My apology seemed to brighten her mood. She even granted me a tiny smile. I turned my back to her and sat down on the edge of the coffee table. She was too weak to admonish me about proper etiquette. I hung my head, ashamed that it was my fault she’d spent so many days away bargaining with Hades.
She cleared her throat, reminding me of Mrs. Dalton, and I turned my attention on her. She pushed aside the fabric of her robe to reveal her chest. The last time she showed me her wound, it was scarlet. Now the area over her heart had the charred look of a third degree burn. “On the way back, I was attacked,” she said.
I touched my own chest. “I felt you.”
She reached trembling hands toward the table. I saw the glass of water she was eyeballing, and I handed it to her. “I imagined you would. He was close.”
I didn’t want to think about how close he had been. The idea of being left alone—stuck like this—with nobody else like me except Francesca sent a chill through my body. I was almost afraid to ask her how she escaped the hunter. “What happens if he . . .” I couldn’t finish the question because I didn’t want to talk about being captured. Still, if it was the reality of what I was, I might as well ask now.
“We die. But you have to understand, our deaths aren’t like a normal death. There’s no light or dark for us. We simply fade away.”
Was that the reason why she was obsessed with gaining a soul? She did not want to disappear. I didn’t want to fade away either. It made me sick to my stomach remembering how nonchalant I was about being immortal only a couple weeks ago.
“It’s not just that,” she said, sighing. “I want a regular life. I want to be able to taste regular food and feel real pain from a paper cut.”
“I hate it when you guess what I’m thinking.” But I smiled, dropped my tensed shoulders and added, “Besides, paper cuts burn.”
Her laughter was low, hoarse. She held her hand in front of her face and rubbed the tips of her fingers together. “I’d like to find out.”
“What happened to the soul, Lorelei? That man I accidentally—”
“He’s safe now. I took him to the correct spot. But you must be careful, Charlotte. Hades was furious. And to be honest, I was very angry too. I’ve been doing this for thousands of years, and I’ve never steered a soul wrong.”
Her calm tone made my mistake sound like a messed-up pizza delivery instead of the big deal I knew it was. After all, I managed to piss off a Greek god. And nearly ruined someone’s afterlife in the process. I bit my lip.
She touched her chest again and winced aloud. I scooped the empty glass from her fingers. I at least owed it to her to make sure she was comfortable. After I got her another glass of salt water, she asked, “How’s Cammy?”
I despised hearing her call him that. “He’s . . . good.”
“Why do you say it like that?”
“He remembers reality when you’re not around.” I pointed at her, wiggling my finger just as she did when she reiterated the three days she spent with Hades.
She yanked her robe back together. Her lower lip trembled, and if she could manage tears, she would have bawled. I could tell from her expression. For someone so lethal, she was a major wimp. “I’ll have to let him know I’m back.”
“Where are you going to tell him you’ve been?”
“I’ll think of something.”
“Because you’re a good liar.” It was supposed to be a question, but my words came out like a statement. I already knew the answer. She had to lie because she didn’t have any other choice. I had to lie, too.
My comment obviously bothered her. She was attracted to Cam because of his genuineness, and knowing her, she felt like a criminal every time she had to twist the truth to hide our secret from him. Her mouth twitched, but she chose not to argue with me. “I’ll say I was visiting a college and forgot my cell phone.”
“Your car was here the entire time.”
“I’ll figure it out. You just worry about doing your job right and making sure Wyatt falls for you. And it’s probably a good idea to love him back.” She winked. Okay, so maybe she couldn’t guess everything I was thinking or she’d know Golden Boy was through with me.
And of course, I didn’t want him either.
“We’re not seeing each other anymore.”
“Why?”
Why couldn't she just leave it alone? “Because we’re not right for each other,” I said. “And we were never actually dating to begin with.”
I cut her off before she could answer with a lame, G-rated comment about ‘true love’s kiss.'
“It’s not even a big deal. Look, I better go. I need to go home before my dad starts blowing up my phone. I’m glad you’re okay—sorry again for making such a stupid mistake. It won’t happen again.” I skulked to the door.
