No Time to Cry (Nine While Nine Legacy Book 1)

by Stasia Morineaux

  “Well…that’s just fucked up! He poisoned me?” I fumed.

  “Not exactly. That fellow over there,” he said pointing to the opposite side of the roof, where a youngish guy in Goth attire stood near the make shift bar, “he creeped a little something extra in to your glass. Your Lanmhuchadh, your extinguisher, merely gave it a little extra kick.”

  I just stared at him some more. He was purely so matter-of-fact. I shook my head desperately, angrily, not wanting to listen to this or to accept any of this.

  “And who are you?” I glowered at him.

  “I’m Liam.” He extended his hand in greeting.

  I ignored it; I’m sure with a look of contempt on my face. Was he crazy? Why? Why would I, for any conceivable reason, be impelled to touch him?

  “I’m your Coimhdeacht…your Escort, your Usher.”

  Like this bit of info would reassure me, make it all better, smooth the disdain from my features.

  “I’ll explain it all to you on our way.”

  He just kept going on. The fun never ended.

  “On our way to where? And wait. No. I’m not going anywhere with you,” I growled at him, edging away from him and again closer to the door.

  Liam sighed. “We have to go. We can’t hang around here. Pretty soon someone is going to try to wake the birthday girl for her festivities and then things are going to get really interesting. You really don’t want to be here for that. I’ve seen it happen. It will be even less fun for you than this right now.”

  “Can you be any more callous?” I spat out the words, my breathing ragged, absorbing another bout of dread. I moved markedly away from him, making my way through my friends—waiting, looking all around me as I turned among them, willing them to see me, speak to me, touch me, hug me…oh hell, even bump into me. The closest thing I got was another person walking through me on their way to the makeshift bar.

  “Look, darlin’, I do this every day…well, nearly every day. I’m sorry if I’m not as delicate as you need—“

  “You’re an ass.” I breathed out, choking back the onset of tears. I took one last look at myself, at my friends gathered here, for me, to be with me, all so happy…and unaware. I heard a moan of absolute desolation escape from me then I ran for, and stormed through, the open roof door. I tore down the single flight of stairs to my apartment and reached for the door knob, prepared to race through and barricade him out. My hand passed right through it.

  The air in my lungs rushed out in dismay. “Shit!” I cried. I gave it another go, and another; again and again my hand passed right through the metal, as if my fingers were made of fog, not flesh. I sighed heavily, desperately. I pondered briefly, if I were to lean my head against the door, as I so utterly felt the overwhelming need to do, would I pass right through it? Before I could test it out, I heard carpet-muffled footsteps stop behind me. I knew it was Liam without needing to turn.

  “We’ve got a lot to talk about and we can’t do it here. We need to go to my place.”

  I glared at him in response. I was on fire with rage and resentment, but my mind felt suddenly focused and sharp, something humming deep within the recesses. I grabbed at the door knob and felt my hand grip it solidly. I grinned and turned it, swiftly pushing the door open.

  “What?” Liam was sounding awfully perplexed. I felt very satisfied with that achievement. “No. No. You can’t do that.”

  “I just did.” I said to him smugly, darting through the door and slamming it in his face, locking it quickly behind me. He was not welcome here.

  ~ Chapter Two ~

  I strode through my apartment, looking at everything as I passed from the small foyer into the living room, up the hall to my kitchen, then back out to the living room. My mind racing to process and get a grip on the info I’d been given, just trying to wrap my mind around it, and trying to breathe normally. I saw the contents of each room, saw my favorite things; my art, my photos, my writing, my clothes, my books, every little meaningful thing jumping forefront to my sight as a soon to be lost object.

  “I’m dead,” I said it out loud. I felt I needed to say it aloud. To feel it in my mouth, passing my lips, to maybe get a better comprehension, to come to terms with it. It felt true. “I can’t stay here.” I looked at my surroundings.

