Children Shouldn't Play with Dead Things - ch 5-8 (Patreon)

Chapter 5 - Ember

Ember headed to the bus station on autopilot. She wasn’t going to foster care. She just couldn’t. She’d rather be homeless and sleep under bridges than be at the mercy of somebody who thought she needed a parent. She just needed to get on a bus and forget about this town, forget about her father. Her life would be different somewhere else. It had to be.

She walked, eyes down, hands shoved in her pockets to ward off the cold. She was far enough from the quarter that the noise level was tolerable. The festivities hadn’t 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, painting the sky orange and yellow as the sun sank out of sight, signaling revelers that the celebration would soon begin.

The sounds of jazz poured out into the streets as people made their way in and out of bars and restaurants. She wouldn’t miss that. She’d seen the inside of every bar in the quarter, knew that distinct scent of alcohol, sweat, and stale air. She’d spent her whole life retrieving and reviving her father just to drag him home and have him collapse on the couch.

Every time she thought of him, it was like a blow to the diaphragm, leaving her winded and aching. He was dead. He was dead, and he wasn’t coming home. No more rescuing him. No more cleaning up after him. No more abuse. She should be relieved. It shouldn’t hurt. He didn’t deserve her feelings. He didn’t deserve anything. This was all his fault.

She stuffed down the gnawing ache. She didn’t need him. She paid bills. She had a job. She’d dealt with his bill collectors. Hell, she’d dealt with his bookie, a hard-assed woman named Shelby. Between Ember’s father’s gambling debts and his drinking, they’d practically lived 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 be okay. She would. She didn’t need anybody. She couldn’t remember the last time her father had done something even remotely paternal. Their last interaction before his death was a scene that had already played out a hundred times throughout the last eleven years. She’d found him passed out in front of the kitchen sink, empty liquor bottle still in his hand. She’d accidentally—on purpose—driven her boot into his ribs as she’d stepped over him to get to the fridge. He’d grunted and called her a selfish brat. She’d laughed at him. She’d called him a loser.

She tried to burrow deeper into her sweater as a blast of icy air hit her, stealing her breath. She’d thought there would be time to fix it all. She thought that, one day, he would get sober and explain what it was she’d done to make him hate her so much. Then they’d get past it.

They’d move on and finally be a family.

Instead, he went and died on her without a will or a cent to his name, leaving her at the mercy of the state, of the whole world, really. Daniel Denning: Father of the year.

A feeling of unease crept in, cutting through Ember’s pity party and drawing her attention to the sudden quiet around her. 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. How had she walked so far without noticing? She glanced over her shoulder, eyes scanning the silent streets. There was nothing. No people. No music. Nothing but the sound of dead leaves rattling on the trees and scraping across the sidewalk, the sound reminding her of the way the rats used to scurry in the walls of their apartment.

Ember didn’t understand. Even this far from town, there should be people, partygoers just starting their nights or the early birds looking to get home before the partying really got out of hand. She shivered, unable to shake the feeling she was being watched. She pushed her duffle bag between the bars and scaled the fence, suddenly needing to put distance between her and her phantom observer. Once over, she slung the heavy bag over her shoulder and trekked her way past two-hundred-year-old mausoleums.

The wind howled like a wounded animal. The sky transitioned from fire to indigo to inky black, the moon rising behind shreds of silver clouds. She used the pale sliver of light cutting across the ground to navigate her way, but she didn’t need it. This was her playground. She spent more time here than at her own home.

She easily found the ornate mausoleum housing her father. Somebody kept the place in pristine condition, but the name of the crypt’s benefactor remained a mystery. Her father couldn’t afford to pay for the upkeep, and, to her knowledge, her only other family lay behind those walls, keeping company with her father.

She set her bag on the ground and laid herself along the bench, arms behind her head, watching the clouds play 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, letting the moon’s rays fall on her face. 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, but 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 the majority of tourists’ radar, too far to walk from most hotels and not famous enough to make the added effort.

She lay there for what seemed like an eternity, breathing in and out. She had to go soon. She should say her goodbyes. That was obviously why her Jiminy Cricket conscience had pulled her there, so she could try to say something kind to her father before she left forever.

She swung herself into a sitting position, frowning at the doors of his mausoleum until she was cross-eyed. She opened her mouth to talk at least a dozen times, but the words wouldn’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’d treated her. How she hated the lies, the half-truths, the general lack of interest in her existence. How it had seemed like he was constantly punishing her for something. It wasn’t like he could yell at her anymore or 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. Screw Jiminy Cricket, her father 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 sucked in a startled breath, spinning to locate the disembodied voice echoing off the stones. There was a movement to her left as a shadow broke from the rest and moved into view, head down and hands in his pockets. He wore the same black hooded sweatshirt as he had earlier, still pulled low, hiding his face from her.

It was the boy she’d seen earlier. It had to be. She doubted two people were wandering around the 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 said, hand fluttering over her pounding heart. He was still scaring her, if she was honest. She squinted, trying to make out his face inside the shadows of the hood, as if seeing his face would somehow make him less terrifying. He made no move to reveal himself, but she could feel him watching her all the same. She couldn’t shake the sense that this was a game, that he knew how much he was scaring her and he liked it. Seconds ticked by as her imagination went wild, picturing everything from a horrible deformity to a monster with no face at all.

