Mortal Danger

ANTICIPATION OF EVIL

The next day, state employees descended on Blackbriar and interviewed a bunch of us, but in the end, they concluded Nicole was unstable, and it wasn’t the school’s fault. Allison wore a bandage for a few days, and only I knew that she didn’t need one. Three days after the incident, the headmaster announced that Mr. Love had resigned his position, though not due to wrongdoing. We were encouraged to send farewell cards, which would be forwarded to him.

A retired teacher took his place and she paid more attention to the ball of yarn in her tote bag than she did us. That was fine with me; I could use another free period. Administration promised there would be a permanent replacement when winter break ended. I hoped he or she was human; that seemed like a reasonable expectation in an educator.

By the time Thanksgiving rolled around, I was ready for a four-day weekend. Kian picked me up; I waved at Davina as I got into the car. It occurred to me that I’d gotten my revenge—the Teflon crew was wrecked. As it turned out, Allison literally wasn’t human, and the rest were dead or missing. The weight of it hit me all over again. Be careful what you wish for. It might come true. And I hated that I could forget my culpability, even for a moment.

“You look upset,” Kian said, starting the car. He listened to what I had to say, then he shook his head. “Don’t blame yourself. Nothing you did caused this.”

“Is that better? If I had died—”

“Don’t say that. Don’t you dare.”

“What?”

“Talk like you’re nothing. For me, the world would be unbearable without you.”

His certainty smoothed over the guilt like a balm.

“That’s how I feel about you,” I said softly.

And that made his secrets more painful, since he seemed so distant, committed to protecting me rather than being with me.

A smile curved his mouth that I’d best describe as blissful. “As long as you do, I can stand anything.”

“You shouldn’t have to.”

He ignored that, weaving through traffic toward our neighborhood. Since he lived in the area, too, I felt less guilty about using him for transportation. I mean, it wasn’t like he had business near Blackbriar, but I enjoyed the way other girls looked when they saw him waiting. Sometimes I feared he was an illusion or a hallucination from which I must inevitably awake. Of course, that meant all of the horrible things, all the demons and monsters were bad dreams, too? Maybe I could live with losing Kian.

Maybe.

My heart hurt just thinking about it. As if he sensed it, he reached over and covered my hand with his. On impulse, I raised his palm and kissed it. His fingers closed convulsively, and he cut me a sharp look.

“While I’m driving? Really?” God, that look curled my toes.

“Sorry. I’ll be good.” I cast around for a topic that wouldn’t distract him. “What’s your favorite color?”

“That was random. Why do you want to know?”

“Just tell me.”

“Blue.”

That answer made me smile. “Mine too.”

When he parked outside our brownstone, he leaned over for a kiss that broke all records for hotness and threatened to set my uniform on fire. Maybe he’s part djinn, I thought dizzily, as he tunneled his hands into my hair. He tasted sweet and fresh, everything I wanted wrapped up in one person, and I could’ve crawled on top of him then and there. Bad hormones, bad. Intellectually I understood that our pheromones were shaking hands and that our chemical compositions must be compatible—and that was all. On a pure girl level, I just wanted him. So I told my brain to shut up and we kissed for ten minutes, until he was breathing hard, and I was trembling.

“Can I come up?”

The question elated me. Maybe there was still hope for us, together.

“My mom’s probably home,” I warned.

Rueful smile. “That’s fine. Just … give me a minute.”

Oh. Wow. It was impossible for me to restrain a smirk. “No problem.”

Five minutes later, we got out of the car and headed into the foyer. Right away, I noticed the mezuzah was gone. Like before, only the nail remained. A shiver went through me as I trotted up the stairs, Kian close behind me. He set a hand in the small of my back while I dug for my keys, but—

The door stood open, half an inch.

My blood chilled.

“Let me go in first.” Kian tried to push past me but I shook my head.

“We’ll go in together or not at all. Maybe she just got home.”

