“I’m a god,” Viggo bragged. “No one is more desirable or powerful than a god.”
I laughed. “She is more powerful, dude. She’s a Völva.”
“No freaking way. Völur are extinct. The remaining ones are old and useless.”
“She’s the last of her kind. Grandmother told me.” The door opened, but instead of Cora, her father stood in the doorway. The conversation between him and Raine was brief. Cora wasn’t home. She’d gone to the store with her mother—yet someone was in her room.
Ignoring Viggo, who was still complaining about the Völur, I focused on Cora’s bedroom window. I needed to see inside. The next second, it was as though her roof became transparent.
Cora wasn’t in her room. A man was. He was dressed in a black hooded duster, so I couldn’t see his face. “Is that a—”
“Grimnir,” Viggo said. “You know what that means?”
Cora was about to die. I wasn’t letting that happen or letting her soul be taken by my mother’s soul reaper.
1. Souls
The woman reached up to stroke the cashier’s hair. Her hand went through his head and dropped to her side, tears filling her eyes. Another ghost. I looked down before she could catch me watching her.
Hollywood got it all wrong. Ghosts weren’t white blobs floating around aimlessly and helping people. Nor did they flicker like holograms on a drug trip. No gaping wounds or half-chopped limbs. They weren’t even freaking transparent. They looked real, solid, like you and me.
I focused on helping Mom with the groceries, one item at a time. It looked like we were having tacos tonight. I loved tacos. Maybe I’d help her cook.
Thinking about food didn’t help. I could still see the crying ghost from the corner of my eye. I didn’t want to feel sorry for her, but I did. Why couldn’t they just move on already? What made them linger? Unfinished business? I stole a glance at her again and caught her staring at me.
Please don’t approach me, or touch me, or follow me around.
Ghosts were persistent, but I had to be careful acknowledging them or telling them to leave me alone. The conversation was always one-sided, and people noticed. The month I’d spent in the psych ward was enough. I was never ever going back. The psych ward had the most annoying ghosts. The people might have been crazy when they were alive, but they were crazier dead.
My heart pounding, I kept my head down as I plucked items from the cart and put them on the conveyor belt. This ability to see ghosts was a curse. A big, fat, ugly curse I was struggling to deal with and failing miserably. I still didn’t know how or why I could see dead people. It started three months ago, the night lightning hit the pool during a swim meet at a local university and killed my fellow high school swimmers. A few of us had survived, but something happened to me that night. I actually saw my friends’ ghosts and the angelic glowing beings that had led them away.
My mistake was telling my parents. They’d contacted Dr. Wendell and the hack had convinced them to have me committed to a mental institution. It didn’t help that Uncle Hack was related to Mom.
I shivered again and rubbed my arms.
“Cold?” Mom asked.
I gave her a tiny smile. “A little. I should have brought a jacket.”
Mom started to shrug off her coat. She and I were the same height, though she was slightly heavier, so I knew her coat would fit me.
“No, Mom. Don’t give me yours.” It was November, and the temperature around Kayville was in the forties. I should have known better than to wear a short-sleeved shirt without a jacket. “I’m fine. Really,” I added when she shot me a skeptical glance.
“Okay. Should we have tacos for dinner tonight?” she asked.
I didn’t care. I just wanted to go home. Not that the ghosts left me alone there either. But at least I had the means to get rid of them in my bedroom.
“Or maybe lamb chops and baked potatoes,” Mom added, her voice upbeat.
I loved lamb chops too, and she knew it. She was trying to butter me up before hitting me with the bad news. I’d overheard her and Dad discussing me this morning. They wanted me to be homeschooled. Who got homeschooled in their junior year of high school? They might as well tattoo “freak” on my forehead.
I mean, seeing ghosts made me a freak already. There was no need to let the entire world know by homeschooling me after I’d already spent a year and a half in high school. I hadn’t minded being homeschooled when I was younger. I never even found it weird that my parents had a problem with me, their only child, attending Kayville Elementary School when they’d taught there.
