Eternal (20 page)

“Who?” Laura was suddenly militant, ready to take on the person who’d hurt my feelings.

“I’m okay,” I assured her. “Really.” I tried changing the subject to the ungodly amount of homework our English teacher had assigned but then, flanked by her Emo toadies, Briar strode into the lunchroom.

My heart stopped when her gaze sought mine. Her red gash of a mouth warped into a haughty smirk.

The blood in my veins turned to ice. If Briar was here…where was Jeremiah?

* * * * *

When I got home from school, I rushed straight to the attic. I pounded up the stairs, breathless by the time I reached the top.

Relief swamped me when I found him waiting for me beside the fanlight. I rushed into his open arms and all my fear and tension dissolved. Without words, I clung, burying my face in his shirt. “I was so scared.” I sobbed. “I thought she’d taken you away from me.”

His fingers threaded into my hair. I closed my eyes, so consumed with love for him I thought my heart would burst. But although he held me close, I sensed something different.

Something
wrong
.

Reluctantly, I lifted my head and looked into his dove gray eyes. “Jeremiah?”

His forehead creased. His gaze followed the path of his thumb as it tenderly brushed the length of my scar.

“What is it? What’s the matter?” I tried in vain to tamp down my welling panic. The hard look in his eyes silently conveyed something to me that I didn’t want to know. I refused to heed my psychic sense. I wouldn’t let it in.

“I’ve made you sad,” he drawled.

I shook my head. “No.”

“I never want to make you sad,” he whispered.

Relief swamped me and I sagged against him. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew we cut a strange figure. Me with my modern skinny jeans and layered tops and him in his suspenders and homespun clothing. And yet, the century that separated our lives proved no barrier to our love.

“I would die if anything ever happened to you,” I said, meaning it.

“That won’t be necessary.” His face relaxed and the tiniest, cutest smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. His thumb moved to my bottom lip and I smoldered with need to feel his kiss.

Tilting my chin up, I leaned toward him. His ghostly body swelled with a deep breath and, as he lowered his mouth to mine, my lashes fluttered shut. My heart ran wild when the soft energy that transcended physical life became solid. Flesh on flesh, his lips grazed mine, making me desperate for more. And then his mouth claimed mine and for that one magic instant, nothing else existed. I embraced him. I drew him impossibly closer and as his kiss deepened, I arched into him, aware of every ethereal inch of him.

Love and desire spiraled through me with such force, I feared I’d collapse in his arms. I wanted to breathe him into my body, to feel his energy emanating from within me. I doubted I could contain it.

Cool hands cradled my cheeks and then slid down the sensitive column of my neck, trembling as they found and cupped my shoulders.

“Touch me,” I mewled, my mouth never leaving his.

A growl rumbled from deep in his throat and he hauled me against him. His fingers gripped and dug into my biceps as his kiss turned savage with hunger. His mouth moved to my ear and he muttered my name. One hand slipped around my waist and settled on the small of my back.

Liquid heat pooled inside me and when he pulled me tighter, he left me with no doubt he felt the same desire I did. He laid his forehead against mine. His chest heaved with deep breaths that sweetly fanned my face.

“I don’t want to stop,” he said huskily as his index finger made lazy circles at the center of my collarbone.

Electricity hummed in my veins. “Then don’t.” Brazen, I shifted against him but he took a step back.

Immediately, the awareness of the absence of his body next to mine left me aching. But when I moved to return to him, he caught my arms and held me in place.

“Jeremiah—”

He released me and turned away. “Wren, I’m not real.”

I took the step that closed the distance between us and gingerly touched his shoulder. “Yes, you are. You’re the most real thing I’ve ever known.”

Briar’s face flashed in my thoughts and, intuitively, I knew she had something to do with his reticence. “It’s
her
, isn’t it?”

My earlier desire faded, replaced with fear and anger. “You spoke with her.” It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation.

He glanced guiltily over his shoulder. “I don’t belong here.” He turned to me. “Not anymore.”

“Jeremiah, don’t say that.” Alarm flooded me. “Don’t listen to her. She’s lying. She wants to separate us because she’s jealous.”

