Children Shouldn't Play with Dead Things (Dead Things Series Book 1) (23 page)

It took an hour to pack and coordinate where they would stay overnight. Just as he closed the back of the Chevy, Ember opened the front door, rushing towards him, red hair flying behind her.

“I need you to do something for me.”

Kai hesitated, wondering if this was something Isa would kill him for. Rhys appeared from the driver’s side. “What’s the hold up?”

Ember folded a piece of paper into his hand, looking at Kai with big eyes, “I need you to go to this address and tell Miller Hammond I’m okay.”

“No way,” Rhys barked.

If looks could kill, Rhys would be a puddle on the floor. As it was, Ember’s jaw tensed, hair practically crackling as static moved along her skin. Her chest heaved, “You have too. He took care of me for years, made sure I had food, gave me a job, let me do my homework in his office.” Sparks arched across her skin, “I just disappeared. He probably thinks I’m dead. Please, Kai. Please.”

Mace appeared at the front door, probably feeling Ember’s impending meltdown. He didn’t approach, just hung back, waiting to see what would happen.

“Okay,” Kai said, placing a hand on her shoulder, jumping back when she shocked him. “What the hell?” he asked to nobody really, shaking out his hand. “I will tell him but you know I can’t tell him where you are. He probably wouldn’t believe me anyway. He’ll probably try to have us arrested for kidnapping.”

“He’ll recognize my handwriting, just show this too him or leave it with Alma at the front.”

He couldn’t take the sad eyes anymore. “Yes, jeez, enough with the puppy eyes, I said I’ll do it.”

Ember deflated, the storm of energy dissipating as quickly as it gathered. Tristin snickered from the passenger seat, where she’d apparently been eavesdropping, “Suckered by your own sad eyed stare.”

“We need to get on the road,” Rhys grumbled, turning on his heel and getting in the vehicle.

As Kai slid into the backseat next to Quinn, Mace gave him a jaunty wave from the doorway, ushering Ember back inside. A heavy feeling settled in his gut. He couldn’t shake the feeling something bad was coming. Rhys inhaled sharply, looking at him in confusion. “I’m fine,” he murmured. Rhys didn’t believe him but started the vehicle anyway. Kai was glad he didn’t ask. He had no idea what he’d say. Something wasn’t right. As they drove away, Kai fought the urge to tell Rhys to go back. He ran a hand along the back of his neck, as it hit him like a fist to his gut.

There was really no going back from this thing he’d set in motion. For better or worse, they had to see it through, no matter the consequence.

36

TRISTIN

A
s predicted, the car ride was excruciating. Kai insisted on sitting in the back with Quinn, which left her up front with a cranky pants pouting werewolf. Being in the front with Rhys wasn’t usually a problem. He didn’t insist on filling every minute with unnecessary conversation.

Today, however, his bad mood was contagious; or maybe it was the non-stop running commentary between Kai and Quinn the entire four hour drive. She tried to sleep but after the third time her brother woke her with a knee to the back of her seat she gave up opting to thumb through her phone instead.

Once they reached the city, yet another argument erupted between Rhys and Kai about whether to honor Ember’s request to pass along her note.

“I told her we would do it,” Kai reminded him.

“That sounds a lot like your problem,” Rhys told him. “We shouldn’t even be in New Orleans. Her father could have had an entire coven working with him. This Eric guy may even be working for him and you want to dangle yourself in front of him like low hanging fruit.”

Tristin rolled her eyes as her brother’s mouth fell open, “You can take me there now or I’ll just find a way to go later.”

“What if this guy calls the cops or accuses us of kidnapping her or something…weirder?”

“You mean weirder than abducting her and carting her off to a supernatural town where her secret powers are a very threat to her existence. Weirder than that?” Tristin added drily. Rhys gave her his surliest eyebrows.

“Listen, I’m in charge and I say no. No way. That’s final.”

“Fine.” Kai told the wolf.

Tristin knew by his tone of voice it was definitely not fine.

Kai proved her right when he said, “I’ll just call Isa.”

A strangled noise escaped Rhys, “You are such a…child.” He fisted the steering wheel until his knuckles were white, “Fine.”

Tristin laughed at the smug look on her brother’s face earning her a glare from Rhys.

The address belonged to a two-story building three blocks from the cemetery where they’d first found Ember. It was old but well cared for. A hearse sat parked to the side of the building next to a vintage Mercedes. An old beat up Buick was the only other car in the lot.

