Children Shouldn't Play with Dead Things (Dead Things Series Book 1) (3 page)

4

TRISTIN

T
ristin sat on the wooden bench in the main corridor outside the principal’s office staring at her hands in her lap. She refused to look up, knowing she was the reason for the whispers and the laughter as the other students moved between classes. This was so embarrassing. Kai sat next to her, quiet for once. She could feel the empathy rolling off him in waves. Her brother hated to see somebody miserable. She knew he would sit and stare, radiating love like a sad eyed golden retriever until she placated him.

“I’m fine, really. You don’t have to keep me company. I’ll just tell them I…saw a spider, or something.”

Kai arched a brow at her. “Tristin, two months ago, you ripped out a wendigo’s jugular with your bare hands.” He pulled a face, like he could still see it. “Nobody will believe you.”

Tristin knew he was right. There was no way anybody was going to believe anything she said, maybe not even the truth. She wasn’t sure she believed the truth. She’d spent the last twelve years as a banshee who couldn’t banshee. She’d finally started believing she wasn’t ever going to get her powers back or if she’d ever really had them at all.

She had no memory of ever screaming. Allister swore he’d heard her scream as a child and Allister wasn’t really one to make stuff up but the adults in this town hid too much and she just didn’t trust them. Her brother was the reaper so she had to be human. That’s just the way it worked. Yet, suddenly she wasn’t and now everybody knew it. Her face burned at the thought of more attention on her.

“Why now?” she asked, mostly to herself.

Kai took a deep breath and looked at her, “I think I may know why.”

She glowered at him, eyebrow raised. Of course he did. How long would he have sat their giving her puppy eyes if she hadn’t said anything? She said as much, earning her a hurt look and a deep breath. “Okay, I need to show you something and you can’t freak out,” Kai told her.

Tristin blinked at him slowly, “Bro, I’m not the drama queen in this particular duo.”

He shrugged. “True.” He turned to shield himself from the passing students and pushed the sleeve of his plaid shirt up. “Look.”

Her gasp was audible even in the crowded breezeway. Kai’s eyes widened, reminding her where they were. She glanced up to make sure nobody noticed before dragging her gaze back to the name. She ran her hands across the letters and numbers.

November Lonergan

29° 59’ 8.2644’’ N

90° 6’ 40.2552’’ W

She was freaking out. Holy crap. She was definitely freaking out. She fought to get a grip on her heartbeat. She breathed in and out slowly. She stared at the name more confused than ever. This made no sense at all. November was dead.

“What the hell is going on?” she whispered.

Kai thought about it for a while, his thumb rubbing absently over the words on his arm. “Maybe it’s a coincidence?”

She fixed him with a look to let him know how unlikely that seemed, “You think it’s a coincidence that my abilities return the exact same moment our dead cousin’s name shows up on your arm to be collected? Really?”

“Well, it is our birthday,” he said, cheeks flushing. Even he knew it was a stupid theory.

“Happy birthday, here’s your reaper powers and your dead cousin?” she asked. “Nothing about this makes any sense.”

“I don’t know, Trist, Allister said your powers would resurface eventually.”

“Let’s just forget my freaky banshee powers for five minutes and focus on our dead cousin.”

“Our technically undead cousin,” Kai supplied.

“Not for long if she’s on your arm,” she reminded him. “This feels wrong. It feels like a trap. We should tell Isa.”

“No way,” he snapped, immediately looking apologetic. “I just mean, we don’t even know what we’d tell her.”

“Um, how about our dead cousin’s name popped up on your soul collecting to do list?”

Why was he being so stupid about this? “Come on, Kai, you have to admit this feels wrong. November is dead and even if she wasn’t they wouldn’t send a family member to collect her soul. It’s creepy.”

“So maybe they are sending me a message. Maybe I’m not supposed to collect her. Maybe I’m supposed to save her.”

She stared at him for a long minute. “Have you lost your mind? Do you know what the Grove will do to you if you actively interfere with a collection?”

She clenched and unclenched her jaw until her teeth hurt. They had to tell Isa; they couldn’t
not
tell the alpha. They needed somebody with more information than they had. Besides, they had to go home sometime.

She didn’t look at him when she said, “What about asking Rhys?” She didn’t want to see the look of betrayal on his face. If they couldn’t talk to Isa, her brother had to be the next best thing.

“Have you suffered a recent blow to the head?” he asked. “He hates me. He would probably tell me to go just hoping I’d get killed or do something stupid so he could turn me into the Grove himself.”

