"But it's a starting place, right?" I twisted my can on the table. "It's more than we knew yesterday."
Tod nodded slowly. "For what little good it does us."
"Wait…" My thoughts had stalled on something he'd said, like a thorn caught on a loose thread. "How can there be a hellion of love? Or of hope? I thought hellions fed on pain and suffering. And chaos. How can they possibly feed on emotions that make people happy?"
Nash smiled at me, but it was a sweet, pitying smile, like he was humoring me. As if I were too naive for words. But it was Tod who answered, as usual more than willing to enlighten me on the darker side of life.
"A hellion can wring pain and chaos from any emotion, Kaylee. If you want love, he gives you unrequited love. Pangs of it so torturous you go insane and die. If you ask for hope, he makes it vain hope, hope so fruitless that after grasping at it, clutching it, you eventually go insane and die. And if you beg for faith, you get blind faith. Faith you cling to, and build upon, until the day you discover that it's unfounded, and you—"
"I get it," I interrupted, a chip halfway to my mouth. "You go insane and die. Hellions are the sum of all things cruel and evil. Thanks for clarifying."
Nash chuckled, and I couldn't hold back a grin.
"You two are cracked," Tod snapped.
My smile widened. "Says the undead man in love with the soulless pop star."
Tod scowled, and I thought I saw his cheeks flush. Which struck me as kind of weird for a man who'd died two years ago. "I'm not in love with her."
"So you pulled us into a potentially deadly scheme to save the soul of some girl you don't even care about?"
His scowl deepened, and Tod scooted his folding chair across the faded linoleum. "Fine. You don't want to help? I'll do it myself." He stood. "So what if I get killed in the process? Permanently, this time."
I rolled my eyes. "Sit down, reaper, we're going to help." I just couldn't resist getting back at him for constantly invading our privacy. "But we're suffering from a conspicuous lack of ideas, here. We need someone who knows more about hellions. Or at least about the Netherworld in general."
"Hello? Reaper here." Exasperated, Tod laid one hand flat on the tabletop. "I know about the Netherworld."
"Not enough, apparently." Nash tossed another piece of popcorn into his mouth, ignoring Tod's annoyed under-his-breath muttering. "We need to talk to someone who's been around longer." He eyed me solemnly. "Kaylee, we need to talk to your dad."
"No." I shook my head firmly. "No way. If I even mention the word hellion he'll lock me in my room and swallow the key."
"He's the oldest non-human I know, and you don't have to tell him what we're doing." Nash shrugged, as if my decision should have been a no-brainer. "Just tell him you're curious. Or come up with something that won't make him worry. Besides, he promised not to keep any more secrets from you."
"Yeah, but he never promised to give me the inside scoop on demons." I looked him straight in the eye to convey my final word on the subject. "If I ask my dad about hellions, this whole thing is over." Then I smiled as an alternate solution came to mind. "Why don't you ask your mom?"
Nash frowned, and Tod's expression echoed the sentiment. "Because not only would she freak out, she'd call your dad so they could freak out in stereo."
"So we're back where we started." My shoulders slumped, and I dipped a chip into the bowl of salsa. "We need someone old enough to have lots of experience in the Netherworld, but who won't care what we're up to."
Tod sat up straight in his chair, as if the lightbulb over his head had just blinked to life. "Libby. We need to talk to Libby."
9
"HOW MUCH TROUBLE are you going to be in if we get caught?" Nash asked, concern lining the edges of his perfect, practically edible mouth. A tall, skinny guy in a letter jacket rushed past us in the hallway, carrying a huge black tuba case. He narrowly missed smashing my shoulder with it, and when Nash tugged me out of the way, the tubaist ran into the lockers instead with a horrible metal-crunching crash.
"You mean if we get caught here…" In the human world. "Or there?" I whispered, unwilling to say "the Netherworld" in public. Especially at school, with the tuba player still regaining his balance a few feet away.
"Either one." Nash veered away from the dark green lockers and I followed him, ducking into an alcove near the first-floor restrooms.
