 
# Ember X

### (Death Collectors X, Book 1)

## Jessica Sorensen

### Contents

Preface

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Epilogue

About the Author

Also by Jessica Sorensen
Ember X

Jessica Sorensen

All rights reserved.

Copyright © 2019 by Jessica Sorensen

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

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For information: jessicasorensen.com

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Cover design by MaeIDesign

  Created with Vellum

# Preface

Once a blooming red rose, full of streaming life in its veins

Now a wilting black petal rupturing with death and pain

—Ember

# Prologue

"Emmy, can you hand me that Allen wrench?" My dad sticks his hand out from beneath the Challenger.

I push the jar of screws and coins out of the way, grab the wrench out of the toolbox, and skip around the fender lying on the ground. "Is it fixed yet?" I ask, setting the wrench in his hand.

His legs wiggle as he scoots further under the car. "Patience, Emmy. These things take time."

"Like how long? An hour?" I ask impatiently. "Dad, I want you to drive it really fast. And I want to be in there too."

My dad laughs. "Alright, we can do that."

"You promise?" I say. "You cross your heart?"

He laughs again and drops the wrench onto the concrete. "Yeah, cross my heart and hope to die."

My eyes wander to the corner of the garage as I return to the jars of screws and coins and begin plucking out the pennies one by one and arrange them in groups on the concrete. The metal clinks with each coin dropped and I hum along with the song on the radio, a song about death and the acceptance of it. I wonder if it might be talking about my friend in the corner of the garage, the one who always watches and follows me wherever I go. He wears a funny cape like a superhero only there's a hood over his head. His face is always hidden, but I bet his skin is made of rainbows and light.

He breathes a warning about the coins and the map I'm supposed to be creating. "Didn't I do it right?" I poke at a penny. "It looks right to me."

My dad sticks his head out from under the car. Grease stains his face and there's a layer of metal shavings in his black hair. "Emmy, who are you talking to?"

I hum along with the song playing from the car stereo. "No one," I lie, because I'm not allowed to talk about my imaginary friend with anyone—those are his rules. I even crossed my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye. And the last thing I want to do is stick a needle in my eye.

My dad shoves out from under the car and wipes his greasy hands on the front of his torn jeans. "Hey, Emmy, you wanna go get something to eat?" He peers over my shoulder at the map of the cemetery I've created.

Each coin represents were a body is buried. "Playing a game," I reply.

His breath hitches. "Stop that!" He scatters the pieces with his boot and picks me up in his arms. He grips me forcefully as he carries me to the trunk of the car and sits me down with my legs dangling over the edge.

"Who told you to do that with the coins?" The anger in his eyes is frightening.

"I don't know." I try to squirm from my dad's arms. "Daddy, you're hurting me."

His eyes enlarge as he glances at his hands, like he didn't realize he was holding my arms. "Emmy, this is really important." He loosens his grip. "Who told you to do that?"

My eyes stray to my friend in the corner. "I'm not supposed to tell you."

"Ember Rose Edwards." He only uses my full name when he means business. "You tell me right now or else I won't let you ride in the car with me. Do you understand?"

I cross my arms and huff. "Fine. My imaginary friend told me to do it."

My friend glares at me and I'm scared he's going to leave me. _Please don't leave me. Please don't leave me._

My dad follows my line of gaze and a spark of his death surfaces through his touch— _darkness_. I shiver as he turns back to me with a stern look on his face.

"Emmy, you need to ignore him, okay?" he says, his grey eyes softening. "You can't have imaginary friends—people will think you're crazy. And we can't have people thinking that."

"But I don't want him to go away."

"Well, he has to. It's time for him to go away. Do you understand? No imaginary friends. _Ever_."

"Fine... go away, friend." Tears sting the corners of my eyes as my friend dissipates into air. "It's not fair."

"Life isn't fair," my dad says as he helps me down off the trunk. "And the sooner you realize that, the easier life will be."

I sulk back over to the jar and begin picking up the mess, chucking the pennies and screws into it.

"And Emmy." My dad scoots back under the car. "If he ever comes back, you need to tell him to go away."

"Alright." I frown, dropping pennies into the jar. Once my dad is under the car, I dare a peek at the empty corner, secretly hoping my friend will be back. But he's not and my heart aches. He's the only person I've ever met who understands death like I do.

# Chapter 1

_Thirteen years later....._

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_I love the cemetery. It's quiet and peaceful—it's the only place where I get a break from death. I loathe crowded places, crammed with voices and life. It hurts to be around life. People don't understand how close death is, right over their shoulders, around the block, at the end of a street. It's everywhere and I'm the only one who knows where it's hiding. I see death every day, but a cemetery is already dead._

The moon is vibrant tonight, only a sliver away from being full. Dry leaves fall from the oak tree and the air smells crisp with autumn. Headstones entomb the ground and a light mist dews the crisp blades of grass. I lean against a tree trunk with my notebook propped open on my knee, a pen in my hand, as I scribble words that are important to me.

_The cemetery is my sense of comfort, my sanctuary in a world of darkness, the one piece of light I have in my life._

I remove the tip of the pen from the page and read over my words. I sound obsessed with death, like Edgar Allan Poe or Emily Dickinson, but death is a huge part of who I am. With a simple touch I know when someone will die. Whether they'll go painfully. If their life will end up stolen.

I set the notebook on the grass and tuck the pen inside the spine. I pull my hood over my head, cross my arms, and stare out at the desolate street. One of the streetlights flickers and a dog barks from behind the front gate of a redbrick home. I glance at my watch. It's _really_ late. I grab my notebook and start across the cemetery. The ground is damp and clunky, and my black boots sink into the moist dirt. I eye the headstones; big, small, intricate, plain. I wonder if the details of a headstone define the life of the person resting beneath it. If it's big and fancy, does it mean they were loved by many? Or were they lonely, but had money? Do small and plain ones declare that they lived a lonely life? Or were they just not materialistic?

I'm probably the only one crazy enough to be walking around thinking these thoughts.

The wind howls like a dust storm and leaves whirlwind around my head. I tuck my chin down, fighting through the dust toward the front gate as pieces of my black hair curtain my pale face and grey eyes and stick against my plump lips. My boot catches on the corner of a grave and I face-plant onto the grass. My notebook flies from my hand and my head smacks the corner of a headstone.

"Ow," I mumble, clutching my head as I smear dirt off my cheek. My gaze travels upward to a statuesque carving of a hooded figure with the head tucked down and in the hand is a scythe.

"The Grim Reaper, huh?" I rise to my feet, stretching out my long legs, and tilt my head up. "I bet you know what it's like, don't you? To be surrounded by death all the time? I bet you understand me."

The wind violently picks up and carries my notebook away. Shielding my eyes from the dust, I chase after it. It dances through the leaves and glides across the grass, finally resting against a soaring angelic statue in the crook of the cemetery. I hurry after it. A black raven swoops down from one of the trees and circles in front of me.

"Why are you always following me?" I whisper to the raven. "Is it because you know what I am—a symbol of death like you?"

"Dammit, I am so sick and tired of doing all your dirty work. It's such crap," a voice cuts through the cemetery.

I hastily take cover behind the Angel statue and the raven perches on the head, ruffling its wings. No one hangs out in cemeteries late at night, except for weirdos and people like me. (And as far as I know, I'm the only girl of my kind.)

A shovel cuts into the dirt. "I'm always the one who's gotta dig these things up."

I peek through the cracks between the Angel's wings. A thin guy, with frail arms and a pointy nose, stands in a hole, shoveling dirt. My journal is inches from the discarded dirt pile. One more scoop and my life thoughts will be buried.

"If I were you, Gregory, I'd watch my tone." A tall figure hops from the roof of a small marble mausoleum and his long legs stretch as he strides toward the hole. His hair is as pale as the moon and his eyes are like ash. "I can easily find someone else to dig up the grave."

Gregory mutters under his breath and scoops up a shovel full of dirt.

The taller one cups his ear. "What's that? Speak up, I can't hear you."

"Nothing," Gregory mumbles and continues digging.

The other guy's smile catches in the moonlight and my breath catches in my throat. His face is beautiful, but burdened with sadness and pain, as if he carries the world's sorrows on his shoulders. I long to reach out and trace my fingers along his full lips, his firm jawline, and erase his pain.

The pages of my journal flutter in the breeze and he bends over and picks it up. I cringe with embarrassment, but then realize that he's a guy who hangs out in a cemetery, digging up graves, so my penned words of death shouldn't bother him. He flips through the pages and then pauses on one, studying it, then his eyes skim the cemetery. I crouch down and hold my breath as silence blankets the night, except for the shovel scratching the dirt.

"Where'd this come from?" he asks Gregory.

I peek through the feet of the Angel statue.

Gregory takes the notebook and turns it over. "I'm not sure..." He hands it back. "It says Ember Rose Edwards on the back."

The tall figure runs his long fingers along my name. "Ember..." His hauntingly melodious voice envelops me and beckons me to move out from behind the statue. I start to step out.

"Hold it right there." A pale orb of light beams over my shoulders and hits the grass in front of my feet.

I tense as the shovel stops cutting into the dirt and the night grows quiet, except for the hooting of an owl.

"Now slowly turn around," a deep voice instructs and static cuts through a stereo. "I'm with the suspect now."

Damn it. They're going to think I was digging up the grave. This is not my first time getting into trouble, so they won't go easy on me.

"I said, slowly turn around and keep your hands where I can see them," the cop orders.

I shut my eyes and slowly elevate my hands to my sides.

"Good, now turn around slowly," he says.

Yeah right. I sprint off across the graveyard, my legs moving as fast as they will go.

"She's on the move," he yells and the speaker statics.

My clunky boots rip against the grass as I hop and maneuver around the gravestones. The cop pursues me, his footsteps deafening, and the keys on his belt jingle. I speed up as the brick fence pierces my view and springing onto my toes, I leap for the top. My stomach slams against the edge and I quickly pull my legs up, but the cop grabs my boot and yanks on my leg.

"Don't even think about it, you little punk." He starts to haul me back to the ground by the leg. Images of his death course through me, thick and heavy. _A sharp knife. Blood. His body falling to the ground._

I wiggle my foot, trying to slip it out of my boot, but his hands move higher up my leg, just below my knee. My fingertips scrape the brick as they dig down to hold onto the edge.

The cop's fingers wrap around my other leg. "Just let—"

The cop abruptly releases my legs. My knee crashes into the fence. I scramble to the top and glance behind me. The cop lies unconscious on the grass. The tall, dark stranger stands over him, watching me. The dusky shadows of the trees dance across his face and his untamed eyes smolder like cinders.

"Ember." His ghostly voice encircles around me like smoke.

I inch forward until the tips of my boots align with the ledge of the fence and my hand powerlessly reaches for him. I'm hypnotized by his beauty, the haunting sound of his voice, and I can't seem to keep my hands to myself. I want to run them all over his body, feel his skin, touch him, kiss him, press my body against his.

"Come here," he coaxes, extending his long arms toward me, offering me his hand.

My other hand elevates to my side and I bend my knees to jump off the ledge, trusting him, and desperate to touch him.

"Don't move." Sirens screech from the gate and red and blue lights flash across the cemetery, bringing me back to reality. I flinch and quickly crouch down as a police car slams to a dirt-grinding stop on the other side of the cemetery. Two cops barrel out of it and dash through the gate, hollering over their radios. I glance down, where the tall stranger used to be, but all there is is a single raven feather floating across the grass. It floats up to me in the wind and I catch it, my gaze sweeps the cemetery covered with shadows. _Where did he go?_

The cop on the ground stirs and begins to wake up. Spinning around, I leap onto the sidewalk, and sprint down the street toward my home, never looking back.

# Chapter 2

"Wakey, wakey, sleeping beauty," my best friend, Raven, singsongs as she fluffs my hair with her fingers.

"I'm not a dog, you crazy woman," I mutter, groggily. "Now leave me alone."

She blows in my ear, careful not to touch me with her death omen, even though I've seen it before. "Ember, come on. Wake up."

"You are such a weirdo," I murmur sleepily.

" _I'm_ the weirdo," she teases. "You're the one who sees death."

I roll my eyes open to the brightness of the sunlight spilling through my room. "Way to tell the world."

Her sapphire eyes glimmer against her glittery pink eye shadow as she gestures at my black and red walls, sketched with mythical drawings and depressing poetry. A thin black curtain veils the closet doorway with photos of dead poets and authors tacked along the frame.

Raven hops off my bed and traces her fingers along a penciled drawing of a female Angel with black-feathered wings spanning across the wall. The Angel's black dress flows to the floor, her eyes are shut, and there's despair in the way she carries her head and how her arms curl around herself.

"Do you remember when I drew this for you?" Raven asks.

I climb out of bed and rummage through the dresser drawer for some clothes. The feather from last night sits on top, ruffled and bent in the middle. I don't know why I kept it, other than I couldn't bring myself to throw it away. I've never been attracted to a guy like that before and it seems like a shame to throw the feather and memory away. "Yeah, what were we... like thirteen or something? It was right after I moved back and accidentally told you I could see death."

"I thought it would protect you from death." She laughs bitterly. "I was too little to realize that nothing can save you from it, not even an Angel."

Painted on the opposite wall is a bone-faced creature in a long black cloak, holding an hourglass in its emaciated hand, and a raven shedding its wings is suspended on the shoulder.

"You know he swears it's not a Grim Reaper." Raven observes the drawing closely, squinting her eyes. "But it sure as hell looks like one. If I didn't know better I'd swear your brother put it there on purpose, because he knows about your little death thing and wants to drive you mad."

"He doesn't know about it," I remind her. "No one does but you."

She assesses the Reaper's hand. "And what's with the hourglass?"

My shoulders rise and fall as I shrug. "It's one of the symbols of the Reaper, like, 'your time is in my hands.'"

She sketches the hourglass with her finger. "Well, your brother could have at least put sand in it then, so it wasn't like your time had expired."

"I'm sure he wasn't thinking that far into it," I assure her. "Besides, he only did it to impress you. He wanted to show you that you two share an artistic side."

She chews on her bottom lip. "You know I would never date him, right? I've had one too many manic depressives in my life." She pulls a guilty face. "Sorry, Em. I didn't mean it to come out like that."

"It's okay. I know my brother has problems. And I know you've been through too much to want to deal with it." I pause. "How's your mom doing?"

She shrugs, staring at the drawing. "Fine, I guess. I haven't gone to visit her in a while."

Raven's mom is in a drug treatment facility. She suffers from depression and self-medicates. Her illness has been going on for years. A couple of months ago, Raven came home from work and found her mom on the living room floor with a lit cigarette in her hand. She wasn't breathing and barely registered a pulse. Raven called an ambulance and the paramedics resuscitated her. Raven chewed me out for not telling her it was coming and I realized that day that there were many negatives to my gift. But I didn't tell Raven her mom was going to die, because I knew she wasn't going to die that day. I refuse to tell Raven when anyone in her family will die—including herself—because no one needs that burden on their shoulders.

Raven was mad at me for two weeks and wouldn't talk to me at all. It was the loneliest two weeks of my life. Raven is my one and only friend and it's pretty much been that way forever. When I get old, I'll probably end up a spinster with ten cats and maybe a bird. Raven will pay me visits every so often with her children and make sure I stay sane.

"What is that?" She stands on her tiptoes, leaning in my face, and with her pink fingernail, she chips away a flake of mud off my cheek. "Why do you have dirt on your face?" She turns my hand over and examines my palm. "And your fingers are rubbed raw."

I pull my hand away. "Last night, while I was in the cemetery—"

"I thought you stopped going there so much," she interrupts with disapproval written all over her face. Raven has never understood my need to be alone—my need for the quiet.

I grab a purple and black T-shirt with torn sides and a pair of black jeans out of the dresser. "I haven't been sleeping very well and it's relaxing, being there."

She twists a strand of her shoulder-length, bubblegum pink hair around her finger. "I don't understand you sometimes. I told you to come to my house whenever you want. You don't need to go hang out in a graveyard—it's creepy."

I don't have the heart to tell her that her house is one of the worst places, chock full of death, even after her mother went away. Her brother, Todd, will have an early death from lung cancer. He smokes two packs of cigarettes a day and he's been smoking since he was thirteen.

"The cops busted me," I admit, knowing she'll find it humorous.

Her lips quirk. "Oh yeah, did you run?"

I nodded, and keep my tone playful. "Yup. Really, really fast."

Her smile broadens. "Did they chase you?"

I nod again. "I'm pretty sure he stumbled and landed on his face, too," I exaggerate, knowing she'll love it—Raven's all about the drama.

A laugh sputters from her lips. "Okay, I'm kind of jealous. I wish I could have been there to see it."

"It was pretty funny," I admit. "Except for..."

"Except for what?" she presses. "Come on, Em, tell me please. Don't do your secret-keeping thing."

I sink down on the bed and ball the clothes up on my lap. "There were these guys there, digging up a grave."

Her forehead scrunches and she sits down beside me. "Ew, like grave robbers?"

"I'm not sure what they were doing, but it was kind of creepy."

"Did they take anything from the grave?"

"I have no idea. I was too busy running from the cops..." It dawns on me. "Shit. I think one of the grave robber guys might have my notebook."

"The one you're always writing your deepest darkest secrets in?" she asks.

I nod. "And it has my name on it."

Tapping her finger on her chin, she muses over something. "Was he hot?"

I fiddle with a loose string on my pajama pants. "Are you seriously asking if the _grave robber_ was hot?"

"Grave robbers are people too," she says with a sassy attitude. "And just because they like to dig up graves, doesn't mean they can't be hot."

Hot? More like intense and frightening. Shaking my head, I stand up. "You're a weirdo. I'm going to go get dressed."

She eyeballs me with suspicion. "Quit trying to change the subject, Emmy."

I head for the closet. "You know I hate it when you call me that." It's the nickname my dad gave me and I hate being reminded of him.

"You know you always do this," she calls out. "You always run away from guys. If you keep it up, you're going to end up a lonely old spinster."

"Which is just what I want." I pause when I reach the curtain. "I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess we're going to a party."

Her mood suddenly boosts and she grins impishly. "What gave it away?"

I eye her outfit and count down on my fingers. "Four things: leather shorts, pink high heels, knee high socks, and a sparkling top."

She sticks out her hip and pops up her foot, striking a pose. "Come on, admit it, I look hot."

"You look like a slut."

She tosses a pillow at me and I catch it and throw it back at her. "Watch that dirty mouth of yours, Death Girl," she says, dropping the pillow onto the bed. "I don't look like a slut. I look like someone who needs to get laid. That's all."

"Same difference." Laughing, I duck through the curtain into my closet. Immediately, my lips sink to a frown. Parties equal lots of people and lots of people mean lots of death omens. But I have to go with Raven to protect her from herself because she tends to get reckless.

"So whose party are we going to tonight?" I slip my plaid pajama bottoms off and tug on my faded jeans.

"Remy's," Raven replies, and I can hear her delving through my jewelry drawer.

Pulling a face, I slip on a fitted black shirt. "Doesn't she live all the way up by the lake?" I ask, putting my boots on.

She pokes her head inside the closet. "Don't be such a downer, Em. For once can't you let loose and have some fun?" She moves back as I step into my room.

"I'm not being a downer." I collect my car keys from the dresser, clip on my maroon pendant necklace, and set the feather in the jewelry drawer. "I just hate driving my car all the way up there. It gets such crappy gas mileage. And there's just so many people at Remy's parties."

She pouts out her lip and bats her eyelashes at me. "Pretty please, Em. Can't we go have fun like two normal college girls?"

The term college is pushing it. We go to the Star Hollow Community College since neither of our parents could afford anything else. We have to get grants each semester, buy our books used and rent them when we can, and we live at home. Most of the classes are taught by Professors who don't know more than my high school teachers did and sometimes I wonder why I'm going to college at all.

Acutally I do. One day I hope to get the hell out of this shithole town I live in, away from my mom, my brother, my home, all full of painful memories.

I force a smile. "We always go to parties."

She pokes my arm playfully. "But you never have fun, so just for the night, can't you try?"

Sighing, I nod my head. "All right, I'll try, but it's kind of hard to have fun when people look at you like you might murder them."

"No one still blames you for your dad's death. The cops even said there was no way it could be you—that's why they dropped the charges."

"Actually, they didn't say that. They just didn't have enough evidence to push the investigation further."

"Yeah, but no one thinks you really killed him," she reassures me.

"Everyone in this town does," I disagree. "They think that's why I disappeared for a week—that I was on the run from the cops."

"Well, maybe if you'd tell someone where you were..." She waits, but my lips stayed sealed and they'll stay sealed until the day I die. She rolls her eyes and crooks her pinkie finger in front of her. "No one thinks you're a killer. Now swear on it that you'll have fun."

"Fine," I grimace and hook my pinkie to hers. "I swear I'll try to have fun."

She tightens her pinkie. "Not try—will."

"I promise I will have fun," I say with a frown.

She jumps up and down, clapping her hands animatedly as I fasten my studded bracelet to my wrist, then we head out the door.

"And remember what happens if you go back on your word," she says, skipping down the stairs, swinging her arms.

"Yeah, yeah, the bad karma will catch up with me," I say, lacing my boot up as I hop down the last step. Raven is very big on karma, but karma has had me by the throat since I was four when I accidently took my grandmother's life.

"Dude, why do you look like you're about to commit murder?" My brother, Ian, leans against the kitchen doorway, singeing a stray thread on his hoodie with a lighter. His scraggily brown hair is hidden beneath a grey beanie and, as usual, he has paint all over his hands. He's about the same height as me and kind of scrawny. There have been a lot of times where people thought he was younger than me.

I shake my head and snatch the lighter from his hands. "Why do you insist on being a pyro? You're going to hurt yourself one day. Or hurt someone else."

He lunges for the lighter, but I dodge around him and dash into the kitchen where the carpet switches to tile. I smash the lighter against the floor and watch it break.

"What the heck is wrong with you?" Ian shouts, picking up the broken pieces.

Ian is twenty-one, two years older than me, and he still lives at home. At sixteen, he declared himself a struggling artist, which meant he would forever live here, raiding the refrigerator and hanging out in the attic—his "studio."

He snatches my hand and grips tightly. "Why do you have to be such a bitch sometimes?"

I tense as I feel his death coarse through me like venom. _Fire everywhere, the roof of our house roaring in flames. Ian lies on the floor, dying—he wants to be there._ I jerk away and suck a sharp breath through my nose. I've seen his death before, and each time is equally as painful. In a beautiful world full of roses and sunshine, I'd be able to change his self-inflicting death. But as far as I know, death omens are irrevocable and as permanent as the ink that stains the pages of my journal.

He rubs the black and yellow paint off his cheeks. "Look, Em, I'm sorry, okay?" He glances at Raven, worried about her reaction. "I just haven't been sleeping that great lately."

"It's okay. And I'm sorry I broke your lighter." I pick up the rest of the pieces of the lighter and toss them into the trash. "Are you taking your medication still?"

He massages the back of his neck, looking tense. "I am, but I'm not sure I need to anymore. It's been two years since Alyssa... And I'm feeling pretty good these days."

The fact that he can't talk about her death proves he's not ready to get off his medication. Ian never forgave himself for the disappearance of Alyssa, his high school girlfriend, which ultimately led to her body being discovered in the lake.

After her body was found, Ian spent his entire senior year drunk and stoned. He even tried to kill himself once, although he denies it to this day, saying he accidently swallowed too many pills, but I know the truth—I read his goodbye note.

When I discovered him on the bathroom floor, unconscious and barely breathing, I knew he wasn't going to die, but it still scared the shit out of me. He loved Alyssa so much and the guilt of her loss consumes his life and poisons his head with dark thoughts he may never get rid of.

His arms open for a hug, but I evade around him. "Raven and I are headed out. Let Mom know I'll be home late... if she shows up."

He goes to the cupboard and takes out a box of cereal. "Even if she comes home, she'll be too drunk to notice."

"I know." I gather the dirty dishes off the table and put them in the sink. "But I thought I'd let you know just in case, by some small miracle, she comes home sober and notices I'm not here."

He waves at us as we head for the front door. "Yeah, yeah, will do."

Raven blows him a flirty kiss. "Thanks, Hun."

Ian questioningly raises his eyebrows. "Hun?"

I jerk the door open. "I thought you said you would never go out with him?"

She shrugs and whisks out the front door, waggling her fingers and shimmying her hips. "I won't, but I never said I wouldn't flirt with him."

I wave goodbye to Ian. "See you later and if you need anything, call me."

"Oh yeah, I almost forgot." He backs into the kitchen and, seconds later, returns with my journal. "This was on the front porch this morning."

Astonished, I take my journal and brush the dirt off the black leather cover. "Do you know how it got there?"

"I thought you dropped it or something." He shrugs. "I didn't see anyone come in this morning, except for you."

I swallow hard and flip through the pages. Everything looks normal, just how I left it, except for the last page.

_Blinded by the opaque veil of mortality, her eyes are always sealed, like a tomb_

_She wants to know—wants to feel that fire, the brightness of the moon_

_So she searches for light, only to realize it's in her, like an ember equipped to ignite._

The handwriting is flawless, as if each curve of the pen meant something. I touch the page delicately like it's something precious.

Raven peeks over my shoulder. "I thought you lost that?"

"I guess I was wrong." I shut the journal. "Wait for me in the car?"

She nods, but shimmies toward Ian and pokes him in the chest with her finger "So, I have a beef to pick with you."

I leave them to their flirting, go upstairs to my room, and stare at the poem. It's beautiful and strikes a nerve, but who wrote it? The guy from the cemetery? I tear the page out and tack it up beside my bed. I read over the words again before heading out the door.

Will I ever see the mysterious stranger again? And what will happen if I do?

# Chapter 3

Raven and I have been best friends since we were in diapers. Our parents were friends in high school and they moved next door to each other after they married. Our moms were pregnant together—twice—and our dads worked at the local auto shop. It was the picture perfect scene, until two years after Raven and I were born. Then the perfection withered like a famished rose.

Then my parents started fighting a lot. At first it wasn't bad, but then it started happening every night. My mom said my dad didn't want to spend time with us—that he was too caught up in his job and hanging out at the bar. And she was right—my dad was drunk all the time. Finally, he moved out and Ian and I barely saw him.

Raven's dad bailed on her family a few years later. Just up and left. _Poof_. Not too long after, our moms developed drug habits and our brothers started living in their own world. Actually, Raven's brother, Todd, isn't too bad, just a little unconventional. But I don't know what I'd do if I lost Raven. She's my stability.

Remy's party is more lively than usual. A mob of college students are packed in the miniscule living room, swaying to "(Don't Fear) The Reaper" by Blue Oyster Cult, practically dry humping each other, the ecstasy evident all over their faces. Deep down, in the darkest spots of my aching heart, I wonder what it would be like to touch someone like that, rub up against them, feel the inviting heat of their body, instead of the foul sensation of their impending death.

Beer bottles and cigarette butts litter the hardwood floor and the air reeks of sweat, beer, sex and death. It's potent, venomous, intoxicating. I hang out in the emptiest corner of the house, near the stairway and the door, trying to keep my distance. By accident, I ran into three people and their death omens still taint my skin like small bruises and nicks and cuts.

I sip on my cranberry juice, wishing I could spike it with a little vodka, but I'm the designated driver. I watch people dance, my thoughts drifting to the guy from the graveyard. What is he doing right now? Right this instant, while I stand here by myself. In my head, he's sitting in his Victorian home, scribbling beautiful words in his notebook, shirtless, his hair hanging into his eyes. His house is secluded from the world by a dark forest, constantly concealed by fog. I'm sure this isn't accurate, but that's the beauty of an imagination.

"Ember!" Raven shouts over the music as she dances through the crowd, her bubblegum pink wig standing out in the sea of bodies and her hands are in the air. Sweat trickles down her skin and she fans her face as she gets close to me. "What are you doing? You promised to have fun." She points an accusing finger at me and blinks her glossy eyes and then leans forward, getting in my face. "In fact, you swore on it."

I take the plastic cup from her hand and swish the drink around, noting there's only vodka in it and no punch. "I know and I'm trying, I promise, but no more drinks, okay?"

She pouts out her bottom lip. "Come on, Em. You promised."

I fake an excited dance move, shaking my hips. "And I'm having a blast, I swear. Now go and dance. Have some fun for the both of us."

Annoyance burns in her eyes as she puts her hands on her hips and glares at me. "Are you just being a pain in the ass because you're here, or is your little death thing putting you in a bad mood?"

My gaze promptly sweeps the room and I hiss, "Lower your voice. Someone might hear you."

She waves her hands in the air and rolls her eyes. She's completely wasted and her split personality is coming out. "Oh, big news over here! Little Emmy can see death! Does anyone care?!"

I pour her drink into the nearest garbage can. "No more drinks for you."

She snarls, about to spit foul words, but a lanky guy, sporting dark jeans and a black T-shirt, interrupts us. "Death is everywhere, my friends. And it will all eventually catch up to us, so what's the point of running from it. Instead, we should live life to the fullest." His green eyes are outlined with black eyeliner and crossbones tattoo his wrists. He drapes his arm around Raven's shoulder and drunkenly staggers forward, inadvertently bumping his knee into mine.

A weighted mass takes over my body, floods my veins like cinders. _Black water. Trees. Rain pouring down from the dark sky. Glass everywhere. Blood... they can't breathe... they can't breathe! Feathers fall to the ground_. I gasp, nearly choking on how much it resembles my father's crime scene where his car was found.

"Does that scare you?" His eyes scrutinize me, noting the gothic tone of my clothes. "By the looks of you, I wouldn't think it would. But hey, maybe you're just a poser."

"You know, you shouldn't judge people by their looks." I let my hair screen my face and I close my eyes. I don't want to look at him. His life is approaching the end, the last rose petal about to wilt from the fading stem. I tuck my hair behind my ear and sigh. "You got a 'DD'?"

"What the hell's a 'DD'?" he slurs, stumbling, and spills his drink on the floor.

I rub the sides of my temples. _Idiot_. "Do everyone, including yourself, a favor and don't drive home tonight. Okay?"

The guy lets out a sardonic laugh. "What is that, like an omen or something?" He holds up his hands. "Ooo, scary..." He pauses and the recollection clicks in his expression. "Hey, wait a minute. Aren't you that girl who killed her dad?"

I swallow hard and take a step back. "No, I think you're thinking of someone else."

His glazed over eyes squint at my face. "No, I'm pretty sure it was you. Didn't you, like, call the police and confess, then like run..." He trips over his feet and grabs my arm for support. Again, I'm blasted with the burden of his impending death. "Wait... what was I saying again?"

I slip my arm free and scoot back from the drunken idiot. "You were saying that you need to quit drinking."

"Are you feeling okay, Em?" Raven asks, her voice laced with concern. "You look a little pale."

"I always look pale," I say, hugging my arms around myself. "And I have a _headache_." Our code for _I'm having a death episode_.

"Oh, I get it." She coils a strand of her hair around her finger and flutters her eyelashes as she conjures up a plan. "Oh! Okay, I got it."

Goth boy looks back and forth between us. "Got what? Wait a minute? Are you two fighting over little old me?" He grins and I shake my head in irritation. "Don't worry, ladies, there's plenty of Laden love to go around."

Raven's hand falls from Laden's chest and she pulls a face, no longer interested in him, but she puts on her game face. "Hey, why don't you and I go dance." She laces her fingers with his, and leans in to give me a quick kiss on the cheek and I wince. "I'm sorry for acting crazy." She sways her hips as she leads Laden toward the dance floor. Before she vanishes into the crowd, she peeks over her shoulder and mouths: _I'll get his keys_.

I lean against the wall, let my head fall back, and shut my eyes. "Breathe, Ember, breathe. You can't stop death—it's endless."

"God, it's like mating season in here," a deep male voice enfolds around me and sends tingling vibrations quivering through my body.

I shudder and misstep, tripping over my feet, and stepping on the toe of his shoes. Actually, boots; black ones with little silver skulls on the buckles. I like his boots. My eyes progressively travel upward as I take him in; dark jeans, a plaid shirt over a black T-shirt and a skull necklace hooks around his neck. There's a sequence of leather bands on his wrists and a metal loop ornaments his eyebrow. His inky black hair dangles in his slate eyes and hangs shaggily down over his ears.

His intense gaze tantalizes my skin as he takes me in. "Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you."

I shiver again at the sound of his sultry voice as it spills over my skin. "Sorry about your shoes." I retreat backward, putting space between us. The last thing I want is to find out when this gorgeous guy dies. "Crowded rooms just make me a little uneasy."

He laughs softly as he tosses his cup into the trash. "I know what you mean. All this," he motions at the people grinding against one another, "is an excuse for them to dry hump each other in public."

I almost smile at the similarity of our thoughts. "That's a pretty good observation."

He presses his lips together and then with a hesitant look, he leans over my shoulder, putting his lips next to my ear. I stiffen, worried he'll touch me and this magical moment will end, but he's careful, leaving a sliver of space between his lips and my ear. "Take those two for instance. I think they've got their own mating ritual going on. Although, I think it might be a one-sided mating ritual." He angles his head to the side and looks at the crowd.

I follow his gaze to Raven dancing with Laden. She has one hand on his hip and the other on his back pocket. Laden moves all over the place, flailing his arms as he shuffles his feet, like he's trying to break dance and disco at the same time. Raven captures my gaze and rolls her eyes.

"I think you're right." I turn and meet the beautiful stranger's eyes. "It looks like she's bored."

He leans from my ear, his tongue slipping out to lick his lips and I notice a glint of metallic—dear God, he has a tongue ring. "Is she a friend of yours?"

I wonder if he's attracted to her. Most guys are, which has never bothered me until now. Raven's bold and flirty—everything I'm not—and I've accepted that. But this guy has my insides curving and cultivating with so much sweltering heat I'm nearly sweating.

"Her name's Raven," I tell him, assessing his face closely for his reaction.

"Like the poem?" He arches his pierced eyebrow.

"You know Edgar Allan Poe?" I ask, not expecting much because _The Raven_ is one of Edgar Allan Poe's more legendary poems.

"A little bit." He stares at me like he's trying to unravel a maze. "And what's your name?"

"Ember." I inch forward, holding my breath as a girl wobbles by, waving her finger, chewing out the air.

"Ember... I like it." He inches closer and our bodies almost touch. I can feel the warmth radiating off him, like flames, and I can smell the scent of his alluring cologne. "'And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor,'" he quotes a line from Poe's The Raven.

"I thought you said you knew a little?" I ask, impressed.

He shrugs and stuffs his hands in his pockets. "What can I say? I'm fascinated with the idea... love, death, and the insanity it brings."

Growing uncomfortable with his mention of death, I scan the crowd for Raven. "Trust me, death isn't that fascinating." I'm slightly nervous that I can't find Raven. I turn back to the mysterious stranger. "It was nice talking to you, but I need to..." I trail off at the animalistic look he's giving me. "What?" I ask, not sure I want to know—not sure I can handle it. I never let myself get close to guys. What would be the point? I couldn't kiss them—do anything with them—without seeing their death.

He shakes his head, his eyes locked on me. "It's nothing... I was just wondering if you wanted to dance?"

I instantly shake my head. "No thanks. I don't dance."

He smiles, rubbing his lips together, and I'm mesmerized by the way his mouth moves. "That's okay. I'll lead." He pauses, his eyes scrolling over my face, and then it travels downward over my body.

"I really can't..." The way he's looking at me is making it difficult to protest. "I just... I'm not a fan of getting touched..." I shake my head at my absurd response.

The corners of his lips tug upward. "Well, what if I promise not to touch you?" He arches an eyebrow at me as he backs toward the dance floor, maintaining my gaze.

The song switches to "Degausser" by _Brand New_ and I find my feet taking on a life of their own, as Raven's words echo through my head. _Have fun._ I move with him, raising my hands above my head to maneuver through the people, trying not to get touched by anyone.

He walks backward until he reaches the edge of the crowd, then he stops and waits for me to catch up. I'm grateful he chooses to keep a little bit of distance from the other people. Once I reach him however, I realize that I wasn't lying when I said I couldn't dance.

"Don't laugh at me when I fall on my ass," I joke. "Promise you won't."

His mouth teases to a grin. "Okay, I promise." Then he puts his hands out like he's going to touch me and I suck in a breath. But he stops right as he's about to touch my hips, and inches close enough that I can feel the heat between us, the brush of his clothes, the feel of his breath; yet, he's not touching me.

I exhale as he begins to rock his body, swaying to the rhythm, and I can't help but shut my eyes, and move freely to the beat as well. My heart is throbbing in my chest as I lean just a little nearer so I can feel him, yet I can't feel him. All over me, invisible tingles everywhere. I imagine his hands could be on my arms, my back, my hips, grabbing my breast, sliding between my thighs. I want to moan so God damn bad that I have to bite on my bottom lip to suppress it.

I sense him watching me so I crack my eyes open and then open them wider at the sight of his face, his lips parted, his eyes dark and lustful.

I don't even know him, yet I feel like I'm going to combust from the nearness of him. When he moves closer, I stay put, bound to the floor by my yearning, even when he slants into me. I arch my back, and his chest follows the path of mine, his hands sliding around me, yet he still doesn't touch me.

He tips his head forward and our lips are only inches away; his breath dusting my lips, my cheeks. The front of his shirt brushes my neckline and a moan does escape my lips.

As the music continues to pulsate, he lets out a deep moan too and the sound is erotic and causes me to tremble. For a second, I think he's going to kiss me and I consider letting him, wanting—needing to feel what those soft lips of his taste like.

"Ember," he whispers and then shuts his eyes.

Licking my lips, I close my eyes, and wait for whatever's going to happen next. I wait and wait and when I can't take it any longer, I open my eyes.

He's gone. Vanished into thin air. I stand back upright, scanning the crowd, but I can't find him anywhere. "He didn't even tell me his name," I mutter, feeling like an idiot. Not only did I break all my rules by coming out here with him, but I practically orgasmed in front of him and he didn't even touch me.

Shaking my head at myself and trying to breathe through the intoxicating feelings still pulsating through me, I search the mob of people for Raven.

I check up the stairway and then search the crowd, finally spotting the top of Raven's pink head bobbing up and down in the middle it. A band is setting up their instruments at the front of the room—things are about to get hectic. Inhaling, I tuck in my shoulders and weave around the edge of the room, careful not to come into contact with anyone.

"Raven!" I holler over the music as her pink wig descends further into the crowd. I press my back against the wall and edge my way toward her, trying not to run into anyone.

Remy, a short girl with black hair and choppy bangs, stands up on a chair. "Alright, guys! Are you ready?" She motions her heavily inked arms at the band. "Give it up for Breaking Up Mayhem!"

The guitarist flares at the guitar strings and the singer shouts. "Is everyone ready?!"

Okay, time to bail, before things get out of—

The band begins to play a raging song and everyone goes wild. The house rocks and bottles rattle against the hardwood floor. Elbows and shoulders smack into me. Death courses through my veins.

"I can't breathe." I rush toward the door. _Blood. Pain. The silence of a heart... the shadow of trees... the blackened lake. Bones breaking. Someone can't breathe. It hurts... there's so much blood. A last breath is strangled away. A red "X" stains it all. An empty hourglass. Murder._ My body twitches. I seek the faces of the people nearby, but I can't tell who the death omen belongs to. I trail my fingers along bodies. _Hospital bed. Old age. Broken heart. Sacrifice_. I can't endure it any longer. I knock people out of my way as I run for the front door.

"Hey, watch it!" someone shouts.

I burst through the door, gasping for air. Two guys are drinking beer on the front porch and I shove them out of the way, ignoring their death omens, and sprint across the trashed front yard. I stop in the middle of the lawn, panting and dripping with sweat, vomit pressing at the back of my throat. The moon is a bright orb against the sky and the stars cut it like diamonds. The trees surrounding the cabin sway with the wind and kick up leaves across the grass.

I hunch over, brace my hands on my knees, and slow my breathing. "Get it together, Ember," I whisper to myself. "Death is death, in any shape or form. You can't stop it." Inhaling, I collect myself together and head back to the log cabin, ready to find Raven and tell her it's time to leave. Between the stranger bailing on me, and the death omens, I've had enough partying for one night.

Cars are lined bumper to bumper down the driveway, making it nearly impossible to get out, but a rusted black Cadillac drives around the line, the wheels moving onto the grass. As it passes me, I spot a bubblegum haired girl who winks her sapphire blue eye at me.

"Raven... What are you doing?" I wave at her and hurry toward the car. She knows better than to get into a car with some random guy, especially one I just had a death omen about. "Get out of the car!"

She blows me a kiss, and tips her head back laughing as the car speeds off, kicking up dirt and gravel.

"Dammit, Raven" I chase the car down the driveway and into the trees, following it all the way to the highway, where it vanishes into the night. I stare down the desolate road and tug my fingers through my hair, out of breath. "Shit." I pull out my cell phone. "No signal." I run back down the driveway to my car, a beat-up 1970s Dodge Challenger that's wedged between a truck and a massive SUV. The car belonged to my dad. We were working on fixing it up, but then he disappeared. It's been three years since it happened, but it still hurts to think about him, especially because I don't know if he's dead or alive.

I pat my pockets for the keys. "Where are they?" Trying not to panic, I retrace my steps, searching the ground for something shiny and metallic. "Come on. Come on. Where are they?"

"You lose somethin', sweetheart?" a guy with greasy hair and a thick neck says from the top step of the front porch. He looks like a wannabe Danny Zuko, with his sideburns and leather jacket, except he has this strange black "X" tattoo crossing his eye.

I back down the stairs, shaking my head. "Nope, I'm good."

He chugs the last of his drink, crushes his cup, and chucks it over the railing into the bushes. There's a darkness in his eyes that unsettles me. "You sure?" he asks. "Because I could help you with whatever."

"No thanks." I keep walking backward, toward my car, without taking my eyes off him. "I got everything I need."

"Hey, aren't you that girl that killed her dad?" he asks as he slinks down the porch stairs.

My eyes never waver from him, even as someone passes close by and nearly bumps into me. "I think you're thinking of someone else because my dad's not dead."

"You know, I saw someone messin' around with your car," he hollers and I stop, curious even though the guy's a total creeper. "That Challenger over there—that's yours, right?" He nods his head at my car.

I nod. warily "Um... yeah..."

He advances toward me, taking lengthy strides that put him near me quickly. "There was some guy that came around here just a few minutes ago. He got in it, messed around, and then left."

So maybe my keys were stolen, not lost. "Thanks. I'll make sure nothing's missing."

A sinister look masks his face. "I could give you a ride home, just in case." His hand snaps out and he grasps my elbow, pressing his painted black fingernails into my skin. It sends a revolting sensation through my blood, thick like oil, and I gag on the bitter taste. _Blood stains his hands. He stumbles through the night, to the edge of the rooftop. A dark cape flaps behind him. He smiles and leaps._

He releases my arm, and I shuffle backward as a smirk creeps across his lips. "Tell me, Ember, have you ever danced with death or been paid a visit by the Reaper?"

"Back the hell off." I reel for my car and hop into the front seat. The guy retreats for the house, whistling a tune as he stuffs his hands into his pockets. My heart settles inside my chest, but his words linger in my mind. Does he know about my curse?

"I'm sorry," I apologize to the car, giving the steering wheel a gentle pat, and then I grab a screwdriver from under the seat and pry off the panel. I yank out the correct wires, twist them together, pump on the gas pedal, and the engine revs to life. "The Kill" by 30 Seconds to Mars blasts through the speakers as I carefully set the wires back in and slam the car door shut.

My dad and I used to steal cars. When I was young, I'd sit in the backseat while he worked his hotwiring magic. However, when I reached my early teens, he taught me how to do it. I was his protégé. At twelve years old, I couldn't see the bigger picture; that the situation was messed up and a small sign that my dad would eventually lose his mind.

I crank the steering wheel to the side and ramp onto the grass. The greasy haired guy eyes me from the porch as I cut across the front lawn and peel out down the driveway.

The trees blur by as I zoom down the road that threads between the lake and the mountain. When the tires reach the asphalt, I throttle the gas pedal to the floor, hoping Laden and Raven will remain on the highway and hopefully I can catch up with them.