No. I planned to finish high school like a normal person. Screw the ghosts. They were not stopping me. I was not letting them win. I’d already missed six weeks of school because of them, a month of that in Providence Mental Institute. If anyone at school knew about PMI, my social life would be yesterday’s news.
My eyes drifted to the ghost. She was still staring at me. I glared back this time. No matter how often I tried to ignore them, they always knew I could see them. I didn’t know how.
She smiled, and I cringed.
“Can we have lasagna tonight instead, Mom?” I asked, hoping she’d send me to get cheese or spinach and give me a chance to get rid of the ghost.
Surprise flashed in her honey-brown eyes. We both knew I didn’t like her lasagna. She used too much spinach, and I hated spinach.
“Sure, hun.” Her eyes swept the contents of the cart. “We’ll need ricotta cheese—”
“I’ll get it.” I took off.
“Don’t forget the spinach,” she called out, chuckling.
Waving, I hurried toward the dairy section. When I glanced back, the ghost was following me, her expression hopeful. That would turn to frustration then anger when she realized I couldn’t help her.
I turned the corner and groaned.
A middle-age ghost with greased-back black hair and swarthy complexion was walking backwards in front of a young couple pushing a cart. He gestured wildly, mouth opening and closing. One moment, he flicked his chin with the tip of his fingers, the next he pressed his hands together as though praying. He was definitely a father not too happy with his child’s choice in a spouse.
This was a sucky day to be me, but then again, ever since I started seeing ghosts, my life had gone down the toilet. The guy I’d loved since elementary school but basically treated me like his annoying younger sister forgot about me. I forgave him for choosing my best friend because you didn’t cherry-pick who you love. But for the two of them to write me off just because I was admitted in a psych ward? That was unforgivable.
To add insult to injury, I got the freaking ghosts. They weren’t just in hospitals and cemeteries. They were attached to people, buildings, and objects. And lately, it seemed like they were attached to me. Or attracted to me.
I picked up a pint of ricotta cheese, turned, and smothered a screech. The woman ghost was so close I almost walked through her. I took a step back. I’d walked through one of them and put the experience under never-to-be-repeated. It had felt like being dunked in a murky, icy pond. Totally gross.
Her mouth opened and closed.
“I can’t hear you, so go away,” I said through clenched teeth.
She kept talking, gesturing wildly. I tried to walk around her, but she blocked my path.
“Leave. Me. Alone,” I snarled then glanced around to see if anyone had heard me. The few shoppers hadn’t noticed my odd behavior yet. “Shoo.”
I turned to go the other away, but the angry father was watching us. His eyes narrowed as though his humans-who-can-see-ghosts radar just clicked on. He started toward us.
I searched for the nearest metallic object. Thank you, Dean and Sam Winchester. The fictitious brothers used iron to disperse ghosts in the hit TV series Supernatural. The crap actually worked. I’d used a fire poker on one that had wandered into my room a few days ago, and it caused her to disappear.
I grabbed what looked like a cheese grater
from the shelf and hefted it. It was heavy, which meant it had more iron than whatever other crap they’d used to make it. I waved the cheese grater around like a ninja with a dagger and hoped no one saw me and called Mom.
I shuddered. No more psych ward. No more meds. As much as I’d hated being committed, the meds had been worse. They’d made me act loopy.
The female ghost watched me warily. At least she’d stopped opening her mouth like a fish. Yeah, I bet she knew what iron did to her kind. The angry dude was closer now, and he wasn’t alone. Two other ghosts had joined him, all eager to chat.
Damn it! I hated when they ganged up on me. A wave of iciness drifted from them, and I shivered. Yeah, come on. Come on, you bodiless, icy bastards, and taste the iron.
“Hey,” a commanding voice cut through the air. “You guys are with me, not her.”
Different expressions crossed the ghosts’ faces—annoyance, terror, defiance. The angry Italian’s eyes darted left then right.
“Don’t even think about it, Morello,” the voice snapped. “If you make me hunt you down again, I will make the rest of your existence so miserable you will beg for a second death. Capisci?”
I turned to look at the speaker, but the only person there was the old woman, who looked petrified. I didn’t blame her. That voice was terrifying and irritating. I hated bossy people.
