“I don’t know what you want, but I can’t help you.” I inch backward, mentally preparing myself to fall right through the tree and keep running.
“Oh, but I think you can. You got me into this mess—you fix it.” He bats my hand away like he’s about to lunge for me.
I jerk back, spinning round with every intention of using my unfortunate bodiless circumstances to my advantage. But instead, I smack right into the tree.
Pain explodes through my face, sharp and aching. I think I’ve broken my fucking nose. My arms fly out in front of me to grip the tree for balance.
And I do.
I touch the tree as if I were still solid. I feel the rough, moistened bark beneath my palms. It’s right there, beneath my fingers. I—I’m touching something.
Neither of us says a word as I continue leaning my weight against it, testing to make sure I’m not imagining things. Our combined shock must absorb all the silence because his red eyes are locked on the hand that’s gripping the tree.
The fear and pain ebbs away with my confusion. I don’t understand. My feet flew right through tree roots before. I literally fell through the floor. Branches, leaves, and grass were completely unaffected by my presence.
My limbs grow heavy from my crashing adrenaline, and I lean against the trunk for support. A weight forms at the back of my skull as I turn to face the demon, using my newfound skill to up my bluster.
What would my parents say if they were in this position? Being myself never got me very far.
Father was more a wolf than a feline. He was a pushover compared to my mother, though most people didn’t realize it, yet he was formidable in his own right; he was the brawn behind the operation. He held the gun, and Mother told him where to fire it. And me? I don’t know what I am. Silent. Bitter.
If I did speak, the words would come out without thinking. That’s what I was, and silent I still am.
I wasn’t built for the type of life my parents led, and given the person I became in the years before and after Ella’s death, I don’t think I’m equipped to handle a demon anymore.
But… what do I have to lose? I’m dead, aren’t I? And thebastardin front of me is the reason, and… I blink hard. What was I…?
Right.
“Look, I’m sorry for whatever it is I did.” My words are slurred. The weight in my skull grows and scatters through my brain, darkening my vision as I blink hard to stop my eyes from drooping. “I truly have no idea what’s going on, or why I’m stuckin this godforsaken manor. I was just trying to summon my sister to talk?—”
I’m cut off with a gasp. The tree vanishes from beneath my hand, and my body goes down, tumbling through it to the other side.
My axis spins as I roll across the dirt, joints and muscles refusing to comply with my attempt to break my fall. My limbs tremble as I try to pull myself up and fight against the black dots in my vision.
I feel both too heavy and like smoke in the wind.
For two solid, fleeting seconds, I manage to hold on to the root. Then my hand smashes against the dirt, and the rest of my body follows, and darkness takes hold.
This time, it’s not death that takes me but something in between.
8
Lynx
One blink, then a second, and on the third, the girl is still face down in the dirt. My head tips. What the fuck just happened? One minute she’d turned to me and used that breathy voice of hers to attempt an apology, then the next, she tumbled not so gracefully to the ground.
I didn’t even try to catch her.
Her clumsiness reminds me a lot of someone I haven’t seen or spoken to in a long, long time—a memory I push aside, breathing deeply. Maybe that’s why I feel the need to check her pulse. Like I’m seeing a younger version of myself, hearing an innocent voice asking me to tie his shoes. Or maybe the sentiment is because I haven’t interacted with a human in a while, outside of Hell, and her soul reminds me of life.
The dead are normal to me now. The living are the minority. Not that she’s living. But she’s freshly dead, so it’s basically the same thing.
I sniff and avert my eyes to the canopy of the trees, caging us from the morning sun.
Huffing, I crouch down, using my middle finger to poke her side, and of course the fucking human-turned-dead-girl is unconscious.
“I’m not going to carry you back to the manor,” I warn, hoping she’ll groan and sit up.
