Children Shouldn't Play with Dead Things (Dead Things Series Book 1) (37 page)

64

EMBER

S
he couldn’t believe he’d kissed her. She couldn’t believe she kissed him back. She ran her thumb across her lower lip. She thought about it all night. She thought about it in the shower that morning, when she brushed her teeth, while she stuffed her legs into her shorts and dragged her t-shirt over her still damp body.

All she did was think about him. She knew it was crazy to think of him as anything but a monster. He’d told her he killed people for sport. But she’d killed people too. Maybe killing people was more than the average five year old was capable of grasping but it didn’t make them any less dead. Who was she to judge?

Mace clearly didn’t agree. He was acting weird, not bad weird, but nervous weird. He wasn’t talking to her; looked away any time she smiled at him. He didn’t try to leave when she entered a room just stood there awkwardly. Any time she turned around, he was just there, hovering in her periphery, watching.

It was making everybody nervous. Tristin said it was because the wolves could smell people’s emotions and it made them edgy. Ember didn’t want to make any more trouble for anybody but that didn’t seem to matter. It felt like the entire house took turns staring at her. It was unsettling. She wanted to believe it was just the tension between her and Mace but she couldn’t help but wonder if maybe it had to do with Quinn.

She flopped back on her bed, bolting upright again as a demonic screech emanated from beneath her and a mangy grey ball of fur flew out from underneath her pillows. “Chester,” Ember growled, trying to bring her pulse back down to normal.

She hated that cat.

Tristin stuck her head in the doorway. “Isa says breakfast is ready.”

Ember nodded once, not making eye contact. It didn’t matter, she disappeared as fast as she’d arrived. Ember still found it hard to look at her. Tristin was hurting and it was her fault. Everything was her fault.

She tucked her feet into her flip-flops and snagged her backpack. If she ate fast enough she could sketch on the back porch for a bit before school. Ember filled her plate with eggs, bacon, fruit, two pancakes and two pieces of sausage. She just wasn’t hungry today.

“Wren’s already at the restaurant, I’m late. Tristin don’t you dare be late for your shift.” Isa tossed over her shoulder as she bolted out the door with a careless wave. At the counter, Kai fed Rhys a piece of bacon, dangling the food above his head. He laughed when the wolf bit down on his finger. Tristin rolled her eyes at the two, shoving between them to grab her food.

Tristin’s appetite appeared to be returning. She ate everything on her plate at dinner and was piling all kinds of food onto her plate now. She’d never seen Tristin eat anything but vegetables and protein. She wasn’t sure she even knew what carbs were. Neoma sat on the ground feeding bacon to Chester and Romero, her feet filthy as if she’d already been outside in the dirt.

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

“That looks just like me.”

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

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

“Are you real? Am I hallucinating?”

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

“What are you doing here?”

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

“I did?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?” she wiped at her eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kai didn’t tell you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ember nodded. “Anything.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess we’ll find out.”

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

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

65

TRISTIN

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

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

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

“Did you talk to her?” Astrid demanded.

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

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

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

“A grimoire, stupid.”

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bone of the dead,” she translated absently.

“Sanguine?”

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

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

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

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

“What else?” she heard herself ask.

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

“The god?”

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

“This is death magic.” Tristin reminded her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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