  I loved this apartment. I remembered back to when Gigi had first phoned me about its availability. I had jumped right on it. Prime location near downtown. Excellent price. Spacious. Third floor with a view of the ocean—well, a slight view. A huge living room, with a loft bedroom overlooking it. A small room enclosed by French doors at one end of the living room, perfect for my writing room. Cathedral ceilings. Hardwood floors. Two sets of French doors in the living room, which allowed in amazing, refreshing ocean breezes, afternoon sunlight, and beautiful sunsets.

  “Lissa!” I heard him yell through the door.

  This was home, my home. And now I was being forced to leave. I spun around, taking it all in. My heart bursting with the need to cry and scream and fight and argue. But there was no time. Instead I just growled and cursed to the room. I heard the soft, insistent knocking on my door and chose to ignore it.

  “Usher,” I sneered flippantly. “Screw you!” I screamed towards the foyer and the front door. “And my name IS NOT LISSA!!”

  I heard my door open and close, heard footsteps on the wood floor, coming toward me.

  “You can’t stay here. You need to come with me. I am very sorry, sweetheart, but you have died—”

  “Shut up. Get out. I’m not going anywhere with you!” I seethed at him, interrupting him as I shoved him back towards the door. How had he gotten in anyway?

  “There are things I have to explain to you and we can’t do that here.”

  I looked all around me, trying to take it all in, my place, my things. I’d worked so hard for it all. I was suddenly exhausted, depleted of my fury, spent. I stumbled back, leaned against the foyer wall, the framed print behind me shifting sideways beneath my back.

  “I’m not done, I wasn’t done,” I said to him simply. No loathing or wrath left in my voice, only sorrow, as I began to slide down the wall.

  “Rarely is anyone.” He stepped closer, slid his arms around me, pulling me up and away from the wall, and to him. I collapsed against him, something inside me waning at the same moment. I could actually feel something different about him. He wasn’t normal. He felt like he had something extra about him. Perhaps this was what preternatural felt like, I was always describing it in books, reading it in books, was this it…in the flesh…in my foyer?

  “I can’t just give up, give it all up, walk away. I just got really happy again. Life just got fun again,” I spoke softly, forlornly.

  “Come on, let’s go. Everything will be ok again.” He replied, spoken gently, with a reassuring quality.

  And that voice, soothing…and that accent…I felt myself wanting to go with him.

  This was truly insane. I was in the arms of Death. Death was holding me. And he was really cute. And he felt really good. Both ridiculously absurd observations.

  But he was. And I felt no inclination to move out of his arms. It felt good there, protected, safe, and warm. And I was so cold and so scared. And so very angry. Wait! Yes! There was still that. I was angry. Infuriated. I raised my head from his shoulder and looked at him, at his face—the look on his face, was that remorse?—before thrusting him away again.

  “No,” I spat out.

  “Please be reasonable, there are things I need to tell you,” he entreated.

  Reasonable? Really? Was he serious? Did he genuinely expect that? “I don’t want to hear anything else.” I strode away from him, to the living room.

  “You’re to be a Coimhdeacht,” he blurted out.

  I froze where I was.

  “So you are dead, but you’re still alive too.” Trying to give me hope and repair this situation? “Merely a new you now.”

  “A Kuhv…what?”

  “Hold on.” He grabbed up
a pen and a scrap of paper from my nearby desk and scrawled out a word. Coimhdeacht. It looked nothing like it sounded. “It’s said kuhv-juhkt.” He said it slowly and I repeated it.

  “Coimhdeacht.” I breathed out, barely more than a whisper. It was a strange word, felt odd in my mouth…but at the same time felt familiar, comfortable. It teased at something in my mind. But what exactly? I couldn’t quite pin it down.

  “Yes. Perfect. Now, can we please get going? We can’t be here much longer.” He looked apprehensive, as if expecting someone to burst through the front door any moment.

  “A Coimhdeacht,” I murmured. His words seeping into my brain. “I’m still alive?”

  “Yes. Sort of. I mean, yes, definitely,” he paused, seemed to be pondering something that baffled him. “You shouldn’t be yet. You should still be all flimsy and murky.” He waggled his fingers in the air in front of him, then tapped them on his forehead, obviously mulling this over. “If you can already hang onto things, touch things, then that means that you can be seen. Seen by live people, mortals, not only me.” He looked around my place, taking it all in, his eyebrows rising in admiration, his head nodding in approval, seemingly considering my possessions. He picked up my mail from the side table, ruffled through the bills and catalogs.