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

There was only a slight hesitation before he slowly pushed back the fabric of the sweatshirt. Ember’s eyes went wide. No matter how slow his reveal, it wasn’t enough time. She blinked. It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen hot guys before—New Orleans was full of them—but this boy was stunning, thick dark brows, high cheekbones, and full, perfect lips above a perfectly chiseled jaw.

And his eyes… His eyes… 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. Perhaps they were contacts; it was the Day of the Dead. Either way, she couldn’t stop staring. When his hood fell away, it revealed hair as silver as his eyes, long on top and messy, shot through with strands of pure white. If she’d ever thought to draw the moon in human form, she imagined she’d have drawn him.

It was too much to process, this beautiful boy surrounded by all this death. She almost stepped closer without thought.

His grin pulled her from her trance. He was clearly used to this reaction.

“Better?” he asked, voice a low murmur in the quiet, as if they might wake the dead. His 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 didn’t believe him. She glanced around, weighing her options. Concrete surrounded her on all sides. If his plan was to hurt her, she’d made it easy for him. She took a step back, wiping sweaty palms on her jeans. Her heart beat loud in her ears. He took a step forward, but she stood her ground, swallowing down her fear. There really was nowhere to go.

His gaze raked over her but not in a sexual way. It was methodical, unemotional, like a scientist reviewing a specimen.

Oh, God. She was the specimen. Her mouth went dry at the thought.

He arched a brow, his tone 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. “Young? What are you, nineteen? Did they drop you off from the nursing home?”

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

That she believed.

“Oh, I’m older than I look, luv.”

She believed that too. He looked like a teenager, but he carried himself with a confidence most boys her age didn’t possess. The wind picked up, sweeping her wild tangle of curls into her face. She brushed them away impatiently, mind racing. A strange shiver erupted along her skin, echoing the sensation she’d had at her father’s funeral just hours before.

Please, not now, she thought.

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

He gave a slow, deliberate shrug, his mercurial eyes as toxic as the metal they mirrored. “I told you, I simply wish to be your friend.”

His look didn’t exactly scream ‘let’s be friends.’ She took a moment to wallow. Some girls got to be prom queen; she got orphaned and murdered before graduation. She snorted at the thought, unable to stop the giggle that escaped. She jammed her fist against her mouth to stop it, but it was too late.

The laughter bubbled out of her, as unstoppable as the tears streaming down her face. She was losing it, burning up from the inside, panic jolting along her skin like electricity. She was no 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 mind. Her stupid horn-rimmed glasses, her constant sour expression, that morally superior tone she took every time she’d lectured Ember. You don’t take anything seriously, Ember. Therapy only works if you let it work, Ember. She could hear her now. You shouldn’t laugh at your potential killer, Ember.

Ever the disappointment, Ember was.

Mr. Tall, Light, and Scary looked put out as if her mental breakdown was inconveniencing him. She swiped at her cheeks, attempting to pull herself together, sniffling loudly. “I’m sorry, 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, and 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’re going to try to kill me, and I feel too crappy to even try to run.”

She was talking more to herself. She leaned back against the rusted mausoleum gates behind her, enjoying the cold metal against her skin. Her head was swimming, the stars above blurring in the sky. Why did this keep happening to her? She was burning up. No human could withstand this, could they? It felt as if her insides were melting, the liquid burning through her, while she stood helpless to stop it. She was caged, trapped by her own body. Was this a panic attack? Could a panic attack cause what happened in the cemetery earlier? Was this some kind of fight or flight adrenaline response?

This had to be all in her head. The ground wasn’t actually vibrating at her feet. There was no way she was truly burning up in forty-degree weather. Even through the haze of her pain, she could see that he watched her. Maybe if she just held still, he’d kill her quickly. Her head lulled on her shoulders. She was going to pass out. It would serve him right.

Then he was there, in her space, fingers cupping her face. She moaned at the feel of his cold hands against her overheated flesh, pressing herself closer, eyes rolling back in her head. He dragged his thumb along her skin, tracing the track of her tears, before resting his cheek against hers.

“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 whispered them against her skin like a promise. She couldn’t think straight. Her head filled with a sound like angry bees. When his hands dropped from her face, she pitched forward, her forehead dropping to his shoulder, her eyes drifting closed.

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

He went rigid in her arms. Ember didn’t blame him; sane girls didn’t try to cuddle their killers. But nobody ever accused her of being sane. She was a girl who played in cemeteries and talked to the dead. She was a girl who had three therapists before she was twelve. She was a girl in flames, and he was ice water. If she was going to die, she would have this first.

They stood there, bound together by her forced embrace, those strange vibrations increasing, growing inside her like a living thing. The boy panted ragged breaths against her ear, struggling within her grasp, but she wouldn’t let go, couldn’t even if she wanted to. Whatever locked them in this embrace was stronger than either of them.

Could he feel it too? She needed him to feel it too. Needed him to hold onto because she knew with a sick certainty that the moment she let go, this peculiar energy would overwhelm her, sucking her down into nothingness.

So she stood there, breathing him in, letting him anchor her, trying to guard herself as that energy inside her grew. It continued to expand, a white hot ball inside her, stretching and building. Just as she was certain her skin might split trying to contain this power, it left her with the force of a sledgehammer. She sucked in a breath, but it was the boy who grunted like he’d received a physical blow, sagging against her.

Almost instantly, the world seemed to right itself. Ember’s blood no longer boiled in her veins and the ground no longer vibrated at her feet. She blinked, suddenly aware of what she was doing. She let go, shoving him away. Despite his size, he stumbled. They stared at each other, his confusion mirroring her own.

