Children Shouldn't Play with Dead Things (Dead Things Series Book 1) (17 page)

28

EMBER

E
mber shuffled off to bed with the others. The plan was to meet after school at the tiny pet cemetery located deep in the woods behind the house. The idea of raising mutilated corpses of long dead family pets made her difficult sleep, impossible. She didn’t understand the purpose of this power. It felt disrespectful. But what choice did she have? Isa and the pack had already done so much for her. They’d taken her in and given her food and clothes. So far, all she’d done is make their lives much more dangerous.

She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. She’d memorized every tiny crack and divot. She thought having a name to put with this energy would make things easier but she’d been wrong. Naming it wasn’t the same as taming it.

Most nights, her powers were like a dull itch under the skin, annoying but manageable. Other nights it was like she was being slowly roasted alive, her magic burning her from the inside. Knowing it was a spell wearing off, didn’t make it better. If anything, it made it worse.

Tonight the sensations were driving her mad; making her shake out her hands or dig her nails into her flesh to keep the feelings at bay. She tried her best not to think about it, to think of other things but those other things always involved galaxy silver eyes, messy hair and a cocky demeanor.

She was a terrible person for letting her mind go there. Sure, he was beautiful. Perfect, even. But he tried to kill her. Now he was technically stalking her. Not the qualities one should look for in a boyfriend. Boyfriend? No, not a boyfriend. She wouldn’t be that girl. But he’d said he wasn’t trying to kill her, her traitorous brain supplied. So, it was a what? A joke? Who jokes about that? Psychopaths. Crazy people.

It didn’t matter that he smelled really good or that he looked at her with more interest than anyone else ever had. He was clearly insane and smart girls did not fall for killers. They definitely didn’t fall for people who specifically wanted to kill them.

If he’d wanted to kill her. Which he said he hadn’t. She rolled over, shouting her frustration into her pillow. She flipped her phone on, looking at the time. It was almost six. She might as well get up. She threw back the covers and headed to the bathroom down the hall.

She rolled her head around on her shoulders, trying to breathe evenly as her magic decided to wake up too. She stripped her pajamas off and stepped into the cool water, like she did most mornings now, biting her cheek hard not so scream at the feel against her suddenly overheated skin. She scrubbed quickly, hopping in place to keep the blood flowing to her limbs.

Her chest tightened, realizing they were going to make her call this power to the surface on purpose. She couldn’t contain it now. She already spent half her time feeling like peeling her own skin off, what would it be like if she just let the energy overtake her? This might kill her. Her life had gone from complicated to unrecognizable in less than a week. How could her father have done this to her?

She got dressed, throwing on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. She could hear the others starting to stir, getting ready for school. She had a math test in first period. How could they expect her to do algebraic equations and then reanimate corpses? She couldn’t do it. The idea of sitting through seven periods, made her brain burn. She needed to relax.

She made a decision, grabbing her book bag and her sketchbook; she had to get out of the house for a while. She just hoped Isa wasn’t too mad. She crept down the front stairs, hoping the wolves were all preoccupied enough upstairs to miss her departure.

The heat engulfed her like a warm, wet blanket. It was barely seven o’clock in the morning and it was oppressively hot. The humidity making her skin instantly damp. She dragged her hair off her neck and pulled it into a knot on her head just to try to get some relief. Living in Florida took some getting used to; living in Florida with her power surges was a special kind of hell.

She made her way down the dirt road that lead to the main street but turned off before she hit pavement following a tiny dirt trail. She’d never explored the town alone, only going to school and back or out with the others to the diner or for coffee. She had no idea where she was going but she just kept walking.

She cut through the woods until she hit the railroad tracks through the center of town. She walked along the railing. She’d never heard an actual train come through so she figured she was safe enough. She wondered how the witches had handled the train when they cloaked the town.

She had never really been this far West before. It was a far cry from the center of town with its small café’s and charming Victorian houses. The woods to her right gave way to beat up roads with old boarded up shops and empty houses. It was so quiet. No people. No animals. Even the air seemed too still. Something was wrong here. A sudden realization made her stop dead, rattled to her core.

Cars sat in driveways. A rusted bicycle sat outside a flower shop. One of the houses still had a swing set sitting in the front yard. There were still trash cans at the end of people’s driveways. These people hadn’t sold their houses, they’d abandoned them…or something far worse.

She looked over her shoulder, scanning the empty streets for any sign of life, suddenly spooked at the idea of this many people just…disappearing. The only movement was the single swing swaying empty in the slight breeze. Would they have wiped out a whole neighborhood to get rid of any humans not in the know about the supernatural? Everybody else seemed to think it was a possibility.

She shook off the thought, continuing on her way. She wiped her brow, spotting a gravel road that disappeared into a thick glade of trees. She probably shouldn’t be wandering around in the woods in a town full of monsters but she was a monster too, maybe more of one than the others.

She flinched as tiny shocks licked along her skin, almost like her magic wanted her to know it was there, just waiting for her to figure it out; like she needed reminding. Did they really think she’d figure her magic out in the middle of a pet cemetery?

She walked on, the road getting narrower until it was just a tiny trail of gravel choked by roots and overgrown with kudzu vines. She almost turned back but stopped when she saw the remnants of a small iron gate hanging by one rusted hinge.

It took her longer than it should have to reach it, tripping over a rock and almost sacrificing a flip-flop to a particularly thick knotting of vines. She shoved hard at the gate, the foliage too thick to go around. She squeezed herself through the tight space, grateful to find herself in a clearing of sorts.

The grass was overgrown but it was like the vines and weeds just wouldn’t grow there, instead climbing upwards covering the surrounding trees and creating a wall surrounding the space. In the center of the clearing, one enormous tree spread its branches across the space, enclosing it against the sun overhead.

