The truth is that, sometimes, I think about leaving this place behind, maybe even abandon the Grave, but here I am. Sitting in another ghost’s room,scrape,scrape,scraping another label off the glass.
To leave… it would be both selfish and foolish. I can kill a lurker better than nearly anyone else in the Grave, but I know I could never survive outside of the community on my own; especially when I don’t have my twin watching my back. Leaving would be a suicide mission, and how the fuck can I do that to Jack when I’m all he has left?
So here’s to some morescrape,scrape,scraping as I sit on the floor, and shower in the dark, and prepare empty firebombs for the day Jack decides I can take all my pain and frustrationsout on the monsters that stole everything that I ever cared about from me.
As I work, I purposely keep the door open. When Jack heads out for the day, I want to know.
He’s trying. It can’t be easy, watching each and every member of his family get picked off one-by-one while knowing he has the fate of the entire Grave on his shoulders every minute of every day. He didn’t ask to be leader—the role was just thrust on him during the early days of our people coming together—and he’s doing the best he can. It’s just… sometimes I wish he would try a little less when it comes to me.
My nerves are showing as I grab another bottle and attack the label with my knife. In the back of my mind, I hear atsk,then Hallie’s worried whisper telling me to be careful. At that exact moment, I swipe the glass harder than I should. The blade slips, finding skin. The blood seeps out of a slice on my finger about two inches long before a sharp pain hits me.
I wince, muttering a curse under my breath.
The glass bottle and knife both fall to the floor, forgotten.
Shit.
The cut isn’t deep enough that I have to go to St. Matthew’s for help, but it’s definitely too deep for me to ignore it. Jumping up to my feet, I’m out of the room, halfway to the linen closet for an old washcloth when something catches my attention.
I stop dead in my tracks.
A couple of voices filter up the steps. Though they’re too low for me to tell who’s talking, I know for sure that Jack’s not alone.
I can’t hear what’s being said. The conversation is muffled because whoever Jack is speaking to is keeping their voice down. Jack’s not giving me anything to work with, either. The fact that they’re being so quiet is a clue that I’m not supposed to know they’re talking at all.
Which, of course, means that after I grab the washcloth and twist it around my finger, I quickly tiptoe over to the top landing. I strain to see if I can make out what’s being said yet. It’s still just a hum and, taking care to avoid the creaky step that would give me away, I start downstairs.
The voices are coming from the kitchen. They’re still talking in an undertone.
A narrow hallway cuts through the first floor, leading to the kitchen. With my back to the wall, I move toward it. A second later, I’m rewarded when I get close enough to catch Jack saying, “And the auditorium is a go for noon, Eddie?”
Ah. Eddie.
Eddie Rogers is Jack’s right-hand man. Whenever Jack can’t do something by himself, he relies on Eddie for help. Well, crap. I should’ve figured he’d be the one downstairs.
“It’s all set,” Eddie grunts in answer. I can just see him scratching the grey scruff along his jaw. “The boys sent out the word already. The whole of the Grave will be waiting for you, just like you wanted.”
“Good. He’s at the church right now, getting checked out. He seems like someone we can trust, but… Stranger.”Stranger? “After the Turning, it’s better to be safe than sorry.”
He’s not wrong, but that’s also my cue. I stride down the rest of the hallway, entering the kitchen as if I haven’t just been listening in on their conversation.
“Sorry about what?” I ask. “Hey, Eddie. How’ve you been?” Without waiting for an answer, I glance over at my dad. “What’s going on, Jack? I miss something?”
If the whole of the Grave is waiting to see Jack at the auditorium at noon, and the clock over the stove says it’s eleven-thirty now andIwasn’t invited…
I raise my eyebrows.
The two men take turns watching me, Eddie’s mouth clamped shut like he suddenly knows he’s already said too much while the vein along Jack’s temple starts to pulse as he frowns. So absorbed by what they were discussing, it’s clear that neither one of them was expecting me to pop my head in.
I wait.
Jack jerks his head at Eddie. He murmurs something under his breath, just loud enough that his second hears it—and I don’t. With a quick nod in my direction, Eddie scuttles out through the back door leading off from the kitchen without another word.
Once he’s gone, Jack spins around, his arms outstretched, his eyes deceptively innocent. “Allie! I thought you were napping, honey.”
“It’s only, like, eleven-thirty. Why the hell would I be napping?” Remembering the washcloth on my bloody finger, I fist the soiled material before hooking my thumb oh-so-casually through the belt loop on my jeans. “So… what were you and Eddie talking about?”
I thought I was slick, but I forgot for a moment that I’m dealing with my father. His eyes lock on my fist… and the bloody washcloth I should’ve left upstairs.