Ember X (Death Collectors) - By Jessica Sorensen Page 0,33

my back pocket, and leave the office, not looking back.

Chapter 7

Everyone in the town is calling Laden’s disappearance the Angel of Death Killing. The rumor spread about the detective interrogating me right on campus. It’s like I’ve relapsed back to three years ago, right after my dad vanished. The halls are fluttering with whispers of “Freak,” Psychopath,” and “Murderer.” But I walk with my head held high. A little gossip and dirty looks are nothing compared to being plagued by death every day.

I’m contemplating bailing out on my last class of the day, but Raven still hasn’t shown up yet and she hasn’t called or replied to any of my texts, so I go to the McDonalds next door to get some lunch. I’m waiting for my order to be put on the tray, when Mackenzie Baker comes brushing by, knocks her shoulder into mine, and nearly breaks a high heel trying to recover her balance. Ropes bind her wrist and mouth. Darkness devours her. Come out, come out, wherever you are. It’s a game and Mackenzie loses, lost in a sea of blood. I’ve seen her death before and it never gets easier.

Glaring at me, she flips her hair and quickly returns to the conversation with the girl she’s with.

“So was I right?” The soft touch of Cameron’s voice sends a rush of adrenaline through my body and I quiver.

I step back and elongate the distance between us, but really I want to move closer to him. “Were you right about what?”

“About your poem,” he says with a charming smile.

“You think I’m in pain?” I ask as the cashier sets French fries down on my tray

“I think your heart carries a lot of pain.” He steps forward, reducing the already limited space between us. “But that you hide it, just like you hide a lot of things.”

He’s striking a nerve. “Isn’t everyone hiding something?” I ask.

“Now those are the words of a true writer.” He reaches behind me, missing my arm by an inch, and steals some of my French fries. “But the question is, what are you hiding, Ember?”

There’s accusation in his tone—he’s heard the rumors. “Bodies in the basement of my house and a burner full of ashes,” I say darkly.

He’s unfazed, tipping his head back and dropping the stolen fries into his mouth. “Weird, because that’s the same thing I have in my basement.”

“I’d be happy that we share something in common, but we both know that neither of our houses have basements.”

“Yep, but they have attics,” he says and it no longer sounds like he’s joking. “And attics are excellent places to hide bodies too.”

I grab my cup from the tray and turn to the fountain.

He laughs. “Relax, I’m just kidding.”

I offer him a small smile, loosening up a little as I fill up the cup with ice and then soda. Then I pick up my tray and my eyes browse the room lined with tables and benches.

“So what are your plans for the rest of the day?” I ask, heading for a corner table as Cameron trails at my heels. “More sneaking into classes or do you have work?”

“I work online,” he answers vaguely.

“Doing what?”

“Boring stuff.”

“You are very cryptic. You know that?”

“I do.” He smiles at me, pleased.

There’s a lot of chattering and wandering eyes at the accused killer standing in the center of the room. Who am I even looking for? I spot Asher in the far corner table, sitting with a group of people about my age. Wow, he made friends fast.

Asher’s gaze finds mine and his eyes light up, but then he notices Cameron standing next to me and the lightness alters to a glare. Cameron returns the glare with equal animosity.

“I thought you said you didn’t know him?” I ask Cameron with cynicism in my tone.

He blinks the glare away and smiles politely. “I don’t know him. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got places to be.” He struts off to where Mackenzie and her friend are sitting, eating salads, and he immediately starts flirting with her.

“Hot and cold much,” I mumble.

Asher waves me over. I hesitate, not at him, but at the rest of the people at the table who are just as afraid of me as Mackenzie is. But then Asher smiles and I remember how he tasted in the art room, how he felt, how he touched me, and my doubting and worries crumble.

I take a seat at the table and everyone gives me subtle nods, except

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