Cold Kiss (20 page)

The door opens mere seconds after Olivia knocks, and the woman on the other side is another surprise. She’s around my mom’s age, or maybe a little older, but she’s much thicker set, and she’s dressed sort of like a PE teacher, in old chinos and a sweatshirt with UMASS emblazoned on the front.

In short, she looks about as much like a witch as I do. It’s oddly reassuring.

“Liv,” she says, nodding at Olivia before adding, “Your father’s not with you, is he?”

Olivia’s cheeks bloom pink, but she shakes her head and steps aside to give Rosalie a better view of me. “God, no. This is Wren, and that’s Danny.”

This is met with a brief grunt as Rosalie’s faded brown eyes scan over me. “How old are you, kid?”

“Seventeen.” I have no idea if this is good or bad—I feel as if I’m undergoing some sort of test as she searches my face, and suddenly I’m not sure she’s even going to invite us in. My throat is dry, and Danny’s fingers are so tight around my hand, I’m beginning to lose the feeling in my fingertips.

Rosalie sighs and steps back. “Come on, then. No need to do this in front of the neighbors.”

An ancient, overweight beagle lifts his head drowsily when we walk in, and for a moment I’m sure he’s simply going to go back to sleep. Instead, he flinches when Danny follows me in, and gets to his feet as quickly as his stubby little legs will allow. His coat is bristling and he’s growling low in his throat, showing his stained yellow teeth.

“Interesting,” Rosalie says mildly, and tilts her head to watch as the dog’s body begins to shake. “Okay, Barker, no worries. Be right back, all.” She scoops the dog up, whispering something soothing in his ear, and disappears down the hall, where a door is shut firmly a moment later.

For his part, Danny either hasn’t noticed or doesn’t care that the dog was ready to rip his throat out, but Olivia is clearly a little freaked. She moves a pile of newspapers off a chair in the corner of the cluttered living room and sits down, studying the car keys she still has clutched in one hand. When Rosalie reappears, Danny and I are still standing awkwardly in the middle of the room like characters who have wandered into the wrong scene in a play.

“Come on in the kitchen, kid,” Rosalie calls. “You have a seat,” she tells Danny. Like that’s going to work. He bristles like a threatened cat, holding on to me tighter still.

“Wren.” It sounds like the dog’s growl, and I try not to shudder.

“Danny, it’s okay.” I tug on his hand until he looks away from Rosalie, who, to her credit, seems remarkably unimpressed.
“Danny.”

When I finally have his attention, I focus and push my power through our joined hands, thinking
Stay
at him as hard as I can. It tingles beneath my skin, briefly hot but promising a burn, and Danny stares until he lets go of my hand and backs up, landing on the sofa. He blinks, but he doesn’t say another word.

“Just like magic,” Rosalie says when I glance back at her, and the corner of her mouth folds into an ugly smirk.

Not fair. I choke back the angry energy that flares to life and follow her into the kitchen. It smells like dog food and burnt coffee, but it at least looks clean. I take the chair opposite hers at the table.

“So.” She opens a bottle of diet soda with a short hiss and drinks a mouthful. “You wanna tell me about your undead Romeo in there?”

If this is part of the test, I’m definitely going to fail. For a minute I just gape, with no idea how to answer, since the only things I want to say would be ruder than even I can get away with.

“Hey, if you can’t do the time,” she says, watching my face. “Olivia didn’t give me the whole story, but it’s pretty clear that at least one thing that boy is missing is a heartbeat. And I’m not sure what it is you want me to do about it.”

“Help me,” I blurt out without thinking. “Help me figure out how to…”

The words trail off into the silence. There’s never going to be a good way to end that sentence.

“How to what?” Rosalie barks, and leans closer, eyes narrowed. “Kid, if you had the juice to bring that sixfoot cutie back from the dead, you’re a couple pay grades above me.”

I know it’s not possible, but it suddenly feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room. My lungs burn with the effort of breathing, shuddering as my heart bangs between them. She was supposed to help me, and if she can’t, if she won’t…

“A spell.” It’s a rough croak, but it’s all I can manage for a minute. Rosalie just sits there, impassive, as I struggle to get air into my lungs and stop panicking. “I thought you could give me a spell.”

