Raven

by Allison van Diepen

  I say nothing. If I speak, I might scream.

  “Look at me.”

  I look at him, and his mouth opens in a soft gasp. “You saw.”

  I take another step back, but he comes closer. “I’m so sorry, Nic. I wish you hadn’t seen that.” He grasps my arms. “We’ve got to talk.”

  “Let go of me! Let go!”

  He releases me.

  I run.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  And run.

  Until fatigue and cold make me stop. I walk the dark streets in search of a cab. I’m not afraid of another junkie attack. I’m more afraid of what I left behind at Evermore.

  I find a cab. It drops me home, which is dark now except for the orange glow of the porch light.

  In my room I turn on every light, triple-check that my window is locked, close the blinds, and get into bed, piling the covers on top of me. It’s 4:39 a.m. There is no question of sleeping. Not now, maybe never again.

  I tell myself if I can just last through the night, I’ll be okay. Just a couple of hours before dawn. Maybe three hours before my parents will be up. Surely they wouldn’t come after me with my parents around.

  Unless they want all of our souls.

  I keep thinking of that poor girl in the bathroom. Of Zin bending over the junkie, stealing the light from him. Zin told me he was helping the guy’s soul “move along,” not that he was taking it into himself. I can’t believe he lied to me.

  What kind of a person takes the soul of another? It’s inhuman, inhumane. I should have known by the flickering glow in his eyes that he was evil.

  I remind myself that if Zin wanted to hurt me, he’s had plenty of chance. Just because he can take someone’s soul doesn’t mean he’d want mine. We’re BFFs, for God’s sake. That could mean something to him.

  But what about Carlo and Viola? They have no loyalty to me. Zin must have told them what I saw. They could be on their way here right now. How can I defend myself against immortals who can’t be killed?

  A knock on my window.

  Please, let it be in my mind. Maybe it’s just the creaking of the house.

  Another knock, strong enough to shake the blinds.

  I want to dive under the covers, but I don’t move. If something’s going to attack me, I want to see it coming.

  I am not going to the window. I don’t want to know who’s out there. Even if it’s Zin with pleading eyes, there is no way I am going to let him in.

  Another knock. It’s a polite knock, not a pounding; whoever it is obviously doesn’t want to wake up my parents. Still, I won’t be lured into going to the window. He—or they—can knock all night if they want. I’m not moving.

  I brace for another knock, but it doesn’t come. Seconds pass. Minutes pass. Nothing.

  Whoever is out there is probably gone, or they want me to think they’re gone. It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to the window to check that it’s clear. I am going to sit here until the sun comes up.

  And that is what I do.

  The sun rises at 7:04 a.m. My eyes are heavy, but I’m home free. I’ve lasted the night without being killed. Still, I wait until I hear my parents moving around before daring to get out of bed.

  I pull open the blinds to find my cell phone and jacket propped against the windowsill. Opening the window, I feel a gust of frigid air as I bring them in.

  My cell is blinking.

  One new message.

  The sound of Zin’s voice makes me shiver. “Nic, I’m sorry you had to witness that. I can’t imagine what you must be thinking. Do you remember when we were on the phone and we agreed that there are some situations that make you a liar, even if you don’t want to be? Well—”

  I can’t listen to any more. I delete the message. He sounds so benign, so same-old-Zin, with that husky voice that makes me dreamy and heartachy. I can’t afford to let him reel me in. My life is at stake here. My soul is at stake.

  The cell phone buzzes in my hand.

  Zin’s number comes up. For a second my thumb hovers over the talk button, but then I flick the phone shut.

  I already know too much. I don’t want to know more.

  Being immortal is one thing. Being part of a group of people who steal souls is something else entirely.

  GENTLE

  RAPPING

  If Zin cares about me even a little, he’ll leave me alone. He’ll let everything I’ve seen dissolve into a nightmare that will fade over time. One day I’ll question if it ever happened.

