Cold Kiss Page 15

  And Olivia must have come home and found us together. My cheeks heat suddenly, but she’s already getting up, calling softly over her shoulder, “There are doughnuts in the kitchen. But you’ll have to fight me for the last chocolate one.”

  When it comes to cool, Olivia definitely takes the gold. By the time I finally make my way into the kitchen, my hair sort of tamed and my teeth brushed, she has a huge mug of coffee poured for me and the doughnuts arranged on a plate. I pull out the stool at the breakfast bar and climb onto it, not sure what to say.

  She takes care of that, too, though. “So,” she says, topping off her coffee before leaning on the counter across from me. “How are you holding up?”

  I blow across my mug and shrug. “Not at complete meltdown yet? But pretty close.”

  “I figured.” She takes a deep breath and straightens up. “Gabriel told me most of it, and I sort of filled in the rest. Was he your first?”

  I blink at her. “My … first?”

  “Love,” she says, and her smile is a little sad. “Danny, I mean.”

  Oh. I nod, and stare into my cup again, hoping the color on my cheeks isn’t too obvious.

  “It’s a big deal. Don’t let anyone tell you different. Not that … well, you know.”

  I meet her eyes again. “I do know. Now, anyway. I just … I didn’t even feel like I could breathe without him. I know that’s stupid.”

  “It’s not stupid at all.” She swallows the last of her coffee and sets down her mug, tilting her head before she speaks again. “Most people would want exactly what you wanted in the same situation, and most people wouldn’t understand that it could never work, either. It’s just that most of us can’t do what you can.”

  “I know.”

  “I don’t want to go all Spiderman here, but ‘with great power comes great responsibility.’” Her grin is a bright flash in the dull gray light of the morning. “I think I might know how to help, though.”

  “No way,” Gabriel says, and I bristle, straightening my spine to reach my full height. I really wish my full height wasn’t so pathetic, though.

  “Who says you get a vote?”

  “Come on, Olivia, you can’t think this is a good idea.” Gabriel turns to her, arms folded across his chest. He looks like a stubborn little kid with the crease mark from the couch cushion still striping one cheek and his shirt buttoned wrong.

  “It was my idea,” she says mildly, “so I’m pretty okay with it, actually.”

  “Olivia!”

  “Enough, Gabriel,” I snap. His mouth falls open, but I keep going. “I have to take care of this. You get that, right? And I don’t have forever, not after yesterday. So we’re going. And we’ll see you when we get back and we haven’t been killed by Danny eating our brains or whatever it is you’re scared of.”

  His jaw is set so tight I’m surprised he can get words out. “I just want to help.”

  “But you can’t! I mean, thank you, but how exactly do you think it’s going to help to come with us, so Danny can freak out in the car? Or to leave Danny here with you, so he can freak out in the apartment?”

  “I managed yesterday,” he protests, and glances toward his bedroom door.

  Danny is still asleep, which is the only thing I can bring myself to call the way he hasn’t moved an inch on Gabriel’s bed since he lay down. He won’t be forever, though. I have no idea how long my spell will last, which is why he’s coming with Olivia and me.

  “And you looked like you went ten rounds with Holyfield by the time I showed up,” I argue, trying not to shout. I’m already vibrating a little bit, nerves and hope and anxiety mixed like a foul soup in my gut. “You didn’t even have a moment to call and tell me he woke up.”

  “Gabriel, sometimes the most helpful thing you can do is step back,” Olivia says quietly. She’s perched on the stool at the breakfast bar, bag and car keys already on the counter beside her.

  “Spare me the touchy-feely yoga wisdom, Liv,” Gabriel snaps.

  My mouth is the one to fall open this time, but Olivia just shakes her head and sighs. “He’s always pouty when he doesn’t get his way,” she says to me.

  His answer to that is to stride out of the room and slam the bathroom door behind him.

  “Oh, real mature. My hero.”

  Olivia stops me before I head into Gabriel’s room for Danny. “He means well,” she says. “He really cares about you, and it’s hard for him that he can’t make this easier for you. Cut him a little slack, okay?”

