It’s way too early for Lucas, but I might catch Rach on her way to class. I hope so—I want to tell her about the seriously fine gentleman I met at Apocalypse last night. His name was Darius. I’d have taken the bartender job just to gawk at him, but the pay is great too.
“Hey, girl!” I yell as I jog past Lisa, one of the girls from Rachel’s block who is also in my Wicca group. I back up and pull out one of my earbuds. “How’s it going?”
“Josie! Meetup today at lunch,” she says, jogging in place. “You in? Cassie sensed some bad energy on campus last night.”
“Count me in!”
“Great! See you then!”
We both turn and continue our run. As I slip my earbud back in, I catch the cawing of a crow. I look up to see one perched on the sign of Trinity Falls Campus Gym.
One crow.
One for sorrow.
There’s some bad energy on campus, all right. Didn’t Rach say she broke a mirror yesterday? I cross myself.
Almost instantly, another crow joins the first. I let out a breath.
One for sorrow. But two for joy.
I continue my jog. At the campus square, students mill around with coffees and smoothies. But there’s no sign of Rach.
Ah well. I’ll catch her later.
I jog down the steps on a renewed mission for an ice-cold smoothie, but then I stop. I have the strangest feeling someone is watching me.
As I’m squinting into the shadows, a small feather floats in front of me. I smile. Grams always used to say that was a sign a Guardian Angel was watching over you. I catch it in the palm of my hand, make a silent prayer to thank the Lord for this beautiful day, then blow, watching it dance away on the warm breeze.
Perhaps there is someone watching me after all.
Inside the food hall, there’s a serving station where Martha doles out pancakes and crispy bacon to the few early risers lined up by the mirrored wall. Next to it is Lazarus Coffee, which has a much longer line. The closed deli area on the left won’t open until lunch, but that isn’t what I want. I want the colorful fruit and a large, vibrating blender.
At the counter, I select a strawberry and watermelon smoothie, then wait. As I do, something catches my eye on the linoleum floor.
“Drop this?” I ask the smoothie guy.
“Nope,” he replies brightly, handing me my drink. “But find a penny, pick it up . . .”
“All day long, you’ll have good luck!” I finish with a grin, pocketing it as I make my way toward the exit.
That’s when I hear a sharp noise over the cutlery and conversation. A crack snakes along the mirrored wall.
“Holy macaroni,” I say, reaching for a packet on the table and throwing salt over my shoulder for more luck.
A torrent of creative cuss words comes from behind me. Heart jumping, I spin around to find a tall dark-haired guy in a leather jacket. He’s rubbing his eyes like there’s no tomorrow.
Or like someone just threw salt in them.
“Oh, my God! I’m so sorry!” I say. “I didn’t see anyone behind me. Are you okay?”
“Okay? What the hell!” he says gruffly, and I try to place the accent.
He blinks a few times before his eyes focus on my face. They are both a little red due to the recent salt incident, but his irises are a cloudy gray. He’s pretty hot in a bad-boy kind of way, with broad shoulders and a rugged jawline covered with day-old stubble. He looks familiar, too, even though I don’t think I’ve seen him on campus.
“Do I know you?” I ask.
“I’m the guy you just hit in the eye with salt!” he says, incredulous.
Scottish. The accent is Scottish.
“You know what? It’s not worth it,” he mutters, turning toward the exit. “I only took the job because I was on campus for the other one anyway.”
“What’s his problem?” I mutter under my breath as the double doors swing behind him.
Then I shrug and slurp my smoothie.
What a beautiful morning.
***
Theology. Yawn. But at least Lucas keeps me entertained with updates on his new crush from his theater class and his excitement about me scoring the job at Apocalypse. I know it’s because he thinks I’ll make him free drinks—and I will as long as it isn’t a problem with the owners. I’m broke AF at the moment, and I don’t want to be any more of a strain on my mom, who is working her ass off in shitty jobs just so I can be here.
