by Meg Kassel
“I believe you’ve met Fiona and Paxton, Angie, but Mr. Dovage has not,” Lucy says. “How do we greet guests?”
The children blink up at us, gap-toothed and flush with energy. Paxton nods his regal little head. “Hello, Mr. Dovage. It’s nice to see you again, Angie.”
Fiona looks around me, mouth turned down in disappointment. “You didn’t bring Roger?”
I grin at her. “No, but I’ll let him know you missed him.”
She nods, serious and satisfied. “Okay, but bring him next time, okay?”
“What did we say about manners, Fiona?” Lucy asks.
“Oh, sorry.” The girl rolls her eyes theatrically. “Please bring Roger.”
I grin at her. “It’s a deal.”
She leans toward me, conspiratorially. “Reece still talks about you, you know. All the time.”
My face heats with the mother of all blushes. Dad gives me a raised-brow look that says, are you sure there’s nothing going on? “Oh, well.” I fumble for words. “We go to school together.”
Fiona rolls her eyes again, and the two children run off.
Lucy looks after them fondly. “My late husband and I have five. All adopted.” She takes our coats and hangs them on hooks next to the front door. Then, her gaze moves to the staircase behind us. “Ah. Here comes another one. Good morning, sleepyhead.”
I turn around, and my breath catches. Reece halts midway down the stairs. Loose gray sweatpants hang perilously low on his hips. And I’m pretty sure that’s all he’s wearing.
He rubs his puffy eyes and squints. “Oh.”
I’m staring. My throat is suddenly bone dry and I’m staring. There is no looking away from him. Reece Fernandez shirtless is making me rethink the merits of hockey players. He’s hiding a ripped bod under all those layered shirts. Dad and Lucy are probably aware of my staring, but I can’t summon the will to care.
Reece stares right back at me in a bleary, are-you-really-here? sort of way.
Lucy clucks her tongue. “Reece, for Pete’s sake, say hello to our guests.”
“Oh. Um, good morning, Mr. Dovage, Angie.” His voice is still sleep-roughened and absurdly cute. He scratches his head, where the hair is flat on one side and sticking up on the other.
“Well done,” Lucy says drily. “Now kindly take yourself back upstairs and put on some clothes.”
Really not necessary on my account, but my dad is twitching. As if I’ve never seen a shirtless boy before. In case my dad’s spidey-sense is going haywire, I do the polite thing and drag my gaze to the floor until Reece’s retreating footsteps sound on the stairs.
Lucy leads us to the kitchen, where the smells are mouthwatering. It’s organized chaos in here, noisy with laughter and argument, joy and conflict. A toddler introduced as James sits in a booster seat wearing a large plastic bib. An older woman, Aunt Jean, wipes a wet cloth over his food-smeared face and tells the two kids, Fiona and Paxton, to sit on their backsides, not on their feet. They do as they’re told without pausing a heated debate over whether elephants peel bananas or eat them whole. Or eat them at all.
A young woman, Brooke, stands at the stove. She looks older than me—maybe college-aged. I am completely envious of the funky space-print apron she’s wearing. My dad eyes the ingredients set out on the counter—all the forbidden foods—and winces but says nothing.
Lucy nudges us into seats and sets plates full of pancakes in front of us. They’re made with buttermilk, I’m sure of it, and is that actual butter melting on top of them? With more on the table to smear on top. I check myself from devouring them like an animal. Use the fork! My dad looks conflicted for a few seconds, but he, too, picks up his fork and digs in. Smart of him. He’d sound like an ass trying to explain his dairy boycott to these sensible people.
I close my eyes and savor a bite of pancake. Oh, yum.
There’s a shadow and a little breeze to my right, and I open my eyes as Reece drops into the seat next to me. He’s still wearing the sweatpants, but his hair is smoothed down, and a wrinkled blue T-shirt covers his torso. I’m left to speculate about the underwear as I chew a blissful bite.
Brooke brings him a full plate and tousles his hair. “Morning, asshole.”
