Undeadly

by Michele Vail

  It buckled.

  And so did I.

  Tears gathered in my eyes. Pain throbbed in my knee, my ass, my spine. He really was beating the crap outta me. I sat on the mat and had a little pity party. Reaper warrior training sucked.

  “Get up.”

  Argh! I shot to my feet and dove for him. I didn’t have a real plan. I just wanted him to go down. He blocked me, swept a leg out again and then punched my shoulder with his palm.

  I found myself airborne.

  Again.

  When I landed, the air left my lungs, and my back seemed to explode. I didn’t get up. I lay there, trying to catch my breath, and tried not to cry.

  Rath padded over to me, and squatted down, assessing my face. “Had enough?”

  “You’re supposed to be teaching me!”

  “I am,” he said. “You learn a lot from failure.” He offered a grin. “What did you think? You were just gonna be given all that you needed?”

  “That’d be nice.”

  “You said respect had to be earned, Molly. So does everything else. When you work for it, when you sweat and you bleed to get it, then it’s worth more.”

  I sniffled. “I suppose.”

  His expression softened, just a teeny tiny bit.

  That’s when I rolled, fast and hard, and banged into his legs. He was knocked onto his ass. I popped up and jumped on him.

  I landed on his stomach, and he managed a surprised, “Oof!”

  I tried to pin him, but I didn’t know what I was doing. I grabbed at his arms, and tried to wind my legs around his to make sure he didn’t move.

  Mistake.

  He grabbed my arms, clamped my legs and rolled us over.

  We were thigh to thigh, chest to chest, and breathing hard.

  “Pretty good, Molly,” he said. His breath ghosted over my cheek. “But not good enough.”

  “Just you wait,” I said. I struggled, trying to wiggle out of his grip, but he was strong and in a primo position.

  “Stop,” he said softly.

  I did.

  Something in his eyes had changed—going from glittering fury to...well, I wasn’t sure. It was still a dark emotion, tormented almost. The tension thrumming between us shifted. It was still physical, just more intense. And confusing.

  “You really are beautiful,” he murmured.

  I gulped.

  My heart, already pounding from the butt-kicking, went into overdrive.

  Rath leaned forward, his gaze on mine, his lips dipping close to my ear. “But you’re still a brat.”

  Rath rolled off me and popped to his feet.

  “C’mon. I’ll teach you how to throw a punch.”

  He wrapped my hands with really long cloth strips, then put boxing gloves on them. The gloves felt weird and smelled awful. For the next hour, I was told over and over and over to hold my arms up, protect my face, and stop hitting like a girl.

  “Make your jabs count,” said Rath. “You want your opponent off-guard when you come in with the right cross.”

  The heavy punching bag we were using was six feet long, so you could punch, kick and knee it. I had gotten past the punching stage. I was exhausted and sweaty, and my muscles were starting to ache.

  “Again, Molly.”

  Jab. Jab. Punch.

  “No! Not like that!” His eyes flashed with irritation. “Quit doing chicken wings with your arms. Keep them tucked in and your hands up! Are you sure Anubis chose you?”

  OMG. He was mean. And had no—and I mean no—mercy.

  I suspected he was sorry he’d called me beautiful. And there was that moment...that awesome, strange moment where we were breathing together, looking at each other, and...he’d called me a brat.

  Whatevs.

  “Quit sleeping and punch!”

  I snapped back into focus.

  Sweat soaked my sports top and shorts. My muscles protested movement. I kept my arms in, my gloves up.

  Jab. Jab. Punch.

  “Better,” said Rath gruffly. “Do body blows, like I showed you.”

  Right. Left. Right.

  I smashed the middle of the bag with my boxing gloves. I was breathing hard, and my arms felt like noodles.

  “You’re weak,” said Rath. “Soft. You wanna get your ass kicked?”

  I was beginning to understand that Rath’s insults were another training exercise. At least I hoped so. Every time he pissed me off by saying something rotten, I lost focus and got my ass handed to me.

  Rath pushed his face into mine. “You getting bent out of shape?”

