By the fourth night, I was mad. Furious. If Nash wanted to bail on everything we had after one teeny, tiny near-death experience, I couldn’t blame him. Life with me would never be a picnic. But the least he owed me was a phone call to let me know. I called him thirty-four times that night, but he never answered. And his voice mail never picked up.
On night five, I was officially worried. Nash wasn’t the kind of guy to call it quits without telling me. He’d snuck into Holser House twice, once to save my sanity, once to save my life. He loved me. He wouldn’t disappear on me by choice.
On the sixth night, I snuck out the moment the night aide fell asleep in front of the television. I took change from the Curse Jar for fare on a series of busses, then had to walk nearly a mile to Nash’s house from the bus stop.
I knew his street well. I’d been up and down it a hundred times in the five months since I’d met Nash. I’d hidden in his closet and under his bed until his mother and brother fell asleep. I’d snuck in with half-empty bottles from David and Jenny’s bar and with 89-cent burritos from the all-night taco place on the corner. I knew where they kept the spare key to the back door, and I knew how to jimmy open every window on the first floor. And I knew with one look at the house that Nash wasn’t home. That he wouldn’t be home, ever again. Not at that home, anyway.
The plants were missing from the front porch. Harmony’s car was missing from the driveway, as was the one Nash shared with his brother, Tod. Since the drapes were gone, I could see right through the front windows into the living room, which now stood miserably, unaccountably empty.
No one lived in Nash’s house anymore.
I was climbing over the fence on the side of the house, determined to go in through the kitchen window, when a soft, gruff voice nearly scared me out of my own body, an irony I couldn’t see the humor in, at the time.
“They’re gone.”
I dropped from the fence and turned to Nash’s neighbor in surprise, my heart still thudding in my chest. She was old, and Nash said she’d already had one surgery to remove cancer from her throat, but there she was, smoking a cigarette at one-thirty in the morning.
“You’re the girlfriend, aren’t you? The one I seen sneakin’ in there, while I’m sneakin’ out here.” She held up the lit cigarette for emphasis, the glow almost obscuring her wrinkled face.
I could only nod. “What do you mean? Where did they go?”
“No tellin’. That Hudson woman is one of the sweetest souls I ever knew, but she ain’t equipped to deal with tragedy. She moved those boys here after her husband died, like she could outrun the memories themselves. Now her son’s not two days in the ground, and she’s running again.”
My heart stopped. In the ground. Suddenly my ears were ringing, and I was sure I’d heard her wrong. Or misunderstood. “Dead? He’s dead?” No. That wasn’t possible. Yet deep down, I knew better. If Nash could have answered my calls, he would have.
The neighbor leaned forward and crushed her lit cigarette on the concrete floor of her porch. “Child, did no one tell you about the wreck?”
My legs folded beneath me, and suddenly I was sitting on the edge of Nash’s porch. “Please. Tell me.”
“Drunk driver,” she continued, watching me with concern in her eyes. I avoided her gaze to keep from spooking her before she’d told me what she knew—words I dreaded with every aching breath I took, but desperately needed to hear. “Those poor boys never stood a chance. The older was thrown from the car and died on impact. The younger one spent several days in the hospital.”
“What?” My pulse spiked like lightning in my veins. Every nerve ending in my body was on fire. “Nash is alive?” Suddenly I could breathe again. “Why didn’t he call?” I was talking to myself, but she heard me.
“Oh, honey, the cops found his phone shattered in the middle of the road. Anna from across the street says it wasn’t three feet from his brother’s body. That may just be neighborhood gossip, though.”
Stunned, I tucked my feet beneath me on the concrete.
Minutes later, her chair squeaked as she stood. “Sleep calls, child. Are you okay out here?” The genuine concern in her voice was a novelty. She kind of reminded me of Navarro.
“Fine. I’m good.” Tod was dead, and Nash was hurt, and Harmony had moved him away from me, and nothing roaming a quiet suburban Texas night could be half as horrible as any of that. But as the screen door squealed closed behind Nash’s neighbor, I was seized by the rare grip of optimism.