“Sally, you’ve had your twenty-four hours. Time to go,” the voice continued, and then he stepped from behind a rack.
Whoa. Leather, leather, and even more leather, way too much to be fashionable. Unless it had become the “in thing” while I was gone. His voice said he didn’t bend or bow to anyone or anything, so I doubted he cared about fashion trends.
The hooded, ankle-length black leather duster was tailored to fit his tall body and broad shoulders. It hugged his upper torso before flowing to the floor. Ringed and tattooed fingers peeked through fingerless gloves, but as I watched, the tats disappeared as though absorbed into his skin. Weird. Leather pants and boots finished his attire.
My eyes moved up. Even his shirt was made of leather. I reached his face and blinked. Or maybe I should say I reached where his face should have been. There was nothing but darkness under the hood, yet the store was well lit. I peered at him but still saw nothing. A scarf of some kind covered his neck. Surely, it was too early to be dressed like an Eskimo. Besides, this was Kayville, Oregon. We didn’t get snow until late winter.
Then weird things started to happen. Something glowed under his hood. I expected to see a skull head or a big gaping hole. Instead, I noticed skin. The glowing things didn’t last long enough for me to see his entire face.
Were they tattoos? It was hard to tell. They kept appearing and disappearing as he barked orders at the ghosts. I caught a glimpse of sensual lips and a strong jaw line. I was close to giving up when more tats lit up his entire face.
My jaw dropped.
Good Lord, he was gorgeous. Chiseled cheekbones with a shadow, arched eyebrows, and those totally kissable lips. But his most unusual features were his eyes. They were golden with a ring of green. Like that famous Afghan girl on the cover of National Geographic.
The glowing tats added to his striking features instead of distracting from them. I thought I saw locks of shaggy dark hair on his forehead before the tats dimmed, but I could have been mistaken.
What was he? A ghost hunter? The ones who’d taken my dead friends during the meet had lit up like light bulbs too, but the glow had covered their bodies. And they didn’t dress like him.
“Let’s go before you really piss me off,” he ordered. “Jonas, you shouldn’t even be here. No, big guy, she cannot help you. Time’s up.”
The shoppers in the fresh food section didn’t turn to look at him when he spoke, which meant they couldn’t hear him. He looked at me then at the cheese grater in my hand and chuckled.
The sound sent a warm tingle down my spine, and my breath caught. So not fair. Not only was he hot, but he had a breathtaking smile. I wanted to grin back, stand there like an idiot, and ogle him.
“Put that thing away before you hurt yourself, sweet-cheeks,” he said in a condescending tone. “No one, not even you, messes with my work. In fact, if I catch you dispersing my charges again, I will haul your pretty ass to Hel’s Hall myself. ”
For seconds, my mind went blank, but then anger flashed through me. Sweet-cheeks? How I disliked arrogant, smart-mouthed pretty guys. They should keep their mouths shut and just… just look pretty. This one carried himself like he was commanding an army.
Yeah, an army of ghosts.
I flicked my chin the way the ghost of Morello had done. I knew the gesture was disrespectful and was rewarded when Ghost Hunter’s eyes narrowed, the yellow cores intensifying like a wolf’s. I think I pissed him off. Good. I laughed.
A humph came from my left, and my head whipped toward it. A woman selecting fruit from a display rack gave me a funny look and shook her head. Yep, I could just imagine how I looked standing there with a cheese grater, gesturing to no one, and laughing like a demented idiot. She probably thought I was on drugs or something. It was time for me to leave.
I turned.
“What was that?” Ghost Hunter asked. “I hope it was a thank you for not telling everyone where you are, Cora Jemison. Back with your parents so soon? You’re not going to get better at your job if you keep running home.”
I froze. Job? What job? How did he know my name? And why was he acting like he knew me? Frowning, I continued walking.
“So I’m getting the ice princess treatment again? Fine. We’ll see how long you last this time.”
I glanced back, once again dying to say something. He smirked as though waiting for me to speak. I wasn’t stupid enough to try it.
