Cleaner of Bones Page 3

  “Enough!” My voice cracks over the shouted word.

  He gives me a satisfied smile. “But I’ve never seen you look at a girl the way you looked at Angelina Dovage just now.”

  “And how is that?”

  “Like she matters,” he says quietly. “Like she’s everything.”

  I shut my mouth. I’m shaking now. My throat is dry and so tight it aches. Whatever fiction he wants to believe about ending his curse, the possibility of him stinging Angie is very real. “You will stay away from her. Do you understand me?”

  “Or what, scavenger?” He raises one brow tauntingly. “If you could kill me, I’d beg you to do it. It’s all I want.”

  My fists bunch. Before I can stop myself, I swing out and clip him hard on the jaw. It’s a good hit, a solid one. But beekeepers are not so easily damaged. He barely budges. His jaw is like solid stone. My hand, conversely, throbs.

  He takes a step backward with a small, mocking bow. “Thank you for proving my point.”

  “What point?” I snarl at him. “The only thing we proved here tonight is that you’re a delusional asshole. A gullible one, too, if you think a Strawman is trying to help you. Their only aim is to enforce their pointless rules and make life miserable for us.”

  Rafette tilts his head. “If you believe their motives are so simple, you’re a fool.”

  I resist the urge to rub my sore hand by tucking both in my armpits. I glare at him. “I have a friend who knows differently.”

  “Ah, Hank.” Rafette nods. “What happened to him was his own fault.”

  I suck in a breath and try to conceal the fresh rush of anger. “You don’t know the first thing about it,” I say. “Hank was a good guy. Whatever he did, he didn’t deserve…what that Strawman did to him.” What happened to Hank is still a subject of hushed conversation among our group. In punishment for saving a girl he cared about from a fire that was supposed to claim her life, a Strawman altered his curse, preventing him from ever fully turning into a human man again. These days, Hank spends most of his time as a crow. Since we arrived in Cadence, he stays close to Angie, like it’s his purpose to watch over her.

  Thinking about Hank makes me break into a sweat. He was—is—my friend. It’s because of him that I met Angie when she and I were kids. Her mother was the girl Hank loved. Ironic that now I’m in a similar situation with the daughter. Angie hasn’t changed much; she has the same serious eyes, the same bright but elusive smile. I remember trying to coax those rare smiles out of her on our “play dates” at the park, or wherever Hank rented a place for a while, with me playing the role of his son. She and I would color or wreak havoc on a playground or play pretend. She acted much older and wiser than her age, but so did I. Despite our young physical ages, neither of us were really children anymore. Little wonder why we got along so well. Why I felt a connection to her then that held on until now.

  I should be happy she didn’t recognize me as the kid she played superheroes with, but it smarts to know she made a bigger impression on me than I did on her. Maybe there’s something in the blood of this family that’s kryptonite to harbingers of death. I don’t want to send my thoughts down that road. This is what it is. There’s no undoing any of it.

  “Regardless…” Rafette shrugs, says nothing more. A thick, sharp-edged silence falls between us. The night air turns downright frigid. I’m not dressed for this. I wish he’d leave, but he won’t. Not until he gets what he wants from me.

  “I’ll stay,” I say, defeated. I don’t believe he can break his curse. The power behind the curse was systematically destroyed, so the stories go, along with those who wielded the magic and knew its secrets. But I believe that he believes his curse can be undone, and that is the most dangerous part of it all. I believe he’d sting Angie if he thought it would free him. “Promise me you won’t harm her.”

  His face, now grizzled with a thin white beard, goes soft. “Very well. I will do everything in my power to ensure she is safe and protected.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” I grit out, even as the thought of more time with Angie fills me with a joy I shouldn’t be indulging.

  “We’ll see,” he says. He closes his eyes, and his body dissolves into a roaring mass of bees. The swarm pours over the side of the building and disappears into the darkness of night.

  My teeth grind. I take it back. He’s nothing like a squirrel in the attic. He’s a legion of termites tearing down my house. I think I do hate him, and if that means I hate myself, so be it.