  But he keeps calling me. I turn off my phone. He calls my parents’ line; I tell them I won’t answer it because Zin and I got into a fight. My dad has the nerve to look glad. He was never Zin’s number one fan.

  By early afternoon I’m barely functional, so I lie down on the couch for a nap.

  I am in a blue bedroom I don’t recognize.

  Zin is hovering over me.

  “Nic,” he whispers. “You’re ready, aren’t you?”

  “For what?”

  “Shh . . . ” His lips curve in a smile, as if he knows a secret. “Just trust me.” His face descends to mine.

  It occurs to me that I should stop him from kissing me, but I can’t remember why. Maybe I don’t want to remember. I want to feel his kiss so badly.

  Closing my eyes, I wait for the touch of his lips.

  But it doesn’t come. I open my eyes to find him gone. Glancing around, I realize that I’m not in the blue bedroom, but a mortuary.

  I try to get up, but I’m paralyzed.

  Oh my God. He’s here.

  Carlo is standing over me in a black hooded robe, a dangerous warmth in his eyes.

  “I’ve been waiting for you, Raven. It is time.” His black eyes turn molten gold.

  Let me go! But no words come out. I can’t speak. Can’t move.

  He places his hands on my head, and I feel my soul lurch. An excruciating pain goes through my chest.

  “Are you okay, honey?”

  I open my eyes. Mom is kneeling beside me.

  “Uh . . . yeah.”

  She searches my eyes. “Are you sure?”

  I sit up. “I’m fine. Sorry to scare you.”

  I force myself to my feet and go into the kitchen, finding cold coffee in the coffeemaker. I zap it in the microwave, then sit at the table and chug it.

  Once I’m sufficiently buzzed, I call Rambo.

  “Nic, what up?”

  “Nothing. I’m bored. You?”

  “Shopping.” Which is a typical Rambo Sunday activity. “Slide’s here too. Sounds like you need to get out. We’ll finish up here, then we’ll come and get you. You don’t gotta be home for dinner, do you?”

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  “Wait—you’re not gonna call Zin, are you?” I ask.

  “I wasn’t planning on it. He hates shopping. Why? You guys get in a fight?”

  “What’d he do?” Slide puts in.

  “Nothing. I just—I don’t want to see him today.”

  “You the boss, Nic,” Rambo says. “We’ll see you in a few.”

  I take a shower, put on some decent clothes, and wait for my ride. When the Nissan pulls up, I put on a cheerful front, but I know I’m not convincing. The guys prod me to find out what happened between me and Zin. I tell them his arrogance about breakdancing is getting to be too much.

  “I’ll be honest with you,” Rambo says. “Zin called. Once he found out we were seeing you, he made me promise to give you a message.”

  My eyes widen. What is Zin willing to say in front of these guys?

  “He said that you got no choice but to hear him out, so you can expect to see him soon.”

  “That sounds like a threat!” Slide says. “Are you sure this is about breakdancing?”

  I don’t say anything.

  It does sound like a threat.

  We spend the day visiting outlet stores on Long Island, then hit Pizza Hut’s buffet for dinner. By the time I get home, it’s eleven o’clock and I’m b
eyond tired. I’m what British people called shattered, in more ways than one.

  My plan is to put on a movie in the den and hopefully fall asleep there. That way, if I get a visitor at my window, I won’t be there. Plus, it doesn’t hurt that the den has a lock on the door.

  I head upstairs to my room, flick the light on. I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath; I half expected Zin to be standing there. Grabbing my duvet, pillow, and pajamas, I go downstairs and set myself up on the brown leather couch in the den, switching on the TV. I hear footsteps on the stairs. Dad appears in the doorway.

  “You’re planning to sleep down here?”

  “I’ll probably go upstairs later. I just want to get comfortable.”

  “All right. Night, honey.”

  “Night, Dad.”

  Once I hear him go back upstairs, I mute the TV and turn off the lights. My mind is going in circles, and as exhausted as I am, I can’t shut it off. So I resolve just to rest, if not sleep, and wonder if I’ll ever sleep peacefully again.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  A rush of cold air envelops me. I open my eyes.

