Spencer sat up and glanced at the clock on her nightstand. A few hours had passed since her dad had left and there was still no sign of him. She reached for her still half-full mug, intent on bringing it downstairs to the kitchen.
A chill snaked up her spine while she had her back to the door and she stilled with her fingers just barely brushing against the blue handle. She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat and spun as quickly as she could. The doorway was empty and there was nothing there.
“Micah?” she called, hoping that it was him. She took a tentative step forward, eyeing the hallway on the other side of the threshold.
The hallway lights were off and it was hard to see. She froze once more when she thought she saw a shadow darting to the right. It had to be just her imagination. After everything she’d recently been through she was just on edge...that was all.
She stepped out of her room and flicked the light switch with deft fingers. The overhead light blared to life, illuminating the long hallway on either side. Nothing.
“Get a grip,” she whispered to herself and then slowly made her way towards the stairs. “Micah?” she called again, clinging to false hope that he’d call back.
She shivered, wishing she’d grabbed a sweatshirt. Her thin gray cotton shirt and black sweatpants weren’t really warm enough.
She was just about to move down onto the fourth step when a creaking sound came from behind her. She turned her head but there was nothing there. She couldn’t see down the halls from here, and was debating whether or not she wanted to go back up to check it out when the sound came again.
Someone had probably left one of the windows open. Her dad maybe. He was always opening the windows in his bedroom and forgetting about them. That would explain the sudden chill and the sounds. It was a cold September this year and it was no doubt very windy outside already. That was it.
Having successfully convinced herself, Spencer turned and was about to head back up. In her foolish panic, she’d forgotten to grab her mug on the way out of her room and now had to go back and get it.
The sound of smashing glass came so unexpectedly that her hand slipped on the railing and she lost her footing. She screamed as she tumbled down the last five steps, landing with a heavy thump at the bottom. There was intense pain in her right arm where she’d reached out to try and stop her fall, and her side stung when she moved.
It took her a moment to differentiate the ringing in her head from the tinkling still coming from upstairs. The unmistakable rain like sounds that came from shattering glass. No way a single open window could do that.
She bolted, up so fast that she got whiplash in the process, which she promptly ignored as she snatched her car keys off the coffee table and threw the front door open practically running head first into Quinn.
She screamed again, which set off a chain like reaction, making her friend scream right back. Grabbing her arm, she spun them out of the doorway, slamming the hardwood door closed behind them. She tugged them off the porch, only stopping once they were halfway down the driveway and in front of her car.
“Oh my god, Spencer,” Quinn lifted a hand to her shoulder. “What’s going on? What happened?” She eyed the house warily. “Is it Hadrian? Is he in there? Are you ok? It’s not the God of Death, is it?!”
She shook her head, unable to form words just yet. Her whole body shook and her heart was beating a million miles in her chest. She was struggling to get hold of her breathing, as well as wrap her brain around what had just happened. None of it was making any sense.
“It had to have been Micah,” she said in a harried voice. “That’s the only explanation.”
“Explanation for what?” Quinn pressed.
“I just freaked out, that’s all,” she went on, not sure if she was trying to convince her friend or herself. “It was nothing. He…” she cursed. “He can’t touch solid objects and he wouldn’t have wasted his energy doing it anyway.”
“Micah? Spencer, calm down and tell me what is going on. What scared you?”
It whooshed out of her, the whole stupid brief story, and once she was finished she didn’t feel any better than she had at the beginning.
“Ok,” Quinn squared her shoulders and took a deliberate step towards the front door.
“Whoa, what are you doing?” Spence yanked her back.
“Checking it out.”
“We are not going in there.”
“How else do you expect to find out what happened?” she gave her a look. “That’s kind of your home, dude. Not like you can live out here in the driveway forever.”
“Better than in there.”
“Wow, for a girl who went to the Underworld you’re kind of a wuss, you know that?”
“Shut up! That’s what Hadrian said.”
Quinn actually laughed. “Hate to break it to you, girly-girl, but Hades has a point.”
“Quit calling him that. And stop moving us closer to the house.” She dug in her heels and eyed the house. There weren’t any lights on in the windows so she couldn’t see anything other than darkness. The sun was almost fully set and the streetlights had already been turned on, casting an orange glow around them.
“Call Brodie,” she said then. “At least let’s have a guy come in with us.”
“You just want to stall,” Quinn argued, but took her cell phone out anyway. “Besides, we don’t need Brodie. We’re two strong independent women.” She typed something furiously on her cell and then slipped the device back into her jacket pocket.
“Did you just text him?”
“No.”
“Then who—” Before she could get the whole sentence out, Hadrian appeared right below the steps leading up to their porch. Her mouth gaped open a second, and then she glared at her friend. “Please tell me you didn’t.”
“You wouldn’t go in without someone,” Quinn waved towards him unapologetically. “I’m thinking a god’s much better protection than a boy.”
“Since when have you two become texting buddies?”
