"I have no doubt. That's why I stop my fingers from dialing Child Protective Services every day."
"I am his mom," Jo said, even as Thaddie shoveled the woman's grub into his mouth.
MizB softly said, "A mother would want better for her son."
She sounded reasonable, but here was the thing: Jo was feral. There'd be no living under someone else's roof and following someone else's rules. Rules didn't apply to Jo and never had.
There'd be no sharing Thaddie with a woman who desperately wanted to be his mother.
He's mine, not hers. He was Jo's number one.
But a tiny part of her said, Thaddie's not feral. Not yet. Sometimes Jo had dreams about him with the Braydens. The three of them as a family.
Those dreams weirded her out, because she wasn't in them.
Done with this, Jo snagged a chicken leg and stood. "I gotta blaze. Be back in an hour or so." She swooped in to kiss Thaddie. "Mwah!" Then she whispered to him, "Bitch tries anything, you tit-punch her."
He nodded happily. Smacking cornbread, he said, "Bye-bye, JoJo."
MizB walked her to the door. "Out to pick pockets again?"
"Yeah, you want me to grab you anything while I'm out?"
But the woman grew really serious. "How can you touch a child so innocent and good when your hands aren't clean?"
Jo shoved the chicken leg in her mouth, raising both hands. Around the drumstick, she said, "Clean as they'll ever be."
"That's not true, Josephine. I think you've forgotten you're just a little girl."
"Little girl? I've been a lot of things, but that ain't one of them. . . ."
Out on the street, Jo mimicked, "How can you touch him? Meh meh MEH meh meh." She snatched a bite of chicken, hating how good it was.
She turned the corner. Stopped in her tracks and swallowed hard. The chicken fell from her limp fingers.
A gun barrel was pointed at her face.
Wally.
Behind him stood his trio of asshole friends. They all looked spaced-out, eyes crazy bloodshot.
Wally's long, stringy hair had been singed, and sweat poured down his blistered face. "People been saying the creepy pale girl's always fucking with me." His words were slurred, and the gun shook in his bandaged hand. "People been saying she was sneaking around my place last night. So I'm gonna ask the creepy pale girl once: why'd my goddamned house catch on fire last night--with us in it?"
Oh. Shit. "You left your teakettle on again?"
"Wrong answer, bitch." He squeezed the trigger, and all the world went dark.
Wally had shot Jo in the face! So how had she lived? And where was she? Damn, her scalp was itching like crazy. She scratched--
A crumpled piece of metal was sprouting . . . sprouting from her forehead! She stifled a cry as she scraped it out. Immediately her vision cleared.
She pinched the thing between her fingers. Recognition. A spent bullet had just come out of her skull!
She found others caught in her hair. Shed from her head too? She collected them with the two that had been in her mouth. In her cupped palms she held six slugs.
But I'm alive. I'm . . . bulletproof?
I AM a superhero. (Secretly she'd always known it!)
She pocketed the slugs, narrowing her eyes. It was payback time. She hopped down from the table, or tried to. She floated to her feet--feet that weren't touching the ground.
She gaped down at her body. She was wearing her same clothes, but her faint outline flickered. She glanced at the table. Atop it, a zipped-up body bag lay flat. This was a morgue? Other bodies in bags were lined up on tables, waiting for whatever happened in fucking morgues.
Realization sank in.
I was in that empty bag.
Because I died.
I'm a . . . ghost.
Her gaze darted. How the hell was she going to care for Thaddie? Surely MizB had taken him home after the shooting.
Jo's shooting.
Wally and his crew killed me! Those pricks! She squeezed her fists and screamed. The lights above shattered, glass raining down.
She'd haunt Wally until he went insane, would drive them all crazy! She needed to hurt them--NOW!
Suddenly she felt herself moving, as if she were being sucked into the air. She blinked; her surroundings had disappeared, replaced with the hood. She was standing in front of Wally's still smoking house.
She'd . . . teleported here? Of course! Because she was supposed to get revenge. That's what ghosts did. Once she'd finished with that, she'd go snag Thaddie; they'd find a spooky deserted mansion somewhere. Live happily ever after and all that shit.
