Water of Souls Page 9

  This question seems important to him; he doesn’t look at me, but I can feel his desperation to know the answer. When I’m quiet for a moment, his eyes lift to look at me. I cannot manage to speak, but now I do nod. He shudders, tosses the book in his hand onto the exposed underpart of the sofa and turns away from me.

  If we were as close as two people can physically be last night, now we are oceans apart. We are on separate continents of fear and distrust.

  Finally, I untangle my tongue and I speak. “You asked for me to be honest. Can you see now why I hesitated? If people knew what I am, I’d be killed just for existing, just for being born. It wouldn’t matter how much good I’ve done in my life.”

  He still stays turned away, his shoulders hunched down, like he is gathering himself inward.

  “And look,” I point even though he can’t see, “look how you’re reacting. If someone who says he loves me can act this way, then how can I ever trust anyone? I’m good, Kyle.” I will him to believe me. “I’m a good person.”

  Still he does not look at me or respond.

  “Jim was wrong.” Tears are streaming down my face. “He was wrong. He said you’d understand and that I should let you in and trust you.” Sobs attack my body and it is my turn to hunch over, arms wrapped so tight around myself that I know I’ll leave bruises. But it’s the only way to keep myself from falling totally apart. “He was wrong.”

  I bolt then, grabbing my black flats from beside the door along with my purse. I swing open the front door, not bothering to reclose it. I hear Kyle’s voice saying something in the distance as I reach the bottom of the stairs. I don’t want to know what it is. I don’t want to hear the words that would put his disgust of me into keen and undeniable perspective. I can’t handle what will follow that.

  I want to get into the Bronco and drive away, but I can’t. I have a funeral in an hour.

  I’d thought it was going to be a glorious Monday. I’d made love to the man that I... I love. God, I love him. And he’s scared of me. Glorious damn Monday my ass.

  I push through the door into the lower part of the Victorian and I lock it behind me, throwing the upper bolt so that he can’t get in, even if he uses the second spare key in the kitchen utensil drawer.

  Hopefully he’ll leave, just leave me in peace to wait until he tells authorities and sends them to burn me.

  Love is supposed to be passionate and hot. A flame only in terms of desire. But my love for Kyle was going to lead to fire, literal and burning.

  I scream. I scream like a feral cat and then I slump down to the floor.

  “Tori, are you okay?” I nearly jump out of my skin as Dean appears, rounding the corner from the service room. Max is behind him. Seeing Max, his dirty blonde hair cut shaggy around his ears and his hands shoving restlessly in and out of his pockets, I think again how this job is just a paycheck and I wonder when he’ll decide he’s had enough of the dead.

  I hang my head, cradling my face in my hands. “Yes, shit, sorry. My week has just started out like shit.”

  “Well, you might want to pull it together, because the family of Mr. Donahue is already here. They called early this morning wanting to bring in a few more personal items and see that the room is exactly how they wanted.” Dean’s voice is calm and professional.

  My eyes go wide. I look around the parlor, realizing that I do hear other voices whispering. “Shit.” I mutter and stand, smoothing out my pants suit and picking up my purse and the lipstick and cell phone that have snuck out after the floor impact. “Give me five minutes and I’ll be back.”

  When I enter my office, closing the door behind me, I feel like I’m going into shock.

  But I can’t be. Because I have a funeral to handle.

  I don’t want to face the dead, even the soulless shell of Mr. Donahue, set beautifully in his pale white coffin with the black satin interior. His two-sizes-too-big tailored suit pinned beneath him so it does not swallow him up.

  Knock, knock, knock. “Tori?” It’s Dean’s voice, once again pulling me towards the land of the living. “I know they’re early, but others are arriving too. We need you out here and I can’t find the programs.”

