Worth Dying for (A Dying for a Living Novel Book 5) (17 page)

Jesse

I
’m sitting on the bed in the little bedroom while Gloria loads up the car.

I look at my meager possessions on the bed beside me and try to clear my head. Realizing that everything I own can fit into a backpack isn’t helping me gain a positive perspective of my life. My confusion only deepens. Why me? How can I be so totally unlucky? My father dies and it’s unlucky. My mother remarries a child molester. Unlucky. I try to kill myself to escape the pain and horror only to find out I’m one of the few people who can’t die so easily. Even that makes me unlucky.

And all the shitty things that have happened since: Eve tried to murder me. Liza tried to murder me. Caldwell tried to murder me—is still trying.

I fall back on the bed and press my hands to my face.

All I see is the pencil sketch of Ally dead, lying so peacefully on the desert floor. One softly clasped hand over her breast. It has to be Georgia who does it—kill her without leaving a single mark. I know I have to kill her first, but it isn’t that easy.

Maisie doesn’t want Georgia to die. I saw that clearly in the bizarre linked power exchange that we shared with Monroe. So I can also expect any attempt I make to kill Georgia and protect Ally will be resisted by Maisie. Hell, Maisie might even try to fight me over it. And since Maisie is my only chance in reviving a dead Ally, I have to hope she stays on my side.

“Why are people so complicated?” I groan and throw myself face down on the bed.

A soft knock comes at the door and it creaks open. Ally peeks inside. “Gloria says we’re about ready. Are you packed?”

I groan into the mattress, face down.

“That’s a no,” she says with a sad smile. “Let me help.”

“Don’t bother,” I say. “I don’t need any of this shit anyway.”

“Well I for one would appreciate if you packed the toothbrush at least,” Ally says and shoved the purple stick into my backpack. “The underwear is optional.”

I give her a weak smile.

She squeezes my hand. “Tell me.”

“I think you should go with Nikki. Just get away from me.”

Her furrow deepens. “We decided sending me away wouldn’t keep me safe. We’ve learned that lesson, haven’t we?”

It’s true. We have. And we’ve learned from Gloria’s mistakes too—which is why I can’t tell Ally she’s going to die. What if something changes? What if her new decision seals her fate?

“Please tell me what’s going on,” Ally begs, squeezing my hand tighter. “You’re shutting me out and I don’t know why.”

“I’m not going to survive this,” I say. I look up and search her eyes. “You know that right? I’m going to die.”

She looks away first. When she dares to look me in the eyes again, her eyes are tight. “Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“I’m not lucky.”

Unlucky. That’s what’s wrong with me. I’m unlucky.

So why in the hell would I think I was lucky enough to get the girl? That’d I’d be lucky enough to get out of this alive?

She smiles. “I’m lucky. I’ll be lucky enough for the both of us.”

Again I see the image of her dead on the desert floor.

“Maybe you’re not lucky either,” I say. “You’ve been stabbed. Assaulted. You ended up dating a big jerk.”

Ally snorts. “You’re not a big jerk, Jess.”

“Are you calling me short?”

She cocks her head, knowing I set her up for that stupid joke. She scoots closer to me. “I was lucky enough to find you after I thought you were dead. I was lucky enough to survive the stabbing and the assault. I get to do this.”

She leans in for a kiss. Her soft lips brush mine once, then presses to mine for a second, deeper kiss. I don’t stop her.

I clasp one hand on the back of her neck and pull away from the kiss to look into her eyes. Her cheeks are flushed and she’s grinning.

“I could kiss you forever,” she says, smiling.

“I don’t think we’ll have forever.” My face crumples. Even as I contemplate our impending doom, I realize it’s not my death I fear. I don’t care about dying. It’s about not getting what I want.

I want to be her happily ever after.

I hate the idea of not having her for myself. But would I really want Ally to be alone and sad either? No. I can’t wish that on her. She’s confessed how depressed and lonely she was after my suicide, unaware that I’d survived, then moved to St. Louis and began working as a death replacement agent. I can’t ever wish that on her again. I’d love to dunk Sasquatch’s head in a toilet, but I know she’ll be good to Ally. Not perfect. She’ll never love her the way I love her. But maybe she can at least keep her from feeling so alone.

“A penny for your thoughts.” Ally brushes the bangs out of my eyes. “Before Gloria comes up here and drags us out by our ears.”

“I was thinking about how much I love you.” I pull her into my arms. “I don’t think I have a lot of time left with you, but I want you to know that I’ll love you forever. I always have, since we were kids, and I always will.”

Ally pulls back from me with tears in her eyes. “Don’t do anything stupid. Jesse, promise me.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

Her jaw tightens. “What about what I want?”

