Scattered Ashes

  She tilts her head to the side, squinting at the photo on the screen. "What do you think that little road's for?"

  "I don't know, but this is the clearest picture I can find." I try to ignore how close she is, but it's all I can think about. "Plus, there's a lot of bare space around, so we don't have to worry about the wrong people seeing us appear out of thin air."

  "And then what do we do? We just roam around until we find the address? Because that seems like it could take forever."

  "We'll get a taxi."

  "Seems kind of amateur." She turns her head and smiles at me.

  She rarely smiles, and it makes my heart skip a beat as I give her hair a playful tug. "Don't worry. I'm sure there'll be plenty of times we'll need your wonderful Foreseer power to take us around, but for now, yeah, I think a taxi is going to be the best way to find the address."

  "Yeah, you're probably right." She clicks the mouse on the print button then turns around and waits for the printer to spit out the picture.

  I spot a woman with blonde hair heading toward us with a strut to her walk. She looks vaguely familiar, but I can't remember her name.

  "Oh, my God, Alex. Where the hell have you been!" she exclaims, strutting toward me.

  Shit. I remember her now. She's the woman who gave me her number back when Gemma and I were in the library working on that stupid project. Although I never called her, she seemed to track me down at every class and party. She was a complete bitch to Gemma, treating her like a piece of garbage, and I hate myself for never saying anything to stop it.

  I cough into my hand. "Code red. We need to get out of here."

  Gemma stares at me like I've lost my mind. "What are you talking about?"

  Pushing away from the desk, I snatch the picture from the printer, grab Gemma's hand, and stride for the exit.

  "What's the rush?" Gemma jogs to keep up with me. "Wait, is there someone here who knows us?"

  "Someone's here who knows me," I stress in a low tone, "but not anyone who's going to take off and tell my father. They're just . . . I don't . . . I'm really sorry."

  Her violet eyes skim the room filled with students, and then her lip twitches when she spots Blondie waving at me.

  "Great," she mutters under her breath. "Just what I need."

  "I never did anything with her," I feel the need to explain as I squeeze by a group of people.

  She marginally relaxes as we approach the doors. "She still treated me like shit. You know, she came up to me after class once and told me I was a freak and a slut, even though I'd never had sex before. Hell, I hadn't even kissed you yet."

  "I think she was probably just jealous that I was so focused on you." I open the door.

  She doesn't step through the doorway. "I don't care why she did it. My entire life--at least the part I can remember--people like her were always teasing me and tormenting me."

  She motions for me to walk out first then follows me. But she doesn't come with me when I head down the hallway.

  "What are you doing?" I ask, but she only stares inside the union, holding the door open.

  Blondie walks toward us, glancing from me to Gemma before sneering, "Oh, look, it's the tramp--"

  Gemma lets the door swing shut in Blondie's face, and it hits her square in the nose.

  "Ready to go?" Gemma asks, brushing past me and making a beeline for the doors.

  Fuck, her confidence is totally turning me on.

  Adjusting myself, I snag her sleeve and steer her toward the exit. Once we're outside and around the corner of the building, out of watchful eyes, I back her against the wall and slam my lips against hers. Then I brace one hand to the side of her head while my other hand explores her body. My fingers slip up her shirt, and I cup her breast. Her nipple hardens under my touch, and I get rock hard. I know I'll have to stop soon, that my emotions will become too overpowering, but I push my limits like I always do, only pulling away when it feels like my lungs are being crushed.

  "That was so hot," I whisper, grinding my hips against hers before stepping back and catching my breath.

  Her chest heaves as she breathes raggedly, her eyes wild and filled with lust. "That felt good."

  I don't ask her if she's referring to the kiss or slamming the door in that girl's face. If her answer is the first, then I'm pretty sure I'll kiss her again and end up killing us both.

  "Ready to go?" she asks after her breathing settles down.

  I nod, lacing my fingers through her. "Yeah, let's go to Iceland."