She snorts, an ugly noise. “Are you kidding? What do you think there is, some
Big Book of Incantations
out there with all the spells you’ll ever need?”

Before I can say anything, Rosalie plunges ahead, her meaty hands joining in now. “One,” she says, holding up her index finger. “Most practitioners are wannabes who have about as much power inside them as a wind-up toy. Two, most people who do have power don’t even know it. Three, the rest of us do our homework, and hone our craft with a lot of boring, infuriating trial and error.”

Those three thick fingers waggle at me briefly before her hand closes into a loose fist and drops to the table. I swallow, focusing on the scarred Formica instead of Rosalie’s face. You don’t have to be psychic to know she’s not done yet.

“I don’t know how you pulled this off, kid, but there is no easy answer to an undead boyfriend.” She shrugs and adds, “Not unless you have an ax handy and you know how to use it.”

A low, hurt sound vibrates in my throat, and Rosalie shrugs again.

I can’t help glancing out toward the living room, picturing Danny on the sofa, his long limbs sprawled loosely, his face blank and cold. She may not be able to, but I can still see the Danny I knew, the one I loved, warm with summer sweat, laughing as he leans in to kiss me with grape soda on his lips. “You’re crazy,” I whisper.

“I’m practical,” she counters. “But I’m not really serious. For one, you’d probably fall over backward just trying to lift an ax.”

I’m seething, trying not to cry. I don’t care what anyone says—this is not some zombie flick, and I’m not getting rid of Danny like he’s some vicious, brain-hungry freak. “You’re so not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be, kid.” She leans back and folds her arms over her chest. “Look, tell me how you did this.”

Her voice has finally lost most of its nasty edge, and a thrill of hope raises the hair on the back of my neck. I stumble and backtrack and skip around and nearly lose it at least twice, but I manage to tell her everything—about my mother’s power, my own, the things I’ve taught myself to do, the car accident, and finally the spell in the graveyard. By the time I’m done, I’m hoarse and exhausted, and she gets up without a word and brings me a glass of water.

I gulp it down gratefully. “So?”

She raises her eyebrows. “Like I said, you and apparently your whole family make me look like a rookie who’s not even going to make it through the minors.”

“Great, thanks.” I can’t help it now. A few scalding tears roll down one cheek and I swipe them away, hating that I’m crying in front of her. “I get it, okay? I’m going to the Hall of Fame for worst home run ever, right?”

Before she can answer, something crashes in the living room, and Olivia’s voice carries into the kitchen. “Um, Wren?”

I stumble out of my chair and into the other room. Danny has kicked over the coffee table, and magazines and books and a dying potted plant have spilled over the green shag carpet. He’s struggling, trying to get up, but my impromptu spell won’t let him.

If the look he gives me is any indication, he knows it, too, and he’s pissed.

“Danny, stop.”

“You’re the one…” He wriggles, kicking his feet out again. His hands are clenched into fists as he tries to push against the magic holding him to the sofa.

“Just relax,” I’m begging as fresh tears spill down my face. He’s as furious as he was in the park, charging at me like a bull, and if he managed to kick over the coffee table, I’m not sure how long the loose bond will last. “Please, Danny. We can go in a minute, but you have to calm down,
please
.”

“Let me
go
.”

Three simple words, and yet they stand for everything I haven’t been able to do since he died. Grief and regret flood through me, and it’s like trying to walk away from the wind—I can’t escape it, so I let it slam into me instead.

“Stop,” I scream, just like the morning in the park, and Danny collapses as if his strings have been cut. He slumps back against the sofa, boneless where he was rigid and straining just a moment ago, eyes still open, staring at the ceiling without seeing it.

The silence rings, stretching out so long, I flinch when Olivia makes a soft, wordless noise.

“Oh, kid.” Behind me, Rosalie puts a hand on my shoulder. I can’t let myself lean into the weight of it, because if I do, I’m pretty sure I’ll break into a million tiny, heartbroken pieces.

Olivia is trembling. “It’s okay,” I say. My chest is still heaving. “He’s just sort of … sleeping. Like before, when Gabriel and I brought him back to your place. But you have to help me get him into the car, okay? Olivia?”

