Kiss Me Deadly

by Trisha Telep

  I roll my eyes at him, crack my knuckles and stride into the darkness. I’m tired of sneaking around. There’s an Afarit inside that’s long past due for an ass-kicking, and I’m damn well going to be the one who delivers it.

  ***

  Shaking off Adam’s restraining hand, I push on ahead and allow my nose to guide me. My senses are supercharged right now, and I don’t want to waste the additional power. I’m not afraid of anything, not with the heat of Adam’s blood still warming my belly. He knows it, too, and doesn’t argue with me. He seems subdued, and I wonder if it’s because I’ve weakened him or whether he is simply thinking of Hasna.

  We walk through narrow corridors and work our way into the theater itself. It is strange being here after hours; there is a magic in this place that is all its own. Not Djinn magic, but the kind of enchantment that inhabits old buildings dedicated to art. Maybe that’s why the creature chose this place—there must be a ton of residual energy in the building, from its foundations to the concrete pillars and all the way up to its beautiful arched ceiling. We talk in hushed voices as though we are in a church, and there is definitely something sacred in the dusty air.

  We reach the main auditorium, and I am unsurprised to find it lit by an ethereal brightness that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere. And why not? After all, we are chasing a spirit in possession of a human girl’s soul. We left “normal” behind way back in the basement of that occult bookstore.

  The old-fashioned velvet curtains are open, and the stage is empty of any kind of set or backdrop. Empty, that is, apart from a richly designed blood red carpet spread over the wooden boards.

  Empty, apart from the Afarit sitting cross-legged in the center of the carpet, surrounded by a ring of stubby white candles.

  My mind shows me a fleeting image of flying carpets and Arabian Nights. I remember fairy tales Mom used to read to me, so many years ago.

  The Afarit grins at us with white teeth that shine behind Bilal’s black beard. “How kind of you to join me,” it says. It doesn’t look surprised to see us.

  Adam steps forward. He is pale but composed, and I can’t help admiring his courage. “Just let Hasna go. You don’t need her now.”

  “Foolish boy,” the creature replies. “Of course I do. Her spirit allows me to walk this plane of existence. I cannot release her without killing myself.”

  “I could just rip your goddamn head off,” I say, keeping my voice pleasant and conversational. “How do you like them apples?” (I’ve always wanted to say that.)

  “I think,” Bilal says, “that you are very lucky to be alive.” His eyes are cunning. “If we can call what you do ... living.”

  I swallow anger and keep a smile pinned to my face. “Let’s see you finish the job, Ugly.”

  Adam glances at me from out the corner of his eye, but I pretend not to notice. He’s trying to tell me something, but as far as I’m concerned the time for talking is officially over.

  My fangs extend, making my gums ache. I have already fed too much tonight, but I am going to end this one way or another.

  I leap up onto the stage in a single movement, stride across the carpet, and lunge at the spirit-possessed magician—

  —only to bounce off a barrier that surrounds him like an invisible bubble. I fall on my butt and try to catch my breath. My hands are tingling from the impact, and it feels like one of my wrists has snapped. I test it by clenching both hands into fists. Thankfully, everything seems intact.

  The only thing damaged is my pride.

  I look up and see that the ceiling over the stage is painted dark blue and scattered with silver stars. Somehow, this seems appropriate.

  Adam is beside me on the stage, helping me to my feet. “I tried to warn you,” he whispers.

  “No you didn’t,” I retort. I’m not really angry with him, but right now he’s an easy target.

  “I did,” he says with exaggerated patience. “I gave you ‘The Look.’”

  “What look? I didn’t see any look. You’re just—”

  “Amusing as this is, children, I am ready to complete the ritual now.” The Afarit stands in an inhumanly graceful movement. The invisible shield begins to shimmer around him, kind of like a city street under intense heat—the sort of heat I have to keep out of now.

  We stop quarreling and stare. The Afarit raises its right hand to the fake night sky and begins chanting in a language I don’t understand. He is reading from the book and, as he continues to chant, smoke begins to rise from the aged pages. Theo once told me that not all magical books actually contain magic, but maybe this one does. Maybe that’s why it’s so important to him. I can’t help wondering if the stupid thing is going to burst into flames.

  Light glints off something in the Afarit’s raised hand and, just for a moment, I think it is one of the rings that Bilal was wearing.

  Then I see that it’s a small glass jar; the sort that might hold honey under normal circumstances. Adam notices at the same time and grabs my arm.

  “The spirit jar!”

  He is practically crushing my bicep through the padding of my jacket. I shake him off with ease and push him behind me. “Stay back,” I say, trying to sound like I know what I’m doing. “I have a plan.”

