Bone Man’s will blasted into the room as he whirled around, the shredded covers leaping into the air as furniture toppled over from the blast. Dust radiated from him and clouded his surroundings. He slashed and sliced in the filthy fog, quickly willing the powder to the floor until he could see the door again.
An antique mirror hung on the back of the door that showcased Bone Man’s thin reflection. Dark spots webbed the glass like a bad rash. The mirror had no setting, and a crack ran across the cloudy face.
Bone Man approached the antique, and his reflection approached him. A thin man with tight, sharp shoulders and long fingers, black suit and black tie neatly pressed with an egg white dress shirt to separate the two. He wore leather gloves that shimmered in the light. The expressionless skull of his mask hid his features, save for two blue, dilated eyes that swallowed the world inside their hateful pools. His dark hair was slicked back behind his ears and polished to a shine. Not a single strand strayed from its place or dared curl beyond its position. Not one wrinkle marred the perfection of his form.
But when he stared at that reflection, he did not see himself. It was like looking through a window and realizing a stranger stood on just the other side looking back.
Bone man lifted a hand and lightly touched his fingertips to the glass. He leaned so close he saw the veiny scarlet threads ringing his pupils. Something familiar was in those eyes. Something he knew, but had forgotten.
The brow of his mask tapped the glass. His reflection’s did the same. Those blue eyes devoured him, locked him in place, held him tight with a stern, hard hand.
“Bring her home,” the reflection breathed, and while he couldn’t see it smile, he could feel the lips curl behind the reflection’s mask.
Bone Man reared back. The reflection’s hand lanced from the glass and clamped around his wrist. Each finger was an icy dagger nailed into his flesh. The grip tightened. Bone Man buckled. The reflection grabbed his throat, encasing it in a collar of frigid nails.
A force pulled him closer to the glass. He recognized it immediately, knew its call. All in Afterlife did. It was the Deep, wakening around him. That nameless, formless, abyss beyond the city that swallowed souls too weak to resist its song. The Deep came for him. It wanted him.
A wail erupted from within the glass. His reflection twisted its grip and pulled, and Bone Man vanished into the mirror.
Dino scowled at the flickering light fading from the arched window on the ravaged mansion’s second floor. He waited a few minutes, but Bone Man didn’t reappear. Dino watched the window. Nothing disturbed it. It was an empty socket into a dead giant’s skull.
The estate’s collapsed roof opened to Afterlife’s cloudy sky. If he could sneak into the house that way, he’d at least avoid running headfirst into Bone Man. Dino wanted the monster dead, but the prospect of facing such a powerful soul in such close quarters forced him to think more strategically.
Bone Man’s power was stronger than any other in Afterlife. He could move objects as he saw fit, from a grain of dust to a marble statue ten feet high. He struck more swiftly than a viper, and his punch could shatter skulls like thin glass. To make matters worse, not even the strongest spirit could pierce the protection of his mask. No one could command Bone Man, but the archduke who made him, and try as they might, no one in Afterlife seemed to be able to hurt him.
Still, Dino had advantages of his own. He called upon his own curse, and his body swirled into a fine mist. He whisked into the air, streaming high above the mansion and through the terrified murder of crows circling the roof cawing for their master. He searched the shattered shingles for any movement within the building, but if Bone Man lurked there, he kept well-hidden.
Faye would dust Dino if she knew what he was about to do, but he had a feeling he needed to be inside there. He needed to know what brought Bone Man to the Old City. If Bone Man found the relic and captured or killed the thief who stole it, Dino would need to do what he could do to prevent his nemesis from returning to the Black Palace with it.
Dino dove into the shattered roof. Nothing more than a swirling spectral version of himself, he sifted from one shadow to another, never disturbing more than a speck of dust or flake of ash as he passed.
He reached a hole in the ceiling near where he last spotted Bone Man. Like water down a drain he poured himself through the small hole, pooling in a dark hallway below. There were two doors on either side of the hall and one just ahead. Slowly he drifted toward that door, watching the silver line of light between it and the floor, listening for movement on the other side.