“What are you?” she whispered. “What did you do to me?”

He rushed her, shoving her against the stone hard enough to knock her teeth together. “What did I do to you? What game are you playing? What are you? What was that? What did you do?”

She whimpered, her heart thundering in her chest, feet scrambling for purchase as she realized he’d lifted her from the ground. He was fit but not nearly big enough to haul her off her feet with just one hand. She shoved at him uselessly.

“Put me down.”

He didn’t so much put her down as simply let go; her abrupt descent left her heart lodged in her throat and her legs fighting to keep her on her feet. His eyes narrowed, hands tangling in her messy hair, tilting her head to the side. “Come on, luv, you can tell me. I’m sure keeping this secret is eating at you.”

What secret? He was insane. She opened her mouth to say so, but her brain short-circuited as his nose skimmed along the column of her throat. “I promise, this will be so much easier if you just tell me,” he purred, lips pressing the words into her skin. She moved closer to him without conscious thought. She’d never been this close to a boy before, especially not one who looked like he did.

He inhaled deeply. “We can do this one of two ways.” He pressed his mouth to the shell of her ear. “I promise one is infinitely more pleasurable than the other.”

Ew. Oh, God. What was she doing? What was he doing? Seducing her for information? Threatening her? It really bothered her that she didn’t know the difference.

She needed to get it together. This was not how she was supposed to die. She’d had a plan. She’d written it down obituary style for a morbid ninth grade English assignment. She would die of obscenely old age in her enormous—but tastefully decorated—mansion surrounded by her beautiful and ungrateful grandchildren.

He huffed out a laugh. Had she said all that aloud? She was too scared to be embarrassed. Instead, she slapped at his hand. He stepped away swiftly, pacing before her. “You’re really not going to tell me? That’s a terrible decision. You’re only hurting yourself on this one.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, bewildered by his questions. “You’re crazy.”

He sighed heavily, his tone shifting from annoyed to condescending as if speaking to a rather stupid child. “I’ll figure it out eventually,” he said, pointing at her. “You don’t smell like a witch. You certainly aren’t a shifter.” Then he was back before her, gripping her chin, turning her head side to side like he was examining livestock. “But you most definitely aren’t human.” Tiny hairs rose along her skin at his touch, a shiver slipping along her spine. “You’re trying my patience, luv. What the hell are you?”

She pushed away from him, head throbbing with his words. “Stop with the grabby hands!”

She needed to think, and she couldn’t think with him touching her. He was clearly unhinged, but she had few options. She could run, but could she outrun him? Her gaze dragged across his broad shoulders and flat stomach. He looked like he did a lot of cardio. She could scream, but who would hear her? Instead, Ember did what she always did when she was nervous—she babbled.

She’d watched a million documentaries on serial killers and the mentally ill. Netflix was her friend. She could totally figure this out. If he was a murderer, she had to make him see her as a person, tell him about her life, say her name a lot, get him to believe people would care if she died…even if it was a lie.

But what if he was schizophrenic? He thought she wasn’t human. What was she supposed to do then? Orient him to reality? Play along with his fantasy? Why hadn’t she paid closer attention?

“What’s your name?” she heard herself say, voice breathless.

He arched his brow, tsking softly, his expression bored. “I’m asking the questions here, luv.”

“Just tell me your name!” she demanded, panic creeping back in.

“Mace.” The answer tumbled from his lips unbidden. He looked mystified, like his own mouth had betrayed him. He absently rubbed a spot on his chest.

“Mace,” she repeated with a nod. Okay, it was a start. “So, um, here’s the thing, Mace. I’m only seventeen, and I don’t want to die.” He gave her a look and a fair-enough shrug and gestured for her to continue, clearly amused by this turn of events. She frowned but soldiered on. “You can’t be much older than me, so…let’s just think about this for a minute, okay?” She raked a hand through her damp hair. “I’m not really sure why you want to kill me, but my life has pretty much sucked up until now.” Her hands flailed. “Like, so much suckage. I can’t even explain the level of suck.” She risked a glance in his direction. “But I feel like, statistically speaking, that’s gotta change, right? I’m not trying to sound like a motivational poster here, but it’s supposed to get better. I’d very much like to have a pulse when it does.”

Mace narrowed his eyes at her, brow furrowed as he took a step towards her.

She held up her hand, palm out. “Stop. Just listen.”

He stopped, looking at his feet and then at her again.

“I’m a nice girl,” she promised before frowning. “But maybe you don’t care about that. I mean, if you’re, like, a murderous psychopath, you probably aren’t super interested in my feelings, but what about yourself?” she reasoned, gesturing spastically to all of his…self. “You seem like the kind of guy who thinks a lot of himself.” He cocked an eyebrow but said nothing. It didn’t matter. She was in turbo babble mode, and nothing could’ve stopped the words pouring from her lips. “If you kill me, your life is over. You will definitely go to jail. I mean, look at me.” She gestured to her face. “I look like an ad for facial cleanser and girls who eat yogurt. Juries eat that stuff up. You’d probably get the chair.”

He looked a little dazed. “You make a passionate yet confusing plea, luv.”

Her heart sank as he took a tentative step towards her then another, grinning as he advanced.