Once inside, Tristin almost gagged on the bizarre energy in the room. She could tell by the way her brother fidgeted he could feel it too. There was no immediate threat, other than the tacky décor, but the place made her skin crawl.

“Do you feel that?” she asked. Kai nodded.

“What? What is it? No supernatural senses here, remember?” Quinn asked.

Kai shrugged, “I don’t actually know. Maybe it’s all the death?”

“I told you this was a bad idea,” Rhys muttered.

An older woman rounded the corner. She had a soft face and half glasses that made Tristin think of Mrs. Claus. She was tiny and plump. Tristin couldn’t help but notice how her floral dress matched the carpeting and the table clothes. It was like she’d been there so long the building had accepted her as one of its own.

She looked startled, probably not used to seeing four teenagers standing in a funeral parlor. “May I help y’all?”

They all stared until Rhys shoved Kai forward with a grunt.

“I-I’m looking for Miller Hammond, is he here?”

“No, he’s off for the day.” She tilted her head, “How may I help you children?”

“Are you Alma?”

She smiled, hand fluttering to her chest, “Why yes I am, do I know you, sweetheart?”

“No, but I think you know my c-” her brother was cut off by another quick elbow to the back, “my friend, Ember. She asked that we leave this with you for Mr. Hammond.”

Her smile faltered, eyes going watery, “So she’s okay, then? Alive?”

Kai nodded a bit too enthusiastically. Tristin rolled her eyes. He looked like a bobble head. “Yes, she’s fine. Happy.”

Alma didn’t say anything for a bit, as if absorbing the fact her worst fears hadn’t come true. She nodded once, “Well, okay then. I’ll be happy to pass that on. He will be so relieved. Please, please tell her to come see us. We miss her so much.”

Tristin fought another epic eye roll. Everybody loved Ember.

“Well, if that’s all, I have a family…” she trailed off, gesturing towards the back.

Rhys looked horrified at the notion of disturbing some grieving family, shuffling them towards the wooden double doors. As they made their way out the door, she noticed the two small portraits on the wall. One was of the woman they’d just met. Underneath it said ‘Alma Mayweather, Office Manager’. The other was of an older black man with large kind eyes and greying hair captioned ‘Miller Hammond, Owner’.

Kai caught her looking, “He has a nice face. At least Ember had one person who was nice to her.”

Tristin’s cheek twitched. She didn’t want to feel sorry for the girl.

Once they piled back in the car, they drove towards their hotel where they had one hotel room with two beds. Tristin dreaded the fight she knew was about to ensue. It took approximately six minutes for things to fall apart once they entered the room.

“I’m not sharing a bed with Quinn,” Rhys said, arms crossed and jaw set. “No way.”

“Wow, man. Rude.”

“You sleep like you walk, dangerously. I’m not going to be hit in the face all night by your flailing limbs.”

“I don’t want to share with you either,” Quinn said, but still looked hurt by the wolf’s rejection.

“Well, I’m not sleeping with Rhys,” Kai said, trying to look disgusted but mostly just looking terrified. She didn’t have to be a werewolf to know his heart was probably pounding out of his chest.

“Oh, I’m devastated,” Rhys snarked back.

“Shut up,” Tristin told them. “I’ll sleep with Rhys but you two better go to sleep. I’m not going to be kept up all night because you two are giggling like twelve year old girls at their first slumber party.”

Rhys snickered.

Kai glared at her, “We don’t do that.”

They proceeded to do just that. Tristin had erected a huge pillow barrier between her and the wolf but it didn’t stop him from tossing and turning next to her, causing the pillows to topple on top of her. She finally flung them to the floor, staring at him in exasperation. He grunted at her in the dark, thrusting a finger towards the other bed.

“Go to sleep. It’s after midnight,” Tristin told them. The sound quieted down and she raised her eyebrows in what she hoped was a ‘happy, now?’ look.

Their peace lasted only about ten minutes before they were laughing again. The wolf huffed air out of his nose like an angry bull but said nothing, instead flopping on his stomach dramatically.

At around two in the morning, Rhys threatened to claw out somebody’s vocal cords letting them know he didn’t care which of them it was. The room finally fell silent for good.

The bed was big and comfortable but Tristin felt like she was sleeping next to a space heater as two hundred pounds of werewolf dozed restlessly beside her. Morning couldn’t come fast enough.

