Children Shouldn't Play with Dead Things (Dead Things Series Book 1)

by Martina McAtee

  Once Ember stuffed the last bit of bacon into her mouth, she grabbed her bag and headed for the back porch. She tucked herself into her chair and pulled out her sketchbook. She didn’t stop to think about what she drew and just let the pencil glide along the paper.

  “That looks just like me.”

  Ember’s head shot up, heartbeat pounding hard enough to make her lightheaded. She blinked twice. “Holy shit,” she said, before clapping a hand over her own mouth. “Quinn?” she whispered.

  “Potty mouth,” he said by way of greeting, smile playing on his lips. His gaze flitted through the kitchen window. He faded out like an old television searching for a signal before returning stronger. She could see through him if she looked hard enough.

  “Are you real? Am I hallucinating?”

  He laughed at that, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Um, I’m real, well, real enough.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Uh, I didn’t call this meeting, you did.”

  “I did?”

  “I do not have the powers necessary to pierce the veil so, yeah. This is all you. Which is still so awesome.”

  She looked over her shoulder at the others. “I should-”

  “No. Don’t,” he said. “I don’t want to do this to them again. I said my goodbyes.” He gazed into the house, sadness obvious even as he flickered in and out.

  “Quinn, I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I did this. I was just thinking about you, I guess.” She looked at the picture of him. What if he hadn’t been cremated? She shuddered.

  “Aww, that’s sweet,” he said, tone teasing as he dragged his gaze from the window.

  “I’m really, really sorry,” she told him, tearfully.

  He looked confused. “What? Oh, God, don’t cry. Sorry for what?”

  “For everything. This is my fault. Everything that happened to you is my fault.”

  He was flustered, fidgeting even in death, “Please stop crying. If I try to comfort you, I’ll just fall right through you and it will be super embarrassing for both of us.”

  “Huh?” she wiped at her eyes.

  “I just mean, I appreciate the martyr thing you have going, but I don’t blame you for anything. If anybody is to blame it’s my father. You need to stay away from him, Ember.”

  Ember frowned. “Your father? Allister? What does he have to do with me?”

  Quinn laughed humorlessly. “Everything, Ember. I don’t know how but I’m almost positive he’s the reason you are here.”

  “Here? Here, as in the town, here as in with you guys or here as in this situation?” He faded out again until she could barely see him, her heart stopped before he popped back into view. She let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “Here how?” she asked, feeling stupid.

  “I don’t know. I just know you can’t trust him anymore than you can trust Mace.”

  “Mace?” What did Allister have to do with Mace? “I don’t understand.”

  “Kai didn’t tell you?”

  “Tell me what? Kai knows something about Mace?”

  Quinn’s gaze skated back to the window where Rhys was attempting to load the dishwasher while Kai sat on the counter squeezing bubbles out of the bottle of soap. Mace sat at the end of the table, looking right at her. She turned around quickly, giving her attention to Quinn.

  “Mace works for my father. He’s been working for him the whole time.”

  Ember wanted to be shocked or surprised but she was numb to it by now. “Why? What does that mean? What does your father want with me?”

  Quinn shrugged, mouth flattened. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. I don’t really know anything. I only know you can’t trust him.”

  Ember sat, mind reeling, she was so stupid. Of course, Mace was lying to her. Of course, he worked for Allister. He’d been against her this whole time and she’d just believed everything he’d said blindly. He was a killer, an assassin. He was a soul-eater. She was so stupid. But Kai, why would he keep this from her? Why would he take Mace’s side?

  “Is it terrible over there?” Ember asked, in a failed attempt to distract herself.

  “Nah,” he said. “It’s kind of weird. My mom’s here. Everybody is here. I expected more harps and angels, fluffy clouds and stuff. It’s peaceful, I guess.” He started to fade out. “Do me a favor?”

  Ember nodded. “Anything.”

  “Don’t call me back again if you can help it. It’s too hard.” He looked back at Tristin who was now feeding her pancakes to Romero.