“I know what her intentions are,” he said. “But the fact remains you are a beautiful,
living
woman. I have no right to keep you from…life.”

I shook my head. The first time he’d done this, I’d been frightened. Now, frustration and anger replaced fear. “I trusted you. I told you things I’ve never told another living soul.”

“That’s just it. I’m not a living soul.”

Rattled, I stared. Heated words filled my thoughts but somehow, I kept from uttering anything I’d regret. “How can you say that?” I asked instead. Desperation clawed at my heart. “I’m the one with a choice, Jeremiah.” I tapped my chest for emphasis. “I’m the one who had the courage to…to come back. To live.”

His eyes narrowed and instantly, I regretted provoking him.

I realized I was crying. Again. With trembling fingers, I swatted the annoying tears away. “But I don’t have a choice about…loving you.”

His face softened and once again, I found myself in the haven of his arms. “Wren,” he whispered into my hair. “I love you so much it scares me.”

“Don’t leave me,” I pleaded, pressing a kiss to the spot where his shirt opened at the collar. “Promise me you’ll never leave me.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he held me for what seemed like an eternity. “Come,” he murmured as his fingers laced with mine.

I would have followed him anywhere.

He led me up to the widow’s walk. I sat on the roof beside him and allowed him to draw my head into his lap. A cool autumn breeze contrasted the warmth of the afternoon sun and soon, I closed my eyes, refusing to think as he toyed with locks of my hair.

* * * * *

When I awakened, I was alone. Jeremiah had left the trap door to the attic open for me. Numb, I made my way downstairs to my room. All day long, my one goal had been to read the papers Waylon had given me until I’d seen Jeremiah in the attic.

Now, I didn’t want to face the information Waylon had collected for me. But I had to. I had to know what Briar was capable of doing.

I climbed onto my bed and emptied my backpack, and then, with dread, I unrolled the papers. I smoothed the wrinkles out with my palm and squinted to read the small print on Briar’s Facebook page. She’d shared several images of pentagrams and emo characters.

Despite the decidedly melodramatic appearance of her page, the posts Waylon had chosen to print for me left me stunned. Briar belonged to a larger group of Goths that stemmed from some New Age shop based in Nashville. Video links and testimonies from people whose houses she had cleared abounded on her page. I wished I could watch the videos so I could see her in action.

Waylon had followed one link for me and copied the information which spelled out what a clearing involved. Apparently, Briar acted as the group’s psychic. She claimed to possess the ability to ferret out a ghost’s presence by using a pendulum which looked like a crystal of some sort suspended from a necklace chain.

Waylon had obviously hit print screen in the midst of a slideshow and although the resolution of his printer was not photo quality, I could make out pictures of what he’d referred to as orbs which were glowing balls of energy that showed up on film.

Jeremiah had made a more lifelike appearance on Waylon’s camera, but still, the lens hadn’t captured Jeremiah as I saw him. Beautiful. Bathed in a ghostly glow.

Wren, I’m not real…

He was wrong. He was the most real thing I had ever known in my life.

Reading the pages, I remembered that Jeremiah had never either admitted or denied that he’d spoken with Briar. I inhaled, reading further.

Using a thick bundle of dried sage bound together with twine and called a smudge stick, Briar indicated that earthbound spirits could be spellbound by the fumes created when the stick was set on fire. At that point, they could then be directed to the Other Side—which is where she thought earthbound spirits belonged.

I don’t belong here…

Did Jeremiah realize that Briar intended to send him to the Light? Anxiously, I wondered if that’s why he’d backed off earlier, before we had a chance to become more intimate. Did he want her to send him?

The image of her smug smirk rose like a bad omen in my thoughts. My stomach knotted.

I had to convince him to stay with me—at least to wait for me.

* * * * *

Not even my scar made me as self-conscious as wearing two pounds of makeup and stiffly sprayed hair. I could practically feel the eyes on me as I walked down the hall toward where the photographer was set up. Staring straight ahead, I shifted my backpack higher on my shoulder and pressed on.

