How to Claim an Undead Soul Page 15

  I had burdened Odette the last time, and Boaz was MIA for the next couple of days. That left Amelie.

  I hoped day-old churro still worked as an incentive.

  “Yeah, well, I told you I got carried away with my homework.” I resisted the urge to test it with my finger. The good thing about ink was it dried almost on contact. It had to bond fast. Skin was a slippery canvas, and that was our most common medium. “What comes next?”

  “Choose a dry brush.” He passed me a clear bottle sloshing with liquid. “Paint the sigil for grounding.”

  “What is this?” I sniffed the contents for hints of its composition. “I haven’t seen anything like it.”

  “It’s mélange, a mixture of thrice-blessed birch water and horned owl tears.”

  A sniff test proved there were no binding elements, no blood, so I deemed it safe enough. I swirled on the grounding sigil with a swoop of my wrist, and the effect was instantaneous. A rumble shook the foundation as bits of concrete chipped and flew, pelting my forearms, my cheeks.

  “Hey,” I yelled. “Give a girl some warning next time.”

  The window over my head swung open, and the curtains fluttered out into the yard.

  “Not you, girl.” I patted the siding. “I meant Linus.” I touched my cheek where it stung, and drew away bloody fingers. “I could have lost an eye.”

  “The sigil shouldn’t have reacted that way.” He wiped bits of dust and concrete off his face. “It was meant to sink the design into the foundation, like pressing a stamp into hot wax, not explode.” He removed his glasses and wiped them clean using his shirt. “Your magic must be reacting to the mélange.”

  Thrice-blessed birch water and horned owl tears. Neither ought to be giving me fits, but owls were familiars of Hecate, and I was goddess-touched. Maybe there was a connection, and my magic reacted more strongly to her symbols. I wondered if we would ever know for sure.

  Reaching up, I let Woolly’s curtains tease my fingertips. “It’s not hurting her, is it?”

  He didn’t answer straightaway. “Woolly?”

  The old house groaned, settling on her foundation, testing its fit, deciding how she felt about what I had done, and then she blasted the curtain overhead like a party horn blown.

  “I’m guessing that’s approval.” I sank down as relief melted me. “We still need protection before we…”

  “Hold still.” Linus pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, white linen embroidered with his initials, and pressed it to my cheek. “You’re bleeding.”

  Cold seeped through him into me, and the sting lessened the same as if I had cradled a bag of frozen peas against my face. “Thanks.”

  “Let me fix this,” he murmured, assessing me, “and then we’ll find protective gear.”

  The pen he removed from his pocket was familiar by now, and so was the weight of it when he pressed it against my cheek and began to draw healing sigils that made my skin itch and tingle. The pain ebbed as he worked, and when he finished, I lowered the handkerchief to let him inspect his work.

  “The wounds have closed.” His fingertips trailed beneath my eye, an ice cube skating over skin. “They’re shallow. They won’t scar.”

  “What about you?” I passed him the bloodied fabric. “You’ve got a cut at your temple.”

  “Do I?” He reached up, smearing crimson, and frowned. “I didn’t even feel it. Is that all?”

  “I think so.” I held out my hand for the pen. “Want me to patch you up?”

  There was no hesitation on his part. He seemed to be saying, I trust you even if you don’t trust me. Though anyone who experimented on themselves had to have at least a teeny, tiny death wish, so I didn’t let it flatter me too much. “You remember the sigils?”

  “I think so.” I pulled the grimoire onto my lap and turned to a fresh page. “It’s this combination, right?”

  Linus nodded after a moment. “Yes, it is.”

  “Here goes nothing.” He pretended to be a block of uncarved marble while I braced my hand against his cheek. I drew the sigils as precise as possible while my hand grew numb from contact. Even his freckles appeared limned in blue. He hadn’t been this cold even a week ago. Maybe whatever was going on in town was affecting him too. And maybe the whatever was named Ambrose. “There you go. Good as new.”

  Linus blinked as though waking from a long dream then unfolded his legs and strode off toward the carriage house. I used the time he was gone to text Amelie an invitation to chat before work. And yes, chat was code for listening to me gush about her brother.