  She nodded, swallowing past the lump in her throat. “I won’t. I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged again, “It’s cool. Be careful, Ember. I don’t want to see you over here.”

  This time when he faded he stayed gone. The door opened and everybody piled out, bags in hand.

  “Ready, Luv?” Mace asked giving her a half smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He picked up her bag for her, holding it so she could put away her sketchbook.

  She stared at him hard. No wonder he was acting so strange. What would he do if she called him on all of his crap right now? Would he leave her to fend for herself with her magic? She was doing fine. She felt good. She hadn’t had a single power surge in days. She didn’t need him. She should tell him to screw off…but she didn’t. Instead, she pushed her book into the bag and zipped it closed, taking it from him.

  “I guess we’ll find out.”

  Mace stared at her in confusion but she didn’t care. Nothing was making sense. How could he work for Allister? How could Allister have brought her here? Kai brought her here. Her name on Kai’s wrist had brought Kai to her and her to Belle Haven. But who put her name on Kai? Her uncle’s face flashed in her memory. Why had he been so sure that Kai would be fine when the Grove finally came? Did Alex work for Allister?

  She sighed. She needed to have another talk with her uncle.

  65

  TRISTIN

  Tristin wasn’t alone four minutes when someone grabbed her by the arm, yanking her into an empty classroom. She shook the hand off her arm, glaring at Astrid before rushing to the door to make sure nobody saw them. The last thing she needed was anybody thinking they were spending time together.

  She closed the door quietly before dropping her bag on the counter. Five sets of long tables sat in the middle of the classroom, each with their own stools, microscopes, slides and petri dishes. They were in the chemistry lab.

  Astrid went to grab her arm but Tristin sidestepped her. “Do you mind?”

  “Did you talk to her?” Astrid demanded.

  Tristin narrowed her eyes at her. She’d hoped Astrid would’ve come to her senses by now. “No. I told you, she would never agree to do this. Nobody would agree to this.”

  “It’s amazing anybody ever gets anything done in your pack, such do-gooders.” Astrid huffed a dramatic sigh and dropped her book bag on the desk to open it. She pulled out a huge book with a battered leather cover and worn yellow pages.

  “What is that?” Tristin whispered, dread sinking into her bones. The last time she’d seen a book like that Quinn had died.

  “A grimoire, stupid.”

  The insult barely registered as Tristin stared at the book. “Quinn said all grimoires were digital now.”

  Astrid just shrugged, carefully opening the book to a page marked by a red ribbon. Tristin’s fingers moved of their own volition, running over the faded black ink. “Is that Latin?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought your family grimoire was written in Gaelic.”

  Her head snapped up to look at Tristin. “Did Quinn tell you that?”

  She returned Astrid’s vague gesture but said nothing else. If Astrid wasn’t going to give her answers, two could play at that game.

  “This isn’t our grimoire. I bought it.”

  Tristin�
��s stomach lurched. “What do you mean, you bought it. Bought it from who? How?”

  Astrid smiled, “My father has a friend. Shelby. She is in the magical import/export business. I asked if she knew where I might find the spell I needed. Turns out, she has a whole library hidden in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Are you crazy? What if she tells your father? He will kill us. The Grove will kill us. They will snap our necks just like they did Quinn’s. You’re losing your mind, Astrid.”

  “She hates my father as much as I do.” Astrid told her venomously. “Besides, business is business. I gave her every dime I had in my savings account for this book.”

  Tristin rubbed her temples, closing her eyes and trying to slow her heartrate back to a normal pace. Yesterday, it seemed like a possibility, bringing Quinn back, having him whole and healthy again. Today, she saw it for what it was, the fever dream of a sick-minded girl. There was no way it would work. It couldn’t. Witches couldn’t do death magic. Witches had never been able to do it. The fact the spell existed at all shows how futile their attempts were.

