My Soul to Save

  I frowned, showcasing my hesitance as I chewed my last bite of cookie. "Isn't that dangerous?"

  She shrugged and pushed up the sleeves of her snug lilac sweater. "Unsupervised, yes. But the risk would be pretty minimal if we cross over from here."

  "Because human houses don't exist in the Netherworld?" I was thinking of what she'd told me on Sunday.

  "That's true, but Netherworlders do have homes of their own, and if you cross over without knowing where you'll come out, you could wind up somewhere you don't want to be."

  I was betting that was a pretty big understatement.

  "Can't we just peek in and see what's here on the Netherworld plane?"

  "Kind of." Harmony sat straighter; she was perking up now that I was openly curious. "When you peek into the Netherworld from here, or vice versa, you're seeing the two realities layered, one over the other. That can be really confusing if you aren't used to mentally sorting out what you're seeing. You could easily overlook something important. Or dangerous."

  "So, how do you know it's safe to cross over from your house?" I asked, then let my brows rise in eagerness. "You've done it, haven't you? Where would we wind up?"

  Harmony set her glass on the end table, then met my gaze frankly. "Yes, I've done it. I had to cross over when we first moved here, to make sure it was safe in case of an emergency. I still do it periodically, to make sure nothing's changed."

  "What could change?"

  She shrugged. "The landscape there evolves, just like ours does, based on the needs of the populace."

  "So, is it safe?"

  She smiled, obviously enjoying my interest. "Yes, it's safe. Comparatively speaking, anyway. This spot in the Netherworld—" she spread her arms to take in her entire house "—is…unoccupied. But, Kaylee, things are different there. It's like a warped reflection of our world. Everything is skewed, like the world kind of shifted after everything was built."

  I knew exactly what she meant, though I'd never actually been to the Netherworld, because I'd seen the things that lived there. They were skewed, too. Disproportionate, like images stretched or squished in carnival mirrors. I could only imagine what their surroundings must look like.

  And I only wanted to imagine. But my imagination wouldn't get the Page sisters back their souls. Or get me out of my house if my father didn't go to bed at a decent hour…

  "Have you ever crossed over from my house?" My heart thumped painfully as I said the words. She'd see through my question. She'd know what I was up to. She'd tell my dad, and it would all be over. Addy would die soulless, and Regan would follow her sister, whenever her time came.

  But Harmony only cocked her head to one side, frowning at me as the unpleasant possibilities occurred to her. "Only once. Why?"

  I thought quickly, and went with a half truth. "It creeps me out to think that someone else—some weird Netherworld family—could be living in an alternate version of my house. What if I have one of those emergencies and have to cross over? I'd rather know what I was getting into before I actually get there. To make sure it's safe." I quoted her own words back to her, and Harmony's bright blue eyes darkened for a moment, before clearing like the sky after a summer storm.

  I admired her control. Her perseverance. Harmony had picked herself up and pieced her life together twice, after the deaths of both her husband and her oldest son, and she still found enough of herself to share with people who needed her. To protect both me and Nash, and by extension, Emma, Addy, and Regan.

  "You don't have to worry about that." She handed me the cookie she had yet to taste, as if a little sugar really could make everything all better. "The Netherworld is much more sparsely populated than our world," she continued as I bit into the cookie. "So it's not like every house here represents a house there. If you crossed over from home, you'd find overgrown fields, with buildings in the distance, in the direction of our downtown district. Very similar to what you'd see if you crossed over from here."

  Good. I kept chewing to disguise my exhalation of relief.

  "But, Kaylee, that doesn't mean you should try it." She was solemn now, blue eyes glittering with urgent warning. "The Netherworld is dangerous, especially for bean sidhes, and you should never go there unless you literally have no other choice."

  I could only nod. "But if I needed to? If I had that emergency?" I paused and met her eyes, letting mine shine with equal parts eagerness and careful dread. As if I wanted the knowledge but hoped never to have to use it. Which was totally true; my fear was real enough to pass scrutiny. "You said it works just like peeking, right?"