  “We shouldn’t leave your blood lying around.” Linus spoke from behind me, and I twisted to see he had returned with a box of matches. He tossed the handkerchief on a spot of bare dirt then struck a match, letting it ignite the fabric on contact, and my blood turned to ash. “There are enough dangerous things a person could do with anyone’s blood. Let’s not tempt them with yours.”

  What a depressing thought, that I was no longer even free to bleed without it causing an incident.

  “You’ll get used to having power.” Linus watched the flames. “Or maybe it’s best you never do.”

  I almost asked him what that meant, but he had disappeared again. This time he returned with two heavy sweaters, two thick scarves, and two sets of plastic goggles that belonged in a high school science lab. He dropped one of each into my lap then sat and started pulling a sweater on over his head.

  “I won’t lie.” I lifted the knitted weight, obviously his, and shrugged into its warmth. “I pictured you as the sweater vest type, but actual sweaters?”

  “I get cold,” he said softly, and that was the end of that.

  Sweating inside my woolen armor, I got back to work. I painted on the sigils to complete one entire side of the foundation before braving the clear liquid a second time. “Are you ready?”

  “Remember your scarf.” He was coiling his around his throat and head in a makeshift mask he topped off with his goggles. I tried one-handed, but mine kept slipping down around my shoulders. “No, not like that.” He took the scarf and slowly bound me like a mummy then slid on my goggles. “Now do it.”

  The grounding sigil blasted chips in the air that bounced off the plastic covering our eyes and stuck to the wool wrapping our heads. “Much better.”

  Linus was quick to disagree with me. “This isn’t going to work.”

  I felt my shoulders rolling in before I could stop them. “I did the best I could.”

  “Your work is superb. That’s not the issue. We need better supplies.” He looked me dead in the eye. “This is not your fault. Understand? We’re both learning as we go.”

  The tension coiling me inward released, and I regretted he held even that much sway over me. “I want to be better than I am. Faster. I want to know it all before you pack up and leave.”

  “Time is never wasted when it’s spent with a student who genuinely wants to learn.”

  “More teacher logic,” I joked, but it came harder with us still at odds over Ambrose.

  Not for the first time, I wondered if his mother had any idea what he was teaching me. Nothing she would find useful. Nothing that would gain her prestige. And then I wondered if that wasn’t the plan, to appeal to the rebellious side of me. To feed me what I wanted in tiny bites until I could swallow the whole of what they intended for me.

  “There are sigils to keep the concrete pliant,” Linus was saying. “You’ll need to paint those on using the mélange before you start sparring with Taz.”

  The mention of her name forced a groan of protest from my aching muscles. “Show me.”

  And he did. I hadn’t finished cleaning my brush when a boot swung at me in my peripheral vision. I tossed the brush and the solution at Linus, drenching him, and rolled away, hoping the ingredients weren’t as rare as they’d sounded. “What is your damage?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Taz was not sorry. “I forgot vampires and kidnappers always announce their presence before they attack to m
ake sure their victims are prepared to defend themselves.”

  “Smartass.” I scrambled to my feet and got out of range. “I can see why you and Boaz get along so well.”

  “That’s not why.” She bounced on the balls of her feet. “Boaz can have most anything he wants, so he wants what he can’t have.”

  The thought mirrored mine so closely, I was stunned. That second of doubt was all it took for Taz to land her first blow. The kick connected with the side of my head, and I went down hard, ears ringing, but I rocked onto my hands and knees.

  “Don’t let them get inside your head.” She squatted beside me. “You have to learn to block the mental hits too. Not just the physical ones. These people research, Grier. They memorize you like a favorite song, and they don’t miss any notes.”

  “What you said…” I panted through the worst pain. “It’s true.”

  “That’s why I said it. Lies don’t resonate. Only the truth cuts as well as a blade.”

  I hung my head, letting her wisdom sink in, letting it carve all the way to the bone, but then I stood and braced my legs. “Again.”

  Boaz was an old wound. From here on out, she could pick that scab all she wanted. I was done bleeding.

