"I'll take care of him as if he's my brother."
This soothes her, but only slightly.
"Do you know when he's going to be attacked? Or where?" I grab a notebook and pen from the nightstand. "Any details you can give me about the vision will help."
Silence greets me.
I glance up, but she's already gone.
Sighing, I fall back on the bed. The mattress creaks, blending with the rhythmic thump, thump, thump of my neighbor's headboard. Frosty isn't going to like having me as a shadow. He's going to protest. Loudly. He'll insult me, and it'll hurt like crazy, and like Kat said, he might even try to kill me, but I'm tough and I'll handle it.
Who's going to attack him? A female zombie? A former employee from Anima? A new employee from Anima?
Strike those last two. One, agents are cowards. When Anima was in operation, they only approached Zs while wearing a specially designed hazmat suit, the outer layer of material made of something akin to zombie flesh, rendering the human underneath it invisible to the undead. Two, I haven't been contacted by anyone associated with the company, not since Cole and Ali burned down their facilities and wiped Rebecca's memories--a woman who would happily eat her own young if it meant surviving another day.
That memory-wiping thing... It is reversible. But again, if Rebecca remembered her past, or the war, she would have contacted me. Would have threatened River again.
What would I do then?
The stupid tears return to my eyes, stinging, and I roll to my side. My current situation is the sum total of the decisions I made in the past, I know that, just like I know I have to live with the consequences every day for the rest of my life.
This is no one's fault by my own, and I won't make the same mistakes. I won't.
And I'm not helpless. I can do everything in my power to create a better future. Starting now, with Frosty. I would forever hate anyone who hurt River, just as Frosty will forever hate the people who hurt Kat.
I can't ever make up such a loss to him, but I can damn sure try. And I will.
I blink open tired, gritty eyes as bright light streams through the crack in my bedroom curtains. My temples pound, a memory knocking on the door of my mind.
I reach for Kat, intending to cuddle her close, but her side of the bed is cold.
Makes sense. She's dead.
The thought hits me, a reminder of all I've lost, and agony nearly splits open my chest. But as bad as it is, it's not as bad as usual. Another memory surfaces, and I grin. Yesterday, she came to visit me; she asked me to fight zombies for another slayer, not realizing she was sending me to Camilla Marks. She promised to visit me again.
I jolt upright and scan my bedroom, hoping she's already here. Beige walls. A small bed with blue sheets and brown covers, a large dresser, the drawers hanging open. My clean clothes are piled in one corner and my dirty clothes piled in another. I've been meaning to do laundry for, oh, about four months.
There's no sign of Kat.
Still, I jump up and race into the bathroom, a small space with only a sink, toilet and shower stall. I brush my teeth and hair, but I don't bother to change my clothes. I'm shirtless, but wearing a pair of running shorts. I've worn worse.
"Kat," I call, not even trying to hide the desperation in my tone. "Kat."
She appears in a blink, as if she's been waiting for my summons, and my knees almost buckle. I step toward her out of habit, only to stop myself as yesterday's warning plays through my mind. Touch her, lose her.
No touching. Ever.
"Congrats! Today's your lucky day." She's dressed in the same T-shirt and boxers as before, but it doesn't matter. She's beautiful in a way no other girl can ever hope to be. "You call, I answer."
"I missed you," I say.
"You'd be crazy if you didn't."
I try for a scolding expression but only manage to smile at her. "When you aren't with me, where are you?" I want to know every detail about her new life.
She points to the ceiling...and then she waves her arm and whips her body into the most hideous dance of all time.
I laugh--really laugh--and say, "Stop. Before I have to bleach my eyes."
"Because your moves and grooves don't compare to mine, and watching me only reminds you of your failure?"
"Yeah, something like that."
Smiling, she wraps a lock of hair around her finger. "I had no idea how much pain my failing kidneys were causing until I was dead. Now I can walk and run and dance without a single twinge. It's... Frosty, there are no words."
"Not even cake?"
"Not even."