Nash was alive. He still loved me. He was probably devastated about losing Tod, but he still had my number and would call as soon as he could. As soon as he was ready. As soon as he had a new phone, or Harmony got their landline hooked up, or he borrowed her cell.
I hadn’t lost him. We’d just been disconnected.
I was still sitting on Nash’s former front porch when the sun peeked over the roof of the house across the street. It was still a heavy red fireball half-hidden by suburban rooftops when a car pulled to a stop in front of Nash’s former mailbox.
The window rolled down and Navarro scowled at me from behind the wheel. “Get in the car, Sabine.”
I went willingly, too numb to be surprised to see him. “How’d you find me?”
“This is the address your ‘brother’ listed on the visitor’s form last weekend. I tried to call the number he left, but it’s out of service.”
“His brother died,” I said, staring at Nash’s house as Navarro pulled away from it. “His phone died, too.”
Navarro glanced at me, then back at the road. “You okay?”
“As if there’s another option.”
He sighed, and the weight of the world made him slouch in the driver’s seat. “Jenny and David aren’t going to take you back, Sabine. Running was the last straw.”
I nodded. I’d known that was a possibility, but now that Nash had moved out of the school district, I had no reason to stay there. No reason to put up with David.
“But Gomez says that if you’re back at Holser before she can fill your spot, you can stay. You’ve lost all privileges, though. No TV. No phone calls. No visits. No public school. You’re on lockdown.”
I nodded again. None of that mattered. I had the only privilege I needed, hidden in my pocket—the phone Nash would call, as soon as he was ready.
“Sabine, this is serious. I can’t help you if you mess up again. I mean it this time. It’ll be out of my hands.”
“I know.” I twisted to make eye contact with his profile. “Thanks, Navarro.”
“Don’t thank me. Show me that you’re worth it.”
Fifty minutes later, he let me out in front of Holser House, where Anna-Rosa Gomez was waiting to escort me into the building. I was in my room, changing out of my personal clothes and into the state-issued tee and sweatpants worn by girls who’d lost all privileges when I discovered that my pocket was empty.
My phone was gone. I’d dropped it somewhere in Nash’s yard, or on his porch.
My connection to Nash had been severed.
I cried like BethAnne in her mother’s basement.
Hours later, Sharise opened my door and found me sitting in the corner in my T-shirt and underwear, clutching my jeans with the pockets turned inside out. She started to ask me something, but when my gaze met hers, she ran screaming from my room, lost in whatever horror she’d found in my eyes. Or in her own soul.
I didn’t speak to anyone that day. I didn’t eat anything. I only left my room to use the bathroom, making eye contact with everyone I saw on the way, to be sure they’d leave me alone.
That was the day I faced my own worst fear—the greatest loss I’d ever suffered. But by the time my eyes closed that night, my fear was gone. I knew that I would not just survive my loss—I would overcome it.
I would find Nash. I would help him deal with his brother’s death. I would get him back.
God help anyone who stood in my way.
* * * * *
NIEDERWALD<
br />
This story takes place between MY SOUL TO STEAL and IF I DIE.
“Emma, wake up!” I shook her shoulder and she jerked upright, blinking, her normally golden complexion tinted green by the clock numbers blinking in the dashboard.
“Where are we?” she asked, pushing long blond hair from her face as we passed the road sign that answered her question.
Niederwald, TX, population 542. What the sign didn’t say was that only a dozen or so of those were human.
“We’re still about three hours from home.” After the world’s lamest extra-credit road trip to some bullshit cultural fair. I would not be writing the corresponding essay.
“Why are we stopping? Where’s the highway, Sabine?” Emma twisted to stare out the rear windshield, as if I35 might magically reappear.
“Took a detour. I have to do something.” A couple of things, actually. I’d only come with her in the first place because my car wasn’t running and Em’s trip would take her within shouting distance of where I needed to be. But the downside of my free trip to Niederwald was an entire day spent with my ex’s new girlfriend’s best friend. Em and I had nothing in common other than Nash and Kaylee, and calling the two of us friends would have meant redefining the term entirely.
