LURE

by Stephanie Jenkins

  I opened the storeroom door and instantly knew Wyatt was in the restaurant. The summer scent I always claimed to hate battered my senses. Today, it took me to the beach, and I thought of the way he kissed me at his family’s barbecue, the way he made me feel:

  Safe.

  I knew the rhythm of his heartbeat; it was the only one in the restaurant that pounded forty-nine beats each minute. Realizing that I could identify his heart in a room full of people shook me. I gripped the door frame, closed my eyes and wondered how many times his heart would drum when he saw me, if it would race out of fear or anticipation. Or both. My stomach tightened as I watched him study the menu that he knew well by now.

  “Char?” Sophie’s voice pulled me from the trance. Crossing her arms over her chest, she stared in Wyatt’s direction then back at me. “Dude, I've never seen you act like this over a guy.”

  I shrugged. She snorted. “He’s just a friend.” She tried to get another word in, probably to point out that I was squinting, but I ignored her. I needed to talk to Wyatt. No doubt he’d question me about the accident, and I still wasn’t sure how to respond. Once he looked at me, I would stutter like an idiot, then he would call me out for being a weird liar.

  I slid past Sophie toward my section. The crescendo of Wyatt’s heartbeat was like a magnet, drawing me closer until I stopped a few tables from where he sat.

  He gazed down at the menu with his chin rested in his good hand. He looked more casual—more normal—than I’d ever seen him, dressed in a plain white t-shirt and khaki shorts. My eyes focused on his cast, then at the stitches marring the right side of his forehead. I touched my own and squeezed my eyes shut as I felt smooth skin.

  “Hey,” I said.

  He jumped and knocked his injured arm against the napkin dispenser. Wincing, he cursed aloud. A few people turned to glower. As he murmured a shaky apology, I noticed that his face was pale and dark shadows lurked beneath his eyes.

  He looks wrecked.

  He picked up the napkin dispenser and the pepper shaker, his hands still trembling. “How’s it going?”

  “Good, coffee or sprite this time?”

  “Neither. I came to talk to you. Got a minute?” His voice broke, and he sounded . . . tired.

  Oh, wonderful. I swallowed hard and stuffed my hand in my apron. The packets of sugar tumbled onto the floor. I was surprised when he knelt down to help me pick them up. As usual, he leaned close to me and inhaled, making my arms and spine tingle. But when his hand brushed mine, he recoiled and stared down at the scuffed floor.

  I’m a monster. He’s too weak to touch me.

  “You want to go outside?” I stood and brushed dust from my dark pants. Even though I knew he couldn’t help it, I was frustrated that my touch bothered him.

  He nodded. As we passed the bar, Rob narrowed his eyes at me. The nasty look I cast in his direction turned his attention back to the customer he was talking with.

  I followed Wyatt to a car—a black Nissan with thirty-day tags. “Nice,” I said. I crossed my arms over my chest and squinted up at the sun. It played peek-a-boo from behind the clouds, but it seemed easier than staring him in the eye.

  “Thanks. Dad got it for me yesterday.”

  Must be awesome to be ridiculously rich.

  I squashed my jealousy and ran my hand across the hood. A little dirt smudged my fingers. “I liked the truck, too.”

  He twitched then shook his head. Like he needed to decide what to say. A variety of strange looks contorted his face as we stood in utter silence.

  “I can’t see you anymore,” he whispered.

  Maybe I was a dumbass or incredibly gullible, but I only expected him to grill me about the crash or mention that Kyle’s dad hated me—because I was sure the jerk’s dad despised my family. “What?”

  “I just don’t think it’s a good idea to date you.”

  I pushed away from his car, laughing. My hand crept to my mouth to stifle the giggles—harsh and bitter laughter that was just a little hysterical and made my chest ache.

  His face scrunched and he shook his head from side to side. “What’s so funny?”

  “We were never dating, Wyatt,” I blurted out.

  He frowned. When he spoke, he didn’t acknowledge my comment. “I just think we should take some time apart.”

  In other words, we wouldn’t see each other again. “Why?” I asked. Better question: why did I even care enough to ask?