“What do you want?”

“To be with you. That’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted for as long as I remember.”

“You can’t be with me if I’m dead,” I snort. “Don’t be stupid.”

“I can be dead too.”

“No!” I stand up, knocking her back a little. “We aren’t pulling a Thelma and Louise. You’re not going to die.”

“
You’re
not going to die.”

We aren’t as in control of this as we think
, Brinkley had warned. And here Ally and I are fighting about what will happen as if we’re calling all the shots.

Gloria shoves the door to the bedroom open. “Now that we have agreed no one will die, would the two of you mind getting in the car?”

Ally shoves all my things into my backpack in one swoop of her hand and zips the top.

“So much for organization.” I slip one strap over my shoulder.

We squeeze down the narrow hallway and run into Maisie and Winston on the landing. Single file we descend the steps and go right out the front door. Gloria doesn’t lock it behind her and I’m not sure what good it would have done with a giant hole blasted out one side of the house anyway. Like Monroe cares!

I’m behind Ally, watching her walk toward the Jeep, a black hardtop Wrangler. Gloria has parked on the street outside the iron gate. At the end of the walk, I grab Ally’s hand. She looks back at me and gives me a sweet smile. I squeeze her hand tighter and pull myself up to her side and kiss her cheek. Her smile is even bigger.

Good.

As confused and frustrated and downright furious as I am about all this, I don’t want to take it out on Ally. I want to enjoy these last few moments I have with her. They feel precious and fleeting.

“I love you,” I whisper into her ear. “More than anything.”

She turns to kiss me, but her lips never hit their mark. I collapse, pulled down by an explosion of pain in my jaw.

Jesse

“
W
hat’s happening?” Ally’s shrill question pierces my ears. “Gloria?”

My eyes flutter open and the first thing I see is a giant black tire with white letters etched into its rubber. I blink, trying to clear the pain away and see Gloria under the car. No, Gloria isn’t
under
the car. She’s on the other side, bent over Maisie, saying her name over and over again, one hand on the kid’s cheek, slapping it. Winston howls from the back of the Jeep, like the way he howls if he hears a firetruck’s siren.

I feel bits of gravel under my hand as I try to push myself up. But I’m not lying on the Rue Dauphine. I’m in the middle of an interstate hundreds of miles away.

The horrible pain in my jaw. The sight of blood spilling down the front of a dress—Rachel’s dress—the way it splatters against the concrete. Gideon’s face when he turns me over—turns Rachel over. Then the blackness. The dark suction dragging me down.

I gasp for air.

Ally searches my face, her brown eyes desperately trying to wring some kind of recognition out of me.

“Can you hear me?” she asks as the world comes into focus around her. I can smell the rubber, the oil and gasoline. Ally. The door stands open behind her as she kneels in front of me.

I nod, unsure if my vocal chords will actually work should I try to use them. Ally pulls me to standing by the elbow while I hang onto the car with my other arm. On my feet, I see Maisie through the window, cradling her jaw.

“She got her face blown off.” Maisie meets my gaze, her eyes big and wet. “Her fucking face.”

“Maisie!” Ally tsks, surprised to hear the kid drop the F-bomb for the first time.

Maisie doesn’t even register Ally’s shock.

“Did you feel it?” I ask Maisie, noting her wide, frightened eyes. Do I look as shaken?

“I felt you,” she said, lips quivering.

I felt you
, I repeat in my head. But not Rachel? So Monroe restored the connection between me and Rachel. And me and Maisie, but Rachel and Maisie do not share a connection.

“You looked like you were dying.” Ally removes her hand from her heart.

“Rachel died.” I give Gloria a hard look. “What the hell did Monroe do?”

“Can you get into the car?” Gloria asks. She opens the door for Maisie.

It had been so clear. So goddamn
vivid
. Not only the pain or the sight of the torn up road. But the cool air, the barren fields stretching in all directions. Even the feel of the satiny fabric rubbing the top of my thighs. The way my feet had begun to ache inside of the leopard print heels. All of it.

Maisie doesn’t let go of her jaw as she climbs into the front passenger seat.

“What’s going on?” Ally helps me into the back of the car and then crawls in after I slide across the seat.

“Did Monroe explain to you what he was going to do to us?” I ask Gloria.

“What did Monroe do?” Ally asks, her irritation mounting with each question.

“What the hell was in that chicken blood?” I ask, resting my head against the seat. Feeling Rachel die was a hell of a drain on my energy. But why? That was the million-dollar question.

“Chicken blood?” Ally asked. “Is that what was all over your face earlier?”