It's clear she's happy with her situation, and I love that she's happy. I do. I crave her happiness above my own. But I also...don't love it. She's happy without me. I'm miserable without her.
More tales from a grade A douche-purse.
"Are you treated well up there?" I ask.
"Dude! The best! You seriously have no idea." She saunters to the bed, which is covered in Blood Lines, and plops onto the edge. As usual, she's pure energy and excitement. A force of nature. "It's like a perfected version of here. Earth 2.0. And guess what? Contrary to popular opinion, it's not the end."
"Not the end?" My brow furrows as confusion overtakes me. "You can die again?"
"No, no, nothing like that. We're in a holding zone where we're allowed to watch over our loved ones." She taps her chin with two well-manicured fingers. "We even get to help, but only by taking opposing parties to court and winning."
"Actual court?"
"Yep. Only on a much larger scale, because it's the final authority. We have to petition for answers and ceasefires and all kinds of other things. That's where I've been all this time. In court. That's where Helen is now. In fact, she rarely leaves the courtroom."
Helen, Ali's biological mom. "Why go through so much trouble for us?" What do they actually accomplish?
Kat kicks her feet, causing the mattress to bounce. "I know you won't understand this, but sometimes to have victory down here, you first need to have victory up there. Helen, Emma and I do our best to ensure you guys have everything you need."
Realization strikes me. "You petitioned to appear to me."
"Uh, you mean I petitioned the crap out of the court to appear to you. Which is why I got a yes. But--boo, hiss--there are rules. More than you know."
"Such as?"
"Such as what I'm allowed to tell you...and what I'm not." She blows me a kiss. "Finally I know things you don't, and for the same reasons you couldn't tell me about the zombies once upon a time--I couldn't handle the truth--I can't tell you everything."
I don't like this. I don't like this at all. "What happens if you break the rules?"
"I can be forced to leave the holding zone. Some witnesses opt not to stay when they first arrive, like Miranda, Ali's adopted mom. Others, the troublemakers, can be booted out before their time." Resignation glints in eyes I want filled only with happiness. "I don't want to be booted."
Do I detect an unsaid yet?
"I'm helping you guys for the first time ever," she adds, "and I'm not ready to stop."
"Why would anyone opt to leave?" I cross my arms and lean against the bathroom door. "And where are the booted ones sent?"
"To the highest heaven...the True Rest. Trust me, everyone in the holding zone wants to enter into the True Rest. Peace beyond your understanding. Joy. And there's no such thing as heartache or pain. Only love and light exist there." She smiles wide...then frowns deeply. "But in the Rest, I will no longer have any influence over your situation, no longer be allowed to petition, so, I'll do whatever it takes to remain in the holding zone."
My mind whirls with possibilities. "Do people in the holding zone date?"
"And marry. And have babies."
Excitement blooms. If I'm in the holding zone, I can be with her again. We'll be a couple. With a future.
But she knows me well, knows the direction of my thoughts, and shakes her head. "Don't you dare. It's not yet
your time, Frosty."
"It wasn't yours, either."
"I know. I went too early and you are now living with the consequences. And it sucks, doesn't it? So don't make your friends live with the consequences of your early death. They need you too badly."
"I want to be with you." Whatever the cost.
Her eyes narrow, her temper clearly pricked. "Well, I want a pony, but we don't always get what we want, do we?"
"Kat--"
"Frosty." She sighs. "I want you to date other people."
I blink. Surely I misheard her. "There's no way you just said--"
"Zip your pie hole, okay? Kitty is still talking. You knew I would die before you--"
"I didn't! I expected to die in battle long before your kidneys shut down."
"Please," she says with a roll of her eyes. "Like anyone could defeat you in a fight. But no matter how you slice it, you knew you wouldn't get a happily-ever-after with me."
"I'm not dating other girls, kitten." I'm pissed that she even suggested it.
"What about the legions you've banged since my death, huh?"
I flinch as though I've been punched by a five-hundred-pound, steroid-addicted hulk. "They were mistakes I will forever regret."