Everyone else had already gotten their senior pictures made at the beginning of the year.

Not me. I’d shown up well after the first day of school and now, it was some sort of big deal that I get the pictures taken so they could put them in the yearbook.

I’d almost purposefully forgotten to tell Mom but some well-meaning school secretary had called her and now I had to get the picture taken.

When I arrived at the area behind the stage curtains that had been set up as a makeshift photography studio, three other nerds waited in line. One red headed boy wore a mock tux jacket and shirt. A big clamp that reminded me of Mom’s jumper cables drew up the excess fabric in the back. One girl wore a crimson velvet drape and the other had on a navy blue drape.

I was beyond caring what color they stuck on me.

A withered old lady with bright yellow hair eyed me and then prowled through a suitcase until she found a sage green drape. “Here you go, honey,” she said in her gravelly smoker’s voice as she handed it to me. “You can go behind that curtain there and slip this on.”

She also passed me a baby diaper pin.

How I’d ever get it fastened in the back, I didn’t know but I discarded my backpack and then wandered behind the stage curtains to change.

Wriggling out of my sweater and cami proved every bit as awkward as I’d imagined, but I managed to secure the drape in the front and twist it around so that it hung around my shoulders like it was supposed to.

By the time I’d gotten the drape to fit, the photographer was ready for me.

“Have a seat right there,” the yellow-haired lady told me, gesturing toward a low stool.

Clutching the drape as if it might come plunging down at any moment, I carefully sat in front of a gray backdrop. I squinted against the bright lights, barely able to make out the assistant and the guy behind the camera.

The yellow-haired lady drifted over to where I’d adopted a stiff pose and held up some sort of meter. After she called out some numbers to the photographer, she turned an eagle eye on my face. I cringed inside when her gaze fixed on my scar.
Please don’t let her ask me about it.

“Why don’t you turn this way, sweetie?” She stooped to guide my knees so that my
good side
faced the camera.

Something ugly welled up inside me and I blinked, fighting threatening tears. Why did it matter? Why did I care? I didn’t want my stupid picture taken anyway.

The old woman hadn’t said anything. She’d just looked at my scar and then turned me so it wouldn’t show in the portrait. Although I hadn’t wanted her to mention it, I thought it almost would have been easier for me if she had.

The lady stepped out of the shot and the photographer encouraged me to smile. I tired. I really did. But I had the feeling I grimaced more than smiled.

“Show me those pretty teeth, sweetheart,” the photographer said from the shadows.

I forced a smile and the lights flashed, temporarily blinding me. As the instructions to smile and the flashes continued, my heart began pounding. Not once did they turn me to get the scarred side. I rubbed my damp palms on the knees of my jeans. Every part of me wanted to run and rip this dumb drape off and hide somewhere. I was about to do just that when I felt a warm, tingling energy surround me.

Jeremiah.

At once, a sense of calm eased my tattered nerves and I relaxed.

Even though I couldn’t see him, I felt the sensation of a hand on my shoulder, steadying me.

Beautiful…

Inhaling, I faced the camera and smiled.

* * * * *

I stood in a cemetery.

My gaze swept the moon-bathed tombstones. Where was I?

I tried to think, to remember, to recall why this place seemed familiar but all I knew was that Jeremiah was in danger.

A crenellated spire loomed darker than the night sky. I ran toward it. Terror gripped me and I wondered if I was too late.

I rushed up a set of stairs and seized the big handles on a thick wooden door. It wouldn’t budge. “Let me in!” I screamed, pounding on the unyielding wood until my fists ached.

I knew Jeremiah was inside although I didn’t know how I knew.

There had to be another way inside. I stumbled down the stairs, falling, ripping the knee of my jeans on a rock. Pain shot through my kneecap but I ignored it as I clambered to my feet and hobbled around the side of the building.

I had to get inside. I had to stop it.

Somewhere inside my head, it registered that I didn’t know what I had to stop. I just knew I had to save Jeremiah.

As I came around the corner, the front steps appeared as out of a thick fog. My feet were so heavy, I could hardly climb them but I managed to drag myself up them.