If I Die

  I stopped halfway to the kitchen with three empty, sticky glasses. That text wasn’t from Traci…

  Shit! I set the glasses on the nearest end table and ran to the front door, where I twisted the dead bolt and threaded the chain lock through its channel. Then I raced across the living room and through the kitchen to double-check the locks on the back door, but even with the house relatively secure, I couldn’t make my pulse slow into the normal range.

  I rounded the kitchen table, glancing around in search of my phone, then stopped cold with one glance into the living room.

  “Kaylee Cavanaugh.” Mr. Beck stood in the middle of the room in snug jeans and a T-shirt, staring at me. No, glaring at me.

  Fear raced along my spine and into every nerve ending in my body. I wiped sweat from my palms onto my jeans, and fought for enough calm to think clearly. “How’d you get in here?”

  “Doors and locks aren’t much of a problem for me.” He’d come in through the Netherworld, which explained how he’d gotten in to see Farrah so many times….

  Escape options flittered through my head, as worthless as a swarm of moths, mostly because Em and Sophie were still sleeping, and Beck stood between us. I couldn’t leave without them. “I don’t suppose you’d go away, if I ask nicely?”

  “Not without what I came for,” he said, his voice low, and angry, and very un-teacherlike. “My plan was to call your bluff this evening, but Emma’s house was deserted. Any idea how that happened?”

  “We know what you are,” I said, unwilling to answer his questions and unable to quiet the cold foreboding swelling inside me.

  “Yeah, I picked up on that during your little role-playing exercise yesterday, and at first I couldn’t figure out how you knew. Then I noticed your bracelet.” He glanced at my wrist, and I realized I was twisting the braided fiber nervously. “And I noticed that Emma wore one, too. Dissimulatus, right? Which means you’re trying to hide something. Your species, maybe?”

  “Emma’s human.” That was the exception in my no-revelation policy. I wanted no mistake about the fact that she would not be the best walking incubator.

  “Yes, I figured that out when I met her sister. And your other friend…?” He glanced at Sophie over his shoulder.

  “She’s not a friend. She’s my cousin. And she’s human, too.”

  “But you’re not human, are you?”

  “Where’s Traci?” I demanded, glancing at the clock on the microwave. 12:10. My dad or Tod could show up anytime. I just had to stall….

  “She’s safe in her own bed.” Beck stepped into the kitchen doorway, and I stepped back, and too late I realized I’d just blocked myself into the U-shaped kitchen. “And—not to flatter myself—it looks like she’s going to sleep straight through till morning. At least. But on the bright side, she’s forgotten all about that loser boyfriend.”

  Shitshitshit! “You…fed from her?” I could hear my own heartbeat echo in my ears, a cadence of fear and fury that had no outlet.

  Beck leaned against the kitchen door frame, arms crossed over the lines of a perfectly sculpted chest barely hidden beneath his snug T-shirt. “I prefer to think of it as a mutual exchange of services. She was well compensated. Ask her, if you don’t believe me.”

  His meaning sank in, and revulsion crawled over me like an army of flies buzzing beneath my skin. “She’s alive?”

  “She is. And whether or not she stays alive depends on you.”

  I blinked, running down the clock with my silence. Waiting for help, because I was in over my head. I couldn’t fight an incubus. I didn’t even know how. But I couldn’t let Traci die, if there was any way I could stop it. And even if I was willing to leave Emma and Sophie—and I wasn’t—I couldn’t escape into the Netherworld because he’d only follow me. Or take my best friend or my cousin.

  My gaze slid toward Emma, then Sophie, both somehow still asleep, and he glanced at them over his shoulder. “Don’t worry. They’re going to sleep for a while.”

  “You’re feeding from them in their sleep?” How was that even possible?

  “Just enough to keep them out of the way. Our desires don’t sleep, even when we do, which makes sleepers the psychic version of fast food.”

  “I’ll kill you if you hurt either of them.”

  Beck laughed out loud. “Do you know where I spent my evening, Kaylee? After I left Miss Marshall to her rest?” I shook my head, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I went to check on a former student, who’s been faithfully nurturing a precious little bundle of mine, in spite of her own failing health.”

