He seemed mildly surprised, and he shook his head.
“You’re Death.”
He nodded.
“Are you here for me?” I asked, my voice steady and calm.
“No.”
“For Josh?”
His eyes didn’t waver from mine, nor did they blink.
“Is he in pain?”
“No.”
“Can you take me instead?”
“No.”
“Can I see him?”
“There is no time. You must return. Now.”
The last thing I remembered seeing was his hand coming toward my face. At the time, I’d thought it was just a crazy trauma-and-drug-induced dream. But this—whatever was happening now—felt exactly the same.
No, no, no . . .
This couldn’t be real.
“I’ll be dead by morning,” Elias had said in my car just a few short hours before.
If he was dead, his “gift” was tied to his bloodline, and upon his death, it would pass to his firstborn—Ransom.
Ransom.
Not me.
I cradled my head in my trembling hands. It was Ransom’s destiny to carry on the demented family legacy.
Not mine.
Ransom wanted it. Needed it. Hell, he even had the word “DETACHED” tattooed across his knuckles. I daresay the gift was the only thing he clung to all those years of our parents being locked up. To him, it was a superpower soon to be in his grasp.
Not to me.
Never to me.
This . . . whatever this was had destroyed any shred of normality us kids were supposed to have. We’d been orphaned. I was born on the floor of a women’s prison, for Christ’s sake, because of this thing. This vile, wicked thing.
The body beneath me flinched, sending tiny waves across the surface of the water.
This can’t be possible.
I needed to wake myself, but how?
I pinched my arm and slapped my cheeks, but nothing happened. In the movies, people always woke up from dreams by either falling or dying.
Falling, I was brave enough to try.
Gripping the sides of the tub, I pushed myself up. There was no headrush, no dizziness, no pain.
Not a good sign at all.
When I stepped out of the tub, I should have been dripping. I wasn’t. Looking down, I expected my body to be transparent, ghostly. To the contrary, it was clear and in focus, unlike the rest of the bathroom. It was also very naked. My tattoos were bright and colorful, and the scars down the length of my entire left side were still visible.
I touched the side of my head. No staples or swelling. Interesting, since they were so fresh and the scars were so old.
On the chance I wasn’t dreaming, I closed my eyes to avoid the mirror. If what Elias had once said about them was true, they could be dangerous. I couldn’t remember exactly why, but the warning had freaked me the hell out as a kid. Something about getting lost inside—or stuck.
With shaking hands, I extended my arms at my sides. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and—
Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.
My phone was ringing. Keeping my eyes off the mirror, I crept to the counter and looked at my bright phone screen.
Ransom.
I reached for it. When my fingertips neared it, the phone gave a violent sizzle. Then the pixels splintered across the display, and the glass screen cracked.
Shit.
Frustrated, I pressed my eyes closed, extended my arms again, and fell backward—a surefire way to wake oneself from a dream. Mid freefall, I freaked and caught myself, landing hard with my bare ass on the cold tile floor.
It hurt.
I wasn’t dreaming.
I wasn’t hallucinating from a head injury.
I was detached.
My consciousness, my spirit, was free.
I crawled back to the bathtub, where my body was hyperventilating and my heart thumped so hard I could see my pulse pounding in the side of my neck. The tendons strained between my jaw and shoulders, and my hands were balled into fists.
“I can’t do this right now!” I panted, pulling my hands back through my hair. I closed my eyes again. How do I make it stop?
“So how do you get back in your body?” I heard Ransom’s tiny voice ask, somewhere far back in my memory.
It was the year Gran had cut Ransom’s hair at home. His bangs were at a crazy angle as Elias palmed his forehead across the visitation-room table. I was drinking chocolate milk out of a secondhand Lion King sippy cup.
“I hold my head like this . . .” Elias squeezed and gently jostled my brother’s head until he giggled. “And I say”—Elias dramatically deepened his voice—“Self, go back in!”
I put my hand on my very real forehead and focused . . .
This time when I shot upright, water sloshed onto the tile floor. It was cold. I scrambled out of the tub, gripping the wall for support as I grabbed a towel off the rack. Wrapping it around my body, I stepped out onto the floor and grasped the counter to hold myself upright.
When the dizziness and stars faded, I stared back at myself in the mirror. My chest was heaving, and I was visibly shaking all over. On the counter was my phone. I hesitated before picking it up.
With a hard swallow, I reached for it.
Dead. With a crack that covered the screen.
I swore and slammed it onto the counter so hard a piece of glass skittered across the granite.
There was a light knock at my bedroom door. “Nyx? You OK in there?”
Holding the counter for support, two rogue tears dripped from my eyes and splashed between my feet.
“Nyx?”
I quickly dried my eyes with the edge of the towel. With a sniff, I walked to the door and opened it.
The news about Ryder Stone was on the television behind Bess. Her eyes widened as they drifted all the way to my bare knees. “Umm . . . everything okay in here? I heard a crash.”
“Every—” I cleared my scratchy throat. “Everything’s fine. I just dropped my phone.”
“Uh oh. Do you have insurance?”
“Yeah. And I have another phone I can—” I stopped. “Shit. I don’t have my SWAT phone.”
“Need to borrow mine?” She patted her pockets.
“If you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” She pulled out a phone and handed it to me. Her screen, too, was shattered.
My hands trembled as I tapped the screen, and a locked keypad appeared.
“The password is holla, like Missy Elliott’s version.” Bess cupped her hand around her mouth. “Holla!”
Cute.
I tapped in the digits and touched the phone icon. Bess stepped out of view as I dialed my brother’s number. It rang and rang, then went to voicemail. Gritting my teeth, I redialed. That time he answered on the first ring. “Hello?”
“It’s Nyx.”
“Finally.”
“Finally? I’ve been calling you all night.”
“If you weren’t aware, shit’s kinda been crazy at work. Celise came by the hotel on her break. Said I needed to call you. Is everything all right?”
“Did she say anything else?” I asked.
“About what?”
God bless Celise, who understood the right amount of family meddling.
“Ransom, I think Elias is dead.”
Silence.
“Ransom?”
“How do you know?”
“He visited me tonight and said the treatments they’re doing aren’t working. He said he’d be dead by morning.”