  But Ember wasn’t a witch, a voice nagged at the back of her mind. Ember was a necromancer. Her heart squeezed hard. She thought of Quinn, smiling, joking and laughing with her. She wanted to feel his arms around her. She wanted to hear him call her ‘Dagger’. She just wanted him. It was cruel to even let herself think about it.

  “What does it say?” Tristin couldn’t help but ask, reading over the witch’s shoulder. “Os ex mortuis?”

  “Bone of the dead,” she translated absently.

  “Sanguine?”

  “Blood,” Astrid said. “In order to perform the ritual we need blood and bone from the dead.”

  Tristin paled. “From our dead? Well it’s a bit late for that.”

  “No. It isn’t. I managed to get what I needed before my father sent him to the incinerator.” Astrid told her, tone clipped, almost professional.

  Tristin was going to be sick. Somewhere, Astrid had Quinn’s bones and his blood. What kind of monster could hack up their own brother? Why was she even entertaining this? Why was she letting Astrid torture both of them this way? She didn’t know but she couldn’t stop now.

  “What else?” she heard herself ask.

  “Belladonna, mistletoe, graveyard dirt, snake eyes and an empty vessel.”

  “This,” Tristin pointed to the two words. “Stigmatium malifica. Malifica means witch, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Stigmatium? Like stigmata? You aren’t nailing her to a cross are you?”

  “Don’t be stupid. It simply means branded.”

  Tristin froze, hunched over Astrid’s shoulder. “What?”

  “The witch performing the spell must bear the mark of Osiris.”

  “The god?”

  “No, the shoe designer,” Astrid sneered. “Yes, the god. This is blood magic.”

  “This is death magic.” Tristin reminded her.

  “Yes, and she’s a necromancer so it has to work.”

  “How do you propose getting Ember to brand herself with the sigil of Osiris?”

  “I have that all worked out.” Astrid told her, sliding the book back into her bag. “When Ember comes to you later, you’re going to tell her the answer to her problem is a simple tattoo to ward off compulsion.” She brandished a small scrap of paper and held it out to Tristin, “And then you are going to take her here. Ask for Rune.”

  Tristin looked down at the name of the only tattoo place in town. The place was run by Tibetan shaman, well-practiced in the art of magical tattoos. Tristin ran her thumb across her hip, she’d gotten a tattoo there six months ago. It felt like six years ago. She knew they were neutral, they wouldn’t ask questions.

  “You want me to trick my cousin into branding herself with the sigil of the god of the underworld? Astrid, listen to yourself. This is crazy.”

  Astrid turned on her then, eyes wild, “Crazy? You haven’t even begun to see crazy yet. I am the daughter of Allister Talbot, granddaughter of Briona Talbot. I have magic in my blood going back over a thousand years. We are descendants of the goddess.” Her nostrils flared, advancing on her. “You will do as I say. I am getting my brother back and you are going to help me or I swear I will make sure your brother joins him.”

  Tristin’s mouth hung open. “What happened to you, Astrid? You used to be a human being.”

  Astrid wiped the spittle off her chin delicately, “I evolved. I adapted. I embraced my true nature. Witchcraft is neither black nor white. In order for a balance to be maintained a witch must be both dark and light.”

  Goosebumps broke out across Tristin’s skin. Astrid said this as if someone had forced her to say it again and again, as if she was brainwashed. Given what she knew about Allister, she probably had been.

  “I am my father’s daughter. I always get what I want and now I want my brother back.”

  66

  EMBER

  Ember was starting to feel like a prisoner. Knowing Mace worked for Allister made his constant vigilance oppressive. She silently questioned everything he did. Every time she thought about kissing him, her face flushed with embarrassment. He wasn’t interested in her. He’d never been interested in her.

  Her brain was wild with theories. She wondered if he was somehow controlling her magic; if maybe he was somehow the one who made her magic go out of control. Everything she thought she knew was a lie. Maybe she only thought she needed him. After all, they’d been setting her up all along. He’d said it himself. He told her not to fall for him. He said he could never love her.