“Thanks.” He turns the grin to me and hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “She makes amazing pancakes.”
“Yes, she does,” I agree fervently. “They’re the best ever.”
Dad frowns. “I make good pancakes.”
I give him a level look. “Sorry, Dad. You make them with whole wheat flour. And no milk or butter.”
My dad straightens and prepares to launch into his healthy-body speech, but Lucy sits down next to him, and he thinks better of it.
Reece leans toward me. His breath brushes my cheek, and I forget to chew.
“No milk or butter?” he asks.
“No dairy in any form.” I lower my voice to a whisper. “He thinks dairy impedes the body’s immune system and causes inflammation.”
“Inflammation of what?”
I let out a chuckle. “I don’t want to know.”
He smiles back, and his eyes go warm and heavy. They’re still a little sleep-puffed and there’s an intimacy in seeing him like this, freshly woken, carrying the smells of fabric softener and toothpaste. His arm skims mine. Zing! What is it about this guy that obliterates every coherent thought in my head?
Thankfully, my incoherence is brief. The heavy cloud of Reece’s secret is always there, scratching around in the dark corners of my mind. I wish we could just be friends like normal people. But Reece isn’t normal. I’m beginning to think I’m not, either.
James smiles and points a sticky finger toward me. Reece’s black eyes flicker to Brooke, who sits across the table with her own plate of pancakes. They exchange a look I can’t interpret, but as I glance from one to the other, then to the other Fernandezes, I notice something that raises the hair on the back of my neck.
All these people—every single one of them—have the same black eyes, even though none of them are related by blood. The curse that makes them harbingers of death must affect them all the same way.
“Are you finished?” Reece asks me.
I jolt at his voice, but nod. Reece rises and puts our plates in the sink.
“I’d like to give Angie a tour of the house, if that’s okay.” He directs his words to my father, which is smart of him, but everyone pauses and stares at us. Even the toddler quietly watches with strange, thoughtful eyes. Too intense for a person that young. Too aware.
Reece offers a crooked smile and a shrug. “She must have some bad thoughts about what happened here with the previous owners. I thought she’d like to see how changed it is.”
I hold my breath as Dad gives Reece a very dad look. My father is not used to dealing with me, dealing with boys. He’s never considered Deno anything to be concerned with, but Reece is not a boy to be dismissed. Dad takes his time before nodding. “Sure. Of course.” He gives me a meaningful look. “Don’t get lost.”
“I won’t.” I rise with a little too much bounce, so eager to get out of this room. Away from that toddler with the too-intelligent eyes.
The moment we’re away from the kitchen, Reece’s hand wraps around mine. His fingers are warm and strong. My mouth goes dry as dust.
He tugs me forward. “I’m showing you my room first.” He grins at my instant hesitancy. “Not scared, are you?”
15- the rabbit hole
My dad would not be thrilled with this turn of events. Reece leads me to the stairs and straight up. My pulse pounds, my palms are clammy, but I go with him.
Because I am curious, and attracted, and excited. And a little scared.
I’m in the rabbit hole. I want to know where it leads.
He pulls me into his room and shuts the door behind us. All of a sudden, my back is against the door, and Reece is right in front of me. If I inhale deeply, my chest will touch his. Our fingers are still tangled. Our breathing is chaotic. I didn’t
expect this. I don’t even know what this is.
I open my mouth to say something, but he closes the space between us and kisses me.
My legs are mush. My mind goes haywire, then blank, and I’m kissing him back as if the world is coming to an end. Who knows? Maybe it is.
He threads his fingers into my hair and we break apart, breathless. “I wanted to do that last night.” His voice is soft against my cheek.
Smiling, I push him away. “That was really nice, but I don’t kiss guys who won’t tell me what planet they’re from.”
He braces his forearm on the door above my head, a cocky grin on his lips. “I told you before. I’m not an alien.”
“Well, you sure as hell aren’t human.”
“Yeah, I am…sort of.”