  I don't bother telling her that, once I find my mom, I have every intention of convincing her I'm the one who's going to the Afterlife. I mean, there's no way I could risk Gemma's life like that or our child's.

  Whether Gemma likes it or not, I'm the one who's going to die.

  GEMMA

  Letting the glass door hit that girl in the face like that might have been a childish thing to do; but, I'm not the weak girl I once was. The one who let people call her names and never stuck up for herself.

  I try not to think about how guilty I feel for doing it as Alex and I make our way around the back of the school. I focus on studying the photo of Iceland, instead, trying to memorize every detail of the area, hoping I can get us there.

  I'm almost ready to go when we duck behind the dumpster to Foresee away when I see something I wasn't expecting--a vampire feeding.

  I gape at the scene in horror, realizing I know the victim.

  "Professor Sterling?" I whisper. There's so much blood all over him and the snow on the ground. "Oh, my God. No."

  This is all my fault, all of this: him being here, a vampire feeding off him, the world being run by evil.

  Alex swipes a stick from the ground and aims it at the female vampire with the triangle mark on her neck, feeding off the professor. She keeps draining the professor's blood as Alex stalks up behind her. With one quick motion, he stabs the stick through the back of chest, and her body obliterates to ashes that scatter across the snow.

  Professor Sterling dazedly blinks up at us. "What happened . . . ? I don't . . ." He presses his hand to the wound as Alex helps him to his feet and guides him away from the garbage can.

  "Go inside and tell the nurse you were cut," he instructs, pointing at the school.

  Mr. Sterling deliriously nods his head then staggers for the back entrance of the school.

  "Let's get out of here," Alex says, taking my hand.

  I look down at the picture again, more determined than ever to get us there. I take in every detail from the snow lining the grass to the water in the distance to the shallow hills. Then I picture myself and Alex standing in the middle of it.

  When I open my eyes, we're there, on that little road I pointed at. But something feels--

  "Son of a bitch," Alex curses as the nose of an airplane dives for us.

  I trip across the ice, almost getting taken out by a plane, but Alex's fingertips circle my wrist, and he swings me around in front of him and out of the way. We don't stop running until we reach the chain link fence enclosing the runway.

  I slip my fingers through the metal links, staring up at the barbwire on top. "How do we get over it?"

  Alex walks the line of the fence, searching for another way out, while I check what's beyond the side of the fence--a parking lot and some cars. Getting an idea, I focus on a red car as I reach over and slide my hand up Alex's arm. I feel the zap, and then I Foresee us through the fence and next to the red car.

  "Well, I guess that's one way to do it." He tries not to smile, but the corners of his mouth threaten to turn up. "You're amazing. You know that?"

  I blush from the compliment. "Let's go find a taxi so we can track down your mom and stop more people from getting bitten by vampires."

  Nodding, Alex takes my hand and hikes across the parking lot to the entrance doors of the airport. The doors glide open, and we step inside then start searching for the taxi station. I'm nervous about being out in the open, worried every single person we
pass might be a witch or vampire in disguise.

  Thankfully, we find signs that lead us to the taxi station without running into any problems. Of course, there's a line that we have to wait in, and Alex can't seem to hold still, nervous energy flowing off him and through me.

  When I start to sweat, I decide it's time to distract him from whatever's got him all jittery.

  "So, about that thing . . ." I have no clue why I decide to talk about that other than it just kind of slips out.

  He glances at me with his head cocked. "Thing?"

  I point at my stomach. "That thing."

  His muscles tense, but the heat goes down a notch. "Oh."

  "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," I say quickly, my words coming out in a nervous rush. "It just kind of feels like we should. I mean, I'm kind of freaking out . . . and you seem so . . . so quiet."

  He relaxes, releasing a breath. "I'm freaking out, too."

  A breath eases from my lips. I don't know why, but knowing he's nervous, too, makes me feel better, like I'm not crazy for being more worried than excited.

  "What do we do?" I ask, touching my belly.