“Come on. I’m sure you don’t want to go to prison,” she whined. “You are way too pretty for prison. You’d make a lot of the wrong kind of friends in prison.” Stop saying prison, Ember. “Do you want those kinds of friends? Of course, you don’t. We could be friends?” she finished lamely, face flushing with shame. Maybe he should just kill her. It would be less embarrassing.

He blinked at her, cheek twitching. “Aw, are you asking me to be your friend now? One might question your judgment.”

Her hands fell to her hips, and she swayed on her feet. “Wow, not to put too fine a point on it, but I’ve only seen you twice, and both times you were here.” She gestured to their surroundings. “You hang out in cemeteries because you have so many friends? Is this where your book club meets?”

“I can see why you have no friends,” he said drolly.

She squinted as something glinted in the air above his head.

“I—” was all he managed before the object made contact with his skull, sounding like a hammer hitting an overripe melon. He hit his knees with a groan, and whatever he was going to say died on his lips.

She looked at his crumpled form, unreasonably disappointed.

She really wanted to know what he was going to say.

Chapter 6-Ember

Ember stared at the two figures before her, not even surprised by this strange twist in events. Behind Mace’s prone body stood a boy and a girl about her age. The girl still held the shovel, holding it like a ballplayer choking up on a bat. The two were eerily similar in looks; tall and fit with dark hair, golden skin, and almond-shaped eyes. They had to share DNA.

The boy hugged himself, bouncing on his heels, staring at his companion in exasperation. He had to be freezing with just his jeans and thin long-sleeved t-shirt. Truthfully, she didn’t know how they weren’t both freezing. The girl wore short denim shorts, a striped crop-top, and an unbuttoned long-sleeved flannel shirt with combat boots. Ember supposed the flannel and the beanie cap slouched on her head might provide a modicum of warmth but not much.

“Thatwas your plan?” the boy asked the girl.

The girl heaved a sigh, pulling a small packet from her back pocket. “No, that was just step one.” She poured a smoky-colored powder into her hand and knelt next to Mace. She slapped his face, and he groaned, trying to get to his feet. “Ah, ah,” she chided, kicking his legs out from under him. “None of that. Don’t want you standing, just breathing.” She blew the powder into his face, smiling in satisfaction as he coughed once and passed out. “And that was step two.”

The boy fixed the girl with a withering look. Ember flinched; his bitch face was strong.

“What?” the girl snapped. “We don’t have all night. I couldn’t watch any more of…whatever that was.” She tapped her wrist. “We gotta go.”

He turned his attention to Ember then, wincing like he was used to having to apologize for his companion. He took a deep breath, steeling himself. “Listen, this is going to sound crazy, but you have to come with us if you want to live.”

Ember blinked at him stupidly. She had no idea what to do with that.

The girl dropped her face into her hands. “That was your plan? ‘Come with us if you want to live?’ We drove four hours so you could hit her with a line from Terminator?” She looked pained as she whispered, “This is why nobody takes us seriously.”

Ember shook her head. They looked so normal. Well, they looked like hipsters but certainly not your run-of-the-mill straitjacket-needing crazies. Her stomach felt slippery. Maybe this really was all some sort of fever dream. Maybe she’d passed out at the funeral and slipped into a coma. Maybe she was dead and this was hell.

The guy rubbed his hand across the back of his neck, gesturing with his head to Mace before telling the girl, “I’m ever so sorry if I offended your delicate sensibilities. Next time, I’ll just hit her over the head with a shovel.”

They ignored Ember’s indignant, “Hey.”

“Honestly, I would have respected you more,” the girl said.

The boy threw up his hands. “Can we get on with this, or do you wanna lecture me some more?”

Yep, they were crazy. She looked around, searching for anything that would help her make sense of any of this. This was New Orleans. Maybe she’d stumbled into an elaborate dinner theater production. Maybe she was on candid camera. Maybe this was some sort of weird live role-playing game. That was a thing. She’d seen it on the internet.

She glanced at the boy on the ground with renewed interest. It would explain his bizarre look. Was this all part of the game? Was he faking being unconscious? Was there another girl out there waiting to be fake attacked? Mistaken identity made a lot more sense than her being a supernatural creature, and it came with the added bonus of making her crush a bit less pathetic.

She used the toe of her shoe to gently shove at the boy’s—Mace’s—shoulder, content to ignore the two squabbling before her. His eyelashes fanned shadows over his cheeks. He really was pretty, his face peaceful as if sleeping. She sighed. She finally met a boy willing to have a conversation with her—albeit a strange one—and two crazies ambushed them. She’d been making progress with him.

The two continued their argument, oblivious to her. “I wouldn’t need to lecture you if you would stop lacing every single conversation with stupid pop culture references that nobody gets but nerdy Comic-Con dweebs like you.”

Cute-movie-guy’s jaw dropped. “How dare you. Terminator is a classic. James Cameron is a—”

The girl threw up her hand. “One word, bro. Titanic—”

She could try to just slip away…but they were blocking her exit. “Um, guys—”

“Titanic?” the boy interrupted. “That movie was epic. Let’s talk about how the last movie you liked featured vampires who sparkled like bloodsucking pixie strippers. Sparkly vampires? When was the last time you saw a vampire glittering like a disco ball? Hell, when was the last time you saw one who didn’t explode in sunlight?”

Ember sighed, staring at Mace forlornly. It was a testament to how screwed up her life was that she just wanted him to wake up and sniff her threateningly. He still wasn’t moving. She glanced surreptitiously at the two before toeing at him again, this time nudging his chin with her boot. She cringed as his head flopped like a rag doll’s.

