Wicked Kiss (Nightwatchers) (12 page)

“I know. She knew how to live.”

“And now she knows how to die. Paper says
she choked to death on some fancy food at a party.” I peel the jewels from
her wrists, fingers and neck, and toss them in my canvas bag. “What about
the body?”

James twists the small gold cross at his
throat, his expression turning thoughtful. “We’re taking it,
too.”

I hate this part the most. Stealing
jewelry is fine. Stealing bodies...I’d never get used to it. “Let’s leave
her this time.”

“Leave her?” James frowns. “You know Kara
will be furious if we don’t do exactly what she says.”

“Do we always have to do what Kara
says?”

Frown forgotten, a typical grin creeps
across my brother’s face. “You always do, kid. Anything she asks and then
you beg for more. Why should this be any different?”

“Ass.” His comment earns him another
glare, even if it’s true. I hated when he called me kid. I’m fifteen now,
just turned. At sixteen, my brother thinks he knows everything.

Stealing bodies to sell to the medical
school is the least that Kara asks of us in her grand schemes. Her goals
have grown much darker now that she’s joined that new club of hers. She
claims it’s going to give her all the power she ever wanted—by tapping into
the occult.

I don’t believe any of that. I’m too busy
to waste my time chasing fairy tales. I’d leave that kind of nonsense to
her.

She isn’t with us tonight. She’s with her
new friend as they attempt to summon a spirit from the beyond.

What a waste of time.

Fingers of dread crawl over my flesh as I
look down at the dead woman’s face. I hate graveyards. And tonight feels
worse than normal.

“Something wrong?” James asks.

“I don’t trust her.”

“Who, Kara? That makes two of us.” James’s
grin holds. “Don’t worry, kid. We’re in this together, you and me. Till the
end.”

I nod, reassured. “Till the
end.”

“She gets the body, we get the jewels.
We’ll scrape together enough to get your eyes fixed or get the best
goddamned pair of specs in the whole—”

Snap!

Bishop got to his feet and staggered back from me across my
bedroom until he hit the wall.

“What—?” he began, his brows drawn tightly together. “What did
you just do?”

I didn’t get up from the floor. Instead, I stared at him, my
eyes wide. “I don’t know.”

And I didn’t. When I normally had my mind melds with Bishop, I
saw through his eyes—but I was still
me.
This time,
it was different. I
wasn’t
me.
I
wasn’t there. It was all Bishop—his thoughts, his emotions, his
everything.

“What did you see?” he asked quietly.

I had no idea what it would have felt like for him. He didn’t
usually realize when I had my “normal” peeks into his daily life. But this time
he did.

“You and Kraven...” My breath came quicker. “You were grave
robbers. A woman, her body—you were going to sell it to a medical school. She
had some jewelry, too, you were going to sell. You were fifteen, and your
eyes...I think you were going blind.”

His face paled. “You saw my memories.”

I stared at him, then nodded. Silence stretched between us. All
I could hear was the sound of my heart hammering in my chest as I slumped back
on my heels. The throw rug was my only protection from the cold wood floor.

“That is a very dangerous talent you have, Samantha.” He said
it softly, but I’d never heard him say anything with more of a dangerous edge to
it. It made goose bumps break out over my arms. “Don’t do that again.”

“I wasn’t trying to do it. It just happened.” I swallowed hard
and looked down at my hands until I summoned my courage again. “Who’s Kara?”

When I looked up, my window was open again.

Bishop was gone.

The cold air blew in, chilling me to my bones, even as my
hunger began to fade.

Chapter 12

I think I got about an hour of sleep that night. If
that.

My brain worked overtime, trying to process what I’d seen. What
I’d learned. Focusing on Bishop’s memory was good for one thing, though—it took
my mind off Stephen. Off Julie. Off my own problems.

Since Bishop’s eyes were bad back then, I hadn’t gotten a very
good glimpse at anything, but I could tell this much...based on the clothes the
dead woman wore, the jewelry, how Kraven was dressed...

It was a long time ago. But
how
long?

Seeing this memory brought forth another thousand questions
that now needed answering. But nobody was willing to answer them.

All I knew was that he and Kraven had been grave robbers.
Bishop had been fifteen, and Kraven, sixteen—so approximately three years before
they died. They worked for somebody named Kara, who they didn’t trust—a woman
who was getting into the occult. That didn’t bode well for what I knew about
their futures.

It had been disturbing, but it hadn’t made me loathe Bishop or
fear him. I didn’t know why he wanted to keep his past from me so badly that he
wouldn’t even tell me his real name.

After I forced myself out of bed, had a shower and got dressed,
I saw Cassandra downstairs. I half expected her to know about Bishop’s midnight
visit, as if she might have some kind of angelic intuition about this sort of
thing, or felt the spark of energy between us that still, hours later, made my
skin tingle.

