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Authors: Rachel Vincent

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BOOK: My Soul to Take
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His grin that time was real as he pulled me close and pressed me gently against the old wooden railing, his lips inches from my nose. “You offering?”

My heart raced and I let my hands linger on his back, tracing the hard planes through his long-sleeved tee. Feeling him pressed against me. Smelling him up close. Considering, just for a single, pulse-tripping moment…

Then I landed back on earth with a fantasy-shattering thud.

The last thing I needed was to be listed among Nash Hudson’s past castoffs. But before I could figure out how to say that without pissing him off or sounding like a total prude, his eyes flashed with amusement and he leaned forward and kissed the tip of my nose.

I gasped, and he laughed. “I’m kidding, Kaylee. I just didn’t expect you to think about it for so long.” He grinned, then stepped back and took my hand again, while I stared at him in astonishment, my cheeks flaming.

“Ask your question before I change my mind.”

His smile faded; the teasing was over. What else could he possibly want to know? What they served for lunch in the psych ward? “What happened to your mom?”

Oh.

“You don’t have to tell me.” He stopped and turned to face
me, backpedaling when he mistook my relief for discomfort. “I was just curious. About what she was like.”

I pushed tangled strands of brown hair back from my face. “I don’t mind.” I wished my mother was still alive, of course, and I really wished I could live with my own family, rather than Sophie’s. But my mom had been gone so long I barely remembered her, and I was used to the question. “She died in a car wreck when I was three.”

“Do you ever see your dad?”

I shrugged and kicked a pebble off the pier. “He used to come several times a year.” Then it was just Christmas and my birthday. And now I hadn’t seen him in more than a year. Not that I cared. He had his life—presumably—and I had mine.

Judging from the flash of sympathy in Nash’s eyes, he’d heard even the parts I hadn’t said out loud. Then there was a subtle shift in his expression, which I couldn’t quite interpret. “I still think you should tell your dad about last night.”

I scowled and headed back down the pier with my arms crossed over my chest, pleased when the wind shifted to blow my hair away from my face for once.

Nash jogged after me. “Kaylee…”

“You know what the worst part of this is?” I demanded when he pulled even with me and slowed to a walk.

“What?” He looked surprised by my willingness to talk about it at all. But I wasn’t talking about my dad.

My eyes closed, and when the wind died down, the sun felt warm on my face, in startling contrast to the chill building inside me. “I feel like I should have done something to stop it. I mean, I knew she was going to die, and I did nothing. I didn’t even tell her. I just tucked my tail and ran home. I let her die, Nash.”

“No.” His voice was firm. My eyes flew open when he turned me to face him, wooden slats creaking beneath us.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Kaylee. Knowing it was going to happen doesn’t mean you could have stopped it.”

“Maybe it does. I didn’t even try!” And I’d been so caught up on what her death meant for me that I’d barely stopped to think about what I should have done for her.

His gaze bored into mine, his expression fierce. “It’s not that easy. Death doesn’t strike at random. If it was her time to go, there’s nothing either of us could have done to stop that.”

How could he be so sure? “I should have at least told her….”

“No!” His harsh tone startled us both, and when he reached out to grab my arms, I took a step back. Nash let his head dip and held his hands out to show that he wouldn’t touch me, then shoved them in his pockets. “She wouldn’t have believed you. And, anyway, it’s dangerous to mess with stuff you don’t understand, and you don’t understand this yet. Swear that if this happens again and I’m not there, you won’t do anything. Or say anything. Just turn around and walk away. Okay?”

“Okay,” I agreed. He was starting to scare me, his eyes wide and earnest, the line of his beautiful mouth tight and thin.

“Swear,” Nash insisted, irises flashing and whirling fiercely in the bright sunlight. “You have to swear.”

“I swear.” And I meant it, because in that moment, with the sun painting his face in a harsh relief of light and shadow, Nash looked both scared and scary.

