The Liberator (A Dante Walker Novel) (Entangled Teen) (16 page)

Grams grips my hand, and I look down at our overlapping fingers. “Can you hear me?” I ask.

Nothing.

I swallow. “I’ll do what you said. I’ll be there for her anytime she needs me.”

When Grams doesn’t respond for the second time, I get up to leave the room.

“At least I know she’ll be taken care of,” Grams mutters.

My emotions threaten to overwhelm me, but I remind myself that I’m not really here. That no matter what she says, it doesn’t hurt, because I don’t care.

I don’t care.

“That’s right,” I respond. “I’ll always take care of Charlie.”

Then I do leave, because there’s nothing left to be done. If it were up to me, I’d call for an ambulance. I’d make Grams fight for her life so that I could have more time to ensure her soul is liberated. But from looking at her, I know she’s past the point of getting well again. And she’s Charlie’s Grams, not mine. If the woman wants to be warm in her bed, then she should at least have that.

When I get downstairs, Irene tells me Charlie is in the backyard. I move to go after her, but Irene blocks my path. “Give her space.”

I consider pushing past her, but something tells me the woman is ready to throw down. So I let it go and make a place for myself on the couch. Irene strolls back into the kitchen to do whatever it is she’s doing in there. I stare off into space, wracking my brain, trying to think of something I could have done differently.

It isn’t until much later, while Charlie is still outside, that the smallest glimmer of an idea tickles my brain.

I’m on my feet in a flash.

Bounding up the stairs even faster.

22

Maybe I Should Believe, Too

I burst into Grams’s room, not even attempting to be quiet.

“Wake up,” I say. “Please.”

The blankets rustle, and I help her along, pulling them down toward her feet. She’s wearing a purple silk nightgown that makes it seem like she prepared for this moment. Like she said to herself, “I’m not going out underdressed. Bring me my finest robes.”

I’m shocked at how frail she’s become. She’s always been thin, far thinner than any woman over sixty should be, but now she’s a wisp.

“Grams, you have to wake up.” I give up trying to rouse her with my voice, and instead give her shoulders a firm shake. This is her soul we’re talking about, after all.

The movement does the trick, because before long, her eyelids drift open. “Man Child,” she says, her lips tugging upward.

I sit down into the chair. “Tell me what you meant earlier.”

“Hmm…?”

“When you said, ‘At least I know she’ll be taken care of,’ what did you mean?”

She doesn’t say anything, and I’m afraid she’s fallen back asleep. “Grams?”

“I meant you’ll be there for her,” she says, her eyes meeting mine. “You said so.”

My heart drops. “Is that all?”

She nods. “And the house, of course. She’ll have that, too.”

I grin. “Her inheritance. You have a will, and it leaves everything to her. Is that right?”

“It isn’t much,” she says. “The house, my car. A bit of money at First Peachville Bank. The rest will come from my life insurance.”

Charlie told me her Grams once did makeup for the stars. It must have netted her a good income for her to have paid off the house and car and still have enough for retirement.

“Grams, I need you to listen,” I say. “I’m going to ask you to do something that you may not want to do.”

She looks at me expectantly, her thin lips parted. “Where’s Charlie?”

I eye the medicine bottles near her bed again. “I know this is hard, but it’s really important that you try and focus. I don’t want to have to press when you’re not well, but…” I shake my head. “Have you ever thought about what will happen after…after this is over?”

She works her jaw.

“You may not think there’s an afterlife. But I do. In fact, I
know
there’s an afterlife. For you, for me—for all of us.” I fill my lungs and plunge forward. “I need you to believe what I’m telling you. I need you to believe it so much that you’re willing to prove it.”

She looks at me, her eyes narrowed. Finally, after I’ve convinced myself she won’t answer, she asks, “How would I prove it?”

I smile. I can’t help it. This may not work, but at least she’s not tossing me out. “You say you have a will, and that it leaves everything to Charlie.”

