Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Anora and Thane Treadway

The game is delayed with the arrival of the police and ambulance. Sean is put in the back of the squad car while the other kid—whose name is Gage—is loaded up on a stretcher, unconscious. Ally’s wrapped in a blanket. During the interrogations, I catch most of the story. The three had gone into the woods to smoke weed when Sean started acting weird—pacing and muttering to himself. I know where this is going before it’s over. The police will say the drugs sparked Sean’s behavior, and maybe that was a part of it…but that creature fueled it.

When we’re allowed to leave, Thane walks me back toward the stadium. Unbelievably, the game is still going to continue. Apparently Nacoma Knight is serious about homecoming.

“Eat this,” he says, handing me the bread from a hot dog he purchased while I was being questioned.

“I’m good, thanks.”

“You have another hour here, and you’re about to run low on adrenaline, so I suggest you eat something.”

I take the bread. “Fine.”

Thane is right about running low on energy. I was keyed up while talking to the police, but as soon as it was over, I felt exhausted. We stop behind the bleachers while I finish eating the bread. I chew slowly, mostly because my stomach feels like it’s boiling acid.

Thane steps away from me and lights a cigarette, blasting smoke from his nose and mouth.

“You know your uncle is here?”

“Yep.”

“And he lets you do that?”

“As long as I don’t smoke near his money, he doesn’t care what I do.”

Well, that’s sad.

“Tell me what you saw,” he says, leaning against one of the brick columns. It’s the first time I’ve had the chance to really look at him all evening. He seems smaller somehow, in dark jeans and a red flannel shirt.

“A kid trying to beat up his friend.”

“What else?”

I watch him a moment, considering my next words, and then say, “I don’t think the kid knew what he was doing. This…thing…this creature erupted out of him and fled. I tried to follow it, but…”

“It’s energy. You can’t follow energy.” He pauses a moment and looks away. “It thrives here with all the dead in the woods.”

So the dead fuel the monster. That’s unsettling.

“You shouldn’t try to chase it. It could have gotten you—crawled inside you and possessed you.”

“Which is what it was doing to Sean?”

“More or less,” Thane says, bringing the cigarette to his lips again. He takes a drag, letting the smoke escape his mouth as he talks. “They have a name for that particular kind of energy—the kind born of the dead.” There he goes again, using they. They as in the people—or not people at all—who are tracking Vera, the ones who will trace her disappearance back to me. He continues, “It’s called Influence. It latches on to insecurities and aggression, feeds them, and then bad things happen.”

Like Sean bashing his friend’s face in. Like my poppa’s suicide.

“But that’s not what it’s going to look like,” I say. “The police are already saying drugs spurred his actions.”

“The police aren’t death-speakers. They can’t see what we see.”

I look up. “What did you say?”

Thane blinks and doesn’t move to speak.

“Did you just call me a death-speaker?” I ask.

“Yeah. That’s what you are, in case you didn’t know. Same as me. A human who can see and speak to the dead.”

So Natalie’s description of me wasn’t just a random nickname. She knows I can see the dead. Which means Lily does too.

“Is everyone at this school a death-speaker?”

“No, though I can’t always spot them as easily as I spotted you, but that’s your fault. You act like you just got the sight.”

I glare at him.

“Wait,” he says, as if just now realizing that might actually be true. “You didn’t just start seeing the dead, right?”

“No. It’s been a few months now.”

Thane stares at me for a long moment. “Who died?”

“What?”

“If you aren’t born seeing the dead, usually the death of someone close to you activates the sight. So who died?”

I touch the chain of my necklace but don’t pull out Poppa’s coin, conscious Thane is watching me. “My poppa,” I say. “What about you?”

Thane takes another drag from his cigarette. It’s smaller now, and he holds it between his thumb and forefinger. “I was born seeing the dead—shadows, mostly, from the corner of my eye. Then, when my mother died, everything came into focus—in living fucking color.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Everyone is.”

“What about your dad?”

“He might as well be dead too.”

I pause a moment and then say, “Mine too.”

Thane puts his cigarette out against the brick. “Aren’t you going to ask me how she died?”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m assuming you want to know how she died,” he says. “Everyone does. Keeps them from googling it later.”

I stare at him. I hadn’t considered doing any research on Thane in my spare time.

“It was a car wreck,” he says. “The driver who hit her was drunk and speeding. He had a really good lawyer and never served time for her murder.”

“That’s horrible.”

“Tell me about it,” he says, pulling out another cigarette. The cherry brightens with his inhale, and as he flicks the ashes away, he says, “Smoking is a bad habit. It smells and will probably give me cancer. But it could be worse. My uncle should be glad I’m not using his money for cocaine.”