  Want

  My hand hurts like hell. What was I thinking, punching a beekeeper? Fiona is going to roll her eyes and tell me, “I told you so…”

  Forget that. I’m not going to tell her or any of them. I don’t want to hear Paxton’s lecture or Brooke’s snide jabs or Lucia’s sympathetic cooing. I gulp in icy air and pick up my pace. As far as dangerous places go, Dredge Street in Cadence is nothing. Sure, you could buy drugs here, but you could do that at a country club or cocktail party just as easily. I barely perceive the darkened streets around me. My breath puffs white from my lips. Dredge Street is damn long when you’re trying to reach the end of it.

  Walmart comes into view, finally. A quick scan of the parking lot turns up a tan Civic with someone inside, parked away from the entrance. It’s her. The spiky ponytail and long curve of her neck are silhouetted in the streetlights. My heart beats harder as I stride toward her. My gaze traces her silhouetted face. She’s looking down, her face illuminated by the glow of her cell phone. It’s only been twenty or so minutes since we parted, but part of me hoped that she had left. I’m so nervous I don’t know where to stick my hands. There exist a thousand different possible outcomes from my getting into that car with her, and all of them terrify me.

  The death I smelled on the air tonight could have been hers. The list of horrible scenarios works through my head like a malignant worm. All it takes is slightly bad timing, and just like that, she’d be gone. By the time I arrive at her car, I’m in a fine state. Nerves and the what-ifs twist my stomach into tight knots. I don’t knock on the glass. I yank open the door and get in.

  “What the hell are you, a stalker?” Fantastic. Yelling at a girl always works out well. Instantly, her presence overwhelms me.

  Her eyes widen. “No, I just—”

  “What were you thinking, Angie?” I ask through my teeth, but her scent burrows into my senses. Candy and something flowery combined with the tight confines of her car render me only partially coherent. My pulse races. Fatigue is swept off in a smack of awareness. I’m terrified at the power this girl has over me.

  “You could have been killed tonight,” I say, quieter, with less desperation. I hope.

  She blinks at me before narrowing her eyes. Those full, round lips pull into a firm line. God, she’s got a gorgeous mouth. Now that Rafette has forced my hand into staying, the part of me that has been holding back from getting close to her roars free. Unless she wants nothing to do with me, I would like to woo her. Is that word still used these days? It’s been many years since I tried wooing anyone. If the start of this conversation is any indication, I’m going to be terrible at it.

  “What were you doing there?” she snaps. “Don’t tell me you were sightseeing in The Dredge.”

  “Maybe I was,” I say with a defensive edge. “It’s none of your business.”

  Maybe I’d be smoother if my hands weren’t shaking and my head wasn’t still reeling with all the gruesome possibilities of what could have happened to her tonight. I push away those thoughts. She’s here now. Unharmed. Focus on that.

  “I’ll tell you what’s my business.” An uneven flush rises on her cheeks. Her fury leeches mine away. It’s fascinating seeing her like this, learning another side to this intriguing girl. “Seeing my mother’s features on that—that thing’s face on Friday night. You know what he is.”

  Wait. What? My thoughts do a double take. No way—that had to be a mistake. There’s no way Rafette’s bees stung An
gie’s mother. “What did you say?”

  I can immediately see that isn’t the right reply. Her hands fist. Her whole body goes compact and tense as if she’s going to hit me. I bet she’s thinking about it, at least. She has a temper, when provoked, and I—smitten fool that I am—find it adorable.

  “You know very well that was me in the parking lot with the purple hair and the glasses,” she says in a snarl. “I’m Sparo. I’m the girl you ‘rescued’ Friday night from that guy with the—the…” She circles a hand, searching for the right word. There is no right word for Rafette, damn him. “…changing face and the bees.”

  Huh. Well, okay. I wasn’t expecting her to admit to her creative alter-ego so soon. I thought I’d be working on that for a while longer, but that makes me smile. One issue out of the way. “Yeah, I knew that was you.”

  “You did?”