By accident, I saw Raven's death once. I'm usually very carefully not to touch people, especially ones that are close to me. I don't want to know how it ends for them, how I'll lose them, how I'll hate myself for not saving them. But when Raven and I were younger, we were playing in Raven's tree house. Raven had tripped and landed near the edge, almost falling off. By instinct, I reached to grab her. Once my fingers touched her arm, I wanted to erase everything. What I saw. Our friendship. Raven will die young, in a very painful and terrifying way. It will happen by the water, during a rainstorm, just like Laden's death. Only her life will be stolen.

Clouds blanket the sky, the moon and stars are fading, and the air smells fresh like before a rainstorm. I try not to panic and speed up. I don't look at how fast I'm going, but I'm not scared. My death will come when it's time, just like everyone else's. It will happen on a dark night, a faint light will sparkle, and I'll be alone. I don't know when, though. And I'm thankful for that. If anyone knew when they'd die, the fear and obsession to change it would own them and they'd have no life to save.

Headlights reflect in my mirror and a car rides up on my tail. "Back off, asshole," I mutter, adjusting my mirror.

The car edges closer until it's only inches away from crashing into mine. A sharp corner approaches, so I tap the brakes, but nothing happens. I stomp on the brake, but the car accelerates faster down the hill. The corner emerges and I try to down shift, but the engine grumbles and then the exhaust backfires. Sucking in a deep breath, I crank the steering wheel to the right. The car spins and the tires screech as the front of my car smashes into the railing. The sound is deafening, like a train roaring up the railroad tracks.

There's a split second where my car hovers over the edge, like it might not fall, and I hold my breath. Then out of nowhere, a raven dives down and lands on the hood. Seconds later, the tailgater slams into the rear end of my car and my head slams against the windshield. The car flips over nose-first and then rolls down the hill. My seatbelt locks and I'm jerked back to the seat as my body is stabbed, beaten, and broken. Then the car hits the lake and suddenly it becomes clear: I'm going to die today.

Death feels natural, like breathing. The water pierces my skin and floods the cab of the car. I unclip my seatbelt and float to the roof, pressing my head to the ceiling. It's dark and the water is up to my neck so I allow my legs to float upward, and then I kick the side window with the heel of my boot until my calf muscles ache. I run my fingers along the door and grasp the handle, and then wait for the water to completely immerse the cab.

My dad was big on survival. He taught me things like how to escape a car when it's submerged in water. If the water's low enough, the door will open. But once it reaches a certain point, the pressure of the water inside has to equalize with the pressure of the water on the outside. Which means I have to wait for the car to completely fill up the cab, without drowning first.

I remain calm as the water rises and rises, and then I slant my head back and take a deep breath before the water suffocates me completely. Immediately, I flip the handle, but it snaps off. Bubbles escape my mouth as I bang on the door. The black water encases the cab and I swim for the other door, but I slam into the concaved roof, which is forming a wall to the other side. I spin around and bang my fist on the windshield. It's getting darker and colder as the car plummets further into the lake.

My eyes stay open as bubbles gurgle from my mouth. I can't see. I can't breathe. Death is no longer peaceful. The air slips away, my heart dies, and my necklace floats off my neck as the water stills. _Am I dead?_ The metal of the car crunches as it buckles beneath the weight of the water.

"Ember," someone whispers. "Hang on."

I glance from left to right. Darkness and I'm alone, just like my death omen. A faint light swims through the water to the window, illuminating the inside of the car, and I reach out to touch it.

"Ember," the voice growls. "Don't touch it."

The light flashes, and then shifts into a black mass.

"Emmy," it whispers and a black cape drapes over me. "Come with me."

_No, not again_. My body ignites with flames. I scream as a tunnel opens up and swallows me.

# Chapter 4

My first death omen happened when I was four. My grandma Nelly came to live with us, back when things were somewhat normal and hadn't completely gone to shit yet. Grandma Nelly was old and suffered from dementia. By the time she moved in with us, she was fairly gone—forgetting things, wandering off in the middle of the night. My grandpa had passed away several years before and there was no one to take care of her. Eventually she started to suffer from hallucinations and forgot who everyone was. The night she died, she snuck into my room and sat down on the bed next to me. I'll never forget that night—it changed my life forever.

She took off her necklace and placed in my hand. "Here, Emmy, this is yours now."

The oval pendant filled up the palm of my hand. "Grandma, what are you doing?"

"Do you feel that, Ember?" Her eyes lit up with anticipation as she took my hand and placed it over her heart.

Her heart beat rapidly beneath my palm. I sat up, confused. "Feel what, Grandma? Your heart?"

She excitedly shook her head. "No, Emmy, my life. Do you feel it leaving?"

"No," I answered and glanced at the door. "Are you okay, Grandma? Maybe I should go wake up Mama."

"No, no," she whispered. "You need to listen closer, Emmy. You'll hear it—my life slipping away. You need to take it, okay?"

There was a desperate, almost momentous look in her eyes, so I shut my eyes and listened to the flutter of her heart, the whisper of her breath, the lull of her blood as it danced through her veins. There was warmth, then coldness as a light flickered inside me and for a moment, I felt powerful. When I opened my eyes, she was lying on the bed and her eyes were shut. She looked peaceful so I let her lay there for a while before waking my mother up and telling her Grandma was gone.

My mom asked what happened, so I told her, and she looked at me like it was my fault. And maybe it was. I had felt her life leave her body and my own life grow. After the funeral, my mom sent me to live with my dad, the mechanic/car thief. He did his best raising me until he vanished, then it was back to live with my mom and my brother.

"Open your eyes," a deep voice demands. "Come on, not yet. Open your eyes, God dammit." The whisper alters to a desperate plea. "Please, Ember... Please, wake up... You have to be one of them—I know you are."

Soft lips touch mine and a jolt of life slams my heart, like a defibrillator charged it to life.

"Take it, please..." the voice begs. "You have to take it."

A soulful and poetic voice whispers in my mind to bring my body back to life, then the life of another links to every part of me and revitalizes my body. My heart expands and sends the blood pumping through my body again, then a hand presses against my heart and my lungs swell. My eyelids open and water rushes up my throat as I hack up dirty water until oxygen flows through my lungs again. I think I spot my body floating up above me in the trees, but everything's blurry, like an unfocused camera lens. I rub my eyes, sitting up, and the body evaporates into the night sky.

"Are you okay?" my rescuer asks with a cough.

I dry my eyes with my fingertips. "I think so... How did you..." _What the hell was that_?

The moon reflects from behind the hazy clouds and rain sprinkles from the sky as I finally look at my rescuer. The gorgeous guy from the party kneels on the rocky shoreline next to me, his slate eyes all over me, taking me in. His black hair is damp and beads of water drip down his pale skin. The silver skull on his necklace glints in the moonlight and his long, black eyelashes flutter against the rain. His beauty is breathtaking and I instantly get caught up in him again and almost forget where I am.

"Did you... did you jump in and save me?" I cough with my hand over my mouth.

He watches me in a way no one has ever done before, like I'm something valuable. "Yes... I thought I lost you for a second, though."

I eye the cut forehead and the dark half-circles under his eyes that weren't there at the party. "Are you okay?"

He nods, his eyes doing a slow sweep of my body, as he rakes his fingers through his wet locks. "I'm fine. It's you I'm worried about."

"What happened?" I smooth my drenched hair out of my face. _Did I just die?_

"I'm not sure," he says, befuddled. "I was driving home from the party and saw the guard rail crushed to pieces. It wasn't that way when I drove up, so I thought I'd check. I saw your car sinking into the lake, so I ran down and jumped in."

"That was very brave of you." My lung and throat feel like their bruised.

"I think we need to call an ambulance and get you checked out." He stands up and brushes the dirt and pebbles off his jeans. "That was a pretty bad crash and you weren't breathing when I pulled you out."

I take in the metal fragments of the Challenger dotting the rocks on the hillside as bits and pieces of what happened rush back to me. "I think the brakes went out and then I think someone ran into me."

His eyes amplify. "And then they just left you."

I shrug, wringing out my hair. "They probably thought I was dead."

He swallows hard and then clears his throat. "You have to report this. It's basically like a hit and run."

"No, it's not. My brakes going out are what caused the crash to begin with." I touch the side of my throbbing head. "Although, I'm not sure how they went out and I just checked the brake pads and lines."

Did someone cut them? Like the owner of the car who ran into me? Or the creeper with the _X_ tattoo on his eye? But who would want to hurt me? A lot of people, come to think of it.

He aims a perplexed look at me. "You change your own brake pads?"

"My dad was a mechanic," I explain wryly. "And he liked to teach me while he worked on cars."

" _Was_ a mechanic?"

"He died a few years ago."

"Sorry, I know how hard that is. I lost my dad too." He extends his hand to help me to my feet. "My phone's in my car. Do you think you can walk? Or can I carry you?"

I love the idea of him carrying me, his lean arms wrapped around my body, my face pressed against his chest. But then he would have to touch me, and the last thing I want to see is how this gorgeous guy will die. "I think I'm okay walking..." I tense as he touches my hand, his fingers grazing my knuckles, then slide down the back of my hand, as he threads his fingers through mine.

Oh my God. It finally happened, after so many years of noises, there's only silence. No one has ever touched me like this before without death suffocating me and ripping away my oxygen. But there's no blood, no pain, no expiration date. It's exhilarating and terrifying, and my body completely and utterly filled with desire. But I have no idea what to do with it.

His eyes remain on me as he pulls me to my feet, and then his eyes do a quick sweep of my body, lingering on my shirt clinging to my chest as he slips an arm around my lower back.

"Are you good?" he asks, and I swear he knows my secret.

I nod and the rain pours down on us as we hike up the hill. My legs feel rubbery and my skin is scratched and torn up. I touch a tender spot on the hollow of my neck and then panic.

"Oh my God." I whirl back to the lake, cupping the front of my neck. "I lost my necklace."

He moves in front of me and puts his hands on my shoulders. "I'm sorry. Was it important to you?"

"My grandma gave it to me before she died." I watch the lake ripple from over his shoulder, picturing the necklace floating to the top. But my imagination isn't powerful enough to return it and I force my attention to moving up the hill.

"So you never told me your name," I say as we hike up the loose gravel.

He hand tightens on my waist, lifting my weight up as he maneuvers me over a rock in our path. "Asher... Asher Morgan."

"Asher. I like that name... Did you just move to Hollows Grove?" I ask as we step over the hilltop and onto the highway. The rain is starting to let up, the ground mush, mud, and puddles. My clothes are soaked and cling to my body. "I've never seen you around before."

"Monday will be my first day." He steers us down the road, with his arm still around my waist, and walks a line near the guardrail. "I just moved here from New York."

"Why on earth would you want to move here?" I glance back at the dark, empty road.

He chuckles softly. "For the beautiful scenery."

I frown at the pine trees bordering the road. "I guess that could be a plus for some people, but I'm sure it's not really why you moved here, is it?"

"You don't like it here?" he inquires, evading the question with a cock of his eyebrow.

"No... I don't mind the low population, but a lot of people do. My best friend Raven hates it here." I stop as the past hour catches up with my traumatized mind and I nearly collapse to the ground. "Oh no." I slip from Asher's hold and take off down the road, stumbling like a drunken person.

He captures my arm and turns me to face him. "You can't go running off like that—you might have a concussion or something else and your shock's just numbing the pain. Honestly, I don't even know how you made it out alive."

Neither do I. It happened just like my Death Omen said. Yet I'm standing here, breathing, my heart beating. "I have to find my friend Raven... that girl with the pink hair. She drove off with this guy who I... who was drinking. That's what I was doing... I was trying to chase her down. And I couldn't get a signal on my phone." I pat my empty pockets. "How far is your car?"

"It's just up the road, at the turnoff. I didn't want to leave it parked in the street and cause another accident." He grabs my hand and we hurry to the turnoff, where a black 1960s GTO, with red racing stripes, is parked. The door is open and the headlights and engine are running, the exhaust huffing out smoke. He hops into the driver's seat and checks the bars on his cell phone.

"No signal," he mutters, chucking it into the cup holder.

I tap my foot anxiously on the ground, eyeing the forest. _Rav, where are you? I'm worried._

"Let me take you to the hospital so you can get checked out," Asher says. "I'm sure your friend's made it home by now, and if not, you can call her once we get a signal. And you should call the police"

"No thanks. I'm feeling pretty okay now." Hospitals are overflowing with death and I avoid them at all costs. "And no police."

"I think you should go. You might feel fine now, but you could just be in shock." His gaze moves to my head. "And you got a pretty wicked cut on your head."

I walk around the front of the car, heading for the passenger door. "Can you please take me home? I'll get my mom to take me, after I tell her about the car." I pause as another memory resurfaces. "Did you see anyone else driving around, like maybe right in front of you?"

He ducks his head as he climbs out of the car. "I haven't seen anyone else on the road."

I grip the door handle as a spout of dizziness crashes through me. "Dammit. I was hoping you might have seen who hit me."

He hikes through the mud, rounding the front of the car, and stops when he reaches me. "Do you remember anything at all about what the car looked like?"

I shake my head and start to pull the door open. "I only saw the headlights."

"Here, let me get that." He extends his arm out and then opens the car door.

"Thanks," I say, picturing Asher in a fedora and pinstriped suit, like it's the 1940s and guys were gentlemen.

Ducking my head, I slide into the car and he slams the door shut. The inside of his car is nice. Reupholstered leather seats, a crack-free dashboard—this is what my dad wanted to do to the Challenger. But now it's gone, resting at the bottom of a lake, along with my death, which I can no longer see, feel, or taste.

I sigh heavily. What does it mean if my death has vanished?

Asher hops into the car and buckles his seatbelt, then he glances at me and frowns. "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing." I fasten my seatbelt. "I was just thinking about my car sitting at the bottom of the lake. It was actually my dad's car."

"I'm sorry, Ember." He gently squeezes my hand and then shoves the shifter into gear, still holding my hand. I tense from the contact, but relax as tranquility eases through my body.

"It's okay." I stare out the window at the profiles of the trees as he brushes his thumb across the inside of my wrist and my breath falters. "It was old and falling apart anyway, which is why the brakes probably went out." But deep down, I wonder if it had anything to do with the creeper at the party or the guy he supposedly saw in my car.

"What kind of car was it?" Letting go of my hand, he cranks up the heat and the warm air feels nice against my damp clothes.

I wrap my arms around myself. "A 1970 Dodge Challenger."

He lets out a slow whistle. "Fuck, that sucks."

I shrug again, watching the road as we curve through the mountains and around the lake. "It was just a car. I'll live."

"So were you close with your dad?" His voice edges cautiously.

I pick at the black fingernail polish on my thumbnail. "Yeah, we were pretty close. I moved in with him when I was four and lived with him until he vanished."

"How did he die?" he asks and adds, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"I'm not sure," I say quietly. "The cops never found his body, but they found his car parked up in the mountains and his... blood was everywhere."

His grey eyes expand. "That has to be hard for you—not knowing what really happened to him?"

I nod, leaving out the details of the hourglass painted in blood on the windshield, the massive _X_ staining the grass in front of the car, and the black feathers everywhere. "It is and I really don't like to talk about it."

He offers a sympathetic look and wisps of his damp hair fall into his eyes. "I get it. Even though my mom loves to talk about my dad, it still hurts sometimes."

"How did he die?" I ask. "If you don't mind me asking."

It's quiet for a moment as we arrive at the rim of the mountains and breach through the trees and out into the valley. The town is silent, everyone tucked away safely in their beds, and porch and streetlights speckle the fields and houses like fireflies.

The speed limit drops and he taps the brake, slowing down the car. "He was killed on the... job." He avoids eye contact with me, staring out the window with a confused look on his face.

It seems like he's holding back details. "Where did he work?"

He swallows hard and his knuckles whiten as he picks up his cell phone and checks the screen. "I've got a signal now if you want to call your friend."

I don't press the subject. If anyone can understand the need for secrecy it's me. I give him the directions to my house and then dial Raven's number. After a few rings, it sends me to voicemail.

"Hey Rav, I was just wondering if you were okay, since you bailed out on me with Goth Boy. I've had a crazy night and lost my cell phone. But I'll call you as soon as I get home." I hang up and hand Asher his phone.

"Okay, so I have to ask and please don't take it the wrong way, but how did you two end up being friends?" Asher asks, licking his lips. "You seem like opposites."

"We are, but she's my best friend," I reply, biting my nail. "My only friend, really."

His eyebrows knit. "Your only friend? That's pretty hard to believe."

My tone drips with sarcasm. "Really?"

Cranking the wheel to the right, he turns down my street and then smiles at me. "Why does that surprise you? You're easy to talk to, beautiful, and you like cars."

I bite my lip to press back a grin. "So I don't get points docked for making you jump into a lake to rescue me?" I eye his crinkled clothes flaked with dried dirt. "And ruining your clothes."

He parks in front of my house, a narrow two-story townhome in desperate need of a paint job. "Are you kidding me? You let me fulfill my life dream of being a hero." He winks at me.

"Yeah, yeah, we'll see." I open the door, stifling a smile. "I'm sure after tonight you'll forget about little old me."

"Little old who?" he teases me with a grin.

"See, you've already forgotten," I joke and swing my legs over the seat to climb out.

"Wait." He leans over the console, his fingers enfolding my elbow.

I pause, angling my head to meet his eyes, breathing in the freedom of his silent touch. "Yes."

He wets his lips with his tongue. "Make sure you at least go get checked out by a doctor, just to make sure you're okay."

Pressing my lips together, I nod. "Okay."

"And no one could ever forget about you, Ember. Trust me." His eyes sparkle with a look that makes my skin warm, then without warning he moves closer and gently kisses the corner of my mouth. My blood and adrenaline soar as his hands slide down my arms, my waist and finally rest on the tops of my thighs.

When he pulls away, he looks at me through hooded eyes, but doesn't say anything. Having no idea how to react, I get out of the car and shut the door, waving as he drives off.

"Yeah, we'll see if you feel the same way when we cross paths again," I mumble under my breath, but a smile breaks through as I touch my fingers to my lips.

"Yo, where the hell have you been?" Ian hollers from the living room sofa. He's eating a bowl of Fruit Loops and watching a movie starring people who have thick French accents.

"I told you before I left that I was going to a party." I slip my jacket off and toss it on the banister.

He glances over his shoulder and his mouth falls open. "Why does it look like you went swimming in a lake with your clothes on?"

"Haven't you heard? It's what all the cool kids are doing." I drag my ass up the stairs.

"Since when have you been cool?" He yells as I reach my bedroom door.

I slam the door, flip on the lamp, and slip off my waterlogged boots. I groan with each movement, my legs and arms heavy, and my head is pounding. "Those were my favorite pair of boots." I trudge to the closet to put them away, hoping they'll dry out and won't be ruined.

Suddenly, the sound of sobs drifts from the back of the closet. I freeze. "Hello?" I pull back the curtain. "Who's in there?"

Raven rushes out and throws her arms around my neck. "Oh my God! Where were you?"

_Rain, water, blood. She can't breathe_. I pat her back, but I'm irritated. "Where was I? I think I should be the one asking where the hell were you. You just left me there. And you left with a guy who I had a death omen about."

"I know." Her tears soak the shoulder of my shirt. "I'm sorry, Em. I just thought... Well, I don't know what I was thinking. It's hard to remember anything."

I draw away from her and frown. "Raven, you didn't drink from a cup someone offered you, did you?"

She bites on her lip, looking guilty. "I needed another drink and you dumped mine in the trash. So I drank one that this really cute guy offered me. Well, except for this weird _X_ tattoo across his eye."

"Raven." I take a frustrated breath, reminding myself to be patient. "I love you and everything, but sometimes, you're an idiot. How many times have we talked about drinking from cups from people we don't know? Especially ones like what you just described. Because I think I met that guy and he wasn't cute—he was a creep. But you were too drunk to notice it."

"I know," she wails. "And I'm so sorry."

I feel kind of bad. "I know, but you have to be careful."

She wipes away the mascara dripping down her cheeks with the back of her hand. "Do you think I was slipped a roofie or something?"

"I'm not sure." Steering her by the shoulders, I guide her to the bed and she curls up in a ball like a scared child. "Do you remember what happened with Laden?"

She shakes her head quickly and hugs a pillow to her chest. "Everything's all blurry." Her eye twitches—her lying tick. "But Em, I think I saw death tonight."

My muscles tense and my lips burst with a hundred questions, but her cries turn to hysterical sobs. I sigh, deciding not to press until morning when she's gotten some rest and sobered up. Grabbing some pajamas, I head toward the bathroom to shower.

"Em... why does it look like you went swimming? And what did you do to your head?"

"It's a long story," I say and yawn, stretching my arms above my head. "I'll explain in the morning after you've got some rest."

She shuts her eyes. "Leave the light on, okay?"

After a hot shower and fresh set of clothes, I stare at myself in the mirror with my hand over my heart. I died tonight. My heart stopped beating, and then revived, all because of Asher. But how did he save my life? It felt like when my grandma died, and her life entered me.

I tiptoe back into my room. Raven is passed out on her stomach taking up the bed, so I cover her up with a blanket, noticing bruises on her wrists and elbows. Her shirt is torn and there's a small scratch across her shoulder blade in the shape of an _X_.

"What happened to you tonight?" I whisper, placing a finger lightly on the spot, and she winces and rolls over.

My brain is growling and my skull feels cracked. I grab a blanket, snatch a black marker from my dresser, and situate on the closet floor, near the wall that displays the rest of my ramblings. As I press the marker to the wall, it's like my hand is possessed.

_Like a feather in a dust storm, with no direction_

_The Raven flies through life, helpless and omitted_

_Until night declares and the wind expires._

_Then it flies to the land of stones and etchings_

_And becomes an Ember, breaking away._

I decide my poetry might be off tonight so I set the marker down, but my hand takes on its own life, forcing the tip to the wall again. I scratch down _X_ after _X_ until they nearly cover the wall, pushing so hard it peels through the paint. Then, in the center, I sketch an hourglass.

Once I'm done, the marker falls from my hand and I scoot away from the wall. I blink and blink again, but the drawing stays. Is this aftermath of the accident? Or am I starting to lose my mind, just like my dad?

I fall back on the floor, exhausted. Seconds later, I drift asleep.

# Chapter 5

A week before my dad's disappearance, he was acting strange, his behavior and attitude more offish than usual. One day when I came home from school, I found him in the garage with his head tucked under the hood of the car and the engine running. I hurried and pushed the garage open and he coughed as the door rolled open.

"Sorry, Emmy," he said, hacking. "I didn't realize it was shut."

I trotted down the steps and peered under the hood. "Dad, are you okay..." The inside of the hood was covered in little red _X_ 's. "What are those?"

"I'm not sure... I don't remember how they got there." He slammed the hood and I had to jerk back to avoid my fingers getting squished between the metal. "But you don't need to worry about me, Emmy. I got everything under control. What I need for you to do is find that necklace Grandma gave you."

"The maroon stone one?"

He perked up, his shoulders straightening, his chin elevating, along with his mood. "Yeah, do you know where it is?"

I shook my head. "I'm not sure where I put it... but I'll start checking in the boxes in the basement, if you want."

He nodded and a flicker of yellow lit in his grey eyes. "Could you do that for me, Emmy? Please?" he asked and I nodded, then he glanced over his shoulder at the wall. "Do you see anything behind me?"

"No. there's nothing there but the wall and the toolbox."

He hopped into the passenger seat of his car, and removed a small knife from the glove box. "Good. Now go find the necklace."

I stared at him, wondering why he was acting so strange, when suddenly a raven flew in and landed in the beams, its feathers molting and a few fluttered to the ground. At the sight of the raven, my dad went ballistic.

"You get out of here, you fucking little demon!" He threw a screwdriver at the raven, but missed, and the raven cawed. "Get out!" Spanning its wings, it flew away, and he relaxed, returning his focus to me. "Emmy, if there's one thing you need to know about life, it's to never trust anyone or anything. Life is a freaking mind game and you and I are the pawns."

It was the first time I worried he might be losing his mind. After that, he rapidly went downhill, especially when I couldn't find the God damn necklace.

I wake up on the floor with my cheek pressed to the marker, a feather on my forehead, and the strange drawing on the wall just in front of my feet.

"What the hell?" Sitting up, I rub my eyes and blink at the sunlight glistening through the curtain. Then I pick up the feather and notice smudges of red paint on my hands. "What did I do last night?" I remember crashing into a lake, Asher saving me, and Raven crying. After that, nothing, like I'm hung-over, but I didn't have a drop of alcohol last night.

Raven's not in bed when I walk out and the room is cleaned up, my clothes put away, my books stacked back on the shelf, and my pencils, pens, and markers put back in the desk drawer. It's her way of saying sorry.

The neighbor across the street watches me from their front porch as I open the window and flick the feather outside. I start to pull the window shut, but pause at the sight of someone looking up at me from the sidewalk. His hands are inserted into the pockets of his black jeans and black eyeliner contours his piercing eyes. His skin is as pale as a ghostly fog and his hair as black as a raven feather.

"Laden?" I squint, leaning out.

His gaze holds mine as a hostile smile curves on his lips and he mouths something, but he's too far away for me to tell what.

Shaking my head, I yank the window shut and back away off the bed. I change into a pair of black and pink plaid shorts and my favorite Alkaline Trio T-shirt, and then I scrub the red off my hands and the marker off my face. I dab some kohl eyeliner around my grey eyes, tousle my fingers through my long, black hair, and turn to head downstairs. The aches and pains from the accident have subsided, except for a minor headache and a tiny cut on my forehead, which has shrank in size.

Raven and Ian are sitting at the table when I step into the kitchen. Raven's denim skirt barely covers the top of her legs and she has her favorite pink shirt on, the one that shows a lot of cleavage (her words not mine). Ian has a grey knitted beanie pulled over his messy brown hair and his jeans and t-shirt are splattered with various colors of paint.

Raven bats her eyelashes at him and skims her fingernails up Ian's arm. "God, that's so cool."

"It's so fabulous, right?" he says in his deep voice he only uses to impress girls. "You should totally come check it out."

"Oh, I bet it is." Raven licks her lips and smiles, like everything is fine. She glances up at me and her smile brightens. "Em, darling, I've been waiting for you to wake up." She hops up from the chair and links her arm through mine, scorching me with her omen. "See ya later, Ian." She winks at him and gives him a flirty wave.

"Later, beautiful," he says and then targets his attention to me. "Hey, Em, have you talked to Mom lately?"

"No," I reply as Raven tugs me toward the front door. I wiggle my arm free and breathe in the death-free air. "Why? Is something wrong?"

"I'm not sure." He wanders into the foyer, trialing after us. "She's been acting kind of weird and not her normal weird... I caught her talking to herself, but it was almost like she was talking to someone that wasn't there."

"Are you worried she's not taking her meds again?" I gather my leather jacket from the coat rack and the fabric is crisp and smells like murky lake water mixed with fresh rain.

"I'm not sure." He glances at Raven and lowers his voice, leaning in. "I was running low on mine, so I went to get some from her bottle, and it was full."

"Why didn't you just go get a refill?" I slip on my jacket and dust off the dried dirt. Sometimes I feel like a babysitter, between Ian and my mom. I wonder what would happen if I ever move out—how bad things would fall apart. "You guys don't even have the same prescription."

"It's all the same to me," he says with a nonchalant shrug. "Besides, that's not the point. The prescription was from like a month ago."

Raven's cell phone rings and she unlocks the door and walks onto the front lawn to answer it.

"Well, we need to talk to her," I tell him, pressing the importance. "You know what she's like when she's not on them and the last thing she needs to go through again is another meltdown."

"I know," he agrees with a frown. "Why don't you make sure you're home tonight and I'll make something and we can sit down and talk to her?"

" _You'll_ make something?" I question with doubt.

"Well, I'll pick up something."

"Alright, I'll be here then." I step outside and shut the door, inhaling the cool air, trying to relax, but my mom has me worried.

Raven's still chatting on the phone, bobbing her head up and down when I walk up beside her. "Yeah, uh-huh." She mouths to me, _Where's your car?_

"That's part of the long story," I say with a heavy sigh. My car's gone. I officially have no way to get anywhere, like work and school. And I can't afford a new one. "Damn it," I curse under my breath.

Raven's face contorts at my reaction. "Huh... No, not you," she says into the phone.

She carries on with her conversation while I stand on the curb in the exact spot where Asher dropped me off last night. The shock has worn off and I add up bits and pieces of the accident, recapping each detail. I come to a mind-boggling conclusion that I should be dead; that I crashed into a lake and was trapped in the car while it sank. It happened exactly like my death omen said, but my heart is alive and my lungs breathe beneath my ribs. I squat down on the curb and lower my head, telling myself to breathe. That it doesn't matter because I'm alive.

"So, what happened to your car?" Raven strolls up to the curb and tucks the cell phone into the pocket of her skirt. "And why are you staring at the curb like it just ate your puppy."

I jerk my eyes away and rise to my feet. "What happened to you last night? I was really worried."

She bites at her bottom lip, suppressing a smile. "Well, things kind of got out of hand and I think I might have overreacted."

"Overreacted?" I question. "About what?"

"Um... Laden being a jerk. I mean, he totally tried to put the moves on me, which is fine—I'm used to it. But I really wasn't in the mood to screw."

"I think I might have seen him standing in front of the house this morning." I point over my shoulder at the spot.

Her body goes rigid and her eyes enlarge. "What was he doing?"

"Staring at me like a weirdo." My tone is light, even though the subject is a little twisted. "What exactly did you do to him last night? Break his heart into pieces?"

She shakes her head, gazing off across the street. "I didn't do anything to him. He was the one who tried to push me too far."

"So that's why you were crying?" I ask, watching crisp autumn leaves blow down the street. "Because he pushed you too far?"

"Pushed too far..." She pulls her hair into a bun and secures it with an elastic off her wrist. "Look, Em, I know I freaked out on you last night, but I swear it isn't what you're thinking. No one slipped me something and I wasn't as drunk as you thought."

We jump back from the curb as the sprinklers turn on. "Then what was that talk about seeing death?"

"What are you talking about?" she asks as we throw our arms over our heads and sprint to the edge of the driveway, out of the reach of the sprinkler. Our shoes and the bottoms of our legs are wet.

I lower my voice, wringing out my hair. "You said you saw death last night."

She wipes the water from her face, takes a pack of gum out of her pocket, and pops a piece into her mouth. "I did?"

"Yeah, and you were more than just upset—you were freaking out."

She pops a bubble, trying to remember. "Hmm.... Maybe I wasn't as sober as I thought. Or maybe your gift was confusing my head." She chews on her gum slowly, considering. "Well, I don't know why I was talking about death, but I was upset because this really hot guy totally wasn't that into me, so I wandered off with Laden because he was interested."

"I've never seen you that upset, except for once." Right after she found her mom. "Guys are disposable to you. How could you be so upset because one blew you off?"

"Okay, first off, he didn't blow me off." She tosses her hands into the air and bobs her head with attitude. "He was just distracted. And besides, that's not the only reason I was upset. Laden left me on the side of the road like a total douchebag."

I gape at her. "How did you get home?"

"I walked," she explains nonchalantly. "We were just on the bridge, so it wasn't that big of a deal."

"It seemed like a big deal last night," I point out.

She sighs and sits down on the curb. I sink down beside her and we stretch our legs out into the road as the warm sunlight shines down on us. "Remember when we used to sit here and wait for my dad to come home?"

I give her a small smile and lean back on my hands. "He always used to bring something for us, like a candy or Play-Doh."

She laughs at the memory and her eyes crinkle at the corners. "God, he always seemed like such a great dad, but he turned out to be a total jerk, bailing on his kids like that."

"It wasn't your fault he left." I stare at the jack-o'-lanterns on the porch of the house across the street, remembering when Raven's dad helped us make one that looked like a cat. It was one of our rare perfect moments, full of weightless laughter, pumpkin seeds, and the gentle autumn air.

"I know. It was my mom and her stupid drug habit." She pauses, her jaw taut. "How did we end up with such crappy parents?" Her eyes widen. "Oh crap, I didn't mean that. Your dad was a good guy. He just had some bad habits."

"Like stealing cars," I mutter, gazing up at the clear sky.

"I said I was sorry... Look, I'm still pissed off about that guy last night and I don't even know why I'm saying this stuff."

"It's fine." I flick a gnat off my knee. "But I have to know something."

She rubs some lip gloss over her lips. "What's up?"

I know what she wants me to say—what will make her feel better. "How hot was the guy?"

Her eyes light up and she squeals, kicking her feet up and down. "Oh my God, he was _so_ fucking hot. Seriously, Em, like hotter than any of the losers in town."

"And how old is he?" I wonder. "He wasn't old, like that one guy you dated a few months ago... and he wasn't married, right?" With her, I have to check. Raven's list of guys is endless and there are no limits with her. She will date anyone who she deems hot worthy, which has gotten her into a lot of trouble. I keep waiting for her to change, mature, but she never does.

"I think he's the same age as us... He actually just moved here from New York."

A lump rises in my throat. "Oh yeah? New York, huh? That's pretty awesome."

"It's not pretty awesome. It's amazing." Her smile is bright. "And he's got these really beautiful dark eyes and his sexy eyebrow ring."

"Sounds like your type." Jealousy burns under my skin as I realize who she's talking about. _Asher_. My Asher. No, not really, but I wish. "But I mean, you said he wasn't into you, right?"

She narrows her eyes at me. "Not yet, but he will be. And you're going to help me." She pulls me up by the arm, her nails digging into my skin, and I wince. "His first day of school is tomorrow so I have to look fabulous." Her eyebrows furrow as she stares at the empty driveway of my house. "You never told me where your car was."

"I wrecked it last night," I say with no desire to explain it to her. "On my way home."

"Oh no, Emmy, I'm so sorry." She gives me a big hug and kisses me on the cheek.

I hold my breath, balling my hands into fists. "It's okay." I give her a soft pat, desperate for her to let me go. "It was just a car... Raven, can you let me go please?"

"Oh, sorry." She steps back, freeing me from the burden of her death. "Is the car fixable?"

"Not unless we can get it out of the lake." My tone is sunny, but my heart is charred _._

"Wait a minute. You drove it into the lake?" She swats my arm and I flinch. "Why didn't you tell me last night when I made that comment about your clothes?"

"You were upset." I scuff the toe of my boot against the rocks in the driveway. "I didn't want to make it worse."

"I'm sorry." She frowns. "I'm a terrible friend."

"You're not a terrible friend," I assure her. "You were just distracted by your own problems."

She nods in agreement as we wander down the sidewalk toward her townhouse right next door. The street is quiet and the air is gentle against my skin. Crisp leaves flurry from the branches of the trees and cover the lawns with pink and orange. It's late October and the lawns are ornamented with Halloween decoration: witches, fake tombstones, and plastic skeletons.

"Em, how did you get out of the lake?" She pauses to readjust a loose strap on her sandal. "Alive?"

"All those survival tips my dad always crammed into my head finally came in handy."

"You got out by yourself? How? And how are you walking around completely okay?"

"I guess I'm just really lucky." I don't know why I lie. It's like there's this part of me that doesn't want her to know.

"Lucky? More like a freaking, walking miracle." She moves to the side and steps in front of me, looking me in the eyes. "I can't believe I wasn't there for you. I'm so sorry." She pauses, considering something, and then shifts the subject, stepping out of my way. "Come on. You and I are going shopping because you need some cheering up and I need a sexy new outfit for school tomorrow." She skips up her driveway.

I follow her and wait by her Corolla while she runs inside the house and gets the keys. That's the thing I love about Raven. She hardly asks questions. She didn't ask how I got home. What I was going to do about my dad's car. Why I didn't go to the hospital. But as much as I love not being grilled, I wonder if there is something wrong with our friendship, if she should have asked those questions. I once read a quote by William Shakespeare about friendship: "A friend should bear his friend's infirmities." If I told Raven the wrong thing—something she didn't want to hear—would our friendship end?

"Okay, so we have to stop and put some gas in because it's low." She swings the keys around her finger as she exits her house.

"I think I might stay home," I tell her, leaning against the car door. "I'm feeling kind of sick."

She points a finger at me as she trots down the front steps. "No way. You have to come be my fashion advisor." She eyes my clothes over as she stops in front of me. "Or at least keep me company."

I surrender and climb into the car. "Can we at least stop and pick up a new cell phone? Mine is somewhere at the bottom of the lake."

"Sure." She climbs into the car, then backs down the driveway, but slams on the brakes as a U-Haul drives up the road, followed by a red Jeep Wrangler. The U-Haul parks in the driveway of the house across the street and two doors down, and the Jeep parks out front. It's one of the larger brick houses on the street, two stories with an upper deck and flourishing rose bushes in the yard.

"It looks like someone is finally moving into Old Man Carey's home," she says with inquiring eyes.

Two guys climb out of the moving truck, dressed in grey coveralls; movers, I assume.

We're pulling onto the street when long legs stretch out of the Jeep, a guy hops out, and Raven slows down the car again. His blonde hair glimmers in the sunlight and hands in his ash eyes, which burn with intensity as he takes in the house. Jeans hang loosely on his hips, boots cover his feet, and a tight-fitted Henley shows off his rock-solid abs and lean arms.

"That's the guy from the cemetery," I mutter aloud, taking in the sight of him in daylight.

"What guy from the cemetery?" Raven watches him like he's something delicious as he struts across the lawn. She fans herself. "Good God, he's hot."

"We should get going." I reach over and shift the car into drive for her. "I promised Ian I'd be back by dinnertime."

We're parked in the middle of the street and it's obvious we're staring at the new neighbor. He starts to head across the lawn, but then stops in the middle, titling his head in our direction, and he watches us, an amused smile playing at his deep red lips.

"Oh my God! He's the grave robber." Raven slams her hand on the steering wheel as it clicks. "We _so_ have to go over there."

"Don't even think about," I hiss, but she's already turning the steering wheel. "You just said it yourself—he's a grave robber."

Her eyes sparkle mischievously and I slouch in the chair as she drives toward his house.

"What's your problem?" she asks, turning down the radio as she pulls up to the curb. "Don't you want to find out who he is? And why he was digging up a grave in the middle of the night. I mean, maybe you misunderstood what was going on and now he could explain it to you."

I shake my head and shield my face with my hand, letting my hair fall forward. "Why? So you can date him?"

"Or maybe you could?" She parks in front of the Jeep. "You really need to get over this fear of men, Em. We're nineteen-years-old. We can drink and go to bars with fake IDs, get laid whenever we want to; yet, you're so God damn terrified, you've never even kissed a guy."

"Because I can't. Not because I don't want to." I'm growing annoyed with her. "Do you know what it would be like to kiss a guy... and feel his death course through you at the same time?" I shake my head when she rolls her eyes at me. "Nevermind. Can we just go? Please. We're not going to make it back in time if we don't get going."

"You are so freaking weird sometimes." Pressing the button on the door, she rolls down the window and waves him over. "Lighten up."

He walks over with a swagger to his hips, his legs taking long strides, and there's cockiness in the way he moves. Each step states self-assurance and sex pretty much drips off him as he bends down and rests his arms on the door, his dark eyes taking us in leisurely.

"Hi there, gorgeous," Raven purrs in a seductive tone as she slides her finger up his arm. "We noticed someone is finally moving into Old Man Carey's house and we thought we'd come over and introduce ourselves."

"Old Man Carey's?" He cocks his head, amused, but beneath it there's anguish. "I assume you're talking about my grandfather."

"Oh, he was your grandfather?" Raven presses her hand to her heart. "I was so sorry to hear that he died."

"You knew him?" the stranger asks with doubt. "Really?"

"Oh yeah, I used to bring him soup all the time when he was sick." She licks her lips slowly. "I was very heartbroken when he died."

"I bet you were." His eyes focus on me, causing my adrenaline to surge. "Did you get your notebook back, Ember?"

I pressed my lips together, shocked. I thought he'd deny he knew me, considering the circumstances that we met under.

"I did." I straighten up in the seat and tuck my hair behind my ears. "Thank you for dropping it off at my house."

"I could tell it was important to you." His gaze penetrates under my skin as he leans in through the open window. "Did you get my message?"

"You mean the poem?" I ask and he nods. "Yeah, I got it... It was sad and beautiful."

"But did you _get_ it, get it?" His voice hauntingly floats out like the night I first saw him. He sucks his lip up between his teeth, waiting for my response.

"I'm not sure..." I can't take my eyes off him, the need to touch him scorching inside my body like liquid fire in my veins. It's intense, like standing at the edge of a cliff, preparing to base jump, but I'm not sure if the parachute will open.

"Read it closer." His eyes smolder as he releases his lip from his teeth and a small gasp escapes my mouth. He smiles, pleased at my reaction. "I think you'll get it eventually."

I'd blush if I wasn't so sexually riled up on the inside. "I'm sure I will."

Raven clears her throat and her tone is snippy. "Sorry to break up your guys' little moment—since personally I'd love to see if you end up screwing each other." She rolls her eyes. "But we gotta get going."

I blink at the sound of her voice. I'd forgot she was there. "Yeah, we should get going."

"Right..." He pats the car door as he ducks his head and steps away. "Maybe I'll see you around later tonight, Ember." He winks at me. "At the cemetery."

My stomach flutters with fear and exhilaration. "Yeah, maybe."

Raven rolls the car forward and he starts to walk away.

"Wait," I call out and he stops. "You never told me your name."

Raven cocks a reprimanding eyebrow at me. "Don't you mean us?"

"Cameron." He flashes me a sexy grin. "Cameron Logan." He waves and turns away from us, strutting up to the movers opening the back of the U-Haul.

Raven rolls up her window and turns the car around, heading for the main road. "Okay, what the fuck was that about? Since when are you such a little slut?"

"I wasn't being a slut," I protest, not taking it personally, because Raven calls just about anyone a slut. "I was being friendly."

"You never talk to guys like that," she accuses, flooring the car to the end of our street, and then she veers to the right and speeds off onto the highway. "And how did he know your name? And where you live?"

"They were on my journal." I shrug, still dazed over what happened.

"Still, it's really creepy." She flips down the visor. "And what poem were you guys talking about?"

I roll down the window and let the breeze cool off my stifling skin. "The one he wrote in my journal."

"You mean that creepy one you just put up on the wall?" She frowns. "The one that sounds like it was written by a serial killer?"

"That's what you say about all poems," I remind her. "And his was just deep."

"Whatever, Em. In my opinion, the guy is a total creep... looking at you like that... you practically had an orgasm."

"No, I didn't," I protest. "And why is he a creep? Because he knew my name and writes poetry?"

She laughs disdainfully. "I'm not jealous of you."

I flip through the radio stations. "I never said you were."

She smacks my hand away from the stereo and cranks up some upbeat pop song, knowing I'm not a fan of that kind of music. She belts out the lyrics at the top of her lungs, waving her hands and bobbing her head. I rest my head back and watch the trees drift by. I'm almost asleep when she slows down the car.

I open my eyes and start to unbuckle my seatbelt, but we're stopped in a line of cars, not at the store. "Where are we?" I rub my tired eyes.

"Stuck in traffic." She impatiently drums her fingers on the steering wheel.

"Wait, what... traffic?" I quickly sit up. The town is too small for traffic, yet there's a row of cars lined each way over the bridge and down the road. Police vehicles barricade the street and uniformed policemen are sectioning off the center of the bridge with yellow tape and trying to detour everyone to the side.

"What's going on?" I mumble, rolling the window all the way down to get a better look.

"Somebody probably did something stupid," she replies in a bored tone as she inspects her fingernails for chips.

The line of cars crawls forward and Raven presses on the gas, driving by slowly. In the middle of the taped off section, an _X_ is spray-painted across the asphalt and smashed into the cement barrier of the bridge is a rusted black Cadillac. The windows are broken, the hood is demolished, and there's blood dripping from the back tire. And there are black feathers on the ground and on the hood.

"Isn't that Laden's?" I squint at the car. "Oh my God, it is."

"Hmm... I guess he must have got into some trouble last night." She smiles at the thought.

"This couldn't have happened last night," I say. "I just saw Laden this morning."

"How can you be sure of what you saw?" she questions with a sparkle in her eye.

I eye her over questionably. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

"There's a lot of things I'm not telling you." She grins and cranks up the stereo.

I turn back to the scene. There's an hourglass painted on the back of the window in red, and feathers all over the hood and the ground. It's the exact scene of when the police found my dad's car, just a different location. And I worry that, like with my dad's disappearance, I'll become the prime suspect.