“Drugs won’t help you feel any better.”

He smiles, his eyes narrow, amused. “Shows how much you know.”

An awkward silence spreads between us. I think about asking Thane about Shy—why aren’t they friends anymore? Does it have anything to do with the fact that he’s a death-speaker or the blade Shy carries at his side? Is Shy a death-speaker too? Before I can ask, I hear my name.

“Anora.”

I twist to find Lennon standing a few feet away.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“Uh.” I look back at Thane. “Just talking.”

“Are you okay? You just sort of ran away.”

“Yeah. Yeah…I’m fine.”

“You better run along,” Thane says. “You don’t want people to talk.”

His eyes don’t move from Lennon as he speaks. The tension between them reminds me of the tension between her and Shy, and I have to wonder why everyone’s suspicious of Lennon Ryder.

“I’ll see you around,” I say.

At that, Thane smirks. “I hope that’s a promise,” he says, and it’s clear he likes the idea of becoming friends. I don’t know how I feel about it.

I follow Lennon back to the stands. As we go, she explains what I already know—that the game was delayed because of a fight. The police and ambulance were called. I do my part and act both surprised and shocked. I ask all the right questions: Who was involved? Why were they fighting? Is everyone okay?

By the time we make it to our seats, the crowd erupts in applause. Shy jogs onto the field, helmet in one hand, the other raised, waving to the crowd. He runs to the coach, whose exaggerated arms and yelling can’t mask his relief. After a few orders, Shy and Jacobi trade places on the field. Shy pumps his arms in the air, urging the crowd to their feet, and like any disciples, they follow his will, chant his name, sing his praise. Everyone but me, who can’t quite shake that this kid, this all-American quarterback, carries a scythe, the same weapon used by the boy who tried to kill me before.

As Shy and his now-unified team pull us out of defeat, my gaze settles on Jacobi, who sits alone on a bench near the sidelines, helmet off, hair wet with sweat, evidence of his hard work, all ignored because it didn’t mean victory. Despite feeling sorry for him, I still wonder if he carries a scythe too.

“He’ll be okay,” Lily says. I meet her gaze. “Jacobi’s used to this.”

“Used to it?”

“We’re all used to it,” she amends. “Shy’s…gifted. He’s a seventeen-year-old imbued with the soul of someone much older and practiced.”

Someone older.My stomach clenches.

“No one’s that perfect,” I try to joke.

She smiles. “I didn’t say he was perfect.”

And yet in all his imperfection, Shy leads Nacoma Knight to victory. Teammates fly across the field to lift him on their shoulders, and he takes it all in like a God receiving prayer. Who is Shy Savior? Student, quarterback…assassin?

When his feet touch the ground again, he’s crowded by coaches and cheerleaders. Natalie pushes her way forward and throws her arms around his neck. I expect Shy to push her away, but instead he gathers her close, lifting her off the ground in a hug.

A shock of jealousy runs through me, winding tight around my heart. How can I feel jealous of someone I don’t completely trust? Someone who carries a scythe? As if Shy senses what’s happening inside me, his eyes find mine. There’s tension in the look we exchange, the result of our encounter in the woods. He disentangles himself from Natalie, who seems to notice he’s distracted and turns my way.

That’s when I look away.

“You okay?” Lily asks.

“Yeah,” I breathe, feeling the weight of this evening on my shoulders. “I’m just tired.”

Lily maintains a soft smile, like she understands everything and everyone.

“We can go.”

I don’t hesitate to take her up on her offer, and we leave the stadium. As we retreat from the stands, Lennon comes up behind me, looping her arm through mine. She slows down so that Sara and Lily wander ahead of us.

I recognize this behavior. She wants to talk, and out of earshot of our friends. This makes me anxious.

“What’s up?” I prompt, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Oh, nothing,” she says, pausing. “I was just…curious. Did you…leave to meet up with Thane earlier?”

“What? No. Definitely not.”

I should have expected that question.

“Good,” she says, sounding relieved.

“What?”

“I mean not good…just…” She sighs, and a smile pulls at my lips.

“Lennon, do you have a crush?” I nudge her a little, but she’s quick to respond, and not with embarrassment or disgust—just truth.

“No. I just don’t trust Thane.”

For some reason, her words arrest me. I stop walking, and so does she.

“Why?”

She takes a deep breath. “Thane’s soul is…fractured. After his mother died, he gave up on everyone he loved. Anyone who can do that…can’t truly feel for anyone.”

A strangled laugh escapes from my mouth. I do my best to swallow it before I hurt Lennon’s feelings.

“Look, Lennon. You don’t have to worry. I’m not looking for a relationship.”

“Thane isn’t either. He’s looking for a way to bring his mother back from the dead.”