Huge purple flowers hung heavy from the vines wrapping around the tree branches and mushrooms of every conceivable type seemed to thrive around the base of the tree. Everything about this space seemed fantastical, like she was Alice and this was her strange new Wonderland. She hesitated; her magic liked this place, pulsing beneath the surface, but she felt like she was invading, as if she was encroaching on a sacred space.

She made it two steps before she saw the first stone, crumbled and half-hidden in the overgrowth. She knelt down, her laugh bubbling up from a place inside her she didn’t want to acknowledge. She’d found a cemetery, or maybe the cemetery found her. Maybe the dead would always find her.

She knelt before the stone, letting her fingers run over rough granite. She could barely make out the name but it vibrated beneath her fingertips as she traced the shallow grooves, something inside her shuddering in response. She pulled her hand back and stood, brushing off her knees. Power like raw flame, burned along her palms and she knew her magic wanted her to go back, to touch the stone again.

She rubbed her hands together, trying to appease the energy. She walked slowly, letting her eyes adjust to the way the sun filtered through the branches of the tree, creating a dizzying optical illusion of dancing shadows along the ground.

Was this the only cemetery in the small town? It seemed hard to believe. All the stones were weathered and so old. It was more likely they’d created a newer more modern one years ago, leaving this one in peace.

Before, she would have found this place peaceful too. Before her father died, before she found out she had family, before she met a twisted demon who seemed to possess the power to make her forget he wanted her dead, before her magic found her. Yes, before all of that, this truly would have been a sanctuary from reality.

The closer she came to the great tree in the center, the more she could see it monopolized the space, thick roots snaked along the ground, displacing any stones in its path. She’d thought to sit under the tree and sketch but as her hand brushed the trunk, an image flashed in her mind.

“November,” her mother’s voice said, “put that down and come here.”

She saw her. She saw her mother with her flame red hair and easy smile. She heard her voice. She recognized the scent of lavender and something else, something entirely her mother. It was the first image of her mother as she was, before her imagination turned her into a vision out of a horror movie. Before. As quick as it came, it was gone.

“No.” She said aloud. “No. No. No.”

She moved to the base of the tree and sat, tucking herself against it, just in case it was the cause for her vision. She closed her eyes tight. She had to remember. She needed an image of her mother that wasn’t something weird and grotesque. Images swam back before her eyes and she really saw her.

Her mother wore jeans rolled at the ankles and one of her father’s old button down shirts covered in blotches of color. She was painting on a canvas under a tree, under this tree.

She could hear children laughing in the distance and knew it was Kai and Tristin playing just beyond the stones to her left. She had been playing too but now she’d found something much more interesting. She had found a bird; a tiny little bird with a grey belly and glossy black wings. She held it in her palms, belly up, presenting it to her mother like an offering.

“Mommy, it’s got a owie,” she said.

“No, sweetie. No owie,” she told her gently. “This bird has crossed over. It’s gone.”

She looked at her mother with confusion, “It’s right here.”

“No, baby. Its body is here but its soul is gone. Somebody helped it across the veil. They helped to make sure it went safely. That’s what we do.”

Her face crumbled, “So it die?”

“Yes, sweetie,” her mom told her, kissing her head and moving back to her paints. “You should put it back where you found it, or have the twins help you bury it.”

“It should no die. Old things die. This widdle, see?” she stretched as far as her little arms could reach so her mother could really examine the bird.

“Ember, honey, sometimes things die even when they are little.”

She scrunched up her face and carried the little bird back to where she sat on the other side of the tree. Kai and Tristin came to sit next to her.

“What happened to it?” Tristin asked, brow furrowed in concentration, stroking its belly.

“It’s dead. See?” Kai said, poking it gently.

“That’s sad,” Tristin said.

She placed it on the ground and pressed her finger to its chest. It convulsed beneath her fingers. They looked at each other and giggled. She did it again.

“Do it again,” Kai said.

She did. It jumped, squirming, eyes flying open. Kai and Tristin jumped back in surprise but she scooped it up.

She ran to her mother, excited. “Look, mommy, I fixed it.”

Her mother gasped, dropping her paintbrush. “Ember, what did you do? How did you-”

“You are fond of cemeteries, aren’t you, Luv?”

Her eyes flew open; jaw clenching as Mace’s face swam into view and her mother’s voice faded on the wind. Something flared to life low in her belly. She tensed, muscles and tendons straining as she gripped the roots of the tree, vision bleeding red.

She was on fire, skin so hot she felt it might blister and peel from her, leaving nothing but this sudden seething rage. Her face contorted, lips pulling back in a snarl.

He took a step back, arching one brow. “Oh, I’ve made you cross with me,” he said. “That wasn’t my intention, Lu-” She cut her eyes at him. “Ember,” he corrected, pulling a face at his error. “My apologies. It’s just not every day you find somebody meditating in a cemetery. I thought maybe you’d like to talk about it.”

She tried to speak but found she was mute. Power poured into her, filling her up until her lungs felt scorched. She was drowning on dry land and, once again, she was helpless to stop it. Mace continued talking as if nothing was wrong but she knew he felt her struggle. She knew it like she knew the sound of her own heartbeat, like the way it felt to draw breath into her lungs. She knew, somehow, he was connected to her.

His voice hitched on a shaky laugh, “Come on, Ember, you can’t stay mad at me forever.”

She could. She would. She wanted to tell him so but when she opened her mouth it was not her voice, “Who are you?”

Mace recoiled, eyes narrowing. Ember watched it all, a spectator in her own body.