by Meg Kassel
“Hey, Angie, just wanted to…” A familiar voice breaks in, then trails off in a quiet expletive.
Reece and I separate in a disoriented tumble. I goggle at my father, who stands open-mouthed in the door.
17- the ones you love…
My father’s face is a mask of horrified bewilderment. “Say good night,” he finishes in a strangled voice.
“Dad, I…” This is it—worst. Case. Scenario. “It’s not… We were just—”
Dad’s face floods with color. “You.” He aims a finger at Reece. “Go home. Now.”
This looks bad. Hell, to my dad, this is bad. On the other hand, neither of us is terribly mussed. One less reason for my dad to have a coronary.
“Ah, yes sir, Mr. Dovage.” Reece gets to his feet and gropes for his coat. He spreads his hands in a soothing manner, as is he’s dealing with a feral dog. Or a lunatic. “I-I’m sorry you— I mean, I apologize for—”
Dad’s eyes narrow to dangerous slits. It’s so strange to see him like this. “I will hurt you, son.”
Reece wisely ducks his head and shuts his mouth. He shoots me a sympathetic look and turns to the door. “Good night, Angie. Mr. Dovage.”
Dad watches Reece leave in silence. He stares at the closed door for a moment. When he turns to me, it’s not anger I see in his face.
My stomach flips over. I’ve hurt him.
“Angie.”
My shoulders drop. I’d prefer anger. “I’m sorry, Dad.”
He sinks onto one of my music stools. “I don’t understand. I’ve never told you not to date. In fact, I was beginning to worry a little that you weren’t dating. I have no objection to that boy—at least I didn’t.” He scowls at the door. “Why did you sneak around behind my back? Am I an ogre or something?”
My chest squeezes painfully. “Not at all. You’re…” the best father I could have.
“You could have told me the truth.” He sighs. “I wouldn’t have forbidden you from seeing him.”
“I know.” It’s hard to talk choked up like this. “I-I really am very sorry.”
“Just…why, then?”
The full truth isn’t an option. “Honestly, I-I wasn’t expecting… We were just talking.”
“You could have ‘talked’ on the sofa in the den.”
No, we really couldn’t have. If he had overheard even a snippet of our conversation, he would forbid me from seeing Reece—except maybe during visitation hours at the psychiatric ward.
I need things to be good between my dad and me. And I need him to forgive Reece and not do something catastrophic like ground me. I bite my lip and consider my options. The most surefire way to defuse this is to break out an excuse I haven’t pulled on him in years—my mom.
I take a deep breath and gulp back the pinch of shame at what I’m going to say next. I’ll atone later, with interest. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” I pitch my voice high. “Don’t be mad at Reece, Dad. I invited him here, but I didn’t know I liked him. And then I realized I did, but I thought about Mom and how she thought she was falling in love with every guy she met, and I just felt so confused.” Oh man, if there’s a hell, I’m going straight to it. And I would deserve every flame. “I mean, how do you know when you like someone or if it’s more than like?”
Dad blinks at me with deer-in-headlights glaze. “Um.”
“And I hurt you, and that kills me.” These tears, words are real, and they are what melts his scowl. He comes forward and pulls me into a warm hug.
“Look, I get it. You’re growing up. But…easy does it with the neighbor kid, okay? Slow down. You guys have plenty of time to figure things out.”
I so wish that were true.
He sighs. “I love you, kiddo.”
I rest my head against his shoulder. “I love you, too.”
My eyes close, and we just sit like that for a while. When he says he loves me, he just says it. He doesn’t follow up with, I met this guy at a bar last night and, get your things! We’re moving in with him today, like my mom often did. It’s good, living with my dad. He’s steady. Safe. Inherently decent. He’s probably better than I deserve.
“As for knowing when it’s ‘more than like’?” His words are hesitant, but there’s a smile in his voice. “Trust me. You’ll know.”