Rach is in on all of these texts, but I don’t hear from her until I’m heading into the glass-walled work zone to meet the girls. As I plop myself down in one of the pink beanbags in the corner and straighten my long tribal-patterned skirt, I can’t help but notice a weird amount of crows hanging about the square. They’re everywhere—perched on the old tower, on the sign for the library, and milling about on the stone steps.
Seriously weird.
I go back to my phone and message Rach. It’s a relief to hear from her, honestly. She’s been quiet lately, spending loads of time alone at the gym. I think it’s because the anniversary of Jonathon’s death is approaching. I’m an only child—unless you count my asshole half-brother Nathan, which I don’t—but still, I can’t imagine losing a sibling. She won’t talk much about him, but I get the impression they were close even though her parents favored him.
The meeting starts, and I brighten, putting my phone away.
If I get this Apocalypse job, I’ll cheer her up with free drinks and dancing.
After we send good vibes out into the universe, I flick on some mascara and adjust the big, blocky red beads of my necklace so they hang right over my black strappy top.
Bartender interview-ready? Check!
But no, something is missing. Then I smile, pulling out a small bottle of perfume from my purse. I spritz myself with the incense-y sandalwood scent.
Hot co-founder of Apocalypse-ready? Check!
Waving bye to the girls, I make the ten-minute walk to Trinity Falls’ main drag. When I reach Apocalypse, the usually bright neon sign is turned off.
Steeling myself to go in, I look around. The woman who works behind the bar at Evie’s stares at me through the glass. I smile and wave. She turns away, an odd expression on her face.
I shrug. Then I take a deep breath and knock on the wooden door.
Moments later, it swings open.
“Josie, you made it,” Darius says.
Just like last night, he’s drop-dead gorgeous, with dark skin and short, curly black hair. Today, his white shirtsleeves are rolled up, revealing the tattoos on one of his forearms. The most prominent is a scythe with black flowers curling around the handle. His eyes are dark and endless. But there’s something else too. Something that makes my blood run hot and cold at the same time.
I can’t even deal with how hot he is. And young for a co-founder of a club.
“Darius,” I say, heart thumping as I try to act breezy. Get it together, girl. “So great to see you again! So you have a job opening?”
His smile widens. “Yes. One of my brothers recently received an unexpected summons,” he says in a low British drawl. “And we believe it will be keeping us busy for the foreseeable future. So, please, come in, let me tell you all about it.”
He takes a step back into the shadow, then pauses.
“Oh, and by the way, my brothers call me Death. Just a little nickname. Silly, really. But don’t let it bother you.”
“Death?” I repeat, glancing at the horseshoe above the entrance. “Ohhh.” I laugh. “Like the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, right? Cute.”
“Yes. Exactly. Now, please, follow me. I’ll go over the role, and then you can sign the contract.”
Chapter Fifteen
When I finally get back from Devils Inc., I kick off my sneakers, gulp down the glass of old water on my nightstand, then collapse onto my unmade bed. My head thumps, and I’m not sure if it’s thanks to dehydration, heat, or sensory overload.
I push myself upright against the chi
pped wooden headboard, my eyes drawn to the stack of books on my desk—still in alphabetical order, thanks to my odd new ally. Then I empty the contents of my jeans pocket onto the crumpled sheets: the Halo Corp. business card, the company cell from Adalind, and the contract.
I unfold it, pressing it against the mattress. And there it is, Section 666 of Evie’s Garden Bar Free Wi-Fi Terms and Conditions. It outlines how, if I accept, my soul belongs to the Devil. And there, below it, is my time-stamped acceptance. There’s also a clause above it about how I agree to be transported to Hell imminently if I fail to comply with the company’s rules and regulations, and that includes a ban on insider trading. There’s also a section detailing the things that constitute twenty-four-hour notice before being given the agreement.