# Chapter 6

When night arrives, I don't visit the cemetery. The news announced that Laden is considered a missing person and that there is evidence of foul play. My mom ended up skipping out on dinner and so Raven took her place at the table. She acted like a lunatic, like she was high on the news of Laden's disappearance, or high on something.

While Raven and I were out shopping, I tried to press her about the details of last night, but she shifted the conversation to clothes every time. I end up going to bed early, but late during the night, I'm woken up by the sound of my mom's voice.

"Ian," she yells up the stairs in a drunken slur. "I need your help."

Ian is locked away in the attic, with his "muse," a mysterious person that sneaks in every night so he can paint them. I climb out of bed and pad to the top of the stairway.

"Mom, Ian's in the attic," I say tiredly, rubbing my eyes and yawning. "What do you need?"

She frowns up at me. "I need help getting up the stairs."

I sigh and trot to the bottom of the stairway. Her brown hair is disheveled and knotted and her eyes are bloodshot. She used to be pretty, but her lifestyle has rapidly aged her.

She tugs down the hem of her dress and drapes her arm around my neck, sighing. She smells like tequila and cigarettes and her death omen smothers me, like it always does when I come into contact with her. _She's_ _lying in a bed of pills and bottles, dying in her own flames._ Holding my breath, I guide her to her room, lie her down on the bed, and slip off her high heels.

She blinks at me through her blurry eyes. "You look so much like him," she mutters. "You have his eyes and everything."

She's referring to my father. "Shhh... Get some rest," I say, tossing her shoes onto the floor.

"I wonder if you'll turn out like him," she says, rolling onto her side. "I bet you will... A killer... You did kill your grandma."

Her words stab at my heart, like a rusty, jagged knife, but it's not the first time she's uttered them. "Mom, Dad didn't kill anyone."

"Yes, he did... Yes, he did." She drifts off to sleep.

I force back the tears and rush out of her room. I don't cry—I never do—but I can't fall back asleep. So I read Cameron's poem, over and over again until the words blur together and make no sense at all. Just like my life.

I'm running late the next morning and if I don't hurry my ass up I'm going to be late for my English class. There are bags under my bloodshot eyes and I look pallid. I quickly get dressed in torn jeans, grey combat boots, and a black vest over a striped T-shirt. Raven texts me as I'm barreling down the stairs, pulling my hair into a ponytail.

**Raven: Need 2 get ur own ride 2day.**

I halt at the bottom of the stairs and text back.

**Me: Why? Is something wrong?**

It takes her a second to answer.

**Raven: I got things 2 do 2day. Can't b late.**

**Me: Just hold on. I'm almost out the door.**

**Raven: Already gone.**

**Raven: FYI the news said Laden disappeared the night of the party**

**Me:... that makes no sense. I saw him outside the house.**

**Raven: whateva u say. U would know how he died though. U saw it remember. It's why I had 2 hang out with him**

**Me: He's not necessarily dead yet, only missing.**

**Raven: If you say so. But anyway gotta go. C u in Biology :)**

I throw my phone into my bag, wondering how the hell I'm going to get to class. I've already missed too much and I don't want to bail. I consider hitting Ian up for a ride, but then I'd have to explain what happened to Dad's car. And I'm not ready for that yet. The only other alternative is to take the overly crowded public bus that is crammed with unavoidable death omens.

"What's up with you?" Ian asks, munching on a Pop-Tart in the kitchen doorway.

"Nothing." I snatch my house keys off the table. "I'm just tired."

"Did Mom say anything to you last night?" he asks. "Like maybe why she hasn't been taking her meds."

"Does she ever talk about anything?" I snap, shoving my keys into my pocket.

Ian holds up his hands and backs up. " _Sorry_. I was just asking a question. But I guess I'll keep my mouth shut."

I open my mouth to apologize, but he turns back into the kitchen, shrugging me off. I grab my jacket off the banister and step outside. I slip on my jacket and stare at the end of the street at the bench in front of the bus stops. Walk or ride the bus? God, I have no clue.

Cameron's Jeep suddenly appears beside the curb. He rolls down his window and crooks his finger at me.

I start to walk over, but then hesitate.

"I promise I don't bite." He dazzles me with an exquisite smile. "Unless, of course, that's what you want."

I start to pant, my chest actually heaving. My feet trot down the steps and across the grass on their own accord and I stop inches away from his door.

"You look lost," he says, his dark gaze skimming my body behind his sunglasses.

"I have to get to class," I tell him, wrapping my arms around myself. The way he's looking at me makes me feel naked and I'm not sure if I like it or if it makes me feel uncomfortable. "But my car's... broken." I shift my weight uneasily.

"Hop in." He nods at the passenger seat. "I'll give you a ride to the college... I was headed down there anyway to enroll for next semester."

"I was going to walk." I adjust the handle of my bag. "It's really not that big of a deal."

He shakes his head and laughs, sliding his sunglasses off. "Hop in, Ember. I don't mind giving you a ride. Trust me... In fact, I'm more than happy to."

I hold his gaze for a moment, catching onto his hidden meaning, then I glance at the corner of the street where a line of people wait for the bus. "Okay... Thanks." I walk around the front and hop into the passenger seat. The inside of the car smells like vanilla mixed with a hint of earthy cologne. Cameron waits for me to buckle my seatbelt, then pushes up his sunglasses up, and drives down the road. He's wearing dark blue jeans and a black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows. His hand rests on the shifter and his fingers tap to the music murmuring through the stereo. The compulsion to reach over and entwine my fingers with his nearly devours me.

"So are you always this quiet?" he asks after minutes of silence drones by.

I turn my head away from the window. "I just don't see the point of talking unless there's something to say."

His eyes enlarge. "Okay, sorry for asking."

I fidget with my leather bracelet. "Sorry. I didn't mean for that to come out so bitchy. I'm just having a rough morning."

He nods and proceeds with caution. "But I'm pretty sure you and I do have something to say, so the question is, do you want to say it or should I?"

"I wasn't expecting you to put it out there," I say, shocked. "But okay."

"The first thing you should know about me is that I hate secrets. They are pointless and request too much energy from an individual, unless the revelation of the secret brings pain to someone." His lips move like they are a poet's pen on a sheet of paper.

"Okay, so why were you digging up a grave in the cemetery the other night?" I lay it on the table.

His grin enhances with amusement. "To see if they really do put dead bodies in coffins."

I'm unsure how to respond. "I'm pretty sure they do."

"See, that's why I think you and I can get along," he remarks cleverly. "Most people would have jumped out of the car with that response."

I tuck my bangs out of my eyes. "Most people wouldn't have gotten in the car in the first place."

"Excellent point." He flips on the blinker and turns onto the school road. "I was doing my parents' dirty work. My grandfather—or Old Man Carey as your weird friend calls him—owned a jewel that had a lot of sentimental value to my family. It's been passed down from generation to generation. But no one can find where my grandfather put it, so they sent me to check in his coffin, just in case he requested to be buried with it and never told anyone except his friend who handled my grandfather's funeral arrangements."

For some reason, his story reminds me of a 1980s Tom Hanks movie I watched once— _The Burbs_. "Did you find it?"

"Again, you're not fazed." He grins, pleased and entertained. "No, I didn't find it."

"Did you think to ask your grandfather's friend before you went rummaging around in his coffin?" I question. "It might have been an easier place to start."

"Hmm..." He rubs his chin thoughtfully. "I never thought of that." He laughs and smiles. "Of course I did, but it turns out my grandfather's friend has already passed away himself, only days after the funeral ended."

"That's weird." I'm torn on whether I believe him. "So who was that man doing the actual digging?"

His smile falters and his face reddens with anger. "You saw him?"

I nod slowly. "Yeah..."

His anger alarms me. "He's my uncle."

"You don't like him?" I ask.

He fiddles with the keychain and sadness hues eyes. "He's... tolerable." He turns into the crowded school parking lot and everyone stares. The town has a very low population and an unidentified vehicle is _big news_. I can almost see the invisible stream of gossip move from car to car. "Wow, it's like being a movie star," he comments as he parks in an empty spot.

A smile curls at my lips. "Oh, it's going to get a lot worse for you. Trust me. The new guy—it will be the headline of the newspaper." I make a motion with my hand. "Well, maybe it won't be quite that big. Someone else just moved here today too."

He takes the keys out of the ignition. "Do you know who it is?"

"Yeah, I met him at a party Saturday night." I unbuckle the seatbelt. "His name's Asher Morgan."

A dark shadow possesses his expression. "And you've already met him?"

"Yeah..." My eyebrows scrunch. "At the party, like I just said."

He stares at the dashboard, jingling the keys with anxious energy, and then he opens the door and climbs out of the car.

I hop out and meet him around the back. "You said you don't keep secrets," I say as we head for the bricked canopy entrance. "But it kind of seems like you are."

"No, I said secrets were pointless unless they hurt someone." He picks up the pace and waves over his shoulder. "See you around, Ember."

The whole female student body watches him swagger up the sidewalk, practically drooling. I roll my eyes and shift directions for the side entrance. By this afternoon, he'll probably be screwing Mackenzie Baker in the utility closet.

The side entrance is the mellow area of the small school, leading right into where my English class is. I rummage through my bag as I walk down the hall, pull out my cell phone, and text Raven.

**Me: U at skool yet?**

I wander down the hall decorated with fake spider webs and orange and black confetti, with my head tucked down, waiting for an answer.

**Me: Hey, r u ok?**

Again, no response. I put my phone back in my bag and decide to check in the art room. Sometimes Raven goes in there for fun, when the Professor doesn't have a class going, because she says it's the most serene spot to paint with the mountains right outside, along with the football practice field, where the guys run around with their shirts off.

I poke my head inside, but the only person there is a guy painting in the far corner, so I begin to back out.

"Ember," the guy calls out.

"Asher?" I step into the classroom. "What are you doing in here?"

He stifles a smile. "Painting."

"But how are you here... I didn't know you could start class mid-semester."

"I'm not," he replies. "The Professor is my dad's brother and I stopped by to say hi... one thing lead to another." He raises the paintbush. "I couldn't help myself."

"So you have connections?" I say in a teasing tone. "I see."

His grin illuminates his slate eyes that are shadowed by strands of his hair. "I guess you could say that."

I grow flustered with the impulse to walk across the room, run my hands up his lean arms, tangle my fingers through his hair, yank him down, and suck his tongue into my mouth.

"Well, I'll see you around." I wave and step back to depart the room.

"Aren't you curious if I'm any good?" He sets the paintbrush down on the tray and motions me over.

I set my bag on a table and weave through the desks and his eyes never leave me the entire time. By the time I reach him, my skin is sizzling from his gaze and the sexual tension building between us.

He has a black hoodie pulled over his _At the Drive-In_ T-shirt and his faded jeans are stained with little droplets of black paint, the same look Ian often sports. He brushes his black hair out of his eyes and I notice a small scar along his brow line, right beneath his eyebrow piercing.

He gestures at the canvas. "So, what do you think?"

I turn my head and my lips part in surprise. It's the most stunning painting I've ever seen. Flawless strokes of black paint brush the shape of a male Angel with his head tucked down and his dark hair hanging over his eyes. His feet are traced by a black circle, like he's bound to the lonely spot, and he's crying. The agony and torment in his expression is so real, I want to reach out and comfort him.

"It's beautiful," I breathe in awe. "I can feel his pain and anguish. It's like it's killing him, being trapped to that single spot."

"You understand it like a true artist," he observes, with a trace of pain in his eyes. "Do you paint?"

I shake my head. "No, my brother does. And Raven. I'm more of an artist with words."

"So, you're a writer," he says, sounding a little unpleased.

I turn to face him and realize he's standing closer than I thought. Out of habit, I step back, and the heel of my boot collides with the easel. "I want to be one someday."

He sweeps a strand of my hair back and tucks it behind my ear, a reminder that I don't have to fear his touch; that his contact only brings solace, not sorrow.

"Do you know some believe that the eyes are the window to the soul?" he asks softly.

I elevate my eyebrows. "You know that's a pick-up line, right?"

His intense expression is breathtaking as he cups my cheek and grazes his thumb along my cheekbone. The feel of his skin against mine sends tingles all over my body and fills me with feelings I've never experienced before because they can only come through contact with another.

"It is now, but a long time ago people used to believe that a person's eyes gave insight to one's soul. It showed what they were really feeling and their vulnerability." He gently traces his finger below my eyes. "You have beautiful eyes, but there's so much sadness in them."

I swallow the lump in my throat and focus on his lips. Dear God Almighty, he has such luscious lips.

"Ember," he whispers and temporarily unhitches the chains that bind me to every single person's death. It's a strange feeling, but an invigorating one. "I want to kiss you." His voice drops to a husky whisper as he leans in. "Please tell me I can kiss you... God please just say it."

"Yes..." I breathe and it takes me a second to realize the full meaning of my response; that after nineteen years of intentional solitude I'll finally be kissed.

He closes his eyes, leaning closer. My heart thumps vigorously in my chest as his mouth nears and then moments later our lips touch.

A groan instantly slips from my mouth as the sensation of his kiss spirals through my entire body. It only gets worse when he slides his tongue between my lips and I open my mouth, letting him in, tangling my tongue with his and tracing the tip along his tongue ring.

His hands skim around to my waist and he backs me up until my back is pressed up against the wall. His firm chest crushes against mine as he tilts my body back, holding onto me, while he explores my mouth with his tongue. Breathy noises keep fleeing from my mouth and deep throaty groans keep escaping from his.

"Ember..." he whispers as his mouth leaves mine. He starts making a path of soft kisses down my jawline, to the arch of my neck, and my head falls to the side as he approaches my collarbone and his teeth gaze my skin.

"Oh my God..." I clutch onto his shoulders for support, wanting more—needing more.

When he reaches the top of my shirt, I bow my back, letting him know what I want. His fingers glide up the front of me, over my ribs and breast, and when he reaches my collar, he pulls it down along with my bra, exposing my breast. Seconds later, his mouth is wrapped around my nipple, licking, nipping at it, the cold metal of his lip clipping my skin and adding to the exhilaration pulsating through my body. I want to brace myself as my knees start to buckle, but all I can do is thread my fingers through his hair and hold onto him as I fall. His hands grip my sides, holding me up and then one of them slips between my knees. His palm glides upward and when he arrives at the top of my leg, he begins rubbing his hand back and forth, driving my body and mind crazy.

"Asher, what are you doing?" a male voice crushes the moment.

Our eyes snap open and before he backs away, he slides my shirt and bras back over my breast. Luckily, we're hidden behind the easel; otherwise, the professor would have gotten a full view of what we were doing.

Professor Morgan, the art professor, is standing by his desk with a confounded look on his face. He's in his mid-forties, with chestnut brown hair and hazel eyes and he wears a lot of cargo pants and polo shirts, smeared with charcoal, paint, clay—any art supply, really.

"Oh, hi there, Ember." He sets a stack of artwork down on his corner desk. "Have you seen Raven this morning? She usually comes in here to work on stuff, but I haven't seen her. I have a couple of questions about the last painting she turned it. I want to talk to her before I have to start my first class."

"I think she's running late," I say and then press my swollen lips together.

"Oh, I see." His gaze flicks to Asher and something in his eyes makes me want to leave. "Do you know if she's going to make it to my class this morning?"

I shrug. "I'm not sure."

"Oh. Okay." He seems distracted and keeps shooting Asher dirty looks.

Taking it as a signal to leave, I wave goodbye to Asher. "See you around, I guess."

Returning to his easel, he picks up the paintbrush, avoiding eye contact with me "Yeah, sure."

Trying not to take it defensively, I walk out of the room and head to the other side of the building. It's a very small walk, due to the lack of size of the college. When I arrive, Professor Mackerlie is writing on the whiteboard. He also teaches high school English, so this is pretty much my third time around with his teaching tactics.

I walk to the back of the classroom without him noticing. My bag lands on the floor loudly and he turns with the marker in his hand. "Oh, Ember, I didn't see you come in." He clicks the lid on the marker and sets it in the tray.

We are studying William Shakespeare's _Romeo and Juliet_ and one of his poems is written on the board. I read the book when I was fifteen after Raven made me watch the movie—the newer version starring Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes—so I already know how the story goes: love, rivalry, violence, and tragedy.

Professor Mackerlie shifts through papers on his desk as people start wandering into the classroom. Then suddenly, he's directing his attention on me.

"I really enjoyed the poem you wrote for last week's assignment." He taps a finger on the paper in his hand, stained with my penmanship.

"Thanks," I reply, shifting uncomfortably. I never meant to turn in that particular poem. I wrote it in a weak moment and then didn't have anything to turn in, so I had to make do.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to read it aloud to the class," he says. I shake my head in protest, but he's already turning away.

Sighing, I lean back in my chair, but then sit up again as Mackenzie Baker walks in with Cameron in tow. I've known Mackenzie since I was in kindergarten and we've never been friends. I secretly wished that once high school was over, she'd leave town, but like almost everyone else, she was pretty intent on staying. Sometimes, I swear the town is haunted and it's actually impossible to leave.

Mackenzie has strawberry blonde hair, green eyes, and wears clothes that allow her cleavage to pop out. She's kind of like Raven in a way, only maybe a little less forward.

"He's sitting in on one of your classes," she states to the professor. "To see if he wants to take it next semester."

Cameron grins at me, like he's up to something, which he probably is since this is English and is a prerequisite to pretty much every major.

The Professor barely acknowledges anything's going on and Mackenzie takes a seat, holding onto Cameron, urging him to sit by her. But he slips his arm from her grip and heads over to me.

"You look a little upset." Cameron slides onto my desk, trying to act nonchalant, but sorrow haunts his eyes.

"I'm fine." I take a pen and notebook out of my bag. "I'm just having a rough morning."

"Did you find your friend?" he asks. "The one with the pink hair?"

I shake my head. "No, but that's Raven. She's very sporadic."

He studies my face closely, as if he's looking for cracks that will reveal some hidden secret. "I saw you in the art room this morning."

I pull the pen out of my mouth as my jaw falls. "When?"

He bites at his lip and I can't tell if he looks annoyed or intrigued. "I just saw you walk in and start talking to some guy."

"That guy was the other new person in this town that I was telling you about this morning."

"I know."

"You seem like you know him?"

"Only from word of mouth." Placing his hands on the desk, he leans in, smelling of mint hued with a woodsy aroma. "I'm finding out you were right about the whole new-guy thing. Even the Dean seemed overly excited by my appearance."

"I told you they'd eat you up," I remark with a small smile.

"No, you told me they'd be star-struck by me." He smirks, inching his face closer to mine. "The only one who looks like they could eat me up is you."

I fight my instinct to look away from him. "No, I don't."

"Yes, you do." He dazzles me with a challenging smile and I shake my head, fighting my own grin.

"Are you always like this?"

"What? Sexy? Gorgeous? Charming?"

"I was going to go with a pain in the ass."

He smirks, loving my attitude. "You're pretty charming yourself."

From a desk in the front row, Mackenzie crosses her legs and crooks her finger at Cameron. "Come here, Cameron."

Cameron leans away and touches his chest. "My fans are calling me," he says and I roll my eyes as he saunters up to Mackenzie, whispers something in her ear, and she giggles, patting his chest.

After the bell rings, Mr. Mackerlie takes roll, then stands in the front of the room with my poem in his hand. "Listen up, everyone." He clears his throat. "I wanted to share with everyone something that I think is an excellent poem that was turned in for last week's assignment. But I'm going to keep it anonymous." His gaze flicks to me for only a second, but it's enough that eyes roam in my direction.

"The poem is called _Ember_." Every looks at me and Mr. Mackerlie clears his throat again before reading. "The ember dies slowly in a mound of ash. Darkness and mourning, it longs to burn fire. But the smoke and sorrow let it die. The need for a spark asserts fiercely. But a spark won't surrender. So the ember continues to smother. Into ash, into dust, into nothing. And that's how it will stay forever."

As much as I wish I could be confident in my words, I've been known for too long as the twisted girl who obsesses about death.

Everyone is staring at me like I'm the lunatic they always thought I was, ever since my dad's disappearance. But I refuse to cower, so I sit up straight and wait for Mr. Mackerlie to move on.

Some guy coughs into his hand, "Psycho killer."

Giggles flutter the room and Cameron raises his hand.

"Yes," Mr. Mackerlie says. "Wait, who are you? I've never seen you in this class before."

"Let's just say I'd like to stay anonymous," he says, throwing off the professor. "And personally, I think it was an amazing poem about pain and survival."

The Professor browses over the poem again. "Well, that's a good interpretation, but I think perhaps it's more about the natural process of death."

Cameron taps his fingers on the desk. "Death might be a theme, but I don't think that's what it's completely about. I think it's more relative to the pain someone feels about death and their need to survive through the pain, even though they think they can't. Perhaps they've even lost someone close to them and they are trying to break free from the continual heartache and torment."

Everyone goes silent and I swear I could kiss those pretty guy lips of his. He turns around and gives me a look that says, _You know you're in love with me now._

"Well, that's very deep." Mr. Mackerlie looks about as befuddled as the rest of the class. "But where did you come from... I haven't seen you around here before."

Cameron clicks his pen. "I'm working on transferring... thought I'd see if I wanted to take this class next semester."

The Professor shuffles through some papers. "Where did you live before here?"

"New York," Cameron responds dryly.

"Oh, the Big Apple." Mr. Mackerlie selects a paper from the stack and places the rest on his desk.

"That would be the one." Cameron sounds bored.

"Well, it's great to have you here, not just as a visitor, but as a new member of our town." Professor Mackerlie is also on the town committee and he welcomes Cameron, before moving onto Shakespeare. Cameron doesn't glance at me during class; however, I can't take my eyes off him. He's fascinating and at the same time frightening. Who is this guy that digs up graves in the cemetery? Who speaks up for me in class and writes the most beautiful words? Who is from New York, just like Asher?

A coincidence? For some reason, I don't think so.

My next class is about as uneventful as watching paint dry. I'm about to head to my third and last class of the day, when I'm waved into the main office by the secretary.

She holds a finger up while she continues talking to a slender woman with blonde hair, a sharp nose, and glasses framing her narrow face. Her hair is tight in a bun and she sports a pinstriped pantsuit. I drop down in a chair and wait.

"Yes, I know, but I don't see why you have to do it here," the secretary, Mrs. Finnelly, tells the woman.

The woman leans on the counter. "Can you just check again?"

Mrs. Finnelly sighs and types something on her keyboard. She rolls her chair back to the corner filing cabinet and takes out a thin manila folder. "Here you go, Beth, but I don't see how her file is going to help. In fact, she's right here, so it might be better just to talk to her."

Beth turns around and her blue eyes promptly darken with abhorrence. "Ember Edwards, I'm detective Crammer."

My lips twitch. "Okay."

She motions to the counselor's office door. "Why don't we go in here so we can talk more privately."

I follow her into the counselor's office, which is packed with plants and family photos. There's a bag hanging on a coat rack in the far corner and the air smells like pumpkin and spice. Detective Crammer takes a seat in the office chair and I sit down in front of the desk.

She opens the file with my name printed on it. "You excel in English... but your math grades look a little weak." She takes off her glasses and tosses them on the desk. "Well, I'll get straight to the point since we only have the office for a few minutes." She rolls forward in the chair, and overlaps her hands on top of the desk. "As I'm sure you've heard, Laden Miller disappeared last night. Now, the last place he was seen was a party you were at. Is that correct?"

"Yeah," I answer. "But a lot of people were."

"Just a simple yes or no will suffice," she says snidely. "Now, as I'm sure you've also heard, Laden Miller's car was found down at the bridge in a very similar situation as how your father's car was left after his disappearance three years ago. You were the only one ever investigated for his disappearance—the police never had any more leads."

I brazenly cross my arms. "The charges against me were dropped."

She pulls out a small notepad from the pocket of her jacket. "I pulled up your father's case and it said that they got a call right before your dad disappeared. The call was from you and you said he was going to be murdered."

"No, I said he was going to die. There's a huge difference."

"Huge difference or not, it's highly suspicious. And then you ran away right after."

I opt for silence, knowing from experience that fewer words mean fewer opportunities to twist what I say around.

Her eyes narrow at me and then she jots something in notepad. "It's such a strange case. Raven feathers, an hourglass, the bright red _X_ on the road. And of course there's the blood."

"They're all symbols of death," I say. "I told the police this last time."

Her eyebrows furrow as she reads over her notes. "Hmm... no one ever made a note of that."

I shrug indifferently. "Well, it's true. Except for the _X_ , they all represent death. You can Google it if you want. It's pretty common knowledge."

"Did you do that before or after your dad disappeared?"

"After."

She reddens with frustration, fighting to keep her cool. "You know, I find it highly suspicious that you were at a party Laden Miller attended and then he disappeared. And there were witnesses that said they saw you peeling off in your car right after Laden drove away with another girl."

_Witnesses_? "I had somewhere to be... my mom... she needed me home for something," I lie, but not very well.

She sifts through the notepad. "Actually, if I read the note in the file right, your mother's been a pretty inactive parent. In fact, she gave up her custody of you and sent you to live with your father when you were four."

"Inactive or not, she asked me to be home early that night because she needed my help with something." I make an effort not to fidget, or she'll use it against me.

Her eyes scrutinize me. "Where were you between the hours of two to four a.m. on Saturday?"

_Crashing into a lake, drawing crazy notes on my wall, blacking out._ Shit! "I was with Asher Morgan." It slips out of me and I instantly regret it.

Her eyebrows arch. "And he is?"

"A friend of mine." I'm digging myself a giant, coffin-sized hole. I grip onto the armrest, hoping she doesn't notice my uneasiness.

She writes _Asher Morgan_ down at the top of the notebook and then tucks it in her pocket. Then she hands me her card. "We'll be in touch."

I take the card, stuff it into my back pocket, and leave the office, not looking back.

# Chapter 7

Everyone in the town is calling Laden's disappearance the Angel of Death Killing. The rumor spread about the detective interrogating me right on campus. It's like I've relapsed back to three years ago, right after my dad vanished. The halls are fluttering with whispers of "Freak," Psychopath," and "Murderer." But I walk with my head held high. A little gossip and dirty looks are nothing compared to being plagued by death every day.

I'm contemplating bailing out on my last class of the day, but Raven still hasn't shown up yet and she hasn't called or replied to any of my texts, so I go to the McDonalds next door to get some lunch. I'm waiting for my order to be put on the tray, when Mackenzie Baker comes brushing by, knocks her shoulder into mine, and nearly breaks a high heel trying to recover her balance. _Ropes bind her wrist and mouth. Darkness devours her. Come out, come out, wherever you are._ It's a game and Mackenzie loses, lost in a sea of blood. I've seen her death before and it never gets easier.

Glaring at me, she flips her hair and quickly returns to the conversation with the girl she's with.

"So was I right?" The soft touch of Cameron's voice sends a rush of adrenaline through my body and I quiver.

I step back and elongate the distance between us, but really I want to move closer to him. "Were you right about what?"

"About your poem," he says with a charming smile.

"You think I'm in pain?" I ask as the cashier sets French fries down on my tray

"I think your heart carries a lot of pain." He steps forward, reducing the already limited space between us. "But that you hide it, just like you hide a lot of things."

He's striking a nerve. "Isn't everyone hiding something?" I ask.

"Now those are the words of a true writer." He reaches behind me, missing my arm by an inch, and steals some of my French fries. "But the question is, what are you hiding, Ember?"

There's accusation in his tone—he's heard the rumors. "Bodies in the basement of my house and a burner full of ashes," I say darkly.

He's unfazed, tipping his head back and dropping the stolen fries into his mouth. "Weird, because that's the same thing I have in my basement."

"I'd be happy that we share something in common, but we both know that neither of our houses have basements."

"Yep, but they have attics," he says and it no longer sounds like he's joking. "And attics are excellent places to hide bodies too."

I grab my cup from the tray and turn to the fountain.

He laughs. "Relax, I'm just kidding."

I offer him a small smile, loosening up a little as I fill up the cup with ice and then soda. Then I pick up my tray and my eyes browse the room lined with tables and benches.

"So what are your plans for the rest of the day?" I ask, heading for a corner table as Cameron trails at my heels. "More sneaking into classes or do you have work?"

"I work online," he answers vaguely.

"Doing what?"

"Boring stuff."

"You are very cryptic. You know that?"

"I do." He smiles at me, pleased.

There's a lot of chattering and wandering eyes at the accused killer standing in the center of the room. Who am I even looking for? I spot Asher in the far corner table, sitting with a group of people about my age. _Wow, he made friends fast._

Asher's gaze finds mine and his eyes light up, but then he notices Cameron standing next to me and the lightness alters to a glare. Cameron returns the glare with equal animosity.

"I thought you said you didn't know him?" I ask Cameron with cynicism in my tone.

He blinks the glare away and smiles politely. "I don't know him. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got places to be." He struts off to where Mackenzie and her friend are sitting, eating salads, and he immediately starts flirting with her.

"Hot and cold much," I mumble.

Asher waves me over. I hesitate, not at him, but at the rest of the people at the table who are just as afraid of me as Mackenzie is. But then Asher smiles and I remember how he tasted in the art room, how he felt, how he touched me, and my doubting and worries crumble.

I take a seat at the table and everyone gives me subtle nods, except for Farrah Taverson, who is the only girl at the table. She's been dating Laden Miller for a while and she scowls at me, gathers her medieval era dress before she leaves the table and heads out into the parking lot.

"You looked like you needed help," Asher whispers in my ear and then his takes a gentle nip at my earlobe. "Was that guy harassing you?"

My shoulders spasm as I stir a fry in a cup of ranch. "No, he was being..." I trail off because I don't really have a clue what Cameron was being toward me.

"So, Raven still not shown up yet, huh?" he asks and I shake my head, frowning as he takes a bite of his burger. He licks a dab of mayo from his lip and I imagine licking it off him, along with many other things.

As my body starts to hum with the images of where his tongue could search, I squeeze my legs together. "No, I think she's probably bailed and went shopping for the day. She loves to shop."

He offers me a forced smile. "I'm sure she does." His eyes scan me over. "Are you okay?" His gaze travels to my forehead. "Did you go to the doctor after the accident?"

"Yeah," I lie. "And I'm fine." I wiggle my arms, bending my elbows. "No broken bones. No concussion. I'm like a walking miracle."

"What about your car?" he asks with concern, leaning closer to examine me and I can feel the heat of his breath on my lips.

My mood plummets. "That's definitely a goner."

"And how about... How are you doing with what everyone else is saying?"

I shrug. "It's not the first time they've wanted to burn me at the stake."

Leaning back, he takes another bite of his sandwich and changes the subject. "So you never answered my question."

"About what?" I asks, sipping on my soda.

"About the guy you were with just now?" He chews on a French fry.

"That's Cameron." I unwrap my chicken sandwich. "He's the other new guy here and coincidently, he's also from New York."

"That's weird." His jaw tightens and he throws the rest of his food into his bag. "I don't have to worry about him being competition do I?"

I snort a laugh, figuring he's joking, but the serious expression on his face silences me. "No, you don't have to worry about that." Heat swells inside my body as he smiles and bites his lip.

"Would you do me a favor?" He stands up and collects his garbage. "Would you show me around the town a little bit?"

"Sure... Although, I'm surprised no one else has offered to yet, especially Mackenzie." I grab my sandwich and garbage and rise to my feet.

He laughs, glancing at Mackenzie in the corner, and I realize he's already talked to her. "I don't think I'm really Mackenzie's type."

I eye his goth/emo style; a plaid shirt, black jeans, combat boots, the studs and skulls on his leather bands. He has piercings and even though he's not, it looks like he is wearing a hint of black liner around his eyes hooded by long, thick eyelashes. He's not her type, but he's still strikingly beautiful, especially his eyes.

"Give her time," I say. "In fact, I'm pretty sure if you decide to show up at the next frat party, she'll probably whisk you away to the upstairs room in a heart beat."

He throws his garbage into the trash, but holds onto some French fries. "And what about you? Would you whisk me away to the upstairs room?"

I dump my tray into the garbage, my skin growing warm. "I don't know... Would you want me to?"

He doesn't answer and my heart sinks into my chest. I don't understand, though, because he kissed me and touched me pretty much all over.

We walk for the exit door, side-by-side, and at that moment, everyone else doesn't exist. I crave for him to touch me again, for him to feel every inch of my body.

I eat my sandwich as we roam up the sidewalk, walking passed the park, the town square, the shopping mall. I explain where everything is, who everyone is that's walking around, and it doesn't take long since the town is a mere blip in the center of massive amount of mountains

"I used your name this morning," I admit quietly when we stop in the center of the park. "When a cop brought me in for questioning." He appears mystified so I add, "Questioning for Laden's disappearance."

"I knew what you were talking about," he says, leaning against the frame of the gazebo entrance. "I was just wondering why you said it so guilty. I know you were with me."

"For part of the time," I clarify, shuffling my toe in front of me. "You dropped me off around three and she wanted to know where I was between the hours of two and four."

He gets this funny look on his face, like he might laugh. "So where were you for the extra hour? Or should I say we?"

"You don't have to cover for me," I tell him. "Your name just slipped out because it seemed a lot better than telling her I was up at my house with a friend that was trashed out of her mind. And I've been through this before and excuses like that don't fly."

"When your dad disappeared?"

"How do you know about that?"

His face is guarded. "People like to talk a lot around here, I've noticed."

I shy away. "I'm sorry. I'll go find the detective and tell her the truth." I turn for the campus, but he moves around me and blocks my path.

"Last night was one of the best nights of my life," he starts. "I have never made out so long before and the lake was beautiful, crystal clear with a bright moon setting. And Ember... she is the most amazing kisser."

"Yeah, I think you took it one step too far on the last sentence." I stifle a smile. "You might want to leave that part out."

He shakes his head. "I know from this morning that the last sentence is the most truthful part of my statement."

I touch my finger to my lips, trying not to grin. "Maybe that's because you were inhaling to much paint fumes."

"No way." He challenges me with a cock of his eyebrow. "But just to make sure, I think I might need to have a refresher." He stands up straight and coils a strand of my hair around my finger, watching for my reaction.

But I have no idea what to say or to so I change the subject. "You seriously don't have to cover for me." My phone rings inside my bag, but I ignore it. "I can figure out something else."

"It's fine," he insists, releasing my hair. "I know you didn't do it."

There are no words to express my gratitude. "Thanks. I owe you big time."

He fiddles with his eyebrow ring, looping the tip of his pinkie through it, and then pulling it out, before stuffing his hands into his pockets. Suddenly he looks nervous. "Okay, so I have to ask you something. And feel free to be completely honest with me."

"Okay..." I wait for the moment where he tells me he was kidding and he really thinks I'm a killer.

"Hypothetically, if I were to ask you on a date, what would you say?" he asks, flicking his tongue ring against his teeth.

My heart erupts in my chest. "Well, if we were only speaking hypothetically, I'd say yes."

The corners of his mouth quirk. "And if I wasn't speaking hypothetically."

"Then I'd say, I'd have to think about it." Jesus. I've been spending way too much time watching Raven seduce guys.

He reaches for my messenger bag, and before I can react, he extracts my cell phone. He punches a few buttons and then leans forward to put it back into my bag, moving in closer than necessary.

He puts his mouth up to my ear. "Think about it and let me know when the hypothetical can become a reality." He gives a soft suck on the tender spot just below my ear before leaning away.

My lips part as my breath speeds up. "Okay."

He winks at me and then turns around, stepping off the gazebo. "I have to go to work. You have my number."

I watch him walk across the grass, enjoying the way he moves and the numbing sensation he instills in my body, the way he silences death. When he's out of my sight, I head across the park toward the back parking lot of the campus.

When I round the corner, I find Raven leaning against the side entrance and a guy with greasy hair and sideburns leaning over her with his hands braced on the wall. Her eyes are locked on the guy like she is a love-struck puppy. He glances in my direction and I catch sight of the _X_ on his eye—the sleazebag from the other night.

"What are you doing?" I hurry toward her.

Raven's eyes are red and swollen and her mascara is smudged. "I'm not doing anything. Now, go away."

"You're not okay." I reach a hand for her. "What did he do to you?"

"She's fine," the sleazebag snarls and slaps my hand away. "Now get the hell out of here."

"Don't touch me, asshole," I warn, breathing through the stench of his death.

Raven wipes her tears away with the collar of her pink shirt. "Ember, just go inside. Please."

My muscles stiffen under the guy's powerful glare. "I will, but you're coming with me."

"You need to butt out of business that doesn't concern you." The guy prowls forward and shoves me backward hard, knocking the breath out of me.

"She's my friend," I say firmly, regaining my balance. "So therefore, it is my business."

He glares at me. "Well, if you want, I could make it directly concern you." He lunges at me, grabs my arms, and thrusts me back against the brick wall.

His vile death chokes me _. He stands in the middle of a field. It's dark. A gunshot fires and he collapses to the ground._

I blink, stunned. It's not the same death omen as the other night.

He smiles and chills prick at my skin. "What's wrong, _Ember_? Are you scared?" He drops his voice as he leans in, his stale breath hot against my face as he delves his fingers deep into my waist. "Tell me, how was your drive home last night?"

"You tell me." I knee him between the legs, then dodge to the side of him, and reach for Raven. "Come on, let's get out of here."

Raven shakes her head and skitters away from me. "I can't, Em. I have to stay here."

Rage flickers across his face as he lunges for me again and grips my wrists so tight my skin breaks. I groan as the venom of a thousand deaths paralyzes me: _self-inflicting, painful, too early, broken heart, old age, help me, help me, help me._ There are so many that I can't sort through all of them. It's crushing the oxygen from my lungs and strangles my heart; unbearable and ironic because what if death omens are the cause of my infinite death?

"Let her go," a deep, demanding voice chips away at the blackness and pain.

Sleazebag abandons my arms and I crumple to the ground, clutching the grass, gasping for air. _Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Deep breaths._

A hand appears in my vision, but I shake my head. "Let me help you up."

"Go away." I choke. " _Please_. I swear I'm fine."

"Ember, take my hand," Asher says and the resonance of his voice settles me down.

I slip my hand into his and contentment glides through my body, squelching the pain.

He helps me to my feet, his grey eyes searching me as he brushes grass out of my hair, off my shoulder, and the feel of his hands is invigorating. "Are you okay?"

Intoxication hums through my head. "I'm fine..." _God, please just take me now._

He traces his fingers down my cheekbone, my neck, my throat, all the way to my chest. "Ember..." He groans and lust fills his eyes.

I repress a moan, my head falling back. "I think I... I think I..."

"A little help here." Raven's sobs crash us back to reality.

"I think you'll be okay." His eyes focus on the doors of the school as he blinks the glazed look in his eyes away. "But I think you need to take your friend home."

Raven's curled up against the door, bawling her eyes out. "Em, help me. Please. I don't know what's going on."

I crouch down in front of her. "Come on, let's get you home." When I get her to her feet, focusing past the pollution of her death, I notice both Asher and the sleazebag are gone. "Where'd that guy go? Rav, did you see where he went?"

"Take me home!" she screams with her hands balled. "Now!"

Sighing, I lead her toward the parking lot, picking up my bag along the way. Holding my breath, I exhale through her death omen: _blood under her head, pain in her body, rain falling from the sky._ I lower Raven into the passenger seat of her car and buckle the seatbelt for her, then climb into the driver's seat.

"Do you have your keys on you?" I adjust the seat back by flipping the lever.

Tears rain from her eyes as she rummages the keys out of her shirt pocket. "I'm so sorry. I don't know why I yelled at you."

I seal my lips together, battling back the urge to yell at her as I turn the engine on. "Sorry for what?"

"For bailing on you so I could meet up with Garrick." She covers her face with her hands and cries, her shoulders shaking.

"You bailed out on me this morning to be with that guy that has the X on his eye?" I'm stunned. "But he's a total creep."

"I like him," she says, blinking her tears back, looking possessed. "He's nice, has good teeth, and is courteous."

"No, he's not." I back the car out of the parking spot and I notice Asher's GTO peeling out of the parking lot. "Okay... where is he going?"

"Ember!" Raven shouts with terror in her eyes. "Please take me home!"

"Okay. Okay." What is going on with her?

I drive toward our neighborhood, letting her cry for a few minutes, and then I turn down the volume of the radio. "Okay, you have to tell me what the hell happened to you that night Laden vanished," I demand in a soft but determined tone. "And why you were just with a guy that probably slipped you a roofie."

"He didn't do that," she protests with a quick shake of her head. "It was another guy with the same kind of _X_ in his eye."

"I know you're lying," I accuse. "Your eye just twitched."

She dabs her eyes with her fingers. "I'm crying. Of course my eye twitched."

"I don't believe you," I bluntly inform her. "You're lying and you've been lying to me since the other night. And you're not acting like yourself... You're not taking drugs again, are you?"

"Of course not." She rolls her eyes.

As we drive over the bridge, her eyes dart to the median. There's a faint scent of death in the air and on the lamppost is a blue flyer with Laden's face on it. His car is no longer in the street, but the large red _X_ on the asphalt is still visible.

"Such a shame." Laughter hints her voice, and her eyes, smeared with mascara, widen as she gawks at the spot Laden vanished. "He was a really good kisser." She leans forward and relaxes her head on the dashboard, and then she shuts her eyes, sweeps her hair to the side, and fans her sweaty face. "It's so hot... Isn't it so hot?"

I notice the scratch on her shoulder blade looks a little infected. "What happened to your shoulder?"

She shelters the spot with her hand. "Things got a little rough between Laden and me. He was kind of into bondage."

I press my lips together. "How rough exactly?"

Her head whips up and her eyes scorch fire. "What are you getting at exactly? That I might have had something to do with his death?"

"There's no proof he's dead yet." I veer down the road that leads to our houses. "And I didn't say anything about you being involved. It just looks infected."

"Yeah, whatever. If anyone should be accused of his murder it's you, especially with your whole little I-saw-him-standing-outside-my-house thing this morning. You better watch what you say, _Ember_ , or people are going to think you're as crazy as your dad. Oh wait, they already do."

At that moment, I loathe her. She is not my best friend and I don't care if I ever see her again. I want to rip her hair out, hurt her, and scream at her at the top of my lungs.

"You need to tell me what happened. With the details," I demand as I turn into the driveway of her house. I force the shifter into park and place a hand on her arm. "It's like you're possessed by the devil or something."

She glances at my hand on her arm and then her eyes drain of emotion. "I have no idea what you're talking about." She jerks her arm away and jumps out of the car.

I remove the keys from the ignition and jump out after her. "Raven, we're not done with this conversation yet. I'm worried about you. You're acting like you've lost your mind."

"You would be the expert on that, Death Girl." She spats and then whisks around the front of the car, thrusting her hand at me. "My keys, please." I slam the keys into her palm. "Thanks, Emmy. And I mean for everything. But honestly, I really need a break from you. You're too much baggage. " She sashays into her house and slams the door, leaving me in the driveway, stirring in my own anger.

I storm for my house, but a flash of black in the trees sends me to an earthshattering halt. Laden's body hangs from the tree in my front yard, a rope around his neck, and blood dripping from his lips. His pale skin is blue and his eyes stare lifelessly at me.

_Death. Silence._

Trying not to panic, I fumble my phone out of my bag and nearly drop it. I start to dial the police, but when I look back at the tree, the phone falls from my hands. The body is gone, but his blood still stains the grass.

# Chapter 8

I work as a cashier down at the one and only gas station in town. It's a tedious job, one I hope I'm not stuck with for the rest of my life.

After I get off work, I go home and head to the computer desk. I stay there for hours until the words on the computer screen are blurry from the hours of searching on the internet. Ghost possession. Demon possession. Cult rituals. Nothing explains what's going on with Raven. Or what's going on with me.

I shift my focus to Garrick. A death omen has never been that powerful before. It felt like a thousand deaths, each one a thorn on a dying rose, individualized but connected to the same vine of life. I start to type something on the keyboard when Ian's head appears over my shoulder and he reads the screen.

"Wow, should I be worried?" he asks, reading my search history on the sidebar as he hovers over my shoulder.

"We're studying mythology and human nature in English class," I lie easily.

"Well, if you need any help, let me know," he says. "I had to study mythology for this oil-based painting class I took my freshman year. The Professor was seriously into that crap."

"Yep, I sure will." I wait for him to leave and then type "X tattoo" into the search. Nothing pops out, so I delete "tattoo" and put "symbol." I scroll through the options and click on a link about execution.

I read through the article: "An _X_ symbol has many representations, one being the elimination of a life." I slump back in the chair and cross my arms. "Well, look at that. It does have to do with death."

