 
# TOUCH

### A Reaper Novella, Book One

## Jennifer Snyder
TOUCH

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Copyright © 2011 by Jennifer Snyder

Cover Design by Bookish Bam

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CHOICE

Copyright © 2011 by Jennifer Snyder

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Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

### Contents

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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

A Special Short

Choice

Thank You

Sneak Peek

Part One ~ Rowan

Chapter One

About the Author

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# Chapter 1

Glimmering black feathers and beady little eyes that never seemed to move from me—that was what flashed through my mind seconds before the blue truck clipped my car—images of the watchful crows from my backyard.

The crows, which had stalked the twisted, bare branches behind my house for days, watching me as though they knew something I didn't and were waiting for me to figure it all out.

I slammed my foot on the brake pedal in a foolish attempt to stop my car, knowing it was beyond too late for that; impact was seconds away, teasing me in the distance.

The three crows fluttered through my mind again. I remembered vividly how the darkness of their feathers stood out drastically against the powder-white snow below and the endless gray sky above. This was the last image to fill my mind before the sound of metal crunching against metal and shattering glass forced all other thoughts away.

My air bag deployed, snapping my head back as my car continued to slide across the icy blacktop in perfect uncontrollable circles. At some point I closed my eyes, giving in to the darkness which feathered my vision, letting it swallow me whole.

I came to, slumped over the steering wheel, dazed and disoriented, with the front of my car neatly tucked into the snowy folds of a ditch. Sirens began to fill the eerie stillness that surrounded me, while an array of flashing lights bounced off the sheet of snow that had replaced my windshield, blinding me.

My driver's side door opened with a groan and the shadowy figure of a man took its place.

"Miss, are you okay?" he asked.

The word yes formed in my mind, but I couldn't be sure of whether or not it found its way to my lips.

"You're lucky you were wearing your seat belt; the kid in the truck wasn't," the man said while moving to lean across me. "I'm just going to unbuckle you."

I felt the release of my seat belt as gravity slumped me forward, crushing my ribs against the steering wheel.

"Can you walk?" the man asked, seeming kind and concerned.

"Yeah, I think so," I said, my voice sounding strangely far away and not my own.

"Lean on me; I'll help you." He was insistent.

"How is she?" Another voice from somewhere in the darkness asked. A female.

"A little disoriented, possible concussion, but no broken bones as far as I can tell," the man helping me replied.

A tall, slender female stepped to my side. "I'll take a look."

I walked with them toward the back of an ambulance, my mind caked in a thick fog. They seated me on a stretcher with wheels and wrapped a blanket around my shoulders.

"That was some accident you were in back there," the female paramedic said. "My name's Claire; what's yours?"

"Rowan—Rowan Harper," I answered, sounding far calmer than I felt.

"Rowan; that's a pretty name." She smiled.

"Thanks."

"I'm going to hold a finger up and I want you to follow it for me," Claire said.

I tracked her finger with my eyes and let her poke and prod at my face.

"Well, I think you're going to be just fine. Does your neck hurt at all?"

"No, not really," I admitted while she gently rolled my head from side to side.

"Good." She smiled. "You've got a slight gash above your brow here." She touched it with an alcohol-drenched piece of gauze, and I winced. "And your nose might end up being a little swollen and tender for the next few days, but I don't think it's broken."

I could already feel a dull, pulsating pain in my nose and wondered how swollen it would be by tonight.

"You sure are one lucky girl; your injuries could have been far worse," Claire said.

I forced a slight smile and tried to sound grateful. "I know."

"Is there anyone we could call to come get you, a parent maybe?" she asked.

I heard Claire's question, but my eyes had traveled past her to the chaotic scene in front of me. I didn't know how I had missed him before; walking up the bank to the back of the ambulance I had to have walked directly past him. All that mattered now, though, was that I'd noticed him.

A guy with bright red, curly hair lay flat on his back across the iced-over asphalt. His chest heaved while his lungs visibly struggled for every breath he took. I couldn't bring myself to look away.

"Rowan, honey, is there a number you'd like me to call for you?" Claire asked, rephrasing her question.

My dad's cell number absentmindedly fumbled from my lips while I continued to stare at the guy with red curls whose face I couldn't turn away from. Bits of glass had lodged themselves at odd angles in his forehead and thin rivers of blood trickled to the asphalt.

A paramedic kneeling beside the red-headed guy yelled, "We're losing him!"

My throat tightened and my heart pounded against my rib cage. My eyes fixated on the guy, along with every other person standing on the sidelines, watching helplessly as three paramedics struggled to save his life. In the commotion my view became obstructed and I began to frantically search the faces of each person hovering around him for any sign of relief.

And that was when I first noticed him.

A complete stranger, who couldn't have been much older than myself, standing beside the paramedic who knelt at the dying guy's head. His expression was one of utter calmness as he gazed down at the mangled, bloody face I'd seen moments before. As strange as I found his expression to be, it was not what caught my attention and held it.

I stared because no one else seemed to notice him at all.

The longer my eyes lingered on him, the more I noticed how incredibly out of place he was, standing there unmoving, with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, just staring. I took in his disheveled dark hair which was cut short and his creamy complexion that looked smooth to the touch. He was striking and dressed all in black—a crisp, black, button-up shirt tucked in to black slacks—everything free of wrinkles. Even his scuffed-up Converse sneakers, poking from underneath his pressed slacks, were black.

I stared, captivated, as the dark-haired boy bent down in one fluid motion. I couldn't see why until a person shifted slightly to their right, which was when I realized he'd moved to touch the tip of his extended middle finger to the dying guy's forehead. From where I sat, I could see the boy close his eyes. As he did, the dying guy's body shuddered and then became still, as though his final breath had been forced out of him by a single touch.

"We've lost him!" a paramedic shouted, confirming my thought.

My jaw went slack as I watched a see-through image of the now-dead guy step out of himself. A startled noise escaped my mouth and the dark-haired boy's eyes shifted directly to mine. Even with the distance between us I still was able to make out how incredibly blue they were—an icy, sapphire-blue that would have frozen me in place had I not already been.

A stunned expression swept across his face, but was gone as quickly as it had formed. He stood and placed a hand on the see-through image's shoulder, and then they both vanished. I stared into the space the boy had occupied until my vision blurred.

Movement on the snow-covered grass to my right caught my attention—three crows had congregated on the sidelines at some point during all of the commotion, and I'd only now spotted them.

My eyes zeroed in on their glossy black feathers and beady little watchful eyes, knowing that something about them held the key to what I'd just witnessed and why. Questions branched out from this thought, crowding my mind and turning it into a tangled mess I could easily become caught in.

"Rowan?" A familiar voice was calling me, forcing me to recoil from the ever-thickening forest of questions in my mind.

"Dad!" I shouted in an effort to better help him find me.

"Oh good," Claire said. "I was wondering when he'd manage to get here."

"You and me both," I muttered under my breath.

"Rowan." Dad honestly looked happy to see me for the first time since my mother died. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I think so," I said.

"Is she?" Dad asked, shifting his gaze to Claire.

Claire smiled. "Yes, I think she'll be fine. She's got a little gash above her brow, but not bad enough to need stitches. Her nose is going to be swollen and tender for a few days and her neck, along with other areas, may also become sore. I recommend she take some Ibuprofen every four to six hours or as needed."

"Okay, I'm pretty sure we have some at home. Thank you," Dad said.

"No problem. There are some things to watch for, though. If she experiences any dizziness or problems with her vision such as spots or blurriness, you should take her to the ER immediately," Claire said, informing us of potential complications.

I wondered if seeing a dead person's ghost step out of its body fell under either of those categories, but thought better of asking. A thought occurred to me then—maybe my mother hadn't been crazy after all, because if she had been, then so was I.

# Chapter 2

Three days passed and I began to question the reality of what I'd seen, doubting the unrealistic truth of it all. More snow had fallen, trapping me between the walls of my house until it melted and school resumed as normal. It was a welcome torment, though, caused by Mother Nature, one which allowed me to heal my various aches and pains away from the curious and incredibly judgmental eyes of my peers. It also enabled me to avoid the string of never-ending questions asked by those who truly couldn't care less about my answer.

Dad's questions about how I was feeling, devoid of concern and sympathy, were enough.

Life had returned to normal the very next day in the Harper household. There were no hugs and kisses or specially-made, home-cooked meals to show how glad anyone was I had survived. This was because my mother had ended her life five months ago, and, to be perfectly honest, my dad should have ended his right alongside her. Since then, he'd barely even looked at me. Ever since my mother's suicide, our house had felt as bitterly cold and gloomy as a moonless night in the dead of winter.

People had often told me I looked just like my mother, Salene Harper, but I'd never believed them until after she was gone, when I realized my dad couldn't even look at me anymore because I reminded him too much of her. We shared the same ebony-colored hair, bright green eyes, olive complexion, and petite slender frame.

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It was three o'clock in the afternoon and I sat perched on the steps off my back porch, attempting to capture the haunting gaze of the crows that had congregated in my backyard. For whatever reason, my charcoals and sketch pad just weren't doing it. I'd been sitting outside for so long my butt had grown numb and the coldness of the winter storm had begun to seep its way into my bones.

I pulled a fresh Q-tip from my wooden art box and lightly smudged along the bold black lines of charcoal I'd just stroked, adding depth to my picture. I'd spent hours drawing the crows, adding more detail into their feathers and perfecting the sheen of their eyes. I knew they were important in some way, I just couldn't figure out how. Their presence held a meaning, making them symbolic of something, but what? And what did it have to do with me?

I picked up a dark brown charcoal and began adding long, thick lines into the branches of the trees I'd drawn for a more realistic look. I glanced up to compare the Gothic Edgar Allen Poe scene in front of me to the one I'd mimicked on a textured, cream-colored page, and that's when I became aware of him. His stare must have gone unnoticed because of the four sets of watchful eyes already on me—but there he was, the same dark-haired boy dressed all in black from the night of the accident.

He stood at the edge of my yard, leaning against an old oak which had been dead for years, watching me in an unabashed way. Even holding my gaze, his cheeks never reddened and he remained eerily still and silent. A flurry of snowflakes began falling and a whistling wind blew across my face as I continued to meet his gaze. My eyes watered, but I refused to blink, afraid that if I did he'd disappear.

"Who are you?" I breathed the words, barely above a whisper.

A smirk formed on his face as though he'd somehow heard my question and found it to be amusing in some way. Another sharp gust of wind stung my face, sending strands of my long, dark hair flying. A shiver ran through me, but still I refused to retreat inside.

The crows let out loud caws, which were promptly swallowed up by the wind, before dispersing themselves high into the gray sky. My eyes followed them and I felt slightly grateful they were finished haunting my backyard for the day. When I shifted my eyes back, I had no trouble meeting the boy's stare again because his eyes had never moved from my face. The same amused little smirk still lingered on his lips, something that instantly aggravated me. I opened my mouth to repeat my question, this time louder, but he disappeared before I was able to speak.

I remained sitting outside, trying to decide how I felt about my new ghost-stalker or hallucination, whatever the case might be, until another gust of icy wind bit at my cheeks again.

I set my things on the dark granite countertop in the kitchen and went to the pantry for some Easy Mac. While I waited for the microwave to beep, I let the thoughts that clogged my mind take over. When the sixty-second cook time finished, I was still lost in thought, my mind circling around two ideas in particular.

One, I was sure somehow that the dark-haired boy and the seemingly ever-staring crows were connected.

And two, I'd inherited my mother's crazy gene.

I ate my mac and cheese while the reality of thought number two began to sink in, tightening my chest with panic. I'd never given much thought to my future before, but now, as the certainty of becoming like my mother tainted my mind like poison, my future didn't look too wonderful. A never-ending supply of monotone shrinks and colorful pills—this was what my mother's life had consisted of.

When I was little I'd never realized she had a problem. It wasn't until I was around eight that I noticed she talked to people who weren't there. She'd tried loads of medications to help with her schizophrenia, but always seemed to stop taking them after about a week, claiming she didn't like the way they made her feel—all groggy and drugged. Dad never argued with her about it. He preferred his wife coherent over the walking zombie she became when on medication.

It was about nine months ago that mom became a recluse, refusing to venture beyond our front door. Dad and I foolishly thought she was happier that way. At least that was how it seemed. We never questioned her motives, just simply accepted her actions at face value and went on with our lives as though her behavior were normal.

The truth of the matter was, we'd been dead wrong to think anyone could truly be happy locked inside their own self-made prison.

In the end, it was almost ironic how all the pills doctors had prescribed over the years in an effort to save her sanity had eventually been what she'd chosen to end her life with. Who knows, maybe in her eyes they'd finally done their job.