The angel gave me a weary look. “I’m still tired.”

“Join the insomnia club,” I said, nodding at the cupboard.
“Coffee’s up there.”

“Will that help me?”

“Probably not. But it’ll feel like it does for a little while.
My mother swears by the stuff to get her through a long day. I think she’s one
of Starbucks’s best customers.”

Cassandra got the canister of coffee down and looked at it,
confused. Finally, I took it from her and helped make a pot of coffee, then
fixed it for her like my mother would—heavy on the cream and sugar.

She sipped from the mug gingerly, then gave me a smile. “I like
it.”

“Hooray.” I sat down at the kitchen table after grabbing some
toast and peanut butter—the pieces piled high on my plate to help stave off my
constant hunger. I had a cup of coffee, too, even though it wasn’t my drink of
choice. Then I gave the angel a guarded look. “So off to do your mission
today?”

“Of course.”

“The mission with the others or your supersecret one?”

She blanched. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I shrugged. I wasn’t prepared to tell her I read her mind the
other night. At least, a small piece of it. It would raise too many questions I
didn’t want to answer right now. “If you say so.”

Cassandra’s real agenda for being sent here wasn’t my
concern—at least, I didn’t think it was. Today, I had to get my bearings again.
I had to find Stephen. I’d been so close at the mall yesterday—I had to find him
before...

I took a gulp of the hot coffee and swallowed it down.

If he went through stasis, if he turned into a total sociopath
instead of only a part-time jerk...

Then I was in serious trouble. Without my soul I was next on
the list to either turn evil or die.

My attention was again drawn to the blond angel standing
nervously by my kitchen sink. She gripped the counter behind her. Her skin was
pale. This wasn’t the warrior I’d seen kick Roth’s ass on Saturday night.
Something was wrong with her.

Concern welled inside me. “You okay?”

She blinked, as if my voice summoned her out of her deep
thoughts. “Oh, yes. I’m fine. Of course I am.”

“You seem a little distracted this morning.”

“Sleep is important. I failed to get enough.”

“That’s all it is?”

She brought her coffee mug to the table and sat down across
from me. “It’s different here. I—I feel different from when I’m home. The
sleeping is one thing. The need to eat is another.”

“Okay.” She was starting to worry me. “What’s wrong,
Cassandra?”

Her blue eyes raised to mine. “Emotions.
They’re...troubling.”

“In general, or
your
emotions?”

“Mine.” She swallowed hard. “It’s like a sensory rush—a wave
crashing over me. Too much all at once. I can barely process it.”

“Is that because you’re one of the hosts?”

She nodded. “It would be different for one who was once human.
They’d already have experienced all of this. But for me...” Her cheeks reddened.
“I need to be focused while I’m here. It’s so important that I don’t get
distracted. But...it’s proving to be a challenge. Especially when I’m around
him.”

Him.

My grip tightened on my coffee mug. The hot liquid burned my
fingertips through the ceramic, but I didn’t let go. “I’m not following.”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to follow if she was talking about
Bishop. Jealousy poked its pointed head up and glanced around with a sour look
on its face.

She forced a smile. “Forget it. It’s nothing.”

Was she trying to say she was falling for Bishop? That being
around him made her feel things—confusing things?

My chair made an unhappy squeaking sound as I pushed back from
the table. “I need to go to school.”

Cassandra looked alarmed at the suggestion. “Do you think
that’s wise? A school would be filled with human souls. It could be dangerous
for you.”

“Yeah, well, if I don’t go I’ll start failing my classes. You
have goals, I have goals. Sometimes those goals are different.”

I didn’t know what was up with Cassandra’s melancholy angel
act, but I knew it had something to do with Bishop.

The thought tied my stomach up into unpleasant origami shapes
that looked a lot like two angels in love.

* * *

McCarthy High was only a few blocks from my house, its
expansive grounds covered in big trees and grassy lawns, although the leaves had
fallen from the trees by this time of the year and the lawns weren’t quite as
green as they were when school started early last month. Winding paths led to
the football field and the parking lot. This was my fourth year here. I was a
senior. A veteran. I knew this place like the back of my hand. And I could tell
when something was different, even if it took me a second to realize what it
was. When I saw it, my stomach sank.

The flag out front was at half-mast.

The news about Julie’s suicide was public knowledge.

Holding tightly on to my control, I weaved through the crowded
halls toward my locker. I couldn’t help but overhear the talk about Julie.
Mostly people were shocked, overwhelmed, upset. Some were openly crying and
consoling each other, those who knew her well enough to call her a friend.
However, I overheard two girls being snarky, making snide comments like “some
bitches deserve to die.”

I sent a withering look in their direction, which they barely
noticed.