  I didn’t respond. I’d like to say it was because I was being a bad-ass, but I was really just too tired.

  “Good,” said Rath. “If you let someone rile you into acting rashly, then you give him the upper hand. You need to be rational and calm, even if someone is trying to push your buttons.” He touched the top of my head. Ow. Even my hair hurt. “You fight with this first, Molly. Use your mind, your wits. And if you can’t get out of trouble—then kick the living shit out of your enemy.”

  I managed a tired laugh. “Got it.”

  “You’re done, brown eyes. See you tomorrow.”

  I lifted my hands up. “Woo.”

  “’Atta girl.” He unstrapped my gloves and pulled them off. “Get going.”

  I leaned over to pick up my towel, and wiped my neck as I walked off the mat.

  “Molly.”

  I stopped and turned to look over my shoulder.

  “You did good. For a rewbie.”

  “Thanks,” I said, trying not to show how much his approval meant. Pride shuffled through my exhaustion.

  I wanted a shower and some food. And to lie down and pass out for about two years. I went into the changing room and looked at my cell phone display. I had about forty-five minutes until my next class, plenty of time to shower and catch a power nap.

  Despite the cool things I was experiencing here at Nekyia—killer room, awesome friends, decent classes—I really missed my family. I’d spoken to Ally a few times since I had left home, but she was irritated about me ignoring Dad’s phone calls. Nonna didn’t like cell phones or computers. I’d already received one letter from her with a, “PS, Call your father, bella.”

  I missed my not-dad. And yeah, I’d have to talk to him one day.

  I was still mad that Al had lied about being my real father. I knew he’d raised me. I knew he loved me. He’d stuck around even when Mom hadn’t. And yet...I felt betrayed. I should get over myself. Forgive him. Move on. But I couldn’t. Alfonso Bartolucci hadn’t contributed any DNA to me. There was something about knowing your genetics. Your truths were formed by family connections. Suddenly none of those people, their stories, their physical characteristics, their quirks, were mine. I mean, there was Ally, of course. We were sisters. But we had whole other histories, now—only I didn’t know mine.

  I didn’t belong.

  And it hurt.

  I hadn’t heard from Anubis at all. I guessed the Chosen got the one dream, and then we had to stumble around trying to figure out his will. Sooooo not fair.

  When I got to my room, the bed looked so inviting, I fell face-first onto it. I managed to set the alarm on my cell phone before I closed my eyes and instantly fell into dreamland.

  I was floating through the woods. Late-afternoon sunlight sparkled in the leaves. A boy with shaggy blond hair sat against a tree. He wore the Nekyia uniform—black pants, shoes and dull gray button-up shirt. It was hanging open, revealing a Metallica T-shirt. He held an iPod in one hand—one earbud lodged and the other hanging loose—and a cigarette in the other. When he went to take a puff, I realized whatever he was holding was too thin to be cigarette, and it was also dark purple. What on earth was he smoking?

  A twig snapped behind him and he jolted.

  Then he smiled, shaking his head as though mentally deriding himself for being a weenie.

  “Geez, man,” he said, getting to his feet. “Thought I was going to smoke this Wizard’s
Choke all by myself.”

  He turned and faced whoever was just on the other side of the tree. His grin faded.

  “Who the hell are you? Hey!”

  He was driven to his knees, the same as the girl in the hallway, and his mouth opened in a soundless scream.

  I saw his soul...that blue, pulsing orb...being wrenched out of his body.

  I didn’t want to look.

  I didn’t want to know.

  Then he turned to stone, his expression of shock forever etched on his young face. He fell onto his side, and...then imploded.

  I woke up totally freaked.

  These were not dreams. Nobody had dreams like these. So...visions? I put my hand on my chest, as though that might calm my raging heartbeat.

  My cell phone display showed I’d only napped for ten minutes.

  I was still tired, but I wasn’t going back to sleep.

  I needed to tell someone about these dreams. These visions. I needed help. What should I do? How did I stop what was going on?

  How did I save the students of Nekyia?