  “How could I not?” I lean toward her, to make my point and to get closer to her. “I was this close to you, Angie. Makeup and wigs don’t change your face.” I’m tempted to tell her just how lovely her face is, to see what effect the words would have on her, but flattery—no matter how genuine—would be a cheap way to gain an advantage. She just confessed a big thing to me, and she may be regretting it.

  “Why the pretense, then?” she asks. “Why not just call me out on it? Why be all manipulative and fake about it?”

  Despite her harsh words, her voice is a little breathless. That flush has bloomed to high color glowing along her cheekbones. Her gaze keeps dropping to my mouth. At least I have some effect on her. I wonder, with a bump of foolish hope, if it’s anything like the effect she has on me. Doubtful. Angie seems quite riveted to this conversation, while I struggle to hang on to the thread of it. The only thing I want to do with her right now is kiss her, but I’m not getting the vibe she’s on that page. “I was curious why you seemed so determined to hide such an amazing part of yourself,” I say. Okay, a little flattery. But the truth, too.

  “It’s none of your business,” she says flatly.

  “Touché.” I’m impressed and a little dismayed. She clearly doesn’t have kissing anywhere on her mind. I swallow a sigh. “You’re amazing up there. Powerful. So beautiful it’s impossible to look away from you. So completely different from the quiet girl in school.” I can’t resist a touch, though. I reach out, touch her cheek with my thumb, to test the softness. To test her. “I wanted you to admit it was you,” I murmur. “The only question is, why the disguise?”

  She blinks rapidly. There’s some delightful conflict playing out in the furrow between her eyebrows. “Sparo and I are separate,” she says. “I want it to stay that way.”

  I still don’t get this. “I have no choice but to keep a part of myself hidden, but I don’t understand why you do.”

  She rises up, shifting away from my touch. “My music is separate. It has to be.” Her tone of voice says: now shut up about it. “Reece, who was that man?” she whispers. Whatever wayward direction her thoughts may have been wandering, they’re back to the serious business of interrogating me. “And what is with the bees?” she adds.

  “Angie, that’s not an easy question. The answer is…” I trail off, unsure where and how to start explaining something as complicated and implausible as what is with the bees. Now I’m not thinking about kissing anymore, either.

  “What?” she cuts in. “Too much for me to handle? Me and my little, simple human mind can’t grasp it?”

  “Angie, it’s a lot for any mind to grasp. That man you saw isn’t a human being—not anymore. Not for a very long time.”

  “What do you mean, ‘not anymore’?” she asks in a small voice. “How does someone stop being human, Reece?”

  I pause. The truth will sound like fiction to her. She may learn she doesn’t want it after all. I certainly don’t want it, and I live it. Problem is, I don’t see a way to avoid her questions and keep her safe. I mean, she just followed me to the “dangerous” area of town to find out “what I am,” and the event she witnessed is fairly damning. The next time she follows me could be the end for her. Better to tell as much of the truth as I can. I take a deep breath…and jump off the cliff. “I mean,” I begin in a rough voice, “he was changed into what he is by powers in the world that are now dormant but once wielded incredible destruction. He’s one of the last remnants of a time when people lived under a very different set of rules. When certain people possessed powers that no one could comprehend now.” My ears ring a little after that, like standing too close to a shotgun firing. I wonder if she’s feeling the same way, since the blast was directed right at her.

  “What kind of…powers?” She looks like someone who just got off a roller coaster and didn’t enjoy it.

  My stomach drops. We don’t have these kinds of talks with people for a reason, but she’s the one who came out tonight to spy on me. “This was a bad idea.”

  She shifts toward me, determination setting her jaw. “Look, just give it to me straight. Don’t take it down to a kindergarten level or be all evasive. That makes it worse. Just…tell me. I promise I can deal with whatever. I just want the truth.”

