Undeadly

by Michele Vail

  “Um, do you come back?” I didn’t really want to be locked inside the tiny space with its overcrowded shelves and moldy smells.

  “I stay here,” she said. “I have the only key.” She offered a frosty smile. “No one comes down here. Most aren’t allowed.”

  “Oh.” I walked inside, because dealing with Miss Neff was the opposite of fun. I wandered around the shelves. There didn’t seem to be a system in place, certainly not the Dewey decimal, not that I’d ever understood it. I was more a Google kind of girl.

  I don’t know how long I poked around the shelves, but when I heard Miss Neff’s long-suffering sigh, I went back to the opened gate. “Have you heard of a book called Anubis and the Seventh Warrior?”

  “Yes,” she said. She got a strange look on her face. “It went missing a couple days ago.”

  “What?”

  “What interest do you have in that book?” she asked. “It’s not typical fare for legacies.”

  “Homework project,” I said. I shrugged as if the book wasn’t a big deal. “But I’ll just figure out something else.”

  Miss Neff nodded, though her gaze took on a suspicious gleam. Did she think I’d stolen the book and then returned to act as though I was looking for it? That would be a double-trick criminal genius type of move. Okay, maybe I shouldn’t sell myself short—that would be pretty clever of me, had I done it. Huh. Well, at least someone would think I was a superspy bad ass.

  “Well, thanks again.” I waved at her and hurried off, taking the stairs two at a time while she locked up the section.

  I headed toward my room, thinking about the missing book. Who would take it? Why? And did whoever snatched it know that the book might have something to do with my mother, and maybe even my own legacy at Nekyia?

  I didn’t know.

  But I intended to find out.

  Chapter 19

  “And Set was banished into the darkest part of the Shallows, tossed into the deepest pit where no reaper dared to tread, and bound into a magical prison created by the bones of the old gods.”

  ~The Secret History of the Reapers, Author Unknown

  No word from Rick. The school was on super lockdown, too, because a student had gone missing in the woods. I was trying to keep chill, but I knew that my vision about the necro boy who’d been doing drugs and then got attacked had come true. I really wanted to talk to someone about it—but who? I thought about finding Clarissa in the woods all banged up and wondered if she had something to do with the missing kid. Maybe she’d also had something to do with the dead girl. I had no idea why Clarissa would murder students—or how—but the whole situation creeped my out.

  No one was allowed outside of the grounds, so everyone was looking for stuff to do inside the school. The population was getting restless, though, so hopefully the authorities would figure out what was going on and fix it.

  I hadn’t told anyone about my dreams.

  I didn’t know who to tell. Who could help me.

  I’d debated seeking the counsel of Ms. Chiles, but I hadn’t seen her. She was around, taking care of school stuff. But every time I stopped by her office, she didn’t answer the door. I started lurking by the administrative office, but I was always told by blue-hair that Ms. Chiles had “just stepped out” or was “busy.” Maybe she was avoiding me.

  Rath would know what to do about the dreams. Probably. But he hadn’t returned from his business trip, whatever that meant for a reaper.

  I found it really strange that no one seemed to care what I was doing during independent study. I had no instructor. I couldn’t talk to Ms. Chiles—who wasn’t returning voice mail messages, either. I supposed I could’ve told the office about it and gotten a new schedule, but I didn’t want to do that. So I spent those hours working on the moves Rath and Irina had taught me.

  Unfortunately, despite the school being shut down and all outdoor activities cancelled, anything scheduled for inside the school was still a go. Including the Nekros Society soiree. What a way to spend Friday night.

  I looked at myself in the full-length mirror that was situated in my massive closet. The dress was simple but lovely, and a beautiful silver color. Henry had some stylist skills—my hair had been French-braided and intertwined with tiny white flowers. I even had on a pair of matching high heels. Well, not high by Autumn’s standards, but plenty enough for me.

  “So, how long do I have to stay?”

  “An hour would be acceptable, so long as you are seen mingling.”