But even worse, he looked like he knew exactly what he was talking about.

4

N
ASH TOOK ME HOME
two hours before I had to be at work, and when I walked through the door, the scent of freesia gave me an instant headache. Sophie was home.

My cousin stood from the couch, where she’d obviously been peeking through the curtains, and propped thin, manicured hands on the hipbones poking out above low-cut, skinny jeans. “Who was that?” she asked, though her narrowed eyes said she already had a suspect in mind.

I smiled sweetly and walked past her into the hall. “A guy.”

“And his name would be…?” She followed me into my room, where she sat on my unmade bed as if it were hers. Or as if we were friends. Sophie only played that game when she wanted something from me, usually money or a ride. This time, she was obviously hunting information. Gossip to fuel the rumor bonfire she and her friends kept burning bright at school.

But I wasn’t about to fan her flames.

I turned my back on her to empty my pockets onto my dresser. “None of your business.” In the mirror, I saw a scowl flit across her face, pulling her pixie features out of shape.

The problem with getting everything you want in life is that you’re not prepared for disappointment when it comes.

I considered it my pleasure to acquaint Sophie with that concept.

“Mom said he’s a senior.” She pulled her legs onto my bed and crossed them beneath her, shoes and all. When I didn’t answer, she glared at my reflection. “I can find out who he is in, like, two seconds.”

“Then you obviously need nothing from me.” I pulled my hair into a high ponytail. “Welcome to the party, Nancy Drew.”

Tiny lines formed around her mouth when she frowned, and I crossed the room to pull my uniform shirt from a hanger, leaving it swinging on the closet rod. “Out. I have to go to work. So I can pay for my car insurance.” Sophie wouldn’t be eligible for her license for another five months, and it drove her nuts that I could drive and she couldn’t.

My car was the best thing my father had ever given me, even if it was used. And even if he’d never actually seen it.

“Speaking of cars, your mystery date’s looked familiar. Little silver Saab, with leather upholstery, right?” Sophie stood, ambling toward the door slowly, narrow hips swaying, cocking her head as if in thought. “The backseat’s pretty comfortable, even with that little rip on the passenger side.”

Pain shot through my jaw, and I realized I was grinding my teeth.

“Say hi to Nash for me,” she purred, one hand wrapped around my door. Then her expression morphed from vicious vixen to Good Samaritan, in the space of a single second. “I’m not trying to hurt your feelings here, Kaylee, but I think you should know the truth.” Her pale green eyes went wide in faux innocence. “He’s using you to get to me.”

My temper flared and I slammed the door. Sophie yelped
and jerked her hand out of the way just in time to avoid four broken fingers. My fist clenched my uniform shirt, and I tossed it over the dancer’s-butt dent she’d left in my comforter.

She’s wrong.
But I studied my reflection anyway, trying to see myself as everyone else did. As Nash did. No, I didn’t have Sophie’s lean dancer’s build, or Emma’s abundant curves, but I wasn’t hideous. Still, Nash could do much better than not-hideous.

Was that why he hadn’t kissed me? Was I a convenience between girlfriends? Or a pity date? Some kind of social out-reach program for kindhearted jocks?

No.
He wouldn’t spend so much time talking to someone he had no real interest in, even if he was looking for a casual hookup. There were easier scores elsewhere.

But I could use a qualified second opinion. Phone in hand, I plopped down on the bed and held my breath while I typed, hoping Emma’s mom had given her back her phone.

No such luck. Two very long minutes after I sent the text message—Can u talk?—the reply came.

She is still grounded. Talk to Emma at work.

She should never have taught her mother to text. I told her no good could come of that.

Em and I were scheduled for the same shift, so that afternoon I filled her in on my date with Nash as we sold tickets to the latest computer-animated cartoon and the inevitable romantic comedy. On our dinner break, we sat in one corner of the snack bar, sharing a soft pretzel and cheese fries while I told her about Heidi Anderson—what she hadn’t heard from her sister—where no one could overhear.