But it was a big deal. As I sped toward home, all I could think about was Mom’s trapped soul, the way Lorelei’s chest looked, and Wyatt.
I was getting really sick of thinking about him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Dad and I were on our way to the supermarket when Mrs. Dalton called. Every phrase he repeated made me slink into the seat a little more. “Extreme misbehavior . . . disruptive in class . . . doesn’t keep quiet,” he said, glaring at me. “Yeah, I’ll talk to her about it. Thanks for calling me, Valerie.”
Valerie? Since when did he address the enemy by her first name? He let me have it while we shopped. “I just don’t get you anymore, Char.” He threw two cans of spaghetti and meatballs into our grocery cart. Lectures sucked, but knowing I couldn’t chase it with a Twizzler and a Coke made it ten times worse. I hated being a siren.
“I could say sorry, but we both know that’s a lie.”
He huffed and started to drop an armful of complete boxed dinners on top of the bread. I scooped the loaf up and put it in the front of the buggy. “Cam whines when you flatten the bread.”
“Cam whines about everything,” he growled.
He sped up, and I stared at the writing on the back of his Beverly Hospital shirt. Rolling my eyes, I speed-walked to catch up to him and jabbed his elbow. “You know she hated Mom.”
“Char, don—”
“Well it’s the truth! Ever since Mom questioned her authority over a v-ball player’s detention, Dalton hated her. I bet she was pleased when—”
“Shut up, Charlotte!”
I listened, falling a few steps behind him. When my mother was alive, she joked about how similar my personality was to Dad’s. She was right. Like me, he couldn’t stay angry with someone he really loved, so he cut the silent act in the car. I apologized for what I said because it was crass, and after losing my mom, I didn’t want to alienate him.
***
I squirmed in my seat and crossed my arms over my chest. Cam and Lorelei were back to their lust-stoned routine—all hazy-eyed and gag-worthy giggles. This was the second morning she came over for breakfast. I was glad I didn’t crave normal food because nobody, mortal or immortal, would be able to stomach eating after watching them drool over each other.
Dad was oblivious and squinted at his newspaper, scratching his head. His hair poked out in all directions from sleep. “That’s crazy.”
“What?” Cam and Lorelei asked in unison. They giggled and touched hands. My feelings were so muddled they made my own head spin. I liked having her around for his sake, but I didn’t like watching the PDA. Because, it was just plain gross.
She looked like herself again. Sunny and nauseatingly cheerful dressed in yellow gaucho pants and a tiny tube top. If I wore her heels—platforms that boosted her good five inches off the ground—I’d probably trip and break my neck.
The morning after her attack, she came over, fawning all over Cam. He blushed like a little kid and told her he missed her too. Lorelei’s excuse for disappearing was a trip to visit a college in Maine. Cam bought it without asking any questions, but I hated the way her know-it-all green eyes stared me down while she told him.
“
Remember that banker who was murdered a few weeks ago?” Dad stuffed a chunk of toast slathered in grape jelly into his mouth.
How could I forget him? He was the dummy with thousands of dollars in a box at the post office. “I think some of the guys at Romano’s mentioned him, why?”
“They’re thinking the girlfriend might have done it. Looks like she’s out on bond.”
Danielle. I still remembered her name and the soul pleading for me to tell her about the money. “She didn’t do it,” I blurted. “I know she didn’t.”
“Evidence, little sister,” Cam chimed in. “Besides, how do you know she kill him?”
“Good question,” Dad said. Everyone’s eyes turned on me. “How do you know she’s innocent? Is she one of your friends? You know I don’t like you hanging out with older girls.”
“She’s not my friend, Dad, so stop worrying. And I know she didn’t do it because . . . because I just have this feeling. Don’t tell me you’ve never just known something wasn’t true, despite what the evidence says.” I waited for someone to agree with me, but all three of them stared at me with blank expressions. I dropped my eyes to the placemat. “I know there’s a way to prove she didn’t kill him.”