  Anyone who knows me knows that when Moth says she has “a plan,” they should keep their heads down and stay as far away from ground zero as possible. Sadly for him, Adam doesn’t know me, and he insists on sticking to me like freaking glue. Fine—it’s his damn funeral.

  I almost surprise myself with the knowledge that I really do have a plan. It’s not a very sensible one—in fact, even based on my colorful history of crazy ideas, this one is probably the worst I’ve ever come up with. Still, in the last few hours I’d already been beaten, thrown around, stabbed, and licked... Tonight could surely not get any worse. I’d just have to deal with the consequences when I got home.

  The Afarit places the book down gently on the floor but continues to chant all sorts of mumbo jumbo. The spirit jar is in both hands now, and I’m sure I can see something silver white swirling inside. I frown and blink my eyes, wondering if I’m imagining things. As a young vampire I have genuinely struggled with the concept of “the soul”—do I still have one? Why doesn’t my reflection show up in mirrors if I do have a soul or spirit? But tonight I’ve had my perceptions shifted.

  Not only can I see something in front of me that looks a whole lot like it could be a human spirit trapped in a freaking jar, but back in the alley the Afarit told me my soul is “too old” for my body. This indicates that not only does the human spirit exist as a potentially separate entity, but maybe I still possess one.

  I push these philosophical ponderings aside, but resolve to think on it later; this isn’t the time or the place for existential angst.

  Adam is pounding on the outside of the invisible shield, his eyes deepest gold and his mouth set in a grim line.

  I grab his shoulder and swing him around. “Can’t you just teleport through it?”

  “That’s the first thing I bloody well tried. It doesn’t work.” He shakes his head and gives the barrier a savage kick. “What’s this plan of yours? We’ve got to hurry—the ritual must be almost over by now.”

  I take a slow breath, enjoying the feel of air in my lungs. I still feel strong as hell thanks to Adam’s generous donation. “Have you ever tried to transport someone else?”

  Confusion crosses his face. “You mean, take them with me when I teleport?”

  “No, I mean send someone or something else away ... independently of you. Without you actually being the one who teleports.”

  “I don’t think it’s possible,” he says. He sounds disappointed, as though my Great Plan has already been shot down in flames.

  “But you’ve never tried, right?” I am feeling more excited as each moment passes. This could work. I really think that this crazy-ass plan of mine could work.

  Adam isn’t convinced. “I can teleport myself and anythi
ng I’m holding or wearing that’s made of natural materials. I told you that. It only works over short distances. And we found out earlier that if an object has magical protection on it, no matter what it’s made from, then it won’t travel.” He nods at the book inside the barrier of candles.

  I hold him by both arms and make him look at me. It is important that he knows I’m deadly serious. “Adam, I want you to try teleporting me inside the barrier.”

  “No way.” He’s already trying to pull away. “You could get hurt.”

  “What’s the worst that can happen?” I flash him a grin. “Already dead, remember?”

  “I said no —you’re crazy.”

  “This is our only chance,” I say, anger heating my face and making me wish I had the ninja skills to glamour him.

  He glares at me. “You mean it’s your only chance to get the book back for your boss.”

  “Adam, I don’t give a rat’s ass about the book any more. I want to save Hasna’s soul.” I am genuinely surprised to discover that I mean it, and if Adam knew what I was planning he’d know I meant it, too.

  “I don’t understand how my powers work,” he says slowly, “but I do know that it only works on me. It has to be my essence that travels.”

  I want to slap him for being so dumb. “I just drank a whole load of your blood, you moron. I’d say that qualifies me as possessing your ‘essence.’”

  Comprehension dawns and his expression is suddenly clearer than I’ve seen it all night. “Oh,” he says. Then: “Wait a minute ... why would it work on you and not on me? I already tried to teleport and got bounced.”

  I shrug. “Look, this isn’t a scientific experiment. It might not work. I just have a feeling that it will.”

  Because although I fed on Adam’s blood—and despite the fact that an evil Djinn said I still have a soul—there’s no denying the fact that I did die when I was eighteen years old. My very unscientific plan involves somehow “confusing” the magical barrier.

  And speaking of that, I’ve been keeping half an eye on whatever Bilal is doing, and it doesn’t look like we have any more time. The spirit jar’s contents are going crazy, swirling like a tiny tornado on crack.