18- a shift in the air
A drizzle falls from a leaden sky. It’s mid-March. The day begins warmer than normal for southwestern Pennsylvania. It’s raining, but that’s not all. The air feels different. I am not a harbinger of death, but even I scent something is off.
Something is changing.
Much of the snow and ice melted overnight. The world on my side of the mountain is all fog and mud and rain. I stand alone at the bus stop, in a too-thin sweatshirt and a zinged-up set of nerves. I got here early so I could talk to Reece, but he’s a no-show. I still have so many important, practical questions, but my primary one is: What. Are. We. Doing?
Dating? If so, is it casual or serious? In public or secret? Or is he regretting our kiss last night and wants only friendship? Again, same earlier questions apply. And if we are dating—big if—how does his status as a supernatural being affect that? I know it does. It has to.
I turn at the sound of an approaching car. It’s a green Mustang—one of those muscle cars from the 1960s that’s old but still super cool. It stops next to me. Reece sticks his head out the window and grins. “Hey you.”
I look in his window. “Is this the car you’ve been pining for?”
“Yup. She’s pretty, isn’t she?” The grin falls off his face. “Are you allowed to ride to school with me?”
I have no idea about my dad’s policy on rides to school with boys who he’s kicked out of the house. I go to the passenger side and get in. The car smells like Reece—clean air and the woods. “My dad said I can see you. Just not in the basement or in secret.” My face goes warm. “That is, if you—I mean, we—”
He leans over and captures my lips in a quick, hard kiss that leaves them tingling and the rest of me a little less coherent.
“I, um…okay. And yes, your car is very pretty.”
“Thanks.” He pulls away from the curb. “I’m glad your dad is letting us see each other. I didn’t want our time together to be limited to lunch at the cafeteria. Or more secrets.”
I press my lips together. Okay, so we are dating. I’m fine with that. More than fine. And he doesn’t want it to be a secret. I’m not sure how I feel about that. I’ve worked hard to fade into the cinder blocks. To stay off the radar. Strolling into Cadence High on the arm of Kiera Shaw’s intended boyfriend is going to wipe that.
We arrive at school a little before the rush. The high school shares a parking lot and some facilities with Somerset County College, but there are plenty of spaces. Reece pulls into one a little farther away. We sit there for a moment. The drizzle has changed to a steady light rain. The droplets make a rhythmic pattern on the car.
Reece leans forward, glances skyward. His expression turns pensive, and he sniffs the air in a manner that’s distinctly animal. “This rain isn’t going to stop.”
“It always rains this time of year.”
His brow knits. “This is different.”
Déjà vu causes the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up. I remember a very similar conversation with Lacey a few weeks ago.
“I’ve never heard of spring rain showers being fatal,” I say, more fiercely than I’d intended. “Unless the water turns to acid. Or radioactive fish.”
He gives me a stern look. “Calamities are a riot until they happen to you.”
I look him in the eye as my fingers curl into the seats. “Reece, do you know if I’m going to die? Or my dad?”
His jaw hardens. “No, but I plan to get you both out of the area when I sense the disaster is close. When it’s time, I’ll come to you and say good-bye.” He sends me an earnest look. “I won’t just leave. I promise.”
“So in the meantime…”
&nbs
p; “I don’t know what to say.” He spreads his hands, lets them fall to his lap. “The only way I know how to live is to enjoy good moments as they come. I don’t think about the future, because my future is never enjoyable.”
“I get that.” I do, but it doesn’t stop the growing hollow in my chest. “I don’t want to feel something for you only to have you leave.”
He thinks for a moment. “This is why I usually avoid close relationships with people outside of my group. The leaving is awful. But you know, people leave relationships when neither member is a harbinger of death, too.”
“Sure, but in this case, it’s likely neither of us will want to leave. It’s not usually like that in breakups.”
“I know.” He lowers his gaze. “This is all I have, Angie. I’m sorry.”
The car falls into silence. The rain-streaked windshield casts his face in gray. His gaze rises past the weedy edge of the parking lot to the distant college. I close my eyes, press my hands into my thighs. “We should get to homeroom.”