I swallowed my last bite of macaroni and wondered if history would repeat itself with me.

* * *

Two more days passed. The snow finally came to an end and sunlight peeked out from behind paper-thin clouds to kiss the ground with its warmth again. My bruises were almost completely faded away and the swelling in my nose was now gone.

I stood at the kitchen counter eating a bowl of cereal while staring absentmindedly at the piece of paper covered with chicken scratch and the set of keys that rested beside it. I'd found dad's note first thing this morning, telling me to take mom's Honda CRV to school until we could get my car fixed.

After rinsing out my bowl I scooped up the keys, noting instantly how wrong they felt to be in my hands, and started for the door. I crept across the remaining slush of slick, melted snow toward the gray CRV-shaped mound in the driveway. My gloved hands swiped away the heavy clumps of snow which clung to the red cover before I hesitantly began to lift it off. About a minute and a half later I had tossed the cover to the side and stood staring—there was my mother's vehicle, a silver Honda CRV.

With a shaking hand, I reached out and opened the driver's side door. I ducked inside and the scent of vanilla bean tickled my nose, triggering images of my mother: her silky, dark hair; her wide smile which had always seemed to be contagious; and her glittering green eyes.

Memories of driving home from the grocery store on Sunday mornings, stuffing our faces with glazed donuts, and belting out random oldies on the radio consumed my mind. Ten full minutes passed and my cheeks had become wet with my own salty tears before something caught my eye, pulling me from my happy memories.

The dark-haired boy stood a few feet away, at the base of the crooked maple in my front yard, staring at me in the same unabashed way as before. I blinked while gaping at him and then wiped my tears away with the back of my gloved hand.

"Who are you?" I whispered after a long moment passed, my voice sounding loud in the eerie silence that surrounded me.

I watched as his lips twisted into the same little smirk from before, but it was his next move that startled me.

Instead of disappearing, this time he stepped forward.

# Chapter 3

My heart pounded forcefully against my ribcage while I sat frozen, watching him saunter toward me. In the moments that ticked away between his first and his final steps, I noticed he left no impressions on the snow-covered ground behind him. In fact, he didn't even make a sound. The absence of crunching, which should have filled my ears but didn't, sent a shiver along my spine.

He stopped directly in front of me, his coy smile still clinging to his lips. I couldn't look away; I couldn't even breathe. My eyes drifted across his face as I noticed for a third time how striking he was.

"Jet."

I let out the breath I'd been holding. It swirled in front of my face like wisps of smoke before disappearing.

"Jet?" I questioned, puzzled.

"You asked who I am." He grinned. "I'm telling you—my name is Jet."

I swallowed hard. "Uh, hi," I said, wondering if this were real.

Was I really sitting inside my mother's CRV with a dead boy holding open the door? Could he even do that—hold open a door? Was he really dead, like ghost-dead or something else entirely? Was I hallucinating?

"Well?" He prompted me. "Aren't you going to tell me your name, or are you just going to gawk at me all morning?"

"R-Rowan..." I stuttered.

Jet rolled his eyes, seemingly annoyed with my stammering. "Oh, come on. I can't be the first you've seen. Haven't you been a Link your whole life or something?"

I shook my head, confused. "Link? I'm not a link to anything."

Jet looked at me with mild confusion before a shit-eating grin spread across his face. "You're serious, aren't you?" When I didn't answer, his smile grew. "Wow, a newbie Link! Wonder what this is all about?" He chuckled to himself.

I sat up straighter, making my presence seem more imposing. I didn't enjoy being laughed at, especially not by a dead boy, or whatever Jet was.

"How about you stop chuckling to yourself and explain exactly what it is you think I am," I said as evenly as I could.

Jet's sapphire-blue eyes found mine and I fought hard to not look away from the intensity of them. I found myself wondering if they'd always been the same incredible shade of blue.

"A Link is someone who can see the dead. A person who's a Link between the Spiritual and Physical Realm," he said. "Hence the term: _Link_."

I chewed my lip, knowing he'd finished speaking, but not sure how to respond. Was this what my mother had been, a Link, or had I bumped my head so hard in the car accident that it had lined up all the crazy genes in my DNA?

I shook my head, coming to the conclusion that this was all too crazy-sounding to be believable and I must be hallucinating. I got back out of the Honda and slammed the driver's side door shut. There was no way I was going to school freaking hallucinating.

"Like I said, I'm not a Link." I stomped back toward the house.

He called after me. "If you can see me, which clearly you can, then yes, you are."

I didn't respond, instead I continued toward the front door. Slamming it shut behind me, I headed straight to my room. I opened the door to discover Jet standing next to my dresser, waiting for me with a smirk.

"What _are_ you?" I asked, annoyed.

"Fascinated," Jet answered simply.

My cheeks reddened at his words, betraying how annoyed and crazed I felt by the entire situation, and I hated myself for it.

"Fascinated by what?" I scoffed, folding my arms across my chest.

"You," he said.

His answer lightened my mood more than I'd expected and I felt my stomach do a flip-flop because of it.

"You're the first Breather to see me." Jet's eyes softened as loneliness swelled within them.

My pulse quickened. I replayed the word _Breather_ in my mind while I slowly realized what it was he'd meant.

"If I'm a Breather, then you must be a non-breather—you're dead?" I trembled. Hallucination or ghost, it didn't matter anymore because now it was official—I'd gone crazy.

"Dead?" Jet's voice went flat, the loneliness long gone from his eyes. "Something like that."

I pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and index finger while squeezing my eyes shut, fighting against an oncoming headache. "I don't understand, you're either dead or you're not." I sputtered, blinking a few times.

"True, in most cases." Jet paused, bringing his eyes back to mine. "I once was alive, then I died, and now... I'm merely Death."

I hesitated before responding, even when Jet's eyes became intense, as though he were studying me, waiting for a reaction. I remained blank, allowing myself some time for everything to sink in—Jet's words, his explanation, and what he'd been doing the first time I'd seen him.

It was all real, him being Death made perfect sense in some strange way.

All of my confusion, annoyance, anger, and fear melted away like the disappearing snow outside. The reality of what I was doing sank in. I was standing alone in my bedroom with Death... and he had the face of an angel.

The air in the room seemed too thick, unbreathable, as a new fear broke through to the surface of my mind.

"Death—as in the Grim Reaper?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes. Well, one of many, not _the_." He clarified his words and shrugged. "I'm actually Reaper Number 142 of the East Physical Realm."

"Am I supposed to die or something? Is that why the crows have been watching me?" Panic tingled through my limbs, making my chest tighten and my heart pound loudly in my ears.

"Of course you're going to die," Jet said in a low voice. "Everything living does." He dropped his eyes to the floor as a sadness swept across his features and I wondered if he'd always been a Reaper.

"Have you always been this way?" I asked, gesturing to all of him. "A Reaper?" The word sounded just as strange to my ears as it felt coming from my lips.

Jet's jaw visibly tensed, but his eyes remained focused on the floor. "No."

"How long have you been one?"

"How long have you been a Link?" He avoided my question completely.

I crossed the room and sat on the edge of my bed. "Since the first time I saw you, I guess, the night of the car accident." My eyes never left him. "Your turn—how long have you been a Reaper?"

Jet raised his eyes to mine for a split second. His face was blank, but his eyes were filled with a dark hatred that sent a shiver up my spine.

"I don't know," he finally answered. His hands balled into fists at his sides as he buried them deep into his pockets.

Silence swelled between the walls of my room and pushed against me, crushing me with its weight while I pondered everything I'd just learned. I glanced at Jet; he stood in the same spot, unmoving, his hands hidden deep in his pockets with his eyes still fixated on the floor, lost in his own thoughts.

I wondered if he was struggling to remember bits and pieces of his life, or trying hard to forget.

"You forgot to answer one of my questions," I said, slipping off my gloves and setting them on the bed beside me.

"Oh, yeah? And which question might that be?" Jet asked, his tension releasing as quickly as the heavy silence had.

"Does my being a Link have something to do with why the crows have been stalking me?" The word _Link_ felt thick in my mouth, making the rest of my question sound strangled.

"Sort of," he shrugged. "Crows are symbolic of change."

I thought for a moment before speaking, contemplating his answer. "Change as in, now I see dead people—this is why they've been watching me?" Oddly enough, it seemed too far-fetched for me to believe.

"No—a change as in death," Jet clarified.

My throat went dry and panic squeezed my lungs tightly. "But, I thought you weren't here for me,"

"I'm not; it doesn't work that way. The crows mean you're about to transition from a Link to a Reaper."

"No." I swallowed hard and shook my head. "That can't be right. What if I don't want to become one?"

Jet's sapphire-blue eyes softened. "I'm sorry, but you have no choice. Every Link becomes a Reaper."

I felt my eyes swell with tears and shifted my gaze from Jet to my fingers, focusing on my chipped purple nail polish. How had this happened and why had _I_ been picked?

"So you were a Link, too?" I asked, understanding now his reasons for seeming so sad and angry earlier, because it was all so horribly unfair.

"No, there are other ways to become a Reaper," he said, harshness laced within his words.

"Oh." I blinked my tears away, taken aback by his tone. "How does it happen... what am I supposed to do?" I asked, even though I was afraid I already knew his answer.

"Die," Jet whispered, and I closed my eyes.

# Chapter 4

The word reverberated through my body, attaching itself to the pounding of my heart. My throat felt like it might close up at any moment and my chest became constricted by a squeezing sensation while I continued to hold back tears.

"When?" I managed to choke the question out.

"I don't know; things didn't exactly happen for me the way they're about to for you," he whispered.

I glanced at him through blurry eyes, his shoulders were slightly hunched forward and concern had etched its way into his features.

"How could you not know? Isn't that part of your job description?" I asked, sounding angrier than I'd meant to.

"I told you, that's not how it works," Jet said, straightening. "We don't get some sort of _list_ like on TV."

I deflated. My angry tears finally forced their way from my eyes and a sob escaped me while I crumpled into a heap on my bed. For the first time in a long time, I didn't care who was there to witness me cry.

"I should go," Jet whispered, just before I felt his presence leave the room, leaving me how I always am—alone.

* * *

I cried until my eyes felt puffy and my cheeks had become sticky with the remnants of my own salty tears. When I finally forced myself to sit up, my hair was damp and matted against my left ear. My mind instantaneously began to bounce from one thought to another while I weighed the only possibilities involving Jet and everything he'd told me. I kept finding myself back at the same two theories—either I was hallucinating hardcore or this was all real and I was about to die.

I had to get out of this house. I crossed my room and rummaged through my closet for the puffy blue jacket my mother had bought me three years ago. I'd worn it once and then thrown it deep in the back of my closet, never to be seen again. I dug it out now and slipped it on, not caring that it made me feel like a large blue marshmallow.

My boots crunched across the wet gravel beneath me, the only sound that filled my ears. A heavy dampness hung in the cold air—something not even the pale sun, positioned high in the sky, could erase. I walked past our mailbox and cut a left, stepping out onto the blacktopped road, and shoved my gloved hands deep in the pockets of my jacket for extra warmth.

I walked for a while, thinking of too much, but at the same time nothing at all. The road was dead; only two cars passed me on my journey to nowhere. I decided I'd turn around once I reached the sharp corner near the end of our road... but that was when I saw her: a woman with wiry red hair dressed in denim shorts and a pale yellow tank top.

These were the first things I noticed about her, my mind skipping over the obvious—I could see right through her.

Panic jolted my heart and I came to a standstill. The woman stood at the edge of the road, staring off into the steep drop-off area in front of her. She appeared to be searching for something. I held my breath and took a small step backward, hoping to put some distance between myself and the ghostly apparition before breaking into a dead run.

On my third step backward I slipped on an iced-over patch of road and landed flat on my butt, adding a sore tailbone to my long list of injuries for the month, and drawing the unwanted attention of the ghost woman.

She'd pivoted to face me with a look of desperation clinging to her face. Staring at her, I realized she must have only been in her mid-thirties when she'd died.

"Oh, thank goodness!" she cried out in a very southern accent. "Do you see it, honey? I've been searching and can't find it! Toby must be so scared by now!"

I didn't reply, I didn't even move. I was too shocked by the fact she could speak to do anything besides stare.

"Help me look for it, please! It had to have been around here somewhere—it just had to!" The woman fretted.

"Help you look for what?" I asked, finally finding my voice again. It sounded small and weak. I forced myself to stand and felt my legs tremble beneath me. No matter what answer she gave me, there was no way I could help her—she was dead!

"My car," she said, as though I were stupid. "I took the corner too fast, I know I did, and Toby is still in the backseat!"