Apparently, omens of the sort Crow sent do count. Well, that’s complete bullshit. If he really wanted to warn me, he could have told me straight-out what was coming. But he didn’t. And then today, he just drove off and left me to stumble into another ridiculous agreement.
What a complete and utter dick. I’d like to give that Omen a piece of my mind.
I jump up and grab my gym bag. I need to punch something. As I swing it over my shoulder, though, my cell buzzes.
“Hey, girl!” Josie says as soon as I pick up. “You won’t believe the day I’ve had!”
“Ditto,” I say, heading to the window.
“Oh, really? Tell me!”
“You first,” I say, unsure how I would even start to explain my morning without her thinking I’ve lost my mind. She’s already worried about me because of the whole Jonathon thing.
“Well, you’re speaking with the newest bartender at Apocalypse! And, babe, you would not believe how hot the club owners are,” Josie continues. “They’re half-brothers. And Darius, the guy who did the interview . . .”
As she continues to speak, movement catches my eye outside between two concrete dorm blocks. The very dead Richard Livingstone staggers out of the shadows, phone in hand, business suit practically torn to shreds by Crow’s birds.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter.
“I know, right!” continues Josie as the zombie asshole below checks his cell, then looks up. “They’re totally committed to the Apocalyptic aesthetic. Darius asked me to call him D—”
“Josie, I’m so sorry,” I say as Richard’s eyes meet mine. Shit. “I’ve got to go.”
“Oh. Okay.” Josie sounds disappointed. “Why?”
“Someone’s at my door,” I say—not untruthfully, as Livingstone is currently staggering into my building.
“Well, meet me and Lucas at Apocalypse tonight? Darius said drinks were on the house!”
“Yep. Sure. See you tonight!” I hang up the phone.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I did want to beat the crap out of something, but this wasn’t quite what I had in mind.
I look around my small room, searching for something to use as a weapon. My boxing trophy? My lamp? My humongous business law textbook? Then my eyes catch on the small black cellphone on my bed, courtesy of Devils Inc.
That damned Afterlife App. That’s why Richard is here.
I grab my phone, heart in my throat, and see a push notification informing me there’s a potential client in close proximity.
“Thanks for the warning,” I grumble. Adalind said I needed to set my status to offline to stop the dead from coming to me.
Tapping the icon, I scroll down the page of my bio, past my profile pic and a section where I can add a description.
I hear movement outside my door. Footsteps.
Shit.
And then I see the status bar in the top right-hand corner of the screen. I slide it to “Offline.”
There’s a pause.
Then the footsteps retreat.
Exhaling, I fall back on my bed, cell still in hand.
I can’t believe that actually worked.
I can’t believe there’s an app for the newly dead.
I can’t believe this is my life.
I bring up the map with the dots from earlier. There’s a search function at the top, and I type in “Crow” to see where that asshole is at the moment.
The screen zooms in on a small black dot. I zoom closer to see he’s currently at The Hills Luxury Lodge on the outskirts of Los Angeles.
I tap on it to find that it’s a retirement home.
Seriously? Terrorizing the elderly? Does this guy have no morals at all?
To distract myself from messaging him about how he’s an ass, I click around to read more about Afterlife instead.
As soon as I click on the “About” page, my heart stops in my chest. Suddenly, the reason for the strange interest in my tattoo becomes evident.
The “L” of Afterlife is represented by a long, elegant peacock feather. The exact peacock feather I had inked on my shoulder to memorialize my dead genius brother. Every flourish, every barb, every bit of color is identical. This can’t be a coincidence. I designed the tattoo myself.
But why would it be here?
I run my trembling finger over it, heart beating hard against my rib cage as questions I should have thought of hours ago crash into my mind with the same force as the car accident that took him from me.
If all of this is real, then what happened to Jonathon after he died? Is he still here? Can I find him?
And what has he got to do with Afterlife?
***
I spend the rest of the afternoon trying to find out more about the app and Jonathon. Searches for him come up empty. User not found.
