The Death and Romancing of Marley Craw

by Brindi Quinn

  Exciting.

  Yeah . . . that’s what I want right now. I want excitement.

  But when I open my mouth to tell him so, the rushing wind takes it away. Not fair! His voice reaches me just fine! Neat. Looks like the voices of lowly spirits aren’t granted the same magical properties.

  Whatever. The fault is his for asking a question I can’t even answer.

  “It’s all right. I got it,” he says.

  Got it?

  “Excitement.”

  Wait, he heard me? But my voice was carried away before I even got the second word out!

  “I got it anyway,” he says.

  Ack! It’s totally like he’s reading my thoughts again! I think HE’s the one who’s psychic.

  I feel my eyebrows flatten. Psh. Stupid reapers.

  But however stupid he may be, there’s no denying that he feels good. His body is warm against mine. His arms are strong around me. He smells good, too. And familiar. Mmm. His scent reminds me of something I did recently, but I can’t put my finger on what it was . . .

  Huh.

  The thought drifts away like a floater on the wind.

  And the longer I’m against him, the stronger I realize–

  I like being near him.

  “Remember it,” he says.

  Remember?

  “Remember this.” He squeezes me tighter. “It’s the best fit for you, Marley. Don’t forget it.” Our fall slows, and as it does, it tips until we’re falling straight downwards again. Slower and slower we slow as though we’re harnessed to a parachute. But when I check, there’s definitely no parachute or bundle of balloons or umbrella attached to us anywhere.

  Thought you’d pulled a Mary Poppins there for a second, Pine.

  The reaper doesn’t say anything in response. Maybe he can’t hear my thoughts after all.

  As we fall through the tops of the trees, the bright sun and clear air do something strange to me. They invigorate. Is that the right word? Invigorate. Like in one of those body-wash commercials where the showeree lathers themselves up and animated flowers roll off their skin, and as they breathe in the steamy shower scent, they act like they’ve just experienced some great rejuvenation or something.

  That’s how I feel now.

  It’s strange, isn’t it? When I’m so not outdoorsy at all? When I’ve never been into nature and all that?

  The trees are tight, but not so tight that they scratch us on the way down. We slip between two of them, ever slowing, until we’re just barely floating. Gently, Pine’s feet hit the ground first. He releases me with care onto the mossy floor of the mountain forest.

  Hair check.

  Yup, a total mess. I smooth it out the best I can.

  Everything’s weirdly quiet. I don’t hear a rustle or a squawk or a howl. If anything, I only hear my own breath.

  “Is this America?” I ask.

  “It’s somewhere,” says Pine.

  “Helpful.” I roll my eyes.

  Pine kicks against the rough bark of a tree, arms folded, and watches me expectantly. What’s he waiting for?

  I look around. “There aren’t, like, spiders and stuff out here, are there?”

  “Do you really want to know?” he asks.

  “Not really.”

  The corner of his mouth twitches. SO happy my dislike of things creepy and or crawly amuses you, Pine.

  “What now?” I ask.

  He shrugs but doesn’t remove his stare from me.

  I stare right back. “Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks.

  Am I looking at him some way? Oh gawd. I just noticed! I’m grinning. Not only that, but I’m grinning like a complete idiot! Stop it this instant, Marley Craw!

  No use. Seems spirit me is prone to being a goober.

  I turn my back to him to spare him from the gooberness. The ground of the forest is cluttered with rock and dirt and plants that are stringy from lack of sunlight. On the side of a tree, there’s a patch of gnarled, snarled fungus. A mushroom or toadstool or something, I guess. I give it a poke.

  “Ugh.”

  Yeah, ugh. But the ‘ugh’ didn’t come from me. I turn in time to see Pine shuddering.

  “What?” I say.

  He looks aloofly at a branch higher up. “Nothing.”

  “Yeah right! You’re totally disgusted! Grim reapers can be disgusted?”

  He shrugs again. Nuh-uh, not getting away with it. I swipe the fungus right off the tree and march over to him. “Here you go.”