"I, uh..." I fumbled.

What was I supposed to say? What was I supposed to tell her? She obviously didn't know she was dead and the vehicle she was searching for so frantically had long ago been removed.

"I'm sorry," I muttered, holding up one hand and carefully taking a small step backward. "But I can't help you."

The woman's expression shifted to pure rage at my words. "What do you mean you can't help me? I was just in a car accident and you're telling me you can't help me find the car with my three-year-old baby inside it? What kind of person are you!"

I didn't reply; instead, I turned and bolted back in the direction of my house. I glanced back only once, afraid she had chased after me, but hoping she was confined to that specific corner, the place of her death. Even though I didn't see her, I still didn't slow my pace. That's when I noticed them.

The crows.

There seemed to be one everywhere I looked: perched in the ice-coated branches, soaring above me in the sky, waiting for me further down the road. I wasn't sure if they'd been lurking around me during my entire walk to nowhere or if they had simply just appeared, drawn to my Link moment like a moth to an open flame.

Fear filled me, forcing my legs to move faster than ever before. I raced across my snow-covered yard. I could feel the powder give way beneath my boots and the crunch it made echoed loudly in my ears. I stopped running only after I'd flung myself into the warmth of my house and securely closed its wooden door behind me.

My entire body trembled as I sank to the cool, hardwood floor. I curled my knees into my chest, hating how terrified and alone I felt. My eyes darted across the room, searching for anything lurking in the shadows, until they settled on a silver-rimmed picture of my mother.

A remembered sentence, spoken in Jet's saddened tone, swam through my head, breaking the surface of my mind. _Every Link becomes a Reaper._ I stared at my mother's smiling face and glittering green eyes, realizing with complete certainty that she hadn't been crazy at all. My mother had been a Link.

# Chapter 5

An entire week passed. The snow melted away, my bruises faded, and I'd had no choice but to return to school and act as though I were normal and not the certifiably insane person everyone would assume I was if I were to mention any of this strangeness. I knew how acceptable the label would be for everyone to place on me, considering who my mother had been. To the gossips in town, it would have been something they'd expected all along.

It wasn't a hard decision, choosing not to speak to anyone about my latest issue—anyone except Jet, if I were to ever see him again. Pathetically, each time I witnessed another _spirit_ I found myself wishing Jet would appear. Out of everything about this, he was the only part I enjoyed. Everything else seemed terrifying, and no matter which word I used in my mind—spirit, ghost, soul, dead person—none of them lessened the fear that swallowed me whole when I thought about my newly gained talent.

Seeing them was one thing, but the part that frightened me most was that they could see me too. Once they realized this—well, that's when they'd start talking.

* * *

I sat at Kami Holland's dining room table, working with her on our multicultural cuisine project for Advanced Foods and Nutrition, cringing inside and utterly unable to think clearly, feeling far beyond creeped out by the six-year-old little girl sitting across the table from me. I'd been in Kami's house a million times before and never once noticed her, until now.

She was dressed in clothes from the sixties, which, if I had to guess, was probably around the time Kami's house had been built. The girl's head rested against the table with her long, brown hair cascading over the edge and her doe-like baby-blue eyes fixated on me.

I noticed her the second I'd walked into Kami's house; she'd come to the front door, curious to see who was there. From the moment we'd locked eyes, she'd known that I could see her and had toyed with me since, making silly faces or repeating everything Kami said in a silly, squawking voice. If she hadn't been dead, but instead another one of Kami's little sisters, she might have been cute and funny. But being dead was neither cute nor funny and the fact that she was a little kid made it all the more creepy.

There was definitely something different about this ghostly little girl, something which made her stand out in my mind against all the others I'd seen lately. The woman near the end of my road, the morbidly obese man in the grocery store parking lot, the teen boy inside the gas station on the way to Walmart—they were all bad enough. But this little girl knew she was dead and seemed fine with it.

"What were the colors of the Spanish flag, again?" Kami asked a second time. She flipped a stray blond curl from in front of her left eye and chewed her bottom lip while staring at our poster fixedly.

"Yellow and red," I said, reading straight from our chart.

"Okay, got it," she replied, grabbing a yellow marker first. "You know, I'm glad we were paired up for this. With your artistic flare and my perfect bubble letters and organizational skills, we're gonna ace this project!"

"It's surprising she doesn't bust out the pom-poms after saying that one," the little girl said in the sugary-sweet tone of hers, which still surprised me forty minutes later.

I allowed my eyes to flicker her way for a brief moment. I'd spent the last thirty minutes trying extremely hard to ignore everything about her, hoping if I did she'd take a hint and leave me alone. So far I'd had no such luck; she continued to sit in front of me, staring.

"Hey. I'm gonna grab a Coke. Want one?" Kami asked, her tone making me think she'd had to repeat herself more than once.

I pulled my eyes from the little girl and glanced at Kami. Her eyebrows were drawn together in an odd expression, like I was being completely weird and almost scaring her a little.

"Uh, yeah, I'll take one," I answered her with a smile, hoping it seemed genuine enough.

She stood and walked toward the kitchen without glancing back at me. I let out a breath and sank down farther in my chair. Kami had been my best friend as far back as I could remember, but ever since my mother took her own life, we'd hardly spoken more than a few words. Maybe it was my fault because I'd closed myself off from everyone after that, including her. If I were being truly honest, I was still fairly closed off, even now.

"She's only worried about you," the little girl said. She sat back in her chair, and folded her tiny arms across her chest.

"I know," I whispered, hoping Kami didn't hear me talking to myself.

"She's been worried about you ever since what your mom did."

"How do you know?" I couldn't believe I was having a conversation with someone who was dead. Was this what it had been like for my mother?

The little girl shrugged. "I heard her talking with her mom about it a few times. She still cares about you, you know; she's just scared. Kami's never had to deal with death before, even her grandparents are all still living, so the thought of death being real and so unpredictable scared her more than you might realize. Everyone is more afraid of what they don't know or understand."

I gazed at her, this little girl with such an innocent face, as her words of wisdom echoed through my mind. I wondered what had happened to her and how she'd come to know so much about the living and the fears that plagued us such as death. Why was she still here and why hadn't she moved on? Weren't you supposed to go someplace else when you died? I made a mental note to ask Jet when I saw him again—if I ever did.

Before I could reply, Kami came back carrying two Cokes and a large bowl of popcorn.

"Here," she said, handing me a Coke. "I'm a little hungry, so I made us some popcorn."

"Thanks," I said, cracking open the cold can of cola.

"So, where were we?" she asked, somehow managing to keep her usual cheery tone even with a mouth full of popcorn.

"Finishing up with Spain," I answered.

Hours ticked away while we finished our project and talked. The next time I glanced at a clock it was 5:56 and the early darkness of a winter night had already begun to swallow the sun.

"Do you want to stay for dinner?" Kami asked, hopeful. "I'm sure mom won't mind."

"Um," I started, but then stopped.

"It's spaghetti." Kami insisted.

"Sure." I shrugged, positive there wouldn't be a hot meal waiting for me at home.

* * *

Eating dinner at the Holland house was chaotic and slightly hilarious. It was just the distraction I needed to release my mind from the gloominess of my impending death, if for only a moment. The warm, fuzzy sensation of love, happiness, and normalcy which flowed between the walls clung to me all the way home. Unfortunately, it disappeared the moment I stepped inside the emptiness of my house, where thick silence seemed to breathe and fester, taking on a life of its own. Sadly, this was something I was growing used to.

Either Dad was on his way home now, or else he'd be working extra late again. I guess that's a plus of owning your own business—quitting time could be whenever you liked. And apparently, the custom signs and banner quota had more than quadrupled since my mother's death, meaning Dad worked long hours while I sat home alone in the place that had been my mother's tomb.

# Chapter 6

At 8:57 p.m. Dad finally pulled in the driveway. I'd been curled up on the couch with the TV volume on low, jotting down all the questions I'd thought of to ask Jet, when Dad stumbled in.

For the first time in my life, I witnessed my father drunk.

I closed my notebook, marking my place with my pen, and watched him sway through the front door, oblivious to me.

"Hi," I said, when he started toward the kitchen without saying a word.

His bloodshot eyes darted to mine. "Hey, honey," he slurred with a smile.

My heart began pounding. Was this for real—was my dad seriously standing in front of me _plastered_? Shouldn't our roles have been reversed? I was the one who was seventeen; shouldn't I be the one coming home drunk, stumbling through the front door after dark?

"I'm gonna make something to eat; you want something?" he asked, and I was barely able to decipher his words.

"No." I shook my head. "Are you _drunk_?" A question which didn't necessarily need to be asked, but I'd asked anyway.

He nodded, continuing to the kitchen. "Yeah, I'd say I am." He chuckled to himself.

Anger lapped at my insides as I stood. "You could have died driving like this!" I shrieked.

"Would that have been so bad?" he asked, devoid of emotion as he rummaged through the contents of the fridge. "The best part of me died a long time ago," he added with more conviction.

My chest tightened, squeezing all the air out of my lungs and clamping off my vocal cords. I knew instantly what he was referring to—my mother's suicide—and I wasn't sure which emotion his cold statement stirred most within me: anger or sadness. Anger because the vacant, King of Avoidance father I'd lived with for the past five months had now transformed into a person who chose to drown all his problems with alcohol and his behavior was supposed to be justified? Or sadness because I could relate to what he was feeling completely.

Between the two emotions, anger won. Anger always wins; it's always the victor over every other emotion known to man. I narrowed my eyes, watching him as he clumsily made himself a sandwich in the kitchen.

"I miss her, too!" I shouted, stalking into the kitchen. "You're not the only one!"

He leaned over the countertop, the butter knife he'd been using still clasped in his hand. "I never said I was," he said in a low voice, closing his eyes and hanging his head.

His broken frame didn't lessen my anger any; in a twisted way, it intensified it. All I kept thinking was that at least I was finally seeing _some_ form of mild emotion stirring in him, regarding my mother's suicide.

"Might as well have." I pressed further, fueled by rage and pain. "You haven't talked to me about _anything_ ; you haven't even acted like you care how I feel about mom killing herself!"

Dad glared at me then, hard, before his butter knife and sandwich both went flying across the kitchen. "What, Rowan? What the hell do you want me to say? That it's all finally sinking in for me? That your mother took her own life instead of taking a damn pill and living? That I've beat myself up every day since because I knew how depressed she was, but I didn't want to believe it? Is that what you wanna hear?"

I gaped at my father, not knowing how to respond to his sudden outburst and the harshness of his words.

"Because it's the truth... I blame myself every day. I pushed all the signs I noticed under the rug and forgot about them." His red-rimmed eyes shifted to the countertop and became glassy. "And I... I miss her so much it hurts..."

The raw emotion in his voice was unmistakable, and it stabbed at me like a knife through my heart. For the second time in a single evening my father surprised me, this time because he cried. His face had been blank and emotionless at the funeral and throughout these last five months, but now it was easy to see how tortured by my mother's decision he'd been.

"I know," I said, moving to stand closer. "Me, too."

"So much..." he whispered through sobs. I felt tears sting the corners of my eyes. "People keep telling me it will get easier, but it won't, Rowan," he sobbed. "Not for me."

I tangled my arms around him, giving my father the hug I felt he desperately needed, turning this moment between us into another one I felt should be reversed, but wasn't. We clung to each other, finally releasing our bottled-up sorrows. The sobs that came from some place deep inside of me felt strong enough to break me in half, but at the same time oddly freeing. Until my thoughts shifted to one buried by the moment... one which tainted my tears with even more pain.

This wouldn't be the final time my father cried over the loss of a loved one. He'd lose me, soon. I didn't know how or exactly when, but I knew it was inevitable. I would contribute to this pain that had already swallowed my father whole, a realization that shattered my fragile heart.

When I finally ripped myself from my father's side and sauntered back to my room, exhaustion weighed down my every step, pulsating in each of my limbs. A dreamless sleep overtook me the moment my head touched my pillow.

I woke the next morning, an hour before my alarm went off, and stared up at the textured popcorn ceiling, not yet ready to begin my day. I listened to the quite house surrounding me and wondered if Dad had already left for work.

When the sun finally peeked up from the horizon, casting hues of orange and pink across the pale yellow walls of my room, I crawled out of bed and padded quietly to my window. Dad's truck still sat in the driveway, parked at an odd angle. Either he was too hungover or too depressed to be around people today, maybe even a mixture of both.

Dots of black near our mailbox caught my gaze. The crows had returned to taunt me for another day with their symbolism of impending death and transformation. I stared at them for a while, wondering if their growing numbers held any significance, because if so, then my time must be running out.