  His eyes lowered to his feet. I stared down with him, taking in his white sneakers. They were pristine—just like the rest of his life. I looked back up at him and noticed a subtle flush crawl up his neck. Realizing he wasn’t going to answer me, I laughed again. “I get it. Kenneth Sanford—or maybe even Kyle—told you about my mom.”

  “You said she drowned.”

  What a wimp.

  “She did drown.”

  He took a deep breath before gazing into my eyes. Confusion and irritation. And hurt. Why should he be hurt? I was the one getting dumped. “My dad doesn’t think it’s a good idea. You know, because of his run for the senate.”

  I snorted. What a lame, tool of an excuse. Hadn’t he told me right before the crash that his sister was in rehab? But her situation was probably tidy now. She wasn’t disposable.

  Not like me.

  There were two types of Summer Boys: ones who just didn’t give a crap and did whatever they wanted and guys like Wyatt—boys who cared too much about what the people around him thought. Everything was about image for him, for his family. I didn’t care if I saw him again. He was leaving in a month.

  I would forget about him after this last conversation.

  If I don’t care then why is my head spinning?

  I tried to fight my inner voice because I hated it for being right all the time. And I despised myself for hurting. “Why didn’t you just text me? It sucks that you wasted your time coming down here just to tell me that,” I said.

  He stepped toward me, extending his hand. “Charlotte it’s not even like tha—”

  I walked backward, shrugging. He recoiled after touching me before so he shouldn’t want to now. “No. Seriously, you’re cool.” I began walking back toward the restaurant.

  Back toward my life.

  “I saw the truck. And I know what I saw and what I heard that night. I just don’t know how you walked away.”

  I didn’t turn around. I tried to focus on the sound of my heart throbbing against my eardrums. The steady thud of his heartbeat intermingled, nauseating me. My hands quivered by my side, but I refused to glance at him again.

  “If that would have killed you, Charlotte, I don’t know what I would have done. I just don’t understand how . . . I’m sorry.”

  I wanted to tell him that unless he was the hunter or a Greek god, I couldn’t die. And I wanted to tell him to worry about himself. I wanted to tell him . . .

  The truth is a start.

  My throat felt tight, uncomfortable. “Don’t be sorry.”

  “I really do care about what happens to you. It’s just—it’s my dad.”

  I squeezed the tarnished metal handle of the door. Why was he trying to explain? Couldn’t he just go away and leave it at goodbye? All of his excuses hurt worse than the rejection. I turned to look at him, and I immediately realized it was a mistake. His eyes held the same need I noticed the day he gave me his number. My shoulders trembled, and I prayed he didn’t notice before he focused his gaze on the asphalt.

  “Coward,” I whispered, spinning back toward the door.

  Even though I knew he was leaving, the squeal of tires made me jump as I stepped into Romano’s.

  ***

  I didn’t feel like guiding anyone. In fact, I wanted to make the new soul go away and stop pleading for help. But I had no other choice. The single soul continued to wreak havoc on my frayed mind until I made my way to the beach.

  “I don’t want to do this,” I said as soon as he formed in front of me. He looked familiar, but I couldn’
t place where I met him. Maybe he was one of the drunken fishermen who frequented work.

  He shrugged his broad, liquid shoulders, hung his head, then sheepishly said, “Thank you, though.”

  Ugh. Why did he have to be nice and appreciative? It made me feel like such a jerk for wanting to go home and thinking about making him wait until I was ready to help him. “Yeah, whatever.”

  I grabbed his hand, leading him unconsciously through the water. The path was so familiar now that I didn’t need to pay attention. I hummed and noticed his head moving to the rhythm of the tune. If my mood weren’t so sour, I would have giggled at the sight of his liquid body vibrating to my voice.

  “I know you,” the man said at last.

  “Do you?” Surprised, I turned to him, shifting my head just a bit when a school of fish wiggled between our faces.

  “I rescued you a few weeks ago.”

  Now I knew why he looked so familiar. He was the guy who found me by The Lighthouse. I winced. “Sorry. How did you die?”

  “Heart attack on a rescue attempt.”

  “That sucks.” Smart answer, Char. Because any other form of death would have been okay.