  MOLLY’S REAPER DIARY

  Top Five Reasons to Pay Attention During Butt-Kicking Class

  When you don’t hold up your arms to protect your face, your instructor might box your ears so that you get the point. Or tweak your nose, which is more annoying, especially since he’s laughing at you.

  If you punch like a sissy, your opponent won’t be impressed, and may proceed to show you a real punch, in which case, you’ll go down like you turned into a bowl of spaghetti noodles.

  Learning to be a warrior is about mind and soul and magic. The Chosen can access their necro abilities and use magic for multiple purposes (like when Clarissa used hers to trip me). Most necros can only use their one ability for its singular purpose.

  You won’t be taught how to use magic until you learn physical skills and strengthen your mind...no matter how many times you ask your instructor to please, pretty please, show you magic, too.

  You will sweat. You will bleed. You will ask for mercy and not get it. Get stronger. Get meaner. Get reaper.

  Chapter 14

  “The dead don’t love.”

  ~Lies My Zombie Told Me by Wendy Bocock

  I knocked on Ms. Chiles’s office door. Henry had delivered her summons along with another fancy breakfast. I was stuffed to the gills with scones, and I was tired. After all the drama yesterday, and that weird vision during my nap, I hadn’t slept well. And when I had slept, I’d had nightmares. The images were murky and faded, but the feelings of dread were still pretty strong.

  “Come in.”

  I opened the door and saw Ms. Chiles at her desk. She was rifling through papers and looked somewhat harried. She looked up and offered me a smile.

  “Oh. Good. I just wanted to let you know that Rath has been called away on business. You’ll have a new instructor for a while. Her name is Irina.” She paused. “You understand, don’t you, that students with independent study keep what they learn private. You’re very lucky to be in advanced studies—especially when such classes are usually reserved for seniors.”

  Okay. Don’t talk about independent study. Not that I would, because I wasn’t sure how to explain the whole reaper-training thing.

  “You know who Rath is, right?” I asked, because it had been bugging me that no one else seemed to know his deal. And since he was dead and only other reapers could see him...how had he become an instructor?

  “More important, Molly, I know who you are.” She folded her hands on top of the papers she’d been looking at. “Irina will be focusing on helping you learn to use your magic. Most of the Chosen have been training a lot longer than you... You have some catching up to do.”

  “Okay,” I said. “When will Rath be back?”

  “After his business is concluded.” She offered a thin smile. “Well, you should get going, Molly. Class starts soon.”

  “Okay. Um, thanks.” I left Ms. Chiles’s office feeling unsettled.

  Where had Rath gone?

  * * *

  “No! Not like that. Dolt!” Irina Derinski’s ice-blue eyes flashed with irritation. “You must think about the magic. You must envision it in your mind before you wield it.”

  OMG. For three days, I had been under the tutelage of Irina. She was mean. And had no—and I mean no—mercy. She was teaching me to use my necro magic, mainly for defense, but it was way harder than learning how to kick ass.

  So, here it was Thursday, and I faced another two hours of independent study with a cranky Russian reaper.

  “Dolt!”

  I snapped back into focus.

  Irina’s Russian accent always thickened when she was annoyed—and with me, she was always annoyed. I knew better than to move out of my current position, which was supposed to give me optimum energy flow. The last time I’d moved, Irina had whacked me with her scythe. Luckily with the staff part and not the blade. Sweat soaked my shirt and shorts. My muscles ached. But I was learning.

  She went at me with her scythe, and I sent out ropes of black magic to ward of the blow, and then attempted my own attack. She easily countered it with a shot from one palm, and then dropped the scythe. “Ach. Enough,” said Irina. “I’m tired of teaching one so dumb and useless.”

  The insults didn’t bother me much, mostly because I’d been insulted enough by Rath. Irina was a big fan of that teaching technique. Only she was super lecture-y about it. Still, it was Rath’s voice that echoed in my head. If you let someone rile you into acting rashly, then you give him the upper hand.

  “You’re dismissed,” Irina said. “Go to your room and rest.”