“You are ridiculous,” she told him.

He waved off her comment. “Maybe but that’s not important. What is important is figuring this out without involving the others.”

Tristin had no idea why he was so desperate to leave the pack out of this. “Why? Kai, this is crazy. We can’t just run off chasing a ghost. We don’t even know where we’re going.”

“New Orleans,” he told her, showing her the GPS coordinates on his phone.

“Are you freaking crazy?” she shouted, “Isa would never let us do this. We’ve never even left this town much less the state. We have no idea what’s out there.”

“Could it be any worse than what’s here? Tristin, this town is Disney for the paranormal. New Orleans couldn’t be any worse?”

“How would you know? All of your knowledge comes from the human internet and television shows.”

He looked at her funny, “Um, that’s where most people get their information, Tristin.”

“No, that is where humans get their information, you are not a human.”

He arched a brow, “Right back at ya, sis.”

Her sigh was longsuffering and her look withering. She went to speak but he held up his hand.

“Look, I have no idea what this means or what’s out there but I’m not going to just ignore November’s name appearing on my arm, not when your powers magically resurface at the same time. I’m going to New Orleans and I’m going to save her. Are you coming with me or not?” She stared at him until he said, “Wonder twin powers, activate?”

He held up his fist.

“You are such a loser,” she muttered as she bumped her fist against his.

“Really?” he said. “We’re doing this?”

She made a frustrated noise that startled the few stragglers in the hall. “Fine, we’ll go, but when Isa finds out I’m one hundred percent blaming it all on you.”

He jumped to his feet and kissed her forehead sloppily. “I’d expect nothing less.”

His smile looked positively evil when he asked, “Now, whose car are we stealing?”

5

EMBER

E
mber headed to the bus station on autopilot. She wasn’t going to foster care. She just couldn’t. She’d rather be homeless or sleep under a bridge than at the mercy of somebody who thought she was a child who needed a parent. She just wanted to get on a bus and forget about New Orleans, forget about her father. Things would be different somewhere else. They had to be.

She walked, eyes down, hands shoved in her pockets to ward off the cold. She was far enough away from the quarter that the noise level was tolerable. Things hadn’t truly picked up just yet but the crowds were increasing. Parade floats parked along the side streets, getting ready for the procession to start. The sky was on fire as the sun sank out of sight somewhere behind a riot of clouds, signaling the parties were about to begin.

The sounds of jazz poured out onto the streets, as people made their way in and out of bars and restaurants. She’d seen the inside of pretty much every bar in the quarter trying to retrieve and revive her father enough to drag him home. Her father. Every time she thought of him it was like a blow to the diaphragm, leaving her winded. He was dead. He wasn’t coming home. He didn’t deserve her feelings. This was totally his fault.

She shook off the idea. She didn’t need him. She paid bills, she had a job, and she
dealt with his bill collectors. Hell, she dealt with his bookie. A hard assed woman named Shelby. Between her father’s drinking and gambling debts, she’d spent most of her life living in squalor. She couldn’t do much worse on her own. She swallowed hard, forcing back the icy panic before it could take hold.

She’d last seen him passed out in front of the kitchen sink, still clasping an empty bottle. Her boot had found his ribs as she stepped over him to get to the fridge. He had grunted and called her a selfish brat. She’d laughed at him. She’d called him a loser.

A burst of icy air hit and she tried to burrow deeper into her sweater. She’d always thought there would be time to mend things. He would get sober; explain what it was she’d done to make him hate her so much. She thought they’d get past it. She thought she’d finally get a family. Instead, he went and died on her without a cent to his name or even a will, leaving her at the mercy of the state and the world. Father of the year.

She noticed the quiet first. When she looked up, she wasn’t at the bus station but back at the cemetery, standing before the closed iron gates. She looked around, disoriented. She glanced over her shoulder, eyes scanning the suddenly quiet streets for any sign of movement.

There was nothing but the sound of dead leaves, rattling on trees. Even this far from town, there should be people; partygoers just starting their nights or the early birds looking to get home before the party really picks up.

She shivered, she just couldn’t shake the feeling she was being watched. She pushed her duffle bag between the bars and scaled the fence suddenly needing to put as much distance between her and her phantom observer as possible. Once over, she slung the heavy bag across her shoulder, and trekked her way past two hundred year old mausoleums.

