Eerie

For my husband, my hero.

Prologue

There he was again.

Hailey snapped her head around, hoping to catch more than a glimpse of the glowing creature, which once again zipped past the very edge of her vision.

It was real, she knew it was.

Frozen in place, she scanned the horizon, hoping to find
where
it was so she'd have more than a millisecond to determine exactly
what
it was.

Finally it halted with its back to her, on a hill next to her favorite tree—a giant sycamore, which usually stood in her neighbor's yard. But now it stretched high into the swirling purple skies of her dream.

The figure standing next to the sycamore looked like an angel, lean and pale, and as bright as the moon.

Curious, Hailey crept closer, not meaning to disturb him. But as she drew near, he whirled around.

Hailey stopped, mesmerized by his violet eyes.

“Hi,” she breathed with a gentle smile.

He gave her a quizzical look.

“I'm Hailey.”

“I know,” he answered softly. Hailey let him study her for quite a while before she glanced over his shoulder.

“This is my favorite place.” She nodded to the tree-lined river valley stretched out behind him.

“I know,” he said again.

“Well, what don't you know?”

The creature merely gazed at her.

She lifted her shoulders. “Do you have a name?”

He looked away.

“What's wrong?”

“We've met before, but you never remember me.” He drew a slow breath. “And I'm afraid this is the last time I'll see you.”

“Why?” As the word passed her lips, a cascade of memories tumbled forth, whispers overlapping whispers until a single thought emerged. “You're an Envoy.”

“You're remembering.”

“And the other Envoys—they're coming, aren't they?” She glanced at the trees in the valley, their shadows taking on a menacing shape. “Make them go away. Why can't you make them go away?”

“Because you must die.” He tilted his head, as if this were obvious.

Hailey's heart constricted. She staggered back.

“Don't run from me, Hailey,” he warned, lifting his hand.

Hailey braced for a beating, but he merely caressed her cheek. Calmed by his touch, Hailey looked up and found herself staring into the most beautiful swirling eyes. But he had just said something . . .something important, she thought . . .

When he stroked her cheek again, she was certain this strange creature—this Envoy—was watching over her. She knew he wanted her to live—to grow up, to grow old.

But he jerked his hand away, and Hailey opened her eyes to a dark bedroom.

As she woke, the wisdom and maturity of her eternal soul faded. The memory of her Envoy dream dissolved.

Chapter One

A Good Man

“All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.”

– Edmund Burke

Professor Simeon Woodfork shuffled into the observatory shivering wildly and waving his papers, as expected.

Asher knew he was coming—he'd sensed his approach. Still, standing behind his telescope, Asher made no movement to acknowledge the professor at all. His smoldering purple eyes never shifted, never broke their gaze into the clear winter night.

“It must be exciting,” Asher said without a hint of interest, “if you've made your way here in stocking feet.” He finally turned to the man.

Woodfork, who stood coatless and covered in frost next to the door, glanced down and seemed shocked to find he'd also forgotten his boots. Looking up, he attempted an announcement.

“Th-th-th-they'rrrrr . . .” he began, still shivering as he held his papers high.

“Forget her, Simeon,” Asher boomed, his voice echoing inside the dome. “Forget them both. You cannot protect them. They'll be dead before your semester starts.”

Asher already knew why the professor had come. He was well aware the girls had applied for scholarships at the school and that Woodfork had just discovered their essays. He'd seen it inside the man's mind.

Woodfork stared at Asher in astonishment for some time. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and turning to leave said quietly over his shoulder, “This is evil, you know.” He waited a few seconds for a response that wouldn't come. With a heavy sigh he shook his head and walked out.

As soon as Woodfork left, Asher blinked and quite unexpectedly found a tear had escaped his eye and was traveling down his perfect cheek. He plucked the drop from his face and stared at it in awe. Rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger, he realized . . .

Sadness.

That must be what he was feeling.

Another tear trickled from his violet eye and dropped to the observatory floor, reflecting the starry night above. Asher watched it, his brow furrowed in concentration. Of course he knew what a tear was, but he'd never actually produced one. He'd come close once—on the night he first saw her magnificent soul. Naturally, she was deep asleep, and her soul, like all human souls did, had wandered into the Aether in what humans call a dream.