Emma was fascinated by the accuracy of my prediction, and she agreed with Nash that I should tell my aunt and uncle, though her motive had more to do with shooting them a big
I-told-you-so than with helping me figure out what to do with my morbid talent.

But again, I declined the advice. I had no interest in any future meetings with Dr. Nelson—he of the medical restraints and the zombie pills. In fact, I was clinging to the hope that the next prediction—if there was another—would be months, or even years down the road. After all, there had been nearly nine months between the past two.

The last part of my shift dragged on at half the normal speed because less than fifteen minutes in, the manager moved Emma to the snack bar, leaving me alone in the ticket booth with an A&M computer science major whose undershirt—which he lifted his uniform to show me—read:
My other shirt is a storm trooper uniform.

When the day was finally over, I clocked out and waited for Emma in the employee snack room. As I was zipping my jacket, Emma pushed through the door and stood with her body holding it open, a dark frown shadowing her entire face.

“What’s wrong?” My hand hovered over the hook where her jacket still hung.

“Come on. You have to hear this.” She pushed the door open wider and stood to the side, so I could pass through. But I hesitated. Her news obviously wasn’t good, and I was all full up on creepy and depressing for the moment. “Seriously. This is weird.”

I sighed, then shoved my hands into my jacket pockets and followed her over eight feet of sticky linoleum tile and across the theater lobby toward the snack counter.

Jimmy Barnes was busy with a customer, but once he saw Emma waiting to talk to him, he rushed through the order so quickly he almost forgot to squirt butter on the popcorn. He had a bit of a crush on Emma.

He wasn’t the only one.

“Back already?” Jimmy nodded at me, then leaned with both plump arms on the glass countertop, staring at Em as if the meaning of life lay buried in her eyes. His fingers were stained yellow with butter-flavored oil and he smelled like popcorn and the root beer he’d dribbled down the front of his black apron.

“Can you tell Kaylee what Mike said?”

Jimmy’s goofy, puppy-love smile faded, and he stood, angling his body to face us both. “Creepiest thing I ever heard.” He reached below the counter to grab a plastic-wrapped stack of sixteen-ounce paper cups, and began refilling the dispenser as he spoke.

“You know Mike Powell, right?” he asked.

“Yeah.” I glanced at Emma with both brows raised in question, but she only nodded toward Jimmy, silently telling me to pay attention.

Jimmy pressed on an inverted stack of cups, which sank into a hole in the countertop to make room for more. “Mike took a shift at the snack bar at the Arlington branch today, filling in for some guy who got fired for spittin’ in someone’s Coke.”

“Hey, can I get some popcorn over here?”

I looked up to see a middle-aged man waiting in front of the cash register, flanked by a little girl with her thumb in her mouth and an older boy with his gaze—and his thumbs—glued to a PSP.

“Will that be a jumbo, sir?” Jimmy held up one just-a-minute finger for us and veered toward the closest of several popcorn machines while I dug my phone from my pocket to check the time. It was after nine and I was starving. And not exactly eager for whatever weird, creepy story Jimmy had to tell.

When the customers left with a cardboard tray full of junk food and soda, Jimmy turned back to us. “Anyway, Mike called about half an hour ago, totally freaked out. He said some girl
died right in front of his register this afternoon. Just fell over dead, still holding her popcorn.”

Shock pinged through me, chilling me from the inside out. I glanced at Emma, and she gave me a single grim nod. As I turned back to Jimmy, a dark unease unfurled deep inside me, spiraling up my spine like tendrils of ice. “You’re serious?”

“Totally.” He twisted the end of the plastic sleeve around the remaining cups. “Mike said the whole thing was unreal. The ambulance took her away in a freakin’ body bag, and the manager closed the place down and handed out vouchers to all the customers. And the cops kept asking Mike questions, trying to figure out what happened.”