Her stomach lurched. Was he dead? Ember’s mind raced. What if he had just been some actor? But what if he really was a serial killer? She glanced at the two, chewing on her lip. What if they were serial killers? Did mass murderers hang out bantering after they killed people in anything other than Quentin Tarantino films?

“Hey!” she shouted, startling herself as her voice echoed in the silence.

They both turned to her at exactly the same time, fixing her with identical expressions.

Creepy.

“Uh, not that I’m not grateful for the…rescue, I guess, but”—she pointed at Mace—”is he dead? And, if he is, does that make me an accessory to murder?”

Movie guy sighed, raking his hands through his hair. “Despite my sister’s best efforts, he’ll live. It’s apparently not his time to go…but it was almost yours.”

Ember’s eyes went wide, and the girl whacked him on the arm. “You should really look up the word ‘tact,’ bro.” She stepped forward then, smiling like it physically hurt her. “My name is Tristin, and this is my brother, Kai. Do you remember us?”

She didn’t. “Um…”

“We’re your cousins,” the girl—Tristin—said.

Ember frowned at them. The three of them couldn’t have looked more different. Where she was pale, they were dark, her orange hair wild and crazy next to their gorgeous board-straight dark locks. Her wide eyes looked nothing like the tip-tilt eyes of the two before her. There had to be some mistake. “I don’t have any cousins.”

The two exchanged looks before Kai said, “Listen, I know this sounds crazy, but I swear we’re telling the truth. It’s been a long time. Maybe you’ve just forgotten about us. It’s been twelve years.”

Even if what they were saying was true, she wouldn’t remember them. She’d spent years in a therapist’s office trying to remember her past, but she didn’t think there was a way to explain dissociative amnesia in a sound bite. “I don’t—”

Tristin cut her off. “Our last name is Lonergan, like yours.”

Her heart sank. It really was a case of mistaken identity. “My last name is Denning. My name is Ember Denning.”

The two exchanged a look for a full minute, and Ember had the uneasy feeling they were having a conversation she couldn’t hear. Kai gestured emphatically at Tristin in a sort of go-ahead motion, and the girl pulled out her cell phone. With the push of a button, her flashlight blazed, blinding them all. When her vision cleared, Tristin held her cell phone to her face and waved Ember forward. “Come here, look.” The girl’s pupils contracted in the light, revealing the same brilliant violet eyes that Ember looked at in the mirror every day.

“But my name is Ember Denning,” she repeated.

“No.” Kai smiled at her like she was a simpleton—the second time she’d gotten that look in one day. “Your name is November Lonergan. We’re your cousins. That thing was going to kill you, and you need to come with us.”

She was getting a migraine. There was no way she was going anywhere with these people just because they shared the same eye color. This was completely nuts.

“You guys are all crazy.”

From his spot on the ground, Mace’s hand flinched spastically, and he groaned.

“What did you hit him with?” Kai asked his sister.

She shrugged. “Hellebore. Quinn gave me some stuff just in case we ran into any baddies who were immune to everyday violence.”

Mace was making another valiant effort to rise from the ground. Ember was secretly rooting for him.

Kai leaned into his sister, his whisper carrying. “It’s getting late. Isa is going to kill us.” He gestured towards Ember. “We can’t leave her here.”

Tristin eyed Ember up and down, clearly unimpressed. “Can’t we?” she asked. “Right now, we can still walk, Kai. It’s her choice.”

Kai tugged his sister aside, but she could still make out their conversation. “Seriously? We already talked about this. She’s family, Trist.”

Tristin’s gaze fell to the ground before she said, “Once we do this, we can’t go back. Everything changes. This is a terrible idea, you get that, right?”

Ember wanted to believe they were just two lunatics, but something about them nagged at her, like a blurry picture she just couldn’t get into focus.

Kai shoved his sleeve up. “I don’t think we have a choice. Look.”

Tristin glanced at his wrist, eyes widening. She paled beneath her tan, eyeing Mace. “Screw it.” She held out her hand, resigned. “Come with us if you want to live.”

Kai sighed, clearly relieved. “Yeah, what she said.”

She could run. She could go back to the funeral home. Then what? A year in foster care? She just wanted to go home. Except, she didn’t have a home anymore. All she had was a skull-splitting headache, a fever, and absolutely nowhere else to go.

“No—” she started.

Tristin clenched her teeth. “Get in the car, or I swear to whatever deity you believe in, I will knock you out and drag you there.”

Kai’s brows shot up. “Wow. What was it you were saying about tact, Trist?”

“I’m done being nice,” Tristin vowed. “This is the stupidest thing we’ve ever done. Forgive me if I’m not in the mood to humor anybody.”

“Just curious, when exactly were you nice?” Kai asked.

Tristin ignored her brother, looking at Ember. “Well, what’s it gonna be?”

Ember rolled her eyes. “Well, when you put it that way…why not?”

Chapter 7 - Kai

The walk back to the car felt like a death march. He should feel pretty good about himself. After all, he’d saved a life. He’d saved a family member. Saving people was much better than watching them die and crossing them over. But whenever he risked a glance at Tristin, she glowered at him. She was mad. Isa would be furious at them, and for all her talk, his sister liked to follow orders. She was the good soldier.