  Ten

  The fight with Taz ended the way all fights with Taz end. I was leaking from places one should not leak, sweaty in places one should not sweat, and grinning at the person responsible through pink teeth. I didn’t have to limp far for Linus to doodle sigils on my throbbing face. He had stayed to watch again.

  Humiliation got pummeled out of me with each lesson until I was grateful for a medic on the sidelines.

  Once I stopped resembling a cautionary tale, I grabbed a shower and loaded a crossbody bag with tools for work and supplies for a rendezvous with Timmy then rushed off to meet Amelie in her yard.

  “I hope she bought you dinner first.” She clucked her tongue. “Why does this matter so much to you?” A sigh moved through her. “The magic I get, but the fighting?”

  “Magic requires time and preparation,” I explained. “A fist comes preloaded.”

  “Sometimes you sound so much like Boaz, it’s like speaking to his much shorter twin.” She leaned against her car and patted the door in an invitation to join her. “Go on. Get it over with. I can tell you’re about to pop. Tell me about your first date. Just not the kissy, touchy, feely parts.”

  “Honestly?” I had to laugh. “Anything that could go wrong did. It’s a good thing I don’t believe in signs, or I would think Hecate wanted us to change our names and relocate to opposite sides of the country.”

  She winced sympathetically. “That bad, huh?”

  “There were good parts.” I let my tone convey that I was willing to elaborate. “Really good parts.”

  “No details required. I don’t want to know about his parts.” She covered her eyes with one hand and her nearest ear with the other. “Please. Keep those to yourself. I just ate, and I really don’t want to be sick.”

  “You’re always asking me to tell you everything.” The car rocked when I leaned against it. “Now that I have something to share, you’re going soft on me?”

  “Before it was hypothetical.” She scowled when I pried her arms away from her head. “Now it’s literal. You have more than dreamy-eyed sighs to offer. You’ve got legit dirt on how my brother…” She made gagging noises. “This is so gross. So gross. Worse than pineapple on my ham pizza. It didn’t seem all that disgusting until he walked in wearing a goofy smile.” A shudder rippled through her. “He’s never looked like that after a date. He looked… I don’t know. Happy?”

  Our date made Boaz happy? A dopey smile wreathed my face.

  “Ugh.” Amelie made heaving sounds. “That’s the look.”

  “Okay, okay. I won’t make you listen to how your brother pressed his lips to—”

  Amelie slapped a hand over my mouth. “No.”

  “—and he pulled my—”

  Adjusting her grip, she also pinched my nose closed. “Really, no.”

  I held my breath until sparks lit my vision, but she didn’t back down. I was forced to go in for the kill, which is to say I pulled out the churros and dangled them in front of her nose, trading their lives for mine. She couldn’t grab them fast enough, and her eyes crossed with pleasure when she inhaled from the top of the bag. We collapsed on the poured-concrete drive, leaned against her car, and got high on sugar together.

  “I really hope this doesn’t blow up in all our faces,” she said around a bite of dough.

  “Me too.”

  “Just know I’m on your side if this goes south.” She gathered my hands in hers. “He might be my brother by blood, but you’re my sister by choice. Plus, once you gain back the weight you lost, we’ll be the same size again, and I can borrow your clothes.”

  “I have holey jeans and ratty T-shirts. You’ve got plenty of those.”

  “You’re Dame Woolworth,” she reminded me. “You’re going to have to buy some nicer clothes. Camouflage is the only safe way to move unseen within the Society. Those are the outfits I’m going to pilfer from your closet.”

  “I haven’t spent any of my money,” I admitted. “It doesn’t feel real.”

  “Wait until you start swiping that debit card.” She leaned her head against my shoulder. “It’s hard to dismiss boxes and garment bags as imaginary, and should you ever doubt, all you have to do is reach out and pet them.”

  “I hate shopping.” I pursed my lips. “Maud always bought my fancy clothes.”

  “No, she didn’t.” Amelie was laughing softly. “She hated shopping too. She always palmed the job off on her sister. Literally every stitch of clothing you wore to any Society event you attended was handpicked by Clarice Lawson.”