  "Yeah." She held her glass in both hands and leaned back against the arm of the couch, looking easily a quarter of her actual age with one foot tucked beneath her slim leg. "The difference is in the intent. If you call your wail on purpose, like you learned to do on Monday, but with the intent of going to the Netherworld, rather than just peeking in, you'll cross over." She set her glass down again and sat straighter, as if to underline the importance of whatever she was about to say. "It's frighteningly simple, Kaylee. The most important thing to learn is how not to go, when you just want to peek, because once you've crossed over that first time, your body remembers how. And sometimes it seems like it wants to be there, even if you don't."

  Okay, that's scary. I shivered with a sudden surge of fear that left chills the length of my arms.

  "Which is why we're not going to try it." Harmony leaned back again, and her usual pleasant smile was in place. "I think theoretical knowledge is enough for now."

  I found myself nodding, even though I really needed the actual experience. "Once you're there, do you get back the same way? By wailing with the intent to go home?"

  Harmony nodded. "But, Kaylee, this knowledge is for emergencies only. I can't emphasize that enough." I nodded, but she continued. "Do not go sightseeing in the Netherworld. You practically shine with youth and vitality, and that will attract…people. Netherworlders."

  Aaaand, it gets even creepier….

  "Don't worry." I exhaled and smiled to set her at ease. "I don't go around looking for danger." Yet somehow, it always seems to find me….

  "I know."

  She drank the rest of her soda and we sat in silence for nearly a minute, listening to the canned fight sounds from Nash's room. Then, though I was more on edge than I wanted to admit by what I'd already learned, I played my last card, desperate for that remaining piece of information.

  "Since you checked to make sure it was safe to cross over from here, my dad probably did the same thing, right? Crossed over from our house to make sure it's safe?"

  Harmony grinned like I'd just asked her to explain the difference between boys and girls. "Not exactly," she said, still smiling. "Your dad can't cross over on his own." Which I'd already known, thanks to Tod. "So I took him. Humans and male bean sidhes can't cross over without a female bean sidhe's wail."

  "Oh," I let my eyes widen in surprise and concern. "What if we have an emergency and we both need to cross over? How can I do that? Take him with me?"

  I didn't think she'd answer. I truly didn't. And she probably wouldn't have, if not for the obvious guilt she felt over having scared the crap out of me with the knowledge that I might someday have to abandon my father in a burning building because he can't cross over.

  "You just have to be holding on to him when you cross over, and he'll come with you. That's the same way it works with whatever you're holding or wearing. Which is what keeps you from showing up naked in the Netherworld." Harmony grinned at her own joke, and I forced a laugh to let her know I wasn't totally freaked out.

  "You two about done?" Nash asked, and I looked up to find him watching us from their short, dark hallway. He glanced pointedly at his watch, then at me. "It's nearly four-thirty. What time are you supposed to be home?"

  "My dad'll probably call to check on me soon. You know, to make sure I'm not having any fun or acting like a teenager." I stood and picked up my backpack, and Harmony stood, too. She
got the message.

  "Go easy on your father. He's pretty new at this."

  "I know." But that was his fault. He'd had the past thirteen years to reestablish his role in my life after my mother died, and so far, late was proving to be only marginally better than never. "Walk me home?" I asked Nash, already headed for the door.

  "Love to."

  "Thanks for the cookies, Harmony. And the lesson," I added, still trying to make up for acting like I didn't care about her efforts to help me.

  "No problem." She headed toward the kitchen with both empty glasses. "And, Nash, please don't linger. I doubt hanging out with you is on Kaylee's list of approved activities at the moment."

  That was an understatement, considering that whatever my dad thought I'd been doing, he knew I'd been doing it with Nash.

