The Cost of Living (ARC)

by Emilie Lucadamo

  Beck had known he wouldn’t be able to keep the cookies to himself for long, but he did not anticipate the sheer voracity with which his friends would attack the product of his (okay, mostly Sophie’s) hard work.

  James has three cookies in his hand and is shoving them in his mouth one after the other. Looking at him, you’d think he was raised on a barn—even though Beck knows his mother would scream at him if she ever saw her baby boy being such a pig. Dana’s got more manners, but she’s busy trying to steal cookies from her boyfriend’s hands whenever she gets the chance.

  “Hey, watch it!”

  “How many have you had? Stop hogging ’em all!”

  “Steal from me again and your shampoo’s gonna end up with glue in it!”

  “I’ll soak your toothbrush in vinegar, cariño, just try me.”

  Dana snatches another cookie right out from under James’s nose. His eyes bulge, and in his rush to scramble for it back, he almost knocks over the kitchen table. Beck watches, unimpressed, cradling his water bottle to keep it from being knocked over. Sophie looks torn between confusion and concern.

  “Are they always like this?”

  Beck shrugs. “Sometimes they’re worse.”

  The combination of Dana and Jimmy is like a match forged in hell—two confident, stubborn, passionate people who don’t know how to take “no” for an answer. In the interest of preventing the Apocalypse, they probably should have been kept hundreds of miles away from each other. Instead, they decided to fall in love. They’ve been unstoppable ever since.

  It wouldn’t even be so bad, except Beck has to live with them.

  Sophie, whose remarkable talent for making friends continues to go unmatched, quickly drags James and Dana into her orbit. James isn’t friendly to strangers to begin with, but even he cannot help grinning at Sophie’s wry humor or praising her baking skills. (“You kept Beck from settin’ the kitchen on fire—that’s a miracle on its own.”) Dana takes to her newest acquaintance like a duck to water, and it isn’t long before she and Sophie are sitting across from each other, trading stories about school and friends like they’ve known each other their whole lives.

  “That’s how I got my scholarship. Full ride, baby.” Dana slaps her hand down on the table, grinning; Sophie mirrors the expression. (When she’s not being a pain, Dana’s pride can almost be endearing.)

  “So you chose to come to this school because your boyfriend goes there?”

  “Wrong. I chose Meacon because it’s got one of the best business management programs in the country. Having this one around was just an added bonus.”

  “Hey!” James protests. Dana shoots him a grin that belies her spoken callousness. Beck can’t help but roll his eyes; this is the stuff he has to live with.

  “Do you like cooking?” Sophie asks. Dana scoffs around a mouthful of cookie.

  “Gimme a pot of water, I can set it on fire.”

  “I call that a talent in itself,” Sophie replies, and Dana laughs.

  By the time Dylan stumbles downstairs, bleary-eyed and bedheaded, it’s past eleven o’clock. Sophie straightens up immediately, greeting him with a light “Hi, Dylan.”

  Dylan stops cold and gapes at Sophie like she’s some sort of ghost. The awkward moment stretches on for long enough that even James starts looking uncomfortable, until Sophie finally clears her throat and forces her smile to stay on her face.

  “I know it’s been a while. I just stopped by to talk to Beck… I made cookies. Would you like some?”

  Dylan slowly straightens up and shakes his head. His eyes flicker from Beck to Sophie. Beck sees the moment they darken, realization clouding his face. “No thanks,” he replies. “I’m okay.”

  Sophie opens her mouth to say something else, but she’s too late—Dylan is already darting out of the kitchen like he can’t move fast enough. Her face falls, and Beck can’t help feeling bad for her.

  Dana and James exchange glances; finally, Dana says loudly, “So, what’s the recipe for these?”

  Recipes and phone numbers are exchanged before Sophie is at last ready to leave. Beck helps her bundle everything back into her bag by showing her to the door. She looks worn down, in a way. Out of the bright light of the kitchen, he can’t help but notice the knot that tugs at her brows, the way her eyes seem shadowed, as if she hasn’t been getting as much sleep as she ought to. A flash of worry hits him, but he forces himself to push it aside. He thanks her for stopping by, “even if it was just to see how awful at baking I am.”