  I look over at my desk, at the large brown mailing envelope that contains seventy-five folding pamphlets talking about the departed’s military service, his work with the poor, and how much he loved his wife and children. Of course, I knew the darkness in his heart. I’d felt it as I’d prepared his body, as I’d felt him get pulled into the anti-ether. He’d killed, unnecessarily, during his tours overseas. I’d seen their faces as he’d looked me in the eyes. Children clinging to their mothers. Boys holding guns they did not even know how to fire.

  I’m glad he’s gone, but I felt the rage as he’d dissolved. He’ll be malevolent, most definitely used by the anti-ether for some nefarious task or other.

  Okay, time to pull up the big girl pants and get the hell on with this. My hands are shaking as I pull out the brochures and look at Mr. Donahue’s smiling face front and center. Not a nice man at all.

  Don’t get me wrong, people do redeem themselves. They can do terrible, horrible things and still find peace in the ether. Mr. Donahue just wasn’t one of them. Despite all the lovely things he’d done on the surface, he just wasn’t one of them.

  When I open my door and walk out, I’ve got the world’s most professional smile plastered across my face. “Show must go on.” I flippantly tell Dean and Mark, who are both standing looking nervous outside my office. “Why are you both here? We never leave the door unmanned during a service and we never leave attendees without supervision near the coffin.” I hand Dean the brochures.

  Both of my employees continue to stand in front of me, unmoving. “Well, go.” I ‘tsk, tsk’ and they both scurry away in front of me.

  As I’m walking past the front door, I look out the window to the left of the entrance. My heart sinks.

  The Thunderbird is gone. Kyle drives it now, having sold his car. I never see him use the motorcycle. I asked once, back in November. He’d simply said it was too cold to ride, but I think he doesn’t use it anymore because his Dad is dead and being on it reminds him. The Thunderbird holds the same memory, but not as keenly for some reason. Maybe it’s because Jim was quirky about the motorcycle and never got his endorsement to ride one. Training can be had unofficially; the legal checkmark to actually ride is a different story. And they’re pretty strict about that in South Carolina now, after a rash of bike-related deaths a few years ago.

  The funeral goes smoothly, not a single hiccup... well, save for me screaming in the hallway while Mr. Donahue’s wife and children stood in the service room around their father’s dead body.

  Chapter Eleven

  Kyle tries to call Monday evening, but I ignore it. He doesn’t leave a message. If he really had something to say, something that would make a difference, he’d leave a message.

  At least, that’s what I tell myself.

  I need to get out, go on another run. Anything to get me out of the house and away from thinking about how Kyle had looked as he’d sat reading my journals. I could talk to Terrance. He could help me. But I don’t want to bring him in to it, not unless my relationship with Kyle is over and I need damage control.

  Who I really need, who I really want, is Liam. I still can’t believe he’s just gone away without a word. I don’t care that he was upset that Kyle and I were dating, he shouldn’t have done that. He’s supposed to be my protector. That’s what he said. So where the hell is he when I need protecting?

  You don’t really need protecting. This is heart damage, not body.

  I tell my rational mind to shut the hell up. She isn’t wanted.

  I don’t put on my running shoes. Or change into my running clothes. I just grab my purse and I leave. I’m feeling so aimless, every part of my crying out for a change. So much so that I don’t care how the change comes or what it ends up being.

  It starts snowing shortly after I leave. Big gia
nt drops of powdery whiteness that hit the windshield and whoosh into a thousand tiny particles. I don’t pay attention to the turns I’m taking, the roads I’m on. I’m lead by pure, unfocused desire. It’s overwhelming.

  In the same way that Kyle and I had been overwhelmed with passion last night, giving ourselves to one another again and again.

  Until it had all turned to total shit.

  I shake my head roughly. The snow is coming down harder. No longer powdery and non-stick, no longer flurries making the world look wintery and wonderful. It is changing into a blizzard and I think the news has underestimated how much we will get into the evening and early morning.

  Soon, it is to the point where I have to lean far forward and peer through the windshield, the wipers going full tilt, to see anything at all. I blink rapidly, trying to ensure there’s nothing in the road ahead.

  I don’t even know where I am.

  God, this has been the worst Monday in history. The very worst.