First step: get a bead on Wally. She started walking/floating over cracks in the sidewalk. Why did this movement seem so familiar? Why was her ghostness not freaking her out?
There was something so right about her new form, as if she should've been freaking out about her existence all the years before.
Homeless kids and runaways, other street rats like her, peeked out from lean-tos and abandoned cars. Gasps sounded as she made her way along the street.
So ghosts were visible to people. Would she meet other ghosts?
She heard the kids' whispers. They all knew Wally had killed her. Some had watched her body get bagged.
A prostitute on the corner didn't see her coming and backed right into--or through--Jo. Their bodies got tangled, and suddenly Jo was inside her, sharing her movements as the woman shuddered.
It was as if Jo was a hermit crab in a hooker-shaped shell. She couldn't feel anything through the woman's skin, but she could make her move. Awesome!
When Jo backed out of the shell, disentangling herself, the woman turned around with a terrified look on her face.
A moment passed before she registered what she was seeing. "Oh God!" She stumbled back, making the sign of the cross. "You died! The Wall shot you."
"It didn't take." Jo's voice sounded ghostly and hollow. "Where's Wally staying now?"
The woman sputtered, "F-few houses down from his old crib."
Jo float-walked back in that direction. Others followed her at a distance, wide-eyed, as if they couldn't help themselves.
She found the digs--with the dragon guarding the lair. Voices sounded from inside, Wally's among them.
Her nails lengthened and sharpened. They were black, and they ached. Ghosts have claws?
She tried to teleport into the house, but her body didn't move, so she float-walked up to the porch, stopping at the front door. Could she knock? They probably wouldn't open for her. Maybe she could "ghost" into the house, as she had the hooker shell.
With a shrug, Jo floated forward--and passed right through the door. Score! Breaking and entering would now simply be entering.
In the den, packets of smack and guns topped the coffee table. They'd already replaced all the weapons and drugs. Bags of new clothes were strewn around the house.
These dickwads had set up a few doors down. Burning down his pad had done jack.
Jo clenched her fists. She'd only come here to scare the gang, to moan woo-woo and send them running. But rage took hold of her.
Her claws ached to slash someone.
When the lights flickered, Knuckle and the two others glanced up. Saw Jo. Their mouths moved wordlessly--
They lunged for the guns.
With a shriek, she flew at Knuckle. "You gonna shoot me?" She slashed out with her claws. She half-expected her fingers to pass through his torso--yet four deep gashes appeared on his belly.
She gasped. Her claws dripped with his blood. She could become solid when she wanted to?
He clutched his bloody stomach, but guts slithered out between his fingers like eels. His knees met the blood-wetted carpet, and then he collapsed.
I just dropped a dude! Superheroes didn't kill people. Not even bad people.
She should be screaming, yet all this felt natural. This is me. I ghost. I hurt bad guys.
No, I hunt them.
Realization struck her. S
he'd always been hunting.
Been waiting for this. All. My. Life.
JT and Nobody scrambled toward the door, barely got it open. She flew after them, catching them on the porch. She easily dragged both men back inside. She winked at the kids gathering across the street, then kicked the door shut.
The pair screamed as she attacked. Red covered her vision, some kind of animal instinct taking over. As she slashed, blood splattered; her head spun.
Then she realized neither of them was moving. I've dropped three dudes.
Her ears twitched, and she heard a low moan from a back room. Wally. Let's make it an even four. He must've peeked out and seen Jo offing his posse.
She ghosted through the door into another room. "Oh, Wall-ee . . ." Muffled breaths sounded from under the bed.
She floated downward until she was directly in line with him. "Psst!"
He jerked his head around and yelled with horror. Like a rat, he scurried out on the other side of the bed.
She floated upright, taking her time. He pointed another huge gun at her and fired away, unloading bullets. When they passed through her into the wall, he pissed himself.
She wanted to meet his eyes, to make him understand what he'd done. She felt herself moving, disappearing and reappearing right in front of him. Handy. She floated higher to catch his gaze. "You shouldn't have shot me."
"N-never do it again," he said, blubbering.