I turned right into the gas station parking lot, the only break in acres of empty farmland, other than the occasional mobile home and a few houses in clusters too small to be called neighborhoods. When I parked in front of the building, a couple of spaces down from several other cars, two sets of eyes watched me from the first vehicle, colorless reflections of light, and I could feel more from the other cars.
I hadn’t been to Niederwald in nearly a year, but nothing had changed.
Emma frowned. “Fine, we’ll take a bathroom break. But then I’m driving. No more detours.”
I pulled the keys from the ignition and pointedly shoved them in my pocket, letting a small beat of alarm and intimidation pulse through my carefully constructed mental shields—feeding her fear, like fattening a cow before the slaughter. A reminder that just because I hadn’t turned her into a quaking mass of terror and tears didn’t mean I couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.
There were several upsides to being a Nightmare—a mara, to the well-informed—but getting my own way was easily the best of them. “This isn’t a pit stop. You’ll have to hold it.”
“Why?” she demanded, and I let that pulse beat a little stronger, but she just stared back at me like she hadn’t even felt it.
“Your ignorance is truly astounding, even for a human.” I leaned toward her until she scooted back against her door, finally properly intimidated. “This is Niederwald. Do you know of another place name that sounds like Niederwald?”
She blinked. Then she blinked again, and I could practically see her connecting the dots, though her confusion never quite cleared up. “The Netherworld? Is that really what Niederwald means?”
I shrugged. “In German, it means woodlands, or something like that. But I think that’s just a coincidence, because they aren’t German.” I nodded toward the line of vehicles as their doors started opening. “They aren’t human, either.”
Em glanced at the people getting out of their cars, openly watching us. “Start the car, Sabine.” Her voice was low and even, but her tense grip on the door handle ruined the calm facade. She understood just enough about my world to know she should be scared.
“Just relax and sit still—this’ll only take a few minutes.”
“What are we doing here? I should never have let you come with me!” she barked through clenched teeth.
“Now you’re learning....” I reached for the door handle, but her hand closed around my arm.
“What is this place—really?”
I considered not answering, but Emma was stubborn enough that if she thought she was alone and didn’t understand the danger, she might actually get out of the car, just to spite me.
“There are a few places where the barrier between our world and the Netherworld is very thin. Thin enough to be an easy pass-through for some things that normally can’t cross over on their own.” She started to interrupt, but I cut her off. “Before you ask, I don’t know why. That’s just the way it is.”
“Niederwald is one of those places?” Emma crossed her arms over her chest, and I could actually see the goose bumps forming. “So, hellions can...?”
“No,” I said. “Hellions can’t cross over, barrier or no barrier. But a lot of other things can.” I nodded toward the small group now forming in front of the store. “They’re here to keep us on this side, and everyone else on the other side.”
“Like border patrol,” Em said.
“Yeah. I guess.” I twisted the small silver hoop in the cartilage of my right ear. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Stay in the car. And in case you’re tempted to do something stupid, take a look.” I nodded over her shoulder at the locals.
Thin, and angular, they’d probably pass as human at a glance. Or at a distance. But up close, they were disproportionate enough to terrify someone like Emma, whose knowledge of the supernatural world included only the censored bits her bean sidhe best friend deemed psychologically safe.
The eyes watching us were too small and round. The woman sitting on her hood—Nea—tapped fingers that were too long and pointy. Almost like claws. Her shoulders were too broad and her neck too thin. Humanity was a thin disguise on her, and one she wouldn’t mind shedding, should the need arise.
“What are they?” Emma whispered, and I had to respect the curiosity that ran almost as thick in her voice as the appetizing tremor of her fear. Some humans freak out when they find out they’re not alone in the world, but so far, she’d shown some pretty decent backbone.