Still, why does Garrick have an _X_ on his eye? Could Garrick be... could Garrick be causing the disappearances? But why does he have so many death omens?

I stretch my fingers and type: Death Omens. I highlight the search button with the cursor, swiveling in the chair as I hesitate before clicking it. I skim through the search results, until I come across a sketch of an Angel with her head tucked down, tears seeping from her eyes, and black smudges on her cheeks. Her dark wings elongate the page and a lifeless rose crumbles from her hand. A skeletal pattern tattoos her arms and legs and a circle rounds the stone floor beneath her bare feet.

"It's just like in Asher's painting of the Angel," I mutter. Grim Angel is the title of the sketch. "It's like a mix between the Grim Reaper and an Angel."

I do a search on Grim Angel and read aloud, "Grim Angels are a unique breed immune to most of the Angel of Deaths' and the Grim Reapers' gifts. Grim Angels are believed to be insane due to the curse of their hybrid breeding of an Angel of Death and a Grim Reaper, which plagues them with a constant burden of death. They may suffer from blackouts and lose track of their mind, if not properly taken care of." I read the note aloud again. "Blackouts and a general burden of constant death." I shiver and peek over my shoulder, just to make sure I'm not sprouting wings. But the inner voice deep inside me disagrees.

After reading a few more websites, and finding nothing else, I give up for the night. "What are these things, like some kind of hush-hush mythical species no one is supposed to talk about or something?"

I shove the chair back, shut off the computer, and flop down on the couch next to Ian. "Is Mom home yet?"

He surfs through the channels with the remote aimed at the small television screen. "Nah, she called and said she's going to be late."

"Did you check on her prescription to see if it was still full?"

"Yeah... and it's still full. She hasn't taken them for at least a week."

"We should talk to her about it," I say. "She came home last night totally wasted and ranting about Dad being a killer."

Ian turns down the volume of the TV and sets the remote down on the armrest. "Where was I?"

I point over my shoulder at the staircase. "Upstairs, in the attic, with your ' _muse_.'"

He squirms uneasily. "Did you get her upstairs okay?"

I grab a handful of skittles from the candy bowl on the coffee table and pop them into my mouth. "Yeah, I made do."

He slips off his beanie to ruffle his hair. "Was she nice to you?"

I seal my lips together and force the tears to back down. "She was fine, I guess."

"I can tell when you're lying." Ian pushes the sleeves of his shirt up and kicks his feet up on the table. "What did she say to you?"

Ian knows about my rough relationship with our mother to an extent, but there are pieces I omit from him, like her accusations that I killed Grandma Nelly.

"She was as nice as she always is." I scoop up another handful of skittles and get up from the couch. "I'm going to bed. I'll see you in the morning."

"Ember..." He struggles for words. "You know you can talk to me about stuff. My meds are helping a lot and I think I can handle things now."

"I know," I say, but he can't. It's in his eyes—the fear I might open up and he'll have to deal with it, so I bottle it up. The accident, Raven, death, that I saw Laden's body hanging from our tree. "And if I do ever feel like talking, you'll be the first one I come to."

He releases a breath of relief and turns back to the TV as I trudge up to my room, wondering when I'll crack.

# Chapter 9

I don't hear or see Asher the next day, or the next and when I text him about hanging out, his response is that he's busy. It bothers me for some reason. I barely know him, yet knots wind in my stomach every time I think about how it felt when he touched me. It's like I've become obsessed with him and his lips and hands and I don't like how much he consumes me, yet, I do at the same time.

I'm in the town library, tucked at the table in the farthest corner, writing poetry about my frustration with a book opened at my feet.

_In the midst of a foggy field, the answers are hidden_

_But the impossible journey deems them forbidden_

"Have I told you how much I'm sorry," Raven says, sliding a candy bar across the table.

I glance up from my journal. "How many times are you going to apologize?" I pick up the candy bar. "My teeth are going to rot out if you keep it up."

"As long as it takes for you to accept it." She takes a magazine out of her bag.

"How did you know I was here?" I ask.

She smiles. "You always are, when you're not working or in class. I think you just might be obsessed with words."

_That and beautiful men with piercings._ "You know me too well."

"What are you writing about?" She moves the strap of her tank top over a little and peels a layer of skin off her shoulder blade.

I scratch the title _The Unknown_ on the top of the page. "Stuff. Life... You know you should really get that looked at. I really do think it's infected."

She flicks the skin onto the floor. "I did and the doctor said it's fine." Her eye twitches and she pretends to pluck some mascara from her eyelashes.

Swirling the pen on the top of the paper, I sketch a poorly drawn Angel. "You can die from infections. Do you know that?"

She peels another layer of skin off, and it's like she's molting. "But you know when I'm really going to die and if it was from the infection, you'd make me go to the hospital."

She has me there. Under the title of my poem, I write:

_The Reaper of Death, the Angel of Life._

_They walk together in day and night._

"Raven, have you ever heard of a Grim Angel?" I inquire.

She thrums her manicured nails on the table as she considers this. "Maybe... in one of the books I looked through when I was doing my Angel painting project. But I can't remember exactly what it is. Why? What's up?"

"I was just looking through some stuff on the internet the other night and I came across a drawing of one. I've never heard of them before, though."

"Why were you looking up Angel stuff on the internet?"

"For a poem I'm working on," I lie breezily. "Do you still have those books?"

She shakes her head as she twists her pink hair up into a bun. "I returned them here and they had to special order them, so I don't even know if they're still here."

I drop my voice as the librarian walks by, shooting me a dirty look. "Do you remember anything about them at all?"

She turns a page of her magazine. "Only that they are a mix between a Grim Reaper and an Angel of Death. And that they're super crazy most of the time."

"How exactly are they supposed to be crazy?" I ask. "I mean, what defines them as being insane? Do they do weird things or rant incoherent thoughts?"

"The books said that they used to sneak around killing innocent people and stealing their souls," she explains. "Like it was a game or something. And they suffered from hallucinations."

I need to get my hands on those books.

"So what's up with you and Asher?" She abruptly changes the topic.

I stop drawing and glance up. "What do you mean?"

She presses me with a look from over the magazine. "Don't play dumb with me, _Ember Rose Edwards_. You know what I'm talking about—our knight in shining armor and the reason why you've been bummed out all week."

"I'm not playing dumb, _Raven Lilly Monroe_ ," I retort. "I have no clue what you're talking about."

She taps her lips with a wicked glint in her sapphire eyes. "So, you don't have a thing for a dark-haired stranger who rescued you from your death omen spasm and who showed you his painting of an Angel... Although, by how stuck you are on him, I'd guess he showed you other stuff of his, too."

I briefly picture what he'd look like naked and then focus on my poem. "I thought you had a thing for him. Wasn't he the reason for your meltdown in my closet... And wait, how do you even know about the painting?"

She giggles. "Oh Em, you are such a riot. You can't almost make out with someone in the art room and expect no one to know about it." She dabs the tears from the corner of her eyes. "And I'm totally over the Asher thing. Guys are like shoes to me, you know that. I wear them once and then get bored."

I press down so hard on the paper the pencil breaks. "Did you actually wear Asher?"

She points an accusing finger at me. "The very fact that you ask that means you like him. So I think it's time you found out where he is. And if he likes you."

"Raven, this isn't second grade." I tip back in the chair and throw the pencil in the trash bin.

She discounts me with a wave of her hand. "Call him. Didn't you say he gave you his phone number?"

"I already tried to text him and he said he was busy," I say and close my journal. "Look, I think I need to just get over him. I have too much stuff going on in my life." I swing my purse over my shoulder, but she snags the handle and rips it off my arm.

"Like what?" She backs away, jiggling the bag out in front of her. "Your life's pretty easy, Em."

"Raven," I warn as she backs down the nearest aisle between the bookshelves. "Don't even think about it. I swear to God, I'll never forgive you if you call him."

"Don't kid yourself, Em. You'll always forgive me, no matter what I do." She spins in her high-heeled boots and dashes off down the aisle.

I chase after her, fuming as she pulls out my cell phone and drops my bag on the floor. I hop over my bag and reach for the back of her shirt as she punches the buttons. A girl at the end of the aisle backs away, eyes wide, legs trembling, probably thinking I'm trying to kill Raven. Raven laughs as she wiggles out of my fingers and then darts around the corner of the bookshelf, intentionally knocking some books off the shelf.

"Raven, please don't call him." I trip over the books and round the corner. She has the phone to her ear and dodges my advance, but her ankle rolls and she falls flat on her ass.

I jump on her, accidently bumping my knee into hers, and kicking a row of books to the floor with my boot. Her death pours through me, but I breathe through it. "Give me my phone back."

She giggles as I try to pry the phone from her fingers. She rolls on her back and pushes herself across the floor with her feet and I crawl after her.

"Hi, Asher, this is Raven," she says into the phone and I narrow my eyes. "Call Ember when you get the chance. She needs to know if you're okay and if you like her, because it's driving her crazy. Literally."

I pinch her arm hard. "You are the worst friend ever."

"Ow..." She laughs, throwing her head back. Tears of laughter flood her eyes as she keeps talking in the phone. "In fact, it's a matter of life or death—she has to know ASAP." She hangs up the phone.

I glare at her and rip the phone from her hand. "Thanks a lot. Now he's going to think I'm insane."

"Aren't you?" She flutters her eyelashes innocently. "Besides, I was just trying to help and it shouldn't bother you what other people think. You've been through a lot worse than some guy thinking you're a stalker."

I turn to my back, putting distance from her and her death. "I don't know why I care, but I do."

"I wouldn't get your hopes up," she says in a heavy-weighted tone. "Guys like Asher don't really look at girls like you. They're more my type."

I wonder if this whole scene was to make Asher think I am insane, so she could have him. "Raven, are you sure—"

Cameron strolls passed us and I stop talking as his eyebrows dip together at Raven and I tangled up in a pile of books.

He stops in front of us and his lips curl into impish grin. "I'm kind of curious what led up to this. Was it an accident or the beginning of something kinky?"

"We fell," I say, before Raven can feed him some dirty story, and then grab the shelf above my head and pull myself to my feet.

Raven sticks out her hand to Cameron and pouts her bottom lip. "A little help, please."

Cameron takes her hand and tugs her up. She intentionally trips and braces herself with his shoulders. "Oh my goodness." She squeezes his bicep. "You must work out like all the time."

He lifts her hand from his bicep. "Not really."

"We should get going," I tell Raven before she can further embarrass herself.

She seductively smiles at Cameron and flips her hair before walking past him, exaggeratedly shaking her ass. "See you later, Em." She waggles her finger at me and turns the corner.

"Sorry about that," I say to Cameron as I round the bookshelf and collect my bag from the floor where Raven dropped it. When I turn back around, I almost run into him.

He doesn't step back though, watching me with his hungry eyes, like he could eat me up. "You dropped this." He hands me my phone.

I drop the phone in my bag and back up. "I'm real sorry about Raven. She can kind of be a little... overly friendly sometimes."

"I think she might have some issues," he informs me with a lazy grin.

"Doesn't everyone?" I pick up a book to divert my attention away from the lust in his eyes.

He takes the book from my hands, his fingers almost touching mine, but not quite, and then he discards the book onto the shelf. "Okay, I'm going to get straight to the point. I think we should go out on a date."

"Go out on a date?" I elevate my eyebrows. "Really? You and me?"

"Why do you sound so surprised?" he asks, amused.

I glance at my black jeans, my fingerless arm warmers, and my black and red striped tank top, then at his black button-down shirt and his name brand jeans. "I think it's kind of obvious."

"We're not as different as you think," he assures me confidently. "You like poetry, right? So I was thinking that you and I could go to a poetry slam."

I sputter a laugh. "Sorry to burst your bubble, but there aren't poetry slams around here. In fact, the closest thing you'll probably find is banjo night down at Mamma's House of Cheese Fries."

He laughs and it momentarily erases the misery in his eyes. "You don't think I know that." He inches forward and the tips of his shoes clip the tips of mine. "There is, however, a Saturday night poetry slam in Jackson."

I casually step back, seeking room before an accidental touch happens. "What about Mackenzie?"

He matches my step, closing in on me, the heat of his body radiating all over me. "What about her?"

"Are you two like, dating or something? I've seen you a ton of times around town together." My elbow bumps the shelf and books topple over.

"We're just friends." He crosses his arms and casually leans against the bookshelf.

"Yeah, but you guys won't be, if you go out with me," I say and he fakes a befuddled look. "Oh, don't pretend like you haven't heard what people say about me: cult member, Satan worshiper, _murderer_."

"And haven't you heard that I like to spend time in the cemetery, digging up graves." He dips his head in toward me and his warm breath embraces my cheeks. "Say yes, Ember. _Please_." There's a begging to his tone that causes my heart to miss a beat.

The back of my mind screams that it's wrong, that something is off about the whole situation, but there's a pull toward him, like he's a magnet and I'm welded of metal.

"Okay," I say, startled by my answer. "It's a date, then."

He backs toward the door. "I'll pick you up tomorrow at eight." He flashes me a grin of perfection and then pushes out the door.

"I hate this," Raven complains later that day in the library. I made her stay with me at the library while I looked for a book about Grim Angels and then she could give me a ride home. I haven't told her yet about my date with Cameron, because I know she'll freak out and make a scene.

"I won't be too much longer," I say, searching through the index of a book. "You can survive a few minutes longer."

"Can't you just search the internet?"

"I already did."

"Fine. I'm walking next door to get a soda. When I get back, you better be done." Raven grabs her purse and a magazine and walks outside.

The book has nothing I'm looking for so I shut it and walk up to the counter. Ms. Kinsley, the middle-aged librarian with auburn hair and green eyes, looks up from her computer.

"Can I help you?" Her standoffish tone probably means she knows who I am.

"Do you have any books," I say, "that perhaps focus on the more uncommon creatures of mythology?"

She types something on the keyboard. "There might be some in the back, in the mythology section, but I don't know what they focus on."

"Thanks," I say and walk for the bookshelves. At the back, is the mythology section and I pull out the heaviest book I can find, and camp down on the floor with it. The index has nothing titled Grim Angels, however there is a section on "The Curse of the Angels."

_The curse of the Angels is a result of a battle that took place a long time ago. Most refer to it as the battle between good and evil, but during the era, people believed the only theme to be evil._

_The battle allegedly started from a dispute over souls. Angels of Death were the carriers of the innocent souls, and Grim Reapers the carriers of the evil souls. However, when the Reapers became greedy and began stealing the souls of the innocent, a battle broke out between the two. As a form of punishment, Michael, the ruler of the Angels of Death, and Abaddon, the ruler of the Grim Reapers, cursed the warriors to Earth and bound them there with a breed that carried both group's blood._

_Grim Angels—half Grim Reaper, half Angel of Death—have walked the earth for centuries undetected by humans. Only would they be free when the last Grim Angel made the choice between good and evil._

The next section switches to Legend of Faeries. I thrum my finger on top of the book, having no idea what to do with what I read. I start to put the book back on the shelf when wet droplets trickle down the back of my neck.

I wipe them away, looking behind me, and then at my hand. "Blood?" I glance up at the ceiling and blood splatters against my forehead. I quickly smear it away and jump to my feet. Hanging by a rope from the ceiling is the body of Farrah Taverson, her medieval dress soaked with blood and her eyes are bleeding.

"Oh my God," I breathe, backing away. _What do I do? What do I do?_ I rub my eyes, but she stays there, her feet swaying from the breeze of the vent next to her head.

I back away toward the edge of the shelf, when I crash into someone.

I whirl around, breathing loudly. "Shit."

"Ember, are you okay?" Cameron eyes me over and his gaze lands on my forehead. "Did you hurt yourself?"

I wipe my forehead with the sleeve of my shirt and there's blood on it. "Ummm..." I glance behind me at the ceiling and her body is gone, but the blood is real.

"I must have scratched myself on the edge of the shelf when I was pulling the book out," I lie.

He scans me over warily. "Are you sure you're okay? You look like you're going to be sick or something."

"I'm fine." I swallow hard and start to head back to the table.

He follows after me. "Are you planning on going to the cemetery tonight?"

"I don't think so... I really think I might need to get some rest."

"Alright, everyone," Ms. Kinsley stands up from her chair and shuts her computer off. "Everyone needs to get there stuff and exit the library. I need to lock up early to go to a town meeting."

As I gather my books and bag from the table, Cameron wipes some remaining blood from my hair with the sleeve of his shirt. "Such a shame." He grins slyly. "I've been dying to get you alone again, but I guess I can wait until tomorrow."

"About that," I start to cancel, not wanting to add more to my cracking plate. "I think I—"

"I'll pick you up at eight," he cuts me off, sensing a rejection. Backing away, he runs his fingers through the locks of his blonde hair. "I promise, I'll give you the time of your life in ways you can only dream about." The way he says it sends a chill over my skin.

"Oh my God." Raven comes running up to me, with her purse on her shoulder and the car key and a bottle of soda in her hand. "Did you hear?"

I shake my head, my eyes locked on Cameron as he shoves through the exit doors. "No, what?"

"Farrah Taverson's body was found next to the lake." Raven says as we walk out the door of the library and step onto the sidewalk. The street is eerily empty as if it's suddenly become a ghost town. "I guess she told a few friends she was going to go looking for Laden. Some boaters found her floating in the water, and she had stab wounds and there were feathers in the pockets of her dress. They think it's murder. And probably the same one who killed Laden and your—"

"Neither of their bodies has been found." My heart crushes into tiny bits and pieces that stab into my stomach. "So they might not be dead."

She gives me a look of pity. "Yeah, maybe."

I swallow the lump in my throat. "How do you know this?"

She leans in and whispers, "I overheard this guy talking to a cop about it when I was walking into the gas station,"

What if what Raven is saying is true? How did I see the body? Could my death omens be cranking up and now I can see them without touching someone? I'm not sure—I'm not sure about anything anymore.

"What's wrong, Em?" Raven asks, unlocking her car. "You look like you saw a ghost or something."

Or something. "I'm fine." I frown, opening the passenger door.

She frowns at me with doubt from over the top of the car. "Are you sure?"

I nod, ducking into the car. "Yeah, absolutely one hundred percent fine."

"Want to know something really creepy," Raven says, turning the keys in the ignition. "I got this really strange text from Farrah and now I'm wondering if it had something to do with this. Like maybe she was being stalked by the murderer and was starting to get scared."

"Why would she send you a text?" I take out my cell phone and check my messages. "I didn't know you guys were friends."

"We talk a lot in art class." She cranes her head and backs out of the parking spot.

I toss my cell phone into my bag. "What did the message say?"

She shoots me a haunting look. " _Fear the Reaper_."

"Oh my God! Oh my God!" Raven bounces up and down in the middle of my bedroom, holding my hand. Her bangle bracelets jingle and her eyes are as sparkly as her glitter eyeliner. "This is _so_ amazing. Why didn't you tell me in the car?"

"Because I knew you'd want to bounce up and down, which is a total road hazard." I wiggle my hand free and shake off her death. She's been really bad lately about touching me. "But don't you think it's a little weird that he asked me out? I mean, I really don't seem like his type."

She flops down on my bed and dramatically drapes her arm over her head. "Oh, Em, you are so naïve sometimes." She peeks out from underneath her arm. "Did you ever read that romance book I gave you? It has a lot of good tips about what goes where." She laughs.

"I know where everything goes." I feel like shit, but try to play it off, convincing myself that what happened with Farrah was just my death omen evolving. "But I still don't know if I should go..."

"Are you having second thoughts because of Asher?" She frowns. "Because I don't think you should date him."

I check my messages and then toss the phone on the dresser. "At the library, you said the opposite."

"No, I said you should call him and find out if he likes you. And obviously he doesn't, since he hasn't called back." Her lips twist to a smile as she peeks out from under her arm. "And now you have tall, blonde, and sexy wanting you."

"It's just a date." I write the word _solitude_ on my wall and then below it: _Do you know me at all? Are my words just air? Is my heart easy to spare?_ "I don't _have_ him."

She slants up on her elbows and scowls at my words. "Why did you just write that?"

I shrug and circle the words: _you, are, my,_ and _heart_. "Why do I write anything?"

She leaps off the bed, steals the marker from my hands, and traces over the letters until the words transform into a small sketch of an intricate Angel. Then she clicks the cap on and hands the marker to me. "There. That's much better."

We grow silent and she gathers her purse from the bed. "I'm going to take off. Call me tomorrow before you go on your big date and if he's as good in bed as he looks... And wear something sexy that shows off your curves." She eyes my clothes and slips out into the hallway.

I drop down on the bed and pick up the romance novel from my nightstand. Each and every page has me pulling faces, not at what they're doing, but at the cheesiness. It's a relief when my phone rings. I chuck the book aside and grab my phone off the dresser.

I yawn and stretch out my arms. "Hello."

"Hey, it's me," Asher says.

I pause. "Hey."

He hesitates. "Look, Ember, can we talk about something in person? There's something really important that I need to tell you."

"Umm... is this about the message Raven left you because that was all her."

"Kind of." His tone is cautious. "But there's also something I want to show you."

"Okay... What time are you going to be here?"

His somber tone doesn't alleviate the tension. "Can I pick you up in like fifteen minutes?"

I tell him yes and we say goodbye. I pull my black button up vest over my red and black top, and then slip on a pair of holey jeans, and boots. I wait for Asher on the living room couch, trying not to get too pumped up about seeing him. Ian's not at home and I haven't seen my mom since she told me I'd turn into a killer like my dad. But that happens when she drinks a lot. My dad wasn't a killer. He liked his bar fights, and did some questionable things, but he never sent anyone to their grave.

I turn on the TV, but the satellite's been disconnected. "Did she forget to pay the bill again?" I dial my mom's cell, but it sends me straight to voicemail. I hang up and search the cabinet drawers for the bill. There are stacks and stacks of papers, batteries, tacks, pens, but no bills.

Suddenly the lights flip off and the house suffocates in darkness, except for the faint cast of the outside light filtering through the curtains.

"Okay... did she forget to pay the power bill too?" I fumble through the drawer and pull out a flashlight. I shine the light around the room as I walk toward the front door. The floorboards creak under my feet and I can hear heavy breathing.

I'm not alone.

My boot catches on something solid, I fall flat on my face, and the flashlight flies out of my hand and rolls across the floor. My legs tangle with something and the silence of their body is more frightening than if I felt their death.

"Asher?" I squint through the dark down at my legs.

A dark figure slowly rises from the floor. The head is enormous, its arms long, and its body stretches to the ceiling. A cape flows to the ground and armors its face. Nope, not Asher.

"Ember," it breathes, reaching for me. "Don't be afraid. You know I'd never hurt you."

"You stay the hell away from me." I flip over onto my stomach, taking out the table as I scramble to my feet and sprint across the room for the flashlight. I scoop it up and spin around, sweeping the light across the room.

But he's gone.

I back for the door, sliding my phone out of my pocket. I dial Ian's number. "Come on, come on, come—"

The doorbell rings. Startled, I drop my phone on the floor and the back pops off. Cursing, I snatch up the pieces and quickly throw open the door.

Asher looks sexy as hell, and my legs nearly give out at the sight of him. His inky black hair hangs in his gorgeous slate eyes and the sleeves of his black shirt are pushed up, showing off his lean arms. My eyes stray down lower, to where his jeans ride low on his hips, and I picture myself trailing kisses down his abs and feel him through his jeans like he did with me in the art room.

Damn Raven and her dirty books. They're messing with my head.

He shields his eyes with his hands. "Do you blind every guy that shows up on your porch?" he jokes.

I click off the flashlight and toss it on the end table. "Sorry, the power went out."

I shut the door behind me as I step outside, then we walk silently to his car and get in. Through my living room window, the caped visitor watches me and I can't seem to take my eyes off him.

Asher turns the stereo down and rotates in his seat to face me. "Is something wrong?" He tracks the course of my gaze. "What are you looking at? Did you forget to turn something off?"

I tear my attention away from the house. Away from _him_. "No, everything's good. So what did you want to show me?"

He grins as he backs down the driveway. "It's a surprise."

I try to be happy, but I'm severely distracted by the return of an old friend, the Grim Reaper. The last time he showed up, he ruined my life.

# Chapter 10

I first met the mysterious cloaked creature when I went to live with my dad. I named him the Grim Reaper, but only because he looked like the Keeper of Death. When I was little, I thought he was my imaginary friend because no one could see him but me. After he vanished from my life, he reappeared once, right before my dad disappeared. He told me my dad was going to die within minutes and I panicked and called the cops, telling them Patrick Edwards was about to die. It was one of the biggest mistakes of my life and put me under high suspicion.

I watch the trees blur by, trying to convince myself that I didn't see the Grim Reaper, that he was just a figment of my imagination. The sky is masked with darkness and the fields and yards are shadows.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Asher drives down the main road toward the outskirts of town. "You seem a little distracted tonight."

"What?" I turn away from the window.

Sighing, he reaches over and takes my hand. "You're probably wondering where I've been for the last few days and why I ran off after that thing with that man who had the _X_ on his eye."

"You mean Garrick," I clarify. "And I wasn't wondering... you don't owe me an explanation Asher. I'm not your girlfriend or anything."

He entwines our fingers and tranquility swathes my over-active mind. Suddenly, my Grim Reaper and my Death problem are insignificant.

Asher asks, "Do you know Garrick?"

"Yeah, I met him at the party," I explain, trying not to shiver as he traces the folds of my fingers. "The one that I met you at."

"Did you meet him before or after I talked to you that night?"

"After. It was right before I left to chase down Raven... He told me someone was messing around with my car."

"And then your car's brakes went out." He cracks his knuckles on the steering wheel as he cogitates. "I wonder if..."

"If what?" I press. "Asher, do you know this guy? And did he mess with my brakes that night? Because he told me someone else was messing with my car, and I'm starting to wonder if it was him and maybe he was also the tailgater."

He slips his hand from mine and places it on the shifter and it feels like a glove slipped off my fingers. "Ember, have you ever heard of the Anamotti?" he asks and I shake my head. "Well, it's this term that got thrown around a lot in the neighborhood I lived in New York... It's kind of like this hush-hush secret society thing."

"What kind of a neighborhood did you live in?" I wonder.

He hesitates, holding my gaze. "The Upper East Side."

"So it's a secret society for rich people."

"Kind of."

"I'm confused," I confess. "What does this have to do with Garrick? Is he part of it?"

He fiddles anxiously with the air freshener on the rearview mirror, twisting it around. "Yeah, he was... He is part of it."

"So Garrick's from New York too?" I ask. "I don't mean to sound rude, but I'm not sure I believe that you, Cameron, and Garrick all moved here at the same time and from New York."

"Garrick didn't move here from New York," Asher discloses in a subdued voice. "I said the term got thrown around a lot in my neighborhood, but it doesn't mean every member from the Anamotti lives there."

"But then, how do you know Garrick is part of the Anamotti?" I wonder, peeling away at the black nail polish on my thumb, a bad habit of mine.

"That _X_ tattoo he has," Asher makes an _X_ motion over his eye with his finger, "is the symbol of the Anamotti."

"So what are they?" I recollect about what I read on the internet about _X_ symbols. "What is their secret society all about? And why do they have _X_ 's?"

He restlessly drums his fingers on the shifter, and then his chest rises as he exhales out a shaky breath and laces his fingers with mine again. "I'm afraid it might scare you, especially because Garrick is interested in you." He brings my hand to his mouth and grazes his soft lips across my knuckles.

"No, he seems interested in Raven." Unable to help myself, I caress his palm with my thumb. "I think he was with her that night when Laden disappeared."

"Maybe," he says sadly. "But I think he's using Raven to get to you."

"For what?" I begin to pull my hand away. "And how do you know all this... Are you part of this Anamotti?"

"I can't tell you that right now." His hand tightens on mine, his eyes pleading. "Trust me, I want to. Desperately. But not yet, okay? I need to... we need to spend some time together first. " Honesty blazes in his gaze like smoke combined with fire. "Please, just trust me, Ember."

It's a strange answer, but not accepting it would be like the pot calling the kettle black. "Okay, I can wait, I guess."

Letting go of my hand, he reaches for my face and runs his fingers through my hair, gently tugging at the roots and sending a shock of pleasure through my body. _Dear God Almighty._

"Thank you for trusting me," his voice perpetuates my body with heat as his fingers slide from my hair to my cheekbone.

We leave the sunnier part of town behind and enter the rougher side, leaving the old-fashioned shops and restaurants in exchange for old and dilapidated houses and warehouses. Rusted cars clutter yards and bars and smoke shops fill up the business sections. It's frightening how much this side of town feels like home.

My concentration centers on Asher. "So where's this mysterious place you're taking me?"

He returns his hand to mine and then downshifts. "That's kind of a surprise, but I thought we could get something to eat first. I mean, if that's okay with you?"

I crack the window and let in a cool breeze. "Yeah, that's fine with me."

"Are you sure there's nothing bothering you?" he asks. "You seem a little... sad. Or sadder than usual."

The wind gusts through my hair and I shut my eyes, breathing in the cool air. "I'm fine. I promise." I erase my sadness as much as possible, and open my eyes, summoning up a small smile. "I'm actually just really hungry."

"Good." He grins and turns the car into the crowded parking lot of Phil's Shenanigans and Fun. "Hmm..." Asher observes the sign. "I wonder what kind of fun it's referring to."

"No, you don't," I say. It's the bar where my dad hung out and I know way too well the fights that go on inside.

"You've been here?" Asher shuts off the engine and takes out the keys.

"Once or twice." I omit some of the truth. "And I think they card here."

"I heard they don't." He points a finger at the front door where a young couple are walking inside with their arms wrapped around each other. "And I think we go to school with them."

"Yeah, you're probably right." I sigh heavily. "I think they do let in minors."

My dad came here a lot and brought me with him. I'd sit in the corner booth, coloring, while he drank himself into a stupor, ranting about his philosophical ideas on life and death until he'd piss off someone enough that they'd take a swing at him. Then, Phil, the owner—who was like a second father to me—would load us up in his Chevy and drive us home.

"Do you know if the food's good here?" Asher opens the car door and steps out.

"Yeah, the food, the service—it's all great." _Except for the memories._

Before I can climb out of the car, Asher hurries and opens the door from me, then helps me out. The boy blows my mind with his gentleman skills and if I didn't know better, I'd guess he came from an earlier era. He holds my hand as we walk across the parking lot, smiling at me like I'm the best thing in the world. There's a row of motorcycles in front and a bench where people are smoking. The windows of the bar are shielded with flashing neon signs and flyers.

At the entrance, Asher releases my hand, but only to open the door. I fan the smoke from my face as the door swings closed and then Asher returns his hand to mine. The bar is packed, the music's loud, and there are no barstools available. Paper-mache spiders and witches hang from the ceiling and each table has a miniature pumpkin.

"Hi, y'all. My name is Amy and I'll be your waitress today." A perky girl in her early twenties appears in front of us. Her black skirt barely covers her legs and her white shirt is tight enough that it shows she's not wearing a bra "We only got booths tonight. Is that okay?"

"What do you think?" Asher asks, looking at me. "Is a booth good?"

"A booth's better," I answer.

"Okay." The waitress leads us through the smoke and people with a cheery skip in her walk. We settle in the corner booth, sitting across from each other, and she hands us our menus and sashays toward the bar. Phil's the bartender tonight. He's a large man with tattoos casing his arms and neck and his shaved head reflects in the low light and his goatee touches the bottom of his neck. He has a T-shirt on with the sleeves torn off, jeans, and biker boot and he's pouring a shot as the waitress says something to him. His eyes lift to me as I slump down in the booth, holding the menu in front of my face, ducking for cover.

"Please, don't come over here. Please, don't come over here," I chant under my breath.

Asher guides the menu away from my face. "Okay, what's up?"

I pretend to be very interested in the list of appetizers. "Nothing. I'm just reading the menu."

He eyes me suspiciously and aims his attention to a person standing next to our table.

"Holy biscuits and gravy, it is you."

I take a deep breath. "Hey, Phil." I plaster a fake smile on my face and look up at him.

He grins and opens his arms, waiting for a hug. Internally cringing, I get to my feet and wrap my arms around him. He smells like cigars and booze, both of which will be the cause of his death, something I've known for years.

I pull away and drop back down in the booth. "I thought you were going to quit smoking."

He tensely rubs his neck. "I did for a while, but old habits die hard. But look at you. All grown up. I haven't seen you since the night your..." he trails off. "Well, anyway. How are you doing? And how's your mama doing?"

"She's doing good." I pick at the peanut shells wedged in the cracks of the tabletop.

"Is she still working down at the diner?" he asks. "Or did she finally get away from that shithole."

"No, she's still doing the waitress thing," I say and his eyes drift to Asher. "Oh, this is Asher. Asher, this is Phil."

They nod and say their "how do you do's."

I grow fidgety and fiddle with the pumpkin, spinning it on the table. Being around Phil brings back the memories of the nights at the bar with my dad. When Phil would drive me and my dad home, he'd tell me things would get better—that eventually my dad would get his life together. It's not Phil's fault it never happened, but it reminds me of a time when I was naïve enough to believe it would.

He can tell I'm uncomfortable. "Alright, well if you need anything, let me know." I nod and he returns to his position behind the counter.

Asher turns the page of the menu. "I thought you said you'd been here once or twice."

I shrug, not ready to veer down that path. Awkward silence builds and we flip through the menus. By the time the waitress shows up to take our order, I wonder if Asher's going to tell her we're leaving.

She poises her pen above the order book. "What can I get y'all?"

Asher taps his fingers on his lips and I catch Amy licking her own as she eyes his mouth. "What exactly are Rocky Mountain oysters?" he asks her.

I restrain a laugh as Amy's face twists in confusion.

"Well... I think they're a kind of meat. I'm not sure what kind, but I like them." She presses the end of the pen against her chin.

I shake my head at Asher. "You don't want those. Trust me."

Amy shoots me an aggravated look. "They're not bad. I mean, the meat's a little tough, but they taste good." I feel bad for her. Kind of. She leans over the table and her boobs practically pop out of her top. "Look, sweetie, get whatever you want, okay?" she says to Asher.

Asher's gaze connects with mine. "I kind of like to know what I'm eating."

Grinning, I lean over the table, cup my hand around his ear, and whisper what Rocky Mountain oysters are.

His eyes bulge as I sit back in my booth. "Yeah, I'll have water, cheese fries, and a hamburger with extra mayo."

"I'll have the chicken sandwich and a coke." I shut my menu and Amy snatches it out of my hand. She takes Asher's menu more delicately and saunters off to the order window.

"Thank you," he says with a smile.

I rest my elbows on the table. "For what?"

"For not letting me eat that shit."

We laugh and then silence builds again. A woman in a bright red dress and cowgirl boots is belting out the lyrics to Faith Hill's "This Kiss" from the stage as she writhes her hips against the microphone stand. The whole scene is super cheesy, but I start to relax, like I'm finally home after being gone for three years.

"My dad and I used to come here," I finally say over the music.

He gives me his undivided attention, overlapping his fingers in front of him. "Really." He glances at the rough people, the smoky atmosphere, and the bar lined with bikers. "How old were you?"

"I was four the first time he brought me down here, and it kept up until I was sixteen—until he died, basically," I say. "My dad really liked his Jack Daniels."

"So did my dad... Well, actually it was Jim Bean." He pauses and his smile brings soft invisible kisses to my skin. "See, that wasn't so hard and we learned we have something in common."

"I'm not socially impaired," I retort, dusting some salt off the table. "I just like my space... for personal reasons."

"Except for when we're in the art room," he teases.

"Yeah, I blame it on the paint fumes," I retort, playfully. "They fucked with my head."

The corners of his lips tug upward as he crosses his arms on the table and leans in. "I know you like your personal space and I actually kind of like that about you. You're not always giggling and trying to run your fingers through my hair."

I wonder if he's talking about Raven. "Some guys like that."

"No, they don't." He flicks his tongue ring against his teeth and I bite down on my lip to repress a moan. "I want you to give me a shot. I want you to let me in and let me get to know you."

My chest squeezes with elation, but thankfully my voice holds a steady rhythm. "What do you want to know about me?"

He rolls the peppershaker between his hands. "How long have you known Raven?"

I shrug. "Since we were born."

"Does she always act so..." he trails off.

"Slutty?" I finish for him.

He laughs and it's the most amazing sound that's ever graced my ears. "I was going to say guy crazy, but I thought that'd make me sound like a jerk. She's a little intense, and that whole thing with Garrick. How did she even meet him?"

"At the same party I met him," I explain. "But I have no idea why she was with him that day at school."

He presses his lips together and studies the cracks in the table. "When Garrick had a hold of you at school... you looked like you were going to pass out."

"I just don't like being close to people like that." I tousle my hair with my fingers and stare at the karaoke stage area in the corner.

He slides his hand across the table and interlaces our fingers. "But you don't seem to mind when I touch you. In fact, I have this idea in my head—and please let me know if I'm overshooting it here—that you like me a little."

I shrug. "I guess you could say that... You make me feel calm and sometimes heated depending on what we're doing."

"Calm and heated, huh?" he muses. "And that's a good thing, right?"

"A very good thing." I smile and his eyes zero in on my lips.

"You have a beautiful smile," he says, wetting his lips with his tongue. "And beautiful lips. They taste really good too."

My heart knocks inside my chest. "You're really good."

"I'm being serious." He reaches over with his free hand and caresses my bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. "These lips are so fucking soft... I haven't been able to stop thinking about them since I kissed you."

I'm not sure if he's a player or just genuinely sweet. "Thanks, I guess."

He laughs, amused, and then pulls away as the waitress interrupts us with our food. "Here ya go, honey." She slides Asher's food in front of him, and then drops my plate in front of me and it clanks loudly against the table. "If you need anything, let me know."

"I think she might have a thing for you," I say, dipping a fry into the ranch.

Asher looks like he's about to laugh. "You think?"

"I do." I pick the onions off my chicken sandwich. "Why's that so funny?"

He pours ketchup on his burger. "Because you're probably right, but she doesn't stand a chance. She's not really my type." He glances at the disposed onions on my plate. "You don't like _onions_?"

"You said that like I just admitted I hate chocolate, and onions and chocolate are on two very different levels."

"Yeah, onions are much better."

"You can eat them if you want." I motion at my plate. "What's mine is yours."

He picks up the onion, tips his head back, and spirals it into his mouth. "I'm going to hold you to that a little bit later." His eyes darken with desire.

A tingling sensation coils inside, between my thighs, and I clear my throat before taking a bite of my chicken sandwich to distract myself. "So, you like the band From Autumn to Ashes?"

He glances down at his shirt. "Yeah, I got this shirt at one of their concerts. They're pretty good. Have you heard them play?"

"Not in person." I pop a fry into my mouth. "But I have a lot of their songs downloaded."

He bites into his hamburger and a droplet of ketchup stays on his lip. The urge to lean over and suck it off his lip surfaces again as he deliberately licks it off, watching me like he knows exactly what I'm thinking.

We stare at each other with sweltering heat in our eyes and desire pulsating in our bodies. It's something I don't quite understand, because I barely know him, yet I don't want the feeling to ever leave.

"So what is there to do around here?" Asher's voice sounds high and he clears his throat. "Besides hanging out at bars."

"You're asking the wrong person," I tell him. "Honestly, the only thing I do is follow Raven to her parties."

"Yeah, what's up with that?" He picks a flake of lettuce off his hamburger. "It doesn't seem like you're really the partying type. Or the following type?"

"I'm not, but—"

"But Raven is, and she's the boss," he finishes for me.

"She's not the boss... Okay, well maybe she is, but it's just her personality."

He chews slowly and I'm fascinated by the way his mouth moves. "I had this friend back in New York who was a little bit bossy, so finally one day I told him to shove it. You know what, we still stayed friends."

"I'm sure you didn't tell him to shove it," I remark. "You seem way too nice for that."

A smile plays at his lips as he reaches over and steals another onion off my plate. "Do I?"

I take a sip of my coke. "Are you trying to tell me that you're secretly mean?"

"I have a mean... side." He wavers. "I guess. But it doesn't come out a lot."

"I think everyone has sides of them that rarely come out." I stir the straw in my drink.

He nods. "So what's yours?"

_Crazy._ "I don't know..."

"You don't have to share it with me if you don't want to." He takes a sip of his water. "I won't make you do anything you don't want to."

It feels like there's a hidden meaning in his words. "So what made you want to be an artist?"

His jaw clamps tight. "My father was an artist and he passed along his gift to me."

"You sound upset about that. Did you fight a lot with your dad or something?"

"My dad wasn't around a lot, but I love painting—it helps me get out what I'm feeling."

"I know what you mean." I think of his Angel drawing and wonder what he was feeling when he painted it—I wonder if he knows stuff about Angels. "It's why I write poetry."

"I'd love to read some of your poetry," he says.

I stare down at my chicken sandwich and my hair falls around my face. "I usually don't let people read it. Well, except for Raven, but she's only read what I've written on my walls." And Cameron, but that was by accident.

"You write on your walls?" He sprinkles some salt on his fries and returns the shaker back to the tray at the side of the table. "Now that is something you'll have to let me see."

"Sure." I tuck my hair back behind my ear. "There's artwork on the walls, too—Raven's and my brother's."

He wipes his hand on a napkin. "Maybe you'll be nice enough to let me put something up on it."

"Like a painting of your sad Angel."

"Would you want that? A drawing of an Angel that would always be on your wall?"

"There's already one on there. Raven put it up when we were like eight." I take another bite of my chicken sandwich. "And my brother put the Grim Reaper on it for who knows what reasons, so I have the good version of death and the evil one." As I say it aloud, I think of the book I read; a battle between good and evil—between Angels of Death and Grim Reapers. I have the battle on my walls.

Asher's expression falls. "But which one's evil and which one's good?"

It's an obvious answer, but my lips decline to utter the words, and an image of my imaginary childhood friend pops into my head.

The waitress arrives with the bill. I try to pay for my half, but Asher won't allow it. While we're waiting for the waitress to bring the change, two men walk inside the bar that catch my attention. They stand out in their business attire and fancy haircuts. The taller of the two has blonde hair and dark eyes that look really familiar. The longer I stare at him the more I realize that he looks like an older version of Cameron.

Asher's eyes find them and his eyes darken. The man returns the look with equivalent revulsion.

"Do you know them?" I nod my head toward the two men.

Asher's eyes stay on them as he shakes his head. "No, I don't," he says through gritted teeth. He rips his gaze away and his expression is feral.

"Asher, what's wrong." I start to turn my head back to the men, but a man with long brown hair and a stocky body stumbles from a barstool, waving his finger at me.

"Ain't you that girl who killed her father?" he slurs, tripping over his shoelaces.

"I didn't kill him." I cringe uncomfortably, retreating back. "The cops just thought I did for a while."

His thigh bumps the table and knocks my coke over, spilling ice all over the table. "But didn't you run away after you called the cops and reported his murder? Yeah, yeah, and they took you to jail."

"That's not how it happened," I lie, scooping up the ice and dropping it in the cup.

The waitress returns with the change. "Gary, you aren't causing trouble, are you?"

He bobs his drunken head. "Nah, just chattin' with my good friends. This is that girl who killed her father."

"I didn't kill him!" I raise my voice louder than I meant to.

Now more people than Gary are staring at me. The waitress gives Asher a concerned pat on the shoulder, like she thinks I'm going to kill him.

"If you need anything else at all, just let me know." She tugs on Gary's arm. "Come on, Gary. Let's get you home."

But he won't budge. "You know I used to work at the same shop as your dad." He wipes the sweat from his forehead. "We were pretty good buddies."

"That's great." I put some money down on the table for a tip.

Asher slides the money back at me. "No way."

I push it back in the center of the table. "You paid for dinner and the least I can do is pay for the tip."

He struggles, his jaw set tight, and then gives in. "Fine, but next time, you're letting me pay for the whole thing."

"Is there going to be a next time?" I ask.

He smiles. "Absolutely."

I begin to stand up, but Gary blocks the end of my booth and Amy hurries back to the counter to get some assistance. "Can you please move so I can get up?" I ask as politely as I can.

His feet stay planted. "You know he used to talk about you when we'd go out drinking after work." He leans down in my face, his breath reeking of booze as he whispers in my ear. "He told me your little secret—how you could cause death."