  Sophie smiles and shakes her head. She is halfway out the door before she stops.

  “Beck,” she says, “have you figured out how you died yet?”

  It is as if the entire morning has been leading up to this one question; the inquiry slices through Beck’s armor like a scythe. Sophie’s expression is guileless, but she knows. She must know; otherwise, she would not be asking. Beck’s death and resurrection is a cloud that has been hanging over all of them for days, but the exact nature of how he died is a topic no one has dared to bring up. James and Dana steer clear of the topic; Dylan’s lips are welded shut. Even Adam has not brought up the issue, and doesn’t seem inclined to.

  Beck doesn’t know. He has no idea how he died.

  He says nothing, but his mouth hanging open in surprise is answer enough. Understanding shines from Sophie’s face. She lowers her head and reaches out to give his hand a squeeze. Her touch is warm, gentle as a caress.

  “Maybe you should find out,” she tells him. “Maybe…things will be different if you know.”

  She leaves him there without another word. Beck is left staring, her final words echoing in his head, as Sophie makes her way down the walkway. Once Sophie is gone, he is left alone.

  Chapter Six

  THAT NIGHT AT dinner, he cannot taste a thing. His friends’ voices are nothing more than droning background noise. A headache pounds at the back of his skull; if he focuses too hard on it, he imagines he can hear whispers in its low hum.

  He finds himself holed up in his room before the rest of his friends have cleared out of the kitchen. He’s glad to be back, but he can’t chatter and be boisterous when there’s so much chaos swirling around in his head. There’s so much he can’t make sense of, and so much he’s still struggling to understand. With just a few words, Sophie seems to have broken those floodgates down. Now he can no longer hold any of his questions back.

  The Tresser Corporation agents said that he could be “dangerous.” Dangerous how? Beck hasn’t been feeling any violent impulses or compulsions outside of what he’d call his own. Cassandra told him his energy was fine. If no one is influencing him, how could he possibly be dangerous?

  Even if he isn’t acting out of character, Dylan is. His brother has been reticent, reserved, and downright mean since Beck got home. Beck’s very presence seems to set him off, and Dylan has made it clear he wants nothing to do with him anymore. Hearing those words stung in a way Beck could never have been prepared for, but seeing Dylan withdraw from everyone and go out of his way to avoid him hurts more. It’s like his kid brother has become a completely different person in the time Beck has been gone, and he doesn’t understand what’s happened.

  Finally, his own death. This is the mystery that won’t leave him alone. It plagues his thoughts. When he closes his eyes, he imagines different ways it could have happened; when they are open, he looks around and wonders what the world was like when he wasn’t here. His friends seem normal now that he’s back, but he gets the feeling this is a front. Things are not the same as they were; they cannot be. No one seems willing to bring up Beck’s actual death. Any time he’s brought up calling his parents, someone’s warned him against it. It’s like they’re…trying to keep the truth from him. Then again, Beck hasn’t asked. Maybe he was afraid; maybe the same mental block keeping him from asking questions kept that shoved to the back of his mind too, until Sophie.

  Now he wants to know. He can’t not know. If his death is the key to all t
hese mysteries, then he can’t ignore it any longer.

  At a loss, he turns to his generation’s failsafe: the internet. He soon finds himself lost in the depths of Google, trawling through results for any sort of answers. His first attempt is to Google himself. The only results the name Beck Murray brings up are his own obituary, plus an old article about his high school graduation that mentioned his name. Discouraged, he then turns to searching up other things, like the bar explosion from a few weeks ago, and the earthquake that shook the town. It all happened, just like he was told—and he wasn’t here for any of it.

  Only when he searches up necromancy does he really fall down the rabbit hole, and it’s not long before he’s lost in lengthy articles detailing in-depth procedures to summon the dead.