  A vague idea planted itself unexpectedly in my mind. “I should stay here; be a Coimhdeacht from here.” I glanced around, hopefully. Why go anywhere? I had a great place. I shrugged at him. “Makes sense to me.”

  Liam shook his head. He looked paler than just a moment before. He looked at me and then back down at the papers in his hand. “You’re going to Seattle. Your job is in Seattle. I was sent here to retrieve you,” he stammered.

  My response was to frown, to scowl. I didn’t want to be ‘retrieved’. I didn’t want to go to Seattle. Dealing with being suddenly dead was enough of a change without throwing in a relocation plan to boot.

  “And since things seem to have been moved to the fast track, we need to get a move on. You’re visible now. This is going to be the second place they come after it’s discovered that the sleeping girl up on that couch is no longer breathing. We have to go…now. You’ve got to come with me…Isabelle. Do you want to try explaining any of this to cops? Why are you here in the dead girl’s apartment? How do you know her? Why are you here and she is up there dead? What’s your name?”

  He stopped there. Glancing briefly again at the assortment of mail, obviously to let it all sink in, or perhaps for dramatic effect.

  He had a point. I couldn’t deny that. I was dead. What would I say? What could I say to anyone once I was discovered up there?

  I looked around me again, at all my much-loved possessions, my charming home. I loved living here. I loved my friends and the life I’d made for myself.

  How could I be expected to leave it all behind? And to be so rushed through the entire mental processing of it all just sucked royally too.

  I felt so sick.

  A look of concern settled on his face and he checked his watch, looked at me again, the concerned look deepening to dismay. “No. Wait. That’s not right.” He sounded really alarmed, staggered actually. His voice nearly quavered. He seemed to pale even further.

  I turned and looked at myself in the gilt framed, full length mirror that was attached to my foyer wall, nearly afraid to after taking in his reaction.

  “You look the same. Almost exactly the same.” I saw his reflection before my eyes settled on my own. He was frozen in his shock. “You’ve gone solid and you look the same. That’s not how it happens.”

  My eyes came to rest on my image. I looked like me. Ah, relief. I was still me.

  Well—as I looked at myself more closely, without the haze of looming dread clouding my vision—I was actually more like the perfected version of me.

  I stepped closer to the mirror to inspect myself. My skin looked velvety soft. I reached up and touched my face, it was exactly that. I’d always had nice skin, but this was baby soft perfection, smooth, even toned, flawless, luminous.

  “Wow,” I breathed out. My eyes were the most amazing hues; trapped in them were the waters of New Providence, in the Bahamas. Clear, cool, pale violet. Blending gently into rich Cyan. Fusing into Sapphire and then Persian Blue. Hypnotic.

  My hair? It gleamed. It glowed. It had gone from a pretty shade of dark-honey blonde to a combination of shades. Now a gorgeous blend of warm honey and shimmering amber, with threads of radiant sunset oranges and reds, adorned my head.

  And my body felt stronger. I worked out a couple of times a week, but this felt different. Somehow less vulnerable. “Ok, this part I’m liking.” I smiled. And it made me stumble back a bit from the mirror. It was the dream me; the ‘me’ that was featured in my dreams.

  “No. That’s wrong,” Mr. Encouragement chimed in. Rain on my parade why don’t you. “You can’t look the same.” He reached out tentatively and touched my cheek. A look traversed his face for just an instant that I couldn’t quite name. But it made me feel pleased. “You can’t look like you at all. And when precisely did this happen? You did not look like…this,” he flailed his hands around in front of me, “when we…well, moments ago!”

  “I don’t look like me. Look at me!”

  “I am. And it’s all wrong.” We both examined my image. I had a certain radiance and luminosity now, coming from my eyes, from my hair, from my skin. I was thrilled with this amendment, Liam not so much. In fact, he looked a little ill. “Well, somebody must like you.” He shrugged, dismayed and now at a loss. He seemed much shaken by this turn of events.