They tried to keep a quick pace, but November—Ember, he corrected—kept craning her head behind her. That grim would be down for a while. He didn’t know what type of creature that was, but the hellebore seemed to be keeping it down, at least for now. He opened his mouth to reassure her she was safe, but before he could reassure her, the corners of her mouth drooped downward when she saw nobody followed.

He sighed. He really hoped that guy was an incubus or his cousin had even worse taste in men than he did. She tried to slow her walk, but he took her upper arm, dragging her along—gently, of course. A slow, painful death already awaited him at home; the only thing to make it worse would be accidentally damaging a human. She stiffened at his touch, trying to pull her arm away. He loosened his grip until they were barely touching but didn’t dare let go entirely.

When they reached the Toyota, she just looked at him, sulking. He reached around her and opened the door, gesturing grandly for her to get in. She gave one more look towards the gate.

“Get the hell in the car,” Tristin snapped.

Ember sighed, flopping into the backseat and crossing her arms like a preschooler on the verge of a major tantrum. Looking at her was strange. She looked like their mothers. The similarities were uncanny, really. She had the same ivory complexion and fiery orange curls, the same freckles. She even had the same tiny space between her front teeth.

Kai and Tristin favored their father’s Thai side. The only thing they’d inherited from their mother was her reaper gene and her violet eyes; the same eyes as Ember. Even if he hadn’t trusted Ember’s name popping up on this arm, he would have believed her eyes. How could he not save her?

They’d only driven a short distance when she said, “I’m pretty sure kidnapping is a felony offense.”

Tristin took her eyes off the road long enough to fix him with a look that screamed she’s your problem. Kai sighed. He would rather be doing literally anything but this, even dealing with Rhys. “Technically, you agreed to go.”

She stabbed a finger in Tristin’s direction. “Only because she threatened me. That’s coercion.”

What was she, an attorney?

“I’m almost positive that is not what coercion means,” Kai said, risking another glance at his sister. Tristin didn’t acknowledge either of them this time, focusing instead on the miles of pavement stretched before them.

Kai rapidly tapped out a text, letting Isa know they were on their way back, promising to explain everything when they got there. His stomach swooped as he hit send. He was so screwed. While he considered saving his cousin a win, he had failed in every other conceivable way. He’d failed to show up for his shift at the diner. He’d failed to tell his pack about Ember. He’d failed to inform his alpha of his epically stupid plan.

His phone vibrated, signaling a text. A single question mark popped onto his screen followed by ten exclamation points. It was the most hostile question mark he’d ever seen. Isa clearly wanted more information, but there was no way he could explain it all by text.

Besides, he preferred to delay the litany of abuse for as long as possible. She was going to kill him slowly and with pain, and if she didn’t kill him, Allister would…and then they’d both let the Grove have him. He didn’t respond. Instead, he put it on silent and settled it screen down on his leg, determined to ignore all future messages.

Tristin took one look at his face and muttered, “We should’ve just left her to die.”

Kai shuddered. “Tristin, that’s a bad way to die.”

“There’s a good way to die?” Ember cut in, voice dripping with sarcasm.

He looked at her over his shoulder. “Yes, in your big fancy home surrounded by your snotty grandchildren.”

Ember narrowed her eyes. “You jerk. How long were you creeps there listening to us?”

“Long enough to know that you suck at flirting, but under different circumstances, you may have made an excellent motivational speaker?” he said.

“Different circumstances? As opposed to my circumstances now when I’m…what, exactly? Marked for death?” There was a slight edge of hysteria beginning to creep into her voice, and she looked even chalkier than before. He supposed it was only a matter of time. Nobody was so cool they didn’t care about dying. She wiped the sleeve of her sweater across her brow. “Could you maybe turn up the AC?” she asked. “I wish you people would just tell me what’s happening.”

He did as she asked, pointing the jets at her. She shivered in response, perspiration running in rivulets down her temples. That wasn’t good. Was she sick? Had that thing done something to her they hadn’t seen?

“Listen, you said you don’t remember us, but do you remember growing up in Florida? Do you remember our mom?”

The girl’s face went pale…well, paler. “I don’t remember anything before my father and I moved to New Orleans. My therapists say it has something to do with the trauma of my mother’s death.”

Tristin looked at him and mouthed, “Therapists? Plural?”

He gave her his angriest eyebrows. This was not the time. What happened twelve years ago had traumatized everybody.

Ember kept going, missing the exchange between them. “This makes no sense. I feel like I’m going crazy. That…guy, Mace, said I was something but not a witch and not a shifter. Was that for real?”

Kai sighed. “I don’t want to overwhelm you, Ember.”

“Oh, that ship has sailed. I’m whatever is worse than overwhelmed.”

“Flabbergasted?” Tristin said dryly.

Ember wiped her hands down her face. “Come on, give me something. What’s happening?”

“Maybe give her the CliffsNotes version so she stops whining?”

Ember glared at the back of Tristin’s skull. “You’re kind of a bitch.”

“It’s true,” Tristin agreed mildly.

Ember’s head thumped lightly against the glass, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks in the dim light.

“Are you okay?” he asked, reaching into the center console. “Water?”

She eyed it suspiciously but drank it down anyway. “Thanks. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I feel so…weird.”

Glancing at Ember and then him, Tristin telegraphed annoyance with just her eyebrows. She cut her eyes at their cousin again and then the roadside. He gave a subtle head shake. They were not ditching her on the side of the road. How had it escaped his attention that his sister was such a soulless monster?