  It’s a lot more complicated than it seems. Necromancy is nothing like movies and TV shows led him to believe. It isn’t really about bringing the dead back to life. People who practice necromancy talk to the dead, worship them, communicate with them. They form connections with spirits. They learn about the “other side,” wherever that may be, and some even travel there. They work with the dead, but from everything Beck reads, it’s impossible to bring someone back. Magic doesn’t work that way. It isn’t that strong.

  Which can only mean that people coming back from the dead isn’t magic at all, but something else.

  Beck is so focused on his research he doesn’t even realize someone has opened his door. Footsteps are muffled against his plush carpet. He does not realize he’s no longer alone until a shadow falls across his screen. It almost scares the life out of him, again.

  “You’re still up?” James demands. His frown morphs into exasperation as he stares down at Beck’s startled face. “And having a nervous breakdown. Go figure.”

  Beck swings a punch at James’s ribs. “Don’t do that!”

  “What? It’s the middle of the night, and your light’s still on. What do you want me to do?”

  Beck glances up in surprise, then down at the time on his laptop. It’s nearly one in the morning. He looks at James again, sheepish, and offers a tiny “oh” that has his friend rolling his eyes.

  “I dunno if zombies need sleep, but get some anyway.”

  “Could say the same thing to you, Emily Rose.”

  James snorts and pushes his way farther into the room. Beck’s bedroom floor is the same warzone it was when he left it seven months ago. He can feel the discomfort radiating off of his best friend. James is a neat freak. It’s a surprise to everyone who meets him, but a godsend to the disorganized college students who live with him. James’s lips twist in a sneer as he catches sight of a pair of discarded boxers half buried under Beck’s bed. “You realize you’ve probably got ten types of mold in here. We should’ve cleaned the place up.”

  “Why didn’t you?” Not that Beck isn’t grateful to find his things all where they should be, but half a year is a hell of a mourning period.

  “I wanted to. So did Dana, after a while. It was Dylan who wouldn’t let us. Hell, he was going crazy. ‘Don’t go near Beck’s room,’ he kept saying. ‘No one touches Beck’s stuff.’ So we didn’t.”

  Beck huffs and frowns down at the screen again, filing this information away for later. If Dylan was so dogged about defending his memory, why can’t he stand to look at him now?

  James takes a seat at the corner of Beck’s bed and draws his feet under him as if he expects something on the floor to bite him. Beck would mock him for it, if he were in the right mood. Not now, though. He’s tired, he’s confused, and he’s not sure he wants James to leave him alone or stay right here.

  “Come on, Beck,” his friend says after it becomes clear Beck isn’t about to tear his head out of his laptop. “Shut it down.”

  Beck nudges him away when James reaches for the computer, but his friend is persistent. He takes the laptop and closes it, placing it with care at the foot of Beck’s bed. Beck pouts like a petulant child, but James shoves his shoulder.

  “Sleep. Ever heard of it?”

  “I can’t get to sleep,” Beck mutters. “I kinda wish I had some of Adam’s sleep tea right about now. At least that might put me out.”

  “Don’t go turning into an addict on us now. We just got you back,” James grumbles. He pulls back the blankets of Beck’s bed and looks at him pointedly. For a moment, Beck can only gape—is James seriously trying to tuck him in like a baby? When James doesn’t flinch, however, Beck mutters under his breath but slips beneath the covers.

  Sure enough, James pulls the comforter up to Beck’s chin. “There. Snug as a…bug, or something? Is that the expression? I dunno.” He looks defiantly pleased with himself. “Now, get some sleep.”

  James turns away, and Beck can’t help the rush of questions that flood back into his head. He knows he shouldn’t say anything, but he can’t hold himself back. He spits the words out before he can think better of them.

  “Jimmy, how did I die?”

  James freezes in Beck’s doorway. For a long second, no one dares to move. Silence hangs over the room like a shroud, paralyzing them.

  When James turns, his expression is closed off. Beck feels the spark of hope in his chest sputter and die. As long as James looks like that, no information will be pulled from him.

  “Don’t do that,” James says. “Don’t start with that, Beck.”

  “Come on, please,” he sighs, an edge of desperation leaking into his voice. “I’ve gotta know.”