With everyone in the car and seatbelts on, Gloria turns the Jeep key and we pull away from the little house on Rue Dauphine. A heartbeat later, a big black van pulls off the curb too.

“Are you going to stop Nikki from following you?” Ally asks, turning in her seat to look at the van.

“She has her orders,” Gloria says without any sign of irritation. “Let her do as she is told. Less trouble for all of us. I will lose her.”

Pedestrians scamper across the street as Gloria swings a left at the next intersection.

“I’m still waiting for the explanation as to why the chicken blood gave me mush brains,” I say from the backseat. I swallow down a wave of nausea.

“Should you sit up front?” Ally asks, leaning over me with a worried expression.

“I want to be back here with you.”

She presses a cool hand to my forehead and frowns. “You’re burning up.” Then she leans forward and touches Maisie’s head. “So are you. An explanation, please.”

Gloria considers the road for a moment longer before turning out of the French Quarter onto Canal Street. I-10 signs tell her to proceed straight ahead.

“When Caldwell killed Chaplain all those years ago, he severed the connection. Originally, the twelve partis were meant to use their powers in unison. There wasn’t supposed to be one apex, but a unified force that protected all of mankind together as long as was necessary.”

Maisie and I exchange a weary look. If she’s thinking what I’m thinking, then she’s picturing us there, in the circle on Monroe’s rocky beach, hands clasped until one of us can’t go on anymore.

“Partis tends to run between those who have a connection. The affection that you have for one another, the emotional connection, was meant to strengthen this original bond.”

“But Caldwell fucked that up for everyone. Of course.” The pain in my jaw starts to recede enough that my anger returns.

“To be fair,” Gloria says, her eyes meeting mine in the rear view. “That murder was necessary.”

No one contradicts her perspective. She was there the night Caldwell killed Chaplain. We weren’t.

“His murder of Chaplain changed the flow of power. As Monroe put it, it broke the bond. Monroe believed he could reestablish the bond.”

“With his voodoo shit,” I grumble.

“Hoodoo, actually,” Gloria says. “I was very skeptical, but it worked. It seems that Maisie now has a connection to her mother and you have one with Rachel, Jesse.”

“Presumably, Caldwell died from his wound earlier, but Jesse nor Maisie reacted then,” Ally says.

Gloria runs a hand across her forehead. “Monroe believed he could do it for those who at least hold affection for one another. That was the primary component of the original connection. It could be so again.”

Maisie’s shoots up. “So we
can
share the power. We don’t have to fight.”

“Maisie—” Ally warns, but Gloria beats her to it.

“I am not sure Caldwell will be so easily swayed,” she says gently. She spares Maisie a sad look as she turns onto I-10 W.

“But my mom might,” Maisie says. “Even if Jesse has to kill Dad, maybe me, mom, Jesse and Rachel can share the powers. Then we can be together and no one has to fight.”

Gloria gives me a look in the rearview mirror.

I hope she can read my face.
You started this empathy shit. Don’t make me out to be the monster here! You started this ‘let’s all be friends’ shit.
Because it’s clear I don’t share an emotional connection with Georgia, and Rachel doesn’t share one with Maisie. So how the hell we’ll bridge that gap, I’ve no idea.

Ally is staring at her lap in deep concentration. “Maisie, when did you get called?”

Maisie turns around in the seat to look at her. “I was fourteen.”

Ally turns to Gloria. “When did Monroe’s son die?”

“Yes,” Gloria says.

“Yes what?” I ask.

“Monroe’s boy was partis,” she replies. “And Maisie was called the night he died.”

No one says anything for a long time after that. I don’t know what’s going through anyone else’s head while we cruise down the interstate, heading west with the sunset, but I can’t help but obsess about chance.

Caldwell is the first one of us that was called.

Presumably Georgia was called before me, also because of her emotional connection to Caldwell. Then when Monroe’s boy Kevin died and a new partis was needed, the powers that be chose Maisie, the NRD-positive child of two partis. Probably because her mother loved her so much.

So where the hell did I come in? I wasn’t connected to anyone. Was my friendship with Rachel enough to call me into partis-dom?

If not, that leaves me with only one connection. Caldwell himself.

Father or not, I have doubts that by the time my powers started up, Caldwell still held any affection for me at all.

Gabriel
, I think, searching for him in the back of my mind.
Gabriel, who called me?

I chose you,
came his faint voice over the roar of the interstate with its cars whooshing by and the torrent of air assaulting the car.
You are partis because I chose you.

But who loved me? Who brought me into this?

He doesn’t answer. He leaves me alone and questioning as we drive toward the approaching night.