"Screw your regrets." Remaining on the mattress, she rises to her knees, her gaze heartbreakingly earnest. "You have to open your heart to love again."
"No, I--"
"You're a somewhat attractive guy," she interjects. "A good, solid five. And now that you've got money, you can probably bag a six...maybe a seven."
"Thanks," I reply drily, even as I crumble inside. She can't want me with someone else. Not really. She just can't.
Her smile is all about sadness, no hint of amusement. "All I'm saying is, there's someone out there just for you. The one who's meant to be. She won't be as good as me, of course. I'm a rare ten. Practically a unicorn. But she'll give you a reason to keep fighting in the war."
"I'll fight in the war for you." My tone is as rough as sandpaper. "Don't you want me anymore?"
She exhales a heavy breath. "I'm not saying that."
"Then I don't need to--"
"But," she interjects forcefully, shutting me up and erasing every bit of my relief, "I can see what you can't. The bigger picture. The endgame. The only thing that matters."
My hands fist. "We are what matters."
She looks away from me, as if she can no longer bear to hold my gaze. "I love you, and I'll always love you, but the moment, the very second my spirit left my body, I became part of... Well, I don't know how else to say it--I became part of one mind. A collective consciousness. I saw that you and I...we were never meant to be, Frosty. Not in a romantic sense."
Are you kidding me? She's just given me the afterlife version of the "It's not you, it's me" speech. Clearly, despite her "I'm not saying that," she no longer wants me the way I want her. It's a blow I wasn't prepared to take.
Acid drips through my chest, burning an already broken heart, but not by word or deed do I reveal the destruction taking place inside me.
This is another crime to place at Anima's door. A crime to place at Camilla's feet.
"Do you still want to see me?" Kat asks quietly.
"Yes." I don't have to think about my answer. I need time to change her mind and win her back, that's all.
"Good. That's good." She crawls from the bed to stand. "Now, sadly, I've got to go. The longer I'm with you, the less I know what's happening around you."
Stay, I almost roar. Steady. Calm. Aggression and neediness will do me no favors. "When can I see you again?"
"Tonight. You've been such a good boy, I'll gift you with another visit. But not here. Get out. Go do something. Introduce yourself to a group of cute girls. I'll find you."
*
I return to Hearts. Kat said she'd find me, and I want her to find me here. I want to replace the last memory she has of me in this location--going after a brunette I intended to use and lose.
Urgency is like a whip inside me, striking at me, keeping me going when all I want to do is find my girl. I've been here an hour already, but I haven't touched a single drop of whiskey, and I won't. Ginger ale is my new drink of choice.
Where is she?
A female sinks into the chair next to me. I look past her, scanning the club. The same black-light strobes flash. The same people writhe on the dance floor. The same crowd of onlookers appears a little too turned on for anyone's good. No sign of Kat, and while patience has always been one of my stronger virtues--I waited three years for Kat to say yes to a date, then another year to get her into bed--I'm hanging at the end of a very frayed rope.
"Logan?" The woman beside me nudges my shoulder. "Hi."
Logan isn't my real name. Nor is Frosty, for that matter. To be honest, I hate my real name almost as much as I love it. It's been a source of teasing most of my life, but also of envy. Tonight, however, I am who my ID says I am. Logan. The name I've been using with the girls I've bedded.
And despite a foggy memory, I know I've bedded this one. She has straight dark hair and green eyes, the reasons I would have picked her.
"How are you?" I ask, going for the polite approach. I'm still a douche-purse, I know this, but with Kat back in my life, I'm determined to be a nice douche-purse.
"I'm good. I was hoping I'd run into you again." Smiling coyly, batting her lashes at me, she traces her fingernails along my arm. "Want to go back to my place? We never got to finish that bottle of Macallan."
"No thanks." I pull away and her cheeks heat with embarrassment. Rejection stings, no getting around that, but I won't flirt to be nice. I just won't.
Over the years, Kat and I had many conversations about the different nuances of sex. About the expectations of the guy versus the expectations of the girl. What was physical for me was probably emotional for this girl. Despite all her protests to the contrary.
