All the Rules of Heaven (All That Heaven Will Allow #1) - Amy Lane Page 0,51

Tucker just kept running, although the ghostly bodies seemed to stack themselves in front of them like bricks.

Again, another one jumped on Tucker’s back, and Angel started swearing, using all the words Tucker was so fond of. The agony faded, and Angel heard Tucker—of all things—laughing.

Picking up bad habits, there, sweetheart.

Don’t stop running.

Wasn’t planning on—

Oh no! Angel was looking through Tucker’s eyes now, so completely merged that she could probably speak through his mouth, if that hadn’t been a violation. And Tucker was stumbling to a halt, just before the dividing line. Just before freedom.

Damien?

Oh Lord. She heard it in the tone of his voice, felt it in the ache in his chest. Tucker had loved this person. Tucker still grieved him.

It’s not him! Angel begged, wishing she’d given Tucker a more thorough education on what a ghost was. It’s his energy, but not his soul. His soul wants what’s best for you, Tucker. But this thing—

Damien. Oh God. Damien. I’m sorry.

Damien the ghost had been handsome in real life—dark blond hair, green eyes, a thin nose, narrow chin, and playfully full mouth. Angel recognized him then, from his first day with Tucker. Angel had skated the surface of Tucker’s mind, trying to find someone he’d trust, trying to find a form he’d care about so Angel wouldn’t have to work so hard at being human.

His attempt at deception might have just saved Tucker’s soul.

Don’t trust him! Remember, you didn’t trust me? You were right! He’s not real, Tucker. Now run!

And Tucker lifted a foot, and another. Ghost-Damien lunged toward them from the side, but Tucker was almost at the edge of the property line, and as the spirit wrapped his arms around Tucker in a blistering embrace, Tucker screamed and took the final step.

Ghost-Damien wailed and faded, captured by the graveyard energy and held there, as Tucker and Angel broke free.

Tucker kept running until he got to the truck. He slid into the cab, and Angel scooted out of his body gratefully and then took a good look at him.

“Oh God, Tucker.”

Tucker’s face was blistered, down his cheek, down his neck, and probably all over his torso and arms too. He took a breath and coughed, blood spattering his hand.

“Oh fuck, Angel,” he muttered. “I am fucked up.”

“Can you drive?” Angel asked. She didn’t like the look of the blisters—his skin had a sort of noxious cast to it, and whatever a doctor might put on it, it wouldn’t fight the psychic sickness sinking into his flesh.

“Yeah,” Tucker coughed.

“I’m going to merge with you again. Do you mind?”

“Just let me stay me, okay?” His voice hit a plaintive note, forlorn and sad, and Angel had a sudden thought that one not-quite-real companion wasn’t enough here.

“I promise,” she said gently. “I’m going to see if I can push the… the deadness out. The blisters will need to heal, but I’m going to try to get the supernatural stink out.”

“Fine,” Tucker muttered. “You do that. I’m going to drive to the hospital and—”

“Don’t go,” Angel begged, wondering if she was wrong about this like she’d been wrong about the internet. But there were good reasons too. “It’s so far, Tucker. Drive to Margie’s or to Ms. Fisher’s. Josh and Rae’s. A friend. You need a friend, Tucker, someone real.”

“Great,” Tucker muttered. “Here, let me find the phone so I can—” He coughed some more, and Angel jumped into his body while he was trying to drive, cough, and get on the cell phone all at the same time.

Angel could feel it, the green sickness, pulsing just under Tucker’s skin, and she aligned her energy as closely as she could with his. But there was something else there, something painful and bitter and horrible, making Angel’s hold on Tucker weak and her fight against the sickness even weaker.

She waited, screaming in his head with the effort, as Tucker spoke in halting sentences to Josh, and Josh told him to just get back to the house; he’d meet Tucker there and get him inside.

Tucker clicked the phone off and Angel spoke low and urgently inside his head.

Tucker, you have something in you, a bitterness, an anger. It’s hurting you. It’s making your aura weak. You need to let it go.

Tucker’s response was verbal, a scream of pain and frustration that echoed through the frame of the small cab.

I know it’s comfortable, but dammit, Tucker, can’t you tell me a little bit of it? Just a bit? It’s pushing me out, and I need