  This time I see the full effect of the shudder. From the bottom of his stomach, Pine does a roll. The roll travels up his body, through his shoulders and to his mouth, which opens and gags.

  “Are you going to puke?” I ask, dumbfounded.

  “NO.” He frowns and swats the mushroom out of my hand. It goes flying into the side of a boulder. In the aftermath, he coolly folds his arms and stares at me with his uncovered eye.

  Like I’m going to let him go back to normal after that display!

  I put my chin in my hand and study him. “You hated that thing.”

  “Nope.”

  “You did! The way I hate my Spanish teacher! Actually, it was probably more than hatred; it was downright loathing. Did you order a bad mushroom pizza or something?”

  Pine lets out a sigh and rubs his face. “I just . . . don’t care . . . for patterns,” he says, strained.

  I feel my brow fall flat. “Patterns? Like, checkers and stripes and argyle?”

  “No, not those patterns. Just drop it.” His foot taps impatiently and he chews at his mouth so that he comes off looking fidgety and uncomfortable. But then he changes drastically. Brushing the hair from his eyes, he tilts his head back hotly. “Let’s make out.”

  I’m hit through the center by an invisible arrow.

  “W-w-what?”

  Ohmigosh, ohmigosh, ohmigosh!

  Did he really just say that?!

  He’s still chewing at his lip, but now it’s not in a fidgety way; it’s in a tempting way. His eyes, though silvery, probe at me darkly. I imagine his mouth moving with mine. I imagine him tugging on my lip softly with his teeth.

  Again, ohmigosh.

  No amount of suppression will keep my neck and cheeks from heating up this time.

  My heart thuds in my chest as he stares me down with the look of a predator. Not the molesty kind of predator, I mean like an animal on the hunt. His eyes gleam even though the trees block the sun. His throat swallows like he’s trying to hold himself back. He tugs at the zipper of his sweatshirt with angst.

  Holy potato salad. Seduction mode to the extreme!

  Wait . . . is he just trying to distract me?

  . . .

  That’s it! He’s definitely trying to distract me! Well, it’s working pretty damn well, but if he’s blatantly trying to distract me through seduction, it means I was on to something!

  “What do you mean you don’t ‘care for’ patterns?”

  Just as quickly as it set on, Pine’s seduction mode falls. So does his head. Aha! So it WAS an act.

  A little disappointing. His mouth still looks just as desirable. His bottom lip is full and perfect.

  “Things that look like brains,” he says in a mutter. “Pustules. Pockets.”

  “Pockets?”

  “Not like the ones in your jeans,” he explains. “I’m talking about crevices. Boils. Skin conditions. The suction cups on the bottoms of tentacles.”

  “Those are patterns?” I ask.

  He nods, shifting his eyes away. “But the worst is coral.”

  “As in Barrier Reef coral?”

  He nods again.

  Huh. Okaaay. I’ve never heard of anyone disliking coral before.

  But now that he mentions it, I did see him looking uncomfortably at both the starfish pool and the wad of brainy gum on my childhood desk.

  “And the fungus?” I say.

  “Pattern.”<
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  “Why don’t you like them?” I ask.

  He lets out a huff. “They get to me.” He taps the back right side of his head. “Right here.”

  “How so?”

  He looks at me dryly. “They make me twinge.”

  “Twinge? What’s a twinge?” Because I’m really not sure, I decide to test it out: “I saw this video once where someone extracted a botfly from someone else’s back using a pair of tweezers–”

  Pine’s poise falls and his body gives another large shudder.

  Bullseye! NOW who’s the goober?

  The reaper resumes his nonchalant stance.

  “I saw another video where these spider eggs hatched in the back of a frog, leaving these perfect little circles where the eggs once–”

  Pine’s face distorts.

  A twinge, eh? “You weren’t kidding. It really does get to you,” I say.

  Pine leans again against the bark and folds his arms. “Don’t tell anyone,” he says.

  “Who am I going to tell? I’m dead.”

