The Girl From Above [Ground: Zero, Book 1]

4: The Murder of an Innocent Cake, Oh Dear, Who Will Tell Its Family?

Death was not as dramatic as she imagined.

Ryan's eyes flew open. She found herself sitting at the head of a long wooden table. Windsor chairs, hope chests, and wardrobes neatly lined the room, their furnished white paint as pristine as Ryan remembered. She glanced down at the ground, the same scuff marks lined the old ashen floors, just as she left them.

Home sweet home.

Her auntie was nowhere to be found. It took everything in her to not throw the fine china off the walls like expensive frisbees. She swore to herself she'd never come back, yet here she was. She sniffed the air and scrunched her nose. She was definitely home alright, no other place stung of rotten sponge cake and expensive perfumes.

Ryan rubbed her eyes and glanced down the length of the table. At the end of the table towered a layered cake taller than her. It's blue and yellow accents stuck out against the pure white room like a sore thumb.

She pushed her chair out roughly, a smile cracking at her face as the carved bottom of the chair cut new marks into the floor. She stepped forward to inspect the cake further, but hesitated.

The distant ring of a piano playing the birthday song danced through the air. The song swung carelessly on repeat. Notes dragged on or stopped too abruptly, as if the song was played by a madman.

She tiptoed towards the cake, trying to distance herself from the sound of the piano. Her mouth watered as she stared up at it. She ran her finger against it, placing her finger in her mouth to taste.

Ryan gasped, buttercream and chocolate. She'd never been allowed to have something as common as regular store bought chocolate cake. It tasted exactly as wonderful as she had imagined.

She stopped and squinted at the gash she made in the cake's side. Her aunt would slap her silly if she saw her ruin such a beautiful cake.

Oh Ryan. She would say, Did you forget all that I taught you?

Ryan scoffed, it was a good thing auntie wasn't here, after everything that happened she'd push her in the way of a moving bus if she saw her. Tired old hag.

She spun the plate to catch a glimpse of the writing. Who's birthday was it? Was she intruding on something?

The cake simply read, "HAPPY 15TH BIRTHDAY RYAN!" In fancy yellow cursive, she rubbed her fingers together and slumped her shoulders. Of course, she should've guessed.

Was it November 10th already? Time had stood still since the beginning of August.

She paused for a moment, running her fingers against her cheek. Her aunt would never get her a cake like this, that was of she got her anything for her birthday at all.

"Now Ryan," she would chide her. "You may celebrate your birthday only if you've earned it."

Dammit. Ryan sighed, mentally scolding herself. You can't keep mulling over this. Your aunt is gone, you have better things to do than to have a pity party over it.

She blinked, scanning the house. How was she here, anyway? The last thing she remembered was...

Her back-to-back supernatural encounters flashed in her mind. She grabbed her shoulder in shock. The teenagers with pointed ears, they had to be a dream.

A lump formed in her throat. Her blood loss had felt real. Touching Zack's ears had felt real. The crack of her back had felt entirely real. She stifled a scream. Was she dead? Was this the afterlife? What if she—

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" A crowd shouted in unison, ripping her train of thought off it's rails.

Ryan yelped and jumped up. Her gaze focused back to the table and for a moment she forgot to breathe.

Sitting in the once empty chairs was a diverse crowd of people. They weren't just diverse in the traditional sense of the word either, as a few of them had neon fabric patterns instead of skin color. Not one of them was the same height or body shape, but they all shared two things in common.

One, they were completely featureless. The only sign of emotion displayed on their husks of bodies was their wide smiles cut into their skin from cheekbone to cheekbone, they reminded Ryan of the painted jack-o'-lanterns she would spot around rich white neighborhoods, only these creatures had a body attached to their creepy smiling faces.

Two, that despite wishing her happy birthday, their attention didn't seem to be focused on her. Their focus was locked onto the top of the cake, their posture tense as if waiting in anticipation.

Ryan turned up to face the cake with them. Without warning, the cake exploded into smithereens. Cake innards splattered across the walls, across the floor, and across her face. It was a bloodbath of sugary goodness. Ryan wiped the frosting off of her face, staring dumbfounded at where the cake had once stood.

Her eyes widened, the lump in her throat dove right to her stomach. Where the cake had once stood sat a figure made completely of shadow. It was slender, its clawed fingers thin as bone. Tendrils of inky black smoke billowed off of it, flying into the air as if its own body couldn't even stand its presence. From its back outstretched two large butterfly wings, each as large as coffee tables.

The figure cracked its neck to an unnatural angle, its wide smile illuminating the room. With a few flaps of its massive wings, it fluttered towards her. Ryan trembled, cold sweat beaded her forehead and ran down her cheeks, she braced herself for the worst.

Then, it did something Ryan least expected. Instead of attacking, it placed a cold finger on her forehead. It spoke with a voice she couldn't comprehend, yet understood, easing the tension in her shoulders.

"Awake, little omen." It said in a wave of calm, "We'll speak again soon."

Ryan screamed and bolted up. Her body cried in an explosion of pain and panic. Her breathing wouldn't slow, only climbing higher and higher in inconsistent puffs. She struggled to form a coherent thought, her mind a tsunami of recent events. She tried to process them. How had she ended up here?! Her eyes darted around, her eyes nearly sewn open in her confusion.

The light of the room seared into the back of brain. She whirled down and found herself in what appeared to be a hospital bed. Her focus trailed to the rest of the room. The walls stretched so high that she couldn't see the ceiling. Equally tall windows ran along the walls, flooding the room with the red light of the valley.

She never understood the color red, it was the color of anger and violence, yet her aunt slathered everything in it. Red and white, the colors that plagued her life everywhere she went. If she saw another peppermint in her life she'd probably puke. Why were those the only colors her aunt seemed to decorate with? Pure white rooms with red accents. Never green, or yellow, or purple, and especially no blue. Auntie always told her blue and orange were the devil's colors. She clenched her fist tightly at the thought of it.

Ryan winced, grabbing at her shoulder. Soft bandages covered her shoulder and arm. She grumbled as she got up, her ribs were bound too.
She grabbed her face, someone could have thrown a brick at her point blank and it would've hurt less.

Without a second thought, she reached around and pinched her own arm as hard as she could. She did it again, she let her stupid self think about her aunt.

"Hey, careful now." Devany said calmly, clutching Ryan's hand. "Wouldn't want you passing out again after you just woke up."

Ryan gazed into Devany's eyes. "How long was I out for?" She said, something about Devany's grasp filled her with new energy.

"Two days." Devany replied, a small chuckle escaping her throat. "You were out like a water magic in mid-July!"

Ryan grimaced, "So, that wasn't a dream?" She muttered, her voice strained and cracked.

"No, sweetheart, I'm sorry." Devany's expression softened, "I know you must be confused, so I'll give you a little rundown, but first let's get you cleaned up!"