  Considering the things she could be saying to me about my own mistakes, it’s pretty mild, and I nod at her. I’m sure she doesn’t want me to, like, promise her my firstborn child or something, but at this point I’m so grateful for her understanding, I’m ready to at least build a shrine in her honor.

  And if the person we’re going to see today can help me figure out what to do about Danny, I’m going to be building it pretty soon.

  “Are you ready?” she says, and stands up.

  “I think so.” I take a deep breath. “I mean, I just hope he wakes up in a cooperative mood.” I want to say that I wish I could be sure he’ll wake up at all, but that’s not entirely true, as horrible as it sounds.

  So instead I open the door to Gabriel’s room and go in to sit on the side of the bed. Danny’s cold and still as always, his long lashes brushing his cheeks. One hand lies palm up on the comforter, and I take it in mine, rubbing it gently.

  “Danny,” I whisper, leaning down to press the word to his lips. “Danny, wake up.”

  He doesn’t stir, and for a moment it’s just as terrifying as Ryan’s phone call last summer, when I heard the word dead. It doesn’t matter that Danny and I can’t be together the way I wanted to, that everyone’s life would be easier if he just kept sleeping. I loved him, still love him, and God, this is going to suck so very much no matter what.

  This time, though, I want a chance to say good-bye.

  “Danny,” I say again, louder now, and concentrate on the energy inside me, drawing it tight and neat. “Wake up now, Danny.”

  I have to scramble out of the way, because he sits up immediately, eyes opening slowly, as if he hasn’t been in something like a coma since almost six o’clock last night.

  “Wren,” he says, and his smile is just as slow. But a moment later, it dims. “Wren.”

  I wish there was a way to make him forget again, to take him back to the moments before the accident, when there was nothing but music on the radio and the wind through the open windows and the sweet rush of a few beers in his blood, but the thought of using more magic to rearrange what’s in his head also terrifies me.

  “Hi.” I grip his hand tighter so he keeps looking at me, and I give my best smile. “Let’s go for a ride.”

  Beside me on the backseat of Olivia’s car, Danny shuts his eyes and lets his head fall back. “It feels good. The air.”

  I hold his hand tighter, meeting Olivia’s eyes in the rearview mirror. He didn’t question me when I explained that she was my friend, and he didn’t balk at the car, even though the last car he remembers must be Becker’s. As long as I’m holding on to him, he seems pretty calm, but it still feels dangerous to have him out like this. In the unforgiving daylight, he looks even paler than usual. His dark eyes are too flat, expressionless.

  She turns her gaze back to the road, and I try not to squirm. We’ve already been driving for a half hour, and we have at least another thirty miles on the highway.

  Rosalie Lanvin is the name of the woman she’s taking me to see. “A sort of family friend,” Olivia had explained, without really explaining at all. “She has the same kind of power you do, and she’s got a hell of a lot more experience with it.”

  This morning, I jumped at the idea. And it’s not that I’ve changed my mind, not really. But the sensation of the car speeding down the highway, taking me farther and farther away from town, away from home, is a little sobering. I glanced at my silenced phone once after I got up, and
found eight voice mail messages and eleven texts. I didn’t open any of them.

  Skipping school is one thing, but disappearing all night? Part of me is surprised our neighborhood is still standing. My mother doesn’t even know Gabriel exists.

  It’s frightening, feeling like I’ve been completely untethered, with no one in the world knowing where I am but Olivia and Gabriel. And what’s more, the woman we’re going to see could be the one to give me the answers I need to say good-bye to Danny forever. I want that, I do, but if I close my eyes the way Danny has, the sensation of the moving car feels a lot like speeding toward the moment when he’ll really be gone, for good this time.

  Beside me, he shifts, moving closer, pulling my hand farther into his lap and covering it with his free one. His eyes are still closed, and I don’t want to disturb him.

  But I take the opportunity to rest my head on his shoulder this time.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  THE HOUSE WHERE OLIVIA PULLS UP IS A SAD little ranch with a weedy front yard and one shutter hanging like a crooked tooth beside the picture window. I wasn’t exactly expecting a big Gothic monstrosity with a turret, but the shabby suburban feel of this place is weird, too.