I slipped on a red long-sleeved shirt, a pair of dark denim skinny jeans, and my brown Ugg boots before hesitantly leaving the comfort of my room. The house was still silent, but it didn't mean Dad wasn't up. After what had happened last night, I wasn't sure how to behave around him this morning.

When I stepped into the kitchen for a cinnamon sugar Pop Tart, dad sat at the counter with a glass of ice water clasped between his hands. I walked to the pantry, searching my mind for something to say besides a simple 'Good Morning,' because it wasn't, not with the way things had gone last night. I hadn't gone to bed angry with him, but for whatever reason, this morning I found anger rising to the surface of my mind. Seeing him sitting there like that, dazed, was seriously setting me off.

The silence of the house pressed in on me, making my ears hyperaware of even the faintest sounds. My Pop Tart wrapper crinkling as I opened it sounded like thunder echoing around the kitchen.

"Rowan, I'm not going to apologize for last night and the way I acted or even for the state I was in. The truth is, it was the first time I've actually felt something since your..." He trailed off, unable to finish. I didn't need him to; I already knew the ending to his sentence.

"I'm not asking you to apologize," I said, more curtly than I'd intended.

His red-rimmed eyes flickered to mine and I dropped my stare to the crumbling Pop Tart in my hand.

"You know you're the spitting image of her?" he asked in a dazed whisper.

I sighed and shifted my eyes to the kitchen window, watching the streaks of orange and pink fade into a blue sky. A crow cut through my view for a split second, an unwanted reminder of something else I had in common with my mother besides her looks.

"Yeah, well, I'm not _her_ —I'm _me_ ," I said through my teeth, not sure who I'd meant the words for more: him, myself, or the crows.

I threw the remaining piece of Pop Tart in the trash and stomped out of the kitchen, headed to school.

# Chapter 7

My blue sky didn't last long; by the end of second period a dreary grayness had eaten it. By the end of third, the grayness had opened up, allowing a soggy wetness to pour out. It was the first time I didn't mind the rain or even the extra chill which clung to the air because of it. It mirrored my mood and I took a small satisfaction in that.

School seemed as dull and lifeless as the all-consuming grayness beyond the walls. I wondered why I bothered coming at all anymore; I had gone utterly unnoticed and invisible since the month after my mother's suicide. High school has a fast-tracked timeline; apparently a month was an ample amount of time for me to get over my mother's suicide and when I didn't I was bumped down the social ladder and forgotten.

It's those tough situations life throws at you that you walk out of knowing exactly who your true friends are. In my situation I'd only had one—Kami—and because I'd built such high walls closing myself off... I'd lost her too.

Taking one month to bounce back from something in high school is a lifetime, but taking five months or more is an eternity, especially to a best friend.

* * *

"Rowan, hey." A familiar bubbly voice called after me. "Wait up!"

I stood in the crowded hallway after the final bell of the day had rung, releasing us all from this torture they called school, and waited for Kami to catch up.

"Hey," she said, sounding out of breath. "I didn't think you were _ever_ going to stop! I've been yelling for you since Mr. Moore's room." She ran her fingers through her silky blond curls, then straightened her shirt.

"Sorry, I didn't hear you," I admitted as we continued walking.

"It's okay. I just wondered if maybe you wanted to catch a movie? There's a group of us going and we're all meeting in the parking lot now... so I thought I'd ask."

I could feel her brown eyes zeroing in on me, willing me to say yes. This was the last strand of our friendship she was reaching out to me with, I could feel it.

"A movie?" I stalled while I contemplated my answer.

"Yeah, it's some stupid comedy," she said, rolling her eyes. "But it should be fun! Emily Short, Kyle Taylor, Samantha Gordon, Shelly Wilmington, Cory Gilbert, Trent Holbrooks, and _Darren Wooten_ are all going to be there. You should definitely come!"

I could tell from the way she'd overemphasized Darren's name he must be her new crush of the week. An awkward silence began building between us while I tried to think of an excuse to not go, I'd been lucky our high school was fairly new and hadn't been built on any kind of burial ground so it was ghost free, at least as far as I could tell. But the movie theater was old, real old. There was no way I'd get lucky twice in one day. Besides, once I factored in Kami with the others she'd named, there were four couples when you paired them all up, which would leave me being the odd person out.

"Um, actually I have a lot of homework tonight." I lied lamely, wiggling my notebook as though my holding it were all the proof she'd need to believe me.

Skepticism pooled in the depths of her muddy brown eyes. "Homework. Really?" Her tone went up an octave or two on her last word. "You know, I just don't get you anymore, Rowan. I mean, seriously, _homework_?"

I dropped my gaze to my boots, hating where this conversation was headed. How was I supposed to explain that it wasn't anything personal against her, I just didn't want to hang out with anyone? Period.

"I'm trying to give you a freaking _olive branch_ , or whatever that stupid saying is, and you're just swatting it away! I thought maybe things were going to be okay between us again—guess I was wrong. You're never going to snap back to reality, are you?" Kami stormed away, leaving me frazzled by her sudden flare of anger.

I didn't shout after her. I didn't even speak. Instead, I pursed my lips together and stalked forward, wanting nothing more than to be free of this crowded hallway with its satisfied eyes filled with new, juicy gossip. I hoped everyone thought my cheeks were reddened from anger and not embarrassment, which tingled beneath my skin.

I exited the main building through the double doors at the front, instead of the side exit near the parking lot, and sucked in greedy gulps of the damp, cool air my lungs seemed starved for. I started down the stretch of steps and walkways, which led from the front of the school all the way to the sidewalk lining the street. I couldn't face Kami again right now or witness any of the odd glances I was sure her newfound friends would be shooting my way.

I decided I'd walk to a place I hadn't visited in a while—my mother's grave.

The rain had died down to a fine mist that stuck to my face and threatened to mingle with the tears pooling in my eyes. Kami had no idea what I'd been through lately. Not only had I lost my mother, but in the last five months I'd also lost my dad, my best friend, and myself. Plus, I'd gained a creepy new talent, met an actual Reaper, and had an invisible hourglass positioned above my head which steadily dripped away the sands of my life at a speed unknown.

Maybe Kami and I rekindling our friendship was a bad idea. I'd hate to be the one to bring death into her sheltered life a second time.

I clasped my notebook tighter against my chest and pulled in a few deep breaths to prepare myself for whatever I might see once I set foot inside the stone-pillared entryway of Wooten Cemetery.

A noticeable shift in the air after I'd passed the pillars caught my attention. An odd stillness mixed with an eerie calm lay heavy in the air. My eyes swept across the rolling hills of headstones, searching for any lurking ghosts. Relief filled me when I realized I was utterly alone.

I cut a left at the entrance and began walking down a white, graveled path at a slow pace, unable to keep my eyes from skimming the headstones which surrounded me. I'd only been back one other time since my mother had been buried, but the names I read were the same ones that always seemed to catch my attention: Abigail Collins... Charles Haskins... Greta Thompson.

I continued forward as a deep sadness gathered in my chest and spread quickly to my mind. Cemeteries are meant to be places where you bury the dead, but what people often don't realize is that they're also a place where old memories lay buried—memories that don't resurface until the very moment you step inside.

Remembered clips of my mother's life swarmed through my mind like angry little bees: a flash of her warm smile, her sad green eyes when our black cat, Shadow, was run over by a car, her nervous breakdown during my first story-time session at the public library when I was six, her final 'I love you' I had hurriedly responded to as I rushed out the front door headed to school, not knowing it would be her last.

I came to an intersection and cut a right, following another path. My mother's grave was at the very end, marked by a large headstone made of solid black granite; I was sure my father was still making payments on it. A granite headstone requires little to no maintenance, an answer to my father's prayers, since I didn't think he planned on visiting her gravesite any time soon.

I stopped in front of the last headstone and stared, soaking in the beauty of the spellbinding script in which my mother's name had been etched and the words written upon it that meant so much.

* * *

_Salene M. Harper_

_1968- 2011_

* * *

_A loving wife, mother, and friend_

_whose memory will always burn brightly_

_in the hearts of those she loved._

* * *

I continued to gaze unblinkingly at her name, until I was staring past the letters that made it up with unfocused eyes. A tightness began to build in my chest while I struggled to keep my tears at bay.

Coming here hadn't made me feel any better and it hadn't answered any of my questions that had lurked around in my mind for the past week and a half. All it did was make the emptiness that always seemed to eat away at my insides grow a little bigger.

"You miss her a lot?" A familiar voice murmured behind me, sending a waterfall of emotions crashing over me.

"Yeah," I whispered, before shifting to glance over my shoulder at Jet.

He moved to stand beside me and I relished the fuzzy feeling of relief and happiness seeing him again brought on.

"People like to say the pain and hurt of losing a loved one diminishes with time, but even I still have yet to feel it," Jet said, and I saw the truth in his words cloud his eyes.

A sadness, that came with complete understanding of what he was feeling stormed through me and a sudden urge I'd never felt in his presence gripped me.

I wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch him.

# Chapter 8

I found myself wondering if my fingertips would pass through him unnoticed or if he would be solid. The fact that I could see him more clearly than each of the other spirits I'd come in contact with stood out in my mind and intensified my curiosity.

"Are you real?" I asked, without intending to speak.

Jet's lips twisted into a hint of a smile as he shifted his sapphire-blue eyes to mine. "Well, I'm not a figment of your imagination, if that's what you're asking."

"No," I whispered. "Real as in... to touch..."

His eyes widened as the brightness of wonder seeped into them, but he didn't answer right away. I skimmed my eyes over him, which piqued my curiosity even more, and noticed when his eyebrows drew together, making him appear lost in thought. I wondered if I'd feel anything besides air when touching him... or if I'd die instantly.

I pushed the last thought from my mind and raised my hand, extending my fingertips toward him.

"Wait—I'm not sure what will happen." Jet panicked, hoping to freeze my movement, but his words couldn't stop me.

Not now, not when my death was at the edge of my every thought. Would it really matter if touching him plucked my soul from my body, which was withering in pain from old memories and the shattering truth of my newly discovered fate?

I inched closer, stopping once my fingers were a heartbeat away from his. I glanced into his piercing blue eyes, which had become filled with worry.

"Rowan, I don't know what will happen," he insisted.

I didn't hesitate any longer; I reached out and touched his hand.

An energy that both terrified and delighted me snaked its way through my fingertips and continued traveling up my arm. It was just as intimate as it was electrifying. It was utterly soul-baring. My eyes grew wide and my breath caught in my throat from the sudden rush I felt and the images which played before my eyes.

Random clips of Jet floated through my mind at a dizzying pace: him sitting in a chair by a campfire, his head being bashed with a log, his tears mingled with blood.

Without warning, Jet pulled away, breaking our contact and sending me crumpling to the ground on weak knees.

"Whoa," I muttered, bringing a hand to my chest, winded. "What happened to you?" I asked, my voice raising an octave.

Jet's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

I shifted to sit on the brittle grass instead of the hard gravel. "I saw... images... in my head. Images of you sitting in some kind of chair by a campfire, falling asleep, then some bulky guy hitting you with a log," I paused, as the brutal images flashed through my mind again. "You were crying and your tears were mixing with blood. Is that how you died—were you _murdered_?"

Jet rubbed his forehead and let out a long breath. "Yeah, pretty much." he mumbled.

"But then, why are you a Reaper?" I asked, perplexed.

Jet interlaced his fingers behind his head and stared at me, visibly growing tense. "Because it wasn't supposed to be my time, I was given a choice."

"A choice?"

His eyes remained on mine, even as sadness entered them. "Either to crossover or stay and become a Reaper."

"And you chose to become a Reaper," I said unnecessarily.

I watched Jet's eyes grow as dark as a starless night sky at my words.

"Yeah, well, parting is all we know of heaven and all we need of hell," he said, his jaw tight.

"Emily Dickinson." I muttered, knowing who he was quoting.

It had always been a favorite of mine, but now it resonated with me in a whole new way. Since Jet had been murdered, I imagined being released from that pain must have felt like heaven. And yet, choosing to become a Reaper or simply crossover must have been—and still must be—hell.

"Your life was so happy before your mother took her own life," Jet said, shoving his hands into his pockets.

I drew my knees into my chest and hooked my arms around them. "It was," I said, shifting my gaze to her headstone.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "Some just can't handle it."

The list of questions I'd written down slithered through my mind.

"So, my mother was a Link?" I asked, even though I was already sure of the answer.

Jet nodded, confirming my theory, but didn't speak.

"Did she become a Reaper?"

