by Kassel, Meg
I drop my head into my hands. “I want to tell her everything,” I say. “I want…”
Everything.
There’s no point in going on about it. What I want stopped mattering the moment the rope went taut around my neck all those years ago. Before that, if I’m going to be honest, when I chose to follow my brothers into a life of crime.
“Then maybe you should,” Fiona says.
I look up, surprised. “What?”
“Yeah. What he said.” Brooke stares at Fiona like she’s lost her mind. “What, Fiona?”
Fiona sets her glass on the counter. A milk mustache rings her upper lip. “Why not tell Angie what you are? She knows most of it already. It’s obvious she has feelings for you, Reece. What is it about her that draws you so much?”
“I’m not sure.” What about her doesn’t draw me? “I’ve known her since we were kids—you know that.”
“Don’t give us that bullshit, Reece,” Brooke says. “No one in this group wants another Hank situation.”
“I don’t want that, either.” She has no idea how badly. And hopefully no idea how easily it could happen. No one wants to draw the attention of a Strawman.
“Then if you want us to approve you sharing our secrets with this girl, we need to know what’s going on in your thick head.” Brooke points a finger at me. “You better come clean, Reece. What level of infatuation are we dealing with here?”
I rub my hands over my face and groan. “It’s not an infatuation,” I say. “I—I—”
“No.” She swings her feet off the table and slams them to the floor. “Don’t say you love her. Do not.”
I fling my hands wide. “I don’t know how I feel!” The words explode from me. “I want to stay away from her, but I can’t. I want to stop thinking about her, but whenever I close my eyes, there she is. She’s talented and funny and smart, and yeah, I’m very attracted to her. When I’m with her, I just want to—” I cut off with a loud exhale. “You know, the curse kind of deadens those feelings…desires. So when it happens, it’s powerful. When I’m with her, I feel like a human again. I feel like me again.”
“Well, there’s the problem right there,” Brooke says, gently. “You’re not exactly a human, and you’re not you, whoever that was. You stopped being that guy when your burner life ended and the curse found you. You can’t allow yourself to believe you can get that life back.”
“Why not?” My voice is a hoarse whisper. “What’s so bad about feeling, just for a little while?”
“Because you can’t keep it,” she replies. “It’s like visiting a theme park. You don’t get to stay in the fantasy.”
“But people still go to theme parks.” I shrug. “And they leave and go back with their lives.”
Brooke sighs. “Well, I tried. The boy won’t see reason.”
Fiona, who stayed off on the edge of my peripheral vision, clears her throat. “I agree with Reece on this one.”
Lucia nods, which surprises me. The woman who is playing our mother doesn’t typically side with radical arguments. She likes to play it safe. She loathes confrontation, especially with Brooke, who enjoys animated debate. “If Reece is feeling, um, passion, for lack of a better word, that’s significant.”
Brooke glowers, drums her fingers on the table. “Significant how?”
Fiona shrugs one narrow shoulder. “Don’t know yet.” She holds up a hand when Brooke opens her mouth to rebut. “Also, I think that Angie’s not…untouched by the magic.”
“Really?” I ask, surprised. “What makes you say that?”
Fiona’s dark eyes flick all over the room. It’s her go-to expression when she’s thinking hard or searching for the right way to explain something. “The fact that Angie can see Rafette’s true face is remarkable. The fact that he sought her out is shocking. That alone is extraordinary enough to necessitate keeping her under close watch.”
I bite my cheek and ponder the wisdom of sharing with them the chat Rafette and I had on the roof tonight. I know where Fiona is going with her train of thought—she’s always looking for chinks in the curse’s armor, signs that there is a way to crack it. I don’t share her optimism, but Lucia does, to an extent, as do many others in our group. As a medical doctor, Lucia’s seen advancements during her time on Earth that she never thought possible. To her, nothing is impossible.
“Speaking of Rafette…” I’ve gone this far. I may as well put it all out there. “I had an interesting chat with him tonight. He explained why he approached her, although it doesn’t mean anything. He’s starting to lose it is all.”
