The Collector (23 page)

Chapter Forty-six

The Dance

The next evening, I drive to Charlie’s house. I’m early, but I want her to know I’m looking forward to seeing her. It was all I could do to stop myself from parking outside her house last night just to ensure she was safe. But I didn’t want to have to try and explain what I was doing if she spotted me, and I certainly didn’t want the collector following me to question my actions.

Pulling up outside Charlie’s house, I try and relax. This night is for her. Besides, I’ve done everything I can to prepare us.

I’ve packed two bags full of food and clothing and booked two tickets to Tokyo, where an enormous population will shield us. Then I pulled out the maximum on my Amex Black, and cut the card—and a piece of my soul—in half. I won’t be able to use it once we’re on the run.

Inside one of the bags, I’ve stashed maps and names of places we can flee to at a moment’s notice. And wrapped in those maps…is the Glock .45 I bought this morning. It’s not usually my style to rely on a weapon to fight my battles, but we’re talking about demons here, not school-yard bullies. We’ll play everything else by ear, because the more planned we are, the more predictable we become.

Brushing off my charcoal blazer and red button-down, I take a deep breath. Charlie deserves this night, and I intend on giving it to her. I slide out of Elizabeth Taylor, head toward the porch, and ring the doorbell.

I wait for Grams to open the door, to give me the stank eye. Inside my head, I’m coming up with solid one-liners to throw her way. I’ve pretty much decided on something to do with a drunken shar-pei, when the door swings open.

I lift my eyes and gasp.

My heart clenches in my chest, and my muscles lock in place. I feel like I can’t breathe, like I never could in the first place. In fact, I’m quite certain I will never fill my lungs again. Even though I’m looking right at her, my eyes refuse to believe what they’re seeing.

Charlie stands inches away, her
entire
body transformed. She’s wearing the red dress I bought her, and on her back are two silk angel wings she must have picked up at a Halloween store. Her blond hair, smooth skin, and glasses-free eyes all look the same. I imagine if she were smiling, I’d still see perfectly straight teeth. But she’s not smiling. Not even close. That probably has something to do with the rest of her.

The way her cheekbones jut out, and the way her chest appears larger. The way her hips seem a bit fuller and her nose slightly thinner. I reach out and run my hand down her arm, the skin beneath my hand kissed with a fresh bronze glow. She is stunning, enough to stop a guy’s heart with a glance, but already, I yearn for my old Charlie.

“When?” I whisper.

“Last night. I was going to call, but it happened so fast. I couldn’t stop it, Dante.” Her eyes glisten with tears. “But I do look beautiful, don’t I?” She manages a small smile that shatters my dead soul.

“You’ve always been beautiful, sweetheart.” My forehead pricks with sweat, and my hands curl into fists. I’m afraid to turn on her soul light, afraid of what I’ll find. Is it over? Have I collected her soul without realizing it?

She steps toward me, and I notice something that makes my brain sing.

Her limp.

I point to her hip and grin so hard I’m afraid my face will break. “You still have—”

“Yeah,” she says. “No way is anyone taking that from me. I got it the night my parents died. It’s mine. No one else’s.”

I yank Charlie into a hug. I’m overwhelmed by her. Not her beauty, but her soul. It terrifies me that more of the contract was fulfilled. That the only piece left of her to give is that blessed limp. But I won’t let anything destroy her night. I’m not sure what to say to make things better, or to mask the fear I’m feeling, and before I can think of something good, I blurt, “You’re my girlfriend.”

Charlie stares at me, her mouth quivering, threatening to transform into a smile.

“Yeah, you are. And tomorrow, I’m going to show you just what I’m willing to do to keep you safe.” I lean over and kiss her gloss-coated lips. “But tonight we’re going to party school-safety style—punch and cookies and cheesy decorations. It’s going to be awesome.”

Her quasi-smile blossoms. “I shouldn’t be scared,” she says, and it sounds like something between a statement and a question.

“You should be terrified,” I say. “Because I’m going to show you dance moves that’ll have you
begging
for my shit.”

She slaps my chest, and though a nervous hesitation lingers in her eyes, she allows me to take her hand and lead her toward the car.

“Where’s Grams?” I ask as she carefully crawls into her seat, ensuring her wings don’t get crushed.

“Said she was really tired, but she made me take a million pictures before I left.”