Dino leaned to the keyhole and peered into the room. The window appeared on the other side, framing the sad landscape of the long-abandoned neighborhood.
Where are you, you bastard? Dino pressed his misty brow against the door and shot through the key hole, quickly condensing into a mass of swirling grey on the other side.
Toppled furniture piled in shattered mounds. Large cracks ran along the walls while dust slowly drifted toward the floor. Dino swiveled around and frowned. Bone Man used his power to clear this room. But why?
As his circle completed, he spotted the dingy mirror hanging on the door. He approached the glass, staring at the ghostly reflection approaching him. His translucent fingers washed over the mirror, leaving curling trails of smoke in their wake.
He blinked at the reflection blinking back. He recognized the man. It was him. Yet, it was not. An instinct buried deep within him lit a spark of fear that roiled through his veins.
“Impossible,” Dino whispered.
“Bring her home,” the reflection sighed.
Dino cried out and pulled away, but the reflection’s hand was already clamped around his wrist, the splotchy glass of the mirror and smiling ghost within it swelling before him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Haunted
The note said to see Ms. Tinsley before Amber’s next class. Amber groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. She never should have let her anger get the best of her. It hadn’t been two days yet and rumors swirled through every hall in St. Luke’s about her weird episode with Mr. Engel. Underclassmen avoided her like she was riddled with Ebola or some as-of-yet undiscovered plague. Upperclassman steered clear, often studiously avoiding the space she occupied, preferring to search for flies in the fluorescent lights instead as they backed away from the weird girl nobody really knew, but everybody suddenly knew of.
Jason nudged her twice. He buried his nose in The Basic Works of Aristotle, but she spied the glossy pages of the latest GQ carefully hidden between the textbook’s pages. He flashed his brows at her from behind the book cover and eyed the note. “What is it?”
“Ms. Tinsley wants to see me. I think you can guess what it’s about.”
“Of course Mr. Engel ran right over to her. Just tell her the truth. He pulled a dick move and hung your painting without permission, you got mad, and then one of our crappy lights blew out and nearly caught the place on fire. It was nothing. They’re lucky you didn’t get hurt. That’d be a lawsuit I’m pretty sure.”
The entire event didn’t sound like nothing to Amber. From what she remembered, it didn’t feel like nothing, either. The cold, dark pit of blind rage that formed inside her, the formless anger that wanted nothing more than to lash out at the world. She wanted to hurt Ben Engel for the embarrassment, and in that brief instant when her emotions had taken control, she didn’t care if she hurt anyone else, either, including her best friend.
Amber crumpled the paper and shoved it in her pocket. The other seniors in study hall avoided her and Jason, but they kept watch from the corners of their eyes.
Tiffany Holt regarded Amber with a mix of pity and disdain as she absentmindedly thumbed at the cross slung loosely around her neck. Her other friends surrounded her like hornets buzzing around a nest. Their voices were low enough to blend into a muddled stream but loud enough to hear. Every so often, Amber caught her name clear enough. It usually came right before the gigg
les.
“Don’t listen to them,” Jason said, flashing an angry scowl at Tiffany.
“They’re planning something,” she sighed.
“We’ll get through it. Tiffany will see something shiny and go chase after it soon enough anyway. You know the minute she sets foot on campus next year all this holier-than-thou crap she puts on is gonna go poof. She’ll be that drunk girl puking on the stairs that nobody likes, already working through her third boyfriend while she’s banging his friends.”
“God, don’t let her hear that!” Amber snapped.
Jason shoved his face into the crook of his arm and laughed into his sleeve, his cheeks blushing a tomato red. He sucked in his breath and straightened, his huge smile propping up his cherry cheeks. “Oh whatever, you know it’s true. I almost want to follow Saint Tiffany to wherever she goes and blog about her halo turning into horns. Almost.”
“Gross. Just shoot me right now if I have to do anything with Tiffany Holt after we graduate. I don’t think I could take it.”
The bell rang, and the room exploded into seniors rushing for the tall oak door. Amber and Jason waited for class to empty before they left. It was just easier to avoid people that way. More than a few narrowed eyes trained on them as they darted into a hallway that smelled like a noxious mix of perfume, body spray, and ammonia-based floor cleaner.