“Yeah. Okay.” He unclips his seat belt and leans over. Fingers on my cheek turn my face to his. Lips brush mine, and my breath catches. Every kiss with this guy feels like a first kiss. And the last. “Walk in with me?” he asks.
I draw in a breath. “Yes.”
We both sense someone standing in front of the car, watching. I look at the same time as Reece.
Rafette. I would recognize him anywhere. His face may change, but his clothes are the same: puffy coat. Wool cap.
Fear uncoils in my gut, even though the Beekeeper isn’t so menacing in sunlight. There is a weary solitude to him. A desolation that bleeds through his shifting mask of features. It doesn’t matter whose eyes he wears, they are tight with a despair that makes my chest ache.
My crow lands on the curb across from the car. Its one white feather gleams like an opal in the morning light. It puffs out its feathers and lets out a long, warning cry at Rafette.
Reece reaches for the door handle. “Stay in the car.”
“No.” I unclip my seat belt. “I want to talk to him.”
Reece frowns but nods. “Don’t get too close to him. And if you see any bees…run. Whatever happens, don’t get stung.”
We get out of the car. I edge my way to the front. Reece’s body is long and taut. His eyes are hard and black and undeniably birdlike. Never before has he appeared less human to me.
The Beekeeper lightly bows in my direction. “I have not properly introduced myself.” His voice lilts with an accent I don’t recognize. “I am Rafette, although I imagine you know that. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Angelina.”
Tension radiates off Reece. “You agreed to keep your distance,” he says to Rafette in a deceptively calm voice.
The Beekeeper addresses Reece with a sigh. “You do not direct me, scavenger.” The Beekeeper opens his mouth and a bee escapes to buzz aimlessly around Rafette’s head. I try not to stare at it.
Every nerve in my body is on alert. Sweat slides down the small of my back.
“Why are you here?” I ask. “Why are you hurting so many people?”
Rafette looks at me. “It is my nature, my dear. I create chaos.”
“But bees are orderly creatures,” I say. “They sting only in desperation.”
His eyes, currently heavy-lidded and lined, blink. “Have you known desperation, Angelina?”
My breath is shallow, my palms slick and cold. “Yes.”
“Remember that, and multiply it by ten thousand. Only then could you know my desperation.” He tilts his head. “It’s interesting that you see my true face so easily. The curse I bear is designed to prevent that. The others in this parking lot—those who are looking—see the two of you speaking to a perfectly forgettable young man.”
“I don’t care,” I whisper.
“It doesn’t matter to you that only those whose bodies hold traces of the lost magic can see me?” He smiles, wide and terrifying. “You would resist the venom of my bees longer than most. But never forget, the queen’s venom is deadly to all.”
Reece pulls in a sharp breath through flared nostrils. “Don’t.”
“I don’t care why I can see you,” I tell him, heart pounding icy blood through my veins. It’s hard to pretend you’re not scared when you are. “I care that innocent people are doing sick, terrible things because of you.”
Rafette’s features turn distinctly feminine. I hold my breath, afraid I’ll see my mother’s features again, but it’s another woman’s mouth, another woman’s eyes.
“No one is innocent, least of all those chosen by my bees. They target unbalanced minds, those already edging toward darkness and madness,” he says softly. “People have always done terrible things. They always will. With or without my involvement.” His eyes narrow. One side of his mouth curves upward. “I cannot help but think we have met before, Angelina. You look so familiar.”
Reece’s hand slips around my arm. He angles me slightly behind him. “She has one of those faces,” he says.
Rafette gives Reece a slow, knowing smile. “No, she does not.” A mustache briefly appears on the Beekeeper’s upper lip before folding back into its skin. “And neither do I, yet she can see it. I see you have found someone worth saving, scavenger. Eventually, all of your kind will find something, someone, you want to save. And we will be there. To help, of course.”