“We haven’t,” she shrugged. “We exchanged numbers at school though, remember? And he is standing right there. He can hear everything that we’re saying, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“As if.” She let out a tiny growl of frustration and turned back towards Hadrian. He was watching her with about as much joy as she herself felt. Which was sad, considering a part of her actually was happy to see him.
“Trouble, ladies?” he asked in that smooth whisky-like voice of his. He had on a black pea coat over white skinny jeans tucked into black boots. Not a hair was out of place, and between the first moment she’d spotted him and now, he’d managed to compose himself enough to paint the faint traces of a smirk on his too angelic face.
Why’d he have to look so good anyway? Why couldn’t he just be ugly, or scary looking? Heck, she’d settle for grungy.
“Think we got this, thanks.” She waved him out of the way as she headed towards the porch.
His response was a single quirked brow and a glance at Quinn, who rolled her eyes and mouthed an apology.
“I saw that,” Spencer told her. “Traitor.”
“Don’t be stubborn, love,” Hadrian said then. He was up at the front door in a matter of seconds, twisting the brass knob and sliding it open.
“Don’t call me love,” was her response, though she didn’t argue him being there again, following close behind as he entered the house and headed straight for the stairs. “It came from somewhere down the hall,” she told him. “I think the bathroom.”
“Did you see anything?” he questioned, turning left at the landing.
“I thought there was a shadow,” she admitted. “But I’m not sure. How do you know which way is my bathroom?” She found it a bit odd that he hadn’t needed instructions.
“Ferris has been here, remember?” He stopped at the bathroom and eased the door open.
“What the…” She frowned at the mess there.
The mirror hanging o
ver the sink on the left wall was shattered. Shards of reflective glass hung off, some dangling from the frame so precariously that if she breathed on it, they would all fall. Slivers and bits were scattered all over the sink and the pink tiled floor, glinting in the overhead light.
Some of it crunched beneath his boots as he entered the room, turning in a slow circle, searching. When he clearly came up with nothing, he went to the window and peered out into the darkness. Satisfied with that, he turned back to them.
“There’s nothing here,” he said.
“I didn’t do that,” she told him, pointing shakily at the busted mirror. “And I’m here alone. My parents are out of town for the rest of the week.”
“Tell me exactly what happened.” He took her arms gently, rubbing them up and down in a soothing motion.
“I felt cold, and then I heard a noise,” she began. “I thought it might be Micah, but when I called for him, he didn’t appear. I went to go downstairs and then the next thing I knew, there was breaking glass and I slipped—”
“Down the stairs?” He frowned, his hands moving now in a more inspecting manor. He checked her arms, and tilted her head back and forth so he could see either side of her neck.
She tried to bat him away but he refused, and he was far too strong for her to push off. When his fingers trailed down her side she flinched, and he stilled like she’d just screamed instead.
“Lift up your shirt,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.
She did anyway.
“Um, not gonna happen.”
“Don’t be stubborn, Spencer,” he repeated his earlier statement, this time more annoyed with her. He motioned towards her side. “Lift up your shirt. Now.”
With a frustrated sigh of defeat she did as he said, wincing with the move. She frowned when his expression changed from concern to anger and she glanced down at her hip.
“Oh my god.” She’d rammed straight into the coat rack on her way down, and now there was a nasty purple-blue bruise forming right above her hip bone. It spread an inch over the flat plains of her stomach, and another few inches around to her back.
“Jeez, Spence.” Quinn rushed forward. She brushed her fingers against it tentatively, but Spencer felt a shock of pain anyway.
“Don’t touch her,” Hadrian snapped. With more gentleness than she would have expected from him, he settled her shirt back down in place. He steered her back out into the hall and then straight towards her room. Once inside he slowly eased her down onto the edge of the bed and ran a hand through his hair.
“Do you know what did this?” Quinn asked, settling next to her. “This is serious. First Sarah, then Syd, and now Spencer.”
“You don’t think it’s an S name thing, do you?”
“This isn’t a joke, Spencer,” Hadrian told her.
She grunted. “I wasn’t entirely joking.” Though she totally had been.
“Something was here,” he went on as if she hadn’t spoken. He looked around her room, lost in his own head. “It’s gone now, and I can’t track it. You said it got cold and you saw a shadow?”
She nodded.
“It must have been a ghost then.”
“Micah—”
“Not him. I told you, he’s different. He doesn’t need to draw on outside energy sources. Haven’t you noticed that when he’s around there’s no change in temperature? It doesn’t get cold like you just experienced. Besides, I doubt he would have scared you like that. Unless there’s trouble in paradise?”
Something strange flashed behind his eyes that she couldn’t decipher, but she answered his question anyway. “No.”
“Didn’t think so. Which rules him out completely.”
“What are the chances that another ghost would just show up?” Quinn posed. “Still in the realm of coincidental?”
“No,” he answered.
“My turn,” Spencer said, then, “Didn’t think so.”
“Speaking of,” Quinn turned her head every which way to scan the room. “Is he here?”
“Micah?” Actually, this was the perfect opportunity to find out where he’d been all day. “I haven’t seen him at all. Where is he?”