She drifted into a restless sleep. She dreamed of Ember and Kai, of their parents on the beach, laughing. Just flashes really. Her dad tossing a small plastic ball to her and Ember. Kai sitting with their Aunt looking at the names of her collected. Tristin and Ember burying their Barbie’s in the sand. Tristin crying when hers was carried out to sea. Ember giving up her most favorite Barbie with the dark hair to Tristin because Tristin was sad and Ember said the dark haired Barbie looked more like her anyway.

Tristin woke with her heart feeling heavy behind her ribs. She was laying with her head on Rhys’ chest. His heartbeat thumping rhythmically in her ear. This wasn’t okay.

She’d never dreamed of Ember before this. She’d never dreamed of her parents either. Her breath hitched, tears pricking behind her eyelids. She felt Rhys tense beneath her as tears spilt against his skin. She heard his subtle intake of breath and knew he was awake. She knew without looking, he was listening for any sounds of impending danger. When he realized they were safe, he relaxed.

He didn’t ask questions. The arm that curled around her shoulders flexed and his hand stroked down her back lazily. She normally wouldn’t allow it. She didn’t need comforting. She didn’t cry, especially over things she couldn’t change. It was a waste of her time and energy. Her brother was the emotional one.

Her parents were dead, her aunt and uncle were dead, and whatever friendship happened between her and Ember twelve years ago was dead. Nothing would change that. She could have gone the rest of her life without remembering these things. She didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to feel like this, it was like losing them all over again.

She pressed her fist against her teeth, keeping her sobs to herself, skin too hot. Rhys kissed the top of her head once but otherwise didn’t acknowledge her distress. She hated this feeling; she hated it.

She didn’t know how long she lay there before her tears finally stopped or even if they did. At some point she drifted to sleep and if she dreamed at least this time she didn’t remember.

37

EMBER

I
t was late, or maybe it was early. The others had long since dragged themselves to bed but Ember couldn’t seem to settle. The night hadn’t been a total disaster. She’d sacrificed one plate of French toast to the floor. She almost wore a customer’s meatloaf when she went in the out door of the kitchen. Donovan managed to save the dish, kissing her cheek as he slipped past. For once, she wasn’t mad, gravy wasn’t her color. She slapped his butt as he walked past and the wolf howled. It was hard to be mad at Donovan.

Mace, didn’t seem to agree. He was most definitely mad. Every time the door swung open or she glanced through the pass-thru he leveled his glare at her, at least until Isa barked another order at him.

It was weird having a job where she interacted with the living. At least the majority of the customers were human thanks to the restaurant sitting just over the border of town. It cut down on the weird looks and hostility she received at school. The humans here didn’t react to her the way they had in New Orleans. Maybe the overwhelming supernatural population dulled the humans to anything unusual.

She was relieved to find Romero still alive and curled up with Neoma on the sofa in the atrium. She took a long shower, changed into pajama pants and a t-shirt and grabbed her sketchbook. She skipped the kitchen, heading out the French doors of the atrium to the covered courtyard on the side of the house. Romero watched her with his one sad eye. He heaved a sigh hopping from the sofa and limping along behind her.

The courtyard was her favorite part of the house. There were big comfortable chairs and a loveseat, even a fire pit. The shape of the house kept it hidden from the street. Gardenia and night blooming jasmine overwhelmed the trellis enclosing the space in a pocket of huge flowers and dizzying fragrance. Tiny white twinkle lights surrounded the perimeter and a white chandelier hung from the ceiling.

Normally, she wouldn’t touch the overhead light; it drew nothing but moths and mosquitos. Not tonight though, tonight was perfect. The gentle breeze made the temperature tolerable and the rustling leaves provided a sort of white noise she found soothing.

Romero flopped himself down with another longsuffering sigh. She curled up on the sofa, tucking her feet beneath her, the soft light making shadows jump around her. She smiled to herself. She was getting used to it, living here, in this space with all these people.

There was always somebody home, somebody talking, people yelling, somebody watching television. Somebody, usually Isa, was always cooking. Even on nights when the wolves would run, Kai and Quinn would commandeer the living room for movie night or video games. They would pop popcorn and order pizza. Neoma would sing. When the run was over, Donovan would barrel through the door and jump on the sofa between Quinn and Kai snatching the controller and stuffing two slices in his mouth at the same time.

People lived there, interacted with each other, talked to each other, fought with each other. She didn’t think she’d adapt so quickly. It scared her in a way she’d never had to think about before; the fear of having something to lose. Thinking about it made her feel shaky, like it drew her magic to the surface, so she tried not to think about it, tried not to get too used to it. She embraced the quiet moments, just to prove she could still be alone if she had to. It never paid to rely on anybody.

