“Yeah. All right,” he replied, his relief obvious. “To start, Kat and Frosty broke up again.”
I made a mental note to contact her first thing in the morning.
“Also, Justin’s sister is missing.”
Justin Silverstone used to be a slayer. Then his twin sister, Jaclyn, had convinced him to switch sides and join Anima Industries; the Hazmats, we called them. They wanted to preserve the zombies for testing and studying and planned to one day use them as weapons, uncaring about the innocent lives that were lost along the way.
“She probably ran off, afraid we’d come after her,” I said. She and her crew had helped bomb my grandparents’ home. I owed her.
Cole nodded. “Then there’s my search. We need more slayers. I know there are kids out there as confused as you used to be, unsure why they see monsters no one else can see, and they have no idea what to do about it.”
“Any possibles?”
“Not yet. But two slayers from Georgia came to help us out until we’ve rebuilt our team.”
For a while, I’d thought the zombie problem existed only in my home state of Alabama. I’d since learned differently. There were zombies all over the world. Slayers, too.
“You should have shared this info long before now. You are such a pain, Coleslaw,” I said. Better, but that nickname wasn’t the winner, either.
“I know, but I’m your pain.”
And just like that, my irritation drained away. How did he do it?
“Does Mr. Ankh know you’re here?” Since my grandfather had died and my grandparents’ house had been torched, Nana and I had moved in with Mr. Ankh and his daughter, Reeve.
Mr. Ankh—Dr. Ankh to everyone outside his circle of trust—knew about the zombies and did all the medical work on the slayers. Reeve had no idea what was going on, and we were supposed to keep her in the dark. Or else. Her father wanted her to have as normal a life as possible.
What was normal, exactly?
“I gave Ankh’s security the finger,” Cole said with a twinge of pride. “He would feel the need to tell your grandmother, and I don’t want to be kicked out and have to sneak back in. I just want to be with you.”
“So you’re planning to stay here all night and hold me, Coley Guacamole?” Ugh. I shouldn’t have gone there. That one reeked.
He barked out a laugh. “I liked King Cole better.”
“That’s not actually a surprise.”
“It just fits me so well.”
“I’m sure you think so.” I gave a gentle tug on his nipple ring.
“I doubt I’m the only one. And yes, I’m staying.” He curled his fingers over mine, pried my grip loose and brought my knuckles to his mouth for a kiss. A second later, there was a flash of panic in his eyes. One I didn’t understand and must have misread. Because he said, “Just so you know, you can call me anything you want—just as long as you always call me.”
Chapter 2
On Your Mark...Get Set...STOP!
I woke up alone, drenched in sweat and gasping for breath, another dream of the accident hovering at the back of my mind. I’d seen my mother reaching for me. Felt the unusual heat of her touch. Heard her yell at me. Then I’d watched as the zombies finished eating my dad, glided to our car and jerked her out, ready for dessert.
She’d fought against their hold, her expression panicked. She’d called my name again. “Alice! Alice!”
I’d struggled to reach her, begging the creatures not to hurt her.
Then nothing.
Now I wanted to cry.
Why was I seeing this? It hadn’t happened. Not really.
Had it?
Had I woken up in the car and just didn’t remember? Could this be my mind’s way of reminding me?
Mom had ended up outside, next to my dad, even though she’d been in the car when I’d lost consciousness.
“Cole,” I said, patting the space next to me. I needed his arms around me, strong and sure. He would comfort me, whatever the answers.
The mattress was disappointingly cold. He was gone.
I thought...yeah, I remembered hearing him speak to me before he’d taken off.
“I’m supposed to believe you? Just like that,” he’d said, his tone angry.
No, he hadn’t been speaking to me. There’d been a tense pause before he’d snapped, “Stop calling me, Justin. I told you a long time ago I’m done with you. There’s nothing you can do or say to change that.” Another crackling pause. “No, I don’t want to hear the info you’ve got.”
I knew of only one Justin. Either Cole had been on the phone with a boy he’d sworn never to speak with again, or my mind had played tricks on me. Right now I wasn’t exactly in a mind-trusting mood.
Gingerly I sat up to gaze around the room. Bright sunlight slanted through the window. The ice-blue comforter draping the four-poster bed was wrinkled, and one of the pillows was stained with flecks of black from Cole’s face paint. Oops. I’d have to clean that off before I left.
His weapons were no longer piled on the floor, and neither were his clothes. In fact, the only other sign that he’d been here was the note on my nightstand.
I’m at the gym. Call me and I’ll come for you. X C
Humming with sudden happiness, I brushed my teeth, showered and dressed in my winter workout clothes. I dialed his cell, and...went straight to voice mail.
“I’m awake and ready,” I said. “You can come get me anytime.” I didn’t have a car. Or a license. Only a permit. If I didn’t hear from him soon, I’d walk. The gym was at a barn a few miles away. “I hope you’re prepared to have your butt handed to you.”
When I hung up, I noticed there were eleven texts waiting for me. All from my best friend, Kat. I grinned as I read.
One: Frosty SUCKS!
Two: Have I mentioned Frosty sucks it raw??
Three: How do U feel about murder? 4 or against?? Before U answer, know that I have good reason!
Four: If 4, do U know good place 2 hide body??
The rest described the many ways she’d like to kill him. My favorite involved a bag of Skittles and a silk scarf.
Mmm. Skittles.
My stomach rumbled, and I set my phone on the nightstand. I’d call Kat after breakfast, when she was more likely to be awake and I was more likely to be lucid, and find out what happened. There was a good chance Frosty had simply failed to call her after the fight last night, and she’d worried. I wasn’t sure how to comfort her about that. She’d made it clear the zombies weren’t a topic of conversation she welcomed.
First, though, I cleaned every inch of my room. I refused to let Mr. Ankh’s housekeeper do it for me. I wasn’t a sponge and wasn’t going to take anything for granted. I was determined to give back, somehow. Thankfully, water and hand soap removed the paint from the pillow.
“Alice.”
Emma’s voice.
I turned, and oh, glory, there she was. My eight-year-old sister. Her spirit anyway. What she’d taught me: death is never the end. “You’re here,” I said, my heart soaring. She’d visited me before, but every time felt like the first time—shocking and unreal.
She smiled at me, and I wanted so badly to hug her close and never let go. “I only have a moment.”
She wore the clothes she’d died in: a pink leotard and tutu. The dark hair she’d inherited from our mother was pulled into two pigtails, swinging over her delicate shoulders. Golden eyes that had always watched me with adoration were bright.
She’d once told me she wasn’t a ghost, but a witness. Ghosts—not that they existed—were spirits of the dead that retained their memories and haunted. A myth probably born from zombie sightings. Witnesses were spirits that aided.
“I wanted to warn you that you’ll be seeing less of me,” she said, the smile slipping. “Visiting you is becoming more difficult. But. If you call for me, I will find a way to reach you.”
“More difficult how?” I asked, concerned for her.
“My tie to this world is fading.”