"I don't know what you're talking about." I start to stand again, but he shoves me down by the chest and my elbow cracks against the table as the faint scent of his death pollutes my lungs: _electricity, chair, people watch, grateful he's dying_. It's vile and knocks the breath out of me.

The next thing I know Gary is on the floor clutching his jaw and Asher is standing over him.

"If you ever touch her again, I'll fucking kill you." He extends his hand to me and I gladly take it.

Calmness rushes through me as we swiftly weave around the tables, heading for the exit. A group of men push up from the barstools and follow us. Trouble lingers in the air, like a warning before a storm. Some of them are as weak looking as Gary, but some are large, beefy, and have scars all over their arms and faces, probably old wounds from bar fights.

People eating dinner at the tables watch us nervously—they smell what's coming. And so do I.

Asher and I speed up as we near the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" one of the larger men calls out.

Asher shoves at the door, but pauses, deliberating something intensely, and then he gradually turns around. "We are leaving. Do you have a problem with that?"

A bulky man, sporting leather pants and matching vest crosses his arms. "Yeah. You can't just knock out one of my friends and then walk away without paying the consequences." He waves his finger at me. "And that one... well, she's just a downright filthy murderer who gets to walk off easy."

"You didn't even know my dad," I say. "So shut the hell up."

"I'm not talking about your dad," he growls. "I'm talking about my nephew, Laden Miller."

"I had nothing to do with that." My legs tremble, but I refuse to cower back. "I barely knew him."

"So you say." His eyes blaze with loathing and it's so powerful, I want to run and hide. "But you did know your daddy and you probably killed him just like you killed my nephew. I bet you even had somethin' to do with that girl he was always hangin' out with. That Farrah girl. Yeah, I bet you killed her too."

Asher drops my hand and his muscles are tense as if he's trying to channel all his anger to stay in his body. He steps toward the man and spreads his arms open. "The next word that comes out of your mouth better be an apology."

The man cracks his knuckles and neck. "Or what?"

I eye the men, who are twice Asher's size, and then tug on Asher's sleeve, trying to lure him back. "Asher, I think we should go."

Laden's uncle laughs and the rest of the men join in. "Ooo, little murder girl said it's time to go. You better listen." Without warning, he draws his arm back and clocks Asher in the face with his fist.

Asher crumples to the ground, landing on his knees. "Well, that was a cheap shot," he mutters, grasping his cheek.

"Oh my God." I lean over Asher. "Are you okay?"

His grey eyes darken as he tilts his head up and starts to stand up. "Stand back," he warns, moving me back with his arm.

"Are you being serious?" I ask. "They'll kill you."

"Ember, please stand back," he says, not looking _at_ me, but at Laden's uncle. "I don't want you to get hurt."

I don't move. From the corner of the bar, I see the guy who looks like Cameron watching Asher with fascination as he sips out of a martini glass. Asher pops his knuckles and cracks his neck, then with one swing, he bends his arm and knocks Laden's uncle out.

"Holy shit," I breathe, staring down at the unconscious man, his legs and arms sprawled across the floor, and there is a little bit of drool pooling at his lips.

Then all hell breaks loose.

The rest of the men charge at him at full speed and Asher dodges to the side and nudges me out of the way with his elbow. A few men bump into tables, sending people springing from their chairs, and plates flying through the air. The whole bar scatters for safety, screaming, and dashing for the front door. The music switches to a heavy metal song and the small fight becomes a full-on brawl. I'm not surprised. I've seen it happen many times. Men take swings at each other and even a few buffer females get in on the action. Bottles are being smashed over heads and chairs are getting clobbered.

A tall, lanky man comes strutting up to me with a smirk on his face. "What's the matter, sweetheart? You scared?" He steps closer and exhales beer breath in my face. When his hand touches my waist, I knee him between the legs. Death flashes through me, but it is worth it.

He collapses to the floor, groaning and clutching his manly parts. "You fucking bitch."

"Do I look like someone who'd be frightened by a little bar fight?" Shaking my head, I step over him, searching for Asher. I spot Phil hurrying out of the back room with a baseball bat and his cell phone. "Shit." I duck through the flying bottles and fists. "Asher!" I trip over an unconscious man and glass slices my palms as I fall to the floor. Keeping my head low, I dash across the room, leaping over chairs and weaving around broken tables.

Asher is near the back door, exchanging punches with a bald guy with a snake tattoo coiling his upper arm. Asher's lip is split open and his cheekbone is swollen. He throws jab after jab and his movements are almost inhuman, swifter and stronger. I'm impressed and terrified at the same times.

A lofty guy with a thick neck sneaks up behind Asher, holding a broken beer bottle in his hand and I pick a glass cup off the floor and throw it at the guy's head. It slams him in the forehead, and he drops the beer bottle, and then falls to the floor like a bag of bricks.

Asher slams his opponent in the face and blood spurts from his mouth. He repeats the movement over and over again, until the guy passes out.

Asher breathes violently as he clutches his hands. "I'm sorry, Ember... I just."

I grab his hand and lead him toward the backdoor. "Phil's about to call the cops... I can't get caught in this mess. I'm already on probation."

I shove open the door and we breathe in fresh air as we burst outside. The door slams shut and the noise from the bar fight is suffocated. The back parking lot is secluded from the highway, the sky is black, and the lights from the neon signs flash across our faces, making us look ghostly.

Asher turns and faces me, panting heavily, his eyes untamed as his chest rises and falls. "I'm sorry, Ember. I didn't mean for things to get so out of hand."

My heart knocks inside my chest. I feel alive, high on adrenaline, like I could conquer the world. "It's okay. Trust me when I say I'm used to bar fights." I touch the tip of my finger to his bottom. "You cut your lip open." I wipe the blood away and I start to pull my hand back, but he covers it with his and presses it against his lips. He kisses my palm, his eyes penetrating me, making me feel exposed as he sucks on my skin and rolls his tongue along it. Our breaths quicken, in sync and matching each other's desire.

"Please fucking tell me that I kiss you right now?" he whispers with a silent plea in his eyes. "God, please... I need to..."

I nod my head once and his lips crash into mine, but his touch is gentle. My skin ignites as I wrap my hands around his waist and pull myself against him, aligning our bodies. My lips part and his tongue slides in deeply, so that he can caress the roof of my mouth with his tongue ring and I let out a faltering moan.

He slightly withdraws, looking me in the eyes, and then he growls, enfolds his fingers around my thighs, and picks me up. I enclose my legs around his waist as he continues to taste every inch of my mouth and backs us against the wall, beneath the shadows and florescent lights. There's no space remaining between our bodies and I can feel his hardness pressed up against me. I'm spinning, sweating, panting as he kisses me and brings a feeling of ecstasy from my head to my toes. His hands are tangled in my hair, then trail down my neck, finally settling on my hips. Then he slips a hand up the back of my shirt and the contact sends a jolt of electricity down my spine as he holds onto me like I'm his lifeline, as if letting me go will kill him.

"I want to kiss you forever." He groans against my lips and steals my breath away.

It's like we've unleashed a hungry animal in each of us. I crave more of him. _Now_. I've been waiting too long to be able to get this close to someone and I need to be closer right this second.

"Asher," I whisper against his lip. "Touch me, please."

He doesn't argue, his hand moving from my back to my stomach and I tighten my legs to keep from falling down. He presses me against the brick wall while his lips move against mine and his hand slides up to my bra. Slipping his hand underneath it, he traces his thumb across my nipple, which instantly hardens

I mutter his name, my eyes shutting as my head falls back.

He gently pinches my nipple as his other hand travels down my back to my ass and my legs tighten even more as a shockwave of heat coils deep inside my body. I cry out as his hand leaves my breast and heads to my stomach, then he dips it down below the waistband of my jeans. My legs fall from his waist and hit the ground. But we don't break the connection of our lips and body, his hand continues down and seconds later he slips a finger inside me.

"Fuck..." he groans as he begins to move his finger. His lips move from mine and travel downward. My neck curves to the side as he kisses my collarbone. I can't believe this is happening... this feeling is so much better than even the silence of death.

"Asher..." I begin to pant as he jerks the bottom of my shirt up, along with my bra, and starts sucking on my breast, finally pushing me over the edge.

I clutch onto his shoulders, crying out his name, and one of his arms slips around my back to keep me from collapsing to the ground. I'm panting, stunned as I come back down, my skin damp and my chest heaving.

Asher slips his finger out from me, but keeps his face near my breast. I can feel his breath hitting my skin as he breathes ravenously. He doesn't say anything and I'm about to ask him what's wrong, but the sound of the sirens makes us both jump. His eyes are as black as coals and his lips are swollen as he pulls back.

"We should get out of here," he growls, looking like he might kiss me again.

I nod and tug my shirt and bra back over my chest. Holding hands, we hurry around the side of the building and quickly hop into his car. Red and blue lights flash through the dark parking lot and cops hop out of squad cars, shouting at the swarm of people barreling from the front door.

From the corner of my eye, I watch Asher and he meets my eyes. My desire mirrors his expression.

"Now where are we going?" I ask, buckling my seat belt.

He runs his tongue ring across his swollen lips. "You'll just have to wait and see."

I lean back in the seat and watch the trees blur by, feeling alive and carefree for the first time in my life. I wish I had a pen so I could write about this moment and preserve it forever. Then I could remember what it felt like when death consumes me again.

# Chapter 11

We drive along the highway, making small chitchat about the fight as "Forever" by Papa Roach plays softly in the background. Asher doesn't ask questions about what was said in the bar and when he looks at me, it feels like he's really looking past the girl who was brought in to the police station for the suspicion of her dad's disappearance.

Eventually, he veers off the main road and parks the car in a gravel turnout that overlooks the lake. He shuts off the engines and dabs the cut on his lip with the collar of his shirt, giving me a view of his perfectly sculpted ab muscles.

"You know, this whole night really didn't turn out how I was planning it," he says, licking the last of the blood of his lip. "However, I don't think I would trade it for anything."

The lake shimmers and the moon reflects against the surface, the water rippling against the breeze. The mountains are black and the trees are dark silhouettes in distance.

"How were you planning it to go?" I ask, wondering if he ever meant to kiss me and feel me from the inside.

He puts the parking brake on. "A little less bar fighting and a lot more making out in the back of the bar."

I look at him to see if he's being serious and he stares at me with hunger in his eyes. "How did you learn to fight like that?" I ask, unclicking my seatbeltbefore leaning over and placing a finger to his injured lip. "You were kind of amazing."

His jaw tenses. "My dad taught me."

"Yeah, mine too," I say, lowering my hand away from his mouth.

He relaxes a little, his shoulders unstiffening. "Yeah, I saw you knee that guy... You didn't so much as hesitate."

"Hesitation shows weakness," I say robotically. "At least, that's what my dad used to say. He was a do-or-die kind of guy." I pause, scratching nervously at my neck. "I didn't kill him."

"I know." His voice is steady, his gaze fierce.

I lower my hand to my lap. "So you don't believe the rumors?"

He shakes his head and a wisp of his hair falls into his eyes. He leans over and sketches along my lower lip, before reaching for the glove compartment in front of me. "Come on, there's something I want to show you." He grabs a flashlight and then hops out of the car.

I climb out and meet him at the front of the car. We hike down a dirt path, holding hands, and he lights the way with the flashlight. An owl hoots from in a tree and the crickets sing a melody that haunts the night. It's strange but peaceful knowing we're the only two out here and that we're sharing a private moment no one else can ever touch.

Asher unexpectedly makes a sharp turn off the path and ducks into the trees. The leaves and twigs crunch under our shoes as we hike deeper into the woods.

"Where are we going?" I whisper, forcing my eyes to adjust to the night as branches claw at my skin.

He shoves a branch aside and lets me walk through first. "There's something out here I want to show you."

"What? A roll of tape and a shovel," I say sarcastically.

He spots the flashlight on my face. "Am I scaring you?"

Shielding my eyes with my hand, I shake my head. "I think it would take a hell of a lot more than a creepy walk in the forest with a really hot guy to scare me."

"You think I'm hot, huh?" It's nearly pitch black, but I hear the smile in his voice.

I roll my eyes, playing off my slipup. "So what's really—"

He silences me with his lips by crushing into mine and our bodies weld together and steam up the woods as he presses himself against me. His fingers find my waist and he grips at my skin like he can't get enough of me. I kiss him back, gripping onto his arms for support, wondering if it's possible to stay like this forever, in the darkness of the woods, away from the world and death.

He pulls back, breathing ravenously. "You're beautiful, you know that?" He rubs his lips together. "Especially when you're embarrassed."

"I don't get embarrassed," I assure him, rolling my shoulders back. "Only uncomfortable."

We finish the rest of the walk holding hands and taking in the serenity of each other's company until we finally emerge from the trees onto a flat spot of land. Asher sweeps the light across the area, highlighting a stone statue of an Angel with feather-carved wings aimed at the sky and its head and back is curled inward toward the earth. Surrounding it are petite wooden crosses covered with vines of rose bushes.

"How did you know this was here?" I make a path through the tiny cemetery, feeling as though I'm stepping on forbidden territory. "And does anyone else know it's back here?"

"My father took me here when I was younger." He watches me with the flashlight in his hand. "And I don't think anyone else knows it exists."

"How'd your father know about it?" I stare up at the Angel statue.

"His father showed it to him." He spotlights an engraving on the foot of the statue.

Bending down, I read it aloud, " _To guard the Earth from the wrath of death, we must use vigilance. For those we seek to guard could destroy us and themselves_."

"Do you know what it means?" I run my fingers along the elaborate lettering. "It feels like I've heard it before."

He walks up behind me, crouches down, and puts his mouth beside my ear. "Some people believe that Angels are the guardians of humans' deaths. However, most humans have a general fear of anything involving death. They have the potential to destroy themselves and their protectors. A long time ago, people used to slay anyone they suspected were Angels of Death."

"Did they have black-winged feathers," I half joke, but am half serious, thinking of all the feathers I've come across during my life.

"Are you speaking of Laden's crime scene?" Asher asks gravely as I angle my face back, resting it against his chest. "Or of something else?"

"You know about the feathers on Laden's crime scene?"

"Everyone knows about the crime scene."

"Do you know it was almost exactly like my dad's crime scene?"

He places a hand on my hip and gives it a gentle squeeze. "Yeah, I heard that."

Silence capes us as my memories drift back to the night my dad disappeared; the panic that led to my stupid decision to run away and who ran away with me.

"Do you know that some people believe that Angels exist?" he asks. "And that they walk in disguise, looking for the Grim Angel who will save them?"

"That's not too hard to believe, I guess. I mean, there are a ton of strange things in this world." _Like me._ "But what's the wrath of death?"

His fingers travel up my forearm, scorching hot against my skin, and my stomach quivers with the desire to be closer to him. "The Grim Reaper," he whispers and I'm slapped back to reality.

I jolt away, standing up, and accidentally step on a cross. I quickly pick it up and stab it back into the moist dirt.

"What's wrong?" Asher asks, standing up too. "Did I say something that makes you uneasy? Because if I did, you can tell me."

_It's like he knows._ Tipping my chin back, I gaze up at the statue and then at the crosses in the ground around it. "No... it's just getting late. I should probably get home."

He nods, not pushing me to divulge. "Yeah, we can go back."

As we backtrack through the trees, I think about the Grim Reaper. In my head, I picture walking inside my house and he's waiting for me on the couch with a cup of tea, like we're old friends. But I'm too old to be seeing imaginary people, let alone drinking tea with them.

"Do you think that... do I come off as a little crazy?" I abruptly ask when we approach the edge of the turnout where the car is parked.

He stops in his tracks, and slipping his arm around my back, he pulls me close to him so that I can see the honesty in his eyes. "I think there are a lot of people that are considered insane, but they just see and go through more than the average person can understand." He kisses me on the forehead and I bask in the warmth and silence of his lips.

I nod and we move away from each other and climb in the car. He starts up the engine and places the flashlight back in the glove box.

I watch him with a guarded expression as I ask, "Asher, why did you bring me here?"

He places an arm on the back of my headrest. "Because I wanted to show you that people tend to fear the different, even when the different is good."

"Like Angels?"

"Yeah, like Angels, and like people who are out of the ordinary." His fingers brush the back of my neck.

"But what does this have to do with Garrick and the Anamotti?" I ask. "Or can you not tell me that yet?"

"Do you want me to tell you now?" He waits patiently for my answer, tracing circles on my shoulder.

I hesitate briefly, nervous what the answer could be. "Umm... yeah?"

"The word 'Anamotti' means death. And they believe that Angels exist," he says in a controlled tone. "And they want to destroy them."

_Angels?_ "Are you part of this group?" I tread with caution.

He shakes his head. "I'm not, but I know people who are."

I take in the dark alteration of the night. "What does that have to do with me?"

Hooking his finger underneath my chin, he tips my chin up and claims my gaze, looking past my eyes and into my soul. "I can tell you, but I want you to make sure you're ready for that answer, because it's... it might be hard for you to take in, especially when you've got so much stress in your life already. I want you to really make sure, whether you believe me or not, that you can handle whatever it is I tell you."

"How do you know about my _stress_?" I ask, unable to look away from his binding gaze.

"Because of the sadness you always carry." He sweeps the tip of his fingers along the corner of my eye. "It's in here, all the time. So please, if you're not ready, it can wait."

It's frightening how much he _sees_ me.

He gives me a moment to contemplate and my mind reflects back to Garrick and his multiple death omens. To Raven. And Ian. My alcoholic, manic-depressant mother. My dad's disappearance. _Angels and secret societies?_ There is so much going on in my life and for once I have an escape—Asher. Tonight has been one of the best nights of my life and I want to hold onto the feeling of bliss for as long as I can. Whatever he's about to say will change it. Perhaps even destroy it—I can sense it through the tone in his voice, the way he moves, and the way his eyes watch me.

"Can you take me home?" I fear having to deal with what's before me and worry that I'll crack and end up going insane. "It's getting late."

He nods with understanding in his eyes and then pulls his hand away, placing it on the steering wheel. "Whatever you want, Ember. And I mean that. Whatever you want, I'll give it to you."

I wonder if he really means it.

All the interior lights in my house are off when we pull up. Either the power is still out, my mom and Ian are in bed, or no one's home.

"Is anyone here?" Asher asks, staring at the house. "It doesn't look like anyone is."

"Well, it is," I glance at my watch and my eyes spring wide. "One in the morning. Shit, how'd it get to be that late?"

"Time flies when you're having fun," he teases with a soft laugh and an inside-melting grin.

The darker side of tonight has dissolved from my body and the ride home was filled with light conversation about music, school, art, and writing. I refuse to think about Angels, the Grim Reaper, and the Anamotti for the moment. I want to just be free from death and everything that is related to it.

"Tonight was fun, though." I jerk on the handle and push the car door open. "And I needed some fun."

He captures the hem of my shirt and his knuckles brush the side of my stomach as he draws me back into the car. "Then, why does it have to end?"

_Is he asking what I think he is?_ My eyes travel to Raven's second-floor bedroom window. The light is on and I can almost hear her voice: _Do it, do it, do it!_

"You want to come in?" I involuntarily glance at his lustrous lips and then lick my own.

He nods, his compelling gaze withering my to a thousand incoherent pieces. "At least until someone comes home; you shouldn't be here alone."

"I am nineteen," I say. "I should be living alone."

"You shouldn't ever be anything other than what you are," he replies softly.

I glance back at my house. "Let me just run in and check to make sure the power is on first." Actually, I want to check that none of my family is around.

He smiles and releases my shirt, and I climb out of the car. I run inside and flick on the light. "Well, the power's back on." I check in the living room, half expecting to find the Grim Reaper waiting for me, but it's empty and the house is as silent as the cemetery.

I step back outside and wave for Asher to come in. He climbs out of the car and strolls up the sidewalk, taking slow even strides with his long legs. He watches me with every step and I realize how happy I am that he's staying with me. If he wasn't, then I'd probably wake up in a few hours, haunted by thoughts of death and reapers. I'd grab my notebook and go to the cemetery, where I'd jot notes about loneliness and pain. Asher has the ability to distract me from death, though, and the silence he puts inside my head allows my body to feel everything that death masks; the high of being touched, kissed, comfortably close to someone.

I shut the door behind him and he scales up my house, turning in a circle in the foyer. There are photos of me as a baby hanging on the wall. Some I'm with Raven, some I'm with Ian. There are even a few I'm with my mom and dad, back when life was all rainbows and sunshine, or at least when I believed it was. But life was just waiting for me to pass it.

"You look like your dad." He squints at a photo of me as a two-year-old sitting on my dad's lap. My mom is leaning over his shoulder whispering something in his ear. Ian is in the back, swinging plastic nunchucks at an inflatable Santa Claus. There is a Christmas tree in the background, flashing with red twinkling lights. The picture's candid, and we look happy. I want the moment back.

I head for the stairs and Asher follows behind me. I'm aware of everything as we ascend the staircase; the movement of his body, the slightest elevation in temperature, the rhythm of his heart.

When I reach my room, I open the door and he immediately glances at the drawings on the wall, the poems, and the pictures of the dead poets. He gives a lengthy gaze at the Reaper and then at the Angel on the wall across from it, before he focuses on a picture of Edgar Allan Poe tacked to the closet doorframe.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you have a crush on him," he says with a drop of amusement in his voice. "But then again, I really don't know you." He faces me and cocks his pierced eyebrow. "So is this my competition?"

"I'm not in love with him," I reply, picking up the raven feather off my dresser. _Weird. I thought I put this away._ "I'm in love with his work."

"I remember from the party... You practically fell into my arms when I quoted the only line I know of his poetry." He teases me with a smug smile.

I narrow my eyes and try not to smile. "So you were playing me? Is that why you took off and left me on the dance floor."

He looks remorseful. "I'm sorry about that... I just... there was somewhere I had to be."

"It's okay," I say. "I'd had enough of dancing anyway."

He gives me a small smile, then snatches the feather from my hands, and spins it in-between his fingers. "Is this a raven's feather?"

"Yeah, why?"

He shakes his head and hands the feather back to me. "Where'd you get it?"

"From the ceme—the park." I set the feather on my dresser, wondering what an Angel feather would look like. "They're a pretty common bird."

The seriousness in his face fades into mischievousness and he grabs my hip. "I was just wondering how hard you went looking for it—how deep your obsession is with Edgar Allan Poe."

"Ha, ha," I say sarcastically, giving him a playful shove, but he traps my hand against his chest. He swallows hard as we both freeze and then his gaze lands on my mouth "Am I allowed to kiss you?"

"You can do whatever you want," I say in an unsteady voice.

"Can I?" Pulling on my arm, he steers me to him and our lips and bodies collide and liquefy with lust as soon as we connect.

The kiss heats quickly and we're practically all over each other, falling onto my bed, our bodies entangled. My heart races inside my chest, pounding my blood through my body as I massage his tongue with mine. His hands slide to my hips and he flips us over, so he's on top of me, one arm on each side of my head, holding his weight up. His tongue ring inspects every single inch inside my mouth, running along the roof, the inside of my lip. My legs wrap around his waist and he lets out a low growl as I writhe my hips against him.

"Fuck..." He moves his body with mine as he traces kisses down my neck, rolling his tongue out along my skin. When he approaches the hollow of my neck, my breath hitches and I slant my head back.

"Your heart is racing," he whispers against my skin.

I nod with my eyes shut, unable to speak through the combusting warmth spinning throughout my body.

He presses a kiss to hollow of my neck and then pauses. "Maybe we should... Maybe we should slow down."

My eyes open and I tip my head down to look at his expression. "Are you being serious?"

He looks up at me through hooded eyes. "It's just that... Things have been moving really fast." He rolls over to his side, his forehead furrowing, like he doesn't understand why.

I don't understand why he's suddenly saying no. "Okay." Flustered, I climb off the bed, ignoring the thunder of my heart as I grab some pajamas out of the dresser and duck into the closet.

"You know that curtain is pretty thin... it's almost like getting a peep show," he says, humor hinting his tone and then my iPod flips on and the sound of "Hands Down," by Dashboard Confessional drums through the room.

I'm so confused. Why did he stop? Does he not want me? It sure as hell felt like he wanted me. I quickly slip on a tank top and a short pair of boxer shorts. I unclasp my studded bracelets and drop them in the corner of the closet floor, right by the insane drawing of _X_ 's. I barely remember drawing it, like how I barely remember being rescued from drowning. _Feathers all over his crime scene_. I shut my eyes and try to summon more details. Dark water. My necklace floating away. The black mass—the Grim Reaper.

I open my eyes. Am I losing my mind just like my dad? Or is everything real, just confusing?

I return to the room in a miserable mood, shoving through the curtain. Asher is lying on my bed reading a book with his boots kicked off and his jacket thrown on the floor.

"Wait a minute... is that..." I reach for the book in his hands, but he rolls to his side, laughing as he reads a line from Raven's romance novel. "'And then he takes his hand and slides it up my thigh, pressing it deep inside my wet—"

I hop on him and snatch the book away from my hand. "This is not mine. It's Raven's." I chuck the book across the room and it lands in the garbage.

He laughs and situates his hands on my hips as I straddle him. "So you don't want me to slide my hand up your thigh and put it in your wet..." he trails off at the sight of my face. "What's wrong?"

I shake my head. "Nothing." I start to climb off him, but his fingers delve into my waist, holding me in place.

"Something is," he says. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be frowning like that."

"It's nothing. I promise... I just... Why did you stop?"

"Stop what?" He looks perplexed.

"Touching me... kissing me..."

His throat muscles move up and down as he swallows hard. "Because I don't want to do anything without your permission."

I have no idea what's going on and why he's so worried about politeness. "But I want you to." I want the silence. I want him. So bad. I run my fingers through his hair. "I already said you could do whatever you want."

A breath eases from his lips. "Are you sure about that... I need you to be sure."

My mind screams at me to proceed with caution, but my lips have other ideas. "Yes."

Seconds later, his lips collide with mine, almost violently and a gasp falters from my mouth as his fingers slide up the inside of my leg and enter me without any warning. He starts moving them as his other hand grabs the back of my shirt and he leans away jerking it over my head and discards it onto the floor. He instantly reaches around my back and unhooks my bra. I can barely catch my breath as my breasts are exposed to the cool air and his relentless gaze.

He takes me in as his fingers drive me to the edge and I have to close my eyes. His mouth comes down on my nipple and he sucks it hard as his fingers spread over my waist. When his mouth leaves my breast, my lips part in protest, but snap shut as he licks a path with his tongue ring up my neck to my mouth and then he bites my bottom lip. With his fingertips stabbing into my hips, he flips us over, so I'm on my back and then his fingers are leaving me as he leans away.

I prop up on my elbows as his head moves downward, his body hovering over me. I watch him as he guides my shorts down to my knees, along with my panties, nervous, yet needy, waiting for whatever comes next.

As I lie naked before him, he grabs my ankle, forcing my knee to bend, and then with his eyes on me, he kisses a path up my inner leg all the way to the top of my thigh. Putting a hand on the inside of each thigh, he spreads my legs open and I clutch onto the blanket at the first flick of his tongue ring.

"Holy shit..." I swear I'm melting on the inside, burning up. I can't breathe. I let go of the blanket and thread my fingers through his hair as my back curves up against the feel of his tongue, and seconds later, I cry out his name.

My skin is damp as he moves his mouth away and kneels up between my legs, watching me come back down. I blink my eyes, stunned at what just happened. All my life I thought it'd be impossible to get this close to someone—be with someone—and now here I am. And it's _way_ better than I ever imagined. With a lazy grin on his face, he grabs my arms and pulls me up. He slips my shirt on over my head and then I put my shorts on. Neither one of us says a word, but it's a comfortable silence.

We situate on the bed and I rest my head on his chest with one arm draped around him.

He smoothes my hair back from my forehead. "Are you okay... you don't regret it, do you?"

I shake my head, a smile touching at my lips. "No."

"Good," he says and I hear the smile through his voice. "You should get some sleep." He plays with my hair, combing his fingers through it. "I'll stay with you until you do."

"You don't have to worry about me." I yawn. "I'm fine by myself." I press my cheek against his chest and his heart skips against it. "Asher, why did you take off the other day? After you got Garrick away from me?"

"That's another question you may really want to think about and make sure you want me to answer."

I deliberate his response, my skin still tingling from where he touched me. "I want to know."

He lets out an uneven exhale. "Because if I didn't leave I would have chased Garrick down and killed him."

Perhaps I should have got up and ran, but the silence of his body is my sanctuary. "Why would you have killed him?"

"For a few reasons," he whispers and kisses the top of my head. "One being that he tried to hurt you." He pauses. "Does that scare you?"

"Do you think it scares me?"

"No."

"Then you're right."

Stillness takes over, along with the sound of the lyrics flowing through the speakers. Moments later, I drift off to one of the most peaceful nights of my existence.

# Chapter 12

I open my eyes to the warmth of Asher's arms wrapped around me. A rare smile graces my lips, and I'm glad he fell asleep and never left like he said.

The scent of freshly fallen rain and a bird's melody flows through my open bedroom window as I sit up. I spot a raven suspended on a tree branch with its black eyes fastened on me. I stick my arm out the window, trying to coax it closer.

"Hello, little minion of death," I whisper with my eyes narrowed. "Why won't you leave me alone? Are you trying to tell me something about my death? Because I'm sorry to break it to you, but I already died and now it looks like there is no death in my future."

That's when I notice Cameron's Jeep parked in front of my house, two of the wheels up on the curb.

I glance down at Asher fast asleep in my bed and then back at the Jeep, suddenly remembering that I'm supposed to be going on a date with Cameron. I carefully slip out from under Asher's arm and sneak into the hall, closing the door behind me, and then I tread to the top of the stairway.

Cameron and Ian are chatting in the foyer. Ian is telling him about this slammin' new art exhibit tonight in Jackson with excitement in his voice.

Cameron's ash black eyes instantly find me and a smile curves at his lips. "Good morning, princess."

_Princess?_ I smooth my hair down and trot down the stairs. "What are you doing here?"

Cameron is dressed in dark jeans, a grey Henley, and black boots, and he has an array of leather bands on his wrist. But with his blonde hair and tan skin, he looks more vintage than gothic. "I came to see you."

Ian's head is covered with a beanie and his eyebrows and his jeans are smudged with charcoal. He looks uncomfortable, standing next to Cameron, who's about six inches taller than him. "Well, I'll let you two chat or whatever." He raises his eyebrows at me and wariness flashes in his eyes. He doesn't like Cameron and I find it odd because Ian usually is "all about the love."

"If you need anything, just holler," Ian says and heads upstairs. Seconds later the door to his studio slams shut.

"I thought we weren't going out until later," I say quickly and comb my fingers through my tangled hair and then cross my arms over my chest because I don't have a bra on. "And I was actually going to call you... Something came up and I don't think I'm going to be able to make it to the poetry slam tonight."

"Are you blowing me off?" His tone is clipped and his jaw is taut.

"No." I'm thrown off by his sullen attitude. "I just had something come up... My mom needs my help with something."

"That's funny, because your brother just told me your mom's out of town." He sounds irritated.

"Did he..." I rack my brain for another excuse.

"Does this have anything to do with the owner of the GTO in your driveway?" he asks bluntly, moving closer to me and I can see just how dark his eyes are, like black ink.

"Um..." I don't know what to say.

Thankfully, the front door swings open and Raven pops her head in. Her pink hair is fluffed up in the front and pulled up into a ponytail. Bright pink eyeliner frames her eyes and she's wearing a black dress trimmed with crimson leather.

"Hey, chica," she chirps. "Thanks for letting Asher and I meet at your house. It totally sucks that my brother doesn't approve of him." She gives me a secret wink, then grabs my hand and says to Cameron, "Can you hold on, hun? I gotta borrow her for just a second."

Cameron motions at the stairway and smiles. "By all means, go ahead. I can wait."

"Thank you, gorgeous." Raven drags me up the stairs and stops once we're in the hall out of Cameron's sight, then she slaps my arm. "You slut. Please tell me he's still naked in your bed."

"What are you talking about?" I play dumb.

She rolls her eyes. "The hot sexy guy who had his car parked in your driveway all night."

"I didn't sleep with him." I lower my voice. "Well, not in the way you're thinking. We just fell asleep in my bed."

She eyes me like a cop trying to break down a criminal. "So nothing happened at all?"

"We kissed," I say. "And did a few... other things."

A grin rises on her face. "Dear God, please share the details."

I shake my head. Even though she tells me everything, I don't feel like sharing stuff with her, at least about Asher. It feels too private and sharing it with her seems wrong almost, because it would almost ruin the perfection.

Her mouth sinks to a frown. "Okay, well here's what we're going to do. I'm going to get Asher to agree to come with me and then Cameron won't ever have to know about this."

"I don't think I want to go out with Cameron," I protest. "I really like Asher."

"So," she says, shaking her head. "It's not like you're dating. You've been out with him once."

"And he saved me from drowning in the lake." I let it slip it out.

She swats my arm again and I flinch from the spark of her death. "Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

I rub my arm and shrug. "You were talking about how much you wanted him and I don't know..."

"You just kept your mouth shut, like you always do." She takes me by the shoulders and looks me straight in the eyes, as if her next words are the most important thing I will ever hear. "Look, Em, I love you so much and that's why I'm going to do you this favor. You're going to go out on a date with Cameron." I open my mouth to argue, but she shushes me. "You owe it to yourself not to get serious with anyone yet. Serious relationships mean things I don't think you're ready for."

I eye her warily. "We did some pretty serious stuff last night."

"Oh, I'm sure," she says like I'm an amatuer.

The door of my bedroom unexpectedly opens up and Asher walks out, slipping on his jacket. He's got bed-head, but it's ridiculously sexy. "So that went a little differently than I planned. I don't even remember falling asleep." He shoves up the sleeves of his jacket, ignoring Raven. "I want to take you somewhere today, if that's okay?"

I open my mouth to say yes, but Raven interposes, positioning herself between us. "Em's already got plans."

I glare at her. "I'm going to cancel."

Asher looks at Raven as he buttons up his jacket. "With you?"

She aims a conniving look at him. "No, with Cameron. You know, the other new guy who just moved here... I'm sure you do since _everyone_ in this town knows _everything_ about each other."

Asher narrows his eyes at her. "Yeah, I know who he is."

"Good, then I don't have to stand here and explain it to you." She links arms with him and Asher gapes at me. "You can hang out with me today."

She leads him toward the stairs and I'm surprised by how little of a fight Asher puts up.

"Wait a minute," I hiss, hurrying after them, but they ignore me, heading down the stairs.

When Asher and Cameron see each other, the air suffocates and stills.

"Well, you two have fun," Raven singsongs, tugging Asher down the last of the stairs and toward the door.

I'm getting irritated as I trot down the steps. "Raven, would you wait a minute." I stop beside them. "Asher, can we talk for a second?" I really don't want to go with Cameron, at least, not more than I want to spend the day with Asher.

But Asher won't meet my eyes and he seems eager to leave. "I'll see you later, Ember," he says, like we're acquaintances.

I open my mouth to beg him to stay, but they walk out the door, and Asher takes my tranquility and silence from death with him. I'm dumbstruck. What the hell just happened and why was he so okay with leaving? Thoughts of the two of them making out infest my brain like annoying little bugs.

"I thought we could spend the day at the lake," Cameron's voice intervenes my thoughts and I tear my gaze from the door. There's something off about his demeanor today; the misery and internal torture he so often carries has evaporated into self-assurance.

"Yeah... I just need to change first." I retreat toward the stairs, wishing I'd never agreed to the date in the first place. Cameron can't touch me without driving me insane, so what's the point of doe-eyed looks and flirty conversation? That's not what I want at all. What I want is Asher.

I hurry up to my room and throw on a pair of black shorts and knee-high lace-up boots that have a maroon ribbon lacing up the center. I clip on my bracelets, grab my leather jacket and meet Cameron downstairs.

He's looking at the same baby photo as Asher did last night. "You look happy in this one," he observes.

"I was two," I say, flipping my hair out of the collar of my jacket. "A cardboard box could make me smile."

"Yeah, you're probably right." He turns away from the photo and opens the front door, his gaze slowly taking in my legs and chest. "After you, beautiful."

I walk outside and frown at the empty driveway. Raven's car is still parked in her driveway next door. I wonder if they really left together. This bothers me. A lot. Maybe more than anything in my life.

# Chapter 13

The first half of the drive with Cameron is awkward, but mostly because Cameron's dad keeps calling him and chewing him out over the phone. From what I catch on, he's in town, and pissed off about something. I wonder if that's who I saw at the bar; if the older Cameron clone was actually his dad.

By the time he hangs up, we're at the mouth of the canyon that wraps around the lake. The heater is on, but it's hot outside and my skin starts to get damp underneath my leather jacket.

"So your friend finally found someone interested in her, huh?" Cameron tosses his phone into the console.

I crack the window and suck in some fresh air. "Asher's not interested in her... They're just friends."

He turns down the heat. "Hmm... that's not what I saw. It looked to me like they were both happy to be leaving with each other."

"I don't agree with you," I say, slightly irked. "And Asher isn't really her type."

"It seems like everyone's her type, if you ask me," he comments, downshifting. "Ember, is something wrong? You seem mad at me for some reason."

I encounter his gaze and the hurt in his eyes makes me feel bad. "Sorry, I just didn't sleep very well last night."

The pain in his eyes subsides as the sunlight reflects in his pupils. "Well, you could have always came down to the cemetery and kept me company."

"Why were you there?" I ask. "Were you looking for the family jewel again?"

"No, I gave up on that," he replies. "I was actually there, hoping you'd show up again."

"Sure you were." My tone is cheerful, but I'm anxious on the inside. Unlike Asher, Cameron makes me feel uneasy, in both good ways and bad. "And now you're going to tell me that you can't stop thinking about me."

His passionate expression intensifies and he lowers his voice to an intimate level. "Actually, I was going to tell you how much I like that shirt on you."

I glance down at the lace-up shirt Raven gave me that I've never worn until now. I don't even understand why I chose to wear it. Maybe subconsciously to live up to Cameron's flashy standards, and if it is, I'm disappointed in myself.

He reaches over the console and fiddles with the ribbon on the front of my shirt, twisting it around his finger. "You're so much different from the other girls I've dated." He gives a gentle tug on the ribbon, loosening it. "There's so much substance to you. And innocence."

The top of my shirt is starting to unlace and my black lacy bra showing. I want to tell him to stop, but I can't seem to get the words out, so I let him open my shirt, then he grazes his fingers across the top of my chest. I breathe as quietly as I can.

"Maybe you're not as innocent as I thought," he says in an accusing tone as his fingers trail lower.

I lean away and tie the ribbon back up. "Don't pretend like you know me."

It gets awkwardly quiet.

He sighs, pulling back, and flips on the blinker. "Look, I'm sorry. I can be kind of cocky sometimes, but I promise I'll try to tone it down for today."

I slip off my jacket and ball it on my lap. "No, I'm sorry. I'm acting rude again and I don't know why." _Because I want to be with Asher._

"Because I make you nervous," he says simply and slows down the car. He turns down a bumpy, dirt road that inclines to the shore of the lake. The steep, rocky hillside is covered with shiny fragments—my dad's Challenger. This is the exact spot where the accident happened.

"What's the matter?" Cameron silences the engine and takes the keys out of the ignition.

I rip my gaze from the lake. "Nothing... What are we doing here?"

He points at a fire pit in the middle of the shore. "Some people told me this was a good place to go."

"Yeah, to get wasted and have sex," I say, thinking of all the lake parties Raven has dragged me to.

He shoves open the car door. "You say that like it's a bad thing." He slams the door and walks toward the lake.

Shaking my head, I hop out of the car and slam the door. The metallic pieces of the Challenger glimmer in the sunlight like nickels and I pluck a piece from the rocks and turn it over in my hand.

"Looks like someone had a bad accident." Cameron appears at my side and takes the piece of metal from my hand. "They must have been driving really fast to shatter the car so bad."

"Yeah, probably." I stroll to the edge of the shore where the water meets the sand. Is the necklace still down there, trapped in the car?

Cameron comes up behind me and leans over my shoulder, whispering in my ear, "Tell me what you're thinking." He uses the same seductive voice as he did in the cemetery, the one that pulled me to him, that begged me to touch him.

I feel lightheaded; almost hypnotized. "I'm just sad..."

"Tell me why," he purrs. "Maybe I can help."

It feels like I've drunk a bottle of wine and topped it off with a few shots of tequila. "I was the one who wrecked... and my car, it's at the bottom of the lake."

"There was something important in it, wasn't there?"

I nod absentmindedly. "A necklace my grandmother gave me."

He moves to the side of me and reaching over his shoulder, he tugs off his shirt. He tosses it on the ground and wades into the water until it is waist deep.

"Cameron, what are you doing?" I call out, stepping up to the line of the water. "You can't—" He springs up with his arms up and then swan-dives into the water, vanishing. I stand on the shore, searching for a glimpse of him resurfacing, but too much time goes by for a normal person to breathe underwater.

I pat my pockets for my phone. "Shit." I left it at home.

I run back to the Jeep to grab Cameron's phone that I saw him toss in the console, but stop in my tracks when a tall figure darts out of the trees and cowers down behind the back of the Jeep. Fear rushes through me as I glance back at the lake and then at the car.

"Shit." I waver for a moment and then sprint for the car, picking up a long, sharp stick before I cautiously open the passenger door. Without taking my eyes off the rear end of the Jeep, I feel around the inside of the cab until I find Cameron's cell phone.

I swipe my finger across the screen and search for the dial pad, but nearly drop the phone when the tall figure steps out from the back of the Jeep. He's dressed in his usual back cloak that shields his eyes, but I know he's looking at me.

"I told you to go away last night." I back away from the Grim Reaper with the stick out in front of me. "And you have to leave because I told you to. Those are the rules."

"You didn't mean it," he purrs softly, stepping toward me with the tail of his cloak dragging along the ground.

I chuck the stick at him and he leans to the side so it misses his head. "Yes, I did. And I told you to go. I'm not a child and I can't see you anymore."

"You'll see me forever." He stalks toward me, step after step, eyes fastened on mine.

My feet are frozen in place, but not out of fear. In a weird, twisted way I've always wanted to find out what's beneath the hood. When he gets close enough, I reach my fingers toward him and he allows me to grab the brim. I begin to lift it back, but I hear water splashing and reel around just in time to see Cameron break the surface. He floats in the water, his lengthy arms guiding him to the shore and the sunlight sparkles across his tan skin.

Ripping my gaze from him, I glance back at the Grim Reaper, but he's gone.

"I got it for you," Cameron calls out as he wades out of the lake. Beads of water drip from his hair and down his well-defined abs as the sunlight glows against the sky behind him. It's straight out of a cheesy movie scene, where everything is fake. _Fake_.

The closer Cameron gets to me, the more nervous I grow; yet, I can't seem to take my eyes off him. His soaked jeans ride low on his hips and my head begins to conjure a poem with words like _perfection_. Then _fake, plastic, nonexistent._

He struts up to me with a smile on his face and my grandma's necklace dangling from his fingers. "Did I mention that I'm an excellent swimmer?" He stops in front of me, grinning and then reaches around and hooks the necklace around my neck without coming into contact with my skin.

The maroon gem rests at the hollow of my neck as I rub my finger along it. I'm speechless, not because he brought me the necklace, but because he was able to retrieve it from the bottom of the lake.

Suddenly, he places his hands on my arms and I stiffen, my breath catching. "You don't have to say anything." His hands travel up my arms, over my shoulders, and down just below my neck, leaving a trail of water on my skin.

My heart erratically pounds in my chest and his phone falls from my hand. He's touching me and I can't hear the noise of death, just like when Asher touches me. Jesus. How can this be? How can I go through nineteen years, asphyxiated by deaths and then suddenly two guys enter my life around the same time and give me silence?

But Cameron instills a different kind of quiet than Asher. There's a hint of static inside my body and mind and instead of calm, I feel out of control, like when my car went over the cliff.

"Your heart's racing," he whispers with an arrogant smirk as he presses his palm flat against my chest, over my uncontrollable heart. He dips his head down toward my neckline and sucks the water off my skin. It feels wrong, yet, right, somehow. As his lips inch closer and closer, an involuntary moan escapes my lips, especially when his other palm glides up the front of me and cups my breast. I feel hypnotized and start to surrender in his arms as he tugs down my top and my chest heaves with my ragged breath.

"God, you smell and taste so good," he whispers, sucking on the curve of my breast and his other hand starts to wander up the front of my shirt. "You're mouthwatering."