  “Yeah . . .” He shakes his head like he’s shaking away confusion. “Of course you are.” But it looks like there’s something else he wants to say.

  “What?” I prompt.

  “You’re unusual.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “For a dead girl.”

  I paw at him. “Not better.”

  “You notice things.” He stares off absently into the forest. “And you get distracted easily. It could be bad.” Again he shakes his head. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

  “What do you mean bad?”

  He looks like he’s thinking about something distant. There are far-off thoughts running around behind his eyes. They stay there for a little while; then, he flips his hair away and sets his eyes squarely on mine. “I’ll just have to work harder,” he says.

  With that, he pushes himself from the bark and walks over to where I stand dwelling. And because I’m dwelling on his strange proclamation of my so-called unusualness, I don’t move even after he takes my chin in his hand.

  “Stop thinking so much,” he says.

  Yeah right. Easier said than done. Whenever someone tells you NOT to do something, it just makes DOING that thing all the harder to resist. Don’t smack your gum, Marley. Don’t look at dirty anime pictures, Marley. Don’t steal lawn art from the neighbors, Marley!

  “What should I do instead?” I ask, looking up at him.

  “Feel,” he says. “And shift.”

  “Shift?”

  He doesn’t bother to explain as he removes his hand from my chin, drawing it along my jaw until he reaches the place where my ear meets my face. My back shivers in response. Then, he glides his fingers down the side of my neck, to my collarbone and all the way down my collarbone. He rubs his thumb over my throat before letting his hand fall completely.

  I swallow in the aftermath, frozen in wait of what else he might do.

  The world is quiet and breathless and unmoving. So am I. I’m all of those things. The sun tries its hardest to push through the top of the pines, marking the floor of the forest with a fuzzy pattern. Somehow, though, I doubt it’s the sort of pattern that would have Pine reeling. There’s something kind of pleasant about it. It’s delicate and soft, and it tells a story of persistence.

  Whoa. Am I feeling deep, or what?

  Anticipation falls all around the still wood, as Pine stares at me and I stare at Pine.

  I’m supposed to shift? I’m unusual for a dead girl? I think too much?

  But there’s just so much to think about, isn’t there?

  Pine shakes his head. “Just think about me, or HIM if you have to.”

  Him? Who’s ‘him’? I can’t remember at the moment.

  “Good.” Pine’s mouth looks like it wants to smile. “That’s very good, Marley.” He takes a step closer to me and puts his hand to the back of my head.

  My pulse kicks. My veins heat. Holy, holy, holy! What’s he going to do!? Before, he said we should make out, but that was just to distract me, right? RIGHT?

  “No.” His silver eyes probe me. “I’ve been wondering what you taste like for a while now.”

  Okay, the incredible hotness of his statement aside, this time I’m sure: That was a direct answer to the question I asked in my head. That proves it!

  “You CAN hear my thoughts,” I say.

  Mouth softening, he leans in. “Shh.”

  That wasn’t a ‘no.’

  “You can, right? Is that one of your nether-powers, Pine?” His eyes light up since I’ve just used his name. My curiosity grows. “And why do your eyes glow whenever I say your name?”

  “Shh,” he says again. His face closes in on mine, but when it’s just a breath away, I utter something that ruins it all–

  “And Minx’s eyes, too.”

  Pine screeches to a halt.

  Oh yeah, I remember now. ‘HIM’ is Minx. Or rather, HE is Minx – the other person I’m allowed to think about.

  Pine’s expression looks like I’ve just stolen his last bite of ice cream.

  Whoops.

  But there’s something more urgent. Now that the sexy reaper’s let up his pursuit, I notice what I didn’t notice before. My lungs are totally empty! During the whole of Pine’s seduction, I was holding my breath, using the last of my air to interrogate him, and now, I have no choice but to take in a huge gulp of air! Ugh. Gasping, of all things, is so not cool, but I can’t help it!

  Quick, Marley Craw! Evasion technique! I hide my eyes in needles of a tree high over my head. “Is Minx still sleeping?” I ask, panting.