  Olivia turns off the car and swivels around to face me. “Okay, she knows we’re coming, but I didn’t tell her too much. I figured it was better if you did that. And honestly, if she saw it for herself.”

  “Okay.” I sit up, and Danny moves with me, gazing dully at the house through the passenger window.

  “She’s a little … brash.” For the first time, Olivia looks unsure, her gray eyes cloudy with concern. “Just be open-minded. I didn’t get any of the supernatural bonuses in my family, but I’ve seen enough to know that Rosalie’s pretty good.”

  She climbs out of the car, and Danny says, “Where are we?” His voice is too loud in the cramped backseat, and there’s a vague rumble of unease beneath it.

  What am I supposed to say to that? Oh, we’re going to see a woman who may be able to help me get rid of you for good? Someone who has powers like mine but hopefully doesn’t use them to do shitty, stupid things?

  “She’s a friend of Olivia’s, Danny. It’s okay.” I have to work to turn on my smile again, making it persuasive and completely confident, as if an hour’s drive to a complete stranger’s house is something we do every day.

  Olivia is waiting on the front steps, and she motions for us to join her. Danny frowns, but when I get out of the car he follows me, his hand still tight around mine. I brush a smear of dirt off the back of his jeans, as if that’s going to make everything all right, make him look normal. His skin practically glows phosphorescent, it’s so pale.

  The door opens mere seconds after Olivia knocks, and the woman on the other side is another surprise. She’s around my mom’s age, or maybe a little older, but she’s much thicker set, and she’s dressed sort of like a PE teacher, in old chinos and a sweatshirt with UMASS emblazoned on the front.

  In short, she looks about as much like a witch as I do. It’s oddly reassuring.

  “Liv,” she says, nodding at Olivia before adding, “Your father’s not with you, is he?”

  Olivia’s cheeks bloom pink, but she shakes her head and steps aside to give Rosalie a better view of me. “God, no. This is Wren, and that’s Danny.”

  This is met with a brief grunt as Rosalie’s faded brown eyes scan over me. “How old are you, kid?”

  “Seventeen.” I have no idea if this is good or bad—I feel as if I’m undergoing some sort of test as she searches my face, and suddenly I’m not sure she’s even going to invite us in. My throat is dry, and Danny’s fingers are so tight around my hand, I’m beginning to lose the feeling in my fingertips.

  Rosalie sighs and steps back. “Come on, then. No need to do this in front of the neighbors.”

  An ancient, overweight beagle lifts his head drowsily when we walk in, and for a moment I’m sure he’s simply going to go back to sleep. Instead, he flinches when Danny follows me in, and gets to his feet as quickly as his stubby little legs will allow. His coat is bristling and he’s growling low in his throat, showing his stained yellow teeth.

  “Interesting,” Rosalie says mildly, and tilts her head to watch as the dog’s body begins to shake. “Okay, Barker, no worries. Be right back, all.” She scoops the dog up, whispering something soothing in his ear, and disappears down the hall, where a door is shut firmly a moment later.

  For his part, Danny either hasn’t noticed or doesn’t care that the dog was ready to rip his throat out, but Olivia is clearly a little freaked. She moves a pile of newspapers off a chair in the corner of the cluttered living room and sits down, studying the car keys she still has clutched in one hand. When Rosalie reappears, Danny and I are still standing awkwardly in the middle of the room like characters who have wandered into the wrong scene in a play.

  “Come on in the kitchen, kid,” Rosalie calls. “You have a seat,” she tells Danny. Like that’s going to work. He bristles like a threatened cat, holding on to me tighter still.

  “Wren.” It sounds like the dog’s growl, and I try not to shudder.

  “Danny, it’s okay.” I tug on his hand until he looks away from Rosalie, who, to her credit, seems remarkably unimpressed. “Danny.”

  When I finally have his attention, I focus and push my power through our joined hands, thinking Stay at him as hard as I can. It tingles beneath my skin, briefly hot but promising a burn, and Danny stares until he lets go of my hand and backs up, landing on the sofa. He blinks, but he doesn’t say another word.