"Well, I doubt Coach Rundell will even notice I'm not there." I had American History last period, and with the football play-offs coming up, the coach had been too busy studying his playbook to come up with actual lesson plans, so we'd been watching installments of a documentary about the Civil War for the past week and a half. "But if he does, and they call my dad…" I'd have to be home before dusk for the remainder of my adolescence.
My father was trying really hard to be a good dad, and he wasn't doing too bad a job, considering he'd been absent for the past thirteen years of my life. But he was going overboard on a few vital issues. Like quality family time—thus, our Sunday night dinners—and his need to know where I was at all times.
That was appropriate the last time we'd shared a home—back when I was three. But at sixteen, I needed a little more freedom, and a lot less nosiness.
"And if we get caught there…" I shrugged. "All bets are off."
Nash swallowed thickly. "With any luck, we won't have to actually cross over. Yet." But we both heard the uncertainty in his pause. "Where does your dad think you're going?"
"Downtown with me," Emma said. Startled, I spun to find my best friend leaning against a bright purple chess club flyer taped to the wall behind us. "After work, we're grabbing pizza and going birthday shopping for my mom." Emma winked one deep chocolate-colored eye at me and smiled to show even, white teeth. She was pretty enough to be spectacularly popular, but smart enough not to give a damn, and I loved her for it.
I'd convinced a lovesick coworker at the Cinemark to switch my Tuesday shift for his Friday shift just by mentioning that he'd spend all four hours alone with Emma in the ticket booth. As soon as I said her name, he'd offered to trade entire schedules.
"I said I'd have her home by ten-thirty, so don't be late," Emma teased Nash.
He grinned and pulled me closer, and I wanted to melt into him. "No problem." But I couldn't help mentally crossing my fingers. Tod had done some digging and found out that Libby would be pulling in another dose of Demon's Breath that night in Abilene. But Abilene was a six-hour round-trip. Counting rest stops, dinner, and however long it took to actually convince her to help us, it was bound to be a long night.
"So, where are you really going?" Em tucked a strand of long, straight blond hair behind one ear and eyed us both with a knowing grin. "Or do I even want to know?"
"Probably not. It's not what you think." I sighed, wishing it was what she thought. Wishing hard.
Her grin melted into a look of concern to match Nash's, and she tugged her backpack higher on her shoulder. "Bean sidhe business?" she whispered, glancing around dramatically for potential eavesdroppers.
"Yeah." We'd had to fill Emma in on some basic Netherworld stuff when Nash and I had reinstated her soul, thus saving her life. And accidentally ending another, a fact which haunted me constantly. But Emma didn't know about Tod, or that reapers even existed, and I wasn't going to tell her anything that could bring her to the attention of any dangerous Netherworld elements. I hadn't saved her just to let her go again. Ever.
Which is why I felt guilty asking her to cover for me. Unfortunately, I had no other options, since Nash would be with me. I really needed to find more friends….
"You're not missing French, are you?" Panic peeked around the edges of Emma's expression, and I laughed.
"No, just history." Emma's memory for foreign vocabulary was as fragile as mine for dates and numbers. I helped her out in French, and she returned the favor the next hour, in history. It was a good system, and we weren't really cheating. We were just…helping.
I'd prob
ably never need to know when the War of 1812 ended, anyway. Right?
"Then come on, we're gonna be late."
Grinning, Nash leaned forward and kissed me, but Emma dragged me back by one arm before I got much more than a taste of him. Nash winked and took off in the opposite direction. I watched him for several seconds, until Emma hissed my name, and I followed her, still looking over my shoulder.
When I finally turned, I gasped to find myself less than four inches from Sophie's overglossed sneer. "You almost flattened me," she snapped, icy green eyes glittering with anger that went deeper than resentment of my intrusion into her social circle.
"Sorry," I mumbled, thrown off by the unexpected confrontation. It was easier to stay mad at her before, when her general bitchiness was superficial in nature. But now that pain and grief peeked out at me from behind the armor of her arrogance, I found it much more difficult to do anything but pity her.
Even if she did blame me for her mother's death.
