Ember X (Death Collectors) - By Jessica Sorensen Page 0,40
on the internet?”
“For a poem I’m working on,” I lie breezily. “Do you still have those books?”
She shakes her head as she twists her pink hair up into a bun. “I returned them here and they had to special order them, so I don’t even know if they’re still here.”
I drop my voice as the librarian walks by, shooting me a dirty look. “Do you remember anything about them at all?”
She turns a page of her magazine. “Only that they are a mix between a Grim Reaper and an Angel of Death. And that they’re super crazy most of the time.”
“How exactly are they supposed to be crazy?” I ask. “I mean, what defines them as being insane? Do they do weird things or rant incoherent thoughts?”
“The books said that they used to sneak around killing innocent people and stealing their souls,” she explains. “Like it was a game or something. And they suffered from hallucinations.”
I need to get my hands on those books.
“So what’s up with you and Asher?” She abruptly changes the topic.
I stop drawing and glance up. “What do you mean?”
She presses me with a look from over the magazine. “Don’t play dumb with me, Ember Rose Edwards. You know what I’m talking about—our knight in shining armor and the reason why you’ve been bummed out all week.”
“I’m not playing dumb, Raven Lilly Monroe,” I retort. “I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
She taps her lips with a wicked glint in her sapphire eyes. “So, you don’t have a thing for a dark-haired stranger who rescued you from your death omen spasm and who showed you his painting of an Angel… Although, by how stuck you are on him, I’d guess he showed you other stuff of his, too.”
I briefly picture what he’d look like naked and then focus on my poem. “I thought you had a thing for him. Wasn’t he the reason for your meltdown in my closet… And wait, how do you even know about the painting?”
She giggles. “Oh Em, you are such a riot. You can’t almost make out with someone in the art room and expect no one to know about it.” She dabs the tears from the corner of her eyes. “And I’m totally over the Asher thing. Guys are like shoes to me, you know that. I wear them once and then get bored.”
I press down so hard on the paper the pencil breaks. “Did you actually wear Asher?”
She points an accusing finger at me. “The very fact that you ask that means you like him. So I think it’s time you found out where he is. And if he likes you.”
“Raven, this isn’t second grade.” I tip back in the chair and throw the pencil in the trash bin.
She discounts me with a wave of her hand. “Call him. Didn’t you say he gave you his phone number?”
“I already tried to text him and he said he was busy,” I say and close my journal. “Look, I think I need to just get over him. I have too much stuff going on in my life.” I swing my purse over my shoulder, but she snags the handle and rips it off my arm.
“Like what?” She backs away, jiggling the bag out in front of her. “Your life’s pretty easy, Em.”
“Raven,” I warn as she backs down the nearest aisle between the bookshelves. “Don’t even think about it. I swear to God, I’ll never forgive you if you call him.”
“Don’t kid yourself, Em. You’ll always forgive me, no matter what I do.” She spins in her high-heeled boots and dashes off down the aisle.
I chase after her, fuming as she pulls out my cell phone and drops my bag on the floor. I hop over my bag and reach for the back of her shirt as she punches the buttons. A girl at the end of the aisle backs away, eyes wide, legs trembling, probably thinking I’m trying to kill Raven. Raven laughs as she wiggles out of my fingers and then darts around the corner of the bookshelf, intentionally knocking some books off the shelf.
“Raven, please don’t call him.” I trip over the books and round the corner. She has the phone to her ear and dodges my advance, but her ankle rolls and she falls flat on her ass.
I jump on her, accidently bumping my knee into hers, and kicking a row of books to the floor with my boot. Her death pours through me, but I