The wind howled like a wounded animal. The sky went black and the moon rose in the sky. She used the pale sliver of light cutting across the ground to navigate her way, though she didn’t need it. This was her playground. She spent more time here then her own home.

She easily found the gaudy mausoleum housing her father. Somebody kept the place in pristine condition but she’d never been able to solve the mystery. Her father couldn’t afford to pay for the upkeep and, to her knowledge, her only other family lay behind the walls.

She set her bag on the ground and laid herself along the bench, arms behind her head. Fat grey clouds dotted the sky, playing hide and seek with the moon.

The cold marble leached through her sweater but she didn’t care. It felt good. She tipped her face upwards, towards its light. Was moon bathing a thing? If not, it should be. It made her feel charged up, like it gave her superpowers.

Most people found it spooky out here, surrounded by the dead; she found it peaceful. There were many graveyards in New Orleans, most brimming with tourists hoping to catch a funeral or perhaps a voodoo ritual. She liked this one because it was off most tourist’s radar, too far to walk from most hotels and not famous enough to make the added effort.

She laid there for what seemed like an eternity, breathing in and out. She had to go soon. Buses didn’t run all night. She should say her goodbyes. That’s obviously why her Jiminy Cricket conscience pulled her there, to try to say something nice to her father.

She swung herself into a sitting position, frowning at the doors of his crypt until she was cross-eyed. She opened her mouth to talk at least a dozen times but the words didn’t come. She swallowed the lump in her throat.

This shouldn’t be so hard. It wasn’t as if he could talk back. She could finally tell him how much she hated the way he treated her. How she hated the lies, the half-truths, the general lack of interest in her very existence. How it seemed he was constantly punishing her for something. It’s not like he could yell at her now. He couldn’t call her names. He couldn’t tell her how much he wished she’d never been born. He couldn’t walk away this time.

She blinked the wetness from her eyes, swatting at her cheeks. He didn’t deserve her tears or her attention. She stood, reaching for her bag.

“A bit late for a girl your age to be traipsing around the cemetery.”

She gasped, spinning to locate the disembodied voice among the stones. There was movement to her left and a shadow broke from the rest and moved into view, head down and hands in his pockets. He wore the same black hooded sweatshirt, still pulled low, hiding his face from her.

It was the boy she’d seen earlier. It had to be. She doubted there were two people wandering around this cemetery in mysterious black hoodies.

“You,” she said.

“Aye, me.” That voice. She wanted to curl up in it and take a nap.

“You scared the crap out of me,” she told him, hand fluttering over her pounding heart. He was still scaring her if she was being honest. She squinted, trying to make out his face inside the shadows of the hood. He made no move to reveal himself, but she could feel him watching her all the same.

As seconds ticked by, her imagination went wild, picturing everything from a sugar skull mask to a horrible deformity, to a monster with no face at all. She shook her head; the holiday was getting the best of her.

She shifted her weight, “Are you going to just stand there in your creepy hood and stare at me?”

There was only a slight hesitation before he pushed back the hood slowly. Her eyes went wide as she tried to take him in. No matter how slow his reveal, it wasn’t enough time to prepare her for what she saw.

He was stunning, all high cheekbones and perfect lips. His brows were just this side of too thick and as dark as the stubble on his perfectly chiseled jaw. It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen hot guys before. New Orleans was full of them. Some of them even shared his chiseled-out-of-marble features but his eyes…they were like nothing she’d ever seen before.

They glowed. There was no other way to say it. Perhaps it was a trick of the light or maybe she was going crazy but his eyes were a swirl of liquid mercury framed by long dark lashes. She supposed they could be contacts. Either way, she knew she was staring. When his hood finally fell back, she realized his hair was silver as well, long on top and messy, shot through with strands of white. If she’d ever thought to draw the moon in human form, she imagined she’d have drawn him.

She almost stepped closer. His grin pulled her out of her trance. He was obviously used to this reaction. “Better?”

His voice was a low murmur in the quiet and his faint accent, English maybe Irish, made her stomach swoop in a funny way. Her cheeks flushed. “Jury’s still out.”

He tilted his head, smirking like she amused him, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sorry to hear that, Luv, I was hoping we could be friends.”

She took a step back, wiping sweaty palms on her jeans. Her heartbeat sounded loud in her ears. Concrete surrounded her on all sides. If he wanted to hurt her, she’d made it very easy for him. He took a step forward but she stood her ground. There was really nowhere to go.