Grams nods, but I can tell she’s getting tired. Her eyelids droop, and her mouth falls open wider.

“Why did you leave everything to her?” I ask.

Grams closes her eyes. “Because she’s my Charlie.”

“Because you love her,” I say.

Grams smiles.

“What if I asked you to give it to someone else?”

Her eyes pop back open, alert this time. She narrows those blue-grays at me. “Why are you saying this?”

My pulse pounds, but I push on, hoping she’ll continue to listen. “You’re leaving everything to Charlie because she’s given something back to you—love, companionship. Whatever. But if you were to leave everything to someone you’d never met? Well, that would be charitable in a big way. Huge.”

Maybe enough to tip the scales during Judgment
.

“You’re trying to take my money,” she accuses, pulling back in the bed. Fear rushes through me that I’m losing her. I want to show her my ability to shadow, or maybe my cuff, something that will convince her of who I am and what I’m trying to accomplish. But I can’t. Because then it wouldn’t be the same. She has to do this on her own—on faith.

I ignore her accusation. “If you believe in an afterlife, if you want to spend an eternity where Charlie can eventually join you, then do this. Believe when I tell you there’s life after this one, and that you can live it well. Do this, Grams. Please.”

She looks at me like I’m crazy, and my insides tie themselves into knots as I await her response.

When she turns away from me and faces the window, I know I’ve lost her.

But then.

Then she says something—

“What would you have me do?”

My heart threatens to break open, but I seal it tight.
Don’t let anything in or anything out,
I remind myself.
Then it won’t hurt.

I glance around the room and find paper and pen. “I’m going to tell you what I’m writing, okay?” I tell her. She doesn’t say anything, so I start writing and reading aloud. “
This is the last will and testament of
…” I stop and look at Grams. My face flushes in the dark. “What’s your full name, Grams?”

She takes a labored breath. “Mary Ann Geraldine Carpenter.”

“That’s a good name,” I say with a smile. “
This is the last will and testament of Mary Ann Geraldine Carpenter. As my last request, I would like to leave my entire estate including, but not limited to, my home, vehicle, furniture, and any money, to someone in dire need—to be chosen by my adoptive daughter, Charlie Cooper.
”

Grams watches me. She doesn’t smile, but she doesn’t turn away, either. “I like that last part. About Charlie choosing who it goes to.”

My legal contract is completely phony, but that doesn’t matter. I just need to make Grams believe it’s real. “Will you sign it?” I ask. “I’ll take care of her. She won’t want for anything. You can trust me.”

Grams stops watching me and glances away. Her eyes find the ceiling, as if looking for a sign there. “Did Charlie ever tell you that before she met you, she was thinking about shutting down her charity?”

My stomach twists.

Grams raises a hand to the base of her throat. “She wasn’t sure if it was really helping anyone. And I guess no one new had signed up in several months. But then you came along, and suddenly that girl thought she could change the world. Every second you weren’t here, she was working on that charity. Hanging flyers, making a God-awful website, calling local businesses to see if they’d partner with her.” Grams looks me dead in the eye. “You made her believe again, so maybe I should believe you now.”

Every wall I’d put up, every protection I had in place to guard my heart, shatters into jagged little pieces. I can’t stop
feeling
. Can’t stop hearing what she just told me. Tears slip down my cheeks as Grams reaches for the piece of paper. She signs and hands it back. Grams is a good woman. Someone I care about. And as sorrow hits me like a wrecking ball, I realize I don’t want her to go. Not now. Not ever.

Yet there’s nothing I can do.

Except.

I stand from the chair and let my head fall back. Then I reach down, down into myself—further than I thought possible—and I tear away a seal and jerk it out. I nearly cry out from pain as it leaves my chest. When I look down, my vision is blurred with tears. But I can still make out the blue seal floating toward Grams’s torso.

Her face lights up when she sees it.

She sees it!