  The blue and white glow of the TV fills the room. It’s the time of night where some stations stop broadcasting; there’s only fuzz on the screen.

  Zin is standing in the middle of the room. I know his silhouette. A scream rises in me but fades just as quickly. He’s not here to hurt me.

  “You’re beautiful when you sleep.”

  I sit up, gathering the duvet around me.

  “And when you’re awake.” He moves, only to switch on a lamp. It takes my eyes a few seconds to adjust. When they do, it’s just him. Beautiful. Solid.

  “You can see I’m not here to hurt you.”

  “I don’t want you here.”

  “I know. But leaving you alone wasn’t an option, now that you know about us. I think it’s best—we all think it’s best—if you understand.”

  “So that I don’t go to the police?”

  “You’re smart enough to know that you’d only be making yourself look crazy.”

  “Am I crazy?”

  “No. You’re not crazy, and I’m not evil. Deep down, you know that.”

  Maybe he’s right. Maybe underneath my fear, I know he can’t be evil.

  “We’re immortals, Nic. What I told you was true.”

  “Who’s ‘we’?”

  “All the full-timers at Evermore. Me, Carlo, Viola, Mig, Richard, Gabriel. And Daniella. We’ve been together for a while. The magician changed us all, made us what we are.”

  Who you are, I want to correct him again, but I don’t. A thought occurs to me. “Carlo’s the magician.”

  “Yes, he is. How did you know?”

  “I had . . . a weird dream. What gives you the right to take someone’s soul?”

  “We take souls to stay alive. But we only take them from people who are dying anyway. And we don’t take the soul of just anyone; some souls are very strong and can’t be absorbed, even at the time of death. We take damaged, diseased souls—those of drug addicts or hardcore alcoholics. Addiction pierces holes in the soul, Nic. Those souls are easy to absorb.”

  “Souls like my brother’s?”

  His eyes drop. I don’t expect him to answer. But then he raises his head and nods. “Like your brother’s, if he were to overdose.”

  I take a shuddering breath. “You’re stopping people’s souls from going on to the next stage.”

  “I’m sorry to break this to you, but there is no heaven, no other side. The souls we take are lucky, because they can live on inside us. Most souls, at death, just dissipate.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’ve been around a long time.”

  “You haven’t answered my question.”

  “I just know this is the way it is.”

  “Sounds like you have a God complex.”

  “Maybe. The way we survive isn’t easy to accept. But the alternative is to let yourself die a slow, horrible death—to let your body decay right in front of you like a corpse would in the ground. It’s not an option. Listen, Nic. What I told you about my past, the confusion . . . it was all true. I just didn’t tell you there were others like me. I had no right to share their secret.”

  I smile humorlessly. “Lonely immortal, huh? Roaming the world by yourself? I’m the only one you can talk to?”

  The remorse in his eyes changes to bitterness. “Maybe one day you’ll understand.”

  “I don’t need to understand. You don’t need to tell me all of this. Why are you?”

  “We thought it was best if I explained it to you. Nobody wants to scare you. In fact, we’d like to see you back at Evermore next week.”

  I blink. “You want me to go back there?”

  “We’re all human, Nic. There’s never been a mortal that we could let in before. Now that you know, you don’t have to run away.”

  “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, huh?”

  “We’re no threat to you or anyone else.”

  “Except to someone who has a weak soul and is dying.”

  “You’re brave.” He takes a step closer, touches my face with the back of his fingers. “At least it shows you’re not scared anymore.”

  I swallow, avoiding his gaze. I wouldn’t say I’m not scared. But I wouldn’t say I’ve been scared off, either.

  “Do you have a name? People like you, I mean?”

  “In the Far East, we’re called Jiang Shi.”

  “What about here?”

  “There’s no name for us here, no mythology.”

  “Could you take my soul?”

  “Only if you wanted me to. So you’re safe.”

  “Not even Carlo the magician could take it?”

  “Not even Carlo.”

  “How do you know my soul is so strong?”