  A car going the opposite direction swerves and nearly hits me. My heart is beating fast and I finally decide to just find somewhere safe to pull over. The snow lets up enough that I see a road sign. Red Barn Road.

  I laugh out loud. “I hate you.” I’m talking to my subconscious, the bitch. The very next road will be Crawford Lane. And that road leads to Emoryridge Way. And that road leads to Blackdog Lane. And at 15 Blackdog Lane... Jim’s house. Kyle’s house now.

  My stupid brain has taken me to Kyle’s and the roads are getting so bad that I really don’t see any way around going there. My other choice is to pull over and wait it out on the side of the road. That seems intolerably stupid considering my boyfriend’s house is only a few turns away.

  If he still is my boyfriend.

  I take the left onto Crawford and I suck in a breath. I don’t plan on releasing it until I’ve pulled into his driveway, gotten out of the car, and readied myself to face the music. I mentally walk myself through it—what I will say, what he might say, what the outcome could be.

  I’m so lost in the possibilities that I don’t see the figure run out in the middle of the road.

  And the car makes impact before I can change course.

  “Oh... no... God, no.” I slam the car into park and throw my door open, stumbling out into the cold. I should have put on a heavier jacket. I’d taken it off after getting back from the graveside service and I’d been too frazzled to remember it when I left again. “Please don’t be dead. Please.”

  When I make it to the front of the car, slipping and sliding around in my flats, I find nothing on the ground. There’s not even a dent in the front of the Bronco.

  I spin around in the whited-out evening. There is enough light left to see by, but not enough to penetrate the curtain of snow that is falling down like a great sheet. “Hello!” I keep spinning, holding myself against the cold. “Hello! If you’re hurt, please come back. Please, let me take you to the hospital!”

  I walk a few feet away from the car and then I go around it in a wide circle, trying to focus on anything more than a yard or so from my face. There’s nothing though, no answer. “Please! I want to help you!”

  “I very much doubt that, big sister.” The voice hits me like an icicle falling from its perch and shattering against the ground. Little fragments of cold stick into my skin and instantly burn with the frost. “I’ve missed you, believe it or not. Your existence makes my life infinitely more interesting. You see, those at the dark court think it’s an asset to have their Black Prince intimate with the Blood Queen. What say you? Shall we join forces?”

  Braeden’s words fly about me, carried on the wind, but I can’t see him. The knowing he’s there, but the not seeing... that is infinitely worse than having him stood in front of me in a warehouse with the former dark fairy Blackthorn readying to do his worst.

  I’m spinning again, spinning and spinning until the world is nothing but a swirling hell. I scream into the snow, bloodying it’s purity with my anger and fear. “Never! I’ll never do anything to help you! Leave me alone!”

  I freeze and see him then, materializing, made from a million snowflakes. He rushes at me, his mouth gaped wide and his eyes a blazing blue fire instead of the hazel I know them to be. “We can be one, you and I.” He rushes through me and it is like having my body torn apart and then jarred back together again.

  “Leave me alone!” I feel like I am screaming so loud that I will breach the veil into the ether and anti-ether. “You’re a fucking monster! Leave me alone!”

  “I know you are, but what am I.” His voice bleeds into my brain.

  My hands go to my ears, pressing down to keep him out of my head. I scream and the sound carries with the wind. I’m near houses; I have to be near houses. I know this road. There’s the rambler with the peeling white paint and the little Cape Cod with the broken second story window. I scream again, as loud as I can, so loud that my throat aches with the effort and the cold air rushing inward.

  In the distance, I hear... what I think is a roar? I listen for it again, but there’s nothing save for the wind rushing past my body and Braeden hovering nearby, looking at me with those eyes glowing with power.

  I begin to run, leaving the Bronco’s door open and its engine thrumming. I know Braeden’s right behind me. I can feel him, I can feel his blood rushing inside of his ethereal form. I would know it anywhere, because it shares so much with mine.