  He looks down at my stomach and then with hesitancy places his hand over mine. I don't know if he can feel anything or still hear the beat of the heart, but a small smile touches his lips.

  "We protect it," he says nervously, looking up at me. "We protect it more than anything."

  A few tears escape my eyes. God knows why I'm crying other than I just feel so . . . warm and fuzzy inside.

  "Gemma." He brings my hand to his lips and kisses my palm. "It's going to be okay. I won't let anything happen to you or the baby."

  Strangely, I believe him.

  The taxi ride is long, and the cab smells of old cheese and sweaty socks. I have to hold my breath most of the way just to keep from puking, although that's not the only problem. Squished in such a small space, it's like a lightning storm has erupted between Alex and I. The air is static charged, and all I keep thinking about is how long it's been since I've felt him inside me. Not counting the dream, it's been weeks since we've been together like that, and the kisses he keeps stealing only leave me wanting more.

  Just when I think I'm going to pass out from the heat and the smell, the taxi pulls up to a curb on a street crammed with two-story houses.

  Lampposts illuminate the falling snow as we hop out into the chilly air. Alex pays the driver before the taxi speeds off.

  "Which one is it?" I ask as Alex puts his wallet away.

  He takes the paper out of his pocket then walks up the street, glancing at each house before coming to a stop in front of a brown one with a tan roof.

  "I think this is it." He stuffs the paper into his pocket then opens the gate.

  Holding hands, we hike up the snow-covered path to the front door.

  "Are we safe out in the open like this?" I ask, noting the stillness of the area.

  "We're never safe when you really think about it. But hopefully, after we talk with my mom, we will be." He squeezes my hand before knocking on the door.

  After knocking on the door two more times, he grabs the doorknob, but I swat his hand away.

  He stares at me, partially confused, partially amused. "Is something wrong?"

  "It just seems like every time this happens--every time someone doesn't answer the door--and we walk inside, things end badly."

  "You want to wait out here while I go in and check things out?"

  "No, I don't want anyone to go in." I clutch his hand. "What I want is for the door to open and your mother to be standing there, looking super happy to see us."

  He chuckles. "You're so cute."

  I narrow my eyes at him. "Would you please stop saying cute like that?"

  "Like what?" He's even more amused

  "Like it makes me sound special or something."

  "But you are special." He kisses my forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment or two before he leans back. "Even without the star in you."

  I sigh. "Fine. I'm cute. And special." I turn for the door and rap my knuckles against it. "Come on. Please, just answer." I beg the door.

  "Yeah, I don't think that's going to happen," Alex says with a sigh.

  "But wouldn't it be so nice if, just once, something was that easy?" I give him a hopeful look.

  He gives me that look again, the one he gets whenever he calls me cute. Then, instead of saying something, he fishes out his knife.

  "Stay behind me," he commands then opens the door and we step inside.

  The house appears empty. The floorboards creak under our weight, and the walls are covered with a layer of residue.

  I trace my fingers along the wallpaper as we slowly walk from the foyer to the living room. "It's ash," I say, cleaning my hands off on my jeans.

  "It's weird that it looks burned on the inside but not on the outside," Alex takes note, looking around at the furniture covered with dusty sheets.

  "Maybe the fire was put out before it spread?" I offer right as a wail resonates through the house.

  We both go rigid, and Alex's arm immediately shoots out, holding me back protectively.

  "What is that?" I whisper, gripping the back of his shirt.

  He swallows hard. "I think it's my mother."

  ALEX

  It's the kind of sound that puts hairs on end, that raises the dead from their graves, that warns people of their approaching death. This is the second time I've heard the cry of a Banshee, and I can't help wondering if more years are shaved off my life each time.

  As Gemma and I walk farther into the house, I keep my knife out, unsure how my mother is going to react when she sees me. Will she appear in her hag form and be as manipulative as the Banshee I met in the alley? Or will she look and act like herself?