  “I can see it.” He sits down beside me. “I’m seeing it right now.”

  I feel exposed, but I don’t know which part of me to cover up. “How?”

  “You know what they say about the eyes.”

  We are staring at each other. I feel the strangest sensation in my chest. It’s as if my soul is lifting.

  “Nic, do you remember when we first met, and you were wearing those contact lenses? It drove me nuts. I couldn’t see you. I needed to see you.”

  He is seeing me. And I am seeing him. And it’s way too intense.

  I have to look away. The sensation in my chest eases.

  “So that night, you didn’t guide my attacker’s soul . . . you took it.”

  He nods.

  “What does that even feel like?”

  He’s silent, as if he’s pondering the question. “I’ll tell you if you really want to know.”

  “I want to know.”

  He takes a breath. “It’s pain and ecstasy at the same time. You struggle with it, try to bring it into you, and the closer it gets, the sweeter it feels. And when the soul is inside you, it’s still fighting, but you know you’ve won. You feel ten feet tall with the strength of a hundred men. But the high doesn’t last. Within hours your energy crashes and you get physically sick for a couple of days as your body fights to control the soul inside you. It squirms and kicks like a baby fighting to get out of its mother’s belly. Eventually it stops fighting. It knows who’s in control.” A pulse flickers in his eyes. “I hope I didn’t scare you.”

  “You did.” But I can’t look away.

  UNDAUNTED

  Everything has changed, and nothing has changed.

  The next day as I sit in my classes, copy notes, and suffer through group work, Zin still owns my thoughts like he owns a dance floor.

  I feel like I’m living in an alternate reality where the surface of life is the same, but the underbelly is different. It’s confusing, maddening. But the one thing I know for sure is that Zin is not evil. He does what he must to survive. It doesn’t matter if it’s right or wrong. I doubt even the strongest person could refuse to take a soul if it would res
ult in their own horrid death.

  I wonder how Zin can be so sure that there’s nothing after we die—that our souls dissipate, that it’s the end. How could he know, when he hasn’t died himself?

  I have so many questions. The more I think of, the more spring up.

  Second period, we’re given time in the computer lab to work on our philosophy essays. Sweet. What was it he’d called people like him again? It was some Chinese word sounding like “jengshi.”

  I type in the word: Jengshi.

  The search engine brings up the last names of a few people, nothing significant.

  I try it as two words. Google asks: Did you mean Jiang Shi? I click that.

  The first site I see is all about Asian folklore. I scroll down.

  Jiang Shi. Translation: Stiff corpse. Also known as Chinese zombies. A popular fixture of Hong Kong horror films, the Jiang Shi are resurrected corpses that stay alive not through traditional vampirical blood drinking, but by absorbing the souls of their victims. Sometimes mistakenly referred to as Chinese vampires.

  Beside the entry, there are pictures from horror films showing zombielike creatures with hideously long arms, tongues, and fingernails resulting from rigor mortis. I cringe.

  Zin isn’t one of those monsters. Whoever he is, he isn’t that.

  Sadness sweeps through me. I just want Zin to be the Zin I know. Not some supernatural brought-back-from-the-brink-of-death person. Not something there isn’t a name for in English. But there’s no point wishing for something that isn’t possible.

  I skim over a few websites, but there’s nothing helpful. Most of it is about the role of the Jiang Shi in horror films from the eighties. I find a paper from a film student saying that the Jiang Shi are usually dressed in military uniforms in films to symbolize state oppression. There is a picture of a government official with pasty white skin and blood dripping from his eyes with the caption: “I will eat your soul.”

  “Ick!” a voice says behind me.

  I jump in my seat. Ms. Rankin is staring at the screen and making faces. “Were you planning to change your topic to horror films, Nicole?”

  “No.” I am more than happy to click away.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Breaker practice that night is oddly normal. I already explained to the guys that Zin and I have resolved our differences and are on good terms again. They seem relieved. At heart, the Toprocks are a peace-loving group, except on the dance floor.