Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Anora and Chase Lockwood

Four months ago

“Mom, I see dead people.”

I shake my head. No, she’ll just think I’m quoting The Sixth Sense.

“Mom…I see ghosts.”

“I still sound crazy,” I mutter under my breath. Okay, how about, “Mom, I see souls.”

This is going to be a disaster.

I look at my report card. The D beside chemistry looks like the mark of Satan. How am I supposed to show this to Mom? I’ve never gotten a D. I think about the last few months and what’s led to my failing grades. Chemistry isn’t the only class that’s taken a hit. Trigonometry’s a low B, and history’s a C. This is the worst report card I’ve ever received.

And I know why.

I reach for the chain around my neck and clutch my poppa’s coin. It’s only been two months since he died. Two months since I witnessed his soul leave his body, tangled with some black substance that I can only describe as wrong. It has been two months since a gold thread erupted from my palm and consumed my poppa’s soul, turning it into a coin.

After the incident, everything just got worse. The dead are literally everywhere, and sometimes they look like real, living people. Sometimes my route home looks like a scene from The Walking Dead.

So yeah, school’s been rough.

I haven’t told anyone about my experiences because, let’s face it, no one’s going to believe me.

But I really, really want someone to understand.

“Earth to Lyra.” Emma waves her hand in front of my face.

“Huh?” I blink at her and fold my report card quickly, feeling embarrassed by the letters written on the page.

“Did you hear anything I said?”

I bite my lip and offer a sheepish, “No.”

She frowns, those big blue eyes studying me. “You sure you’re all right? You’ve seemed…more stressed than usual.”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I don’t look at her as I respond, focusing instead on choosing the right notebook and textbook from my locker. When I face her again, she doesn’t look convinced.

“What?”

“You’re lying,” she accuses as we start walking to class.

“Look, I’m just not sleeping very well, that’s all.”

It’s the truth. Since Poppa died and I can see the dead, I’ve discovered I can hear them too. Apparently, someone who liked to sing at the top of their lungs died in my apartment complex at some point.

Sometimes the dead suck.

“What were you saying?” I ask Emma, because I don’t want to talk about myself anymore, and I’m genuinely curious about what she was saying before I zoned out looking at my report card.

The worry instantly evaporates from her face, and she smiles, showing her dimples. I love Emma’s smile. So do most of the boys in our school.

“We have a new student, and Olivia says he’s gorgeous!”

“Olivia thinks every new guy is gorgeous,” I complain.

“Lyra, you don’t understand. I saw this one!”

“Close up?”

“Well, no,” she admits. “But I don’t need to see him close up to know that bone structure is only for gods.”

I roll my eyes. “If he looks like a god, he’s probably a jerk too, and I’m not interested—”

I slam into a body and drop my books. The person I ran into turns around, and suddenly I’m face-to-face with a literal god. I mean, he’s too beautiful to walk the halls of Mount St. Mary for the Gifted. He’s so tall, I have to crane my neck to get a good look at his strong jaw, chiseled cheekbones, and full lips. When I meet his eyes, I can’t look away. I’ve never seen anyone with those eyes. They’re light green and rimmed with black.

“Hi,” I manage to squeak.

He smiles, and oh god, my heart races in my chest.

“Hi.”

Then he bends to scoop up my books, and as he rises, I swear he inches closer. I can’t breathe.

I’m not sure how long I stare at him before he clears his throat. “Are you…heading to class?”

“Yeah.” Then I realize he’s still holding my books. I go to reach for them. “You probably don’t want to keep holding those.”

But he moves them out of my reach, clutching them tighter to his chest—his well-defined, muscly chest.

What kind of workouts is he doing outside school, and how long has it taken him to get that body?

“Why don’t I walk you to class?”

I just nod. Beside me, Emma giggles, and suddenly I remember I’m not alone. And from the way she’s looking at me, I’m apparently acting like a starry-eyed schoolgirl from a Disney show.

The god and I look at her. She smiles, all cute with her dimples and blond curls. She holds out her hand. “I’m Emma.”

How is she coherent in front of this guy?

He smiles and takes her hand. “Chase. Chase Lockwood.”

He looks at me. By the time I understand he’s waiting for me to say my name, Emma beats me to it.

“This is Lyra. Lyra Silby.”

Chase’s smile widens, and he walks Emma and I to our class. On the way, Emma asks him questions—Where are you from? Upstate New York. What school did you transfer from? Midwood. Are you a senior? Yes. Do you play sports? Lacrosse. Do you have a girlfriend? Chase glances at me and answers, “No.”