  Uh-oh. “Farrah?”

  He smiled, like I’d just performed a particularly impressive magic trick. “That’s why you’re such a good student, Kaylee—you do your homework.”

  I shrugged and took another glance at the clock. 12:12. Had time actually stopped? “How is Farrah?”

  The glint of dark humor faded in Beck’s eyes as they narrowed. “Farrah is dead. I took her to the Netherworld to give birth in peace, and she delivered my son with her last breath. He died in my arms, less than fifteen minutes later. Months of hard work and hope, gone.” He stepped closer, and again I stepped back, until my spine hit the edge of the kitchen counter. There was nowhere left to go.

  “Farrah was seven months pregnant,” he said. “The infant would have been viable—if I’d had a soul to give him.” Another step toward me, and panic echoed in every whoosh of my racing pulse. “But when I took my newborn son to collect the soul kept warm for him in the body of a certain young syphon, she was gone. And my son died, staring up at me with blind eyes, empty for want of a soul.” Fury blazed in his own eyes, like he was the bonfire and I was the fuel. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Ms. Cavanaugh?”

  “Lydia wasn’t crazy,” I whispered, then cleared my voice, determined to project both volume and confidence I didn’t feel. “She shouldn’t have been there in the first place.”

  “Yes, but she was there, and her soul was mine for the taking. You’ve cost me a soul, Ms. Cavanaugh, and you’re going to make up for that loss tonight.”

  I burst into laughter, grimly, and maybe inappropriately amused by the irony. “You’re out of luck, Mr. Beck.” And the truth of that statement—the unexpected upside to my imminent death—rolled through me on a sudden surge of reckless courage. I braced my hands on the counter behind me and hopped onto it, my legs dangling in front of the cabinet doors, suddenly a bit more confident because of what I knew and he did not. “You can’t get life out of me, Mr. Beck. I’m going to die today, so I’m no use to you. So why don’t you just go away?”

  Beck blinked, and I relished those short seconds of surprise. Then they died a swift, brutal death. “If I wanted you to carry my child, your expiration date would be a bit of a problem. Fortunately, that’s not what I have in mind for you. My inherent charm works best on humans. The bitter irony in that is that humans are rarely able to carry an incubus baby to full term, and never able to provide the infant with a soul.”

  I shrugged, trying not to let him see my renewed fear. “Sucks for you.”

  He nodded solemnly. “Succinctly put. I can either breed with a human and look elsewhere for a soul, or I can try to force someone in possession of the desired soul to carry my child. And since I find physical force a repulsive way to start new life, I have no use for your body. I was going to have to kill you for your soul anyway.” He shrugged, evidently satisfied with how fate had dealt the cards. “But on the bright side, at least you no longer have to wonder how you’re going to die.”

  21

  Panic swelled in my chest, numbing me to the point that I could barely breathe. I couldn’t think fast enough to process what he’d just said. All I’d understood was that I was going to die because he was going to kill me. And take my soul.

  “No.” I slid off of the counter, terrified to realize that my legs no longer wanted to support me—they were shaky from shock. “I am not going to die without my soul.”
/>
  “You’ll be dead—what does it matter? It’s not like you’re going to be tortured for all of eternity. You’re simply giving life to my son. Could be worse, right?”

  “No. It couldn’t.” Call me crazy, but I didn’t want to be reincarnated as the hell spawn of a lust-demon. “You don’t need me,” I insisted, edging slowly along the counter, silently counting the drawers my fingers skimmed over, headed toward the last one. “I’m not the only nonhuman girl in town, you know. I’m not even the only one in the school. This soul doesn’t have to come from a girl, right?”

  No, I wasn’t selling out Nash and Sabine. But if I could get rid of Beck long enough to make sure Em, Sophie and I were safe, I could call Tod and he could get Sabine and Nash somewhere safe. We could call my dad and meet up for safety in numbers. Or something.