A light illuminated the interior, and Ember’s eyes cut to his as her fingers flew over the screen of her cell phone. Smart girl, he thought before saying, “Shit, Ember, wait—”

Tristin glanced sharply in the rearview mirror. “Seriously?” she questioned, reaching back with one hand to pluck the cell phone from Ember. “You’ve had this the whole time?” Tristin glared at him. “Why didn’t you check her?”

Tristin powered down the window and flung the phone into the night.

Kai made a face at his sister. “Was that necessary?”

“You want people tracking her back home?”

For a moment, everything went silent, Ember gaping at Tristin. Kai tensed, feeling the power shift in the air just before Ember screeched in fury, launching herself at his sister.

The car swerved across the line as Ember attempted to use Tristin’s hair to yank her into the backseat. Kai scrambled, trying to untangle himself from his seatbelt to pry Ember’s hands off his sister. Ember wouldn’t let go. She was strong and—ew!—so sweaty.

“Ember, calm down. Jeez, it’s just a phone. We’ll get you another one.” Her gaze shot to him, her eyes wild, all pupil and black veins. He jerked back, releasing her. “Holy Exorcist, Batman.”

Ember’s grip on Tristin tightened over the squealing of the tires. Tristin fought to keep them on the road as cars swerved out of their way, horns blaring. “Oh my God, get her off me and shut this down before she kills us all.”

“I’m trying,” he shouted, fishing his fingers into his back pocket and snagging a little packet of powder. He tried to shield it as he dumped the powder into his hand. If he tried to blow it in Ember’s face, it would go out the window or worse into Tristin. He groaned as he realized what he had to do. He shoved his hand over her nose and mouth, praying she didn’t chew off his fingers.

She gasped as the powder hit her lungs, letting go of Tristin. Ember clawed at her chest like the powder was searing her from within. She looked slightly betrayed but also grateful.

“I’m sorry,” he said, wincing as her eyes rolled back, her head thudding against the door.

Tristin waited a good mile before she rolled up the window, breathing hard, her hands shaky on the wheel. “What the hell was that?”

Kai waited for the adrenaline rushing through him to calm down. “I have no idea, but I’m going to guess she’s not a human.”

“No shit, Sherlock. I see you’ve been shopping in Quinn’s stash too.”

“I’ve been keeping it just in case,” he said smugly.

“Just in case we were attacked going seventy miles an hour on the freeway?”

He grinned. “Exactly.”

“So, now what do we do with her?”

“Excellent question,” he said. “And I have no idea.”

“Here’s a better question. How are we going to explain why she’s not enjoying the great hereafter? How about what are we going to tell Allister? Or the Grove? Oh, and what are you going to tell Isa?”

“Yeah, about Isa…” He turned to his sister then, smiling with too many teeth. “I need a favor.”

Chapter 8 - Tristin

Tristin stood outside the restaurant for way too long. It wasn’t like the wolves didn’t know she was out there. They could smell her. If anything, she looked guiltier by lingering beneath the neon lights of the restaurant’s sign instead of just going inside as she usually would. It was useless to just stand out there. They’d heard her the moment Kai dropped her off. They’d probably even smelled the unconscious girl in the backseat. Keeping secrets from werewolves was almost impossible.

Isa wouldn’t hurt Tristin, not really, but she still felt like she was going to puke. But she couldn’t stay out there all night; they’d come looking eventually. It always went easier if you surrendered instead of waiting to get captured. She took one last deep shuddering breath and stepped inside.

The diner had closed two hours ago, so she went in through the employee entrance. The wolves stood in the back in the midst of closing down the kitchen. Donovan smiled at her as he sprayed across the floor with a garden hose. Isa, who was sitting in her office, glanced up at Tristin’s appearance.

The alpha smiled at the sight of her, eyes predatory. She clicked out of whatever she was doing on the computer and rose. Despite being just twenty-eight years old, Isa moved like somebody much older. She was dressed casually in jeans and a tank top, her tawny hair unbound.

“Tristin,” she said, voice saccharine sweet. “I cannot wait to hear why you missed your shift and took an impromptu trip to…where was it again? Oh, that’s right, New Orleans.”

Tristin wasn’t afraid of much. She’d worked hard to make herself strong. She was well versed in Krav Maga and mixed martial arts. She kick-boxed daily. Wren had trained her in advanced combat techniques, and she could assemble every gun they owned blindfolded. Yet, standing before her irate five-foot alpha made her stomach feel squishy. “There was a, um…a situation.”

“Oh, I see. Let’s sit down and talk about it,” Isa said with a smile. Tristin knew the alpha was just luring her into a false sense of security. Isa wrapped her hand around Tristin’s upper arm, and she winced as sharp claws pierced her skin just enough to let her know Isa’s statement wasn’t a request.

Isa pulled Tristin into the dining room, the door separating the areas swinging wildly in their wake. Isa shoved Tristin towards the large booth in the back corner, and Tristin slid onto the red vinyl seat, looking around for the others.

Neoma stood at the counter, refilling ketchup bottles. The little blonde looked up, smiling at Tristin and giving a slight wave, before ducking her head back down to her task.

Just as Tristin was about to speak again, Wren slid into the booth next to Isa, sliding his arm across her shoulders. Tristin stared at the alpha’s mate awkwardly. “What?” he asked. “Did you think I was going to miss this? I don’t know what you did, but your brother is clearly wetting his pants in fear, so it must be pretty good.”