  I jerked so hard, I jostled Amelie and sent her crashing into my lap. “How do you know?”

  “Please.” She snorted and made herself comfortable, resting her head across my thighs while she stargazed. “Her driver would pull in, she would lower the window and snap her fingers at Boaz and say, ‘You there. Boy. Run these parcels in to my sister, won’t you?’”

  My jaw came unhinged as I tried to picture her gall in ordering around another person’s child.

  “She would tip him twenty bucks and remind him the tree marked the property line and he should stay on his side of it.” Amelie linked her fingers at her navel, and they jumped with her laughter. “That’s probably why he started peeing on her tires whenever she came over if the driver stepped away to smoke.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “As the grave.”

  Absently, I raked my fingers through her hair. “Boaz hates the High Society, doesn’t he?”

  “Yep.”

  “He’s never going to get over it, is he?”

  “Nope.”

  I thumped her in the forehead. “How is this going to work?”

  She swatted my hand and sat upright before I tried it again. “He doesn’t see you as one of them.”

  I didn’t see myself that way, either. “But I am.”

  A door shut behind us, and footsteps rounded the vehicle. “What are you doing out here?”

  Matron Pritchard wore an ensemble any librarian would envy. Crisp white blouse, emerald A-line skirt with matching cardigan and sensible shoes. She crossed her thin arms over her narrow chest, toyed with the strand of white pearls at her throat, and waited for an answer.

  “We have to work tonight,” Amelie said in a prim voice. “We wanted to chat before we part ways.”

  “You have a cellular phone,” Mrs. Pritchard replied. “I know. I pay the bill each month. Perhaps next time you could use that instead of cluttering the driveway. It’s unseemly to sit out here alone.”

  The hand Amelie had braced on the concrete tightened into a fist. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Mrs. Pritchard left without looking at me or speaking to me. Business as usual.

  Tonight was a night for revelations, it seemed. “You hate the Low Societ
y, don’t you?”

  “Yep.”

  “You’re never going to get over it, are you?”

  “Nope.”

  Telling her I don’t see you as one of them wouldn’t be a comfort in the same way the reverse was true for me. That line had kicked off way too many old fights, and we hadn’t had a real one since my return. I wanted that trend to continue.

  “I’m going ghost hunting tonight.” Not the smoothest segue, but it was the best I had to offer.

  “Timmy?” She embraced the topic change with a winged eyebrow. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

  “I brought supplies.” I patted my bag. “I’m going to protect myself.”

  “How’s the girl?” She grunted as she stood. “Merida?”

  “Close.” I joined her and dusted off my pants. “Marit. And she’s fine. Or she was fine when her dad left me a voicemail yesterday.” I intercepted her questioning look. “No, I didn’t visit her at the hospital. She’s a daddy’s girl, and he blames me for what happened. I think he was trying to use the ghost to spook me off since he pegged me as Cricket’s spy. Now Marit is calling me her hero, and he’s stuck with me. That doesn’t mean I want to rub his nose in it.”

  “Good call.” She shook her head. “Assuming you want to keep the job.”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Of course you do,” she repeated, then she cleared her throat. “Do you need any help?”

  “Something tells me dining room security is going to be airtight on the Cora Ann. I doubt Mr. Voorhees lets me or anyone else back in there until the investigation is concluded.” I had a plan, but I wasn’t sure it would work on water. “Maybe take me to see the Whitaker Street lamppost after? I want to scout the area.”

  “Oh.” Her disappointment was palpable. “Sure. We can do Whitaker.” Her good mood returned in a blink. “That reminds me. We’ve got another dead zone. The sign at The Movie Rack has gone out.”

  “Wow.” I counted back in my head. “That place has been closed for like ten years.”

  The consignment shop that moved into the space never replaced the overhead sign. They just propped their own in the windows and let that be advertisement enough. The strip mall manager killed the power to the sign, at their request, but that didn’t stop it from blinking on at dusk. He claimed it shared a breaker with the ones for the laundromat on its left and the Mexican restaurant on its right, and that’s why he couldn’t deactivate one without the others going dark too.