“My mom used to leave the door ajar if she was carrying groceries.” By his tone he knew that was unlikely.

Yet I couldn’t help but cling to hope. Silently I counted to three before nudging the door wide. The way the apartment was laid out, I had a clear view through the living room to the kitchen, where I saw my mother’s feet, motionless on the tile floor. Kian tried to hold me back, but I yanked free and ran to her, my breath a tight and silent shriek in my chest. Recycled fabric bags were spilled all around her, broken eggs and bottles of juice mingling with the blood—oh my God, so much blood—I crumpled. Kian caught me. When he carried me out of the apartment, I didn’t fight. Inside my skull, the screams echoed in endless loop.

He took her. The bag man came. He took her head.

I was only half aware of Kian banging on Mr. Lewis’s door and asking him to call 911. The old man complied at once, and Kian carried me out of the building, cradling me on his lap on the front steps. He rocked me, and I held on, but I couldn’t cry. Everything was tight and dry; my mind simmered with the madness of it. The bag man will have your brains for his soup, your skull for his bowl, and he’ll drink you dry. Mr. Lewis brought a blanket out for me, and Kian wrapped me in it. The fleece did nothing to banish the cold.

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. Across the street, I saw the old man with the bag, and it bulged with a new and hideous weight. Beside him stood the two black-eyed children. The girl-thing’s pinafore was smeared with blood. I fought free and jumped up, racing toward them. They vanished before my eyes as the screech of car brakes yanked my attention to the street. Kian hauled me back to the stoop, shaking, while the driver shouted out his window at me.

“That was…” Kian tightened his arms on me.

I wasn’t listening. “Kian … did you see them?”

He glanced around my shoulder. “Who?”

“Never mind.” My head was a mess; I couldn’t think.

“What’s your dad’s number, Edie?”

I shrugged, dazed and shivering.

Kian was gentle in plucking the backpack from my shoulder. Silently, he rummaged in the front zip pocket until he found my phone. A few clicks, and he was talking to my dad. His voice was a low rumble but I couldn’t make out the words. Buzz, buzz, buzz, go away. I don’t believe this is real. I won’t. This isn’t my life.

“I’m ready to give you up.” There was some sadness in the admission, but if keeping Kian meant living this, then the nightmare had to end. “The dream is over now. I need to wake up.”

No more coma dream. Back to reality. Back to being an ugly girl with no friends, no boyfriend. But I’ll still have my mom.

“God, Edie,” he whispered.

I’m sorry, the wind whispered. I felt a sad, familiar presence all around me, raising the hair on my arms. Through dry eyes, I stared hard at the street I had lived on all my life. “Cameron?”

But there was only a stained newspaper tumbling down the sidewalk. And Kian was still here, holding me, with a face like an angel and a dark shadow in his eyes. In the distance, sirens screamed toward us.

When I said I wanted this to stop, I anticipated sitting up in a hospital bed, IV in my arm, both of my parents at my bedside. You tried to kill yourself. You failed. You’re in a coma. Wake up, now. Wake up.

“She’s in shock,” Mr. Lewis said.

“Could you make her some hot tea? Plenty of sugar.”

“Of course.” The old man moved off.

A few minutes later, or maybe hours, Kian put a warm mug in my hand. I drank the tea because it was there. I couldn’t wake up; there was no exit from this that didn’t end in policemen putting tape on my front door. Two officers showed up and then an ambulance, but it was oh-my-God too late. They carted away her body, covered in a sheet.

“We have to ask you some questions,” the older cop said gently.

I stared up at him. There was no tinnitus. Allison hadn’t registered on my faulty ears, either. The irrational desire possessed me to demand to inspect all of their belly buttons. Another death, and I can’t tell the truth. Or maybe I can. Maybe it doesn’t matter anymore. I opened my mouth, but Kian squeezed my hand. He warned me with his eyes not to open that can of crazy and upend it all over the nice humans. I understood now why he said it like that; it was what you called people who walked around with blinders on. I might’ve started life that way, but I didn’t feel part of the collective anymore.