I don’t think I’ve blushed so much in my life, and as I walk between Chase and Emma, I realize this is the longest I’ve gone without thinking about Poppa being gone.

When we make it to our room, Chase hands me my books.

“It was nice meeting you!” Emma says and disappears into class, leaving Chase and I alone. He’s studying me with those strange eyes, and it makes my chest feel all fluttery.

“It was nice meeting you, Lyra,” he says. “I’ll see you around.”

I watch him leave, all swagger and confidence as if he’s been at this school for years. For once, Olivia was right about the god on campus.

I barely register walking into class and finding my seat. I feel like I’m floating, and every time I think about how Chase looked at me, I blush.

Then Mr. Ray returns my chemistry test from Friday.

F.

I’m screwed.

* * *

It’s almost a month later when Chase discovers my ability to see the dead. A man with a lacerated face has wandered on campus. It’s lunchtime. I’m sitting on the top of a picnic table. Chase sits on the bench, facing me. He keeps trying to tell me how lacrosse works, but I can’t help watching the dead man. His eyes have been on me the entire time, and he continues to stumble toward us. I’m trying to think of excuses to leave before he gets too close. Sometimes I swear they want something from me.

Bathroom. The bathroom is always the best excuse. I can feel his energy pulling at my skin, stealing my breath, and I play with the evil eye on my backpack.

After a moment, Chase pauses, looks over his shoulder, and then takes my hand.

“Hey.” His voice is quiet. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I manage, but the word escapes my lips breathlessly, so I smile.

“You know they can’t hurt you.”

My smiles fades fast. “What?”

“The dead. They can’t hurt you.”

There is silence between us for a long moment and then, “You can see them too?”

He smiles that warm smile I’ve become so familiar with over the last few weeks. It makes my chest feel like it’s on fire.

“Yeah.”

Until this moment, I’ve never met anyone who can see the dead. I burst into tears. Chase’s brows knit together, and his hands cup either side of my face.

“Hey, hey, hey.” His voice is gentle as he brushes my tears away. “It’s okay.”

“I know,” I say, sobbing. “It’s just…I’ve felt crazy, you know?”

He sits beside me on the table and pulls me to him. “You’re not crazy.”

Later that night, I sit at the kitchen table with my chemistry book and notes spread out before me. I have two more exams before the end of the school year, and I need to ace both of them to bring up my failing grade. I’ve managed to avoid the topic of my report card because Mom’s been too busy with work to realize it’s midsemester. I’m hoping I can make it to the end of the year before she even thinks about grades.

My phone vibrates on the table. Before I look at the screen, my heart starts to race in my chest.

Chase.

I smile as I pick up the phone.

What are you up to?he asks.

Studying.

Want a break?

I just started.

Did you eat first?

I laugh. No, why?

You’ll need fuel to keep you going. Come eat with me.

I’m about to reply I can’t, Mom’s cooking dinner when she enters the kitchen.

“Lyra, what’s this?”

Mom holds a piece of crumpled paper. It’s my report card. My smile evaporates, and I feel the color drain from my face. I put my phone down and meet her gaze, even though I want to run far, far away. Why didn’t I take Chase up on his offer? I could have been out the door moments before she walked in.

“It’s my report card.”

“And why was it in your trash can?”

“Why were you going through my trash?”

“Lyra,” she warns.

“You know the answer, Mom!” She can read. Why does she have to rub it in?

“I want you to tell me.”

Why are parents the worst?

“Because I got a D, okay?” I can still save my grade. That’s why I’m sitting here with my chem book and my notes.

But things have been so hard.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mom asks, sitting down at the table.

“Because I knew you would be mad.”

“Honey, I know things have been hard for you.”

“You have no idea.”

Mom flinches, and she sets her jaw. “I think I have some idea. You lost Poppa, and I lost my father, Lyra.”

“It’s not just that! There are other things, Mom. You’ve been in your own world too. You wouldn’t understand.”

I push away from the table. I don’t even know where I’m going, but I don’t want to be here anymore.

“Lyra, don’t walk away. Please. I want to help.”

I pause at the door, hands fisted.

“Please give me a chance,” Mom pleads. It makes my heart feel like it’s being ripped into tiny pieces. In this moment, I can see how tired she is, how this is beyond a depressive episode and is true grief. We’ve both just been going through the motions to get by.

