The Liberator (A Dante Walker Novel) (Entangled Teen)

  “My damn phone had a tracker?” I growl, glad it’s gone now. “Who did that?”

  “Dude, seriously?”

  And yeah, I guess he doesn’t need to say anything else. Valery is the one who insisted Charlie and I get phones, and that she’d buy them for us. I roll my eyes and decide to let it slide, considering Max just got us out of there safely.

  I take the exit and pull into a small landing area. There’s only one small plane, painted creamy white with a maroon racing stripe. The side reads, buck’s plane corp.

  I throw the muscle car into park and get out. Soon the six of us are loaded onto the plane, and Buck himself is zooming us down the runway. Aspen stares through a window at the car we’re ditching, and a ball of guilt bubbles in my chest. She’s left behind many things for us—her sister Sahara, her friend Lincoln, and a damn fine car. I’d like to seal her soul as a thank-you but decide to respect her wishes and let her be.

  I turn to Charlie. She puts a hand on my leg, and I give a weak smile as the plane lifts from the tarmac and into the air. Behind us, Blue is drilling Aspen with questions. Where did she learn to fight? and Can she teach him those moves? And a bit quieter, Is she okay? Is she sure?

  I focus on the ground rushing by beneath us and ponder the same questions. But more than anything, I wonder why the sirens fought Aspen like there was nothing more important than taking her down. I study Aspen, this girl that’s surprised me more than once.

  Who are you?

  Glancing back at the runway, I don’t see Gage’s car or any sight of the sirens. And for some reason, that bothers me more than if I did.

  21

  Fade

  Outside the window of the private plane, the clouds are even with the wings. It’s always my favorite part of a flight, where it looks like you could step outside and take a nap on spongy softness.

  When Charlie drifts to sleep, Max moves closer. It’s the first time I’ve really looked at him since we took off minutes earlier. Worry creases the space between his eyes, and his mouth is turned down. I motion for him to take the seat on my other side.

  “What’s wrong?” I whisper, not wanting to wake Charlie.

  Max shakes his head. “It’s Valery.”

  I should have known. Max just busted us out of a dire situation James Bond style, and he’s worried about a girl. Still, he’s my dude. And if he needs someone to listen, I want to be there for him, regardless of what else is happening.

  “Talk to me.” I lean back against the head rest and give him my full attention.

  He looks down at his hands. “We were supposed to get married, right? But I guess Valery got notice that she couldn’t shack up with a collector. Doesn’t matter that I haven’t been an active collector in what feels like forever. No, all they care about is where I got my cuff.”

  I put a hand on my friend’s shoulder. “So much for free will and all that. I mean, really. That’s a load of crap.”

  “That’s what I said. I mean, look at you and Charlie. Why is that allowed?” Max raises his head. “Thought things were supposed to be different on the other side. I always heard Big Guy didn’t discriminate and was forgiving and stuff.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  He shrugs. “What can I do? Val says we need to take some time. That maybe Big Guy will see that I’m not going to return to my old ways, even though that means Lucille will tear me to shreds if his guys find me. But I didn’t know take some time meant we weren’t even going to touch each other. It’s like we’re not even engaged anymore.”

  Guilt hits me like a thunderbolt. I’ve been so caught up in Charlie that I’ve neglected a friend who’s needed me. “Hey, I’m here, right? I know I haven’t really been available, but I’m here now.” I bump his shoulder with mine. “Is there anything I can do?”

  Max presses his lips together. “Nah, man. It’s cool of you to offer, though.”

  I expect Max to appear less burdened after talking about Red, but he doesn’t. In fact, it appears as if he’s still holding something back.

  “Max?” I ask. “Is that all that’s bothering you?”

  His eyes flick to where Charlie’s sleeping. He bites his lip.

  I straighten in my seat. “What? Tell me.”

  Max glances once more at her and then leans in. “I was going to tell her as soon as she woke up. Her grandma—err, Grams—she’s not doing well.”

  My stomach drops. “She’s always been sick.”