He took her head. Why can’t I cry?

“Okay,” I said finally.

“Her dad should be here soon,” Kian put in. “Maybe you should wait for him.”

“Is she a minor?”

He nodded. “Eighteen in February.”

“Then let’s secure the scene and wait for the detectives to arrive.” The younger one followed his partner upstairs, leaving us on the front step.

Ten minutes later, my dad dashed toward us, his chest heaving. I’d never seen his face that shade before. He hunched over for a few seconds, hands on knees, before he could get the breath to ask, “Edith?”

It was all the questions wrapped into one. Kian loosened his arms, but I didn’t get off his lap. My mom was the one who asked if she could hug me, and I couldn’t get the words out at first. My dad’s hair was a mess and his glasses were fogged up. He took them off so he could see us better.

“Mom’s dead,” I said. Two words, heavy as osmium.

“Oh God, honey.” From his expression, I could tell he didn’t know what to say, what to ask, and my words were balled into a Gordian tangle.

“Are you Alan Kramer?” A man in a wrinkled suit stood outside the brownstone, wearing a grave but purposeful look.

“Yes.”

“Please come with us. We have some questions for your daughter.”

In the end, they asked Kian and me several times exactly what we saw. We recounted the story separately and together. No, we didn’t see anyone fleeing the scene. Yes, we both had class before coming home. Kian picked me up at Blackbriar; we came straight home. I resisted the temptation to give the detectives a description of the bag man. It was late by the time we finished, and our apartment was a crime scene.

“We’ll … get a hotel room,” Dad said. “We can stop at a pharmacy and buy some essentials, like pajamas and toothbrush—”

Kian cut in, “You’re welcome to stay at my place. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

He seemed older than twenty at the moment, but age was more than chronology. I didn’t have the strength to doubt him, so I clutched him close instead. I turned to my dad. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather do that.”

“Okay.” It was so strange for him to acquiesce that readily, like my mother had been the reason for the steel in his spine.

Kian drove us to his apartment from the precinct and parked a few blocks down. On the way, I stopped at a corner drugstore. They had toiletries and I found T-shirts and novelty shorts to sleep in. Silently, I dropped the few items into my dad’s basket and he paid. Nobody felt like eating, just as well, because Kian had cup noodles and a box of tea. He made each of us a mug, and my dad seemed every bit as shell-shocked as I felt.

He didn’t lecture us about staying up too late or give me a speech about how Kian wasn’t to be trusted. Instead, he kissed my cheek and went to the guest bedroom and shut the door with a quiet, final click. Bereft, I sank down on the sofa.

“This isn’t a dream,” I said to Kian.

Sadly he shook his head.

The dam burst. Tears streamed down my cheeks as the ache for my mom blossomed in my chest. I remembered our lunch. Lobster rolls. It feels like we should celebrate. To new beginnings. Now, like the Teflon crew, she was gone, but—

I never wished for this. I never did. Never.

Mom, no.

I protected Vi instead of my mother; that was my choice. But all this time, I thought the man with the sack and the awful children were hunting me. If I’d known, I would’ve used my favor to make sure she was safe. I’m so sorry, Mom. I imagined them knocking on our door, after Mr. Lewis’s protective measures failed, hiding their nightmare skins under an illusion of normalcy. Mom would’ve invited them in. But if I’d warned her, she wouldn’t have believed me.

She never wore makeup because she didn’t feel pretty. So why try? If I hadn’t gotten to know her better, I never would’ve learned that about her … or the curling iron story about my grandmother. My mom always had ink stains on her sweaters. She …

… died in a pool of blood. Did she suffer? Or was it quick?

She never taught me about electrical wiring. I never showed her how to do her face with the autumn mineral makeup we bought together. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—Kian wrapped his arms around me, but he didn’t try to staunch my sobs. He stroked my back, my hair, and let me weep until I couldn’t breathe.