Warmth floods the room as her soul light flips on. Nearer and nearer the seal floats, and when it finally attaches to her soul, the room explodes in brilliance. I gasp and stumble backward as the blue crawls, destroying every last sin seal and wrapping her soul in an embrace.

Her soul cracks away from her body in a rush, like it’s eager to escape, and blazes into my body.

I fall back onto the floor.

The sensation—it’s overpowering.

Liberating a soul doesn’t feel the same as collecting. No. This feels different. It feels like
bliss
. Every day, I’ve resented getting assigned to liberate Aspen’s soul. But now I know with overwhelming certainty that I will complete the task. I want this same freedom for her. I want to feel her soul—heavy, tortured—spring from her body with vigor.

“Mary Ann,” I breathe, my voice breaking on her name.

She looks at me from her bed. I don’t know what I expect her to say. She saw what I did. I mean, she
saw
it. So I can’t imagine what’s going through her head, or what questions she’ll have. But when she speaks, she only has one request. “I want to see my granddaughter.”

23

The Hive

The next day, when both hands on the clock pointed straight toward the sky, Mary Ann Geraldine Carpenter died.

Charlie was inconsolable at first, but she was also comforted that Grams was taken at high noon. “She liked her lunch hour,” Charlie said afterward. “Sometimes we skipped breakfast, and most times Grams ordered in for dinner. But lunch? If we were both home, Grams loved cooking the ‘high meal for highborn girls.’ Sometimes she’d make hot tea and swear we were both English.”

Now, sitting beside Charlie in the church pew, I fumble with how to feel. I don’t want this pain for Charlie, but it helps to know Grams’s soul is where it belongs. Though Charlie hasn’t mentioned it, I know she realizes what I did, and I also know it’s helped her cope.

I run my hand over the back of Charlie’s head, and her eyes slip closed. My touch seems to bring her comfort, so I never take my hands away. When the pastor gives the eulogy, I trace circles over her back. When several of Grams’s friends speak from behind the podium, I squeeze each of her individual fingers, all ten of them, over and over. And when finally the organist begins playing, and people around us whisper the word
cancer
, I run my fingertips over the back of her neck.

I do all of this for her.

But I also do it for myself. Because seeing Grams in a coffin is destroying me.

Hours later, when Grams has finally been laid to rest, Charlie and I walk hand in hand toward a black sedan. Valery and Max are in a car behind us, and Annabelle, Aspen, and Blue keep their distance in a vehicle a few yards back. After I’ve tucked Charlie into the seat, Valery makes a motion for me to join her. I don’t want to leave Charlie, not now, but I also realize every moment we spend in Peachville is a risk in itself. It’s a wonder the collectors haven’t descended on us already.

I duck my head into the sedan. “I’m going to talk to Red for a minute. Will you be okay?”

Charlie stares ahead, her face absent of makeup, her slight frame shrouded in black. She nods.

I run my hand over her hair once, then I shut the door and make my way toward Valery and Max. While walking in their direction, Aspen catches my eye. It reminds me that I have questions for her. Questions like,
Who the hell taught you to fight?
But that’s a mystery for another time.

When I get nearer to Valery, I notice her eyes are puffy and swollen, though her mascara-junk is pristine. Max touches Red’s arm like he’s trying to console her, but she doesn’t reciprocate.

“I’m sorry about Charlie’s guardian,” Valery says.

“Why are you saying that to me?” I respond. “She wasn’t
my
family.”

Red purses her lips. “I know you cared about her.”

I glance back at the car Charlie is in and shrug. “We need to get her out of here.” My chest aches saying this aloud. Like Charlie, I don’t want to go anywhere. Because it feels like if we leave, it’s really over. Grams is really gone.

Valery nods. “What do you want to do, Dante?”

“You’re asking me?”

She turns her palms up.

I run a hand over the back of my neck. Should I tell her what I’m thinking? What I’d really like to do? Or should I keep it to myself so she doesn’t interrupt my plan? Eyeing the newly etched gravestone to my right, I decide to trust Valery the way Grams did me.