“You won’t believe me,” I whisper.

“Honey, of course I’ll believe you.”

And when I turn to look at her, I know she will. I know it deep in my heart, and I’ll have someone to share this burden with. So I sit down at the table again, and she takes my hands in hers. They are as cold as a corpse.

“Promise you’ll believe me?”

“Yes.” She nods, and her voice shakes a little.

“Mom.” I start to cry. I can’t even say it for a long moment; all I can do is choke on my sobs. “I can see the dead. I saw Poppa!”

She lets go of my hands, and her chair scrapes against the floor as she stands. “Lyra Anora Silby, that is enough.”

“You said you’d believe me!”

“Not when you are spouting nonsense! Not when you’re throwing my father’s death in my face.”

“It isn’t nonsense! I see spirits, Mom! As real as I see you. You have to believe me!”

“I will believe no such thing!” Her voice is shrill. “Are you telling me this is why you got a D?”

“I swear, I found Poppa!” I scream. “I saw his soul come out of his body. I saw something black and horrible fighting—”

“Enough!” She matches my tone. “Don’t speak another word or I’ll have you hospitalized, Lyra.”

Neither of us speak after her threat, and just as much as I believed a moment ago that I could tell her the truth, I now believe she’s completely capable of committing me to a mental institution. My mom can turn on a dime, just like that.

I should have known things would end this way.

“You know what? Fine,” I say, grabbing my phone. I leave the kitchen and head for the door.

“Where are you going?” Mom demands.

I don’t answer.

“Lyra, don’t you dare leave this apartment.”

I’m out the door.

“Lyra!”

I slam the door in her face.

Once outside, I send Chase a text, asking him to meet me at the park. As I walk, my eyes blur with tears. It was too good to be true to think I could trust Mom with the truth. Chase had warned me. He’d said that she would never believe me. That no one would. He had been right.

What am I supposed to do now? When I go home, will Mom have already looked up therapists or psychiatric hospitals? I don’t want to be put on medication.

As I approach the park, Chase is leaning against his car, parked near a streetlamp. The light pours over his body. He looks harsh under it, but I run to him anyway. He wraps his arms around me, and I cry into his chest. He doesn’t say anything. He waits for me, and when I’m ready, I tell him everything—about my fight with Mom and her threat to commit me. I tell him things I’ve never told him before, about the coins and how I make them with a thread that comes out of my palm.

He wipes my tears away. “I told you she’ll never understand. She can’t. She doesn’t see what you see.”

“I know.”

“But I understand. I see what you see.”

“What am I going to do?” I ask, not expecting him to answer, but he does.

“Leave with me,” he says.

“What?” I pull away and meet his gaze.

“Leave with me,” he says again, and his arms tighten around me.

“I…I can’t.”

I might be mad at Mom and scared that she will stay true to her threat, but I can’t leave her. Poppa just died. She would be all alone, and besides, as much as running away would make me feel better right now, in the long run, I’d only feel guilty. I need Mom just as much as she needs me.

“Lyra,” Chase says, taking my hands. “Your mom will never understand you. She’ll never believe you.”

I tear away from him. He’s no longer helping me feel better. He’s just making me mad.

“Shut up!”

He moves toward me. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m only using your words, Lyra.”

I feel like he’s slapped me, and I flinch.

“You know what? Never mind.”

I start to turn, but he grabs my arm. His fingers dig into my skin. He’s never touched me this way, and it has warning bells going off in my head. “Where are you going?” he demands.

“Home!” I try to pull away, but he won’t let go.

“Why would you go home? You just ran away.”

“Because I should have never come here.” I jerk away again, and once I’m free, I start to run.

“Lyra!” Chase calls. Then closer, “Lyra!”

That’s when he grabs me and something sharp digs into my neck.

His breath, hot against my ear, threatens, “I can’t let you leave. We’ve been waiting for you for too long.”

My heart races in my chest, and adrenaline rushes through me as he starts to drag me back to his car. I can feel the thread rising to the surface of my palm. It’s not painful, but the feeling is distinct, like holding a sharp rock tight in my palm.

“Stop!” I scream at both Chase and the thread, but it’s too late. The blade loosens around my neck, and his weight eases off me as he falls to his knees. I twist to find my thread skewering his eyes, erupting through his nose, and entering his mouth. It continues to lance his body until he’s consumed in golden light, and when it fades, a glittering gold coin lies a few feet from the body.

Chase Lockwood is dead.