“They’ll never know. The case will go cold, someone will file it.”

“You said…” His voice caught. “That you were ready to give me up. If there was anything I could do, if I could, I’d trade places with her for you.”

Hard shudders racked me from head to toe. “Idiot. No swaps, no deals. I want both of you. I don’t want this, Kian. I can’t have this. I just want it to be over. I don’t want to play this game anymore.”

“It can’t be undone,” he said, as if I didn’t know that. But maybe in our world, there were certain mutable realities, and death was more of a swinging door. “Sometimes people use favors to bring loved ones back, but … they’re never right. I’m so sorry.”

Oh.

“Is there any way to make him pay?” The words came before I could stop them, before my brain could remind me that it was my quest for revenge that carried me here.

“Who?”

“The old man with the sack.” I realized then; I’d never told him. He knew about the thin man, but this monster, I had kept all for my own.

It might not do any good, but I told him everything then. Too late, too late. My muscles locked, as I waited for him to yell at me and tell me this was my fault. But his face paled instead. He covered my hand with his, eyes grave.

“If Dwyer sent him, there was nothing you could do. Telling me wouldn’t have changed anything. It kills me to admit it, but I bartered away my last coin keeping you safe.” He didn’t mean currency, of course, but the last thing any immortal would want, whatever that was. “I wish I could’ve protected your mother, too, but it doesn’t work that way.”

One person, one favor, I know. Hope you didn’t sell your soul for me. That would mean he couldn’t escape his masters, even in death. I don’t want to be the rocks in your pockets, dragging you under. Oh, Kian, don’t let me drown you.

I might. And you’d let me.

“Don’t look like that,” he begged.

“Will you read me something?” Glancing around his apartment, I saw he had taken my advice. Everything he had left from his old life, he’d arranged—books on the shelves, journal nearby with a quality pen, and his two small trophies sat above the TV. Despite the heart breaking over and over inside me, it was almost enough to dry my tears.

Almost.

“Like what?”

“Another poem. Something beautiful.”

“I have one I wrote for a competition. It’s less … emotional, more about pretty imagery and theme. Maybe that one?”

“If you wrote it, I want it.” Breathing was onerous with lead on my chest. I ached as if I had fought an avalanche and lost. Somewhere, the old man with the sack had my mother’s head, and the wind spoke with Cameron’s voice.

This is madness. No. This is Boston.

Hysteria tapped against the glass wall I’d built around this fragile calm. I didn’t let it in. Kian grabbed his notebook and then settled down with me tucked against his side. With a crisp snap, he opened to a page already marked. “My mother loved this one.”

“I’m sure I will, too.”

“It’s called ‘Firebird.’”

“Stop stalling and read.” I put my head on his shoulder.

He huffed out a breath. His shifting told me he was nervous. For some reason, his jitters calmed mine. It grew easier to breathe. I closed my eyes, letting his voice wash over me.

“Pointed beauty, sienna, umber, the sky in autumn rage;

Slim maids weep their hued tears,

a touch of lace, bright mantle of their undress.

Crisp, air a-bite with apples, rich with winter.

Mother’s lament for fled daughter, angry arms,

accusing heaven’s twilight; wispy kiss, mourning mist beneath our boots.

And how should I, walking this old earth, think to tread those paths?

Human, humbled by these elders turning down thin hands,

We stand and breathe, remembering that bird, fluttering

with color in these dark boughs, remembering

Its conviction of passage—it must fly or die.”

“Beautiful. I love it. It’s about the foliage turning in the fall,” I said. “And how much you wanted to be free.”

He nodded, closing the book. “Now, I know it’s an illusion. Nobody ever truly is. There are prices to be paid, obligations to meet.”

I met his gaze, sure of only one thing. “That’s not true. When the time comes, we have to be like that bird. Fly or die, Kian. Promise me.”

He kissed me instead of answering, but if I had to drag him over the cliff with me, so be it. Whatever it takes, we’ll fly.