I'm working up a protest, when he swiftly pulls away with his forehead furrowed as he peers over my shoulder. I turn around to see what he's looking at. Mackenzie's shiny Mercedes is winding down the dirty road, headed straight for us.

"Did you invite her here?" I ask with a frown.

His eyes are locked on the car as he shakes his head. "Nope, I'm just as surprised as you."

The car slams to a stop beside the Jeep and kicks up a cloud of dust. The door swings opens and Mackenzie steps out, adjusting her neon pink dress as she struts forward, her high heels wobbling over the rocks. The passenger door flies open and her best friend, Dana Millard, climbs out.

"You have got to be kidding me," I mutter with a heavy-hearted sigh.

Cameron raises his eyebrows. "What? You don't like her?"

"Honestly, no," I say and he smiles for some strange reason.

Mackenzie waves her hand as she heads in our direction. "Hey, I didn't know you were coming to this." She struts straight up to Cameron without so much as giving me an acknowledging glance. "I thought you said you were busy tonight."

A lifted truck rolls down the road, followed by a line of fancy SUVs, trucks, and cars. It's Saturday night and the whole college campus is probably headed down here.

Cameron glances at me. "I'm busy."

She pouts her glossy bottom lip. "So you're not staying for the bonfire?"

"Maybe we could stay..." he wavers, waiting for me to say okay.

"If you want to stay, that's fine with me." My eyes skim the forest as I try to determine how long it would take me to walk back to the house. The last thing I want to do is hang out here. These are not the kind of parties I'm intentionally invited to and I don't want to sit around and be called a killer all night.

He smiles and pats my arm. "Sounds good." He backtracks toward the shore to pick up his shirt.

Mackenzie follows him like a lovesick puppy, knocking her shoulder into mine as she passes by me; _bound and gagged, hands tied, are you ready to die, pretty girl?_

"Watch it, killer." Her eyes sparkle with hatred.

I flip her the middle finger and she rolls her eyes, chasing after Cameron. "Why are you all wet?" She giggles and gives him a flirty pat on the chest, gliding her palm across his muscles.

I wipe off the areas where he touched me, erasing the dampness he left on me and the feel of his touch. I pick up Cameron's phone and dial Raven's number as more cars and trucks pull up. People hop out of the cars; some I go to school with and some are older.

"Hey, Rav," I say when she answers. "I need you to pick me up."

"What?" she hollers in the phone. "Em, what are you saying? Aren't you having fun?"

Cameron seems to be. On the shore, he slips on his shirt, letting Mackenzie ogle him with a starving look in his eyes, like he might rip her dress off at any moment.

"Can you just come get me?" I beg, looking away from the soon-to-be-porno scene. "Please."

"Yeah, sure, hun," she yells over the music in the background. "Where are you?"

The connection statics so I weave around the cars and hike up toward the road, tucking in my shoulders as two guys pass by, carrying a keg. "I'm at the lake," I say, but her voice cuts out so I ascend higher up the road. "Rav, can you hear me?" The signal dies and I sigh, walking up to the top of the road right at the border of the asphalt. There's still no signal, so I turn up the highway.

About a mile later, I still don't have a signal. It's midday, but the clouds are rumbling and the air is tinted with the smell of an imminent rainstorm. I keep walking with no desire to turn around, watching a raven soar above my head.

"Leave me alone, you stupid bird," I call out. "Go haunt someone else."

It keeps circling and cawing, feathers falling from its wings. I catch one and spin it between my fingers, trying to remember if these were the same as the ones from my dad's crime scene. I saw a bag of them once, while I was being interrogated, but I think they were a little bit bigger.

I dodge to the side as a sleek black car with tinted windows turns the corner. The tires screech and the engine roars as it speeds up, the music bumping and vibrating the ground.

Inching further to the side of the road, I wrap my arms around myself and focus on seeing my death, but again there's only blackness.

As the car drives passed me, it unexpectedly makes a sharp swerve into the wrong lane. There's little time to react as it races right at me. I scramble to the railing, but the front bumper slams into my legs and I flip up onto the hood, rolling over the top and flying off the side of the road and over the edge of the cliff. I bounce off the rocks, my bones splintering, and the rocks rip at my skin. When I finally roll to a stop at the bottom of the hill, I blink up at the sky and then at my surroundings, realizing I'm lying next to the Angel statue Asher took me to; the one surrounded by crosses and flourishing roses.

My arm is twisted behind my head, my leg is kinked under my back, and warm blood spills down my forehead. Thunder booms and lightning flashes across the sky as I try to move, but I've lost all movement in my body. _I'm paralyzed._

It all makes sense now, like connecting dots to form a map. The lake, my brakes, Garrick smothering me with death omens. Someone wants me dead and whoever they are has just succeeded.

"Ember," the wind howls as the Grim Reaper appears above me, its cloak blowing in the wind. I know this is it—my death. It's time for me to go.

"Close your eyes," he commands as he begins to pull his hood down with his skeletal fingers.

My eyelids begin to drift shut, but I catch a glimpse of dark hair and eyes. "Asher..."

Then the dark hair melts away and the eyes hollow out. I wonder if this is what death looks like to everyone, or that in my death, I have lost my mind.

"Take it, Ember, or else you won't make it. And I need you to make it... for a little while." He plucks a red rose from the stem, bends down, and tucks it in my hair. "Take the life."

My eyes shut and I listen to my heart fading away, dying inside my chest. My breath submits to the wind and my heart gives its concluding beat. My life leaves my body, like leaves drifting from the trees, and every ounce of pain goes with it.

Suddenly, I don't want to wake up.

# Chapter 14

Some people believe that right before death, a person reaches a point of comfort and numbness and it allows them to see images of every blissful, delighted, ecstatic moment they've ever experienced in their lifetime. I've died twice, and each time I see the Reaper. So is that supposed to be my happy moment?

"Wake up." Someone pats my face. "Em, open your fucking eyes. You're scaring the shit out of me."

My eyes roll open to the grey sky, Raven's sapphire eyes, and a thousand wilting roses covering the ground, charred, the once soft petals now ash upon the singed grass.

I gradually sit up and rub the dirt from my skin, then twist my arms and stretch my legs out.

Raven sighs and leans back to give me breathing room. "Holy shit, Em. What happened?"

Every single tree within a quarter mile radius is dead, dried out, stripped of leaves and the dirt is cracked out like desert sand.

_Did I do this_?

"I have no idea..." I press my hand over my beating heart. "How did you find me?"

She holds up the necklace and points back at the hill. "This was lying on the side of the road up there." She hands it to me and I clip it back around my neck, then she grabs my arm and helps me to my feet.

Her death is as dusky as the sky, but I can feel her life pumping through her veins.

"I was hit by a car... I think." My brain is hazy, but I remember tumbling down the hill, bones breaking, skin rupturing open. "I'm not sure... Can you just take me home?"

She studies me with uneasiness in her eyes. "I think we should take you to a doctor."

I shake my arms, checking for pain, but everything feels all right, mended, healed. "No doctors. I just want to go home."

She wraps her arm around my lower back. Her death is silent, but her life whispers to me: _Take me, take me, take me._

It takes a while, but we accomplish the walk back and make it to the top of the hill where the trees are thriving with life again. Her car is parked on the side of the road with the engine running and the driver's door open.

I wiggle from her arms, feeling strangely liberated. "Maybe I should walk home."

"Get in the car," she orders sternly, but there's a hint of exhaustion in her expression. "You need to go back home. There's officially a town curfew in affect now that Farrah's body was found."

Maybe the same person who killed her is trying to kill me.

"Okay." I hop in the car and slam the door.

She climbs into the driver's seat and buckles her seatbelt, then she leans over the console and clips mine, before pulling the car out onto the road. "I really, really think you should go see a doctor. You look like shit."

"I'm fine." I pluck a rose from my hair and run my fingers along the dried petals, fascinated with its lack of luster. "A car just bumped me a little and I tripped down the hill."

"Yeah, right." She shifts her car and speeds down the highway, the tires squealing. "You don't just trip after a car bumps into you. It ran you over."

"I'm not going to the doctor," I insist. "So take me home."

She flinches at my hostile tone and doesn't say a word for the rest of the drive.

I've calmed down by the time we pull up to my house. It's still early but the sky is bleak with clouds. The lights are on in the living room and my mom's car is parked in the driveway.

I unbuckle my seatbelt and wrap my fingers around the door handle. "I'm sorry for snapping at you. I don't know what's wrong with me... I just feel so... confused."

Raven presses her lips together and eyes my house. "It's okay. You were still my friend through my little meltdown."

"About Laden?" I brush the dirt off the front of my legs.

She nods slowly. "I'm not ready to talk about what happened yet, but I promise you, I had nothing to do with his disappearance. And you have to promise me you'll tell me what happened today, when you're ready."

"You mean with Cameron?" I ask, pulling on the handle and cracking the door open. "Or with the car?"

There are bags under her eyes and her olive complexion looks pallid. "Both."

"Cameron turned out to be a douche bag." I shove open the car door. "And when I'm ready, I'll try to explain what happened with the car."

She smiles. "I love you, Em. You know that, right?"

"I love you too." And at that moment I mean it.

I climb out of the car and go into the house. My mom is sifting through the bills at the kitchen table with takeout in front of her. She has on her uniform, a checkered dress covered by a white apron, and her hair is pulled up into a bun.

"Where have you been?" she asks, looking up from the bills.

I step into the kitchen. "I was out at the lake."

Her brown eyes bulge. "Why are you covered in dirt and scratched?"

"I picked a fight with a rose bush."

"And you lost?"

"No, I think I might have won." I still have the dead rose in my hand and I drop it on the table.

She sets the papers down and stares at the rose. "Where did you get that?"

"That's what was left over from the fight." I plop down in a chair and grab a fry from the takeout bag.

She picks up the rose, twirls it in her fingers, and dead rose petals float to the table. "You know I never expected your dad to leave."

"Which time?" I chew on the fry. "When he moved out or when he disappeared?"

"Ember, I hope you don't think your dad's coming back." She places the rose on the table. "He's probably dead."

"I know that." I pick up the phone bill from the table, stamped with a bright red _OVERDUE_. "But I won't completely accept it until they find his body."

She collects the trash and tosses it in the garbage. "I never meant to blame Grandma's death on you." She slips on her jacket and fastens the buttons. "I was just upset." She pats my shoulder and sweeps my hair back like how she did when I was a child. "If you ever need to talk about anything, I'm here." I nod, trying not to cry, and she grabs her keys from the counter. "I'll see you in the morning."

After she leaves, I head up to the bathroom and check her prescription bottle in the medicine cabinet. She's been taking her meds again, which might explain the uplift in her attitude.

I shut the cabinet and step out into the hallway. On the way to my room, I run into Ian.

"You look like shit," he discloses, eyeing my dirty clothes. "Ember, that guy didn't... Did he try..."

I shake my head before he can finish. "I tripped down a hill."

He slips on a faded flannel jacket. "Hey, I got someone coming over later tonight, so don't lock up."

"I never lock up," I say, plucking dry grass out of my hair. "And did you know mom's been taking her meds again?"

He ruffles his hair and pulls the hood of his jacket over his head "Yeah, I talked to her this morning. She showed up after you left, totally out of it, and I got her to take them."

"What about you?" I ask. "Are you still taking yours?"

He rolls his eyes. "Of course."

"Is that the only drug you're taking?"

He tucks his hands in his pockets. "You know I don't do that crap anymore. Not since... Well, anyway, I'm going to check out for a little bit. And like I said, leave the door unlocked just in case my friend shows up before me." He pauses at the top of the stairway. "Oh yeah, and if I were you, I'd go for the one with the dark hair."

I grip my bedroom doorknob. "What are you talking about?"

"The guy thing." He starts down the stairs. "I don't like that Cameron guy... He's too... I don't know, cocky or something—definitely not your type."

"You haven't even met Asher yet," I argue with no valid point because I want Asher too.

He shrugs and vanishes down the stairs, and moments later, the front door slams shut. I sigh and open my bedroom door. All I want to do is take a hot shower and wash off today.

"Hey."

The sound of his voice sends my heart soaring. Asher sitting on my bed with the hood of his jacket pulled over his head, and he's playing with the raven feather. The window is open and the wind gusts in, flapping the edges of the papers and pictures hanging on my walls.

"How did you get in here?" I ask, shutting the door.

He looks up from the feather with hooded eyes. "Your brother let me in."

"So that's what the remark was about," I mumble and then search for the right words. "What happened earlier... with Cameron—I shouldn't have done that."

"Done what exactly?" There's an underlying meaning in his words. He sets the feather down on the bed, slides the hood off his head, and rakes his fingers through his hair.

"Do you really want me to tell you?" I slant back against the door and fold my arms.

With his eyes secured on mine, he stands up. "I need to know—it's driving me crazy not knowing." He skims my body. "Especially when you look like that."

I rub the leftover dirt off my arm. "I fell down a hill."

He shakes his head and takes slow strides toward me, inching closer, and eliminating some of the space between us. "I'm not talking about the dirt all over you."

"Oh." I glance down at the ribbon on my shirt that's halfway undone. "He took me up to the lake, jumped in the water, and got my necklace out my car at the bottom of the lake."

Surprisingly, he's unfazed. "And..." He takes another step toward me.

"And then half the town showed up and I bailed. I started walking down the highway. A car swerved at me and I fell down a hill."

He's a sliver of space from me and I can feel the heat emitting from his body. "A car _swerved_ at you?"

I force the lump down in my throat. "That's how I fell down the hill."

"Did they do it on purpose?" he asks.

I shrug. "It's hard to say, but maybe."

He shuts his eyes and inhales deeply through his nose. When he opens his eyelids back up, his pupils are dilated, only a slender ring of grey showing. He places his hands on the door, entrapping me between his arms. "Are you okay?" His eyes investigate my body for wounds, but every one of the cuts and bruises have already healed.

I nod, unable to look away from his eyes. "I already told you, I'm a walking miracle."

His gaze flicks to my lips and his voice deepens to a growl. "Did he kiss you?"

"Huh?"

"Cameron." His voice is gravelly. "Did he kiss you?"

My stomach somersaults and I lick my cracked lips. "Do you really want to know the answer to that?"

He drags his tongue ring along the edge of his teeth. "I need to know or else it will drive me fucking crazy."

"He kissed my neck," I divulge truthfully with a wince. "And kind of my chest."

"That's it?" His pierced eyebrow bows up. "That's the only place he kissed you?"

I don't get why he doesn't seem to think that it's bad, because it is. In fact, I feel kind of slutty. "That's the only place he kissed me... but I don't get why you're acting like it's not a big deal, because it is."

"Was it a big deal to you?" he questions. "Did you... did you like it?"

I consider what he said. Did I like it? Honestly, thinking about it now, the feelings that I felt with Cameron were based more on powerful seduction then actually feelings. With Asher, things are powerful on an intense emotional aspect.

"I like when you kiss me," I say, running my hand up the front of his shirt, feeling the hardness of his firm muscles beneath it. "I don't want him to kiss me again... just you..."

His breathing quickens and his eyes turn animalistic, the small amount of grey diminishing, so there's nothing but the pupil. "Can I kiss you now?"

_Why does he always ask first?_ I clutch the front of his shirt and jerk him against me, our lips uniting with a yielding static. His lips don't protest and he easily slips his tongue inside my very enthusiastic mouth, bringing passion to every portion of my body.

Grabbing the backs of my legs, he lifts me up and my legs hook around his waist, then he carries me to the bed where we fall together. I feel alive and invigorated. Nothing exists at the moment, but him and me.

My hands find the zipper of his jacket and I start to unzip it. He takes the hint, leaning up enough to slip his arms out of the sleeves and shuck it off. He has a plaid shirt on underneath and I fumble to unbutton it, but he catches my hand and ceases me.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asks, breathless, his lips swollen. "You seem anxious."

I flick another button undone. "I'm fine."

"But I don't want us to move too fast," he says as I unfasten a button. "Things have already moved too fast and I'm afraid if we start up again... in the heat of the moment... we might not be able to stop."

"You don't want this?" _God, please say no._

"No." He cups my cheek with his hand. "But it doesn't matter what I want... it's what you want."

"I want you," I say, breathing in the stillness of his touch as he grazes the pad of his thumb across my cheek. "I feel like... I feel like I've been waiting around for you for forever." It sounds stupid, but it's the truth and it makes him smile a little.

He slowly unbuttons the rest of his shirt, slips it off, and tosses it next to his jacket. My breath catches at his lean muscles and the tattoos inked on his smooth skin. On the front section of his right rib is an Angel with black feathers spanning from her back and there are tears falling from her eyes. Her black hair flows to her back and the feathers are molting. On his opposing rib there's an inscription tattooed and I run my fingers along the cursive writing:

_Nigredo caped terra et possederunt corpora mortale._

_Ignis acquiritur super agros et fames possederunt maria._

_Mors vincit iram et Angelos morte. Erat, sed omne sacrificium unum contrarium._

_Morte puellae umero uno utrisque coniunctum esset electio salvificem mundum._

_Sed non facile ad pugnam_.

He covers his body with mine, so every part of us is aligned perfectly, and I wrap my arms around him, gripping his shoulder blades, and urge him closer. He kisses me, sucking on my bottom lip, biting it, grazing his tongue ring along the inside, before trailing delicate kisses down my neck. My body conforms to his, steaming with desire, and the need for more silence. I want to forget about this night. I want to be with him.

My chest heaves as he unties the ribbon of my shirt and it slides open, then, pulling me up by the arms, he jerks it over my head and unclips my bra. I shut my eyes and let the beautiful moment swallow me up, before his lips seal back to mine.

Every time he takes a breath, my nipples graze his chest. I keep gasping and moaning until he can't take it anymore. There's something inside me that needs to be filled, a burning sensation that almost hurts, and I need it taken care of.

He slides off my boots and then rips my shorts and panties off, and then he takes off his jeans and boxers, before covering his body with mine.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. I'm nervous, not about the actual act of intimacy, but about the pain. Raven told me horror stories of when she lost her virginity and how badly it hurt, but she assured me it was worth it.

Smoothing my hair back, he looks me in the eye. "Are you sure?"

I nod without hesitation, knowing this is the right moment. For me. "Positive."

His throat muscles work as he swallows hard and then he straightens his arms and pushes himself off me. I'm stunned that he's leaving and I cover my chest, wondering why.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

He grabs his jeans off the floor and then reaches into the back pocket, taking out a condom, and I release a breath trapped in my chest. He moves back over to the bed and the mattress concaves beneath his weight as he crawls back over me.

"You're beautiful," he says, tucking my hair out of my face. "That's the first thing I thought when I saw you at the party."

I lick my lips, anxious and excited as he situates himself between my legs, with one arm on each side of my head.

My heart thumps in my chest as I bend my knees up and glide my hands up his back as he leans down to passionately kiss me. My legs wrap around his waist as he begins to slide into me.

Holy hell it hurts. Like I'm being torn apart in the most unnatural way possible. The further he goes in, the worse the pain gets and I struggle not to cry out.

As my legs tighten around his waist, he moves his lips back from mine and brushes my hair out of my eyes. "Are you okay?" he asks, holding very still, halfway inside me, and his eyes are concealed by indecisiveness. "This is your first time... isn't it?"

_Is it that obvious?_ I nod my head, and wanting to get it over, curve my hips up, gripping onto him and forcing him all the way in. I breathe in and out and his jaw tightens, not in pain, but in restrain.

"It's okay," I tell him, loosening my legs up, getting use to him.

He closes his eyes, his hand running down my side, tracing the bumps of my ribs, until he reaches my hips. Gripping tightly, he thrust himself inside me, and my eyes roll back as my back bends upward.

"God... Ember..." His eyes open and his breathing is ragged, matching mine, and our chests rise and fall in harmony.

I pull him closer and he rocks into me again, the pain subsides and is replaced by sheer and wonderful pleasure. I move my hips up, wanting more, and he moves with me, pushing harder and harder. He holds my gaze, watching me intently as I bite my lip to keep from crying out. I stab my nails into his back, and he lets out a throating groan as his movements become faster. All the pain dissipates and a deprived longing floods my body. I move with him, our bodies flawlessly colliding as he bites at my neck and grabs my breast. My skin is dampening and my entire body starts to tingle. With one last deep thrust, a jolt of heat spirals through my body and I tip my head back, my eyes shutting in sheer ecstasy as I fall apart. My legs tighten around him as I gasp, barely able to breathe.

Moments later, Asher's movements begin to slow and become jerkier, then he stills. His head is tipped down and his breath is rapid and hot against my neck as he kisses it.

"Ember... that was..." he searches for words.

"Amazing. Perfect. Flawless. Absolute. Undyingly and everlastingly wanted and needed." I whisper the words I will later sketch on my wall about this precise moment and everything I felt with it.

He smiles as he leans back and looks me in the eye. "I was going to say incredible, but those work too."

A smile turns at my lips and I pull him down so I can kiss him. After a very long, mouth-watering kiss, he pulls out of me and then we lie in bed together. His arm is tucked under me and my head rest on his chest. I'm distracted by tonight's events. In the heat of the blistering moment, I'd forgotten about the car crash and my death. Just like that. But why? Because I had sex? For some reason I think there might be more to it than that. Like maybe Asher might have a gift himself? The gift of silence perhaps.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks, playing with my hair.

"Life and death," I admit.

He hesitates. "You know you can tell me stuff, right? I feel like... I don't know... it feels like you keep things to yourself, like you think that for some reason you can't trust anyone."

My dad's words dance through my head. _Emmy, if there's one thing you need to know about life, it's to never ever trust anyone or anything. Life is a fucking mind game and you and I are the pawns._

"I want you to get to know me and open up," he adds. "I feel like you have a lot of things bottled up in you."

"So do you, like with your father. You don't like to talk about him and you never did fully explain why you moved here." I bite down on my tongue. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what my problem is." Head trauma. Death. Or maybe it's because my body tingles in every spot he touched me.

He swallows hard. "No, it's okay." He slides down so we are at eye level and presses our bare chests together. "You want to know something about me, then I'll tell you... I moved here to escape the memory of my dad. Even after he died, the painful memories of when he was around still stayed in the house, which he left me in his will... every place we went together... the memories were everywhere and I needed an escape—an escape from death."

"I completely understand." I feel like a bitch. "I shouldn't have forced you to tell me that."

"I wanted to tell you." He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear and momentarily devours me with his lips. "Because I want you to feel comfortable sharing things with me."

I open my mouth to tell him everything, spill out my heart and soul, but again, my dad's words echo in my mind. "I sometimes feel like life is just one big test to see how long we can survive."

I tuck my head into his chest and squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for him to leave.

"Do you want to hear what my tattoo means?" he asks, his voice soft like a feather.

I'm surprised. I thought he would get mad or think I was insane. "Yeah, I'd love to hear it."

"It's actually a story my father used to tell me all the time." He confines my hand against his chest and his heart beats swiftly against my palm. "Blackness caped the land and possessed the bodies of the mortals. Fire acquired over the fields and famine possessed the oceans. The wrath of death was winning and the Angels of Death suffered. It was the end, but a single sacrifice reversed it all. One beautiful Grim Angel with death in her blood and on her shoulders connected them all, and with a single choice she would save the world. But the fight would not be easy. Death would play with her mind and her life, but Angels would do everything they could to protect her. She would struggle with right and wrong and mess up along the way, but in the end, she would have to make the right choice; otherwise, Death would win and humans and Angels endure an eternity of suffering."

"But what does that mean..." My eyelids grow heavy as I start to doze off. "And why were they fighting to begin with... Aren't they both death? Or was it over..." _Souls._ I try to open my lips to ask him if he knows about the story in the book, but aching exhaustion possesses my body.

"It's getting late," Asher whispers, tenderly kissing the tip of my ear. "I'll stay here until you fall asleep."

My eyelids flutter open. "Okay..."

Seconds later, I drift off into a dreamless, death-free, sleep.

# Chapter 15

I'm woken up by a banging on the front door that continues to grow louder the longer it goes on. Finally, I throw the blanket off me and climb out of bed. Asher is gone and my room is pitch black, and blue and red lights flash outside my window. I pull on a t-shirt and a pair of shorts and stumble into the hall.

The last time the cops showed up, Ian had wrecked the car. My mom went easy on him because Alyssa's death was a fresh wound, but he was in the hospital for two days recovering from severe head trauma.

I throw open the front door. Two uniformed officers stand on the front porch. One's short and lumpy and the other tall and bulky. A cop car is parked in the driveway and my neighbors have congregated on their porches, watching the scene in their pajamas, the red and blue sirens lighting up their burn-her-at-the-stake expressions.

The shorter officer reads a paper attached to a clipboard in his hands. "Are you Ember Rose Edwards?"

My pulse skips a beat. "Yeah, I am."

"And are you the owner of a 1970 Dodge Challenger?"

_Oh shit._ "Umm..."

"And lying will only get you into more trouble," the officer warns.

"It's mine." There's a crumb in his mustache and I can't stop staring at it. "Or my dad's and mine."

"Your dad's Patrick Edwards?" The tall one asks and I nod. "He's the one who disappeared a few years ago and you were brought in for questioning."

I nod. "Yeah, so?"

He scowls at me and skims the paper with his finger. "It says on here that you're on probation for drug possession."

I bite at my tongue. The drugs weren't mine—they were Ian's. But I took the wrap for it because he'd just suffered a manic episode. "Yeah, I am."

"You're going to need to come with us." He takes off the handcuffs from his belt and holds them in his hand as a warning that I better behave. "Your car was pulled out of the lake tonight."

"I didn't know it was a crime for your car to be in a lake," I say, leaning against the doorway.

He offers me zero tolerance. "Actually it is and it's a little suspicious you never reported it, then it's discovered near a crime scene."

"What?" I stammer, standing up straight. "What crime scene?"

"There was an incident at the lake," the shorter cop explains. "A girl came up missing tonight and we got an anonymous tip that your car could be found at the bottom of the lake at the last spot she was seen."

"That's bullshit" I argue. "I was here at my house all day."

"What about your car?" he asks with a condescending smirk that crinkles the skin around his eyes.

I hesitate. "That's been gone for a week or so."

"Stolen?" he asks and I shake my head. "Then why didn't you report the accident?"

I shrug and lie, "I didn't want my mom to get mad at me."

The cops exchange consequential looks and the shorter one steps off the porch and heads to the cop car.

The taller one says, "I'm Officer McKinley and that's Officer Adams. We're going to need to take you down to the station for questioning. If you'll go easy, we won't use the handcuffs."

I glance around at the ridiculing eyes of my neighbors, planning an escape. I disappeared once, and I can do it again. "Fine. Can I at least get some shoes on?"

He points behind me at a pair of my flip flops. "Those should work."

_Asshole._ I slip on the flip flops and follow him out. The garage door is open and Ian's car isn't parked inside. Raven runs out of her house in her silky pajamas and slippers, stopping at the edge of the driveway.

"What's happening?" she whispers, glancing cautiously at the cops.

"Get your brother and come down to the station in case you have to bail me out," I hiss. "Not Ian and not my mom. I don't want them dealing with this."

She nods with wide eyes. "Okay, we'll meet you at the station."

I duck my head as I climb into the back of the cop car. The last time I was in one it smelled like sweat, smoke, and old meat. It smells just about the same.

The officers climb in and slam the doors. We back onto the road and I spot Cameron climbing out of his Jeep in front of his house. Looking in my direction, he smiles and gives me a little wave. Suddenly, I have an idea of who told the cops my car was at the bottom of the lake.

# Chapter 16

I wait in the holding room for about an hour, a little cop trick before they try to break me. They forced me to take off all my jewelry and empty out my pockets. I'm slouched back in the chair, with my head resting against the back of it, as I alternate between staring at the clock, the brick walls, and trying to see through the glass. My muscles ache and burn from either the wreck or from having sex—maybe both—and I keep massaging my legs, trying to get the pain to subside.

Finally, Detective Crammer enters the room, shutting the door behind her. She's wearing a simple black pantsuit and her blonde hair is pulled back in a tight bun. She pulls out a chair across from me, sets a folder on the table, and puts on her glasses.

"Ember Rose Edwards." A conniving grin ranges her thin lips. "So we meet again."

I straighten up in the chair. "So we do."

She eyes me over. "Rough night?"

I stare at her with a vacant expression. "Nope."

She explores the pages in the folder. "Where are your mother and brother tonight? You live with them right?"

"Yeah... my mother's working at the All Night Diner," I tell her. "And my brother's at a friend's."

"Do you need to call them?" She shuts the folder and overlaps her hands on it. "Someone needs to pick you up when we're done here."

"No, my friend's brother will come pick me up." I cross my arms on the table. "My mom doesn't need to miss work and Ian probably won't answer his phone."

She slips off her square-framed glasses and wipes the lens with the sleeve of her jacket. "Do you know why you were brought in tonight?"

I shrug nonchalantly. "Because my car was found at a crime scene."

"At a crime scene just like your father's and Laden Miller's," she says. "What do you know about Mackenzie Baker?"

"Mackenzie Baker?" Her shocking words throw off my game. "Is she the one that vanished tonight?"

"I'll be asking the questions," she warns. "Now what do you know about her?"

"I have a few classes with her, and she used to be the head cheerleader. That's all I know really."

"Were you at the party tonight? The one by the lake? A few people said they saw you there."

"I was at the lake before the party started," I answer. "But I left when people started showing up."

She jots what I say on the top of the folder. "And how did you get home?"

"I got a ride from a friend that I called to come pick me up," I tell her and she scribbles that to her list.

"Who did you drive out there with?" She writes a number on the corner of the folder.

"A guy," I say and her eyes elevate to me. "Cameron Logan."

She doesn't seem to recognize the name, but cops are good at playing dumb. "And who is he?"

"He just moved here from New York," I explain. "He lives on my street."

"Was he part of the reason you left?" She puts her glasses back on.

"Partially," I say with hesitance. "He was flirting with another girl."

She opens the folder and searches through her notes. "What's the girl's name?"

"Mackenzie Baker."

Her head snaps up. "You know lying is only going to get you into more trouble."

"I'm not lying," I assure her. "That's the truth."

She reluctantly returns to her notes and pens down a few more notes. Then she closes the folder and slips off her glasses. "Again, we'll be in touch. I have no doubt about that." She sticks out her hand for me to shake. "For now, I'd say it'd be best for you to stay in town."

My muscles tense as I take her hand. A thick, vile sensation blasts up my arm. _Blood and a thousand petals scattered across the dirt. An Angel stands in the center of a mob, stripped of its feathers, and beaten blue. Their face is curtained with a halo of black hair. She steps forward and raises a knife, but a black figure swoops down from the sky and snatches her by the shoulders. She screams as they fly up, up, up and then drops her to the earth._

I jerk back at the _X_ on her wrist. "Who are you?"

She tugs the sleeve of her jacket down and turns for the door. "I'd watch out, Ember," she says, opening the door with the folder tucked under her arm. "They say insanity is passed down through generations. And your dad was diagnosed with schizophrenia, which can surface at a young age." She slams the door behind her.

It takes every ounce of strength I own not to jump up from the chair, pick the lock on the door, chase her down and hurt her.

Thirty minutes later they release me. They have no real evidence that I did anything wrong, besides not reporting that my car was missing. I go to collect my things at the window and the big-haired lady with bright blue eye shadow hands me a plastic bag containing my bracelets. She turns her back to the window when I walk up and I bang my fist against it.

She glances over her shoulder at me, looking annoyed. "May I help you?"

I hold up a bag and jiggle it in front of the window. "Yeah, I had a necklace in here."

She spins her chair around and stares at the bag skeptically. "One moment please." She rolls to the phone and takes her sweet time hanging up. "That's all that was collected."

Glancing at the bag, I shake my head. "No, I had a necklace with a big maroon jewel."

"Well then, it sounds like you'll be able to find it easily when you get home." She huffs out of her chair and walks out the side door.

I dump the bracelets on the counter, fasten them on my wrists, and clasp my silver-winged earrings into my ears. "I know I was wearing my necklace."

Raven and her brother, Todd, are sitting in the waiting room, which only has one other person in it, an older man eating an egg McMuffin. Raven runs up to give me a hug, but quickly stops herself. Stepping back, she zips up the suede jacket over her silk pajama set.

Todd is twenty-three years old and is the spitting male version of Raven. He has spiky blue hair, a lip piercing, and tattoos all over his muscular arms.

"Hey, troublemaker." He gives me a hug and I inhale through my nose until it's over. "What the hell did you do this time?"

We push through the glass doors and I bask in my freedom. The sun is awake, the sky a clear blue, and elderly couples stroll up the sidewalk and eat breakfast out on the patios. Pink flyers with Mackenzie's face on them are plastered all over the street posts, doors, and walls of the surrounding buildings.

"Well, apparently, it's a crime to crash your car into a lake and then not tell anyone." I slide into the backseat of his 1980 Pontiac Firebird with a large eagle painted on the hood, and then Raven pushes the front seat back and climbs in

"Wait? You _wrecked_ your dad's Challenger?" he asks as he climbs in, then he revs up the gas and the engine backfires. "Like, it's gone?"

Raven exchanges a look with me and I shake my head. She wants to know what really happened, but I don't want to tell her in front of Todd. The first thing I need to do is talk to Asher. Because I think I'm ready to hear his answers now.

Todd takes us to breakfast at Sherry's Diner. It's a seventies themed restaurant where they still allow people to smoke. Our waitress is Betty Lou, a middle-aged woman with big beehive hair, oval glasses, and a white apron over her pink dress.

"Hi, y'all," she drawls with an order book and pen in her hand. "What can I get you?"

Raven and I are sitting side-by-side in the booth across from Todd, reading over the same menu. "Can we have just a second?" Raven asks.

Todd hands Betty Lou his menu and tells her, "I'll have eggs, scrambled, wheat toast, and a ham steak."

Betty Lou jots his order down. "I'll go put this order in and come back and get y'alls after."

Once she's gone, Todd gets up from the table. "I'm going to go use the men's room."

He struts toward the back area of the restaurant and Raven whispers in my ear, "He's screwing the waitress."

I pull a disgusted face. " _Betty Lou_?"

She rolls her eyes and points her finger at a slender waitress with fiery red hair standing behind the serving counter. "That one... wait just a second and she'll walk back toward the bathrooms."

We pretend to stare at our menus, but really our attention is on the girl. Her nametag says, _Steph_. She's pretty, maybe a few years older than Todd, but other than that, she seems like his type. Sure enough, about a minute after Todd vanishes into the bathroom, Steph goes wandering back there.

"How do you know about them?" I ask.

She runs her finger down the menu along the list of beverages. "He's been bringing me to either dinner or breakfast here almost every day for the last two weeks and it's like a freaking routine. So are you going to tell me what's up with the police?"

Betty Lou appears at the end of our table and we hurry and give her our orders. She gathers the menu, walks behind the counter, and refills the glasses of water for the people at the bar.

"Before I tell you," I say in a hushed voice. "I need you to tell me about how that _X_ got on your shoulder."

She frowns and unzips her jacket to show me her shoulder blade. "It was just a scratch I got when I was making out with Laden. His stupid car had a wire sticking out of it."

There isn't anything left of the scratch. "Okay, then why were you acting so... happy after he died?"

She puts her jacket back on and flips her bubblegum pink hair out of the collar. "Something really bad happened that night... Laden almost raped me."

My heart literally stops, dies and withers. " _What_? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because he disappeared right after it happened and I worried I'd become a suspect." She peeks over her shoulder and then drops her voice. "Besides, you have your own stuff to deal with, like death and your mom and Ian."

"You could have told me," I whisper. "I wouldn't have told anyone. And I can handle more than you think."

"No, _you_ think you can handle more." She takes a sip of her water and sets the glass back down on the table. "But it's okay. I talked to Asher about it and he really helped me understand. And that whole psychotic episode I was having was just my need to deal with what happened."

"When did you talk to Asher?" My voice comes out sharp and I clear my throat. "I'm sorry, I just didn't know you two had been hanging out with each other."

"Calm down." She scoots the utensils out of the way and rests her elbow onto the table. "We're just friends. And I was talking to him about it because he was the one who saved me from getting raped."

"That's... that's not possible," I stammer. "He was saving me that night."

She thrums her finger on her lip. "Well, it was before or after he saved me then."

I shake my head in denial. "There's no way he could have made it to both places in time."

"I'm not sure, Em... Maybe you should ask him because all I know is that Laden is a rapist and I don't feel bad that he's gone. And Asher was basically my Angel that day."

"Your _Angel_? What do you mean by that?"

She quickly looks away. "It's a figure of speech, silly."

"And what about Garrick?" I wonder. "Where does he come to play in all this?"

"Oh, he was there that night too," she says, staring across the restaurant at a mirror on the wall. Her eyes look big in the reflection. "Garrick and Asher both showed up when it happened. Asher knocked Laden off me and then Garrick took me home. I'm not sure what Asher did with Laden, although I have a guess."

"Asher wouldn't kill someone..." I trail off. I hardly know him. Yes, we had sex, but it doesn't mean I've discovered what lies in the darkest parts of his soul. I shake my head. "And besides, whoever made Laden disappear also made my dad disappear. And Asher wasn't even around when that happened."

"Maybe it was just one of those freakish coincidences? Or a copycat? And would it matter if Asher did kill Laden?" She focuses her attention on me. "He had me pinned down with a knife to my throat. I'm pretty sure he was going to kill me."

I stutter for words that don't exist because nothing can make it better. Thankfully, Todd drops down in our booth and interrupts my need to make her feel better, even though I can't. He pulls a cigarette out of his jacket pocket and pops it between his lips.

"Okay, so what'd I miss?" Cupping his hand around his mouth, he lights the cigarette and exhales. "Anything good?"

Raven and I let out a loud breath. "Nope," we both say.

Todd makes Raven go home with him to help clean the house, which gives me a little more time to figure out how much I want to tell her. Someone has painted "Murderer" in bright red across our front door. This happened a few times after my dad disappeared, only it was on my car window and it usually happened in the parking lot of the school.

I grab a can of paint remover from the garage. "It's like a God damn witch hunt," I say as I work to scrub it off. In the end, half the paint comes off the door, but it's better paint-less than labeled with hate.

As soon as I make it to my room, I find my cell and dial Asher's number. It sends me straight to his voicemail, so I text him.

**Me: We need 2 talk.**

**Asher: Why? What's wrong? Is this about last night... R U ok?**

**Me: I'm fine. I just have some questions.**

**Asher: Out running errands. Can I talk to u tomorrow at the dance?**

**Me: Dance??? WTF.**

**Asher: Yeah. The town Halloween dance thingy... I saw a flyer posted on the grocery store door. I thought maybe we could go together, like on a date... a real one this time.**

I completly forgot tomorrow was Halloween.

**Me: I guess. But can I meet u there?**

Just in case this goes bad, I'll have my own ride home. I need to know what the Anamotti is, if he knows anything about detective Crammer, and what he knows about Angels and Grim Reapers.

**Asher: Sure... r u sure ur ok?**

**Me: Yep. I just really need 2 talk to u about something... the thing we talked about the other night. I think I'm ready for the answers. And I have other questions 4 you.**

It takes him a second to text back.

**Asher: I know you do. I'll c u at the dance at 7. I'll b the one dressed as the artist ;)**

I start to put my phone away when he texts me again.

**Asher: And Ember... last night was amazing. I don't want to lose you.... I want every night to be like last night**

I'm not sure what to think of the message, but I know what my body sure as hell thinks. It's already getting riled up just thinking about him. Please, oh please, don't let him be a serial killer. I like him too much. I toss the phone on my bed. It's the afternoon but I'm exhausted and I start to climb into bed to get some rest.

"Ian!" My mom's scream echoes through the house.

Sighing, I stumble out of bed and hurry down the hall into her room. Her bed is unmade and her waitress uniform is discarded on the floor. The bathroom door is shut and the knob is covered with blood.

I pad up to the door. "Mom? Are you in there?"

She sobs from the other side. "Go away... I want Ian."

I jiggle the doorknob and jerk on the door. "Mom, unlock the door. Ian's not here right now, but I am."

"No!" she screams. "I don't want you here. You're a killer! You're a killer! You killed your grandma!"

I hammer my fist against the door. "Mom, please just open the door up. You're scaring the shit out of me."

Something hits the other side of the door and I hear the sound of glass shattering. I run into my room, grab my phone off the dresser, and call Ian on my way back to her bedroom.

He picks up after three rings. Music blares in the background. "Yo, yo, yo. What up?" He's drunk and it's barely past lunch time.

"You need to come home," I demand. " _Now_. Mom's having another one of her meltdowns and she only wants to talk to you."

" _What_?" He suddenly sounds sober.

"She locked herself in..." I trail off as I enter my mom's room. The bathroom door is open. "Ian, just get here now. And get someone sober to drive you."

"Okay," he says, frazzled. "I'll be there in ten."

I hang up, toss the phone on the bed, and check inside the bathroom. The white tile is obscured with fragments of glass and the sink and mirror are stained with blood. The shower curtain is torn from the rod and pills scatter the inside of the bathtub.

"Mom." I step back into the bedroom and glance under the bed. "Ian's on his way, and he told me to tell you that it was okay to talk to me." I pad over to the closet door and throw it open. "Mom?"

"I'm not in there." Her chillingly numb voice floats over my shoulder.

I spin around and press my hand against my heart, tripping backwards. "You scared the shit out of me."

She's just outside the doorway with a pair of scissors in her hand. An _X_ on her forehead drips blood into her eyes and the entire front of her shirt is drenched in blood. "It's not okay to be around you at all." Her eyes are unemotional, as if she's detached from reality. Blood trickles from her wrists as she raises the scissors above her head. "You're a killer! The cops think so! And Grandma knew, even though she wasn't thinking rationally. But you did it anyway."

I hold my hands in front of me and slowly back up, reaching for my phone on the bed. "Mom, how many of those pills did you take?"

"Enough to numb the pain—he told me I had to." She walks into the room, then pauses, slanting back as if someone is whispering in her ear. "Yes, I know, but she's not... Okay, I will try." Her soulless gaze locks on me. "Ember, my dear child, why did you ever have to be born? Ian was fine and your father and I were so happy his _disorder_ did not pass along to him. But then you arrived, and we could see it in your eyes. The way you talked to the air and whispered secrets to the plants while you drained their life away."

"I..." _Does she know about me?_ "Mom, what are you talking about?" I continue to feel around for my phone. "And Dad didn't have schizophrenia, everyone just thought he did."

"I'm not talking about schizophrenia!" she shrieks, her face bright red, and her veins bulging. "I'm talking about a curse passed along to you."

My fingers brush the edge of the phone. "Mom, just calm down—"

She barrels forward with the scissors pointed out in front of her. I leap on the bed and bolt for the bathroom, but she skitters around the bed and grabs my legs, jerking them out from under me. I fall on my back and she raises her arm up and sinks the scissors into my chest.

"Mom..." A river of blood streams out of my chest and I gasp for air.

She leans over me, watching me expectantly, like she's waiting for something miraculous to happen. "I'm sorry, my sweet baby, but he made me do it. Death is more powerful than the mind." She brushes my hair back.

Blood floods my throat and pours out of my mouth as I yank the scissors out of my chest. "Mom..."

She places her hand over my heart. "Go ahead, take it. I know you can. You did it with your grandma."

Blood continues to stream out the hole in my chest and runs like a river over her hand. I look into her eyes, wondering if it's really her in there or if tonight her mind finally took the final flight.

_Thump, thump, thump, thump_. My heart sings a song as it dies.

"Take it, Ember," she begs, her eyes wide. "Before it's too late."

My eyes close as my heart sings the last lyric, my veins hollow out, and my lungs shrivel. I start to let myself drift to sleep—or death—when I sense someone else's presence in the room and I force my eyelids open.

The Grim Reaper lurks behind my mother, concealed under his hood, his dark eyes on me. He whispers something in her ear and then steps back.

"It's time," she tells me with her hand extended toward me. "Please, Emmy. It's time. The grains of sand have expired and my hourglass is empty."

"Take it, Ember," the Grim Reaper tempts with an unnerving grin. "Take her life."

I feel the thunder of her heart attack with the silence of mine. Her blood mixes in my veins and fills my lungs back up. I gasp for air and watch in horror as her skin wrinkles to a lady twice her age.

"Mommy." I throw her hand off my chest and she collapses to the floor. I hover above her, checking her wrist for a pulse. She looks so old and frail... so... lifeless.