Hadrian seemed unconcerned with this, shrugging before going to check out the two bedroom windows. “I’d imagine with his father.”
“His what?!” both Quinn and Spence exclaimed at the same time.
“I checked him out and made it so that he could remember again. When I left to answer your text, he was busy reuniting with his father in the Asphodel Meadows. Apparently, Mr. St. James has been trying to get his son’s spirit to acknowledge him for months now. It seems when Micah was topside was the only time he had full functionality. Now he’s got it down there as well.”
“Why?” Spencer asked quietly.
He made a face. “So he could remember, and not just feel like he’s existing when you’re here.”
“I get that, I mean why’d you do it? Why did you help him?”
“Does it matter?” he finally asked and she sighed.
“No,” she rubbed a hand over her forehead, “no, I guess it doesn’t.”
He seemed disappointed and turned away quickly to move back towards the door. “There isn’t anything here anymore,” he told them.
“What if it comes back?” Quinn stood and crossed her arms over her chest. “At least see if it’s marked her or whatever.”
“Q…”
“Just let him take a look, Spence,” she argued. “If we know then that’s something. We can take measures to keep you safe that way. These things aren’t just happening at random, we know that for sure now.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” Hadrian cut in. “The marks are invisible to the human eye until the person is actually dead. And even if it wasn’t, you’d never know where to look. The mark is specific for each person related somehow to their death. Sydney, for instance, has it over her heart because it stopped when she drowned.”
“One, wouldn’t it make more sense for it to be over her lungs?” Quinn observed ticking off a finger. “Two, how come if she’s no longer dead, the mark hasn’t gone away then?” Up went another finger. “And three, just because we can’t see it doesn’t mean you can’t. Hence the me asking you to find it.” She was holding up three digits now and waved them at him expectantly.
“Syd was dead and then was brought back to life by a god and a Reaper, that’s why the mark is permanent,” he explained.
“Ok, well that doesn’t answer the last part. Spencer—”
“Quinn, stop.” She took a deep breath, bracing herself for the oncoming pain, and stood. She shook a little on her feet, swooning and almost toppling back down.
In a flash Hadrian was at her side, holding her up, careful to avoid placing his hands over the bruises. She hadn’t even seen him move.
“Whoa,” Quinn breathed, clearly having the same issue. “That was fast. Like, Quicksilver or the Flash kind of fast.”
“You shouldn’t be standing,” he told her softly, about to lower her back to the bed.
“Hold on,” she stopped him and then pulled away just enough that she could reach for the hem of her shirt, yet still lean on him for support if need be. She grabbed the material and gently began to tug it over her head.
“Um, Spence…” Quinn sounded really unsure now, and she knew what she was thinking even before she said it aloud. “Care to share why you’re stripping in front of the God of the Dead?”
“It’s a fifty-fifty chance,” she said, finally getting the shirt off and dropping it to a heap on the floor at her feet. She grimaced again as she waited for the sharp pain to dissipate enough for her to continue. “I already know where the mark will be.”
This was it, the other secret she’d been holding in for so long. Micah was the first, and her friend had been able to take that with a grain of salt. But would she be able to look at her the same after what she told her next? It hadn’t seemed to affect her opinion of Sydney…
She had a brief moment of fear over how Hadrian would react, but she banked it down before it could take her over and force her to change her mind.
“How can you know that?” Quinn asked her.
Spencer lifted her left arm, thankful that the bruise was on the other side, and pointed to the spot against her ribs right below her bra strap. “Is it there?”
Hadrian glanced down. A second later he swallowed and nodded his head.
“What?” Quinn came closer and frowned. “I don’t see anything.”
“That’s because it’s invisible to the human eye,” he supplied.
“Then how did she know where it was?” She gave her a questioning look.
Spence pushed up the side of her bra, exposing a three inch long scar. “Because that’s where I was stabbed, Quinn,” she told her. She licked her lips. “That’s how I died.”
Chapter 17:
She laughed as Micah tugged her along, their laced fingers keeping them linked together even as he jogged towards Wicker Bridge.
It had been “condemned” a few weeks ago, dubbed too dangerous to be used anymore. Granted, it had been built over fifty years ago, so that people could pass from one side of the park to the other. The creaking old wood had turned a dull rust color, letting out a series of groans with just the simplest passing a of breeze.
Beneath it flowed Willowbrooke River, their small town’s namesake. Spencer could still make out the rushing currents as it sped underneath the bridge even in the waning sunlight. The river, and thus the bridge, stretched a good ten feet across—though it was only four feet wide—and in this area the water was about six feet deep.
There was no longer the use for the bridge, seeing as how a main road had been added some years ago a little ways down where anyone could cross with ease, and with a lot less risk.
But this had been the setting of their first kiss, and where he’d taken her to tell her that he loved her for the first time almost two and half years ago to the day. They couldn’t resist having one more moment there before the town officially tore it down tomorrow. It was a good way to kick off the summer before their senior year.
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