"No," he answered simply, moving to sit beside me. The grass, brown and brittle as it was, didn't make a sound beneath him. "There's a place for those who end their own lives."

A shiver ran up my spine. "Hell?"

He shook his head. "You'd call it Purgatory."

"Oh," I said, not sure if I felt relieved or not. "And what do you call it?"

Jet's lips twisted into a faint smile. "Purgatory."

I rolled my eyes, but couldn't manage to force away the tiny smile that sprang to my lips.

"Sorry, I couldn't help myself." He grinned. "But in all seriousness, Purgatory is a place where all the souls of those who've killed themselves go. There they are able to reflect on their actions and see how it has affected loved ones."

I let this new knowledge sink in before replying. "So, that means there's a heaven and a hell too?"

"No, not necessarily. People don't realize they create their own while they're alive." Jet's face crumpled as disappointment etched itself into his features.

I shifted and stood after a long period of sitting. My butt had grown numb, and I wasn't sure how much longer I could take being out in the cold.

"I have to start back; it's getting colder out," I said, pointing in the general direction of the school. "Would you mind walking with me?"

Jet stood, and the movement was just as silent as when he'd sat. "Sure, if you don't mind looking like a lunatic talking to yourself." He smirked.

I picked my notebook up and walked over to touch my mother's headstone. "I don't mind," I said, feeling more connected with my mother than ever before.

* * *

"If I'm a Link and my mother was a Link, then is it hereditary or something?" I asked once we'd exited Wooten Cemetery.

"In some cases it can be, but I don't think it is with you."

"Why is that?" I picked at the corner of my notebook while we walked.

"Because you obviously weren't born one. You didn't become a Link until a car accident shortly after the suicide of your mother, who, in fact, was a Link her entire life. You're a replacement Reaper."

I scrunched up my face. "A replacement Reaper?"

Jet nodded. "You'll become one to fill your mother's place."

My stomach twisted. Had she known her decision to end her life would seal my fate, forcing me to take her place? If she hadn't, then she did now, watching me from Purgatory.

So many emotions swept through me—anger, betrayal, sadness—all intertwining to form a physical feeling. Pain. It burned beneath my skin like a raging fever, making me ache.

"She didn't know, if that's what you're thinking. I saw how much she loved you when we touched back there. If she'd known the extent of what her choice would do to you, she would have stayed. Trust me."

I glanced at Jet, letting his words and his sympathetic eyes comfort me in a way no one else could. I realized I'd begun falling for a guy who was already dead... and falling fast.

# Chapter 9

It was nearly five o'clock when I got home. Dusk had fallen and the stillness of night had begun to creep in. I stepped inside my house, feeling strange with a relatively invisible person in tow behind me, and noticed a four-foot-tall Fraser fir standing in the center of our living room. Dad sat on the couch, staring blankly at it.

I froze mid-step as the date suddenly came to me. In all the commotion, somehow Christmas had slipped my mind; tomorrow was actually the final day of school before Christmas break began. I gazed at the tree, dumbfounded.

"Chad from work brought it by this afternoon," Dad said.

"That was nice," I replied.

He shook his head. "It's just not Christmas without her."

I blinked and shifted my gaze to him, understanding exactly how he felt. I hadn't thought about how it would feel to spend the holidays without her, until now.

"I know," I whispered, walking past him, headed to my room.

The absence of my mother seemed to echo loudly through the house. I could sense it swallowing my father whole and threatening to grab hold of me at any moment. I wished for the first time Jet were able to wrap me in his arms, or hold my hand even. Disappointment prickled through me because I knew it wasn't possible, that there was no physical way for him to console me.

"Are you okay?" Jet asked, once we'd crossed the threshold to my room and I'd closed the door behind us.

I leaned against my dresser and set my notebook down. "No," I answered truthfully. "He's right; it won't feel like Christmas without her."

I thought of the blue and white icicle lights that wouldn't hang from our gutters this year, and the three-foot-tall candy canes that wouldn't line our driveway. I doubted we'd even decorate the tree in the living room, much less have anything waiting under it on Christmas morning.

Tears pricked my eyes. I turned away from Jet and busied myself with lining my nail polishes in neat little rows, forgetting he could still see my face in the mirror.

"Should I go?" he asked, barely above a whisper.

I met his gaze in the mirror as a tear escaped, sliding down my cheek. "No... stay. Please."

Sympathy swallowed the brightness of his eyes and creased his brow. Jet stepped soundlessly across the distance between us, until only mere inches remained. I struggled to feel something from his closeness that I could take comfort in, but felt nothing. There was no warmth emanating from his skin to mine, no breath gently caressing my forehead; there was just a void.

A sudden urge to kiss him sparked deep inside me, spurred from the emptiness of his closeness. I allowed my eyes to graze his lips and the urge grew like a wildfire with only my thoughts to flame it.

With my eyes open, I stood on my tiptoes and gave in, kissing Jet.

My eyes closed as the same energy from our last touch spiraled through me. I'd expected to feel warmth, but didn't. If it hadn't been for the electrifying energy, kissing Jet would have felt like kissing the air. Just as the same images from before began to flash behind my eyelids, he broke our contact.

"What are you thinking?" he demanded. My cheeks reddened and I felt the heat spread to my neck. "We don't know what will happen to you if you keep on... _touching_ me."

I could hear the unease and embarrassment playing in his voice as he took a few silent steps backward. "Does it matter?" I countered, feeling slightly dizzy. "If it kills me, so what? I'm going to die soon, anyway."

The look on his face reinforced my words and the term _kiss of death_ floated to the surface of my mind. If that was all it would take, kissing death, mainly _this_ death—Reaper number 142—then it would be the sweetest form of suicide imaginable. Poetic, even.

"It's not that I don't feel anything for you... because I do." He paused, obviously shaken at having admitted that out loud, and I searched his face for any tinge of pink to stain his cheeks, but saw none. "We just—we can't keep tempting Fate."

I shrugged a shoulder. "Why not?"

Worry soaked up all the sparkles of his eyes. "Because you can only tempt Fate for so long before it takes you, and if things don't happen the way they've intended for it to then you might not come out of it as a Reaper, they may force you to just Crossover."

That thought had never occurred to me, and I made a mental note to behave myself if it meant I'd get to see him again when everything was said and done.

Jet's icy blue eyes glared back at me, his expression inscrutable. "I think I should go," he muttered, shoving his hands deep in his pockets.

In the time it took my heart to beat its next rhythm, Jet vanished.

# Chapter 10

Days passed and Christmas came and went. The tree in our living room, which had never been decorated, was moved to the edge of the woods in our backyard where the ever-present crows claimed it for themselves.

The only thing about my Christmas break I enjoyed was the ample amount of uninterrupted time I was allotted to spend with Jet. Today though, he'd kept me waiting for his sudden appearance and the silence of my house seemed deafening. I bundled up in my blue marshmallow jacket and fled the emptiness of my house, attempting to save my sanity and kill some time.

The noisy cawing of crows assaulted my ears the moment I closed the front door behind myself and nervousness twisted in the pit of my stomach. I crammed my hands into the fleece-lined pockets of my jacket and walked down the driveway, cutting a right this time to avoid the red-headed woman on the corner. I made it to the wooden gate of Dover Farm before the cold became too much and I decided to turn back, but someone's muffled cries stopped me.

I inhaled so sharply the cold air burned my lungs and my eyes darted around, searching for the source and praying I couldn't see through whoever it was. I exhaled only once I noticed little Isabel Dover kneeling near the edge of Dover Pond, crying.

"Isabel—what's wrong?" I asked, already weaving my body through the wooden slats that made up the gate. Isabel's little tear-stained face jerked in my direction.

"Rowan!" she shouted, her baby-blue eyes gleaming. "You gotta help Fern; she's stuck out there and I'm too scared to get her!"

I glanced out onto the frozen pond and spotted Fern, Isabel's dachshund, near the center of the ice. The dog was wearing a bubble-gum pink sweater with an equally pink leash trailing behind her. I began smacking the palm of my hand against my thigh.

"Come here, Fern," I called. "Come here, girl."

"She won't come," Isabel said, shaking her head. "I think she's frozen."

"I doubt that." I chuckled.

"I'm serious; she hasn't moved in a while," Isabel insisted as sincerely as any eight-year-old could.

I suppressed another chuckle and began smacking my thigh even harder. "Fern—come here, Fern!" I yelled a little louder and sweeter than before. Fern took two small steps and then stopped. "See, she's definitely not frozen."

"Good girl, Fern! Come on, you can do it, come here!" Isabel coaxed her, but Fern didn't respond by moving, only by whimpering.

I crouched down, resting my knees against the frozen ground beneath me for support. "Come on, Fern!" I called, losing my sugary-sweet tone and trading it in for a more annoyed one.

Fern took a few sliding steps toward us before stopping about four feet away and hunkering down to whimper again. Her sad brown eyes met mine and they instantly melted my heart, making me switch back to my most sugary tone yet.

"Here, girl! Come on!" Isabel and I called out in unison while we both slapped our knees as hard as we could.

"Isabel... where are you?" Mr. Dover called from the back deck to their house.

"Down here, Daddy!" Isabel shouted. "Fern's stuck on the pond!"

"Who's that with you down there?" Mr. Dover asked.

"Rowan; she's been helping me get Fern," Isabel answered.

"Hey, Rowan! How ya been?"

"Fine, Mr. Dover," I replied. "We've almost got Fern, now."

At the sound of her name, Fern took a few more slipping steps forward. I extended my arm out, reaching for her.

"Almost," I muttered, wiggling my fingers. "If she'd only take a few more steps I'd be able to reach her."

I inched closer, until I could feel the cold wetness of the frozen water soaking into my jeans, but I still couldn't reach her. I dropped my arm and let out a loud sigh. I hung my head as annoyance at Fern buzzed through me.

"Fine," I mumbled. I stood and put one foot out onto the frozen water, tapping it to test its thickness.

"No, Rowan, don't!" Isabel panicked.

I shifted all of my weight onto the foot resting on the ice and held my breath. "It's okay. This water is shallow, which means it's thicker than the rest."

I put both feet on the frozen pond and stopped, praying I was right. It had been so long since I'd been to Dover Pond, I couldn't remember how deep the edges were—two feet, three feet, four?

"Rowan, I don't think that's a good idea! Let me come down and get that stubborn-ass dog myself!" Mr. Dover yelled.

I put a hand up and shook my head. "I think it's okay; I'll get her."

I slid my feet across the slick ice like I was skating, slowly inching my way toward Fern. I was nearly two feet away from Isabel when I heard the ice beneath me begin to crack.

# Chapter 11

Rowan!" Isabel gasped from behind me.

I couldn't find my voice to answer her. With my heart hammering against my ribcage, I dropped my gaze to my shoes and stared at the thin line now etched into the ice beneath me. I held my breath and slowly slid my right foot backward an inch before doing the same with my left. I stopped when a new crack formed and then slithered away from me rapidly.

"Daddy! Daddy, hurry! The ice is cracking!" I heard Isabel scream hysterically over her retreating footsteps.

As she darted away, Fern skittered past me after her, and the swift movement across the ice was all it took to send me plummeting through and into the dark water below.

The icy water slipped over me, soaking my clothes and forcing panic to become my worst enemy. My arms and legs thrashed about rapidly, slicing through the frigid water surrounding me. Involuntary gasps escaped from my parted lips as I struggled to find the surface.

_This is it_ , I thought with an eerie sense of calm. _This is how I die_.

Time seemed to tick away at an incredibly slow pace. My limbs began to tire and confusion threatened to overtake my mind. I caught sight of a hand reaching into the black, chunky water for me. A tiny shiver of warmth swam through me as I thought of who it might be— _Jet_. That small shiver of warmth died out quickly as the water began to freeze me from the inside out, burning my lungs while they struggled for air but were only given icy water instead.

My muscles tightened and burned with exhaustion. Rough hands, hands which were obviously not Jet's, gripped me tightly, pulling me from the slushy water and sliding me across a solid patch of ice.

"She's blue—she's blue, Martha! Tell 'em to hurry!" Mr. Dover's voice shouted.

I wanted to tell him to leave me be, that any attempt to save my life was foolish because my death had been inevitable, but I couldn't speak through my chattering teeth.

My eyes rolled back into my head as my body continued to tremble violently. Each faint intake my frozen lungs could manage felt like fire inside my chest. Jet's face came into my view and thin tendrils of relief floated their way through my mind. Everything would all be over with soon.

"Rowan, it's time," he whispered, his eyebrows drawn together in concern.