  “Oh, I know.” Beck’s brows rose in mild interest. “This town has become quite the hotbed of nonhuman activity. But neither your mara friend—Sabine is a mara, right?” he asked, and I could only nod. “Smart girl, but a little too eager. I never would have figured out her secret if she hadn’t tried to read my fears. But my point is that neither she nor your boyfriend will suffice. I haven’t figured out what Nash is, thanks to the dissimulatus, but I can tell that he isn’t pure, and neither is Sabine. They won’t work.”

  “Pure?” That’s all I could manage, from the litany of questions firing from my overloaded synapses like sparks from a dying flame.

  “Oooh, missed that part of the homework, did you?” Beck stepped closer, cutting off my escape. “The baby’s soul has to be pure. Untouched, in one way or another, because it comes directly from the source, without all the purification, sterilization, or whatever they do to souls that are turned in to the proper authority. And pure souls get harder and harder to find, with each passing generation.”

  “They do?” Pointless question. Keep him talking…

  “Nash and Sabine have been around the block a few times—I can tell that even with their psychic shields. And your boyfriend’s soul is bruised and battered from something else. Something dark that he tries to hide.”

  Addiction to frost, of course. That was a soul-smudge if I’d ever heard of one.

  “And like every predator, Ms. Campbell drinks from the fount of life. Even if she were virginal and blushing, you can’t just buff off a soul that survives by skimming from others.”

  But I couldn’t think past Nash and Sabine, and the block they’d both been around….

  “Virginity? That’s what makes a soul pure?” Oh, the irony stung. My fingers found the last drawer and I pulled it open behind me, relieved when it rolled silently.

  Beck shrugged. “It’s among the qualifiers, as is a selfless desire to do what’s right, despite the personal consequences. Ironic, isn’t it, considering your soul will soon belong to a perfect little predator.”

  “A virgin sacrifice? I’m your virgin sacrifice? Seriously?” I couldn’t get my hand into the drawer from my current angle. Not without him seeing.

  “Oh, I’m quite serious. And grateful for how tightly you’ve clung to antiquated virtue. That couldn’t have been easy, in today’s world.”

  “Stay away from me!” I stepped to the side and grabbed the butcher knife from the open drawer, surprised by how steady my two-handed grip felt. I’d said I could kill in self-defense, but I hadn’t really believed it until that moment. Until the thought of facing death with no soul scared me far beyond the loss of my own life.

  “Most donors don’t provide their own sacrificial weapon, so I hope you don’t mind, but…I brought my own.” Beck reached back and pulled a small, double-bladed wavy dagger, presumably from a sheath at his back.

  My heart tried to beat its way out of my chest. I couldn’t breathe.

  Think, Kaylee! My dad wasn’t home, Tod was gone, Nash was messed up, Sabine was taking care of Nash, and Emma and Sophie were unconscious, being drained as we spoke. I was truly on my own, for the first time ever.

  Beck came closer, and I couldn’t take my gaze off the double-bladed knife. My kitchen lights gleamed on old metal, still visibly sharp and etched with words I couldn’t read, in some language I didn’t know. Even if the shape alone hadn’t told me, the writing would have: this was no ordinary blade. It meant something.

  It meant my death, and the theft of my soul.

  “Shouldn’t the soul harvest wait until you have an actual baby to put it in?” I said, still clutching my own knife.

  Beck shrugged, an oddly casual gesture, considering what he held and what he planned to do. “I’m willing to wait another eight or nine months. Those Marshall girls are quite a fertile brood.”

  Nooo. “Traci?” I fought nausea at the thought. “How is that even possible?” He’d only met her a few hours ago, at most.

  “A little luck, fortunate timing and some very eager swimmers.”

  Ew, ew, ew…!

  “Of course, it’s too early to tell about gender—that’ll take a few weeks at best—but it’s never too early to start planning.”

  “Yes it is! It’s way too early to start planning. Won’t my soul, like, go stale or something between now and then?”