Then I banged into a guy from my afternoon history class,
Noah—the one planning the big Halloween party. He gave me a slow smile. I forced
a shaky one, too, even though his soul made it difficult to think. Orbit of
hunger. Bad.

“Hey, Sam,” he said. “Looking good this morning.”

I eyed him warily. “If you say so. I guess lack of sleep
becomes me.”

He laughed drily before sobering. “Sucks about Julie, but I
know she would have wanted me to go ahead with my plans. You coming to my party
on Wednesday night?”

“Going to try my best.”

“Wear something sexy,” he suggested, before he disappeared down
the hall.

Hmm. Let me think about that. Was I going to Noah’s big
Halloween party?
No.

Would I be wearing something sexy even if I did?
Definitely not.

The problem—one of the many problems—with being a gray is that
I gave off this...
vibe.
Maybe it was the same vibe
that messed with my cell phone. It made me more appealing than usual. Even at
five-foot two, with brown hair, brown eyes and what I considered average looks,
I now got hit on daily.

I’d never been so popular with boys as I’d been since I lost my
soul. It was a moth and flame situation. Get too close to me and you’re in
danger of getting torched.

Every one of these boys, like Noah, would be happy to volunteer
as my victim—would be thrilled to let me kiss them, all so I could take their
soul to satisfy my hunger.

Just the thought of it made my stomach clench—not with disgust,
but with the desire to feed. The toast this morning hadn’t even made a dent in
this ongoing problem.

It’s getting worse.
I didn’t want
to admit it, even to myself, but it was true. Stephen said that the cold and the
hunger increased when we were close to stasis.

It was getting close. All I could do was ignore it with all my
willpower and do everything I could to figure things out before it was too
late.

Even though this reminder of my dark side made me want to flee
the school immediately, I forced myself to go to my first class—English. Colin
sat directly behind me. He was already there. There were dark circles under his
eyes. Seemed to be a common fashion statement this week.

I didn’t meet his eyes, but I noticed his shoulders tense as I
drew closer. He didn’t say anything.

At least he was here. It was a worry I’d had ever since he’d
kissed me on Saturday night. I was certain I hadn’t taken much, not enough to
really hurt him. But I hadn’t been totally sure.

I froze as he leaned forward, his edible scent growing
impossible for me to ignore.

“I’m sorry about Saturday night,” he whispered. His breath was
hot on the back of my neck. “I was drunk. I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

I shook my head. “Forget it.”

“I heard you were with Julie when she...” His voice broke off.
“When she fell.”

I glanced over my shoulder at him, and nodded. His expression
held deep pain.

“People are saying she did it because of me,” he whispered.

I shook my head. “That’s not true. Don’t blame yourself.”

“Why would she do something like that?”

“I wish I knew.”

That was when our English teacher, Mr. Saunders, started class.
He pushed the thick glasses he always wore, which magnified his eyes to twice
their size, back up on his nose.

“Like I said on Friday—” Mr. Saunders’s back was to us as he
wrote on the whiteboard. “We have a quiz today on
Catcher
in the Rye
. I hope you all finished reading it over the weekend.”

There was a quiz today? I didn’t remember him saying anything
like that on Friday. Didn’t matter, though. I’d read the book before. English
was one of my best classes. No worries.

Catcher in the Rye
was one of those
books that seemed really simple on the surface—almost too easy to read. But it
had layers and layers of depth to uncover if you were willing to do the
work.

I tried to focus on the test, but it was difficult. My mind
kept wandering all over the place. Still, I finished with twenty minutes left to
go before class ended.

Someone knocked on the door and Mr. Saunders answered it. After
a moment, he looked in my direction.

“Ms. Day?” He peered at me through his thick glasses. “You’ve
been summoned to the guidance counselor’s office. You can finish tomorrow.”

“I’m finished already.” I got up uneasily and dropped my test
at his desk, casting another glance toward Colin, who watched me from the back
of the class, expressionless, before I left the room.

I’d spent a lot of time in Ms. Forester’s office during my
shoplifting fiasco. She’d tried to make me feel comfortable about pouring out my
soul about my parents’ divorce. About my
feelings
.
And I did, to an extent, even though it made me uncomfortable to sit in an
office and discuss emotions with someone I barely knew, who had a box of tissues
at the ready for the tears of her students.

“You wanted to see me?” I asked Ms. Forester when I saw her.
The door to her office, which was opposite the principal’s office, was ajar.

She beckoned to me. “Come in, Samantha.”

Ms. Forester was young, pretty, still in her twenties, with
long, dark hair swept back off her face. She wore tight blouses and slim pencil
skirts a couple inches over her knees, which
I
didn’t appreciate, but plenty of boys did.

I tentatively entered the small office and immediately saw a
familiar face in one of the two chairs opposite the counselor’s desk.

Jordan was here, too. And the look she sent me was sharp enough
to kill.