  “Just like magic,” Rosalie says when I glance back at her, and the corner of her mouth folds into an ugly smirk.

  Not fair. I choke back the angry energy that flares to life and follow her into the kitchen. It smells like dog food and burnt coffee, but it at least looks clean. I take the chair opposite hers at the table.

  “So.” She opens a bottle of diet soda with a short hiss and drinks a mouthful. “You wanna tell me about your undead Romeo in there?”

  If this is part of the test, I’m definitely going to fail. For a minute I just gape, with no idea how to answer, since the only things I want to say would be ruder than even I can get away with.

  “Hey, if you can’t do the time,” she says, watching my face. “Olivia didn’t give me the whole story, but it’s pretty clear that at least one thing that boy is missing is a heartbeat. And I’m not sure what it is you want me to do about it.”

  “Help me,” I blurt out without thinking. “Help me figure out how to…”

  The words trail off into the silence. There’s never going to be a good way to end that sentence.

  “How to what?” Rosalie barks, and leans closer, eyes narrowed. “Kid, if you had the juice to bring that sixfoot cutie back from the dead, you’re a couple pay grades above me.”

  I know it’s not possible, but it suddenly feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room. My lungs burn with the effort of breathing, shuddering as my heart bangs between them. She was supposed to help me, and if she can’t, if she won’t…

  “A spell.” It’s a rough croak, but it’s all I can manage for a minute. Rosalie just sits there, impassive, as I struggle to get air into my lungs and stop panicking. “I thought you could give me a spell.”

  She snorts, an ugly noise. “Are you kidding? What do you think there is, some Big Book of Incantations out there with all the spells you’ll ever need?”

  Before I can say anything, Rosalie plunges ahead, her meaty hands joining in now. “One,” she says, holding up her index finger. “Most practitioners are wannabes who have about as much power inside them as a wind-up toy. Two, most people who do have power don’t even know it. Three, the rest of us do our homework, and hone our craft with a lot of boring, infuriating trial and error.”

  Those three thick fingers waggle at me briefly before her hand closes into a loose fist and drops to the table. I swallow, focusing on the scarred Formica instead of Rosalie’s face. Yo
u don’t have to be psychic to know she’s not done yet.

  “I don’t know how you pulled this off, kid, but there is no easy answer to an undead boyfriend.” She shrugs and adds, “Not unless you have an ax handy and you know how to use it.”

  A low, hurt sound vibrates in my throat, and Rosalie shrugs again.

  I can’t help glancing out toward the living room, picturing Danny on the sofa, his long limbs sprawled loosely, his face blank and cold. She may not be able to, but I can still see the Danny I knew, the one I loved, warm with summer sweat, laughing as he leans in to kiss me with grape soda on his lips. “You’re crazy,” I whisper.

  “I’m practical,” she counters. “But I’m not really serious. For one, you’d probably fall over backward just trying to lift an ax.”

  I’m seething, trying not to cry. I don’t care what anyone says—this is not some zombie flick, and I’m not getting rid of Danny like he’s some vicious, brain-hungry freak. “You’re so not funny.”

  “I’m not trying to be, kid.” She leans back and folds her arms over her chest. “Look, tell me how you did this.”

  Her voice has finally lost most of its nasty edge, and a thrill of hope raises the hair on the back of my neck. I stumble and backtrack and skip around and nearly lose it at least twice, but I manage to tell her everything—about my mother’s power, my own, the things I’ve taught myself to do, the car accident, and finally the spell in the graveyard. By the time I’m done, I’m hoarse and exhausted, and she gets up without a word and brings me a glass of water.

  I gulp it down gratefully. “So?”

  She raises her eyebrows. “Like I said, you and apparently your whole family make me look like a rookie who’s not even going to make it through the minors.”

  “Great, thanks.” I can’t help it now. A few scalding tears roll down one cheek and I swipe them away, hating that I’m crying in front of her. “I get it, okay? I’m going to the Hall of Fame for worst home run ever, right?”