  I couldn’t wait to go back to my room and chill. Sessions with Irina always wore me out. I leaned over to pick up my towel, and wiped off my neck as I walked off the mat.

  “Molly.”

  I stopped and looked over my shoulder.

  “You don’t suck as much.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  The rest of the day passed quickly, and I was glad. My first week of school felt as if it had been a year long, and I was tired in mind, body and soul.

  Autumn had invited everyone to watch a Dark Shadows marathon in her room. I texted Rick about joining us, and he texted back that he was at a friend’s for a while and would meet up with me in time for the fun. Honestly? I wanted to crash and not wake up for a week.

  Still, I was excited about seeing Rick again and spending time with my new friends. I decided I needed to suck it up. And by suck it up, I meant down a Red Bull.

  After I was appropriately caffeinated, I picked out a short-sleeved green shirt and faded jeans. Then I took my clothes into the bathroom and got ready.

  When I came out of my bathroom, I yelped.

  Rennie sat on the edge of the bed, staring at me. He wore the same thing he always did: torn black jeans, biker boots with big silver buckles and a grubby orange shirt touting the band Jailbait.

  He saw me looking at his shirt. “My girlfriend was the lead singer. I used to be the guitarist. Our sound was sorta between Marilyn Manson and Paramore. We weren’t the kind of band invited to play the prom.”

  “What happened to you?”

  He gave me a small, sad smile. Then he held out his arms and I saw the track marks. “I was seventeen. Hooked on smack. I died because my girlfriend wouldn’t call 911.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because she didn’t want to go to jail. Because she’s a bitch. Because she didn’t love me enough to save me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged. “I’m dead, so who cares.” He eyed me. “You going somewhere?”

  “To Autumn’s.”

  “Aw, shit. Dark Shadows?” He groaned. “She’s obsessed with that show.”

  “Well, it’ll be fun. Besides, I like popcorn.”

  “Your stiff going with you?”

  “Yes,” I said primly. “My boyfriend is going, too.”

  “I don’t think he’s your type.”
/>   “What do you know?” I asked, even though I thought it was dumb to get into an argument with a ghost. And what did Rennie care anyway? I didn’t even know why he was hanging around me.

  “She killed me.”

  “I know. You told me.”

  Rennie hadn’t moved from the edge of the bed, and his stare was somber.

  “Your boyfriend’s hiding out in the basement,” he said.

  “What?”

  “The. Baaaaaasement. He’s been lying to you about where he’s staying. He’s been lying to you about a lot of things.”

  My belly filled with a cold ache. “Rick wouldn’t lie to me. That’s not like him.”

  “Right. ’Cause you know him so well.”

  “Better than you do.”

  Rennie rolled his eyes. “Why do you pretend not to know what I mean?”

  “Because, hel-lo, I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Everyone’s trapped,” Rennie said softly. “My girlfriend, Jennette, and I used to sing duos, and we sounded awesome. I loved doing that with her. Then I got so bad into drugs that I stopped singing. Shit, I could barely play the guitar.”

  I stepped back just a little, because the vibe had changed. Rennie’s form was flickering, and his eyes were dilating, his body twitching.

  “The dream, man,” said Rennie. “The band was the last thing I held on to from my old life, the one thing I claimed as mine. Stupid. ’Cause I had to let it go, just like everything else.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  Rennie grinned maniacally and showed yellowed, rotted teeth. What the—

  I grimaced and moved away from him. The reminder of his drug habit made me a little sick. Rennie started pacing and muttering to himself.

  “Rennie?”

  “I need a fix,” he said. “Just one.” He looked at me, his eyes red-rimmed. His lips were blue, and flecked with white. “C’mon, Molly. C’mon!”

  I wasn’t sure what to do, but I heard Rath’s instructor voice echo in my head. Stay calm. Use your mind first.

  “You know you can’t have a fix,” I said calmly. “You can’t ever do it again.”

  “You bitch!” he railed. His fists rammed against the bed, and it shook like it was resisting hurricane winds.

  “Enough, Rennie! Go cool off!”