  Nash rolled his eyes at his mom and held the screen door open as I stuffed both arms into my jacket sleeves, then took the backpack he held for me. "Bye, Mom…"

  We didn't hear her reply, because the door closed behind us, and we were already walking hand in hand, in spite of the cold numbing my fingers. We walked in comfortable silence, and I opened my own front door with a key ring conspicuously missing my car key. Nash came inside, in spite of his mother's warning.

  "Want a snack?" I shrugged out of my jacket and backpack and let them fall onto the couch, and when I looked up, Nash was there, so close I caught my breath.

  "I want you." His eyes smoldered, and his lips came apart a tiny bit. Just enough to make me want to fill that gap with my own. To taste his lower lip, and leave a trail of kisses over the stubble on his jaw and down his neck.

  "Mmm," I murmured as his lips found the hollow below my ear, and vaguely I realized that was the same sound Emma had made when she bit into her first cookie.

  Nash was just as delicious, in a completely unsatisfying way. Unsatisfying, because no matter how much time we spent together, no matter how closely I pressed myself against him, I always wanted more.

  But what if more was too much for me, and just enough for him? That fear lingered, that secret certainty that if I slept with Nash—if I gave us both what we wanted—he would move on in pursuit of the next challenge. It had happened before, over and over again. The list of his past conquests was long and distinguished, at least by Eastlake standards.

  I couldn't put my paranoia to bed. In fact, it grew with every groan he let slip, because they told me how badly he wanted me. But what if wanting me was like waiting for popcorn to pop, or coffee to brew? They both smelled so good, but the taste could never live up to such delectable scents. And neither made a very satisfying meal.

  What if I was the sexual equivalent of popcorn? Suitable for light snacking only?

  Nash's lips met mine, and I pushed those fears away. I opened for him, sucking his tongue into my mouth, tasting it. He leaned into me, and we would have fallen onto the cushions if he hadn't braced his hand against the back of the couch. He shoved my backpack and jacket to the floor, then lowered me gently, slowly. With infuriating patience.

  Even drowning in my own doubts, I had no patience.

  He settled over me, hips pressing into me, chest heavy on mine, holding himself up on one elbow. His knee slid between mine and I gasped, sucking air from him. Heat rose from the pit of my stomach, tingling all the way up. He tasted so good. Felt so good. And I understood him in a way no human girl ever could.

  Surely he knew that…

  Nash's lips trailed down my neck, setting off a series of tingly explosions, adrenaline pumping through my heart. My hand clenched the tail of his shirt, then I pushed it up, trailing my fingers over his stomach.

  And in that moment, I became a fan of football, for the simple fact that it had literally shaped him. I couldn't resist running my hands around to his back as it twisted and bunched beneath my fingers. He was strength personified, and simply touching him made me stronger. Harder. More capable of everything ahead of us.

  If I had Nash, I could do it. I could do anything.

  The phone rang, and Nash groaned into my ear, his breath a puff of warm frustration fueling my own. "Your dad?"

  "Probably."

  He collapsed on me, pinning me to the couch momentarily as the phone rang again, and I didn't want to move. Didn't want him to get up. He had to, of course, but he did it slooowly, sliding off me one delicious inch at a time until he sat on the floor beside the couch, one hand flat over my stomach.

  I arched one arm over my head and grabbed the phone, moving as little of my body as possible. "Hello?"

  "I take it you're at home?" my father said as metal clanged in the background.

  "I answered the phone, didn't I?" I closed my eyes in regret; my answer had come out harsher than I'd intended, my voice sharpened by irritation at having been interrupted.

  My dad sighed, and I heard hurt in his exhalation. "Is Nash there?"

  "He walked me home."

  He sighed again and raised his voice. "Nash, go home."

  Nash scowled. "I was…just going."

  "Say hi to your mom," my father said. Then there was only silence and the clang of more metal over the line, and I realized he was waiting for Nash to leave. Right then.

  "Um, I will." Nash stood and leaned down to kiss my cheek, the most he would do with my father there, even if only in spirit. And in voice. "See you later, Kaylee," he said, then closed the door on his way out.

