** This is a rough draft and has not been edited!! **
I can't get that dream out of my head. Tara. The woman who cursed all the males in Eli's family with those aqua eyes of his. Maybe it's a coincidence I dreamed of her, my own imagination conjuring up a story after what Eli's mom told us.
I want to believe it's all stress induced paranoia, but I know better. There's a reason I'm dreaming about Tara, but I'm so busy stressing, I can't see it. After Silas's last visit, all I can think about are all the secrets he let me in on, secrets I have to come to terms with. Secrets I have to share.
But today, I can't focus on anything but one simple fact.
Today is Meg's funeral.
I slip into my black flats and adjust the simple black dress I'm wearing. The severe bun I've put my dark hair up in is one Meg taught me. My breath catches as a new wave of grief smashes into me. I still can't believe she's gone. There are no tears, only a staggering pain in my heart. I hated her the tiniest bit because she lied to me, but I loved her. She was my best friend and now she's dead.
Because of me.
Mattie Louise Hathaway. The harbinger of bad luck. That's me in a nutshell.
My foster sister, Mary Cross, knocks on the door and breezes in. Her long blonde hair is pulled back, making her look 1even paler against the black dress she keeps tugging at. She hates the thing because it's itchy, but she said it was the only suitable dress she had for a funeral. Mary didn't really know Meg, but she knows me and Dan so she's going to support us. It's what sisters do, she said. I'm grateful every day for her. Blood sisters we may not be, but she is my sister in every way that counts. We chose each other and that bond can sometimes be stronger than even blood.
"Dan's on his." She sits down in my desk chair, her eyes zeroing in on me. "You ready for this?"
Is anyone ever ready to say goodbye to someone they love? "Not really, but we'll get through it."
Mary fusses with her hair while I make a point of staring down my shoes. We're both somber today. I've never been to a funeral, not even my mom's. She'd been buried while I was still in the hospital recovering from her attack on me. I'm not sure what to expect, other than what I've seen on TV. Those are always somber affairs. So I guess, we're at least in the right frame of mind.
I haven't talked to Mary about her run in with Deleriel yet. I didn't get back here until late last night because I've been visiting with the grandparents the last few days. I need to speak to her soon, though. We need to get out in front of this before Deleriel decides to make a move. He's a fallen angel who eats the souls of little children and he's got his heart set on taking Mary back to hell with him. So not gonna happen.
I'm still vexed she didn't tell me about it. I had to hear about it from Silas, a demon who claims to be my great something or other grandfather. He also scares the bejesus out of me.
We hear a horn outside that startles us both. Dan's here. I get up and follow Mary out of the house. We both pause on the porch and look at the empty yard beside of ours. The Burnette house stands next to us like a giant black shadow, ready to exhale it's sorrow any moment.
Mr. Burnette's seven-year-old granddaughter, Kayla went missing a few days ago. She's another in a long line of children that went missing in the Charlotte area. Those kids turned up dead a week after they went missing. We suspect they are victims of Deleriel. If he has Kayla, God only knows the horrors that poor little girl is going through.
"Come on, Mattie." Mary tugs at my arm, snapping my attention back to her. "It's time to go."
Dan's father is driving us. He's wearing a nice black suit and Dan is sitting in the front seat, staring straight ahead, his face as empty as a barren wasteland. Mary and I pile in the backseat and we head to the cemetery without a word. No one is in the mood to talk.
The drive to Old Settler's Cemetery in Charlotte flies by. Before I know it, Mr. Richards is parking the car and getting out. Dan I sit there, even after Mary's gotten out. Neither of us are ready for this. He's still staring straight ahead, silent, and I'm worried about him. He hasn't even processed his grief. There's been no time what with Melissa missing. Dan's thrown himself into finding her. He has white boards set up at Zeke's. He's very good at what he does, but if his captain finds out, he might lose his job. She's still pissed at him for poking his nose in the case that ended up with Meg being shot and killed.
"We have to get out you know," I say softly.
"I know."
After a full minute, I prod him again. "Dan."
"I know!" The words come out in an explosion, one I didn't expect, but fully understand. He takes a deep breath. "I know."
His dad knocks on the window and I shake my head at him. Despite what I said, we'll sit here for as long as Dan needs us to. Mr. Richards frowns, clearly concerned about Dan, but he walks away from the car. Dan needs a minute of ten to get out of the car.
"I don't know if I can do it." His voice is hollow, empty. "How can I face her father? I was right there. I could have stopped it somehow..."