  “She’s worse,” Max says. “It’s like she was waiting for Charlie to be gone.”

  “How bad is it?”

  Max’s gaze falls away, and my insides twist. This can’t be happening. Not with everything else going on. Not when Charlie needs the familiarity of home and those who love her. Plus, I like Grams. For an oldie, she’s freaking awesome. And I don’t want…

  “Have you guys taken her somewhere?” I ask. “A hospital or something?”

  Max sighs. “She won’t go. And quite frankly, she seems tired of Valery and me stopping by. She thinks we’re a part of Charlie’s volunteer organization—that Hands Helping Hands thing—so she’s been nice. But I think she’s ready for the visitors to stop. Some lady came by and has been staying with her.”

  “Irene?” I ask, remembering Charlie telling me about her Grams’s friend.

  “Yeah, that’s her name. Irene was running interference this morning, wouldn’t let us see her even once.”

  My nails dig into my palms. How am I going to tell Charlie this? I glance at her and try to keep my hands to myself. She needs to sleep. She needs to have this last bit of peace before her world is crushed.

  …

  Every nerve in my body is firing when we pull up outside Charlie’s house. We shouldn’t be here, I think. Not when the collectors and sirens are ready to strike. What’s more, ever since I learned the true whereabouts of Charlie’s soul, I’ve been obsessed with stealing it back. It’s the only offensive action I can think to take. Though just considering returning to hell makes my bones ache. I remember the stairs leading down into the mouth of hell, and what’s behind them, and I shudder.

  I shake my head. Charlie needs this moment with her Grams, and I won’t be the one to tell her she can’t have it. And if I’m being honest, I want to see Grams, too. When I think about how much I want to see her, it scares me. It’s been years since Dad died in my arms, and I don’t know how I’ll handle it if Grams dies, too.

  Though neither Max nor I have breathed a word, I sense Charlie knows something’s up. Aspen and Annabelle aren’t at each other’s throats anymore, and with Blue staring blankly out the window, it seems like everything has stopped.

  I step out of the silver Tahoe Valery picked us up in, and Charlie gets out after me.

  After rolling down the window, Red says, “I’m going to take everyone back to the hotel Max and I are staying at. You guys should pack some of Charlie’s things. We’re sitting ducks if we stay here too long.”

  Then Valery looks at Charlie with sad eyes. I have to make a face at her to stop being so damn obvious.

  When the Tahoe pulls away, Charlie wraps her arms around her waist. “Everyone knows, I guess.”

  “Knows what?” I manage to say.

  “That she’s dying.”

  My jaw drops open, and Charlie spins to face me.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” she says. “Do you think I’m stupid? Do you think I don’t know she’s sick? That I don’t hear the way you guys whisper every time she comes in the room?”

  “Angel—”

  “Don’t call me that! There are no angels here tonight.”

  Her words are a cold slap. But they also make her more real, more reachable. Charlie has always been better than the rest of us, but in this moment, she seems less like a child sent to save the world, and more like a woman losing the only family she has.

  Charlie takes my hand, and we head inside. Irene meets us at the door. The woman has to be less than five feet tall,
and with her black beehive, she totally reminds me of the chick in that old movie Poltergeist.

  Irene points at me but looks at Charlie. “Who’s this?”

  “My boyfriend,” Charlie answers, her eyes on the staircase that leads to Grams’s room.

  I get the slightest rush hearing Charlie call me her boyfriend. It reminds me that she’ll have someone after her Grams is gone. Since I’m immortal, she’ll always have someone, even when she’s the old woman in the bed.

  This last thought is jarring, thinking of Charlie leaving this earth. Will I be able to see her…after? Though it’s something that won’t take place for decades, it already has my mind reeling. An equally disturbing thought is the one where Charlie ages, and I remain forever seventeen. How will it ever work for us?

  “She’s upstairs,” Irene says before pulling Charlie into a quick hug. “She’s not well, sweetie. Say nice things to her.”

  Say good-bye, is what she means.

  Somewhere between stepping out of the Tahoe and entering this house, I built a wall around myself. I will not feel. I will not care.