Like the fact that I’d talked to the victim’s soul about her.
Lorelei plunked her elbows on the table and demanded my attention. Her lips moved only a fraction, but I could clearly read them. “Don’t interfere.”
Dad swiped at his mouth with a crumpled paper towel. He took a slurp of coffee and pulled at the neck of his t-shirt when he lowered his mug. “The police will do their job, Char.”
“Um, right, because they’ve never screwed up and blamed an innocent person.” It was the first time I made any reference to Mom in front of Lorelei. She knew the whole story but gazed down at her plate of untouched food and unconsciously played with the charm on her necklace. Cam blushed, swallowed hard, and closed his eyes.
Dad flashed me a warning smile. “Okay, Charlotte.”
I couldn’t believe his nonchalant response. Okay, Charlotte? What the hell was that supposed to mean? He said the same thing to me last year after I listened to an argument between him and Mom. I told him that I knew Kyle was lying.
“She tried to help that loser, not have sex with him,” I’d said. Mom was tutoring Kyle to help him pass, and she gave him the F he deserved. That day, dad didn’t notice me anxiously tapping my spoon against the plate. Instead, his expression remained blank.
Like a zombie.
He’d rested his forehead in his palm then and shook his head. “Okay, Charlotte. All of this will work out.”
It hadn’t. And I was positive nothing would be ‘okay’ this time. I slid from the table and stomped to the living room.
“Where are you going?” Dad shouted as I opened the front door.
“Summer school!”
I slammed the door before he could remind me it was Saturday. Walking would have calmed me, but I drove to the shore at a speed that was sure to blow the motor of my ancient Jeep, not caring whether or not I was pulled over—or if I got in trouble.
The tension seeped from my body when I sank into the ocean. I concentrated on hearing Mom’s soul as I let myself be pulled deeper. “Please come. Please?” I darted my eyes in every direction trying to spot her.
When she appeared, she wore a tortured look. She was supposed to be at peace, but her face was the same mask of pain from the weeks before her death. “I’m trying to help you,” I said. “But you have to help me.”
Her liquid head bobbed.
“None of what they said about you—none of that’s true, is it?”
She disappeared.
“Come back, please?” My voice was barely a whisper. I touched my heart, counting and waiting for her to return. One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five . . .
The water particles crawled together, and when she floated in front of me, her hands were clenched. It was eerie watching her eyes close, watching her once dark hair drift around her in a sheer blanket as she struggled to find the words. “It’s a lie.”
“It won’t be much longer,” I promised. If I had to go to California and see Francesca in person, I would. Mom’s suffering wouldn’t stop invading my thoughts until I did.
“Help me.”
“I swear,” I said. Both our heads twisted at the sound of a heartbeat, the hunter’s, pulsating through the current. She cupped her hands over her ears, and for the first time, her lips actually parted. She screamed—a loud shriek that made me tremble—then faded again.
As I raced to swim to the surface, I saw the top of the hunter’s head. He had dark hair that the sea pulled up into short spikes. When I glanced down at the shadow of his face, I realized he didn’t wear an oxygen mask.
Demeter had given him the ability to breathe under water.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Home was the last place I wanted to go, so I camped out on The Lighthouse tower, thinking about Mom and willing the hunter to come up for air. He never did. Did he possess any other supernatural underwater abilities that I wasn't aware of? Lorelei simply explained the hunter as being a mortal hired by Demeter, not one who was able to swim without oxygen or withstand pressure that would crush a normal person.
I rejected every call that came from home. My cell phone rang so often, I thought the Beethoven ring tone would burn a hole in my ear. Lorelei knew exactly where I was, and if my family were so concerned about my well-being, she would’ve just told them, right? Maybe she’d used her sireny sixth sense to determine how angry—no, how livid—I was and decided to leave me alone.
Then again, maybe they were all sitting around, talking about how everything would be ‘okay’ and work itself out.