“I want to get Charlie’s soul back.” I straighten. “I’m
going
to get her soul back.”

Maybe I’m mistaken, but I imagine I see the corner of Val’s mouth twitch upward.

“Won’t Rector have already turned her soul in downstairs?” Max puts in.

Red meets my gaze. “Probably so.”

I swallow what she’s saying…what I already suspected. “Her soul is in hell.”

Valery doesn’t even blink. “Yes.”

“Then that’s where I’ll go.” I say the words, but I’m not sure I really think about what it will be like—the beast with the gaping mouth or the room of nightmares.

“What?” Max gasps.

“Good,” Valery says, clearly smiling now.

Max looks at his fiancée—ex-fiancée?—like she’s lost her freaking mind. “Am I the only sane one here? What are we even talking about? We keep Charlie safe. She does her job on earth and lives a long life. That’s the deal.”

“And then what?” I bark.

Max flinches. “And then she’ll—”

“And then she’ll join her soul in hell for all eternity, Max.”

He sighs and shakes his head. “So that’s our only option? We send you, my best friend, into hell where they’ll slaughter you on sight?”

“We’ll prepare him,” Valery says.

“Yeah? How’s that?” Max is pacing now, running his hands through his hair.

Valery looks me in the eye. “At our training facility—at the Hive.”

I remember overhearing Red mentioning the Hive at the Birmingham Airport, but I have no idea what it is. Doesn’t matter. It sounds like we’re on the same page, and that’s all I need. “Will this place help get me into hell unnoticed? Our shadow doesn’t work down there, you know.”

She raises an overplucked brow. “They’ll help you,” she says. “Just get Charlie packed, and I’ll meet you at her house in a half hour.”

I motion toward the car a few lengths back, where Aspen, Annabelle, and Blue linger. “What about them?”

“Aspen will come, too, so you can complete your assignment,” she says. I don’t tell her that I’d demand she come, that after liberating Grams’s soul I can’t imagine not doing the same for Aspen. “Blue also,” Valery continues. “He’s one of us.”

“And Annabelle?” I ask.

“She has no place there, Dante. She’s better off far away from us until everything is safe.”

I shake my head. “Annabelle has to come. She knows too much. The collectors could use her to get to Charlie.”

Valery’s face falls like she hadn’t thought of this. Then she glances at Max. He shrugs. “Bring her then,” she says with a hint of defeat. “I’ll talk to her parents. Reference a school field trip or something.”

Wet grass squishes under my heel as I turn and head toward Charlie. For once, I don’t waste time asking more questions. I just want to make progress. As I slide into the seat next to my girlfriend, I wonder how much to tell her.
Just enough
, I decide. Secrets in a relationship are never good, even I know that, but if she knew I wanted to steal her soul back from hell, she’d flip. So I tell her we’re headed to some place called the Hive, another one of Val’s mysteries. And that we’ll be safe there.

She agrees to go. Or rather, she doesn’t protest.

My arm slips around her shoulder, and I pull her against my side. Charlie lays her head on my shoulder, and I kiss the crown of her head. Her hair is cool beneath my lips. Even in Alabama, winter has made a full appearance, and though there isn’t snow like there was in Denver, the air still has a cold bite. I run my hand over the top of her head and then over her ears, trying to warm her body. Then I tell the driver we’re ready.

We take off toward Charlie’s neighborhood, where an empty house waits.

Happy holidays.

…

Later that evening, after packing everyone’s things and catching a flight to Oregon, we’re nearly at the Hive. Valery, Max, Charlie, and I are in a black SUV in front, and Blue, Annabelle, and Aspen follow along behind us. Our two matching vehicles make us look like we’re Mafiosi, and if we hadn’t had such a gut-wrenching morning, I’m sure Max and I would be cracking jokes.

Red steers our car down a dirt path that’s crooked as the devil’s backbone. When I spot the place Valery says is the Hive, I’m not sure how to react. In my head, I’d imagined a vast fortress-like home, one with a massive gate and soaring doors and guards in uniform. Maybe a moat too, because that’d be totally kickass.