Like so many others, she probably hoped I would enjoy being with her so much, I would want another night...hell, a few weeks...maybe several months with her, forgetting my "I only want one night" claim. Kat called that particular mindset "the exception fantasy."
It's a fantasy with a low rate of success.
"Are you sure?" She runs a finger between her breasts. "You'll have fun."
"Sorry, but I'm here to meet someone." The love of my life.
"That would be me. Get lost."
The newcomer leans in to my other side and waves at Macallan. I stiffen, a very dark curse exploding from me. Camilla Marks.
Her platinum hair is a wild fall of curls, the sides clipped back from her face, revealing locks of jet-black at her temples. Her ebony lashes are a mile long and spiked, a complete contrast to the glitter sparkling around her honey-colored eyes. Her cheeks are flushed to a deep rose, her lips painted bloodred.
Guys are staring at her as if she's the last piece of candy in the candy store.
I can understand why. She's wearing a black leather vest, the center veeing between small but perfect breasts, revealing more of her tattoos than it conceals. Haunting 3-D images come to startling life. My favorite is the one over her heart. The face of a little girl. Perhaps even Camilla herself, only much younger. The bone structure is similar, though the etching has jet-black ringlets.
Like the vest, her pants are black leather, and they look like they've been painted on her. Silver zippers cover both articles of clothing, and I know a blade is hidden underneath each one. Just as I know every piece of jewelry she's wearing doubles as some kind of weapon. The pendant hanging from the silver chain around her neck can be turned into a small dagger. Her bracelets have two hooks in the center. Pull them, and create a garrote.
"Who are you?" Macallan asks her. "Because he doesn't look happy to see you."
Camilla ignores her, turning to snipe at the guy behind her. She reveals a back completely bared, the vest held on by a prayer and a tie at her nape and waist. There are more tattoos, and the designs enthrall me. A tree of life growing fr
om the center of a river, every branch sprouting a different type of bloom. A frying pan, of all things. A fist. A key, star and dagger. Birds are perched on several of the branches, and a flock flies above the tallest branch.
I want to trace the images with my fingers. Then she's facing me again, and I remember she's a traitor. My hatred overshadows every bit of my admiration.
"What are you doing here?" I demand.
She signals for a drink. "Ask your girlfriend."
She's spoken to Kat?
"Wait. You have a girlfriend?" Macallan asks. She's clutching her glass of froufrou whatever, clearly planning to toss the contents in my face.
Camilla acts fast, reaching over to knock the glass out of the girl's hand. "Looks like someone needs to learn her manners. I'm happy to--"
"Excuse us," I say to Macallan. I grab Camilla by the arm and yank her toward the stairs that lead to the VIP lounge.
Halfway up she wrenches from my hold. "There's no need to be so rough. I don't plan to run away. If you haven't noticed, I'm not resisting."
"Do you seriously expect me to trust you?" I say, but I don't reach for her again. The less contact we have, the better.
I march the rest of the way up. If she doesn't follow, I'll go hunting for her and she won't like what happens when I catch her.
And I will catch her.
The lounge has a bar of its own with waitstaff paid to ensure a glass never goes dry and a smile never fades. I'm recognized immediately, a waitress rushing over to greet me. I step around her and head toward the office in back. An office Ankh--Reeve's dad--once kept just for us, in case we had zombie business to discuss.
Even with the club's remodel, the pass code on the door is the same. I put my back in front of Camilla to punch in the numbers, then motion her inside. With her head high, she sweeps past me. I'm hot on her heels, shutting the door with a hard kick of my leg. When the lock engages on its own, a wave of satisfaction hits me. Now she's stuck. She can't escape without the code. Not that the office would make a good prison. There are plush leather couches and oversized chairs. Another wet bar. A desk with multiple computers and a three-line phone system.
Camilla faces me, her dark eyes throwing venom. "Before you start hurling demands for information, yes, Kat appeared to me last night and again about an hour ago. She told me to come here and stick by your side."