Asher was there. He was always there, in the Aether. Half in and half out. That was his curse. Three thousand years he'd endured it—shackled to the Earth, trapped among the humans, condemned to exist in both worlds—longing, always longing to be wholly in his home in the Aether.

It was there that he'd noticed her standing lonely and lovely, looking very curiously at him, which itself was a rare occurrence, as humans usually didn't see Envoys in the Aether, but that wasn't as rare as what she'd done next. Instead of avoiding his penetrating gaze, which most humans cannot tolerate, she met it. And smiled.

It was rapture.

And he hated her for it.

Soon after she smiled, she turned and ran from him. And though he hadn't meant to frighten her, he knew why she fled—he was a monster after all . . .an ender of life, and he shouldn't blame her for fleeing.

But it was devastating.

Since that night, he couldn't stay away from her. Like a Siren, she drew him in, and she'd challenged him like no other dared, her delicate voice ringing with scorn and defiance and forgiveness all at once. It was maddening—and addicting.

His eye released another tear.

Asher found this “sadness” utterly unpleasant and realized he would not take the advice he'd just given Woodfork. He would not simply forget the girl with the beautiful soul—the girl who'd found him in the Aether. The one—the only one—he ever wondered about, ever cared about, ever—resented. In his three thousand years stuck on this Earth, of the millions of souls he'd seen come and go, it was hers he longed to know, longed to reveal himself to. Always hers.

And as deplorable as it was for an Envoy to express such a sentiment, Asher could think of nothing other than his sudden, intense desire to see her in her waking life—to rescue her or kill her—he didn't know which he wanted more. But he did know that any interference in her fate was dangerous—akin to suicide, really.

Any Envoy foolish enough to admit they were infected with human emotion risked death. Asher knew this because not even a century ago the Envoys had shredded one of their own for just such an offense: for loving a human. It was an assassination, an abject slaughter, borne of intolerance for the corruption they all felt clawing away at them . . .the human emotion that was driving the Envoys insane.

Also, the girl—this one girl—had to die. For when her soul and body parted, her energy would open the Aether, and the Envoys trapped on Earth could finally go home. This design was centuries in the making. Asher wanted this. He wanted her to die. At least, he should want her to die, and he shouldn't care that another Envoy moved to hasten her demise.

But he did.

And as he marveled at how his first tear slid between his finger and thumb, and how his second twinkled in the starlight, he realized he was not the only Envoy evolving. He was not the only one corrupted by feelings. All of the Envoys trapped on Earth were changing—going mad, perhaps—and these creatures who once valued balance above all else were now tipping the scales to one side or the other. While some experienced emotions, such as love, others chose behavior that was simply, as Woodfork had so eloquently put—evil.

Asher contemplated the fate that awaited his girl—the excruciating pain of having her soul ripped from her body, the hands of
another
Envoy touching her—

Asher felt his teeth gnash, and he resolved in that moment to go to her.

Chapter Two

A Guarded Girl

“Of all forms of caution, caution in love is perhaps the most fatal to true happiness.”

-Bertrand Russell

Hailey stared at the empty can on her tray, silently willing the caffeine to kick in. The last thing she needed was to fall asleep, dream of monsters, and have an “episode” in front of her 200 closest non-friends.

No way she'd let that happen.

Now if only her droopy eyelids would cooperate, because the hard plastic chair under her butt sure wasn't. The dang thing was teasing her and feeling mighty comfy, like a puffy armchair, and she was sinking fast. Thankfully, though, just as her head bobbed, the bell rang, jolting her into a wide-eyed, full-body spasm.

Great. Real smooth
, she thought, rubbing her face with both hands as a few gigglers shuffled past.

She groaned, rising with all the enthusiasm of a mushroom, not at all looking forward to another two hours inside the social torture chamber, or as everyone else referred to it, South Side High School.

She was so intent on avoiding the students there for the rest of her senior year that she rarely looked up from her books anymore, and those last two hours dragged. When three o'clock finally rolled around, she bolted outside, took the first open seat on the bus, rested her head against the window, and let it bounce there. She was just about to make it through another day of school very happily unnoticed, when Tage Adams smacked her on the back of the head.