  He nodded. I tried to think of something else to say to him—something nice or sympathetic—but I only saw bright blue eyes and a cocky smile in my mind. The soul I was guiding just revealed how he died and all I could focus on was Golden Boy.

  Total bullshit.

  “So I guess this is it,” the rescue worker said. When I nodded, he sighed. “Thanks Charlotte.”

  “No problem.” I waved him off half-heartedly. Why can’t I stop thinking about that creep? What the hell is wrong with me? Wyatt and I weren’t even an official couple, but I was acting emo, as if the world was about to end because he couldn’t see me anymore. Sophie was right. I never behaved this way over a boy.

  A thunderous, gurgling noise broke my depressing thoughts.

  Instead of staring down at the usual glowing pastel, I faced a vortex of muted gray and ebony. It spun like a twister, dragging fish and seaweed into its depths. My hand clutched my heart when the soul of a woman clawed to the top only to be sucked down again. Screams of agony and sobs poured from the cyclone. I felt the agony radiating from the pitch-black depths.

  This was the resting place for the bad souls. The souls only Lorelei guided.

  I had screwed up.

  Big time.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Lorelei was missing.

  She was supposed to have dinner with Cam and me on Sunday night, but she never showed. I knew he worried, but he kept a straight face. On Monday evening when he went to her cottage and discovered her car there, he was sure someone—like her imaginary devil-worshipping parents—kidnapped her. I was worried about her, too, but I knew that if she were hurt, I would know because of our connection. When I told him Lorelei could take care of herself, he hissed, “She’s what? 120 pounds? She can barely carry that stupid bag around.”

  I convinced him to go to the graveyard to take his mind off Lorelei. We took flowers to Brian and Mom’s graves, and for the first time in a while, Cam showed emotions other than euphoria. He asked for time alone at our mom’s headstone, and I sat beneath a pine tree across the street, pretending to be interested in a pamphlet I found in my bag. This was the first time since Mom’s death he visited her, and I was happy. Lorelei, despite her weird disappearance, was good for him.

  He took me for ice cream after we left the graveyard and didn’t seem the least bit phased when I asked for water. Cam’s mind was on Lorelei and mine pinged between Golden Boy and the rescue worker I led to the wrong spot. He wasn’t supposed to be trapped with a bunch of bad souls. And after witnessing the sinister whirlpool and listening to the horrible sounds drifting from its depths, I knew Mom didn’t belong there either. Evil Francesca and her indecisiveness.

  On Tuesday morning, Lorelei was still MIA. Since my screw up, no new souls called out for me to guide them. My lack of work was a relief. It would have been impossible to guide anyone while I was still reeling over sending an innocent soul to the wrong place. Lorelei never explained what happened to the souls once they were trapped inside of the shadows, but even an idiot could figure out that my screw-up sentenced someone to a harrowing afterlife.

  Thinking about the rescue worker’s soul and my mom and all the other soul’s I would eventually come in contact with sent a wave of dread through me. I never wanted to guide again.

  “Why the serious face, Goose?” Matt asked, pulling my thoughts from the ocean and back to cosines.

  I jotted my name on the top of my paper and sighed. “What? Can’t I look deep in thought?”

  “You are in a mood today, Goose.”

  “Char, Matt. My name is Charlotte!” A few people turned to glare at us. Mrs. Dalton pushed her glassed up on her nose, held up the teacher’s edition of the textbook, and mouthed, “Get back to work!” I expected Matt to look embarrassed and angry, but his brown eyes shimmered with laugher.

  “Okay, Char. Is that better?”

  Not really. Under normal circumstances I enjoyed the nickname, but today I was fixated on ways to fix my mistake. Plus, Matt’s sardonic smile was so similar to Wyatt’s, I wanted to choke. Golden Boy needed to stalk some other girl’s head, preferably someone who had more time to drool over him. By now, he was probably with a sweet, preppy Summer Girl that his Daddy approved of.

  So why was I thinking about him when there were more pressing matters at hand. An innocent person’s tortured soul definitely trumped dimples and the perpetual smell of fresh linen.