My fingers splay on his chest. His heart pumps wildly beneath my hands. I can’t take my gaze away from his lips, which are still flushed from our kiss. I can feel the tension in him. How much he wants to kiss me again. I want it, too, but I need know a little more about what I’m kissing. He didn’t completely contradict me when I said he wasn’t human. “Sort of” doesn’t count.
With regret, I remove my hands from his chest, letting them slide over his abdomen a little and enjoying his shudder in response. “Reece,” I say. “Is that Beekeeper—Rafette—stinging people in town, making them violent? There was an incident at The Strip Mall last night, and I read there was a murder at that dry cleaners. Did he—”
“Yes.” Reece drops his voice. “It’s what he does. He stings.”
“And the man who lived in this house before you guys—Mr. Ortley. He murdered his family and killed himself. Was that also a Beekeeper sting?”
His eyes flicker. “We did a little investigating. Ortley was in Miami right before Hurricane Viola hit. He likely got stung, boarded a plane, returned home and…” Reece sighs. “It’s the way it goes sometimes. We get great real estate deals on houses the Beekeepers have broken.”
I jerk back. “That’s horrible.”
“Oh, I’m well aware of that, but we’ve lived this way for a long time. Eventually, tragedy loses some of its impact on you. It has to, or you lose your sanity.” He steps away and rakes both hands through his hair. “Look, my family and I talked. We decided that you should know the truth. You’re too close to this in more ways than you realize.”
“You needed permission?”
He shrugs off my skeptical look. “When you’re in a group like mine, decisions like this impact everyone. So I wanted permission. It would be hugely disrespectful if I hadn’t discussed it with them.” He glances at the door. “There’s not enough time right now. Your dad is probably freaking out as it is. What are you doing tonight?”
“I… Nothing. Why? Do you want to go somewhere?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I want to come over.”
My heart bumps hard in my chest. “I don’t really think my dad will go for that.”
“He lets that Deno guy come over.”
I roll my eyes. “Deno is different.”
“How?”
“We’ve been friends for five years. He knows there’s nothing going on between us.”
Reece raises a brow, but I wave my hand before he starts asking more questions about Deno. I would rather not reveal too much about the dynamics of that friendship.
“The problem is, I think my dad knows that I-I…” I swallow the burn of nerves in my throat. “I think he knows I like you. He’ll keep tabs on us, and I doubt this is a conversation he should overhear.”
“It’s definitely not,” he says, then pauses. “Okay, what time does your dad go to bed?”
“Around ten, most nights.”
He nods. “Leave your basement door unlocked. That’s where your music studio is, right?”
“Yeah. Hey, how do you where my studio is?”
He rolls his eyes. “Well, I know it isn’t in your garage. And anyone can see the basement light on at night when the rest of your house is dark.” He grins and releases my hand, opening the door behind me. “Is ten thirty too late for you?”
“No, but—”
He presses his lips to my forehead and gently pushes me out of his room. “Look annoyed and tell your dad I got a phone call. It may lessen his worry that I’m attracted to his daughter.”
My brows pop up. “You’re attracted to me?”
“Very.” His hand curls around the back of my neck, and he pulls me into a quick, hard kiss that leaves me breathless. “See you tonight.”
He steps back, and the door closes gently, but firmly, in my face.
Well, wow. A pleasant warmth uncurls in my belly and sends a current straight down to my toes. I stand there for a moment, heart beating like a drum, staring at his door. Resisting the near-crushing urge to open it again.
I’m in trouble. No question. That rabbit hole is looking way too appealing for my own good. And ten thirty is twelve long hours away.
16- a boy in the basement
For the first time I can remember, the basement is not my solace. The fluorescent lights are buzzier, the drop ceiling lower. My music equipment sits there, silent and untouched. The fact that my dad is still up does not soothe my nerves. Of course, tonight would be the night he stays up late.
It’s 10:26 p.m. Reece should be sneaking into the basement in four minutes.
My knee won’t stop jiggling. I press a hand to my stomach, but there’s no calming the jittering mess. I’m nervous. For so many reasons.