“Ah!” she yelled, startled from sleep.

The bus was waiting at their stop, like normal, and Tage was waiting for her in the aisle, politely—not normal.

Tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, she hurried off the bus.

Tage followed.

“What's up with you today?” he said nonchalantly, adjusting his pace to walk next to her.

He'd never done
that
before.

“Nothing,” Hailey said, surprised Tage was talking to her. They'd been catching the bus at the same stop for four years, and he'd never so much as looked at her.

“You're usually not like that, that's all.”

“Like what?”

“Nodding off in class, falling asleep on the bus . . .you know, slacking off. It's just, you know, you usually have your nose in a book.”

He watches me?

“Oh,” she said, unsure.

“Guess you were working late last night . . .St. Paddy's Day . . .”

“Yeah.” Of course she was working late. Her family owned the most popular Irish pub in Pittsburgh. Hailey pressed her lips together. Small talk was so not her thing. Especially not with him.

Her mind went blank.

Searching the pavement for a thought, she chewed her lip as too many seconds stretched the silence. Finally the pressure forced her good sense aside and she opened her mouth to say . . .anything.

“What's—”

“Well, see ya ‘round, Dancing Queen.”

She snapped her mouth shut and waved as he peeled off and trotted down Bridge Street. She tried to form the word, “bye,” but all that came out was “buh—”. Standing dumbfounded, she stared after him. She hadn't realized Tage knew she existed, let alone the fact that she waitressed. And danced.

Stunned, Hailey walked, then jogged, then stopped dead to puzzle over what had just happened. Then she jogged again until she finally reached the pub.

Nobody at that school “chatted” with Hailey. Not since the fourth grade, not since the day a particularly mean girl concocted a particularly ugly rumor—that Hailey had started the fire that killed her parents. The whispers and sideways glances lasted close to a year, and in trying to defend herself, Hailey only made things worse. By the time she figured out that nobody else believed in pyromaniac-nightmare-monsters, it was too late. She'd already earned the label, “weirdo,” which, unfortunately, stuck.

When Hailey burst into the pub, Holly had already cleaned up most of the St. Patrick's Day mess but was still scurrying around the dining room, rag in hand. Hailey grabbed the rag from Holly, set it aside, and looked her sister dead in the eyes.

“You'll never guess who talked to me today,” she said to Holly, though Fin, the new bartender, also looked up.

“Who?” Holly's sea-green eyes sparkled with curiosity.

“Tage Adams.” Hailey stepped back, crossed her arms, and chewed her lip.

“No!”

Hailey nodded. “Yup.”

“What did he say?”

“He told me I usually have my nose stuck in a book.” Hailey paused for effect. “And then he called me Dancing Queen.” Hailey raised her eyebrows as she waited for her sister's assessment.

“He knows you dance?”

Hailey shrugged, feeling as perplexed as Holly looked. Tage was hardly a regular at the pub. When he had come with his family for dinner—which was exactly twice—Hailey had reverted to her antisocial-school-self, stood in the shadows, and made Holly wait on him.

“He might like you.” Holly pointed her finger at Hailey. “Isn't prom coming up?”

“What?”

Holly gave her the sister-ESP look, and Hailey recoiled.

“Oh, no. No, no, no.” Hailey put her hand over her forehead. “Oh my God, I hope not.” She didn't care how obscenely handsome Tage was—she'd rather be locked in a trunk full of spiders than attend a school function. Spider bites healed. Gossip stung forever. “I'd have to tell him no.” She grabbed Holly's rag and wiped an already clean table.

“Oooorrrrrr . . .” Holly smiled, leaning casually against the bar, “You could suck it up and go to prom with the hottest guy in school.”

“I'm sure he was just being polite,” said Hailey wiping more vigorously.

“Oh, yeah,” said Holly sarcastically. “I'm sure that's all it was. Football stars are typically
so
polite to the school's biggest introvert.”

Hailey stared at her, full of dread. The very thought of prom made her ill. She was quite content to remain mostly invisible until she graduated and prayed that Tage had simply suffered a momentary bout of social amnesia in acknowledging her existence. More than that, she hoped he already had a date lined up—a perfect cheerleader or something.