  “Well, fresh is best, of course, but that’s not always possible. Which is where this comes in.” He turned the dagger over, and it reflected bright spots of light all over the room. “Handy little gadget I just acquired from one of the local hellions. Cost me an arm and leg—neither of them mine, of course—but well worth it. If I’ve learned anything from losing Lydia’s soul, it’s that a father can never be too prepared.”

  “What is that?” I whispered, trying to hide the tremor in my voice.

  “Hellion-forged steel. So long as this is in your flesh when your heart stops beating, it’ll collect your soul and hold it for up to a year. Like supernatural Tupperware.”

  Fighting encroaching panic, adrenaline burning in my veins, I edged to the right, along the counter, desperately wishing I hadn’t blocked myself into the kitchen.

  He reached for me, and I lunged to the left. But there was nowhere else to go—I was cornered by the cabinet and the fridge.

  Beck grabbed my left arm and jerked me forward. I screamed and shoved my knife into his side, as hard as I could.

  For one moment, neither of us moved. Each ragged breath seemed to burn my throat, all the way into my lungs. Something warm and sticky flowed over my hand, and I looked down to find blood pouring from his shirt and trailing down his pants.

  I gasped and let go of the knife, scrambling backward until I hit the fridge. Blood dripped from my fingers onto the floor, and even when I closed my eyes, the pattern they formed remained on the insides of my eyelids.

  Then Beck laughed, and my eyes flew open again. I stared in shock as he pulled the butcher knife from his stomach and tossed it into the sink, where it clattered into the popcorn bowl. Through the hole in his shirt, I could see the two-inch gash seal itself, like it was never even there. And if not for all the blood, I would have thought I’d imagined the whole thing.

  “Stainless steel isn’t much of a problem for me, either.” In the next second, he was there, pinning me to the fridge, one hand around my wrist, the other pressing the dual dagger tips into my chest, just below my rib cage. “I think we’re done with this now…” He slid one finger beneath the braided dissimulatus bracelet, tugging my arm toward the top dagger blade.

  Every breath I took, every panicked beat of my adrenaline-flooded heart demanded action. Resistance. Struggle, at least. But I’d never fought anyone in my life. The closest I’d ever come was slapping Sabine, and if I was in over my head against Nash’s nightmare of an ex-girlfriend, I didn’t stand a chance against an incubus who healed his own wounds. Especially not with his knife poised to slide beneath my ribs, taking my life and my soul in one vicious stroke.

  Beck lowered my arm against the dagger so that the top blade slid between my skin and the bracelet. The knife sliced through the braided fiber like it wasn’t even there
.

  The bracelet fell from my arm, and Beck caught it with out removing the dagger from my chest. He turned it over in his hand, studying it, eyes alight with interest. “Wonderful craftsmanship,” he said. “Where did you get this?”

  I said nothing, furious tears standing in my eyes, mercifully blurring a face most of my classmates had swooned over.

  He wadded up the ruined fiber and tossed it across the kitchen, where it hit the far wall and fell to the floor, too far away to continue “jamming” my psychic signature and hiding my species. Then he stared down at me from inches away, studying me critically through narrowed eyes.

  “Not a harpy…” he said, with a glance at my ears. “But then, dissimulatus wouldn’t have hidden the pointy ears, would it?”

  I didn’t answer, and he didn’t seem to care.

  “Not a mara…” he said, studying my eyes, no doubt noting my complete inability to read and inspire fear with them. “Not alluring enough to be a siren, though that was my guess for Emma, and you’re definitely not a succubus… Which only leaves a couple of possibilities, considering your human appearance and your psychic signature. So, maybe…bean sidhe?”

  My eyes must have given it away, because he nodded decisively, eyes flashing in triumph. “Does it matter?”

  “Only to verify that you are not, in fact, human. Though I must admit, I am curious—I’ve never met a bean sidhe before.” Beck stared down at me almost longingly. “It’s a shame that getting to know you properly would smudge that shiny purity. Bean sidhes are so rare, and you’re not bad-looking…”

  Evil and flattering. “Wow, who wouldn’t want to be murdered by such a charmer?” I said, my mind racing along with my heart as he began to lightly trace the bottom of my rib cage with the lower blade.