She gave him a baleful look and began to speak but was interrupted again when the kitchen door swung open and Donovan sauntered out. He’d removed his white coat, leaving him in only his checkered chef pants, muscular copper colored skin gleaming under the warm lighting of the room. Donovan was always half naked. He had no shame.

Quinn tumbled out of the kitchen behind Donovan. Tristin sighed. What was Quinn even doing there? It was his day off. Couldn’t she get away from him for even one day? He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, giving her a grin.

“Did we miss anything?” Donovan asked.

She glared at the two of them.

“Sorry, Dagger,” Quinn said. “We aren’t missing this. If Isa is going to kill you two, we want to watch.”

She bristled at the nickname, smiling tightly at her brother’s best friend. “Then make sure you stick close so I can take you down with me.”

He winked. “Aww, I knew you couldn’t stand to be without me.”

“Enough,” Isa said. “What happened?”

“Well…” Tristin stumbled, searching for where to start. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, I just feel like Kai should be the one to tell you.”

Wren looked at her, confused. “Then why isn’t Kai here to do that?”

“Because he is a dirty coward.” Quinn laughed. “He totally sent her to plead his case.”

“Is that what this is?” Isa asked, gaze piercing through Tristin’s soul. “Are you here to beg for your brother’s life?”

Tristin shrugged, looking anywhere but at the alpha. “Sort of.”

“Fear not,” she told Tristin. “Like any good parent, I’m not going to kill him. I am, however, going to put the fear of God in him.” Isa exploded across the table then, less than an inch from Tristin’s face, causing her to reel back. “What were you two thinking? Running around? Leaving the state without telling us? You went into territories belonging to other wolves. You could’ve started a war. You could’ve been killed.” Her breath hitched, voice wavering. “We wouldn’t have even known where to start looking for your rotting corpses.”

Wren tugged her back, rubbing her arm as her eyes flashed gold. Donovan and Quinn snickered until Isa cut her eyes at them, growling low in her chest. They looked away, Donovan whining.

“I’m sorry,” Tristin said, meaning it. “We just didn’t know what else to do. A name appeared on Kai’s arm, and then it all just…got away from us.”

Isa’s face pinched in confusion. “Kai had a collection?”

She could only nod.

“Was it a child?” Isa asked. “Those are the hardest on him.”

“No, not exactly.” Tristin was stalling, but what came next was going to set the wolf off…again. Isa’s mouth tightened, and Tristin could feel the alpha’s eyes boring into her.

She took a deep breath to calmly tell her what happened but couldn’t stop the words falling from her lips. “Kai was supposed to collect somebody, but the name belonged to somebody he knew, and that couldn’t be right because…well, just because…there was no way, but he had to go because you can’t refuse a collection, but…he couldn’t do it.”

“Couldn’t do it?” Isa repeated quietly.

Tristin swallowed hard. “He couldn’t collect her.”

“Are you telling me that some girl is lying dead on a slab, still in possession of her soul? Trapped inside her body?” Isa sounded horrified.

Tristin forced her mouth to move, her words barely a whisper. “She didn’t die.”

They all exchanged confused glances, Wren finally saying, “What do you mean?”

Her mouth was desert dry, her tongue tripping over her words. She hated her brother for this. “She was family, Isa. It didn’t even seem possible. Like, so impossible. But, Isa, the name was November Lonergan. What could we do?”

The silence stretched as they waited for her to continue. She didn’t know what to say. Quinn finally broke the standoff, asking, “What did you do?”

Tristin looked at her alpha with dread. “We saved her.”

The entire group looked poleaxed. Isa’s golden eyes bled red, and the noise that escaped the alpha was inhuman.

“You what?” Wren shouted, slamming his fist down on the table so hard the Formica cracked and a salt shaker fell over, rolling to the floor with a crash. To his credit, Quinn stepped closer, placing a hand on Tristin’s shoulder. She cowered against him, heart jackhammering in her chest. Quinn retrieved the fallen salt shaker, throwing a pinch of salt over his left shoulder before returning it to its place on the table.

“Let’s hear her out,” Quinn suggested. Isa turned her furious eyes on him, and he quickly abandoned her plight. “Or I’ll just shut up and not speak. That works too.”

“That’d be a first.” Neoma laughed, spinning on the stool she now occupied.

Isa continued to stare Tristin down as she lifted her phone and called the only person besides Kai who wasn’t there—Rhys. She spoke in clipped tones, explaining the situation to the other wolf as succinctly as possible.

“I’m going to call Allister. No. We have to tell him. We have to try to get ahead of this.” She listened intently before saying, “Rhys. Calm down. We will handle this. No, Iwill handle this, and you will calm down. Everything will be fine.” Again, she listened, nodding as if he could see her. “We’ll be there as soon as we can,” she said, clicking the button on her cell. “I’m going home. You guys finish up here and meet us back at the house.”

“Impromptu pack meeting?” Donovan joked.

“More like crime scene cleanup,” Wren ground out. “I’ll be right behind you.” Donovan hit Quinn in the face with a spitball, and Wren closed his eyes as if searching for inner peace. “And I’ll bring the children with me.”

“You,” Isa said, jabbing a finger in Tristin’s direction. “You are not in the clear, so don’t get too comfy. I see a lot of cleaning grease traps in your future.”

Tristin grimaced. She wasn’t sure who she felt sorrier for, Kai or their cousin. Either way, she was pretty sure this was going to end badly.