  “Henry, I don’t think I’ll like any of these people.”

  “That is not a requirement of being a Nekros Society member, miss.”

  “Okay. I am officially sucking it up.” I patted my dress and took one last look at my hair. “Thanks, Henry.”

  “You are most welcome, miss.”

  The party wasn’t actually too far from the legacy wing. I had to manage one flight of stairs and go down a narrow hallway to a banquet hall. I handed over my invitation, and the person basically standing guard at the door waved me inside.

  The room had been decorated with skulls and black crepe paper. Nah. I’m totally kidding. It was all normal stuff—low lighting, soft music, low-key deco. People walked around carrying glasses and small plates of food.

  My phone beeped, and I reached into my wristlet and pulled it out. The text was from Autumn: How goes the party?

  I texted back: So far so boring. Will text if anything exciting happens.

  Autumn sent me back a smiley face.

  I walked toward the buffet table. I didn’t see anyone I knew, and why would I? I hadn’t really hung out with the legacies, and ever since Clarissa had locked me in the basement, she’d made herself scarce.

  Until now.

  There she was in the corner with her two idiot friends, looking fabulous. I caught her glance and turned away.

  I picked up a plate and piled on some quiches, a bacon-wrapped thing and a pinwheel.

  My phone beeped.

  I balanced the plate and checked the text.

  It was from Barbie: Lame, or what?

  Extra crispy lame, I texted.

  Knew it. Keep me apprised of any awfulness.

  Will do.

  I wandered around with my plate, nibbling the food, but my stomach was in knots. I didn’t know how to talk to these people. I’d bet my grandparents would. Oh, yeah. Sandra Briarstock would be holding court right now.

  “Good evening, Molly.”

  I froze. It was as if my very thought had conjured her. I turned and saw my grandmother and grandfather standing there, looking at me with slight smiles. Sandra wore a dress that seemed overkill for this party—it was silvery gray, a little prom-looking, actually. And Derek was in a tuxedo.

  “We’re only dropping by,” said Derek. “We have a gala to attend in Reno. How has your first week been at Nekyia?”

  “It’s been interesting,” I said. Then, to shock them, I offered, “Two kids have died.”

  “Yes,” said Sandra and her lips thinned. “I’ve been in touch with Ms. Chiles about that dreadful situation. She assured me all precautions were being taken regarding student safety and investigations are ongoing. But if you don’t feel safe, Molly, you can come home with us.”

  I blinked. It never occurred to me that my grandparents would be paying attention. I guess I should’ve suspected, given all the lectures about legacy. But this seemed more along the lines of caring about me.

  “Thanks, but I’m good. Really.”

  Sandra nodded. “Very well. We thought...perhaps, you would like to come over this weekend.”

  Surprise #2. And she almost looked hopeful, too. But I couldn’t quite bring myself to accept her offer. “I’m kinda buried in homework...maybe we could do it another weekend?”

  She smiled. “Yes, of course.” She leaned forward and gave me a peck on the check. Derek folded me into a quick hug. “Call your dad,” he said into my ear. “He’s worried about you.

  “Good night,
Molly,” Derek said as he pulled back. “Sweet dreams.”

  Then they turned and left.

  Relief flowed through me. Whew. Any more unexpected encounters and I might faint.

  My phone beeped.

  Okay, deets. Who is there? texted Trina.

  Johnny Depp, I texted. Kidding! Clarissa’s here.

  She’s nobody. Text me when you see someone awesome.

  K.

  I finished off the food, put the plate on a tray with a few dirty dishes on it, and went toward the bubbling fountain. Whatever was flowing down the three-tiered waterfall was pink and frothy. I held a cup under the flowing liquid, and then took a sip. Not bad for fruit punch, I guess.

  My phone beeped.

  What kind of food? texted Daniel.

  Tiny.

  Too bad. Look for cake. If it’s chocolate, steal me a slice.

  Sure.