As we drive toward Centennial High School, I wonder how Charlie explained her new look to Grams. I decide not to mention it for fear of bringing the subject up again. Instead, I take her hand and squeeze. And a part of me—the tiniest little piece—gets excited about this stupid school dance.

Because I know it may be the last time I’ll see Charlie truly happy.

…

Charlie and I walk into the school gym, and I let out a long sigh. It’s just as I feared. It’s like every loser in Peachville got together and shopped for the most horrifically cheesy decorations.

Near the floor, a fog machine blasts hazy clouds, and dangling from the rafters are a bazillion black and orange streamers. Along the walls, some douchebag has taped paper spiders and pumpkins. And the band—oh, sweet mercy—the band. They’re like a cross between mini Justin Biebers and the Jonas Brothers, and the Halloween covers they’re playing make my ears bleed. But when I glance at Charlie, decked out in her red dress and angel wings, everything becomes wonderful again. If she’s here, I’m happy. But if she steps out to, like, pee or something, I’m lighting a match.

As Charlie and I walk toward the dance floor, all eyes take her in. Whispers are exchanged, and fingers are pointed, and I can’t help getting pissed off. I mean, why couldn’t they have noticed her before? She was just as amazing then. But I guess I’m just as guilty of overlooking her.

Seeing Charlie now, I almost don’t recognize her myself. It causes a twinge of nerves to rush through me. Will she move on now that she’s physically perfect?

But almost like she’s reading my mind, she absently reaches her polished nails into her dress pocket and pops a few Skittles in her mouth. I bite my lip to keep from laughing, because that tiny action tells me she’s still Charlie. She’s still my girl.

Annabelle sees us and races over. “Char-char!” she squeals. “You look phenomenal.” Her face changes, like she’s realizing exactly how phenomenal. “In fact, you look different. Like, way different.”

“I let Grams do my makeup,” Charlie chirps.

Annabelle eyes her. “Yeah, I don’t know.”

Charlie pulls her friend into a hug, going for distraction. “Come on, squeeze me,” she says. “I like your costume. It’s…uh…”

“I’m Katharine Hepburn,” Annabelle says, her face relaxing somewhat.

I inspect Annabelle’s colorless clothing and cream-painted face.

“See?” she says. “I’m black and white. Like she was in most of her movies.” Annabelle’s wide-brimmed hat bounces as she considers me. “Big surprise. You didn’t dress up.”

“I came as Awesome Sauce,” I say. “You probably wouldn’t recognize it.”

She leans back and puts her hands in a square like she’s gazing through a camera frame. “No. No, I see…I see…” She drops her hands. “Tool-wear.”

Charlie tugs on Annabelle’s arm. “You know, you guys could drop the act and admit you like each other.”

Annabelle glances at me to see my reaction. I form a gun with my hand and fire in her direction. “Pow.”

A grin sweeps across her face, and she fires right back.

Charlie rolls her eyes. Then she gets a nervous edge to her voice. “Hey, uh, where’s Blue?”

My shoulders square at the mention of his name. After seeing his lips on hers, I’d like nothing more than to tear him a new one. Even if it was a stupid game.

Annabelle points over her shoulder. Her face squishes together, like she can’t believe we’re asking. “Seriously?”

As soon as I spot him, I have to stifle a laugh. I’m supposed to hate him, not get off on his costume. But Blue came as…blue. He’s dressed in all-blue clothing and even painted his face a dark blueberry color. Standing near the refreshments table, he’s pouring himself a glass of green punch. Blue’s eyes land on Charlie, then quickly glance away. He knows she’s here—probably watched her from the time she came in.

I flick my eyes over Charlie’s face. She seems upset, and it strikes a dark flame inside me. I can’t stand thinking she cares about him. To keep her mind where it should be—on me—I take her hand. “Want to dance, beautiful?”

She beams up at me and nods. Then she turns toward Annabelle. “You okay if we dance real quick?”

Annabelle waves us away like she couldn’t care less.

As I guide Charlie toward the middle of the floor, Taylor turns and stares at the girl on my arm, her jaw hanging open. She can’t believe how beautiful Charlie is, and I can’t believe I ever missed it. Taylor meets my eyes, then quickly glances away, acting like she doesn’t notice us.