  The thought of his betrayal festered, her hostility increasing with every class. She sat glaring at the side of his face as he doodled on his paper, paying little to no attention to the lessons. She guessed when you were hundreds of years old you didn’t really have much left to learn about American history. She amused herself by fantasizing about the various ways she could use her new powers to torture him, only feeling a little guilty when he caught her staring and grinned at her.

  Her stomach fluttered. Why did he have to be so damn attractive? It was his job, she reminded herself. That is why Allister hired him. He doesn’t care about you. Maybe if she said it repeatedly her traitorous heart would get it. When the bell rang, he grabbed her bag for lunch. She yanked it back and glowered at him.

  “Somebody is in a mood.” Her lip curled, that lilting accent she’d thought so sexy just yesterday now made her want to punch him in his stupid English face. She fought the urge to mock his accent, knowing she was acting childish, even if it was in her own head.

  “What has you so cross, Luv? Is it about the kiss?”

  Heat crawled up her neck, turning her chest and cheeks an unattractive bright red. “Ugh, don’t remind me.”

  Mace’s eyes went wide, watching her intently. She could see him trying to figure out what he could have done to make her so angry. Go ahead and wonder, she thought. She stopped at the entry to the East corridor. “I need to go find my uncle. I’ll see you at lunch.”

  “Alone? Do you think that’s a good idea?” Mace asked, voice edged with what almost sounded like panic. “I’ll go with you.”

  “No. Go eat lunch. I’ll see you in class.”

  His face paled but he nodded. He looked queasy. Did soul eaters get sick to their stomach? She really didn’t care. She hoped he puked everywhere. She turned on her heel and made her way to the government classroom. She was ten steps into the room before she realized something was wrong. When she heard the door close behind her, panic gripped her. She turned to see Stella standing in front of her only exit.

  Her magic flickered and she dug her nails into her palms. Pain was still the only thing that kept her magic in check when Mace wasn’t available. Stella looked her up and down, sneering at Ember’s clenched fists.

  “Are you following me?” Embe
r asked.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact I am.” Stella moved further into the room. Ember backed up, not willing to take her eyes off the witch.

  “What is your problem?”

  “You’re my problem.” She told her in a singsong voice. “Girls like you. You’re weak. You’re powers are all over the place. You have to rely on a boy to take care of you. You’re pathetic. You have an active power most witches would literally kill for and yet you turn your back on your witch side and instead choose to associate with mutts and demons.”

  Ember smirked at her, heat curling in her belly as her magic began to flow. “From what Tristin tells me, you’re just mad because the mutt you were practically begging to ‘associate’ with is now happily cozied up with my cousin, Kai. Very happily,” she reiterated.

  Stella’s nostrils flared and Ember’s hand flew to her own neck, squeezing. Stella smirked as Ember began to choke, the victim of her own hand. She tried to drag in a breath but she couldn’t. Her lungs seared as she tried to use her free hand to tear the other free.

  Panic climbed her throat as her body fought to make use of the miniscule amounts of air in her lungs, shutting down the supply to her extremities. They weren’t supposed to use magic at school, her brain supplied unhelpfully.

  “I guess nobody told you about my active power. I believe humans call it telekinesis. I prefer mind control. Neat trick, right?”

  Her face felt tight and bloated, tears streamed from her eyes. Her magic surged, struggling to break the witches hold but nothing worked. Dread pulled at her like a lead weight on her chest as her vision began to go black at the edges.

  She was going to die. Stella was going to kill her.

  Stella flicked her fingers and Ember’s hand dropped to her side. Ember doubled over, sucking air into her abused lungs. Her pulse throbbed in her head, her own blood pounding in her ears. She swallowed hard, wincing at the pain. It felt like she’d gargled razor blades. “Why are you doing this?” she asked, throat hoarse.

  “Cause I can? Because you’re the reason my best friend’s brother is dead. Because you ignore Alex when he’s so eager to do anything for you?” she shrugged. “Take your pick.”