  I will not let this hurt me.

  If I can keep telling myself these things, then it won’t be so bad.

  Irene excuses herself and shuffles into the kitchen. As Charlie and I ascend the stairs, I concentrate on the sound of Irene rattling dishes. It’s easier to think about what’s behind me than about what’s waiting in Grams’s room.

  Charlie pauses outside the door, and I hook my thumbs into my belt, fidget with the skull buckle. I think about what I should say. It’s going to be okay or She could get better or Everything happens for a reason.

  Each adage sounds like horse crap in my head, so I can’t imagine what it’d sound like out loud. Instead of speaking, I press a kiss to Charlie’s temple and open the door for her.

  The inside of the Grams’s room smells sour. My first thought is an anxious one, because there’s no way Charlie can’t smell it, and I know it’s going to upset her. We edge closer to the narrow bed and find Grams resting on her side. She’s facing a window on the opposite wall and has her back to us. I imagine she’s looking out the window, just taking in the night sky, maybe thinking about what to make for breakfast when the sun rises.

  But I know better.

  Charlie touches Grams on the shoulder, and the slim lump beneath the quilt stirs. Slowly, she rolls over. Her face is the color of old bread.

  “Hey, darling,” she mumbles, “and Man Child.”

  Hearing my old nickname sends affection through me. I note the pill bottles sitting on her nightstand and wonder what she has taken, and how many.

  “Grams,” Charlie says, her voice breaking over that one word. There’s a chair near the bed. Charlie drops down into it. The two take each other’s hands, and I glance away. A part of me feels like I shouldn’t be here, like I’m an intruder.

  “I should call someone,” Charlie says.

  Grams manages a small smile. “So beautiful.”

  Charlie’s head dips, and I remember that I should be doing something, anything. I move closer and rub my hand over her arm.

  “Why are you comforting her?” Grams asks. “I’m the one who’s dying.”

  My head whips in the old woman’s direction, and I find she’s still smiling. I’m happy to see her this way, but part of me wants to scream. “What can I do?” I whisper.

  “Exactly what you’re doing.” Grams winces, and something in my chest cracks. Her blue-gray eyes meet mine. “Keep doing exactly what you’re doing, you understand me, Man Child?”

  I nod and squeeze my eyes shut. I know what she’s asking of me, and it’s a request I can easily fulfill, because I’ll always be here for Charlie.

  Charlie glances up, and when I see her face streaked with tears, my internal barriers nearly crumble. Grams is dying. Grams. The woman who loves Charlie the way I do, perhaps more, if that’s possible. The person who adopted an orphaned girl and insisted they treat each another like biological family.

  “Her soul?” Charlie whispers.

  The muscles in my back clench. I know what she’s asking, but I’m afraid. Afraid of what I’ll see, and of whether I can do anything about it. The last time I checked Grams’s soul light, it was partially obscured by sin seals. That was months ago. Could things have changed?

  “What are you talking about, Charlie?” Grams’s eyes slip closed as she speaks.

  Gathering what resolve I have, I flip her soul light on.

  And breathe a sigh of relief.

  There’s no change. Her soul light has numerous sin seals, but plenty of light still shines through. In fact, I see a couple of pink liberator seals over some of the sin seals. I almost smile, imagining Valery sneaking in what she could. “Her soul will go to Judgment,” I say gently.

  Charlie jumps to her feet. “That’s not good enough.”

  Soft snoring wafts from the bed, telling me Grams won’t hear the rest of our conversation. “I can’t…” I start. “I don’t know what I could do for her now. It’s okay, Charlie. Most people go to Judgment. She’s lived a good life, and she’ll be rewarded for it.”

  She shakes her head. “No. No, you’re going to make sure of it. I won’t let her go without knowing.”

  What Charlie’s saying is almost too much to bear. Because the one thing I need in order to seal her soul for heaven is something she doesn’t have—time.

  I open my mouth to tell Charlie there’s nothing I can do, but I can’t find the words.

  Charlie meets my stare for a long time. Then she turns and leaves the room. I hear a sob break from her throat before the door shuts.