When my pride wouldn't allow me to step out of her path—well, pride and Emma's tight grip on my arm, refusing to let me back down—Sophie sidestepped me with a look so pompous it might have seared the soul of someone with a lesser spirit. But I could only return her look with pity, which fueled her anger even more.
"Your cousin is such a freak," Sophie's best friend, Laura Bell, said at her side.
Sophie rolled her eyes at me as she turned to march off down the hall. "You have no idea…."
"Just ignore them," Emma insisted, as I followed her around the corner and through the first door on the left, just as the bell rang. "Laura's jealous of you and Nash." Because she'd had him first, a fact she reminded me of at every possible opportunity. "And Sophie's always been a bitch."
I slid into my fifth-row seat as Madame Brown—who'd probably never even been to France—cleared her throat at the front of the class. "She lost her mom, Em."
"So did you!" Emma hissed, flipping open her textbook in search of the homework she kept folded between the pages. When she'd actually done it. "And you don't practice 'bitchy' like it's a lost art."
Before I could remind her that I'd had thirteen years to get over my mother's death, Madame Brown eyed Emma from the front of the class, a black dry-erase marker poised and ready in one hand. "Mademoiselle Marshall?" she said, thin black brows arched dramatically. "Avez-vous quelque chose pour dire?"
"Uh…" Emma's cheeks went scarlet, and she flipped frantically through more pages in her book, muttering under her breath. "Dire…dire…"
"Something to say," I whispered, without moving my lips. I was getting really good at that. "'Do you have something to say?'"
"Oh. Non, Madame," she said finally, loud enough for the entire class to hear.
"Bon." Madame Brown turned back to the white board.
Emma slumped in her chair in relief, smiling at me in thanks. "How do you say, 'I hate this class?' in French?"
* * *
"Should we wait for him?" I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel, and glanced at the clock on my cell phone for the thousandth time in the last five minutes. "Maybe he got stuck at work." As a rookie reaper, Tod worked from noon to midnight every day at a local hospital, ending the lives of the patients on his list, then taking their souls to be recycled. It was a creepy line of work, in my opinion, but creepy seemed to suit Tod.
"Nah, he traded shifts with one of the other death-dealers. Tod will show up whenever and wherever he wants." Nash bent at the waist to see me through the open passenger side door of my car, and behind him, digital numbers scrolled upward across the front of the gas meter as the price rose with each fraction of a gallon he pumped. "Calm down. It'll be fine."
I forced a smile and clutched my hands together in my lap. But the moment my hands stilled, my foot began tapping uncontrollably on the floorboard. I'd never skipped a class before, and knowing my luck, getting caught seemed inevitable. But so long as we didn't get caught until after we'd returned Addison's soul, I was willing to face the consequences.
Nash tore his receipt from the paper slot on the pump and slid it into his back pocket, then dropped into the passenger seat and pulled the door shut. "Let's go!"
I'd only had my license for about six months and had never driven farther than Fort Worth. Fortunately, once we got out of the Metroplex, Abilene was a straight shot along I-20, and with Nash navigating, the most complicated part of the road trip was deciding where to stop for dinner.
At least, until Tod popped into my backseat with no warning, as I was bending for a sip of my watered-down soda. His bright blue eyes suddenly staring back at me in my rearview mirror startled me so badly I stuck the straw up my nose instead of into my mouth. "Ow!" I clutched my nose and dropped my cup in my lap, but Nash grabbed it before it could spill. His free hand went to the wheel, in case I dropped that, too.
Fortunately, one good swerve put us back between the lines on the highway, even as my heart thumped painfully after a near miss with the guardrail.
"Damn it, Tod!" Nash shouted into my ear, and I flinched even though I'd known it was coming. Those were the three words he yelled the most.
When I'd recovered from the shock—to both my nose and my heart—I glared at Tod in the rearview mirror. "What took you so long?"
"I was with Addy." He stared out the rear passenger's side window, but even at that angle, I could see tension in the tight line of his square jaw. "She's a wreck, and I hate to leave her alone with her handlers. Damned parasites are worse than Netherworld leeches, sucking her dry one radio ad or guest spot at a time. I'll catch up with her after we talk to Libby."