"No, Dan, you couldn't have stopped it." I will not let him blame himself. I am the only one who should shoulder this blame. "You weren't even there when he took us. You couldn't have stopped it."
"If I had died, she would have been safe, like the angel said. She'd have been home grieving."
"Yeah, that's true enough, but you're forgetting one thing, Dan." I lean forward, my lips by his ear. "Paul was obsessed with her. That was no one's fault. Stalkers, especially the psychotic ones, they don't stop. He would have taken her eventually and her death would have been messy, full of humiliation and pain. You remember what he did to those other girls. They were practice runs for him. Could you imagine the pain and humiliation she would have suffered? Yeah, the angel was right in that she died because you lived, but he didn't say anything about the type of death she would have suffered if you had died. You saved her from that Dan."
It was something I'd thought a lot about. Yes, we had bucked Fate and caused all sorts of problems when I refused to let Dan die and he chose to stay for me, but no one even considered all the good things that might bring about. Meg's death was quick. If she'd been kidnapped by Paul and held hostage? Another story altogether. That's what I chose to believe. I only hope Dan can. He needs to so he doesn't blame himself anymore. I hate what it's doing to him.
"Do you really believe that?" His words are halted, unsteady.
"Yeah, Officer Dan, I really believe that. You saved her from a fate worse than the death she received. I believe she'd thank you for sparing her that."
His bows his head and a shudder goes through him. "I just want her to know how sorry I am. That I didn't mean for her to die."
"She knows, Dan."
"How can you be so sure."
"I'm the Ghost Girl, remember?" I try for a joke, but it falls flat. "Trust me, if she blamed either of us, her ghost would be here, blistering us both with that vengeful tongue of hers. The girl could hold a grudge like nobody's business. That's not the case, though. She's not here because her soul crossed over. She had no unfinished business. Her soul is at peace, so let her memory stay at peace. She loved you and that's all you need to hold onto."
A sigh so deep it could hold the sorrows of every broken heart, rippled through him. His hand reached back for mine and I took it. He held it so tight it hurt, but I only gripped it back. "Thank you, Squirt."
"You're welcome, Officer Dan."
"I think I'm ready to go now."
He let go of my hand and we both got out of the car. Dan took my hand again and we walked over to where Mary and his father stood waiting. He held onto me like a life-line. This is what we do. When one of us hurts, the other is there, ready to help ease the pain. It's what we'll always do.
The cemetery is old, dating as far back as 1776 and its smack in the middle of the city. It's one of the few places I've never visited. Ghosts tend to hang around cemeteries and I refuse to go anywhere I might get overwhelmed.
Except today. Because it's for Megan. And Dan needs me.
As soon as we step on the path leading into the maze of gravestones, I can hear them. They batter at me like the wind does a shutter during a storm, constant banging inside my head. Thanks to that tattoo Caleb had given me in New Orleans, they can't overwhelm me anymore. In fact, they are muted, but there are so many it doesn't matter. It's like a pressure swelling inside my head. I blink and keep my attention focused on the ground beneath me, putting one foot in front of the other.
The warm summer day turns colder as the dead press in, surrounding us all. Several people shiver, but they don't pay attention. They can't see what I see. There are civil war era soldiers lounging against headstones, their wounds evident and glaring. Others are ghosts who died of natural causes, some are horrific, having suffered gruesome deaths. They are from all walks of life, from every era of history that marks the myriad of headstones on these hallowed grounds.
These ghosts are harmless. Sad, lonely, lost even, but harmless. It's the ones crowed around outside the gates that have me unnerved. There is a malignancy there, a darkness that surrounds them. These are the dangerous ones, the ones who are as vicious in death as they were in life and others who went mad from being here too long and letting their anger at being dead fester within them.
We follow Mary and Mr. Richards to some empty seats and sit. Mr. Johnson, Meg's dad and the current mayor of Charlotte, sits in the front row, staring blankly at his daughter's coffin. We're on the opposite side, near the front, so I have a clear view of him. Part of me wants to go over and say something. He was always so nice to me. The other part of me is saying to stay as far away from him as I can. I'm probably the last person he wants to see. I lived and his daughter died. How can I look him in the eyes?
The minister starts the service and I drone it out, the ghosts pressing in tighter, trying to force me to talk to them. They know I can hear them. Ghosts are the worst gossips and they've spread the word about my abilities. Most times it's easy to ignore them, but when I'm surrounded by a small horde of them, it's harder. They are intent at getting my attention and their cries pound into my head, like a jackhammer. The pain is intense it's almost overwhelming.