"Wrong answer, dick. I'll see you in hell." She would. No one could enjoy hunting as much as she did and not wind up there--
He swung a bat he'd concealed behind his back; her hand shot out in reflex, striking.
Blood spurted from his throat. The bat fell as he clamped his neck. Gushes of crimson escaped to spray over her.
Her feet touched the ground, her body solidifying, as if to catch the shower. Her appetite leapt. Her teeth ached. She could swear they were sharper. As he watched in glassy-eyed shock, she raised her face with curiosity and parted her lips.
The first drop hit her tongue. Delicious! Her eyes rolled as blood filled her mouth.
She swallowed with a gulp. I'm drinking Wally's blood. Part of her was grossed out, but as warmth slid down her throat, power flooded her.
Her senses came to life, her eyes picking up new colors, as if she had comic-book infrared vision. The hum of distant streetlights buzzed in her ears. She could smell baitfish down by the bay.
As Wally collapsed, she heard his last heartbeat.
She gave a cry when her hoodie began stretching across her chest, her zipper ripping open. The waist of her jeans cut into her sides. What's happening to me? She rushed into the bathroom, clawing away her strangling clothes. She was burning up. From the blood?
She reached into the shower and twisted the tap on, as cold as she could get it. When she scrubbed away the gang's remains, her palms glided over her skin. It'd grown soft as silk, the jaundiced color fading.
She gaped down at her body. She'd filled out, no longer sickly thin! No bones jutted. Even better, she had tons of energy! She exited the shower and crossed to the basin with a spring in her step.
She stared at her reflection. An eerily pretty girl with gleaming black eyes and a blacker heart stared back.
Dark smudges highlighted her gaze like heavy eyeliner and hollowed her cheeks. Her full lips were blood red.
For kicks, she tried to return to her "ghost" form. She went completely invisible, then dialed it back a notch to faint-ish. Worked! The circles around her eyes deepened and her lips turned pale, yet even that appearance was pretty.
To look and feel like this, all she had to do was steal others' lifeblood?
She'd awakened a ghost; now she was a blood-drinker too. A vampire.
No, she wasn't a superhero.
Jo flashed a fang at the mirror. I'm a fucking villain.
Her heart soared. This was her origin story. She was going to be a legend (Secretly she'd known that too)!
Then her heart sank. Thaddie. Gotta get to him. Shit, she needed clothes. She scrounged through those bags until she found JT's smaller threads. She slipped on a pair of sweats, rolling them up and tying them tight, then snagged a jersey.
With her revenge done, the urgency to find her brother overwhelmed her. Could she teleport to him as well?
She pictured him with MizB in some burbs house. Nothing. Jo strained to teleport. Didn't move an inch. Do this the old-fashioned way. She tore out of the house, running toward the neighborhood MizB had shown her on a library map. Past the interstate, past the tower, past the pond . . .
Right when Jo thought she'd maxed her speed, she increased it. Trees and houses zoomed by. She was like a rocket!
In minutes, she'd reached the outskirts of the neighborhood. She raised her face to scent the wind.
Thaddie. Close. She followed his trail to a fancy house. Outside, she leapt into a tree, peering in windows. Spotted him! He was asleep in what looked like a guest bedroom. She imagined sitting beside him on that bed; suddenly, she was.
Adult voices murmured just beyond the door. The Braydens.
God, Thaddie looked so small and vulnerable under the covers, his Spidey doll clutched in his tiny hand. What if he'd been in the Thadpack when Wally had struck? What if he'd . . . died?
The more emotional Jo got, the more she wavered between ghost and body. She had to get Thaddie out of here before the Braydens saw her. "Wake up, baby bro," she whispered.
He blinked open his eyes, sitting up in bed.
"We gotta go, Thaddie."
His brows drew together. She heard his heartbeat race. "You're not JoJo."
She couldn't look that different. "It's me, kid."
"Not JoJo, not JoJo," he repeated as he scrambled back from her.
"It's me. Spidey knows me." She reached for the doll, to get a kiss on her cheek.
Thad yanked it from her, yelling, "You're not JoJo! Not JoJo! NOT JOJO!"
She shot back in confusion, her palms raised; the door burst open. The Braydens.