His eyes raked over her but not in a sexual way. It was methodical, unemotional, like a scientist reviewing a specimen. Her mouth went dry at the thought. She was the specimen. He arched a brow, voice conversational, “It’s really not safe for someone so young to be out here all alone, far from anybody who could help you.”

She couldn’t help the look she gave him, “What are you, nineteen? Did they drop you off from the senior center?”

He huffed out an amused sound, his smirk bleeding into a predatory grin as he prowled closer. Goosebumps erupted along her skin. She didn’t buy his amusement but that look, the cold, calculating way he moved, that she believed.

“Oh, I’m older then I look, Luv.”

She believed that too. He looked young but he carried himself with a confidence boys her age didn’t possess. She pushed her hair out of her face, mind racing. She felt restless, skin crawling in a way that was too much like what happened in the funeral for her peace of mind.

“What do you want from me?” she asked.

He stopped, tilting his head, eyes cold and so very beautiful, “I told you, I want to be your friend.”

That look did not scream friends. She took a moment to wallow. Seriously, what karma was she working off? Some girls get to be prom queen; she gets orphaned and murdered before graduation. She snorted at the thought, unable to stop the giggle that escaped abruptly. She jammed her fist against her mouth to stop it but it was too late.

She was suddenly burning from the inside, angry and scared, fear jolting along her skin like static electricity. She wasn’t an expert, but she was pretty sure this was what her therapist would call an inappropriate fear response. An image of her last therapist popped into her head so clear in that moment. Her stupid horn rimmed glasses and her constant sour expression; that morally superior tone so clear in her memory as she’d lectured her, ‘
You don’t take anything seriously, Ember’. ‘Therapy only works if you work it, Ember’.
You shouldn’t laugh at your killer, Ember. Ever the disappointment, she was.

The laughter bubbled out of her, unstoppable as the tears streaming down her face. Mr. tall, light and scary looked putout, as if he didn’t know what to do with her mental breakdown.

“I’m sorry,” She swiped at her cheeks, pulling herself together, sniffling loudly, “But I don’t think you understand the kind of shit day I’ve had.” Though he had been there earlier, “Well, maybe you do, but I mean, you have to appreciate the irony. Ten minutes ago, I was leaving to start a brand new life, now I’m going to be killed standing five feet away from the man who swore my smart mouth would get me killed someday.”

She went lightheaded as the enormity of her words hit her, “Oh, God. This is like the part in the movie where you try to kill me, right? You are going to try to kill me and I feel too crappy to even try to run.”

She was talking more to herself now. She leaned back against the rusted mausoleum gates behind her, enjoying the cool metal against her skin. Her head was swimming, the stars above blurring in the sky. No, not now, she thought. It was happening again. Whatever had happened earlier in the cemetery was happening again. She could feel it rising up in her, that weird feeling like her insides were melting and liquefying while she could do nothing to stop it. Was this a panic attack? Could a panic attack cause what happened in the cemetery earlier? Maybe this was some kind of fight or flight adrenaline response.

She felt caged, trapped by her own body. It was all in her head. The ground wasn’t vibrating at her feet. There was no way she was really burning up in forty-degree weather. Even in her haze she could see him watching her. Maybe if she just held still, he would be quick about it.

Her head lulled on her shoulders. She was going to pass out. It would serve him right. Then he was just there, in her space, fingers cupping her face. She moaned at the feel of his cold hands against her overheated flesh. “And if it is, Luv? If this is the part where I try to kill you? What then? Are you going to pass out and take all the fun out of it? Or will you fight back?”

There was no mistaking the threat of his words, but he was close enough to whisper them against her skin like a promise. She couldn’t think straight. Her head filled with a sound like angry bees. She pitched forward, dropping her forehead to his shoulder, eyes drifting closed.

He was so cold; even through the layers of his clothes; his body seemed to emit this pleasant icy radiance that soothed her feverish skin. She wrapped herself around him, locking her arms. She buried her face against his throat, nose rubbing against his skin.

She felt his body go rigid in her arms. She didn’t blame him, on some level she understood sane girls didn’t try to cuddle their killers. But nobody ever accused her of being sane. She was the girl who played in cemeteries and talked to the dead. She was the girl with three therapists before she was twelve. She was the girl in flames and he was ice water; if she was going to die, she was going to have this first.

They stood there, bound together by her forced embrace. Those strange vibrations increased, building inside her like a living thing, a burning energy trying to melt her from the inside out. She could hear his ragged breath panting against her ear, could feel him writhing in her grasp, but she refused to let go. Could he feel it too?