My eyes closed, either of their own accord or out of fear, I couldn't be sure which. In the distance, beyond the panicked cries of those struggling to save my ill-fated life, the crows had gathered to sing their own haunting melody... the soundtrack of my death.

Droplets of warmth slid from the corners of my eyes as I forced my ice-clogged lungs to take in their final breath. Pain radiated from my chest to my toes—had I been able to find my voice, I would have screamed. I met Jet's eyes, begging him without words to end my pain. He crouched down beside me and extended a hand, his eyes glimmering with sadness. Darkness dotted the edges of my vision while I watched his fingertip grow closer and closer. Just before touching me, Jet closed his eyes and I did the same.

At the moment of contact, a completely different energy coursed through my body than what I had felt before when we touched. This one was not electrifying or intimate. It was relaxing and peaceful... warming even. Images flashed behind my eyelids, but this time they were my own. Snuggling up with Mom for a bedtime story, getting piggyback rides from Dad, being tickled until I laughed so hard I cried, my very first sleepover at Kami's house, my first kiss. All the seemingly small things from my life that had made it worth living danced through my mind. In the end, they had been all that had mattered.

When the images ceased, I found myself standing beside Jet, with my body lying at my feet. Jet reached for my hand and our fingers intertwined. For the first time I could actually _feel_ him. I glanced from my body to our connected hands and couldn't decide which stunned me more.

"I know how overwhelmed you're feeling at the moment, but they're already waiting for you," Jet said, pointing across the pond where four figures draped in black, hooded cloaks stood. I took one last, fleeting glance at the uninhabited body at my feet before shifting my eyes back to the hooded figures which implored me for my attention.

"You don't want to keep them waiting, trust me," Jet insisted.

With that, we began walking in their direction, out across the frozen pond which had been the death of me moments before.

"Damaris, Evelyn, Cassandra, William," Jet said, greeting each of the hooded figures with a formal bow.

"Jet," they replied in perfect unison.

I shifted my gaze from them to Jet; he'd dropped my hand before we'd reached them and now he stood with both hands clasped behind his back like a soldier standing before a line of generals. The sight was rather intimidating.

"Rowan Jade Harper." A loud voice boomed from the first cloaked figure. Damaris, Jet had called him.

My eyes drifted to him, unsure of how I was supposed to answer; all I knew was that he was waiting for something.

"Yes," I finally said.

"Daughter of Salene Meredith Harper," Damaris stated.

"Yes."

"I gather you have been told of what is ahead of you and why you have been chosen."

I nodded. "As a Replacement Reaper for my mother."

Damaris lowered his hood and the others followed suit. I was shocked to see such normal faces returning my stare, instead of the skeletons I'd envisioned. Damaris had smooth, dark skin, caramel-colored eyes, and long, dark hair. Evelyn, who stood to the left of him, had short, cropped blond hair, sky-blue eyes, and creamy, flawless skin. Cassandra, who oddly appeared to be young and old all at the same time, had long, wavy black hair with streaks of gray, striking green eyes, and olive skin. And William, who couldn't have been much older than me, had chestnut-colored hair and grayish eyes.

"Correct. Today, December 30, is the day your mother was supposed to die, had she not taken her own life," Damaris said.

His words bounced around in my mind before their meaning truly sank in: even if my mother hadn't committed suicide, I still would have only had six more months with her. I felt the emotions I should feel after being given such knowledge, but none of the physical things. No tears, no tightness in my chest, no churning of my stomach. I felt strangely detached.

"Instead, yours was taken in her place," he added, his caramel eyes fixed on me, as though I hadn't understood the entire concept already.

"We've been contemplating where you should be placed, since you have such _limited_ experience with souls," Evelyn said, her soft voice surprising me.

"You must understand, this date was chosen at the time of your mother's birth. She was intended to become a high-ranking Reaper, which was why she was born a Link, a position you are clearly not ready to fill." Cassandra chimed in.

"Because of this, _other roles_ have been shifted." There was a glint in William's gray eyes as he spoke, something about his sentence gave him pleasure and looking at me seemed to intensify it, almost like he knew something about me that I didn't, and he wasn't very good at hiding it. "We have decided on Jet as your Overseer, and the two of you will be relocated."

I felt a smile tug at the corners of my lips at his last words.

"This decision is effective immediately." Damaris's voice boomed like thunder, reverberating through my mind.

The frozen pond and bare-branched trees swirled before my eyes at a dizzying pace; I blinked and the entire scenery before me had changed.

# Chapter 12

We stood in a street, smack in the middle of a suburban cul-de-sac. I glanced at each of the houses surrounding us, wondering where on earth we were. Each house seemed identical, with the only exception being each had a different shade of vinyl siding.

It was still winter. Bare trees stretched high into the gray sky above, dirty snow clumps lined the sidewalks, and brown, dead grass covered each yard.

"You're still in the East Physical Realm, just a tad bit north," Damaris said.

"Why are we here?" I asked.

"There's a larger populace, so your training will be more demanding and you'll have less _free time_." Cassandra explained the relocation, her eyes flickering toward Jet as she emphasized her last words.

I noticed Jet stiffen beside me and I wondered what hidden meaning lined her words; were Reapers not supposed to have relationships?

"We will be in touch," Damaris said.

Jet gave them a low bow, like before, and I dropped my gaze to mimic his motion. When I glanced up, the council was gone. I stared into the emptiness where the four figures who controlled my fate, even after my death, had been.

My mind raced to process everything that had happened to me in the last thirty minutes. There was one thing which stood out most in my mind: the simple fact that I hadn't been able to say goodbye to my father the way I would have liked. Even though I was positive most didn't get the chance to say their goodbyes to loved ones, it still bothered me. I worried about how my father would handle my death, especially after he'd already lost so much.

"Well, that was something," Jet said. "Nothing like being uprooted and dropped someplace else in the blink of an eye."

"Sorry." I apologized, my thoughts shifting to him.

"Don't be, I didn't mean it like that." He smiled. "You must be something special; I was sure they were going to make you become a Soul Seeker for a while with the way they were talking."

There was something odd about the way he looked at me, like questions were burning in his eyes but he didn't know how to voice them.

"I'm glad they didn't," I said, smiling to hide my sudden unease. "Soul Seeker? Am I even supposed to know what that is?"

Jet's eyes softened and he let out a chuckle. Interlacing his fingers with mine, he caressed the top of my hand, moving his thumb in slow circles. A sigh escaped my lips as I savored the sensation it stirred within me. I closed my eyes when he pulled me against him and nuzzled my head underneath his chin.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this," he whispered into my hair.

"Oh, I can imagine," I said with a smile.

# Chapter 13

Two weeks' time passed before the moment of my first Reaping came. Jet and I had grown closer and I studied his every move, learning how to become a Reaper. He never went into detail, but told me repeatedly that when the time came I'd understand what he felt and know why he'd never been able to describe it.

* * *

An urgency so strong there was no possible way to ignore it pulsated through my limbs and I found myself relishing the sensation of actually _feeling_ something.

"Do you feel that?" Jet asked. "That force willing you to come to it?"

I opened my eyes, instantly drowning in his gaze. "Yes, I can feel it," I whispered.

"It's the soul screaming to you to be released."

The after-burn of his words hung in my mind. I felt cruel and sick to be standing in the hallway of a hospital, enjoying the sensation of someone's soul screaming.

"What are we waiting for, then?" I demanded.

Jet's brow furrowed and his gaze shifted to the closed door before us. "For it to cease."

" _What_?" I snapped. "Isn't that considered cruel and unusual punishment?"

How was I supposed to do that? It was impossible to resist this urgency calling me. I was here now and I needed to help; anything else was unacceptable.

Jet's hand gripped my arm. "Rowan, all you're hearing is the soul panicking. It's the body's natural mechanism to make sure we're near."

Confusion clouded my mind. "What do you mean _natural mechanism_?"

Jet cupped my chin in his hand. "Did you really think I could be so cruel as to stand back and listen to someone in utter pain?"

I looked down the hall to the faces of those who couldn't see me, avoiding the one that could. "No."

"Listen to me," Jet said, placing both his hands on either side of my face, forcing my eyes to his. "When a person is on the verge of death, their soul sends out a distress signal to us, in order to ensure we're near them at the exact moment their soul needs released." He removed his hands from my face in favor of my waist. "When the soul stops screaming its urgency call, then you will know it's time to proceed."

"Why do I have to wait?" I wondered. "Why can't I just do it now, since I'm already here?"

"Because the soul must become dormant first, or else you run the risk of damaging it," he answered simply, then wrapped his arms more tightly around my middle.

I nestled my head against his chest and closed my eyes in an attempt to shield myself from the horrible urgency that tugged at me, splitting me in two. The second the urgency ceased, my eyes snapped open.

"Are you ready?" Jet asked.

I untangled myself from him and faced the door. "Yes."

With a proud little half-smile, he nodded. "I'll be waiting for you here when you're finished with everything."

Even though I knew this was something I had to do alone, part of me still wished Jet could be in the room for moral support. Without hesitating any longer, I blinked through the door, on a mission to release the soul behind it from the torturing pain its body's death was about to inflict upon it.

A woman with no hair lay in the bed among the folds of white, wrinkled sheets. She was so frail looking, making it obvious how much of a fight she had put up against death. In her final moments, chaos surrounded her while doctors and nurses struggled to save her life, not knowing every attempt they made would fail because it had been decided.

I stepped to her side and extended my hand. A split second before I touched her forehead, I closed my eyes just as Jet always did, but also because it somehow felt right.

No matter what Jet had said to me before, I was still utterly unprepared for what happened the moment my fingertip touched a Dying: the sudden jolt of electricity that sparked from her and into me, the intensity of all her final memories flooding my mind at the same time as they did hers, the strength of her emotions intertwined and attached to each memory, the vividness and clarity of the entire experience. It was as though I were given a small taste of what it was like to be living again.

I kept my eyes closed and smiled for a moment as the sensations lingered in every fiber of me, even after our contact was broken. When I opened my eyes, the soul of the woman stood beside me, only now she appeared to be much healthier and with long, red hair.

"Thank you." She beamed. "I knew my time was coming months ago, and now I'm just happy it's all finally over."

"You're welcome," I whispered, taking her hand in mine.

I was more than glad she was so content with her situation, because I had worried my first Reaping would be with someone who couldn't accept what had happened to them and I'd have to skip the entire Crossover process, which I already knew would have left me feeling incomplete and like a failure.

I held her hand tightly in mine and closed my eyes once more, focusing on crossing through the Veil like Jet had taught me. When my eyes opened again, we were standing in a lush meadow known as the Spiritual Realm.

Thick green grass grew beneath us, dotted with various flowers, and a cloudless, blue sky hung above. Souls walked around freely talking with one another, while others congregated in front of a tiny building with double doors and a glittering gold sign that read _Crossover Portal_.

"Thank you again, Angel," the woman said, hugging me before rushing away like a child.

_Angel_ —I was no Angel, but I could clearly see where the misconception came from. I closed my eyes and thought solely of Jet and the white-walled hospital hallway.

# Chapter 14

When I found my way back to Jet, he was no longer alone. The Reapers' Council members stood with him. My eyes traveled to each of their faces, but I paused longer on Cassandra's. In the two weeks that had passed since the last time I'd seen her, Cassandra had aged nearly thirty years or more. Her long, black waves had turned solid gray and her face had begun to sag and wrinkle.

"Hello, Rowan." Damaris greeted me.

I bowed my head slightly. "Hello."

"We see you've completed your first releasing of a soul successfully," Evelyn said.

"Yes," I replied, wondering if this was the only reason behind their visit.

"We also noticed the amount of knowledge you've gained from your Overseer and how _close_ the two of you have become," William added, his gray eyes dancing, making me feel like what Jet and I were to each other was somehow wrong.

I thought of all the soft touches, hand holding, and embraces we'd shared over the last two weeks that they'd probably seen and averted my gaze to the white, tiled floor of the hospital. I wondered if I'd be punished, or worse, if Jet would. Were Reaper relationships forbidden? If so, Jet had never let on, but I had never asked either.

"Unfortunately, we have become pressed for time," Damaris stated, moving along to the true purpose of their presence.

My eyebrows scrunched in confusion. "I'm not sure I understand what you mean," I said, choosing my words carefully.

"Your mother's intended position can no longer wait to be filled." Damaris clarified his meaning, his caramel-colored eyes devoid of emotion.

Panic pricked the surface of my mind. Was I going to be relocated again? If so, what would it mean for Jet and me?

"You will be taking my place at dawn." Cassandra's voice sounded so fragile.

I noticed Jet's face fall and I was positive my expression mirrored his.