She opened her sketchbook to find a blank page but froze at the first image. It was a little girl in a pinafore and a bonnet. She’d drawn the picture months ago, talking to the imaginary girl as she drew. She’d felt stupid the first time she’d done it, talking to the grave, pretending they answered back, but her drawing came out with so much more detail, she couldn’t see the harm. She chalked it up to artistic process.

Now, she traced the lines of the girl’s face wondering how much of that really was her imagination, not wanting to acknowledge the enormity of the answer. Now that she knew what she was…what she could do…it made her throat feel tight. Her mind pulled up images she didn’t want to consider. What would this little girl be if she called to her, pulled her body from the ground like the others? Would there be anything left. Would it even matter? How far past the veil, did her reach extend?

She shook her head at the thought. She hadn’t had her powers then. She barely had them now. It seemed a small consolation, considering how many bodies she’d brought back only to be slaughtered a second time. This power made no sense. It seemed vicious and cruel. She sighed; she came out here to not think about this stuff.

She smiled at Romero, “You are going to be immortalized today.”

He was unimpressed by the news. She started sketching the dog, eyes darting from him to the page as she crooned at him, telling him he was a good boy. She swallowed the lump of sadness that seemed to stick in her throat. Was pulling him back mean? She looked at his paw. Was somebody else suffering because of her?

She heard Mace before she saw him, his heavy booted steps clunking along the porch. A full body shiver rolled along her skin like somebody walked over a grave, her magic acknowledging his. He didn’t make his presence known so she pretended she didn’t see him, continuing her masterpiece.

He finally said, “You sure that’s a good idea? Perhaps we should ban you from drawing for a bit. I really don’t want to stab anybody in the head tonight.”

She grimaced, “Relax, lurker, can’t resurrect what’s already resurrected.” She flipped the sketch so he could see Romero’s face before turning it back to herself and picking up where she left off.

“You really shouldn’t draw in this light. You’ll go blind.”

“I don’t even need the light. I could do this blind.”

He grinned at her cocky reply but she wasn’t lying. She looked at the dog out of habit, one she’d perfected to appease random art teachers.

“What’s got you up so late, Beautiful?” he asked.

Her pulse fluttered under the casual compliment but she snorted. He was beautiful; beautiful and evil, she reminded herself. He ate people, deprived them of moving on, crossing over, being reborn.

He gestured, asking to sit; she shrugged, swallowing hard as he jostled her around to fit himself into the small space directly beside her instead of one of the available chairs. Her magic jumped, she knew he felt it too. His cheek twitched, he pressed himself closer. She huffed in frustration. If her power desperately wanting to merge with his wasn’t proof her magic was an abomination she didn’t know what was.

“So, just thought you’d sit outside alone in the black of night with your undead dog, drawing in your sketchbook on a school night?”

She blinked at him with mock innocence, “But I’m not out here alone, I’ve got you.”

He smirked but said nothing.

She risked a glance before asking, “Where’ve you been, out terrorizing the local villagers?”

“I assure you, the villagers are all safe. Well, from me anyway.”

His eyes fell to her sketchpad, a gleam lighting his eyes. She tried to slap it shut but she was too slow. He held the page down, head bent, looking his fill.

“Lovely,” he said, voice close enough to make her jump.

“May I?” he asked, holding his hand out.

She took a deep breath and handed him the sketchbook, refusing to look at him while he moved through the images, “These are the pictures you sketched in the cemetery?”

She looked up, startled, “How did you know that?”

His eyes never left the page, “I told you, I saw you.”

“You said you saw me the day of the funeral,” she stared hard at the side of his face.

“I may have seen you around before then,” he told her, vague.

She shook her head but said nothing. He was already a killer and a liar, now she could confirm stalking as well. She should be mad but why bother. She needed him. The thought felt like a boulder in her stomach.

“Did you know I used to talk to them?” she asked.

She watched him in profile, he smiled, “I heard you, yes.”

“Did you think I was crazy?”

“At the time, a little; knowing what we know now? No.”

“Do you think I saw them, somehow? Like, do you think what I am…do you think I saw them in my mind?”

“You’re a reaper,” he said with a shrug. “You are always going to feel the pull of the dead. It’s who you are. It’s tied to the type of magic you have. It’s possible you were channeling these people as you drew them.”