  “If you can’t remember, you don’t need to,” shoots back James, and he looks fierce—defensive again, like Beck is someone who needs to be protected. “Just trust me.”

  A spark of anger ignites inside of Beck’s chest and surges up his throat, hot enough to burn. How can he trust anyone when no one is willing to tell him anything? He opens his mouth, ready to give his friend a piece of his mind—

  But James shuts the door behind him before he can get a word out.

  BECK ISN’T SURPRISED to find himself in the doorway of the bookshop the next day. Glancing up from a book on the counter, Adam doesn’t seem to be either.

  “Adam,” says Beck, “I need to remember how I died.”

  Adam stares at him for a long, hard moment, before he sighs. His book slams shut. “Well, don’t just stand there. Shut the door behind you.”

  AFTER THE THIRD time Sophie’s cell phone goes to voicemail, Adam lets out an agitated grunt and slams his phone down on the counter. Beck can’t help but wince at the abuse of technology, but Adam looks testy enough he isn’t willing to try his temper by saying anything.

  “This isn’t like her,” Adam mutters, more to himself than Beck. “She treats that phone like a baby. Always has it on her.”

  “Maybe she’s letting it charge,” Beck suggests, not seeing why Adam would be so worried. It’s not unusual for people not to answer their phones—even Beck has replied to texts a week later more than once. Adam’s brow is furrowed, however, and he looks genuinely distressed at his friend’s failure to pick up.

  This frustration, at least, Beck can empathize with. Though Adam is willing to help him get his memories back and knows a spell that would do it—in fact, it seemed like he’d been expecting the request—Adam has made it very clear he won’t be performing the spell himself. For that, a witch would be needed. Adam isn’t a witch, he doesn’t practice magic, so they would have to give Sophie a call.

  (He only declared these facts once, but Beck still winced when he said them. The last thing he wants to do is press Adam’s button again. He’s learned from last time.)

  If Sophie isn’t answering, however, their plans fall through. Sophie is Adam’s go-to witch, and when Beck suggested he could try calling someone else, the way Adams’s face fell suggested that wasn’t an option. Adam seems like a private person to begin with; Beck wouldn’t be surprised to find that he has a small pool of friends.

  “I just hope she’s okay,” mutters Adam. He’s staring down at his phone like he expects it to ring any second, a
nd he looks worried in a way Beck hasn’t seen before. He doesn’t think before he reaches out and places a hand on Adam’s shoulder, giving him a quick but firm squeeze.

  “Hey, don’t worry. If that won’t work, we can find another way.”

  Adam seems focused on Beck’s hand touching him; for a moment, Beck wonders if he’s even heard what he said. Then, with deliberate slowness, Adam reaches up, lays a hand over Beck’s own, and detaches it from his shoulder.

  “I wish I could help you on my own, Beck,” he says, meeting Beck’s eyes again. “I’m sorry.”

  It’s the answer Beck was expecting, but he can’t help the way his heart sinks anyway. Hand burning from the feeling of Adam’s touch, he shoves it into his pocket and heaves a sigh. Adam had been his best bet. Without his help, Beck doesn’t know how he’s going to find out what happened to him. Dylan isn’t even talking to him, James has already clammed up, and Dana can keep a secret like her jaw’s been wired shut. He’ll have no luck at home.

  “Isn’t there something else? Anything.” he says, voice edging on desperate. “We could wait for Sophie. Hell, I’ll do the spell myself if you tell me how. Just gimme an instruction guide and I’m set.”

  Adam’s lips twitch, just shy of a smile. Instead, he quirks his eyebrow. “So you know how to direct energy?” Beck’s answering stare is blank. “Summon memories? Meditate?”

  “Uhh…is that some sort of cooking thing?”

  That really does make Adam crack a smile. Beck is hit with a flash of victory, brief but poignant. Even if he gets nothing else from this day, he’s still made Adam smile. “It’s a two-person spell, Beck. You couldn’t do it on your own, though I’ve got no doubt you’d try.”

  “Then we just gotta find another person. What about Cassandra?”