Rob wasn’t pleased when I called in sick. Once he launched into a tirade comparing me to Sophie and Kim, I hung up on him. My boss had some screwed-up vision of the perfect employee—one who never caught the flu or got a migraine. At the beginning of the summer, if he flipped out like that, I would’ve feared for the future of my job. Now, suddenly, there were bigger things.
“Don’t,” Wyatt had whispered just after I talked about blaming myself for not doing more for my mom.
This was a problem I could solve, heartbreak I could prevent.
There was only one Danielle Chafetz in the Daufuskie Island phone book, and finding her house was simple. She lived in a tiny cottage that wasn’t more than a couple of rooms. Her home was so easy to find that I feared for her. The banker’s psycho, murderous wife, Cathy, could easily try to hurt her.
Danielle was so petite that it looked like the massive bump under her oversized smock would weigh her down at any moment. Her face was waxy, and her olive green eyes were enlarged and shadowed when she opened the door. She leaned against the doorframe, looking pitiful and tired and irritated.
Before I left, I would warn her not to open the door so fast, even if there was a screen between us. “Who are you?” At first, I thought her voice was deep then I realized she was hoarse. Immediately, I felt even worse for her.
“I knew Jameson,” I said.
Her lips thinned into a colorless line. She blinked and swiped at her eyes with the back of her hands. “I’m sick of all you reporters. Can’t you just leave me alone?” she demanded, her voice trembling.
“Wait! I’m not here to bash you or ask you questions. I’m here to help.”
Maybe it was my expression, or the tone I used that implied that I wasn’t lying, but she didn't slam the door on me. She nibbled on her lip as if deep in thought. She seemed reluctant as she unlocked the screen door to let me in.
Her house was warm and smelled like apple pie. The enticing scent drifted from a candle burning on the chipped mantle in her living room. “You can sit down, Miss . . .”
I slid down onto the threadbare couch and locked my fingers together. Her eyes were so big and sad that I was actually at a loss for words. She swayed back and forth in her rocking chair, wringing her hands w
ith an anxious expression on her face, a look that was a mixture of fear and trust.
She reminded me of Sophie.
I managed to smile. “I’m Charlotte Brewer. I want to help you, but you can’t tell anyone if I do.” I almost laughed to myself because I sounded like a mysterious superhero instead of the girl who’d led her boyfriend’s soul to the afterlife.
She shook her head, shaking strands of greasy hair loose from the knot on the top of her head. When she swept them behind her ear, I noticed her fingernails were dirty. Had she bathed since she’d been arrested?
“Did the cops take Jameson’s stuff?” I asked. No point in making small talk. My neck tingled, and I had a bad feeling about interfering. I wanted to hurry up and tell her what she needed to know so I could just go home.
Danielle buried her face in her slim fingers. Her shoulders shook a few times before she glanced up, forcing a smile, and slowly wagged her head.
Snippets of my conversation with Jameson crept into my mind as I popped my knuckles together. This isn’t as easy as I thought it would be. Why am I here again? Because here was someone I actually could help before things went too far.
“In his drawer, there’s a pair of brown socks. The only pair that color. If you pull them apart, there’s a key hidden in one of them.”
She rubbed the palm of her hand against her oily cheek and squinted. “I-I don’t understand.”
I sighed “Just get the damn socks.” It wasn’t my intention to sound so impatient, but she jumped from her seat, scurrying down the small hallway. I couldn’t help but let my eyes follow her, trying to figure out how the cops had assumed she murdered Jameson over his wife.
She returned a moment later and sat on the edge of the rocking chair. All color faded from her skin when she pulled the tiny silver key from the cotton fabric. Her mouth flapped open and closed. Green eyes darted from the key lying in her palm to me.
“If you take that to the post office, Jameson left you money in safety deposit box number twenty-seven—it’s a lot. Like, two hundred and fifty thousand.” For a brief moment, I wondered if that much money showing up out of thin air would just implicate her even more. I seriously hoped Jameson was smart enough to leave a note or something to help his girlfriend.
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