  I put down the glass, my stomach not really appreciating the syrupy drink. I looked at the phone’s display and realized I’d been here for only fifteen minutes. Ugh. I wandered around some more, trying to look as if I was mingling. I made another circuit around the buffet table. Clarissa and her minions had vacated the corner. I didn’t really feel like eating anything else, so I headed across the room.

  The music went up a few notches, and I realized people were going onto the dance floor. I stopped at the edge, watching the elegant, staid dances of the couples. The music was...I don’t know, classical or something. It wasn’t the kind of dance music I was used to.

  “Hello, brown eyes.”

  Startled, I turned and spied Rath standing next to me. He was dressed in a tuxedo, and oh-my-gods he looked hot, hot, hot.

  “Where have you been?” I hissed.

  He grinned. “Aw. Somebody miss me?”

  “No,” I said.

  His grin widened. Then he cupped my hand in his and led me onto the dance floor.

  I almost had a heart attack. “I can’t dance to this stuff,” I protested.

  “Yes, you can. Hang on to me and follow my feet.” He wrapped an arm around my waist, and I placed a hand on his chest. He took my other hand into his free one and lifted it.

  We began to dance.

  At first all I could do was think about following his feet and not stepping on them, but soon, I caught the rhythm, and I relaxed. For a dead guy, Rath felt solid enough. And warm. And he smelled really nice, too.

  “Why did you leave? And why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.

  “Anubis called me into service.”

  “And you couldn’t take two seconds to let me know?”

  He studied my expression. “You really did miss me.” He brought me a little closer, and I got those dang tingles. “Usually getting called in by the boss isn’t something I can control. But I promise, Molly, if I have to leave again...I’ll tell you.”

  “Good.” I sniffed. “Because I really want to learn how to kick your butt.”

  He laughed.

  Then we danced, and he said nothing else.

  My stomach felt tight and jumbled. I couldn’t stand it, so I finally asked, “Are you coming back to independent study?”

  He looked down at me, his gaze glittering with that odd, dark emotion. It set my heart to tripping. “Do you want me to?” he asked in a soft voice.

  I could’ve been a smart ass. I could’ve been a liar. But instead, I said, “Yes, Rath. I want you to.”

  The arm around my waist pulled me in tighter, and I was pressed more firmly against him. Vaguely, I thought about Rick. But my mind had gone foggy, and I was looking at Rath, at his expression, at his mouth.

  “Molly,” he whispered.

  My breath hitched.

  He leaned down, his gaze intent, and—

  “Excuse me.” Clarissa grabbed our arms and stalled us. “I need to talk to Molly.”

  “Uh, no, you don’t.” I jerked my arm out of her grip. “Go away.”

  “’Fraid not.” Her gaze pinned mine. “It’s important.”

  “The lady has made her wishes clear,” said Rath.

  Clarissa’s gaze was drawn up to Rath’s, and I saw her expression change. She offered a coy smile. “I’m sorry, but I really need to talk to her, Mr....”

  Rath offered one lifted an eyebrow and silence.

  Her mouth turned down. Her eyes flashed fire at me, as though she blamed me for Rath’s response. “When I say important, I mean important.”

  “Fine,” I said, sighing. I looked up Rath. “I’ll be right back.”

  “That’s okay, brown eyes. Song’s over. I’ll see you.” He brushed his thumb across my chin then turned and sauntered away.

  I sooooo wanted to kill Clarissa. Again.

  “What is it?” I said between clenched teeth.

  “Nekros work,” she said. “Apparently, you’re on the team now.”

  “The team for what?”

  “We’re hunting the soul stealer,” she said.

  “The soul stealer?”

  “Yeah. That night you saw me coming out of the woods—”

  “Oh, you mean the night you locked me the basement?”

  “Ugh! Get over yourself. I was doing a routine patrol and I found a boy in the woods.”

  “Don’t you mean found something that used to be a boy?”

  Her gaze sharpened. “What do you know about it?”