Jason walked with her to Ms. Tinsley’s office. When the second bell rang, he spun away and blew her a kiss. “See you in the studio?”
“I won’t be long,” she said.
“Take your time. I got a text from someone.” He stuck out his tongue, wiggling it while he flashed his brows. “He wanted to meet me in the equipment shed at the field. So scandalous.”
“Jason!” Amber giggled and snatched his arm. “Who is it?”
“I’ll spill it when you get done. Get in there and try not to act totally nuts.”
Amber laughed and shoved him away, then turned to the office. She opened the heavy door and stepped inside.
A lemon citrus candle flickered on a side table between two worn blue office chairs. A desk sat before that, and behind it hunkered a little woman enveloped by an enormous, overprotective chair.
If Ms. Tinsley had eaten a meal in the past decade or so, her body didn’t show it. The knobs of her shoulders protruded from her oversized blouse. Her porcelain arms were cracked by rivers of swollen veins and spotted with age. She wore her hair in a tight bun that was startlingly grey at the roots but deep red everywhere else. An enormous mug of coffee trailed steam into the citrus air from its perch on a nest of used sugar packets.
Ms. Tinsley hummed to herself as she scratched notes on a legal pad. When Amber’s shadow washed over the desk, the counselor looked up with a frown that ticked up into a flat line once their eyes met.
“Ah, Ms. Blackwood,” Ms. Tinsley croaked. “So good of you to stop by my office. If you would close the door, please.”
Amber nodded and clicked the door closed. She took a seat before the desk and folded her hands in her lap. “You wanted to see me?”
“I did, I did.” She grabbed a framed black and white picture and polished the glass with her blouse. She set the picture aside and scooted to the desk, her flat lips now upturning in a smile. “How’re you feeling these days?”
Amber took a deep breath and pressed her back into the chair. “I’m ready to graduate. I’m excited about college. That’s about it.”
Ms. Tinsley nodded and scribbled a note on her pad. “Wonderful. You’ve applied?”
“I have.”
The counselor lowered her pen. She leaned back and watched Amber like someone might watch a dog that hadn’t been out in awhile. “It was your brother’s birthday last week, wasn’t it?”
Those sudden words knifed her like Ms. Tinsley had just jabbed her pen into Amber’s heart. Amber cleared her throat and clenched her fists tighter. “Yes, it was. I went to Toby’s grave and paid my respects. I’ve done it every year on his birthday since he died. So what?”
“And how did that make you feel?”
“Better. Talking with him always does.”
Ms. Tinsley scribbled more notes on her pad. Amber tried looking at them, but they were too far to read. A pang of annoyance rippled through her blood. She licked her lips and eyed the notepad. “Was there something you wanted to talk about? I have a senior art project I’m supposed to be working on.”
“Ah, yes, art. I heard about your episode in Ben’s classroom. It has him worried. It has many of the faculty worried, to be totally honest with you. We can be honest with each other, can’t we?”
Amber nodded. “We can.”
“Good. Even some of your peers are concerned. Your friend Tiffany was in here this morning asking if there was anything she could do to help.”
Amber’s eyes narrowed. “Tiffany Holt?”
“Yes, she even suggested I speak with you. She certainly cares about you, Amber. I know your mother’s out of town. Your neighbor has reached out to me as well. She says your behavior’s more erratic than normal.”
“What? No it isn’t.”
“Then show me your cell phone.”
Amber’s neck warmed. She looked to the side and forced the lump down her throat. “I don’t have it on me.”
“No, I don’t suppose you do if it’s in as many pieces as Ms. Flannery described. Between this, the incident with your painting, and your brother’s birthday, I am very worried. Tell me truthfully, Amber, are you okay? You don’t have any desire to hurt yourself, do you? Or others?”
“What?” Amber started laughing and shook her head. “Are you kidding me? Of course I don’t want to hurt myself or anyone else. Did you call me in here to comfort me, or to accuse me of being some suicidal maniac?”