I tug Charlie’s head against me and press my lips into her hair. A slow song washes over us, and I move my arms around her waist and rock back and forth. Charlie seems to be having trouble with the swaying.

“You okay?” I ask.

Her pink mouth opens, but her eyes divert away from my face. “It’s harder for me.”

I’m not sure why it’s harder, and I don’t care. Without thinking, I sweep her into my arms. She laughs long and hard. The sound splits open my heart and fills it with candy-coated goodness. I dance in a circle, occasionally dipping so that her hair falls in a yellow blanket. Being here—surrounded by bad costumes, listening to even worse music—I’m as happy as I remember ever being. The feeling is overwhelming, like at any moment I won’t be able to handle it anymore. Like my body will explode from pleasure.

Charlie leans her head against me and mumbles into my chest.

“What’d you say, sweet girl?” I ask.

She looks up at me, her eyes large with joy. “I said I’m so in love with you.”

“’Course you are,” I say. “I’m freaking outstanding.”

Charlie laughs and presses her head back against me. “Thank you, Dante.”

“For what?”

“For this. For tonight.” She pauses. “And for telling me everything.”

A chill races through my arms, and for a second, I’m afraid I’ll drop her. I set her down gently but keep my hold around her body. “For telling you everything?”

“You know. The stuff we’re not supposed to talk about tonight. Which I’m not talking about. I’m just…I’m happy you told me,” she says. “You could have lied. It probably would’ve made it easier on you if you had. But since you didn’t, it makes me realize I can totally trust you.”

My gut clenches like a fist, and I feel dangerously close to puking. I’ve tried to forget about how this night is going to end—with me telling her who I really am—but maybe it’s best I get it over with. A cold sweat breaks across my brow. Charlie reaches up to brush her fingers across my skin.

“Are you hot?” she asks. “Want to get a drink?”

I nod, because if I’m going to tell her this, I need to find a quiet place. Charlie takes my hand, and I can’t help wondering if she’ll still hold it afterward. At the table, she grabs a glass of punch, takes a sip, and passes it to me. I taste it and inwardly sigh to find it squeaky clean. I could seriously use a hit of something strong.

Swallowing down every bit of courage I have, and remembering Valery’s threat to expose me, I glance at Charlie. My vocal chords threaten to stop operating at any moment. But somehow, I manage to say, “Hey. I need to talk to you.” The words feel thick leaving my mouth, like I just ate peanut butter. And now I’m sure—absolutely positive—that I’m going to hurl.

“Okay,” she says, a wide smile touching her lips. “Let’s hear it.”

“Can we go somewhere?”

Charlie’s face falls. She’s the most innocent person I know, but even she recognizes the sound of doom. “Oh, no. Do I want to hear this?”

I run my hands through my hair. “Probably not.”

She steps back, inspecting my face. Then she glances around. “Come on.”

She heads toward an empty hallway, and I follow after her. When the double doors close behind us, she spins and faces me. “What’s going on?”

I pull in a long breath and reach for her. She curls into my arms, and I lay my chin on top of her head. I don’t want to tell her, don’t want her to hate me. But I have to do this. Not because Valery threatened to tell Charlie herself, but because it’s the right thing to do. I love her, and I don’t want this lie between us.

“Sweet girl,” I say into her hair. “Tell me you’ll always love me.”

“I always will,” she says without hesitation.

I close my eyes and clench my teeth. Then I open my mouth and say, “I’m not who you think I am.”

Charlie pulls her head back and looks up at me. “What do you mean? You already told me this.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t tell you the whole truth.”

I expect her to push away from me, to put distance between our bodies. But instead she tugs me tighter against her. She stays quiet for too long, then whispers, “Tell me.”

I pull in a breath through my nose. “I
am
a collector, and I
was
sent to collect your soul. That much is true.” I lift my hands to the top of my head, twining my fingers together. I can’t stand the sound of my own voice. I let my head fall back, and before I can stop myself, before I can fabricate another lie, I say, “But I don’t work for who you think I do.”

Charlie holds onto me for a moment. In those sacred seconds, I think she’s going to forgive me—that everything’s going to be okay between us. Then I feel her arms loosen from around my waist. I feel her head pull away from my chest. And slowly, she moves away, taking small steps until her back presses against the wall. Her face says she understands everything I haven’t fully explained.