The Reaper watches me from the corner of the room, leaning against the wall, seeming pleased.

I throw a shoe at him. "I hate you! You ruined my fucking life!"

"What the hell?" someone says from behind me.

I glance back and Ian is standing right behind me. His eyes are opened wide and are filled with helplessness as he stares at our mother, lying dead on the floor.

The Grim Reaper's laugh echoes through my head as he sinks away through the bedroom wall.

"Call a damn ambulance!" I yell at Ian and start CPR on my mom, pushing on her chest, pleading for her heart to beat.

He blinks dazedly and quickly takes his phone out of his pocket. Tears pool in my eyes as I pump my mom's chest and breathe for her. I keep going, refusing to stop until the paramedics arrive and take over. But even when they roll her away on the stretcher, she still isn't breathing on her own. And she is still so aged.

They wheel her out into the ambulance and speed off to the hospital with their lights flashing. Ian and I hop in his car and he hands me his jacket. I slip it on and cover up the blood on my shirt. But I can't hide the blood on my hands.

That will be there forever.

# Chapter 17

Ian and I return home later that night after my mom was stabilized and heavily sedated. She had taken a high dosage of her medication, plus there were traces of street drugs and alcohol in her system. By the time the doctors got her breathing again, the sudden aging had subsided. But there were a few extra wrinkles around her eyes and a little more grey in her hair

She is under observation and we can't see her until a full mental analysis is completed. We hardly speak to each other and Ian heads straight up to his studio. He doesn't know what really happened, which is good because he can't handle what he does know: that my mom overdosed and that she cut up her forehead and wrists.

"If you need anything," I call out as he trudges up the stairs. "Please come get me."

"Sure," he mutters, slipping off his shoes at the top of the stairs. "I'm just gonna go paint for a while."

I doubt he's going to paint. He'll probably lock himself up in his room and smoke himself into a stupor. As soon as he is upstairs, I collapse on the sofa with my feet kicked up over the back. "All I want to do is sleep forever. Please just let me sleep forever."

I stare at the window as a raven flies just outside, back and forth, back and forth, then it lands on the windowsill. It spans it small wings and shakes off a few feathers.

"Go away." I throw a couch pillow at the window.

Tucking its wings in, it spins in a circle and I toss another pillow at it. Parting its beak, it caws. I begrudgingly drag myself off the couch and place my hand on the glass. "Why won't you just go away?"

Granting me my wish, it flaps away in the direction of Cameron's house. It's late, so most of the houses are dark, but the light in Cameron's attic is on. I'm possessed by a rage that doesn't belong to me, blazing uncontrollably like a wildfire. As if my feet no longer belong to me, I march out the front door and across the street. I'm still wearing the pajamas I wore at the police station and blood still stains my shirt and hands, but that's okay. I'm not going there to impress him.

His Jeep is parked out front and the tires are covered with chunks of mud. I cup my hands around my eyes as I peek through the back window, wondering if I'll find rope and a roll of duct tape, like the kind I saw on Mackenzie in her death omen.

"Find anything interesting?" Cameron's amused voice is startling close.

Slowly, I turn to face him. He's standing closer than I expect and my foot slips off the edge of the curb with the shift of my weight.

"Easy there." He catches my arm and balances me onto the curb. He's wearing faded jeans, no shirt, and his skin almost glows beneath the dim trail of moonlight. There is also dust in his blonde hair and on his hands, which is strange.

I wrench my arm free and his dusty handprints mark my skin. "Why did you do it?"

He knows exactly what I'm talking about—it's clear in his stoic expression. "But I didn't do it."

"Yes, you did." I dust the dirt off my arm. "You were the only one who knew the exact location of my car."

"Am I?" He shakes his head and dust falls from his hair. "Because I was under the impression that you didn't get yourself out of that car the night you crashed."

"Who gave you that impression?" I ask. "And why is there dirt in your hair? Have you been digging graves up again, looking for your—" I make air quotes, "'family jewel'?"

"Actually, I ended up finding that in the strangest place." His eyes travel up my body and linger on the hole in my shirt. "And I think I should be the one asking you the questions. Starting with why you look like you just committed murder."

"Tell me, Cameron." I struggle to maintain my composure, but end up jabbing my finger against his chest. "What happened to Mackenzie last night after I left?"

He reaches above my head and sets his hand on the roof of the Jeep. "Why? Are you jealous?"

"Jealous that I wasn't the one who got killed?" I back up against Jeep and cross my arms.

"You know, it seems like I'm the only one you have this spitfire attitude toward." He leans in and his eyes darken. "Everyone else I've seen you with, you're nicer than can be. And you were like that with me at first, but now... what happened?"

"You blew me off at the lake," I admit, leaning away from him as much as I can, but I'm pretty much already pinned up against the Jeep door. "And then told the police where my car was, after Mackenzie disappeared."

"I didn't tell the police where your car was," he says and his hand finds my hip. "What was one of the first things I ever told you about me? That I don't lie."

"I think that's the liars' motto."

He lowers his head in frustration and his hair tickles my nose. "Ember, Ember, Ember, what am I going to do with you?" He raises his head back up and the sorrow in his eyes is restored. "Is this because I was flirting with Mackenzie, because the only reason I did that was to make you jealous—like how I felt when I showed up at your house and some guy was sleeping in your bed."

"You know what?" I duck under his arm, but he tightens his grip on my hip and tugs me back to him, slamming me against the door. "I don't even know why I came over here. It must have been a crazy impulse."

"Because you wanted to see if I killed her," he says, pulling me against him. He wets his lips with his tongue and starts to lean like he's going to kiss me.

Shaking my head, I pry his fingers off me and this time he releases me. I storm across the street, but halt when he says, "That's what you think. That I'm a killer, but you're wrong and I can prove it."

I glance over my shoulder. "I'm calling your bluff."

He waves for me to follow him as he walks backward across the lawn. "Come with me and I'll prove it to you." He enters his house and leaves the front door wide open. Seconds later, a light turns on inside.

I make my way to the edge of the front path. "Does he really think I'm going to go in there?" I mutter to myself. Then again, it seems I can't die, so what does it matter.

Like a shadow, he transpires in the doorway with the light of the house shining behind. "Are you coming in or are you going to just stand out there in the dark and stare at the house?"

I shake my head, stopping at the bottom of the front porch. "Whatever you want to show me, you can show me outside."

He sighs and slinks back into the house. Minutes later, a blonde girl pokes her head out.

"Ember, would you please just get your creepy ass in here," Mackenzie says with a trace of pleading in her tone. "Before someone figures out I'm here."

I peer over my shoulder at the houses lining the street as I come to the mind-blowing conclusion that I'm probably losing my mind, like certain poets of the past. Or like a Grim Angel.

I jog up the stairs, past Mackenzie and through the entryway. Cameron shuts the door and we go into a living room that has deep red walls and a brick fireplace. The mantle is ornamented with plastic plants and photos. Above it is a mirror trimmed with a gold frame and the air smells like cinnamon and apples from the candles burning on the shelf in the corner.

"This isn't how I pictured your house," I remark, sitting down on a sitting chair. Cameron and Mackenzie sit down on the sofa across from me. Mackenzie wearing an oversized flannel shirt and a pair of boxers and I wonder if they're Cameron's clothes. And she has leather bands on her wrists and neck, like she's suddenly decided to try a semi-gothic look.

"The cops think I killed you," I tell her. "They brought me down to the station a couple of nights ago for questioning."

"Wow, Killer Girl speaks," she says snidely. "You were so quiet at school I thought you were a mute."

Cameron lays a hand on her bare knee. "Easy, remember she knows you're here now, so play nice."

She crosses her arms and huff exasperatedly, "Yeah, but only because you made me let her in. Personally, I don't give a crap if she thinks you're lying or not." Cameron tilts his head at her and she recoils. "I'm sorry. And I'm sorry too, Ember. Look, it's just that... Well, I was having problems at home. And things were just _really_ bad and I was telling this to Cameron at the lake and he suggested I disappear for a while and take a break."

"You know everyone is looking for you, right?" I press the severity. "There are flyers all over the town with your face posted on them. This is really messed up."

"Messed up?" She laughs, and then tears start to fall from her eyes. "No, messed up is growing up in a house like I did."

"A lot of people have bad home lives," I say unsympathetically. "It doesn't mean we run away."

"Oh yeah, what's so messed up in your life?" Tears stream down her sun-kissed cheeks as she scratches under the leather band on her neck. "Did your dad use you to close job deals with old perverted men? I just wanted to get the hell away from it for one moment, just breathe. Haven't you ever wanted to just breathe?"

"Every single day of my existence," I whisper.

Cameron catches my eye and raises his eyebrows accusingly.

"So you just hid her somewhere and then scattered feathers all over the shore and painted it up with an _X_ and an hourglass?" I ask him, ignoring his accusing gaze.

Cameron's eyebrows knit together as he drapes his arm behind Mackenzie. "I hid her, but I didn't do the feathers and weird paint thing. Why would we do that?"

"To make her disappearance look like the rest of them," I say.

"As good of an idea as that is, we didn't do that," he responds.

"But that's what the detective said." I fall back in the couch with my forehead creased. "Why would she do that?"

"To mess with your head probably, see if you would let something slip." Mackenzie shrugs and rearranges the bands on her wrists. "It's kind of their M.O." When Cameron and I gape at her, she adds, "What? I watch a lot of _Law and Order_ , okay?"

I tap my foot on the floor, bubbling with anxious energy. "They think I killed you... and they think I killed Laden."

"No, they don't. They just don't have any other leads." Cameron's eyes travel down my body. "Although, if they saw you now, they'd probably lock you up."

I wrap my arms around myself. "I had an accident."

He points over his shoulder. "Is that why there was an ambulance at your house?"

I focus the interest back on Mackenzie. "What am I supposed to do? Just pretend I never saw anything and let them keep investigating me?"

"Would you?" she asks, hopeful, overlapping her hands in front of her, pleading. "That would be really great, at least, until I can figure out somewhere else to live."

I rub my exhausted eyes. "I don't mean to sound rude, but can't you just tell someone what's going on?"

She laughs, but it's forced. "You don't think I've tried? But my mom always sides with my dad, saying I'm doing it to draw attention to myself. And my dad is a big funder of the Hollows Grove Police Department."

"Is he paying them off?" I ask, astonished, and she gives a subtle nod. I consider the dilemma for a moment, but there isn't much to consider. "Fine, I'll keep my mouth shut, but please try to figure something else out, before they actually arrest me."

"Thank you, Ember," she says gratefully and lowers her hands to her lap. "And I'm sorry, you know, for treating you so badly in school." She gets up and wraps her arms around me.

My eyes widen as I prepare myself, but her death never announces itself.

She retreats for the doorway, telling Cameron, "I'm going to go lay down, Cam. I'm really tired."

She disappears out the doorway and I turn to Cameron.

"So it still doesn't explain how the cops found out where my car was," I say.

"That's a question I can't answer for you." He rests his arms on his legs and interlocks his fingers. "The only thing I can say is that there has to be someone else who knew where your car was."

Asher. And perhaps the person who was tailgating me that night.

"Did someone save you?" he wonders with accusation in his eyes. "Or did you swim out of the car on your own?"

"I have excellent panic reaction skills." I get to my feet. "I should get home. It's late."

He walks me to the door, but pushes it closed when I start to open it. "Can I show you something first, before you go?" His nice guy act is back, like when we first met and had that briefly decent moment in his Jeep.

Sighing, I go upstairs with him into his room. There's a large bed in the middle of the room, a tall dresser in the corner, and a door that extends to a small patio with a camping chair on it. The walls are black and bare except for a white accent wall with lines and lines of poetry scribbled on it.

"Are they your words?" I ask, amazed, and he nods. I walk up to the wall and read the poem that centers them all. " _In separate fields of black feathers, the birds fly. Four wings, two hearts, but only one soul. They connect in the middle, but are separated by a thin line of ash. It's what brings them together, yet rips their feathers apart. They can never truly be together as light and dark. Unless one makes the ultimate sacrifice, blows out their candle, and joins the other in the dark_."

Cameron watches me with interest. "So what do you think it means?"

"They could never be together," I say, running my fingers along the words. "Unless one died? But why? What makes the other one fly in the land of the dead?"

"That's something you'll have to figure out on your own." He chips a flake of blood off my shirt. "You should know that a poet doesn't like to explain the meaning behind his words."

I bite at my fingernail. "Yeah, I understand that completely. But you should know that, as a poet, I have a desire to understand words."

"You know," he steps closer, "we never got to go to that poetry slam."

"That wasn't my fault," I remind him, stepping back.

"You're the one that ran away." He places a hand on my wrist and tenderly traces it up to my shoulder. "I was trying to make you jealous."

"Cameron," I say with caution, looking at the wall. "You didn't happen to see a black car with really tinted windows up at the lake, did you?"

His fingers discover my collarbone and he traces circles over my skin. "No, why? Did something happen with this car?"

A soundless sensation numbs my mind and I feel myself falling to him as his hand travels downward toward my chest. But Asher's face enters my mind and I shake my head and sigh through his touch. "I should get going. "

His fingers drift down the front of my body as I turn to leave and he hitches the bottom of my shirt. "You can stay here, if you want. You can sleep in my bed." He raises his hand innocently. "I promise not to touch you, unless you ask."

"Is that the same thing you told Mackenzie?" I ask with an arc of my brow.

"Mackenzie and I are just friends." He grins, intentionally grazing his knuckles across my stomach. "But I like that you care."

I waver back and forth between him and the door.

"Come on, Ember," he coaxes in that voice that's hard to resist as he yanks on my shirt and pulls me closer.

I let him reel me to him, briefly wondering what it would be like for him to thrust inside me. Would it feel the same as with Asher? Or would he be different?

"Please stay with me." He nearly begs.

I force willpower to my legs and back away for the door. "I'm sorry, Cameron, but I think you're a little too much for me."

"That's what all the girls say," he jokes, but there is a vast sea of pain in his eyes as he releases my shirt. "Hold on. I'll walk you to the door."

# Chapter 18

When I was thirteen, my mom locked me in the attic for an entire day because she believed I killed several of her house plants. It really wasn't that big of a deal, only she didn't let me have anything to drink or eat and there were no bathroom breaks permitted. I walked out of the situation without being too traumatized.

The only thing that bothered me was her belief that I killed the plants on purpose. At the time, it seemed ridiculous; the idea a person could dry out houseplants in less than five minutes. Now I wonder if perhaps I did do it and if my mom has always known there was something different about me.

I wake up on the couch, with my legs flopped over the back and my head hanging upside down. It's late in the afternoon, the sky tinted a pale pink. Children are laughing outside and someone is throttling a motorcycle.

I lie motionless, with a splitting headache, trying to fall back asleep, not ready to face the day, or find out what Ian's been doing in his studio all night. I heard someone sneak in late last night, but I didn't care enough to go see who. There were muffled voices on the stairway and then footsteps headed into the attic.

Without changing position, I reach for the remote on the coffee table, but the front door swings open and someone comes whisking into the house.

Their high heels click against the floor. "What the hell happened?" Raven asks with her hands on her hips. "Why was there an ambulance here yesterday?"

She looks strange upside down, dressed up as an Angel with white-feather wings and a silvery-satin dress. Her pink hair is curled and wound with white ribbon to form a halo on the top of her head.

I sit up and rub my eyes. "Because my mom flipped out and tried to slit her wrists." The words tumble out.

"Ember..." Her arms fall to her side. She doesn't have a clue how to react to my honesty. "What can I do to help?"

I drag my ass off the sofa and her glitter-framed eyes widen at the blood all over my shirt. "You can let me go to sleep for a really, really long time," I say. "That's all I want to do is sleep."

She gasps, pressing her hand to her heart. "Why the hell is there dried blood all over you?"

"Because my mom stabbed me with a pair of scissors," I confess with a yawn.

She pries open the gap in my shirt where the scissors had violently entered. "Em, that's not funny."

"I'm not trying to be funny," I tell her. "She stabbed me with the scissors and then I almost killed her by sucking the life out of her to heal myself."

"You're in shock." She pulls her hands away. "Or did you hit your head?"

"Nothing's wrong with me." I push past her. "I'm going to go up to bed to get some rest. Maybe I'll sleep for an eternity."

She seizes the back of my shirt and pulls me back. "No, you're not. You're going to go to this party and have some fun. Depression runs in your family. And I will not let you sink into that dark hole."

I spin on my heels. "My mom is locked up on suicide watch and I found out that my death omen curse stretches farther than I originally thought. I sucked my mom's life away to help myself survive. I'm not going to a God damn Halloween party."

"You are not going up to your room to write sad poetry about death and pain," she insists sternly. "Your mom's pulled a similar stunt before, when she locked you up in the attic for an entire day after she thought you purposefully killed all the plants."

"No, that was different—she actually killed me this time." But was it her or the Grim Reaper? It seemed like she could hear him and see him.

"I don't care what she did," Raven says with a bossy attitude. "You're going."

"Have you lost your mind?" I annunciate each word. "My. Mom. Tried. To. Kill. Me."

"Are you sure?" She twists the silver chain of her necklace. "Maybe you should think about it really hard."

"I..." I stare at her, watching her eye twitch. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing." She rubs the corner of her eye like she has something stuck in it. "I just think you should go out and have some fun for once."

"I think you should go," Ian intrudes from the bottom of the staircase. He's dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt with red paint smeared on it, along with his face and arms. "In fact, I'll drop you off on my way to my own party."

"You've both lost your minds." I storm for the stairs, but he dodges to the side, blocking my path. "Move out of my way, Ian. Please."

He shakes his head. "I'm not going to leave you here by yourself after what just happened. Mom will be fine—you'll be fine. In fact, I got a call from the hospital this morning and they said she's doing really well. Her wounds are healing really quickly and the meds have stabilized her mood. We should be able to see her tomorrow."

I thrum my fingers on the sides of my legs. "I'm still not going."

"Yes, you are," Raven insists.

I shake my head. "I always go with you to every party you've ever asked me to, but not this time."

Ian gently shoves me toward the stairway. "Quit being a baby, go get a damn costume on, and go have some fun for once in your fucking life."

"Asher will be there," Raven entices with a waggle of her eyebrows. "He texted me and said to make sure you were still coming, because you wouldn't answer your phone."

_Asher_. The Anamotti. The _X_ on my mom's head. It all rushes back to me. I need to know what's going on.

"Okay, I think I..."

The Grim Reaper materializes behind Ian with his head tipped down as he floats up to the ceiling. Then he elevates his hand to his face and the sleeve slips down his arm, revealing his human hand.

"He's human," I whisper, unable to move.

The Reaper puts his finger to his lips. "Shhh... There's no need to be afraid. The answers are in me," he purrs and the sound of his voice is enthralling. "Come with me, Ember. I'm begging you. Never look the other way."

My mind starts to melt to his request, but the touch of Raven's hand on my arm pulls me back.

"Em, get it together," she commands.

I blink the feeling away and stagger back. "I told you to stay away from me."

His finger shifts to bone and beneath the hood, flames ignite. He swoops for me and I duck to the floor, flat on my stomach. He hovers above my head, his cape flowing onto my back as he puts his mouth to my ear and his breath smells like a thousand stolen graves. "I got your mother to kill you, imagine what else I can do. Do not go against my wishes, Ember Rose Edwards. The only answers you need are from me."

I feel him whisk away, a hush of air across my back. When I push back to my feet, he's gone and Raven and Ian are staring at me, their faces frozen in horror.

"Em," Raven speaks tentatively. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah... I think so." But I need to get the hell away from all this madness. I need to breathe.

"Look," she says in her stern tone as she fixes her hair. "You've been through a lot the last couple of weeks and I don't want you home alone, especially on Halloween—you know how crazy things get sometimes."

"I know... Alright, I'll go." I snag my jacket from the banister and dash for the door. Against the Reaper's warning, I'm going to Asher for answers. I've been forced by the control of death too much in my life and I think it's time to break free of it.

"Um... Em." Raven steps in front of me and spreads her hands out to the side of her. "You need to change first."

I shake my bloody and ripped clothes. "I'm sure no one will notice. It's Halloween."

She shoos me toward the stairs. "You may not care, but I already have other plans for you. Big plans. One that will make Asher fall on his knees."

"I'm not really worried about how I look right now or whether or not Asher will fall on his knees," I pause at the bottom step. "I'm only going because I need to talk to Asher about something and it's not important if I look hot."

"Just give me like an hour," she pleads, with her hands crossed in front of her. "One hour to work my magic and then we're out. Okay?"

Two hours later we're still in my room. I'm sitting on my bed, while she lines my eyes heavily with black eyeliner, then she traces my lips with a red lipstick. Every one of her touches brings quietness, not death. Something has changed in her—or maybe in me. I need to test it out, find out if death has finally left me. Or if it's left her somehow.

"I still can't believe you had sex with him," she says for the thousandth time.

"Why not?" I wonder. "I had to have sex sometime."

"Yeah, but I always thought you'd be in love when you did?"

I frown at her. "Why?"

She brushes some mascara on my eyelashes. "Because... you're always writing about how you feel... you're so poetic and kind of a romantic."

I snort a laugh. "No, I'm not. I'm far from it."

She disagrees with a shake of her head, but stays silent.

I try to text Asher to see if I can persuade him to come to my house instead, but he won't answer my text.

"Keep texting him all you want," Raven singsongs, adding the finishing touches to my makeup. "But he's under strict orders not to let you off the hook from going to this party."

I growl at the phone and shove it aside. "I just need to talk to him."

She leans back and admires her handiwork. "I am damn good if I do say so myself." She steps aside so I can look in the mirror. My grey eyes sparkle against the silver and black eyeliner and my lips appear full and plump. She's tucked a rose over my ear and my black hair flows down my back. Around my neck is a choker centered with a rose and a black dress fits against my body. My feet are laced up by a pair of my black boots and black feathered wings span out from my back.

"Isn't it a little weird, though," I say, inspecting myself in the mirror. "I mean, the black feathers... people already think I made Laden disappear and that might set them off more. And then there's the Mackenzie thing..." I haven't shared the truth about that with Raven yet.

"Who gives a shit what they think," she declares, flicking a mascara wand through her eyelashes. "You didn't do anything and if anyone gives you crap, you'll knock them out—bring out the bar-fighting Ember I know."

A black ribbon secures the entire front part of the dress together. "I do like the costume."

"Well, you make one hell of a Grim Angel," she says, clipping the lid onto the eyeliner.

My head snaps in her direction. "Is that what I'm supposed to be? I thought their bones showed through their skin."

She gives me an once-over. "On some they do... the ones that go crazy. But some are as beautiful as the Angels of Death." Her cell phone beeps from inside her purse. She takes it out, reads it, and then sends a text before putting it away.

I run my fingers along the soft petals of the rose in my hair. "I thought you said you didn't know much about them."

"After you talked about them, I went back and picked up the books to try and refresh my memory." She reapplies her lipstick in the mirror. "You looked so upset that I couldn't remember anything."

I stroke the tips of my wings. "So what else do you know?"

She bites down on her glossy lip. "A lot, but I want you to prepare yourself for what I discovered." Then she grabs my hand and pulls me out the bedroom door. "They are exceptionally beautiful. So beautiful in fact, that some humans can't actually see their beauty."

I follow her down the stairs. "And what about the insanity part? Is that true? Do they really lose their minds from the burden of death and the Reapers' blood?"

She stumbles at the front door and realigns her foot into her white satin high-heel. "They can, if they give in to the wrath of death. It's all about good and evil with these things, I guess. At least, that's what the book said."

I turn sideways to fit through the doorway. "As in the Grim Reaper? He's the wrath of death, right?"

She stutters at my knowledge. "Yeah, that's the Grim Reaper. The belief is that a Grim Angel is a hybrid of Angel blood, mixed with Reaper blood, mixed with human blood."

It's dark outside, the stars and moon shining brightly. We hop into her car and I have to lean forward because my wings are uncomfortable to lean back on. Raven takes her wings off and tosses them into the backseat before she climbs in, then she starts up the car.

"Reapers are considered the bad version of death. They collect the evil souls and they are very powerful. Allegedly, the Grim Angel breed was put on Earth to stop some battle between the Angels of Death and the Reapers over who should get which souls... or maybe it was that one of them was stealing souls." She adjusts her mirror and backs onto the street. "The Grim Angel lives on Earth as a human, carrying both the power of Heaven and Hell in their bloodstream—their bodies hold balance to keep the Angels of Death and the Reapers at the same level, so neither would have more power over the other."

"You make is sound like the Angels of Death are as bad as the Reapers," I say, noting that her version of the story matches up with the one I read in the book. "Aren't Angels the good ones?"

"In some ways, yes. They are the ones that collect the good souls, but the book said that they got greedy trying to balance out the soul collection when Reapers started stealing innocent souls." She sighs heavily. "But anyways, I guess Reapers constantly try to trick Grim Angels and mess with their heads so they would surrender to death and join them. It's like a game to them or something, even though, technically, neither the Reapers nor the Angels are supposed to interfere with their lives."

Her tires screech as she peels onto the highway. The sidewalks are flooded with kids in Halloween costumes carrying bags of candy and the houses are gleaming with purple and orange lights. A girl in an Angel costume skips down the sidewalk, holding her mother's hand in front of a house with an eerie mist across the front lawn. Can Angels and Grim Reapers really exist?

I rotate away from the window and lean against the door. "So what happens to the Grim Angels that don't lose their minds? They just live being tortured by death until they die?"

Raven doesn't answer right away. "Basically, I think so."

I'm reminded of Asher's tattoo and the story: One girl with death on her shoulders connected them both, and with a single choice she would save the world _. But the fight would not be easy._ He had to be talking about a Grim Angel.

She reaches into the backseat, swerving her car as she hunts from something. "Here, there's the book." She tosses a book onto my lap and regains control of her car. "It actually doesn't say much more than what I've told you, but I marked the pages if you want to read through it."

"Thanks." I open the book and flip on the light above the console. "And I mean that. You really didn't have to go re-check this out and read it."

She fiddles with the temperature, turning it up then down. "Look, Ember, I know I've been a really shitty friend for most of our friendship, especially during the last week or so. But I want to start over—I want to be a better friend."

"You're a good friend." I flip to the page she marked. "And last week's bitchiness is totally acceptable considering... what happened." I pause, one thing still bothering me. "But Raven, can you do me a favor and never call me crazy, even when you're mad?"

She nods with regret. "I'm so sorry. That was such a low blow. And I know you're not crazy."

I'm not so sure anymore. In fact, I'm starting to wonder if a Grim Angel lives inside me.

As we drive over the bridge, we both stop breathing. The road is still stained with the _X_ and the median is scuffed from the collision. There is a small spot decorated with flowers and ribbons.

My mind flashes back to the bar fight and the way Asher took down a guy twice his size without even so much as blinking. Could Asher have killed him to protect Raven? But why would he decorate the scene? "What do you think happened to Laden?" I ask, trying to convince myself that there's no way it could be Asher, but deep down my heart and soul disagree. "Do you think he's... Do you think Asher really killed him?"

She clutches onto the steering wheel. "You know what? I really don't want to know what happened to him. If Asher killed him, then so be it."

I clear my throat and distract my thoughts onto the book. " _Grim Angels are the most important and most dangerous breed of Angels that have ever existed. They have a direct insight to death..._ " I read aloud with a shiver. " _They have the power to either destroy the human race or save it, depending on where their legions end up lying_." I glance up from the pages. "But how can they destroy the human race? That's what I want to know."

She flips the page and taps it with her finger on the title. "I'm not sure, but read this. It's really interesting."

" _The Grim Reaper is believed to be the collector of the evil souls. They possess the ability to not only separate one's soul from their body, and guide it to the next world, but they can also trick an individual to render their life over to them_." Oh my God, my mom _._ " _They like to play tricks on the bodies of the souls they take, leaving them hanging from trees, hiding them—_ "

She taps the brake so hard it locks up our seatbelts.

"What's wrong?" I ask, unlocking my seat belt.

"What if... what if Asher's a Grim Reaper and you're a Grim Angel?" It's like a light switch has flipped on in her head.

I shake my head. "There's no way that can be true. Why would you even say that?"

"Ember, think about it. You can see death. If you were a Grim Angel, this could be why," she presses. "And Asher has so much interest in you. And he knew where your car was. What if he told the cops?"

"No. There's no way." But doubts tug at my mind. When I died in the rose garden and I saw the Reaper take off his hood, he looked like Asher.

I shake the thoughts from my head. I won't jump to conclusions just yet, not until I hear what he has to say. Especially since Asher brings me an indescribable calmness to my mind and body and he has never openly done anything to hurt me. And he's had a lot of chances.

"It says in the book that they like to mess with Grim Angels' heads and try to ruin their lives, make them go crazy, and get them to surrender to the Wrath of Death," she says. "Think about it, Em. What if Asher did something to Laden after he saved me, but only so he could reenact what happened with your dad? What if he has been wiggling his way into your life to fuck with your head?"

"Why are you making these accusations?" I ask. "When just a few seconds ago you were defending Asher."

"Because it's making sense now."

"No, it's not. Nothing is making any sense. At all. My whole life doesn't make sense. It's like I'm always one step away from walking off a cliff."

"Read some more," she urges, waving her hand at the book. "See if there's anything else that might give us some more clues."

I continue in an unsteady voice. " _Grim Reapers are also excellent shape shifters, more often than not in the form of snakes, rats, cats, birds, and sometimes humans. Through their abilities, a Grim Reaper has been known to steal many innocent souls with a simple bribe or trick. This was the cause of the first battle between good and evil that lasted nearly a decade_." I stop reading.

She reaches over and turns the page. On the top of it is a beautiful Angel, with wings as black as the ones I'm wearing and hair as dark as ash. "Keep reading. I think you're getting close."

" _An Angel of Death brings a more peaceful death to the individual whose soul they collect. They only collect the souls of the dying innocent and carry the spirit over to the next world. They bring a sense of calm with their touch."_ That sounds more like Asher _._ " _Unlike the Grim Reaper, they wait for death and do not feed off the life of an individual. They are gentle by nature, but passionate in battle_." My eyes meet Raven's. "Passionate in battle?"

"It talks about a battle more toward the back." She diverges into the parking lot of the community center, not reducing the speed, and I'm slammed into the door. "But you can read about all this later. Right now, I want you to focus on having fun."

"Yeah... right."

Strobe lights flash in front of the entrance and a shroud of torn sheets hang from the front doors. Hay bales, with skeletons situated on them, border the sidewalk, and on the sloped roof of the school, the Grim Reaper stands. It's fake, with yellow eyes, but it sends a chill up my spine.

"Em." Raven's voice brings me back to her. She parks the car next to a group of people dressed up like the Scooby Doo gang. "I have to tell you something. And it's really important." She texts someone and then tucks the phone into her bra.

"Really." I give her a look. "In your bra?"

Her face drains of humor. "I might need my cell phone."

I bite down on my lip until it bleeds and fills my mouth with the bitter taste of rust. "Raven... do you really believe in this stuff?" I hold up the book. "Grim Reapers, Death Angels, and battles between good and evil? Or are you just showing it to me because I asked about a Grim Angel?"

Her eyes are as soft as they've ever been, and at that moment she is the same friend that slapped Ricky Stewart in the face when he cut off a piece of my hair in kindergarten. "My best friend has been able to see how everyone is going to die since she was four-years-old. If that shit can exist, why can't this?"

"I think the gift might be gone." I place a hand on her arm. "I can't feel your death anymore."

"Your _curse_ isn't gone." She smiles sadly and slips the white-feathered wings onto her back.

"Yeah, but what if it's not a curse?" I maneuver awkwardly out of the car, bending low to get my wings out. "What if I'm... What if this whole time I've been able to do all this stuff because I'm not human?"

"It would still be considered a curse, Em. Death stole your life away from you when you were four." She locks up the doors and the headlights flash as the car beeps. "Come on, let's go inside."

The chilled wind blows through our hair as we hike across the parking lot and Raven holds the bottom of her dress down and fiddles with her hair. Inside her bra, the phone rings, and she does a little wiggle from the vibration, but ignores the call.

"Damn Halloween decorations." Raven coughs as we push the front doors and a mist blows in our faces.

I fan my face and blink my eyes until we break through the mist and into the main area. A guitarist flares on his strings on a stage near the farthest wall and music bursts through several large speakers. Orange and black streamers are spiraling around columns, and purple and silver ceiling lights flash down on the packed dance floor, where people jump up and down, shouting out the lyrics of the song. There are witches, devils, vampires, Frankenstein's, and even a few Angels. In the farthest corner, someone is fashioned in a Grim Reaper costume.

"God, I hope there aren't too many of them," I mumble.

Raven tracks the object of my gaze. "Oh, Emmy, you don't fear the Reaper, do you?"

I shoot her a blank stare. "Is that supposed to be funny?"

She smiles and hooks arms with me. It's the strangest thing in the world, touching her and not feeling her death. We create a wide path with her wings as we weave around the room, toward the common area, a small room just behind the stage. Heads turn in our direction, but I keep focused on the common room doors.

"Why are we going back here?!" I yell over the music.

She points at the doors decorated with spider webs and an _ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK_ sign. "There's a haunted house back there and Asher just sent me a text that he was walking through it with some friends."

I slam to a stop and she's jerked back. My mind is begging me to turn around and run.

"Em, what the hell?" She unclasps our arms. "What are you looking at?"

My pulse races as I stare at the door. "I'm not sure I want to go in there."

She rolls her eyes and jerks me forward. "Come on, we'll be fine."

"Why can't I just meet him out here?" I ask, glancing back at the dance floor.

"Stop being a chicken!" She laughs and it brings my focus back to her. "I was only kidding about him being the Reaper."

She pushes through the door and I follow her into the haunted house. It's dark inside and when the door shuts behind us, it suffocates the music. There are skeletons in the entrance of a hallway formed by hay bales and orange and purple twinkle lights light the way down the path.

I back up, but Raven wrenches me forward. "You are going to have fun tonight whether you like it or not."

Shaking my head, I trudge after her. One of the skeletons jump up and shriek at us as we pass it and Raven speeds up, laughing. The farther we go, the more scarce the lights get, until there are none left and we're smothered by blackness.

Screams fill the air along with evil laughs and a warm mist dampens my skin.

"Raven," I hiss, clutching onto her. "I want to go back... this was a mistake coming back here."

Her hand falls from mine and she laughs. "Last one to the end's a rotten egg."

I stumble around in the dark with my hands sprawled out in front of me. "Raven, where the hell are you?"

Behind me a light clicks on and highlights the graffiti on the wall. I lower my hands as another light turns on and emphasizes a chain link floor-length gate in front of me. I push through the gate and step into the next section, which is lined wall-to-wall with mirrors. The gate slams shut behind me and I whirl around, threading my fingers through the links, jerking it fiercely.

The gate won't budge, so I hurry, vigilantly, up the slender hall between the mirrored walls. "Raven, please tell me where you are. This isn't funny anymore."

I hear her laugh from somewhere and the lights flash off, then on again as a man appears at the end of the hall, with dark hair, kohl-lined eyes, black jeans, and a T-shirt. A giant _X_ brands his forehead.

I squint through the blinking lights that reflect blindingly against the mirrors. "Laden?"

"Hello, Ember." He grins, expanding his arms out to the side of him. "Long time, no see."

I back up, but crash into a solid figure and a thousand deaths pour through me: _pain, terror, falling, drowning, fire, pain, pain, pain._ I buckle forward, but he grasps my arm, rotates it behind my back, and reels me to face him.

Garrick's greasy hair shines in the light and he scratches the _X_ on his eye. "You're not playing the game right, do you know that? You're not answering every question we ask and you're not giving in. It's very disappointing."

" _We_ ," I say, hoping to throw him off. "As in the Anamotti."

His face remains tolerant. "What? You think that surprised me? The bigger question that I think needs answering is who are the Anamotti? And who leads us?"

"I don't know what you're getting at." I try to wrench my arm away, tugging hard and letting out a scream.

His fingernails dig into my skin. "Oh, I think you do. It's the perfect crime, you know. Telling the person you're after the group who is chasing after her, when really you are part of it. Earning her trust, so she'll never see it coming."

"Asher isn't after me," I choke. "He wouldn't do that."

"What, lie?" A sly grin creeps over his face. "Or try to kill you? How do you think he showed up so fast that night at the lake after I ran into you? And how do you think _we_ knew you were going to be here tonight?"

Kinking my arm, I jerk out of his grip and back up, peeking over my shoulder at Laden, grinning at me as blood drips down his forehead and onto the floor. "I'm not an Angel. And that's what the Anamotti want, right? Angels?"

"Not just any Angel, but a Grim Angel." Garrick matches my steps and leans in, putting his face close to mine. "I think deep down you know what you are. _The_ Grim Angel, the one that holds the balance of the Reapers and the Angels of Death. The one that carries death with her all the time. The one that will easily crack and lose the balance with her mind. It's in your blood, you know—the insanity."

He lunges at me with his hands out, his fingers seeking my throat, and I bring my knee up and knee him between the legs. His face contorts in pain as he crumples to the floor and I dart around him and throw myself against the fence. The metal slices open my palms and forces me to let go. I land on my butt, but scramble to my feet and spin around, ready to protect myself, but Garrick and Laden have vanished.

I give the fence a few more shakes, but a padlock on the other side secures it. I'm fully pissed off at myself because I walked right into a trap. And I have no god damn clue what waits for me at the end. I take a deep breath and hurry down the hallway of mirrors. There is a fork at the end, and I select the right

"Ember," Garrick's voice suddenly touches my ear. "Don't breathe."

I take off down the hall without looking back, my legs struggling as I tear around the corner. His footsteps barrel after me and his laugh echoes down the hall.

"Ember," he calls out. "Come out, come out wherever you are."

As I tear around a sharp corner, I trip over something heavy and solid and losing my balance, my body slams to the floor. I rapidly flip over to my back and glance at what made me fall.

"Oh shit..." It's a person, face down on the floor. I crawl over to them and turn them on their back.

Laden's dead eyes stare at me, his pale decomposing skin ice-cold, and the _X_ on him is an older wound. He's been dead for a while. I think back to my tree with his body hanging in it, and the one I saw in the library. Is this even real?

Garrick's voice drifts down the hall. "It's hard to tell, isn't it? What's real and what's not. Tell me Ember, does it ever feel like you're losing your mind?"

I leap to my feet, jump over Laden, and sprint madly down the hall, sweat dripping down my skin. The side entrance door finally comes into view and I reach for the door handle, but something hits me from the side and I slam to the ground as a hay bale lands on top of me. My head cracks against the tile and the sounds of my bones fracturing are stomach-churning.

Garrick crouches down in front of me. "Ever heard the term 'Don't Fear the Reaper'? Well, it's a little misleading." He pulls the hood of a cloak over his head. "Because everyone fears death, Ember. Even Death itself." He pulls out a knife and cuts an _X_ across my forehead, and then everything goes black.

# Chapter 19

I open my eyes to the shimmering pieces of stars and a pale crescent moon. I attempt to roll onto my stomach, but a rope detains each of my wrists to a tree and my legs are tied to each other. Out of the corner of my eyes, a fire blazes and feathers and rose petals halo around my head. The wings are still secured to my back, but are bent to conform to the pressure of my body.

"Hello," I call out. "Is anyone here?"

A woman with a sharp pointy nose and blonde hair appears in my line of vision. "Hello, Ember. It's so nice of you to join us."

My eyes narrow at her. "Detective Crammer."

"Feel like you're going crazy yet?" The firelight glows in her blue eyes and shadows the area underneath her defined cheekbones, so she looks almost skeletal. "Like you don't know what's real?"

"So you're part of the Anamotti," I say, winding the rope around my wrist to gain more control. "Or are you a Grim Reaper?"

Her thin lips nearly vanish as she smiles and retrieves a small, silver-handled knife from the pocket of her jacket. She puts the tip of it to my forehead, piercing it into my skin and a warm river of blood cascades down my forehead and eyes. "The Anamotti and the Reapers are one and the same. The Anamotti is just what we go by in the human world to help us stay undetected." She gestures around her and a group of people step out of the trees. "All of us are Reapers here. Even you." She smirks. "Partly anyway."

All of them wear black cloaks, but the hoods are off, showing me their human form. Most of them are unfamiliar, but I recognize Garrick, who mockingly waves at me and winks.

And the sight of a pink-haired girl bruises my heart. "Raven."

She dreamily grins at me and her sapphire eyes are dazed, like she's drunk. "I'm so sorry, Em. I didn't mean to do it. I just couldn't seem to help myself."

Madness pricks at my brain as I tug on the ropes until my wrists rupture open and blood pours out all over my hands, the rope, and the dirt.

"Oh, relax for Christ's sake." Detective Crammer draws the knife down my cheek and splits open my face. "She's under the spell of the Reaper because, unlike you, she's human and can be possessed by him."

Raven steps forward from the crowd, but Beth thrusts out her hand, shoving her back. "Stay back, you little trollop. You are still to obey my orders."

Raven blinks and descends back toward the crowd. "I'm so sorry."

"Raven," I beg, trying to make eye contact with her. "Don't listen to her. Run away! Now!"

"It's pointless to try to get through to her." Detective Crammer says, lowering her arm. "The power of the Reaper is more powerful than anything, which you'll soon learn after we get rid of you."

I raise my chin up and look her in the eye. "You know I can't die, right? So whatever you have planned for me won't work."

She pats the handle of the knife against her palm as she circles around me. "Oh yes, the beauty of being able to suck the life away from the living. It makes it harder to get rid of you, but not impossible." She cackles, throwing her head back and some of the other Reapers join in. "It also makes you more prone to insanity and more likely to surrender to the Reaper blood, just like your father did."

"What do you know about my father?!" Craning my arms, I try to get the trees to break with my strength.

"You don't have super strength." She rolls her eyes and crouches down in my face. "In fact, you're fairly close to an ordinary girl, only you're connected with every aspect of death. It's not really a gift, so much as a curse. In fact, if I were you, I'd let me put you out of your misery. All you would have to do is surrender to the Reaper and he would take away the pain of death."

I could stop fighting; erase the pain, taking away death, rupturing the chains that have sentenced me to a life of solitude? All that silence I feel with Asher and Cameron could exist all the time? It's enticing, yet it's not, because it would still be death, only in a more powerful form.

"No, I won't do it," I say in an even voice.

"Fine, then. I guess, for the moment, you'll let your Angel blood make your decisions. But I warn you, you'll give in." She snaps her fingers and Garrick shoves Raven forward. She trips over her bare feet and falls to her knees at the side of me. Her wings are broken, her dress is torn and stained with dirt, and there's no life in her eyes. "If you are not willing to surrender, I'll force you to." Detective Crammer walks up behind Raven and aims the knife at her throat. She gently cuts a thin layer of skin away and blood trickles out, running down the front of Raven's dress.

Raven winces, but doesn't cry out.

"Wait," I beg. "Don't hurt her."

"There's only one way out of this." She makes another slim puncture on Raven's neck.

Death or life. Death or life. What's the difference? "I'll do whatever you want me to. Just let her go."

She carves another small incision along Raven's neck and the other Reapers cackle, pulling their hoods over their heads and shielding their faces.

"Oh, I don't want anything from you," she says. "I'm just going to torture her and then you, until you lose your mind and give into your Reaper blood."

I thrash my body and jerk on the ropes as hard as I can. "Leave her alone!" I close my palms and attempt to slide my hands through the rope. The rough material claws at my skin, rubbing it raw, but I refuse to give up—give in.

Detective Crammer snickers as she hacks off a small lock of Raven's pink hair with the knife. "Do you know how fun it was to torture you? Kill you time and time again. Make you think you were losing your mind. You have a bendable mind and so do the people closest to you. Most of them are insane—do you know that? And do you want to know why?"

"Because of the pain of my existence," I say.

"No, but it's close," she replies, wiping the blade of the knife on the front of her cloak. "Insanity is a very contagious thing; it's easy to get caught up in it. Those who are close to a Grim Angel start experiencing what they go through and it wears them down, driving them insane themselves. Plus, they are susceptible to the Reaper's torture."

Raven gags on her own blood as she clutches at her throat. "Ember, help me."

Detective Crammer grabs a handful of Raven's hair and moves the knife to Raven's hairline, like she's going to scalp her. My whole body trembles as the Reapers close in around me and their eyes begin to glow.