  Then it’s just me and Grams.

  I sit down in the chair and reach for her hand. When I give her hand a gentle squeeze, Grams’s eyelids flutter before closing once again. I should be unsettled to be alone with this old woman who’s dying. I should feel out of place. But when Charlie left the room, it’s like she took my heart with her. Now I’m empty.

  Grams grips my hand, and I look down at our overlapping fingers. “Can you hear me?” I ask.

  Nothing.

  I swallow. “I’ll do what you said. I’ll be there for her anytime she needs me.”

  When Grams doesn’t respond for the second time, I get up to leave the room.

  “At least I know she’ll be taken care of,” Grams mutters.

  My emotions threaten to overwhelm me, but I remind myself that I’m not really here. That no matter what she says, it doesn’t hurt, because I don’t care.

  I don’t care.

  “That’s right,” I respond. “I’ll always take care of Charlie.”

  Then I do leave, because there’s nothing left to be done. If it were up to me, I’d call for an ambulance. I’d make Grams fight for her life so that I could have more time to ensure her soul is liberated. But from looking at her, I know she’s past the point of getting well again. And she’s Charlie’s Grams, not mine. If the woman wants to be warm in her bed, then she should at least have that.

  When I get downstairs, Irene tells me Charlie is in the backyard. I move to go after her, but Irene blocks my path. “Give her space.”

  I consider pushing past her, but something tells me the woman is ready to throw down. So I let it go and make a place for myself on the couch. Irene strolls back into the kitchen to do whatever it is she’s doing in there. I stare off into space, wracking my brain, trying to think of something I could have done differently.

  It isn’t until much later, while Charlie is still outside, that the smallest glimmer of an idea tickles my brain.

  I’m on my feet in a flash.

  Bounding up the stairs even faster.

  22

  Maybe I Should Believe, Too

  I burst into Grams’s room, not even attempting to be quiet.

  “Wake up,” I say. “Please.”

  The blankets rustle, and I help her along, pulling them down toward her feet. She’s wearing a purple silk nightgown that makes it seem
like she prepared for this moment. Like she said to herself, “I’m not going out underdressed. Bring me my finest robes.”

  I’m shocked at how frail she’s become. She’s always been thin, far thinner than any woman over sixty should be, but now she’s a wisp.

  “Grams, you have to wake up.” I give up trying to rouse her with my voice, and instead give her shoulders a firm shake. This is her soul we’re talking about, after all.

  The movement does the trick, because before long, her eyelids drift open. “Man Child,” she says, her lips tugging upward.

  I sit down into the chair. “Tell me what you meant earlier.”

  “Hmm…?”

  “When you said, ‘At least I know she’ll be taken care of,’ what did you mean?”

  She doesn’t say anything, and I’m afraid she’s fallen back asleep. “Grams?”

  “I meant you’ll be there for her,” she says, her eyes meeting mine. “You said so.”

  My heart drops. “Is that all?”

  She nods. “And the house, of course. She’ll have that, too.”

  I grin. “Her inheritance. You have a will, and it leaves everything to her. Is that right?”

  “It isn’t much,” she says. “The house, my car. A bit of money at First Peachville Bank. The rest will come from my life insurance.”

  Charlie told me her Grams once did makeup for the stars. It must have netted her a good income for her to have paid off the house and car and still have enough for retirement.

  “Grams, I need you to listen,” I say. “I’m going to ask you to do something that you may not want to do.”

  She looks at me expectantly, her thin lips parted. “Where’s Charlie?”

  I eye the medicine bottles near her bed again. “I know this is hard, but it’s really important that you try and focus. I don’t want to have to press when you’re not well, but…” I shake my head. “Have you ever thought about what will happen after…after this is over?”

  She works her jaw.

  “You may not think there’s an afterlife. But I do. In fact, I know there’s an afterlife. For you, for me—for all of us.” I fill my lungs and plunge forward. “I need you to believe what I’m telling you. I need you to believe it so much that you’re willing to prove it.”