“Wait, you’re a reaper?”
He nods, a slight smile on his lips. He knows exactly what I’m going to ask next.
The only question is–can he deliver?
4
I’m almost afraid to speak the words. The dream of Leo living beyond tonight feels ever so slightly grounded in reality, and I’m worried speaking my wish out loud will ruin everything.
“Can you, you know, control the dead?”
Anders takes a pensive breath. “I… yes, I can.”
My heart nearly sails through my ribcage.
“But also, no, not really.”
Now, I’m a strong mix of sad and angry. “Huh? What do you mean? Which is it?”
“I’m like a ghost coach. I’m in charge, but I don’t have the type of powers I think you want me to.” He gives a nod to Leo, sharing the apology with him.
I knew this would happen. I knew if I got hopeful, it would make things worse than if I just accepted this one-time ball for what it was. Now, I’m straight-up wallowing.
“I will say,” Anders says, reading my mood and trying to do something about it, “that this is The Monster Ball. I’ve heard some rumors about crazy things happening in the past. Even some talk about the dead coming back.”
Goddammit, now I’ve got all this hope again, and I’m sure it’s just going to lead to more heartache. Still, if there’s a chance, I’m going to fight for it.
“What have you heard? And what is this place? I feel like I should have started there.”
There’s mischief in Anders’ eyes as he answers. “Well, I think you know where we are.” My nod confirms his suspicion, so he goes on. “The Ball happens once a year. Who gets invited is all a bit of a mystery. Part of the fun. You never know who will be here or what’s going to happen, so I suggest you just roll with it.”
Is this asshole for real? Dangling my greatest hope in the world in front of me and then telling me to “just roll with it”? I’ve half a mind to douse his face in Hellfire, but apparently he senses that and tries to diffuse the tension.
“Look, if reanimation is all you care about, talk to Rowen, my partner in crime. She’s a necromancer and might be able to help you.”
He nods to the other bartender, a few feet away. She has long wavy hair, black fading to white on one half and white fading to black on the other, and is dressed in a black leather minidress. I don’t give Anders another look as we scoot down the bar to see what might come of this second opinion.
As we sit again, my heart is thumping so hard in my chest I can hardly breathe. I realize now that I’m not going to be able to enjoy anything about this evening unless someone can grant me this impossible gift. It’s not the greatest position to be in, but at least I’ve got an objective.
We have to wait a few moments while Rowen deals with other paranormal patrons. As I start to lean across the counter to get her attention, Leo sets our drinks down and pulls me toward him, wrapping his arms around my waist. The feel of his body pressed against mine releases a flurry of butterflies in my stomach that I haven’t felt since sixth grade when Bobby Freidman passed me a note during recess saying he thought I was cute. All things being equal, this is a million times more intense.
“Anna Jane, stop a moment. Let me look at you. I’ve waited so long for this.”
The heat in his voice makes me melt into him, and my eyes fall to his lips, my entire reality narrowing in on only desire. I want to kiss this man so badly. I want to feel his lips on mine, feel his mouth consume me.
The inches disappear between us, the air around us sizzling. I’m so swept away by the moment, by what’s to come, that when a voice intrudes on that, breaking the bubble we’ve built around us, I’m momentarily disoriented.
“What are we drinking?”
I turn my head, stepping a fraction away from Leo and regretting it instantly. Rowen stands there, ready to take our order, so Leo and I take the seats in front of us.
When she sees we already have full glasses, she raises an eyebrow. “Double fisting tonight?”
Normally, I would order from her before asking questions, to respect her time as a bartender and make sure she gets tipped. But this is apparently an open bar, which means Rowen’s time is more important than money, and since my time is slipping through my fingers like sand in an hourglass that’s been cracked open, I get straight to the point. “Anders said you might be able to help us.” I take Leo’s hand. “This is Leo. We’re in love, but he’s dead. He died in the Civil War, but that’s not important right now, even though it’s incredible. We need to find a way to keep him in this body after tonight is over.”
I feel like vomiting as I wait for her to respond. The stress of ‘what if’ is killing me, plus I’m a little self-conscious about the word-salad I just spewed at her.
I look into Leo’s luminous eyes for strength, and he smiles at me, making the whole world feel like a ride on a unicorn through a rainbow lit sky.
But when I look back at Rowen, her glossy black lips are pulled into a frown. She begins to say something when a guy--a vampire, by the looks of him, pale, dark eyes, sharp teeth--calls her. She glances at him then back to us. “Give me a minute.” Before we can respond, she darts over to the vampire and takes his order. I watch for a moment as she pours a glass of blood. It’s not my first time watching a vampire drink, but there’s something extra unsettling when the blood is on tap right next to the lager.
Leo’s eyes are wide. “This is insanity,” he says in awe as he looks around before looking back at me. “Even experiencing the ghost world myself, and living vicariously through you this last year, it is so much more wondrous in person.”
“Yeah, well, this is all a little extra. It’s crazy to think the paranormal have always been around,” I say. “And…” I start to ask a question, thinking about what Anders said. If only supernaturals made the guest lists, and the ghosts are just here to work the party, what’s Leo’s deal? I decide to phrase the query with a little more tact.
“What did you know about magic when you were alive?”
“I believed in God, growing up,” Leo says softly. “I believed in miracles. I had to. We all did. Without it, we had no hope.” He looks above at the floating band and smiles. “I just never knew there was so much more than I could have imagined.”
“Do you remember much?” I ask. “About your life?” I take a sip of my drink, letting it burn down my throat. “I couldn’t tell ya what I had for breakfast two weeks ago, let alone what happened to me over a hundred years ago.”
“Some memories are more vivid than others,” he says. “I remember the sound of my mother singing to me, but I can no longer see her face. I can feel the warmth of the sun on my back, but I can’t recall any individual sunrise.” He frowns, his thoughts clearly turning dark. “The harsher memories... they have become nightmares that faded and became ghosts of themselves. Haunting but no longer terrifying.”
“You… you were a slave. How can those memories be anything less than terrifying?”
Leo takes my hand in his, turning it over to trace the lines on my palm. “You’ve moved on from your own terrors, Anna Jane. You told me as much when we first met. The husband who hurt you–tried to kill you. You don’t give yourself enough credit for your strength.”