  “Stop arguing and do it,” I say, turning my back on him. The Afarit is bringing the jar to its lips. Oh my gods, I think. Is it going to do what it looks like it’s going to do? My eyes focus on the spirit jar’s lid; the magician’s hands are slowly unscrewing it, and the creature wearing his image has finally stopped chanting. I resist the temptation to look back at Adam and instead draw the knife out of my messenger bag.

  What? You think I’m not prepared? I’d remembered to grab it before we left the alley.

  You never know when you might need an iron blade to kill an Afarit.

  Adam has his eyes closed. Anytime now...

  The knife still has my blood on it, which is probably why it successfully teleports through the barrier with me—I’d hoped it might (I’m not just a pretty face, you know). The world disappears, and for a second my stomach is upside down and my head is spinning and I have no idea where I am. One minute I am at Adam’s side, hoping that his Djinn mojo will somehow catapult me inside the bubble, and the next I am right there next to the Afarit. Up close and personal with a killer wearing the face of a power-hungry magician.

  “How—?”

  I cut off its question with the dagger.

  I’m not interested in trading witty repartee or gloating over how clever I am. I only want this to be over.

  The iron blade sinks into Bilal’s heart, and the creature screams. Black blood pours hot and thick onto my fist, but I ignore it and keep hold of the wooden hilt. My other hand grabs the jar before it falls to the ground, my reflexes only just quick enough to snatch it out of the air.

  I have to be fast. Luckily, girls are good at multitasking.

  I let go of the knife and screw the lid back onto the spirit jar. The Afarit falls to its knees and tries to pull the blade from its chest, but I’m not finished yet. The candles are my next target—I begin kicking them over one by one. As the circle is broken, so the magic breaks and the barrier drops.

  Adam practically falls on top of me. He’s been waiting with his nose all but pressed against the invisible shield.

  “Where is she?” he gasps. “Please...”

  “Here, it’s okay.” I hand him the precious container and turn my attention to the book. That stupid, goddamn book. Everything began with it, and now everything is going to end with it.

  I force myself to take a deep breath. I am terrified and exhilarated just thinking about what I’m about to do. Theo is going to kill me.

  Oh no, I think, smiling to myself like a smartass. He already did that once.

  You won’t get me to admit it out loud, but I take a huge amount of guilty pleasure in picking up the only candle that’s still alight. I touch the flickering flame to one of the brittle pages of that sacred Arabic text and watch it burn. I hold onto it until the last possible moment and then let it fall, still burning, to the crimson carpet.

  The Afarit is crawling on the floor in agony and its eyes—Bilal’s eyes—widen as it sees the bright flames consume the book: the book that we used to summon it in the first place. Adam and I step back and enjoy the drama unfolding on the stage. How appropriate that this is where we should all end up. It’s the perfect final curtain call.

  Black smoke begins to roll off the creature in choking waves, but it’s still not dying, or disappearing—whatever is supposed to happen. I glance at Adam, wondering what I missed. He is cradling the spirit jar, and his eyes are bright with unshed tears. I swallow my own sadness at the sight, and I know what else we have to do.

  But this is not my role. There’s only one person who can complete this part of the ritual. I step farther back, giving him space while still keeping the dying spirit in view. We don’t want any last minute surprises.

  My senses are good enough that I can easily hear what Adam says to Hasna before he releases her forever. I will take those words with me wherever I go, for the rest of my very long life. I will keep them close to my heart and share them with nobody. They are not my words to give.

  Adam smashes the jar and white light flies like a comet from the glittering shards. The impossible brightness hangs in the air for a moment, shivering like a swarm of beautiful fireflies or a miniature firework display especially for us.

  Cool air brushes my face like a blessing, and then the light fades. I look down at the carpet, and there is nothing left; nothing but broken glass, candles scattered like strange confetti ... and a large pile of ash.

  We are silent for a couple more minutes, although I can hear Adam’s soft breathing. I think we’re both saying good-bye to Hasna, even though I never knew her. It seems like the right thing to do.

  I take Adam’s hand and lead him slowly away. I wonder what the theater employees will think when they arrive for work tomorrow, but we’ll be long gone by then. I’ll be on a plane across the Atlantic, on my way back home to Theo. I’ll have a lot of explaining to do, but right now I just don’t care.

  Tonight, at least, I know that I did the right thing.

  Tonight, I am still Marie O’Neal.

  Lost

  BY JUSTINE MUSK

  1

  I’ve always been good at finding lost things, but three weeks after a car accident dumped my best friend in a coma, I was the thing that felt lost. And nobody knew where to find me.

  Except for one person.

  There’s an abandoned white house on Bel Air Road, two blocks up from where I live. On an afternoon in early March, I didn’t know that I was going there. I thought I was taking the dog for a walk.