"But I hardly know anything about being a Reaper," I said. "How could you possibly want me in such an important position?" I sounded just as hysterical as I felt.

"You will learn all you need to know over time, great-granddaughter, which is something you have," Cassandra said.

If I'd still had a beating heart in my chest, it would have stopped right then at the sound of the words _great- granddaughter._

"I'm sorry, but _what_?" I asked, astonished.

William grinned. "Your mother was supposed to take Cassandra's place as a Council member."

"Did my mother know about any of this?" I wondered.

"No, Salene didn't know," Cassandra said. "No one in our family knows until it's their time. Usually we skip a generation, but in your case that wasn't possible.

I cast a quick glance at Jet who stood motionless and looked as shocked as I felt. He'd been wrong about my hereditary Reaper theory after all.

"You have until dawn and then you will take your rightful place so Cassandra may fade in peace," Evelyn said, demanding my attention.

"We shall see you at dawn, Miss Harper." Damaris smiled, then the four of them vanished.

Silence hung in the air for what felt like an eternity before Jet's arm slid around my waist. "Well, we have until dawn, then."

I leaned into him and wrapped both my arms around his middle. He pulled my hair to one side and brushed his lips against my neck, sending ripples of swoon-worthy warmth through my body. A sensation I'd waited too long to feel, one that felt too amazing to make him stop. I closed my eyes, wishing we were any place besides a hospital, standing in the cancer wing.

Jet's soft lips slowly trailed up my neck and along my jawline. I gasped at the desire pumping through my body, centering itself in the pit of my stomach. My eyes sprung open to find the sterile hospital hallway gone and in its place an endless ocean.

"How?" I breathed the only word I could manage.

"How what?" Jet asked, pausing only briefly in his blissful kisses.

"How did we get here? And how can I _feel_... especially _this_ way?" I questioned, incredibly thankful I couldn't blush.

Jet cupped my hand and caressed my cheek with his thumb, before turning away. "Beautiful, isn't it?" He gestured at the turquoise water and the white sand beneath our feet. "This is one of my favorite places to come when I want to be away from both the living and the dead."

I took in the entire sight before me, attempting to burn its beauty into my memory, not sure if I'd ever be allowed to come back. I was suddenly saddened by the thought that I had spent an entire seventeen years alive and never once seen the ocean. It wasn't until after I was dead that I got the chance to witness its powerful beauty firsthand.

"And as for what you _feel_..." he said, reaching to caress the back of my neck. "It's sort of like a phantom pain, one of the many things your soul remembers. It will stay with you for the first few years, or so I've been told, maybe even longer. You have to remember, Rowan, we are not dead, but we aren't living either... we're someplace in-between." His lips crushed against mine then, like he couldn't bear to wait any longer.

I reached up and twined my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer to me. Jet's hands moved down my sides, slow and determined, until they rested at my hips. The warmth pulsated through me like a heartbeat when his tongue found its way between my parted lips. I slid my fingers down his back, impatiently untucking his crisp, black shirt before fumbling with its buttons.

Jet reached for the hem of the black, knee-length dress I wore and pulled it up over my head. I held his gaze, fighting the timidness rising within me, until his eyes left mine to take in my newly visible, bare skin. I allowed myself to gaze at every inch of him, memorizing each line and muscle that made up his upper body.

Jet's hands slid across my stomach and wrapped around to my lower back as he pulled me against him again and down onto the white sand beneath us. With his face hovering mere inches above mine, he flashed me a crooked grin just before our lips met once more.

# Chapter 15

Dawn came faster than I'd wanted and the Council members found me exactly like they'd promised, only this time there were three of them. Cassandra was missing.

"Rowan." Damaris greeted me. "I trust you used your time wisely."

For a second time in their presence I was grateful my cheeks were incapable of betraying me by revealing my embarrassment.

"I did," I said, biting my bottom lip to suppress a smile and forcing my eyes to remain locked with Damaris's.

"Rowan Jade Harper," his loud voice proclaimed, filling my ears with his authority and making me jump. "Step forward and accept your position."

I took a small step forward and wondered if I was supposed to say something then or wait to be asked.

"We, the Reapers' Council, stand before you, Rowan Jade Harper, and ask... do you accept your inherited duty as a Council member?" Evelyn asked, her face remaining eerily expressionless.

"And if I don't?" The words flew from my mouth before I had a chance to stop them.

Evelyn's blue eyes blazed at me as though I'd slapped her. "That is not an option."

"Then, I accept," I said in a rush.

Three hands reached out to me, filling me with a hazy white light, while slowly drawing me closer to them. Images of everything from my death up until this moment rushed through my mind until one single forgotten image, from what seemed like a lifetime ago, nudged itself in front of all the others.

The crows, nestled in the bare-branched trees of my backyard.

The moment the Council members' fingertips made contact with my forehead, the image floated away, the way a feather slips softly toward the ground.

"It is done," William said. "Take your place."

Evelyn and William parted, creating a gap for me to fill. I did as I was told and saw the deep lines of sorrow cut into Jet's face. The emotions that swelled within me were powerful enough to make me cry out rivers, had I been capable.

"These _lively_ tendencies you're feeling are not something you will be allowed to give in to anymore. Your position is far too important for frivolous things to cloud your mind," Damaris said, obviously noticing how much Jet meant to me, if he hadn't known already.

My hands balled into fists at my sides, but like a coward I kept my mouth clamped shut. I was one of the controllers now, and yet I was still being controlled.

"Jet, you are free to report back to your original location," William said.

I watched as Jet bowed his head formally, and when he looked up, his sapphire eyes, free of the torment we both felt, met mine. "Thank you," he whispered. His lips twisted into a cocky little grin just before he vanished.

I stared into the empty space he'd once occupied and replayed his arrogant grin in my mind, swearing to myself we'd see each other again. Even if it meant keeping it our own little secret, because Love is the only thing that not even Death can kill.

# A Special Short

I hope you enjoyed reading _Touch_. Now, please read on for a bonus short story from Jet's perspective!

# Choice

### A Reaper Novella Short

I felt my entire life unraveling around the edges as I stared into Celeste's steel-gray eyes.

"Jet, did you hear me?" she asked, her eyebrows drawn together in concern.

I blinked. "Yeah, I heard you."

I'd heard her loud and clear. She'd just confessed she was pregnant and all I could do was gape at her.

"I told my parents," she said, sending another jolt of shock reverberating through my body. "They've already called the clinic and scheduled an appointment for an abortion." Her gaze never met mine as she spoke, instead it remained fixated on her thumb ring, which she continued to spin nervously.

"Don't I get a say in any of this? Or even my parents?" I knew how selfish I sounded, but didn't care.

Celeste's eyes met mine again, and I knew I'd never forget the hurt and anger that pooled within them for as long as I lived.

"They told me I can't see you anymore," she whispered.

My heart dropped to my stomach and my fists clenched at my sides. "Y...you told them no though, right?" I stuttered.

She didn't answer, she merely continued to stare at her twirling thumb ring.

"Celeste, please tell me you stood up to them," I pleaded, reaching for her arm.

"Don't, okay, don't make this any harder than it already is," she muttered, jerking her arm out of my grasp. "You know I can't tell them no, not with something as serious as this."

"Yes, you can," I scoffed. "In four more months we'll both be eighteen!"

Tears swelled in her gray eyes and she sighed. "It doesn't matter."

"It does to _me_ ," I said. "This is our _baby_... our _life_..." The words fumbled from my lips, sounding oddly strangled and broken.

The back of the condom box had been right—apparently they weren't effective 100% of the time.

"I don't want it," Celeste said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want any of this!"

She rushed past me, before I had time to think of a reply, leaving me feeling gutted by her words.

I let out a loud breath and intertwined my fingers behind my head. What a way to begin spring break.

* * *

Celeste didn't return my calls or text messages for the next two days. By the time day three rolled around, I did receive a text saying she wanted to let me know the appointment was at two o'clock that afternoon and no, I wasn't allowed to come.

I slipped out of bed an hour later and stood in front of my bedroom window, glaring out at a picture-perfect spring day and hating it. Three crows had congregated in my front yard and my eyes zeroed in on them, focusing on the only blackness I could find. I felt like I was drowning in my own twisted emotions and raging thoughts that never seemed to clear from my head.

A silver Toyota 4Runner squealed tires into my driveway, forcing the crows to scatter into flight and grabbing my attention. I knew who it was even before they'd parked—Travis and Wade, my two best buds. Also, the only two people I'd told the truth about my breakup with Celeste. I hadn't even told my parents. There was no reason. At two o'clock today it would be like nothing had ever happened, no matter what anyone said.

"Jet, come out here with your hands up or else we're comin' in to get you!" Travis shouted, slamming against the hood of his 4Runner with his palm.

I cracked a grin, but it faded as guilt swelled within my chest. I shouldn't be smiling, not when my life was about to be stamped with a horrible memory of something I was powerless to stop.

"Jet Mathews, we repeat, come out with your hands up!" Wade demanded.

"What's up, guys?" I asked, leaning my elbows against the sill of my opened window.

"We're here to rescue you!" Wade yelled.

"Rescue me from what?"

"Your horrible spring break!" Travis answered.

* * *

Three hours later I sat with Trav and Wade around a campfire, roasting a hot dog on a stick. Celeste was still the only thing on my mind and it was killing me that I'd agreed to camping with the guys by the river—a place which had absolutely no cell service. All I wanted to do was send her a text asking if she was all right. On the ride to our campsite, I'd counted down till two o'clock on my cell. Forty minutes later, I felt like a little part of me had died.

"Drink up," Wade said, tossing me an ice cold Bud Light from inside the cooler he'd been using as a stool.

"Where did you get those?" I asked, setting it to the side until I finished cooking my hot dog.

"Trav's sister has the hots for me, haven't you heard?" Wade grinned.

"Yeah right, in your dreams maybe," Travis said, punching Wade in the arm. He hated it when we joked about how incredibly hot his older sister, Amber, was—especially Wade.

"I talked Amber into buying them for me this morning," Trav said.

I slid my hot dog into a bun and squirted it with ketchup and mustard before popping the top on my beer. Its frothy goodness slid down my throat with ease and was gone before I'd even finished eating my hot dog.

* * *

By the time I'd downed my sixth beer and fumbled through the cooler for my seventh, darkness had fallen and more people from school had made their way to our campsite. The guys' night out camping excuse we'd all given to our parents had turned into a full-on party by the river.

* * *

Two hours later, I returned to my chair, eyes hooded with sleep and completely plastered.

"You all right, man?" Wade asked, flopping himself into the chair beside me.

"Yeah, just tired," I slurred before closing my eyes, finally succumbing to my sleep-deprived body and the alcohol tainting my blood.

I woke to the feeling of being carried and the grumbles of someone struggling under my weight.

"What the hell?" I heard Wade yell from somewhere to my left, just before hearing a loud splash.

I struggled to break free of the vise-like grip squeezing me tightly, but failed.

"No sleeping allowed!" A husky voice grunted in my ear before I was flung into the river.

Cool water soaked through my clothes as I plummeted into its rippling darkness. I gasped for air and started swimming back toward the edge of the river. Wade's foul mouth filled my ears. He must have already pulled himself from the river and was confronting whoever had chucked us into it. I rushed up the bank to help, eager to take out my pent-up aggression on someone deserving.

As I reached Wade, I saw him swing with all his might and miss, nearly falling forward. It was then I realized who he was attempting to fight—Jared and Benny, two guys who'd graduated last year. I'd never hung out with either of them personally, but rumor had it these two were into hardcore drugs and went looking for fights. Which they were obviously built for, because even in the dark I could see their bulging biceps.

I stood, dripping with water, wondering who'd invited them when Wade got hit with a blow that could very well have knocked out his front teeth before he went spiraling to the ground.

Before I could blink, Jared was on me, alternating pounds to the side of my face with his fist and a piece of drift wood he'd picked up. I managed to graze his jaw twice, but never came close to a solid hit. At some point during my beating, drunk bystanders had gathered to cheer Jared on. I wasn't sure if Wade had passed out or ran off; whatever the case, Benny and Jared began taking turns pounding me to a bloody pulp. I curled into the fetal position, hoping they would think I'd been defeated and leave me be, but it only made them resort to kicking me instead.

Time shifted to slow motion as I drifted in and out of consciousness. I felt myself being lifted once more and then hands forced my head back under the flow of cold river water. What little bit of air I had left in my bruised lungs rushed out, becoming replaced with muddy water, tinged with the metallic taste of my own blood.

"Wakie, wakie!" Jared shouted, flinging me back onto the river bank for round two.

"That's enough!" I heard Travis yell, just before I blacked out again.

