Shadows in the Water
Page 31
“Mr. Reynolds, can you hear me?” I checked his pulse and it was faint, slowing.
I opened his suit jacket and pressed my hands to his chest as Ally’s voice echoed through the room. She gave the address and situation to the emergency operators on the phone. The tiny glass chunks in my arms and legs burned like hell as they worked their way in deeper into my skin. I saved the freaking out until after she hung up.
“What the hell did you say to him? We don’t do suicides.” I was talking too fast. Okay, so having a body drop on me unexpectedly caught me off guard. At least I couldn’t be blamed for the broken computer now. “And what the hell is it with fat men falling on me? That’s two this week. I’m like one hundred twenty pounds, assholes.”
It became a race to see who could speak the fastest with the widest eyes.
“I didn’t make him jump, thank you. I told him when you get pale like this it means it’s about to happen. So instead of paying attention to his own two feet, he watched you. He tripped on the laptop cord and rolled right over that damn rail.” She pointed up, looking freaked too.
“You have to stop telling them they’re about to die,” I said. I leaned close to his ear and shouted, “And you have to get wooden desks.”
As if reacting to the thunder of my own voice, my vision gave over completely, switching from dizzying spottiness to full-blown waves of color.
The room was a shifting aurora borealis of heat and light. Even weird shit can be comforting, when you expect it.
I really wished Ally could see it.
“Jesse, he isn’t looking so good.”
I focused on the man still partially in my lap. Reynolds was no longer a warm red-orange tinged with yellow like Ally. He was green, edging his way into the dormant blue-gray of the floor, the desk, and the walls. It was my job to keep the blue from overtaking him.
I couldn’t explain what I do exactly.
Death was the transformation of energy. I admit I was guessing. When someone was about to die, a tiny black hole was created inside them. Like a black hole in space, it looked like an empty swirling vortex. This vortex was what sucked all the warm, living colors out of a person, leaving nothing behind that could survive.
My job as a replacement agent was to convince the fleeting red of Mr. Reynolds, so ready to burn up its little flame and become a dormant blue, it really didn’t want to go into that swirling drain after all. Somehow I did this by willing it.
My colors have never matched Ally’s, Brinkley’s, or anyone who’d accompanied me in the room during a replacement. Lane too, I imagine, would be a more vibrant hue if I ever got a good look at him. The point was I seemed a welcome home for blue flame since I was always blue flame. Not the cold blue of furniture or buildings, more like a sparkly blue. Electric blue.
With Reynolds’s flame drawn into my own, it gave his red-warm fire room enough to burn. But there was a special spark I was looking for, and I had to find it inside him and keep it from being washed away.
The elevator opening and Ally shouting to the paramedics seemed like sounds underwater, as I focused harder on Reynolds.
“Hurry, Jesse,” she whispered.
A hot-cold chill settled into the muscles in my back and coiled around my navel like an invisible snake as I pushed my own flame further into Reynolds.
There—a spark where our flames danced around each other. Reynolds’s chest rose suddenly, jerking as he gasped, like gasoline thrown on the blaze.
But even though I scooped Reynolds’s precious spark out of danger’s way, the vortex didn’t simply close. Somebody had to go through that death drain. Unfortunately, that somebody had to be me.
So I exhaled one last breath and gave myself completely to the waiting darkness.
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Acknowledgments
Always so many people to thank...First and foremost, my wife, Kim. Her enthusiasm for my stories is the biggest encouragement. Many of the ideas my readers read and enjoy—they can thank her for their existence. If she had been even a little negative or dismissive, I would have put that story aside and moved on to something else.
Thank you to my Horsemen: Kathrine Pendleton, Angela Roquet, and Monica La Porta—especially Monica—who let me rely on her native Italian skills to give Konstantine some authenticity. You give every story the critical eye it deserves and because of that, you make the books better—and me a better writer. I hope I’m doing the same for you.
Thank you to the horde of volunteer proofreaders who are always eager to jump in line for ARCs. We all know I’m a one-woman show here, and I rely on the generosity of those who are willing to help without compensation—except for my unending gratitude and an honorable mention here on the acknowledgments page. So this time around, thank you to Claudette Bouchard, CC Ryburn, Andrea Cook, Rachel Menzies, Rebecca Shannon, Ashley Ferguson, Misty Neal, Joe Thomas, Rhonda Green Barron, Ben Rathert, Leslie Church, Shelly Burrows, Sharon Stogner, Lisa Morris, Julie Evans, Evonne Hutton, Ashley Owen, Kerri Krauter, Amy Chadbourne Brown, and Wendy Nelson.
Thank you to The Cover Collection for this beautiful cover. And thank you to Hollie Jackson who will narrate the audiobook.
Thank you to every blogger—professional or amateur—who shined light on my work and anyone who talked about it to family or friends. Thank you for every review. Every review counts. It may seem trivial to you, the time it took to write your review, but it increases my discoverability and potential audience. You’re vouching for me. You’re giving my work a spotlight. And that is priceless.
I also want to thank all the Jesse fans who read this. I began my publishing journey with Dying for a Living—a first novel that I wrote at the tender age of 25. I published it five years later...and many of you have been with me ever since. When I announced that I was writing a new non-Jesse series, you were overwhelmingly positive about it. You were willing to follow me into uncharted waters again. And that feels good. Really, really good. I thank you for it a thousand times over.
Thank you to every person who took the time to say hello on Facebook, Twitter, Wattpad, or Instagram. To everyone who took the time to write me a sweet, thoughtful email or send along fanmail. You guys are remarkably good at sensing when I’ve hit a rough patch in the writing. More than once, your kind words pushed me back into the saddle. Thank you.
About the Author
Kory M. Shrum lives in Michigan with her wife, Kim, and their ferocious guard pug, Josephine March. Kory naps like an adult and chugs caffeine like one too.
She’s an active member of Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America, Horror Writers of America, and best of all, the Four Horsemen of the Bookocalypse, where she's known as Conquest.
She’s the author of the Dying for a Living urban fantasy series and her Shadows in the Water supernatural thrillers.
When not reading, writing, or battling her pug for the covers, she teaches writing to college students.
She’d love to hear from you on Facebook, Twitter, or her website, where she regularly posts giveaways for book-crazed readers like you.
Also by Kory M. Shrum
The Complete Dying for a Living urban fantasy series
Dying for a Living
Dying by the Hour
Dying for Her: A Companion Novel
Dying Light
Worth Dying For
Dying Breath
Dying Day
Lou Thorne Thrillers
Shadows in the Water
Standalone
Badass and the Beast: 10 “Tails” about Kickass Heroines and the Beasts That Love Them
Learn more about Kory’s work at her website: www.korymshrum.com
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