Instead, I see a house that’s enjoyed one too many lines of freebase crack. The entire estate is enormous, but that’s the only part that meets my expectations. Gables rise up in sporadic spots like zits, and the entire place is a painter’s canvas: one piece blue, another yellow, another green, and a small area in the back shaded deep purple. Dozens of lights dot the outside, as if the owner is afraid guests might pass the house altogether and drive straight into the sea.

The oddest thing though, isn’t any of these quirks. It’s that the place looks like someone strung several different houses together to make one. A castle made of cardboard.

“I’m almost afraid to ask, but who lives here?” I ask, leaning forward to get a better view.

“Dracula,” Max answers. “Count Dracula with Alzheimer’s.”

“This place was built recently,” Valery interjects. “It had to be put together quickly.”

“Looks like the high-class craftsmanship of carnies.” I glance at Charlie. She’s staring out the side window, not paying attention to where we are. I grip her knee, and her head jerks in my direction. She smiles, but the gesture slides off her face as soon as she realizes what she’s doing. It’s like ever since Grams passed, she won’t allow herself to be happy. Like if she does, she’ll be admitting life can be good again. And she’s not ready for that yet.

Valery pulls closer to the mansion and throws the SUV in park. We file out of the vehicle, Charlie last. The seven of us gaze up at the house. I can smell the ocean in the distance. The salt wraps around my body, making my skin feel tight, and already I want to shower. I can do big cities, and small cities, and the even the occasional mountaintop is cool. But oceans are ridiculous. They take up way too much space in this overcrowded world and are filled with creatures that have several sets of teeth, like one row of man-eating teeth isn’t enough. And just to add insult to injury, all that water isn’t even drinkable. If you ask me, the ocean is kind of a prick.

Max leads the way toward the front door, even though he made it clear during the trip that he’s never been here before. In fact, he made it clear about a hundred times. I don’t think he’s pleased that Valery never told him about the Hive. That makes two of us, but I’m trying to accept that Red can’t share everything she knows.
Trying
being the key word.

When we get to the main door, Max raises his hand to knock.

“That won’t do anything.” Valery pulls a skeleton key from her purse. After a quick snapping sound, she pushes the door open. We file past her and into an entrance area with a black-and-white tiled floor that’s covered with dust.
Built recently
, my arse.

When I look up from the grimy floor, my jaw drops.

There are seventeen doors in total, and it seems the room’s sole purpose is to confuse guests when deciding which to take. Some doors are three stories up, with narrow, winding staircases stretching toward them. Others are wide and sit along the floor, so short I’d have to bend to enter. Similar to the exterior of the house, each door is painted a different color. The overall impression reminds me of a carnival funhouse.

“Before we go any farther, I need your phones,” Valery says. “They have trackers in them, and we don’t want anyone picking up the signal. It was a gamble we had to take before, but not now.”

“It was a gamble
you
had to take,” Blue mumbles, slapping his cell into her palm. I guess I wasn’t the only one who didn’t know Valery was tracking our asses.

Charlie hands over her phone, and then Red turns to Aspen and Max. “Phones,” she demands.

I can’t help but laugh when Aspen and Max look equally shocked.

“How on earth did you bug my phone?” Aspen asks with a note of approval.

At the same time, Max says, “Woman, you’re so hot.”

“If you guys don’t have phones,” Annabelle interjects, “how am I supposed to call my parents? My mom will come looking for us. With a shotgun.”

Valery pulls on a green-and-white earring shaped like a ladybug. “I’ve informed her that there will be times when she can’t reach you. After all, college prep classes take a lot of studying. And with senior year fast approaching, parents need to become accustomed to their children being independent.”

Annabelle balks. “
That’s
what you told them? There’s no way they bought that! Then again, my mom would eat that up, wouldn’t she—me spending my winter break studying?”