"Just give in, Ember" the detective says, dipping the knife down beneath Raven's scalp. "And everything—all of it will be gone."

I stare up at the night sky, thinking about my life. Would everything be better if I was gone? If I just gave up? Died? Maybe. Maybe I would stop taking life from things. Maybe the world would be a better place without my knowledge of death.

I watch as a black figure swoops down from the sky and I figure it's more Reapers coming to take me away. But black feathers fall from Heaven and dust the air with a peaceful feeling.

The creature moves inhumanly fast, just a blur as it clips the ropes on my wrists with its hand and turns me loose. Then it rounds back, swipes up Detective Crammer by the shoulders, and carries her into the sky. Her painful scream echoes and Reapers push up from the ground, springing to the air, and fly into the sky.

"Passionate when in battle," I mutter and quickly sit up and untie my legs. Then I rush over to Raven, lying face down in the dirt, and gently roll her onto her back. Her eyes are shut and the blood flows out from the open wounds on her neck. "Rav, can you hear me?"

She sucks in a breath and her eyes shoot open. "Oh my God, I think I..."

Tucking my arm underneath hers, I aid her to her feet. "Come on, we have to go before they come back for us."

"Too late," Garrick says, landing just in front of us. His voice is human, but below the hood is a skeletal figure; sharp cheek bones, empty eyes, a soulless heart. "Ember, there's no use trying. We always win this every time. You wanna know why?"

Raven leans her weight on me, her eyes shutting as I inch us back toward the forest. "Because you mess with the Grim Angel's head until they crack. You don't give up."

He matches my steps toward the forest, his cape like a train on the ground behind him. "Because evil is the one that plays dirty—we are the ones who break the rules." His arms lift to the side of him and he's holding the knife. "Therefore, evil always triumphs."

"Go into the trees," I whisper in Raven's ear, nudging her forward. "Now."

She blinks at me, half there, half gone. "I'm not leaving you... They want to kill you."

"No, they want to make me one of them," I say. "They can't kill me."

Reluctantly, she slips out from the support of my arm and hobbles into the shadows of the trees, free from the Reaper's power.

Emptiness chokes up my throat as I march for Garrick with my hands out to the side. "Go ahead, kill me."

He grins and the fire crackles wildly behind him. "You know I can't do that. But I can hurt you." Without zero hesitation from either one of us, he stabs the knife into my throat, severing my skin and my veins. Blood gurgles out and I clamp my hand over the wound as the soothing murmur of the trees and the flowers sprouting from the dirt instantly connect with me and stitches up my skin.

Garrick lets out a slow whistle as he wipes the blood of the blade with his cloak. "That was faster than it should be... No, you couldn't be... could you..."

While he's ranting to himself, I take the opportunity to ram my knee into his gut, and then I whirl around and slam my elbow into his face. The contact of bone to bone deadens my elbow, so, using my other fist, I punch him in the nose. A bar fight tactic and it works. Garrick goes down like a sack of potatoes.

Whirling away from him, I race for the forest, but he scurries forward on his belly and his fingers wrap around my ankle, jerking me down on my face. I smash the heel of my boot into his face, but he just laughs.

"You can't kill death eternally." His voice is sharp and blood streams down his face. "It was highly entertaining though, watching you try to sift through my thousands of deaths." I kick him again, but he only laughs harder. "You know, you have a lot more power than you think, you just have no idea how to use it."

I claw at the ground as his hands move up my leg like a tight rope, while a raven lands in front of me. Then he stabs the knife in my calf and grabs me by the hair, rising to his feet, and pulling me up with him. Pain shoots up my leg as blood gushes down it.

"Help me, please," I whisper to the bird. "Please..."

It hops from side to side, like it is thinking.

"Please, bird. I have a feeling you can hear me," I whisper, limping to keep my balance.

I'm about to give up when Garrick's hands suddenly leave me and the sound of flapping wings sends the raven diving for the woods. Without hesitation, I sprint into the dark forest.

"Raven," I hiss, searching behind trees and near bushes as I hike deeper into the forest. The stars flicker between the cracks of the branches over my head and I can hear shouts and screams in the distance.

"Raven," I dare call out as twigs crunch beneath my shoes. "Where are you? It's me, it's Ember."

I keep walking, knowing where I'm going, but worried Raven doesn't. "Please answer me. I promise no one's going to hurt you anymore."

By the time I step into the cemetery, I'm worried she might be lost in the trees. I need a phone and some help so I head quickly for the iron-rod gates. As usual, the cemetery is quiet with death. The trees cast shadows all over the ground and the fence blocks out most of the street lights. My wings are ripped and my skin is soaked with blood and I have a limp to my walk.

I weave through the headstones, careful not to step on them and as the wind picks up, the hinges of the gate squeak.

I'm about to the gate when I hear a whisper and turn in a quick circle, skimming the trees. "Hello... Raven, is that you?"

When someone steps out from behind a tree at the back of the cemetery, a wall crumples inside my body. Dressed in black, he blends with the night, but his hair is as white as a ghost. His long legs stretch out in front of him as he strides across the grass toward me.

"Well, if it isn't my number one fan," Cameron says and my insides burst with chills.

Against my own power, I halt next to the statue of the Grim Reaper, like he controls my body now, not me. "What are you doing here?" I ask.

There's a _swoosh_ and suddenly he's standing right in front of me, his eyes dark as coals, his face hauntingly poetic. "Don't pretend you don't like me, Ember." A grin pulls at his lips. "You may pretend like you're not interested in me, but I know you are."

I shut my eyes, my muscles constricting as I attempt to lift my foot off the grass— trying to get it to move me toward the gate again. "What are you doing to me?"

His eyes sear like cinders, on the edge of life, but not quite dead as he circles me with his hands behind his back. "You are so beautiful. So grown up. So full of life, yet always so full of death."

My legs quiver with the desire to run. "What are you?"

"Perhaps you should be asking me what you are." His long finger traces my cheekbone and a dark hunger flares in his eyes, dying to feed. "You really are amazing, yet you've been blinded by the fear of death and have never noticed all the possibilities in front of you. If you'd just accept it—"

"I won't." I interrupt in a sharp, searing tone. "I'm not giving in to Death."

"You shouldn't decide your answer until you understand everything." He takes my hand and helplessly I follow him as he guides me to the tree.

He nestles us down next to the trunk, wraps his arms around me, and leans me back against his chest. He sweeps my hair aside and puts his lips against my ear. "Never having to fear or experience death. Imagine writing about immortality, instead of death like everyone else. You could be the first."

"Walt Whitman and Emily Dickinson already did," I smart off. "And so did Spill Canvas."

"Spill Canvas?" He sounds intrigued.

"It's a band, you asshole." I force out a scream, but it cuts off before it reaches my lips. How could I not see this coming? I'm enraged with myself. Furious. "Cameron, let me go. Please. If you're a Reaper, I thought you couldn't possess me."

"I'm not supposed to... and I can't possess your mind completely—trust me, I've tried. But I can possess your body." He kisses the tip of my ear, grazing it with his teeth, and then he moves his lips down my neck, before pulling away.

"You were such a strange child. Usually, when they sent me to mess with a child's head, it was the most droning time of my existence," he says. "But you were determined not to get rid of me. I didn't even faze you... it kind of took the fun out of it and was extremely annoying."

"No... there's no way..." It clicks in my head what he's saying.

"And then I had to return years later, due to orders... but you were all grown up and far less annoying and I just couldn't do what the Reapers wanted me to." He pauses, considering something. "You know I broke the rules for you. I tried to warn you about your dad, even though I wasn't supposed to. And then you ran away with me... Admit it—that was probably the most fun you've had in your life. You and me, hiding in the woods, while I listened to you ramble to yourself, trying to pretend I wasn't there."

"I can't believe it... you're _that_ Grim Reaper. The one who's tormented me for most of my God damn life," I breathe, enraged. All that time I spent with him in the woods after my dad vanished... that was him?

"But you never did whole-heartedly tell me to go away, so therefore, I didn't have to." He pauses, grazing his hand down my thigh. "I tried to warn you about your dad so you could help him. Do you know that? Do you know how much I care for you?"

"You tried to force me to kill my mom," I seethe. "That's not caring about someone... And you don't even know me."

"I only did that to your mom to help you," he whispers mellifluously in my ear. "I just want you to quit fighting who you really are. If you'd just give in to the insanity, instead of fighting it, life would be so much easier. And we could be together."

"I almost killed her," I fume as he tips me back and peers down with a smile. "I stole my mom's life to save my own."

"Don't be ashamed of it." He sketches his finger down my cheekbone. "It's in your blood and your dad did it many times. Trust me."

"Do you know where my dad is?" I snap. "The detective—or the Reaper—whoever the hell she is, said he gave in to insanity. Does that mean he's dead? Or is he one of you? I need to know. Please, Cameron. Please tell me."

Ignoring me, he angles my head back onto his lap and looks into my eyes. "We're perfect for each other. Imagine it, alive in death, writing beautiful words together... And I promise I'll never hurt you," he whispers, slowly moving out from me and then laying me on my back. "I just want to help you."

"No one can help me," I say as my head touches the grass. "Especially..."

He conceals his body over mine and my words evaporate into the night. I no longer know what I want—what I feel—as his hand travels up my shoulders, up the side of my neck, and resides on my cheek, while his other hand explores the bare skin on my hip. "I could help you, if you let me. I could make all that sadness go away." He licks his lip as he presses his body against mine, converging himself to every part of me. "Let me take it all away forever."

My arms fall helplessly to my sides. "No."

"Ember," he coaxes, sliding his fingers through my hair, before cupping my cheek. "Let me in."

My knees fall apart, allowing his body closer, and a moan escapes from my lips, but not under the control of my own. "Cameron... don't..."

Hooking a finger underneath my chin, he tips my face up so I have to look him in the eyes. "What if I told you I could take away every ounce of pain you have and would ever feel? Think about it. You could have the perfect life."

He leans in and I shut my eyes as he kisses my neck and my body arches into him. "That's not possible," I say. "Death is pain. And death exists everywhere. Besides, nothing is perfect..."

"It is possible, all you have to do is say yes." Keeping his body sealed to mine, he grabs my arms and pins them above my head, rendering me helpless. When he looks me in the eyes again, something's different. I feel weightless, free, like I can finally breathe. "Give me permission." His lips touch my cheek, then the corner of my mouth as his free hand slips down the front of my shirt and his knee slides up between my legs. "Please, give me permission."

My eyes shut and my lips part open as I feel my willpower crumble to dust. I realize it might be easier to give in. "You have permission to do what you—"

"Ember, _don't_." Asher's voice jerks me back to earth—to life—and my eyelids shoot open. "Don't promise him anything."

I can't see him, but the sound of his voice brings me comfort from the madness.

A grin spans Cameron's face. "Asher, my dear friend, you're just in time for the feast."

My eyes widen. "You guys know each other?"

"Get away from her," Asher demands and I can hear his footsteps nearing. "You have no right to be touching her like that."

"And neither do you." Cameron looks like he's enjoying himself, smoking as he watches my excited reaction to the sound of Asher's voice.

I need to see him—need to know he really exists. I force my gaze sideways and spot Asher storming across the cemetery ground with his hands clenched into fists. His face is bruised, his knuckles are scraped raw, and the scar beneath his eyebrow ring is more defined and dominant.

"What's... what's." My lips hitch shut.

"Get off of her." He's so close, but still so far away. "Or I swear to God I'll—"

Bending his knees, Cameron leaps off me, leaving me paralyzed on the ground. He turns his back on me and marches across the cemetery lawn, meeting Asher in the middle of the tombstones. "Or you'll what?"

"You've broken rules," Asher growls, balling his fists. "A lot of them."

Wrath thunders in both their eyes as they charge for each other, their boots scrapping at the dirt. The sky rumbles and the ground quakes as they reach one another. Like mist rising from a lake, a black cloak forms around Cameron and swallows him up as he swishes it around his body. Asher lets out a derailing screech, springing on his toes, pushing into the air as wings trimmed with black feathers snap out from his back, shredding his shirt into pieces. They slam into one another and the collision of their bodies deafens the night.

Suddenly, my legs and arms return to my control and I jump to my feet as a tornado of feathers and mist swarm the cemetery. Cameron and Asher move like lightning, moving so swiftly I can barely detect them.

An Angel and a Grim Reaper? An _Angel_ and a _Grim Reaper_?

"Ember!" Raven's voice draws me back to my other problem.

She's back in the shadows of the cemetery, curled up next to the Angel statue, clutching her head. I run across the grass toward her, waving for her to run the other way. "Raven, we have to get out of here—" I fall face-first into an open grave and land hard. Cold skin touches mine and my insides quiver as I push up and blink down at Mackenzie Baker. Her blonde hair is covered in dirt and red lines track her neck and wrists. It hits me like a shove off a cliff as my mind races back to Cameron's house, the bands on her neck and wrists.

"Oh my God," I breathe. "You were dead the whole time... I can see the dead."

Dirt sprinkles down on me and I flip over to my back. Raven leans over the shallow hole, with blood in her hair, blankness in her eyes, and a handful of dirt in her hand.

"I love you, Em, I really do," she says, sprinkling more dirt down on me. "But you can't save me anymore. I have to give in."

Shielding my eyes, I struggle to my feet and press my fingertips into the dirt.

"Please don't make this harder than it already is, Em." Raven disappears for a moment and when she returns, she has a shovel in her hand. "If you would have just given up back at the fire, I wouldn't have to do this to you. _You_ could have saved me from this burden." She scoops up another shovel full of dirt and drops it down on my head. "But now you're going to be buried alive, and remain there until you break."

"Raven." I hurdle onto the side of the grave, burrowing my boots into the moist dirt. "Think about what you're doing for just a second. You don't want to do this."

She plucks out a twig from her hair and drops it down into the hole, watching it fall all the way to the bottom. "Of course I don't. What I want is a happy life, with a mother who isn't crazy and a friend who can be near people. What I want is to go back in time and never leave that party with Laden, so I could erase what it felt like when he had me pinned down to the ground... erase the feeling of his filthy hands on me..." she trails off, staring up at the sky.

Extending my arm as far as it will go, I reach for the edge of the hole, but my feet slip out from under me and I collapse back onto Mackenzie's body. Forcing myself not to lose it, I push off of her and stand back against the wall. I clumsily claw my way upward and finally, I heave myself over the lip and roll onto my back on the grass.

Raven bounds on top of me, kneeing me in the gut, and she pins my arms down to the side. I bring up my knees and vault her off by shoving my feet into her stomach. She slams against the Angel statue, her head hitting the stone hard, and she lets out a groan. "What's happening to me?"

"Nothing. Just stay here, okay?" I race through the headstones toward the Reaper and the Angel of Death still battling each other in the middle of the grass.

Cameron has Asher restrained on the grass, kneeling on him, and his fingers are wrapped around his throat. "Tell me, what's it been like being alone all this time? Apparently, pretty bad for you to be breaking the rules." He presses his fingers tighter around Asher, who slides his hands up Cameron's arms, desperate to escape.

There are feathers all over the grass and pieces of black fabric, along with broken head stones and tipped over trees. Pain sets in at what these two can do and how much I need to stop it.

I stop short of them, summon a deep breath, and squeeze my eyes shut. "I want you to go away, Cameron." It hurts to say it, like a vine of thorns entwining in my veins.

Silence settles around me and I crack open my eyelids. Cameron is still on top of Asher, but his hand is hanging lifelessly at his side. "Don't say things you don't mean, Ember Rose," he advises. "Think about the last time you wished me away."

"I want you gone," I demand in a steady voice, taking a step toward. "I don't want death haunting me anymore."

"You can't get rid of death, princess," he says sorrowfully, letting go of Asher completely. "Death is endless."

It frightens me how much his words match mine. "Then I guess I will outrun it for as long as I can."

Cameron climbs off Asher and dusts the dirt and grass off his hands, before lowering the hood of his cloak, so I'm looking directly at him, not the Reaper. "You know I only did it to bring you to me. I only push so you'll give in to me, not to the others."

My heart thumps in my chest as he stops in front of me and angles my chin up to look him in the eye. His blonde hair is pale in the moonlight and sadness haunts his eyes, like the first time I saw him.

"Why were you really here that night?" I ask, with a shiver. "When I saw you digging up the grave?"

His fingers twitch at his side, longing to touch me. "I already told you, looking for a family jewel." He touches the tip of his finger to the hollow of my neck. "Turns out you had it."

"My grandma's necklace..." I trail off, confused. "Why do you want it?"

He smiles miserably. "And I'm sorry I took it, but I had to. Besides, it wasn't yours to have in the first place. It belongs to my family."

"Then why did my grandma have it?"

"Because she stole it from us."

My eyes broaden. "Cameron, tell me—"

He shushes me by putting his finger across my lips. "I don't want to talk about that right now. I want to talk about you and me."

"There is no you and..." My eyes stray to Asher, lying in the grass, encompassed by black feathers. "Did you kill him?"

"He can't die, princess." Cameron's mouth sinks to a sulking frown. "Unfortunately."

"Why did you kill Mackenzie? And Laden. And I'm guessing Farrah is probably on the list, too." My legs beg me to run, but my desire to know the truth overpowers them.

"I didn't kill Laden. Asher did," he says. "And Mackenzie and Farrah died from the same human's hand, not mine. And if you listened closely to her story, you probably could figure out the culprit."

"Her _dad_?"

He shrugs. "That's for you to figure out, if you want to. I just collect the souls. And I'll admit, I didn't try to stop Mackenzie's death. I wanted her to suffer for all the times she was rude to you."

His misconstrued logic is a puzzle to me. "That's the craziest thing I've ever heard."

"I know you don't understand." He cups my cheek, releasing both ecstasy and sheer terror through me. "But that day when I saw you in the cemetery, I knew I had to have you and that I'd hurt anyone that ever caused you pain."

"Your little _friends_ ," I point over my shoulder at the forest, "hurt me. Do you know about that?"

"I can't help that without breaking more rules. But it can all be over if you want it to be. All you have to do is agree to be with me—want to be with me. And then I'm allowed to help you."

"And what? Become a Grim Reaper and start collecting souls and killing people?"

"There's more to it than that," he says, his eyes smoldering. "More to you than what you realize and you're in for a rough and painful life until you realize that. But it can all be over if you'll just give in to your Reaper blood."

I compress my hands into fists, and will myself to deny his request, even though a small part of me wants it. "I'm telling you to leave, just like I did when I was four."

His face falls and his eyes flash with anger. Lightning zaps across the sky, but I refuse to look away. "Is that what you really want, Ember?"

I swallow the refusal building in my throat and make myself want it. "That's what I want."

He bites down on his lip so hard blood drips down his chin, and then he cups the back of my head and pulls me in for a rough, almost violent kiss as he shoves me against his body. I taste the blood on his lips, the foul darkness of death, but a flicker of something substantial is hidden deep inside him, like a seed in the center of an apple.

He releases me, breathing fervently, running his fingers down my hip and across my stomach, before pulling away. "I'll pay for that one forever." He backs toward the gates, his eyes fastened on me. "They'll come for you—the rest of the Reapers. They won't stop until they get you to crack."

"Then I'll tell them to go away, too," I tell him.

"That won't work on them, sweetheart," he says gravely as he slinks farther into the shadows. "The Anamotti aren't quite as easy-going as me." With a swish of his cloak, he alters into a smaller figure, sprouting wings and shrinking into a raven. He circles around my head, before disappearing into the night sky.

My body aches to fly away with him, be free, shed my skin, become one with the night, but I know I can't.

Asher makes a grunting noise and I rush for him, kneeling down on the ground beside him. "Are you okay?" I ask, not daring to touch him.

His shirt is torn from his cuts and bruises cover his beautiful pale chest. His black hair is disheveled, his lip is split open, and his striking wings are crooked, the feathers scarce.

"I'm fine," he assures me with a weak smile as he sits up.

"Does it... does it hurt?"

His eyes unite with mine, zealous and hungry. "Nothing could hurt at this moment. You just sent him away."

"I've sent him away before." I brush stray feathers from his arms and then rest my hand in the curve of his shoulder, feeling his warmth. "But he came back."

"I know." His hand finds my hip and he pulls me onto his lap. "And he'll find a way to keep coming back until I completely surrender to him—they all will."

"What did you do to them?" I ask, gripping at his bare shoulders. "The other Reapers—the Anamotti. Detective Crammer or whoever she is?"

"She's a Reaper—all the Anamotti are. They're the Reapers who have banded together to eliminate the Grim Angels, even though it's forbidden to touch them. And I took care of them, for the moment, but they'll be back."

I note his hands on my hips, wondering if _he's_ allowed to touch me. "You mean, until they make me lose my sanity."

He nods, his eyes never parting from mine. "That's the point of all this, yes. We are all cursed to this world until you do."

My knees sink to the ground. "Cursed?"

"Our curse to this world," he explains. "It's our punishment for our part in the Battle of Death. The Angels of Death and the Grim Reapers are bound to the Earth by the existence of the Grim Angel. And it's only the Grim Angel that can free one of us back to our homes."

"But aren't the Grim Angels supposed to create balance, so no one can steal souls?"

"They are, but they will break the balance. The Reapers have been working to weed out every Grim Angel that exists, until there is only one left standing. And that one is the one that will have to pass the test. If they can live their life enduring the Reaper and Angel blood, then the Angels of Death will gain back their power over the souls and be freed from Earth. If they give in to the insanity of the Reapers, then the Reapers gain control over the souls."

"But I thought Reapers collected the evil souls and Angels collected the innocent?" I ask, moving my legs so I'm straddling him.

"That's how it used to work," he says, reaching his fingers for my cheek, like he wants to touch me, but then he withdraws his hand back. "But the rules were broken and a bet was made. Now whoever wins, wins all the souls."

"But if Reapers could collect any soul," I glance at the tombstones, "then it would be bad."

"It would probably be worse than you can even imagine." His voice weighs heavily and then his jaw tightens.

"How many are left?" I cling onto him, fearing his answer "How many Grim Angels still roam the Earth?"

"I'm not exactly sure. There used to be a lot, but the Reapers have been singling them out and many have died of old age. The longer they exist, the scarcer the Grim Angels bloodline is." He winces as he shifts his weight, still refusing to touch me with his hands. "And the Reapers must know how few there are, because over the last couple years, they've been really determined to hunt them down, even though they're not supposed to."

"That's what I don't get," I say, gently touching a cut on his cheek. "If they're not supposed to, then why doesn't someone stop them?"

"It's up to their leader to punish them. Or we could go into battle," he says as I move my fingers upward to the scar on his eyebrow. "But Michael, my father and the ruler of the Angels of Death, won't allow us to bend any rules under any circumstances."

"You said your dad was bad. And dead." I frown, pulling my hand back. "And that you moved from New York to get away from the memories of him."

"I did," he assures me, and then swiftly changes the subject, his powerful, consuming gaze taking in my bare shoulders and my chest curving out of my torn dress. "You look beautiful like that." He strokes the tip of my fake wing. "When I saw you, I almost had a heart attack. For a second, I thought somehow... you became one of us."

The wind howls, flipping my wings in front me and throws my body off balance. Asher's fingers spread over my hips as he steadies me and then hugs me against his chest. I sense the approaching goodbye waiting for me at his lips. We stare at each other, hearts beating, eyes linked, neither of us desiring to move. But the moment is fleeting, like the sound of a weightless laugh, the flash of a lightning bolt, the last breath of the dying.

"You're leaving me, aren't you," I say quietly, running my fingers through his hair. "I can tell you are."

"I broke the rules and now I can't stay. I wasn't supposed to get involved with you—no one is. It's all supposed to be of your own free will, to prove a point." Wetting his lips with his tongue, he kisses me, slipping his warm tongue into my mouth and I grip onto his shoulders, digging my nails into his skin, never wanting to let him go.

"But I couldn't help it," he says, coming up for air. "When I saw you that night at the party, standing there by yourself, so sad and lost, I knew I had to get to know you. You were the first Grim Angel I met that's ever done that to me."

I hook my arms around his neck and breathe in his comforting scent. "Why were you there at the party?"

"I was collecting someone's soul for Michael." His hands travel down my spine, pulling the zipper down with him. I don't know what he's doing, nor do I care as my bare back gets exposed to the crisp night.

"I just want to see you one more time... like this..." He murmurs, feeling my skin. "I messed up, Ember. I let the person live and took someone else's soul instead," he says, slipping his hands into my dress and pressing his palm against my lower back.

"You were supposed to take Raven's, weren't you?" I arch into him as he pushes me onto my back. "You let her live and took Laden's soul instead."

"I could see in your eyes when you were talking about her that night that you need her," he says sadly, removing his free hand up to my eyes. "There's so much sadness in here and I wanted to make it go away."

I swallow hard. "So you killed Laden, because he was trying to rape her?"

"I wasn't supposed to take his soul or kill him. I just got carried away," he says, and I'm reminded again of what I read in the book: passionate in battle. "And the Anamotti used it to their advantage. They took his body and made it look like your dad's crime scene to mess with your head."

"And you got in trouble for it," I say, kissing his palm when he moves it across my mouth. "What are they going to do to you?"

"I'm in trouble for a lot of things." He lures my chest against his and kisses me with such heat my skin nearly ignites. I rake my fingers through his soft hair and his hands grip my thighs, his fingertips pressing into my skin, wanting everything, but knowing he can't take anything. The straps of my dress fall down my shoulders and the top of me is revealed to the night. I don't know what to do or what he's doing as his slate eyes take my bare chest in.

"The other night... when you and I..." he shuts his eyes and breathes in as he places his hand over my chest, right above my erratic heart. "I'll never forget what it felt like... how I felt..."

I'm breathing fiercely, because I can tell he's about to leave me, and I need him, like I need air. "Don't go," I plead and he opens his eyes. "Please stay with me. You're the only one who's ever made me feel at peace. "

His lips start to part, but I silence them with mine, kissing him with every ounce of life I have inside me. My bare chest presses against his and the warmth and contact drives me into a frenzy.

"Please, don't go..." I say between kisses. "Please."

He bites at my lip, cupping my cheek, giving my tongue a quick suck before pulling away and looking me in the eyes. "I have to."

The sky rumbles and his eyes travel upward to the dark clouds. His face is masked with pain as the sky begins to drizzle and his long eyelashes flutter against the raindrops. "Michael doesn't ever let any Angel go when we've broken the rules, and besides, you have to do this on your own... I can't interfere anymore."

They sky booms again like the snap of an elastic band and I feel it break, my freedom, as raindrops cover my body.

He guides my ear toward his mouth and drops his voice to a low whisper. "Find out everything you can about Grim Angels and the Battle of Death. Find out what happens with the last Grim Angel standing... There's a part I can't tell you. And Ember, don't trust anyone. _Ever_." His hand slides down my neck, over my breasts, my waist, searing hot against my damp skin. "Shut your eyes."

Reluctantly, I close them and cling to his shoulders, wishing I never had to open them again. I hear his wings snap wide and then a delicate flutter as he flaps them. He kisses my forehead, my cheek, my lips, and then like a feather in the wind, he slips out from under me.

When I open my eyes, I'm alone, kneeling in the mud, rain soaking my hair and clothes, the top of my dress pulled down. I refuse to move; I'll stay here forever in the cemetery with the only peace I have left.

"Oh my God!" Raven screams and I turn around, pulling my dress over my chest.

She's staggering through the mud toward me. "What the hell happened? How did I get here? Em, I'm... I have no idea what's going on or why I'm in a cemetery." She stops just short of me and glances down at her white dress, tattered and marked red with tonight's torture. Her artificial wings are ripped to pieces and her neck is still bleeding a little.

I stand up and zip up the back of my dress, then grab a piece of fabric off the ground and press it to her neck. "We need to get you to a hospital." I drape her arm around my shoulder and lead her toward the gate.

Her death is back; _standing on the ledge and someone begs her to jump, so she does._ Different, but still painful.

"Em, why are there feathers all over the grass?" she asks, resting her head on my shoulder as the rain lets up. "Was it from your costume?"

I make the decision, the thing my dad tried to engrave in my mind since I was young, and what Asher warned me to do—don't trust anyone. "Yeah, Raven, they are from my costume."

We walk together across the cemetery, yet I'm in this alone. A pawn in a game between the Angels of Death and the Grim Reapers—between good and evil.

But which one am I?

As if giving me an answer, sirens ring and blue and red lights flash across the dark cemetery as the police vehicles pull up and block the exit. Doors shove open and cops hop out with flashlights in their hands.

"Alright," one of them yells with his gun out in front of him as he glides through the gates. "Put your hands up where we can see them."

I obey, knowing I'm in trouble this time. Mackenzie's body is in a grave and the only proof that I didn't kill her flew away with the wind.

Raven sobs into my shirt and clutches onto me. "I want this to all be over. Please make it stop. It's driving me crazy."

"Don't worry," I say. "It's almost over."

A swarm of cops bustle through the gates, spotting their flashlights across the grass and cracked tombs, with guns and batons in their hands. The one that shouted at me approaches with caution, step by step, never looking away from us. When he reaches me, I let Raven stand on her own.

"Ember Edwards, I should have known," Officer McKinley's expression instantly turns biased as he remembers the night he picked me up from my house, after my car was found in the lake. "There was an anonymous tip that the body of Mackenzie Baker could be found at the Hollows Grove Cemetery."

With my hands up, I shake my head. "I don't know anything about that."

He spotlights the flashlight in Raven's eyes. "What's she on? And why is there blood on her neck? Were you two doing some kind of ritual out here or something?"

"Like a vampire ritual," I joke unenthusiastically.

He narrows his eyes and blinds me with the flashlight. "You don't need to get smart. This is Halloween—all the crazies are out tonight."

Raven blinks and shields her face with her hand. "We were taking a shortcut to our houses through the woods and I tripped and cut my neck on a branch."

Internally, I sigh. "That's what we were doing, just barely—heading to go find a phone and call the hospital, because neither of us have our phones."

The cop reaches for Raven and checks underneath the piece of shirt she pressed to her neck. He pulls a revolted face, moving his hand away. "That's going to need a few stitches." He sighs and motions at us to walk with him. "Come on, follow me."

As we head for the gates, the cops search the cemetery, the trees, behind headstones. A female officer, with her hair braided in the back, wanders toward the hole in the ground where Mackenzie's body lies.

"Hey, I think I got something over here," she shouts, with her gun poised in front of her.

A lanky officer, with a bald head, hurries over to the hole and beams the light down in it. I hold my breath and wait for him to announce he found the body.

"It's just a hole," he calls out to the others. "It's probably some high school prank or new fad, like that grave that was dug up a few weeks ago."

_Cameron_.

Officer McKinley stops us at the gate and shines the light in our eyes. "You two know anything about this?"

Raven and I shake our heads innocently. "Nope."

He focuses in on me. "Are you sure that's true?"

I wonder if he's a real cop, or the same kind as Detective Crammer. "Yep, it's true."

He shakes his head in disbelief. "Well, I'm still going to have to take you in for some questioning. We have to make sure your story adds up."

We finish the walk to the police car as the rest of the cops keep searching for Mackenzie's body, but I have a feeling her body may be gone forever. But the question is: who took it?

Cameron? Or Asher?

Raven and I climb into the back of the cop car, each on our separate side, divided by lies, secrets, and distrust. As the policeman drives with his lights flashing, I watch the cemetery disappear from my view, feeling the trail of death follow me.

# Epilogue

I wake up to a bright sunny day, shining through my bedroom window. My cheek is resting on an open book, and my sweaty skin sticks to the pages. I stayed up all last night reading through pages about Angels and death, searching for answers and a way to bring an Angel of Death back to Earth.

I climb out of bed and get dressed in a ratty T-shirt and some cutoffs. The house is as quiet as a cemetery, but it's not the comforting kind. My mom is in a drug treatment facility trying to recover from her addiction and when she gets back I have to decide how to ask her about Grandma and the necklace without putting stress on her.

Raven is on vacation with her mom, who got released from the same facility my mom's at the day after the Reapers tried to destroy us. Ian spends most of his time locked away in the attic. His muse disappeared for a little while, and when I asked Ian about it, he told me it was none of my business. But I heard her—or him—sneak in last night.

My life is lonely, but I prefer it that way for the moment. Being around people hurts just as bad, if not worse, now that I know what I am—know that my insanity can wear on them.

I try not to think too much about Asher. It's too painful and it hurts in every part of my body that I may never see him again. When I'm lying in my bed late at night, the memories of what happened there pull at my mind; when he rocked inside me, touched me, kissed me, made me feel alive even when death consumed me.

I wander to the computer and click it on. I've been working on trying to track down the author of the book Raven has. His name is August Millard, unless it's his pen name. I found an email address for a writer with the same name, but if it's not the same guy, he'll probably think I'm nuts. Or maybe he'll think I'm crazy either way; perhaps he's a writer of words, not a believer of them.

I check my inbox, but it's empty so I sink into the couch and flip through the channels, searching through the news, looking for headlines about a body being found. But the news isn't on until later, so I shut the TV off and clean the house to distract myself. I turn up "Holding onto You" by Story of the Year and block everything out. I scrub every room downstairs and then move upstairs.

After I'm finished, I drag the garbage can out to the curb, and then I stand there taking in the neighborhood. The sun is setting behind the mountains and the sky is splashed with hues of pinks and oranges. Leaves flutter from the trees and scatter across the grass. Across the street, Ms. Courtney is rearranging her sprinklers and she glances up as she drags the hose across her yard. I politely wave and her gaze darts down at the lawn, like I don't exist. She's afraid of me still, just like everyone else in the town is because Laden and Mackenzie are still considered missing persons, but I know they're dead.

My eyes stray down the street to a two-story house with unmaintained grass and a _For Sale_ sign in the yard. Every time I look at the house, I feel a pull toward it—toward him. Sometimes, I think about asking him to come back. It's out of sheer insanity—I know that, and that's what helps me keep my lips sealed. However, if I knew how to bring Asher back, I would. I tried a few times, murmuring to the wind for him to come to me. "Asher, where are you?" I whisper. "I need you. I miss you." _I think I might be in love with you._ The last one is just a thought and I never dare utter it aloud.

"Hey, stranger." Raven's brother, Todd, walks down the driveway and picks up the newspaper. He's wearing an old blue T-shirt with holes in it, plaid pajama bottoms, and his blue hair is sticking up like he just woke up. "Thinking about buying a house?"

"Huh?" I collect the mail from the mailbox and step up onto the sidewalk.

He smiles, ruffling his hair into place as he reaches the edge of the driveway. "I saw you staring at that _For Sale_ sign like you were about ready to rip it out of the lawn."

I align the envelopes against the palm of my hand and walk to the edge of the lawn that separates our houses. "Do you know anything about where he went?"

He shakes his head and glances at Cameron's vacant house. "I'm not sure. But it's weird, right? How he moved in and then a few weeks later the house went up for sale."

I shrug. "You know how it is. A lot of people can't take Hollows Grove, like your sister."

"Yeah, she seems worse about it now with the," he makes a line across his neck, "with the scar on her neck. She's taking that one hard."

"She just needs to give it time to heal," I say, but deep down I know it will never fully heal. After everything settled down, Raven started to remember things she did—horrible things that she won't always share with me.

He taps the newspaper in his hand and nods his head at a car on the street. "You think they're ever going to give up, whatever it is they're looking for?"

I turn around and give the cops in the patrol car a small wave. They pretend not see me and eat their lunch.

"I don't think so," I say, turning back around to face Todd.

"But why are they so fixated on our neighborhood?"

"I'm not sure... maybe they think someone here knows where Mackenzie is."

"Her family seems really determined to find her," he remarks, holding up the newspaper and there's a picture of Mackenzie's face on the front page under the headline: _Have You Seen Our Daughter?_

Suddenly, a familiar man walks out of Cameron's old house and heads down the path. He has a pointy nose and a scrawny body and something about the way he moves is bringing up a memory.

I watch him distractedly, trying to figure out where I've seen him before. "Yeah, well maybe they should start looking closer at her family." It clicks who the man is. Cameron's uncle, Gregory—the one that was digging up the grave for him the night I first saw Cameron.

"Ember," Todd says. "Are you okay?"

I force my eyes off Gregory and change the topic. "So when will Raven be coming back?"

He backs down the driveway toward the front porch. "Didn't she call you?" he asks and I shake my head. "Oh... well, she got back late last night. I thought she went over to your house when she got here."

"No... I haven't seen her since she left..." It's like a jigsaw puzzle coming together: Raven is Ian's muse. And I don't like it because it means Raven was spending a lot of private time with Ian while she was possessed by the Reapers.

"Well, don't take it too personally. She's been acting like a total mental case, mom says, drawing weird pictures of hourglasses and having conversations with herself," he says when he reaches the steps.

"Is she home right now?" I start to head toward their front door.

He shakes his head and I stop and back up toward my house. "Nah, she went out shopping or something," he says.

Without saying goodbye, I sprint into my house and up to the attic door. I hammer my fist on it, but Ian doesn't answer, so I shove the door open and burst into his studio. "Ian, are you in here?"

The lights are on and System of a Down's "Lonely Day" is playing from the stereo on the floor. Canvas and sketches cover the walls, paint stains the wood floor, and the oval window is covered by a black sheet. It smells like sage and something stronger... something I've smelt many times in Ian's studio.

"Dammit." I pick up the burning joint, squish the tip against the edge of the windowsill, and throw it in a cup of water on a stool. I turn to leave but notice a large canvas in the corner, covered with another black sheet and I tug it off, letting it float to the floor.

It's a picture of Raven lying in the middle of a snowy field, wearing a black cape over her head. Blood drips from her mouth and the corners of her eyes. Grasped in her hand is an empty hourglass and underneath her body is a red _X_. On the bottom corner of the drawing, bleeding in red, it says: _Alyssa, please forgive me._

"What the fuck is this? She's not... No, she couldn't be..." Shaking my head, I run down the hall and to Ian's room. I bang on the door. "Ian, open up the door. I know you're in there!" I hammer my fist harder against the door. "I can smell the smoke coming through the door." I jiggle the knob and rattle the door. "Ian, open up the door. You're worrying me."

I dash back to my room and grab a bobby pin from my dresser, before heading back to Ian's room. I crouch down in front of the shut door and work the pin until I hear the lock click. Standing up, I push the door open and smoke instantly engulfs my face. I cough and then let out a frustrated sigh at Ian sprawled on the bed, wearing pajama bottoms and a ratty T-shirt, and there's a photo clutched in his hand.

Fanning the smoke from my face, I pad over to his bed. Without even looking at it, I know it's a photo of Alyssa. Even with his eyes shut, his torture and guilt is written all over his face and Cameron's words reply in my mind: _What if I told you I could take away every ounce of pain you have and would ever feel?_

I take the photo from Ian's hand and flip it over. _Death made me do it, Alyssa, and I'm sorry. But now I have to move on to the next Angel._

_The next Angel?_ He can't be talking about... No, Ian didn't kill her. It's not possible. I struggle not to rip the photo into pieces and set it down on the dresser, and then I give Ian a soft shake. "Wake up, Ian. We need to talk."

But he's passed out, stoned out of his mind, so I give up and run back to my room to get my phone. I need to talk to Raven and find out if she's still here, or if the Reapers have gotten a hold of her again. But when I enter my room, something feels off, like the air is unbalanced.

Everything looks normal, except for my window is open and a black feather is ruffled on my bed. I pick it up and my gaze lands on the wall across from me, where the ink of a fresh poem is drying.

_In separate fields of black feathers, the birds fly._

_Four wings, two hearts, but only one soul._

_They connect in the middle, but are separated by a thin line of ash._

_It's what brings them together, yet rips their feathers apart._

_They can never truly be together as light and dark._

_Unless one makes the ultimate sacrifice._

_Blows out their candle, and joins the other in the dark._

It's the poem that I read on Cameron's wall, but three extra lines have been added.

_Or if the other dares to fly across the line and steal the other's light_

_And force them to cross over the line and join the darkness of life._

_I'm not gone, princess. I will come back for you until you give in._

_—Cameron_

I blink as the ink bleeds down the wall, then back away from it and fall on my bed with the faint echo of Cameron's laugh filling up my unstable head.

It's starting again—the games, the tricks, the battle for me to surrender. And, like everything in life, I'm not sure how it will all end. Or when my sanity will fly away into the sky, just like a raven.

# About the Author

Jessica Sorensen is a _New York Times_ and _USA Today_ bestselling author who lives in the snowy mountains of Wyoming. When she's not writing, she spends her time reading and hanging out with her family.

# Also by Jessica Sorensen

**The Death Collectors Series (NA and YA):**

Ember X and Ember

Cinder X and Cinder

Spark X and Spark

* * *

**The Honeyton Series:**

The Illusion of Annabella

Untitled (coming soon)

* * *

**Signed with a Kiss:**

Accepting the Deal

Untitled (coming soon)

* * *

**My Life with the Band:**

Discovering Benton

Untitled (coming soon)

* * *

**Rebels & Misfits:**

Confessions of a Kleptomaniac

Rules of a Rebel & a Shy Girl

Secrets We Buried

Untitled (coming soon)

* * *

**Enchanted Chaos Series:**

Enchanted Chaos

Shimmering Chaos

Iridescent Chaos

Untitled (coming soon)

* * *

**The Breathing Undead Series:**

Breathing Lies

Shadowed Whisperers (coming soon)

* * *

**My Cursed Superhero Life:**

Grim

Untitled (coming soon)

* * *

**Capturing Magic:**

Chasing Wishes

Chasing Magic

Untitled (coming soon)

* * *

**Chasing the Harlyton Sisters Series:**

Chasing Hadley

Falling for Hadley

Holding onto Hadley

Untitled (coming soon)

* * *

**Tangled Realms:**

Forever Violet

Forever Stardust

Untitled (coming soon)

* * *

**Curse of the Vampire Queen:**

Tempting Raven

Enchanting Raven

Alluring Raven

Untitled (coming soon)

* * *

**Unraveling You Series:**

Unraveling You

Raveling You

Awakening You

Inspiring You

Every Single Breath

Untitled (coming soon)

* * *

**Unexpected Series:**

The Unexpected Complications of Revenge

Untitled (coming soon)

* * *

**Shadow Cove Series:**

What Lies in the Darkness

What Lies in the Dark

Untitled (coming soon)

* * *

**Mystic Willow Bay Series:**

The Secret Life of a Witch

Broken Magic

Stolen Kisses

One Wild, Crazy, Zombie Night

Magical Whispers & the Undead

Untitled (coming soon)

* * *

**Standalones:**

The Forgotten Girl

* * *

**The Heartbreaker Society:**

The Opposite of Ordinary

The Heartbreaker Society Curse

Untitled (coming soon)

* * *

**Broken City Series:**

Nameless

Forsaken

Oblivion

Forbidden (coming soon)

* * *

**Guardian Academy Series:**

Entranced

Entangled

Enchanted

Entice

The Forest of Shadow and Bones

Untitled (coming soon)

* * *

**Sunnyvale Series:**

The Year I Became Isabella Anders

The Year of Falling in Love

The Year of Second Chances

Untitled (coming soon)

* * *

**The Coincidence Series:**

The Coincidence of Callie and Kayden

The Redemption of Callie and Kayden

The Destiny of Violet and Luke

The Probability of Violet and Luke

The Certainty of Violet and Luke

The Resolution of Callie and Kayden

Seth & Greyson

The Evermore of Callie & Kayden

Untitled (coming soon)

* * *

**The Secret Series:**

The Prelude of Ella and Micha

The Secret of Ella and Micha

The Forever of Ella and Micha

The Temptation of Lila and Ethan

The Ever After of Ella and Micha

Lila and Ethan: Forever and Always

Untitled (coming soon)

Ella and Micha: Infinitely and Always

* * *

**The Shattered Promises Series:**

Shattered Promises

Fractured Souls

Unbroken

Broken Visions

Scattered Ashes

* * *

**Breaking Nova Series:**

Breaking Nova

Saving Quinton

Delilah: The Making of Red

Nova and Quinton: No Regrets

Tristan: Finding Hope

Wreck Me

Ruin Me

Untitled (coming soon)

* * *

**The Fallen Star Series:**

The Fallen Star

The Underworld

The Vision

The Promise

The Lost Soul

The Evanescence

* * *

**The Darkness Falls Series:**

Darkness Falls

Darkness Breaks

Darkness Fades

* * *

**Unbeautiful Series:**

Unbeautiful

Untamed
