. Just perfect.

“Hot indeed,” Jamie said as I reached the door, a leering smile on her face. “But you said you
hadn’t
been practicing your Spanish.”

“No way! I mean, maybe he is kind of hot. But he’s not . . .”

“Hispanic?”

I groaned. “You’ve got this all wrong.”

She hooked her arm through mine and led me inside. “Right. He’s some
other
hot secret guy in a totally government car who happens to be following you around.”

“Yes! That’s it
exactly
.”

“Sure, babe.”

A clump of sophomores was watching a little too keenly as we walked past, and I heard my name whispered, but Jamie silenced them with a hard glance.

“Neophytes,” she muttered.

I thought about trying to convince Jamie of the nonboyfriend status of Special Agent Reyes again, but there was no point. She’d seen him with her own eyes, after all, which beat an invisible psychopomp any day. At least now she wouldn’t think I was crazy enough to make someone up.

“Thanks, Jamie.”

“For what?”

“For listening to me. For trusting me.”

She squeezed our linked arms tighter. “I repeat: just be careful.”

I nodded, content to let Jamie guide me to our first-period acting class.

It was strange. Our conversation might have been littered with half-truths and misunderstandings, but talking to Jamie had helped me make sense of everything that had happened. I’d never understood why Yama had been so hesitant at first, saying that I should forget him. But maybe brand-new ghosts became attached to him all the time, like ducklings imprinting on their mother. And he’d been worried about those little girls imprinting on me. . . .

But that wasn’t what had happened between
us
, was it?

From the first moment I’d seen him, Yama had been so beautiful, so necessary. Not because I was traumatized, but
in spite of
the awful things happening around us. From our first kiss in the airport, he’d become a part of me. I could still feel his lips against mine, and he’d heard me when I’d called his name.

Our connection was real, and talking about it with Jamie had only made it more real, no matter how many times I’d had to lie.

CHAPTER 21

IT WAS ONLY TEN DAYS
after her first real kiss that Darcy Patel received her first real editorial letter. It seemed fitting that she share both with the same person.

“It’s here!” she shouted into her phone.

“Hang on,” came Imogen’s sleepy voice, then the sound of teeth being brushed, then spitting. “You mean your ed letter? About time.”

“I know, right? This book comes out in 428 days!”

“How do you even know that?

“Nisha texted me this morning.”

Imogen laughed. “That’s handy. What did Nan say?”

“I haven’t read it yet. I need you here!” Saying this made Darcy feel pathetic, and a little annoyed that she had to ask: “Can you come over?”

“I might be able to squeeze you in,” Imogen drawled, but then added: “Forward the letter to me. See you in five.”

*  *  *

Fifteen minutes later, they sat on the roof of Darcy’s building, phones and muffins in hand. Darcy was still in pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, but Imogen wore a crisp white shirt and a full complement of rings on her fingers, having proclaimed that editorial letters were serious business. She’d brought two coffees and muffins from the Chinese-Italian café downstairs.

“So far, so good.” Darcy was scanning the letter’s opening paragraph. “She still loves the first chapter.”

“Nan always starts with praise.” Imogen flicked her thumb across the screen.

“Hey! That’s my praise. Don’t scroll past it!”

“Save the praise till you need it. Dessert goes last.”

Darcy rolled her eyes. “Says the person eating a muffin for breakfast. Why are we doing this on the roof, anyway?”

“To maintain perspective,” Imogen said, gesturing toward the skyline.

Darcy didn’t even ask what that meant. She had eyes only for the email. The next paragraph was about chapters two and three, when Lizzie was in Yamaraj’s underworld palace after the airport attack.

There was a distinct lack of praise.

“Crap. She hates it.”

“No she doesn’t.”

“She says it’s all exposition!”

“Well, that’s kind of true.” Imogen wadded up her empty muffin paper and placed it beside her coffee. “But I
like
Yamaraj’s origin story. Revengeful donkeys are awesome!”