  I didn’t think I’d be confiding to Clarissa Jacobs about the visions I’d had, but...she’d seen the boy, and she could confirm he’d been turned to stone and shattered.

  I quickly explained my visions to her.

  Clarissa was a Class A bitch, but she was also, unfortunately, intelligent.

  “This started when you got here,” she said. She grabbed my arm. “Are you the one doing it?”

  “Right. Because I was standing on the road without a scratch on me and you came limping toward me... How did I manage that if you battled me and I ran off?”

  “In the other direction,” she admitted. “Damn. I was really hoping you were the problem.”

  “You’re super sweet,” I said. “In a bitchy way.”

  She let go of me. “We don’t have time for this crap. C’mon.”

  I followed her. We left the banquet hall and headed toward the legacy dorms. We passed mine, and one more, and finally reached another.

  “We’re here, Dad,” she said as we entered the luxurious suite.

  “Miss Briarstock,” said Mr. Jacobs. “Glad you could join us.” He didn’t sound glad at all, but I knew the reason I was standing here was because of Ms. Chiles. She was next to Mr. Jacobs, dressing in a black outfit.

  “My name’s Bartolucci,” I said. “Not Briarstock.”

  Mr. Jacobs sneered at me.

  What a jerk.

  “Here,” said Ms. Chiles tossing me some clothes. “Get dressed. Shoes are over there. We have to be on the roof in five.”

  “The roof?” I asked as I toed off my shoes.

  “Helicopter,” said Clarissa. “We’re going to Vegas.”

  * * *

  We’d been told to fan out over Fremont Street and look for anything unusual. Considering we were smack in the middle of downtown Las Vegas, that description wasn’t much help.

  It was Friday night, so the street was crowded. The blast of music from the Fremont Street Experience was tremendous. I’d done a report about it once. I knew that the canopy stretched for four blocks over the area once known as Glitter Gulch, that more than twelve million LED lamps lit it up, that two hundred and twenty speakers emitted 550,000 watts of sound.

  No matter how pretty the tourism honchos tried to make downtown, the glam veneer was thin and the real Vegas dirt was thick. Especially in the nooks and crannies surrounding the shiny pedestrian mall with cheap gambling, cheaper buffets and “free” entertainment.

  I’d been given an earpiece, like some CIA spy, and I could hear other people from the team checking in. I could not believe I was suddenly some reaper teen super ninja freak.
r />   Nobody bothered me. Most people intently ignored me, as if they wanted me to be invisible. It was a vibe, I think. I didn’t control it, and I didn’t know how to turn it off. Maybe Rath could show me.

  This reaper stuff was like opening a beautifully wrapped present on my sixteenth birthday and getting a box full of scorpions.

  The dead looked almost alive, so much so that it was hard to tell everyone apart. Well, unless a ghost was attached to a SEER. Then the spirits looked as thin and see-through as paper-dolls. Ghosts were energy, and the SEER sucked just enough out of them so that they couldn’t escape its tethers.

  The closer I got to Fremont Street, the more crowded the sidewalk became. At one particular point, people were giving wide berth to something. When I caught up, I saw what—or rather who—they were avoiding. A woman in a multicolored dress and flip-flops stood there, holding a cardboard sign. The big, block letters stated: FREE THE SPIRITS!

  “Natural law has been violated!” she wailed. “We have taken from heaven! We have opened the doors to hell!”

  She wore a headdress that dripped with silver beads. Every time she made a proclamation, the beads rattled. Her makeup was garish and theatrical, and strands of gray hair escaped from the odd headgear.

  I stopped next to three or four people who were actually listening to her. Propped against the brick wall behind her was another hand-lettered sign that declared her president of the Society Against Spirit Enslavement. I thought about how much Ally would enjoy this woman’s spiel. My sister loved a good protest.

  “We must free the spirits!” she cried. Her gaze swept through her few listeners, and then rested on me. Her eyes widened. “You.” She took a step back. “I’m not ready,” she yelled. “I have more to do. Away from me, Death!”

  Chapter 20