Emma watched me for my reaction, but I could only stare, my hands gripping the edge of the counter, unable to force my scattered thoughts into any logical order. The similarity to Heidi Anderson was obvious, but I had no concrete reason to connect the two deaths.

“Do they know how she died?” I asked finally, grasping at the first coherent thought to form.

Jimmy shrugged. “Mike said she was fine one minute, and flat on her back the next. No coughing, no choking, no grabbing her heart or her head.”

A vague, heavy dread was building inside me, a slow simmer of foreboding, compared to the rapid boil of panic I’d felt when I saw Heidi’s shadow-shroud. The deaths were connected. They had to be.

Emma was watching me again, and I must have looked as sick as I felt because she put one hand on my shoulder. “Thanks, Jimmy. See ya Wednesday.”

On the way home, Emma loosened her seat belt and twisted in the passenger seat to frown at me in the dark, her face a mask of grim fascination. “How weird was that? First you predict
that girl’s death at Taboo. Then tonight,
another
girl falls down dead at the theater, just like last night.”

I flicked on my blinker to pass a car in the right lane. “They’re not the same,” I insisted, in spite of my own similar thoughts. “Heidi Anderson was drunk. She probably died of alcohol poisoning.”

“Nuh-uh.” Emma shook her head, blond hair bouncing in the corner of my vision. “The news said they tested her blood. She was drunk, but not that drunk.”

I shrugged, uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation. “So she passed out and hit her head when she fell.”

“If she did, don’t you think the cops would have figured that out by now?” When I didn’t answer, Emma continued, shielding her eyes from the glare of a passing highway light. “I don’t think they know what killed her. I bet that’s why they haven’t scheduled her funeral yet.”

My hands tightened on the wheel, and I glanced at her in surprise. “What are you, spying on the dead girl?”

She shrugged. “Just watching the news. I’m grounded—what else is there to do? Besides, this is the weirdest thing that ever happened around here. And the fact that you predicted one of them is beyond bizarre.”

I flicked on my blinker again and swerved off the highway at our exit, forcing my hand to relax around the wheel. I didn’t even want to think about my premonition anymore, much less talk about it. “You don’t know the deaths are connected. It’s not like they were murdered. At least not the girl in Arlington. Mike
saw
her die.”

“She could have been poisoned….” Emma insisted, but I continued, ignoring her as I slowed to make the turn onto her street.

“And even if they are connected, they have nothing to do with us.”

“You knew the first one was going to die.”

“Yeah, and I hope it never happens again.”

Emma frowned but let the subject go. After I dropped her off, I pulled into an empty lot down the street from her house and called Nash.

“Hello?” In the background, I heard gunfire and shouting, until he turned down the volume on his TV.

“Hey, it’s Kaylee. Are you busy?”

“Just avoiding homework. What’s up?”

I stared out the windshield at the dark parking lot, and my heart seemed to stumble over the next few beats while I worked up my nerve.

“Kaylee? You there?”

“Yeah.” I closed my eyes and forced the next words out before my throat froze up. “Can I use your computer? I need to look something up, but I can’t do it at home without Sophie snooping.” And I did not want my aunt to bring me laundry without knocking—as was her habit—and see what I was looking up online.

“No problem.”

But second thoughts came fast and hard. I should not be alone with Nash in his house—that whole willpower thing again.

He laughed as if he knew what I was thinking. Or heard it in my nervous silence. “Don’t worry. My mom’s here.”

Relief and disappointment came in equal parts, and I fought to let neither leak into my voice. “That’s fine.” I started the engine, my headlights carving arcs of light across the dark gravel lot. “You hungry?”

“I was about to nuke a pizza.”

“Interested in a burger?”

“Always.”

Twenty minutes later, I parked on the street in front of his
house and got out of the car, a fast-food bag in one hand, drink tray in the other. Again, his mother’s Saab was in the driveway, but this time the door was closed.

BOOK: My Soul to Take
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