  Expression flat, Pine puts his fist to his cheek. “Do you really want to know?”

  “Well yeah, kind of.”

  “Tch.”

  Whoops, again.

  “Then why don’t you go see?” Pine says, strained. “Unless you’d like to pick up where we left off?” He slides his finger down his own neck.

  Because I’m mortified over my desperate, unflattering gasping, I lie, “Uhhh, I think we should probably check on him, don’t you? It’s unhealthy to sleep all day.”

  No, that’s not it. One of the nether-powered hotties, a freaking grim reaper, almost just KISSED me – something I was SO not prepared for – and now the flesh beneath my skin is screaming at me to run and hide. I always knew I didn’t have much game, but this is the absolute worst.

  But as soon as I think it, I realize it’s more than that. It wasn’t only the too-hot-to-handle nature of Pine’s seduction that made me want to run. I feel . . . weird. There’s a darker feeling inside me. Something that writhes. Deep down inside my stomach – deeper, even – I feel like I should get away from him.

  Away.

  What’s up with that? Leftover from the memory of my death? No . . . it isn’t a fear-for-my-life kind of feeling. It’s . . .

  Pine puts his hand on the top of my head. “You’re shaking.”

  “No way. Definitely not shaking,” I lie again. My feet crunch the bristle of the ground as I hurry to step away from him.

  “It’s okay, Marley,” Pine says, carefully. “I’m not going to take it unless you give it to me.”

  “Take what?”

  “Here.” He makes a move for me, but my body reacts all by itself, turning on toe and making a run for it. What the heck?! Now I’m really going to seem like a goober! Pine anticipates my movement and makes a lunge for me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders and pushing me to the ground.

  I was right about him. He’s strong.

  I land on a bed of fallen needles and other foresty debris. My body may have wanted to run before, but now it’s stuck stiff like the corpse I am.

  “P-Pine?” My mouth stutters due to the sudden attack. My chest shakes due to the dark feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  Pine’s eyes light only briefly as he holds me down.

  “You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he says. “I’m not going to take it unless you offer it, okay?”


  Oh gawd. I get it! He’s talking about my . . . you know.

  Oh wait, the rapist already took that.

  “Not that, dummy.” Pine says. “Your soul. I won’t take it. Not now.”

  “My soul?”

  “That’s what you’re feeling,” he explains, straddling me. “Your soul’s resisting me. Here.” He places his palm in the center of my chest and without any kind of incantation this time, his hand glows green.

  Instantly, the darkness melts. My tense shoulders calm; my shaking limbs let up; and my mouth, stupid thing, lets out this soft, moany groan – “Mmm.” – which I immediately regret.

  Ahh! Uncute!

  Pine doesn’t acknowledge the groan, at least. “How’s that?” he asks, removing his hand.

  “Better,” I say. “But I don’t get it.” I sit up on my elbows, yet Pine doesn’t move off of me. He stays right where he is, knees on either side of my hips.

  I swallow.

  “It happens,” he says. “Your soul could tell what I am and it feared me. I secured it back in place for you. You should be okay now.” He leans over me, so that his hair falls straight downwards. He places his hands on the ground to either side of my face. He locks his silver eyes onto mine, unwavering, unfaltering, and direct. “Just know I won’t take it unless you give it to me, and even then, it’ll be only after your judgment.”

  “But I thought you said I get to keep my soul,” I say, breathless.

  “You do. But first you have to hand it over for reaping. It’s . . . complicated.”

  “What exactly is the job of a reaper?”

  “You don’t need to know.”

  “And what’s the underworld like, anyway?” I press, ignoring him. “You called it Dhiant, right? Do you have an under-house there and stuff? Do you have a neat little under-garden that you water with an under-hose?”

  The corner of Pine’s mouth twitches. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a spirit ask about my ‘under-garden’ before.”

  “Har. Har.” I roll my eyes. “Tell me about your under-life.”

  “You don’t need to know,” he says.

  “But I want to know.”

  “I know. You’re unusual.”