One gets right in my face, his green eyes intense. He'd been in some kind of accident when he died. I can see the seatbelt bruise clearly across his shirtless chest. His stomach has a large black bruise covering most of his lower abdomen. Aside from some cuts and scrapes on his face, he looks unharmed. Internal bleeding. Has to be.
Ignore him and he'll go away. I chant this over and over and focus instead on the minister. He's tall, skinny, maybe in his sixties. I squint, trying to focus on him and not the guy shouting obscenities at me no one else can see or hear. That's when I notice this haze around him. It's dark, like a cloud obscuring everything else. I tilt my head, studying it. Cancer. He has cancer. Maybe three months left because he doesn't know he has it.
Wait...what the heck? I know he has cancer and exactly three more months to live. Exactly. Fudgepops. I shouldn't know that, but I do. Why do I know that?
Someone waves at me, just behind the minister and to my shock it's Reaper Boy. The one who tried to take Dan from me and later helped me navigate the Between, the realm between this life and the next. It's chalk full of nasty beasties just waiting to gobble up lost souls.
He crooks his finger at me and motions for me to join him. I shake my head. Not in the middle of Meg's funeral. I will not let ghosty things make me disturb the service and further upset Dan or Mr. Johnson.
My hands clench when a burst of pain knifes through my head, drawing a whimper out of me. I bite my lip and glance at Dan who doesn't seem to have heard. He's staring at Meg's coffin, his eyes almost frigid. Odd. He seems more mad than sad.
Mary leans over, her head almost against mine. "I hear them, too."
I jerk my head around, my eyes wide. "Does it hurt?"
She shakes her head. "It's more like a loud buzz, or white noise. Annoying, but it doesn't hurt."
Mary garnered the ability to hear ghosts after she spent so much time on the ghost plain last year. She'd been kidnapped by my then foster mother and tortured for weeks. Her soul travelled to me and with Dan's help, we were able to save her. I ended on of Mrs. Olsen's victims in the process. Surviving that ordeal is one of the things we share, one of the things that makes us family now.
The crowd standing up brings my attention back to the service. It's time to throw the flowers in the grave. Long stemmed white roses. Meg loved them more than any other flower. We'd been handed one on our way to our seats earlier. I look at the one I have clutched in my hand, the thorns biting into my skin. It's not until I see the blood seeping down my palm that I feel the pain. Hissing, I relax my hand. Several of them had pierced my skin and there is blood everywhere. Dang it.
I grit my teeth and stand up, filing along behind the other people. This has never made sense to me. What purpose does flowers in a grave serve? Meg's ghost isn't even here to see it. It's a pointless tradition.
Not so pointless if you understand the why of it.
I stumble at the words. I glance to the side and see one of the civil war soldiers walking along beside me. His golden head of hair is matted with blood near the back and a gaping hole is torn clean through his shoulder, the cloth of his gray uniform jacket blackened around the edges where the bullet went in. A confederate soldier.
You can hear me? I keep the conversation quiet. Now is not the time to be talking to myself out loud.
Yes, ma'am. His chuckle vibrates through me.
Is there something you need?
No, ma'am, but I suspected you needed me.
What? Why would he think that?
You are here to mourn and you should be able to do that in peace.
That's when I realize the ghosts have gone quiet. Not even a whisper. I still see the grouchy one who'd been all up in my face, but he's at a respectful distance. When had that happened? This soldier chased them away. I stare up him, shocked, but appreciative.
Thank you.
He nods and keeps walking beside me as we get closer to the open grave. They've already lowered her into the ground. I can't slow down or I would. I don't want to see it. To see her down there in the cold, dark earth. I know its just a shell, but I can't shake this awful feeling. She hated cold, dark places. It doesn't seem right to put her body there.
When I step up and look down, my breath catches. The silver coffin sits at the bottom, several dozen flowers already littering the top and the ground around it. This just isn't right. A tear rolls down my cheek. It isn't right. I close my eyes and a vision of her laughing blue eyes greet me. She should be here, torturing me with trips to the mall. None of this is fair.
A hand comes down on my shoulder and I blink. Mr. Johnson is standing beside me, his blue eyes wide with grief and pain, but not angry. His arm slides around my shoulder and he pulls me into a hug.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Johnson."
"Megan loved you like her own sister, Mattie." His words are heavy, his voice wrought with a cascade of tears. "She was so happy when she came home and told me the two of you were friends again. I've never seen her that happy."
"I..."
"You blame yourself for her death." His arm tightens around me. "I can see it in your face, but Mattie, it wasn't your fault. The blame lies with a very disturbed young man."