  “Please help me!” I scream into the night. Fear has overtaken me, overtaken everything. I cannot even summon my power to try and clot his blood inside his veins. Of course, while he’s in such an intangible form, I do not even know if that would work. There’s so much I do not understand still. I need Liam. Where is he? “Help!”

  I stumble and fall as the roar sounds again, this time too close and too distinct to chock up to imagination. My palm strikes a scattering of gravel beneath the snow and I cringe as a stinging pain works its way up to my elbow. I roll over on my back, cradling my hurt hand to me.

  Braeden is hovering above me, a floating and terrible specter in the darkening evening. “Leave me alone.”

  Wetness is trickling from the scrape on my palm, it falls and hits my pink blouse, now exposed by the jacket because the buttons have come undone and the sides of it are lying against the snow-coated road. “Leave me alone!” My voice is almost gone. I attempt to scream after I’ve whisper-yelled the same three words again.

  Adrenaline is thumping through my body, like it is a part of my blood that has always been there and always shall be there. I feel it, moving around looking for an outlet. It finds one within the wound on my hand and I feel the blood power finally sprout within me. I reach for Braeden with it, not just to recognize that it is him and that our blood shares certain properties bequeathed by parenthood, but to find a weakness, any weakness that exists within the form he is currently in.

  But the power finds no hold in his translucent manifestation.

  “You’re a coward.” I will my voice to be as loud as it can.. “Stop hiding behind your magic and face me.”

  And he does. His snowflake form hardens and molds until he is his whole self. It is too dark now to see his eyes, but I know they are hazel now, not brimming with fae power. A pale cloak floats about him, undulating with the wind.

  My power smiles within me then. His blood is not speaking to me from some faraway, untouchable place now. It is not only giving me information; it is allowing me inward, to feel and manipulate.

  When I touch him, my own blood still dripping on the silky pink material of my shirt, he knows it. His eyes widen and he recognizes his mistake.

  “Tricky, sister. I’ll give you that.” He rushes towards me and falls to press his left knee sharply into my stomach. I gasp, instantly losing connection with my power and his blood. “Weak, untrained little Blood Queen. You’ll never rule if your control is so hesitant and poor.” He leans forward and presses his hands about my throat. He squeezes and I hit him with my hands, my hurt palm l
eaving blood on his pristine cloak.

  He continues to depress my throat until I can see stars in the sky, which is impossible against the landscape of the snowstorm raging around.

  I have almost faded, decided to stop fighting back and close my eyes, when something large slams into Braeden and sends him flying away. I am cognizant enough to see his form dissolving from solid back into snow.

  And then I close my eyes and give in.

  Chapter Twelve

  I come to slowly, the world piecing back together like a puzzle possessed by its own will, determining its own pace.

  I see the fireplace, once the red-brown of natural brick but now painted an off-white, like snow that lays untouched on the ground, yet becomes dulled by exposure to the elements. I see the brass lamp with its ugly brown shade that I teased Jim was thrift store fodder. And I’m lying on the floral sofa that’s at least thirty years old, with springs that jam into your ass when you sit down.

  It’s Jim’s house. Not much has changed, but change is happening. Kyle’s been remodeling. This fact brings back Jim’s death in stark clarity. Shifting, I sit up and my head spins, but only for a moment. Several deep, steadying breaths and I’m fine.

  “Kyle?” I whisper his name. Surely he’s the one that brought me here, but there’s a gut feeling roiling around in my stomach that tells me to be cautious. “Kyle, are you here?”

  There’s something between a growl and a whimper that floats to me from the half bath next to the kitchen. I stand and I begin to walk towards it, noticing that the door to the bathroom has been half-ripped from its hinges and the wood is splintered down the center.

  “Kyle?” I’m almost to the door and I’m afraid. I’m afraid of what I’m about to see, even though I cannot possibly anticipate what is making the bestial noises.

  “Tori.” It’s Kyle’s voice, given to me through a pillow and sounding like he’s been screaming at a football game for several hours.