  “The truth…” I truly can’t gauge how much of this story she can hear before it runs against her perception of the world and hits it with a resounding crack. I won’t hold it against her. It’s not easy stuff to grasp, but it’s best for both of us if we find her threshold sooner rather than later. “Fine. Here’s the truth. The man you saw is a being called a beekeeper. He’s many centuries old, and he goes around with a hive of bees in his chest. Yes, I know how made up that sounds, but those bees are deadly. Their sting infects a person with a venom that causes paranoia, delusions, and violent urges. It strips away reason and decency, leaving behind only base impulses. Get stung by one of his bees and you’ll go dangerously insane.”

  She pulls in a deep breath. I watch her closely, waiting to see if she reacts in a very regular human way. She could laugh and accuse me of joking. She could get scared and order me out of her car. She could turn sympathetic with the certainty of my insanity. She does none of those things.

  “So was that guy in the car…stung?” she asks, serious, intent. No laughs. No anger. No pity.

  “Maybe,” I reply as casually as I can. “I don’t know. I couldn’t see very much of him.”

  Her gaze stutters onto mine, holds. “That’s why you freaked when that bee was on my coat.”

  “Yes.” I’m so close to her, and she’s not rejecting my words or me—yet. The kissing urge returns with gusto, even as I know we haven’t gotten to the part of the discussion where I explain what I am. It’s coming. I can feel it like impending doom. I touch my forehead to hers, my fingers to her face. She’s everything perfect and forbidden. I will lose her, even if I win her. “Angie, I wish you hadn’t followed me today.”

  “He called you a harbinger,” she says, breathless again. “What is that? Are you…like him?”

  And here we are. At my least favorite topic. “We’re not the same,” I tell her, “but we’re both cursed. What he is—what I am—is…” There is just too much to explain it all right here, right now. And creeping in the back of my mind is the best interests of my harbinger family. Anything I tell Angie about me also tells her about them. They may not appreciate that. “It’s really complicated.”

  “We’re veering back to evasion here,” she says with a frown. “What about my mom?”

  “I don’t know what to say about that.” And that’s the truth. For real, I have no idea why she would have seen her mother’s features on Rafette’s face. I remember Angie’s troubled mother—a little detail I’m not ready to share with Angie—and nothing about her behavior indicated she was stung by a beekeeper. Angie’s mom and Hank, whose fate Rafette threw in my face earlier tonight, enjoyed their ill-fated romance for a while, but the damage it caused should serve as a deterrent for cursed humans to avoid romantic involvement with regular ones. My head knows this, but my heart, and all the rest of me, isn’t listeni
ng.

  “Each feature that appears on his face belonged to a person who died with beekeeper venom in them,” I say. “There’s no surviving a beekeeper sting. You’ll kill yourself, or someone else will take you down. Did your mother go on a shooting rampage in a shopping mall? Did she ever try to attack you or anyone else?”

  “No…”

  Angie’s mother may have been mentally ill, but she displayed none of the violent, delusional symptoms of a person afflicted with beekeeper venom. She died from an overdose. No rampage. No attempt to hurt anyone but herself.

  “Then you couldn’t have seen her features on the beekeeper,” I say. “You saw someone who looked like her.”

  “No. It was her. I know what I saw.” She shakes her head once. Her eyes flash away from me. Whatever the truth may be, Angie believes she saw her mother in Rafette. “Whatever. Forget it.”

  I tentatively place a hand on her shoulder. “Facing a beekeeper in true form is terrifying. Why wouldn’t you see a familiar face in all that madness?”

  “Reece, what were you doing here tonight? I want the truth.”

  “The truth.” I’m beginning to deeply despise that word. “You won’t like it.”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  Oh hell. Where to start? “I went there because I knew someone was going to die there and I—”

  A rap on my window makes us both jump. A police officer shines a light inside. He indicates to Angie to put the window down.

  Her fingers shake as she turns the key and lowers the window. “Good evening, Officer,” she says.

  She looks so guilty, it’s kind of funny. Or it would be if the officer looked even mildly amused at finding a couple of teenagers in a steamed-up car. The blinding beam of his flashlight sweeps us and the car interior. We cover our eyes with hisses of discomfort. He appears to relax after seeing nothing indecent or illegal going on. The flashlight clicks off. The parking lot lights are far gentler on the eyes.