Fumbling for Gabriel’s business card, I key his number into my phone and pace around as it rings. He doesn’t pick up until my fourth attempt, and he doesn’t give me a chance to speak.
“You can’t call me,” he hisses. “Not here. It’s too dangerous. If we need to be in touch, then I will contact you.”
He hangs up.
I instantly redial, but this time, it goes straight to voicemail. I let out a strangled noise of frustration and hurl my cell at my mattress, watching it bounce across the comforter. Then I grab the Devils Inc. phone and search for Crow again. He’s still at the retirement home, probably scaring old ladies with crows during bingo or something.
My thumb hovers over the “Message” button by his name. Then, before I can talk myself out of it, I push it and key in a quick request: It’s Rachel. I need to talk to you. Can we meet?
I don’t like this guy. I don’t want to need his help. I don’t want him to think I’ve even thought about him for a second. But Jonathon is more important than my pride. I need to know what happened to him after he died. I need to know why the feather that bonded us after his death is part of the Afterlife app. I need to know if he’s still here. And I think Crow knows more than he’s letting on.
Sucking in a deep breath, I push “Send.”
I stare at the white chat box waiting for a response. A couple of minutes later, a little check mark appears indicating Crow has seen the message.
I wait a few minutes for his reply.
Then a few more.
Then a few more.
It doesn’t come.
I sit on the edge of my mattress and put my head in my hands. Sure, he helped me fight off those zombie things earlier, but then he deserted me on the sidewalk. I really am just a job to him, aren’t I?
I spend the next couple of hours in the gym imagining Crow’s smug face beneath my fists instead of the crimson punching bag: his hard jaw, his stupid smirking lips, his cloudy gray eyes.
It’s not until I’m back in my dorm, freshly showered, that the Devils Inc. phone buzzes on the desk. The map is still zoomed in on Crow’s little black dot, which now moves down the freeway toward Trinity Falls. What’s more, there’s a notification lighting up my inbox. I feel a jolt in my chest as I pick up the phone and tap on it.
Missing me already?
A wave of irritation washes over me, but it’s accompanied by relief.
N
o, I reply. Can you meet me tonight?
I see that he’s typing. Then . . .
Sure. Where?
Although I’m surprised by his easy compliance, I bite back any gratitude. After everything that’s happened, the least he can do is give me a proper explanation. I check the time. It’s almost seven, and I said I’d meet Josie and Lucas in the food hall before we went out.
Do you know Apocalypse? The club opposite Evie’s? I tap in.
I wait a few moments for a response.
I’m familiar. Great place to pick up girls.
I grit my teeth. You’re an asshole.
I know, he replies almost instantly. See you tonight, little Demon.
Chapter Sixteen
A warm dusk has settled over Trinity Falls by the time we leave the food hall.
Josie wears a long-sleeved green dress, hoop earrings, and her most expensive perfume, while Lucas wears chinos and a pale pink shirt. I opted for a black dress and flat but stylish boots. After the day I’ve had, I’m not risking having to fight dead people—or Omens, for that matter—in heels. But it doesn’t mean I can’t still look good.
Josie describes the hotness of Darius in intense detail as we head toward Apocalypse, but I’m distracted by thoughts of how I’m going to wring details out of Crow.
“He has these, like, infinite eyes or something,” says Josie. “And—”
“You know you can’t sleep with him now he’s your boss, right?” says Lucas, raising an eyebrow at Josie over his glasses.
“Oh, damn,” says Josie, face falling. “You’re right. I never thought of that.”
Lucas chuckles. “Then again, a bit of forbidden romance never hurt anyone.”
“Now you’re talking,” says Josie. “Come on! Darius said he’d put our names on the list.”
The buzzing neon sign of Apocalypse casts a flickering blue light onto the sidewalk. Josie bypasses the gathering line and goes to speak to the tall Hispanic woman running the door. Holding a clipboard, she wears red lipstick, leather pants, and riding boots.
Devils Inc. Page 7