  I hear the thud of her footsteps coming down the rickety stairway, and I dodge to the side, positioning myself between Gemma and my unborn child and my mom, just in case.

  The more the idea sinks in that I'm going to be a father, the more I feel an overwhelming need to protect it. It's the craziest thing ever, but strangely, it's starting to grow on me.

  The figure descends the stairs, the moonlight hitting her face. She has long, brown hair and bright, green eyes that are so much like mine I swear hers have to be fake--an illusion created to confuse me. The more I stare at her, the more I start to question if that's what her eyes really look like. Maybe it's her Banshee form. Perhaps she's trying to play with my mind.

  Her hand trails along the railing as she nears the bottom of the stairs. At first, she appears enraged, like I am nothing more than an intruder, but then she smiles and opens her mouth, letting out a wail

  Gemma and I cover our ears as the sound rings against our eardrums.

  "Sorry." My mom's voice turns angelic as she motions for us to put down our hands. "It's a habit."

  By the time I lower my hands, she has her arms around me and is hugging me so tightly I can't breathe.

  "You're so grown up. I can't believe it's really you." She stares over my shoulder at Gemma as she pulls away. "And who's this?" She grows quiet, catching sight of Gemma's eyes. "I can't believe it." My mother swings around me, opens her arms wide, and gives Gemma a brief hug. "I can't believe you've made it through everything. Although, with all the madness going on with all this mark nonsense, I doubt it's over yet."

  "You know about the mark, then?" I ask and then shake my head. "Of course you do. You're fey now." Wait. She's fey. What if she's marked? I point the knife at her. "How do I know you're not marked?"

  She rolls up her sleeves, lifts her hair away from her neck, and shows me all the places the mark appears. "All mark free. Even my Keeper's mark is gone now that I've died."

  "You're lucky," I grumble, lowering the knife. "Sometimes I wish mine was gone."

  She tsks at me. "You need that for now. It'll help you stay alive."

  She's right, but then again, if I didn't have the mark to begin with, I probably
wouldn't be standing here and neither would Gemma.

  "We need your help with something," I tell her, keeping my knife out for now.

  "I know." She tugs her sleeves down. "I've been waiting for you to show up."

  I battle to keep my anger in check. "Then why didn't you just come find me?"

  "I can't leave this place." She sighs as she looks around at the burned walls. "I was assigned to watch it after I died."

  "Did this place burn down once?" I ask.

  "No, this is death, sweetie," she says sadly.

  "I'm sorry that you've been trapped here." I can't think of anything else to say. Seeing her here makes me feel so guilty that she's been suffering, and I never even knew.

  "It's not your fault," she insists.

  "But it's my father's fault," I remind her.

  "Which has nothing to do with you." She smooths her hand over my head like she did when I was a child. "You're so different from him, so kind and caring and protective of the one's you love. I can see it in your eyes, in the way you look at her." She glances at Gemma, whose eyes widen.

  Love, she mouths to herself.

  My heart slams against my chest as I open my mouth to deny it, but the lie gets caught in my throat. I do love her. I really do. Everything about her captures me, draws me in. I hate being away from her, hate seeing her in pain. I want nothing more than for her to live.

  Then why am I still alive now that I've fallen in love with her?

  "So, I'm guessing you need to get to the Afterlife to see the queen," my mom breaks the tension that has filled the room.

  I nod, tearing my eyes away from Gemma. "We were told that's the key to getting rid of the mark and turning the world back to normal."

  "It can be done, but it's not going to be easy." She lowers herself onto the bottom step. "There are certain things required in order for someone to enter the land of the dead without actually being dead."

  "What kind of things?" Gemma asks, stepping toward my mom.

  "Well, the first thing you already have." My mom eyeballs the ring on Gemma's hand.

  Gemma fiddles with the purple stone on the ring. "And what else do we need?"

  "To look like your dead," she says, "so much so that even the queen herself won't be able to tell."

  Gemma winces. "And how do I do that?"

  "Not you." I stride toward Gemma, closing the distance between us. "Me."