Brooke holds up a hand. “Do tell, Reece. And don’t leave anything out.”
“It’s a long story.”
“We’ll be here long enough,” she replies, putting her feet back up on the table and starting in on her second coat of polish. “Get on with it.”
I recount Rafette’s flight of fancy about his theory of breaking his curse. The room is quiet. The three women—including Fiona—watch me like they’re waiting for me to say something else. Like I’ve left something out.
Lucia sighs. She rubs her side, where a hard fall from our last marked town left her with broken ribs that haven’t fully healed. Nearly all of us suffer from some badly healed injury. I have three bullet wounds in my shoulder. A long, jagged scar runs down my thigh, inflicted by a man with a knife in the grips of beekeeper venom. Nothing that causes me enough pain to keep me from playing hockey yet.
“We can’t rule out Rafette’s theory, Reece,” says Lucia. “If he says he spoke to an ancient one—a Strawman—we must consider the possibility. The notion of a beekeeper giving his curse to you isn’t something to disregard.”
“Come on,” I say. “You can’t be serious.”
“I agree with Lucia,” Fiona says. “Why would a Strawman talk to Rafette? It must have a plan, and you’re part of it.” She bites her lip, looking genuinely worried. “This is not good. Not good at all.”
I can’t believe they’re talking like this. “How do we know Rafette is telling the truth?”
“Why would he lie?” Fiona asks.
Good question. “Maybe his mind is going,” I say. “Maybe he’s bored.”
“That doesn’t happen to them,” she says. “Does it? I haven’t heard of a beekeeper going insane. And I sincerely doubt they get ‘bored,’ too.”
Actually, I thought Rafette seemed profoundly bored. Bored enough to make up delusions about ways to end his existence. I hunch my shoulders. “So you’re an expert on beekeepers?”
“Reece,” Lucia cuts in. She spreads her hands. Her eyes brim with sympathy, but that only makes my jaw tighten.
I don’t want sympathy.
“No.” I pace away from them, putting space between me and these women I live with and trust and sometimes can’t stand. “I refuse to believe that a Strawman has suddenly given Rafette the key to breaking the beekeeper curse. Just…here you go: go find a harbinger of death to condemn for eternity.” I shake my head. “That’s never happened before, and it’s not happening now.”
“Nevertheless,” Brooke says, “this burner has too many connections to you, to us, and now Rafette. Also to the powers at the root of it all.” She angles her head. “She really didn’t recognize you?”
“No,” I reply. “She has no memory of me from when we were kids.”
“Don’t take it personally,” Lucia says. “It’s normal for the mind to protect itself from pain when it can. Her brain has probably suppressed more of her childhood than most, considering how she lived. And her mother’s illness.” She has her placid doctor’s face on for this. “Sometimes very good memories can be as traumatic as bad ones, so it all gets buried.”
I check the urge to roll my eyes, but I like her explanation. Even though it may be a load of crap. “It’s a good theory.”
“I’ll tell you what it is—a gift,” Brooke says. “One less complication.” She raps her knuckles on the table. “I say Reece should keep the burn—
I mean, Angie, close. To keep an eye on her and this whole unpleasant situation. If a Strawman is around, and that’s a big if, we need to be alert. And if you can’t stop yourself from kissing the girl…” She shrugs. “Whatever. It’s your theme park, Reece. We can’t stop you if you want to make yourself sick by riding the roller coasters.” Her eyes narrow with warning. “Just don’t make a mess you can’t clean up.”
A part of me goes slack at her words. Keep Angie close. Kissing. There’s nothing I want more. But if they believe Rafette’s plan has merit…no. They can think whatever they want. Rafette may truly believe he has the key to breaking his curse, but I do not.
“I agree.” Fiona doesn’t look happy, though. She frowns at her feet. Her gaze won’t meet mine. “I like Angie, but I fear for her. And you, Reece.”
“I’m sure Reece will be sensible about this.” Lucia, who rarely argues over anything, smiles at me. “Looks like your wish is granted. You get your girl.”