  “Yeah. That’s why I’m dead…ish.”

  “Feck, feck—bloody hell—how did this get fecked up? I better not get the shaft for this.” He dragged his eyes from my reflection to look directly at me. “Shit. No. That’s not how it works. He held my face in his hands, examining it closely.

  I tried pulling away, talk about discomfiting moments.

  “You really look like this. This is what you are. This doesn’t happen. Something’s gone wrong. This isn’t supposed to happen. You should look absolutely nothing like yourself…like you did up there.” He was stammering now.

  “Well, Mr. Happy…how does this work anyway. What exactly is wrong…has gone wrong?”

  “I can’t go into that now. Right now we need to get the hell out of here.

  And then in a flash I was alert, ready to act, catalyzed by an inkling of a conspiracy that surged mind-bogglingly into my head. I whirled swiftly towards the stairs, ran up them to my bed room, the rough scheme forming in my brain taking shape more completely with every step.

  Liam, startled by my abrupt exodus, took a moment to register the change and then raced after me, most likely thinking I was bolting to escape him, rather than to my true destination.

  I flung the closet door open and dashed inside the semi large walk-in. I reached up to the top shelf—not hard to do at five-feet-nine-inches and yanked down my two largest suitcases, spun and retrieved two garment bags from the rack. I threw them all onto my super comfy king size bed—oh…how I would miss that bed. I hadn’t even had it very long. I hadn’t had a boyfriend since buying it…so I’d never even…well, never mind. A sense of urgency pushed me on.

  “What are you doing?” Liam asked gruffly.

  “What does it look like?” If he was going to be so surly, I would respond with ambiguity. I hurried to my dresser, quickly rifled through the contents in its drawers, pulling out all of my favorite clothes and tossing them hastily into the open bags.

  “Isabelle.” He grabbed my arm. “I’m serious. What are you doing?”

  I paused at the change in his tone of voice. Oh. He really meant it. He was completely somber. I bit my bottom lip. Should I anger a Coimhdeacht? What would happen if I pissed him off? My life was already gone after all, what else could he take from me?

  “Fine. You win. I’m going with you.” I tugged my arm from his grip, put my hands on my hips, wary but aggravated. “I’m pack
ing. I’ll go to Seattle with you, but I’m taking a few things with me.”

  “You can’t do that. It’s against the rules.”

  “Rules,” I choked out, yet further flabbergasted by all of this.

  “You can’t take anything. It could be noticed missing.”

  “I think I know better than to take anything that would be noticed being gone. I’m not an idiot. I also think I know best as to what would be missed, or if anything at all would be missed. You know nothing of my life.” I tossed my entire embossed brass jewelry box into the suitcase; I couldn’t bear to part with any of the items that occupied it, I did it with a little more oomph than was needed, just to get my point across.

  I turned to him, glaring. “Look Liam,” I snapped at him, but there was an edge of surrender to it. “I worked so, so hard to rebuild me life after a horrible fiasco over a year ago—I’m not even going to get into that mess—but I finally got my heart put back together, I might even want to fall in love again at some point. I got published, have a decent car, a great apartment, a handful of friends that I can honestly say that I truly care about and love, I’m not hurting for money—a total first for me—I was even saving for my place in New Orleans, everything was going perfectly…”

  I threw my hands up, huffed and hastened back over to the closet, pilfering my faves from there as well, luckily all my laundry had been done or there would be a basket to go through as well, but that was mercifully empty.

  I stopped and looked at him, wondering what was going on in his head, what that look on his face meant. “I’ll do this, I obviously have no choice, but I will not go into it struggling and empty handed. You, or whoever else is in on this fun, will just have to deal. Hey, consider it my severance-from-my-life-pay.” I finished my tirade and swallowed hard, my heart pounding heavily, hurting, and hoping I hadn’t pissed him off. Or if I had that he wasn’t a wrathful sort. I mean, really, I had no idea what or who I was dealing with here.