When I came to this time, I'd been propped up against the base of a large tree with someone's shirt wrapped tightly around my head.

"You gonna be okay, man? You need to go to the hospital or anything?" Travis asked, his voice sounding far away.

I knew I must look bad, but I couldn't feel it. All I could feel was nausea rolling in the pit of my stomach and an odd, tingling numbness in my limbs.

"I'm fine." I heard myself answer, but I hadn't been aware I was speaking.

"You sure?"

"Yeah," I said, my voice sounding as though I were in a tunnel.

Darkness feathered my vision and I gave in to the drowsiness that tugged at my mind.

* * *

I wasn't sure how much time had passed or what had forced my eyes to open. It could have been the horrific cawing of birds that filled my ears, or the petite brunette kneeling in front of me, staring. Her brown eyes twinkled in the hazy early morning light and I swore she was an angel.

It was then, gazing into her chocolate-brown eyes, that the crippling pain of my injuries made itself known. Panic and fear ate away at my mind, bubbling up thoughts of death to the surface.

"I'm sorry," she whispered before extending her delicate hand to touch my forehead with her fingertip.

Images exploded behind my eyelids: Rocky, the dog I'd gotten for my sixth birthday, cuddled at the foot of my bed, the monster truck show dad took me to when I was nine, going to Six Flags with Travis and Wade when we were twelve, the first time I ever saw Celeste.

When the images ceased, I opened my eyes and took in the sight of my mangled, swollen face and my deflated body before realizing how such a thing was possible. I glanced around, an explanation swimming to the surface of my mind. Two crows sat perched on a rock near the river's edge, staring at me, unblinking. Two more joined them before I forced my eyes closed and hung my head as the reality of my situation began to sink in.

"Am I...," I whispered, unable to finish my sentence.

"Yes, I'm afraid you're dead," she confirmed softly, sympathy dripping from her every word.

"So, what happens now?" I asked, opening my eyes to look at her.

"They should be here any moment and then you'll know."

"They... who are _they_?" I questioned. "Am I supposed to be judged now or something?" My eyes traveled back to my slumped-over, lifeless body and I tried to add up all the good and bad I'd ever done to prepare.

"Not really; it's best if I let _them_ do all the explaining."

I glanced at her then and realized she was pointing behind me. Four figures in hooded, long, black cloaks stood near the river's edge.

"Don't be afraid, but don't keep them waiting either," the petite brunette insisted.

"Okay," I muttered. Shoving my hands deep in my pockets, I started toward them.

"Damaris, Evelyn, Cassandra, William," said the soft-spoken girl beside me, before bowing to the four figures.

"Lindsey," they replied in unison while lowering their hoods.

"Jet Donavan Mathews," the first, presumably Damrais, stated while gazing intensely into my eyes.

I nodded. "Yes."

"We are sorry to inform you," Evelyn, the blonde with piercing blue eyes, said, "but, you were not intended to die on this day."

"Or in that way," added Cassandra, a lady with black waves of hair and stunning green eyes. I picked up on the sympathetic tone of her voice and shifted my eyes away, preferring to gaze at the ground.

"We leave you with a choice," the chestnut-haired boy close to my own age stated.

"A choice?" I asked, confused by more than just his words and unsure of how I felt about the glint in his grayish eyes. "Who are you people? _What_ are you people?"

"We are the Reaper's Council and your choice is one of two things," Damaris replied.

"One, you crossover and become reborn immediately," Evelyn said, lacking emotion.

"Or two, you become a Reaper," Cassandra finished.

"Those are your options. Choose now and choose wisely, because once you do there is no turning back," William said.

I remained staring at all four of them, taking in each set of firm, cold eyes, wondering exactly how I should answer. After a moment, I shifted my gaze to Lindsey and her warm, concerned stare.

"A Reaper... is that what you are?" I asked her.

She smiled and nodded. "Yes."

"What does a Reaper do?" I wondered, picturing a black-cloaked figure—similar to what the Council had looked like when I'd first seen them—carrying a scythe.

"Release souls from the dying. You then are responsible for taking those who accept their death to the Spiritual Realm where they will reside until they are ready to crossover and be reborn," Damaris answered.

I thought of my options and came to the only decision that seemed reasonable.

"I choose to become a Reaper, then," I said, because crossing over seemed too final.

All four of them nodded in unison, either in approval of my decision or to seal the deal, I couldn't be sure. I watched, baffled, as each of them extended a hand, filling me with a hazy white light which seemed to pull me closer toward them. Once I was close enough to be touched by their fingertips, images from the last few moments swirled through my mind like an instant replay, until an old image lingered behind my eyes—the crows from in my front yard.

When the Council members released me from their hypnotic touch, I opened my eyes and realized with a certainty a great change had taken place. I was no longer alive, nor was I dead, but merely some place in-between.

I, Jet Donavan Mathews, had become a Reaper.

# Thank You

Thank you for reading _Touch_ and _Choice_ , I hope you enjoyed it! Please consider leaving an honest review at your point of purchase. Reviews help me in so many ways!

* * *

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# Sneak Peek

Jet and Rowan's story isn't over. Read on for a sneak peek of

* * *

**HEREAFTER**

A Reaper Novella, Book Two

**In Death I could finally see the importance of Life...**

After being forced to become a Reaper Council member and being torn away from the one she loves, Rowan Harper must learn to accept her altered Fate as well as her death and move on. A task easier said than done, especially when witnessing those you love suffer in the wake of your death.

When an unlikely ally provides information that could change everything, Rowan sets out on a journey through Purgatory with her beloved by her side and a nonchalant Tracker to learn the true meaning of the word sacrifice. Another task which seems easier said than done, especially with the threat of Purgatory's ability to corrupt your soul the longer you're in its grip looming above their heads.

**Book Two in a haunting and gothic tale of love, death, and hope.**

AVAILABLE NOW
> The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where one ends and where the other begins?
> 
> Edgar Allen Poe

# Part One ~ Rowan
# Chapter One

I felt hollow inside. Complete emptiness swam through me as depression darkened my thoughts. How does a soul go on when they're stuck here after death?

I drew my legs into me, letting myself slump into a little ball while I rested my head against my knees. He couldn't see me, he couldn't feel me, he couldn't even hear me, but I was there. I'd watched him for the last two months as he mourned my death. Between the suicide of my mother nearly eight months ago and my own recent tragic death, my father was barely recognizable. He was nothing but a hollowed shell of the man he used to be.

At the moment, he sat in the center of our couch, staring down a half-finished bottle of Jack Daniels. It was only 9 a.m. He hadn't taken his first sip yet, but I could see the battle already beginning to wage within him on whether or not he should. He was broken and I was dead, with no capabilities of fixing him.

I glanced around the room, taking in how chaotic our living room had become. Boxes of all shapes and sizes were stacked sporadically throughout the room. All that remained of the room, which I'd never given much thought to while I had been alive, was a couch, one recliner, a coffee table, one silver-rimmed family photo, a half-drunken bottle of Jack Daniels, and a completely broken man.

Dad's cell phone chimed, echoing off the bare walls and making him jump. Even this loud, sudden noise didn't frighten me like it normally would have. Maybe when you're dead there's nothing left to be afraid of.

"Hey," he answered with a sigh. His chest caved in as his body slumped forward; it was a phone call he obviously didn't want to take.

I could hear a female voice on the other end echo through the silent house—Aunt Karen, the motivation behind all of the packed boxes that littered the floor.

"Yeah, I know. I've got most of it packed," Dad said, rubbing his forehead with his fingers. "I know they're coming tomorrow. I just haven't been able to go into her room yet."

I couldn't hear her reply, but I could hear the tension in my father's voice when he said, "I'll get it. Don't worry."

After he hung up, Dad didn't hesitate in swiping the bottle up off the coffee table before heading to what used to be my bedroom. I remained where I was, unsure if I wanted to follow. Witnessing him pack my things seemed like torture, but so did the thought of him doing it alone.

My bare feet padded across the hardwood floor, and I wasn't sure if it was my memory or if I was actually feeling its coldness against my skin. Sometimes it was hard to tell. Dad stood in the doorway to my room, his shoulders sagging with a crippling sadness etched into his features. I moved past him and into the familiar room.

"God, I miss you, sweetheart," Dad breathed, and for a split second I almost thought he was aware I was here with him, as if he could feel my presence as I passed the threshold.

He raised the bottle of whiskey to his lips, and then stepped inside the room and gave it a sweeping glance as he shifted to face me. His gaze became fixated on a picture of me and Mom from three summers ago that rested at the corner of my dresser. I knew what he was thinking—how unfair life had been to him—without him having to utter a single word aloud. The unspoken words dripped through my mind like icy droplets of rain.

"If there was anything I could do to come back to you, I would," I whispered, even though I knew my words would be mute to his ears.

The fact that I was here, but entirely unheard and unnoticed was something I swore I'd never grow accustomed to. It was like being invisible and mute to others in an unchanging body, or at least that was what I imagined it would be like for me until the end of my forever.

I wasn't just dead. I was a Reaper, but unlike others, I was a member of the Reaper Council. This was something passed on through the women in my family along my mother's side. Something that was supposed to skip a generation, but then my mother committed suicide and I inherited her fate. Since I had been taken before my time because of her actions, I wasn't sure what would happen to me or who would eventually take my place when it was my turn to Fade Out.

I trailed my fingertips across the edge of my dresser and watched as the dust remained just the way it was, entirely untouched, behind my finger. My eyes shifted to the mirror. Its surface was hazy with built-up dust from the month-long period of time this room had been sealed up like a tomb. Could I leave him a message? Maybe scroll a simple _I'm here with you_ across its pane?

It was possible, that much I was sure of. I'd moved tiny objects with enough concentration over the last month, but it had always left me feeling drained. No, the question was not whether or not it was possible to leave a message etched in the dust of my mirror, it was, was it a smart thing to do? Dad was still grieving for me; he was still fragile. Would my message be the very thing that broke him completely? The very thing that pushed him over the edge?

My eyes shifted toward him, and I watched as he folded cardboard into the shape of a box and carefully began to move all the books from my shelf into it. The tattered copy of _Interview with a_ _Vampire_ by Anne Rice, my all-time favorite book, rested in his hands a moment longer than all the others. And then, I heard them. His sobs filled the deafening silence of my room and trembled through my soul.

Maybe I shouldn't write _I'm here with you_ , but instead, _I'm okay and I love you_. It was staggering how much the need to tell my father that I loved him filled me, a yearning I'd never felt when I was still alive. It was something I had taken for granted completely.

Our relationship had never been the greatest, especially not after my mother ended her life. Part of this was because of the similarities she and I shared in our appearance, and the other was because she was his best friend, the missing piece to his soul, his better half. Losing her was like not being able to breathe. His face had been blank at her funeral, but his pain had still swirled within his eyes, as if each breath literally pained him because she was no longer here.

Now, he looked even worse. Broken beyond repair.

Sadness swallowed me, erasing the emptiness I'd felt earlier. I touched my fingertip to the edge of the glass and focused all of my energy into moving the dust beneath. I felt the coldness of the glass finally meet with my fingertip and glanced to my dad, taking in his sobbing frame as I concentrated harder on moving the dust partials beneath my finger. As I lifted my finger away to be sure I'd succeeded in making an imprint at all within the dust, I felt the familiar tugging of my soul and noticed the first few tendrils of blackness snake around my ankles.

Dread filled me.

Blackness swirled around me like a dense fog, making me lose my concentration before I could do anything more with my message. Dread turned into panic and panic turned into frustration quickly as I took one last glance at my father. I watched as he tipped back the bottle he'd held in his hand and stared at the old picture of my mother and me.

I wouldn't get the chance to console him with my dust-written message today.

The blackness swirled around my hips moving upward, slowly encasing my shoulders in its thick fog as it formed my cloak. The tugging grew stronger with each second that passed, until I could feel the summoning of the ruling humming through my soul. It was a sensation not to be ignored, although I had tried to before. It left me feeling as though my soul were a rubber band stretched too tight, to the point of snapping, and if I didn't close my eyes right then and release myself from my unwillingness to go, then I surely would have ripped my soul in half.

This tugging was nothing new. I knew exactly what was about to happen—I was being called to another Reaper Ruling.

AVAILABLE NOW

# About the Author

Jennifer Snyder lives in North Carolina where she spends most of her time writing New Adult and Young Adult Fiction, reading, and struggling to stay on top of housework. She is a tea lover with an obsession for Post-it notes and smooth writing pens. Jennifer lives with her husband and two children, who endure listening to songs that spur inspiration on repeat and tolerate her love for all paranormal, teenage-targeted TV shows.

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