She nods.

“You go get the car open,” Rosalie says to her. “I’ll help with this one.”

Since Olivia isn’t much bigger than I am, I don’t argue, but it’s still ridiculous and completely undignified, the two of us struggling under Danny’s weight as we push and pull and drag him out to the driveway and into the car.

Dead weight,
the voice in my head supplies, accusing, and I bite my lip hard enough to draw fresh tears so it will go away.

By the time Danny is flopped in the backseat, unseeing and motionless, we’re both panting, but Rosalie stops me before I climb into the front passenger seat. Olivia’s already inside, staring straight ahead, hands gripping the wheel.

“Full moon is Monday night,” Rosalie says. Her ruddy cheeks are redder now, and sweat is gleaming on her forehead even in the chilly afternoon air. “I wouldn’t wait, kid.”

As if. Even I’m not balking anymore. “But how…?”

“Whatever you did, twist it.” She shrugs, and the wind tosses her hair back. “Do it backward. Think about the spell you created and what you want this spell to do. Think about … giving him some peace. Just … choose your words wisely.”

The fingertips of my clenched right hand push into the scar on my palm, and I nod. “Thank you.”

“Hey, it’s nothing, really.” When she shrugs this time, it’s a little helpless-looking. “And good luck.”

There’s no doubt I’m going to need it.

“I’M SORRY ROSALIE COULDN’T HELP.”

Olivia’s tone is wistful by the time we’re back at the apartment, which surprises me. She didn’t have to help me. She could have run screaming the other way, and instead she’s sorry. She’s as delicately made as Gabriel, and she looks a lot like a light breeze would knock her over, but there’s steel in her bones.

Just like her brother.

“I know there was probably a sweet boy in there once,” she says, shrugging sadly, “but he’s angry, Wren. He’s angry and confused, and he’s
dead
. And what’s worse, now he seems to know it.”

I don’t know what I’m supposed to say except “I’m sorry,” and I’m pretty sure that’s getting old for everyone involved.

“What exactly did Rosalie say?” Gabriel asks.

“That there’s a full moon Monday night.” Olivia shrugs and glances at the closed door to Gabriel’s bedroom. “Do you think you can be ready by then?”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“I wish I could do something more to help,” she tells me before taking a sighing breath and relaxing. “But for now I’m going to treat myself to a very stiff drink. Or four. And say a prayer of thanks that I wasn’t the one who got the woo-woo powers in my family.”

When she disappears into the kitchen, Gabriel comes to sit beside me on the sofa. “You want to tell me exactly what happened?”

“Not really.” I shrug when he glares at me. “I’m tired of talking. I’m tired of thinking, and crying, and worrying, and breathing, if you want the truth. But I meant what I said. On Monday this is all going to be over.”

“Are you sure?” He sits forward, elbows on his knees, his brow furrowed, and I wish he wasn’t so stupidly beautiful that even in concern he’s gorgeous to look at.

It doesn’t mean his worrying doesn’t get annoying, though. “Gabriel.”

“I’m serious,” he protests, gray eyes wide and honest. “What if the spell doesn’t work? What if you can’t come up with a spell at all? What if he—”

“Gabriel.”
Danny never made me as furious as Gabriel sometimes can. “Give me some credit, okay? I mean, I know it was awful and I shouldn’t have done it, but I did figure out how to bring him back in the first place. Just stop, okay? I
will
take care of this.”

“I know that. But this is different.”

“How?”

“This time you have to get Danny to the graveyard, and he isn’t exactly Mr. Cooperative when he’s awake, if you haven’t noticed. What do you think he’s going to do when you start chanting some spell? Just sit back and wait to die? Again?”

Damn it. I haven’t thought that far ahead, but then I haven’t really thought much further than the next ten minutes for days. I glance up as Olivia leaves the kitchen and goes into her room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

“Look, I’ll figure it out,” I snap, pushing up off the sofa. “It’s not your problem anyway.”

“Wren, I just want to—”

“Help. I know, I’ve heard.” He flinches, and it’s meaner than I meant to be, but I don’t want to make him any more a part of this than he already is. There are some things you don’t want anyone to see. And I’m beginning to feel like my whole life is one of them.