Roger always comes down with me when I’m in my studio, so I couldn’t shoo him off. He’s sprawled in his usual spot on the floor, but he’ll react to Reece’s arrival. The question is, how loudly? He does bark.
I lift my acoustic guitar from its stand and pluck out a random melody. I don’t even know what I’m playing. It’s just noise. I can barely hear it over my pounding heartbeat.
10:32 p.m.
He’s going to stand me up. I know it.
I strum my guitar pick over a flat chord. God, this was a bad idea.
Then the doorknob turns. The door opens.
My breath catches as a tousled chestnut head pokes in. He looks at me from beneath raised, inquiring eyebrows. I wave him in and the guitar pick slips from my fingers, clatters through the sound hole and into the hollow body of the guitar. Very smooth.
Roger’s head comes up. He cocks it as Reece gingerly clicks shut the door behind him. The dog gets up, stretches, and comes forward, nose out and tail wagging.
Reece flashes me a quick smile and greets Roger, who flops down and rolls to his back. My dog is clearly infatuated. I may not be far behind.
“It took me six months for him to greet me like that,” I say.
Reece pulls off his gloves and scratches behind the dog’s ears. “Well, he was sad.”
I cock my head. “This again? How did you know the emotional state of my dog?”
“I just do,” he replies. “There’s a certain scent when someone or something is full of grief. Dogs feel it, too. Roger knew something terrible happened to his owners.”
Did I hear that right? “He smells sad?”
“You asked.” Reece releases Roger and stands before me, arms folded, eyes full of question and challenge. “Are you sure you want to hear what I’ve come here to tell you?”
I abandon the pick and put the guitar back on its stand. “Yes. I need to know.”
“You say that now…” He tilts his head toward the ceiling and the faint jingle of the TV. “Your dad is still up?”
“He won’t come down here.” I hope. “I blame your mom for his wakefulness. She left him completely spellbound.”
He offers a crooked smile. “She has that effect.”
“My dad ate butter for her. I’m afraid he’s smitten.” I gnaw on my lip. “I um, had a nice time, too.”
“I hope I didn’t scare you.”
“You scared me long before this morning.”
“That was not ever my intention.”
He
shrugs off his coat, and we stand there for a moment in awkward silence. I’m out of smart comments and so is he, it seems. He shifts on his feet. Maybe he’s second-guessing his decision to come here. It’s strange to see him appear unsure of himself. He circles away from me. The distance doesn’t feel like rejection, but rather like protection. For him or me, I can’t be sure.
I lick my suddenly dry lips. “So, what’s with the crows?” Not graceful of me, but it gets the job done.
Reece sits cross-legged across from me on the floor. Roger rests his blocky yellow head on Reece’s leg. “The crows are my family,” he says, running long, idle fingers over the dog’s fur. “Part of it, anyway. You met the ones in human form this morning.”
“So…you’re a crow?”
He flashes a crooked grin. “Not at the moment, obviously.”
I breathe deep and dig deep for patience. “Reece, are you telling me you…transform into a crow?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” He spreads his hand. “Angie, I’m a harbinger of death. My family and I travel our territory as a murder of crows. When we scent out a place where disaster is soon to hit, some of us change into human form and…wait.”
“Wait for what?” I prompt. “People to die?”
“We feed on the energy people give off when they die. That’s why we’re here in Cadence. That’s why I was at that car crash you saw and Lucia was at the one yesterday,” he says. “We don’t make anyone die, but we do need death to live. Our bodies absorb death energy like a recharge, but it works best if we’re in human form.” He shakes his head and damp, wavy hair falls into his eyes. “It sounds horrible, I know. I can’t imagine what you…”
Recharge. “So you…put yourself near dying people to sustain yourself?”
He looks up and holds my gaze. “Angie, this is not a lifestyle choice. It’s a biological need. I can’t not do this. You asked me what I was, and I’m telling you.” A blotchy flush creeps up his neck. He splays his hands. The scars on his palm stand out in sharp relief. “These scars appeared the day I awoke with the curse. They are always there. I didn’t choose this.”