Every remaining bit of color drains from Reece’s face. His eyes take on a lost, hunted look. “I don’t want your form of ‘help.’”
The Beekeeper calmly holds Reece’s gaze. “You will.” His mouth opens wide. Bees crawl over his teeth and lips, just as they did that night in The Strip Mall’s parking lot. His tongue crawls black and yellow with them. I take back my previous assessment—he is much worse in daylight. I gasp and shift backward, bumping my calves against the Mustang’s bumper. Reece’s arm snakes around me. His body is tight as a bow.
“I will tell you a story, Angelina. It is a short story, for a life so long as mine.” Rafette’s words are clear despite the bees in his mouth. “In the old language, we were called the Mothe, which means maker of chaos. We were all young men, before we were captured, changed by sorcerers and their corrupt magic into this.” He gestures to his face. “Our queen wanted a creature engineered to enter enemy lands and weaken their defenses. When we were sent into service, we could fracture any army, shatter any siege, all with the power of our bees’ venom. We served our queen, because we had no other purpose. And when the great purge of magic happened, we—like the original group of harbingers—escaped annihilation in our animal forms. We no longer had purpose, but we were compelled to continue on, doing what we had been created to do. My curse is as endless as the Earth itself. It is an agony you cannot comprehend. It is unendurable in a way no living creature should ever know.”
His voice reveals his pain. It soaks through his words. This creature was not always evil and perhaps still isn’t. He is desperate, which makes him far more dangerous. The bees crawl back into his mouth and disappear. All but one. It buzzes a lazy, random path near Rafette. “I promise few things, Angelina, but I promise you this: you will be safe when death comes to this town. I will make certain of it.”
There is nothing reassuring about the Beekeeper’s promise. It fills my veins with cold dread.
Reece bares his teeth. “Nice story,” he says. “But Angie doesn’t need your assistance. She’s got my murder of crows watching over her.”
I startle at the use of the word, murder, used like that. His murder of crows. His group. There is no difference. Just a more accurate, and darker, way of saying it.
Gravel rumbles as a red pickup truck pulls into the parking spot next to us. Corey Anderson, neckless wonder of the wrestling team, spares us a brief, speculative glance. He grunts, sticks earbuds in his ears, and trudges across the rapidly filling parking lot.
I gape after him. “He really didn’t see…”
“It’s true—the Beekeepers’ curse keeps their true
faces hidden,” Reece murmurs against my ear. “So they can move around without notice.”
Rafette flicks a finger and the bee meanders into the parking lot, toward school.
Reece yanks me behind him. “What are you doing?” he snarls at the Beekeeper. “You can’t do that here.”
Rafette’s eyes narrow. “Harbingers are not the Beekeepers’ masters.” Suddenly, the bee’s course turns deliberate. It bumbles a path toward Corey Anderson, who walks across the parking lot oblivious to the danger he’s in. Normal honeybees don’t target people to sting. This is no normal honeybee.
“No!” I gasp, as the bee disappears down the back of Corey’s jacket. I don’t like the kid—he’s a mean-spirited bully—but he doesn’t deserve whatever he’s about to get stung with. I lurch forward to help or something, but Reece holds me back, tucking me against his chest.
“Don’t,” he warns into my hair. “You will only make it worse.”
“Ow!” Corey slaps the back of his neck. He swipes the bee to the ground and stomps on it with a few foul words. And keeps walking.
We watch in silence until Corey disappears through the school doors.
“That’s it?” I turn to Rafette, but he’s gone. “Where did he go?”
“Gone,” Reece grinds out.
“Gone where?”
“Just gone. Beekeepers move differently than others,” Reese says roughly. He flattens his palms on the still-warm hood of the Mustang and drops his head between his arms. “One of their many interesting gifts.”
“What was he talking about, that I’m protected?”
“It means he won’t let you die.”
“I got that part,” I say. “But why? He wants something in return.”
“Of course he does.” Reece gazes over at me with hot, dark eyes. “He’ll take nothing less than my soul as payment.”