  "Happy?" I snapped into the phone. I wasn't sorry that time.

  "No, Kaylee. I'm not happy. I'll be home by seven-thirty with dinner. What do you want from the Chinese place?"

  I bit my lip to keep from saying something I'd regret later. Likely much later. "Shrimp fried rice. Want me to call it in?"

  "That would be great. Thanks." He hung up, and I stared at the empty living room, wishing I knew of some way I could get along with my father and save Addy's soul. But so far, the two seemed to be mutually exclusive. Fortunately, it would all be over in a matter of hours, and my life would go back to normal.

  Assuming I survived the night.

  15

  MY DAD WALKED in the front door at seven twenty-four, carrying a white paper bag and smelling of metal and sweat. He looked awful. Exhausted. I felt bad for him. And really guilty.

  After my mother died and I'd been handed over to my aunt and uncle, my father had gone to Ireland to run the pub his parents owned. He'd made a decent living, but most of his extra money went to pay for my incidentals and to fund my college account. So when he came back to the States, he'd brought nothing but a suitcase and enough cash to put down a deposit on a rental house and buy a second used car—I still had the one he'd bought me for my sixteenth birthday.

  Now he worked in a factory all day, taking overtime where he could get it, because he thought he should at least try to make as much money as his brother did.

  I didn't care about the money. A little money only made people want more of it. And I liked our used furniture, because if I spilled on it, no one got mad, which meant I could snack in the living room, in front of the television. But my father insisted we eat dinner together every night. Our crappy kitchen card table was the magic wand he kept waving to turn us into a real family. But on some nights, all that magic seemed to do was irritate and frustrate us both.

  And still he tried….

  "I got some fried wontons." He set the greasy bag on the card table and draped his jacket over the back of a folding metal chair.

  "Thanks." He knew they were my favorite. He knew all my favorite takeout, because he rarely had time to cook, and I didn't care if I never ate another bite of homemade health food after living with Aunt Val for thirteen years.

  We ate in near silence, except for the occasional intrusion upon my thoughts when he asked if I'd done my homework—yes—and how Nash and Harmony were doing—fine. He never asked about Tod, which was just as well, because if he had, he'd know from my answer that I'd been hanging out with the reaper, too. And that would just make him even angrier, and mo
re worried.

  "How long is it going to be like this?" my dad asked as I pushed back my chair and tossed my paper plate into the plastic trash bin. "How long are you going to be mad?"

  "I'm not mad." I trudged into the living room and shoved my trig and history books into my backpack, the corresponding homework assignments folded in half inside them. "I just…" …have things I can't tell you. Things you could probably help me with. But you won't. So talking does us no good. "I have stuff on my mind. It has nothing to do with you."

  I wanted to explain that things would get better. He would stop trying so hard—start realizing I was sixteen, not six—and eventually he'd understand that Nash was keeping me out of trouble, not getting me into it. When that happened, we could both relax. Maybe he could even tell me about my mother without tearing up and making some excuse to stop talking.

  But not yet. None of that could happen while I was still helping Addy and Regan behind his back. Because he knew something was wrong, and he couldn't move beyond that until it was resolved, and I couldn't look him in the eye until I was done lying.

  Soon, though. It would be soon.

  My dad fell asleep in his recliner shortly after eleven, and he sat there snoring for several minutes before I thought to turn off the television. I could only stare at him from the couch, boiling with frustration.

  He was supposed to fall asleep in his bed, not in the living room!

  I could wake him up and tell him to go to bed. That would still leave more than half an hour for him to go back to sleep before I had to leave for Nash's. But the last time I'd done that, he'd decided he wasn't ready for bed yet, and he'd stayed up to watch some stupid action movie until after midnight.

  I could leave him where he was and hope he didn't check on me when he went to bed. But then I'd run the risk of waking him when I opened the front door. Because the window in my room was painted shut, and the screen on the back door squealed like a pissed-off harpy.