  I jabbed violently at the keys on my calculator. Finally, I said, “Whenever you say it, I think of puke.”

  Matt waited until Mrs. Dalton left the room for her fifth cup of coffee to tease me. “Which one, Char or Goose?” I glowered at him.

  “How’s Eva?” Just saying her name irked me.

  “On vacation. We’re not together anymore, just in case you were wondering.”

  I wasn’t, but I nodded anyway. “So I’m taking it you found out she hacked my Jeep.”

  “Miss Brewer, can you stop talking for five minutes?”

  “No ma’am, I was just asking Matt about the assignment. You see, I’m having trouble figuring out how to properly turn on my calculator.”

  She frowned. As she digested my comment, her face ignited and turned several shades of pink then vibrant, tomato red. “I’d be happy to explain any instructions that aren’t clear.”

  “Oh, I think I have it now.” If I were mortal, my mouth would be in serious pain from the wide grin stretched across my face. Matt’s shoulders shook. I hoped he wouldn’t laugh out loud.

  She cleared her throat, and I decided that the noise reminded me of fingernails raking down a chalkboard. “Don’t think I’ll give you special treatment because of who your mo—just finish the assignment at home and come back when you . . . comprehend the lesson.”

  My mom and Dalton clashed horns on multiple occasions, so her words bothered me. “Yeah, I will,” I said, standing up and slinging my bag over my shoulder. My concentration today was so crappy that I welcomed getting in trouble. Time to myself might help me figure out how to save the soul I messed up on. I slinked down the row, past the stunned faces of my classmates.

  I was halfway to my car when I heard Matt’s laughter directly behind me.

  “You’re going to get in trouble, Goose.”

  I shrugged and unlocked the door to the Jeep. “Dalton has always had a vendetta against me. You know, me being my mom’s daughter and all.”

  “That’s not very fair,” he said quietly.

  “And everyone knows she despised Cam. I mean, he and Brian gave her hell. Remember when they swapped out the sugar on her desk with salt? I was pretty much doomed before she even set eyes on me.”

  Grinning, Matt stuffed his hands in the pockets of his cargo pants. The Wyatt expression again. Golden Boy was everywhere now “You better go back before you get in trouble,” I
warned.

  “Hope she won’t call your dad. She does that kind of stuff, from what I hear.” His stride was confident as he headed into the building, and he turned in a circle once to wave at me.

  I smiled back, trying to force the images of Wyatt from my mind.

  Two minutes after I started driving, my chest hurt. The scar over my heart felt numb. It was uncomfortable, but I tried to ignore it. Within a minute, though, my chest was on fire.

  The hunter was after Lorelei.

  The little hybrid behind me honked several times when I made a U-turn in the middle of the road. Not that I cared.

  I had to get to the sea.

  ***

  The intense pain stopped by the time I reached The Lighthouse. Now, my chest tingled, but the new sensation was just as worrisome. I found Lorelei in her cottage. She invited me in, her voice shaky, and I was stunned by the sight of her slumped over on the couch. Lorelei’s platinum hair hung in dull, damp clumps around her face. Her usually glowing skin was a sickly yellow, and deep, purple circled beneath her eyes.

  I eased down beside her. “Are you okay?” I asked.

  She pulled her knees to her chest and pressed blue-tinged lips together before heaving a tremulous sigh. “I think so.”

  “Where have you been?”

  Pulling the yellow robe she wore tightly around her shoulders, she glowered at me with poisonous green eyes, and her teeth gnashed together. “Fixing your error; I recovered the soul you just casually tossed in the wrong spot.”

  What the hell? I’d messed up, but I wouldn’t say I casually tossed the soul away. “Now wai—”

  “It took me three days to convince Hades to give him back. Three days.” She held up her fingers, wiggling them to prove her point.

  What was I supposed to say? Um, wow, Lorelei, that really sucks. I hope the god of the underworld wasn't too much of an asshole to deal with. I cringed, focused on a fleck of dust on her usually immaculate coffee table, and lamely said, “I’m sorry, Lori. Really, I am. I know I messed up with that man’s soul. Hell, I’ve been torn about it ever since it happened. Thank you for making things right.”