Ember X (Death Collectors) - By Jessica Sorensen Page 0,39
a killer.”
Ian turns down the volume of the TV and sets the remote down on the armrest. “Where was I?”
I point over my shoulder at the staircase. “Upstairs, in the attic, with your ‘muse.’”
He squirms uneasily. “Did you get her upstairs okay?”
I grab a handful of skittles from the candy bowl on the coffee table and pop them into my mouth. “Yeah, I made do.”
He slips off his beanie to ruffle his hair. “Was she nice to you?”
I seal my lips together and force the tears to back down. “She was fine, I guess.”
“I can tell when you’re lying.” Ian pushes the sleeves of his shirt up and kicks his feet up on the table. “What did she say to you?”
Ian knows about my rough relationship with our mother to an extent, but there are pieces I omit from him, like her accusations that I killed Grandma Nelly.
“She was as nice as she always is.” I scoop up another handful of skittles and get up from the couch. “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Ember…” He struggles for words. “You know you can talk to me about stuff. My meds are helping a lot and I think I can handle things now.”
“I know,” I say, but he can’t. It’s in his eyes—the fear I might open up and he’ll have to deal with it, so I bottle it up. The accident, Raven, death, that I saw Laden’s body hanging from our tree. “And if I do ever feel like talking, you’ll be the first one I come to.”
He releases a breath of relief and turns back to the TV as I trudge up to my room, wondering when I’ll crack.
Chapter 9
I don’t hear or see Asher the next day, or the next and when I text him about hanging out, his response is that he’s busy. It bothers me for some reason. I barely know him, yet knots wind in my stomach every time I think about how it felt when he touched me. It’s like I’ve become obsessed with him and his lips and hands and I don’t like how much he consumes me, yet, I do at the same time.
I’m in the town library, tucked at the table in the farthest corner, writing poetry about my frustration with a book opened at my feet.
In the midst of a foggy field, the answers are hidden
But the impossible journey deems them forbidden
“Have I told you how much I’m sorry,” Raven says, sliding a candy bar across the table.
I glance up from my journal. “How many times are you going to apologize?” I pick up the candy bar. “My teeth are going to rot out if you keep it up.”
“As long as it takes for you to accept it.” She takes a magazine out of her bag.
“How did you know I was here?” I ask.
She smiles. “You always are, when you’re not working or in class. I think you just might be obsessed with words.”
That and beautiful men with piercings. “You know me too well.”
“What are you writing about?” She moves the strap of her tank top over a little and peels a layer of skin off her shoulder blade.
I scratch the title The Unknown on the top of the page. “Stuff. Life… You know you should really get that looked at. I really do think it’s infected.”
She flicks the skin onto the floor. “I did and the doctor said it’s fine.” Her eye twitches and she pretends to pluck some mascara from her eyelashes.
Swirling the pen on the top of the paper, I sketch a poorly drawn Angel. “You can die from infections. Do you know that?”
She peels another layer of skin off, and it’s like she’s molting. “But you know when I’m really going to die and if it was from the infection, you’d make me go to the hospital.”
She has me there. Under the title of my poem, I write:
The Reaper of Death, the Angel of Life.
They walk together in day and night.
“Raven, have you ever heard of a Grim Angel?” I inquire.
She thrums her manicured nails on the table as she considers this. “Maybe… in one of the books I looked through when I was doing my Angel painting project. But I can’t remember exactly what it is. Why? What’s up?”
“I was just looking through some stuff on the internet the other night and I came across a drawing of one. I’ve never heard of them before, though.”