MizB gasped at Jo, then lunged for Thaddie on the bed. Mr. B. shoved them behind him, his strong arm protecting them.
From me?
"Oh, dear God," MizB murmured, as Thaddie squeezed her like a lifeline. "You d-died."
Jo nodded.
"You need to pass on." Mr. B. swallowed. "Or s-something."
The three of them looked like . . . a family.
Jo's voice cracked as she said, "Thaddie?"
He wouldn't look at her, burying his face against MizB's neck. Jo reached for him, but her fingers passed right through him. Grasping, grasping for her little boy.
The Braydens shielded him, MizB screaming, "Get away from him, you, you ghost or . . . or demon! Go back to hell where you came from!"
No, Thaddie's mine! When he wailed as if in pain, Jo's eyes watered. She told the Braydens, "I'm gonna get this figured out. But I will be coming back for him."
MizB whispered, "Don't."
Jo floated forward, yearning for one last stroke of Thaddie's curls . . . but she felt nothing. She couldn't touch him, couldn't hug him. Her Thaddie. A sob burst from her lips. I did die after all.
And this is hell.
TWO
TEN MONTHS LATER
It was finally time to collect her boy.
Jo ghosted to the Brayden house and stood outside a window, scanning for him among the people crowding the rooms. They were all dressed in black, talking in hushed voices.
She was busting Thaddie out tonight, couldn't stand the separation anymore without tearing her hair out. . . .
For the first couple of months, she'd ghosted around the household, hovering over him as the Braydens spoiled him with tons of toys and a puppy and all the things Jo had wanted to give him. His washed Spidey doll sat on his toy shelf, buried among all the others.
If Thaddie called out for her, Jo had been there in an instant, never quite showing herself. Yet at the same time, her presence had seemed to upset him.
Sh
e'd found the Thadpack in a closet and had stolen it back--would hug it like an idiot.
For the next couple of months, she'd tried to back off, watching over him from a distance. Other kids came over to play, and he was always so psyched, finally having the "fwends" he'd longed for. They ran around in the Braydens' perfect backyard with the puppy on their heels.
Her baby brother called out for her less.
While Thaddie grew like a weed and laughed more and more, Jo had been doing her worst, no closer to figuring herself out or controlling her on-again, off-again ghosting. Sure, she could float right into his bedroom, but how could she nab him when she was just air?
Determined to get to the bottom of her transformation, she'd returned to town. The hospital's blood bank had drawn her. After gorging on bags, she'd gotten her body back, growing solid.
She guessed that was what vampires did. Though she did wonder why she could still go out in the sun.
Stronger from drinking, she'd practiced switching from ghost-mode to body and back. In time, she could ghost things. Anything she carried turned to air like her, but returned to solid as soon as she let go: purses from cars, clothes from stores, a wigged-out cat.
She'd worked hard at it until she felt confident she could steal Thaddie.
But deep down, she knew he was better off with two parents and his treasured puppy. So she'd strung together the filed bullet slugs from her "death" to make a necklace. If tempted to return, she touched the bullets, reminding herself she wasn't right.
MizB had banished Jo for a reason. And the woman didn't even know Jo was a killer ghost/vampire.
So she'd hung out at the morgue, hoping for someone like her to float out of a body bag, but it'd never happened.
She'd tried so hard to stay away. . . .
Then last week, she'd seen the coroner working on a corpse.
It was Mr. B.
Killed in a work accident. He never rose, just stayed dead.
It was a sign for Jo to return. Surely?
No longer were the Braydens better than Jo just 'cause there were two of them, and MizB would be in no shape to raise a kid on her own. Jo was sorry the woman would lose her husband and Thaddie all at the same time, but she couldn't take this any longer.
She'd decided to let Thaddie attend Mr. B's wake today, but then she was done. Once MizB put him to bed, Jo would go to him. She had the Thadpack with her and everything.
She could be just as good a mom as MizB. She could protect Thaddie, was strong enough to lift a freaking car. Rolling folks for money had never been easier, so she could buy him toys. And she hadn't killed a single person since that first night. In self-defense, she sometimes squashed guys' balls like grapes--but zero murders!