“Still don’t know how to engage your runes and become invisible? Well, keep working at them, doll-face.” He winked. “If you need pointers, try to be nice to me. Really nice and sweet.”
His voice was suggestive and sexy. This time, I fought its effect.
“Oh, and stop hurting my souls,” he continued in that annoying voice. “I wasn’t joking about hauling your pretty ass to Hel’s Hall. And that’s saying a lot because I love your ass, sweet-cheeks. If you want to get my attention, you know where to find me.”
Love my ass? Nice and sweet to him? It was obvious he was confusing me with someone else. What was he anyway? A grim reaper? Angel of death? Or a ghost hunter?
He reached under his duster trench coat, and my grip tightened on the cheese grater, my eyes not leaving him. I braced myself for the worst, but all he pulled out was a stick. No, not a stick. A scythe. It was so puny I wanted to laugh.
Then the tats on his fingers returned and the scythe elongated, the same markings on his fingers appearing on its shaft.
Okay, he was definitely the grim reaper.
Morello’s ghost took one look at the scythe and bolted. The reaper pointed the blade at him. “Stop!”
The fleeing ghost froze, terror in his eyes.
“Didn’t I say no more running, you piece of filth? Want me to use this on you?” The reaper marched to him, grabbed him by the collar, and slashed the air with the scythe.
A gray mass appeared out of thin air. It looked like a thick smoke or a dark cloud. It started to move in circles, churning faster and faster until it formed a tunnel. I couldn’t see what was at the other end of the tunnel, but it was dark and the cold draft I had felt earlier swept the store again.
I shivered.
He threw Morella into the tunnel. One by one, the other ghosts—no, he’d called them souls—followed, disappearing inside the murky interior. The last one was the woman, Sally. She said something to the reaper, but he shook his head. She gestured toward me, her mouth opening and closing.
“I’m not promising anything,” he said, his voice losing its annoying arrogance. He glanced my way and added, “Later, gorgeous.”
The tunnel closed behind him, and I released a breath. A hand landed
on my shoulder, and I jumped.
“Mom? You scared me.”
She smiled. In her hand were two bags of frozen spinach. “I knew you would forget these. What are you doing with that?” She pointed at the cheese grater.
My face burned. “I thought we might need a new one.”
“No, the one at home still works,” my ever-thrifty mother said firmly.
I placed the grater on a shelf by the boxes of un-popped corn and followed her. What would she say if I were to tell her what I’d just witnessed? She’d probably call Dr. Wendell again. My mother was a practical woman. Unlike my father, who was an author, she didn’t believe in anything she couldn’t see. As she used the self-checkout to pay for the cheese and spinach, I kept an eye out for more ghosts. Souls. I had to get used to referring to them as souls.
She placed the new purchases on top of the others and pushed the cart out of the store. I followed slowly, staying vigilant in case more souls appeared.
***
I saw a few souls here and there on our way home. They all stopped and stared at our car. I slid lower in my seat and wondered whether the arrogant reaper would collect them, too. Maybe he was here to clean up our town. I hoped so. I was tired of being a target.
“You’ve been quiet since we left the store,” Mom said as we got closer to home. We were on Orchard Road, the street that split two of the largest vineyards in Kayville. “Are you okay?”
I shrugged. “Yeah.”
“You know, you can talk to me if anything is bothering you.”
Talking to her was out of the question. Dr. Wendell might prescribe more psych meds or insist on having me admitted again. “I heard you and Dad talk about me this morning. I don’t want to be homeschooled, Mom. I’m going back to school on Monday.”
“Sweetie—”
“No, Mom. I’m better, and I want to do this.”
Her lips pinched in annoyance as she turned onto the road leading to our farm. “Let’s discuss it after dinner.”
Her firm voice said the discussion was closed. I leaned back against my seat and stared out the window. My parents had had me later in life and tended to be overly protective. Most of the time, I listened to them. Not this time. This might be the beginning of a trend. First, homeschooling. Next, not going away to college. The only college in town was a private one, and I planned to go as far away from Kayville as I could. There were way too many bad memories here.
Runes #03 - Grimnirs Page 2