"What's she doing in Abilene?"
"Collecting Demon's Breath from some eighty-year-old oil tycoon." Tod didn't look at me until I cleared my throat for his attention, as I flicked on my blinker and changed lanes to make room for a cop stopped behind a station wagon on the side of the road.
"Where exactly is this oil tycoon supposed to die?" I envisioned a sickroom in a huge old house decorated with doilies and dust-covered photographs of laughing grandchildren. Where there would be nowhere for us to hide, if we could even get in.
Maybe we should have let Tod go alone….
"He's in a nursing home. I know the reaper on duty tonight, and he's planning to take an extra-long coffee break. I think Libby kind of freaks him out."
I had the feeling we should have been freaked out by her, too, and the fact that we weren't was starting to scare me a little.
An hour later, I followed Nash's directions into the parking lot of the Southern Oaks nursing home, just as the sun sank below the roof of the low, orange-brick building. We were running late, so we jogged across the asphalt, the early November air stinging our lungs, and through the double front doors, where we paused to catch our breath to keep from making the staff suspicious.
Except for Tod. He'd blinked straight from the car into the nursing home as soon as we got to Abilene, so he could watch Libby work again. And to keep her from leaving before we caught up with her. He could have come alone, but Tod seemed to think Libby liked me—she'd actually acknowledged my presence in the concert hall—and would be more likely to answer our questions if they came from me.
I was skeptical, but willing to give it a shot to help Addison.
We'd just passed the front office, nodding politely at the nurse on duty, when Tod appeared behind us. The nurse didn't even blink at his sudden appearance—she obviously couldn't see him.
"Henry White." Tod waved us forward with one hand. "Room 124. Hurry, it's almost time."
But even knowing I wouldn't have to wail, I was less than eager to watch some poor old man die. I'd seen quite enough of death in what little of my life I'd lived so far. Unfortunately, even with me dragging my feet, we got there just in time for the show.
Libby stood in one dark corner, dressed in another variation of black-on-black leather, looking psychotic-scary in deep blue and gold eye shadow. Sweat stood out on her forehead, an obvious sign of the effor
t it took to suck in the dark substance leaking slowly, thickly from the wrinkled man lying limp on the bed.
Henry White was alone in his room, except for us and the monitor near his head, leaking a steady, high-pitched tone, which speared my brain almost as sharply as my own wail would have. I rubbed my temples, both surprised and sad that White's only deathbed visitors were two bean sidhes and two reapers, one of which had come to kill him. Where were his kids? Grandchildren? Or even the poor man's accountant, or money-grubbing lawyer? Surely he'd meant enough to someone to warrant a little company when death came a-knockin'.
Even as that last thought passed through my head, footsteps rushed down the hall. A heavyset nurse appeared in the doorway, wearing bright purple scrubs. She glanced my way and smiled sympathetically as she brushed past me to press a button on the monitor. "Are you family?" she asked, as the annoying beep ended and welcome silence descended.
"No." I glanced from her to Henry White's still form, then to the corner, where Libby was slurping up the last of the Demon's Breath like some kind of putrid, ethereal sludge.
"We're…visitors," Nash finished, threading his fingers through mine when my hand began to tremble. Tod watched Libby in fascination, practically drooling as she wiped her mouth with one delicate, black-gloved finger. But I was so creeped out, chill bumps had burst to life all over my body.
If she burped up black smoke, I was out of there, no matter what she could tell us.
Clutching Nash's hand, I backed toward the wall. I kept hoping the shock would wear off. That death would eventually become routine for me. But it hadn't, and on second thought, I decided that was probably a very good thing. If death ever ceased to bother me, it would be because I'd seen entirely too much of it.
The nurse continued taking Henry White's pulse, though it was obvious by that point that he was already gone. "Well, then, you'll have to go," she said, without looking up from her work.
I was happy to oblige. "Why didn't she give him CPR?" I asked Nash on the way out of the room. We all knew she couldn't bring him back, but she didn't even try.
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