Paul Owens was definitely a disturbed young man. The younger brother of my ex-boyfriend, Jake, he had an obsession with Meg as well as unhealthy need to hurt and kill women. He'd killed his brother that night. While Jake's soul had gone on, his body remained alive. I'd been able to put Eric's soul in his body, giving the Owen's back one son while giving my ghost friend another chance at a life stolen from him.
"I'm sorry too, Mr. Johnson." Dan appears in front of us. "I wish I could have done something, gotten there sooner..."
"None of that." Mr. Johnson cuts him off. "You shouldn't even have been out of the hospital young man. What you did was more than enough. You tried to save her and that's all that counts. Neither of you is responsible for her death. I want you to go on with your lives, be happy for her. It's what she would have wanted."
He gives me another hug and shakes Dan's hand. Mr. Richards pushes us along. We're holding up the line. I toss the rose into the grave and let him herd Dan and I away from the gravesite. My mind is still reeling. I would have wagered everything I own on the fact Meg's dad would blame us for her death. But he doesn't. How is that possible?
"I need a minute." I stop walking when we're away from the others, but not outside the gates. There's someone I need to speak with. "I...I just need a minute by myself, okay?"
Dan's eyes zero in on me. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." Well, if you count Reaper Boy as nothing. He's patiently waiting down by this big crypt that looks ancient. "I just need a minute, okay?"
"I'll wait on her, Dad. You and Mary go on to the car." He waits for them to leave and then turns to me. "Spill."
Dan's not buying my story for a hot minute. I can see it in his eyes.
"I need to talk to the reaper before we leave." My hand automatically comes up and covers my mouth. I hadn't meant to tell him that. I never could lie to him, though. It's those big old puppy dog eyes of him.
His face pales. "Reaper?"
It's why I hadn't wanted to tell him. He'd just survived a reaping, barely. If it hadn't been for Silas hiding him, I'm not sure I could have saved him from death.
"What's he want?"
"I don't know. I haven't talked to him yet."
"Is it safe?" His eyes sweep the cemetery, but he can't see him. He doesn't need to know its the same reaper who came for him the first time. It would just upset him.
"Yeah, he's the one who saved me from the little soulless monster in the morgue. He's not going to hurt me. I'll be fine, I promise."
His eyes narrow, but he nods. "Want me to come with?"
"No." Absolutely not. No sense in tempting fate. Especially around a reaper who should have reaped Dan's soul to begin with. "I won't be long. Just stay here."
I'll guard him, ma'am.
I nod to the soldier, thankful. I don't think any of the ghosts here within the gates are vengeful, but you never know.
I pick my way down the hill carefully. I'm only wearing two inch heels, but I'm clumsy and falling down a hill is not on my to-do list for today.
"Took you long enough." He's grouchy. Not my problem.
"I was at a funeral in case you didn't notice."
"I don't like graveyards." He's also nervous. Why hadn't I noticed?
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why don't you like graveyards?" Seriously, he's a reaper. Graveyards should be a favorite spot of his.
"It's unnerving."
"Isn't this like a smorgasbord to a reaper?" I wave at the souls waiting to descend upon me the minute the soldier removes his protection.
"No, Mattie, graveyards are unnatural." He shifts from foot to foot, his fingers twitching.
"Unnatural?"
"It's not just the souls of the dead that reside here, little reaper." He flashes me a smile, but his eyes are dark, full of an alien fear I don't understand.
"What did you want?" If he's afraid of this place, then I'm not going to stand here all day. I'm out.
"I sensed your unease. Something to do with your reaping ability. Remember I am assigned to guide you. When something new happens I know it. What did you experience?"
"The minister." That has to be what he's talking about. I explain what happened earlier and he nods slowly.
"What you saw was a death knoll. A shroud if you will, but you shouldn't have been able to see it."
I tilt my head, but he answers the question before I can ask it. "That is the ability of a full blown reaper. One who has died and assumed their abilities. You're a living reaper, your job is only to assist in convincing the lost in crossing over. You can open the door that leads them to the hall where a reaper waits to navigate them through the Between, but that is all you should be able to do."
I have no idea how to respond to that.
"No wonder they wanted a guide assigned to you," he mutters. "You shouldn't be able to do even a tenth of what you can. Your abilities are growing at an alarming rate."
"That's a bad thing?"
He throws his hands up, frustrated. "I don't know."
The crypt door behind us creeks and we both freeze.
Laughter echoes inside the dark entrance of the now open crypt.
Just as I turn to run, something snakes out, grabs my arm and drags me inside, the door slamming shut behind me.
Leaving me in the dark.
Only I'm not alone.