“For now,” Brooke puts in. Firmly. “And remember the rules—you can’t rescue her. No playing superhero and swooping in to save the day. I swear to God, Reece, if you prevent her rightful death and draw a Strawman here, I’ll peck you to death myself.”
That’s all it takes—the majority of harbingers in a group who can take human form make the decisions. This group, here in the kitchen, is a majority.
I nod, weak with relief. The last thing I expected when I came in here tonight was to be told by my group that I have permission to spend time with Angie, to tell her what I am. Thoughts, wishes—and yes, desires—explode inside my head, suddenly unleashed. I don’t want to hurt her or hurt myself more than necessary. I probably can’t even take her to prom. But I can be near her. I can care about her and keep her safe from Rafette’s bees.
My mind invents a scene of kissing her and sends it flickering through my head. I shudder at the feelings that mental image provokes. I don’t know if I’ll ever kiss her, but I can if she wants to. I hide all this by gripping the countertop and keeping my gaze on the wall. We lost the bulk of our emotions when our burner lives ended. These women—even Fiona, who works hard to keep her grip on her humanity—won’t understand how I’m feeling. I’m a separate thing from them. For now. For as long as I can stay at the theme park. “I know the rules,” I say. “I won’t do anything foolish.”
Brooke shakes her head and snorts. Lucia pats my cheek with a murmur of sympathy she may or may not feel. There’s no mystery about how this will end. No illusions in any of our minds that a happy ending is a remote possibility. We are cursed souls, scavengers, cleaners of bones. But if I’m to fall for a girl I can’t have, I may as well fall all the way. It’s not like pain isn’t a certainty. After I leave, she’ll find a love that can last, that is worthy of her. She already knows how to forget about me, after all. She’s done it once quite well. I’m the one who can’t help but remember her.
Practice
Harbingers of death aren’t, as a rule, the argumentative sort. At least our group isn’t. Well, Paxton can be. He wasn’t pleased that Lucia, Brooke, Fiona (and myself) were in agreement that Angie would get the full story if she wanted it. The only thing that ended his heated opposition was Brooke’s nauseating reminder that Angie was a mere burner and whatever I told her would be rendered irrelevant by her inevitable, possibly imminent, death. If Angie were to die in the impending disaster in Cadence, what difference would it make what I told her?
I hated hearing it, but every word was true. Her bluntness was her repeated message to me: Don’t interfere, Reece. Don’t forget what you are.
If Angie is to die in the coming weeks, I should do nothing to prevent it. It’s a rule not worth breaking unless I want to draw the attention of a Strawman, which I absolutely don’t.
Despite being on this earth for nearly two hundred years and witnessing and enduring some of the worst horrors during that history, it took me nearly a week to cobble together the courage to cross two hundred yards of grass and woods to arrive at Angie’s house. I needed a good reason to go over there other than just hey-can-we-talk-about-my-magical-curse? Brooke, who is better at deception than me, came up with a good excuse that would put Angie at ease and make her feel like she had the upper hand. I called the vehicle transport company I use to shuttle around my beloved old car—seriously, I love this thing—and asked them to delay the delivery a day.
And now here I am. On her doorstep. Nervous and hopeful and terrified.
I knock. There’s a doorbell, but if it’s anything like ours, it will begin booming out a lengthy tune, and I’m not presently confident enough to announce myself so bombastically.
I’m a little rattled when her dad opens the door. Of course her father lives here, but I wasn’t prepared to talk to the man. Get a grip, Reece!
Angie’s dad peers at me. “Hello? Can I help you?”
“Um, Mr. Dovage. Hi.” My hands are sweating. The human boy part of me wants this guy’s approval, even if the logical side of me knows it doesn’t matter what he thinks of me. It’s not like I’ll ever be asking him for permission to marry his daughter. I won’t even be here long enough to take her to prom. If she would even go with me. It’s debatable. “I’m—Reece F-Fernandez. From next door. I go to school with Angie. Your daughter.”