Ember looked over his shoulder as he flipped each page, sadness sinking into her bones as she thought about all the people whose lives she’d inadvertently invaded. The dead deserved peace.

“Don’t you think this is ghoulish? Don’t you think it’s an invasion somehow?”

She expected his usual flippant answer but instead he said, “I don’t know. There has to be a reason you were given these powers, right? Perhaps, some greater purpose.”

“If there is a greater purpose, why are reanimators forbidden from practicing what they do?”

He said nothing for a long time, “The people who make the rules, they serve themselves first. Ember, you have no idea what you are. The power you possess…” he trailed off for a minute. “The Grove keeps the reanimators close under the guise of protection, protection of the people, of the magical community but, in truth, they use their powers for their own gain. It’s possible they could come for yours as well. It doesn’t make you evil, it makes them evil.”

“Allister said they are there to protect us. Is Allister wrong too?”

“I don’t know Allister, Luv, but I do know the Grove.”

She rolled her eyes, “Now we are back to luv?”

He grinned, “Do you prefer beautiful, then?”

She scoffed, picking invisible lint off her t-shirt, “I’d prefer the truth.”

He turned in the tight confines of the loveseat, gaze meeting hers with an intensity she’d only imagined in fantasies she’d never dare admit aloud.

“Okay, then. November Lonergan, your hair is too orange, your eyes are such a strange shade of purple I’m surprised New Orleans didn’t burn you as a witch. You have too many freckles and that gap in your teeth is…distracting.” Ember’s face flushed. It was like she was back in sixth grade listening to her fellow classmates mock her. Her throat tightened, tears pricked behind her eyes. She didn’t need to listen to this. She couldn’t even look at him as she stood to go.

Long fingers curled around her arm, tugging her down, his voice dropping low like he was revealing a shameful secret, “Back in New Orleans, I would get lost staring at your face for hours. You always looked so alone and sad and, frankly, a little angry. But then, sometimes, when you thought nobody was looking, you would twirl around or sing in front of your window and I would find myself thinking about you long after you’d disappeared.”

Ember’s fingers clenched spastically on her thigh but he wasn’t done. “I wanted to know what your hair felt like beneath my fingers.” He tugged one buoyant curl. “I thought of your lips and if they were that red naturally or because you always seemed to be chewing at them.” She was almost positive she’d stopped breathing. “Ember, luv, I’ve lived a long time and I’ve seen tens of thousands of people, but not one of their faces fascinates me like yours. You are strange and broken and more powerful than you could ever begin to imagine and you were born to force the world to kneel at your feet, so cut the bullshit because one day the world will love you.”

She didn’t move, paralyzed. “The world will love me?” she asked dully, mesmerized by this pretty boy and his pretty words. She knew better than to trust him, but in that moment she just didn’t care.

“I can’t love you, Ember. I have no soul. But in the last hundred years or so, you are the first to make me wish I could.”

Her gaze rose to his. “You have no soul,” her voice sounded as raw as the words themselves. She cleared her throat and tried again, “Did you ever? Have a soul? Is it true what Quinn says? Were you really so…evil that hell didn’t want you?”

He sat back, giving her the space she’d wanted just moments ago. Disappointment flooded through her.

A shadow flickered across his face, before he smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes, “Quinn gets his information from the human internet. The internet gets its facts from old wives tales and dusty old books written by crusty old professors who like to theorize.”

This was the first time she’d ever heard him sound anything but smug. She leaned forward, hand touching his knee, “So…it’s not true? You didn’t d-deserve this? Was it like a curse?”

His fingers found another curl, eyes haunted, “This isn’t a fairy tale, Ember. I played my part in making me what I am but I had my reasons. The why of it really doesn’t matter.”

She gripped his arm this time, “Of course it does.”

He moved forward, his hand at her neck, pulling her towards him, “Don’t romanticize me, Luv. I’m not some wronged hero. I may not have been born evil, but I became it. Make no mistake, Ember. The things I’ve done would most assuredly give Lucifer pause to grant me admittance to the underworld now. I’ve earned the reputation that proceeds my kind. I’ve earned it a hundred times over.” He let her go, “Use me, Ember. Let me help you learn control but don’t for one second let me charm you into thinking I can be saved.”

His words felt like a slap, “So somehow, no matter how grotesque my magic seems, it must have a higher purpose, but your magic, equally as bad, has damned you forever? Doesn’t seem very balanced to me.”