“Harpies,” I said, but her blank look spoke volumes and added to my frustration. “I’m not going to sugarcoat it for you like Kaylee does, so pay attention. Niederwald is the largest harpy settlement in the Western hemisphere. They’ve been guarding this thin spot in the barrier for a couple hundred years, and for the most part, people leave them alone, ’cause they’re creepy as hell even if you don’t know they’re not human.”
“No shit.” Emma frowned, openly staring at them now. “What do they...do—harpies?” she asked, sneaking another peek at them.
“Not as much as you’d think. They can cross into the Netherworld at will and they have an unfortunate affinity for raw foods.” And I wasn’t talking almonds and broccoli. “Other than that, they like to snatch things.”
Her pale brows rose in what may have been amusement. Or skepticism. “Like, kleptomania?”
“Kinda. Only they don’t hit stores. See how they’re all wearing jackets, even though it’s seventy-five degrees?” I didn’t bother trying to watch them subtly. Our stares were both open and mutual. “That’s to hide their wings.”
She studied the backs of the two girls facing away from us, but with the bulky cut of their jackets, she wouldn’t find any noticeable lumps. “Actual wings? Like, angel or butterfly?”
“Like harpy,” I snapped. “Think giant bats.”
“What do they snatch?”
“Whatever catches their interest,” I said, pushing back the urge to take just a taste of her fear. “Jewelry, coins, clothes, dolls, pewter Lord of the Rings figurines.” Dismembered body parts... “But they don’t mess with humans.” Usually. “That would draw too much attention. You should stay in the car, just in case, though.”
“I’m not staying here alone!”
“I’ll be back, and you’ll be fine. Just stay put and try not to freak out on me, okay?”
“No promises...” she whispered, as I got out of the car. When I closed the door, she leaned over the driver’s seat and slapped the lock, then sat with her purse in her lap while I rounded the front of her car toward the flock of harpies watching my approach.
“Sabine Campbell.” Nea stepped to the front of the group.
“Yeah. My name hasn’t changed.”
“Neither
has anything else....” Nea’s brother Troy eyed me up and down, like he’d just invented the whole visual invasion thing.
“Including my standards.” I flipped him off with both hands, then turned back to Nea. “I’m here to see Syrie. I need to ask her something.”
“You still looking for that guy? That bean sidhe?” Troy said, but his grin was more malice than amusement. “Don’t give up easy, do you?”
“I never give up. But I already found him.”
“Then what’s this about?”
“That’s none of your business.” Nea glared up at her brother, and I was pretty sure that if male harpies weren’t rare to the point of mythological obscurity, she and her flock would have eaten the jackass alive years ago.
Desi, the skinnier girl harpy, tossed long brown hair over her shoulder to reveal a wickedly pointed ear, pierced with a tiny bone—she’d once told me it was a human fingertip—near the top of the cartilage. “Can you pay?”
“If not, I know how you could work off your debt,” Troy suggested, ever eager to flaunt his utter lack of originality.
“What, they’re paying people to neuter harpies now?” I raised both brows in challenge, and he hissed, an oddly feline sound coming from someone with wings. “Relax, your parts are all safe for the moment.” I slid one hand into my hip pocket and pulled out a plastic test tube I’d taken from the school’s chemistry lab. I held it up to the light flickering overhead, and the harpies leaned forward for a better look at the dark, greenish liquid.
“What is that?” Nea reached for the tube, and I pulled it out of her reach.
“Nothing you wanna touch. At least, not at full strength.” I’d kept it in a glass vial at first, until it started eating through the tube. “This is hair from Invidia, a hellion of envy.”
“Hair?” Troy frowned. “That’s a liquid.”
“Congratulations, you’ve mastered at least one state of matter.” I tilted the vial, and the residue it left on the side of the plastic looked even greener and murkier than the bulk sloshing at the bottom. “Invidia’s hair is liquid. Like her follicles secrete pure liquid envy—toxic, caustic, and a real bitch to scrub out of leather. I’ve asked around, and everyone says a vial this size is worth way more than a single audience with Syrie. So why don’t you scurry back there and tell her I’m here.”
Soul Screamers Volume Two Page 40