“Suicidal? Hmm.” Ms. Tinsley scribbled more infuriatingly unreadable notes on her pad. The flame on the citrus candle undulated. Ms. Tinsley finished her writing and took a sip of her coffee. “I’m the counselor. If I’m to give you sound advice, I need to determine the issue that’s causing these behavioral … concerns. I’m simply trying to determine the issue here. We all just want to help you, Amber. That’s all.”
“I’ll make sure to thank Tiffany for her concern,” she said with more than a little hint of acid. “Well, I’m happy to report I’m not some kind of violent threat to anyone, including myself. If that’s all, I’d really like to get to my art project.”
“Yes, that’s all—for now. I can’t force you to say things you don’t want—or aren’t ready—to say.” Ms. Tinsley strummed her fingers on the desk as Amber stood and headed for the door. “But I would like to see you a little more regularly. Please drop by my office at least once a day to say hello. Just a few minutes. You can do it during your study hall. I’m sure it won’t be much of an issue, will it?”
Amber paused, hand above the steel doorknob. She rolled her eyes, then spun around and grinned. “Of course, Ms. Tinsley. I’ll come by once a day and say hello.”
“Good, good.” Ms. Tinsley eyed Amber suspiciously. She already had the pen in her hand, ready to scratch more notes on a page that was empty when she arrived but almost full now. “See you tomorrow. Maybe you can tell me about your project?”
“Maybe!” Amber shouldered the door open and power-walked down the hallway. The heavy door clicked shut behind her, echoing off the linoleum floors and locker-lined walls.
Tiffany’s convenient visit to Ms. Tinsley’s office irked Amber. But more than that, she feared it was only part of some greater plan, the tip of an iceberg the ship of Amber’s life drifted toward.
In the art hall, Amber hurried past Mr. Engel’s door. She would need to write an apology to him. He didn’t deserve her anger, and seeing the pain in his eyes when she screamed at him twisted her heart.
She reached their studio and walked inside. Jason hadn’t arrived yet, but he might not for a little while depending on how his mysterious meeting went.
Amber smirked and pulled a stool to
her canvas. “I wonder who this guy is?”
Their school wasn’t that big, and Jason typically liked older guys, so Amber assumed whoever his suitor was, it must be a senior. She picked up a paintbrush and tapped it on her chin. “A teacher? No. No way. Would he?”
The picture she had painted rested in the corner. Toby’s blue face watched her from the maelstrom on the canvas. No matter how she tried to avoid it, his stare always lurked in her periphery. Amber stood and turned it around, then went back to her seat and stared blankly at the back of the canvas.
Minutes passed. Amber groaned and tapped the paintbrush on the table. She checked the clock on the wall. “Where are you, Jason?”
She huffed and headed for the exit. Something felt off. Too much time had passed, and a cold pit of dread began blossoming in her stomach. She opened the door and edged quietly into the hall. Just a quick check by the equipment shed. No peeking. Just a little casual stroll by to make sure everything’s okay. I’m sure he won’t mind.
Despite her rapidly increasing heartbeat, Amber calmly strolled down the hall. She turned one corner after another until she came to the double doors spilling into the fields behind the school.
Tiffany and two of her friends loitered just before those doors, chatting and giggling to one another like any other day. Tiffany noticed Amber and faced her with a viciously innocent smile, her finger toying with the cross necklace. “Amber! Hi there.”
The pit of dread became a noxious worry. “Hello, ah, Tiffany.”
“How was your visit with Ms. Tinsley?”
Amber squeezed her fists. “It went fine, thank you.”
“Good! I’m very worried about you. Everyone is. Everyone.”
“Thank you for keeping an eye on me. I really appreciate it.” She angled between them, aiming for the doors. “I need to get by. Excuse me.”
The girls tightened their line before the door, blocking Amber’s exit. Tiffany brushed a shiny lock of her hair behind an ear and bounced on her feet. “Listen, Amber, none of this is really about you. Just be a good girl and turn around and go back to whatever it is you do. Things will be better that way. Trust me. I only want what’s best for you.”
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