She shook her head, pushing Tage and prom and excruciating, extremely public ridicule from her mind, but Holly wasn't done torturing her.

“Tage Adams,” she marveled, and then she held up a white envelope. “And I thought seeing this would be the highlight of your day.” She smiled brightly.

“What's that?”

“Another scholarship announcement—wait till you hear this one,” she said, unfolding the letter. “A scholarship for the study of the mating habits of the arctic ice worm.”

Hailey squinted.

“But wait.” Holly held her finger up. “—requires a high tolerance for cold weather as well as an abundance of patience.” She dropped the paper on the bar and stared at Hailey.

“An abundance of patience?” Hailey repeated, shaking her head. “Is it me, or do some of these seem . . .ridiculous?”

Fin let out a loud cough but then busied himself at the sink.

Holly studied the letter with her chin sticking out. Then she raised her eyebrows and shrugged.

“Seems legit.” She eyed the return address. “It's Bear Towne University again.”

The arctic ice worm was just the latest in a string of off-the-wall offers the girls had received for study at one very remote northern school, which neither of them had ever heard of. But they were desperate. Holly had already taken a year off to save money while Hailey finished high school, and they were willing to go to school as far away as Alaska if it meant they could go together, so they each completed and sent back one strange essay after another.

Bear Towne University also offered a grant for the study of bovine-induced personality disorders in the northern Yeti (lactose-intolerant individuals were discouraged from participating) and a scholarship for a degree in the care and feeding of carnivorous trees (current tetanus vaccine was highly recommended). There was even one for ParaScience.

“Remember the paranormal one?” Holly chuckled.

“Yeah,” Hailey sighed. It was an essay application—only 1500 words, but the topic was “any personal supernatural experience.” Both girls had written about the only bizarre event they knew—the fire that destroyed their childhood home.

Holly studied her little sister. “Wanna go see Mom before dinner?” she asked gently, but then she brightened. “You could tell her about Tage . . .”

“It's really not a big deal.” Hailey scrunched her nose. “You think she'd care?”

“Are you kidding? This is huge—you're finally coming out of your shell.”

“Blurting out a monosyllabic response is not ‘coming out of my shell'.” Hailey made a half-frown. “Besides, I like my shell. It's cozy in here.”

Holly slapped her hands on the bar. “Come on. We'll go see them real quick. Grab some whiskey for Dad. I'll tell Uncle Pix we're leaving.”

Fin was already holding out a bottle of Bushmills. “Here,” he sighed. “And you better not drink any of that.”

Hailey rolled her eyes.

Fin stared back at her, looking very annoyingly like the cover of a magazine: tall and ruggedly handsome with dark brown eyes; dark, disheveled hair; and always just the right amount of soft stubble on his face. It used to be hard not to gaze at him, but after two months of playful banter, a few broken pint glasses and an epic water-fight that ended with Uncle Pix punching Fin square in the nose, Hailey could see past his gorgeous face. And though he couldn't be any older than twenty-two, he was, as Uncle Pix had proclaimed, “way too feckin old” for her and Holly anyway.

“Thanks, Fin, I already have an overprotective guardian.” She grasped the bottle, but Fin held it tight, and Hailey looked up at him.

“Let go.” She grinned, and he shook his head.

“Ask me nicely.”

Hailey huffed. “Let go of this bottle, or I'll tell Uncle Pix you kissed Holly.”

“I never kissed Holly!” He dropped his cocky smile and the bottle.

“ . . .but I bet you want to,” Hailey teased.

“Want to what?” A smiling Holly appeared next to the bar, her chestnut ponytail still swinging.

Hailey giggled. “Come on. I'll tell you on the way.”

She looked back at Fin just before the door closed behind her and in time to see him set his jaw. How she loved to one-up that man. If only it were that easy with all guys.

“What was that about?” Holly jabbed her thumb at the pub.

“I was just teasing Fin about kissing you.”

Holly groaned. “I wish he would kiss me.”

“You and every other girl that walks into Hullachan's.”

“Don't you?”

Hailey shook her head. “Nope. I'm impervious to his immature charm.” She turned to Holly. “I mean, it hits me, but it just ricochets off my shell.”

“You and your shell—weirdo.”