“Yes.” His brows raise. “I know who she is.”
“Right.” Oh, wow. Great first impression. “I was wondering if Angie was home? I kind of need to ask her something.”
His mouth forms around the word what, but he doesn’t ask. “Hmm. Sure. I’ll get her.” He rubs his chin. It’s mildly reassuring to observe Mr. Dovage appearing as uncomfortable as I feel.
I stick my hands in my pockets and try to look deferential. “Thank you, sir.”
Angie’s dad gives me a long look—an assessing one—and leaves me alone in the foyer.
It feels like forever before I see her, crossing the marble floor. She moves almost silently in slippers. She walks up on the balls of her feet. I get the impression Angie’s self-conscious of her petite stature, if those platform shoes she wears while performing are any indication. Maybe making herself taller makes her feel more powerful. Little does she know how unnecessary those few extra inches are. “Hey,” I say.
“Hey yourself.” She keeps a wide space between us. Her expression is as closed off as I’ve ever seen it. “What’s up?”
“I’m sorry to show up like this. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
Her eyes narrow. “Nope.”
Great. I must have done more damage than I thought. “I need a favor.”
“I got the clear impression you wanted to keep your distance,” she says crisply. “You’re sending very mixed signals.”
“I know. It’s messed up.” I keep my gaze on her black ballet slippers decorated with little white skulls. It’s easier to keep my thoughts straight if I look at the body part farthest from her face, which has the effect of wiping my mind clean of anything coherent. “You have no idea how much.”
“Oh, I have an idea.” She crosses her arms. “What’s this favor?”
She hasn’t kicked me out yet. I’m starting to feel hopeful. I raise my gaze to hers. “I was wondering if you’d mind giving me a ride to the ice rink.”
“The ice rink?” she asks. “Isn’t the hockey season half over?”
“Yeah.” I’m surprised she knows that. “But Coach Radley saw my last season stats and agreed to let me try out tonight at practice. He lost a center to bad grades, and if I make it, he said he can swing a special circumstance waiver, letting me join the team mid-season. My car arrived, but it’s in the shop, and my mom is out, so I was wondering—hoping—you’d be willing to give me a ride.” Nice job, rambling Reece! I could have done without half of that monologue. And I didn’t get it right about my car, but like I said, I’m bad at deception.
She smirks. “None of the puck heads felt like picking you up?”
Now she’s just messing with me. “Fine. I wanted to talk to
you, okay?” I cross my arms. “Without an audience. I didn’t know how else to do it.”
She considers that. “We have a terrible hockey team.”
I’m really surprised she knows that. “I suspect that’s why Coach is letting me try out mid-season.”
“I don’t know.” She bites her bottom lip. “I have friends over.”
My head blanks. I saw that beat-up van in the driveway but was too focused on what I was going to say to Angie to take notice. “Oh, I didn’t know. Didn’t mean to interrupt.” It must belong to that kid, Deno, she’s always hanging out with. I thought at first they were a couple, but after watching them for a few minutes, it didn’t seem like that was the case. I still don’t know what to make of him, though. There’s a vibe between them that hints of some past complication between them. Knowing he’s here at Angie’s house, at night, sets off a twisting in my belly that I don’t know what to do with.
I should have observed Deno more closely. Maybe I misjudged Angie and Deno—Angie and me. Maybe—
“That’s okay.” Another female voice sounds behind Angie. It’s Lacey, the third point of their impenetrable trinity. “We were just leaving, weren’t we, Deno?”
A substantial amount of my—God help me—jealousy recedes upon seeing her. It wasn’t just Angie and Deno doing…whatever they were doing. Lacey, an intriguing girl herself, was there, too. And the way she looks at Deno is very different from the way Angie looks at him. Ah, the dynamics of this little group are very interesting.
Deno blinks at her. “We’re leaving? But our equipment—”
Lacey pokes him in the ribs with her elbow.
“Ow. Okay, yeah,” Deno says. The poor kid looks thoroughly vexed. “On our way out. See you tomorrow, Angie.”